#Do you remember how to he authentic anymore?
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Let's see if I have one more election take in me:
I am deeply sympathetic to Sam Kriss's rage against the Democratic corpo-political shibboleth, and not just because we are both deeply enmeshed in the grand tradition of dissident Oxbridge-style cantankerous internet rants. He is right that Kamala was a weak candidate, for one. But more importantly, I still feel what he feels deep down. I remember the starry idealism of my halcyon youth, of believing that conviction, that vision, that the zeal only a platform birthed from authentic principles, tempered by struggle and sweat, would carry the day over crass, paint-by-polling-numbers incrementalism. When he describes Harris thusly:
"Sheâs a machine politician. She wants power, but not for any particular reason. Itâs just that life is a game, and the point is to reach the highest level."
I see my own reaction to her when she first stepped into the 2020 limelight, and low-key hating her for it. I feel his heart, for it is my heart.
But it is not my brain. Because I am not a teenager anymore, and his critique is fucking bullshit.
He says all this stuff like:
The reason Kamala Harris lost is the same as the reason she was the candidate to begin with: the Democratic Party is allergic to democracy.
And how the electorate is seen as but ants from inside the towers of the Machine, like the Dems just invented "not running a primary" this time as a lark. As opposed to neither party in America ever having primaries against incumbent presidents! Because they are normally popular, and it would be a waste of everyone's time to do that! Could you imagine, launching a real primary against Obama in 2012? And possibly sabotaging his brand a bit for absolutely nothing? It is a reasonable policy, particularly when incumbents used to have an advantage for being so. Now they clearly don't, Biden was unpopular and too old, and the Dems took too long to realize it. A costly mistake, but it is a purely strategic error. Big orgs have inertia, and the Dems fucked up. It has nothing to do with an "allergy to democracy".
And Kriss can go off summarizing how the Harris campaign was offering voters nothing:
But for some unaccountable reason, among the general public, âKamala: You Already Like Her!â was not the brilliant pitch it seemed to be. [...] Another option would be to actually offer something to the voters.
Which sounds neat, but he made it up! I remember Kamala's actual campaign speeches, ads, and platforms, which she repeated so monotonically in her tightly-scripted campaign appearances: protect abortion rights, expand the welfare state, provide better child care support, lower the cost of housing. And most importantly, she ran on Biden's record of a strong economy and promised to deliver more of it. What does even mean for this to not be a real platform? Beyond not having some synthesized, totalizing "Critique" of modernity that packages it all into a beautiful, systematizing little box.
Because I promise you, voters synthesize jack shit. None of this is why Harris lost - voters have made that pretty clear:
You can find other data ofc, this or that point varies, but the story is not opaque. They didn't like Biden! They didn't like his inflation. They didn't like immigration, or they didn't like his liberalism, and they thought Kamala was too similar. She had too much policy baggage. And she wasn't charismatic enough to dig herself out of that hole - no disagreement from me on that front.
Though even then, by that we mean she lost an election by ~3-4% margins after getting subbed in at the 4th quarter while down by ~8% in the polls. That ain't bad!
None of the voters who matter share Kriss's sensibilities, and he cannot hide his disappointment in that. So he pretends that Donald Trump, the guy who promised 20% tariffs on everything to fight inflation, is giving them a real vision:
Thatâs what Trump did: he offered an enemy to blame and the prospect of doing violence to them
I don't know man, I think swing voters just don't like the last four years and think 2019 was better. I don't think the promises of orgastic violence against democrats are why Trump won! Actually a bit of an unforced error on his part.
But since Kriss presumes to value democracy, that thesis can't hold - so the lack of reality delivering on what his vision for democracy should be is displaced onto Harris's mistakes. The voters can never fail you. You can only fail to elevate them with the right candidate. Which, tactically? Sure, why not. But you can leave the moralism at the classroom door.
This ties into our dreaded media discourse debate, so it is time to bring in another explainer, by Michael Tomasky:
The line-by-line isn't interesting here; instead I want to focus on this quote:
Werenât they bothered that Trump is a convicted felon? An adjudicated rapist? Didnât his invocation of violence against Liz Cheney, or 50 other examples of his disgusting imprecations, obviously disqualify him? And couldnât they see that Harris, whatever her shortcomings, was a fundamentally smart, honest, well-meaning person who would show basic respect for the Constitution and wouldnât do anything weird as president? The answer is obviously noânot enough people were able to see any of those things. At which point people throw up their hands and say, âI give up.â
To which the immediate reply is: my dude, what are you talking about??
A 56 percent majority of Americans say Trump is probably guilty of a criminal conspiracy to overturn the 2020 election results through false claims of voter fraud, including 40 percent who believe he is âdefinitely guilty.â Republicans are less united than Democrats. Nearly 9 in 10 Democrats believe Trump is guilty, while nearly 7 in 10 Republicans think he is innocent. Among independents, nearly twice as many think Trump is guilty as think he is innocent.
You know how when you ~13 years old, and you have that friend who is just old enough to start taking Dungeons & Dragons books filled with splash art of succubi into the bathroom with him, but not yet old enough to get that "talking to girls" is an acquired skill? And they are blatantly, openly salivating over the first chick in the 7th grade class who discovered what power the combination of a camisole and a push-up bra holds over the male gaze? And she just completely ignores his faltering attempts at ~casual conversation~, so his brain script-cycles through its backlog of tween sitcom plots until it lands on, "Hey, what if I confess to her? Then she will know about my feelings!"
And you have to pull him aside and gently explain that, bro. She knows. That is not your problem.
Kriss is too intelligent a thinker to not understand this, but our dear Tomasky - and so many like him - has stuck his 14-year-old head in the sand over this. Swing voters know Trump is a scumbag! They know he lost the election, they know he raped a few women in his day, they know he is a serial fraudster. Even a bunch of those Republicans who, in polls, go "oh it's all a Dem conspiracy"? They know too; they just have the decency to lie about it. How could they not? Every media outlet in the country has been repeating it for a fucking decade! I might think voters are morons but even I won't stoop this low; they have eyes and ears, they aren't illiterate.
They just don't care.
Not enough at least, not enough to make it the only thing they consider. And here is the rub, here is the grand mistake Kriss & Tomasky are making - they are at least somewhat right to not care. The height of the Democratic privilege is that they get to play this card because they don't have to deal with it being turned against them. Kamala is a political chameleon but she is a decent person. She would never take a bribe from a foreign government, she would never assault a coworker, she would never, ever, deny a free and fair election.
Which means you don't have to choose between voting for a rapist and voting for someone who is going to shove a bullshit interpretation of the 14th amendment down your throat via a stacked court to ban abortion nationwide, forever. Pro-life people think abortion is genocide against babies! Why are you surprised they aren't voting for the pro-baby-genocide person because she is nice? How sure are you that you would do the same when that is reversed? I guess those boycott-Harris-because-of-Gaza people got some cred, but I think we all agreed they were dumb, right?
This is the rub of why outsiders always have so much difficulty understanding how people like Berlusconi, Trump, Le Pen, etc, get so much vote share - they have no stake in the political struggle beyond the vague idea of democratic norms. It is easy to say "Italy, choose a non-crook!" when you don't have to live with the policy programme of the other guy. From the inside the price of those principles is far, far harder. It isn't shocking that most choose not to pay it.
This isn't to give voters like a moral pass - Trump's conduct is truly disqualifying, I would vote Republican if the shoe was on the other foot in this case. My point instead is that they generally won't as a simple fact of life, and blaming them is futile. If you have wound up in a situation where the political system has taken its pool of hundreds of millions of potential candidates and narrowed it down to two for the voters, and one of them has "launched a coup but will say go to hell to the inflation guy" as a bundled package, someone fucked up and it isn't the voters.
You need political elites to do their part in the system - Republicans never should have let Trump be their candidate in 2016. Open primaries with no organizational thumbs on the scale are a mistake, actually, allowing arbitrary minorities to generate subpar candidates. The decision to let Biden run again was, fundamentally, born from the same impulse - the Democratic Party had no leadership capable of telling him no, because they outsourced that job to "primaries". The Dems are not "allergic" to democracy; democracy is allergic to too much of itself.
But the cat is out of the bag now! These changes happened for a reason after all. Which I won't dig into here - I will keep my point as focused as something as sprawling as this can be. Voters will not save you, and you should not be disappointed when they don't. It was never their job.
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While you flash that banefully torturous Nazi-loving ring, I am contemplating when and to where I am going to have to flee, Boston Dumb Fuck!
That is your privlege. Aren't you lucky, you rich, white (essentially Christian) male. Looks like you will be getting your patriarchy back so no need to pretend you are a feminist anymore.
PS- Everytime you try to hide that shameful, oversized piece of metal on your fickle finger, you make it much more obvious you are a fraud, slick.
#liars suck!#i hate hypocrites#i don't like manipulation#Do you remember how to he authentic anymore?#AI in human form#Boston racist#boston antisemite#ASP may show its spirit of service in the new regime; good little puppet#For what you lack in talent for lying you make up in volume#Was anything true about you- was it always bullshit or is this untrustworthiness a relatively recent indulgence?#If you ain't part of the solution you are part of the goddamn problem#Has nothing to do with the horrid wifey anymore- this is about your lack of moral fortitude
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what goes hard- rafayel (not like that, although yes like that, but not right now, bc im still thinking of oceanic nightfall)-
falling back into various poor coping mechanisms he used when he was more alone because being partners with mc doesnt mean he'll stop being lonely especially whenever mc has to be away and hes still spent centuries longer facing all kinds of isolation despite other company available or welcomed (humans he didnt want to / couldnt befriend, lemurians he loves but could still be aloof to).
his comfortability being real but also as gradual as the love and with a part of him remaining somewhat resigned to the possibility of losing his happiness again one way or another (abt both mc & other things/people), some of this communicated blithely because vulnerability can still be scary, and if someone doesnt see past his half-assed acts / occasional testingly ambiguous phrases (and instead maybe sees him as some fickle failure or burden or w/e) then thats totally their fault,
except mc almost always understands and calls him out, calls him annoying or whatever whenever right to his face unlike most other people bc mc is like that with anyone/anything and he loves that about mc, needs that, as much as he does for mc's assurances in times even hes unsure about himself.
the sea god's first love was a more equally lonely person but got remade into someone who knows what it's like to care and be cared for and in that they still achieve a balanceânot mc "fixing" him, but being an anchor and a reason for him to hold onto other anchors too and be mc's in turn instead of going the convenient route of accidentally/semi-accidentally letting others define what he does or feels he has to for the dozenth time.
rafayel (seeming so composed n sure of himself & a lot of things most of the time abt the major things) messing up sometimes in ways that are major without quite being a matter of life or death anymore, and rafayel resting.
#glubabbles#mc saying his name to activate the bond compulsion thing but whenever not for trivial things like meowing it's to help him snap out of#bad states or be like ''hear me. what do you really want to do? you remember. dont you want us to stay honest'' and#if he doesnt say ideal things or is unsure then they try all kinds of things out together. the way he cheers mc up with beach strolls or#origami n praise or presence etc mc tries with games and mc's own gifts and holding him and reciting times where he seemed happiest etc#until he feels dumb for ever doubting he knew who he is anymore or what matters. bc most of the time he does more plainly#resent human rich ppl/fan norms and achieve authenticity! passionately. it's like just#if mc is away it feels almost fresh again. restarting life bc. in the past mc's absence/rebirth also meant his own even if not simultaneous#y or the exact same way#and they can/do work on learning how to be healthier together i just aughhhh#ooOOoOOOohHH IM MENTALLY IIIIILLLL
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âHOLD ME, KISS MEâ
i. PAIRING â Leon Kennedy x GN!Reader
ii. SYNOPSISâ Aware that your boyfriend hasnât been granted the privilege of a homemade meal in ages, you decided to pull out your familyâs recipe book and stir something up for him. He showed his appreciation in more ways than one, how could he not reward his little chef after all your time tinkering in the kitchen?
iii. CONTENT WARNINGSâ Fluff to eventual smut (MDNI) Leonâs a bit awkward with his feelings, he scarfs down every last crumb on his plate, oral sex, fingering, creampie (reader receives all), mentions of aftercare, Leon calls reader âbabyâ and âsweetheart.â I left the contents of the meal as ambiguous, because I wanted it to depend on the readerâs own upbringing and culture. Written with RE4 Leon in mind.
iv. WORD COUNTâ 4.6K
01â PREPARATION
Leon couldnât remember the last time he was given the simple joy of eating a homemade meal. No, he grew up accustomed to enjoying the lunch trays that all schools gave out. Heâd block out the noises of his peers complaining about the blandness of the food, because that food was the standard for him. The flavor of the dishes his orphanage provided is committed in his memory, a hint of nostalgia when he looks back on it.
And of course, the same followed into his academy and career. Heâd eat institutional meals during his academy days, too wrapped up in his extensive training to pick up on cooking skills himself. MREâs were obviously his go to during his government training period, and that followed into the missions he was deployed on.
To sum it up, the last homemade meal he probably had was when his parents were alive. He would never complain about it, far too grateful of a person to even see it as an issueâhe would take what was provided, with an appreciative mindset.
Youâre a sweetheart though, his sweetheart. And after learning the extent of his past, god you wished you had met him sooner. Because for as long as youâve dated him, you canât remember a single time where Leon mentioned an individual that was even remotely significant to him prior to his government days. Wellâaside from a girlfriend who hastily broke up with him, and you just presumed she hadnât been the best considering how little Leon had to say about her. Couldnât even remember her face or voice anymore, he claimed. And you believed him, rightfully so. Leon looked at you as if you were more fascinating than the wonders of space, with no trace of feelings for any prior people he had been in a relationship with. You were the star on top of the Christmas tree for him.
Lounging lazily on your couch, a sleepy grunt brought your attention to Leonâwho had come over to your house for a movie night. But he always ended up napping or resting his eyes for a good half an hour, feeling safe only in your presence and allowing his guard to lower. He was snuggled against you, head against your chest and an arm around your midsection.
You always let him sleep a little, it could do some good against those growing eye bags of his. He always liked itâresting against you, feeling safe with you by his side and the comforting golden like hue the lamp on your tableside emitted. The only time he could allow his mind to rest was with you, it was reasonable.
Your nose was stuck between the pages of your familyâs old recipe book. The pages were oldâwrinkled and a far cry from the original brightness of the white sheet of paper it once was. You wanted to cook something for him. But you didnât want it to be something off of a google website or youtube tutorial. You wanted something authentic to your upbringing, that way it would be more meaningful and you wouldnât be going into it completely blind.
Yeah, of course Leon has eaten at your house before. ButâŚitâs always been microwaveable food or something that could be made within five minutes, like eggsâ not anything that you actually put your entire heart into. He was big on dinner dates at restaurants, so the topic of cooking was never really brought up. You wanted to make him an actual meal. One with sides and maybe a small dessert, youâd seen the way Leon eatsâyouâd definitely need to make enough for seconds. With that physique and job of his, god knows he needs his energy.
âMm,â a soft mumble from Leon, who was beginning to stir awake after a short but very much needed nap, his light colored eyelashes were beginning to flutter.
You laughed quietly, threading your fingers through his tousled hair. âHey, sleepyhead.â
He let out an amused exhale at the nickname he had earned, the corners of his lips curled up a little into a lazy smile. âOh, is that what I am now?â
âMhm. Keep it up and Iâll have to start charging you for using me as a pillow.â Your voice was a playful one, spoken through a laugh as you hid the recipe book behind the pillow your head was propped against. It canât be a surprise if he caught a glimpse, right?
âYou can have every last penny in my damn bank account,â was his responseâto which you simply snickered over. His American Express Black visa card was like an endless void of wealth.
Leon rolled one of his shoulders to remove some kinks as he sat up properly, missing your comforting body warmth already.
He always looked the prettiest like this: somewhat messy golden hair, slight flush on his cheeks, sleepy eyes that you didnât want to look away from, and some marks on one of his cheeks from it being pressed up snugly against the fabric of your shirt.
âLooks like I missed the ending credits,â he glanced over at the now turned off televisionâheâd fallen asleep during the last half hour of the movie, like usual. Not that he was missing out, he had watched most movies so it wasnât a bother. Plus, when it came time to actually sleep, like a healthy eight hours and all, he never could. So he took any nap time that his body granted him. âCan I put another one on?â
âYeah, as long as you donât yap my ear off about how silly the protagonists are again.â You could never escape hearing Leonâs muttered quips whenever the two of you watched somethingâit was funny, Leon had seen all the bigger issues in the world and yet he got frustrated by the decisions of fictional characters.
âWhatâs the fun in that?â
02â EXECUTION
You were given the perfect opportunity. Ingredients and dishes were already scattered all throughout your kitchen counters, and your recipe book was hoisted up nicely on a stand so it wouldnât get dirty.
Leon was returning from a long briefing at his headquarters and the plan was for him to head directly to your house afterwards. He was going to go on a mission soon and his goal was always to spend as much time with you as possible. Heâd latch onto your damn side all day, if he could.
You had the windows above the sink opened up to let some fresh air in, the curtains flowing a bit with each graze of breeze. It was cold as hell outside, but it helped ventilate all the heat that was gathering from the stove and oven. The television was on a low level, just some background noise to seep into the kitchen.
While you let some ingredients heat up on a large skillet, you cast your attention towards decorating the table up a bit. Not too much, but enough to make a difference. A candle of Leonâs favorite scent placed on the center of the surface, matching mugs already setâmaybe they seemed a little too casual given the stupid puns written on them, but you figured Leon would appreciate it more than some fancy cups.
An hour and a half passed by and Leon was barely arriving, ready to complain about some of his rather annoying coworkers to you. If age didnât give him gray hairs soon, the people in his line of work definitely would.
He had a set of keys to your house, fumbling with them as he unlocked the door.
âHey, sweetheart.â His voice called out once he entered, for the sake of letting you know he wasnât an intruder or anything. He usually expected to see you lounging on the couch, but not tonight. Instead, his senses were met with the tasty aroma coming from the kitchen, and the loud clatter of sounds from there as well.
Like a dog smelling a treat, his attention was immediately drawn and he naturally walked over to your kitchen, his curious eyes took in the scene.
Leon had seen a lot, inexplicable creatures that should have the power to make him still in his tracksâbut they never did. Now, the sight of the homely decorated kitchen and the nice arrangement of plates on the kitchen table was something that made him pause in his steps. It looked straight out of a romance movie, something that would be described in a romance novel.
And you, the light of his life waiting for him with a small smile on your face. You looked a bit nervous, eyebrows furrowed together ever so slightly but still trying to muster some confidence.
Leon didnât know whether he felt more like crying or grinning like a damn idiot. A mixture of the two, probably. The lump forming in his throat made him unable to vocalize his gratitude, his voice would crack and sound like a damn croak if he tried.
âUh,â thatâs all he could manage. He was usually good at showing his gratitude, but with such a thoughtful gesture like this, he felt all his known vocabulary scramble around in his mind into a jumbled mess.
âPenny for your thoughts?â You egged him on, wanting to hear the rest of his sentenceâit wasnât often you saw Leon all speechless, not with the banter and quips that came in his boyfriend package.
âThatâsâŚâ he trailed off, his hand motioning towards the scene you had oh so beautifully displayed for his eyes and use alone. âThatâs justâŚâ he looked over to you, corners of his eyes crinkling from the happiness that reached his eyes. âYou did all this?â
His words were quiet, and for a second he feared youâd think he didnât appreciate it. But he noticed the chuckle and shake of head you did at his performance. âMhm, didnât know it was possible for you to freeze up like this.â
He let out an exhale, grin forming on his face. God, he loved you.
âCâmere,â he muttered that out while moving towards you, enveloping your frame with his armsâhaving to hold back on squeezing you like he wanted to for the sake of not crushing your bones. He had a bad case of cuteness aggression for you.
The aroma of the food you cooked subsided when the scent of Leonâs cologne filled your senses insteadâcool and earthy, one you could drown yourself in and pinpoint a mile away.
Leon kissed the top of your head as he articulated his thoughts, wanting to form them into actual words without splutteringâand without taking too much time because heâd be devastated if the meal you cooked for him went cold.
âYouâre squishing me,â you grumbled, palms finding the surface of Leonâs chest and lazily trying to push him away. âTake a seat, itâs all ready.â
âI know, I know.â He placed his hands on your hips, guiding the two of you over to the table. He managed to land one last kiss against your forehead before fully parting. âItâs just really nice. I canât even remember the last time I hadââ
âA homemade meal?â You chimed in, to which he nodded as he sat down, his eyes flicking down to look at the food and sides more closely. His mouth was watering, he didnât even need any utensils to dig in, he could just use his hands.
You knew him well, and reached over to playfully nudge his shoulder. âDonât hold back on my sake,â You scooped up a spoonful of the food and brought it up towards his mouth. âSay ahâŚâ
âWish I could take a picture of this,â he grinned out, complying and opening his mouth for you to feed him.
You watched him eagerly as you set the spoon down against his plate and watched him chew, trying to hold back a smileâyour eyes brimming with elation, your one true love was eating your meal, composed of all the love and emotion you poured into it.
Leonâs eyes shut with delight when his taste buds were flooded with all the savory flavors, letting out an involuntary groan. God, had he really been missing out on this for all these years?
Thereâd be mini hearts floating above his head if this were a cartoon. âFuck, thatâs good.â
âYeah?â Your question came out a little more thrilled than you had hoped, and Leon caught onto it, you were so cute it was killing him.
âYeah,â he echoed, hand reaching to hold yours over the table and giving it a gentle squeeze. âHow long did it take you to do all this?â
While you responded, he was digging into the foodâgood thing you made seconds, because only a minute had passed and the surface of his plate was already beginning to show.
ââthe time passed by really quickly though, when you unlocked the door I had barely served the food onto the plates. You got here right on time.â
You had never seen Leon eat this damn fast, maybe because the two of you usually ate in restaurants and he had to be a little courteous in public. Or maybe, he was making up for the years he had gone without the taste of a homemade meal.
âEasy there, tiger.â You were a little nervous he might fucking choke. What a way for your boyfriend to go, âdeath by choking on his partnerâs foodâ written on his gravestone. Would that be murder on your part? Anyways.
Leonâs cheeks blossomed with a rosy hue when he was called out, taking a breather instead of another mouthful. He felt spoiled now. You spoiled him. He had no idea how he would ever return to his bland tasting mission foods or even the dishes from the high rated food areas around, they all pale in comparison to your cooking. The secret ingredient they lacked was your loveâthe one thing that made his taste buds feel like they were swimming in an ocean of flavor.
âSorry, it just really hits the spot.â He glanced over at your plate and realized that he was very much ahead, smiling bashfully to himself when he looked back up at you. âWhat can I say? Your cooking is delicious, none of it is going to go to waste.â
He looked over to the dessert you had made, it was untouched, there was no way in hell he was going to try it without you also finishing your plate of the main meal first, so the two of you could eat it at the same time. âSo, what led to all this?â His question wasnât a rude one, just out of pure awe and curiosity. What the hell had he done to deserve such a generous gesture?
âI dunno,â you shrugged out, not wanting to sound too sentimental or anything, âI just thought it would be nice.â
âCâmon, thereâs gotta be more to it than that.â
âWellâŚâ you trailed off, giving in and sighing. âYouâve trusted me with a lot of information about yourself and I love you. I thought that maybe instead of going out for dinner or ordering take out, I could give the kitchen a go and treat you to a hot and fresh homemade meal. Itâs more special that way.â
âI love you too,â those words tumbled from his lips quietly, as if telling you the most valuable piece of information he holds. He felt his heart doing somersaults, already knowing he was going to spend his life reliving this memory, holding it close to him in a special pocket within the chambers of his heart.
The rest of the hour was spent domestically, sharing the dessert and Leon insisting that he clean everything upâfrom the dishes to wiping down the counters and sweeping the floor all while he listened in on you ramble about random things, he didnât want to let you lift a single finger after all you had done for him. And of course, he took some mini breaks in between to snatch a sweet kiss from you, savoring the sweet taste of the dessert the two of you had eaten.
03â RESULTS (18+)
âCanât believe you cooked for me,â Leon murmured against your ear, breath fanning over your skin as his hands snaked up and down your sides before settling on your hips. There was a rasp to his voice, a familiar one. He was starving despite the meal he had just eaten, every nerve in his body needing to feel you in order to truly feel full. He had a sweet tooth for you, and his craving needed to be satiated.
âIâm just glad you liked it,â you responded, mind already fuzzy with the way your loverâs hands grazed over you. âI was a little worried my cooking wouldnât live up to all the 5 star restaurants weâve eaten at.â
âAre you kidding?â His question was rhetorical, his mind set on a straight beeline to your bedroom. âMaybe I should show appreciation for my little chef then, hm?â
âMm, maybe.â
Thatâs all it took for you to end up with your back against the headboard of your bed, legs spread with Leon adorning the space between them.
His moans were muffled against you, the vibrations sending blood straight to your bundle of nerves. He was so damn loud whenever he got a taste of you.
Leonâs hips were grinding against the mattress, cock leaking so much that his pants were surely already ruined. Yeah, he was so desperate to have his face stuffed against you that he didnât even fucking unzip his pants.
You, on the other hand, were getting the best head of your life. One hand curled against your bedsheets meanwhile the other one had a hold on Leonâs hair, involuntary pulling and tugging with each movement of his mouth. Your noises just egged Leon on, each moan or gasp that left your mouth was responded to by a grunt of his own.
âFuck,â he pulled back for a second to catch his breath, littering gentle kisses against your inner thigh, coating the area with the mixture of his own drool and your fluids that were on his chin.
âWanna do this every fuckinâ day.â A kiss. âCome home, get on my knees, and taste you.â Another one. âMake you come over my face again and again.â His tongue lapped across your skin. âSuffocate between your thighs.â
âLeon!â You were desperate, hips bucking up into nothing and meeting the air of the room.
His eyes flicked to yours, letting out a soft growl when he saw the dazed out expression on your face. His favorite oneâlooking like a damn deer in the headlights with the way your eyes were pleading for him, lips parted and ready to beg if need be. He wanted to hear you say it. âWhat is it, sweetheart? What do you need?â
âYou,â you replied breathlessly, tugging his head further up so he could get the damn message and continue. Leon was licking his lips already, mouth salivating at just how much your arousal was showing.
âYou have me,â he was being a tease, massaging your inner thigh with one of his hands, kneading the flesh and blowing out some air directly at the area between your thighs. The way you squirmed around made him want to palm himself right on the spot. But he held back, you were his first priority.
âWant you inside,â you could barely even utter those three words out, the words blending together and sounding slurred.
A smirk found its way onto Leonâs lips, âyeah? right here?â He teasingly rubbed your already throbbing hole with his fingers, letting out a contented sigh at the way your legs jolted in response.
âYeah, butâŚyour cock, not just your fingers.â You whined out in complaint, knowing that it would take a while to get to the main prize.
âShh, I know. Thatâs all you think about, my cock huh? Youâll get it, donât worry, jusâ gotta prep you for it.â He slid a finger in until his knuckle disappeared, his fingers were so fucking thick that even one stretched you out. He raised his body further up, trailing kisses from the bottom of your stomach all the way to the middle of your chest.
âSo reactive,â he murmured out, noticing the heave of your chest and how your stomach would tighten up with each thrust of his finger. His free hand grazed over the left side of your chest, pinching and twisting your hardened nipple.
âYouâre driving me crazy,â your voice was strained, nails scratching Leonâs scalp but he welcomed the sting of it.
âMission accomplished, then.â His voice was a rumble against your chest, tongue darting out to flick against your other nipple before sucking it gently, wet noises produced in the process. He had no shame, stimulating practically every single one of your senses and looking hot as hell doing it.
His tongue circled around your nipple for another few moments before he began trailing kisses up your collarbones and to your neck, the hiccup of your breath made him growl, burying himself into the scent of your soap and shampoo.
He slid another finger into you while igniting your body into flames, letting out a string of profanity under his breath when you took it with ease. âFuck, youâre ready for me.â Not a question, but an observation, and suddenly Leon became very aware of the way his cock was begging to be freed from the confines of his pants.
He sat back on his knees and let out a breathless laugh at the way you whined from the loss of contact, he took his belt off in a hurry and unzipped his pants. Pavlogâs dog experiment. The sound of Leonâs fly coming undone made your mouth salivate in response because you knew what was coming.
Your eyes were fixated on him, watching the way he tugged his pants and boxers downâbreath hitching at the way his cock slapped up against his stomach, already leaking and ready to stuff you full.
He placed one of his hands against the bone of your hip, his other one stroking his cock a bit as he inched towards you. âYou ready, sweetheart?â
âYeah, fuck, just put it in already.â Your impatience earned a huff of amusement from Leon, who tapped the tip of his cock against your hole a couple times before guiding it in. His head tilted back, mouth parting and letting out a groan when he filled you up completelyâyour head thrashed against the pillow, feeling him reconstruct the shape of your insides.
His cock was buried snugly in you, heavy balls pressed against the bottom of your ass, ready to shoot his load within a moment's notice. Leon was breathing inconsistently against you, kissing the corner of your mouth before making his way towards the shell of your ear. âSignal?â
âGreen,â that whiny response from you was all it took for Leonâs hips to begin moving.
âGod, youâre sucking me right in already.â His hip thrusts were slow but deep, each jolt making the headboard thump against the wall. âGive me your hand please,â The shakiness in his voice was cute, no matter how many times the two of you did this, he always asked for the same thing.
So you did just that, hand reaching for one of hisâhe immediately laced his fingers with yours, thumb rubbing over yours.
You moved your other arm under and over his shoulder to paw at his back, he hissed when your nails dug into his back scratched him up, undoubtedly leaving red marks on his pale skinâit would hurt like a bitch later but all it did was turn him on right now. âThatâs it. Mark me up, baby. Iâm yours, all yours.â
He looked down at the way his hips were rutting against yours, speeding the pace up a bit as his eyes flicked back into yours. He felt some pride that he was the one who had you falling apart, the one that made that dumb and needy expression form on your face.
âFeels so good,â you slurred out, your senses turning fuzzy, he was filling you up so good, reaching so deep that it had you seeing stars and clenching down on him. You wrapped your legs around his torso, needing to cling onto him.
âBabyââ he gasped out as soon as he felt the way you tightened up, squeezing your hand in response. âEase up for me, not gonna last long if you keep squeezing me like that.â
âI know, I knowâŚâ you babbled out, but you couldnât relax your body completely with the way your own hips snapped up to meet his.
Leon knew he was going to come soon, how could anyone hold back? You were making him addicted to you.
âCan I come inside you?â He somehow managed to grit that out, breathing rate growing in intensity.
You nodded almost immediately, wanting to feel him paint your insides white and feel the warmth of his cum, rambling almost incoherently. âMhm, want you to fill me up. Please, please, please. I need it.â
âShit, I will, donât worry. Just gotta make sure you come first.â He was always so insistent on your pleasure, pressing his lips against yours and swallowing all of the pretty noises you made. Tongues swirling sloppily against each other, he loved the way you were barely even able to kiss him back properly. God, the tiny and quiet whimpers you let out were making his cock twitch inside you. You were trembling, too overwhelmed by the feeling of the coil in your stomach, but itâs okay, because you let Leon guide the kiss, drool spilling from the corner of your mouth.
Leon was losing it, holding back on spilling inside you, he needed to make sure you came before he didâbut it was so hard with the way your ankles were crossed against his back and keeping him in place.
âLeon,â you sobbed his name out through an exhale, digging your heels into the arch of his back. âToo much, âs too muchââ He could read your body well, the way you were holding onto his body so tightly he felt stuck, the way your voice turned up a pitch higher than usual.
âThatâs it,â he lifted his hand to cradle the back of your head and hold you close, pressing kisses against the side of your head. âCome for me, sweetheart. Come all over my cock, you can do it. Let me feel you.â
You buried your head against his shoulder, breath fanning against his skin and incomprehensible mumbles of his name tipping out of your mouth, like if Leon was your God and you were chanting him a prayer.
Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, vision going white with a final call of his name, clenching around him and hissing when you felt his load spill inside you in ropes, his hips thrusting some more times in you before he stilled inside you.
He held you close as you shook against him, keeping you stable like he always did.
Silence, aside from the sounds of yours and Leons panting and the sound of the bedsheets twisting as you adjusted your position a bit, planting your feet back against the mattress and gasping softly when you felt him slowly pull out of you. Running a hand through Leonâs now damp hair, you let out a breathless chuckle. âYouâre insatiable.â
âNot denying that,â managing to catch his breath, Leon propped himself up by pressing his palm against the pillow, pressing a gentle and loving kiss against your lips, his own curling up into a smile. âStay right here. Iâll get you some water and clean you up.â
âNo way in hell, mister,â you mumbled out, wanting to cuddle up with him before getting to that. You could handle being dehydrated for five more minutes in favor of being in his arms and some pillow talk. âDonât get up yet, five more minutes.â
âAnything for my favorite chef.â
#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy smut#leon kennedy x gn!reader#leon kennedy fluff#resident evil smut#resident evil x reader
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silly thought that iâve been rotating at might write someday (although knowing meâŚ)
anyways!
someone gets mad and pranks the justice league by releasing clips of their embarrassing moments on tower (nothing that could reveal identities but still embarrassing)
itâs stuff like marvel failing at cooking
batman being sleep deprived and trying to parent different league members (namely marvel)
flash running into walls and things (a lot)
superman being afraid of a shoe and litterally leaping into the air to get away from it. (it was green)
anyways everyone find this hillarious and the members are a lil mortified. But fawcett takes it into their own hands to give marvel food (litterally he has too much food to know what to do with) to the point he ends up like going around sharing it with the homeless kids and stuff
not only that but the league decide to take it into their own hands to teach marvel. cut to videos being released of marvel learning to cook with different leaguers
superman: marv can you pass me a rolling pin? so what youâve got to do is-
marvel looking at a pot of utensils questioningâŚ. before tentatively holding out a masher: ?
superman: (blinks)
supes probably teaches him how to make apple pie and talk about how if you donât use the sugar you can use the pie crust to make savoury pies too and blah blah life hack. his parents probably mean heâs the worst offender for trying to shove food or recipes onto marvel
hal and barry prolly teach him how to make like single guy with a shitty job type grind shit thatâs like carb loaded and you can just bulk make and store ands got everything you need (cuz they always busy as hell and ainât rich or anything so donât got the time or stuff to make tons of food) (it kinda looks like struggle food but yk it gets them through)
hal: so yeah you just dump everything in and if it starts to look radioactive then you know itâs cooked-
billy âorphan street rat will eat anythingâ batson: damn bitch you live like this? /silly
diana teaches him a greek dish from her childhood that she thinks marvel would feel nostalgic for (i mean billy doesnât but he remembers eating it in past lives and the thought diana put into it really comforts him)
bruce either a) refuses to teach marvel anything as he himself cannot cook and wonât let the work know that (as all of these cooking videos have been being leaked to the internet who are EATING IT UP like itâs not just fawcett anymore everyone loves cap now becuase you can tell heâs just that authentic cuz his ass does not know these are being filmed) b) cannot cook so it ends up just being a hot mess c) they learn to make a new recipe together d) he has alfred teach him how to make something so he doesnât embarrass himself e) he teaches marvel how to make struggle food thatâs worse than hal and barryâs
marvel: arenât you funded by a billionaire?
batman: hm
marvel: batmanâŚ.damn bitch you live like this???????????
everyone just dogs on batman online for like banging bruce wayne (no one believes that the butts match :/ ) and yet still being ass at cooking, like bro is at nuclear levels of damn you live like this with his struggle food
anyways cap finds out about the cooking with cap vids and immediately gets all embarrassed that people know he sucks at cooking, fawcett lay off a little on giving him food now they know that the JL are helping him, but he regularly receives copies of old cook books and someoneâs nans favourite recipe and stuff and heâs taking home enough food from the JL to actually eat well and is therefore a lot happier and so the JL are like wow marv really likes cooking, and so at least like once a week (usually more) someone (or sometimes just he will) will cook with him and heâll take home the left overs (if people eat any otherwise he just takes it all himself (despite him frantically offering the food out to people cuz he feels bad for taking so much))
years later when the identity reveal happens theyâre like wow??? this makes so much sense???? iâm so glad weâve been inadvertently feeding the homeless child??? yippee for him not starving and being more healthy that he wouldâve been????
but yeah itâs so silly and i think billy would actually love having the chance to eat foods heâs never had before, especially where he spent so long on the streets that he kinda was forced to like ration and buy cheap food, so like heâs being treated by trying new foods and risking not liking it and stuff
but yeah i just think cap cooking and baking is neat teehee
#captain marvel#shazam#billy batson#dc comics#justice league#the justice league#batman#bruce wayne#wonder woman#diana prince#green lantern#hal jordan#the flash#flash#barry allen#superman#clark kent#fawcett city#cooking with cap#kades rambles#captain marvel dc
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STRAY KIDS REACTIONâŚ.
⌠to boyfriend!reader being angry and they find it hot (nsfw warning) (hyung line!)
ᥴꪍ CHAN⌠was extremely similar to you. youâre a lay-backed person, sure sometimes you have episodes where youâre not exactly in the mood to socialize but still, youâre charismatic and let things slide more than he does. you always say itâs because you donât have energy to entertain that stuff.
yet, seeing you angry â TRULY angry, was something heâd never think heâd get to see. so color him surprised when he hears you shout and pace. the furrow of your brows, your darkened eyes. you looked⌠good. that tone, heâd never heard it and⌠it stirred something in the pit of his stomach.
âsomething wrong?â he asks after a while of eye fucking you.
âcompany said i need to go on a damn hiatus because some shitheads are spreading a rumor. i could care less, why do they have to make it seem like iâm anxious or whatever?â
chan blinks. ârumor?â
âyeah, super stupid. all i did was call them to say i wasnât happy with how our last show ended. dude, they literally couldnât get my headset to work, i had to wing the timing and stuff. their lack of work effort pisses me off.â you groan.
âi know butâŚâ chan pauses when you glare at him. he swallows, âhey, i mean a hiatus is good. you get to rest.â
âi donât want to rest-â
âi get to have you all to myself without worrying about you missing out on your schedule.â
âif youâre bored, play with me. if youâre angry, take it out on me. youâll have all the time to do so.â he grins.
you blink, âi- what?â and you canât even be angry anymore⌠just frustrated. but chan will also take that.
ᥴꪍ MINHO⌠had the habit of annoying you and frustrating you sometimes, but never actually making you angry. as idolâs there is a lot of things that can drive you mad. minho for example hates wardrobe malfunctions. fans went crazy over some clips of him angry and upset over a few outfits and so have you.
you never really cared for much, at the end of the day you get a nice paycheck and youâre good to go. still, that doesnât mean you donât care about your job. so when he sees that your mic isnât working and youâre more than upset at the lack of resolve from the sound techsâŚ. he simply cannot look away.
even when you get off the stage, youâre glaring and absolutely not in the mood. everything you do is with angerâ ripping off your headset, wiping off your sweat, loosening your outfit. goodness, you look delectable.
âyou mad?â he asks teasingly, of course he has to tease.
âiâm not in the mood minho.â
oh! that anger had a pretty tone. âfuck,â he breathes out, pressing himself closer to you, âyou gonna take it out on me?â and your eyes bored into him.
he definitely didnât regret it later.
ᥴꪍ CHANGBINâŚ. didnât know you could get angry. heâs only seen you be all soft and gushy. heâs seen you be defensive and stern but never angry. heâs literally making his way to the studio when he hears your voice boom outside the door. worried, he walks in and sees how your standing and yelling at the other producer.
âwhatâs-?â
â-how long itâs taken us to keep these files and you forget to save them?!â
the producer fidgets, âdoesnât change have a copy? he always has a copy-â
âTHAT DOESNâT MEAN THE COPY IS THE SAME AS WHAT WE WERE ADDING TO IT YESTERDAY! you canât recreate something that was authentic!â you pace, pulling at your hair, âshit man, i worked so hard on that!â
ây/n calm down,â he tries, âwhat file is it-?â
âchangbin, i literally cannot right now.â and you leave.
in the end the file wasnât deleted, just misplaced in the wrong folder to which it was saved. still, the lack of clarity pissed you off. you didnât want to work that day and changbin was trying so hard to coax you. yet, seeing you mad was so good for some reason. changbin knew he could make you feel better (totally not feeling you with his hands? and you being angry was making things fun.
ᥴꪍ HYUNJINâŚ. doesnât remember a time where youâve been angry. heâs also never even wanted to. he doesnât like noise and he remembers how you always say you blow up when angry. hence, when he hears you slam your fist on the desk, he jumps. youâre dramatic like him, so he tried not to think much of it exceptâŚ
âare you kidding me?â he hear you say with an ominous tone. low and sultry, makes him pause. âso youâre saying that youâre wasting my damn time.â
he peeks over at, seeing you frown and glare at the wall while on the phone. he doesnât think heâs ever seen that look on you⌠his mind starts to wanderâŚ. would that expression look at him? youâre talking, angry, clearly. and itâs soâŚ
âwhy are you angry?â he asks when you hang up with an insult and throw your phone of the desk.
âcus apparently i have to do everything myself. why the hell would you-â and he zones out, watching your angrily rant.
you plop down on the chair, angry. he stands and walks over to you, desire in his gut. âbaby donât be madâŚâ âwell i wouldnât if they did what i was paying them to do.â â-letâs get your mind off that, yeah?â
and boy did he.
#kpop x male reader#x male reader#kpop x reader#kpop x top male reader#sub!idol#x male top reader#sub!kpop#kpop oneshots#stray kids x you#skz x gn reader#skz x male reader#skz x you#sub!stray kids#sub!skz#dom!reader#kpop reactions#stray kids headcanons#stray kids reactions#skz reactions#skz headcanons#kpop drabbles
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What do you think about Nolan? đł
i think!!!!!
afab! reader; yandere nolan would baby trap you :)
cw; stealthing, baby trapping, breeding kink, yandere!nolan
if you menstruate, he'd innocently ask when your next period is. just to be prepared ofc! <3 and he is! always bringing you pads and treats you might be craving. going as far as to fly to other countries to get goodies in the most authentic way possible! lays in bed with you and cuddles his warm body against yours when you're having cramps or when you're just feeling sluggish and beat!
but . . unbeknownst to you: now he knows when you ovulate <3
and despite you climbing him like a tree, you always make sure to have protection. it's too risky without it. but that's nothing nolan can't work with <3 you act as if you're in heat: presenting yourself to him with your back arched and your hands on your pretty little cunt, spreading yourself open . . as if you needed to entice him anymore. when he places his hands on your feverish skin and adjusts you, the condom has already been slipped off of his cock and you're way too horny to notice teehee <3
gn!reader or amab!reader:
cw; power imbalance, inappropriate relationships, manipulation, blackmail, non-con, cheating (srry debbie ily), faux-incest, daddy kink
yandere!nolan would pretend to be your mentor :) you're a young, aspiring hero and you can't believe omni-man believes in you enough to take you under his wing!! the respect you have for him is immense and you like that he doesn't hold back. often, you're left with so many bruises on your body from training you can't tell which are accidental - from scuffs or bad landings - or which are from the amount of times he's pummeled you.
you're not cowed by his violence. you know he means well. so you start to use your injuries a point of reference for how far you've come. someday, you tell yourself, you'll remember this day and know these were all worth it. so you make it a habit to stare at the bruises in the mirror: whenever you catch sight of them in the showers / locker room of the guardians of the globe training facility.
luckily for nolan, you're not as observant as you should be. but he can fix that. he'll make sure you're as aware of your surroundings as he is when he's done with you.
because any other hero, any good hero, would be able to tell when they're not alone. a good hero would be able to spot nolan peeking around the corner as you stare at your battered body, his cock in hand :)
nolan's a patient man.
he can wait until he's earned your trust enough to confide in him. and predictably, you do. the two of you have a conversation in which you spill the reason why you want to become a hero in the first place. your parents weren't good people. a tale as old as time. in and out of jail for as long as you remember and you'd never had a good role model in your life until nolan.
and with those beautiful, innocent eyes, you look at him and confess he's like a dad to you.
nolan doesn't think he'll ever tire coming to the memory.
and he'll never let you live it down. no, no, no. how could he?
he hyperfixates on the thought and begins to overstep. acting less like a mentor and more like a controlling father. innocent things at first. no, you can't go out with your friends. we have training, remember?
and no, you don't remember. you specifically told him you wouldn't be free. but he won't hear it. says it's an emergency. that being a good hero sometimes means sacrificing personal time.
then, when you begin to show romantic interest in someone, love is a distraction. you're young. don't waste your time.
and when you've had enough of his intrusive behavior, behavior you have no choice but to call him out on. . nervously, but you do it nonetheless, he sends you a simple message that makes you crawl back to him.
do you want this or not?
you do.
more than anything.
so you agree to go to his house and talk. you sit with him and accept the beer he gives you. and at first, he's apologetic. but the more he drinks, the more the facade slips. he scoots closer towards you on the couch, lays his hand on your thigh, and tells you that he just wants to keep you safe. wants to make sure you're the best of the best but you have to trust him. and all you do is freeze and stare, only coming to your senses when he begins to lean in. with a racing heart, you try to turn away from the smell of beer on his breath, pushing at his chest, saying it's late. you should go. you should really go. but all nolan does is grab you by the wrists and demand you look at him.
he's like a dad to you, remember? it's what you said. you're supposed to listen to him. you're supposed to obey and do what he says. nolan knows what's best for you, why can't you see that? and if you want him to keep guiding you, protecting you, if you don't want him to abandon you like your good for nothing parents did, you'll do this for him.
so you get on your knees and watch as he unbuckles his belt in a hurry. you allow him to grab you by the nape of the neck and force your face down to swallow his cock. your nose nuzzles against his pubic bone: forced against neatly trimmed, greying pubes as you gag whenever his hips fervently move.
but don't worry, as your mentor, he'll make sure you learn how to swallow a cock properly <3
#invincible#nolan grayson#nolan grayson x reader#omni man#omni man x reader#dilf fuckers RISE!#yandere nolan grayson#yandere nolan grayson x reader#invincible x reader
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hey!! if requests are open can u write a luke x jealous!reader?
The ending is a rushed pile of dogshit cuz I didnât know what to do. đŚŚ
âLuke?â
âYeah babe.â
âAre you happy with me, like genuinely happy?â
Luke looked at you confused. âIâm the happiest Iâve ever been in my entire life.â He then reached to grasp one of your hands in his, intertwining your fingers and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. âWhatâs going on inside that pretty little head of yours.â He utters softly, eyes shining with worry and concern.
You bit the inside of your cheek, all of a sudden feeling a little stupid in what you were feeling since this morning and shrugged your shoulders sheepishly. âItâs nothing, really. Iâm just getting inside my own head.â You attempted to play it off in hopes that it will all be forgotten, but you also knew that Luke would want to get to the bottom of what was causing you to be anything other then happy and solve it together.
âItâs not nothing if itâs you sweetheart.â Luke said as he then used his free hand to lift your chin so that you would look at him instead of your shoes. âTalk to me, please donât shut me out. I know somethings wrong and I want help, so let me help you.â He adds and you finally felt yourself crack. âI saw how some of the girls kept looking at you during training and kept hanging off of you the entire day and how you kept playing up to them.â You eventually told him, not wanting to keep anything secret from him anymore. âSo I ended up getting a little jealous that I might not be making you happy anymoreâŚnot to mention how busy weâve both been with camp activities latelyâŚâ you finished, staring deep into his dark, captivating eyes that seemed to see and know you at your core.
âHey, thereâs no shame in what youâre feeling, and despite what weâre raised as, weâre still fundamentally human in every other aspect. Okay.â Luke said as he tried to squeeze every ounce of his assurance into your interlocked hands, hopeful that it would bring you at least some peace of mind. âI hate how busy weâve become, more than anything and I just wish we could go back to the days where we would hideaway together by our secret spot at the lake. For being with you during those moments when unrest would take over camp was always my antidote, my soothing balm for my overworked mind in trying to keep camp sane.â Luke then rested his forehead against your own so that he was the only thing you could see and vice versa.
âYou mean that?â You asked and Luke let out a chuckle.
âMean it? Sweetheart, I live by it.â Luke said, gingerly pressing a kiss to your brow as though to ease the tension within it, leaving you to melt into him a little bit. âSo I donât want you to ever think that youâre not enough. Especially not when youâre the sole thing I think about from the moment I wake up -wishing you were cuddled up in my arms- to the moment I drift off to sleep. I cant get enough of you!â Any ounce of insecurity you mightâve had beforehand had been discarded afterwards upon hearing his sweet words, so much so that you couldnât seem to stop smiling nor stop the warm feeling within your chest whenever Luke said anything remotely endearing; it was your biggest weakness and he knew just how to exploit it for his one benefit.
âThereâs that gorgeous smile I love.â He coos, stealing a kiss from your lips to emphasise his point, leaving your smile to widen against his lips; humming in content as any and all notions of jealously were completely forgotten alongside the campers those feelings were aimed towards.
âJust remember that itâs your arms I want to be held by and that itâs your smile that I want to be the reason for because getting to see you smile, laugh, or just being your authentic self is my guiding light in this life and Iâd be stupid to ever give that up. Youâre it for me, for if I canât have your kind of love, then I donât want to ever experience love at all.â Luke spoke against your lips, keenly kissing them whenever he felt as though you needed that extra bit of proof of his love and devotion.
You didnât because Luke never failed to reaffirm his adoration for you in the little things he did for you, but you couldnât help but allow yourself to drown in his vast displays of affection, for your love for Luke was considered your Achilles heel but youâd happily let that continue to be the case for the rest of your days.
#pjo x reader#pjo imagines#pjo imagine#pjo fanfic#pjo tv show#pjo series#percy jackson and the olympians#luke castellan x you#luke castellan x reader#luke castellan fluff#luke castellan imagine#luke castellan imagines#luke castellan fanfic
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PART ONE
â NAVIGATION || MASTERLIST
This chapter is part of a two-part fic entitled 'Chivalry is Dead.' Click the link to view the series masterlist!
PAIRING: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader WORDS: 5.8k SUMMARY: Youâre smitten with the archer you meet at the quarry who doesnât believe in romance, vowing to make him yours, but it eventually becomes frustrating when heâs never clear with what he wants. WARNINGS: fluff. angst with comfort, then angst with no comfort. reader is very flirty with daryl. SETTING: the quarry, the farm, and the prison
I. A CHANGE OF SCENERY - THE QUARRY
Prim and proper, clean-shaven, wears an authentic watch, bothers to use cufflinks, gets a neat haircut often, works in corporateâŚ
You liked your men worthy of an introduction to your family. The kind of guy who you could, with no shame, flaunt to your family. A guy who would do well in the role of a sweet, loving husband and father in the comfort of the suburban home you built together.
Shame that theyâre pretty hard to come by lately, not to mention that it doesnât even matter anymoreâ
ââŚYâknow what I mean?â you rambled to the archer who had a permanent scowl itched on his face. Unbeknownst to you thanks to your drunken stupor, heâd been listening to you going off about your type.
He watched as you held an almost empty bottle of alcohol pressed to your chest, your eyes manning the space around you as if you were talking to a crowd of people. Much to your luck, the rest of the people had eventually retreated to their own tents, leaving you to the company of this â sorta cute â redneck.
âLike, where do you think I could even get them these days?â you laughed, your eyes going back to him. âBut then, like, yâknow, it doesnât even matter âcoz I got my family killed! And I didnât even do anything, I just ran like a fucking coward.â
Daryl decided an hour and a half ago that heâd up and go off to somewhere else, maybe to hunt. But he couldnât bring himself to leave in concern for the drunk woman beside him whoâd sooner or later become another hunterâs prey. Maybe even the undeadâs.
Pain in âma ass, heâd thought to himself while watching you with a scowl as he sank back down to the log in front of the campfire.Â
âI could use a bar of chocolate, but⌠This is the closest thing.â You made to gulp down more of the alcohol, but he reached out to snag it away from your hands. You yelled at the archer. âWhat are youâ!â
ââYer a fuckinâ idiot,â he spat, setting the bottle aside. Daryl met your bewildered gaze, and he was certain you wouldnât even remember it the next day. âAinât no reason blaminâ yourself for somethinâ ya couldnât prevent. And âyer worried about all the wrong things, too! Iâs out there huntinâ and I couldnât care less âbout what kindâa girl Iâd snag, I actually worried âbout somethinâ that matters! Like the fuck the campâs gonna eat, which one of us would those stinking geeks get next andâ!â
Daryl zipped his mouth shut for a good moment, realizing heâd said too much. Oh, fuck. He was thinking of ways to save this. He didnât have an inkling on how to comfort a girl, much less a drunk and crying one. Your eyes turned glassy, your face contorting toâŚ
âPfft!â you laughed, further confusing the archer before you. He watched as you leaned backward, laughing. It was sort of a relief to watch and to hear; some great change of scenery to what heâd grown accustomed to seeing on the daily. âYâknow theâ â you hiccuped â âfunny thing about the guys I used to date? They ended up screwinâ some other pretty girl looking for the same guy as me. See, I cracked the code!â
You blinked a couple of times. Daryl remained silent. You couldnât help but giggle as you leaned closer to the archer, and he couldnât help but feel a surge of warmth in his chest as you came closer, your nose closing in on a couple of inches away from his.Â
A buzzing sensation crawled from your chest to your cheeks, warming your face up as you felt something begging to be unleashed from within youâa confession, perhaps?
He got a good whiff of the alcohol from your dry lips as you opened your mouth to speak. âI shouldâve been looking for someone like you!â
Daryl felt heat rush to his cheeks. He wondered if that was a good thing or a bad thing: Good because you considered him worthy of being chosen or bad because that would mean he was the opposite of everything you thought was ideal in a partner?
Why did it matter to him?
You leaned closer. âBetter yet, I think that youâreââ
The warmth he could feel inside of his chest was now outside too, pouring on the surface of his shirt with alcohol and bile mixing in the humid air of the night.
âFucking hell!â he cursed in a whisper as your body slumped forward, passing out asleep on his lap. Daryl would have done the same as you if somebody told him that that night was the beginning of an epic love story.
︾âżď¸ľâżď¸ľâżď¸ľ
The following days went by like a blur, with Darylâs suspicion that you recalled everything dissolving into the relief that maybe you really had no idea what happened that night. You acted normal the day after that brilliant occasion, save for groggy eyes that lasted the entire day as well as a visible temper.Â
You paid him no mind the entire time, but he assumed you were just embarrassed for confrontation. However, the entire week passed and you made no comment whatsoever about what transpired.Â
His eyes always lingered on you a second longer than heâd intend to in an attempt to get a glimpse of embarrassment. Heâd been meaning to tease you about it as revenge, but⌠Looks like youâve forgotten. He probably should, too.
This very relief went away when you volunteered to come along with him to hunt for food. âIâm coming along, you should teach me how to use your crossbow,â you said, dagger in hand.
He wanted to argue, but worried heâd say something that would trigger your memory, he only nudged his nose up as a nod.Â
The entire walk in the woods would have been a painful silence if not for the rustling of leaves in the trees and the subtle whistle of the wind.
You watched the broad shouldered archer before you made his way with calculated steps, even while you couldn't yet pinpoint a target. âWell, arenât you stealthy?âÂ
Daryl spared a glare your way. âWhyâd ya go huntinâ anyway? And with a blunt knife at thatâare ya and idiot or somethinâ?â
ââCause I was thinking maybe you should teach me your weapon of choice.â You looked at him as if he said something mad. âDidnât I just say that, like, two minutes ago?â
He noticed that you said âshouldâ instead of âcould.â
âLet me get this straight,â the archer started, halting, and you knew a scowl would greet you before he even faced you. âYa went into the woods to hunt, but ya donât even have a clue how?â
âOh, honey, I didnât say I needed you to teach me how to hunt. Didnât even say I was gonna hunt.â You stepped closer to him. You noticed he took a subtle step back, and you couldnât help but grin. Could it be that this rugged gentleman is nervous? âI said I wanted you to teach me how to use your crossbow.â
He cleared his throat, pulling back his armor of a scowl matched with an anger that was certainly uncalled for. âOh, yeah? Itâs fuckinâ stupid of ya to think I go around grantinâ everybodyâs requests! And I ainât gonna just stand here and take this, hunt by yourself.â
Daryl turned around, a casual swagger to his walk. You had to smirk at his back, knowing what heâd do next once you hit him with your first ammunition: intel. âI know something you stood for and took like a champ.â
The archer froze.Â
âThanks, by the way. And sorry you had to deal with that!â you exclaimed. âSee, between the two of us, Iâm not the stupid one. You couldâve used that against me, but you didnât. And that just made me more interested in youâlike, wow! Youâre a lot more of a gentleman than you think you are.â
Oh, Daryl was pissed. Why were you the one making fun of him when itâs you who shouldâve been abashed by what happened? âYou remembered all along and ya didnât say sorry?â
âI just did,â you said blankly.
Daryl faced you, shaking his head in a stubborn way. âNah, âya didnât.â
âYeah, I did. I said âsorry you had to deal with that.ââ
He scoffed. âDoesnât count.â
âDoes too!â you spat back, this time grinning at the archer. You couldnât help but laugh at his growing frown. âCome on, if you could take that with dignity, surely a crossbow lesson with Coach Daryl canât be that bad.â
âWhy do ya even want one? Thought ya said it wasnât practical, righâ?â he asked, recalling all the times you called his weapon all kinds of things when you were drunk: âItâs way too heavy and takes up arm space! Canât fit it in a pocket! It looks like a toy!â
You laughed out loud from his poor attempts at imitating you. Daryl felt the slightest tinge of embarrassment. He wanted to cup his own cheeks to make sure he wasnât imagining the heat in there, worried heâd gone red. And if he did, he hoped youâd mistake it for the effect of the Georgia sun.
âYeah, I did say that,â you said as-a-matter-of-factly.
Daryl raised a brow. âSo why want it?â
You stepped forward again, taunting him. âBecause I have a thing for the guy giving the lessons.â
The warmth that paid him a visit that one fateful night made its presence clearer, this time from the burrows of his chest. What the fuck was wrong with him?Â
âI ainât interested,â he said. Daryl was all things, but not a liar. This time, though, he might just be one.
Although he was looking down at you, he felt as if he was the one being challenged from above. He gulped.Â
This time, you raised a brow at him. âOh, youâre not into girls?â
âIââ
âIâm kidding. Yâknow I thought the same, maybe you werenât interested in me.â
Daryl shrugged, composing himself in an attempt to restore the dynamic he had in his head where he could be in a position where he could intimidate you. He couldnât. âYeah, âcause I ainât.â
You continued to ramble on. âI was thinking, hey, maybe this guy doesnât have any feelings for me!â
He put his hands on his hips, challenging you. But you werenât quick to back down from a fight. ââCause I donât.â
âRight,â you mused. âDidnât you bring me a warm cup of tea the day after to help with my hangover?â
He watched you with question, but he worried youâd see the static coming from his chest and spreading to his arms. âYeah, that woman Carol asked me to.â
âHuh,â you scoffed with a smile, ready for the look on his face to come and indicate your victory. âFunny. I was ready to ignore what happened, think of your kindness as nothing but kindness. But see, I came by sweet Carolâs tent to thank her but imagine my surprise when she said âWhat teaâ?â
He had no answer to that. Usually, Daryl was a man who could think on his feet. Heck, you expected him to have some brilliant excuse. He was a hunter, after all. It was natural of him to think quickly.
You licked your lips, staring at his with that smirk of yours he wanted so badly to wipe off. âIâm gonna court you, Daryl Dixon. And youâre gonna say yes.â
The archer grunted, swinging his beloved weapon across his shoulder, shaking his head in denial. âI ainât ever sayinâ yes to anything.â
âSure, not today, not tomorrow, but a little push and I know I can get to you.â
Daryl spit somewhere on the dead soil surrounding you as he walked off to the trees. âNah, never.â
As he disappeared into the forest, you couldnât help but grin, feeling confident. You saw that moment of weakness. Somehow, some part of you knew it would happen. âNever say never, Daryl Dixon!â
You saw his middle finger raised just before he disappeared further, and you couldnât help but laugh. Game on, archer.
It went on like that for a while. Daryl said he hated it, that âallat romance crapâs worth nothin.â Still, those little slip-ups in his expressions and gait let you know that there was an opening there somewhere.Â
He did start teaching you how to use his crossbow, and the first time you were able to shoot a deer with it, you felt as if his silence was born from both his shock and the fact that he was possibly impressed.Â
âI can feel your boner from here, Dixon,â you smirked as you carried his crossbow with you as you began to walk over to your successful capture.
âShuddup,â he said in response. He wouldnât admit it, but he was definitely thrown off by how he was feeling watching you walking with his weapon.Â
âHelp me with this,â you said, grabbing the animal by its hind legs. âCarry the deer so the gang could see how kickass I look with your crossbow. No wonder you like it, it makes me feel sexy.â
When you faced the archer, you raised a brow. Heâd been staring and out of focus longer than he intended to be, not that he did. You smirk at this.
âYouâre starting to like me,â you said, pointing at him with an accusatory finger. âYou were staring.â
âNuh uh,â he said, composing himself as he hurried to haul the animal over his shoulder.Â
âIs it the crossbow? âCause I get it. I look at you with it and I think, âOh, now thatâs a man.ââ You adjust the crossbow on your shoulder as Daryl watches you with confusion and⌠Maybe admiration? âIâm gonna do an experiment. This is hot.â
You move the crossbow to your hands, extending it outwards, posing for him with a slouch. âNot hot.â
You kept going on; hot with the crossbow, not hot for the crossbow. Until Daryl stopped you.
âYer wastinâ time, yours and mine, when yer hot either way.â Daryl froze. So did you. His eyes widened, his cheeks redder than ever. âNot hot. Either way. Hey, Iâ!â
âYou think Iâm hot! You said Iâ!â you exclaim. Daryl clasped his clean hand over your mouth, pushing you against the tree.Â
âTheyâre gonna hear ya.â
No walker came by. You could hear nothing but Darylâs breath and yours, at least until he dropped his hand.
On the walk back to camp, you were grinning the entire way. Daryl remained silent, afraid heâd say something that you could use against him.
âThat was a Freudian slip,â you said with a snort.Â
Daryl wanted to argue, but knowing he couldnât trust himself with talking, he kept his words short. âA what?â
âYou subconsciously said something you actually meant. I get it, really.â You make a show of holding his crossbow. âI like you, you like me. But then you feel embarrassed that Iâm going after you before you could go after me because you feel weird about a woman pursuing you even though you clearly really have the hots for her.â
He fought to keep his face stoic. âNah, I donât.â
âYeah, you do.â
âAlrigh,â Daryl said just to end the conversation.
âAlright as in yes you do?â you tease the archer.Â
Daryl smirked, determined to get you to admit defeat on your mission to pursue him. âAlrighâ as in I donât care.â
But you werenât a quitter. Heâd shown a glimpse of how he felt, and you were determined to get it out of him. By the time you reached camp, you handed his crossbow over to him with a glimmer in your eyes.
âYou seemed to enjoy having your hands on me just a couple of minutes ago.â You flip him off as you walk away to go help out with the rest of the people in the camp. âSee ya, Dixon.â
Though he wouldnât show it, Daryl would rather sleep in the woods alone, weaponless than admit that he did.Â
It wasnât just that. He didnât hate the things you were doing to him and for him. He hated that he wished he thought of pursuing you sooner so heâd have the upper hand. . .
Nah, nah, I donât. He shook his head to himself.
But it became harder to deny whenever you went out of your way to do something for him, especially when he lost his brother. When he mourned Merle, you were there. And you werenât a menace like he thought you would be.
You were just. . .there. Giving him the bigger half of whatever food you had, lingering just ever so near, and more. Daryl was surprised to realize that he enjoyed your company.Â
He knew he was fucked. Especially when he realized he missed you flirting with him, but heâd never tell you that.
II. NICE - GREENE FARM
Looking for a missing child was way easier when there were no corpses roaming the land of the living, back when there was no need to distinguish whatâs alive and whatâs not. You were hoping that Sophia would turn up as soon as possible.Â
You felt a twinge of guilt realizing that your hope for the child being found was just Darylâs return, but it wasnât like that at all. It wasnât that you had this silly crush on the archer. Yes, you did, but you needed the right time to talk to him about what happened at the CDC.
Youâd never felt so mortified. For the longest time, youâve been saying that you wanted to accept death in exchange for peace. You always thought that when the time comes, youâd be ready. It was a fucked up way to realize that you werenât, and you found yourself out of breath, unable to chase your breathing.
Daryl was hysterical, but upon seeing you, he immediately rushed in front of you, cupping your face with his rough hands.Â
âWeâre gettinâ outta here alive,â heâd told you as your chest heaved from realizing you were nearing your doom. He then held you against his chest, his calloused fingers caressing your hair with the most gentle care, as if holding you wrong would cause you to break. You werenât able to process the rest, but you remembered him at first assisting you in walking until he eventually carried you in his arms out of the facility right before it deteriorated.
You never got to speak to him since then except for when you encountered the herd on the road. He just asked if you were okay, and that was it.Â
Heâd been preoccupied looking for Sophia ever since. You didnât want to assume that heâd only been looking for her just because that would make you the biggest insensitive asshole in the world.Â
Just then, a young blonde girl came out of the house, a tray in hand.Â
âHi,â she said. You could tell right from how she held herself that she was of good nature. âIâm Beth. I brought you some tea and some oatmeal.â
A small smile came on your face, and you couldnât help but let it grow brighter when you watched the girl realize why.Â
âOh, I gave this to you on my ownânevermind,â she sighed. âHe told me not to tell you âcause he said you wereââ
âA pain in his ass?â you teased with a grin. âVerbatim?â
Beth considered what she was going to say, but she eventually smiled as well as she set it on the small stool table beside the rocking chair you were sitting on while you stared in the distance. âWell, yes.â
You laughed together with the girl. It was easy to talk to her, you felt light.Â
âBut he also told me to watch after you.â
You waved your hand, dismissing Darylâs order to the girl. âOh, you donât have to do that. In fact, we should share this oatmeal. It looks good!â
Beth gave you the warmest smile anyoneâs ever given you for the past week. âNo, Iâm okay. He specifically told me to make sure you eat enough. Said heâd bring in something later for you later.â
This time, heat rushed to your cheeks. You stuffed it down. âIâm pretty sure the meatâs for all of us, just including me.â
âI donât know,â Beth said, leaning against the railing of the houseâs front porch. The air certainly felt different in the farm compared to every other place youâve been to. The sun was setting, and the view of the sky could make anyone oblivious to the newfound horrors of the world. âHe was talking about how you needed it, but my dad said you werenât in need of any medicine. You just needed to eat somethin. And if you needed something for your headache, we have it.â
âI see,â you said, your shoulders sinking. âHeâs probably just avoiding me.â
Beth faced you, confused. âWhy would he do that?â
âWell, thatâs Daryl.â You shrugged, thinking back to what heâd done for you at the CDC. You could almost feel his arms carrying you again, and you couldnât help but feel the heat in your cheeks return. You instinctively look down.Â
Beth noticed your brow furrowing just before you reached out to feel your temple. âDo you need anything?â
âSorry you have to take care of me,â you say with an apologetic smile. âJust whatever you have for headaches and a decent sleep.â
︾âżď¸ľâżď¸ľâżď¸ľ
You awoke around the middle of the night to the door to your room shutting closed. At first, you thought that someone came in only to find that you were completely alone. You then heard the faint sound of footsteps walking down the stairs just outside.Â
Stirring awake, you sit up straight to rub your eyes. Outside, the sky was dark. You mustâve slept for around eight hours, because you could no longer feel sleep returning easily. The urge was there, but you knew sinking back into a deep sleep would be for nothing.Â
You yawn and scratch at your neck. On the nightstand to your right, youâre relieved to find a glass of water. But what stole your attention was what sat right next to it.
You were surprised to find three packs of chocolates: KitKat Bars, Kisses, and Hersheyâs. There were also some packs of M&Ms.
Thinking back to the footsteps rushing down the stairs just a minute ago, you hurriedly carried all of the chocolates with you and ran down the stairs as lightly as you could so as to not wake anyone.Â
You swung the screen door open, trudging down the stairs of the porch. You reach Daryl just before he enters the tent. You chuck the pack of KitKats to his head, to which he yelped. âOw!â
âDo you like me?â you ask directly.
The archer faces you, picking up the pack of KitKats you threw at him. âWhatâd ya do that for?â
âDo you like me?â you ask, firmer this time.
Thereâs that pause. That two-second, lingering, suffocating pause. âI donât.â
But that pause meant maybe. Both of you knew it, he just didnât want to admit it, like he always does. Annoyed, you throw the rest of the chocolates to his feet. âThen you shouldnât be doing things that make it seem like you do!â
You donât know if it was the painkillers or just your interrupted sleep, but you definitely felt your temper controlling you.Â
âI was beinâ nice.â
âNice is opening the door for someone. Nice is handing the water pitcher at the dinner table. Nice is not asking someone to take care of me while youâre away, nice is not you bringing me chocolates like itâs Valentineâs to cheer me up when you know damn well how I feel about you. Nice is not making me feel like you feel the same and then take it back then just act like you do feel the same again!â
Daryl stood there, taking it all.
You rubbed at your eyes, your shoulders slumping. You feel a lump in your throat and your eyes begin to water. You stare at him for three seconds before turning around to return inside when he grabs you by the wrist to pull you into that same embrace heâd wrapped you into that day at the CDC.Â
He was warm. God, he was warm. You hated that your body craved the press of his.Â
He held you until you stopped crying. Until, for some reason, you were holed up in his tent, eating the chocolates he got for you while the two of you talked about everything and nothing.Â
You realized how easy it was to speak to Daryl, too. How it came naturally, and how you felt comfortable being yourself around him outside of the flirting. Maybe it really was better to remain friends.
You were just being nice to each other. But if Daryl really did feel an ounce of what you felt, then that wouldnât be very nice of him.
For a while, you accepted that. You stopped pursuing him altogether and maintained a respectable distance with him. He then always seemed to be everywhere you went, but you told yourself you were in over your head thinking heâd ever even feel the same way.
III. RETURN - PRISON
Life was good. Save for the nightmare that was facing the Governor, of course. The last time you felt a grudge against him was when he left with his brother, but you stopped yourself from feeling anything. After all, that was his brother and you wereâŚ
A friend. Heâd apologized leaving by bringing you more chocolates from his run. Things have been good lately. You loved being friends with Daryl.
Sure, youâd find yourself in feats of attraction towards the guy ever so often, like the time he carried baby Judith. . .
That was something.
It didnât help that he was looking at you while he was carrying her, even playing with her and showing her to you. You hated that even though you say you feel nothing anymore, sometimes everything resurfaces.
If only you knew what was going through his mind when he passed baby Judith to you.Â
Those were little tests that failed to weaken your belief that you were better off as friends. You survived them. Yep, you were fine being friends. It was just a silly crush anyway.
â[Y/N],â Daryl called from outside your cell. â[Y/N], weâre heading out to get some meds, âya need anythinâ? Chocolates again, maybe?â
You were covered in two blankets head neck to toe, your back to the cell door. You said nothing, much less did anything to indicate you heard him. Daryl stepped inside, feeling bad that heâd crossed over but he somehow felt like he had to.
â[Y/N]?â
By the second Daryl laid his hands on your shoulder to tap you, he knew he had to turn you over. You were shivering in your half-sleep, and yet when Daryl pressed the back of his palm against you, you were burning up.
âJesus, youâreâ!â
âI think I caught it,â you said. You try to sit up, and Daryl helps you up. You turn the other way to cough. âI was gonna bring myself to the quarantine cell block, but I couldnât stand up.â
âHere, I got âya,â he said, helping you up. âYou sure âya donât wanna stay here in your cell instead?â
You shook your head. âI could turn and infect everyone. Iââ
âHey.â He cupped your cheek with his hand, gently tapping it to keep you in check. âYouâre not gonna turn, Iâm not gonna let that happen to âya. Iâm goinâ out and gettinâ âya the meds, then yer gonna be fine.â
âWell, thatâs awfully nice of you,â you said drunkenly. On the way to the isolated block, you feel yourself losing your step⌠Losing your consciousnessâŚ
â[Y/N]? [Y/N]!â
And it all went dark.
The days that followed promised a new routine. After the supply run, you were the first stop Daryl visited. He talked to you, took care of you. Heâd tell you stories about him and his brother Merle. Youâd tell him about the guys you dated and every single terrible date experience youâve had.
âYeah, you said you hated dating âem. So you wanted to date guys like me instead, yâknow, the kind youâd be embarrassed to introduce to your ma and pa.â
You laughed. âOh, come on. I didnât mean it like that.â
Friends, friends, friends. Thatâs how it is, how it shouldâve been right from the start. Itâs so easy to laugh with Daryl, so easy to be with him.
That was until you got better. You were out, making the rounds.
âYa shouldnât be here,â heâd told you when he caught you walking the perimeter with a revolver. âAt least not yet. Iâll take over from here.â
âNah, somehow I feel way sicker when Iâm not doing anything.â
He shrugged. âYou could read a book.â
âOh, yeah?â you chuckled.
âOh, yeah.â
Silence again. It was just the two of you in the dead of night, and you wondered if you only imagined the flurry of emotions back then when you were separated when you got sick.
You wanted to stay there in that moment forever, just standing in the dark with Daryl. But you felt a sort of suffocating sensation the moment you thought of him fondly. You were a bit sleepy anyway.
âActually, maybe I should go.â Yawning, you stuff the revolver back to your holster. âGood night, Daryl.â
You only got to walk past him a couple of steps before he spoke.
â[Y/N]?â he called out to you just before you were about to return to your quarters. You felt sleep about to take you in deeply, but you fought it off, telling yourself itâll be quick.
You face the archer, raising an interrogative brow in response.Â
For some strange, mundane reason, you found him extra lovely tonight. You were forced to discover why as he leaned forward, pressing his lips into yours in the most gentle way he could. You pull away.
Thereâs a question in your eyes, and so he only kisses you again in response. You kiss him back, this time with desperation. You donât know where to put your hands, overwhelmed by this gust of exhilaration washing over you as his hands caress the nape of your neck.Â
He pulls away this time.
You couldnât believe it. So many thoughts ran into your head. Pursuing Daryl used to be something you were just looking forward to as a challenge, maybe even just for the sole purpose of enjoying a fling knowing the end is near.
But you got to know him. He got to know you, and you let him. You felt heat rush to your cheeks, bringing them high enough for the most genuine grin to show in your face. âDoes this meanâ?â
âNah.â He takes a step backward, and your grin instantly dissolves into a frown at the sight of him shaking his head. âNo, IâŚâ
What?
You shake your head in disbelief.Â
What the fuck?
Your smile faltered further. The butterflies in your stomach you thought you felt suddenly felt as if you were about to throw it up again.
âNo?â you utter in disbelief, the taste of his lips still stuck somewhere in your mouth. You step backward as well, staring into space as you touched the lips of yours heâd just kissed with so much passion, opposite to the coldness heâd brought upon you with that one word. The rush from the kiss was being drowned by an otherworldly anger threatening to be unleashed. âWhat theâNo?â
You turn your focus to him again. He says nothing, his back to you as he stares into the dark greenery outside of the fence.Â
âYou make me chase after you like a fool and âNoâ?â
Daryl sunk into himself. He didnât deserve you. He didnât deserve anything you gave him. He didnât know what to say. âI didnât ask âya to.â
He wanted to disappear.Â
âRight.â You had to laugh. âTurn around. Face me.â
The archer obliged, and you couldnât read his face enough through the tears born from your anger. He hated that he wanted to grab you by the waist and pull you into another kiss, to press his lips against your neck and down to your chest. He wanted to caress your hair, toâ
âBack at the CDC, I wanted to stop pursuing you. But thenâ â his heart broke as your voice cracked â âyou held my hand when we found out we could die and you looked at me with those fucking eyes of yours on your goddamn face and I thought maybe there was something real, something I could get out of you if I tried hard enough.â
âWeâre gettinâ outta here alive,â heâd told you as your chest heaved from realizing you were nearing your doom. He held you against his chest, his calloused fingers caressing your hair with the most gentle care, as if holding you wrong would cause you to break.
âThen you were cold again, and I thought maybe you were just being kind like usual back then but youâargh! You got me chocolates when I was scared shitless from almost dying and called it being nice and friendly before holding me again!â
You rubbed your eyes, frustrated more than ever.
âYou just had to take advantage of the fact that Iâm weak for you! You nursed me back to health when I got sick, you spoke to me as if you felt the same way, justâeverything! You say you didnât ask me to chase after you but when I did stop, you find ways to get me back on your trail and now you kiss me and then you take it back?â
You felt your heart begging to be freed. You couldnât breathe. The lump in your throat was building up, and you knew it did its work once you felt your cheeks begin to wet.Â
You couldnât even see him clearly through your tears. âWhat the fuck do you want, Daryl?â
How could he tell you? What could he say? He didnât even know what he wanted. Still, you waited in hopes heâd give you an explanation. That heâd at least explain himself.
âDo you like me?â you ask him again. No response.
You steel yourself for what you were about to ask next.Â
âDo you love me?â
Silence.Â
âGod, Iâm so stupid."
Realizing the chance you gave him is all for naught, you shook your head with a mirthless laugh as you walked away. The embrace of sleep never returned, and you were left to stare at the ceiling, waiting for daybreak to come just so you could fight an unwinnable war.
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Andy's Assistant
âHello, excuse me.â There was a gentle rapping at my office door that caused me to look up from my computer. âAre you Andrew Reynolds?â I looked at a young guy obviously in his early twenties. He smiled cheerily as he stood in the doorway, waiting for my response. His smile was gorgeous, his teeth immaculate.
âYes, Iâm Andrew Reynolds,â I replied. âHow can I help you?â He smiled again before he continued, walking a little further into my office.Â
âWell, the receptionist at the desk in the waiting area said it would be okay if I came on back.â I nodded, allowing him to continue. âMy name is Parker Jeong and I applied for the job as your assistant. We had the interview over the phone early last week. I was in the process of moving to the area.â
âOh, yes, I remember.â Recent college grad. Moving from California. Could start working immediately.
âI know that you mentioned wanting to meet in person before finalizing my employment.â He smiled again, and even with the wholesome smile on his face, I could see in his eyes that he was nervous. He had beautiful almond-shaped brown eyes, and he did his best to hold my gaze. He toyed anxiously with the crisp sheet of paper in his hand, which I assumed was a hard copy of his resumĂŠ. He was probably scared I wouldnât want to hire him after all. Imagine moving across the country for a job only to be told the position had already been filled.
âI know you just graduated a few months ago,â I verbalized. âBut from what I remember you telling me during our phone conversation and what I saw on the resumĂŠ you emailed over, youâre more than qualified to work as an administrative assistant.â Â
âThank you, sir. I brought a hard copy of my resumĂŠ with me,â he said.
âLet me take another look.â He walked closer to my desk and handed it to me. I looked it over, recalling most of the standout credentials. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.Â
Parker had majored in marketing with a minor in graphic design. Heâd spent his final semester involved in a mentorship program for Asian-Americans interested in working in advertising. He graduated magna cum laude. Hell, he was overqualified for this position.Â
âYouâre sure you want this job?â I asked. âYou could definitely get a position as a copywriter at another agency.âÂ
âHathaway and Associates is the best agency in the entire Midwest. Iâve dreamed of working here since I decided I wanted to go into advertising. The commercials you all put out for Nike were astonishing.â The kid had done his research.Â
âWhat about those commercials did you like so much?âÂ
âThey had this sense of authenticity that I donât think we see much of anymore. Those ads gave me the courage to join a gym.â I wondered what heâd think if he knew the portly executive in front of him had come up with the concept that inspired his fitness journey.Â
âI want more for my career, yes, but I donât plan on shirking my responsibilities as your assistant. Iâll do whatever it takes to make sure youâre taken care of, sir.â Â
I was a pretty good judge of character, and I didnât think Parker would let me down. I liked his honesty. It was refreshing. My previous assistants had never been my choice, often young adults that had some sort of connection to the other executives at the agency. âWell, I look forward to working with you.â
âI look forward to working with you too,â he replied, reaching out to shake my hand. I stood, and his eyes traveled upwards to my face. Maybe he couldnât tell I was so tall behind my desk, but it seemed like he was surprised by my size. I tended to have this effect on people. I grabbed his hand, and we shook to seal the deal of his hiring.
âHead to human resources and get your paperwork finalized. Iâll see you first thing tomorrow morning. We start at nine.â He thanked me again, clutching his over-the-shoulder bag as he left my office. I bet he skipped down the hallway all the way to HR.
I knew heâd work hard. That was certain. But when it came to how sexy he was, I wasnât sure what I was getting myself into. I assumed Parker was gay, and he was definitely a little snack I could see myself sinking my teeth into, but I had to remind myself that I was in a position of power over him. Even if I wanted to see what he was working with underneath his exquisitely tailored slacks, flirting with him was a no-go. And besides, that little gym bunny probably had no interest in a grizzly bear like me.
The next morning, I got to work a little early and Parker was sitting at his station right outside of my office. He had a dozen donuts on his desk and two coffees, one much larger than the other.
âHello Mr. Reynolds,â he said. âPlease let me know what I can do to help you this morning.â He handed me the larger coffee and a napkin before smoothly opening the box of donuts. I recognized them immediately. They were from a trendy new spot that had opened a few months ago. They specialized in unique flavors, like maple-bacon and Fruity Pebbles.
âYou sure know how to make an impression.âÂ
âI told you that Iâd do whatever it takes to make sure youâre taken care of.â I grabbed one of the donuts, knowing Iâd be coming back out for another within the next fifteen minutes.
âLet me get situated and Iâll let you know what you can do for me.â
âYes sir.â
I wondered if he knew what he was doing to me with all this âMr. Reynoldsâ and âYes sirâ business. My last assistant was a statuesque redhead who never tried to go above and beyond the requirements of her position. Which was fine, I got it. She did what she was paid for. But sometimes I think she messed things up on purpose so I wouldnât give her more work to do. I barely got a hello from her in the morning, and she left promptly at five without so much as a farewell.Â
I shuffled into my office, tossing my bag on one of the chairs opposite my desk. I bit into the donut, savoring its sweetness. It tasted like a Biscoff cookie, and I was almost certain the glaze was made from cookie butter. I took a slightly larger bite before shoving the rest of the pastry into my awaiting mouth. That donut never stood a chance. I already wanted another, but I needed to show some self-restraint. I couldnât let Parker know I spent my working hours inhaling food three minutes into his first day.
About ten minutes later, Parker was knocking at my door, box of donuts in hand.
âWeâre celebrating today, Mr. Reynolds,â he said, walking towards my desk. âIâve already had two of these. Iâm going to leave the box with you so you donât have to worry about coming back for more.â
âWell, uh, you donât want to offer them to some of the other assistants?â
âNo, sir,â he said, coyly setting the box to the left of me at my L-shaped desk. âThis is for me and you, sir.â
Damn did Parker know the way to a big manâs heart. Having the box within armâs reach, I finished the rest of that dozen by noon.
The donuts were one thing, but Parker was constantly supplying me with snacks throughout the day. Heâd brought me homemade blueberry muffins and brown butter chocolate chip cookies. Heâd made me buttery croissants, decadent fudge brownies, and Oreo cheesecake bites. I wondered if he was making his way through a cookbook.
âItâs just a hobby,â he said offhandedly when I mentioned he didnât have to bring me so many treats. âI guess I got carried away.â
âYou just always bring so much. I hope you know Iâm not expecting you to bring something every single day. I donât want you to feel put out.â
âItâs just how I unwind,â he said. âBefore I moved here, I had three roommates. Now that I live alone, I donât have anyone else to share them with. Iâm really sorry for assuming you wanted them.â
âWhoa!â I interjected. âI never said I didnât want them.â This made him laugh. I didnât mind the baked goods. I woke up salivating thinking about what new thing heâd have for me to munch on, but it was never just a sampling of his work. The portions were huge. When he showed up with his reusable containers, it always brought to mind something that would normally be placed in the breakroom for everyone in the office to sampleâlike a bakerâs dozen of white chocolate raspberry mini-Bundt cakes or an entire pan of M&M Rice Krispie Treats.
The baked goods were just the cherry on top of having an excellent assistant. He was definitely the best one Iâd ever had, a really fast learner for sure, but his competence as an office worker was second to his ability to cater to my often insatiable hunger. A month of Parkerâs special treatment was damaging to my waistline. Being catered to by him turned me on beyond belief, and it was something new for me. In my past relationships, my love of food was never celebrated. Parkerâs eyes seemed to light up when I munched on whatever he brought me. âItâs not too chocolatey?â heâd asked, pushing another confection my way. It was never too chocolatey. It was always perfect, just like him.
He greeted me with baked goods each morning and made sure to say goodbye before heading out every evening, carrying with him an empty Tupperware container or pie dish. Aside from the extra thousand-plus calories a day I was inhaling from his delicious goodies, he always made sure to have lunch delivered for me.
He talked to me more than any of my other assistants ever had. Almost like he was trying to get to know me on a more personal level. It had me looking forward to going to work, a feeling I hadnât had in quite a while. It might have been unintentional, but Parkerâs interest, even if it was just platonic, was boosting my ego. My old assistants barely ever looked in my direction, but this guy wanted to know what my favorite movies were and what I liked to do for fun. This attention from him was electrifying. My brain knew being this infatuated with him was no good, but my heart (and my stomach) didnât care.
Even now, none of the interns or other assistants ever talked to me unless absolutely necessary. That didnât mean I wasnât a topic of conversation. They all definitely talked about me. I was big, yes. But I also had a resting serious face. Combined with my intimidating frame, they thought of me as some sort of beast. I once made an intern cry during a pitch meeting because I âlooked like I was going to bite her head off.â I now made more of an effort to smile, even when there was no reason to. I also tried to ignore the implications of this, considering I was one of four black men on staff.
To the other execs, I was more of the office joke. I was younger than most of them by fifteen years, so they viewed me as some sort of kid brother. It was always a crack here or a joke there. When I landed the Nike account they all thought it was the funniest thing to ever happen in the history of the world.
âAndy?â one of them had guffawed, barely able to get out what he wanted to say. âWhen was the last time you saw the inside of a gym? And Nike went with your pitch?â Â
But it was something I had become accustomed to; all throughout school I was the big guy people joked about or avoided. Adults always thought I was with the wrong group of kids in elementary school because I was a head taller than the other boys. As if I wasnât already too big, I had another growth spurt the summer before freshman year of high school. At fourteen my dad began teaching me how to lift weights. My body developed rapidly, and it took me a long time to get comfortable with those changes. By the time I was eighteen, I was larger than my father, who was by no means a small man. My weight sort of leveled out in my early twenties, and I graduated college at my current height and 270 pounds.
Joining the workforce was frightening, yet liberating. I had disposable income and the ability to make my own life decisions. I began working where I was currently employed as a copywriter two months after getting my degree. Lots of late nights and hard work helped me rise in the ranks. I was promoted to the executive level three years ago, and had run through five assistants in that time. I was now thirty-two, unmarried, and a little stifled.
I spent most of my time working. I hadnât had a hookup in literal years, and to be frank, I didnât see one happening in the near future. I used to be able to lean into being the big, burly guy whoâd had one too many beers. I walked the line between dad-bod and straight-up fat guy for as long as I could before I was promoted. Being an executive meant a lot more responsibility and a lot less free time. My tri-weekly lifting sessions were now a thing of the past. I thought I could stand to lose a few pounds then, but now I was over 350 pounds.
Having Parker as my assistant only exacerbated my feelings of loneliness (and horniness). He probably didnât even know I was gay and very much into his tight slacks and obedient disposition. The last month had been amazing, yet torturous.
âI have your forms, Mr. Reynolds.â
I told him he could call me Andy, or even just Andrew, but he never did. It was about lunch time and I was getting a bit restless. Maybe Iâd run off my other assistants with my multiple food orders throughout the day. I seemed to simply exist in a state of hunger. I was also slightly convinced I couldnât do my best work on an empty stomach.
I looked at Parker standing in front of me. His dark brown hair was short and very stylish. My hair was cut in a neat fade and my facial hair was thick. Iâd kept a standing appointment with my barber every Sunday morning at ten for the last five years.
âThank you,â I said, holding out my hand to take the manila folder that contained the forms from him. Like some cheesy porno with ridiculous circumstances to set up a sexual scenario, the folder fell through my fingers, all the papers scattering on my office floor.
âOh, sorry!â he exclaimed. âThatâs my bad.â He bent over to pick up the documents, noticing there were more papers to gather than he first realized. He then got on his knees in front of my desk and once again I got to take in his beautiful ass. The fabric of his slacks pulled tight against his butt. His back was slightly arched, as if advertising himself to me. What I wouldnât give to be bucking my hips behind him. I thought about fucking him constantly, and it had become an obsession. Iâd definitely gotten the vibe that he was gay, but I had some serious doubts heâd ever want to hook up with me. âHere you go,â he said, hopping to his feet and handing me the papers.
Almost like it was trying to embarrass me and purposely kill my arousal, my stomach growled.
âSorry,â I said. I couldnât believe how hot my face got. My stomach growling was only going to draw attention to the fact that I was twice his size. The portion of goodies I received from Parker at the start of the day was on the smaller side, so that hadnât helped to dull my hunger pains.
âItâs okay.â He smiled. âItâs lunchtime.â I felt my face go hot once more.
âYeah, I guess I am kind of hungry.â
âYouâre a pretty big guy. I get it.â He fidgeted with one of the buttons on his dress shirt. âDo you, maybe, want to take lunch with me today?âÂ
âIâve never eaten with one of my assistants before,â I said, in disbelief he wanted to spend time with me outside of the office.
âOh, Iâm sorry. I can just pick something up for you if youâd preferââ
I stood quickly, not wanting to pass up any opportunity to talk to him about topics not related to copies or signatures or meetings. My gut shook a bit with the momentum. The buttons had given me a difficult time when getting dressed, and I needed to get some new shirts.
âIâm free for lunch,â I exclaimed. âWe can go now.â
There were a ton of restaurants in the downtown area. I asked what he wanted to eat and he deferred to me, claiming he wanted me to get whatever I was craving. If I were able to get whatever I was craving, it would be the Parker Jeong meal, extra sauce. Heâd probably think that was so cringe. I sighed to myself.
âThereâs this place called The Coop,â I said, giving my second choice for lunch. âThey serve Nashville style hot chicken.â
At the restaurant he got a normal sized portion of food for a normal sized person, and I wanted to be good, but I needed to replace the lust I was feeling with something else, and that something else was two Nashville hot chicken sandwiches, a large fry, baked beans, coleslaw, and a strawberry mint frozen lemonade.
He didnât even bat an eye, offering to pick up our trays while I waited at the table. I knew he was just being nice to me because I was his boss. Iâd paid for the food, so he was probably just still in assistant mode.
âOrder up,â he said, returning to where we sat, setting my overstuffed tray in front of me.
âThank you,â I said, taking in his tray with three tenders and a medium fry.
âDo you like to eat here a lot?â he asked, sipping from his unsweetened iced tea. Coming from someone else, that wouldâve felt like a jab, but from him it just felt conversational.
âI do like this place a lot. Especially for the downtown area. The portions arenât skimpy and it tastes pretty good too.â
âWhat other places do you like?â
âOh, well thatâs easy,â I said, digging into my first sandwich. âThereâs Trippâs for seafood, Curry House for Indian, Miss Janieâs for BBQ, oh yeahâSub Daddy has these huge hoagies. Best in the city. And theyâre open late!â
âSub Daddy?â he laughed. âWhat kind of name is that?â
âWell, maybe theyâre leaning into the innuendo?â
âHmm, maybe,â he said, looking down at his tenders. âWeâll have to eat there together soon, though Dom Daddies are actually more my speed.â
Was that directed towards me? There was no chance. Absolutely no way. He wasnât flirting. He wasnât coming on to me. But stillâeven if his comment meant nothing, I could feel myself getting hard.Â
I took another big bite of my sandwich, trying not to fuck things up. If I lost another assistant theyâd probably open an investigation or something to figure out what I did to keep running them off.
âSo, um, howâs your food?â I asked, deflecting.Â
The vibes never quite got back on track after that. I was too wound up and way too invested in my food. If my inability to hold conversation wasnât enough to scare him off, me stuffing my face for fifteen minutes straight surely did the job.
We made our way back to the office and finished up for the day. It was a little after five when Parker peeked his head into my office.Â
âHave a good night, Mr. Reynolds.â He hesitated for a moment. âOh, and thanks for lunch.âÂ
âNo problem. I enjoyed your company.â I did enjoy his company. Even with how poorly I felt things went, it was nice being out in public with him. I had to remind myself it wasnât a date and only lunch between colleagues.
âAbout the joke I made,â he started, stepping completely into my office and closing the door. âI am so sorry if I made you uncomfortable. Iâve been thinking about it all afternoon.â
âDonât even sweat it,â I said, knowing I sent him into this spiral because I was now inept at talking to cute men. Things had been so much easier ten years ago.
âI am gay,â he continued. âI know some people feel a type of way about that sort of thing. I just donât want it to ruin our relationship.â
âYou donât need to disclose your sexual orientation, there are policies in place to protect people from discrimination in the workplace and Iâd never treat you poorly because of something like that becauseââ
âBecause youâre a really good boss, I know. Iâm sorry I even thought youâd treat me differently. Itâs justâthe real world is way different than a college campus.â
I was about to come out to him. What did I even think was going to happen? Were we going to fuck, me taking control as his sought after Dom Daddy? I was being ridiculous. Of course he was concerned about his career.Â
âAre you going to be much longer?â he asked.
âYeah, I have to catch up on some work for that supercenter presentation next week.â He started to take off his jacket. âNo need to do that, Parker.â
âI can help,â he said.Â
âNo, thatâs okay. Donât ruin your evening,â I said, still feeling embarrassed by this whole debacle. I could use his help. The copy room was unbearably small and I didnât want to have to keep squeezing in and out of there.Â
âBut if you need my help, I can help.â He smiled. âItâs my job. Iâm your assistant.âÂ
I was glad he wanted to help me. He was truly the best assistant Iâd ever had and not just because he had such a fantastic ass. I didnât want to come across as demanding or difficult to work with, but selfishly, I wanted to spend more time with him.
âWell, okay,â I relented. âAs long as youâre free.âÂ
âIâll order us something from Sub Daddy,â he said, heading back out to his station. âItâs been hours since lunch. You canât focus on an empty stomach.â
After that, we worked late a lot, and went to lunch together even more often. He was more than willing to try new restaurants with me, always encouraging me to order as much as I wanted. He always offered to treat me, but I never let him. What sense did that make? He only ever ate a fourth of what I did.
His personality was pleasant, which didnât make it easier for me to stifle my crush on him. Who wouldnât be into him? He was smart, hardworking, fun, and considerate. He knew how to bake and never made me feel bad about eating what I wanted. I had gotten into the habit of eating more and more when I was around him. I hardly noticed until all the food was gone. I found myself to be less nervous when I was stuffing my face. It felt less likely that Iâd say something dumb. When I was 70 pounds lighter, I was way more willing to flirt or say something corny to make a guy laugh. But now I felt like everything I said or did seemed desperate. And so instead of talking, I stuffed my face. In the two months Parker had been working with me, Iâd gained ten pounds.
On our late nights, I always told him he could leave but he never did. Not once.
That was enough to keep my delusional fantasies about him going.
He started mentioning clubs and bars, asking if Iâd ever want to go with. I figured it was just a gesture, and I was way too rusty to ever take him up on the offer, but maybe one day I could. The more I got to know him, the more I found myself thinking that maybe, just maybe, he was interested in me too.
My pants had gotten even tighter; I needed some new ones. My thighs filled them out completely and my ass was getting pretty big too. Iâd never gotten around to getting those new shirts, and now I needed new pants. I had to face it. I was fat, and with my habits, I was just going to keep getting fatter.
It was late October, and one of the other execs was celebrating his fiftieth. His assistant and a few of the interns had organized a little office party for him after lunch. Iâd already eaten these really delicious chocolate covered pretzel sticks Parker made me and something heâd picked up for me from The Coop for lunch.
Everyone filed into our largest conference room. There were a few toasts and it was a decent time overall. Then the cake was revealed. It was from a nice bakery near our office that people always used when doing festive things like this.Â
It was time to admit to myself that I loved sweets, and with Parkerâs kind gestures, I had tried tons of things Iâd never eaten before.
I moseyed on over to the cake, planning to only have a piece. Just enough to be polite to the planning committee. But it was delicious. It was a strawberry lemon layer cake, the perfect marriage between tart and sweet flavors. The lemon cake layers were separated by a delightful strawberry compote (a term Iâd learned from Parker), which was also incorporated into the rich buttercream frosting.Â
By the time I finished my (substantial) piece, Parker discreetly replaced my empty plate with another that had an even larger slice. He did this three more times while we mingled with others from the office. I must have ended up having a third of that cake to myself.Â
Returning to my office after the celebration gave me time to reflect. I tried to get some work done, but it was hard to focus, especially with the buttons on my yet to be replaced shirt and slacks straining.
What was Parker trying to do? Was he simply being an attentive assistant or was he subtly making fun of me? Or maybe I was just too in my head and he was attracted to me? Heâd never done or said anything that alluded to disliking me because of my size. But that didnât mean he was attracted to me because of it either. I looped through variations of the same arguments over and over.
I mustâve overanalyzed those different scenarios for a good fifteen minutes before shifting my focus back to work. Iâd already sent Parker to the art department to collect some mock-ups weâd need, but I couldnât move forward in my current task without making some photocopies.Â
I was going to have to face the dreaded copy room.
Minutes later, I stood outside of the copy room. I paused momentarily to psych myself up before proceeding. The room was not spacious to begin with, but with multiple built-in cabinets full of office supplies on one wall and a line of photocopiers on the other, the only space for a person to move was a narrow strip of floor down the middle of the room. I walked up the aisle to one of the machines in the center of the room.
So far, so good. I made one of my copies, and proceeded to the next. Still good. I moved on to my last document. Thatâs when the machine jammed.
âFuck me,â I said to myself, sighing. I took a step back, my ass already brushing against a cabinet. I leaned forward, opening the side panel and noticing the jammed paper immediately. This would be an easy fix, thankfully. I was bending my knees slightly, and I could feel the fabric of my slacks pulling tight against my beefy behind. It might have just been my anxiety, but I swear I could feel the stitch on the rise of my pants stretching to its limit. I made a mental note to myself that at this point some new items in my wardrobe were necessary, not optional.
I removed the jammed paper, made my last copy, and swiftly made my exit from that claustrophobic space. Bull in a china shop, meet Andrew Reynolds in the copy room.Â
I paused for a moment, as I could hear Parkerâs voice.
âI really should be getting back.â
âCome on, Parker. You canât actually like working with Andy.â I backpedaled before I could be seen. It was Antoinette, one of the office gossips. Sheâd been close with my previous administrative assistant.
âYeah, I do,â Parker said, sounding somewhat bothered. âHeâs really very nice. And super smart.â Whoa. He was actually sticking up for me. I could hardly believe it.
âYouâre gay, right?â
What a segue. Antoinette was likely upset he wasnât down to badmouth me, ready to move the conversation in a direction she found more interesting.
âUh, yeah, I am,â he said, his tone slightly more annoyed.Â
âYou donât like him, do you?â Antoinette pushed. âBecause youâre probably barking up the wrong tree with that one. Heâs never been with anyone since I started here, and itâs been seven years.â
âMr. Reynolds might just be a private person. He could have a wife and kids at home. You donât know.â At this, she laughed.
âI highly doubt that.â Parker likely made a face, as she then said, âNow donât give me that look. I wasnât trying to upset you. I hadnât realized how much you looked up to Andy.â She couldnât have sounded more sarcastic.
âLike I said,â he reiterated. âI really should be getting back.â
âOkay, wait. I only bring it up because thereâs someone else in the office who is interested in you.â She sounded like some sort of matchmaker.
âToni, please.â He sounded even more irritated. âI donât think my love life is any of your business, and I donât need you to hook me up with anyone.â
âMark is the one that wanted me to talk to you. He really likes you,â Antoinette continued. Mark was a copywriter that had started two or three years after I did. Heâd never gotten over the fact that Iâd been promoted and he hadnât.
âIâm flattered, truly,â Parker replied. âBut please tell him Iâm not interested.â
âFine, but hereâs his card anyway.â There was a slight pause. âBut youâve got to be real with me. Working with Andy must be hard. I heard from his last assistant that he was so demanding, and not about work matters. She spent most of her time placing food orders and picking up his take-out.â She laughed. âDid you see all that cake he ate at Daveâs party this afternoon? Thatâs why heâs not with somebody. Who wants to date a pig?â I felt my stomach tighten in embarrassment.
âWatch how you speak about my boss,â Parker responded. âThis conversation is over.â
âFine, I swearââ I could hear her heels clicking on the linoleum of the hallway as she walked away from the corner in which theyâd been speaking. I could then hear Parkerâs steps as he headed towards the copy room.Â
I froze.
What could I do? There was nowhere to hide. I was in the worldâs smallest copy room, and even if there was somewhere to hide, there was no way Iâd fit into that hiding spot. I just stood there, ready to face the awkwardness. He turned the corner quickly, bumping into my stomach.
He stumbled back, almost losing his balance. He dropped all the samples from the art department. I could feel that tight feeling in my stomach again, my mouth going dry. He must have known I was listening.
âMr. Reynolds?â he mused. âIâm so sorry. I wasnât paying attention.â He knelt down and started picking up the papers.
âNo apologies, please. Itâs my fault.âÂ
I bent over quickly to help him and there was a loud ripping sound. The same seam in my pants that had worried me moments before gave way. I could tell immediately that my pants had split down the back.
I stood up straight immediately. I could feel his eyes on my face.Â
âAndrew,â he said softly.Â
No, not the pity. I could feel it coming, and that would make me feel worse. I pushed past him, leaving him alone in that tiny room to gather the scattered papers. I waddled awkwardly back to my office to grab my jacket. I didnât want the pants to rip anymore than they already had. I needed to get some new slacks.Â
Taking a moment, I looked in the mirror on the back of my office door. My blue button up shirt didnât hide my large, round belly. Iâd really let things get bad these last few months. I had completely lost all restraint since meeting Parker. I was happy-eating when he brought me his baked goods. I was nervous-eating when we went out to lunch together. I was sad-eating at home when I thought about how much it sucked to have unrequited feelings.Â
My love handles sloped away from my torso down over the side of my pants. My pants looked like theyâd been painted on my meaty thighs. When did my face get so round? If I shaved my beard how many chins would I find? More than the one I remembered when I started working here ten years ago? I had once had a square jaw, but I knew now it would be backed by a second chin, with a new layer of fat likely being formed behind that. My round cheeks made my eyes look smaller than they were in my youth. I even had a light dabbling of sweat on my forehead from my dash back into my office.
âMr. Reynolds?â Parker called gently as he knocked at my door. âAre you okay?âÂ
âYes,â I said, speaking slowly. âIâm fine.â
âAre you sure?â he inquired.Â
âYes, Iâm sure. I need to head out for an errand, so please make sure you reschedule the rest of my meetings this afternoon.âÂ
âDo you need to go shopping?â he asked.Â
I could have leaped from my office windowâand we were on the twentieth floor. Any chance of ever being with Parker was surely ruined. I needed to rip off the Band-Aid and get this interaction over with. I opened my office door.Â
âI could help you pick some things out,â he suggested. âI am your assistant. And I know itâs a stereotype, but I have a pretty good fashion sense.â He was trying so hard to be nice to me.Â
âThis is my problem.â I was still speaking slowly, forcing the words out in a way that likely came off as short. âThis is a personal matter, not something to do with work.â
He didnât say anything. He turned and walked over to his desk, rummaging in one of the drawers. He held a tiny sewing kit in his hands as he strode back over to where I stood. He placed his hand on my stomach, pushing me back into the office before closing the door.
âI understand you would rather shop alone, but Iâm not going to let my boss walk around with a split in his pants.â What was he expecting me to do? Strip? There was no way.
âParkerââ
âWe donât have to make a big deal out of this, sir,â he said. âJust take off your pants and hand them here. I can mend them in less than fifteen minutes.â
âReally, thatâs not necessary.â
He just stood there, looking at me expectantly. I didnât want to walk around exposed until I could get to a clothing store. It would only take him fifteen minutes. I took a deep breath and unbuckled my belt. It was a brown leather material that matched my loafers, which Iâd slid out of before shimmying out of my too-tight navy slacks.
I could see myself in the mirror behind my office door again. Here I was in my boxer briefs, Parker standing right in front of me, and it wasnât a scenario Iâd previously imagined. He crouched down in front of me, grabbing the pants so I wouldnât have to bend over.
He inspected the rip for a moment. âThis is perfect. Itâs not frayed or anything.â
âYou really think you can fix them?â
âA temporary fix, yes.â He walked towards one of the extra chairs in my office and had a seat. Things were silent for a few minutes as he threaded the needle and got started on the repair. Iâd taken a seat behind my desk and watched him work.
His skin was so smooth, his lips kissably full, his nose a little large for his face.
âI can see why these split,â he said, not looking up from his work. His words abruptly hit me and filled the silence in a way that sat heavy on my mind.
âMe too.â He still hadnât looked up at me. He just continued mending my pants.Â
âI knew I needed new ones, and Iââ The words got caught in my throat. I was already embarrassed, so maybe it was time for me to just speak honestly, but speaking honestly kind of felt like admitting defeat. It felt like I was giving up on taking things in an intimate direction with Parker. âIâve been putting it off. They probably couldâve held on a bit longer, but Iâve put on some weight recently.â
âThereâs nothing wrong with that.â
âGuys like you donât get it. You could have anyone you wanted.â
âWhat if I wanted you, Andrew?â
He finally looked up from his work. I mustâve been looking at him stone faced, because his bravado faltered almost immediately.
âMr. ReynoldsâIâm so sorry. That was out of line.â
Parkerâs confession allowed me to push past that voice in my head that explained away all the things he did as platonic. He liked me. He wanted me. Heâd said so himself.
Before the self-doubt set in, I had to shoot my shot. Iâd sulk about my split pants late at night years from now, but right at this moment I refused to return to that negative place. He wanted a Dom Daddy, and that was a role I was more than willing to play.
âWhat if I told you I wanted to fuck you right now?â His face reddened considerably. Iâd never seen him so worked up before, and that made me more confident. âSince the day I hired you, Iâve thought about what itâd feel like to be inside of that sweet ass.â
âSirââ
âCâmere,â I said in a low voice. He stood, placing my slacks in the seat heâd gotten up from, and gingerly made his way to where I sat behind my desk. He looked down at me slightly as I sat, but we were essentially still on eye level with one another. I could see his chest rising and falling with each breath he took, his lips parted slightly in lust. He pressed his crotch into my gut as he leaned down to kiss me. I could feel his erection through his khakis.
I reached up and palmed his ass, holding a cheek in each hand. He really was stacked back there. He moaned slightly, pressing his dick further into my stomach. We continued kissing, and I pulled him even closer into myself.
I could have kissed him like this for hours, but he pulled away after a few minutes. His palms were pressed against my sagging chest, which sat atop my heavy middle. He slid his hands down my front before resting them on the part of my gut that sat out the farthest. Normally, my first instinct would have been to suck it in, but I realized how useless that would have been. There was no hiding it anymore.
He patted my stomach gently before moving his hands beneath it, lifting it and bouncing it up and down slowly. I could see his hardness through his khakis, so it was clear that he was enjoying himself. If I were to be honest with myself, I was enjoying the belly play too. Iâd never had someone focus so intently on my gut before.
I stood up, and he tilted his head back to continue meeting my gaze. I had to play this correctly. I knew he made a joke about liking dominant men, but I wasnât certain it was actually what he was into.
âGet on your knees,â I said, staring down at him.
âYes sir.â
He knew what I wanted. He pawed at my underwear until it was around my ankles. My dick bobbed freely now, level with his line of sight. The closer he got to me, the harder I got and the harder it was to see him. He reached up with one hand to hold my belly out of the way and with the other he grabbed the base of my dick.
âGet to work,â I instructed. I grabbed a fistful of his hair as he wrapped his mouth around my dick. It had been a while, but I couldnât recall a better blow. He was a perfectionist in every sense of the word. His one hand gently massaged the base of my gut as he continued sucking me off. Iâd been with people who liked that I wasnât rail thin, but never with someone like Parker. Everything was adding up. The special treats, the lunches together, the cake at the party this afternoon. He liked me being fat, and I was now fairly certain he wanted me even fatter. âIâm about to cum.â
He didnât stop his work. He simply slowed his pace, teasing my dick with his tongue in a different way. The switch in sensation caused me to erupt. A heavy stream of cum shot from my dick into his mouth and he made sure to get every last drop. I let go of his hair, stepping back so I could have a seat.
I was panting heavily, my underwear around my ankles, gut rising and falling with each deep breath I took. He looked up at me from his place on the floor. His hair was disheveled and his face was flushed. I could still see his erection through his khakis. Damn, he was the hottest guy Iâd ever seen. I could hardly believe he was experiencing such intense lust over me.
âYouâre something else,â I said, still catching my breath. âAnd I canât believe it, but Iâd kill for another piece of that cake right now.â
That had him up on his feet, speed-walking from my office and back to the conference room. He was so out of it, heâd probably run to that bakery to get me another piece if he had to.
This shift in our relationship was going to be interesting.
I wasnât sure what was supposed to happen immediately following our initial sexual encounter, but we went about our weekends like nothing had changed. After eating one of the final slices of that cake from the office party, I left early to purchase some new clothing items. He texted me, and I replied, but neither of us mentioned what had happened.
So Monday morning came and I had spent the entire weekend eating optimistically. I thought about how much heâd want me to be eating good. At one point, I googled âgay fat fetishâ and found there was a whole world of people not only into big guys, but into big guys getting even bigger. Maybe heâd bring it up, but now I wanted to test the waters a little. What sort of things would get him going? I was excited to find out. Monday morning, I was hard the entire commute to work thinking about demolishing whatever Parker planned to put in front of me.Â
I walked into the elevator, pressing the button that would lead me to the twentieth floor. I noticed Parker making his way toward the elevators. Just seeing him existing in the world made me so fucking happy. I almost didnât even notice that Mark was right next to him. I hit the door open button quickly, wanting to be near Parker as soon as possible, even if that meant sharing the space with Mark. The doors stayed open, and they both got on.
âGood Morning, Mr. Reynolds.â He smiled up at me. He was carrying a tote bag, and like some sort of sugar-addicted bloodhound, I was almost certain I could smell cinnamon.Â
âParker, hey,â I said, covering my crotch with my bag. Just hearing him say my name was turning me on, giving me a semi. âItâs nice to see you.â
âHello Andrew,â Mark said. To be completely honest, Iâd blocked him out almost immediately. He and I werenât on the best terms, especially after my promotion.
âHey Mark.â
âAre you still hitting the gym?â he asked. âSince you got that promotion, Iâve noticed a change in your appearance. Iâm sure youâre eating well on that executive salary.â
âI do have a hand in that,â Parker said plainly. âMr. Reynolds is very kind to indulge my personal baking hobby.â
âBut still,â Mark pressed. âSometimes weâve got to push ourselves, you know? Once you hit thirty it takes more effort to stay in shape.â
âI think he looks great,â Parker offered, turning to look at Mark. He gave him an obvious once over, his eyes traveling from the top of his head all the way to his shoes. âDo you work out, Mark?â
âYeah, I do actually,â Mark responded proudly. âSix days a week.â
âReally?â Parker inquired. âIâd have never thought that.â
The man was too stunned to speak.
We all stood silent, the whir of the elevatorâs mechanisms the only source of sound. The elevator finally stopped on our floor. Parker and I went towards my office while Mark made his way to his cubicle. Parker placed the tote bag on his desk and I stopped for a moment.
âYou didnât have to do that,â I said, giving a knowing smile.
âI didnât say anything I didnât mean.â
âYouâre something else.â
âIâm nothing special,â he said, removing two Tupperware containers from the tote bag. âSo today you have options. You could have some millionaire shortbread bars or carrot cake cinnamon rolls.â
âOr? You act like Iâm not going to polish off both of these containers before we head out for lunch.â
âUhâwell, IâI didnât think youâd wantââ
He looked up at me in surprise, like heâd been found out. Iâd known Parker for a couple of months now, and Iâd never seen him so flustered. It made me weirdly satisfied. He wanted me to eat? He wanted me to put on a few pounds? If he kept blowing me like he had last week, Iâd eat whatever he wanted for the rest of my life.
âI bought some new pants, so I can probably keep indulging for a little while. I need my assistant to make sure I donât go hungry. Thatâs not a problem, is it?â
âNo, sir,â he said. âNot a problem at all, sir.â
âI didnât think it would be.â I grabbed both containers and went into my office, peeling off both lids and diving into the baked goods with unabashed enthusiasm. Over that first hour of the day, I ate a dozen shortbread bars and six hefty cinnamon rolls.Â
Once Iâd finished both desserts, I sat back at my desk. I felt my chair sag, groaning slightly as I allowed my bulk to settle into the seat. This was so unhinged. What was happening to me? Maybe it was all the sugar, but I was in some sort of stupor. My only thought was how I wanted Parker between my legs again, his hands all over my gut. I leaned forward and put my head in my hands. I mustâve sat there for about ten minutes before there was a knock at my door. âMr. Reynolds?â
âCome in.â Parker opened the door and walked up to my desk. I watched him survey the scene. I laughed a little to myself at the shocked expression on his face as he took in both containers sitting empty in front of me.
âYou already finished theâtheâthe shortbread bars?â
âAnd the cinnamon rolls,â I added. âThey were both phenomenal. Youâve got quite the talent.â
âThank you, sir.â
âI only wish Iâd had some milk to wash it all down with.â
âIâll make sure to remember that for next time.â
âThere is something you could do for me right now,â I said. He looked back at my office door, which heâd left open. He went over to the door and closed it quietly.
âWhat can I do for you, Mr. Reynolds?â
âYou could get that ass over here, for starters.â
He made his way to where I sat behind my desk, like he had on Friday. We looked at one another for a moment, both taking in the moment. It probably wasnât smart to fuck my assistant before 10 AM on a Monday, but Iâd spent nearly two years involuntarily celibate.
âGet undressed.â
He didnât question me. He immediately began unbuttoning his crisp, white dress shirt. He tossed it on my desk and then peeled his undershirt off over his head. He shimmied out of his navy-colored chinos. He was in nothing but a pair of stylish briefs. It was obvious he worked out, as his quads bulged with muscle as did his arms. He had well-defined abs, firm pecs.Â
His body was completely opposite to my own. My legs and arms were large, yes, but not defined with muscle as they had been in the past. Iâd never had abs in my entire life. My stomach sat heavy in front of me, packed full of sugary snacks. And even though Iâd just eaten enough baked goods for a small get-together, I was already thinking about what Iâd be having for lunch.
âWhatâre we doing for lunch?â I asked. His whole face reddened, all the way to his ears. I reached out to pull him closer, so I could feel his body with my mouth. I kissed his chest softly, enjoying his scent in the process. âI asked you what weâre doing for lunch.â
He moaned loudly.
âLastâlast week you mentioned you wanted anâan Italian beef fromââ I bit his nipple gently, sucking it afterwards. âBig Beefâs.â
âFuck that sounds good. With extra hot peppers and a cheese sauce on the side.â He pawed at his briefs, exposing himself to me. He had a nice dick, a respectable size. He was getting off on this for sure. I let go of his waist and began to unbutton my own shirt. He watched me intently, still stroking his penis. I tossed it on the desk with his clothing items.
He paused his masturbatory efforts to help me remove my undershirt. His briefs were now around his ankles and he pressed his dick into my gut. I grabbed at his ass, lightly teasing his hole with my finger as he grinded against me. He didnât last long after that, coming all over my bloated stomach. He took a step back. Looking down, I could see his cum glistening as it coated the fuzz of my belly. âYouâre not done,â I said, lifting my gut to reveal my belt buckle.
A man of excellent intuition, Parker immediately got me out of my pants and gave me some very thorough head.
Oh, and lunch at Big Beefâs that afternoon was stupendous.
We fell into a routine that made every work day well worth it. He was still bringing me his baked goods (beverages now included). We left the office whenever possible to grab a bite to eat during our lunch hour, and when we couldnât get away he made sure to pick something up for me or to have it delivered. But the best part had to be our sexual escapades. Iâd had nearly every part of his body in my mouth at least once. And he was excellent at taking direction. I was pretty sure at this point that he craved it, being told what to do. He was my good boy, doing what I requested, often going above and beyond like there was a chance of being promoted.
From the end of October to the start of the winter holidays, he and I were completely engrossed with one another. Although, even with how intense things had been within the four walls of my office, we had yet to move beyond them.
It was now the second week of December. I was nearing 400 pounds, a thought that was slightly frightening to me. Iâd never been this big in my entire life. People around the office had taken notice of my rapid weight gain. It was the elephant in the room. But the food was good, and the sex mind-blowing. I was also intoxicated by Parkerâs adoration. With each pound I gained, he seemed to get more and more excited to service me. I wondered how much longer my wardrobe would last before needing to be updated again.
âExcuse me, Mr. Reynolds.â I looked up from the email I was drafting. âIâve been wanting to ask you something.â
âYeah? What is it?â I inquired, wondering what it was Parker had been mulling over. He was shifting his weight back and forth, nervously smiling in my direction like the day I hired him.
âWell, my parents bought me these tickets to a musical a few weeks ago, and I know that itâs last minute, but I was really hoping you would come with me to see it.â
âA musical?â
âWhat can I say?â he offered, shrugging slightly. âIâm as stereotypical as they come.â
âWhen is it?â I asked.
âTomorrow.â A Saturday.
Was Parker trying to take things to the next level? This was an exciting development. I would love to spend time with him outside of working hours. I could only imagine how much fun weâd have late into the evening post dinnertime.
âIf itâs too much, I understand.â
Too much? Not at all. We both wanted more. It was like a weight had been lifted from me (metaphorically, of course). The office sexcapades were nice, there was no doubt about that, but he too wanted to be more than just a hook-up.
âYou just canât get enough of me, huh?â
He laughed.
âIâm kind of obsessed, canât you tell?â
âI love being adored,â I said, smiling at him playfully. âAnd now Iâm really looking forward to this musical tomorrow. Whatâs the runtime? Over two hours, Iâm sure. Iâll probably need to eat something beforehand.â
âIâll make a reservation,â he declared enthusiastically, always delighted at an opportunity to get me eating. I was only half-serious with my comment about needing to eat beforehand, but I wasnât so sure Iâd make it the two and a half hours without a meal prior to the curtain rising. I felt incredibly lucky. Weâd be getting dinner and seeing a show (and hopefully having even more fun at one of our apartments after).
Once he made the reservation, he emailed over all the infoâthe restaurant, the reservation time, the name of the theater, the showtime. I could hardly wait. Iâd be counting the milliseconds until then.Â
The next evening, I dressed to meet Parker for our date. I wore a pair of dark jeans and some Nikes. When I first landed that account, theyâd sent over at least ten different pairs. I had lots of dress shirts that fit fairly well since I re-upped, but I wanted to be a little more casual. I found a burgundy crew neck in the back of my dresser that had been a staple in my wardrobe last winter. I pulled it on and found myself shocked at how it fit. I figured thereâd be some resistance, but the fabric clung to my plump chest and protruding belly in a way that was much more form-fitting than I anticipated. I tugged at the bottom trying to pull it down to cover the entirety of my stomach. If I moved my arms too much, it exposed some of my brown skin, even though I was also wearing an undershirt.
My first inclination was to change. I wouldnât have normally wanted to draw attention to my size. But I knew what Parker liked, and I loved pressing his buttons, so I put on my jacket and grabbed my keys, deciding to keep on the sweater. I hoped I wouldnât come to regret my outfit choice later on.
I was right on time to Harabojiâs, and as I entered the restaurant, I noticed my perfectly punctual assistant had already beaten me to the establishment.
âMr. Reynolds, over here!â He waved at me from a seat at the bar. I felt silly for being this excited, considering we ate together in restaurants every other day, but this was no work-lunch. This was a Saturday night dinner. A date.
âParker, hey,â I said, smiling down at my companion for the evening. He was still wearing his jacket, a stylish, olive-green duffle coat. He had on a pair of platform Chelsea boots and dark chinos. âPlease, call me Andy, or Andrewâeven Drew would be fine.âÂ
âOh, yes, of course,â he said with a nervous chuckle. âI guess we arenât in the office.â
âThatâs exciting, isnât it?â
âIt is,â he replied. âIâve wanted to eat here with you for months.â
âIâve heard this place is really good.â
âHave you ever had Korean barbecue before?â he asked. âI havenât been to a Korean restaurant since I moved here.â
âI havenât, but you know Iâll try anything. I trust you to make sure I have something tasty.â
After that the hostess called Parkerâs name and we were seated. It was pretty crowded, every table filled. In front of us was a little grilling station. Our waiter came and Parker took the reins, ordering what seemed like a lot of food for just two people. He asked for bulgogi, pork belly, garlic butter chicken, and brisket. He also ordered fried seaweed rolls and tteokbokki. Our waiter brought out a lot of little dishes with different vegetables on them.
âThese are banchanâum, side dishes,â Parker explained. âTheyâre really good with the grilled meats. That one is cucumber, that one is potato, and that one is zucchini.â
âAnd that one is kimchi.â
âYes, exactly!â
Our waiter returned with another worker to assist him. One of them held our appetizers, the other numerous plates of raw meat on a serving platter. Once all the plates were set out in front of us, it seemed truly excessive. Parker got to work immediately, oiling the grill and placing meat on it strategically. As things were cooked he piled them high on my plate. Everything tasted great and I followed every suggestion he gave me. âEat this with that,â heâd say, hyper focused on his grilling. âOoo, youâve got to try that with this dipping sauce.â
Halfway through the meal, I noticed that he was no longer eating. I seemed to be his main priority. I was now regretting my earlier boldness when getting dressed for this outing. My sweater rose slightly on my stomach exposing the light layer of dark hair on my underbelly. Parker didnât stop either, making sure to cook every piece of meat that had been provided to us.
âThereâs also Korean fried chicken on the menu,â he said, having just finished grilling the last bit of bulgogi and pork belly. âThey come in orders of four.â
I groaned slightly, sitting back in my seat and resting my hand on the top of my gut.
That was when the waiter returned, taking in my gorged state his face reddened on my behalf and he focused his attention on Parker. âIs there anything else I can get for you guys?â
âYes, we wanted a double order of the fried chicken wings and a bottle of peach soju.â
The waiter glanced in my direction and then back at Parker. He probably couldnât believe we were ordering more food. I couldnât believe we were ordering more food, but my date was a man on a mission. We did have about forty minutes before we needed to be at the theater, but I still thought he was cutting it close.
âIâll put that in right now.â I waited for our server to leave before speaking.Â
âIâm spilling out of my sweater and you're still shoving food in my direction.â
âAndy,â he said innocently. âYou donât want to be hungry while the show is going on. You said so yourself, remember?â
âHow considerate of you,â I responded, sitting up. I grabbed my fork and started in on the last bit of meat heâd put on my plate. âAnd I can��t wait to thank you at my place after the show.â
After dinner at Harabojiâs, we made our way to the theater for the musical. Iâd already parked my Buick Enclave in a parking garage on the same street as the restaurant. He informed me that he picked this restaurant not only because heâd been wanting to try it, but also because it was only a block away from where weâd be seeing the show.
I was so full I didnât feel like doing anything, especially walking. I was perspiring a little bit so I left my jacket open to air myself out. I could feel a cool breeze on my stomach, but I just ignored it. Parker was leading the way, glancing my way every so often to check me out. If his parents hadnât gone through the trouble of buying him these tickets, weâd already be halfway to my place.
We made it to the lobby and the worker scanned the tickets on Parkerâs phone. There was about ten minutes until the show would start so we made our way to our seats. This was where things got awkward.
Personally, when purchasing tickets in advance, I always tried to get the seat closest to the aisle. But these two seats were right in the middle of a row. Not everyone was in their seats yet, but weâd still need to shimmy past five or so people. Parker seemed somewhat oblivious to this issue, and in his defense, he likely never faced this sort of problem. Being bigger meant anticipating any obstacle. Would there be a lot of walking? Would there be a lot of stairs? How sturdy were the seats? Iâd always thought about these things, but having gained fifty pounds in the last five months created even more complications I needed to be ready for.
âExcuse us,â Parker said, making his way into the row. He got by the first person with ease, whereas the man needed to stand up for me and press himself as far back into his seat as possible. Even then, my gut pushed up against him as I made my way past him. This happened four more times until we made it to our seats.
I sat in the chair and it creaked loudly. It was a really tight squeeze. This was not a theater that had been updated this century. It had probably been forty or fifty years since there had been any type of alteration to the seating. The armrests could not be lifted, so I sat there as they dug into the sides of my bloated gut. Fuck, I thought. Maybe we shouldnât have gone so hard at dinner.
âIsnât there like a special section for bigger people?â the woman next to me asked the man she was with. She was at least trying to whisper, but considering the fact I was sitting right next to her that didnât do much to keep me from hearing her. âItâs just, these seats are so small, you know? Even for someone regularly sized.â
Iâd been feeling pretty good before all of this happened. I was used to people making comments. But something about this made me really think hard about what Iâd been doing to my body. I was already fat. Iâd already had horrible eating habits. But should I have let this thing with Parker push me so completely into gluttony? I was the one who had to deal with the wardrobe malfunctions and too-small theater seats.Â
Parker was a great person and a masterful lover, but he was also ten years younger than me. If this dalliance were to end, he could go about his life unchanged. But me? How much bigger would I be by the time he got bored of me?
âAndy,â Parker said, his hand on my thigh. âAre you okay?â
âOh yeah, Iâm fine,â I lied. This wasnât the time or place to share my thoughts with him.
âI didnât pick the seats,â he explained. âNext time, Iâll make sure that weâre on the end.âÂ
âThanks.â I exhaled, feeling a little better. Him saying that didnât absolve all of my fears, but it reminded me of how thoughtful Parker was. Maybe he didnât know what it was like to be my size, but he did try to consider how my size affected my day-to-day life.
The lights dimmed and the show started a few minutes later. It was pretty funny and the music was enjoyable. I never thought a musical adaptation of an 80âs fantasy-horror-comedy would be any good, but Iâd see it again if given the chance. After the cast took their bows we waited for our row to clear out before we got up. I could tell he really enjoyed himself, so that made the two and half hours in that seat from hell worth it.
âI Ubered here from my apartment,â he said once we were outside.
âIâm in that parking garage by the restaurant,â I said. âI could give you a ride home.â
âYou did say you needed to thank me at dinner.â
âOh, I know just how to thank you.â It was nearly ten, and aside from the people who were also leaving the theater, there werenât a ton of people around. I grabbed Parkerâs hand and we went to my car. I asked him where he lived and other than that I just listened to all the fun facts he had about the production. We were soon out front. âYouâre coming up, right?â he asked.
âYeah, of course.â I parked and we made our way towards the entrance. He led me up some stairs to his fourth floor apartment. If he lived any higher, weâd have had to call it a night. His place was pretty small, a one bedroom. It was also super neat and tidy. Everything about Parker was that way.
He took off his jacket and hung it in the closet, offering to take mine too in the process. He told me to take a seat on the couch. I sat and realized how little it was. I guess a couch of this size was all he really needed, but it was more like a chair. I filled it up three-fourths of the way.
He carried in a tray with some vanilla oat milk and a container of cookies. He placed it on the coffee table and sat on the remaining one-fourth of sofa. âConsider these as a thank you for a great evening,â he said. âTheyâre lemon shortbread.â
âYou must spend a fortune on butter and eggs.â
âNot at all, I just started buying in bulk when I realized I had someone to bake for.â
âI appreciate getting to eat everything youâve made for me,â I said, pulling at my sweater, âthough I should probably slow down on all the baked goods.â I looked in his direction, wondering how heâd take in that information. He looked a little hurt, a little embarrassed.
âIs everything okay, Andy?â he asked. âWith us, I mean. I just thoughtââ
I could just keep all of these concerns to myself, but that wouldnât solve anything. It was probably better to have this conversation now instead of later. âIâve gained a substantial amount of weight since we started sleeping together. I know we havenât put into words what this is, but Iâm pretty sure youâre a feederâor an encouragerâwhich term is it?â I thought about all the information I found back when I investigated gay fat fetishes a few months ago.
âI think theyâre pretty interchangeable.â He wasnât looking at me. âAnd I guess that I am, yes.â He actually looked super pale. Was he scared? Did he think I was upset? I figured he was aware that heâd been found out months ago. He was always so focused on my weight and overfeeding me. His preferences were kind of obvious.
âIâm not upset,â I said, trying to sound reassuring. âIf Iâm being honest, Iâm pretty into it.â
He looked up at me, relief overtaking his previously sullen expression. âYou are?â
âI think you know I like to eat. And getting bigger is kind of hot when I have someone so into it.â
âIâm into it for sure.â
âMy main concern is how serious you are, Parker.â He looked at me intently, waiting for me to continue speaking. âYouâre young. Youâre still fairly new to the area. When it comes down to it, youâre a hot commodity. Any guy would be lucky to be with you. With how big I was, with how big Iâve gotten, Iâm limiting myself. My prospects were slim before, but Iâve probably made the margins even smaller in regards to my marketability.â
âAndrew, I am very serious about you,â he said. âYou are the sexiest guy Iâve ever been with. Youâre also the biggest guy I've ever been with. Whatever youâre comfortable with, I am willing to do. If you want to lose weight, thatâs fine. If you want me to stop with the baking, thatâs fine. I just want you. I like you.â
âI like you too. I have since you first started working for me.â Our eyes were locked on one another. This conversation felt so real, so needed. This guy was serious about me. What a relief. âAnd letâs not be too hasty about the baking. Iâll let you know if we need to slow down, Mr. Feeder.â
This caused his whole face to redden, all the way to his ears. I loved when that happened. It was so funny to see his emotions so clearly. âNow bring that container of cookies over here. Iâm hungry.â
Maybe it was reckless of me. Maybe I shouldâve taken the out Parker had offered me. But I kept on eating like I had been. I blew past 400 pounds as we entered the new year. Heâd flown home for the holidays, so I spent time with my own family. They all showed great concern for how big Iâd gotten, but that didnât stop them from piling my plate high with soul food at Christmas dinner. That was just how my family operated. Itâs why I was so big growing up to begin with.
That first Monday back after the winter holidays was nice because we were able to fall back into our normal routine, which included copious amounts of food and a great deal sex. While most people around the office set goals for having a healthier diet or joining a gym, I did nothing of the sort. It was somewhat freeing to know there was no resolution I was bound to break.
Over the first few months of the new year, Parker began spending more and more time at my apartment. Suddenly there was a toothbrush, and then extra pairs of underwear, and then, an item that let me know how serious things had gotten between us, his KitchenAid Stand Mixer.
âYouâre here more than at your place,â I said one Saturday evening in April. Weâd ordered pizza for dinner, and even though Parker had stopped eating thirty minutes ago, I was still working on an extra-large, tavern-style sausage and pepperoni. Iâd already eaten some buffalo wings and a Caesar salad (for balance, of course). âWhen does your lease end?â
âWell, it ends August of this year.â
âCancel it.â
âCancel it?â
âYeah,â I said, reaching for another slice. âIâll pay whatever fee your landlord charges for breaking your lease.â
The next week he moved into my three-bedroom apartment. I had more than enough room for his stuff. Even his dollhouse-sized couch fit comfortably against a wall in the home office. This did mean my office baked goods were a thing of the past. They were never able to last long enough after he prepared them to be brought into work. Since meeting Parker nine months ago, I was now 75 pounds heavier.
Parker and I were going to take a long weekend for Memorial Day. Weâd both put in for the day off on Friday and we wouldnât need to return to the office until Tuesday. Iâd rented a house up north, about three hours away. The Thursday before we were to leave, Parker frantically entered my office a little after we returned from lunch.
I was positively beached. We were both looking forward to the weekend and he excitedly ordered for me at Rockinâ Sushi. We had purchased enough sashimi, nigiri, and maki rolls for a party of five or six people.
My belly covered my lap almost to my knees when I sat. I normally didnât dress so casually for the office, but today I was wearing a polo. The fabric was pulled tight around my stomach and Iâd been massaging the sides of my gut before Parker came to find me. If he didnât seem so distraught, Iâd have asked him to take over.
âWe canât go out of town,â he said. âWe have to reevaluate your accounts.â
âWhat?â I asked, my eyes half-open. âI have nine major accounts and twelve smaller ones. Thatâs more than all the other execs.â
âYes, thatâs true, butââ he stopped talking. He probably felt like heâd been overreacting, but I wanted to make sure his worries were quelled.
âTalk to me.â
âI heard from Mr. Monroeâs assistant, who heard from Mr. Otterlyâs assistant, that Mr. Otterly plans to retire at the end of June.â John Otterly was well past the age for retirement. His presence at Hathaway and Associates was really just a formality at this point. Heâd been an exec at our agency since the mid-seventies. In his prime, for sure, he was incredible at pulling in clients and coming up with catchy slogans for print ads. Now, he had only one major account for a failing brand of novelty gag-gifts. âTheyâre looking to promote someone, but they want to make the position more robust by taking some accounts from other executives.â
âBullshit.â
âAgreed.â He watched me heave myself out of my desk chair. âWhat should we do?â
âFollow me.â
I might have moved a little bit more slowly these days, but with Parkerâs help Iâd acquired two new clients in the last nine months and strengthened our agencyâs relationship with all my original accounts. I wasnât just some overweight behemoth who didnât do any work. I was a heavy hitter. Iâd recently had a confidence about myself that, shamefully, came from the idolization and devotion Parker gave to me. I was the biggest Iâd ever been, but I didnât feel ashamed of myself. I was already going to draw attention entering a room so I might as well not give a fuck what people thought.
We stopped outside of William Hathawayâs office, whose grandfather had actually founded Hathaway and Associates almost a century ago. We executives kept things running while he received a great deal of the credit, considering he was only in office two days a week. He did hold a forty-five percent share on the board of directors, which was the largest portion of any member. This meant he had a great deal of influence when the board made the large decisions that affected day-to-day operations.
âHeâs preparing to leave early for the holiday weekend,â his administrative assistant said plainly. She was also the office manager. Mr. Hathawayâs schedule allowed her to take on more responsibilities, so she helped to organize the tasks for the interns and other assistants. âHe doesnât want to be bothered, especially after the meeting he just had.â
âMartha,â Parker said gently, smiling in her direction. âMr. Reynolds was hoping to speak with Mr. Hathaway before he left. If he���s not terribly busy, would you please let him?â
âI donât know. He was pretty adamant that he didnât want to see anyone else.â
âDidnât you say your husband liked the chocolate-dipped almond biscotti I made you for your anniversary?â
âThose were divine,â she said, taking more interest in Parkerâs plea. I remembered those biscotti. Iâd eaten two test batches before he felt confident enough to share them with Martha.
âWerenât they?â I added. âI donât know how he does it, but heâs incredibly talented.â
âMy husbandâs birthday is coming up,â she pondered aloud. âHave you ever made a cake before?â
âOf course!â
They ironed out some details and settled on a tiramisu inspired layer cake. She hopped out of her seat giddily and went to inform Hathaway of our arrival. We got the go ahead to enter and there he was waiting for us behind his desk nursing a scotch.
âReynolds, youâre bigger every time I see you.â
Hathaway wasnât one to mince words.
âYouâre one to talk. Iâm not the only one carrying around a spare tire.â This made him laugh.
âIâm in my sixties, whatâs your excuse?â He didnât stop. âAnd Iâve got a spare tire, youâve got a whole Goodyear.â
âOkay, okay,â I said, allowing him to think his ribbing had gotten to me. âIâm just eating good. And my assistant here is a master baker.â
âHe is, eh?â Hathaway asked, drinking from his scotch. âYou're the biscotti boy?â
âYes sir. Thatâs me.â
âMartha, that stingy bitch, only let me have one. Said they were for her anniversary. Iâve got an anniversary. And a birthday.â
âIâll get those dates from Martha, sir.â Hathaway gave an impressed smirk and took another sip from his drink.
After that, we were finally able to talk business. I asked about Otterly. His retirement was true, a decision âstrongly encouragedâ by all members of the board. The position being padded with the accounts of other executives was also true. We would be asked in the coming month to choose one or two of our large scale accounts to let go of. When I asked why they didnât just cut the position, they were concerned about losing their lead copywriter, who voiced concerns about a lack of upward mobility at Hathaway and Associates. He claimed heâd be willing to walk away from the agency unless he was seriously considered for Otterlyâs position.Â
That lead copywriter? Mark.
If it were anyone else, I would have thought twice about my next course of action. But for Mark? I couldn't care less.
âWell,â I started, hoping I was playing this right. âI say cut Otterlyâs position. Give his few accounts to one of us execs, and if he walks, he walks.â
âHeâs done good work,â Hathaway offered.
âYou can save a great deal by cutting the position. Promote one of the junior copywriters to Markâs position. And for good measure, Parker here can take the open junior copywriter role.â Parker made a sound of surprise but did his best to recover.
âBiscotti boy?â
âHeâs got the Andrew Reynolds seal of approval.â This meant a great deal. I had the most accounts out of all eleven execs. I also had the greatest renewal rates. âIâd be losing the worldâs greatest assistant, but Iâd do anything for Hathaway and Associates.â
âMy great-niece did just graduate from Columbia,â Hathaway said. âIâm sure sheâll need help finding a job with a degree in art history.â If I had to deal with another nepo-baby, so be it. I was keeping my accounts and helping Parker advance in his career.
âJust think about it,â I said, ending our conversation. As we left his office, Martha entered. Before the door closed completely, I heard him mentioning that the board needed to convene after the holiday weekend to vote about an important matter. I had a good feeling that things were going to change for my little Biscotti Boy.
We did still manage to make it up to the house I rented. Fortunately, it was somewhat secluded, the houses pretty far apart from each other. They were only really visible to one another from the front yard. Parker had a long list of grocery items he needed, so our first stop after checking into the rental was the local supercenter. He was obviously grateful for what Iâd done in Hathawayâs office, and he spent the weekend showing me that gratitude with his culinary skills and physical flexibility. My favorite memory from our trip would be how heâd gotten me on the floor after grilling some brats and making sâmores.
âOkay, so bend your knees,â he said, swinging his leg around my waist after tossing me a pillow for underneath my head. There wasnât a ton of space between my bent knees and my bulging belly, but Parker fit there perfectly. He looked down at me as he sat atop my waist, sliding all nine inches of my penis inside himself. He rested his hands on my stomach. Their warmth penetrated me to my core.Â
I reached up to grab at his butt as he rode me. It felt good in my hands, and the thought of what it looked like as I fucked him had me salivating. Always the hard worker, Parker swiveled his hips back and forth rhythmically. His dick was angled upwards, sandwiched between the bottom of my gut and his flat stomach. He leaned forward slightly, his hands sliding up my stomach to my chest. He grabbed my slightly puffy nipples and pinched them gently. That intensified the pleasure I was feeling and I lifted him slightly by raising my legs, pushing myself deeper inside of his ass.Â
âOh God,â he moaned, sitting straight up. He bounced up and down like this for nearly a minute before he came. His cum shot up his front, some landing on the floor and on my gut. The look of sheer pleasure on his face was intoxicating. That did it for me too, and had me shooting my load as well.
We stayed on the floor longer than intended. I couldnât get up just yet, so he covered both of our naked bodies with a large blanket and cuddled up close to me. Losing him as my assistant was going to be tough, but moments like these would make up for it.
Returning to work on Tuesday was fine. Iâd have preferred another week in a secluded lake house with Parker, but the real world was waiting for us. Antoinette was in rare form, flitting from assistant to assistant spreading gossip. She was Hathaway and Associates' very own Lady Whistledown, though a lot less discreet.Â
Before lunch, the board met to discuss the future of Mr. Otterlyâs position. Antoinette made sure everyone knew how they voted, openly voicing her dismay that her good friend Mark would not be shifting to an executive role, as John Otterlyâs position would be closed and his accounts redistributed amongst some of the remaining executives.
The ball was now in Markâs court. He could keep his current job or he could quit. I was hoping for the latter, so Parker could shine in the field heâd gone to school for.
We worked all day and at exactly five we clocked out. We entered the elevator and Mark followed behind us. âThatâs some shit you pulled Andy,â he spat. I noticed a cardboard box in his hands.
âYouâre referring to what exactly?â I asked, feigning ignorance.
âOh please,â he said. âYou get a little ass from your assistant and youâre bending over backwards to get him a promotion. Itâs pathetic, but it makes a lot of sense. Why else would he ever waste his time trying to find your dick under that massive gut?â
âYouâre out of line,â I said, stepping towards him.
âHeâs a sneak and youâre a gullible, desperate, sorry excuse for a professional.â He was upset, understandably, but his job had still been intact. He couldâve continued in his role as lead copywriter, a position I held for over four years before my promotion, and one day heâd be seen as ready to move up in the agency. Heâd only been lead copywriter for a year and a half, a role in which heâd been given when the previous lead stepped down to take care of her newborn twins. Mark expected things to be handed to him without putting in the work. Now he was throwing a tantrum, and he wanted to take out his anger on us because he thought we were easy targets.
âHave you ever considered the fact that you just arenât that likable?â I asked, staring down at him, forcing him into the corner of the elevator. âYouâre talented, sure, but you are just so fucking hard to like. Hathaway knows this, the other execs know this. Why do you think it was so easy to encourage them to close Otterlyâs position? They donât want to work any more closely with you than they already do.â
I looked down at the cardboard box. Like a baby, heâd quit when he didnât get his way. âOr should I say did?â
The elevator stopped on the main floor and the doors opened. Mark looked up at me and then over at Parker. âFuck the both of you,â he said, pushing past me with slight difficulty. Parker looked pretty mortified, his entire face red with embarrassment.
My little ingĂŠnue. He was still very green, and I loved that about him, but I needed him to stand up for himself if he was going to survive in this industry. People made jokes or rude comments. Thereâd be backstabbing and petty office gossip. At the end of the day it didnât matter. I was proof of that. Thereâd been talk about my weight for months, and I was still one of the most successful people on staff.
Iâd for sure been in a slump before I met Parker, but I was becoming the man Iâd been in my early twenties (metaphorically, not physically). There was a lot less self-doubt and self-loathing. I liked looking at myself in the mirror. I knew that I was good at what I did, and I knew I just needed to carry myself like I had when I was grinding as a junior copywriter.Â
âThat was really intense,â he said. Weâd slowed, pausing in a stairwell. We were halfway between the lobby and the underground parking garage. âI would never sleep with you for that. I swear that I would never do that.â
âI know.â I felt myself smiling. It made me feel good that he liked me so much. His first thought was how I felt. He was always looking out for me, and if he did get a new role as a copywriter, no assistant would ever live up to what he was capable of.
âI love you,â he said, looking at me seriously. I couldnât believe heâd just said that to me. How weâd gotten to this point, Iâd never fully grasp, but I was glad that we did.
âI love you too,â I said. We were silent for a moment, and I took the opportunity to joke with him. âAnd I have to say, what an elaborate scheme you pulled. The baked goods, the lunches, the head. All for a promotion. Youâre truly a mastermind.â
He laughed, swatting me on the ass. âAnd this is only Phase One. Mu-ha-ha.â
âWhatâs Phase Two?â
âHmm, Iâll let you know when I think of it.â
âMaybe you arenât the mastermind I thought you wereââ
âShut up!â he said, laughing. âNow letâs get you something good to eat for defending my honor.â
A month later, Parker was officially offered a position as a junior copywriter. Heâd taken me shopping for some summer clothing itemsâboth work attire and casual items. The number of Xâs on my shirts and shorts was a little shocking, but he did have a knack for picking flattering cuts and patterns. I may have been over 400 pounds, but Iâd never looked more stylish.
âAre you ready yet?â Parker called from the living room. It was the last Saturday in June and all of Parkerâs old roommates from California were in town for the last weekend of Pride and to celebrate his promotion.
âYeah,â I called in response. I walked out of our bedroom. âBut youâre sure you want me to wear this to meet your friends?â
âOh, come on,â he said. âItâs just a pair of shorts and a polo. Itâs not risquĂŠ.â
The shorts were much shorter than Iâd buy for myself, but they did fit me very well. They were a good three inches above my knees. He saw them on some Instagram ad and bought me three different pairs. The polo was much more out of my comfort zone. It was cream-colored and a crochet knit. You could see glimpses of my brown skin through the hundreds of small holes that made up the shirt.
âBut it seems like you guys want to dance and thatâs not really my scene anymore. Canât you all celebrate tonight and then we all meet up for brunch tomorrow?â
âOkay, what about we all meet up tonight and go out to brunch tomorrow morning?â he countered in rhetorical fashion. âAnd besides, if you donât want to burn any calories, you can just have some bar food and a beer.â
âThey have those soft pretzels there donât they?â
âThey sure do,â he said, handing me my keys. âNow letâs go please.â
Fortunately I was able to find a good parking spot not too far from the bar. I parked and we walked the block to Dudes. The day had cooled considerably, which I was grateful for. Itâd been in the eighties, but it was only about seventy now that the sun had set. They asked to see Parkerâs ID and then we made our way inside.
âParker!â I looked for who had shouted his name. It was another Asian guy who was about Parkerâs height.
âYedam, hey!â Parker looked at me. âAndy, this is Yedam. Yedam, this is my boyfriend Andy.â
âOh wow,â Yedam said, taking me in. He smiled, like he was trying to stifle a laugh. âUm, itâs nice to meet you.â He locked eyes with Parker, raising his eyebrows theatrically. Was this a good interaction or not? I was having trouble reading the situation. Two other guys made their way to where we stood, both holding drinks. One of the guys handed a glass to Yedam.
âMike, Sam, this is my boyfriend Andy.â Mike was white and very blond. Sam was black, a little lighter than I was. Overall, they all had the same vibe as Parker. Very put-together, the same height and build.
âThis makes sense,â Sam said, gesturing back and forth with his pointer finger between Parker and I.
âOh yeah, a thousand percent,â Mike added.
I felt like I was missing something, but I was hopeful Parker would fill me in later. The guys all told me I was very handsome and very large. It wasnât in a sarcastic way, or a flirtatious way even. They presented it like they were simply stating facts. I ordered my pretzels and a round of shots for Parker and his friends. They were all laughing and joking and hanging off of one another. It was almost enough to make me jealous, but I knew I was what Parker wanted. I didnât need to worry about his friends.
After another shot Parker pulled me towards the crowded dance floor. âReady?â he asked, leaning into me.
âI thought I was supposed to drink my beer and eat bar food.â I scanned the whole place; I was the biggest guy in the entire club.
âYouâve got all night to eat bar food. You can dance with me for a few minutes.â He started to move his body and I did too. I wasnât a bad dancer; it was just something I tended to avoid. He turned slowly, his butt against my crotch.
It seemed like the music got faster and louder, and the entire time I couldnât take my eyes off of Parker. He was absolutely gorgeous. I leaned down, kissing his neck. He lifted his arms, wrapping them around my neck. I stepped back and felt a foot under me.Â
âShit, man, watch where youâre going! Youâre gonna break someoneâs foot!â This guy was drunk.
âWhat was that?â I asked. Six months ago, Iâd have left the dance floor completely mortified. But now, why would I ever stop living my life because I took up just a little too much space? The world was a big place, and people would just have to make room for me.
âNothing, nothing,â he said, adjusting his tone. âJust be more careful. Sorry.â
âThat dude was an ass,â Parker said, turning to face me, resting his hands on my waist.
âAs crowded as it is, I was bound to step on someoneâs foot.â I leaned down so I didnât have to shout this next part so loudly. âAlthough it does probably hurt a little more when the one doing the stepping is over 425 pounds.â Parker smiled at me, and I think it was a relief to him that I was being a good sport.Â
âParker! Andy!â It was Sam waving us over to the bar.
He and the rest of Parkerâs friends wanted to do another shot and my pretzels were waiting for me. âThey were just delivered,â Yedam said. âAnd we didnât want them to get cold.â
The rest of the night went pretty well. Parker was always so reserved and in control of himself, so it was nice to see him having fun and letting loose. They were all pretty toasted by midnight, and Mike drunkenly started talking about getting something to eat.
âWhy did we drink so much?â he bemoaned, leaning against Yedam as we left the bar. âWe shouldâve gotten dinner before the bar.â
âYou were the one convinced you were getting laid tonight,â Sam stated, stumbling right along next to them.
âAndy knows a place,â Parker said, leaning against me. âIsnât Sub Daddyâs second location near here?â
âUh, yeah, it is,â I offered. âI can drive, though you all better not puke.â
âWe wonât!â they all sang in unison.
We made it to my Buick unscathed, and I made sure everyone was buckled up. Looking at Parker in the seat next to me and his three drunk besties in the back seat was hilarious to me. It looked like Iâd kidnapped a bunch of intoxicated twinks.
âSo did Parker used to bake a lot when you all lived together?â I asked, making conversation as we drove.
âConstantly,â Yedam said, sounding comically exasperated. âWe had this neighbor.â
âOh yeah!â Mike interjected. âBig Idris.â
âYour neighbor went by âBig Idris?â Seriously?â I asked.
âOf course not!â Sam exclaimed, cracking up. âI think his real name was Tyler or something?â
âTyson,â Parker clarified, his entire face and ears covered in a red blush that I didnât think was entirely from the alcohol.
âTyson, right,â Sam continued. âWe called him Big Idris because he was hot like a young Idris Elba, but much bigger. I mean, not huge.â There was a slight pause, as if he was second guessing his next statement. âLike youâre way bigger than he was.â
âOkay, so he wasnât fat-fat, got it.â
âSo anyway, Big Idris was our neighbor across the hall. When we moved in at the start of our fall semester junior year, Parker baked little treats for everyone on the floor. Big Idris was the only one who came back asking for seconds.â The three of them roared with laughter. I could see where this story was going. Yedam continued the tale.
âIt was just like when we were in the dorms. He didnât have access to a kitchen, but Parker made sure this guy who lived on the floor above us never went without a snack. Insomnia Cookies should probably erect a statue in Parkerâs honor. What was his name? Owen?â
âYes, Owen,â Parker confirmed.
âSo Owen, the ex-football player, ended the year having put on the freshman fifteen.â
âPlus fifteen,â Mike added.
âPlus fifteen,â Sam followed. They all cracked up again. Parker was definitely an anomaly to them. An oddity that made for interesting stories. Their sex lives were probably pretty tame compared to what Parker and I were into.
âOwen was nothing like Big Idris though,â Yedam said. âThose 45 pounds were nothing compared to the almost a hundred Big Idris gained living across the hall from us for two years.â
Mike spoke next, saying, âTo be fair, it wasnât all Parker. This guy liked to eat, and he was always ordering DoorDash or UberEats.âÂ
âBut Parker wasnât innocent,â Sam said. âHe baked him a different type of cookie at least three times a week.â
âWhat happened to Big Idris?â I asked, now extremely curious.
âHis girlfriend moved in and Parker moved here to start his new job. Sheâs definitely helped him change his diet around. You can tell heâs lost some weight, not eating as much take-out. But he for sure doesnât seem as happy as when Parker was visiting his apartment at two in the morning.â
âThatâs a shame,â Parker said. Now that had me cracking up as I pulled into the Sub Daddy parking lot. Of course Parker would be upset to hear that all his hard work was being undone.
We went inside and ordered, and the four of them decided to split two sandwiches, which was funny because I ordered two sandwiches for myself. We sat and ate, the four of them passing tiny bags of chips back and forth to supplement their little sandwiches. After we finished eating I drove them back to their Airbnb. We made plans to meet up for brunch the next afternoon, and I was very interested to hear more about Parker as a sexy coed with feeder tendencies.
Parker was only slightly hungover the next morning. We hung out with his friends again in the afternoon. They mostly shared stories, while I mostly ate boujee brunch food. We said our goodbyes and they made plans to get together again soon. They all still lived in the old apartment, at least until their lease ended in the fall. Overall, the weekend had been a success, and I was sure Parker was excited to start his new position come Tuesday.
Monday heâd be training his replacement.
âSo make sure his lunch is ordered at eleven so that heâs able to eat by noon,â Parker stated matter-of-factly.Â
He had been with my new assistant all morning. She was a nice girl, and I could tell she was already a little overwhelmed by all the things Parker expected her to remember. I think Parker was sad to be shifting to a new position, even though he was really excited to be doing what he dreamed of.Â
He would be on an entirely different side of the office. It was probably for the best that we had a bit of space from each other. We didnât want to become one of those couples that couldnât function without the other.
But still, he knew me better than anyone. I didnât have to think about my next move because heâd already anticipate it.Â
âParker, can I see you in my office for a moment?â I asked.
âYes, of course,â he said before turning his attention to my new assistant. âNicolette, we can go over the best times to schedule Mr. Reynolds for a meeting after you get back from your break.â She couldnât grab her purse fast enough. She was probably going to be updating her LinkedIn and putting in applications on Indeed.
âYou need to go a bit easier on her,â I said once we were behind closed doors. âRemember that's Hathawayâs great-niece.â
âI didnât have anyone to show me the ropes when I started,â he said. âI just want to make sure she knows what to do so things go smoothly for you.â
âIâll be okay, babe.â
âFine. Iâll dial it back.â
âSo how about a quickie for old timeâs sake?â He laughed, but he immediately loosened his tie.
I ended up seated behind my desk with my pants around my ankles. He was completely nude, claiming he didnât want to chance getting a stain on his clothes. He kneeled in front of me and reached into my desk drawer. He grabbed a tiny bottle of lube. He squirted a moderate amount in his palm before wrapping his hand around my erection. He pumped my dick slowly, covering it with the lube.Â
I watched him stand with his back to me. I got to my feet, grabbing the bottle of lube from him and covering his hole with some of it, massaging it with my fingers. Being between his fat cheeks was always a pleasure. It was the only fatty part about him, and I loved grabbing his ass roughly in these moments. I bent my knees before angling my dick so thereâd be a smooth entry and pushed my penis into him slowly. I leaned my body on top of him, my gut resting on his back as I rocked my hips back and forth. I felt his body relaxing as I found a good rhythm. I continued to thrust my hips and he did his best to stifle his moans.
âIâm your biggest success story,â I said breathily, pushing a bit more forcefully. âI just know your friends are going to be shocked the next time they see me.â
âUhââ he whimpered, his knees buckling slightly.
âSay it,â I said. âSay that youâre gonna make me bigger.â
âIâIâm gonna make you bigger.â He tugged at his dick desperately. He wasnât going to last much longer.
â500 isnât that far off,â I said, not entirely believing it myself. Would he want me to get that big? He did tell me that I was the biggest person heâd ever been with. Could he handle that? Could I?
âOh fuck!â he panted, doing his best to catch his cum in his hand. I gave a few final pushes before filling him with my cum. I pulled myself from inside of him and we both got cleaned up. He got dressed, looking positively pristine, like nothing lewd had just taken place in my office.Â
Thatâs when he turned to me and said, âI hope youâre ready for lunch.â
He had a look in his eye that let me know our sex talk wasnât just talk. Parker had goals, and I liked a man with motivation.
I sure knew how to hire âem.
The End!
#gainer stories#gainer story#gainerstory#gainer fiction#gainer fic#gainerfic#fatfiction#gay feedee#gay feeder#weight gain
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On the heels of coop with body hair 'nd all that, how would coop feel about his lover having a happy trail/body hair/clean shaved? Obvi it's different for everyone irl with preferences, just wanted your thoughts!! đ
Anon, apparently you, me, and @love-affair-with-fandoms are forming some sort of dark triad with our brains, because they sent me this wonderful little Walton Goggins interview blurb that I think perfectly sums up how both versions of Cooper Howard would feel about body hair on a partner (it was literally the next ask in my inbox and they came within a few minutes of one another!):
Prewar!Cooper Howard is so used to being around "L.A. people" who are all perfectly made-up, waxed, tanned, and toned constantly, so I think having a partner with any body hair would be strangely exciting to him. I think it would remind him of a kind of authenticity, a sort of comfort with oneself and one's body that he almost never sees anymore. And I think he'd like that a lot. Do you know anything about raising chickens, by the way...?
Also, this quote only confirms further to me that he would be a big ol' fan of bush of all kinds. Even if he waxes his chest, which I think he would for pretty boy actor reasons, his pubes are intact. Like I said, not unkempt, but he's certainly not shaving below the belt. He'd prefer it if you didn't, either. Granted, he's a sweetheart who respects your autonomy, so if you wanna be dolphin smooth, you won't see him complaining. Maybe you've always shaved or waxed, even just trimmed it short, and you get behind on your grooming for a few weeks due to life being hectic. The first time he sees you that way, I think it would turn him on a lot and you'd be due for a lesson on how much this man loves eating hairy pussy. Not bad incentive to ditch the extra work of shaving/trimming, or the extra cost of waxing (which he will happily pay for if you decide you still want to do it in the future, make no mistake...it'll just make him a little sad inside).
The Ghoul (like most ghouls, in my opinion) is just obsessed with human hair, period. Doesn't matter where it's growing from. Spending decades and decades with no hair will make you forget how nice it can feel, how unique its presence can make the human face and body, so I think hair anywhere on you would be constantly petted and stared at once you two got close enough. And I mean anywhere. Hairy knuckles or forearms? Happy trail/belly hair? Especially thick eyebrows? Fascinated by it all, hovering close the second you have anything bare enough for him to touch it. You tease him about it, and he tells you to shut up. When you get really close, you often fall asleep to the feeling of him stroking your hair.
He's long forgotten (and then remembered again) that women used to be expected to shave basically everything, and he's decided that he much prefers the way things are now, for once, on that front. He thinks your armpit and leg hair is cute and he'd be so sad to see you without it.
Would be similarly crazy about bush, but in a softer, more reverent way. I think he would like to take a long nap on a nice, soft bush.
#cooper howard#the ghoul#cooper howard smut#cooper howard headcanons#cooper howard x reader#cooper howard x you#ghoulcy#vaultghoul#prewar!cooper howard#fallout tv show#fallout prime#submission
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Analysis on the closet scene | Ep. 101 - Nevermore.
I find this scene to be very meaningful. Not just on a superficial level, but also on a deep and symbolic one.
In this analysis ramble, I'll try to give my perspective on some of the elements and symbols I find interesting regarding how this scene is written. Particularly, when narrating the conflict Annabel Lee is facing in this situation.
Sorry for any mistakes! English is not my first language. Now, let's start!
1 | About Annabel Lee.
Annabel Lee is one of the most, if not the most, multifaceted character in this comic.
She hides herself constantly, to the point where we barely see her true self showing unless when she's with Lenore... or when she's alone. But around everybody else, she shows herself masked only â the mask of someone who pretends to be strong and tenacious, while actually trying to hide the fragile and sensitive human being behind it.
In order to hold this mask and keep the truth for herself âto prevent people from interfering with her plan and to protect both herself and Lenoreâ she's capable of doing absolutely anything. From putting Duke behind a wall to whatever it takes to achieve her goal.
Remember these panels? They're from Ep. 97! In these, Annabel Lee is being called mad and referred to as a monster by the person she loves the most, Lenore.
She bet her morality and her bonds with people on the price of protecting Lenore and escaping from Nevermore together, even if it meant getting her hands dirty... But she went so far with it that even Lenore, who knows her best, thinks she's a monster.
Her worst fear now comes true. It hits her in the deepest part of herself, reliving her most vulnerable and sensitive side, and reminding her that she's alone. Her mask, suddenly, breaks apart.
2 | About the closet.
Annabel hides herself in a corner of closet.
She hides herself away, with no one noticing at first, and cries alone, concealing her vulnerability and keeping it from everybody else's sight.
Given this, we could take the closet as a metaphor of Annabel Lee's inner world â her true self, everything she keeps hidden, alongside her secret with Lenore that is now burdening her.
She cries alone, among all the clothing that is inside. We could think this as if she was surrounded by all her costumes, her masks. However, she's not wearing a mask now â It's her true self, being vulnerable behind closed doors.
The closet inside is dirty, untidy, dusty, filthy. Even Prospero, in Ep. 102, said it himself: "I shudder to think how long it's been since someone last swept out this closet". Maybe, this could be a metaphor of how unkept and disorganized Annabel's inner world is, due to having to pretend all the time to be someone she's not... As if her true self had been trapped behind those doors for ages and was finally found out purely by accident.
3 | About Prospero.
In this chapter, we see a Prospero that, aside from the teamwork aspect, actually cares about Annabel Lee. Maybe not in such a deeper level -since they don't know each other that well in this part of the comic- but he does. This makes a contrast with Annabel's loneliness, since there's someone who worries about her at some level. She's not completely alone.
Prospero approaches the door cautiously, thoughtfully, probably wondering what could be making that noise inside â it could be a rat as well as it could be some kind of monster.
However, it's neither a rat nor a monster he finds, but...
...just Annabel Lee, in her most authentic self, finally allowing herself to be human.
Thank you for reading!
And sorry for the long post lol, I've been keeping this for months now and I just couldn't hold myself anymore haha.
I thought I had to comment on this since more than just being a scene of Prospero finding Annabel in a closet, it's about meeting and understanding for the first time the other's inner world â and the comic has both an interesting and beautiful take on this.
This is my first Tumblr post too, so I hope it was good! Now I'll come back to my cave to overanalyze any other scene of the comic back again lol.
See you around!
#nevermore webtoon#nevermore#nevermore webcomic#annabel lee nevermore#annabel lee whitlock#lenore nevermore#lenore vandernacht#prospero nevermore#posh besties
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What's crazy and really shows off how impeccably awful this show managed to be is how DIFFERENT Anakin feels between the Kenobi show and the Ahsoka show, despite the fact that he's being played by the same actor probably within a year of each other if that.
And it's so clearly not the fault of the performer, Hayden Christensen is doing the absolute MOST to give an authentic and familiar performance of Anakin in the Ahsoka show and on a STRICTLY acting standpoint, I think he succeeds. People have pointed out that the Anakin that Hayden is playing in the flashbacks, despite being in the TCW costumes, does not at all feel like TCW Anakin. There's nothing suave or charming about him. When he tries to joke and Ahsoka pushes back against it, he immediately gets defensive, which is perhaps one of the most in-characters thing about the entire performance. And obviously his performance as Sith Anakin is pure perfection.
But it's not just the performance that creates a character. It's the way other people discuss the character, it's the way that character impacts the world around them, it's what we as the audience are allowed to see of them.
In the Obi-Wan show, Anakin at his best is still a whiny little asshole. In the flashback scene, he's arrogant, he's overconfident, he's a little bit of a bully, he's stubborn, and he's a sore loser. It's left a little ambiguous as to whether this scene was a true flashback or something Else, but the dialogue of the scene and who is currently "winning" the match clearly are intended to parallel what's going on in the actual plot between Obi-Wan and Anakin. Which means you can just as easily interpret this as saying that the whiny little asshole you remember from the prequels is still the person behind that mask. Yes, he's got a vocoder changing his voice into something more menacing, his expressions hidden behind an emotionless mask, but that whiny teenager is still calling the shots here. That's precisely what motivates him. Even if it's intended as a more legitimate flashback, that's supposed to be Anakin at his BEST and he's... whiny. He's arrogant. You can say he can grow out of it at this point and that's clearly what Obi-Wan believes in the moment, but the best he's got is... still this.
And he never grew out of it, he never left that arrogance and entitlement behind. He decided to let it define him instead. He might've had promise if he'd chosen to outgrow his more negative traits, but he didn't. He just stayed forever in the mindset of that annoying little 19 year old asshole.
And at his worst, Anakin's a literal unhinged MONSTER. He's casually walking by and murdering innocents just to get Obi-Wan's attention, he's stabbing Reva just because he can, he's ripping open ships, he's burning Obi-Wan alive out of vengeance. His face when that mask comes off has a manic GLEE as he talks about having "killed" himself just to try to manipulate Obi-Wan and the way he screams Obi-Wan's name at the end is so intensely disturbing. So many people saw that moment as Anakin having this moment of mindfulness, but I didn't see or hear a single sane moment in the entire scene. The whole thing is off-kilter and it feels pretty intentionally off-kilter, both in the writing and the acting and directing. Anakin's made his choice. This is it.
In the Kenobi show, Anakin might've once had promise. But he also had immense potential for monstrous evil, that was ALSO there as well. And whatever promise used to be there is now squandered in favor of the arrogance and cruelty and entitlement, which means that it's not worth Obi-Wan's time and effort and energy continuing to wonder what if about it. Because, quite honestly, it doesn't MATTER. Obi-Wan isn't fighting for Anakin anymore by the end. He's not fighting to destroy Anakin, but he's not fighting to save him, either. And the whole point of his relationships with Luke and Leia is that he has to learn to care about them for who THEY are rather than because he cared about their biological parents. He has to see them for who they've become and allow them to grow without worrying about how much like Anakin or Padme they might end up being. They're not Anakin and Padme, they're Luke and Leia, and his relationship with them is ultimately better for letting go of seeing them as anything other than who they actually are.
The people who were in charge of the Kenobi show clearly understood that in order for Obi-Wan to stand on his own as a main character of his own story, they needed to clearly differentiate him from Anakin and FREE him from Anakin. Yes, Obi-Wan is built to be Anakin's narrative foil and has been since day 1. Yes, Obi-Wan's story is very tied up in Anakin's. But this was OBI-WAN'S story and just for this one moment, they could let Obi-Wan be more than just someone who revolves around Anakin. He's his own person who makes his own connections and relationships that have nothing to do with Anakin and he only truly starts to feel like himself again when he walks away from Anakin and leaves him behind and accepts that Anakin has chosen to be someone that Obi-Wan cannot change. No one writing the Kenobi show wanted Obi-Wan to be more IMPORTANT to the narrative than Anakin, but they were able to allow Anakin to take a back seat so that Obi-Wan could actually grow and develop into his own character.
The same cannot be said for the Ahsoka show.
In the Ahsoka show, Anakin is portrayed IMMENSELY positively. At his best, Anakin is a wise powerful sage watching over someone he cares about and pushing her to be better. At his worst, he's... pushing her a little? They MENTION he's intense, and we see visions of him as a Sith, sure, but if that was Anakin at all, then it leaves you with the impression that he only pushed Ahsoka because he cared about her and she needed it and he was ultimately right to do so anyway. Was it tough? I guess, but nothing that would ultimately truly hurt her at all. Anakin's worst sins aren't touched on at all. Anakin is constantly remembered as someone who was GOOD without really acknowledging that while he might've been good at times, he wasn't always. Even when Ahsoka remembers him as a good master, he was still someone who believed in fascism and had massacred an entire village down to the last child. That person Ahsoka remembers was still a bad person and this show desperately wants you to forget that any of that is true about him.
And via proxies like Sabine and Ahsoka herself, this show DEFENDS Anakin's choices across the board. It's not even just that he was a good master, but that he ultimately did the RIGHT THING by choosing Padme over the galaxy because he did it out of "love," turning the genocide of the Jedi into something that was caused by their OWN failures instead of Anakin's failures.
There's zero recognition that Anakin was, ultimately, a failure. He was a failure as a Jedi, a failure as a master, a failure as a husband and a father, and a failure just as a generally good person. Anakin was a bad person who did bad things. Maybe he wasn't always, maybe he had his moments, fine, but overall? What's the legacy he leaves? What are people going to truly remember him for most? Despite his choice to save Luke in his last moments, his impact upon the galaxy is still a net negative.
And Ahsoka can have good memories of him and still recognize that Anakin's impact upon the galaxy was a bad one. She can choose to focus on the good memories she has without pretending like he was in actuality a good master who did nothing wrong. It's not like those two things can't co-exist and that is, in essence, exactly what Obi-Wan has to do. It's why he can say honestly and genuinely tell Leia at the end of the show that her father was "passionate, fearless, and forthright" even though just a day or so ago he'd accepted that Anakin himself had chosen to be an evil person now. He can remember Anakin as the friend he'd cared for AND recognize that the person Anakin is now is not that person anymore. Anakin NOW is evil, Anakin NOW doesn't deserve Obi-Wan's time or focus or grief, Anakin NOW needs to just be let go of. They aren't two separate people, obviously, but people do grow and change, and Obi-Wan once loved Anakin, but the boy Obi-Wan loved is gone because Anakin has chosen not to be that kind of person anymore. He's not kind, he's not compassionate, he's not merciful, or thoughtful or any of the good qualities he used to have. The Kenobi show forces both Obi-Wan and the audience to recognize that no matter how good someone might once have been, it's important to recognize when they're not acting like that person anymore and it's better to let them go and walk away.
And the reason Ahsoka can't do that is because the writers can't. The people in charge of writing Anakin in this show see him so differently than the people who wrote Kenobi. The the writers of the Ahsoka show, Anakin is "the greatest of all of the Jedi," not even just for raw power reasons, but because he understood what love was all about and felt it so deeply. So instead of that love twisting him and being in so many ways his greatest flaw, it turned into his greatest strength, something the Jedi just didn't understand. They're coming at Anakin from a WILDLY opposite direction here and so the way he gets depicted and spoken about comes across so unnervingly different.
You CAN see it as Ahsoka just... viewing Anakin differently. Obi-Wan knew Anakin as a child and was a Jedi Master before the betrayal, so he is more capable of viewing Anakin as the whole of what he was and letting him go. Whereas Ahsoka was a lot younger, she barely got any training before the betrayal, so her perspective on him is intensely skewed by this. She can't truly conceive of Anakin as both the good master she remembers AND the nightmare monster she knows he became, so she just... picks one. She chooses to see him as a good master and that's it. Nothing else he ever did matters. She never has to think about the genocide, the murders, the enslavement, the betrayals. He was a good master, and that's the end of the story. This is the best way she can learn to cope with this particular trauma is to just... ignore it and decide it didn't happen and so her version of Anakin is the ONLY version of Anakin.
But the narrative itself sort-of presents this as the honest truth of Anakin rather than just Ahsoka's perspective on the matter. It's not that Ahsoka just can't cope any other way, it's that this is, legitimately, who Anakin was. Anakin WAS a good master and the fact that he abandoned Ahsoka to die and tried to kill her and genocided her people and desecrated her home apparently doesn't change that at all. Because he did all of it for love. And the fact that Anakin was the "greatest of all the Jedi" because of this means that Ahsoka gets exalted even more so because of that.
But Obi-Wan doesn't need that. He doesn't need to be exalted as better than everyone else, he doesn't need to be made important by manipulating the narrative. He already IS important and the people writing his story know that. He's not important because he's better than Anakin, he's important just because he is. He's baked into this story and can't be removed from it without completely undoing it and telling a totally new story. Obi-Wan and Ahsoka are, in some ways, total opposites. Obi-Wan is a massively important character to the narrative who's never been the main character of his own story before the Kenobi show, while Ahsoka spent a long time as the main character of her story but has never and will never be that important to the narrative. She can be added to it and give some extra dimension to it, but she can be pretty easily removed from it, too.
And their relationships to Anakin in their respective shows seem to reflect the way the writers feel about those facts and their understanding of the characters themselves.
#star wars#ahsoka show#anakin skywalker#obi-wan kenobi#ahsoka tano#obi-wan kenobi show#anakin critical#anakin skywalker critical#filoni critical#dave filoni critical
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I think something i don't often see in discussions about Futa's character is how, if you really take a second, he's kind of a people pleaser
He isn't so in a way like what Mikoto got going on, he does want to be around people of the same interests as him, and you wouldn't think he'd care about anything but authenticity if you stayed with the way he behaves on milgram. It is only when you think about him -in- those social circles he manages to get into that you can see him tweaking lol
I think the closest to see this that we have in milgram itself is that one interaction with Kotoko in which she attempts to debate how prisons respect human rights. Any other time he expressed his opinion/stance on things he was aggressive and maybe condescending to the rest because they disagreed with him, but the second someone agreed? Whole demeanor changed. Suddenly he didn't have much to say anymore and he just parroted Kotoko's words back at her. Why. If he has such a strong personality and mindset, why was someone validating his point enough to shut down his otherwise very firm attitude?
Futa doesn't go as far as to manufacture his every word for it to cause a positive reaction on others from the get go, but he does seek validation all the same. He braces himself for rejection by being loud and obnoxious and harsh until he sees a positive reaction and then is when he does a complete 180 to keep the other person in that place of validation. He is simultaneously completely bad at it though, but I never said he was good at people pleasing. Which connects back to what i've said before about his inability to fit in. Even when he thinks he's doing it right and he sees himself getting validation by people he cares about (in the case of his crime, by mimicking his friendgroup's method of "bringing justice" by calling out someone online, that same friendgroup following along and reinforcing the idea that he was doing it right), he ultimately fails anyway and loses it all over again.
In the end, he's just extremely socially awkward and anxious. It isn't in his nature to reach anyone else's expectations even if he genuinely wants to, so he'll either do what he can within his parameters (mold himself for his friendgroup of people he deems similar to him) or he'll avoid trying altogether because he knows he'll fail (what we see in milgram!)
It also shows how his yearn for a support system (t2 qna + mu's birthday timeline convo) isn't particularly new from his current circumstances, or why the only person he could think of when asked who he would want to see right now was his mom (who left so long ago he barely remembers her). He has just never truly had people that genuinely cared for him no matter what he tried to do to make himself likeable.
#and having this in mind i think i understand why he seems to be âgiving inâ to amane's beliefs#it isnt solely because of his current vulnerability#it isnt even just to find solace in religion#it is because amane offered him help. in a way shes validating him#and if believing in bullshit like salvation and god will make at least the elementary schooler talk to him sometimes#against being left alone with his thoughts and the voices in the walls#with the track record he has of slightly molding himself and mimicking others#yeahh#and honestly that only means itll backfire even worse! on Him!#in his own words#it is what it isSorry#but no yeah hes fucked. i dont think his religious arc is gonna make shit complicated for anyone else but him#but itll be AWFUL on him#milgram#fuuta kajiyama#fuuta milgram#character analysis#sorta kinda#as always
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A Philosophy Behind Writer's Block: Valuing Despair
Unfortunately, it happened again where I went a little over a month without writing anything I was happy with. I would attempt to get some words down, remembering that even a little bit is progress; but, no matter what I did, everything just felt so dry and dull. Not only that, my stories felt like they were boring or just not worth it anymore. It was awful.
I tried everything that normally helped with getting over writerâs block. Iâd try out different times to write, read other books for inspiration, focus on another hobbyâstill, it all felt like I was banging on a brick wall. Thatâs when I turned to my philosophy studies, as if there was some sort of deeper consciousness of an answer that would aid my issues.
Well, there was. The infamous Kierkegaardian Despair.
The Sickness unto Death
The Sickness unto Death is a book written by Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard in 1849 under the pseudonym Anti-Climacus. A work of Christian existentialism, the book is about Kierkegaardâs concept of despair, which he equates with the Christian concept of sin, which he terms âthe sin of despair.â
In Kierkegaard's work, despair arises from a fundamental disconnection from oneâs true self and from God. He distinguishes between different forms of despair, including the despair of having a self and the despair of not wanting to be oneself.
Now, take what you will from the Christian existentialism part (Iâm pagan, so I already had mixed opinions on many classic texts on God), but it doesnât erase how the concept of despair can shed light on the underlying struggles that writersâat least, myselfâmay face.
Itâs Never Just a Phase
Writerâs block can be seen as a manifestation of existential despair in which we feel disconnected from our creative essence or authentic self. This disconnection may stem from various sources, such as self-doubt, fear of failure, or a sense of alienation from oneâs creative impulses. We may experience a profound sense of emptiness or meaninglessness, unable to access the inspiration and clarity needed to write.
Moreover, Kierkegaardâs notion of despair as a failure to align with oneâs true self suggests that writerâs block may arise when our creative endeavors are driven by external motives or expectations rather than genuine inner inspiration. The pressure to produce work that meets societal standards or fulfills commercial demands can lead to a sense of existential disorientation and paralysis.
Donât Just Overcome it. Value it.
If you resonate with Kierkegaardâs work, you will agree with his observation that we are always going to despair over something. Itâs not about waiting for the tide to roll over or for the dry spell to ease up, but to examine our own selfâs relation to what we are lamenting over. He writes:
âDespair is an aspect of the spirit, it has to do with the eternal in a person. But the eternal is something he cannot be rid of, not in all eternity⌠If there were nothing eternal in a man, he would simply be unable to despair⌠Having a self, being a self, is the greatest, the infinite, concession that has been made to man, but also eternityâs claim on him.â
Letâs break down the quote and explore how it can inform our approach to overcoming writerâs block:
Despair as an Aspect of the Spirit: Kierkegaard suggests that despair is not merely a psychological state but an aspect of the spirit, rooted in the eternal dimension of human existence. Kierkegaardâs conception of despair invites us to recognize the creative process as a site of existential tension and struggle.
Writerâs block is not merely a technical or practical obstacle to be overcome but a profound existential challenge that confronts us with the limitations of our finite selves and the aspirations of their creative spirit.
The Eternal in a Person: Kierkegaard asserts that despair is linked to the eternal within individuals, suggesting that it arises from a tension between the finite and the infinite aspects of human nature. The finite aspects encompass the temporal, material, and contingent dimensions of life, while the infinite aspects involve the eternal, transcendent, and spiritual dimensions. This tension is inherent in human consciousness and manifests in various forms of despair, such as the despair of weakness, the despair of defiance, and the despair of not willing to be oneself.
This tension between the finite and the infinite can be understood as the conflict between the limitations of our creative faculties and the boundless possibilities of imagination and expression. Writerâs block often emerges when the writer feels constrained by external pressures, self-doubt, or perfectionism, inhibiting their ability to access the infinite reservoir of creative inspiration within them.
Moreover, Kierkegaardâs concept of the finite and the infinite highlights the paradoxical nature of creativity. While the creative process involves the manipulation of finite materialsâwords, images, soundsâit also taps into something transcendent and ineffable, something that exceeds the boundaries of ordinary experience. Writerâs block can be seen as a manifestation of our struggle to bridge this gap between the finite and the infinite, to give form to the formless, and to articulate the inarticulable.
Having a Self as Eternityâs Claim: In Kierkegaardâs philosophy, the concept of âhaving a selfâ refers to the capacity for self-consciousness, self-reflection, and moral agency that distinguishes human beings from other creatures. It involves the awareness of oneâs own existence as a distinct individual with thoughts, feelings, desires, and responsibilities. âEternityâs claimâ suggests that the existence of the self is not merely a temporal or transient phenomenon but is imbued with profound significance that extends beyond the confines of earthly life. The self, according to Kierkegaard, is intimately connected to the eternal dimension of human existence, reflecting the divine spark within each individual.
âHaving a self as eternityâs claimâ suggests that the act of creative expression is not merely a personal endeavor but is also a manifestation of the eternal striving for meaning and significance. Writers, as self-aware and self-conscious beings, bear a profound responsibility to give voice to their innermost thoughts and feelings, to explore the depths of human experience, and to contribute to the ongoing dialogue of humanity.
Embracing Existential Depth
So how do we value despair and overcome writerâs block in light of Kierkegaardâs insights? Writerâs block often extends beyond mere technical or practical challenges and can be rooted in deeper existential concerns. This involves grappling with questions of identity, purpose, and meaning in the creative process. By recognizing writerâs block as a reflection of these existential concerns, we can approach it as an opportunity for self-exploration and growth. Rather than viewing it solely as a barrier to productivity, we can use writerâs block as a catalyst for deeper introspection and self-discovery. This might involve journaling, meditation, or engaging in conversations with fellow writers or mentors to uncover underlying psychological or philosophical issues that may be contributing to the blockage. I have previously posted a blog on writing soliloquies. Embracing existential depth allows us to transform our struggles into sources of insight and inspiration, ultimately enriching our creative work.
There is a large aspect of accepting what you cannot control, another widely-known philosophical concept. Swimming against the current, after all, may prove to be more tiring than itâs worth. Instead, be kind to yourself and practice self-compassion during these moments. Understand that experiencing creative struggles is a normal part of the writing process and treat yourself with the same kindness and understanding you would offer to a friend facing similar challenges.
Seek social support. Reach out to fellow writers, friends, or mentors for support and encouragement. Sharing your struggles with others can help you gain perspective and feel less isolated in your creative journey, because, trust me, we have all been there.
Ensure that you are also setting realistic goals. All I would want to do was upkeep my 3k word/day momentum, but I would feel even worse about myself for being unable to do so. Break down your writing goals into smaller, more manageable tasks and set realistic deadlines for yourself. Celebrate small victories along the way to maintain motivation.
Finally, what has helped me the most, is to read widely. Immersing myself in diverse genres, styles, and voices provided so much insight into what I could be missing in my own work; or, it simply sparked my love of story-telling all over again.
Closing Words
Remember that writerâs block is a temporary obstacle that can be overcome with patience, persistence, and, apparently, a bit of philosophy. Where there is frustration, we will find insight.
#novel writing#creative writing#writer#writers#writing#writers on tumblr#writeblr#writers and poets#writerscommunity#writerslife#writers of tumblr#author#writingcommunity#authorlife#authors of tumblr#writing community#writing inspiration#writing advice#writing tips#on writing#writer stuff#writer things#writer problems#writer community#writer on tumblr#author life#author blog
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Perfect Pretend ŕ¨ŕ§ đ¨ang đungwon
twelve. answer before i kms (0.9k written)
you were typing your response to sunoo when a knock came from the door. you quickly wiped your tears away with the sleeve of your pullover before opening the door. you werenât expecting to see the boy in front of you. â more under cut!
âyn, we need to talââ jungwonâs words came to a halt at the sight of your sullen appearance. he immediately pulled you into his arms. and as much as you were trying to fight it, this made you cry even more. you hated him and the power he began to hold over your emotions.
âiâm so sorry, yn.â he whispered into your ears. he still held onto you, rubbing your back in hopes of easing your pain. he knew that alone wouldnât cut it but he needed you calm before he proceeded with his apology.
âjungwon, that was my first kiss. i wanted that to be special. i waited so long for it. and you just took it,â you said in between sniffles. your crying was coming to a stop now. jungwon took this as a cue to pull away. he made eye contact with you as he held onto your arms on either side. âand as if that wasnât enough, you proceeded to make me feel stupid by teasing another kiss. what are you doing to me, jungwon?â
for the very first time, you left jungwon quiet. he didnât know what to say. because what exactly was he doing? he, himself, had no clue. you stared up at him, waiting for him to say something, anything. the longer he stayed quiet, the more it punctured your heart.
âleave please.â your kept your voice low. you feared raising it would cause you to start crying again. you felt embarrassed enough as it is. you didnât need to add onto it.
the more he stayed quiet, the more you began to get impatient. and you were about to get on his case until he made his way inside your house, swiftly closing the door behind him. âyn, look, iâm really sorry. i hadnât known you hadnât kissed anyone before. the first time was really just for the authenticity of this pretend.â
âand well the second one, i couldnât tell you even if i wanted to. i donât know what came over me. but do know i never intended to hurt you.â he swiped away a tear that escaped your eye. âi donât want to risk losing you. this whole month of fake dates and running up and down the streets with you has been the best time iâve ever had.â
you didnât know how to respond. various responses and remarks raced through your head. you couldnât help but feel the same as him. your mind traced back to your first âdateâ and the guitar shop to him spending the night in your living room, too tired to go home after spending the whole day together.
and you were about to forgive him until you started fighting your heart. you thought about the fact that even after a whole month of being hip to hip, he never asked for your number. yet belle and sunoo asked almost immediately.
but then you remembered he wasnât your real boyfriend. so did that even matter. this was all starting to give you a headache.
before you could respond, another knock came from the door. you were about to reach for the doorknob but jungwon beat you to it. and the sight of you two together was enough to shatter the visitor entirely.
just when he had thought, or more so hoped, that he had another chance at winning your heart, this killed it. yungyu didnât spare a glance at jungwon. instead, he stared at you. this is the worst condition heâs ever seen you in. and it tore him apart.
âyn? are you okay?â
why? why did the universe absolutely hate you right now?
âhi yuyu. iâm okay. just having a bad day. but iâll be okay. donât worry.â you smiled. and he knew that smile. your smile that was meant to deceive the recipient but was never effective on him. he was about to speak but you cut him off. âcould you come back later? we can talk then.â
and he nodded and made his way back. he didnât have it in him to protest. not anymore. this would be his very last time trying to console you. he couldnât bare trying to be there for you when it was breaking him. maybe it was true what they said. when you really love someone, you canât stay friends with them. it hurts too much.
âjungwon, if you donât have anything more to say, please leave.â you were much more gently spoken than before. perhaps seeing yungyu helped ease your mind. he was your best friend after all. youâd have to apologize to him later for pushing him away.
jungwon nodded his head and walked out. he didnât know what to say. unbeknownst to you, that was his first kiss too. and he too has never had a girlfriend. so even if he wanted to reason with you, try to be levelheaded, he couldnât. he didnât know how. heâd have to rush to his friends whenever he gets home.
jungwon deciding to walk out instead of talking to you made your heartache worse. maybe this pretend was a stupid idea. you shouldâve never suggested it. you shouldâve never done it. it was worthless and youâve never felt more stupid in your life.
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authorâs note: tell me about your worst heartbreak. vent session open. â please like, reblog and request taglist! ignore time stamps.
[open!] taglist: @dollschan @onlyhyunjin @dreamiestay @aubaee @tocupid @unhakki @jwonistic @theothernads @ilovejungwonandhaechan @rikisluv @i03jae @iheartjayke @realrintaro @ariesloves @marcosprinters @rairaiblog @run2min @lilinap @cyjzzl @mymelodyfanatic @skzhoes @50-husbands @karinaswifey @st1llm0nster @woninluv @boomboompingu @isa942572 @wonnieeluvvr @wensurr @istglevi-gotmesimping @luzzria @gldnstars @yirenverse @qettalos @ribbioniki @vmpivory @clampclover @cherrycolaberry @rikidaze
#⥠â liorae!#⥠â perfect pretend!#enhypen#enhypen au#enhypen fluff#jungwon#jungwon au#jungwon fluff#jungwon smau#enhypen smau#enhypen angst#enhypen social media au#jungwon angst#jungwon social media au
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