#Can't wait to get home from work so I can draw more of this boy already

[hummingmuggle-oldaccount]

[bedoballoons]

Yandere Tighnari, Venti, lyney, Freminet and Aether finding out Reader isn't really into short guys They're into someone bigger and taller {{Itto For Aether, Alhaitham for Tighnari, Nevillete for both Lyney and Freminet and Zhongli for Venti}}

I READ THIS AND WAS LIKE YESSSSSS!!! (As a short person I find this hilarious and your idea is literally genius!) I hope you enjoy and thank you so much for your request!

─⊰⁠⊹ฺ✿𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤⊰⁠⊹ฺ✿─

{༻~Just not that into short bois~༺}

CW: Yandere themes!, characters are obsessive to the point of wanting to harm others so they can't take you, unrequited love, intense jealousy, mild angst! Lyney makes Neuvillette disappear! Also this is much longer than I meant it to be...what can I say, I like yanderes!

(Includes: Lyney, Tighnari, Venti, Freminet, and Aether!)

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

𑁍༄Lyney:

Lyney had been told no many times in his life,in fact he couldn't even count how many people said he could never be a famous magician...and yet he'd proved every single one of them wrong. He simply couldn't stand not working towards something everyone else claimed was impossible, because in his eyes anything was possible, so when you confided in him about your feelings towards Neuvillette and stated that you found him more charming because of his height, even going so far as to mention you didn't really like short men as much...he just couldn't give up so easily.

He was madly in love with you, to the point it had become more than obsession, he'd seek you out anytime he'd left his home and any show he'd make sure to wink at you the moment his eyes met yours, he was so head over heels for you that he was physically unable to think about anyone or anything else. This also meant he wouldn't let anyone take you...especially just because they were taller...absolutely not.

So for his next show he planned something extra special, a magic trick truly wonderful in everyway...and as the crowd cheered, watching in awe when the box that had contained the chief of justice disappeared before their very eyes...none of them were aware he wouldn't show back up again...at least not for along while. Not until Lyney had found a way to make you love him, not until you...the most precious beautiful thing in all the world...was his.

𑁍༄Tighnari:

Tighnari stood next to you, his ears drooping with regret as he watched you flirt away with Alhaitham, his tall muscular figure drawing you to him like a moth to a flame...making you completely forget about the one who'd brought you together in the first place. It was like some cruel trick of fate...especially considering Tighnari had planned to confess his feelings for you that same day...and now it seemed like it would do no good..

He tapped your shoulder, not waiting for your response as he intertwined his hand with yours, pulling you away from Alhaitham as quickly as possible...and silently hoping you'd leave the whole situation at that. You on the other hand were not so happy with him, wanting desperately to continue your conversation with the handsome scribe..., "Tighnari what was that about? I was really getting along with-" He put a gloved finger to your lips, making you go quiet, his heart racing as he looked deep into your eyes.

"I love you...so much. I can't even really wrap my head around my feelings because they are so intense...it's like I need you just to keep going...like you're the thing I simply cannot live without. Even the air I breathe isn't as important as you are...." His confession was a bit much to say the least and adding to it was the kiss he placed on your forehead, causing you to jerk away from him.

"I'm sorry...but I don't feel that way for you..." Your words spilled out before you could stop them, your heart racing with fear at the change in his mannerisms...he didn't even respond...he just stood there...like he was plotting something and you...were about to find out just how crazy his love for you actually was.

𑁍༄Venti:

"I actually do have feelings for someone."

The second those words left your lips Ventis heart began to race, his mind clouded over with thoughts of you confessing to him and telling him you loved him...it was all he wanted. No, it was all he needed! He tried his best to calm himself down, taking a sip of wine before responding like someone who was completely clueless of the others feelings would, "Oh ho ho and who would that lucky person be hmm?"

A blush coated your cheeks followed by a sweet flustered smile that could make even Lord Barbatos swoon and boy was he...until you answered, "I like Mr. Zhongli~" You giggled nervously, not noticing how pale Venti went the second he heard the name...how the part of the wine bottle he'd been holding had shattered, much like his heart...you didn't even notice the hurt tone of his voice when he asked, "What does that old blockhead have that I don't?"

The question definitely took you by surprise, but you assumed he wasn't being serious and decided to answer truthfully, "Well he's a bit more refined...and I like his voice, but most of all he's so tall! I'm sorry Venti but I just can't imagine myself with someone...so tiny." The anemo archon was speechless...hatred seeping into his very being and jealousy getting the better of him. He stood up without another word and left, leaving you wondering what had happened...

𑁍༄Freminet:

Freminet was completely silent, his face bright red and burning with a rage he'd never felt before, his hands barely able to keep steady as jealousy ate away at his once calm heart heart. All he wanted was you...your love, that sweet smile that he craved to see everyday, but here you were, sitting Infront of him with this doe eyed look on your face as you fawned all over none other than the chief of justice. Mentioning more than once how tall and handsome he was, how incredible it would to have a man like him around.

"Enough."

You paused mid sentence, caught off guard by the amount of malice in his once kind sweet voice, watching as he stood up from his seat, your mouth slightly agape. You'd never seen him like this before...so angry and confident, it was scary...yet also a little exciting. After a moment of silence you'd worked up the courage to say something...but you didn't even manage to get a single word out as he grabbed the front of your shirt and pulled you harshly towards him, making you let out nothing more than a sharp gasp.

Your face went red, pure shock displaying itself on your features as he leaned in closer, his light purple eyes seemingly staring into your soul as his whispers grazed your ear, sending a shiver down your spine, "Hush now my love...you don't need him...I promise~"

𑁍༄Aether:

Aether was always there to help someone, so reliable in fact, that everyone called on him whenever there was a issue and including you, after all he'd saved you from many close calls...even saving your life a few times in the process and for that you were incredibly grateful, but alas you were still not in love with him. He on the other hand couldn't get enough of you, he just wanted to be near you all the time...be your hero and love you like nobody else ever could.

He...however wasn't the only person who could save someone and when the friendly neighborhood oni stepped in to save you, Aether was anything but pleased... especially when he saw the difference in how you acted. Yes your gratitude was the same...but you'd gotten all flustered at the onis impressive figure, touching the large man's chest while your face heated with such a strong blush and everyone around you cheered him on.

Aether was more than a little upset, suddenly understanding that he clearly wasn't your type and that he probably would never be, he just couldn't stand it! How could you, the person he'd do absolutely anything for...be so enraptured by someone else...just because they were bigger than him. No, he wouldn't let it stand, he'd fight for you, even if it meant doing things he could regret later on...it didn't matter, not anymore. You were all he cared about...all that mattered.

Just. You.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚Have a nice day*⁠.⁠✧

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Part Seven

“Hey Buddy, you got dressed.”

“Dessed,” Eddie plucks at the sleeve of the pullover, then rubs his arms, copying what Steve did to show what he meant by cold, Eddie even does a fair approximation of Steve's, ‘brrrrrr,’ sound. “Good?

Steve can see from here that the inside of his closet is a disaster; Eddie must have pulled things down while he was hunting for something to wear. Steve figures he can fix it later.

“Yeah, really good. Come on, lets make a grocery list.”

“Go-ser-eee list?”

“Yeah, all the things you like.”

Eddie follows Steve carefully down the stairs, and Steve is pretty sure he can say good bye to the sweater the second Eddie goes outside; at the very least the bottom part will be dragged along the floor everywhere Eddie goes.

Eddie pulls himself onto a seat at the breakfast nook while Steve gets a pad and a pen, “right. What would you like?”

Eddie leans forward so he can see better as Steve writes – Steve’s already listing stuff like milk and bread and coffee and cereal. “Celery. Cucumber. Peas. Apple. Grape. Pear. Many pear,” he’s watching closely, waiting while Steve writes out each word after Eddie says them.

Eddie leans an arm over the table, pointing at where Steve has just written, ‘pear’, “many,” he insists, “many pear.”

Steve crosses out ‘pear’ and writes ‘many pear’ instead, “that okay?” Steve’s sure Eddie can't read what hes writing, but he does understand the concept of ‘many pear’ being two words and not one, which means he’s grasping this whole thing really, really fast.

“Paper,” Eddie adds.

“Okay, got it. More paper.”

“Okay. Stee go out?”

“Yeah, I need to go to work, and I’ll bring the groceries home with me.”

“Go-ser-ee in work?”

“No...I have to go to work to earn money to buy groceries,” Eddie stares at Steve blankly, “wait here.” Steve comes back with his wallet, and fishes out a few dollar bills and puts them on the table, “So I go to work, and earn money,” Steve slides the dollars closer.

Eddie touches the corner of one of the notes, “one.”

“That’s right Buddy, that’s the number one. This is a one dollar bill.”

“One dollar bill.” Eddie repeats dutifully.

“So I take this,” Steve points to the bill, “to the store, and I can get an apple.”

Eddie frowns at the money, “one dollar bill in work Stee...one dollar bill in store...Stee apple?”

“Yeah, yeah buddy.”

Eddie nods, “Eddidie in work? Eddidie one dollar bill pear.”

Steve snorts a laugh at the thought of Eddie in a Family Video vest, probably shouting, ‘no,’ and, ‘bad,’ at customers who put the tapes back wrong. Steve’s pretty sure the general public could break even Eddie’s spirit.

“No buddy, you have to stay here, where it’s safe.”

“Safe,” Eddie points in the vague direction of down the hall; Steve understands what he means, Steve does the same thing to illustrate to Eddie that he’s going out, “not safe?”

“That’s right.”

“Stee not safe?” Eddie cocks his head, frowning spectacularly.

“Oh boy,” Steve sighs to himself. “Okay. Okay Buddy, out,” Steve points, “safe for me, not safe for you.”

“Why?”

And oh Steve is really starting to loath the ‘why?’

“Because...you’re different buddy,” Steve sticks a leg out and points to it, then points to Eddie’s tail where the end is curled on the floor.

Eddie frowns, but doesn’t push it any further.

Eddie’s inside when Steve gets home, and Steve’s kind of glad, it’s definitely chillier now than it was a couple of weeks ago. Eddie might have his tent, but Steve has no idea what kind of temperatures are tolerable for Eddie; he must be pretty fucking sturdy to live in the Upside Down, but still. Steve has no clue if Eddie’s just mimicking him, because Steve has told Eddie it’s cold. He doesn’t even know if Eddie feels temperature like a human. Still, he probably wouldn't be voluntarily wearing the sweater if it was making him too warm.

Eddie’s laid out on the lounge floor, his book open, surrounded by colored pencils. It looks like he’s making an attempt at drawing some sort of tree, surrounded by grass and sky. It’s not terrible; Steve can even tell pretty much what it’s supposed to be, at least.

Steve's got to tell Dustin that Eddie can definitely see color just fine.

“Hey Buddy, you want to help put your things away?”

“Eddidie help,” Eddie follows Steve into the kitchen, “idge door. Idge. Cold in idge. Pear in. Grape in. Celery in.” Eddie chatters the whole time he unpacks the paper grocery bag, narrating everything he’s doing. He eats a pear when he’s done.

“I got you more notebooks, too.”

“Paper?”

“Yeah Buddy, as much as you want.”

Steve dumps a can of spaghetti into a pot on the stove, then turns as he hears a loud scraping noise; Eddie pushing a chair across the kitchen.

“Hang on,” Steve gets it for him, moving it to the side of the stove. Eddie climbs up, sitting on his tail to make himself tall enough to watch Steve making toast and grating cheese.

“You want to try?” Steve offers the wooden spoon to Eddie.

Eddie frowns at it, “warm?”

“Many warm. Hot. Here,” Steve blows on the spoon for a moment.

Eddie leans forward and licks it. Eddie pulls an assessing face, and then finally volunteers, “good bad.”

“Yeah. I get you buddy.”

Eddie turns on the TV when they go into the lounge, Steve sits on the couch to eat, “I think the kids are coming over tomorrow. They’re coming over to watch movies.” Eddie tilts his head, “TV. The kids are coming to watch TV.”

“Max. El. Dust bin. Lu-cas. Mike. Will.”

“You got it buddy, the kids.”

“Kids. Mongrels.”

Steve laughs so hard his toast nearly slides off his plate.

Mike shoves a bag in Steve’s hands as he passes him in the doorway, “Nancy told me to bring this over for Eddie. It’s all Holly’s old stuff.”

Steve looks inside the bag and finds a couple of kids coloring books; neither of them used at all. A handwriting book, the kind where you trace the letters and numbers before doing it yourself. A very basic math book, probably for really little kids, but on the first page is a picture of four plus four, represented with two groups of four apples. Steve’s confident Eddie will like that. There’s a couple of other things, and Steve’s sure it’ll all be useful. It’s actually a great idea. One of the books has pictures of clocks, and the digital time; Steve really should teach Eddie to tell the time. Maybe he could get him a little battery clock for his tent.

“Thanks Mike.”

“Yeah whatever,” Mike grumbles, already making popcorn and generally just helping himself to Steve’s shit.

Steve sits in the middle of the couch, El to one side of him, deliberately keeping an empty space on the other. All the other kids are sprawled out on the floor, eating red vines and dipping into bowls of popcorn. Eddie’s watching from the kitchen doorway; he’s clearly still uncertain about the kids.

They’re all lying quiet though, engrossed in the film. It’s probably half way through when Eddie finally risks it; Steve pats the couch cushion to encourage Eddie up next to him. Eddie does.

Usually he sits like a person, the end of his tail laid on the floor like feet would be, but tonight he pulls it up and curls it under him, all protected.

El leans forward, whispering over Steve, “hi Eddie.”

Eddie nods, volunteers back an uncertain, “hi El,” and then promptly hides his face in Steve’s shoulder.

As Steve suspected, the front six inches of the yellow pull over are worn and filthy, marred with grass stains.

Steve leaves him there for a little while, and waits until curiosity gets the better of Eddie. Steve offers him some popcorn; it’s buttered and salty, and Steve’s a solid ninety percent sure Eddie won’t like it. He’s right. He watches Eddie chew with his mouth open, a look of absolute disgust on his face, for a solid thirty seconds before Eddie finally swallows.

Steve leaves El with the popcorn and goes and gets them a beer to share, it’s the least he can do.

Eddie’s interest in the film seems to waver, depending on what grabs his attention the most. He seems to be watching the kids for...well. Eddie probably thinks of them as loud and erratic; it wouldn’t surprise Steve if Eddie had interpreted them as danger. Even if Eddie’s getting braver, that feeling clearly hasn’t gone all the way away just yet.

Steve feels him twitch, on high alert, every time one of the kids shifts.

Steve offers him a red vine; Eddie sniffs it but crinkles his nose up in disgust.

They decide to put on another movie; when all the kids get up to forage and grab drinks and go for toilet breaks, Steve thinks for a moment that Eddie might make a break for it. He sinks down further into the couch cushions instead; pressing close to Steve.

He doesn’t leave though, and the kids, mercifully, practically ignore Eddie. Lucas says ‘hi’, and Eddie answers, which Steve takes as a massive win.

One of the kids drops something in the sink; it clatters loudly, Eddie sitting up straight, whole body on high alert and turned towards the doorway, one arm flung back protectively over Steve's chest.

“It’s alright buddy, don’t worry. It’s just the kids. They’re noisy sometimes,” Eddie does lower himself again at that, and when he finally looks at Steve, Steve offers his hand. Eddie takes it. The webbing stops their fingers linking together all the way, but the contact has the desired effect and seems to reassure Eddie that there’s no danger, and he’s more relaxed by the time all the kids come back in.

They start the next movie, Eddie nestled right up against Steve, their joined hands resting on his thigh.

Part Nine

[madxyy]

Selfish

| pairing : peter x reader

| summary: your boyfriend comes home injured--as usual--late at night and you can't help but want him safe from his life as spider-man

| warnings: fluff, touching wrists (sigh, again), y/n used once, baby used, peter being cute and angsty as usual, reader also being cute, light angst

author's note: i am trying to write angst so bare with me lol

2 am. 

It’s always when you hear that faint knock on your window that makes all your worries wash away in a split second. But not today, no, today was different. You were waiting all night to hear that thud on the firescape or the cries of the window seal being opened. All night you were absorbed in your own anxieties and worries. Your hopes were dreading as time went by. You were getting scared for the local crime fighting hero and you did everything in your power to take your mind off it.

You really did. 

Drawing, watching tv, listening to music, cleaning the room—which was a bad idea as it just bought you a reminder of the boy who has your heart. You would stumble upon Peter's belongings that were scattered around your shared apartment like confetti: his engineering notes, his sweaters, his latest sketch of a brilliant idea he had to improve his spider-man suit. It only made your heart ache even more, longing for his presence and increasing your worries for your vigilante boyfriend. So you would take another route and try binge-watching a new season of a recent tv show you are watching, which would likely just be collecting dust in the column of ‘continue watching.’

Your mind keeps on going back to him. ‘He’s okay. He’s okay.’ You thought to yourself. ‘He’s coming back to me. He’ll be alright. He’s probably on his way right now. It’s just going to be a scratch, hopefully. He's going to be okay, right? Oh god. Oh god.’ 

As much as you love and adore that your boyfriend is helping the city and its people by saving anyone from another lab experiment gone wrong or from a dangling car that’s about to fall off a bridge, you can't help but wonder if he would ever take care of himself. It’s hard seeing him everytime he comes through your window with a new bruise on his keen jawline, a wound on his ribs, a scar on his hip. You couldn’t deal with it anymore. You wish he stopped just for his own safety. You know it’s selfish but is it so wrong to want him safe? Just the thought of turning on the news and seeing J. Jameson reporting: “Breaking News: Our local friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man reported dead by …” 

You want him back with you already, his arms wrapped around you, drowning you into his warm embrace, so distinctly Peter, while he whispers soft and reassuring words that always mend your heart. You long to hear his random facts about science, see his lopsided smile that always welcomes you back into reality whenever you wake up next to him each morning. You yearn for his contagious laugh that makes your heart throb in delight over the euphonious sound. You want to smile at the tics he does when he gets nervous or the way he avoids eye contact and scratches the back of his neck when he is stuck in an awkward situation. You want him to be back so you can smooch the newly embedded scars that are planted all over his body which you love kissing away everyday when he wakes up. You want to see his dimples that adorn his face when he smiles wide enough because he finally got his web shooters to work, followed by a triumph fist bump to the air. You want to see his eyes, oh his eyes: brown, soft, autumnal, brimming with love and warmth, despite the grief and cruelty he has been absorbed in. His scent, a mix of cedarwood and asphalt (due to his high-flying urban adventures). You want to see the way his hair sticks up in the morning whilst the sun gives it a mixture of honey and bronze aura, running your hands through the mused up tufts of hair, which always leads to the corners of his eyes crinkling up as a sleepy, boyish smile tugs up on his rosy lips. 

Selfish. You can’t help it. 

You waited as long as you could; staring at your window for who knows how long. Your eyes were trained on the window for a good while, but you couldn't help it, all this anxiety finally got to you and you were feeling drained and your posture slumps with exhaustion. Your eyes burn from keeping them open, and soon those same eyes start to slowly droop. Blinking back sleepiness proved futile; your head eventually settled onto the cool silk of your pillow. The material greets your cheek, making it easier for you to be welcomed into slumber. 

It was 4 am, yet your worries haven’t gone down at all. Your eyelids started to grow heavier, and darkness gradually enveloped your senses, until you heard a faint knock on your window, piercing the silence. 

Your heart leapt, and you twisted towards the sound. In an instant, sleep was gone.

Not even a second later you heard your window opening—mm the sound of the cries. Your tired, red eyes snapped open. You were met with a disheveled and drained Peter Parker. His hair sticking to the nape of his neck and forehead, sweat giving him a post-shower appearance. A large laceration marred his chest. Oh. Your stomach dropped, eyes widened with horror at the sight of the injury. It looked like he was scratched -- no, clawed by someone or something. With quick motion, you quickly peel away the sheets, disentangling yourself from its soft embrace, and quickly hurrying to his side.

“Peter” you gasped softly. A hand settles onto his latex-clad one, the other arm wrapping around his waist to support him as you guide both him towards your bed, placing him where you had lain just seconds before. “It’s not that bad, don’t worry about it, seriously, I mean you should see the o-” Peter quickly swallows his words upon seeing your stern glare. He slumps his head downwards as he sighs in defeat. 

You sigh, telling him quietly that you'll be back soon. You left him for a few moments before coming back with a wet rag. Gently, you tug at the suit, trying to cautiously take it off him without aggravating his wounds. Soon, you were met with his bare torso, which is marked with a huge claw mark. You mentally steel yourself before starting to lightly clean around the injury, dabbing the wet rag gently onto his toned chest as you avoid his eyes. It’s not like you were trying to make him feel bad, but you were also trying to cope with the situation. You don’t know if you were mad, relieved, sad, maybe all of the above? Uncertain emotions swirl within you, but one fact anchors your turbulent thoughts: he is here, safe, and alive. That's what truly matters.

Peter seems to catch your avoided gaze, he studies you for a few minutes. Biting the inside of his cheek as he purses his lips to the side, trying to figure out how to approach this situation. He takes in your furrowed eyebrows, the way you’re also biting the inside of your cheek as you put all your strength into avoiding his worried amber eyes. He knew the consequences of inviting someone into his dangerous life, it wasn’t exactly a warm and inviting embrace, nor was it appealing, but what he didn’t fully grasp is how it truly hurts you, in more ways than one.  “Y/N…” he whispered, rough hands that have been through so much and experienced so much, reaching for the comfort of your skin but you gently dodge his touch, leading to a sudden twinge of anguish in his heart. You give him a slight smile to distinguish any suspicion – I mean, you weren’t doing a good job at it – before you continued cleaning the dirt away from his injury. Peter’s eyebrows furrow while his lips start to droop downwards, a frown laid upon his lips at the rejection. 

Biting the inside of your cheek harder to stop the tears from flowing down the curve of your cheekbones. You keep on wiping his cuts clean, overs and overs again, getting flashbacks of his visits from the last time you had to patch him up. Blurred vision starts taking over your eyesight and all you can think about is his pain, what he goes through, his blood, the thought of losing him, life without him, the many ‘what ifs.’ The many times he almost visited death's door. You couldn’t keep it in anymore, it was like a burning sensation bubbling in the back of your throat, the sadness was too hard to keep buried down now. You started shaking and before you knew it your sobs filled the walls and all your fears were coming out of you in the form of a liquid pea that contained so much. As soon as the warm liquid left a path down the curve of your cheeks, peter panicked and rose to action just like the hero he is—your hero. 

Quickly sitting up and fixing his posture, which made him wince slightly from the injuries but he pushed through, his mind set on you and only you. He wipes the tear away with the pad of his thumb and takes the wet rag away from your slightly shaky grip; gently putting it on your nightstand before he lightly reaches both of his hands out and holds onto your wrists.

“I can't” You choke out a sob. 

“Hey shh it’s okay baby, what’s wrong? You can’t, what? Tell me,” He coos. 

He hunches down, trying to find those eyes of yours that he swears are otherworldly, but you just can’t. You can’t see him like this. Hurt. In pain. Suffering. It pains you that he is in this much pain -- you can’t. “Peter I just… ” he gently takes your face in his hand, caressing your cheekbones with his thumbs that are growing wet from your moist cheeks. His heart hurts from the sight of you crying, it conjures a deep-seated throb of pain in his eyes. “Look at me,” he whispers softly, gently nudging your head up with his right hand that is slowly descending down to grasp your chin as if you were a treasure, in a way you are, to peter you are his treasure, the main reason he even gets up or even tries, you are his rock, the only thing that makes sense in his life, and god does he love you, he loves you so much that his heart hurts. A quiet sigh escapes you, it sounds defeated. “Please,” He pleaded oh-so-gently, his gaze unwavering but patient. You sniffle before swallowing down a ball of saliva forming in your throat. As soon as you look up you are met with a pair of almond-shaped umber eyes that are filled with the utmost care, worry, and a hint of guilt. 

“Talk to me..” he whispers desperately, his heart crushing at the pain you are experiencing, he just wants to take it all away with his soft whispers but he knows they will be in vain. Shakingly exhaling “I can’t,” you frantically shake your head. “Please baby…” A few silent beats pass before you finally look back up to find those amber eyes looking back at you with nothing but worry and sincerity. 

You take a deep breath before swallowing deeply ”Peter...I just…” another beat passes. You take a sharp deep breath. “I just really wish you would take more care of yourself, I...I know you love saving people and fighting crime and trust me I love you deeply for that but you come home everyday with a new wound that’s even deadlier than the last one,” You pause, licking your salty lips. “aren’t you worried that maybe those people that you save won’t have anyone to save them if they’re local neighborhood spider-man won’t be there to save them anymore..?” You ask him, almost in a plea. Peter bites the inside of his cheek, thinking over your words with a solemn expression forming on his face that are littered in small cuts from his last escapades. He diverts his gaze to the floor and the room is quickly overcome with silence as he takes in your words, letting the heaviness of your words sink in.

The silence fills the room, it lets you both engulf into your own thoughts. Peter knew what it meant when he finally told you he was the unmasked superhero. He remembers spilling his deadly secret on a rooftop late at night, where you both were admiring the stars, laying on a blanket and talking about anything and everything. He remembers looking over at you and admiring the way the moon was cascading down on you, making you look even more angelic and completely ethereal. 

Peter looks at you hurt and guilty and god do you hate that. Both of you guys shared a gaze that held so much that it made the room feel denser as the distant sounds of ambulances filtered through the slightly open window. A breeze wafts in, brushes against you both, causing small goosebumps to prick up on your skin. Peter grew to learn from his past relationships and the impact it had on his partner knowing he was Spider-Man, which is why it hurts him to know he is the one making you feel like this. A calloused hand slowly creeps up, gently grasping your cheek with the utmost care, as if you were made of glass and he was scared of causing further harm. “I know, I know,” He murmurs, his voice breaking while his toughened fingers absentmindedly traces the curve of your cheek. “It’s just so hard to stop when I know I can make a difference.” 

You swallow the lump in your throat as his words sink in. Your heart breaks knowing how much his words are true and the scary reality that he won’t stop until crime is put to bed and everyone can roam around the streets freely. You shook your head, one hand gently grasping his wrist. “But at what price, Pete?” you ask ever-so-softly like the question itself was forbidden territory. Those eyes that he loves so deeply, look up into his eyes and it causes a gnawing feeling in his chest, almost making him wince from how hurt you look, how scared you look. Peter bites the inside of his cheek a bit harder while furrowing his brows, trying to think of what to tell you because he himself doesn’t know.

He takes a shaky breath, adjusting the grip on your face and slowly pulling your head a bit closer until both of your foreheads are resting against one another, a silent plea for understanding in his eyes. The brush of skin itself was tender-filled, telling a millions of words with just one movement. “I am just sick of all the crimes happening here and the cops not even doing anything about it.” Peter whispered, his voice a low blend of anger and helplessness. You could feel the raggedness of his breath, each exhale a testament to the battles he fought alone in the shadows of the city. The close proximity allowed you to see the subtle tension in his jaw, the way his eyes shuttered as if bracing against a storm of inner conflict. “Peter, I know you care – it’s one of the things I love about you,” you respond gently, reaching up to smooth a stray lock of hair from his clammy forehead. “But you can’t carry this burden alone. It’s too much for one person, even for Spider-Man.” Your voice was a soothing whisper, trying to pierce the armor of duty he wore so steadfastly.  

Peter simply nodded, the weight of the world momentarily lightened by your understanding. You saw the fortress around his heart crumbling, if only just a bit. His eyes, usually so vibrant and full of life, now shimmered with unshed tears, reflecting the constant battle between his duty and his love for you.

“I’m sorry…” Peter’s voice broke through the silence, each word heavy with remorse. He leans forwards, delicately kissing your forehead which grounds you and makes you close your eyes momentarily as you cherish the soft kiss that eases your heart just a bit. “I am sorry for not fully understanding what you are going through. I am so, so sorry,” He whispers into the dark night, the words flowing into the air as gently as ever. A few beats of silence pass while you take in his words. It gave your weary heart time to mend. Peter leaned back slightly so he could get a better look at you, his gaze locked with yours, conveying a depth of sincerity and vulnerability. “I’m truly, deeply, sorry” He whispers once more before he starts to softly press kisses underneath where your ear and jaw meet, your cheeks, forehead, nose, the wrinkles in the middle of your eyebrows, smoothing them out with the pad of his thumb, and finally kissing your lips, so delicately, it makes you want to cry even more. 

The kiss was so deliberate, it was a bundle of promises that his lips sealed to keep, an abundance of love, tenderness, deep affection and care that runs so deeply into his veins that it affects his touches and kisses, he can’t help but pour it all into the kiss, he just wanted you to know how sorry he is. He wanted you to know that he never meant to hurt you, whether it was indirect or direct. It makes your heart flutter and reassures your timid heart. Slowly one hand moves to cup the left side of your face as his other hand descends down towards the side of your neck as peter tastes the saline on your moist-tear lips, but even that doesn’t stop him from pressing gentle kisses against your lips, it only fuels his love, turning the kisses even more tender. Each kiss conveys a message of “I’m sorry, I love you, please know I love you.” You can taste the metallic on his lips as your lips were caressing his back as equally gently and lovingly, your kisses filled with a message of “It’s okay, I love you.” 

Peter slowly pulls back from the kiss, his mouth hovers over yours, his breath fanning over your lips, noses rubbing against each other in the tenderest manner ever. Both of your eyes were still closed, taking in everything, cherishing one another. His right hand moving back up to cradle your face, both hands cradling your cheeks and caressing them with the pad of his thumbs in a feather-like caress. You nuzzle your cheek against his right hand, feeling the rough and calloused palm that you grew to admire and adore. It always provided you with such care and comfort, always caressing or reaching out to gently touch you. Both of your hands now encircled around his wrist, caressing the inside of it so softly that it makes Peter almost melt.

Slowly, Peter opens his eyes. His amber gaze held nothing but love and the utmost care. Shortly after he opened his eyes, your eyes opened as well. Both of you search each other’s eyes as a white noise of admiration passes you both. After a moment of silent communion, the air between you both thickens with unspoken words and shared feelings, Peter finally speaks, his voice a soft murmur against the quiet room. “I can’t promise there won’t be more nights like this,” he says, his honesty laying bare the truth of both of your lives entwined with danger and uncertainty. “But I promise you, no matter how many crazy guys in suits I have to fight, I’ll always do my best to come back… to this, to us.”

This promise, simple yet profound, strikes a chord within you. It’s not a heroic declaration from Spider-Man, but a heartfelt vow from Peter Parker, the boy behind the mask, the one you fell in love with. His words acknowledge the reality of his life—danger is part of the package, yet he’s equally committed to your shared life, to you, and he isn’t going anywhere.

You feel a surge of mixed emotions: fear for the dangers he faces, gratitude for his honesty, and love for the person he is. “And I’ll be here,” you say, matching his tone with a blend of seriousness and affection, “not just to patch you up and be your personal nurse, but to love you.” The corners of his lips quirk up, his eyes twinkling with love as he takes in your words. He leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss on your forehead, a silent vow of his commitment. “Thank you,” he whispers, gratitude resonating in his voice, “for everything.”

“Of course,” You whispered. 

The two of you stay like that, embraced in the warmth of your love for one another, finding comfort in the silence that now speaks volumes. The world outside, with its chaos and challenges, seems momentarily distant as you both cherish this safe haven of understanding and love you’ve created together.

[storytowrite]

|The FINE Art ~ Hwang Hyunjin|

Theme: Art Student! Hyunjin x Y/N

Warnings: mention of nudity, smut, 18+, unprotected sex, the age gap Y/N is 15 years older than Hyunjin.

Word Count: 5257

Summary: Life wasn’t easy for you. You lost your job, lost your husband who remarried and took everything away leaving you only with an old, sick cat. You desperately needed money. Thankfully, your friend is an art teacher and your body is quite tempting. Especially for the young, talented student.

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

“I’m sorry ma’am, but the cat needs surgery if you want it to live longer. We cannot wait long.” The vet said his verdict. Your old cat, Lemon, was ill, and you knew that. The thing was that you didn’t have enough money and you were in a really bad situation. 

“How much is for the surgery?” You asked. 

“It will cost about $3000 in total with all the care.” The vet answered your question and you sighed heavily. Why on Earth does it cost so much?! And more importantly - how will you gather all the money needed? 

“All right… If that’ll help him, please do everything you can. I can’t lose him too.” You said tiredly. 

“We’ll do everything we can to save this little boy.” The vet smiled at you honestly. 

You nodded and left your cat at the vet’s clinic. It wasn’t a good timing for such expenses, but you had to do everything you could to just save your animal. You sighed heavily once again. The previous week was hard and now this. Your life was a mess. You lost the job, since your boss decided to hire “some younger girls” and you were simply too old in his eyes. 

The divorce process was finally over. But unfortunately your ex-husband took everything he could, including your apartment. Because of this, you had to move in with your friend, at least until you get back on your feet again. Fortunately, Lina was happy to help you. 

You returned home wasted and without your cat, which you left at the veterinary clinic. You wanted to cry. Earning $3,000 in a short time seemed unrealistic. Well, because how to do it? 

"Oh Y/N are you back already?" Asked Lina peering at you from above another artwork she was working on. "Everything ok baby?" 

"No, nothing is ok. Lemon needs surgery and I don't have that much money to pay for it. And I still can't find a job. Everything is falling apart for me." You sat down heavily on the couch. "And I also need to find an apartment and..." 

"Woah, slow down honey. I don't mind your company. You and Lemon can stay with me as long as you need, after all, you know that.... And as for work, I think I have an idea." She smiled slightly at you. You knew that kind of smile from Lina's genre of brilliant ideas. 

"Oh no, why do I feel like I'm going to regret this?" You asked, looking at your friend. 

"Don't exaggerate, it's nothing like that.... Besides, we'll both benefit from it." 

"Fine, what's the idea?" You asked, slightly curious. 

"Great... you'll love it!" She clapped her hands. 

After an hour of talking to your friend and her persuading you, you finally agreed to help her with her little project. Lina was a drawing teacher in the art department, and her students were just starting to learn how to sketch real people. They needed a model for this, since the topic was THE FEMALE BODY. 

At first you had a lot of concerns. Lina wanted you to pose nude in front of a group of some of her top students. You had huge objections to this. You didn't feel like showing your body to strangers in their twenties. But you had no choice. The deal was simple, 10 sessions at $300 each, for a maximum of five hours per class. That is, two weeks of work. You were able to do it, right? 

"I don't know Lina, I have to think about it..." You said, glancing at her. 

"Just don't make me wait too long for your answer.... Besides, you have a beautiful body for our age, so what's the problem?" She asked lightly. 

"What do you mean what's the problem? I'm supposed to show off to a group of 20-year-olds? After all, they are children!" 

"Honey, these are young adults. Besides, they are just a few people. I'd rather pay you than some strangers. Think of Lemon. He needs this operation.... And if you prove yourself, who knows? Maybe I'll hire you permanently?" She persuaded you further. 

" Oh, hell no... I'll find a job, eventually." You replied quickly. "But fine. I'll take part in it..." You agreed, sighing heavily. "Just so I don't regret it..." 

"Believe me, you won't and you'll even like it!" She replied excitedly. "We'll start first thing tomorrow morning! Prepare yourself properly, you know, shave and.... " 

"Okay, I'll prepare properly.... Anything else?" You asked in a tired voice, interrupting her sentence. 

"Hm... take some clothes to change into.... And well, put on some nice underwear. Tomorrow we start with the upper body. The students will sketch your torso and breasts above all. Well, and tie your hair in a ponytail, it will be easier to see your collarbones.... But that's at ease, I'll tell you everything exactly tomorrow." She grinned. "Go rest, I still have to finish here." 

You sighed heavily and went straight to the bathroom, following your friend's directions. You still weren't convinced about the idea, but the situation forced you to do so. You felt stress above all. You may have had a nice, fit body, but you certainly weren't used to showing it to strangers. 

After a long and warm shower, you headed to your bedroom, where you fell asleep rather quickly. The next day would be a very long one... 

The next day you got up early, got dressed and did light makeup. You left your hair loose, for now at least. Later you'll tie it up in a ponytail. Your friend had already been bustling around in the kitchen since morning. 

"Good morning! Ready for today's challenges?" Asked a delighted Lina. 

"Mhm, I won't be any more than I am." You muttered uneasily. 

"Oh grumpy... Come on, or we'll be late." Lina didn't seem to mind your dissatisfaction. 

"And breakfast?" You asked. 

"We don't have time... you'll get something on the spot." Your friend waved her hand and pulled you with her to the exit. You left her apartment and headed for the car. The trip to the university didn't take long, but you were getting more and more stressed with each passing moment. No wonder, after all, you will be posing naked.... 

You entered the university and headed straight to the room where the classes would be held. Lina showed you everything inside and once again reminded you what to do and how to do it. Your task was quite simple. All you had to do was show some breasts and sit still on a stool for a good couple of hours. 

The students began to fill the room, and you heard Lina greeting them cheerfully. You sighed quietly. It's going to be a long couple of hours. 

"Dear students, I have a little surprise for you today." You heard your friend's words. "A good friend of mine has agreed to get herself acquainted with us. As I said, you will learn sketching on a living organism.... Y/N come join us and show yourself to our students." 

You took a deeper breath and stepped out from behind the screen. You stressed all over. You stood in the middle, right next to your friend, trying not to catch eye contact with any of the students in the room. 

You quickly swept your eyes around the room. There were eight students in the classroom, three girls and five boys. They looked rather uninterested. You glanced out of the corner of your eye at Lina, who continued her argument. 

"Y/N will be our model today. Please be nice to her, she has never done this before. Today we'll take care of the upper body. Your task is to reproduce Y/N's torso and breasts. We sketch from the neck until we reach this point." Lina showed them exactly how much to sketch. "Y/N honey, take off your top and bra and sit on the stool. Do any of you have any questions?" 

The students did not answer Lina's question. You, on the other hand, with slightly trembling hands, undressed from the waist up and sat on the stool. Your friend even gave you a pillow to make you more comfortable. 

"Great, push your breasts out a little more and..." Lina began to correct your positioning. "Perfect! Okay darlings, you can begin." 

The group of students got down to sketching. You swept your eyes around the room. Everyone was focused to make the best possible representation of your body. Lina walked among the students and glanced at their progress. 

Time passed quickly. The students worked in silence. None of them had spoken a word since they entered the room. They were focused on the task at hand. 

One of the men present in the room caught your attention. You had never seen such a handsome man before. He had noble features, his hair was slightly longer and black. He had an earring under his eyebrow, and a black leather jacket perfectly framed his body. 

You swallowed your saliva. The man looked like a prince, and there was plenty of finesse and elegance in his movements. You honestly couldn't take your eyes off him. There was something about him that attracted you to him, something magnetic that you could not describe in words. 

The man in question noticed your gaze. It was as if he sensed that you were looking at him. He raised his gaze slightly, looking deeply into your eyes, and gently raised his eyebrow. You felt a blush appear on your face and your throat suddenly became dry. A strange feeling welled up in your lower abdomen as he smiled slightly and winked at you. 

"All right my dears. Let's take a break for a while." Lina suddenly announced, breaking the silence that had prevailed. "Let's let Y/N stretch her legs.... Come back here in 15 minutes and we'll continue." 

The students put down their sketches and began to leave the room for the break, and Lina handed you a sweatshirt to cover yourself. She smiled warmly at you in the process. 

"Well? Not so bad, huh?" She asked. 

"It's fine... Although I was stressed." You replied and took a sip of water. "Your students aren't very talkative, are they?" 

"As artists are." 

"I thought there would be more students in the room." You said, sipping water again. 

"Nah, I have a small group. But they are the best of the best.... You could say it's such a VIP class." Lina laughed. "You know, it's an extra class for the more ambitious ones." 

"Oh, now I understand..." You nodded, and your thoughts fled to the mysterious boy with an earring under his eyebrow. 

"Would you like to take a peek at the sketches? The students really sketched your body very well..." Lina took one sketchbook in her hand, belonging to the boy you were looking at. "Oh look, Hyunjin did it the best. That boy can perfectly render every detail.... He's my top-of-the-class student." She smiled proudly. So the boy's name was Hyunjin. 

"Wow... This is amazing." You said, sincerely impressed by the way Hyunjin rendered all the details. He even sketched the delicate birthmark you had under your breast. 

"Right?" Lina asked. "If you ask Hyunjin nicely, he might give you his sketch..." She winked. "He has a real talent, and by the way he looks like Aphrodite herself conceived him. He could be a model, but there's a rule at the university that students can't pose, which is a shame..." She sighed quietly. "I myself sometimes wish I could see..." 

"Lina! This is your student..." reprimanded your friend. 

"I know, that's why I leave some things only in dreams." She laughed quietly. "Hungry? I'll get you something to eat." As she said, so she did, quickly leaving the room.

You sighed softly and your stomach growled. Not eating breakfast before leaving was a mistake. You glanced at your watch. The break was slowly coming to an end and your friend had not yet returned with the promised food. In turn, students slowly began to return to the room.

"Hungry?" You suddenly heard a voice behind you. You turned to look at the owner. In front of you stood Hyunjin, who was a head taller than you. He smiled slightly and handed you a banana. "Eat... you've got another 2.5 hours of sitting ahead of you."

“T-Thank you…” You said, taking the banana from him and peeling it right away.

"You welcome... I wanted to say that you have really beautiful breasts." He said, looking you straight in the eye. "I can't wait for the next few days to see the rest."

"Oh thank you?" You replied slightly confused and blushed slightly.

"Nothing." Hyunjin winked at you. 

"Okay, guys! We can get back to work!" Lina called as she entered the room. "Y/N, please sit down the same way you sat before. Perfect! Remember, there are 2.5 hours left until the end of time. At the end of the day, you should have at least five sketches."

Everyone went back to work. The banana Hyunjin gave you, calmed your stomach for a while. You sighed quietly, sitting half-naked on the stool. Honestly, you were counting down the minutes until the end. 

Every now and then you found yourself staring at Hyunjin, who was working intently on the sketches of your body. You couldn't take your eyes off him. He was too handsome to resist. You didn't even feel that time had passed quickly. 

Lina announced the end of class and let you get dressed. Students slowly began to file out of the room. You watched them leave, saying a quiet 'goodbye'. Your friend approached you after everyone else had left the room."You were great today." She grinned. 

"I'm taking you to dinner, come on! And mentally prepare for tomorrow. We'll show them a little more... Can you handle it?"

"Yes, I think I can... Although I don't know if I want to show them everything." You started.

"Well, tomorrow's plan is legs... you can have a thong, we'll move on to the private parts at the end of the week, and next week we'll have poses... Well, I think you should be able to handle everything easily." Lina continued.

“Mhm, if you say so…” You muttered. The prospect of showing your private parts to students didn't make you feel optimistic, but when you thought about Hyunjin, it didn't sound so bad either...

—-------------------

The week flew by very quickly. The students tried to accurately portray all the details of your body on paper. On Friday, the last day of the first week, there was a class on sketching 'private body parts', as Lina called it. And that meant you had to show your vagina. 

The thought of this did not fill you with any optimism at all. You didn't want to expose yourself so much in front of the students, but Lina forced it on you. To be fair, she did suggest that she would pay you more for the day, so with a slight hesitation you agreed. 

You sat in the room wrapped only in a silk dressing gown and waited for the class to start. Your friend went to talk to the dean, leaving you alone. You sighed quietly and stuck your gaze into your phone, trying to calm your thoughts. 

Hyunjin entered the room, but you were so busy with your social media that you didn't notice his presence. The boy walked over to his stand and unpacked all the necessary items before turning towards you. 

"Hi pretty." He said in a velvety voice, snapping you out of your activity. "What are you going to show us today?" He asked and winked slightly. 

"Ekhm... Private parts." You replied feeling a little intimidated, looking up at him. 

"And you're convinced about that?" He asked. "You look confused and scared." 

"Well, it's certainly quite a step out of my comfort zone.... But I can't back down now." You answered honestly. 

"I understand... If it's any comfort to you, I'll try to replicate everything very accurately." He smiled.

"Thanks I guess..." She grunted. "I've seen your work before. You have great talent," he said. 

"Thank you, beautiful." He smiled warmly at you. "But the credit goes to the model I sketch." He winked, and a blush appeared on your cheeks. "It suits you this colour, you know? I wish I could paint a picture of you. In a red see-through nightgown.... What do you think?" 

"A painting?" You blinked, not expecting such a proposal. "I don't know..." 

"I have to create a portfolio for the final exam.... I've already painted three paintings of my friends, but I still have one left. And you are beautiful. I'll pay." He replied, watching your reaction. 

"I have to think about it..." You replied, but didn't finish the sentence because he walked in on you in mid-word. 

"I understand." He replied and wrote something down on a piece of paper. " Here, this is my phone number, if you make a decision, just text me..." He handed you a small piece of paper with the number on it. "Just don't make me wait too long for an answer, lovely." 

"R-right." You replied and hid his number in a safe place. 

The rest of the students entered the room, along with your friend, who smiled broadly at you. She welcomed the students and gave them the guidelines for the assignment. 

"Well Y/N. Sit with your hands behind your back and push your chest forward a little too. And spread your legs..." She said to you and helped you adjust your position. "My dears, you may begin. "

Sitting apart in front of a group of people has not been one of the most comfortable activities in your life. However, you didn't pay much attention to it yourself. Your thoughts were consumed with Hyunjin's proposal. Should you accept it? He said he would pay, and so far there was no indication that you would find a job.... 

You decided to give it a chance and agree to his proposal. After all, it's just another day's work as a "model." You survived a whole week in front of students, you'll survive being alone with Hyunjin too. 

Before you knew it, the class was over and the students had left the room, and you were free to get dressed. Lina was still talking to individuals while you typed Hyunjin's number into your phone. You made up your mind and as soon as he left the room, you texted him. 

[Y/N]

Ok. I agree.... When do you want to do it? ~ Y/N

[Hyunjin] 

Wonderful news sweetheart! Let's meet tomorrow evening at my place. Remember, red nightgown 😘

 He wrote back almost immediately. You swallowed your saliva. What are you actually doing? 

—-------------------

The next day you went to the address Hyunjin sent you in a text message. You were stressed. You didn't know what it should look like or how long it would take. Your body trembled and your mind wandered into dangerous territory. You felt both apprehension and excitement about the whole situation. 

You stood in front of the door of his apartment. You took a few deep breaths and knocked gently. You waited, listening for the sound of footsteps. After a while, the young man opened the door for you and let you in with a smile. 

"I'm glad you agreed." He said, taking over your coat from you. "Make yourself comfortable... Would you like something to drink before we start? Coffee? Tea? Water? Maybe wine?" 

"Water is enough... Although I won't actually despise wine either." You replied and timidly entered his living room. 

The room was large, definitely bigger than your friend's entire apartment. Not surprising, after all, Hyunjin lived in one of the more expensive neighbourhoods in your city. The white leather furniture, laced with gold accessories, perfectly matched the aura that this man was producing. Everything seemed truly royal. 

"Wow." You gasped in awe. 

"Do you like it? My parents made sure I was comfortable in the city.... Would you like a tour of the apartment?" He asked, handing you a glass of red wine. 

"I'd love to... If I can, of course." You accepted the drink from him and took a sip. 

The boy showed you his entire apartment. He had three bedrooms, but he had transformed one into a studio, and the other was used as a dressing room. 

"Okay, ready for us to start?" He asked as you walked through the apartment.

"I think so." You replied hesitantly.

"Great!" He smiled broadly. "Come on, I'll paint you in the studio... I'll get everything ready and you can go and change in the bathroom. Leave when you're ready. It'll take me a while to paint though... It'll take all weekend, actually. But like I said, I'll pay. $1000 is enough?"

"H-how much?" You were stunned when you heard the amount he gave.

“If it's not enough, just tell me…” He replied, watching you.

"Not enough? I didn't expect it to be so much..." You started. "It's too much…"

"Hmm... I don't think so." He shrugged. "We'll talk about it later... You can go change in the bathroom now and I'll set everything ready here." He said, unimpressed.

“Sure…” You replied and headed to the bathroom.  $1000 to pose? You were shocked. How much money does this young man actually have? 

After a few minutes you were ready. You looked at your reflection in the mirror. You were wearing a slightly see-through red nightgown that hugged your body perfectly and highlighted all your curves. You decided to leave your hair down, but you put a small decoration in it. You fixed your delicate makeup and went out to Hyunjin.

"Wow, you look amazing." He said as soon as he noticed you. "Like I said, this colour suits you very well."

"Thank you." You replied, slightly embarrassed.

"Okay, you can lie down." He pointed to a small sofa in the center of the room. "I would like you to lie down comfortably, and if you want to sleep, just close your eyes. The only thing that matters is that you stay in the position I put you in."

“Sure, I can do it…” You replied and followed his directions. You settled into a comfortable position on the sofa and Hyunjin stood over you. He leaned down gently and positioned your body. His touch was pleasant. You felt the nice warmth radiating from his body.

"Perfect." He said and smiled contentedly. "Okay, let's get started. If you want a break then say so." 

Hyunjin began to paint. You lay there without moving, watching his every move. You began to wonder how it was that your life had brought you to the point where you were. 

Hyunjin painted in concentration, and there was silence between the two of you. You didn't seem to mind. You felt your eyelids become heavy and you didn't even know when you fell asleep. 

You woke up after some time and stretched slightly. It was already twilight outside. You looked around the room you were in. Hyunjin was nowhere to be found. You stood up and stretched your stagnant body again. You were curious to see how Hyunjin's progress was going, but before you could get closer to the painting, the door of the room opened. 

"Oh, you're awake already." Hyunjin smiled slightly. "Hungry? Come, I've prepared dinner." 

Only when the boy mentioned food did you feel that you were actually hungry. You followed him into the kitchen, where delicious smells were coming from. 

"You are handsome, you paint and you cook. Is there anything you can't do?" You asked, sitting down at the table. Hyunjin glanced at you laughing. 

"Thank you for the compliment, beautiful." He winked, at which you blushed. He served you dinner and you began to eat. 

"Enough with the painting for today, it's late." Hyunjin said. "If you want, you can stay the night.... We'll start again first thing tomorrow morning anyway." 

"I don't want to get..." You started. 

"But that's not up for discussion." He interrupted you in mid-sentence. "It's late, I don't want you to go home when it's dark outside.... I'll prepare a bed for you." 

"Hyunjin, but really..." You started again but his one look left you unsure what to say next. "Okay. I'll stay the night." 

"Great." He smiled at you. "Come on, I'll give you something to sleep on..." 

" You know, after all, I can sleep in what I'm wearing." You replied while watching him. 

"Believe me, if you stay in this red nightgown, I won't hold back."  He replied with full seriousness. 

"Oh..." You made a sound. " All right..." 

You followed him to his dressing room, which occupied the other room. Hyunjin walked over to a cabinet and pulled out an oversized hoodie and handed it to you. "It should fit." He smiled slightly. 

"Thank you." You replied with a slight smile. "I'll take a shower." 

Hyunjin nodded and you parted the rooms. You went to the bathroom to take a quick shower, and a pleasant feeling once again settled in your lower abdomen. Hyunjin, on the other hand, was in the bedroom preparing a place for you to sleep. 

After some time, you came out of the bathroom in his hoodie. You could smell his perfume lingering on his clothes. You smiled slightly, to yourself. His scent was so soothing. 

"Do you like the smell?" You suddenly heard his voice behind you, at which you jumped slightly. 

"Y-yes." You stuttered, at which the boy smiled. 

"I have to say, no matter what you're wearing, you're every bit as beautiful." He said, walking closer to you. "I like you Y/N." 

"Thank you, I guess..." You took a gentle step back unsure of where this conversation was leading. 

"When I say I like you, I really mean it." Hyunjin leaned slightly over you and brushed lightly against your waist. You swallowed your saliva as you looked straight into his eyes, your back resting against the wall. Hyunjin was leaning with his hand right next to your head and his body was leaning against yours. You bit your lip slightly and gently moved your legs, feeling yourself slowly getting wet. The situation you found yourself in was definitely not on your bingo card. 

"Hyunjin, we don't..." You began, trying to keep up any semblance of a smile yet. However, his closeness and magnetic scent were too tempting to resist. 

"Shhhsh." The boy moved his thumb over your swollen lips. "You don't even realise how sexy you look right now." He whispered in your ear while biting your earlobe, which was met with a quiet sigh that left your lips. You felt his gentle smile as he moved closer to your neck and gently moved his velvety lips across it. "You like it." He stated, observing your reaction to his touch. "I wonder if you'll like this too." He added and moved his hands a little lower, slipping them under the hoodie. 

"Hyunjin, it's not..." You started, but feeling his long fingers glide across your skin, leaving goosebumps on it, you were unable to control your senses. Hyunjin's lips attacked your neck more boldly, and you tilted your head further back so he could have better access. 

Hyunjin glided his lips along your neck looking for weak spots, and once he found them, he immediately started leaving red hickeys in those spots, which was met with your moans of approval. 

You rested your hands on his torso, and the young man delicately lifted you up, grabbing your buttocks. You put your legs around his waist as his lips found their way right to yours. 

"I want you." He whispered, brushing his lips lightly against yours. "And I know you want me too. Say it." 

"Please." You said quietly. 

"You're asking? For what?" He asked backing away slightly which was met with your disapproval. 

"Kiss me, please." You moaned pleadingly. Hyunjin smiled at you and pressed his lips into yours. His kiss was firm and forceful, but that's what you liked best. You moaned blissfully into his mouth as he grabbed your buttocks tighter. Hyunjin took this as a sign of approval and carried you to his bedroom. 

Hyunjin put you on the bed immediately, finding himself above you. His knee came between your legs pressing lightly on your spot. He leaned over a little more and cupped your hoodie with his hands. 

"You are phenomenal." He said, watching you. His hands moved over every bare patch of your body, exploring every inch of it. Following his hands, Hyunjin placed you on the bed immediately finding himself over you. His knee came between your legs pressing lightly on your spot. He leaned over a little more and cupped your hoodie with his hands. His hands moved over every bare patch of your body, exploring every inch of it. His hands were followed by his lips, which also explored your body. He left wet footprints in his path, interspersed with huge hickeys. 

You moaned blissfully when his lips found their way to your lower abdomen. You felt his smile against your skin. Hyunjin gently spread your legs and moved his hand over your core. Your reaction encouraged him to continue. 

He bit lightly on the inside of your thighs, which was met with your slight jump. His strong hands, however, held your body as his mouth took up your pussy, embracing it completely. 

You moaned loudly and slid your hand into his hair. You pulled his hair gently as his tongue penetrated your insides, melting with pleasure. 

Hyunjin drove you to pleasure, and your body arched in an accompaniment of moans. The young man licked and returned his lips to your mouth, kissing you. You immediately responded to his kiss, hungry for his velvety lips. 

Your hands moved over his body. You wanted to get rid of his clothes as quickly as possible. Hyunjin laughed quietly. 

"So eager, huh? Patience darling, be good and you'll get what you deserve." He said amused and helped you undress himself. Once he was standing naked, you moved your hands over his penis, which was already ready for use. "I don't have condoms..." The boy began. 

" Doesn't matter, I want to feel you, now, right now, please!" You moaned needily. 

"I like the way you are asking." He snarled quietly and slid his full length into you. 

"Oh yes!" You whined loudly and moved your hands down his back as he began to move. 

His movements became faster and less precise. He went deep, perfectly attacking your g-spot. Your and his moans filled the entire room.

"Hyunjin! I…" You started digging your nails into his soft skin.

"Come on baby, cum for me." He groaned loudly. "Fuck!"

"I'm cumming!" You moaned loudly, clenching around him. 

A few seconds later, you felt warmth spreading through your insides. Hyunjin collapsed on top of you after a moment, his head resting between your full breasts. You were both breathing heavily.

“You are my muse." He murmured after a while. "Be my muse forever?"

"With pure pleasure." You replied quietly, gently stroking his back, making him smile.

"You know what? You are the FINE art." He said. "My muse."

And After an eventful night, you both fell asleep cuddling together.

-> Masterlist

[covetyou]

some good friend - pt. 1

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist part 1 ⋆ part 2 ⋆ part 3

pairing: Tim Rockford x Soft Dom!Sex Worker!f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: pegging, anal fingering, praise kink, mild glove kink, very mild feminization, masturbation, Tim has body image issues and a bit of an identity crisis, kind of coming untouched, sex work, comfort word count: 7k summary: Nerves were coiling in his belly in a way they typically only did at the end of a big case. There was no judge or jury here, no sentence, no surprise acquittal. There was just your door, and the promise of everything that lay beyond it. And it made him nervous.

A/N: finally, my boy Tim sees the light of day. I've been working on this for a while, and it's been nice to try something a little different. I hope you like it (and someone, anyone, please, stop me from making this a 3 part series too late, it's going to be a series)

divider by @saradika-graphics follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future fics

Everything burns. His lungs, his legs, his goddamned feet.

He wasn't made for this. Not any more. His fucking shoes definitely weren't made for this - a fact made more and more obvious with every harsh, sharp, slap of his soles against the ground. Gone were the days of intense foot chases. They'd long since been replaced with hours spent at his desk, in interview rooms, searching the stacks in the archive room. The only saving grace was at the very least he was accustomed to low light - the dimly lit rooms he frequented coming in handy now as he thuds along in the semi-darkness, chasing after someone who is more shadow than man.

The drizzle of a cold October day certainly isn't helping either. He's coated in a fine mist of rain and soaked through to the marrow. His shoes - these fucking shoes - skid on the wet road, threatening injury with each turn of a corner. Every intake of breath blooms pain in his chest, each gasp seeming to draw in more water than air. That is, of course, if the biting chill of the wind doesn't swipe it all out of his mouth first.

He's drowning. Drowning and suffocating and burning all in one, but he can't stop. He can't will his legs to stop, even through the burn. Stopping means he loses, and he cannot lose. Not again. Not with this case.

But then, he turns a corner and the shadow is gone, faded into the darkness of an unlit alley, and out of his grasp once again.

Shit.

The ache is settled well into his bones by the time he gets home in the early hours of the morning. His tie sits damp in his jacket pocket - discarded at the roadside in a fit of rage and stomped into the wet ground, only to be picked up and pocketed a moment later. He liked that tie. His holsters tug uncomfortably at his shoulders, the twist of his body as he was running having shifted them to where they now pinch uncomfortably at his underarms. He can't wait to discard it all, to take off the whole damn lot - and these fucking shoes - and pretend for just one moment that he's not who he is.

So, he begins to shed the skin of Detective Tim Rockford.

The shoes go first. The jacket second. And then he removes his gun, stashing it in its case where it belongs and throwing his holster at his closet, where he'll no doubt struggle to find it again tomorrow. The burning sear of a shower is the last thing left to rid himself of the title that hangs over him, but instead he walks to his office. He needs to be Detective for just a moment longer.

It's tidier and more comfortable in here than it has any right to be. Dark wood, soft leather, neat folders, and blank papers. Of course, it's neat because he's rarely here to use it, preferring to use the space given to him downtown where a plaque sits on his desk telling all and sundry that Detective Tim Rockford works here. Here, in this room, he can be a little less Detective and a little more him.

He flops heavily into his chair, a move he immediately regrets when he feels the relief of taking the weight off his feet. How he'll ever get up from here, he doesn't know. Maybe he'll sleep here. Halfway between Detective and himself, stuck in some weird limbo where he is both and neither all at once. That'll lead to some good dreams.

Tim thinks of you. This was the place for that kind of thing, after all. This office where he is himself and someone else, the perfect parts of a person to be liaising with someone like you. Because that's what it was with you, a liaison. Nothing more, nothing less. And you, everything that you were, were his last chance for some good news before he peeled back the rest of the Detective and became himself for a few blissful hours.

Pulling a card from a drawer, he flips it in his fingers once, then twice before tapping it on his desk. You'd given it to him on his last visit - your address and number emblazoned on the front, both things he no longer needed to see to know, and a small list of services on the other side. Services that he ignored when you'd first pointed them out to him with a wink, but that he'd since spent a long time mulling over and, on occasion, searching in an incognito window of his browser.

With a heavy sigh, he picks up the phone, dialing your number from memory, and waits for you to pick up. Anyone else would be furious with a 4am phonecall, but not you. For a while he thought it was what suited your work best - common sense, and his years on the job, had taught him that illicit activities so often were better suited to darkness than daylight. But he'd seen clients leave your studio in the middle of the day on more than one occasion. No, by this point he simply suspected you didn't sleep at all.

A click of the call connecting, a soft breath down through the line, and there you are, the lilt of your voice ringing through his ear like music.

"Detective Rockford, how nice of you to call. What can I interest you in this fine morning?"

He pinches his nose, card still gripped tightly between his middle fingers. You did this every time, no matter the time of day or night. You were always on, always ready to try to rile him and get into his bloodstream. He'd admonished you once, told you he was only trying to do his job and he expected you to do the same. When you told him you were doing your job, Tim had to admit you got him there. You were both professionals, just in very, very different ways. From then on, he'd learned to appreciate it. Even if it did make him ache sometimes in ways he thought best to ignore.

"You got any news for me?"

You scoff down the phone. A light sound, but he can picture you rolling your eyes with it anyway. "Always so charming, Detective. Diving straight in without any foreplay at all. You can do better than that. Sweeten me up a little before you -"

"Please."

He sounds desperate in a way you haven't heard before. A year into your arrangement and he'd never sounded so bone tired and stressed out. You can even hear the pinch in his brow over the phone, the wrinkles there getting deeper and deeper the longer you knew him.

"It's been quiet, Detective. I doubt I have the names you're after, but a few whispers have been floating around. The case with the cat still causing you problems?"

From the heavy sigh he gives you can tell it's not what he was after, but that it is, indeed, still causing him problems.

"Well, I heard that..."

And so, you divulge your secrets, secrets that aren't really yours to have or to give, but you give them anyway. Whispers and names softly delivered down the phone line where he scribbles them down on a blank sheet of paper, careful not to indent the pages below it.

The pen clatters to the desk when you finish. You both know you haven't given him what he needs, but if Tim's honest with himself he isn't always sure what he needs from you any more. Though, he knows what he wants. Yes, he's frequently made painfully aware of what he wants.

"Anything you need?" he asks, his voice sounding tight with frustration. You can't blame him any more than you can hold back the laugh that trickles from your lips.

"Nothing right now. Here I was thinking that was my line anyway, Detective. The things I could do for you, if you'd let me."

Tim's eyes are drawn to the card again, now face up on the desk beside the scrawl of information you'd just given him. Truth be told, your services are as emblazoned in his mind as the details on the front of the card. Sometimes, like right now, he could barely get that list out of his mind long enough to think straight.

That's the moment when, after a long day at the end of an even longer week, part Detective but part just him, he gives in to what he's been fighting himself for for almost a year, and clears his throat.

"Like what? What... what exactly could you do for me?"

You're caught between surprise and glee, briefly straightening where you lounge in your chair. Softening back into the plush fabric, you dance a finger across your lower lip, wry smile tugging at your mouth as you think of the very many things you could do for him.

"Oh, Detective Rockford. I thought you'd never ask."

Nerves were coiling in his belly in a way they typically only did at the end of a big case. There was no judge or jury here, no sentence, no surprise acquittal. There was just your door, and the promise of everything that lay beyond it.

And it made him nervous.

He was in half a mind to walk away, but it was too late. His knuckles had already rapped against the wood, and you were already flicking the latch on the other side, readying to let him in.

When you do he's stunned, just like he always is when he sees you. This time you're half naked, a thin robe draped over your shoulders and left untied at the front. Beneath it you're wrapped in soft mesh lingerie, your nipples visible through the fabric as you beckon him inside.

The space - your studio - was a simple office unit in an undesirable part of town, but you made it work. As funny as it felt to admit, it was familiar to him now, and there was a comfort in that that was already easing the swell of nerves in his body. It wasn't always this way, of course, that first visit being eye opening both figuratively and literally. Furniture and furnishings that were odd were now somewhat normal, and the soft, rich, scent that permeated the room was one that he now associated only with you and this place you existed within. It was a smell too, he notices, that is so much stronger today than it has ever been on any of his previous visits, and he breathes in deeply, both to savor it and to calm the last of the nerves vibrating in his core.

When you shut the door, closing off the world outside, you stand before him again, looking a picture of sultry confidence as you size him up. This wasn't something that was new. You often stood there, letting your gaze wander up and down his body, lingering in places that made him flush red as you taunted him with flirty quips he'd ignore. This time is no different, and he finds himself mesmerized by the way you toy with the ties on your robe as you eye him, fingers gliding up and down the fabric.

"Are you here on your business, or mine, Detective?" you say with a smile, drawing his gaze from your fingers to your face. It was a long running joke, something you said each and every time he visited you here, despite the answer always being the same. But today, finally, it would be different.

Tim rolls his eyes, just as he always does, but instead of replying with a curt mine, he lets a smile pull at his lips instead. "Yours."

"Music to my ears. And you still want to do this? You're ready?"

You both knew that had a double meaning. In the literal physical sense, he knows he's as ready as he could possibly be. But he still takes a moment to check in with himself, to see if going through with all of it is something that he still wants. If those whispers down the phone, whispers that had quickly turned from flirty promises to guidance, to gasps, to relief, were what he still wanted. Would it be worth it, or was it a momentary blip of weakness and want? But then he remembers that relief once again, the soothing of that ache like sitting down off of pained feet, and can only imagine how much better that will feel here, with you, in this room. He's ready.

Tim nods, prompting you to take another step forward. The smell isn't the room at all, he notices. It's you. The fragrance clinging to your hair or your skin, he's not sure, but so much stronger each time you move.

"Good," you say on your slow approach. Barely a step from him you reach out, tugging on his jacket and straightening his tie before letting your palm rest on his chest. The soft stroke of your fingers does nothing to soothe the rapid hammering of the muscle pumping in his chest cavity, but you suppose it wasn't meant to. You wanted him excited and desperate for it. He'd already shown you how beautiful he could be for you over the phone - all whines and whimpers and yes ma'am's. Now you wanted the real thing.

"Why don't you get all of this off for me."

Before now, Tim had wondered how you started these things - how you went from 0 to seemingly 100 with clients to get them in through the door and out in the allotted time frame. He hadn't expected it to be so quick, or so easy. Maybe he just hadn't expected himself to be so quick, or so easy, but he's tugging at his tie before you even move away to settle against your desk with your ankles crossed.

"That's it, Detective," you prompt, letting your robe slip from your shoulders and pool at your elbows as he stuffs the tie into his pocket. "I want to see all of you."

And he wants you to see all of him. He wants to take off everything that makes him Detective Tim Rockford right in front of you, and have you take control, tell him what to do, make his mind blissfully empty. So, first he kicks off his shoes, then he takes off his jacket. Slowly, his shirt is peeled from his body, the nerves racketing up again with each button. He doesn't look how he did 10 years ago, he was less lean and more soft than he had ever been, the middle aged spread proving to be a fact of life he couldn't escape.

You know what he's thinking as his fingers stall on the last few buttons of his shirt. You'd dealt with these insecurities before, in countless other clients. You weren't immune to similar thoughts either. But, he'd told you he wanted to let go, to give up control with you, so you nod to the remainder of his clothes and prompt again.

"Come now. Let me see."

Tim's fingers work quickly over the last buttons and pull the shirt from his broad frame just as quickly, giving no time for the nerves to take root. You voice the sound of your smile the moment his shirt is discarded and he looks up to see your appraisal. Each button had drawn your eyes down his chest, to the soft swell of his belly, and further still to the growing bulge in the front of his pants. Tall and broad and beautiful, the mass of man in front of you had the power to catch your eye even fully clothed, but now, shirtless with the promise of more on the horizon, you couldn't ignore the thrill at seeing so much of his tanned skin, littered with freckles and a soft smattering of hair.

His belt is unbuckled and off, and his fingers are pulling open the button of his pants and his fly. He doesn't look at you again. He can't right now - if he does he'll choke up and stop himself, feeling entirely inadequate offering this body of his to you. Pushing down his pants, down past soft thighs and strong calves, he steps out of them, taking his socks with them with each step, before nervously scratching at his belly.

Only then, does he look back up at you. You're enraptured, and have already pushed back off your desk, circling him to look at every inch of his body. You'd dimmed the lights slightly, as you always did for client sessions, but even in the soft lamplight he looked stunning. Your fingers trace the swell of his bicep, across his shoulder and the jut of his shoulder blade. A shudder runs down his spine as your fingers dance across it, down to the dimples at his back and over his hip before you round him again where your fingertips rest on his soft belly and the trail of hair there.

"You've been hiding all of this from me for how long, Detective?" you whisper, letting your fingers glide down further and further with each word. "It makes me wonder what else you're hiding."

Tim's cock twitches in his boxers, the thin fabric straining more and more with each passing moment under your gaze. He'd never felt so seen, so appraised, before. The way you looked at him was so easy, the shine in your eye so bright as he peeled back each layer.

"You still want this?"

It's what he said he'd wanted. Days ago now, but he'd said he wanted it and he did. He does. He swallows thickly, desperate to get moisture back into his mouth, nodding a croak of a yes.

At that, you slide the tip of your finger into the waistband of his boxers and pull, stretching the elastic a fraction before releasing, pinging it sharply against his skin.

"Then get these off too, Detective."

His boxers are on the floor a second later, his cock springing free semi-hard between his legs. Raising your hands to your face, you gasp in faux shock, hiding your very real delight behind your hands as you take in his entire naked form.

"Oh, Detective Rockford. I'm disappointed. After all this time you've been hiding that from me?" you gasp, and while Tim can't help but roll his eyes, his cock betrays him and stiffens even more at your words. You'd been through it all with him. Your services, yes, but also specifically what he wanted from you, some of which you'd discovered together on the phone that morning. This was one of those things - a thing you'd discovered on a whim, but something you both knew he would like before the words left your lips. There was a reason he was asking you for this and nobody else - Tim knew the specific brand of sordid you dealt in and, more than anything, he trusted you. Unfortunately for him, you planned on keeping exactly to your word from that call and, guiding your fingers down his bare chest, you tease closer and closer to his length.

"Tsk. Such a shame I won't be playing with it today."

Tim groans, a gasp of a thing he cuts short with a pinch of his lips. He's frowning again too, but nods, knowing that what he came here for wasn't that, but also very aware of the weight of the words you used. Not today, but not never.

Then, your robe is off and you're guiding him to the bed, where he lowers himself and leans back, watching your form as it retreats into the other room. He looks down, down at the body you'd just spent minutes looking at and enjoying, and wonders what you see that he doesn't. All he knows is he's trusted your word for as long as he's known you, and it's no different now. Whatever you see in him, you at least believe it to be true, and that alone makes it easier for him to believe himself. Before he can figure much or anything else out, you're sauntering back into the room.

In your hands you hold a few things. None of them should be surprising to him, but he still sucks in a sharp breath when he sees it - the strap you'd picked out just for him. You'd told him about it over the phone, said that you had the perfect one for him, that you could picture him beneath you taking it, moaning and shaking as you fucked him, and now there it was, exactly as you described. This was never something he felt able to ask for with anyone else, his ex-wife especially. It's true he was always married more to his job than to her, but even in the privacy of their own bedroom he had secrets and wants he could never share with her - she made that much clear early on. With you, he didn't even need to mention it first for you to suggest it to him, didn't even need to feel the heat of shame in his cheeks as he struggled to find the words for what he wanted, because there you were already with all the answers.

You settle everything beside him, letting him see the soft, slender, curve of the dildo up close for the first time, and pass him a bottle of water. Tim takes it, grateful that once again that it was another thing he didn't have to ask for, and cracks open the lid, taking a deep gulp of the cold liquid before setting it out of the way. Another day he'd wonder how it got to this - how on earth Tim Rockford got so used to suffering in silence that even thirst wasn't something he'd remedy until he was desperate. But, right now all he knows is the heat of your body and the smell of your skin as you kneel next to him on the bed, looking down at him with a smirk on your lips.

"Usually I ask people how they'd like it," you whisper, stroking gently down his neck, "but I think we both know you'd like it on your knees, Detective." You twirl your finger in the air, signalling for him to move, and like the good little thing he is, he shifts onto his hands before crawling forward slightly to perch on all fours on the bed.

You think he looks glorious; he feels so exposed - entirely naked for you while you're draped in that thin mesh he can see right through. He doesn't want to think about how he looks like this, on his knees with his ass on total display, his cock hanging low and, already, starting to leak precum.

Blunt nails drag down his back, softly scraping down his ass cheeks and the backs of his thighs. He shudders. You can see his cock where it bobs between his legs, and his balls where they hang softly just beneath the cleft of his cheeks. If he were a different client, maybe you'd give in and drag your nails across the soft flesh of them too, cup them in your palm and give them a firm squeeze, but you resist. Whatever this is doing to you, you'll deal with later. For now, this is for him and that desperate man, the Detective, who had all but begged you for information down the phone.

Grabbing at the small selection of things you'd dumped next to him, you get ready. Tim watches, eager eyes looking as you pull a black nitrile glove down your hand and snap it around you wrist, wiggling your fingers at him when you spot his gaze.

"I can tell you're excited," you say with a look down to his ass where his cock bounces hard against his belly with a tense of his muscles. "You're so ready for this too, aren't you? You've been waiting so long..."

Guiding your ungloved hand down his ass, you squeeze, gripping the flesh and pulling him apart, exposing him to your gaze. "Very pretty."

Tim huffs a laugh, not believing for a second that he is pretty at all, let alone like this, or there.

"What? You don't think you're pretty, all bent over and exposed for me, Detective? I'd argue you've never looked better."

"Right. Is this how you get all your information? Your clients must tell you all sorta things, huh? Vulnerable like this."

A swift, sharp slap is delivered to his right ass cheek, making him gasp as you tut and soothe the sting with your palm. "Ah-ah, Detective, you're off the clock. No work talk. We're here on my business now, not yours."

"Fu- Never off the clock, not in my line of work."

"And that's exactly why you're here, sweetie."

"...Yes ma'am."

There's a small delighted giggle that you just can't hold back, a sound that makes him flush, before you speak again. "Polite and pretty. Are you ready for me, Detective?"

It's then he realizes that your hand hasn't stopped its slow, steady caress of his ass cheeks, pushing and pulling him apart as you watch the tension leave his shoulders. He nods, trying not to brace himself for whatever is coming first, not hearing the click of a lube bottle through the blood rushing in his ears, but definitely feeling the cool trickle of it when it drips onto his asshole.

"That's it," you say, soothing with your ungloved hand, as your gloved one comes down to stroke the pucker of his ring. "We both know you're familiar with this feeling, Detective. Are you going to let me in here?"

The wet swipe of your finger between his cheeks almost feels like it could be cool, cold tongue with how you swirl it around and around his asshole. He tries not to curl his toes, and manages not to until he can't help but beg, a small please falling softly from his plush lips, and you immediately push, sinking the tip of your finger into his ass.

Tim groans, gripping the sheets in an effort not to surge forward and away from the gentle probe of your finger.

"Make all the noise you need to, Detective."

"Fuck."

Your finger steadily sinks into him, drawing out and in to collect more lube as you drizzle it onto his hole.

"Remember how this feels?"

He remembers. Remembers the crackle of your voice over the phone line as you told him to finger his ass. How his hands had scrambled to turn on speakerphone, the other still wrapped around his cock, jerking weakly as you whispered filthy encouragement down the line. Before even that, he remembers the nights spent in his own bed, concocting his own fantasies while he fucked his fist and fingers in tandem.

Except, your fingers feel so much different from his own, can reach places his cannot, and he's groaning with his head hung low between his shoulders before you're even knuckle deep.

Curling this way and that, you feel him from the inside out. Soothing him with a hand on his back, you can feel the deep breath he takes just as the tip of your finger collides with a spot inside him he was all too familiar with, massaging back and forth until he's a groaning mess.

"Oh, well that's a pretty sound, Detective. It sounds to me like you want another."

If he closes his eyes, he can see it, see the black of your gloved hand curled into a fist as your index finger stretches his hole. He can see already as you pull out a little, unfurl another finger, and slide it next to the first, ready to push into him again.

And he takes it, letting out a shuddering gasp, as your fingers fuck into his ass once again, scissoring in him before pushing down and beginning a slow curl against that spot again.

"There. That was easy. I think someone is enjoying this quite a bit, aren't you, Detective?"

There's no denying it, he is. The feel of your hand making him want to buckle into a heap on the bed already and you'd barely even started.

"Yeah. It's - ah fuck - it's good. That's - uh - not fair."

You'd been curling and prodding against his prostate as he tried to talk, making him garble words at you as you watch his cock get more and more engorged between his thighs. "What's not fair?" you ask, with a firmer press down into the spot, and you relish in the deep gravelly moan that grumbles from his chest, forcing his elbows to drop down onto the mattress.

When his hips buck forward, you place a steadying hand on his back, stroking soothing circles with your bare fingers over the dimples in his skin whilst your gloved ones curl into the spot again and again. Part of him is longing to reach down and grab his cock, to jerk it and come all over his fist with your fingers buried in his ass, but that's not what he's here for. Each time he opens his eyes he's made aware of what he's here for by the strap that still lays next to him. If he comes too soon, he's scared that'll be it over, the relief he was really seeking from you still totally out of reach by his own failure. He couldn't, wouldn't, fail at this too.

"Just look at you, Detective. You're getting so wet already." He is. He can feel it. His cock is dripping, beads of precum collecting on his tip and threatening to make a mess of the sheets below. Nodding and groaning and squeezing his eyes shut seem to be all he can do already, feeling like a total mess of a man with your voice like honey trickling into his ear. "So good. I think you can take one more finger. That's it, just one more. Good. Good boy."

He preens, back arching with the praise, cock definitely dripping onto the sheets now, three of your fingers curling and thrusting into his ass. He throbs, the ache of arousal thrumming through him with no relief, just building and building and building with nowhere to go, because you don't let it. You control it, each press of your fingers still so achingly slow that it can make him drip and ache but never explode.

A thin sheen of sweat is coating his body, his legs shaking, forehead pressed into the cool sheets, groans falling wantonly from his mouth, by the time you gingerly pull your fingers from him. That in itself feels like a relief, he thinks. Even though he's still painfully hard at least, for one moment, he's not being worked up and up to an edge you won't quite let him over just yet.

But the strap beside him is gone when he looks up, pushing up on shaky hands to look around for you again. Now, it sits on your hips, straps pulled taught over the mesh of your lingerie. You're pulling a condom over the length of dildo, rolling it down to the base, your glove discarded somewhere he can't see. His mouth is dry again, so he reaches for the water, swallowing deeply, wiping away an errant drop from the scruff of his beard.

He can't stop looking. Between your face, your beautiful face, your scantily clad body, your hands and those fingers that had just been inside him, the cock between your legs. He's entranced. It takes a gentle hand on his shoulder for him to notice you're talking to him.

"Look at you, Detective," you hum down to him, and all he can think is Yes. Look at me. Please. Here he was, stripped bare as a man could be, seen by you in ways he'd never been seen. And that name - a taunt coming from you that he longed for rather than loathed. Each tease of Detective a reminder that with you he could be both and neither all at once, just as he always was.

He reaches for you then. Slowly. Delicately. Fingers bridging the gap between you. Usually you'd step back, move away from grasping hands when permission wasn't granted. But, you let him touch, his fingers resting on your mesh covered hip and stroking you. It's the first time he's ever touched you, and it's so soft. You're so soft.

"You're ready for it, aren't you?" you ask, your eyes lazily dragging down to the strap between your legs where his follow.

Without word, and avoiding the mess already splattered on the sheet, he moves back to all fours, his hand leaving you cold. Slicking more lube across the strap, you kneel behind him, palming his ass with both hands, rubbing soft circles down his thighs as you gently rut against the crevasse of his ass.

"Do you trust me, Detective?"

It's a stupid question - stupid because you already know the answer, and so does he.

"You're kidding, right?" he says in disbelief, looking around to see the coy smile on your face.

"Humor me."

"Of course I do."

With his eyes still on you, you press forward, hand steadying the dildo to slip the tip into his slick asshole.

"Oh. That's it. Look at me when I fuck your ass. That feels so good doesn't it?"

Tim pants, nodding as you bear forward. The strap is barely thicker than your three fingers, but his rim still stretches and pulls as you breach him, slowly, steadily, until the entire length is buried in his ass.

"There we go. That's it. I'm all the way in. You take an ass fucking so well, Detective. Are you sure you haven't done this before?" With another roll of your hips he's gasping again, dropping his face to the sheet. The heat of his thighs are against yours and you know, you just know, that his cock is straining, his balls begging to empty already.

"There we are. That's it. You can take it. Oh, good boy. You like that don't you. You like being a good boy."

With his cheek is pressed to the mattress, you can see nothing but the pinched look of ecstasy on his face. It's boiling in his veins too, the heat spreading up his back and burning his cheeks. If he opens his eyes he'll see you, looking down with intent at his ass as you slowly roll your hips into him, and the thought alone makes him groan, brings him so close to coming that he's scrambling for purchase on the bed again, desperate gasps rattling out of him. The cloying scent of you is all over him - stuck in his lungs like molasses, each deep breath in of you coinciding with each slap of your hips against his ass until desperation turns to pleading.

"Please. P-please. Fuck. Please."

"Please what?" you say, looking around at him. And that's when you see his cock, angry and weeping, splattering cum all over your sheets. You hadn't felt him come yet, there'd been no tensing of his muscles or twitching of his cock, just a steady stream of precum dripping from him like a leaky faucet. "Oh, look at that. You're making quite the mess, aren't you, sweetie? Are you going to clean that up? Hm? Or will I have to bill the city for my laundry?"

"Oh, fu-," he pants, and you feel a shiver trickle down his back at the empty threat, his palms pressing harder into the mattress beneath him as his shoulders draw back. He's going to come. You don't even need to move, you could just talk to him in that voice of yours, call him a good boy and tell him how dirty he is and he'd be gone, skyrocketing to a place he'd never been and making a glorious mess of everything.

"What was that?" You slow down the roll of your hips, drawing him back from that edge you'd been dangling him so deliciously over.

"No. No. Don't - Fuck."

"Then you'll have to clean up your mess."

You swipe your finger through the cum that has steadily dripped from his cock and onto the sheet below, and lean forward to bring it to his lips, pressing your hips further and further into his ass. There's a sticky sheen of sweat on his back that slicks you together, and you can't resist. You kiss him. Soft lips pressing into the muscle of his shoulder, waiting for that moment he parts his lips in a voiceless moan to slip your finger inside. His tongue laves around your digit, tasting himself on the salt of your skin and he groans, vibrating desperate sounds from his chest to yours as you fuck so deep he's seeing stars.

"That's it, that's a good boy," you coo, dragging your finger from his mouth, leaving a trail of saliva across the scruff of his cheek.

"It's such a shame I have no use for your cock when it looks so pretty, Detective," You say, lifting your leg to fuck more deeply into him. "Look at it, all drippy and useless. You're going to come, aren't you? Even without touching your cock, you're going to come and make even more of a mess."

"Yes. Fuck, yes. Don't stop."

The steady slap of your hips picks up, and you're panting with exertion now too. You could've had him coming in five minutes, but that was no fun for you. You'd waited too long for this not to drag it out, not to see how long he could hold off for you, how much of a desperate mess he could be before he was begging for release. This was it. His limit. You'd found it, and his groans were suddenly impossible to ignore, shooting white hot heat into your own core, making you feel slick with want as you fucked him. You need him to come, before your need for more friction clouds your brain and you need to slip your hand between your own legs before he even leaves.

"Such a pretty ass to ruin. Come for me, Detective. Oh, fuck. Come for me."

He stops breathing. He thinks he's died. He has to have. You think you've killed him. But then his whole body tenses and he groans out a sob, biting sheets and spitting them out over and over as he comes, and comes, and comes. You don't stop, each shuddering sob of a gasp spurring you on until he's milked dry and almost prone on the mattress.

"That's it. That's it. You did it. Good boy. Well done, Detective. Well done."

He feels so soft. His bones must have turned to dust and spurted out of his cock with that final thrust of the strap in his ass. He's never been this weightless, never been this carefree. There's not an ache in him, just pure bliss, and he's so relieved he could cry.

And you're there. Pulling out of him slowly, wiping down his back, his thighs, with a damp towel, cooling him before you dry him with another, bringing water to his lips for him to drink. Pushing his hair back from his forehead, you guide him onto his back, letting him lie down and take a moments rest you know the man wouldn't take any other time. You're fairly certain he doesn't sleep. Detective Rockford works too hard because he cares too much, you know that. And you also know he doesn't care for himself. That is why he's here, even if he'd never say so himself.

"Up you get, sweetie. It's cold. Let's get something on you," you're whispering to him all too soon. Tim's lost, the concept of time gone from his body entirely, but he supposes it has been too long, his time is up. He only paid for an hour of your time, and even that seemed much more valuable than the price you'd put on it. He should go.

When he sits up he's lethargic, reaching for his clothes as he shuffles to the end of the bed. He doesn't know you're holding a robe out for him, strap discarded. He doesn't see the concern in your eyes because he suddenly can't meet them. "Should get going, I guess."

"No. You shouldn't. Stay."

Tim looks up to you then, seeing you wrapped and fully covered for the first time in the year he's known you. You're no more on the job right now than he is, he realizes, blinking in confusion at the robe you toss next to him.

"Look, I've taken up enough of your time, I don't want to overstep -"

"I'm not asking you to stay as a client, Detective. I'm asking you to stay as a friend. Stay. Talk to me." And you say it because god knows you mean it. You want him to stay and you want him to talk as much as you know he needs it, that gap he'd bridged with his hand now being bridged by you, and your simple request that he stay.

"Some friend to have."

"A good friend to have, Tim.”

“- I didn't mean - I meant me, I -”

“The point still stands either way," you say. And you mean that too. "Stay."

And that's it. There he is. Stripped back, just like he wanted. No more Detective. Just Tim. And there you are. Sitting on the blanket draped sofa, looking him straight in the eye. You don't need to look down to see him, and he doesn't need to look up to see you.

Grabbing the robe, Tim drapes it around himself, walking on unsteady feet toward you, the mess of the sheets and his life forgotten for one more second.

"Decaf? Might not have all the answers. But I do have coffee. And that's a start."

"Yeah," he says as he sits beside you. "Yeah, that's a start."

taglist: @jupiter-soups @wannab-urs @bean-is-reading @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @youandmeand5bucks-blog @bbyanarchist @vickywallace @kamcrazy123 @valkyreally @ashhlsstuff @a-literal-goblin @ariundercovers @iluvurfather @stevie75 @toxicanonymity @thesevi0lentdelights @sp00kymulderr @corazondebeskar-reads

also a little sneaky tag if you showed interest in my snippet the other day 💛 @heareball @nerdieforpedro @missredherring @survivingandenduring

[merakiui]

MERA IVE BEEN HAVING THIS THOUGHT AND I THINK YOURE THE RIGHT PERSON TO SHARE IT WITH BC ITS SO PERFECT FOR THE TWEELS 😭

A long time ago, back when i was a teenager and still a wattpad girly, I read this one really good story called "Family Comes First" about a family of cannibals that lives in the middle of nowhere. They only keep boy children who are born, no daughters. Whenever a boy turns a certain age (I think 21 but I cant really rmbr), the father goes out to the nearest city, interviews girls under the guise of offering them a job, and kidnaps the best one as a birthday gift and bride. The mother-in-law teaches the new girl how to be a good wife (cleaning, cooking that strange meat, etc.), and the husband is otherwise responsible for his wife, to the point of selecting and laying out her clothing every morning. The ultimate honour is to birth a son, and so the husbands are CONSTANTLY trying to get their wives knocked up. I can't help but imagine Jade and Floyd in a story like this, it suits them perfectlyyyyy

In the book, one of the boys ended up catching feelings for brother's wife (the main character) instead of his own, and it causes fights serious drama in the family. This works so well with the recent ideas about Jade stealing Floyd's cute little wifey except it would be even better for them because they're twins and Jade can pull all his nasty tricks 😭 maybe when she finally gets knocked up with a son, they won't know who it belongs to, because he looks just like his daddy, but the potential daddies look the sammmeee OTZ

Oh oh oh and imagine if reader tries to escape and the family decides to let her try. Let her have fun. Hell, they even join in on the fun. She was blindfolded when they brought her and she's never been out of the house before, so she doesn't know her way around the woods, whereas the men in this family have been hunting humans for sport and food in these woods for generations. Now she's lost in the dark forest with daddy leech and the tweels rapidly closing in on her. She's going to be taught a lesson after they drag her home. After all, she lost the game, and losers never get rewards >_<

OHHH!!! Omg that concept is perfect for the tweels!!!! And they would absolutely draw out the chase in the forest just to scare you even more. Maybe then, after spending an entire day and night being hunted like a wild animal, you'll learn your home is with them. There's no point in running from your family, after all.

Hehe running from the three of them and you injure yourself, so now you're even more panicked because what if they can smell the cut on your leg? What if they can hear your pained grunts as you drag yourself along, limping through the forest? >_< omg and it doesn't matter who finds you; it's going to be frightening either way. Floyd who drags you out of your hiding place by the ankles, or Jade who stands over you as he patiently waits for you to take notice of him. Or Papa Leech wrapping you up in big, strong, scarred arms to carry you back to the house. Maybe you're kicking and screaming all the way, and it's useless to struggle because there's no one else out here for stretches. Just you and your family, who care so very much for you. You should be grateful! Mr. Leech's sons fight over you to be named your husband. Aren't you lucky to have the two of them? Most of all, aren't you lucky you're alive and not on their murderous menu?

AAAAAA and Papa Leech picks your clothes for you going forwards! They were far too patient and lenient with you before, far too forgiving. Now you're living under a new schedule, a fresh set of rules. Your clothes are selected for you, and your meals are prepared in advance (gone are the days in which you were given choices; each meal is healthy and has properties meant to boost your fertility). When you aren't learning to be the perfect housewife, you're getting bent over every possible surface and bred by the twins. Or if the twins can't behave, then maybe Papa Leech ought to knock you up instead........... thinking thoughts.

In conclusion, the entire family is crazy and you're stuck with them forever. orz

[hazashiovo]

Father!figure Joel random headcanons with fem!reader?

(now that I'm reading my request again it sounds pretty vague :/ I'm gonna try to tell some ideas or details. So, would be cool to see how joel cares about reader's hobbies like bringing her new things, what does he do when reader gets sad, or when someone in town is messing with her, how does he reacts when reader shows him affection like making him a gift or hugs him or kisses his cheek, or how does he teases her when she's shy of some subject, etc)

I love this! Especially since I see Joel more in a platonic way.

Joel Miller father headcanons

Joel would be TERRIFIED to be a father again.

After losing Sara he kept living with the feeling that something bad is going to happen to you too.

Even so, nothing is going to harm you while Joel's there ,and he's always there for you.

He had a hard time accepting you as his newly adopted daughter,but once he made peace with himself? Best dad ever.

You like drawing? He left a box with a ton of art supplies.

He found them a while ago but didn't know at that time that you like art.

You enjoy music? He got you your own guitar,which also comes with music lessons only from him.

He knows how much you like listening to him singing,so it became a habit for him to sing to you,and once you gain more experience you'll be able to sing with him.

Maybe you like reading, Joel makes sure to bring you to this huge library,a bit far from Jackson but it's totally worth it.

You returned home with toons of books to occupy your time.

It doesn't matter which hobby you have, he will always be there to support it.

One thing I learned from the show,is that Joel likes hiking.

He used to do that with Sara when things were still okay, so when he started this with you it felt like a part of him healed.

When exploring a new place,he found an old shop full of video cameras and photo camera,and so he started collecting photos of you two. He even made an album where he keeps the photos with you.

If there was a fire that would be the main thing he would save.

When you got older he became more protective. He knew those Jackson boys barely wait for a new girl to get with. Well not this girl,not his little girl.

If you're queer,he would be completely oblivious. My man doesn't have a gaydar,not in the slightest.

If you would hang out with a girl pretty often he would just assume you're best friends or something along the lines.

Now if he accidentally saw you kiss with said girl? S-H-O-C-K.

Joel's not homophobic,don't get him wrong,but he just never expected it. And never actually saw it coming.

But if he saw you and a boy kiss,he's all protective father mode on.

Of course he's not a meat head, he'll understand that you have the right to a relationship just as much as anyone,but that doesn't mean he's also fond of the idea of a boy around you.

He'll only accept it for your happiness,but if that guy ever hurts you? Oh well, it's not his fault for what's about to happen.

Fortunately he trusts you can pick the right person, whether they're a girl or a boy.

At times when you're sick he can't help but remember Sara, he'd also remember how worried he would be for his daughter,the same worry that he feels for you.

He makes sure you stay inside and makes you drink and take the pills the doctor prescribed for you,even if you don't like it.

If you ever return from outside hurt, expect to never hear the end of it. For some time he wouldn't let you leave Jackson, mostly because of his fear of anything happening to you again.

But he's not that kind of Father,so after a while he will reluctantly give you permission to go outside Jackson again.

Movie nights.

Joel finds those old DVDs with movies he used to watch before the apocalypse,and he just loves rewatching them with you.

You'll be all snuggled up in his chest,head right where his heart beat, everything reminding him of his movie nights with Sara after a long shift at work.

Joel feels really happy and fulfilled that you trust him enough to be this vulnerable around him. Especially since this world is cruel and full of dangers.

He's dead set to never let anything or anyone lay a finger on you,even if it costs him his life.

.

.

My daddy issues are sueing me.

[causenessus]

new grounds

part 0.6. TOXIC TRAIT . . . 1.5.2024

PLAYING IN THE CAFE . . . atomic vomit by steve lacy

it’s 10 o’clock. not in the afternoon, at night. she’s huddled in a corner next to keiji, the both of them leaning on each other and periodically dozing off and then shaking the other awake. 

kageyama is a few feet away from her on her right, playing with his hands as they wait for their manager who is late as per usual.

yachi is a little more energetic, sitting a chair’s distance away on keiji’s side, swinging her feet as she scrolls on her phone. she giggles at something which draws all of their attention.

“akaashi,” she says, turning towards him. “do you want to tell me about this condom thing?”

“oh god,” keiji removed his arm from around y/n’s shoulder to cover his face with his hands. 

y/n laughs as she sits upright in her chair, it had only happened a few days before, but it felt like forever ago.

“what more is there to say? keiji’s tweet summed it up pretty good,” she answers and keiji groans at the thought.

kageyama tries his best not to look as he listens. his phone is buzzing with texts from a group chat. his friends are trying to encourage him to talk to her after he told them she was here. but he can’t. instead, he’s on google researching condoms and microphones, something he never thought he’d be doing. ever.

then a bell chimes as the door opens and their manager walks in, a small corduroy bag around her shoulders over a white puffer jacket. 

“happy holidays, sorry i’m late,” she slings off her bag as she talks.

everything is pointless here. they’re all pretending to listen to her as if they respect her and she’s pretending like she actually does her job. but maybe that’s all his opinion.

“this last year was pretty good. we lost some people but you’re all new additions and you’ve been handling this great. i help out when i need to, i accommodate when you guys need some days off…” it was slowly transitioning into statements about her, which she realized and quickly cleared her throat, pulling out a folder. “the only things i can say is you all need to do better about getting to work on time and calling out. if you’re all gonna call out one day at least tell me a day ahead or something. it’s not like i can stop you guys from doing it, just don’t make it a habit,” she sighs, running a hand through her hair. “i think that was all, if you guys can hang out here for 20 minutes more, we’ll all get paid extra. everything’s free today for you guys, so if you want anything just let me know and i’ll make it for you.”

y/n settles back down into her chair with a steaming chai latte, curling back up against keiji, whose sipping on a brewed green tea. yachi is happy with a hot chocolate, and kageyama has a mug of warm milk in his hand.

none of them want caffeine right now, it’s too late. they all just want to go home but they aren’t going to miss out on being paid just for sitting around.

but something bothers her about the fact that kageyama’s been on his phone this whole time. he keeps texting someone, she assumes, and for some reason that sits wrong with her. she wants to know what’s going through his head and who he’s talking to. a part of her wishes he would look at her, or ask how she’s doing.

maybe that’s asking for too much, it sounds comedic just thinking about it. he’s never talked to her more than he needed to. he’s never been one to say “how are you?” but maybe after her havoc on twitter, she thought he’d be more interested.

he's unlike anyone she's ever met, and maybe that's what makes her care so much. she's never cared so much about what anyone thought, or in garnering a simple look from them.

but he won't look at her and she can't predict how he's going to act, and she doesn't know how to handle that except by telling herself that she hates him.

“look at him,” y/n can’t help but whisper to the companion she’s leaning against, still facing towards the boy who’s mindlessly scrolling on his phone as he sips on his drink. “look at the state we’re in and he doesn’t even care. he hasn’t looked at us once.”

keiji raises his brows in surprise at her comment. what did it matter what he cared? but then he pieces it together.

“well, he’s seen me like this once at the beginning of the fall during our first show. but yachi’s right,” he gives her a sly smile as she tilts her head back, looking at him confused, “you really do care what he thinks.”

her face turns red at the thought and she immediately sits up, staring down into the swirling foam of her latte. “i do not,” she mumbles.

"i don't care," she whispers again. but she can't even bring herself to say it confidently.

prev. | m.list | next

extras <3

kageyama literally knew y/n would be at the celebration because it was a mandatory and he had overheard her talking about in their psych class once to a classmate but he wasn't actually prepared

he immediately opened up his gc when she walked in and said "she's here" and the gc subsequently blew up

my boy was literally texting about yn the entire night but she thought he was just on his phone </3

the gc was trying so hard to get her to talk to him and he had the nerve to say things like "she looks busy" "she looks tired" "she's laying against akaashi right now"

which is when hinata with all the love in the world but not the brightness of someone intelligent said he should spill a drink on them so that she wouldn't be laying on him anymore (literally not said with any malice he's heard from bokuto how cool he is)

yams screamed no in the groupchat and outloud...because tsukki, hianta and him were all in the same room texting the groupchat in silence

other than that hinata was going off with the advice and giving kageyama all the reasons why he could talk to y/n

y/n keeps looking at akaashi because she wants to open her mouth and express how she really feels about kageyama (which would come up as a jumble of undiscernible words) but doesn't know what he'll say so then she looks away

yachi can't work on sunday because she's going to an art auction!! <3 how coincidental

(also my brain for some reason really wanted to write the written part in the present tense for absolutely no reason which i was trying to fight and then got confused so hopefully it still flows ok </4)

taglist: @ncitygreen @lvrlamp @cherrypieyourface @mimi3lover @lees-chaotic-brain @frootloopscos @0moonii @cr4yolaas @eggyrocks @pinkiscool @httpakkeiji @localgaytrainwreck @lunaviee @kitty-m30w @lixie-phoria @aliruuiz @tartfrappe @corvid007 @iluv-ace @yvjitadori @k8nicole (form to be added to taglist! <3)

[callmearcturus]

@vmprsm replied to your post “Raw MKV rip of Mission Impossible: Fallout:...”:

Theoretically, if one wanted their own copies of the MI movies safely on a hard drive....where would one go?

​I mean, there is a site where you can acquire a lot of movies via torrent. I tend to use (rot13) 1337k.gb and I got a heavily discounted Windscribe VPN subscription that I use on almost all of my devices.

But my thing is that... I want commentary reels and special features, and sometimes you'll download a movie but the fucking subtitles are either bad or they become desynced over time and I haaaaate it.

So I've been gathering bits and pieces over the past year to get a Plex system going in my house and it works like a fucking DREAM. But it requires some investment. If you just want to have a few local copies of your favorite movies, this is way overkill. But me, I am canceling all of my family's streaming services and pivoting to our Plex.

So what I have for actually getting the files:

I don't have this model but it's similar to this, a Pioneer External Blu-ray Reader. It sits on a little shelf and is connected to my PC by a USB cable. (I think I got mine for around 68 bucks so you can wait for a sale.)

I use MakeMKV which will rip the big honking raw files from a Blu-ray and leave them as matroshka (.mkv) files.

Because these raw files are ENORMOUS, I compress them in Handbrake. Handbrake is wildly powerful, can convert file formats and make them super small. I have my Handbrake set up special to dump all the non-English language subtitles and audio tracks to save space.

(SUPER BONUS TIP FOR HANDBRAKE: If you have a dedicated GPU, you can give Handbrake permission to use it, and it'll compress shit literally 10x faster, love it.)

At the moment, I am using a Western Digital portable 5TB external harddrive because it was one sale and I couldn't beat the price. Eventually, I want to upgrade to two 10TB HDDs so I can keep a full backup of everything I'm ripping. Because this is a bit of a time and energy commitment and I don't wanna lose all my progress here!

At first I was running Plex off my desktop PC and that worked totally fine, but my family hates having to touch my desktop to wake it up every time, so I very recently grabbed one of these guys:

This is a Beelink Mini PC S12 Pro. It is small enough to fit in my hand but it is a speedy little demon that runs Windows 11. (And eventually I am gonna use it to firewall out ads from our entire home network, I'm pumped for that project but ANYWAY.)

The upside of these mini boys is that instead of being a hefty workhorse like my main computer, this is small and has a low-power draw.

So I moved my Plex Media Server to the mini PC, plugged in my 5TB drive of movies, and now everyone in the house can easily stream anything I have added to the library.

This is what it looks like, if you're curious. Any device in the house that runs Plex and is signed in can select any movie or TV show I have and just watch it like it was Netflix or something.

A month ago, I has like.... 65 movies? Now I'm ripping a few and we're gonna break 100 soon.

"But Arc, where do you get so many blurays!"

My local library.

When I lived in Broward County, FL, I had an extravagantly wonderful library system. Tax dollars at fucking WORK, y'all. Now I live in Georgia and the library system is not nearly as good, but I have still gotten my hands on a frankly ridiculous amount of blurays. Every week I'm picking up 3 to 10 movies or shows, taking them home, making good copies, and returning them.

All of this is an investment and it is work. But as someone who built my computer, built my keyboard, cracked my 3DS and PS Vita-- this is fun to me! This is what I love to do. And through doing it, I've seen more movies in the past year than the last ten years put together.

So yeah, I can't recommend this to everyone, but if you wanna get out of your subscriptions and to just have high quality shit on demand, this is what I'm doing.

Cannot stress this enough tho, if this seems interesting to you: wait for sales. All the components here go on steep sale if you wait patiently. Take your time assembling the parts and keep in mind that shit is modular, you can upgrade parts later.

[roosterbruiser]

blurb idea: everyone joking and asking Bradley how he's surviving bc he only has daughters but then you see Bradley at home painting nails, having a tea party, pretending to be at a fashion show, engaging in 5 different conversations. All that in one afternoon. And he's just so happy the entire time and can't wait to do it again 🥲

can be read as part of the Landslide universe :)

Rooster is a girl dad. it isn't even just his energy--it's a legitimate fact. first there was Olive, then there was Joni. the two of you thought for sure that the third was going to be a boy, not that it mattered either way--so imagine your surprise when you had Finch; your third daughter. and when the two of you agreed one more baby, not even in hopes of a son but just to complete your family, you were blessed with two more girls: Opal and June.

it was all the buzz around base, when Rooster came back from paternity leave a few months ago, everyone mockingly taking a knee when he entered the room like he was some sort of battle hero.

it's something Rooster is chided about relentlessly, even now. everyone falls you and your daughters the hens, calling all your get-togethers hen parties, asking how he survives the estrogen of it all. it gets especially brutal when his commander or a student points out the leftover glitter in his hair or the tutu someone snuck in his work duffel. there was also that one time he forget to take off his nail polish before work--boy, did the man have a heyday with that one.

Rooster takes it all in stride, though, happily wearing homemade ties to work and presenting scrawled drawings. he has hardly any elbow room on his desk because of all the frames that clog it.

it's a regular Wednesday in the middle of September as Rooster walks up the path to your front door, but it feels like the first day of summer to him. the sun is shining, the birds are singing, the flowers are blooming. and inside the house, he can hear the chaos that has been brewing all day: Olive trying to stop Joni from abusing the piano and failing, Finch following you around the house and asking you about caterpillars again, Opal babbling, June crying, your steady voice, the radio playing Born in the U.S.A again (no doubt at Olive's request), the dogs whining for dinner.

it's really music to his ears.

"daddy's home!" he hears you call as he stuffs his key in the lock.

and when he swings the door open, he's knee-deep in all of it. Olive, the oldest and the most coordinated, is dodging everyone to spring over to Rooster. she takes her spot on his left leg, hugging him to her body, immediately trying to tattle on Joni for abusing Grandpa Goose's piano. Finch makes it to him second, less-coordinated and not wearing anything except a diaper and one of his neckties, a toothy grin cutting her face as she reached up for her dad. and once he's holding her, patting Olive's head in greeting as he kisses Finch's ruddy cheeks, Joni has planted herself firmly on his other leg.

you're steadily making your way to him, too, the weight of the world slipping off your shoulders as he kisses all his girls hello.

"daddy said you're not supposed to smash the keys!" Olive insists, incredulous.

Joni screws up her face, sticking her tongue out at Olive.

"I wasn't!" she insists. "daddy, Olive's lying!"

"gotta be careful with the piano," he says, patting Olive's tawny hair, then Joni's. he can hardly hear their bickering above the blasting radio. "how many times has this song played today?" he asks with a grin.

Finch takes it upon herself to answer, having recently learned numbers. she stuffs her sticky hand in Rooster's face, holding up five fingers proudly.

"five?" he asks, eyebrows raised. he kisses her little palms and she giggles at the way his mustache tickles her skin. "you girls torturing your mama when I'm not here?"

"and Opal didn't nap today," you add with a deep heave, bouncing the twins on your hips as they each mouth your sleeves, blinking up at you with their daddy's big, brown eyes. "and June had a blowout, and Finch is a nudist. Joni tried to drink out of the dog's bowl again. and the dog got into your office and found your stash of Reese's, which you were hiding from me."

"sorry, baby," Rooster insists.

"after everything I've given you?" you tease, nodding to his armful of girls and yours. "I'm offended!"

"I think I helped a little," Rooster teases.

standing before him now, you smile despite yourself. Rooster's still grinning, leaning forward to press a kiss to your lips before taking the twins from you, holding them both with one arm. he hopes he can always hold all of his girls at once, even though he knows it's not something that will stick around forever.

"just a little," you tell him, stretching your taut body out now that your child-free.

"what about me?" Olive pouts, tugging your pant leg. "what did I do?" she asks.

always wanting to be involved.

"you, little miss, made me play Bruce Springsteen all day!" you tell her, bending at the hips to stroke her cheek.

she grins at that, nodding proudly.

"yeah, I did," she confirms, blinking up at Rooster. "I love Bruce Springsteen!"

"you're a weird little kid," Rooster tells her with a teasing grin. "who raised you?"

she grins up at him, one of her front teeth missing.

"you!" she confirms.

"got me there," Rooster sighs. "I love Bruce Springsteen, too!"

Opal and June are already pressing their gummy little mouths to Rooster's chest, taking fistfuls of his mustache and t-shirt. your arms feel decidedly empty for the first time today, which you always look forward to, but never thoroughly enjoy.

"time's the tea party?" Rooster asks, leaving lingering kisses to the top of the twin's heads as Finch picks through his hair a la baby monkey searching for bugs.

"now!" Joni insists, untying his shoe.

Olive's batting Joni's hands, trying to get her to quit it, and Joni is growling at Olive.

"no being feral," you warn the both of them, pointing an accusing finger at Joni. "let daddy at least get through the door before you growl, huh?"

"but mommy," Joni whines, throwing her head back dramatically. "I'm a puppy dog!"

"you're just Joni," Olive insists, lips pursed. "this is real life."

"hey," Rooster warns, glancing down at Olive. "who made you the pretend police?"

Olive doesn't have an answer, just looking up at her dad with slanted brows and parted lips. ever the most exasperated, serious older sister in the world.

"she's been really into realism today," you tell Rooster, crossing your arms over your chest. "Jake shouldn't have let her watch Life of Pi."

Rooster starts to walk forward with a great effort, grunting as he glides across the foyer with an extra hundred pounds of giggling weight.

as he trudges through the foyer with great effort, his shirt now wet with baby slobber and his curls mussed from grubby fingers and his shoelaces unties, you watch him affectionately. anyone in the world can look at him like this, with that grin splitting his lips and that laugh sitting in his throat, and know that this is what he's meant for.

"c'mon, mama," he calls to you, glancing over his shoulder. "can't be late for the tea party!"

"with real tea," Olive clarifies, shooting you a thumbs up. "but fake cucumber sandwiches!" then she shoots you a thumbs down for affect.

"m'coming," you sigh dreamily, locking the door. "chamomile or jasmine?"

[gabessquishytum]

Penniless Artist Dream doesn't have a choice but to take a position as house staff/live-in tutor for Widower Hob's Robin/sell the last of his art supplies for the livery for the job, and while he knows he didn’t have a choice, working on anything not his art makes him very sad.

And he's convinced that Master Gadling (No, Dream is not going to call him Hob) only gave him the position out of pity - which Dream can't abide.

Hob thinks Dream is fantastic! A fantastic artist and person; and so good with Robin. Hob doesn't know how, but he's going to figure out a way for Dream to start doing his art again....Hob's okay if Robin becomes an artist. The finger paintings and hand turkeys that Dream has him making are so great! Hob has kept all of them.

I can't decide if this is Regency-y or Modern Times-y, because Robin+Dream Art would live in a place of honor on Hob's fridge; but Old Time-y Hob getting all the canvases framed at expense and put in places of honor all over the house,,,,,that's totally a thing too.

AND when Dream finally gets back to his art and does a best selling gallery series with Robin's little Gadling handprints all in them,,,Hob would give it to him soooooo good.

Omg. We absolutely need artist Dream with Hob as his patron!! And lil Robin as his biggest fan!! And hey, I cant resist a little regency au in my life *winks at @seiya-starsniper *

Dream is a good tutor, but Hob can see that he's an even better painter. He wants to see Dream thrive and flourish! And so he causally offers him a commission: he wants a painting of a particular view from one of his favourite spots on his estate. Dream is hesitant at first, but Hob persuades him gently. Robin is still quite little, so he doesn't need Dream to be teaching him all the time. Hob can take him out for rides and play with him while Dream works on his art! He's missed playing with his little man anyway, so really Dream will be doing him a huge favour. And so, mostly because the money is too good to resist, Dream gives in.

He paints a magnificent landscape and Hob gushes about how much he loves it. He hangs it in the most important place in the house and makes all his guests look at it. He offers Dream more commissions and Dream can't resist Hob’s puppyish enthusiasm. He paints and paints and teaches Robin at the same time, until the boy is quite the budding little artist. Hob is so proud!

He even suggests that they should send one of Dream’s pictures off to the royal exhibition in London. Dream is very hesitant but Hob is persuasive, and he's got nothing to lose: Hob is paying all the fees. Dream just has to wait and see. When they find out that Dream’s painting is going on display, Hob pulls Dream into his arms and squeezes him, practically lifting him off the ground! He can't wait to take Dream and Robin to see the exhibition! No doubt, he's got it bad for his artist.

They make love for the first night in Hob’s London home, trying to be quiet so nobody will hear. Dream puts his lovely slim fingers in Hob’s mouth and muffles his moans into Hob’s chest, both of them completely floating away on a wave of love and joy. Hob wakes in the morning to the sight of Dream, sketchbook in hand, drawing out his naked form. They're both covered in charcoal by the time they're finished.

Dream isn't exactly a roaring success in London, but he picks up a few commissions from those who saw his painting at the exhibition. It's a huge improvement on his former situation, and he has plenty of room to grow. Although it may be difficult to persuade Hob to let anyone else buy the paintings - he's a liiiiittle possessive. And he'll always worship everything Dream creates <3

[deangirlsstuff67]

Say My Name

Dean Winchester x Reader

Warning: wet dreams, voyeurism, period sex, anal play, p in a, creampie, soft dean, Unprotected sex, rough sex

Summary: You wake up hearing Dean yelling from his room next door, only he isn't in trouble.

Masterlist | Patreon

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It's the middle of the night when you startle awake. What the fuck woke you up. You could have sworn you heard yelling and it wasn't in your dreams.

You wait a few minutes. The bunker is deathly quiet. The boys have long gone to bed after their bar visit for St. Patrick's Day this evening. You were honestly shocked Dean came home at all, he was talking non stop about getting luck tonight.

Just as you close your eyes you hear a faint whimper from the wall you share with Dean. You slowly get up, not to make a sound as you reach for the pistol you keep under your pillow.

There it is again but louder. Almost as if he's in pain.

Shit.

There's no way someone or something has gotten in here. The bunker is more secure than Fort Knox.

But as you slowly make your way to your door, Dean hasn't stopped. Gradually getting louder, more desperate. Whatever is happening sounds painful.

Tip toeing out into the hall and down to the plain wood door that holds Dean and all his things, you draw your weapon. Ready for anything. Taking everything the boys have taught you and using it to save yourself and Dean.

Quietly you open the door. Dean is laying on his back. He's sheets are tangled around those gorgeous bow legs.

Gun drawn in front of you, you scan the room. There's nothing there. Not a soul in this room that could be causing Dean pain.

So why the groans?

On the balls of your feet you turn to leave when you hear it again. Dean groaning as if he's in pain.

Spinning around, gun cocked, ready to fire on the bastard hurting your Dean. Expect there isn't anyone in the room but you and the dangerously hot green eyed hunter.

Who is humping the air?

That's when all the pieces fall into place. The groans. The whimpers. And your name?

Was that your name he just said?

You need to leave before this becomes anymore awkward or creepy.

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

You're at the door when Dean cries your name louder than before. You can't help yourself and turn around.

He's awake. Green eyes locked on yours as he pants.

Oh my God. He just came from a dream about you.

Fuck that's hot.

"Y/N" it's barely above a whisper. Almost as if he's scared if he speaks too loud you'll dissappear.

Embarrassed you blurt out the first thing you can think of before running back to your room, "I'm so sorry Dean."

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

Soft knocking echos through the quiet room. Your in bed again. Your body is flush, core pulsing with need, and thighs slick with your desire.

He doesn't wait for an answer, probably knowing you wouldn't anyways.

Dean's dressed in nothing but his boxers. Groaning you pull your blanket above your eyes. The visual is so not helping right now.

You feel the bed dip. Your blanket rises and a hot body moves in next to you. He doesn't say anything as his hands roam your body.

You freeze when he begins to drift towards your heat. As much as you'd love this to happen, mother nature has different plans.

"I can't Dean."

"Why?" It's hoarse and husky. Hits your deep in your core.

"Umm... I'm... on my... fuck." You take a calming breath. No point in lying at thus point. "I'm on my period Dean."

It's quiet for a moment before he's kissing your shoulder and moving his hand to your back. Strong fingers work their way down your spine towards your ass.

"Have you ever taken someone here?" He's big hands kneed your ass cheek above your underwear.

Nervous dance in your belly, "only once."

You can feel him through your underwear, he's large. You aren't sure if you'll be able to take him. But damn it you've had a crush on Dean for years. What if this is your chance.

"Would you want to try?" Slowly he works his way into your underwear. Lightly caressing your skin as he goes.

Your body is warm. You're so turned on you feel like you might combust. You hardly recognize your own voice when you respond, "yes."

Dean fingers dissappear.

Moments later they're back and wet with his own saliva. Oh he's a dirty man.

Dean takes his time warming you up. Sliding one, then two, eventually three fingers deep inside your tight channel.

"Sweetheart, you're so tight. I won't last long inside you."

"Good. I'm so close Dean. Wanna cum with you."

"Yes ma'am" then he's withdrawing his fingers, leaving you feeling empty. You hear his spit in his hand as he uses his spit and pre cum to lubricate his thick dick.

Lining himself up he slowly pushes forward. Your body struggles for a moment before you can relax and accept him. His head pops past your tight ring and he stops.

"Good girl y/n."

"Dean, please. I need you."

He pushes more as he slowly slides into your body. Both of you panting heavy as you join your bodies.

As he bottoms out in you, he stops again, "how do you want it baby?"

Your so close. So blissed out from the pleasure, you just want to cum.

"Hard and fast Dean. Destroy me for anyone else."

A groan comes from beside your ear before he's pulling out and slamming back in.

Over and over again he hits you deep in your gut. A large hand covers your mouth as you scream from the pleasure he's giving you.

"You going to cum baby. Going to cum with my dick deep in your ass."

All you can do is moan as he pistons into you.

He removes his hand. He's thrusts getting sloppy as he nears his own end.

"Say my name baby girl. Scream for me y/n."

And you do. Your orgasm takes over. Vision blurs as you cum on his cock. You feel him twitch inside of you before hot spurts of cum flood your ass and drips out past his cock.

Seems like hours your two stay like that. His dick softening before slipping from your sloppy hole.

Dean kisses your cheek, then he gets up and goes to get a wet cloth to clean you both up with.

After he's done he puts your underwear back in place and holds you close. Rubbing your side he speaks softly, "you have no idea how much I've wanted that y/n."

"Me too Dean."

"Looks like I do have some luck of the Irish today." Kissing you again he rests his head on your pillow, "go to bed sweetheart. I'll be here in the morning."

Then you both fall into a deep, comfortable sleep, holding onto one another.

[sanshoney]

older brother & male!child!reader

reader is 10, older brother is 18

no plot, just fluff

shout out to boys who never wanted siblings, only an older brother

(intentional lowercase, no use of y/n)

– to be honest, having dead parents is a burden alone. but also having a little brother you have to take care of now? yeah, noah knows it all too well.

– seriously, he can barely take care of himself. he barely graduated! and he can't even live alone because of his stupid brother. things aren't the best right now for him.

– of course, you're not the one at fault here. you didn't want your parents dead, right? besides, you had never been particularly too close with your older brother. maybe it's the big age gap or maybe it's his unbearable personality. or the combination of both.

– if he were a bit kinder to you, everything would be just fine. he never touches you and rarely talks to you. there are times you don't see him for days. you find yourself missing your father's warm embrace and loving words.

– still, you try so hard to get his attention. you ask him about his day everytime he arrives home. for your efforts, you get a short 'boring' from noah and moments later he's off to his room.

– you know it's hard for him. being an adult must be hard... especially in his case. you appreciate everything he does for you, from working to cooking dinner. you always say "thank you, big brother!" with a wide smile on your face, hugging his waist. you're a well-mannered boy, after all. he usually groans and pats your head awkwardly, muttering a quiet "whatever."

you decide he's not good with words or touch or... well, you decide to draw your affection for him! you work on the drawing for an hour, wanting it to be absolutely perfect. your final product on the paper is quite good! the sun is shining on the left upper corner, the grass is a pretty green and the clouds are blue. in the middle, there are two people: a short and a tall one. the short one is you, wearing a blue t-shirt and green shorts. you're holding the hand of the taller figure, who is noah! he's wearing a red tee (you found out red is his favorite colour!) with grey pants. a happy smile is plastered on both of the boys' faces.

you grab the paper satisfied, ready to give it to your brother. you sprint to his room, knocking loudly. a muffled "come in" can be heard, so you hurriedly open the door. you stand in front of him, hiding the paper behind your back. "big brother, i have a surprise for you!" you announce, almost bouncing from exhilaration. he looks up from his phone and waits for you to continue. you reveal the paper and place it on his bed. he looks down confused and lifts up the paper. hes looking at it, scrutinizing it and... his lips curve into a faint smile. "why did you make this?" you can tell by his tone that he's a bit flattered. "i thought you'd like it... thank you for everything you do for me!" you smile at him innocently, really hoping this will change something in him.

– ever since that day, something truly had changed. whenever you ask him about his day, he says more than one word and he even asks you the same question! when you hug him, he runs his hand through your hair. you always lean happily into his touch and smile, which makes him smile.

– recently, you started hanging out in his room. usually, he's showing you photos he took. you learnt hes working as a photographer, which is pretty cool in your opinion.

– sometimes, he gestures for you to go closer to him. he wraps his arms around you and rubs your back slowly. "little brother, y'know it's just us, right? im sorry for being distant. it's... hard. but thank you for being understanding and patient. i appreciate it." you nod and hug him back.

– in the end, all that matters is that you are always there for each other. maybe the harsh reality of the everydays can lose their sharpness a little in each other's arms.

hope you enjoyed!! ♡

what do you think about him? :3

[oddballwriter]

Good Smells

꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦

Summary: A nice little blurb involving Marc enjoying certain smells because they remind him of you.  

Warnings: There's reference to Marc's past and childhood but it's not entirely front and center. This is still hella fluffy. 

Author’s Snip: The reader's gender is never specified but they do have traditionally feminine smells like flowers.

Notes: Something for Marc, my little stress ball of a man. <3 

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦

"Did you know that out of all of the senses in the human body, smell is most effective in sparking a memory?" Steven mentions as you two walk through the candle aisle of the home decor store.

You don't actually need candles, you came here to get a new desk chair after the previous one was no longer functional or comfortable. But you had a pretty good coupon for the candles here that was going to expire soon. So that's how this topic emerged in Steven's head.

"Does it now?" you reply, "Where'd you learn that." you ask. "Was watching some psychology show while waiting for what I usually watch on that channel we always have on." he answers. "I forget the exact details but apparently when it comes to smells, the neurons in the brain just connect the smell that the nose is picking up with the memory." Steven explains. You hum in response.

"Do you have any smells that make you remember something?" you ask as a means to keep conversation. Steven thinks for a moment before answering, "Whenever I smell that plain room smell, the one's you usually smell in a waiting room or something," he says, "It actually reminds me of storage back at the museum because it had that same smell." Steven correlates. You nod along.

Steven tries to think more on if there are other smells that make him think of something and you sort of wait, but he draws blanks. "I can't think of anything else. I'm sure there's more smells that work for me but right now I'm just getting Marc's." he muttered, sounding more like he was thinking out loud.

"Marc has smells that make him think of things?" you ask. "Yeah, but that's not really something for me to talk about." Steven remarks before continuing to walk along the rest of the aisle. "How about you, love? What are some that you have?" Steven asks, slightly changing the subject to go another direction.

That was a good move of Steven in Marc's opinion. He knows you meant well by asking about the smells that he has connected to memories. It's just that none of his smells are good smells.

No, not like they are things that smell bad. It's that the smells remind him of things that are bad and not so pleasant.

The damp smell of the tunnel.

The smell of the common flowers braided into a grave reef.

Marc had no good smells.

They never really caused the whole immediate remembering thing to be honest. That only happens when he actually lets his mind make the connection. So even then, he had nothing that made him think of anything.

That was until Marc, and the rest of the boys by default, started having certain smells that would just have a memory come up.

And it was all because of you.

You had this hand lotion from some store that smelt like apples. He can smell it on you whenever you cup their face. Sometimes the smell gets on him if he holds your hand long enough or you touch a part of his clothes before it fully settles into the skin of your hands, leaving a small spot with the faintest smell of it. Now whenever he smells anything apple related he just sees your image form in his mind. He literally ate a bear claw donut on a mission once because he missed you and the smell of the apples inside of the pastry made him think of you.

How about that gentle flowery smell that's in your shampoo?

No, it wasn't that artificial smell like the reef. Your shampoo actually smelt like wild and authentic flowers. Like if you stood still long enough a butterfly would mistake the smell of your hair for a patch of flowers. Which is why he buys you flowers from the farmers market. Sure, they're better looking and selling than the artificial ones, but also because he know's you'll put them in a vase somewhere in the flat and when you're away he'll have that same lovely flower smell.

If you were to ask if he had any smells that sparked any memories now, he would have an actual answer. A good answer.

Good smells.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

🔪 for Chris!

🔪 Awake surgery

CW: Referenced hand whump, blood, sadism, reluctant whumper, facility whump, BBU

"You have got to be joking." The doctor dried his hands off on the single-use towel he held, watching through the one-way window as the trainee inside sat, shaking his head at a nurse who was speaking to him in a low voice. He shook it less like he was saying no and more like he was simply denying that she was speaking at all. "Him again? What the fuck is Petrus doing to this kid? It's only been, what, four days since I got him out of the clinic in the first place!"

"I mean, you know what he does to him, he's one of the little sluts." The handler rolls his eyes. "Petrus fucks him stupid, not that any of them have brains to begin with. But this time 223499 dropped a glass during his Mixology class. Can't pin it this one on Petrus, it's all on 499 being a little bitch again. His Mixology instructor says he's a clumsy little shit."

"Great. Okay." Dr. Ross has a headache already. He hates this place, hates the crude, aggressive handlers and the way they talk about - and to - the trainees. He hates sewing the injured trainees up only to see them again, with new wounds needing dressed and new terror in their eyes. He hates everything about this job except the paycheck.

He can't wait to get another job and get the hell out of here.

The Facility gets to him - it works its way down under his skin, seeing the haunted, nervous way the trainees looked around all the time, trying to guess where pain would come from next. Trying to curry favor, to avoid the torture constantly forced on them anyway. He's been seeing their frightened faces and hearing them beg in his dreams far too often. "So he's here because..."

"It's a deep cut." The handler shrugs. "He needs stitches."

Dr. Ross looks back at the trainee. 223499 is holding perfectly still while the nurse turns his hand over. His palm is a mess of blood, darker than the new-penny shine of his hair. The trainee's stained fingers twitch nervously.

He's just a kid.

The same kid who'd automatically gone to his knees just a week ago, ready to do whatever he was commanded to, thoughtless obedience making the doctor's stomach turn.

He has to get out of here.

Dr. Ross swallows, feeling like there's a lump in his throat he just can't quite get rid of it. "Fine. I'll prep something to numb his hand, we'll give him a little bit of-"

"Nah." The handler shrugs, looking bored. "His primary's got a note on his file, didn't you see it? No painkillers for three weeks. Not even topical."

Dr. Ross watches 223499 flinch away from the nurse, who slaps him, making him cry out. The sound is muffled through the one-way window. As is the apology the boy provides immediately, stammering through it, only to be slapped again. This time, he doesn't cry out. He only cringes back, hunching into himself, and keeps his eyes down.

It makes Dr. Ross feel sick.

"... fine," He says, realizing the silence is drawing out too long. "I'll get him sewn up. He can go back to his room once it's done. Tell Petrus to leave him alone for one night, at least?"

The handler snorts with dry humor. "Yeah, good luck on that. But I'll tell him you said so. You want me to help you strap him down?"

Dr. Ross doesn't let himself look at the trainee again. "Yeah. Come in and strap him down while I prep."

"You got it, Doc." The handler gives him a lazy salute.

The kid doesn't fight being strapped down, but it doesn't matter. Once the work begins, the kid's back arches, he screams and thrashes wordlessly, then... even worse, he makes noises after like he's dying, low moaning sounds that seem barely human. He's shuddering, whispering apologies when all he'd done was drop a glass and try to clean it up too fast.

Dr. Ross goes home that night with the trainee's screaming in his ears. He hears the sounds the kid makes once the needle goes into his skin all weekend in his nightmares.

On Monday, he emails his resignation, effective immediately.

He's smart enough to have a one-way ticket booked for a country WRU isn't operating in before anyone reads it.