#*stumbles in with a starbucks in hand*

[whirlpool-blogs]

Masters of the Air behind-the-scenes

[zanniscaramouche]

in the dying of the light

A thorough and too close to teary-eyed verbal lashing from Bones leaves Jim shaky. He pops a spoonful of pudding in his mouth and tries to swallow it down around the lump in his throat, and that’s exactly when Spock arrives, of course. Mouth full of pudding and emotion. “Experience guides me in addressing what are no doubt your first concerns. The ship is in good form, Captain, and the crew are spirited by your recovery.” Jim nods and leaves it there. He doesn’t ask what Spock saw in his head. He’s not even sure he wants to know. He just swallows his pudding and tries not to think about why he can remember how Spock’s fingers felt on his face when he was unconscious. Doesn’t want to think about how maybe it’s not his memory at all.

james t. kirk/spock - accidental bond/hurt!jim - 11k - complete

[coelakanths]

gerard was not lying when they said we hold in our hearts the sword and the faith swelled up from the rain clouds move like a wraith

[darthlenaplant]

So much for the US "bringing freedom and democracy" anywhere btw. Like. About every single fucking time it was THE EXACT OPPOSITE.

What does the "banana republic is a fucked up name for a store" post you reblogged mean? I'm afraid of looking dumb.

The term "banana republic" was originally coined to describe countries in Central and South America (mainly Honduras and Guatemala) whose economies were rendered dependent on the production and export of bananas (among other agricultural goods, but mainly bananas) by American fruit corporations leveraging the power of the U.S. government, the U.S. military and the CIA.

Throughout most of the of the 20th century, American corporations such as United Fruit, Cuyamel, and the Standard Fruit Company owned large portions of these countries' lands, to the point that in some cases they controlled their railway, road, and port infrastructure, and they engaged in a variety of imperialist actions to lower production costs, such as violence against labor activists and anti wage reform lobbying.

The pinnacle of this phenomenon was the 1954 Guatemalan coup, when United Fruit convinced the goverment of US president Dwight D. Eisenhower that the elected president of Guatemala, Jacobo Árbenz (who had expropriated some of the company's unused land and given it to Guatemalan peasants) was secretly working with the Soviet Union, resulting in a CIA coup which deposed the Árbenz government and replaced it with a thirty-year right-wing military dictatorship which effectively acted as a puppet government to protect the interests of United Fruit and the U.S. government.

Nowadays the term has broadened to refer to any small, economically unstable country with an economy which has been rendered dependent on the export of a particular natural resource due to economic exploitation by a more powerful country.

[bigification]

Star Of The Show

"Is that really safe?" A snobbish man in an expensive suit snarled.

"Yes Mr. Derry, how many times do I have to tell you. It'll make you into a prime bodybuilder just like you asked." The technician sighed.

"It better be, because I am an important stake holder in this bodybuilding competition and I paid a lot for this." Mr. Derry continued to whine, despite receiving exactly what he asked for.

"Here I brought your coffee, sir." Mr. Derry's assistant sheepishly held out a Starbucks coffee. He grumbled as he read the long list of modifications he needed in his coffee to drink it.

"This has coconut milk you idiot!" He shoved the coffee back into his assistant, sending the scrawny man stumbling back. In an attempt to regain his balance he flailed his arm into the large machine that sat nearby.

"I... I'm sorry sir." The assistant panicked. "I can fix it." He reached for the machine in an attempt to minimize the blowback from his boss. He tried to move the machine back to its original position.

"Wait no! Don't tou-" the technician was interrupted.

A blinding light erupted across the back stage as a concentrated beam shot into the assistants chest. He looked like a ragdoll being tossed across the room, slamming into the wall. No one even noticed what had happened while they tried to recover from the flash.

The assistant slowly got up, his head was spinning. He assumed it was from the crash into the wall, but it only got worse after he got up. A burning heat boiled inside his chest as he attempted to recover. The burning soon turned to a tightness as his chest began to grow. His flat chest started to rise like a loaf of bread in the oven. His preppy button up strained under the pressure of his thickening pecs until the buttons started to pop off. His shirt burst open, revealing the perfectly formed pecs of a bodybuilder that created a shelf over his stomach. Speaking of which, his stomach began to melt away. His now flat stomach quickly rose back up, but with hard muscles this time. His stomach started to round out into a small muscle gut as six distinct muscles formed over it, causing the rest of his buttons to pop off in the process.

The technician and Mr. Derry were starting to recover from the flash, hearing increasingly loud footsteps rumbled from across the room and ever deeper sounding grunts and moans came from the assistant.

The assistant lurched over as his shoulder broadened, finally ripping his shirt to shreds. His upper back exploded with rippling muscles that would make any man jealous. And his lower back slimmed to give his body a strong V shape. Moments later he started to flex his arms, making them balloon with every flex. His biceps grew to the size of melons as veins surfaced all down his arms. And his hands thickened into massive man hands, twice the size of his old delicate hands.

Mr. Derry let out a loud scoff as he watched the assistant transform into the man he wanted to be. And the technician just smiled at Me. Derry's dismay. Meanwhile the assistant started to let out deep guttural moans pleasure as his body grew, and animalistic grunts every time he flexed his growing body.

Next, the man's lower body started to grow, making him nearly a foot taller than he was before, towering over everyone in the building. His thighs thickened to over twice the size of his massive biceps, making him have the man spread to make room for all the muscle. Unsurprisingly it didn't take long for his pants to rip to shreds, leaving him in his comically small underwear. Though that wouldn't last long either. His flat ass got flooded with both fat and muscle, making it large and plump and creating a shelf over his thighs. His fat ass strained against the shockingly strong fabric of the underwear before overpowering them, bouncing as his cheeks tore right through them. His calves also grew quite thick and defined as his feet burst out of his shoes, becoming a monstrous size 20. Though the only downside is his impressive package shrunk from a massive 8 inches to an unremarkable 4 inches, looking small in comparison to his hulking body.

Finally the man's head began to change to match his body. His barely visible jawline looked like it got vacuum sealed around his jaw, becoming sharp as a knife. His brow bone became more prominent, adding to his manly appearance as a well kept beard spreads across his face. And his long flowy hair recedes into a military buzz cut.

By the time the transformation slowed, his skin had a bronze tanned color with a slick sheen of oil over it. Almost as if he was getting ready to compete.

"You fucking idiot. Look at the mess you've made. You need to clean this up ASAP, and you better hope that machine has some juice left for me or so help me god I will bury you six feet under Edward!" Mr. Derry blew up with rage, it almost looked like there was smoke coming from his ears.

The assistant stood up tall with his head up and his chest puffed out. Slowly taking steps towards his boss, making the ground shake with each step. As he got close, his brows furrowed and his grunt became deeper and louder. He bent down and yanked his boss by the collar, lifting the shorter man a foot off the ground to meet eye to eye.

"You think I need a fucking pipsqueak like you! You're nothing but a bug to step on. And my name is Evan, asshole! Remember it!" Evans voice booked across the room as he chuckled his former boss into the machine, breaking it in the process.

He stomped across the room and grabbed a black pair of underwear from the rack. Then he proceeded to waltz on stage, stealing the hearts of the audience.

Evan was the star of the show, winning an easy first place. Photoshoots, magazine covers, and sponsors were all he saw in his future. And he never saw his loser of a boss again.

[harryslittlefreakk]

late night talking

summary: a chance meeting with harry before his wembley dates leads you into a bizarre friendship

wordcount: 1.7k

a/n: i HATE writing meetings. this part is so slow but the next part is linked underneath, which is much nicer ;)

my masterlist can be found here!

“Just a caramel macchiato please��, you said, rubbing at your eyes as you spoke. You always had a hard time sleeping in hotels and tonight was no different. You’d travelled to London to attend some concerts with your best friend, and although she’d invited you to stay with her, you didn’t want to infiltrate her newlywed bubble. So now you were standing in a quiet Starbucks, in your pyjamas, at almost midnight.

You chose one of the comfy tables at the back, hoping not to be noticed by any of the other crazies out at this hour. But not long after you sat down, someone decided to sit in the seat immediately behind yours. You sighed and kept your eyes on your phone, knowing only too well what kind of person chooses a seat next to a woman in a deserted space.

“Sorry, do you have a napkin?” A man’s spoke came from behind you, interrupting your quiet solace. You grabbed one off your table and turned around to pass it over, not looking too closely at the man who asked. His gold rings caught your attention, an obnoxious H S that sent your wide eyes darting up to meet his. The brown curls peeking out from under his hood, the dimpled grin sitting on his chiselled face. It really was Harry. Your heart rate quickened, inches away from the face of the man you were here to see. His laugh broke your spell, and you realised you’d never even let go of the napkin. “Sorry, sorr-“, you spluttered, suddenly unable to think, let alone speak. Harry watched your brain reboot, his smile never faltering, before asking what you were drinking.

He looked over at you from the counter, taking you in. Your messy brown hair, your black vest top paired with pale pink pyjama pants. Your zip-up hoodie had slipped off your shoulders, allowing him to see some patchwork tattoos poking out.

When he returned, Harry sat down across from you and placed the drinks down gently. Holding out a hand for you to shake, he told you his name, which of course you already knew. “Y/N,” you replied, meeting his green eyes. “Well, Y/N, what are you doing in a Starbucks at this time?” Harry asked, taking a sip of his coffee. You mirrored him, bringing your cup to your lips before explaining how you couldn’t sleep in hotels and were in town for a show. He smirked, eyes glimmering knowingly. “I’m here for a show too. And I like being out at this time. It always feels more anonymous.”

~~~

The girl behind the counter called out to you, letting you know the cafe was closing. You hadn’t even noticed the tables being wiped down or the whirring of the coffee machines on their cleaning cycle. Harry slipped a 20 onto the counter as you stumbled out together, mumbling a quick apology. The air was cold after a warm day, and only then you realised how late it must be. “My hotels this way,” you pointed, not wanting to take any more of Harry’s time. His strong hand reached out and grabbed yours, tugging you behind him as he stepped in the opposite direction. “Come on,” he grinned. “I know somewhere we can get more coffee.”

You walked through an eerily deserted London, laughing alongside Harry but wondering now what on God’s green earth you were doing. If Harry was anyone else, you’d be running a mile. You glanced down at your feet, unsure why they weren’t taking you home. Your heart-print pyjama pants were just another reminder of where you should be going. But as you doubted yourself, Harry ground to a halt, sending you flying into the back of him. “What are you doing?” You asked, staring up at the skyscraper hotel in front of you. This was definitely nicer than your choice of digs. Harry only smirked in response, walking towards the doors. You followed him blindly, trailing through the entrance and into the lift behind him. He pulled down his hood and ran a hand through his hair, watching himself in the mirror before his eyes flicked to you. Finally, he spoke, “hotels will give you coffee at any hour on any day, I’ve noticed.”

“Are you staying here?,” you questioned, stepping out of the lift straight into what must have been the penthouse suite. Your eyes were wide in awe, you’d never seen a hotel room like this before. A small kitchen sat on one wall, with a living area big enough to seat an entire family. A king size bed peeked out from behind a glass room divider, everything accented with black and gold glossy metals. You ran your fingers across the back of one of the blue sofas, twirling round to take in your surroundings before your eyes rested on Harry’s. He nodded, amused by your wonder. “You’re welcome,” you scoffed, setting your jacket down on the table. Harry’s eyebrows furrowed, opening his mouth to question you. Swatting at his chest, you replied, “I paid good money for your shows. You’d be in a travelodge if it wasn’t for me.”

“You and thousands of others!” He interjected, swatting right back at your hand. You giggled, holding your hands up in surrender. “Okay, big man.”

Harry slipped off his hoodie, leaving him in only a sweatshirt and running shorts. You studied him properly for the first time, your eyes running from his tousled hair, to the way his sweatshirt was the perfect amount of baggy, to his toned, tanned thighs. If you weren’t careful you might have dribbled. He’d been the celebrity you’d pined over for years, and now you were standing in his hotel room. “You like what you see?,” he said, snapping you out of your daydream as he padded over to the coffee machine. “You got me here under false pretences, you know that?,” you grinned, plopping down on one of the armchairs. Harry’s head whipped around, mouth wide open in a half smirk. “I promised you coffee,” he gestured to the coffee machine, “here’s coffee.”

“You didn’t tell me the coffee was in your hotel room,” you smirked, before mouthing ‘weirdo’. Harry wagged a pointed finger at you, “ah ah ah. Only nice manners get you caffeine in my cafe.”

Your conversation continued well into the early hours. Tattoos, music, work, life, pets - you had everything and more to talk about. And you seemed to feel bizarrely comfortable around each other. It was almost 4am before you checked the time, and you stood up almost immediately to grab your jacket and leave. “My God, Harry, I should really-“ you tilted your head towards the door, your voice groggy now from talking and laughing for so long. “Stay here tonight,” Harry’s words came out quiet and almost shy. “It’s too late to go back to where you’re staying, I wouldn’t feel comfortable with you out alone at this hour.” He stood up as he spoke, yawning and stretching his arms. “Come on, I’ll show you where the bathroom is.”

As he led you towards the bathroom, you realised just how exhausted you were. And his enormous bed did look comfier than anywhere you’d slept in your life. “Harry, I’m really sorry, but do you have a t-shirt or something I can borrow?,” you asked, leaning on the doorframe. He looked you up and down, laughing. “You’re wearing pyjamas already pet.”

“I know! I know. But I went outside in these. Plus my legs get hot when I sleep.” This was true. You loved fluffy pyjama pants as loungewear but you only ever slept in a top and pants, and you couldn’t exactly wear your skimpy vest on its own tonight. Harry shook his head as he chuckled, his unkempt curls bobbing as he did. He yanked a shirt out of his wardrobe and chucked it at you. “Yeah yeah. You just want to tell the world you wore Harry Styles’ shirt.”

“Oh yes,” you rebutted. “Because ‘I slept in Harry Styles’ hotel’ wouldn’t make a good enough story.”

As you came out the bathroom, you resumed your post leaning against the doorframe, watching Harry throw a blanket on the sofa before trying and failing, several times, to stuff his long body on the loveseat. Stifling a laugh, you called out, “Harry, seriously. Not a chance you’re fitting on that sofa. Come to bed.”

As much as he tried to ignore it, you telling Harry to come to bed was far more inviting than he wanted it to be. He felt nuts. After all, you were a fan - a big enough fan that you’d go to all 4 of his Wembley dates. If word ever got out, he’d have hoards of fans outside every hotel waiting to be the next lucky girl. He just couldn’t explain why he was so drawn to you.

“Thank god for that,” Harry sighed, throwing his head back. “I have places to be tomorrow, I need a good sleep.” He whipped the covers bad and climbed in next to you, rubbing his hands over his face. You were thrashing around, trying to find a comfy position. Settling on your side, you tried to scoot as close to the edge as possible to make this slightly less awkward. Neither of you were used to sharing a bed without the promise of ending up tangled around one another.

“Hey,” he spoke quietly now. “What are you wearing tomorrow love?” Pulling you head up to look at him, you giggled sweetly. That pet name could be dangerous for you. “Why do you want to know?,” you questioned. Suddenly, you felt shy about your outfit choice. You were saving your best outfit for the final date, and now you wished you had something flashier to tell him - although, he’d seen you in your cutesiest pyjamas so the damage may have already been done.

“Want to see if I can spot you in the crowd,” he replied, shrugging his bare shoulders under the duvet. You tapped on your nose as you replied, “baby, you don’t need to worry about spotting me. Anyway, what are you wearing?”

Harry copied you and tapped on his nose, before switching off the bedside lamp and calling out a soft ‘goodnight’. You were pinching yourself up and down your arms to make sure you weren’t already dreaming. You couldn’t believe an insomnia stroll turned into Harry Styles’ bed. The Harry Styles’ bed. If only you knew what the rest of the week would hold.

part two

[itsallyscorner]

Coffee Talk | H.S

pairing: boyfriend!Harry x fem!reader

warnings: it’s supposed to be like a podcast episode so it’s a little long and has a lot of dialogue—just did some experimenting, lmk what you guys think :)

overview: Harry is a guest on your podcast.

a/n: Clearly, I’ve been listening/watching a lot of podcasts. I just like hearing people talk. Reader’s co-host, Mable, is inspired by Selena Gomez <3

Coffee Talk Ep. 96: (Y/n)‘s Boyfriend, Hobama, and Marriage

“Hello friends and welcome back to another episode of Coffee Talk! I’m your host, (Y/n), and I hope you are all doing well!” You waved at the camera doing your usual intro.

You did a drumroll with your hands on the table and continued, “Now, we have an exciting episode for you guys today. You have been asking—basically begging—for us to get this person on the pod and it’s finally happening today! So grab a blanket, get some snacks, and get comfortable, because this is gonna be a fun one!”

The video cuts to your co-host, Mable, who is sitting across from you on a loveseat.

“I feel like we should build the tension before we tell them who it is.” Mabel chimes in, stirring her Starbucks cup (whose label has been covered since you guys aren’t sponsored by Starbies).

“That was a really good segue for Roll Call, Mae.” You pointed out, calling her by her nickname.

“I gotchu, babe.” Mable assured you, throwing a wink in your direction. You laughed and adjusted your legs up on the couch you were on, “Right, so obviously, we have Mable across from me. How are ya, Mae? What’s the coffee order today?”

Mable smiled at you and crossed her legs, “Well since you asked so kindly. I’m doing very great this morning (y/n/n) and I have a caramel macchiato today.”

The video then cuts to Ryland who had a “bitch please” look on his face, “Mable’s only happy because she got laid last night.”

“RYLAND!” Mable screamed in shock, the video cutting to her reaction. The room erupted with laughter as she flipped him off and let empty threats stumble out of her lips at Ryland.

“YOU LITERALLY TEXTED IT IN THE GROUP CHAT!” Ryland stressed, leaning over the table to get closer to Mable. The video moved to you taking a long sip of your coffee while a familiar tattooed arm rested behind you on the couch.

“Clearly, the energy is through the roof today in the pod—we’ll probably get to Mable’s sex life in a bit.” You paused, smirking at your friend, “But back to roll call, we’ve got Ryland on cameras and sound. Ryland, how are you pookie?”

Ryland posed at the camera in front of him and waved wildly at it, “I’m doing swell stinkabutt.”

“What’s your coffee order today—actually Ryland doesn’t have coffee today, he has juice.” You explained to your listeners. Ryland held up his green juice, “Yeah, I’m on a juice cleanse everyone. Me and Sean are going to Aruba in a few weeks and I refuse to work out, so I’m drinking juice instead.”

“You look great Ry.” A voice off camera chimed in. The voice had a distinct accent that could only belong to a specific someone. Ryland smiled at the person, “Thanks Ha—wait I was just about to spoil who it was.” He immediately clasped his hand over his mouth with wide eyes.

“Y’know what, we’ve made you guys wait long enough.” You sighed before continuing, “Our guest is very special to me. He’s a recent Grammy winner, one of the biggest artists in the world, and he happens to be my boyfriend; please welcome to the pod mister Harry Styles!” You cheered, causing everyone in the room to clap. The video finally cut to Harry who was sat next you on a blush pink couch nursing a pastel yellow mug.

Harry adorable scrunched his nose and waved at you all bashfully, “Oh, stop it.”

“How does it feel to be on the pod, Harry?” You asked, turning your body towards him. Harry nodded and looked around the room, “I’m happy to be here, love, thanks f’having me. Also, I like what you’ve guys done to our shed, s’very comfy.”

“I totally forgot we were in your shed.” Ryland chuckled.

“Oh yeah, to everyone listening or watching, we’ve been filming this podcast in Harry and (Y/n)’s backyard.” Mable explained to the audience with a chuckle.

“It’s not a problem honestly, I’m glad you guys are getting some use out of it.” Harry assured you all as he glanced at the decorations around the room. There was an old school looking blush couch in the center of the room, which was across from a burnt mustard colored love seat. While the walls were painted a darker shade of matcha green with fairy lights strung along it.

Harry was seen glancing at the rug as he toed at it with his socked foot. “Where’d y’get the rug?” He asked you.

You peeked at said rug, “Your mom picked it out when she was helping me furniture shop here.” Harry’s mouth made an ‘o’ shape as he leaned back into the cushion, one of his legs crossed beneath him and the other hung off the couch.

“So Harold, what’s the coffee order today?” You motioned to his coffee. He proudly held the yellow mug up and smiled at the camera, “I’ve got my usual black coffee, courtesy of my lovely girlfriend.”

The camera panned to you hiding behind your Starbucks cup trying to hide your heated cheeks.

“And what do you have today, love?” Harry returned the question, naturally fitting into the conversation. You looked at the label on your cup, “I have my usual coffee order—H actually went out on a coffee run for me and Mable, so thank you bubs.” You answered, the corners of your mouth quirked up.

“They make me sick.” Ryland fake gagged.

“Aren’t you also in a relationship?” Mable narrowed her eyes at him. Ryland rolled his eyes at her, “Yeah, but they make me sick in a good way, like the wholesomeness is just too much.”

“What the fuck..”

Harry grinned at Ryland, “Y’gonna be fuckin’ puking by the time we’re done then.”

The camera cut to Mable smirking at you, “I find it so weird how you’re being so quiet.”

“Me?” You pointed at yourself amusingly. Harry glanced at you and visibly scooted closer to you. The sound of equipment being moved can be heard over the audio since Harry attempted to discreetly move his mic stand next to yours.

“Yes ma’am.” Mable nodded. You placed your cup on the round coffee table beside you.

“I don’t know why, but it just settled in that this is us, kind of like hard launching our relationship to the public.” You softly answered, hands fiddling with your (Harry’s) loose knitted sweater.

“But everyone knows you guys are together.” Ryland stated, confusion etched on his features. Harry rose his hand to answer. You giggled at him and nudged his arm, “You don’t need to raise your hand to speak, hun.”

“Sorry.” He shook his head.

“Don’t be.” You chuckled, allowing Harry to continue. “Everyone knows, but we haven’t been very public, y’know? We like keeping things between us. Like, this is the most public we’ve ever been.” He gestures to you guys sitting beside each other.

You chimed in jokingly, “Yeah, this is our first time sitting next to each other—like ever.”

Harry nodded along, “I’m shitting m’pants right now.” He stated, causing a few chuckles in the room.

“How much persuasion did it take for (Y/n) to get you on the pod?” Mable asked Harry, sipping her coffee. Harry’s brows furrowed as he stared at the ceiling.

“Not much. She asked and I was like—yeah, I’m down.” He answered, shrugging his shoulders for emphasis. You chuckled at him and added, “He’s forgetting the part when he admitted that he’s been waiting for me to ask him to guest star.”

“Have you really been waiting?” Ryland questioned your boyfriend. Harry’s brows raised as he exclaimed, “Yes! I bloody have! You guys literally had my sister on here before me!”

You all laughed at his slight frustration, “I swear it wasn’t on purpose!” The camera cuts to you and Harry, your hand squeezing his knee.

“Wait so did you guys meet through Harry’s sister?” Mable asked you both, she then was quick to add, “If you guys don’t mind me asking!”

You waved her off to assure her it was fine.

“We met through his stylist Harry Lambert.” You began before pointing to the camera, “Shout out to Lamby by the way!” Harry followed suit and instead waved at the camera with a lopsided grin.

“Anyway, Lamby and I know each other through work. We’re under the same company and we do similar things, etc. One day he invited me to come out to one of H’s shows, I didn’t have anything better to do, so I decided to go.”

“We met before the show though, remember?” Harry gently interjected, using his arm behind you to tap your shoulder. You nodded, “Yeah we did, I was fortunate enough to meet him before he went out on stage and we got on really well—“

You looked at Harry, “We probably spent about five minutes talking, right?”

“Yeh, it was pretty quick. I don’t know if you felt it at first, but like—Y’know that feeling when you kinda just know a person is gonna have some kind of impact on y’life?” Harry wondered aloud, hands waving around to try and get his point across. Mable and Ryland nodded, making sounds of agreement.

“It was like that and I thought about it the entire time I was on stage. After that everything seemed to fall into place and the rest was history.” Harry finished, smacking his hand on his leg. Ryland was the first to speak, “So after the concert did you try to always come up with an excuse to go to his shows or did you try to persuade Harry Lambert to invite (Y/n) more often?” Ryland pointed between the couple in front of him.

You and Harry stared at each other, his brow raised at you while your eyes squinted at his. Harry stuck his pointer finger out, “Well I got her number after, so I didn’t have to make any excuses for her to be at my shows. I’d invite her, she’d come and watch, then we would hang out after. Sometimes when we were in the same place, we would meet up too.”

“I’m assuming this went on for months?” Mable looked between you and Harry.

“Yeah, but the thing is, he was touring and I was working. So we had to be in different places all the time.” You clarified. Harry picked off where you left, “We managed to make it work though, I don’t think either of us were going to give up that easily.”

The video caught you and Harry gazing into each other’s eyes momentarily.

“Absolutely.” You agreed, scrunching your nose at him, similar to what he did earlier. Mable pouted at the two of you, “You guys are so cute.”

Harry quietly thanked her as he situated himself on the couch again. While Mable and Ryland gushed about how much you guys were “goals”, the famous singer got even more comfortable on the couch. He placed his mug down and leaned his body against your side, he softly took your arm and held it against his chest so you were holding him. He leaned the mic lower so it was closer to him and was mindful of where his feet was to avoid bumping his mug on the floor.

“I’m just curious, but what are like the weirdest rumors have you guys heard about yourselves?” Ryland asked, moving the conversation along.

“I don’t have any.” Mable shrugged.

“Maybe that guy last night can share some, should we call him?” You sang, jokingly pulling out your phone. Mable groaned and slapped her forehead with her palm, “I hate the both of you.”

“I’ve heard stuff about us, but I really think this rumor would be more fun to talk about.” You pondered. Harry shifted his head on your chest to look up at you, “Wha’ rumor?”

The corner of your lip turned into a smirk as you simply said, “Hobama.”

Harry suddenly threw his head back and bursted out laughing.

“Like President Obama?” Ryland screamed in shock, his brows raised to his forehead.

“I honestly don’t know how it started. It randomly popped up on the tabloids and followed me around for years—till this day, might I add!” Harry tried to clarify.

“I feel like it got even worse when Graham asked you about it.” You chuckled, fingers mindlessly playing with Harry’s brunette curls.

“What did Graham ask?” Mable leaned towards the couple.

“He asked if it was true that I had a sexual relationship or affair with Obama—I knew they were gonna ask me about it prior to the show being filmed. But at the time I was like fuck it and just went along w’it.” Harry started, “I didn’t know that it would become an actual thing.” He deadpanned, sending a look at the camera.

“Have there been any Hobama signs at any of your recent shows?” Ryland squinted his eyes at Harry.

“Not a one.” Harry paused, “But after this episode airs, I wouldn’t be surprised if I see a couple in the crowds.”

Mable crossed her arms, “Your shows are very interesting—in a good way—of course.”

“Thank you.” Harry grinned, “Yeh, we’ve got a lot of things going on. Every night it’s like a giant sleep over with a bunch of friends. We sing songs, we dance—“

“Trauma dumping!” Ryland interjected excitedly. Harry gestured to the man opposite him, “Right, we do therapy sessions.”

“Don’t forget the gender reveals, proposals, and helping them come out.” You continued to list, Harry nodding his head at every thing you said.

“Harry’s like a Swiss Army knife, he just does everything.” Mable joked. Ryland sighed and rested his chin in his palm, “You’re so talented.”

“You’re better at controlling cameras and all the sound equipment than me.” Harry acknowledged, raising a brow at him. Ryland snapped his finger at the Brit, “You’re so right, thank you, Harry.”

Harry placed his hand on his heart, “I gotcha man.” You then raised your hand, catching Harry’s attention, “Yes, m’love?”

“Can I just say how proud I am of you and like how insanely successful the tour has been?” You sat up, making Harry sit up as well. He remained close to you, wrapping his arm back around your shoulder. Though your statement made him pout at you, “Y’make my heart feel fuzzy.”

Mable and Ryland audibly awed at the both of you.

“No! Like seriously, it makes me so proud to see how much of a safe space your concert is to all you fans and anyone who steps foot into those shows.” You placed your hand on his tattooed arm and gave it a small squeeze. “I don’t think you realize how much of an impact you make on people’s lives, like we all appreciate you so much and I just wanted to remind you of that.” You shrugged, shrinking into your own shoulders.

“C’mere.” Harry said dragging out his words as he pulled you into a hug, this time he held you and your head was tucked into the crook of his neck. Instead of letting you go, Harry helped you get comfortable in his arms.

“While we’re at it, I just wanted to say how much fun I’m having right now. Thank you guys for having me” Harry gestured to Mable and Ryland across from him then turned to you, “And thank you to you for allowing me to be in your workspace and sharing it with me. You’ve always supported me throughout everything and now I finally get to support you and your craft, so thank you for trusting me to be here.”

Now it was your turn to pout, though there was a twinkle in you eye, “Thank you, H.” You hummed as Harry pecked your temple.

“I’m rooting so hard for you guys, you have no idea.” Mable said from her seat, the camera cut to Ryland who agreed.

“Yeh, I guess we like each other a lot.” Harry joked. You smiled softly at him.

“I don’t wanna intrude but is there a possible wedding in the future?” Ryland asked. It was silent between you and Harry, the both of you staring at each other before answering.

“I think so, I have some pretty high hopes.” You answered. Harry made a sound of agreement, “I think when everything calms down we’ll figure it out, but without a doubt it’s definitely in the cards.”

Harry let out a small chuckle and added, “Let me release the fourth album and then I’ll put a ring on it.”

The camera cut to you blushing with wide eyes, clearly taken off guard by your boyfriend’s comment. Mable and Ryland were quick to react, sending you teasing looks and screaming “oooo”.

The corner of Harry’s mouth lifted into a smirk, turning his head to look at you he asked, “How’s that sound?”

You scrunched your nose (adorably, Harry might add) and pretended to put some thought into it.

“Sounds like a plan, but on one condition.”

Harry’s brows raised as he waited for you to continue.

“You have to release Medicine.” You said, Harry caught on to your banter and feigned an annoyed sigh, “Babe, we’ve talked about this.”

“Fine, then can we get a puppy?”

“Of course we can, darling, we’ll have one by tomorrow morning.” Harry jested, sounding incredibly posh.

You turned to the camera apologetically and spoke directly to your boyfriend’s fans, “Sorry guys, I tried.”

Though in reality, you knew that Harry would release Medicine in a heartbeat if you asked him to.

[himbofan4444]

“Another day…” I say to myself as I walk through the parking garage. The is air still damp from the rainstorm yesterday. I look around. The garage is oddly vacant. Perhaps I’d come in when the buildings closed again. Determined to finish the day and get home quickly, I trudge past the puddles and cigarette butts. “God it’s freezing,” I say to myself, shivering.

I look around again. I’m used to a long walk to the stairs but today’s feels… really long. I can’t see my car but that’s all thanks to the thick fog that has been settled in town for a few days. I can’t see the stairwell either. The only thing I can see is the fog surrounding me. I sigh and continue my trek forwards, unsure if I’m even moving forwards anymore.

After a few more minutes of walking, I stumble upon an odd sight. In front of me is a shopping booth, something I’ve never seen the liking of before here. A faint concoction of aromas reach my nose: a strange mix of perfume, wood, leather, and some other implacable scents. At the booth stands a broad man. On the table, there are a variety of brightly colored liquids contained in erlenmeyer flasks. The man waves me over, a toothy grin across his dark, bearded face.

“Well hello there fine fellow! How can I help ya?” the man asks. His voice is gravelly and deep, the kind of voice that makes you weak in the knees.

“Oh, I’m not interested in buying anything, sir. I’m just trying to find the stairs,” I respond.

The man lets out a hearty laugh, “Please, call me Rohan! And I insist. I’ll even give you a hefty discount.”

I eye the flasks, taking in the colorful liquids. Each is bubbling and emanates an odd warmth, much preferable over the freezing air of the rest of the parking garage. “So, what are they?” I ask.

“Oh, just some herbal remedies. They’re very common in holistic medicine,” Rohan says, lifting up to of the flasks. “Would you like one, sir?”

“Oh I’m not sure if I should. I’ve tried these things before and they haven’t… agreed with me,” I say, letting out a small chuckle.

“Don’t you worry about that, sir. These are all natural. I insist, try one. Here,” Rohan picks up a pink one and holds it out for me. I reluctantly grab it and give him a half-smile. “That’ll be $5, sir,” Rohan says as he holds out his large palm. I search through my wallet and find a crumpled up $5 bill and hand it to him. He smiles and says with a certain satisfaction, “Have a lovely day, sir!”

I walk off with the flask in hand, still unsure of where the stairs are. I check my phone for the time. Shit! I’m late! I briskly walk through the parking garage but to no avail. I’m still lost. At least until I see my car. Damnit! I just walked in a big circle! Exhausted and angry, I get in my car and sit down. The car is almost as cold as outside, a small remnant of the heating still present. I start the car, deciding to head home.

Before I can put my foot on the gas pedal, my gaze drifts down to the flask in the passenger’s seat. “I should probably drink that…” I say to myself. I reach down and grab it, bringing the beverage to my lips. It smells like perfume. I lift the flask, the contents of which pouring into my mouth and down my throat. It’s almost unbearably sweet. So much so that it’s almost bitter. There’s also a strange salty aftertaste. I cough and drink from my water bottle, the flavor lingering in my mouth.

I drive home in silence, allowing myself to be bitter about today’s events as of now. As I drive home, I notice an odd, unfamiliar tingling in my butt. I itch it but it doesn’t help. “Maybe I just worked legs a little too hard yesterday,” I say with a shrug. Soon, my whole body feels tingly, almost numb. My work clothes begin to feel a bit tight on my body, specifically my pants. I’m sure I grabbed the larger size I have but maybe I didn’t. This morning was quite hectic after all. I shrug off the odd occurrence and continue my drive home.

On the way home, I pass a Starbucks and turn into the parking lot. I usually don’t buy such frivolous things, but I’d already bought that horrible drink so why not? As I walk inside, I notice a strange quality to my walking. Usually I have a quite confident strut but that has been replaced by something almost like a waddle. Odd.

Once inside, I’m finally warm. The warmth of the store is so refreshing. Before ordering, I sit at a table by the window. Sitting here feels weird. I’m not used to this amount of cushioning on these chairs but maybe I misjudged them. I take off my winter coat, setting it on the high top table in front of me. I catch a glimpse of my arms in my tight dress shirt sleeves. Jesus! I’ve always been in shape but I’ve NEVER been this big. I flex a small bit, blushing at my public flexing session. Damn, the gym’s been doing me good recently.

A short blonde barista walks over to me. She’s very cute but my still bitter attitude puts a damper on my lustful looks. She pulls out a notepad and a pencil, “Would you like anything sir?”

“Oh no-“ I clear my throat. My voice sounds less deep than normal for some reason. “I mean, sure. Could I have a vanilla latte?” Why did I order that? I always order black coffee, never that girl shit. The barista smiles and nods, writing my order down, “Got it. Is that all?”

“Yes ma’am,” I respond. Handing her the money for the beverage.

She walks off, immediately going to make my drink. I rub my throat. Why do I still sound so weird? She comes back over, my drink in hand. “Here you go sir,” she says, “Oh and by the way, I love your hair. Blonde is so your color. You look fabulous.” She walks away to serve other customers.

What? Blonde? I’m not blonde. I’ve always had brown hair. And… fabulous? Who does she think I am? One of those queers? Does my hair really look blonde to her? I pull out my phone and look at myself in the selfie camera. Jesus! My hair IS blonde! And it looks… curly. What the hell happened?! And my face… It looks off. Something is uncanny about it. I look like myself but also not… Like my lips look bigger and so do my eyes. My eyebrows look a bit neater than they should and my stubble is shorter than normal.

I get down from the stool, ready to leave and deal with this weird stuff at home. As I walk out, I feel a strange jiggling in my rear. I crane my neck around my shoulder to see what was going on with my butt. Holy shit! My ass is huge! I run out to my car, my big fat ass jiggling like crazy as I run. I quickly drive home.

Once inside, I strip off my damp clothes to assess the damage. My muscles do look bigger than normal, especially my pecs. They look like fucking tits. Jesus, they’re huge. My ass is enormous, any movement causing it to jiggle wildly. And that tingling in my ass still hasn’t gone away. I look like a poster fag. Like the dictionary definition of a faggot. Fuck…

I go up to my room and find a cardboard box on my bed. After opening it, I see a huge pink dildo and a pink jockstrap, both the same color as the drink. The dildo is easily a foot long. I shiver in disgust looking at the items. An odd feeling comes from my ass. My ass is tingling worse than before, specifically directly in my asshole. God I just wanna shove that dildo up my ass… No! I can’t be thinking like a fag! Looking like one is bad enough!

I shove the grotesque items back into the box and chuck the box across the room. I look at myself in the mirror, hesitantly touching my pouty lips. They feel almost numb, as if they aren’t real. Come to think of it… I feel my pecs and my ass, both having the same numb tingling. Oh my god…

My body stiffens up, my back arched, showing off my large muscle tits and fake fuckable ass. Goddamn why am I thinking like that? Against my will, my buff arms reach up and turn my baseball cap, which had gone from a cream color to a black and pink one, backwards. It’s like a switch got flipped. My brain goes from active and agile to slow and dull. MY thoughts become more lustful and… gay.

Damn, I wish Rohan fucked me earlier. He like totally has a huge dick. I pout, crossing my arms across my inflated chest. My heads turns, facing the discarded box. My body prances over to the box and extracts the faggy… I mean sexy things. I pull the pink jockstrap over my big round ass, doing a few hops to see my bubble butt bounce in the elastic material. I snatch up the massive dildo and lay in my bed, my thick beefy legs spread out. My body instinctively shoves the dildo as far up my ass as it can.

My hole feels oddly loose despite the lack of penetration it’s received. My brain pushes those thoughts into the garbage, conjuring up new memories of me being fucked by hoards of men, each hung like a horse and concerningly aggressive. I let out shrill, feminine moans with each thrust of the toy. Each thrust causes my room and house to become more pink and slutty looking. My wardrobe emptying of my work clothes and instead having pink slutty outfits. My bed begins vibrating, my old bed replaced with a vibrating one.

I cum out of my shrunken cock, my small load leaving me gasping for air. I’ve never felt this much pleasure in my whole life! I sit on my knees in front of the full length mirror in my room and take a picture for my Daddies.

This is me now, a stupid, horny, bouncy slut for any man who’ll take me in for the night.

[pigcowboys]

in ur arms !

pairing: ꒰percy jackson x gn! reader꒱⋆·˚

summary: percy stumbles into your shared apartment after a drink luckily you're there to help him relax.

warning(s): established relationship, forehead kisses, mentions of alcohol (let’s pretend like percy can drink), domestic fluff.

requests are open !!

college was hard for percy.

he couldn't keep up with the long lectures or the fast paced speaking of his teachers, stumbling over his notes as he tried his best to take in everything they said. it'd be especially worse when the hour long period would end and he'd have to book it to the star bucks and few blocks down just so he could grab a coffee before he headed to the library.

the only thing good to came from this routine, percy guessed, was when he'd stumbled into you.

class had ended and percy had sure enough found himself on the same path towards the starbucks, digging around in his back pocket as he searched for any loose change he might have had. sadly, saving the world multiple times was job that was left unpaid. percy was just a broke college student, after all.

the opening of the glass door would alert you to a new customer, your head turning to see who'd came in with a slightly confused expression on your face. the place was empty - for once. poor percy - he was so caught observing the deserted place that he failed to notice you peeking at him from the counter.

a cough from you would tell him of your presence, stumbling over to the counter with a nervous laugh. for whatever reason, he couldn't shake the jittery nerves he'd get whenever he'd look up from the counter's marble material to meet eyes with you.

you made him nervous, embarrassingly so.

he'd hurriedly take his drink from your pretty hands, relishing in the 0.1 second of hand contact between the two of you as he pull his phone out, asking you for your number.

to which you happily agreed to doing.

you rubbed your clothed feet against the arm of your sofa, flipping through one of the hard cover textbooks you'd loaned from the library for your business class. the idea was to study for the upcoming exam for your class - though things happen. somehow you'd managed to start doodling small miscellaneous shapes and animals in your notebook.

you turned your attention towards the old wooden clock hanging just above your tv that displayed the words 10:30 PM on it. already past noon, where was percy? you leaned forward to grab your phone, opening it and reviewing the text message percy had sent you a few hours prior.

he and some friends had gone out for drinks after class to celebrate one of their birthdays. he'd asked if you'd be okay with him coming home late and despite your reluctancy to deal with a drunken partner, you set his worries to rest, insisting he went out with his friend requesting only for him to bring you back a slice of cake to which he only smiled and shook his head.

your gaze lingered over percy's caller id photo, chest growing heavy as you slowly found yourself starting to miss him dearly. you knew percy could protect himself, obviously. you just wondered if results would vary based on level of alcohol intake.

it was much too late to head out and find him too so the only thing you could seriously do for now is just wait for him to come home.

so, maybe the gods took pity on you this time. your head snapped towards the door as it creaked open suddenly, a slightly dazed percy scampering into the apartment. his dark raven hair was messy and sprawled across his face and his clothes, but a t-shirt and a some random jeans - were suddenly unkept and..stained.

percy mumbled out your name, a dopey grin forming onto his lips as he approached you with his arms out to you. shaken, yet relieved you allowed him to his crash his body into you, wrapping his arms around you tightly. it would've been a nice moment if his breath didn't reek of alcohol.

his grip was strong as ever, a stark contrast to the shakiness of his frame as he pulled away from you, grazing the side of your face with his hand. "were you okay without me here..?" he slurred, tilting his head to the left slightly.

"how much did you drink, percy?" you asked sternly, directing his hand from your cheek. "you reek."

percy shot you a confused look but didn't say much else, instead opting to rest his head on your chest as he cradled your torso. if you weren't so in love with him you would've likely threw him off the couch right there and then. yet, your fingers found themselves tangled in percy's hair, threading through the dark tufts gently as you picked out the various pieces of confetti that had landed it's way into it.

despite being holed up in a bar with his friends for a few hours, the smell of sea water still lingered as percy melted into your touch, his heart rate slowly every so slightly as he started to lull himself to sleep. a smile formed onto your face as you watched him quietly. he did stupid things - like jump into shark invested waters level stupid things.

but, you had to admit you could never stay mad at him for too long. one swift solemn glance from him and you'd cave immediately. you were sure, now more than ever, that no matter what happened to you - you wanted percy to be there with us along the way. things like made you realize it.

even if percy was buzzed right now, you never took a silent moment like this for granted at all. between percy's soft breaths and your pattering heart, you were sure all your fears from earlier were gone. another mutter of your name from percy catches your attention as you hum out a 'yes?'.

"i feel.." he hiccupped. "bad."

"yes, alcohol has that kind of effect on people." you joked, picking out a small pink confetti piece that was hiding in between his strands.

percy groaned. "no..it's not the beer." he turned to look up at you with a small frown.

"i ate your slice of cake.."

you stared at him momentarily before bursting out laughing, to percy's dismay. he muttered retorts to your amusement. you guess that was what the stains were. when your laughter finally ceased you simply watched percy with loving eyes, leaning forward to press a kiss to his forehead before cradling his head.

[valeriianz]

blossoming romance prompts! Finding comfort in their scent

*arrives to the prompt several months late with starbucks* hey <3

Dream/Hob | Teen | for @dreamlingbingo adoptable square B1 "Hug Starved" | tags: human au, fluff, reunion, established relationship

-------------

The right side of the bed no longer smells like Hob.

Dream buries his face into the pillow, rubbing his nose into the plush, down feather filled material and inhales deeply, just to make sure–

He groans softly, unable to smell anything– turning his head with a frown and staring into the empty room. 

Hob was away on a business trip. And what was supposed to be a 5-day engagement turned into a full week, now going on ten days. Hob promised to be home “soon,” but had also shown excitement over the work he was doing, the connections he was making. This was a fantastic opportunity for Hob; he was due for a promotion and Dream knew the money would be good for both of them, for their future. They had been talking about moving, buying their own home, finally finding a place to make their own. The two of them…

But they’d never been separated this long before.

It feels foolish, becoming so upset over a mere 10 days. But even when they were friends, Dream and Hob were connected at the hip, their mutual friends often teasing them about dating long before either of them confessed their feelings for each other.

Dream pulls himself up from their bed, too large for a single person, and drags his feet to put on some tea, wrapping the blanket around himself like a cape.

Now they had been “officially” dating for nearly six months, and if their friends thought Dream and Hob were super glued together while they were “just friends…” well…

They tried not to be too obnoxious about it, the PDA. But Dream had always been a very physical lover, and Hob was nothing if not an enabler. He would allow Dream to crawl onto him during social events, happily making room for Dream on his lap without breaking conversation he might’ve been in. Encourage a drunken Dream pulling Hob into a sloppy kiss in full view of the bartender, strangers, and friends, manhandling Dream until they could stumble outside or into a bathroom.

People would brush it off as the two of them being in their “honeymoon phase,” but Dream knew this passion for Hob, the unending affection and love would never wane, so long as Hob also met him time and time again. 

Because it wasn’t just Dream initiating all the contact. Hob always had his hand in Dream’s, or on his shoulder, the small of his back, even just a light touch to indicate his presence. He loved sneaking kisses wherever he could reach on Dream– his cheek, his hand, his arms. He would stare at Dream from across the room, or sitting next to each other, like he couldn’t believe Dream was there at all. It was a heady experience, Dream finally meeting his match.

On his way to the kitchen, Dream pauses to eye the now monstrous pile of dirty laundry protruding out of the bathroom hamper– too forlorn to perform the most boring task that was washing and folding. He turns and steps fully into the bathroom, flicking the light on and staring down at the tall pile of clothes and, much like a cat on a counter, knocks the basket over.

Clothes cascade to the floor, all Dream’s, of course. But near the bottom of the hamper, Hob’s old clothes revealed themselves.

Feeling just a little silly, Dream abandons his mission that was tea, and digs through the clothing until he pulls out one of Hob’s favorite sweaters, dropping the blanket to yank it on– tugging the collar up to his nose and inhaling deeply– before diving back in and finding a pair of Hob’s flannel pajama bottoms.

—-----------------------------------

Hob slips his key in the lock, unable to bite back the huge smile that stretches across his face, as he turns the door knob and steps inside the apartment.

He knows Dream will be home, and armed with that knowledge, he quietly pushes the door open, peeking around before stepping inside. Hob had told Dream he’d be home “soon,” not elaborating any further, hoping to surprise his boyfriend with his arrival. His pulse thrummed happily under his skin, making Hob giddy as he carefully shrugged off his heavy backpack letting it fall on the couch while he toes off his shoes. He bites his tongue to call out for Dream, a flicker of worry at the emptiness of both the living room and kitchen, and checks the time on his phone. 

It’s 10am. Dream had been known to sleep in, especially on his off days. Hob makes his way to the bedroom, when the bathroom light catches his eye. And then, inevitably, the tangled mess of a boyfriend sitting on the floor, surrounded by dirty laundry.

Hob’s heart flutters in his rib cage at the image of Dream in what is clearly Hob’s old clothes, his smile growing as Dream’s head snaps up, his eyes widening comically and his jaw dropping at the sight of Hob. His raven black hair is a mess and the way his eyes appear puffy and slightly sunken in makes Hob’s chest cleave in.

“Surprise, love– whoa!”

Between one blink and the next, Dream was up and leaping into Hob’s arms, causing him to stumble back until his shoulders connected with a wall, arms circling tightly around Dream, holding him steady.

Hob laughs breathlessly, his heart soaring at the sudden weight and warmth of Dream surrounding him; legs crossed around his hips and arms coiling around Hob’s shoulders, his head tucked into Hob’s hairline.

Hob squeezes back, one arm around Dream’s back and the other under his butt to hold him steady, crushing their bodies together.

“Hey,” Hob whispers into Dream’s ear, his hand rubbing up and down Dream’s back. “I missed you, too.”

Dream’s head moves, nudging his nose further into Hob’s hair and sniffing deeply, the warm air tickling Hob and causing him to laugh gently.

“You okay?”

“I am better, now.” Dream’s voice rumbles against Hob’s skull. Hob sighs at the sound, so much better in person, so much clearer and beautiful than the endless phone calls they’d shared from the past near two weeks.

“You smell like me,” Hob smiles as he speaks, finally meeting Dream’s gaze as the other man pulls himself around to lay a kiss on Hob’s lips.

And it’s not just the smell of Hob’s stale sweat on the clothes, but Hob can also smell hints of his favorite cologne– something he only breaks out for special occasions– as well as whiffs of coconut from his shampoo.

“Mm…” Dream hums after several long, long seconds reacquainting himself with the inside of Hob’s mouth, making the other man pant deliriously. “Not enough, I think.”

Hob laughs again, breathless. His arms are beginning to strain from holding Dream up for this long, but the other man seems content in staying where he is, the blue of his eyes bright and inviting; so much more alive than through a phone screen. The idea of turning and pinning Dream to the wall, or even walking them to their bed, is very tempting right now. Hob hefts Dream just a little higher and the motion rocks Dream’s hips into his, causing Dream to touch their foreheads together with a small whine of pleasure.

“I need you inside me,” Dream purrs, his hands now on Hob’s face, pushing his hair back and brushing their lips together. “Like you promised.”

Hob had indeed promised, on one of their many explicit video calls, to show Dream how much he missed him… by staying in bed all day and surrounding Dream in his warmth, his touch, promising not an inch of Dream’s flesh to be forgotten by his lips and tongue and fingers. The memory of it is enough to send fire racing through Hob’s veins, the exhaustion from his flight banished and replaced by overwhelming want.

But then Hob feels more than hears Dream’s stomach give a low growl, both of them pausing comically as it passes.

Hob quirks an eyebrow.

“Have you had breakfast yet?”

The silence is answer enough, and Hob hums, carefully bringing one hand around to press his thumb to Dream’s bottom lip.

“Come on,” Hob turns and manages a few steps out of the bathroom before Dream finally gets with the program and unfolds himself from Hob, stepping carefully onto the floor. “You’re gonna need all the energy you can get today.”

Hob winks as he says it, grinning at the playful spark in Dream’s eyes.

[waskatoshi]

Thinking about, Sakusa as a sneaky little pervert. Because of course, he was the weird, silent classmate who was always watching you.

Your first ever encounter with him was disastrous.

Running around the empty halls, trying to get to class was a bad a idea, but even more was turning around abruptly, spilling your overpriced starbucks drink into your classmate impolute white shirt.

Your hands trembled in his chest, trying to clean up everything with paper towel was futile, only worsening the stain more and more. You stumbled around with your words, asking for forgiveness and bowing repeatedly. You were expecting screams, insults, everything except what actually happened.

— Move.

That was the first and only word Sakusa spoke to you. His black eyes pierced through your teary ones. The boy could see the mechanisms in your head working around and failing miserably to come up with something. Your poor heart was shattered, after all, Kiyoomi was your secret little crush.

Every time he would sit besides you in class, your eyes would nervously fall into your lap, your hands would toy with the end of your skirts as a way to evade the strong gaze of the volleyball player.

You messed up hard, you thought.

Sakusa tooked the empty cup from the floor and handed it back to you into a paper towel. Then, he shortly left the hall, walking straight to the bathroom with his splattered clothes. Once he arrived, he maked sure the room was empty. He closed the door and changed his shirt for the extra gym tee he had in his bag.

Kiyoomi sighed.

Your teary eyes and trembling form was cute. Pathetic, but cute nonetheless. It was like you thought everything that happened was all your fault, but in reality it was partially his.

If he had not been too dumbfounded gawking your ass as you walked around, maybe he could even prevet all the mess in his new plain shirt.

You hate him, he thought.

You somehow realized how his gaze fell to your boobs every time you jump around the classrooms, how he ogled at your plump thighs whenever you wore skirts. Or worse, how he memorized your train stops and favorite cafes...

Yeah, you surely realized that he stalked your instagram page every night, jacking off to your bikini pics and skimpy outfits.

At first he thought you somehow reciprocated his feelings, but after a while, you began dragging down your pieces of clothing, closing your legs so he couldn't take a peek of your cute underwear.

Every time his friends would bring your name into a conversation, he tried to play cool, but of course, some of them have already realized his strange infatuation with you...

After all, you were the sweet little treasure Kiyoomi kept to himself.

A few days had pass since the incident.

You were now rushing into the train station, running through the stairs to get to the next ride home. As you tried to squeeze between all the people in line, you completely stopped in your tracks as you saw a familiar figure resting at the doors.

Kiyoomi was angrily leading into the glass, his pretty face covered in a black surgical mask.

You thought to yourself: Should you take the ride? Could you bear all the embarrassment? The doors opened, people went in and out, but you were there. Standing.

As the doors were about to close, Sakusa handed out his arm, grabbing your own with enough force to drag you into the train. You stomped face first into the boys chest.

The people in the train were moving, everyone was too overwhelmed with the lack of air and space. You could even fell the boy's rapid heartbeat as you leaned onto him. You nervously looked up, and Sakusa's legs wavered seeing you in such position: Looking up to him, with your pretty doe eyes and red cheeks. You looked helpless.

— Sorry.- You said as you tried to turn around, seeing him clearly uncomfortable with the closeness. Sakusa opened his eyes, alarmed.

In your sweet, empty mind, giving him your back, was far better than seeing his black eyes piercing down your skull, of course! But now, your ass was fully against his crotch and Kiyoomi's thoughts were racing uncontrollably. He could sense the warm your body emited, the way your breath hitched once you realized the compromising position.

Kiyoomi sighed, trying to calm down.

Of course something like this could happened to him. His sweet little crush was with her ass pressed against his cock, with her skirt all riled up and legs trembling.

— Sorry.- You repeated nervously. The boy ducked his neck down, murmuring into your ear.

— That's everything you say? Sorry?- Your cheeks flushed in the darkest shade of red. How dumb could you be? Of course he hated you! You ruined his shirt a few days ago, and now, you were invading his personal space. You were probably Sakusa's least favorite person to be squeezed in a crowded train right now.

— I'm sorry.- Sakusa frowned, obviously frustrated at your attitude. You were truly the dumbest girl out there. Your voice was sounding like you were about to cry at any moment.

Suddenly, someone pushed him from behind, making him cage your body even more than before. Conveniently, his hands gripped into your hips for support, because of course, Kiyoomi would use a situation like this in his favor!

It was, brief, almost silent, but he heard the prettiest little whine coming from you, and as the sneaky pervert he was, his cock began straining into his pants. Closing his eyes, he tried and tried to not act like the pervert he was.

— Excuse me.

— I- It's okay. I'm the one pressing into you after all, haha.

Were you that dumb? His hard cock was resting against the curve of your ass and his hands were squeezing your hips with enough force to leave bruises. How that could be your fault?

The doors flung wide open and some people left the train to welcome even more. Time passed and Kiyoomi's position didn't budge, if not, it only became worse.

One of his hands carefully lowered to your butt, excusing himself with something along the lines of "I can't move" He used the closeness in his favor, touching your ass and thighs while your breath hitched in your throat and your cheeks burned. You couldn't process what was actually happening, at first you were embarrassed to share such a situation with him, but deep down, you knew how much you were enjoying it.

— You good?- Kiyoomi knew the question was dumb. Your trembling thighs and rapid breathing were saying everything he needed to know.

Suddenly, he stopped.

He had enough fun, he told himself. Because if he tried to test his luck even further, you could possibly get mad and start yelling at him. But surprisingly, you began to move your ass slowly in his crotch, excusing yourself, trying to say that it was all an accident.

You thought you were sly with it, but Sakusa knew best.

He laughed, seeing how his long time crush was a pervert herself. You were actually enjoying it! Getting groped in a crowded train, with all the people there possibly watching... Disgusting! Truly disgusting!

Kiyoomi lowered his hand once again, caressing your inner thighs with his fingers and finally, finally touching your entrance through your underwear.

— Oh, this is your stop.- He quickly said as the doors opened, regaining his senses and distancing himself from you.

Oh, he messed up.

How could he know that this was your stop? You never mentioned it to him before, not even once.

Sakusa nervously looked at you, expecting a dumbfounded gaze, or at least a question, but he was surprised with not only a flustered expression but with a relaxing fact: You didn't even notice it.

Nodding shyly, you tried to left the train as the black haired boy lowered the back of your skirt.

You left the station dissapointed, with sticky thighs and wet underwear.

[small-sinclair]

Hii!!

Sinclair brothers react about it's time to wake up but S/O don't want to get up just want to stay in bed and sleep

Thank you and have a good day!!!❤️

Hewo, friend! Thank your for the request :3

I'm also going to add Reggie and Brahms, too.

Slashers with an s/o that doesn't want to leave bed.

Bo: Snuggles

"Darlin', I know ya hate mornin's but ya need to let go of my arm," he drawls, tapping your shoulder to let go. "I got things to do, an' I need your help wit' puttin' up a new welcome sign."

Y/n's hand takes Bo's arm and pulls it back into their grasp. They sigh tiredly and drift back to sleep. Bo just signs and lays back down with them and nuzzles into their chest. "Okay, honey. Twenty more minutes an' we move."

Bo said this about two hours ago. Now, he and his s/o are snuggled under the covers once more, Bo kissing their head and hands. Maybe it's a good idea to take the morning off.

Vincent: Works anyways

He knows you don't get up right away, and he's okay with that. Vincent is already dressed and working on his art when you stumble out of the little bedroom off the side of the basement and lean against him. Vincent knows you stay up late sometimes with your own work, but he just wants your to feel well rested with everything. He looked over as you rest your head on his shoulder. Both of you listen to the opera music play as you watch him work with his hands.

He puts his tools down and pats his lap, motioning for you to sit. You do, and he holds your waist as you play with his hair.

"Sorry I slept in later," you whispered, sleep still hanging in your voice.

He shakes his head as he starts rubbing your back. At least you're somewhat awake for him to give you some loving by kissing your hand and cheek, his lone eye admiring your sleepy-filled eyes.

Lester: Passenger Royalty

He was able to wiggle out of your grasp and get dressed to leave for work. He normally leaves before the sun comes up, so he knows you won't be awake. Today is different, however.

Lester wakes you up with kisses and nudging your gently like a puppy. "Sweet pea? Do ya wanna wake up?"

"No," you murmur as you started back to sleep.

He raises a brow and kisses your forehead. "How 'bout ya come wit' me today? If we leave now, we can get that fast food breakfast ya lik'?" He kisses you again. "An' Starbucks from the next town over? Headin' 'at way anyhow 'cause I gotta report from the sheriff two deer down."

You think it over. "C'n I be in my fuzzy pants all day? And not leave the truck?" You asked, blinking some sleep away.

"Be my passenger royalty, darlin'," he conformed. "Deal?"

You smile sleepily and kiss him sleepily. "Grab my blanket and pillow, too. I might sleep."

Brahms: The Nervous

Brahms gets scared when y/n doesn't get up at their normal time. He moves from his room and goes through the wall tunnels to find them still in their bed with the covers over their head. He saw this once when he was younger when someone was sick and dying.

Brahms comes to y/n's side of the bed and shakes them slightly. "Wake up," he whispers. "Please, wake up? Get up?" His child voice fills the dusty air as his nerves take over. "Why aren't you getting up?"

Y/n stirs and parts their eyes. Without saying anything, they pulls Brahms into their chest and lay them back down in bed.

"Y/n sick?" Brahms ask.

"No," they answer as they start going back to sleep. "Just a lazy day." Y/n looks down at Brahms and carefully takes off his mask to steal a kiss. "Does Brahms wanna join y/n on this lazy day?"

Even though it doesn't go in his normal schedule, Brahms nods and snuggles into their arms, sighing softly. They should have more lazy days.

Reggie: Comes back and Joins

Reggie wakes up and kisses your forehead. You normally wake up with him, but he noticed that you were extra tired today from last night's date. He smiled in your hair and kisses you once more, causing you to follow his lips to kiss him back.

"Go'morning, honeydew," he says lightly. "I gots some deliveries ta do. Promise 'll be back by lunch."

"Bring food?" You murmur, kissing his arm. "Please?"

He smiles and rests his head against yours. "Reckon so, beauty." HE looks at the clock then back at you. "I promise ta bring bac' sum burgers and curly fries from 'at dinner yous like." Reggie squeezes your head the sits up to leave.

When he comes back and sees you still in bed, he'll smile and place the bags on the counter. He takes off his boots and hands his hat before climbing in bed and pulls you into his chest, kissing your head. Soon, he joins you and drifts back to sleep, holding you close.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Treat You 1

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, violence, mentions of abuse, other dark elements. Proceed with caution. (Tall!reader)

Note: Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

You stumble out into the hallway, nearly colliding with the dingy and peeling paint on the wall. The door slams with the force of your frantic exit, nails bending painfully as you let go of the brass knob. Your heart pulses in your ears as another crash bangs from inside the apartment and your father's tirade blazes on.

You untangle your bag, the only thing you could snatch as you stepped halfway into your shoes. The doorknob twists again and you quickly flee down the hall, your father yanking at the door as it jams. You quickly veer down the staircase and only stop at the top of the next flight to pull your shoes on all the way.

You catch your breath at the front door, aware of how Mrs. Davis’ door snaps shut when you pass. You continue outside without a destination in mind. You could hide out at the library again, no one notices you there. It is a bit far to walk.

You sling the crochet bag over your head so it hangs against your hip. You reach inside and find your change purse. You don't have much after the electric bill. Two bucks, it's three to get the bus.

You huff and tuck your hand back in your bag. Your feet carry you as you wind down the street. The apathetic rush of traffic makes you feel invisible. You don't mind that, it's more dangerous to be seen.

There's nothing remarkable about you. You're taller than most girls but that's more worthy of ridicule than admiration. You wear second-hand clothing, some of it your dad's handmedowns, and hunch until your spine hurts. An elephant trying to play fawn.

You chew your lip and stop by the vintage shop. Not the Goodwill but the expensive place with the designer houndstooth and Louis Vuitton logos. In another world…

Across the street, a night club stands desolate and eerie in the daylight. A few times you passed during opening and it was rowdy and flashing. Just on your way to the bus station to spend a couple hours on a bench.

On the next street, a cafe. The place that closed then opened only weeks later. New ownership but everything else the same. The prices aren't as steep as the Starbucks kiosk near the station.

You ponder it, stopping outside as you see a woman behind the counter. You're a bit relieved it's not the usual barista. That guy with reddish hair and warm brown eyes. He likes to talk, too bad you don't.

You enter and approach the till. The woman greets you brightly, her eyes look tired, and she points out to the specials. Nope, you can only afford a tea.

You pay for the green tea and way for her to pour the hot water. As you tap your fingers on the counter, another figure appears from behind the espresso machine. It's that guy. Dang.

“Hey, done break, your turn,” he chirps, quieting as he sees you standing there. He smiles, “oh, hi, you been helped?”

You nod and look down. The woman places the cup of steaming water in front of you. You thank her and take it, turning to claim the seat in the corner.

You sit and settle in with your bag in your lap. You don't have much to do so you stare out the window. Pedestrians pass by, with purpose, some even happily.

The cafe is quiet. There's a couple nesr the opposite wall, on a date, maybe. The ambiance holds even as people come in, ordering and leaving with their drinks.

You blow on your tea and sip. You tug the string of the bag and dip it up and down. Your dad will tire himself out soon. Maybe two hours. You can't make one tea last that long.

You put your arm on the table and curl your shoulders. You trace a finger on the tabletop. You usually keep a book in your bag but you took it out to read last night.

You frown. It shouldn't be like this but that's just how it is. You don't have much of a choice. Your dad is your family, your only family, all you have.

You wiggle your nose and swallow back your self-pity. No use crying. Especially here.

“Hi,” the voice frightens you as the barista approaches with a cinnamon bun on a plate, “uh, I'm Peter, remember? Saw you last week?”

You blink. You press your palms to the cup and feel the heat threaten to blister. He's short, his shoulders broad, and his posture straight.

“Er, you want a cinnamon bun?”

“I… no, I don't have the money,” you rasp and sip your tea.

“On the house,” he insists, “really, there was a mix up this morning and we made a batch too many.”

“That's nice but… no thank you.”

You know what it is to accept favours. They always come back to debts. You lower your head again.

“You don't like sweets? We have quiche–”

You shake your head. He hovers, waiting. You turn to watch out the window again. You wince as the plate clinks onto the table. He leaves the bun there and goes back behind the counter. You ignore it.

Maybe you won't come here anymore.

[yougavemeyourheartyouknow]

On thin ice (Hockey player! Miguel O’Hara x Figure skater! Fem! Reader)

A/N: Im in a fucking rollllll. This series is my current hyper fixation and since I don’t really have an uploading schedule I just do it whenever lol. Also I LOOOVE reading all of y’all comments, they’re funny and they warm my heart. Y’all got me kicking my feet, giggling, blushing, twirling my hair. Anyways, apologies for If Miguel’s ooc and any spelling mistakes and grammatical errors since this isn’t proofread. Y’all may feast lol.

(Y/N)- Your name.

Cursing, angst.

Word count: 1.4k

Series Masterlist

Chapter 4: Are there some aces up your sleeve?

—

“(Y/N), that is the 4th time you messed up the Camel spin today. If you can’t do it then we’ll just take it out of the program-“

“No! No, I can do it coach! I’m just having an off day and-“

“That’s not an excuse. Regionals are in late October, it is September. There shouldn’t be any excuse, we’re been doing this on repeat. This should be muscle memory.”

Coach Kavinsky words were only twisting the knife. You brought your shaky hands up to cover your nose and mouth, attempting to warm your face a bit and keep yourself from sobbing. Ever since you woke up in the morning everything has gone to shit. You failed your exam in your math class, on your way to your english class, you tripped and dropped your Starbucks, causing it to spill all over your shoes, and now you kept messing up the program. Logan could tell you were mere minutes away from a breakdown, your eyes were wet and your breathing was rapid, partly from skating and partly because you were trying to keep an oncoming panic attack at bay. “I-I can do it! I can do it, I just need a minute-“ you stutter and stumbles over your words, you bring your gloved hands over your face and placing them on the top of your hands.

“I think we should take a break coach, (Y/N) just needs to get some fresh air, right (Y/N)?” Logan said in a calm voice as the put his hand on your shoulder, but you quickly shook it off.

“No, it’s okay I can do it. See?” You were going hysterical, getting into position to do the spin only to fail the spin and fall butt first on the ice. Okay now you were having a breakdown.

“Jesus… okay. Logan take her outside, help her calm down will you?” Coach Kavinsky said to Logan who just nodded, waiting for you to move to your knees to help you get up and out of the rink.

—

“I-I don’t know what’s wrong with me today…” You stuttered in between shallow breaths, Logan’s hand rubbing slow smooth circles on your back in an attempt to help you calm down. “I’ve- I’ve never had trouble with that spin before- I just- I-“ you couldn’t finish, you’re stutters just devolving into more sobs as you put your face into your partner’s chest, tears spilling out. “I’m getting your shirt all wet…” You managed to say with a small chuckle as you pulled away after a few minutes, but the laugh was devoid of any warmness or joy. Your hand wiping some left over tears from your cheeks.

“It’s fine, I’m more worried about my best friend.” Logan said with a small smile, the hand that was rubbing your back now tracing up to your shoulders and pulling you closer to him in a side hug, you let out a small sigh as you laid your head on his shoulder.

“Thanks Logan… I’m sorry… I’m a totally mess…” You mumbled as you wipe some more tears away, your eyes red and puff, a headache slowly creeping up on you from all the crying.

—

“Why… the fuck my is Ice princess and her little skating partner so close…” Miguel thought as he got out car, slamming the door without realizing as he glares at you and Logan from his spot across the parking lot. You or Logan hadn’t seen him since you were both so far away, and were more focused on trying to calm you down, Miguel was too far to noticed your tear stained face.

“Damn Miguel, dent the door why don’t you.” Peter attempted to joke while getting out from the passenger seat but his voice faltered, letting out a nervous chuckle after. Peter already knew the team was gonna be used as Miguel’s personal stress ball for the entirety of the practice time. Miguel just sent a glare at him in response, a small grunt escapes his lips as both of them grab their bags and hockey sticks from the back seat. “You seem more mad than usual, wanna talk about it? Or are you just gonna “accidentally” slam half the team into the boards like always?” He probes his captain, but he already knew his answer. Everyone on the team knew that Miguel isn’t a talk-about-your-feelings person.

“Shut up Parker.” He mutters as he slings his bag on his shoulders, closing and locking the door before both males started to make their way to the entrance. You currently burying your face into Logan’s shoulder, so Miguel couldn’t see your face, and Logan’s head was resting on top of yours, his arm still over your shoulders, his thumb creasing small circles on your shoulder. As soon as you were in ear-shot, Miguel shouted out to you both. “Aww look at the two lovebirds!” His voice dripping with sarcasm to hid the slight anger and jealousy he felt.

“I’m not in the mood, Miguel…” You’re voice was horse and raspy, as you spoke, and your eyes were bloodshot and puffy when you lifted your head up to look at him. The sight made Miguel’s heart ache, but the way your body was so close to Logan’s made it fill with rage and envy a lot more.

“She’s having a bad day, can we save-“ Logan started but was swiftly cut off.

“And that’s my problem because?” He hissed, eyes narrowing. “What’s wrong huh? Did he drop you on your back again? Or was it something stupid like missing up a spin?” He taunted with a head tilt, Logan glared at Miguel, his hand’s grip tightening on your shoulder, Peter just nervously shifted his weight back and forth between his feet and you, well you were trying not to burst into tears again. He made it sound a lot more simple then it felt like, it made you feel embarrassed for being so distraught about it. He had no way of knowing that’s actually the reason for your tears.

“Can you not be a dick for 5 minutes?” You ask with an exhausted dry laugh, the laugh was your body’s way of holding yourself back from beginning to sob again. Your hand goes up to wipe some smuggled mascara from under your eyes. “Everything has been so fucking shitty all day, I-I don’t need you to come her and kick me while I’m down, Okay?” Your voice cracked as you spoke, and it only made Miguel feel worse.

You were right, he was acting like a major jerk right now. God what is wrong with him? Here you were in such a vulnerable place, your heart laying bare in front of him, and instead of making you feel better, instead of making your chest full with warmth and reassurance, he grabbed your still beating heart and began to feast on it like it was that night’s dinner.

God. What the fuck Miguel? What the fuck? What the fuck. Whatthefuck. Whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck-

“Alright,” Coach Kavinsky came outside, crossing her arms as she spoke. “I’m just gonna cut practice short, it’s almost over anyways.” She said to Logan and you, before turning to you and speaking to you directly, “Go home, get some rest, and don’t stress yourself out too much over this, alright (Y/N?) Tomorrow is a new day, a fresh start, don’t let this one bad practice ruin your confidence in the program.” She finished, you just shook your head at her before she turned around and walked back into the building.

“Alright… let’s get you inside…” Logan said to you in a low comforting tone, getting off the sidewalk before helping you up, and began to walk you inside.

Miguel Let out a Heavy sigh, glancing to his side, running a hand through his slicked back dark hair, before attempting to speak, “Look. Princes-“ but he quickly shut his mouth when Logan looked over at him and sent him a dark glare, not stopping as he grabs your hand and drags you inside. If looks could kill, Miguel would be six feet under.

After a beat of silence, Peter cleared his throat before speaking, “well…that’s one way of trying to get her to notice you, nice going Miguel.” If Miguel didn’t already plan on releasing all his confused feelings and frustrations out on the ice before, he sure as hell was going to now. Miguel sent Peter a glare, mumbling some curses under his breath in Spanish , before he began to go walk into the arena, Peter stumbling to catch up with him.

—

Taglist: @tayleighuh @cowboylikeevie @coralineyouareinterribledanger @jukioku @loser-alert @migueloharaspookiebear @serpentstarr @littlexscarletxwitch

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter One Two

TW : Abuse of authority, alpha male, sexual harassment, the word “no” is not in this man’s vocabulary, nsfw, angst, forced proximity

After a hellish 24 hour shift, you’re starting to think you should have taken him up on his offer. Give me a foot rub then get the fuck out. However, it most definitely would not have ended at only a foot rub. You know yourself too well to think you can keep your grubby hands off that man in any sort of private, intimate setting. Yeah, you’re staying the hell away from Ludlow. 

It’s gross, but you don’t even take a shower, and pass out cold on the couch as soon as your rat's nest of hair hits the throw pillow. 

Dark, honey eyes welcome you to the land of unconsciousness. The place where you can’t control your disobedient vagina so easily. And, apparently, she liked Tom Ludlow a lot. Especially his hands. Fuck. Thick fingers, surprisingly gentle and teasing, tucking up inside you, coaxing at that sweet little spot you can’t quite get at on your own. His mouth swallowing your moans, tongue licking urgently against your teeth, practically eating you alive. Something hard and velvet pressed against your thighs. 

A loud knock wakes you up in the same position you started at. Face down on the couch, except now feeling even grosser because of the slick arousal between your legs. You stumble to the door, pull it open. It’s Ms. Higgs, your sweet next door neighbor. 

“Oh, hello, y/n, I heard…. Yelling? Is everything okay?” 

You look at her stupidly. “Yelling….?”

“Yes, it sounded like you were in distress. Sorry, is this a bad time?” She eyes your just-got-hit-by-a-semi-truck appearance, complete with gore and all. 

Oh. The dream. Oh… oh. You feel yourself freeze despite the embarrassed heat warming your skin. “Uh.” Yes, great, make her think you’re out of your mind. You try a terse smile. “Oh. Sorry. I had a long shift and I must have been having a nightmare.” 

How in the hell did you pass nursing school?

Thank God she looks like she wants to leave as soon as possible. “Right. Well.” Clears her throat. “I’m glad you’re okay. Have a good day.” She moves fast for an older woman, shutting herself back into the apartment next door before you can bid goodbye. 

Your neighbor now hates you, and you’re definitely blaming Ludlow for it. 

Shower, eat, masturbate. No, wait. Masturbate, then eat. No. Eat first so then you can masturbate as many times as it takes to get Mr. I’m a Pretty, Dark Eyed Cop With Huge Hands - 

You have to literally pinch yourself to stop this train of thought from turning into a derailed crash. 

Your plans fail miserably, and that is actually Ludlow’s fault, but you refuse to admit it. At least you’re eliminating two steps at once with the handy dandy shower head.

And then again after you eat. And then again in your bed. And, damn, you really need to invest in a vibrator like Sheila told you to do a long time ago. 

You don’t consider yourself a prude by any means; there’s just no time for adult toys or one night stands. Your job, more often than not, consumes your life, and you like it that way. The fast pace, the interesting medical anomalies you get to see, your funny coworkers, cute and oh so nice Dr. Julian who brings you all Starbucks on Sundays. You usually pick up more shifts than you’re scheduled, fueled by rising violent crime rates in the inner cities. There is a satisfaction in bringing someone back from the dead, especially someone young with their whole life ahead of them. Grim Reaper? Psh. Kiss my ass. 

***

Sometimes you need a break, and these next two days you have off are going to be that time away. 

Except, on the second day, you’re bored, so you end up going in for an eight hour shift. 

You have a bad habit of not viewing your patient’s info before you get into their exam room, favoring the ol’ fashioned method of actually looking at the person instead of a computer. As soon as you walk into your next assigned room, however, you vow to change your messy bitch ways. Handsome Cop - the one you refuse to admit you spent two full days rubbing yourself off to - sits on the cot, grinning at you like the cat that caught the mouse. 

You do feel a little bit like a tiny mouse under that hefty stare, scurrying in and going right to the computer so you don’t have to make eye contact longer than necessary - well, long enough for ruined underwear. 

“Hey.” 

“Hello, did your stitches come open?” You try to maintain a strictly professional voice, but you can tell by the sharpening of his grin it’s not working. 

“What? You’re not gonna fight with me today?” 

“Do nurses fight people where you’re from?” Here you are, playing into his game. Stupid. 

“There she is.” 

Your jaw tightens. “What are you being seen for, Mr. Ludlow?”

“Ouch, surnames? Really?”

“Surprised you know what that big word means.”

His gorgeous eyebrow cocks as he looks around the monitor at you, and you tuck yourself further behind the computer to hide. 

“Okay, okay.” He puts his hands up in surrender. Well, he puts his right hand up. His left can only rise so far into the air. “Yeah, I tore them.” 

“Can you show me?” 

He strips his shirt, revealing a long, toned torso that belongs in X-rated cinema instead of bed number 3 at the South Bay General ED. 

“Have you ever heard the phrase, close your mouth or you’ll catch flies?” He asks. 

“It’s actually, shut your mouth or you’ll catch flies.” 

“Okay, how about this one: My eyes are up here, darling.”

First of all, you didn’t even look at his bare chest that much. He’s definitely exaggerating. Second of all, well - ugh - second of all fuck you, Ludlow. 

His stitches are busted open right in the middle. You have to unstick the bloody dressing carefully and then spray the center with some antiseptic. 

“You should be more careful.” Is it just you or does he smell different tonight? Less sweat and copper, more spice and cardamon.

You do your best to shake it off. Plenty of men wear cologne everyday–it doesn’t mean he got cleaned up just for you. 

“I don’t really have anyone to be careful for.”

“Get a dog?” 

“What’s your favorite color?” 

“What why? I don’t know, blue?” 

“So I can pick out a collar you’ll like.” 

He’s joking, but the feral urge to jam your thumb right into his tearing wound is palpable. 

He realizes he fucked up when you don’t have a witty retort. 

“Oh, fuck. I didn’t mean that you’re a bitch.” If you’re giving him credit, he at least looks sorry. And sorry looks far too good on him. The big grinning Doberman turns into a wide eyed puppy dog and it makes your heart squeeze tighter. “I’m sorry. I just meant - hey, hey.” He tips your chin up so you can see the apology in his softened eyes. “I’m an asshole.” 

You flick his hand away. “Don’t touch me.” 

He must be hard of hearing, because he dwarfs your arm in his grip and pulls you closer. “C’Mon, little nurse. Now you have to let me make it up to you. Let me buy you a fancy dinner or something.” 

Pulling away is not an option, so you come up with a better idea. “Okay, fine. I will. If you can answer one question.”

He looks delighted by this. “Try me.”

“What’s my name?” 

You relish the sight of his smile wiping clean. The big grin transfers from his face to yours. 

“Seriously?”

“Well?” It’s your turn to raise a cocky eyebrow.

He tries to flip your badge frontward, but you slap his hand away. He’s quick, catches your wrist, pulls you closer so that your body is pressing into his calves, traps both of your hands in one of his and spins the badge so that he can see your picture and name. He repeats it, first and last, grins back with a vengeance. This little tussle really bruises your ego, because it doesn’t even seem like you made him wince or falter even once.

“Cheater,” you snarl. 

“Takes one to know one.” 

“Let me go.” 

“Make me.” 

“I’ll scream.” 

“Oh yeah you will.” He winks. 

Fucking sexy bastard. 

“Want those stitches worse or better?” You threaten. 

“I don’t really care,” he shrugs, eyes light with humor. “Just did it to come see you anyway.” 

“You tore your own stitches?” 

“No. Someone else did after I insulted their mother.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.” 

You put him back together once again (you might have to start calling this man Humpty Dumpty, that will put him in his place) and start to peel off your gloves. “So when can I pick you up?” he asks, those dark eyes shining like high-polished ebony. 

“Half past never?”

“Hey, we had a deal.”

“We did, but then you cheated. Manhandling me at work is a major disqualification.”

“Pretty sure you liked it,” he fires back with a smirk.

You sigh, propping a hand on your hip, because he’s not wrong. You’re more than a little touch starved at the moment, and you’re sure the ease with which he manhandled you will haunt your dreams (your poor neighbor!) and fuel your fantasies for weeks to come. But there’s just something about this guy that warns you not to give in this easily. He feels…a little dangerous. To your physical health, or your personal sanity, you’re not sure. 

“Please try to be more careful with your stitches, Mr. Ludlow. Have a nice day.”

Understanding that he’s being dismissed, he stands, one step in the small room bringing him right in front of you–and boy, does he tower over you. You try to conceal how very much you like that, but fear you betray yourself in the shaky exhale that escapes you. “I’m just going to keep coming back,” he tells you, seeming far too pleased by the idea. 

“For your own health, I certainly hope you don’t.”

“I’m in a dangerous line of work. All sorts of things can happen.”

You pick up what he’s putting down pretty quick, and it annoys the shit out of you. “If you get yourself hurt on purpose, that is not on me.”

“Then save me some pain, sweetheart. Didn’t you take an oath or something? Do no harm?”

“That’s doctors. I took a pledge to practice my profession faithfully–which I’m doing. Didn’t you? What happened to ‘Serve and Protect?’”

“Sure thing. And I keep my oaths too.” The weight with which he looks at you makes something warm and uncomfortable coil in your belly, radiating outwards to your fingers and toes. 

A man who keeps his promises? 

Never heard of him. 

You are too young to be this jaded, but maybe it’s better that you learned the hard lessons quicker than most. Maybe it will save you some pain in the interim. Avoiding this utterly edible man in front of you probably falls into that category. 

You stand silently, waiting for him to leave. He seems to find this funny as hell, and tips an imaginary cap down at you. “See you soon, y/n.” 

You hope not, but you’re afraid that’s a promise he’ll keep. 

[aggro-my-beloved]

Trash Polka (AsherxBabe)

note: this hasn’t been fully looked over/edited so if you notice my mistakes just pretend you don’t. k thx.

summary: *doodles that a person draws on themselves will appear on their soulmate’s skin* [babe is tired of wearing hoodies in summer, and leggings in the spring. but their soulmate seems too caught up in his career to mind leaving little notes and drawings on their skin, rather than revealing himself. babe DOESN’T take matters into their own hands, but they soon won’t be covered by a mod-podge of their soulmate’s scribbles. one can hope, at least.]

pairing(s): AsherxBabe (romantic), AsherxDavid (platonic)

warning(s): none

word count: 1.4k

estimated reading time: 7 mins

taglist: @ther3alsweetheart @darlin-collins @professionallyyappinabtangst @elles-roses @ashertickler mwah

“GLOVES AGAIN? IT’S A HUNDRED degrees outside.” Katherine quips from her desk. As usual, Babe’s morning is all swearing and stumbles through the office building as they don a more than modest collection of clothing.

“I think it’s a hundred and one, actually.” Vinny chortles from his cubicle. Since turning down his invitation to be his plus one at the office holiday party the year prior, he’s been more prone to poke fun at them. Babe illustrates the smirk tugging at his lips and fantasizes ripping it clean off his visage while preparing for another busy morning. Bag strap on the back of their chair. The largest iced coffee Starbucks could provide them on the ceramic coaster gifted by Katherine, which reads some motivational slogan Babe would be caught dead uttering in any unironic fashion.

“I still don’t know how you manage to work like that.” Their colleague’s tone is the perfect balance of judgment and concern; a siren song can draw the most taboo answers from anyone she crosses paths with. Babe is aware of this, and yet they still respond. Katherine is approachable, but isn’t as prone to flapping her lips compared to others who lurk in the office.

“I told you before, Kat, I get cold easily. Low iron, and stuff.” Babe clears their throat and wiggles their chair closer to the computer before them. A few minutes pass, and they flicker their eyes between the two cubicles on either side of them, harboring a yapping Vinny on his phone, and Katherine engrossed in her bookkeeping tasks. Babe’s movement is subtle as they sink lower in their chair, and stretch their arms beneath their desktop to flick on the fan to its highest setting. Another glance back and forth. More nonsense gabs from Vinny. Even more sounds of filing papers from Katherine. They are sandwiched in a personal hell, but the heavy dress pants and turtleneck strangling their figure may be to blame for that.

Relieving wool gloves from their hands has grown to be an orgasmic experience for Babe. One of the few things they miss about working remotely is the pleasure of joining video meetings half-naked, and feel content with the fact that their colleagues are none the wiser about what their lower half is lacking. In this office full of prying eyes and passive-aggressive chatter, though, the simple act of baring their hands fills them with equal amounts of pleasure and shame of a lambasted stripper.

Babe’s eyes cascade over the swoops and strikes of black ink on skin, written in their spoken language but still holding no significant meaning—the lines embedded in their palm act as lines on ruled paper.

Sm Tourn @ Davey’s Fri 8

Buy milk, almost out

DO NOT DRINK MILK IN FRIDGE!

For whatever reason, the person who left these notes for themself also found it apropos to doodle a smiley face below the crease of their thumb. Babe stiffens at the tickling sensation on their opposite hand and draws their attention toward the writing slowly appearing on it. It’s messier than chicken scratch with some typos, like every other message this person leaves for them to discover, but Babe’s witnessed these messages long enough to decode them, or at the very least, try to.

The first time their parents discovered the writing on their skin, it couldn’t have come at a worse time. They were freshly tween, overflowing with naivety and curiosity, and they assumed their anonymous messenger was too. Babe’s father clocked them at the dinner table and demanded they show him their hand, where a “naughty” word written in bold lettering was spelled out on four out of five of their knuckles. Any excuse Babe mustered in that moment would have been a lie because they were still clueless as to how random notes appeared on their skin, or who the person writing them was.

They chalked it off as a word they heard from their classmates, but it didn’t satisfy their parents in the slightest. Babe missed a whole week's worth of Pokémon and Spongebob on the family television and held that grudge for as long as they could remember. But with no face or name to target their anger towards, they learned that stewing was pointless. Soapy water was the obvious solution in Babe’s mind. Just scrub hard enough and there would be no proof, right? Wrong. Whatever mystical power is embedded in this ink, or Babe’s skin, allows it to last twenty-four hours when fighting against soap, stain sticks, or even concealer. From that point on, Babe wrestled themselves into floor-length bottoms and long-sleeves up until high school graduation.

They’ve struggled falling asleep at night, trying to view this anomaly as a “gift”. Nobody else they’ve come across has poorly drawn Star Trek characters or names of midwest emo bands littering their epidermis like a composition notebook. Not to mention the person distributing these excerpts of their life–who are they? Do they know they’re capable of something like this? Do they even know Babe exists, and ponders the consequences of this condition in their life, and cries at the reminder that they can never purchase that crop top on sale or be stared at walking down the beach with a sweatshirt on?

Babe is broken out of their spiraling thoughts by Madelyn’s request to fetch the mail from the lobby. They didn’t catch the particular reason, but their ears perked up at the words “big check we need to run.” Babe feels invisible strings urging their eyes to roll and fights them, seizing the pair of gloves and bustling towards the nearest elevator. Once upon a time, Babe would take any excuse to waltz down the seventeen flights of stairs to dilly dally. But that was before their thoughts became consumed with dying of heat stroke between concrete walls and cotton layers.

Babe finds solace in the empty elevator, and decides to savor the feeling of bare hands in every way imaginable by cracking their knuckles, reaching them up to the fluorescent lights of the lift and drenching their skin in the gleam. In seconds, they become clenched fists, clammy and unresponsive at the sound of quickly approaching steps and voice growing in volume.

“Look, I know I left the stove on. I’m sorry, buddy. It was just a little flare up...” In a panic, Babe reaches forward to jab the button to close the doors, and halts at the sight of their hand, covered in more scribbles than before. They reduce themself into the corner, hastily cloaking their hands with the gloves. Amidst putting on the second one, the voice introduces its body in the picture as it squeezes through the elevator doors right before they shut. His phone is situated between his ear and shoulder, as he shuffles through the large stack of paperwork between his hands.

His hands…

Look just like…

“Bye buddy, love you!” His blonde hair swishes against his forehead as he cranes his neck down to end the call. “He’s really trying to turn me into that guy who’s being super loud on their phone in the elevator.” While pocketing his phone, Babe’s eyes follow his hands, scribbled in black. He retrieves a pen from behind his ear, uncaps it with his mouth and lets the ballpoint make contact with his skin before he begins writing. Babe feels the familiar tickle, but is too in shock to respond. Halfway through his latest entry, he shakes the pen violently with a grunt. “Damn, this thing’s getting low on ink.”

Through his peripheral vision, the blonde peeks over at the second set of hands in the elevator, and notices some writing peeking out from the half-worn glove overtaking Babe’s left hand. “Another avid notetaker, I see. My friends can’t stand it when I write on my skin. They say it's a one way trip to ink poisoning. But it’s saving the trees, right?” Again, the nervous chuckle floats through the space, and then awkward silence. Babe’s lips remain parted in awe, too caught up in the current revelation to grab hold of anything as the elevator’s motor stutters and comes to a sudden halt. Before they could tumble to the floor, his coated hands caught them amidst their teetering. Blue eyes pooling with an intimidating level of concern, stare them down.

“Aw man, I think the elevator got stuck. Hey, are you alright?” The eyes flicker down, and the man appears to harbor the same revelation as Babe when he further inspects the writing on their hand. At least, they thought…

“No way! You like Star Trek too?”

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