#Swimming at Forty Foot | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

feeder86 · 2 years ago

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Aaron’s Boys

It was the most mundane of settings in which to have the most erotic, real-life conversation of Kieran’ life. There he was, sat in an ordinary coffee bar, across from one of the most handsome men he had ever come across; feeling more blood pumping into his groin than was obviously going into his brain. After all, what other reason could there be for him being there that day, offering himself up like this?

Aaron was opening his notebook, propping one of his feet onto his other knee and breathing in, ready to begin. Unlike Kieran, he seemed completely unaroused by the situation, treating it like nothing more than business. In his mid-twenties, the guy had the prettiest face Kieran had ever seen. His chest was broad and strong, making it obvious to all just how fit and muscular he was. Perhaps that was what made him so alluring; he seemed capable of doing almost anything.

“So, I know we’ve gone over some of these things when we spoke online, but I just want to get some clarity on things before I consider taking you on,” Aaron began, clicking his pen to start writing. “Age?”

“Twenty-one,” Kieran shot back eagarly.

“What is your current weight?” Aaron asked next, already beginning to write the notes down without even looking at him.

“One hundred and forty pounds,” Kieran replied immediately.

“And, does your weight fluctuate? Is that number higher or lower than it's been in the last couple of years, say?”

“It’s stayed that same,” Kieran nodded, hoping that was the answer Aaron wanted.

“Height?”

“Five foot, eleven,” Kieran stated.

“That’s not overly tall, I guess,” Aaron considered, as if trying to convince himself that Kieran would be worth the effort. “Just correct me if I’m wrong, but swimming was your sport, right?” Aaron asked. “You certainly look like you have a swimmer’s build,” he commented, briefly looking up at him to double check.

“Yeah,” Kieran nodded. “I’ve trained since I was little. I did it right through college and I’ve won a few competitions. I was never quite good enough to go professional though,” he shrugged.

“So, would you say that swimming is important to you, or are you happy to give it up?”

“Oh, I’d give it up,” Kieran nodded confidently. “One hundred percent. I’d give it up.”

Aaron nodded as he worte, then looked up at him. “Good,” he commented, with the beginnings of a slight smile on his devilishly handsome face. “That’s the sort of thing I need to hear from you: that level of commitment.”

“Oh, I’m absolutely committed to this,” Kieran jumped in, eager to capitalise on his previous winning answer.

“Now, in terms of your appetite, I know swimmers have to take in a lot of calories when they’re training. Would you say you can eat more, or less than the average person?” He held his hand up, already seeing that Kieran was about to jump in and answer. “I need you to really think carefully about the question,” he cautioned. “Being honest with me is the most important thing here.”

Kieran nodded, taking the advice and downgrading his answer. “I think I can eat, perhaps a little more than the average person.”

“And what types of foods are your favourites?” Aaron asked next, writing faster to try and keep up with everything he wanted to note down.

“Pizzas, fries, hamburgers…” Kieran began listing.

“Would you say that you have a sweet tooth as well?”

“Absolutely,” Kieran smiled. “Doughnuts, ice cream, chocolate…”

“Any foods you don’t like?”

“Not really,” he shrugged. “I’m not that keen on cheesecake, I suppose, ”he added, trying to think of something.

“Any allergies?”

“Nothing,” Kieran declared.

There was a pause while Aaron caught up on his notes. “Oaky,” he nodded, finishing the last few words. “This is all good so far. But I need to know more about why you want this. And why now?”

“I’ve always wanted this,” Kieran answered. “For as long as I can remember.”

Aaron gave a slight roll to his eyes. It was clearly an answer that he had been given many times before. “Yes, I get that. But… what makes you different from everyone else? You’re clearly a very handsome boy; a college graduate, steady job. If I took you to a gay bar right now, you could take your pick of all the guys in there. So why have you chosen to go down this path?”

Kieran took a moment. “Because I need to,” he replied, trying let his sincerity shine through his voice. “I need to know what it feels like to jiggle when I walk; to feel my clothes getting tighter and having people comment on my weight.” “You’re quite excited by the idea of people noticing your body changing?” Aaron asked, seemingly pleased to write that particular answer down. “What about name-calling? Pig? Hog? Fatty?”

Kieran felt his dick harden and he wrigged in his seat, trying his best to remember that they were still in public. “I’d love it,” he mumbled.

Aaron stared at him, as if assessing his honesty. He flicked to the back of his notebook, where he clearly had many more questions written down.Then he looked up once more at Kieran and sighed. “All right,” he nodded, clearly deciding that he didn’t need to ask anything else. “I’ll believe you. You certainly seem willing, and just the fact that you turned up today is a pretty good sign. I guess I can take you on.”

Kieran’s face filled with the brightest of smiles and his heart began beating faster than ever before. “Really?” he asked. “You’ll do it?”

“No,” Aaron responded cautiously, scolding him like a small child. “You’ll be the one doing it. I will just be helping you along the way and steering you in the right direction.”

Kieran rubbed his hands across his face, unable to believe that this was all happening in real life. His wildest, most erotic sexual fantasy was about to come true. He was actually going to be fattened by one of the best feeders out there. In no time at all, he would be nothing more than another one of Aaron’s fat boys.

A few hours later, Aaron had arrived at Kieran’s tiny studio apartment. “Is that elevator usually not working?” he asked the moment he was inside, dumping his rucksack on the floor. He was so tall and strapping; he seemed to fill the space with his masculine presence.

“I’ve only been here a few weeks,” Kieran shrugged. “I’ve not seen it working yet.”

“That may be an issue,” Aaron considered, pulling out his notebook and starting to make a note of it. “We may have to factor that into your daily calories.”

“That’s fine,” Kieran smiled, watching the handsome, strong stud begin to walk around the small studio; hardly believing that he had a real-life feeder there with him.

“I’m going to give you a lot of information about the foods you’re going to be getting in for yourself,” Aaron continued, seemingly unimpressed by what was in the cupboards, even actively pulling some things out and putting them straight in the trash. “Are these your scales?” he asked, tapping them dismissively with his foot. “I’ll bring you something a little more accurate when I next visit. These look shit, and I’m going to be relying on a lot of the stats you give me.”

Kieran simply nodded again, swooning as the handsome man casually looked into every cupboard and closet. The hunk chuckled, picking up some of Kieran’s small underwear from the drawer, scoffing at the cut of some of his clothes hanging on the rails.

“You’re not a fan of sweatpants, I see,” Aaron smirked. “That’ll soon change.”

Kieran stood there as Aaron suddenly seemed to round on him, taking an interest in his body for the first time. “Shirt off,” he ordered, stepping back to take a picture.

Kieran did as he was told, pleased that they had at last got to this stage. “Are these my ‘before’ shots?” he asked, as a tent began to form in his crotch.

“They certainly are,” Aaron grinned, beginning to snap away. He instructed Kieran on poses, soon telling him to remove everything he was wearing. The guy shifted lamps around and nudged Kieran’s positions in order to improve the look of the shots he was getting. He didn’t seem to bat an eyelid at how hard Kieran was; just ignoring it entirely.

Pretty soon after that, Aaron was removing his own shirt and getting in on the shots himself, posing by flexing his massive pecs and smiling for the camera next to Kieran, who had never felt more aroused in his entire life. That was, until he saw a half naked Aaron bend down to pick up the rucksack he had brought along with him. Out came a large, cylindrical container of a thick, light brown mixture that Aaron was already shaking up; followed by a small, simple looking funnel that made Kieran’s breath catch in his chest.

“Hey everyone,” Aaron smiled at his cell phone, starting to record another one of his videos that made him such an icon online. “I’m here with a brand new piggy tonight,” he explained, walking backwards so that Kieran entered the screen with him. “He’s a swimmer, as you can see,” he went on, focusing the camera and on Kieran’s toned chest and six pack. “However, he’s decided to become one of my fat boys instead, haven’t you?” he asked, pushing the cell phone right into Kieran’s face.

Kieran nodded, feeling a little shy to speak on camera.

“How badly do you want to be a fatty for me?” Aaron pressed him.

“Really badly,” Kieran responded, deciding that he wasn’t going to get away with staying silent.

Aaron flashed the camera down to Kieran’s crotch, acknowledging his arousal for the first time. “He’s really not lying guys,” Aaron laughed. “This pig is so damn horny to be fattened up!” He held the camera up above them both and put his strong arm over Kieran’s shoulders, getting closer than he ever had before. “You ready to drink your first ever gainer shake for me?” he asked.

The arousal Kieran felt having the feeder’s hot, sweet breath on his face; it was almost too much to bear. He nodded obediently. “I want to get so fucking fat for you!” he stated to Aaron, knowing that every single one of his followers would see his declaration.

“Good! Because you’re going to,” Aaron grinned wickedly. He moved over to place the cell phone against the counter, ensuring the angle was good to get them both in shot still. “Say bye-bye to your six pack,” he chuckled, placing what he needed on the floor beside them and rubbing Kieran’s flat stomach for the camera.

“Bye-bye,” Kieran whispered. He felt Aaron’s large hand grasp his dick and begin to stroke the shaft up and down. He moaned aloud, feeling that his knees could buckle underneath him at any moment. He felt the hard plastic of the funnel being pushed into his mouth, rattling against his teeth as he slowly opened his jaw wider to take it.

“Here goes nothing…” Aaron smirked, taking his hand awat from Kieran’s crotch to hold the funnel upright as he began pouring the thick mixture down into it.

Kieran’s eyes popped open as the thickness of the shake hit the back of his throat. He swallowed instinctively; the weight of it above him seeming to force him to swallow more and more. Perhaps he was going to be good at this: a natural. But after only a few more moments, the scale of the task before him seemed to hit home. The funnel was full and Aaron still had even more in the container.

“Keep swallowing,” Aaron whispered seductively. “I know it’s not easy the first time, but this is how we turn you into one of my fat piggies.”

Kieran moaned, his struggles seeming to melt away. He swallowed and swallowed, wanting nothing more than to be a fat pig for Aaron. He could tell by the soothing comments that Aaron was whispering into his ear that he was doing better. All of Aaron’s many followers would see this. He could feel the flask being filled more, but it didn’t matter. He could do this.

“Three thousand calories… just like that!” Aaron declared victoriously to the camera once he was removing the funnel from Kieran’s mouth.

Kieran was dazed and confused, feeling like he might lose his balance from dizziness as he pulled his head forwards again. A tremendous burp came roaring up his throat, catching him entirely off-guard. This was it. With his bloated stomach and smiling feeder already pulling out a small tray of doughnuts for his dessert, he really was no better than all the other fatties he had got off to, watching them eat online. His new life had already started. And now nothing would ever be the same again.

“Fifteen pounds,” Kieran told Aaron a couple of weeks later as the man came over to see him. He knew he had done well. The arousal that he felt from having a feeder guide him had propelled him to follow every single piece of advice he had been given. The comments on the videos Aaron had posted were a huge motivator. He’d got off every night, gorging himself and checking in with Aaron on the phone; the man who seemed to know exactly what to say to him to expand his capacity; swelling his stomach up for even greater amounts of food.

Aaron still made him stand on the scales to confirm everything. “Good,” he nodded, gaziing down at Kieran’s chest and feeling along the faded abs, squeezing the budding flesh that was building at his sides. “How does it feel?” he asked.

“Amazing,” Kieran responded emphatically. Having been so lean, he hadn’t anticipated how much he would notice the early gains. However, he could feel it all, like sludge, sliding onto his toned body like a slow, erotic invasion.

“These early pounds are crucial,” Aaron explained, patting Kieran on his slightly thicker rear. “Sometimes pretty boys like you can panic when they see the changes happening. We’re going to hit you hard and fast with the gains so you don’t have time to overthink things and second guess yourself.”

“I won’t second guess myself,” Kieran promised. However, he trusted Aaron’s judgement implicitly. He had no idea how many guys the sexy feeder had done this to; how many he was still doing this to during the days when Kieran didn’t see him. But when Aaron spoke, he exuded the expertise of someone who had fattened hundreds of horny boys just like him over many, many more years than his youthful appearance would have suggested.

“This is the thickening stage,” Aaron noted, still exploring Kieran’s body. “The fat isn’t really showing itself yet. But it will do,” he stated, pulling out his cell phone to take more pictures.

“I can’t wait!” Kieran cried, feeling relaxed enough now to stroke his hardness in front of Aaron.

Aaron grinned, thoroughly encouraging it. He switched his cell phone to record. “Hey guys. Here’s an update on my newest piggy. He’s up fifteen pounds already!” he chuckled, taking the camera on a tour of Kieran’s body, even as he touched himself. “As you can see, it’s making the porker pretty fucking horny!” he teased, allowing the camera to focus in on just Kieran’s hardness. “Are you going to get huge for me, Piggy?” the feeder called from behind the camera.

Kieran nodded and cried out in obedience. Touching himself had never felt this intense before.

“He’s a good pig!” Aaron told his viewers. “His gains aren’t really showing yet, but if you follow me around here…” he explained, taking the camera behind Kieran’s back and getting down on his knees so that his camera was level with Kieran’s butt. “This is where the big changes are happening so far,” the feeder chuckled, tapping Kieran’s glutes and allowing the slight flutter to be seen on camera. “Brand new, beautiful blubber, guys!” he exclaimed, even puckering up to kiss it on screen for all his followers.

After that, Kieran ate like never before. He’d never wanted to get fat as much as he did now. It was in that moment he realised satisfying his kinks was only ever going to make them stronger. He’d started something that he couldn’t and wouldn’t ever stop. Fat was his only future.

Kieran didn’t know whether he had fallen in love with Aaron, but he ate for him with an awe and determination to make the feeder proud. Pretty soon it was happening too. The swell of his stomach became more extreme. There was a softness beneath the surface of the skin and, for the first time ever, his clothes started to stretch unflatteringly across his torso. Kieran could gaze for hours at himself in the mirror, admiring the changes, as if he wanted to document and acknowledge each and every one. He never came quite as hard as he did when Aaron was there; his large hand clasped over his mouth, holding in something deliberately fattening as his orgasm blossomed into the most intense feeling imaginable. The names Aaron called him; oh those names! He was a pig; he agreed with that entirely.

It was hard to know what was so arousing to Kieran as he walked around in clothes that became too small. Perhaps it was that feeling of exposure as he strutted around the supermarket, filling up his cart with the fattening items Aaron had instructed him to buy every couple of days. He remembered the first time he felt the beginnings of a rippling jiggle through his stomach, the cool air reaching under his t-shirt to caress the softening skin that was bulging over the waistband of his shorts. Whether he was right or not, he felt like the eyes of every person were upon him. He felt almost naked, with the forty pounds he had amassed spreading across his body and squeezing its way out of his clothes. Sometimes, just the thought of that would make him breathless with lust, only fuelling the appetite he had no problem in indulging.

He’d started upgrading his clothes; not because he wanted to, but because Aaron had insisted that he needed to start thinking long-term. “This isn’t some little holiday gain,” he explained, grabbing as much of the fat as he could that was starting to build around Kieran’s waist. “I know you’re clinging on to the old clothes because it’s arousing to feel the difference. But, I need my fatty to be comfortable too. How else is he going to overeat for me?”

Kieran nodded, observing the marks and dimples his tight clothes had left in his skin from a full day at work. Aaron was right. Sweatpants were indeed going to be his saviour.

It was a few weeks later when Aaron asked Kieran to meet him at a bar one Friday night. Kieran had been horny all day, waiting for the time to arrive. Against Aaron’s sage advice, Kieran allowed himself the luxury of dressing himself in a shirt that hadn’t fitted for some time. It stretched across his torso, exposing the rounded pauch that he had developed over many months of overfeeding himself. He could see the way people were looking at him and he struggled to maintain his usual stride, knowing how tight his pants were around his freshly plumped rear. Aaron was already stood at the bar ordering a drink when he entered, but he laughed slyly and grinned as he saw the ridiculous sight of Kieran walking towards him.

“Enjoying yourself? You just couldn’t help yourself, could you, Fatso?” the feeder asked, immediately calling Kieran out on his kinky reasons for dressing so outlandishly. He circled around him, taking in the view of him entirely. “Jeez! That cute little ass has been destroyed!” he chuckled, seeing the bloated, widened glutes pushing against the fabric of Kirean’s tight pants.

“Where are you taking me tonight?” Kieran asked, feeling the butterflies of excitement in his portly stomach.

“Right now, we’re having a drink here,” Aaron stated, passing over a couple of shots that he had ordered. “I need to get you pumped and ready for the next part of your training.”

Kieran threw his shot back and was handed another. He trusted Aaron completely and couldn’t help the arousal of knowing that something new was about to happen to him.

Twenty minutes later, Aaron was leading Kieran into a building across the street from the bar. He grinned, opening the door for the bloated gainer and led him into the elevator. “Where are we going?” a tipsy Kieran asked, knowing that this wasn’t Aaron’s apartment building.

“Just be patient,” Aaron whispered, feeling Kieran’s chubby butt now they at last had a little privacy. Then, when the doors slid open again, he carried on striding ahead, leading him to the door of an apartment that Aaron already had the key for. “Piggy! I’m here!” he cried out loudly, even before the door had shut behind them. “I hope you’re hungry!”

Confused and alarmed, Kieran followed Aaron into the living area and breathed in sharply as he saw the back of a very large, shirtless man staring into his TV.

“Hey, Mike!” a sweet Aaron called, bending down to kiss the enormous, easily five hundred pound man, sliding his hands all over the gigantic belly that filled his lap. “Did you miss me?”

Looking closer, Kieran began to recognise the man. He’d seen him many times on gainer sites over the years. He had no idea that he lived right here in the city though; nor that Aaron had had any part to play in the massive weight gain he had experienced over that time.

“I brought one of my new piggies tonight,” Aaron explained, pulling Kieran closer so that the fat man could see. “This is Kieran. He’s pretty small still, but I’m making progress,” he smiled, patting Kieran on his softer butt.

“Hi… Mike” Kieran mumbled, suddenly embarrassed. Only a minute before he had felt like a gigantic, fat whale. Yet, now standing in front of such a large and perfect example of obesity, he suddenly felt himself shrinking back down to reality. How ridiculous had it been to dress up his meagre gains in such tight clothes when, in all honesty, his weight was nothing more than average.

“Kieran is going to be feeding you tonight,” Aaron declared, making the fat man’s eyebrows raise in surprise.

“I am?” Kieran asked, equally surprised. “But, I’m a gainer, not a feeder.”

“You say that like there’s a difference!” Aaron laughed. “In order to become the best gainer for me, you have to learn how to feed as well. You really think it’s easy fattening up all my little pigs? There’s a lot of skill to it. And that’s something you’re going to start learning tonight.”

Kieran now understood why Aaron had met him at the bar first. He’d dreamed for years about getting fat for someone, but had never really considered being a feeder himself. Before he knew it, Aaron had surrounded them both with the mountains of food that had been left out in the kitchen for the evening.

“How long have you been gaining?” the fat man asked, trying to make connversation with his new feeder for the night.

“A few months,” Kieran replied, mindlessly rubbing his stomach.

Kieran abruptly snapped his fingers. “We’re not here to talk about you tonight, Kieran. Tonight is all about Mike and getting HIM fatter.”

“Oh,” Kieran mumbled, seeing that Aaron had sat himself down on a chair and was listening to everything they were saying. The soft light on his face made him look so devastatingly handsome. There was no way that anyone could resist him. Compliance was the only option.

“Less talk, more eating…” Aaron nodded down at the food.

Kieran felt flustered, but he nodded regardless. “Well… what do you want to eat first?” he asked Mike.

A loud huff came from Aaron and his hands flew up in frustration. “Just get on with it!” he ordered. “Look at the fat pig! Do you really think it matters what you push into his greedy mouth first?”

Kieran nodded and picked something up, pressing it to Mike’s mouth. The greedy man’s lips parted and he took a large bite, almost taking the tips of Kieran’s fingers with it. Perhaps it was the sheer size of the man, or the many years of training he had undoubtedly endured, but Kieran had never seen an appetite like it. Besides the periods of more intense chewing, it was almost difficult to keep up with him.

“Don’t forget those liquid calories…” Aaron pointed to the gainer shake on the side. “Lubricate his throat to keep him eating for you.” He continued interjecting throughout, instructing Kieran of the best ways to ensure Mike was fed in a rapid and productive manner.

“He says he’s too full,” Kieran finally grumbled, exasperated as Mike no longer opened his mouth as he delivered food to him.

“And, do you believe him?” Aaron asked.

Kieran stared down at the large fat man. He could see the pain of the stuffing etched on his face. A pain he knew only too well. “I don’t know,” he shrugged.

“Then how are you going to find out?” Aaron pressed again.

Kieran considered. It was a good question: one that he didn’t know the answer to. He thought back, placing himself in Mike’s position and the many times he had been fed by Aaron. What had Aaron done when he hit the food wall?

“Oh, come on… I know you can eat more,” Kieran began, offering his most soothing of tones. He stroked Mike’s enormous gut and grabbed a handful of it, jiggling the flesh to remind the man of how far he had come. “Don’t you want to grow fatter for me?”

Mike’s eyes grew more misty and lustful. He nodded.

“Don’t you want to be the biggest, fattest piggy for Aaron too?” Kieran asked next.

Again, Mike nodded, and when Kieran next lifted the tasty treat to his lips, the fat man took it with a renewed sense of purpose. He continued for a surprising length of time, taking on far more calories than Kieran would have expected. Then, when even that momentum started to dwindle, Kieran reached under the gut and grabbed the man’s hardness, rubbing up and down the shaft, making him moan and relax even further; allowing him to push even more food into him.

When Mike finally came, Kieran suddenly realised that Aaron had been quiet for some time. He turned to see his feeder, wondering whether he would be displeased at him for letting Mike come before every last item had gone. But Aaron simply smiled, raised both hands and began clapping slowly. “Good work,” he cried, seeming to be as equally proud of himself as he was the two men he had trained. His dick was out and he had clearly been stroking himself the whole time he had been watching. “Oh, look… “ he smiled, getting up from his seat and pushing Kieran down onto the couch. “...It looks like there’s even some leftovers for you,” he teased, reaching for the first item he wanted to feed him.

Kieran sat there, delighted with himself. He now had a greater sense of how he could be a better gainer for Aaron. And it was a lesson he was never going to forget.

Kieran almost wished that he didnt get so aroused when people in his everyday life commented on his gains. His tummy had been quietly building for months, but the moment the fat started spreading into his face and neck, it was as if the floodgates had opened. He had crossed some invisible line of tolerance that his family had had, seeing him piling on the pounds and saying nothing. Now they used all the words that Aaron had been deploying for months to make him climax: fat, greedy, disgusting, pig. No matter who was saying it, he felt the blood rushing into his groin each time one came up, no matter how well dressed up they had been in speeches about their concern for him and his health. He’d spend hours on the phone with Aaron detailing each one; the horny stud finding them as equally arousing and stimulating as Kieran did. He’d use them all, sending them back to him like a boomerang, ammunition to keep on eating.

“Remember that time your step dad called you a greedy pig when you took your shirt off at the family barbecue?” he’d tease. “Imagine what he’s going to be thinking the next time he sees you; especially now your tits are coming in!”

Oh, how it all got Kieran going! Aaron had a skill, making Kieran picture in his mind what others must think of him now he’d edged his way towards becoming obese. He’d point out the changes in his body that even Kieran had failed to notice and, just by talking to him, Kieran found his dreams and fantasies becoming more and more extreme.

“Piggy!” cried Aaron, letting himself into Kieran’s new apartment with his own key some time later. “I’ve got a surprise for you tonight.”

Kieran looked around guiltily. He’d got hungry waiting for Aaron to arrive and had already made a start on some of the snacks he had laid out for Aaron to feed him. But as he looked, he could see that the sexy feeder was not alone. He was standing by another handsome, strong looking guy who looked awkwardly around; like he hadn’t anticipated being there that evening.

“This is Dillon,” Aaron explained, introducing his buddy. “He’s a wanna-be feeder,” he smiled, placing his big hand over Dillon’s rugged shoulder and squeezing affectionately. “He wants to learn from the best and I’m throwing him in at the deep end tonight. You’re going to be his first ever piggy.”

“Is this the guy from your videos?” Dillon marvelled, moving over to get a look at Kieran. “I can’t believe it!” he cried, seeing the large, spreading belly that had sprouted on Kieran’s body.

“Yeah, he’s doing pretty good, huh?” Aaron nodded, reaching across to jiggle one of Kieran’s nipples. “He used to be a swimmer, you know?”

“Yeah, I know…” Dillon nodded, looking for all the world like he was in the presence of a celebrity. “I just didn’t think…” he mumbled. “I mean… he’s even fatter in real-life!”

“Thanks,” Aaron smiled, accepting the compliment for Kieran. “I’ve been playing around a lot with his diet these last few weeks and it seems to be making a real difference.” He reached down again, grabbing a wedge of Kieran’s stomach fat and jiggling it. “Have a feel,” he instructed Dillon. “He’s one of the softest pigs I’ve got at this size. It’s just pure fat.”

Dillon did as he was told, reaching down and jiggling; the bulge in his crotch evident for all to see.

“He’s a good pig, this one. He’ll be a great first feed for you. He’s got a big appetite and is as kinky as they come,” Aaron explained to the new feeder.

Kieran smiled. It wasn’t often that he heard Aaron comparing him to his other pigs and hearing him do so then was incredibly thrilling. When Dillion was finally ready to take the reins, he gladly submitted for him. But even if Aaron hadn’t said this was Dillion’s first time feeding someone, Kieran could easily have worked it out. He was slow and cautious, too busy watching Kieran eat, not thinking about what should be next or the order to feed everything to him. Aaron called out a lot from the sidelines, getting more and more frustrated as Kieran sat there, greedily waiting for the next items to be ready for him.

“He’s going to be thirsty by now…” Aaron reminded Dillion several times. “Remember to reward him…” he cried. “What is he?”

“He’s a fat pig,” Dillon answered Aaron.

“So, why don’t you tell him so?” Aaron sighed, getting exasperated.

“You’re a fat pig!” Dillon shot next, but the speed and comedy of the situation only made Kieran laugh, even despite himself. Dillon seemed so young and inexperienced; unused to the ways of feeding. He was cute and simple in a way that Aaron was not, with an innocence behind those big eyes. He removed his shirt, trying to make the situation sexy again, revealing his chiselled torso; the result of many years of material arts training. But, not long after, Aaron had pushed him aside, taking over the feeding entirely and ensuring that Kieran was left completely and utterly stuffed by someone who actually knew what they were doing.

Even with his failures, it was obvious that Dillon had enjoyed himself. Kieran got the impression that it certainly wouldn’t be the last time Aaron would be using him to train new feeders - and that was a very exciting prospect.

Sometimes it was hard for Kieran to keep up with just how large and flabby his body was getting. He’d catch himself in the mirror sometimes; his breath being sucked straight into his chest as he took in the fat man staring back at him. One hundred pounds of pure fat had altered him beyond most casual aquantainces’ recognition, but the next fifty was transforming him even more. Fat building on top of fat had created the most remarkably soft form. His hips had swelled outwards and his nipples sank lower as his chest filled with lard. His old paunch had swollen into a blubbery gut that seemed to smile in his lap. His arms were now taking on the brunt of the excess weight, getting flabbier and softer with each added pound. His double chin was only growing more pronounced, swallowing his jawline entirely and spreading around his neck to create a wedge of fat at the back of his head.

Kieran had always imagined himself feeling satisfied by this point. Obesity had long come for him, yet he still wanted more. There were still goals he wanted to achieve; getting too fat for some clothes stores, breaking a chair, needing a seatbelt extender on a flight. He confessed each of these to Aaron, who recycled them over and over again as connon fodder to make him eat even more for him. The videos Aaron was posting of him online were getting an insane number of views. It seemed like everyone wanted to see him grow ever fatter and let the hunky Aaron fuck him hard and rough. So, who was he to object to such alluring feedback?

Kieran thought he recognised the fresh face as he walked into the office that day. He’d met the new recruit somewhere before; he knew he had. He held out his hand to offer a handshake, then watched as the guy’s face immediately flushed red.

“My desk is just over there if you need anything. My name is Kieran by the way,” he smiled.

“Yeah…” the guy squirmed awkwardly. “Thanks. I’m… Dillon.”

In an instant Kieran remembered the fresh-faced, timid feeder that Aaron had brought over all those months ago. However, the man standing before him now had definitely undergone quite the transformation. Kieran thought back to the tight, chiselled body of the martial arts guy that he had met. Since that time, it was clear that Dillon had been transitioning away from that physique for some time. He sported an obvious paunch, with fat filling his handsome face and absorbing the masculine jawline that he had once had. He looked strong, with large shoulders that had hunched slightly forwards, yet his pecs had grown pointed and softer looking beneath his shirt. His waist was thick, as if there was still a lot of muscle in his torso, now enshrouded by a great layer of fat that encircled him entirely. His gut seemed to sit higher than most men’s, as if it was building into somethign that could one day turn into the most tremendous of spherical balls. His butt too, though strong-looking and beefy, was obviously wider and fatter, filling his pants admirably well.

“Oh, Dillon… of course!” Kieran chuckled, looking around the office, feeling somehow delighted that his kinky exploits were even finding him here, in work: the one place he had managed to leave untouched. “You…uh, look a little different to the last time I saw you…” he grinned.

Dillion rubbed at his stomach, clearly embarrassed, looking around to ensure that no one else was listening in to their conversation. “Yeah… I know,” he grunted, seeming displeased. “It just sort of happened,” he whispered.

Kieran smirked, raising his eyes skeptically. “A fat gut like that doens’t just ‘happen’ overnight!” he teased.

“Don’t talk so loud!” Dillon grumbled through his teeth. “It’s my first day. I don’t want everyone to know about this…”

Kieran leaned in closer. “I think they know you’re overweight, Dillon. It’s not exactly a secret when your ass is that big!” But, seeing the embarrassment on the guy’s face, Kieran relented and headed back to his desk. From there, he could see Dillon all day long, providing an amusing distraction to his tedious schedule. He smiled and chuckled to himself, as their eyes met multiple times throughout the afternoon, especially when Kieran rummaged in his desk drawers for the highly calorific snacks he made sure he had every hour or so in order to keep his gains coming.

Once the day was over and everyone was leaving, Kieran caught Dillon as he was heading out the doors, steering him in the direction of the bar next door, whether he liked it or not.

“Sorry if I was a bit snappy with you earlier,” Dillon sighed, slowly spinning the straw of his juice between his thumb and finger. “I just… wasn’t expecting to see someone I knew in my new job.”

“It’s not that much of a big deal, surely? We only met once,” Kieran scoffed. “I’m just the first guy you fed… that’s all.”

Dillon looked up sheepishly. “You’re the only guy I’ve ever fed,” he grumbled back. “Aaron said I was hopeless at it. He says I’ve got a lot to learn before I ever try doing something like that again.”

Kieran smirked to himself; everything suddenly slotting into place. He could smell one of Aaron’s cons a mile off. “So… let me guess… Aaron told you the best way to learn about how to feed someone was to let them do it to you first?”

Dillon shrugged. “Something like that,” he admitted. “There’re a few of us wanting to learn how to feed guys properly and Aaron has got us all practising on each other. When I’m ready, I’ll be able to have a go at it as well,” he smiled cheerfully. “But this…” he pointed at his bloated stomach. This is just a thyroid problem.”

Resisting the urge to laugh, Kieran managed to keep a straight face as he admired Dillon’s sweet naivity. “It’s really not, you know. I’m afraid… you’ve been fattened up, very much deliberately. You do realise that this is probably just another of Aaron’s games, right?”

Kieran looked on with sympathy. He got the sense that Dillion already knew everything he was saying, but had yet to fully admit any of it to himself.

“None of my clothes fit,” Dillon simply said next.

“They won’t do,” Kieran nodded sympatheitcally. “Aaron will have seen to that. He has a way of enabling people to put on weight. I mean, if you’d have told me a couple of years ago that Aaron would have me actively eating towards four hundred pounds, I’d have thought you were crazy!”

“Four hundred?” Dillon gasped. “You’re going to be enormous!”

Kieran smirked. It was nice to talk about this with someone other than Aaron. “I sure am!” he grinned excitedly. “Another few months and you wouldn’t have been able to recognise me!”

Dillon’s look was one of excitement; just like it had been the night they had first met and he had got to touch Kieran’s fat for himself. “My older cousin called me a fat pig the other day,” he sighed.

Kieran laughed. He didn’t really know why. Perhaps it was just the innocent way Dillon said it. “And… um, how did that make you feel?” he asked, trying his best to remain approachable. Then, when Dillon was slow to respond, he asked. “Did it turn you on at all?”

Dillon grimmanced. “I don’t want it to…” he mumbled with embarrassment.

Now Kieran really couldn’t help laughing. “I don’t think that’s something you can necessarily control. I’ve found out so much about what turns me on since I started gaining,” he went on, trying his best to show Dillon how much he related to him. “You shouldn’t be embarrassed about any of it.”

Dillon smiled. “Maybe you could help me… embrace this a little more?” he asked timidly.

“We’re going to be working in the same office together. I have a feeling our paths may cross from time to time. So… yeah, I think I could definitely do that,” Kieran smiled.

Dillon’s sweet face lit up once more.

“So, you really haven’t fed anyone since me?” Kieran asked, still finding that fact perplexing.

Dillon shook his head.

“Would you like to? I mean, I don’t have any plans this evening…”

“Yes!” Dillon nodded back enthusiastically. “I mean, I’d really like that… especially now I know you’re heading for four hundred.” He wriggled in his seat, like a man who had just got an instant boner that he didn’t know what to do with.

“If your cousin thinks you’re a fat pig, just wait until he gets a look at me!” Kieran joked.

Dillon smirked at the idea. “That would definitely help me out a bit,” he nodded, patting his rounded stomach. Already, the pair of them were feeling like they were going to be spending a lot more time together.

“Evening, Piggies!” Aaron called out, entering the apartment in much the same way as he always did. “I certainly hope I’m interrupting something,” he grinned, seeing a large, pot-bellied Dillon spoon-feeding very sloppy looking ice cream into an overfed, three hundred and seventy pound Kieran; his jiggly softness having taken over and shrouded every part of his body in softness; building at long last into his shoulder blades and drooping from his arms.

“Go away, Aaron!” Dillon grumbled impatiently, trying to concentrate on scooping out every last drop of the melted ice cream. “Tonight is our anniversary. We’re spoiling each other.”

“I thought as much!” Aaron grinned, throwing himself down on the chair to watch voyeristically. “Don’t forget to feed Kieran the…” he began.

“I know!” Dillon grumbled back. “I do have some idea about what I’m doing! I have put almost seventy pounds on Kieran since we got together, you know!”

“And all while remaining so impeccably slim yourself!” Aaron shot back sarcastically, smirking at Kieran and loving how enormous both of his former pigs were getting. “I wonder who will be eating that giant cheesecake?” he teased, knowing full well that it wouldn’t be Kieran, who had never liked them. “I also heard that there was an incident at a cafe the other day… something about you breaking some little old chair?” he smirked, leaning over to poke Dillon in his wide, heavy rear; so beautifully out of shape!

“You told him?” Dillon sighed at Kieran.

“It was pretty fucking hot,” Kieran explained by way of admission. “Your first chair!”

Dillon gave a slight smirk. He’d never dare admit in front of Aaron how much it all turned him on to see himself growing. His large, ball-bellied shape, so much different, but no less appealing than his extremely doughy and jiggly boyfriend.

“Are you staying for something to eat?” Kieran asked his former feeder, who suddenly seemed to be checking his cell phone.

“No…sorry fatties. Looks like I just got a much better offer!” he smiled, standing up to leave again.

“A feeder’s job is never done, huh?” Kieran laughed, quietly relieved that he would have some alone time with his boyfriend once more.

“I don’t know about that so much…” Aaron grinned turning back to look at the pair of them; two fumbling fatsos, so much in love and awe of each other. “Sometimes a feeder’s job is most definitely done!” he smirked, turning his broad back on them and leaving to pursue his next great adventure.

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inell · 8 months ago

Text

About Me

I'm Inell (she/her/hers). Forties. Ace. I write fanfic, and I've been actively writing in fandoms since 1999. I’m a fandom old for sure! Current fandom: 911 (Buck/Eddie) and Teen Wolf (Stiles).

I am basically a Buddie mono shipper. I have written Buck/Connor, Buck/Tommy, and BuddieTommy since joining the fandom, but my heart belongs to Buddie.

I don’t care what other people ship; I filter things I don’t want to see. I’m very anti-drama in my fandom space. I try not to reblog hate against characters or ships that I don’t enjoy because I have friends who do enjoy them. My general motto is that fandom is for fun, and I’m going to spend my minimal free time focusing on things I enjoy, not hating on characters/ships that I don’t like.

Currently accepting 911 prompts from this list.

Also accepting Buck/Eddie prompts from this list.

Inell watches 911 live blogging

I started writing in BTVS with Willow as my OTC. Then I moved into Harry Potter, where Hermione was my OTC. I dipped my foot into the Star Trek XI fandom, where Kirk/McCoy was my OTP, and Avengers fandom, where I wrote a long Steve/Clint series.

I am currently swimming around in Teen Wolf, where Stiles is my OTC. I have a long crossover series that’s Stiles/Bucky Barnes that I’m updating sporadically. I’ve also done a deep dive into 9-1-1 fandom, where I enjoy writing Buck/Eddie and FireFam.

My Ask is always open if you want to chat. I’ve been around fandoms since the days of posting boards and egroups, into the live journal era, and beyond. My general philosophy is ship and let ship, and not my kink but enjoy yourself. I don’t like drama and hate in my fandom experience. I do block tags, and I try to curate my experience. I have never had a ship I love writing in fandom actually go canon, so I tend to live in the fanon & love it. Now, if my current ship did go canon, I certainly wouldn’t complain! But I won’t stop shipping it regardless.

I like writing happy endings and romance, and I ride the wave of the muse in terms of spamming fic when she's talkative and possibly going days with nothing if she stops talking. I’m always happy to be tagged for fic I might like & I like chatting about fic and fandom.

Prompting Me

My Ask is always open! You can prompt me or send me questions/comments on fic/whatever. I can't promise to write every prompt that I receive. I prefer general prompts, like a ship & a dialogue prompt etc. You can find prompts that I’ve reblogged in my tags. If you have a rating restriction or an AO3 account, put those in the Ask. One prompt per ask.

I generally don't write M-preg, age regression, adult/baby play, scat, emesis play, necrophilia, rape/non-con, extreme underage, non-consensual adultery/cheating, hardcore BDSM, pain play, humiliation, character death, watersports, sounding, tragedy, dark fic, unhappy endings etc.

If you happen to send me a kink/prompt not on the above list that I realize I can’t write, I’ll let you know unless it's anon. I tend to like happy endings, romance, fun tropes, smutty times, and plot that is more centered on friendships or relationships than Big Bads etc. I have a fondness for either the getting together, the first times in relationships, or slices of life in established relationships. Really, if you’re familiar with my writing, you probably know what’s safe to prompt and what probably isn’t!

My Fic

My Fic on AO3 - Best place for all Teen Wolf & 9-1-1 fic as I’ve post everything there from 2015 forward.

My Fic Archive - This is best for finding anything written from 1999-2015.

#Inell fic #info post

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bakvrue · 2 years ago

Text

sleep

yandere izuku x reader

cw: noncon, somno, yandere, stalker, creampie, possessiveness, bit of size kink. ~1.6k

Izuku opens the door to your dark apartment and takes a deep breath. It's the first time he's set foot inside, even though he's memorized the layout. It smells just like you, like his future home.

He takes off his shoes and jacket, and then sets his keys down next to yours. The key to your apartment is plain and unassuming as it shines in the dim light, but it's one of his greatest treasures.

A few weeks ago you were at lunch with your "friends" when he stole your keys. He made a replacement and got back to the restaurant before you even noticed they were missing. He'll never forget the way your big eyes looked up at him when he “found” them on the floor next to your table. His heart was pounding in his chest, a lot like how it is right now.

His footsteps are soft as he avoids the creaky board in your hallway, and he moves effortlessly around your furniture illuminated only by the streetlights outside. Even in the dim light, he is able to spot a few good hiding places for the small cameras in his pocket. He’s going to want to see your reaction to what he's about to do to you when you realize what happened. Or maybe you won't even realize it, brushing it off as a wet dream.

Especially after the night you just had; he watched you stumble home from the bar after a night out with your coworkers. You were so giggly and tired, and he's sure that it was heightened by the little drug he slipped in your drink.

You should be in a deep sleep by now, none the wiser to what he's about to do to you.

Your body is waiting for him just beyond this door. The wood is cool to the touch and the handle is locked, but your paranoid measures to try and keep yourself safe do nothing to stop him. He’s already played out this scenario in his mind a million times and the locked door only ups his anticipation.

If he was trying to make his presence known he would simply rip the door off of its hinges, but he's trying to be patient. He kneels down and opens his lock pick set, a simple knob like this should only take one, two, three.

*click*

You're cute for thinking that a door lock would be able to stop someone like him. He opens the door slowly. The squeaky hinge will give him away if it opens more than forty-six degrees, so he opens it just enough for his large body to slip inside.

Your room looks so much cuter from the inside. So much more you.

Your dresser and walls are covered in little pieces of you. And this? This must be the corner you stubbed your toe on last week. The memory of your cursing brings a smile to his face, you were so lively that night, running around your room while talking to your friends. Soon you'll be talking about him when you do that.

He holds his breath as he finally allows himself to turn toward your bed.

If he was a weaker man he would have stumbled backward upon seeing your sleeping form. Your blanket is pulled across your waist, your legs slightly pulled towards your chest. He traces the lines of them to your ass covered in cute little sleeping shorts that vanish under the blankets.

He swallows hard, his head swimming in every deranged thought known to man. Every position he wants to put you in, every outfit he wants you to wear for him, every noise that he can pull from you as you succumb to his touch.

His fingertips brush against your bed's fabric as he walks along your bedside. Everything is just how he expected, not a single thing has been out of place, and yet he still feels so invigorated.

He climbs into your bed, marveling about how small you look next to him, how small you'll look under him. And he smiles as he spoons you, pressing his cock against the curve of your ass.

He kneads the soft flesh before he drags your underwear aside; pulling your cheeks apart he sucks in a deep breath. He sees heaven between your legs and his cock throbs.

He rests his head on your pillow as the tip of his cock slides through your folds, catching on your clit before Izuku pulls back. He ruts into you like this until his cock is covered in your essence and he's delirious with need.

He angles his hips, and slowly lets the head of his cock press inside you. Inch after inch stretching through the tight ring of muscle, and when he's fully inside you he's fighting off OFA. His eyes glowing with power he refuses to unleash upon you yet.

He sets a slow pace, holding himself back at every step and huffing into your hair with each drag of his cock. He feels like hes torturing himself with this pace but when he really fucks you for the first time he wants you to be awake. He wants to see just how exactly you'd take every hard thrust as he towers over you.

As if you could hear his thoughts, you moan, and his hips stop as his cock kicks inside you.

He holds his breath. Are you actually waking up?

It's at that second that he realizes he wants you to wake up, he wants to see the face you make when you realize that he's using you as he pleases, and what the look of shock on your face will be when you realize that all eight inches of him is buried inside you.

His hips start moving again as he grabs your thigh, holding you open so that he can be thrust deeper. You're so tight around him you have to be waking up, right? Your pussy flutters around him and he moans directly into your ear.

“Fuck.”

Come on baby, open your eyes. Let me see your pretty eyes so I can cum. Please, please, please. His hips keep their steady pace as he pleads. He's so close, so fucking close.

Your walls clench around him, and he buries his face into your neck.

He knows you won't wake up, he's responsible for his own downfall but he can see your eyes next time; he can hear your voice and over power you next time.

Next time, next time, next time. A feral moan escapes his throat as he focuses on the sound of your cunt taking his cock so well.

He's ruined, you’ve ruined him. You’ve ruined him and you don't even know his name or his face yet. No one else could make him feel like this. No one else would even be close to making him cum with just a few breathy moans.

You’re perfect. Perfect and so utterly his. He keeps thrusting into you, each one a little faster than the last. If another man even looks at you wrong he will kill them. He will kill for you, die for you. Whatever you need. He will give it to you.

You’re perfect and his. His

His.

Izuku’s hips stutter and his hand heightens on your thigh, he thrusts into you one last time before he cums inside you. His cock twitching as the biggest orgasm of his life rockets through him; every muscle in his body clenching and he curses heaven and hell for creating such a perfect being.

He pants into your skin as he comes down, feeling his cum ooze out of where the two of you are still connected.

He kisses your shoulder as he pulls out, feeling his own cum leak out against his tip. You must feel so full right now. He can't wait for you to wake up. Will you realize what happened?

He climbs out of bed, puts his pants back on, and heads back out to your living room. He hides a small camera behind a photo of you and your friends and then heads to the kitchen.

This is the hardest room to see from the windows, so he makes sure to hide a camera on top of your fridge. While he's here he might as well make sure you're well taken care of; he reaches into your fridge and grabs a bottle of water hiding behind a watermelon you're saving for tomorrow’s picnic with your family.

He heads back to your room wondering if you’ll tell them of the strange dream you had tonight, or if you’ll blame it on the alcohol giving you the most amazing wet dream.

He's mindful of the creaky door and once again enters your room, but at this point, If you didn't wake up from the fucking he just gave you, the door sure as hell isn't going to wake you.

Izuku sets the water bottle down on your nightstand and looks over you one last time. His pretty girl. He can't wait to have you again, he thinks as he covers you up, tucking you in extra tightly before kissing your forehead.

“See you soon,” He whispers before hiding one last camera in your room.

He collects all of his things and locks all of your doors on the way out, turning from your apartment with a devilish smile. His fun has only just begun.

#yandere izuku #izuku x reader #izuku smut #izuku midoriya x reader #for mimi

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quinloki · 4 months ago

Note

Can’t help falling in love with you by Elvis Presley with Marco and his s/o who dies of old age

It’s the song they got married to and the song they die to :)

-💧

You end this ask with a smile you villain! Demon!

T-T no that’s so sad 😭 oh man especially in an AU where Marco does t die he just bursts into flames and he’s twenty or ten or whatever but he’s reborn and gods and seas how does he get rid of this curse?

(I see it being a one-time effect of the fruit personally, not true immortality, but unsettlingly close.)

Ahhhhh gag! (I mean GAH! Not gag- stupid phone)

You know what, NO.

No, I’m not leaving it as that kind of sorrow today. TAKE THIS AND LIKE IT.

You’d been teased, at first, the difference in age between you and Marco, but you didn’t care. As months and years had passed, as your twenties and his forties had turned into your fifties and his seventies, it mattered not one whit.

He’s lived a hard life, and the phoenix fruit takes it toll on his stamina. He may be only 70, which is by no means young, but he’s honestly closer to 90 with how often he’d pushed beyond his means. The whole island mourns when he dies.

And is flabbergasted when his body catches fire on its own, bursting into the most beautiful flames you’ve ever seen. From under the pile of ash a young man stands up, Marco no more than 30.

He’s a bit confused himself, but trial and error finds you a young version of himself without a drop of Devil fruit power within him. He can swim, but no longer can he soar.

Marco is elated! You dance, make love, live a quiet life on the quiet island as you had been for years.

And you grow old. Together. Again.

Fifty becomes sixty, becomes seventy. You miss his flames from time to time, but your fifty year old husband has more pep in his step and draw hot baths for you, brings you tea. You’re nearly eighty, maybe a little older, when the end draws near for you.

He’s over sixty, by true rights over a century, and he sits with you with a warm smile, the edges drawn only a little in sorrow. You’ve had more decades of time together than you ever believed possible.

And you’ll die before him. As everyone else has.

He regretted not being able to outlive you, after carrying that burden for so many others, but that was, perhaps the last gift his Zoan fruit gave him. Being able to keep you comfortable, safe, and loved for all the days of your life.

Being able to protect you from the solitude that would have followed. His pretty bird, after all, should never have to sing such a sorrowful song.

He will bury you, but his broken heart, and his extra years, will not carry him much further. A year later the village buried him beside you, grave set at the foot of the great mountain.

The giant Phoenix carved into the rock, looking over the valley and to the sea beyond, that glints teal and gold in the right light, from rocks heavy with veins of pyrite and pale blue quartz - stones precious in a way, but not worth the effort to mine into the mountain - watches over the village ever after.

Sometimes the air and wind hit the shore and crags in a way that the sweet trill of music, some birds that are only heard and never seen, and dances along the valley. Old locals call it the guardian’s song, and younger villagers tell of a sweet romantic tale, how hearing the song with your sweetheart will ensure a long life together.

#quin answers #quin muses #reader insert #x reader #anon asks #marco the phoenix #💧#I went and gave myself emotions

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maxverstappensflatbrim · 1 year ago

Text

Show Me Yours | Matty Healy [42]

chapter forty-two, act five: the ballad of me and my brain

masterlist

November 3rd 2017

Tommie had woken up alone in Phoebe’s apartment, with many missed calls and texts of people asking if she was okay.

Her brows had furrowed and she’d hesitated to call Adam back first. He’d called her eleven times, and although they haven’t spoken since that day he came to the apartment she still worries something is wrong.

Her mind goes to her grandparents, but she spoke to her nan yesterday. They were on their way to a trip to Tenby in the caravan with the dog, they’re fine. Unless something happened on the trip.

Nan can’t swim. Granch got sick. Or a heart attack, or an accident-

“Tom? Tom, thank god, are you still in LA-?”

It’s then she realises how late into the LA afternoon it is, her clock reads one o’clock and she realises she’d probably been up way longer than she should’ve been writing away until her heart's content (until she passed out from exhaustion).

“What’s going on?”

“Matty’s missing.”

This is the first time she’s heard his name in months, and her heart stops.

She sits up straighter, both Button and Max looking up at her in question. “What?”

“We tried to stage an intervention, shit-” She hears him sigh, can hear Ross and George arguing in the background with another voice that sounds a lot like Jamie, “He took off, a few days ago, he’s been doing it alot lately, he’s never been gone this long.”

“Where are you?”

“San Jose.”

She sighs and climbs out of bed, putting her phone on speaker and setting it on the bedside table. She grabs a pair of jeans from the chair she’d thrown them onto last night, getting a random t-shirt and throwing it on quickly, not even bothering with the effort of finding a bra. She does however, go to the effort of saying goodbye to the two dogs before shoving on her shoes, grabbing her bag that holds her essentials (keys, wallet, journal, lip balm, cigs, lighter and some other unnecessary shit.).

“I’ll come meet you, you in the place we stayed in last time?”

“No, we’re in the fancy one across the road you liked the look of.” She hears more arguing, and then a door slams, “It’s seven hours, Tommie, you- stay in LA, I just- has he tried calling you?”

“No, no he hasn’t. I haven’t talked to him since TRNSMT.”

Adam sighs, “He’s not himself, Tommie, I don’t know what’s going on with him. He’s in his own head, doing so many fucking drugs, Tom, I-” He sighs, she hears a sob-like sound get stuck in his throat, “We’re trying but he’s not listening, saying he needs to clear his head-”

Suddenly it dawns on Tommie and she pauses halfway down the steps outside of her building, “What has he said?” She asks quickly, fumbling to get the Uber app up as she walks down the street, “Tell me exactly what he said before he left, Ads.”

Adam sighs, stutters a few times as he tries to remember the conversation he had with Matty five days prior, “Um, something about the drugs helping him sleep, clearing his mind, helping him write and create, said that the drugs are his muse or some philosophical shit. I-I don’t know, Tommie.”

She watches her Uber pull up and puts the phone to ear, “Ads, I’ll call you back, don’t worry alright.”

“Tom, please don’t-”

“Don’t worry.”

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ

The studio is a mess, clothes thrown over floors, crumpled up pieces of paper, cans of beer, coke and all different kinds of things ruin her path to the booth.

There’s a drum beat on loop, it's so loud she can hear it through the headphones and it almost drowns sounds of snoring from the curly haired musician.

He’s half on the settee half off, wearing only a pair of boxers and a large hoodie of their own band.

Tommie pushes her way through the mess on the floor that her hands shake to clean, she satisfies the urge for her hands to move by moving her foot to kick at Matty's side.

When he doesn’t wake she hits him harder and he gasps, curling over on himself, “Ow.”

“Get up.”

His eyes snap open at the voice and he sits up, fumbling to pull the hoodie down to cover himself and she rolls her eyes, “What are you doing?”

“Making music.”

She looks around, “Looks like it.”

She walks over to the mixing board and pauses the drum beat playing then looks back at him, “What are you doing, Matty?”

“Why don’t you call me Roddy anymore?”

She sighs and clenches her jaw, “You’re not my Roddy,” She tells him quietly, “I don’t know where he went, but… he’s been gone a while. I miss him, If you see him- if you see him, will you let him know?”

Matty rolls his eyes and runs a hand through his hair, “What are you doing here?”

“The guys are worried, so worried that they actually mentioned your name to me, which, I’m gonna be honest, I haven't heard since Scotland.”

“Bet you loved that.”

“I did, actually.”

He scoffs, eyeing her up and down, she crosses her arms and leans back against the desk behind her.

“What are you doing here, Tommie?”

“I care about you, Ma-”

He scoffs again harsher this time and stands up, “Don’t make me laugh, you’re the one who walked out on us all, remember? Back in July, picked up your guitar and ran off to LA like it meant nothing.”

“I- what did you expect me to do, Matty?” She asks, keeping her voice on a lower level despite his shouting a few minutes prior. “Did you expect me to sit beside you and hold your hand as you killed yourself I-”

She shakes her head and looks away, “You left us. Not just me, you left-”

“Just because I left doesn’t mean I don’t still love you.”

He pauses, mouth open as he was preparing to shout something else. Tommie sighs, hands coming up to cover her face for a few seconds. Too many seconds, although he counts his head, he reaches twelve, he still thinks it's too long for her to hide away from him.

“I’ll always love you, Matt.” She promises, she avoids looking at him and he takes a few more steps forward to get closer to her, “I love you too much to sit by and watch you do this to yourself-”

“So you left me? Made it worse-”

“You won’t listen!” She moves her hands away from her face to shove his chest. He moves back to arms length then. Just watching her.

She shakes her head, finally raising her voice, “You won’t listen to any of us, to me, G, Ads, Ross, your own mother who’s gone through the same thing, we’re all worried about you.”

“I’m fine-”

“No you’re not.” She tells him, “Look at yourself,” Despite his better judgement he lets his eyes glace to his reflection in the dark tinted window behind her, “You’re a fucking mess, Matty, and quite frankly it’s fucking pathetic.”

He lifts his head, looking at her down his nose, “Half the time you can’t string a sentence together, you’re passing out on stage, lashing out at everyone, you’re a mess, Matthew.”

His jaw quivers as he tries to keep his composure, “You’re so- so god damn stubborn, and blind. Look around, Matt, you have so many people here trying to help you, trying to love you and you just won’t let them. Why, because you’re scared?”

“You don’t know anything about-”

“Quite the opposite, “She bites back, “I know you, Matty, I know everything about you. I know everything about my Matty.”

She steps to him this time, lifting one hand ready to hold him, “Are you scared, Matty?”

He looks to the small coffee table in the studio, one they'd spent many nights gathered around with pizza boxes listening to music and telling jokes. On the table sits a joint, beside it empty packets that she doesn’t even want to know are inside of it.

“I’m not-”

“Matt.”

‘You’re in love with her but you’re afraid a guy like you will ruin her. And you will.’

He nods quickly, letting the tears welling in his eyes linger a little longer, “I’m afraid, Tom.”

“Of what?”

He shakes his head, mumbling something under his breath; neither of them can understand, “Of what?”

She shakes her head and walks closer to him but he fights her off, not letting her touch him, “I-”

“Matt-”

She watches his eyes dart to the door as he licks his lips, “I’ve got a flight.”

“Matt-”

“Tomorrow, I need to pack all my stuff.”

“Matty, please, just slow-”

He nods to himself as he gathers the only thing he brought with him, a little tote bag, her little tote bag. One from the record shop she likes in London. He shoves inside his wallet, phone, charger and notebook then starts stumbling around until he finds his jeans and shoes.

“Matty, would you please-”

“I’ve got to go-”

“Matty,” She huffs, trying to follow him around but his longer legs are moving too fast, closing up his laptop, stopping the demo, throwing the stupid memory stick with the song he was working on into the mess around them, “Matt, please, just stop for a couple seconds- Let’s talk-”

“Nothing to talk about, I have to go, seven hours to San Jose-”

“Matt!”

He still doesn't listen so she pauses as he opens up the door, “I broke up with Caleb.”

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ

“Why’d you break up?”

Tommie watches him dip his fries into the red sauce and then shove them into his mouth as if he hasn't eaten for years.

She sighs and looks down at the table in the little diner they’re sitting at, she picks at the table cloth beneath them and leans back.

“Creative differences.”

He snorts and she finds her lips curling a little bit into a smile.

“Seriously?”

He shakes his head a little, “I always hated him, I mean, not just because of the whole you thing, but because he was a raging arsehole-twat-prick dude.”

She nods her head in thought, “I mean, he hated Deftones, you love Deftones, if I hated them- hell, if I uttered a single bad word about them you'd break my neck- literally! I can’t believe you didn’t break up with him over that. And one major thing you should’ve ran from was his love of country music, I mean, If I heard Jesus take the whe-”

“He got me pregnant.”

Matty pauses, fry mid air, mouth open ready to bite down on it, instead his gaze is settled right on her, missing the ketchup dripping down to stain the white table cloth on the table.

“What?” He looks down towards her stomach slowly and she shifts uncomfortably covering herself with her arms, “You’re pregnant?”

“I had an abortion, few weeks ago, that’s why I’m out here, Matt.”

“What did he-”

“He told me I had no right because it was his baby too, and threatened to tell the press.”

“Did he? I mean, I haven’t seen anything but-”

She shakes her head “I told him if he did that then I’d make sure his band never made it. Then I kicked him out of the apartment, cut my lease short and moved in with Phoebe.”

He hums in thought, picking at the table cloth.

“I was so scared, Matt. I’m terrified of the thought of having children, of ruining my career, my life, not because I’m not as strong as other women or anything like that, or I won’t be able to do that. Because I just don’t want that-”

She breaths in slowly and tilts her head at him, “I wanted my Matty. Phoebe told me I asked for you, when I was out of it. Said I asked her to go get you for me.”

He looks down, staring at the heart shaped hole he’s ripped into the dining table cloth. “I was terrified of doing it without you. What were you scared of?”

He scoffs and shakes his head, “Matty, please-”

“Did you tell me that just to try and get me to open up?”

“Trade you.” She shrugs and leans over to steal a chip.

He sighs, “When Gemma broke up with me she told me some harsh truths, one’s that I needed to hear and I don’t know. I guess I just know deep down that she’s right. I don’t want to ruin you.”

She tilts her head, reaching across the table to set her hand on his, “You won’t ruin me, Matty.”

“I will. Cause you’re you, you’re a good person, Tommie. I don’t want to ruin you.’

“Matt-“

He shakes his head and stands, “I have to go. I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“Matt-“

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ

She looks around the mess in the studio. Now that he’s gone, that he’s back on his way to the rest of the band she can let herself go nuts and clean it.

She starts by cleaning up the takeaway boxes from the floor, then she folds the blankets and cleans the messy table.

Half way through cleaning up she finds the discarded memory stick he’d tossed aside. There’s a post it note wrapped around being held there with cellotape.

‘Baby, two.’

She lifts up the memory stick and then slowly puts it into the computer.

There's a small sniffle and then a sighs as he strums a few chords. "Baby, two. Um..." He sighs again and shifts around, the leather chair creaks but is cut off as he clears his throat, "This is my deepest confession, I guess. This is for Tommie, I'm sorry. I'm sorry about a lot, that it took me so long to realise and that when I finally did I'd already pushed her out. But, I don't want to hurt her, I don't want to let her back in-" He sighs again, "Anyway, this is take one. Baby, I don't have a title yet."

I've been watching you walk I've been learning the way that you talk The back of your head is at the front of my mind Soon I'll crack it open just to see what's inside your mind … Inside your mind

Marry me, I will wait until you're fast asleep Dreaming things I have the right to see Lately you are dreaming you're in love with me The only option left, is look and see inside your mind

… Inside your mind I can show you the photographs Of you getting on with life I've had dreams where there's blood on you All of those dreams where you're my wife

Inside your mind Inside your mind Inside your mind Inside your mind

She raises her brow at the deep voice but sits there to take it for a few moments taking it in.

Every moment between her and Matty has ever shared floats through her head. From meeting to starting the band, to being on tour, to living together, to that night in LA, to watching him leave yesterday.

She thinks over every decision she’s ever made.

Being with Caleb, never telling Matty.

Maybe if she just told him, if she’d let him know how she really felt none of this would have happened. He wouldn’t have turned to drugs, he’d be safe.

Or maybe he still would have. And they’d be unhappy. Together but unhappy. And they’d hate each other.

They must be good. She wonders. The drugs, there must be something about them. Why else would he love them so much? More than her, more than the band.

Before she can stop herself she’s sitting on the floor, eyes not moving from the baggie on the table as her fingers drum right beside it.

She just wants one look. One look inside Matty Healy’s mind.

taglist

@thereisaplaceintheheart, @indierockgirrl, @sofaritsalrightt, @julezs-bl0g, @eaglestar31, @sophinthealpss, @noacfemcel, @if-my-heart-bleeds, @befrwime, @fallingforel, @sexorchocolateorpillowsorclouds, @3terna15unshin3, @1975sophie1975, @thesocraticjunkiewannabe, @littlesoldierelleora, @procrastinatinglikeapro, @beatr2x, @byyourside28

-let me know if you want to be added :)

#show me yours matty healy #matty healy x oc #matty healy x reader #matty healy imagine #the 1975 x oc

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wildshona · 24 days ago

Text

Collecting the Dress

The Sunday after the Samhain party I had been helping my friend move more stuff into her flat in the morning. How can she own so much stuff? I got back home needing a shower which was so hot and relaxing and then Chris relaxed me even more by bringing me off with his hands.

Somehow the afternoon disappeared and then Chris is insisting i have another shower and get dressed in the clothes he has laid out for me. Now that really got the juices goin cos in the last few Sundays dressing nice has meant Toni. Do you realise how difficult it is not to spoil a dress when you’ve got your juices oozing. Maybe that’s why he put knickers out – not that there was much fabric to them. The dress was another little black number that was quite floaty, not tight. And this time he didn’t put out a bra which meant my nipples went hard as soon as i had put the dress on. As with the recent Sundays i was in stockings with suspenders and thr dress was short enough that the suspenders and stocking tops were below the hem. I looked like a slut.

He drove me around to Toni’s place and rang the doorbell then he turned, got in the car and drove away. The door was opened by the Housekeeper and she took me through to the garden, where the marquee was still up from Samhain, and then through to a building at the end of the garden. Sweet fuck a swimming pool. Not a big one but a swimming pool nevertheless. Swimming lengths was a naked Toni.

Hang your clothes on a hook and come in.

I haven’t got a costume

Neither have i

So i stripped off and got into the pool. The water was warm but my nipples still hardened as Toni came up to me and kissed me on the lips. We swam for a while then got out.

We lay on some loungers talking and sipping wine which the housekeeper brought in. There were heaters above us and we gradually dried. Toni stood and put out her hand to me, pulling me up and into her. Toni is about 5 foot 8 i guess so is 6 inches taller than me. She has long thick black hair which she normally wears down unless she is at the surgery. Deep broen eyes and a full lips.

She is slim and that just shows up her tits even more. 38 probably D cup? I don’t know i’ve never had to think too much about tits that size cos i’m never going to get any. Shaved between the legs. Age? Late thirties, maybe early forties.

Anyway, she told me i didn’t really need to get dressed. “Just the stockings, suspenders and shoes.” OK, then.

We walked through to the lounge where she left me for a full half hour. The housekeeper brought me more wine and made sure i was warm enough. When Toni finally got back her hair was dried and she was wearing a red dress and heels which immediately made me self conscious given that i was only wearing stockings suspenders and shoes with my tits and naked cunt just out there.

Come on, dinner is ready.

Lamb cooked in a Moroccan sauce, followed by vanilla ice cream and a fabulous red wine.

Then back to the lounge. She sat on a sofa pulling her skirt as she sat so that her knickerless cunt was exposed.

Why don’t you have some more dessert? she purred.

It was obvious what she meant so i went down between her parted thighs and set my tongue to work on her clit and cunt. I pride myself im good at licking cunt. And Toni certainly wasn’t complaining as i pushed my tongue into her. We had been going for about ten minutes when she leant towards me and pulled my head in tight to her cunt. You know how that feels mouth pressed jaw almost cracking, and then she shuddered again and again and the sweetest juice flowed in to my mouth and down my chin.

When she had finished she gently pushed me back and looked at me.

You are such an exquisite little thing, she said, and Chris says I can have you whenever I want. She paused. If you would like.

My fingers had been between my fingers all the time I had been down on her and my body chose just this moment to rock me and put an earthquake in me so hard i fell backwards.

When i had finished and saw herm smiling one eyebrow raised.

“Yes please.”

Good, follow me.

She took me through the dining room, through a door – the one she had used to exit the night of the Samhain party and into the kitchen where the housekeeper was sipping a glass of wine.

She introduced me to her. Even I was getting self conscious now being introduced to this very efficient lady in a service dress almost out of the 1930s and I’m wearing just stockings and suspenders and heels with noticeably wet inner thighs.

I was apparently to have my own room where I would stay when necessary. Then it was back to the lounge for a brandy.

A little later the door bell rang. Chris was ushered in and he kissed Toni on the cheeks and me on the lips and we left. Ah ha you say but she is not wearing anything. I wasn’t. At the door the House keeper had my Samhain dress and the dress I had arrived in that evening wrapped in plastic like u would get at a dry cleaners.

“I’m keeping these.” Toni said picking up my knickers from a small table. Then naked me was out in the cold air running to the car which Chris had heated to the max.

As we drove home he asked me if i had enjoyed myself. I told him all about it and then there was another naked run from the garage to the lift to our flat.

I asked him about what Toni had said, that he had agreed that she could have me whenever she wanted.

“That a problem?”

“No.”

“Alright then.”

He pushed me down on to the rug , unzipped his trousers, let his cock out and fucked my almost naked body with his fully dressed one until I came and he filled my dripping cunt with cum.

#free use slvt

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daimyosprincess · 2 years ago

Text

PART III: DEDICATION

—PARING: Professor!Boba Fett x F!Librarian!Reader

—SERIES RATING: Explicit, 18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

—SUMMARY: Professor Fett makes good on his promise to give you everything you deserve.

—WORD COUNT: 8.6k

—TAGS & WARNINGS: second person narration, no use of y/n, explicit sexual content, alternate universe, professor!Boba, age gap relationship between an older man and younger woman (reader is mid-twenties and Boba is late forties), reader described as having enough hair to grab, Dom/sub power dynamics (Dom!Boba and sub!reader), BDSM elements, oral sex (fem receiving), unprotected p in v sex (wrap it up irl) (also I’ve decided this AU includes safe, effective birth control since we’re fantasizing anyways), use of restraints (reader's hands are bound), dirty talk, lots of pet names, lots of praise, some more self-discovery

As always, let me know if I missed anything that needs to be tagged! Mando'a translations at the end.

—AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is 8.6k words of pure smut to make up for Part II's cliffhanger 😈 We’re seeing a softer side of both Boba and the reader in Parts II and III as they establish and build their trust in one another. But fret not, their regularly scheduled banter will be back in Part IV! A big thank you to @rexxdjarin and @agirlnamejacq for betaing, and thank you my beautiful readers for your all support and feedback 💖

Read on AO3 — Series Masterlist — Taglist

“Are you ready, pretty girl? Can I make you feel good now, give you your reward?”

“Please, Boba, please. I want you, I want you more than anything.”

“You have me, princess, I’m all yours.”

Maybe heaven is a place on earth or maybe it’s a place spun in the stars, but either way, it’s got to be wherever he is. Wherever the warm passion of his lips kissing all of you that came into his reach as he slipped your dress from your shoulders. Wherever his large, battle-worn hands traced over your body from head to toe in reverential worship as he laid you out on his bed. Wherever the solid breadth of his shoulders stood between your thighs as he parted them with promises of anything and everything the universe has to offer.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful… so soft and perfect. I want you to keep your arms up, sweetheart. Can you do that for me? Keep your hands up over your head?”

“I can’t touch you? I want to touch you.”

“All in good time, little one. Now be a good girl and do as you’re told.”

“Yes, s-sir.”

Spread over his luxurious sheets that smelled of him with your legs open and arms above your head, bare except for the soaked lace covering your center, you’re sure wherever heaven is, Boba Fett is there. Because heaven is only heaven if there’s hell to heat it. After kissing his way down your body inch by tender inch, he’s settled between your trembling thighs, his expression devout as sin as his gaze scrapes up your nearly naked body to find your hungry eyes. His tongue slips out from between his kiss-swollen lips and your stomach constricts almost painfully in anticipation, only for him to run it over his lips and retract it.

A small whine sounds in the back of your throat and he grins, planting wet kisses everywhere but your center. You’re swimming in rapids of your desire, unable to gain a footing in the torrid wash of it.

Boba chuckles deep and warm and you can almost feel the vibrations in your cunt. “Use your words, little one, tell me what you want… let me hear it and I promise I'll lick up that pussy so good.” His syrupy words are so hot and surgery they’re going to make you melt right through the mattress straight to flames below.

You huff, throwing your head back and bunching the sheets between your fingers. “I thought this was supposed to be my reward.” You want it, you want him, and you know he’s got to be painfully hard by the way he’s grinding into the mattress. You’re wound up and impatient with want, chafing at the constraints he’s set. Why won’t he just do it already?

Boba sinks his fingers deeper into your thighs, massaging the tension held there. “It is, princess, but you’re still fighting it. Let go.”

You huff again, unable to pinpoint what you’re doing wrong. “I am,” you insist, desperate distress running through your words, “I’m keeping my arms up and being polite and-”

“Shhh shhh,” he soothes, “I know, and you’re being so good for me.” He peppers little kisses across your thigh that make you tingle and sparkle. “But that’s not what I mean. You have to get out of that pretty head of yours.”

You groan in frustration—you don’t know what that means or how to do it. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you look down at the man of your wildest fantasies inches away from where you want him most; it takes every atom in your body to resist putting his mouth right where you want it so you can just forget about everything instead. Rule number two, respect myself… that means asking questions when I’m confused.

“Can you tell me how to… you know… do that?” you ask haltingly, biting down on your lip to stem the tide of uncomfortable insecurity rising up within you. You’re not used to feeling unsure and you don’t want to disappoint him by not being able to do something as simple as “letting go.”

The smile that beams from his face dissipates your fog of doubt. “That’s my smart girl, following the rules so well,” he praises in his deep timbre, and you glow in the shine of his praise. As if he can read your mind, he adds gently, “Never feel ashamed to ask questions, princess, there’s no shame here. I like that you trust me to show you all these new things, and asking questions lets me know you’re minding the rules and listening to your body.”

Your shoulders hunch, your gaze dropping to your chest. “But don’t they kind of… ruin the moment?”

“Little one, the moment’s not worth it if you aren't enjoying yourself,” he answers gently.

Your head jerks up, your eyes scrabbling to find his. He’s so patient and safe it makes your heart feel impossibly full, so full it might even burst into stardust. You don’t catch your hands before they’re reaching for him, pulling his face to come to yours. Chuckling, he obliges you, shifting himself up the mattress so his lips can meet yours. Mid-kiss you realize your mistake and drop your hands back behind you, ducking your head. “Sorry,” you mumble against his lips, “Forgot my hands.”

He smiles, placing a last kiss on your lips before pulling back to look at you. His dark eyes flick over you briefly, then a satisfied look comes across his face as if he’s come to a decision that pleases him. “I think I know something that might help.” He pushes up from the bed and pads across the room to his closet, stepping in and rustling around for a bit. A minute later, he emerges with something folded in his hands.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he beckons you over and you curl into his lap, once again content with his heat against your skin, even if it’s through his clothes. Boba opens his palms, revealing a length of buttery smooth, black silky fabric about two inches wide. You run the tips of your fingers over the luxe material, noting the way it feels like cool water under your touch, and he lets it pool in your hands for your further examination.

Snaking an arm around your waist, Boba pulls you tight against him, his other hand coming to rest just above your knee. “We can talk normally right now, princess, since we’re taking a break.” You hum an affirmative and he continues, “I think you’re having trouble because you’re fighting the physical feeling of letting go even if mentally you’ve decided that’s what you want. That can feel a little scary, yeah?” You bob your head in agreement where it rests on his shoulder. “And I'm thinking you always had to make sure your pleasure was also taken care of before. Does that sound right?”

You nod. While you had enjoyed the sex you’d had in the past—you only gave if you got—there was always the lingering possibility that you would be left unsatisfied if you didn’t maintain enough control to chase your own release.

A knowing grumble sounds in his throat. “I thought so. Doesn’t help you’re a stubborn little thing who likes to raise hell every step of the way, either,” he pokes, giving you a playful squeeze.

You giggle, twisting to press kisses on his jaw. “You like it.”

You can feel him smile at your assertion, a sound of agreement rumbling in his chest. “I want to take my time with you, little one, and I want you to be able to enjoy it as much as I do. Usually I would wait to introduce something like this until a little later since this is all new to you, but I think this,” he pauses, tapping a finger on the black satin, “will help.”

“To get you out of your head, you need something to fight against and ground you, something that makes you realize you're safe but that there’s no escaping… that the only option is to let whatever is going to happen, happen. That’s what letting go is. I’ll decide what you feel, when you feel it, how… all you have to do is let it happen because I’m going to take care of you and I’m going to make sure you feel amazing. How’s that sound, pretty girl?”

The image he paints in your mind has you squirming in his lap. It sounds fantastic, if only your brain could get the memo and relax so Boba could whisk you off to pleasures unknown. You tell him so, asking about the black fabric in your hands. A molten heat creeps down your spine at the thought of that silky smooth material circling around your limbs, holding you fast to his will; if you’re honest with yourself, you’re surprised by how turned on the thought of being bound by the professor makes you.

A few minutes later, Boba is doing just as he described: looping the binding around your wrists with expert knots to the hidden clip on the headboard, carefully explaining how the way he’s tying you makes sure the knots can’t get too tight around your arms and hurt you. You’re giddy with excitement and it makes you want to wiggle and tease him while he works; he’s so close and you can see how hard he is through his pants. Your desire for him to know you’re listening and that you appreciate the care he’s taking with your comfort keeps you in check, however.

The more you think about his plan while he works—to tie your hands up over your head and have you keep your eyes closed while he takes what he wants from you with his tongue—the wetter and more impatient you get. You won’t be able to stop him from devouring you all tied up, you wouldn’t be able to wriggle free from his strong grip or even anticipate his next move with your eyes screwed shut because he’d stop if you opened your eyes. You’re going to be prey at the mercy of a predator who has every intention of eating you alive… and you have every intention of letting him do it.

“Are you ready, little one?” Boba asks from the end of the bed where he’s admiring his handiwork, his gaze lingering on the black bindings, your eyes, your tits. You pout when you realize he isn't exposing any more of himself, keeping his body hidden from you. Noting your displeasure, he cocks his head at you. “What’s that look for?”

“I want your clothes off,” you whine, hoping the pitiful pitch of your voice will convince him to strip down. You’ve been dreaming of what he looks underneath all those expensive clothes, how the roll of his impossibly broad shoulders would flex every muscle down his back in salacious exertion, or how his thick thighs would tense and shiver when you scrape your nails up them while you took him down your throat.

He huffs in amusement, shaking his head. “I make those decisions, sweetheart.”

“Can I at least have your shirt off so I can feel that it’s you?”

That catches him by surprise, his confident swagger slacking for a heartbeat before returning. “Will that make it easier for you or are you just being impatient?” he asks, his tone deliberate. “Remember to tell me the truth, that’s a rule.”

“Easier for me,” you answer honestly, “You make me feel safe and I want to be reminded that it’s you.” His eyes soften to something you’ve never seen on him before, something hidden in the abyss of him that’s seeing the light for the first time. It’s only a flicker of a thing, then it’s gone, but it makes your heart twinge. Maybe he needs me to care for him too, maybe this is how I do it.

He swallows and nods. “Alright then, princess.” He makes quick work of the shell buttons and folds the shirt over the back of the chair next to his dresser. What’s revealed to you makes your insides clench and the room feel hot: bronze skin painted with silver scars and geometric tattoos that cover the thick muscles of his chest and broad shoulders, his slightly softer belly and wraps over the trunk of his torso.

Your eyes drink him in, your mouth watering at the sight of this beautiful man. Quenching yourself on the vision of him, your gaze roves over every centimeter of skin he’s allowed you, from the crown of his head to the dusting of dark hair trailing tantalizingly down into his gray pants. Your hips roll forward just a bit, seeking friction, and you suck your bottom lip between your teeth. Fuck he’s hot… I want to trace every tattoo on his body with my tongue until I have them committed to memory.

He flashes you a grin that’s all teeth, the easy confidence he feels in his own skin radiating off him like an ocean gale. “Like what you see, pretty girl?”

You bob your head up and down fervently, eager to demonstrate your awe for every piece of him he lets you have. “Yes, sir,” you add quickly, remembering your manners—you would be just as good to him as he is to you.

Keeping the depths of his eyes locked on your face, he comes around the bed with the grace of a panther circling its next meal, and stops at your side. He tugs the restraint holding your hands up a final time, grunting his approval at its strength. “If you’re ready, close your eyes and tell me out loud, princess.”

You sigh in contentment: you’re finally getting what you want. You want to be good for him, you’d put up your fight and now you were ready for your reward. Your eyes slide shut and you tug just barely at your silky restraint; feeling the tightness of your bonds makes your thighs press together in anticipation. “I’m ready, sir.”

The bed dips as Boba moves to settle back in front of you and your thighs fall open in an offering of submission, eliciting a low groan from the professor. “This what you needed, princess?” he drawls, dragging kisses up the insides of your calves as his hands massage up your legs. “Someone to make you just lie there and take it?” He nips at the softer skin above your knee and a moan slips from your lips before you can stifle it, the raw dominance and masculinity of him dredging up something pliant and latent from the depths of your desire.

A warm, hazy feeling begins to bloom in your belly, the heavy ambrosia of it spreading outwards into your limbs and weighing you into the downy mattress. As the sensation licks up your ribs and into your chest, Boba moves farther up your legs, planting flushed kisses up your thighs while his hands continue to rub away the tension lingering in your body. The golden wave fills your lungs and throat, but it doesn’t feel like drowning; rather, it’s like you’ve learned to breathe underwater in the sunny shallows of a peaceful reef, protected and safe. Exhaling the last hooked resistance from your chest, you allow yourself to slip under the dappled surface.

“That’s it, there you go, I’ve got you,” Boba praises softly into your skin when all your muscles go slack and loose under him. He begins surveying a map of your pleasure, dragging his lips over your heated skin to find your most tender points, testing and teasing your increasing sensitivity to his touch. He continues to avoid where you want him most, however.

Sucking in a deep breath, you squeeze your closed eyes tighter. “P-please,” you stutter, your appeal dripping from your lips with a whimper, “please.”

A rumble of gratitude sounds from the man below, his hands stroking your thighs reassuringly. “That’s my good girl, using her manners,” he coos, his warm breath fanning over the slick skin inches from his face. Nuzzling into the crease of your hip, he sucks his mark into the sensitive flesh before sanctifying his work with a graze of his lips as you whimper from his ministrations. “You’ve done so good for me, been so patient. Now open those beautiful eyes, princess,” he coaxes, pressing your hips flat with his open palms, “I want you to see how pretty your soaked pussy looks with my tongue in it.”

His words go straight to your clit and a moan filters through your chest—you can actually feel the fresh arousal coating your folds. Prying your eyes open, you blink his broad form into focus below you. Visually confirming he has your attention, Boba leans into your center just as promised and licks the most delicious, wet stripe up your sopping panties, his tongue flicking over your clit at the very end. Boba groans and mumbles curses into the tender skin of your thigh. “Fuck, you taste better than I ever could have imagined, sweetheart. Sweetest thing I’ve ever had.”

“You… you thought about me?” you gasp around your pleasure, your nerves sparking as his rough fingertips come up to trace your nipples. The thought of him aching for you the same way you had for him makes your pulse throb in your core. His tweaks your nipples and you let out a rather undignified squeak that earns you a chuckle from the man below you.

Looping his thumbs under the waistband of your lingerie, Boba pulls the fabric taunt, stretching it thin and guiding it slowly over your desperate clit to generate a tormenting amount of friction. “Every single day since you first opened that mouth of yours, pretty girl. Couldn’t get you out of my karking head. Wanted to taste you, smell you, feel you—it was torture.”

You moan, bucking your hips against the garment and pulling against your restraints to seek out more of him.

Seeing your enthusiastic reaction to his admission, Boba continues, his deep voice vibrating all the way down to your bones. “Didn’t help when you started laying in my office every day in all those little sundresses. Wanted to throw your legs over my shoulders and make you come all over my face every single time. But that's what you wanted, isn’t it? That’s why you wore them, hoping I’d ask for a taste, dirty girl.”

Fuck. You’re gushing like a goddamn waterfall and Boba hasn’t even really touched you yet. It’s so much and not enough, and you know his tongue in your pussy would be the answer to all your problems. “Please,” you try again, high and desperate, “I want your tongue.”

“Oh, I know you do, sweetheart,” he smolders, mocking and sympathy twisting together, “lift your hips.” You immediately obey and he slides your panties off, tossing them over his shoulder. He wastes no time settling back between your legs, wrapping his muscled arms around your thighs to hold them open. A jagged curse hisses from his lips when your glistening folds are finally fully revealed. “Prettiest little pussy I’ve ever seen,” he breathes out, almost to himself, “been dreaming about this pussy and now it’s all karking mine.”

Before his words even finish forming, he’s on you, groaning like a man starved as he licks into you with a branding tongue that has your eyes rolling back. It’s hot and wet and urgent, and primal need cries out from the innate, subconscious part of yourself: you want to please him to the core of your being. When the heavenly heat of his mouth breaks from your core, you choke on a sob of disappointment, tilting your face down at him. He looks almost as wrecked as you feel, and you clench around nothing at the prospect of you holding as much power over him as he does you.

“Look at me, princess,” he pants raggedly, his words charred over with desire, “I want you to look at me while I'm eating out your sweet little pussy.”

“Yes, sir!” You’re way past pride at this point; you’d hop on foot while turning in circles if it meant he’d put his tongue back on you.

He smirks and dives back in, licking up all the slick from your folds before kissing his way up to your clit. He groans as you shiver at the contact on your most sensitive part, his tongue coming back out to flutter over it… and then he sucks. Bright stars explode at the edges of your vision, and your back arches off the bed. The sound bursts forth from your lungs is one of pure, unbridled pleasure: nothing compares to this, nothing, not when it’s him, finally him. You’ve never felt this fucking good before and you never want to feel anything else again. Now that he’s got you on the tip of his tongue, you want to feel him everywhere. Kissing your lips, sucking on your breasts, throbbing inside you, everywhere.

You cry out in half-broken curses when he sucks your clit into his mouth again and shakes his head back and forth, the combination of sensations flooding your nerves with crackling snaps of pleasure. Your knees try to close around his head but the iron grip on your thighs doesn’t let you move an inch; you really are just going to have to lie there and take it. You yank against the ties holding your hands and a moan scrapes up your throat at the realization that you really won’t be able to get free, that his man is going to lick and slurp up your pussy and there’s nothing you can do about it. It’s a freedom unlike any you’ve ever known—and you’re going to revel in the glory of it.

Boba must be able to feel your revelation somehow because he detaches from your pussy with a wet pop that smacks against your nerves. “That’s it, that’s my girl,” he coos, rubbing his palms up and down your thighs, “It’s so much better this way isn’t it? So much better when you let go and let me give you what you need. Now, I’m going to let go of this leg and you’re going to keep it open for me. I need to get you ready, little princess, stretch you out on my fingers so you’re nice and ready for my cock. Let me hear that you understand.”

Fuck, if his dick’s like the rest of him I’m going to need it. You manage to voice your understanding with a shudder at the thought of just how full he could fill you.

Bringing his right hand up to your face, he traces the rough pad of his trigger finger across the seam of your lips. “Open,” he commands simply, “Get these nice and wet for me.” You obey and he slides his middle two fingers into your waiting mouth with a groan; you delight in the task, sucking and licking at the thick fingers crowding your mouth, much to Boba’s relish. “So eager, I like that, princess. That why you run that brat mouth all the time? You want me to stick something in it?”

You just grin around his fingers in response, then sink your mouth all the way down to their base as you blink big blowjob eyes down at him. Boba hisses, his hips jerking into the bed beneath him but he recovers quickly, popping his appendages from your lips. “Watch it, don’t get in trouble.”

“I told you, sir, I like trouble,” you giggle, biting your lip as you smirk down at him. Holding your gaze, he sticks out his tongue and rests the flat of it against your swollen clit, and the rest of your thoughts fizzle out into sparkling dots of pleasure with a gasp.

“Mmm, yeah, that’s what I thought,” he hums against you, tracing his slicked middle finger along your entrance, “If you want to talk so much, sweetheart, why don’t you tell me why I should let you fuck my fingers.” He notches his digit at your dripping opening, setting you aflame with fresh desire. “Go ahead then, let me hear it.”

Now that your earlier unease has subsided, you can't help but seize the opportunity to snark back at him. “Because if you don’t, you can’t put your dick in me,” you answer smugly, shimmying your hips in front of his face.

Boba’s eyes darken with a dangerous tint, his brow arching at your bold response. “Better try again or you’ll get nothing, brat.”

His patience is stretched as thin as yours now and you want nothing more than to make him snap first. You snort, cocking your head to the side. “Oh, I think you want this pussy too bad to give me nothing, sir.”

Retracting from your core, Boba lifts himself off of you to sit up on his haunches. “Well,” he sighs dramatically, puffing out his cheeks and wiping the slick off his chin with the back of his hand, “since you don’t want to listen, you won’t get your reward. It’s a real shame too, princess, you were being so good earlier. Guess I’ll have to send you home with nothing but a sore ass to show for it.”

He shifts like he's about to get off the bed and you snap against your restraints in sudden panic: shitshitshit. If you don’t have him guts-deep tonight you’re not going to survive. “Wait, no, please! I’ll be good, I swear, I didn’t mean it before, please! Let me try again!” you plead, instant regret sending pangs of dread up your spine.

Tutting, he shakes his head. “I already let you try a second time and you only acted worse. What’s there to make me think a third time will be any better, hmm?”

The way his dark eyes are glittering with everything but mercy only turns you on more, dread coiling alongside the desire in your belly. “Third time’s the charm?” you squeak out, flashing him your most sincere smile and batting your lashes. You can do this, you tell yourself, you can flirt your way out of just about anything… right?

Boba barks out a sharp laugh, tossing his head back in amusement. “Alright then, little brat, let’s hear it.” He folds his thick arms over his chest expectantly, and you have force your brain to actually think instead of admiring the way his biceps looked pressed firm or the way his tattoos gleam in the low light.

Pressing your lips together, swallow against the rising tide of heat flooding up from your core. Rather than risk playing your cards wrong, you offer him the unadulterated truth. “I just want you so kriffing bad it makes me forget myself, I’m sorry,” you simper, blinking up at him, “Please fuck me open with your fingers, my pussy needs you, I need you, please don’t leave me like this. I’ll be so so good and take everything you give me. I want to be good for you, I… I just can’t help it sometimes.” Your eyes drop and your teeth worry at your lip; you wish you could reach out and touch him, to trace your intentions into his skin and over his scars with tender care.

“Aw, little princess, you can be so sweet when you want to, can’t you?”

You peek up at him through your lashes. He’s smiling, smug and satisfied, but his brown eyes betray the genuine warmth to his sentiment. You nod quickly, sticking out your bottom lip. Boba dips down, kissing you and nipping at it, while his fingers ghost down your ribs to slip over your stomach. Your breath hitches as he drags them through the mess of slick between your thighs, coating his fingers in your arousal, and you arch up into him as far as you can with the silky bindings around your wrists.

Dragging his fingers lazily over your clit with slow friction, Boba licks his way back down your body to retake his place between your thighs where he tosses one of your legs over his strong shoulder in a move that has you clenching around nothing. You’re already trembling from the tight tension winding up in your lower half and the dark look in his eye as he presses his thumb against your apex and begins to rub at a delicious pace. The sensuous waves of your long awaited pleasure roll up your body, flooding your nerves with rosy heat and pulling a high whine from your throat.

Boba grunts approvingly, throwing a heavy arm over your hips to keep you from bucking out of his grasp. “Feel good, sweetheart? Yeah, I know it does. Look at you, making a mess of my sheets. I bet I could make you come just like this, just by rubbing that cute little clit of yours for a little longer. Mmm, maybe some other time, because now I gotta get that tight cunt ready for me.”

“Please,” you gasp, your brain already muddled with hazy pleasure, “please, I want to feel you… feel all of you.” The better you feel, the greater your ache for him grows; you need him inside you, you need your body to give him the revelry you knew it could bring him. You thirst, crave, hunger to be the source of his joy and gratification, to be the reason he lets go and comes apart, to be his blinding peace in a dark universe.

“Mmm such good manners. Don’t worry, I’m going to take care of you, little one, gonna give you just what you need.” His thumb is replaced by his warm tongue flicking over that bundle of nerves with maddening precision, its rough texture making the bubbling heat in your core spike. The babble of pleasure that streams from your lips chokes off when two of his thick fingers slide effortlessly into you with a lewd squelch. “Oh, princess,” he groans into you, his hips thrusting into the mattress, “you’re-fuck-you’re perfect here, too.”

He’s struck a seam of desire so deep in your stratum you almost crack open from the feeling of his calloused fingers and voice alone. “Fuuuuck, please, please, I want your cock inside of me,” you beg, shameless and searing, your hips rolling down to take more of him. Boba doesn’t respond, he just begins pumping his fingers, curling and scissoring them inside you while he laps at your clit with moans of delight. Pent up and overwhelmingly turned on, you’re not far from your release when he brushes against that spot tucked away in your core.

Eruptions of light score the backs of your eyes and pure energy arches your spine. “Fuck, yes! Right there, right fucking there,” you cry out, grinding your shaking hips down onto him. Your muscles burn with exertion as you fight against the satin material snaked around your arms, the feeling fueling the explosion of pleasure building inside you at a frightening pace. This man is going to be your marvelous undoing.

“Right here?” he grunts against you, the wrecked bass of his voice vibrating though your burning core, “This gonna make you come, princess? This gonna make you soak my fingers and slick up my face?” He’s hooked himself against that devastating spot inside your cunt and it’s driving nearly insane as you try and wring your next words out.

The words are choked and strained as all your muscles twist dizzyingly tight around the intensity of your impending release. “Yes, fuck yes, yes!” Your head is thrown back between your shoulders and you’re shamelessly riding his tongue, taking every ounce of pleasure he gives you. Streaks of stars singe the backs of your eyelids as you shoot higher and higher into the atmosphere of your ecstasy—much closer and you’ll be consumed by the heat of his white-hot sun. “I’m gonna, I’m gonna-”

“Fuck, come for me, ner cyare, come for me and let me hear how beautiful you fucking sound when coming on my tongue,” he moans in a dripping, heady voice. He draws your clit back between his lips and flicks his tongue over it through the heavenly suction.

Everything shatters and you scream as the now unbearable heat of your orgasm pours down your throat, shorting out your nerves, and liquefying your consciousness into a pool of Boba Fett’s making. You’re beautifully ruined and you’re finally his, divine and free.

He rides you through your high, coaxing every last particle of pleasure from your molten heat, curses and praises swirling together in his arousal-roughened timbre. In the gossamer aftermath of your climax, you hazily watch him suck your shining release from his fingers like it's a rare nectar to be savored. The hum of his words might be telling you so but they’re so far away from your understanding, you’ll never know, especially when he begins hurriedly stripping off the remainder of his clothes.

His gray slacks reveal muscular thighs and powerful hips, and you long to drag your tongue down the “V” line of his abdomen and nip at his hip bones. When his hand strokes over the hard bulge hidden by his underwear, you moan and weakly pull against your ties—you want to be doing that for him.

“Something the matter, princess?” he asks, his voice just barely wavering with his restraint as he continues to lazily palm himself to the sight of your open thighs coated in your glistening orgasm.

“Let me-let me taste you, sir, please,” you plead, your voice wrought with desire, “Let me show just how grateful and sweet I can be.” Your mouth waters and you crave the weight of him on your tongue, the pressure on your throat, his taste lingering on your lips.

“As much as I want to let you choke on my cock, pretty girl, the first thing I want to feel is that tight pussy swallowing me. Can’t wait anymore,” he rasps, a hint of unfamiliar desperation darkening his words. “You wanna be untied or you want to stay up, sweetheart? Talk to me.”

He’s standing next to the bed looking like sin itself and you don’t hesitate to give him your answer. “Untied, wanna touch you, wanna hold you, please Boba.”

The sweet strain of your voice saying his name has him sucking in a sharp breath as he bends over your bound body. “Whatever you want, princess, I’ll give you whatever you want,” he promises with a moan into the sweat-slicked skin of your throat as his fingers deftly untie the silk binding your wrists without the need for his eyes.

As soon as you're free, you jump to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him close but he catches your elbows above your head. You whine, struggling weakly in his firm grasp to feel the sweet relief of his skin on yours. You need him on you more than you need to breathe.

“Easy, little one, you’re going to hurt yourself like that. Be easy, I’m not going anywhere,” his stormful voice soothes. He sets his mouth over yours, kissing you deep as the ocean and just as powerful, his strong hands rubbing the stiffness from your joints gently. You sigh at his touch, dissolving like sparkling sea foam on his sheltered shores. “That’s it, there you go. I’m so sorry, babygirl, I should’ve told you that you have be slow coming out of restraints. You okay?”

“‘m okay, ‘s alright,” you slur, still dazed and happy from the balm of his touch. His resulting frown is like a cloud blocking the sun of him from shining down on you, and you blink his face into focus to see what’s depriving you.

“No, it’s not, it’s my job to take care of you, make sure you're only hurt in the ways you want to be.” He eases your arms down to lay across your chest and places a light kiss on the tip of your nose. “The rules apply to me, too, little one.”

If he’s not careful, he really is going to make my heart burst. Wiggling your eyebrows up at him from where you’re sprawled on his bed, you give him a sly grin. “You want me to punish you for breaking the rules?”

He snorts, a smirk cracking through the downturn of his mouth. “Do you want to?”

You scrunch up your lips and roll your eyes up in exaggerated consideration before proclaiming, “For you penance, professor, you must bring me some water and then fuck me silly.”

The most divine laugh spills from his lips, wide and resonant. “As you wish, princess.” He disappears towards the bathroom and you push yourself up the mattress to prop yourself up on his plush pillows. He returns a minute later with a glass of cool water and some ibuprofen. “Go ahead and take these so you’re not as sore later,” he offers, wrapping your waiting fingers around the cup.

You offer him a grateful smile and tip back the pills with the water in a few greedy gulps. Thirst slaked and immediate needs met, your eyes wander back over to the man next to you, scouring every inch of him in open hunger. The topography of his scars and the patterns of his tattoos tell a story that is so uniquely him, and you’re dying to learn every word of it, commit it to memory with your hands and mouth. The notion that you even get to be a mere sentence in his tale is as baffling as it is exhilarating.

“Boba…” His name falls from your lips that still taste of him, of relentless strength and innate power. You want him, all of him. You want to hear his groans and feel the drag of him in your most sensitive spots, you want to be his pleasure and his solace.

He’s on you in an instant, finally allowing the fates to bring you together fully and completely. He takes and you let him, you arch into his touch and pant his name, tasting and kissing him like he’s something to be worshiped, like that thing isn’t already you. It’s hopeless exuberance and fervent longing, it’s things hoped for and the universe’s rare grace. It’s everything, it’s history, it’s life’s meaning. It’s him.

You want him like a fire needs fuel or the ocean needs the moon, terribly and crucially. He’s the immovable object that grounds your unstoppable force. You crave the balance he brings to your scales, you need him. He’s hot and heavy over you, melding himself into you with rolling hips and possessive hands, molding you to the shape of him. “Boba.” You utter his name like the prayer it is. “Please.”

“I know, sweet girl, I know.” He cups your jaw in the hollow of his hand, running his other down your thigh to hook it over his hip. “I’m going to give it all to you, princess, I’m going to give you everything.” He lines himself up with your dripping, yearning heat and finally sinks into the space he was always meant to fill.

A curse is just a blessing sent to the devil, and the way Boba makes you feel like the very essence of divine femininity has you singing hell’s praises. The way the thickness of him stretches you out has to be a sin for the way it makes you feel so unbelievably full and warm and his. The first thrust of his hips has your eyes rolling back and your nails scratching down his back in pure ecstasy.

“Kark, princess, shit. Knew you would feel amazing,” Boba grits out through bared teeth, his fingers pressing their mark into your skin, “Osik, so tight and wet, so perfect just for me. Shoulda bent you over your desk that very first day, I know you would’ve let me, my dirty little girl. Should’ve never left without filling up that sweet cunt.” Boba apparently can’t shut up now that he’s got you and it’s going straight to your throbbing clit. His hips snap against your own and you both moan into each other’s open mouth when he’s fully seated in your velvet heat.

“Please, more,” you plead, “please give me more, sir. I’m all yours.” You want to feel him for weeks.

Shuddering, Boba grinds himself impossibly deeper into you. “Keep looking at me like that, sweetheart, and I’ll-fuck-I’ll give you anything you fucking want.”

A tremor of blistering heat rakes over you, and you surge forward and take his lips, biting down on the plush of his lower lip. “Do it, give it to me, give me everything, I want you, please, sir.”

Boba groans and sets a driving, urgent pace that you just know neither of you are going to last with. “I’ve waited so long for this, dreamed about making you come apart on my cock. Kark, I want to take my time with you, princess, but the way your tight little pussy is squeezing me I don’t think I’m going to last long. You feel so good, taste like heaven, and sound so sweet, y-you’re perfect. You’re worth every goddamn minute I spent waiting to find you,” he pants, his breath haphazard as his thrusts snap harder and deeper as if he could drill his words into your cunt, “shit-I’m going to fuck you just like you deserve, princess, fuck you so good you can never forget how much you mean to me, my sweet, precious girl.”

You can see the nebula of your release in the deep space of his eyes, each drag of his cock against your pulsing walls ratcheting you further into the desire-dark galaxy of him. His hand brushes over the swell of your belly to find your clit and he rubs sloppy circles that have you making sounds you’ve never made before. "Oh princess, sweetheart, pretty baby… fuck, do you know how good you feel? Even better than all the heavens… you're so fucking perfect and your sweet little cunt is strangling me. I'm gonna fuck you so good, gonna fuck you so you feel me for kriffing days, fuck, gonna…"

You throw an arm around his neck and crash his lips into yours. His sweat drips from his collarbone to trickle down the valley of your breasts, the feather light sensation so erotic that you almost come again from that alone. "Shit, Boba, you’re so fucking good-so fucking good to me, best I’ve ever had, all I ever want. Please, please don’t stop, I want all of you inside of me, make me yours, fuck, I love you, d-don’t stop!”

“Osik, ner cyare, it’s all yours, you’re all mine, only, all…” Boba breaks off with a snarl, lacing his fingers in yours with one hand and slamming it above you while his other slides under your neck to yank your head back by your hair. You contort in primal pleasure and the new angle has him pounding against that universe-shattering spot. “Come on, come on, one more time for me sweetheart, I know you have it in you, let me feel that perfect pussy come on my cock o-one more time and I swear I’ll fill you up so full,” he growls into your exposed throat before latching onto your pulse point and sinking in his teeth to mark you as his alone.

You cry out into the white light exploding around you, a million stars imploding into a sparkling dust that filters through your lungs and into your blood. Cataclysmic heat fills your insides a moment later and you’re suddenly whole for the first time in your entire existence, the laws of your universe finally coming together into one unified equation. You were, you are, you became, you will, all at once and all forever.

You’re softly curled on top of Boba with one arm behind his neck and the other folded across his broad chest, your fingers stroking patterns on his shoulder with your leg slung over his thigh. It’s utter bliss, you never want to move again. Just lie on his perfect, warm chest and be in faultless paradise forever, be painted into one of those masterpieces that hang in a museum—sublime and beautiful for all time, admired and envied by those who have to carry on living. If only.

You hear your name rumbling in the ribs underneath you and you hum an acknowledgement.

“You with me, babygirl?” His gorgeous voice sounds like it’s far away even though it’s impossibly close. You don’t know what that means so shake your head and bury your face deeper into him. You’re safe here so that’s where you’ll stay, locked in golden amber, thick and precious.

Eventually, however, the time passes and you become flesh and blood again, alive and mortal. You find it’s not so bad though, not when Boba is there waiting for you. You turn your face to press your lips into the marred skin of his sternum, planting kisses over each divot and mark there before shifting so you can blink up at him happily. “Hey,” you mumble lazily, a smile unfurling on your lips. Surely, it doesn’t get better than this.

“Hey,” he murmurs with a smile like the golden sun, the corners of his eyes turning up. “How’re you, my pretty girl?”

There’s a dull, pleasant ache between your thighs. “Mmm… good, ‘s happy,” you sigh contentedly, pressing deeper into his warmth. “You?”

Boba shifts up the bed so he’s propped up on the pillows, adjusting you back over him with his hand splayed across your lower back. He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Never been better, princess.”

Peeking up, you trace a finger tip over the deep crease between his eyebrows. “What’s worrying you then?”

He takes your hand in his own and lowers it to give a light kiss. “Nothing, little one.”

You prop up on your elbow and fix him with a stern look. “I thought we only gave and took honesty when we’re like this.”

He lets out a groan, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re too smart for your own good, you know that?” He falls silent and you can tell he’s thinking, so you leave him be, patiently resting your head on his shoulder to wait. After a quiet couple of minutes, he adjusts his position slightly and you tell he’s ready. Taking your hand in his, Boba brushes his thumb over the thin skin of the inside of your wrist and begins in a tone less confident than his usual. “I… I’ve never been much good at this part of things, the talking. Always been easier to just do rather than to figure out the words to say.”

You make a warm sound of encouragement and settle deeper into him to assure him that you’re not going anywhere, that you’re listening. With your ear pressed against him, you can hear the heavy beat of his heart and deep breath he takes in before continuing. “Did you mean what you said?”

You frown, not catching his meaning. “When I said what?”

“It’s fine if you didn't… if it was just in the heat of the moment.”

You sit up so you can look him in the eye, anxiety prickling in your stomach. “Said what, Boba?” Cold dread slides down the nape of your neck. Please don’t let this be ruined, please don’t take him away from me.

He goes silent, his eyes searching for something in your own. “Never mind, it’s not important,” he finally mutters. “Forget I said anything.”

Sitting all the way up, you cross your arms over your breasts. “Absolutely kriffing not. You better tell me or I’ll never let you see me naked ever again,” you threaten, setting your jaw.

“Come on, princess,” he tries, ducking his head for a kiss; you turn your chin up so his lips can’t reach yours. A heavy sigh rattles from his chest and his brown eyes look up to the ceiling as if the answer to his problem would be scrawled across it. Finding nothing, he drops his gaze, not meeting your eyes. “Did you mean it when you said that you… love me?”

Frayed electricity floods your brain, your blood running horribly cold. Had you said that? When? Is he upset? Have you ruined everything? The memory of babbled words swells up in a sudden, terrifying wave: “I want you to make me all yours, fuck, I love you, don’t stop!”

You can never keep your big mouth shut can you? you scold yourself, Now you’ve gone and told his perfect man that you love him after one month of knowing him. Kark you’re stupid. There’s no use in denying that you said it, he clearly knows you did. Least he’s gentleman enough to not toss you out of his house immediately, allowing you to get your wits back about you after getting the best dick of your entire life. And, you guess, the last time in your entire life.

The earlier stubborn set to your shoulders droops to a sullen slope. You clear your throat, your eyes trying to find anywhere to look but at him. “I, um, I…” you trail off. Now you’re the one who has to be honest—you don’t think you could lie to him, not like this. “I did mean it… I do mean it. I shouldn’t have said it, though, I know it’s weird and I understand if you want me to leave and we go our separate ways after this.” You finally settle on a point on the other side of the room to stare at while you wait for his inevitable rejection. When it begins to bounce around in your vision, you notice that Boba is shaking underneath you. Your eyes fly to his face.

“Oh, little princess, what am I going to do with you?” he laughs, the sound not sharp or mean as you expected, but sunny and joyful, his expression elated. Cupping your face in his large hands, he brings his lips to yours, and you can feel his smile.

Is he… does he?

Pulling you back just enough to see your face, Boba brushes his thumbs across your cheekbones affectionately, his brown eyes the softest they’ve ever been. “You really are something else. Where have you been all my life?”

“Wondering when the hell you’re going to tell me what’s going on,” you huff, staving off the fretful waver in your voice. Your heart is pounding so hard in your ribs you think they might bruise, and you can scarcely breathe with the hope that your feelings are reciprocated.

He says your name in that thalassic voice of his, chucking up your chin with two fingers. “Say it again first so I know I’m not dreaming.”

Fortune favors the bold, and so does he. Looking him dead in the eye, you let go one more time for him. “I love you, Boba Fett, I really do. Four karking weeks in or not.”

He lays his warm palm on the back of your neck, guiding you forward so he can rest his forehead against yours. “I’m glad you said it, cyar’ika, because I… I love you, too.”

If he wanted to say anything else, it’s lost to the ages because you’re kissing him and you don’t intend to stop any time soon.

MANDO'A TRANSLATIONS

(ner) cyare - (my) beloved, love

cyar’ika - sweetheart, darling, (a diminutive of cyare)

osik - Mando'a curse akin to "shit"

#i nearly did myself in writing this 🥴#i am consumed by the thought of boba slipping into mando'a when things get hot and heavy #zwei writes #fanfic #ex libris fic #boba fett #boba fett x reader #boba fett x f!reader #boba fett x fem!reader #boba fett x you #boba fett fanfic #boba fett smut #boba fett fanfiction #professor!boba fett #star wars fanfiction #professor boba fett

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camisoledadparis · 14 days ago

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THIS DAY IN GAY HISTORY

based on: The White Crane Institute's 'Gay Wisdom', Gay Birthdays, Gay For Today, Famous GLBT, glbt-Gay Encylopedia, Today in Gay History, Wikipedia, and more … November 16

42 BC – Tiberius, Roman emperor, born (d.37 AD); second Roman Emperor, from the death of Augustus in CE 14 until his own death in 37 AD. Tiberius was by birth a Claudian, son of Tiberius Claudius Nero and Livia Drusilla. His mother divorced his father and was remarried to Octavian Augustus in 39 BC. Tiberius would later marry Augustus' daughter Julia the Elder (from an earlier marriage) and even later be adopted by Augustus and by this act he became a Julian. The subsequent emperors after Tiberius would continue this blended dynasty of both families for the next forty years; historians have named it the Julio-Claudian dynasty.

Tiberius was the predecessor to Caligula and he was certainly the appropriate curtain-raiser. His sexual excesses were widely known, especially when he "retired" to Capri, governing Rome via correspondence, and becoming the patron saint of that future gay mecca. Suetonius reported that Tiberius trained young boys, whom he called his "minnows," to stay between his legs while he was swimming so they could lick and nibble him until he came. Suetonius reports that Tiberius can be credited with the "daisy chain" or spintriae - a conga line of people joined front and back in sexual congress.

1502 – Sandro Botticelli (c.1445- 1510) is accused of sodomy but the charges were dropped. The summary of the charge reads: "Botticelli keeps a boy." Botticelli was an Italian painter of the Early Renaissance. He belonged to the Florentine School under the patronage of Lorenzo de Medici. Botticelli’s posthumous reputation suffered until the late 19th century; since then, his work has been seen to represent the linear grace of Early Renaissance painting.

1942 – Barton Lidice Beneš, born in Hackensack, New Jersey (d.2012), was an artist who lived and worked in New York City. He studied at Pratt Institute, Brooklyn, New York and Beaux-Arts, Avignon, France.

His father, the son of Czech immigrants gave him his middle name in memory of Lidice, the Czech town destroyed by the Nazis that year. He grew up in Queens with Czech-born grandparents, who instilled in him a dedication to the Roman Catholic traditions of reliquaries and memorials to the dead.

Barton Beneš' art incorporated shadow boxes filled with bits and pieces that revealed the myths and ironies of life. The fragments in Beneš' work often involved famous people and events, from a piece of Elizabeth Taylor's shoe to a crumb from the wedding cake of the Prince of Wales. His travelling exhibition series about AIDS, "Lethal Weapons," was the focus of an independent documentary film released in 1997. "Lethal Weapons" consisted of 30 vessels such as a water pistol, an atomizer, and hollow darts, all filled with the artist's or other people's HIV-infected blood.

Another work, "Brenda," was a wall relief carpeted with red AIDS-awareness ribbons and slathered with a coat of gray paste made from the cremated remains of a woman who had died of AIDS. "I absolutely hate those [AIDS] ribbons," he said, contending that wearing them did nothing more than assuage people's consciences.

Although galleries and museums refused to show this work, they were displayed without incident at the North Dakota Museum of Art in 1993. Beneš did not forget the courage and commitment to art of this prairie institution. When he died he left instructions to be cremated and have his remains placed in a pillowcase on his bed. The bed was the central part Beneš last completed and most personal work, his 850-square-foot home in Greenwich Village containing thousands of objects including masks and religious relics and the mementoes and remains of his loved ones. This enormous piece with its thousands of contents will be moved to Grand Forks, North Dakota, where they will be exhibited in a replica of the apartment

Among the museums that have acquired his works are the Chicago Art Institute, the National Museum of American Art, the National Gallery of Australia, and most importantly the North Dakota Museum of Art.

Scott Wittman (L) with Marc Shaiman

1955 – Born: Lyricist and director Scott Wittman, who, with composer Marc Shaiman, his partner in life and collaborator in theater, film, and television projects, has a long list of credits in the entertainment industry. Their work on the musical version of John Waters' Hairspray earned Tony and Grammy awards in 2003.

Both Shaiman and Wittman grew up in the vicinity of New York City, the former in Scotch Plains, New Jersey, and the latter in Nyack, New York. Both were fascinated with musical theater from an early age and dreamed of careers on Broadway. Shaiman played piano with local community theater groups from the time that he was twelve, and Wittman apprenticed in summer stock in his hometown. Such was their love for the stage that they both cut high school classes to travel into New York for matinees.

Wittman attended Emerson College in Boston but left after two years to pursue a career as a writer and director in musical theater in New York. In the city's East Village he crossed paths with Shaiman, who had quit high school at sixteen to join the New York musical scene. Wittman was directing a show at a club in Greenwich Village when Shaiman came in and started playing the piano. Wittman promptly hired him. They subsequently fell in love and have been a couple since 1979.

The two soon began collaborating professionally, writing songs that Shaiman describes as "full of anarchy and joy."

Since 1997 Shaiman and Wittman have contributed and directed music for the Academy Awards presentation show. At the same time Wittman, who humorously calls himself "a great diva wrangler," has directed concerts. In addition to working with Bette Midler, he has had a long association with Patti LuPone and has worked with Christine Ebersole, Raquel Welch, Dame Edna Everage (Barry Humphries), and Lypsinka among many others.

Shaiman and Wittman's greatest triumph thus far is Hairspray, an adaptation of the 1988 John Waters movie for the musical stage. Shaiman and Wittman wrote the music, and Mark O'Donnell and Thomas Meehan the book for the play.

The show dominated the 2003 Tony Awards, winning eight, including best musical and best score. At the end of their acceptance speeches Shaiman declared to Wittman, "I love you, and I'd like to spend the rest of my life with you." The couple then embraced and shared a long and tender kiss. News outlets around the world took note of this affecting moment.

1964 – Waheed Alli, Baron Alli is a British multimillionaire media entrepreneur and politician. He was co-founder and managing director of Planet 24, a TV production company, and managing director at Carlton Television Productions. He was, until November 2012, chairman of ASOS.com. He is the chairman of Silvergate Media, which purchased two of the media rights previously held by Chorion Ltd, where Alli was former chairman. He is a Labour life peer and is described as one of only a few openly gay Muslim politicians in the world.

In British political terms he is considered Asian, though both of his parents are from the Caribbean. His mother, a nurse, is from Trinidad, and his estranged father, a mechanic, is from British Guiana (now Guyana). His mother was Hindu and his father Muslim; he has two brothers, one of each faith. He was named one of the 20 most important Asians in British media in 2005. At the same time, he maintains ties with his Caribbean roots, both with other British-Guyanese politicians such as Valerie Amos and Trevor Phillips, and with President Bharrat Jagdeo.

Alli joined the Labour Party at the persuasion of his neighbour Emily Thornberry, to whom he remains close. He is also close to Anji Hunter, Director of Government Relations in Tony Blair's first government. Prime Minister Blair used him for years as a means to help him reach out to a younger generation (aka "yoof culture"), and as such he is considered one of "Tony's Cronies". He was made a life peer as Baron Alli, of Norbury in the London Borough of Croydon, on 18 July 1998 at the age of 34, becoming the youngest and the first openly gay peer in Parliament. He sits on the Labour benches in the House of Lords. The BBC summarised his appointment as "the antithesis of the stereotypical 'establishment' peer – young, Asian and from the world of media and entertainment".

Alli has used his political position to argue for gay rights. He spearheaded the campaign to repeal Section 28. He advocated lowering the age of consent for homosexuals from 18 to 16, equal to heterosexuals; this eventually became law as the Sexual Offences (Amendment) Act 2000. It was during a heated exchange with conservative opponents, led by Baroness Young, that he informed his fellow peers that he was gay. In April 1999, he said in a speech, "I have never been confused about my sexuality. I have been confused about the way I am treated as a result of it. The only confusion lies in the prejudice shown, some of it tonight [i.e. in the House], and much of it enshrined in the law."

In 2009, he spearheaded an effort to repeal clauses in the Civil Partnership Act 2004 which prohibited religious institutions from conducting the ceremonies on their premises. This campaign culminated in a bipartisan amendment, which became part of the Equality Act 2010.

2007 – Breakfast With Scot - In 2006, straight Canadian actor Tom Cavanagh began filming Breakfast with Scot, in which he plays a gay retired hockey player who becomes an adoptive father to a young boy. The film, released on this day in 2007, drew attention as the first gay-themed film ever to win approval from a major league sports franchise to use its real name and logo; Cavanagh's character formerly played for the Toronto Maple Leafs.

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torchwood-99 · 2 months ago

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Eomer: Do you know what I just did? I just walked out that door, saw a couple of Riders and I was about to start bad-mouthing you behind your back. But I stopped myself because my uncle taught me that a man who talks behind somebody's back is a coward.

Faramir: I really appreciate that.

Eomer: Good, 'cause I'm gonna tell you directly to your face. No, I don't like you. I think you're a fake soldier. The sound of your piss hitting the ground, it sounds feminine. If you were in the wild, I would attack you, even if you weren't in my food chain. I would go out of my way to attack you. If I were a lion and you were a tuna, I would swim out in the middle of the ocean and freakin' eat you and then I'd bang your tuna sister.

Faramir: OK, first off: a lion, swimming in the ocean? Lions don't like water. If you'd placed it near a river or some sort of fresh water source, that'd make sense. But you find yourself in the ocean, 20 foot wave, I'm assuming it's off the coast of South Harad, coming up against a full grown 800 pound tuna with his 20 or 30 friends, you lose that battle. You lose that battle 9 times out of 10. And guess what, you've wandered into our school of tuna and we now have a taste of lion. We've talked to ourselves. We've communicated and said, 'You know what, lion tastes good. Let's go get some more lion'. We've developed a system to establish a beach-head and aggressively hunt you and your family and we will corner your - your pride, your children, your offspring...

Eomer: How are you going to do that?

Faramir: We will construct a series of breathing apparatus with kelp. We will be able to trap certain amounts of oxygen. It's not gonna be days at a time. An hour? Hour forty-five? No problem. That will give us enough time to figure out where you live, go back to the sea, get more oxygen, and then stalk you. You just lost at your own game. You're out-gunned and out-manned. Did that go the way you thought it was gonna go? Nope.

#LOTR #Lord of the Rings #Eomer #Faramir #incorrect quotes #source: The Other Guys

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xxx-inhibitionless-xxx · 7 months ago

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What A Week.. Chapter 01 : Day 1

You know those funky security gates that stores in the mall use to close-up shop ? Have you ever found yourself zip-tied to one naked ? How about zip-tied naked to one with two of your best friends just before the mall is about to open ?

Well, that’s exactly what has happened to my friends Aaron, Matt and I. My name is Brian, typical high school senior, no car, part-time job, five foot nine, blonde hair, blue eyes, hundred and forty pounds, swim team, all in all fairly average.

Aaron was the tall, dark and handsome of our group, your stereo-typical Italian. Six foot, dark hair, green eyes, hundred sixty, rugby team, but hung with Matt and I and not his jock team-mates. Then you’ve got Matt, five eight, one-forty, brown hair and eyes, no sports, pretty average but a good guy none-the-less.

It all started last night. We all work at the mall in three different stores. Whoever finishes their shift first usually hangs out until the others are done with theirs. On those nights where one of us works until closing time, the others will come to that store and hang out and we will all three leave together.

Last night was one of those times. Unbeknownst to us, though, was that some members of a local fraternity were having a hazing night. One of the fraternity members worked security at the mall and had made arrangements to allow the other fraternity members and pledges to come in after the mall closed and perform their hazing ritual.

I was the lucky one of us three musketeers, as we were called by our other friends, to have to close. Aaron and Matt were helping me out with some of the closing duties. I had closed the gate but not locked it yet since the mall was already closed but since it was a busy night, I had not finished re-stocking for the morning so we three were getting things done.

Just before we finished, a group of six naked fraternity pledges come screaming past the entrance. Not knowing what was going on, we called security to report a break-in and six guys were running the mall naked. Shortly thereafter, Jason Wetherby, the security guard who was the frat member, shows up to get our statement.

He informs us of exactly what was going on and that we could have caused him and his fraternity a lot of trouble if it had not been for him having taken our call. We apologized and informed him that we had no idea and that we would not say anything to anyone.

Unfortunately for all of us, Jason failed to take into consideration the fact that the security camera to our store was not affected by his preparations for his fraternity stunt because of the fact that I had not completed my store’s closing process.

The next morning, Jason was wrapping up his shift when he discovered his mistake when he found the security camera footage of his interaction with the three of us and footage of his fraternity brother streakers running past the store. He was able to correct his mistake but vowed that we would pay the price for nearly ruining everything.

He put his plan into effect the very next night as he was able to determine that once again all three of us were working late and I was the closing associate at my store. It was unusually busy again, and as we would later learn, it was because all of the last minute shoppers were the frat brother streakers from last night.

My manager’s philosophy has always been that if you still have shoppers right at closing time then you keep the store open a reasonable amount of time after closing to capture those last minute sales. Ten minutes past closing time, I had finished everything I had to do to close up and Aaron and Matt were hanging out at the register with me talking softly about how we all hate those people who obviously know the store is closed or closing but continue to shop away thinking that they are entitled to a private shopping event.

After another five minutes I decided that they had been given a reasonable amount of time and approached them to inform them of the fact that they would need to leave so that I could close up the store. They apologized and left without incident so Aaron and Matt waited just outside the gate while I grabbed my stuff, turned off the lights, closed the gate and locked it.

We headed for the mall exit when those same last minute shoppers approached us being led by none other than Jason. Where do you three dweebsters think you’re going ?

Uh, going home now Jason, no thanks to your pals here it seems, said Aaron recognizing Jason’s gang as the guys that kept us late.

Well, you guys nearly caused us a lot of trouble last night, so we figured we would repay the favor.

What trouble ? Nothing happened. We said we wouldn’t say anything, just leave us alone Jason, I implored, trying to just get away from them and get out of there.

No can do Brian my friend, I nearly got hung out to dry so now it’s your turn.

We’re not friends Jason, just what do you plan to do ? You do realize that if you do anything you guys will really get in trouble this time, right, I said, trying once more to get us out of there.

Wrong dweeb, I made sure not to miss anything this time. Get them ! Just then, we found ourselves being pounced upon by six rather large fraternity pledges who had us tackled to the floor without effort. Jason took our packs and jackets and had his brothers pick us up off the floor, one brother holding each of our arms out to the side.

Being a few years older and quite larger they easily marched us over to the store with the largest security gate. We struggled, but to no avail, in no time they had our arms stretched out above us and fastened to the gate with zip-ties. Not just any zip-ties, either, the heavy-duty ones used by the security guards.

Get us down Jason, this isn’t funny, Matt yelled at Jason.

What do you plan on doing, I asked. You can’t let anyone find us, they’ll know it was you since you were the guard on duty. I thought I had outsmarted Jason and he’d get us down and we’d get out of there. In hindsight, I wish I had not instigated him as we quickly found ourselves in more trouble.

You think you’re so smart Brian, said Jason, well you’re right, obviously we can’t have anyone find you but we can have some fun and guarantee your silence while we’re at it. Before Matt could finish asking Jason how he planned on doing that, Jason simply said, do it. The six of them stepped forward and pulled out some pocket knives and started cutting at our clothes !

Wait Jason ! Stop, what are you doing, we all three were screaming.

Like I said, you guys nearly caused us to be hung out to dry, especially my brothers who would have been literally hanging out in very revealing fashion, therefore, it seems only fitting. In no time at all, there we were, clothes cut to shreds, naked, and zip-tied to a security gate.

Get us down Jason, give us our clothes, yelled Matt.

Give us our coats, yelled Aaron.

Please Jason, why are you doing this, nothing happened to you guys, I said, almost in tears.

Because Brian, we don’t get mad, we get even, said Jason taking out his cell phone. Now, you guys promise to not say anything and these pictures won’t make the rounds at the high school, said Jason, as we realized all seven of them were taking pictures of us with their phones ! You do know my sister goes to school with you guys and can easily get these spread all over school, so keep your mouths shut and we’ll get you down and you can be on your way.

Are you crazy Jason, Matt was screaming, get us down !

Promise to keep your mouths shut.

Ok, ok, I said, we’ll be quiet !

So get us down, said Aaron, give us some clothes and let us go !

See, that wasn’t so hard, said Jason.

Well, I wouldn’t say that, said one of his frat brothers speaking for the first time, as he motioned toward Aaron’s groin. Looks like someone seems to be enjoying this, said Jason as he and his brothers started laughing hysterically. Aaron blushed and started shouting, just get us down Jason !

Matt and I couldn’t help but look, we had all seen each other naked in the locker room, and we’ve all changed in front of each other at each other’s houses, we’d even had the usual circle jerks and mutual masturbation sessions, but had never really explored anything with each other. Just seeing Aaron aroused started to get my own loins stirring, and apparently Matt as well, as Jason soon pointed out.

Looks like you’re all having a hard time hanging out with us ! Watch where you’re pointing those things, said another frat brother in between laughs. After another round of pictures, Jason told the frat brothers to get us our packs and coats while he went to check on the security systems. Just wait here while we get your stuff, then we’ll cut you loose and you guys can go, I think we’ve got more than we need. And bargained for, interjected another frat brother.

Jason headed off to the security office leaving his brothers to taunt us a bit more before they started to leave.

Wait, where are you going, yelled Aaron !

You said you’d get our stuff, said Matt.

Yeah, we’ll get your stuff, Jason put it outside while we were busy with you guys, just hang loose, we’ll be right back. They all took off laughing their heads off.

Aaron was pulling at his ties, if those pictures get out we’re doomed.

We’ll be the laughing stock of the whole school for the rest of time, said Matt.

As long as we just don’t say anything we shouldn’t have anything to worry about, I said.

Well I for one will never speak of this again, said Matt.

After a long moment of silence, Aaron spoke up, I just want to get off.

No shit, I said, like any of us just want to hang here, of course we want down.

No, not down, off, I really want to get off right now.

Matt and I looked at each other realizing what Aaron was saying. This didn’t help our own situations any as my dick got even harder, and I could tell Matt was having the same problem.

Where the hell are they, asked Matt, shaking his hands. Surely they wouldn’t leave us, they couldn’t, they’d get in serious trouble.

Something must have happened, said Aaron, they should be back by now.

Jason ! Jason ! We all started yelling, trying to get Jason or any of his brother’s attention. Of course, this is where we came in, Aaron, Matt and I are zip-tied stark naked to a security fence in front of the largest store in the mall and it’s only hours until the cleaning crew comes in to get the mall ready to open.

Our tormentors are nowhere to be seen, our clothes were cut to shreds, our packs and coats are apparently outside where Jason’s frat brothers are supposed to be getting them from so that we at least have some means of covering ourselves to get home once they get us down. Jason has disappeared, and to top it all off, we are all sporting raging boners and dying to get off.

Finally, we hear the sounds of laughter coming our way and see Jason and the others come around the corner with our packs and coats. I see you guys are still enjoying yourselves.

Shut up Jason, just get us down and give us our stuff.

Fine, just remember, keep quiet and your photo session stays on our phones. We get it, now get us down, I said, as Jason’s brothers used the same pocket knives to cut us down as they used to cut our clothes off. Rubbing our wrists, we grabbed our packs and coats and ran to the exit, Jason and his brother’s laughing at us as we went. We made it to the exit, wrapped our jackets around us trying to cover as much as possible, using our packs for cover as well, and left the building heading into the parking lot toward Aaron’s car to finally end our ordeal and get the hell away from Jason and his minions.

#enmstory #enm stripped humiliation #gay

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thekristen999 · 1 year ago

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✨2023 writing round-up✨

I enjoyed seeing @exhuastedpigeon 's write-up and thought I'd post mine :)

I wrote 97k words in 2023. Which is more than I thought! I struggled with finding time to be creative this year. My RL has been such a chaotic ball of stress. But things are getting better, and I think my Muse will be more exited to come out and play this year!

February

bro·ken 32k

This was my favorite story I wrote this year. It’s dark, gritty, and a deep exploration of what would have happened if Eddie and Buck hadn’t meet until the S3 timeline. With both guys at rock-bottom and how they find each other to heal.

bro·ken

adjective 1. having been fractured or damaged and no longer in one piece or in working order. 2. having given up all hope; despairing.

Forced to take shady side jobs to pay his bills, Evan Buckley doesn’t think he’s ever seen such rock bottom. Until he meets Eddie Diaz, a man even more desperate and alone. Season 3 AU.

March

Not Today 2k

A coda to the lightning strike that uses those events to explore Eddie’s encounters and emotional understanding of death.

Eddie propelled himself up the ladder, shutting off those parts of brain he refused to listen to, only focusing on how fast he could climb, how hard he tried pulling on Buck’s safety line, until finally, he gave in to the only logic he was willing to consider.

What Buck needed; Eddie couldn't provide.

(Eddie and his battles with death and dying)

We’ve Got Fun & Games 7k

I wrote humor? :) It was a great fun to have the 118-taking part in a mini version of the Amazing Race and all the shenanigans that follow during a contest across the city.

"Um. You trained for this?” Ravi asked.

Eddie released a long-suffering sigh. "We trained. Every day. For a month.”

Buck could not believe his ears. Did they not grasp the glory of the great adventure before them? He cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “Running across the scorching plains of Africa, bolting down the steep steps of Shanghai, diving straight into synchronized swimming routines with Olympic athletes in Moscow. These are only a few obstacles we might encounter during…The Amazing Race."

Bobby frowned. "This is for charity.”

Buck spread out his arms to encompass the couple hundred people mingling around the park. "And it’s against all the other firehouses in the city. We do have a reputation to uphold."

April

Tick...Tick...Boom 3.6k

A very intense story on the dangers first responders face during a call gone wrong.

“Eddie,” Buck warned.

He started to say something else when the door cracked open.

A woman poked her head out, her voice shaking. “Yes?”

“Are you alright ma’am?” Eddie asked.

The question was rhetorical. Blood dripped down her chin from a busted lip, her puffy face framed by the beginnings of two black eyes.

“I’m fine. Is there, um…,” A shadow loomed. Her trembling hand gripped the door frame harder. “How can I help you, officers?”

“We’re with the L.A. Fire Department,” Eddie said, his voice calm. “We really need to come in. It’ll just take a moment.”

The woman glanced behind her, whispering, “I can’t…. I’m trying….”

The shadow retreated.

Eddie stuck his foot under the door, slowly pushing it open as he eased his way inside. “It’s okay. We’re here to help.”

May

We All Fall Down 3.5 k

I wanted more from the finale. Like the skeleton was there, but I needed more details and bit more logic.

He’d done this before. Inside the well. Trapped forty feet underground instead of in a tin can, rising water the constant threat.

Eddie stared at the radio, knowing this time there’d be someone on the other end to hear him if he needed to say something. If his time his second chances had finally run out.

He wouldn’t die alone. Not really. His team would be there. Just inches away. He could tell them, tell Buck….

(A nuanced re-working of the events of the episode to satisfy certain wants and needs)

August

Cutting The Ties That Bind 34.K M

I wrote something that wasn’t a hurt/comfort or an angst fest! It had lots of sexual tension, drama, and meaty plot. I love world-building.

Evan Buckley was a businessman, he had meetings and deadlines like everyone else. Sometimes he used intimation. While using the very same tactics he was trying to end while converting his family business into legitimate operations was a little hypocritical, it was the results that mattered.

Occasionally, he got threatened, but it was usually all hot air and ego. That all changed the day his breaks were tampered with. Enter Eddie Diaz, security specialist, who was not easily impressed by Buck’s expensive suits or financial conquests. That was okay. Buck enjoyed a challenge.

(The Mafia AU)

November

Follow You Into The Dark 14k

I had a need. I wanted to put both Eddie and Buck in the worst possible situation where they literally had to depend on the other in ways they had never before.

Buck kept a firm grip around Eddie’s arm as he was guided down hallways. They’d both experienced something like this before during the Academy: cadet’s exercises where both teammates were blindfolded and forced to depend on the other to escape burning buildings. This wasn’t unlike that experience, except of course this was real and Buck’s freaking eyes were swollen shut and Eddie was concussed and deaf.

(Or a serial arsonist terrorizes the city, plunging Buck and Eddie into a dangerous game of cat and mouse.)

#buddie #buddie fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 on abc #writing round up 2023 #kristen999writes

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sajirah · 10 months ago

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The Prison Chapter One

The Prison

In honor of me being newly unemployed and House of Flame and Shadow dropping in less than 2 weeks I wrote a thing. You can read it here or on AO3. Enjoy.

-o0o-

Feyre was a murderer.

That was why she was here after all, staring out at the island that was soon to be her prison. She probably deserved it. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t absolutely petrified to be here.

“Any advice?” She asked the marine unlocking her shackles.

He glanced up at her, considering, and then said, “Pretty thing like you? Find the meanest, nastiest fucker on that island and convince him to protect you.”

Feyre didn’t need the soldier to explain how exactly she was expected to ‘convince’ said man. She’d already had plenty of nightmares of exactly that scenario after her sentencing. The worst part was his advice was probably one of her better options.

“Thanks,” she replied quietly. I think.

He didn’t reply, only pulled off her shackles and then took a strong hold of her arm. She didn’t know why he bothered. It’s not like she could hijack this boat and sail it back home all by herself. She didn’t even know how to drive a car, let alone a boat. She supposed she’d never learn now.

The captain stepped in front of her then, weary and clearly wishing he was anywhere else.

The feeling is mutual pal.

“Feyre Archeron, you have been sentenced to life on The Prison. Do you have anything to say before your sentence is carried out?”

The woman in question stared at him blankly. What was even the point? He was going to throw her onto an island of rapists and murderers no matter what she said. She’d already screamed and cried and swore at her trial. What more could she possibly say?

The captain had the gall to look annoyed. As if she were the one ruining his day.

“Right,” He turned to the marine holding her arm. “Toss her and let’s leave this fucking place.”

Toss her?! “Wait, what?!-” But it was already too late and before she could react the marine was hoisting her up and shoving her overboard.

Icy seawater hit her like a ton of bricks. The shock froze her limbs for precious seconds as her mind tried to reorientate itself. Kick! She thought frantically. After a few terrifying moments her body obeyed.

Salt stung her eyes as she broke the surface and sucked in oxygen but she still managed to see the blurry shape of the boat as it passed her and glided off towards the horizon.

“Fuck you!” She shouted after it. It was petty, but who was going to care about her behavior now? Her dead mother? Her absent father? Her sisters she hadn’t seen since she’d been hauled off by the police?

The island loomed large a quarter mile behind her. She supposed it didn’t matter to the courts if their prisoners actually made it onto the island. Just that they’d been dumped within its vicinity so there was no hope of them ever escaping.

How far even was the mainland from here? Thirty miles? Forty? Fifty? It had taken at least a few hours to get here. They’d left at 9 am sharp and if the sun was anything to go by it was barely noon. Not that any of this mattered. She was never going home.

No one escaped The Prison.

For a few indulgent moments Feyre considered letting herself drown. As terrible as it seemed, it certainly had its appeal compared to eking out a miserable existence on an island full of dangerous criminals. After all, they didn’t send just anyone to The Prison. Only the worst of the worst for this place. Murderers. Serial killers. Violent rapists. Enemies of the rich and powerful.

It was dizzying to think she was considered one of them now.

She let the moment of self pity linger and then let it go. Right. She’d never been a quitter. She wasn’t about to start now.

Resigned, she pointed herself towards the island and started swimming.

-o0o-

Feyre arrived upon her new home’s doorstep looking, for all intents and purposes, like a drowned cat.

It had taken her at least an hour to swim to shore, fighting six foot waves and avoiding what she desperately hoped were not sharks. She couldn’t be sure but she swore something had bumped up against her in the water at some point and hadn’t she read somewhere that sharks bumped into their prey before they circled around to take a bite out of them?

Shivering, she glanced down the beach, hoping against hope none of her fellow prisoners had seen her, but almost immediately she spied two men melting out of the tree line.

Well fuck.

Adrenaline flooded her veins and she scrambled to her feet as one of the men crept closer, holding his hands up as if she were a spooked horse. He was older, hair grayed and skin weathered by the sun. Clothes barely more than rags. Was this what awaited her if she managed to survive as long as him? Rotted teeth and preying upon new arrivals like scavengers?

“Easy there doll. We’re not gonna hurt ya…”

Either he thought she was a moron or he was one himself because Feyre knew exactly what that man had planned for her and quite a lot of hurt was involved.

“Bet you’re real hungry after that swim,” the other man said. He was younger than his companion, but in many ways he looked worse off. Starved and mean looking. “We’ve got some food over at our camp. We’ll share it…”

Even if she were desperate enough to take him up on his offer, his hollow cheekbones and bony wrists led her to believe that statement was a load of bullshit.

She waited, muscles coiled and tense as the men drew ever closer. Suddenly the skinny one reached out, attempting to make a grab for her but Feyre was ready for him. She kicked the sand and it arced up and sprayed straight into his eyes. He howled, clutching at his face, and stumbled forward but she was already bolting out of reach and into the forest.

“Wait, come back!” The older man shouted.

“I can’t see!” The other roared. “I’ll fucking kill her!”

But Feyre was already putting as much distance between her and her would-be captors as possible, not knowing which direction she was going except that it was ‘anywhere but here’. She heard the older man crashing in the underbrush just behind her, shouting at her like she were an unruly dog set loose.

She didn’t even realize his shouts had stopped until she was halfway up the hill. She dared a glance over her shoulder and saw nothing but trees and ferns.

Good.

She kept climbing.

-o0o-

It’s getting dark.

That was all Feyre could think as she wandered the woods in search of food and shelter. So far she’d found a tiny stream of questionable quality and a crooked stick. She supposed she could poke someone’s eye out with it if she was very lucky and her attacker were very still but she wasn’t holding out much hope in that department. Unfortunately the other items on her survival list had yet to be discovered.

Though with the way the sun was going down she was starting to worry. The temperature was dropping rapidly and though her clothes had long since dried they weren’t exactly made to keep one warm in near freezing weather. When she’d first realized they intended to send her off to her final destination in only her prison uniform she’d nearly fought them.

“You can’t be serious!” She’d raged at the officers escorting her onto the boat. “How am I supposed to survive without a coat? A knife? A lighter?”

The officers had been silent but their message was loud and clear: You don’t.

They expected her to die out here. They expected them all to die out here. Well clearly they hadn’t met Feyre. If there was one thing she was good at it was survival. And spite.

Especially that last one.

Still, if she didn’t find shelter soon even sheer undiluted spite was going to have trouble keeping her warm.

It took another hour before she found what she was looking for.

In the dying light, she spotted a little burrow under a rocky outcrop. It would be a tight squeeze, but it was better than her current options which were…nothing. It wasn’t exactly the Four Seasons, but it would mostly protect her from the elements and, more importantly, keep her out of sight. The last thing she needed was another of her fellow prisoners happening upon her while she slept.

As she wormed her way into the muddy crevice, she wistfully reminisced upon her bed back home.

To think, just a year ago she had been sitting in an upscale dining hall, celebrating her sister’s marriage. If someone had told her then what her future held she never would’ve believed them.

And still, she couldn’t fully regret the actions that had led her here.

Perhaps if she hadn’t seen the bruises littering Nesta’s arms things would’ve been different, but she had. And once she had seen them she couldn’t unsee them, no matter how many long sleeved dresses and cardigans her sister wore afterwards. Feyre still had the image of purple fingerprints dotting her sister’s wrist branded into the backs of her eyelids. Nesta never said a word about them. No matter how many times Feyre and Elain begged her to. She had been the very picture of the quiet, demure wife.

And Feyre had hated it.

Perhaps it would’ve gone on indefinitely like that, Nesta’s stoic silence and her sisters’ outspoken concern, but then it had happened.

It had been over something innocuous, his breakfast not being done on time, his coffee being too hot, or his newspaper not being laid out on the table the way he liked. Whatever it was, all Feyre remembered was the way her sister had reacted to her husband’s ire, braced and waiting for a blow. She’d seen it in her eyes. The hatred. The fear. The self loathing of having her sisters here to witness her humiliation. And then he’d grabbed her by the chin, fingers pressed deep enough to leave marks and Feyre had seen red.

Perhaps she truly deserved to be here for what had happened next. For the sheer satisfaction she had felt as she’d watched him bleed out around the butter knife in his eye socket. All she had known then was that this man would never touch her sister again.

She had never lost a moment’s sleep after doing what she did. When she had closed her eyes in her cell after her arrest the only thing she had regretted was the looks of horror and disbelief on her sisters’ faces. She hated that her final memories of her family were those.

But she still couldn’t regret it. No amount of wealth was worth broken bones. Nesta may have been willing to live in gilded luxury for the price of her battered body, but that wasn’t a trade Feyre agreed with. Better her sister live a rich widow who hated her. Better she was thrown to the rapists and murderers.

And I’d do it again. Every time. Feyre thought as she curled into the mud and let her exhaustion lull her to sleep.

Elsewhere, in the gathering dark, something stirred. The other prisoners retreated to the shoreline. They knew better than to enter the forest at night.

There you are. A voice whispered into Feyre’s dreams. I’ve been waiting for you.

#the prison #fanfiction #fanfic #my fic #acotar #feysand #you don’t understand I haven’t written anything in ages #this is so unbaeted and for that I am sorry #I wrote this in a mad rush over the last two days #I don’t think I even remember what day it is today

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stargazer-sims · 10 months ago

Text

2. The Project

"Hey kid, what's up?"

Caroline shifts her gaze away from her laptop when she hears Victor's voice. He's hopping off the last step just as she turns to look, and once he realizes he's gotten her attention, he gives her an exaggerated wave. He can be such a goofball sometimes, and if he's this energetic at forty-seven, she can't help wondering what he must've been like at her age. She smiles. Nanna Grace must've had an interesting time of it while he was growing up. She probably had to figure out ways to keep him from literally bouncing off the walls.

Victor crosses the short distance from the foot of the stairs to where Caroline is sitting at the kitchen island and settles himself on the stool next to hers. Now that he's close enough, she notices how tousled he is. His silver hair is sticking out in every direction, and it's obvious he'd been sleeping in the rumpled t-shirt and sweatpants he's wearing.

Evidently, he just woke up and couldn't wait to greet her. She loves that about him. He's always happy to see her, even if they've only been apart for a handful of hours.

She has to confess she's happy to see him too. She loves both her parents, but Victor has always been her favourite. They bonded on the very first day they'd met, and Caroline can't imagine a life without him now.

"I'm making some notes," she tells him. "For my Media Studies project. How was work last night?"

"It was good. Surprisingly uneventful, but I'm definitely not complaining about a quiet night shift. How was school? And swim practice?"

"School was... school." She shrugs slightly. "Swim practice was awesome. Jack wants me to be on the relay team this season. He says I'm the fastest, so he wants me to be the last swimmer in the relay, but we still have to figure out the logistics 'cause I can't see when my teammate touches the wall."

"Maybe she can just yell 'go' or something as soon as she touches it," Victor suggests. "That's allowed, right?"

"I don't know," Caroline admits. "Jack and Matilda should know, though. I mean, knowing the rules is part of the coaches' job. I can ask tomorrow."

"Good idea. Did Grandpa Julian pick you up from practice?"

"Yup, and he told me to tell you that Nanna's still waiting for you to let her know when you can paint their kitchen."

"Oh crap!" Victor smacks his palm lightly against his forehead. "I was supposed to get back to her on that weeks ago. I was gonna see if I could recruit your uncle Leo to help me with it, but I totally forgot. I should've written it down."

Caroline laughs. "You know, you should probably write most things down."

"What can I say? Sometimes I'm easily distracted."

"Just sometimes?"

"Have I ever mentioned your sense of humour is just like Yuri's? Anyway, I remember the really important stuff without having to write it down. That should count for something, shouldn't it?"

"Do you remember it'll be Yuri's birthday in a couple weeks?"

It's Victor's turn to laugh. "I've been remembering Yuri's birthday since long before you came along. It's a super important day, and I'd be in big trouble if I forgot that."

"Isn't everybody's birthday a super important day?"

"Well, yeah," Victor agrees. "But when Yuri was born, the doctors all said he probably wouldn't live to see his first one, so it's not just a birthday to him. It's a celebration of being alive."

"Really?" Caroline is intrigued. She hadn't known that about Yuri. "Why would the doctors say that?"

"Because he came way too early and he was really sick. Babies who are born as early as he was don't always make it, even with the medical technology we have. Back then, their chances were even lower than they are these days."

"But he survived."

"He did, and that's absolutely worth celebrating," Victor says. "Incidentally, while we're on the subject of Yuri, have we heard from him since this morning?"

"Actually, he texted me just before you came downstairs. He's coming home early, and he wanted to know if we wanted him to pick up food on the way."

"And you said yes?"

"Yup. I said pizza. Is that okay?"

"Sounds great," Victor says. "Want to help me make a salad and some protein drinks to go with it? And while we're doing that, you can tell me all about your project. Didn't you mention something yesterday about a podcast?"

"Forest and Camellia are doing a podcast. I'm making a documentary."

"That sounds ambitious. What's your documentary going to be about?"

"About my life," she says. "I'm calling it Caroline and Company."

She slides off her stool at almost the same moment Victor gets down from his. While he goes to the fridge to take out some vegetables for their salad, she moves her laptop to the coffee table in the living room. It's not that there's any shortage of counter space, but she doesn't like leaving her computer unattended on something as tall as the kitchen island.

By the time she returns, Victor has lettuce, spinach, tomatoes, a yellow bell pepper, a cucumber and a red onion lined up on the counter. There's a small brick of cheese as well, and some eggs they'd boiled the day before. To Victor, salad isn't a sad bowl of lettuce; it's a culinary work of art, and she's certain he considers himself one of the masters of the fine art of the salad.

Caroline loves cooking with Victor, regardless of what they happen to be making. For as long as she can remember, he's encouraged her to help him in the kitchen. She recalls baking cake and cookies during her first Christmas with him and Yuri, when she had to stand on a step-stool to reach the counter and accidentally spilled milk everywhere. Victor hadn't scolded her for that. He hadn't even seemed particularly bothered. He'd just cleaned up the mess, and when their baking session was done, he'd hugged her tight and praised her for being "the best little baker ever."

Victor assigns her the tasks of shredding the lettuce and grating the cheese. He chops the other vegetables with a speed and precision that scares her a little. She considers herself to be fairly confident with knives, but she has to take her time and make sure she can see what she's cutting. If she did it the way Victor does, she thinks there's a real possibility she might lose the end of a finger.

While they work, she describes the details of her project to him, how she and her classmates have the whole school year to complete their big assignment, and how they're building a website to showcase their work.

"So, you're going to tell your life story in a series of videos," Victor says when she stops talking. "Here... pass me those eggs. Do you want to get started on the smoothies?"

"Sure." She slides the bowl of boiled eggs across the countertop toward him before wandering over to the fridge. "What kind of smoothies do we want? We've got bananas and peaches, and there are some strawberries left."

"You can pick," he says.

She chooses strawberries and a banana and takes them out of the fridge along with a container of yogurt. "It's going to be more than just me in the videos."

"Oh?"

"I want to interview Obā-chan in Kyoto and record our video chat," she elaborates. "I'd like to interview you and Yuri too, and maybe Jack and some of my friends. Also Laila and Dr. Reid-Mayfield, 'cause I feel like we wouldn't even be a family if it wasn't for them."

"I can't speak for anybody else, but you can definitely interview me," Victor says. "I'm sure Yuri will let you interview him too, and I'd be really surprised if Laila said no. Getting Dr. Reid-Mayfield into it might be a hard sell, but it never hurts to ask."

"Cool," Caroline says. "Another idea I had was to let people have the camera and make a video by themselves. You know, 'cause it might be too awkward for some people to talk about me right in front of me. Like, I don't think Forest would enjoy being interviewed on camera, but he might record something if he could just be alone in his room."

Victor pauses in the middle of peeling the shell off an egg and nods. "Yeah, it's definitely easier to get your thoughts out when you're in a room by yourself. I always found it better to make journal entries when there was nobody else around."

"Writing in a journal is different, though. You're not saying your thoughts aloud."

"I didn't say I was writing."

Caroline frowns, but quickly tries to smooth her expression when she remembers that it'll probably lead to her having a pronounced crease between her eyebrows some day, just like Obā-chan. Expression notwithstanding, she's still confused. She glances up from her half-peeled banana to meet her father's eyes. "But, you said you were journalling?"

"Yeah," Victor affirms. "We were. A long time ago, Yuri and I kept a video journal for over a year."

"Really? Did you do it for any special reason?"

"It was supposed to be a travel journal and it was only meant to be my journal originally," he says. "I had this wild plan to go on some big world adventure, and I wanted to capture all my experiences."

"But I guess you didn't actually have a world adventure?"

"I sort of had one. I was already living in Japan with Yuri, so there was that, and then I took a trip to Sulani on my own, but it didn't exactly turn out the way I expected."

"What happened?"

"Aside from nearly drowning during a thunderstorm, you mean?" He finishes shelling the third egg, and then deftly slices each one in half. "I found out how expensive recreational travel is. Plus, I missed Yuri so bad that I vowed I'd never go anywhere without him again. Oh, and while I was away, our landlord evicted us and we had less than a month to move."

"That's... a lot."

"It was overwhelming for both of us. Yuri started using my account around that time to record his own feelings about everything, and our journal kind of evolved from there."

"Do you still have it?" Caroline inquires. The fact that her parents kept a video journal once upon a time is a revelation to her. She never could've guessed they'd done that, and now she's beyond curious to know what they'd been through and how they'd felt and what they'd said.

Victor seems to think about it for a second, but finally says, "The account probably still exists, but even if it doesn't, I'm positive Yuri downloaded the whole thing onto a USB drive at some point."

"Could I... would it be okay if I watched it?"

This time, Victor's silence is longer before he responds. "Let me talk to Yuri about that, all right? You know we never hide anything from you, but that was a really dramatic year in our lives and we talked about some heavy stuff in those videos. I think you can handle it, but we're not going to show it to you unless we're both okay with the idea. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah, it does," she says. "I suppose it's kind of like asking somebody if you can read their diary."

"It's exactly like that," Victor says. "It's very personal. We recorded it like there was an audience, I guess because there was originally supposed to be one, but once we started posting about something deeper than mermaid lore and sailing lessons, we made it private. The only people who ever saw it after that were Yuri and me, and Yuri might not be comfortable with you seeing it now."

"I understand."

"I'll talk to him about it tonight, and I'll get back to you once we make a decision."

"Okay," Caroline agrees.

"There's something I want you to do in the meantime," he adds, and the tone of his voice has suddenly gone serious.

"What is it?"

"I need you to think carefully about whether you really, truly want to watch our video journal, if we do agree to let you."

"What do you mean?"

"It's like I said. I believe you're mature enough to grasp most of what happened, and I think you're responsible enough to come to us and talk about anything that upsets you or that you maybe don't quite get, but..." He lets the sentence fade, as if he's trying to work out how to say what he wants to say next. "If you watch it, you might learn some stuff about Yuri and me that you'll end up wishing you didn't know, or that you'll wish you'd waited longer to find out. It can be strange, discovering things about your parents. Confusing and unsettling and... weird."

She wants to ask him what she might find out that'd be so strange and upsetting, but she suddenly thinks better of it and closes her mouth around the barely-formed question. If she could learn it from the video journal and he was reluctant about giving her access to that, it's highly unlikely he's just going to tell her. And maybe he's right anyway, she thinks. Maybe she would be better off not knowing.

The older she gets, the more she accepts that her parents aren't superheroes. They're amazing, smart, strong and kind, and they're unquestionably her heroes, but they mess up sometimes and they're just as human as she is. As Grandpa Julian likes to say, 'they put their trousers on one leg at a time'.

But, even with that comprehension, she can't say she's one hundred percent ready to let her childhood perception of them go completely. Her curiosity is burning a hole through her willpower, but she knows she has to temper her curiosity and impulsiveness with reason. Victor taught her that, and his admonition to think before rushing into a situation has saved her from trouble loads of times. Advice that's always proved to be so good can't suddenly have gone bad.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I shouldn't have asked."

"Come here," Victor says. He moves toward her with his arms open, and she doesn't even hesitate for a heartbeat before stepping into his waiting embrace. She wraps her own arms around him and leans her head against his chest.

Inside Victor's hug is the safest place in the world, and it's consoling enough on its own, but that doesn't prevent him from offering her words of reassurance anyway. "It's all right, sweet Caroline. It's okay that you asked. I don't want you to feel bad for wanting to know. It's just... I also don't want you to jump into something you're not ready for."

"I know," she says. "I'll think about it, I promise."

"Good," he says. "You should give some thought to your school project too. I think it's awesome that you want to tell your story, but the process of learning about yourself isn't always easy either."

"Do you think I shouldn't do it? I could probably come up with a new project idea. Mr. Blanchet already has my proposal, but the real deadline isn't till this Friday. I could—"

"No," Victor stops her gently, mid-sentence. "I think you should. In fact, I'm super proud of you for tackling a project like this. It takes a lot of courage."

"But you said it wouldn't be easy."

"Yes, and that's why you're brave for wanting to," he says. "You already know, just because something isn't easy, that doesn't mean you shouldn't do it or that it won't be worth it. It just means you should be careful and you should be prepared."

"To... to find out stuff about myself that I might not like?" she asks cautiously

"Maybe."

"When you and Yuri were keeping your journal, did you learn things about yourself that you didn't like?"

He tightens his arms around her for a second or two, and she gets the sense that he's doing it involuntarily. "I did," he answers quietly, "And it was really hard. I was scared and angry and sad, sometimes all at once, and sometimes I felt like a total failure at... life, basically. It was a struggle to wrap my head around it and even more of a struggle to change, and I cried a lot."

"You still cry a lot, Victor."

Unexpectedly, he bursts out laughing, and this time when he squeezes her it's clearly deliberate. She feels the tension leave his body, and suddenly she relaxes too. She hadn't even been aware of how rigid she was.

Victor kisses the top of her head. "No such thing as a serious moment with you around, is there?"

"Sorry," she says, but she isn't. She hadn't intended to make him laugh, but the sound of his laughter is so much better than what she likes to call his 'grown-up voice', and she's relieved that he's not upset.

"Cheeky little mermaid," he says in fake exasperation, and she feels warm inside at hearing the childhood nickname her grandfather Kenji — her adorable old Ojī-chan — had given her. It's mostly only Yuri and Ojī-chan who call her that, so it somehow feels special when Victor uses it.

"I can be serious," she tells him. "And I really will consider everything you said."

"I know you will. You're smart and I trust you to make good choices," he says. "If you're ever unsure about anything, though, you can talk to me or Yuri about it."

"Thanks," she says.

After one more affectionate squeeze, he lowers his arms and steps back. They slip into a companionable silence after that, finishing up their dinner preparations before Yuri arrives home from his office.

Caroline has no clue what might be going on in Victor's mind, but hers is tangled with the threads of their conversation. Part of her is anxious over the possibility of uncovering some not-so-pleasant truth about herself, but another part is eager to reveal the pieces of her past that are still a mystery to her. It's exciting and terrifying at the same time, and she has the feeling that no matter what might happen. this project is going to mark a defining point in her life. Once she begins, she'll never be able to un-know all the things she'll discover, and she'll never be able to go back to being an innocent, ignorant child again.

But, it's okay, she tells herself. It's like Victor says; growing up is a journey. And if I don't step forward, how will I ever get there?

#ts4 #sims 4 #willow creek #willow creek haunted house #Caroline Okamoto-Nelson #Victor Nelson #carolineandco #stargazersims

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