#it happens when i look at old school yearbooks | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

reverieblondie · 16 days

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Remember Me?

Pairing: ExNerd!Miguel O’Hara X AFAB!civillainreader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Smut with Plot, Praise, Unprotected Penetrative Sex (wrap it before you tap it), , Oral, Cowgirl, Missionary. You and Miguel make a mess...

Summary: Miguel has changed a lot since high school, but one thing remains the same...how he feels about you.

A/N: I have been trying to write about Miguel for weeks now! Every time I get close to finishing something for him I reread it and hate it! So I am posting this before I can change my mind! I hope you all enjoy I tried my best!

Word Count: 6,823

“Pfft…I can't believe this is real; this can’t be real!” Gwen keeps repeating to herself, trying to stifle back her laughter.

“I know! I couldn’t believe my eyes when Peter showed me but here it is!” Miles agrees; Pav quickly slings his arm around Miles for a better look.

“Take a look at the specks on him. Did you know he needed glasses?”

“Flip to the club photo. Now, that will shock you all.”

At Hobies request the teens quickly start flipping through pages. The sound of flipping pages and then the sudden bursting of laughter from the small huddle was something Miguel could no longer ignore. Miguel wasn’t sure why the teens and Peter were in his office. But since the events with the spot and some well-deserved apologies, Miguel, in the teen's words, “Chilled out,” and now they seem to hang out around him more. Meaning they are often now in his office… Miguel, of course, tried to appear as indifferent as possible to this change of pace, though He had to admit it was somewhat nice to have the cheerful ambiance that came with them... Hell, sometimes they could make him chuckle; Miles was actually pretty funny. But, of course, he keeps these things to himself.

Miguel makes his way to the huddle to see what could possibly be so enthralling. When he sees what's causing their uproar, his blood runs cold, freezing him dead in his tracks.

Is….that…his….yearbook…

It was turned to his picture and plan as the day under his unrecognizable photo was his name. So there was no getting out of this saying it wasn’t him…

“Miguel, is this really you?” Miles questions pointing to the picture.

“Must be his name right there,” Pav teases, making Miguel groan. This was an actual nightmare.

Looking over them, Miguel sees the picture they are all questioning; the difference is pretty night and day. A young 17-year-old Miguel was way scrawnier compared to his now bulking physique. His dark brown eyes were hidden behind his thick black-rimmed glasses, the only ones his mother could afford at the time. Miguel's thick, wavy brown hair looks untamed as it hangs down his forehead, threatening to cover his eyes if not for his glasses, the rest hanging loosely down to the nape of his neck. Poor kid was desperate for a haircut. Their cheekbones and jaw were still chiseled, and his face was not yet littered with lines of stress, sleepless nights, and age.

Hobie quickly grabs the yearbook, vigorously flipping through the pages until he stops on a picture of a young Miguel holding up a mathlete trophy, awkward smile and all. “This is my favorite picture. Do you still smile like that, bruv?”

“How did you all get this?” Miguel asks in irritation, pinching the bridge of his nose as if that will somehow stop his building anger and embarrassment.

Very aware of the sight of Miguel about to rage out, the young spiders quickly part, pointing the blame to a laughing Peter. Who finally quits his laughing fit as now he is staring into the eyes of a very irritated Miguel, waiting for an explanation.

Peter nervously clears his throat before speaking, “Wel, uh…do you remember a couple of days ago when you told me to drop off that equipment at your apartment? Well…I happened to see this on your living room bookshelf and thought I would look at it. Then I saw how much you had changed… I figured the kiddos would get a kick out of it…”

Miguel's eyes narrow, and his talons pop out, ready to bounce, but that is quickly escalated by Gwen taking back the yearbook, prepared to negotiate peace.

“Okay, okay, no need to rip his head off; we will return your book.” Miguel's body relaxes as he sighs of relief, holding out his hand for the book, but Gwen smirks, holding the book back out of his reach, “But, you have to show us your old crush first.”

Miguel’s eyes nearly pop out of his head, freezing at the terms of the agreement, and everyone else, including Layla, starts oohing. Making Miguel pitch the bridge of his nose again, muttering under his breath, “Esto tiene que ser una pesadilla…” (this has to be a nightmare…)

Then, to make things worse, they start chanting, “Show us….Show us…Show us! Show us!!”

The chatting became too much, and he snapped, holding out his hand irritatedly for the book. “Fine! I will show you; just shut up!”

A yay fills the room as Miguel starts irritatedly flipping through the book as soon as it’s laid in his hand. Everyone waits in bated breath until finally landing on the correct page. It's the page he spent the summer before college staring at, the picture he had agonized over. Miguel pauses, taking in the picture, and he feels those familiar feelings rushing up and swelling in his chest…Those high school crushes do hit you hard…

Even after all these years, he still remembers you so vividly; seeing the picture always solidifies for himself as confirmation as to why he had liked you so much. Beautiful and popular, everyone would only have positive things to say, even if your friend group wasn’t as nice. Miguel remembers that sweetness fondly. Though, behind that sweet smile, there was a mischievous side of you; he recalls hearing it hidden in your cooing voice when you would say that pet name during chemistry class…

“Miggy~”

The memory warms Miguel's cheeks, but he quickly dismisses the feeling. “There, that's her.”

The teens quickly grab the book back, climbing over each other to marvel at the picture of the girl the oh-so-scary Spider-Man 2099 had a crush on when he was their age.

“Wow, she's stunning!” Gwen complements

Miguel hums in agreement, “Yeah… the prettiest girl in my grade…prom queen, part of the student council, incredibly sweet…, and we took chemistry together…”

Pav and Hobie shoot Miguel a smirk, and he quickly huffs, folding his arms over his chest.

“Ever work up the nerve to confess?” Pav questions, ever the romantic.

The group watches as Miguel closes his eyes, thinking that the blush from earlier is slowly rising to his tan cheeks, making them all gasp in excitement.

“You did!” They all scream, but Miguel is quick to correct them.

“Well…technically…I didn’t”

“What do you mean technically?” Miles prys

Miguel can’t believe he admitted this much, but since he's already down the rabbit hole, he might as well give some more context: “At graduation…I kinda did, then I…ran away…”

A look of shock and confusion fills the teenager's face, but Peter is all grins and is going to give Miguel a high five: “Ah, the mysterious type. Nice.”

Gwen quickly swats him on the shoulder, earning a whine from the man.

“Not nice! That is so confusing! You just ran? Did you ever talk to her again?”

Miguel takes a second to avoid eye contact, stoically starting to the side, before letting out a quiet, “No…”

There is a collective groan, and Miguel rolls his eyes, trying to contain his high school embarrassment.

“Can we stop talking about this and return to work now?”

“Have you seen her since?” Miles questions,

“No,” Miguel answers sharply, irritation coming back up.

“Wha-what! How will you ever win her love if you don’t clear up the misunderstanding and confess your true feelings!” Pav laments, making everyone look at him with a raised brow.

“Pav, mate…you know how long it's been since he's seen her?” Hobie chides

Pav shrugs slightly, muttering, “Maybe it could be like a romantic thing…”

“So wait, You have all the resources and never thought to at least search her out? Aren't you curious?” Gwen prods

“No, I never thought about stalking my old crush. Now, can we please-”

“She lives in the city!” Miles' voice calls out, making Miguel whip around.

Miles and Layla stand on Miguel's platform with your picture, info, and social media pulled up on his halo screens. Everyone is quick to web over, including Miguel. Miguel quickly pushes away a beaming Miles as he takes in all your information. He sees where you went to college, where you work, and…

“Ooohhh! She's still single!” Pav beams, looking at Miguel expectancy.

Miguel rolls his eyes as he keeps looking at you, still as perfect as he remembered. Somehow, you seem more confident in yourself, you seem…sexier…

Feelings start rising back to Miguel's chest. He hasn’t seen you in so long, and even your pictures still stir something within him.

“Wow! This is awesome!” Miles beams, pointing to one of the screens

Miguel, being too lost in your pictures, hasn’t realized what the teens are yammering about until they all start shaking him back and forth in excitement. Then he finally hears it.

“You can see her at your High School reunion! It's coming up in a couple of weeks!”

Miguel turns his head to the invitation Layla had pulled up. “You got this a month ago but didn’t think you would be interested…. It looks like you will be attending now, though!”

Before he can protest, she is RSVPing, and all the teens are hollering in laughter and giving high-fives. Everything is happening so fast that all Miguel can do is stand there in something akin to a trance. That's until Pav comes up to him with a giddy smile,

“It’s like density!”

Miguel groans…he wants everyone to get back to work…

They really got him here….How the hell did he let them convince him to come here? They even managed to get him to dress up…

Hair in its usually slick back style, slate gray button down that did little to hide his bulk, and black trousers that he thought appeared too tight but Layla had insisted upon.

Miguel stands uncomfortably off to the side as people he used to know all gather together, chit-chatting about their lives and reminiscing on the good old days… All while Miguel stays sulking in the corner…Maybe things from high school haven’t changed that much. Well, despite the whole genetic splicing that made him a superhero… Instead of still being the captain of the Mathletes team, he's now the CEO of Aleamax. However, one thing remains the same: When he is in a room filled with all these people from school, his eyes still roam around, trying to find you…

High school had not been kind to a nerd like him. He was 9 inches shorter, and the most important things to him were keeping all A’s, getting into his dream college, keeping up with his favorite comic series, avoiding bullying, and wanting so badly to kiss his crush.

Miguel vividly recalls all those times in chemistry when you two worked so closely together. Miguel shyly mutters the mixing process while you lean in with stars in your eyes, taking it all in. Miguel never knew if you were interested in what he was saying or if you were trying to get a good grade, but he didn’t care. You still made his cheeks flush and heart race all the same.

“Then…When-when you add fluid B to A, you will get a fizzing reaction…”

A shaking Younger Miguel tries to steadily pour in the fluids while you watch, leaning in so close he could smell your sweet perfume and look at your glittery glossed lips.

“Wow! Miggy, you’re so smart.” Your voice would be like sweet honey praising him, and the mere closeness of you to him would make his body feel like it was going to melt.

“I keep telling my friends I have the best lab partner…” Miguel feels his throat dry as your hand slowly curls over his forearm. Then the bell rings, and Miguel is flustered, packing his things as you smile sweetly and wave goodbye.

God, you must have been just messing with him, toying with him, knowing he was like a love-sick puppy for you. The worst part, if this was the case, he would have let you…Miguel would have let you toy and bat away at his heart until you felt content with it fully unraveling to you. Pathic…is that what you thought? Well, if it wasn’t what you thought of him before, it must be what you thought after his pitiful confession…

Miguel thinks back to that night when he last saw you…that all too familiar warmth threatens to take him over, so as he stares down at his drink, he slips back to that moment…

The ceremony had ended, everyone had exited the stadium, and Miguel was taking a second to calm himself in the dark hallway. High school was over, and his life was beginning. He was thinking back on all his decisions for this new chapter. Miguel fidgets with his graduation cap and feels about what awaits him. Then he thinks about the things he missed out on…

Then your face comes to mind…he had vowed to confess; even if you laughed and rejected him, he wanted to get his feelings off his chest. But when it came down to it, he let his shyness get the better of him and let you slip through his fingers without telling you. This was high school? He was sure to like other girls…but why was this eating away at him so much? Why did he feel so sick to his stomach for not doing this…

The sound of clicking heels fills the corridor, and like fate, you are walking through the hallway back toward him. Miguel adjusts his glasses, unsure if this is some kind of halustion brought on by self-pity, but no… it was you…

As soon as your eyes locked to his, your lips curled to that all too familiar smile, the one that was so sweet. Then your voice rang that teasing nickname you graciously bestowed upon him.

“Miggy, what are you doing, silly? Hanging out in the dark…Don’t you want to go celebrate?”

“Oh…... I didn’t plan to go to any parties… just going to go home and get started on some summer reading…”

The smile that curled on your lips was additive as you stepped closer to his slouching form, “hm…Miggy…always so prepared… I’m going to miss seeing you around so much. I’m sure you're the only reason I passed chem!”

“No…I am sure you will have more interesting people to talk to than a nerd like me…”

“Maybe I like talking to nerds like you.”

The statement made Miguel look up to see you so close to him mischive filling your eyes. Leaning in so close to him, he feels like he can’t breathe when he looks at you so close like this…

“You don’t mean that…” he chuckles softly.

Then your index finger lifts his chin, and you look at him with sweet eyes, but your tone is stern, “Don’t tell me what I mean…”

Miguel feels his heartbeat quicken, and his palms begin to sweat. Before he can return to rational thought, he leans into you.

He so gently cups your cheek with his nervous hands. Brushing his nose against yours, his shaky breath fanning over your sparkly glossed lips. Then, when your lips finally meet, he isn’t sure who fills the gap.

The kiss was so sweet, and he held you so gently, but he knew you could feel the shaking of his hands and the heat rushing to his face. Everything around you two seemed to fade.

Eyes shut tightly from falling into the depths of the kiss, he pulls away to breathe. Peeking open his eyes, Miguels sees you are breathless, and your face is burning with a deep blush. You look so surprised... and he doesn't know what to say or how to explain.

“I’m sorry…I just had to do that once…”

Then he ran off… leaving you alone in that dark hallway, scared of what you would say next…

“Miggy!”

“Miguel?”

Lost in his thoughts, Miguel failed to notice that one of his ex-classmates had been trying to get his attention. One of them must have finally recognized him. Looking up from his cup, Miguel expects to see one of his old mathlete teammates, but as he finally meets their eyes, he feels his heart stop at the sight.

Looking up at him with that same sweet smile, you look just like he remembers: completely radiant. Your pictures showed you were still beautiful, but in person, you are the thing he remembers most about you: breathtaking.

“Miguel, that's gotta be you… Do you remember me?” -How could he not remember you?

Miguel feels himself staring at his thoughts, running everywhere; what does he say? What does he do?

“I…I, of course, remember m-my lab partner.” -Okay, a little shaky…But with your face seeming to light up when he says he remembers and your eyes roaming over him, he can’t chastise himself too much for stuttering now. Miguel feels his hands starting to become clammy, and his stomach feels full of butterflies…shit…this feels like high school all over again.

“I can not believe how different you look!”

“Yeah, late growth spurt and I uh… I started going…to the gym a lot….You though! You still look so beati- uh nice…good you look outstanding…” His mind is running a mile a minute, and he can’t believe how he is acting right now! He's Spider-Man, and he’s acting so nervous?

Smirking, you look as if you could read his mind about how nervous he is, though to anyone with working eyes, it was obvious.

“You think I look good?” you ask, playful, making Miguel's eyes take in just how tight your dress is. “I was hoping for beautiful…” you smile, giving him a wink. His blood rushes in his veins, and he swallows his suddenly dry throat.

You could eat him alive…and he would let you…

“Beautiful then, you - uh… you have always looked beautiful…”

“Thank you, Miguel, you look very handsome.” Miguel feels his heart racing as you step closer. Your eyes stay on his confident smile on your glossy lips. It teeters on cocky, and Miguel can’t bring himself to hate it…he loves it…

“Though Miguel, I do have to say…I miss the glasses; they were really cute.”

“I still have some that I wear sometimes,” he says a bit too eagerly.

Your smirk widens, “Really? Does your girlfriend like them?”

“Oh, I don’t have a girlfriend.”

The smirk on your lips borders on sinful “Good…” You purr

Miguel feels a wave of electricity shakes through him. Are you flirting? Miguel can’t help the smile and blush that's now reached to the tips of his ears. Miguel came here thinking that you wouldn’t be here, and if you were, you would be avoiding him, but he didn’t expect this. Do you even remember it? Well, of course, you would! Who forgets getting kissed, and then the person runs? He needs to apologize before he never sees you again.

“So Umm…I am glad I got to see you, well other than it’s just nice seeing you…but I want to apologize…”

“You’re talking about graduation.” Your cheerful voice cuts him off and utterly confuses him. Furrowing his brow, he’s lost and hoping you can explain.

“Miguel, I like the kiss…I wish you wouldn’t have run away…”

Miguel is sure he’s died, and there is no possible way you're saying this to him. Sweet, perfect you, like when he kissed you. Nerdy awkward him? Gently, Miguel feels your hands touching his chest, slowly dancing your fingertips over his muscles. Miguel hopes you can’t feel the way his heartbeat is racing right now.

“You know, now that I really think about it…you owe me an apology or something. It was very rude of you to kiss me suddenly and then run away like that, teasing me. Then, when I went to reach out to you, you didn't have any socials. That's not very nice to do, you know…”

Your hand slightly grazes his jaw, and he feels like he could melt. Rising to your tiptoes, you try to whisper in his ear as you lean into his chest, your chest rubbing against him. Miguel can feel himself starting to break a sweat.

“I thought you were sweet…”

Miguel feels you start to pull away, and in a moment of bravery or desperation, he carefully places his hands on your waist. Leaning down, he whispers back to you.

“Could I make it up to you somehow?”

“I have an idea…if you're up for it?”

Gathering his confidence, when he sees your smile, he squeezes your sides slightly, “Anything you want.”

Without any hesitation, you grab his large hand from your waist and pull him along with you to slip out of the reception room into a dark hallway. The irony is not lost on either of you as you grin and pull each other close. Your lips are so close to his as you lean into his chest.

“You're not going to run away this time. I want you to do this properly this time…”

Part of Miguel feels like he could be dreaming; your arms are wrapped around his neck, your fingers tangled in his hair, smiling at him so sweetly. Your eyes are one of pure hunger, and your voice is so transparent with your want. It’s perfect.

Miguel brushes his thumb over your tempting lips, slightly dragging the bottom down while he tries to archer himself back to reality. Moving his hand to your neck as he leans in and kisses you. Your lips are soft and perfectly guiding against his. Miguel's hands fall to your hips; he digs his fingers into the plush of your skin, making you gasp into his mouth with a moan. It’s been a long time since he’s kissed you, and he wants to make sure you know how much he wants you… trying his hardest to impress you.

The fingers in his hair tighten to a fist as you guide him to part his plush lips, then slip in your tongue to get a taste of him. It’s gentle at first but quickly heats up from your eager influence. Then you start straddling his thick thighs, grinding slightly against him. Both your bodies feel like you’ve been set on fire in a blazing flame of want.

“Miggy, I always like you…just-”

Before you can finish your words, Miguel drives his tongue back into your mouth, eager to taste those words he had always wanted to hear. His hands cup your ass as he drives his knee deeper between your legs, letting you use him more. Breaking the kiss, you let out the most perfect moans as your body tingles and shivers. Miguel hasn’t had enough of you yet as he keeps his mouth kissing against your flushed skin. His tongue rolls over your rapid pulse as you keep grinding and mewing for more.

“Fuck, miggy~”

Miguel licks a long strip up your neck before grunting in your ear, “I… I only came here… to see you…t-talk to you…”

His rough words make you grind against him more, and right as Miguel starts to feel your slick soaking through his pants, you pull his hair, successfully pulling a whimper from him, which is quickly cut off by your soft lips to his again. Then, as you pull away, you bite his bottom lip, which makes him shiver.

“Can…can I take you home…” Miguel asks breathlessly, his hands still squeezing your ass.

A small giggle leaves your kiss-bitten lips as you take a second to fix his now-disheveled hair, thanks to you.

“Take me to your place, Miggy; you still owe me…”

Miguel feels a rush of excitement run through him, making his length throb at your words. You really are going to eat him alive…

It's the perfect sight he’s only ever dreamed of seeing, you sitting on his large bed completely naked, a sweet smile on your face, soft legs crossed over each other, waiting patiently for him. Miguel adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose…you had insisted, and he’s finding he can’t deny you…

Miguel slips off his underwear, kicking them away. Your eyes widen as you see his massive length slap against his abdomen, then hanging heavily. Your eyes rake over his immaculate form; the sight of you licking your licks isn’t lost on him.

“Strip for me, Miggy,” you taunted as you dropped your dress with little effort, waiting for him to follow. Of course, he did. He would follow anything your sweet voice commands. Just please…let him touch you…

Running his hand through his hair, Miguel approaches you, but your sweet voice turns to him in disapproval, and he pauses.

“No walking, I want you to crawl on your hands and knees…please? Miggy~”

Every time you use that old nickname, he feels his cock twitch. Keeping his now blazing eyes on you as he slowly sinks to his knees and begins to crawl to you obediently. The action is meant to make him look submissive, but you find that even now, he looks like a predator getting ready to devour its prey… The shiver that shoots down your spine goes right to your sex, making you drip down on his sheets.

As Miguel crawls closer, you unfold your legs, stretching one out slowly toward him. His large hand immediately catches your ankle. Hungry eyes look up at you, blazing with want, as his hand slowly creases up your leg. Miguel's lips kiss softly against your calf while he whispers faint words under his breath after every kiss. His eyes watch you as he slowly raises your legs, the back of your thighs being pressed against his broad shoulders.

Miguel's hands grab your hips, making you slip a moan. His eyes turn softer as he hears you moan, his lips coming away from the fresh mark he's left on your inner thigh. Miguel's lips part to apologize, but you're quick to interrupt before he can.

Leaning forward, you push his glasses back into their proper place and crease his cheek. “You're doing so well for me, Miguel…though…It does feel like you're trying to make me beg… Are you trying to tease me?”

Miguel's lips curl into a smile as he lowers his face to lick his tongue against your clit. You throw your head back at the hot contact, Miguel groaning at the sweet taste of your cyprine.

“I wouldn’t dream of teasing you…” Miguel's lips lower down to your clit before he gives it a quick lick.

Unable to help yourself, you grab a fist full of his hair, making him let out a soft groan, “Then devore me, Miggy; you still owe me, remember? And I-Ah!~”

Before you can finish your taunting, Miguel is driving his face into your wet sex to selfishly devore more of you. Long slow licks of his warm tongue send waves of pleasure to flood your body as your toes curl from every push of his nose to your clit.

His breaths for air huffing against your quivering sex, the tip of his tongue darting back to lick against your soft folds, making you whine. Looking down at him, his glasses crooked and hazy and his groans continue to vibrate through your pussy. Then the sensation of his tongue probing you open makes you close your thighs against his head and grab this thick hair, pulling hard enough for a grunt to slip through his chest. Getting the message, Miguel moves his tongue to lick your sensitive clit as his finger slips into you. Your grip on his hair gets tighter as you squirm, grinding your hips against his face, mouth hanging open as your chest heaves moan after moan. Your body starts shaking at the addition of another finger, making you feel jolts of pleasure that make you need to roll your hips onto his face more.

Miguel could carless at the apparent use of his face for your pleasure; it's all he craves right now, your cum to dip all over his eager tongue. For your hips grind onto his face for hours. He would stay on his knees worshiping you like this until you're calling out from too much pleasure, and even then, he doesn’t know how he could pull himself away from your delicious taste.

You feel him groan into you, the vibrations rushing through you to cause you to gasp and shiver as his tongue keeps sliding in and out of you, desperate for your sweetness. You want more, need more, you crave it with every roll of your hips; you want him in you deeply. Unclenching your thighs from his head, you pull his hair, forcing his face from you with a wet pop.

Miguel's eyes are blown as he keeps them steady on yours, his full lips parted and panting. The sight of his face glistening with a mix of his saliva and your arousal is sinful and complete perfection. His poor glasses are resting on his face, still lopsided from his ravenous pursuit to taste your cunt. Leaving forward, you keep a smile as you hold his cheek; he immediately melts into it. Grabbing his glasses from his head, you toss them to his nightstand; before he can say anything to you, you're leaning forward to bring him into a kiss. His lips and tongue are laced with you, and you can’t help but want to giggle as he groans and leans his whole body onto you, so needy for more.

With a gentle push to his massive chest, you can change the positions as you now straddle his hips effortlessly. You are slowly running your hands up and down his chest and abdomen, feeling his hair decorating his skin, making your mouth water. As you shift yourself up, you feel his swollen length hanging heavily as you nudge against it. The tip is hot and already pebbling with glistening pre-cum, straining for you to envelope around him. Reaching down, you flick your eyes from his eyes to his length.

Miguel sure has changed over the years, but his face is so breathless and furrowing with every strained pleasure as you slide your thumb over his cocks slit. Whining so softly, sounding like the sweet nerd you remember. On the other hand, Miguel is witnessing you in a way only his mind had fantasized about. Your smile is no longer so sweet but devious; He wants to push his cock into you so deeply and have you shudder and scream while you gush all over him, But this teasing and taunting… it's mouth-watering.

Touching his length, you feel the sheer heat of it as you carefully trace over the soft skin, feeling every vein. Tracing over the red weeping tip, you feel him shudder and mumble something under his breath as you grasp him to hold against you, seeing that he measures to your stomach. You can't help but bite your lip in anticipation of the stretch.

Your eyes flick back to Miguels, “Think it will fit?” you tease.

“I will make it fit…” his rough voice sends a shiver down your spine.

Lifting to your knees, you line up his tip to brush on your clit, making you gasp as you slip him through your folds. Then finally, you slip him in slowly, feeling his cock stretch your fluttering hole; the stretch is intense and makes you roll your eyes as your back arches. Miguel grabs your ass tightly, bucking his hips to sink in a bit faster; he pants a sorry as you let out a moan and squeeze your hands on his chest for support. Looking down at his beautifully blushing face, you only smile as you sink deeper.

“So eager, Miggy~”

All Miguel can manage is a smile as he works hard to keep himself from bottoming out immediately. He so badly just wants to shove it in deeply and rut into you like a damn animal. A groan builds in his throat as he tries to keep himself from whimpering as you continue to sink so slowly. His cock throbbing and stretching your walls as it heats your insides. Before he can manage a whine, you sink all the way down, taking every inch; before either of you can moan, you lean down to catch his lips in a needy kiss, taking control you guide him, your tongue pushes past his lips to taste his groans. While his tongue eagerly does the same. Pulling away from the kiss, you grind against him, relishing in the feeling of his cock pushing in deeper and his trimmed hairs tickling your sensitive skin; you can’t help but bite his bottom lip to compensate for the mind-numbing feeling.

Miguel's hands squeeze harder, making you release his lip as your cunt to clenchs on him, the moan of his name dropping from your lips as your hips start to grind on him at a slow pace. Using your hands, you slightly push yourself up and rock your hips back and forth, letting his cock slide to bully your gummy insides, brushing your cervix with every nudge. Miguels is mesmerized as he roams his hands over your body, worshiping every inch of your skin with his careful fingertips brushing and rubbing you so tenderly. His hands come to your breast, where he takes a minute to squeeze and pinch your nipples, your whimper in response, and grind harder against his cock, pushing him to rub harder against your cervix.

“You look s-so fucking beautiful…your body, your…tatse…I’ve never stopped thi-thinking of you…” Miguel mutters through pants of hot breaths.

The words spur you on, and you start to pick up your pace, making him moan out and guide your hips to rock back and forth faster, “Always so sweet…” you coo to him…the words are less taunting but just true; he has always been sweet to you…

“Only for you…” he muses, and you can’t help but smile,

“Good…”

You feel yourself starting to sip from having a clear head that's now blurring in a haze of lust as you continue to pursue your pleasure on his girth. Pushing in and out on him quicker. Your hands grab onto him tighter as you ravish your tight pussy with his throbbing cock. Begging for both his and your release. Fucking so deep in you, now your jaw falls slack as his cock keeps pushing against your velvety sweet spot, making jolts of pleasure pulse through your body with every bounce.

The sweat that has built on your bodies works hard to try and cool your fevered states, but with every push into your cunt and with every clench around his length rousing him to go deeper makes it all in vain. There is no cooling as you two approach your white hot release, bodies only growing more hot and sensitive with every whine and every mind-numbing push. So close to tipping the other to ecstasy…

With a couple of aided thrust from Miguel fucking up into you, your muscles tenase and your mouth falls open in a pitched scream of his name as your danm burst making you clench and shudder on his cock, coming undone on top of him. You're quivering on his length as he carefully grinds you through your drenching pleasure, the feeling of his cock slipping deeper as you eagerly ride him through your high.

With the way you clench so tightly and grind faster, Miguel couldn't help but feel himself throb and spurt right into your cervix. The feeling of it spurting so thickly, his cock pulsing inside of you, feeling so heavy in you with each twitch. This cum is hot and fills you so that it's leaking down mixing with your arousal, creating a sticky mess. You can't help yourself when you side on more and more feeling your cunt want to stick to his skin.

Haze starting to clear you fall forward on him, you try to catch your breath in between placing frantic kisses to Miguel's chest and neck. Your orgasm leaves you utterly satisfied, but Miguels is not done…

With a quick turning over your body, you're lying on your back now as Miguel situates himself between your legs. He takes time to look over your flushed form, his massive hands dragging over your sensitive body, and you shiver and buck your hips up. Miguel takes your legs, pushing them up to your chest, making your mew from his touch, your pussy completely exposed to him. Miguel feels his breath catch as his cum leaks out of your trembling puffy cunt in milky drops. Miguel releases one of your legs to fall to his shoulder so he can plam his cock, still erect and ready for more. His red eyes flick back to your blisted-out face, and though you're at the point of overstimulation, you still ache for more.

“M-Miggy…” you're the one to tremble shyly for him now, and the switch of the roles makes him fold. He’s helpless for you…

Leaning down carefully, Miguel cages you between his massive arms as he places a gentle, sweet kiss on your begging lips. Breaking the kiss, he whispers in your ear so softly, “More? Can you give me more? Perfect girl…let me feel you again…please…”

Wrapping your arms around his neck, feeling his damp skin, you buck your hips up in your whine of, “More, Please, Miggy ah—I need more of you, always. You are so good to me.”

He catches your hips in a quick grip as he lifts them up, smiling; it's everything he has ever wanted to hear from your sweet lips. And he is always eager to satisfy you.

Miguel slips his cock into you with a groan; you're already so sensitive as he pushes down to the base, filling you so quickly that your body already starts quivering around him. Pressing soft kisses to your sweaty skin, he rolls his hips slow and deep. He is taking his time with you. Every thrust is hot and tingling, and you feel that familiar tense starting to build up again from the consistent pace he's set. Managing to open your eyes through moans and rolls, you see Miguel with beautifully flushed cheeks, eyes filled with want as he softly pants and whimpers with each clench of your wet cunt.

As his pace quickens, you feel him throb, giving you new resolve to meet your hips with each thrust, and your core starts to burn deliciously. Your nails find their place, digging into his broad back. Every slap of his balls to your overly sensitive skin makes you moan and throw your head back. Miguel takes the opportunity to kiss and lick against your neck, his hot breath rushing over you. With a final clench and strained moan, you feel that white-hot wave of pleasure burn through you; his body shudders at the feeling of your cunt, so desperate to cum against him to milk him dry again. His groan borders on a whine as his hips are still, and you feel that familiar throbbing against your cervix as his thick cum fills you up. Looking up at him, you watch his face contort to be in complete pleasure; the sight of it is completely addicting.

Staying in you till you are both down from your highs, he slowly pulls out his softening cock. The pooling of both of your cum completely ruins the sheets underneath you, but Miguel doesn’t worry about that. He brushes stray hairs from your face and whispers he will be right back. You're too exhausted to move, and you can only twitch slightly as you feel a cool cloth cleaning you up so gently.

After cleaning you up, you feel the bed sink beside you and the feeling of an arm around you, bringing you closer to his warm body, his other hand brushing through your hair so carefully. You gather your energy to curl into Miguel with a broad smile. You two lay there, slowly drifting away in each other's comfort.

Clearing his throat, Miguel tries to be as unawkward as possible, and it only manages to make you smile more; you two just had amazing sex, and he’s still nervous; some things die hard, you guess. Looking up at him, you see he’s trying to gather up the best way to approach his next words; this night has been everything he hoped, and he doesn’t want to blow it now, but he needs to know the answer to his question,

“Can-can I…take you out on a date?”

His face is completely sincere and flushed; you have to bite back your giggle before you answer.

“Miggy, about time you asked…”

You two set the date up for the next night; Miguel, of course, wore his glasses…

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nymphomatique · 7 months

Note

-ahem after reading your nerd/loser!Miguel I just CANT ✊😩 ❤ I gonna need ask orrrr request something !...YOU MADE SOMETHING AWOKEN something in me that I i JUST can't explain😵😳 but NEED TO BE RELEASED (😏) and now today I wanted to request my take on it if that ok with you 😌😏

Ok hear me out nerdy loser/horny!Miguel x YOU GUESS IT popular/richfm!reader 😝!!!..

So let me explain the plot first 😌 .so let just say we never seen Miguel (it been an long time since) only remember that name while reader was in highschool and reader was one of Miguel bully I guess.. (even though she not the one laying an hand on him 😒😔) as she just watch as her popular group of friends bullied Miguel seeing him have tear down acting nothing like an man... ( what an man baby)'Which taught was more *interesting* about this nerd. but reader always think he was cute (I guess reader say it in her mind) even if he was an loser nerd at high school and more of an quite guy and only care for work.but the best part of Miguel in high school is that he ALWAYS obey no matwhat towards you/fm!reader 😩(god I don't know if I have to explain the next scene but I think I just hints some 😝😋 blow jobs overstuim- i mean many !! I want to see. Him cry on the desk while reader under it 🗣✊)

This is could be an flash back honestly I don't care 🗣🗣 I hope your doing great and having an awesome day

you were cooking nonnie‼️ i hope this translated well into writing. and yes timeskip crumbs 🤭

cw: no smut in this one folks! timeskip present, mentions of cannabis use, miguel gets bullied ;(, reader saves him tho dw, genuinely just fluff, teeny bit of d/s stuff, allusions to sex at the end. italic text is a high school flashback! enjoy 🫶🏾

“i cannot believe you had braces!” miguel laughs at your yearbook picture. you smack his arm and roll your eyes at his laughter.

“s’not funny. was only my freshman year.” you mumble,

“i’m just kidding honey, you’re still gorgeous, braces or not,” he says, kissing your temple. the two of you were sitting on your couch in your shared condo, looking at your old high school yearbook.

“you’re flattering me to get in my pants,” you quip. miguel wraps an arm around you and kisses your neck whispering low. “don’t need flattery to do that.”

you push his face away and snort. “when did you get so suave, mr. o’hara?” you question. “you weren’t as smooth in high school if u remember correctly.”

“you’d be right, but meeting you changed me for the better, no?” he flips the yearbook pages, finding his picture in the sea of others.

“maybe you changed me,” you say lowly.

“aww, come on pete, lay off him will you?” flash thompson laughs. “nah, he’s too easy,” peter replies. they had been roaming the halls, cutting class to smoke a joint. since peter was out early, he figured meeting you once your class period was over would be fun, high sex in the bathroom stalls was on his bucket list after all, and you never told him no when it came down to a good time.

in the midst of both flash and peter roaming the halls, they had ran into miguel o’hara, clutching his books in his hands during his free period, roaming the halls like them. nudging flash in his shoulder, peter made a show of miguel. he had pushed him into the lockers, feigning accident. miguel hit the rusted metal with a thud, dropping his books in the process.

“oh, did i bump you? my deepest apologies,” peter mocks, flash not even trying to hide his smile. miguel looks up from his place on the ground between the two, rubbing his shoulder that hit the locker. not worth it, he thinks, and moves to reach one of his books. before he can grab it, peter kicks it across the hall. miguel’s eyes stay focused on the ground. “aww, what happened? you got butterfingers, o’hara?” flash laughs.

“pick up your fuckin’ books, you’re blocking the hall,” peter directs towards miguel. miguel stays unmoved, pushing his glasses up his nose, eyes still glued to the floor. peters angry, feeling disrespected. “hey,” he says, and the hostility beginning to bubble in his voice is clear. “you fuckin’ deaf or what? i said pick up for fuckin-”

“the fuck is going on here?” you interrupt, seeing peter and flash freeze for a split second. you had left a while ago to go to the bathroom and skip class, but had decided to stop by your lockers, where you found peter and flash bullying some random.

“hey, baby,” peter begins. your eyebrow raises and he drops the act. “we uh- we were just tryna help h-”

“can it. i can smell the pot off you guys, fuckin’ gross. get outta here before you get caught with no hall pass,” you dismiss both peter and flash. peter makes way to kiss you goodbye but you move your head, your eyes telling him to get the fuck on.

when both peter and flash are long gone down the hall, you turn to miguel. “hey,” you say. he finally looks up at you and you see tears welling in his eyes. you wince, and wordlessly kick his book back to him. watching him gather up his books is almost disheartening, usually you laugh at something this pathetic. your feelings get the better of you, so you walk to miguel and buy your hand on his chin, lifting his head up to look at you. the eye contact sends a weird feeling in your chest, his tear stained brown eyes filled with emotion.

“chin up, dweeb,” you say, touching the tip of his nose and winking at him before you get up and leave, off to see what trouble peter found himself in.

miguel is in shock. that’s the first time he’s ever been talked to by someone popular. a popular girl at that. miguel looks back at your figure walking away, hips swaying with determination and he feels his heart swell in his chest.

“you gettin all sappy on me now, baby?” miguel quips. “funny. you must have forgotten what to address me as. i’ve been too nice to you,” you reply, your gaze intense. miguel swallows and his whole demeanour changes. “i didn’t forget, mistress,” he replies. you smile, getting up from the couch, pulling miguel up by his shirt to follow you.

“that’s my good boy.”

#miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara drabble #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel atsv #sub miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #miguel o’hara imagine #you’ve got mail💌#<nerd!miguel3

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loveliestlovelygirl · 2 months

Text

tangle of strings

pianoteacher!anakin x student!reader

synopsis: mr. skywalker has been your piano instructor since you were fourteen years old. from the moment you met, you knew he was the one. he never expressed his feelings for you vocally, despite all the time you spent together. but after you turn eighteen and prepare to leave for college, he changes his tune.

w.c: 6.9k

warnings!! {minors dni}, dark content, grooming heavily featured, sexual content occurs after the reader is 18, p in v, fingering, oral, fem!reader, gentle dom!anakin, sub!reader, "loss" of virginity, jealousy, religious themes

the content you consume is your responsibility ♡

The piano is the only thing Mr. Skywalker told you that he loved.

He was never spotted with a girl or anyone for that matter in a romantic sense. He was always single, which never made sense to anyone in your small town because he is handsome. He’s always been handsome. His yearbook pictures from high school proved it.

When you would go over to his house for piano lessons, he would show you many things from his life, like his award cabinet, filled with every trophy and certificate he’s won from piano competitions or his yearbook photos. Those photos were one of the first things he showed you. It was one of your first memories of just you and him.

Mr. Skywalker takes a big stack of books off the shelf in his library all at once. Using his strength to balance the dusty books on his arms, he brings them to the reading table where you sit. He takes off the top one and opens it up before you.

Eventually, you find his picture. You cover your mouth as you giggle. He had thick glasses making him look like a nerd. But he was cute. So, undeniably cute to you. You wish he could be the same age. You would want to be his friend. You would want to kiss him.

If you were the same age, he could be yours.

“I wasn’t always like this,” he muses, his large body looming behind you as he looks over your head to gaze at the picture. “I used to be the kid everyone picked on. When I’d get home, I would write a song about how I was feeling. Some of those songs inspired the ones I play at my shows.”

When he talks, you gush. His warm voice is safe. He’s the kind of person you could tell all your secrets to.

And you did tell him everything you couldn’t tell your parents. You’d tell him your deepest secrets. Like the boys you crushed on. Or your new feelings of lust towards them that caught you off-guard as a teen. He understood you like no one else in the whole world. He was the first to know about your first kiss when you were sixteen. And he seemed… jealous when you told him.

“I don’t know how it happened,” you say. “One moment, we were talking and laughing. And the next thing I know, Drew is pushing me down on the bed to kiss me!” you squeal. “But don’t tell my parents. They’ll think I’m a whore.”

Mr. Skywalker pats your shoulder. “Don’t worry. I always keep your secrets. Drew is the boy in your history class, correct?”

You nod, amazed that he would remember. The last time you spoke of Drew had been several months ago. But he always pays attention to even the smallest details. That’s how you know he cares.

“I don’t know if he’s good for you,” he mutters, noticeably bitter about something. “Does he really know you? I think… he doesn’t. He’s probably just trying to use you.”

Mr. Skywalker is much older than you. And wiser. So you take his advice to heart. Maybe you shouldn’t see Drew tonight after all.

“How many times have you been kissed?” you ask him, your voice all innocent. Although your motives were anything but pure. While you might have just shared a kiss with Drew, there is one man who is truly the object of your greatest desires. You just haven’t found a way to tell him.

He shakes his head. “You know I’d rather talk about you.” That’s what he says when you pry too deeply into his private life, which only adds to your secret obsession

Anakin has always been the one thing that rivals your obsession with your instrument of choice. And it’s the only secret you kept from him all through high school because you knew he couldn’t possibly feel the same way about you.

Even if the small touches, the secret looks, and long hugs seemed to indicate otherwise. You were too afraid to ask him what it all meant. He never gave that kind of attention to anyone else.

And as an awkward teen, you were furious that you couldn’t express your love to him directly. You kept telling yourself that you would when you’re older. When you turned eighteen, you would confess to him.

Since you couldn’t tell anyone, even him, about this secret, you’d use the piano to share your soul, to put your feelings out into the atmosphere. When you play, no matter where you are, you feel him sitting on the bench beside you, watching over you.

He taught you everything you know now. He’s the reason you chose to major in Piano Performance in college to the great horror of your parents. But what did they expect? They watched you sacrifice your youth for excellence in your craft. The nights were filled with pools of tears, cries, and screams as you played until you got the part, section, or note just right.

When your fingers rest on the ivory keys, you feel him and nothing else. He’s your muse in every song you write.

The piece that won you a full scholarship to your dream university, you wrote it while thinking of Anakin. Your beloved piano teacher. Your closest friend. Your secret love.

He’d been in your life for so long, giving you lessons when you first showed an interest in music. How could you not love him?

He went to the same church that your family attended every Sunday. He played piano sometimes during worship service if the music minister was out on vacation or fell ill. Church was how your father met him, and they became good friends. He often came to your Sunday lunches.

Your mom always cooked fried catfish or fried chicken because that’s what your dad wanted. Mr. Skywalker, as you called him back in your high school years, would eat two plates of food. He’d say things like “I haven’t had a home cooked meal in years,” even if he was at your house just last week. You would laugh the loudest at his jokes. As you think about them now, you realize they weren’t funny, but you’re in love with him so it doesn’t matter.

After lunch, your parents would take care of the food and dishes, giving alone time with him. Like a young pup, you’d follow him outside on the back porch where you’d sit side by side on the creaky old swing.

“Do you cook or bake?” he asks you.

You haven’t the slightest idea of why he’d ask such a thing. You still lived with your parents. Your mom does most of the cooking. Your dad grills sometimes. “No. I get scared that I’ll burn myself.”

Suddenly, he reaches over for your left hand, the closest one to him, from your lap and holds it between his great palms. “Cold,” he whispers. He massages your fingers to revive them. “I wouldn’t want you to burn your hands. They’re so perfect… for playing.”

Anakin looks down at what he’s doing to you and his expression sours. At the time, you don’t know why. You wonder if you said or did something he doesn’t like because the mood changes instantly. He drops your hand and pats your thigh.

“You have piano hands, remember?” he reminds you. He smiles at you, and you feel secure again.

That’s exactly the thing that you always tell him. His hands spread out further than a whole octave, while you struggle to hit the two octave notes simultaneously without pulling a muscle. His fingers are long, and his palms are wide. You can’t compete with that.

You wonder what other things he’s good at with hands like those.

For the entirety of your high school existence, you pined and pined after him. He was always on your thoughts every minute of every day. You never grew sick of daydreaming about him. And on occasion that was reflected in your grades though you maintained a high GPA regardless. Every week was just your going through the motions of life mindlessly, only waiting for two short hours out of the week on Friday which was when you took lessons with him.

You lived solely for those two hours in which he gave you piano lessons free of charge. He said it was because you had such potential, but still to this day, you like to think he reciprocated some of your feelings even before he actually made a move on you.

For those two hours, you would sit right up against him on the leather cushion of the piano bench and play for him whatever pieces you were working on or things he assigned you from the previous week. He was never harsh with you even when you weren’t getting something.

You throw your hands on the keys, striking a dissonant chord that makes you both wince. Mr. Skywalker instantly pulls your hands away.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” he said with concern. “I promise you’ll get this. It just takes time. I know you practice too much as it is.”

“I want to be good! I want to be a star!” With that, you break down instantly and cry. He never minds when you cry in front of him.

“One day, you will be. I believe in you,” he soothes you, rubbing your back and kissing the top of your head as if you belong to him. He hugs you. “We can try again when you’re ready.”

“Okay,” you say, leaning against him to hear the echo of his heart. His heartbeat is sensual to you, even at sixteen. You can’t explain it. These stupid hormonal feelings you have for him are so wrong. But when you look up into his passionate eyes, you see the man you want to spend the rest of your life with. You have to marry him. You have to.

From the time you were five, you were afraid of thunder and lightning. Terrified by it actually. The fear is still with you today. But it was so much worse in middle school and high school. You started taking lessons from Anakin when you were fourteen years old. And you were still such a child then. You remembered the time it stormed so hard during your lesson that you had to spend the night at his house because it was too dangerous for your mother to come pick you up. But that also meant you couldn’t hide your abnormal fear of a thunderstorm from Anakin.

He had this giant plush rug under the piano. When you asked him about it, he said that it caught the sound. At the tail end of your lesson, the night you had to stay over, lightning struck close to his house and spooked you so much that you shrieked and slipped under the piano, curling up on that soft rug like a scared puppy.

Anakin was such a sweetheart because he followed you there.

“Hey,” he whispers, rubbing your back, “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

You cry into your arms, hiding your face. “I know! I know it’s stupid of me. I just—”

“It’s not stupid. We all have different fears.” After he says that, he lies on his back beside you. “But I won’t let the storm hurt you, okay. We can stay here all night.”

And that you did. You cowered under the grand piano in his parlor all night long. That was the first time you ever cuddled with a boy, only he was a man almost twice your age. But that didn’t bother you. And it seemed not to bother him. He let you hold onto him through the night and squeeze him a little harder when you heard thunder. It has been one of your most precious memories of your piano teacher.

You had always known Anakin could be a little jealous. Any time you would mention your school friends the air would get tense, as if he didn’t want you to have anyone else in your life but him. He never said that, but he didn’t have to. There was always rage somewhere beneath the still blueness of his eyes, but his rage was never directed towards you until you told him that Drew wanted you to be his girlfriend.

You were seventeen. And you were so excited to have your first boyfriend even if you weren’t in love with him. At least people might not tease you for still being a virgin because it wouldn’t be so obvious. Anakin never did make fun of you for your innocence. He always said that it’s okay to wait until you’re ready or for the right person.

Immediately after you share the news of your official relationship with Drew, he freezes and closes the lid to the piano keys.

His jaw is tight. His voice is tense. “Maybe... we should be done for today.” He doesn’t even acknowledge what you said, as if he’s afraid to.

But you have no one else to celebrate with. Drew is a secret you keep from them because he’s not involved in church. “Did you hear me?” you press.

He grinds his teeth hard, and you hear bone against bone. Anakin nods. “I did.”

You nudge his arm. “Well?”

“Well what?” he snaps bitterly. He turns slightly to glare at you. “You know how I feel ab—about him.”

You roll your eyes. Anakin is a dramatic guy sometimes. “Drew isn’t that bad. He can be sweet. And he’s going to take me to prom!”

Anakin rises off the piano bench and pats down his black slacks. “So, you don’t care what I think then?” He’s staring down upon you with overwhelming disapproval. The muscles of his arms bulge when he crosses them over his chest.

Palms against the leather cushion, you hold yourself up. You notice yourself trembling when you realize that he’s not teasing you. He’s very upset... with you. Why would he be—does this mean—does he feel something after all?

“Of course, I do, Mr. Skywalker.”

“I told you not to get close with him!” he shouts. You’ve never heard him raise his voice at you. “He has bad intentions. He’s just a dumb kid. What does he know about loving you?”

You start to sob. “I’m sorry. I thought you might be... happy for me?”

He scoffs. And it sounds like you disgust him right now. “I don’t want to hear about him ever again. I don’t want to know anything about your little boyfriend. Do. You. Understand?”

Having him speak to you that way made you feel like a little girl. And you hated that feeling more than anything else. You knew that you were innocent, and you hated yourself for it because it made you feel inadequate to love the man you really wanted.

But now you’d do anything to have that innocence again. You didn’t realize at the time how free you once were. Growing up was harder than you thought it would be. It almost broke you.

You were lucky to have someone like Anakin to build you back up again, even if he was the one that tore you down that time.

After he yelled at you, you rushed out of his home as quickly as you could. The silence lasted a day. And then he drove to your house and knocked on your door. He held in his hands a bouquet of white roses and on his lips was the apology you were waiting for.

Nothing changed between you after that. Until your next birthday came around.

Up to your eighteenth birthday, your interactions were mostly harmless. But when you turned eighteen, an official adult, the tension between you had changed. The energies you both entertained shifted and became... dare you say... sexual to a degree. Anakin seemed to treat you a little differently now that you were fair game.

To celebrate your eighteenth birthday, he was there. In fact, he was the only one you insisted that mother invite. Not Drew or any of your school friends. Just Anakin. And he had to be there because he really was your one true friend. You couldn’t imagine celebrating your birthday without him. He was always a guest at your birthday parties, but he gave you a special gift this year, one so unforgettable that sometimes you hear it clear as day.

Anakin wrote you a piano solo. One that was simple, sweet, and addicting. You told him to play it again and again. After cake and presents, you made him teach you how to play it. You were very proficient now, and often could play things just by hearing them once. But the chords he chose for your song were unique and shouldn’t have meshed so well together. But they did. Just like you and him. Unlikely friends. Star-crossed lovers in your head.

The two of you stayed at the piano all evening, messing around with the song. By the end, you both had figured out how to layer the notes and chords in an even more perfect duet. Playing piano with him was almost the best birthday gift in the world to you. But it was not what you wished for.

You wished for a kiss.

But that would mean you’d have to tell him how you felt. And you were terrified. As an adult, now you could. It was more empowering than you thought it could be.

But you never did find a chance to tell me on your birthday. You were too afraid to ruin your night with a love confession. You know he would do the right thing and reject you, but that didn’t stop you from dreaming for the impossible.

When you walked him outside to his car—you insisted—your secret birthday wish came true. Not in the way you expected. But a kiss did happen. Your piano teacher kissed you on the cheek. Your face burned the whole night through. You couldn’t sleep because you wanted to know what it meant. He had never used his lips to touch any part of you before.

Physical contact had always been an important part of your bond with Anakin since the beginning. There were always the hugs that lasted just a little too long. And he seemed to always find an excuse to hold your hand. But he was your piano teacher, and the hand-to-hand contact always felt necessary and never strange.

But following your very special birthday, you found him staring at you a little longer, a little more deeply, and he seemed to always find an excuse to touch you, not in a sexual way but in a way that led you to believe the attraction wasn’t one sided.

He’d tuck your hair behind your ears, brush the side of your arm, and sit impossibly close to you that you swore you could almost hear his heartbeat. Anakin had never been hesitant to touch you before, but if there were any boundaries before, they were forgotten by him. And you enjoyed it. His new attention made you feel special and wanted. And that was all you ever wanted.

You began to touch him too. And seek physical attention from him. You would nuzzle his arm. Slip your fingers between his. Tap your shoes against his. He’d always notice, and he always hugged you or kissed your cheek in response.

You two were getting closer than ever before. Sometimes... you would barely touch the keys, getting lost in conversation. At this point, Drew and any other boy you were interested in before might as well have been dead. There was only room in your heart for Anakin.

And you had discovered a way to tell him without using your fragile words.

You sit on the bench waiting for him to get off the phone with his mother. She called him shortly after he let you in. About ten minutes later, he comes back.

“Sorry. I was worried she was in trouble,” he says, taking his spot beside you. “Now, where were we last week?”

“We... didn’t really go over anything.”

He bites into his full lower lip with a mischievous look in his eyes. “What are you paying me for then?”

You laugh because you’ve never once paid him for his time. You nudge his thigh with yours. “Honestly, I don’t really think there’s much more you could teach me.”

He raises a brow. “Oh really?”

You nod. “Actually, I’ve been writing something for you.”

His jaw lowers, and his mouth hangs open slightly. “How long have you kept this secret?”

“Since my birthday.”

He slips his arm around your back and rests his hand on your hip. “I’m impressed. Show me?”

You gulp heavily. That had been the plan today. It is ready for him. He’d never judge you even if it were bad. But you know that it’s not. You know that he’ll know what this piece means. He knows you too well. He’s too perceptive of everything. You wrote it in his favorite key, C minor.

With your hands a little shaky, your fingers glide softly across the piano and press down powerfully in chords. Through music, you profess your love. Anakin sits beside you and waits for you to finish. When you do, he’s waiting, staring with tears thickening his dark eyelashes. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t say anything, but you know... he knows how you feel.

You tug on his shirt, drawing him closer. A war of heart and mind reflects on his face. He’s doubting what he wants. His resistance is half-hearted. It isn’t long before he scoops you up in his arms and kisses you. This time his mouth is on your lips, wetting them, and tugging them apart to fill you with his tongue.

Drew was never this good. His mouth was sloppy and tight. Anakin kisses like he’s done this a thousand times before. And he kisses like he wants you. Like he’s wanted you for such a long time, despite how wrong you both know that is.

He holds you down in his lap, and you hug him tightly, carding your fingers through his dreamy hair. You start to feel lightheaded because you haven’t been able to breathe, but you don’t want to stop him. If you stop him, he might think and realize that he doesn’t want you anymore.

But you’re dying. Turning blue. You tap his shoulder. And he stops devouring you. His lips sparkle when he smiles. “Too much for you, baby?”

You sharply inhale, finally catching your breath. You shake your head. You want more. You need it. More isn’t even enough.

You spend the whole lesson entangled with one another until your mother comes to pick you up.

For the next month, that’s all you did. Kiss and kiss and kiss. Breathe and breathe and breathe. And kiss some more. You wondered why he was waiting to take you to his bed. You wanted that with him, but he never asked you to go that far. He seemed afraid. Even when his affection was overflowing in passion as you always knew it would be, it was clear that he was holding himself back. Did he need you to tell him what to do?

Your make out sessions extended beyond just your lesson time. Whenever he would come over to your house, he would go upstairs with you to your bedroom, and you’d end up tangled in the sheets. Though with every item of clothing on. Your parents never suspected anything was happening to their young, virtuous daughter. They trusted him completely. And so did you. You would have done anything he asked of you no matter the risks.

Even at church, he’d find a way to get you alone. In the girl’s bathroom. During the preacher’s sermon.

Anakin lifts you onto the sink and spreads your legs out so that he can fit between them and get close to you. Thumb under your chin, he tilts your face up to his. He grins before going in for a kiss.

Your lavender baby doll dress rides up your thighs as he inches closer. He presses up against the crotch of your panties. The dampness is cold against your tender flesh. His erection only grows as the friction between you builds, your bodies rubbing against each other in a clothed attempt to satisfy yourselves sexually.

And now you’re glad you waited and didn’t mess around with Drew like he wanted when you were together. Because that means Anakin could be your very first.

He freezes up when you try to unbuckle his big belt. Anakin looks at you strangely, almost disturbed by your actions.

You lean to his ear and whisper, “I. Want. It.” You had thought your seductive voice would be enough to cast him off the edge of all hesitation, that he’d bend to your will and give you what you want.

But all you did was kill the fire.

Head shaking, he backs away. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

And you didn’t see him for nearly a month after that. But you don’t regret what you said. You were tired of just endless make out sessions. It seemed so immature, and you knew you were ready for something real.

All of those memories, those beautiful capsules of your favorite times with Anakin, are the reason you find yourself on his doorstep, a quarter till midnight in the pouring rain.

Complete desperation.

You took your moms car without permission just to drive over despite the threat of a storm. And you’re still deathly afraid of them. But you came anyway. Because tomorrow, you’re leaving for college. You might not get another chance to fix things. Death would be better than living another moment without him.

“You haven’t been answering my texts or my calls, Anakin.”

The door is barely cracked open, just enough that you can see his pale face. Dark circles surround his rainy eyes.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he mutters, not even making eye contact.

Thunder echoes behind you. The wind blows your hair around. Leaves rustle, filling the silence between you both. It’s going to storm soon. You had been stupid enough to drive to his house just before a storm. But you couldn’t take not knowing what had happened to him and why he was dodging your calls.

The eyes that used to linger a little too long won’t acknowledge you even as you stand in front of him.

“Why are you being like this? This isn’t you!” you nearly scream. You’re so afraid that he’s not only pushing you away but also ejecting you from his life completely, as if the memories you share can be erased. He’s engrained in almost every memory you have.

“It can’t happen. Go away.”

He tries to close the door on you, but you stick the toe of your right shoe in the crack before it shuts.

“Please… please don’t do this.”

Anakin’s eyes are bloodshot as if he’s been crying. “What I want isn’t right. I can’t do it. I don’t know if I could live with myself after.”

Does he really hate me so much? Is that the truth? Perhaps it’s your naivety, but you won’t let him go so easily. You have suffered in silence for nearly a decade, pining after him, waiting for him to reciprocate the depth of your feelings. Your hands shake as you reach out to him. If he would just… hold your hand like he used to, then maybe everything would be alright.

Your fingertips brush against each other. You feel the spark instantly, and it travels down your spine, leaving you wanting to touch him more.

“What about what I want?”

Anakin blinks several times before he speaks. It’s as if he didn’t consider your feelings in this decision. “You’re… not in a position to see things clearly. You’re—”

“Don’t say it!” you exclaim, squeezing your fists. “I’m not a child. I’m all grown up. And you know it. You see it.”

Anakin sighs a long time, his eyes scanning down your body. “Of course, I see it. But that doesn’t make it okay.”

Though you can never overpower him, you still try to force the door open. “Just let me in. We can talk. Just let me talk to you.”

Anakin’s frown is firm, and his stillness enforces that he’s not backing down. “I don’t know. If I let you in… if you cry… I’ll want to hold you. Then things might happen. I don’t know if I can control myself around you.”

Hugging yourself, you gaze upwards, into eyes that finally meet yours. His eyes reveal his mourning, his grief, his lust. It’s the latter that sends shivers through your body. The knowing that he wants you is more than you can take.

“I don’t want you to.”

There.

You said it.

You have told him exactly what you want. And if you hadn’t made it painfully obvious before, he knows now that you’re no longer thinking like a little girl.

Following a sigh of defeat, he backs away from the door, and you move in.

All the lights are off in his home. He must have been sitting in the dark like a vampire. The piano lid is open. He never left it open unless he was actively playing.

Anakin strides across the room to seat himself on the piano bench. He taps the spot next to him. “You’re right.... We should talk. Talk. Nothing more.”

Sitting beside him here feels like the most natural thing in the world. Here, you’re not afraid to speak from the heart. He’d never judge you even if he disagrees. But you’re not so sure he disagrees this time.

He wants you too.

“I couldn’t let you go back. I can’t believe you drove in the rain.”

You shrug. “It’s just rain. The storm hasn’t—”

The windows flash like they would in a horror flick, and thunder comes after. With a whimper, you grab onto his arm.

“I can drive you back home once we talk,” he says emotionlessly, gently pulling you off him.

But you double down and grab his arm, tugging him back again. “Don’t push me away.”

He doesn’t do it again. He stills. And sighs. “That’s the last thing that I want to do.”

With your chin resting on his sleeve, you look up at him, wide-eyed. “Just kiss me like you always do. And don’t think about it.” You stretch your arm out and fiddle with the top button of his dress shirt. “I’m not thinking.”

His chest rises and falls with his breaths. He doesn’t stop you as you unbutton his shirt.

When you rise on your knees, you’re at eye level. He’s so much bigger than you even now. He makes you feel so small. Holding onto his arm, you lean close and peck his clean-shaven cheek. He winces as if you pricked him with a needle.

“Angel, I shouldn’t.”

You kiss him again, closer to his lips, almost tasting him. “It’s me. Don’t you want me?”

Finally, he turns and looks in your eyes. Then at your mouth. “Don’t tell anyone. You... understand how this might look. What they might say about—”

“I’m good at keeping secrets,” you whisper. “What’s one more?”

You finish unbuttoning his shirt for him. Taking care of him feels good. You run your fingertips down his chest and his abdomen. His bare skin. It’s soft and warm. Suddenly, he grabs your wrist.

“Cold hands,” he murmurs. He takes your hands between them. He rubs his hands over your fast to warm them with friction.

“Sorry.”

Still rubbing your hands, he stands and leads you to the back of his grand piano near the flashing window.

Any other time, you would be trembling in fear because of the loud storm, but tonight you’re trembling because of the new feelings bubbling inside you. You’ve never been so aroused before.

“Can I hold you?” he says as pulls you into his embrace.

You can hear his steady heartbeat and feel it pumping right against your sensitive ear. Your piano teacher holds you against him and tangles his talented fingers in your hair. He sniffs your neck before taking a bite. His teeth pinch your flesh, and his tongue soothes you. The pain he leaves in several spots along your neck means that he’s marked you as his.

Your own heart is racing at lightning speed. You can’t think. In his arms, you’re helpless to his whims. You need him to tell you what to do. All you want is to please him.

“I’ll do anything,” you whisper to him so weakly you question if he hears you.

Anakin slowly unzips the back of your dress. “Consider this a teaching moment.” His voice doesn’t sound like it usually does. The undertones are sultry and possessive. “I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to—” He stops to pull down your dress, and his eyes wander over your pretty body. You wore transparent lace underwear and a matching bralette. He can see everything you hide from the rest of the world.

And he tells you, “You’re perfection.”

That makes you want to kiss him so badly. You try to lift yourself to reach his lips, but he’s too tall.

“Be patient,” he chides. “I want you to lay down first.” He guides you under the piano.

You lie down on your back atop the giant rug. Instantly, relaxation takes over as you remember all the times you used to lie here with him, hiding from the storm. Never did you think this would be the place where you’d give yourself to him. This must be meant to be.

He follows you after fully undressing. His body is every inch a man’s. His size makes you feel so small. He runs the risk of crushing you with his weight.

Lying on his side, he looks down at you, watching his own fingers running under the elastic of your lacy panties. “Take these off and spread your legs.” He whispers kisses to your cheek. “You can do that for me, can’t you?”

Nodding, you do as you’re told and wiggle out of your underwear. He snatches them from you and crunches them in his hands before throwing them over his shoulder. You proceed with fanning your legs open. The air is frigid as it touches you.

Anakin is looking where no one else has. “I’m so proud of you for waiting. Saving yourself just for me.”

You gasp as he kisses you between your legs. He kisses you there for a long time. It feels strange and wonderful. The feeling building inside you makes you moan and your toes curl. You feel so good your body aches. You hear your own heartbeat. You breathe but can’t find relief. Nothing soothes the need inside you but his mouth, his lips, his tongue. And before long you hit the breaking point, pleasure storming through your body from your place beneath him. Your cries are dampened by the thunderous sounds outside, but he hears you. He stops to look at your face. Making eye contact with him heightens the vulnerability of the situation. The intense way he looks at you burns. He notices every little change in your expression.

Anakin knows he made you feel good, but he still asks, “Did you like that?” He brushes the wild strands of hair away from your face. You know you’re precious to him. He sweetly kisses your forehead. “I like your taste.”

Your cheeks are seared by that comment. You cover your eyes, not wanting to let him see how he’s affecting you. “I did like it.”

“Do you want to do more?” He kisses your lips this time, and you taste yourself. “I don’t want to push you if you’re not ready.”

“I am ready!” you lift your head up and cup his cheek. “Don’t make me wait longer. I’m leaving tomorrow.” You bite your lip, knowing how dangerous what you’re about to say is because of who you’re saying it to. “Do you really want some college guy to be the one who gets me first?”

As if trying to reject the image you gave his mind, he closes his eyes and tightens his jaw. “No,” is his short answer. From the way his lips are pressed together, you know he wants to say more, but he’s saving you from his own selfish anger.

“Me either.” You rub his cheek with your thumb. “Anakin,” it feels right to call him by his first name instead of Mr. Skywalker, “I’ve waited for you. I always knew this would happen.”

He chuckles lightly. “I never gave you permission to use my name. Don’t forget—” he grunts as he slides two of his fingers between your slick folds and pushes them inside, “your manners, young one.”

These same fingers were the ones that rested atop yours when you were first learning to play piano. They pointed to the right key when you played the wrong note. They pointed to the sheet music to guide you along for all these years. They held your hands when they were cold.

And now he’s using them to teach you something new. But he’s just as skilled at fingering you as he is with music. You’re like his new instrument. He’s plucking all the right strings in just the right way to make you cry out for him. With your body pliant, he controls when you come. He doesn’t make you wait for it. He uses his thumb too and nudges until you come. It’s wetter than the last. And he instructs you to lick his fingers off when he’s done.

“Do you want to keep going?” he asks again. “Don’t hate me for asking.” He hangs his head a little.

What he doesn’t understand is how insatiable he’s caused you to be. There were so many times you thought you might explode from how desperately you wanted him. But now it’s okay if that does happen.

“Keep going. Please,” you beg. You’re not ready to stop. You’ve waited for this moment since you were fourteen years old. If it were up to you, you’d live here forever.

“If that’s what you really want,” Anakin moves from lying at your side to settling himself between your legs.

“It is,” you reassure him. Holding onto his neck, you pull yourself up a bit. “Can you kiss me too?”

He grins before pushing you down, his large hand spread out over your soft stomach, and he chases your lips as you fall. You’re partially distracted by his mouth as his cock slides inside you. You had expected it to be more of a challenge, all things considered. Throughout high school, your friends always complained about how much it hurt their first time. Some girls bled too. And that had scared you, which is one of the reasons you never took Drew up on his many offers of a “good time.” Deep down you knew he wouldn’t treat you right. But Anakin clearly is experienced with having sex. Maybe he wasn’t as alone as you thought he had been all those years.

This being your very first time, it does sting when he fills you completely, his bony hips pressed against yours. You feel the tightness and the stretch. But you enjoy how it feels. You’re so close to passing out just because this is as close as you can get to someone.

Anakin rocks in and out slowly. Maybe he can feel that you’re tired. He’s being gentle with you despite how much he wants to rail your cunt to shreds. You can tell when he’s holding himself back. He has that weary, pained look in his rainy eyes. A part of you wants to tell him that it’s okay. Let go. But you both know that you couldn’t handle the full extent of his lust.

“Can I come inside you?” he asks before sinking his teeth into a bruise along your neck.

Short of breath, you answer, “I said... anything.”

“Okay,” his shaky voice whispers. He buries his face into the curve of your neck and moans your name into your skin. He pulls your hair gently as he finishes, his heat spreading through your core. It’s so much that you feel it leaking out.

After, he holds you there all night long. He doesn’t let you leave. And you wouldn’t want to escape.

The three words he says to you as you leave his house the morning after, you realize that he’s lied to you all the years you’ve known him.

The piano isn’t his only love or his only obsession.

It’s an outlet, and yet a mask for his sin nature which you understand more deeply than any other girl ever will.

He’s kept his real obsession hidden from everyone but you.

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feeder86 · 1 year

Text

Acting Out

Cam could definitely say he’d given it his best shot. After years of dreaming about being a star, he’d packed up his things and headed straight to Los Angeles at the age of eighteen. He’d been convinced that he could make it; that he had what it took - even his high school Yearbook had said so. When he got the commercial job, he’d been sure that it was the start of big things for him. But that was six years ago now.

Fed up of living in a dump and barely making enough from working in a trashy downtown bar, Cam had finally decided that enough was enough. There was always going to be someone better looking than he was; someone more talented and versatile. It was time to admit defeat and head home.

Cam had been surprised by how many of his old high school buddies had wanted to meet up for a drink upon his return. Everyone had seen the commercial he’d done and, for a small town like this, Cam realised that, in their eyes at least, he’d made something of himself during those awkward early years of adulthood.

“So what’s your plan now you’re back home?” Fin asked, as the conversation remained steadily focused on Cam.

Cam shrugged. “Get a job, I guess. Start trying to work my way out of my folk’s place.” It was something that was easier said than done. He’d not paid all that much attention in school and had since breezed from one bar job to another, never picking up much in the way of experience or skills.

“That home decor place by the old quarry is looking for someone,” Daz jumped in. “I saw a sign up in their window.”

“I hardly think Cam wants to spend his time just selling bathroom tiles,” Fin countered, as if he was trying to protect Cam’s imaginary celebrity status.

“Isn’t that where Kirk Ploughman works now?” Bill asked with a smirk.

Cam’s mind whirred into life at the mention of the name. He hadn’t thought about Kirk in years. The guy had been high school royalty, with his tall frame and built, lean, muscular body that seemed a biological impossibility for someone who was just eighteen. When he’d run with the football, guys didn’t want to go in for that tackle. But he hadn’t been all that interested in school and, consequently, Kirk had shared many of the same classes with Cam; though neither of them had ever really taken the time to get to know each other. Still, he’d been great eye-candy back then. “Kirk Ploughman?” Cam asked, feeling the familiarity of that name as it rolled off his tongue. “He still lives in town? I thought he’d have been signed up for some big football club by now?”

Cam had no idea what it was about what he’d said that had been so funny, but suddenly everyone around him had burst into fits of laughter. “Kirk Ploughman?” Bill echoed, chuckling. “A professional athlete? Geez! You can tell you haven’t been back here for some time!”

“Why?” Cam asked, feeling completely lost as the laughter continued rolling around the room. “Did something happen?”

“Kirk started to put on a little weight after high school,” Fin explained over the chorus of laughter.

“A little weight?” Bill retorted. “Now that’s a fucking understatement! Every time I see the guy he’s gained about fifty pounds of fresh blubber!”

Cam blushed. He both loved and hated tales such as these; ones where high school jocks became consumed by their own gluttonous appetites and started to balloon. There was something so erotic about it. They were fantasies he’d jacked off to his whole life and developed into a kink that he just couldn’t seem to shake off. Even now he could feel his dick hardening.

“Oh, I see him all the time down the supermarket,” Vinny added, pulling a face of utter disgust. “You only need to take one look in his shopping cart to see why he’s probably close to five hundred pounds now.”

Now Cam’s dick really did pulse and stiffen. Kirk Ploughman, a five hundred pound superchub? It was like the ultimate fantasy. It was all he could do to resist the urge to ask if anyone had a picture.

“Yeah, I don’t think you want to be stuck working with Kirk,” Bill finally summarised. “I don’t think the fat fuck gets off his ass much to do anything around that place. You’d probably have to do his job as well as your own.”

The seed had been sown. Cam knew he’d need to go and enquire about the job tomorrow; even just for curiosity’s sake. The erotic images he had of Kirk in his mind right then were just too enticing to ignore.

The store was every bit the small town cliché. A little bell rang as Cam opened the door and he had the sense that the place was waking up from a late morning nap. He looked around, spotting an older guy at the counter and headed straight over. He’d begun by asking about the job, and the man, calling himself Bob, had seemed so relieved that someone was in there asking about the position. Cam soon found himself agreeing to a paid trial shift right there and then. For the next two hours, he’d learned almost everything there was to know, while only a handful of customers came in to interrupt them.

“Our busiest days are at the weekend,” the older man explained. “The other regular guy who works here is… Well, you get used to him. I sold him part of the business a couple of years ago when I wanted to step back from it. However, I’m not quite sure how up for it he really is. Anyway, you’ll be working with him a lot.”

“You mean, Kirk?” Cam asked. “I knew him in high school.”

Bob seemed relieved that he didn’t need to go on explaining about Kirk. He’d taken an obvious amount of care with the words he had chosen to desscibe Kirk and tried to phrase things with such diplomacy, it was like he had been put on trial. With that done, he simply shook Cam’s hand. “Welcome to the team!”

As Cam started work early the next day, he found the vibe of the store very much changed. Rock music was blasting from the back room and, with only half the lights switched on, the store seemed oddly disorientating. He shouted to the back, not wanting to progress behind the counter right away and potentially startle whoever was on the shift with him that day, but there really was no choice. He stepped gingerly into the little room at the back, where the loud music was coming from, only to see a very large, spherically shaped guy snacking from a tall stack of buttery toast he’d just made himself and slurping on a can of soda.

So engrossed was he in his breakfast, the guy had yet to notice him and Cam simply watched as the enormously fat man demolished a slice of toast in seconds. It was Kirk, even under all that fat, there was no doubting it. He’d grown a thick, stubbly beard that failed to conceal the fact that his neck was no longer visible. All traces of the jock physique had gone and Cam found himself almost swooning as he surveyed the size of the guy’s blubbery chest and nipples. Still, it was his gut that was the main event. So round and ball-like, it sat in his lap, filling most of it with ease. And those ginormous, doughy arms, that had once been so strong and muscular, now strained the fit of the already tight work shirt Kirk was having to wear.

“Hello,” Cam waved, using his arms to grab Kirk’s attention, realising that he had to stop silently standing there like some sort of creepy stalker.

Kirk raised his eyebrows and looked over. He nodded and pushed the remaining half of one of his slices of toast into his greedy mouth, put his plate down, and then carefully lowered the volume of the speaker.

“You’re the new guy?” Kirk asked. Already his tongue was licking his lips like he wanted another slice of his toast. Still, he squinted at Cam and then finally raised his gigantic body up. “It’s… Cam, right?” he considered, as if he had lifted the name up from the bottom of a very deep well.

Cam outstretched his hand and reintroduced himself, surprised at how buttery the palm of Kirk’s large hands actually felt. It hadn’t taken long for them to get the small talk over with and it was immediately clear that Kirk didn’t have the same fascination about his life in LA as everyone else he had met so far. Cam knew he’d gone a little far, choosing a job simply because he’d been turned on by the thought of working with such a superb specimen of ‘ex-jock’. But now that he was here and Kirk was standing in front of him in all his lardy, five hundred pound glory, he realised that he really didn’t want to be anywhere else.

“Oof! Check her out!” Kirk whispered slyly, later that day. He nodded his head towards a very large woman, probably twenty years older than both of them, pulling a face that immediately spoke of his attraction to her.

Cam looked over at the big woman, hardly believing that Kirk, the sexiest guy in their high school, who had dated every hot girl in their class, was now checking out such a plain, obese woman in her late forties. “I take it you’re an ass man then?” Cam simply replied, seeing the enormous butt on the lady as she turned around.

“I do like some junk in the trunk,” Kirk nodded, fixated at the sight of the massive glutes. Then, for the first time in at least three hours, the man picked himself off his extra large chair and started striding over, his chest puffed out, ready to help the new customer.

Cam felt his dick harden for the hundredth time that day. Kirk’s own ass was so wide and thick as he headed over to the big lady. But something about seeing Kirk getting aroused had also turned Cam on; like it was an enticing window into the ex-jock’s mind.

“She’s married,” Cam grunted as he returned a couple of minutes later. “I saw the wedding ring. Lucky bastard!” he went on, throwing himself back down into the aching, tortured chair. Then, he simply reached under the counter to the mini-fridge he’d set himself up with, and took out another can of soda to crack open.

Cam slowly started to realise why everyone he had spoken to about Kirk regarded him with such disdain. The guy simply had no matters at all. He was a slave to his own appetite, constantly grazing throughout the day and throwing out large, guttural burps, no matter how many customers were wandering about in the store. Cam could also have counted on a single hand how many times the man had gotten up off his chair; lazily sending Cam as often as he could.

Not for the first time, Cam found himself wishing that he could rid himself of his strange infatuation. Why did he find Kirk’s gluttony, slobbishness and lazy work ethic to be such a turn on? It wasn’t normal! Yet, he knew for certain, there hadn’t been anyone in his entire life he’d had a crush on like this. Five days into his new job and Cam knew he was absolutely lost to it. The amount of calories he’d seen Kirk take down had been out of this world, and he came, thinking about just that, within five minutes of getting home each night.

It was easy to see why Kirk kept a plentiful stash of soda cans in his little fridge at work; with faulty air conditioning, the place could start to feel uncomfortable very quickly. But he was also generous to share them out with Cam. The days could be long and boring when fewer people came into the store. Kirk’s interests lay more with the online aspect of the business, which he himself had initiated; explaining that there was a surprising amount of cash to be made in selling on discontinued lines that were hard to come by. Kirk could buy and sell thousands of dollars worth of tiles without even having to get up off his wide rear; it was an enterprise that was bound to keep the business afloat for many years to come; even on those slow days in the store.

“Here,” called Kirk, sliding a can of soda down the counter to Cam. “Have another one. You need a sugar boost. You’re looking tired.”

Cam nodded and popped the can open, taking a long slurp. Kirk was right; hot, stuffy days like this tended to leech all the energy from his body as he looked at his watch and saw that he still had another four hours to go. There was just something about the building; the enormity of it and the stale air inside. Kirk offered him one of his doughnuts and Cam took it gratefully, already starting to feel a little perkier. “Any collections you need me to get ready?” he asked Kirk, checking on the online orders, desperate for something to do.

“Maybe later,” Kirk replied dismissively, taking a large slurp from his own soda and then cracking out another, after a long, drain-like burp. “You should listen to this…” he went on enthusiastically, clicking for a song to play on the computer. Kirk was passionate about his rock music and Cam was slowly acquiring quite an education about it all; especially after Kirk had downloaded some tracks for him to listen to at home. “Pretty good, huh?” he smiled as the heavy drums came into their own.

Cam had to admit that he quite liked Kirk’s taste in music and the pair of them sat there for the next hour, playing track after track as the large box of donuts slowly diminished.

“So, what’s it like working with Kirk?” Bill asked a few weeks later, as Cam met up with some of the guys once again.

“Well, Kirk pretty much runs the place; so it’s more like I’m the one working for him,” Cam clarified.

“I bet it’s a complete shit show if Kirk’s in charge!” Vinny joked. “My sister had to coach him through algebra back in high school. He’s not exactly the brightest crayon in the box, is he?”

Everyone laughed, happy to mock Kirk, just like last time. It made Cam’s jaws clench and his teeth start to grind in frustration. Kirk’s rapid weight gain since high school had left him exposed to unjustified assumptions about his intelligence from everyone else. “Actually, Kirk’s business model is very successful,” he countered. “Some days, Kirk can make more cash sat on his butt than you guys make in a month. He’s even buying more of a stake in the business, so he’ll be the majority owner.”

It was hard for the guys to think of a witty retort to the revelation that Kirk did have some business sense after all, but they soon managed it. Cam was relieved when the conversation finally turned away from the subject of his new boss. He swallowed down his third beer and burped to relieve the gas that had quickly built up in his stomach. The others laughed, but looked at each other, seeming perplexed to see their suave LA buddy showing such a blatant lack of manners. It made Cam blush slightly, thinking to himself: had he been spending too much time in Kirk’s company?

Cam had received more shifts at the store than he had been expecting. During the week, it was pretty quiet, but Kirk seemed to like the fact that he could concentrate on the online sales, without customers getting to him. For the most part, it was easy money; despite the long hours. Kirk was decent company and he didn’t mind closing up for an hour or so as they went for lunch somewhere. Kirk always paid, as his way of knocking off some tax for the business. It meant that Cam was slowly building up a little pot of savings, ready for him to rent his own place. Living with his folks had been a welcome relief after struggling for years in LA; but now he was more than ready to move on. Not least because of the tightness he was starting to feel in his clothes as he dressed for work each day. His mother’s home cooking had always been a comfort, but without a gym subscription or the metabolism of a teenager, Cam slowly felt like he was constantly bloated. It was mortifying. He’d met up for some fun with a guy a few nights earlier who had directly called him out on it, claiming that he looked much ‘chubbier’ in real life. Chubbier! Really? Back in LA, he’d had to work hard to maintain his image, always waiting for that big break just around the corner. Had he really let things slide that badly since he’d come home?

“There’re some fresh pastries in the back,” Kirk pointed as Cam arrived at work the next morning.

Cam had bought some more relaxed pants for work but his mom had obviously shrunk them, trying to help him with his washing even though he had asked her not to. They pinched into his hips, making him grumpy as he helped himself to a couple of the pastries. What a waste of money buying these pants had been!

“What’s got you in a mood this morning?” Kirk asked, spotting Cam’s frustration as he wriggled to get comfortable in his restrictive pants.

“I need to get out of my parents’ place,” Cam huffed. “They mean well but… fuck! I need my own space!” he sighed, reaching under the counter to help himself to a cool soda from the small refrigerator. He cracked it open and chugged it like an ice cold beer after a long day of hard labour.

“I know that feeling!” Kirk nodded. “I moved out not long after high school. I just needed to feel more in control of my own life,” he went on, placing both of his hands on the shelf of his giant stomach and watching as Cam took large bites out of his pastries.

“Do you still do much with your family?” Cam asked, realising now that Kirk had never mentioned them before.

“Not really,” Kirk replied. “My dad really wanted me to take the football thing more seriously and when I told him I was bored of it and preferred eating cheeseburgers instead, he never quite forgave me. I knew I had to get out of there if I was ever going to have the sort of life I really wanted for myself. They actually moved out of town about four years ago.”

“Ouch!” Cam responded, feeling bad for his friend. “That must have been rough?”

“Nah,” Kirk replied dismissively. “It’s awesome, not having to worry about their looks of disapproval, seeing them around town.” One hand rubbed against his belly as if it comforted him. He stood, getting the box of pastries from the back room and plopping them down on the counter between them as the two men prepared for another quiet day.

“Hey, Bob, do you have any more work shirts in your van? My mom has done my washing again and…” he raised his arms to show how short and tight it had become, “...she has a tendency to shrink stuff.”

Bob didn’t do many shifts, and even fewer where he was paired up with Cam, but he looked at the fit of Cam’s shirt without any hint of humour. “I’m sorry, I should have warned you about Kirk,” he sighed. “He has a habit of doing this.”

“Doing what?” Cam asked, starting to search for the box of shirts himself.

“If Kirk offers you food, just say no,” Bob stated with absolute certainty. “I’ll find you a new shirt for now, but…” He scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “He does this every time. He starts putting a little gut on all the guys who come work here,” the older man grumbled, shaking his head in disapproval. “Kirk is a lovely guy, don’t get me wrong, but his sense of humor is warped. Just be aware that he’s more than likely getting some sort of weird thrill out of playing with you.”

Cam’s eyebrows furrowed. “I’m not quite sure what you mean?” he asked, despite already starting to feel his heart racing with inexplicable adrenaline.

“Don’t get me wrong, I think the world of Kirk. I was friends with his grandfather back in the day and I’ve known him since he was a little boy. But how does a strapping football athlete from a good family suddenly get a giant, fat belly like that on him?” he asked, pointing at the enormous, empty chair where Kirk usually sat during his shifts; the lower cushion flattened into a dish shape by the huge heavy rear. “We watched it happen when he was nineteen. He was such a good-looking boy, but folks in town said he was stuffing himself like he actually wanted to get fat! And he was dating these really fat… and I mean FAT women,” he repeated for emphasis, holding his short arms out almost as wide as they would go. “Believe it or not, that massive chair was what he asked his family to get for him for his twenty-first birthday. And he’s spent the last few years eating as if he’s actively trying to outgrow it. Have you heard the way it creaks now?” he asked, shaking the tortured frame of the chair. “Before he went into a home, his grandfather asked me to take him on here; see if I could sort him out a bit and give him some stability. But…” he pointed again at the empty chair, “...I think what the people in town said was true: he wants to be fat. And I think he gets off on seeing it happen to other people as well.”

Cam’s dick was tingling in his pants and he knew that he’d need to sit down pretty fast. The idea that Kirk enjoyed being fat wasn’t a complete surprise, but the thought of him getting some sort of erotic thrill out of pushing extra calories on Cam was a strangely arousing prospect. He snuck off to the bathroom fairly soon afterwards and just gazed at himself in the privacy of the mirror. How long had it been since he’d allowed himself to properly appraise his reflection like this? But now that he was looking, it was obvious how much his middle had been thickening. Was it Kirk who had convinced him that it was his mom shrinking his clothes in the wash? Cam hadn’t given that idea any consideration at all. It had been a lie; a cunning lie, implanted into his head as Kirk brought in more and more delicious treats as the weeks had gone on. Had Cam… had he actually been… fattened up on purpose?

The next day, Kirk was already back in his seat, with the early morning radio blasting out before the doors officially opened. “I was in the mood for muffins this morning,” he stated casually. “Help yourself.”

Despite how foolish Cam felt, the sight of Kirk never failed to take his breath away. That handsome face, all bloated with the lard he had packed on since high school. Thinking about Kirk deliberately fattening himself had supercharged Cam’s libido yesterday and he had come five times, alone in his bedroom, just imagining it.

“Aren’t you going to have a muffin?” Kirk pressed a few minutes later when Cam had simply sat himself down without heading into the back room. “I’ll get them for you,” he offered helpfully, picking up his gigantic body and squeezing by, into the backroom. “Enjoy!” he smiled, throwing the box down by Cam’s side.

Had it not been for the conversation with Bob the day before, Cam knew he would have picked up at least two muffins without a second thought. Now, he knew he needed to sort himself out and not be taken in by Kirk any more. But his mouth had been filling with saliva since the moment Kirk had mentioned them and now that the muffins were glistening in front of him, he felt genuinely hungry. Turned on by the sight of his biggest crush, Cam found his resolve wavering. He knew that he was attracted enough to Kirk that he would have shot up off his chair, climbed into the man’s crotch and sucked that massive fatty off until closing time. So, why wouldn’t he just eat a little muffin for him? After all, Bob seemed to believe that there was some sort of thrill in it for Kirk.

Cam heard the refrigerator door opening and the crack of a soda can opening and then being placed next to him. It was all true; Kirk really was trying to deliberately fatten him up! “I think it’s going to get pretty stuffy in here soon,” the fat man stated; his chosen casual excuse for serving a sweet, sugary calorie bomb to his work coleague.

It was the idea of playing to Kirk’s supposed kinks that finally made Cam pick up his first muffin and slurp on the soda. He wondered what it was about this whole scenario that did it for the big man. After all, now that Cam thought about it, Kirk must have spent a fair amount of money on all those casual treats and snacks for him over the last few months. Perhaps there was a slight submissive side to Cam’s sexuality; suddenly wondering how he could play his part in Kirk’s twisted games; to entertain and arouse him. Just the thought of creating even the tiniest twitch in Kirk’s dick sent Cam into a tailspin of longing. He’d been so aroused since his conversation with Bob and he felt that same breathless lust within him as he took a second large bite out of the muffin, already finding his other hand preloading the next sugary treat. “These are good!” he exclaimed, speaking with a full mouth, just as Kirk always did. He noticed now that Kirk was watching keenly as he ate. Had he always done that? The sensation of being watched now seemed to ignite a spark of sexual energy in Cam and he soon found himself taking down that second muffin, followed by a third and, inexplicably, a fourth as well; all washed down with a second fresh soda, supplied to him by Kirk. He burped, letting it all out and enjoying the fact that Kirk didn’t bat an eyelid.

“Are we closing at lunch again today?” Kirk asked. “It’s Friday and I’m sort of in the mood for burgers and fries.”

Cam glanced down at himself, suddenly finding that that tight pinch of his pants and strange fit of his work shirt had become a source of a strange eroticism for him. He nodded. The way he was feeling right then, he would have eaten anything Kirk asked him to.

Getting out of the shower a few weeks later, Cam wiped off the steam from the mirror and took a hard look at himself. He’d spent years developing his chest muscles in LA, but even with all the protein shakes and supplements, he’d never had a thick little tummy like he had now. He could see the build up of fat, deepening his belly button and swelling around his waist, creating love handles for the first time in his life. He thought about what his LA friends would have said if they saw him like this, or the notes he would have received from casting directors if he went into an audition looking like this. He probably could have allowed that shame to have spurred him on to do something about it, were it not for the immediate levitation of his dick, knowing exactly who was doing this to him. He spun around, looking in the mirror at how his love handles pitched and bulged as he did so. He stared at his glutes, once so pert and beefy, but now oversized and obviously swollen with fresh blubber and jiggly from the lack of exercise. Was the weight spreading into his thighs too? That was new. What would they have described this as in LA? The dad-bod? He definitely now looked like a guy who was more into his food and sitting on the couch, rather than one who frequented the gym. He took his hand to his dick, knowing that he’d never get any peace until he drained it again; staring with a mixture of shock, disgust and awe at his own reflection.

The comments soon started cropping up as Cam entered his eighth month of being back home. Despite multiple payments he had made, the interest rates on Cam’s credit cards were starting to bite and, despite all the hours he was working, Cam felt like he had very little to show for it. Cheap sweatshorts became his new best friend for work, but he didn’t have much cash to replace anything else. His old shirts still hugged nicely against his arms and chest, but their tight fit left him exposed to criticism about how rounded his middle had become. His dad had even offered to pay for a gym subscription for him, but when would he ever have the time for that? It seemed like a good compromise; still getting to overeat for Kirk, but at least maintaining a bit of control about how he looked by working out at the gym. Yet, Cam resisted, simply getting harder and harder the longer he allowed his current sloth-like lifestyle to continue.

Cam got very used to seeing those faces from high school he’d long forgotten about. He was surprised how fast their full names came back to him. He saw a young couple coming in and recognised the girl as being one of the cheerleaders from back in the day: Sadie Parry. She walked hand in hand with a strapping, athletic-looking guy, wandering the aisles.

“Didn’t you used to date her?” Cam asked, turning to Kirk, sitting engrossed in the computer screen.

Kirk looked across the store, making his old chair scream, just as the couple came back into view for a brief moment. A vague recognition then relaxed Kirk’s face of concentration. “Probably,” he shrugged. “I dated a lot of that crowd in high school.”

“You don’t even remember?” Cam laughed.

Kirk shrugged. “I was with a lot of girls in high school. It was the expected thing in the football team.”

“Oh, how awful for you!” Cam joked. “All those hot girls lining up for you like that!”

Kirk looked over at the couple with disapproval. “Well, it made me realise one thing: I knew I didn’t want to be stuck the rest of my life with girls like Sadie Parry. I bet she makes that guy absolutely miserable if ever he misses a gym session. Appearances are everything to girls like that. Check out the handbag and shoes.” With that, he picked up a doughnut from the tray in front of them and bit into a full half of it. “No thanks!” he finally huffed.

“I know what you mean,” Cam agreed. “LA was completely superficial like that as well. Everyone had to look a certain way and, in the end, you just get so sick of it. Coming back here has really helped me see that.” He too picked up a doughnut and took a bite, but had to put it down when Sadie and her boyfriend came wandering over.

“Do you do these in another colour?” she questioned, holding a tile sample. “Oh.. wait. Cam?” she asked, taking in his face. Her eyes travelled up and down his body. “I saw you in that commercial a few years ago. I hardly recognised you,” she stated, with her eyes fixed on his budding paunch.

“Yeah, I moved back here a few months ago,” Cam mumbled as he saw Sadie’s eyes find the half-eaten doughnut on the desk beside him.

“We all thought you were going to be a real movie star,” she went on, in that slyly obnoxious way that was all coming back to Cam now. “Now you’re here, obviously eating far too many crappy doughnuts and working in a dump like this.” Her boyfriend was standing beside her, but she clearly didn’t think enough of Cam now to introduce him. As for Kirk, she didn’t even bother looking at him. “So, do you do this in another colour then?” she repeated, holding the tile up once more.

Incensed, Cam picked up the sugary snack beside him and took a giant bite. “No,” he simply stated, ending the conversation flat and staring at her as he chewed.

Seeming to sense the slight, Sadie turned, put the tile down on the nearest shelf and led her hapless boyfriend out of the store.

Kirk broke into a roar of laughter as the door closed behind them.

“Your exes are bitches!” Cam joked, still standing up from the subtle confrontation. “I think I just got fat shamed!” he chuckled in disbelief.

“I think you might be right!” Kirk agreed, sliding over in his chair to give Cam’s think rump a pat. It was an odd thing to do, but the sensation of being touched, however innocently by Kirk, made Cam’s heart race. “You handled her perfectly though. I was so proud!”

“Yeah?” Cam asked, enjoying Kirk’s praise.

“Of course!” he smiled. “I’m delighted with my little apprentice.” They held a stare for a moment, then as Cam sat himself back down, he saw the tray of doughnuts being gently pushed in his direction; letting Cam know that it wasn’t the running of the store that he was being trained in.

Cam’s supposed Holywood status had long since worn off in town, which had been a welcome relief. He didn’t really have the cash to go out drinking when the guys asked and it eased his finances when the invitations became fewer and farther between. Kirk had given him one of his old games consoles and was lending him a few titles. Having never really been much of a gamer growing up, Cam found his new hobby strangely addictive. Sometimes, on the days he was not working, he could go the entire time without leaving the house. Shamefully, he could feel his ass spreading as he sat up in his bed, snacking on whatever he had found in the refrigerator. His body shape was changing yet again. Another layer of fat seemed to be spreading across this body, softening him up a lot more than before. He could feel the blubber on his pecs and arms, and was becoming quite used to the mass of a small gut starting to creep out in front of him. He’d had no choice but to use some of his pay on some larger clothes; with the elastic on his old underwear finding the changes to his body particularly stressful. His family didn’t waste time trying to be subtle about how fat he was getting. His mother had even stuck pictures of him from a couple of years earlier on the refrigerator; a tip she had picked up from daytime tv that was supposed to make Cam think twice before he went raiding in there. She couldn’t possibly have realised that the actual effect was the complete opposite. Just like the memory of how fit and muscular Kirk had once been added to Cam’s attraction to him, so did the thrill of being reminded about his own transformation, building into an arousal that he couldn’t quite put into words. He’d certainly never imagined himself getting to two hundred and forty pounds after maintaining a sleek one sixty-five his entire adult life.

Cam put on his new favourite shirt and stared hard at the little round belly it still showed underneath. Having been invited round to play games at Kirk’s place that night, he knew that he wanted to look good. He’d pictured Kirk’s apartment for so long and he was genuinely surprised when the reality matched up almost entirely with that vision in his head. Kirk cared little about tidiness. Clothes and junk littered the floor and the big man had to add even more to it as he cleared a space on the couch for Cam to sit down. Forgetting the pizza they would be ordering later, everything they could possibly want was on the coffee table: beers, chips, doughnuts, candy bars. It was exactly the sort of life Cam had pictured Kirk settling into. They’d often ordered pizza into the store at lunchtime, so it was no surprise to see the way Kirk stacked the slices up and gorged; however, it was no less erotic to see each time.

“You can see why I haven’t invited you her until now,” Kirk pointed around at his apartment. I moved in when I was nineteen and never really got into the idea of keeping the place tidy. I need a new chair as well,” he grumbled, reaching forward for another beer and hearing his tortured armchair groan underneath his heavy form. “I fritter most of my cash away each month, on takeout, music and games.”

Cam tried to ignore how turned on he felt, sat next to a bundle of enormous Kirk’s dirty clothes. He wanted to hold them and marvel at the great expanse of material that was needed to clothe the ex-football star’s body. “Have you always lived her alone?” he asked, knowing that Kirk had had at least a few girlfriends in the last few years.

“A couple of girlfriends lived here in the past,” Kirk nodded in a noncommittal manner. “Never for very long. Those abs I had in high school disappeared pretty quickly once I moved in here.” He sat up more, as if he was energised by the conversation. “The girl I was with at the time couldn’t quite believe it. One minute she was dating this muscular athlete and the next, I was this doughy little pig. I gained one hundred pounds in the first year I was living on my own!”

Cam nodded knowingly. He knew the feeling, having gained almost eighty pounds in the last fourteen months. He pictured Kirk in those early days of getting fat and his dick pulsed down in his crotch.

“I tried dating some larger women in my early twenties. Some people don’t mind that I’m fat now,” Kirk went on. “I was in a long-distance relationship with a girl from New York a few years ago. She was really into me, but the attraction wasn’t quite there for me, unfortunately. If she’d have gained a few pounds with me, I think she would have looked a lot better. But she was dead against that idea and, in the end, the distance got the better of us.”

“So, you’re just into chubby girls?” Cam asked him, having always been intrigued by Kirk’s sexual tastes.

“Fat, not chubby,” Kirk corrected him, as if that distinction was of the utmost importance to him. “Someone like me.”

“I’m not sure that exists. I think you’re just one of a kind,” Cam joked.

“I don’t know about that…” Kirk grinned. “I can think of at least one person who is very similar to me.”

Cam blushed, sensing that Kirk was actually talking about him. They’d finished gaming and sat, nursing their beers contemplatively. The beer was giving Cam a little courage, so that when a question popped into his head, he suddenly found it rolling off his tongue. “Did you get fat on purpose?” he asked. “Because, that’s what some people in town think.”

A massive, wicked grin filled Kirk’s face. “You really want to know?” he asked teasingly.

Cam thought for a moment, sensing that the answer could alter the way he saw Kirk forever. He nodded.

“It was the whole reason why I moved out of home,” Kirk stated frankly, sliding a hand over the bulk of his ginormous gut. “I hated my abs in high school. I hated the expectation that I had to play football just cause I was taller and more built than everyone else. I used to gorge myself all the time, but the pounds never stuck in the way I wanted. Once I moved out I was free to just stuff myself on everything I needed to grow a belly. And it worked! I quit working out and started looking chubby really fast. It felt amazing!” He lifted the bottom of his shirt and grabbed a wedge of his soft flesh, jiggling it for emphasis. “The fact that my girlfriend at the time hated it just seemed to spur me on even more.”

“Was she a big girl too?” Cam asked, not sure what to say, but desperate to keep this surprisingly kinky ramble going.

“No,” Kirk replied. “She was just like every other person I’d dated up to that point. But, like I said, it’s FAT that gets me going more than anything else. And in those days, I was riding the most erotic wave of my life. It was only after that, when I began to feel confident as an overweight guy, that I started to look at dating other fatties. Some I was with just because I was into how much excess weight they carried, but others, the ones I was really interested in, I’d test them; see how much of a glutton like me they could be under the right circumstances.”

“And did it work?” Cam chimed in, again to keep the conversation going. He already remembered Bob telling him that Kirk had a strange fascination with overfeeding people.

“Yeah, it did,” Kirk nodded with a smug grin on his face. “I’ve gained almost three hundred pounds since high school. I know how to get someone to fatten up and push a belly on them.”

Now it was Cam’s turn to feel under the spotlight. What Kirk had said was innocent enough, but the way he looked at him and kept looking at him, it was obvious who had been the focus of his attention all these months.

“You’re welcome by the way,” Kirk smirked, taking another sip of his beer and chuckling to himself. Cam didn’t even know what to say. He sat there, dumbfounded that Kirk had practically just admitted to fattening him up on purpose. “Stand up for me,” the big man ordered; beer starting to course through his veins. “I want to see all my hard work.”

Cam chuckled, not quite believing that any of this was actually happening. But, curious to know what Kirk’s next move would be, he stood up and waited.

“Over here,” Kirk ordered, beckoning Cam closer with just a rock of his head.

Stepping over the mess, Cam did as he was told, surprised to find Kirk’s large hand slipping straight onto his butt the moment he was within reach. But he stood there, enjoying the feeling of being touched, despite not understanding exactly what was going on.

“Ah!” Kirk marvelled, sliding one hand, then two once lowering his beer, right over Cam’s glutes. “Remember how tight and pert these things used to be before you started working with me?” he sighed with joy. “Now they’re getting so fucking doughy!”

The beer was clearly getting the better of Kirk; rather surprising considering the sheer scale of him. He slouched more in his chair and smiled mischievously.

“Yeah, well, all we do is eat at work…” Cam replied, stepping away and trying to keep things light hearted. After all, despite the odd sexual chemistry between them, Cam had to remind himself that Kirk was straight.

“Get back here!” Kirk grunted. “I want to check out the rest of you.” Then, seeing how obedient Cam was, stepping straight back, he pushed things a little further. “Take off your shirt too.”

Cam followed the instruction, only realising as he pulled the shirt over his head that Kirk was probably getting a full view of his raging hard-on pressing up against his pants. Even so, he suddenly felt the sweaty palm of Kirk rubbing the great mass of stomach fat.

“Beautiful!” Kirk simply marvelled. “Absolutely fucking beautiful!”

Cam felt the button of his pants being released and that big, chubby hand sliding down his shaft as the fly was lowered.

“Do you know how lucky you are? How much I would have loved to have been fattened up like this by someone when I was younger?” Kirk smirked, freely showing how much all of this turned him on.

“I’ve loved it,” Cam tried, finding his heartbeat racing as Kirk’s hand started working his shaft.

“I thought so,” Kirk agreed, slipping down in the chair even more and reaching another hand down his own sweatshorts, trying to reach his dick at the same time. “You’re turning into such a fat pig!”

Cam shuddered with lust. He’d never been sure about how he felt about being called a pig, but coming out of Kirk’s mouth, he’d never heard anything more arousing. Caught by the lust of it all, he found himself giving two little snorts before his brain even had the chance to think about it.

“Oh, fuuuck!” Kirk groaned with arousal; his enormous double chin suddenly amplified as he squinted his eyes and pulled his head back, tugging himself off under his shorts.

Cam came. He hadn’t meant to let it happen so fast, but it was all too much for him. Fast, energetic shots sprayed over Kirk’s skin tight t-shirt, all over his gigantic gut. Kirk didn’t even open his eyes, but moaned at the feeling of it hitting him, redoubling his efforts and making himself come about ten seconds later.

The five-hundred pound man sat up with a huge grin, and a little trickle of sweat travelled down his forehead. He didn’t seem to care that he had made such a mess inside his pants, but lunged for Cam’s empty shirt and used that to wipe up the fresh stains all over his own clothing.

“Hey!” Cam laughed, shirtless before the giant fat man in the chair. “What am I supposed to wear to go home now?” he asked.

Kirk scoffed at the question. “We both know you’re not going home to your parents’ place again,” he stated. “Now sit your fat ass down so we can play another game.” He cracked open a fresh bottle of beer and passed it over to Cam, keeping one for himself. They drank, eyeing each other greedily, silently competing for the longest chug. Kirk won, of course, burping like a drain afterwards and throwing Cam a pack of chips as if it was his consolation prize. Then they both sat back, settling into their futures.

Cam recalled the look of horror on his parents’ faces as he told them he’d moved in with Kirk. They knew of the great fallen football star, just like most people in town, and they didn’t approve in the slightest. But, like everyone else, they had underestimated him. Kirk’s savvy business skills had provided them with a good income, and once Bob had been bought out entirely, Kirk swiftly closed the store down, shifting the business to being online-only. Together with Cam, he’d negotiated a handsome sale price for the land and instead bought a much more generously sized warehouse, nestled within the suburbs of the new, better-connected city they would call home.

Despite the lavish style of the penthouse apartment the two men now occupied, it was still just as messy as Kirk’s old place had been. They’d lost count of how many cleaners they’d tried to hire over the years, but it was a futile task. Who wanted to clean up after two enormously fat guys only to come back a couple of days later and see the place was in an even worse mess than before?

“Are these grey sweatshorts yours, or mine?” Cam shouted through to the living area, holding up the mass of material that had been discarded on the bedroom floor. Only as he said the words did he realise the enormity of the moment. Despite Kirk’s fifty pound lead on him, to the average viewer, Cam probably looked no less obese than his lover. He’d become so used to the contrast between them, he’d hardly noticed the gradual dimishment of their size difference. His ass was just as wide and out of shape, his gut only slightly smaller. Sure, he didn’t quite have the flabby arms and tits that Kirk had, but he sensed the twelve cartons of ice cream the man had picked up that morning were probably part of a larger plan to solve that problem.

Realising that he was holding Kirk’s sweatshorts after all, Cam slipped them on, feeling a wave of arousal as the material fitted like a glove around his enormous hips and glutes. Not bothering with a shirt, he trotted out of the bedroom and into the living area, where a similarly shirtless Kirk was playing a game with his headphones on. So that was why the fat man hadn’t replied, Cam thought, chuckling to himself as he sat down on the couch to watch.

“Nice shorts, Fatty!” Kirk joked, clocking Cam’s new attire in the corner of his eye without even moving his head away from the screen. Once the level was over, he threw the controller down and switched the channel. “A movie and a few pizzas tonight?” he asked, knowing that Cam always went along with whatever he wanted to do.

“Sure,” Cam nodded, mindlessly stroking the huge belly infront of him and not being able to shift the semi he had from being inside Kirk’s shorts. As he watched his lover scrolling through their movie options on the screen, he thought back to his teenage years, when he would imagine himself in those huge blockbusters and the glamorous lifestyle that he thought he had wanted. He also pictured an eighteen year old Kirk in his mind; his athleticism and perfect, muscular physique; a pretty, popular girl under his strong arm. There wouldn’t have been a single person who could have guessed that Kirk had actually wanted to give it all up for a life of gluttony and sloth. And, best of all, that he would wind up taking Cam along for the ride with him.

“Pizza’s going to be here in thirty minutes,” the former football star grunted, lowering his enormous rear onto the couch next to Cam; only ever leaving his giant chair for the couch when they were both ready to settle in for the night. It had become a tighter squeeze for them in recent months and, even now, the fatty flesh of their bodies pressed erotically up against each other.

Both men smiled wickedly as they sensed this ever decreasing space on their couch; both so proud to be able to share this strange, unconventional love that worked so well for them both. They kissed, not needing to say a word as their hands began to reach out and touch the others’ giant belly; jiggling and massaging it.

“I’ve left a couple of tubs of ice cream out to melt so that we can drink it when the pizzas arrive,” Kirk explained a moment later.

“Just a couple?” Cam joked, loving how much of a bad influence Kirk was.

The larger man laughed. “You clearly haven’t seen how much food I’ve ordered you then!” He leaned in for another kiss. “In about an hour’s time, your gut is going to be tighter than ever before, and my dick is going to be so fucking hard!”

Cam smiled. Putting on a show for Kirk had always been his undoing. Seeing Kirk get more and more aroused with the greater quantities he could stuff himself with, Cam had inadvertently developed an appetite that could rival even Kirk’s insatiable lust for food. He didn’t reply to the kinky man who had fattened him to such extremes. All he did was simply give two short, quiet little pig snorts.

“Oh, fuuuck!” Kirk moaned with arousal, suddenly losing interest in watching a movie altogether.

For both of the men, those pizzas couldn’t arrive fast enough.

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starryeyedjanai · 1 year

Note

Fake title ask!

I’m A Dirt Road

bestie, I did not mean to write 1.3k about this. But it happened anyway, so here you go:

I'm a dirt road

The government uses NINA to wipe everyone’s memories of the last few years and replace their memories of the Upside Down with mundane events where the party and the older teenagers don’t really know each other outside of school. And Steve and Robin are the ones who help bring them all together.

Because after a couple months, Steve starts having dreams. Weird dreams and nightmares that feel real. He’s waking up with feelings in his chest that don't make sense, for people that he doesn't remember. He’s grasping at straws, trying to piece together what the hell is happening to him and he runs into Robin, who’s only a few weeks out from her starting her freshman year of college. And he feels like he knows her.

She brushes him aside because she only knows him as King Steve who lost his crown after being hit in the head too many times, so of course she doesn't believe him when he says they know each other.

But after she brushes him aside and sees his shoulders slump, she feels it deep in her chest that something is off about this situation. She watches him walk away and instinctively calls out, “Hey, dingus?” and when he turns around all perked up, she knows something weird is going on. She knows him. Somehow, she knows him and forgot.

So they hunker down and try to piece together what they can and turns out, she’s been having dreams too, but she just thought they were pre-college nightmares. But they’re the same ones Steve has, of this dark, cold place that has a, “Red sky,” they both say at the same time. It’s so weird.

“There are others,” Steve says, sure of it. There have to be. "I feel like we’re missing a group of people. And-" he cuts himself off.

“What is it?” Robin asks, the tight feeling in her chest returning, because she feels like she knows what he’s going to say.

“I feel like I should be mourning someone,” Steve says, running a hand down his face. “We lost someone. And I don't remember who.”

Robin feels it too. She feels like there’s a weight in her chest that shouldn't be there. She’s felt it since she woke up in March with a killer headache and missed school for a couple days because of it. She didn't know what to call the feeling, but she knows now that it’s grief.

Anyway, they find Dustin wandering around skull rock and ask him what he’s doing there and he tells them about the dreams he’s been having and surprise, surprise. Same dreams! And Dustin found a partially destroyed polaroid in his bedroom after tearing the place apart trying to make sense of what he was feeling and it was of him, Mike Wheeler, Lucas Sinclair, and some kid Dustin doesn't know dressed up for Halloween and he didn't remember taking that picture.

So he knew something was up, so he went looking in the place where it feels like something important happened. So with Dustin’s help they rally together Mike, Nancy, Lucas, and Erica, who insists she has to be a part of this after eavesdropping on the conversation.

It still feels like they’re missing a bunch of people and Dustin figures it has something to do with the kid whose name none of them can remember. They scour through old yearbooks and pictures, but can’t find anything, not even a name.

It’s Steve who runs into Hopper, who’s a mess, drinking and angry all the time again. They bump into each other and they both stop short and Steve takes a leap of faith and pulls Hopper into a tight hug and Hopper crumbles, falls apart. He tells Hopper about the group - the party, he says and doesn't know why - and their dreams, says he has a feeling Hopper has been having dreams too.

And Hopper has, because he’s lost two daughters now. And he can feel it, in his heart, that she’s out there somewhere, but it doesn't make sense. His only daughter is gone. He didn't have another, right?

They work with Hopper to track down the kid in the photo and Hopper finds a police record of a domestic disturbance that he doesn't remember happening involving a 'Joyce Byers' and he knows it’s them, the Byers family, they’re involved in this too. So he tracks them down in California somehow and convinces them to come to Hawkins, a town Joyce insists they’ve never been to.

But she also feels it, and her kids feel it, that something isn’t right, so when a sheriff from some random town in Indiana calls her and tells her he has a police record of her family in Hawkins, she believes him somehow.

So they make it to Hawkins and the reunion is tearful, even though Joyce is sure she’s never met these people. El, no, Jane - why did she think of her as El? - and Hopper hug each other and everyone is teary eyed about it for some reason.

It’s the kids who unlock some memory in El, Jane, and she’s convinced she has some kind of power, some kind of something that can fix this. She can take them to the place where they need to be, she’s sure of it.

So she leads the way, takes them to the place where he died, Steve realizes. It’s where he died, whoever it is that’s carved a gaping hole in his chest, in all of their chests.

There’s still debris from the earthquake that happened a few months ago here. But she leads them to a crack in the ground. It’s red and pulsing and alive.

And none of them know what the fuck is going on, and this isn't normal, but it validates every one of their fears that they’re not all just making shit up, some group psychosis or something.

Steve is relieved to see it, weirdly enough. Because something in him is telling him that the person who they thought died here didn't.

So maybe it takes months of Jane, El, practicing honing her powers, maybe Robin and Nancy reluctantly go to college and the kids go back to school, Will and El enrolling in Hawkins High.

Maybe Hopper finds a house that was abandoned after the quake for Joyce, Jonathan, Will, and El to live in. It’s a little worse for wear, but the banks aren’t running to collect a mortgage on it right now at least. And Will finds a drawing on the wall in his bedroom after they move in. It’s one he drew. How is it one he drew?

There are so many unanswered questions and Steve is going out of his mind waiting, waiting, waiting for Jane or El or whoever she is to be ready for whatever it is she’s preparing for.

He keeps visiting the place where it happened. He doesn't know why because he knows whoever the guy who died, or didn't die, was- he doesn't think they were very close. But he remembers feeling terrified and still being able to laugh with him, he remembers the ache in his heart later. He doesn't remember his face, but he remembers blood. He remembers telling him not to be a hero and remembers being angry at him for not listening.

He remembers, but not enough.

And when the time finally comes, months later, when El channels her powers and the crack in the ground splits open more, when Steve insists he’ll be okay if he drops into it, he finally sees him again.

He’s crossed over into this place, the place from their dreams, cold and red, but it’s like taking a breath of air so cold he’s choking on it. He walks down the path, down the road, looking.

He finds him.

Perched on top of a van, picking notes on a guitar, is him.

Steve’s shoes sound loud on the gravel beneath his feet and Eddie’s head whips around toward him when he hears him coming.

He smiles.

“I was wondering when you’d find me.”

#mcneen #this was supposed to be short and sweet but it ended up bewitching me instead #stranger things #platonic with a capital P #steddie #pre-steddie #st ficlet #fic ideas #ask game #janai.doc

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loveinhawkins · 1 year

Text

Part 1 ao3

A series of notes passed during private study periods in Hawkins High School Library, circa January—May, 1985.

A sheet of paper hastily ripped from its notebook, folded over with a crease down the middle.

—Harrington, did you just turn down that girl?

—What are you talking about?

—Hey, you can’t blame a guy for being nosy. You were the one deciding to TALK in a SACRED LIBRARY.

—If you heard us, why are you asking?

—Okay, sound doesn’t travel that far.

—Why don’t YOU tell me what happened considering you know everything?

—Wow. Touchy.

—Fuck off.

—Sorry. Thought we were just joking around. Didn’t mean to be a dick.

—It’s fine.

—You sure?

—I wasn’t ‘turning her down.’ She’s on the Yearbook Committee. Asking for photos.

—Too many pin-ups to choose from?

—Baby photos.

—What’s the problem? Did you come out the womb holding hairspray?

—No.

—Table it or ditch it?

—?

—It’s something my uncle says. If he asks me about stuff I don’t wanna talk about, I can either table it for later or ditch it completely. But if something keeps coming up and I keep saying to ditch it, then it automatically becomes a table it for later.

—That’s smart.

—Yup.

—Table it.

—Okay.

—? Why do you keep scoring out stuff?

—Sorry sorry. I can only think of baby photos now.

—Not against them in general. Feel free to talk about yourself, Munson.

—Uh-huh. I could hear the sarcasm in how you wrote that.

—Ha. No, really. I don’t mind.

—Well, lucky for you, talking about myself is my favorite subject.

—Lucky me.

—I thought I’d lost literally all of my baby photos. When I lived with my dad, the house got flooded and all of them were hit. Water damage. I had to get my books spread out on a radiator so the pages would dry, and that kinda worked for some of them. Photos were goners, though.

—That’s awful.

—Hold your horses, cowboy. But then when I moved to my uncle’s—we’re at the trailer park in Forest Hills—I saw he had all these photos stacked on a bookcase, and I thought they were all really old, like from when he was a kid and stuff, and some of them were, but he had whole entire ALBUMS of me. Way more than my dad ever had.

—That’s cool.

—You’re so verbose, Harrington.

—I meant it. It’s just. I was just thinking.

—About?

—That’s not why I—I HAVE baby photos, that’s not the problem.

—Don’t sweat it, dude, you don’t need to tell me.

—It’s just. Rebecca, that’s who was talking to me, she kept going on about how everyone else has already sent in a baby photo or, you know, a photo from when they were a kid, and she was excited about it, it’s a whole new thing they’re doing for this year. They’re gonna do a special layout, old photos next to current ones, you know what I mean?

—Afraid I’ve never been privy to the wondrous goings-on of the Yearbook Committee.

—She said it’ll look weird if I’m the only one not doing it. But it’s—I don’t know. I know I could just pick any damn photo and send it in, it’d get the whole Committee off my back. But I think I’d feel weird at the thought of the whole year getting to see—god, this doesn’t even make sense, like I don’t mind them seeing at a photo of me NOW, but I don’t. I don’t like looking at old photos, I never have. I don’t know why. Guess I just don’t like looking back.

—Fuck what everyone else is doing. They’re YOUR photos. Forget the precious ‘layout.’

—Yeah, that’s sorta what I told her, minus the ‘fuck.’

—If it’ll shut them all up, you could send in one of mine. See who actually notices.

—No way.

—Yeah, I was just being stupid.

—No. Those are YOUR photos. Save them for your own Yearbook. Sounds like your uncle could fill the whole thing with pictures.

—Wouldn’t put it past him.

—Shit, is that the time? The bell’s gonna ring in five minutes. I’ve done NOTHING.

—The horror!

—I’m blaming you.

—Honored to be considered a distraction, Harrington.

A scrap of paper, hastily dropped into the pencil case of an unknowing Eddie Munson as the bell rang.

—Thanks.

#notes from hawkins high school library #epistolary fic #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steddie #eddie and wayne munson #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #pre steddie

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ren-from-mars · 25 days

Text

Omg hiiii guys look! It’s Becky! I participated in the wonderful @hatchetfield-yearbook-project and got to draw her for the Alumni page <33

Go check out the project, it’s chock full of amazingly talented artists and writers who all captured their characters perfectly! Seriously, reading through some of the club articles I needed to convince myself it wasn’t canon work it’s sososososo good!

Down below are the little details I did while working out how Becky would have been both in highschool as well as how she aged!

I focussed on a lot of lines mentioned in black friday and nightmare time to try and get a grasp on how exactly Becky would have changed over time. Things like “she’s not as hot as she used to be”, how long she was with Stanley, how working at the Hospital is Incredibly Fucking Stressful, and of course her “Rah Rah Team Spirit”! I went a bit overboard in the details but if you’re reading this right now you want them so BAM here it is!

First off, Hatchetfield High Becky!

These are all just my personal headcanons, none of the appearance based details are directly stated as canon and are rather derived from my personal beliefs for her and things stated about her in the show.

Before the list- I put her in the same HFHS cheer team uniform that we see Brenda and Stacy both wear! I like to think that people wearing their cheer uniforms around the school is just. a think the Nighthawks Cheer Team just Do, and have done for years. They're insane like that (and the dark blues really compliment Beck!)

Her Rah Rah Cheer Spirit leaks into everything, and she does her makeup often with a silver and blue eyeshadow. she changes this look up every now and then, but being the cheer captain and dating the star quarterback comes with its own. social expectations on appearance, so Becky regularly goes back to her tried and true method.

star earrings star earrings! blue for the nighthawks, but the star is based on the fact that Becky and Tom would often stargaze on the football field, especially after the big games. Hatchetfield would have been a pretty bright city even back then, but it wasn't nearly as light polluted as it is in the present day. Stargazing together became their way to unwind and talk, without people listening in on every little thing being said and spreading rumours. Not like they would dare do that to two of the most popular people in school.

This is more targeted to her whole face, but this comes back to Beck doing her makeup every day. Obviously that shade of red isn't natural on her, but she would put it on the exact same every day that eventually people forgot about it. This ties into her 'not being as hot as she used to be', because she was always dressed up and wearing makeup. God forbid a woman age and not do things to be performative and appeal to you any more

The locket! This locket was a gift from Tom to Becky when they were together. She chose to put a photo of Tom in it, taken after the Nighthawks had won a big game (he had the biggest goofiest smile on his face). Note that the chain is long enough to fit underneath current Becky's clothes! She kept it all this time, Stanley told her to get rid of it, but she put it under a floorboard in their house in a simple box. When they *cough* broke up, she got the box back out but didn't wear the locket again until her and Tom inevitably meet again and reconnect. Now, she wears the locket every day, and Tom Hates that old photo of him (but in reality, he's touched that she kept it all this time). Despite that, he would never in a million years make her change it. In the worlds where they get to stay together and look after Tim, she adds a photo of Tim to the locket but still doesn't change Tom's photo. Years later Tim hates the old photo but knows how much it means to his mom.

And now for present Becky!

Wrinkles !! because that happens and is very regular ! My only thing with this piece is that I wish I would've made them a bit more prominent. Most of her wrinkles are on her glabella (above the nose, between the eyebrows) because she had them furrowed so often. she also has forehead wrinkles and wrinkles next to her eyes, as well as a permanent slight eye bag. Those sleepless nights never did her any good.

She now rocks simple pearl earrings. They get in the way a whole lot less, and aren't distracting at work. Not much to say about them (but look at how tasty the rendering is on them!!!).

Back to wrinkletown, she only has slight wrinkles on either side of her nose. After cheer, she didn't do a whole lot of smiling.

White hairs! She has gone through so much stress don't you even tell me she wouldn't be slightly greying from that. She killed her husband. Her hair colour is also oh so slightly desaturated because of more natural greying (where the hair just loses pigmentation and goes blonde or white over time, but with no singular grey hairs. man red hair is weird). She also works at the hospital, you cannot tell me she wouldn't have a few unnatural grey hairs from all the shit she's been through.

This is just pointing out the height of her collar, the locket is there :)))))

I also forgot to point out, but her lack of makeup! This absolutely leads certain people to perceive her as ""less hot"" because of how she was constantly dressed up in highschool to maintain status. She was never disingenuous about her care for the Nighthawks and her cheer spirit, but highschool. Does something to people.

And another thing, that goes over both pictures, her hair is shorter! This is to help keep it out of the way easier at work. Her hair is tied into a high pony in highschool (again, think Brenda and Stacy), so letting it down would make it a Heap longer. Now she makes a lot of her hair decisions based on what makes work most convenient.

That's it! Please if you have any questions pester me about it, Becky is my girl i love her so much <33333 and another reminder to go check out the project!!!!!!

#typing mom instead of mum hurt in the soul .. its pretend to be american time #starkid #hatchetfield #hatchetverse #becky barnes #npmd #nerdy prudes must die #hatchetfield yearbook project #hatchetfield high #art #my art #ren from mars #creativity on mars #ren rambles #<- for how many paragraphs of becky hcs there were

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butmakeitgayblog · 11 months

Note

Stopppp that yearbook photoshop is so good she looks so pretty 🥺 I actually really like your idea for a walk to remember au, I like that it happens after college and that Clarke was only a normal amount of asshole in high school and not a giant asshole lol what other things did you think for the au? Like how does their first date happen?

Well their first date would happen after Clarke blows Lexa off.

After a few weeks of her bumming around the bakery daily to read and get a head start on studying for the upcoming semester of grad school (which Lexa has begrudgingly yet graciously been helping her with since, somehow, she seems to have a working knowledge on just about any damn topic Clarke can think of). And so it was an admittedly shit head move when Clarke had been out having lunch with a couple old friends from high school and saw Lexa stop at the same spot. When Lexa had paused when she saw her and took step toward the group to smile and wave. When Clarke had immediately looked away and pretended like she didn't know her, like she hadn't seen her standing there at all. Like she hadn't seen and didn't die a little inside when that lopsided smile broke and shuttered behind a cool look of realization.

Basically when, instead of acting like a decent 23 year old woman with some damn manners, Clarke had acted like it was grade school, middle school, and high school all over again.

And so, she has some making up to do. Because when she slinks back into Gus's the next day, it is to zero fanfare. No warmness or exasperated smile at the sound of the tinkling bell marking her arrival. No usual coffee order already waiting for her. Certainly no free muffin waiting on a well-loved dish that she'd grown quite fond of as of late.

It's all steely eyes and clenched jaw. Lexa barely sparing a glance up from whatever newest book she was reading that day. Just silence soaked in disdain, only broken by the sound of a pointedly flipped page.

And that really fuckin sucks.

So Clarke does what Clarke does best. She turns on the charm. The smooth words and playful banter and the patented Griffin Grin, and and and... and not one single bit of it works.

Shit.

It takes her a bit figure out what to do because honestly she doesn't know if she's ever felt more miserable in her life. Not having her days filled with that humming and those terrible jokes and that voice that is entirely more lovely than it had any right to be. Which weird, because this is Lexa— intimidating, sweet, dorky, brilliant, nerdy, gorgeous Lexa. The one she kind of wants to be around all the time now and hates herself for her knee jerk reaction over.

And so she does the only other thing she can really think of to do.

Make an absolute ass out of herself.

Humble herself at Lexa's doorstep and hope at some point she'll edge the door open and welcome her back in.

And by humble herself, I mean post her ass up outside the bakery every waking hour she gets. Making sad puppy eyes through the window, forehead pressed sorrowfully against the glass. Painting a fancy new chalk sandwich board for the shop and adding more and more ridiculous things onto "the daily specials" in the hope just to make Lexa laugh (while not potentially getting maimed by Gus himself 😬)

It takes a minute but eventually Lexa just gets kinda fed up with it one day and goes outside with every intention to tell her to just go home. But somewhere in her tirade Clarke snaps back too, until they're both glaring at each other on the front curb of Gus's shop. Well... glaring as Clarke backs Lexa up against the display.

More accurately, glaring as Clarke backs Lexa up against the display window, all while telling Lexa that she's sorry and that she's more than proven that she's sorry. That she'll invite every damn friend she ever had in high school there right now just so they can witness her say how much she likes spending time with Lexa, and misses her, and how she's been miserable since the last time they talked because she can't really remember the last time she was as happy as she's been sitting in that cramped little bookstore, listening to Lexa teach her the most random things about the world in between bouts of singing to herself while she stocks.

It honestly is a blessing when Lexa shuts her up with a kiss. Just a little one. Hesitant barely more than a brush of her lips.

And fuck, with how big and hopeful and absolutely terrified those eyes look when Lexa pulls back, the words "Go on a date with me" are out of Clarke's mouth before she can even register them herself

#anon #a walk to remember au #AWTR synopsis

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just-late-roman-republic-things · 7 months

Note

Rank all the Julio-Claudians based on the vibes alone and/or your general bias towards them.

What next, are you going to ask which of my children is my favorite?? But they're all so terrible and delightful! The emperors, I mean. I don't have kids. Only dying houseplants.

Okay. Let's go the "School Yearbook From Hell" route. I dunno if other countries do this, but in the USA the high school seniors (17-18 year-olds) get voted "Most ____" in the annual book that comes out with all the students' pictures in it.

Here are some real senior titles from my yearbook, complete with original spelling errors:

Best hair: Julius Caesar (when he had hair...)

Most photogenic: Augustus (if you know what's good for you)

Most unique: Claudius (he's doing his best!)

Best handwriting: Julius Caesar (grammar pedant alert!)

Best dancer: Nero (who else?)

Best car: Caligula (look, if any of these schmucks somehow got access to a car, it'd be him)

Most likely to suceed: Nero (I feel bad for laughing at this one)

Most likely to get a full body cast: Augustus (very nearly actually happened!)

Most likely to take over the world: Caligula (he whipped Neptune good!)

Most likely to achieve the possimpible: Claudius! See also Seneca's "The Pumpkinification of Claudius the God" 🎃

#the-little-fox-in-the-box #julio claudian dynasty #ancient rome #just roman asks

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xtrafluffyteddy · 2 years

Text

Snooping

paring: Eddie munson x reader, Steve harrington x reader, Billy Hargrove x reader

Mentions: snooping, past abuse, sad family history, talks of drug abuse, happy ending!

Your out of town and the boys snoop around your room

“Okay boys I’ll be back next week” you say as you set your luggage by the front door “don’t fuck up the house don’t let eddie touch the washer and uhh no ragers without me” you blow them all a joking kiss waving as you get in your can “bye boys!” You call out as the cab speeds away.

“Soooo” Steve begins looking around at the other two in front of him standing in the middle of the living room “what do we wanna do” Eddie questions “we could uhhh” billy at a loss for ideas “why don’t we uhhh maybe look through her room? I mean we only know so much about her but I think that’s the only stuff she wants us to know” Billy suggests looking towards your closed door wondering what secrets you have from them “wouldn’t that be wrong” Steve questions “nah it’ll be cool we just gotta put stuff back where it was is all” Eddie stated already heading towards your room.

When they enter the room they see the usual stuff like your band posters, fairy lights, messy bed covered in what seems like hundreds of pillows. “I call the bed!” Eddie says as he dives down to the floor digging around under your bed for secrets “I call dresser” bully says making his way over to the hand painted furniture beginning to dig through the top drawer “guess that leaves me the closet” Steve grumbles as he walks into said closet turning on the light as he looks through everything.

“Guys look!” Eddie calls pulling out a dusty yearbook “oh yeah she graduated after us that’s right well after most of us” Steve and Billy look at Eddie who just flips them off before cracking open the book “awe look at how cute” Eddie says as he points to a awkward smiling you the sides of your head shaved “huh I didn’t know she had a huge scar on the side of her head” Steve comments pointing out the jagged scar that starts at your hairline and disappears behind your ear “hm weird wonder what happened” billy questions deciding to ask about it later. They all went back to searching after that as Eddie continued digging under the bed.

Steve was the next one to make a discovery holding up a box that said “memories” on it “guys look it’s full of old awards and photos and stuff” Steve says as he cracks open the dusty box shooing away any spiders crawling out picking up the photo on the very top “awe look at how little she was” he shows the other two a picture of little you in a pink princess dress looking pissed as ever before he flips over the back of the photo the description on the back saying “she’s upset I won’t let her dress like” he squints at the smudged print “I can’t read it” he shrugs as he continues digging finding a lot of third place ribbons and photos of you through the years for some reason in every photo it’s only your dad in the picture with you and the few photos with your mom in them had her face scratched out “huh no wonder she never talks about her family wonder what happened” he questions as he continues looking finding the usual old friendship bracelets, a high school diploma, and other old memories you had stored away.

Next it was Billy who finally found something interesting in your underwear drawer, it’s not as gross at it sounds as he takes out what he thinks is your diary “guys look” he holds up the little red book wiggling it a little “I dunno man photos are one thing but that’s her private writing” Steve replies swallowing thickly “it’ll only be a couple of pages and if it gets to personal I’ll just close it how’s that sound?” He raises a brow at the other two who just shrug and nod “dear diary” he begins “today I moved into my own house, guess dad finally got tired of me” he winced at that line frowning a bit “I don’t blame him my drug problem was bad and if he wanted any chance of winning mom back I had to be out of the picture” some of the words looked like they were smudged from water or what he could guess tears “dated October 13, 1988” he finishes he frowns at the thought of you feeling alone in this big house then curious on how you were able to afford it.

“Dude look” Steve points to a faded photo that fell out. Billy leans down to pick it up opening it as gentle as possible only to see a little you with a woman who looks just like you the woman squeezing your chubby cheeks love in her eyes “dude there’s writing on the back” Eddie says. Billy flips it over and swallows thickly at the little kid handwriting “mommy left today, i wasn’t a good enough girl” Billy can’t help but sniff as he places the photo gently back in your diary and put it back where it belongs “let’s get out of here” he sounds choked up as puts everything back where it should be the mood now somber.

“Hey boys!” You call out from the living room wondering where they are “turns out my flight doesn’t leave till Friday so y’all got 3 days with lovely little me” you look around for them finding them in your room somber looks on their faces “man I wasn’t gone for that long were you planning to mope the whole I was gonna be gone?” You try joking before frowning “what’s wrong?” You look at all three of them “we looked through your stuff” Eddie mumbles “I’m sorry what I couldn’t hear you?” You say confused as you set down your bags slowly “we looked through your stuff” billy repeats looking up at you to gauge your reaction “well y’all could’ve just asked first, y’all each get one questions to ask” you state as you take a seat with them

“I guess I’ll go first” Eddie says as he looks at you “what’s up with the scar on your head why haven’t you ever told us about it” he questions as he reaches to push back your hair revealing the purplish scar “oh that I was uh I was having a bad drug trip” you begin looking down at your hands as you think back on it “I attacked someone I think and well they defended themselves when I came down from it I was checked into a hospital with 24 staples on the side of my head” you shrug as you reach up caressing the scar gently “it doesn’t bother me anymore” you finish as Eddie nods giving you a small sad smile.

“Guess I’ll go next” Steve says as he toys with the hem of his yellow sweater “in uh every photo I found your mom was scratched out why?” You swallow as you think about the woman that has haunted you for years “she uh she blamed me for everything to seemed” you began “it was my fault she got pregnant young, my fault she couldn’t go to college, my fault she didn’t get to live her life to the fullest” you finish you voice cracking a bit as you quickly wipe away a tear “I was better off without her I didn’t need that kind of negativity in my life” you reassured them as well as yourself

“Alright then” Billy breathes as he looks at you taking your hand gently “I read your diary only a page only a page” he soothes “why did your dad kick you out? How could afford to even live here?” He looks at you as you think for a moment before swallowing thickly “well uh…” you open your mouth a few times trying to find a way to describe that time of your life “I had just turned 18, my dad had to bail me out of jail I guess that was the straw that broke three camels back for him, he said I had to get out by that night, I couldn’t blame him honestly I know he was trying to get back with my mom for so long and I was only getting in the way” you sniff wiping your eye again “and I couldn’t afford this house not right away I was homeless for a little bit couch hopping and all that but I finally found a job worked my ass off and now I live here” you finish and shrug as you hug one of your pillows close.

“I told myself the day I moved here that I would never turn away someone who needed my help so they would never have to go through what I went through and then you showed up at my door a few days later Billy” you give them all a soft smile “I don’t regret anything that happened in my life I don’t mind having sad memories, it reminds me I’m human that I’m alive” you hear a chorus of sniffs as billy, Eddie and Steve pull you into a tight hug squishing you between all of them.

“Boys it’s okay really it’s okay” you reassure laughing a hit as you try to soothe them “how bout we order some shitty Chinese food and watch some movies tonight? Before I leave?” They all just nod and sniff wiping their eyes not expecting someone like you to go through what you went through and still be kind to the likes of them.

#eddie munson x reader #stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie st4 #eddie munson stranger things #eddie stranger things #eddie my beloved #steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #billy hargrove stranger things #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader

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rekishi-aka · 1 year

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Tatort Saabrücken timeline thoughts (or: DfL was actually time travel)

Okay so this is a mashup of this post with post-KdE musings, because I obviously needed to course correct for KdE.

The whole thing only started making sense when I rewatched everything again before KdE. My hypothesis starts with DfL actually taking place in 2021 (instead of 2020 when it aired).

Okay let's look at a few facts:

Leo says Adam has been gone for 15 years

They were in 11th grade in 2006 per the yearbook in "Der Herr des Waldes" (= 16/17 years old per starting school at 6 or 7 and G8, both of which would have still been true when they were in school, Saarland only switched to G7 in 2003 and they would likely have been on a G8 track already)

The doorman at the Hofer company says he's born in 1955 (just like his car) and that he will retire in a few months

It's clearly spring (Lida is sowing peas and the next episode takes place two months later when it's obviously summer)

By this logic, their lives would look like this:

1990: Adam and Leo are born [I remember grading papers at uni for my freshmen born in 1990, I thought they were so incredibly young then and now 20 year olds never knew a pre 9/11 world, gosh I feel old 😭]

If we're keeping the actors actual birthdays, a few days apart in July (post-Stichtag babies): 1989

2006:

April: Roland Schürk falls into a coma after his...accident, after meeting Lausch in the woods

July/August: Adam and Leo start 11th grade (Adam was in Lausch's Philosphy class and Lausch only started at their school after the summer)

2007: Adam vanishes. My personal guess is sometime in spring/summer when he couldn't take it anymore...but Adam also isn't stupid enough to run in winter.

+15 years is 2022. Which absolutely doesn't work from a timeline perspective, because that would mean "Das Herz der Schlange" takes place shortly after "Der Herr des Waldes" and the whole team is a) too cozy for that in the restaurant, but also b) Roland is healed up and getting a cut Achilles tendon healed up does not happen in a matter of months, c) Roland had had time to plan his ultimate revenge, and d) they're dressed for early summer throughout the episode. I guess it could be early autumn, but I don't actually think so.

Until now, I always thought the writer had simply messed up the timeline and 15 years sounded better than 13 years. The link above assumes that "Das fleißige Lieschen" takes place in 2020, which was the year it aired.

(This is a non-Covid world, simply because in 2019, when it was shot, they couldn't know. So this is where the Tatort universe diverges, since a few Tatort franchises definitely had Covid, e.g., Berlin.)

However, again, I don't think, because: The doorman says he was born 1955 and that he is going to retire shortly.

Regular retirement age for birth year 1955 was 65 years 9 months (because retirement age rises incrementally until it reaches 67 year). It's spring. 1955+65 years 9 months = 2021

Also, a friend pointed out that Konrad Hofer delivered also the files for 2020 (150 years, 75 years for each of them), but those wouldn't be available in 2020, so this must be 2021.

Which means: "Das fleißige Lieschen" and "Der Herr des Waldes" both take place in 2021 and "Das Herz der Schlange" takes place in April or May 2022 and since Adam looks pretty hale in the promo pictures. Alternately, there could be a two-year jump to 2023, but I actially doubt it.

As for "Die Kälte der Erde":

Boris is still in prison

It's set in Mexico (or at least the dog days of summer)

Adam and Esther are bickering (which is actually nice!) but Adam is also still really mad about the SEK, and attrition would likely have taken care of that. there's a limit to how bitter and grudge-y one can be for prolonged periods of time

Plus, where was Adam living for a whole year? If he'd been with Leo, that would be really shitty to move out again after that long a while, and Leo is in far too good a mood at the beginning for that to be an issue

So it seems likely that KdE actually takes place in August 2022 [or 2023 if HdS is also 2023], which would leave sufficient time for Adam to heal up and rehab his fingers and be back in the field. This, of course, means that they weren't shattered but "only" broken [unlikely considering how it had happened, but! Tatort logic, whatever], but eh. If they want to run with it, fine by me.

This still means that the 15 years Adam is supposed to have been gone are an embellishment, but let's be honest, 15 years sounds better than 14.

I wonder if we'll be stuck in 2022 for the rest of time.

So, this leaves us with the following dates:

1990: Adam and Leo are born

If we're keeping the actors actual birthdays, a few days apart in July: 1989

2006:

April: Roland Schürk falls into a coma after his...accident, after meeting Lausch in the woods

July/August: Adam and Leo start 11th grade (Adam was in Lausch's Philosphy class and Lausch only started at their school after the summer)

2007: Adam vanishes. My personal guess is sometime in spring/summer when he couldn't take it anymore...but Adam also isn't stupid enough to run in winter. (Although my friend is right, he would be stupid enough to run in winter if it got too bad.)

2021

March/April [latest time to sow peas]: "Das fleißige Lieschen", Adam returns, Roland wakes up

May/June [two months later]: "Der Herr des Waldes", Roland gets suspicious

2022:

April/May: "Das Herz der Schlange", Roland seemingly gets his revenge on Adam for not becoming the man he wanted him to be

August-ish: "Die Kälte der Erde"

#tatort saarbrücken #timeline #dw crosspost #what a mess this is #could just anything please have a few DATES actually???#made mostly for my own amusement because I need to know #spatort #meta

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 4 months

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Charles Kaiser on Bob Dylan.

‘Life is about creating yourself’: on Bob Dylan: Mixing Up the Medicine

[The Dylan Center in Tulsa offers a read as endlessly fascinating, as vital to the American story, as its subject himself]

Charles Kaiser

Ten years before he became Bob Dylan, 10-year-old Bobby Zimmerman had his first mystical experience. Wandering through the house his father had bought in Hibbing, Minnesota, he discovered a guitar in one room, and then “a great big mahogany radio” with “a 78 turntable when you opened up the top” in another.

Sitting on the platter was a country record called Drifting Too Far from Shore. The record with a prophetic title “made me feel like I was somebody else”, Dylan remembered. “That I was maybe not even born to the right parents or something.”

A couple of years later, the young radio addict began to imagine the person he was supposed to be when Little Richard’s cleaned-up version of Tutti Frutti seized the airwaves with its unforgettable “a-wop-bop-a-loo-mop-alop-bam-boom” refrain and became the founding song of rock’n’roll. (Bobby’s high school yearbook would announce his ambition: “To join Little Richard.” His girlfriend then was Echo Helstrom, who might be the subject of Girl from the North Country.)

When Buddy Holly released That’ll Be the Day, Bobby got his next inspiration. The gangling, goofy-looking six-footer with horn-rimmed glasses and the irresistible aw-shucks charm of Lubbock, Texas, made two appearances on The Ed Sullivan Show. For the boy from Hibbing it was love at first sight. From the moment he heard him, Bobby felt “akin, like he was an older brother. I even thought I resembled him. Buddy played the music that I loved – the music I grew up on: country western, rock’n’roll, and rhythm and blues. Three separate strands of music that he intertwined and infused into one genre. One brand. And Buddy wrote songs that had beautiful melodies and imaginative verses. And he sang great – sang in more than a few voices.”

A songwriter who fused multiple registers, and delivered them in multiple voices: the perfect model for a nice Jewish boy obsessed with music who was only a couple of years past his barmitzvah.

A year after Buddy’s second TV appearance, Bobby drove to Duluth (his birthplace) to see his hero in the flesh. The 17-year-old fan was thunderstruck.

“That was a few days before he was gone,” Dylan remembered. “I had to travel a hundred miles … I wasn’t disappointed. He was powerful and electrifying and had a commanding presence. I was only 6ft away. He was mesmerizing. I watched his face, his hands, the way he tapped his foot, his big black glasses, the eyes behind the glasses, the way he held his narrative, the way he stood, his neat suit. Everything about him. He looked older than 22. Something about him seemed permanent, and he filled me with conviction.

“Then, out of the blue, the most uncanny thing happened. He looked me right straight dead in the eye, and he transmitted something … and it gave me the chills.”

Three days later, the V-tailed single-engine Beechcraft aircraft Holly had chartered to avoid another freezing eight-hour bus ride crashed in an Iowa cornfield, killing him, Ritchie Valens, JP Richardson and the 21-year-old pilot. But the transference to his apostle was real.

So far, it has managed to keep Dylan performing for seven decades.

#Bob Dylan #music #words and writing #songs #songwriting

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storiesbyrhi · 1 year

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Bones and All - Chapter 1: Copper Fever

Eddie Munson/Reader Bones and All AU

Warnings: canon typical violence/gore, updated each chapter

Synopsis: What do you hunger for?

Author's Note: The first chapter of the fic is the setup, so Eddie will be introduced in the second chapter. This fic will make sense even if you haven’t seen the film/read the book. However, I have heavily used both the film and the novel by Camille DeAngelis (which are quite different btw). This fic is very much a love letter to those texts and if you’ve recently seen/read it then you’ll spot a lot of Easter eggs.

Chapter 1: Copper Fever 2453 words

The others were all so normal. They had youthful pimpled skin and homework deadlines and weekend plans. They suffered only growing pains and unfair curfews and parental expectations. Yes, some suffered cramps and dark alleys, and some a father’s belt or the mirror’s weight, but...

Empathy.

Empathy is what you wanted to feel. If not, then sympathy. Hell, you’d settle for apathy. Anything but the gnawing jealousy and constant migraine of loneliness.

You couldn’t take it anymore, retreating from the cafeteria out into the main building. The school was abuzz; end-of-year dances and graduation ceremonies had teenage hearts aflutter. And, if you could just keep your shit together for another month or so, you’d be joining your class in robes and diplomas.

Technically, it could have happened a lot sooner but with the way you and your mother moved around, some sacrifices had to be made. Real last names, for example. A legitimate learner’s permit. All normal adolescent rites of passage.

Through the hallways and into the library, there you sat. A twenty-year-old with someone else’s name, alone between the shelves of books.

A stack of paper slammed down in front of you suddenly.

“Are you a vampire or something?” Sherry asked as she sat on the floor opposite you.

“What?”

“Vampires hate having their photo taken. You’re not even in this, you know. Mr Essex kept telling you to go do it. Now it’s like you weren’t even here.”

You looked down at the papers, big red letters spelling out ‘yearbook – final draft’ on the top leaf.

“Yeah… sorry. Been busy,”

“Whatever. You’re coming tonight, right?”

“My mum will never let me,”

“So?” Sherry replied with a grin. “Just sneak out after she’s gone to bed.” She sensed your hesitation. “Just for a couple hours? Please? You’ve never come to a sleepover. We’re almost done with high school and I’ll be at Brown soon. This might be our last chance. Please?”

You looked at her. She smelled so good. Like the peaches she’d eaten at recess.

“Please,” she begged, stretching her hand out to take yours. So warm. Close.

“Yeah, okay,” you said quickly, taking your hand back and gathering your things. The faster you could leave, the better.

…

She’d never get used to it. The sight of you dazed and dripping blood down your shirt was forever etched into the darkness behind her eyelids.

“You didn’t… In the car in three minutes. Whatever you can take in three minutes,” your mother instructed, her voice a pained mix of panic and grief.

You walked to the bathroom and looked at your reflection. Blood.

Blood.

Your mother yelled your name, then, “Move! When the cops get here, we have to be good and gone.”

The sleepover had started well. Sneaking out was easy enough and Sheree’s friends were nice. It was comfortable. Normal. Nail polish and warm beer. Skirts made of tinsel and cheese pizza.

You had been laying on the shag rug in Sherry’s room. Kim, a Junior you hadn’t really met before, was next to you. She was kind, told you that her father had skipped out on her too.

“Try this,” Sherry said, painting Kim’s nails. “It’s called Copper Fever.”

Kim studied her hand. “It’s too orange,” she concluded, then stuck her hand in your face. “What do you think?”

Innocently, you’d held her hand and looked at the colour. It was too orange… or not orange enough. You breathed in the acidic smell of the polish, but it faded fast and all that was left was Kim.

You bit down so hard that when the other girls pulled you away, your teeth had degloved Kim’s finger entirely.

In the bathroom, your mother grabbed hold of your shoulders and shook you back into the moment. “Did you hear me? We have to go.”

…

The cockroach appeared from under the refrigerator. As it scurried around, you watched it. The hunger deep in you was a living creature, and even the small dirty thing mapping the kitchen floor made the creature growl.

It had been three days since your mother left you.

Two months after the sleepover, you thought everything was going okay. Then you woke to find yourself completely and utterly alone. She had not taken all her things, only the things that she loved most. And you had been left behind.

There was a folded piece of paper and an envelope on the kitchen table you had yet to open. The contents of the letter were predictable, as was the pain it would inflict. Instead, you had haunted the house. You had wailed and sobbed. You had broken glass and locks. You had sat motionless for hours on end.

When the cockroach made his kitchen debut, you were reminded of the hunger. You were reminded of who and what you were.

Picking up the envelope, you found it unsealed. Inside was cash and a certificate of live birth. The only piece of proof you were real and not an imaginary monster living in the storybooks of a child.

The letter began with your name.

You’re not going to see me again. I can’t help you anymore. I can’t turn you in to the cops. I can’t do anything someone like me would do in a situation like this. So, I have to go.

The first time it happened, you were three-years-old-

You stopped reading, folding the letter, and putting it in the envelope with the cash and birth certificate.

All your belongings fitted into one backpack. When it was full, you put on the jacket your mum left behind and headed out the door.

You had known the day would come when she would leave. There was only so much horror she could take. You knew she’d leave you a letter and some money. She wouldn’t say goodbye. The jacket was a surprise though. Your dad was its first owner, and your mother wore it like a widow’s veil. She was leaving you both behind, you thought. But you, you were moving forward. Toward your father.

…

“Shouldn’t you be in school?” the woman at the bus station asked.

“You’d think,” you replied dismissively.

“I don’t know what that means,”

“It means I’m twenty-years-old and I can buy a ticket if I want.”

The greyhound could take you part of the way, the rest would have to be hitching. The bus was old, cramped, and smelt stale. Sometimes prone to motion sickness, you felt queasy. To take your mind off it, you pulled the letter out and picked up where you left off.

Her name was Penny Wilson. I thought it must have been a satanic cult. All that gore. I was so scared they’d taken you and done unspeakable things. But then I found you in your crib, sound asleep. The blood was dried up on your face. I still didn’t see it though. I didn’t understand until I fished out of your mouth something you were chewing on. It was the hammer of Penny’s eardrum. It’s a small bone. The malleus. I looked it up. You were sucking on it like it was a pacifier. I knew then. I knew what you were.

The letter was rich with information. Succulent and filling. You could only read it a paragraph at a time before you felt too full, verging on ill.

The town you’d arrived in that morning was new to you, but the address circled on the torn-out page of a phone book was seared into your memory. Years ago, your mother got sloppy and left a Christmas card from her parents out on the kitchen table. It had a return address and you’d never forgotten it. She hurried to rip up the envelope and throw it away before you could get your grubby hands on it but it was too late.

You sat on the curb behind a car down the street a little. It was the right place because your mum’s car was parked out front. When she couldn’t parent, she returned to hers. Tears rolled down your cheeks and you burned with shame. It wasn’t her fault. She didn’t ask to birth a creature like you. She wanted to be like the other mothers, playing with their children and cooking wholesome meals. But it wasn’t a dinner she served you each night, it was a sacrifice.

The walk back to the bus stop was lonely, but part of you felt relieved. If you couldn’t do it – be out on your own – you could always go back there and beg to be loved.

The Lord of the Rings kept you company while you waited. It would be hours before the next greyhound came through. If you finished Tolkien for the hundredth time, there were other adventures awaiting in your backpack.

“Well hello, little missy,” a strange voice announced themselves.

You startled, couldn’t place the sound until a figure emerged from the shadow of the building next to you. The man wasn’t smiling, but he looked at you with familiarity.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he offered.

“Do I know you?” you asked although you knew the answer.

“I guess not in the way you mean… I smelled you…”

He wore a suit jacket covered in pins, badges, and other things tacked to it. The top of his hair was neatly cut, but a long rat’s tail of a braid curled around his neck. His left ear looked mangled, the top entirely gone, which reminded you of an alley cat scrapping with the others to get his feed.

“You hungry?”

Before you could think, you were nodding. The stranger turned and began to walk up the road, throwing a look over his shoulder to see you apprehensively following him.

“I got rules. One, number one: never, never eat an eater… Think you can do the same?”

You nodded and took his invitation into a grand old house, marked 400 by a sign out front. Inside it was dark but homely. Floral wallpaper and a sign that read ‘bless this house and everyone in it.’

The stranger began to pull things from the fridge and cupboards in the kitchen. Sitting at the small kitchen table, you watched.

“You got a name, missy? I’m Sully. Life’s never dully with Sully!”

His accent was strange. It wasn’t that you’d not heard someone like him, maybe from rural West Virginia, it was that he spoke about himself like he was two people.

“You don’t got to worry about Sully. He never eats ‘em live,” he told you.

“I thought I was the only one,” you admitted.

“Not lots. More than you think…”

Sully told you that you’d probably come across other eaters. They would have given you a funny look or earned a double-take from you. Maybe you’d misread them as being creepy. He also warned you from seeking them out, though. When you commented on the hypocrisy of him inviting you into house number 400, he shot you a look that was equal parts disturbed and lonely.

“Tell me about your first time,” Sully requested.

You realised then that you remembered more about Penny Wilson than you had thought. Sully saw the guilt on your face, telling you, “Can’t help what you are, miss.”

That’s when he retrieved his satchel bag and pulled something wrapped in muslin cloth. You stayed silent as he presented a rope made of braids of hair. It was a rainbow of human life and death. Sully told you it’s how he honoured the eaten. You didn’t know something could be so grotesque and so beautiful at the same time.

You were touching the rope when you asked, “You said you could smell me?”

Eaters can smell eaters. And Sully, well he was extra special. He said he could smell dying. That’s how he avoided killing. He stalked people with numbered days. Your blood ran cold.

“Sully… Whose house is this?”

Suddenly details came into focus. The photographs on the wall. The homemade carrot cake sitting in a Tupperware container.

“Lydia Harmon,” he said with definity. “Can’t you smell her?”

Upstairs, after a fucked up game of hotter-colder, the smell of cooked vinegar and tangy mud lead you to Lydia. She was old, well into her late 80s. She laid on the floor of her bedroom, shallow breaths ready to cease at any moment. Thankfully, she was beyond consciousness.

“We have to help her,” you said.

“It’s gone by, that point… And whatever you and I got, it’s gotta be fed. And if the circumstances are good and if they’re safe… then eat!”

You didn’t move.

“Sully don’t eat the livin’… That just leaves this…” he told you.

You took the spare room and waited for Lydia Harmon to die. Sully told you that you’d be able to smell it happen. You were horrified to discover he was right.

Sully had stripped down to his dirty white underpants. His head was deep in Lydia’s belly and her head was almost entirely gone already. The sounds. Did you make those sounds? Is this what you looked like in the daylight?

You ate and ate and ate until all that was left of her was a pile of bones, some chewed on. Sully said he always ate the hair and nails and bones if he could. Said it was a sign of respect. He put the leftovers in a plastic bag as you licked the floorboards clean.

…

Sully made coffee and began to consume the carrot cake left in the kitchen. Flies had found their way inside the house and were sticking to the blood and gore that covered your faces and chests.

“It’s not hard once someone teaches you,” Sully told you about being out in the world. “You don’t need to be alone.”

That was the thing though. Maybe it was self-punishment. Maybe even a form of self-harm. You deserved to be alone. Deserved to suffer hunger and cold and isolation. You were a monster.

The flies that crawled over Sully’s face, forcing their way into his nostrils and mouth, didn’t seem to annoy him. There was a deadly stillness deep in the man. Lydia’s hair became part of the braided rope and you felt the danger screaming at you.

As soon as Sully excused himself to shower, you cleaned off in the powder room’s sink and fled the house.

On the next greyhound out of town, you went over all the information Sully had given you. How much of it was truth and how much fiction? Maybe that’s how stories start though. We tell them about ourselves like they aren’t the truth because that’s the only way anybody is going to believe them.

Next Chapter: coming soon

End Note: What do we think?! Are we excited about this?! I'm absolutely FERAL about it. I've seen it in the cinema twice so I could take notes, and I'm re-reading the book and taking notes. It's going to be so jam-packed with text-details. Yewwww.

Fic Taglist: @harrys-tittie @azydrateanatomy

All Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @munsonlives @sweetpeapod @depressooo-expressooo-blog @thorfemmes @hawkins-high @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob @mymoonisalways-in-scorpio @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @lacrymosa-24

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson Fanfic #Eddie Munson Reader Insert #Eddie Munson/Reader #Eddie Munson x Reader #Eddie Munson/You #Eddie Munson x You #Bones and All #Bones and All AU

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