this is a macro/micro kink blog! i will post about noncon & other potentially sensitive subjects! please clarify that you are 18+ if you interact with this blog!!!!
words of affirmation are what fuel me lol, please feel free to pester (comment, message, ask, etc) always welcome :)
fujo piece where a bunch of girls at a party pure pressure their straight-boy friend into making out with his pet tiny that he’s had since childhood… need that!
Status: Completed, but will probably post more of these guys
World Count: 3.8k
Dynamic: F/m
Summary: In a 1920s New York where borrowers are known but generally regarded as lowly, a tiny, struggling shoemaker falls into the lap of a lady of luxury. In other words, Ryan Gosling in phm and Driver ruined me and now I'm into blondes and want to manhandle them in my sink. Sorry Ryan. Made new ocs, I'm a little obsessed. I love a little man with a job. And a girl who knows what she wants. Fearplay/non-con ? My non-con tubby time. Mature but no sex. It's cute. To me.
—
The job went horribly.
It was alright, at first. A rich, smart-dressed human commissioned him to fix a pair of black, cap-toe oxfords. A last, hush-hush resort, apparently, to hire a borrower. Beth doubted the man knew or cared cobbling was a last resort to him, too.
Demand for cordwainers just wasn’t the same as it was when it was still his father’s trade. No one wanted custom shoes anymore, not when they could get shiny, new standardized ones from a factory. No one wanted anything beautiful or hand crafted. Now, his only business was in repair. Still, business from beans was rarer yet. They refused to pay full price, and it was twice as hard and took him twice as long to do the same labor as someone whose pointer finger could be his dance partner.
Even harder and more laborious was the journey to deliver the oxfords. Repair and delivery, that was his slogan now; easier to follow when his customers weren’t as towering as the skyscrapers sprouting up through Manhattan. Still, Beth promised discretion. He pushed the giant unlabeled box of shoes in his cart from his shop, down the street, all the way to the opulent, modern apartment building, complete in its sophisticated art deco. He went in the side door and thought the bellhop was going to squash him like a bug when he threw up in the elevator. That would be fitting; meeting his end under a standard-issue size nine sole.
He left the box outside the apartment door. The button for the bell loomed several feet above him, an entire eternity away. He’d checked the address twice before a sleek, silver cat came slinking across the checkered-floor, a butter-yellow bow tied around its neck. It chased him in his cart to the window, up the curtains, and out the fire escape. They broke three potted plants and fell two balconies before Beth spotted another open window.
He ran for his life. Claws narrowly pulled at the threads on his old tweed jacket. Wiping the mud from his eyes, he lunged for the lace curtains flapping in the breeze. Gloved fingers snagged the fabric and clung on for all he was worth.
The silver cat skidded through the window, across a vanity tabletop, and hit the floor with a thud. It hissed at him, shaking as it crouched to pounce. Beth could see himself in the vanity mirror to his right; clothes in shreds, blond hair a ruffled mess, crooked nose smeared with dirt, and blue, close-set eyes watery with terror. His final moments. Not as a bug, but a mouse.
The carpeted floor rumbled. A giant woman thundered into the room, wrapped in a storm of silk robes the color of mulberries. A matching scarf covered most of her curly blonde bob, pearl earrings swinging as she came to a sudden stop. Dark eyes were furious. “What in the—oh, you damn creature! Out! Out!”
She shooed the hissing silver cat back through the window and slammed it shut. Beth grimaced against the ring of his ears.
Muttering most unladylike curses, the woman in mulberry knelt to collect a necklace and hairbrush. She put it on the vanity and froze.
Beth could only watch in horror as she slunk to her feet. The giant towered higher than the doorbell had been, an even further eternity. Eyes like priceless mahogany scrutinized his muddy little form. “My, my. What is this?”
His breath seized in his chest as hands twice as long as himself swept to the curtains. A pinch pulled the back of his jacket. He hugged desperately to the lace.
“Come on, now, little man. Don’t ruin my curtains.”
A cry died in his throat as giant fingers found his hands and pried them from the fabric. He clawed for purchase, before it dropped terribly out of reach. The fingers turned him to face their owner, but he could not look. He could only stare down, at his leather brogues dangling above the vanity and the potted palm to its left, and even that was too much to bear. Eyelids squeezed shut. Hot, salty tears rolled down his mud-covered cheeks. All this for a pair of oxfords. He shook with an involuntary, all-over tremble.
“Afraid of heights, are we?” The giant mused. She smelled like wood and sweet florals.
Beth blinked fat tears out of his eyes, but they stuck to his lashes and blurred his sight. He sucked in a wet gasp. It had been a long time since someone grabbed him like this. “Don’t—don’t hurt—”
“What’s that, baby?” She jerked him closer to her face and raised an arched brow.
Beth tugged at his jacket, desperate not to fall out of it. “Don’t hurt me,” he wet his lips, keeping his gaze averted. “Pl—please.”
Something stirred in her expression, but he wasn’t looking direct enough to follow. She raised him again, this time over her face as she tilted it back. Forced to look down at it, Beth was met with large, fluttering brown eyes and plum-painted lips. They parted. He glimpsed the white of teeth. Every horror story he had ever heard flashed before his eyes.
“Don’t eat me,” he blurted.
The woman laughed.
“Oh no, I never put anything dirty in my mouth.” She lowered him to properly catch his eye, and now he didn’t dare look away. Sweat dripped down his forehead. Mud slid down his back. She pursed her lips. “Who knows where you’ve been. Scurrying around with the rats and the cockroaches, running from cats.” She wrinkled her lip. “I don’t let anything dirty in my house.”
The giant turned sharply on her heel. Air rushed past him as she headed for a door and all he could think was she was going to literally throw him out. Or worse.
His fears were not alleviated when she marched through the door to a bathroom tiled orchid-pink—he heard once of a borrower flushed down the toilet—and then she dumped him on the narrow sink counter. Crossing the spacious room, she collected bottles from the claw-foot tub and set them next to him.
The woman paused in the doorway and pointed as if to a poodle. “Stay.”
He stood there shellshocked for a second, then slowly peered over the edge of the sink. The black-and-white diamond tile stared up at him with an equally blank face. The bottle next to him rumbled. The woman in mulberry was back, with the flare of a silk robe and a jade butter dish. He watched fearfully as she flipped the lid over and filled it with hot water, placing it next to the faucet with a bar of soap.
She turned to him again, hands on expectant hips. “Well?”
He ogled up at her.
The mulberry woman smacked her lips. Without warning, she swooped him off his feet. Fingers grappled with his limbs. Pointed red nails just avoided his face.
“What are you doing?” His voice cracked.
“I don’t let anything dirty in my house.” She yanked his jacket from his arms. “Off with this.”
Beth twisted and writhed, but the well-kept fingers pulled him from his waistcoat, snapped off his suspenders, and ripped three buttons on his shirt. He kicked extra hard as she wrenched off his brogues. Then went his gloves, his socks, and his trousers, and finally he was left in his long johns. The woman wrinkled her nose at the worn, beige cotton with its many gray patches, and promptly ripped it off him. Then she dropped him naked into the butter dish. The water was so hot, he yelped. She pointed promptly down at the bar of soap. “Use that.”
She swept the pile of discarded clothes into a hand and left in a flurry of mulberry.
Beth lay frozen in the jade tub. It was longer than he was tall, and his feet looked like blobby pale fish in the distorted water lapping at his chest. Steam rose in wisps off the surface. He clutched the sides. His heart was insane. Sweat coated his neck. He could pull himself out. And then what, if he could manage to open the window? What would he be then? Dripping wet and naked, catching his death while he scurried down a fire escape and into the approaching city night?
He sunk lower with the scrunch of his shoulders, watching the door. It was open. Warm, honeyed light pooled on the tile floor.
He blinked for what felt the first time in an hour. Clenching his jaw, Beth shut his eyes and pushed himself below the water. It was so, so hot. He didn’t remember the last time he’d been in a real tub, not some tin can boiled over a candle. Not even a real tub—this butter dish was worth more than his rent for six months. The last time he’d been this hot, it was sweltering in June. It was not like this.
The jade rumbled. Beth opened eyes just as fingers sloshed into the tub and snatched him out. He flopped against them uselessly for purchase, wide-eyed and heart wild again. His feet kicked at the empty air as giant eyes found him. Gasping, he clutched her thumb against his chest.
“Oh good, I’d thought you drowned.” He gawked open-mouthed while the mulberry woman turned attention to the tub and the untouched soap. Her face soured. “I told you to use that.”
He swallowed. “S—sorry.” He didn’t know what he was apologizing for. He didn’t agree to anything.
But the woman twisted lips like he had. “Fine then, we’ll get you clean, right and proper.”
His eyes bulged as she jerked him towards the sink. With her free hand, she grabbed the bar of soap and ran it under the tap until it lathered.
Beth struggled to push her fingers off him. “Please, you really don’t have to—”
“Hush.” She set aside the bar and enveloped him in suds. It looked like caramel and smelled like jasmine and sandalwood, so strong it burned his nose. She ran circles with it across his chest. Beth tried to grab her thumb and she seized his arm, lathering his bicep and working her way to his forearm. Everything was happening so fast, he felt ill. She even cleaned between his fingers, trying to get the grime under his nails. Then she seized the other arm, sweeping her thumb to scrub his armpits, along his sides and his belly, his hips—Beth dreaded what came next, a yell in his throat as the mulberry woman spread his legs. But she skipped to his thighs, rubbing shins between pointer and thumb.
“Here.” She held out a finger of bubbles to him. “For between the legs.”
Beth stared at the fingertip. The soap suds slowly slid down her skin. He glanced up, then back to the finger. She was serious. Her face was expectant, stony and indifferent to the view, like she was cleaning a careless puppy that tracked in mud rather than a grown man and his pride. His face was such a mortifying shade of red, Beth could have passed for a ripe cherry tomato in August. At a loss, he scooped the suds into his hands until they lathered anew. He couldn’t look at the woman, even as he lay in her palm.
It was like she never knew a man to have shame before. Never knew, or never cared.
She flipped him over. Now she used both thumbs to scrub his back. She spread apart the muscle of his shoulder blades, dragging the sides of his neck and down his shoulders. She did the same along his back on either side of his spine, over his ribcage and his hip dips. It was forceful but meticulous, the pressure nigh unbearable, like it was her aim to squish him into jelly. Still, the tissue in her wake was loose, slack like it’d never been.
Then her thumbs found his rear and everything was tense all over again. Beth clawed into her fingers below him, clamping down his jaw until she was satisfied. She moved onto the back of his thighs like it was nothing, massaging behind his knees and along his calves.
I have to call the police, he thought. And tell them what? A human lady washed me like a baby in her sink? Rich. He squirmed with a shriek when she got to his feet.
The mulberry woman rinsed her hand and worked up a new lather. “Now, don’t move.”
Beth held his breath, eyes squeezed tight, while she scrubbed his face and behind his ears. The bubbles fizzled and popped. With a breath, she blew what Beth presumed she thought was a gentle breeze to clear the suds from his eyes. He kept them closed.
While he tried not to have a silent heart attack, she turned on the tap and let it run hot. He whimpered. He feared she would plunge him under it and drown him, but she stuck her hand above him and let the water cascade down her fingers, like a crude shower. The suds melted off him. He was warm from the inside out. She turned him this way and that until she was convinced he was spotless; thumbs rubbing at his chest like there was invisible dirt leftover. His skin shone squeaky-clean. But she was not done when the tap turned off.
Grabbing a brown glass bottle with a yellow label, the woman juggled holding him and opening it. “Keep still, sugar.” She warned. “We don’t want it in your eyes.”
Beth turned himself into a statue as she poured a dollop onto his once-blond head. This soap smelled like coconut.
“Good boy.” The bottle clinked as she set it gently on the counter. He dared look up at her; at her pointed face and strong, painted cupid’s bow; at her downturned, thin brows and thick lashes. She was a breathtaking beauty, a modern model like the ones Beth saw on posters. He could have sworn he’d seen her before. Maybe she just had one of those fashionable faces. Her gaze returned and Beth stared at his feet, hands clasped to cover himself.
The coconut dollop had started to slide down his forehead. Mahogany eyes gleamed as she tilted her head to look at it, pinching his temples to work the soap into his hair. She stirred her fingers; swirling above his ears, over his forehead, down the back of his head, to the base of his skull. Beth had to brace himself, lost against the dizziness. She spent extra time on his crown, until he could feel the blood pumping in his ears. Long, manicured nails scratched at his scalp. This, was gentle. Why, he wanted to ask. Why are you doing this? Why are you doing any of this? It was almost enjoyable, but…
Water ran again. She shielded him, same as before, and he didn’t dare breathe until the tap stopped. The coconut lingered.
A hand towel wrapped around him, stainless white and smelling like a crisp, clean breeze. It was too big, but warm. She rubbed him dry. The towel peeled back and he squirmed as she spread a cool cream over him. It smelled powdery and thick. She took her time, lifting arms and spreading legs to work lotion until he was smooth as her silk robes. She left no crevice behind. It was the most intense and most fixed a human had ever regarded him. His heart still beat like a runaway drum, hammering against his ribcage like passionate fingers on piano keys.
“Last step.” The mulberry woman dabbed a drop of argan oil in his hair, running fingernails through until it was soft. “There.”
She wrapped him back in the towel. The water in the abandoned butter dish was dumped and with the lurch of his stomach, she carried Beth out of the bathroom.
The dim bedroom glowed with a rich amber light on the right bedside table. The potted fern still sat by the window vanity and its lace curtains that no longer flapped in the wind. It was dark beyond. The yellow panels of a changing room stood tall in the corner with foreign scenes of painted birds. Across from the window, a dark-stained door with a crystal knob was ajar to the hall, and a matching closet door rested next to the bathroom. The walls were a moody wine, trailing to a high ceiling with crown molding. The queen bed was grand and luxurious, even for a bean, with its broad walnut headboard and padded plum-blankets. The mulberry woman deposited Beth and his towel cocoon on a fluffy feather pillow on the left of the bed. He watched with wide eyes as she rounded the other side.
“Where—where are my clothes?” He dared.
She waved a flippant hand. “Those dirty little rags? I took care of them.” His heart dropped. She met his eyes across the sea of her bed. “They’ll be dry by morning.”
He tried not to let his relief or his despair show. Beth turned back to the towel, gaze darting over its folds. He pulled it closer. Her bed only smelled more strongly like her, like the soaps and creams and oil she scrubbed him with. He was clean enough to be a new man, but he was still him.
The mulberry woman pulled open her bedside drawer and retrieved two little objects. Dusting the leather brogues off with her fingers, she studied the patterned perforations closely. “These are beautiful shoes,” she said.
Beth held himself still.
She looked up and frowned. “Where did you get them? Shoes like these, with those rags?”
Breath still trembling, he wet his lips. “I made them.”
She raised her eyebrows. “You made them?”
He nodded.
She inspected them again with new eyes. “I’ve never seen a pair so detailed. Even so small.”
His ears turned scarlet. He couldn’t look at her, facing away from the mulberry mountain.
“Won’t you say ‘thank you’?”
Beth realized she was watching. He swallowed. “Thank you.”
She nodded with approval, setting the shoes on the titan of a table. She lined up and straightened them with a perfect fingertip. “A good craftsman takes pride in his work.” She thought for a moment. “Do you make women’s?”
He turned his head in surprise. Brow furrowed, he asked, “You… want a pair?”
“Well, not this style, of course. And bigger, naturally. I go through shoes quickly, you see. I’m always needing them fixed and replaced.”
He gawked at her.
She smacked her lips. “Eloise Elliott? I’m performing in Manhattan Center.”
He raised eyebrows. So he did know her face from the posters. “The ballroom dancer.”
“That’s right.” The star looked the naked borrower over. “And you are?”
He ground his jaw. All that, and she only asked him his name now? He sucked in a troubled breath. “Beth.”
“Just Beth?”
“James Beth. Nobody calls me James. Only my mother.”
Eloise Elliott gave a teasing smile. “Do they ever call you Jimmy?”
“No. My sisters call me JB.”
“And your friends?”
“Beth.” He could not believe how normal this conversation was. “Do you intend to keep me here all night?”
She shrugged. “That depends.”
“On what?” He tapped anxious fingers against his crossed arms.
“On how long your rags take to dry, and if you’re looking for a job.”
Beth glowered.
The earth dipped as Eloise Elliott draped her silk-wrapped body across the mattress. “Oh, don’t give me that, Jimmy.”
He stomped his teeth, heart feral and confused. “I don’t get it. Why did you…?”
Miss Eloise tipped her head. Her mahogany eyes twinkled in the low, amber light. Her hair shone like spun gold. “Maybe I have a soft spot for small, sad things. You looked awfully pathetic, dangling from my curtains. Very small. Very sad.” Her lips curved into a smile. “Very scared.”
He closed his eyes to press the image of the smile away. He’d just about had it with beans. The earth dipped again. Beth looked to find her a towering mountain again.
“So, do we have an agreement?” Her hands traced the V of her silk collar. “I will pay you, handsomely, if you will make and repair ballroom shoes for me. I will supply you with food and lodging, and you will tour with me.”
“Tour?”
She shrugged, twirling the sash of her robes. “It’s a very demanding job. But well-travelled, too. You’ll come with me across the states, to Paris, to Florence, to Sydney. To name a few.”
He fixed on the deep plum color of her blankets. His sisters told him once, when he was a boy, purple was the color of royalty in antiquity. He had never been further than this city, never mind the lands where giant emperors once ruled.
“Well? What’ll it be, Jimmy?”
He gripped his arms. “Can I think about it?”
“You have until morning.” With that, Eloise Elliott sauntered to the painted panels of the changing room in the corner. He watched the wispy trees and diving cranes as she flung her silk robes over the top. The dancer reappeared in a lily-green nightgown, taking off her pearl earrings. The nightgown was also silk, with a square, delicate neckline of lace and a raised waist. The fabric was thinner than the robes, and Beth could see her nipples through it. He averted his eyes.
The earth dipped for the last time that night as she slid under the covers. The bedside light flicked off. Moonlight illuminated the lace curtains. Beth sat upright in his nest of a towel, one hand clutching his arm, the other fiddling with a fiber so fiercely, he thought to rip it out.
Custom shoes. For a famous formal ballroom dancer. He could almost feel his father’s hands on his shoulders, shaking him like he was stupid. He could brush up on women’s shoes, make her Mary Janes with a French heel and rosettes, or T-Straps with a spool heel and embellished rhinestones, the best dancing shoes she’d ever worn… But to leave his mother and his sisters, to leave New York… to go to Paris… Florence… Sydney, an entire hemisphere away…
Beth ripped the towel fiber out. He never knew a borrower to do such things. The world was too big for him.
He sighed. The night was quiet. A clock ticked elsewhere in the vast apartment, somewhere down the hall. He felt dark eyes on him.
“Do one job for me, here in Manhattan. Decide then.” Eloise proposed, and he could see the huge silhouette of her head against the moonlight. “I saw the shoes. You can do so much better than rags, Jimmy.”
Beth swallowed and turned away, pulling the oversized towel around him like a blanket. The feather pillow was the biggest bed he had ever had. It smelled so much like jasmine and sandalwood, it burned his nose. He chewed his bottom lip and shook his head in the dark, where the giant could not see.
had such a long/draining day at work, deeply craving a super sappy story about a prince who’s heir to the throne & is secretly head over heels for his lover who is a top ranking knight…. and the whole time there’s a borrower who grew up alongside the prince who is dripping with jealousy over the knight. unfortunately his rage over the situation makes him careless & the knight finds him and brings him to the prince and this is all very poly and beautiful.
giant pouring OIL and RUBBING IT INTO the terrified tiny person who is IMMOBILIZED and is panting and on the verge of panic attack and completely at the mercy of this giant… OILED UP TINY, DID YALL HEAR THIS? fuck!
#imagine humping urself on a nipple until it “cums” and floods u with milk#i mean what @nsfoxxxw
she notices u getting close and squeezes her tit, spraying milk into u so vigorously ur belly bulges out, and then teases u and makes u lick up everything u "missed"
been thinking of 'The Drama' by Kristoffer Borgli as a macro/micro concept and its sooo good. emma reveals that she has a micro fetish, maybe admits to fucking with noncon? in front of her tiny husband charlie (who she is set to marry in like 3 days) and a couple of their mutual friends (including one who is like 'i know a micro who was assaulted/killed like that you are so fucked in the head!'). obviously emma immediately regrets the confession and does everything in her power to reassure charlie that she would never dream of hurting him. later they try to fuck but all charlie can think about/wonder/fear is what aspect of this is she getting off to? what is she imaging? what is she capable of doing to him? hot!
OBSESSION by curry barker but it’s freaking micro…
a human (very similar to one of us) is fantasizing about borrowers being real and takes a make-a-wish-willow and aloud saying: “i wish borrowers were real and there was one on my bed…. “
stick snaps and they open their eyes and look down and BOOM a tiny person on their bed. the human is absolutely cheesed & the borrower is speechless; just totally stunned & (like in the movie) is becoming a real person in this moment.
i think they would be shocked as they become conscious but also they would have an understanding of how borrowers exist, therefore they existed (like prior to this they lived in the walls) and they are flabbergasted and so confused how they are on this bed and are horrified because the number one rule is DO NOT BE SEEN!
i think the borrower is desperately trying to figure out HOW THE HELL they were caught and the moments leading up to this and cannoit recall at all (because prior to this they didn’t exist but obviously there is no way they could understand that)
and then on top of that the human probably scoops them up and is manhandling them and keeps cooing and going: “i can’t believe it worked”, “i can’t believe you’re real”, “you’re so tiny” so on and so forth and then they probably get horny and also maybe evil
i just don’t think we’re borrower-ifying enough media… i want perverted micro fan-fiction about EVERY MOVIE, SHOW, YOUTUBER, STREAMER, ETC DROPPING RIGHT NOW! let’s get those pens out!!!!
Joseph struggled to look up at the immense being in front of him. He craned his neck back and tried to cover his eyes from the glare of the sun. Even crouching down, the giant towered far overhead. It was hard to make out the other man’s expression, making Joseph consider if he had made a mistake drawing the attention of something so big. Something that could crush him under foot or worse if it so desired.
With sweaty palms, Joseph spoke loudly, “Hey, I just moved into the village nearby! One of the guards said I should introduce myself to you. I’m Joseph!” He hoped the giant could hear him fine.
The village guard had told Joseph earlier that it would be best to introduce himself to the giant, since he tended to interact closely with the villagers. Or at least that’s what they had told him. Joseph had thought the guard had laughed a little as he walked away, but had assumed he misheard and brushed it off earlier.
He was starting to feel nervous as the giant didn’t respond. After a moment, the giant responded curtly, “I’m Ignatius.” Joseph waited for him to say more, but that seemed to be it. Joseph spoke again, “It’s nice to meet you! I’ve never seen someone so big before.” The giant, Ignatius, continued to blankly stare down at Joseph. Joseph could feel sweat running down his back. Maybe this had been some kind of cruel prank by the guard, to make him annoy the giant. Maybe he was an idiot.
Again, after a couple moments, Ignatius responded, “Yea. Nice to meet you.” Joseph could feel himself deflating, not sure if he could keep this up much longer. Joseph quickly said, “Well, I’ll um see you around I guess.” He turned and hurried out of the giant’s shadow back towards the village. Best to leave before he did anything else stupid.
Ignatius inhaled sharply and stood. God, Chase really knew his type, huh. He felt like he had just used every ounce of his willpower not to scare the tiny man. Ignatius’ mind was still racing thinking of what he’d like to do with such a cute human. He could practically imagine the feeling of the small man squirming against him, the taste of his skin, the faces he hoped he’d make.
Ignatius quickly turned away, hoping Joseph hadn’t happened to look back. He could feel himself getting worked up. Even facing the other way, he couldn’t help but using a hand to cover his crotch. Despite this, his mind kept racing.
Imagining his tongue pressed between the small man’s legs. Imagining the small man pressed between his own. Imagining- Ignatius had to stop himself. He needed to keep acting normal if he didn’t want to scare Joseph off for good. But, even imagining the scared face of the tiny man made him feel hot again.
While they're having sex Kieran asks if they can experiment with Omari's size-shifting.
༊༄.°
Omari gasped as Kieran shoved him against the wall, mouth crashing into his in a searing kiss. Exhilaration crept up his spine at the heat of it—want pulling and pushing at him as their tongues crashed into each other. “Fuck…” He panted softly into the man’s mouth.
They were intertwined entirely, Kieran’s hands were buried in his hair and Omari’s were desperately fisting his shirt. A moan slipped from Kieran’s lips as Omari hiked his hands under his shirt, his hands ran up his stomach, over his nipples, his navel, whatever he could reach.
His hands gripped his waist and pulled him impossibly closer.
He felt his lips twitch into a smirk and shuddered as the man’s hand ran up his back, “You’re so fucking hot.” Kieran mumbled, his hand pressing to the back of his neck to pull him closer.
Their lips locked together; Omari slid his hands under his arms and over his broad shoulders. “Bedroom…” His voice was soft and hoarse. “Now…” His lips brushed Kieran’s with each word, not daring to put space between them.
Kieran grinned and reluctantly detached his lips from Omari, like it physically pained him to stop. Omari chased his lips instinctively, pressing one more easy kiss to his lips.
Kieran pulled him back, steering him towards his room. Omari stumbled backwards, laughing as he trusted Kieran to guide him. He yelped as he fell back onto the bed, watching as Kieran tugged off his shirt. Omari swallowed thickly and propped himself up on his elbows to take him in. He was so fucking hot, tattoos scrawled up his side, curled around his nipples. His brain was buzzing; he wanted to taste them, trail them with his tongue.
“Like what you see?” Kieran teased as Omari wet his lips.
He unbuttoned his pants and let them drop to the floor. He looked at Omari, challenging him.
Omari slid off the bed and onto his knees. The cotton in front of him was hot and full. He opened his mouth and tasted him through the fabric. He felt the man’s half-hard cock twitch through the thin fabric, He whimpered softly, hands coming up behind him to massage his ass. By the time he pulled back the boxers were tented, straining under the man’s arousal.
He looked up at Kieran through his lashes, the man’s hands laced in his hair and tugged him forward. Omari pulled down the man’s boxers, letting them drop. He licked his lips before pressing a wet, warm trail of kisses along his hipbone. Kieran groaned and Omari smirked.
“Fuck… You’re such a tease…” The man whined, his hand tugging Omari’s hair.
With that Omari took him into his mouth, delighted by the moans above him. Music to his ears. Kieran raked his fingers through Omari’s hair encouragingly as he swirled his tongue over his head.
“Jesus…” Kieran hissed, bucking into his mouth as sucked him off. “Fuck, Omari…”
He sucked with vigor, breathing through his nose and hollowing his cheeks. He wanted to impress him, make him feel good. His hands pulled him closer as he began to buck into his mouth. He looked up through his lashes, meeting Kieran’s eyes.
His mouth was agape, eyes glazed in pleasure, he moaned and threw his head back. Omari dutifully swallowed his load before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Kieran guided him to his feet and he was kissed deeply.
Omari pulled away with a smile, he let Kieran tug off his shirt. He let him lower him to the bed. And watched as climbed on top of him, straddling him. Omari’s hands traced the tattoos spiraling up his side.
Kieran smirked, his thumb ran along the edge of the tape on Omari’s chest. He licked his lips and hesitated.
Omari cocked his head and grinned, “What?” He asked, searching his face.
Kieran met his eyes, “Could you shrink for me?”
Instantly everything shifted. The smile on his face faltered. “What?”
Kieran’s hands trailed along his abdomen. “Well, I know you can and I’ve just… never seen you do it before.”
“So you want me to do it now?” He cocked a brow, unable to hide the disgust on his face. “Are you fucking with me right now?” Omari asked, grabbing his chin so Kieran would meet his eyes.
Kieran blinked in surprise. “What? C’mon I’ll make you feel good, baby.” He whispered, leaning forward to catch his lips.
Omari let him kiss him, trying to think this through. His instinct was to push him off, cuss him out for being a creep and leave. But this was their third hookup, he’d never brought it up prior. Sloan had introduced them, Omari knew they wouldn’t encourage him to sleep with some pervert. Plus they ran in the same circles, always at the same parties, if he walked out now things could get messy. “Please, Omari?” Kieran mumbled into his mouth.
He took advantage of the man’s eyes being closed to roll his. “Fine.” Omari mumbled, pushing himself back on the bed. He put distance between them.
“Really?” Kieran’s excitement was almost laughable. “Cool.”
“Yeah, but you’ve gotta be gentle. And if I tell you to stop, listen. Got it?” His voice was sharp, still a bit uncertain about this. All hookups were based on trust, taking chances. This wasn’t any different.
Kieran nodded quickly. “For sure, I’ll be careful. I swear.” He promised, flashing him a reassuring smile.
Omari looked at him once more before taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. He willed himself to shrink. Five inches; he was good at controlling it, it had taken years of practice. He opened his eyes, blinking away the vertigo.
“Holy shit.” Kieran breathed, even while whispering his voice was so much louder, almost echoing. Omari looked up, watching as the man laid in front of him. “Hey.” He whispered, smiling softly.
His hand came behind him, carefully cupping his back. His thumb brushed over his chest before gently over his jaw. Kieran smiled softly. “Can I kiss you?” He asked softly.
Omari shivered before nodding. He hated feeling so nervous, he closed his eyes as Kieran’s lips pressed into his face. They were gentle, warm, and plush. He felt stupid for making this a big deal, he trusted Kieran. He was gentle and kind, he wasn’t the type to overstep. He melted into the kiss and brought his hand up to touch his jaw; it was dizzying to remember this was the man he was sucking off just moments ago.
Kieran pulled away with a soft smile. Omari gripped his thumb as Kieran lifted him carefully, he watched the giant toss aside the boxers he’d shrank out of. He gasped softly as the man’s pinkie came up between his thighs.
“You’re so wet.” He mumbled with a grin, “Does this turn you on?” He asked as he brushed his pinkie along his cunt, the tip pressing into his dick.
Omari arched his back. “Fuck.” He mumbled, “Yeah, Kieran please-” He rutted into his finger, glancing up at the giant.
His eyes were sparkling. “God you’re perfect.” He mumbled, “Can I eat you out?”
Omari nodded eagerly, “Please…” He whispered breathlessly. Kieran laid him on the pillow and he caught his breath as the man leaned forward.
It had been at least a year since he’d hooked up with anyone at this size, he forgot how sensitive he got. Kieran pressed his lips to his chest, his stomach, his tongue sneaking into his navel. Omari watched, whimpering at the warmth of his tongue. He watched the giant nose between his thighs and gripped the pillow case desperately.
The tip of his nose brushed between his lips before quickly being replaced with his tongue. The moan that came out of Omari was choked and frantic. “Kieran…” He whimpered as the tongue ran along his cunt before circling his dick. It throbbed as he sucked at it carefully. He threw his head back into the pillow.
His grip on the pillow case was white knuckled. “You like that?” Kieran mumbled into his cunt, his tongue ran over his thighs as he eagerly lapped at the tiny man.
If Omari wasn’t so overcome with pleasure he would’ve laughed, such a stupid question. He arched his back and spread his legs. “S-Slower…” He hissed.
He panted as the tongue dragged along his pussy, slow, deliberate. The tip of his tongue ran along his dick, pressing it between his tongue and upper lip. Omari’s legs shook and he whined; he could feel Kieran’s eyes on him.
He opened his eyes and glanced up. Omari met his massive eyes, they were drinking him in. Glazed over the same way they’d been when Omari had been sucking him off. He choked on a moan, “Kieran, I’m… Fuck-” He thrusted against the man’s tongue. Omari choked on a sob and he was gone; the orgasm hit him like a truck. He allowed Kieran to lap at the cum dripping out of him before the sensitivity set in, and he pushed himself back.
He laid back, mouth open and panting as his head buzzed. “Jesus…” He whimpered, he reached up to wipe the tears from his eyes. He looked up and shot a tired smile at Kieran, who smirked back. The giant leaned down and pressed a delicate kiss to his jaw, his massive chin resting carefully on his chest. Omari carefully ran his hand along his massive cheekbone. “Was this everything you were dreaming of?” He teased.
Kieran laughed softly and nodded. “And more.” He whispered. “I’ve never slept with someone tiny, but I’ve always wanted to.”
“Yeah, I gathered.” Omari chuckled softly. He kissed his nose gently. “Is that, the uh, reason you wanted to fuck me?” He asked hesitantly, insecurity spiking his heart.
Kieran thought for a moment, “Kind of, but you’re also really hot and cool.” He told him with a smile. “When I found out you could size-shift it was kind of a bonus.” He shrugged, turning a bit bashful.
Omari smiled softly, he was relieved to be in control of the conversation. “I think you’re really hot and cool too, Kieran.” He told him as his hand ran over his cheek.
He smiled and leaned into the gentle touch. “Can I ask you something?” He asked, waiting for Omari’s nod. “What’s the smallest you ever got?”
Omari pushed off his unease, he was just curious… He licked his lips, taking a deep breath as he thought about it. “I was a lot younger, like high school and I had this like… Meltdown, I ended up shrinking to like… Half a centimeter.” He watched Kieran’s eyes widen as he tried to imagine how small that would be. “It was insane and horrifying. Obviously.” Kieran nodded, frowning softly. “When I was a teenager I was just so dysregulated, my emotions were all over the place everything felt like the end of the world, I was constantly shrinking, it would last for like… Days at a time.”
“How did you fix that?” Kieran asked softly.
“Moving out of my parents house, transitioning, and mood stabilizers,” he answered easily. “It’s fine now,” he added as Kieran’s eyes shifted towards pity. “I can control it, shrink whenever I want, clearly.” He gestured to himself.
Kieran smiled softly and nodded.“Well, y’know I’d take care of you if you were ever stuck like that right?”
Omari stared at him, unease creeping up on him. He rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Shut up.” He mumbled, averting his eyes from the adoring eyes that peered down at him.
“What?” The giant chuckled, pecking the side of his head. “It’s like the whole ‘I would love you if you were a worm’ thing.” He teased.
Omari winced. “Yeah but I’m not a fucking worm, Kieran.” He snapped, shoving his face. “Just because I’m small doesn’t make me a bug.” He shifted in discomfort, suddenly wishing he was big again.
The giant blinked in surprise and lifted his chin off of him. “Omari, C’mon. You know I don’t mean it like that.”
“Really? You could’ve fooled me.” He grit his teeth. “God I…” He felt hurt, he’d trusted this guy. “You love this shit and it’s disgusting. I can see right through you. It’s not cute, it’s disturbing, Kieran.”
When he finally lifted his gaze the eyes he met were cold, icy. Full of disdain. Fear washed over him, he pushed himself up. “I’m going home, Kieran.” He told him, willing his voice not to tremble.
“Why are you being so weird about this?” Kieran asked, frowning down at him.
Omari’s eyes widened, “Why am I being so weird about this?” He laughed in disbelief. “Are you serious?”
“We were having a good time, you were enjoying this, Omari.” He frowned, sitting up. The sheer size of him made Omari’s stomach drop.
“We were-” He bit his tongue, worried he might piss him off more he glanced around the room. Where the fuck did he leave his phone? “Kieran, I need you to call Sloan right now. I’m serious.” He hesitated. “I had a great time, and I, I really like you. And you know that.” Which is why this was all that much more painful. “But I need to go home now, okay?” Omari’s words were measured and careful.
He watched his face nervously, “This is so fucking stupid.” Kieran hissed, shoving himself off the bed. He tugged on his boxers and grabbed Omari’s phone from his jeans. He tossed it towards him on the bed and left the room. The door slammed loudly.
Omari jumped as the door slammed, he wiped his eyes and crawled to his phone. He shakily stamped his hand into the keypad; dialing his roommate’s number. It immediately went to voicemail, he winced and hung up before calling again. Their stupid fucking do not disturb. They picked up on the second ring.
“Yo! What’s-”
“I need you to come get me, like now.” His voice was soft and trembling, worried that Kieran was listening from outside the door.
For the moment the line was silent, “Are you… Did you shrink?”
Omari groaned in frustration, “Yes, I need you to get me. Hurry, please.” He whimpered, running his hand through his hair nervously. It seemed like the urgency finally clicked; he could hear them grabbing their keys and opening the front door.
“Give me like ten minutes, should I, do you need me to stay on the line?” They asked, wind distorting their voice as they ran to the car.
Omari bit his lip hard and shook his head, before remembering they couldn’t see him. “No, just,” He winced as his voice cracked, “Just hurry. Please.” He mumbled, voice unsteady.
He hung up and swallowed back a sob. He wiped his eyes quickly. “Fuck.” He whimpered. He felt so fucking naive; vulnerable and small on this massive bed. Why had he ever agreed to shrink? Omari really fucking liked this guy, he trusted him. He felt like such an idiot. He took a deep breath and stood, wincing at how wet he still was.
He should’ve known, how could he not know? He thought back on every moment between them, searching for any indication of his fetish. He considered what he could’ve done to him and shuddered. He swallowed thickly and stood; he climbed onto the bedside table and tugged a tissue from the box. He wrapped it around himself like an oversized blanket. He stiffened as the door opened.
He turned to see Kieran, “I would never hurt you Omari.” He murmured. “I’ve always… I’ve always had a fascination with tiny people. I don’t know what it is, but it doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with me…”
Omari frowned, stepping back on the table. “I never… I never said that there was anything wrong with you-”
“But you’re fucking, looking at me like that! You’re looking at me like I’m a fucking monster!” He shouted, Omari flinched. “I didn’t do anything wrong! You agreed to this!” He snapped, Omari’s eyes watered helplessly. “This is so fucking stupid…” In two easy strides Kieran was able to close the distance between them, Omari stepped so far back that his heels were at the edge of the bedside table. Kieran leaned down; he was so close that Omari could feel his breath. “I should just-”
The doorbell rang out, a cheery ding that echoed throughout the house. For a moment everything was still, Omari held his breath and watched as Kieran grit his teeth before turning on his heel and leaving the room.
Omari felt like his knees were gonna give out, he hugged himself helplessly and dissociated until Sloan came running into the room. They spotted Omari and carefully scooped him up. They’d held him a million times, the hands were familiar… Safe.
Kieran stood in the doorframe. “Don’t forget his shit.” He muttered.
Sloan held him to their chest and grabbed his phone and the clothes off the floor before pushing past Kieran. They didn’t say a word to him. Omari curled his hands into Sloan’s shirt as they ran to the car. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” They asked nervously.
Omari could only shake his head. He hiccuped on a weak sob, he was trembling. “He… He didn’t even- God, I’m such a fucking idiot.” He whimpered weakly. “I can’t believe I-”
“Omari-”
“I should’ve known, Sloan. I’m fucking stupid.” He hiccuped.
“Omari, you’re shrinking…” Sloan whispered softly. He looked up, eyes widening as he realized how much roomier their palm was. His bottom lip wobbled, “Let’s get you home, you’re okay…” Sloan reassured softly. “I got you…”
Omari squeezed his eyes shut and clung to them as they started the car. He helplessly dwindled to a centimeter as they cried.
