#commercial gym fit-outs

[isogymsupplier]

In a commercial gym setting, only the EPDM mats are recommended and they will last decades before the thousands of regular gym goers finally wear out the hard piece of extruded EPDM top cover layer! For more information to visit our official website https://www.isogymsuppliers.com.au/ or feel free to call at 0434 761 834.

[forbettertime]

Top 3: Best Amazfit Watch For Running

Top 3: Best Amazfit Watch For Running

In recent years, Amazfit has emerged as a leading name in the world of wearable technology, offering smartwatches that combine style, functionality, and affordability. Known for their innovative features and sleek designs, Amazfit watches have become a popular choice among fitness enthusiasts, especially runners. Whether you are training for a marathon, jogging in the park, or simply tracking your daily steps, having the right smartwatch can make a significant difference in your fitness journey.

Best Amazfit Watch For Running is a phrase that resonates with many runners looking for reliable performance and value for money. Amazfit’s range of watches is packed with features that cater to the needs of runners, including precise GPS tracking, heart rate monitoring, lightweight designs, and long-lasting battery life. In this article, we will explore the top three Amazfit watches that stand out for their running features, helping you make an informed choice to boost your running experience.

Let’s dive into the world of Amazfit and discover the best options tailored for your running needs.

Why Choose an Amazfit Watch for Running?

When it comes to selecting a smartwatch for running, you want a device that is not only feature-rich but also reliable and affordable. This is where Amazfit shines. Known for delivering high-quality smartwatches that offer a perfect blend of style, functionality, and affordability, Amazfit has become a go-to brand for runners around the world. But what makes an Amazfit watch stand out, and why should you consider it for your next run?

Best Amazfit Watch For Running options are specifically designed to meet the needs of both casual joggers and serious athletes. Here are some compelling reasons to choose an Amazfit watch for your running sessions:

Precise GPS Tracking: Accurate GPS tracking is crucial for runners who want to keep a close eye on their distance, pace, and route. Amazfit watches come equipped with reliable GPS functionality, ensuring you never lose track of your progress, whether you’re running through city streets or exploring nature trails.

Comprehensive Health Monitoring: Amazfit watches offer advanced health and fitness tracking features, including continuous heart rate monitoring, sleep analysis, and VO2 max measurement. These features provide valuable insights into your health, helping you to optimize your training and recovery.

Lightweight and Comfortable Design: When you’re out for a run, the last thing you want is a bulky device weighing you down. Amazfit watches are known for their lightweight and ergonomic designs, providing a comfortable fit that won’t interfere with your performance.

Long Battery Life: One of the standout features of Amazfit smartwatches is their impressive battery life. Designed to last days on a single charge, these watches are perfect for long-distance runners who need a device that can keep up with their endurance.

Water and Sweat Resistance: Running isn’t just limited to sunny days. Whether you’re caught in the rain or sweating it out under the sun, Amazfit watches are built to withstand various conditions. Most models are water-resistant, making them suitable for all kinds of weather.

Affordability Without Compromise: Amazfit offers top-notch features found in high-end smartwatches but at a fraction of the cost. This makes them an attractive option for runners who want to enjoy premium features without breaking the bank.

Choosing the Best Amazfit Watch For Running means opting for a reliable, feature-packed device that enhances your running experience, supports your fitness goals, and fits comfortably within your budget.

READ FULL ARTICLE :https://forbettertime.com/best-amazfit-watch-for-running/

[gymequipment18]

Many parks offer outdoor gym equipment for people to enjoy a workout while being surrounded by nature. These open-air gyms provide a refreshing alternative to traditional indoor fitness centers.

When it comes to finding the Buy Best Outdoor Gym Equipment Online, there are various options available. You can look for outdoor exercise equipment that targets specific muscle groups or opt for a complete outdoor fitness equipment set that offers a range of exercises. It all depends on your fitness goals and preferences.

Commercial gyms often incorporate outdoor gym machines, allowing members to enjoy their workouts in the fresh air. These machines are designed to withstand the outdoor elements and provide a safe and effective workout experience.

So, if you're looking for a Commercial Workout Machine experience that combines fitness and the great outdoors, outdoor gym equipment offers an excellent solution. Find Grand Slam Fitness that offers these facilities and enjoy the benefits of outdoor exercise. Happy exercising!

For more about Gym Equipment visit us: https://www.grandslamfitness.co.in

[itgetzweird08]

one two three four

katsuki bakugo x Gn!reader

“What's up your ass?”

Mitsuki asked her son as she tailored his suit. It was the weekend, which meant he was at home. While he was there his mother insisted on fitting him for his suit, despite the dance being a month away. “Nothing hag, stay out of my damn-“ Katsuki didn’t even finish his sentence before his mom smacked him in the back of his head. “WHO YOU CALLIN HAG? THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?” Katsuki’s palm’s sparked in anger but before he could retaliate, his father chimed in from the desk in the corner of his parents’ work room. “Katsuki, we can tell when something’s wrong. What is it, son?” His dad’s eyes were soft, and Katsuki (reluctantly) backed down. He always had a soft spot for his dad. “Nothing- I just think this dance is fucking pointless.”

Mitsuki tilted her head in confusion as she fiddled with Katsuki’s pant leg. “Why? You fuckin love dressing up, as much as you pretend not to. You are our son after all.” and that was true, being the son of two of Japan’s most popular designers did make Katsuki have a passion for fashion. While he did prefer street wear, he appreciated a good suit every once in a while.

“Cuz y/n won’t be here to be my date and I ain’t taking no one else. Plus, even if I wanted to, half the class is paired up already. Better off not even fuckin going”

it was rare to see Katsuki pout, but this was one of the rare times he would do so. He always pouted when he thought about how far away from him you were. If he thought about how much he missed you for too long, he would try to busy himself with something else. It made him pretty productive, actually. Your face popping up on his mind a bit too much? He does his homework early to distract himself. When his heart is calling for you? He heads to the gym and blasts music in his ears to drown out the wistful thinking. But he couldn’t do that right now. All he can do now is stand here and wish for your presence.

Katsuki had told his parents about you right before the war. Actually, if he had died during the battle, he made them swear that they would give you his favorite skull tshirt and a letter he wrote. Luckily though, while it was a close call, that never had to happen. But since then, you’ve talked to his parents a few times. His mom, to your surprise, was especially fond of you and would always ask Katsuki about you when they saw him. It didn’t bother him though, he would take any excuse to talk and brag about his person.

“It’s a shame y/n won’t be able to be there, but you shouldn’t throw away the whole dance because of it. Plus I’m sure it would break their heart if they found out you weren’t going because of them.” Masaru told his son softly, only earning a shrug in response. Katsuki knew his father was right, but he was still disappointed. Mitsuki stood up and ruffled Katsuki’s hair, which earned her a glare that she completely ignored. “Have fun at the dance, brat. That way, you can tell y/n all about it when it’s over.”

———

After Katsuki had gone back to the dorms, Misaru and Mitsuki sat together on the couch. Misaru held his wife close, playing with her blonde, spikey hair as Drag Race played on the television. While her husband was locked into the show, Mistuki couldn’t focus. In fact, her mind was completely elsewhere. She couldn’t help the way her heart ached for her son. As often as they butt heads and argued, he was her only child and her baby. He had been through so much in the past three years, and she only wanted the best for him. She was always so supportive of his hopes and dreams, and only wanted him to be happy. He deserved it. It pissed her off that even during a time for celebration and happiness, her son would still be upset because he couldn’t bring the person he cared for most.

As the commercials rolled, Mitsaru looked down at his wife, and pressed a soft kiss to her head. “What’s wrong?” He asked her, earning a grumble in response as she looked up at him. “M’just thinkin bout Katsuki… it ain’t fair that he’s put his entire fuvking life on the line to save the damn country, hell the world even, but he can’t have this one thing. I just…” she sighed heavily, yet Misaru understood. He reflected her feelings as well. He wanted Katsuki to be happy with his friends at this party. Gears in his head began to turn, as between him and his wife, he was the problem solver. He used logic and empathy to solve issues, as Mitsuki usually charged in head first.

After a moment though, a light bulb went off in his head. “Mitsuki…have we asked if she can’t come? I mean, I’m sure Principal Nezu would understand. All Might as well, he’s fond of Katsuki and has a lot of connections. We should see if anything can be done!”

Mitsuki was silent for a bit as she thought about the suggestion, and eventually sat up and turned to Misaru. She beamed brightly, pressing a kiss to his lips. “I knew I married you for a reason. I can send Nezu an email and set up the meeting…but let’s keep this from the brat for now, I don’t wanna get his hopes up.”

———

A/N: a little shorter but next chapter is pretty long! FYI, in the back of my mind, reader is the same reader from my endeavor’s secret daughter one shot. But that’s just me!! It’s not required to read that to enjoy this, it’s just a fun little tid bit. I’m gonna try and finish this mini series within a week because I have to move into my dorm in a couple weeks. Lmk if you want to be tagged going forward!

———

Tag List: @sleepyeri @teeesthings @zaiban2989 @kathsuhki @rinbeeyum @oladelmars @getosuckers @luv-for-fictional-characters @attackonnat @ratcity12345 @bffrs-stuff @ch3rryjampi3 @venus1224idkpleaze @fiannee @consentismfhot @abcdefghijklmmopqrstuvwxyz @bl-og134

[wherenymphsroam]

I READ DAD BOD LEON AND LIKE JDFKD imagine praising him and getting him all flustered and needy and just 😭 he is such a hottie I NEED HIM sorry im just a lil feral abt him

GRAHHHH YES !!!!

cw: leon finally in his retirement era ??? (probably not canon but we can only hope), chubby leon, older leon, body worship, very light scent thing, a messy blowjob, he’s insecure at first the poor thing, uhhhh not proofread <3

w/c: 1.5k

like, leon is sooooo relieved when he’s (somehow) allowed to retire. genuinely probably just passes out for a good couple of days, drowsy and catching up on years of sleep he missed for a month or so. takes things day by day, waning contentedly through different hobbies, interests, just trying to like…. find his personality back after basically becoming the governments dog for the most of his adult life.

and some things really like … don’t click at first.

that he’s not nearly as active without the physically demanding day to day. the mission every other month or so that sheds him of all his bodies resources, the ones that basically force upon him that consistently low body fat percentage. sure, he still works out because at this point, it’s weird Not To after putting in so much physical work for so long.

but he’s older now, his metabolism has changed. commercial gyms don’t exactly offer the same amount of intensity that his body is so used to having to work through. and naturally, parts of him grow complacent. he eats more, rightfully so. actually has the time to go out to eat on a consistent basis, and doordash is viewed as a god sent app.

he doesn’t really notice the pounds that have crept up on him until suddenly his favorite pair of jeans doesn’t need a belt to keep them up anymore. it’s when he tucks in his shirt for a more upscale night out that he realizes his button down is more fitted against him than maybe it was the last time he dug out his nicer clothes.

but once he realizes it, he shies away from it, avoids changing in front of mirrors. and when he starts refusing to change in front of you that you notice.

sure, leon was always attractive in your eyes. but it was never the muscles, the trim ‘v’ of his waistline that kept you around. you loved him, genuinely so. and to have him around more often, able to revel in some of the domestic things you couldn’t exactly soak up when he was still an agent? it’s like heaven on earth with him.

so when you notice the slight increase in his weight — the softness that begins to pad his strong biceps when he wraps his arms around you from behind, the extra bit you’re able to hold onto when you hug him — you don’t point it out. it’s welcomed, has you touching him a bit more than maybe necessary nowadays.

the first time he abruptly turns around when you walk in while he was changing, you don’t question it. it’s when he starts to dim the lights before the two of you topple onto the bed in a passionate display that you grow suspicious. your last straw is plucked when he starts coming to bed with a shirt on. an oversized one at that. he had never worn shirts to bed before, always complained about the materials feeling against him becoming irritating throughout the night.

he tries to deny when you first confront him. plays off the way the newfound pliant skin of his sides swells out over the top of his jeans waistband. shakes his head and makes a face at you, even goes so far as to roll his eyes when you reason with him, pointing out his recent ‘preference’ of keeping the lights lower when you fuck.

“I think you’re imagining this, sweetheart. I’m still sexy,” he reasons cheekily, trying to distract you with his cheesy nature.

“I didn’t say you’re not sexy,” you sigh, shaking your head. “You’re definitely still sexy. I’m just saying you look sexy with the extra bit on you,” you hum, leaning against the bedroom door.

it takes Leon a second, trying to allow ‘sexiness’ and ‘weight’ to coexist in his head. at least not in terms of himself. he loved women, all shapes and bodies and weights included. it was a no brainer to say that yes, your logic that sexiness could coexist with more weight was correct. but on him…? he’s Leon Kennedy. he’s not fat.

“Nor am I saying you’re fat, not by a long shot,” you continue, knowing all too well what that look on his face meant. the one he wore when he was thinking too hard about something.

he tries not to flinch when your hands reach out, capturing his sides. tries to stifle the sound that wants to escape when he realizes how much more sensitive the skin there is now with the extra weight. but the pounding of his heart and heat emanating off his body tells you all you need to know. so you continue.

you’re unashamed in how you explore how pliant his sides are now, in how you trace along where the firm cut lines of his abs formerly were. gently pinching and filling your fingers with the extra skin that lies over his lower abdomen, flattening your palm over the swell there and letting it fill your palm. his breath hitches, hands twitching at his sides, itching to slide your hands off him. he yearns to step out of your grasp, but knows that’ll be too telling. so he lets you continue, let’s you have your fun.

the button of his jeans pops audibly, and it’s clear that maybe he’s gonna have to let his favorite pair go pretty soon. but that’s okay. it’s obvious how okay it is when you slide his shirt up, up, up and out of the way. when your lips finds his sternum, trailing up and down its length before moving on to his pecs. silently appreciating how they’ve swelled a bit, how the hair that scatters across his skin has seemingly spread more. you tuck your nose in, inhaling him appreciatively when you slide your fingers under the waistband of his jeans, start to shimmy the denim down.

and oh god, you’re slowly lowering yourself, letting your lips ghost over his stomach now. you’ve grown sloppier, greedier in how you lick up the salt of his skin, bite into and suck at the pliant flesh. as if a fever had overcome you.

and really, that’s not all that far fetched of an idea. it was like you were seeing him naked for the first time all over again. except he’s softer, warmer… easier to paw and play with. responsive when your hands knead at his sides, his pecs. breathless and panting when he realizes his nipples are more sensitive for some reason when you drag the pads of your thumbs over them.

he could’ve gone bright pink when you ask him to strip completely. in front of the mirror no less. but he obliges, although begrudgingly. maybe a bit more hesitantly when you roll your desk chair over in front of the floor to ceiling mirror, instructing him to sit down. but that dissolves when you settle on your knees in front of it, as if sweetening the deal.

he doesn’t expect you to be so …. eager when you finally get yours hands on him. but fuck does he look good. softened thighs spread, the perfect mix between strong and soft in front of you. his soft cock, laid oh so prettily between them, ever so full balls nestled there. you really can’t help how quickly you find yourself burying your face into him, breathing him in and mouthing at his thighs.

your hands are greedy, so very greedy in how you grab at him. his thighs, the stomach that’s started to rest on them. his pecs you reach up to paw at when you realize they’ve started to create a crease between his chest and his stomach from below.

and at first, he doesn’t believe you when you tell him he looks even better like this. that if anything, you prefer him like this. doesn’t want to hear it when you try to coax him into repeating affirmations about himself, keeps his eyes off his reflection in the mirror.

but of course, he’s a weak man. you’re sat on your knees between his spread thighs, your ass practically begging to be ogled in those jeans.

and that’s what he focuses on at first. tries not to notice how you have to tilt your head slightly when you take him in your mouth, how you have to hold his tummy when you suck him off to keep it from inhabiting how far down you can get on his length. but as the heat in his body grows, as you get sloppier with spit dribbling down your chin, he has no choice but to look down at you.

and at that point, he can’t find it in him to care about the swell of his lower abdomen. he isn’t very worried about how much more space his thighs take up on the chair when you dip one of his balls into your mouth, licking and warming and soaking them in your feverish attempt to make him feel how sexy he is to you.

but by the time he’s coming ropes onto your pretty face, he finally gives in. finally obliges you fully and admits that maybe… maybe he was still sexy as fuck. maybe he did look better, healthier with the retirement weight on him.

[harmonictechnicality]

model!steve and voice actor!Eddie (part 2)

part 1 here | ao3 link here | the temp is up on this one so like... dni if under 18 pls

Steve spends a lot of his spare time at the gym. Comes with the territory of modeling or whatever. Gotta keep himself strong, without developing bulging muscles. Gotta keep himself toned, without becoming too lean. Somewhat of a balancing act to this media fuckery circus.

Times are changing, yeah maybe. But not for puffy-lipped preps with killer bone structure. Steve still falls under the category of stereotypical Pretty Boy, and he’s chill with that. Fucking owns it.

Most days…

He’s currently cooling down on the treadmill - brisk walk, almost a jog. It’s a good pace for multitasking some adult shit that he needs to get done. Staying hydrated, keeping his photoshoot calendar up-to-date, answering a few emails. Yada yada.

Steve takes a swig of his seaweed (more like arsenic) smoothie. Opens the top email that reads:

The Fallen King - Final Commercial Cut

Right. Steve almost forgot about this particular shoot. Well, tried to repress the thoughts of that mega-douche director who kept referring to Steve’s ass as ‘prime real estate.’ Fucking creep.

He scrolls down to the attached file and slides his headphones back over his ears.

The ad opens with a wide shot of Steve draped over the throne, fog swelling around the bottom of the screen. The music is an eerie cello solo, set to a heavy bassline. 

Just another oversexualized cologne campaign, he thinks. Probably will barely feature the product because they paid big money for Steve’s body. Gotta get their fill of it (ha, they fucking wish Steve would fill them up).

But then the narration rolls into his ears and the room does a somersault. Practically inverts it’s axis at the sound dripping in Steve’s ears:

‘The mighty will fall from grace…’

“Oh shit.” Steve almost wipes out on the treadmill, has to catch his fall on the side bars. His knees are tingling, calves molten and shaky. Already half hard, which is definitely going to be a problem in these flimsy, mesh gym shorts.

‘Forbidden love and public slander…’

But that voice. That tone. That sinful register set in the minor key of Holy Fuck.

‘Will bring them to their knees.’

Alright, that fucking does it. Steve pauses the video before he’s fully tenting-out in a goddamn fitness center. Packs up his shit, chucks the sludge smoothie in the trash, and finds an empty stall. Emphatically locks it.

“Agh, damnit!” Steve's thumb slips over the screen and exits out of the video. It scrolls back to the top of the email - a new message has been added to the chain.

Seriously, what obnoxious fucker does ‘Reply All’ these days?

The new message reads:

Great work, team. (Sorry for being such a vocal slut.)

(… Not that sorry though.) - Eddie Munson

That’s right - the voice artist. Almost didn’t recognize the voice, but the repressed memory of that day comes flying to the surface when Steve sees the name. 

He recalls the guy being objectively cute too. Not in the California ‘sun-kissed skin’ kind of way. More in the Seattle ‘rain forces me to be a pale homebody’ kind of way. His eyes were something else though. They reminded Steve of the sepia tone filters he used in his early modeling portfolio. No way in hell Steve could ever forget knockout eyes like that.

The locker room is empty. Steve reopens the video, raises the volume high enough to mute out the thin hum from the air conditioning unit. Only wants to hear Eddie’s voice. That’s it. 

He’s already touching himself when the first phrase falls out of the headphones. Can’t even help it now that he’s alone. It’s all too good. Works himself up all stuffy and sensitive by the time the new part comes up:

‘Drenched in their guilt. Soaked in their shame.’

Fucking christ.

‘Choking on worthless confessions…’

Nope. Nope. Absolutely not. Choking? Worthless? What is this, a sado hotline? Steve feels the heat spreading on his neck, flushed over in a non-exercise way. There’s a thump in his dick, has to squeeze his fingers around it. Like his body needs a reminder to calm the fuck down.

‘Until all that is left of them is desolate darkness.’

Pretty sure the raspy exhale after every phrase is going to do Steve in, saturate his last ounce of dignity with want. Eddie’s breathing is taking Steve’s breath away, and that’s an outright mindfuck. Earfuck. 

Something is getting fucked, and somehow, Steve still needs more.

While the song sustains, Steve strokes himself to the percussive rhythm. 

‘The Fallen King. The scent of secrets.’

The hiss on the last syllable fades into the music till everything fizzles out, going dead silent.

Well, everything goes silent except for Steve, who is utterly rattled. Can hear his dense breath and it’s way too noisy for a public space. The pulse in his neck is irregular, hitched the fuck up. His smartwatch is buzzing, alerting him that his heart rate is elevated, which duh. His whole body feels like it underwent some sexual awakening in the middle of a fitness center. 

And, sure. That’s a common place for people to realize how gay and desperate they are, but not like this. Not with zero visuals of sweaty bodies. 

Before he starts the video over to… finish the job, a phone call lights up his screen. Because of course it does.

He reads the name and swipes it open. “What’s up, Buckley?”

“I need coffee.” Robin whines, already pouting into the phone speaker no doubt. 

“You always need coffee.”

“Yeah but like… it tastes better when you buy me coffee.”

“Oh, so you want to mooch off of your own client?” Steve teases because he can. They can annoy the shit out of each other and write it off as endearment. “Pretty unprofessional of you, Ms. Manager.”

Robin groans. Makes it a long one too - probably to show off both her annoyance and lung capacity. “Fuck all the way off, you were my friend first. Always friends first.”

“Always friends first.” Steve agrees. She’s right, usually is about most things. Robin has been his manager since his last agency went bankrupt from pouring their funds into promoting Fyre Fest. And everyone knows that turned out to be an entire fuckshow.

Honestly, it’s easier this way - Robin being his manager. They get to hang out more, he has more input on gigs that he’s interested in…

Interested in. Huh. The metaphorical lightbulb flicks on in Steve’s voice-drunk brain. Having his best friend as his manager is also convenient when Steve needs the phone number of a certain co-worker.

“Alright, fine.” Steve has a sly grin on as he talks. “I’ll bring over some coffee.”

“Thank god.”

“If!”

“Ugh.”

He huffs out a laugh. “If you can send me the cast and crew contact sheet from the Fallen King commercial.”

“Ew, why?” Robin asks, sounds totally repulsed. Valid, that shoot was Objectification Station.

But truly, Steve’s not in the mood to make up an excuse. He’s sore and sweaty and half-hard. So he just gets to the damn point. “Look, do you want coffee or not?”

“Okay okay.” That’s one way to speed up the process. Caffeine threats - works every time. “Dropping the file to you now.” 

“You’re the best.” Steve sings.

“I know, I know.” And the line clicks dead.

Okay. This is not a booty call, it’s not.

Steve is just texting a semi-stranger to tell him that his voice is potentially the hottest thing he’s ever heard. Okay, he’ll definitely phrase it better than that, maybe throw a few emojis in there to normalize the tone. Soften it up to sound very un-stalkery.

Yeah. Not a booty call. And if Eddie happens to send an audio message, and Steve happens to jerk off to it… still not a booty call, right?

Pathetic, maybe. But not basic, thank fuck.

He types, then re-types the message out way too many times before settling on this:

Steve: Great work on the commercial voiceover! Got ur number from the call sheet. hope that’s cool.

Steve hits send before realizing he didn’t have the goddamn common sense to introduce himself. He’s not even a rookie at hookups, why is he suddenly so frazzled by this guy?

“This is Steve by the way…” he mumbles into an audio message. Hits send, then quickly makes another:

“The… model guy.”

The model guy? What in the flustered hell is going on with him?

A chime notification goes off maybe two minutes after Steve sends the last message. Which is like… hot. Shameless fast texters are a millennial turn-on, for sure.

It’s a voice text, so Steve takes thirty seconds to calm down whatever involuntary throb just happened in his sweatpants. He sucks in some air and presses play:

“Pretty sure all the kids these days just send a ‘u up’ message to people they wanna dick down at midnight.”

Damn. Eddie’s voice sounds totally different, but just as sexy. Like amateur porn sexy. Is amateur audio porn a thing? It should be.

Steve quickly saves the audio file and types back.

Steve:  Ok pls don’t mention ‘kids’ while I’m trying to flirt with u

Eddie: Waitwaitwait So we're definitely flirting right now? I actually interpreted that correctly?

Steve: Like u said It’s midnight So… *shrug emoji*

And a phone call comes through. Eddie’s contact name flashing in a harsh light, too blinding and too unexpected. Steve’s heart is hammering at his rib cage, suddenly so fucking nervous. He waits until the last ring to answer, buys himself some time cause god knows, he needs it.

Steve takes a breath and swallows. “He-”

“Okay, so you do realize this is the sewer rat voice actor guy from the commercial shoot, right?” Eddie interrupts, sounds out of breath. “And not like… a fellow model or Timothee Chalamet’s cousin or something?”

That earns a hearty laugh and eye-roll from Steve. “He is so not my type.”

“Thought he was everyone’s type.”

“Nah.” Steve rolls onto his belly, very giddy and disarmed by the ease of the exchange. His nerves are set aside, replaced with his usual confidence. “More into sewer rat voice actor guys.”

“That… is some very specific criteria.” Eddie coughs or maybe it's just a dry laugh. He sounds pleased as hell, so laugh seems more likely. “Holy shit, I’m flirting with a model!”

“You’re cute." Steve should not be so charmed right now, but the impulsive honesty is really doing it for him. "Dorky, but cute.” 

Eddie mumbles something incoherent, then clears his throat. Speaks quieter this time. “So why’d you text?”

“So why’d you call?”

“Just, uh… needed confirmation that this is real life.”

Steve lets out a ‘hmm,’ thinks of a proper response to that. “If I was there, I could pinch you. Ya know... so you’d know it’s real.” Okay. Maybe not proper, but whatever. It’s late. His brain is half scrambled from hormones and exhaustion, cut him some slack.

“Would do a lot more than pinch you if you were actually here.” And sure, Eddie might have mumbled that, but Steve clearly heard it. He heard exactly what Eddie just suggested.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Fuck, we’re doing this?” Eddie whispers.

Steve turns onto his back again, lets his hand wander down. “If you’re into that. Like hearing your voice, Eddie.”

“Like hearing you say my name like that.” And Eddie sounds like he means it. His tone is smoothing over, the same way it did in the narration. “You sound so worked up already.”

Steve moans, chest falling hard enough that the phone slips. Has to reposition it to get all that good vocal seduction back in his ear.

“God, wish I could see what you look like right now.” Eddie exhales, getting that nice rasp that Steve likes so much. It’s sultry and rich. Breathless at just the right moments. “Bet you’re lying down, aren’t you? Phone wedged between your neck and ear cause your hands are too busy to hold it properly. Am I right?”

“Yeah.” Steve pushes past the waistband of his sweatpants, then his boxers.

Eddie hums. Growls. “The things I’d do to you like that. Lying down, looking so eager to please. Saw how good you are at taking direction that day of the shoot. Does that apply in the bedroom too, baby?”

“It… fuck.” Steve strokes himself slowly. Can barely get the words out cause it feels like he's chewing on Eddie's voice. Swallowing every syllable. “Yeah, it does.”

“See - that’s the problem, isn’t it?”

“Problem?”

“That I don’t know what you’re into. How you like it.”

“Pretty open to… trying things.” Steve reassures, eyes closing to soak in every sensation. “Just keep talking.”

And thank all that is holy, Eddie does just that. He keeps talking. “Can’t stop thinking about that pretty neck of yours. How I’d kiss it, suck on it till your skin goes tender and soft under my lips. Till your head rolls back like it did in that video.”

Eddie's words are syrup. Heavy and tempting. “I’d let you rest it on my shoulder while I get my hands all over you. See what sweet spots drive you wild, get you to squirm for me.”

Steve's grip tightens, pumping at a pace that’s close to getting fucked. A pace that makes it easier to pretend that it’s Eddie’s hand wrapped around him, making his vision blurred and spotty - even with his eyes screwed shut.

“Eddie, you’re… oh my god.” Steve whines, knows it must be pretty fucking loud with the speaker smushed against his cheek. “You’re so good at this.”

Eddie shushes him, sounds like he’s snickering a bit. “I’d tease you like that until your thighs start to tremble. Until you beg me to go further. End the torture.”

“Fucking christ…please.” Guess Steve really is that good at taking direction. Or maybe he’s extra easy for guys that turn his brain into liquor. Too busy begging to know which one it might be. “Keep going.”

Eddie’s laugh is dark and rough. “Sounds nice hearing you beg like that. Like sin.”

Feels like sin too. 

Steve’s fingers are slicked nicely with precome. The friction of his palm is making everything warmer, better. And stirring all of those feelings up with Eddie’s voice? Fucking hell, Steve is close. He’s so damn- “Okay, okay. If we don’t stop, I’m gonna-”

“I know.” Eddie purrs, sweetly mean. “Thought that was the point.”

“Cannot believe I'm about to say this, but maybe…” Steve has to dig his hand out from his boxers to complete the sentence. Knocks his head against the wall because his behavior is totally batshit right now. “Maybe I want to see you again first? Is that weird?”

His skin sort of tingles from going this long without finishing. Never solved the blue-balling issue back at the gym either, so Steve’s on the verge of climax insanity right now. Didn’t think he’d discover an edging kink at the ripe age of twenty-five, but eureka. Here it is.

“Not weird.” Eddie’s voice returns back to a calmer one. The one that doesn’t make Steve want to bend over and get fucked so hard that his organs shift around. “I mean, I’m weird, sure. But wanting to complete this in person is not weird. Very un-weird, in fact.”

“You talk a lot.”

“Yeah well… voice actor.” Eddie says, sort of deadpan. “You couldn’t see that, but I just did ‘razzle dazzle’ hands.”

Shit, Steve really likes this guy. He just used the phrase ‘razzle dazzle hands,’ and Steve is still horny for him. Wow.

“Is tomorrow too soon?” Steve manages to say before overthinking it.

“Tomorrow-tomorrow, or like today-tomorrow?” Eddie asks. “Cause it’s past midnight.”

Right. Booty call time moves at an entirely different pace than normal time does. “Today-tomorrow. If you’re free.”

“Free as a dead composer’s anthology of music.” Eddie answers happily.

Steve opens his mouth to respond, then shuts it because what? What does that even mean? Is that a yes or a no? Goddamnit, his head hurts. Too many questions, not enough orgasms.

“Most classical music is royalty-free.” Eddie clears his throat, sounds like he’s tapping on something. “… So yeah. I’m free.”

“Right.” Steve chuckles, hard to believe he’s unapologetically gushing. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, Eddie.”

“Great. See you today, Steve.” Eddie is still snorting at his own joke while the call ends.

They haven’t sorted out any of the details yet, but it doesn’t matter. It’s happening. It’s real.

So real, that he wants an actual date with Eddie before steamy phone sex. He wants to make Eddie laugh before making him come. That's like... unheard of for Steve. Uncharted.

Damn.

Today-tomorrow can’t come soon enough.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

If there's anyone looking for the perfect cult setting, this 1880 Manor is it. 11bds, 5.5ba, $7.5M. Yes, it's pricey, but it's a total of 85 acres spanning 2 states.  The Main House is on the Sheffield, MA side of the property, (70+ acres), it has 11 buildings - an Auditorium, Group Meeting Areas, Offices, Fitness Center, Cottage, Dining Hall w/Commercial Kitchen, and over 56 Guest Rooms. The Salisbury, CT side is 11+ acres.

Pretty spectacular great room.

Library that looks like a meeting room.

One of the offices. Very nice.

There's a variety of places to hang out.

I don't know if this is the commercial kitchen they list in the description.

So many sitting rooms!

This must be the leader's bedroom.

I would imagine that the bedrooms in the main house would be for the "higher-ups."

Lovely buildings.

Now, this looks like a church. In the description is says that a stained glass window is not included in the sale- maybe it's that one?

The grounds are quite beautiful and include hiking trails.

Nice cabin.

According to the property map, all of the buildings have names.

And, look at this group of buildings. It looks like a street in a town.

Guest bedrooms. It looks like a hotel.

Inside the octagonal building.

I like the flags in the dining room.

Another church?

Where all the members gather.

The barn houses the gym.

Another residence.

Look at the beautiful waterfall on the property.

Wait- that one building says "llama barn." Very cool.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/564-Under-Mountain-Rd-Salisbury-CT-06068/328576158_zpid/?

[originalfatfiction]

Andy's Assistant

“Hello, excuse me.” There was a gentle rapping at my office door that caused me to look up from my computer. “Are you Andrew Reynolds?” I looked at a young guy obviously in his early twenties. He smiled cheerily as he stood in the doorway, waiting for my response. His smile was gorgeous, his teeth immaculate.

“Yes, I’m Andrew Reynolds,” I replied. “How can I help you?” He smiled again before he continued, walking a little further into my office. 

“Well, the receptionist at the desk in the waiting area said it would be okay if I came on back.” I nodded, allowing him to continue. “My name is Parker Jeong and I applied for the job as your assistant. We had the interview over the phone early last week. I was in the process of moving to the area.”

“Oh, yes, I remember.” Recent college grad. Moving from California. Could start working immediately.

“I know that you mentioned wanting to meet in person before finalizing my employment.” He smiled again, and even with the wholesome smile on his face, I could see in his eyes that he was nervous. He had beautiful almond-shaped brown eyes, and he did his best to hold my gaze. He toyed anxiously with the crisp sheet of paper in his hand, which I assumed was a hard copy of his resumé. He was probably scared I wouldn’t want to hire him after all. Imagine moving across the country for a job only to be told the position had already been filled.

“I know you just graduated a few months ago,” I verbalized. “But from what I remember you telling me during our phone conversation and what I saw on the resumé you emailed over, you’re more than qualified to work as an administrative assistant.”  

“Thank you, sir. I brought a hard copy of my resumé with me,” he said.

“Let me take another look.” He walked closer to my desk and handed it to me. I looked it over, recalling most of the standout credentials. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. 

Parker had majored in marketing with a minor in graphic design. He’d spent his final semester involved in a mentorship program for Asian-Americans interested in working in advertising. He graduated magna cum laude. Hell, he was overqualified for this position. 

“You’re sure you want this job?” I asked. “You could definitely get a position as a copywriter at another agency.” 

“Hathaway and Associates is the best agency in the entire Midwest. I’ve dreamed of working here since I decided I wanted to go into advertising. The commercials you all put out for Nike were astonishing.” The kid had done his research. 

“What about those commercials did you like so much?” 

“They had this sense of authenticity that I don’t think we see much of anymore. Those ads gave me the courage to join a gym.” I wondered what he’d think if he knew the portly executive in front of him had come up with the concept that inspired his fitness journey. 

“I want more for my career, yes, but I don’t plan on shirking my responsibilities as your assistant. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you’re taken care of, sir.”  

I was a pretty good judge of character, and I didn’t think Parker would let me down. I liked his honesty. It was refreshing. My previous assistants had never been my choice, often young adults that had some sort of connection to the other executives at the agency. “Well, I look forward to working with you.”

“I look forward to working with you too,” he replied, reaching out to shake my hand. I stood, and his eyes traveled upwards to my face. Maybe he couldn’t tell I was so tall behind my desk, but it seemed like he was surprised by my size. I tended to have this effect on people. I grabbed his hand, and we shook to seal the deal of his hiring.

“Head to human resources and get your paperwork finalized. I’ll see you first thing tomorrow morning. We start at nine.” He thanked me again, clutching his over-the-shoulder bag as he left my office. I bet he skipped down the hallway all the way to HR.

I knew he’d work hard. That was certain. But when it came to how sexy he was, I wasn’t sure what I was getting myself into. I assumed Parker was gay, and he was definitely a little snack I could see myself sinking my teeth into, but I had to remind myself that I was in a position of power over him. Even if I wanted to see what he was working with underneath his exquisitely tailored slacks, flirting with him was a no-go. And besides, that little gym bunny probably had no interest in a grizzly bear like me.

The next morning, I got to work a little early and Parker was sitting at his station right outside of my office. He had a dozen donuts on his desk and two coffees, one much larger than the other.

“Hello Mr. Reynolds,” he said. “Please let me know what I can do to help you this morning.” He handed me the larger coffee and a napkin before smoothly opening the box of donuts. I recognized them immediately. They were from a trendy new spot that had opened a few months ago. They specialized in unique flavors, like maple-bacon and Fruity Pebbles.

“You sure know how to make an impression.” 

“I told you that I’d do whatever it takes to make sure you’re taken care of.” I grabbed one of the donuts, knowing I’d be coming back out for another within the next fifteen minutes.

“Let me get situated and I’ll let you know what you can do for me.”

“Yes sir.”

I wondered if he knew what he was doing to me with all this “Mr. Reynolds” and “Yes sir” business. My last assistant was a statuesque redhead who never tried to go above and beyond the requirements of her position. Which was fine, I got it. She did what she was paid for. But sometimes I think she messed things up on purpose so I wouldn’t give her more work to do. I barely got a hello from her in the morning, and she left promptly at five without so much as a farewell. 

I shuffled into my office, tossing my bag on one of the chairs opposite my desk. I bit into the donut, savoring its sweetness. It tasted like a Biscoff cookie, and I was almost certain the glaze was made from cookie butter. I took a slightly larger bite before shoving the rest of the pastry into my awaiting mouth. That donut never stood a chance. I already wanted another, but I needed to show some self-restraint. I couldn’t let Parker know I spent my working hours inhaling food three minutes into his first day.

About ten minutes later, Parker was knocking at my door, box of donuts in hand.

“We’re celebrating today, Mr. Reynolds,” he said, walking towards my desk. “I’ve already had two of these. I’m going to leave the box with you so you don’t have to worry about coming back for more.”

“Well, uh, you don’t want to offer them to some of the other assistants?”

“No, sir,” he said, coyly setting the box to the left of me at my L-shaped desk. “This is for me and you, sir.”

Damn did Parker know the way to a big man’s heart. Having the box within arm’s reach, I finished the rest of that dozen by noon.

The donuts were one thing, but Parker was constantly supplying me with snacks throughout the day. He’d brought me homemade blueberry muffins and brown butter chocolate chip cookies. He’d made me buttery croissants, decadent fudge brownies, and Oreo cheesecake bites. I wondered if he was making his way through a cookbook.

“It’s just a hobby,” he said offhandedly when I mentioned he didn’t have to bring me so many treats. “I guess I got carried away.”

“You just always bring so much. I hope you know I’m not expecting you to bring something every single day. I don’t want you to feel put out.”

“It’s just how I unwind,” he said. “Before I moved here, I had three roommates. Now that I live alone, I don’t have anyone else to share them with. I’m really sorry for assuming you wanted them.”

“Whoa!” I interjected. “I never said I didn’t want them.” This made him laugh. I didn’t mind the baked goods. I woke up salivating thinking about what new thing he’d have for me to munch on, but it was never just a sampling of his work. The portions were huge. When he showed up with his reusable containers, it always brought to mind something that would normally be placed in the breakroom for everyone in the office to sample—like a baker’s dozen of white chocolate raspberry mini-Bundt cakes or an entire pan of M&M Rice Krispie Treats.

The baked goods were just the cherry on top of having an excellent assistant. He was definitely the best one I’d ever had, a really fast learner for sure, but his competence as an office worker was second to his ability to cater to my often insatiable hunger. A month of Parker’s special treatment was damaging to my waistline. Being catered to by him turned me on beyond belief, and it was something new for me. In my past relationships, my love of food was never celebrated. Parker’s eyes seemed to light up when I munched on whatever he brought me. “It’s not too chocolatey?” he’d asked, pushing another confection my way. It was never too chocolatey. It was always perfect, just like him.

He greeted me with baked goods each morning and made sure to say goodbye before heading out every evening, carrying with him an empty Tupperware container or pie dish. Aside from the extra thousand-plus calories a day I was inhaling from his delicious goodies, he always made sure to have lunch delivered for me.

He talked to me more than any of my other assistants ever had. Almost like he was trying to get to know me on a more personal level. It had me looking forward to going to work, a feeling I hadn’t had in quite a while. It might have been unintentional, but Parker’s interest, even if it was just platonic, was boosting my ego. My old assistants barely ever looked in my direction, but this guy wanted to know what my favorite movies were and what I liked to do for fun. This attention from him was electrifying. My brain knew being this infatuated with him was no good, but my heart (and my stomach) didn���t care.

Even now, none of the interns or other assistants ever talked to me unless absolutely necessary. That didn’t mean I wasn’t a topic of conversation. They all definitely talked about me. I was big, yes. But I also had a resting serious face. Combined with my intimidating frame, they thought of me as some sort of beast. I once made an intern cry during a pitch meeting because I “looked like I was going to bite her head off.” I now made more of an effort to smile, even when there was no reason to. I also tried to ignore the implications of this, considering I was one of four black men on staff.

To the other execs, I was more of the office joke. I was younger than most of them by fifteen years, so they viewed me as some sort of kid brother. It was always a crack here or a joke there. When I landed the Nike account they all thought it was the funniest thing to ever happen in the history of the world.

“Andy?” one of them had guffawed, barely able to get out what he wanted to say. “When was the last time you saw the inside of a gym? And Nike went with your pitch?”  

But it was something I had become accustomed to; all throughout school I was the big guy people joked about or avoided. Adults always thought I was with the wrong group of kids in elementary school because I was a head taller than the other boys. As if I wasn’t already too big, I had another growth spurt the summer before freshman year of high school. At fourteen my dad began teaching me how to lift weights. My body developed rapidly, and it took me a long time to get comfortable with those changes. By the time I was eighteen, I was larger than my father, who was by no means a small man. My weight sort of leveled out in my early twenties, and I graduated college at my current height and 270 pounds.

Joining the workforce was frightening, yet liberating. I had disposable income and the ability to make my own life decisions. I began working where I was currently employed as a copywriter two months after getting my degree. Lots of late nights and hard work helped me rise in the ranks. I was promoted to the executive level three years ago, and had run through five assistants in that time. I was now thirty-two, unmarried, and a little stifled.

I spent most of my time working. I hadn’t had a hookup in literal years, and to be frank, I didn’t see one happening in the near future. I used to be able to lean into being the big, burly guy who’d had one too many beers. I walked the line between dad-bod and straight-up fat guy for as long as I could before I was promoted. Being an executive meant a lot more responsibility and a lot less free time. My tri-weekly lifting sessions were now a thing of the past. I thought I could stand to lose a few pounds then, but now I was over 350 pounds.

Having Parker as my assistant only exacerbated my feelings of loneliness (and horniness). He probably didn’t even know I was gay and very much into his tight slacks and obedient disposition. The last month had been amazing, yet torturous.

“I have your forms, Mr. Reynolds.”

I told him he could call me Andy, or even just Andrew, but he never did. It was about lunch time and I was getting a bit restless. Maybe I’d run off my other assistants with my multiple food orders throughout the day. I seemed to simply exist in a state of hunger. I was also slightly convinced I couldn’t do my best work on an empty stomach.

I looked at Parker standing in front of me. His dark brown hair was short and very stylish. My hair was cut in a neat fade and my facial hair was thick. I’d kept a standing appointment with my barber every Sunday morning at ten for the last five years.

“Thank you,” I said, holding out my hand to take the manila folder that contained the forms from him. Like some cheesy porno with ridiculous circumstances to set up a sexual scenario, the folder fell through my fingers, all the papers scattering on my office floor.

“Oh, sorry!” he exclaimed. “That’s my bad.” He bent over to pick up the documents, noticing there were more papers to gather than he first realized. He then got on his knees in front of my desk and once again I got to take in his beautiful ass. The fabric of his slacks pulled tight against his butt. His back was slightly arched, as if advertising himself to me. What I wouldn’t give to be bucking my hips behind him. I thought about fucking him constantly, and it had become an obsession. I’d definitely gotten the vibe that he was gay, but I had some serious doubts he’d ever want to hook up with me. “Here you go,” he said, hopping to his feet and handing me the papers.

Almost like it was trying to embarrass me and purposely kill my arousal, my stomach growled.

“Sorry,” I said. I couldn’t believe how hot my face got. My stomach growling was only going to draw attention to the fact that I was twice his size. The portion of goodies I received from Parker at the start of the day was on the smaller side, so that hadn’t helped to dull my hunger pains.

“It’s okay.” He smiled. “It’s lunchtime.” I felt my face go hot once more.

“Yeah, I guess I am kind of hungry.”

“You’re a pretty big guy. I get it.” He fidgeted with one of the buttons on his dress shirt. “Do you, maybe, want to take lunch with me today?” 

“I’ve never eaten with one of my assistants before,” I said, in disbelief he wanted to spend time with me outside of the office.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I can just pick something up for you if you’d prefer—”

I stood quickly, not wanting to pass up any opportunity to talk to him about topics not related to copies or signatures or meetings. My gut shook a bit with the momentum. The buttons had given me a difficult time when getting dressed, and I needed to get some new shirts.

“I’m free for lunch,” I exclaimed. “We can go now.”

There were a ton of restaurants in the downtown area. I asked what he wanted to eat and he deferred to me, claiming he wanted me to get whatever I was craving. If I were able to get whatever I was craving, it would be the Parker Jeong meal, extra sauce. He’d probably think that was so cringe. I sighed to myself.

“There’s this place called The Coop,” I said, giving my second choice for lunch. “They serve Nashville style hot chicken.”

At the restaurant he got a normal sized portion of food for a normal sized person, and I wanted to be good, but I needed to replace the lust I was feeling with something else, and that something else was two Nashville hot chicken sandwiches, a large fry, baked beans, coleslaw, and a strawberry mint frozen lemonade.

He didn’t even bat an eye, offering to pick up our trays while I waited at the table. I knew he was just being nice to me because I was his boss. I’d paid for the food, so he was probably just still in assistant mode.

“Order up,” he said, returning to where we sat, setting my overstuffed tray in front of me.

“Thank you,” I said, taking in his tray with three tenders and a medium fry.

“Do you like to eat here a lot?” he asked, sipping from his unsweetened iced tea. Coming from someone else, that would’ve felt like a jab, but from him it just felt conversational.

“I do like this place a lot. Especially for the downtown area. The portions aren’t skimpy and it tastes pretty good too.”

“What other places do you like?”

“Oh, well that’s easy,” I said, digging into my first sandwich. “There’s Tripp’s for seafood, Curry House for Indian, Miss Janie’s for BBQ, oh yeah—Sub Daddy has these huge hoagies. Best in the city. And they’re open late!”

“Sub Daddy?” he laughed. “What kind of name is that?”

“Well, maybe they’re leaning into the innuendo?”

“Hmm, maybe,” he said, looking down at his tenders. “We’ll have to eat there together soon, though Dom Daddies are actually more my speed.”

Was that directed towards me? There was no chance. Absolutely no way. He wasn’t flirting. He wasn’t coming on to me. But still—even if his comment meant nothing, I could feel myself getting hard. 

I took another big bite of my sandwich, trying not to fuck things up. If I lost another assistant they’d probably open an investigation or something to figure out what I did to keep running them off.

“So, um, how’s your food?” I asked, deflecting. 

The vibes never quite got back on track after that. I was too wound up and way too invested in my food. If my inability to hold conversation wasn’t enough to scare him off, me stuffing my face for fifteen minutes straight surely did the job.

We made our way back to the office and finished up for the day. It was a little after five when Parker peeked his head into my office. 

“Have a good night, Mr. Reynolds.” He hesitated for a moment. “Oh, and thanks for lunch.” 

“No problem. I enjoyed your company.” I did enjoy his company. Even with how poorly I felt things went, it was nice being out in public with him. I had to remind myself it wasn’t a date and only lunch between colleagues.

“About the joke I made,” he started, stepping completely into my office and closing the door. “I am so sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I’ve been thinking about it all afternoon.”

“Don’t even sweat it,” I said, knowing I sent him into this spiral because I was now inept at talking to cute men. Things had been so much easier ten years ago.

“I am gay,” he continued. “I know some people feel a type of way about that sort of thing. I just don’t want it to ruin our relationship.”

“You don’t need to disclose your sexual orientation, there are policies in place to protect people from discrimination in the workplace and I’d never treat you poorly because of something like that because—”

“Because you’re a really good boss, I know. I’m sorry I even thought you’d treat me differently. It’s just—the real world is way different than a college campus.”

I was about to come out to him. What did I even think was going to happen? Were we going to fuck, me taking control as his sought after Dom Daddy? I was being ridiculous. Of course he was concerned about his career. 

“Are you going to be much longer?” he asked.

“Yeah, I have to catch up on some work for that supercenter presentation next week.” He started to take off his jacket. “No need to do that, Parker.”

“I can help,” he said. 

“No, that’s okay. Don’t ruin your evening,” I said, still feeling embarrassed by this whole debacle. I could use his help. The copy room was unbearably small and I didn’t want to have to keep squeezing in and out of there. 

“But if you need my help, I can help.” He smiled. “It’s my job. I’m your assistant.” 

I was glad he wanted to help me. He was truly the best assistant I‘d ever had and not just because he had such a fantastic ass. I didn’t want to come across as demanding or difficult to work with, but selfishly, I wanted to spend more time with him.

“Well, okay,” I relented. “As long as you’re free.” 

“I’ll order us something from Sub Daddy,” he said, heading back out to his station. “It’s been hours since lunch. You can’t focus on an empty stomach.”

After that, we worked late a lot, and went to lunch together even more often. He was more than willing to try new restaurants with me, always encouraging me to order as much as I wanted. He always offered to treat me, but I never let him. What sense did that make? He only ever ate a fourth of what I did.

His personality was pleasant, which didn’t make it easier for me to stifle my crush on him. Who wouldn’t be into him? He was smart, hardworking, fun, and considerate. He knew how to bake and never made me feel bad about eating what I wanted. I had gotten into the habit of eating more and more when I was around him. I hardly noticed until all the food was gone. I found myself to be less nervous when I was stuffing my face. It felt less likely that I’d say something dumb. When I was 70 pounds lighter, I was way more willing to flirt or say something corny to make a guy laugh. But now I felt like everything I said or did seemed desperate. And so instead of talking, I stuffed my face. In the two months Parker had been working with me, I’d gained ten pounds.

On our late nights, I always told him he could leave but he never did. Not once.

That was enough to keep my delusional fantasies about him going.

He started mentioning clubs and bars, asking if I’d ever want to go with. I figured it was just a gesture, and I was way too rusty to ever take him up on the offer, but maybe one day I could. The more I got to know him, the more I found myself thinking that maybe, just maybe, he was interested in me too.

My pants had gotten even tighter; I needed some new ones. My thighs filled them out completely and my ass was getting pretty big too. I’d never gotten around to getting those new shirts, and now I needed new pants. I had to face it. I was fat, and with my habits, I was just going to keep getting fatter.

It was late October, and one of the other execs was celebrating his fiftieth. His assistant and a few of the interns had organized a little office party for him after lunch. I’d already eaten these really delicious chocolate covered pretzel sticks Parker made me and something he’d picked up for me from The Coop for lunch.

Everyone filed into our largest conference room. There were a few toasts and it was a decent time overall. Then the cake was revealed. It was from a nice bakery near our office that people always used when doing festive things like this. 

It was time to admit to myself that I loved sweets, and with Parker’s kind gestures, I had tried tons of things I’d never eaten before.

I moseyed on over to the cake, planning to only have a piece. Just enough to be polite to the planning committee. But it was delicious. It was a strawberry lemon layer cake, the perfect marriage between tart and sweet flavors. The lemon cake layers were separated by a delightful strawberry compote (a term I’d learned from Parker), which was also incorporated into the rich buttercream frosting. 

By the time I finished my (substantial) piece, Parker discreetly replaced my empty plate with another that had an even larger slice. He did this three more times while we mingled with others from the office. I must have ended up having a third of that cake to myself. 

Returning to my office after the celebration gave me time to reflect. I tried to get some work done, but it was hard to focus, especially with the buttons on my yet to be replaced shirt and slacks straining.

What was Parker trying to do? Was he simply being an attentive assistant or was he subtly making fun of me? Or maybe I was just too in my head and he was attracted to me? He’d never done or said anything that alluded to disliking me because of my size. But that didn’t mean he was attracted to me because of it either. I looped through variations of the same arguments over and over.

I must’ve overanalyzed those different scenarios for a good fifteen minutes before shifting my focus back to work. I’d already sent Parker to the art department to collect some mock-ups we’d need, but I couldn’t move forward in my current task without making some photocopies. 

I was going to have to face the dreaded copy room.

Minutes later, I stood outside of the copy room. I paused momentarily to psych myself up before proceeding. The room was not spacious to begin with, but with multiple built-in cabinets full of office supplies on one wall and a line of photocopiers on the other, the only space for a person to move was a narrow strip of floor down the middle of the room. I walked up the aisle to one of the machines in the center of the room.

So far, so good. I made one of my copies, and proceeded to the next. Still good. I moved on to my last document. That’s when the machine jammed.

“Fuck me,” I said to myself, sighing. I took a step back, my ass already brushing against a cabinet. I leaned forward, opening the side panel and noticing the jammed paper immediately. This would be an easy fix, thankfully. I was bending my knees slightly, and I could feel the fabric of my slacks pulling tight against my beefy behind. It might have just been my anxiety, but I swear I could feel the stitch on the rise of my pants stretching to its limit. I made a mental note to myself that at this point some new items in my wardrobe were necessary, not optional.

I removed the jammed paper, made my last copy, and swiftly made my exit from that claustrophobic space. Bull in a china shop, meet Andrew Reynolds in the copy room. 

I paused for a moment, as I could hear Parker’s voice.

“I really should be getting back.”

“Come on, Parker. You can’t actually like working with Andy.” I backpedaled before I could be seen. It was Antoinette, one of the office gossips. She’d been close with my previous administrative assistant.

“Yeah, I do,” Parker said, sounding somewhat bothered. “He’s really very nice. And super smart.” Whoa. He was actually sticking up for me. I could hardly believe it.

“You’re gay, right?”

What a segue. Antoinette was likely upset he wasn’t down to badmouth me, ready to move the conversation in a direction she found more interesting.

“Uh, yeah, I am,” he said, his tone slightly more annoyed. 

“You don’t like him, do you?” Antoinette pushed. “Because you’re probably barking up the wrong tree with that one. He’s never been with anyone since I started here, and it’s been seven years.”

“Mr. Reynolds might just be a private person. He could have a wife and kids at home. You don’t know.” At this, she laughed.

“I highly doubt that.” Parker likely made a face, as she then said, “Now don’t give me that look. I wasn’t trying to upset you. I hadn’t realized how much you looked up to Andy.” She couldn’t have sounded more sarcastic.

“Like I said,” he reiterated. “I really should be getting back.”

“Okay, wait. I only bring it up because there’s someone else in the office who is interested in you.” She sounded like some sort of matchmaker.

“Toni, please.” He sounded even more irritated. “I don’t think my love life is any of your business, and I don’t need you to hook me up with anyone.”

“Mark is the one that wanted me to talk to you. He really likes you,” Antoinette continued. Mark was a copywriter that had started two or three years after I did. He’d never gotten over the fact that I’d been promoted and he hadn’t.

“I’m flattered, truly,” Parker replied. “But please tell him I’m not interested.”

“Fine, but here’s his card anyway.” There was a slight pause. “But you’ve got to be real with me. Working with Andy must be hard. I heard from his last assistant that he was so demanding, and not about work matters. She spent most of her time placing food orders and picking up his take-out.” She laughed. “Did you see all that cake he ate at Dave’s party this afternoon? That’s why he’s not with somebody. Who wants to date a pig?” I felt my stomach tighten in embarrassment.

“Watch how you speak about my boss,” Parker responded. “This conversation is over.”

“Fine, I swear—” I could hear her heels clicking on the linoleum of the hallway as she walked away from the corner in which they’d been speaking. I could then hear Parker’s steps as he headed towards the copy room. 

I froze.

What could I do? There was nowhere to hide. I was in the world’s smallest copy room, and even if there was somewhere to hide, there was no way I’d fit into that hiding spot. I just stood there, ready to face the awkwardness. He turned the corner quickly, bumping into my stomach.

He stumbled back, almost losing his balance. He dropped all the samples from the art department. I could feel that tight feeling in my stomach again, my mouth going dry. He must have known I was listening.

“Mr. Reynolds?” he mused. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.” He knelt down and started picking up the papers.

“No apologies, please. It’s my fault.” 

I bent over quickly to help him and there was a loud ripping sound. The same seam in my pants that had worried me moments before gave way. I could tell immediately that my pants had split down the back.

I stood up straight immediately. I could feel his eyes on my face. 

“Andrew,” he said softly. 

No, not the pity. I could feel it coming, and that would make me feel worse. I pushed past him, leaving him alone in that tiny room to gather the scattered papers. I waddled awkwardly back to my office to grab my jacket. I didn’t want the pants to rip anymore than they already had. I needed to get some new slacks. 

Taking a moment, I looked in the mirror on the back of my office door. My blue button up shirt didn’t hide my large, round belly. I’d really let things get bad these last few months. I had completely lost all restraint since meeting Parker. I was happy-eating when he brought me his baked goods. I was nervous-eating when we went out to lunch together. I was sad-eating at home when I thought about how much it sucked to have unrequited feelings. 

My love handles sloped away from my torso down over the side of my pants. My pants looked like they’d been painted on my meaty thighs. When did my face get so round? If I shaved my beard how many chins would I find? More than the one I remembered when I started working here ten years ago? I had once had a square jaw, but I knew now it would be backed by a second chin, with a new layer of fat likely being formed behind that. My round cheeks made my eyes look smaller than they were in my youth. I even had a light dabbling of sweat on my forehead from my dash back into my office.

“Mr. Reynolds?” Parker called gently as he knocked at my door. “Are you okay?” 

“Yes,” I said, speaking slowly. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” he inquired. 

“Yes, I’m sure. I need to head out for an errand, so please make sure you reschedule the rest of my meetings this afternoon.” 

“Do you need to go shopping?” he asked. 

I could have leaped from my office window—and we were on the twentieth floor. Any chance of ever being with Parker was surely ruined. I needed to rip off the Band-Aid and get this interaction over with. I opened my office door. 

“I could help you pick some things out,” he suggested. “I am your assistant. And I know it’s a stereotype, but I have a pretty good fashion sense.” He was trying so hard to be nice to me. 

“This is my problem.” I was still speaking slowly, forcing the words out in a way that likely came off as short. “This is a personal matter, not something to do with work.”

He didn’t say anything. He turned and walked over to his desk, rummaging in one of the drawers. He held a tiny sewing kit in his hands as he strode back over to where I stood. He placed his hand on my stomach, pushing me back into the office before closing the door.

“I understand you would rather shop alone, but I’m not going to let my boss walk around with a split in his pants.” What was he expecting me to do? Strip? There was no way.

“Parker—”

“We don’t have to make a big deal out of this, sir,” he said. “Just take off your pants and hand them here. I can mend them in less than fifteen minutes.”

“Really, that’s not necessary.”

He just stood there, looking at me expectantly. I didn’t want to walk around exposed until I could get to a clothing store. It would only take him fifteen minutes. I took a deep breath and unbuckled my belt. It was a brown leather material that matched my loafers, which I’d slid out of before shimmying out of my too-tight navy slacks.

I could see myself in the mirror behind my office door again. Here I was in my boxer briefs, Parker standing right in front of me, and it wasn’t a scenario I’d previously imagined. He crouched down in front of me, grabbing the pants so I wouldn’t have to bend over.

He inspected the rip for a moment. “This is perfect. It’s not frayed or anything.”

“You really think you can fix them?”

“A temporary fix, yes.” He walked towards one of the extra chairs in my office and had a seat. Things were silent for a few minutes as he threaded the needle and got started on the repair. I’d taken a seat behind my desk and watched him work.

His skin was so smooth, his lips kissably full, his nose a little large for his face.

“I can see why these split,” he said, not looking up from his work. His words abruptly hit me and filled the silence in a way that sat heavy on my mind.

“Me too.” He still hadn’t looked up at me. He just continued mending my pants. 

“I knew I needed new ones, and I—” The words got caught in my throat. I was already embarrassed, so maybe it was time for me to just speak honestly, but speaking honestly kind of felt like admitting defeat. It felt like I was giving up on taking things in an intimate direction with Parker. “I’ve been putting it off. They probably could’ve held on a bit longer, but I’ve put on some weight recently.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Guys like you don’t get it. You could have anyone you wanted.”

“What if I wanted you, Andrew?”

He finally looked up from his work. I must’ve been looking at him stone faced, because his bravado faltered almost immediately.

“Mr. Reynolds—I’m so sorry. That was out of line.”

Parker’s confession allowed me to push past that voice in my head that explained away all the things he did as platonic. He liked me. He wanted me. He’d said so himself.

Before the self-doubt set in, I had to shoot my shot. I’d sulk about my split pants late at night years from now, but right at this moment I refused to return to that negative place. He wanted a Dom Daddy, and that was a role I was more than willing to play.

“What if I told you I wanted to fuck you right now?” His face reddened considerably. I’d never seen him so worked up before, and that made me more confident. “Since the day I hired you, I’ve thought about what it’d feel like to be inside of that sweet ass.”

“Sir—”

“C’mere,” I said in a low voice. He stood, placing my slacks in the seat he’d gotten up from, and gingerly made his way to where I sat behind my desk. He looked down at me slightly as I sat, but we were essentially still on eye level with one another. I could see his chest rising and falling with each breath he took, his lips parted slightly in lust. He pressed his crotch into my gut as he leaned down to kiss me. I could feel his erection through his khakis.

I reached up and palmed his ass, holding a cheek in each hand. He really was stacked back there. He moaned slightly, pressing his dick further into my stomach. We continued kissing, and I pulled him even closer into myself.

I could have kissed him like this for hours, but he pulled away after a few minutes. His palms were pressed against my sagging chest, which sat atop my heavy middle. He slid his hands down my front before resting them on the part of my gut that sat out the farthest. Normally, my first instinct would have been to suck it in, but I realized how useless that would have been. There was no hiding it anymore.

He patted my stomach gently before moving his hands beneath it, lifting it and bouncing it up and down slowly. I could see his hardness through his khakis, so it was clear that he was enjoying himself. If I were to be honest with myself, I was enjoying the belly play too. I’d never had someone focus so intently on my gut before.

I stood up, and he tilted his head back to continue meeting my gaze. I had to play this correctly. I knew he made a joke about liking dominant men, but I wasn’t certain it was actually what he was into.

“Get on your knees,” I said, staring down at him.

“Yes sir.”

He knew what I wanted. He pawed at my underwear until it was around my ankles. My dick bobbed freely now, level with his line of sight. The closer he got to me, the harder I got and the harder it was to see him. He reached up with one hand to hold my belly out of the way and with the other he grabbed the base of my dick.

“Get to work,” I instructed. I grabbed a fistful of his hair as he wrapped his mouth around my dick. It had been a while, but I couldn’t recall a better blow. He was a perfectionist in every sense of the word. His one hand gently massaged the base of my gut as he continued sucking me off. I’d been with people who liked that I wasn’t rail thin, but never with someone like Parker. Everything was adding up. The special treats, the lunches together, the cake at the party this afternoon. He liked me being fat, and I was now fairly certain he wanted me even fatter. “I’m about to cum.”

He didn’t stop his work. He simply slowed his pace, teasing my dick with his tongue in a different way. The switch in sensation caused me to erupt. A heavy stream of cum shot from my dick into his mouth and he made sure to get every last drop. I let go of his hair, stepping back so I could have a seat.

I was panting heavily, my underwear around my ankles, gut rising and falling with each deep breath I took. He looked up at me from his place on the floor. His hair was disheveled and his face was flushed. I could still see his erection through his khakis. Damn, he was the hottest guy I’d ever seen. I could hardly believe he was experiencing such intense lust over me.

“You’re something else,” I said, still catching my breath. “And I can’t believe it, but I’d kill for another piece of that cake right now.”

That had him up on his feet, speed-walking from my office and back to the conference room. He was so out of it, he’d probably run to that bakery to get me another piece if he had to.

This shift in our relationship was going to be interesting.

I wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen immediately following our initial sexual encounter, but we went about our weekends like nothing had changed. After eating one of the final slices of that cake from the office party, I left early to purchase some new clothing items. He texted me, and I replied, but neither of us mentioned what had happened.

So Monday morning came and I had spent the entire weekend eating optimistically. I thought about how much he’d want me to be eating good. At one point, I googled “gay fat fetish” and found there was a whole world of people not only into big guys, but into big guys getting even bigger. Maybe he’d bring it up, but now I wanted to test the waters a little. What sort of things would get him going? I was excited to find out. Monday morning, I was hard the entire commute to work thinking about demolishing whatever Parker planned to put in front of me. 

I walked into the elevator, pressing the button that would lead me to the twentieth floor. I noticed Parker making his way toward the elevators. Just seeing him existing in the world made me so fucking happy. I almost didn’t even notice that Mark was right next to him. I hit the door open button quickly, wanting to be near Parker as soon as possible, even if that meant sharing the space with Mark. The doors stayed open, and they both got on.

“Good Morning, Mr. Reynolds.” He smiled up at me. He was carrying a tote bag, and like some sort of sugar-addicted bloodhound, I was almost certain I could smell cinnamon. 

“Parker, hey,” I said, covering my crotch with my bag. Just hearing him say my name was turning me on, giving me a semi. “It’s nice to see you.”

“Hello Andrew,” Mark said. To be completely honest, I’d blocked him out almost immediately. He and I weren’t on the best terms, especially after my promotion.

“Hey Mark.”

“Are you still hitting the gym?” he asked. “Since you got that promotion, I’ve noticed a change in your appearance. I’m sure you’re eating well on that executive salary.”

“I do have a hand in that,” Parker said plainly. “Mr. Reynolds is very kind to indulge my personal baking hobby.”

“But still,” Mark pressed. “Sometimes we’ve got to push ourselves, you know? Once you hit thirty it takes more effort to stay in shape.”

“I think he looks great,” Parker offered, turning to look at Mark. He gave him an obvious once over, his eyes traveling from the top of his head all the way to his shoes. “Do you work out, Mark?”

“Yeah, I do actually,” Mark responded proudly. “Six days a week.”

“Really?” Parker inquired. “I’d have never thought that.”

The man was too stunned to speak.

We all stood silent, the whir of the elevator’s mechanisms the only source of sound. The elevator finally stopped on our floor. Parker and I went towards my office while Mark made his way to his cubicle. Parker placed the tote bag on his desk and I stopped for a moment.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I said, giving a knowing smile.

“I didn’t say anything I didn’t mean.”

“You’re something else.”

“I’m nothing special,” he said, removing two Tupperware containers from the tote bag. “So today you have options. You could have some millionaire shortbread bars or carrot cake cinnamon rolls.”

“Or? You act like I’m not going to polish off both of these containers before we head out for lunch.”

“Uh—well, I—I didn’t think you’d want—”

He looked up at me in surprise, like he’d been found out. I’d known Parker for a couple of months now, and I’d never seen him so flustered. It made me weirdly satisfied. He wanted me to eat? He wanted me to put on a few pounds? If he kept blowing me like he had last week, I’d eat whatever he wanted for the rest of my life.

“I bought some new pants, so I can probably keep indulging for a little while. I need my assistant to make sure I don’t go hungry. That’s not a problem, is it?”

“No, sir,” he said. “Not a problem at all, sir.”

“I didn’t think it would be.” I grabbed both containers and went into my office, peeling off both lids and diving into the baked goods with unabashed enthusiasm. Over that first hour of the day, I ate a dozen shortbread bars and six hefty cinnamon rolls. 

Once I’d finished both desserts, I sat back at my desk. I felt my chair sag, groaning slightly as I allowed my bulk to settle into the seat. This was so unhinged. What was happening to me? Maybe it was all the sugar, but I was in some sort of stupor. My only thought was how I wanted Parker between my legs again, his hands all over my gut. I leaned forward and put my head in my hands. I must’ve sat there for about ten minutes before there was a knock at my door. “Mr. Reynolds?”

“Come in.” Parker opened the door and walked up to my desk. I watched him survey the scene. I laughed a little to myself at the shocked expression on his face as he took in both containers sitting empty in front of me.

“You already finished the–the–the shortbread bars?”

“And the cinnamon rolls,” I added. “They were both phenomenal. You’ve got quite the talent.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I only wish I’d had some milk to wash it all down with.”

“I’ll make sure to remember that for next time.”

“There is something you could do for me right now,” I said. He looked back at my office door, which he’d left open. He went over to the door and closed it quietly.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Reynolds?”

“You could get that ass over here, for starters.”

He made his way to where I sat behind my desk, like he had on Friday. We looked at one another for a moment, both taking in the moment. It probably wasn’t smart to fuck my assistant before 10 AM on a Monday, but I’d spent nearly two years involuntarily celibate.

“Get undressed.”

He didn’t question me. He immediately began unbuttoning his crisp, white dress shirt. He tossed it on my desk and then peeled his undershirt off over his head. He shimmied out of his navy-colored chinos. He was in nothing but a pair of stylish briefs. It was obvious he worked out, as his quads bulged with muscle as did his arms. He had well-defined abs, firm pecs. 

His body was completely opposite to my own. My legs and arms were large, yes, but not defined with muscle as they had been in the past. I’d never had abs in my entire life. My stomach sat heavy in front of me, packed full of sugary snacks. And even though I’d just eaten enough baked goods for a small get-together, I was already thinking about what I’d be having for lunch.

“What’re we doing for lunch?” I asked. His whole face reddened, all the way to his ears. I reached out to pull him closer, so I could feel his body with my mouth. I kissed his chest softly, enjoying his scent in the process. “I asked you what we’re doing for lunch.”

He moaned loudly.

“Last—last week you mentioned you wanted an—an Italian beef from—” I bit his nipple gently, sucking it afterwards. “Big Beef’s.”

“Fuck that sounds good. With extra hot peppers and a cheese sauce on the side.” He pawed at his briefs, exposing himself to me. He had a nice dick, a respectable size. He was getting off on this for sure. I let go of his waist and began to unbutton my own shirt. He watched me intently, still stroking his penis. I tossed it on the desk with his clothing items.

He paused his masturbatory efforts to help me remove my undershirt. His briefs were now around his ankles and he pressed his dick into my gut. I grabbed at his ass, lightly teasing his hole with my finger as he grinded against me. He didn’t last long after that, coming all over my bloated stomach. He took a step back. Looking down, I could see his cum glistening as it coated the fuzz of my belly. “You’re not done,” I said, lifting my gut to reveal my belt buckle.

A man of excellent intuition, Parker immediately got me out of my pants and gave me some very thorough head.

Oh, and lunch at Big Beef’s that afternoon was stupendous.

We fell into a routine that made every work day well worth it. He was still bringing me his baked goods (beverages now included). We left the office whenever possible to grab a bite to eat during our lunch hour, and when we couldn’t get away he made sure to pick something up for me or to have it delivered. But the best part had to be our sexual escapades. I’d had nearly every part of his body in my mouth at least once. And he was excellent at taking direction. I was pretty sure at this point that he craved it, being told what to do. He was my good boy, doing what I requested, often going above and beyond like there was a chance of being promoted.

From the end of October to the start of the winter holidays, he and I were completely engrossed with one another. Although, even with how intense things had been within the four walls of my office, we had yet to move beyond them.

It was now the second week of December. I was nearing 400 pounds, a thought that was slightly frightening to me. I’d never been this big in my entire life. People around the office had taken notice of my rapid weight gain. It was the elephant in the room. But the food was good, and the sex mind-blowing. I was also intoxicated by Parker’s adoration. With each pound I gained, he seemed to get more and more excited to service me. I wondered how much longer my wardrobe would last before needing to be updated again.

“Excuse me, Mr. Reynolds.” I looked up from the email I was drafting. “I’ve been wanting to ask you something.”

“Yeah? What is it?” I inquired, wondering what it was Parker had been mulling over. He was shifting his weight back and forth, nervously smiling in my direction like the day I hired him.

“Well, my parents bought me these tickets to a musical a few weeks ago, and I know that it’s last minute, but I was really hoping you would come with me to see it.”

“A musical?”

“What can I say?” he offered, shrugging slightly. “I’m as stereotypical as they come.”

“When is it?” I asked.

“Tomorrow.” A Saturday.

Was Parker trying to take things to the next level? This was an exciting development. I would love to spend time with him outside of working hours. I could only imagine how much fun we’d have late into the evening post dinnertime.

“If it’s too much, I understand.”

Too much? Not at all. We both wanted more. It was like a weight had been lifted from me (metaphorically, of course). The office sexcapades were nice, there was no doubt about that, but he too wanted to be more than just a hook-up.

“You just can’t get enough of me, huh?”

He laughed.

“I’m kind of obsessed, can’t you tell?”

“I love being adored,” I said, smiling at him playfully. “And now I’m really looking forward to this musical tomorrow. What’s the runtime? Over two hours, I’m sure. I’ll probably need to eat something beforehand.”

“I’ll make a reservation,” he declared enthusiastically, always delighted at an opportunity to get me eating. I was only half-serious with my comment about needing to eat beforehand, but I wasn’t so sure I’d make it the two and a half hours without a meal prior to the curtain rising. I felt incredibly lucky. We’d be getting dinner and seeing a show (and hopefully having even more fun at one of our apartments after).

Once he made the reservation, he emailed over all the info—the restaurant, the reservation time, the name of the theater, the showtime. I could hardly wait. I’d be counting the milliseconds until then. 

The next evening, I dressed to meet Parker for our date. I wore a pair of dark jeans and some Nikes. When I first landed that account, they’d sent over at least ten different pairs. I had lots of dress shirts that fit fairly well since I re-upped, but I wanted to be a little more casual. I found a burgundy crew neck in the back of my dresser that had been a staple in my wardrobe last winter. I pulled it on and found myself shocked at how it fit. I figured there’d be some resistance, but the fabric clung to my plump chest and protruding belly in a way that was much more form-fitting than I anticipated. I tugged at the bottom trying to pull it down to cover the entirety of my stomach. If I moved my arms too much, it exposed some of my brown skin, even though I was also wearing an undershirt.

My first inclination was to change. I wouldn’t have normally wanted to draw attention to my size. But I knew what Parker liked, and I loved pressing his buttons, so I put on my jacket and grabbed my keys, deciding to keep on the sweater. I hoped I wouldn’t come to regret my outfit choice later on.

I was right on time to Haraboji’s, and as I entered the restaurant, I noticed my perfectly punctual assistant had already beaten me to the establishment.

“Mr. Reynolds, over here!” He waved at me from a seat at the bar. I felt silly for being this excited, considering we ate together in restaurants every other day, but this was no work-lunch. This was a Saturday night dinner. A date.

“Parker, hey,” I said, smiling down at my companion for the evening. He was still wearing his jacket, a stylish, olive-green duffle coat. He had on a pair of platform Chelsea boots and dark chinos. “Please, call me Andy, or Andrew—even Drew would be fine.” 

“Oh, yes, of course,” he said with a nervous chuckle. “I guess we aren’t in the office.”

“That’s exciting, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he replied. “I’ve wanted to eat here with you for months.”

“I’ve heard this place is really good.”

“Have you ever had Korean barbecue before?” he asked. “I haven’t been to a Korean restaurant since I moved here.”

“I haven’t, but you know I’ll try anything. I trust you to make sure I have something tasty.”

After that the hostess called Parker’s name and we were seated. It was pretty crowded, every table filled. In front of us was a little grilling station. Our waiter came and Parker took the reins, ordering what seemed like a lot of food for just two people. He asked for bulgogi, pork belly, garlic butter chicken, and brisket. He also ordered fried seaweed rolls and tteokbokki. Our waiter brought out a lot of little dishes with different vegetables on them.

“These are banchan—um, side dishes,” Parker explained. “They’re really good with the grilled meats. That one is cucumber, that one is potato, and that one is zucchini.”

“And that one is kimchi.”

“Yes, exactly!”

Our waiter returned with another worker to assist him. One of them held our appetizers, the other numerous plates of raw meat on a serving platter. Once all the plates were set out in front of us, it seemed truly excessive. Parker got to work immediately, oiling the grill and placing meat on it strategically. As things were cooked he piled them high on my plate. Everything tasted great and I followed every suggestion he gave me. “Eat this with that,” he’d say, hyper focused on his grilling. “Ooo, you’ve got to try that with this dipping sauce.”

Halfway through the meal, I noticed that he was no longer eating. I seemed to be his main priority. I was now regretting my earlier boldness when getting dressed for this outing. My sweater rose slightly on my stomach exposing the light layer of dark hair on my underbelly. Parker didn’t stop either, making sure to cook every piece of meat that had been provided to us.

“There’s also Korean fried chicken on the menu,” he said, having just finished grilling the last bit of bulgogi and pork belly. “They come in orders of four.”

I groaned slightly, sitting back in my seat and resting my hand on the top of my gut.

That was when the waiter returned, taking in my gorged state his face reddened on my behalf and he focused his attention on Parker. “Is there anything else I can get for you guys?”

“Yes, we wanted a double order of the fried chicken wings and a bottle of peach soju.”

The waiter glanced in my direction and then back at Parker. He probably couldn’t believe we were ordering more food. I couldn’t believe we were ordering more food, but my date was a man on a mission. We did have about forty minutes before we needed to be at the theater, but I still thought he was cutting it close.

“I’ll put that in right now.” I waited for our server to leave before speaking. 

“I’m spilling out of my sweater and you're still shoving food in my direction.”

“Andy,” he said innocently. “You don’t want to be hungry while the show is going on. You said so yourself, remember?”

“How considerate of you,” I responded, sitting up. I grabbed my fork and started in on the last bit of meat he’d put on my plate. “And I can’t wait to thank you at my place after the show.”

After dinner at Haraboji’s, we made our way to the theater for the musical. I’d already parked my Buick Enclave in a parking garage on the same street as the restaurant. He informed me that he picked this restaurant not only because he’d been wanting to try it, but also because it was only a block away from where we’d be seeing the show.

I was so full I didn’t feel like doing anything, especially walking. I was perspiring a little bit so I left my jacket open to air myself out. I could feel a cool breeze on my stomach, but I just ignored it. Parker was leading the way, glancing my way every so often to check me out. If his parents hadn’t gone through the trouble of buying him these tickets, we’d already be halfway to my place.

We made it to the lobby and the worker scanned the tickets on Parker’s phone. There was about ten minutes until the show would start so we made our way to our seats. This was where things got awkward.

Personally, when purchasing tickets in advance, I always tried to get the seat closest to the aisle. But these two seats were right in the middle of a row. Not everyone was in their seats yet, but we’d still need to shimmy past five or so people. Parker seemed somewhat oblivious to this issue, and in his defense, he likely never faced this sort of problem. Being bigger meant anticipating any obstacle. Would there be a lot of walking? Would there be a lot of stairs? How sturdy were the seats? I’d always thought about these things, but having gained fifty pounds in the last five months created even more complications I needed to be ready for.

“Excuse us,” Parker said, making his way into the row. He got by the first person with ease, whereas the man needed to stand up for me and press himself as far back into his seat as possible. Even then, my gut pushed up against him as I made my way past him. This happened four more times until we made it to our seats.

I sat in the chair and it creaked loudly. It was a really tight squeeze. This was not a theater that had been updated this century. It had probably been forty or fifty years since there had been any type of alteration to the seating. The armrests could not be lifted, so I sat there as they dug into the sides of my bloated gut. Fuck, I thought. Maybe we shouldn’t have gone so hard at dinner.

“Isn’t there like a special section for bigger people?” the woman next to me asked the man she was with. She was at least trying to whisper, but considering the fact I was sitting right next to her that didn’t do much to keep me from hearing her. “It’s just, these seats are so small, you know? Even for someone regularly sized.”

I’d been feeling pretty good before all of this happened. I was used to people making comments. But something about this made me really think hard about what I’d been doing to my body. I was already fat. I’d already had horrible eating habits. But should I have let this thing with Parker push me so completely into gluttony? I was the one who had to deal with the wardrobe malfunctions and too-small theater seats. 

Parker was a great person and a masterful lover, but he was also ten years younger than me. If this dalliance were to end, he could go about his life unchanged. But me? How much bigger would I be by the time he got bored of me?

“Andy,” Parker said, his hand on my thigh. “Are you okay?”

“Oh yeah, I’m fine,” I lied. This wasn’t the time or place to share my thoughts with him.

“I didn’t pick the seats,” he explained. “Next time, I’ll make sure that we’re on the end.” 

“Thanks.” I exhaled, feeling a little better. Him saying that didn’t absolve all of my fears, but it reminded me of how thoughtful Parker was. Maybe he didn’t know what it was like to be my size, but he did try to consider how my size affected my day-to-day life.

The lights dimmed and the show started a few minutes later. It was pretty funny and the music was enjoyable. I never thought a musical adaptation of an 80’s fantasy-horror-comedy would be any good, but I’d see it again if given the chance. After the cast took their bows we waited for our row to clear out before we got up. I could tell he really enjoyed himself, so that made the two and half hours in that seat from hell worth it.

“I Ubered here from my apartment,” he said once we were outside.

“I’m in that parking garage by the restaurant,” I said. “I could give you a ride home.”

“You did say you needed to thank me at dinner.”

“Oh, I know just how to thank you.” It was nearly ten, and aside from the people who were also leaving the theater, there weren’t a ton of people around. I grabbed Parker’s hand and we went to my car. I asked him where he lived and other than that I just listened to all the fun facts he had about the production. We were soon out front. “You’re coming up, right?” he asked.

“Yeah, of course.” I parked and we made our way towards the entrance. He led me up some stairs to his fourth floor apartment. If he lived any higher, we’d have had to call it a night. His place was pretty small, a one bedroom. It was also super neat and tidy. Everything about Parker was that way.

He took off his jacket and hung it in the closet, offering to take mine too in the process. He told me to take a seat on the couch. I sat and realized how little it was. I guess a couch of this size was all he really needed, but it was more like a chair. I filled it up three-fourths of the way.

He carried in a tray with some vanilla oat milk and a container of cookies. He placed it on the coffee table and sat on the remaining one-fourth of sofa. “Consider these as a thank you for a great evening,” he said. “They’re lemon shortbread.”

“You must spend a fortune on butter and eggs.”

“Not at all, I just started buying in bulk when I realized I had someone to bake for.”

“I appreciate getting to eat everything you’ve made for me,” I said, pulling at my sweater, “though I should probably slow down on all the baked goods.” I looked in his direction, wondering how he’d take in that information. He looked a little hurt, a little embarrassed.

“Is everything okay, Andy?” he asked. “With us, I mean. I just thought—”

I could just keep all of these concerns to myself, but that wouldn’t solve anything. It was probably better to have this conversation now instead of later. “I’ve gained a substantial amount of weight since we started sleeping together. I know we haven’t put into words what this is, but I’m pretty sure you’re a feeder—or an encourager—which term is it?” I thought about all the information I found back when I investigated gay fat fetishes a few months ago.

“I think they’re pretty interchangeable.” He wasn’t looking at me. “And I guess that I am, yes.”  He actually looked super pale. Was he scared? Did he think I was upset? I figured he was aware that he’d been found out months ago. He was always so focused on my weight and overfeeding me. His preferences were kind of obvious.

“I’m not upset,” I said, trying to sound reassuring. “If I’m being honest, I’m pretty into it.”

He looked up at me, relief overtaking his previously sullen expression. “You are?”

“I think you know I like to eat. And getting bigger is kind of hot when I have someone so into it.”

“I’m into it for sure.”

“My main concern is how serious you are, Parker.” He looked at me intently, waiting for me to continue speaking. “You’re young. You’re still fairly new to the area. When it comes down to it, you’re a hot commodity. Any guy would be lucky to be with you. With how big I was, with how big I’ve gotten, I’m limiting myself. My prospects were slim before, but I’ve probably made the margins even smaller in regards to my marketability.”

“Andrew, I am very serious about you,” he said. “You are the sexiest guy I’ve ever been with. You’re also the biggest guy I've ever been with. Whatever you’re comfortable with, I am willing to do. If you want to lose weight, that’s fine. If you want me to stop with the baking, that’s fine. I just want you. I like you.”

“I like you too. I have since you first started working for me.” Our eyes were locked on one another. This conversation felt so real, so needed. This guy was serious about me. What a relief. “And let’s not be too hasty about the baking. I’ll let you know if we need to slow down, Mr. Feeder.”

This caused his whole face to redden, all the way to his ears. I loved when that happened. It was so funny to see his emotions so clearly. “Now bring that container of cookies over here. I’m hungry.”

Maybe it was reckless of me. Maybe I should’ve taken the out Parker had offered me. But I kept on eating like I had been. I blew past 400 pounds as we entered the new year. He’d flown home for the holidays, so I spent time with my own family. They all showed great concern for how big I’d gotten, but that didn’t stop them from piling my plate high with soul food at Christmas dinner. That was just how my family operated. It’s why I was so big growing up to begin with.

That first Monday back after the winter holidays was nice because we were able to fall back into our normal routine, which included copious amounts of food and a great deal sex. While most people around the office set goals for having a healthier diet or joining a gym, I did nothing of the sort. It was somewhat freeing to know there was no resolution I was bound to break.

Over the first few months of the new year, Parker began spending more and more time at my apartment. Suddenly there was a toothbrush, and then extra pairs of underwear, and then, an item that let me know how serious things had gotten between us, his KitchenAid Stand Mixer.

“You’re here more than at your place,” I said one Saturday evening in April. We’d ordered pizza for dinner, and even though Parker had stopped eating thirty minutes ago, I was still working on an extra-large, tavern-style sausage and pepperoni. I’d already eaten some buffalo wings and a Caesar salad (for balance, of course). “When does your lease end?”

“Well, it ends August of this year.”

“Cancel it.”

“Cancel it?”

“Yeah,” I said, reaching for another slice. “I’ll pay whatever fee your landlord charges for breaking your lease.”

The next week he moved into my three-bedroom apartment. I had more than enough room for his stuff. Even his dollhouse-sized couch fit comfortably against a wall in the home office. This did mean my office baked goods were a thing of the past. They were never able to last long enough after he prepared them to be brought into work. Since meeting Parker nine months ago, I was now 75 pounds heavier.

Parker and I were going to take a long weekend for Memorial Day. We’d both put in for the day off on Friday and we wouldn’t need to return to the office until Tuesday. I’d rented a house up north, about three hours away. The Thursday before we were to leave, Parker frantically entered my office a little after we returned from lunch.

I was positively beached. We were both looking forward to the weekend and he excitedly ordered for me at Rockin’ Sushi. We had purchased enough sashimi, nigiri, and maki rolls for a party of five or six people.

My belly covered my lap almost to my knees when I sat. I normally didn’t dress so casually for the office, but today I was wearing a polo. The fabric was pulled tight around my stomach and I’d been massaging the sides of my gut before Parker came to find me. If he didn’t seem so distraught, I’d have asked him to take over.

“We can’t go out of town,” he said. “We have to reevaluate your accounts.”

“What?” I asked, my eyes half-open. “I have nine major accounts and twelve smaller ones. That’s more than all the other execs.”

“Yes, that’s true, but—” he stopped talking. He probably felt like he’d been overreacting, but I wanted to make sure his worries were quelled.

“Talk to me.”

“I heard from Mr. Monroe’s assistant, who heard from Mr. Otterly’s assistant, that Mr. Otterly plans to retire at the end of June.” John Otterly was well past the age for retirement. His presence at Hathaway and Associates was really just a formality at this point. He’d been an exec at our agency since the mid-seventies. In his prime, for sure, he was incredible at pulling in clients and coming up with catchy slogans for print ads. Now, he had only one major account for a failing brand of novelty gag-gifts. “They’re looking to promote someone, but they want to make the position more robust by taking some accounts from other executives.”

“Bullshit.”

“Agreed.” He watched me heave myself out of my desk chair. “What should we do?”

“Follow me.”

I might have moved a little bit more slowly these days, but with Parker’s help I’d acquired two new clients in the last nine months and strengthened our agency’s relationship with all my original accounts. I wasn’t just some overweight behemoth who didn’t do any work. I was a heavy hitter. I’d recently had a confidence about myself that, shamefully, came from the idolization and devotion Parker gave to me. I was the biggest I’d ever been, but I didn’t feel ashamed of myself. I was already going to draw attention entering a room so I might as well not give a fuck what people thought.

We stopped outside of William Hathaway’s office, whose grandfather had actually founded Hathaway and Associates almost a century ago. We executives kept things running while he received a great deal of the credit, considering he was only in office two days a week. He did hold a forty-five percent share on the board of directors, which was the largest portion of any member. This meant he had a great deal of influence when the board made the large decisions that affected day-to-day operations.

“He’s preparing to leave early for the holiday weekend,” his administrative assistant said plainly. She was also the office manager. Mr. Hathaway’s schedule allowed her to take on more responsibilities, so she helped to organize the tasks for the interns and other assistants. “He doesn’t want to be bothered, especially after the meeting he just had.”

“Martha,” Parker said gently, smiling in her direction. “Mr. Reynolds was hoping to speak with Mr. Hathaway before he left. If he’s not terribly busy, would you please let him?”

“I don’t know. He was pretty adamant that he didn’t want to see anyone else.”

“Didn’t you say your husband liked the chocolate-dipped almond biscotti I made you for your anniversary?”

“Those were divine,” she said, taking more interest in Parker’s plea. I remembered those biscotti. I’d eaten two test batches before he felt confident enough to share them with Martha.

“Weren’t they?” I added. “I don’t know how he does it, but he’s incredibly talented.”

“My husband’s birthday is coming up,” she pondered aloud. “Have you ever made a cake before?”

“Of course!”

They ironed out some details and settled on a tiramisu inspired layer cake. She hopped out of her seat giddily and went to inform Hathaway of our arrival. We got the go ahead to enter and there he was waiting for us behind his desk nursing a scotch.

“Reynolds, you’re bigger every time I see you.”

Hathaway wasn’t one to mince words.

“You’re one to talk. I’m not the only one carrying around a spare tire.” This made him laugh.

“I’m in my sixties, what’s your excuse?” He didn’t stop. “And I’ve got a spare tire, you’ve got a whole Goodyear.”

“Okay, okay,” I said, allowing him to think his ribbing had gotten to me. “I’m just eating good. And my assistant here is a master baker.”

“He is, eh?” Hathaway asked, drinking from his scotch. “You're the biscotti boy?”

“Yes sir. That’s me.”

“Martha, that stingy bitch, only let me have one. Said they were for her anniversary. I’ve got an anniversary. And a birthday.”

“I’ll get those dates from Martha, sir.” Hathaway gave an impressed smirk and took another sip from his drink.

After that, we were finally able to talk business. I asked about Otterly. His retirement was true, a decision “strongly encouraged” by all members of the board. The position being padded with the accounts of other executives was also true. We would be asked in the coming month to choose one or two of our large scale accounts to let go of. When I asked why they didn’t just cut the position, they were concerned about losing their lead copywriter, who voiced concerns about a lack of upward mobility at Hathaway and Associates. He claimed he’d be willing to walk away from the agency unless he was seriously considered for Otterly’s position. 

That lead copywriter? Mark.

If it were anyone else, I would have thought twice about my next course of action. But for Mark? I couldn't care less.

“Well,” I started, hoping I was playing this right. “I say cut Otterly’s position. Give his few accounts to one of us execs, and if he walks, he walks.”

“He’s done good work,” Hathaway offered.

“You can save a great deal by cutting the position. Promote one of the junior copywriters to Mark’s position. And for good measure, Parker here can take the open junior copywriter role.” Parker made a sound of surprise but did his best to recover.

“Biscotti boy?”

“He’s got the Andrew Reynolds seal of approval.” This meant a great deal. I had the most accounts out of all eleven execs. I also had the greatest renewal rates. “I’d be losing the world’s greatest assistant, but I’d do anything for Hathaway and Associates.”

“My great-niece did just graduate from Columbia,” Hathaway said. “I’m sure she’ll need help finding a job with a degree in art history.” If I had to deal with another nepo-baby, so be it. I was keeping my accounts and helping Parker advance in his career.

“Just think about it,” I said, ending our conversation. As we left his office, Martha entered. Before the door closed completely, I heard him mentioning that the board needed to convene after the holiday weekend to vote about an important matter. I had a good feeling that things were going to change for my little Biscotti Boy.

We did still manage to make it up to the house I rented. Fortunately, it was somewhat secluded, the houses pretty far apart from each other. They were only really visible to one another from the front yard. Parker had a long list of grocery items he needed, so our first stop after checking into the rental was the local supercenter. He was obviously grateful for what I’d done in Hathaway’s office, and he spent the weekend showing me that gratitude with his culinary skills and physical flexibility. My favorite memory from our trip would be how he’d gotten me on the floor after grilling some brats and making s’mores.

“Okay, so bend your knees,” he said, swinging his leg around my waist after tossing me a pillow for underneath my head. There wasn’t a ton of space between my bent knees and my bulging belly, but Parker fit there perfectly. He looked down at me as he sat atop my waist, sliding all nine inches of my penis inside himself. He rested his hands on my stomach. Their warmth penetrated me to my core. 

I reached up to grab at his butt as he rode me. It felt good in my hands, and the thought of what it looked like as I fucked him had me salivating. Always the hard worker, Parker swiveled his hips back and forth rhythmically. His dick was angled upwards, sandwiched between the bottom of my gut and his flat stomach. He leaned forward slightly, his hands sliding up my stomach to my chest. He grabbed my slightly puffy nipples and pinched them gently. That intensified the pleasure I was feeling and I lifted him slightly by raising my legs, pushing myself deeper inside of his ass. 

“Oh God,” he moaned, sitting straight up. He bounced up and down like this for nearly a minute before he came. His cum shot up his front, some landing on the floor and on my gut. The look of sheer pleasure on his face was intoxicating. That did it for me too, and had me shooting my load as well.

We stayed on the floor longer than intended. I couldn’t get up just yet, so he covered both of our naked bodies with a large blanket and cuddled up close to me. Losing him as my assistant was going to be tough, but moments like these would make up for it.

Returning to work on Tuesday was fine. I’d have preferred another week in a secluded lake house with Parker, but the real world was waiting for us. Antoinette was in rare form, flitting from assistant to assistant spreading gossip. She was Hathaway and Associates' very own Lady Whistledown, though a lot less discreet. 

Before lunch, the board met to discuss the future of Mr. Otterly’s position. Antoinette made sure everyone knew how they voted, openly voicing her dismay that her good friend Mark would not be shifting to an executive role, as John Otterly’s position would be closed and his accounts redistributed amongst some of the remaining executives.

The ball was now in Mark’s court. He could keep his current job or he could quit. I was hoping for the latter, so Parker could shine in the field he’d gone to school for.

We worked all day and at exactly five we clocked out. We entered the elevator and Mark followed behind us. “That’s some shit you pulled Andy,” he spat. I noticed a cardboard box in his hands.

“You’re referring to what exactly?” I asked, feigning ignorance.

“Oh please,” he said. “You get a little ass from your assistant and you’re bending over backwards to get him a promotion. It’s pathetic, but it makes a lot of sense. Why else would he ever waste his time trying to find your dick under that massive gut?”

“You’re out of line,” I said, stepping towards him.

“He’s a sneak and you’re a gullible, desperate, sorry excuse for a professional.” He was upset, understandably, but his job had still been intact. He could’ve continued in his role as lead copywriter, a position I held for over four years before my promotion, and one day he’d be seen as ready to move up in the agency. He’d only been lead copywriter for a year and a half, a role in which he’d been given when the previous lead stepped down to take care of her newborn twins. Mark expected things to be handed to him without putting in the work. Now he was throwing a tantrum, and he wanted to take out his anger on us because he thought we were easy targets.

“Have you ever considered the fact that you just aren’t that likable?” I asked, staring down at him, forcing him into the corner of the elevator. “You’re talented, sure, but you are just so fucking hard to like. Hathaway knows this, the other execs know this. Why do you think it was so easy to encourage them to close Otterly’s position? They don’t want to work any more closely with you than they already do.”

I looked down at the cardboard box. Like a baby, he’d quit when he didn’t get his way. “Or should I say did?”

The elevator stopped on the main floor and the doors opened. Mark looked up at me and then over at Parker. “Fuck the both of you,” he said, pushing past me with slight difficulty. Parker looked pretty mortified, his entire face red with embarrassment.

My little ingénue. He was still very green, and I loved that about him, but I needed him to stand up for himself if he was going to survive in this industry. People made jokes or rude comments. There’d be backstabbing and petty office gossip. At the end of the day it didn’t matter. I was proof of that. There’d been talk about my weight for months, and I was still one of the most successful people on staff.

I’d for sure been in a slump before I met Parker, but I was becoming the man I’d been in my early twenties (metaphorically, not physically). There was a lot less self-doubt and self-loathing. I liked looking at myself in the mirror. I knew that I was good at what I did, and I knew I just needed to carry myself like I had when I was grinding as a junior copywriter. 

“That was really intense,” he said. We’d slowed, pausing in a stairwell. We were halfway between the lobby and the underground parking garage. “I would never sleep with you for that. I swear that I would never do that.”

“I know.” I felt myself smiling. It made me feel good that he liked me so much. His first thought was how I felt. He was always looking out for me, and if he did get a new role as a copywriter, no assistant would ever live up to what he was capable of.

“I love you,” he said, looking at me seriously. I couldn’t believe he’d just said that to me. How we’d gotten to this point, I’d never fully grasp, but I was glad that we did.

“I love you too,” I said. We were silent for a moment, and I took the opportunity to joke with him. “And I have to say, what an elaborate scheme you pulled. The baked goods, the lunches, the head. All for a promotion. You’re truly a mastermind.”

He laughed, swatting me on the ass. “And this is only Phase One. Mu-ha-ha.”

“What’s Phase Two?”

“Hmm, I’ll let you know when I think of it.”

“Maybe you aren’t the mastermind I thought you were—”

“Shut up!” he said, laughing. “Now let’s get you something good to eat for defending my honor.”

A month later, Parker was officially offered a position as a junior copywriter. He’d taken me shopping for some summer clothing items—both work attire and casual items. The number of X’s on my shirts and shorts was a little shocking, but he did have a knack for picking flattering cuts and patterns. I may have been over 400 pounds, but I’d never looked more stylish.

“Are you ready yet?” Parker called from the living room. It was the last Saturday in June and all of Parker’s old roommates from California were in town for the last weekend of Pride and to celebrate his promotion.

“Yeah,” I called in response. I walked out of our bedroom. “But you’re sure you want me to wear this to meet your friends?”

“Oh, come on,” he said. “It’s just a pair of shorts and a polo. It’s not risqué.”

The shorts were much shorter than I’d buy for myself, but they did fit me very well. They were a good three inches above my knees. He saw them on some Instagram ad and bought me three different pairs. The polo was much more out of my comfort zone. It was cream-colored and a crochet knit. You could see glimpses of my brown skin through the hundreds of small holes that made up the shirt.

“But it seems like you guys want to dance and that’s not really my scene anymore. Can’t you all celebrate tonight and then we all meet up for brunch tomorrow?”

“Okay, what about we all meet up tonight and go out to brunch tomorrow morning?” he countered in rhetorical fashion. “And besides, if you don’t want to burn any calories, you can just have some bar food and a beer.”

“They have those soft pretzels there don’t they?”

“They sure do,” he said, handing me my keys. “Now let’s go please.”

Fortunately I was able to find a good parking spot not too far from the bar. I parked and we walked the block to Dudes. The day had cooled considerably, which I was grateful for. It’d been in the eighties, but it was only about seventy now that the sun had set. They asked to see Parker’s ID and then we made our way inside.

“Parker!” I looked for who had shouted his name. It was another Asian guy who was about Parker’s height.

“Yedam, hey!” Parker looked at me. “Andy, this is Yedam. Yedam, this is my boyfriend Andy.”

“Oh wow,” Yedam said, taking me in. He smiled, like he was trying to stifle a laugh. “Um, it’s nice to meet you.” He locked eyes with Parker, raising his eyebrows theatrically. Was this a good interaction or not? I was having trouble reading the situation. Two other guys made their way to where we stood, both holding drinks. One of the guys handed a glass to Yedam.

“Mike, Sam, this is my boyfriend Andy.” Mike was white and very blond. Sam was black, a little lighter than I was. Overall, they all had the same vibe as Parker. Very put-together, the same height and build.

“This makes sense,” Sam said, gesturing back and forth with his pointer finger between Parker and I.

“Oh yeah, a thousand percent,” Mike added.

I felt like I was missing something, but I was hopeful Parker would fill me in later. The guys all told me I was very handsome and very large. It wasn’t in a sarcastic way, or a flirtatious way even. They presented it like they were simply stating facts. I ordered my pretzels and a round of shots for Parker and his friends. They were all laughing and joking and hanging off of one another. It was almost enough to make me jealous,  but I knew I was what Parker wanted. I didn’t need to worry about his friends.

After another shot Parker pulled me towards the crowded dance floor. “Ready?” he asked, leaning into me.

“I thought I was supposed to drink my beer and eat bar food.” I scanned the whole place; I was the biggest guy in the entire club.

“You’ve got all night to eat bar food. You can dance with me for a few minutes.” He started to move his body and I did too. I wasn’t a bad dancer; it was just something I tended to avoid. He turned slowly, his butt against my crotch.

It seemed like the music got faster and louder, and the entire time I couldn’t take my eyes off of Parker. He was absolutely gorgeous. I leaned down, kissing his neck. He lifted his arms, wrapping them around my neck. I stepped back and felt a foot under me. 

“Shit, man, watch where you’re going! You’re gonna break someone’s foot!” This guy was drunk.

“What was that?” I asked. Six months ago, I’d have left the dance floor completely mortified. But now, why would I ever stop living my life because I took up just a little too much space? The world was a big place, and people would just have to make room for me.

“Nothing, nothing,” he said, adjusting his tone. “Just be more careful. Sorry.”

“That dude was an ass,” Parker said, turning to face me, resting his hands on my waist.

“As crowded as it is, I was bound to step on someone’s foot.” I leaned down so I didn’t have to shout this next part so loudly. “Although it does probably hurt a little more when the one doing the stepping is over 425 pounds.” Parker smiled at me, and I think it was a relief to him that I was being a good sport. 

“Parker! Andy!” It was Sam waving us over to the bar.

He and the rest of Parker’s friends wanted to do another shot and my pretzels were waiting for me. “They were just delivered,” Yedam said. “And we didn’t want them to get cold.”

The rest of the night went pretty well. Parker was always so reserved and in control of himself, so it was nice to see him having fun and letting loose. They were all pretty toasted by midnight, and Mike drunkenly started talking about getting something to eat.

“Why did we drink so much?” he bemoaned, leaning against Yedam as we left the bar. “We should’ve gotten dinner before the bar.”

“You were the one convinced you were getting laid tonight,” Sam stated, stumbling right along next to them.

“Andy knows a place,” Parker said, leaning against me. “Isn’t Sub Daddy’s second location near here?”

“Uh, yeah, it is,” I offered. “I can drive, though you all better not puke.”

“We won’t!” they all sang in unison.

We made it to my Buick unscathed, and I made sure everyone was buckled up. Looking at Parker in the seat next to me and his three drunk besties in the back seat was hilarious to me. It looked like I’d kidnapped a bunch of intoxicated twinks.

“So did Parker used to bake a lot when you all lived together?” I asked, making conversation as we drove.

“Constantly,” Yedam said, sounding comically exasperated. “We had this neighbor.”

“Oh yeah!” Mike interjected. “Big Idris.”

“Your neighbor went by ‘Big Idris?’ Seriously?” I asked.

“Of course not!” Sam exclaimed, cracking up. “I think his real name was Tyler or something?”

“Tyson,” Parker clarified, his entire face and ears covered in a red blush that I didn’t think was entirely from the alcohol.

“Tyson, right,” Sam continued. “We called him Big Idris because he was hot like a young Idris Elba, but much bigger. I mean, not huge.” There was a slight pause, as if he was second guessing his next statement. “Like you’re way bigger than he was.”

“Okay, so he wasn’t fat-fat, got it.”

“So anyway, Big Idris was our neighbor across the hall. When we moved in at the start of our fall semester junior year, Parker baked little treats for everyone on the floor. Big Idris was the only one who came back asking for seconds.” The three of them roared with laughter. I could see where this story was going. Yedam continued the tale.

“It was just like when we were in the dorms. He didn’t have access to a kitchen, but Parker made sure this guy who lived on the floor above us never went without a snack. Insomnia Cookies should probably erect a statue in Parker’s honor. What was his name? Owen?”

“Yes, Owen,” Parker confirmed.

“So Owen, the ex-football player, ended the year having put on the freshman fifteen.”

“Plus fifteen,” Mike added.

“Plus fifteen,” Sam followed. They all cracked up again. Parker was definitely an anomaly to them. An oddity that made for interesting stories. Their sex lives were probably pretty tame compared to what Parker and I were into.

“Owen was nothing like Big Idris though,” Yedam said. “Those 45 pounds were nothing compared to the almost a hundred Big Idris gained living across the hall from us for two years.”

Mike spoke next, saying, “To be fair, it wasn’t all Parker. This guy liked to eat, and he was always ordering DoorDash or UberEats.” 

“But Parker wasn’t innocent,” Sam said. “He baked him a different type of cookie at least three times a week.”

“What happened to Big Idris?” I asked, now extremely curious.

“His girlfriend moved in and Parker moved here to start his new job. She’s definitely helped him change his diet around. You can tell he’s lost some weight, not eating as much take-out. But he for sure doesn’t seem as happy as when Parker was visiting his apartment at two in the morning.”

“That’s a shame,” Parker said. Now that had me cracking up as I pulled into the Sub Daddy parking lot. Of course Parker would be upset to hear that all his hard work was being undone.

We went inside and ordered, and the four of them decided to split two sandwiches, which was funny because I ordered two sandwiches for myself. We sat and ate, the four of them passing tiny bags of chips back and forth to supplement their little sandwiches. After we finished eating I drove them back to their Airbnb. We made plans to meet up for brunch the next afternoon, and I was very interested to hear more about Parker as a sexy coed with feeder tendencies.

Parker was only slightly hungover the next morning. We hung out with his friends again in the afternoon. They mostly shared stories, while I mostly ate boujee brunch food. We said our goodbyes and they made plans to get together again soon. They all still lived in the old apartment, at least until their lease ended in the fall. Overall, the weekend had been a success, and I was sure Parker was excited to start his new position come Tuesday.

Monday he’d be training his replacement.

“So make sure his lunch is ordered at eleven so that he’s able to eat by noon,” Parker stated matter-of-factly. 

He had been with my new assistant all morning. She was a nice girl, and I could tell she was already a little overwhelmed by all the things Parker expected her to remember. I think Parker was sad to be shifting to a new position, even though he was really excited to be doing what he dreamed of. 

He would be on an entirely different side of the office. It was probably for the best that we had a bit of space from each other. We didn’t want to become one of those couples that couldn’t function without the other.

But still, he knew me better than anyone. I didn’t have to think about my next move because he’d already anticipate it. 

“Parker, can I see you in my office for a moment?” I asked.

“Yes, of course,” he said before turning his attention to my new assistant. “Nicolette, we can go over the best times to schedule Mr. Reynolds for a meeting after you get back from your break.” She couldn’t grab her purse fast enough. She was probably going to be updating her LinkedIn and putting in applications on Indeed.

“You need to go a bit easier on her,” I said once we were behind closed doors. “Remember that's Hathaway’s great-niece.”

“I didn’t have anyone to show me the ropes when I started,” he said. “I just want to make sure she knows what to do so things go smoothly for you.”

“I’ll be okay, babe.”

“Fine. I’ll dial it back.”

“So how about a quickie for old time’s sake?” He laughed, but he immediately loosened his tie.

I ended up seated behind my desk with my pants around my ankles. He was completely nude, claiming he didn’t want to chance getting a stain on his clothes. He kneeled in front of me and reached into my desk drawer. He grabbed a tiny bottle of lube. He squirted a moderate amount in his palm before wrapping his hand around my erection. He pumped my dick slowly, covering it with the lube. 

I watched him stand with his back to me. I got to my feet, grabbing the bottle of lube from him and covering his hole with some of it, massaging it with my fingers. Being between his fat cheeks was always a pleasure. It was the only fatty part about him, and I loved grabbing his ass roughly in these moments. I bent my knees before angling my dick so there’d be a smooth entry and pushed my penis into him slowly. I leaned my body on top of him, my gut resting on his back as I rocked my hips back and forth. I felt his body relaxing as I found a good rhythm. I continued to thrust my hips and he did his best to stifle his moans.

“I’m your biggest success story,” I said breathily, pushing a bit more forcefully. “I just know your friends are going to be shocked the next time they see me.”

“Uh—” he whimpered, his knees buckling slightly.

“Say it,” I said. “Say that you’re gonna make me bigger.”

“I–I’m gonna make you bigger.” He tugged at his dick desperately. He wasn’t going to last much longer.

“500 isn’t that far off,” I said, not entirely believing it myself. Would he want me to get that big? He did tell me that I was the biggest person he’d ever been with. Could he handle that? Could I?

“Oh fuck!” he panted, doing his best to catch his cum in his hand. I gave a few final pushes before filling him with my cum. I pulled myself from inside of him and we both got cleaned up. He got dressed, looking positively pristine, like nothing lewd had just taken place in my office. 

That’s when he turned to me and said, “I hope you’re ready for lunch.”

He had a look in his eye that let me know our sex talk wasn’t just talk. Parker had goals, and I liked a man with motivation.

I sure knew how to hire ‘em.

The End!

[octuscle]

Hey chronivac suppot. I got the app about a week ago, around the same time my targeted ads started recommending me custom wrestling singlets and gym shorts. I didn’t know why I would be getting these ads, but because it happened around the time I got the app I thought maybe it was connected. I haven’t even opened the app before I checked the ad settings, so I know I haven’t made any changes… but for some reason chronivac has permission to alter my browser history and recommend ads based on randomly assigned presets? Not gonna lie, I have been thinking about stocking up on some wrestling gear…

Gah, what am I saying? Can you help fix this problem? Thanks!

This is another one of those somewhat complicated cases. Although it is actually disabled by default, your app had "Allow Bluetooth communication with other users" set at least shortly after activation. And one of the users was obviously the coach of the wrestling team. And he gave you a preset over Bluetooth. I know Coach Wilson pretty well. We had a one-on-one training session once… Shit, I hope I still have his number somewhere, I wouldn't mind repeating that… But that doesn't belong here. Although Coach Wilson does have one hell of a hot ass. Anyway, you obviously, intentionally or accidentally, accepted and activated the preset.

Did you have any stress with any of the team beforehand? Or with Coach Wilson himself? Normally he only uses the setting when someone has made fun of one of his lads or of wrestling as a sport in general. In any case, the ads for wrestling gear are just the beginning. Haven't you noticed that you have posters of wrestlers hanging in your study? Or that you follow half the wrestling team on Instagram? And they follow you? And that you get a boner when you see the commercials. Fuck, now just try out how it feels to put on a singlet! Where to get one? Look in your closet, you stupid idiot!

When you get home, you want to call the police first. It doesn't necessarily look like someone broke in. But it looks like a bomb has gone off. Actually, you are a model of order and cleanliness. But the kitchen is full of dirty dishes. There are half-empty and empty cans of protein powder everywhere. It smells a bit like a locker room. You're about to go into your dressing room to see if there really is a singlet in your closet when Chuck yells at you to knock. Damn, where did you get the crazy idea that you had your own dressing room. The apartment has five rooms, which you share with three of your fellow students who are on the wrestling team with you. Wait, you've been out of university for a long time, you're a junior partner in a law firm. This is your apartment. You're about to go into your study and call the police from there when you see the sock on the doorknob. Hehehe, Mike managed to get the hot guy from the lacrosse team to come over.

Dude, your head is spinning. You go to your bedroom. Yeah, that's right, this is your room. Whew! It smells like a cougar cage. The bed is not made yet. You take the pillow and press it against your face. Fuck, you can still smell Coach Wilson's sweat. You can only hope that the other lads haven't noticed that Coach has been fucking you to the hilt. But they were still celebrating the tournament victory yesterday, Coach was long gone when the lads got home. Only his singlet he left here. Fuck, the stench is just brimming with masculinity. Sure, Coach is a size bigger than you, but you just have to try the singlet on.

Fuck, Coach's singlet fits you like a glove. You directly add some of your own to the stains from his precum. You can't help it, you have to jerk off here and now. You just manage to press one of the hankies from the floor to your cock before you cum the load into the singlet. Just at that moment your door flies open. Chuck probably doesn't knock in revenge for your " invasion" either. He stands grinning in the doorway with his gym bag and asks why you didn't ask him for help. He would have had time for a little wrestling and jerking off. But now you have to hurry, training is about to start. And Coach Wilson will show no mercy if you're late.

Fuck, then you have to go work out in Coach's singlet. It's a little small for you, but it'll do. You just quickly put on a tracksuit and hit the road with Chuck. Because if there's one thing you don't want, it's to fall out of favor with Coach.

Implementation inspired by a suggestion from @nexo-cuffs88 and by the hot picture of @wrestlingdominations

[a-chip-in-inosukes-nichirin]

Upper Moon Demons at the Gym

I did the Hashira already, but I wanted to explore the upper moons (plus Muzan and a few of the lower moons). If y'all wanna see the other characters (Tanjiro, Nezuko, Zenitsu, Inosuke, Genya, Tamayo, Yuichiro, etc.) let me know.

Lower Moons + Muzan

Enmu:

Does an astonishing amount of leg workouts. Only wears bulky/baggy clothing. Says milk is better than protein shakes. Will hang around the gym to gawk at other's workouts. Confuses everyone at the gym with weird personal questions while they're in the middle of sets.

Rui:

Refuses to go to the gym. If he does get dragged there by his family, he sits and watches videos on his phone. If there is a pool, he can be convinced to swim, but only in the shallow end. He will take pictures of people to make fun of them. He's been banned from one gym for this.

Muzan:

Takes private fencing lessons and only works out in the privacy of his own home as he thinks the gym is unsanitary. Will try any and every protein shake and pre-workout, obsessed with staying fit and young-looking. Takes every supplement known to man. Wears joggers and muscle shirts. Hates sweating and mostly just walks a lot on his treadmill at home, despite having several other pieces of gym equipment.

Upper Moons

Kokushibo:

Wears a sweatshirt and joggers at all times, never seems to sweat even when he is exerting himself. He prefers extracurriculars such as akido and karate but goes to the gym to supplement his classes. Thinks pre-workout and protein shakes are scams.

Douma:

Only works out enough to stay physically fit and attractive. Will make unnecessary comments to people at the gym, especially women. He always seems to weasel his way back into gyms after getting kicked out because of his smooth tongue. He spends a lot of time lounging around in the tightest shirts he can buy. Has been sponsored by workout brands for clothing and supplements for his charisma and pretty eyes. There is usually a spike in sales after Douma does a commercial or ad, so he's a highly coveted model.

Akaza:

Does a lot of calisthenics and weights. He will also sprint on treadmills but focuses on building upper and lower body muscle groups. Can do more pull-ups than any of the moons. Wears wife beaters and joggers, basketball shorts if he's going to be running on the treadmills. He's generally a good gym goer but tends to challenge other gym goers to competitions. Kyojuro is the only one who has kept up with him in a challenge. Akaza lives off of pre-workout and protein shakes. He is responsible for getting Douma kicked out of a couple gyms, and vice versa- neither of them can attend the same gym without it coming to a head eventually.

Hantengu:

Hantengu- is an old man who will go to the gym to stare at girls doing squats. He doesn't do much else, except biking on occasion.

Sekido- has gotten in trouble for slamming weights and yelling at his brothers in the gym. He spends most of his time with dumbbells and on the bench-pressing weights while grunting loudly. Only drinks pre-workout, and probably hasn't had a proper glass of water since starting at the gym. He will drag his brothers to the gym and then complain about them being there.

Karaku- is pretty well rounded at the gym, trying out new things and never really sticking to a specific plan. As long as he feels sore by the end, he doesn't care to target anything specific. He will loudly talk and conversate with other gym-goers, and there are actually a few gym employees who like chatting with him. Will eat or drink anything given to him.

Urogi- likes to do parkour and tends to enjoy cardio more than his brothers. He will also attempt to talk to other gym goers but will also nit-pick the way they workout while giving somewhat backhanded compliments. Likes pre-workout but will not drink protein shakes. Wears loose clothing like basketball shorts and oversized t-shirts.

Aizetsu- hates going to the gym and is always asking when they are leaving. He wears oversized hoodies and sweatpants, and exclusively does ellipticals and biking. He will do stretching if no one else is around. Strictly drinks water and tries to never make eye contact with anyone at the gym.

Zohakuten- Gets dragged along with his brothers to the gym even though he hates going. Thinks all of the women there are skanks no matter how they are dressed and makes no attempt to hide his contempt for others. He made a comment on Mitsuri at one point which mysteriously resulted in him accidentally eating a snack that contained peanuts and having an allergic reaction (they never found the culprit, but others have suspicions about a certain black-haired man who wears masks to the gym).

Gyokko:

Wears the weirdest clothes to the gym and is constantly muttering or having full-on conversations with himself/at people about art and the human body. He does very little exercise, stating he mainly comes to the gym for inspiration in his art. He hasn't caused any major trouble, so he hasn't been banned or kicked out, but people tend to avoid him at all costs as he gives a lot of them the creeps- men and women alike.

Daki:

She, like Mitsuri, wears cute matching sets to the gym, but they tend to be more revealing. Daki has also gotten a lot of modeling and ad contracts for workout brands, although her modeling career extends beyond the gym. Daki has been asked out no less than seventeen times while at the gym, all of which she declined. She spends a lot of time preening in the mirrors between sets, and judging people both in her head and out loud. She only drinks protein shakes that are sweet and makes Gyutaro mix them up for her.

Gyutaro:

He only attends the gym because Daki goes. His crippling self-esteem issues force him to wear dark oversized and baggy clothing. Gyutaro sticks to any machines that are inconspicuous and don't draw attention to himself. He has never once slammed his plates, afraid that it will make people look at him. The only time he is okay with people seeing him is when Daki is dealing with a persistent admirer, and she needs him to act as a physical barrier and guard dog. He will only drink energy drinks.

[isogymsupplier]

Drop tested to make sure the machined selector panels are unbreakable, and using the Twister handle to quickly and efficiently move through the different weight range, instead of fumbling and jiggling each side, these effortlessly man oeuvre to each selected weight. You will not find a better Selectorised dumbbell at this price point. For more information to visit our official website https://www.isogymsuppliers.com.au/ or feel free to call at 0434 761 834.

[snaillock]

bllk boys with a partner who weightlifts

tags: established relationship prior to them joining blue lock, gn reader, i am very new to weightlifting so this both comes from experience and what i have witnessed/researched

rin itoshi:

you guys easily click as passionate gym goers, most likely meeting from going to the same gym. you probably caught his attention by doing something real impressive

the best gym buddy you could ask for. if you have no motivation to go, oh you will go you simply have no choice. he WILL force discipline down your throat

it must’ve taken a lot of you to be noticed by the rin itoshi who doesn’t seem to fw anyyyybody especially in a packed commercial gym.

he may try to rival your PRs as a stepping stone to beating his brother but you know how that is

nagi seishiro

oh so you want your boyfriend to go to the gym with you ‘cause you’d think it’d be a cute bonding activity? well good fucking luck with that. convincing him to actually go out and do something physical willingly is a task alright, especially before reo enters his life. it was already hard enough to even get him to change his clothes so you two could simply walk around the block

on your rest days when you’re both recovering from the soreness, he expects you to take care of him like a prince. he makes you fetch him an ice pack, massage his sore muscles, you name it.

is super happy to visit you when he has a break from blue lock and sees how much progress you’ve made

he WILL make you carry him all the time and use your strength to justify it so get ready for that

barou shoei

it’s funny to imagine that barou shoei, the arrogant, unforgiving king of blue lock actually has a partner that he truly loves and deeply cares for

would definitely want a partner who stays clean especially at a public gym. if you forgot to wipe your sweat off a machine when you’re done using it, he will most definitely go crazy so please don’t forget

as your boyfriend, he really does care for you. he just shows it in his own… unique ways. he makes sure you eat enough for your fitness goals. he forces you to do stretches before and after your workouts so you won’t mess up your body. he’ll spot you when you’re attempting new PRs

a.n: honestly this has been in my drafts for a week now cause i was so fucking nervous about posting it but i hope y’all enjoy my first hc post!

[disco-elysium-via-polls]

5. Smash into the door and shout: "Fuck, it hurts!"

KIM KITSURAGI - "What is this place?" The lieutenant stares at the dusty training equipment.

"It's an adventure!"

"It's the netherworld. Beyond the veil."

"Looks like a gym to me."

"No idea, Kim... but my head hurts... my head hurts *bad*."

"I think this may be the Artemitep's Boxing Club For Young Athletes."

KIM KITSURAGI - "We don't *have to* explore an abandoned gym, you know. Besides, no one's been here in ages..."

"I doubt the electricity still works... Good thing we have a flashlight on us. Don't forget to take it out of your bag before we move on."

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Medium: Success] - Some specks of dust shimmer in a faint beam of daylight falling from the window. Other than that, the room is dark.

INLAND EMPIRE [Trivial: Success] - An eerie feeling rises in your chest...

"What if there's a *reason* why no one's been here for ages..."

"Let's just keep going, I'm sure it's just a regular abandoned house, nothing mysterious here."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Yes, because it's *closed*..."

"No need to look for *supra-natural* explanations where a banal one will do. Now, let's move on, shall we?"

🔊 Wind, Creaking

Sand is dripping from a punchbag...

The poster says: "Citius* *Fortis*... The rest is worn off.

Smells like leather and sweat.

SHOT PUT BALL

A ball used for playing shotput. You feel like you should hold on to this and make good use of it. To sell such beautiful, old school sports equipment would be a sin.

Worn out wallbars. They look unsafe.

BARBELL - A barbell lies on the floor. The colour has worn off its weight plates.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT [Trivial: Success] - It's 60 kg. Your triceps hum at the sight of these weights. Show the world what kind of beast it's dealing with. Lift them.

VISUAL CALCULUS [Easy: Success] - There are no collars on the barbell. This is a safety hazard.

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - Why does it feel so familiar?

Is this familiar because I'm a weightlifter?

"Look, Kim, it's a trap. There are no collars on the barbell."

[Physical Instrument - Legendary 14] Lift the barbell.

[Leave.]

INLAND EMPIRE - No, it's not that... It's the stale smell of rubber, the squeaky sound of sneakers, your bruised knee against the mat. And a whistle... then the feeling is gone.

LOGIC [Easy: Success] - It's just a memory.

ENDURANCE [Easy: Success] - A memory from another life -- when you were young and fit.

2. "Look, Kim, it's a trap. There are no collars on the barbell."

KIM KITSURAGI - "You're right, the weights may fall off. Better not touch it then."

"What kind of a bastard would just remove the collars? It should be a felony."

"Actually, I don't really care about safety hazards."

KIM KITSURAGI - "It would be a violation of EPIS safety regulations if the gym was still operating. But it isn't. No one's supposed to come here anymore."

We're going to skip this check for now, partially because it's very low but mostly because I can't put two videos in one post.

4. [Leave.]

KIM KITSURAGI - "It's dark," the lieutenant states the obvious.

"And the flashlight works a lot better if you *hold it in your hand*."

"Fair point. Yes, totally obvious."

"Flashlights go *in* hand?" (Stare at your hand uncomprehendingly.)

"Got it, Kim, no need to rub it in." [Leave.]

KIM KITSURAGI - "Yes," the lieutenant says. "You might even call it a *feature* of the universe, that you need to *hold* tools to *use* them."

"That makes so much sense."

"That makes no sense at all."

KIM KITSURAGI - "I'm sorry the fundamental laws of the universe don't seem to agree with you, detective, but the fact remains that it's too dark to see in here without the flashlight..."

"So come on. We've got work to do."

TUTORIAL AGENT - Some areas are inaccessible without your FLASHLIGHT. After you’ve acquired it, go to your INVENTORY and equip it in a HELD slot to continue exploring.

Ok, fine.

🎵Doomed Commercial Area

The hallway is blocked by old windowpanes and debris.

Looks like the remains of the "24th Window" Repair shop.

A large demijohn full of strange liquid...

Is it potable?

Wild animals stare at you in the dark, suffed and mounted.

Poor animals. No rest for their bodies after death.

Airship rotors covered in spider webs. They remind you of blades.

A naked mannequin torso. A strange yellow colour.

Blue velvet, soft to the touch. Moth-bitten.

Skis with "Slipstream" painted on the laminated top layer.

Steel rotor blades bearing a "Slipstream" logo.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Looks like someone tried to *reconceptualize* their business here.

I don't get it.

[Discard the thought.]

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Look: The skis and rotor blades both bear the same "Slipstream" logo. It seems likely that they started out making one, failed to turn a profit, and then pivoted to producing the other.

But the question is -- which did they start with, and which did they pivot to?

What a strange leap of imagination... And yet they still failed. How sad. [Finish thought.]

That's just speculation. We don't know anything for sure. [Finish thought.]

CONCEPTUALIZATION - That's a good question.

What a strange leap of imagination... And yet they still failed. How sad. [Finish thought.]

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Reality is ruthless.

"PRODUCTION SCHEDULE" FILAMENT MEMORY

The cube-like crisscross of filaments feels oddly fragile in your hand, its intricate structure covered in dust. Silver tape on the side reads: PRODUCTION SCHEDULE. NOTE! This filament contains information that can be read using a radiocomputer.

Well, Soona wanted us to get a filament from a *fridge*, but maybe this is related?

Is this Emma's Atelier?

But where are the clothes it used to display?

Scribbled across a notebook: "Developers of the most advanced RPG in the universe."

PROJECT DREAD BOARD - Your flashlight slides over an old green chalkboard covered in scribbles, sketches and schemes like some ancient cave mural.

Some of the writing has faded with age, but you can still make out sections here and there; photos and drawings have been pinned to the board.

Inspect the drawings.

Inspect the photos.

Inspect the schedule.

Inspect the notes.

[Leave.]

PROJECT DREAD BOARD - These lithe, pointy-eared creatures appear to be different types of *welkins*. You make out autumnal *candle-welkins* casting wax-based magic...

*Translucent welkins* with organs shining under their skin, and even aether welkins -- hailing from the vast emptiness of sidereal space.

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - Who are all those creatures? Fantasies of a tortured, feverish mind?

DRAMA [Medium: Success] - You should adopt one of those welkins as your *persona*. No longer a mere man -- but a welkin...

PROJECT DREAD BOARD - One of the welkins -- towering among the rest -- appears to be different, however.

Examine the welkin -- this is important.

I don't care -- step back.

PROJECT DREAD BOARD - It's Vaarahamira, a *high welkin* -- his face white and scarred like cracked marble. This is clearly a welkin supremacist. The note says: 'All non-welkin races will be purged.'

The huldur, the dweorg, the humans, and even headless men... all of them. Purged. Imagine a world filled *only* with welkin! Green welkin, dread welkin... and the high welkin to rule them all.

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant can't help but comment: "An inordinate amount of time has gone into drawing these little welkin creatures..."

"Why would anyone spend so much time on this?"

"Who *are* these creatures? Who drew them? Are they *real*? I have so many questions..."

(Whisper) "One of them is a welkin supremacist."

"Well. This has been educational -- let's move on from the welkins."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Some people really *like* building a world, I think. Even if it's just for a game."

Hm.

2. "Who *are* these creatures? Who drew them? Are they *real*? I have so many questions..."

KIM KITSURAGI - "This looks like *concept art* for a project. It's not really real."

3. (Whisper) "One of them is a welkin supremacist."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Mhm... political commentary. That one has a great beard too..." The lieutenant nods at the welkin's facial hair.

4. "Well. This has been educational -- let's move on from the welkins."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Just look at those details. So much effort..."

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] - ...and for what? All gone.

2. Inspect the photos.

PROJECT DREAD BOARD - The photo collage depicts barren, icy landscapes wrapped in perpetual night. You see permafrost and glacial landforms, dead trees groaning under the snow.

Entire oceans have been frozen from shore to shore. There are pictures of settlements on dried up riverbeds, abandoned in a storm. Animal corpses in the dark, carcasses and bones.

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Easy: Success] - You see primitive oil rigs built into glaciers -- by *boreal dweorg* -- yurts under the snow, great mammoth-like beasts of burden...

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Easy: Success] - Albeit dark and cold, this vision also feels cosy in its own way. Like eggnog, or morphine! A much needed respite from our own world.

PROJECT DREAD BOARD - A pinned postcard reads: 'The heat death scenario -- a desperate fight for geothermal energy engulfs the world as Wirrâl becomes untethered from its sun, drifting through the Universe.'

3. Inspect the schedule.

PROJECT DREAD BOARD - This is a monthly calendar from the year '50. Cryptic words like 'sprint', 'daily minime', and 'GPI' span the marker-drawn grid -- the grand scheme of production and money.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Medium: Success] - It looks a bit like an academic calendar. Only much more *brutal*.

EMPATHY [Medium: Success] - Everyone is constantly teetering on the edge of the abyss. An abyss of *production*. These squares look orderly but beneath them is chaos, worry, pain...

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Medium: Success] - 'Minime' stands for a 'mini-meeting'. It's part of a bigger framework for managing work called R.U.N.. Station 41 tried to implement it a few years ago, but failed.

Keep reading -- what happened?

Step back and look at something else.

PROJECT DREAD BOARD - As time goes on, the numbers in the boxes grow rarer and rarer. The board becomes an empty snowfield in the final days... Only failure and regret dwell in this region.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Looks like they didn't make it." The lieutenant looks at the frigid ice field of nothingness.

+5 XP

PROJECT DREAD BOARD - A note in the bottom left corner of the chalkboard says: "SEE THE PROD. SCHEDULE FILAMENT FOR DETAILS."

4. Inspect the notes.

PROJECT DREAD BOARD - The handwriting is only partly legible, but you can still make out three slogans: 'Call in, tune out!', 'WIRRÂL UNTETHERED', and 'Heat death of the Universe'...

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Medium: Success] - The full text reads: 'Heat death of the Universe is the new black'. Another note says: 'The biggest advancement in role-playing systems since the Thirties'.

SHIVERS [Medium: Success] - Outside, a cold wind wraps the building in its bosom. Snowflakes in the wind. An old woman passes what the locals call the Doomed Commercial Area. She tries hard not to look at the bookstore windows. It's *unwise*.

5. [Leave.]

FREQUENCY FIREPLACE - This old fireplace is covered in lines drawn in blue and red marker, the mesh spreading over the stone like blood vessels on alabaster skin. It looks ghostly and strangely ancient.

INLAND EMPIRE [Medium: Success] - A diagram for summoning some time-forgotten being? The symbols seem very esoteric.

CONCEPTUALIZATION [Medium: Success] - The whole thing resembles Kedran mosaic tiles. Very Pisantic.

Hold on, how do I know what Kedran mosaic tiles are supposed to look like?

What am I looking at?

[Leave.]

CONCEPTUALIZATION - History classes. Students with their textbooks open, studying the roots of our civilization. Those aquarelle-blue tiles looked beautiful in the sun.

2. What am I looking at?

FREQUENCY FIREPLACE - Radio frequencies, it seems. UKV123.6, UKV123.7, UKV123.9... some written notes too. Sparse and cryptic.

Radio frequencies for what?

FREQUENCY FIREPLACE - Unclear. It looks like a cardiovascular system, split into veins and capillaries. Very advanced.

So we're dealing with something medical here?

This must be an elaborate piece of art.

Of course... (Narrow your eyes.) The anatomy of *the curse*.

+1 Art Cop

FREQUENCY FIREPLACE - You think so? The web is comprised of radio stations. All lead back to one red heart, titled: The Game Master Frequency. A note says: 'This one can listen in on any station it wants?!'

HALF LIGHT [Medium: Success] - Looks like a surveillance programme...

INTERFACING [Medium: Success] - They must have had *massive* airwidth. These things don't come cheap.

Wait, who's the Game Master?

If it's a game, then who's playing?

FREQUENCY FIREPLACE - Someone very important.

AUTHORITY [Easy: Success] - The leader of a massive on-air game built by these people.

CONCEPTUALIZATION [Medium: Success] - A conductor for the hundreds of story threads that pass through the Game Master's Frequency.

If it's a game, then who's playing?

FREQUENCY FIREPLACE - Whoever decides to call in to a call-in station, it looks like.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Medium: Success] - A list of names under the stations suggests people across *six isolas* would be playing: Mundi, Insulinde, Katla, Graad, Samara, and even Iilmaraa.

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] - All of this gone, left unrealized.

LOGIC [Easy: Success] - There's no way a little basement studio working *here* could pull anything like this off.

KIM KITSURAGI - "My god..." The lieutenant leans closer, his finger tracking the maddening rhizome. "It's as if the *less money* they had, the more ambitious their project became."

"Mhm. The cost of airwidth alone must have been huge."

"Why do you say that?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Exactly." He nods at the calendar on the chalkboard, wiping his marker-stained fingers clean against his jacket. "This schedule -- I know *doom* when I see it. The company was running out of funding."

+5 XP

What else? (Squint at the lines.)

FREQUENCY FIREPLACE - Nothing. It's just lines on marble, an echo from times long gone. No one has used the fireplace in ages.

MAINFRAME - A dusty radiocomputer sleeps on its wired frame, forgotten and unused. Its keyboard has a rectangular ON/OFF button; a piece of paper still hangs from the printer.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Another radiocomputer..." says the lieutenant, watching you circle around the machine. "Just sitting here without anyone in sight."

REACTION SPEED [Medium: Success] - What he means is that these things cost *money*. Why would anyone just leave it behind?

INTERFACING [Medium: Success] - This is the Rehm Civic radiocomputer, model RC5120, equipped with a Feld mainframe and a Rehm-compatible printer.

"Do you think I should turn it on?"

Turn on the machine.

[Step away.]

KIM KITSURAGI - "It's your call." He looks over his shoulder, then back at the machine. "You're in charge of this expedition, officer."

SAVOIR FAIRE [Medium: Success] - Of course you should turn it on -- don't you want to know what's on the filament?!

2. Turn on the machine.

MAINFRAME - The machine lights up like some prehistoric animal stirring from its slumber, revealing virescent PLAY and PRINT keys on the keyboard. The hatch on the machine's central compartment is wide open.

Look inside the compartment.

Press PLAY.

Press PRINT.

[Leave.]

MAINFRAME - It's empty like a beehive without its brood. Some cables have been left dangling, disconnected...

INTERFACING [Trivial: Success] - The filament you have would fit perfectly inside the compartment.

2. Insert THE PRODUCTION SCHEDULE.

MAINFRAME - Like a smooth drawer, the filament slides into place. On the keyboard, the PLAY key starts blinking.

+5 XP

3. Press PLAY.

MAINFRAME - The speaker comes to life, static seeps through the machine's planar magnetic driver. An old lady greets you, her voice sounds a hundred years old...

EAST-INSULINDIAN REPEATER STATION - "Good morning, Fortress Accident on Rue de Saint-Ghislaine, this is East-Insulindian Repeater Station 1."

"Please repeat -- is this the production schedule?"

"Yvonne, it's me again! How are you?"

"Let's try the password for the production schedule."

"That's all for now." (Press OFF/SILENT.)

EAST-INSULINDIAN REPEATER STATION - "Good, thank you." It's not clear whether she recognizes your voice. "Please repeat, is this the production schedule?"

2. "Let's try the password for the production schedule."

EAST-INSULINDIAN REPEATER STATION - "Good. Please repeat the password."

Say: "After life -- death."

"A password? I'm really bad at passwords. Can you give me a hint?"

"Is it my birthday?"

"This is the police. Please open this thing."

"I don't know the password."

EAST-INSULINDIAN REPEATER STATION - "Good, I've unlocked the production schedule. After ending the call, please press PRINT to access the filament."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Really? She just used the same password?" The lieutenant seems almost disappointed to discover that, as he murmurs: "Maybe those radiocomputer guys aren't that paranoid after all..."

EAST-INSULINDIAN REPEATER STATION - "Fortress Accident, is there anything else I can do for you today?"

3. "That's all for now." (Press OFF/SILENT.)

EAST-INSULINDIAN REPEATER STATION - "Thank you and good bye," the old lady's voice disappears along with the static.

MAINFRAME - Tiles on the cube are still smouldering, casting the framework in a soft glow. Virescent PLAY and PRINT keys shine on the keyboard.

4. Press PRINT.

MAINFRAME - With a quiet determination the printer starts printing, a piece of paper unfolding like a hand-held fan. A black criss-cross of letters covers its surface.

5. Read the printout.

MAINFRAME - It's a project report written by the lead producer Andrew 'Andy' Schott about 'Wirrâl Untethered', a radio game developed by studio Fortress Accident.

The first few pages give an overview of the capital and workforce, while the rest of it seems to be a production schedule.

Read about capital... I want to know about *money*.

Read about the workforce... Who worked there, how long?

Skim through the production schedule, whatever it is.

Tear off the printout and throw it away.

MAINFRAME - In its short time of existence, Fortress Accident SCA managed to burn through truly *insane* amounts of money.

The first tranche of seed financing brought in 150,000 reál, but then came the *delays*.

Eventually the damage reached 400,000 reál with only half of the game finished.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Medium: Success] - Four-hundred thousand reál?! Jommaijoo, these guys knew how to party!

Gosh, where did they get all this money?

MAINFRAME - Let's just say it was a *real adventure* for their Igaunijan investor.

2. Read about the workforce... Who worked there, how long?

MAINFRAME - Fortress Accident employed 18 people, the bulk of the team composed of writers and concept artists. There were also radio programmers, sound engineers, a CEO, two marketing experts...

…and a single overburdened producer who developed a habit of popping Pyrholidon in the basement to escape his obligations.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Medium: Success] - But on the other hand, their obligations *were* piling up at an inhuman rate -- a rate that could only be amended by Pyrholidon.

LOGIC [Easy: Success] - Why did Fortress Accident have so many concept artists?

Wait, why did a *radio game* need so many artists?

I don't really care. (Look at the table of contents again.)

MAINFRAME - It didn't.

It didn't need so many concept artists?

MAINFRAME - No, definitely not. A few more producers could have come handy though -- especially when dealing with writers, some of whom routinely skipped work because of 'mental health issues' and extremely unprofessional sleep schedules...

One of them even managed to steal some valuable company property before skipping town for good.

3. Skim through the production schedule, whatever it is.

MAINFRAME - The production schedule depicts their glorious descent into bankruptcy.

Because of the concept artists?

Right, what happened?

MAINFRAME - No, not the concept artists. It wasn't even the writers, with their panic attacks and three-hour lunches...

It was impossible not to fail. The project was too large and no amount of money could satiate the ever-expanding ambitions of the development team.

They tried to make a 4,000,000 reál game with 400,000 in their bank account.

They thought they could bridge the gap with pure willpower and imagination.

They couldn't.

I could have bridged the gap.

Oh, so they were done in by their own ambition.

MAINFRAME - No. Even then success remained within an ever-narrowing margin of possibility that, despite everything, never entirely disappeared...

That is, until they discovered the Valley of the Heads.

The what?

That sounds bad.

MAINFRAME - No, it was good. Too good.

At the eleventh hour, the lead designer, Zsiemsk-born Sulisław Zawisza, decided that what 'Wirrâl Untethered' needed was a secret mystical location at the extreme edge of the map...

This place was to be the *Valley of the Heads* -- where the heads of all the *headless* constructs could be found. The player would have been able to choose a head for their headless party member, and each head would been voiced on-air by a professional actor.

This is some insane shit. Who were these people?

How many heads were there?

MAINFRAME - The world had never seen their kind before and might never again.

How many heads were there?

MAINFRAME - So many. At last count there were approximately 10,000 heads for 10,000 headless men, all of which could be endlessly recombined.

How many combinations could you make out of that?

That's pretty bad. So that's what did them in?

MAINFRAME - Do you really want to know? There seems to be a calculation here, but it may take a while...

Yeah, how bad could it be?

No, let's not go there.

🔊 Static

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Keep going.

Uh oh.

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KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant taps his foot impatiently, his arms folded tight against his chest.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Medium: Success] - He's dying for a cigarette. Come to think of it, you are, too.

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Keep going.

What have I done?

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INTERFACING [Legendary: Failure] - What if you broke the radiocomputer? What if it's never going to stop?!

Just let the numbers wash over you.

Please stop.

MAINFRAME - 32667332379617716965698582785832300505265883502247868050648201444570593197343382923860072601696510903258980909912837652275381493529845099414966933862815568031306981064525192703818515872648691762563239441425216118427769145067718411735714396681005615483952443154944864238384298900399826113322468963346522104692545137969276009719645338955332105584245640187448611050959111766828942711640054010503770420346052521318228045892998637903572350665108782350043349942391285236308896510989246641056331584171142885304143772286629832318970869030400301325951476774237516158840915838059151673504519131178193943428482922272304061422582078027829148070426761629302539228321084917759984200595105312164731818409493139800444072847325902609169730998153853939031280878823902948001579008000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000... and that's it.

Okay, so that's what did them in?

MAINFRAME - Well, yeah. That, and the catastrophic data loss.

The what now?

This must be the anomaly Soona mentioned in the church log.

MAINFRAME - On the nature of the data loss, there's ominously little information in the production log. It comes at the very end, where things get fuzzy and dark, where tables and numbers seem to vanish into an eerie nothingness, before their Igaunijan investor pulled the plug...

What is clear is that one day an unidentified numeric anomaly occurred on the East-Insulindian Lintel front, just as the 'Wirrâl Untethered' project was being compiled that day.

And the anomaly caused all the data to get lost in the air?

I didn't understand a word of that.

MAINFRAME - When the project was returned, it was completely blank.

The team spent weeks on the phone with Lintel, the service provider, but despite their diagnostics they could never produce a satisfactory explanation or pay for the loss.

What! They lost the whole game and wouldn't even pay for it?

Wasn't there a copy of the game, a *backup*?

MAINFRAME - Always read the terms of service.

LOGIC [Medium: Success] - And let's face it, they didn't have any money left for a legal action.

Wasn't there a copy of the game, a *backup*?

MAINFRAME - Mysteriously enough, it seems that the off-site copy happened to be *on-site* when the catastrophic data loss occurred...

It was the lead programmer's responsibility to oversee weekly maintenance of the off-site copy and, well, keep it off-site. An explanatory note from the lead programmer has been attached.

What does it say?

MAINFRAME - S. Luukanen-Kilde, the lead programmer of Fortress Accident: "The off-site copy was on-site because there was no *off-site* anymore, not for me, not after eight months of crunch."

"I didn't have a home anymore, so I started keeping it in the basement, in the ice bear refrigerator (near where I went to sleep). It was perfectly safe there, the temperature conditions were *optimal*."

It's not very convincing, is it?

Seems like a perfectly reasonable explanation.

Is there anything else from this lead programmer? (Proceed.)

MAINFRAME - That's not what her colleagues thought.

Is there anything else from this lead programmer? (Proceed.)

MAINFRAME - The production schedule ends with a few random notes that seem to be added sometime later.

4. Read the notes at the end.

MAINFRAME - Four months later by an unknown author: "I am the only one left and it's gotten rather damp here. A few other businesses have gone under too. Slipstream switched to making skis and the hairdressers just left, cursing Martinaise. They're right, though, something's seriously wrong with this place. Martinaise, all of it."

"Still haven't gotten an answer from Lintel about what happened. All I could get were the physical coordinates of the error on the East-Insulindian front on that day. Since the computation happened on-air, I reckoned it had to coincide with an actually existing location..."

"I have compared the coordinates to a map of Revachol West. Turns out it's only 800 metres from here. The address is Saint-Brune 1147. I am going there to look this thing in the eye..."

REACTION SPEED [Easy: Success] - Saint-Brune 1147? That's what the street sign next to the church said...

5. Tear off the printout and throw it away.

MAINFRAME - Tiles on the cube are still smouldering, casting the framework in a soft glow. Virescent PLAY and PRINT keys shine on the keyboard.

2. Remove THE PRODUCTION SCHEDULE.

MAINFRAME - The filament slides out of its glowing nest.

5. [Leave.]

[kashmiresims]

Hi Charmful, I really love your amazing neighborhood! It is fantastic to see the passion you've put in this project for about 17 (!) years! What advice would you give to someone who wishes to start their own custom hood with many subhoods and stories, like yours? What are in your opinions some do's and don'ts (be it about technicalities, gameplay or even mindset)? Thanks in advance and I apologise if this question has already been asked :)

No! You are completely fine, I appreciate the question. Very few ever ask me questions on my tumblr anyhow. I just go around giving this advice every so often when I see it asked about how to start custom hoods on the big TS2 Facebook Group or the Sims 2 Subreddit, haha! So, going into your own hood/subhoods project sounds really daunting and it's not a feat for the impatient or those that have a penchant for serial restarting playstyle. 1. Grow it organically. If that seems too loose of a perimeter for someone, they can always use a structured BACC as a springboard. One of my favorite TS2 Twitch streamers, ChocolatCitySim has built her amazing custom hood and subhoods up from a BACC. Here is an album of my hoods and subhoods showing them in 2015 and 2022 and the progress it made and even at present they look different than they did in 2022. 2. Create a solid set of sims or families you want to be the foundation population. They could be founders, you could have a headcanon of why they moved to town, or how they fit into the lore of your custom hood. These sims you will play for a long time, hopefully enough to see their children's children and such. My best advice is aim for 5-8 families and then sprinkle in some YAs (if you add a Uni right off) and single adults that are ready to mingle. Add new families and sims as you progress and as needed to grow your population. 3. Don't be afraid! Why is this important? Because Kashmire wouldn't be what it is today if I had panicked at every glitch, accident, or unintended situation that cropped up. It has actually enhanced my hood lore as the years have gone by. It makes for a unique story twist or quirk when something happens and you have to interpret or explain it away into a narrative or hood canon. Don't be afraid to start playing before the hood is 'done'; spoiler alert: a custom hood is never 'done' it might have a good few years stretch of you not updating anything in it until you need it but if you are like me and get the urge to go ham on hood deco after 14 or so years, it's gonna always be in flux! Obsessing with getting a custom hood 'done' before playing it is the quickest way to burn out and abandon your goal. Also, don't be afraid to completely chuck stuff you have downloaded or built and are not feeling anymore. Or re-arranging entire sections of your hood. In real life, civilizations grow and change and seeing that progress in your own neighborhood can be rewarding! You can even send sims you aren't feeling anymore off to another place, or make them townies, or kill them off. I've never played in strict rotation, I've lost sims to glitches, and I've bulldozed more than half my original builds to try and build or download something better.

4. Back to the building of it, I wish I had done it sooner but it's helpful to kind of know what zones of your hood are. Commercial vs Residential, vs greenspace use. Use hood deco to build up parts to make it look busier if you are going for a more urban hood or subhood but don't have a lot of playable lots yet. If you aren't a builder, download lots, there are so many good ones out there! On the same note of building, try to have your basic necessity community lots in every subhood so the sim doesn't have to travel through 2 screens to get a cup of coffee or go to a gym, but you can vary those community lots unless you want to simulate a 'chain' (a chain of restaurants, gyms, coffee shops). Then, try to also have some unique places in each subhood. Places your sims might want to go to impress a date, or dancing with friends, fill a want that comes up less often. I could wax poetic about all the different lots around Kashmire but to not exceed a response character count, I shant. 5. A subtle thing you can do is develop an identity for your different areas/subhoods. You can do this with themes, flora, deco, and even the sims that live there. 6. Let the stories come naturally and retcon what doesn't work anymore. After playing for so many years in Kashmire, stories develop in a variety of ways--most have developed through the gameplay aspect itself mixed with being inspired by lots or poseboxes or just fun scenarios I want to try to play and execute. If you don't have a stellar memory like I do (which is how I keep everything in order) document your play through notes and pics! Even just putting up little blurbs on your tumblr with a few pics can help you start a narrative and then use it to go back to reference. If not here, any blogging site, a forum, or any other place you can post will do! 7. Be choosy with your cc. Things will come along you will WANT but do you really NEED it? This is a good rule of thumb for any Sims 2 player honestly. 8. MAKE BACK UPS. CONSISTENTLY MAKE BACK UPS OF YOUR HOOD AND GAME. RELIGIOUSLY STORE THEM SOMEPLACE SAFE because your heart will break if one day your SSD melts and all your backups were on it and you don't have an amazing computer wizard husband to save your custom hood's ass. People always ask me 'How have you played the same Sims 2 neighborhood for 17 years?!' and my answer: BACK UPS. That's all I can think of off the top of my mind. Thanks for the question and good luck on your Sims 2 custom hood journey!

[darlingdarkly]

🥳🍾 Ok, if you encourage me, then I'll go ahead - though I would hate to distract you from FWTD (Haven't read it yet, I'm still too focussed on 141 and can't cope with splitting my attention too much.) Feel free to ignore this, no pressure.

Would you be interested in hearing about my favourite passages of NYNY, like chapterwise, in case you don't find that boring? I enjoy sharing favourite parts because I find fascinating to see what exactly caught other people's attention and what they like best - especially when it comes to the authors themselves. 🤗

Are there passages you love and are specifically proud of? Like for example you had one sentence/passage/setting in mind and felt the need to create a whole chapter, story or even world around it?👁👁🧠💥💋

(Is that too private to ask? In case you wouldn't want to answer (in public), just let me know.🤫)

((It might sometimes take me a bit of time to answer but I would never NOT react at all sooner or later. Hope that's not too frustrating a prospect...👉👈))

Enjoy the day/night 🤘

YESS OMG! Ok so I’d love to answer this with you but it’s gonna be lengthy LMAO so I’m gonna drop it under a read more 😅

Ok so I’ll give you a little secret about where the idea for him came from in the first place. I came up with this idea back in December of last year, a new movie came out on Netflix called “The Killer” it follows this hit man around who botches a kill and then the people he works for try to clean it up by taking out him but they end up really hurting his wife and so he goes rogue and takes out everyone who had anything to do with the job. His final target is this rich guy who put up the money for the job and he finds out he goes to this fitness club and he goes there while he’s working out to get access to his house. The fitness club/ bougie gym in question was called “Baliquinox” and while I was sitting there watching it the idea came to me and I literally stole the name of the gym and reused it as like a little homage to where the idea came from.

And thus personal trainer Johnny was born! When I sat down to actually write it I had three main scenes I wanted to write, their first ever introduction where he picks her out or part 1, the scene in part four where they fuck for the first time (let me tell you that scene lives rent free in my head for months!) and the ending (specifically like the last paragraph) your girl wrote that WHOLE fic with just those three scenes in mind at the start. Everything else, literally all of it was thought up on the spot.

Funny enough the whole FitBit present he gives her was thought up as I wrote that part. I heard a commercial on Spotify for it, did a little more research and saw all the potential it had. And I had no idea when I wrote it in just how big a part it was gonna end up being in parts down the road. It was kinda just improvised haha

Two of my favorite little tidbits!

The first is in the second part when he’s sitting her down and asking her all kinds of questions that get increasingly personal to the point where she thinks he’s fucking with her (because he is) but I wanted to show that he’s intelligent enough to masquerade his gross intrusiveness as part of his job and then when he’s got you suckered he drops the facade completely and reveals his true intentions. It’s the first of Johnny showing you his true colors and I absolutely loved writing it, it was such a blast and I really enjoy writing manipulations like that. And then when reader heads to the locker room to recompose and dress she has her mind set to set him straight and draw some boundaries which when confronted by them Johnny just pliantly agrees and makes her feel kinda small for making such a big deal of it but we all know he’s pulling the wool over readers eyes again.

Secondly! I loved the morning after the club incident when she wakes up and she’s in Johnny’s bed and she can’t remember anything and Johnny writes the narrative for her and plants a seed. It’s really all it takes. He tells her that it’s OBVIOUS she was drugged last night and there’s no way she can go back home because she’s in DANGER!! (A danger he created the whole time) He played her right into his hands, swept her right off her feet without her even protesting because he’s helping her and doing it for her own good.

A man like Johnny is hyper intelligent and hyper dangerous. When he has his sights set on something he wants he will get it every time because he’s not afraid to play outside the lines. There are no boundaries and no limitations, there’s just the object of his desire and the obstacles in between him and it. And when you’ve walked into the trap and he’s got you, it won’t even seem like a trap. You’ve just suddenly gained a boyfriend and he’s moved you into his home and the sex is amazing and you never have to care for anything ever again. He’s just all in one move wrapped you up into his arms and secured you and it’s where you’ll be for the rest of your days if he can just keep manipulating things in his direction, which is much easier now that he’s got you right where he wants you.

This became so lengthy omg haha but I love him so much! He’s obsessive and he wants you all to himself and he’ll do anything to get it! Please, feel free to reblog this and tell me your favorite parts or add onto mine or discuss!! I would love it! 🫶🫶🫶

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Over-the-top modern 2021 mansion in Los Angeles, California. 12bds, 17ba, $139M. It also has $5M worth of Italian brand La Contessina furniture that's included with the house.

Look at this loooong sparking chandelier that pools on the floor. (There's a dedicated caretaker's quarters, but it's gonna take more than one person to maintain all this.)

Remember that all the furniture is included. Wonder why they chose brown. Now, here we are in the main living area with a huge bar. (aka "The Nightclub.")

On view here is this 6 car elevator to show off your car collection to guests (what, only 6?).

"The Nightclub" extends way out to the patio.

The wine room holds 1, 050 bottles, with a Murano glass art installation overhead. Wow, this wall of wine bottles is way different from the house I posted yesterday, with the bottle walls.

For entertaining, the residence has multiple bars. This is an ice-cold vodka-tasting room (notice the fans in the ceiling & the frost on the walls). Hanging on hooks are fur coats for the guests to wear. (Is this crazy or what?)

Home gym with a ridiculous amount of Peloton equipment. How many people are they expecting? There's also a climbing wall and a cigar lounge.

This looks like one of the more casual seating areas and bar. Don't expect to see the kitchen that's fitted with Wolf appliances and is supposedly a chef's dream. You don't concern yourself with something as mundane as cooking.

Here's the hot tub room with a massive chandelier.

The home theater is fitted with plush Belgian leather seats.

Beautiful views from the patios and terraces.

Check out the reclining marble tub in the primary suite. The wall opens to a large deck. (Guests get a penthouse suite.)

Massive en-suite bath. That big glass room on the right is the shower.

Her closet.

His closet.

The colossal 23-foot LED screen out by the pool comes up from the floor.

Around this bar are illuminated swing seats, plus a full commercial kitchen hidden from sight, for entertaining, b/c nobody wants to see a kitchen.

This home is really focused on entertaining.

The house is on a 2.08 acre lot and not to worry, bulletproof glass, and a hidden state-of-the-art safe room ensures security and peace of mind. A high-tech 36 camera security system with a full security command center including staff quarters vigilantly watches over the property.