#I have became fat and grey haired | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

iloveaustinelvisandmannymore · 9 months ago

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Miss Wolf.

Pairing: Toji fushiguro x hybrid reader (human with ears and a tail)

Warning: Abuse, black marketing, Murder, Owner-pet to lovers, Protective toji, Oral (male), Creampie, Baby fever, Breeding kink, Tail pulling Degrading kink, Praise kink, Hybrid discrimination. (Fan art, not mine)

"Sold! For 34,000 yen!"

Toji's eyes snapped open as his snores came to a stop, his body jerking from its laid-back state. "Goddamn." Toji groaned as he tried to rub away his headache. The fucking bastard Toji had been tailing must of never heard of resting, the old geezer always had something to attend to. It never stopped. Sighing Toji fixed his black tie and drooped his arms on the chair behind him as he boredly watched the betting. Black markets weren't Toji's thing, yes he killed people for money but he wasn't that evil compared to the sick fucks around him as he blended with the crowd, his target right on stage.

"Okay, now let's move on to the most beautiful piece of all," his target exclaimed, dramatically extending his arm as two men brought out a large cage covered with a blanket. When the men removed the cover and the light shone on it, the assassin became interested for the first time that night. Despite your weak appearance, you growled fiercely, baring your sharp teeth and emanating a fiery hatred. The target then began the bets. "A wolf hybrid, pucked straight for the wild and when in full animal form, beautiful grey fur coat and the most gold eyes you will have seen. Bidding will start at 120,000 yen!" like that, hands raised and the price went up. "And Sold! For 290,000 ye-" The announcer's sentence was cut short as a bullet shot through his forehead, blood gushed out like a river and his big body fell to the floor, screams erupted within the crowd, and people ran for cover. Toji paid them no mind, calmly walking to the stage, pistol in hand, once and a while shooting down brave guards.

"Well, aren't you a beauty?" Toji hummed as he squatted down in front of you. Toji reached a hand through the grimy cage and towards you. Your (eye color) eyes flicked to his hand, then to his face, as his hand came closer, and without hesitation your sharp fangs piece the side of his hand, blood spurt out the wound as you bit down. Toji's lips spread into a smile as an amused glint came to his eyes, "such a feisty girl." He cooed, calmly pinching your nose, blocking your air supply and forcing you to let go, you did so with a growl as your ears laid back on your head, "Let's go home, yeah?"

Toji stirred wake to a scorching wet, sentiency surrounding his fat cock, a feel he knew all too well. "Having fun puppy?" He chuckled and threw off his blanket, revealing a cum-worthy view, of his little puppy between his thick brawn thighs, your mouth stuffed full of his dick, cheeks puffy and pretty bedroom eyes looking at him through those beautiful long lashes. Sighing contently toji's hand griped the strands of your soft hair and pulled you off, earning a disappointing and needy growl from you, "What do ya think you're doing huh?" He asked, sitting up on his elbow, those smaragdine eyes boring into you with lustful intent. "Y-you smelled so good! I just wanted a taste, sir!" You whined, diving to take him into your maw but it was useless as the most it did was give your hair a painful tug. Toji shook his head, tsking at you "You know better." Was all he said as he let go of your hair and laid back, one hand behind his head.

he pointed to his twitching cock and you knew exactly what he wanted.

And without your permission, your fluffy tail wagged in excitement as you scurried on top of your lover's broad hips, his girthy length stood tall and at attention. You can already feel your flower, grow wet with your shiny slick at the sight of toji. His hands behind his silk ebony hair, eyes lidded, face sexily stoic, his biceps flexed, hard, sculpted chest and abs flaunted.

You couldn't take it anymore, with one hand you lined his cock to your heat and slid down. Delicious inch by inch his member stretched your walls, until he was sheath all inside, and his cock rested against your sweet spot. Panting,your tongue rolled out as you lifted your hips and slammed down, your hips bucking wildly, his hairy rough pubes grinded against your oversensitive clit in a way that had you seeing stars. Your skin soon because wet, and slippery with a shen of sweat as you moved your legs into a squad position, and bounced onto your lovers cock with more leverage then before. Your claw dug into the pecs of Toji's chest, his large hands on your waist, jerking upward once he was fully within you.

yelping as your breasts meshed against Toji's chest, his strong arms wrapped around you, pushing you and pinning you down as he worked his dick in your slick, plush cunt, bumping, and stroking your walls and cervix "Fuckin' love your pussy puppy, so slutty 'n needy f' my cock." Toji growled, planting his feet onto the mattress and snapped his hips faster. with a cry, your orgasm hit you like a train, "Shit! That's my whore, gonna give ya some puppies! Gonna breed ya fill of me." he groaned, empting himself in your clamping and pulsing pussy.

Too say Toji fushiguro was a morning person would be a lie, if anything he hated mornings. but seeing his little puppy tail wag so fast it was a blur as you excitedly bounced on the heels of your feet as your ears turned ever so way, barely bothered by the collar and leash he was forced to put on you. It wasn't always like this.

It took months almost a year for you to trust him, the first time he tried to feed you, resulted in another bite mark on his arm but slowly by leaving food outside the door you became comfortable and one day you sat beside him as you ate. Two months later you had begun to spend more time with him, watching racing shows together and watching him move around. Days out, you'd hold onto his arm and hide behind him, ears twitching and tail low. It was so cute. Toji didn't know when he had fallen for you but it was one of the best things that happened to him.

Toji let a smile grace his lips as he watched you jump from one side of aisle to the other side, taking in the sight of food and snacks while he leaned against the curt. Even with the number of times you came here you were still so marveled by everything.

By the time he was finally able to get you to leave and head home, it was the afternoon and You were rumbling away about going to the park soon to meet up with shiu and his hybrid Noa as you both walked down the stret then you stopped in your steps, looking to the other side of the side walk and into a ally way before he could ask what was wrong and what the hell you were glaring at when you were rushing through the busy road. "fuck puppy!" Toji growled out, dropping the groceries and using his heavenly restriction to by pass the rushing cars. He heard your snarling before he saw you, and it all made sense, a poor, badded and beaten dog hybrid that looked no older then ten years old stood behind you as you bared your fangs, ears pinned to your head, and pupils growed smaller.

"Move you stupid mutt!" A older man shouted, rising his hand to backhand you when Toji grapped his wrist. "Do we have a problem here?" He asked, stepping in front of you, his eyes narrowing as his grip tighted. "L-let go you bast-" the old man screamed unable to finish when a snap echoed throughout the ally way, "leave." Toji pushed the man way and smirked as the man ran way, holding his broken wrist.

"She is okay?" Toji wondered, standing up as you came into view. "She's fine, a bit scared and tired but fine" you sighed as you laid your head on his chest. The little dog hybrid, whose name you came to know was Aina.

She reminded you so much of your family, your pack.

Your little and bigger siblings, your mom and dad, uncles, aunts and cousins. You were alone, scared, hungry and tired of fighting when they had taken you from everything you knew and in that way she was like you.

You saw you in the way she practically inhaled her food, in the way her dainty fingers latched onto your dark grey tail as you helped her get clean as you did with your mom as a girl her age.

You couldn't let her go, can't let her be alone again

You and toji would be her home now.

A/n: Hey guys...im sorry this so long, life had me through a loop, something happen with my mother, heartbreak and I have lost any will to write until now. So I hope y'all like it.

Taglist: @gina239 , @blake-has-too-much-energy , @shrimphutao4ever, @dinotittes , @taysarchive, @ggvidaworld , @extasyl , @tojishugetiddies , @shadowsandexplosions , @venjrnjrbhrr19 , @kuro-chi69 , @cutesytwt , @tornparts , @thesweetestqueenofall, @faimmm, @bluechocolatemint, @daniella666girl, @trickstercumslut, @kpop-obsessed-kid, @darkstarlight82

#toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x reader #toji fushiguro #jjk toji #toji x you #toji smut #toji x y/n #fushiguro toji x reader #feel like this was lowkey shit lol

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5xlwriter · 4 months ago

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Feedist Kinktober: Magic Mirror

Intended to be part of a series of one-shots in response to @fatguarddog’s Feedist Kinktober 2024 prompts, but I loved the prompt and it became a much bigger story than I expected. The prompt was Magic Mirror.

I had mixed feelings about Theo moving in with me. We’d met several years ago through a friend of a friend, and he and his boyfriend Luca were invited to a lot of the same parties as me. I never really clicked with Luca… He was incredibly good looking and obsessively sculpted his body at the gym, giving him the look of an Adonis. But he knew he was gorgeous and used it as an excuse to treat people poorly.

Theo was different. He was smart, funny and exceptionally kind. For the most part, I was super excited for the memories we’d make together, and it would be great to save some money by splitting rent. But on the other hand, Theo was… kind of needy. He had criminally low self-esteem, and needed constant reassurance from his friends — especially now that Luca had dumped him. That was the reason he was now living in my spare room.

He’d moved in several weeks ago, and it was largely going well. I loved our daily movie nights and it was nice to share meals with someone. Theo was just as much of a neat freak as me, so it really didn’t feel like a burden having him around. If anything, the apartment was cleaner than ever… But his constant self-doubt was really driving me insane.

“Are you sure the food tastes OK?”, he’d ask after cooking our dinner. “We can turn this movie off if you’re not enjoying it,” he’d apologise just ten minutes into a film. Worst of all was the daily routine of having to reassure him that he looked good before he left the house. “Does my hair look weird?” he’d ask, fretting in the mirror as he adjusted his perfectly coiffed dark hair. “Is this zit noticeable?” he’d press, drawing my attention to a perfectly clear patch of skin. And most infuriating of all: “Do these pants make me look fat?”

Theo was thin as a rail. He was just one of those guys who were blessed with a superhuman metabolism as well as the self-discipline to be really careful about what he ate. Here he was, pushing 30, with not an ounce of fat on his frame. I envied him - I was fit myself, but I had to work really hard in the gym for it. My work as a personal trainer helped with that.

I was being harsh. Theo was a great roommate and an even better friend. I just wished he liked what he saw when he looked in the mirror.

And that’s exactly what I told the old lady behind the counter at Miss Mabel’s Curios & Antiques, a dusty little store downtown that I’d passed by a billion times. I wasn’t sure why I was here - I’d been ranting to a friend about my predicament with Theo, and she’d said that Miss Mabel would know what to do. At my whit’s end, I trusted her recommendation.

“Oh, that’s easy my boy,” she said in a creaky little voice as she jumped down from her stool. She was a small lady, wearing what looked like at least ten cardigans and her messy grey hair tied in a bun atop her head. She had a warm and eccentric charm about her; not quite like a grandma, but moreso like a distant elderly aunt who you saw at the occasional family function.

She tottered off down one of the store’s aisles, before looking back over her shoulder expectantly. “Well, come on then!” she beckoned, and I quickly followed her. We soon stopped in front of a large rectangular object, as tall as I was and concealed under a dust sheet which Miss Mabel promptly whipped off.

It was a mirror - and an old one at that. The glass was in reasonably good condition but the frame - decorated with intricate carvings of daffodils - was in a sorry state, with chunks of wood missing and deep scars across the surface. What on earth did Miss Mabel think I could achieve with this?

“Don’t be so dense, dearie,” she teased, tapping me on the forehead. “This is a magic mirror. Give it to your friend, it’ll sort him right out.”

I had more than a few reservations, most of them related to the small fact that I didn’t believe in magic mirrors - or any kind of magic, actually. And yet, Miss Mabel seemed very certain and there was no hint of trickery in her kind eyes. Plus, when I noticed the £10 price tag on the mirror, it dissolved any concerns I had that this could be a con. That was an absolute steal, even if the mirror had seen better days. I paid her the money and headed for the door, before Miss Mabel called after me.

“Just a wee warning, dearie,” she said hesitantly. “Magic, especially old magic like that, can be unpredictable. Keep an eye on your friend, hm?”

I nodded, and made my way home.

Theo was delighted with the mirror, which I thought was an odd response to something that looked like I’d rescued it from a dump. He might have been unsure at first, raising an eyebrow when I revealed its new location hung in our hallway, but as soon as he looked into it I watched his face change. There was a light in his eyes as they lingered longer than normal on his reflection, and I saw his mouth curl into a smile. That never happened. Maybe the mirror really was magic… In any case, it seemed to do the trick, and I went to bed that evening quietly confident that Theo was going to be a little softer on himself.

When I woke up the following morning, it was to the smell of bacon. Weird, I thought. We usually just had toast for breakfast, or maybe a smoothie. But I certainly wasn’t going to complain! God, Theo was the best roommate I’d ever had…

As I walked out into the hallway, Theo was looking at himself in the mirror and flexing his non-existent muscles. I raised an eyebrow but said nothing, heading through to the kitchen. The bacon was looking very dark in the pan, much crispier than I liked it, and none of the bread for our sandwiches had been buttered.

“Theo, this bacon is looking very done,” I called out to him. He didn’t answer. “Theo?” I called again.

“Ugh, what?” he snapped back in a tone I’d never heard him use before, though he quickly seemed to catch his rude behaviour. “Oh, um, I’m sorry,” he said, scrambling for words but not taking his eyes off his reflection. “Would you mind finishing off breakfast for me?” He asked. “I’m kinda busy.”

He was acting strange, but I tried my best not to overthink it and did as I was asked, slathering some butter on the four slices of bread and transferring the bacon into two sandwiches.

“It’s ready,” I said, and headed to the fridge. That’s weird, I thought. There was no milk left to make our coffees, even though I’d bought some yesterday. And why had Theo put the empty carton back in the fridge? I poured us two glasses of orange juice instead.

At that moment, Theo walked into the kitchen without saying a word, and then left again with the bacon sandwiches. Both of them. And when I gave chase to confront him about it, expecting to find him sat in the living room, I was stopped dead in my tracks. He was stood in the hallway, stuffing the sandwiches into his mouth with eyes fixed on the mirror, like he was watching TV.

I heard Miss Mabel’s warning in my head. Keep an eye on your friend… Something was wrong.

Later that day, I’d rushed over to Miss Mabel’s shop to get her advice - but when I arrived, the lights were off and the door was locked. That’s when I noticed the sign, handwritten in spidery penmanship: “ON VACATION! SIX WEEKS IN EGYPT! SEE YOU SOON DEARIES. MMx”. There was a little drawing of some pyramids in the bottom corner. Fuck.

I didn’t want to mess with the mirror, since I figured if it really was magic then I had no clue how it might affect Theo. Just a glance had changed his behaviour dramatically, who knew what else it could do? And so I reasoned that the best thing to do would be to wait for Miss Mabel to return, and in the meantime to follow her advice and keep an eye on him. After all, he wasn’t exactly a danger or in any pain - he was just acting… different. Little did I know, he’d soon be looking different too…

***

It had started after a few days. The novelty of the mirror seemed to have worn off for Theo, and he no longer spent all day in front of it like he did that first day. But he was still acting differently, and I’d still catch him checking himself out in it multiple times a day. This particular evening, we were sat in front of the TV while Theo ate dinner. Since buying the mirror, Theo only prepared food for himself, but I’d planned to heat up my leftovers from yesterday so that we could eat together. I was feeling distant from him and thought it would be a good chance to chat. Except, when I opened the fridge, I found they were gone, no doubt eaten by my strange new roommate. So I reluctantly ordered a pizza, and sat with Theo as I waited for it to arrive.

Theo didn’t appear to be in the mood for a chat, his eyes glued to the TV while he shovelled heaping forkfuls of creamy pasta into his mouth, chewing loudly. It was like someone else had taken over his body. Most weird of all was his choice of programming - usually, we might watch a documentary together, or catch up on one of our regular dramas. And he’d always ask what I wanted to watch. But today we were watching a home shopping network, with a musclebound (and very attractive) jock demonstrating some workout equipment.

“Oh come on Theo,” I teased, trying to make conversation. “He’s hot, sure, but surely there’s something else we can watch?”

Theo looked at me with a look of utter incomprehension, even pausing his feeding frenzy to process what I’d just said. I felt like I’d offended him. He shoved another fork in his mouth and finally spoke as he chewed.

“That man ain’t hot,” he said, spraying me with flecks of cream before swallowing. “He’s got nothing on me. And look at all the exercise he’s gotta do just to have those puny muscles. Mine are twice as big and are all natural.”

Now it was my turn to look confused. Surely Theo was joking? He had no muscle whatsoever… He was practically a skeleton. Except… Now that I looked at him, I mean really looked at him, that wasn’t quite true…

He was… Not “bigger”, per se… he certainly didn’t look like he’d gained any muscle. But he was… softer, somehow. It was almost imperceptible, a thin coating over his whole body, a slight puffiness… But now that I’d noticed it, there was no denying it. For a moment, I reasoned that it was natural for someone so thin to put on a couple of pounds, considering how much Theo had been stuffing his face these last few days. But then, as he finished his huge bowl of pasta and made his way over to the mirror for his routine post-meal quality time with his reflection, curiosity got the better of me and I peeked into the hallway to watch.

He stood tall and proud, flexing non-existent muscles as though he were a world-champion body builder. And then, most alarmingly of all, I saw him grow.

It happened so slowly I couldn’t even be sure it was really happening, but as I fixed my eyes on his form there was no denying it. His arms were thickening and filling out his sleeves a little more, while the slight softness at his waist began to press against his shirt. Within a few minutes he looked to be about 5lbs heavier - not a big deal for most people, but certainly noticeable on Theo’s lithe frame. My mouth was wide open in shock. This just wasn’t possible. It had to be my eyes playing tricks on me, my imagination getting the better of me… I was just stressed out by Theo’s personality transplant… I…

The doorbell rang, and Theo ignored it, too preoccupied with his reflection. “That’ll be my pizza,” I said, getting to my feet. No sooner had I said it, Theo eagerly answered the door and brought in the pizza, setting it down in before me on the coffee table. I felt an odd sense of relief - this was the kind of attentive behaviour I was used to from Theo. Maybe the magic was wearing off… Maybe my old roommate wasn’t gone after all.

I went to the kitchen to get some drinks (water for me, a glass of milk for Theo) and returned to the living room, where I found Theo already halfway through devouring my pizza.

***

It had been a week since I brought home the mirror, and I was pretty adjusted now to Theo’s newfound greed and selfishness. I found it difficult to get angry with him when I discovered the fridge cleared out or a stack of dirty dishes in the sink - I was the one who had brought the mirror into our home; I was the one who’d meddled because I couldn’t deal with Theo needing a little extra encouragement.

When I got home from work each day, I would typically find Theo in one of two places: sat on the couch stuffing his face, or flexing and pouting in the dreaded mirror. This time, it was the latter.

God, he’d really blown up now. It was all happening so quickly and every time I saw him he looked to be bigger than the time before. I had accepted the impossible fact that the mirror was piling the pounds onto my friend; even now, as I watched him admiring himself, I watched in real time as Theo’s new soft underbelly slowly inched out the bottom of his shirt. He’d always dressed in oversized clothing, but now everything he owned was starting to get very snug on his oversized body.

“My god, I’m gorgeous,” he said aloud. “Luca doesn’t know what he’s missing.” he said, kissing his own soft bicep. “I haven’t been to the gym all week and my guns are looking better than ever!”

I smiled politely, but I was worried. Miss Mabel was still out of town for another five weeks, and I guessed that Theo must have already stacked on about 50lbs. You didn’t need to be a maths genius to figure out that he risked ending up over 400lbs by the time she was able to help us break the spell. If she was able to help us. Theo still stood a chance of working this off now, but if things got that far… he’d be changed forever.

“Theo, can we talk?” I asked. He huffed a little, clearly annoyed to be pulled away from the mirror, but reluctantly followed me into the living room.

***

It had been two weeks since my conversation with Theo, and things were still intensely frosty between us. I’d asked him if he was OK, and he’d insisted he was never better. I’d asked him if he’d noticed any changes in his behaviour, and he’d said he’d just realised that he needed to put himself first. I’d asked him if he’d noticed any changes in his body, and he agreed that yes, he’d been growing lately - that his muscles were inexplicably growing. He couldn’t explain it, he said, but he was happy with the results.

I gently tried to explain that it didn’t look that way to me, that I thought he might have been bulking with how much he’d been eating, but with the right cut he’d be looking awesome in no time… That sent him into a rage. We had a huge argument. He’d screamed at me - was I fucking blind? Did I not see how perfect his body was? I was just jealous - and then he stormed out, softer ass bouncing behind him in too-tight shorts. Since then, we hadn’t really spoken, and things were getting so much worse…

He was really big now. Like, he was a certified fat guy, a fully fledged 300 pounder - or maybe more? It was difficult to tell. Every time I saw him, I had to do a double take: firstly, because my brain wasn’t quite catching up with his skyrocketing weight and was failing to register this figure as my roommate. And secondly, because he’d outgrown all his clothes and taken to wandering the apartment in just a pair of boxer briefs. They were so tight on him that the elastic waistbands had all developed wide holes.

His choice of dress meant that all his fresh fat was on full display, a constant reminder of what I’d brought upon him by bringing home the mirror. His face was round and bloated, making his eyes look beady and piggish above two puffed-out cheeks. Beneath it was a thick ring of fat, a double chin that was exaggerated when he looked down at his phone. His shoulders had become strikingly broad, though not with the muscle he was still convinced he possessed; they rounded out and sloped like big hills, bunching up behind his neck in another wedge of fat that gave him the look of a hunchbacked office worker. Further down, two plump tits hung from his chest, pooling under his armpits and gathering in thick rolls on his back. They were so distracting; jiggling wildly with every slight movement he made, it was impossible to look away. And beneath them sat the main event: a big, soft belly that had started to hang down over his crotch like a flabby apron. Whilst not as jiggly as his tits (perhaps because it was always full of food), it still looked soft and plush, wobbling as he waddled around the apartment. He’d even started to walk like a fat guy, I noticed, swinging his fat arms side to side to offset his sudden weight gain.

I felt terrible. And as I watched him posing yet again in the mirror, having just demolished a family-sized tray of pasta as a snack between meals, I felt even more terrible. The mirror would be working its sinister magic on him and turning all that food into fat. Sure enough, as if to prove a point, I heard a ripping sound and noticed one of the holes in his underwear growing beneath his widening hips. I had to do something.

***

I resolved to get rid of the mirror. I’d known all along it was the right thing to do, but I was scared of Theo’s reaction. He was so volatile. Part of me was also scared of how it might affect him - had he and the mirror formed some kind of magic bond? What would happen if that was severed? But as my friend’s weight inched closer to 400lbs with each day, I knew I had to do something. But the issue was now pressing, as I was due to leave on a trip I’d booked myself months ago. I was going to be gone for two weeks, and while I certainly wasn’t in the mood to go now, I’d already paid a lot of money and it wasn’t exactly like I could wave a wand and stop all this. What good could I possibly do here? In fact, Theo seemed to resent me the more I tried to help. But I could still hear Miss Mabel’s warning that I ought to keep an eye on him, ringing around my head. I reasoned that if I could get the mirror out of the way and then disappear myself for a couple of weeks, maybe that would at least slow whatever was happening to my friend.

And so, when Theo was out getting food, I made my move, carefully taking the mirror off the wall and making my way to the door. Before I could reach it, it opened of its own accord… and there in the doorway was Theo. Fuck. He was so big now that it was impossible not to be intimidated by him, even if he did look ridiculous squeezed into clothes that he was 150lbs too big for. He was visibly uncomfortable, all the fabric digging into his fat, which burst unflatteringly out of every opening. His belly was barely covered by the material, making it look like he was wearing a crop top, and several inches of his ass crack were visible, not able to be contained by the sweatpants that were painted onto his thick, gelatinous thighs. I couldn’t believe he’d left the house like this, but I suppose it was better that than parading around in his underwear. Anyone who saw him must have thought he was totally unaware of his weight, or that he had suddenly ballooned overnight. They would have had no idea how close to the truth they were…

“What the fuck are you doing with that?” he snarled, snatching the mirror off me with one meaty, fat-fingered hand while the other shoved the remaining half of a burger into his mouth. He seemed to swallow it in one gulp. A thick blob of ketchup dripped onto his stretched and strained t-shirt.

I was still frozen, unable to say or do anything. He barged past me, making his way to his bedroom. He re-emerged a few seconds later, no longer carrying the mirror. It would seem he would be keeping it in there from now on. “Don’t touch my shit,” he warned in a terrifyingly severe tone and then tipped a container of fries into his mouth, dropping the empty packet on the floor. I nodded emphatically.

Without hesitation, he tried to peel off his t-shirt but found himself met with great difficulty. He squirmed and writhed his fat body, trying to manoeuvre himself out of the fabric, but it was simply too tight. I had no idea how he’d even got it on… perhaps he’d grown in the time since? Without warning, he let out a yell of frustration and then tore the entire thing off him in one furious motion. “And another thing,” he spat, turning his broad back to me and making his way back into his room. “Stop washing my clothes, I’m sick of you fucking shrinking everything.”

***

The two weeks away had been a complete waste. I was barely able to relax or take in any of the culture, constantly worried about my friend back home. In truth, I wanted to disconnect from Theo. I’d tried to help him change course and he was treating me so terribly… It was hard to care about him. But I couldn’t shake the guilt - it was me that had caused this, and I owed it to Theo to make it right. Besides, this wasn’t really Theo who was acting this way. It had to be something or someone else… Perhaps he was possessed, or hypnotised, or… It couldn’t have changed him, could it? And certainly not so dramatically? But then I remembered the giant, flabby ass that he was no doubt sat on back home, stuffing his fat face, and I knew that it could… I just hoped there was some kind of counter-magic that Miss Mabel could use to undo all this, to make it like it never happened. It was magic after all, right? I’d learned that anything was possible…

After pausing a while outside the apartment door, unsure of the reception I’d receive from my roommate upon my return, I finally pushed it open. One thing I was sure of was the condition I’d find Theo in. I had no doubt in my mind that he would be weighing in another 100lbs heavier than when I’d left, and I’d braced myself for the sight of him. I assumed he’d be sat in the living room, shovelling food into his growing gut - and this suspicion was supported by the volume of fast food wrappers strewn through the hallway. It was disgusting, looking and smelling like a back alley in the city. I couldn’t believe this was my home. But when I peered into the living room, I found nothing there other than more mess. The TV was off and Theo was nowhere to be seen. Hmm… strange… I glanced to where the mirror used to hang, and then to his bedroom. Perhaps he was holed up in there, checking himself out?

Morbid curiosity got the better of me, and I cautiously approached the door, knocking gingerly and calling out his name. “Theo?”

He didn’t respond, but I could hear strange noises coming from within. It sounded like laboured, heavy breathing. Was Theo fucking someone? Or getting himself off? I listened closer - no, it wasn’t that, the breathing was so erratic, gasping for air… He sounded like he was in trouble. I became alarmed. “Theo, are you OK?”

I flung the door open and my world ground to a halt. Theo was not OK.

Theo’s room was a complete pig sty, piled high with empty pizza boxes and food containers. It stank of sweat and grease and god knows what else, the stench so thick in the air I had to cover my nose. He’d propped up the mirror at the end of his bed, presumably so he could lay in it and admire himself… And the consequences of that decision were enormous.

Literally enormous. Theo was totally unrecognisable, his pale pink flesh filling the entire double bed. He was the fattest man I’d ever seen - perhaps the fattest man that had ever been? His facial features were buried under fat; just two beady eyes and a pair of puckered, sauce-stained lips. If I wasn’t aware of all that had passed in the last few weeks, I would never be able to identify this person as Theo. He was completely transformed. His whole body was splattered with various sauces that he had clearly dribbled on mid-feast… which made sense. He was clearly too big to move and showering would have been impossible.

The blob of a man that lay gasping for air in Theo’s bed was almost as wide as he was tall. It’s difficult to describe any part of him in detail, as all his body parts sort of squished together and melded into one another, fat jostling for space. His tits were each bigger than my head, and there were bits of food wedged in his deep cleavage. His arms were so pumped full of fat that I think they were bigger than my waist. I couldn’t see much of his legs as they were covered by his gargantuan belly, rolling and rocking like jelly with each pained breath, but even his feet were swollen with fat, threatening to be swallowed up into his legs. Fuck, I thought to myself. How could someone have fat toes?

I wanted to say something but my brain was completely fried. What the fuck do you say to a whale who was thin as a beanpole little more than a month ago? Theo looked like a fucking sideshow attraction. Fortunately, he spoke first.

“Dude, thank god — you’re here—“ he wheezed. What? Was he actually happy to see me? Maybe the magic had worn off! My hopes were short lived... “Nobody— wants— to deliver— my food,” he confessed. “Bunch of— fucking— assholes…”

I could see why minimum wage delivery drivers would want to avoid this cesspit. Something told me the new Theo was not a generous tipper. But this was my fault after all, and I couldn’t let him starve. Reluctantly I agreed to go pick him something up - if nothing else it would give me time to think over what to do next. I watched him with pity as he placed the pickup order on his phone, his fat sausage fingers mashing things he didn’t mean to press. He didn’t seem to be removing any of those items from his basket, though…

Soon enough I was back at the apartment with ten paper bags full to the brim with junk. They were as fit to burst as he was, and after handing them over I sat on the edge of the bed (squeezing myself onto the only unoccupied corner I could find) and buried my head in my hands. What was I going to do?

He made short work of the meal and half an hour later he was burping, rubbing his giant gut, and admiring himself in the mirror. “Fuck— I’m so— sexy,” he moaned. “Why— did I ever— settle— for Luca? I’m so— out— of his— league… Gotta find— me someone— as hot— I am…”

I snapped. “Theo, how the fuck are you gonna do that?! You’re as big as a fucking house! You can’t even get out of bed!” I wanted to smack him out of his delusional daydream. But it wasn’t fair to take my frustration out on him, and I tried to calm myself. This wasn’t his fault.

“Yes I— fucking— can,” he gasped. “I’m just— resting— so my— muscles— can grow…”

There was silence between us for a moment. I had no idea what to say, and Theo was too distracted by caressing his own lard in the mirror for a conversation. But as he groped himself, his moaning got louder and more… sensual… I was no longer certain that it was just a symptom of discomfort from his overindulgence. He seemed to be enjoying himself…

“Please— man—“ he begged, looking at me with pleading eyes. “Help— me— out— here… I— know— you— can’t— resist— me…”

Fortunately, I didn’t have time to take him up on his perverted offer. There was an almighty crash, and the room seemed to lift up into the air as I felt myself fall downwards. It took me a few seconds to realise what had happened: the cursed mirror had fattened Theo up so big that the bed could no longer support him, and now he and I sat on the floor, surrounded by its broken pieces. His whole body was wobbling from the impact and he looked like a giant, melted marshmallow. I was surprised he didn’t fall straight through the floor and into the apartment below.

I spotted something shiny by my hand, and on closer examination I saw it was a shard of glass. The mirror. I noticed it had fallen over face-down, and when I nervously lifted its side to inspect the damage I saw that the whole thing was shattered. Oh god, I worried to myself. How was Theo going to react?

“What— just— happened—,” Theo grunted to himself as I got to my feet and stood the mirror up. He seemed lost and confused, a softness in his voice that I recognised from before all this mess began. His eyes seemed to adjust to the room, taking in his surroundings as though he’d just woken up from a dream. “What’s— going— on—,” he gasped, shaking his head in confusion (though the fat in his neck limited his movement). Still, his cheeks jiggled as he did so. “Am— I— sick..? I— can’t— breathe…” I barely registered what he was saying, too worried about his response to finding out the mirror was broken.

“Theo,” I said, trying to steady my voice. “I’m really sorry… I’ll buy you a new one right away, but… Ugh. I don’t know how to say this, but…” I gulped. “Your mirror is broken.”

I turned the mirror around to face him, so he could see the damage for himself. For a moment he didn’t really react at all, furrowing his brow in confusion. He didn’t seem at all sure why he should care about a broken mirror, despite the fact he’d done little else for the past five weeks than stare in it and feed himself. But as he looked harder, as he really focussed his eyes on the mountain of flesh looking back at him, something seemed to click in his mind… A moment of world-shattering realisation...

He recognised himself, and his eyes went wide in horror. He screamed.

#feedist kinktober #feedist kinktober 2024 #gainer fiction #gainer stories #gainerfic #gainerstories #gainerstory #transformation #fat belly #fat piggy #chubby #feed me #fat #gayfeeder #gay feedee #gay gainer #weight gain story

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brotherwtf · 6 months ago

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where they're back to the states after the war and Gale gains back all his weight and he might actually get more cheek fat than he ever had and Bucky is just happy he's healthy but he cannot keep his hands off his cheeks and fantasizes about how Gale would look so cute and chubby if he were to get pregnant and develops a kink and starts treating Gale like his wife that he would knock up everytime they have sex and Gale just plays along

BREEDING KINK ⁉️⁉️ YEP YEP

oml there's a scene in mota where Gale is sleeping and he has his arms curled under his head and GOD his cheeks look so cute and chubby I'm gonna (ripping my hair out) me and John kindred spirits fr fr

thinking that one of the things that made John saddest about the Stalag was how Gale's face lost its brightness almost, his eyes got duller and his cheeks got more sunken in, a grey hue covered everything, and John missed the Gale back at Thorpe Abbotts the most

so when they got back stateside and John forced Gale to eat all three meals, the weight slowly came back and his skin started to glow again. Marge had been so good to them, gave John a bunch of recipe cards when she saw how skinny Gale had gotten, whispered in his ear how he should make Gale eat every meal or he won't eat at all, and it became John's mission to get Gale healthier

as the days passed, Gale's skin got even warmer, his cheeks round and flushed pink, skin soft and supple underneath John's hands that he couldn't help but compare it to all of the dames in England. Gale was undoubtedly a man, still had the harsh lines and flat stomach of masculinity, but there were places on Gale's thighs and ass and cheeks where John could grip with his hands and mark up

John likes to come up behind Gale when he's in the kitchen, slide his arms around his waist and call him his doting housewife, whispering all sorts of filth into his ear as Gale tries to keep his knees from buckling

"we should get some skirts and dresses for you," John would whisper "just so I can lift them up and slip right in," and Gale just absolutely loses his mind when John says things like that

and of course that sticks with Gale, maybe he goes into town and covertly buys some, telling the cashier they're for his girlfriend, wears them around the house and when John first sees him, gets absolutely WRECKED on their kitchen table

maybe Gale likes to be called 'doll' or 'my girl' during sex, encourages John to grip his thighs and ass and treat him like those girls, kiss him gently and then fuck him senseless into the bed. Gale moans sweetly when John does it, whispers things about getting him knocked up and how he loves seeing come roll down Gale's thighs, and Gale's going loopy with it

John fondles Gale's ass and thighs whenever he can, whispers how pretty he looks like this, all healthy and beautiful and flushed pink for Gale all of the time, talks about how he wants to keep Gale in bed and happy all the time, fuck him all hours of the day just so John's handprints never leave Gale's ass

he wears those marks with pride, looks at them in mirror and smiles bcs he likes feeling desired like this, always moans so prettily when John calls him his, whispers in a husky voice before he comes how Gale is all his

#mota #clegan #buck x bucky #john egan #gale cleven #asks

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elfven-blog · 1 year ago

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The Bunny Hunt

Summary: Seeing Connor in his hunting attire, gives you the idea of being prey. Connor Kenway x F!Reader CW: MDNI, 18+ only, p in v, fingers, public (In woods), breeding, reader is bunny, creampie, chasing, reader calls him wolf (yuck, only once), primal play, prey x predator kink Word Count: 1.8K

Your eyes opened in surprise as large warm hands suddenly rested on your waist, pulling you back against an even warmer chest. Sturdy muscle pressing against your soft back as he dipped slightly to nuzzle into your hair, a deep breath taking in your scent. And you relax automatically as that deep soothing voice fills your ears “I missed you”.

A small laugh shook your shoulders as you turned in his arms, your hands now resting against his biceps “You were gone for the morning, my love.” came your answer, and your eyes wandered down his attire. Connor had for gone his normal assassin clothes, replaced the grey and whites with brown fur, and apparently no shirt. He watched as your head tilted to the side, and your blinks slowed down as you continued staring at his bare chest until your hands moved from his biceps to squeeze gently at his chest.

The russet colour of Connor’s face turned deeper as he blushed, his hands wrapping around your wrists to pull them away as his head bowed down to hide. And a pout grew on your lips as he did so, trying to pull your hands free but he held them still, moving them above your head as he pushed you against the counter stopping you from being able to move at all as he used his stature to keep you there.

He lay his head against your cheek, deciding to ignore how you’d touched him moments ago. “And every moment I am away from you is agony, so just accept my affection”. The assassin pressed a sweet kiss to your head unaware of the way your eyes were moving lower down his body. While the man normally towered over you, with the way he was bent, you had a great view as your eyes followed the hair that disappeared below his trousers, the fabric sitting low on his hips “I’m only wearing this because I miss it…it feels like home” his voice was stern, like he could read the ideas flowing in your mind.

Your heart softens at his words, you know how hard it’s been for him since he left the tribe but that mushy feeling doesn’t stop the way you look at him, or the way your thighs press together “And what if you did wear it for other reasons?” and you felt Connor’s entire body starting to tense. His breath catching in his throat at the tone of your voice.

“What kind of reasons?” his voice rumbled from above you in that way that made your thighs press together, Connor’s hands squeezed your wrists for a moment before letting them go, his hands travelled down to your thighs, pulling your dress up until he could feel the warm soft fat of your thighs. And this time it was you grabbing his wrists to stop him.

“I have a better idea”.

And that was how you ended up running through the woods, a grin on your face as you tried to control your breathing. You’d moved away from the homestead so there was less of a chance of someone catching what you were doing. For a moment you paused, hand against a tree as you leant to gather your breath. How Connor spent hours running you had no idea. A noise startled you and your head turned quickly, you swear you saw brown so your legs started running again.

It didn’t take long until you heard something again, and then big arms were wrapped around you. Hot breath against your skin, panting in your ear as you were forced to the forest floor. He used his body weight to pin you to the ground, his arms holding your hips up as he bucked forward against your ass. Your arms moved to hold your weight up, knees on the floor as your legs spread and your breasts heaved as your own breathing became shallow.

His voice filled your senses “What’s this? A sweet little bunny alone in the woods?” One of his hands stayed around your waist to keep you in place, the other moved your dress until it was pushed up your back, and he groaned at the sight of your bare cunt. Dripping and clenching around nothing. “With a sweet little hole ready to be used”.

Connor’s hold on you made it difficult to move and all you wanted was to grind against something as his words teased you, his hand slid so slowly between your legs, ignoring where you wanted him to touch most until you whined loudly. The sound that left you had him almost growling, his hips bucking forward again.

He took a breath to control himself, his eyes glancing around him and listening for any sound of people, once he heard none his fingers slid along your pussy, gathering the wetness as his finger pressed to your clit and circled the sensitive nub until your hips were pressing down against him. “Poor bunny, just so wet” his thumb pushed at your hole gently causing you to mewl and your thighs to squeeze around his wrist.

The corner of the assassin’s mouth turned up, his thumb slipping past your hole and he moved his legs between yours pushing them open so you were held spread for him. Connor groaned at the sight, his trousers feeling far too tight suddenly. He watched your cunt clench around his thumb and his eyes darkened at the sight. The urge to fuck you taking a tight hold but he needed to get you ready first.

“Cunt just needs a fat cock to stretch it out” his thumb slipped from your hole resorting you to whimper at the feeling and the man above you shushed you lightly, his back laying across your chest as his hand moved so he could slip his fingers into you instead. Two of them pushing into you, knuckles dragging against your walls slowly “You enjoying this? Someone hunting you down and fucking you against the floor?” you clenched around his fingers in response.

Connor knew your body better than anyone, so he knew when to curl them up against that sweet spot inside you. His fingers constantly pushed into you over and over again until your slick was drooling down your thighs and pooling on the floor below you, your arms shook as they held your weight up and your back arched as you tried to push against his hand more.

The man had you painting his hand in your orgasm, honey skin glistening with your juices as you moaned and gasped from his actions. Your eyes slipped closed as you cried out from the orgasm. Your legs twitching, and your arms couldn’t hold you up as you fell against the floor, leaves and sticks prickling your skin as you lay there.

“Such a good bunny” His fingers moved from your hole and you whimpered from the sensitivity. His clean hand pushed his trousers down, and he wrapped the wet hand around his cock to pump it a few times, grunting at the feeling before he rubbed the already leaking tip across your folds and against your clit until you were trying to get away. His hand pushed your back, using his strength and weight to keep you in place as his voice rumbled through your ear “You stay right there so I can breed this pretty little pussy, or you wont cum again”.

A gasp left your mouth at his words, hips bucking back against his cockhead. And Connor’s head fell back at the feeling, using his hand to rub against your clit again so he could feel the way you squirmed, trying to stay still but failing. “Please wolf” came the desperate moan below him as you tried so hard to be good.

And he grinned down at you in that animalistic way “Well if you insist”. The feeling of his cock pushing into you and your knees drawing under you, walls trying to adjust to the size of him and your head falling against the floor. The feeling was too much for you even with the prep, Connor tried to go slowly until your hand reached for him, grasping at his waist to pull him closer, unable to speak of what you wanted but he got the idea as he quickly finished pushing into you. His hips flush against your ass, and his cock fully buried inside you.

Connor’s head fell back at the feeling of your tight walls clamping down on him, your hand falling from his hip as your hands curled against the ground, gripping leaves and anything else. His hand pushed further into your back, the other gripping at your hip as it bruised the fat there. And he stayed still for all of a moment, listening to the way you panted and moaned at feeling so full before he pulled back and then snapped forwards causing you to jolt with the movement.

Within moments Connor was bullying his cock in and out of you, barely giving you the time to adjust to him. “Gonna breed this bunny so good” his words had your eyes fluttering as his hips snapped against you. The sound of skin slapping filled the forest around you, Connors grunts and your moans drowned out the sound of animals. Your cunt clenched around him at his words and his grip tightened on you “Like that? Yeah you do, wants this wolf to breed her”

His voice was hoarse as he kept mumbling out words that sent your head dizzy, and your hole tighter. Your legs shaking beneath you, nails digging into the ground and your body jolted forward with every snap of his hips. Every “good girl”, “That’s it” and “Take it” earned Connor some of those sweet noises. His breathing shallow as he lay his chest against your back, covering you completely with his build and pressing you further into the ground.

His hand slipped from your hip to circle at your clit, you didn’t know whether to press back against his cock or forward against his hand. The feeling had you drooling against the ground until your hole spasmed around him and you moaned. Your second orgasm hit you as you soaked his thighs and the floor again. Connor’s hips stuttered at the feeling until his cock pressed into you a few times slowly, dragging against your over sensitive walls until he was forcing you to the ground completely and hot sticky ropes of cum filled you.

You twitched around him at the feeling, his hands moving to soothe your body as he pinned you to the floor with his weight. He panted in your ear as he came, his hips rolling forward a few more times until he was done. You whimpered as he slipped himself from you, he watched his cum drool from your hole before using his fingers to push it back in and your hips pressed back “That is a pretty sight” he mumbled.

#connor kenway #connor kenway x reader #Connor Kenway smut #Assassin creed 3 x reader #assassin's creed 3 #assassin creed x reader #Ratonhnhaké:ton #Ratonhnhaké:ton x reader #Connor Kenway x F!Reader #Connor Kenway x fem reader

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celestial--sapphic · 1 month ago

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Soft skin (and soft lips)

Rating: G

Pairing: Tori Lewis/Poppy Sweeting aka MC x Poppy Sweeting

Word count: 2,119

They kissed a few days ago and Tori wants to kiss her again, but she is being a useless lesbian about it.

A drabble based on/inspired by this HC post by my very good friend @espressoristretto-patronum about her MC Tori and Poppy 💛 it was SO CUTE I immediately became obsessed and HAD to write something!

Tori Lewis’s face feels hot. Increasingly, increasingly hot.

It is not like the all-over warmth Tori feels inside the Three Broomsticks on a chilly winter day, or the heat of a freshly poured mug of coffee held against her palm, or the comforting licks of the roaring fire in the Hufflepuff common room as she dozes in a nearby armchair. No, this heat was internal, inescapable and entirely of her own doing.

Cosa stavi pensando, Tori?!

Her face is coloured with a subtle but unmistakable pinkish hue, the blush having spread across the surface of her skin like a stray blot of ink bleeding into parchment; dusky rose at the apple of her cheeks fading to a barely-there tinge as it meets her dark hairline. There is a prickling sensation just beneath the colour, a static-like sensation of self-consciousness that zipped down her neck, into her chest and kicked Tori’s previously steady heart rate into a quickened pace.

Totally unsure of what to do now, and trying to hide the utter embarrassment completely consuming her, Tori picks up a textbook at random and practically buries her face in it; hoping if she can hide herself in it enough Poppy will stop looking at her in that completely stomach flipping way she does.

Tu inutile, inutile lesbica, Tori.

•┈┈┈••✦ ♡ ✦••┈┈┈•

Until a few moments ago Tori’s skin had been unblemished, her heartbeat regular and thoughts slow – if not concentrated – as she leafed through a pile of old class notes that were proving to be entirely useless for the homework essay Professor Hecat set them on the unique biology of a banshee. She remembers the class well enough because they also practiced nonverbal spells and Tori was rather pleased with herself for managing to disappear Sebastian’s shoes and reappear them on top of the classroom’s Hebridean Black skull without even parting her lips. (The memory of his utterly dumbfounded expression as he stood there in his grey socks, his left big toe poking out of a well-worn hole, and looking up at his leather boots sitting atop the skeleton beast still makes Tori chuckle). But the bodily anatomy of a banshee? The density of its bones, how the creature’s ‘cloak’ is attached to its skin and the way in which its vocal cords are structured to produce that dreadful, heart wrenching wail across miles and miles of heathland? Her mind was drawing a complete blank.

Sat on one of the long tables tucked away at the back of the library Tori had managed to work her way through the bulk of her homework assignments during her free period – even finishing an extremely tricky theoretical problem about transfiguring a thimble into a ticking clock for Professor Ronen that was due by the end of the week. Hardworking Hufflepuff indeed. She hoped to have been finished in time to get to Great Hall early for dinner and grab the best portions of one of her favourite Hogwarts meals: succulent roasted grouse which the house elves were serving up with huge, totally moreish goose fat potatoes and finished off with a fat slab of Dundee cake. But, as the light streaming through the library’s long windows turned the tell-tale orange of evening’s approach, she was still sitting there, entirely stumped by her Defence Against the Dark Arts essay.

Banshee – like mandrakes – fatal, one of the notes Tori had written in scrappy, quick penmanship read, the last word underlined twice in black ink.

Non-beings – relative of dementors?, another said.

Black hair?, a third simply read, with an ink-drawn arrow linking it to the word ‘dementors’. What Tori meant by that, and how she could use it in her essay, she had no clue at all.

Past Tori clearly had more faith in Present Tori than she should have.

After another twenty minutes of trying to draw a connection between her notes, a textbook on dark creatures in Europe and the essay topic, the library was becoming increasingly empty with most other students heading off to their common rooms or the Great Hall. Frustrated, she longed to go back in time to that morning lesson a few weeks prior, snap her fingers forcefully in front of her own face and chant: “Concentrati Tori! Concentrati Tori!”

Adjusting the glasses on the bridge of her nose after giving her homework-tired eyes a rub, Tori was unexpectedly interrupted by the sound of a soft, familiar voice coming from behind her, sending a rush of comfort through her like a well-earned butterbeer.

“Is this seat taken?” Poppy asks and Tori turns to see her standing there with a small, shy smile. Her arms wrapped around two thick, leather-bound herbology textbooks that she is holding against her chest, the size of the books making the tiny Hufflepuff look somehow more demure than usual. Indicating to the space next to Tori on the wooden bench with a small tilt of her head, the motion of her movement makes the ends of her cropped hair – clearly wind blown from being out near the pens – dance against the space where her bare neck meets the collar of her slightly oversized yellow and grey school jumper.

Amid the light streaming from the windows that scatters tiny beams through the gaps in her hair, the way the too-long sleeves of her jumper adorably nearly cover her entire thumbs and hopeful look in her caramel-toned eyes, Tori thinks Poppy is impossibly lovely in the golden hour of the day.

They had kissed, for the first time, a few days prior. It was magical, breathtaking and Tori’s heart hammered almost painfully in her chest everytime she thought about it (which was often). But between their different lesson schedules, Tori’s Quidditch practice in the evenings and the fact they share a room with multiple other girls there had been little chance to recreate the moment.

The little jolt of nervous anticipation in her lower stomach whenever she thought about doing so though… well, that spoke for itself.

“No, not at all.” Tori says perhaps too quickly, too eagerly for such a mundane question, and mentally kicking herself a little. Scooting over, Tori makes a show of creating space for Poppy despite the fact she is the only one left sitting on the entirety of the bench. “Unless Peeves is hiding under there.” Tori adds with a slightly dry-throated chuckle, realising how silly her moving over must look in context of an otherwise deserted table.

“Hopefully not.” Poppy says with a nose-wrinkled grimace at the thought of the poltergeist, nevertheless though happily depositing her books on the table with a slight thud. “I had more than enough disruption today with a very ill-tempered unicorn. Poor thing has a toothache,” Poppy explains as she adjusts her black and grey plaid skirt and slides onto the bench, “and she was quite the unhappy customer when I attempted to give her some medicine, although it did smell like a gone-off potion so I completely understand if I am honest.”

Tori nods, listening, always fascinated by the way in which Poppy talks about the creatures she looks after; never seeing them as simple, unfeeling beasts but individuals with personalities, hopes and dreams, loves and dislikes, like any witch, wizard or muggle. The constant, excited thrumming that she feels whenever Poppy is around – like the buzzing wings of a Golden Snitch – kicking into gear.

Turning to look more fully at Tori when settled, Poppy adds: “I thought this might be where you were, when you hadn’t come back to the common room to get ready for dinner.”

“I was meant to be done but…” Tori indicates to the messy pile of notes and books spread across the table’s surface in front of her.

“No luck?”

“Ancient runes are easier to decipher.” She says with a self-deprecating chuckle.

Poppy nods, face drawing into slight thought.

“I have some reading to finish for Professor Garlick… if you don't mind the company? Then maybe we can walk to dinner together?”

Don’t mind the company?

Absolutely.

I would love that.

That would be amazing.

Ovviamente Poppy, ovviamente, ovviamente!

I–

“Of course not.” Tori chooses to reply as faux coolly as she can, hoping the other Hufflepuff didn’t notice the slightly hitched sound to her voice. “The more the merrier!”

“Tremendous.” Poppy grins, opening up one of her large textbooks – which has an intricate illustration of a venomous tentacula on the front cover – and plucks a folded piece of parchment from within that was saving her place. “I’ll be as quiet as a mouse, so you can finish your work.”

“Easy, when you are the size of one.” Tori teases.

A fond smile blooms on Poppy’s face and she rolls her eyes without malice, turning towards her book. “I certainly walked into that one, Miss Lewis,” she breathes out a chuckle.

Holding the parchment between her forefinger and thumb Poppy pauses briefly, turning her head as if she wants to say something more to Tori before thinking better of it, biting the corner of her lip a little and looking back at the book with a tiny, sideways shake of her head to herself.

It was an almost entirely unnoticeable action, half a second at most, but it makes the hairs stand up on the back of Tori’s neck. She pretends not to have noticed, acting nonchalant, fiddling with her quill and tapping the now dried out nib against one of her random class notes. The tip leaving progressively fading dots against the paper.

They sit there for a few minutes. Poppy reading her textbook, mouthing the words to herself and finger tracing along the words as does so, whilst Tori tries and fails to focus on her notes.

Her eyes drift subtly back to Poppy, watching the way her small finger delicately glides across the page, imagining the feel of that finger, three others and a thumb interlinked with her own, palms pressed warmly against each other’s. It's difficult to resist stealing a glance at Poppy’s side-profile; the soft swoop of her nose, cherub-round cheeks that are dotted with the faintest freckles and her bow-shaped lips that days before were pressed against her own.

She wants to kiss her again.

Would Poppy want that though, in this near empty library?

Perhaps she would prefer it somewhere more romantic?

The grassy meadows near Hogsmeade?

The shoreline of the Great Lake?

A brilliant first kiss is one thing but how do you follow it up for the second, the third, the fourth, the–

Would she even want another kiss?

Maybe the first one was terrible? Maybe she was terrible at kissing?

She realises she is staring not so subtly now and snaps her neck back towards the table, the grip on her quill suddenly too tight for comfort.

Does Poppy even like her, the way she likes her?

They kissed, and Poppy definitely reciprocated, but maybe…

Oh Merlino, oh Merlino, oh Merlino–

Making a decision, Tori takes a quick breath for luck and leans across the space between them, pressing her mouth to the soft curve of Poppy’s cheek. It is all together brief, a featherlight brush of her lips against skin that is otherwise soundless. As she pulls back, Poppy turns to meet her gaze in such a way that Tori’s stomach flips low and hard in her abdomen; her cheeks explode into her heat, her heart rate surges into life and embarrassment washes over her in such a way that the only thing she can think to do is grab a nearby textbook and bury her head in it.

Tu inutile, inutile lesbica, Tori.

It feels like an age, staring at a random passage about a third of the way down the left page of her textbook so entirely up close that the words are slightly blurred, her body literally feeling Poppy’s gaze upon it.

There is a shift on the bench, the redistribution of weight and suddenly the book is pulled from her grip and placed face down on the table. Poppy’s hands cup Tori’s cheeks and turn the taller girl’s red and warm face towards her, the pads of her thumbs stroking against Tori's jawline.

Poppy is wearing the same smile that graced her features after their first kiss; soft and natural and entirely beautiful.

“You are adorable,” she giggles and moves forward to close the gap between them completely.

•┈┈┈••✦ ♡ ✦••┈┈┈•

Sometime later, when Tori’s lips feel well-worn and Madam Scribner had scolded them for “inappropriate displays of personal affection in an academic environment” Poppy taps the textbook Tori briefly used for a shield with her free hand. The other far to busy being tangled up with Tori's under the table.

“You did realise that textbook was upside down when you were pretending to read it?” Poppy queries, quirking her eyebrow that Tori in a very attractive way as her fingernails drum against the cover of the discarded book which was, indeed, upside down.

“I didn’t even notice.” Tori admits.

Merlino, sono gay.

#I shall post this on ao3 tomorrow!#this was very fun and cute to write #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy oc #tori lewis #poppy sweeting #fanfic #poppy sweeting x f!mc #sapphic #WLW

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honestsycrets · 1 year ago

Note

HELLO, HELLO! Okay, so this drabble prompt/idea is kinda sorta in the vein of Querido (I only think about Old Western Miguel now I cannot help it pls forgive me head empty only man and hörse), so pls skip if you're not inspired or in the mood for more in this genre!

Still, I offer you this: Sheriff Miguel.

He's someone all the women have their eyes on, and he'd have his eyes on them, too, if he were younger. But he has a baby girl to worry about, a runaway wife to forget, and a town to keep an eye on, especially when a woman from the big city pays the little down a visit.

He meets her when he loses Gabriella in the market's crowd, only to find her tugging on a fine dress belonging to a fine woman.

(P.S. reading your writing has inspired me to get back into writing my own reader insert stuff 💖 really love your work, keep it up!!)

bumblebee | sheriff!miguel x dressmaker!reader

❛ pairing | sheriff-singleparent!miguel o'hara x dressmaker!reader

❛ type | extended drabble, not-explicit, wc: 2600ish

❛ summary | miguel loses his daughter-- and finds a part of himself he thought was long past dead.

❛ tags | self-edited, querido au, f!reader, sheriff!miguel, dressmaker!reader, implied parental abandonment, some mention of thievery, widowed!reader, mostly fluff, some mention of death, spanish not translated.

❛ sy's notes | i intended this to be a drabble but... it's quite a bit longer. anon, i hope you end up writing to your heart's content.

Miguel ain’t the kinda man women really need. He’s the kinda man they think they want. A big man with a big name, sure, but he’s saddled with what their fathers colloquially call baggage. A little three-year-old girl with ambitions of rolling on out of this little town by rolling on out of his fingertips.

“Oye, Gwen,” he catches the arm of his deputy. She’s out on the town just as he was, making rounds about the grassy plain where the market was booming. With too few stalls, the marketgoers visit full wooden wagons chock-full of goods. This year, there were new boxes of small circular chocolates. Once every year, his quiet little town became a bustling fuck fest with foreigners running a muck of it all. As sheriff, he just had to deal with it.

“What’s it, sheriff?” she asks. “Something wrong?”

“You seen my littlin anywhere? Swore she was right here.”

This is his penance for fooling around with the hearts of pretty women: chasing him his own little girl and minding the crowd. His long, slicked-back hair was all kinds of out of place, whirling over his wrinkled forehead. He shoves a strand of grey hair back in place out of his dark eyes and scans his little town. She could’ve slipped into any creaky old building that wasn't locked up or hitched a ride on a wagon she didn’t belong on. Or, alternatively…

“Miguel! Rio saw her by the sweets.” Former Sherriff Morales tells him, standing by his son’s stall of sweet roasted corn. Ordinarily, he’d give it a begrudging visit. Miguel whirls around on his muddy leather boots, throwing him a nod of thanks with Gwen short on his tail.

“Sounds promisin’,” she says. “Could be searchin’ for Lyla or Peter.”

“Thank you for the help, Sheriff,” he grumbled, shoving his way past a sea of cream, brown, and black dresses. Gwen could spider her way through the groups of people with her comparatively slender frame. As a consequence of Miguel’s hulking frame, he’s markedly slower in his search.

“Ain’t here either,” Gwen hops back to his side. “You sure she wandered off?”

"She had to."

The alternative was… well, he didn't want to think about it. Out of his periphery, he caught the glimmer of polished metal. He spots his daughter’s peachy dress, bundled up with a fat white bow complete with a bell. He put the thing on thinking that, ideally, his little girl would jingle up some hell of noise if she got lost. Some good that bell did.

“You lost mi amor?”

Lost. The word stands out to him first, all dressed up in a sugar cube of a voice. His Gabriella tugs on a stranger’s long gown, eyes pricked with tears streaming down her cheeks. Of all the people-- she couldn’t just pick on someone she knew? Head to Rio’s hostel, find Deputy Gwen stalking around, or even Hobie’s bum ass strumming a tune on the old stage. No, she’s with a strange woman.

“Now don’t you cry,” you dab away the stray tears with an embroidered handkerchief. “I’ll find you home.”

You’re not from here because you’re all done up like a buttercup in spring when the women here only broke out color for church. Corset sucking in the finest assets, a buttercream bustle underneath that buttercup yellow skirt. Hair up in a waterfall of curls and covered by a small slouched hat of flowers. You held a parasol for the evening sun, keeping it off your tanned skin.

“There,” Miguel set his hands on his hips, catching his head in a shake. Gwen leans over on the ball of her feet and stares straight down the barrel of a path.

“My my,” she says. “Ain’t she a looker. Why are you-- You look good, Miguel.”

She’s caught on his frantic fiddling. The way Miguel straightens his tie into his waistcoat and checks the chain that drapes along his side. He checks the time on his cracked pocketwatch and spins it between his fingers. Gwen leans up to flick a stray strand of hair away from his face.

“Think so?”

“Entirely presentable.”

"¿De veras?" Miguel clears his throat, “Best be on my way to get her.” Miguel loops his fingers on his fine leather belt and waltzes right on up to your stall of hand-sewn dresses.

For once in his life, he feels underdressed. A man sets some coins in your hand, plucking up a small communion dress for his daughter. With ruffles, lace, and the occasional ribbon. He’s not sure how much luck you’d have selling more than scraps of ribbon in this little town. You set the coins aside, turning your attention back to his daughter who-- somehow, got a brand new ribbon bundled in her ponytail between his fiddling and the walk over.

“Buenas tardes,” he clears his throat, whipping out his metal badge. “I’m Sherriff O’Hara.”

“Encantada, Sheriff O’Hara. You’re looking as pretty as a penny this fine afternoon. Can’t be wanting any of my dresses. My name is… well, how can I help you?”

“Papa,” Gabriella coos as if this whole mess wasn’t on her tiny little shoulders. He wasn't sure if that was good or bad, not yet.

“Yes, mami, Sheriff O’Hara. Do you know old Sheriff O’Hara?” Miguel suppresses his delight as you lift her up onto your hip. Most days, he didn’t notice his own melancholy. Coming home to his little girl soothed all that like a good helping of booze after a bad wound. “She likes you.”

You sure talk pretty. He clears his throat, pulling on the sloppy tie that feels a whole lot hotter all of a sudden. He shouldn't be acting like this. Has it really been that long since he’s been with a girl? He couldn't go to the saloon and pick any one of those lovesick girls. The town wouldn’t continually elect a loose man. Miguel’s eyes catch the flickering gold of a bumblebee locket on your chest. He traces the curve of its wings, wrapping around a crusted gem.

“‘Course she does, she’s my girl. I lost Gabi up in the crowd flow.”

“You lost her? You can’t tell me you’re the kinda man that does it all. Where is your wife?”

Where is your wife? The question tormented him. He could do it all. Managing the sloppy, slow thieves and putting down the occasional drunken brawl. At the end of the night, he came home to his empty home and saw his little girl. Miguel’s gaze danced along the puffy clouds in the sky. The fluffy clouds drift the same as usual, the same old slow draw, unknowledgeable about the change in his life. He suppresses the distant melancholy in his voice in surfacing old memories.

“Ain’t got a wife. She ran off on me with some wolf. Usually, I got a sitter for my girl but, she came down with a fever.”

“A wolf?” you repeat after him, “Why, you mean a gentleman?”

A gentleman, he scoffs under his breath.

“If you wanna call him that. He was an outlaw.”

“I’m mighty sorry, Sheriff.” You looked at the little girl in your arms. Gabriella’s small fingers fiddle with the glimmering gold pendant on your chest. He throws her a look-- behave. She’s not paying attention one bit. You set your parasol down, freeing the necklace and setting it in her tiny fist. “I’m a whole widow myself. Lost my man in the war and never got the chance to have one’a my own.”

“You don’t say. You on the market?”

“On the market like cattle?” you teased. If he’s not mistaken, that shy smile of yours was all his. Maybe you like him. It's a signal that he could keep going.

“Coño, no. You’re too fine for that,” the words are buttery smooth, but upon discovering how the words may come off, he realizes he might be sliding into a trap on the back of those words. Your lips are slightly agape, half in shock. “Pretty. You’re too pretty.”

“Oh, Sheriff, don’t worry your head,” you adjust Gabriella on your hip, swaying in place like it was natural. “I ain’t one to take offense to pretty words. Suppose you want your niña back?”

There went his chance.

"That'd be best," he slides his hands underneath Gabriella’s tiny arms to pick her up. The pendant she held clattered free from her grip, nestled in the deep grass. You were about to pick it up when a scrawny thing of a man swiped it from the grass. For an instant, Miguel thought it might be Pavi, who loved to be helpful in the most annoying ways. Catching doors even when it's men, dropping his scarf on mud for girls, a charming and shy kid. It isn’t, though, it’s that weasel he seems to be throwing in the pin every damn week, bolting off in a full-on run.

“Ay, not my locket!” you gasped, plucking your skirts over your boots.

“Maldito niño--” Miguel stops you, sliding Gabriella back into your arms. Not that she was complaining, tiny hands slapping together in a rendition of applause as Miguel darted after him, his booming steps beating the ground. “Get back here, kid!”

“Dios, you sure have a busy papa. I'm sure he’ll back in two shakes of a lamb's tail.” You looked between the little girl nestled comfortably in your arms and the parting sea of the crowd. Gwen zooms past, eliciting another round of jovial laughter from Gabriella O’Hara. She does love a good game.

It ain’t that Miguel wants to leave his girl with any old fool that waltzed on into his town. But he knows his community, knows they’d not leave him out to dry, and knows that taking his daughter on a town-wide chase with a skinny little weasel around town is not the move. Especially not if he has a gun, which he did, because of course he did. Now, the man has a jail cell and Miguel has a crook in his neck from where the buffoon fell through the crooked second floor of the post office.

He works the sore muscle the whole way back to your wagon. It’s high time for eating. His stomach was raging after the scent of someone’s pulled pork, the roasted sweetness of corn. If we wanted to be presentable then, he sure wasn’t now. Dust was a second skin on his pants and aged boots. He walks past the platform where Hobie plays a tune with his banda. Most vendors were wrapping right on up for some proper debauchery.

He finds you there, swaying to the beat of the music with Gabriella hanging in your arms. Her tiny hands were around an ear of elote already. Guess she extorted a snack out of you.

“One gold locket,” Miguel heaves out the words as he digs in his pocket, whirling the golden chain into your small hand. You flip it over once, then twice, examining it for any defects. “Better to keep that tucked away out here. Puts a target on your back right quick.”

“Muchísimas gracias, sheriff. You're a sweetheart,” you reach out, grazing his scratchy cheek with your supple lips. Gabriella is flatly squished between his sweaty chest and yours. She’s fallen asleep flat against your chest. “You don’t know how much this necklace means to me.”

There are whispers from the women he’s turned down. The viejitas who have been trying to set him up for a full-on year now, those who told him he needed to find a girl as soon as possible to marry. He didn’t want to. Not unless it made sense.

“Yes, well, you could tell me,” Miguel finally picks his daughter from your arms. She’s out like a light. “If you want.”

“It was my mami's, once upon a time. She gave it to me on my wedding day," you explain. "It's all I got left of her. I wonder what she'd think of me these days, travelin' town to town like I got secrets."

"You ever think of settlin' down again?" He turns his gaze past Hobie’s banda, to the yellowing sky. The sun is setting out over the horizon, casting warm orange and soft pink into the air. The road is full of wagons. The clip-clop of horses running their way to the next town, some checked in to the hostel.

"A veces," you explain. "If it feels right, I think I will."

"Yeah?" He settles on the bed of your wagon. The dresses were packaged and kept in locked chests, kept away from the bed of the wagon where your blanket was. Most of the foreigners have left, but you. He doesn’t have to guess to know that it was his fault. “You off to Rio’s hostel?”

“‘fraid I’m out of town,” you smiled at him. “She ain’t got any rooms. Next city over might.”

“Stay with me,” he says. “The night. Bit too late to get robbed on the road with all them pretty dresses you make. Wouldn’t be right to be sheriff and let a young thing out there without company. Some'a them outlaws take wives that way, y'know.”

“Oh, Sheriff O’Hara, ain’t no one care about widows on the road,” your hand finds your chest. It’s said with a laugh, as though someone, somewhere, made you feel less than. It wasn’t going to be Miguel.

"Ain't a widow if you're carried off." He reclines, watching the figures of couples dancing to whatever the hell Hobie was playing on his guitar. His eyes track over Hobie’s gloved fingers that prance across the strings, waiting for you to walk back on that stupid comment. You do, snapping out a fan in the waist of your heavy dress to fan yourself.

“You really sure? I don’t mean to be a burden. I’m sure you got better to do than take care of company.”

“You took care of my girl. Least I could do. Long as you go to church in the morning.”

“Oh, now he’s askin’ me to church. When’s the wedding, Sherriff?”

“Miguel. Soon as you want it,” he returns, half a smile pulling at a normally closed-off face. Miguel turns to set his Gabi down on your blanket, throwing you a look for permission. You nod, watching her roll on the wool thing, setting her hands under her cheek until she gets into a position that isn’t as bad as laying on her back. He tucks her hair back over the shell of her ear, exhaling a breath. Somewhere between his ex-wife’s flight from the town and today, she began to look more and more like him. He’s thankful for that. He doesn’t need more memories of her. Only needed to get through each day, and make the next better than the one before.

“She’s tuckered out,” you lean down, just by his face. “All that escapin’ papa work.”

“Si,” Miguel hums as he massages his sore shoulder. “Tell me about it. I’m getting too old for this.”

He lifts his head from his daughter’s tiny body, reminded of all the times someone told him to get married. If not the women chasing him around his jail at all hours of the day, then the women at church who, at the moment, were gossiping away. He could hear the prattle already: sheriff likes rich girls. The type to have a golden locket and French silk. The luxury of hopping from town to town like some no-good woman. He’d wager, your husband ain’t had the money to take care of you but for these light luxuries. Traveling town to town wasn't no small feat.

Tch. He’d deal with it tomorrow when he took you to church. Scandalous as that was.

“Fancy a dance?” he offered up his hand.

You remove your gloves, skin is soft and supple against his, only marred by the pricks of a needle. Your gloved fingers grazed his scarred palm, tracing the long strike that marred his open palm. There’s a thought there, just behind the reach of your playful eyes. He couldn’t quite reach it.

“I’d love to, Miguel.”

Something tells him he has time to.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara/reader #miggy x reader #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara drabble #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x you #spiderman imagine #spiderman imagines #spiderman fic #spiderman 2099 x reader

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lola-theshowgrl · 15 days ago

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I'm not great at these introduction posts, and this one feels extra strange because it's a bit late coming. Still, I've been remiss, and I felt like it was important to have this somewhere, so here we are!

Hullo!

I'm Lola, I live in the UK, and I'm a writer. I love books, films, music, art, food, and flowers, and if I could disappear into the woods to live like a little cottage witch or a hobbit, I would absolutely do that.

I enjoy simple things. I have my own garden for the first time in my life, and I'm slowly learning how to look after that, moving things about, pruning, and growing veggies from seed. The word of Monty Don is law, and I watch Gardener's World quite religiously.

I have a lot of houseplants, which I'm more knowledgeable about, but only because it was the closest I could get to a garden for many years. I was renting for a long time, so I moved practically every other year, and my houseplants have accumulated to become something like an indoor jungle.

I also like to cook - and to eat! I'm a home cook, I was taught largely by my grandma and by watching various cooking shows over the years. I love how food brings people together, how it varies culturally, and I have a talent for tasting a dish and being able to replicate flavours without a recipe, which is neat.

I do a bit of crafting, though not as much as I used to. I make candles, soap, wax melts and such. I also knit and sew, but only very basically, and I'd like to get better at both, but I never seem to make any time for it. I'm not a particularly organised person, except by necessity, and this often shows itself in such areas.

I love nature and being outside. I walk a lot, usually with my dog, Wilfred, and we visit rivers, forests, beaches, and the occasional marsh together at weekends. There's nothing like fresh air and a good walk to clear your head a bit, I think. That said, I don't like being cold much, and wet socks horrify me on a very primal level, and if it was up to me I wouldn't ever leave the house when it's raining.

I love the sun. You will never hear me complain about it being too hot, I guarantee it. I wait for summertime all year long, and it's fairly short here in England, so I spend as much of the season outside as I can, basking like a lizard.

I'm in my late thirties and coming up fast on middle-age, and I noticed my first grey hairs about a year ago - just a few bright, silvery strands at my temples and around my ears. I feel like I've mentally been a fifty year old since I was ten, so ageing doesn't concern me too much. Also I feel like I won some kind of battle by getting to this point? Sometimes I think about the lonely teenager I was, convinced I wouldn't see twenty-five, and wish I could find a way back to her to tell her she's going to be okay.

I'm short and fat, my nose is a little crooked, my eyes are blue, and my hands are oddly small. I dress like an elderly librarian, and I know I'm winning at the female-gaze when other women compliment my tweed skirts and flowery dresses. I have a vast collection of cardigans.

I'm autistic, I'm queer, and I'm partially deaf. I ought to wear a hearing aid, but honestly? I've heard enough.

Yes, I do think I'm funny.

I love art, classic or new, and I seem to have somehow assimilated a working knowledge of Impressionism. I blame my mother for this.

I once went to the Tate for a school trip and sat in front of a painting by Monet for two hours without moving, and got into trouble for not sticking with the group. I'm obsessed with the idea that Degas was Jack The Ripper, and I wish more people knew about Berthe Morisot.

Books. Stories. Fiction. My true love, and the very core of who I am. I read The Hobbit by JRR Tolkien when I was about eleven years old, and fell head over heels with the fantasy genre. Later that same year, I read Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte, and little did I know, became heavily invested in slow-burn romance. Then, I read Little Women by Louisa May Alcott, and I knew I wanted to write, just as Jo March did.

I've been scribbling away ever since, trying always to improve, to find my voice and craft interesting stories. I've written a huge amount of fanfiction over the years, and even though much of it has been lost to time and various platforms, I learned a lot from those stories. I did publish two books about a decade ago, under a pen name and with a small press, but I had a pretty bad experience with it, and I stopped writing for a long while afterwards.

It was fanfiction that brought back my love for writing again, and I've been dabbling off and on with some original work for the past three years or so. People are weird about fanfiction, I find, but there's nothing like writing for the simple joy of it, with no expectations, to rekindle your love for the craft. It's only through the encouragement and kindness of the folk who were reading those works that I'm here today, trying again to write and publish my original stories.

Anyway, that's me in a nutshell! I probably waffled on a bit, but thank you for reading anyway!

#lola-palooza

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coochiequeens · 2 years ago

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As your bones lose density, the only way you will protect them is by keeping your muscle mass; building strength in middle age is part of what will define the shape and tempo of your old age. “

When 50-year-old Anna Jenkins, the founder of We Are Fit Attitude (Wafa), a woman-only health and fitness club, looked online for images of older women exercising, she was irritated by the pitiful size of the weights: the stock image is of a woman with grey hair lifting a 1kg weight, as if doing so were some kind of milestone. My personal bugbears are the photos in which there is a personal trainer with an expression of infinite patience next to the older woman, as if the latter is weak and half witted.

Stock photos are the internet’s idea of what the world should look like, sets of generic images intended to illustrate articles and advertising, often revealing more worldview than they probably set out to. There are famously a lot of photos of white women laughing near salad, meant for healthy eating content, but also reinforcing inane cheer and self-denial as cornerstones of femininity. If fitness imagery of the young is all about aspiration – six packs, muscle definition and impossible body fat percentages – fitness imagery of older people is almost anti-aspirational. Its message is: “You probably can’t do anything at all, but look over here, there’s a lady managing this tiny thing.”

Jenkins runs the Wafa classes remotely and in person for women ranging from their late 30s to their mid-70s. One Saturday, at a class in Merton, south London, they decided to create a new set of photos, repopulate the ecosystem of stock photographs, so that when you search for “older women exercising”, you will be able to see what that really looks like. “These are proper weights,” says Annette Hinds, 60. “We’re not pussyfooting about.”

Jenkins went into group work and coaching from personal training because she had noticed that, in the gym: “Women would go straight to the cardio machine because they knew how it worked. It’s a frightening environment when you think you don’t belong, when you’re unhappy in your body shape. But they didn’t need more cardio – at 45-plus your body needs strength work. Especially during the menopause. It’s just a fact.”

As your bones lose density, the only way you will protect them is by keeping your muscle mass; building strength in middle age is part of what will define the shape and tempo of your old age. But as Glenda Cooper, 51, who usually does this class remotely five times a week, says, there is more to it than that. “Women at this time of life have parents we’re caring for. I’ve got two kids. You don’t want to take up too much space, you feel invisible anyway, you don’t make time for yourself. It’s so important to have a sense of your own strength, which I think is absent from the rest of our lives.”

The atmosphere is fierce: as Lorraine Turner, 59, says: “I never used to think I was competitive, but later in life, I’ve realised that I am. I get a lot out of it if I push myself more.” Karen Silvestri, 60, remarks archly: “My husband’s a chef so I eat a lot and drink a lot. I still manage to retain this normal shape.”

Palmer’s daughter paid her a compliment on her butt the other day: “She said it wasn’t flat like a lot of women my age.” Downward comparison is very motivating, and it is also fun to watch when people are so unabashed about it.

“We’re a funny bunch, women, aren’t we?” Teresa Klasener, 61, says. She was very active until she got rheumatoid arthritis, then it all hit the skids until she started with Wafa two years ago. “We have all these mental blocks, we don’t prioritise ourselves, but once we’re in a group, we’ll fly.”

Jenkins says: “When I first became a personal trainer, I’d see a lot of women who were yo-yo dieters, and it was often because they were trying to be skinnier than their bodies were meant to be. I think exercise makes you confident in your shape as it is.” That might be the ultimate break with the visual norms of the fitness industry, that these are images of strength and exertion for their own sake, not for how they’ll make you look in spaghetti straps.

“I never knew what people were talking about with the endorphin thing,” Redford says. “And now, I do feel a sense of joy and self-congratulation, knowing that I just fucking went for it.”

#We Are Fit Attitude (WAFA)#Stock images or women #Women and fitness #Women and strength training #Women and aging

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anonymous1233211 · 7 months ago

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All in a Name - Zack

Credit to the original story and writer https://anonymous1233211.tumblr.com/post/734046585154109440/all-in-a-name-zack

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Matthew was having a strange day at the office. Sure, he had his tired mornings, but never on Earth did he feel this tired by lunch hour. He was sitting at his desk trying to make up for the lost work in the AM, when a strange thought in a foreign voice entered his head.

"I've never known any Zacks to be hard workers."

Matthew was shocked by this strange thought - well, as shocked as he could be for how tired he was. He decided if his thoughts weren't going to align at all he may as well take a lunch away from the office. He could make up the work later.

He stood up and started going down the stairs when another thought crossed his mind

"Every Zack I met is a smoker."

Matthew tried to ignore the thought as he walked down the stairs, but he started feeling an unusual craving and hurried down, he went around the corner of the building, and reached for his suit pants pocket and grabbed a carton of cigs that he instinctually knew was there.

Matt pulled out a cigarette and lit it up, and then took a deep drag as he was soothed, the craving going away. As he enjoyed the beginning of his cigarette yet another thought crossed his mind.

"I've never known a Zack to dress formally."

Matt didn't notice as his clothing started to shift all around his body. His suit pants became a pair of jeans two sizes too big as they draped down his shoes, changing into a big pair of DC Skate shoes.

His button up shirt grew sleeves as it turned black and became a plain long sleeved shirt as the buttons fused, similar to the suit jacket which had become noticably, (albiet not to Matt) thinner and turned a deep green and a graphic logo formed right onto his chest.

His tie started to feel cold on the back of his neck as it grew thinner and started to unravel into links, forming a metal chain around his neck.

Matt leaned against the wall, smoking his cigarette, not noticing the increased comfort of his clothes. He knew he was out there to get his mind off something, but wasn't sure what. Another thought entered his mind.

"I've never known a Zack to be clean shaven."

Matt suddenly felt itchiness coming from his face as facial hair erupted from his pores, forming a big goatee with thin sideburns and a neatly shaped attached stache. The sides of his face were shaped down to stubble, but it was evidently a couple of days since he shaved, because it was grey and stubbly.

Mack scratched at his beard, thinking that he could shave it for work, but the thoughts entered his mind again.

"I've never known a Zack to keep a steady job before."

Mack suddenly felt far more relaxed than ever before as he pufed on his cigarette. No need to worry about money if he kept getting fired from odd jobs and collecting off the government's employment insurance. He was more than covered. Suddenly, another thought;

"All the Zacks I know drink in public."

A bottle of bud light materialized in Mack's hand, already partially drank out of. Mack's thought became fuzzy, like it wasn't his first. He reached for his cig, pulled it out, and took a swig of the ale. It tasted good, nothing like a cheap beer. A fuzzy thought;

"I've never met a Zack that doesn't think he looks fly as hell."

As the thought crossed, Mack's ego started inflating as a pair of shades and a snapback materialized on his now bald head. His body reproportioned itself a little, burning a little fat off and having his feet grow to a larger size to fill out his big shows, and Mack let out a smug grin with his cigarette in hand. One final thought crossed his mind.

"I've never known a Zack to be anywhere by the bar at this time of day."

Zack downed the rest of his beer and threw the bottle on the ground. He puffed his cig as he sauntered off to meet his friends at the nearest pub.

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nero-vanderwolf · 11 months ago

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3 times Yosuke feels he doesn’t belong and 1 time he knows he does

Yosuke is 12 and living in Tatsumi Port when he realises. It hits him like a punch to the gut, except he thinks a punch would be better in this scenario.

He realises that he doesn’t belong in this group, all rich and snobbish and definitely shunning him. None of them spare even a second glance as he slinks away, resolving to find the nearest pay phone that’d be still operating at this time of night.

Eventually he makes a collect call to his mom begging for her forgiveness and quickly explaining that he’d lost track of time before catching the last monorail to the station by his house. His “friends” don’t call. They don’t ask where he’d gone at school the next day. They don’t care, and Yosuke knows. So he stops caring about them.

2. Yosuke is 14 and tired. He’s stopped attending school, too busy preparing to move to a whole new place halfway across the country. Inaba, his mom told him. He’s too tired to put up a fuss about moving.

His “friends” from school still don’t call. They don’t drop by to offer help with packing. They don’t talk to him when they see him around town.

His “friends” aren’t really his friends. He knows this. But that doesn’t stop it from stinging any less. He can’t count how many things he told them, how many secrets he’d whispered in the darkness of sleepovers, unaware that he was the only one really saying anything.

But they also held him when he cried, they listened when he ranted about his dad, they stopped him from punching things when he became angry.

Silver lining, Yosuke supposes.

3. Yosuke is 15, and still tired. If anything, it seems to have gotten worse. His bones ache when he moves, his eyes feel heavy with a lead weight he doesn’t remember attaching to them. But his heart has been encased in concrete.

Chie and Yukiko are nice, absolutely. But he doesn’t mesh with them like they mesh with each other. Because having lived here in Inaba for about a year now, he’s still the school’s exotic attraction. A city boy in a backwaters high school, with slender, gangly limbs and a face that he’d heard other boys describe as “girlish.”

It’s unfair, really, how some people can blend so well with everyone, while he can barely blend with himself. Music is his only comfort, as pathetic as that is. The blaring from his headphones helps him turn his attention away from what’s bad in his life, and focus on what’s good. Like Chie and Yukiko not constantly making fun of him for how he looks.

There are good and bad aspects about everywhere, Yosuke has figured out. Chie and Yukiko are good aspects, definitely.

Yosuke is 17 and living in Inaba when he realises. It hits him like a punch to the gut, except he thinks a punch would be better in this scenario.

He walks in a field outside Inaba, shoes discarded behind a bush by the roadside. The sky above a deep, dark blue, with black clouds rolling by lazily. A cool breeze drifts by in the warm air, carrying the sweet scent of summer and ruffling his hair.

Beside him walks Yu Narukami, his partner and best friend. It’s been a year since the Inaba murders were solved, by them no less, and now Yu is back, and Yosuke feels gobsmacked by how much his partner has changed.

Yu is taller now, the baby fat in his cheeks burned away to make way for handsome features. He’s taller now- Yosuke has to look up to see that Yu’s grey eyes are darker now, more stormy than steely, and his hair has grown out a bit, though it remains the soft grey it was last year. Yosuke finds that the urge to card his fingers through it has only gotten stronger as time passed.

“Yosuke. What would you say...” Yu begins, turning his head to look at Yosuke. They both stop walking. The sky turns even darker, and Yosuke breathes in the sweet air, listens to the cicadas in his ear.

“If I told you that my parents are letting me stay in Inaba for this school year, too?”

Yosuke feels like he’s been punched in the gut twice. Once because his best friend is staying here again, his best friend will be within arm’s reach once again.

Twice because Yosuke realises he likes Yu as more than just a best friend.

It’s a terrifying realisation. But it’s one he welcomes. He knows where his place in the world is. He’s known it ever since Yu placed himself in their lives, made himself comfortable in the spaces of their hearts and made residency in Yosuke’s head, whispering soft things that make way for yearning that makes his entire body ache.

His place is at Yu’s side, so that’s where he places himself. Hugs his partner so tight he hears bones popping into place, slots himself comfortably in the space between Yu’s arm and side, resting his head on Yu’s shoulder. The fabric of his shirt is soft and comfortable, and Yosuke makes a mental note to steal it from his partner the next time he spends the night.

“I’d welcome you home, partner.”

god where do I even start with this. yosuke is my beloved creature and this is just so delicious. love the detail that yosuke migh be from tatsumi port island. yosuke feels like an outcast his whole life, no real friends, no one to care about him until he meets yu. yu just brings the group together, makes yosuke feel seen, like he's important. they're partners, not just friends. yu makes him feel seen for the first time in his life and that means so much to him. yu means everything to him and he just wants to be by his side forever. loving each other. yosuke finally getting the love he deserves.

#i love this one so much actually #nero answers #shackle-foes #souyo #yosuke hanamura #yu narukami #souji seta #persona 4 #p4

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misseviehyde · 2 years ago

Text

MOVING IN

Jane was pretty pissed off when her fat, useless, lazy brother Morgan begged her to let him move in with her.

Mom and Dad had thrown him out again for his useless attitude and he had nowhere else to go.

Jane had always been soft and she agreed he could stay, even though she knew it would really piss off her husband Jason.

Jason was the only earner in the home. He was a successful business man and Jane had always wanted to be a stay at home wife and had nagged him into agreeing.

Jane told Morgan he could take the spare room and as predicted Jason exploded when he found out. After all now he had to support three people on his salary.

"That fucking useless brother of yours better be gone in a week. He's a parasite... a drain on society. I want him GONE. It's bad enough that you just sit around here living off me - but I refuse to support him too."

But two weeks later and Morgan was still there. Jason was becoming increasingly bad tempered and Jane begged her brother to do something.

"At least... get a job. There are medical trials in the paper... they pay well. Please do something to get Jason off my back."

Morgan sighed and wearily agreed to sign up to a well paid medical trial. He signed up over the phone and a few days later a bottle of pink pills turned up at the house.

Morgan had to take one pill a day and record the effects. The trial was well paid and Jack was satisfied when Morgan paid off some of the food bills he'd been running up.

"I still want that loser gone," he muttered - "but at least whilst we are stuck with him, he's earning his keep at last."

**********

The first change that Jane noticed about Morgan was the dramatic weight-loss. The pink pills seemed to have an immediate effect on his metabolism and within two days there was a noticeable difference.

Not only did weight start to slough off him, but he became more active. He began to rise earlier and even eat less. His body began to get slimmer and slimmer and a sudden interest in exercise only seemed to speed up the transformation.

The second thing she noticed was the effect on his health. Morgan's pale unhealthy skin began to take on a healthy glow and his acne cleared up. His lank, greasy hair seemed to thicken and become glossier. It grew at an astonishing rate and within a few days it had reached his shoulders. Blonde streaks now showed at the roots.

Surprisingly the three day old stubble he normally sported on his chin went completely. At first Jane thought he must be shaving it off - but after watching him for a few days - she realised it was just... gone.

Morgan was delighted with the changes... the pink pills were giving him a new lease of life and he was delighted when another bottle arrived and he was told to increase his dose to two pills a day.

His clothes barely fit him and so it was hard to tell under his baggy t-shirts and loose sweat pants - but there was something distrubing about his body shape.

The more Jane looked at her brother - the more she worried about the effect of the pills. His features seemed smoother, his skin silkier. His body hair seemed to have completely fallen out and there were curves to his hips and chest that she was sure didn't use to be there.

Her suspicions were confirmed one day when she came home to find Morgan in her gym clothes.

Jane's grey tracky bottoms fit his increased ass and wider hips perfectly and her gym top showed off his toned arms and abs. The plunging neckline of the top also revealed a growing well of cleavage.

Morgan's hair was now a dirty blonde colour half way down to his lower back and he seemed to have shrunk in height and mass. When Jane looked at him she saw a girl who looked a lot like her... only in some ways prettier.

"Morgan... those pills. You gotta stop taking them and you gotta get help. They're feminising you!"

Morgan shrugged, "Why would I do that? I've never felt better."

The door opened and Jason walked in. He did a double take as he saw Morgan.

"M... Morgan is that you? Holy shit, what the fuck have those pills done to you? How is this possible?"

Morgan giggled... he actually giggled and Jane suddenly noticed his voice was much lighter in pitch and tone. It sounded... feminine.

"I don't know but I'd say it's an improvement wouldn't you?"

Jane suddenly realised that Jason was looking at Morgan in a way he never had before. Approvingly. His hungry eyes were roaming up and down her brothers body. She felt a flood of jealousy and annoyance. Her brother had to go.

"Jason, he's still a useless freebooting loser. You were right. We should have kicked him out weeks ago. Pack your stuff Morgan."

"Wait!" cried Morgan in horror. "Please... I know I've been useless but thanks to these pills I'm changing. I can make everything up to you both."

"I'm not interested Morgan," Jane spat. "Jason and I want you out of this house!"

Morgan looked at Jason. His face took on a pleading expression. Soft pink lips twisted into a pout, big dark eyes fluttered enticingly. "IS that what you still want Jason?"

"No... wait... lets not be hasty," muttered Jason turning to look at Jane. "We can't just kick her out - not like this."

"Her?" asked Jane incredulously.

"Did I say that?" he scowled. "You know what I mean. Him I mean. We can't just throw him out... not like this."

They began to argue. Jane couldn't believe Jason had changed his mind. Morgan just stood looking at them, biting his lip like a naughty schoolgirl waiting to hear his fate.

"Fuck this... we'll make a decision later tonight," scowled Jason. "We need to calm down and think this over. I'm going to my office."

He turned and marched out and as Jane glared at Morgan and stormed up to her bedroom.

***********

Jane cried in her room for a few minutes. She expected Jason to come apologise, but when he didn't she decided she would go speak to him in his office.

Walking down the landing, she heard voices and pausing she listened at the door.

"Thank you for supporting me Jason, I can't believe my own sister has turned on me. I need you to protect me," came Morgan's voice.

"I already have a wife to look after, why should I look after you too?" snarled Jason's voice.

"Because Jason - you pay for this house and everything in it, but you don't get anything in return from her. No wonder you feel so angry. Your freeloading wife brings her freeloading brother here. She never gives you any attention and she just takes advantage of you. A guy like you deserves more. I'll find a way to give it to you if you let me stay. What do you want from me?"

"I... I just want you to make yourself useful. Stop being such a useless layabout and find a purpose in life. Those pills have made you fit and hot, you should use that to your advantage."

"Yes..." smiled Morgan. "Whatever you want."

Peering in through the crack in the door - Jane watched her feminised brother sinking to his knees in front of Jason.

"Wh... what the fuck are you doing?" he stammered as Morgan reached out and unzipped his fly.

"Making myself useful..."

Jason groaned as his dick sprang out. Jane's heart was beating and she thought she was going to scream as she watched her brother begin to pump her husbands dick.

"Don't you like this? I'm finally using my new body to my advantage."

Jane watched as Morgan leant down to her husbands stiffening dick and without any hesitation slid it into his mouth.

"Mmmppphhhhhh, *glug*"

Jason groaned in pleasure and his manly hands slid onto Morgan's blonde head and began to pump his head up and down on his rock hard cock.

"Yessssss suck my cock you little fucking slut. Fucking take it."

Saliva oozed out of the corner of Morgan's mouth and there were tears in the corner his eyes as he gagged and choked on dick. Glugging and moaning, his head bobbed up and down as he took the cock like a pro.

Jason was in heaven. Jane had never seen her husband so turned on. When she had sucked Jason's cock - it was nothing like this. It lacked this primal sexual energy.

"That's it you little fucking slut - you're my bitch now," groaned Jason in delight. "Keep making yourself useful and you can stay as long as you like. Ahhhhh I'm gonna fucking cum, take it all you slut."

Morgan's eyes widened and Jason's balls throbbed as he gasped and began to unload into his brother-in-laws mouth.

"Fucckkkkk if only your sister could suck cock like that," grinned Jason. "You're already better than her at that."

Morgan giggled, cum still leaking from the corner of his mouth. He swallowed happily.

"I was born to be a girl. Let me stay and I'll become better than her at EVERYTHING. I promise Daddy."

Jason shivered in delight. "Yesssss make yourself into my slut and you can stay as long as you like."

"Mmmmh, let me wash those pink pills down with your cum. I want this so badly."

Seeing the rapture in their faces Jane didn't know what to do. She should have burst inside raging almost ten minutes ago, but for some reason she had just stood and watched.

Worse... her pussy was wet and there was something kind of hot about watching her brother replace her.

Was she... enjoying this?

She went back to her room and fingered herself to orgasm as she cried. This was fucked up.

*************

Over the next week Morgan changed further. He had increased his dosage of the pink pills - but he also now embraced the transformation.

Jason stopped sleeping with Jane. Each night he would make some pathetic excuse so he and Morgan could be alone. Each night Jane would secretly watch as Morgan sucked Jason's cock and then she would get off to it.

One night as she watched, Morgan didn't sink to his knees as was usual. Instead he bent over the desk and flicked up his tiny skirt.

His tiny cock was caged in pink plastic and he spread his perfect tight asshole enticingly. In moments Jason was inside him, and the two of them moaned in joined pleasure as Morgan got fucked deep and hard.

Jason had truly made Morgan into his bitch.

Jane woke up one morning to hear banging next door in Morgan's room. She watched as he hauled out his old oversized clothes and replaced them with new female clothes.

She saw to her horror that Morgan had their credit card. Jason had obviously given it to her and he was now watching approvingly as his new slut filled her wardrobe with boots, miniskirts and crop tops.

The pills had almost finished their work now. Morgan's hair was now a bitchy blonde, his breasts were full and perfectly formed - every curve of his body was feminine perfection.

You would only have known he was a man because of the tiny micro-dick in those pretty panties.

And the fact that Morgan was a better woman and more attractive than Jane now just made her horny.

The couple had obviously realised she knew what was happening and once Jason knew that Jane wasn't going to object it was only a matter of time.

One morning at breakfast - Jason ordered Morgan to flip up his skirt. Moments later he was busy fucking the shit out of him whilst Jane watched helplessly.

"Your brother is finally of some use. He's my fuck-slut now," growled Jason as Morgan moaned and played with his tits as his Daddy fucked him in the ass.

"Mmmmmhhh too bad loser," giggled Morgan to Jane. "Your husband is mine now and I'm his obedient little whore."

The pink pills had turned her brother into a homewrecking bitch. Jane hated and worshipped her new sister in equal measure. She had discovered that nothing made her cum harder than watching her husband cheat on her.

It became natural to defer to Morgan. Her new sister began to become bossy and dominant in the home. Dressed in the most stylish outfits and looking like a Goddess - Morgan forced Jane to lick her boots and even eat Jason's cum out of her ass.

"Your useless lazy brother is gone," smirked Morgan as she played with her long blonde hair. "I'm your bitch of a sister now."

Jane was forced to watch as Jason moved Morgan into their master bedroom. Night after night she'd listen to them fuck next door - the pounding thuds and screams of ecstasy powering her own pleasure as she finger fucked her needy pussy.

She knew Jason would never fuck her again. She knew she was now a cuckquean and like some perverted bitch liked it. She knew she wasn't worthy to lick Morgan's boots.

Her sister had moved in - and there was no getting rid of her ever again...

#evie hyde #bitchification #m2f transformation #m2f corruption

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