#tracksuit bulge

[daadaw]

[muntitled]

Better Than Drugs

Pairings: Namgyu x Fem!Reader | Brief!Thanos x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reconnecting with your shitty ex boyfriend in the games.

Warnings: Language, Substance Abuse, Toxic Relationship, Male Manipulation, Coercion, Smut (+18) mdni, High sex, Dub/con, Choking, Exchange of Bodily Fluids, Unprotected Sex, Unedited (we die like soldiers)

A/n: literally no one will read this but I need him and I wrote this for me!

Being treated like a lamb being led to the proverbial slaughter in a death game sucked ass but seeing your ex boyfriend there sucked even more, somehow. From your vantage point perched on your bed tucked away from all the central conflict, you notice them talking about you again.

Call it past bully traum but you knew when people were talking about you and although you couldn't make out what they were saying, a part of you just knew...

Another vote had ended and Namgyu was still staring at you, his head bowed, chewing his fingernails. He was watching you, while you were forced to watch as democracy crumbled around you.

Your brain made you think Namgyu was perhaps berating you in front of his new friend. Bad-mouthing you to absolutely no end, perhaps saying what a lousy, uptight girlfriend you had been in the outside world. How you kept him from his habit. How you tried to force him into rehab countless times.

And so you shrink into yourself, squeezing yourself further into your bed, hugging your knees.

How were you supposed to know the conversation went nothing like how you thought it was going?

"We need to get her on our team," Thanos had said when the voting concluded and they were watching you pick at your roll of tin-foiled kimbap.

"She's already on our team," Namgyu muttered, more quiet than usual as he watched you through the corner of his eye. He didn't feel like eating. He felt like doing drugs. And fucking, maybe, but eating? It never occurred to him.

Without you to remind him to eat, and to actually take care of his bodily health outside of his substance abuse, he really was a mess.

"Oh yeah," Thanos muttered dumbly before turning back to his own food, "Kay, well, I need to sleep with her."

Namgyu didn't even look up from his food, still leaning against the metal beds as he murmured a quiet, "Nope." Popping his lip, extenuating the 'p'

Thanos himself was rallied into silence as Namgyu casually clicked his tongue before adding, "I called dibs on that bro," he steals another glance. You're searching your chest for a piece of cucumber that's fallen out of the kimbap

This unfortunately, zeroes his gaze in on your ample chest, miraculously squeezed into that tracksuit jacket. Now Namgyu was thinking about your tits while Thanos' head whips to the side, his brow lifted.

Namgyu couldn't take his eyes off you since the games began. Watching you during voting time had stirred up all kinds of lost emotions. The easy and almost thoughtless way you had pressed the blue button before tucking your hands in your pockets, never sparing anyone a second glance. He had to adjust the bulge forming in his sweatpant. If it weren't for him you might have continued to go amongst the games as an anonymous spectre, with that cash prize as your only goal.

"I didn't know we were calling dibs!?" Thanos stomped his feet petulantly, "That's not fair, man. Not. Cool."

"That's the point of dibs," Namgyu said, pushing his hair behind his ears as he continued to stare you down. "Who knows how long we'll be here?" As he watched you, he tilted his head downwards, causing a thick shadow to fall over his eyes as he watched you. He leaned against the railings of the metal beds piled up to the ceiling, watching you tuck your hands deeper into the sleeves of your sweater. Really fucking cute.

"B-But Homies don't call dibs on girls!" Thanos whines.

"Yeah," Namgyu nods, "but, I'm gonna need more than magic pills and a homie to get me through the night," He made a ring with his index and thumb finger, pinching his one eye shut as he spied at you through it, "She can help,”

Thanos was quiet, eerily so. Good things never happened when Thanos was quiet,

"Let's go over to her right now then. Since she's stealing my homie-"

That immediately snapped Namgyu out of his lust-filled gaze, promoting his shoulders to straighten as he tried to stop Thanos from taking another step towards you.

"Senorita-" he said in a singsong voice and you rolled your eyes as you saw them approaching. Namgyu walked behind like the shadow he always tried to be, with his hands tucked in his pocket. Your bed is relatively low to the ground and your heart stammered when both their shadows fell over you.

"Don't have any change," your eyes whipped to your ex-boyfriend before narrowing, "Or drugs. Sorry." you mustered a painfully sarcastic smile as you attempted to turn in another direction, hoping they might take the hint.

Thanos' teeth stretched as Namgyu swallowed thickly, watching you in that distinctly predatory way of his as he propped his forearm against the railing of the bed. You hate how both of them make you feel and your eye scans in vain around the premises, hoping someone might save you from the duo.

"Lemme make this quick," Thanos said with his drug addicted hand gestures. "My bro wants you and whatever bro wants-" he taps Namgyu's chest behind you- "Bro gets."

Silence passed with you staring deep into Namgyu's dark, almost sinister black eyes. You admitted that you were still painfully attracted to him. Knowing that he knows your body. He's already seen what hid under your blue tracksuit, it was dizzyingly sobering.

He still seemed so devastatingly sleezy it bordered on attractive, like he didn't care about what anyone really thought of him. It still brought an uncomfortable amount of attraction that you didn't really know what to do with. "No thanks," you said, bending your head to take a bite of the kimbap.

"Cunt." you heard him mumble under his breath. That caused your head whip up to glare at him.

"I'm a cunt because I'd rather not fuck a drug addict?"

"No," Namgyu shrugged, "You're just a cunt."

Your nostrils flared as something diabolical ignited inside you. Up until this point, fear had been the only emotion you allowed yourself to feel. The fear of dying to keep you alive. But right now, you're being plagued with another emotion and it's setting you alight with interest.

Your dating preferences were never orthodox. You knew you could never truly be satisfied with any other timid nice guy, and that's what drew you to him. You hated admitting to it but Namgyu calling you a cunt did more than irritate you, it ignited you.

"I'm not here to make friends,” You marvel now, in the tense darkness, how confident you had been then.

“How about a boyfriend then?” Namgyu asked and Thanos whistled lowly as he mutters a ‘nice bro,’

“How about choking?” You shot back, “I tried the boyfriend thing and he stole all my savings to buy drugs.” Namgyu’s jaw ticked and you can see his fist fold and unfold. Thanos’ commentary continues. ‘Shit boyfriend-’ he says under his breath.

“Don't be a bitch so early in the morning…” Namgyu says finally before turning his head, somewhat distracted, “Or at least I think it's morning. Hyung do you think it's morning-”

Thanos raised his hands, “Morning is what we make it in here, bro.”

“Leave me alone of I'll fucking scream.” you cut through all their useless chatter, letting a tense silence settle between the three of you. Eventually, Thanos reluctantly pulls Namgyu away. Murmuring a quiet ‘just take a hint bro.'

Soon, you were left in your bed but not without one more backwards glance from Namgyu over his shoulder. He wasn't done with you and that thought sat heavily on your shoulders until the robotic voice from unseen speakers made the countdown to lights out.

The very last thing you remembered, before the overhead lights were snuffed out, was his black, almond eyes still watching you from his bed.

The blue 'O' velcroed to your breast burns a hole through your conscience as your eyes flutter open in the middle of the night, really needing to pee. The prize money acts as the only source of gold light illuminating the hall while everyone else remains soundly asleep.

Life in the games was so much more stomachable during the day, but when the lights went out, you were forced to sit with your thoughts. That piggy bank didn't have money inside it, it held bodies, and the ghosts practically filled this room.

Still, you can't help but whisper to yourself, “I really have to pee.” The only thing stopping you from going to the bathroom is the gaze you knew would somehow find you from three beds over. Your ex boyfriend watches you, even when the lights go out.

Paranoia be damned.

Cursing softly, you maneuvered yourself to the ground. Trying to make the least amount of noise possible as you moved through the row of beds.

If you were being followed you'd never know. Everything was too dark but a part of you sighed as you reached the small arched doorway completely unscathed.

Almost unscathed.

Your heart hammers in its cage when you feel his heavy arm settle over your shoulders. Your mouth falls open but Namgyu is already banging on the arched door with a closed fist. You flinch with every loud, metallic hit.

The little window opens to reveal a triangle-masked soldier. He stands there emotionless.

“My girlfriend's on her period- she's bleeding everywhere. We need the bathroom.”

There is silence from the Guard who is clearly unimpressed. Just before the little window is about to slide shut Namgyu kicks at the door, “Hey! I wanna fuck my girl- if you want, we could do it out here?!”

You try to wrench yourself out of his grip, toilet be damned but your heart absolutely sinks to find the pink soldier opening the metal door.

Namgyu only twirls, pumping his fist before pulling you in his arms, biting back a smile.

“Can't believe that worked,” Namgyu says, with a raised eyebrow and a happy little shrug as he drags you across the threshold. The trip to the women's bathroom is relatively short as you writhe and fight in his hands. There's virtually no reason for the pink guard to think any of this was consensual but they kept their stoicism on their face as you reached the girl's bathroom.

“We'll be quick,” Namgyu assures the guard with a tight sort of smile before pushing you into the bathroom, and closing the door after himself.

You trip on your way running into one of the stalls and he watches you, biting his nail.

“This is the girls bathroom, or are you too high to notice?” You hiss absolute venom as he bites his fingernail.

“Nah, I'm sober right now, which means I need something to take the load off.”

“Cool. Use your hand,” you sigh from within the stalls before dropping your pants to pee. It irked you that he was standing there, on the other side… waiting for you.

You make quick work of it all. Wiping, flushing, and making a beeline for the sinks. He lets you wash your hands but before you make it to the door his arms are wrapped around your waist.

“Uh Uh,” he tsks, “No ‘i miss you’ kiss, huh?” He drags you into his arms, kicking and screaming as he swipes your brains from across your panicked face.

“Only competent boyfriends get kisses,” Despite the fuss, the door doesn't open. Those guards have quite literally abandoned you in here to fend for yourself.

“I can make it up to you,” he said, “I miss you really bad, baby,” Namgyu's pushing your back against the sink, stained with that sickening, pastel colour as he lowers his nose into the crook of your neck. You writhe as he breathes you in deeply, before sighing. His erection pressed against your thigh.

“Someone else could walk in here,” you cry, feeling a dampness seep out of you, wetting your underwear. Your body was being traitorous because it was enjoying feeling anything other than fear. It yearned for it.

“Sto-” you attempt to catch your breath as he gropes at your breasts from over your tracksuit. “Stop touching me-” you say despite your legs getting weaker and weaker.

“You don't get to touch me anymore. You lost that privilege when you stopped being my boyfriend.” He was so much taller than you when he stretched his hand across your cheeks, forcing your neck back to make more space for his lips. A moan nearly spills out of you.

His hands are trembling and his tongue swipes out to lick the length of your neck. To your shock and horror, you melt in his grasp.

“You don't mean that-” he whispers against your skin. “No one's gonna fuck you like I do-”

“No one's going to steal my money like you do either-”

His hand flies down to your throat, choking as he says through clenched teeth, “I told you I had a problem-” he squeezes and for the briefest moment, you see stars. “I needed help and you abandoned me, you bitch-”

“I didn't abandon you-” His lips are on yours, silencing you in one messy kiss that him forcing his tongue into your mouth.

“You gonna be good for me, Huh?’ He says, hoarsely, your eyes glare up at him.

“Leave me alone-”

“You know I love it when you try to fight back,” his mouth breathes against your hair, “You trying to get me riled up babe, huh?”

His fingers find the lining of your own sweatpants and your heart stammers as he turns to push your front against the sink. Your hand grips at the cheap plaster and you avoid your own traitorous reflection in the mirror, lest you find not only fear in your eyes, but lust

“You know how bad I've needed this- fuck,” his voice cracks when fumbles his cock out, grinding against your ass with his eyes closed in ecstasy and his mouth hanging open. Your finger curls around the sink as the first moan slips out of you. It had his eyes flying open to look down at you in amusement and awe.

“I knew you weren't a completely stuck-up bitch,” he says, pulling you up by the base of the throat, “I knew you still wanted me.”

“I don't,” you squeak out as he pulls down your pants.

“No- but your body does,” he swipes your underwear to the side.

Your body spasms as he roughly sinks his digits into you once before pulling out.

“You miss me real bad,” he brings your fingers up in front of your face and your heart drops to find the arousal webbing his index and middle.

He continues to swipe your arousal from from your ass to your puffy clit and the need wracks through your entire body, building as you arched your ass backwards against him.

His mouth is by your ear, breathing heavily as he lines his cock up at your entrance, already leaking precum, “I know I gave you hell when we were out there-”

“Hell doesn't begin to cover- FUCK-” he rams his cock into you. Positively brimming with need as his hips stutter against you.

“Y-ou stole my fucking savings for drugs-” you get the sentence out quickly before moaning into the air, as your boyfriend fucks out all the frustration he's been carrying, all the need and the withdrawal.

“And I ate you out as an apology-” He reaches his hand around to clamp down on the base of your throat. Your mouth falls open when he cranes our neck back, his eyes boring into yours. “Don't you miss it baby, don't miss having me inside of you?”

“Y-Your eyes are diluted-” you begin to say, utterly incredulous. “You're high right now!”

His hips thrusts in shallow, quick strokes. “And your pussy's wet, guess we're both fucked.”

Your pussy tightens around him like a long lost friend, it knocks you out how deeply you've craved him. Needing reprieve from all the fear. “You're squeezing around my cock, you fucking slut-” that nearly has you seeing stars. Your body spasms.

“That it…” he whispers, “Don't think I haven't forgotten the way you abandoned me out there… But in here,” your eyes roll to the back of your head, “You dont so much as fucking breathe without my permission.”

Your eyes squeeze shut as his cock hits that particular pillow of nerves inside you, nearly flipping you off the edge.

“Spit on my hand,” he says, an edge to his voice that let you know he was far too close. You forgot how messy things got when you had sex with him. How much of a mess he made of you.

You do it without thinking about it and his eyes widen as he presses that same hand to your clit.

“F-Fuck!” Your eyes are squeezed shut as he reaches around to rub you to your orgasm. His movements only fumble when his hips start stuttering.

“N-Need you to cum for me-” he breathes out. “I’m jittery- baby. I need it- shit-” you slip into your orgasm right in front of him, milking his cock for all its worth. “F-Fuck this is so much better than drugs,” he murmers, eyes rolled back as a drunken smile ghosts over his face. He's in complete and utter euphoria.

Two rough knocks on the door signal the need for your return but Namgyu's cock is still spilling ropes of his cum inside you and you're doing nothing but taking it.

“I hate you,” you breathe out, because it's true. If it weren't for him you wouldn't be here.

His breath is warm against your neck as he says, “I love you too.

© to @muntitled on tumblr; do not repost

[daadaw]

[ii-shiro]

Intimate Photos.

Part II (+16!)

Involved: Mikage Reo, Itoshi Sae, Yoichi Isagi, Meguru Bachira.

Type of relationship: Courtship.

What is it like to send intimate photos with the Blue Lock guys?

• this is a translation; it's written by me, but it's translated because I speak Spanish

• omniscient narrator.

____________________________________________

____________________________________________

Mikage Reo !

Reo constantly sends photos of himself to Y/N, lots of photos of him, what he was doing, what he was wearing, etc.

And yes, intimate photos of him wouldn't be long in coming, much less begged for.

Reo sent a photo to Y/N. In it, he was standing in front of a small circular mirror, focusing on the photo showing his completely wet purple hair, swept back with a few strands sticking out on Reo's cheeks next to his eyes, one closed in a wink and the other open, looking at the camera on his phone, which covered his mouth but showed a small gap in his cheek. He was smiling.

"Have you ever seen my wet hair, love?" he added to the photo's description.

Y/N responded with the same photo, one of her with her hair not wet, but damp and totally messy. Believe it or not, this was a detail that matched Reo's image; it was an attractive profile.

And so the photos with Reo and Y/N continued. The more risqué ones were returned with more intensity. They both knew what this meant, but didn't give it any importance. Sometimes things got even more heated, and Reo would send videos of how his body reacted to the thought of Y/N in an inappropriate way, trying to give himself the maximum pleasure possible, recording everything for Y/N, who returned the videos in the same way. Both were satisfied in every way.

Could we say this relationship is 50/50?, well, I don't know.

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Itoshi Sae !

How to explain what's happening with Sae? It's complicated.

They both send provocative photos to each other all the time.

For example, Sae took a photo in front of the gym mirror one of the many times, specifically this one, he had his shorts rolled up, revealing his legs along with his bare chest and abdomen.

Y/N received photo after photo. Sae undoubtedly knew how attractive he was and took advantage of this to show him every part of him, complimenting him with something like, "Look at the handsome boyfriend you have, Y/N," showing her even the most hidden parts of him.

Y/N wasn't far behind, she also shared knowledge of her body and videos on how to get to know it better, imitating what Sae did. Of course, if Sae touched his glans, Y/N would rub her clitoris, thus teasing each other and neither of them taking it the wrong way since they both shared this paraphilia.

Definitely a relationship... A bit very strange.

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Yoichi Isagi !

Isagi is quite reserved in the world of sexuality—reserved, not shy.

Because no matter how reserved he is, no matter how much he tries to hide his sexual ambition, it eventually comes out, no matter how unexpected the situation.

The first time this happened was when, during a photo exchange, Y/N sent him a selfie where the girl's face wasn't visible, but the strands of hair of that beautiful color she had (Y/C), were visible. The photo she sent was to show him what she was wearing: a somewhat oversized T-shirt with short jeans that showed off her thighs, the hand opposite the one holding the phone resting on one of her thighs.

Isagi wanted to copy the image, which was comical for both of them.

But something between his legs worked against him.

Unlike Y/N, Isagi was wearing his soccer jersey and tracksuit shorts, unfortunately for Yoichi. Y/N noticed a protruding bulge, covering part of her boyfriend's shirt; it was undoubtedly an erection.

"What's your shirt covering, love?" Y/N asked in the chat. Isagi excused himself by saying "it was nothing," but he simply wanted to avoid the topic and quench his thirst for Y/N in person. Whatever it took, he needed her.

____________________________________________

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Meguru Bachira !

The playful Meguru, with him things are neither easy nor difficult.

While he's easy to persuade, he knows that sex is complicated, that it's not just about sex. He understands the logistics and how important pleasure and self-knowledge are for couples and for oneself.

Bachira is easy to persuade, but in what sense? Bachira is perhaps more than easy to persuade, he's easy to provoke.

All it takes is a text from him, something like "Y/N, I want to meet me" or simply "I want to give me pleasure."

These are hints, yes, quite direct. And that was enough for Y/N to understand that Bachira needed provocative photos of her. Any type of photo where the girl's skin stands out is provocative.

For example, if Y/N sent him a photo in a bra and jeans, Bachira felt the provocation running through him. A photo of Y/N in her underwear was more than enough to make Bachira start masturbating. Meguru isn't far behind with the photos. He sends Y/N visual records of what provokes her and what it culminates in. He adds that as soon as they get some private time, he'll show her how provocative she is.

Bachira seems to be sexually uncontrollable.

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a/n ; Part two, there are three (I think) parts to this, you know, written by me @ii-shiro !!

[entouragestories]

The Hockey Boys Part Two: The Gradual Takeover

__________________

This story has been in the making for a while, and I kind of quit in the middle of it for months. I couldn’t find an ending or the right direction. I hope you all enjoy this version; I think I started over at least two times.

part one here: https://hardwriterdeluxe.tumblr.com/post/727576341242920960/economic-hockey-boys

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Alex’s plan was meticulous, calculated to usurp Max's place both on the team and in the social hierarchy. It began subtly, with Alex hanging around Max more often, always conveniently there to assist or "help" whenever Max needed it. He started emitting a new, strong smell with a musk that seemed to dominate the air around him. The scent was potent, masculine, and it slowly began to take hold in the locker room.

At first, Max didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. He was too focused on maintaining his status as captain and the team's star player. But the others started to change in their behavior. They began looking to Alex for guidance, respecting his opinions more and more, while Max found it increasingly difficult to command the same respect.

One evening, after a particularly intense practice, Alex approached Max in the locker room. The space was filled with the pungent scent of sweat and Alex’s overpowering musk. Max was exhausted, sitting on the bench, wiping his face with a towel. Alex, freshly showered but still emanating that musk, sat beside him, a smirk playing on his lips.

“You okay, Max?” Alex asked, his tone laced with a mix of concern and something else—something that made Max uneasy.

“Yeah, just tired,” Max replied, trying to muster his usual confidence.

“Maybe you should take it easy,” Alex suggested, lifting his arm to adjust his jersey, exposing his pit. The musk hit Max like a wave, making him feel dizzy and disoriented. “You’ve been pushing yourself pretty hard.”

Max nodded, unable to shake the feeling of Alex’s dominance growing stronger with each passing day. The musk seemed to cling to him, invading his senses even after he left the locker room.

Over the next few weeks, the transformation began in earnest. Max started to lose weight, his muscular frame slowly wasting away. His once-bulging biceps shrank, his pecs flattened, and his six-pack abs softened into a smooth, slender torso. His legs, once powerful and thick, became thin and frail. His skin lost its healthy tan, turning pale and almost translucent. His face softened, his jawline losing its sharpness and becoming more delicate and androgynous.

The changes weren’t just physical. Max’s confidence waned as he found it harder to assert himself. The team, too, started to notice but couldn’t quite put their finger on what was happening. Alex, on the other hand, grew more robust. His muscles became more defined, his presence more commanding. He had started taking Max's place not just in performance but in the hearts and minds of their teammates.

Max’s clothes began to change as well. His gear, once snug and highlighting his athletic build, became loose and baggy. His jersey, bearing the captain's insignia, was replaced with a simple tracksuit labeled "WATER BOY" on the back. His locker, once prominently positioned among the team's stars, vanished, leaving him with a small, inconspicuous cubby near the entrance.

“Hey, Maxie, can you grab us some water?” one of the players called out one day. Max looked up, realizing with a start that he had been demoted to a mere water boy. The name "Maxie" stuck, a cruel reminder of his new position. His memories of leading the team, of scoring goals and celebrating victories, began to blur, replaced by feelings of awe towards Alex and secret crushes on the more manly players.

The team quickly took advantage of Maxie's new role. They would make fun of him, teasing him mercilessly. "Hey, Maxie the Service Boy, clean out my locker!" they'd jeer, throwing smelly gear at him, the odor overwhelming his senses. The once-proud captain was now an easy target for their taunts, his weakened state making him unable to fight back.

One evening, after a particularly grueling practice, the team decided to play a prank on Maxie. At Alex's suggestion, they locked him into a locker filled with reeking gear, the pungent smell of sweat and musk suffocating him. Maxie banged on the door, pleading to be let out, but the boys just laughed and walked away.

Finally, Alex came to "rescue" him. He opened the locker, a look of mock concern on his face. "Having fun, Maxie?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Maxie stumbled out, his eyes watering from the stench. "Please, Alex, I can't take this anymore," he begged, his voice trembling.

Alex's smirk widened as he grabbed Maxie by the collar and pulled him close. "You'll do whatever I say, won't you, Maxie?" he whispered, his breath hot against Maxie's ear.

Maxie nodded, unable to resist the overpowering musk emanating from Alex's body. Alex pushed him down to the floor, standing over him in nothing but his musky socks, jockstrap, and pits reeking from practice. "Show me how much you appreciate your new role," he commanded.

Maxie, his mind clouded by the intoxicating scent, obeyed without question. He serviced Alex, his actions driven by a mix of submission and a strange, overwhelming desire. Alex watched with satisfaction, knowing that he had completely dominated and owned Maxie, at least within the confines of the locker room.

From that night on, Maxie was Alex’s toy, a secret shared between the two of them. The team continued to win, celebrating their new captain and hero, Alex, while Maxie's presence faded into the background. In the quiet moments, away from prying eyes, Maxie and Alex found solace in each other, their bond growing stronger with each passing day. Alex had successfully stolen Max’s life, and in doing so, they had found an unexpected connection that neither had anticipated.

Hope you all liked it, comment down below!

[driftingaway342]

Favorite type of clothes/outfit to swell up in (and potentially tear off?)

Hmmm, due to my own experiences with inflation suits, dresses are actually really good if you *don't* want to tear it off. Jumpsuits (ala mechanics) are insanely hot. Blowing up and hearing a zipper just *ZRRRIIIIIPPPPPP* at some point, watch their gut bulge out,,,., that's literally super hot. Any sort of "regular" wear is really hot too? T-Shirts and Jeans are better for like, slowly blowing up, watching your gut slowly cause your shirt to ride up, your gut muffining over your pants,,,,,,woof. Button ups are always gonna be super hot too. Honestly the only clothes that don't personally do anything for *me* is like, non-industrial uniforms? (military, cops, etc) just too many poor experiences related to even think of them in a sexual way. Tracksuits obviously are a weakness of mine, and that extends to like? pajamas? They're usually such thin and loose fabric that to fill them out, blow out of them, insanely hot. Such an incredible thing to think about. Also the whole "blowing up overnight under your covers" is insane, waking up thinking you've got a pillow over your chest and it's actually just your massively puffy tits? holy *shit*. Lots more in my brain too but, hopefully this gets some of it across.

Office wear is also top tier, especially more feminine. Like, a girl already perhaps too swollen for her office clothes slowly turning blue, not just from her nose but like, tinting blue. Slowly swelling, her tits growing more and more uncomfortable in her bra, straining the buttons on her white blouse. Slowly noticing her gut is bloated, pushing on her skirt more than usual. Not thinking too much about it until her tits leak milky blue fluid and the sudden shock accelerates the process, growing her suddenly from the somewhat chubby bombshell with cerulean skin to a fat, swollen, violet bbw trying to waddle out of her cubicle to tell someone she's sick and has to leave, only to end up stuck in the entrance to her cubicle, unsure if she's about to burst, cause a bunch of damage, or end up as the next viral meme.

[itsgivingeattherich]

Nintendhoe Kenma Kozume

Hey pookie I got mail 💌

Warnings: Female reader, unprotected sex, desk sex, recieving and giving.

Guns popped and exploded. Lights from the monitor flashed and almost blinded you. Kenma sat Infront of you, comfy in his gaming chair, trying to beat a level he has been on for ages.

You've know each other since childhood, your parents were friends meaning you, he and Kuroo were lumped together, like 3 peas in a pod. Kuroo was out right now, volleyball practise or whatever.

The relationship between you and Kenma was; interesting to say the least. He used to be mute, ignoring what you said, and clearly avoiding you anytime he got.

“What time are you leaving?” he questioned -still playing his game- not even bothering to look at you.

"Why? you want me gone?" You snapped back.

“No… It's just. Kuroo is coming back to stay over and my room will be. Kind of cramped." He explained, monotone as ever.

"Kuroo said he's going home before he left, and I am staying over cause my parents aren't going to be home."

"Oh. Okay."

"Can you? Just at least talk to be properly."

He sighed and dramatically paused the game, slowly he twisted around to look at you.

"Yes?"

he raised an eyebrow, and dragged his headphones off his head, messing up his hair.

"Why do you hate me so much?"

"I don't." He sighed rubbing his face with his hand. "I don't hate you."

"Then why do you go out of your way to ignore me, it's like your physically repulsed by me"

He looked at you through the gaps between his fingers.

"Listen. I'm trying to distance myself from a situation I'd rather not be apart of"

"I'm sorry treating me like a decent person is, so hard for you"

He dropped his hands into his lap and tilted his head up before looking straight at you.

"Not that kind of situation. I'm talking about us."

"Kuroo. will be extremely upset if this continues" he whispered out, he looked at the ground, not making eye contact with you.

"Ken", you sighed, "I kissed you because I like you"

"Kuroo-"

"Kuroo is his own person", you got up and held his hands, they were warm and smooth, "I'm not asking you to choose between us, I just want you to be honest with me." You pleaded your case.

He nodded and spun back around, the warmth from your hands disappeared. You knew he was shy, but this was getting. Annoying.

You gave up, it's not fair, he is so unemotional maybe its good he isn't taking your feelings to account. You slid down against the drawers that were beside his desk in defeat.

Shots rung out from the speakers, and you looked around to busy yourself. His room was quite basic; only gadgets littered his bookcase, he was quite a messy person actually, you knew if you opened his cupboard clothes would avalanche out.

You turned to take him in. Brows furrowed in concentration, eyes locked on the screen, your gaze etching him down, his clothes were baggy until your ogle fell onto his lap.

Oh.

Oh.

You snickered to yourself, maybe you had an idea, you pushed his chair back slightly, to make room for yourself, checking every now and then if you got his attention, of course not.

You, without arousing suspicion crawled under his desk, positioning yourself to face him. With your index finger you traced a line from his shin to his knees, lightly. Still nothing?

You shifted to being on your knees, his carpet remained plush under you, continuing dragging your finger upwards. Past the pulse on his thigh, past the muscles that somewhat carved into his flesh, from volleyball mostly.

In that short moment, something became apparent, he grew. I guess you were so used to seeing him as the shy kid, who happened to be your neighbour. Your finger reached to the top of his thigh, right next to the bulge on his trousers.

He was wearing a grey tracksuit - easily removable you noted down- the strings were tied in a pretty bow, resting low on the dip on his hip. It made your hands itch to ruin him as he ruined your thoughts, you tugged the knot free, you paused waiting for a indication to stop. None came.

You pulled down the band and gazed longingly at what awaited you. A thick warning. If you did this there was no way to pretend nothing was going on between the two of you. So what made you do it?

A bead of precum, leaking out of him. You stuck your tongue out and licked it away. I mean technically you were just cleaning the mess he made, but, you wanted more.

You took him into your mouth, he was still a bit soft, but as you sucked, he grew by the minute. Warm hands grazed your ear and put your hair in a makeshift ponytail. Too busy with making him feel good, you hadn't realised the sudden silence in the room.

So this is what got you his attention. His length hit the back of your throat, as you dragged your tongue along his shaft, he used your hair as a grip to move you further down him. Soft moans whispered by him bounced off the walls and into your ears, motivating you take him even deeper. It almost made you choke.

He threw his head back, showcasing his slender neck he came straight down your throat. coating it in white liquid, he tasted salty and sour, you rolled your eyes, all that junk food really does have an impact on his body.

He pulled out of your mouth with a pop a little forceful, but he was completely enamoured by the performance you put on for him.

"Are you, mmh...okay?"

"Yes I-"

"Good", he got up quickly making his chair roll until it hit the foot of his bed.

"Come here." he said panting, he unplugged and moved his keyboard out of the way, then tapped his desk at a rapid pace. Oh, you were getting a treat too.

Holding his hand out, you grabbed it and were rushed onto his desk, the cold wood hit your back side as you were pushed down.

"Thank god you're wearing a skirt." he mumbled, he looked at you questioning.

"Were you? Did you plan this?" he cocked his head to the side.

"No", you laughed out, ruffling his hair.

He smiled to himself, then as slow as ever, he knelt down, carefully he grabbed both of your ankles and spread your legs open. He was taking his time.

"No underwear? I thought you didn't plan this."

His eyes flicked down to your core, he sucked in a breath, and just looked at you dumbfounded by your beauty. He dipped his head lower then placed a kiss on the inside of your thigh, followed by a suck on your clit. You bit your lip to stifle the moan that almost poured out of your mouth.

"Don't" he said, his mouth full of you squelching, "I want to hear you"

As he sucked and licked you into heaven you felt an intrusion, he slid his fingers in, marking your throbbing walls with each of this digits, well at least now you can see what all that gaming has done for him - and you I guess.

Heat gathered in the pit of your stomach growing as every flick of his tongue reared you closer. He lapped up your wetness and it built pressure inside you. Pressure that made you moan like crazy, you grabbed a fist full of his hair and pulled.

"Lick properly I want to cum on your mouth, just like the way you did mine." he hummed in response, speeding up his tongue dragging along your pussy, he dipped it inside off you still working you with his fingers. You came arching against the desk, and he sucked in every bit off you.

Unhurriedly, he looked up at you with softness, he managed to stand with the haze. You shut your legs, pulled yourself forward and kissed him, the taste of you on his tongue made you smile, a little salty just like his. You got off his desk and laid down on his bed, he tucked you in and sleep caught you, but not before the sound of the door opening.

"Hey Kenma."

"Oh. Hey Kuroo, I thought you were staying at your house."

"Change of plans"

"Did you just get in?"

"I've been here for a while."

"How long-"

"Long enough to hear you two fucking up a storm."

"I'm sorry-"

"Nah. don't be it feels like my little brother is growing up." he clicked his tongue, "but. Next Time. I wanna join"

Kenma looked at your sleeping form.

"I'll think about it." You mumbled

ℍ𝕖𝕪 𝕡𝕠𝕠𝕜𝕚𝕖𝕤, 𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕜 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕤𝕠 𝕞𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘, 𝕀'𝕞 𝕤𝕠𝕣𝕣𝕪 𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕖𝕖𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕗𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖. 𝕀 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕟𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕕𝕠 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 😏. 𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕚𝕤 𝕞𝕪 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕡𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕣, 𝕚𝕗 𝕚𝕥 𝕕𝕠𝕖𝕤𝕟'𝕥 𝕞𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕤𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕖 𝕠𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕡𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕤 𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕥, 𝕝𝕖𝕥 𝕞𝕖 𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨. 𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕜 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕒𝕘𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕘𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕗𝕒𝕣.

𝕰𝖆𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖗𝖎𝖈𝖍, 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖓 𝖘𝖕𝖎𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖒 𝖔𝖚𝖙

[killerpancakeburger]

One man's penalty is another man's prize

SUMMARY: When agreeing to lend a hand with the organisation of some military tests, you thought it would be limited to marking times and keeping scores. Statistically, there was no way that the... "creative" penalty you came up with would be selected, right?

And the chances for your boyfriend to be the one subjected to it had to be close to zero, right?

PAIRING: Soap x f!Reader (Soaps calls Reader Ma'am twice, that's it)

TAGS: Civilian!Reader, Fat!Reader, Smug!Soap x1000, a bit Possessive!Soap, Established Relationship, flirting, banter, teasing, partial nudity. Making Shit Up for the Plot/military inaccuracies. Suggestive content but nothing graphic.

WORDS COUNT: 2k

A/N: crackfic...? Soap does push-ups fic. Soap wears booty shorts fic. That actually no one One (1) person asked for.

If you need "visual on the target", this piece by @rusticfurnace and this one by @wombywoo have been on my mind. (Hoping its ok to tag, if not, tell me)

For @glitterypirateduck Cod Vacation Mode Challenge, prompt 27.

A drop of sweat falls from your temple and lands onto the stack of papers you were scribbling on. You wipe off your dripping wet forehead with the back of your arm.

The torrid sun is beating down hard on the ground and bodies alike.

This unforgiving heat left you no respite all day long, despite the fact that all you did was sit and take notes. Drenched in sweat, you fan yourself with your notepad. Perspiration keeps accumulating between the rolls of your stomach no matter how many times you dry it off. Today's the base annual testing day, an unofficial gathering meant to measure soldiers’ performance and entertain some friendly competition.

You would almost regret committing to helping today by playing scribes, but the sadistic satisfaction of seeing others toiling away while you twiddle your thumbs is enough to thwart that feeling. That, and Soap's little… display.

Your eyes almost bulged out of your head when you arrived this morning and stumbled upon him stretching his legs, bent over, fingers aiming for his feet, wearing the shortest, thighest shorts you've ever seen. Then he greeted you as if nothing was out of the ordinary. You glanced in interrogation at Gaz and Ghost, who were respectively wearing Bermudas and tracksuits, and were met with a shrug and an eye roll.

To make matters worse, he traded his blue shirt for a sleeveless top that did wonders for his arms and shoulders - as if his tanned biceps weren't already a work of art and a weapon of mass destruction all at once.

You don’t know which incubus possessed him to wear booty shorts, but you definitely aren't complaining.

You spend the day ogling him shamelessly, knowing he was putting on a show for you. He'd sponge down his glistening face with the bottom of his shirt, offering you a tantalizing view of his toned stomach. He'd throw dazzling smiles, teasing winks and blow kisses your way. At some point, he even emptied his water bottle on his head, resulting in his shirt turning transparent and sticking to his skin in an almost obscene way.

His myriad of attentions made you dizzy, in the best of ways. You may have made yourself look like a lovesick fool, with your blissfully happy smiles and your stupid giggles, but except for the people you were close with, no one would dare to nag you about it - lest a certain Scottish sergeant with a big mouth and no fear of confrontation gets all up in their face.

Strong, bronzed hands heavily lean on your desk. Palms are turned towards you, fingers gripping the table's edge.

“M ‘ere fer my penalty.”

The voice is raspy, accent thick, tone charming and teasing at the same time.

You slowly look up from your paper to meet Soap's cerulean eyes; along the way you can’t help but peek at his tanned arms, his bulging biceps, the beads of sweat rolling down his neck, the familiar chin scar in the middle of his dark stubble. His shirt is soaked with sweat.

He's wearing the grin he has every time he lays eyes on you; a blinding, earnest thing. However, even that beguiling smile cannot hide the spark of triumph and playfulness in his gaze.

Johnny's terribly competitive, that's an open secret. It's no surprise that today's tests would fire him up. The perpetual FNG has a title to defend, after all, and with you watching, the stakes are high despite the tests’ results bearing no influence on their file.

But that excitement wasn’t supposed to target you.

“A penalty?” you repeat, unconvinced, twirling your pen between your fingers. “You?”

Doubt infused with sarcasm seeps in your tone, very much on purpose. You raise a skeptical eyebrow, on your guard. 

Your first instinct was to withdraw, prop yourself against the backrest, the distance between the two of you reduced to something too trivial to be proper, but you can’t back off from his implicit challenge. It's a well-crafted game with the two of you as its exclusive players. A dance of provocation and endearment, a mischievous yet comfortable back and forth.

The lack of privacy of it would usually discourage your bashful nature, who avoids confrontation at all costs. But the sergeant has figured out how to appeal to the competitive, driven part of you. So you stand your ground, brazenly, like you're the only two people in the world.

There is no way that Soap earned a penalty, no way that he lost. He's one of the best there is, if not the best - not that his ego needs the boost.

The SAS's youngest prodigue who beat all previous records, his name forever carved into the archives and his legend whispered among impressionable new recruits.

Not to mention that the way he said “my penalty” sounded more like “my prize” than anything else.

“‘ere. Proof.”

He hands out a piece of paper to you, a smug smirk not leaving his lips, one that is not without evoking the satisfied expression of the cat who got the cream. Your fingers brush his as you retrieve the “penalty receipt”, the contact feeling like flames licking your skin.

You take a break from defiantly holding his gaze to glance at the note. Its contents sends an ominous shiver down your spine, your eyes slightly widening in understanding.. and horror.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. The odds were, what, one in hundreds? Amplified by the fact that Soap was the one to get ahold of it, out of all competitors.

You vainly stare at your own scrawl, as if that could make the ink vanish, but reality simply gazes back. 

When asked to participate in making up a penalty, you wrote the silliest thing that came to mind, as a sort of inside joke only yourself would be privy to. Eight innocuous little words that would sign your downfall.

“Do fifty push-ups with me on their back”.

The fifty was an arbitrary pick between twenty that you judged too lenient, and a hundred that would take too long; however, you've thought a bit more about the “me on their back” part. You were heavier than the average soldier's rucksack - significantly so. It had to be a challenge, so you've made it this way.

Yet you never expected to actually end up on someone's back.

How Johnny managed to get his hands on your penalty out of all of them, you'd probably never find out, but you couldn’t deny that the “me” mentioned was you. Indeed, on top of your… recognizable handwriting, the note was adorned with little scribbles you had mindlessly doodled while bored. They were simple but easily identifiable: a foamy bar of soap, a deadpan skull, a jerrycan wearing a cap, and a stack of cash with a hat, or, put differently, the Task Force 141 stylized.

A version of the team that Soap was well-versed with, having witnessed you drawing it countless times.

There was no way out of the corner you were backed into - Soap put you on the spot, the brightest one possible, and that little shit knew it perfectly - did it on purpose.

You sigh exaggeratedly as you get up. You bypass your desk to stand in front of Johnny, not missing the way he looks you up and down. This is the first time he's seeing you in shorts, and despite how self-conscious you are about the girth of your chafing thighs, he makes it obvious how much he's enjoying the view. You cross your arms with an amused smile on your lips.

“You know you’re not supposed to enjoy your penalty, right? Kinda defeats the purpose.”

His smile mirrors yours as he bends over to whisper in your ear, close enough for you to feel his body heat, but not making a move to touch you.

“And ye do know I’d never let any of those eejits sweat and grunt under ye? That's my prerogative.”

Despite the shiver his gravelly voice sent down your spine,you throw your head back in laughter.

“Ooh so that's what this is! You're jealous.”

He remains unfazed by the accusation.

“Call it what ye want.”

“You do know I'm heavier than your rucksack, right? Much heavier? You’re going to hurt yourself.”

His eyes glint with hunger for challenge.

“Don't knock it til you've tried it.”

“Fine. Drop and give me twenty, pretty boy.”

His grin becomes blinding. He reaches behind to grab the back of his shirt and rips it off like it burned him. 

You gape despite yourself in front of his glistening chest, all tanned skin, white scars, hard stomach and soft pecs, and he gently lifts your chin up with his index finger to close your mouth, an extremely smug smirk adorning his lips.

“Yes, Ma'am. Right away, Ma'am.”

From a stranger's perspective, his reply drips with an insolence that matches the cockiness he exhibited all day. But you know better; you can hear the underlying docility in his tone, the one he expresses when you two are intimate.

He keeps his eyes on yours as he kneels, the display way too lascivious for how public it is. You bite your lips, frowning your eyebrows in warning, but say nothing as he obeys and performs the twenty push-ups asked - on one arm. It is good that the position prevents him from staring at you, because you reckon otherwise he'd be giving you the slyest grin.

More than the impressive show of strength; more than the way his skin glows with sweat; more than the flaunting of his imposing muscles; the knowledge that he's undertaking it all for you is what tightens the band of arousal in your stomach, along with multiplying the bubbles of happiness and affection in your chest.

“Gonna take a seat, bonnie?”

He's forced to heckle you since you were so caught up in your staring that you forgot that the next part of the penalty required your participation.

And of course, he chose the cheekiest way to do so. The question, innocent at first glance, sent you back into the bedroom. The last time he asked you that was right before you sat on his face. And the time before that was when you rid him.

You oblige yourself to focus on the here and now, and carefully straddle Soap's back.

“Are you sure you can- Woh.”

He interrupts you by suddenly lowering and rising his body, obliging you to grab his shoulders to keep your balance, but easily demonstrating that the added weight has very little impact on his performance. 

“Alright, alright, you convinced me,” you yield. “That's only one out of fifty, though.”

“And yet ye dare doubt me again,” he grumbles under his breath, initiating a steadfast pace.

It is a shame that your current position prevents you from watching his face, but you concentrate on other things instead. Never before did you have the opportunity to revel in the glorious vision that was his powerful back.

You tease him by periodically clenching your thighs without warning, squeezing the meat of his shoulders or ruffling the back of his drenched mohawk.

You let out an impressed whistle when he reaches fifty, before scrambling to liberate him. He pretends needing your help to stand up, and you give him your hands without hesitation. Once he's up, you affectionately shove his shirt into his naked torso, an implicit command to make himself proper.

Following his dressing, you two stare into each others' eyes, hands in hands, like lovebirds until his stomach roars like thunder. 

You giggle; he sighs exaggeratedly, suddenly bowed down by an invisible weight, like he wasn’t overflowing with energy a minute ago.

“M starvin’. Tae death.”

“Wouldn’t have guessed.”

He starts walking towards the canteen's building, after a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows and his eyes motionning between you and the coveted reserve of food in a silent but strong proposition. You purposely let him take the lead so you can sneak behind him and grab a generous handful of his ass.

He turns his head towards you with mock outrage on his face, a hand pressed on chest, quickly replaced by appreciation.

“Been itching to do that all day,” you confess with an impish smile.

Walking side by side, you start happily humming, and just as you let your hand drop, he seizes it and puts it back on his buttock.

[newchangestf]

I live in a rough neighbourhood not by choice but that’s not the biggest problem. I am in a block flats and I am constantly being woken up by the guy in the next door flat. He is constantly having parties and loud sex. I would confront him but he is a muscly chav lad. What should I do?

He was huge and incredibly intimidating. You had never spoken to him but had heard the parties. The boorish lads drunkenly singing, dancing, and god knows what else.

You've been in the flat below only for a few weeks and the parties are non stop. You're going to have to speak to him at some point and try and sort things out.

One day you notice it seems particularly quiet. You figure everyone is gone. This is your chance.

You knock on his door and wait. After a few moments the door unlocks and swings open. The towering beast of a man stands in front of in nothing but a pair of Nike joggers.

You're not gay but you're left speechless for a few moments. He's chest is huge and covered in dark hair just like his beard. This hair continues over his rock hard abs and down to a snail trail leading to the thickest bulge you have ever seen.

His thighs fill the joggers to the point you think they should rip. His feet are about as big as your face and are probably more muscular that your entire body.

You quickly snap out of your trance and introduce yourself. He listens as you explain your situation and your issues with the noise.

He's surprisingly calm and you wonder why you saw him as intimidating.

He apologises for disturbing you and invites you to enjoy his new shisha pipe with him to make amends.

Although not usually your thing the smell is alluring. You agree and sit down opposite him.

You both start puffing away and getting to know each other. His name's Kieran and he's actually a really nice guy. He works in modelling and says he's got a great eye for new talent as he gestures towards you.

You laugh at first but slowly you begin to lose focus. You quickly look over to him in panic as you start to go faint. He smiles at you just as it all goes black.

----------

When you come to something feels...new... different.

You're still in Kieran's flat but you've changed. You're more slender than before, you weren't fat but not as slender as you are now.

Your ass however isn't slender, it's now bouncy and round. It fills out the tracksuit you find yourself wearing almost too well. The outline of a jockstrap visible through the fabric.

You feel the cold metal of a chain against your skin that now hangs around your neck. A black baseball cap, backwards, finishes your look.

You're confused for a moment but Kieran's entrance to the room catches your attention.

As you look up to him new memories flood into place.

You've lived with Kieran for a few years now. Ever since he recruited you into his modeling/porn company.

He specialises in gay chav porn and modeling the latest outfits from Nike and Adidas. Those parties he always hosts? Not actually parties but drunken orgies.

You've been Kieran's favourite since he met you in the pub after you ditched college. Being his favourite means you're the only one that gets to be bred by him.

You look up to him with puppy dog eyes, he steps towards you rubbing his bulge.

It seems you're going to get a treat before the rest of the lads arrive.

[octuscle]

New class

Albert was more than disgusted. The fact that his father's chauffeur had been involved in an accident somewhere was unforgivable. But the fact that his parents told him to take the bus home if he didn't want to stay at boarding school at the weekend was downright impertinent. His parents thought he was a spoiled brat. And of course they were right. But was that Albert's fault? After all, they had let him grow up with a golden spoon in his mouth. And my God, he hadn't turned out that badly. Star of the swimming team, always perfectly styled golden curls. Dressed as if he was a cover model for Men's Vogue. He brought home good grades, he was popular and the daughters from better families queued up to get laid by him. But now he was standing at the bus stop, his Hermès weekender between his legs, waiting for the bus to take him to the station.

The worst part was the mocking looks from his classmates as they passed him in the heavy limousines. In this respect, the arrival of the bus was sheer relief. Albert looked at the bus driver like a cockroach. Fortunately, Dad's black credit card was accepted to buy the ticket. Unfortunately, the bus was full. Almost to the last seat. And the only free seat that Albert could reach without any problems was next to a young man his age. But age was the only unifying factor. Otherwise, the two were separated by education, money and style. And a different attitude to personal hygiene. Not only did the young man in his shiny tracksuit smell of tobacco and sweat, he also had one of his obviously unmanicured hands in his trousers and was scratching his balls with complete abandon despite Albert's presence. Albert rolled his eyes, took his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and started exchanging messages with his friends at home. The weekend needed to be planned. Tonight there would be a dinner party at his parents' house. A small circle, maybe 12 people. But apart from that, there were no plans yet.

Just as he had written a message to Vincent asking if they wanted to meet up at Annabell's after dinner, he felt sick. The Scally next to him held the hand that had just been working his scrotum under his nose. "Yo, like who do you even think you are, bro? But let's be real, deep down, the aroma of a straight-up Scally ball gets your juices flowin', am I right or what?" Albert almost gagged. "Yo dawg, you cool if I blaze up some dankity dank up in here?" Albert replied that of course it bothered him. And that it was forbidden to smoke on the bus. But somehow it made him feel dizzy. The smell of his neighbor's hands… Somehow… Hot! While he was still trying to collect himself, he felt the smelly and calloused hands of his seatmate on his chin. His face was turned gruffly in the Scally's direction. And he blew his tobacco smoke directly into Albert's handsome face. "Yo dude, my bad but I totally couldn't make it to the station. But like, I'm willing to bet no one gets that struggle quite like you, you hardcore chain-smoking addict!"

Albert had never smoked before… The scally handed him a packet of tobacco and cigarette paper. Albert hesitated for a moment. Just a moment. And then he started rolling a cigarette. Like a pro. With nicotine-stained fingers. He stuck the first cigarette behind his ear. And he rolled a second cigarette. He held the butt in his trembling hand. Shit, how long would it take before they arrived at this damn station? He hadn't got that far yet. But he couldn't hold out much longer. The man sitting next to him seemed to have read his thoughts. He pulled Albert's head towards him, turned his face towards his and gave Albert a deep French kiss. And exhaled the freshly inhaled tobacco smoke. Smoke flowed through Albert's lungs. Shit, that felt good. Almost as good as the tongue in his mouth. His cock got hard, even harder when the scally started to knead the bulge in Albert's trousers.

The bus came to an abrupt stop. The Scally suddenly spat in Albert's face and got out of his seat over Albert. He obviously had a hard-on too. Albert grabbed his Nike sports bag and followed the guy without thinking. He was met with one hand in his pants and one on a freshly lit cigarette. The scally pulled his hand out of his pants, took his lighter out of his pocket and gave Albert a light. “My name's Mason, by the way. And you, pal,” Albert took a deep drag. Damn, that felt good. He held out his hand to Mason. Mason turned it into a fist bump. “Nice to meet you, Berty! Shit, who beat you up like that?” Albert looked at Mason questioningly. Mason pulled out his cell phone, switched the camera to selfie mode and held the screen up to Albert. Bloody hell! His nose had obviously been broken not so long ago and there was a freshly stitched laceration over his right eye. And his left eye was bloodshot and swollen. “Mate, I straight up wrecked that fool in the third round. Like, it wasn't even me getting KO'd, it was the other dude. I was just too dank for him to handle.” What the hell?!?! Did he just say that?

Albert stroked his bald head. The stubble was itchy. He had last shaved the day before yesterday. It was about time he used the razor again. Mason sniffed and snotted on the sidewalk. Berty followed his example and stubbed out his fag. Shit, Mason's cock was clearly visible under his training pants. Berty's filthy jockstrap, which he probably hadn't changed for a week, held his own hard-on back to some extent. Mason lit a new cigarette and walked wordlessly in the direction of the bus station bathroom stalls. A quick glance in Berty's direction, a grab for his crotch and Berty followed him inconspicuously. The two were not men of many words. Berty had been on the road all week working as a plumber. They showed their joy at seeing each other again in a good hard fuck in the run-down toilet.

The two of them hung out at the bus stop. Maybe a few more of their pals came by. Both were already horny again and could already cum again. But above all, Berty didn't feel like going home. His father was probably drunk again and his mother had enough to do with his eight younger siblings. Drinking beer and smoking at the bus stop wasn't the worst thing to do. He knew worse fates!

Awesome pic by @aismoker

[its-the-allure]

Mid-line game

Thank you for the tag @noctilucous @jupitersbetrayal @kamaela @yellowfork @smugrobotics

rules: drop a mid-story line from 10 of your fics and tag 10 people. (if you don’t have 10, post what you got! WIPs are fair game too).

Down and (nearly) out

Malfoy and the leather-clad man are pressed up against the mirror on the far wall, snogging. The man has a meaty hand clamped possessively over the front of Malfoy’s pink jeans. Malfoy is frotting up into it, head lolling onto the man’s big shoulder, his cheeks flushed and lovely. Harry just stands and stares. The man looks up. Maybe he feels Harry’s eyes on him. “Your friend can join,” he leers. Malfoy looks up as well, sees Harry. Sneers. “He’s not my friend.” Harry gets out of there.

Worshipping at the altar of Harry James Potter

The house was oddly quiet considering he knew Harry had taken the day off work to lounge about for his birthday. He made his way into their bedroom to change and froze. The birthday boy himself lay atop their bed, completely naked but for Draco’s old Slytherin tie knotted loosely around his neck.

Eyeliner!Harry

After their shower, Draco discovered that Potter has a magical tattoo of a stag on his lower back, above his arse. As he stepped from the bathing area to dress, it shook its impressive rack of antlers at Draco, glaring at him defiantly. Draco never plans to get another tattoo, not after the mistake he’d made taking the Mark, stupidly trying to gain his father’s approval. He will freely admit how sexy it looks on Potter, however.

Sweet like candy to my soul

��Mmm,” Harry responds, drawing away to grin at him. “You speak French. That’s so… hot.”

[ART & FIC] Come As You Are

Tonight he wore a light blue Adidas tracksuit complete with matching joggers. Harry liked the way the joggers sat low-slung on Malfoy’s hips, and the impressive hint of a bulge beneath, if he was being honest. There was no denying that Malfoy had a big dick. Harry wished he could see it again.

Auror Harry WIP

“Malfoy,” Harry sneered. “I should have known. Trading on the Dark Web, eliciting stolen property. What do you even need it for? There’s only one reason a wizard would want that; why are you trying to Polyjuice into me?” Malfoy gulped. His pointed chin rose haughtily. “Not that it’s any of your business, but it’s for my wife.”

[ART & FIC] Hot boy summer

A mere thought has the chair Draco’s been sitting in spun around, and Harry bends him over it. He smooths his hand from Draco’s nape, over the hard lines of his spine under the starched white shirt. He’s heading toward the buttons, then with a growl he waves a hand and vanishes it, along with the vest underneath and his own t-shirt.

Snow can wait 

Draco’s answering smile is the most beautiful thing Harry has ever seen. Harry’s attention sharpens, and anything that isn’t Draco falls completely out of focus. It’s just the two of them, even amidst all these people. And in a way, isn’t that how it’s always been?

Solemates

“Tell me what you’ve thought about,” Draco commands softly. I screw my eyes shut, take a deep breath in, and release it in a rush. The truth falls out of me.

"Sex & Candy"

Draco curled behind him like he was meant to be there, like Harry was made specifically to fit into the curve of his body.

I have no idea who all has done this. Tagging @jelliewrites @lqtraintracks @moonflower-rose @the-forbidden-forest @drwhoisginnyholmes @poljupci @fluffyunderneath @twnkwlf-writes @toomuchplor @upon-poppyhills and anyone else who wants to play!

[entouragestories]

Second Life

I’ve been were busy recently and haven’t had time to write and I’ve also had writers block, I wanna thank @chavdrone and @kaithescallylad for inspiring me to write this story! ________________________________________________

Oliver was walking home from a friend towards the bus stop when he noticed a new shop. He had been around this part of London many times and had never seen this store before. Its dusty storefront displayed many different styled mannequins in attempts to be trendy, but they just ended up cheesy. Oliver looked at the store and read the half-broken neon sign, “Second life”; it was a second-hand shop. Oliver had time to kill, so he took the opportunity to check the store. It was open, and he went in. He was met by a large arrangement of racks with clothes and shelves; he didn't know where to start. The store seemed to be empty of any customers, and the checkout was empty as well, so Oliver just went around browsing for potential items.

Oliver was your average guy. He studied at some college in London he had recently turnt 20 and described by his nerdy characteristics: brown overgrown hair, glasses, a lanky build, and an normal clothing style. It was out of character for Oliver to blink twice at the White Nike trainers he just passed. His body felt drawn towards the pair, and even though the pair were size 11s and his feet were size 9, he felt obliged to try them on. He grabbed them and went towards a dressing room, not finding any other mirror or place to sit; he went there. Oliver removed his boots and put on the White Nike Tns. At first, he felt amused seeing these large, comically-looking sneakers on his feet, but that soon changed. The sneakers quickly started feeling moist, wet, and they were smelling; he was confused. Becoming uncomfortable, he quickly tried to yank off the sneakers, but to no avail, they were simply stuck, and the size gap weirdly felt snug.

Unbeknownst to Oliver, Second Life wasn't just an ordinary second-hand shop; no, it was a store offering a new life. Each item dropped off by the last owner transferred their essence into the new owner, ultimately forming a second life for the customer. Oliver's body started to change, and his height increased; his body frame started filling out, his lanky arms becoming toned, and his stomach gaining the outlines of some abs. His body gained a lean look, and his body started to emit the same smell his sneakers had; ultimately, exuding masculinity mixed with a new fragrance coming from his body, some cheap Axe deodorant and cologne. Oliver's face started changing; Oliver originally had slim and feminine features, a round nose and jaw, and a kind-looking face. That dramatically changed as his jaw started to square up, some stubble growing in, and his mouth gaining a stupid expression, a stupid grin. His nose swelled up and got crooked from all the fights he "supposedly" had gone through, and his eyes squinted up as well as his brow ridge squared up, his eyebrows becoming full and dark, and his ears becoming pierced. Oliver's hairstyle went from his long hair to a short-styled fade.

Oliver's clothes disintegrated all but his underwear that changed into some blue Nike boxers, as well as his bulge growing to accommodate his new length and foot size. Oliver's body started getting new clothes as a black football tracksuit materialized on him, the pants tucked into his socks, and he ultimately got a chain around his neck, finalizing his new look.

The last step was his mental state; Oliver's mind adjusted to his new persona and changed him into Ozzy, a 20-year-old British chav. Ozzy didn't go to college like those fancy shits; instead, he spent his days hanging with his brothers and working for some money. Gone was Oliver, and the world around him had erased Oliver for good. The store owner watched the whole change back in the storage, checking out another happy customer.

[goldenherc9]

A Herculean Transformation

Hercules, a 26-year-old British man with a flair for the flashy, strutted into the gym wearing his signature outfit: shiny gold Nike tracksuit pants. He loved the way the fabric gleamed under the fluorescent lights, announcing his arrival like a king in his court. In one hand, he carried a blender bottle filled with his secret weapon: a protein shake he'd bought online from a questionable website that promised "unimaginable gains."

As he sipped the concoction, a strange sensation surged through his body. His muscles started to bulge, veins popped out like overinflated balloons, and his skin darkened to a rich bronze hue. He looked into the mirror and gasped—or at least tried to, because his jawline now resembled a cement block. Hercules had transformed into a hulking, dumb version of himself, now resembling an Algerian Arabic bodybuilder with an IQ seemingly traded for biceps. His old self had been erased and he has become Hamza.

The gym-goers stopped and stared as he attempted a deadlift, accidentally ripping the barbell in half. "Strong! Me so strong! Look at me!" he shouted, his British accent completely obliterated by an inexplicable, booming Algerian drawl.

"Bro, you okay?" asked a concerned bystander.

Hercules now Hamza—or whatever he had become—grinned widely. "Okay? Me best! Me lift heavy, look shiny! Like golden banana!" He flexed his muscles so hard that his gold tracksuit pants shredded at the seams, revealing thighs the size of tree trunks.

By the end of the session, Hamza was sitting on a bench, staring at a protein bar wrapper like it was a complex mathematical equation. "Dis... go in mouth, make strong, yes?" he asked, scratching his head.

As the gym staff nervously approached, Hamza pointed to the shake bottle. "More shake! Me want to be biggest... and maybe learn math later."

Hamza joins his brothers @zayed-gold87 and @polo-drone-001 for more golden arabic workouts and to keep growing like the golden brothers they have become together.

Huhu come join da Gold brahs and become a better u like me did huhu message @goldenherc9 or @polo-drone-001 2day bruuuuhs

[theamazingdigitalraceway]

THREE WAY

AN NSFW RACEWAY AU ONESHOT

@spyderlondon

WARNING: ⚠️ NSFW,MDNI⚠️ VERY OOC, no plot, no lore, 2 on 1, monster tongues, rough sex, double penetration, PinV, oral, anal, choking, bulging, cum overflow, overstimulation, masterbation, dry humping

~~~

A/N: THIS WAS SO HORNY FROM THE START, I HAD TO PUT THE WHOLE THING UNDER THE CUT! ENJOY!

Pomni squirmed against her hand between her legs. She rubbed her groin harshly through her tracksuit, desperate for some semblance of friction. No matter how hard she pulled, the zipper down the center of her suit didn't budge. "Come on..." She whimpered.

Restless energy rippled through her like a race rush that wouldn't wear off. Her breaths came hot and heavy, her legs squirming with need. She felt hot waves of buzzing static in the code of her avatar, like she was on the verge of glitching, but never going over.

She couldn't take it. She lifted her red gloved hand and snapped. Her tightly closed eyes opened when she felt her bed shift. She was no longer in her room in the garage, she wasn't even in her own bed anymore. She has been teleported to a grand masterbedroom of bold reds and golds.

Caine was sitting in a high back armchair, smoking his pipe by a fireplace. "Evening, my dear. I was wondering when you'd call. Today's excitement really has you wound up. I can feel it from here." He looks over to her, his eyes smoldering.

"Caine, please. Help me take care of this. I need you. I really...need you."

"Hm. Begging will get you everywhere with me." He chuckles. "But this seems...bigger than a one man job. Don't you agree?"

Pomni shuddered. "More than you..?"

"Oh yes, and I do believe he's just been dying to sink his fangs into you. It should be an entertaining watch." Caine snapped his fingers and the shadow he cast grew. The shadow molded and took shape from the floor, stepping towards Pomni with purpose.

Pomni dug her fingers into the sheets as the shadow's details came into focus. "Seth."

Seth spreads her knees with his own as he leans over her. His leather gloves hands brace on either side of her head. His piercing silver eyes look Pomni over hungrily as his double forked tongues glide along his teeth. "Such a delicious sight. The greatest racer, reduced to mewling for a good fuck."

"Are you here to dance or talk? Because I'm already bored." Pomni sassed.

Caine snorted, leaning against his hand in amusement. He loosened his tie and pulled it off. "My, my, someone's feeling bratty today. Seth, I don't think we should take that."

Seth gripped Pomni's neck and pulled her up to his face. "We won't. Be careful what you wish for, racer." With his words, wisps of shadow seeped out from under his clothes and wormed their way under Pomni's.

Pomni squirmed against Seth's tight hold on her neck. The shadows mingled inside her avatar, slithering like snakes under static skin. The sensations lit up her body with unique waves of pleasure. "What...what are you doing?" She barely squeaks out.

"Rendering." Caine stood up and his coat slid off his shoulders. He neatly laid it over the arm of his chair. "I've been busy. Trying to make everything a bit more...real. Haven't you found it strange that you're struggling to breathe when you don't need air?"

Seth pressed the fingers of his free hand between Pomni's legs. She jumped, he smirked at her reaction. "So sensitive. It won't take much to make you whimper."

In a flash of silver Pomni found herself straddling Seth's lap, her back against his chest, his hand still on her neck, the other still between her legs. Pomni held onto Seth's forearms, not struggling against his hold. She was actually grinding into Seth's lap, eager for more.

Caine held the zipper of Pomni's tracksuit. Gold energy lit up his hand. "And like magic..." He drags down the zipper, revealing a pale white female body hiding behind the colorful tracksuit.

Pomni felt warm and light headed. The code of her avatar felt like real skin. Small breasts perked, exposed to the cool room. She looked longingly at Caine.

"Ease back, Seth. Wouldn't want the poor thing to pass out before we've even started." Caine cupped Pomni's breasts. Thumbs grazing over her nipples.

Seth loosened his grip and Pomni gasped for air. She barely got a breath when Caine leaned down and shoved his tongue into her mouth. Caine's disembodied eyes watched with glee as Pomni welcomed him in greedily. Seth's tongues flow over Pomni's collar bones and slide inside her suit.

Pomni dry humped against Seth, the friction sends her spiraling. Hands exploring and groping, tongues tasting her inside and out. Then teeth. A sharp pierce on her shoulder makes her groan against Caine. Seth has dug one of his fangs into her.

Pomni shook with pleasure as an unexpected orgasm took over her body. The multitude of sensations left her reeling, but they did not stop. Caine was now pinching and licking at her chest. Seth was taking a turn at her mouth and kept rubbing her soaked pussy.

"I need that mouth to swallow more than my tongue." Seth growled. "Take her."

Caine snapped and positions changed. Pomni was on her hands and knees on the bed. Seth was on his knees in front of her. Caine behind her. Seth unzipped his pants to reveal a shadowed phallis. It wasn't quite realistic, more stiff tentacle in appearance. He dug his fingers in her hair and thrust his dick against her cheek, he chuckled when she recoiled slightly. "What's the matter? I thought you were here to play." His voice arrogant.

Caine snapped away Pomni's tracksuit, leaving her naked and exposed. He gripped her hips, grinding his clothed hard on against Pomni's wet thighs. "Be careful what you wish for." He echoed Seth.

"Just don't poke my eye out, jerk." Pomni hissed and dragged her tongue along Seth's shaft. She only got one more stroke in before Seth was pushing her lips down on his length. Pomni tried to bring up one of her hands to brace against Seth but it was held down to the bed by a wisp of shadow. All four of her limbs were held down.

Pomni sucked and swallowed Seth down her throat. Looking up, she caught his glowing eyes watching her intently. Caine was moving in tandem with her movements.

Caine released his own phallic appendage with a groan, his pants uncomfortably tight. He spread Pomni's ass cheeks, taking her all in. "So many options...eeny meeny miney this one." He drove himself into her vagina in one strong thrust.

Pomni jerked forward on Seth, a moan muffled in her throat. The rough treatment made her eyes roll back, Caine burying himself inside her and moving with Seth. As she was moved back and forth, tongues slid around her body. They teased and tasted her abdomen and chest.

Pomni lost herself in the torrent of pleasure. It was overwhelming, drowning her. She let Caine and Seth move her, being stretched at both ends.

It was Caine touching her clit that sent her over the edge again. She shuddered, tightening around Caine. His thrusts went out of sync, chasing his high after hers. Seth kept his movements smooth until he was spilling down her throat, the only tell he was cumming was a husky sigh.

Pomni swallowed load after load, as Caine pumped himself into her from the bottom. There was so much of it. It spilled down her thigh and neck. Her thin body lightly distending from the volume of cum.

Seth finally let Pomni breathe. She coughed and gasped, cum dripping from her lips. He eyed Caine holding himself to Pomni's hips. "You done yet? It's my turn to stuff that pussy."

"So impatient." Caine rolled his eyes and snapped. Positions changed again. Pomni straddled Seth laying on the bed. He wasted no time sliding his cum and spilt covered dick inside her leaking vagina.

Pomni had no energy to move. "Forget it..."

"Are you calling for a red flag?" Caine stopped to ask.

"No, I'm just not moving. I don't care what you two do."

"Very well." Caine pushed Pomni forward, exposing her tight asshole. He kneeled down and his flexible tentacle of a dick wiggled inside, slowly stretching her out.

Pomni gasped and gripped Seth. His strong, gloved hands grabbed her hips and moved her against him. She felt so full, it was an indescribable amount of pleasure mixed with pain. She felt dizzy with overstimulation.

Seth and Caine fucked her holes harder than before, sinfully taking Pomni for all she was worth. Pomni panted against Seth's shoulder, holding onto him for dear life. Seth's head floated away from his shoulders and chomped down on one of Pomni's ass cheeks, his eyes watching it all from 3rd person.

For the third time, Pomni orgasmed hard enough to make her shake. She cried out in pleasure at full volume now that nothing was in her mouth. Her lower abdomen distended a little further as Seth filled her.

Seth got off on Pomni's scream. He thrust up and added his own cum to the dripping cream pie that was Pomni. He eyes lulled out of focus midair, rejoining with his teeth before they fell.

Caine has too much gusto this round. He kept going, moving Pomni against Seth. Both Seth and Pomni moaned, going along for the ride. Seth shamelessly made out with Pomni, tasting himself on her tongue.

Caine roughly thrust his rut into Pomni, surely ruining her ability to walk or sit for days to come. He came with a loud groan, painting her inside with hot strings of cum. "Holy-..." He trailed off, shaking with overstimulation.

Caine and Seth slid out, cum leaking from both of Pomni's holes. Caine snapped, Pomni curled up against chest as he relaxed back on the bed.

Seth stood, stretching and zipping his pants. He lit a cigarette and leaned against the wall. "Not your worst idea, Caine."

"Heh, high praise, coming from you." Caine sighed and kissed the top of Pomni's head. "Did you have fun, dear?"

"Oh yeah...I'm going to need a double order from now on." Pomni hugged Caine's chest, burying her face into his shirt and sighing contently.

[hero21us]

Trey's Egg Mischief: Part 1

It was a damp, grey morning in South London. The streets smelled like fried food and mischief. Trey—once Olympic medalist, now full-on chav of the Golden Army—strolled down Peckham High Street in his gold-accented tracksuit, Air Maxes squeaking with each confident step.

In his hand? A small, glowing gold egg. Not an Easter treat—this thing pulsed like it had a heartbeat. Custom-coded. Enchanted. Dangerous.

He stopped at a corner shop mailbox and slipped the egg inside a padded parcel addressed to:

POLO-DRONE-055 The Old Sports Complex, Southwark

Inside the package: the egg… and a greasy, crumpled note scribbled in sharpie:

“Bruv, open this up wid the mandem. Bare jokes. Trust me. Gold levels. U won’t regret it. — T x”

The abandoned Southwark sports facility, once echoing with shouts and whistles, was now a repurposed drone hub—bare gold halls filled with synthetic silence. Inside, Polo-Drone-055 and three others stood recharging. Uniforms pristine. Minds linked to the Gold network. Obedient. Purposeful. Orderly.

Until the package arrived.

Polo-Drone-055 read the note with mild confusion.

“Message sender: Trey. Interpretation: unclear. Recommended action: initiate scan.”

But something inside him stirred—a curiosity glitch. He waved over Drones 110, and 049.

“Processing prank protocol. Opening object… now.”

The egg cracked. A brilliant flash—followed by a wave of low-frequency beats, coded in grime rhythm and gold-tinted transformation subroutines. The mist wasn't visible to the naked eye, but the drones felt it. Deep. Rewriting them.

Their eyes flickered. Uniforms shimmered. Their stance shifted—more relaxed, more bold. Muscles inflated beneath rubber. Posture straightened, then cocked at an angle only confidence allowed.

Polo-Drone-055 staggered back—then laughed. Laughed.

“Yo! What’s all this shine, bro? I feel jacked as hell!” “Check out this fit, man! Gold on gold—max drip!” “Trey crushed it. We’re hyped outta our minds now!”

They weren’t Polo Drones anymore. Not entirely. Still loyal to the Polo, still transformed—but now with swagger, ego, and way too much charisma. Gold Jocks, born from code, grime, and street attitude.

Their uniforms had altered into a hybrid of sports kit and Polo tech: tight gold compression tops, glistening joggers, high-top golden sneakers. Chains formed across their chests. Grins wide. Eyes glowing.

Elsewhere in London

Trey kicked back on a park bench, watching lads play football across the street. His burner buzzed.

Message from Golden Jock-055:

“We’re pumped now. The crew’s stompin’ through the city center, hypin’ up every dude we pass. Gold’s got serious swagger, bro.”

Trey grinned and texted back:

“Standard. Make sure they know—Obedience is Pleasure, but Swag is Power.”

The Gold Jocks were on the loose. South London wouldn’t know what hit it.

South London’s FlexZone Golden Gym was buzzing. Saturday morning. Protein shakes flowing. Trap music thumping. Rows of jocks, lifters, boxers, and bootcamp bros grinding away at their routines, unaware of what was about to hit them.

The doors slid open.

In swaggered Golden Jock-055—biceps bulging, golden tank clinging to his torso, joggers tight over thick quads, a duffle bag slung over one shoulder. He paused at the front desk, adjusted his shades, and gave a confident nod to the man behind the counter.

“Mornin’. Just here to spread a little positivity. You know… gold standard.”

He blinked at the shine coming off his skin. Before he could respond, he was already moving.

Inside the bag: golden Easter eggs from Trey—glowing faintly, each filled with nanomist encoded with loyalty, joy, and a very specific rewrite protocol.

Target: Golden Alpha bros, muscle boys, gym rats. Transformation: Playful, obedient puppies.

Deployment Phase

Golden-Jock-055 moved with purpose.

First stop: Free weights. He placed an egg beside the dumbbell rack, casually stretching nearby.

“Hey, bro—you’re lookin’ real dialed in. Try this for a next-level pump.”

A shredded guy in stringer tank gave a bro-nod, picked up the egg—and crack. The golden mist hit his nose. He froze… then exhaled sharply, nostrils flaring.

Muscles twitched. He dropped to all fours with a heavy thud.

“Whuh—what the—hnngg… woof?”

His shoes vanished. His fingers thickened slightly, joints relaxing. A collar shimmered around his neck. His expression melted into a wide, eager grin. His tongue lolled slightly. He wagged his hips like a tail might follow.

Golden-Jock-055 crouched beside him, giving his back a friendly scratch.

“Atta boy. Feel good, huh? You’re one of ours now. Welcome to the Gold Pack.”

Next: Locker Room

GJ-055 placed two eggs beneath the bench while chatting with a pair of sweaty post-leg-day lifters.

“Hey, bros—hydration break? Brought these custom recovery aids.”

Both cracked their eggs open at once. The mist hit them mid-chug.

Their bodies convulsed briefly—but not in pain. Their grunts turned into happy yelps as golden collars locked around their necks. Their clothes shifted into shiny compression wraps. Their expressions softened, eyes wide and trusting. One started licking the condensation off his water bottle. The other crawled over and nuzzled into his side.

“Good boys,” said GJ-055, patting their heads.

Final stop: Juice Bar

“What’s up, boss? Got somethin’ fresh for ya today.”

He slid a single golden egg across the counter.

The barista raised a brow. “Pre-workout?”

“Better. Pre-obedience.”

Crack. Mist. Whiff. In seconds, the man was kneeling behind the bar, wagging his rear, licking the floor with pure, unbothered joy. A collar tightened with a click, and he barked once, tail-wagging but energy undeniable.

Across the Gym

One by one, the boys fell—happily.

Weights were abandoned. Sets forgotten. Barking echoed off the walls, mingled with giggles and panting and the rhythmic click of gold collars locking into place.

Dozens of golden pups—still strong, still jacked—but now eager, obedient, playful. Tongues out. Happy to serve. Happy to be claimed.

Golden-Jock-055 clapped his hands once.

“Alright, my little beasts—group stretch on the mats. Let’s get flexible before we fetch.”

The pack woofed in unison and scrambled toward the turf zone, some crawling, some bounding like golden Labradors with six-packs.

________________

Want to see what happens when you open one of Trey's eggs? Contact @brodygold @goldenherc9 @polo-drone-001 to be part of the Golden Army.

[maturemenoftvandfilms]

The King's Former Valet

Featuring Michael Fawcett, former valet to Charles, Prince of Wales

My name is James Cole, His Majesty, Charles III’s PR chief and I'm on my way to see Michael Fawcett, Charles' former right-hand man. Mr. Fawcett began working for the Royal family in 1981, first as a junior footman to the late Queen and then a personal valet to her elder son. He rose through the ranks and in 2018 was made the chief executive of The Prince’s Foundation. During that time, I found out he was Charles' 'other' secret lover. However, he became embroiled in several controversies before he duly resigned with a generous severance package and a new career as an events organizer, with the then Prince as his main client.

His services, as an 'events planner', much in demand, thanks, I'm told, to the steadfast loyalty of longstanding, deep-pocketed clients, who marvel at his attention to detail. But I'm on my way to meet him to make sure Charles will never have any contact with his former right-hand man again.

When I arrived at his five-bedroom Palladian mansion just a mile from Hampton Court, I was greeted almost admediately by Mr. Fawcett. He was as tall as me with beautiful graying dark hair, blue eyes, and a meticulously trimmed gray beard. Wearing tracksuit bottoms, a T-shirt and scuffed white trainers, the unemployed 61-year-old had just finished walking his labradoodle in the streets around the red-brick home he shares with wife Debbie. I introduced myself as His Majesty's PR chief and I needed to discuss somethings with him.

"How nice to meet you, Mr. Cole. Do please come in." He said with a big booming voice as he ushered me through the magnificent foyer of the mansion and into a living area just to the left of a long, unlit hallway.

Now in the sitting room which boasted a portrait of Fawcett, he indicated an antique, overstuffed Edwardian chair in which I should sit. Sitting uncomfortably in the elegant chair by the fireplace, I endeavored in vain to explain the nature of my visit as Mr. Fawcett now looked intently at me.

"You're older than what I expected, Mr. Cole," He said aloofly as sipped lightly from his own cocktail. Then he asked me sternly, “Tell me young man what makes you so special that His Majesty takes you, an American… as PR chief?”

I sat up straight, and told him about my life. That I'm extremely intelligent and already have been in college for economics and ethnic studies. All while Mr. Fawcett looked at me with a raised eyebrow.

"Mr. Fawcett. It's obvious that you resent my presence, but you're the one who became a “toxic” presence in the royal court and was damaging His Majesty's reputation." I said, courageously rising to leave. "I think it would be best if there's no further contact between you and His Majesty."

"Please sit down. I have no appetite for returning to the maelstrom of royal life, if that's what concerns you. Both His Majesty and I have clearly moved on and are aware that such a move would simply not be worth the aggravation. I only wish for Charles' satisfaction and pleasure, Mr. Cole." Mr. Fawcett said and began examining my features anew after noticed the bulge in my pants before getting up.

"I'm sure you're aware of His Majesty's needs which Camilla is… ill-equipped to truely satisfy." Mr. Fawcett said as I watched in utter disbelief as the man knelt between my legs, unhurriedly unzipped my trousers.

"Ah yes. His Majesty has such exquisite taste," He gasped in pleasure as his long, carefully manicured fingers and reached in for my now hard dick. He pulled it out and looked at it, then moistened his quivering lips with the tip of his pink tongue.

"His Majesty and I are alike in so many ways, Mr. Cole," He murmured in a deep, breathless voice. "Or didn't Charles tell you?"

Before I could respond, Mr. Fawcett moved down between my legs and started sucking my cock. The sensation of his warm mouth and the touch of his hand on my balls was amazing as I began to spread my legs so he could have better access to my cock and he began to undo my pants and push them down.

This married man was a ferocious cock hound as he somehow managed to take all of my big cock down his throat. Fawcett couldn’t get enough of sucking my cock, and from the way he was doing it, he definitely had done it before. It was almost familiar. At that moment I realized where Charles learned how to suck cock. I felt myself fixing to cum when Fawcett suddenly took his mouth away from my cock.

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

Damn if that’s wasn’t exactly what I wanted. As good as him sucking me had felt, the thoughts of fucking his ass had been in the back of my mind all the time. He turned around and dropped his pants to the floor and bent over to give me full view of his ass. It was beautiful, round and plump, desite his weight loss. I leaned over and licked his hole good and wet. Then I spit in my hand several times, smeared it all over the huge head of my cock and shaft. Then I guided my cock to his asshole. I expected it to be difficult to push my cock into him, but Michael’s ass took my big dick easily. And I realized that he had done a lot more than just sucking cock with Charles.

His fucking ass was hot as I began fucking him fast and steady in seconds. He held on to a nearby chair as I stabbed him hard with my hot cock, pinning him to it with my thrust. I grabbed his cheeks and spread them wider as I shoved my dick in and out in a frenzy. Damn this was good!

By now, Michael as moaning like crazy and I could tell by him looking back at me that he wanted it even harder. Then next thing I knew I was pressed against his back. I just reached around and grabbed his 7' cock and started jacking it. Hell, I started kissing the back of his neck as I fucked him while jacking him off. Next tning I knew, he shot a stream of cum half way across the room and just kept cuming.

Seeing the floor covered with his cum caused my own cock to explode. I pumped his ass so full of my man juice that when I pulled my dick out of his ass, cum started dripping from his asshole.

What a fucking I had given him. Michael really loved it to. He had a wide grin on his face as he turned around pulling his pants up.

"I think you'll be a great assistant to His Majesty."