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#god hates me for being a fag
breadshot · 1 year
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Ok I have a narrative change to a pretty famous piece of fiction. It's called the Bible, dunno if you've heard of it. Yknow when Jesus dies and he goes to hell for 3 days and apparently fucks shit up down there?
WHY WASNT THERE AN ENTIRE BOOK ABOUT THAT?!
Like I mean book as in book of the Bible. That would've been so fucking cool. Maybe I'd even still be Christian if it existed! Like you want me to praise a God that gave himself human form just to have sex with 12 other men and then get whipped and punished, only to nowadays punish anyone who even has gay thoughts? Uh no thank you. Wait, what's that? You say he had a fucking 3 day long shonen battle with the entirety of hell itself? Fuck yeah I'll pray to that badass!
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1o1percentmilk · 4 months
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i may seem like i pass effortlessly but i am actually thinking abt it all the time
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lilgynt · 2 years
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i really do need to stop thinking about this fight but i’m legitimately gonna blow my brains out about it
#personal#like i just keep doing the same loots on the train of thoughts about it#and like as a kid i always has moments after fights were i was like#i’m never talking to him again and then he’s gonna realize how awful he is#and then like next day i’m talking to him bc my big brother is my favorite person ever#but like. i keep imagining scenarios where i can correctly explain myself and he’s listening#but i lose all the anger and fight like a sentence in#i just can’t do it#it’s not gonna change and he can’t hear me and i just can’t do it#and that makes me so fucking depressed im just fighting back tears rn#and i want to be fair to him i really do#and i’m always gonna be more biased to myself bc. well. you know#but god he’s done awful things to me#he ruined the word fag he outted me he’s said genuinely nasty and cruel things i’ve never said to him#not that i haven’t been awful back#god im getting tired explaining even this#and then i just keep thinking about how much he must hate me and that hurts worse bc i love him and i know i’m not a positive force in his#life im just like an annoying hurdle you enjoy sometimes but more out of familarity than anything else#and everyone in my family vastly prefers him and i don’t blame them!!!#i remember being a kid and seeing him get some kind of reading reward#and i was so. upset with myself bc i wasn’t like him. and i was jealous#but mostly i remember clapping super loud and thinking about how happy and proud of and for him i was#i just want him to stop treating me like i’m dumb and he says he doesn’t but he does#all the time#and i want him to stop trying to fix my problems all the time#and i feel awful that i was his responsibility unfairly for so long and im actively trying to get away from that role from him#i’m trying i’m trying and i’m trying but god above#i’m just so tired and so upset#and i’m starting to think i just cause issues on purpose#like i’m subconsciously bored bc this can’t just happening all the time to woe is me like i know i’m not but i have to be at this point
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diiv · 8 months
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hey guys
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unfinishedslurs · 1 year
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aware of his bisexuality steve (steddie, buckingham)
“Is that a hickey?” Comes out of Steve’s mouth without permission. But there it is, bright purple and red against the slope of her neck. She’s been walking kind of funny this morning, too. He’d assumed her period came early, but… “Rob, did you—“
Eddie fumbles the coffee mug he was pulling down. Chrissy freezes, face turning white with fear. Robin whips around, face bright red, and slaps a hand over her neck. 
“Bathroom!” She yelps. “Bathroom now!”
“Wait,” Eddie says, setting the mug down with trembling hands. “It was me. Sorry, man.”
Steve stares at him, unimpressed. Why the fuck would he lie about—
He looks at Chrissy again, who takes a nervous step back, and it clicks. 
“Right,” he says, nodding quickly. “You. You gave Robin a hickey. Had totally awesome sex that she didn’t even tell me about.” He directs that last bit at Robin pointedly. He told her almost immediately when he lost his guy-ginity. Traitor. “Yep. Sure. Got it.”
Eddie blinks, confused. Robin buries her face in her hands. 
“Oh my god, calm down,” she groans. “That’s not going to work. Steve’s cool.”
“Cool?” Chrissy asks, still looking ready to bolt. 
“Super cool,” he assures her. “The coolest. So incredibly cool, even if my best friend didn’t even tell me when she lost her virginity.”
“Steve!”
“Sorry, sorry,” he says. “But I am going to need details, Buckley. We can go over what worked, and what needs more oomph.”
“Oh my god, can we talk about this anywhere else,” Robin groans, at the same time Eddie asks, “What, so you can get off on it later?”
“What,” Steve says. 
“You think two girls are hot, is that it?” He’s got a sneer on his face now, but Steve’s more observant than Dustin gives him credit for. Even if he wasn’t, it’d be hard to miss how hard his hands are shaking, the nervous tilt to his mouth. 
“Ew.” Steve’s face screws up. “Dude, no. It’s Robin.”
“Hey, fuck you,” Robin breaks in, from where she’s started comforting Chrissy. “You thought I was hot for at least a summer.”
His mouth drops open in betrayal. “We agreed to never talk about that again!”
“Can’t help being sexy,” she coons. Chrissy giggles wetly. “You wanna get married, Harrington? Have my babies? Stay home and raise six little nuggets while I bring home the bread?”
“I hate you,” he informs her. “Hate you so much. We’ll have a nice, heterosexual wedding and share a sad, heterosexual kiss, and you’ll carry me over the threshold of our nice, heterosexual house, and we’ll have boring, heterosexual sex that gives us nice, heterosexual babies, because we are so heterosexual and happy in our suburburban house in our nice little heterosexual town.”
He’s honestly kind of proud of himself for saying heterosexual so many times. Usually he fumbles words with that many syllables, especially after that many times in a row. 
Chrissy is outright laughing, now, endearing little snorts making their way between giggles. Eddie is looking between them like they’re a puzzle he can’t piece together. Robin grins.
“I’ll cuck you with the secretary.”
“Not if I cuck you first. You’ll be away all day in that office of yours, and I need someone big and strong to carry all the new furniture I ordered.”
“I knew it! I knew Timmy wasn’t mine!”
“Oh, but I couldn’t help myself,” he swoons. “Mark was just so sweet, with his bulging biceps and hand flexes, all hot and sweaty from helping poor little me while you were away! You know I’m weak to curly hair and brown eyes, Rob, how’s a man supposed to resist?”
“Fag,” she says, not without affection. 
“Dyke,” he shoots back. 
“Cocksucker.”
“Carpet—“
“Okay,” Eddie breaks in, clapping his hands. He and Robin both startle, and so does Chrissy from where she’s been watching them like a particularly interesting tennis match. “What the fuck is going on?”
“Robin lost her virginity and didn’t even tell me,” Steve says immediately, like he’s tattling to the principal. 
“Steve doesn’t seem to understand the concept of waiting,” Robin retorts. 
“I told you when I had gay sex,” he whines, and Eddie chokes. “I hate you. See if I ever give you tips again.”
“Oh, is that what you meant?” Chrissy asks. “Please don’t stop. They were good tips.”
Robin flushes all the way down to her toes. 
“You like boys?” Eddie wheezes. 
“Oh,” Steve blinks. “Yeah? I thought you knew.”
“You thought I—how would I know?”
The fuck is that supposed to mean? Steve’s been flirting with him for months!
“Robin always says we can sense each other! You sensed her.”
“You told him?” Eddie’s mouth drops open, and Robin looks sheepish.
“She didn’t have to,” Steve snarks. “You’re flagging in Hawkins, man. Was I supposed to miss it?”
“You know what flagging is?”
“Again, in case you missed it, I fuck men.”
“Fuck,” Eddie mutters. “Fuck! Christ, I can’t believe this. You’re, like, the epitome of heterosexual. I spent half of high school having to hear about how much pussy you were getting. Why are you not straight?”
“Wow, Eddie,” he deadpans. “Are you saying just because I like men and woman, I’m not queer enough? That’s kind of homophobic of you, man.”
“Yeah, Eddie, wow,” Robin says. “I thought you were better than this.” 
“Fuck off,” Eddie says. “I feel like I need to lie down. My entire worldview just shattered.”
“I have a couch?” Chrissy offers shyly. “Or a bedroom, if you need a minute away.” Fuck, Steve kind of adores her. Especially since she’s apparently vicious n bed, if the five other hickies he counts just from Robin bending down a little to whisper in her ear are any indication. Good for her.  
“Don’t worry, Eddie,” Robin says, with a glint in her eye that means he’s either going to love or hate what comes next. “If it helps, Steve’s never fucked a man in his life.”
Eddie’s brow furrows, looking between the two of them. “So…you’re just making fun of me?”
He looks a little angry now, and Steve can’t make heads or tails of this conversation because, “What the hell, Rob, yes I have—“
“Oh, so suddenly you’re the one doing the fucking?”
“Stop making fun of me for taking it!”
Eddie lets out an honest to god moan that he immediately slaps his hand over his mouth to cover up. “Right,” he says fervently. “Okay. I need to lie down, like, for real.” 
They watch him stride down the hall, so fast he’s almost running, and slam the door closed behind him.
“I could totally top,” he mutters to Robin as something that sounds vaguely like muffled screaming echoes down the hall. “I top girls all the time. It’s not my fault prostates are a gift from God.”
“Uh, you top because all the girls you fuck are from small town Indiana. If one of them brought out the strap you’d drop to your knees so fast—“
“That’s—I like topping!”
“Your favorite position is cowgirl. Forgive me if I don’t believe you.”
“I will show Chrissy your baby pictures,” he hisses. Robin makes a face at him. Chrissy nods excitedly from where she’s still tucked under Robin’s arm. 
“Oh what’s that?” Robin practically shouts. “You like being pressed against walls and ravished? You want someone to tie you up and have their filthy way with you? Is that what you said, Steve?”
Another noise from the bedroom. He narrows his eyes at her. “What are you doing?”
“Helping,” she says sweetly. “You’re both hopeless.”
“I told you he’s shy!”
“Eddie?” Chrissy asks. “Shy?”
“Yeah, okay, I was confused too, but I figured it was the romance! He told me he hasn’t actually been in a relationship before, I assumed he was nervous to take that step.”
“Yeah, but dingus,” Robin says sweetly. “You’re missing a puzzle piece here. He thought you were straight. He thought he was flirting with his straight best friend he didn’t have a chance in hell with, and then he finds out that said best friend likes taking it up the ass and men with brown eyes.”
“Oh,” Steve says, realization dawning. “Oh, fuck. What if he doesn’t like me like that?”
Robin smacks the back of his head. “Why are you stupid?”
“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” Chrissy says. “Like, really don’t have to worry about that.”
“I’m not coming over tonight,” Robin says. “I’m gonna stay with Chrissy again. Er…if that’s okay?”
“That sounds amazing.” Chrissy beams, and Robin turns red again.
“Yeah, I’m going to stay with Chrissy again tonight. You are going to invite Eddie to stay the night when he gets done with his little crisis, and then we’re getting lunch at the diner tomorrow and you can tell me about it before our shift.”
“Right,” Steve says. “Right, I can do this. I’ve invited guys over before, how hard can it be? It’s just Eddie. But that was hotel rooms, not my house and my bedroom with my shitty wallpaper. And it’s Eddie. Fuck, what if I’m shit at it? Robin, what if I’m actually bad at sex and everyone who’s ever said I was good was lying because they didn’t want to hurt my feelings? Oh my god, I’m totally bad at sex.”
“Woah, dingus, slow down. I think we took the mind meld too far, you’re turning into me.”
“If it helps, I don’t think you’re bad at sex,” Chrissy says. Steve and Robin look at her, and she flushes. “Because of the tips! Not because—I’ve never slept with you, but some of my friends did, and I got three orgasms out of last night, so…”
“Oh thank God,” he breathes. “I was worried for a minute.” Then he raises an eyebrow at Robin, and holds out his hand for a high five. She slaps it, begrudgingly proud of herself, and then takes the hand to pull him into a headlock that’s honestly more of a hug than anything. 
“You’re fine,” she whispers in his ear. “You’re great at sex, as you keep telling me. What’s more, you’re funny, charming, handsome, brave, caring—“
“Aww, Robin, are you getting sappy on me?”
“Plus Eddie literally moaned in front of you when he found out you bottomed. I really don’t think there’s a way to fuck that up.”
Steve grins. “He did do that. I’m going to make so much fun of him later.”
“So,” Eddie says with a smirk, “men with brown eyes?”
“Hey man, don’t look at me. Blame Jonathan.”
Now Eddie looks stunned, mouth dropping open. “Byers?” He says, sounding betrayed. “You have a crush on Byers of all people?”
Steve feels offended on Jonathan’s behalf. “What’s that supposed to mean? Jonathan’s a good guy!”
“I guess.”
“What do you mean you guess? He’s sweet, passionate, good with kids, nice eyes. Can pack a punch. I mean, what’s not to like?”
“Uh, didn’t he steal your girlfriend?”
He waves that off. “That was, like, years ago, man. We’re cool now.”
“Right, okay,” Eddie mutters. “Well have fun with Byers, I guess.”
It clicks. “Oh,” he says. “Oooh. You’re jealous.”
Eddie splutters. “Jealous? I’m not—I don’t—you’re jealous!”
“Oh, am I?”
“Yes,” Eddie says resolutely, not looking at him. 
“Right,” Steve agrees. “Well, if I am jealous, maybe I should know that I got over Jonathan years ago, and have since moved on to brighter, hopefully more attainable pastures than my ex’s ex.”
“Oh yeah? Like what?”
“A different man with brown eyes?” He suggests. “Who is also good with kids, and passionate, and…” he trails off, suddenly realizing all those times Robin made fun of him might not be based on nothing. “Oh my god, I have a type. Shit, I have to tell Robin she was right.”
“I figured that was a common occurrence.”
“Shut up. Where was I going with this? I had a point.”
“You were telling me how awesome I am?”
“Oh, suddenly it’s you we’re talking about?”
“I mean,” suddenly Eddie looks shy, and Steve can’t help but think even with the change in context he might have been right when he told Robin Eddie was nervous about being in a real, romantic relationship, “isn’t it?”
He feels himself smile, slow and wide and probably more revealing than he means it to be. “Yeah,” he says, in a tone he knows Robin would call soppy, “it is.”
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stillfacingthesky · 8 months
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being trans is such a mindfuck. nobody knows who i am. i dont need to come out, im fine as i am. i hide behind my clothes. i dont recognise myself in the mirror. i dont know if i ever will. i want to transition. im scared of change. i want to be seen and known. i am in danger. queer joy is beautiful. i am more open than a queer person used to be able to be. someone like me was murdered yesterday. i saw their face on the news, and the reporter used the wrong name. wearing mens’ clothes brings me joy, and the joy is reminiscent of a little girl. i want to be pretty. my skin doesnt fit and my voice is not mine. im scared i might love my father more. i dont need to come out, i can manage this all. im going to die someday anyway, it wont matter. a kid was staring at me in the bookstore today and i saw my past in their eyes. i wonder if they saw their future in mine. i want to be someones boyfriend. i am my brothers sister. all bodies are beautiful except mine. god created grapes but not wine and wheat but not bread. god hates fags. there is something wrong with me. if i ignore it, itll go away. its not going away. it hasnt gone away in seven years. i dont want to be a stereotype. i love brash vulgarity. my mother thinks i am beautiful. i share her face. i know ill regret it if i never come out. i dont want to waste my life wearing a costume. i dont know if i want to sacrifice the life that ive had for the life i could have. someone out there understands me. someone else would kill me without regret. someone would cry if i was gone. someone would praise my killer as a hero. there are photos and illustrations of people like me in the past. our history has been erased. theyre still trying to erase us. i dont know if the present is worth the future. i want to be happy. i dont feel like i deserve it. ‘female’ leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. ‘woman’ makes me see stars. i am one but not the other. i am the ghost of the person i want to be. i encourage others and love them regardless. i am a hypocrite. ive been in hiding since i was thirteen. i want to be loud. my mother spent nine months creating me. i will spend the rest of my life creating myself. i am scared. i am angry. i am beautiful and sickening and i want to rip my skin apart to make space for something new. my rage is glorious. they will never understand. i do not need them to. i am so lonely. i am an artist and i want to be a masterpiece. they call my creation mutilation. i dont want to make my parents sad. i want my brother to like me. i am visibly queer. that man shouted at me to smile because he was treating me like a woman. what i have right now is enough. i want more. i don’t know if ill ever have it. if i die tomorrow, i will be buried in a dress. it will be a dress that is already in my closet, a pretty dress that i havent worn in years.
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all of the characters in interview with the vampire (2022) are so complex and are all subjected to such wild experiences but jesus CHRIST imagine being louis de pointe du lac's sister. the story starts out and your brother louis has a sketchy fucking job but you let it slide because Hey At Least He's Supporting The Family. and then one day he's like hey i have a new friend and you're like who is he and he's like French Individual. which of course is disappointing but hey! let's invite this french man over to dinner whats the worst that could happen. and turns out that the worst that could happen is mr oui oui cuntatron 9000 with his his little ponytail acting as if he has 47 large sticks shoved up his anal cavity bashing your Other brother about religion in a passionate monologue about how much he hates god and also he's not eating anything? Whatever it's your wedding day soon!! so your wedding day happens and it's banger, tap dancing and shit, but womp womp the next day your other brother Tragically dies but hey at least you've still got louis! JUST KIDDING during the vigil this blonde french fagatron tiddles and toddles up to your brother and he's like "we fucked last night why did you ghost me" to him and of course you don't have the capability to process this at the moment in your grief so you're like Whatever! but then on the night of said vigil louis proceeds to fuck off for several months where did he go? good lord how worrying. but then luckily he fucks back into the picture several months later when you host a little party! but he's got that blonde french fuckhead with him, who insults the banjo band you have in your front yard and is wearing a stupid little had but whatever! louis come inside please it's been forever. and also louis is wearing these little fucking sunglasses now so youre like Take those off what the fuck are those. and his eyes are all fucked up and Not Normal but you're like Whatever! and then he's like You Are Going To Have Twins and you're like What and he's like You Are Going To Have Twins It Will Happen ! and you're like I heard you the first time What and then he fucks off again with the blonde guy . but then turns out that you DO fucking give birth to fucking twins. you see louis and his gay ass sunglasses a few more times over the years but for the most part he's absent and also kicks your door down that one time with like. Way too much strength for a human being and also you've been hearing rumors on the town that your brother and The Worst Blonde Individual Known To Man are fagging it up homosexual style in their shared one-bedroom townhouse and and also why do you only ever see him at night? and you're not quite sure what Is Fucking Wrong with him so you think it over and you're like Hey I Think We Have To Disown This Guy .i know just how to do it let's put his gravestone in a graveyard and "bury" him and have an epic Surprise Grave Reveal when he comes over! because like what else can you do?? and then you never ever see him again . also it's like 1910
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fandomwritingbit · 1 year
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Okay last one- for now
Michael x female reader hate smut-
Michael is a straight up bully to reader, they always argue and never get along, but one night readers car breaks down confidently in front of his home- doesnt help that its raining so she is getting soaked, she tries calling her roommate but because its night they dont pick up.
Michael comes out to see whats going on and he spot her, he rolls his eyes and makes her get inside instead of staying in the cold, grumbling that he will fix it in the morning and she can sleep in his room, he even lets her have some of his clothes- but he makes her sleep on the floor, she refuses to saying its cold and after a bit of arguing he grabs her and kisses her quiet, telling her he knows a way to keep her warm if she wants
Reader consents and the rest is up to you 👀
Okay, so I’ve never written for Michael before... but I had way too much fun with this. I wrote it kind of like a comedy with smut because I get perverse enjoyment out of bullying Michael lmao. Hope it’s to your liking!  
Warnings: smut nsfw, vaginal sex, creampie god I hate that word swearing, bad car knowledge, reader and Mike are both kinda arseholes, Will cameo, a joke about a dead parent, yes ik it sounds bad, but give it a chance cos that’s funny af irl.
Driving home from the shop, you double flick the windscreen wipers as the hammering rain only gets worse. You’re already wet from the 10 seconds you spent outside, your jeans clinging uncomfortably to your legs and dampening the seat underneath you. 
Mumbling a ‘for fuck’s sake’, you turn down another residential road, still over two miles from your house, the quick nip out for fags having taken up way too much of your night. 
Its then that the worst sound possible could be heard. Your engine packing in, squealing like a stuck pig in a fence, followed by a juddering thud as you’re mercifully able to steer it up the curb outside a house, before it completely dies on you. To be honest, you’d know that this shit-raft hadn’t had long left but really, tonight? Right now? So far from home? After you’d just spent a fucking fortune fuelling up? Bleeding typical. 
You get out of the car, no umbrella or jacket to speak of and are wet to the bone before you can even get to the bonnet and peer inside. Seeing smoke depressingly coming from some part of the vehicle you couldn’t name. 
“What the Hell are you doing here?” Someone behind you says, emphasising the ‘you’ with disgust. Of course you turn, ready to give someone the mouthful of profanity you were saving for this limp cock of a car. You recognise the tallish, messy haired lad immediately and curse in annoyance. Fucking great: it’s Michael Afton. 
You found him such a silly ponce. And he you, a nasty prick. Having known each other since college and now finding yourself studying at the same Uni, your animosity towards each other having grown and matured into a smouldering hatred that caused arguments anytime you were in a room together. Only yesterday morning you’d given him a mouthful for how he’d acted towards you in a Costas. And so, seeing him now, you almost laughed at how this night probably couldn’t get any worse. 
“You’re really here to give me shit now?” You sigh, trying to keep a level head as he probably had a better chance of fixing this car than you. “My car’s dead as a dodo.” 
“That...” He smiles at you meanly, enjoying the sight of you soaked through and looking damn right miserable. “...is a shame.” He turns to walk up a drive into a house you assumed was his, grinning at your anguish. 
Giving him the wanker gesture behind his back, you pull out your phone, registering the sound of a front door closing, whilst your shaky, wet hands tried to dial your roommate. Eventually you succeed, but it goes straight to voicemail, their phone clearly dead or off. Leaving you stranded as your parents were out of town and no one else was local, it being summer hols and you being home from Uni. You put your hand on your head, desperately trying to find a solution to your freezing cold predicament. 
From inside his house, Michael peeked through his curtains surprised to see you still stood outside in the rain. Surely, you’d have the common sense to get back in your car or something. But no. He watched you looking like a stray cat for a few minutes before his decency took over and he goes to the door to see if you’re alright. 
“You standing there all night, y/n?” 
You laugh sharply, tears of frustration threatening to spill. “Just fucking might.” 
“You wanna come in while you wait for someone?” He says, sighing at having to spend time in the same building as you, but still feeling a shred of pity. 
“I ain’t got anyone to come get me.” You say, hands rising to an irritated shrug.
“Still wanna come in for a bit?” 
And although you’d usually rather stick a spork in your eye than sit around with Michael Afton, it beat standing here, or sitting in your car. But only narrowly. 
He leads you through his front door, showing you a bathroom and after you heavily hint, giving you some dry clothes to wear whilst your own dried on a radiator. You thank him reluctantly, going inside said toilet to put on the joggers and hoodie he’d given you. Scowling to yourself in the mirror as you can smell him on the clothes. 
You come out after promising yourself to not let him wind you round the bend. Finding your way to a kitchen, where stood leant against a counter, after nicely, he’d boiled a kettle for you. 
He hadn’t expected the movement in his trousers at seeing you in his clothes, it felt intimate and kind of sexy. And for a moment he just saw you as a good-looking lass, not the witch that had been haunting him for 4 years. 
“Thanks for the clothes and the hot drink- I appreciate it.” 
“Yeah, you should. I was tempted not to invite you in.” You smile sarcastically at him, walking over to the rack of mugs you’d spotted on the counter, grabbing some kind of fancy-arse tea bag. 
“I don’t know what I’m gonna do. My parents are out of town.” You briefly explain to him, using the mug to warm you aching hands. To which he stood silently, watching your arse in his trousers as you did so. 
“If you promise to keep your mouth shut, you can stay here.” He offers unenthusiastically.
“Why would I want to do that, Mikey?” You laugh.
“Feel free to go back out-fucking-side.” He gestures with his hand in the rough direction of the door, a very familiar sneer on his face. 
And what else could you do? Sleep in your car outside in a neighbourhood you didn’t know that well? So you agree, not hiding the look of despair the prospect gave you. Which only doubled when he told you his dad would be coming home so you’d have to sleep in his room. On the floor. Like a dog. 
~
He threw a couple of pillows on his carpet, then a paper-thin blanket, looking at you with a stupid smug expression on his stupid smug stupid fucking face.
After about 10 minutes of shivering on his floor, your back already throbbing from the lack of mattress, you grow tired of hearing the shit tik toks he was watching. 
“I can’t sleep here, this is ridiculous.” You sit up, making him jump a little at the abruptness. “What did you just shit yourself for? Forget I’m here?” You say somewhat meanly, a snicker accompanying it, standing up and cracking your neck.
“Shut up. Where are you gonna go like?” His voice takes on a cutting mocking tone, “Get in here with me?” 
You walk over to him, face a picture of annoyance. “That what you want Mike? Me to get in fucking bed with you?” You laugh, bringing you head down to his level as he was sat. “To think, all this time I thought you were a cunt to me because you hated me. When really you just want to fuck me.” Shaking your head, you point a finger at him, “God that’s fucking pathe-” 
Your further insults are cut short when he grabs you and kisses you harshly on the mouth, the only thing he could think to do to get you to shut the fuck up for once. And you’ll admit, you respected the bollocks on him for it.
Maybe it was the frustration of the night’s events. Maybe it was built up hate between the two of you boiling over. Neither of you are sure. But you let him pull you on to his lap, kissing him back, tongues and hands quickly becoming involved.  
You feel the urge to call him names when you feel the hardness of his cock pressing against the inside of your thigh. But you stifle it, grabbing his hand to make him take his hoodie off your frame, not having to tell him to do the rest because he did so quickly. Rushing to unhook your bra and palm your tits, whilst you pull up his shirt, then down his trousers to gain access to his cock. 
There was no finesse to it, just hurried grabbing and heated biting of lips of necks. Both of you wanting to assert some level of dominance and fuck each other before it dawned on you that you hate one another. And so, it wasn’t long before he yanked you forward to pull his joggers down and your knickers aside, his thick cock spreading you open as sit atop him. It surprised you how good it felt to have him thrusting up into you, whilst your hips rolled fuelled by dislike and desperate to cum almost immediately. 
You did when he pushed you back, making you lay backwards before climbing on top of you and shoving himself back inside you. The new angle more than welcome, making you grunt as your orgasm neared. Hitting you hard as a freight train when his pace doubled to selfishly chase his own release, which due to the tight fluttering of your walls was closer than he realised. 
“Oh fuck.” He spat, pressing you flat into his bed as you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist eager for more of his hammering pace. “That's it. Shi- God you feel fucking good.” You had it in you to laugh then, his whiney voice cracking as he neared his end enough to make you smirk. Though it was wiped from your face when his thrust faltered and stuttered as he came inside you, seemingly unbothered about the consequences. 
Though in that moment you didn’t think about that either, too focused on the feeling of his release inside you. 
It wasn’t the last time you’d be experiencing that tonight. 
~
The morning quickly rolled around, and you slip out of Michael's bed to go and get something to drink, more than thirsty after last night. Bare feet pattering on wooden floorboards, you struggle to find his kitchen again as the house was unfamiliar. Eventually you get there and with your now dry clothes in hand you sit down with a much-needed glass of water. 
You weren’t sat long when you register the sound of footsteps descending stairs, a prickle of dread as you thought it might be Michael. 
"Who the fuck are you?" A gruff voice makes you turn your head towards the door of the kitchen, where a bloke you'd never seen before stood.
"Could ask the same for you." You raise an eyebrow at his curtness. "I'm Michael's... mate." You half-arse explain. The man leans on the doorframe a look of disbelief crossing his face, before he walked into the room smirking and started messing about with a coffee machine.
"What's funny about that?" You ask looking at him, there was resemblance between the two, but Mike would look 10 years younger stood next to his dad. 
"Nothing." He looks you up and down. "Credit to him: you're alright." He answers through a smirk aimed at you. You just laugh, turning your attention to your phone. Not noticing when Mike came to find you.
Glancing up at him you give a nod of acknowledgement before going back to your scrolling. Completely missing when his father gestures towards you with his head, mouthing the word 'respect' to his son, who looked mortified.
"Stop being a dick, pa." Michael snapped. You look up to see what was going on, catching Mr Afton looking away from you with a laugh. And give Michael a raised brow smile, whilst his dad leaves the room, not without another glance in your direction.
"What are you grinning at?" His tone reaks of irritation. Only growing when you point to the empty door saying,
"THAT explains so much." Through a teasing laugh.
"Fuck off."
"I'm trying to, but there isn't a bus for half an hour. And my car is fucked, remember?" He rolled his eyes, going to the coffee machine himself and mumbling when asking you if you wanted some. You did and told him as such.
"Ay, thanks." You say as he sets it down in front of you. Having the curtesy to sit with you while you wait, lest his dad hear his footsteps and sneak in like a fox in a chicken coup.
"You alright?" You ask him, unused to the sensation of being pleasant with each other and so rejecting it, poking him in the ribs.
"Can you be quiet for like 5 fucking seconds?" Each word is near hissed at you.
"What kind of scene would this be, if I was?" You roll your eyes as you take a sip of the coffee he made you. Laughing as you thought of another way to piss him off. "You're one to talk anyway, with all the ‘talking’ you did last night." He turns to your words, face a clear warning.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck. That's it. Like that. Shi- God you feel fucking good-" You mock moan, accompanying it with a lewd gesture that made him look over his shoulder to check his dad hadn’t returned.
"Shut the fuck up!" He rises, "like you didn't have a good time." He says through a face of disgust. You continue giggling, loving how easy it was to wind him up.
"Practically drooling over my cock, like a dirty bitch." You just laugh again; he couldn’t even touch your feelings with that shit.  
Letting silence fall over the two of you, you go back to your phone, giving him a smidge of respite. But he throws it back in your face after a mere two minutes.
"Will you stop tapping your foot, its driving me fucking nuts." And there's your green light to go at him again.
"You're a prick sometimes, Mike." You say, shaking your head. "But your dad- oh, no. He's really hot. Like scary, but scary sexy you get me?"
"Yeah... so's your mam." He snaps, his cheeks red. Instantly looking down when Mr Afton pops back in for something, unsure if you'll continue prodding and dreading if you did.
"Uhhh... my mam is dead, really funny there, mate." You say, your face falling still, and voice cracking on the last part. His whole demeanour changes, as does his father who stands like he's at attention in front of the squadron leader, both as tense as a spring.
"Oh shit, really? I'm sorry I-" He starts, panic flooding his face as he thought you were going to cry.
You laugh out of nowhere, "No. she isn't, Mike. But your fucking face." Mr Afton laughs from across the room, coming over to see the fallout that was about to occur, seeing the indignation on his son’s face and being unable to pity him.
"Ah you've got to bring this one back, Michael. She's fucking class." He says, grinning like a wolf. Mike scowls, despising you even more for ribbing on him with his own fucking dad.
"I should kick you the fuck out." He says exasperated, filled with dislike for you again. Sitting back down but not looking at you.
"Uh.” Mr Afton interjects. “You are not kicking my future daughter-in-law out of this house." You smirk, surprisingly feeling a tickle of guilt at being such a cock to him. 
But you have a feeling that you'll make it up to him later.
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gnostiquette · 1 year
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the satan: oh foolish mortal...i greet you, to reveal your desires unto you! me: ok hey what's up the satan: i have decided to test you, to-day, to discern your commitment to The Good me: sounds great! so, do i have to reject a kingdom of glory and riches or refuse to jump off a building and make God save me or— the satan: oh no none of that. this'll be much simpler. i am going to present you with a series of ethical situations! ahahaha! me: oh sweet i think about these all the time the satan: perfect...it is time for The First Situation! now, picture a city that is so perfect, everyone is happy and no one is ever sad and there's cakes and festivals and orgies and— me: is this Omelas the satan: me: like this is just gonna be the Le Guin story with the kid in the basement right the satan: ...yeah. ok so there's the kid and the basement and there's the torture, ok yeah you know this one. right. so anyway...you have just learned about the kid being tortured in the basement. what is your judgement here? me: well uh, i guess i walk away the satan: aha but i didn't ask you what you'd do, did i? me: oh come on you tricky little fuck. ok. yeah this situation sucks the satan: and why, pray tell, do you say that is, despite all the happiness and nonsadness and cakes and festivals and orgies and whatnot? me: i suppose it's just that none of that shit justifies torturing a kid in a basement forever. also all that shit sounds kinda gay when you put it like that. like some weird Dutch fag shit the satan: ah. well, moving on, you whimsy-hating homophobe— me: what, just because i say that sounds like Dutch fag shit makes me homophobic? i'm gay you know i can call shit fag shit if i want the satan: —moving on, you would agree with the statement that whatever the consequence, it is inherently wrong to torture a child, hmm? me: well yeah that sounds about right the satan: aha...! me: wait why'd you make that noise the satan: wh-what me: that clicking noise. that was you right the satan: oh no no noise of things clicking into place emanated from my nostrils me: you worded that pretty weirdly, you know the satan: it's time for The Second Situation! you have cro— me: damn you just straight up evaded what i was saying the satan: —you have crossed The First Situation, i was saying, so now it is time for round two. ahem. now, firstly, would you agree that, in general, lying and stealing and cheating are bad? me: well, yeah. i don't like lying, and in general it seems pretty fucked up to cheat and steal the satan: so now you have come across a man in the street who is starving and wounded. after one hour he will die if he is not fed and treated for his wound. there is a store nearby but you are flat broke and have no pocket money, and begging isn't an option. even if you ask your friends to PayPal you they will not be able to get back to you for another two hours. the ER is too far away and there's too much traffic for an ambulance to arrive and take him there in less than an hour and a half, but there is a clinic nearby able to take anyone immediately. however the clinic only accepts people with insurance, and neither of you have an insurance card. you are, however, fairly confident that you can make up fake details that they would be willing to accept. me: what are you trying to write a Jacobin article or something. i'm already a socialist, you don't need to lay out how fucked up our healthcare system or whatnot is, i already know— the satan: okok sure this would never happen under socialism blahblahblah the point is what would you do in this situation me: but in the last one the point was my judgement not what i do. this is getting confusing the satan: DIFFERENT SITUATIONS HAVE DIFFERENT RULES OK?? GOD JUST LEAVE IT AT THAT FOR NOW God: OH HEY SATAN DID YOU JUST CALL UPON ME the satan: HOLD ON I'M STILL TESTING THIS GUY GIVE ME A SECOND God: OH OK THAT'S YOUR JOB AFTER ALL. I SHALL LEAVE YOU TO IT. JUST DON'T BE TOO MEAN
the satan: FUCK. ok. ok. anyway here's the question. assuming you're also relatively confident you can shoplift without getting caught, do you steal a couple things from the store for the man to eat and do you present fake information to the clinic to get them to accept the guy and treat his wound me: yeah totally. i don't want him to die or anything. i'd gladly do just about anything to save someone's life the satan: so in other words, doing bad things like lying, stealing, and cheating in order to accomplish a good thing such as saving a life is good, right? me: sure, i'd say so the satan: AAAAAHH-HAA! i have TRAPPED you! for your response to the first situation implies that good inheres in the act itself, regardless of consequences, and your response to the second implies that good inheres in the consequences of an act, regardless of the means!
me: i mean...not necessarily? like— the satan: wh-what do you mean, mortal me: well, perhaps i think the negative consequences of torture for the child far outweigh the positive consequences for everyone else the satan: what the fuck is that you're doing me: oh i mean you're doing red text, i figure i do blue text, i figure this is like an Umineko thing or whatever the satan: fine. sure. you can do that. whatever. none of this matters to me. why did i pick this fucking job in the first place me: the satan: ...ok, the townspeople get far more happiness than the kid gets suffering me: but what if suffering itself is worth more in moral accounting than happiness, for instance the satan: then how about this? in the second example, you could have caused the shop to shut down due to lost trust with the distributor! you could have caused the clinic to lose their licence over insurance fraud! those could have easily caused far more suffering than if the man simply passed out and died after an hour! me: that's...that sounds far-fetched, but you said it in red, so. ok what if good actually inheres in the character of the person doing the act, so a virtuous person would refuse to sanction torturing a child for the greater good and gladly steal and cheat to save a man's life the satan: virtue ethics is unable to provide actionable guidance! me: oh? the satan: all you can do is imagine what a virtuous person would do, and different people have wildly different imaginations! me: well hmm. that's fair. i'm not sure i could personally live with that, especially in an age where we're getting ever closer to potentially misaligned AI. what if there's rules that say you must never do some things but then other rules can be broken if there's something more important the satan: if those rules exist, then list them off and justify them to me >: ) me: uh, don't torture, don't rape...don't kill is up there, but what if you're killing someone to defend someone else...wait fuck no, what about bombing civilians to end a war, that doesn't sound justifiable at all...god damn it... God: OH HELLO YES I'M BACK the satan: NO FUCK NO WAIT NO God: HELLO DEAR SWEET MORTAL CHILD. IS MY EMPLOYEE BEING TOO HARD ON YOU? OH DEAR I CAN GIVE YOU AN ANSWER IF THIS IS GOING TOO POORLY the satan: oh come on please just let me do my job like normal God: MY DEAR LITTLE CREATURE I HOPE YOU KNOW YOU CAN SIMPLY RELY ON MY EDICT AND ALL THESE DILEMMAS BECOME AS DUST IN THE BROOM OF AN OLD FAT LADY me: why thank you, my Lord, but no matter how perfect You are, it remains that divine command theory is a fundamentally subjectivist theory that cannot provide a truly objective and impersonal basis for ethics, and subjective morality is not a risk i'm really willing to take God: BUT AREN'T I PERFECT FOR YOU AND ALL THINGS MY PRECIOUS LITTLE CREATION me: why, yes, but there's a small but persistent chance You're a figment of my imagination, just like the satan over here, and— the satan: hhHHEYYY NOW me: —and i know that You love righteousness, so really i'd rather continue pleasing You even if You weren't around to tell me what righteousness is God: WHY THAT IS VERY SWEET OF YOU. YOU KNOW WHAT I'M JUST GOING TO STRAIGHT UP LIFT YOU TO HEAVEN LIKE THAT MERRY OLD FELLOW FAUST me: wait huh the satan: w-wait Lord don't you think you're being a bit hasty in judgement a chorus of angels: [grabbing me and lifting me into the aether] ✧・゚: *✧・゚:*HE WHO STRIVES ON AND LIVES TO STRIVE CAN EARN REDEMPTION STILL*:・゚✧*:・゚✧ me: [rapidly disappearing into the sky, utterly bewildered] wait. hold on. hold up. wait,
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red-might-be-dead · 23 days
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hello hi here to force strange thoughts into your brain once again, this time about jrwi (wow who could’ve guessed)
been thinking about this for a little but it’s basically what i think some campaigns would be if not podcasts, i haven’t listened to some of the older ones so i’m sorry they’re not on here :(( if you have any ideas feel free to add them btw :DD
RIPTIDE!!!!! - really long animated series
not an anime though, no matter how much grizzly wants it, it would be an animation style where the characters could have very clearly different nose, face and body shapes, really pushing my riptide nose agenda here sorry, each episode would be like 20-40 minutes long and instead of coming out in seasons there would be massive gaps in between episodes, from 2-6 months long, to leave time for writers and animators to get stuff done (massive team of animators btw, i feel like it would be pretty successful)
PRIME DEFENDERS!! - comics
literally nothing else they could be, just really well made, well performing comics (i’ve already talked about this before you can stalk my talk tag if you really want to find it lmao), the comic company making them would be keeping well away from movies n shit btw
APOTHEOSIS!!! - i wasn’t really sure about this one to be honest
i had to ask my friend and she said anime which i don’t agree with but i can see it, i think maybe a short book series where each book is 150 - 300 pages and is about a different god they have to kill/a different episode, i think that works but if anyone has any better ideas please tell me :D!!
BLOOD IN THE BAYOU!!! - i hate to say it, i really do…
bitb would be a really long really good 80s horror book with strong homoerotic undertones, a satisfied fanbase and lots of active members in the community making fan comics, films, writing, theories and art ect… until well after the book came out……….. and then it would be made into the most egregious and awful live action movie you have ever seen, the most awful casting (like chris pratt as officer dudes….. throws up) and even worse sfx, oh yeah and the characters would be ruined and the story would become so butchered it wouldn’t make sense, they would do some shit like cut out becky so kian just kisses some random lady (removing both a really good and well written character and a layer of kian’s character that i think is super important) and make rolan really be an evil bug spy the whole time so rand has to kill him to save the town also add in a whole new sub plot that never existed like the rand family is secretly a long line of bug alien hunters or something fucking stupid like that and the entire fanbase would murder whoever thought re-writing the story was a good idea (ahaha can you tell ive been through something like this before ahahaha, character morals and motives being removed and whatnot ahahahhahahaha.)
anyways………
THE SUCKENING!!! - live action series
it would be well made though, unlike the bitb movie it would be its own original thing, have great makeup and effects also be well casted and well shot, well written, ect ect, it would bloody and gory and not suitable for people who can’t handle showing bones and organs all over everywhere, lots of shitty rip off merch would be made though and the fandom would be 99% gay little freaks (normal suckening enjoyers) and 1% homophobic straight white men who get mad whenever they see soda and emizel having gay sex on screen or whatever fag shit that biting thing was
again feel free to add your thoughts and ideas and shit in the reblogs it would be nice to read them :DD!!
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artiststarme · 1 year
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Ex-fucking-cuse you
Thank you to @carlyv for the title idea! I don’t know if I really like whatever this is but other people seem to so I’ll leave it be. Let me know what you guys are thinking in the comments!
~*~*~*~
Whenever he had shared his feelings in the past, he’d had them stomped on. From crushes to life goals, anyone he’d ever confided in had laughed in his face. The first memorable time had been when he told Tommy about his crush on Heath Sellers at recess in fourth grade. Tommy H. told him that he wouldn’t be friends with a fag and if he ever mentioned liking a dude again, he’d kick his ass. That circumstance really showed Steve that he couldn’t trust anyone. If he couldn’t share what he was thinking with his best friend, who else could he tell?
The second time was with Nancy Wheeler. Steve told her he loved her even though he knew it was too early into their relationship and he knew she was still grieving Barb. But he still told her and all she did for the first few times was call him an idiot afterwards. Steve loved too much and too hard. Sure, after a few weeks she said it back but Steve could tell it wasn’t genuine and was most likely said out of pity.
The fact that she called him bullshit just two weeks later kind of cemented that fact in his mind.
It made him feel sort of hypocritical. He told the kids to be open and honest, prided them on their communication. And then he neglected to do the same. He hid his nightmares and semi-suicidal thoughts behind an impenetrable wall that no one in the Party could breach.
Until Eddie.
For months, Steve hated Eddie because it felt like he was stealing the kids away from him. He was jealous that they shared a common interest that he couldn’t understand and was gearing up for the kids to leave him behind. But then, Eddie told him that the kids worshiped him and he’d been jealous too. Jealous of the cool babysitter that influenced their actions in DnD and could do no wrong.
Steve felt like Eddie could truly see him, could understand Steve, and liked what he saw. He could tell that Eddie was going to be a great friend of his, or more. He liked more.
But when he ran back to the trailer park after flambéing Vecna, he saw a blood soaked Eddie being cradled by Dustin. His slow paced jog turned into a full blown sprint. Steve yanked Eddie out of Dustin’s arms and made a mad dash towards the portal in his trailer. He wasn’t going to lose the one guy that made him feel more understood than anyone else had ever made him feel.
The girls and Dustin tearfully followed them but Steve couldn’t spare them any attention. He was solely focused on the sluggish bleeding of Eddie’s wounds.
“Ow, Harrington. Calm the fuck down.”
“Eddie?!” The metalhead’s eyes were blurry but somewhat focused on Steve’s face. “Hey man, you have to stay awake. When we get out of here, you can teach me all about your shitty yelling music and nerd game, okay?”
The blurriness lifted slightly as pure offense filled his face, “ex-fucking-cuse you. That “shitty yelling” is true music unlike your Tears for Fears garbage or whatever the hell else you listen to. I have taste. And yeah, Harrington. I will be teaching you Dungeons & Dragons when we get out of here. Lugging my body out of here when I was trying to make a noble sacrifice is disgraceful.”
“You’re not allowed to die, Eddie.” Steve said, panting with exertion and stress.
“That’s not up to you,” and then he passed out.
“Fuck!” Steve screamed. That fucking dramatic shit, if those were his last words, Steve would bring him back just to kill him again.
Steve’s feelings were threatening to overcome him as his hands shook while he put Eddie into the car. Nancy held one of them and gave him a look of meaning. “I’ll drive.”
“Um, yeah, yeah. Okay, thanks. Henderson! Keep pressure on his wounds. We need to stop the bleeding.” He desperately put pressure on the worst of the wounds on his torso and prayed to a god he no longer believed in.
And then they sped towards the hospital.
Steve was there when Eddie woke up, just as he had been in the four days he’d been unconscious while recovering from shock. He was trying to read the dancing letters in The Hobbit but when he looked up and met Eddie’s eyes, the book dropped from his hands.
“Didn’t take you for a fantasy nerd, Harrington.” Eddie mumbled, his voice hoarse but unwavering.
“We need to talk about your theatrics, man. You almost gave me a heart attack, Eddie.”
“Oh, we’re on a first-name basis now? If I’d known all I had to do was risk my life to be in King Steve’s court, I would’ve done it a long time ago.” Eddie smirked at him.
“I’m not a king anymore.” Steve said and shook his head. It’d been a long time since anyone had called him that and he didn’t like the way it sounded on Eddie’s lips either.
“My apologies, Steve. You’re not a king, you’re a paladin. And that’s better than any noble.” Eddie said wisely.
Steve had no idea what the fuck any of that meant or what a pal-man was but he could listen to Eddie rant at him for hours as long as he kept looking at him like that. His face was fond and his lips, though scarred with a vicious bite marring their softness, smiled softly at Steve.
He coughed a bit to clear his throat and tore his eyes from Eddie’s lips to his amused eyes. “Um, do you said you were going to explain your screamy metal shit?”
That got Steve his desired reaction and Eddie squawked. “You motherfucker-”
As Steve listened to his enraged ranting, he made himself a promise. He was going to be more like Eddie. He was going to be more free with his feelings and he would find a way to talk to his friends about them. But for now, he’d listen to Eddie’s virtriolic soliloquy about the merits of metal artists and the importance on nonconformist music in “this sweaty armpit of a state”. And Steve couldn’t be happier.
@doubleb11 @nburkhardt @zerokrox-blog @newtstabber @carlyv
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ohsalome · 8 months
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"Khokhol (this is the slur russians use agains ukrainians) nazis can only play with their anuses. What is this going to be, fag festival with swastica? And who is founding this? Fans of nazi pigs with yellow-vomit rag?"
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"Is this another attempt of begging for more money for laundering?"
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"Fucking dogpigs"
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"Khokhols are fags, stop khokhol, country 404 shouldn't exist, hillibilles don't know how to make games" (this particular message was spammed in many games, I will not showcase its every repetition)
(jfc imagine being this mad about a cozy bunny game)
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"Khokhlovpiteks on the screen"
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"Glory to russia"
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September (ru): "You are spoiling the game indurstry with these feces only to gather money for your Mykolas and Tarases (in russian, this is supporsed to be a demeaning stereotypical general name for ukrainians, somewhat similair to how americans harrassing asian people would call them "ching changs"). You are incapable of creating anyting concrete. You all have pig lard in your heads ( ukrainians being obsessed about pig lard is yet another xenophobic anti-ukrainian stereotype used by russians)."
Remy Azphel (ukr): "Seems like you aren't as brave as you try to seem, not risking to become meat in trenches) God forbid a real drone gets you)
Neurofixer (ru): In the meantime, yet another Striker (fighting vehicle used by Ukr army) is burning from Lancets (russian UAV) XD
September (ru): and geraniums are blooming in Kyiv (Geran-2 is another drone used in russian attacks on Ukraine)
Neurofixer (ru): why don't you collect the stinky corpses of your soldiers?
Neurofixer (ru): this game is dumber than the khokhols ffs _____________________
In conculsion: I find it really exceptional how putin, while single-handedly fighting in every battle on Ukrainian frontier and personally commiting every single war crime, has managed to find time to create hundreds of bot accounts and personally spam ukrainian game streams with hate speech and slurs; because obviously it couldn't be "simple russians", after all, every single russian is a pure innocent soul which by nature is not capable of evil (actual quote by pope francis), and, as westerners who don't know a single word in russian never tire of condenscendingly tell me, they would never, ever, ever go out of their way to harrass ukrainian gamedevs and totally would not brag about their army's attacks on our civillian sites, nonono #notallrussians
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originalfatfiction · 29 days
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Mason's Gain
Mason Megalos had been my best friend for over a decade when everything fell apart. I still hadn’t gotten over how suddenly we went our separate ways. Like many sexually confused adolescents, I had fallen in love with my best friend. We were both boys, and I had come to realize my love for him was one of the worst things that could have ever happened. I heard how other guys talked. I knew that liking Mason wasn’t something I could act on. 
We’d been about a month into our freshman year when I felt him slipping away from me. He had joined the football team and started hanging out with a bunch of his misogynistic, homophobic, and slightly racist teammates. Most people would say these guys were harmless, but I knew that the longer Mason hung around them, the more influence they’d have over his ideologies. He was being brainwashed! I had to win him back over from the dark side.  
Mason wasn’t a hateful person, and I was determined to come out to him before it was too late. I trusted him more than anybody in the whole world; I genuinely believed with every fiber of my being that we’d be able to work through my teeny-tiny crush on him (okay, so maybe it wasn’t the teeniest or the tiniest, and I was a hundred percent head-over-heels in love with him, but I digress). I figured he’d reject me amiably and we could continue our friendship, but unforeseen circumstances had prohibited my confession indefinitely. 
We’d been at my house. I had been avoiding coming out to him, as there was always something stopping me. The reasons were always stupid, like the fact there was an X-Men movie marathon coming on TV and we just had to watch it together. Like many high school aged boys, Mason sometimes referred to stuff as gay, in reference to things he considered stupid or slightly feminine. It had gotten way worse since he’d been hanging around his new friends. At one point he said it about some commercial on the TV. I felt that anxious feeling I often got, but this time I didn’t let it stop me. 
 “Mason, I’m gay,” I’d told him. I blurted it out, really. It wasn’t my finest moment; it wasn’t what I’d practiced a million times in the bathroom mirror. 
He looked at me for a while, assessing me, and then he got up and left. With no words of encouragement or disapproval. 
October 11, 2008 would forever be ingrained in my mind as the day Mason walked out of my life and never looked back. I’d really thought he was different. I’d really thought that I could tell him about my authentic self. I had never even got to mention the fact that I had a crush on him, which was probably for the best. 
He hadn’t been the person I thought he was.  
If losing Mason as a friend wasn’t bad enough, I was now still dealing with the repercussions of coming out. It had been three years since then.
Yes, three years of Mason’s new friend group taking every possible opportunity to terrorize me for being gay. They’d beat me up from time to time, throw slurs at me, or make homophobic jokes knowing there was nothing I could do or say to stop them. I didn’t want to make excuses for Mason, because the fact he had been such a terrible friend was inexcusable, but he never directly harassed me like his underlings; he just sort of had dominion over them, which was slightly less awful. Seriously, I think it was worth something that he never beat me up or said anything mean to me (at least not to my face). It was easier to handle his passive attitude in regard to my situation.
Those dumb jocks and future gas station attendants all looked to Mason for approval. He’d become their God—the coolest, the most handsome, the almighty. I bet if he stood up for me at least once, my days at school would go a lot smoother. I hated myself for it, but I just couldn’t let go of my idealized version of him. I told myself he didn’t mean what he did or said. I told myself that there was still good in him. Even though it killed me to hear him laugh when his friends called me a fag or a homo, I believed Mason didn’t really think I was disgusting.
I still thought he was attractive. It wasn’t like I was blind. We might not have been best friends anymore, but I lusted after him just the same as I had before. Mason had an olive complexion and it always seemed like he was glowing, like he was an angel or something. Mason’s parents were Greek, having moved to America before he was born. He had this curly brown hair that he took excellent care of now that he was older (when we were younger it was always messy). His eyes were green. His lips were full. He had the most beautiful smile. It was almost the most attractive thing about him.
The most attractive thing about Mason was his butt. He had the best ass I’d ever seen. It’s what I always looked at when I could take a clandestine glance. I had looked at his butt so frequently, I could probably pick it out of a police lineup.
“Yes Officer,” I’d say. “Butt number three is Mason’s. The sheer size of the cheeks makes it obvious, and the dimples on his lower back are also a dead giveaway.”
 He was taller than me, and he definitely had to be over six feet by now. I was 5’9” and weighed only about 160 pounds. Mason on the other hand had really buffed up in our years distanced from one another; I would have to guess he was around 200 pounds. He’d been a pudgy kid, but when he joined the football team freshman year, they worked all of his extra weight into muscle. Seeing him change so much really stung, not having gotten the chance to change along with him.
I had to continuously remind myself that none of these things mattered anymore. He could be extraordinarily hot with the best ass in the entire country, but that didn’t change the fact that he hated me for something I couldn’t control. He abandoned a valuable friendship and allowed others to belittle me. My mom had told me growing up, in a somewhat blunt way I’d grown used to, “Not everybody is your friend. Sometimes people can surprise you in the worst ways possible.” I never, and I mean never, thought my mother’s pessimistic wisdom would apply to my relationship with Mason.
We were about two months into senior year, and today in English IV, the last class of the day, I noticed Mason talking to a troll named Bret Phelps. This guy was possibly the worst of the group. The others just called me names, having grown tired of wasting energy beating me up, but he felt compelled to hunt me down and physically assault me every other day. I made my way to my locker as quickly as I could and made a mad dash for my bike. 
Today I was going to make it.
I was trying to be positive, which wasn’t always easy. It was a quality I admired in others, so I tried my best to emulate that positivity. I was determined to hold my head up high and to be optimistic. I knew things would one day get better, even if I had to put up with Mason’s posse until graduation. 
Today I wasn’t going to get punched anywhere on my body.  
 I approached the bike rack quickly, wanting to make it off campus unscathed. The closer I got to where the bikes were housed, the more noticeable was the form of a guy leaning casually on an adjoining pillar.
It was Bret. Damn.
He had to have forgone stopping at his locker. He’d come directly here after the bell rang to wait for me. He must have really been in a sour mood if he wanted to catch me so badly.
I had to be strong. Even if I wanted to whine and cry and beg for him to leave me alone, I couldn’t. I refused to give him or any of his asshole friends the satisfaction of breaking me down. I was immune to this. I just had to accept my beating and he’d move on. At first, I fought hard every single time, but he’d still pummel me. That was when I came to realize that if I didn’t show emotion, he’d give me a swift punch in the gut and go about his day. I wasn’t going to give the sadist the pleasure he oh so desired. It wasn’t fun fighting someone who didn’t react. 
“Hello Oliver,” he said, smiling. His front tooth was slightly chipped, and I hoped it was from someone punching him in the mouth. “You were like the first one out of class. I hope you didn’t think you were going to miss me today.” He was shorter than Mason but taller than I was. He was a stocky guy, and if I didn’t hate him so much, I’d be willing to admit that he was almost-maybe-possibly attractive.
 “Hey Bret,” I said in an even tone, keeping my head down, not making eye contact. “I really have to get going.” 
“This isn’t going to take long.” 
He walked towards me. I closed my eyes and tensed my ab muscles waiting for him to sock me in the stomach.
“I’ll handle him today.”
It was Mason’s voice. I opened my eyes slowly, letting out a deep breath and relaxing my abs. Was he going to start beating me up too? I didn’t think I could handle it if he decided he was so disgusted by me that he had to resort to physical violence.
 “Yeah, okay Mason,” Bret said, reverting to his beta-male status. “You’ve got to make sure you get him in the gut, just like he likes it.” With that, Bret walked off, glad to be told what to do—but not before punching me in the arm as hard as he could.
“Thanks,” I said, rubbing my arm as I made my way over to my bike. I kneeled down and began putting in the combo for my bike lock.
“Don’t mention it,” he said, like he’d done me the biggest favor. 
I looked up at him from the ground, and he looked like a giant. I felt really nostalgic looking up at him. Mason used to fight people for saying that I was gay. He used to defend my honor like I was a high society lady in a Victorian romance novel. But that didn’t matter anymore. He was a regular human being who made stupid human being decisions. I had to stop romanticizing the present with memories of the past.
I stayed silent. I didn’t know how to talk to him anymore. Why was he still standing there? I wanted him to leave so I wouldn’t have to feel so on edge.
“You want a ride home?” he asked.
Was he being for real? He only ever talked to me in class, and that was if it was mandated by the teacher. Now he was offering me a ride home? I wanted to say something biting and sarcastic, but nothing good would come from it. That wasn’t who I was or who I wanted to be. I did my best to push through the bitter feelings.
“No,” I said, my voice flatter than I meant it to be. I didn’t want to sound upset or anything, but I was struggling to temper out my emotions. “I have my bike.” 
This was the first time in a long time I was alone with him. It made me think of that day in October three years ago when everything changed. I hated how this was forcing me to recollect our final moments together as best friends.
“We can put it in the back,” he said matter-of-factly. I knew he was talking about his Jeep, but I still pictured his ass.
I was silent again, and he just smiled at me, like he knew I was going to accept his offer. This was how things had been in elementary school, middle school. He’d always been able to charm me into doing whatever he wanted. Even now as he began to saunter off, expecting me to follow, I couldn’t stop myself from bending to his will.
“Let’s go,” he said, jerking his head slightly in the direction of the student parking lot.
“Yeah okay, sure,” I mumbled, internally berating myself for being so easily swayed by him.
I followed him over to his Jeep. It was an older model, some of the burgundy paint peeling off. The inside smelled like he did; I took multiple deep breaths. He still remembered how to get to my house. The trip was for the most part silent, which gave me time to run scenarios, and they all ended badly, with some terrible prank that would awaken my latent telekinetic powers akin to my homegirl Carrie White. 
“Casa de Bailey.” 
I felt myself jump slightly, having been lost in my Stephen King fantasies.  
“Thanks,” I said, hopping out of the passenger’s side. 
I put my bag on and walked towards the rear of the Jeep. I didn’t think he’d get out of the car, but he met me at the back and removed my bike for me. As he set it down on the pavement, I took in how strong his arms looked and how the sleeves of his t-shirt were being eaten by their size. He had biceps. He had triceps. If there were any other muscles in the upper arm, he had those too. 
“Can I ask you something?” What could he want to ask me? He’d probably request that I transfer schools so he wouldn’t have to look at his loser ex-best friend anymore. 
“Sure,” I said, my voice cracking slightly, not knowing where this was going and not really wanting to find out. “You can come inside.” I started around back to put away my bike; he followed. I put my bike in the garage and unlocked the back door. I walked up the three steps into the kitchen and offered him something to drink.
“Milk, if you have it.” I poured him a large glass and he began to gulp it down. He was so white, drinking milk like it was actually good. I used to give him such a hard time about it. “Thanks,” he said, wiping away a milk mustache with his forearm.
“So, what did you want to ask me?” I was curious, seeing as we hadn’t really spoken in years. 
“Oh yeah,” he said. I took in his thick eyebrows, which were furrowed in seriousness. I wanted to stroke his brows with my fingers, to feel his face in my hands. I bet his skin was soft. He frowned and it made me a little worried. 
“What?” I asked. “You’re okay, aren’t you?” I still cared about him and his well-being. Maybe it was idiotic of me to still be so devoted to a person that ignored my sufferings, and maybe I should have ignored Mason in return, but my gut instinct was to be concerned.
“Here’s the thing,” he started, “I’m kind of failing English and I was wondering if you could help me out. Bret and the other guys are barely passing, and you’re so smart, I figured you’d be the best person to tutor me.” He paused for a moment, glancing at me. “I don’t want anyone to know.”
“That I’m helping you or that you’re failing English?” I asked, to clarify. 
“Both,” he blurted out quickly. 
We stood in an awkward silence. I felt my face go hot and was slightly embarrassed. He didn’t want people to know he was even interacting with me. It was kind of degrading, and I needed to have some self-worth and tell him that I had more value than that. That was what I should’ve done, but I was weak, and he was hot.
“Okay,” I said like a dope. I smiled, trying to lighten the mood. “I’ll help you out.”
“Thanks dude,” he said, a sound of relief in his voice. “You good to meet here after school?”
“Yeah, like what, Tuesdays and Thursdays?” 
“Nah, every day. At least until I get my grade up. My parents lost their shit when they got my progress report.” Every day? That was going to take up a lot of time, and I may not have had much else to do, but I couldn’t believe he just imposed his own tutoring schedule on me. 
“Yeah,” I said, even more like a dope. “No problem.”
“Well, I have to go,” he said suddenly. I turned to get the milk, ready to offer him another glass of moo juice, but he was gone out of the back door before I could get the words out.  
“See you later,” I said aloud to myself, putting the milk back in the fridge. 
If I put my self-respect and righteous anger aside, this was fantastic. I’d get to talk to Mason every day. I’d get to look at his gorgeous face and body every day. I’d get to imagine, even though it was ridiculous, that we were still best friends. He had come to me for help. That just proved that there was still a connection between us. Maybe, in his own odd way, Mason was trying to rekindle our friendship.
I had noticed in the previous weeks that he looked bigger than usual. I thought it was just my mind playing tricks on me, but being able to look at him without having to avert my eyes confirmed it. 
He was growing. 
I’d heard he quit the football team. Everyone had heard he’d quit the team. It was the hottest gossip for the entire first month of school. I knew he still exercised, having heard him mention to Bret he worked out with his uncle every night, trying to get into powerlifting. I didn’t know what that entailed, but it sure sounded like something I wanted to see. I was getting an erection just thinking about Mason possibly getting a bit of a belly to go along with the sheer size he was already putting on. 
I realized I’d been keeping tabs on him without really meaning to. If his name was brought up, I listened. I was still invested in his life, and this new arrangement was going to potentially put me in a dangerous situation.
The fact he’d be coming over again tomorrow got me feeling nervous. I didn’t want things to feel awkward. I wanted to do something nice for him to show I wasn’t holding a grudge or anything (even if I was still a little pissed at him). All hadn’t been forgiven, but maybe this was the start to an important conversation. 
I decided to go shopping for some snacks. He’d always been a big eater, and he’d probably need some brain food if we were to be studying. He liked potato chips and submarine sandwiches.
(“You gotta really pack on the ingredients,” he’d told me when we were younger. “I’m talking about a ridiculous amount of meat and cheese. Oil, mayo, mustard, pickles, lettuce, tomatoes.”  
I stared in astonishment at the monstrous sandwich he had constructed. It looked big enough to feed three people. This was a sandwich Scooby and Shaggy would excitedly devour. 
“You really think you can eat all of that?” I asked.
“You don’t think I can Oli?” he asked, smirking. 
“I think you can. You can do anything!”
“That’s right,” he said. “You wanna watch demolish this thing?” 
“Yeah,” I said, feeling oddly attracted to him in that moment. It was a moment that definitely raised a red flag for me. Why had I been so invested in his display of gluttony?
He finished that entire sub and a bag of family sized chips. His dad came home after a long day of work looking for the ingredients to make himself a sandwich. “Where’s the deli meat?” Mr. Megalos asked in his Greek accent.
“I ate it all, Dad,” Mason replied, not even embarrassed. Mr. Megalos playfully smacked Mason on the back of the head before sending us to the store to buy some more turkey breast. Mason used the change to buy us a package of oatmeal cream pies. Before I even got the chance to have a second one, he’d eaten the rest of them on our walk home. 
I was glad that he did.)
The next day at school I really wanted to talk to Mason, but I didn’t want to get ahead of myself. I waited the day out and went to get my bike. Mason, not Bret, was leaning on the pillar near the bike rack.
“Hello,” I said, a little bit uneasy. He probably didn’t want my help anymore. He probably realized he could find someone else to tutor him. 
“What’s up, Oli?” he asked, smiling like everything was normal between us. Nobody called me Oli anymore. Just hearing him say my name with a smile on his face was enough to give me the vapors. I felt like flinging myself into his muscled arms, swooning.
“Nothing much.” I smiled back at him nervously. “I’m still meeting you at my house, right?”
“Yeah, definitely.” He looked at me seriously. My heart must have skipped a beat. “I told Bret to back off. If he fucks with you again, just let me know. Got it?” 
 “Ye—yeah,” I stammered. “Thanks a lot.” He was so hot when he was serious. He furrowed his brow in a way that made him look slightly angry. I bet he’d make a similar face while having sex.
“See you soon,” he said, swaggering off towards where his car was parked. I took in his wide back and beefy behind. He didn’t even carry a bookbag; he just had a folder, a couple of notebooks, and the novel we were reading in class. This was probably why he was failing.   
I unlocked my bike, mounted it, and rode off towards home. Relief swept over me at the thought of being Bret-free. I continued to pedal and felt myself come alive. I loved riding my bike; I was pretty fit because of it, with muscular thighs and a firm, round ass. My ass was definitely a first runner up to Mason’s glorious cakes. It was nearing the end of October and when it started to snow, I would have to swap my tires for better traction. I thought about Mason on the ride home and what I wanted to do to him. I hated wanting him so badly, but I loved it at the same time. Crushes were so weird that way. It was starting to consume me, yet I didn’t really mind it.  
He was sitting on the front steps when I got there.
“Oli,” he said, standing to meet me at the path to the backyard. He had his hand in his shirt, scratching his tummy. He moved his hand away. “Why don’t you have a car?” His voice was getting to me. I missed hearing his voice more than I realized.
“I can’t afford a nice Jeep like you,” I said a little sarcastically. He laughed, catching my slight insult to the Jeep that had once belonged to Mr. Megalos. It was given to Mason for his birthday last year. I remembered Mr. Megalos driving us to elementary school in that thing, so to see Mason driving it now was kind of funny. “You know it’s just me and my mom.”
“You could get a job,” he suggested. “There are lots of cheap cars. I’d help you look for one.” Mason had always liked cars and that sort of thing. His dad and Uncle Galvin owned an auto shop that Mason helped out in. Galvin was the same uncle he’d been working out with.
“I live like eight blocks from the school and I never go anywhere,” I said, feeling more at ease the longer we were around one another. “But if I ever do start looking for a car, I’d hope the offer would still stand.”
“Of course,” he said. “Consider it payment for your services.” I had put my bike away during our conversation. I opened the back door, and we went inside. 
“You can go up to my room,” I said. He knew the way.
I walked over to the fridge and looked at the array of supplies I’d picked up yesterday. I’d gone overboard for sure, but I removed the ingredients and placed them on the counter. I bought provolone cheese, turkey breast, and honey roasted ham. I’d even gone so far as to buy hoagie rolls and herb-seasoned submarine oil. I stuffed those hoagie rolls full of meat and cheese and veggies, just like I knew he liked his sandwiches—at least I knew he liked them this way years ago. I cut them in half and placed them on a plate, pouring some original flavored Ruffles in a bowl. I also put half a sleeve of Oreos on a separate plate and poured two glasses of milk. 
I carried the tray carefully as I made my way up the stairs to my room. Entering, I saw he was sitting at my desk, holding a photo of us at the beach when we were in the seventh grade. I walked over to him and set the tray down next to him on my desk.
“You still have this?” he asked, smiling. I looked over at the picture in his hand. His arm was around my shoulder and we both smiled wide at the camera. He had always been taller than I was, and this was before he lost his baby fat.
“Yeah,” I said shakily. I felt lame all of a sudden, still holding on to something he probably considered a piece of junk. “Could you please put it down?” 
The frame was even more special than the photograph; Mason had made it for me, painting the phrase “Best Buds” in big, sloppy letters on the bottom, seashells and starfish glued all around the rest of the frame. He had burned his fingers so badly using the hot glue gun he wore bandages for a week. I remember how proud he was of his craftsmanship.
“Sorry,” he said, laughing. He carefully put the picture frame back in its place before picking up a cookie, popping the whole thing in his mouth. “I didn’t mean to make you all tense.” 
“I’m not tense,” I said, sounding incredibly tense. He chewed, smirking slightly. I needed to get a grip. I was going to ruin everything if I didn’t chill out. I took a deep breath. “I thought a small snack would help you focus better.”
“This is a small snack?” he asked.
“I just—I remembered you had a big appetite.”
“You remembered right,” he said, reaching for one of the sandwich halves and taking a colossal bite. I felt even more embarrassed. Did he remember anything about me? Did he ever think about me at all?
“Yeah.” I sighed.
“You know Oli,” he started, his mouth half full. “I never stopped eating big, but I’ve definitely kicked it into overdrive since quitting football. If I don’t slow down, I’m gonna get fat again like in that photo.” His free hand absent-mindedly rubbed his stomach. It was like he was toying with me. He took another large bite of the sandwich. “I already eat like garbage, but I started a bulking cycle recently, really pushing myself to put on some mass. I think I’ve already put on ten pounds.” Ten pounds was kind of a lot, seeing as he had quit the football team only a little over a month ago.
“You—you carry the weight well,” I said, aroused. “You don’t look fat to me.” He had finished his first half and grabbed another.
“Are you kidding?” he asked, grabbing his slightly protruding paunch and shaking the small bit of belly he was sporting. “I eat way too much Oli.”
“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that,” I said, trying not to discourage a habit I wanted him to continue.
“Get this, I ordered two large pizzas from Domino’s the other weekend and finished both of them. It was one of those deals where you save a ton of money if you get the two larges. I’m a sucker for deals like that.”
“Who isn’t?” I asked, watching him alternate between bites of the sandwich and the potato chips.
“When I got to the last slice, I was pissed. I wasn’t even full.”
“Wow Mason,” I said, trying not to sound too enthusiastic. “When you put it like that, it does sound like a lot.”
“I was lucky my mom had made two trays of pastitsio the night before.” He lifted his shirt and showed me his belly, feeling the need to prove to me that he was indeed packing on the pounds. He was kind of hairy, and I liked it. He grabbed at his tummy with his strong hands, shaking it again, uncovered. I just wanted to feel his stomach in my own hands. I needed to know what it felt like. “This gut is brought to you by pastitsio, pizza, and protein shakes.”
He left his shirt up as he reached for another portion of the sandwich. I watched from my bed with my legs closed tight, as he bit, chewed, and swallowed, repeating the process until he moved on to the next serving. His large hands made those hefty sandwiches look like dainty finger food at a garden party. He pulled at his t-shirt, covering himself.
“You don’t wanna see that,” he said, laughing, his cheeks reddening slightly. He grabbed a handful of the salty chips and shoved them into his mouth. I imagined his hands grabbing a handful of my ass.
I didn’t know how I was going to be able to get through these tutoring sessions. He was pornographic. I was rock hard, my dick straining against my jeans. I was hoping I’d soften up enough before I had to stand. He kept going and going until he was chugging the glasses of milk. Only a couple of cookies remained on the plate.
“How—uh, how much do you weigh?” I asked.
“I don’t really know. You got a scale?”
“Yeah, it’s in the bathroom,” I said, affirming that I had one.
“Let’s do this,” he said, standing. I wiggled a little before getting up, making sure to minimize the obviousness of the boner in my pants. When I was out of sight, I took the time to tuck my penis into the waistband of my underwear, so it was angled upwards, and the front of my pants was flat. I brought the scale from my bathroom, praying he hadn’t noticed I was still semi-erect.
“How much did you weigh?” I asked.
“207 pounds at the pre-season weigh-in back in August,” he said, walking towards where I placed the scale in the middle of my bedroom. I sat on my knees near where the number would be displayed. He stepped on the scale and I glanced at the reading. “What’s the damage?” he asked, standing perfectly still.
“Well, um—that’s something.”
“How much?”
“Maybe this thing is busted, but it says you weigh 226 pounds.” My dick throbbed as I said it. What was so hot about Mason putting on weight like this? It wasn’t just muscle that turned me on, but also fat. I hoped his bulking cycle never ended.
“Shit,” he said, his tone surprised yet slightly satisfied. “I’m gonna be huge if I don’t start slowing down with all this eating.” I swallowed, hard.
I couldn’t help him study today. I’d get better at putting up with his natural eroticism, but today couldn’t be helped. He needed to leave before I came in my pants. I could feel pre-cum starting to coat the lower half of my stomach.
“I’m not feeling good all of a sudden,” I said. Mason stepped off of the scale. I couldn’t think straight, and I was for sure too turned on to focus.
“Really, why?” he asked.
“Like I just got a headache out of nowhere.” I was going to cum any second. It’d take me five strokes tops with how I was feeling, but I knew I’d want to go again immediately.
“Oh shit,” he said, picking up his stack of materials. “You gonna be okay?”
“I probably just need to take some Tylenol and get a nap in before it gets too late.”
“Okay.” He grabbed the rest of the Oreos. “You don’t mind, do you?”
Did I mind? Of course I didn’t mind. I was apparently some sort of freak who wanted him eating constantly. “No, go ahead,” I said. He smiled at me appreciatively before popping one of the cookies in his mouth. I walked him to the door, and we said our goodbyes.
I ran back upstairs and got undressed. I stepped onto the scale, which was still in the middle of my bedroom floor. I weighed myself: 159 pounds.
Mason was 67 pounds bigger than I was. I ran my hand over the shaft of my penis. I gave it one pump, two pumps. Fuck, I was picturing his gut in his hands. Three pumps, Four pumps. He had eaten everything on that tray. I pictured Mason getting bigger and beefier. That’s what did it; I came in thick spurts all over myself.
Tomorrow was going to be tough.
It didn’t get any easier controlling my sexual compulsions when Mason came by for tutoring. It had been two weeks since he first asked for my assistance, and I helped him with his papers and worksheets. We also spent time reading. He was so damn cute. He’d whisper things to himself about what was happening in whatever he was annotating. I had heard him say “no way” or “what” at least once per chapter.
I thought this stuff was all really easy, and I was shocked at how he let his grade fall so low in less than two months of school. He must not have done any type of work for this class until now. I considered the fact that he had a social life and lots of friends to distract him from school. I, on the other hand, spent my free time making flashcards and watching reruns of Chopped and Good Eats. Mason had always been the largest component of my social life, so when he went away, so did any potential high school social plans.
Each study visit I always had a tray with different types of snacks. I kept in mind that Mason was a big eater, and the portions remained hearty and plentiful. It was a Friday study session with an essay due on Monday.
“I’m just going to have to come back tomorrow, maybe even Sunday.” He laughed. “I’m totally hopeless.”
“Don’t say that,” I said, being stereotypically positive. “I think you’re doing great. Did you ask Mr. Gonzalez what your grade was?” He asked every Friday.
“D-plus,” he said with his typical furrowed brow. He sighed and began tossing books into his bag (which I told him he needed to start carrying). I stood silent for a moment, contemplating what I should say. “If he wasn’t such a dick and took late work, I wouldn’t have to stress so hard over this.” I wanted to make him feel like the work he was doing was valuable. I saw that he was improving; I just wished he could see it too.
“You’ve got to think about it like you’re lifting weights, you know? You could barely lift anything at the start, but with hard work and dedication you can lift things you never thought possible. You had a thirty percent two weeks ago, and you’re telling me you’ve been able to get that up over a sixty-five? Just imagine where you’ll be in just one more week, a month from now, even. You’ll have the buffest, strongest grade ever.”
“You think so?” he mused. He sat silently for a moment as he pondered what I had just said. He smiled. “I guess you’re right. Thanks Oliver.”
He lifted his hulking frame out of my desk chair and strode over to where I stood. He wrapped me in his beefy arms and gave me a bear hug. I could feel my entire body tingle in pleasure as I felt Mason for the first time in forever. I didn’t dare ruin it by trying to hug him back. My hands at my side, I could feel his warmth, I could smell the chips he ate and the aftershave he wore. They mixed together in a scent that was uniquely Mason. His arms were so solid, as was his slight gut. It was so brief, but it made me the happiest guy in the world. “You have always been the smartest person I know.”
“Thanks—thanks a lot.” He let me go and grabbed his bag. “Do you think you might want something more substantial to eat tomorrow or just a snack? I could definitely make you a meal if you wanted.”
I was doing way too much. The snacks were one thing, completely hospitable, but now I was offering to make him dinner? Did Bret do things like this for him? His other football friends? I was not being very hetero.
“Really?” he asked, shockingly excited. “Do you remember in sixth grade when you wanted to be a chef?” I spent that entire year working through a kid-friendly cookbook. I even started going off-script, coming up with some of my own recipes (though they were just derivative of other things I’d learned from the cookbook). I doubted Mason knew he was the reason I wanted to learn how to cook.  
“Yeah,” I said. “I cooked a different recipe every day for like nine months. You ate dinner at our house every other day before eating the dinner your mom made.” He laughed at the memory.
“I gained like twenty pounds during that,” he started, “but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it. You’re the reason I was able to grow up big and strong.” He rubbed his gut absent-mindedly. He was always doing that, and it drove me damn near insane.
“Stop playing,” I said, laughing.
“I’m serious!” he said. We began walking down the stairs towards the front door. We continued planning for the following evening of studying. “I want that chicken and cheese thing you made. Now that was delicious.”
“I could do that.”
“How’s seven for you?” he asked. “I’ve got to help my dad in the shop for a bit and then I’m gonna go lift with Uncle Galvin.”
“That works for me,” I said. “Sounds like you’ll be hungry.”
“Hell yeah,” he replied enthusiastically. “Night Oli.”
“Goodnight Mason,” I said, closing the door behind him.
What was my life? Just like every night after he left, I had to take some time to masturbate. When I finished, I saw it was almost ten. My mom would be back soon. I’d watch whatever was on the Food Network and think about seeing Mason again until she got home.
As happy as I was, I couldn’t help serving myself a much-needed reality check. I wanted to believe that things were going great. We were spending lots of time together and vibing really well. He actually remembered the Oli Cheesy Chicken Special. But we still didn’t speak to one another at school. It was like our relationship existed solely in my bedroom. How well could things be going for me if I was just the gay nerd who overfed him and made sure he didn’t fail English?
I woke up around six the next morning. I was definitely an early bird, getting that worm and whatnot. I took a quick shower and styled my hair. It was thick and black. I used a coconut oil cream to make it curl. It was kind of short, only about three or four inches long, but I thought it looked pretty decent. I had brown eyes and brown skin. My complexion was the color of a caramel hard candy. Both of my parents were black. My dad’s parents were from the South. My mom’s mother was from Jamaica and her dad was from Philadelphia. 
I grabbed the basket for my bike and sent my mom a text. She wouldn’t be up until around eleven, and even after that she’d be out of the house running errands before work. I was going to the store for the ingredients in my dish.
It wasn’t that long of a bike ride to the grocery store, and I’d been making the trip more frequently since I decided Mason needed to be catered to with each visit. I shopped for a while, budgeting things out, and choosing other side dishes. I got everything on my list and remembered I wanted to pick up some ice cream for after dinner. I was going to get a pint of Vanilla Fudge Banana Explosion. It used to be Mason’s favorite flavor, and I was willing to bet he still loved it.
I turned back and made my way to the frozen food section. It was near where they kept the eggs and milk and cheese. I noticed Bret with some serious bed head grabbing a gallon of 2%. I snatched the ice cream from the freezer and ran for the checkout, praying he hadn’t seen me. I wanted to hurry the cashier along, but she was a kind older woman who had always been nice to me.
“You sure do grocery shop a lot,” she said, laughing. “You’re such a little thing, but you eat so much. But that’s how young men are. Nothing wrong with a healthy appetite.”
I conversed with her, trying my best not to appear rude, but I really didn’t need to encounter Bret on the weekend. I paid for my stuff and left the store. I went and unlocked my bike, setting it upright so I could put the groceries in the basket.
Before I could take off, I felt someone grab the hood of my hoodie. I fell backwards, my bike falling to the ground. The food rolled out onto the sidewalk.
I looked up from the pavement at Bret smirking down at me. He had on a pair of flannel pajama pants and a Jackson High football sweatshirt. I normally would have just taken whatever beating he had for me, but I was fed up. Today was supposed to be a good day. I was going to make Mason his food and he’d compliment me, and I could live in my delusions for just a little while longer.
I got to my knees before standing straight up. I pushed him as hard as I could, and he stumbled back slightly. “Leave me the fuck alone!” I shouted, kind of embarrassed by how high my voice got.
“Oh, it’s on, you fag,” Bret spat at me. He set the jug of milk he’d been carrying on the sidewalk. “I’m sick of looking at you and your pink fag bike.”
“My bike is red,” I shouted. I didn’t say anything else, and I had no idea what I should do next. We looked at one another intensely.
“Red,” he said as he drew me closer to his body, yanking on my hoodie. “Or pink,” he continued. Punch in the stomach. “You’re still a fucking homo.” Punch. Punch in the mouth. Punch. Punch in the nose. Punch in the cheekbone. Punch. Another punch in the gut. I was panting as he threw me to the ground. I thought I was going to barf. 
“Fuck—you—,” I managed to get out, catching my breath. I had gotten used to my one punch in the stomach a day. This was taking me back to sophomore year when our altercations left me with a new bruise every day. He didn’t seem phased by what I said, just continuing to smirk at me.
“I sure am glad I drank the last of the milk now.” He laughed, stooping to grab his milk, and walked over to his Dodge Charger.
I gathered the scattered items and checked to make sure they were all okay. They were. I put everything back in the basket. I took a few deep breaths before mounting my bike. I rode home and took another shower.
I didn’t want to dwell on the experiences of the morning. I put on some music and spent the rest of the time before I had to start cooking doing laundry and other chores around the house. One beating didn’t mean the world had to stop moving. This was nothing new.
I started cooking around five-thirty, so it would be ready when Mason got here. About five minutes after seven the doorbell rang.
“Hey Mason,” I said, happy to see him. I smiled a little too wide and felt my lip begin to bleed again. It was only a little. I licked the blood away.
“What the fuck Oli?”
“What?” I asked. “What’s wrong?” I got beat up all the time. This really was not a big deal. After high school I would never have to deal with this sort of thing ever again.
“You look like shit,” he said angrily. “That’s what’s wrong.”
“You’ve seen me like this before. It’s no big deal.”
“It is to me,” he said, eyebrows furious. “Who was it? Who did this? I swear to God if you say Bret after I told him not to touch you anymore.”
“It’s fine, really.” I didn’t want to make this into a whole thing. I had spent the entire day trying to forget about it so that we could have a good time eating and studying together. I wanted him to just leave it alone. I wanted him to stop pretending like he actually cared about what happened. I’d been getting my ass kicked for over three years and he’d never so much as batted an eye.
“Oliver,” he pushed.
“The food is going to get cold, so let’s just go and eat.” I walked away from the front door towards the kitchen, hoping he’d follow. That was when he grabbed my arm. He pulled me close to him. We stood there for a moment. His strong, masculine hands held my upper arms firmly. He looked at my bruised cheek, my busted lip. He brought his mouth to my forehead and kissed it softly. It felt like we were standing there for hours but it couldn’t have been longer than thirty seconds. “Mason—.”
“Shit, I’m sorry,” he said. 
He let go of my arms and hesitated a moment before running out to his Jeep and driving off. Had he really just kissed me? I couldn’t believe it. I was pretty sure there was lip to forehead action.
After that Mason never called or texted me, and he didn’t show up to school on Monday. I managed to avoid Bret after school and decided to take Mason his homework. He really hadn’t missed all that much, but I really wanted to see what that kiss was about. I also wondered if he worked on the essay for English class at all. I hadn’t been busting my ass for him to start failing again. It was a longer bike ride, but I made it to his place in about twenty minutes. I rang the doorbell and Mason’s kid sister Agatha answered the door.
“Oliver! Oliver! Oh my God!” she exclaimed, jumping up and down before reaching out for a hug.
“Hey Aggy,” I replied, embracing her. She was thirteen now. I was eighteen, my birthday at the end of September, but Mason was nineteen. His birthday was in July. It was a secret I swore to take to the grave. It was the reason why he never invited classmates to his birthday parties growing up. When he told me about why, it was like something out of a Roald Dahl novel. It was like he was Matilda or something. Mr. and Mrs. Megalos had been remarkably busy helping members of their family immigrate, starting their auto repair business, and welcoming Aggy into the world. They straight up forgot to register him for school. They waited so long that the district said he’d have to wait for the following school year. Mason never told anyone how old he was. He didn’t want people to think he failed a grade. He also didn’t want people to think he had bad parents.
“I missed you so much,” she said. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
“It’s good to see you too,” I said with a laugh. “We’ll have to catch up soon, but is Mason home?”
“He’s sick,” she said with a pair of air quotes. “I know he’s lying. Sick people don’t eat as much as he does. You can go upstairs.”
“Thanks.”
I made my way upstairs, shocked by how little had changed in their house in three years. I stood outside Mason’s door, nervous about having to discuss what happened on Saturday. What if he didn’t want to talk about it? What if he wanted to pretend it never happened at all? It was now or never. I opened the door to his room. I’d been so wrapped up in my thoughts I’d forgotten to knock. I shouldn’t have been so careless.
“Ah!” Mason yelped, looking over at me in his doorway.
He was naked, but that wasn’t the most outrageous part. There were a ton of reasons why he could be naked and alone in his room. This was his house after all. But he knelt at the side of his bed, dick in hand and a sex toy in his ass. It was definitely the hottest thing I’d ever seen in person, but still a major shock. His ass was just made to take phallic objects. There was so much of him to take in, from the powerful arms to the beefy ass to the bloated gut. I was frozen, staring at his dick and then the sex toy he’d removed from his asshole. He tossed it in a shoe box and shoved it under his bed.
“Oliver, close the door!” he said hurriedly. I turned around and closed the door quickly. He probably wanted me on the other side of it. “I can’t believe I didn’t lock the door,” he mumbled. “Fuck.”
“Mason, look, I’m really, uh—really sorry,” I said, turning back around and staring at him as he pulled on a pair of basketball shorts.
“What are you doing here?” he asked. All I could think about was how big his butt was. He probably did a ton of squats. His legs were hairy, as were his forearms and chest. I could tell his sessions in the gym were paying off, seeing as everything about him was getting absolutely massive. But man, his gut had really grown. He was getting fat. Fatter than when he showed me his belly the first time. He must have been eating constantly. The after-school snacks I prepared for him couldn’t have been pumping him up this much. I knew he said he was bulking, but did he mean to be getting so large?
“I brought your homework,” I said. My voice was shaking. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I should probably go.” What was going on? He was into butt stuff? Was he gay? I’d heard that some straight guys were into anal. They’d have their wives and girlfriends peg them with strap-ons. I couldn’t process this right now with him in front of me. I turned to leave.
“Wait,” he called. “Can I have the work?” How was he so calm? I took off my bag and pulled out the folder where I’d put all the materials he’d need. I stood there, folder in hand, unable to walk towards him. He walked over to me, his dick still semi-erect bobbing freely in the basketball shorts. His thighs were like tree trunks. His chest was broad, and his nipples were slightly bigger than I’d seen on other guys, kind of puffy. Overall, he was looking much fleshier. I needed to focus.
“Sorry,” I said for what felt like the hundredth time. I handed him the folder with the assignments. He reached out to grab them and I took in his mammoth forearms. Mason was a man. He wasn’t my chubby best friend from elementary school anymore. “I didn’t come in on purpose. I swear.”
He had kissed me on Saturday. I remembered my real reason for coming over. I didn’t think it was appropriate to bring up now. I had to let it go. He was just some conflicted straight boy who’d put this and any other gay feelings behind him. He’d marry some girl, have some kids, and she’d peg him well into old age. Me and this whole situation would become a distant memory.
He moved closer to me.
I moved back slightly.
He moved closer to me again.
“Mason, what’re—?” I didn’t know why I came here. I should have just ignored it. He dropped the folder on the ground and pulled me closer to himself.
“I haven’t been honest with myself,” he whispered, looking at me seriously. “Or with you.” I swallowed. He kissed me—on the lips this time. I felt them for the first time on my own lips. This was authentic lip to lip action. I wanted to grab his ass. I wanted to touch his belly. I wanted everything with Mason, but something was stopping me. He pulled away and looked at me again. “I think—I think that I’ve always wanted this.”
He was waiting on me to say something, and I could tell he started to worry. As much as my body ached for him, my mind was conflicted.
“I should go,” I whispered softly, afraid of how’d he’d react to this rejection. It was clear I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did. He just took a step back, his lower lip trembling like he was about to cry. I was an idiot. I left his room, closing his door behind me. I was moving pretty quickly now, needing to put as much distance between us as possible so I could clear my head.
“Later Aggy!” I called, opening their front door. I was on my bike and out on the street in a matter of seconds. I pedaled hard, so hard I could feel the burn in my legs.
I made my way home and into my room. I wouldn’t be able to think with the erection I had. I was rock hard the entire bike ride home. I had always been an avid masturbator, but recently it had gotten out of hand.
When I finished, I tried to make sense of the situation. It wasn’t as simple as Mason and I being able to fool around. Where were things going to go now? Would he come out? Would he want to date me? If Mason just wanted to experiment with me, I couldn’t do it, even if part of me wanted to be used by him. I’d spent the last three years allowing myself to be mistreated, and I was not ready to swap one form of degradation for another.
I finished my homework in a daze, not too sure of what I actually completed. I went to bed feeling absolutely miserable.
The next day, I avoided Mason like the plague. I felt wrong, like he really had been sick, and he was making a huge mistake. I went the whole day avoiding him. I didn’t even look in his direction, so I had no idea if he was looking in mine. After school I made my way to my bike. I had to get home. I just needed to be alone to think some more. I set down my bag and started to put in the combo for my bike lock.
I fell forward.
Someone had kicked me in the back as I was kneeling. I turned and saw that it was Bret. Of course it was Bret. He wasn’t alone today. Standing slightly behind him were these other football guys named Bill and Zeke. I wished my eyes were deceiving me, but Mason was there too, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. I tried to finish unlocking my bike, but Bret kicked me again and I fell forward once more. I looked up at Mason, the giant I had idealized for so long. He looked away. Bret said something obscene, but I was too intensely focused on Mason to catch exactly what was said. Our eyes met and we stared at each other for what felt like an eternity.
I hated Mason.
I stood up after finally getting my bike unlocked. I mounted it and tried to ride off. I was stopped and pushed over. I wondered why no teachers or staff members tried to intervene. There had to be at least one nearby. I had ripped my jeans when I hit the pavement. I tried to get up. They were all calling me names and laughing. Mason stood silent, their all-powerful leader.
I tried to ride off again and this time I got away. I was crying, but I was too far away from them to see me. I felt like I was nothing, an empty shell peddling home. Mason was—I didn’t know what he was. I didn’t know who he was anymore. We had gone down two completely different paths, and I had thought they were meeting back up. It was stupid of me to believe that. Our paths were only going to continue diverging.
I went around back and put my bike away before going inside to think about Mason some more. The way he looked away when I needed him had me seething. I pulled off my sneakers and the ripped pair of jeans. I hadn’t cut my knee at all, so that was something to be happy about. The doorbell rang. I sat on the sofa hoping they would go away. The bell kept ringing. And ringing. And ringing.
They weren’t going away. I was reaching my boiling point. I just needed to be alone, at least for an hour or so. I ran to the door and pulled it open aggressively.
“Can I help you—?” I asked, before registering who had been ringing the doorbell.
“Hey.” It was Mason. “Can I talk to you, please?” He looked down at my legs. I was in nothing but a t-shirt and pair of black briefs. I didn’t even care. I was still livid.
“What?” I asked harshly. “Did you come to beat me up too? I could have sworn you made the first move yesterday. But if you find it appropriate to pin all faggish activity on me I’m willing to carry the burden.”
“I’m so sorry, Oli.” I felt myself weaken. No. I needed to remain strong. His eyebrows were furrowed; his eyes were sad. Those sad, green eyes had gotten their way numerous times when we were younger.
“Okay, I accept your apology.” I began to close the door. “Goodbye.”
“Wait!” he called, using his weight to keep the door open. “I’m not finished. Can I come in?”
“No,” I said, trying my best to stand my ground. “I hope you fail English. I hope I never have to look at your stupid face ever again.”
“Oli,” he pleaded. He looked at me again with those sorrowful eyes. I hesitated for a moment, but then I moved out of the way so he could enter the house. He brought his beefy frame through the door.
“I’ve got to know,” he started, blushing. “Why did you run out yesterday?”
“Huh?”
“Yesterday, when I was, you know—uh masturbating.” I stood silent, unsure of what to say or what he wanted to hear. I really wasn’t too sure what his angle was anymore. Did that incident mean something to him or not? “Is it because you don’t like how I look? I know I’ve gained some weight. I’m just trying to get some more size, and I’ll lose the extra padding eventually. I’ll start losing it right now if that’s what it takes for you to be attracted to me.”
“Your appearance has absolutely nothing to do with why I left yesterday,” I said honestly. He really thought that was the only reason I left? Had he not considered the entire situation? The last three years of our lives?
“It doesn’t?” he asked, taken aback. “Well, I’m not sure but I think I might be—you know, gay. And—and I have all these feelings for you. Hanging out with you again has only helped me confirm what I knew all along. I missed my best friend, Oliver.”
“Mason—,” I started before he cut me off.
“I’m probably not even your type. That’s so fucking pretentious of me to assume you even think I’m attractive.”
“Mason, listen,” I said, looking him in the eye. “I always believed you didn’t mean to hurt me. I held out hope that we could at least one day be friends again. But the thing that happened Saturday, and then walking in on you yesterday. It just made me angry.”
He was still looking at me seriously, taking in everything I was saying, really trying to hear me out.
“Angry that you felt you couldn’t have talked to me sooner. Angry that you thought we could just sort of hook up? I don’t really know what you thought, but it doesn’t feel like you even tried to think about me at all.”
“You’re all I’ve been thinking about,” he said, his eyes watering. “I fucked up. I’m a pussy. I’m sorry Oliver. I’m so sorry.”
I couldn’t take it, looking at him with tears streaming down his face. I’d never seen such a big man cry before, and it made me feel like I needed to give him a hug. But if I didn’t stand up for myself now, I’d always be walked all over.
“When you asked me to help you with your English work do you remember what you said to me?” He shook his head no. “You told me that you didn’t want people to know you were associating with me. I felt so worthless, but I did it anyway because—because you’re still one of the most important people in my life.”
“I’ll never make you feel worthless ever again,” he said, his voice serious and honest. “I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you give me the chance.”
I crossed my arms, considering what he said. I believed him. I was scared that I believed him. What if I trusted him and got hurt even worse than before?
“I want us to be together,” he said, sniffling. “Being with you makes me feel good, and I want to feel good all the time.”
“I—I think that I want to be with you too,” I said, looking away from him, unsure of if it was a good idea to relent so easily.
“Really?” he asked, wiping his eyes.
It was building up inside of me, the love I had for him, the confession that had been left unsaid years ago. I felt it coming out, like word vomit.
“I love everything about you,” I started, still unable to look at him, “the way your eyebrows do that thing and the way you eat and don’t stop. And if you like bulking and powerlifting I don’t mind that. I think you look amazing and—and, I don’t know, Mason, if you gained more weight, I would still be attracted to you. Get as big as you want, really.”
“You’ve got to be kidding, Oliver. You’re probably one of the best-looking guys in school and you’re attracted to me? Girls hate that you’re gay.” He took a deep breath. “I have never felt the same about girls that I do about you. I think about you every day.”
“I’m not kidding,” I said, finally meeting his gaze. “You’re hot and—and I would even want you to get bigger. I don’t know how to explain it, but the fact that you’re getting bigger makes me really—you know.” I felt like such a weirdo. So much was happening all at once. “I’ve never thought you’ve looked so good.” It felt like the time I told him I was gay. I wondered if he’d just walk out like he had then.
“You’d be okay with me being bigger? For real?” he asked. I felt a slight amount of relief. He hadn’t walked out.
“Yes,” I said, my body tense with nerves. “I would.”
“I like this, being bigger. I always have,” he said. It was silent for a moment. “I want to be bigger. I want to get stronger. This size is something I would’ve never gotten if I kept playing football.” He laughed nervously.
“What?” I asked.
“You sure you’re okay being seen with some big monster?”
“I don’t think you could ever be a monster.” He walked towards me and kissed me so fast I almost fell over. He was huge, like a big teddy bear, and I loved it. I really did, a hundred percent. He laughed, kissing me through the tears on his face. He held me close to him, my dick pressing against him through my underwear.
“Now what?” I asked.
“I guess you’re my boyfriend,” he said seriously. “If you’re okay with that.”
My whole body felt intensely warm. It was like I was in a dream. Maybe I was. Maybe I’d crashed my bike on my way home and I was in a coma, my consciousness somewhere between earth and the great beyond.
Something weighed heavily on me and I was afraid to bring it up. I wanted to squeal with joy and cry tears of relief, but I had to make sure we were on the same page. I didn’t want to end up hurt and alone.
I was quiet, not sure how to ask Mason what was on my mind. I think he hated when I got all silent like this. He was a much more direct sort of person.
“What is it?” he asked.
“It’s just—am I, uh—is this a secret?”
“No,” he said, eyebrows serious. “I hate you even had to consider that. You’re never going to be a secret in my life ever again.”
I was his boyfriend.
He was my boyfriend.
We were boyfriend and boyfriend.
The next day in school Mason talked to me in every class. He sat with me at lunch. He stopped at my locker with me. He was trying very hard to prove to me that he was serious. He meant what he said about making it up to me for the last three years.
“Mason, what the fuck is your problem?” Bret asked disgustedly. “This whole day you’ve been acting weird.” Bret looked over at me, obviously insinuating that I was what was weird. English class had just ended, and Mason was going to give me a ride home, and not because he wanted something from me, just because he wanted to be around me. I hadn’t been this happy in a long time.
“What do you mean?” Mason asked, feigning ignorance.
“The fag, Mason. The fag.” Bret spat the word fag like it was a disease.
“I don’t think you should use that word anymore. Don’t be that guy.”
“What?”
“I don’t want to hear you using that word or making jokes or putting your hands on Oliver ever again. You or anybody else, so spread the word.”
“Are you in love with him or something?” Bret asked, trying to get a rise out of Mason.
“I might be, yeah,” Mason replied seriously. Bret’s eyes widened before he began to laugh hysterically. “We’re dating.”
“Mason, you are hilarious.” Mason leaned over towards me. He brought his face incredibly close to mine before he touched my lips softly with his own, kissing me. It was a gentle kiss, nothing too intense, but it made me feel exposed. I’d barely kissed anyone before and never in public. “You’re taking it too far dude. That was gay as hell.”
“Probably because I’m gay.”
“You’re—you’re not joking? You’re a fag too?”
“Yep,” Mason said, wrapping his beefy arm around me. “And watch your language, dude. There’s only so many times I’m going to tell you.”
Bret ran off, probably to go tell someone. By tomorrow every single person in the school would know. I wondered what people would say. I hoped Mason would be all right. Maybe that hadn’t been the smartest decision.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” I said, still thinking about him kissing me in front of Bret.
“It’s not like you’re my secret boyfriend.” He smiled and I melted.
He took me home and we went inside. We were going to study and hang out for a while. He told me that he wanted to spend so much time together that I’d get sick of him. I told him that’d never happen. And he said that meant we’d just be stuck with each other. We were in the second week of November, and the weather had cooled considerably. I volunteered to make hot chocolate and he happily accepted my offer. I also provided a plate of chocolate chip cookies I’d made the night before.
“Thanks,” he said as I handed him the drink. He sipped it carefully, making sure to collect the mini marshmallows. He must’ve gotten too excited because some of it spilled onto his lap. He stood quickly.
“Aw shit,” he said.
“Are you okay?” I asked, rushing to grab some paper towels.
“Yeah, I’m good,” he said. “But I’m not gonna lie, I’m kind of pissed I wasted some of my hot chocolate.” I laughed at his serious expression, telling him that I was more than willing to make him another mugful. We sopped up the bulk of the liquid with the paper towels, but he let me know he didn’t like the moist feeling.
“I don’t want it to soak into my underwear.”
He popped open the button of his jeans with a sigh of relief. He pulled them down and stood in my kitchen in a pair of navy boxer briefs. “I’ve got to get some new jeans.” He sure wasn’t modest. I was getting hard looking at his big hairy thighs. He could crush someone’s skull with those things. I kind of wanted my skull crushed.
“I don’t think I have anything that’ll fit you,” I said, still staring at his legs. “Maybe a pair of basketball shorts.”
“I’m good like this if you don’t mind,” he said, standing before me like a Grecian statue.
“No way. I don’t think I can control myself looking at you with your legs out like that.” He laughed, jokingly telling me that I was weird.
“They’re just legs,” he said, grinning at me. He’d always loved showing off, and I had always been a willing observer. “And who says you need to control yourself?”
“It’s not just your legs,” I said, getting excited. “It’s your ass. I’ve been looking at your butt for years.”
He turned, looking over his shoulder back at me. The fabric of his underwear separated each cheek, making his ass look even juicer. I wanted to take a bite out of it, my mouth watering at the sight of how much weight he was carrying back there. “If you’ve been checking it out for years, how’s it looking nowadays?”
“Phenomenal,” I said, zoning out. I was completely mesmerized. There was nothing that could break me out of this trance.
“You can grab it,” he said, his voice almost a whisper, like he didn’t know if what he said was okay. Was he testing my attraction to him? Who wouldn’t want to squeeze his meaty ass? I walked closer to where he stood, my hands cupping the ass I’d only ever dreamed of touching since I knew I liked men. I jiggled it slightly, impressed by how I could still feel the muscle underneath its fatty outer layer.
“It definitely feels bigger than I thought it would,” I said, still touching him.
“I do a lot of squats,” he said, laughing apprehensively. “I think it’s gotten bigger these last couple of weeks. Working out with my uncle and eating like I do has changed my body faster than I thought it would.”
He turned around, and I noticed he was hard. He looked down at his penis straining against his boxer briefs and then away from me, biting his lower lip nervously. I bet his muscle-gut blocked some of his lower half from sight. How long would it be before he wouldn’t be able to see his dick when he looked down?
It was nice that he physically reacted to me feeling him up, but was he expecting something more? Would he want to bottom? Was he prepared for that today? I had wondered when things would become more sexual between us. We’d known each other for so long, but not as sexual beings with lots of sexual urges.
I turned away from him, walking towards the freezer. I couldn’t take the awkwardness. I grabbed the ice cream from a few weeks ago that he never got to eat.
“Vanilla Fudge Banana Explosion,” he exclaimed gleefully.
“Yeah, I thought you might like it.” I grabbed a spoon, handing it to him along with the pint of ice cream. The little container in his large hand was really cute. He peeled off the lid and dug into the dessert greedily. This probably wasn’t enough ice cream to satiate him. He walked casually over towards a counter, pressing his butt up against it. He leaned back and ate spoonful after spoonful. He licked the spoon slowly after each mouthful.
Was he putting on a show for me? Like when we were younger?
“That was good,” he said after less than ten minutes of eating. A now empty container sat on the counter next to him. He gave a satisfied belch and put his hands on his slightly bloated middle.
“You really know how to eat,” I observed.
“It’s probably weird,” he started, pulling at the hem of his t-shirt, making sure not to meet my gaze, “but it kind of turns me on sometimes.”
“It’s not weird.”
I made my way to where he stood against the counter, reaching out and placing my hands on the sides of his middle. We both stood there, silently aroused. I could hear his breathing—in and out, in and out. I lifted his t-shirt. He rested his hand on my shoulder as I massaged his gut. He gave a satisfied moan that made my dick twitch.
“This feels really good.”
“It does?” I asked. I was on cloud nine, finally getting my hands on his gut after fixating over it for weeks. I could see he was getting hard, and I couldn’t believe he happened to be on the same wavelength as I was. I knew he said he liked being bigger, but I didn’t realize he liked it in this way.
“Don’t—don’t stop,” he whispered breathily, closing his eyes. He leaned his head back and grinned, unable to suppress the expression.
I was feeling bold, wanting to take further control of his pleasure. He could be in charge of everything else in our lives, but in this moment, I knew I was the one who could call the shots. I slid one of my hands down under his gut, sliding it into the waistband of his boxer briefs.
“Is this okay?” I asked, wanting to get his consent before I continued.
He just moaned again, whimpering as my hand wrapped around his erection.
“Tell me you want me to do this,” I commanded.
“I want it, Oliver,” he whispered. “Please don’t stop.”
He slid his thumbs into his waistband and pulled down his boxer briefs, so I had easier access to his penis. It was above average size and thick, but I was bigger and for some reason that really turned me on. I stroked him gently, enjoying how it pulsated in my hand. I noticed he relaxed his stomach muscles and his gut pushed forward some more. I looked up at his face and he looked back, his eyes glazed over. Fuck, was that a hot expression.
I stopped for a second, unbuttoning my jeans and pulling out my own dick. I stroked us both off, moving nice and slow. With both of my hands now occupied elsewhere, Mason took it upon himself to massage his stomach.
“That belly is looking real good,” I said, watching his expression carefully. He looked—pleased! His eyes were closed, but he got that grin on his face again. He grabbed his gut by the sides and gave it a shake.
He was close and I could tell. Seeing him so aroused was turning me on more than I thought possible. I was going to push him over the edge.
“Fuck Mason, I can only imagine how big your gut is gonna be a few months from now.”
It was a risk, but it paid off. He shot a huge stream of cum across the kitchen floor. He looked at me now, his eyes still had that glazed-over look and he fell to his knees. He grabbed at my jeans, pulling them down along with my underwear.
“Whoa, Mason, what’re—?”
He licked the head of my penis holding the shaft in his somewhat rough hand. His mouth was warm, and he worked my dick with unexpected finesse. Looking down at the top of his head, I took in his curly brown hair. I couldn’t believe this huge beefy guy was on his knees giving me head. I also couldn’t believe this huge beefy guy was Mason of all people.
“Mase, I’m coming.” He removed my dick from his mouth, and I felt cum erupt from inside of me so forcefully I got lightheaded. It wasn’t until I was completely finished that I was able to take in what had occurred. Mason was still on his knees, his face covered in my cum. “Oh shit, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he said, his voice low. He didn’t seem like everything was okay. He got off of his knees, pulling up his underwear. We cleaned up in silence. He got my cum off his face, and I got his cum off the floor. He was the one who broke the silence. “That was weird.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah, kind of,” he said, looking down at the kitchen tiles. “What was with that stuff you were saying?”
“Did you not like that?” I asked, feeling less confident than I had been during our sexual encounter. Things were shifting back into their regular alignment. Me being awkward. Mason being intimidating.
“I just—when we talked about me being bigger, you didn’t just mean muscles, did you?”
“I—I, uh, there’s nothing wrong with being bigger.”
“Were you just saying that because you figured out that’s what I’m into?” he asked. “You don’t have to, like, force yourself to be attracted to me like this.”
“Mason,” I started, “I think it’s more than obvious we like the same thing. I don’t know how we lucked out like this, but that gut you’ve got is definitely sexy.” He just laughed.
“Oli, c’mon,” he said. “You’re legit gorgeous. You could be an underwear model or something, I mean, damn, your quads are amazing.” I laughed. He reached out, grabbing my arm, and pulled me forward. He rested his masculine hands on my ass, like I had always wanted. “And this bubble butt is something else.”
“I’ve got to know Mason. When did you start thinking you might be gay?”
“The day you told me,” he said. I pushed myself away from his solid body.
“What?”
“Yeah, you coming out to me was really confusing. And I figured I should avoid you for a little while to figure things out—I didn’t think it’d be three years though, sorry.”
I just laughed. We’d missed out on years together. There really was nothing to do but find the humor in the situation, because otherwise it would be too sad to think about.
“I started watching gay porn freshman year and I bought that sex toy about a year ago.”
“You’re something else,” I said. “I guess that’s why I like you so much.”
He smiled and it just felt like it got easier to breathe. I ended up making him another mug of hot chocolate before throwing his jeans in the washing machine. Being domestic with him was turning me on, but then again, anything involving Mason was a turn on. I was starting to feel more peaceful. Mason and I would keep talking and figuring things out about this relationship. We had time. We finally had time.
Christmas break came after what felt like an eternity. Of course, people were talking about me and Mason. We could hear their not-so-whispered remarks every single day. He ignored it and held my hand through it all, which really meant a lot to me. He was an incredible person.
Mason had been so liked by everyone, that it was odd to see his old friends ignore him or mumble fucked-up things under their breath when he was nearby. I didn’t know how he could take it, falling so far from the graces of the popular crowd. I had always been on the outskirts, so I couldn’t really understand what he was going through.
We’d made it through Thanksgiving unscathed. It was a little sad we couldn’t spend the holiday together, but Mason hadn’t come out to his family and I hadn’t told my mom we were dating. He’d pushed himself incredibly hard these last couple of weeks, so if he wanted to ease into telling his parents, I wasn’t going to complain.
But that tranquility Mason was experiencing at home was short lived. If the entire high school knew Mason was gay, there was only a matter of time before word got back to people’s parents. Those parents talked to other parents, and those parents talked to Mason’s parents.
The first night of break, Mason was confronted by his father about what he’d heard from a customer in his auto shop. I hated the look on Mason’s face when he told me this story. It was heartbreaking. It felt like it was all my fault.
Mason’s dad threw him out. Mr. Megalos took him up by the collar of his shirt and threw him out the front door. Well, he grabbed his collar, yes, and likely pulled him by it, but I doubted he could actually lift Mason to throw him anywhere. His mom let him back in of course, but he packed a bag and left. He’d shown up on my doorstep a little before midnight. It was obvious he’d been crying.
“They found out,” he said. And I knew. I knew his heart was probably in a million pieces.
“Oliver, who is at the door?” My mother walked into the foyer, wrapping herself in a fluffy robe. She’d gotten in from work about an hour ago and had just finished with some self-care. I was glad she’d just taken a bath, because I needed her to be in a good mood.
“Mom, it’s Mason,” I said.
“Well look at that,” she said, taking him in for the first time in three years. “What has Katerina been feeding you?” Mason gave a half-hearted laugh, and I grabbed his arm, pulling him into the house.
“It’s, uh, good to see you Ms. Bailey.”
“Mason, you can go up to my room while I talk to my mom.”
My mom raised her eyebrows at this, watching as Mason walked towards the rear of the house where the stairs were. That was when the begging began. She had me on my knees.
“You know he can’t stay here Oliver.”
“Mom,” I pleaded, my voice somewhat whiny. “He needs this. He’s my best friend. Please.” She laughed, and I knew it was because she didn’t consider Mason to be my best friend anymore. I hadn’t mentioned him in years; the last time she’d brought him up, I blew up at her.
(“Oliver, sweetheart, you don’t want to invite Mason to celebrate your birthday with us?” I was turning sixteen and I hadn’t talked to Mason in nearly eleven months.
She knew something had been off between us, as Mason hadn’t been to our house since I came out to him.
“It’s just another day,” I replied, feeling especially mopey. “He’s probably busy anyway.”
“I could call Katerina,” she suggested. “If you boys had a falling out, we can get things back on track. He’s been your best friend since first grade.” I was embarrassed. I didn’t know how to navigate how I was feeling. There was just so much shame and sadness that I hadn’t really taken the time to unpack.
“Can you just shut up?” I demanded. “We aren’t friends anymore, okay? It was my fault. There’s no way to fix it, so can you please just drop it?” I stormed off to my bedroom after that. I spent the rest of my sixteenth birthday alone crying in my bedroom. It was definitely a low. I knew the only reason my mom didn’t come after me was because it was my birthday. If it were any other day and I spoke to her like that, I’d probably be dead.)
“Oliver, we just can’t. You need to let his family work out whatever problem they’re dealing with.”
“Mom, if—if he can’t stay, I’ll leave with him,” I said, being dramatic.
“No, you won’t,” she replied, laughing. She was calling my bluff.
“I will,” I said, trying my best to win her over. “We’ll wander the streets, sleep in his Jeep. I might even have to become a prostitute to scrape by. We’ll drop out of high school. Do some drugs. Is that what you want Mom? I really don’t think it is.” I sounded like I was describing the plot of some made-for-TV movie.
“Oliver,” my mother said with a theatrical groan, massaging her temples. She obviously wanted to laugh at my monologue, which I knew would play into my favor. “If Katerina and Adrian come to take him home, we aren’t going to fight them on it, do you understand?”
She smiled at me gently. She was legit the best mother in the entire world. She probably only relented because she had just gotten in from work (and she’d had her bubble bath and a glass of wine). She worked as a nurse during a shift that went from three until ten-thirty, and that was when the hospital didn’t ask her to come in early or stay late.
“Yes, thank you!” I actually jumped for joy, clasping my hands together in gratitude. “You won’t even notice that he’s here.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she replied. “He needs to sleep in your room because I don’t want him on my sofa. We just got that thing last year and the way he’s looking, it’d be sunken in within the month.”
I just laughed, promising Mason would not be allowed anywhere near her sofa. She likely assumed Mason was not gay. I knew right away that Mason had been outed to his family, but I didn’t make that information privy to my mother. When explaining why he needed to stay with us, I just sort of said his dad was mad about him quitting the football team and putting on some weight. I had been planning on telling her we were dating, but it was probably a good thing I hadn’t mentioned it.
“Okay, that’s fine. I’m sure he won’t mind the floor for a little while.”
“Goodnight Oliver,” she said, walking towards where her bedroom was on the first floor. The second floor was an addition, and the only thing up there was my bedroom and a bathroom. “Mommy is tired. They want me to come in early tomorrow, so you kids need to keep it down.”
“Yes, of course,” I replied. “Goodnight best mom in the entire universe.”
“Yeah, sure.” She rolled her eyes, chuckling under her breath. “Tell Mason it was nice seeing him again.”
I made my way to the rear of the house and ran up the stairs to my room. I closed the door quietly.
“She said you could stay here until you’re able to work things out with your family.” I was smiling at him, but that excitement was short-lived. This wasn’t some slumber party. He was here because he couldn’t be at home.
“Thank God,” he said with a sigh of relief.
“She said you have to sleep in here,” I said in mock-apology. “I hope you don’t mind, but we’ll have to share a bed.”
“Well damn it,” he replied. “I guess if there’re no other alternatives.” He got off of my bed and walked towards me. He put his arms around me slowly and kissed me. I wrapped my arms around him—which had gotten considerably more difficult post-Thanksgiving. I kissed him a little bit longer before pushing him away.
“How are you feeling?” I asked, trying to cull my arousal. We could not have sex right now. I felt weird about doing things like that with my mom in the house. I totally wouldn’t be able to focus.
“Yeah, I don’t really want to think about it,” he answered. “I’d rather make out with my boyfriend—among other things.”
“We have to wait until tomorrow, or my mom will hear and freak out,” I said seriously.
We’d masturbated together a few more times since the first experience in the kitchen. He’d given me head a few more times, and I reciprocated that as well. But we hadn’t done the actual deed. With him living here for an unknown amount of time, especially during winter break, we were likely going to go all the way.
“We can be quiet,” he whined. I was so turned on by the fact he enjoyed being intimate with me. Hearing him beg for it almost had me relenting.
“It will be better tomorrow,” I said, walking over to my laundry basket and throwing my shirt into it.
“Fine,” he pouted before smiling. “But don’t expect me to let go of you all night.”
We got into the bed and he kept his promise. At least for this night, the first time we ever were going to sleep together in the same bed, he had me pulled closely into his beefy body. My full-sized bed was just right, but at the rate Mason was growing, I didn’t think it would be just right for long.
I knew he didn’t want to talk about what happened with his dad, at least not yet, so we enjoyed one another in silence. Before long, I could hear him gently snoring behind me. He was very warm and that made me feel so calm, that before long, I was also fast asleep.
I was awake a little after six and immediately got up to take a shower. Mason was still sleeping even after I finished my shower, so I went to make him breakfast. I had made hash browns, scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. He was still sleeping when I finished around nine.
I ate with my mom and she let me know she was going to spend the morning shopping with my grandmother. She would be home this afternoon to take a nap and get ready for work. After she left, I went to wake up Mason.
He sat up quickly when I mentioned there was breakfast waiting for him downstairs. He got out of bed. He was wearing a pair of gray boxer briefs and a white undershirt. His thighs were huge and strong looking. His ass was barely contained by the ash-colored fabric. His belly pushed the small shirt up a bit, around his belly button. His arms looked massive, and I wanted to grab ahold of them and never let go.
Breakfast. Breakfast. Breakfast.
“You can use the bathroom and come down for breakfast,” I said finally, regaining focus.
“Okay,” he said, sleepy eyed, scratching his tummy. He went off to the bathroom connected to my bedroom. I heard the flush of the toilet, then the sink turning on and off, and about five minutes later he exited the bathroom, face scrubbed, and teeth brushed. We made our way downstairs.
Looking at the table, there was a ridiculous amount of food for one person. Even with what my mother and I ate, there was way too much for Mason. I’d used almost an entire bag of potatoes for the hash browns. I’d have to get another carton of eggs, having used the ten that we had in the fridge. The toast was buttered, and the bacon was crisp. I’d definitely been excited while cooking, thinking with my dick and not my head.
“I realize now this is an excessive amount of food.”
“I didn’t get to eat dinner last night,” he said. “I’m starving.”
He wasn’t kidding. He really was.
Mason tackled the spread like a competitive eater. He took a piece of toast and carefully folded it in half before adding some of the other ingredients, making a sort of taco. He did this until the eight pieces of toast were gone. He then ate what was left of the eggs and hash browns with hot sauce. He drank two big glasses of milk too. I didn’t realize how much he could eat. I was sitting at the table across from him.
It was after breakfast. My mom wasn’t home. We could finally have at it.
“You ate all of it,” I said, touching my boner underneath the table. I was wearing a pair of running shorts that came about halfway up my thigh. I was easily able to access my dick.
“Yeah,” he said, his face going red. “I didn’t have dinner and I was really hungry and it tasted so good.” He placed his hands on his belly.
“What?”
“I’m sorry,” he said, tugging at the hem of his shirt, failing to keep it down. Majority of his clothes had begun to fit this way. “I guess you were wrong about the whole me getting fatter thing.”
“I was not wrong,” I said, standing. He took in my massive erection and smiled, relief showing on his face.
“We really are a pair of sexual deviants, huh?” I walked to his side of the table and grabbed his hand. He stood up, looking down at me for a moment. He scooped me up and held me in his powerful arms. We looked at one another for a moment. His eyebrows were so serious it made me laugh. He joined in and we laughed hard for a few moments.
“I got excited,” he said.
“I’m glad you’re so excited. It means it’s not just me.” Still in his arms, he made his way towards the stairs and ran us up to my room.
In a flurry, our clothing items flew off our bodies. His t-shirt, my shorts. My sweatshirt, his boxer briefs. We stood completely naked in the middle of my bedroom, and it was all sort of surreal.
“Oli, you’ve got a body like a porn star.”
“You may not be as defined as I am, but I’d much rather see you in a porno.” He laughed.
“We could be in one together,” he said, joking. “It’d be the only video I’d ever need for the rest of my life.”
I smiled at him, my hands on his waist. I enjoyed how he’d begun to spread out. His gut hadn’t been like this back in October. He was developing love handles, with little stretch marks around where his torso met his hips.
My hands moved to his biceps and he flexed them for me. My dick jumped at how solid his arms were, craving his body. “Do you want to fuck me?” he asked.
“Are you serious?” I asked.
He nodded.
I grabbed a condom and lube from a box in my closet. I didn’t think I’d ever get to use these things, and here I was about to use them with Mason. He moved onto the bed and he put his ass out for me.
“Have you ever done this before?” he asked.
“No, but I’ve seen a lot of porn,” I said truthfully, almost half-regretting my honesty. “Have you ever had sex before?”
“No,” he said. “I hadn’t even kissed anyone before I kissed you.” I had made out with some guys before, but I didn’t want to spoil how sweet that was. Something about this whole situation was kind of empowering.
“I’ll be gentle,” I said, trying to be suave. Sure, I had seen my fair share of pornography, but seeing something and executing something were two very different things. I didn’t want to be bad at it. I was always the passive, quiet one and I had to admit, I enjoyed the idea of being the dominant one in the bedroom.
I lubed up my penis as well as his asshole. I slapped his butt, enjoying the sound it made. I did it again and he gasped softly. He arched his back a little, accentuating the size of his ass.
I entered his beautiful ass slowly. I started with just the head, not wanting to hurt him. He was breathing loudly, but it didn’t sound like he was in pain. I moved slightly, pushing a little more of myself into him, and felt a tingle go throughout my whole body. Mason continued gasping and whimpering and breathing loudly as I slowly pushed more and more of my dick inside of him.
“Christ!” he yelped. I stopped moving.
“Do you need me to stop?” I asked.
“Fuck, Oli,” he said, panting. “It’s starting to feel good. Keep going.” I did as I was told and bucked my hips back and forth, the sound of my upper thighs slamming against his fat ass creating a sort of beat. About halfway through he started tugging at his dick, moaning loudly as he came. That did it for me, and after a few more strokes, I filled the condom with my cum.
I was sure if someone were watching it would have looked awkward, but I didn’t care at all. I had never felt closer to a person. I had never felt closer to Mason.
Actual sex was way better than masturbating.
“Are you okay?” I asked, removing the condom and throwing it in my trashcan.
“That felt really good.” Mason was still panting. I walked over to the bed where he was laying down and laid next to him. “I was worried there for a second, but little Oli sure knows what he’s doing.” I laughed.
“That was possibly the best experience of my life,” I said. He rolled over on top of me, straddling me, and covered my face with kisses. I loved it.
“How much do you weigh now?” I inquired, feeling his weight pressing me down.
“Get the scale,” he said, swinging himself from on top of me. I got off of the mattress and made my way to the bathroom. I got the scale and set it in the center of my bedroom. He placed his large feet on the scale, and I read the number.
“283 pounds.” In less than three months, Mason had gained nearly sixty pounds. I was getting hard again just thinking about where he’d be three months, six months, a year from now. I stepped on the scale next, also getting off on how much more he weighed than I did. It read 160 pounds and a little extra. 123 pounds. Mason was 123 pounds bigger than me.
“You’re fucking tiny,” he said in disbelief, looking down at the number displayed on the monitor. “I never realized how little you are." I turned my naked body to face him and gestured to my flaccid cock, which admittedly, was still pretty big.
“I wasn't talking about that,” he said with a laugh. “I haven’t weighed 160 pounds since the fifth grade.”
“Do you not like me being skinny?”
“I find your skinniness to be quite the turn on.” He kissed me, grabbing my ass. “And if we’re being honest, you store all your weight in just the right places.” I didn’t know why that made me so flustered, but it did. I felt my face go hot. I liked that he thought I had a nice ass.
“I’d have to say the same goes for you,” I said.
“I hope to get much bigger,” he said, stepping back from me. He flexed his arms and I felt myself getting hard again. He knew what he was doing, turning me on. He turned around, so I could look at his wide back and juicy butt. He was damn near a wall. He turned back around and looked at me with extreme intensity.
“What’s with that look all of a sudden?”
“I want to be able to keep you safe, Oli. I’m going to be big enough to protect you from everything.” I was so turned on again. He was adorable.
“Thanks Mason,” I said, reaching out to embrace him. We stood together for a few minutes before we took a shower and got dressed. Throughout the day Mason ate all the snacks we had in the house. We went shopping and stockpiled food in my bedroom. He didn’t want to let my mother know he was constantly inhaling food. We did have to keep all the milk he got in the fridge. I wondered what my mom would say about it. Two weeks of him eating this way and he’d get huge.
Holiday break could only last the two weeks; I knew it could only be two weeks, and yet the morning classes were to resume, I was an anxious mess. Mason’s constant eating slapped another ten pounds onto his beefy frame, putting him at 293 pounds. Everyone was going to notice. He was gigantic. He was still incredibly muscular underneath his recent gain though, only making him appear even wider.
The only time Mason was away from me was when he’d go to meet with his uncle to lift weights. Galvin told Mason he didn’t care that he was gay, and that Mason’s dad would come around soon. It meant a lot to Mason that his uncle still supported him.
Mason’s arms were big and strong, and his thighs were probably so large to hold up his massive bubble butt. His belly pushed up all his shirts and buttoning pants was just a waste of time, so he wore sweatpants and the biggest sweatshirt he could find. I felt bad. This day was going to be bad. He looked good to me of course, but everyone was going to stir up trouble. I didn’t want to go to school.
He drove us to school that morning and things were fairly similar to the way they were before break. That’s not to say people weren’t making comments, but there was nothing too out of the ordinary. Things were actually bearable until lunch.
We sat together, eating lunch amidst the stares of our nosy classmates. I had a fruit salad, some fries, a grilled chicken sandwich, and a banana. Mason had bought three slices of pizza, fries, chicken tenders, and three milks. It was like he didn't care about what was happening at all—all the stares, all the names, the comments, and dirty looks.
“How are you doing this?” I asked, eating a few fries, but not really feeling all that hungry. My stomach was in knots. He was already on his second slice of pizza.
“Well, I mean you kind of move your mouth in a gnawing motion after placing food in there. Like this—,” he said, taking a colossal bite and chewing theatrically. I laughed loudly. He was so dumb sometimes, able to make a joke that could distract me from my negative feelings. He smiled at me and started on his chicken tenders.
“I meant all of the people,” I said, clarifying what I was sure he knew I was originally referring to.
“I just don’t care,” he said seriously. “I wasted three years of my life caring about what other people thought. It’s 2012. Being gay shouldn’t be this big of an issue. I let other people tell me being gay was wrong. I don’t see anything wrong with it.” He gulped down his second milk, nibbling at his remaining fries. His sweatshirt exposed a bit of belly as it set in his lap. “I love you, Oli. I just think about that and I don’t even notice everybody else.”
He loved me? I knew I loved him too, but we hadn’t said it before.
“I think I’ll try that,” I said. “Thinking about how much I love you.” I thought I was supposed to be the one thinking positive? I was proud to call Mason my boyfriend.
I opened my banana and heard an increase in laughter. I looked over at Bret pointing at me.
“You thinking about Mason’s dick?” he called, causing his table to erupt in laughter again. I forgot not to get a banana. I hadn’t eaten a banana at school since freshman year. I moved the banana away from my lips, visibly distraught. It was so embarrassing being made fun of in front of Mason.
“Can I have that?” Mason asked as he smiled at me. I handed him the banana. “Thanks.” He put it in and out of his mouth suggestively, making a ridiculous face as well. He then shoved the whole thing in greedily. He had me doubled over in laughter again. He was so absurd sometimes. He chewed and drank the last milk.
“Mase, you’re so goofy.”
“Thanks. That was so good,” he said loudly, for Bret and his cronies to hear. He smiled again, his eyes sparkling. Was I falling even more in love with him? He leaned back in his chair and patted his stomach. “I’m still hungry. I think I got too used to you keeping me well-fed. I’m going to get a cookie.”
“Okay,” I said, taking a bite out of my sandwich. I felt better. Better than ever. I was almost done with my sandwich when Bret came over. That positive feeling didn’t stand a chance.
“What’s up faggot?”
“I don’t care what you call me.” I stood, looking to find Mason so we could spend the rest of the lunch period in the library. We could study for English. Anything would be better than having to stay around Bret for an extended period of time. Bret placed his hand on my shoulder and forced me back into my seat.
“I don’t give a fuck what you care about.” I looked up at him from my seat. He narrowed his blue eyes at me, making him look like a rat. This guy really hated me. I stood up again and turned to walk away, kind of afraid of what he was going to do to me. “I hate what you are. You did something to Mason.”
“Like what?” I asked, turning to face him. Did he think I was blackmailing Mason? Threatening him with violence? Casting love spells?
“I don’t know.” He took a cupcake from a tray on a neighboring table. He looked down at it for a moment, likely pausing for dramatic effect, before he slammed it into my face. “But I don’t like it.”
I’d spent years dealing with this sort of treatment from Bret, but for some reason this was actually getting to me. We were in the middle of the cafeteria and nearly everyone was looking at us now. I wanted to be strong. I wanted to take Mason’s words to heart. But he hadn’t experienced just how awful I’d been treated. I warily scrapped some of the frosting from around my eyes.
“Oh shit,” one of the girls nearby mumbled to the friend she was sitting with.
I turned, watching as Mason made his way over to where Bret and I stood. I saw his eyes travel from my face to Bret’s. Mason calmly set his cookies on the table next to me and pushed up the sleeves of his sweatshirt. The whole cafeteria was silent. It was like every sound had been magically muted.
“Mason,” I said nervously, trying to pull him away from Bret. “We need to go study for the Spanish quiz. We have to go now.” Bret was no match for Mason, and everyone else was still too afraid to even try and fight him. Mason was going to get in trouble. He used to get into fights all the time. He had never hit me, but I’d seen him pummel other assholes.
Mason yanked his arm from my grasp easily. Everything happened so fast, but I don’t think Bret landed a single blow on Mason. After about three minutes, I saw Bret was all purple and bloody.
“Fucking bitch!” Mason spat, his voice intense like the roar of a grizzly. The school security officers were coming. “You lay a hand on my boyfriend again and you’re dead.”
“Come on!” I pulled his sweatshirt and he finally stormed out.
“I should have killed him,” he said angrily, nostrils flared. He was breathing heavily.
“Okay, so yeah, Bret’s the worst,” I started, picking cupcake out of my eyebrows, “but I don’t think life in prison is going to solve anything. It’s not worth it.”
“I know, you’re right,” he said, his breathing slowing. “I just don’t want you to get hurt by him anymore.”
“By a cupcake?” I asked jokingly, trying to calm him down further.
“You know what I mean,” he said.
He leaned against a row of lockers. This wasn’t going to go unchecked by the school. They’d call his parents over this. He might even get suspended.
“I forgot my fucking cookies!” he exclaimed angrily.
“I could totally make you some!” This side of Mason was really hot, but I knew he wasn’t feeling great about the whole situation. As sexy as angry-Mason was, I still preferred when he was happy.
“Let’s go.”
“Huh?” I asked, trotting behind him. He was making his way towards the exit. We ditched Spanish and English. I had never ditched a class before, and I felt like a fugitive.
He pulled up outside of my house.
“I’ll be back,” he said. I nodded and got out of the Jeep. He drove off. I had never seen Mason so upset. I was pretty sure it had a lot to do with what Bret represented. Bret was a past that Mason wanted to forget. I knew Mason still struggled with guilt about how things had been between us the last three years, and I tried to assure him I had let that stuff go, but I knew he thought about it a lot. I didn’t know how to emphasize to him I wanted to just move on. High school would be over soon, and I would get to start the important years of my life. He had read an article about teen suicide in the LGBTQ+ community a few weeks ago. He looked sick after he finished it. I remember he looked at me seriously and said, “You could’ve killed yourself.”
Mason returned. He had gone to the gym. I looked at him and saw his huge arms and thighs looked pumped. He went to my bathroom and took a shower. I sat on the bed waiting. He exited the bathroom in a towel. His belly hung over the pink fabric. He dropped the towel revealing a beautiful ass. He looked so huge. Bret hadn’t stood a chance this afternoon.
I was always semi-erect around Mason but looking at him naked in front of me had me fully hard. He walked over to me and sat next to me on the bed. He leaned his body against mine. I could hear him breathing. I felt him press into me bit by bit. He was kind of whimpering, like a big Mastiff puppy.
“I’m so sorry, Oliver,” he said.
“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” I placed my hand on his monstrous thigh, squeezing it gently. “You stood up for me today, and I’m still hard thinking about how hot it was.” He grabbed me, pulling me close and passionately kissing me.
He ended up on his back in the bed and I ended up giving him head. It was the least I could do for how he stood up for me. And Mason couldn’t help himself, so I ended up getting head in return. But then I couldn’t help myself and found myself with his dick in my mouth again. It was a cycle that I didn’t really want to see broken.
That fight with Bret didn’t go unchecked by school administration. Mason’s parents had to come have a meeting with the principal and the dean. Both he and Bret were let off with warnings, but the school made it very clear that they could not protect Mason from the law next time, considering he was nineteen and Bret was only seventeen.
He moved back home after that, which was honestly kind of sad. We’d only gotten to live with one another for less than a month. He and his father did finally start talking again, but Mason told me it was strained conversation.
Nobody messed with us again until Valentine’s Day. In our school there was a fundraiser where a person could purchase a flower to send to a friend or crush or romantic partner. Of course, I had never gotten one, but Mason used to get tons of them every year. I went to buy one and I wrote a card for it. I wrote: Mason, I love you. Yours forever, Oliver.
I thought it looked sophisticated and mature. I paid the two dollars, took the carbon copy receipt, and went to class. I wondered if he even thought about those stupid flowers. Then I wondered if he got me one. I was getting all excited thinking about it, but I knew to keep my expectations in check.
I met him before first period. We were working when the flowers were delivered. I didn’t expect one this period. They measured out the number of flowers a person was to receive and equally distributed them throughout the day. If a person were to receive only one rose, they’d get it during their last period of the day. But I got one anyway, in first period, which meant I had more coming. There was no name. It was a card with one word: Faggot.
Mason looked at me to see who it was from, but I quickly put it in my pocket. “I hope you’re not cheating on me,” he joked, smiling at me.
“Of course not!”
“Well, why can’t I see the card?”
“It’s mine,” I said. This was likely Bret fucking with me again. I could not let Mason know about this. He might actually kill Bret this time, and I didn’t very much think orange was Mason’s color. “Don’t be mad.”
“I’m not,” he replied sternly, his eyebrows furrowed. He was mad. Throughout the day I got the flowers with the same card. With each one, Mason got more and more unnerved. I thought he was going to beat the shit out of me. At lunch he didn’t say a word. He ate a lot extra so he wouldn’t have to talk to me. I didn’t want him to see them. We couldn’t afford another incident like when he beat Bret to a pulp over a cupcake. He’d go berserk if he knew what was happening.
We walked to Spanish in silence. I got another card, and it said the same thing, but with a name—Bret. Surprise, surprise. I knew it was him. Nobody else would go so far to harass someone. Mason gave me a look of death and I felt a knot form in the pit of my stomach. I just wanted to go home. English came and I got my first nice flower all day. It said: I think you’re the best boyfriend in the world. Love, Mason.
I put that one in a separate pocket. Mason had gotten his first flower, which I was assuming was the one I purchased for him. He scanned it over and over. I hoped he liked it. Maybe it would make up for not showing him the Bret cards. I looked up at him and smiled. He stood up and stormed out; I followed. I heard Bret laughing as I entered the hallway.
“Mason! Wait up, what’s wrong? Mason!” He turned to face me. I saw he was trying to think about what to do. He pushed me into a locker, and it felt like he was getting ready to punch me.
“You—,” he started. He pulled out the card and read. “‘It’s over, Mason. I’ve gotten you back for three years of absolute torment. Did you really think I’d ever want to be with you, especially now? You’re a joke.’” Mason hadn’t stopped growing since moving back home. He was up another ten pounds, putting him at 303 pounds. I loved every ounce of him. I would never send that. I hoped he’d be smart enough to realize that.
“Please don’t hit me,” I exclaimed, flinching. He didn’t. Thank Jesus; he could have given me internal bleeding or something.
“I’d never put my hands on you,” he said angrily. Now he was mad and offended.
“I would never send that,” I said, pulling out the carbon copy receipt. “Look.” I handed him the card and he read it, looking relieved.
“I’m such a fucking idiot,” he groaned. He was getting worked up. I had a bad feeling. “I knew you didn’t send this, and it still got me emotional. I’m so sorry for pushing you. I’d never hit you. I swear I wouldn’t. But those cards you’ve been getting all day have really fucked with my head.” I reached into my pocket and handed him the cards. I hadn’t wanted him to see them, but at this point I had to be honest.
“These are the cards I’ve been getting all day, okay?” He read them and really went insane, heading for the exit.
“Mason, we’re going home, yeah?”
“Hell no. We are waiting for Bret and this is going to end today. Oliver, I’m going to kill him. I swear to God, I might just kill him.”
“You’ll get in trouble,” I said immediately. “No way.”
“Not if it’s after school.” That was ridiculous. He’d so still get in trouble. We passed through the doors leading outside as the afternoon announcements came on.
“You can’t do this Mason,” I said, trying my best to calm him down. “You’ve got to let this go.” The bell finally rang and two minutes later kids surged out of the building. He ran right at Bret who had been describing what he had done to two of his own beta-males. Bret was knocked to the ground.
Bret looked up at Mason from the ground. Mason was in a t-shirt alone. We hadn’t stopped at our lockers. The sleeves in the underarm area ripped with the advanced movement of his huge arms. Mason leaned over and punched him, harder and harder.
He stood straight up, hovering over Bret who was still laying on the pavement. “You ever fuck with us again, you’ll get your ass kicked worse than this.” There was a group around us, which formed a circle. Mason then spoke to them, turning every so often. It was almost like we were in the Colosseum, Mason a gladiator orating to the spectators.
“I like men,” Mason began. “But don’t let that confuse you. I can still fuck up anybody who steps to me or my boyfriend.” People were hanging on his every word. It was amazing.
“And this bitch over here,” Mason continued, gesturing towards Bret, “Has the weirdest fucking obsession with us. He went out of his way to send my boyfriend flowers all day today. I guess you could say he has a little crush.” This had people laughing now. “Babe, you should thank him for the flowers, but do let him down easy.”
“Uh, thanks for the flowers,” I said, uneasy having been put on the spot, but excited to be standing up to Bret in front of everyone for the first time. “But I’ve already got a boyfriend, so maybe you could find someone else.” The circle erupted in a resounding ‘Ohhhh!’ and lots of laughter.
“So who started this?” Mason asked the bloodthirsty spectators.
“Bret!” the crowd shouted. “Bret! Bret! Bret!” Mason started to walk off and I followed close behind him. The crowd parted so we could pass. I had never wanted to fuck him more than now. We could still hear people chanting and laughing as we made it to his Jeep.
Once inside, he drove towards my house, eyes focused intently on the road. His stomach growled loudly. There was a slight pause after the growling ceased, and then we both laughed loudly.
“Now I’m starving,” he said. I knew exactly what I wanted to make him.
As soon as we made it to my house, I started cooking. Mason went off to take a shower, saying something about needing to cool off. The whole situation with Bret still had him slightly heated. I was definitely still wound up from that encounter too, but not in the same way as Mason. Just thinking about how he’d stood up for the both of us had me soaking through my briefs. I’d been hard for some time now, ever since Mason’s whole ‘Are you not entertained?’ bit.
I cooked and cooked and cooked until I ended up making much more food than I thought we needed. It was just the two of us, but I’d made enough for five. I just couldn’t control myself when cooking for Mason. I loved seeing how much he could put away, how pleased his face would be when he ate an excessive amount of food.
I made the Oli Cheesy Chicken Special. It was a dumb concept that I came up with back in middle school during the early days of my culinary exploration. The main component was a mozzarella-stuffed chicken breast that I would deep fry. I served it with macaroni and cheese. And, even though I knew it was overkill, broccoli covered in a cheese sauce (I’d even made a dozen rolls, and no, they weren’t cheese stuffed). It was a lactose-intolerant person’s worst nightmare, but Mason had never had any problems with dairy. He probably couldn’t go on living without it. I made five of those chicken breasts, a huge serving dish worth of broccoli, and enough mac and cheese for a family of four.
About an hour later he came lumbering down the stairs. I’d just finished plating the food, with parsley and everything. He sat at the table, shirtless, and I took in his quarter-sized nipples. His pecs were still firm but had a nice layer of fat over them. My mouth didn’t water when I thought about dinner, but Mason’s tits had me almost drooling all over myself. I never would have thought he would be this big. I set his plate and silverware in front of him, and then the basket of rolls.
“I made too much,” I said.
“I don’t think so,” he said, smiling up at me from his seat at the table, “especially since you made the Oli Cheesy Chicken Special.” I felt my face go hot. It meant a lot to me that Mason remembered the name of this meal, but I needed to come up with a new one. Something that wasn’t so embarrassing. I wasn’t twelve anymore.
“I’ll get you something to drink,” I said, walking towards the fridge and pouring him a glass of milk.
“Thanks.” He didn’t waste time getting started. He didn’t even use silverware to eat the chicken breast, simply picking it up and taking a large bite, pulling the meat away from his mouth causing an impressive cheese pull.
In this moment, watching him happily eat, I realized that Mason hadn’t really changed all that much since we were younger. Yeah, he was over a hundred pounds bigger and six inches taller, but he was still the same silly, considerate, sometimes hot-headed guy I’d always had a crush on.
I must’ve been staring, because he looked up from his plate, catching my gaze. He stopped racing through the food on his plate, eating more slowly.
“What’re you staring at?” he asked, chewing, stabbing a broccoli floret with his fork. “You haven’t even started eating yet.”
“I just really love you,” I said honestly. “I can’t help staring.”
“C’mon Oli,” he said, his face reddening, “You’re just trying to embarrass me.”
“I’m not!”
“Well, I love you too,” he said, his face still flushed. “I’m really lucky, you know? Who’d ever think a guy like you would be interested in me.”
Whoa—Mason was always surprising me. My initial assessment wasn’t completely fair to him. Mason had changed. In a way that was really significant.
He’d become more courageous.
He was brave enough to come out, to date me, to change his body in a way that wasn’t considered conventionally attractive. Even if all the things I loved about him from our youth were the same, I was fortunate enough to be able to love the man he was becoming as well.
I stood, going to refill his plate. He ate this serving just like the first, like if he didn’t get it all down fast enough someone might come and take it away. I sat down and watched, picking at the portion I’d set aside for myself. I wasn’t even hungry. I had no idea how he ate so much. He’d eat a roll every so often. I was able to refill his plate once more, and he ate that with the same amount of gusto. He got up the excess cheese that remained on the plate with the last roll.
“Fuck, that was just as good as I remembered.” He leaned back, placing his hands on his belly, rubbing it gently.
“Can—uh, can I do that?” I asked. He grinned.
“You don’t gotta ask,” he said, turning in the chair away from the table. He spread his legs, waiting for me. I went to the other side of the table as he pushed away from it. I knelt on the ground and rubbed his bloated gut, my hands traveling to his sides so I could squeeze the love handles pushed up by his underwear.
I moved toward his broad chest, squeezing the flesh there as well. Fuck, there was just so much of him. He was only wearing underwear, so I saw he was getting hard. I leaned forward, and began to kiss his belly, licking around his navel. His stomach tensed and relaxed.
“You like this gut?” he asked, his eyes closed.
“I love this gut,” I replied. His dick jumped in his underwear.
He stood, pushing me back slightly. I looked up from beneath his belly, and it made me think about that day at the bike racks a few months ago. I’d thought of him as a giant then, but compared to what I was looking at now, that version of Mason was minuscule.
Mason removed his dick from his boxers, and I leaned forward, resting my mouth at the base of his penis above his balls. I inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of his skin after a shower. I licked his shaft slowly, raising a hand to feel the heft of his belly above me. It didn’t need my support, as it was a solid sphere that hadn’t gotten large enough yet to droop. I thought about that phrasing and it sent me to another level of arousal. Large enough yet. Mason would likely be bigger than this soon. 300 pounds was the point where most guys would fight to get their waistlines in check, but I knew Mason didn’t care about that. He’d want more, and I wanted to help him.
I heard him moaning above me, one of his hands grabbing my hair, the other on the side of his gut. “Fuck, Oli,” he grunted. “You’re gonna make me cum.”
I stopped and stood up.
“Let’s go upstairs,” I said.
He agreed to head up to my room, but he couldn’t stop himself from kissing me ravenously first. He loved kissing, and I definitely wasn’t against it, but we hadn’t moved yet. Mason was still kissing me. On my neck. My forehead. My cheeks. He reached for his penis, but I stopped him.
“Upstairs,” I reiterated.
He nodded. His eyes had that glazed over look again. He followed me to the staircase, and as I ascended, I heard the stairs creaking loudly as he heavily padded up after me.
I wanted to fuck him with all I had. Each time I wanted more and more to have the best sex ever, and each time it was the best sex ever. I didn’t know if it was because we were getting better at it or the fact that our relationship was becoming so much more serious, but whatever it was, I hoped it continued.
He pulled off his boxers and leaned over my desk, his beefy forearms resting on top. His strong legs were spread apart, and his knees were slightly bent. In this position, his stomach seemed more noticeable. It hung down, round and bloated. I wanted to cradle it in my hands from behind.
I slid on a condom and carried the lube over to where he was waiting for me. I covered my dick in the slick substance before gently massaging his hole. “I’m ready,” he breathed. “I want it, Oliver.”
He didn’t have to tell me twice. I grabbed onto one of his love handles as I led my member inside of him. This ass was everything. I’m pretty sure he worked it out extra hard because he knew I loved it so much. Seeing my hands cradling his meaty cheeks was unreal. I didn’t have abnormally large hands, but he had such a massive ass, they looked almost feminine. I pushed my entire dick inside of him, thrusting back and forth more forcefully than I had before. He moaned and moaned—saying my name, telling me how good it felt. I felt the tingle I came to expect wash over me. I wasn’t sure if it was endorphins or what, but I was close to finishing and feeling amazing.
He took a sharp intake of breath, shooting cum across the front drawers of my desk. I pushed hard a few more times. I’d never felt so good before. I came loads, my legs turning to jelly for a few moments, almost causing me to lose my balance. “Aw, fuck,” I managed to get out, grabbing his hips gently.
We moved over to the bed and laid back. His belly moved up and down.
“That gets better and better,” he panted.
“I was thinking the same thing.” He rolled over on top of me. I loved that, the weight of his fat body pressing into me. It was incredible. He just laid there, kissing my face and neck until I had to tap out. He rolled back over, smiling.
The next thing I remember was waking up. We’d fallen asleep. It was now around eight. I tried to shake him awake.
“Mason,” I said. “Mason wake up.”
“Five more minutes,” he mumbled almost inaudibly.
“Mason,” I laughed, “You can’t stay here. Your parents will wonder where you are.”
“I don’t wanna get up,” he said into a pillow. “Let them wonder.”
“But our homework,” I said half-heartedly, also not in the mood to complete any schoolwork or send him on his way. I got up and checked my assignment book. Nothing was due tomorrow. I locked my door and got back in bed. He turned so I could place my head on his chest. He had his arm wrapped around me. I could have stayed like that forever.
Mason dozed back off almost immediately, but I laid awake thinking.
We only had a couple of months left in senior year. I’d gotten into my first-choice university and all of my safety schools, but there was definitely something that had me reconsidering going away to a four-year university. I didn’t really have any idea of what I wanted to major in. Nothing in the traditional sense was appealing to me. I didn’t want to be a teacher or a lawyer or a nurse.
Being with Mason reignited a passion that had laid dormant for years. I loved being in the kitchen and perfecting different recipes. Attending culinary school might be what I want to do post-graduation. It might have been youthful optimism, but I could see myself one day owning a restaurant.
Mason was going to the college thirty minutes from where we lived. I knew there was a program near him that was accredited and offered lots of opportunities for growth. I could feel myself getting excited by this idea. I hadn’t even been this excited opening up my college acceptance letters. This passion had to mean something. It just had to.
I could do it. I would do it! I’d always longed for a life outside of high school, and now I was starting to see that life more clearly. Even if the future was a mixed bag of possibilities, I knew one thing for certain.
I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Mason.
The End!
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sweetcreatxr · 2 years
Text
♥︎ 10 things he loves about you (and more) ♥︎
✰Where Chris reassures you after catching you crying by telling you what he loves about you.✰
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Chris Evans X husband!male reader ⚣︎♡︎
⚠︎ Warnings : angst in the beginning, homophobia, f slur, a loooot of fluff, Chris being an overprotective and a loving husband, insecurities.
---------
You were sitting on the living room sofa, phone in your hands and your face shaking with tears.
You were reading the comments that were under the photo that Chris, your husband had posted. It was a photo of both him and you hugging each other on the balcony of your room, it was his sister who took the photo, amazed by your couple.
You also thought that you too made a very nice couple and encouraged him to put the picture on his Instagram. But now that was a different story, millions of strangers may have loved the pic, but thousands more in the comments hated it so much they felt the urge to take their hate out on you.
Most of the comments were like:
"Ew ew ew, Chris my God when I think you could have a beautiful wife, you find yourself having a fucking tuna. That's really embarrassing for you..."
And
"Since when Chris is a fucking fag? Lol"
Or
"We're gonna pretend I didn't see anything and pretend they're friends or I'm gonna puke..."
It wasn't the comments themselves that hurt him the most but more the likes underneath, a lot of people agreed and thought Chris was making a huge mistake being married to Y/n.
This thought made Y/n even sadder, who burst into tears and lay down dramatically, throwing his phone on the ground.
At the same time Chris opened the front door with a smile on his face, happy to have finally returned to his cozy nest and to his loving husband.
"Love I'm home!"
He had rushed to Los Angeles a week ago because the film crew had called him back to shoot important scenes for his new film, but he was now reassured to be back in Boston with his darling.
He was also a little worried because Y/n hadn't given him any news since last night when they usually couldn't live without each other for more than thirty minutes.
And his concern grew even more when his husband didn't answer him but he instead saw him lying on the sofa, his phone broken due to the violent impact with the ground, and tears all over his face.
Chris rushed to him, got on his knees and took him in his arms.
"My love, hey what's happening ?!"
He hated seeing the love of his life sad and crying even though those feelings were something that was inevitable for a human being. Y/n continued to cry as Chris hugged him tightly.
"Shhhh don't worry I'm here now, everything is fine"
Chris was aware that something was wrong for Y/n to get into such a state and as long as he didn't stop crying, his husband will know no more.
He then took his lover's phone which was cracked but where you could still make out the comments that Y/n had read earlier and Chris guessed, all day too.
"Holy shit..."
Chris seethed in rage, he wanted to kill every single person who had dared to hurt his husband but for now he had to make him feel a little better.
"Listen to me love, everything that these people are saying are bullshits okay?! Pure bullshit! You are the most amazing person I know and I can't see myself spending the rest of my life without you by my side, it's simply impossible!”
"But they're right Christopher! You can have all the chicks on the planet, the hottest models and you choose to be with me, why? What's special about me? Why do you love me?
His questions were heartbreaking for Chris who hugged Y/n even tighter by fear that he would leave. How long had his husband thought that he wasn't good enough for him? And why hadn't he told him anything ?
Y/n tried to get up in front of Chris's silence but was sat down by him who had no intention of letting him go.
"Christopher leave me alone-"
"1: the fact that you call me by my full first name instead of Chris like everyone else
2: the sweatshirts that you borrow from me all the time because you love having my smell on you and that you will end up giving me back only when the smell is gone. I can say goodbye to the one you're wearing right now."
Y/n blushed and lowered his head but Chris lifted him up
" 3: How you blush and lower your head every time I compliment you"
"That wasn't really a compliment, Christopher..."
"Shut up, it is for me"
Y/n burst into a hearty laugh and smiled lovingly at Chris's comment.
" 4 : When you laugh it makes me want to make love to you endlessly and your smile could kill anyone so much it lights up the room you're in.
5 : Your love for dogs, Seeing you playing with our dog already makes me imagine how you will play with our future children.
6 : your taste in clothes, everything you wear, even a very ugly floral shirt, becomes beautiful on you.
7 : your tattoos and their meanings, I think it's just too sexy
8: the way you sing in the shower or when I play piano, it gives me a lot of shivers
9 : you being sassy and the way you put people in their places when necessary, it's very admirable of you
And finally but the most important
10 : your first name next to mine
These are the reasons I'm in love with you Y/n Evans even though there are more but it was just too long to list them all. All of that just for saying that what matters is you and me and nothing else, okay? "
Y/n nodded and took his phone from his hand before adding
"I'm going to have to buy a new phone"
"That'll teach you not to throw valuables without thinking of the consequences"
Y/n slapped Chris's arm who reacted dramatically
"you stupid fuck, you're lucky I love you"
Chris laughed and kissed Y/n who pulled his hair to kiss him harder."
11 : the way you kiss me, always passionately"
________
OMAGADDFJDJDH ! I sooo proud of this one and I'm so sorry for any spelling errors that I did if there are any but anyway I'm really happy it's my first time writing about Chris and just let me know if you guys liked it !
yeah i edited it
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mrsfrecklesmarauders · 7 months
Text
Grant knew Remus was never meant to be his. Grant wasn't the kind of person who had cute romances from books. He was only meant to pine for boys who treated him like shit and meant for having meaningless sex, being the spare for others. He didn't complain, better act like he didn't care at all.
Grant wasn't meant for someone like Remus. Remus, who was supposed to live the epic romance, Remus who deserved the happy ever after with a wonderful person by his side.
But Grant couldn't avoid falling in love with him.
It was Remus' fault, really. Grant was fine shagging stupid boys and don't even remembering their names. Grant was fine being mistreated by Jeremy and having the illusion that one day he was going to want him for real. It was easy having an unreachable love. Never quite daring to do anything. Because Grant didn't deserve any of it.
But then Remus came into his life. Grant worried about the crying depressive mess that Remus was. He drank every night, smoked like a chimney and began shagging boys that were very similar to Sirius. Grant had never seen someone suffer like that over a broken heart. He hated Sirius for what he had done to Remus. It scared Grant how much Remus had loved Sirius. They had what Grant would never have.
So Grant was support when Remus needed it the most.
As time passed and Remus got better, Grant found in Remus the biggest confident he had. Remus became his best friend. They shared a flat, they shared expenses, they shared a life. Everything was easy with Remus. Grant could tell him anything. Sure, they were friends as teens but not quite like this. Even Jeremy was jealous.
Grant loved Remus but he knew there was absolutely nothing going to happen between them. Remus was silver, no one would ever replace his gold (Sirius) and Grant was trash. That was the way things were.
But then Remus cared. He was the only one that took care of Grant's health and Grant's heart. Grant couldn't avoid feeling something.
"Can I ask you something, Grant?" Remus asked.
"Tell me, sweetheart"
"Why do you let Jeremy treat you like that?"
"Let's not start, love..." Grant hated talking about the matters of the heart, specially about himself. And shit he couldn't find his lighter.
"You deserve better!" Remus interrupted "You deserve someone who truly loves you. Not someone that fucks you when he is horny... Jeremy is disgusting..."
"Remus..."
"You are the most beautiful and amazing person I know... Please, stop doing this to yourself..."
Remus and his stupid way of caring. Shit. It made Grant feel things he wasn't supposed to feel.
"Stop saying that!" Grant yelled irritated "I'm nothing... And not everyone is like your precious prince charming"
"Bullshit!" Remus spat angrily "Sirius..." he took a deep breath as if his name hurt him "He never treated me like that..."
But he hurt you, Grant wanted to say. Sirius wasn't Grant's favorite person.
Remus continued.
"You are the best friend I have and I would do anything to make you see how much you deserve... Love, affection.... Even more... You are perfect for God's sake"
Grant's fag fell to the floor as he opened his mouth. Grant was very good at making stupid decisions so he did one now. He grabbed Remus by his neck and kissed him. It was a surprise that seconds later Remus kissed him back.
They had kissed before as friends who wanted to pass time and get off while Remus waited for Sirius to feel the same. Grant had felt affection towards Remus before.
Now he felt passion. With every kiss he wanted to make Remus more and more his. At least for the moment. It wasn't long until they both took off their clothes. Grant had been through Remus' transition. And Remus had been adorable then. But this time he was the hottest man alive. Grant wasn't sure what to expect but his desire for Remus was stronger than anything else. And Remus wanted him back... Not sure why exactly.... But Remus wanted him back.
Grant let himself be drown by desire and pleasure.
"Who would've known, sweetheart?" Grant whistled after the moment of passion passed "You are really good at this"
Remus laughed loudly and Grant followed him shortly.
Nothing had changed. They were the bestest of friends again. But with kisses and sex. Grant continued seeing other boys and Jeremy because he didn't know what else to do. Remus never said he wanted a relationship. Not that Grant wanted that (deserved that). It would be weird.
Grant was never meant to be anybody's boyfriend. And that was a fact.
It was purely coincidence what happened next. One of Grant's lovers called him and said he was HIV positive and Grant's world crumbled down.
Remus was safe but Grant was positive too. He wasn't dying according to the doctor. He just had to take medicine everyday and be careful not to pass it to someone else. Grant stopped seeing Jeremy and other boys for that matter.
Remus helped Grant accept his illness and live with it. Remus helped Grant find joy again. Remus helped Grant enjoy sex again.
Time passed again and they became this monogamous couple. Almost. They lived together, they kissed, touched like couples would do. Grant used pet names with Remus. Remus just called him Grant. All of their circles thought they were boyfriends. But none of them admitted it. They never had a talk that confirmed it. They didn't celebrate anniversaries. They didn't do what couples did.
For a second, Grant thought Remus could be his first boyfriend. But then, Remus got really upset when he saw Sirius with his new girlfriend in a photo. He puked as if he was literally sick.
"I am sorry... I don't know why I did that..."
"It's OK, love. It is normal"
Grant and Remus were friends and they loved each other. But Remus' heart would only belong to Sirius.
That's why when Remus received an invitation from James and Lily to spend a week in Cornwall, Grant knew his time with Remus was up. The minute Remus would see Sirius, he would go back into his arms. There was spark there. There was an undying love there.
"I don't think I should go..."
"Darling..." Grant smiled, as he helped putting clothes inside Remus' case "You die to go... I know you miss all of them"
Remus shrugged.
"You follow their socials like they are some kind of celebrities.... And you always ask Lily how they are"
Remus didn't belong to Grant. He belonged to them. That group he so much adored.
"Is it because Sirius would be there?" Grant tried as he saw Remus' expression. And of course, that name always caused some sort of reaction on Remus.
"Of course not! It is not that..." It was obviously that "It is just that I haven't seen most of them in a long time... And I don't know... Perhaps it would be awkward"
"They are your friends, sweetheart"
"They are Sirius' friends..." Remus sighed "Why don't you come with me? Lily said it was fine"
Because Grant knew that he had to let this happen. He had to let Remus and Sirius have their connection again. He would ruin that by being there. Besides, it might be painful to watch.
"I told you I have work..." Grant grinned "I have that queer fair with the kids... Told you about it"
Remus took a deep breath.
"I can stay and help with that"
Grant smiled.
"The kids love me"
Who wouldn't love him?
"Go to bloody Cornwall and have bloody fun with your friends.... Even with Sirius"
"Grant..."
"I didn't say that kind of fun" Grant giggled.
Remus looked into his eyes for a second and then gave up. He sighed.
"Fine..." he leaned to give him a kiss "I love you"
It wasn't the kind of "I love you" you tell your romantic partner, the love of your life. It was always with that certain tone. With friendly intention. Grant knew Remus loved him. He had no doubt. But he wasn't in love with him. He would always be in love with Sirius. Grant just hoped Sirius felt the same.
"Love you too, sweetheart"
"I am gonna miss you"
Grant had to admit he had let himself be loved and be taken care of. He had lived wonderful years with Remus. The beautiful fantasy of true love. But it was over. Remus had to realize he belonged somewhere else, he belonged with someone else.
"I am gonna miss you too sweetheart... So much..."
Goodbye Remus. Grant thought with a smile.
They shared another kiss.
39 notes · View notes