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chattahoochiecoochie · 1 year

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Plans, Plural

Summary: A Bengals athletic trainer gets a drink after work, with a few new friends.

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: This is, if nothing else, a two thousand word build up for an uber pool joke. Is this turning into a series? Am I mentally ill like that? Maybe. A fluffy, funny bit of filler to get us where we want to go. Part one’s here.

“Yeah, two Blue Moons,” Joe’s voice catches as he looks at you.

“Guinness.” Your voice is quiet, hardly a whisper. You’d gotten water last time, so exhausted and dizzy you wouldn’t have been able to keep anything else down even if you’d wanted it.

“And a Guinness for her.” He turns his eyes back to the waitress, flashing a pearly white smile.

This is nice, and for a moment you forget the events that have led you here. For just a second it's only about the way he orders for you, the way he drove you three here, and how he’ll drive you home after. How Sam will walk you up to your apartment, hand in yours. You shake your head, fighting off the sense of familiarity.

It’s dizzying, how well orchestrated it is, how predictable they’ve made it feel. You’ve only been here once with them, after they’d teamed up on you in your exam room—but you feel absolutely certain that this will end the same as last time. They planned it that way. You shake your head. They planned it that way?

They must have, what with the way Sam was waiting for you tonight, standing outside your exam room, holding his bag in one hand, the other out to take yours. And the way he’d walked you out of the stadium, fingers intertwined with yours as he led you through the parking lot. And Joe with the way he had pulled his car into the west parking lot, just how he had the first time, sitting under the only broken light, waiting for the two of you.

You can hear the boys talking, kicking each other beneath the table while they wait for their beers to arrive, but its background noise, a faded sound. Your mind is racing. They planned this.

Joe had dropped you at the bar's door, with Sam at your side. He’d park the car and then he’d be right in, he’d said. And when the three of you had left last time, and you asked to be taken back to the stadium, Sam had laughed, and held you by the back of your neck. You were tired, and now you’d been drinking. They’d get you home, you could worry about your car tomorrow.

But I work early, you can hear yourself slurring as the memory plays. I’m in early tomorrow too, Joe says to you, rubbing his hand on your thigh. You just send me a text when you’re ready in the morning, and I’ll be by. Is that how they’d gotten your phone number?

There’d been a group message the next morning when you woke up. Joe was on his way, Sam wanted to know if they could stop for Starbucks. Want us to get you anything?

It had seemed like dominoes at the time, the eventuality of progressing circumstance. But they had planned it, hadn’t they? You want to be worried, to hesitate, to ask them why, but you’re cornered anyways, and it’s so nice to let someone else be in control for once, to have a plan at all.

“And a Guinness for you honey. Can I get y’all anything else for now?” You blink slowly, reaching out for the beer that's been placed in front of you.

“I think we’re set, thank you.”

“So Guinness, huh?” With the waitress gone, Sam puts a hand on your knee, leaning over to look closely at your drink.

“They taste good.” You look up at him, very aware of how he’s pinned you inside the booth by taking the outer seat.

“Oh is that right?” He leans against you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I’ll find out later then.” So he’ll kiss you goodnight this time too, then?

“Have you always liked stout?”

Why does every guy always ask? “My dad—” And why are you giving him your practiced response? You fall short, letting your mouth quirk into half a pout.

“Your dad what?” They’re both looking at you, eyes wide with interest that must be real because it’s too intense to be manufactured.

“My dad always had some, uh, growing up. My first beer was Guinness.” You laugh, when Joe quirks a brow with curiosity. “Some friends and I had some at a sleepover after my parents had gone to bed. Spent the whole night puking in my bathroom.” You don’t tell people that part, and you’re not sure why it comes so easy in front of them.

“I threw up my first time too. Half a case of natty lights.”

You and Joe both groan loudly at the thought of it. You glance at him briefly, wondering if he is also tasting every cheap college beer and the memory tied to it. When he pretends to gag, you decide that he must be.

“Bringing back memories Joey?” Sam grins, swigging from his glass quickly before sliding it to the end of the table, empty.

And suddenly, that's it. Whatever you’ve been holding onto in your mind simply slips from your reach. Before you know it, you are sliding your glass to meet his at the end of the table, leaning over Sam’s lap as you try not to spit up your last sip—overwhelmed with laughter as Joe recounts the worst college party his memory has to offer. What had you wanted to ask earlier?

It doesn’t matter, you decide, feeling a sense of finality about it. Sam is kissing you on the forehead, and you are vaguely aware that beneath the table, he has Joe by the hand. This is nice, this is good. And Joe’s getting you another beer, so now’s not the time to interrupt anyways.

“And he’ll take another Blue Moon, too.”

“Sounds good, can I get y’all anything to snack on?” She’s chipper, the young woman standing at the end of the table.

You shake your head at Joe, almost instinctively. Why are you letting him speak for you?

“No, we're all good. We’ll close too, if that’s okay.” He turns away from you, speaking to the waitress with a pointed voice you didn’t know he could manage. There's control in his tone, in his affect. That’s why.

“I’m gonna hit the bathroom, and then I’ll go get the car.” Beneath the table, Joe pats your knee firmly before sliding out of the booth.

“Alright, we’ll walk your way when we’re done here. You on 17th?”

Already walking away, Joe nods, back turned to them.

“Better drink up then baby, we’ve got some walking to do.” Sam lifts your glass from the table, holding it out for you to take. There's half a pint left, most of it warm now after how much the three of you had talked. Better that way, anyhow.

Grazing his hand you take the glass from him, breathing in through your nose as you sip the last of it quickly. With the back of your hand you wipe your mouth, slamming the heavy cup onto the table, back into the ring of condensation it had left behind.

“Wanna race?” You’re grinning, holding back a hiccup as you stare him down.

“I think I’ve had dreams about you.” He’s breathless, looking at you with vague wonder before pressing a kiss to your lips. He slides away from you on the seat, letting you follow the kiss right out of the booth until you're both standing on the sticky bar floor, you with your back pressed to the column dividing your booth from the one before it, and him with a knee between your legs, daring you to move against him.

Eyes closed, you sink against the narrow wall, sighing against his mouth as he slips his tongue over your lips. He’s scratchy today, having let his facial hair grow out since the last time. It’s ticklish, the rough sensation kind of—

“Boo!” You freeze, eyes wide when Sam lets go of you, spinning on his heel. In front of you, Joe is looking delightfully guilty.

With a quick hand, he pats Sam on the backside, before making off on quick feet for the door. “Last one to the car loses!”

“Absolutely not.” Sam turns back to you, face set. “You and I will race another day, okay?”

Before you can answer or even think, he’s got you off the floor, slung over his shoulder with your feet in the air. With one arm on your back and the other wrapped around your thighs, he sprints for the door with heavy steps. It takes everything in you not to shriek as the night air hits you, whistling in your ears as he runs.

He’s not fast, at least not fast enough but it's shocking how uninhibited he is by the weight of you in his arms. Shrieking and squealing, you are tossed around as he covers the first city block, and then the second.

You know you’ve lost, before he even begins to slow down. The heavy sound of him breathing, and the growing volume of Joe’s laughter as you get closer is telling enough.

“Shut up.” Sam is fully gasping as his steps become shorter. At a slow walk, with his chest heaving, he maneuvers you, bringing you down to brace against his chest for a moment before holding you out. “You take her, dick.”

Laughing loudly, Joe appears beside you, arms out to catch you. “We gotta get your cardio up, goddamn.”

With a grunt, Sam drops you against Joe, stepping back to catch his breath fully. The transfer is awkward, and you’re trying to find a reason for it at all—the car is right there.

Sensing you squirming in against him, Joe turns his attention to you, coughing on the last bit of a quiet chuckle. “You think you got it?” He lets you slip slowly from his arms. That’s why.

The ground feels shaky beneath you, and Jesus, your head is pounding. Stumbling, you reach for something to grab, coming up with a fistful of Joe’s shirt. You cling to him, hiccuping and shaking. It feels as though you’ve just been spun in a blender, or rinsed out on a spin cycle.

“I gotcha.” He’s laughing again, head tossed back as he takes you by the forearm. “Let’s get you in the car.”

With your eyes shut, you let him lead you around the car. Staggering blindly, you feel for the passenger seat of his Porsche, sinking into it as slowly as he’ll let you. Safely inside, with your hands gripping the leather, you brace against the headrest.

Pulling the belt across your shoulder, Joe presses a kiss to your forehead, wearing a smirk you can feel. And with the belt clicked into place, you feel him move away. “I’ll be right back.”

“Mmm.”

Minutes later, after the muffled sound of them play fighting outside the car has ceased, and Sam is safely crumpled on the backseat, Joe returns, this time to sit beside you. Hand on your thigh he looks at you sideways, curious.

“I’m good.” You try for a smile, wondering if the silence from the back is any indication of how much worse off Sam must be.

“Let’s get you home then. Sam, seatbelt, please.”

A grunt comes from behind you, followed by a loud fumbling and then finally, the click of the belt as it locks into place.

“Excellent.” Joe lets his hand run up your leg before settling his hold at the top of your thigh, where your own hands are now folded in your lap.

“Uber pool is crazy, huh?” He deadpans, jaw set.

“This is me.” You say it over your shoulder, fumbling with your keys as you consider the fact that he already knows that, having brought you to your door the last time. If he does remember, he doesn’t say.

Standing beside you, he leans against the wall when you get the door open finally, hand out to touch your waist.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” It’s phrased like a question but if the tone of familiarity is anything to go off, you know it's not. You nod anyway, lingering against his touch.

He pauses for a moment, looking at you with a glint in his eye. Before you can second guess it, his mouth is on yours, brief and sweet. He’s trying for gentle, it seems, fingers ghosting over your hip as he steps back from you.

“In the morning?” Just like last time?

“That’s the plan, pretty girl.” That’s the plan. That’s the plan.

You’re still rolling the words around in your mouth when you finally lock the door behind yourself, sinking against it with a blush on your face and a girlish squeal threatening to break loose. They planned it.

A/N: Part three is right here.

#hmm #many thoughts #many many thoughts #mostly why has no one plotted on me like this #hm? whats the reason?#chattahoochiecoochie writes #joe burrow #sam hubbard #joe burrow and sam hubbard #joe burrow x reader #sam hubbard x reader #bengals #nfl fic #joe burrow fic #sam hubbard fic #joe burrow fluff

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srbachchan · 1 year

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DAY 5489

Jalsa, Mumbai /hyd,Koh Feb 25, 2023 Sat 11:39 PM

.. the travel completed in its completeness .. often incomplete in its complete ..

the sense may be under consideration but the vision of the past and more recent does weigh heavily on the heave .. it heaves upon us and gives its cause to the sporting event of the days of schooling .. in the compete pf the ‘tug of war’ .. that handkerchief tied to the centre of that rough bold and strong jute rope .. the team of contestants on either side, as teams .. the Principal on hand with the ‘kerchief ‘ and announcing ..

‘take the strain .... heave ..’ !!! and the teams on either side begin to pull way for the handkerchief , to go past a designated mark - the sign of victory ..

at the end of each rope the team would tie the strongest the most voluminous bodied bod .. so its weight would weigh heavy on the opposition to pull .. often he just stood his ground or sat down or lay down , making it impossible for the team to pull him across .. smart move ..

his name was Shome .. a most genial volume of person - god bless his soul - he left us very early - but played his part in his athletic best when asked or deemed to be of some benefit ..

how does one remember these aspects of our memory system , when what transpired a few short minutes ago is no where near the remembered horizon ..

age causes memory loss .. or age causes the best memory ever ..

debatable , arguable but persistent in its belief and presence .. and more of that in some other time if it be of remembrance then ..

the idea and thought of coming away is daunting in these times .. times not of the the clocked, but of that that detaches the present and the comfort of its presence to the renewed presence of another destination ..

the properties are the same , they are found in the different .. and that is not befitting of the desire ..

the routine disturbance is unwelcome ..

so when routine is flaunted as lost .. lost it is for the routine to be of any use .. the thought comes to the tip of the tongue, known to be knowing the words names expressions ..

BUT the failure to bring it all out ..

and the smart contraption .. the unprovoked giant .. is the cause of great ‘literary content’ in the mass communication, that has beholden us all ..

nothing moves or concludes without the immortalisation aspect of the vision to be brought to permanency .. and the products in the manufacturing have realised its potential and concentrate on the viability of the belief of being documented in those tiny rounds of cylindrical glass, that make us all to be given the everlasting life in its devastating elixir of life ...

description describes the name .. calendared in the objects of most immense desire .. name .. be off and away , give me the last activity performed and thine will be kept .. in the solace of confined space ..

space is the more in todays .. not easily found or rediscovered ..

it is there and every where ..

here too ..

which is why it is said ..

GN ..

Amitabh Bachchan

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untitled-document-95 · 2 years

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A Challenge For Us All (defending jacob/andy barber x daughter!reader)

Summary: No part of life following Jacob’s accusation has been easy, but when y/n experiences a heartbreak, Andy and Jacob are by her side.

Warnings: a breakup, fighting/arguing, mentions of murder

Requested: No, one I’ve pulled from my Google Docs

A/N: y/n obvi = your name, y/n/n = your nickname, y/m/n = your middle name, there used to be an OC’s name in here, forgive me if I miss any

The evening sun was finally beginning to set. The stadium was still alive with the hoots and cheers of Newton fans, proud and giddy over a win at the first football game of the year. It was hot, since it was still August. Y/n tried to do all she could to soak it in. It was her first and last football game until after her brother’s trial - an event that had been looming all summer and was now upon them, just a few days away. It could be her last football game ever. If, God forbid, her brother were to be found guilty, she’d lose cheerleading forever. As heartbreaking as that would be, she didn’t care. She’d give up cheerleading any day if it meant keeping her baby brother safe. At least her coach had fought with the athletic director, principal, and parents of other cheerleaders, to let her stay on the squad this long.

Y/n slung her glittery royal blue cheer backpack over her shoulder and made for the boy’s locker rooms. She waited outside as players began to drift out. They were all damp - some from showers, some still from sweat. Finally, Ty emerged. Ty, her boyfriend, the one person who didn’t look at y/n with suspicion or pity. She waved timidly.

He walked over to her, unsure of where to start, how to begin. How do you tell the girl you love so much that you can’t be with her anymore? Ty knew his words, no matter how gentle, were going to destroy her.

“Hey,” Y/n said. Right about now was when Ty would normally slip his arm around her waist and lean in for a short kiss. He was alluring and mature like that, which Y/n liked. She couldn’t stand those couples that were all over each other in public, especially at school. When Ty didn’t go in for his usual greeting, worry immediately washed over Y/n’s face, though her smile attempted to mask it.

“Is everything okay?” Y/n asked after a moment of silence.

“No. Uh, y/n, listen…” Spit it out, you jerk, Ty thought. “My parents don’t want us to be together anymore.” The words struck Y/n like she’d just waltzed into an iron pole. Her stomach lurched and her blood seemed to thin. She knew her face was turning bright red as tears gathered in her chest and made their way to her eyes. She pursed her lips, trying to abate the tears for as long as possible. Not here, not now, she told herself. Not in front of all these people, though no one seemed to be paying any attention to them.

“Why would you tell me that, right here, right now?” she choked. Her tears were now brimming, unable to be restrained.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n, I-” Ty began, but she cut him off.

“No,” she commanded. “You’re just doing what you have to do, to protect yourself, right?” Tears began to spill. Her tone told Ty that the words, however true, were like poison coming from her mouth. That was exactly what his parents had said. They assumed everything about Ty’s future would be on the line if he continued to fraternize with the older sister of the accused murderer, though Ty’s parents pointedly left off the word “accused”.

“Y/n I-”

“It’s fine,” she shrugged, putting on a show of manufactured cheeriness, her red eyes and tears the only evidence of the sadness behind her anger. “I get it, really. I’ll leave you alone. Wouldn’t want anyone to get suspicious.”

“Of what?” Ty asks, turning to watch her walk away. She turns but keeps walking backwards.

“Exactly.”

There’s an awkward silence during the car ride home. Emma managed to wipe the last of her tears (for now, anyway) before getting in Andy’s Audi. She knew her eyes were probably red and her nose was stuffed up, but she figured appearing calm would at least let her get safely away from the football stadium, maybe even up to her bedroom to be alone.

If only she were that lucky. Her dad had barely put the car in park before speaking.

“Go change and then come downstairs, please.” She nodded and went inside, her father not far behind her. Her mother noticed right away. She always noticed; you couldn’t hide the tell-tale signs of crying from Laurie Barber. She’d had too much experience dealing with crying, upset children. Y/n said nothing as she walked by so fast Laurie barely had time to decide what to say to her. Laurie looked at Andy as he shut the door behind him. They communicated in only looks, hers saying What the heck is going on? and his saying Don’t question it yet, I’ve got it.

“I told her to go change and come right back down,” Andy said. He gripped the edge of the counter and Laurie set down her mug of tea to busy herself with making her daughter a cup. The tea bag is still steeping when Y/n comes down the stairs, her hair still up but now sans hairbow. She wore a soft, slouchy tee shirt and a pair of running shorts.

“Sit down, honey,” Andy told his daughter, though the girl standing in front of him was nothing like the Y/N Y/M/N Barber he’d known a year ago. Y/n sat on the kitchen bar chair closest to her parents.

“What happened?” he asked. Y/n licked her lips and trained her eyes on the ground. Tears began to well in her eyes again. She wasn’t just angry and upset. She was scared; scared to tell her parents that another person was gone from their lives as a result of Jacob’s accusation. It would rip them apart. They were already so distraught that Jacob couldn’t go to school or play baseball. They didn’t need this on their plates as well.

“Is it something with cheerleading?” Laurie asked. Y/n shook her head.

“A friend? Did someone say or do something?” Andy added. Y/n sat still.

“Y/n, we can’t-”

“Ty broke up with me.” Y/n’s words rushed out, desperate to stop her father from the “we can’t help if we don’t know” speech.

“What? Why? What did he say?” Laurie interrogated.

“He, he said he just didn’t want to be in a relationship anymore.” Y/n shrugged.

“You’re lying,” Andy stated matter-of-factly.

“Andy!”

“No, she’s lying. I’m an attorney, y/n/n. Did you think you could get a lie past me?” Andy sympathetically reaches his hand out and rests it on her cheek, his thumb rubbing back and forth soothingly. Y/n’s whole body becomes racked with sobs, unable to hide her pure anguish any longer. Ty hadn’t just been a boyfriend. He’d been her best friend. She took a risk dating him. She knew if things didn’t end well, she’d lose a boyfriend and her best friend. She had no idea it could ever come crashing down like this.

Andy envelops her, pulling her into his chest. He wanted nothing more than to be able to hold her until the pain stopped, until she could be her old self again. Andy feared she would never be her old self ever again.

“Ty did break up with you, but that wasn’t his reason, was it?” Y/n shook her head.

“Was it because of me?” Andy let go of Y/n so she could turn her head toward the source of the question. Jacob stood on the bottom step. Y/n tried to sit up straighter, look more brave than she felt. She took being the big, brave older sister very seriously.

“It’s not your fault, Jake. You didn’t do anything wrong. People are just…”

“So it was because of me.”

“Jake, don’t-” Y/n began, cut off by the pounding of Jacob’s feet on the stairs, retreating back to his room. She slid off the chair and raced after him. She couldn’t let him blame himself for her failed relationship.

“Jake! Y/n!” Andy called.

“Let them work it out for a few minutes.” Andy took a deep breath and stayed where he was.

Y/n hadn’t caught up with Jacob before he slammed his bedroom door shut. He hadn’t locked it, so she let herself inside and locked the door behind her. She didn’t want her parents right now and she knew Jake didn’t either. Jacob sat on his bed. Jacob never made noise when he cried. Tears just spilled, like they were right then. Y/n sat next to him.

“Jake. Please. This is not your fault.” Y/n pleaded.

“Yes, it is. If I had just-”

“Just what?” Y/n asked. “Not tried to see if your classmate was okay? Not gotten into arguments with him when he was a jerk to you? You had no idea any of this would- could, even happen. So stop blaming yourself.” The siblings looked in one another’s eyes.

“It’s gonna be okay, Jake.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I can’t. All I can promise is that I’m by your side no matter what.” Y/n took her brother's hand and interlaced their fingers. It had been a long time since they’d been so affectionate with one another. As little kids they were always hugging and kissing, but that had worn off years ago. With nothing much else left to say, they sat in silence for a few minutes. Their breaths evened out, their shudders and sniffles quieting. A few more minutes passed. Y/n stood and unlocked the door, waving for Jacob to follow her. She hadn’t eaten dinner, after all, and now that her grief was somewhat subdued, hunger was setting in. Andy and Laurie were both surprised and relieved when their children came down the stairs, seemingly happy. It seemed it would be the last time they would see them like that for days.

#Chris evans #Chris evans x reader #Chris evans x daughter #Chris evans x daughter!reader #defending jacob #Andy barber #Jacob barber #Andy barber x reader #Andy barber x daughter!reader #Jacob barber x sister #Jacob barber x sister!reader #x reader #xdaughter!reader #x daughter #x sister #x sister!reader

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kapoor91 · 11 months

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bodybeyondstories · 1 year

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Star Player - 5

A time jump and a reunion between Carl and Caleb.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 (Previous)

---

“So it’s like, a harness.”

“No, no that’d be rude, that would never sell. It’s more of a…” Dwayne searched among motes of floating dust for the words, “support system.”

Carl, standing in the middle of Dwayne’s makeshift studio, shot a look of mild amusement at his friend turned business partner. It had been eight months since Henri’s (and Marc’s) non-appearance at the exhibition match and much had changed in all their lives. But at this moment, Carl was sporting what looked like an array of straps and elastic bands that curved taut around his perfectly round cheeks, holding them steadfastly in place.

“It looks like you went overboard with a jockstrap,” he said, turning to one of the mirrors to get a better look at his backside.

“I did, sort of,” said Dwayne, with a wave of his hand. “Same concept, with added reinforcements for men with a lot of jiggle. It’s supposed to be paired with the slacks in the business casual line.”

“Oh there’s a business casual line, now?” replied Carl, cocking his eyebrow.

“Well I was thinking with your fancy new office job, you would need something business casual, and then I figured we might as well include it in the catalog. Professional, yet flattering.”

“I think this ass does all of its own flattering. But I don’t hate the idea.”

After graduation, Carl had kept his diner gig until eventually landing a data entry job at a local nonprofit. He was thrilled to trade it in the hustle and bustle of the service industry for a boring cubicle, not to mention his regulars at the diner were getting a little too familiar with his shift schedule and a little too comfortable with the wagon he’s draggin’. So he was settling into office life, and while Dwayne knew how to get the fit just right for his slacks, his ass still had a mind of its own, threatening every stitch and seam through the workday.

The pair had gone into business together making menswear intended for GluteMax cases. Dwayne the designer and seamstress, with Carl handling operations and, obviously, modeling. After the end of wrestling season, Carl had finally stopped taking the supplement and had started to cut now that he no longer needed the bulk. He had thinned somewhat into an athletic, lean muscled appearance, except of course, for his massive ass. That, to his chagrin, looked somehow even more pronounced since he had slimmed down, but due to Dwayne’s sewing genius, proved a boon to their nascent business.

Turns out there was a demonstrable demand for well fitting pants, shorts, slacks, jeans, underwear, swimwear, and more from men with Carl’s predicament. And there were quite a few. GluteMax hadn’t been all that well known outside of bodybuilding and body mod circles, but after the exhibition match, when Henri, with Marc’s encouragement, revealed that his ridiculous glute gains were in fact due to being ‘maxxed,’ the supplement entered the mainstream. Demand skyrocketed beyond what the manufacturer could supply and all manner of amateur fitness models to social media influencers to curious consumers jumped on the trend. With increased attention came increased scrutiny, along with an uptick of rare, extreme cases of men who had monster booties far beyond what they had expected or been promised. Not to mention the odd side effects and second hand impacts. Between the federal investigation and class action lawsuit, production was put on pause for the time being, but the damage was done. And suddenly, there was a market for which Dwayne and Carl were uniquely prepared. While things were going well early on, that didn’t mean Carl wouldn’t have reservations about Dwayne’s new ideas.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Dwayne. “Just tell me how it feels. How’s the fit?”

“Honestly?” Carl took a few seconds to move around in the new piece, getting accustomed to how it shifted and stretched across his round bottom, even going so far as to bend over, lunge, and settle into a deep squat. “It’s great! I forgot what it was like to not have to worry about turning one way and my ass going the other.”

“Fantastique!” exclaimed Dwayne with a clap of his hands. He was excited to start rolling out this new product, but also relieved for his friend. While Carl had gotten used to walking around with a comically large ass, it still came with its peculiar set of ongoing frustrations, and Dwayne liked finding ways to support him, literally and metaphorically. Besides, this was much better than his previous experiment, which was little more than a sewn in spandex cage. “Now get dressed, we have a client coming any minute now.”

“A client? Since when do we take appointments?” asked Carl, interrupted by a slow, intentional knock on their door.

“Someone had an issue with some of our compression shorts and I couldn’t figure out what the problem was over email, so I figured he could just stop by,” answered Dwayne in a brisk walk through their living room. “You go throw something on, I’ll keep him busy in the studio.”

Carl hustled to his bedroom, not bothering to take off Dwayne’s new contraption. Truth be told, it was quickly growing on him. Once you got used to it, it was surprisingly comfortable. And kind of hot, he thought to himself, getting a look at his mega booty as he hiked a pair of stretchy shorts over his cheeks. They were visibly perkier and more firm, and would probably look fantastic in their new line of slacks. He was settling into visions of photoshoots, marketing, and a seasonal soft launch when he remembered why he had rushed to get dressed in the first place. He headed back into their makeshift studio while throwing a short sleeve button down around his shoulders. Not the most professional entrance, but whatever works, he thought, looking up to see a blast from the past: Caleb.

He hadn’t seen his old teammate in months. Not since he quit towards the end of wrestling season. Or quit wasn’t exactly the word, maybe something like took a leave of absence, as their coach had told them curtly before practice one day. Since they had faced each other in that fateful practice match that still lived rent free in Carl’s head, Caleb’s prodigious schlong had transformed from an oddity to a nuisance to a problem through the rest of the season. It had become almost impossible to hide in his skin tight singlet, much to his chagrin. Oddly enough, it did give them somewhat of an edge by setting the other teams completely off guard. Carl’s monster glutes were an ace in the hole, but as it turned out so was Caleb’s super dick.

That is, until, in a particularly heated bout, Caleb found himself pinned to the mat, his opponent showing no intention of letting go of his full body hold. Caleb, using his surprisingly strong legs, executed a switch that brought them around 180 degrees, face to face with him in the advantageous position and his opponent left wide eyed in shock. Except, as he quickly realized, that expression wasn’t because of Caleb’s unexpected skills but actually the inches of rock hard cock jutting out of the left leg of his singlet.

“Oh shit,” he whispered, as his opponent subtly shifted position to make sure Caleb’s faux pas stayed hidden from view, giving him time to quickly rearrange his manhood back into the spandex and nestled along the outside curvature of his leg. As they ended the match, with Caleb eking out a win on a technicality, his bulge was deemed too obscene to continue, looking unreal in the tight, stretchy fabric. He fought the decision in his usual matter of fact tone, his seriousness belied by his not so subtle attempts to cover up the ridiculous pipe running across his quads.

As the league decided how to handle Caleb’s distracting problem, he took a break from the team. And of course, word had spread like wildfire about his serious endowment, leading him to keep an even lower profile than usual. He refused to be caught dead in anything remotely form fitting.

So it was a surprise in more than one way when Carl got a chance to look him over after all these months, dressed in nothing other than their own line of stretchy summer slim fit joggers.

“Hey, you!” exclaimed Carl, trying and failing to act like he wasn’t mildly detached from reality over the fact that this man he’d been fantasizing about for the better part of a year had manifested in his living room. In the clothes that he had marketed, no less–the olive green is such a good color on him, came a fleeting thought in the back of his mind.

“Oh, uh, hi,” said Caleb, giving a shy wave to his old teammate, his eyes flitting to meet Carl’s, before returning to whatever it was that Dwayne held tenderly in his hands.

“Do you two know each other?” asked Dwayne, before cutting himself off with a sudden lack of interest. “Oh, right. Wrestling or whatever.”

“Yes, wrestling or whatever,” repeated Carl, delicately placing each word as if he’d been practicing the phrase for weeks, bright smile still plastered on his face. “Wait, oh, you’re the appointment! What brings you here?”

“Compression shorts gave out,” answered Dwayne, almost to himself, eyes still studying the fabric in his hands, his right incisor visible as it chewed on his lower lip. Carl had known him long enough to know that this meant a particularly complex problem needed to be solved.

“Ok, so, can’t we just…” he drifted off mid sentence as Caleb adjusted his sitting position, giving an unconscious pull on his joggers, his eyes still focused on Dwayne in mid thought. “I see,” he muttered, as what he thought was a fold in the fabric of Caleb’s pants turned out to more accurately portray a kielbasa running down Caleb’s inner thigh, approaching the bend of his knee. He came to the chilling realization that Caleb’s growth must have continued for quite some time as the supplement’s lasting impacts dissipated.

“Oh, sorry,” said Caleb, catching Carl’s dumbfounded stare. “I forgot I wasn’t wearing the compression shorts. They’re super comfortable by the way, it’s like I forget they’re there.”

“Oh thanks,” said Dwayne, a polite half smile crossing his lips that Carl knew was actually an immensely satisfied mental high five about his handiwork.

“N-no problem,” stuttered Carl. “Nothing I haven’t seen before right? Well I guess it’s even more than I’ve seen before,” he continued with a nervous laugh.

Dwayne shot him a mildly exasperated keep it in your pants glare before turning back to Caleb with a reassuring smile on his face. “I think I know how to fix this, but I’ll need a little bit of time.”

“Oh wow, thanks,” said Caleb with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. “I was really starting to depend on these. Nothing else has been able to keep all this under control.”

“Of course,” Carl jumped in, finally regaining his professional composure. “That’s why we’re here!”

—

Carl was usually pretty hands off when it came to Dwayne working his creative magic. He knew better than to rush the process. But over the next few days that didn’t stop him from checking on this particular compression short adjustment a little too incessantly.

“Your wrestling team crush isn’t going anywhere,” said Dwayne, putting the final touches on this impromptu rush job. “At least not without these.” He prided himself on a high quality, deliberate process, but was tired of his friend breathing down his neck. “Why didn’t you just ask him out?”

“Hm. I guess that was an option,” said Carl, his lips twisting in thought. “Don’t worry about postage, I’ll hand deliver!” He picked up the package that Dwayne had just sealed with the shorts safely inside, tossing it into his cross-shoulder bag as he bounded to the door.

“Now, hold on!” exclaimed Dwayne.

“What? It’s called good service,” responded Carl, hand resting indignantly on his hip. “We go above and beyond for our customers.”

“I think you’re a little below and beyond,” said Dwayne, using his index finger to draw attention to the fact that other than the short sleeve button up, shoulder bag, and carefully chosen snapback, Carl was wearing nothing but a lavender thong below the waist, his bulbous butt sitting proud, framed by the half open doorway.

“...Right.”

Just under an hour later, Caleb opened the door to find Carl intently staring down at him, package in hand and clad in a pair of just the joggers that Caleb loved so much. And the snugness with which they hugged his ample curves certainly didn’t hurt.

“Oh,” said Caleb, a look of surprise replaced with one of his curt greetings. “I thought you would just mail it.”

“Nope!” Carl replied. “We wanted to make sure you got it safe, sound, and to your liking.”

“Well yeah, I guess I could just try them on now, make sure they fit. Come on in.”

“Oh, that’s not what I…” stammered Carl, as Caleb gingerly lifted the package out of his hands and turned to walk back into his apartment, his tight, perky backside swishing back and forth in his sweats.

“It’s kind of sparse, but make yourself at home,” Caleb yelled over his shoulder as he headed back to his room to change. “There might still be beer in the fridge from the move.”

Carl, heart aflutter, thought he might as well verify that the product performs as promised, stepping into Caleb’s very modern, recently renovated, but mainly empty apartment. From the loose boxes mixed with packing supplies and small furniture arranged haphazardly in the space, Carl guessed he must have just moved recently, and it looks like it was a big upgrade. Reminder to self to ask what he does now, thought Carl. What was his major, again?

He found the second to last beer and settled onto a stool next to the kitchen island, his ass cheeks smothering the metal seat.

Caleb re-entered a couple minutes later still wearing a tank top, but having traded out his sweats for the recently mended compression shorts. And nothing on top of them. Carl was surprised to see a beaming smile on his face, hands splayed wide as he did a quick turn. He caught a brief glimpse of his perfect bubble butt before his pipe came into view, looking like it may run the length of the compression shorts if he didn’t have it curved around his right upper thigh.

“They’re great!” he said. “Even better than before, feels really secure. You two are kind of a dream team.”

“I, um, well, it’s-it’s mainly Dwayne, I just run operations.”

“And delivery?” Caleb chuckled. “Let me go change back into my sweats, if you don’t mind? Don’t like keeping things compressed when I don’t have to. You know how it is,” referring with a hand gesture to the comfortable joggers caressing Carl’s round, oversized bottom.

“Yeah yeah, totally fine,” said Carl, regaining his composure. He reasoned that he must be about to wake from some sort of fever dream, picking up his bag as he got ready to dutifully leave Caleb’s place, having confirmed that the product was, in fact, a good fit. Before he could reach the door, Caleb re-entered in his original sweats, massive manhood still unmistakable but maybe less intense.

“You haven’t finished your beer,” he said. “No rush.”

Carl returned to the kitchen island to nurse his IPA, which led to Caleb deciding to finish off the last one, which led to Carl politely not wanting to leave before Caleb finished his beer, which led to Caleb mentioning that he had just found the box with a mix of gin, mezcal, and a variety of high shelf liqueurs and mixers that his ex had left behind months ago after an amicable, yet frustrating break up. And this led to Carl letting slip that he had developed a skill with cocktails from working the late shifts at the Tuesday Diner, which led to him throwing together some sort of concoction he called a Pretty Boi, insisting that the i in Boi was essential, which led to them sitting comfortably, drinks in hand, on the couch.

Not exactly the fantasy date Dwayne had been alluding to, but Carl was having a great time. Caleb did in fact land a consulting gig that not only paid well but allowed him to set his own work from home hours. Carl got into his struggle to balance his new nonprofit gig with the side hustle with Dwayne that was taking off faster than they expected, leaving him with tragically little social or romantic space. Which of course led Caleb to reflect on his recent breakup. Without getting into too much detail–and without needing to–Caleb’s growth had not only put quite a strain on their sex life, but the supplement sparked some secondary effects in his partner that changed the dynamic, so to speak. By their second round of pretty bois, they were well into the aggravation of navigating the local dating scene as overworked young professionals, especially whenever someone found out they were maxxed, which, for them both, was virtually impossible to hide. They hadn’t made it through the third round of Carl’s cocktail–which Caleb loved–before they had passed out right there on the sofa, Carl’s head resting heavy on Caleb’s chest, with Caleb’s hand lightly caressing the curvature of Carl’s bubble booty.

Carl was woken up the next morning by something long and hot running rock hard between them, and it didn’t take long for him to figure out what it was. Especially since it impatiently throbbed in sync with the beat of Caleb’s heart. This is his morning wood? he thought incredulously, shifting slightly to get a better idea of Caleb’s unbelievable dimensions.

In response, Caleb, just starting the process of emerging from sleep, let out a soft moan, thrusting his hips sensually into Carl’s crotch. As he opened his eyes, he realized that this wasn’t in fact a dream but a real live person meeting his mega dick up close and personal.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry,” he said, still bleary eyed. He attempted to wrestle his cock out of the way, but the friction of his sweats against his sensitive head produced a visible shiver of pleasure.

“No, it’s cool,” said Carl. “Nothing I haven’t seen before, right?”

“I don’t think you remember it quite like this,” laughed Caleb, one hand covering half his face in faux embarrassment.

“Well I’m down for an update,” responded Carl, leaning in to nuzzle the scruff of Caleb’s chin, which Caleb eagerly returned as a kiss.

They fooled around the early morning sun, Caleb grabbing handfuls of Carl’s ridiculous donk while his dick extended even further down his leg, finally reaching full mast. With Caleb’s tank top long gone, Carl moved down his torso, planting tender kisses along the trail of fur that led to Caleb’s waistband.

“Is this ok?” he asked, looking up at Caleb as he played tentatively with the elastic.

“More than ok,” Caleb replied, already starting to breathe heavily. It had been a while.

Carl slowly pulled down his friend’s sweats, taking his time to savor the sight of more, and more, and more dick. In the soft light, his full erection was majestic. Carl took a moment to taste the precum leaking out of Caleb’s massive purple head, before letting it go and watching it give a wet slap to Caleb’s chest, flinging even more pre onto his chin. Carl traced the veins along the underside of Caleb’s prodigious cock, marveling at the fact that as he reached the head, they were practically face to face. He could probably suck himself off, he thought. This is a beast.

He spent some time ministrating on Caleb’s painfully sensitive cock head–Caleb practically writhing in orgasmic bliss–before finally opening his jaw and taking as many inches as he could. And he could take quite a few, having had plenty of practice with Brian over the past several months.

“Oh my god,” grunted Caleb. “No one’s…no one’s ever…aughhhhhhh!”

Caleb’s brain practically short circuited as he shot volley after volley of gooey jizz into Carl’s throat, then mouth, then face as it plopped free, still shooting for what seemed like an eternity, Carl eagerly lapping up as much as he could.

“Oh, shit,” said Caleb, slowly coming to. “I’m sorry. It’s been a while since anyone’s been willing to try that.”

“It’s cool,” said Carl, smile beaming through the streaks of jizz covering his mouth and chin. “Good morning, but I really should be going.”

Caleb did convince him to at least let him clean him off in the shower after covering him in spunk. And he threw in a bonus while soaping up Carl’s massive ass, leaning in to bury his face between the cheeks before eagerly eating him out, working his juicy nuts from the back until Carl shot his ropes of jizz onto the tile.

Before finally heading out, Carl leaned against the door frame of the entrance. “So packaged safely delivered? Quality assured?” he asked.

“Five out of five stars,” said Caleb. “But you’ve got some explaining to do to your roommate.”

“Ugh, I’ll never hear the end of it. Yesterday he, um, said to just ask you out. Ya know, if you’re–”

“Yes,” Caleb cut him off, reaching up to give Carl a deep kiss. “What are you up to this weekend?”

#male tf #ass growth #butt growth #dick growth

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paperanddice · 1 year

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The difference between the bloodcut dreams and other humanoid animals is a matter of much internal debate. Association is the strongest qualifier, as is weapon wielding. Several of the anthropomorphic beasts fight with claws and teeth alone, but those that have been suspected as bloodcut tend to be armed with manufactured weapons. The raging tusker is one such creature, a boar creature armed with a razor sharp hook attached to the chains that wrap around its body. In battle it launches into a furious rage, shrieking and squealing as it charges the closest creature and catches it with its hook. Escaping from the tusker is a challenge, as the hook digs into its target's skin and can only be removed in combat by ripping it free. If you don't do so however, the tusker pulls you in close and tears you up with its tusks. A terrible proposition either way.

The tusker stands with dwarf-like proportions. Shorter than the average human, but powerful and stocky. Outside of Dreamblade the tusker might be a form of humanoid, with the rager simply being a berserker example. Alternately, if you want to put in a little more work, like some of the more recent examples it could be another lycanthrope, a wereboar with different weapons and tactics. Originally from the Dreamblade base set. This post came out a week ago on my Patreon. If you want to get access to all my monster conversions early, as well as access to my premade adventures and other material I’m working on, consider backing me there!

5th Edition

Raging Tusker Medium aberration (bloodcut), unaligned Armor Class 13 (natural armor) Hit Points 68 (8d8 + 32) Speed 30 ft. Str 16 (+3) Dex 13 (+1) Con 18 (+4) Int 7 (-2) Wis 9 (-1) Cha 7 (-2) Skills Athletics +5 Senses passive Perception 9 Languages any one language Challenge 4 (1100 XP) Charge. If the tusker moves at least 15 feet directly toward a target and then hits it with a tusk attack on the same turn, the target takes an extra 3 (1d6) slashing damage and must succeed on a DC 13 Strength saving throw or be knocked prone. Rage (1/Short Or Long Rest). As a bonus action the tusker can enter a rage for one minute. While raging, it has resistance to bludgeoning, slashing, and piercing damage, deals an additional 2 points of damage with melee weapon attacks, has advantage on Strength ability checks and saving throws and can make a Hook attack as a bonus action on each of its turns. The rage ends early if the tusker has taken no damage since its last turn and doesn't attack a creature on its turn. Relentless (Recharges After A Short Or Long Rest). If the raging tusker takes 20 damage or less that would reduce it to 0 hit poitns, it is reduced to 1 hit point instead. Actions Multiattack. The raging tusker makes two attacks: one with its Hook and one with its Tusk. Hook. Melee Weapon Attack: +5 to hit, reach 5 ft., one target. Hit: 6 (1d6+3) piercing damage or 8 (1d6+5) piercing damage while raging, and the raging tusker grapples the target (escape DC 13). Until this grapple ends, the tusker has advantage on attack rolls against the grappled target and can't make Hook attacks against another target. Whenever a grappled creature attempts an ability check to escape the grapple, it takes 3 (1d6) slashing damage. Tusk. Melee Weapon Attack: +5 to hit, reach 5 ft., one target. Hit: 6 (1d6+3) slashing damage or 8 (1d6+5) slashing damage while raging.

13th Age

Raging Tusker 3rd level blocker [aberration] Initiative: +5 Hook and Tusk +9 vs. AC - 9 damage. Natural 14+: The tusker grabs the target if it isn’t already grabbing an enemy. Any time a grabbed enemy tries to disengage from the tusker, it takes 1d6 damage. Last Stand: The tusker doesn’t die until it reaches -22 hp. While at 0 hp or below it must roll a normal save at the end of each of its turns; on a failure it does. It automatically fails this save if it didn’t attack an enemy during its turn and ends its turn not engaged with any enemy. Resist Weapon Attacks 14+: If the raging tusker doesn’t attack an enemy on its turn, it loses this resistance until it hits an enemy with an attack. AC 16 PD 17 MD 10 HP 66

#D&D #dnd #dungeons and dragons #5th edition #13th age #homebrew #my homebrew #monster #aberration #dreamblade #dnd cr 4 #13th age level 3 #long post

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sleepyconfusedpotato · 2 years

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Hi sleepy! Just read a post that you have -9.00 on both eyes? I'm -5.00 and it's already bad for me. Ignore me if you're uncomfortable but how did you get to that point?

Hello Anon! Well buckle up because this is a real fucked up story. It's actually really sad lol.

Got Tuberculosis when I was 7. Mom brought me to the doctor. The doctor prescribed me some "newly manufactured medicine". 3-4 months in my coughing didn't get better, and my mom brought me to an actual pediatrician. The pediatrician said the first doctor prescribed me medicines that was meant to treat ADULTS (some doctor he was huh).

Instead of killing the bacteria, the meds messed with the development of my eyes and my lungs as a kid. From that point on, my eyes would go down like around -1.5 every year. I got asthma and pneumonia, regularly had shortness of breath that sometimes I couldn't go to school because of that. I needed to do some oxygen therapy every week for idk... a year? Anyway, my kid days was full of shortness of breaths.

By around 17-18 (when human eyes and vision fully develop), I was at -8.5. The myopia slows down, and I have been -9..00 for like 3.5 years now. Even though my lungs were fucked, I loved sports. I'm quite athletic and I play mainly basketball since I was a kid. Kept doing that until I barely don't have asthma attacks anymore! So I coped with that shit and here I am :D

(Would I draw more If my eyes can handle not being blurry every 2 hours? Hell yes. Would I be even more active on sports if I don't get asthma every 30 minutes? Hell yes.)

TL;DR : Malpractice by a doctor.

#SHEEEEESH THAT WAS HEAVY HUH #sleepy answers #sleepy's thoughts #my mom kinda blamed herself but I always say it's not her fault at all #she was a new mother who didn't know any better and access to internet wasn't that good at that time #so screw that fraud ass doctor

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usaclothingmanufacturer · 11 months

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