#Sweaty Mammoth

[bellyyearner]

Office life at 550+ lbs

Word count: 1061

Extreme obesity, mobility issues, work environment, feedee perspective

No gender mentioned POV

Being a working feedee is hard sometimes, especially when your gain slows down to a snails pace despite how much you've been eating. In the last 3 years you've only put on another 40lbs, but you have an easy job that pays the bills and allows you to live comfortably so you can't complain too much. The only part of this job you hate though, is the journey inside.

As you exit your car you can already feel the sweat forming between your rolls, it's been taking a few tries lately to stand up after swinging your hefty left leg out onto the concrete. You've even questioned if you should bring your car to the shop to check the suspension just in case your fat ass crashing back down onto the driver seat a half dozen times a day might be causing issues. At the very least you were thankful for your personal parking spot only being about 250ft from the elevator up to the office floor. Only 100ft from the buildings entrance and the cold AC running throughout the building.

And so you begin your slow pendulous waddle, thighs scraping against each other with every step, causing so much friction your jeans always have a distinct wear pattern only a couple weeks after buying them. One foot infront the other you waddle, repeating the laboured motion as your breath grows heavy and your belly slaps against the tops of your thighs. Halfway to the door now you hear the clicking of heels against the concrete, 2 interns whizzing by you without a word. You can't even imagine moving as fast as they do, or why they'd even want to move that fast in the first place. Your sense of urgency left you a couple hundred pounds ago.

Another 20 heavy steps later you reach the door, a mailman on the other side who was about to leave opens it for you, clearly staring at your mammoth size and brow covered in sweat. You make it inside and can barely catch your breath to say thank you before he's gone. The AC graces your hot sweaty skin and you feel relief, you spot your double wide chair HR had fought to get installed for you last year, and plop down on it with a huff. All there's left to do is catch your breath for a couple minutes, walk 60 steps through the lobby, turn right, walk 10 steps to the elevator, a minute of standing, and another 30 steps to your cubicle. Where you will then chow down on a couple snacks you brought and rehydrate before looking at spreadsheets and grazing on more food for 8 hours. A routine you had grown so accustomed to that it became second nature.

You look at the handle bar bolted into the wall and remember when you found it insulting, but now it was a necessity. Gripping the bar you start to stand hoping a second try isn't needed because of how many people were in the lobby. You can feel your heart quake and your knees whine but thankfully you hauled your lard laden ass off the seat in one attempt.

The second journey begins and the heavy waddle ensues, gut bouncing, thighs scraping, mouth open and breathing loudly enough that you're attracting attention. You try to ignore their stares but it's only fueling your appetite, already making a mental list of what you're going to grab from the vending machine once you get off the elevator. A few minutes later you round the corner and take the final few steps only to notice a sign on the elevator. You can't read it yet but you can feel your heart sinking already. It can't be right? They would've told you. They would've sent an email or a text. "Out of order".

Panic sets in, you can't climb 4 flights of stairs, you bought a one story house for good reason, you haven't had to climb more than a curb in years at this point. Your mind is growing frantic as you feel the burden your legs are under grow stronger, anticipating if you're really gonna be expected to climb the stairs.

Your phone buzzes, a text from Susy in HR

"Hey! I'm so sorry 'your name', this just happened like an hour ago and I totally forgot to tell you. The elevator is having some major issues and we don't know when it'll be fixed. I dug up that old paper work you filed 6 months ago about work from home and I'm gonna push it through asap! I've sent Lucy downstairs with a work laptop for you to bring home, just take a couple days off while we get all the paperwork in order."

Relief washes over you as you hear the distinct clicking of heels coming down the stairs. You steady your breath and try to seem unfazed, almost certain you look ridiculous.

Lucy: "Hey 'your name', here's your laptop and a cherry cola, figured you would need it before heading back to your car ;). You know I'm gonna miss seeing you around here, less stuff to talk about and no one to gawk at. You have my number so just let me know if you need me to come over to help you adjust"

A quick farewell and her heels were clicking back up the stairs, but all you could think about was how you're never gonna see the inside of that office again. With no where to go and no decency to be upheld there was no reason you wouldn't finally break 600lbs. You chug the Cola, wanting to make one final show for the coworkers and acquaintances you've made over the years, and start the final journey, one to immobility.

With a gassy belly swaying from side to side, your humongous thighs atop fattened lard laden calves carry you through the lobby one last time. Not even trying to hide your burps and groans you walk out of the building, skipping the chair by the door you once saw as a refuge. Thoughts of what takeout you're gonna get delivered and a quickly growing Walmart order forming in your mind as you slowly waddle through the parking lot one last time. All fueled by the dream of being an immobile work from home piggy

Part 2

[gremlingottoosilly]

That last ask was an inspiration but now I give you short!reader that grabs Konig's shirt collar, gear, harness or if for once the mammoth of a man is wearing a tie. It gets nabbed before he's yanked down to meet reader eye to eye.

You're only doing it for two reasons. First, the obvious one is to kiss him. This man is huge and often doesn't even notice you in front of him unless you're shouting...so if you want to give your man some smooches and he is too dumb and too huge to lean down and give it to you willingly, you'd have to take drastic measures.

Konig actually thinks he is being attacked in his own home, for a second. He is ready to start swinging before he notices a familiar smell and understands that it, in fact, is totally okay and it's just his pretty wife being silly and wanting to give him a heart attack simply because she needs to kiss him. He loves it when you're taking the initiative in this sort of thing - usually, you are not really all about reciprocating his feelings, so he kinda adores you for being fine with giving him affection. Seriously though, you look freaking adorable like this...he can't wait to claim you even more, to make you his in a major way. So, he is fine with you pulling him by the straps of his combat wear, when he is all sweaty and dirty as you claim his lips in a kiss. God, he can't love you even more. Your second option is, well, when you're really fucking mad at him, and you need to literally pull him to your level. He might be a bit more apprehensive about being in your area when you're angry like that, but once he can see your mad face up close...yeah, even if you're genuinely trying to seem threatening and force him to listen, he still wants nothing more but to smother you in his affection. So, no matter how much you want him to listen, you will still be getting kisses - only this time, he would be even less careful. If you're pulling him close, you must be expecting kisses - and there is literally no way for you to escape this. Nope.

[starry-eyedblog]

ahh i’m so sorry @angelofacidx!! i accidentally posted this ask before it was ready and had to delete it so your ask is gone :(( i hope i did a good job and y'know i had to make simon a tad pathetic, just for you <3

warnings/tags: simon x fem goth reader, awkward simon, flirting, teasing, kissing

when simon caught a glimpse of you one night at the pub he frequented with his mates, he was instantly captured by your beauty. usually, his type wasn't goth girls but there was something just so intriguing about you and your style that he found himself unable to look away.

when his friend johnny saw he was staring off, uninterested in the conversation, he followed his friends eyes and saw what had his full attention. "got a wee crush have you, si?" he chuckles, playfully nudging at his arm.

"oh fuck off," simon grumbled back, thankful for his black face mask covering his flushed cheeks. then, another friend was peeping up. "not your usual type mate. gonna go talk to her? or just oogle all night like a dickhead?" gaz had laughed with a raised eyebrow, taking a sip of his pint.

simon shrugged off his friends and left his booth, walking over to the bar where you were sat on a stool, talking away to a friend. he slipped in behind you, akwardly coughing to catch your attention which worked.

you spun around in your stool, tilting your head back to take in the absolute mammoth of a man stood in front of you. "can i help you?" you had asked, tilting your head slightly with an almost annoyed expression and simon felt his face flush warm.

"i uh- i was wonderin' if i could buy you a drink?" he asked, trying to avoid staring at you too much incase it come off as rude. in reality he was soaking up your outfit and makeup, enjoying all the details his eyes could find.

you laugh softly and with a smile, you accept the offer. "course you can, i'll have whatever you're having." you say, leaning in a bit closer to him so he can hear you over the general chit chat filling the busy bar.

simon nods, watching the way you lean towards him. his hands grow sweaty and his eyes frantically try to avoid yours. he quickly orders two rum and cokes, paying for them with a tenner. he takes his change, watching the bartender pour the drinks and place the glasses down in front of him.

he says a quick thanks before handing you a glass, "thanks." you say simply, bringing the glass up to your lips to take a long sip. as you place the drink down onto the bar, you look up at him with a questioning look.

"gonna ask me any questions or?" you tease with a smile and simon feels his heart hammering against his ribcage. "oh yeah, sorry uhm. so what's your name? that's a good place to start yeah?" he chuckles, hooking his mask under his chin and taking a big sip of his drink to try settle his nerves.

simon was someone who was confident in his looks, knew how intimidating he was with his height and old scars. you'd think he was a womanizer, but in all honestly he got shy around pretty girls and always managed to make an arse out of himself.

you laugh and nod, "yeah that's a good place to start. maybe next you can ask what my job is?" you tease with a cheeky smile before taking pity on him and telling him your name before asking for his.

simon answers back with his name, complimenting how pretty yours is before trying to move on and ask more questions that aren't very surface level.

more drinks are bought throughout the night and you seem to stay by his side, enjoying how flustered he gets around you. the more tipsy simon gets, the more he's unable to hide his fascination about your style.

"so, goth huh? i may have uh been a bit of an emo when i was younger in all honestly," he admits and you bark out a laugh, body tipping back and simon hopes to engrave that sound into his mind to remember for the rest of his life.

you raise a brow, "that so? just trying to imagine you with piercings and eyeliner. paints a pretty image honestly." you say before leaning forward, taking one hand and slowly dragging it up his arm while staring into his eyes.

once simon realises what you are doing, his face flushes pink and he feels his heart race. "had to take those out for military." he murmurs, unable to hold eye contact for long.

"military? makes sense now with all that muscles." you hum, giving a gentle squeeze to his bicep. "i've been like 'this' since i was a teenager, first got into the music through my parents and then discovered how much i enjoyed the style and makeup. haven't looked back since, brings in a lot of unwanted attention though. guys asking me to be their goth mommy on nights out or even dates, like what the fuck?" you shake your head, laughing with him with your hand still resting on his bicep.

"guys actually ask you that? fuckin' hell and i thought i was bad at flirting." simon bites, throwing back the rest of his drink before placing the empty glass onto the bar.

you laugh loudly at his words, shaking your head before finishing your own drink. "trust me, you're one of the best so far. little shy though eh?" you tease, giving another squeeze to his arm before standing up.

once you are standing up straight, you turn to your friend and explain your plan to her. she laughs and smiles, gently smacking you in a playful way before agreeing.

you turn back around and go up onto your tiptoes, pressing your lips to his ear, "i'm going out for a smoke, if you'd like to join me." you whisper, pulling back to stare up at him.

silently simon nods and follows you outside, glaring at any men who even glance in your direction while you make it out the bar. he is under the impression it will just be a friendly smoke together but oh boy was he wrong.

as soon as the both of you are outside, you are dragging him down a dark alleyway around the corner. your arms wrap around his neck and pull him down until your lips are just brushing. "can i kiss you?" you ask while looking into his eyes, hoping he’ll say yes.

simon is caught off guard, his eyes widening as you easily pull him down closer to you. “su-sure.” he mutters before he feels your lips pressing to his in a slow kiss. his arms gently wrap around your waist, bringing his body flush to yours as he deepens the kiss.

after a minute or so, the two of you pull away panting quietly. you giggle softly as you look at him and simon pulls a confused expression. “what you laughing at?” he grumbles, pink flushing his cheeks.

“a bit of my black lipstick is smudged on your lips big guy.” you smile cheekily, bringing your thumb to your mouth to lick before gently swiping at simon’s face to get rid of the evidence. he smiles down at you as he feel you wiping at the lipstick left behind.

he then works up the courage to ask the big question. “so, will i be able to get your number?” he utters, holding your waist a little tighter as he stares down at you. the question makes you chuckle, your head nodding. “yes you definitely can have my number.” you answer, smiling happily up at him.

[romanceyourdemons]

sleeping on a mattress on the floor is good actually because it brings you back to the ancient days when man hunted for food and slept on a bear skin on the cave floor. tough, sweaty, with mammoth blood still matted in his hair. and man’s hunting buddy thag slept on the next bear skin over, and man can hear him breathing, and can hear the sound of him shifting on his bear skin rug to comfortably arrange his powerful limbs, limbs that were not just powerful but also graceful like a tiger’s in their hunt that day. and man tries to match his breath to thag’s, but he has it backwards, exhaling on thag’s inhales and inhaling his exhales, and thag’s breaths are so slow, slow like the footfalls of a great creature, and man’s lungs burn at the end of each one. and between them lies a rough river of bare stone floor, so cold, colder than deep water, colder than a bleeding arm

[rivertigo]

why was Bob Dylan so shaky and sweaty and small and well mostly because he was always on something… amphetamines? I’m not sure but basically he was like this sexpot prey animal and I think maybe in a past life I engaged in some crazy caveman bdsm with him and I hunted him with a proto spear like weapon maybe fucksd him with a caveman strap and he died from blood loss or another pre historic disease who knows maybe he overdosed on caveman drugs like poisonous frogs maybe or what if he died in a mammoth riding crash and got replaced by a look alike ? just spitballing here

[feedyoutillpigsfly]

You never really were a very stealthy person even when we first met. It wasn't uncommon for you to drop whatever you were holding and somehow it would extravagantly fall resulting in a flustered sweaty boy bending over, pulling his trousers back up over his ass crack.

I was intrigued by your gusto when we had our first team lunch of the year. Watching you down plate after plate of pasta from the all you can eat bar. Shirt buttons tightening, skin taught and red from the exertion.

It was rhythmic. As you slowed down the tempo changed, but your determination did not. It's almost like I was watching you in your own little world seeing if you could beat your personal record. The grin on your face after each bite as you savor the flavors only to quickly chew and swallow it into your rounded gut.

I was not let down by my keen eye for observations, after setting my intentions on you. I noticed the reason the donuts disappear so quickly was because you would take an entire box to your desk to be devoured secretly. This was a daily occurence I would soon find out.

I was weak with anticipation to fill your greedy growing belly. That Friday, I asked if you wanted to grab lunch, my treat. You would've jumped at the opportunity if you could get your stubby toes off the ground without too much exhertion. Instead you heaved your heavier than last week body out of your shrinking desk chair and thumped your heavy thunder thighs toward the elevator.

I picked a booth at the restaurant and you were too shy to ask for accomodation. I eagerly watched as you lifted your top roll to sit on top of the table and allowed the bottom to sit heavily on your lap, a tight squeeze for sure. When the menus come I snatch yours and a fire is lit behind your eyes. I order for you as your eyes widen in disbelief, the list long and full of delicious soon to be eaten treats are listed to the server.

When the food arrived, I slipped into the booth beside you and taking handfuls of fleshy belly, I used my other hand to hand feed you each dish I had ordered for you. As the buttons popped off your shirt the electricity between us grew and I couldnt wait to watch you waddle home and see what else I could fit in you without the ever tightening of your clothing, the table, and societal pressures in the way.

From then on we were inseparable. And it wasn't long before even the larger clothes I had bought you were skin tight and you simply couldn't heave yourself out of the xl office chair without texting me to come help from my cubicle. I watched as your excited jiggles to the donuts in the breakroom became laboured as the gargantuan 22 year old waddles down for his drug of choice. The hallway was also getting a little narrow when you account for the sway your belly forced you into, your shoulder would tap each wall side to side as you gasped your way down it.

As soon as I was promoted, we decided it only made sense if you quit pretending to work while eating and just stay home eating full time instead. Boy was that a good choice. Your belly, despite years of overconsumption and greed, had never seen what the next year would bring.

Clothes were a thing of the past after day 2 and showers became a weekly 2 person job. Trips to the bathroom ended in puddles on the floor a few too many times before you reluctantly agreed to pee pads.

Before that step, you always felt in control of the weight. That you could stop whenever you wanted to. When you didn't have to get up even to toilet yourself, your weight soared and even your fingers felt heavy while playing video games or texting. I of course was no help. I spent my non work hours trying my best to shove delicious concoctions of sugar and lard into your sea of belly. We were overjoyed. I wonder what you'd say if a mirror could behold your mammoth body.

"More please?" 🥺 🐷

[sodamnradd]

Near midnight Draco yanks his front door open, wand in hand, suspicion etched all over his face.

Hermione stands on the top step, a rather sorry cupcake melting in her hand. “You didn’t come.”

She’s zipped into a little black dress with crisscross straps all along the sides and a swooping neckline he spends a breath too long gawking at.

“You never said it was mandatory.”

She wobbles on the edge of her heel, but when Draco reaches for her, she pulls back, scowling.

“Happy birthday.” She hands him the sorry cupcake.

He stares at the sticky mushy thing and notices a goopy swirl that might be a blazing comet on a bed of Slytherin green. “What’s that?”

“A Snitch. They ate the rest at the surprise party you didn’t show up to.”

His heart sinks. “I didn’t know.”

“Rather the point of a surprise party.”

“Who was there?”

He can’t imagine anyone showing up except for maybe Potter because she’s got some kind of magnetic pull over him. Draco suspects he’s suffering from a similar syndrome. Because, say, if Granger had insisted he show up tonight, Draco would have. He almost asks why she didn’t demand it of him.

“Everyone. My friends. Yours.”

“You spoke to my friends?” he asks, jarred.

“They were amused when we thought you were late. Then they all seemed sorry for me. Thought I was delusional for misinterpreting our relationship.”

“…our… relationship…” It’s not what she means. Of course, it isn’t.

‘Our’ pangs in his brain until it becomes rhythmic. A marching band beat of our, our, our.

His eyes wander. Her outfits are never so short, though they ought to be because Granger’s thighs are magnificent. He envisions dragging icing over them and running his tongue—

His face flames. “I’m sorry, Granger. I just wanted to spend my birthday alone.”

“Why? You love to be pampered.”

True. He grins. “Were you going to pamper me?”

A curl falls over her face as she lowers her chin, and he feels the burning need to tuck it behind her ear. But as the rest tumble forward, he realises she’s hiding. His chest tightens. He feels awful for making her feel small. She’s a mammoth in his mind. All five foot two of her. All the time.

“I don’t know why I came. See you on Monday.”

He feels like an arse. A tongue-tied, idiot arse who doesn’t know what to say to her and instead blurts out: “I didn’t want to spend my birthday watching every bloke at your party try to take you home. It’s bad enough at work. But when there’s liquor and strappy dresses and your thighs… I just needed a day off.”

“A day off from me.”

“From the side-effects of spending time with you.”

“Side-effects? Like I’m some sort of disease?”

“Probably!”

“Wow, Draco.” She glowers. “Just wow.”

“Nobody makes me feel this way. My palms are always sweaty. My stomach is in knots. I can’t speak properly around you half the time. It takes ages to focus because I’ll spot a lipstick stain on your stupid S.P.E.W mug and my mind launches into space. Like this fucking comet.”

“It’s a Snitch.” She steps forward, cat-like. Close enough to smell the perfume on her neck. His trousers are suddenly too tight. And that’s before she swirls her finger through the comet-Snitch icing and draws it to her mouth. “Butterscotch.”

He gulps. His favourite.

She drags her finger through it again, offering it to him. “Want some?”

His lips part and holy shit Hermione’s finger is in his mouth and he’s seconds away from coming in his fucking pants.

He tears back.

She steps forward.

“Granger,” he snipes like a spooked animal.

“Don’t be rude, Draco. I baked them just for you.”

Oh Gods.

She dunks her finger into the cupcake again. “Just a little more.”

“Stop.”

“Be that way.” She drags her finger between her lips and makes a moaning noise that joins ‘our’ in sounds he’ll never get out of his head.

“Ask me.” She’s looking up at him with her career confidence. Mouth wet.

He shakes his head, dazed. “What?”

“You said you didn’t want to see other blokes trying to take me home. Well, here I am at your doorstep and you haven’t even asked if I’d like to come inside.”

“Would you like to come inside?” he manages roughly, wondering if he’s hallucinating.

Hermione snatches the smeared cupcake from his hand and waves at the door. “It’s still your birthday for seven minutes. Think we can make them count?”

Oh, they make them count.

(768 words, prompt: you didn't come)

[liaromancewriter]

Miracles

Premise: A chance encounter with Ethan brings an expected revelation for Cassie.

Fandom: Choices Book: Open Heart Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine) Rating/Category: Teen. Fluff. Words: 1,050

A/N: Submission for @choicesmaychallenge24 prompt "mood changed like the weather" and for @jerzwriter Mother's Day event.

Miracle of life, my ass!

It was a miracle the world’s population was edging toward eight billion, given the indignities that pregnancy wrought on women’s bodies.

Cassie Valentine barely controlled a grimace as her patient let out an inhumane scream and tried to push a watermelon-sized human being out of her hoo-ha. The mammoth pregnant belly heaved and metamorphized with each contraction, blood and fluids gushing out from between her thighs.

She was in week three of her intern year ambulatory electives block. She’d chosen Women’s Health, thinking learning more about her body would be cool. However, most of her rotation had been spent in labor and delivery since that team was short-staffed.

Apparently, this was a popular time for giving birth in Boston. What else could horny Bostonians do during the long, cold winter nights?

Contrary to popular belief, babies straight out of the womb were not cute, with their skin red and wrinkly and covered in amnio fluids. Witnessing a mid-morning birth was enough to put one off their lunch.

“You have a beautiful baby girl,” the third-year resident cooed, smiling widely as she laid the wriggling tiny human on the mother’s chest.

Cassie scrutinized the scrunched-up face peeking through the blanket and thought it looked more like a fish, but to each their own.

Leaving mother and child to bond, she followed the team out of the delivery room, discarding the protective sheath and cap in the bin outside, and shook loose her long blonde hair.

Checking her watch to make sure she wasn’t late for afternoon didactics, Cassie strode toward the nurses’ station, intent on completing the notes from this case while it was fresh in her mind.

She didn’t often think about motherhood. After an almost scare in college that had given her and Jackson several restless nights waiting for the results, she’d been diligent about preventing accidental pregnancies.

Still, given that she came from two prolific dynastic families, Cassie supposed it was inevitable she’d have kids one day. But everything she’d witnessed these few weeks hadn’t exactly endeared her to the idea of putting her body through all that!

Her mind came to a screeching halt, and her feet slowed at the sight of Dr. Ramsey leaning against a wall, arms folded, chatting with another attending.

Ethan looked out of place in the brightly painted maternity ward, decorated with colorful wall posters about the benefits of breastfeeding and glittery balloons bobbing in the air as eager parents took their babies home. His somber expression countered the excited hubbub in the busy hallway.

Now, that was a man who couldn’t see kids in his future. Cassie still remembered his ambivalence about family and children when they tested the fMRI machine. Given how his brain scan lit up, it was a sore subject.

Not that it’s any of my business, she thought, turning away. Still, she furtively sniffed her underarms (the delivery room had been hot and sweaty) and sighed in relief. All clear.

Cassie sat behind the desk at the nurses’ station, entering notes into the computer, when a shadow fell over her. She glanced up mid-sentence, instinctively knowing who it was.

“Be with you in a minute, Dr. Ramsey,” the charge nurse said from behind her.

Ethan towered above the station, but his eyes were locked on his phone so Cassie could observe without him being any wiser.

He looked tired, his jawline scruffy with overgrown stubble. His short, neatly styled dark brown hair was unusually tousled—as if he’d run his fingers through it.

Cassie’s hand itched to touch the small, subtle strand of hair that fell slightly forward. It gently curved towards his forehead, softening his otherwise polished (and somewhat austere) look.

She thought it added a bit of character, giving Ethan a relaxed and approachable appearance. Until his striking blue eyes caught you spying. Then, there was nothing casual about Ethan Ramsey.

“Rookie,” Ethan said neutrally, head cocked sideways, his gaze inscrutable.

“Dr. Ramsey,” Cassie acknowledged cooly with a slight nod. She wanted to be nonchalant, but curiosity won out. “What are you doing here?”

He quirked one eyebrow, his expression haughty, for lack of a better word.

“Sorry!” Cassie blurted out, feeling her cheeks flush. “I know it’s none of my business.”

“No, it’s not,” he said, hesitating. “But, since you knew Dolores…”

His Adam’s apple pulsed as he swallowed, emotions swimming in his eyes. He blinked them away, cleared his throat, and shut down any hint of vulnerability.

“Baby Hudson is being discharged from NICU this week. Dolores’ sister asked me to coordinate the transfer to his pediatrician in Minneapolis.”

“Oh. I didn’t know he was still here.”

Cassie realized she hadn’t given Dolores or her baby much thought in the last couple of months. She had moved on to other patients, trying to keep her head above water as the harsh realities of residency and competing in the fellowship competition beat down on her.

Of course, Ethan Hudson was still in the neonatal ICU, given his premature birth at twenty-six weeks. It was a miracle he’d survived the night. She felt terrible for her negligence, even though Dolores’ untimely death had devastated her at the time.

“Why would you?” Ethan commented impassively, drumming his fingers on the desk. “He was no longer under your care.”

“How is he?”

“He——” Ethan sighed, looking away from her briefly. “He’s hit all his developmental markers. Dr. Lozoya doesn’t expect any long-term complications. He has Dolores’ eyes.”

Her green eyes sharpened at the softly spoken words, the tenderness in his voice catching her off guard. From the sudden frown on his lips, Cassie suspected he hadn’t meant to make that admission, at least not to her.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, doctor,” the charge nurse interrupted.

The bubble surrounding them burst. Ethan straightened from the desk and nodded absently before accompanying the charge nurse down the hallway.

Cassie watched his retreating back with a considering look. In the short time she’d known him, his moods appeared to change like the weather.

The man was full of contradictions: arrogant one minute, compassionate another. Dismissive and rude at times, he was also wickedly sarcastic and funny on the most unexpected occasions.

Who, she wondered, was the real Ethan Ramsey?

---------------

All Fics & Edits: @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @jerzwriter @lady-calypso

@mainstreetreader @peonierose @potionsprefect @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16

@justyourusualash @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction

Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Ethan & Cassie only: @cariantha @custaroonie @youlookappropriate

[themiltonholmes]

Monthly voted art, featuring human Milton who is very wary of magical hoops - but keeps getting caught out by them!

Exclusive alts for £2.50 Patrons: Belly Dancer Reality Shift (+ Bulge) - https://www.patreon.com/posts/103291142 Toon Elephant - https://www.patreon.com/posts/103291143 Wooly Mammoth - https://www.patreon.com/posts/103291144 With Nips - https://www.patreon.com/posts/103291145 Sweaty (+ Mammoth) - https://www.patreon.com/posts/103291147

This is a spiritual sequel to: https://www.furaffinity.net/view/51643801/

[inanimatetffantasies]

Mitch, the Big Rig

For @tight-stories-and-growing-chav​

Mitch was feeling exhausted after a day of hitching. He was a traveller who had hitched and walked his way through the country wanting to explore before he really settled down and got a proper job and home. He saw this as his last big adventure in his prime. He has just hitched a few miles from a small town and ended up at a rest stop.

It was a sleazy joint, grungy and worn down but Mitch needed a snack before he found a motel to settle in for the evening. The outside area had a bunch of trucks laying out the front. Mitch was impressed how big these rigs looked up close. 

He walked into the building and was looking through the drinks on sale, about to grab a bottle of juice when he noticed a slight musky aroma in the air. “Heh, thirsty, are we, Little man?” said a voice behind him. Mitch turned to see a bear of a man looking down to him.

The man was topless, with his sweaty belly on display, hair matted and wet. The bear looked down with an almost possessive look as he inspected the man. Mitch staggered, intimidated by this mammoth of raw masculinity, the smell of a real mans musk making his cock excited

“Heh, You clearly like what ya see boy, are ya a hitchhiker? How’s about you come back to my truck, I could use a buddy for company for a little while, ya know? There's a motel about a half hour drive away I can take ya to.” The man knew he found his prey. It was clear he intended no good for Mitch, but… the way he talked, like he already owned the younger man had a effect on Mitch, and his towering beefy figure glistening with sweat, sweat with a stench that felt to Mitch like it was burrowing into his head…It was like he was encouraged to go along with the bears offer…. Almost like he had to Obey him.

Mitch stammered and nodded in agreement. The bear, who then introduced himself as Rusty, smirked. He wanted a new prey to play with and this guy was too fucking easy to hypnotise with his Alpha Musky pheromones. “Yeah, That’s a good boy” 

Mitch followed him out the back exit of the rest stop and was led to an empty parking space. Rusty then swiftly pushed the weaker man into the spot, and snapped his greasy fingers. There was a light shining for a second and then an impossibly heavy force pushed down on Mitch. His clothes ripped apart as his body grew and contorted. It seemed painful but in reality the man was feeling ecstasy like no other as he changed. His dick swelled and leaked as his face morphed into the front of a truck-like vehicle. His dick leaked black liquid. Not cum, no, but… what seemed like engine oil? Rusty just whipped out his dirty cock from his old jeans and wanked off to the sight. Mitch's hands and feet grew hard and rubbery as they blackened, and his screams and moans of pleasure faded before being amplified, but as a different sound, the sound of the horn of a big rig. Then when Rusty shot his load onto the morphing Mitch, sealing him as Rusty’s property, he snapped his fingers again, and with another flash, where the younger man was, was now a beautiful truck. Perfect to be broken in by a trucker like Rusty. 

Rusty laughed as he opened the door, climbing in and getting used to his new truck. He sat in the driver's seat, and lay back, his back sweat seeping into the fabric of the truck. He saw the key in the ignition, and took it. Imprinted on the head of the key was the face of Mitch before he became property for a real man. He rubbed his dirty finger across the face, before jamming it into the ignition, which made Mitch’s consciousness, who was still fully aware, albeit in a truck haze of pleasure trapped within the truck, and made the engine start.

Fumes burst out of the exhaust, feeling like a release for Mitch, and Rusty decided to take his boytruck for a drive. When he heard the exhaust fumes he smirked “Heh, yeah boy, let it out… think I will too” before he farted loudly, his heavy sweaty arse right on top of the seat where part of Mitch's face was formed. Rusty turned up the heat in the truck and let himself sweat, letting it seep into every part of his mitch vehicle. Within minutes, the whole rig stank of musk and sweat.

“Yeah boy, You are mine now, My bitch truck taking my sweat, gas and fat ass wherever I fucking want” Rusty lit a cigar and just let the ash fall over the floor, as his dirty boots crushed into the cock and balls of Mitch that was now the pedals of the truck, as he pulled his horn, his sweaty, grimy hand all over it with force, knowing that some of Mitch's cock was not that horn, giving the truck a handjob.

Rusty forced his Mitch brand truck to drive down the highway, smirking as he broke in the poor bastard who happened to encounter him that day…

[alkali1]

Testimony Part 1

They thought she wouldn't come. The pharmaceutical company's lawyers had pushed to make her testify in person, figuring she wouldn't physically be able to show up, and they'd win the lawsuit by default. Five years ago she'd taken an experimental, unregulated fertility treatment, and now she was suing when it worked all too well. 260 weeks pregnant with sextuplets, she was unable to give birth either naturally or by c-section, and she was doomed to grow and grow until her body could no longer handle it.

Even though she had been bedbound for two years, and homebound for even longer, she knew her only hope of winning a settlement was to appear, so her partner and care team heaved her up onto an extra-wide rolling bed and rolled her into the court building.

Everyone turned to stare as the doors opened and her carers attempted to squeeze her through. The wide courtroom door was still too small for her massive body, and they struggled to maneuver her through. All they managed is to get her stuck, as her fat shelf of an ass and heaving belly each overhang the sides of her gurney and become lodged in the doorframe. She groans in extreme discomfort as her bloated body is squished and prodded as they try in vain to fit her through. Sweat drips down her face, smearing her makeup, and she gasps for breath, exhausted and overwhelmed just from the strain of being so massively, inhumanly pregnant.

Finding courtroom clothes to fit her sickeningly exaggerated body had been a nightmare, and the only option was ultimately to cram her into the largest, stretchiest pink dress they could find. It was technically 'modest' as it covered all the skin from her neck to her fat thighs, but it clung tightly to her fertile curves, leaving little to the imagination. They had crammed her massive tits into the largest nursing bra available to avoid her thick nipples being on permanent display, but her constantly engorged udders spilled out everywhere from the inadequate cups, and the tight fabric of her dress put every bulge on display. She'd been milked dry before they left, and she hoped that she wouldn't be here so long that she'd leak through her dress.

After several humiliating minutes her caretakers are able to squish enough of her cellulite through the door that her belly is able to be squeezed through. Gasps and murmurs fill the courtroom as everyone gawks at her, finally getting a good look at her hugely gravid form.

Her womb is a mammoth, misshapen lump, coming to a sickening point at her taut, herniated navel. The six toddlers inside her shift in their cramped space, making her moan in discomfort. Her hips, continuously widening for a birth that may never come, are buried under pounds and pounds of piled-on cellulite that strains her tight dress to the absolute limit. And the sheer size of her breathtaking bump pushes her tremendous cleavage up into her face. Every day for her is a battle to not be smothered by her own enormous body. The judge begins the proceedings. She tries her hardest to stay silent and not grunt or groan from the painful pressure and movement in her womb, but her choked noises frequently disturb the quiet courtroom.

After two torturous hours, It's finally time for her to take the stand. She's rolled up as close as her bed can get, and the judge moves a microphone down to her swollen, sweaty face. Now she will have to describe the discomfort and humiliation of her daily life, trying to win the sympathy of the judge and jury...

[tails89]

(So many sentences) Sunday

It's Sunday here, so I'm getting the ball rolling with some big brother Buck.

...

Turns out, asking your best friend to marry you is easier said than done.

The last time he’d asked someone to marry him, his dad had put a hand on his shoulder and told him to do the right thing. Shannon was pregnant and Eddie was at least half responsible, so they were married a month later.

They’d been young and terrified, but Eddie doesn’t regret his time with Shannon, not when it gave him Chris.

He wants to do it right this time, and it’s not just Buck he needs to consider. There are four of them in this family. Because that’s what they are. That’s how Eddie’s been thinking of them, even before Buck and Zac moved in two years ago.

In that time they’ve been raising two kids together. They’ve been to parent-teacher interviews, school field trips, and supervised birthday parties. They’ve nursed both kids (and each other) through injury and illness together, sitting for hours in the ER when Chris broke his arm and when Zac had appendicitis.

(keep reading under the cut)

Eddie spends the whole weekend stewing over it, trying to get Chris and Zac alone without Buck around to overhear. It’s not easy when they’re both either at work together or at home together.

A whole week passes before he gets the opportunity.

It’s Tuesday afternoon. Buck’s at work, having swapped a shift with Jackson so he could have the next day off to chaperone a field trip at Zac’s school. 

The sound of screeching children drowns out the low rumble of the engine as Eddie waits, windows rolled down, for the pick-up line to crawl forward.

It’s hot, and the AC is broken again, pushing through stagnant air that’s only marginally better than the warm breeze blowing in through the window.

Eddie wipes sweaty palms against his jeans and lets the truck roll forward to the front of the pick-up bay.

“Eddie!” Zac is as enthusiastic as ever as he throws the back door open and clambers into the back seat. He freezes halfway across the seats, leaning over into the front. “Where’s Buck?” he asks, peering around like his six-foot brother might magically materialise in the front seat.

“He’s at work, remember,” Eddie tells him, biting back a smile at the confused look on the ten-year-old’s face.

“Oh, yeah.” The confusion clears and Zac grins, scrambling into his seat. “Did you know you can tell the age of a mammoth by counting the rings on its tusks?”

“Uh, no?” Eddie blinks at the sudden conversation shift and turns to shoot Zac a fold smile. “Seatbelt.”

“Yeah, it’s like how you can count the rings on a tree,” Zac continues, reaching for his seat belt. “And there’s a mummified baby mammoth that we might get to see.”

“On the field trip?” Eddie asks, piecing the puzzle together. 

He’s not sure who’s more excited for the trip– Buck or Zac. Their kitchen table is currently buried under the pages and pages of notes and education resources Buck had printed off the museum’s website.

“Hey Dad?” The front passenger door swings open and Chris shoves his crutches into the footwell. “Can I go to Matt’s house after school tomorrow?”

“Not on a school night,” Eddie tells him, waiting for his son to put on his seatbelt. “Maybe on the weekend.”

“But Dad,” Chris starts, “he just got Tears of the Kingdom and he said I could play it.” 

“Aren’t you still grounded?” Zac asks from the back seat.

“No, Dad said I’m not anymore.”

“It’s still a school night,” Eddie says, flicking on the indication to pull away from the school. “And you have homework. Why don’t you wait until the weekend?” he suggests. “You could have a sleepover.”

“Yeah, okay.” Chris pulls his cellphone out of this bag and Eddie turns his attention back to the road, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel.

“Hey, so I was thinking we could stop at the beach before going home,” he says, his hands suddenly feeling sweaty again.

“Really?” Zac asks, his reflection in the mirror leans forward in his seat and Eddie can feel his feet swinging against the back of his chair. “Can we get ice cream?”

“I thought I had homework,” Chris says slowly, lowering his phone.

“I know, we won’t stay long. I just— there’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” Eddie says, glancing back up to the mirror. “Before we get home.”

Chris’ expression twists into something thoughtful. “Is it about Buck?” he asks. “Is that why you picked us up from school?”

“I pick you up from school all the time.”

“Yeah, with Buck,” Chris responds, his tone edging into suspicion. “Because you hate driving.”

“I don’t hate driving,” Eddie argues.

“But Buck drives all the time,” Zac pipes up, joining Chris in this gang up on Eddie hour. “You never drive.”

“Buck’s at work,” Eddie reminds them. “And yeah, fine. It is about Buck, but it’s also about you guys and me and—” he stops and forces himself to take a breath. “Let’s just get to the beach and then we can talk.”

“Wait, are we getting ice cream because it’s bad?” Chris asks, his voice wavering. “Did something bad happen?”

Eddie resists the urge to bang his head against the steering wheel. God, he’s already screwing this up. 

“It’s nothing bad,” he says instead and pulls into a parking spot, cutting the engine. “It’s good. I promise.” 

They all bundle out of the car and head over to the little van that sells soft serve and slushies, and Eddie buys both kids an ice cream, stuffing his pockets with napkins for the inevitable mess that will follow.

They walk down to the beach, Eddie carrying Chris’ ice cream as they pick their way across the sand to find a spot near the water.

“So,” Eddie starts, handing over the ice cream. He wipes his hands on his jeans again, the stickiness more to do with nerves than the dripping mess Chris is eagerly digging into. “I wanted to talk to both of you about me and Buck and—” he hesitates, bracing himself. “How would you guys feel if me and Buck got married?”

“You’re getting married?” Zac sits up on his knees, his eyes lighting up. 

Eddie laughs, handing over a napkin. “Well, I haven’t asked him yet,” he admits. “But I want to.” He glances across at Chris. “Only if both of you are okay with it.”

“Yes!” Zac cheers, the ice cream dripping down his hand forgotten in his excitement. 

“Chris?”

His son’s lips press together deep in thought. “If you and Buck get married, does that mean he’ll be my dad too?”

“If that’s something you want,” Eddie tells him, watching carefully for Chris’s reaction. 

A bright smile spreads across Chris’ face and he nods fervently. 

“Yeah, that would be cool.”

The last of Eddie’s anxiety fades.  “So, you’re happy if I ask him?”

“Yes!” Both kids nod and Zac says, “Me and Chris will be brothers.” Then he notices the ice cream running down his arm, soaking into his sleeve and hurries to lick it up.

“No we wouldn’t,” Chris tells him. “Not really, Buck isn’t your dad.” He finishes his ice cream. “I think you’d be my uncle.”

Zac’s smile falters. “But you’re older, and I don’t want to be your uncle.”

“You can be brothers,” Eddie tells him, handing over more napkins so they can start cleaning themselves up. “But you can’t say anything to Buck. It’s got to be a secret, just for a little while.”

“Okay.”

Nodding, Eddie lets out a long breath. The conversation had been easier than expected, though in hindsight it shouldn’t have been a surprise. Both boys love Buck as much as Eddie does.

Still, that’s step one done. Now all Eddie needs is a ring and the perfect moment. 

Easy.

Tagging (no pressure): @fairytales-and-folklore @rosieposiepuddingnpie @spruceoutoffive @bigfootsmom

[passivenovember]

Billy tugs his phone out of his pocket, clumsy fingers swiping notifications from the home page. 

He’s got four emails from Cosmo, a missed call from Maxine, and a message from Joyce that lights up his screen with the same sprawling, letter-esque type that all people born before 1983 seem to use. 

Billy, Joyce says, and Billy imagines her index finger tapping furiously, glasses perched on the tip of her nose, Hop ate some bad seafood. Won’t make the party. I’m sorry, kid. Love you so much. Breathe in, have fun, breathe out. Love, Joyce Byers.

Billy hadn’t noticed the time.

“This is fun,” Eddie says, suddenly. 

Billy looks up, startled out of his swirling little daydream. “Sure,” he says distantly. Things have settled in the dust. Soft, intimate conversations flutter around the room like butterfly wings, brushing Billy’s skin and sticking to the sweat on his brow. 

He’s relieved to be out of the spotlight. A good meal can take the edge off of things, sending people into a heady, comfortable space where nothing matters as much as it did before. 

Scarecrow is asleep on the couch. Everyone else is gone.

Billy considers the clock on his home screen and the prickly meaning of 10:23 shining over the last picture he took with his mom before boarding the plane last Christmas. His feet hurt, his throat’s dry, and really what would it matter if he took off?

It’s not like Steve would toss a rock through his living room window. He might send someone after him, like. Chrissy or Eddie or Dustin, who Billy learned spent every summer at a camp not far from Mammoth Lakes. He’s been gathering information all evening, building his arsenal. No matter the case or the friend or the scenario, Billy could take them–

“Should we go check on Steve?” 

Billy looks up from the empty pit of his cell phone screen. It’s gone dark. The room has cleared out, with art majors and registered nurses running back to whatever warehouse Steve keeps them in, and it’s down the the bare bones.

Billy. Scarecrow, asleep on the couch. Robin and Chris, probably, sitting on a bathroom floor somewhere misty-eyed like El and Max are when they’ve had too much to drink, doing each other’s hair and throwing compliments at each other like confetti. And Munson. 

Always Munson. 

Eddie wags an eyebrow, patting at his shirt pocket for a packet of cigarettes. “Want?”

“No,” Billy says, wrinkling his nose at the bright orange package, “Thanks.”

Apparently, people still smoke Dosal’s. 

Apparently, this is 1982. 

“Suit yourself, Blondie,” Eddie fishes a pale slim between two fingers and pinches the butt with his teeth, patting around all over again for a lighter. Billy wants to play the Hypocrite, insisting that smoking real cigarettes is bad, even though his lips are lightning pricks of jealousy. 

“They’re having a moment,” Billy says finally.

“Who?”

“Nancy and Steve.”

“Awful long moment, if you ask me.”

“Nobody did.”

“Gee, thanks,” Eddie quips back. He gets a flame started. Smoke pouring from his nose like a dragon, “You should go up there,” Eddie says, eyes bright with mischief.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t just go up there–”

“Don’t wanna cause a scene?” Eddie blows smoke through his nose, the flat, sweaty face of his palm lining circles through the air, “Dude. Party’s dead. It’s not like anyone’s around to see and even if they did, they won’t remember or care once the hangover kicks in.”

“Oh, and you don’t count?”

“‘Course not, Blondie, I’m just stirring the shit. Besides,” Eddie smirks, “You go up there and find out what’s keeping him, and I swear I’ll punt the Wheeler kid over my shoulder and we’ll be gone in time for Nancy to storm, broomstick flying, out the front door.”

The edge of Billy’s cell cuts into his palm, its corner pressing deep enough that Billy feels his pulse thumping through centimeters of metal and plastic. “Where’s Chris?”

“Went for a sleepover with Robin and the baby. Chrissy loves kids.”

Billy doesn’t remember that. He doesn’t remember much of anything–

“Are you serious?” Eddie rolls his eyes, “That’s what you get for staring at your phone for twenty minutes, Hargrove.”

Billy starts. “Twenty minutes?”

“It’s true what they say about radio signals and microwaves and cell phones frying your frontal lobe, you know–”

The ceiling starts thumping overhead. “Wait,” Eddie says to himself. To Billy. He holds his palm upward, cigarette smoke curling up through his fingers like fog from a sewer grate.

Someone slams a door. 

And then someone else comes thundering down the stairs, their footfall so heavy that Billy glances at the knick-knack shelf with mirth.

He holds his breath, terrified and suddenly, heart-wrenchingly sober–

And then Nancy rounds on him.

She’s crying.

Eddie says, “Wheeler,” like he knows something they don’t know.

Nancy ignores him. Her eyes somehow catch and tear open on Billy’s smooth, concerned gaze. He wants to say something to her. He wants to apologize and scrub the thundering sound of her footsteps from the stairwell.

She stalks to the foyer, snatching her purse off the now bare antique table that had bags and jackets piled high not even twenty minutes ago. “Mike,” Nancy says, her eyes glued to the floor as she digs around for her keys.

Scarecrow doesn’t rouse from his spot on the sofa. He’s drooling, a little.

Billy clears his throat, “Is everything–”

“Michael Wheeler,” Nancy says, with all the pissed-off, righteous terror of a girl who spent too long at her mother’s knee.

Mike sits with a startled sound, “What, what happened? Is everything–”

“Get up so I can drive you home.”

Mike stares wildly around the room, dimly lit like all rooms are at the end of a monumental evening. “Where is everybody?” Mike’s wide, nervous eyes land on Billy. “Hey, do you have any more of that tater-tot casserole?”

“I–”

Nancy grabs her brother by the scruff of his neck, “You don’t need more casserole, I can get you McDonald's on the way home.”

“Home,” Mike repeats, scrubbing sleep from his eyes, “What happened to you and Steve–”

Nancy hauls Mike to the front door, shoves him through, and slams it shut behind them.

The house falls silent like someone hit the mute button. Like Nancy ripped the button out of the wall and they’re stuck in this weird, floating space between alive and. Something else. Radio silent.

Eddie clears his throat, “Anyway–”

“Mike told me he doesn’t like tater-tot casserole,” Billy says thickly. Feeling. A little bit like a tiny ceramic figurine in the center of a snow globe, full of wonder as emotions swirl brightly all around him. 

Maybe he’s just drunk. “He said he wouldn’t eat it.”

“Right.”

“But he did,” Billy tries heavily. “Mike was the first person I met when I got here and he made me feel like shit, but then. He ate the casserole.”

Eddie nods, taking a languid drag from his still-lit cigarette. Billy thinks that Steve is going to throw a fit when he comes down here and finds his vintage, 1970s furniture smelling exactly like the decade they were manufactured in.

Billy shakes his head, willing it to clear. “It doesn’t make sense. Nothing makes sense anymore.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“I just mean that. Why would Mike eat the casserole if he hates it?”

Eddie shrugs, “Maybe he was lying?”

“But why would he eat my casserole if he hates me?”

“Maybe he was lying,” Eddie says again, flatter this time. He puffs on his cigarette, studying the drunken flush on Billy’s cheeks. It goes on forever and forever and then he ashes his cigarette in the tray Steve uses to keep loose change in, leaning forward on his elbows. 

Eddie’s head gets huge and wobbly like a bobbledummy. “Can I be honest with you, Billiam?”

“--Billiam–”

“Can I, though?”

“Sure?”

“You’re a great guy,” Eddie says lightly, full of feeling, and Billy starts to shake. “I’m being serious. You’re the best guy Steve’s been with in longer than I can remember, you just. I think you judge people too harshly.”

“Me?”

“You.” Eddie determines. He leans back, cool as a frizzy-haired cucumber. “I just think, like. You’re getting all misty-eyed over the drunken realization that maybe Mike didn’t hate you as much as you thought he did, and earlier you seemed surprised that Nancy didn’t try to kill you with a paring knife, and you’re attributing it all to some garlic bread and a fucking tater-tot casserole.”

Billy’s ears feel hot. Red hot and sunburned, under the weight of Eddie’s scrutiny. Maybe he’s right, maybe he’s wrong– “What should I attribute it to, then?”

“You,” Eddie says, lighting another cigarette. “I’ve known you for half a day, Hargrove, and I can tell. You’re cool. Way cooler than you give yourself credit for.”

–

Eddie makes up some bullshit lie about needing to go home. I work in the morning, he says, so Billy lets him go.

And then he climbs the stairs, two at a time while flickering memories of the party-set-up dance just out of reach. He’s never actually been anywhere beyond the landing on the second level of Steve’s house. The attic drawstring dangles in a lazy, barely-there breeze, and Billy’s surprised to find more doors than he anticipated, stamped along the hallway in calm, quiet darkness.

He imagines them leading to spare bathrooms. Closets that span the entire floor. Libraries and knicks that lead to the unpolished servant’s quarters. 

It’s magical like the Brothers Grimm stories his mom used to read to him, and Billy has the foreign, intense urge to open every single door and peer into the darkness like Nancy Drew.

Nancy Wheeler.

But the door on the farthest end of the hallway spills gold onto the carpet from a tiny, amber sliver, and Billy’s heart thumps wildly, battering against his ribs at the thought that Steve’s in there, Steve’s just down the hall–

Billy knocks twice with the hardest part of his knuckle. Just like his mother used to before Neil went missing and before Susan made her laugh at the grocery store, back when Billy had huge feelings but couldn’t put a name to them. Back when his bedroom was a fortress. 

“Steve?” Billy says. Someone shuffles behind the door, their shadow casting long enough to reach like phantom fingers into the hallway. “I think I’m gonna head out–”

The door swings open.

Steve’s been crying. 

Right away, Billy’s heart skips a beat and starts thumping backward, eager to turn back time and retrace every step until things start to make sense again. “Oh, you didn’t have to open the door,” Billy says, shyly, “Sorry. I didn’t want to bother you.”

Steve shrugs. He won’t meet Billy’s eyes when he says, “Is everyone else gone?” Like he hopes they’ll come thundering up the stairs, one right after the other, to save him from this.

Billy tries to push the thought away and fails. “No, they’re all gone.”

“Did you have an alright time?”

“Yeah,” Billy says softly, surprised to feel his heart opening like a flower in the light of that truth. “Your friends are really great, Steve. Chrissy was a doll and Robins–”

“Robin.”

“Yeah. Dustin actually knew where Mammoth Lakes is on a map, like. I was so surprised. And he’s been hiking near the mountains at that nerdy little summer camp–”

“--Camp Knowhere–”

“Right. Science camp,” Billy smiles, feeling hot all over from the booze, “And Eddie was great, too, y’know. For a nosy piece of shit.”

Steve starts at that, his spine going ramrod straight like maybe Billy’s words electrocuted him. “You. You spent most of the night with Eddie?” 

“Yeah, he’s cool,” Billy chuckles, and. Steve makes a face, like. A trademark, Big-eyed-terrified-jealous-asshole kind of face. It’s adorable. “Steve. Are you jealous?” Billy asks, amused.

Steve turns beet-red. “No.”

“Oh my god, you are.”

“I’m not jealous of Eddie Munson,” Steve spits, rolling his eyes so far back Billy thinks they may never be brown again, “He’s a nice guy, I just. Can’t believe you found anything he said so interesting that it took you an hour and a half to come up here.”

Billy falters. “I thought he was one of your friends.”

“He’s a work friend,” Steve says sharply, “That’s not the same thing. Nancy said he was making eyes at you all night.”

And. 

For the first time since Steve started turning Billy’s heart on its head with the sound of a shovel on his driveway, Billy wants to knock Steve’s teeth in. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Steve looks bashful, staring at the floor. “I don’t know. Nancy said that–”

“Fucking Nancy,” Billy spits. His arms burn, and his muscles pull tense. “She has no right to run up here and tell you that anything was going on, Steve, because she’s full of shit. Eddie’s a cool person. He was just being nice.”

“Like how he’s been ‘nice,’ to every other guy I’ve–”

Billy tries to put a lid on the fire that sentiment starts, burning through his stomach. That Billy’s not special. He’s just like every other guy Steve’s ever brought home. “Eddie loves his girlfriend,” Billy reasons, “Chrissy, remember her?”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” Billy says, crossing his arms over his chest. “What does it matter who I spent the night with, anyway.” 

“Billy–”

“I still had a good time. I thought that’s what you wanted?” 

“It is what I wanted.”

“Then why are you acting so weird?” Billy's jaw aches. He wants to hinge it shut. Yearns to fold himself into Steve’s arms and forget everything. Nancy and the kitchen, Nancy and the Hallway–

But. 

He’s drunk. And when Billy’s drunk, his mouth runs away with him. Steve’s hurt him, whether or not he meant to is inconsequential, and Billy’s suddenly pissed off. Furious. He bares his teeth. “It’s not like I could’ve spent any time with you.”

Steve picks up on it immediately, his eyes blowing wide with regret. “Bill–”

“When you weren’t saddled up in the next room, smoking until your eyes dried out and ditching me so I could bake bread in the kitchen like your little kept boy, you were locked up in here with Nancy.”

Steve’s baby browns flash red with anger. “Like you were, with Munson?”

“What are we talking about?” Billy snaps. “Where is this coming from?”

“Nancy just said–”

“You’re throwing a fucking fit because I was spending time with one of your friends?” 

“To be fair,” Stee quips, smiling softly, “Eddie’s pretty cute.”

“I’m not in the mood for this,” Billy shakes his head, driven crazy with sorrow, “That’s bullshit, Steve. You don’t get to be mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you, baby.”

“Don’t call me that,” Billy says, “I’m pissed at you.”

“Alright, Jesus–”

Billy feels his fuze stop, ready to detonate. “Why are you rolling your eyes and acting like this isn’t a big deal? It is.”

“I know.”

“I come up here and you start bitching at me about Eddie Munson. I’m not the bad guy, here. I wasn’t the one who disappeared for an hour to talk to a girl I once called ‘baby,’ on the phone.”

Steve doesn’t say anything. 

His mouth opens and closes, working around a comeback, but Billy isn’t in the mood to give him that chance. 

“For months, Nancy’s been this huge thing hanging over my head. Ever since we got snowed in that last time, and. Steve, I didn’t ask to be a bigger part of your life. I didn’t ask you to scrape my driveway, or bring me ice melt, or grow flowers to decorate my classroom with. I didn’t want any of it. I don’t deserve–”

What Nancy said to me. Robin’s kindness. 

This.  

Love.

You. 

Billy takes a deep, steadying breath. “I’m sorry,” He says, tugging a hand through his hair. When their eyes meet, Steve’s are warm. Sad. Billy wets his lips, “I don’t want to bitch back and forth. Tonight was really fun. Really. I loved it.”

I love you.

Billy turns, grateful that the world is less of a dreamscape, now. He’s ready to go home, ready to disappear, But then–

“Nancy said she overstepped, tonight.”

Billy stops. His hand clutches the banister.

“She told me she opened her mouth and ruined what we had, and. To be honest, I’m not really surprised. I should’ve expected that she would say something fucked to you because she does that. Always has. It’s one of the reasons we broke up in High School and never got back together again, even though–”

“--Steve–”

“I just. We’ve never really stopped caring about each other, and it’s unhealthy. I was living in denial because it’s always been platonic on my end. But I think in some weird, step-ford wives kinda way, maybe Nance–”

Billy whirls, his body catching on fire, “I don’t want to hear that she’s in love with you, Steve.” 

Steve watches him like a bear caught in a trap. 

Billy’s voice cracks right down the middle. He hates it. He’s going to drown. “I swear to god. If you tell me that she’s in love with you and after all this time, all this shit you’ve done to make me like you. Steve, if you stand there and say you love her–”

“I’m not in love with Nancy Wheeler, Billy, I’m in love with you.”

Billy blinks, shocked when tears cling to his lashes. 

He’s grateful that Steve isn’t close enough to see them, poised and ready to break like waves over his freckles. “No,” Billy says, not. Believing it. He can’t. He won’t. Billy shakes his head, “No–”

“Look–”

“--This is insane,” Billy says, “We’re fighting. We’re having our first fight.”

“Yeah,” Steve says sheepishly, “It sucks, but. It’s kinda nice, too. Refreshing to have it all out there.”

“Stop,” Billy says, breathless. “This isn’t right. I’m supposed to call you an asshole, and you’re supposed to kick me out and I’m supposed to not sleep, and. Cry to my sister on the phone. I’m supposed to realize I fucked up big time, and come back tomorrow with flowers and apologize for getting so drunk and ruining our lives–”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” Steve says. He tucks his hands into his pockets, gaze steady on what he wants. “What’s happening is my fault.”

“It’s not,” Billy says thickly. He wants to stand on the stairway banister and say it’s his fault. All of it. His insecurity, his depression, his brain bullshit, making everything difficult since that first January day–

“It is, though,” Steve says, taking one step closer. “I shouldn’t have invited Nancy tonight. I should’ve done more to make you comfortable, and even though I knew all the shit with her was tearing you up inside, I didn’t do anything to stop it. I should have.”

“It’s okay–”

“It’s not okay, Billy, you’re supposed to throw shit and call me an asshole because I deserve it,” Steve says. “We’re having our first fight, remember?”

He’s on the verge of smiling, but. 

Billy can feel heartache like an incoming rainstorm, emotions like clouds gathering somewhere neither of them can see but when the rains come and wash away everything that was there before, they can start over, bathed in the light of the dawn.

“I don’t know what she said, exactly, but Bill,” Steve looms closer, his eyes swamped with emotion, “You’ve gotta believe me. It’s not true.” When his hands cup Billy’s neck, they’re warm. His thumbs brush lightly over Billy’s jaw. “I’m so in love with you, Billy.”

Billy presses into them, like a cat, “Okay.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t say it earlier. I’m sorry–”

“That’s the thing about a first fight,” Billy says, grinning softly, “I think we get to have makeup sex, now.”

Steve holds terrifyingly, shockingly still, and then. 

He moves.

Billy kisses him. He presses all his weight into Steve, pushing and pulling until their bodies meld into something new. 

Steve sucks on his tongue, hands scrambling to touch every part of Billy he can find. They stumble, unsure on love-drunk legs, knees knocking along the hallway and into the bedroom. 

Billy hums low in his throat. Steve’s tugging on his shirt, pulling the starched fabric downdown down until the blood stops pulsing up through his brain. 

“Off,” Steve says, panting into his mouth, “Off, baby, please–”

“Buttons,” Billy grunts, and they go flying, a handful of tiny stars that leave scratch marks on the wallpaper.

This is the shirt Steve picked out for him. So they could match. They’re matching right now, two halves of a whole, and Steve gets him on his back, says, “Let me eat you out, baby. Please–”

“Yes.” Billy’s mouth chokes around a half-baked thought, that. Good boy. Steve, Billy, both of them. 

“Thank you,” Steve says, like a prayer, and it’s ridiculous. 

Billy wonders if it’s the start of something. Of love. Fifty more years draped button-downs and pressed khakis and Steve, salt-and-pepper gray around the temples and everywhere else. 

He gets Billy’s pants off.

Billy moans because he wants to see it. The room is cold, and Steve is warm, and Billy tucks into it like an animal fending off the winter, and then he’s hot.

On fire.

Steve gets his mouth on Billy. Licks up his balls and swallows his cock down to the root, nose buried in the curly blond husk that pillows him. Steve gives head like someone’s told him he’s got ten minutes left to live. It’s break-neck. Harsh. The world is drowning and the sky has been torn open, and this is Steve’s dying wish. 

“Shit,” Billy says to the ceiling, “Shit, Steve, I’m gonna–”

Steve pulls off with a wet, satisfying pop. “I’ve got lube in the drawer,” He says, voice hoarse through the fog of pleasure surrounding them. 

He doesn’t ask. 

He licks a stripe from Billy’s balls to his swollen, pink head, and says, “Open it for me.”

Billy doesn’t have the wherewithal to think so he gets on his knees and crawls, starving, to the beside table. 

“Jesus Christ,” Steve says. He follows Billy up the mattress. Steve’s cupping his ass, petting it, spreading it open. 

He spits on Billy’s pucker, and.

There are fingers, pressing lightly at his rim. Steve says, “I’ve wanted this for years,”

Billy drops the lube, says, “Years?” But then he’s being split open. Fucked open on Steve’s tongue, strong and sure and slick, in all his most tender places.

His face hits the mattress. He’s suffocating, and death smells like cedarwood and vanilla. Billy’s dripping a puddle onto it, ruining the duvet and the sheets too, probably, but.

It feels amazing. It’s amazing–

Billy’s radioactive. Steve’s got him by the kneecaps, keeping him open and receptive, and Billy’s cock hangs heavy and swollen when Steve pressed two fingers in alongside his tongue.

Billy’s makes a noise, like. 

His lungs are giving out. His heart has grown lips to speak, after all these years, and–

“Is it okay if I–”

“Want you,” Billy gasps, tasting cotton on his tongue. He can’t manage more than that.

Steve pulls away, pressing a soft, sweet kiss to the base of Billy’s spine. “Lay on your back, okay?”

Bily does as he’s told. 

His shirt is tangled frustratingly around his elbows. Billy twists onto his back, anyway, watching as Steve tugs his own pants down just far enough for his cock to bounce free.

It’s perfect.

It’s long and thick, pink at the tip next to a pretty brown freckle, and Billy wants to get his mouth on it. He tries to sit, obeying when Steve keeps him pinned to the mattress with a strong, gentle arm across his chest. 

His pupils are blown wide, eating up all the honey-brown Billy loves so much. “I want,” Steve starts, gasping when Billy’s fingers tug at his length. “Fuck–”

“Where’s the lube?” Billy demands. 

Steve fumbles for it. When his fingers close around the bottle, he squirts a generous amount onto Billy’s waiting palm and sits back, watching through eyes half-lidded as Billy’s fingers tease and play with him. 

“You’re big,” Billy says softly.

“Jesus, you’re gonna give me a complex.”

“It’s a fact,” Billy twists his fingers and Steve lights up like Times Square. He wants to do it again, “You’re gonna feel so good, Stevie.”

Steve drops his forehead to Billy’s chest, tongue laving hot over his collarbone. “You talk way too much,”

Billy tugs on his cock a little harder, relishing the little ah ah ah’s Steve can’t hold back. He’s got Steve where he wants him, that pretty pink head bumping softly against his hole, and Billy needs this.

Steve’s heart and body and love, more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life.

It’s terrifying.

It hurts and it really, really doesn’t when Steve slides home. Kisses all over Billy’s face and says, “I love you,” like he’s a virgin who’s just seen God for the first time.

Then he moves, sliding out and back in, out and back in.

Thrusting and then pounding, folding Billy in half until Steve is all he can feel inside of himself, all he can see staring down from above.

“I love you,” Steve says. Keeps saying, when Billy whimpers that he’s going to come. Steve quickens his thrusts, “You’re gorgeous. You’re so tight, baby, so perfect. Come for me, alright? C’mon, let me see you–”

It’s all the gentle reverence Billy could never, ever deserve. 

He has no choice but to lie there and take it.

–

“I like your ears.”

It’s hot, under the duvet cover. Billy’s covered in sticky, warm sweat. It’s Steve’s and it’s his and it’s theirs, making it difficult to stay put but impossible to pull away. 

Steve’s got a leg thrown over Billy’s waist. 

He’s propped on his elbow, gazing down at the soft, rounded shell of Billy's ear, fingertips tracing up and around until he tugs on the lobe.

“Ow,” Billy swats his hand away. “Dick.”

“You’ve got Dumbo ears.”

“Is this the best you can come up with in terms of pillow talk?”

“Freckles and pink cheeks and perfect lips. Long eyelashes and wonderful hair and now the ears, took?” Steve ignores him, leaning down to ghost the shell with his lips, “You’re like a cartoon character. It’s like God wanted to make everyone else feel bad about themselves because of how detailed you are.” 

His breath tickles.

Billy laughs, high and bright, “God, you’re insane.”

“What do you expect? You’re the main character and I’m just a supporting role–”

“--shit, what time is it–”

“--I’m not even a supporting role, I’m a cameo. An NPC–”

Billy pats around under the covers for his phone, realizing that it’s probably still lying face-down on the coffee table. 

“--It’s really only a matter of time before you find some other person who’s as perfect and detailed as you are, and then you can have perfectly detailed babies and live in your perfectly detailed house–”

Billy sits, drooping his legs over the side of the mattress, “I live in an IKEA showroom, I don’t think you’ll need to worry about that.”

“Hey, where are you going?” Steve demands. “I thought we were gonna have a sleepover?”

Billy’s stomach swoops. 

His brain kickstarts, trying to think of a reason he can’t sleep over tonight, but his synapses fumble the ball and he sits there, starched button down dangling between two fingers. 

Suddenly, he can’t breathe.

The walls are closing in, and Steve says, “Billy, what’s wrong?” And Billy thinks no one should ever want anything from him. No one should ever get this far–

“Hey, why are you breathing like that?” Steve sits, palms spreading warmly over Billy’s stomach where he slots in behind him. “Where’d you go?” 

Billy’s mouth dries up. Outside the window, the sky is starting to gray, a little, dawn slowly and softly approaching. Billy has no idea how long they’ve been here, lying like this together, but he knows he never wants to leave.

Won’t survive it ever ending. 

But it will.

It will–

Steve presses a kiss to the back of Billy’s neck. “Talk to me, Billy. Please.”

Billy shakes his head.

“Let’s lay down,” Steve tells him, and before Billy knows it he’s tucked under the covers again, folded in and around the soft, supple places Steve has made for him. 

Billy counts to one hundred, then.

Listens to Steve’s breathing for as long as it takes his own to go calm. Finally, he sits with his back to the headboard. Steve watches him, patient.

Always patient. 

Billy takes a deep breath. “When you were up here with Nance–”

“--Billy–”

“What did she tell you?”

Steve’s fingers play with the knobs of thread on his duvet. Like the rest of his house, it’s old. Quilted. Probably a hand me down from his mother, and her mother, and hers before that. “She told me you were afraid of me.”

Billy waits. Listens.

“You know you don’t have to be, right?” Steve looks up at him, eyes thick with worry, “You know I would never do anything–”

“It’s more than that,” Billy says. “My mom. She wasn’t always gay. Or, maybe she was, but she wasn’t always married to Susan.” His knuckles turn white on the lip of the duvet cover. This is stupid. This is so fucking stupid. “Before our family was like it is now, there was. My dad.”

Steve nods. Waits.

“He was an angry man,” Billy swallows and his throat clicks. “He liked. Blood.”

“Baby, if it’s hurting you, we don’t have to talk about this.”

“I have a lot of problems, Steve,” Billy says. “Something’s wrong with me.”

Steve shakes his head, “You struggle with mental illness. That doesn’t mean something is wrong with you, Billy.”

And.

Steve’s shaking. His jaw is set, strong and resolute, ready to argue Billy’s case for him. Ready to lay these things to rest because they’re in love.

Steve says he loves Billy. He really believes it, and.

Billy toes the edge of a cliff. “I’m gonna tell you something I never say out loud,” He whispers, “Is that alright?”

“Of course, you can tell me anything.”

“I know, but,” Billy sits up straighter, tugging a hand through his hair, “I need to say it because. Look, Steve, I.”

Billy’s going to throw up.

He closes his eyes. “I love you, okay? I fucking love you, too, and I can’t. Goddamn do this, if you don’t know the whole story–”

“Alright.” Steve sits, taking Billy’s hands in his own. “Tell me. Go slow.”

Billy opens his eyes, and all he can see is Steve. 

Beauty. 

Kindness. 

He realizes, then, that he’s shaking. That he would do anything to keep this. 

It makes him brave.

“Okay,” Billy starts, staring down at their hands because that’s easier. “I moved out here because I knew there were kids that needed someone to care about them, but I miss my family. I haven’t unpacked my house because I can’t see myself fitting in here, but. I never really fit anywhere, except for with my sister.” He stares out, to the foot of the bed. He counts the shadows, seeing his father’s face in every single one. “Steve, I. I didn’t expect to fall in love with you.”

Steve laughs, “Same, you’re way too cool for me.”

“No, I’m serious. I didn’t expect to fall in love. Not with anyone,” Billy says, “Ever.”

Steve’s smile falls away. “That’s not possible,” He says valiantly, “Someone would’ve come along and loved you. You’re a beacon for it.”

Billy gasps, “I don’t deserve you.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Steve, I used to be a piece of shit–”

“--So did I–”

“--I have panic attacks,” Billy admits in a rush, like he’s ever been good at hiding them. “I overthink things, and I spiral–”

“--I love you, Billy–”

“--I have to go to therapy two times a week. My favorite color is gray. Well, blue and gray, but–”

“--I love you, Billy,” Steve says, again. He rubs his thumb across the back of Billy’s hand, smiling softly. “We were neighbors before this. I know you.”

Billy watches Steve’s thumb, timing his breaths to its careful, loving swipe. “There was something else Nancy said,”

“What?”

“That I can’t keep stringing you along if fear is what I feel.”

Billy realizes, half a second too late, that he’s dropped a bomb. Steve pulls away from him, brow furrowing. “Stringing me along?”

“No, not, like, in the literal sense–”

Steve gets out of bed. He’s naked, and it feels wrong to look when the roof is caving in, but Billy can’t help it. 

“Nancy said that? I can’t believe Nancy said that, that’s so–” Steve’s eyes close like doors. “I don’t understand why you’re afraid of me.”

“Not you,” Billy says sharply. “She got that part wrong.”

“Then what? Tell me what I can do–”

“You can’t do anything!” Billy snaps. The room is silent. Outside, there are crickets. Night birds. Billy’s chest aches, pain springing fresh in his voice. “The fear is mine. It’s inside me. Ever since I was a kid, and. With my dad, I just.”

Steve watches him. 

Billy shakes his head. “I feel like I have a lot of work to do before I can love somebody.” 

A dam breaks. 

Billy doesn’t realize he’s crying until Steve crosses to him, pulling Billy to his chest. “Love isn’t something you have to work for, alright? You don’t have to spend years working on yourself until you think you’re perfect enough to love someone, you’re perfect now.”

Billy hiccups, his throat closing just a little. 

“Billy, please believe me,” Steve says. 

Billy wants to. More than anything, but.

He pulls away, scrubbing at his face with the back of one hand. It takes everything in him to say it, but he has to. He owes it to himself and to Steve and to this brand new, perfect, fragile thing growing between them.

“I love you,” Billy says gently, “I do. I’ve loved you so much for so long but I feel like I don’t know who I am. I haven’t known since the second I moved to Hawkins, and I just. Need to see my mom. And my sister. I need to go home and be with my family before I can–”

“When does your spring break start?”

“I don’t know,” Billy says, “What day is it?”

“If I knew, I’d tell you,” Steve smiles in spite of himself, thumb lifting to wipe the tear tracks from Billy’s face. “I could’ve guessed, you know? You’ve never really been happy, here. I thought I was helping.”

“You are.”

Steve nods, threading their fingers together. He watches their hands for a moment, and then sighs, his neck rolling his eyes to the ceiling. “I think you should go home early.”

Billy frowns. “But–”

“If you need space, I can give it to you,” Steve looks at him, smiling small and sad, “It hurts that you don’t see yourself here and I’ll miss you like hell for those two weeks, but. If that’s what you need to feel sure about this–”

“--I’m sure about you, Steve–”

“--Then yourself. Take care of you first,” Steve grows serious, eyes tracking the curves of Billy’s face, “I want you to feel okay. That’s the most important thing.”

Steve presses a kiss to their hands, and Billy loves him. It rumbles down through his bones, spreading like wildfire until his skin catches aflame. 

It hurts.

It hurts, and it really, really doesn’t when Billy lets out a deep, trapped breath. “Okay. I’ll miss you,”

“I’ll miss you, too.”

“You won’t run away from me when I get back?”

Steve leans forward, his breath ghosting the shell of Billy’s ear. “Where else am I gonna go?”

–

Billy sleeps in Steve’s bed that night.

When he wakes and the room is empty, his phone charging on the nightstand, he opens his Southwest App and buys a ticket. 

One way, home.

--

from the new chapter of if snow loves the trees and fields

[maturemenoftvandfilms]

One Night in Pelois

Featuring Paul Pelosi, husband of U.S. House Speaker Nancy Pelosi

The bartender had just handed me my my drunk and I was taking my first swallow of it when I glanced down the bar. There he stood! Tall! Gray hair! Nicely dressed in his suit jacket and his chest hairs poke out of his unbuttoned shirt. Plus he looked rich. Seems that GOD had packed all my likes into one man. Then I noticed his gold wedding ring as he smiled at me.

Truth be told, I‘m good looking and get lots of smiles from married men and much more when I go out. So I've been in this situation before. Next thing I know, he was walking towards me like we were the only ones in the room. His smile got bigger as we met. Then I saw his blue eyes, yeaning for attention, for just a moment of love.

"Having fun tonight?" He asked as he surveyed me from head to foot.

"Yes."

"Good. My name is Paul." He offered as I felt his leg touch mine. I like the light sexy touch of his knee against my leg. It sent chill bumps down my spine.

"Micah." I answered with a smile as I let my left hand drop to my side and slowly reached down and touched his thigh.

"Well, Micah, I when I finish my drink I’m going home for some fun. Would you like to join me?" He said as he stared straight into my eyes.

“What about your...” I said looking down at his wedding ring.

“She’s out of town. And I could use some company.”

Suddenly his right hand was down touching my hand before grabbing it and pulling it over to his crotch. Breathing like a marathon running dashing for the finish line, I pressed my hand against the crotch of his slacks. I touched his soft dick. It felt thick.

"Sure." I said as I move my fingers down and felt his balls beneath the fabric of his slacks. They were big and watery.

Once outside, I headed for my car, but the rich old man asked if I would ride with him. Damn if he didn’t have 2021 Porsche 911 Carrera S. He carried me for some ride through the streets of San Francisco. And I can’t even begin to tell you of the Pacific Heights house he took me to. I’ve only seen houses like his in movies and on TV.

We just got out of the car and head to the front door when someone spoke, "Is everything OK Mr. Pelois?"

Mr. Pelois? Paul Pelosi, husband of U.S. House Speaker Nancy Pelosi, I thought as I notice he’s nervous that he’s been caught.

“Yeah, we're fine. Hey, have you met my nephew before?”

I quickly gave the security guard a wave a nice to meet you. He returns the favor as Paul ushers me into the house before the security guard could get a good look. I could tell Paul is relieved to have made it to the house as he slips off his shoes and puts his keys away, like it’s his normal routine. I notice the photos on the wall, lots of him and his wife.

By this time, I was SO horned up, I made the first move, leaning in to kiss him. Quickly, he started unzipping his pants, pulling out his cock. My dick was raging hard almost busting through my zipper as I undid my pants. As they fell to the floor, I pulled his down to the floor unleashing his mammoth dick and balls. His dick was a beer can uncut with enough for skin to let me dock half my dick in.

I instantly fell onto my knees in front of Paul, pressed my fingertips lightly against his king-size nuts, stroking as softly. I cupped them in my palm and rolled them around as well as I could. His cock began to grow; it grew faster than you would think and soon it was pointing in my face. A full 8" of cut old man cock. I stuck out my tongue and flicked the head of his prick, rolling his balls over in my palm.

Grabbing the base of his cock and wrapping my lips around it, my tongue thrust against the shaft I swallowed half of his dick. I felt his big hand grab my head and press it down. As I looked up, my mouth full of juicy cock, Paul was looking down at me and smiling.

I began bobbing my head up and down his shaft as his nuts bounced invitingly against my chin. I reached up and tugged at his nuts, they were sweaty, my fingers curled around them and he moaned with satisfaction. I pulled away from his cock and put a hand on his thigh, rubbing him while I jerked my cock, with my mouth full of his wet precum. Paul let go of my head and wrapped his hand around his wet cock, stroking generously.

"Let's go where we can be more comfortable and release some tension." He said if suddenly realizing where we were, took me by my hand and led me to the couch.

Paul staggered as he set down on the sofa in front of me. I took off my shirt, revealing my six pack abs while Paul observe my body, stroking his meat. Then the next thing I knew, the old man had my dick in his mouth and sucking me as he jacking himself off wildly. This married man was a ferocious cock sucker! He couldn’t get enough of sucking my cock and from the way he was doing it, he definitely had done it before.

I felt myself fixing to cum when Paul suddenly took his mouth away from my cock.

“You near cuming?” He asked. When I nodded he said, “I want you to fuck me.”

Damn if that’s wasn’t exactly what I wanted. As good as him sucking me had felt, the thoughts of fucking him had been in the back of my mind all the time.

I spit in my hand several times and smeared it all over my cock making it wet and slippery. Then I got down between Paul’s hairy legs as he began to raise and spread them even more. I expected it to be difficult to push my thick, 7" cock into him, but Paul’s asshole took my dick easily. And I realized that he had done a lot more than just sucked a few dicks in his life.

“Yes, give me that big dick.” The 82 year old called out. “Make me yours!”

I swear his asshole was hotter than any I have ever had. And looking down and seeing his hard cock bouncing up and down just added to my pleasure. In fact, I reached down and grabbed Paul’s dick and pumped in unison with my pumping his ass. I was really enjoying the sensation of his ass squeezing my dick.

Then I just lay on top of him as started kissing him as I fucked his old asshole as hard and fast I possible.

Damn! I couldn’t get enough of kissing the old millionaire. We devoured each other as we kissed and fucked. And damn if Paul didn’t shoot off on my stomach without me even touching his dick. Feeling his hot load of sperm against my belly caused me to shoot my own load deep inside his hot hole.

Another married man conquered, and another notch on my bedpost.

[gorgin-gals-muses]

If Fubuki wasn't careful, the cake could collapse, but that was something that had been decided on earlier. Let's see if I can roll her over to rub her belly. It's bound to start getting full by now. It's always best to have this rabbit, or pig, be hungry, especially in this scenario.

Rolling her half-tonnage over, especially in the cramped cavern she had carved out with sheer greed, was going to undoubtedly prove difficult. Squeezing on your side, you had the trouble of moving past her massive roadblock of an ass, forcing your arms and head towards her growing torso. The rate she was shoveling sweet chocolate down her throat had been running its course on her stomach, bloating it out to the width of a queen-sized bed; probably more.

Getting the upper half of your body all the way here up front was already a tall task, but the hardest was in front of you. Pushing all that woman over, getting your hands deep under her supple, sweaty, fatty belly, all while she was still piggishly wobbling about as she gorged to her heart's content, an insurmountable, blissful mountain of meat. Each tilt the wrong way sent her fat careening into you, smothering you against her and the soft, sugary walls behind you. It was kind of dangerous to roll her over while she's like this. Still, it couldn't hurt to try.

With one strained movement, when she managed to tilt away from you and not end up squashing you, you collected all your strength, heaved every cramped muscle in your body, and pushed upwards, gathering momentum. You could feel her flailing frantically with your hands upon her like this, clearly startled to be taken out of her gluttonous reverie. One smooth roll onto her side, aaaand...

WHUMPH! You could almost feel a shockwave through the floor as she fell onto her ass, a bit dazed as she looked up at you, pouting. Chocolate was smeared across... well, basically her entire body, but most especially glued to her face and hands. Her huge, mammoth bed of a stomach was right in front of you... and, by the sound of it, the cake around you was about to give out. Better make it count.

[prolekult]

"Beyond the Tipping Points" is a short video poem on the rapidly increasing pace of capitalism's environmental destruction and extinction crisis.

Poem in written form:

Bone, waterlogged wood and ancient bacterium - the guts of the ice shimmer in the ex-arctic sands. Death brings flatulent tremors and, from some deep crevice, a jet of gas rockets forth, fanning out below the curve of the stratosphere. The radio tells of an ivory boom and the monetisation of wooly mammoths. Defrosted tusks are a hit on Wall St.

Lytton burnt down in a few days. A wildfire without a wilderness scorched through its bricks, its mortar, its soft, pink flesh as reporters speculated on the demand for air conditioning across Canada's skin. One thing is certain: as the river salmon were boiled alive, they created the fastest food joint in history.

The last clearances are quickening, a patchwork of scar tissue carved ever deeper in the Amazon - that great lung of the Americas. Its people, who once nestled among twisted roots and sweaty undergrowth, are beaten and shot, burnt and hung in the old way preferred by ranchers dressed in dusky leather or cowboys with their slicked hair. The forest wheezes with them, expelling the smoke bought by carbon merchants.

And here, in this wilting world, we still stand beneath the tattered red, mad like dying dreamers, screaming riot against the rains and freedom from the sun, begging the day these hands, dispossessed, might embrace this earth, bleeding out.