puny arms

“Remember you only get three wishes”, boomed the genie as he was floating in place. Evan was still at a lost on how a lamp that he got from a  garage sale could contain an magical entity with such great powers. “A-Anything I want?” mutter back Evan. “Of course let any desire you want come out and I shall grant it!”

With this in mind, Evan had a million things running through his head that he wanted but only a few things stood out to him that he truly knew what he needed and wanted most of all. “I wish I had a fit body that would make other guys jealous! And with a huge dick to match for my second wish.” yelled Evan. “Hmph are you sure about Be careful what you wish for.” The genie said with a smirk on his face. But before, Evan could reply there was a huge headache that made him dizzy and he felt like he was going to pass out from the pain.

Finally, the pain subsided, but now there was a huge heat that was spreading thought his body. Evan felt like he was on fire as he noticed that his muscles were inflating and growing stronger. His once flat skinny chest was changing with pounds of huge veiny muscles from all the years  of being in the gym. Sculpture abs then started to take form as he grew to gain a chiseled six pack, while his thighs then balloon outwards expanding with every move he made.

As Evan started to moan and curse under his breath he saw his weak puny arms were growing into huge mountains increasing in length and capacity. Evan then grew worried as he saw his pale skin started to get darker into a deep rich brown color. His hair then receded on his head giving him a fade. Sweat poured down Evan’s face causing his smell to grow ten times worst letting everyone around him know that he was a gym rat.

Finally, there was an itching scruff feeling on his face as hair grew along making him have a mustache and beard to match his perfectly enormous body. When it was all over, Evan knew why the genie had gave him a sly smile. Something felt off and he felt dumber and more open to have sex, but not with girls. But did the new Evan care? No way he was too busy getting that dick to care at all. All he needed to satisfy him was the urge to be able to cum.

“Yo bro I just had this great idea just now” the new and improve Evan said.
The genie smiled once again knowing this was going apart of his plan. “Yes master? What can I help you with?” Evan was incredibly horny and dumb and wanted to find someone real quick. “I wish that you become my sex slave and partner” Evan laughed
idiotically. The genie knew he had won this round and was excited to see his new “package” that he got from his wish.

Simply the genie said “Your wish has been granted.”

The Cullen's POV On Bella Swan
  • Bella: in Rosalie's room, complaining to her about Edward.
  • Rosalie: You give me such a headache, go stand elsewhere.
  • Bella: whining about too much shopping with Alice, to Alice
  • Alice: From the bottom of my soul, I confirm that I don't care what you think. We are still going.
  • Bella: constantly whining to Edward about wanting to be a vampire.
  • Edward: There is no need to repeat yourself, my love. I ignored your proposition just fine the first time.
  • Bella: talking about how unfair her 17 year life is.
  • Jasper: Is that so? Well, aren't you a little ray of pitch black and utter annoyance.
  • Bella: complaining that she doesn't know who to choose: Jacob or Edward. It's so hard!
  • Esmêe: Do you remember when I asked you about your love life? Yeah, me neither, sweetheart.
  • Bella: hurt, with glass shards in her arm.
  • Carlisle: Puny human.
  • Bella: ...
  • Emmett: ...

Did an at home 30min Pilates workout last night (I originally made a post about it, but it didn’t get posted?)! And jeez, 15min into it I was sweating BUCKETS! It felt great. Hoping to get to the actual gym today at some point, but if not I’ll probably go on a run or do yoga/Pilates again. I was feeling rather body positive/tummy positive when I took those, though I still have a long way to go AND I’ve been off weight lifting for so long because of my schedule that my arms look PUNY again. I’m pretty disappointed about that. I have regressed and now I gotta work extra hard to make that back up. I think I’m focusing on shedding those few extra pounds I put back on first before I really focus on bulking up. My scale is currently out of batteries, and I think that’s been helpful for the past month or so, but I believe now it’s time to step on it again so I can reassess my goals for June! Anyway, here’s my face!

anonymous asked:

Bit of a nerd - wondering if you could make me a dumb surfer bro?

I don’t usually do transformations, I like something with a bit more of a plot; but I’ll give it a shot…

Story Request - Nerd to Surfer

As you headed to the beach, your greasy hair getting beaten by the sea winds, you noticed a long board sitting straight up out of the sand, no one around in sight. As you got closer to it you feel a calling. Moving closer you feel you need to touch it.

Reaching out towards the board, your puny arm shaking, you let your fingers graze it gently when the board begins to glow. As you try to pull your fingers away you notice they are stuck and your palm gets pulled right onto the surface of the board. 

The glow begins to travel from the board up your hand as it travels up your arm. It feels strange, yet unusually erotic at the same time as you let a moan escape your mouth. Your forearm begins to thicken followed by your bicep as it begins to expand and bulge with muscle. 

The light traveling to your upper body and down to your lower as the light begins to fill your very core. Your pecs erupting outward from your flat chest as hair sprouts across the thick pillows of flesh. Your abdominal area begins to become sculpted as an adonis belt forms leading down to your covered lower body.

The light traveling through your other arm. Your bicep expanding in size to match the already sculpted left arm. A tattoo burning into your skin as the light pushes its way to your forearm as well.

While all this is going on, your face is being remolded as your nose becomes a bit more crooked from all the injuries you’ve taken in your Surfing carreer. Your cheeks and chin become a perfect jaw as stubble begins to form and the hair grows and grows, filling out to a rugged beard across your face. Your greasy hair becomes slick wet, and starts to shorten into one more managable for your new love of the waves. 

Your thighs and calves thickening slowly as your cock inches its way down your wetsuit, giving you a nice bulge that will make all your nerd buddies jealous. 

Nerd buddies, what nerd buddies. Your a surfer bro now… The changes come to a halt, as you pull the board up under your hairy pit, spotting your buddies across the beach you make your way towards them. It’s time to surf…

“Okay, yeah. You officially need to move,” Stiles said. Yelled, really, over the loud cries of numerous cats. He slid the door to the loft shut behind him and walked toward Derek on the couch. “Unless you actually adopted an obscene number of cats last week and didn’t tell me, in which case we have much bigger issues than your living situation.”

Derek ignored him completely and walked over to the brick wall with the giant hole in it. The biggest hole, Stiles mentally corrected, which just made him sad. He watched as Derek picked up some sort of bag, reached inside, and threw a few handfuls of-

“Is that Kibble?” Stiles asked incredulously. “Are you actually feeding the cats that live in your walls?”

“It’s Meow Mix, and yes,” Derek said calmly. “It’s the only way to get them to quiet down.”

“But they- Derek, you have cat squatters. Call Animal Control. Hell, call Deaton. Do you not see how insane this is?”

“It’s fine, Stiles. I can handle them. Just drop it.”

Keep reading

sauropolis-princeps  asked:

My favorite dinosaur is T. rex does this mean I am a pleb even if I could name a bunch of dino-fax about everything from aardonyx to zby?

Not at all.  Tyrannosaurus was an amazing dinosaur, for a whole lot of reasons.

I’d like to preface this post by saying that I am by no means an advocate for judging dinosaurs solely on “badassery”.  Anyone who knows me knows that I like to look at dinosaurs as the real animals they were, and not as movie monsters or concoctions of pop culture that should be judged on their efficiency as killing machines.

That said, Tyrannosaurus was a hella efficient killing machine.

Let’s start with T. rex’s ancestors - the fossil record of which is frustratingly incomplete.  There’s a few gaps in the tyrannosaurid fossil record that last for tens of millions of years, and we’re forced to fill in those gaps with assumptions.  However, we do know a couple important things.

  • Tyrannosaurids originated in Asia, and migrated to North America across a land bridge formed by falling sea levels.
  • Once they arrived in North America, they quickly outcompeted the dominant predators, and became the top dogs of the ecosystem.
  • A recently discovered primitive tyrannosaurid called Timurlengia was preserved with a fossilized braincase, revealing that even the primitive members of the tyrannosaur family had big brains and keen senses.

While the details are not complete yet, it’s fairly clear that tyrannosaurs rose to the top of the food chain not by being stronger, but by being smarter.  Only after they developed keen senses and intelligence did they grow to massive sizes and dominate Late Cretaceous North America.

Not only was Tyrannosaurus smart, but it had quite a few other adaptations to stay at the top of the food chain.

  • Its jaws were massively powerful, capable of crushing bone.  Tyrannosaurus is known to have eaten bone, as fragments have been found in T. rex coprolites (fossilized dung).  This suggests that Tyrannosaurus was capable of eating an entire animal carcass, leaving nothing behind.
  • Its famously puny arms were actually quite strong; while their range of motion was limited, they were capable of lifting hundreds of pounds.  They were likely used to hold down prey while the jaws were used to deliver the killing blow.
  • It was capable of surviving in numerous ecosystems, based on the locations of its remains, which varied at the time from mountainous regions to arid plains to subtropical coastlines.
  • Tyrannosaurus teeth are often lined with tiny cracks, once thought to have been mere signs of wear - until they were discovered in unerupted teeth.  The cracks were discovered to strengthen the teeth, prevent breakage, and improve the sharpness of each tooth’s serrations.  The only animal with a similar tooth structure alive today is the Komodo dragon.

It’s perfectly understandable why Tyrannosaurus is your favorite dinosaur - it was a terrifyingly efficient super-predator who dominated North America during the Late Cretaceous, and might still today had the dinosaurs not gone extinct.

(Side note: Just a few days ago, paleontologists discovered the fossilized remains of a pregnant T. rex.  Much respect to the badass women of history - including those who died 65 million years ago.)

Romantic Whims

So this is just a short little thing inspired by many other things. 

Merry Christmas, lovelies!

Christmas surprises don’t always go as planned, and often aren’t always appreciated by all members of the family. But try telling him that.


There was someone in the living room.

When you were younger, you would have naturally come to the conclusion that on Christmas Eve, Santa would have been the person in the living room making a lot of noise and clambering around. 

As a teenager, though, you know that this is an absurd idea and that your parents and other family members had gone to bed hours ago, so in theory, a person in your living room was an extreme red flag and you should probably go find a baseball bat. Or a butcher knife. Or maybe your classical literature book could do enough damage to an intruder to delay him until the cops get here. 

You should wake up Dad. Or Mom. Or your uncle currently sleeping in the basement. Someone significantly stronger and more threatening than a teenage girl in penguin pajamas, a sloppy bun, and fluffy slippers. 

But, hey, here goes nothing. Maybe it’s just your younger cousin messing around in the living room. Maybe a wild animal broke into your house and is currently tearing through all of your presents. 

A million scenarios are running through your mind as you creep silently down the hallway, textbook in hand, ready to smash an intruder’s skull in with all of the force you possessed when you turn the corner and see…

Your boyfriend. Sitting under the Christmas tree. In a Santa hat, white jeans, and a fluffy red coat with no shirt on underneath to put his glorious abs on display. 

There were fake kiss marks stamped all over his chest. Of course there were.

“Oh my God, JongHyun, you do realize that I almost smashed your head in with my classical literature book, right?”

“Merry Christmas!”

“I could have killed you.”

JongHyun snorts. “You can’t even crush a can with those puny arms.”

“I would have called the police, you know.”

“And tell them what? That your amazingly considerate and romantic boyfriend decided to surprise you on Christmas?”

“What would have happened if my dad woke up and found you here? He got a brand new shotgun from my uncle for Christmas and I’m sure he would love to try it out. Especially on shirtless boyfriends who break into our house in the middle of the night.”



“Well, he’s not the one who found me, is he now?”


“And it’s like, one in the morning and they won’t probably be up for another few hours, so I guess what I’m trying to say is… do you want to come sit on Santa’s lap?”

“Do you want me to hit you with this?”

“Oh, someone’s going to get herself put on the naughty list! But honestly, I can think of some better ways you could do that…”

“You really want to get slapped tonight, don’t you?”

“Well, if you want to play rough then I guess that’s okay-”

“I swear, I will wake my dad up…”

“Okay, okay!”

“You didn’t think this through very well, did you?”

“Not really." 

"That’s what I thought.”

“But hey, I came all the way here to surprise you on a romantic whim and I don’t even get a kiss? How is that-”

”_______? What are you doing up? And who are you talking to?”

“Crap.” JongHyun scrambles off of the floor the second he hears your father’s voice, and that’s probably wise because your father hasn’t been known to take your boyfriend’s ‘romantic whims’ very well. But, then again, last time JongHyun tried to be sentimental and romantic he ended up trying to serenade you in the middle of the night on the front lawn. Your dad hadn’t liked that very much. 

But, then again, it probably would have worked better if he had serenaded the right freaking window.

“I think you should start running, stupid.”

“Is that… what the hell is he doing here in the middle of the night? And why isn’t he wearing a shirt under that jacket? _______, where’s my shotgun?”

“Dad, please don’t shoot my boyfriend on Christmas." 

"Oh, you’re not going anywhere mister!” Your father says, completely ignoring your request and pulling JongHyun away from the door by the back of his fluffy red coat. 

“I-I’m sorry sir, it was a really bad decision on my part to come here and I promise I wasn’t trying to- you know- sleep with your daughter or anything, I just thought it would be-”

“Shut up.”

“Yes sir.”

”_____, I thought I told you to get my shotgun?”:

“I told you, I don’t want you shooting my boyfriend on Christmas! Seeing his funeral and you going to jail doesn’t exactly make for a happy holiday.”

“Well then, we’re just going to have to find another way to resolve this, aren’t we?”

JongHyun visibly gulps and tries to cover himself up, clearly terrified of whatever your father has planned for him.

“Ah, stop shaking, boy. We’re just going to have nice, long, chat about decency and how to properly respect my daughter, aren’t we?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“That’s the spirit!” Your father slaps JongHyun on the back so hard that he almost trips and had to grab onto the counter for support. 

“Now, let’s go have our chat.” Dad opens the door to the basement and pushes your boyfriend down the stairs. 

“Yah, _______, a little help here?” JongHyun calls out with desperation before being pushed further down the steps to where you’re pretty sure your huge, six-foot tall uncle who also deals in knife and gun collecting is sleeping.

“Please don’t injure him, Dad.”

“Who said I was going to beat him? I’m just going to chat with the boy!”

“Can’t you just let him off? I mean, it is Christmas.”

“And that gives him a free pass to break in to our house half naked? I think not!”

“I swear, it was just a joke-”

“Jokes are supposed to be funny.”

“Um… yes, I guess so.”

“Do you see me laughing?”

“Um… no, I guess not.”


The door closes behind them and you have to wonder why you put up with JongHyun and all of his badly coordinated ‘romantic whims’.

Oh yeah, that’s right. You love JongHyun and all of these stupid plans. 

Ah, don’t you just love the holidays?

anonymous asked:

tell us a story?


So this happened to me a long time ago. I was like… 6? 7? I was in first grade.


So, one day, I’m sitting in class, learning the alphabet. Or how to write in cursive. Something like that. But as I’m sitting there at my little desk, I realize that my feet are really uncomfortable. It was my socks, man. Everything about them seemed specifically designed to make me suffer. They were tight. They were scratchy, like wool and stiff cotton had a lovechild and slipped it on my tiny fucking feet. And they were crew cut, so it was a pretty wide, high-impact zone of child suffering.

So I’m trying to pay attention, trying to remember that triangles have three sides and all that, but I just can’t… concentrate. My socks. My socks, man. They’re killing me.

So I decide to take action. Without taking my eyes off of the teacher even once, I bring my feet up one at a time, take off my shoes, and yank those cotton torture tubes off. Liberation came with a rush of relief. I quickly stuffed my feet back in my Hush Puppies and shoved my balled-up socks in my desk.

I might have told my mom that I hated the socks and asked her to buy new ones. But she must not have, because my socks just keep on bothering me in class. But that’s okay. Because now I know the solution to my problem. I came up with it all on my own. Fucking child prodigy, right here. It’s easy. Pretend to pay attention to the lecture about addition and subtraction, take off my shoes, rip off my socks, jam the socks in the desk.

So, one day, my teacher announces to the class that she’s going to do a desk inspection. And immediately I know my time has come. I have been sneaking my socks off of my feet and into my desk for literally WEEKS. And I’m like 6 years old, so I could never be bothered to try and smuggle the socks into my backpack to bring home. Writing this now, I don’t think my mom ever noticed that socks were going missing at an alarmingly steady rate. I must have had a lot of fucking socks.

Anyway, my teacher must have been a sadist who enjoyed watching kids squirm in their humiliation, because if she checked a desk and it was messy, she would dump its contents right out on the floor. The child would have to clean up their desk as their classmates laughed at their misfortune.

So I’m shitting my pants (figurately speaking… I was a potty-trained six-year-old) with fear here. The teacher’s on to me. Stick a fork in me, because my goose is fucking cooked. I’m shuffling things around in my desk, trying to clean things up. Messy papers and broken pencils and socks. Socks, man. Too many goddamned socks. My teacher is going to see them. She’s going to see them and she’s going to tip over my desk and I will have to move to fucking Florida to escape my shame.

The teacher gets over to my desk and peeks inside. “Oh! Looks like Miranda’s desk is going over!” she says.

There have only been a few moments in my life where I was so stressed and terrified that time seemed to slow… D\down. This was one of those moments.

The teacher tips my desk over. My mess starts to slide out. The papers. The pencils. The socks.

I stuff my arms into the desk to try and stop the outpouring of filth, and I swear to god, Anon, I screamed, “NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

My puny child arms are not strong enough to keep the shit in my desk from spilling out. It lands in a pile at my feet.

The room is silent. A piece of chalk rolls out of my desk and plinks against the floor.

“Is that a sock?”

(No. It’s a metric fuck-ton of socks.)

My classmates start giggling and whispering to each other about what a fucking weirdo I am. My teacher looks horrified. Like I had a bunch of dead frogs in my desk instead of socks.

And she loses it.

She really tears into me about how unacceptable this is and how she’s going to call my parents. At this point, I’m bawling my eyes out, the way I bawled my eyes out when I read the ending of Flowers for Algernon for the first time. Everyone is laughing at me. I was always a strange kid. I didn’t have that many friends. But this incident definitely wasn’t doing me any favors for making new ones.

I don’t really remember what happens after that, to be honest. I know the teacher uses the phone in our classroom to call someone while I’m sobbing on my hands and knees on the floor, surrounded by notebook paper and socks. Another teacher sticks her head in and seems equally scandalized.

I don’t get in trouble with my parents when I go home. I think they were just… confused? Like… Miranda??? Why did you do that????

I don’t get what was so hard for everyone to understand. My socks were just really fucking uncomfortable.

Originally posted by starkwayne-bl

a/n: ive been meaning to write this but i didn’t know how until today. enjoy!

3 y/o tony, 28 y/o steve (out of ice).

“anthony!” the soft voice of his mother’s rings out throughout the house. sliding down the handles of the stairs, tony finds captain america. his eyes go wide and his plastic shield drops.

“CAPTAIN AMERICA!” he exclaims, running towards steve. he then proceeds to crawl up and wrap his puny arms around steve’s neck.

a soft chuckle leaves captain as he embraces a 3 year old tony stark.

21 y/o tony, 47 y/o steve.

he mourned. his mourned for his parents’ death. tony stark stood by his mother and dropped her favorite: red roses. not a single tear dared escape, however.

it was so quiet. hundreds of miles away from civilization, a place tony bought for his parents. for maria stark. then footsteps.

but he didn’t want anyone. no one wanted him. and next a pile of tulips fell next to his flower batch and his felt a warm presence he hasn’t felt since his parents passed.

he turned back and falling apart in steve’s arms, tony hugged steve. until the sun went down.

28 y/o tony, 54 y/o steve.

“and mr. stark, do you-”

“i do.” tony cut off the priest, earning a reprimanding glare from steve and-

“you may now-” but it was too late, tony had closed the space between him and steve and kissed.

he kissed steve like his life depended on it. kissed steve as a thank you for everything. for being his salvation.

“mm.” tony groaned and steve hummed back in response.

“mm, indeed, mr. stark-rogers.” steve smiled against tony’s lips.

I thought I’d share this brief little blurb from a drabble I started a while back and decided not to finish. I hated the scene where Damon walked in on Caroline in just her towel and acted like such an incredible dick toward her, and all I could think was, “What would Klaus have to say about that, if he’d been there?”

“Barbie, we’ve got a problem of the Silas variety.”

She startles back against her bed, one hand to the towel at her breasts, her heart thundering, all the little remainders of her shower plink plink plinking at her feet.  “Damon!” she hisses.  “Towel!  Knock!”

“Caroline, please.  No. No.  Nobody wants to see that.”

There is a little whoosh, the abrupt slap of skin on skin, one great bellows expulsion of all the air Damon can no longer fit in his lungs.

Klaus holds him half a foot off the floor by his neck, head cocked.  “How about a little respect, mate?  You know, I’d be a bit more concerned for your life if Caroline didn’t have the good sense to loathe you.  So how about we watch out tongue around a lady, hmm?” 

“Oh, and by the way,” Damon chokes out, “I called Klaus in on this one.  You want to call off Hybrid Ken?”

Klaus lifts an eyebrow at her. 

For a moment she sees again this insignificant little girl who cowered underneath him, who thrashed and pleaded and cried, who begged him please stop, just don’t, who tried so hard with her puny little human arms to push him away, to throw him off, and she allows herself this tiny deep-down little thrill of satisfaction, watching him wriggling, helpless, powerless.

How does it feel, she wants to know, and then she sighs and she tips her head and she pulls her towel a little bit higher.

“Just let him go.”

He drops Damon out the open window with a smile. 

“That’s not what I meant.”

anonymous asked:

muteauthor: 👶 (Eh, why not.)

My muse is a child. Send 👶 to be their babysitter.

the poor blue child ran away in fear of the sudden noise of the bushes being rustled, thinking that it was some monster or demon trying to capture him. he knew the creatures very well and some of them sure werent nice. when he couldnt run any more, he tripped and coward away, covering his small puny arms to protect his face

“p-p-please dont hurt me!”

The Dag: Cutting Cheedo’s Chain vs Max’s

It crossed my dash again, a post about how the only reasonable explanation for Dag to have taken so long with Max’s chain after cutting Cheedo free would be to stall for Furiosa. 

While I am far from opposed to this interpretation, the strong pedant in me requires me to offer another explanation. 


(Image heavy under the cut) 

Keep reading

Sunday Mornings

combining these two prompts

since i still don’t really know what was wanted for the second one lol

It’s a relaxing Sunday morning in the Gallagher/Milkovich household. After a much needed rest from a hectic work week an a fairly busy Saturday running errands and taking care of shit, the boys sleep in to a somewhat decent time of 9am. Though Ian actually got up around 8 but didn’t feel like moving from his spot wrapped around Mickey until he felt the older man stir.

Ian takes his hand away and watches the older man slowly awaken. 

Mickey rubs his eyes and breathes in, staring up at the redhead. 

“You gonna sleep all day orr..” Ian says grinning. 

“Fuck off,” Mickey says, playfully hitting Ian in the shoulder. “It’s like 9 o'clock, man." 

Ian laughs and traces his finger across Mickey’s chest. 

"Why what time you’d get up, fucking Lark?”


Mickey raises his eyebrows mockingly “Oh wow. Late for you huh?" 

Ian pinches a spot on Mickey’s chest he had been tracing. 

"Ow fuck." 

"That’s what you get”

Mickey rubs his chest, “So what you uhh just stayed up for another hour laying there?”

“Mmmm staring at you for an hour does seem like a great past time but nah I went back to sleep." 

Mickey nods his head and lets out a big yawn. "Fuck I’m so tired. We don’t got shit planned today do we?”

“Nope,” Ian says cheerfully. 

“Thank god.” Mickey lays back further into his pillow.

“Breakfast?” Ian asks cheerfully. 

“Ha sure, Gallagher.”

“I’ll get it started.” Ian says getting up from his spot. 

“Wachu gonna make?” Mickey eyes him, sitting up. 

“Pancakes” Ian says grinning. 

Mickey lays back down, “Ahhh you know me too well.”

“That I do.” Ian says walking to the door, smacking Mickey’s leg as he does so. 

After a few minutes Ian walks back towards the room. 

“Coffee’s ready.” He says as he peers into the bedroom. He sees Mickey grabbing and pulling at the skin on his stomach. 


Mickey grunts in response now poking at his stomach.

"I said coffee is ready”

“Yeah okay.”

Ian eyes him curiously and walks over. “What are you doing?”

Mickey continues to poke at himself then as he sees Ian walk over, grabs a shirt from the floor by him and pulls it on over himself. “Nothing”

“Something wrong?” Ian asks.

“Naw it’s just.”


“It’s this.” Mickey grabs his flesh, thinking it’s more than it actually is. 

“Your skin?” Ian asks trying to understand. 

Mickey pokes it again. “It’s…you know.”

Ian shakes his head. 


“Stomachs are supposed to be like that Mick." 

"Easy for you to say Mr. 12 pack.”

Ian rolls his eyes. “Jesus Mickey. Are you seriously concerned about this? You?" 

"What do you mean?”

“Shit have you seen your arms? Fucking gigantic. Especially for someone your size.” Ian laughs. 

“Fuck you.” Mickey shakes his head. 

“Hey, I’m serious. Plus you’re ten times better to lay on,” Ian says. “With your soft stomach,” He says poking at Mickey. 

Mickey smacks his hand away but  Ian climbs on top of him, pinning his arms behind him and planting a kiss on his lips. Ian then pulls Mickey’s shirt up and kisses down Mickey’s torso and to his stomach. He kisses the sides of Mickey down his hips and lifts his head up. He kisses his belly button and slides his tongue around the outside of it. 

Mickey sucks in a breath. 

Ian stops and lays his head down on Mickey. Ian sighs softly. “See.” He yawns. “Nice and comfortable.”

Mickey laughs as he palms Ian’s hair. 

“Alright,” Ian says after a few moments and gets off of Mickey. “Now get up. You can do the bacon as I cook the pancakes.”

“Mkay, firecrotch.” Mickey says sticking his tongue out at using his old nickname. 

“And stop complaining about your fucking ‘squishy stomach’ ” Ian turns around to Mickey as Mickey gets up off the bed. 

“Ah and what are you gonna do if I don’t, tough guy? Hit me with those puny arms of yours.” Mickey laughs as he ducks away from a swing from Ian.