#the background is pretty lazy; but you get the idea | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

Premium Tumblr themes are available from anywhere between $9 to $49.

#the background is pretty lazy; but you get the idea

upsidedownwithsteve · 4 months

Note

Best friend steve showing you how to finger yourself but it’s just so goofy and unserious but like soooo hot

18+

(characters are high but all consensual.)

Honestly, if anyone had had to ask, you weren’t sure how you would have explained it. How it started, whose idea it was, how the topic of conversation even came up.

But there had been a joint rolled, some of Eddie’s special strain and then you were a few puffs into a second shared with Steve before your shorts were lost at the bottom of his bed.

You were both giggly about it, eyes half lidded and lazy but that all changed when you’d stripped, the boy’s eyes going a little wide, pupils blown as he looked at all the skin on your bare legs.

Your t-shirt covered you for the most part, a ratty old band shirt that had a hole in the collar and it hung just past your underwear, a pair of stupid pink things with a bow on the front.

Less than sexy. This wasn’t sexy.

It was— it was?

“Like this?” You asked, a little breathless, a little embarrassed, but there was laughter in your throat and you weren’t sure what you were even asking because Steve couldn’t even see what you were doing. “Fuck, this is stupid.”

You were against his pillows, the film forgotten in the background, the bowl of popcorn and gummy worms spilled on the floor. Steve was still at the bottom of the bed, sprawled out on his side as he watched you, the dopey smile on his face turning slack because you had your knees hiked up and your heels pressed to his sheets. Your hand was down the front of your underwear, clumsy fingers searching for something you’d told him didn’t really work for you.

You don’t know why you’d told him that.

Steve adjusted himself, his growing cock pressed to the mattress as if he was supposed to hide the fact he was turned on. He wasn’t really sure if you’d be more offended if he wasn’t. He didn’t know the rules when it came to getting yourself off in front of your best friend. So he kept it a little light, laughed breathily and asked:

“You’re such a dumbass. Are you even touching your clit?”

His words buzzed through you, a simple question but bordering on the dirty talk you heard on the late night channels that you always kept at a low volume. You squirmed, shrugging, unable to take your eyes off of Steve. He was watching your hand move, fingers swiping through your folds under the soft cotton and you felt yourself get a little wetter.

You wondered if he could see, if you’d have a little damp patch between your spread legs.

“I think so?” you claimed. “I don’t— it’s just, it’s too slippy to feel anything properly. They didn’t teach us this is sex ed, you know.”

Steve inhaled sharply, breath stuck in his throat like a chokehold. You watched his cheeks burn, a pretty pink glow across the high points of them and you wondered if he’d move closer, if you asked. His hand was lying near your ankle, fingers twitching.

“No, I know— shit, uh—“ Steve swallowed audibly, shifting again, hips moving uncomfortably and you wondered if he was hard, if he was turned on too. “Just— move in circles, be a little softer, Christ, babe. You’ll… you’ll feel it.”

So you did, two fingers exploring slowly, up and down between your spread folds, moving a little higher until you jumped, the pads of your middle and pointer touching a little bump that made your leg jerk.

You laughed, feeling stupid, feeling floaty, bone lazy and searching for another type of high. You crinkled your nose, lashes fluttering as you touched that spot again and again. Slow circles, soft and timid.

“Oh,” you murmured, mouth parting.

You were still watching the boy.

Steve pressed his lips together, watching you back, gaze flickering from your hand underneath the pink cotton to your face, the pretty way your eyes went hooded and dark.

“Yeah? Feel good?”

You nodded, grinning at Steve’s words, head feeling dizzy at the sensation that was building, a hook in your stomach that was pulling tighter and tighter. A laugh bubbled from you, elated, high. “Yeah, s’feels good.”

You thought you heard Steve let out a soft noise, a moan, maybe. He swore, head falling slightly, his forehead bumping the bed before he went back to staring.

“Will I come?” You asked, still smiling, still feeling buzzy. “Like this? If I keep doing this?”

You were squirming again, chasing your fingers and Steve was watching open mouthed. He’d moved, finally, the rock hard evidence of your show evident in his jeans. Steve was too far gone to try and hide it now, the length of him aching and when he dragged the heel of his palm over himself, you keened, eyes tracking the movements.

“Yeah, fuck— yeah, just keep doing what feels good, okay?” Steve voice was hoarse, wrecked sounding, pretty sounding. “You’re doing real good, babe.”

The phrase made your hips lift from the bed a little, fingers boring down a little harder now, confidence growing and the laughter leaving your throat as Steve kept rubbing over his cock, looking at you like were made of gold.

“Holy shit, that’s really fuckin’ hot,” he croaked, “you gonna come, yeah?”

You nodded, head tipped back into the pillows, bones nothing but liquid heat now as your fingers slid messily over your clit, your underwear stretched out over the back of your hand. You wondered if Steve could see anything, if the elastic in the stupid, pink cotton had given away enough for him to see the wet folds of your pussy, if he could see the way you were spread out and desperate.

You wanted him to keep talking. You just didn’t know how to ask.

You keened, back arching, fingers fumbling and face scrunching up in frustration. Your foot slipped, nudging at Steve’s arm and he caught your ankle, wide palm wrapping around it as he held you, keeping you grounded. His thumb ran over the bone there, delicate and making you shiver.

“There you go,” he murmured and he laughed when you did, disbelieving and drunk sounding. “That’s it, huh? Fuck, you’re so good, so good. I can’t believe you’re gonna let me watch you come.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fanfic #Steve Harrington fanfiction #Steve Harrington blurb #Steve Harrington oneshot #Steve baby blurb

2K notes · View notes

whiskersz · 3 months

Text

Hello all, I wanted to dedicate some time to writing some self indulgent stuff, so here's some Adam dating HCs! Do tell me if you'd like more ^o^ Also I'm trying to play around with the format of my posts.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Adam x Reader - Dating Headcanons

✦ Adam undoubtedly has a soft spot for you; from refraining to call you distasteful nicknames to trusting you to preen his wings, many are the ways in which he demonstrates that you’re special to him, not just another Angel. You’re one of the few souls who willingly shows him kindness after all, so how could he ignore that? Despite acting like a jerk most of the time, he really can’t bring himself to be that way around you.

✦ To get someone like him to fully respect you takes a lot of time and patience; just ignoring his unpleasant comments and jokes alone won’t do, you’ll sometimes have to retort with a joke of your own, or even laugh at them. If you do it’ll boost his confidence stratospherically, it’ll make him full on puff up his chest and give one strong flap of his wings to hear you laugh at something he just said.

✦ Something that I also mentioned in another one of my headcanons posts is that he loves naps; he’s a pretty lazy guy in general, so between meetings and training he’ll surely want to relax, even better if he gets to do that with you. He likes lying on his couch with you wrapped up in his arms and wings - bonus point if you’re peacefully sleeping – with his TV playing in the background. If you’re in bed though, expect him to move around a lot as he does so unconsciously in his sleep, unless he’s holding you...in which case his arms will practically trap you and you won’t be able to leave without waking him up.

✦ Another thing he quite enjoys doing with you is playing videogames, just to chill a bit together, and if drinking was allowed in Heaven I feel like he would be the type to play drinking games. He surprisingly doesn't need much to have fun, even in the house.

✦ Adam loves eating ribs, but he can’t cook for shit. He’ll always order those or takeout on a daily basis, so you decide that it’s a good idea to teach him at least the basics. He’s very clumsy in the kitchen, doesn’t really understand how most things work but hey, at least he can tell when the water’s boiling! So teaching him how to cook his own ribs is a bit of a process, but eventually he learns and takes pride in knowing how to make his favorite dish on his own. Give it some time and he’ll be parading around and telling anyone who asks about how his ribs are way better than the ones you can get at a restaurant.

✦ Speaking of food, he’ll almost always take you somewhere to eat if you’re on a date. Even if you’re just getting fries from some stall on the side of the street, he’ll make sure you’ve gotten a treat at the end of the day.

✦ He’s a big show off too, so he’ll 100% propose you to try playing guitar only to exhibit his own skills. If you compliment him enough and you appear to be genuinely interested in learning though, he will gladly be your teacher. He will show you how to play the songs he likes them most – his own – and reward you with a ‘You rock, babe!’ or something along those lines and a kiss whenever you get something right. He’s really, really proud of you and of being able to teach you something.

✦ Adam loves casually calling you pet names. He won’t use extremely cheesy ones, but things like babe/baby, sexy and hon. He’ll use them in sentences where they don’t even really belong, even, just because he’s willing to show you this sweet side of him that nobody else gets to witness. The one thing he will never call you is shortened versions of your name; he finds those extremely corny.

✦ He’s also not really afraid of showing his love in public, PDA is very much his thing when you two are together. Hand holding, a wing draped across your back, an arm around your shoulder...careful not to do too much though, he’s not really a fan of kissing in public or anything on the more intimate side like that. If this happens he won’t deny you a kiss or a hug but you’ll have to deal with his attitude for a while.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin x reader #x reader #hazbin hotel #adam x reader #adam hazbin hotel #adam hazbin #hazbin hotel adam #adam headcanons

528 notes · View notes

feralrabidcrow · 4 months

Text

Mercs with Access to Internet

Scout: He would be a content creator who just makes whatever he feels like without any consistency. His uploads would be like:

Rooftop Parkour

Pokemon Smash or Pass

I Made A Mistake. (Addressing the Pokemon Video Controversy)

Tom Jones Songs Tierlist

Minecraft Let's Play

Soldier: He makes political rant videos but no one can figure out what his actual political opinions or leanings are. He just kind of spews buzzwords and 'America' a lot while sounding very passionate. A bunch of people assume he's a parody account making fun of actual political rant channels but no it's just Soldier being Soldier.

Pyro: They make TikTok dance videos. In every single video something in the background is on fire. Occasionally you'll hear "Damnit, damnit damnit!" and see Engineer rush in with a fire extinguisher.

Demo: He makes one video tutorial on how to make a pipe bomb, gets all his accounts suspended, and ends up on a hundred different lists.

Engineer: He would be one of those YouTube engineers like 'Michael Reeves' or 'i did a thing' who makes horrible abominations of machinery and technology. His viewers never know whether to be impressed, horrified, or a healthy mix of both.

Heavy: He doesn't ever post anything anywhere but he likes to watch a lot of videos on guns. He also subscribes to cooking channels for new ideas.

Medic: Aggressively spreads misinformation online. Not just medical misinformation, anything. He isn't lazy about it either. He puts genuine effort into making his lies as convincing and believable as possible. He is actively trying to make people less educated. If you ask him about it he'll claim it's a social experiment but he's just doing this for his own amusement.

Sniper: All of his accounts are on private and have like 3 followers. He uses Facebook to keep in contact with his parents and that's pretty much it.

Spy: Doxxes people he disagrees with.

669 notes · View notes

rileyslibrary · 1 year

Note

lazy day with simon got me giggling and kicking my feet in the air. it was mentioned that simon felt insignificant after leaving the army and i was wondering if you could do a little imagine on how he slowly overcomes this or how reader helps him whenever he feels this way thank you, absolutely in love w ur blog!

Hi, anon! I received your request before my vacation and promised myself I wouldn’t write anything while here. Well, I lied. Excuse my poor grammar; I wrote this on my smartphone, and proofreading is challenging. (FYI, this is the story anon is talking about)

———————————————————————

“If you throw a frog in a pot of boiling water, it will hop right out. But if you put that frog in a pot of tepid water and slowly warm it, the frog doesn’t figure out what’s going on until it’s too late.”

That’s Simon.

I believe that the veterans’ support group would be pretty beneficial in boosting his morale. After all, the reader can’t do much to help him overcome his issues other than support him, especially if they come from a different background and cannot relate to his experiences.

Loving him is crucial, but you’ll need a lot of empathy and patience to help him overcome his challenges.

I imagine him being sceptical at first, putting off his investigation of the group. Asking him whether or not he has taken any action would put him on the defensive, which would backfire.

However, if you passively encourage and indirectly let him realise the value of a community, he will be more intrigued by the idea. Sort of like planting a seed in his head.

So here’s how I see it playing out:

You’d begin by sharing your personal experiences. Say, for example, that one day you excitedly announce to him that you’re gathering with your classmates at your local hobby club to start a new project together. Or, perhaps, you’d invite them to your house for dinner and discuss whatever you do there. He’d be watching you all from a distance, feeling both intrigued by your relationship with them and excluded for not having that kind of connection with other people who have the same interests or share similar experiences with him.

And that’s how he’d start looking into the support group. In secret, of course; he wouldn’t want to make a big deal out of it and certainly doesn’t want you to do that either.

He’d casually drop the topic one day while the two of you took a walk in the park. You’d act cool about it, but your entire existence would be dancing on the inside. From then on, he’d gradually open up more, and you’d secretly root for him, pushing him behind the scenes and subtly facilitating his progress.

Up to the point where, one day, he’d come to the living room while you were watching TV, holding two identical black shirts, asking you which one he should wear for his first day of meeting with the group. Your opinion matters to him, and you can tell he’s nervous, just like a teenager attending his first party. You’d advise that he wear the one on the left—although you see no difference in them—and he’d agree, saying it was his first choice.

After the first meeting, he wouldn’t shut up about the group. He’d talk nonstop about someone called Andrew or Jack, and when you asked who these people were, he’d act offended and start giving you more information on them, like you were supposed to know them too.

“I told you about Andrew, the one who’s about to get married.”

“Jack, you don’t remember Jack? The one with the receding hairline who’s had enough and shaved his head off!”

Ultimately, he’d be the one organising dinner parties at your house with his new friends and their partners. And this would go on and on, and he’d be so happy for his new friends and start opening up more, not only to them but to you as well. He won’t overcome his issues per se, but he’ll begin understanding them by seeing them through other people’s eyes—people who feel the same pain as him.

And as for you? You’d be peeking through the curtain at the man he’s becoming, slowly, steadily, and under your discreet influence and subtle direction.

———————————————————————

Bonus drabble I was thinking quite a lot about but couldn’t embed it in the story above:

You come home from the supermarket and enter the kitchen. Simon stands there with an apron, reading from a recipe book and nodding. You call his name, but he doesn’t hear you over the sound of the blender mixing, so you pat his back. You startle him, but he smiles.

You point at the book and ask him what he’s doing.

He lifts his arms and looks at himself. He’s a mess. Everything around him is a mess.

“Baking?” He says in the form of a question as if he doesn’t even believe it himself.

You put the groceries on the kitchen table and survey the warzone. “What exactly are you baking?” You shout.

“Cake!” He yells back enthusiastically and points at his concoction in the blender, “for the group!”

———————————————————————

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x y/n #simon ghost riley x gn!reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley imagine #simon ghost riley fic #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x you #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #cod mwii

933 notes · View notes

krembruleed · 2 months

Text

alright, the other day i loosely implied that i would make a behind the scenes/tutorial type of thing. momma didn't raise no liar, so here goes nothing i guess!

step 1) rough sketch

honestly i skip this entirely if have a really concrete idea of what i want to do. sometimes compositions are just beamed into my brain from On High and a sketch is unnecessary.

step 2) 3d ref

this is where i refine the composition, lighting, camera angles, props, etc. i use DAZ studio for model posing and blender for almost everything else (props, horns, lighting, rendering).

here's a 10 minute video on how to pose models in DAZ if you're interested in doing something like this! it's not very hard! basic posing requires almost no technical know-how.

i've heard magicposer and virt-a-mate are also good for model posing, but i don't have any experience with either program.

after i'm done posing, i transfer the models to blender so i can work on props, environment, and lighting because doing it in DAZ is ass. you can see that i went overboard on the ref for the paladin i worked on last year by modelling armor.

step 3) lineart

at this stage i'm synthesizing my 3d models, reference images, and style choices into lines.

the 3d likeness of my models is poor because I don't have time for that shit, so this is where my humongous folder full of bg3 screenshots comes into play.

for example: looking at my screenshots, astarion's forehead tilts back towards the back of his skull, much more so than my reference model. his chin and jaw are sharper and longer, and the transition between his brow ridge and nose is almost a straight line. if i combine the information from my 3d model and astarion's face, i get something like this:

3d models aren't fleshy (ie, tummy rolls, wrinkles, muscle deformations, butt squish) unless one puts in A LOT of effort like absolute madman chris jones.

you guys know bernini, right? he has a couple great examples of this. see how hades' hands press in on persephone's leg?

this is what we want to add in the lineart because it's too much effort for 3d. laziness is king.

i guess i draw clothes at this stage too, but for some reason there aren't many in this image. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

step 4) base color

i have a little color picked palette that i use for everybody so i get their skintones right before i start messing with colored lighting. i'll use overlay and hard/soft light layers clipped to the base layer during the shading step later.

step 5) shading

if you thought we were done with the 3d part, guess again! i posterize my 3d reference so i can see the shapes of the shadows and highlights better. if i'm not feeling it, i can go back to 3d and change the lighting really easily.

could I make a cel shader for this? yes. am I going to? No. custom shaders are for people with intelligence and I am fresh out. posterization it is.

from there, i do a pretty standard cel shading deal that i usually blur and set to low opacity. (for this image i stuck to no blur because i had been looking at a lot of morebird's art and was really feeling the hard edges)

photoshop is what i use for final rendering because it has bangin tools. the brush customization alone make ps worth it, but i also particularly abuse puppet warp, noise generation, the camera raw filter, and layer styles.

step 6) background

i put the least effort possible into a background and then i blur it into oblivion so you can't fathom the depths of my ineptitude.

and then i have a finished image! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

#art tutorial #this got long!! the rest is under the cut #i encourage everyone to try out DAZ and blender! theyre both free!!#i love goofing around in 3d

81 notes · View notes

ctitan98official · 3 months

Text

Sex worker Alcina x Y/N

18+ Minors DNI

Alright, so I had an idea after watching Pretty Woman (Although, it’s really nothing like the movie except for Alcina being a sex worker) This is dark and pretty angsty. It will get lighter as the story progresses, but I wanted you to be aware. This part is more like a set up to Y/N and Alcina meeting. I hope you like it! Let’s get into it!

Alcina leaned against the wall of the dimly lit alley, her voluptuous figure outlined by the flickering streetlights. She took a lazy drag from her cigarette and frowned. Time for work again…

From the time Alcina became an adult, it seemed that people always made harsh judgements about her. She’s aware of the rumors and reputation her name carries. She’s heard all of the same tired insults before.

She’s promiscuous.

She’s fickle.

She’s selfish.

… She searches for affection from strangers because she never got it as a child.

Well… She tends to agree with that last statement, at least.

Alcina descends from aristocracy. House Dimitrescu, to be precise. She actually held the title of Countess for a while back in Romania. Her parents expected her to follow in their footsteps and promote the family’s legacy, but she never wanted all of that.

Alcina couldn’t take sitting through stuffy dinners and entertaining guests like some kind of novelty act. She knew her parents were just going to set her up with some pompous heir and want her to start a family. To be the perfect, doting wife. However, once Alcina set out on her own, at the age of 19, she was determined to reinvent herself into the type of woman she wanted to be. Not what others expected.

Coming from a privileged background with overbearing, helicopter parents, she had to learn how to take care of herself quickly. Suddenly being thrust into the real world was a culture shock, but she adapted and did what she had to do.

She started out as a server at a small diner. Just something to pay the bills. However… She always dreamed of being a singer and she did the work to make connections. She went to clubs and bars, mingling with musicians and building friendships. Her charisma attracted others easily and it didn’t take long before she was invited join a few bands.

Things were great for a while. Gigs were plentiful and she even had to quit her job at the diner because she was so in demand. But… Eventually work started drying up. She was getting older and the fresh-faced young adult she used to be was now gone. Her voice was tired, shot. She couldn’t perform at the level she needed to anymore. She became desperate.

She took odd jobs anywhere she could. She even started dancing for a few nightclubs. People were entranced by the rhythmic movements of her hips and body. Much like with her singing, she became a highly sought after entertainer. It seemed she had pivoted and was once again back in command of her life. And… That’s when she met someone who would change her life for the better. Miranda…

One night after a show, Alcina was approached by an immaculately dressed blonde. The women hit it off and began talking happily. Miranda showered her in compliments and Alcina clung to her every word. She had finally gained someone’s approval. Someone who praised her. Someone who didn’t judge her. It felt… Good. Miranda proposed a partnership. She managed a lot of dancers in the area and wanted to take Alcina on as a client. Alcina said yes. She was addicted to the attention she received from Miranda. She wanted to impress her.

Miranda got Alcina booked for shows left and right, she bought her gorgeous outfits to wear on stage, and she even began paying the rent on Alcina’s apartment so she could focus on honing her craft. Alcina was happy. Fulfilled. She looked to Miranda like a mother figure and Miranda considered Alcina her daughter. The two had found family in each other and made a good team.

A few months into this arrangement, Miranda decided to… Branch off into new ventures with Alcina. Unfortunately, the clubs took a hefty share of all of Alcina’s profits and it pissed Miranda off to no end. She wanted the younger woman to be paid what she was worth. People wanted to objectify Alcina? Fine. But they were going to have to pay a hefty price first. So… She got an idea.

One night, when Alcina went back to her dressing room after a set, she saw that Miranda was already there… With company. Miranda offered a reassuring smile and introduced Alcina to the people in the room. It… Didn’t take long for Alcina to realize what Miranda wanted her to do with them. She took Miranda aside and questioned her, but the blonde placed a gentle hand on her arm and beamed. “This will be a great opportunity for you, my dear. Won’t you try? For me?” She asked.

Alcina couldn’t tell Miranda no. She trusted her. So, if Miranda thought this was a good idea, she was going to believe her. She nodded and immediately did what Miranda asked of her. She thought she would feel really uncomfortable afterward, but Miranda’s affection and praise washed all of it away. She would do anything for Miranda.

The blonde made sure Alcina was safe and she was very selective of the people she brought to meet her. Under no circumstances did she stray too far from Alcina as she worked and she always accompanied Alcina back home after she was done.

This arrangement went on for several months and Alcina began to primarily work the streets instead of dancing. She and Miranda made a good living for themselves. Miranda would scout out potential clients and Alcina would take care of the rest. Alcina was finally… Loved. Unconditionally.

But, all good things must come to an end, it seems.

Over the course of a few months, Alcina started noticing that Miranda looked… Tired. Gaunt… Sick. The sparkle in her gorgeous silver eyes dimmed. She barely ate and began to sleep a lot. Alcina urged Miranda to go see a doctor one day, but the blonde surprised her and sat her down, giving her a gentle smile. “Alcina, do you know how much I adore you, draga mea?” She asked and gently cupped her cheek.

Alcina nodded. “Of course, Miranda,” She said, confused by her question.

Miranda sighed and cleared her throat. “There’s… Something you need to know, my dear. You deserve the truth,” She said, looking down.

Alcina had a bad feeling. Something was wrong. “Okay…” She said quietly.

Miranda once again met Alcina’s gaze and gave her a heartbreaking smile. “Alcina. I’m… Dying, my dear,” Miranda revealed, a tear rolling down her cheek.

Alcina felt ice shoot through her veins. What? This can’t be true. No. The only person she had in this world… No. Alcina broke down. She began crying and screaming. Miranda’s heart ached at Alcina’s reaction. She wrapped her arms around the younger woman and shushed her softly. She felt… Guilty. She didn’t want Alcina to have to fend for herself.

“There must be something we can do!” Alcina pleaded through her tears.

Miranda smiled softly, but shook her head. “No, my dear. I am so sorry. We must accept what’s to come,” She said.

The two held each other and wept. They would be separated and there was nothing they could do about it.

Alcina took care of Miranda around the clock, but her health deteriorated fast, and two months later… She died peacefully in Alcina’s arms. Held by the one person who loved her the most.

Alcina was devastated. What was she going to do now? She closed in on herself. She drank. She slept. She cried. How could she go on? It wasn’t fair. All she wanted to do was hide herself away, but… She had bills to pay. She needed to start working again. Only this time, she’d have to do it alone.

And now, almost a year to the day of Miranda’s passing, Alcina once again found herself looking for customers. She shook away the tears that threatened to fall and bitterly flicked her cigarette away.

But, little did she know that, once again, someone would come into her life and change it for the better.

Enter you.

Note: Phew, this one was actually kind of challenging to write. I had trouble at parts conveying my ideas and trying to fit specific details in. Also, I want to make sure that I say I will not tolerate hateful comments about sex workers. This is a safe space and you will be blocked if you are disrespectful. Thank you. I hope you enjoyed!

Masterlist

#alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #re8 #re8 village #re8 lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitriscu x reader #lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu x y/n #mother miranda #alcina dimitrescu x reader #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #resident evil #resident evil imagines #lady dimitrescu x y/n #angst #angst drabble

56 notes · View notes

undercoverpena · 11 months

Text

rainy world, blanket days

frankie morales x f!reader

summary: “Yourewet.” It escapes, muffled between your mouths, as he smiles against your lips. “It’s raining, amor.”

wordcount: 1.8k an: written for anon, with a huge thanks and dedication to @thelightsandtheroses who let me ramble a lot to her, without complaint. and sorta told me i could do this, even when i didn't think i could. warnings: none. just sweet!frankie, soft vibes, nice ending (real cute, tbf)

When it rains, it pours.

A sentiment he knows all too well with how his day has been going.

You and your grand ideas, where simple DIY soon gets out of hand: first, a photo frame, then the guest sink, and now he’s retrieving shelving because you need more space for your books.

Frankie doesn’t mind. Not really.

He likes being busy—likes making you smile and how it always hits your eyes and coats him in a warmth that no winter can ever take from him.

When he'd left, there had been sunshine. By the time he pulls into the car park, the clouds have grown grey and heavy, fingers tugging to pull his collar around his neck to fend off the wind. Hat tugged down, hiding, as he saunters around aisle after aisle, an image in mind of what he wants—what he needs.

He clambers it all together. Some under his arm, some lodged against his chest, hugged there by his arm. Somewhat wishing he hadn’t been so quick to turn down a bag. All to step out of the automatic doors and be met with a downpour.

The kind that soaks everything it touches and makes the air smell of petrichor, all fresh earth and mire. A scent which could so easily take him back to jungles and covert missions if not for the way he gripped the wood until splinters threatened to dig into his hands.

He’s been better recently—more rooted. Finding himself less troubled and minus the haunting of ghosts.

But, sometimes, they hang in the background. The memories that become nightmares, waiting for a weaker moment to suffocate him.

You fend them off—doing so without trying.

You and the smile he thinks of as he throws everything in the truck, slamming the driver door behind him as droplets fall down his neck, sliding from the ends of his curls to run down and settle on his collarbone.

Palm across his forehead, wiping the beads from his brow as he removes his hat—the one soaked to the bone. He knows it’ll take hours to dry, trying to hang it off the passenger headrest as he wrestles with how naked he feels without it.

You like it off.

Often whispering it to him, having done so the other night when you were straddling his lap, pushing it back, taking it in your fingers before placing it backwards on your head.

“Do I suit it, Frankie? Your hat.”

He wished he’d taken a photo, made it his background.

You in his oversized shirt, a pair of boxers turned shorts, and his hat on your pretty little head. The thought alone sparks warmth through his chest, suddenly turning the key more eager, more determined.

Desperate.

That’s what he was: desperate. To see you, get home to you.

The work-in-progress which changes month by month before their eyes as vision and his handiwork being it to life.

He likes working on it, your two's home. But sometimes, in weather like this, he wishes for blankets and candles, no lights—just the flicker of a movie he’ll pretend to watch for the first act before he silently studies you.

Or music, soft, lulling music that floats around the walls. The occasional raps of the branches from the tree on the window, the one you refuse to have Frankie cut down.

He craves one today, never really being one for lazy days, but now it’s those days he loves the most with you. The ones which are easy, a gift. They come along infrequently, but when they do, he tries to clutch on to them too tightly—in the same way, he likes to have you close.

Whether it’s bare legs thrown over his thighs, fluffy socks twitching under the blanket, or you slotted against his side, hand playing with his fingers as his lips twitch into a smile periodically.

It’s those memories, that wish, that carries him home. The car windows steam up under the clamminess of his skin, the radio humming songs he barely listens to when he finally swings his truck on the drive. Forgetting the items beside him, including his hat, as he steps out, not even doubling back when he presses the key to lock it—just desperate to get inside, and when he does…

It’s all he’s been wishing for and more.

The scent of a burning wick hits him first, followed by hot cocoa. Shutting the front door, locking it—and keeping the world out—he slides his feet from his boots, leaving them in a state on the mat. Then he begins his hunt for you, fingers brushing down doorways, leaning into the kitchen, and then the living room.

Frankie frowns as his fingers scratch at his damp hair. Something akin to worry begins to needle at his chest, making his heart stammer—rattling in his chest.

His next stop, the only one truly left, catches his eye as droplets fall from his jacket, painting the wooden floor in dots from the outside. The door, all half-open and ajar, as it had been this morning when he’d followed you out of it, sleep clinging to his lashes as you excitedly talked about decor and needing his help.

Now, he worries he didn’t lock the door. That something had happened. Not even remembering the last time he checked his phone or—

You collide into him suddenly, all quickly.

In a way that forces all of the pieces of him to slot back together, making the worry dissipate. Your grin growing at the sight of him, hitting your eyes as you begin to beam as though he’s your sun and not just a man you met one day and never got rid of.

He thinks of speaking, whispering a hi and then pulling you close, but he gets tangled up—thoughts balling and knotting in his head at the sight of you.

You look so comfortable and relaxed, your face clean and free of anything—one of his tees adorning your frame, hiding your curves from him.

There’s something about seeing you undone that he'll never grow used to. How at ease around him you are, have been since early days. It’s almost his favourite sight, taking it over summer dresses and painted lips—almost.

Frankie’s favourite has more to do with when your lips are parted, thighs on either side of him—pupils blown, skin warm, sweat pebbling on your hairline and collarbones. You make the prettiest noises then, too—an array of Francisco’s and Frankie’s pecking the air.

Your eyes are narrowing, confusion mounting at his stare and empty hands. He knows you—about as well as you know him.

Frankie knows that you’re beginning to worry with how your brow slides up your forehead, that concern-laced words will fall from your tongue as your mouth starts to part. But he moves, pounces, rids the air of comments that aren’t please and more.

Slanting his lips over yours, he steals your thoughts. Intentionally, his tongue licks into your mouth to wipe up the remainder of any words that had been forming. It’s only as he nips at your bottom lip, tasting the whimper you let him have, is he aware of your arms coming around his neck, feels fingers scrape against his hair, his scalp—

“Yourewet.”

It escapes, muffled between your mouths, as he smiles against your lips. “It’s raining, amor.”

Frankie slides his fingers across your cheek, keeping you close, letting him take his time to kiss you, enjoy you. His other hand is busy sliding up your frame—fingers brushing the overwashed, seen-better-days t-shirt of his that you love—all to find purpose on your hip. Wishing to grip it, his thumb digging ever so lightly—not enough to bruise, although he could (enjoys doing so, too), but enough to inform you what he wants.

You. Always you.

Rainy days and sunny ones. The difficult ones and the easy ones.

“Frankie…”

He kisses the side of your mouth, humming—indicative that he’s heard you.

“I’ve got the blankets out. Queued a movie and—“

“Lit the candles,” he finishes, one last kiss to your jaw before he retracts, letting you go to look you up and down as he folds his arms, leaning against the doorframe.

The silence allows the sound of rain hammering against the window panes to find his ears—doing so to a beat similar to how his heart thumps at the sight of you. The way it has done since he woke up one morning and couldn’t get the thought from his mind:

I want to marry you.

He’s been thinking about it for weeks, months.

Moments adding to other ones, collecting them like stamps. Letting them layer and layer—

You drag him from his thoughts, shifting on the balls of your feet, an unreadable expression flushing out the one he’d put there a moment ago. “Is that… okay?”

He nods, slow at first before a grin accompanies it. You pull it from him easily, and do so all the time—a thing the others have noticed.

“All I was thinking about at the hardware store.”

“You were thinking about a blanket day?”

His lip twitches. “Thinking about you under a blanket, yeah.”

You try to hold it back, but you smirk. Eyes latched on him as he shrugs his jacket off, your hand gesturing to take it from him, pulling it close to you.

“I’ll let you pick the movie,” you say, moving past him, holding his eye line as your hand brushes his chest, taking his jacket with you. “And I’ll hang this up to dry.”

He smirks knowingly.

Because you only let him choose when you have no intention of watching it.

“I’ma just change,” he calls out, heading into the bedroom—passing the mirror, the wardrobe. Shifting around the end of the bed as he hovers near the bedside table.

Letting his fingers find the handle, he pulls on the top drawer, glancing at the door. Nervousness prickles, mixes with the drizzle sliding down his spine, as he opens it, peering in.

At first, he sees nothing, and then just the corner of it.

Just how he left it, smothered in clean, holey socks and receipts—the blue box which stares up at him. All 4.7 x 3.9 of it.

The one which had been heavy in his pocket the day he picked it up to bring it home. How it began burning a hole in his jacket until he hid it, stuffing it in the back of the nook for the right day.

Today though, he lets his fingers pull it out from the corner it’s been trapped in. Feeling how light it actually is, for the weight it has on his shoulders.

“Frankie, y'coming?”

He smiles, both at the box in his fingers and your impatience. Nudging the drawer shut with his knuckle, a scar catching his sight—one you always stroke, never asking, yet reading the story behind it with each touch.

He calls back that he’ll be a minute, placing the box on the bed, opening other drawers and slamming them shut once he'd found sweats and a fresh tee. Dressing, he feels the warmth slide up his neck, reaching his ears as his pulse thunders.

Having decided today will be the day the ring finds a new home—hopefully, one on your finger.

an: hope this was fluffy enough, anon.

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales #francisco morales #triple frontier x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #francisco morales x you #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedrostories #frankie morales triple frontier #francisco morales fanfiction #francisco catfish morales

296 notes · View notes

revasserium · 11 months

Note

can i rq kags trying to plan how to propose to you,,

bullets cause im lazy today u__u

kageyama proposing to u at the tokyo olympics lets gO:

physically going to bookstores/libraries to do research bc once he heard a story from one of his senpai that a guy ruined his own proposal bc his s/o looked at his internet search history -- so suddenly, you're wondering why he's spending all this time "going to the library" and for a hot sec you wonder if he's cheating but after one (1) quick chat with suga and daichi, they shut that thought down with that promise that it is so, so not that

spends weeks, nay months, pausing at every single jewelry store he passes by; he's late to practice (only by a few minutes!!!) enough times that his coach starts asking questions; his answers are always vague and blushy, that is until hoshiumi lets it slip that he's probably planning on proposing; after which coach suzaku starts to loudly discuss with his assistant coach the various jewelers that he'd used when he'd proposed to his own wife

actually makes a pinterest account bc yachi said that a lot of ppl put their "dream wedding" inspo boards on there, but he was so overwhelmed by the interface and navigation that he immediately deleted his account afterwards

almost has a heart attack when he looks up how much traditional wedding dresses costs and this, everyone, is how he ends up agreeing to being spokesperson for power curry (bc endorsements are so damn lucrative)

gives oikawa a straight up heart attack when he gets a text at ass oclock in the morning of tobio asking him how (HYPOTHETICALLY SPEAKING) if he were to propose (again, HYPOTHETICALLY), how he'd do it bc... well, oikawa's always been good at flirting and stuff right? right.

let it never be said that kageyama tobio doesn't at least try to do his research

ofc hinata is his sounding board; it's a terrible idea but at least hinata is super! fucking! supportive! and! excited! and sure, kageyama has threatened him within LITERALLY an inch of his life if hinata let it slip and ruined the surprise bc okay, it'd be pretty cool to propose to you the at the fucking tokyo olympics. but what if he japan doesn't win?

and sure he has to call kuroo to pull way too many strings to set it up but... that's what people like right? big sweeping gestures? and if he has to suffer through half an hour of kuroo's teasing, then so be it. he's suffered worse.

but when the time comes, just before he gets up onto the podium (and sure, 2nd place isn't 1st place, but getting a silver medal at the olympics his 2nd year running is still pretty damn amazing!!!), he finds himself strangely breathless -- and he knows that it's just nerves and that somehow it feels bigger than setting up for a service ace against france, bigger than even getting up on that podium to begin with --

he can see you standing courtside, tears already in your eyes, and he hopes that you have no idea (you have no idea, truly); when he looks at you with the barest inkling of a smile, you blink, you pause, your whole body going still. the area around him quiets, the cheers and screaming of the crowd droning out to barely a buzz in the background. the confused faces of the argentinian team nothing more than a blur as kuroo hands him the microphone with a wink

"uhm -- sorry everyone, but uh -- there's just something i'd like to say before i accept my medal... uhm..." he turns to you and you've already got your hands over your mouth, looking bewildered; he chuckles, digging in his pocket and nearly dropping the mic -- scattered laughter, some of the closest fans are already cheering some of his personal fans are crying but who can blame them rly --

"i know it's not the gold medal i promised you but..." he pulls out the ring and gets down on one knee "this is gold, i made sure, and... i was wondering if you'd accept it anyway," and he sounds so sincere, his voice a little stiff but so, so soft, and you're vaulting over the barricades, almost tripping on your mad sprint towards him, nodding and crying and tipping into his arms even before he can stand up properly

"yes, yes, yes -- oh my god, how long were you planning for this?!" and he's laughing and kissing you and shakily slipping the ring onto your finger and kissing you again and the entire stadium is screaming, his teammates are all clapping, the french team is a little miffed at having their moment stolen, but most of them are smiling anyways; he clears his throat and bows to the different representatives all waiting for him to finish before dropping another kiss onto your cheek, "i'll tell you about it later, okay? i've got a medal ceremony to finish."

214 notes · View notes

seirindono · 2 months

Note

How do you happen to do your shading id you don't mind sharing? Its so subtle and soft that you can't tell its there but it really helps highlight the characters

Phew, finally got some time on my hand to answer this one! It's a fairly simple/fast process so I figured I'd make a tuto once I'd get started on the shading for the next part, and here we are!

Alright so, we've got the panel (lazy screenshots cuz I'll never finish this if I have to export everytime ahah)

The advantage of digital art is that I don't have to think about color harmonies right from the start, I can always add filters and fiddle with the hues at any stage, so I just apply base colors at first and draw the background (it will help me build up a palette for the shadows later).

Okay, now the fun really begins. First I need to know which direction my shadows are likely to go and what atmosphere I want for the panel (which element I want to highlight? palette idea? etc). A sketch is enough to establish your intentions. Sometimes I'll mess up the lighting but it's okay to cheat if it looks coherent enough xD

(Patreons exclusive, shhh)

Now to create palette and apply the said shadows. I have a hand made one for TMS, but I had to make a special one for Ebott since there's a lot bg and kinda heavier atmosphere (I'll prbly have to make one for each part frow now on too hm). It's mostly made up of blues and greens (no black or greys here, but it can be fun to use in other styles! Purple too, so have fun!)

(My configuration - Produit=multiply?)

There, cast shadows (clothes, faces, folds, etc.) are roughly in place and looking sharp! Maybe a little bit too sharp actually... Let's smooth all that up

I use an airbrush eraser to soften a few shadows. Not necessarily all of them or the whole shape, you have to find the right balance of soft/sharp.

Now to spice things up a bit-

On a layer linked to the shadow layer, I add a lighter color that matches my light source or the environnement. Here it's a light blue, but in part VII I used a lot of orange (sun)! It makes the shadow much richer and the whole palette more vibrant!

(Again, you don't have to do it on all of them)

(not sure if you can see it lol but there's orange!)

And last but not least: Global shadow and filters (? never had to name or translate it bwahaha)

It's a lot of fiddling to achieve a result where the character looks more or less rooted in the background (=blue layers and filters to harmonize colors) and where I draw the last shadows. They're often the biggest ones (=on Axe's body+ leaf/tree shadows etc.).

You can use the techniques I've described above, or just go for it, it's completely freewheeling from here, ahem. Just make sure to step back regularly to see where you're at and stop.

(You can also add lights layers and spots if it's too dark but in this example, I use the base color as a light layer + their skulls are such a bright white already xD )

A bit of blur and ta-da~

Pretty easy, right?

#ask #undertale #The missing scarf #txt #seirin talks #tuto #spoil #I hid the dialogues but let's be careful xD #it's an efficient technique for comics !

47 notes · View notes

tawaifeddiediaz · 11 months

Note

Hi!

I was just wondering if you have a tutorial on how you created this effect in your gifset, it's something I'd like to try but have no idea where to start. Your set is so pretty! Any helps appreciated x

https://www.tumblr.com/tawaifeddiediaz/712911415428743168/ill-take-you-with-me-then-well-both-die-you?source=share

Hey Nonnie, thank you! This is super late, but I don't actually have the psd for this set anymore (I delete them as soon as I post them), so we're just gonna wing it with a gif I made the other day. I think this ask is about the text, but if it's anything else, just drop me another line and I'll get to it when I can!

I'm pretty sure I got this tutorial from the wonderful @eddiediaaz but I then turned it into Lazy Girl Hours :)) anywho, here we go!

We’ll be making this gif:

This tutorial assumes basic knowledge of gif-making, Photoshop, and coloring. I’ve only described the typography tutorial in this, but you can reach out if you have any questions.

Tutorial under the cut:

Couple things to note beforehand:

There is a lot of trial and error involved when doing any sort of effect, and this is no exception! You might have to play around with the colors and the settings before you find something that looks good and readable and that fits your set!

This text effect works better on big gifs (540px width).

For this, I find that a simple font works better than a fully-cursive one, but play around with what you like. The boxes may need some adjusting if you use a font with too many tall or tail letters (i.e. text where all the letters aren't on one uniform line - that's why capital letters work so well.)

Movement works really well with effects like these, but again, it depends on your gif + readability. If you have a blended gif, it may take a little more trial and error.

I work in frame animation for all my text effects, but this works just as well in timeline as well.

We’re going to start with this gif:

First, I like to put my text on the gif. You can obviously move this around later so don't worry too much about how it looks right now.

The dialogue is "Just don't feel it." "Feel" is one of those Big Words for this quote, so I'm going to emphasize it with cursive text.

I am using Moon for the sans serif text, and Santa Fe Spring for the cursive text. Keep both of these in white for now:

Next, we're going to use the rectangular marquee tool to draw our rectangles around the capital letters (we're not touching the cursive text right now). I just eyeball this, and then try to center it as much as possible.

(The rectangular marquee tool has a keyboard shortcut of M, and it's the second tool in that little toolbar on the left of most people's Photoshop.)

This is what that'll look like:

Next, we're going to go down to the icons at the bottom right of the layers panel and select the half-black half-white circle > Color Fill.... You should get a color dialogue box. Choose your color - I'm using #8d0000. Then, we're going to move that layer below the corresponding text layer, and set its blending mode to Difference. This is what that looks like (click the image for better quality):

I'm going to repeat that with the other two boxes as well, using the same color. The boxes will look different with the Difference blending mode because of the shadows underneath.

For example, the box with "it" looks like a solid red square because it's against a completely black background, while the other two have some blue shading to them since there are some highlights behind them.

This is what my gif looks like now:

Next, I like to go The Lazy Girl™ route and put all three color-fill layers into one group underneath all the text layers. This just lets me edit the drop shadow of all three of them at the same time.

Right-click the group and open up the Blending Options. In Drop Shadow, these are the settings I'm using. The drop shadow color is #0c6477:

(Note: uncheck "Use Global Light" especially if you're working in frame animation to make sure all the drop shadow has the same angle on all frames.)

This is what my gif looks like now:

Now that we've finished that, time to move on to the cursive text.

I usually match the cursive text to the palette of the rest of the text, and since the drop shadow is our "accent" color, so to speak, I'm going to use a lighter version of that color. I am also going to add a drop shadow for readability.

The color I used for the text is #acfffe and I actually ended up adding two drop shadows, just because I needed something subtle that doesn't overwhelm the text, especially since it's a delicate font. Here are the settings for both layers:

And here's what my gif looks like now:

Now, before we move on to the lines, just check the adjustment of all these text layers, see if there's anything you want to change. It's easier to change now than after the lines are added, since you'll most likely have to redraw them if you move the boxes after the fact.

To draw the lines, we're going to use the Line Tool. I just freehand all of this, and I try to go from center to center of the boxes when I can. It all depends on your angles.

My lines are 2px thick, but you can change these depending on your preference. Here's what mine look like right now:

We're going to do the same lazy hack that we did for the color fill, and put all three line layers into a group. Move this group below the text layer and the color fill layers. The reason for this is so that the lines look like they're coming seamlessly from the box, rather than from on top of them or something.

Then, set the group to opacity 50%. I like more subtle, simple looks in my gifs, so I don't like super high opacities.

And that's it! This is our final gif:

Some final notes:

Absolutely play around with the blending modes of the color fill layers for this effect. These two gifs are the exact same color we've been using, just two different blending modes. You can see how drastically different they look. The first one is Linear Dodge (Add) and the second one is Vivid Light:

It can change how your gif looks in a BIG way, so play around with it, see what you like, especially if you don't really like the "two toned" thing going on.

Sometimes, I also like playing with the width and height of the text in the font settings, making it shorter and wider, or making it taller and more compact. You can play with the letter spacing as well. The world is your oyster, etc etc.

One other thing I've started doing is erasing the lines with a big brush, just to fade them from his face a little, like this:

To do that, use a layer mask on the line layer folder, and a brush that's 0% hardness, and at least 200px big. For this gif, I also changed the opacity of the lines back to 100% so the fading effect is a little more pronounced:

(this gif isn't the best example for this, but oh well. Anywho, hope this helps, Nonnie! Let me know if you have any questions.

Enjoy!

189 notes · View notes

total-drama-brainrot · 16 days

Note

ok, hear me out. We all know Noah wasn’t in action, but if he was, I DESPERATELY want to know what p!noah’s superhero costume thing would be, and what it would be called.

Suggested this idea to the server, and the wonderful @perpetualexistence offered the idea of p!Noah technically complying to the ruleset of the challenge by offering up his superhero persona; Hyde, the invisible hero.

Which is just Noah's convoluted way of not dressing up at all. Instead, he sits backstage and projects his voice to where he's "supposed" to be. It's an idea born from equal parts ingenuity and laziness, which fits Noah to a tee!

And it's pretty symbolic of p!Noah's role in the show; his whole deal is hiding in the background and floating his way through the competition, practically invisible to the people around him, whilst being glaringly obvious to the audience (thanks to both his pranks with Izzy and his other antics).

It's also a nice nod to Jekyll and Hyde. You know, the story about a man who divides himself into two distinct personalities; one the fair-mannered and socially acceptable Doctor Jekyll, and the other the self-indulgent vice-seeking Mister Hyde. (And then eventually succumbs to the draw of his self-indulgent personality and commits suicide before he loses the "proper" part of himself.) It's a really good comparison to p!Noah, who also hides his wilder nature and instinctive drive to thrill-seek behind the personality of an apathetic bookworm. There's parallels there.

Of course, Noah wouldn't explain any of that to the judges- or, well, just Chris- in this hypothetical scenario, since it's put his tumultuous façade into jeopardy.

I imagine Chris would give him some points for originality, and then immediately revoke them due to "lack of effort". Then, when asked to give an example of his power, Noah would grab at his ankle from under the table or something- since this is p!Noah, who's intrinsically a little shit and would never pass up on an oppertunity to scare the daylights out of someone. Over all, he'd probably get a mediocre score in the "super model" portion of the challenge.

As for the obstacle course? Well. Since he's "invisible", there'd be no way for Chris to verify how quickly he completes the course- if he does at all.

Spoiler, he doesn't. At the start of the challenge he hides himself somewhere nearby and tries to play off his non-participation as his "invisibility". It doesn't work. Noah's not very torn up about it.

#I also want to add that during the costume making portion of the challenge Chef would be SO HESITANT to try and sabotage him.#Like Duncan's part. But Noah just shoots Chef a crazy smile or the Kubrick Stare and Chef immediately backs off.#total drama #td noah #psycho!noah au #silly hypotheticals #replies

27 notes · View notes

notwonderlandsworld · 2 years

Note

Now that you say you write for Marvel and DC I'm tempted to request a deadpool x Fem!reader smut. And pretty much it's just him acting like a dumb shit during the deed 💀

Idk why but this idea seems so cute to me

(Y/N) has female genatalia

pairing(s): Wade Wilson/Deadpool x Fem!Reader

warning(s): PWP (literally no plot like at all, just interaction), NSFW, 18+ MATURE, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

word count: 933

(18+ content further ahead)

The sound of a squeaking bed-frame followed by various moans filled the bedroom of your apartment. The TV played in the background unseen.

Hopefully Wade had set the volume loud enough to block the noise from your neighbors.

Hey, it's called being a good neighbor.

Currently the merc with a mouth had his girlfriend in a catapult position, her ankles perched on his shoulders. She reached to rest her hands on his arms as his thrusts grew more forceful.

"Wa…Wade ah…" (Y/N) managed to coax out, biting her lip as she worked to suppress the volume at which she moaned. "Go faster, p-please…"

Your boyfriend paused for a bit, stopping entirely. You growled at him, "What are you doing?!"

The man laughed, pulling up his mask past his lips, "You said go faster, at least let me catch my breathe for a bit babe."

Crossing your arms and glaring at him from underneath, "Really? Deadpool, superhuman mercenary—"

"Don't forget bad ass motherfucker."

You rolled your eyes before scoffing, "...anyways, Deadpool. A superhuman mercenary, and you're telling me he needs to catch his breath?"

"Remember what you said honey pie, superhuman. Human."

"Excuses." (Y/N) laughed as her boyfriend glared through the specs of his mask. Hands on his hips, the merc looked down at you, "You wanna get fucked or not?"

"Only if you tell me a story throughout."

"Which one?" Humming, you placed a finger on your chin, thinking.

"Y'know you never told me about that time where that Wolverine guy got locked up in a room with you. Poor guy."

Wade responded with a sharp thrust you could've felt in your cervix. Biting into your forearm, you muffled the moan that came out. You didn't want to give Wade the satisfactory as he smirked down at you.

Grabbing the cheeks off your ass, your boyfriend lifted you up by the hips and trusted faster. The squeaking of the bed-frame only increasing. You didn't even notice when he snatched you arm away from your mouth.

Too busy focused on the pleasure, you didn't hear what he asked. Whining, you looked up at him, "What?" You panted.

"I…fuck…I said…ah…Still wanna hear that story?" Your boyfriend asked. Shaking your head, you moaned out, "Noooo, ah ah ah just k-keep going…ah!"

Things were starting to feel intimate again as the merc switched positions. Now in lazy dog style, you let out a shaky exhale as you felt your boyfriends hand reach down to stroke tiny circles on your clit.

Moaning in higher octaves, you felt your insides clench as he grazed your sweet spot. Knowing he hit it right there, the man grinned and began thrusting harder.

"Fu-u-u-ck Wade! I-I need to—"

Wade groaned, letting out a laugh as he stopped midway. "Yes, schmookums?" He was about to tease when he felt his girlfriend's vagina clench further, making him stop thrusting completely.

"Hah? Did an innocent nickname turn you on? Out of everything I've done, not even the anal beads could—"

(Y/N) threw an arm over her face, glaring at him, "It wasn't because of that! In case you didn't notice I was getting near but now that you stopped—" sitting up, she crossed her arms with a pout on her face, "Now I'm over it."

"Aw babe! It's okay if 'schmookums' gets you down easy! Everyone's got different kinks, and I for one don't kink shame." The man smiled, pressing a big fat smooch to your cheek.

Groaning, you tried to push his away but his scarred lips stayed smushed against your skin. "No! You ruined the mood now."

"What? How?"

Attempting to hide the blush staining your cheeks you quietly confessed, "...I'm embarrassed…" Wade didn't seem to hear and asked you to repeat. "I said I'm embarrassed! Ok?!"

Slapping both palms onto your face in an attempt to block out Wade and the obvious flush, it only caused the man to pry them away.

Curse him and his strength.

"Aww sugar plum!! There's absolutely no reason at all to feel embarrassed!" He then pulled out, gesturing to himself, "Besides you fuck this!"

Rolling your eyes, you reached over and snatched the merc's mask off. He had it lifted up to his nose so there wasn't really much of the struggle. "Don't use yourself as an example, doofus."

"Why not? I'm the literal definition of what the fuck."

Sighing, you got up on your knees and cupped Wade's face. "You're the literal definition of perfection in my eyes."

Wade groaned, leaning closer to your lips, "I have to call bullshit on that. Besides You're just saying that, (Y/N)."

"So? Still love you." Welp he couldn't argue with that. Whining as you closed the gap between each other, lips meshing into one, a scream caused both of you to pull away.

Looking at the TV, a red-head was pointing towards a human-looking fish creature. It's gils flapped back and forth as it walked closer to the woman.

She screamed louder but remained in the same spot instead of running.

Blinking, your boyfriend looked back at you before letting out a laugh, "What did you put on?? You giggled, shrugging, "Anything that'd be loud enough."

"Well jokes on you, now I'm invested."

The rest of the session included you and Wade cuddled together naked while on the bed. The human-looking fish creature ended up marrying the girl and then running away together.

"Welp…" Wade sighed, kissing your shoulder, "That was a weird yet awfully cliché and niche ending." You yelped as you were thrown under him again.

"So…you up for a round two?"

Request 2 is finally done 😏 if it sucks then I'm sorry 🙂

my excuse: I START MY FIRST JOB TODAY!!

2K notes · View notes

gainingfiction · 2 years

Text

Go Big, Go Home

Summary: Finn is a slacker with a fondness for milking the system. When he learns that employees of a certain size can apply to work from home, he hatches a plan to get fat enough to qualify. Finn likes his food, and he’s already a bit chubby, but he soon unleashes the inner hog buried deep within him, and a gluttony that won’t let him stop gaining—even when he’s hit his target. This story was inspired by a prompt from a follower based on “King-Size Homer” from The Simpsons.

Finn always preferred the easy way out. Why study when you could copy your friend’s test? Why cook if you can afford takeout? Why do more when you can do less?

Sure, maybe it wasn’t the best attitude, but it had served Finn just fine. At 22, he had a decent job and an equally decent apartment. And even if he did care more about his own orgasms than pleasing his partners, he still did well enough on his preferred hookup apps. For Finn, life was going pretty well.

That is, until he learned he was doing more than the bare minimum. That was something Finn couldn’t accept.

He was pouring himself a cup of coffee when he figured out a new way to game the system, eavesdropping on a pair of receptionists as they swapped some particularly juicy office gossip.

Finn’s ears perked up when he heard that Tony from IT wouldn’t have to come into the office anymore. The story was that he’d gained so much weight on the job that human resources and the union rep had agreed that he could work from home. Phrases like “mobility issues” and “occupational hazard” were thrown around. Apparently, employees who reached a certain BMI could qualify for that sort of program.

Finn wasn’t even aware that his employer let anyone work from home, although he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like Finn needed to be at his desk: he worked in customer service. His job consisted mostly of fielding calls and sending emails… all things he could do from his couch—if he was allowed.

The wheels in Finn’s head were already turning as he left the kitchen. He deposited his coffee on his desk and went straight to the bathroom, where he took a good look at himself in the mirror. He wasn’t bad looking—green eyes with a mischief he couldn’t hide, some light stubble, and a crop of floppy, light brown hair.

His figure was masked by a loose-fitting button-down and dress pants. It was hardly the body of a god. His softness stemmed from an extreme distaste for physical exertion, which was part of his natural laziness. This aversion to exercise was no problem when he was in high school—it was easy enough to stay thin with his genetics and a teenage metabolism. But as he coasted through his bachelor’s degree, the Freshman 15 blossomed into a forty-pound weight gain: he weighed in at a spritely 154 pounds the first time he walked onto campus, and by the time he left, he was up to 196. The numbers bounced around Finn’s head as he returned to his desk.

Finn didn’t mind being a little chubby. He certainly didn’t care enough to diet or work out. If anything, the idea of getting to stay home every day, sitting around in his underwear with the TV playing in the background, never having to sit in traffic or make awkward small talk again, seemed like a great reason to expand his extremely average build.

It took a bit of searching, but he found a PDF of the employee handbook and searched it for “BMI”. It didn’t take long to find a very interesting section.

Employees who struggle with significant weight gain as a result of their work-related sedentary lifestyle may benefit from a range of modifications. These include, but are not limited to, a modified workspace (e.g. a standing desk or other modified equipment), accessibility aids, and, in certain circumstances, a voluntary work from home program.

Bingo. Finn read on:

While there is no “one-size-fits-all” solution, employees with a BMI of 60 or greater will generally qualify for the voluntary work from home program, particularly where this is medically recommended.

Jackpot. So Gina the receptionist was right. If he got fat enough, Finn would never have to go into the office again. He opened a new tab and found an online BMI calculator.

Finn’s eyes widened as he plugged in the numbers. He was 5’10”, and weighed around 205 pounds these days. That put his BMI at just shy of 30—already embarrassingly close to the “obese” range, although he didn’t think he looked that big. But to get to a BMI of 60, he’d need to soar up to 418 pounds….

Finn exhaled. His weight had been steadily increasing for years without him even trying, so it wasn’t like he’d be fighting nature. But to gain over 200 pounds? That wouldn’t be easy. It would take time, money, and, worst of all, effort.

He got back to work, but the thought stuck in his brain for the rest of the day. He sat in his uncomfortable office chair, in a small cubicle he shared with another customer service rep named Ron. Ron was a couple of years older than Finn, with a slim build, a plain face, and thinning hair. He often talked to himself, hummed out of tune, clicked his pen constantly, and never turned off his phone notifications. Their workspace was small and slightly messy, with files scattered around and stacked on top of a metal filing cabinet that hadn’t been replaced in decades. The only “decoration” was a potted plant, half-dead from a lack of natural light.

Finn made his decision by lunchtime. If it meant putting office life behind him, he was going to go for it. He was going to get fat. Really, really fat.

He felt an unfamiliar sensation as he stepped out of the elevator onto the building’s main floor: determination. The lobby included a small food court, with a selection of fast food restaurants to choose from. He ate lunch there most days, but today, he was going to truly feast.

The cashier at the burger place was a middle-aged woman who seemed unfazed by Finn’s massive order: three burgers, two large fries, a large Coke, a large chocolate milkshake, and an apple flip. His tray heavy with food, he walked towards an empty table.

Slumping into a chair, Finn stared at the mountain of fast food in front of him. It was as much as two of his regular meals, maybe more. Was he really going to do this? Was it worth it? But the idea of working from home, of never again having to get dressed up to go into the office, beckoned him onward like an irresistible siren call. Sure, he’d be huge—but he’d be free.

So he unwrapped the first burger and dove in. He ate like a starving man, taking huge bites of burger, stuffing his face with a handful of fries, and washing it down with a gulp of thick, chocolatey shake. It all tasted amazing, the sugar and grease flooding his brain with pleasure. He’d already finished two of the burgers and half the fries before his stomach clued into how full he was.

But he couldn’t stop. He had a goal to achieve. So he unwrapped the last burger and took a bite, absentmindedly rubbing his small starter belly as he ate. With mechanical motions, he loaded his mouth with fries, forcing the food down with long slurps of his soft drink. By the time he pushed the last bite of pastry through his lips, he was uncomfortably bloated, his stomach looking larger than usual. He leaned back in his chair—he felt sick, but he also felt good. Like he’d accomplished something.

His stomach ached and gurgled as he rode the elevator back up to the third floor, ignoring the signs that recommended taking the stairs. Lethargy set in by the time he reached his desk, and he spent the whole afternoon stifling burps, covertly massaging his overfull stomach, and wishing he could take a nap.

His appetite picked up again a few hours after he got off work. He’d been watching TV on the couch since returning home, picking away at a bag of chips. By 8 o’clock, he felt ready for a proper dinner. He was craving pizza, so he picked up his cellphone and plugged his choice into his favourite app. Seeing a 2-for-1 special in the discount section, Finn knew what he had to do.

He went to bed that night with a painfully full stomach, a feeling that would become increasingly familiar in the days that followed. For the rest of the week, he picked up a large fast food breakfast before settling in at his desk, and followed it up with lunches that were as vast as they were greasy. Then, he dragged himself back to his office for a series of semi-comatose afternoons. At home, he would order as much as he wanted from his preferred takeout spots, washed down with soda or beer, sometimes both. At night, as he lay in bed cradling his bloated gut, it was like he could feel his stomach stretching, expanding to accommodate his escalating portion sizes, his body and brain working to adapt to whatever he was doing to himself.

The first comment about his developing gluttony came that weekend. It was subtle, but enough to let Finn know that people had noticed him making a pig of himself.

Finn’s best friend, Damian, wore a look of concern mixed with curiosity as he looked over from across the table. Their families had lived next door since before either was born, and they had been friends for as long as Finn could remember. Unlike Finn, Damian was high-strung, always striving to be the best. It was Damian’s tests Finn had always copied from in school. And while Finn did the bare minimum to get his degree, Damian made the dean’s list every year, graduating with highest honours and a job offer from a prestigious engineering firm.

Damian had a slender build, toned during his years as a swimmer and track and field champion and maintained by a rigorous diet and daily workout regimen. His straight, dark hair was always tightly coiffed and gelled, his narrow face clean-shaven, his dark eyes probing and analytical. His eight-part beauty regimen overwhelmed Finn, who got by with some cold water splashed on his face.

Finn couldn’t deny some attraction to Damian, but they’d never hooked up, except for one drunken teenage makeout session that neither ever mentioned again. Finn was more interested in hookups and flings, while Damian always claimed to be looking for The One. That was too much pressure for Finn, who wanted to be “the one” who fucked around and had a good time.

They were still best friends, though, and they met up for drinks every weekend. This week, however, Finn suggested they meet earlier and get dinner instead, an offer Damian accepted. When their meals arrived, Damian was still nursing his first vodka soda of the night, while Finn was already on his third pint of beer.

“You, uh, hungry?” Damian asked, sizing up the huge pile of food in front of his friend.

Finn felt Damian’s eyes linger on his already-enlarged gut, before snapping back up to his face. “I must be,” Finn lied, resting a hand on his belly. “I skipped lunch,” he lied again. He’d actually eaten two lunches—a burger combo, and then a heaping plate of Chinese food. Then, he’d spent the afternoon snacking on the bags of chips and chocolate covered peanuts he now kept in his desk drawer.

“Right,” Damian said, rolling a cherry tomato around his bowl of garden salad. “Oh, I have to tell you about this guy I met at the gym today. Major daddy bear energy. He gave me a ton of tips about weight training. I’m like, 90% sure he wants to take me out.”

Finn chuckled, rolling his eyes. When it came to men, Damian was fairly predictable—they were all burly, dominant, and (most importantly of all) emotionally unavailable. It dawned on Finn years ago that Damian was looking for some version of his father, a stern, plump Catholic with a well-groomed beard and impossible expectations. Damian’s endless string of brief, ill-fated relationships made for some interesting stories, at least.

Finn was in good spirits (and a little drunk) by the time they left the bar. After Damian caught his bus, Finn groaned and rubbed his overfull stomach. As usual, he’d overdone it; the two-block walk to his apartment was torture. That night, he leapt into bed, holding his packed, round stomach like he was posing for a pregnancy photoshoot. He was asleep a few moments later.

And so, Finn settled into a routine. On weekdays, he’d eat a few pieces of toast at home, before grabbing breakfast sandwiches and hashbrowns at the food court in the lobby of his office building. Then, by lunchtime, his appetite would have recovered enough for another feast. He rotated through the various options over the course of the week, sometimes eating a second lunch, often picking up donuts or other pastries to snack on during the afternoon. He’d even struck up a rapport with the 20-something cashier at the donut shop and the young hunk at the Chinese takeout counter. Then, after work, he would drive home and collapse onto the couch to watch TV or play video games until he decided where to get dinner. After ordering yet another ridiculous spread, he’d eat it on the couch, washed down with a beer or five. Then, he grazed on his favourite snacks until it was time to roll into bed, thoroughly and completely stuffed. And on Saturday, he would shock Damian by polishing off massive servings of pub grub and an ocean of cheap, high calorie beer.

As the days turned to weeks, the effects were getting harder to ignore. The consequences of eating thousands of extra calories a day started to pile up on Finn’s frame, and they piled up fast and furious.

He noticed it everywhere. His work shirts, once loose, grew tighter, until they started to cling to his distended belly and puffy chest; on cold days, when his office was chilly, his nipples poked obscenely against the cotton. His love handles swelled and expanded, deposits of side fat that enfolded his torso and merged into widening back rolls. His hips widened, too, thickening with fat as it settled around his thighs and ass. Big hips ran in Finn’s family, especially the women, but Finn was starting to put some of them to shame. Packing his growing thighs into his dress pants had been getting more difficult lately, and they swaddled his porky butt like plastic wrap, accentuating every curve. The outline of his boxer-briefs (which were also tight) was clearly visible, cutting into his ass fat. He was definitely developing a bit of a pear shape. Standing in front of his hallway mirror before work, he made a mental note to upgrade his wardrobe before he popped a button or busted a seam.

He was starting to raise some eyebrows at the office, too: it seemed that every day Finn managed to come to work fatter, wearing worse-fitting clothes, and eating more at his desk than he had the day before. Ron, his office mate, never mentioned it, but Finn caught him staring once as he leaned over to pick up a bag of chips he’d dropped, his thick rump aimed in Ron’s direction. He looked away quickly, but Finn was pretty sure Ron spent the rest of the afternoon humming “Fat Bottomed Girls” by Queen.

Eating the way he did was fun, but it was also a challenge. Finn imagined himself as a pro-athlete, always trying to beat his personal best and take his game to the next level. How many burgers could he eat without making himself nauseated? How many milkshakes could he drink? How many calories could he stuff into his face during the afternoon without making himself too full to enjoy a Chinese feast or a family-size portion of Mexican food for dinner? Sometimes as he pushed his bloated stomach beyond all limits, he thought of Rocky and his “Eye of the Tiger” training montage. Rising up straight to the top… Had the guts, got the glory.

So his weight climbed. He checked the scales periodically, feeling a perverse sense of accomplishment as he ticked past 250, 260… When he saw 282 flash across the scale, he felt almost giddy. He was really doing it. His life of leisure was getting closer by the day.

Six months into his journey, he did discover one downside.

He’d been so focused on turning himself into a fat boy that he’d mostly put his social life on the back burner, except for his weekly gossip sessions with Damian. So when he got a message on a hookup app from an old fling looking to reconnect, Finn jumped at the opportunity. He invited the guy—James—over to his place for “drinks” that Friday night.

Finn wasn’t much of a cleaner, but he did manage to throw out the mountains of empty food containers and bottles of beer and soda that cluttered his apartment. Satisfied that the place looked at least decent, he focused on making himself look decent.

The problem was, he’d only upgraded his work clothes. When he was at home, he mostly lounged around in his boxers, and if his sweats and t-shirt were too small, no one was around to see. But with James on the way, he had to at least find something to wear; even for Finn, answering the door in nothing but his undies was a little too forward.

He fished a pair of jeans out of the closet, realizing how much smaller they looked than his work pants. He looked at the tag: 36”, the size he’d worn before he started his daily pig-outs. He frowned. His dress pants were 44”, roomy when he bought them but increasingly fitted. Even allowing for the difference in fabric, 36” would be a very tight squeeze.

Still, he gave it a shot. They were supposed to be a loose fit, so even if they were too tight, maybe he could still get them on.

His thunder thighs completely shattered that illusion. Getting them up to his knees had been okay, but then the resistance started to increase. His legs were just too big; there wasn’t near enough denim to get the waistband up over his massive buttocks. His blubber butt was an unconquerable challenge that those poor jeans had no hope of surmounting. They were half way over his booty when he gave up, his thighs crammed in like sausage casings, putting the seams to the test.

It would have to be sweatpants. Those were tight, too, wrapping every inch of added flesh without a stitch to spare. And his stomach… that was its own problem. He tugged at his shirt, desperately trying to get it down past his deepening navel, but his gut put up fierce resistance. Inches of chub sprung out under the hem, bulging over the waistband of his sweats.

Finn felt a surge of panic as he looked in the mirror. A fat man stared back at him, completely overflowing his clothes. He thought about changing into some dressier work clothes, but the doorbell rang before he had the chance.

He would just have to roll the dice. His rolls jiggled as he made his way to the door, forcing his shirt even further up his exposed gut, and his sweatpants further down over his behind, a swathe of plumber’s crack on full display.

He tried to play it cool when he opened the door, smiling at the twink in front of him. “Hey, James,” he said, realizing that the combination of stuffing himself into undersized clothes and rushing to the door had left him breathless. He tried to slow his panting as he leaned against the doorframe.

A look of shock and disgust crossed James’s slim face. The svelte young man stared back at him, mouth agape, eyes roaming up and down Finn’s heavily fattened body. “Uh, what the hell, Finn? You never told me you got so fucking fat.”

“I thought you liked dadbods. And anyway, it’s just a couple pounds,” he said, tugging fruitlessly at the hem of his t-shirt. He knew that was a lie.

“Yeah, a couple dozen. Look, I’m not into chubs. Call me when you lose some weight,” he said. “And update your damn photo, I feel like I just got catfished.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and walked down the hall, tiny hips swinging. Finn stood in the doorway. He was humiliated, but he felt something else, too. His dick was starting to get hard, tenting the front of his overloaded sweats. He tried not to overthink it, assuming it was just the expectation of sex. He shook his head and closed the door. At least there was a carton of ice cream in the freezer with his name on it. Ice cream never criticized his weight. Ice cream was the best boyfriend a guy could ask for.

He told Damian about his failed hookup when they went out to dinner that weekend, portraying himself as the innocent victim of a shallow tease. “Can you believe that?” he said, through a mouthful of cheeseburger. He took a swig of beer. “He literally said I catfished him. Over a couple pounds.”

Damian frowned, fiddling with his glasses. Finn couldn’t help but notice how powerful Damian’s biceps looked, the way his pecs stretched his t-shirt. While Finn had been packing on fat, Damian was layering rock-hard muscle onto his narrow frame, building his body from slim and twinkish to something approaching Achilles or Adonis.

“Right. Listen, I don’t want to be rude, but…” Damian glanced away, rubbing his sharp jaw. He wouldn’t meet Finn’s gaze. “Is everything okay? Y’know, you kind of have been gaining a lot of weight recently.”

Finn’s stomach fluttered. For some reason, getting called out like that by muscular Damian, athletic Damian, perfect Damian, made Finn feel… well, a little turned-on. He couldn’t figure it out—it was embarrassing, but it was the sort of embarrassment that started in his crotch and radiated outwards, sitting like a lustful pit in his stomach. Why did this keep happening? He decided to explore a little further. “Really? Is it super noticeable?”

Damian still couldn’t look Finn in the eyes. He pushed some wild rice around his plate, before spluttering: “It’s—well, I don’t know, that’s… I just wanted to make sure nothing was going on with you.”

Unlike Finn, Damian was a terrible liar. That’s why Finn always did the talking when they were up to no good as kids. Damian hadn’t even answered his question, which made the answer obvious: it was extremely noticeable. Eighty pounds on a 5’10” frame would be noticeable to anyone with eyes.

“Too many good meals, I guess,” Finn said, dragging a hand along the outline of his gut, framed by a too-small button-down, and letting it rest on the underside of his expansive belly. “You must think I’m turning into a real pig, huh?”

Damian reddened slightly, and ran a hand through his thick hair. He kept fiddling with his glasses, eyes flicking from Finn’s belly to finally meet his gaze. “No, of course not. I was just checking in. And I wanted to offer to train you if you wanted any help losing weight. At the gym.”

Finn cracked a smirk. “Actually, can I let you in on a little secret?” he asked, his voice low.

Damian nodded, leaning forward slightly. His expression was intense, the sort of look Finn recognized as deep interest. He rested his hand on his chin, slender fingers covering his pink lips.

“I’m doing it on purpose. I figured out that I get to work from home if I get fat enough. So I’m trying to gain even more. I've packed on eighty already.”

Damian’s jaw dropped, but he closed it again, quickly. “Wait, really?” he asked, arching his brows. “Finn, don’t you think that’s a little… reckless? Dangerous, even?”

Finn took a long slurp of his soda; he liked to have something to wash down the beer. His smirk widened. “Well, you know I live for a little danger.”

Damian’s mouth opened slightly, and he closed it again, his eyes searching his plate. He seemed to be trying to comprehend the information that had just been dropped on him. He gave a slow nod as Finn shovelled a mouthful of nachos into his eager maw.

“Do you think that’s stupid?” Finn asked, after the silence had gone on for a little too long.

“No,” Damian said, quickly. He sighed, looking down at his own plate. “I mean, it’s the sort of stunt that only you’d come up with. But it kind of reminds me of myself, in a way. Setting a goal and pushing yourself until you get there, no matter the cost… It’s just… Well, I don’t want you to get hurt, Finn. Don’t want anything to happen to you.” His chocolatey brown eyes searched Finn’s face. “I care about you.”

Finn’s smirk turned into a genuine smile, at that, a big, toothy grin. “Aw, shucks, you’re gonna make me blush.” He gave his friend a playful punch in the arm. “Anyway, I’ll be fine. As soon as I get permission to work from home, I’ll drop it all. I’ll look like you in no time.”

Damian nodded again. He looked away from Finn, back to the steamed vegetables and wild rice on his plate. “Of course,” he said. “I’m sure you will.”

Finn frowned. Damian really was a terrible liar.

After that night, something in Finn changed. It wasn’t just about the job anymore. Now, there was something inside of him that wanted to get fatter, a part of his libido that pushed him to expand his stomach and add even more fat to his obese body.

Finn had always been lazy, but the added pounds made him even lazier. Even the most basic tasks started to seem like a chore, if not a workout. He loathed standing in front of the sink to wash dishes, or picking up the garbage that accumulated around his apartment. Hauling a load of laundry down the stairs might as well have been a marathon. He didn’t mind showers, since they gave him a chance to size up his expanding body, but the amount of time it took to wash all that added flesh was getting to be a headache.

And he abandoned any pretense of keeping his office clean. Was he supposed to get up and walk over to the recycling bin, like some sort of olympic athlete? Not fucking likely. Ron glared at him, staring at the empty soda bottles and takeout boxes that littered his desk. Finn knew that Ron was the one who ended up disposing of the absurd amount of waste he produced in the run of a day. His disgust was like an aphrodisiac to Finn, who relished the judgmental stares of skinny people, the way they watched, uncomprehendingly, as he treated his ballooning body like a dumpster for a repulsive array of junk food.

Other than Damian. His reaction had been a complete shock to Finn. Damian didn’t judge him, or push him to work out. In a strange way, Damian seemed to appreciate the effort that he was putting into his body, to admire his dedication to this new lifestyle of laziness and voracious greed. Damian sometimes showed up at Finn’s door with a heavy bag of takeout, tidying up Finn’s living room as he devoured whatever offerings his friend delivered. And it wasn’t just takeout: sometimes Damian brought a six pack of beer, a pan of homemade brownies, or a freshly-baked cheesecake. Finn hadn’t realized his friend was such a talented baker until he tasted his delicious food.

Finn was becoming a lazy, slovenly eating machine, a paragon of ever-expanding gluttony. Hardly a moment passed when he wasn’t stuffing his face with something. There was no denying that he was getting seriously fat: he had gotten into a rhythm, a routine of pushing himself and then pushing himself further. Being full just didn’t cut it anymore; he had to be stuffed. Once, eating 5,000 calories in a day was exceptional; now, it was the norm. He was downright cranky when he didn’t have something to snack on, his mood brightening as soon as he got his pudgy fingers on a bar of chocolate or a greasy slice of pizza.

Blake, his friend at the donut shop, seemed astonished at how much food Finn consumed, even as Finn noticed the cashier’s polo shirt fitting tighter around his growing beer belly and love handles. And he loved teasing Sam, the skinny cashier at Imperial Wok. He’d sidle up to the counter, letting his belly lead the way. “You know the drill,” he’d say, with a wry smile, the slight cashier’s dark eyes boggling at the massive slab of all-American beef parked in front of him. He always made eyes at the dark-haired cutie as he loaded up boxes with a banquet’s worth of egg rolls, fried rice, noodles and sweet-and-sour pork. Sam really did know the drill: dish out enough food to fill Finn’s monstrous belly.

He ballooned up to 300 pounds, and rocketed past 310, more than twice what he weighed six years ago as a trim 18-year-old, and a hundred pounds fatter than the chubby guy he’d been less than a year before. 310 gave way to 320, and then 330. He realized with glee that he was closer to his target than his starting weight.

His new lifestyle was putting a strain on his savings. In addition to blowing money on groceries and takeout, keeping himself clothed was starting to cost a fortune. He tried to plan ahead, but it was only a matter of time before 48” pants went from roomy to cozy to uncomfortable, and then they stopped buttoning altogether, his widening waist overwhelming them, his fat butt consuming every scrap of material.

The contrast between his body and Damian’s was marked as they sat at their usual bar. They had given up on booths, which were starting to become a bit of a squeeze for Finn. Damian looked totally built in a Sun’s Out, Guns Out tank top. And boy were his guns out.

“I deadlifted 350 today,” Damian said, as he speared a piece of lettuce with his fork. His tone was totally casual, like it was the sort of thing he talked about all the time.

Finn didn’t really know what he was talking about. “Huh,” he said, through a mouthful of pizza. “Is that good?” It certainly sounded like a big number.

Damian shrugged. “New personal best. I’m pretty happy about it. I’m almost as strong as Richard now.”

Finn nodded. Richard was the “daddy bear” that had inspired Damian’s ongoing transformation into a muscular jock. Finn didn’t have the heart to tell Damian that no amount of muscle gains would convince Richard to leave his wife, so he just nodded along.

“So you could still lift me,” Finn said, as he grabbed a handful of fries. He grinned. “For now.”

Damian chuckled. “Seriously? How big are you gonna get?” He was trying to sound casual, but there was an edge in his voice. Was it… eagerness?

“420’s the goal,” Finn said, feeling his cock start to stiffen at the thought. “I’ll have to get high to celebrate.”

Damian whistled. “That is… wow, that’s big,” he said, brows arching as he surveyed Finn’s gigantic form.

“Only 75 pounds to go,” he said, slapping his hand against the side of his belly and making it jiggle. “So close I can almost taste it. It kinda tastes like butter.”

Damian laughed. After that, he seemed to show up at Finn’s house practically every day, carrying boxes of snacks and plates loaded down with homemade goodies. Finn always accepted them appreciatively, happy to fill his gut for free—Damian had that engineer money, anyway. And he wouldn’t admit it to his oldest friend, but there was something a little erotic about lazing around on the couch, greedily stuffing his gut, as a muscly hunk picked up his trash and cleaned up his apartment. He’d popped a boner more than a few times watching Damian wash the dishes, firm glutes shifting back and forth as he scrubbed pots and pans.

God, I’m weird, Finn thought to himself. But if it was wrong to get aroused by a gorgeous guy playing housemaid while he gorged himself, Finn didn’t want to be right. Even if that guy was just a friend.

Finn didn’t realize just how many extra calories Damian had been pumping into him until a few weeks later, when he was getting dressed for work. He was used to a bit of a struggle, but this was worse than usual. His pants were skin-tight against his tree trunk thighs, booty fat spilling out over the top like bread dough overfilling its pan. He gave another tug and managed to get his ass covered, but getting them buttoned was an entirely different matter. He pulled as hard as he could, to no avail. He inhaled—still nothing.

He fell backwards onto his bed and sucked in with all his might—a pointless exercise for a man of his impressive size. His stomach was so huge, so laden with fat, that it barely made a difference at this point. But with a little wriggling, he managed to get them to button. His shirt was untucked, but there was no way in hell he was going to try to fix that. With the way his waistband dug into his blubber, he had no prayer of stuffing anything else in there.

He spent the morning in his usual way—feasting on donuts from the shop downstairs. Blake was looking very overfed himself, but his obvious weight gain didn’t even come close to Finn’s astronomical expansion. Finn was annoyed when he had to retrieve something from the printer, but he still hauled himself out of his creaking desk chair and walked over to get it.

But as he lowered his behind back into the chair, he heard a rip. His heart sank: his pants had breathed their last. He peered down at his side, pushing his love handle out of the way so he could size up the damage. He examined the popped seam, realizing that his colossal thighs had completely wrecked his dress pants.

And worst of all, it turned him on. Ron was looking over at him; the ripping sound was loud enough to carry through their narrow office. “Uh, wardrobe malfunction?” he asked.

Finn flushed. “Little bit,” he said. He rested a hand on his oversized gut, giving it a little rub. “Hitting the snacks a little hard I guess.”

Ron raised an eyebrow, and then turned back to his computer without comment. Finn’s boner strained against the front of his ruined pants, and he grabbed a handful of chips from the bag on his desk.

Eating five large meals a day used to be a struggle. Then it became the norm. Now, if Finn didn’t load up on lunch from at least two places, he was left crabby, his vastly overstretched stomach howling for more. But today, he used his lunch hour to waddle over to the mall next door, where he crammed himself into a pair of dress pants from a big and tall store. Seeing the way they cradled every bulge and roll, he faced facts and went a full two sizes up, hoping to accommodate his sprawling lower half for at least a little longer.

He only had time to grab a tray of burgers and fries from the mall food court, and he spent the rest of the afternoon feeling cranky and ill-at-ease, trying to get full from the horde of snacks he kept in his desk drawer. His constant chewing and burping clearly drove Ron insane, but Finn didn’t care—he was fucking hungry.

Finn’s expansion continued at its usual breakneck speed. Egged on by Damian, he packed more and more junk food into his gut, which turned into more and more lard padding his frame. He was blowing up like a balloon, and it drove him crazy with lust.

He’d invested in a scale that read the number out loud, since seeing past his voluminous gut had become impossible. It wasn’t like he missed looking at his chubby feet, and as long as he could still reach his cock, he was happy. When he heaved himself onto the scale and heard that he’d crossed the 400-pound mark, his heart soared. He was so tantalizingly close, now. At this rate, he was only a couple of months away from his target.

He stepped off the scale and ordered three pizzas to celebrate, washed down with a whole case of lager.

The looks he was getting at work ranged from curious to hostile to simply awestruck. His colleagues must have remembered just a few years earlier when his build had been fairly average; now, he was morbidly obese, left red-faced and sweating from the constant exertion of moving so much lard around. He took up so much space, stuffed his face constantly, chairs creaked and bowed under his heft—even his reinforced desk chair, a relatively recent addition to his office, was starting to show signs of wear. Hearing the indiscreet whispers as he left the breakroom carrying a handful of donuts made him insanely horny—what’s going on with him? He used to be kind of cute, now look at him! He’s as fat as a house!

Finn booked a doctor’s appointment, knowing that was the next step to make his dreams a reality. As soon as the date was set, he upped his intake even more, devouring thousands upon thousands of calories a day. Damian never seemed uncomfortable with the uneasy looks on the server’s faces when Finn ordered multiple appetizers and entrees at their weekly bar night; if anything, he encouraged Finn to order even more.

He got his bloodwork done in preparation for his doctor’s appointment, noting the shocked look on the nurse’s face when he showed up in a shirt that clung to his gut and moobs, framing it like the world’s fattest painting.

Finally, the day arrived. That morning, he realized he’d actually overshot the mark when he weighed in at 428 pounds. His thighs rubbed together as he waddled down the driveway, and he squeezed himself into the driver’s seat of his car, which dipped to the side under his bulk. He stopped for a bag of burgers on the way to the clinic.

Sitting under the fluorescent lights of the doctor’s office, Finn shifted his giant bulk, which ballooned over the sides of the chair like an avalanche of flab. He squirmed uncomfortably as Dr. Hendricks looked over a piece of paper, his handsome face grim. The fact that he was something of a silver fox—with an athletic build, chiselled features, salt-and-pepper hair, and short stubble—deepened Finn’s embarrassment about the whole situation, as well as his arousal. The doctor looked up, removing his glasses.

“Well, it’s not good, Finn,” he said, finally. “Your thyroid levels are normal, so it’s not hormonal. But your cholesterol is high, blood pressure is high, blood sugar is almost dangerous… young man, this is serious. You’ve gained over 230 pounds since our last appointment two years ago. If 230 pounds was your entire body weight, it would still be about 50 pounds too high.”

Finn nodded along. Hearing it put in those terms made his cheeks flush. He shifted again, aware of the way his giant ass bulged and spilled over his seat, the chair’s arms cutting into his expansive love handles. He was grateful for the way his gut monopolized his lap, disguising his boner.

“So, what’s going on with you, Finn?” Dr. Hendricks asked. “In my whole career, I’ve never seen anything like this. Not so much weight, so quickly, in a patient so young, without a hormonal component. Has there been… some trauma, maybe, that’s made you turn to food as a coping mechanism?” The doctor was clearly looking for some explanation that didn’t involve Finn using his body as a garbage can for every type of fast food that had the misfortune of crossing his ever-widening path.

Finn shook his head. He rubbed the rolls on the back of his neck with his pudgy fingers, a move which caused his undersized t-shirt to ride up, exposing a thick expanse of belly fat. Dr. Hendricks glanced at it, wide-eyed. Finn tugged it down, but the hem still couldn’t contain it all. “It’s—it’s nothing like that, doctor. Honestly. I guess I just like my food a little too much.”

Dr. Hendricks frowned, and made a note in Finn’s chart. He wondered what the doctor was writing. Fat fuck, maybe? Giant pig? Finn inhaled: it was showtime.

“But… I think I have one idea, at least about part of the problem,” he said. “At my job, I’m just sitting around on my computer all day…. When I was in school I used to bike to campus sometimes, but now I sit in my car, ride the elevator to my office, and then I just sit and snack all day….”

The doctor nodded along, jotting down a quick note. “Remind me what you do, Finn?”

“Customer service. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a decent job, but I share an office with, well, a pretty big guy,” Finn lied. “He’s always bringing in unhealthy snacks, and I guess it’s rubbed off on me. It’s like, when I’m at my desk, I’m always eating. And there’s a food court on the ground floor of our building, it’s so tempting that I end up eating three meals a day there, sometimes. Sometimes more. Big meals.”

The truth was the opposite: Finn was the big guy in the office, and Ron was the one who was picking up his bad habits. And he didn’t just eat three meals a day in the food court; it was almost always more.

Dr. Hendricks nodded. “And you haven’t had success with portion control, or exercise?”

Finn reached across his blubbery breasts, running a hand along his flabby upper arm. “I keep trying to cut back, but I’m just too tempted. And in terms of exercise, I feel so tired by the time I get home from work that I just can’t make myself go to the gym.”

That part was mostly true, at least. Except for attempting to cut back.

“Have you considered seeing a therapist?” Dr. Hendricks’ voice was gentle. “What you’re describing sounds like it could be food addiction.”

Finn swallowed, feeling a lump form in his throat. He was fully clothed, but sitting under the fluorescent lights, he felt exposed—an enormous, naked blob of a man. A small part of his brain knew that maybe the doctor was right, maybe he was getting hooked on the high of fat, salt, and sugar… assuming he wasn’t hooked already. It was more than a little erotic. But he pushed those thoughts aside and pressed ahead with his performance. “Maybe I should see someone, yeah. But I really think the biggest problem is my job.”

Ten minutes later, Finn left Dr. Hendricks’ office with a note recommending that work from home would be helpful to Finn’s weight loss plan. He’d also sworn up and down that he would change his diet, start exercising, and see a therapist—promises he had no intention of keeping. He’d gotten what he wanted, and he didn’t plan on going back to see his doctor anytime soon.

Finn was glowing as he made his way home. The next day, he handed the doctor’s note to his boss, who looked it over. The slim man’s exasperation was obvious, but he managed to keep it contained, no doubt conscious of the union rep staring at him with a serious look on her face.

And then, it was done. His plan was complete. He boxed up his office at the end of the day, and headed home, hoping never to return. Except, perhaps, to flirt with Sam and keep tabs on Blake’s steady and seemingly inexorable transformation from cub to chub.

Okay, now that I’ve got what I want, I can start to shift some of this weight, Finn thought when he woke up the next morning. He’d celebrated pretty hard the night before—pizzas, fried chicken, cake, pie, with beer and soda to drink… a true feast. It was supposed to be a last hurrah. But now, he had to start cutting back. Time to put Damian to shame, he thought, grinning.

His diet plans didn’t exactly pan out.

Before settling into his couch to work, Finn had two pieces of toast with peanut butter for breakfast. In the old days, that would have been enough to carry him through the whole morning. But he was hungry again within a half hour, distractingly hungry. He kept zoning out when he was supposed to be answering emails, conscious of how empty his stomach felt.

Well, I can’t exactly change overnight, Finn thought, as he punched in a mobile order for a couple of breakfast sandwiches and a few hasbrowns. Not realizing what he was doing, he finished off a box of cookies before they even arrived.

The rest of the day went similarly: he thought about cutting back, and then his stomach and his brain conspired against any attempt to actually do it. By the end of his workday, his stomach was achingly full, packed with more donuts, pizza, and Chinese food than he ever ate at the office.

Okay, I’m really gonna do it today, Finn would think each morning. I’m actually going to lose some weight now. But after years of stuffing and overstuffing his gut, stretching it to new and obscene proportions, it took a lot to make him feel full. If anything, any attempts to cut back left him feeling so miserable and hungry that he invariably ended up overdoing it, eating more than he needed to compensate for his few hours of attempted restraint. So he kept eating, and his portions kept escalating, and he didn’t lose any weight.

In fact, as he tried to button up his shirt before a video call one morning, he came to the uncomfortable conclusion that he’d piled on even more. The shirt wouldn’t even button over his fat gut. He managed to close it over his tits, though, and got away with it by keeping the camera pointed at his chubby face and soft shoulders.

He confessed his struggles to Damian one night, when his muscular friend showed up with a bag brimming with takeout. Finn had told him to stop bringing snacks, and then immediately changed his mind, telling Damian to keep that good food coming. Damian was a little reluctant, at first, but it didn’t take him long until he was back to his old habits: filling his car with family-sized meals and bulging bags of snack foods to ply on his ever-greedier, continuously-expanding best friend.

“I don’t think I’ve lost any weight,” Finn said, frowning as he took another heaping forkful of fried rice.

Damian looked him up and down, seeming to take in the sheer vastness of Finn’s enormous body as it dominated the couch. “Well, have you tried cutting out snacks?”

Finn frowned. “Not exactly.”

“What about exercise? You could come to the gym with me.”

“Definitely not,” Finn said. The idea of stuffing his hundreds of pounds of blubber into workout clothes and putting on a humiliating show for the muscle-heads at Damian’s gym sounded like an exercise in humiliation, besides being utterly exhausting.

Damian sighed. “I was kind of hoping you’d say yes. I need a new workout buddy.”

“What about Richard?” Finn asked, through a mouthful of General’s chicken. “You were just saying last week that you finally benched more than him.”

Damian looked like he was about to cry. He bit his lower lip and looked away. “Richard told his wife about us. He confessed everything and begged her to forgive him. He told me he joined another gym, so I doubt I’ll be seeing him again.”

Finn frowned, and rested a hand on Damian’s steely shoulder. He knew this was coming, even if Damian was blindsided. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “Sounds like you need a drink.”

Damian hesitated. He was always going on about liquid calories, but Finn watched him leap off the couch and stride into the kitchen, where he pulled out a couple of beers.

A few hours later, Finn was buzzed and Damian was plastered. He’d spent the evening pouring his heart out about how he’d never find love, how he’d never heard a guy say “I love you”, how there must have been something wrong with him.

Finn swallowed a mouthful of cheesecake. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you,” Finn said. He meant it. In Finn’s eyes, Damian was totally perfect. Hardworking, honest, funny, kind… not to mention stunningly attractive and with a great job. “You’re the whole package.”

Damian scoffed. “You’re just saying that. You have to say that, you’re my best friend.”

Finn looked him in the eyes. “No, I really mean that. I think any guy would be lucky to have you.”

“Not any guy,” Damian mumbled. His voice was bitter. He took another sip of beer.

“What do you mean?”

Damian’s eyes searched Finn’s round face. “Well, the only guy I’ve ever wanted sees me as a friend. No matter how hard I throw myself at him, he never makes a move.”

Finn was floored. “You mean…”

Damian nodded. An embarrassed look crossed his handsome face. “Yeah. You. I still think about that night we kissed, how much I wanted it. How much I want to do it again.”

“I think about it, too,” Finn admitted. He’d never stopped thinking about the feeling of Damian’s soft lips against his, their slender bodies pressed together. “All the time.”

“I’ve loved you since we were 12 years old, Finn. Looking at you through our bedroom windows, across our yards… God, I would have done anything for you. Why do you think I let you copy my homework, my tests? Or took the fall for you when your parents found that weed in your backpack, even though I got grounded for a month? Because I’ve always been fucking crazy about you.”

Finn’s heart was pounding in his chest, and not only from the mountain of dessert he’d just devoured. “What, even now? Now that I look like this?”

“Especially now,” Damian answered. His expression was so serious, his eyes so honest… “God, it’s like… the bigger you get, the crazier you drive me.”

Finn smiled. “What, you mean you’ve liked blowing me up like a balloon?”

Damian grinned shyly, pushing his glasses up his nose. “It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever done. Some days after I bring you snacks, I have to rush home to, uh, relieve myself.”

Finn laughed at that. “Wow. And here I thought you were just being friendly.”

Damian looked across the room, not meeting Finn’s gaze. He took another swig of beer. “A real friend would’ve told you what a blimp you were turning into. A real friend wouldn’t get off on seeing how many calories he could pile into your gut in a single sitting.”

Finn shook his head. His cock ached at the thought of Damian feeding him, getting off on his fattening body. “Well I guess I don’t want a ‘real’ friend. I want a friend like you.”

Damian blushed. Finn leaned forward, straining to reach over his beach ball-sized gut, and set his beer on the table. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Damian’s face.

“So many times when I’ve been with Richard, I’ve been thinking about you. Thinking about how big your butt is, how badly I want to grab it and squeeze it and make your whole body shake. Thinking about how you used to be even smaller than me when we were younger, and how now you could bury me under all your weight and still have plenty to spare. Thinking about—”

Finn leaned in and pressed his lips against Damian’s, shutting him up. Damian melted into the kiss immediately, his body slackening as he collapsed into Finn’s bulk.

And suddenly, they were 18 again, drunk on fireball shots and lying on Damian’s bed after Lindsay Decker’s house party, giggling like fools until their lips met and the whole world disappeared around them. It was just the two of them, just Finn and Damian, their shared past and future collapsing into one breathless kiss.

Damian exhaled, and then kissed Finn even more forcefully, his arm draping around Finn’s neck, his free hand reaching out to cup one of his soft, bulging breasts, nipple poking against his slender fingers. Finn kissed him back, one hand on Damian’s narrow waist, the other cupping his angular face, the tips of his fingers brushing through Damian’s soft hair. He’d been waiting so long for this moment, always afraid that he’d misread some signal or that he couldn’t be the man his best friend deserved. But he’d waited long enough. They both had. He was ready.

They laughed when their lips pulled apart, the tension vanishing behind them. “Are you gonna regret this in the morning?” Finn asked.

Damian’s expression turned serious, almost defiant. “The only thing I regret is taking so long.”

Finn couldn’t keep himself from smiling.

“So…” Damian said. He fixed Finn with a lusty gaze, eyes lidded with pleasure, and licked his lips. “How about we take the rest of this cheesecake and head to the bedroom?”

Finn raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? You’re not just saying that because you’re drunk?”

Damian shook his head. “I’m not that drunk,” he said. He trailed his fingers along the endless curve of Finn’s palatial belly, caressing the naked flesh that erupted out from under the hem of his shirt. “I’ve just spent so long fantasizing about feeding you properly, and… well, why settle for off-brand diet cola when you can have classic Coke?”

Now Damian was speaking his language.

Finn’s ears perked up at the sound of the key turning in the front door. He shifted in the love seat, briefly considering getting up to greet Damian at the door, but decided against it. It would take a couple of minutes to build up enough momentum to haul himself to a stand.

“I’m home!” Damian called from the kitchen.

“Perfect timing,” Finn called back. “I’m so frickin’ hungry. Starving, even.”

“Hold your horses, big fella, let me get my coat off first.”

“Hurry,” Finn whined, trailing his hand across his gut to soothe it. He’d polished off two pizzas for lunch, followed by two family-size bags of chips and a package of twinkies, but he hadn’t eaten in almost an hour. He knew he wasn’t actually hungry, but when he wasn’t eating, he started to get antsy. He chugged some soda, squirming in anticipation.

A moment later, Damian appeared in the living room doorway, muscular arms flexing as he carried two heaping grocery bags. Damian had to make grocery runs on a daily basis to keep up with the demands of Finn’s relentless appetite.

He must have encountered quite a scene in the living room: just like he always wanted, Finn was seated on the couch in his underwear, TV playing in the background. Except, he’d never imagined just how truly, colossally, unbelievably fat he would be. He was so wide that his bulging flanks brushed against the sides of the loveseat, which bowed in the middle under his immense, crushing weight. His laptop balanced on top of his belly, which was more a table than a shelf, which plowed outwards in front of him as far as his knees. His thighs were like industrial drainage tubes, his melon-sized manboobs pouring off his chest and sticking out to the sides. When he leaned back, the combined weight of his breasts and mountain of belly fat compressed his lungs.

“So, how are those weight loss plans coming along?” Damian asked, with a wry smirk.

“Very funny,” Finn said. He still maintained that he would lose some weight, but that was starting to seem more like fantasy than an actual, tangible possibility. Just halting his astronomical weight gain would be a challenge at this point, given how hopelessly addicted he was to stuffing his face. He had an appointment with Dr. Hendricks in a few weeks, and he could only imagine the look of horror on the gorgeous doctor’s face when he showed up so fat that he could barely fit through the doorway, not to say into an office chair. “Are you just gonna stand there and watch me slowly starve to death, or are you gonna bring those snacks over?”

Damian rolled his eyes, still smiling. “Yeah, I can tell you’re really famished. My first clue was all the garbage scattered around.” He did as he was told, bringing the grocery bags over to Damian, who immediately tore open a package of donuts. Relief flooded across his brain as soon as the taste of powdered sugar touched his tongue.

Damian had a point: there was garbage everywhere. In addition to Finn’s gluttonous afternoon, there were also pastry boxes and fast food wrappers scattered around from his two breakfasts and morning snacks. He’d asked Damian to start leaving the door unlocked so delivery drivers could let themselves in and bring the food straight to the couch; getting up was too much effort. Finn enjoyed watching them squirm uncomfortably at the sight of such an enormously obese blob of man sprawled out across an entire sofa, too fat and lazy to even reach his front door; he wondered if they ever felt morally conflicted about their role in his escalating obesity. He hoped they didn’t, given how much he was enjoying it. Sam and Blake certainly didn’t seem to mind, when he’d made his way to the office to get a new work computer a few weeks earlier. Blake had to have crossed the 300 pound mark—big enough to catch Sam’s attention, judging by the looks they were swapping across the food court.

“How was work?” Finn asked, through a mouthful of donuts. “And the gym?”

“Work was lame, gym was good,” Damian said. He reached for a donut but Finn slapped his hand away.

“It’s not—braaaaawp—cheat day,” he said; a window-rattling burp interrupted him mid-sentence.

Damian sighed, “You’re right.”

“Can’t—urp—have you getting chubby on me,” Finn joked. He honestly didn’t care how much Damian weighed; if his boyfriend thickened up a little, he wouldn’t mind one bit. But there was something deeply erotic about being so incredibly fat and still forcing a complete beefcake like Damian to submit and obey. It wasn’t about food or weight—it was about power.

“No, we can’t have that. Nothing but whitefish and flaxseed and creatine for your live-in manservant,” Damian joked back. Finn made it clear early on that he loved Damian’s body no matter what; his jockish boyfriend knew that any teasing was all in good fun. He clearly liked his submissive role in their flirty back-and-forth. “How was your day?”

Finn belched again; that second bottle of soda was really wreaking some havoc. “Good. I had to put a shirt on for a Zoom meeting, so I guess it was a gym day for me, too. Oh, Tony from IT is back in the office, apparently. Lost a bunch of weight. So I’m officially the fattest guy at work by a long shot.”

“Congratulations,” Damian said. The fact that Finn considered putting on a shirt to be a workout clearly had him hot and bothered, judging by the bulge in his pants; he hooked his thumbs into his waistband, sliding them down a little to reveal his Adonis belt. “How do you wanna celebrate?”

“With cake,” Finn said. When he saw Damian’s frown, he smiled: “Only kidding. Well, half kidding. Cake, but also a nice game of ‘find my dick’, if you’re up for it.”

“Oh, I’m always up for it,” Damian said, smiling devilishly as he ran a hand through his hair.

“But, uh, wanna grab me some ice cream first? To go with the donuts?”

Damian nodded, “Of course, big boy,” he said. He disappeared into the kitchen, the picture of obedience.

Finn smiled as Damian returned, cartons of ice cream clutched in each hand. Finn had found the ultimate life hack: as long as Damian was around, he could get away with doing absolutely nothing.

#wg #male wg #gaining fiction #wg story #realistic gain #gay

953 notes · View notes

upsidedownwithsteve · 2 years

Note

Any chance of a camp upside down baby blurb of the first time they spend the night together as a couple? Just something fluffy about them getting used to holding each other and falling asleep in each other’s arms. And how happy and comfortable they are when they wake up next to each other? Thank you!

a little something that's kinda similar!

Finding time alone after camp was never really an issue. Steve’s parents left the morning he arrived home, passing him in the front yard with a quick wave from his father, an air kiss from his mother and some chatter about a conference in LA.

He watched the drag of their suitcase wheels, lifted his hand in a wave when they peeled out of the driveway with a toot of the horn and walked into his empty home.

It took him five days to pluck up the courage to ask you to stay the night, throat thick and chest tight with nerves over his dinner table. You didn’t seem to be shocked by the question, a smile on your face when you accepted, a press of your lips to his cheek when you gathered the dishes and took them to the sink.

You told him that you didn’t have anything with you, no clothes, no toothbrush. But Steve shrugged and tucked your hair behind your ear, telling you there was a spare toothbrush in the guest bathroom and that you could wear anything of his that you wanted.

His heart burned with the idea of it.

Anticipation buzzed through the rest of the night and neither of you seemed to be able to settle as you sat in Steve’s living room, curled into each other as a movie played in the background. And you did what any young couple would do in an empty house, mouths pressed together in urgent kisses, bodies lazy as you let the boy push you down onto the cushions.

Hands wandered under shirts, into hair, teasing and tugging and feeling and-

“You wanna go to bed?” You asked him and Steve pulled back, eyes hooded, jaw slack and hair a little wild.

He nodded, swallowing hard because you looked so sweet and your words were so sinful and he really didn’t know what to expect. You’d been in his room since you’d both came home, your smile soft as you poked around his belongings, poking fun at old figurines, grinning at the books on his shelves, making his sheets smell like you.

He kinda loved it.

But now you were taking an old Hawkins High shirt from him, a pair of checkered boxers and you disappeared into his bathroom with the shyest smile he’d ever seen on your face. And when you came back, you were all bare legs and his clothes and Steve marvelled over what the sight of it all did to him.

It felt dizzy, overwhelmed, like a schoolboy with his first crush. He watched you crawl into bed with him, eyes dipped down behind a thick line of lashes, like you were avoiding his gaze and suddenly you were both all flushed skin and awkward hands.

You finally looked at him when you pressed your cheek to his pillow, almost nose to nose but not quite touching anywhere else. The dark made Steve look blue and lavender, shadows across the slope of his jaw, the curve of his lips and his eyes looked inky. Pretty, in that new way you’d come to learn to appreciate.

“We don’t have to…” Steve let the words die on his tongue, his eyes searching yours. “We don’t have to do anything, you know. That’s not- it’s not why I asked you to stay.”

He licked at his bottom lip, nervous and worried. But he saw you soften then, smiling more fully at the stumble of his words and you nodded, pushing yourself across the mattress and into him.

The boy opened his arms immediately, happy that you were in them again. You wound yours around your waist, face pressed into his chest, nose rubbing softly at the bare skin just beneath his throat.

“I know,” you told him and you did.

The idea of letting him press you into his sheets, rock down into you on his bed, made your head spin. It was the same part of you that became a little more wild when you thought of all those wasted summers you spent arguing, a divide across the camp because you both wanted to win the stupid boat race, or find the other first during hide and seek. That part of you thought about all the girls Steve had had between fighting with you, the girls in bars and parties and the ones he brought back to his bed.

This bed.

But you were tired and the six weeks of camp was still sitting heavy on both your shoulders and your sleep schedules, and suddenly nothing felt better than the way the boy was pulling you into him, letting you curl into him like your new favourite pillow.

He still smelled like the forest, like summer and smoke and mint and it was so nice.

“D’you have a lot of sleepovers here, Harrington?”

You couldn’t help it. You had to ask. Because neither of you had labelled this yet and it was all so new. Apart from kisses and heated touches on his parents living room couch, not much else had happened since that night at camp and no one had addressed what this was.

What it could be. What it felt like.

You knew you sounded insecure. Maybe a little jealous, definitely vulnerable and it made you chest hurt so you added on “Harrington” at the end as if it could make you sound like you were ready to bicker and tease.

It didn’t work though.

Because you felt Steve’s smile against your hairline, the fleeting graze of his lips across your forehead and he tightened his arms around you, slipped his knee between yours.

“Not really, no,” he murmured and he sounded so fond as he told you, “I’m not in the habit of sharing my bed with just anyone, princess.”

“Oh.”

“Oh,” he repeated and you could hear the smile in his voice.

#steve harrington #camp blurb #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington one shot #stranger things #stranger things fic #ask

686 notes · View notes

applejaax · 1 month

Text

Blue Hour

Chapter 1: The Dreadful Implications of a Pizza Delivery Man

Steve dropped his keys on the table when he entered the apartment. Robin was nestled on the couch fast asleep under an afghan, with the tv mindlessly droning on in the background. He took the remote from her hand and turned it off, startling her awake.

“Ya gotta stop falling asleep with the tv on, Robin. It’s gonna rot your brain with subliminal messages from infomercials,” Steve said sarcastically, dropping the remote down onto the coffee table.

“Wow those are big words for you, Steve, don’t hurt yourself now,” she retorted, tugging the blanket over her head and rolling away from him.

“Haven’t heard that one before.” Steve rolled his eyes and went to the kitchen.

It was a barren wasteland in the fridge besides some fresh vegetables they’d gotten from a local farmers market for no apparent reason, a single jar of jam, and a few beer bottles. He took one and shut the door.

“Pizza for dinner?!” He called out. Robin’s hand came into view with a thumb up in approval and disappeared again. He laughed and leaned on the counter, sipping from the bottle in his hand.

For three years, since he moved away from Hawkins, Steve’s been living with Robin in Illinois. She had been accepted and enrolled in some private university. At first he was upset about her leaving him all alone after everything they’d endured. In the end though it was nothing but a blessing in disguise. He pitched the idea of them moving in with each other and how good it would be for them. Robin wasn’t too keen on it at first because she wanted to make new friends, or even meet a girl she could really connect with, and suspected he’d get in the way. That was a pretty deep cut to his ego at first, he wouldn’t lie. However, with much annoying pleading and begging on his end, she eventually agreed.

His parents had opposed, especially his father on the premise that Robin and Steve were dating. Steve never fully expressed why that would never in a million years happen but all it took was a, ‘she’s not my type, Dad,’ and that was the end of it. His mother had been the one to fully convince his old man that this was a good thing for his son. Somehow, that worked.

Now here they were. They stayed about 5 miles off campus in a rundown neighborhood. The rent was low and the standards of living even lower. Everything in their apartment was broken. The ceiling leaked, the floors creaked, and the walls were made out of paper machete. Yet, Steve never felt more at home. He’d rather live here in this dump than step one foot back in their hell-bound hometown. In fact, it was his worst fucking nightmare. This was paradise in comparison.

He worked a pretty simple office job in a marketing company. It wasn’t ideal but it paid well and didn’t require him to have a degree. He’d gotten lucky, he was aware of the privilege that living in the city provided. Also, who his parents were and his surname did help too. Regardless, he no longer felt like a nobody failure the way he did in Hawkins. There were so many opportunities and options out here. He could truly flourish without second guessing himself anymore. Hawkins had nothing left to offer him and all it took was an outside perspective. He was happy he’d left. He hoped and prayed, for whatever reason there may be, he never had to go back there.

That was wishful thinking.

About an hour after Steve had called in their pizza order there was a knock at the door.

“Robin, pizza’s here!” He called from his bedroom down the hall.

“I’m busy! Get it yourself!”

Steve groaned, pausing the movie he was watching and rolled off his bed.

“You’re so lazy!” He threw the front door open. His eyes grew wider than saucers and it felt like lightening crackled under his skin as time seemed to slow.

A pair of brown eyes like rich soil after heavy rain, brown curly hair to match in contrast to skin as fair as moonlight. A smile with dimples and lines in the cheeks that caused creases under the eyes that made them light up like fireflies. Steve was dreaming. He had to be. No way this was real. He wanted to reach out and touch his soft skin, when he knew he shouldn’t. He needed to ground himself and stop the impending spiral but it proved to be too late for that.

Oh fuck. This is bad.

Steve’s brain malfunctioned and he couldn’t form a single coherent thought let alone any words. His mouth moved like a fish out of water as he tried to form a sentence or even a sound. He simply gaped at the person in his doorway for an uncomfortable amount of time.

“Uhm, sir?” The man waved his hand in Steve’s face. The cadence and pitch in his voice was all screwy. Not right at all. It snapped Steve clean out of this mortifying stupor.

He blinked rapidly and swallowed hard, throwing the money at him, snatching the pizza, and slamming the door. He turned and leaned on it for support, trying to catch the breath that was steadily running further and further away from him.

Robin came sprinting from the bathroom with damp hair and a shocked look on her face.

“What the hell happened?!” She asked, Steve couldn’t respond, he was paralyzed. “Steve?” She approached him slow with her hand out.

“Robin, he looked like him,” he managed to say around the lump in his throat. “He looked just like him.” He slowly hugged his knees to his chest and fought the tears that threatened to fall.

This couldn’t be happening. Everything was going so well. Maybe even too good to be true but he didn’t care. There wasn’t a damn thing out of place and this was the landslide he’d been anxiously awaiting to fuck him over. He was cursed, he was sure of that. There was no other rhyme or reason for it.

They moved to Robin’s room when Steve found the courage to even stand up. They sat on her bed with the pizza box wide open. The smell of cheese, tomato sauce, and garlic nauseated him despite the fact he was starving.

“I mean, doppelgängers do exist! They say it’s dangerous to come across your own. It’s really fascinating. I guess it makes sense though because how can we have all these billions of people on the planet and not have someone look exactly like us, you know?”

Steve didn’t say anything. He let her ramble on as if it would help when it certainly didn’t. This dug up memories he’d presumed he’d buried forever. He was certain he’d laid it all to rest along with his dead boyfriend. After this whole hot mess, he felt like he’d regressed to square one and all it took was a similar face. He didn’t want to throw himself a pity party but damn he couldn’t catch a break.

“Steve…Steve!” Robin flopped on the bed next to him. “Am I doing it again…with the talking too much thing?”

Steve sighed and picked up a slice of pizza, biting into it hesitantly and watched the cheese stretch.

“Kinda,” he said with his mouth full.

“Shit. Sorry. I’m not good with this sorta thing. Comforting people isn’t my forté. But I’m a decent listener…sometimes.”

Steve stared at her for a moment, then mustered a smile. A mask that was quick to falter and dissolve away at any moment.

“It’s fine. There’s really nothing either of us can do in this situation.” He set down the half eaten slice of pizza. His appetite was gone. “You’re right about one thing. I guess we’re bound to see someone who looks like someone we know or knew eventually.”

“Yeah, but…I’m just- I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s nobody’s fault.” Steve could hear the strain in his voice. “Would you mind if I uhh-“ He signaled towards the door and Robin nodded encouragingly.

In his bedroom, Steve curled up under his blankets and laid there in the dark for what felt like an eternity. The tears that spilled from the corners of his eyes had finally dried but it wasn’t over. Especially since now all he could do was torture himself with nothing else but the thought of Eddie.

He meant the world to Steve and taught him so many lessons he wouldn’t have learned otherwise. His mind had never been more open than when he was with Eddie. He was someone everyone could rely on but nobody wanted to put their faith in. Steve did and it was so worth it right up until the very end. He still kicked himself for the period in which he regretted even meeting Eddie. Or that he wished they could swap places. It was only because the visceral pain of letting him go and moving on was something he could hardly handle. The wounds tore open so often that he let the memories of Eddie die, too, just to get some release from the heartbreak.

It was like he didn’t exist anymore in Steve’s world and he preferred it that way as opposed to living the rest of his life in agony. There was no other way to let go besides that. And tonight, that man at his door, instantaneously destroyed walls he’d put his blood, sweat, and tears into building to free himself of Eddie and everything they’d shared. To put it lightly, this was a slap to the face and a boot to the gut.

He was gone. He deserved to be here but he wasn’t. He was never coming back. Steve had come to peace with that, and his grief, before he’d left Hawkins. It was one of the things that helped him cope the most. Now he had to pick himself up all over again and he hoped it wouldn’t take as long as the first time around, or both him and Robin were doomed to suffer.

****

Steve didn’t remember falling asleep. He woke the next morning to a migraine, swollen eyelids, and the phone ringing off the hook. He shoved a pillow over his head and waited for it to stop. He had work today but he didn’t want to go. He felt like shit after last night. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling for a long time until the phone started up again and forced him out of bed.

“What do you want?!” He answered gruffly. He sounded like garbage and felt even worse.

“Well, geez. Hello to you, too.”

“Dustin!” He sighed in relief. “Wait, shouldn’t you be in school instead of bothering me at 8 in the damn morning?”

“The city has changed you, Steve. I don’t like it.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Get on with it.”

“Okay, okay. I’m not at school right now because I have something important to tell you. I couldn’t wait,” he paused for a beat. “I think he’s back, Steve.”

Steve’s heart lurched and plummeted hard into his stomach. His sadness was overpowered by fear. His throat tightened up as panic rose. The room started to spin and he lost his balance, stumbling back into the wall.

“Steve? Talk to me, man! Are you okay?”

“I’m- good. I’m good.” He rested his head in his palm and slid down to the floor in defeat. “Tell me everything.”

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #stranger things #steddie au #steddie blurb #stranger things au #gay men #80s #bluehour

25 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs