#exercise while binding

[shapeshiftersvt]

Can you exercise in a Shapeshifters binder?

I mean, yeah.

The Pinstripe. Relaxed fit.

Learn more about safe binding while living your life.

[sun-3-160]

i want to get trans tape but i hate spending money so so so much. i dont want to wear my binder anymore if i dont have to but i still want something thats better than a sports bra. any thoughts on if trans tape is worth it?

[vamptastic]

maybe im being cynical but those pad commercials of preteen girls running around and playing sports and shit infuriated me when i myself was (admittedly briefly) a preteen girl. when the only narrative you ever seen around smth that is genuinely disabling for you a week out of every month is #girlpower, don't let your anemia and nausea and cramps and vertigo stop you from playing soccer! it gets frustrating. obviously there are many other things to be annoyed about wrt pad commercials and i suppose that form of advertising is partially in response to the idea that periods make women inherently weak and incapable but still. shit was annoying. god forbid we learn any useful medical information.

[vveris]

Post basketball game while you’re sick, incredibly out of shape and wearing a binder is another kind of lung pain let me tell you

[chronicallycouchbound]

PSA: Please don’t ask participants to do grounding/mindful/somatic/etc practices at your events

Grounding exercises should not be an activity in large group settings, especially unsolicited and without warning, especially if you’re not aware of every single person in the space’s mental health conditions, physical health conditions, and personal relationship to their body.

Practices such as mindfulness, grounding, somatic exercises, breathing techniques, body scans, etc. are very helpful therapeutic tools to help manage stress. They can (and do!) help plenty of people– when taught safely and used effectively!

HOWEVER for people with conditions that cause psychosis and/or dissociative conditions such as depersonalization/derealization, these techniques are contraindicated and can make their symptoms significantly worse. They should only be used with guidance from their mental health team and adapted to their needs. For people with conditions like anxiety and PTSD, being aware of breathing can trigger a trauma response or anxiety attacks.

And for people with conditions that cause chronic pain or other uncomfortable bodily sensations, becoming re-centered with their bodies can cause more awareness of the pain they are in, which a level of (ideally functional) dissociation is actually helpful. For people in wheelchairs and powerchairs, touching the ground beneath their feet isn’t always an option. For people with cardiac and pulmonary conditions, deep breathing can be impossible or can trigger asthma attacks. For disabled people in general, doing body scans can be impossible due to paralysis or limb differences. They can bring awareness to things the person wasn’t aware were wrong to begin with (which is helpful in certain spaces, but not a great ice breaker at a retreat!)

And for trans people, binders and other garments can restrict breathing, and taking repeated deep breaths while binding can cause rib damage (which is why you shouldn't bind at night, while coughing from sickness, while exercising, etc). Becoming centered in a body that makes you dysphoric can be deeply distressing, again, a level of functional dissociation helps.

This also goes for plenty of other people in marginalized bodies, such as people of color, people who use substances, queer people, and more. Becoming grounded in your own marginalized body can be a heavy weight to carry, and needs appropriate and individualized care to be a beneficial experience.

As an alternative, I suggest doing a round of gratitudes instead, it allows for people to choose their level of vulnerability in spaces, while not being generally contraindicated for many people. Doing fun (and appropriate to the setting) icebreakers are great. Ask what brings someone to the space. Check-ins about basic needs such as if people need to use the restroom, eat, drink water, are rested, etc. can be more appropriate body check-ins for folks to do.

I don’t recommend doing these exercises even with a warning beforehand. If I'm in the room while someone is leading a breathing exercise, even if I try to ignore it, I (and most people) would automatically become aware of my breathing. The same goes for any other techniques. These techniques can cause real, life-threatening levels of harm for some people, and can even just be deeply uncomfortable or distressing for others. Dissociation is not inherently evil or bad or harmful. It is the way the body and mind naturally respond to adverse experiences (note: it can also cause distress and at higher levels, can be disordered) it is best to allow people to exist as they are in communal spaces. Let people show up as they are.

Most spaces are not equipped or appropriate to respond to emergencies, difficult feelings, and all the varied responses that can come from folks doing mindfulness in group settings.

I personally do some things before large gatherings and events to feel centered on the activity I’ll be doing, and afterward, I decompress. Encourage participants to lean on their natural supports and offer suggestions for it! Be creative in your caring!

This also doesn’t mean to discourage these practices! If you see someone doing deep breathing, check in with them, offer a space for them to decompress, care for them! Worksheets or posters on techniques like square breathing and 5 senses check-ins are great for a quiet room or spaces where participants can decide if they want/are able to engage with those tools. It should be a fully consensual opt-in, rather than being forced to opt-out. Having to leave a room when a group leader says “We’re going to start a mindful breathing meditation, please feel free to leave if you have psychosis, chronic pain, or are trans” is obviously othering and outs people.

Sincerely, someone who has psychotic symptoms, dissociation, chronic pain, is trans and whose body is marginalized in many ways and is really tired from trying to explain this at every event I go to

[misssmeat]

Any chance of sharing more details about your shock collar training? I love the power disparity they represent; discipline at the push of a button.

Sure! I’m happy to share a bit more about the experience I teased.

It was some years ago, and it was the first night I was meeting and playing with a new partner. Generally I don’t recommend such intensity for a first session with a partner, but I’ll admit that I was young, dumb, and overeager. Nothing bad happened and it was a wonderful experience, but I would do it differently today... just to be safer.

Before any play, he showed me the collar shocking himself and then let me play with the collar and intensities of shocks on my leg and arm.

When I was satisfied and comfortable with the collar, he commanded me to strip for him.

He then bound my hands behind my back before locking the shock collar into place on my neck. The prongs were positioned on the side of my neck, which is usually more sensitive than the front of back.

He added another tie at my elbows, forcing a tight posture that thrust my chest forward. I was commanded to stand and spread my legs hip distance apart while he added a short hobble chain between my ankles.

And then the exercise began.

As I’ve shared before, I love strict power dynamics and protocol. Maybe even more so than the sex itself… and he knew that. He had me walk the length of the room, holding my perfect posture, but keeping my eyes downcast, as an obedient submissive would to not drawn attention to herself. He demanded graceful steps despite the hobble between my legs, no jerks from the bindings or chains, and absolutely no raising my gaze to his face.

He then sat on the sofa with the remote for the collar while I walked back and forth at his command. Every stumble, any time I looked up, or even a moment of less than perfect gait would be corrected with a shock.

As I found confidence in his asks, he would add more challenges. By the end, I was nipple clamped, gagged and had clamps hanging between my legs. Still holding my composure for him, still being corrected by a shock each time I didn’t meet his standards.

I was crying from frustration and pain, but so deep in subspace. Every shock reminded me that I was a plaything, his little pet, existing for his entertainment. And the only way to avoid the electric punishment was to exist as he demanded. I felt myself mold to meet his expectations in real time with the help of the collar. And I loved knowing how powerless I was to lash out, push back, or give attitude of any type.

I could be withering on the ground in pain as a repercussion for my bad behavior, while he barely even had to lift a finger. He would never break a sweat.

All that to say, it’s a treasured memory and one of the hottest things to ever happen to me ever in my whole fucking life.

[sunflower-chai]

THANK YOU the acolyte for disproving the “jedi steal kids” sentiment held by so much of the fandom. they ask for permission from a guardian before children can be tested! and even if they pass it is their choice to go or not!

also thank you for giving me more physically affectionate jedi!! other than kanan and ezra, and one time with anakin and ahsoka after ahsoka literally died, i feel like we never see masters hug their padawans. sol and osha’s hug gave me LIFE.

really curious about what exactly the coven on brendok is. they don’t seem to be nightsisters yet they call themselves witches. they seem a little sus since they discourage osha from going into/learning about the outside world, which feels slightly cultish. but also mother aniseya clearly loves her girls and they clearly love her. she does not physically harm them (other than the force push during the training exercise) and she is warm and nurturing. it’s very complicated and i hope the show delves into that further. also what is it with force-sensitive children not having fathers?? lol.

i liked the contrast of mae wanting to share everything with osha while osha wants to discover who she is as an individual, creating some interesting tension in their relationship. i also feel like mae was a really good example of what unhealthy attachment actually looks like. if she cannot have osha, no one can. and she does not care about the potential repercussions for everyone else. i think mae might have realized she went too far near the end when she begged osha to jump over to her, but then she fell and it was too late. and her hatred for the jedi has twisted her mind so much that she does not blame herself for what happened but projects it onto them. they are the ones who wanted to take osha away. they are the reason osha is (presumably) dead. she is not at fault. they forced her hand.

it’s a really intriguing thought process, and i’m wondering where it came from. has mae always been this way? did the ascension ceremony change her nature in some way? this sort of goes back to my questions about the coven. mother aniseya said they were exiled for using “dark” powers. so are they dark side users? it’s interesting how they refer to the force as “the thread” and place more emphasis on individual agency over destiny (i.e., “the will of the force”). but mother aniseya also criticizes those who see the force as a “power” to wield rather than something that connects the galaxy. which is just… misinformed? the jedi also don’t see the force as a power? literally “the force surrounds us. it penetrates us. it binds the galaxy together.” so maybe they have some incorrect assumptions.

wondering if mae’s current master finds her on brendok after the fire. i feel like that would make sense. she’s eight years old and the only person left alive on the planet, she would need someone to find her. and continue to cultivate that hate within her and form her into the living weapon she is today.

[transmasc-advice-blog]

Binding

Binders

I found that Spectrum Outfitters worked best for me (prices range from $50-$39). I also have binders that are older and stretched out or that don’t work as well (like gc2b) that I use when I don’t need as flat of a chest because they are easier on my rib cage lol. If you do that, do NOT count that as a break!

Practice safe binding!

Don't bind for more than 8 hours

Don't sleep in a binder

Don't exercise in a binder

Get the right size

Try to only wear a binder for 5 or 6 days a week (this one is hard, I know)

If it hurts, take it off!

If you notice bruising, something is wrong! Your binder might be too small or you may be wearing it for too long.

TransTape

Wearing binders all the time is not too good for you so I recommend using a variety of different binding techniques. One is TransTape!

The reason Ace bandages are unsafe is because as you breathe it gets tighter and tighter and can really hurt you. But TransTape doesn't do that, it's like the tape athletes use when they sprain their ankle or something. It's safe as long as it is used properly. Plus, you can wear it for up to 5 days, exercise and sleep while wearing it, and it's water proof!

TransTape isn't the only brand of course, but they do have a lot of great resources.

Learn more at their website here. I recommend starting with this page and the FAQ.

KT tape is another option if you cant afford/arent allowed to order TransTape. You can find it at most drugstores and box stores for relatively cheap. The adhesive isnt as strong as TransTape, keep that in mind when applying.

Men's Compression Shirts *I have not used these myself (yet) but I hear they work pretty well*

Made for cis men with gynecomastia but hey we can use em. Obviously will work much better for smaller chests, but could still do something for bigger chests, maybe for under a hoodie?

They won't flatten you as well as binders but the goal is more to masculinize the shape of your chest than to completely flatten it. They are also safer than binders.

Other stuff

The color black will make you look flatter

Layers! Lots of layers! (don't overheat)

Sports bras

Compression bras

Button ups <3333

Resources

Pain-Free Binding Techniques | Youtube Video by Arthur Rockwell

Binding 101 - Point of Pride

Binding Safely - Spectrum Outfitters

How to Hide Your Chest (without a binder) | Youtube Video by Iris Olympia

Binder Care - Spectrum Outfitters

Please free feel to add!

[shapeshiftersvt]

Is it ok to cycle short distances in a normal (not relaxed fit) binder? x

This is up to you. No, really. Really it is.

I've said this before, but a question like this, to me, sounds like: "is it ok to hike up a mountain?"

And my dude, I do not know. How tall's the mountain? How long is the hike? Did you break your foot lately? How're your lungs doing these days? You catch the flu this season?

So like, try it out. Go for one short distance and see how you feel. Maybe you'll be fine! Maybe you won't. So go slow at first and have an exit plan.

[dancingbirdie]

Continuation of my series "The Planets Bend Between Us" where I imagine how Astarion's aversion to intimacy and physical touch lessens as his relationship with Tav progresses.

Read Part 1 here, Part 2 here, and Part 3 here!

Also find the series on Ao3 here.

Comments, reactions, and feedback always appreciated!

The Light In Us Both

Rating: Teen

Pairing: Astarion x f!Tav

Word Count: 1.7K

Warnings/Tags: Tooth-rotting fluff, vampire bites, blood drinking, non-sexual intimacy, no smut

Astarion was nearly convinced that bindings would be necessary to keep Tav still this evening. His lovely little wildling continued to fidget beneath him, giggling under her breath and squirming each time he drew close to her neck in an attempt to feed. 

They had been in the Underdark for over a week now. Viable options for “food” were scarce for him, and so Tav had graciously allowed him to drink from her each night in order to maintain his vigor. 

While she insisted she didn’t mind, that it wasn’t an encumbrance, he couldn’t help but notice the looks of disapproval and worry from other members of their party. It was difficult to ignore. They didn’t dare speak their misgivings aloud, though, for fear of Tav’s fierce rebuke that would inevitably follow. 

Astarion loved the duality of his ferocious little darling. She was hot-tempered, demanding and fiery with nearly everyone and everything she came across. Everyone else in the party treated her as the de facto leader. She had even managed to earn the respect of Lae’zel. 

But with Astarion, she was as harmless as a newborn kitten. She joked with him. Teased. Flirted. She was pliant, like clay in his hands. One knowing look from him, and he could watch as she instantly calmed. He wasn’t sure how he’d come to tame such a hellcat, but it gave him immense pleasure, and pride, to be the only person who could call forth that side of her. Him. Astarion.

But tonight, however, he was just about at his wit’s end with her. Tav could not remain still despite his insistences. He even went so far as to describe the embarrassment they’d both share if they had to wake Shadowheart up at this time of night to repair Tav’s lacerated throat because she couldn’t stop squirming. 

Nothing seemed to work. 

“You know, darling, this little exercise of ours is made much more easy when you hold still,” Astarion whispered, a little exasperated, in her ear. 

Tav giggled. His breath against the shell of her ear tickled. “I know, I know. I’m sorry. I’ll try to behave.”

“Mm, see that you do.” 

He nuzzled at her neck, inhaling her sweet scent, prolonging the temptation of her blood just a moment longer. His hand ghosted up her waist to rest against her lower ribs. He opened his mouth, lips lightly brushing her skin. His fangs were a hair’s breadth away from sinking into her when, suddenly, a fit of laughter bubbled from her between her lips. 

He pulled back to glare at her, squeezing her waist in reproach. At his expression, she broke out in peals of laughter. He made to sit up, obviously affronted, but her hand clutched his nightshirt tighter, preventing him. 

“Tsk. You daft thing,” Astarion rolled his eyes. “Honestly, have the Myconid spores gone to your head?” 

She continued to chuckle. “Astarion, I’m sorry, but I’m ticklish.” 

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your hand. On my ribs. It tickled,” she explained. “I couldn’t help it.” 

“You’ve never had this issue before,” he replied, dubious.

“Because normally you’re holding onto my arm. Or my shoulder,” she quipped, her laughter finally quieting. 

“I see,” he murmured, mulling over her words, his expression thoughtful. 

“I’ve upset you,” Tav responded soberly, finally taking stock of the fact that Astarion hadn’t found the situation nearly as humorous as she had. “I really am sorry. I’ll keep still this time. Promise. Just maybe don’t touch me around the ribs.”

He observed her quietly a moment more. Tav couldn’t decipher what thoughts were percolating behind his expression. But then his lips curved into a sly smile. 

“So, to be clear, what you’re saying is, that if I touch you here,” he began casually, his hand tracing light swirls across her ribs. The skin of her arms and neck immediately broke out into gooseflesh. She mashed her lips together to keep from giggling once more, squirming slightly under Astarion’s touch.

“...it’s especially ticklish for you?” he finished, looking up at her in mock innocence. 

Tav could sense a game was afoot. And she hated losing. Clenching her teeth together, willing herself to keep still, she managed a slight nod. 

“I see,” Astarion said seriously. “And what about if I do this?” he asked before leaning down to blow lightly against the shell of her delicately pointed ear. 

Tav squeezed her eyes shut, trying to focus on anything else besides the urge to laugh and sidle away from him. 

“Oh my,” he intoned. “Seems like that’s dangerous territory as well.”

Tav opened her eyes, taking in the full devilish grin that graced Astarion’s mouth. He was enjoying this. She glared at him.

“All right, all right,” he placated. “But purely for my own edification,” he continued. “Is this off limits as well?” 

And before she could jerk away, he began tickling her outright. Swinging a leg over her hips to pin her down, his hands were everywhere across her ribs, her soft stomach, and under her arms. 

Tav shrieked with laughter, too distracted by Astarion’s onslaught to keep her voice down. Her hands chased his, attempting to grab them, but he was far too quick. She switched tactics then, bucking her hips in an effort to knock him off of her. But, try as she might, he stayed firmly situated atop her. Above the din of her own noise, she made out his own peals of laughter. 

He sounded utterly carefree. Playful. Filled with joy. 

“I give! I give!” she squealed finally. 

“COULD YOU TWO PLEASE KEEP IT DOWN?!” they heard Shadowheart suddenly shout from across the camp. “SOME OF US ARE TRYING TO REST.”

Grumbles of assent from around the camp floated up after her. 

“SORRY,” Tav shouted with equal fervor, grinning like mad at Astarion. “I’LL TRY SUFFERING IN SILENCE IN THE FUTURE.”

“MUCH APPRECIATED,” Shadowheart returned. 

Astarion rolled his eyes and sighed. “Killjoys, all of them.”

Tav chuckled. Still smiling up at him, she raised her hands in mock surrender. 

“You win, Astarion,” she whispered.

He huffed a laugh as he clasped her hands between his. He bent over to kiss the tops of her fingers lovingly before lifting off of her and lying back down at her side. 

“And what should be my reward, for winning so spectacularly?” he returned quietly, resting a palm against her cheek.

Tav turned her face to kiss his palm before arching her neck, giving him a meaningful smile. 

“I promise to hold still this time,” she teased. 

Astarion chuckled, slipping his hand down her cheek, her jaw, her collarbone. He stopped at her shoulder, clutching it lightly. He lifted himself up so that he could position his mouth precisely against the column of her neck. 

But before he bit down, he pressed a kiss against her neck. It was reverent. Worshipful almost. Tav fought back a shiver, holding good on her promise to remain still. 

When his fangs finally sank into her skin, it was with a gentleness far greater than Astarion had ever shown before. Tav felt only the slightest prick of pain before the icy numbness began to spread under her skin. For the first time since she’d agreed to let him feed on her, the act felt like something other than a means to satiate him. It felt akin to the intimacy she had felt when they had been together that first time, in the moonlit forest following their victory party with the tieflings. They were joined together, even if it wasn’t in the same way as then. 

She hummed contentedly as he continued to drink her in. One hand against his scalp, she combed her fingers through his hair with the devotion of a supplicant. Her other arm lifted to wrap around his waist, rubbing his lower back in slow, measured strokes. 

He groaned softly at the feeling of her embrace. Whether she had meant it to be or not, her caresses were a subtle reminder to withdraw before he took too much of her. Extracting his fangs from her neck, Astarion licked softly at the blood welling from the two puncture marks he’d left in her skin. 

Taking her blood was the nearest thing to a religious experience he had ever had. She tasted holy. As if one drop alone could absolve him of all his past sins. 

“Finished already?” she asked. Her vocal cords vibrated against his lips. A delightful thrum. 

“Mm, I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to stop if I go any longer,” he murmured against her skin. 

She hummed again in acknowledgement. 

“You’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever known,” he whispered, planting one last kiss on her neck before rolling off of her. 

“Only for you,” she replied, turning onto her side to face him. She placed her hand gently over his heart. “My star.”

He stilled in surprise. “Wh-what did you call me?”

“My star,” she intoned. Her lips curved into a gentle smile. “That’s what your name means, you know. Star.”

Astarion just stared at her, too shocked to speak. Her words had shaken something loose in the back of his mind. Something from long ago. A memory perhaps. Or a memory of a memory. It was so dusty, it was hard to tell. 

Someone else had called him “my star” once. Her face was blurry in his mind’s eye, but she seemed beautiful. Regal, even. And her voice - it was a faint echo, but it sounded so sincere. 

“I’m sorry.” 

He heard Tav’s voice drawing him back from the recesses of his mind. He blinked once, twice, before refocusing on the woman in his arms. 

“Are you okay?” she asked. “I didn’t mean to upset you by calling you that.”

“No… you didn’t. Not at all,” he assured. “I… I think you caused me to remember something… My… my mother used to call me ‘my star,’ I think.” 

“You remembered your mother?” Tav asked, hopeful.

“Barely. It was like peering through fog. But yes… I think I did,” he paused, reflecting. 

Tav remained silent, giving him time to process what he had recalled. 

Finally after a few moments, he squeezed her waist and grinned. Her breath caught in her throat at his expression. 

It was open. Boyish. Happy. 

Quick as a flash, he leaned forward to press a light kiss against her lips. It was chaste. The kind of kiss a man would give the woman he was courting. It was over before she knew it, but still, it felt wonderful. Like another wall had fallen down around his heart. She felt honored to witness it. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly, clutching her close to him as they settled down to sleep. “Thank you.”

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Some Tips & Advice for Writing Fiction

"Since advice is usually ignored and rules are routinely broken, I refer to these little pearls as merely 'suggestions.'....There’s nothing binding here. All suggestions can be ignored when necessary." —John Grisham

Love your story. Many writers create their best work when they’re deeply invested in their characters and plot.

Withhold information from your readers. When writing fiction, only give readers the information they need to know in the moment. Ernest Hemingway’s iceberg theory in writing is to show your readers just the tip of the iceberg. The supporting details—like backstory—should remain unseen, just like the mass of an iceberg under the water’s surface. This prevents readers from getting overwhelmed with information and lets them use their imagination to fill in the blanks.

Write simple sentences. Think of Shakespeare’s line, “To be or not to be?” famous for its brevity and the way it quickly describes a character’s toiling over their own life. There is a time and place for bigger words and denser text, but you can get story points across in simple sentences and language. Try using succinct language when writing, so that every word and sentence has a clear purpose.

Mix up your writing. To become a better writer, try different types of writing. If you’re a novelist, take a stab at a short story. If you’re writing fiction, try writing nonfiction. Try a more casual writing style by blogging. Each piece of writing has a different point of view and different style rules that will help your overall writing skills.

Write every day. Great writers have a regular writing habit. That means dedicating time every day to the craft of writing. Some writers assign themselves a daily word count; Stephen King writes 2,000 words a day. You might also join a writing group; being accountable to other people is a great motivator. Don’t worry if what you jot down is technically bad writing or you struggle to get something onto a blank page. Some days will be more productive than others. The more you write the easier it gets.

Set milestones. The average word count for a book is 75,000 words. That can make novel writing intimidating. If you’re working on your first novel, stay motivated by setting milestones. This will help you break the book down mentally so it is easier to manage and easier to stick with.

Understand basic story structure. Professional writers are well-versed in the framework most stories follow, from exposition and rising action through to the climax and falling action. Create an outline to map your main plot and subplots on paper before you get started.

Don't write the first scene until you know the last. This necessitates the use of a dreaded device commonly called an outline. Virtually all writers hate that word. Plotting takes careful planning. Writers waste years pursuing stories that eventually don’t work.

Learn strong character development techniques. There are effective ways to create a character arc in literature. Learn what character information to reveal to increase tension in your story. Your main characters should have a backstory that informs their actions, motivations, and goals. Determine what point of view (POV)—first person or third person—complements the character’s interpretation of events.

Use the active voice. Your goal as an author is to write a page-turner—a book that keeps readers engaged from start to finish. Use the active voice in your stories. Sentences should generally follow the basic structure of noun-verb-object. While passive voice isn’t always a bad thing, limit it in your fiction writing.

Take breaks when you need them. Writer's block gets the best of every writer. Step away from your desk and get some exercise. Getting your blood flowing and being in a different environment can ignite ideas. Continue writing later that day or even the next.

Kill your darlings. An important piece of advice for writers is to know when words, paragraphs, chapters, or even characters, are unnecessary to the story. Being a good writer means having the ability to edit out excess information. If the material you cut is still a great piece of writing, see if you can build a short story around it.

Don't introduce 20 characters in the first chapter. A rookie mistake. Your readers are eager to get started. Don’t bombard them with a barrage of names from four generations of the same family. Five names are enough to get started.

Read other writers. Reading great writing can help you find your own voice and hone your writing skills. Read a variety of genres. It also helps to read the same genre as your novel. If you’re writing a thriller, then read other thrillers that show how to build tension, create plot points, and how to do the big reveal at the climax of the story.

Read beyond what you like. Dutch writer Thomas Heerma van Voss says: "Read as much and as widely as possible. See how other writers construct their scenes, tease the reader, build tension. Don’t be afraid, especially when starting out, to steal or imitate – all arts begins with imitation. One of the Netherlands’ most famous writers began his writing career by copying out stories by Ivan Turgenev in an effort to master his rhythm and way of writing."

Read writers who do not write like you. Trinidadian-British poet Vahni Capildeo says: “Make friends with writers who do not write like you. Swap books. Show each other work. Take the long view and the wide view. Writing adds your lifetime to the lifetime of everyone else who has written or read, or who will read or write, including non-‘literary’ folk. All sorts of people work carefully or lovingly or effectively with words. You may find inspiration in a law report (ancient or contemporary) or a tide chart, or in an ‘unplayable’ play…"

Research. Critically acclaimed novelist Guinevere Glasfurd says: “Writers are often exhorted to ‘write what they know’. But what if your protagonist is a fourteenth-century nun? Or a drag queen from Kentucky (and supposing you, the writer, are not)? Start by reminding yourself why you want to tell the story. Research can be frustrating; sometimes the archive is silent, the answers are not there. There’s a reason for that and that should spark other questions. Research can also be enormously rewarding. It can, and likely will, reveal something unexpected. It is important to remain alert to that, to be attentive and open to surprise. Research is an iterative process. Research a bit, write a bit, research a bit more. Allow your writing to remain fluid at this point, open to question, encouraging of further enquiry.”

Write to sell. To make a living doing what they love, fiction writers need to think like editors and publishers. In other words, approach your story with a marketing sensibility as well as a creative one to sell your book.

Write now, edit later. Young writers and aspiring writers might be tempted to spend a lot of time editing and rewriting as they type. Resist that temptation. Practice freewriting—a creative writing technique that encourages writers to let their ideas flow uninterrupted. Set a specific time to edit.

Get feedback. It can be hard to critique your own writing. When you have finished a piece of writing or a first draft, give it to someone to read. Ask for honest and specific feedback. This is a good way to learn what works and what doesn’t.

Think about publishing. Few authors write just for themselves. Envision where you want your story to be published. If you have a short story, think about submitting it to literary magazines. If you have a novel, you can send it to literary agents and publishing houses. You might also consider self-publishing if you really want to see your book in print.

Ignore writing advice that doesn't resonate with you. Not every writer works the same. You have to figure out what works for you in the long run. If working off of bullet-point outlines gives you hives, then don't do it. If you work best writing scenes out of order, then write those scenes out of order.

Sources: 1 2 3 4

[sweetbutpsychobutsweet]

Knock Before Entering

Chapter 13

Thorin Oakenshield x AFAB!Reader

Summary: Thorin will have to exercise a great amount of restraint to not maim Kili and Fili, and when it comes time to grace the Wandering Widow with an encore performance you will have to find a way to take the stage with the rest of the company being none the wiser.

Warnings: no use of y/n, angst, 18+, NSFW, minors do not interact, brief descriptions of bloody wounds/injuries, mentions of sex work if you squint

Author's Note: This chapter ended up being waaaaaay longer than anticipated so I've broken it up into multiple sections. Which means the next one is already mostly done🥳 Thank you all so much for the love for the previous chapters and the cockblocking nephews😂

Word count: 2505

“Sooo,” Kili tries to suppress a smile as you pull the last shards of glass from the cut on his hand. “How long has this been going on?” He looks over his shoulder at his uncle, who is sitting in a chair across the room. Arms crossed over his chest and a scowl etched on his face, Thorin hasn’t said a word since you were cock blocked by his nephews. Instead, he elected to just pull his shirt back on and remain in the room, brooding in the corner while you patched up Kili.

Fili still remains in the doorway, refusing to step foot in the room as if that will help save him from his uncle’s simmering rage.

“You know I have some sewing supplies,” you remind Kili. “If you irritate me enough I could decide this wound is in dire need of stitches.”

“He only wants to know whether we won the bet or not,” Fili sighs from the doorway.

You lift a brow in question, not lifting your gaze as you continue cleaning his brother’s wound. “The entire company placed bets on how long it would take the two of you to jump into bed together.”

Your head snaps up, immediately looking over at Thorin. He doesn’t meet your gaze, he just tips his head back to the ceiling with a heavy sigh.

“When did this happen?” you scoff.

“In Bag-end,” Kili winces when you start to apply the salve to his palm. “The others will be relieved to hear the wait is over.”

“The others don’t need to know,” you warn him as you reach for the roll of gauze beside you. As you do you catch Thorin’s gaze. Finally falling back on you, his eyes are filled with an emotion you can’t quite place.

You had expected him to agree with you. But instead, he looks…surprised. Like he hadn’t expected you to be so adamant about hiding your complicated relationship from the others.

Everything is still so messy and new. You don’t even know what you would call it yet.

You’re certainly not courting. Thorin could never be formally involved with someone from your background. He is a king. And a king is meant to marry a proper lady of good standing. Not a rebellious half-dwarf such as yourself. If there’s one you know, it’s that you are not meant to be his queen.

So does that make you… lovers? The term makes you cringe. It implies a much longer relationship than the situation will allow. This will only last as long as the journey to Erebor. Thorin will marry another and you will be on your way with the mountain at your back once again. This is all meant to be a temporary arrangement. If anything, it feels more like you have stumbled across an alternative way to tolerate each other’s presence.

These days it feels like the two of you only get along when you have your limbs are tangled together in secret.

And Thorin hasn’t exactly gone out of his way to make your relationship known to the others. He isn’t the kind of person to indulge in any kind of public displays of affection or to insist on putting a label on whatever it is the two of you have. Perhaps you misinterpreted his desire for privacy as an agreement to keep your relationship a secret.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost say Thorin looks hurt that you want to hide it. The look he gives you brings a stab of guilt into your chest. Tearing your gaze from him, you busy yourself with binding Kili’s hand. Whether you misread things or not, Thorin still takes your side regardless.

“What either of us do behind closed doors is no one else’s business,” he grumbles at his nephews. “Let this be a lesson to the both of you on the courtesy of knocking before entering.”

“Did uncle knock before entering you?” Kili whispers with a smirk and Thorin jumps from the chair so quickly it clatters to the floor. Fili leaps from his place in the doorway fast enough to block his path to Kili.

You quickly tie off the bandage and rise to your feet, inserting yourself between Fili and Thorin before they can start throwing punches.

“That’s enough,” you hiss at the both of them. Thorin still has murder in his eyes as he towers over you, glaring at his nephews.

“He was only joking,” Fili defends his brother, who’s now come to stand at his shoulder.

“I don’t want to hear either of you speak about her in such a manner again,” Thorin growls at them.

“Please forgive me,” Kili looks at you with a genuine nod of remorse, before stifling a laugh when he whispers “auntie” under his breath.

Thorin goes to take another step towards him as the two start to snicker. You bring a firm hand to his chest before he can make it past you. “Quit it,” you hiss as you shoot a warning look his way. You can feel the barely suppressed growl in his chest beneath your fingertips, but he does as you say and remains planted firmly in place. Keeping your hand on his chest, you turn to look over your shoulder at the boys.

“We’re done here, so you’re both going to go back to your room and go to bed.” You instruct. “And neither of you will breathe a word of this to anyone. Otherwise, those eagles will send you back to your mother in pieces. Understand?”

They both nod their heads grimly. Knowing better than to test you when you’re this close to resorting to violence. They silently turn to leave.

You walk them out. Latching the door firmly closed behind them and sliding the lock in place.

Letting your hand linger on the rusted metal, you dread turning to face Thorin now that it’s just the two of you again.

This time being alone together doesn’t carry the same implication. The moment has officially passed. The previous mood dead and buried.

With a steadying breath, you turn to face him. And just as you predicted Thorin is looking at you with an expression you’re all too familiar with lately.

“Care to explain what that was about?” he crosses his arms over his chest again.

“You’re the one who didn’t lock the door,” you deflect as you brush past him to the bed. Beginning to pick up the discarded supplies and tossing them back into your bag.

“You know that’s not what I mean,” he grumbles. “Why didn’t you want them to tell the others?”

“Why is that so wrong?” you turn to face him again, a hand on your hip. “Are you obligated to keep the company informed on everyone you sleep with?”

“No, but I don’t feel the need to go out of my way to hide it.”

“If you want to be the one to answer the endless tirade of questions about us, be my guest Thorin,” you roll your eyes. “Questions that I’m not sure either of us even have the answer to.”

“Only because we haven’t discussed it,” he reminds you.

“Is that really how you want to pass the time now that they’re gone?” you set a hand on your hip with a scoff. “Talking?”

He clenches his jaw, taking a step closer to you.

Your breath catches in your chest as you look up at him towering over you.

“I can’t help how much you infuriate me,” he growls, bringing a hand up to run through your hair. “No one drives me as crazy as you do.” His hand slowly comes to the side of your face, caressing your cheek.

“Every time you open your mouth I lose control.” He starts to trace your bottom lip with his thumb, watching in awe as you wrap your lips around the digit, beginning to suck. He growls as you gently scrape your teeth over his skin.

His other hand wraps around your waist, beginning to pull you in closer to him. You bring your hands to his chest, sliding them up the hard planes of his pectorals.

As your hands slide up, his starts to slide down. He grabs a handful of the soft flesh of your ass, eliciting a moan from you around his thumb.

Knock knock

You both groan and turn to glare at the offending door yet again.

“Not now,” Thorin shouts but the knocking persists.

Reluctantly stepping away from you with a huff, Thorin stalks over to the door. Unlatching it and yanking it open roughly.

Gandalf stands in the doorway. “Apologies for the interruption,” he says. Not looking the least bit sorry as his gaze bounces between the two of you in a knowing look.

“Can this wait?” Thorin grumbles at the wizard.

“I’m afraid not,” he replies, “we need to discuss the path we’re going to take for the journey ahead. The others are already gathered down in the kitchen for supper.”

“Very well,” he huffs, looking over his shoulder at you. “Shall we?”

“Actually,” Gandalf raises a hand to halt you both before you can head out the door. “Your assistance is needed in the tavern.”

He gives you a pointed look and you sneak a glance out the window behind you. The sun is already going down. You had promised Bertram you would put on your encore performance at sunset tonight.

“Ah yes,” you clear your throat, “I…promised one of the barmaids I would help her with some… lady troubles.”

Thorin raises a brow in confusion. “Can’t it wait? You’ll miss supper.”

“Oh, I’m afraid lady troubles never wait. I’ll join you all later.”

You shoulder your way past the two of them, Thorin looking confused at your abrupt departure.

You shoot Gandalf a pointed look as you head for the stairs and he gives you a small nod in understanding. You can only hope that he fulfills his promise to keep the company occupied long enough for you to secure the night's lodgings

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

“You’re late,” Bertram grumbles from behind the bar. “The crowd’s starting to get antsy.” He nods to the restless patrons filling the dimly lit room. The musicians are already tuning their instruments and drunken folk from the nearby towns gather around the stage impatiently.

Considering it was on such short notice, you’re quite impressed word traveled this quickly. You already recognize many regulars in the audience from when you would take to the stage on a nightly basis.

“Apologies,” you mumble while pulling up the sheer fabric at your chest yet again. “I had some wardrobe troubles.”

Either you’re misremembering how uncomfortable the costume was or it’s somehow become tighter and itchier since the last time you wore it.

There are several loose layers of fabric over your hips and chest that are meant to be removed with a flourish throughout the performance. But it’s the pieces underneath that cling tightly to your body. They cover the only parts that will be left to the imagination so you don't want to risk them slipping off.

“Pretty sure this is the only profession where wardrobe malfunctions work to your benefit sweetheart,” he scoffs nodding to the musicians on stage to signal your arrival.

“Now break a leg, and make me some money,” he waves you off and you saunter away towards the stage.

The musicians begin to strum the opening of a familiar melody and the crowd starts to hoot and holler as you slowly climb the steps to center stage.

Blowing a kiss and waving to the crowd your feet tread a familiar path as your hips start to sway, seemingly of their own accord.

Muscle memory kicks in as you let yourself get carried away by the music. Swaying and twirling, smiling and winking as the onlookers cheer.

The music rises to a crescendo and with a roll of your neck and a flip of your hair, you begin to ever so slowly slip the fabric off of your shoulders.

It flutters to the ground, leaving nothing but a long strip of fabric covering your upper body.

Everyone cheers, and you lift your arms above your head with a dazzling smile. Maintaining the pose just long enough for them to drink in the sight.

Continuing your path across the stage, familiar patrons start to clamber closer to the edge of the stage. You’ve done this routine so many times they know the grand finale is drawing near.

With another spin, you quickly slip the tie at your hip free. Holding it taut in your hand your eyes quickly scan for a volunteer.

A big burly man with a long beard calls out your name with a cheer, holding his drink high overhead in a toast. You extend the piece of fabric out to him and he gladly accepts.

“Hold on tight,” you instruct with a wink and he does exactly that. Holding the end of the fabric in place, you begin to twirl away from him in a whirlwind, the skirt unraveling around you as you do so.

The crowd goes wild as the rest of the fabric disappears, sliding down your legs to pool at your feet as you strike another pose showing off your now bare legs.

Gingerly stepping over the pile of fabric you resume your dance, twirling to the other end of the stage.

Your next move is to reverse the movement and travel in the exact opposite direction. But before you can, a strong pair of arms reach around your waist from behind, dragging you backwards off the stage.

With a shout, you are abruptly set on your feet in front of the absolute last person you want to see right now.

“What are you doing?!” Thorin growls, keeping a firm grip on you as his eyes take in the very small amount of fabric in such a public place.

“I’m a little busy right now,” you hiss. The crowd has already started to shout in protest and the musicians have stopped playing, looking at each other in confusion.

You’re more than a little pissed they let someone just grab you from off the stage but that’s a conversation for another time.

You try to pull yourself from his grasp, if you get right back up there and finish the performance you’re sure you can remedy the situation.

Bertram is already pushing through the crowd, red in the face with his sights set on you.

Thorin’s grip only tightens on your arms, a muscle in his jaw tensing. He releases you for a brief second, and you foolishly think he's letting you have your way. But before you can climb back on stage, he is suddenly wrapping his cloak around your bare skin and tossing you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"You and I are going to have a little talk," he growls as he carries you out of the tavern kicking and screaming.

Next

Taglist:

@mrsdurin @thetaekwondofeline @enchantingkryptoniteheart-blog

@exhausted-humxn-being @marsmallow433 @sverdgeir

@champagne-glamour@yve-barr @krampus236 @nerdthickly

@lyl1pad @bruhk @eri-s-big-sis

[mcuamerica]

The Shadowsinger: Ten

Warnings: 18+. Minors DNI. Mention of wing clipping and shredding, wing binding, mention of parental/familial abuse, ACOTAR series spoilers. If I forgot anything, please let me know!

Pairing: Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: Azriel takes you into the mountains for a training exercise. You open up to him.

Disclaimer: I do not own SJM’s characters or plot lines, only the ones I create for the purpose of this story. This is a work of fiction. I do not give permission to repost my work on any other platform or medium. Please be respectful.

My graphics are my own. If you wish to use them, please give credit!

Series Masterlist

Prologue - One - Two - Three - Four - Five - Six - Seven - Eight - Nine

Once you packed, you waved to Cassian as you slung on the bag under your wings. It wasn’t too heavy, and Cass said you only needed enough for 2 days of travel. Azriel seemed to have a little more in his bag, but he knew where you were going and what to expect. You had no clue other than you were going to some cabin they shared in the mountains. 

You took a deep breath as you flew behind Azriel. It was bad enough you were stuck with him, but he was training you on top of it. Every time you thought he’d given you a break, he would instruct you to bank to the left, for no reason. You stopped on top of a hill, landing next to him. The frigid air did nothing to help the sweat that built up under your clothes. Though your wings were practically shaking from it. You would kill for a warm bath back at the House. 

“Fill up your water over there,” he said and nodded towards the stream. You caught your breath and grabbed the canteen from him, going to fill it up. You hadn’t been out in the middle of Illyria since… for a while. You shook the thought from your head as you gulped down the water. 

“We’ll camp here for tonight.” Azriel said, looking around to examine the terrain. “But there’s still daylight, so let’s train.” 

“How do you even know what I need to train on?” You asked. “Your shadows tell you that too?”

“My shadows tell me a lot. But Cassian filled me in on where you are. I want to see you go through the warm ups. But I also want to bind your wings.” He said.

“You’re not coming near my wings.” You growled and crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes. 

“That's fine. You bind your wings. You can do it with your shadows. Like this.” He said, turning around to show you. You couldn’t help but admire as he flared his wings out fully and then tucked them in, his shadows circling and tightening around the width. If what you knew about wingspan was true… Mother help the female that ended up with him. 

“Why do I need to bind my wings?” You asked. 

“You never know when you’re going to find them useless in the middle of a battle. And binding them now will help you learn how to work without them… and you’re going through the usual Illyrian training. This is part of it.” Azriel explained. 

You sighed and turned around, flaring our your wings as he had and then tucked them in, instructing your shadows to bind them. When you faltered towards the end, you let out a breath. “Is that fine? I can’t get them to go tighter.” You said. You still had enough motion on them to flutter them. 

“Do you not know…” he trailed off. “Can I talk to them?” He asked and you looked back at him, nodding. He walked closer to you, whispering to them in only a language that you and the shadows could ever understand. A quiet, hushed language that wasn’t anything more than a murmur to most. But to you, Azriel, and the shadows, it was the way to communicate. 

Then you felt the shadows tighten around you. “How do you do that? I can only get them to listen to me so much…” you said.

“You have to work with them. Bend more to them than force them to bend to you.” He said and you took a deep breath. He was being unusually nice and soft. And if it were two months ago, you would have loved it. But now it irritated you. Where was this at the beginning of the month? Why was he ignoring you? “Now start the warm ups.” He said. 

You loosed a breath, going to stretch your wings but halting when the shadows didn’t let up. You sighed and started the warm ups. Some of the balancing was hard without using your wings, but you managed just fine. And Azriel made you hold every stance or pose for longer than Cassian normally did. You thought Cassian had gone harder on you than Azriel at first, but now, you knew that first day he was just being nice. By the time you got through the warm ups, you were sweating again. And the sun was setting. The cold breeze told you that a storm was likely to come the next day. But you could probably spend the night outside before it hit where you were. 

“Good… let’s eat and then get settled.” Azriel said. “Can you go find some wood?” He asked and you grumbled as you went to find wood. He instructed your shadows to keep your wings bound, as a training exercise. You had half a mind to just winnow back to the Windhaven camp. But you decided against it, knowing Cassian would probably wallop you for it. 

You walked down the small hill towards the wooded area. There was light snow on the ground, surprisingly not too heavy. Though the Winter Solstice hadn’t passed yet, so you couldn’t expect much more. Still, this far north it was worth noting. 

You got some wood that would be good for a fire, then walked back up the hill. The training from the past week made your thighs burn as you climbed. And your wings being bonded didn’t help. 

You found Azriel setting up a tent and you got to work to make a fire. Pulling out a match from your pack, you knelt down to start it. 

Azriel watched you from where he put up the tent. He knew it would drop to freezing temperatures tonight, so the fact that you could start and maintain a fire was good. You didn’t say much on the flight here. And didn’t say anything other than to complain during the warm up. He hoped tonight would change that. Maybe he’d learn why you were so high tempered at Windhaven. 

You stood up once the fire got going and turned towards Azriel. “You’re not afraid of any creatures coming out at night?” You asked him. 

“Not particularly. If we get into trouble, we can disappear pretty easily.” Azriel said. “But the creatures are further north. If we have to stop tomorrow night, we’ll need to find a cave.” He explained. You frowned at the thought of spending a night in a cave. When a storm was looming to come within the next day or two. 

He noticed the change in your demeanor. “But if we make good time and get to where Cass and I agreed upon, we’ll go to the cabin.” He added as a comfort. You simply nodded and looked towards the packs. 

“Are we going to eat?” You asked, your stomach grumbling from the training all day and the grueling flight here. 

“Yeah, here,” he said and pulled out some sort of dried meat. “It’s not much, but we can rough it for today and tomorrow until we get to the cabin. And then when we train there we will be good.” 

You took a deep breath and took the bag, clearing a spot of snow and sitting by the fire. You didn’t know what to expect from him, so you stared at the fire as it burned, glad for the warmth. 

“How old were you when you became a Shadowsinger?” He asked after a few minutes in silence, sitting diagonally from you. You really wish you could stretch your wings out as he was against the fire. But your training demanded they stay bound. Stupid. 

“20,” you said and shifted on your spot. “Right after I left Valorworth.” You said and took a deep breath, taking another bite of the meat. 

“How?” He asked and you pursed your lips. You didn’t know if you wanted to talk about it. Not while you were in the middle of Illyria. You didn’t know your bearings well right now, so for all you knew, you could be close to the spot that you got stuck. 

“I pleaded for anyone, anything, to help me… I was snowed into a cave after a horrible storm. My wings were in shreds. I ran out of food and water. It was pitch black. And then I heard them.” You said, eyes catching the light of the fire. “The shadows told me it would be okay. And they got me out.” You said. “And from there, they guided me to the village where I met my family. And I stayed there for 100 years until Amarantha found me.” 

“How did she…” he trailed off. 

“An Illyrian male I slept with ran back to his camp Lord and told him, who told Amarantha. Rhys informed me that the Lord was one that you all hunted down and killed last month.” You said and looked at Azriel. You could have sworn you saw a flash of jealousy in his eyes when you mentioned the Illyrian. 

“About a week later was when she showed up. And I made a bargain to tell her the truth of what I knew. As long as she didn’t take my wings. As long as she didn’t hurt my family.” You said and then looked at the fire. 

“Is that why you hate the Illyrians? Because they were the ones to turn you in?” 

You shook your head. “I don’t hate the Illyrians.” You said in a whisper. “I.. I think I envy them. The males at least… I always wanted to be independent. And my father never let me out of his grasp. Even after I refused to marry anyone.” You didn’t know why you were opening up to Azriel. But you were tired and you didn’t want to lie. And you didn’t want to keep it inside anymore. “And then he gave me one last option. Marry this male named Marc… or he would clip my wings. Marc-“

“Marc Quaden?” He asked. When you nodded, he hummed. “His current wife had her wings clipped. By a healer. On his orders… and from what I remember, she never looked too happy.” 

“So… I refused to marry him too. And my father kept his half of the deal. He tried to clip my wings. But I got out of my brothers’ grasp and flew away. They followed me. But I think they gave up when I went as far north as I did. By the time I couldn’t fly anymore, I had no clue where I was.” You said. 

“They didn’t clip your wings… but they shredded them?” He asked. 

“My father wanted me to hurt before he took them from me. That was his mistake.” You said, remaining quiet as you finished the meat and drank some water. 

You listened as Azriel told you his story. The story of how his stepmother locked him in a dark cell, his brothers burning his hands, his father dumping him with Devlon when he realized what he was. And then meeting Rhys and Cassian.

When you barely responded and didn’t ask many questions, Azriel knew you were done talking for the night. So he told you to get some sleep in the tent and he would join once he knew that there weren’t any animals nearby. And after he sent his shadows out. You didn’t disagree, tired from the flight and training.

"Azriel?" You said into the darkness, sometime during the night. He hummed in response, clearly not sleeping just as you. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry for what your family did to you." You whispered.

A few moments went by, and you were worried he didn't want your sympathy. "I'm sorry for what yours did to you."

"Can we make a pact?" You asked, turning to face him. You were on opposite sides of the tent, but little separated you besides your packs. He hummed again in response. "To never allow one another to be harmed like that again..." You said.

His hazel eyes were the only thing you saw, moonlight streaming in from the thin fabric of the tent. "I'll never allow for you to be harmed like that." He agreed. "Or I'll never forgive myself." He said.

You nodded, a small smile coming to your face. Somehow, returning to training tomorrow didn't seem so bad. Neither did returning to Windhaven.

A/N: I didn't even have the pact written in until Sunday while I was proofreading and I wanted it to conclude better. I'm so glad our girl opened up about her trauma and Az told her about his too!

Series Masterlist

Join the taglist here

Tagging (if you are not being tagged properly, please send me a message, I will fix it as soon as I can!):

@cherry-cin @cleverzonkwombatsludge @nickishadow139 @mybestfriendmademe @atomolvnar

@complete-randomness-2 @lilah-asteria @tele86 @mariahoedt @6v6babycheese @secretsthathauntus @krowiathemythologynerd @fightmedraco @he6rtshaker @kayla-rose15 @aelincaddel

@mfri06 @hauntedstudentobservationus @brieflyclassymortal

[lewmagoo]

the ties that bind | bob floyd

description: in which your lover unravels you completely

warnings: 18+ only, bondage, orgasm denial, vibrators, daddy kink, light pussy slapping, some begging, spitting, aftercare

pairing: bob floyd x afab!reader

Robert Floyd was ruthless. 

No one expected that of him just by looking at him. He was a quiet, passive person. He preferred to blend in, to watch from afar. No one expected him to have a mean bone in his body. And, really, he was sweet as pie. The greatest lover you’d ever known. 

But, unbeknownst to all the friends who claimed he was “passive” and “timid”, he was also wicked, and he quite enjoyed having you entirely at his mercy, willing to do whatever he asked of you. And that was precisely the position you found yourself in at that very moment.

Bound to his bed, unable to escape, skin buzzing hot with anticipation, wondering what he was going to do to you next, and thinking that maybe, just maybe, you had bitten off more than you could chew when you had agreed to do this.

In the beginning, it had sounded like such fun. Wicked, sinful fun. You had been the one to bring it up, after all. You'd gone to your lover and proposed the idea. And he, ever the sinner, had eagerly agreed. The decision was mutual, and when he had asked you if he could do anything he desired to you, within reason and boundary, you had told him yes.

But now here you were, naked, writhing, trembling. He was above you, a devious smile on his sweet, handsome face. And at that moment, with his pale blue eyes burning right into your own, you were beginning to slightly regret even suggesting this whole thing. He was punishing you in the most wonderfully painful way imaginable, and you weren't sure how much longer you could handle it.

He had you stretched out across the mattress, arms tied to the headboard, legs bound and held apart so he could easily access the very center of you. Your skin was slick with sweat, eyes squeezed shut as you put every ounce of energy you had into holding on to what little control over yourself you had left.

You could feel that all too familiar burn in your lower abdomen, threatening to engulf you in searing pleasure. But you couldn't let go, not yet. You just had to hold out a little while longer, and you would finally get your reward. But goddammit, it was hard.

Maybe it would be a little easier if you could make noise, let out your frustration through cries and moans. But you weren't allowed to make a sound, though, per his rules. If you so much as let out a whimper, you would be denied your orgasm and endure whatever punishment he deemed fit.

When he'd told you this, you had underestimated just how hard it would be. Sure, I can be quiet, you thought. Now, you were wishing you had never let him make the rule, because all you wanted to do was scream at the top of your lungs.

You'd lost track of time. Had it been minutes? Hours? He'd had that damned vibrator against your cunt for ages, on high, a setting you rarely used together because it was so intense. But he was feeling ruthless today, and was quite enjoying the sight of you squirming uncomfortably, pulling at your restraints. You looked up at him with wide eyes, silently begging him to offer some relief from the intense vibration, but he refused to oblige.

Bob knew your body well, had you memorized like the back of his hand. He knew how you moved when you were about to tip over the edge, knew the look on your face, the tense in your muscles. And whenever he saw those telltale signs, he pulled the vibrator away promptly, leaving you to buck your hips into the air and bite your lip hard in bitter frustration.

He was enjoying this, really. He'd never seen you so desperate before, he had to admit. It had his head spinning, body warm with desire. All he wanted was to be inside you, feel your slick warmth envelop him. But he was exercising every ounce of self-control he possessed. He would be inside you all in due time. Right now, his priority was getting you to the edge again, give you just the slightest taste of release before pulling away just when your body was nearly at its peak.

He watched you bite the inside of your cheek, surely hard enough to draw blood. You were trying your best to respect his wishes, to follow his command. And for that, he loved you. You were his good little plaything, and he made a mental note to reward you tenfold after he was finished with you. You were handling this all better than he thought you would.

He ran his free hand down your bare stomach, leaning down to press a kiss to your glistening forehead. "Mm, you're doing so well, sweet baby. Hold on just a little longer and Daddy will let you come."

I have been holding on! You wanted to shout at him. But you bit your tongue - literally. If you yelled, it would surely earn you a bruised bottom and a denied orgasm. You could feel it, though. Searing through you like molten lava, threatening to burn you alive. Your chest began to heave, and as Bob looked at you, he saw the slightly panicked expression on your face.

Instantly, he turned off the vibrator, partly because he couldn't handle waiting any longer, and partly because he knew you were nearing the end of your rope, and he didn’t want to push you there quite yet. He set the handheld wand aside, reaching up to gently stroke the side of your face, praising you yet again. "You're being so good for me."

You nuzzled your warm face against his large palm before his touch was gone, leaving only a soft rush of air in its wake. The sound of him unzipping his pants had your cunt clenching around nothing, knowing that in a few short moments, you would be filled to the brim.

When he came back into view, he was completely bare, and you watched through hazy eyes as he reached down, lazily tugging that thick, heavy cock before he situated himself between your spread, trembling legs. In that moment, he wanted to tell you to beg for it, as he often did. But he wanted to see just how long you could stay silent.

Leaning down, he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your lips, tongue ever so slowly sliding over your bottom lip. Then he went lower, hungry mouth suckling at your soft breasts. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin and you huffed, bucking your hips up in search of him. He held you down with his hand against your pelvis. “Uh-uh, be patient,” he scolded.

Deft fingers danced along the front of your body before he caressed your spasming pussy, so swollen and hot to the touch. “Poor lil thing. Need me so bad, don’t ya?” He hummed with mock sympathy. You looked up at him with wide eyes, frantically nodding. 

“Guess I’ll give the baby what it wants.” Then, he guided his cock toward the place where you needed him most, and he began to nudge into you. 

At the initial stretch, you let out a gasp, trying so hard not to whimper. How on earth were you meant to stay silent when that gorgeous cock of his was currently beginning to split you right open? Your own arousal provided more than enough lubricant for him. "Look at you," he murmured, "soaked and ready for my cock."

You pulled at your restraints again, leaning up, hoping he'd kiss you again. But he ignored your silent plea, placing his hands on either side of your arms, holding himself up as he began to slowly thrust into you.

He couldn't help but groan deeply at the feeling of you, so snug and warm around him. He knew it wouldn't take long for him to reach his end, and he was glad that he'd edged you so much, because that meant you'd finish right along with him.

He brought his mouth down to your breasts again, sucking and biting as he picked up his pace, fucking into you more deliberately. Beneath him, you were trying desperately to keep your mouth shut, to remain silent as he carried on. But he was making it damn near impossible. He felt so good, filling you deliciously, each ridge and vein brushing against every last inch of you.

You closed your eyes, the sensations bubbling up within you growing too intense, enough to draw tears. They began sliding down the sides of your face and into your hairline, hot and wet. You moved in tandem with him, rolling your hips, wanting and needing more. You were getting close, simply from the stimulation of his pubic bone against your swollen clit, the gathering of sandy curls around the base of his cock only heightening those sensations with each brush against you.

If you stayed quiet just a little longer, you knew that he would let you come soon enough. In the beginning, he'd told you that you would only be allowed to come while he was inside you, and now, your sweet release was so close you could almost taste it on your tongue.

Bob was growing a little rougher, a little faster, a little deeper. He was making noise freely, groaning and growling, filthy words swimming through your head, telling you how good you felt, how wet you were, how you were made to take his cock. You wanted to scream, cry, wail. It was becoming so overwhelming that you weren't sure how much longer you could hold out. You were biting your cheek so hard you could taste copper in your mouth.

Then he was all but pounding into you, hard and fast and unforgiving, and you couldn't hold it in anymore. A scream bubbled up in your throat, and you let it free, filling the room with the shrill sound. That's when your lover stopped, going still as could be. When you opened your eyes, he was looking right at you. And that ocean blue you loved so much? It had gone nearly black.

He grabbed your face roughly, forcing you to keep eye contact. "What was that?"

"I-I-I'm sorry Daddy!" You began to sob, body undulating beneath him. "I c-couldn't help it!"

"That's not good enough." He pulled out of you, immediately climbing off of the bed.

"No, wait!" You gasped, "Daddy, please, I'm sorry, it just slipped out, I-"

But then, his hand was clamped over your mouth, eyes staring down at you so intensely you thought you would burst into flames right then and there.

"Shut your mouth, you brat," he snapped. "You are going to lay here, completely silent, until I come back. Do you understand me?"

You nodded, and he lifted his hand from your mouth. Tears were still streaming down your face, due to frustration, anger (mostly at yourself), and desperation. You sniffled, coughing and sputtering as you watched Bob stop to pull his sweatpants on. He only turned back to you to speak once more. “What word do you say if you need me to come back and untie you?” His face had gone gentle.

“Palomino,” you breathlessly replied.

“Atta girl.” He left a sweet kiss to your sweaty forehead. When he straightened, he was back to that strict persona. "You're staying like this until I come back into the room." 

And then he was gone, leaving you stretched out and humiliated on the bed. It took you a long while to calm down, for the tears to stop and for your breathing to return to normal.

Meanwhile, Bob had made his way into the kitchen. Dinner time was approaching, and he wanted to have a meal prepared for when he was finished with you, because he knew your energy would be depleted, and that you would be starving.

He also knew this was torture for you, laying there, suspended and unable to do a single thing about it. He could only imagine how pliant you would be once he returned, willing to do absolutely anything he asked of you, just so you could get a release. And if he was being honest, that was what he wanted, because he, too, needed a release. He was still achingly hard within the confines of his pants, and he knew it wouldn't go away so easily.

To distract himself, he put on some music - classical, Tchaikovsky's 4th - and then proceeded to gather the ingredients he'd need. Pasta, of course. Something hearty and comforting, because he knew you'd need it after all the exertion he'd put you through.

He let himself slip into the process of preparing the meal. Cooking had always been therapeutic for him. Especially cooking for his lover. He put his whole heart into the meals he made, and you always swore you could taste the love in each bite.

In the bedroom, you could hear everything. The music, the clang of pots and pans. You could smell garlic cooking, and you knew he would take his sweet time preparing everything, just to further punish you. Damn him, the bastard.

Your shoulders were becoming quite sore from your predicament, and so were your legs. It was rather uncomfortable. It always was, but normally, Bob removed the ropes from you the moment he was finished. But not tonight, because he was far from finished with you.

It felt like hours had passed, even though it couldn’t have been more than twenty-five minutes. You were growing restless. So, in order to occupy yourself, you closed your eyes, attempting to create an elaborate story in your head. It did little to distract you fully, but it did help some. So you continued on. Eyes closed. Waiting, waiting, waiting. 

And there was Bob, entirely at ease and unbothered in the kitchen, draining the pasta and moving over to stir the sauce. He tasted it, deciding it needed a little more basil leaf before pausing to chop one and tossing it into the deep red liquid. He knew you’d love the sauce, he’d outdone himself this time with it.

But you were not thinking about food. You were thinking about him. And you were beginning to grow angry at that point. Your patience was wearing thin. You knew this was what you deserved for disobeying his one rule, no sounds, but you couldn't be bothered to care. You just wanted him to come back and untie you. You thought about shouting for him, maybe eve safewording, but decided against it. You were nowhere near needing to use that word just yet. Bob’s intention was never to push you to have to use it, either. The word was merely there as a safeguard, and you didn’t find it necessary to use at the moment.

So, you remained silent, just as you'd been doing for the past thirty minutes. And finally, after what felt like eternity, you could hear his footsteps coming down the hall. An odd mix of both relief and anxiety swirled through you at once. Relief because you knew he would soon release you, and anxiety because you had no idea what was coming after.

A glass of water was perched in his hand, and a smirk was spread across his handsome face. "Look at my pretty little angel," he murmured, strolling towards the bed. "Still spread out for me, just the way I left you."

The clink of the glass being set on the nightstand reached your ears, but you didn't dare take your eyes off him to look at it. Bob's hand came to rest against your cheek, before traveling downwards, skimming over your breasts, stomach, and finally landing between your legs. Those beautiful fingers slid along your wetness, and you shifted your hips, only to be shocked entirely by a light slap to your pussy.

Even so, Bob had mercy on you. He'd punished you long enough, it was time to reward you. So, he reached up, taking the liberty to untie the bonds on your wrists. When your arms fell, you let out an audible sigh of relief, slowly lengthening your arms beside you as Bob moved to untie your legs. His fingers massaged over the marks the rope had left indented on your skin, and he moved down to press a kiss to each one.

For a moment, his eyes softened as he gazed at you. "You okay?"

You mustered a weak, but genuine, smile, and nodded. “I’m fine.”

Satisfied with that, Bob set the jute rope aside, and climbed onto the bed. He hovered over you, seamlessly moving to leave a deep kiss against your lips. His warm hands cupped your face, and he broke the kiss to look at you. "You can make noise this time around," he granted, and yet another flood of relief washed over you.

Bob made quick work of removing his pants then, tossing them to the floor below before settling between your legs yet again. You let your eyes flutter shut as you felt his heavy cock pressing against your soft, wet center again. His voice, sweet and low, floated through your head then.

"Beg for it, m’love."

With what little energy you had left, you spoke, voice wavering. "P-please...I need to come so bad, it hurts. Please let me come, Daddy. I’ll do anything."

If he was feeling spiteful, he would have demanded more from you. But in that moment, he needed his release as much as you did. So he took your plea with satisfaction, kissing you yet again as he slipped into you for the second time that night. The feeling made you whine, and you grabbed at his shoulders for purchase.

His movements were slow at first, gradually building. He covered you with his entire body, engulfing you in the safety of his big arms as he fucked you. He soon had you trembling, gasping, moaning. The ability to let out sounds felt so wonderful, and you were sure to let out plenty.

You were so painfully close. A full hour of stimulation still had you sensitive, even thirty minutes later. When Bob brought his hand down to the place where your bodies met, fingers pressing into your nub of nerves, you were keening beneath him, tears springing to your eyes all over again.

"Oh," Bob breathlessly sighed, "I can feel you tightenin' around me. You gonna come for me, sweet baby?"

"Y-yes," you squeaked, pathetically so.

So, Bob went a little faster, a little harder. And soon, he was fucking you right into the mattress, hitting all those wonderful spots inside of you at a steady pace, sending shocks of delicious pleasure surging through you, like electricity through a live wire.

He grunted and growled above you, trying his hardest to stave off his own orgasm. You were going to come before him, he was determined to make it happen. You’d been so good for him and you deserved it.

He was slamming into you at that point, the sound of skin on skin growing almost deafening. You cried out, clutching him hard enough to leave bruises. With your mouth parted, he couldn’t help but lean down to capture your lips with his own again.

"Come on," he gritted out, "I know you want to come for Daddy. Do it, come all over my cock."

You could only moan and whimper, writhing and thrashing against the mattress. Bob had a look of determination twisted into his features, a curl of sandy hair falling against his sweaty forehead. He wasn't going to let up until you were completely overwhelmed.

He grasped your face in his hand then, staring you down. You were trembling something awful at that point, sweaty, exhausted, nearly there. He placed his mouth against yours, tugging your bottom lip with his teeth before releasing. "Open your mouth," he hissed.

Obediently, you did so, and as your lips parted, Bob didn't miss a single beat, spitting into your open mouth before pushing it shut promptly after. "Swallow." Yet again, you obediently did so, always willing to do what he asked. The whole eroticism of it all was what pushed you over the edge, and with a desperate howl, you plummeted over that precipice, shaking violently beneath your lover.

Bubbly warmth engulfed you from head to toe, rushing through you in a surge so powerful you swore you blacked out. All you felt was utter euphoria, blanketing you like an intensely warm hug.

Above you, he watched it all unfold. He leaned back so he could watch the way your pussy clamped tightly around him, pulsing and contracting, milking him. As your body began to flutter down from the mind-numbing high, he soon reached his own.

With a low, open-mouthed moan, he fell apart, hips sporadically jolting into you as his spend seeped into you, claiming you as his own. If you weren’t so out of it you might’ve been able to admire that gorgeous face contorted in painful pleasure.

Soon enough, he fell against you, sweaty, spent, a complete mess. You held onto him, trying to calm down, though you were still trembling. "So good for me,” Bob sighed, “such a sweet pussy.”

He slowly and reluctantly moved to pull out of you, shushing your whine of protest. He couldn’t help but let his eyes wander, glancing down to watch the pearly white essence that had begun to drip out of your pulsing cunt. Then he gazed back up at you, brushing away strands of hair that stuck to your forehead from the sweat. "How’s my baby?"

The initial intensity of it all had worn off, and you were now left feeling sore and utterly drained. "I'm...I'm tired," you whispered, unable to utilize your energy to say anything else.

“Yeah? Is it okay if I move you? I wanna clean you up a bit.”

“Y-yeah.”

Ever so gently, he helped you climb out of bed, and he guided you into the bathroom, letting you lean on him when your legs threatened to give out.

He had you sit on the counter and spread your legs, where he carefully used a soft, damp cloth to wipe your center clean. He soothed you when you whimpered from the sensitivity. “I know. I’ll be quick,” he assured you.

He used another cool rag to carefully wipe your sweaty face. “Think you can handle a bath right now? Or is that too much?”

You considered this for a moment, your eyes heavy with exhaustion. “Too tired. Jus’ want to be wiped down.”

That was all he needed. He lovingly kissed your lips before he helped you climb down from the counter. After a quick full body wipe down, he then led you back into the bedroom, where he helped you change into one of his shirts and a pair of shorts. He dressed in his own pair of sweatpants once he had you settled.

Then, as you sat on the edge of the bed, he reached over to the nightstand to grab a bottle of water. He cracked open the lid and held the bottle up to your mouth for you to drink. It was cool, and did wonders to soothe your parched throat.

“You feelin’ up to eating anything? I made your favorite pasta,” he calmly suggested. As if on cue, your stomach rumbled eagerly.

You shared a look, and you giggled at each other. “Guess I’m hungry,” you said.

Bob nuzzled his nose against yours before he helped you stand, wrapping a strong arm around you. He took you down to the kitchen and guided you into a chair. However, it didn’t last long, because as soon as he sat down, you were climbing into his lap, craving physical contact.

“Wan’ me to feed you too?” He teased.

“Actually…I wouldn’t mind that,” you whispered in reply.

He kissed your temple. “Anything for my baby.” 

Then your sweet Bobby began to feed you your dinner, purely out of love for you. It made your heart sing and tears of appreciation well in your eyes. You kissed his neck and thanked him. He told you he was happy to do it.

Once dinner was finished, Bob had an important question to ask you. "What do you want to do, sweet baby?" He asked. This was how it always was. After you allowed him the privilege of using your body, he always allowed you to choose how you wanted to be cared for.

"I wanna cuddle and watch something," you replied, to which he nodded.

"Coming right up," he said, yet again lifting you up. He left the dinner dishes, deciding he'd do them tomorrow. For now, his sole focus was taking care of you. You ended up in the bathroom again, where he placed you to stand on the floor. He kissed your forehead before pulling your toothbrush from the cup on the sink and squeezing toothpaste onto it.

Gently grabbing your face, he said, "Open."

You did so, and he placed the brush in your mouth, beginning the project of brushing your teeth for you. The gesture made you feel so deeply cared for. “There ya go. Go ahead and spit,” he finally instructed once he was certain he’d done a thorough job.

After the toothbrush and toothpaste were put away, it was time for bed. He helped you under the covers, and you curled up against the mattress as as you watched Bob search for a movie in your expansive DVD collection. Finally, he decided on something with Fred Astaire, one of his favorites, and popped it into the player before climbing into bed alongside you.

You curled up against his side, letting him engulf you in comfort and softness. Such a stark contrast to the rough, dominant man who'd just ruined you. You smiled to yourself, knowing just how much you loved him, and how much you always would.

"You were so good for me today," he praised, just as the opening credits of the movie began to roll, "how did I get so lucky?"

You shook your head, nuzzling against his neck. “I should be asking myself the same thing. I love you so much, Bobby. Take such good care of me"

"And I love you, sweet baby. Forever and always."

-

taglist:

@xoxabs88xox @alexandra8484 @kmc1989 @elusive-honeydew @vallyb @cdauni @happyrebelruins @bobfloydsbabe @myfandomchangesalot @mikpieboo @krys-orion @petersunderoos96 @eighthwvnder @mastercontrol123 @powerlvr25 @audri-janis @yanna-banana @bradshawsbaby @seitmai @chieflawyerpastatoad @roosters-girl @wkndwlff @acatwriteshere @backupcasmitchell @marchingicenotes7 @percysaidnever @cherrycola27 @diorrfairy @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff @milesmillergf @damrlova @thedroneranger @bobfloyds @sebsxphia @rhettabbotts @withahappyrefrain @up-thereinthesky @peachystenbrough @lovinglyeternal @laracrofted @callsign-magnolia @gigisimsonmars

[sgstories123]

Mr Koh's Stretching Exercises

Faith’s left leg slipped and went much further forward than she intended to. She yelled in pain as she felt her muscles stretched and she stumbled over as she lost her balance.

Mr Koh cursed under his breath as he watched his student collapsed on the track. That will be another incident report to write. Why did the principal of the school asked him to take on the Athletics CCA. He was not interested in athletics nor had any knowledge of it. He was just smoking his way through by googling and asking the team to do training based on what he found on the internet. He was quite sure that none of them is useful and that none of the students are going to win medals for the school. It was just a bloody waste of time with no additional salary. At most, he can write something during performance appraisal that he contributed to school activities. He would rather read a book than coach the athletics team. He was after all a Literature teacher.

“Faith! Are you okay?” Mr Koh asked as he walked over to the student. The other students were already gather around her, helping her up to her feet.

“I think I sprained myself. My left leg is hurting.” Faith replied, her eyes red with tears.

For a moment, Mr Koh’s heart missed a beat. Faith was actually quite pretty with large eyes and oval-shaped face. She looks something like an anime character. With her eyes glistening in tears, Mr Koh felt a sudden urge to take her into his arms and protect her.

“Right. I got some ice packs in the PE room. That will help.” Mr Koh then addressed the rest of the students. “It is almost 5 pm. Let’s call it a day for today’s session. Remember to train hard. The school is expecting you to do well in the coming competition.” Mr Koh grimaced at the insincerity of the words emanating from his mouth.

As the students left the field, Mr Koh put Faith’s hands over his shoulders while he helped her to the staff room at the end of the field. He could feel her warm breath on his face. Her breasts pressed slightly against his chest as she clung closer to him for support. He looked at her sweat-drenched t-shirt, her pale blue sports bra beneath was just barely visible. He could make out the cleavage. As both of them were wearing running shorts, their bare legs were touching and rubbing each other as they made their way across the field. Mr Koh was fervently hoping that he does not get an erection as it would be too obvious in his running shorts.

“Right. Take a seat on the bench.” Mr Koh instructed Faith as they reached the PE room. He took the ice packs out from the small freezer and sat down on the floor in front of Faith. He started rubbing the ice pack on her legs, hoping that that is the correct way to treat a sports injury.

As he moved the ice packs higher up her thighs, Mr Koh admired her smooth complexion. The ice pack slid easily across her skin, leaving a trail of glistening liquid. Faith’s legs were open and her matching pale blue panties were visible from within her FBT shorts. His cock was hard now and he tried to adjust his shorts without attracting too much attention to himself.

“Right. You know, Faith. This would not have happened if you have done the warm-up exercises. I always remind all of you to do proper warm-up. Now you know what happens when you don’t listen to me and how important stretching is to an athlete.” Mr Koh rambled on, relying on his usual training instructions to focus on something other than how aroused he was from giving Faith a sports massage. “There are very useful stretching techniques that can not only prevent you from getting injured but help you perform better. When you stretch, you cover more distance with each stride and that can help you win competitions.”

“Cher, how about you teach me some stretching exercises now?” Faith asked.

Mr Koh was caught in a bind. He did not really know any stretching exercises. He was just talking nonsense and smoking his way through.

“Er, well. For example, we can start with you opening up your legs as wide as you can.” Mr Koh suggested.

Faith responded by doing exactly that. Mr Koh’s cock became even harder as more of Faith’s panties were revealed through her shorts.

“Maybe you sit down on the floor. Might be better.” Mr Koh suggested.

Faith got on the floor and sat down on the floor exercise mats with her legs outstretched. “Is this okay, Cher?”

“Right. I now help you with some of the stretching exercises, okay?” Mr Koh’s lust took over. He got behind Faith and pressed her body forwards, his body enjoying the warmth and close contact with the young body. He caressed her thighs, pretending to stretch them out further, but his real intent was to move further up her inner thighs, towards the final pleasure. Faith let out a sigh of pleasure. Mr Koh took that as a sign that her defences were down. He pressed himself harder against her, his hard cock rubbing her back. His hands went around her stomach, pulling her closer to him.

“Cher, is this part of the stretching exercise?” Faith asked innocently. “Yes. I am trying to warm your stomach up so that it is ready for the next exercise.” Mr Koh replied.

His hand now reached into her panties, brushing lightly against the thin, sparse pubic hair of the young girl. His other hand reached underneath her shirt and pushed her sports bra upwards, releasing her breasts. He groped them tight. What beautiful breasts. Soft and just large enough to fill his hands completely.

“Cher, this does not feel right. You are doing something that only my boyfriend does?” Faith sounded confused. “I told you to listen to me right? Or you are going to get injured again. I am just massaging you. Now keep quiet and enjoy.“ Mr Koh was a little angry, partly because Faith mentioned that her boyfriend had been enjoying this wonderful piece of meat.

Mr Koh pushed Faith down onto the exercise mats and pulled off her shorts and panties. “Wait, Cher. What are you doing?” Faith was now frightened. “”I said listen to me and keep quiet. Your shorts are in the way. You can’t do a proper stretch with them on. This is good for you or you will keep on getting hurt.” Mr Koh raised his voice and Faith was subdued into silence.

Mr Koh pulled Faith’s legs wide open and saw his prize. It was a beautiful pussy with slightly swollen pinkish lips and crowned with a small crop of pubic hair. “See, I am also taking off my shorts so that I can stretch better.” Mr Koh continued before taking off his shorts, his hard cock pointing towards the ceiling.

“Now, I am going to give you a special stretching exercise. Your vagina needs to be loosened or it will hinder your legs from spreading out. I will help you with that now.” Mr Koh positioned his hard cock at the entrance of Faith’s vagina, spitting on it to provide lubrication. He then pushed it slowly in. It was tight and provided immense pleasure.

“Cher. This is wrong. You are fucking me.” Faith cried. “I am not fucking you. I am stretching your vagina.” Mr Koh grunted, as his cock inched deeper into her. “This is a stretching exercise, not a fuck.”

“Look. I am stretching your legs, right. It is all part of the exercise.” Mr Koh grunted as he stretch Faith’s legs wider apart, hoping that it will allow his cock to enter her more easily. As he plunged his last inch into her, he groaned in satisfaction. He then lifted Faith’s legs over his shoulders, pushing himself even deeper into her. “More stretching, Faith. Not fucking.”

As Mr Koh started fucking Faith, pounding into her at an increasing pace, Faith had stopped complaining but was instead moaning softly in pleasure.

“Are you feeling it, Faith? Do you feel your muscles relaxing now that it has been stretched?” Mr Koh grunted in between his pounding.

“Yes, Cher. This feels so good. Fuck me harder.” Faith whimpered.

“Not fucking you, Faith. Just doing stretching exercises. Remember that.” Mr Koh responded. “Now, let’s stretch another set of muscles.”

Mr Koh pulled Faith up from the exercise mats and pushed her against the wall. He entered her from behind, lifting one of her legs upwards. Faith moaned in pleasure as Mr Koh’s hard cock ravished her hole from a different angle. He pressed her against the wall as he fucked her, slamming his body hard against her. He quickened his pace, drawing greater pleasure as he neared his limit. With a large groan and a final deep thrust, he ejaculated into Faith, drowning her womb with his seed. He held onto her, as Faith shuddered in pleasure, as she too reached her climax. He slowly released her, letting her lie down on the exercise mats as he watched his semen slowly exiting her vagina and onto the mats.

He would need to clean the mats later, he thought to himself. Additional work, again. But at least it was worth it. Maybe being an athletics coach is not so bad after all. It might even be better than reading a book. There were after all a couple of pretty students in the team. Mae, Jasmine and even Jenn.

“Cher.” Faith broke his chain of fantasy. “Can we do some more stretching exercise again?”

“Well. I was thinking we should not be selfish. Maybe we can involve Mae, Jasmine and Jenn next time. I think all of you should undergo special training and compete for the 4 x 100 event.” Mr Koh smiled to himself as a whole new world suddenly opened up to him.

[keirawantstocry]

qfit finally coping with having gynecomastia bc his boyfriends also have tits and are taken seriously as men

boobs for everyone

Fit spent years hiding the extra tissue on his chest. He wasn't quite sure what caused it and he had tried everything he could think of to fix it. Exercising, eating less, eating more. There were no doctors in the wasteland, nobody who could tell him what was wrong with his body. All he could do was wrap. It started with cloth wrapped round and round but it grew to be uncomfortable. Fit had stopped for a while to see if the pain lessened. And it did, but his embarrassment and fear of people noticing and calling him less than a man was stronger than any pain the wrappings caused. 

Things were so incredibly different on the island. He still binded his chest, ignoring the pain but there was something that felt… calm about the island. 

And then there was Pac and Tubbo. They were his best friends. He had honestly never thought he could care about people to the extent he cared about them. They were strong. The awe he felt seeing them in battle was indescribable. And part of him couldn't stop and think, now these are real men. 

Fit was thinking it now as he relaxed down in the soft blankets that Tubbo had gathered for the three of them. Tubbo was brash and protested affection until he was blue in the face but he cared. So much. That was why he did things like this. Made sure Fit and Pac got the sleep they needed after sleepless nights working and watching over their kids. 

The kids were with various other islanders currently. Ramon and Richas with Mike while Sunny was spending the night with Tina, Bagi, and Empanada. 

They had the house to themselves. 

Fit tried to relax but the bindings around his chest made it hard to breathe. He tried to keep any visibility of it away from his boyfriends. Truthfully he knew they wouldn't care but the fear from deep down was stronger. 

Tubbo gave a contented sigh as he looked over the pile of blankets and pillows, hands on his hips. “I don't know about you two but I'm so fucking ready for bed.” 

Pac and Fit laughed in unison but Fit's laugh died as he watched Tubbo peel off his shirt. They had never all slept together in sleepover fashion like this before so the sight that met his eyes was surprising. 

“Uh,” Fit said, trying not to stare but failing tremendously. 

Tubbo blinked at him as he reached down to the bottom of his sports bra. “What's wrong?” 

“You're wearing a bra.” 

Pac turned to look at him curiously while Tubbo continued to stare. “Uhh, yeah, man. It hurts to bind for too long so I wear bras half the time.” 

“Bind?” Fit repeated slowly. 

“I have tits,” Tubbo said plainly. “You know that right?” 

Fit shook his head. 

Tubbo's expression turned to one of surprise. “Oh. Fuck. Sorry, man. I thought you knew.” A sliver of self doubt was forming in his stance and Fit snapped himself out of his surprise to reassure him. 

“I didn't. But it's okay. It doesn't matter to me.”  

Pac laughed, sounding a bit nervous. “I should hope not, considering we both do.” 

Fit turned his head to look over at him. “You… you do too?” 

Pac nodded, flatting the front over his shirt to show how the fabric clung to the roundness of his chest. “We thought you knew, Fitch.” 

Fit shook his head slowly. “Um.” His heart was racing, thoughts buzzing around his head. “I'm not. Trans. But I have.” He shrugged and reached back under his shirt to undo the bindings. He let them fall onto his lap, feeling his body visibly relax. When was the last thing he took those off, he wondered but was interrupted by both of his boys, throwing their arms around him.  

“Thank you for telling us that,” Pac murmured in Portuguese, Fit catching the translations as they flew up above his head. “I know it can be hard coming from such a backwards place to accept yourself.” 

Tubbo didn't say anything, just let his body language speak for itself as he held Fit tightly, tracing his fingers over his back where the cloth had dug in so tightly. 

Fit was too overcome for words. He just let his body fall back, both of them still in his arms as they snuggled into each other and the blankets. 

“Wait,” Tubbo squirmed out of the grip before pulling off his bra. “Can't have that thing on.” 

“Why not?” Fit asked as Tubbo settled back down. He was so incredibly warm. 

Tubbo squinted at him. “Cause it hurts your chest. It's not meant to be contained like that.” Understanding dawned in his eyes and he smacked Fit on the arm. “Have you been wearing that thing for years?? No wonder you have so much body pain.” 

“Woah, woah, woah,” Pac said, butting in. “No more of that.” He shook his finger threateningly in Fit's face. “We're gonna make sure you take care of yourself. No binding for a while. We need to assess the damage to your chest and figure out when it will be okay for you to bind again.” 

Tubbo and Pac fell into frantic discussions of medical stuff that flew right over Fit's head. But he didn't mind. He was relaxing. He was safe. And he was laying with two of the strongest men he had ever met. Nothing about their bodies could ever change that. He smiled and pressed a kiss to both of their foreheads before drifting off to sleep.