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nutmegalomania · 3 years

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Movie Night

a mammon x male reader ff

description: on a night when all you wanted to do was to get an early night's sleep, mammon decided to barge into your room and force you into a movie night. you had thought your hormones were under control, but you soon snapped. what first started out as the two of you innocently watching the wide variety of movies he brought turned into a steamy night with the movie night long forgotten.

ingredients: mammon (obey me!)/reader, male reader, mammon (obey me!), bottom mammon, movie night, smut, blow jobs, anal fingering, gay sex

flavor: spicy 🌶️

calories: 9,410

🥐

You sat on your back atop your bed, flitting through the manga you asked to borrow from Levi, when a knock on the sound of your door creaking open grabbed your attention. The manga shut as you turned your attention to the intruder who didn’t even have the manners to knock, and you sighed when Mammon slinked into your room with several movies in his hands. Instead of greeting you, he plopped down in front of your TV and turned it on, ignoring you as you shuffled into a sitting position.

“A ‘hello’ would be nice once in a while, Mammon,” you said, and he swatted a hand at you without taking his attention away from the blue screen in front of him.

A deep sigh left you as you stood from your bed, dizziness taking over you for a few seconds before you blinked a few times and walked over to Mammon. You braced your hands on your knees as you bent over to get a look at the collection of movies he had splayed in his lap, but he leaned forward to cover them from your vision.

“If you don’t tell me why the hell you barged into my room at 10 pm with a bunch of movies, I’ll kick you out and lock the door... after I steal my duplicate room key back from you,” you said when he opened his mouth to argue back.

At that, he shut his mouth, and he turned his head in your direction with wide, frightened eyes at your threat. You gave him a soft smile, but your eyes told him not to fuck with you. He barged in during your manga reading session, though you hadn’t been able to concentrate on the words and drawings as your pent up sexual frustrations begged for your attention. Frankly, the last thing you needed was Mammon coming into your room when all you wanted was to jerk off and go to sleep.

“The... The—ummm—No one else would watch movies with me. It’s-It’s not like I want to watch ‘em with you or anything. Ya got that?! You’re the only person I could think of that would be willing to watch ‘em with me. Not that you’re special at all! Just my last choice, okay? Don’t get any funny ideas, ya hear!” he sputtered out, face reddening as he avoided your eyes.

With a groan, you sat down on the floor beside him, noticing how his body jolted when your knee touched his leg. You stretched your legs out in front of you and leaned back onto your hands while you fixed him with an intrigued stare.

“Okay. I’ll entertain you for a bit. Not like I have much to do either way.” Your head rolled to the side as you watched Mammon fidget with the movies in his lap. You reached a hand into his lap to grab out a movie case. He tensed when your hand grazed his inner thigh, and you pretended not to see it, though the redness of his ears made you want to tease him some more. As you flipped the movie around in your hand, you hummed. “Isn’t this a horror? I thought you hated those types of movies.”

“I-I thought someone else would enjoy it. It was just a suggestion! I didn’t wanna try to overcome my fear of them or something like that. Don’t go spreading false information to any of the others, ya hear me!”

You held up your hands in mock surrender, a deep chuckle making your chest bounce while he tried defending himself with a red face. “I won’t. I won’t. I promise!”

He pouted at your reaction and snatched the movie out of your hand before throwing it onto your bed, and out of your reach. You opened your mouth to speak your thoughts, but Mammon grabbed a random movie from his pile of what looked like five movies—six including the discarded horror movie—and held it up. From the cover, it seemed to be an action spy movie, a man with his back facing the viewer as a woman held him close against her body with her face giving a sultry look while she held a gun up looking at you. He opened it and slid the disc out before he got onto all fours to crawl forward to the DVD player to put the disc in.

You leaned back and honed your eyes onto the curve of his ass through his jeans as he stuck it out while he inserted the disc, and you mentally slapped yourself when you imagined something else entering a place you wouldn’t speak of. The DVD player whirred as it sucked the disc in and read it, and before long, ads popped up. Mammon cursed as he searched for the remote, and you grabbed it from the table next to you to hand to him. Your hands touched each other when he took it from you, and the warmth from his fingertips lingered against your cool skin. This time, Mammon acted as if nothing happened, but the redness of his neck betrayed his embarrassment.

As he skipped the ads and reached the title screen of the movie, you decided to ask the all important question. “Did you bring popcorn?”

In response, he reached into his jacket and pulled out two packages of popcorn, a serious look on his face as he scanned the screen. A chuckle left you that turned into full blown laughter with you clutching your stomach and rolling on the floor.

“What-what are ya laughing ‘bout?!” Mammon asked as he turned his attention towards your body, wondering what drugs you had taken.

“I didn’t expect you to actually have popcorn! And your face when you pulled it out!” You let out a series of breathy laughs, and you sat up and crossed your legs as you let your laughter fade out. “You didn’t have to look so serious! I thought you were planning how to knock me out and steal all my shit while using popcorn as your distraction.”

“Sh-shut up! I had to hide it from Beel or else he’d interrupt.” Once those words left Mammon’s mouth, his hands shot up to cover it, and he looked at you with wide eyes.

You tilted your head to the side as you watched his face redden even more than it was—which you didn’t believe to be possible. “Oh? So does that mean you didn’t ask the others before me?” When he shifted from side to side, you leaned in closer to his face, and he avoided your face. “Or am I reading too deeply into things? Was it just a slip of the tongue? Is there something Beel would interrupt going on here?”

“Just… Just be quiet! It’s nothing, all right?! You’re-you’re just reading too deep into what I-I said. I-Idiot!” he said, and his stuttering made your heart clench from how endearing you found it. You wanted to tease him more, but at the same time, you didn’t want to scare him off so that you could see how everything played out.

You’d be a good boy and comply with his wishes for a movie night, no matter how much your hormones raged on inside you and urged you to tease him until he became a sputtering, blushing, crying mess underneath you. Now your groin burned as images of a crying Mammon popped into your mind, and you groaned as you adjusted your sitting position. As Mammon stood up to pop the popcorn in your microwave, you grabbed his wrist and dragged his attention towards your figure on the floor. You thanked your oversized t-shirt for covering the raging boner you had now as he looked at you.

“I’ll pop the bags. You just ready everything else, okay?” you told him, relieved when he nodded his head and plopped back down onto the floor as you stood up.

You hissed as you walked towards your microwave, your erection rubbing against your thighs as you moved, and you were glad Mammon focused on readying the TV and seats for the two of you to snuggle into. You shoved the first bag of popcorn into the microwave and pulled out a bowl to put it in. While you stood there, waiting for the timer to run out, you willed your boner to disappear, and you thought about Lucifer scolding you for taking part in Belphie and Satan’s shenanigans against him. That seemed to do the trick, for now at least, and the timer beeped. After emptying the bag into the bowl, you shoved the second package into the microwave. The smell of buttery popcorn wafted through your room, and you hummed in content before you emptied the last bag into a new bowl for yourself. As you readied yourself to walk over to Mammon, he looked over his shoulder at you, eyes already in puppy mode, and you sighed as you waited for his request.

“Could ya get some drinks too?” he asked.

“What? Where the hell would I get drinks from?” You grabbed the two bowls of popcorn and headed over to him. When you bent down to set them on the ground, he pointed towards the fridge in your room that tended to house yogurt or pudding that Beel asked you to hide from Mammon. You looked at Mammon through slitted eyes, and he gave you a smile that made you roll your eyes before you listened to him and walked over to your mini fridge. The moment you opened it, a pack of sodas greeted you, and you glared at Mammon who avoided your eyes. “When did you buy these and put them in here?”

“Well—ya see—the thing is....” he trailed off, and you put a hand on your hip.

“Mammon.”

At the no-nonsense tone in your voice, he rubbed the back of his neck and looked at you. “I bought ‘em a few days ago and snuck in while ya were sleeping to stash ‘em away.”

With an irritated sigh, you grabbed two cans and walked over to him to bonk him on the head with his. “That’s it. Gimme your copy of my key right now. Who knows what other shit you’ve done in my room while I’ve been asleep.” You sat down next to him and held out your hand, but the cool feeling of metal against your palm never appeared.

Mammon shook his head and leaned away from you, clutching the side of his jacket, where you assumed he kept the key to your room. You let out a deep sigh and leaned towards him to snatch the key from him, but he leaned further away.

“I’m not playing your games, Mammon. Just give me the damn key,” you said, fed up with his lack of cooperation. Again, he shook his head, and you pushed yourself to your feet to tower over his sitting figure. He looked up at you with wide eyes, and you took his surprise as your chance to grab him and grab at his jacket to steal your key back.

“No! Ya ain’t getting it back! Over my dead body!” he said as he clutched his chest and twisted his body around to kick at you with pitiful hits that only served to distance the two of you and not stop your pursuit.

You drew closer to him, and he leaned back, letting out a grunt as his back hit the ground. In that quick second, you jumped on top of him, pushing his legs down and sitting on them to keep him from kicking you. As you straddle his legs, you leaned over him and pried his hands away from his jacket. You held his wrist together above his head with one hand while you used the other to search his jacket. Your hand rubbed against his chest, and he pursed his lips and turned his head to the side, neck and ears burning red while his legs fidgeted underneath you. His body twitched when you ran across his nipple through the fabric of his shirt, and when you felt the cool metal of the key, you snatched it out and released his wrists and clambered off him before you did something you’d regret.

“Got it. Now you can’t barge into my room in the middle of the night to watch me sleep,” you said, hoping a little joke would lightened the mood, but Mammon didn’t respond as he laid on the floor for a few more seconds before he sat up with a flushed face, fixed his crumpled jacket, and slid into his spot.

He grabbed his popcorn bucket and placed it in his lap, remote in hand. Without a word, he hit play and opened his soda, the fizzing pop of it echoing in the quiet room. Instead of pushing the issue, you stuffed the key into the pocket of your sweatpants and grabbed your own popcorn and soda to enjoy the movie. To be honest, you didn’t even remember what it was about as your mind busied you with images of Mammon blushing underneath you, body jolting as you ran your hands across the naked expanse of his chest. Your mind only registered flashing lights that flitted on the screen and mixed with yells. You couldn’t tell if Mammon was into it either with the way his eyes seemed hollow, as if he were looking through the TV.

Before long, the movie ended, and he instantly shoved a new one in without saying anything. You didn’t complain, assuming he would be uncomfortable talking to you after the situation that transpired between the two of you a few hours before the first movie. He put on a romance movie next, and while you tried to focus on the story this time, the moment the two main characters kissed, all you could think of was you and Mammon kissing instead. You wondered how soft his lips would feel, if you’d be able to taste his chapstick or if he’d taste like popcorn and sickenly sweet soda, if he’d wrap his arms around your neck and press his body against yours, whether or not he’d use his tongue, or if he’d moan and squirm as you deepen the kiss.

You grabbed a pillow from your bed and covered your lap with it, hoping to hide your boner from Mammon. His eyes focused on the movie though, and he reached into his bowl of popcorn to grab more, only to pout when he felt nothing. He had finished it an hour before and seemed to have forgotten. You, on the other hand, still had almost your full bowl of popcorn as you were too preoccupied with your dirty thoughts to eat any. You handed him your bowl of no-longer-warm popcorn, and he perked up to take it from you. A content smile came to his face as he shoveled more popcorn into his mouth, not caring if it wasn’t fresh.

The credits greeted you the next time you blinked and exited your thoughts, and Mammon sat there, sniffling as he wiped his nose on the sleeve of his shirt. You didn’t know what he was sad over since you couldn’t focus on this movie either. You reached onto the table next to you, grabbed the tissues, and handed them to him. While he blew his nose, you checked the time, taking a deep breath when you saw that it was only 1:36 am. As Mammon reached for another movie in his stash, you grabbed his hand.

“Why don’t we mix things up a bit?” you said when he gave you a questioning look.

Before he could ask what you meant, you scooted back towards your bed, grabbed the horror movie off of it, and scooted back to him. His eyes zoomed in on the cover of it, and they widened as he shook his head.

“Why not? We could help you get over your fear of them. Think of it like exposure therapy. I’ll also be here to fend off any scary monsters that are lurking in the dark,” you said, and he hesitantly nodded his head, looking a little relieved. You offered him a soft smile and put the movie in.

A scream sounded when it started, and Mammon jumped, the kernels in the bowl flying out of it and hitting the floor. You gave him a worried look, unsure if it was a good idea now, and he only shook his head and focused on the movie. Whenever suspenseful music came on, his body tensed, and during jumpscares, he’d fling his body around out of fright. When he had one especially bad fright, you paused the movie and scooted over to him, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him close to your body.

You rubbed up and down on his shoulder. He looked up at you, tears in his eyes. Your breathing stopped as you took in his disheveled appearance, teary eyes, and red face, and thoughts swam around your head and made your brain come close to short circuiting. Shallow breaths pushed through his lips as his chest moved up and down, and you swallowed thickly. Once he calmed down, he placed a hand on your thigh to push himself up, but it slipped, and your eyes widened when it brushed against your erection.

You turned your head towards him so slowly as everything felt like it was in slow motion. Mammon retracted his hand and shot up, and he stared back at you with wide eyes. The silence between the two of you resounded in your ears, louder than anything you’d ever heard before. Your mouth opened and closed as you tried to say something, but you couldn’t come up with anything to say. You were happy when Mammon said something, but his words were the last thing you’d expected him to say, only hearing them in your dreams.

“Do-do ya want some help with that?”

At the embarrassed tone in his voice, your body tensed. “What?” was all you could say, and you wanted to slap yourself for sounding so stupid.

“It looks painful,” he said as his eyes zoned in on your raging boner, and you realized he had knocked the pillow away from your lap in his haste to stand up.

“I-uh…” You couldn’t think of anything to respond with. You wanted to shout “Yes, please!”, but you didn’t want to scare him away and let him in on your carnal desires that revolved around him. “N-no! I can… I can take care of it myself.” The awkwardness in the room made you want to run into your bathroom to take care of it, but with the way Mammon kept staring at your erection, you felt that moving would be a bad idea. You grabbed the pillow and held it against your front as you stood up, Mammon’s eyes trailing up to your embarrassed face. “Good night, Mammon. Uh… See you tomorrow?” You wanted to jump into the burning pits of hell and die a painful death.

You tried to side shuffle your way to the bathroom, but before you made it far, Mammon walked up to you and pushed you down onto the bed. You let out a surprised grunt as your back sank into your mattress. The pillow disappeared from its spot covering your boner, and you propped yourself up on your elbows to see Mammon sitting on his knees between your legs. You sucked in a deep breath as he slipped his warm hands under your shirt and ran them across your torso. His tongue swiped across his bottom lip as he stared at the bulge in your sweatpants with hungry eyes, and your dick twitched.

He brought a shaky hand to the waistband of your sweatpants and boxers, and he dragged the both down, gasping when your erection sprang out in front of him. He grabbed the base of your cock in his hand, and his eyes trembled as he felt the heat from your shaft seep into his palm. His hesitation made you stop for a second.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, Mammon. I can take care of it myself,” you told him, but he shook his head, fluffy white hair bouncing to show you his disagreement with your statement.

Mammon leaned in close to your dick, sucking in a deep breath when it throbbed in his hand, and placed a kiss to the smooth skin of your shaft. Your cock twitched at the feeling of his soft, warm lips against you, and the way he looked you straight in the eyes with hooded eyelids and irises burning with sexual desire made you want to take him right there

“I want to do it for ya,” he rasped, and you didn’t get the chance to answer before he licked a slow strip up your shaft while his thumb circled the tip, and your body flinched when his thumbnail scraped against your slit.

“Mammon,” you groaned as he pressed his thumb down against your slit, his soft lips working on the sides of your cock. You needed his mouth around you… now.

At the low, gravelly sound of your voice, Mammon squirmed in his spot on the floor, but he complied to your silent request. His thumb stopped circling your head, the warmth of his smooth lips soon replacing the rough pad of his finger. You let out a shaky breath as his lips parted, and warmth encased your tip as he slipped your length into his mouth. A hand grabbed at Mammon’s hair, and he groaned as you tugged at his roots, the vibration of his voice sending shockwaves of pleasure down your cock.

“Shit…” you breathed out, and Mammon dragged his mouth back up to your tip while his tongue swirled around it and picked up the beads of precum that spilled from the slit.

His cheeks hollowed as he sucked at your tip, and soft hums of content left his throat as the bitter taste of your precum reached his taste buds and spread across his tongue. You ran your fingers through his hair, the soft strands caressing the skin of your digits as he relaxed his jaw and pushed his head down further on your cock. You bit your lip as the warmth from his mouth hit your dick and made it twitch, and when your tip pressed against the back of his throat, you couldn’t hold back the loud moan as his throat clenched around your length. You wanted to shove his head further down on your shaft, but the tears in his eyes made you stop, and he pulled off you as he gagged. Coughs wracked his body, and you grabbed the sides of his face, thumbs swiping at the tears spilling from his reddening eyes.

“Are you okay? If it’s too hard on you, we can just move on,” you said. The way his body shook with each cough stabbed at your chest, and you were five seconds away from telling him to drink some water while you busied yourself in the bathroom, but he shook his head again.

He looked you dead in the eyes, determination flashing through them, and the breath caught in your chest. He scooted closer to you until your legs sandwiched him, and your cock stood directly in front of his face. His pink tongue flicked out to swipe across his thick bottom lip, and he took a deep breath.

“I just need to get used to it. I ain’t stopping unless ya tell me you want to,” he said, and you opened your mouth to respond.

With one hand, he grabbed your cock, and the other reached up to settle high on your stomach. He applied pressure with his hand on your stomach until you flopped back onto your bed, and he wrapped his lips back around your tip. This time, he took a deep breath through his nose before he relaxed his jaw and pushed his head down your shaft. His throat closed around your shaft, and you squeezed your eyes shut. After a few seconds, it relaxed, and you hissed as more of you slipped into his mouth. You covered your eyes with your arm, trying your best to yourself back from thrusting into his mouth.

Before long, his nose bumped against your pubic bone, and he hummed at the feeling of your large cock sitting inside his mouth and throbbing against his tongue. You couldn’t stop your hips from thrusting upwards, and Mammon let out a surprised gag.

“Shit! I’m sorry… I couldn’t hold it back.”

He breathed out through his nose to tell you it was all right as he settled himself back down until all of you was inside his mouth. He stayed there for a few seconds to let his throat adjust to your size, and he pulled his head up, a wet sucking sound following before he shoved his head back down and repeating it again. Your stomach and legs tensed as he sucked in slowly every time he pulled up, and you sat up to place a steady hand on the back of his head. Once he fully got used to feeling you entering his mouth, he sped his pace, head bobbing up and down as wet gagging sounds echoed throughout your room.

The warmth of his mouth mixing with the pressure from his sucking made your high come to you faster than you would have liked, and you twitched inside his mouth, signaling that you were close. He looked up at you through his bangs, his yellow and blue eyes piercing into yours, saliva spilling from his lips as he bobbed up and down on your cock. Tears formed a shiny gloss over his eyes as lust twinkled inside them, and you couldn’t stop your body from tensing as you twitched in his mouth and released your cum. Mammon didn’t pull off no matter how much you tried to tug him off. A throaty groan left your throat as your body tensed as you released inside his mouth.

As you filled his mouth with your thick, warm cum, his body twitched, and a loud, muffled moan left him. You pulled out of his mouth as a final string of cum shot out onto his face, and he stuck his tongue out to catch what he could as he let out ragged pants. While your orgasm calmed down, you took the chance to look over him and his disheveled appearance. His silky hair stuck up in random directions, and a mixture of saliva and tears made his reddened face shiny in the lights of your bedroom. His jacket and shirt were crumpled, and as you dragged your eyes down further, you sucked in a breath.

“Did… Did you just cum from sucking me off?” you said in surprise as you noticed the stain in his pants, and Mammon nodded slowly as his hooded eyes stared right into yours, his hands swiping your cum off of his face and shoving it into his mouth as a blush spread across his cheeks and ears. He swirled his lips around his digits, bobbing his head on them to get every last drop he could from them, and you groaned at the sight, your dick springing right back up.

“Get on the bed,” you ordered as blood rushed down to your erection, and he didn’t need to be told twice before he slipped off his belt, climbed onto the bed, and laid on his back, legs spread and the bulge in his pants prominent.

As you looked at his wet lips and lustful eyes, you bit your lips and ran your hands along the dips in his waist until you grabbed his jacket and helped slide it off him. He sat up to let you slip it free from his arms, his face centimeters from yours and his breath fanning against your lips. You leaned forward to capture his lips, but he laid back on the bed, his shirt riding up to expose the smooth muscles of his stomach. You let out an irritated breath and jabbed the inside of your cheek with your tongue, but you didn’t stop raking your eyes over his figure. On your bed. Ready to be fucked by you.

The fact that the reason for your sexual frustrations laid in front of you, ready for you to fuck him senseless, still felt like a dream to you. Mammon noticed you losing yourself in your thoughts, and he grabbed the collar of your shirt to pull you down on top of him. As you braced your forearms on either side of his head, he pressed his lips against yours. Your eyes widened as you felt the softness of his lips rubbing against yours. A delicious shiver ran down your spine as you realized just how well your lips fit into Mammon’s, as if they were destined for each other.

Your sexual fantasies took control of you, and while he softly kissed you, your tongue slithered between his lips and entered his mouth, eyes closing. He let out a surprised squeak that you swallowed and tensed underneath you as your tongue rubbed against his, but before long, he relaxed and let you swirl your tongue around his. Though the two of you had just eaten popcorn, his saliva tasted sweet against your taste buds, and you couldn’t get enough of it. Mammon fisted your shirt tighter as you deepened the kiss and licked inside his mouth, savoring the flavor of him as your mind clouded with lust. He shuddered when you licked his teeth, and his body warmed up underneath you until you could feel it through your clothes. When you pulled back to catch your breath and opened your eyes, your breathing stopped as Mammon looked at you with a red face, eyes hazy as soft pants pushed past his red and swollen lips.

“Fuck…” you said as your cock twitched in your pants, begging to be inside Mammon.

You dipped your head back down to recapture his lips as your hands ran underneath his shirt that exposed his stomach. Mammon’s stomach tensed underneath your cool hands, and he bit your bottom lip and tugged at it, letting out a content sigh as you rubbed his sides. The calloused skin of your hands caressed his smooth skin, and he shuddered underneath your touch as your hands slid higher up his body, pushing his shirt higher up on his body. Your thumb ran over his hard nipple, and he mewled, eyes screwing shut as his chest pushed up in the air until it rubbed against yours.

Your arm slithered behind his back, pulling him closer against your chest while you twirled his nipple beneath your thumb. The soft pants he let out on your lips made it impossible for you to stop caressing his warm skin and pressing your lips to his. As you held him against your chest, your hand behind his back slid down until it brushed against the waistband of his jeans. He sucked in a breath as he clutched your face and kissed you, and you slipped your tongue back inside his mouth, your hand slipping beneath his jeans to ghost the rough pads of your fingers across the skin of his ass.

Mammon moaned at the warmth of your hand and thrusted his hips up, rubbing the bulge in his pants against your erection. You let out a shocked grunt at the feeling of him pressing against you, and you pulled away from him to sit back on your knees. He laid in front of you, shirt barely covering his chest as his nipples stood proudly in the air for you to train your eyes on and bulge painfully hard in his pants. A deep breath left you as you held yourself back from stripping him right there and taking him at once.

He decided to test your patience though when he trailed a hand up his exposed chest to his lips, dragging his bottom lip down while his other hand cupped your boner. He pushed himself back on you and ground against your boner, and you screwed your eyes shut, lips pursing to hide the groans that threatened to spill. Mammon didn’t like that, and he slowly circled his hips.

“Fuck, Mammon…” you breathed out, the lust in your voice dropping it an octave as his name rolled off your tongue to dance in his ears, and his teeth caught his finger as a light breath pushed from his lips at the way you said his name.

“Hurry up. I… I can’t take it no more, Y/N,” he said, hips still circling as the finger in his mouth trailed down to run over his boner, and you placed your hands on his hips to stop his movement. He opened his mouth to complain, but when you pulled him into a sitting position to slip off his shirt and throw it to the ground where it crumpled into a pile of cloth with his jacket, he zipped his lips and flopped back onto the bed.

Your hands grabbed the waistband of his jeans after you unzipped it, and you tugged them free from his legs. He shuddered as the material of his jeans brushed against his sensitive skin. Your mouth ran dry as Mammon laid in front of you in nothing but his boxers, a thin sheen of sweat creating a shine against his warm tan skin. He propped himself up on his elbows and ran his eyes up and down your body. He pressed a foot against your boner, and you let out a string of breathy curses as the aching in your cock spread throughout your groin. You needed to be inside him, to feel his warmth squeezing you as he moaned in pleasure.

“Turn around,” you said as you grabbed his ankle to stop his foot.

“Wha- No. I wanna look at ya,” he said back, and you sighed, reaching into your bedside nightstand to grab out a bottle of lube you kept in there for reasons.

“I have to prep you first. It will be easier for you if you’re on all fours.” Before he could argue, you flipped him over until his ass stuck in the air.

Your tongue swiped across your bottom lip as you slid his boxers down his thighs. His body twitched when you grabbed his ass, and he groaned into your pillow as you kneaded the flesh of his ass in your palms. Your thumbs spread his ass apart until you saw his hole in front of you. It clenched around nothing, and you ghosted the pad of your thumb across it, loving the way Mammon shuddered beneath your touch.

“Hurry,” Mammon begged while you squirted lube onto your fingers.

“Patience, baby,” you said, the pet name slipping from your lips before you could stop it.

Mammon’s face burned at the name, and he hid his face in your pillow. You smiled to yourself at the redness of his ears and neck that betrayed his embarrassment as you spread his ass with your lube-free hand. You swirled a lubed middle finger around his hole, and he sucked in a breath as the cold lube touched his skin. His entrance clenched, waiting for your finger to enter, and while you wanted to tease him for a while, the aching in your lower half told you to hurry it up.

“Are you sure you want this?” you asked him to make sure, finger still swirling around the skin surrounding his opening, and he peered at you over his shoulder with a groan.

“Why are ya asking it now? Just shove your fingers in. I can’t take it no more!” he told you with a grumble.

“I just want to make sure I’m not getting ahead of myself. Yes or no, Mammon. Do you want to continue?” you said as the tip of your finger scraped over his hole.

“Yes! Just hurry it up before I die over here!” he replied as he pushed his ass back in hopes of getting your finger inside of him.

“Oh, we wouldn’t want you to die now, would we?” you drawled, and as Mammon opened his mouth to retort, you pushed your middle finger inside him.

He threw his head back as your finger pushed inside him, his walls tightening hungrily around it as his jaw clenched. You rested your forehead against his back as the warmth of him spread through your fingers. You could already imagine how he’d feel around your dick.

“Fuck, you’re so soft inside.” Your breath fanned across the bare skin of his back, and he shivered. When he didn’t respond, you jammed your fingers into his hole and watched him throw his head back and bite his bottom lip. The ease with which your fingers slid into him brought an image to your mind of Mammon fingering himself in preparation before coming over to you, and you licked your lips. “Did you prep yourself? You’re pretty loose already. Were you already anticipating this happening?

“I... ain’t tellin’ ya!” he ground out through clenched teeth as you bent your fingers around inside of him. You smirked and ran your free hand along his thigh.

Soft pants left Mammon as you pulled your finger in and out of him, and you bit your lip as he clenched around you each time your finger moved. You added a second finger, and he let out a needy moan as your fingers rubbed against his walls. You spread your fingers inside him, scissoring him open as you thrusted your digits inside him.

“Ah! Hah…” Mammon panted out as you sped up your pace. You angled your fingers downwards, and a high-pitched, drawn out moan left him as his body tensed underneath you.

“Found your sweet spot,” you said as you continued to shove your fingers inside him, adding a third one as you aimed for his prostate.

“Shit… Right-right there! Oh my-” He shoved his face into your pillow to muffle his moans, and you growled in annoyance.

While you fingered him, your free hand reached up to grab the back of his head, his white hair tickling your hand as you gripped the strands between your fingers, and you tugged his head back. He let out a shaky mewl as pain spread through his scalp and sent delicious tingles throughout his body. A bead of sweat dripped down the side of his face to his neck, where it hung from his Adam’s apple. His eyes screwed shut as heavy pants mixed with moans and spilled from his lips without stopping.

Mammon pushed himself back against your fingers with each thrust, and you leaned forward to tilt his head to the side and capture his lips with yours. The inside of your mouth vibrated as he moaned into it, body tensing and hole clenching around you. You released his hair and reached a hand around to grab his dick in your hand. He let out a shocked choke as you ran your thumb over his tip, the nail of your thumb running over his slit and making his body jerk. Precum from his slit spread over his length and slicked it for you, and you flicked your wrist while you moved your fingers in and out of him. His body rocked back and forth, filthy noises leaving him every second as pleasure built up in his body.

You squeezed his cock in your hand, and with a final thrust of your fingers, a slow, drawn out whimper spilled from him into your mouth as his body tensed and cum shot from his dick onto your bed. You flipped him onto his back, and he didn’t complain as his cum pressed into his back while he let out soft pants and tried to calm down from his orgasm. He watched as you slipped your shirt off, exposing your toned torso to his hungry eyes.

The bed dipped for a second as you pushed yourself off it and walked to your nightstand to pull out a condom packet. As you stood there to grab a few—just in case you needed them—Mammon turned onto his side and grabbed the waistband of your sweatpants, tugging downwards. You chuckled as his tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth while he focused all his attention on trying to strip you of your pants. With the condom packets in your hand, you complied with Mammon’s wishes and pulled your sweatpants down along with your boxer, and he sucked in a breath as your erection sprung out.

“You literally had this in your mouth several minutes ago,” you said.

“Well I didn’t get a good look at it then. Is… is that even gonna fit?” he asked as his eyes widened when your dick twitched.

“We can make it fit,” you replied, and he flopped onto his back again. “Are you sure you still want this?” You walked back to the bed, and it creaked as you got back on top of it.

“Y-yeah. It’s gonna hurt, ain’t it?” he asked, and you pursed your lips as his voice trembled a little.

You rubbed his thigh, swirling circles against his skin to calm him down. “I’ll do my best to make it as painless as possible. Just make sure you relax, okay?”

He nodded, still a little hesitant, but the heat from your hand on his thigh eased his worries a bit. He spread his legs, and you slipped between them. You ripped open the condom packet and rolled it onto your cock. After pouring lube onto it, you poured some more on Mammon’s hole, and his body shuddered. You braced yourself on a hand as you held your dick with the other.

“I’m gonna put it in now,” you said as you looked into Mammon’s eyes, and he nodded while biting his lip, eyes trusting you fully. “Make sure you relax, babe.” After you spoke that pet name, you pressed your head against his entrance, not giving him any time to process the name that slipped past your lips.

A sharp breath left him as his eyes squeezed shut, and his body tensed when his hole stretched to accompany the size of your tip. You peppered soft kisses against his chest, and he let out short gasps when your teeth nipped at his nipples. The veins on your neck bulged as you clenched your jaw, his tight hole sucking you in and squeezing your cock hard. As you pushed in deeper, Mammon’s back arched up from the bed as he pursed his lips and trapped a choked whine from leaving his mouth. His frantic hands grabbed your tensed jaw and yanked it up to stare at his face, and you let out a surprised noise as he crashed his lips into yours.

His hungry lips danced against yours, neither of you faltering as the pace quickened and turned sloppier, and you slipped his tongue in. His hands on your jaw fell down to grasp your shoulders, and he swallowed a soft hiss that left you as he dug his fingernails into your flesh, toes curling as your tongue swiped around inside his mouth and brushed against his in a sloppy, wet mess. While you distracted him with the kiss, you took the chance to pour more lube onto your dick before you slid yourself in more until you reached halfway.

Pain flared up in your shoulders as Mammon’s nails dug at your skin, but you ignored it when you remembered how much more pain he was in compared to you. Tears spilled from his screwed-shut eyes, and your heart hurt at the sight. You started pulling yourself out of him, ready to stop there and just finger him until he came, but as you slid out of him, he wrapped his legs around your waist and locked his ankles to trap you in.

“Don’t… Don’t pull out,” he ground out, and your eyebrows creased in concern.

“But you’re hurting, Mammon. I don’t want to hurt you,” you replied, and he shook his head.

“I’ll get used to it. I-I wanna feel ya inside me. Fully inside me. I’ll tell ya to stop if it becomes too much.”

Though not fully convinced, you nodded, and he pulled you back down into another lust-filled kiss as you pushed yourself inside again. You let out a throaty groan as your pelvic bone hit against his ass, the full length of your cock nestling inside of him. Mammon mewled against you, your hot and pulsating cock a strange feeling inside of him that he loved already. You ran your hands along his sides, and you dipped your head down after pulling away from his lips to roll your tongue around his nipple. When his back arched as you nipped at his skin, your hand grabbed his free nipple and twisted it between the calloused pads of your fingertips. He cried out in pleasure, walls tensing around your cock, causing you to hiss against his skin.

“Didn’t expect you to be this sensitive,” you said as your tongue swiped over his nipple while you looked up at him, and his body twitched, soft pants escaping him.

“Shut… shut up!” An aching, drawn-out moan slipped from his lips when you pinched his nipple and nipped at the other one, and you grunted against his skin as he clenched around you.

You wanted to move so badly, but you weren’t sure he had adjusted yet, and you weren’t about to make this experience horrible for him. The two of you stayed still for a few moments, Mammon’s hole trying to get used to the foreign object of your dick inside it while you practiced patience. Your neck veins popped as you willed yourself to not move. Heavy pants pushed past your lips as you screwed your eyes shut and felt a bead of sweat drip down your forehead before it hand from the tip of your nose. Mammon watched the bead of sweat hang on for dear life before it plummeted down onto his skin, and he pursed his lips.

His entrance still burned where it took you in, but pleasure mixed with it and spread out from his hole until it coursed through his body, and he knew he needed you to move before this pleasure became unbearable. While you remained still above him, he pushed himself back against you and grunted as you slid in and out of him. The clenching of his walls and the groans leaving his mouth forced your eyes open until you looked down on him. His eyes looked down at where the two of you connected, mouth open as groans turned into soft moans, and his hands clutched the bed sheets as he pushed himself back and forth on you.

“F-fuck… You’re-you’re gonna hurt yourself, Mammon. You haven’t adjusted yet,” you told him as you fought the will to slam into him as you watched his chest heaved up and down, perky nipples standing straight in the air and begging to be touched.

“I don’t… give a… shit!” he ground out, and his body spasmed as your dick poked at a certain spot inside him. “Fuck!” he said as he shut his eyes and tightened around you until you felt ready to burst inside him. When you remained still, his eye flicked up to glare at you, and he locked his ankles behind your low back, pulling your hips towards him and pushing your dick deeper inside him. “Move.”

The thin string of reason that held you together reached its final thread before it snapped, and you wasted no time in slipping your dick out of him before thrusting it back inside him, hitting his sweet spot. His back arched as he threw his head back on your pillow, exposing his neck to you. As your dick slid in and out of him, you bent your head down towards his neck to nip at the skin around his Adam’s apple, smirking against his skin when sharp breaths left him whenever your teeth caught his skin between them.

You pulled back to admire the red blossoming against his skin around his Adam’s apple, and he covered his eyes with an arm as he noticed the proud look in your eyes that made his heart skip a beat, but he didn’t notice the feeling as pleasure replaced all the pain inside his body and built up deep inside him. Before he had come into your room, a deep itch inside him had taken his time as he tried anything he could to get it to stop, from the use of his fingers to any of the sex toys Asmodeus has given him, but only your dick seemed to reach the deep spot inside him that he desperately needed hit. His body heated up with each thrust into him until he burned beneath you and sent his warmth coursing through your body.

Your hands grabbed his waist, and you pulled him back against your cock with each thrust, and his eyes widened as you slammed into his prostate. He reached his hands out to grab at his aching cock that begged for attention, but before his fingers could wrap around his shaft, you detached a hand from his side to grab his wrists and pull his hands away from his cock. He whined as you thrusted into him, precum leaking from his slit and spilling down the side of his desperate cock as he tried to yank his wrists free.

“Uh uh uh. I didn’t say you could touch yourself,” you told him, and Mammon glared at you.

“Ya dick,” he said, and you smirked.

“Well, that’s what’s inside you right now anyways.”

He flushed and groaned as his hole stretched around your cock. His silence after your remark made you smirk at how cute he was, but at the same time, he looked so sexy as he sucked your cock up with his hungry hole.

“Are you sure you aren’t the real avatar of lust?” you asked, your eyes raking over Mammon’s appearance. Tears pricked the corners of his blue and yellow eyes, a shine coating them and making them shimmer, as saliva spilled from his open mouth that let out whines while he focused his attention on your cock sliding in and out of him. His hair stuck to his forehead as sweat coated his entire body and enhanced his lean muscles that contracted with each thrust of your cock. With your hand restricting his wrists, the redness of his face added to the fucked out look on his face, and your cock swelled inside him.

“Fuck, I’m close!” he cursed, fingers curling up as he tensed beneath you.

At those words, you switched your positions until your back rested against the bed sheets and Mammon sat on top of you. Your teeth caught your bottom lip as you looked up at him, his eyes hazy as his mouth hung open, saliva dripping from the corners as his dick twitched against his stomach. He let out a deep moan and leaned forward on top of you, resting his hands on your tense stomach as he adjusted to the new position. Your dick hit deeper inside him and reached spots he didn’t even know were possible, but he loved the feeling, especially when your cock pulsed inside him and begged for him to move.

You rested your hands on his hips to help guide him as he started off slowly, lifting his hips up before he sank back down on your shaft. He threw his head back, mouth wide open as a silent moan wracked his body, your tip pushing deep against his walls.

“It’s… so deep!” he gasped out as he lifted himself up one more time before plunging back down. His body trembled with pleasure, and you clenched your jaw as he tightened around you.

He sped his pace up as he got used to your cock hitting deeper inside, and your hands on his hips moved down to grip his ass and spread it apart. His hole sucked you in, wet sounds echoing throughout the room as he moved his ass up and down your shaft. He laid down on top of you, his chest pressing against yours, and he pressed his lips to yours as you snapped your hips up to match each drop of his hips. You swallowed his moans, your tongue swirling inside his mouth. His pace became more frantic, and you knew he was close. His body tensed, cock swelling.

“I-I can’t anymore…” he panted out, pace slowing down as fatigue took over, and you flipped your positions one more time so that he laid underneath you.

Without warning, you slammed yourself inside him, angling yourself so that your tip hit him in his prostate each thrust. His toes curled with pleasure as his body tensed underneath you, cock twitching and ready to burst. The build up of pleasure he had been experiencing threatened to spill out with each snap of your hips, and he bit his lips to hold back the long string of moans that wanted to escape.

“Don’t bite your lips. I want to hear you moan as you cum,” you said, and he obeyed at once, his teeth releasing his lips to let out staccato moans that were music to your ears.

“I’m-I’m comin'!” he said as he pushed his head back against the pillow, hands gripping the bed sheets.

“Me too,” you grunted out as your cock twitched inside him, and when he squeezed your cock, you came undone inside him with a deep grunt.

As your cum filled up the condom inside him, Mammon let out a loud, drawn-out moan before his body tensed and shook with pleasure. His back arched off of the bed, stars dotting his vision as a wave of pleasure he had never experienced before washed over him. His toes curled, hand clutching the bed sheets and eyes screwing shut as he let out a debauched cry. Your mouth hung open as you watched his body twitched underneath you, hole clenching sporadically around your sensitive cock.

“Was that a dry orgasm?” you asked as Mammon’s body stopped spasming, no cum dripping down the side of his cock or against his skin.

His dazed eyes and twitching cock told you all you needed, and you gripped his dick in one hand. Your hand jerked up and down it, feeling his veins pressing against your hand with each motion. He twitched underneath you as overstimulation wracked his body, and he whined.

“N-no more. I can’t take anymore,” he said.

“Just a little more, baby. You need to let it out,” you told him, and he mewled when the nail of your thumb hit his slit.

When his cock swelled in your hand, you tightened your grip on his cock and slid your hand up and down faster until his body jerked and a string of hot cum shot out of his tip. His cum splattered against his chest, and his hole squeezed you, and you groaned as you realized your oversensitive dick still settled deep inside him.

You rolled off Mammon as you pulled out of him and plopped onto the bed beside him. Heavy pants left him as he tried to return his breathing to normal while he calmed down from his high. Once his breathing returned to normal, you rolled onto your side and propped your head up on your hand to look at him. He flickered his eyes up towards you, and you licked your lips, your dick still pounding.

“Let’s go for another round,” you said and gave him puppy eyes that he looked away from to not get suckered in.

“But what about the other movies we didn’t- Ahhh!” Mammon didn’t get to finish his words as you pounced on him and peppered his body with kisses. As his soft gasps met your ears with each butterfly kiss, you realized something.

The rest of the movies would have to wait until another day.

#shall we date mammon #obey me mammon #mammon x reader #male reader #smut #shall we date #obey me #shall we date fanfiction #obey me fanfic #oneshot

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quidfree · 3 years

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hello ! just wondering, how are warlock and adam doing ? any hcs that didn't make it into the fic? or any thoughts on them that you haven't mentioned? it has been a while since you wrote them so i understand if there's nothing that comes to mind !! just searching for maybe a few crumbs bc i haven't found anyone who writes them nearly as well as you do.

haha, wow, i haven't properly thought of that fic since i wrote it but i do love warlock and adam. let's see what i can offer.

updates on warlock and adam:

they've been fucking around trying to test adam's subconscious control over his powers, with varying degrees of success. adam's longest stretch a full week without any supernatural interference of any variety, but for the moment they are decisively not trying to replicate that success because once the week ended adam's powers went into overdrive and caused global upset as well as leaving warlock thoroughly disney-fied for weeks after the fact, to his profound irritation and adam's supreme amusement. brian enjoyed the veritable zoo of animals tailing him around, though. pepper did not enjoy the constant musical cues. wensleydale thought it was kind of cute. adam insisted that he was powerless to fix it after the 'exhaustion' of fixing the global upset part, which warlock absolutely did not believe given the absolute smugness on his face whenever warlock started sparkling.

on a less consequential level adam and warlock enjoy messing around trying to see to what degree adam can suppress his powers without concentrating on it too hard, but no one else particularly enjoys this because (as pepper puts it) 'you are not fooling anyone into thinking this isn't some kink thing'. warlock pleads the fifth. adam doesn't even bother.

adam is extremely intrigued by warlock's misappopriated demonic/angelic powers, which warlock finds supremely embarrassing given that they can do almost nothing, leave him with a horrible headache, and are in any event completely ineffective on adam himself. adam finds it fascinating, though- for one because despite angels and witches he's in short supply of supernatural friends, for another because he can actively feel that the power does not belong there and adam quintessentially enjoys prodding at a bruise, and of course because he finds warlock's embarrassed pride about his repertoire of tricks suffocatingly adorable. despite warlock's reluctance he does at least appreciate the ace he has, because even though his powers don't work on adam whenever he gets to the point of using them adam knows he's serious, and also adam will inevitably stop being mad at him in the face of his subsequent nausea. never let it be said he's above naked manipulation. gotta make nanny proud.

they've definitely had some extremely melodramatic fights since the fic ended, as is the nature of two antichrists(ish) dating each other. a lot of it is predictable- adam tries, but his powers have less of a conscience than he does, so there have been Incidents, like the time the oxford rowers capsized violently during a race. on a lesser scale the demonic powers are jealous to a fault, which adam really actively isn't (or at least not consciously), which warlock knows full well he should find less charming. it's just sometimes they kind of feed into each other's vices- adam doesn't keep a tight enough rein on his powers and warlock gets mad but also kind of maybe encourages it and then adam gets irked at warlock and...

adam takes great pleasure in being the boyfriend-iest boyfriend of all time, naturally, so reality bends for warlock's convenience if he so much as frowns to himself. warlock is really trying to be less flustered every time because he knows full well it only encourages him, but he's kind of a complete sucker for attention and affection, so it's not going very well for him. he would hate himself more if he wasn't so busy trying not to melt into the floor. adam is horrible and will fully just sit there chin in hands observing him dreamily as warlock fights to regain his cool. still, warlock gets him back as best he can- he's starting to combine crowley's vicious revenge plans with aziraphale's 'kill em with kindness' moves, which results in him darkly plotting just for the purpose of doing something nice that'll catch adam off guard. adam is always thrilled by being hoodwinked, and then also not actually all that used to people making a concerted effort to draw emotions out of him, so he falls prey to these shenanigans more easily than you'd expect. unlike warlock he never offers any resistance, though, so warlock has to content himself with the victory of watching his powers go wonky- blossoms bursting out of the walls or fireworks outside the house or the whole room going sort of liquid and pink.

crowley and aziraphale are both horrible teases with regards to the boys (as they should be, since they get it far worse in return). crowley likes to make pointed comments about lustful auras or needle them about the freudian implications of their behaviours, whereas aziraphale will just go on at length quoting love poetry or asking them about their feelings with the utmost tenderness until crowley takes pity and informs them he's doing it on purpose. they both find them intensely cute, though aziraphale is just delighted by this where crowley is trying very hard to appear less thrilled than he is. warlock is mostly weirded out about their commentary about the supernatural aspects of the whole ordeal, where aziraphale will be like 'oh, my, that poor demon fellow who hit you really seems to be taking badly to the dismembering and hot pokers in the pits of hell. could you pass the ladder?' and crowley will be like 'unholy hell, adam, control yourself, if i have to see one more demonic apocalypse murder-beast turned into an adorable stray cat i'm going to be sick'.

the them, obviously, are also weirdos and like to observe the whole warlock-adam dating debacle with the interest of scientists observing an experiment in a lab, mainly in terms of adam's never-ending capacity to reveal new and exciting facets of his personality and/or powers. brian takes it all in stride the easiest, so he'll just be like 'oh, neat, a peach tree' and take himself a peach when it erupts in the middle of the library. wensleydale somehow winds up playing confidante so he sits through all the over-sharing and also all the fighting details and then does deep research to attempt to provide them with a helpful answer. sometimes he just reads cosmos. he thinks warlock is onto him. pepper's very secret and very dark fear is that one day adam will decide kids would be fun and hellspawn will just pop into existence fully-formed and dangerously adorable. they are all very impressed by the odd occasion on which warlock actually gets adam to decide he was wrong about something, though pepper is firm that it does not count when adam is only agreeing because he's too blissed out to pay attention.

i hope that you enjoy these crumbs-and thanks, incidentally <3 comms are always open, if you're looking.

#qui parle #qui repond #anon #good omens #qui ecrit #hcs #warlock dowling #adam young

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marriael · 4 years

Text

Be my Latibule? (Changbin x Reader)

@skzrequests

Request: My pace 24 w changbin? uwu im a sucker for the idea of tattooist bin lmao I so vibed with this request, I love thinking about tattoist bin

Word count: 3717

a/n: part of the reason this took so long is I had to restart it twice :(

You walk into work at Insomnia Coffee Shop and your co-worker, Sohee, greets you.

“Anyone fun yet?” You ask. She's usually in when the store opens and often gets the most interesting customers.

“Not today. But yesterday a cute guy came in and ordered 3 americanos. Turns out it was for him and 2 friends. I tried to give them for free cause he looked half dead but he wouldn't let me. Who even does that?“

While she was talking you had slipped on the ugly orange apron and scowl when you noticed someone double knotted and didn't untie the strings.

You shake your head, “probably a college student pulling an all-nighter. What college student turns down free anything? Ugh, I wish some cute barista offered me free coffee, just, ever.”

Sohee turns and passes the drink over the counter. “For Jeno!”

A cute guy comes up to grab and winks at her before he turns to the door. Your jaw drops a little and you slap her shoulder.

“Is he a regular?” You ask.

“Nope. Said he got a recommendation from a friend and went out of his way to come. Weird day to do it though.”

You hum as the next customer comes in and you get thoroughly distracted. It isn’t until he comes up to the counter and speaks that you stop staring blankly.

“1 latte, 1 americano,” his voice is low and rough and he’s a little bit intimidating honestly. He’s got a small bit of a tattoo poking out one of the sleeves and you try and look at it before you have to turn around.

“Is that a tattoo?” You ask him when you turn around.

He rolls the short sleeve up to his shoulder to expose the full tattoo and you stare at the simple beauty of the moon and stars.

“Woah, that’s cool!” Sohee must’ve seen him just in her peripheral… or she was staring like you. You nod emphatically in agreement.

He blushes a little and says “thanks. Couldn’t reach this part of my arm or else I would’ve done it myself, but I still drew it.”

“Do you work at a tattoo parlour then?”

“Yeah, I do a lot of the designs for our place,”

You gasp, “can I come look at them? Please?” You pout trying to convince him to accept your strange request. You just felt something pulling you towards these drawings and the man who made them.

He looks at you for a moment then says, “yeah, let me give you the address. When you come in just ask for Changbin.”

He pulls out a random business card, not his unfortunately, and writes down the address. He slides it over and covers his smile with a sip.

You turn back to the coffee machines as he walks out the door but Mina stops you.

“Changbin huh? He was pretty cute,” she smirks.

“Hush your mouth and get back to work, brat.”

“Nuh-uh! I get to leave now but if, no no not if when, you meet him we're talking about this later.”

The next day was Tuesday and, thankfully, it was mostly empty of things for you. So you pull out the piece of paper Changbin gave you and looked up the address.

It was just a couple blocks down from the coffee shop and you head out. The building is small and squished right between a bakery and a florist, basically some cheesy romance just waiting to happen.

You walked in and looked around. There were corkboards on either sidewall and they were filled with drawings pinned to them. The bottoms of them fluttered a little at the draft you brought with you.

When you looked at him the man behind the counter raised an eyebrow at you. Ah, so it was very obvious you wouldn't be in here often.

You let out a little nervous laugh, “hi, Changbin told me to come see him here?”

The man raised both eyebrows at that. You fiddled as he looked you over again then laughed a little. “Changbin!” He suddenly yelled.

From one of the closed side rooms comes a muffled voice “go away Chan, I’m busy!”

The man at the desk, Chan, turns back to you “sorry, he’s always like this. He’s probably just sketching a custom.”

“Oh, I can come back later if he’s busy.”

Chan doesn’t answer you and instead yells at Changbin again “I know you’re not actually busy. Your partner is here to see you!”

“Hey!” You protest but Chan just grins at you as you hear the door open.

“Chan what the hell are you-” Changbin cuts himself off and gently smiles when he sees you “hey, didn’t think you were actually gonna come.”

You smile back at him. He looks much softer when he’s smiling and you were briefly caught off guard.

“Tell me again about how you’re not dating or at least interested, “ Chan’s eyes flick between the shy but wide smiles on yours and Changbin’s faces.

Changbin rolls his eyes but inclines his head towards the door he was behind and you follow behind him. He closes the door most of the way behind you and then moves to sit at the desk in the far corner. There are more drawings in here and you assume all of them are his. It’s a wide variety of subjects, from small sketches of animals and plants to large and detailed fantasy creatures.

“Sorry about Chan, he’s always delighted in teasing anyone who’s younger than him,” Changbin shakes his head, probably at Chan even though he can’t see or hear in the room.

“Have you two known each other a long time then?” You ask and tilt your head a little.

“Ah, yeah,” Changbin looks at you again, “most of us met in high school and a couple joined right at the start of college. College was really when our whole group started getting close, too.”

“Sounds nice,” you were paying attention to him, promise, but with such wonderful drawings surrounding you, you really couldn’t help it if your attention drifted a bit.

Changbin notices and raises an eyebrow slightly, “interested in getting one?”

“What? Oh, no no, not right now at least. They’re just… really, really good.”

Changbin immediately looks down and smiles, and you could swear he was blushing a bit but when he looks back up it's gone.

“There’s a couple hidden ones in here that aren’t mine. Think you can spot ‘em?” He challenges.

You immediately head up to one of the boards and stand about 5 centimetres away. You push a couple of them up and out of the way, making sure to be careful. There really is all sorts of stuff, Changbin must be pretty busy. A rushing river done with such detail you can almost see it moving. Swirls that when you look just right suddenly snap into focus to make an abstract, soaring bird. Nature moulded with a person or item in such a seamless way that there is not a difference between them, they are simply one continuous sight.

You’re looking for hidden drawings, not ogling at Changbin’s skills. Right. When you move one more there is a small piece of paper. There is… something on it. Either Changbin drew this when he was about 5 years old or it was someone else.

“Hey, I found one. I don’t even know what this is though, it looks like a squiggle.”

Changbin laughs, “hold on.”

He comes and looks right over your shoulder. You can feel his hot breath on your ear and feel his chest move when he laughs at the drawing again. You quickly reign in the slight disappointment when he moves away.

“Yeah, that’s the thing Chan keeps trying to make our mascot. Felix and I won’t let him so until one of us breaks it’s two against one,” he shrugs and it doesn’t look like he feels bad at all.

“Do all your friends have a drawing stashed in here somewhere?”

“Well, I’ve seen at least 16 drawings put in here so yes they all have one. Some of them and Felix, Jisung’s special twin, has hidden at least 4. There’s probably more that he did when I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Ugh, how many friends do you even have. If it’s more than, like, 6 I might be genuinely angry.”

Changbin practically cackles, “well then get ready to be absolutely furious. There’s 9 of us, including myself and everyone I’ve already mentioned.”

“That’s not even fair! How have you all been friends for so long without someone murdering someone else.”

“Oh, believe me. Seungmin’s wanted to. Unfortunately, his best friends are some of our greatest problem children. Though sometimes I'm pretty sure he'll murder them first.”

“Any other possible murderers I should worry about seeing?” You flip a couple more pictures up, still passively looking for any other weird drawings.

“Hm, Minho's murderous intentions are usually directed at Jisung. He'd do it for his cats too, though. He definitely fits in well.”

“Were there concerns about him not fitting in?”

“Yeah 'cause, he was the last one to join us, but he’s just as chaotic if not more. For Chan’s graduation night he insisted on using some mini firework things he found. Nearly lit himself and Jisung on fire with the very first one.”

Something clicks in your brain. You’ve heard this story before, from one of your random classmates. He was… interesting, to put it politely.

“Are you talking about Lee Minho? The smug bastard who tried to get everyone to call him Lee Know for like 5 months? And Han Jisung, my co-worker kind of, that I’m pretty sure hates me for some reason?”

“Wait, you know them? And why do you think Jisung hates you?”

“Yeah, Minho was my weird classmate. I’m like 90% sure Jisung hates me because he barely looks at me and gives one-word answers to all of my questions. I don’t really see him other than during shift switches but still!”

“I think Minho actually might have mentioned you before. And Jisung is just like that around people he doesn’t know. Trust me, he actually has the capacity to be the loudest person in the room. By far.”

“Huh, I wonder how many of your friends I actually know.”

"Well, we're hanging out on Thursday. Do you want to come with and meet some more of them?”

You hum thoughtfully, thinking of any possible commitments you had made lately, “I probably can but can I bring Sohee? Just so I know someone there?”

“Do I still not count as someone you know?” He whines and pouts a little for the extra effect.

“Not enough. If you all go off on some inside joke I need someone to be confused with.”

“Actually fair, because it might happen. I’ll let you know when and where we’re going later then.”

You pull out your phone and extend it to him, when he looks at it confused you raise an eyebrow, “unless you plan to send it by bird I recommend putting your number in my phone.”

He makes a surprised noise and keeps his eyes away from you and on your phone. It has not spread to his face but under his dark hair his bright red ears peek out just enough for you to see. Even when handing it back he doesn’t look at you and you smile at his bashfulness.

“See ya soon, Bin. I work again tomorrow.”

Directions are not always your strong suit. You’d like to believe they are and that’s how you end up like this, no map and unsure of what direction you should even look in.

“You look lost,” a voice comes from behind you.

You spin around. A tall puppy-like guy is standing behind you, he looks slightly amused and you’re betting it’s at your expense.

“Yeah, do you know where M.I.A Café is?”

“Oh,” he nods, “yeah I’m going there. Let’s go.”

It’s slightly awkward, walking this distance with someone you don’t know. You search your brain with how to start a conversation with someone.

“Are you… meeting someone at the café?” You ask, slightly awkward.

“Yeah, a couple of my friends.”

“Huh, so am I. Well, actually, it’s someone else’s friends and I’m just kinda tagging along,” you shrug, realizing how awkward this will probably be.

“Good luck with that,” he says as he holds the door for you.

You enter and scan the tables for Changbin’s face. You wave and slip into the chair opposite him. On the edge of the table thankfully, hopefully Sohee can recognize the back of your head. Someone sits next to you and you get a little shock seeing who it is.

He grins at you, “hey stranger.”

The guy you walked all that way with one of Changbin’s friends!

Changbin looks between you confusedly, “you know Seungmin?”

“He helped me get here. I might have gotten a little lost.”

“A little, ok. You had no idea where you were,” Seungmin snarks.

“Maybe so!”

“Well good to know you get along with another one of my friends already,” Changbin interjects.

Someone comes up and sits beside Changbin.

“Hey, I’m Hyunjin,” he greets you simply.

You give him a little wave. You don’t like judging people so fast but he’s a little intimidating.

You hear a little scrape of a chair beside and Sohee pops down at the end of the table.

“Sohee, you made it!”

“Yeah, no thanks to you,” she sticks out her tongue at you.

“I’ve seen you somewhere before,” Hyunjin speaks up and you whip your head towards him.

Sohee looks at him and squints for a moment. They start looking at each other for so long that you think they’re actually just having a staring contest. You think you recognize someone walking outside but when you actually look out the window you have no idea who any of them are. It’s still a nice day out, maybe you can go out somewhere after this.

“Oh! You’re the guy I thought was going to drink 3 americanos the other day!”

“Sohee~” you sing.

“What?” She looks at you, annoyed.

“You forgot an important detail that you told me about him.”

She looks genuinely confused for a moment before catching on and shaking her head, “shut up, nope nope nope.”

“You think he’s cute!” You cackle.

You, Changbin, and Seungmin make fun of Sohee and Hyunjin for a little while. It backfires when Sohee manages to sneakily turn the attention on you, well you and Changbin. Together, you being together.

“Yeah, and you stared at him for so long when he came in!” Sohee says.

“Sohee, kindly shut your mouth,” you reply, smiling the most pained and fake smile ever.

“Ok, please don’t pour your drink on me, I’m afraid. Also we work together so I’m coming for you.”

You just roll your eyes at her, you didn’t actually scare her and you both know that. She just likes to be some sort of annoying sister to you.

Hyunjin clears his throat and when you look at him his eyes are bright. He smiles sneakily and says, “you should hear about the time Changbin actually poured his drink on someone.”

“Hyunjin that was an accident and you know it!” Changbin exclaims, attempting to shoulder check a giggling Hyunjin.

You breeze into Blueprint Tattoos and Chan looks up in surprise.

“Hey there, didn’t know you were coming in today.”

You let out a single, unnatural ‘ha’, “I didn’t know either but uh, here I am.”

“Well, Changbin’s in his usual spot. I don’t think he has anything today.”

“Thanks,” you nod stiffly.

Looking around at the cork boards you can see some of them definitely done in Changbin’s style and a handful more you suspect would be his. You breathe out heavily and slouch a little before straightening and walking towards where Changbin should be, full of false confidence.

“Are you ok?” Chan asks and when you look over his eyebrows are furrowed and his forehead pinched down a little. The concern from someone you barely know is a little unusual but the warmth you get from it is welcoming.

“Yeah, just a little nervous you know?” You force a small laugh but you know it’s not convincing.

“Oh!” Chan exclaims, “well if this is what I think it is then good luck.”

Chan’s face is completely relaxed and you feel a little bit bad for making him worry so much. You’re not entirely sure what he thinks you’re doing but you smile at his kindness as you open Changbin’s door.

He has headphones in and doesn’t hear when you close the door behind you. You stand there for a minute, back against the door, just looking at him. Most people move to what they’re listening to but the only thing moving is his hand and it glides across the page. You have no idea what he’s doing but you just hope he’ll show it to you when he’s done.

You take a big breath in and out before approaching him. Tapping his shoulder gently you hope not to cause him to jerk his arm and ruin a line or anything. He stops completely and pulls his headphones out. He looks a little annoyed but then he looks up to see you and his face eases.

“Hi! I didn’t know you were coming today. Anything specific on the brain or did you just want to hang out with Best Friend Binnie?” He gives you an exaggerated and comical wink.

“Give me a tattoo?” You say, surprisingly calm for how jittery you actually feel.

“Wait, what? Are you sure? Like really sure?”

You roll your eyes like a stereotypical teenager would at their parents, that is to say, so far back it felt like they would disappear into your head, “no, Changbin, I’m not sure. I’ve really only been thinking about it basically since the first time I walked into this room.”

“That was only a week ago,” Changbin deadpans.

“Yeah, and?”

Changbin shakes his head, “I’m not going to give you a tattoo you’ll regret.”

You look around at the drawings. Feeling like that one action gave this decision away as way more spontaneous than it had originally seemed. Yes, you had been thinking about getting one and getting Changbin to do it for you but doing it today specifically was a complete impulse.

“I’m not going to regret it! Bin, please,” you pout at him.

Changbin tilts his head to look at the ceiling as if it will give him some guidance.

“What do you want?”

You clap your hands excitedly and then hesitate again.

“Well, I know I want a flower but… I want you to choose which one. I want it to be a flower with a good meaning behind it.”

Changbin nods and stands there considering your request. You take the time to look around his office again. Staring at all the intricate drawings on the walls you feel a bit dorky choosing to get a simple flower. Your eyes briefly catch on two stylized drawings of the word SpearB. One of them has a cute little ‘Binnie~’ under it and the other has a messy ‘Chanathan’ in English and Korean.

There are a couple of flowers scattered throughout the room so you’re a bit surprised when you hear Changbin ripping a page out of his sketchbook. His back is to you so you can’t see him cutting it down to a size to la and trace on your body. You can hear the gentle snips of scissors as you distract yourself with rows of flowers connected and individual petals with such detail you could believe them being real.

You watch as he gently traces the pattern onto your skin. You don’t recognize the flower right away but it looks delicate and beautiful. You think you catch him glancing up at you a few times but you’re pretty sure the clock is behind you and he’s looking at that.

You zone out almost entirely as he prepares. Well, it’s not exactly zoning out. You’d say it’s appreciation of an attractive man, your friends would say that you’re just checking him out.

Ok, so what if you are? Changbin’s shirt has no sleeves which means his arms are on full display which means that you can’t stop looking at the muscles flexing as he moves. Thankfully you’re conscious enough to look away when he turns back around.

The buzz of the gun wakes you up and Changbin is looking at you.

“All good?” He asks.

“Yeah, let’s do this.”

You watch for a moment as he starts going and the ink sinks permanently into your skin. It’s a strange thing to conceptualize, something being on your body forever. You catch a glimpse of Changbin’s concentrated face and you get completely distracted by him. If this is what he looks like everytime he gives a tattoo then you want to observe, even study, him.

His mouth is set in a firm line and eyebrows pinched slight inwards and downwards. His eyes are wide and focused and if you look closely enough you can see every slight movement of his irises following his hand around.

Neither of you say a word and you don’t dare move to try and look at the clock or your phone. Just watching and waiting in silence, but together. A shared silence is different than one had alone.

Silences by yourself can feel wrong sometimes but this kind of silence with Changbin feels so right that you almost never want it to end.

Good things often come quicker than they should and soon the buzzing stops. You can hear phantom buzzing still and suspect you will for quite a while. You lift your arm and look at it, it’s finished now but you’re still not sure what it is and certainly not what it means.

“What is it?” You ask.

“An almond blossom. It, uh, it means promise.”

“Promise, huh?” You grin and look at Changbin's pink-ish face.

You expect him to have some witty comment but instead, he just smiles goofily and breathlessly says, “yeah.”

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datawyrms · 4 years

Text

Prove it with one hand behind your back

Dannymay day 12: Gloves There is reference to the events in Hypothesis, but can be read stand alone. Now Ao3′d “Uhhh, Danny?” Jazz called up the stairs, laundry basket under her arm.

“What? I’ll get my stuff when it’s dry!” Her brother yelled back down, apparently not interested in leaving his room so they could speak semi-normally.

“Normally it would be my duty as your sister to throw your wash on the floor. Were you aware your laundry is glowing?”

Her frazzled brother appeared at the stairs then, taking them two at a time. “Geeze Jazz, tell the whole neighborhood why don’t ya?” he hissed as he passed.

“Mom and Dad aren’t here, and you’re welcome.”

“Obviously. Jerk.” he made an exaggerated frown at her before ducking into the washer, dragging out handfuls of the expected tee-shirts and jeans followed by an impressive amount of mismatched lightly glowing gloves.

“You’re taking trophies now?” she raised an eyebrow, unsure what to make of it. Not a single one had a pair, and none of them were even his ghost form’s hazmat gloves. Quite a few of them looked rather elaborate, some very interesting embroidered patterns making it obviously not something of her brother’s making. Delicacy was not his strong suit.

“Huh? No! These are-” he paused, taking a breath as he covered the glowing handwear with several shirts. “You remember that whole Sam got dragged to the ghost zone because Aragon’s an idiot thing?”

“The self important dragon shapeshifter with some serious hangups and anger issues?”

“Yeah, that one.” he nodded, rubbing at his chin. “Did I mention Dora sort of knighted us for helping drive him out of power?”

“No, but I’m pretty used to you leaving out important details by now.” Jazz smirked as her little brother rolled his eyes.

“It was nice of her and all but apparently they have a sort of tradition in her Kingdom? Where to show you’re worthy of joining the Queen’s guard you challenge one of the newest knights to a duel.” Danny paused to fish out one of the gloves. “Giving over a glove is basically how they ask for that duel. All very formal, I’d write it down if I could explain how I know without completely blowing my cover.”

“So you’ve got a bunch of medieval ghosts throwing gloves at you and wanting to duel...and you decided to wash them. At home.” Jazz crossed her arms. “Seriously?’

“Where else was I gonna do it? I thought they’d make decent proof so show Dad ghosts have society and rules.” He paused, throwing the glowing thing back under his regular clothes. “Then I remembered there’s no way I could explain how I got these. So now they’ll just smell nice in Sam’s closet or something.”

“Your closet a little too risky this time?”

“Nope. All of these belong to Sam. She’s the one getting all the challenges, not me.” he glanced down at his basket. “I think she named some of these.”

“It’s it a little unfair for a ghost to fight a human? That goes against the whole honourable and fair thing it seems to be going for.”

The half ghost grinned. “That’s what they think! Challenged gets to set the rules, and it turns out ghost knights are really, really bad at adjusting to ground only combat.”

Jazz blinked, the part that had been bothering her clicking into place. “Wait, so there’s that many because you’re still the newest knights?”

“Wasted every single challenger. I keep trying to convince them they’ll have a better shot against me, but noooo, they insist on trying to best the ‘breathing banshee’.” he shrugs. “Most of em would absolutely wreck me in a proper fight, I don’t usually need to fight ‘fair’ or anything.”

“So why don’t they go after Tucker? Getting all the way out here for a tradition can’t be easy.”

“He still insists he’s Friar Tuck. You don’t swordfight the clergy. None of them have actually called him on it, so maybe he is?” his brow furrowed, thinking on that. “Maybe I should ask Dora that sometime. Find out if we need to worry about some ghost pope later. Would not want to be the guy who punched the dragon queen’s ghost pope.”

Jazz couldn’t suppress a snort, easily able to picture such a mishap. “A year ago if you said that I’d say you should be committed. Now I’m just nodding along.”

“Even if you were saying it now, I’d get out.” A wicked grin accompanied a flash of green eyes.

“Very funny, dork.” Still, the idea was worth thinking about. “Well I can see why you wanted to try using them as proof.” The project was rather important to Danny, seeing as it was his best shot to get their parents to re-evaluate their ‘ghosts are mindless’ stance. “Maybe you could get Tucker to film a fight? Sam keeping ‘contaminated’ gloves wouldn’t seem that weird, and the variety can prove it’s not just one ghost mindlessly repeating the same behaviour.”

“I’d still be stuck explaining how Sam became ‘Sir Manson’ in the ghost zone. Which seems like a disaster waiting to happen.” his shoulders sagged. “They’ll think I made it up or Tucker did some video editing.”

“I still think it’s worth trying. Sam’s got a rich family, you could probably think up an excuse that she’s practically ‘royalty’ and that’s why they come.”

“Eh. Maybe. Don’t tell Sam but I’m giving the challengers tips now. The sooner they stop coming, the sooner I can stop getting all antsy about a ghost attack where I find out it’s another steel welding glove thrower.”

Jazz set her shoulders, determined to get some of that humour back in her dispirited sibling. “Use that. They owe you if you help them out, don’t they?”

“Well, I guess they do. Like I’ve had them tell me stories about what it’s like for them, if they remember stuff or have always been ghosts, they’re pretty chatty to a ‘fellow of the sword’...but it’s all stuff I write down. I can’t prove a ghost told me. I can’t film it, or have Dad listen in. The second they call me ‘Sir Phantom’ I’m toast.”

“He said he’d at least listen to what you found, right? It can be a starting point, and if you have some really specific detail it’s less likely that you made the whole thing up.” she stopped to ruffle his hair. “That, and if you were going to make something up, you’d have some star ghosts or ecto-aliens.”

“I would not!”

“Yes you would. And you’d draw them little space ships and everything.”

“...Okay maybe I’d make up some ships.”

“A lot of ships. With long complicated names. With scientific reasons for those names. Cus your my dorky little brother.”

“Well you’re my nagging big sister. You get to be the black hole equivalent.”

“Just don’t give up on the idea so quickly, okay? It’s a good one, and it really can’t hurt too much to try.”

A small smile returned as he elbowed her “Careful, or they’ll think you’re being influenced by ghosts too.”

“It’s not like their theories can have any more concrete proof than yours does. What are they?”

“Dad thinks ectoplasm naturally ‘homes in’ on stuff over here, and that’s how they’re finding the portal.” he closes his eyes, foot kicking at the floor. “He’s got this box thing? A lot of box things with different kinds of ectoplasm to see if they move towards ‘our world’ over time. I keep forgetting it’s floating right next to the portal and almost kick it.” his face turns into a grimace. “Dad thinks ‘that ghost kid’ is messing with his experiment on purpose now, so that sucks.”

“Well you could mess with it on purpose, that would be intelligent.”

“Nope. That would be the ‘natural aggressive action’ towards human materials. Tried it.”

“What’s mom’s hypothesis then?”

“That the portal always being here makes this part of Earth more ectoplasm rich so they’re drawn to enter here instead.” he waves a hand. “She’s half right? I don’t think strong ghosts can go all that long without ducking back home to recharge. She’s using the frequency of ‘higher level’ ghosts as proof that they ‘need’ a certain level to function outside of the ghost zone.”

“Another theory you’re accidentally stomping all over.”

“Since they almost never spot ‘Phantom’ going back to the Zone, yeah. I apparently account for ninety four percent of all ghost sightings. Yet only three percent of that is being spotted outside of a fight. Which sounds really bad! No wonder they think I only think about fighting other ghosts.” he rubbed at the back of his head. “I think she plans to test that by uh. Sticking a ghost in a place with no ectoplasm to see how long they hold out, if at all. So I’ve kinda been...making sure she can’t do that.” he swallows, his glance towards his sister more timid than anything. “It'd be a really, really nasty way to die. From what I heard.”

“Good for you. She’ll thank you once you prove that sort of thing would be unethical.”

His frown didn’t move. “If I prove it. So far I’ve just proven they really don’t like that ghost kid.”

“From what I’ve heard you’re the one with the most solid proof. Once you’ve shown everything you’ve collected, then you could try convincing them to see for themselves you aren’t making it up.” Jazz urged, not wanting to watch her little brother give up again.

“Even if I could convince Dad to come in the specter speeder with me we’d scare most ghosts off. The ones we don’t might want to beat me up, or not use a name I can’t explain away.”

“Sam gets to set when one of those challenges happens right? Invite him to one of those.”

He blinked. “...I guess that might work. If Sam made it clear that they couldn’t say my name under any circumstances. There’s one lady who keeps coming, insists she’s going to be the one to get to succeed after ‘Slapping Sir Manson with her glove’, she might be down for that…” he caught the weird look Jazz was giving him. “Oh. Apparently if you’re rivals hitting the person with your glove is ‘provoking your betters’ into a fight? So it’s a respect thing? I don’t really get it. Sam thinks it’s great, which I didn’t see coming but I didn’t think we’d still be having ghost knight fights either.” he let out a breath. “I’m rambling again.”

“You know, if Mom and Dad could see how you talk about this stuff they’d know you aren’t making it up. Looks like ghost research does run in the family.”

Danny rolled his eyes. “I’m a ghost hunter if anything. It’s just nice being able to chat instead of fight sometimes. The ghost zone is pretty neat. If you know, half the stuff in there wasn’t trying to skin me alive.”

“I still think you have a good shot. You know it’s true, so they’ll have to see it given enough time.”

“Maybe. Can’t really talk about this stuff to them though. Gee dad, how do I know about Frostbite? Well when I stole the Ecto-Skeleton and shoved back Pariah Dark this whole tribe of yetis decided I was their Great One. So now we’re pals. Oh what’s that dad, you say the ghost kid did that? Funny thing!” he dropped his arms with a scowl. “That’d go over like a lead balloon.”

“Maybe stick to the dragon queen society for now. It’s not like anyone over here saw that. Then you can expand into the rest of the friendly areas.” she put a hand on his shoulder. “One step at a time Danny, you’ll get there.”

“I hope so. If it doesn’t, I blame you if I’m torn molecule by molecule.”

“Ew Danny! Don’t be so morbid, it’s not good for your development.”

“Is it morbid if I’m dead?” he winced from his sister’s whack to the head. “Ow! Half!”

“Better. Now scram with all those gloves before someone thinks you robbed a ghost antique boutique.”

“You’re such a busybody Jazz.” the half ghost teased before darting off with his half spectral laundry. It wouldn’t be an easy thing to convince their parents, but he did seem to be on the right track. So of course it was her job to make sure he stuck to it. Siblings had to look out for each other, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

#dannymay2020 #Danny Phantom #danny fenton #jazz fenton #my stuff #the best thing about fanfic is you can ignore all the stupid parts of an episode #catfight beauty contest? never heard of it #dragon ghost society? heck yeah lets go #danny's trying really hard to get usable proof!#More positive fenton bonding #dang it!

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thecomposerofstories · 3 years

Text

Disney Does NOT Know how to Feminist, for the Most Part.

I like Moana and Judy Hopps, they’re pretty good relatively-new female Disney characters, but the rest, I don’t like. It’s all, “I’m a woman, I have to save you scum-bag men because you can’t do A N Y T H I N G, hear me roar, society is trash, watch me twirl a stick.” And believe me that trope is getting kinda old kinda quickly.

People think Disney Princesses are nothing more than Damsels in Distress, and I don’t know where tf that rumour came from but I don’t like it.

Snow White gets some of the worst rap for it, and that’s not fair. I think she’s got more courage than Bo Peep and Mulan (2020, the 1998 version is an amazing role model for kids in my opinion, the 2020 version is a bitch) put together.

Snow White had to be a slave to the Evil Queen, who made her dress in rags and clean non-stop. And she still manages to go through all of that “With a Smile and a Song”.

And when she thinks her Step Mother is being kind to her, letting her wear a clean dress and letting her pick flowers and be free from chores for at least just an hour, but it turns out that she had been tricked, and that the Huntsman was supposed to kill her. But because of her kindness, the Huntsman couldn’t bring himself to kill her.

So Snow ran away, scared, and with good reason to be. The Queen will have her guts pulled out if she ever saw her again. Yet when Snow is in the forest with the woodland creatures, she apologizes for crying and asks to start over, to re-introduce herself. That’s brave, if you ask me. and she didn’t have to wear pants or wield a stick either. People forget that there are two kinds of bravery, physical fighting, (Like all female characters seem to do these days) and mental fighting, smiling even though your cared out of your mind. Keeping your head high when things are dreary, finding the good in a sea of bad.

As a girl, I’m tired of all this talk that a girl can’t wear a dress and be a bad-ass. Bo, to me, was a good character because she balanced out the other female characters, there was variety. Bo was sweet natured and girly, yes, but she was also wise and insightful and had way more depth than the new Bo. Alright, time to turn this conversation onto Toy Story 4, because I’m mad at it.

When people say, “Oh I can’t believe Woody left with Bo! What a bad decision!” they don’t say that like he never met her, they say it because Bo’s an arsehole. Woody left his family, and though we could argue that Bo is family, too, she isn’t a very nice part. she called Woody an accessory, acted rather rude towards him, and abandoned him twice because he was doing the right thing, yet she makes him apologize for it. Like girl you dumped him and left him in your cardboard box and your acting like Woody ate your last jelly bean. What did he do to deserve being treated so harshly? I don’t get it. since when is it illegal to show affection towards someone you love?

The way I see it, Feminism in Disney is just taking female characters and making them a Gaston. Y’know, very butch, very masculine, the favorite of the town and everyone loves him because, well, he’s the town’s favorite son. Taking a girl and stripping her of her femininity and replacing it with a stick.

Honestly, I’m not even mad. I just wish they did more with Bo. I have this Toy Story 4 Concept Art Book, and it was just filled with better iteration's of what she could’ve been, and it’s disappointing. I mean in one drawing she had a pencil for a leg and a missing eye and to me that’s a big missed opportunity. Instead they went with just a blue jumpsuit. Yet everyone made crazy versions of what she should look like, and then they went for the boringest decision.

And on one full page, it’s just about what Bo’s hands should look in front of her cape, and other crazy things. Like who even cares? I’d rather have a compelling character with a slight wardrobe malfunction than what we got any day.

It just makes me sad what they did to a good character like Bo. I like that she was girly, I liked that she was flirty, since when are those aspects in a woman bad? I don’t even care what her outfit looks like. Wearing pants doesn’t mean you ‘Wear the pants’, and wearing a skirt doesn’t make you inferior, literally regardless of gender.

Let. Girls. Be. Girls. And that doesn’t just mean being ‘girly’, it can mean anything. Being a girl is whatever you want it to be. Being you, whoever you are, girl, boy, both, or neither, is whoever you want to be. Just as long as you aren’t hurting anyone, anyway.

And not all men are scumbags. Most of my friends are dudes, and they’re coolest dudes I’ve ever met. And not all girls like to swing sticks and wear pants, Y’know. Not all girls are rebellious and smack-talking and bossy.

I also hate what they did to Dolly and Trixie. Dolly was spunky and cute, but now she’s just down-right psychotic. Like she legit tried to murder Forky in Forky asks a Question just because he was verbal-stimming.

And Trixie’s no better. She yells at Forky for something he didn’t even do on purpose. He accidentally broke her laptop, but like the poor guy didn’t even mean to. And the laptop isn’t even hers it’s not like she paid for it, she shouldn’t even be angry.

Not gonna lie, if someone broke my laptop I’d be pissed, but I certainly wouldn’t act the way Trixie did.

Give characters a variety of personalities. Don’t make any gender inferior. And stop making I out like all men are trash, please.

I don’t even mind strong female characters, I love them, I love seeing fan-arts of Bo on here, and I don’t give a crap that others like her, it’s none of my business what characters they like. I just wish we had more variety, though. Less brawn, more brains. Less bossy, more kind. Less screaming “You won’t listen to me! I’m always right!”, and more listening to others opinions.

And give them obstacles, too. Just because a character is female doesn’t mean you can’t give them something to make them grow. People want to see a character strive for greatness, no matter what. Not just whack ‘em with a stick and be done with it, we want the character to change throughout the story, regardless of gender. A story just about a character effortlessly kicking ass, and never coming to harm or learning anything isn’t very entertaining, nor does it tech the kids watching anything. Especially when kids are the age were they copy everything they see on television.

I just hope Disney figures that out in time.

#Bla blah blah politics #blah blah blah #disney #feminism #gender equality #bo peep #toy story #snow white #trixie toy stor #dolly toy story #disney princeses

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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years

Text

Apology Flowers (Indruck)

@cyborgrabbit requested 63 from the meet uglies: “sometimes I steal flowers from your garden on my way to the cemetery, but today you’ve caught me and have demanded to come with me to make sure the “[person] is [attractive] enough to warrant flower theft” and I’m trying to figure out how to break it to you that we’re on our way to a graveyard.” They added, “If it wasn't a personal Garden but like a large private/public outdoor Garden that Duck was the main care giver for he absolutely would verbally attack anyone who touched his flowers”

Indrid considers the plants before him carefully; he wants variety, but he also wants flowers that fit the occasion and the setting. Roses would be nice, but as a human he can’t get them off the plant easily. He needs his mandibles for that.

He picks snapdragons, some lilies, some foxglove, and a smattering of pink and orange blossoms he can’t quite identify, wrapping them all in one big bouquet in a few sheets of USA Today. He’s so busy preparing himself for the hour ahead that he misses a change in the future and the figure stepping around the bushes.

“Hey man, you know you ain’t supposed to pick those, right?”

He whirls, ill-gotten blossoms clutched to his chest.

“I, ah, I, yes, I, I am aware it is frowned upon in a public garden but none of the ones in the store quite, ah, suited my needs.”

The man, clearly an employee, crosses his arms, “so you decided to take some from the botanical gardens?”

“Yes. You have so may, I assumed a few would not be missed.”

“Maybe they wouldn’t, but if everyone gets it into their heads to take just a few, suddenly whole chunks of the garden are missing and all our hard work is for nothin’. Besides, average folks can’t tell the difference between a common plant that’s easy to replace and one that was a pain in the ass to grow.” He doesn’t sound angry so much as tired, as if he’s had this conversation dozens of times.

“I see your point. I, ah, I can’t really put them back though. May I keep these?”

The man smirks, “sure thing. I’m comin’ with you though. I wanna see if the person you’re given ‘em too is good-lookin enough to warrant flower theft.”

Indrid has zero desire to admit where he’s actually going.

“Ah, but, you are clearly at work. And I’m in a hurry.”

“Lucky for you I just got off and can walk pretty fast.”

Indrid sighs, defeated, “Very well. And no need to walk, I have a car.”

The man follows him to the little sedan he’s been towing behind the ‘Bago. Indrid opens the doors, pausing before he gets in, “are you certain you wish to come with me, Duck Newton? It’s not going to be very entertaining.”

“I’m sure. And how’d you know my name?”

“Name-tag.” Indrid replies automatically, hoping the man is actually wearing one.

Duck shrugs, and climbs into the car. As Indrid turns onto the main road, the gardener asks, “you been to Point Pleasant before?”

“A few times.”

“You got family here?”

“No. My family lives rather far away. Ah, what about you?” His distracted state is a blessing, as it keeps him from accidentally saying Duck’s words along with him.

“I’m from Kepler originally, moved out here for this job. Uh-” Duck turns, looking back at the arch they just drove under, “you sure we’re goin’ the right way?”

“Yes.” He says tightly, pulling into the cemetery parking lot.

“Fuuck” Duck groans, smacking a hand onto his face in embarrassment, “why didn’t you tell me those were for this? Woulda eased up on you a little.”

“I wasn’t sure how to explain it.” He opens the door, “will you be joining me, or do you wish to wait here?”

“I’ll come help you pay your respects, seems the polite thing to do.”

They enter the grounds, Duck removing his hat as they do. There are a few other visitors scattered about, the sky blue above them and the grass pleasantly fresh cut.

Indrid finds the first grave, removes a snapdragon from the bouquet and sets it atop the stone. Stares at the name a moment, long enough to think the words he’d usually say aloud, then walks to the next grave he needs to visit. He knows their order by heart.

He’s expecting Duck to become bored with his wandering, or try to talk with him, or offer some thoughtful but useless platitudes. But the human simply follows him from grave to grave, keeping a respectful distance between them.

Indrid doesn’t cry, he never does during this. But with Duck near him, he feels like he should. A human would cry, would they not? Only a monster would remain so unmoved.

Not all of them are buried here, and so after a half hour they return to the car.

Indrid stares at the wheel, “I have one more stop to take flowers to. I can drop you somewhere else if you’d like.”

“I’ll come with you. Come this far. But uh…”

“Indrid. You were about to ask my name. It’s Indrid.”

“Right, yeah. Look, Indrid, you seem like you’re dealin with somethin heavy and, well, I don’t feel quite right leavin you to deal with it alone. But if you need me gone, I can go.”

“I’d very much like your company on this next part.”

“You got it.”

They drive in silence, and Indrid turns on the radio because human music is one of his favorite things. Duck hums along at one point, the noise off-key and charming enough to make Indrid forget what’s ahead of him.

When they approach the memorial, Duck says softly, “ah, thought I recognized some of the names, couldn’t place where. The Silver Bridge Collapse.”

“Yes.” Indrid sits down on the ground near the first row of bricks inscribed with names of those he failed to save. He sets the remaining flowers on a nearby stone, so it will be clear what they are for.

A scuff as Duck sits down next to him.

“Did you know someone on the bridge.”

“Not exactly, no” Indrid sets his hands on his knees, focuses his gaze on cracked ground.

“I, uh, I think what you doin’ is real noble. Most folks come and just visit the Mothman statue.”

“I’ve seen Mothman plenty of times, I do not need to see him anymore.”

“Nicest ass in West Virginia.”

Indrid snorts in surprise, glancing over at Duck.

“Sorry, tend to goof when I’m feelin’ awkward.”

“It’s alright. My actions are less noble than you perhaps think. I, ah, I was there. The day it happened. I suppose you could say I have a, ah, a very intense case of survivors guilt.”

“Oh, Indrid, I’m so fuckin sorry. That must have been terrifyin.” Duck rests his hand on his knee and Indrid starts. He hasn’t been touched on purpose in two years, maybe more.

“It was. I come back whenever I can, to, to pay my respects. To say I’m sorry. Sorry that I couldn’t save them. Sorry that I failed.”

“Hold up now, you didn’t fail no one. Bridge collapse was an accident.”

“But-”

“Let’s say even if you, I dunno, had some way of seein’ it comin, you’re just one guy. One guy can do a lot, but he can only do so much. Trust me, I know. Whatever happened on the bridge, it wasn’t your fault.”

“I…” no one’s ever said that to him so sincerely, so plainly. But as the story he’s told himself all these years starts to crumble, emotion seeps through the cracks.

He shudders, head collapsing into his hands. The strong arm wraps around his shoulders and he crumples, falling against Duck’s chest. Through the silent, sharp tears, he tries to be polite, tries not to make the man feel Indrid is any strnager than he already must.

“I’m s-sorry, I shouldn’t, you don’t need to-”

“Hush now” Duck murmurs, hugging him, “just get it all out.”

Indrid does, streaking his face with and wetting Duck’s shirt with tears. When they finally abate, his mind is pleasingly clear, save for one question.

“Why are you being so kind to me?”

“Because it seems like someone needs to be. Plus, was kinda a dick earlier.”

Indrid snickers at his candor, “You were right to scold me for picking those flowers. Perhaps I should grow my own. There must be a way to do so inside a small space.”

“Can think of a few.”

In all the futures, Duck clears his throat and says that even so, he should be going and that it was nice to meet Indrid.

“If you, uh, if you want, could brainstorm so with you over dinner.” A warm hand rubs his upper arm, soothing and protective.

He sits up but stays in Duck’s arms, looking down at him, “I would, but you do not need to ruin your evening for my sake.”

“Wouldn’t call gettin’ to know you more ‘ruinin’ somethin’. Plus, you’re still in a raw spot. You telling me you wanna spent the rest of your evenin’ with your own thou-”

“No, no I do not.” Indrid says flatly.

“C’mon, some friends of mine have a real nice place to eat near the gardens. French Onion Soup is to die for.”

“I have never had it.”

“Fuck, really? Well now we gotta go.” Duck smiles, his mellow enthusiasm contagious, and by the time they’re in the car Indrid is smiling too.

Dinner really is delicious, though Indrid prefers the pie to the soup (though he must admit he enjoys watching the pleasure on Duck’s face as he eats said soup). Duck asks him about his travels, eagerly shares stories about the garden, and shows him pictures of his cat. When Indrid mentions he draws, Duck asks to see the little pocket sketchbook he carries, and proceeds to tell him a half-dozen times how amazing it is. He also hears Duck laugh for the first time, a ridiculous sound that he wants to hear a hundred times more.

They talk until closing time, no longer across from each other but side by side, as Duck had hopped around to Indrid’s booth to show him more pictures of the gardens. The human offers his arm, and they walk at a leisurely pace. When he reaches the car he hesitates, then hugs Duck. The shorter man hugs him back.

“Thank you, Duck, for everything.”

“You’re welcome. You stayin in town?”

“For awhile, yes.”

“Well, hopefully I’ll see you around.” Duck slowly retracts from the hug, tips his hat with a wink and heads to his car. Indrid gets into his own, watches Duck drive away before heading towards the trailer park. As he reaches into his pocket for his keys, he finds a folded slip of paper with the words “dinner and movie tomorrow?” followed by a phone number.

He grabs his phone, and hurriedly dials.

And in every future, including the one that comes to pass, Duck answers the phone with a smile.

#Indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #meet ugly #TAZ Amnesty #prompt fills

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cakesunflower · 4 years

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No Need Convincing Me [Tattoo Artist!Calum AU] Part 2

Summary: Elodie Banks hadn’t expected to get so caught up in her best friend’s tattoo artist. But all it took was one meeting with Calum Hood for Elodie to feel herself drawing towards him and the ink on his skin. Maybe once she was rid of a miserable relationship and the insecurities that came with it, she’d allow herself to realize that Calum was just as wrapped up in her.

All Parts: Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Part 2

She was arm candy, only to speak when spoken to. Which was laughable, given that her parents owned one or two hotels in every major city across the country and were the top members of the city’s elite society. Elodie Banks wasn’t arm candy—unless Nathaniel Roman said she was. And she was tired of it.

Their arms weren’t even linked together the whole they had been when they first arrived. Now, they just stood side by side as Nathan talked to some important looking people Elodie didn’t know. She had tried to pay attention, tried to engage, but every time she’d open her mouth, Nathan would brush over her and his voice would overpower hers. So why should she bother? It twisted her stomach uncomfortably, being silenced for ever having an opinion on anything, but she stuck by. She plastered a smile and nodded along as if she understood. Smile and nod. Smile and nod.

“You alright, honey?” Elodie had managed to break away from Nathan, not that he truly noticed as he was too busy schmoozing the men he was talking to, to grab a glass of wine. Her mother had taken that moment to check in on her, blue eyes glimmering with concern.

“Yeah,” Elodie assures her with a smile. She couldn’t exactly indulge in the fact that being with Nathan was suffocating because, well, her parents loved him. Treated him like their own son because they all grew up together. Not to mention, Elodie had a fear if she told them the truth, they’d say the same thing Nathan said: she was being too sensitive. Gesturing around lightly with her glass, Elodie said, “It’s a beautiful collection.”

She could still see the concern in her mom’s eyes, but was grateful that she accepted the change of subject. Mrs. Banks looked around, a smile on her face and hands clasped as she said, “Yes, it is; hopefully we’ll raise a great amount.”

Elodie nodded her agreement. The money from the auction of the artwork was going to a variety of environmental and youth charities, and Elodie hoped they’d raise a substantial amount for them.

Her mother eyed her once more, raising a concerned brow. “Are you sure there’s nothing bothering you?”

Elodie met her gaze, forcing a smile onto her lips she’d become an expert in faking. “No, Mom. I’m great.”

She downed the rest of her wine after her mom walked away, earning a raised eyebrow from Dominique as she had chosen that given moment to approach Elodie. “You going through something?”

Elodie’s eyes cast over to where Nathan was, lips turning down into a frown as she mumbled, “Neglect.”

She watched the way Dominique looked over to Nathan as well, rolling her green eyes and Elodie kind of wished she kept her mouth shut. The animosity between her best friend and boyfriend wasn’t lost on her; she desperately wished the two of them got along. She wished she didn’t have to endure listening to either of them bicker or hear one ridicule the other behind their backs. Dominique only wanted what was best for her, and Elodie was aware of her friend’s dislike of Nathan stemming from the fact that Dominique thought Elodie deserved better. And maybe she did.

Elodie hated that she was so weak. If she was stronger, more like Dominique, then she’d be able to talk herself into breaking up with Nathan and then doing so. But she isn’t. And that’s why Nathan liked her.

“You know what?” Dominique spoke after taking a breath, eyes meeting Elodie’s. She saw the mischief glinting in the green of Dominique’s eyes. “I don’t think I’m feeling too well. How about you, my best friend, take me home before I throw up on the artwork?”

Elodie’s eyebrows shot up, feeling the smile quirk at her lips as she stared at Dominique in incredulity and amusement. She wanted to ditch? To be fair, it wasn’t the first time Dominique talked Elodie into leaving not even halfway through some event their families attended, but every time it was brought up, a shock of nerves and excitement rushed through Elodie. Breaking the rules wasn’t something she did often, and only ever in Dominique’s company. And she never regretted it.

Fooling their parents wasn’t elaborate. Dominique just clutched her stomach and made an expression akin to of someone about to throw up, throwing in the act of having a headache too. Her mom, ever concerned, suggested going to the doctor, but Elodie and Dominique assured them she just needed some rest. And with Elodie offering to take Dominique home, it was said and done.

They were out of the banquet hall, approaching the exit of the hotel when Nathan’s voice spoke, “Where are you going?”

They stopped, Dominique rolling her eyes as Elodie’s stomach flipped, turning to look at her questioning boyfriend. She tried not to shift on her heels, hand holding Dominique’s arm as she said, “Dom’s not feeling well so we’re going back to her place.”

Nathan’s green eyes shifted to Dominique, who didn’t even bother putting up an act, instead fixing him with the glare she had reserved just for him. Scoffing, Nathan took a few steps towards them and said, “Dominique’s a big girl. I’m sure she can take care of herself–no need for you to go.”

Elodie frowned gently at the notion of Nathan trying to stop her from doing something and at the fact that he wouldn’t care if her best friend really was sick and she wanted to help. Moments like these did Elodie realize how selfish he was. “It doesn’t matter. I’m still going with her, Nathan,” Elodie told him, her voice soft and even, because that’s just how she spoke all the time. Especially with him.

She saw the irritation flash across his eyes, tightening his features as he clenched his jaw. Elodie tried not to swallow the lump that had formed in her throat, taking a breath as he said in a forced calm tone, “You’re my date, Elodie. You can’t just leave me.”

“Both of you came with your families, jackass. You’ll be fine,” Dominique scoffed, reaching her hand up to grasp Elodie’s, who pressed her lips together when Nathan’s expression darkened. He was so handsome—Elodie hated when the inside of him didn’t match. “The car’s waiting.”

Dominique pulled Elodie out of the hotel, and she couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder as she looked at Nathan. Her throat dried at the scowl he wore, hands curled into fists at his sides, and though her stomach twisted nervously at the sight of him, it was overpowered by the relief and excitement of getting out of there. And away from him, but Elodie silenced that thought immediately.

About fifteen minutes later, around nine-thirty PM, the two of them were sitting in some Halal Guys, waiting for their food, still in their evening gowns and high heels. The two ignored the looks they got, chatting amongst themselves in their booth, when suddenly Ashton slipped next to Dominique and Calum next to Elodie.

“A little snazzy for a place like this, huh?” Ashton grinned, arm going around Dominique’s shoulders as he grinned at the girls.

Dominique snorted, sipping her soda. “We’re classing the place up.”

On the other side, Elodie was more or less frozen, not at all expecting the man sitting next to her. Dominique had asked Elodie if it was okay if she invited Ashton, which Elodie was all up for, but no one had mentioned the dark haired tattoo artist sliding into Elodie’s side of the booth. She glanced over at the wave of cologne that nearly dizzied her, the smell fresh and delightful, and felt her heart jump when she noted Calum’s dark gaze on her.

She watched the way his eyes trailed over her, feeling her skin flush when his gaze met hers once more and he said in a quiet tone, “Red’s a good color on you.”

The warmth on her cheeks intensified, gaze dropping to the color of her dress as if she hadn’t known what she was wearing. It was ruby red, reminiscent of her birthstone, the material hugging her nicely. Finding her voice, Elodie murmured a, “Thank you,” just as the guy at the counter called out both her and Dominique’s order numbers.

“We got ’em,” Ashton said, exchanging a nod with Calum before the two of them got up to go to the counter.

When they were out of ear shot, Elodie looked at Dominique, her eyes widened a bit as she asked, “Why didn’t you tell me Calum was coming?”

Dominique let out a laugh, eyebrows raised in amusement. “I didn’t know Ash was bringing him, I swear.” When her smile transitioned into a smirk, she leaned forward and said knowingly, “He thinks you’re cute, ya know.”

Her words had the expectant reaction from Elodie, her face completely on fire as she pressed her lips together and pushed herself back into the cushion of the booth seat. Elodie wanted to desperately believe that Dominique was just teasing her, playing around, but she knew her best friend never joked about those kinds of things—especially with someone as sensitive and nervous as Elodie. So knowing that there was, to some extent, a bit of truth in Dominique’s words had Elodie’s heart skipping a beat and shoulders tensing when Ashton and Calum returned with their food.

The grateful smile upturned Elodie’s lips easier than she thought, heart fluttering when Calum returned it with a small smile of his own as he placed her plastic tray in front of her, the chicken platter and side of hummus nearly making her stomach growl as she reached for her fork. But before she began eating, she glanced at Calum and found herself asking, “Do you want some?”

His gaze met hers, like he hadn’t expected for her to offer, and the small smile that returned made his eyes glimmer more than the chain necklace did under the fluorescent lights of the restaurant. “Thanks, doll,” Calum hummed, the nickname slipping casually, though there was nothing casual about the way Elodie’s heart lurched as she heard it. Calum reached over, ring clad and tattooed hand picking up a triangle of pita bread and scooping up some hummus with it before taking a bite.

Elodie had to look away in effort of not just staring at the way his strong jaw moved as he chewed, nodding appreciatively at the taste. God. She was so weird.

“So did you decide what you’re doing for your birthday?” Ashton’s question pulled at Elodie’s attention, all eyes going to Dominique expectantly.

She put down her roll, swallowing down her bite and gently wiping at her mouth with a napkin. With a shrug, Dominique responded, “Costume party? My birthday’s always on Halloween weekend so it just makes shit easier.”

After sipping her drink, Elodie asked, “Are you gonna have it at your place or book a venue?”

Dominique hummed as Calum stole another piece of pita bread from Elodie’s plate, shooting her a boyish smile that had her own lips curling. He was undeniably handsome and it was fluttering Elodie’s stomach a bit too much. Handsome and intriguing, a combination Elodie shouldn’t get wrapped up in. “If the Playboy Club is available on my birthday, I’ll book it otherwise I can just throw it at my place.”’

Elodie let out a soft laugh around her fork. The Playboy Club would become readily available once they realized the party was for Dominique Lewis.

The four of them continued with light conversation over the dull buzz of the overhead lights, only three or four other customers in the restaurant as vague conversations occurred around them. Elodie found herself relaxed with the company she had, amusedly watching Dominique and Ashton pressed into each other in the middle of their booth, being the couple they denied they were, as Elodie finished her food with the help of Calum stealing some of her pita bread and hummus. The two of them sat at a respectable distance from one another on their side of the booth, but Elodie could still feel the warmth he radiated, could smell the faint scent of his cologne over the food they ate.

She found herself listening to the sound of his voice as much as she paid attention to the words he uttered; he was quiet, she noted as they sat, listening more so than speaking, but every time he did, Elodie got lost in his voice. A deep timber with a rasp that became more prominent if he spoke between laughter, his broad shoulders shaking as he did so. And for someone who came off as reserved—unlike Elodie’s shyness, Calum’s appeared as mysterious and intriguing—he seemed to smile a lot. Elodie found no fault in that—he had a gorgeous smile, complete with crinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes and cheeks pushing up adorably.

It dried her throat, how quickly she was finding these details in him.

“Would you ever consider getting a tattoo?” Calum had asked the question out of nowhere, making conversation with Elodie as, across from them, Ashton and Dominique lazily talked about something she hadn’t been paying attention to.

Elodie blinked as she looked at Calum, head turned towards her as he leaned back in the seat, right ankle resting on his left knee as his right arm rested on the table in front of them. He was making conversation, casual and easy, as he eyed her curiously. Elodie wasn’t quite sure what it was, but the way Calum looked at her, watched her, felt different. Nerve wracking—but in a good way. “I don’t think so,” she told him truthfully, almost shyly because she didn’t want to insult him or his job in some way. With a sheepish smile, she added, “I don’t think I’ve got the pain threshold for it.”

Honestly, Elodie liked tattoos. She liked the way they looked on people’s skin, admired the artwork and precision to detail, and wondered what the stories behind every tattoo was on every person she saw—if there was a deep meaning, if they got it just because they liked the design, if it was some kind of drunken mistake—the curiosity always ate at her. But actually receiving one herself? Elodie wasn’t too sure if she’d be able to sit through that. Besides, she wouldn’t even know what to get if she ever decided on going for it.

Understanding danced across Calum’s features as he nodded. “That’s fair,” he said, fingers tapping on the table top. She wondered what the letters on his hands meant.

Finding the urge to keep the conversation going, Elodie shifted ever so slightly, pressing her right shoulder into the booth to face Calum a bit as she told him, “I’ve always wanted to get my nose pierced, though.”

She watched the way Calum’s dark eyes dropped a bit, looking at her nose, and for some reason that had her smiling. Calum’s own mouth quirked, boyish and far too charming, as he looked at her once more and said smoothly, “You’ve got the perfect nose for it.” Elodie wondered if he was aware how easily he lit a fire in her cheeks. Wondered if she should be worried about that fact. Lazily pointing at her, Calum added, “If you ever wanna get it done, come by the shop. It’ll be on me,” the offer complete with a boyish wink.

Elodie raised her eyebrows, surprised and feeling almost sheepish at his offer. If she was being honest, she was kind of used to getting some things for free or for a valued price—it came with the status of being the daughter of parents like hers. She’d always been grateful for it, yet always offered to pay the full amount because she could afford it, because she didn’t find it necessary to be given things for free—a trait she didn’t quite share with the classmates she had in her private high school.

She often joked about how that’s how the rich stayed rich—by having companies give them free things for the sake of their name being attached to their brand.

Before Elodie could even hope to respond, a new voice spoke up, completely freezing her in her seat and immediately dissipating the easy going mood of their table. “If you weren’t feeling sick before, you sure as hell will now with that shit in your stomach.”

Dominique’s expression darkened as Nathan stepped into view, standing right at the end of their table as. His expression seemed cool, but Elodie noted the storm brewing in his eyes, the irritation trickling upon his features, and she felt her own body tightening in his presence. Her nails dug into her palms under the table, cursing at her instinctive reaction upon Nathan arriving; this wasn’t how she should be feeling around her boyfriend. Why couldn’t she stop?

“Actually, I was feeling great until I saw your face,” came Dominique’s rebuke, tone as icy as her eyes as she glared at the unwelcome guest. Elodie pressed her teeth together, gently nudging Dominique’s foot with her own under the table. Their eyes met, and Elodie silently pleaded for her to not provoke him. Turning her gaze back to Nathan, Dominique demanded, “How’d you even find us? Stalking’s a crime, you know.”

“Our drivers talk, Dominique. It wasn’t hard.” Nathan’s gaze then shifted to Elodie, and she hated that she felt guilty under the weight of his gaze. She knew she shouldn’t have lied to him in the first place, and while she didn’t regret being here, she wasn’t looking forward to Nathan’s anger. With patronizing raised eyebrows, Nathan taunted, “You ditched me for some cheap double date? What the fuck are you doing, Elodie?”

Her lips, long since having lost their gloss, parted to speak, her words caught in a nervous hitch of breath, heart pounding when Calum spoke up out of nowhere. “Are you really gonna speak to her like that?”

All eyes shifted to Calum, and Elodie was too busy taking a soft breath at the sound of him coming to her defense to notice the annoyance that intensified on her boyfriend’s face. Calum was looking up at Nathan, looking at him with an expression that was a cross between challenging and disgust, scrunched together eyebrows raised in question.

Jaw working, Nathan snapped back, “This is none of your business, buddy—”

Calum gave a single shake of his head—more of a sideways tilt of his chin, really—as he clicked his tongue and cut in, “Not your buddy.”

Elodie took a breath, not at all ignorant of the tension brewing between them. After all, it was her doing, wasn’t it? The amount of hostility between the two of them churned her stomach, naively wondering if it all came from this moment. The two men Elodie was sitting with didn’t know Nathan, and he wasn’t giving them the best impression of himself. Silently, briefly, Elodie wondered what that even was anymore.

Instead of responding to Calum, Nathan looked at Elodie once more, telling her tightly, “Let’s go. We’re leaving.”

His demanding tone didn’t settle well with anyone, and even Ashton frowned as he started, “Dude—”

Elodie��s skin felt like it was on fire. She was mortified, upset, angry. Nathan never hesitated on speaking to her like this, always demanded things of her even if it went against what she wanted. And he only ever did it in front of Dominique, yet in front of everyone else, he kept up that charming act that Elodie had fallen for in the first place, never giving the impression that behind the disarming grin, there was a man who had no trouble in being a puppet master to his acquiescent girlfriend.

Elodie hated that almost six months in, he was still working the strings.

“Now, Elodie,” Nathan snapped again, right at her, cutting off whatever Ashton was about to say. His eyes were fierce, challenging her to say no.

Her heart was in her throat, stomach churning and suddenly she wished she hadn’t eaten that entire platter. She could feel everyone’s eyes on her, and Elodie unsuccessfully tried to swallow the lump in her throat as she cleared it and looked down at her lap, pretending to dust off crumbs from her dress. They needed to get out of there before Nathan made more of a scene than he already had; somehow, though, she was the one who was embarrassed, never him. There was a familiar sting in her nose, but Elodie ignored it as she asked in a small voice, “Calum, can you let me out, please?”

She didn’t dare look at him, but Elodie could feel the heat of Calum’s gaze burning into her upon hearing her request. Maybe he was wondering if he misheard her. Maybe he was wondering how she could let Nathan speak to her like that. Maybe he thought she was utterly ridiculous for listening to Nathan. God knows Elodie considered those last two options for herself.

Why couldn’t she just say no?

Instead, she was burning under everyone’s gazes—especially Calum’s. She could feel him staring at her, as intense as the lights above, and not for the first time Elodie hated being weak. Hated it for herself, and hated that Calum had to see her this way. And while she wasn’t exactly sure why the second was so strong, why it meant more than it should, but it did. And it made her all the more nauseous.

There was shifting from next to her, and Elodie saw from the corner of her eyes as Calum slid out of the booth without a word, and she swallowed inaudibly before sliding out as well. She felt like a fucking child as she stood next to Nathan, a child who just got reprimanded, and the embarrassment brought a new wave of heat to her skin as Calum moved to sit back down. Her gaze met his then, accidentally, and Elodie noted the frown on his face as he looked at her. His lips were pressed together in disdain—was it towards her? Towards Nathan? Towards this whole situation?—with his hands pressed to the tops of his thighs as if he was bracing himself, and Elodie felt her throat tighten at his darkened eyes.

She quickly averted her gaze to Dominique, who mouthed, “Call me,” as Nathan’s hand grasped Elodie’s. It felt rough, cold against her skin, and she bit the inside of her lower lip as he said gruffly, “Let’s go.”

They sat in the back of his family car, the distance between them noticeable as Elodie sat pressed against the door, gaze out the window as they drove back to Nathan’s place. She just wanted to go home.

The air was suffocating in the back of the town car as Elodie clicked her nails, the sound piercing her ears yet being unable to stop. She was probably pissing him off more. “You know, if you hadn’t lied to me, I wouldn’t have crashed your little double date.”

Elodie suppressed the scoff, the lie a bit too laughable. Instead, she looked down at her nails, throat working as she said quietly, “It wasn’t a double date. We were just hanging out.”

Nathan had no trouble in scoffing loudly, the sound patronizing and derisive that only had Elodie biting the inside of her cheek. “Hanging out,” he mocked. “That dude wants to get in your pants. He’s not your friend. Do yourself a favor and stay away from him.” And then, as if what he’d said hadn’t been enough, Nathan added snidely, “And, really, a nose ring? It won’t look good on you; don’t kid yourself.”

She bit her tongue, hard enough to send a sting through the muscle, as Elodie took a breath and looked back out the window. Nathan’s words and his insults stung, heart sinking into the pit of her stomach. Every time he just. . . Told her to do something, demanded something of her, made her feel like she wasn’t good enough, it felt so defeating. Why she ended up listening to him was beyond her. Why she stayed was another question she desperately sought the answer to.

The tears stung her eyes as she leaned her head back against the seat. Probably because she had no spine. No sense of sticking up for herself. Fucking pathetic.

*****

When Calum stepped through the curtain, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or give into the sudden animalistic urge of throwing a punch. For a second, he debated on turning around and asking Luke or one of the other guys to take over, but Calum wasn’t someone who ever submitted to anybody else—much less people he didn’t particularly like.

So he pursed his lips and kept his expression blank as the curtain closed behind him, jaw tight when Nathan’s disbelieving, derisive laugh sounded in the small space of the work station. He’d been standing by the chair an unfamiliar guy sat in, Calum’s actual client, arms crossed over his chest and looking utterly out of place in his suit, when his gaze landed on the man who would be doing the job.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Nathan scoffed with a shake of his head, lips curled into a sneering grin. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Calum was ready to kick the dude out, his mere presence encroaching on the comforting atmosphere of his store, as the guy seated—Scott, Calum recalled Sierra informing him—looked between the two of them in quiet confusion. Calum’s gaze, dark and fiery as he forced himself to hold back, met Nathan’s demanding one. He fought off the condescending smirk threatening to grow as he walked towards the stool and told him, “It’s my shop. If anyone’s got barely a right to be here, it’s you.”

As Calum settled on the stool, Scott spoke up with a wary, “Am I missing something?”

“This dude’s tryna fuck Elodie.”

Calum wanted to let out a laugh at Nathan’s crude words; he would never be caught dead talking about his girlfriend like that. Calum slipped his gloves on under the two men’s gazes; Nathan wasn’t entirely wrong—Calum had felt himself focusing on Elodie since the moment he met her, but he had more respect for her than that. He would never try anything with her while she was in a relationship—even if it was a shitty one. And, honestly, not out of his own morals—he just wouldn’t do anything because Elodie seemed like the type to let the guilt eat her alive at the thought of cheating on her boyfriend.

Calum was drawn to her, that much was obvious to himself. But he wasn’t going to start anything, if there was an opportunity to do so, when there was the potential of her feeling guilt over anything else.

His glanced up, expression blank under Scott’s raised eyebrows and Nathan’s glare, as he stated flatly, “We’re friends.” Patience wearing thin, Calum braced his hands on his knees and turned his attention solely to Scott, raising his eyebrows in an almost bored sense. “Is this gonna be a problem? D’you want me to hand you off to someone else to get this done?”

Scott blinked, lips pressed together before glancing at a still glaring Nathan. Calum once again felt the urge to kick him out of the shop, especially after how he’d seen Nathan treat Elodie at the restaurant the other night. It had taken everything in Calum not to go after them, to put Nathan in his place for speaking to Elodie—to anyone—the way he did. After he’d taken her, Dominique had cursed and continued to be worried about her best friend, Ashton trying his best to comfort her while Calum, sat opposite of them, ignited a pain in his jaw from how hard he was clenching it. He was furious, disgusted.

It all seemed like a mess, yet another reason for Calum to ignore whatever the hell he was feeling towards Elodie. But he couldn’t ignore it. Not when she looked like she was trying to escape as badly as Calum was wanting to help her out.

Looking back at Calum, Scott gave a shake of his head. “Nah, man. I’m fine here.”

Calum was a bit surprised, but he didn’t question it. The same couldn’t be said for Nathan, who let out a protesting scoff. “Are you kidding me, Scott? He’s—”

“One of the best tattoo artists in the area,” Scott cut him off, throwing an irritated look towards his friend. Calum fought the urge to smirk; he wondered if Nathan’s own parents even liked him. “I’m not going somewhere else just ’cause you’ve got an issue with everyone.”

It was a silent affair, though that’s how Calum normally liked it. He preferred working in silence, only hearing the buzz of the gun and the sound of The Maine playing through the shop’s speakers, as he got everything prepared, grabbing the gun and adjusting the needle and sterilizing the area of application. Calum remained aware yet uncaring of Nathan’s scowl, bitterly amused that he hadn’t dragged his friend out of the shop the way he had Elodie’s. Or was that just because they were around her friends? Did he act that way around other people? Calum had a twisting feeling that kind of behavior was only saved for Elodie, and his dislike and contempt for Nathan started blossoming into hatred.

Calum worked with easy confidence and concentration, feeling just a bit more relaxed once the tattoo gun was in his hand and he was finally working on Scott’s tattoo—a quote his father always says in his handwriting, which Calum thought was dope. It was going fine, the silence inviting and needed as Calum focused on his work, until Nathan decided to speak up.

“You know, I find it hilarious that you think Elodie would go for some dude who owns a tattoo shop when she’s already got a guy already set on Wall Street.”

Calum wanted to snort. He’d been right about the Wall Street angle from the second he’d laid eyes on Nathan the first time.

Instead of Calum responding, Scott spoke up, his tight tone towards his friend as he said, “Dude, can you not provoke the guy who’s tatting me up?”

“’S alright, Scott,” Calum mused smoothly as he leaned back a bit, wiping at some of the excess ink and blood. His tone remained cool because, truthfully, what Nathan meant to be a snide and taunting remark had no effect on Calum. It wasn’t a secret that Calum didn’t give a shit what Nathan thought of him, the man’s opinion meant nothing, so why waste any energy rebuking? “Unlike your buddy, I’m capable of keeping my shit together in public places.”

“What’d you just say?”

But Calum didn’t grace him with a response, instead bit back a smirk and continued finishing Scott’s tattoo. He expertly ignored the tension in the room, the buzz of the gun calming as he finished the quote on Scott’s forearm. Nathan was nothing but another body in the room as Calum wrapped up Scott’s tattoo and gave him the routine after care talk, and any animosity Calum felt towards his friend didn’t translate into his interaction with Scott as they shook hands. “Thank you, man. Appreciate it,” Scott smiled, ignoring the clench of Nathan’s jaw and the impatient exhale of a breath he sounded by the curtain. He looked ready to leave, and Calum was more than willing to kick him right out on his ass.

Nathan’s presence in his shop was pretty anticlimactic, though Calum wished he never stepped foot inside in the first place, yet he couldn’t help but mutter a gruff, “Fucker,” once the door shut behind Nathan, the glare furrowing Calum’s eyebrows returning without a thought.

Sierra, who heard him, raised her eyebrows from where she sat behind the desk, looking up from her phone as she asked with a slightly amused laugh. “Who was that?”

“The blonde with the pocket protector?” Sierra snorted as Calum rolled his eyes, lips curling distastefully. “Elodie’s boyfriend.” He remembered Luke and Sierra had left the bar just minutes before Nathan had arrived that first night; they were lucky enough to not make his acquaintance.

Sierra twirled a pen between her fingers, quirking a brow. “We don’t like him?”

Calum exhaled sharply through his nose, aware of the irritation caused by Nathan’s presence still heating his skin as his gaze met Sierra’s pointedly. “We don’t like him.”

tags: @irwinkitten @softforcal @valentinelrh @sweetcherrymike @astroashtonio @meetashthere @calntynes @hereforlukescruff @novacanecalum @captain-what-is-going-on @angelbbycal @singt0mecalum @hopelessxcynic @lfwallscouldtalk @bodhi-black @findingliam-o @softlrh @calumsmermaid @erikamarie41 @quintodosuniversos @longlastingdaydream @babylon-corgis @lukehemmingsunflower @imfuckin10plybud @pastelpapermoons @conquerwhatliesahead92 @rotten-kandy @metangi @neigcthood @ohhmuke @old-zeppelin-shirt @5sos-and-hessa @trustmeimawhalebiologist @vxlentinecal @pettybassists @vaporshawn @lu-my-golden-boi @buggy-blogs @visualm3nte @isabella-mae13 @dontjinx-it @lifeakaharry @neonweeknds @antisocialbandmate @ixcantxdecidexwhosxmyxfave @calpalbby @grreatgooglymoogly @gorgeouslygrace @cocktail-calum @miahelizaaabeth @madelynerin @dramallamawithsparkles @theagenderwhocriedwolf @kaytiebug14 @hoodskillerqueen @bitchinbabylon @empathycth @xhaileyreneex @inlovehoodx @sunnysidesblog @calistheloml @aestheticrelated @bloodlinecal @sublimehood @madbomb @raabiac @britnicole11 @outofmylimitcal @fluffsshawn @bloodmoonashton @vxidhood

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starryseo · 4 years

Text

purify. [3/3] | seo changbin

the gif has absolutely no relevance but holy shit it’s beautiful

pairing ↠ changbin x gn!reader genre ↠ humour, fluff, the boys are Bad Bros wc ↠ 2550 summary ↠ the gang comes to your rescue. naturally, chaos ensues. warnings ↠ swearing, a lot of dirty jokes (this is peak dumbassery for the boys) a/n ↠ please don’t do any of this at home. but if you do, let me know how it goes!

read: mess (part one) | mayhem (part two) | PURIFY

series masterlist

Fact: Seo Changbin was not a tall man, by any means.

And yet taming this wild beast of a boy was no easy feat - especially after Woojin, Taekwondo maestro and Kendo wizard, took a knee to his nethers and was out of the game.

Changbin had headlocked Jisung who, in turn, had kicked out reflexively at Hyunjin which had Hyunjin toppling over onto Seungmin. And now, Seungmin was sitting on Hyunjin’s back (as he screamed about how he can’t fucking breathe with this bitch on me), punching his ass and Jisung was turning redder than a hot chili. Jeongin was, thankfully, recording this from a safe distance, so when the day was over and done with, none of you ever forgot the beautiful memories that transpired on this fine evening.

You were nursing Woojin back to health, but Changbin had landed a solid kick to his nuts and he was still whimpering in pain as you held an ice pack to his unfairly-thick thighs - the poor, poor man - and you made sure to add kick bin’s tic tac to your to-do list. Nobody hurts Woojin and gets away with it.

Chan, who had been underneath Changbin this entire time, has stopped screaming - you’re pretty sure he’s unconscious now - and it takes Minho and Felix both pouring water over Changbin for the chaos in front of you to stop.

Jisung’s wheezing filled the room and Changbin was heavily panting out his frustration. “I’m not," he huffed, “a demon. Now- fuck off.”

“You’re an-” a loud, shuddering inhale from Jisung, “an asshole.”

“Holy shit,” - holy shit, Chan was alive! - “your bony ass was stabbing me.”

“Serves you right,” Changbin gloated, finally moving off of Chan to slump against the sofa.

“We’re adding squats to your workout,” Chan continued, rolling over before wincing and rolling back, “Someone massage me, please, I think I’m dying.”

“Stop being a baby,” Seungmin replied, and it was only then that you all noticed he was covering Hyunjin’s mouth with one hand and pummelling Hyunjin with the other.

“Oh, fuckin’ hell, get off him,” Minho laughed, making no move to actually help Hyunjin out.

You pulled Seungmin back by his shoulder and he easily fell off of Hyunjin, giving the other boy a blissful reprieve from a brutal spanking.

“I need a massage, too,” Hyunjin groaned, tenderly rubbing his ass and recoiling, “holy shit, this burns, what the fuck, man?”

Seungmin shrugged, “You hit me first, man. War is fair shit, y’know?”

“That’s not how the saying goes, you prick.” Hyunjin’s pout had you aww’ing, sitting down cross-legged in front of him so he could rest his head on your lap.

He sighed and nuzzled in further, placing your hands atop his head, urging you to massage him. You snorted but acquiesced, running your fingers through the strands, “Want me to kiss it better, too?”

“Yes please, babe,” Hyunjin replied, eyes closed and mindless tracing shapes onto your leg.

Changbin kicked Hyunjin’s ass after that which had the latter gripping your thigh reflexively and growling, “What the fuck?”

Your mind couldn’t even begin to process how hot that sounded - seriously, you’d seen Hyunjin proudly burp the alphabet, yet this one moment had you weak in the knees?

Pathetic.

“Y/n’s my babe, duh,” Changbin shrugged and you rolled your eyes when he shot you a wink.

“Bastard,” Hyunjin grumbled, sighing out and closing his eyes once more.

“I hate to interrupt this cute-as-shit moment between you all, but are we forgetting why we came here?” Felix questioned, hands on his hips, looking like a disappointed Superman because everyone was relaxing instead of un-demonising Changbin.

A second outbreak ensued after Felix’s announcement - his words had somehow enlivened them all, Woojin leaped up, Hyunjin and Seungmin tag-teamed and took down Changbin, Chan’s back pain was still there, sadly - but this was much more successful than their first takedown attempt.

You stayed on the safe side once more, massaging Chan’s shoulders - holy shit, the man was broad - and maybe your hands slipped to feel his biceps but neither of you were complaining; you’re pretty sure Chan was flexing, just to show off, too, and damn, was that a great life experience. You prayed to God that nothing would ever make you forget the feeling of his muscles beneath your hands.

Hyunjin and Seungmin were now sitting on each of Changbin’s arms; Minho was shirtless - what a sight that was - as he’d used his top to tie Changbin’s legs together; Felix was cooing, gently brushing Changbin’s head as he muttered, “It’s all gonna be okay, baby, I’m here for you, we’ll get through this, yeah?”

Woojin was slumped on the sofa, holding the wet ice pack to his face because Changbin had managed to headbutt him near the start of this fiasco. It was just not his day.

After hauling Changbin into his room and ever-so-gently dropping him onto his bed, the boys took a breather.

“Damn,” Chan whistled, looking around Changbin’s room, “you cleaned this up nicely, y/n.”

“It was me, asshole!” Changbin exclaimed, a proud grin on his face, “I tidied up.”

“Sure you did, Bin,” Seungmin rolled his eyes, “We believe you.”

“Y/n,” Changbin whined in response, “Tell ‘em the truth.”

“Of course it was all me,” you smirked, “Changbin just supervised all my hard work.”

“Sweet, wanna help me and Lix out, too, then?” Jisung popped in, sending an overly-sweet smile your way.

“Nope, nevermind, it was all Bin, he’s your man.”

“He is my man,” Felix sighed dreamily, laying beside Changbin in bed.

“Alright, let’s get him ready,” Minho said, dragging in a duffel bag - when did that get here? - as he entered.

From his position, Felix easily rolled on top of Changbin as the others held down whatever flying limbs they could.

Just as they all managed to pin him down, Minho whipped out handcuffs, the fiery red cuffs immediately drawing everyone’s attention.

“Why…” Chan started, loosening his grip on Changbin’s leg, but he was too shocked to move anyway, “Why on Earth do you have handcuffs?”

“Do you see me questioning your kinks?” Minho drawls, walking over to Changbin who just stares in wonder at Minho.

“Right,” Chan coughed, grabbing onto Changbin’s leg once more, “forget I asked.”

“That’s what I thought, daddy,” Minho teased, shooting a wink over his shoulder to Chan who had a pretty pink blush tainting his cheeks.

The sound of the cuffs clicking seemed to break everyone out of their stupor; you viewed Changbin laying down on bed like that - arms restrained above his head - in a whole new light, and the sight had you snickering.

“You like being tied up, Bin?” you teased, pinching his cheek and, despite having his wrists tethered to his headboard, he tried reaching out for you anyway.

The cuffs pulled him back, clinking against the board as he growled, “Watch your ass when I’m outta these, y/n, you’re so dead.”

You pouted. “Don’t they feel good, though, Binnie?”

You trailed your finger around his wrist, feeling the fluffy material of the cuffs and, you definitely should have expected this - but whatever brain cells you had probably died when you were feeling up Chan - because the next thing you knew was that your own wrist was being grabbed by Changbin’s hand, and damn was his grip strong.

“Let go,” you groaned, trying to pull your hand away, but Changbin was mighty and relentless. “Help me!” You pleaded to the other boys who stood there and watched - Jeongin was still filming (pay respects to his phone storage) as the others just laughed at the turn of events.

“Stay there,” Minho replied, returning to the bag, “Keep him occupied while we do this.”

“Keep him occu- What the hell am I supposed to do?”

“Well, he is tied up, you could… you know...” Minho trailed off and you stared at him dully as he kept raising his brows suggestively.

“Nope, no, you do not have my consent, y/n,” Changbin shook his head, grip on your wrist tightening.

“Oh my God, ew, I would never,” you scoffed.

“Why the hell not, what’s wrong with me?” Was Changbin being serious right now?

“Holy shit, where do I start?”

“Maybe y/n’s just jealous?” Jisung interrupted. He continued when you and Changbin raised your brows in question. “Maybe they wanna be tied up instead?”

Changbin turned to you with a smirk, raising his eyebrows teasingly and you rolled your eyes, facepalming with your free hand.

“Being on top is great,” Felix randomly interjected, leaning his chin on Changbin’s chest.

“Yeah, I can really feel your happiness,” Changbin snickered, and that remark had you all shrieking in disgust.

“Gross, Lix, what the hell, dude?” Jisung exclaimed, punching Felix’s shoulder.

“You popped a- a- Ew, fuck dude!” Hyunjin sputtered, jumping off the bed and away from his perch beside Felix.

“No!” Felix yelled, instantly sitting up and straddling Changbin, “Look, I haven’t!”

“Oh fuck- No one’s gonna look!” Chan said, immediately turning his face to the ceiling.

“I’m looking,” Minho smirked, “And so is y/n-”

“No, I’m not-”

“He’s safe, don’t worry. Woojin you can open your eyes again.” Minho dumped the contents of the bag onto Changbin’s bed, a wide variety of objects and food tumbling out. “Onto more… pressing matters.”

(He smirked when Felix muttered Fuck you.)

“Grab some shit, ladies, let’s get to work.” Minho stated, grabbing a blindfold.

Jisung jumped to pick something up first, but he groaned when he couldn’t open up the cheesy nacho sauce jar. His hands were red from trying to twist the top off, and he whined when it still wouldn’t budge. “It’s so hard!”

You snorted, “That’s what Felix said!”

Felix shot a nasty glare your way. Tough crowd.

“Give it here,” Chan said, holding his hand, “you just need to grip it right before you twist.”

From the lewd smirk he shot your way, you knew exactly what was going through Changbin’s mind. You rolled your eyes because of course his mind jumps to the gutter, how typical.

You haven’t ever taken part in an exorcism - at least you could tick that off your bucket list now - but you were pretty sure whipped cream and feather dusters weren’t usually part of the ritual.

Seungmin had pulled out a bluetooth speaker and was playing some Latin chants out loud as they all began to work on Changbin.

This was more revenge for all of the times Changbin had played you all and you wondered why none of you had thought to do this sooner. Five years of torture and you only got your revenge now? You were slacking.

Changbin’s grip on your wrist didn’t cease - really, it only got tighter when the others began their tormenting - but he loosened up whenever it was too tight.

With your restricted movement, you resorted to just pinching whatever parts of Changbin you could reach. You started with his cheeks, squishing them together until he pouted and you moved on to pulling his ears then flicking his neck.

Eventually, you got tired. You nudged his shoulder and he shuffled along his bed as best as he could. You sat down, mindlessly tracing his red cheeks, booping his nose which he promptly scrunched to look like a bunny. Your hand found its way into his hair and you messed around with the strands, twirling them around your fingers as you leaned your head against the headboard.

You gave up on focussing on what the others were doing.

Chan had spread jam on Changbin’s hands, Seungmin had poured water on Changbin’s socks - Woojin had even signed his forehead. God, this was a disaster.

You stopped watching when Minho began taking off Changbin’s belt.

After some time - about ten minutes, but the boys had done some seriously-traumatic damage - they all stopped, dropping whatever was in their hands and slumping on the floor.

“By the power vested in me,” Minho started, voice half-muffled as he spoke into the floor, “I condemn your demon ass back home.”

“S’it finally over?” Changbin groaned, nudging you with his shoulder. He had long since let go of your wrist but you had made no move away from him, finding comfort in just resting beside him. You had, however, removed the blindfold a while ago, so he was mentally preparing everyone’s (except yours, of course) cruel demise.

“Alrighty,” Jisung said, jumping up from the ground and clapping loudly to invigorate everyone, “Let’s haul ass, boys!”

“Yep, have fun cleaning this shit up!” Hyunjin said, and the rest of the boys followed him out of the room.

Were they seriously just leaving you with this mess?

Holy shit, there was ketchup on the ceiling, and mayo on the lamp? What the hell had they been doing?

You were too stunned to stop them because there was no way they were leaving you to clear this shit up, but the slam of the front door informed you that yes, that was exactly what they had done.

Assholes.

“Can you please untie me now?”

After releasing the cuffs, Changbin had eased into his bed, despite all the questionable substances on his sheets. The man went through a fate worse than Hell for ten whole minutes, and you felt kind of bad.

So, you got up despite your aching neck - slouching on the headboard was not your smartest idea - and headed to the bathroom. You turned the tap on, filling the tub up before you pulled out some new sheets from the cupboard and headed back into his warzone of a room.

His eyes were closed, but he wasn’t sleeping. “What’re you doin’?” He slurred, shuffling on his bed and groaning when some orange sauce trickled down his neck.

“Cleaning up,” you laughed, moving to help him sit up, “I started a bath for you, go.”

He trudged out of the room and you groaned, staring at the disaster in front of you.

Just yesterday, his room was sparkling brighter than Edward Cullen, and now? His socks were hanging off the lights.

You stripped away his bed sheets, dumping them on the floor, but the room was still a shitshow and it was way too late - holy shit, it was past 3am, so too early - to try cleaning the room. You quickly put on the new bedsheets and decided that, after this hellish day, he could sleep in your bed. The man deserved something nice after having Felix straddle his thighs.

“Yo, y/n!” Changbin called out from the bathroom, “Mind bringing me some clothes?”

You grabbed some fresh nightwear out of his cupboard and some Pokemon boxers because obviously he had those filling his drawer. After passing those to him through the door’s opening, making sure not to peek because you didn’t want to be scarred for life with a naked Changbin, you waited for him to come out.

He wordlessly followed you back to your bedroom, turning the lights off and taking your offer to share the bed.

“I could’ve slept on the sofa, y’know,” he mumbled, voice drifting into a yawn.

“S’not that comfy,” you murmur, “just sleep.”

“Night, babe.”

“G’night, Bin.”

And if either of you woke up cuddling the other, not a word was mentioned to the other boys.

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ballumsecretvalentine · 4 years

Text

A Little Bit of Spice

For @benthighway! I loved reading your angst and AU’s so I am thrilled to gift you a Restaurant AU! Hope you enjoy and Happy Valentine’s Day!!!

“Hiya. Is Shirley around?”

“Who’s askin’?”

Ben fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m Ben, the new host.”

“Oh, yeah.” The woman’s entire demeanor changed. “Sorry ‘bout that. Sometimes some shady folk come ‘round looking for Shirl. Gotta man the door, y’know?”

Ben smiled with a nod, wondering what the hell he’d gotten himself into.

“Well, anyway, I’m Whitney.” She offered her hand and a surprisingly firm handshake. “I run the front of the house here, so we’ll be working together a lot. You got a tour on your interview?”

Ben nodded again, taking off his coat and straightening his tie. When Shirley had told him a uniform would be required, he almost walked out. When he saw one of the waiters in the uniform looking hotter than Hades, he figured he could give it a go.

With Whitney giving him an obvious once over, he knew he fit the bill.

“I’ll show ya the break room. You get a locker an’ all that, then you can meet everyone quick. You’ll be shadowing me tonight. Gotta learn from the best an’ all.”

Ben laughed and followed her to the back. She seemed harmless enough, pretty girl but trying way too hard. He’d make his preferences clear in due time.

After hanging up his coat in a locker and going through the process of punching in and out for a shift, Whitney led the way into the kitchen, a swarm of hustling bodies and loud voices.

No competition for her, though.

“Hey, arseholes!”

The entire kitchen stilled and looked to them. Ben was immediately impressed. She commanded the room like the captain of ship. Only she did it with fake nails and four-inch heels.

“This ‘ere is Ben. New host. Be nice, introduce yourselves and don’t bloody drop anything tonight.” Whitney glared at a skinny, blonde guy who made a face and turned right around, getting back to work.

With that, the action returned, and Ben was practically chasing Whitney as she went back out front.

He was grateful when two hours later the doors opened, and the customers flooded in. He could only take so much talk of napkins and cutlery before he’d wanted to chop off his ear with a salad fork.

Most of the customers were lovely, sopping up his charm like sponges, but there were always those dining who thought they knew better than everyone else.

“This isn’t medium rare. It’s medium.”

Ben smiled even though it hurt his face to do so. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll take care of that for you.”

Practically stomping into the kitchen, teeth clenched tight with curses sliding through, he tossed the plate down in front of the nearest chef and said, “Gordon Ramsey out there says this isn’t medium rare.”

“Oh, alright. Not really Gordon Ramsey though, right? Think I’d piss myself if it was.”

Ben looked up and found himself speechless, a feat he didn’t think possible. The kindest smile and the most gentle set of eyes met his.

He cleared his throat and tried to get a grip. “Nah, mate. Not tonight.”

The other man laughed, prepping another steak. Without looking up from his workstation he asked, “are you the new guy Whit was yelling about?”

“Yeah, that’s me. Ben. Mitchell.”

“Callum Highway. I’d shake your hand but,” he held up a filthy, gloved hand.

Ben laughed and shook his head. “I’m good, thanks.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Ben. Here ya go.” He slid a new steak across the counter. “May Gordon be kind.”

Ben’s heart raced as a blush crossed his cheeks against his will. “We can only hope.”

The rest of the evening went by without a hitch. The customers seemed to enjoy him, and he could tell Whitney was impressed with how quickly he fell into his new role. The few times Ben had to return to the kitchen, he went out of his way to catch a glimpse of Callum.

The man was tall, an immediate yes in Ben’s book, with those bright eyes and that wide smile. His shoulders were broad, and Ben’s thoughts had wandered to the nasty, wondering if that sturdy frame could hold his in those big paws he had.

Everyone seemed to like him, giving him pats on the shoulder and sharing jokes, so it was clear the man really was as nice as he seemed.

Determined to learn more about the cook, Ben said his goodbyes to Whitney and the other front-end staff and collected his stuff from the back. He popped into the kitchen, hoping to catch Callum before he left for the night but, stood at his station, Callum was laughing, with Whitney wiping something off his cheek, head tilted and smile full of flirtation.

Dammit, Ben thought. The radar must be broken.

******

The next night went much the same, Ben working on memorizing some of the menu items as well as the variety of wines the restaurant was trying to push. There was a noticeable lack of miserable customers which was wonderful, of course, except it meant he had no good reason to go into the kitchen. The pull to see Callum, to chat with him again, was something Ben wasn’t used to. It had been years since he’d felt more than just a surface attraction to another bloke.

This felt different.

And Callum was straight.

“Hey, Mitchell!”

Ben spun round at his name to a beaming Whitney. “Excellent job tonight. You’re catching on quick.”

He pulled on his coat and smiled in return. “Thanks. So far so good.”

“Listen, a bunch of us are goin’ for drinks. You interested?”

Ben thought about it, knew he needed to make some new mates here in Walford, but then he caught an eyeful of Callum, waiting patiently by the door, twiddling a hat between his hands. The idea of watching the two of them all over each other all night while the drinks flowed made him queasy.

With a sigh he said, “nah, I’m knackered. Next time though, yeah?”

Whitney nodded. “Suit yourself. Have a good night, then.”

He watched her leave, getting a small wave from Callum before the two of them headed out the door, Callum throwing his arm around Whitney’s shoulders as they left. Bopping his head lightly against his locker, he closed his eyes and groaned. First time attracted to someone again and it’s gotta be at work and with a bloke who don’t fancy men.

You pick ‘em well, Ben.

******

A few weeks later, after a few particularly boring days off, Ben found himself at the local, a nice little place everyone called the Vic. He was propping up the bar, feeling a bit sorry for himself, a damn bit lonely, too, when another pint appeared in front of him.

“I didn’t order another yet, mate.”

“S’alright,” the barkeep smiled. “From that one over there.” He tilted his head to the side and Ben melted where he sat when Callum lifted his glass.

Taking a deep breath, Ben stood with his fresh pint in hand and met Callum at one of the tables.

“Cheers for this.”

Callum shrugged. “No problem. It’s tough bein’ new ‘ere. Everyone already knows each other. Kinda tough to break the ice.”

Ben nodded, taking a sip and licking the foam off his lip. “You sound like you can relate.”

“Yeah, I only moved ‘ere ‘bout a year ago. My brother lives ‘ere and thought I’d like it.”

Ben took another drink, ignoring the heat choking him under his collar. Just being near Callum, listening to his voice and seeing the way his eyes sparkled up close was doing his head in.

“How’d you start cooking?”

Another big smile. “The army. I wasn’t in long, but I cooked quite a bit there; learned a lot.”

Eyebrows raised in surprise, Ben double checked. “Army?”

Callum had pride smeared across his mouth. “Yep. Not as soft as I look, y’know.”

Ben coughed on his drink, Callum giving him a few pats on the back in concern, missing what Ben felt was an obvious inuendo.

The rest of the evening was spent sharing stories and a few more drinks. Turned out they both came from fathers they’d prefer not to see again and mothers who tried their hardest but never seemed to get it right.

When Ben’s vision started getting blurry around the edges, the conversation shifted into talk of relationships. Callum seemed to shrug it off. “I’ve got, like, no experience, mate.”

Ben gave his shoulder a gentle shove. “Aw, c’mon. All them sights you seen in the army, never picked up a date or a shag?”

Callum laughed again, mouth open wide and so pure, Ben stared in awe. If Callum was being honest, which he seemed damn near incapable of being anything but, it just didn’t make sense. Why would no one pick him up? He was bloody gorgeous and sweet, tall and strong, and those hands—

“I can’t just hook up with someone. Not my style.”

Ben couldn’t help but wonder why Callum wasn’t telling him about Whitney. Objectively, even though he certainly wasn’t interested, she was sharp and beautiful, a good catch for any bloke.

“No one catching your eye at work, then?”

Callum’s head snapped with what Ben thought looked a bit like fear on his face. “I dunno what you mean.”

Ben shrugged, taking a drink and trying to steady his hands. He’s usually much smoother than this, easily chatting up any bloke he fancied, not afraid of an honest conversation.

But, fuck, Callum made him nervous.

He cleared his throat and put on his best teasing face. “Mate, everyone’s got a thing for someone they work with. That what it is? One of the waitresses catch your eye?”

He winked dramatically, trying desperately to downplay his nerves. It was like ripping off a plaster, right? Hearing Callum talking about Whitney directly would be better than drawing it out. That way he’d get over this ridiculous crush and move on.

“Nah. Most of them’s married, you know.”

With a roll of his eyes, Ben mumbled, “wouldn’t ‘ave stopped me.”

The look of judgement that was thrown his way made Ben want to disappear into the floor. He didn’t know why he said that, he’d never been with a married man before, and he could actually see Callum losing respect for him by the second.

“Is that your deal, Ben? Mess around with whoever you like? Don’t matter if they’ve got someone waiting at home?”

Scoffing, Ben finished his pint. “Yep. I like ‘em tall, dark and silent, Callum. I’ve got nothing to hide.”

It was definitely the booze brandishing some liquid courage, but Ben was fuming. He made one stupid, off handed comment and that was all it took to be judged once again. And why the hell wouldn’t Callum mention Whitney? What was the big bloody deal? He’d been at the restaurant less than a week and could name a handful of people screwing around. What made them special?

He threw a bunch of cash on the table, not bothering to count it, and headed out into the cold January night. All he’d wanted was a quiet drink. A mate or two. A job. A fresh start.

But then Callum bloody Highway had to muck it all up.

******

When the hangover started fading the next day, Ben seriously debated calling in. He wasn’t a coward; he’d always faced up to his shit in the past. Callum, though, made him feel…vulnerable.

He hated it.

Ultimately, his brain voted in favor of a paycheck so he forced his body up, took the longest, hottest shower he could handle. Feeling close to human again, he got himself dressed and picked a pair of too tight trousers to go with his uniform. He’d be worried about ripping ‘em all night but he’d look damn good doing it.

Feigning confidence and nonchalance, he moved through his shift like a man with no worries, no concerns. But all night he kept an eye on Callum and could have sworn Callum was watching him in return.

As the last of the customers were finishing up, Ben used the quiet to debate his next move. Something was sitting uncomfortably in his gut, churning and tossing with the idea of Callum thinking less of him, especially over some nonsense comment. He could try pretending it never happened, picking up a conversation like they never stopped speaking. Or, and this would be horribly unpleasant, he could just be honest.

I’ve got a crush and it made me word vomit absolute bullshit and I’m sorry.

Shockingly, he decided the truth was the only safe way to go. They’d worked together for a bit now and, if Callum was weird after the confession, they didn’t have to see each other that often anyway. Plus, Ben reasoned, Callum was too nice to be that petty. He pictured the chef now, smiling and shaking his head at Ben’s stupidity, laughing it off.

Decision made, Ben headed into the kitchen, ready to confess.

Regretting it instantly, Ben stood frozen with his hand holding open the swinging door as he watched Callum holding Whitney close to his chest, lips on hers and eyes closed tight.

Feeling lightheaded, he put too much weight on the door, making it bang into the wall behind it. Whitney and Callum jumped apart, both with surprise on their faces. Ben scoffed, confused as to why two people going at it in the wide open would be shocked when someone walked in.

“Ben, it’s not what it looks like, okay?” Whitney wiped the back of her mouth with her perfectly manicured hand and moved away from Callum who looked about a minute away from passing out.

Ben just shook his head and headed to the break room, thoughts of the Albert and a warm body for a distraction running through his head. He stared at Callum, looking small and blushing the color of a rose, when he said, “don’t worry about it. Everyone’s got a thing for someone they work with, right?”

He bit his lip, willing the embarrassment and disappointment away. He threw on his coat and called a cab. There were plenty of fish in the damn sea.

******

As soon as he sat down with a pint, it was like moths to a flame. One after another, blokes of all shapes and sizes came to chat him up. It definitely helped build the ego back up, but he cursed himself as each one did nothing to light that spark.

They were all too short or way too tall. Too arrogant or too quiet. They tried too hard to make him laugh or put on moves that had him grimacing into his drink.

A few hours later, he was well drunk and thinking about his bed. He felt old and ridiculous then, sat in a bar with music blaring and lights flashing, blokes throwing themselves at him left, right and center, but he’s daydreaming about sweatpants and warm blankets and soft pillows.

Oh, and of course the man with the most genuine laugh, and thoughtful eyes, most stunning smile.

Ben rubbed his face, willing images of Callum away with the pressure, and signaled to the bartender for the tab.

“Leaving already?”

He tensed, concerned he’d had so much to drink he was hallucinating that voice in a gay bar.

Even in the dim light, Callum was beautiful.

Ben let out a breath and stared blankly behind the bar, trying and failing to sober up. “What are you doing here?”

He saw Callum’s shoulders rise and fall from the corner of his eye. “Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Smiling at the bartender, Ben signed for his bill and turned in his seat. “Don’t bullshit me. I’m not gonna say anything about you and Whitney, alright? What you do is your business.”

Callum shook his head but Ben was out of his seat and calling a taxi before he could say anything. Outside, his breath moved in a cloud in front of his face and he buttoned up his coat. He would freeze in this weather but there was no way he could sit next to Callum for another second.

“Hey.”

Ben groaned, frustration overcoming his buzz.

“What, Callum? What?”

“You got it wrong, okay? What you saw today, at work, it-it wasn’t what it looked like.”

Ben made a face. “Yeah, Whitney already said that. I’m sure I just got confused. I mean, that’s how I say goodbye to folks. With my tongue.”

Callum threw his head back with a sound that came out like a growl. “That’s not what I mean! God, Ben, what is your problem?”

“I liked ya!”

Ben’s confession hung in the air, stuck between the two of them. His chest felt tight and his eyes stung, a sensation he refused to allow to win.

He turned, looking up the street and praying to the universe for his cab to suddenly appear. He’d give it just another minute or so before he’d be walking home. Maybe he’d get lucky and the bloody cab would just run him over.

“I-I don’t understand.”

Laughing, Ben met Callum’s eye. “I’m gay, Callum. And I like ya. Sorry I’m not interested in seeing you with other people.”

Huffing, he started to move, feet going numb and hands burning from the cold. Ben turned his collar up and dug his hands deep into his pockets.

He heard feet on the pavement jogging to catch up. “But, the other night. You were talking about—”

“Jesus, Callum!” He spun around so quickly Callum stumbled over his own feet, giving Ben a wide berth. “I just wanted you to keep talking. And we were drinking. And you make me bloody stupid! I’ve never been with a married man before, it just came out. But you shut down, judging me, making me feel—”

“I wasn’t judging!”

Ben scoffed and started walking again.

“Ben, wait!”

“I’ll see ya at work, Callum.” He turned back, walking backwards up the street. “And, no worries. Your secret’s safe with me!”

If he spent that night shivering alone in his bed, holding a pillow tight and feeling completely empty, it was no one’s business.

******

Ben woke the next day with puffy eyes and a sore throat to discover, in horror, that it was Valentine’s Day. He’d barely slept at all, embarrassment and regret running through his mind all night. He downed a glass of water with a slice of dry toast while planning the phone call to play hooky from work when the bell rang.

On the other side of the door sat the largest stuffed bear Ben had ever seen holding a single red rose. He looked up and down the street, forgetting in his confusion he was in nothing but his underwear, searching for whoever dropped the stupid thing off at the wrong address. When no one was in sight, he groaned and mumbled to himself about inept delivery drivers as he hauled the brown bear into his flat.

With the distraction of the bear, Ben had lost track of time and found it was too late to call out of his shift. He showered quickly and threw on what he hoped were some clean clothes. As he headed out the door, a tag hanging from the bear’s big ear caught his eye; he hadn’t seen it earlier. Flipping it over he read:

Ben,

I hope this is a Valentine’s Day you won’t forget.

Your Secret Admirer

He froze, excitement and nerves churning in his gut. Was this real? Was someone messing with him? Who the hell would take the time to send something like this? And to him, no less.

Yanking the tag off the animal, Ben read it once more before shoving it in his pocket. He’d worry about it all later.

******

The restaurant was absolutely slammed that night, the holiday filling their patrons with romance and generosity. Ben found himself forgetting about the tag in his pocket and focusing on the money filling them instead.

On his break, he popped into his locker and almost got knocked out when something shiny, covered in cellophane fell out. He stared at the offending object, a red, heart shaped box, and looked around the room, starting to get worried he was being pranked.

Carefully, he picked it up and peeled away the wrapper. Inside, were a handful of fancy and, he learned later, delicious chocolate truffles. Inside the cover of the box was a scribbled note.

Ben,

A little pre-dinner snack. Don’t work too hard tonight.

Your Secret Admirer

His heart raced and his cheeks flushed. Pre-dinner snack? Like, a date? Or was it just that this person knew he’d be opening the gift before he ate?

Again, he looked around the space. The bear could have been ignored but now he was definitely getting curious. As he went back onto the floor, he looked at each of his co-workers in a different light. He realized he hadn’t made his preferences known to everyone so there was a good chance he might actually be hurting someone’s feelings tonight and a disaster would ensue.

No one seemed to be looking at him any differently, though. Lee gave him a polite nod and Mick asked if he had any plans for the night of romance. He knew Whitney and Callum were out of the running and annoyed himself briefly with visions of their sexy Valentine’s night. The rest of the kitchen and wait staff were nice but no one stuck out; no one had blatantly flirted.

With a sigh, Ben decided he was just being pranked, give the new guy a hard time kind of thing. No one knew him well enough to like him let alone admirer him. He’d grab his stuff as soon as his shift was over, stop and get a bottle of something nice for himself and then head home. Maybe watch a slasher film or something.

The night finally came to an end, the love in the air eventually becoming too overwhelming for Ben to stomach. He stuck to his plan, making a beeline for his coat and heading out the back door. What greeted him outside stopped him dead in his tracks.

Callum stood in front of him, nervous smile on his face and a large bouquet of flowers in his hands. Exhausted and so disappointed, Ben could only offer a nod. “Have a good night, mate. She’ll love ‘em.”

Before he could walk away, a large hand turned him around and roses were being shoved under his nose. “For you, Ben.”

In slow motion, with a pitiful expression on his face, Ben took hold of the flowers and looked at Callum. “I don’t get it.”

Callum laughed and shook his head. “We have to start over, Ben. I’ve messed this up since day one but it’s Valentine’s, so I figured I’d just go for it.”

With a shake of his head Ben asked, “go for what?”

“You can be so thick. You, ya idiot.”

In his confusion, Ben tried giving the flowers back. “But you’re with Whitney.”

Callum stepped forward, gently pushing the flowers back into Ben’s chest. “You saw me panic, Ben. Whitney and Lee have been dating for months now.”

“Okay, remember when you called me thick?”

With a laugh that sent a shiver through Ben, he explained. “I’ve been thinking that I’m, well, not exactly straight, for a while now but no one was catching my eye enough to test that theory, ya know? Then you walked in the kitchen on your first night and it was like a switch went off. Yep, I’m gay.”

They both laughed and Ben found himself relaxing, allowing himself to hope this was all real. “But that scared me. And then you were so, I dunno, bold? When we had drinks that night, remember? And I just felt unsure. So the next day, Whit was talking to me and being real nice, she’s one of my best friends, and I kissed her like the moron I am. You just ‘appened to walk in before she could give me a slap.”

“You know I got blasted that night at the Vic ‘cause I convinced myself you two were together.”

“What?”

Ben bit his lip and nodded. “Yeah. I figured you two were together and I didn’t stand a chance, so I drank too much and the muck started fallin’ outta my mouth.”

They stood together in the dark alley sharing breath and laughs for a few minutes. Eventually Ben looked at his hands, clenched tightly around the first flowers he’d ever received, and wondered what was next.

“Ben?”

He looked up and met Callum’s beautiful, blue eyes.

“Hmm?”

“I’m gay.”

Ben laughed again. “Okay.”

“And I like ya.”

Wrapping his arms around Callum’s waist, Ben moved in and placed a gentle kiss on his lips, still in complete disbelief this was actually happening. With foreheads resting against one another and lips turned up in matching grins, Ben whispered, “I like ya, too.”

With a satisfied sigh, Callum stood tall and offered his hand to Ben. “I thought I’d be crazy and made us reservations at that Italian place around the corner.”

“Whoa, big man. Very bold of ya,” Ben teased with eyebrow raised.

Callum leaned down and kissed Ben once again, gentle and soft and filled with the promise of so much more.

“C’mon, let’s get this date started.”

Ben smiled, pulling Callum in close by the waist and melting into the strong arm thrown over his shoulders, flowers swinging happily by his side.

“Let’s.”

#bvd20 #ben x callum #ballum secret valentine #ballum #eastenders #fanfic

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harryknowsme · 5 years

Photo

Variety

Producer Jeff Bhasker faced a daunting task several months ago. After having worked with Kanye West and winning Grammy Awards for producing Mark Ronson’s “Uptown Funk,” and Fun.’s 2012 album “Some Nights,” he had to decide whether to take on a new project: the debut solo album of One Direction member Harry Styles.

“I’d just had a baby, and I was kind of like, ‘Eh, I don’t know if I’ll jump into this,'” Bhasker tells Variety. He agreed to have Styles come over to “just talk,” and proceeded to put him through the Bhasker home sniff test. “My dog tends to bite people, and he was kind of scoping Harry out,” Bhasker explains. Styles “did this move — like a little shoot the gun with his finger, and my dog walked over and started licking his finger. That’s when I was, like, ‘This guy has something special.'”

Once music came into the mix, Bhasker was sold. “He started playing references of what he wanted to do, which sounded like a cool rock band. I got it, and could see where if we pulled this off, it would be one of the coolest things ever. But he needed a buddy who plays guitar like he’s Keith Richards.” The insinuation being: Styles is the Mick Jagger in this scenario.

Adds Bhasker: “I’m so proud of the album itself, and also of Harry for being so brave, and committing 100%, and writing the kind of vulnerable lyrics that he wrote, and not pandering to what people thought he would do. People have no idea that this is what Harry Styles is like. Just like I didn’t know. He’s obviously very famous and beloved, but people don’t know the depths of what an amazing personality and artist he is.”

Variety spoke with Bhasker about the recording of “Harry Styles” ahead of the album’s May 12 release:

You went old school for the recording of the album, sequestering Harry and the band in Jamaica for a stretch. What was Harry’s main role in the sessions? Harry got to lead the room. It’s very much Harry’s album and the music he wanted to make. And he was very specific what kind of ideas turn him on. He’s pretty clear, in the coolest way, about what he likes and doesn’t like, so it really got the album off on the right foot and finished on the right foot. In the first week, they did, like, 10 songs, half of which ended up on the album.

How was the writing process? Everyone was involved in the writing. It was a really small team — Me, Tyler Johnson, Mitch Rowland, Alex Salibian, and Ryan Nasci, the engineer — and we stuck with that team all the way through the album.

Was there a lyric you were particularly impressed with? I was pleasantly surprised at how witty, clever, and well-read Harry was. He actually turned me on to some poetry and literature that I hadn’t been aware of. We dove into [Charles] Bukowski, which is some pretty gritty dark s—, so we’d say, “Let’s make sure we go that direction and stay the course; let’s not bail out and go with something safe.” I think I did push him in a lot of ways, but then I wanted him to have complete ownership of it and to sing what is really in his heart.

There have been lots of comparisons of Harry to Jagger…

I think the charisma and the energy he has is on level with that, but he’s 100% Harry. It’s easy to make a comparison early on, but as people absorb what this is and who he is, they’ll see that he’s his own thing. Obviously we’re trying to push the envelope of being a boy band, so early on, I was, like, “It has to be super edgy,” but then it was about knowing when to pull back up against the edge and be real. Which is ultimately what I think we landed on.

How is Harry as an instrumentalist? I’ll tell you this much, the first time I saw him pull out the guitar, I was, like, ‘Oh damn, he can play!’ He has a nice stroke. He has a feel and a sound and an emotion. He’s a real musician.

Clearly there are nods to Bowie and Queen on the album. Have you found his musical taste to be distinctly British? You know, we did not once go listen to Bowie or the Rolling Stones or Queen. We didn’t even mention them one time. But one thing that did come up was a song that felt a little like Led Zeppelin, and he was, like, “I never really checked them out.” So we watched [Zeppelin documentary] “The Song Remains the Same,” and he was, like, “Yeah, they’re kind of weird.” I was actually happy that we were not creating some pastiche of all these influences that he knew backwards and forwards, it was more of his gut.

Releasing “Sign of the Times,” a six-minute-long song as a single, was surprising as it breaks from pop radio norms. Who played a part in that decision? That was kind of out there. And by the way, the song was made in four hours, from writing it to tracking it. That’s part of the reason why it’s so long because Harry just freestyled it towards the end. We tracked it like that and it was kind of awesome. Once we had it, we knew it was a winner. It starts out with Harry’s voice sounding so great and then you hit them with [the next verse] and you’ve got ’em. It is a hit in that sense, but it was so long that we weren’t sure if it could be the single. Thank God, [Sony Music CEO] Rob Stringer said, “I think you go with ‘Sign of the Times.'” Then, we tried to do major surgery on it to try and make a radio edit and presented it to him and, he was, like, ‘That’s cool, but I think we should push the full-length.’ We were looking at each other, like, what planet are we on that the head of the label says, ‘Yeah, let’s release a six-minute single.'”

Do you have another track you’re especially proud of? “Meet Me in the Hallway” draws from this rich tradition of the past and of rock music but it’s totally new sounding. Nothing out right now sounds like this song, I always love when I’m a part of something like that. It’s minimal and it’s magical. It takes you to another world. When they played it for me, I was reminded of when I was a kid and first dropped the needle on a Pink Floyd album I had never heard before. I’m not a big [pop] music listener. I listen to KLOS and KCRW and maybe the hip hop station. I’m kind of a classic rock dude. And Harry made a classic rock album. But that’s hands down my favorite on the album.

One producer, one band, all cut in one studio. How did you know that going to Jamaica was the right situation for Harry? I didn’t, necessarily. He’s the one that wanted to do that. Of course, having had the experience of working with Kanye in Hawaii and experiencing the isolation, I thought it would be a good thing for us. It’s never bad thing to focus, isolate, and go a little island crazy. It wasn’t a hard call.

What was the daily routine like? It was a 24/7 music fest: wake up, do some exercise, go to the studio all day, come home, eat dinner, write songs back at the house, go try out some ideas, maybe get excited and go back to the studio at 2 a.m. It was just a nonstop flow of creative ideas, which was great.

Of the artists you’ve previously produced — be it Kanye West or the Rolling Stones — who does Harry remind you of? It’s so f—ed up, because I want to squash all these comparisons between Mick Jagger and Harry, but he really does have that energy where he’s, like, the coolest guy in the room. After working with Mick, there’s a similarity there. There’s only one Mick Jagger and there’s only one Harry Styles, but they both have that kind of charisma. It’s like what life should be — be cool, man. Love one another.”

This album is certain to appeal to the over 35 crowd. You’re a first time father, was there an intent to try and bridge the musical gap between parent and kid by going with this sound? I mean, a little bit. Of course it’s in the back of your head. Maybe daughters will be, like, “Damn dad, your music is actually kind of dope,” and fathers will be, like, “Man, that Harry Styles album is pretty great, I like that.” Maybe we’ll bring fathers and daughters together.

#hs1 #jeff bhasker #article

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pynkhues · 5 years

Text

Prompt: Jealousy/Possessiveness

I had a few people request this one, so I’ve merged ‘em~

I actually don’t feel like Beth is the jealous or possessive type at all. Her life has always put her in second place – up until all this happened, she’s been a service personality, not one who is served, if that makes sense? And hell, she wasn’t even jealous when she found out her husband was buying expensive gifts for his mistress. She was just hurt, and then sort of resigned to it. I think she probably gets pangs of it with Rio, but nothing all that substantial. So, hey, this is a post about Rio. Because I feel like he is definitely The Jealous Type.

1. I mean, if there are two things that S1 really established about Rio, it’s that he likes to be in control, and he’s possessive of the things that he views as his.

2. And it doesn’t flick like a switch for him – I mean, at least not with Beth. So what if the thought of hittin’ it crosses his mind while he watches her call her lady friends over the first time they meet, sitting bolt upright on that little bench in her kitchen, poised and nervous, but trying not to show it. Rio’s never really had any concerns over what path his libido tries to draw him down – hell, he generally likes the variety – and she’s stacked, with full lips and visibly soft skin, and is blatantly so vanilla and so wound up that the thought of unravelling her a little, well, it has appeal, y’know? Only that’s not the business they’re here for, so he puts it aside and figures this wealthy, suburban bitch in her big house on her nice street will sell a few of the rocks in her jewellery box and give him back what’s his, and that’ll be the end of that.

3. Only, of course, it’s not. Because something in this woman’s life has obviously gone wrong and she can’t scrape together the funds, and he’s fully prepared for it to be the end of it in a whole other way, when she reads him the riot act, a gun at her temple, back straight and hands shaking, and well, if that doesn’t change everything. And so, sure, it starts as a few odd jobs, and then a proposition, and then they’re in bed together professionally, and the thought of getting in bed together unprofessionally takes up a little more space in his head than he expected, because she’s not what he expected. But whatever. She’s married, and Rio’s never really lacking for company when he wants it, and so what, if he finds himself wanting it a little more, and so what, if they’re a little paler, a little blonder, a little older than his usual type?

4. And he’s not jealous of her husband. He’s not, but there’s something about all that history, about those four kids she never stops yappin’ about, about the lived-in-ness of Car Man that sets his teeth on edge. The way the guy says her name, hands on his hips, in the doorway of her bedroom. The way he says it, after Rio’s kicked the shit out of him and Beth’s standing up, pointing his gun at them. And so what, if he finally lets himself touch her when he pulls the gun from her hands, her skin exactly as soft as he’d thought it’d be, and so what, if it felt better than it should’ve to do it in front of her husband, right before he shot him?

5. But things are different now. The air feels different between them. Tastes different. She betrayed him, and he didn’t see it coming, and that? That’s dangerous. Too dangerous to let her go. He has to pull this cord between them tighter, has to keep that grip firm at the back of her neck, because that little voice in the back of his head which should be saying end it is instead saying mine.

#beth x rio #nbc good girls #gg headcanons #hahaha #rip me #beth x dean #interior lives #my fic

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milleralexanderauthor · 4 years

Text

Let’s talk about cartography and how it can be useful to you as a writer.

Cartography is the process of map-making. You may have picked up a book in the past and noticed a map in the first few pages, ala Tolkien or Le Guin.

These reference images help the reader get a better image of the layout and scope of the world of a novel. We’re not gonna talk about that today. What I want to talk about is how cartography can help you, the author, develop an in-depth world.

First of all, under what circumstances should you spend your time on this? If you’re writing, say, a contemporary novel set in New Jersy, you probably don’t have to worry about this. The genres that benefit from this type of planning are:

-Science Fiction

-Fantasy

There are probably exceptions to this rule, but these two genres require a certain amount of worldbuilding. Worldbuilding is the process in which you develop the system, rules, and landscape your novel takes place in. In some instances, a novel may fall into these two genres but be set in a familiar setting. The landscape in these instances is still something I think you should give some degree of thought to. Consider how the landscape has changed or will change based on the parameters of your story.

An example of this is Panem from The Hunger Games.

Panem exists in a dystopian world in which the country of the United States has not only been divided, but rising sea levels have changed the coastline. This is an example of a familiar landscape that has changed because of the events of a novel or the rules of the world in which it exists. Even if you’re not starting a world from scratch, take into consideration what might alter your world.

Let’s say you are writing a novel set in a different world. Do you need to make a map?

Of course, you don’t NEED to do anything. I’m not your dad, I can’t tell you what to do. Do I think it’s incredibly helpful? YES.

Why? It will give you the same benefits it will give a reader. A more in-depth layout of the world you’re creating.

If your characters are staying in the same place throughout the duration of the book, maybe creating a full map of the entire planet isn’t necessary. But maybe making a map of the city could help you. What does you’re city look like? What is the architecture like? What is the economy of your city like? What in the landscape influences that?

If your characters are going on a Tolkien level journey across your world, you probably need to consider the landscape. Mapping is a good visual way of doing this. It’s also really fun, in my opinion.

“But Miller,” you may be saying. “Why would I go to all that effort if my characters don’t even go to most of these places?”

That’s worldbuilding for you. You will come up with a TON of details over this process that will never make it into your novel. However, the more detail YOU have in your brain, the more detailed your world will feel.

“Okay, sure.” I hear you say. “But I’m a terrible artist!”

Me too. I’m not saying that the draft of the map you make has to be in your book. In fact, I encourage against that. If you think a visual aid will help your reader gain something or would just be a fun perk, you can refine it or hire a professional cartographer (yes, they exist) when your book is closer to publication. If you’re at that point, I’m not talking to you. I’m encouraging map making as a world building exercise to those of you who are trying to flesh out your worlds before you even commit anything to page.

It can be an intimidating task, creating a whole world from scratch. I’m happy to tell you that it doesn’t have to be hard.

The first step is to consider the scope of your map. Like I said, only create what you feel you may use. Does your character never leave their home town? Do a map of the town? Does the country your story takes place in come into play during your book? Do a map of the country. Does your character make a grand journey across the world? Make the world. My RECOMMENDATION is to make at least the country your novel takes place in. You probably won’t use every location, but less is not always more.

Then, consider the context. Are cities in your world trade centers? What are their major imports and exports? What type of climate does your world have? What is the political climate like? Are there physical boundaries that cut one part of your world off from another? These are things to keep in mind before you start making your map because the landscape of a world could have a profound impact on the daily lives of its residents.

Next, we need to outline. I find countries or continents to be the easiest to do, and you’ll probably see why. Coastlines are honestly really easy to do. This is probably the part you’re freaking out about but worry not. There are some easy methods to get natural-looking coastlines and borders.

A prefer traditional paper and pencil art, so we’ll start with that. By all means, if you just wanna go crazy and come up with something all on your own, I won’t stop you. However, some of you may be intimidated by the idea of just DRAWING A WHOLE COUNTRY FROM NOTHING. There are a couple of things you can do if this is you.

Look at some reference pictures.

Look at an atlas or a globe. Find borders and coastlines that look cool or fit into some of the ideas for your world and copy ‘em. To some people, this doesn’t feel “creative”. Someone will always look at your map and tell you that it looks like Russia or Italy, so don’t stress too much about it.

BEANS.

This will sound weird, but a tried and true method to get nice looking coastlines is to just dump a few handfuls of dry beans or rice onto a piece of paper and move them around until you like the look of it. Then you trace out the masses of beans until you got yourself a country, huzzah!

If you’re working in photoshop, a method I’ve seen used is to import a few images of different countries into it and move and transform them around until you you have a brand new landmass you like, then trace around that.

Next, we need to fill the world with stuff. This sounds simple, but keep in mind that things don’t happen in a vacuum.

If you’re building a forest or farmland, consider where a water source would be.

If you’re adding a lake or rivers, consider how it would flow to the ocean with the force of gravity, starting in mountain ranges.

If you have mountains, consider how shifting tectonic plates would form them. You have to at least know the rules before you can break them. Your world has to make some type of sense and, if it doesn’t, you need to explain why.

Take a look at the styles of maps to get an idea of how to indicate this on your map. Some maps take a very simplified approach to denoting landmarks, some are very complex. It’s up to you.

Once you know where your forests, mountains, and lakes will be, you can place your cities.

Your cities should be placed in locations on your map that make sense. Is your city’s major export fish? Put it by the ocean. Is the climate cold? Put it at a higher elevation. Is your city isolated? What type of physical barriers could illustrate this?

If you didn’t take any of these things into consideration before this exercise, you have now. Let’s say you have a protagonist who needs to get from one town to another, but you need to spice up the journey a little. You made this map, you look at it, there’s a river in between the towns. BOOM! Now your protagonist needs to cross a rushing icy river. Mini conflict, a setback. All because you considered the landscape of your environment.

Obviously, this works on a lot of different scales. How long will it take your protagonist to get from point a to point b? What stands in their way? How do the features of the landscape impact the world as a whole? Now you know.

Finally, slap some labels on that bad boy.

If your working on paper, it’s a good idea to do this ALL in pencil first and leave some space for labels. This will make referencing where things are and what they’re called easier. Get creative with it, use crazy fonts. It just needs to be LEGIBLE for your own sanity. Trust me.

Honestly, doing this at some point in the worldbuilding process has done worlds of good for me. It really gets your creative juices flowing and it’s just another step to a well-rounded world. You can skip it if you’re not a visual person, but I definitely am and I’m sure some of you are, too.

I just want to reiterate, this is for YOUR benefit only. No one else has to see it, its reference for you. However, if you want to add a map into your published works, consider talking to a professional artist/cartographer unless you, like, are one. Then I’m not sure why you read this much of my post.

Thanks for reading! I post a wide variety of content on my blog every Friday including writing advice and book updates. Stop by and say hi!

-Miller

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funsize-lucifer-hongjoong · 5 years

Text

We Are Stars For Each other : Chapter 1

Genre - Smut, Fluff, A bit of angst in there

Female Reader x Hongjoong

Word Count - 2,354

RATED M FOR MATURE (There will be smut in this later.)

“Another beautiful day in Seoul”, you think quietly to yourself as you walk to the nearest subway station.

It’s only been a year since you moved, after a particularly nasty breakup. You needed change and what better way than to move across the world. When you finally caught your train, you stayed in deep thought, remembering how you got here in the first place.

Shortly before the big move, you contacted a friend of yours whom you went to High school with, Park Min Seo. She was an exchange student from South Korea, with a bubbly personality.

When she moved back to Seoul after College she became a model for an international agency, traveling all over the world. When you’d asked her if you could move in with her, just until you got on your feet, she said yes immediately. She added that she was gone for long periods of time, and it’d be nice to have someone to watch over her place while she was gone.

Then, a week later on your 30th birthday, you did it. You sold off your entire life and got on an airplane. When you landed at Incheon Airport you were overwhelmed by everything. The number of people, the noise, and the lights. Even at night, Seoul was lit up. It was going to be hard, and scary, but you knew it was everything you needed.

The first few months were hard. You wanted to give up and just go home. Your job was demanding at times, and you weren’t used to it. Every day when you got up, you looked in the mirror to tell yourself, “Today is gonna be a better day, just keep pushing.” Sometimes you’d say this to yourself with tears streaming down your face. It didn’t matter though, your struggles had to end sometime, right?

—

Walking into your shared apartment, you spot Min Seo on the floor directly in front of the TV

“Another variety show? Do even watch those for the entertainment or just to see cute boys, Minie?” You teased her gently, knowing your pet name didn’t sit so well with her.

She turned to you sharply, “Aish, Y/N! Be quiet! A new group is debuting and I’ve been watching their pre-debut for months!”

You put your hands up in defeat, a smile playing gently at your lips.

Min Seo had been there for you through all the ups and downs. Even when she wasn’t home she was only a call or text away.

She had things she loved though, and K-pop was one of them. She would go on and on about her bias in this group or that, but to you, it wasn’t important. You weren’t particularly into K-pop. If a song was playing from a cafe or in a taxi you’d sing along what you’d heard before. There was just no time for it, you had work, and a life to live.

No sooner are you walking down the hallway to your room when you hear her scream. Quickly you turn around and run back into the living room to assess the damage she may have caused herself.

“Jesus, Min Seo you scared the life out of me! Are you alright?”

“Oh, my actual GOD! There’s a fan event for Ateez next week. There’s a hi-touch, a concert, and everything. I have to get tickets. Now.” She says this as she’s getting up to run to her phone, ordering what you presume is tickets for said event.

She looks up at you with a sad face, “Y/N, go with me, please? I don’t want to go alone, and I know no one else will.”

“Alright Minie, I’ll go, but only to the concert. I don’t like the idea of touching the hands of young men. You don’t know where they’ve been.” You shudder as the thought skipped through your mind.

Min Seo looks up from her phone with a smile on her face, “Good, ‘cause I already bought two tickets.”

The next week goes by without you realizing it. You’re so busy at work, that by the time you get home you can barely shower and pass out. When finally Friday comes along to greet you with open arms.

“Thank Christ for the weekend.” You say softly, as you sit down on your bed in exhaustion, knowing that sleep isn’t far away.

Waking up was the worst part of it all. You suddenly remembered you had a concert to go to. The anxiety started to set in.

“What do people wear to these things?” You leaf through the clothes in your closet, “There’s nothing in here but work clothes and pajamas for fuck’s sake!” snatching a pair of jeans from your drawer.

Finally dressed in jeans and a plain shirt, your hair in a high ponytail, you couldn’t be bothered to try.

With one final look in the mirror, “Well no one said I had to impress anyone.”

“Sorry I took so long, I was doing my makeup!” Min Seo comes running through the kitchen, zipping her pants, “I hope we aren’t late.”

She’s dressed beautifully, her hair is curled, and her makeup flawless. You secretly wished you had the ability to look so perfect with no effort.

“Are you trying to flirt with those boys, or kill them Minie? cause your ass, in those jeans, is gonna give ‘em a heart attack!” Jokingly, you poke at her butt.

She looks almost insulted, “AISH! Does it look bad?! I can change into something else!”

“Oh no Minie, they look great, can we go now? There’s a drama on tonight, and I’d like to make it home in time to watch it.”

One cab and twenty minutes later, you’re there. A small venue with high windows, on a modern white exterior.

Inside you can see a table and some chairs set up, a small stage on the other side with standing room, and posters adorning the walls with 8 men plastered on them, along with ATEEZ in orange lettering.

“Isn’t San smoking hot? He’s the most handsome bias I’ve ever had” Min Seo says, raising her eyebrow for added emphasis, as she drags you inside.

“Not really,” you look at the poster above you, “None of them are. I’m here to support you Minie, not flirt with teenagers.”

“Y/N! They’re all of age, thank you very much!”, she huffs in your direction before she turns toward a side door, “There they are! I’m dying right now.”

When she pulls you to stand in the line, you see them all for the first time. Each one of them is dressed to perfection in red suits with gold accents and chains.

For a moment you find yourself thinking that they weren’t too bad. Then you noticed all the boys were aggravating each other. They were pushing and laughing.

“Men acting like teenage boys, no surprise there.” You say as you stand at the back of the room and out of the line.

You stand at the back, waiting for Min Seo when you feel someone staring from across the room. Scanning across the room, you see girls in line, security guards, and then a pair of green eyes.

At the end of the table is where he’s sitting. He seems smaller than all the others. His hair is short on top, bangs barely brushing his forehead, but the length touches the top of his shoulders.

It was his eyes you couldn’t get away from. They looked mischievous like he was up to something. You see him bite his lip, and the thought crosses your mind to go up and talk to him. You quickly force the urge back down.

You close your eyes and lean your head back, thinking, “Y/N, you’re just doing this because you’re starved for attention, don’t be so desperate. He’s a kid.”

It was apparent when you came back to yourself that he wasn’t just a kid. You tried to steal another look at him. He seemed busy with the girls coming up. Thoughtfully, you take his form in, and he looks like he was made to be an Idol.

Harmless staring turned into a bad idea when he sees you. Green eyes again, peering into your soul. Your breath hitches in your throat, a pink flush pulsing across your cheeks.

You look at him, slightly confused, “Does he think I’m a fan or something? ‘Eh, it’s probably just a misunderstanding.”

Then you see it, he lifts his hand and waves. You’re feeling flustered now, though you aren’t sure why. With a slight raise of your hand, you wave back.

“Aw, isn’t he cute. He thinks I’m a fan,”

A few moments later Min Seo runs up, red eyes and blushed cheeks, rambling a million miles a minute, “and San grabbed my hand and laid it against his face! Y/N? are you even listening?”

You snap back to reality, the face of the boy with the high cheeks in the front of your mind.

“Huh… Oh, sorry Minie, I was lost in thought.” You played it off well, you think.

As the hi-touch ends, the workers come out and move tables and gifts out of the way. Girls were pushing and straining to see the boys as they walked over to the stage.

All 8 members are standing in a line and the little one introduces himself as Hongjoong, and they are Ateez.

Your eyes are stuck on the boy standing at the opposite end though, the tall one with grey hair. His eyes are haunting you, as he scans the crowd, smiling and waving. Young girls are screaming. It seems he’s a hit with nearly all of them.

“Leave it to me, to like the one that everyone else likes.” You roll your eyes as the thought passes your mind.

One thing that doesn’t change, is the little guy at the end, his eyes keep drifting to you. As soon as you catch him, they dart away again. His cheeks are pink.

“I need to get in touch with their makeup artist,” you decide, “They all look like they’re in love. Big contact lenses, dark eyeliner, pink cheeks, and red lips. They’re literally produced to seduce.” Thinking to yourself, you space out.

“Oh, Y/N, I think HongJoong is staring at you.” Min Seo says, without turning too much, as to not draw attention.

“Yeah, Minie. I see that. He probably just thinks I’m a fan and that he’s gotta be nice.”

As the words leave your mouth the music comes on. Min Seo pulls you toward the stage, pushing to the front.

“Pirate King! They’re dancing to my favorite song!” Min Seo says while pulling your sweater sleeve.

“Alright Min Seo, chill. It’s ok. They aren’t going to jump across the stage and kiss you or anything.”

The look Min Seo gave you chilled you to the bone as she replied, “Don’t jinx me, you don’t know what could happen!”

Once again you put your hands up in defeat. There was no losing against her in an argument.

That’s when you look up a bit and see the little one doing a vicious body roll in front of you. He was biting his bottom lip, and you couldn’t look away. A blush had crept up your cheeks without you knowing it. He smirked and then disappeared into the group of boys behind him.

The music was nearly deafening it was so loud. While 8 men weaved in and out of formations, dancing in time with ease of practice and years of training.

The grey-haired one was at the front as the music blared out in English, “Will you be my friend?” with a shy wave and a kick of his head to the side.

You felt like you were melting from the inside out. Heat pulsing through your body to the beat. The hip thrusts next nearly made you pass out cold.

“Fucks sake, Minie. Is this for kids?! They’re practically eye-banging the crowd while they literally bang the air.” Min Seo had no reply, she was dead silent.

Looking over to check on her you could see she was engrossed in the current debauchery you just mentioned.

All she could do was mumble out a few words, “Don’t curse, Y/N.” with a gentle slap on the arm.

When you look back up you notice the formation changing. The boys all ducked down, leaving the little one in the middle, standing alone. His voice dropping a bit as he raps with precision. You’re awestruck by the amount of power behind such a small guy.

As you’re staring, trying to figure out what exactly you’re seeing, he says “You need a Pirate King.” while pointing at you and winking.

You can’t seem to help it, but your eyes are drawn to the one with the cat-like stare and grey hair. Stuck on the way he sneers and grimaces while dancing.

“Stop it Y/N! These are teenage boys. You’re just being needy, and stupid.” You think while smacking your forehead.

As the song ends, the boys wave and bow to the crowd. All the girls, Min Seo included, start to scream terms of endearment.

Shaking your head in disbelief, you catch him staring again. He winks at you with a smirk. You just raise your eyebrow at him.

“Well that one’s layin’ it on thick.” As you turn to leave, Min Seo right behind you.

Leaving the building was no easy feat. Tons of teenage girls were clamoring over one another to get out so that they could catch a glimpse of the boys as they got in their vehicle.

Min Seo stayed back a bit, to let the stampede pass. As you both walk through the door into the cool spring air.

Min Seo turns to you, “So dinner and a drink before we head home?”

“You nailed it Minie. How do you know everything I’m thinking?” There’s relief in your voice.

She puts her arm through yours, “Cause I’m your best friend, silly!”.

Thank God for Min Seo.

#ateez #fanfic #ateez hongjoong #hongjoong #kim hongjoong #ateez wooyoung #wooyoung #eventual smut #smut #fluff #first time writer #slow burn

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kyaada · 6 years

Text

Marketing Belly Master Bait

by kyaada

Ever since Barrett started working at Chunk’s in the mall, he’d developed a bit of a cult following. Barrett’s collection of too-tight tee shirts never failed to highlight every succulent bump and bulge, and the tops combined with packed skinny jeans never failed to impress. Barrett had the most amazing pair of bubbled buns sitting atop mature tree trunk-sized thighs, finished off with meaty calf muscles. Of course, his immaculate fade and neatly trimmed beard gave him a timeless look of masculinity to his handsome features, deep blue eyes, and pearly white smile. When Chunk’s manager realized what a draw his recently hired ex-military muscled hunk had become, he immediately put him in the window-- so to speak.

After Barrett had finished his main tasks, the manager would set him up in a front table alongside the main walkway with one of the biggest sandwiches. Chunk’s was known for their huge stacked sandwiches and fresh breads, warning patrons that they may need to loosen their belts to finish one of the enormous two-handed sammies. The live eating demo was effective in drawing in a variety of customers. At the beginning of the sandwich, lady shoppers would file in to gawk at the handsome young stud while they’d split their lunch and still take half home. Near the end of the sandwich, Barrett would slow down a bit and labor as his stomach filled to the top. His tight tee shirt couldn’t hide his brawny tight bulge, and he’d just lazily lean back in his chair, giving up the thought of sucking it in. The post-sandwich advertisement would draw in the fat hungry dudes looking for a nice full gut, and Barrett would inspect them like cattle as they’d pile in for a good feeding.

A couple of months passed, and Barrett couldn’t help but notice how difficult it had become to squeeze into this hot jeans, much less get them buttoned. The big 6’2” ex-military hunk would stand in front of his bathroom mirror rotating around to inspect his budding love handles and protruding belly, still flexing his biceps to validate his manliness. Barrett would grope each of his pecs with satisfaction, causing each of his nipples to poke out against his tighter tee shirt.

One day, Barrett went into work to find that his manager had decided to double his demo time by having him eat two of the smaller sandwiches, which together summed up to about one and a half of the biggest ones he’d been regularly devouring. Initially, Barrett wasn’t too sure about the idea since he’d already fought especially hard with his top jeans button that morning. The manager upped the ante with two extra-special sandwiches for him, and Barrett happily gorged himself on the thick and meaty deli treats. The manager didn’t want him to have Barrett leave his feeding station for anything, so he brought him several Coke refills to keep washing down seemingly endless sandwich. The manager even brought him a couple of their popular side salads because the big beefer was getting so swollen.

Business was especially good that day late in that lunch rush as lustful fat guys lined up for large sandwiches, drawn in by the potbellied poster boy in front. Barrett just sat there like a god with his thick thighs pushed apart, shoulders back, and his stretched-taut belly bulging out from his marbled beefy pecs to his excruciatingly tight jeans waistband. Barrett applied both of his hands to his blown-up round belly and alternated pushing in with rubbing on each side of the prominent bulge. The big overfed stud breathed shallowly due to how much room his stomach was taking away from his lungs, and he managed a few choice belches that brought in some more wide-eyed guys. Chunk’s manager came out from the back after adjusting his impossibly hard dick in his jeans and approached his prime Grade-A beefball that adorned the front of his restaurant.

Barrett rested his hands on his thighs as the manager came up to him, showing off how the sublimely tight well-worn cotton hugged every bump and bulge, and perfectly outlined his plump belly button. Barrett tilted his head back and looked his manager in the eyes, “Oh my God...I’m so ff-ff-uu-uu-ll-ll-ll-ll.” The manager smirked as he reached down to push around on Barrett’s big bloated belly. Engorged Barrett emitted a combination of grunts and belches, unable to tighten his long-softened abs enough to protect his pregnant belly against the directed pokes and musical thumping. “Sorry, Barrett, we have those new Chunk-y S’Mores Cookies and we need to push ‘em. That means, we’re gonna have to push this stomach of yours a little bit more.”

Barrett’s eyes somewhat crossed as he processed the latest directive. “I dunno. I think ...” Barrett paused to let out a really big burp, “I think I might explode.”

“Nah,” said the manager, “a big strong guy like you? Pfft. That strong table muscle of yours will just s-t-r-e-t-c-h to accommodate extra loading. The worst thing that might happen is that you’ll have to pop that top jeans button.”

“Okay, alright, well, let me get ‘em.” Barrett insisted, scooting his chair back with an obvious noise. Spreading his thighs apart and dropping his hard gut through the open space, Barrett placed his hands on the tops of his legs to push himself upright. It was no small amount of effort lifting his bulk off of the chair, but once he succeeded he had the attention of most of the diners in the seating area. Barrett’s belly was bloated out in a circle in front of him, and the ultra-taut waistband of his ridiculously stuffed jeans was scrunched down to a fraction of its height. Just south of the hefty gut was another bulge that eagerly pushed against the low-rise zipper. The manager followed the wobbling stuffed stud, smiling at all of the attentive chewing faces. It was so difficult not to fixate on Barrett’s widened back and his stout bubble butt, and the manager fought hard not to just slap his fat ass.

Once Barrett was standing, he realized that it was going to be harder than hell to sit back down and continue to eat, so he compromised with the manager to stand at the end of the counter by the register to stuff in his melty delicious cookies. Capturing the attention of a very hefty daddy type in line waiting for his giant sandwich to be made, Barrett smiled at him and stretched his thick arms up in the air. The hem of his overburdened tee shirt inched slowly up the sphere like a curtain rising on a stage as it bared the divine appearance of Barrett’s thick treasure trail and his perfectly shaped deep belly button. The round-gutted daddy ventured closer to the register after being served his thick sandwich and dessert cookies, still captivated with the sight of Barrett’s bare crescent of belly and naughty zipper that had started to escape down its track.

“Well, these sure looked good so I had to have some,” said the fattened daddy, winking at the manager, who stood beaming behind the extra full Barrett. “After all, I gotta keep up my figure. The food is always so damn good and filling here-- I never know when to stop!” The fattened daddy finished signing his credit card receipt and poked the capped end of the pen into the side of Barrett’s thoroughly pumped lunchball. “Looks like I’m not the only one, guy.”

Barrett chuckled as he ran his meaty hand across his swollen gut, “yup, the hazards of the job, I’m afraid. You just gotta remember to stop before you pop!”

The manager put his hand on the big stud’s shoulder, “tell you what, why don’t you go have a seat with this nice gentleman while he enjoys his lunch, and I’ll make you one of our Gut Topper Cake Shakes. Deal?”

“Gut Topper? Well, today, it might just become a Gut Popper...but okay. Load me up...”

The two guys headed off for a table in the back of the seating area near the kitchen. The fat daddy couldn’t wait to start pushing food down his gullet, so he plopped his big butt down and started shoveling. Barrett towered next to the table for a moment deep in thought, then reached under his enormous belly bulge to fight with his jeans button. “Dude, I’m sorry, but these things are cutting me in half.” The fat daddy’s cheeks bulged with food as he witnessed Barrett’s abdominal muscle contortions caused by the stuffed stud’s efforts to suck in the protuberant swell, but finally Barrett was able to pop open the top and breathe a little.

“Ooofff,” sighed Barrett, giving his rounded midsection an invigorating rub. Barrett held on to his zipper as he sat to make sure that the open “V” of his jeans didn’t spread too wide in a family restaurant.

“I couldn’t help but notice those jeans were pretty much painted on ya, big guy,” remarked the fat daddy.

“Yup, I’ve gained a few pounds since I started working at Chunk’s. The manager feeds me up daily.”

“Daily feedings? You might want to get some pants with an elastic waistband so you can expand in comfort.”

Barrett hovered down and planted his meaty bubbles in the chair directly across from the fat daddy, pretty much looking like a leaned-back, very-pregnant Buddha.

“Well, I know what that’s like to plan ahead for such things,” said the fat daddy, “my wife has been overfeeding me for years.” He leaned back and thumped his obvious gut bulge, “can’t say that I mind too much, after all, I love food.” The fat daddy’s eyes cruised over the topography of Barrett’s tight tee shirt. “I used to look like you when we first started dating, well, you about 50 pounds ago and before you stuffed your gut today.”

Barrett chuckled again, his facial expression slowly turning into concentration as he tried to do arithmetic in his head. “...and you’re not as tall as I am. If you don’t mind me asking, how much do you weigh?”

“By the way, my name’s Josh.” Both had to spread their thighs apart to make room for their bellies so that they could lean in to shake hands. “I don’t mind you asking me how much I weigh-- in fact, I just got my 300 pound ribbon at Recipe Club.”

“Recipe Club?”

“It’s something my wife got us into. Just a small group started by women who love to cook or are learning how to cook, and they invite their guys to join them to enjoy their rather prolific production.”

“...and you got a ribbon?”

“Yeah, I guess it’s the opposite of what Weight Watchers rewards, but we watch our weight as well. Watch it increase!” Josh giggled. “Needless to say, the guys get more ribbons faster during the holidays. We have to weigh in when we get there, and some of us weigh again as we’re leaving... just for fun.”

“What a trip!”

“...speaking of trips, we just took the kids through Vegas and then on a Disney cruise, and I can’t believe the amount of food.” Josh continued through frequent large bites of sandwich, “it was like the ideal glutton vacation... I was powerless amongst all those buffets and high-calorie foods! My belly was so damn big and tight at the end of each night that you could have rolled me to our room. Roll... Burp... Roll... Burp...”

As Barrett was drawn in to the imagery of Recipe Club and Josh’s trip of unrestrained gorging, he wondered about the timing of certain things. “So, when did you go from DadBod to DadBalloon?”

Josh got a good laugh out of the pointed question. “Kid number two.”

As they were both still cracked up over Josh being fattened up, Chunk’s manager appeared with a large frosty cup and a funnel. “Okay, Barrett, tilt and open!”

Josh smiled broadly as he detected Barrett’s newness to the concept, though he suspected that he must have beer bonged a little during some wild parties. Barrett wrapped his full lips around the bottom of the funnel opening and the manager pushed it a little farther down into his mouth once he felt his lips tighten up to steady. As he poured the giant vanilla cake shake slowly into the funnel, he was careful not to spill a drop. Barrett’s eyes widened and he put his hand on top of his again-swelling belly. Josh stuffed his face as he watched the bottom of Barrett’s rib cage rise as his bloatation device deployed fully. One of the cooks was returning from his break and stopped by the filling station to put his hand on top of Barrett’s solid round protruding stomach ledge, “wow, it’s a Gut Topper! Barrett-- you’re gettin’ to be a whopper!” The cook couldn’t resist giving Barrett’s barrel a parting slap to hear him grunt.

Barrett’s breathing was getting quite labored towards the end of the giant shake, and his nipples were practically shooting through his ultra-taut tee shirt. The advanced size of the Barrett’s fattened belly coaxed the hem up again to bare succulent skin and dark-colored fur.

Josh nearly choked shoving food into his mouth at such a high rate of speed, but he got down his enormous sandwich just as the manager finished loading Barrett’s firm round Buddha gut. The manager lifted the funnel out of Barrett’s O-shaped mouth as the dangerously overfull stud licked shake remnants off of his lips and continued to swallow the rest down his gullet. Barrett just had to sit there with his hands down his sides, feeling that his beefy pecs were about to bump him in the chin at any moment. The manager nodded his head and reached down to thump the mighty round bellyful. The combination of thick muscle walls, a nice layer of fat, and a thoroughly packed digestive tract made the most sublime of deep satisfied sounds.

“Good God, that melon is ripe.” Josh critiqued, leaning back to rest his hand on top of his big sandwich lunch. “And Barrett bared it-- that shirt is too small for ya, big buddy!”

Barrett’s smile curled onto his lips with a bit of a delay caused by his food coma. After the manager left, Barrett put his hands on his overblown balloon and rubbed.

“Man, you look like how I felt after the 24 hour buffet pass in Las Vegas. You know, I knew that it was going to be a bad thing-- I could tell when I walked in the first place and saw all of the groaning, belching guys. They looked like fully engorged ticks about to pop. Well, that was me a day later because we just kept going back for more and more and more. My lovely bride overate, my daughter got bored, but my son found his groove. I was laughing at him little at breakfast because he’s got a weakness for waffles, pancakes, pastries, and bacon.” Josh laughed as he listened to Barrett wheeze with his eyes half-closed; Barrett’s fully distended gut had swollen even more with the cake shake, pushing him farther back against his chair. “Of course, he got me back later in the day after second dinner. We were back in the room, and I was bloated out on the floor next to the couch while we were all watching a movie. Ever since I read him “Hop on Pop” when he was a kid, he’s wanted to bounce on my belly-- especially after I eat too much. He thinks it’s really funny.”

Suddenly, Barrett emitted a lengthy bass-toned belch, causing both of them to laugh heartily. Barrett patted his thoroughly round belly and flexed his pecs. “I’m pretty sure that if anyone hopped on me right now, I’d pop for sure!”

Josh munched on his cookies and agreed. “You could bounce a quarter off of that gut right now, Barrett. You remind me of some of those big bloated-up young guys on the cruise ship. Poppin’ Fresh Pillsbury Doughboys gorging their way to tight-skinned ecstasy, unbuckling their belts and stuffing themselves like Thanksgiving turkeys. I would think ‘damn, I hope we don’t hit a rock and end up shipwrecked on some island full of hungry cannibals’” Josh said as he finished the last bite of his marshmallowy chocolatey gooey cookies.

“Ooof, a stuffed Thanksgiving turkey-- that’s how I feel at the moment,” Barrett admitted as he gave his stout round belly another rubbing.

“And look,” Josh said, supporting the astute observation. “Just squeeze you in between some big bowls of mashed potatoes, stuffing, gravy, and sit a pumpkin pie on top of your belly ledge for dessert.”

Josh glanced at his watch and realized that he was late to get back to work. “Guess I better get my fat ass in gear.” Josh hoisted himself up, satisfied with the extra-large lunch and conversation, brushing past Barrett just as he took that moment to stretch his arms up in the air. Josh paused to smack a couple deep-seated belches out of Barrett. “Keep eatin’, big guy, keep rollin’ down that path to the big 3-0-0... but keep an eye out for cannibals!”

~.~

Many weeks passed, and Barrett’s allure changed somewhat to the ladies who lunched at Chunk’s. It seemed that the amount of weight he’d gained was difficult for some of them to accept; after all, he’d plumped by forty pounds in a relatively short time after significantly long lunchtime stuffings. Barrett still presented as quite beefy with one foot still in the gym, but there was no denying his big round belly and widened booty that mercilessly stuffed his shrinking wardrobe. His handsome face had filled out accordingly and he had the start of a second chin hidden under his fuller beard; regardless, his piercing blue eyes and immaculate grooming still caused heads to pivot. Josh the 300+ pound daddy continued to come in once a week to stuff himself with sandwich, and Barrett always treated him to at least one Gut Topper. Josh would especially enjoy the belly blowout when Barrett personally funneled the extra creamy cake shake down his gullet.

Awhile back, the manager had hired a new cook when Chunk’s had added pizza to their calorie-driven menu. Barrett had recognized the guy immediately from high school, although Peter’s 5’11” frame had filled out some since those earlier days. Peter had been a swimmer all during high school and was always pretty wide-shouldered and lanky, which changed through his college experience in the dining halls. Of course, Peter recognized Barrett right away as well, and would tease him about how fat he’d become. Barrett would always comment right back about Peter’s modest college weight gain. Chunk’s cooks wore nice pullover shirts that bore the restaurant’s logo on the left breast, and Peter’s shirt was always a little pizza sauce-splattered and tight. Peter’s pudgy round belly pooched out over his Dockers taut waistbands, and no one could miss his pasta butt that stressed the seam in the back.

The two former schoolmates never really talked much in school, but they developed a friendly, yet somewhat tense, rivalry at work. Peter was slightly jealous with the fact that Barrett got away with hardly working and mostly just eating while he sat on his constantly widening ass. The manager had added pizza to Barrett’s daily demonstration, and Peter was usually the one that made the pie. Peter would deliberately pile on additional toppings, knowing that Barrett would have to stuff the slices down on top of his torturously large sandwich and sides.

After a month of silent warfare, both Barrett and Peter had packed on weight. Barrett was undeniably impressed with Peter’s bloat capacity and how much the littler guy could stomach in one stretching session. Peter, who loved the fact that his packed pizzas were adding to both Barrett’s bottom and front lines, immensely enjoyed the big stud’s trips in to the kitchen to moan about his overloaded gut. Barrett was supposed to sweep around the kitchen after his lunch demonstration, and he’d invariably be as close as possible to Peter so that he could bump him with his solid gutsphere. Barrett would belch in Peter’s general direction to egg him on, and soon Peter would march on up to the 6’2” beefster and playfully threaten to punch his big ol’ gut. Barrett would push his belly out even more and tell Peter to give it his best shot. The manager would always intercede in time saying “Don’t pop him! Barrett has to work tomorrow!”

Time bulged on, and the manager had to bring in a scale due to rising concerns about their Frontline Eater position, of which Barrett had done such an incredible job filling. “Boy, are you ever fat now,” the manager told Barrett as he processed the number on the scale’s display, “three hundred and twenty pounds. I’m afraid that we’re going to move you to back of house for awhile-- put the big beefer out to pasture, so to speak. Your gluttonous performances are still bringing in the fat guys, but the average group of ladies who lunch seem to think you’ve gotten too fat for them to fantasize about over their porky husbands.”

“Aw, come on!” Barrett spurted out, “I know women still look at me.”

“Well, yeah. They look at you and think about the big fat growling gut they’re going to have to go home and feed that night. All the work they’ll go through stuffing their husband’s belly enough so he’ll fall asleep on the couch and not bother them for the rest of the night.”

A vision of his fat daddy friend Josh popped into Barrett’s mind. “Some women enjoy feeding their hubbies-- in fact, they relish the thought of fattening them up.” Barrett’s crotch tingled a bit as he remembered Josh’s most recent Chunk’s visit when he owned up to weighing 350 pounds and whispering the most arousing admission in his ear. Josh had dreamed one night that he’d been stretching his belly for weeks in the hopes of growing it immense enough to hold a stuffed Thanksgiving Barrett.

The manager’s mind was made up, so he put Barrett next to Peter in the kitchen so that they could work out any issues the two had while Barrett shed a few pounds. The days went by with the two reminiscing about the old days and pretty much making a buffet of the prep tables. It was on a Friday when Peter offered one particularly compelling memory.

“You remember that time at the school assembly when three of you guys on the football team had a pizza eating contest in front of the whole school?” Peter asked.

“Oh yeah. My gut ached the rest of the afternoon,” Barrett confessed.

“Oh damn... well, you won....and you ate the entire pizza,” Peter recalled. “You had the biggest fucking belly that day...”

“I remember that.” Barrett smiled, “after school, I was sprawled out on the grass in Senior Square warning guys not to step on my belly.”

“You were wearing this really tight orange pullover shirt and I thought your belly looked like a big pumpkin.” As Peter shared his thoughts, Barrett chuckled and patted his much fatter, bigger belly. “I had like ten dollars and I wanted to take you to McDonald’s and get you whatever you wanted.”

“You did? Huh...” Barrett thought for a moment. “Guess that would have made you ‘Peter Peter Pumpkin Feeder’ in a way...” Barrett thought for another moment, “wait... that’s why you would makin’ my pizzas so big! You’ve been fattening me up on purpose!”

Peter slapped Barrett in his big ol’ belly. “Well, truth be told, you were already amply fattened when I started here... nicely marbled beef... I just wanted you to get a little fatter.”

“A little fatter? Well, I’m 320 pounds now.” Barrett stated, bumping his firm round gut into Peter’s fat belly. “Feel the size of this beast now!”

“My guess is that this beast needs to be fed,” Peter said, grabbing on to each side of the studly gut being pushed into him. “I’ve got ten dollars for McDonald’s after work...”

Somehow, Peter and Barrett kept their minds on finishing their shifts at Chunk’s, and agreed to meet at the nearest McDonald’s at six o’clock. Peter decided to keep his work clothes on, despite the fact that he smelled like an overweight pizza. Since he’d gone ahead and eaten his free work meal, his Dockers were exceptionally tight despite the fact that they were pushed down far below his fat belly. Barrett had gone home and rifled through a few drawers to find that famous orange pullover shirt from high school, only to find that he nearly ripped it getting it over his much more developed chest and arms, and the old top was no match for his very ample belly. The shirt couldn’t reach to cover his wide love handles and the hem created a crisp line around his big manly gut above his dreamily deep belly button. He had one last pair of jeans that he put forth his best effort to button, and walked out of the house looking like a giant overstuffed sausage.

Barrett walked in to the McDonald’s and immediately felt eyes gluing to his bared belly; among other sets, one set of eyes belonged to Peter, and another set belonged to Josh-- Barrett’s fat daddy friend from Chunk’s. Josh’s hefty wife turned her head to see who her chubby hubby was gawking at and seemed suitably impressed. Peter stood up, shifted his boner, and walked over to meet the vision in orange that wobbled his way closer.

“How about that-- that shirt fits differently than it did in high school, Barrett!”   “Just a little bit. I’m a few pounds heavier now.”

Both of them strolled up to the counter together, each enjoying the reaction of the chubby young counter dude whose mouth dropped open in response the audacity of Barrett’s attire.

“What do ya want? My treat.” Barrett offered, rubbing Peter’s shoulder.

“Oh, it’s my treat, Barrett.”

“Let’s do this-- I’ll get you what I want you to eat, and you can do the same for me. How about that?”

Soon enough, the two Chunk’s employees had decided on a booth across from where Josh and his wife still sat eating. Before taking a seat, Barrett and Peter said hello to the oversized married couple, carefully noting the pile of empty boxes and wrappers in front of Josh. Even though it was one of the booths made larger to more easily accommodate fat people, Josh was obviously stuck. The table’s edge butted firmly against his enormous round belly, and the portion above table level bulged onto the surface an inch. Josh’s ribs were shoved up and back around the bloated stomach, and it was as hard for him to speak as it was to breathe.

“Josh, I do believe that you’ve been fed into place!” Barrett said.

“Indeed he has,” came the voice from across the table. “We’re stretching his belly all day today-- kids are at their grandparents. There’s a young pup at Recipe Club that’s about to get his 360 pound ribbon and Josh has got to keep up! You must be Barrel-- I mean, Barrett,” she said, looking at the tall stud’s ample belly.

Barrett chuckled. “Yes, that’s me, Barrett. And I guess I do resemble a food barrel these days.” He shook her hand and introduced Peter. “Well, well, Josh. Just look at this huge belly wedged in this booth...” Barrett gently poked around on the top of Josh’s overstuffed belly.

“Careful, now... don’t poke too hard. You’ll pop the pig! He’s been eating all day to stretch his belly for an upcoming Vegas trip. I mean, he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about that 24 hour buffet pass and wants to go for a three day gorging weekend.”

“Haven’t been able to get enough to eat today, boys,” Josh wheezed.

“That can definitely be a problem,” Peter observed with an unmistakably evil smile on his face.

Barrett thumped Josh’s enormous gut and said, “keep on stuffing, Josh-- Thanksgiving is comin’ and you’re either going to eat or be eaten!” Reaching over to his serving tray, Barrett grabbed a Quarter Pounder box and sat it on top of Josh’s solid ball of food.

Two McDonald’s employees, including the chubby guy poured into his uniform, brought two trays each over to where Barrett and Peter had chosen to plant their numbered sign. Without much more conversation, the two guys got down to business and began stuffing themselves. Josh sat and belched while he digested, watching with great interest as Barrett and Peter blew up in size. Their enthusiasm for gorging was amazing to watch. It was no surprise that they finished all of that food and four soda refills only to look at each other and say “More!”

Josh’s wife took his wallet up to the counter and surprised Barrett and Peter with another round of Big Macs, Quarter Pounders, fries, and Chicken McNuggets. Peter’s incredible ability to bloat up into a round ball raised eyebrows near and far in the restaurant. His Chunk’s uniform shirt’s hem inched up the stuffed belly ball, and his Dockers launched into space as he heaved a satisfied sigh.

“Your belly is gettin’ big,” Barrett said to his rotund dinner mate.

“Well, look who’s talking,” plump-bellied Peter turned around on the overstuffed stud. “It’s like someone connected that pumpkin to a tire pump!”

Barrett’s orange pullover had slid up above his packed-taut bloatsphere, exposing the full height of his treasure trail. Barrett’s belly button, with its fat rounded entry, begged for a chubby finger to explore its warm depths.

“I say we go pick up a box of donuts and go to my place, Peter.”

The two roundbellied twentysomethings thanked fat daddy Josh and his wife for their generosity and waddled their way out to their trucks. “Hope you get full enough, Josh!”

“Never!”

Peter picked out the fat pills at the best grocery store bakery in town, making sure to choose an enticing array of all kinds, including extra-filling-fattening cream-filled ones, before speeding on over to Barrett’s address.

“C’mon in if you have donuts...” Barrett teased as he stood there in his ridiculously undersized orange pullover and underwear with a spot of wet pre-cum at the end of his fully lengthened cock.

Peter broke into a sweat from the heat radiating off of the engorged stud, shaking a little as he set two boxes of donuts on the dining room table. Barrett slapped Peter’s butt that was as yet encased in the seam-stressed Dockers, “damn your ass got fat after high school.”

“I like to eat,” Peter told him turning his head sideways.

“I can tell. The pregnant belly was another dead giveaway.” Barrett pulled Peter’s pants down and bent him over the dining room table. Peter’s stout full belly smacked on the surface like a gargantuan slab of bacon and Barrett watched his sides bow out under the pressure. Barrett shifted his loaded cock into the upright position and rubbed it back and forth between Peter’s plump buns. “Fuck that feels good....my gut’s so fucking big that I can’t see what I’m doing, but I can definitely feel the heat from your hole...”

“Jesus, your dick is as big as I always thought it was...” Peter grunted.

“You got me so hot that I’m brimming with cum today... if I pumped your ass right now, I’d shoot a load so fat that your belly would explode.”

“Do it, fat stuff,” Peter begged, “because after you pop my cherry in grand style, I’m gonna feed you every last donut in that box. You stuff my butt and I’ll bust your gut.”

Nearly breaking the table in the process, Barrett finished the deed, pumping Peter completely full of his seed.

Taking Barrett by the hand and grabbing the box of donuts, Peter led his round target into the bedroom. Getting situated leaned against the headboard and spreading his legs far apart, Peter motioned for the ballooned stud to lay belly-up on him with his head on his shoulder. Once Barrett was in place, there was not going to be any moving him for an extended period of time. Peter’s view around Garrett’s head was of a tall round mountain that wobbled from side to side when the bed shook. “Will you just look at the size of this fucking tank?!” Peter put his hands on either side of Barrett’s enormously swollen stomach and spread his fingers. Gently shaking the massive sphere of manflesh, Peter breathed heavily in Barrett’s ear as the heavy stud continued to weigh down on his own achingly full stomach. “Soldier, you’ve really let yourself go...your punishment is going to be severe... forcefeeding until your greedy belly bursts like an overblown balloon.”

Peter picked through the donuts and began stuffing them into Barrett’s eager maw in rapid succession. As icing began to collect in the overfed boy’s beard, his tongue worked overtime to get every last bit. As Barrett was chewing nearly unmanageable mouthfuls, Peter rubbed all over the swelling stomach. With a whole box of donuts down the gullet, there was a giant mound formed that pushed straight up in the air. Peter thumped on the top of the donut dome, amazed at how dense it sounded and the volume of belch it quickly produced. Barrett’s advanced gut was easily the size of a beach ball, and Peter was wishing that he had a view far enough away to fully appreciate its fullness.

“Oh God, I’m gonna pop,” Barrett moaned.

Peter pushed his index finger into the top of Barrett’s solid donut dome and tested it for doneness. “Nope, you’re not ready yet,” Peter whispered in his 320+ pound stud’s ear and opened the second box.

Engaged in relentless stuffing, Barrett’s gutsphere stretched wider and taller. Peter spread his fingers as far apart as possible to rub as much belly at once as he could. Barrett’s panic was becoming more evident as his taut, shiny ball maxed out with half of the second box of donuts crammed inside.  “Okay, Soldier, I’ll spare your gut from certain explosion,” Peter announced. Barrett responded with an wall-shaking belch. Squashed a little under the weight of the overfed stud, Peter wriggled his way out and stood at the side of the bed admiring the gigantic beach ball. The bottom of his enormous gut was as taut as the top, and the roundness bumped against his spread meaty thighs.

Peter slowly made his way on to the bed, throwing his leg over Barrett’s wide body and bouncing his fat butt briefly on the tall mountain of belly. Realizing that he was about to push several donuts right out of Barrett’s mouth, Peter quickly slid down off of the ball gut and landed on his hard-again cock. Peter was reminded of how full his own belly was as it met fatly against the bottom third of Barrett’s gutsphere. Peter regained his strength, grabbed a hold of each of Barrett’s meaty pecs and humped his cock against the giant hard belly. Getting ready to shoot his load, Peter grabbed another donut, plugged Barrett’s furry feedhole with it, and ate up the sight of Barrett’s hungry expression as he spurted cum all over Barrett’s lower bellysphere.

“Feels good to get caught up on lost time, huh?”

#kyaadaoriginal weightgainfiction DadBod feeder feedee grommr feabie

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