#calling a nose a 'scent sponge'

[fettiowi]

i wish there were more moments in SU where gems referred to body parts using the ridiculous names peridot called them i need to see other gems calling a foot a "gravity connector"

[gghostwriter]

Have Your Cake

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer notices a change in you that he tries to address Trope: Comfort; Established relationship w.c: 1.8k Trigger warnings: tackles eating disorder and body dysmorphia a/n: this is a really hard topic I personally felt the need to write about (in a way to comfort myself.) Its very personal as I used my past eating disorder here so if its something you’re not comfortable with, please go skip ahead to another fic. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

Spencer wrapped the front ends of his coat tighter on his slender body. It did little to no good fending off the cool seasonal air of an October night. His scuffled loafers squeaking from his shuffling feet. 

The line at your favorite bakery was unsurprisingly long on a Tuesday evening. Every night, the shop sells their remaining pastries at a discount To lure innocent commuters, tired from a long day of pushing papers. He usually wasn’t one to give in to the notion of ‘treating yourself’—unless counting out his big spendings on first editions written in its original language.

He gave the cashier a slight smile before listing off his purchase, one slice of their decadent strawberry shortcake and another of their vanilla bean sponge cake—both your favorites. And both an integral part of his perfectly thought of scheme to solve a riddle.

Your mystery.

In simple layman’s terms, they were bribery of some sort.

“Thank you,” he muttered under his breath, side stepping his way out from the throng of customers holding their own trays of pastries and back into the cold October air.

He blamed himself for not noticing the change in patterns early on. His attention otherwise preoccupied by the trauma from his time in prison and the stares that vary from judgement to pity that come from officers outside of the BAU.

No longer was he the shining, new prodigy once hailed to be, now he was just damaged goods. His downfall from grace was an adjustment.

His mind was another matter, all together—could no longer detect subtle shifts in behavior as fast as he used to.

Yes, there was really no one else to blame but himself.

As his long strides covered the way home, the moon shining down on the empty streets, Spencer thought back to the moment when he finally noticed you eating less and less.

———

You pulled down the cuffs of Spencer’s Caltech sweater, leaving only the tips of your fingers peeking through. Everything about it made you self-conscious. How it drapes down your shoulders differently from before. How it wraps around your body, sending shivers down your spine. And how it leaves the lower half of your plush thighs exposed for anyone to see—anyone to judge. 

You hated it.

You hated how hyper aware a single comment from a distant relative made you feel.

**

A voice from a distance called out your name causing you to look around the aisles of grocery and come face to face with an aunt, twice removed from your father’s side. 

“It is you!” She leaned in to kiss your cheek. Her choice of perfume, a sickly sweet artificial scent of oranges, wafting on your nose.

It made you want to gag.

A fake smile donned your face. “Oh, hi Auntie. What a surprise to see you back in Virginia.”

“Oh, I just flew in for my husband’s sister’s birthday. You know how we are, always booked and busy with events,” she waved her hand, the ostentatious diamond ring on her finger catching the light. “I haven’t seen you since you graduated college. You look so different now—more and more like your mother.”

“Thanks, I always did look like her,” you awkwardly laughed.

Her eyes traveled down to your feet and back up again, a tight grin on her face. It made her look vicious, condescending, causing you to catch your breath as she uttered the words that would repeat in your head like a commercial slogan you can’t get away from.

“But you were much prettier when you were thinner—” her eyebrow raised, cataloguing the items in your cart. “Might want to cut down on the carbs a little bit, sweetie.”

She poked a wound inside of you that never seemed to fully heal.

You thought you were better, all those years of talking to your therapist and changing your relationship with food for the better made you believe those dark days were behind you. But those spitting phrases veiled as words of care from a family member amplified the doubts once buried in the recesses of your mind.

“I’ll keep that in mind. It was great seeing you, Auntie.”

**

The jiggling of keys brought you back to the present.

“Love, I’m home!”

You called back from the kitchen, finishing up plating tonight’s dinner—a fresh serving of Chicken Alfredo to share. “In here, Spence!”

With a saccharine smile on his tired but beautiful face, he wrapped his arms around your shoulder for a loving hug. His pillowy lips leaving trails of kisses from your temples, to your nose, to your cheeks, and finally landing on your awaiting lips. 

You giggled at his antics. “I missed you today.”

“I missed you too,” another peck on the lips. “Dinner looks amazing. Thank you for cooking.”

“It’s no problem at all, you know how much I like to cook for you.”

He brought up a mystery package to showcase, eyes tracking every minuscule change on your face. “And I brought us some dessert! Your favorites from the bakery.” 

The smile on your face threatened to drop. “That’s—that’s great!”

———

You felt Spencer’s eyes on you all throughout dinner. One of the disadvantages of dating a man who earns his living by understanding human behavior and its changes—triggers, as he would like to call it, is never having the leisure of keeping a secret.

He means well, you‘d like to believe so, but that didn’t change the fact he knew something was bothering you. 

It made you feel like a riddle he wanted to solve. It made you want to scream and cry.

The only reprieve you could get was within the little confines of your shared bathroom, water beating down your back muffling the sobs that escaped from your tightly pressed lips.

Everything felt too much. 

The devil voices in your head listing off the calories each spoonful contains. The mathematical equation of how long you’d need to exercise to lose every unnecessary bite eaten over dinner. And the facade of keeping everything together—everything perfect.

You picked off the sides of your nails, already raw and starting to bleed. 

Maybe you shouldn’t eat breakfast and lunch tomorrow. Maybe you should walk the 15 minute commute from here to the office. It would take 30 minutes but that’s additional exerc—

“Love, is everything alright?” Spencer asked behind the locked bathroom door. 

You turned, turning off the shower, before hurriedly toweling off the droplets all over your hair and body. “Yes, I’m—I’m almost done!”

Swiveling around the dry area, you realized you forgot to bring in a change of clothes beyond a clean pair of underwear.

You sighed to yourself as you wrapped the towel around your chest. Still feeling uncomfortable and oddly naked even then. 

“Spence, there’s still some hot water left—are you okay?” You ask, having found him sitting on the edge of the bed with a distinct frown on his face. 

He stood up. Hands on your waist, shuffling both your bodies closer to one corner of bedroom.“It’s just—you know how much I deeply care for you, right?”

You slowly answered. “Yes, of course. I deeply care for you too.”

“So I have to ask, are you alright? Really alright?”

“Wha—what do you mean? Of course, I am—I’m completely fine,” you vehemently denied. The lump on your throat making you sound hysterical, even in your ears. If you couldn’t fool yourself, what chances were there that Spencer was fooled—none.

“I’ve noticed you’ve been eating smaller portions lately and you didn’t even take a bite of the cakes I brought home. You’ve also been going to the gym daily, instead of your usual five times a week. And you’ve started wearing my clothes more—not that it’s a problem. I love seeing you in my clothes but you’ve started to prefer baggy silhouettes rather than your usuals. It’s like you’re hiding your body. Are you sure you’re alright? You can tell me anything, I won’t judge.” 

It was the soft tone in his voice mixed with his doe, teary eyes that caused you to break under pressure. Your shoulders shook as sobs that you’ve kept bottled up rose to the surface. It was a wave of emotions that battered through your dam of facade. 

“I hate how I look—I hate that I gained weight,” you cried out. “I hate how a relative pointed it out and how her words won’t leave my mind. I hate it, Spence. I loathe it all—the voices in my head whispering how I should keep track of every meal I eat in a notebook like I did before. Telling me to never go beyond a 800 calories per day, to workout two hours a day twice! It’s just—” you took a deep breath, vision blurring from tears. “—so exhausting and please, make it stop.”

Spencer hugged you tight to his chest, as if wanting to merge you two as one to take away all your pain and sorrow. Your hands creasing his white button down with a grip so tight. 

For a second, it felt liberating to let it all out. But the fleeting emotion had passed, leaving you with only shame from your admittance.

“I’m so sorry you feel that way,” he detangled himself, enough to stare into your eyes. “Love, can I show you something?”

You nodded. He slowly turned you around, back against his chest, to face the full length mirror tucked in the corner. His eyes never leaving yours as his calloused fingers reached up to the tucked ends of the towel wrapped around your body. He tilted his head, asking for your permission to which you slowly nodded.

Your naked body was in full view. Your nails digging onto your palm as you catalogued every minuscule flaw there is—the additional flesh around your stomach and sides and your hips no longer as thin as they were before.

“Do you know what I see?” He softly asked.

You bit your lip before shutting your eyes close, unable to take what was right in front of you. “Me and how I gained weight?”

He placed a kiss on your temple. “No. I see a beautiful adult woman who has curves in all the right places—”

He laid a kiss on your cheek. “I see the love of my life in her full loving glory—”

He kissed the side of your neck. “I see my future wife who loves herself and all the changes that aging and our slowing metabolism entails—”

He placed one last kiss on your shoulder. “—I see you, and I love every piece of you. And I hope you love every part as much as I do.”

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

[luveline]

hiiii was hoping you could write reader tries makeup for the first time and is a bit self-conscious about it with poly! Just something sweet and fluffy. Thank you, love your other fics btw.

The article you read said that this sort of stuff is best to attempt in small amounts. If you aren’t used to foundation, try a liquid concealer and a skin tint —that way you can spread it as thin as you like. It says foundation, skin tints, or any kind of face makeup tends to look ‘cakey’ at first because you aren’t used to it and neither is your skin, but makeup doesn’t have to look perfect up close. Honestly, it’s a friendly, assuring article, and it actually gives you the confidence to buy a skin tint, a concealer, a mascara, and a lip gloss. There’s even a cherry-scented finishing spray that promises to melt everything together. 

You figure you’ll try it all while the boys are out. That way, if it looks too cakey or bad or just plain silly, you can wipe it away and hide the evidence. 

You wet your little sponge as the magazine says. You’ve moisturised and waited for it to dry down. With a breath, you smooth the skin tint into the back of your hand and start to dot it into your face gently, a little all over. Acting fast, you pick up your sponge and dab it across your cheeks. 

It’s nerve-wracking, though it’s not like you can’t fix it if it goes wrong. You feel embarrassingly out of your depth, and you would prefer this goes well. 

The first issue is your nose. It looks a little cakey at the nostrils, the skin tint, so you wipe it with your finger and make it worse. Eyes wide, you dab it again with your sponge and relax when it spreads out. 

Neck, you think. The magazine said don’t forget to smooth it down your neck, or you’ll get a ‘tarty’ line. You dab it down and assess in the mirror. 

… it doesn’t look too bad. 

Smiling gently, you press a little of the lip gloss onto the back of your hand and debate the next tip. It’s a sheer one, and it can give a ‘pop’ of colour to your cheeks if you’re careful. Why not, you think eventually, tapping a little of it into the bell of your cheeks. 

Things are definitely going too well. You look odd, maybe, but the sponge is great. Everything smooths out. 

Mascara is much harder than the skin stuff. Your eyes water as the wand approaches. It takes ages to actually touch the mascara to your eyelashes, and then it looks sort of clumpy, spider-webby, but the article said you can wipe it off and try again. The second time you almost blind yourself, teeth gritted as you realise there’s mascara all under your eye. You take it off with a wet-wipe and dap the skin around your eyes with your sponge to fix the mess. It looks darker, still, but eventually you get the mascara on and your eyelashes look longer and… 

You smile at yourself in the mirror. 

You look really cute. 

You turn your face one way and then another, smile growing wider. Your skin looks even, your eyes look bigger, and— the gloss! You pick it up and squeeze some onto your lips, rubbing them together, cleaning the corners with your pinky finger.  

The door slams open downstairs with a colossal bang, and you jump so hard you send the mirror careening across and off of the bed. With the open door comes a wave of noise, laughter loud and ringing. 

“What have you boys done now?” you murmur to yourself.

You leave your makeup on the bed. For a second, you debate hiding it back in the pink drugstore bag and wiping the makeup off before heading downstairs. You look cute, but what if they don’t like it? None of them have ever told you to wear it before. Sirius wears it more often than you. He might have a laugh when he sees it. 

“Baby!” one of them yells, laughing hard enough to disguise their voice. “You have to come down here!” 

You fret. That’s Sirius calling, his giggling sweet enough to make you wish you were sitting in his lap, but suddenly you’re overthinking things. Just because you think the makeup looks alright doesn’t mean it really does, and the boys are already laughing. You don’t wanna give them another reason. 

“Are you up there?” Sirius calls again. “Sweetheart?” 

“I’m coming!” you call back. 

“I was getting worried you weren’t here! Come on, you have to see this!” 

You go without thinking. At the bottom of the stairs, James and Sirius are crowded together, their laughter beyond reason —there are tears streaming down James’ face from laughing so hard, and Sirius is clutching him as though worried he’s gonna fall over. 

Remus is laughing too, but he’s not so obscene about it. “Hey, Y/N,” he says nicely, “you okay?” 

“What’s so funny?” 

Sirius unfolds a newspaper you hadn’t noticed clutched in his arm. “Every time I look I’m sure I’ll piss myself.” 

You all look down at the newspaper. Immediately, James is whining and laughing so hard you reach out to steady him, laughing yourself as he falls into your shoulder. “Christ,” he squeezes out. “Life is so– so perfect.“

On the front page of the local Daily Argus is a full-colour photo of Lucius Malfoy being arrested, two police officers behind him, his wrists cuffed and his face wane of colour. 

DON'T THINK HIS FATHER WILL BE HEARING ABOUT THIS ONE —Lucius Malfoy, 26, business owner and young entrepreneur arrested for fraud and conspiracy yesterday night at his offices in the Sacred Families building. Malfoy, when asked to give a statement, said his father will be hearing about this, whatever that means. 

“But what’s–”

Sirius points at Lucius’ crotch, pointing out that his trousers are slipping down his thighs, and he’s wearing boxers with his girlfriend Narcissa’s face on them. Narcissa, as in, Sirius’ older cousin. 

“What the fuck,” you say with a giggle of your own. You hate Sirius’ family and anyone related to them, so seeing Lucius down for the count is especially satisfying. “You can see his–”

“I know!” Sirius almost screams, his laugh increasingly high-pitched. 

You giggle and begin wiping the tears off of James’ cheek. “You guys are too much,” you murmur. 

“We came right back to show you,” Sirius says. 

“I’m thrilled.” You tip James’ head up to finish cleaning off his cheeks. “That’s so funny, you’re terrible,” you say, beaming as James finally tears his gaze from the paper. The mirth in his expression settles, but his smile does this strange wobble before he’s holding you by the back of the neck gently.

“Fucking hell,” he says. 

“Don’t–”

“Fucking– You’re lovely,” he blurts out, tipping your head back, all the manner of someone who’s just struck gold. “What have you done?” 

“It’s just makeup.” 

This piques the interest of the other two, Sirius’ laughter finally petering out, and Remus stepping into the light to have a look. “Aw,” Remus says, “you look–”

“Fucking amazing,” Sirius interrupts, his head tipping to the side, his vengeful glee transformed into what can only be described as adoration, “you look fucking amazing, shit–”

“Her cheeks,” James says, which should make you laugh, especially when Sirius and Remus both hum simultaneous agreement, like there really is something special about them. 

“It’s just– I’ve never– it looks silly,” you get out. 

“It does not.” James rubs a hand down your shoulder, as though cleaning you up to better show you off. “Now this is front page material. When did you even learn to do this?” 

“I– today,” you say, heat emanating from your chest to the very tips of your ears. 

“It looks great!” James says, cupping your cheek. 

“Well don’t mess it up, Prongs!” Sirius says.

“It’s okay, it’s not like it’s for anything,” you say. 

“It’s for my camera,” Sirius says, attempting to slip past James to get upstairs.

Thankfully, Remus prevents him. “Stop,” Remus says. 

“Please,” you second. 

“I need to remember!”

“I’ll do it again,” you promise. 

Three boys melting. “You will?” James asks softly. 

You tip your face forward. “Sure, especially if I look better–”

“Hey, hey, who said that?” Remus asks. 

“Don’t be silly,” James says. 

“I really should have a picture,” Sirius says. “We can blow it up like a poster girl. We’ll have it in the bedroom.” 

“That is not funny,” Remus says. 

“Perfectly chaste!” Sirius denies. “Though how I’m expected to think chaste thoughts when she looks like that is another thing. Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s practically obscene.” 

“Sirius.” 

Sirius gives you a smile, “I’m just teasing,” he says, though there’s a little bit of something in his dark eyes that says otherwise, just enough to make you shiver, pleased. 

James goes back to holding your cheek, and it’s much too warm now —you break away from the lot of them and make your way to the kitchen. 

“Where are you going?” Remus asks, to your surprised delight. 

“I need a drink,” you say. 

“Well, I’ll get you one,” Sirius says. 

“That’s okay, I think I can do it myself.” 

“But should you have to?” 

From behind you, you hear the subtle jab of an elbow and the less subtle screech of pain. “Fuck off, Prongs, you know she looks insane.” 

A boyish giggle echoes. “Front page for sure.” 

A more relaxed hum. “And now she’ll never wear it again, ‘cos of all the fuss.” 

You wouldn’t necessarily agree. It’s not like they don’t make you feel beautiful, Sirius stood in the doorway clutching his heart the day before yesterday when you got out of the shower citing a sudden shock from how “otherworldly” you looked while your hair was wet, James calls you beautiful more than he uses your name, and you catch Remus looking at you all pleased and flushed multiple times a week, but it’s still different to have had them all at the same time. So yeah, you’ll wear makeup again. You might even reapply the lip gloss you’ve nibbled off. Just to see what they think. 

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Sunk Cost

Pairing: Tom Bennett x f!reader Warnings: Mentions of blood, death and injury. Mild angst and mentions of PTSD. Smut. Word count: ~4.8k

Summary: Following the Battle of the River Plate, she is deployed to the Falkland Islands to tend to the survivors of the HMS Exeter. Some of the naval officers are in better shape than others, and when one in particular makes it his mission to bed her before shipping back home, she decides to give him a taste of his own medicine.

Author's note: Based on this request. No tag list - please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. "Conchies" is slang for conscientious objector.

She had travelled aboard the SS Lafonia to the Falklands, accompanied by two doctors and eleven other nurses to treat the injured of the HMS Exeter following the battle of the River Plate.

Having qualified as a nurse almost five years ago, she was experienced in dealing with blood and injury and, in the days spent sailing across the South Atlantic Ocean, she had been steeling herself for the inevitable carnage she would be witness to.

Nothing, however, could have prepared her for the utter devastation she was met with upon arrival. Pulling back the canvas flap of the medical tent, the smell was the first thing to hit her, pushing her backwards like an invisible, oppressive force; burned flesh and the rancid, yet somehow sickly sweet scent of decay.

Everything from minor burns to missing limbs needed to be treated, but those sailors were the fortunate ones, they still drew breath. Seventy two British sailors had lost their lives defending against German forces.

It would be two weeks until a boat arrived to collect those fit enough to travel back to England, so those able bodied enough to do so assisted with dressing wounds and changing bed pans. She was grateful for the help as, despite there being fourteen medical staff to attend to their patients, it was overwhelming and she was tired, so tired.

She had smiled, though it had not quite reached her eyes, as she’d been introduced to the private that would be assisting her on her rounds.

“Name’s Tom, Tom Bennett,” he’d greeted her with an incline of his head and a lopsided smirk. 

“Nice to meet you, Private Bennett,” she’d replied as politely as she could, discreetly taking him in.

He stood around six feet tall, a mop of sandy coloured hair atop his head. He was classically handsome with high cheekbones and an aquiline nose, and carried himself with a self assured swagger that emphasised the fact that he knew he was good looking. She could have overlooked his vanity, were it not for the fact he was apparently cocky in every other respect too.

Her exhaustion had worn her patience thin, however, she was certain that the sailor assigned to helping her with her rounds would have grated upon her nerves even with a full night’s rest. She found his unwavering smirk and continual stream of flirtatious remarks wholly inappropriate, considering the situation they found themselves in. There was no doubt in her mind that he had fought bravely and his service upon the Admiral Graf Spee was to be highly commended, but it didn’t mean she had to enjoy his company, she merely endured it.

“Private Bennett, I need to give this patient a sponge bath, can you please dispose of these dressings?” She asked, keeping her tone curt as she seated herself beside a cot.

“My turn next, yeah?” He quipped cheekily, causing her to press her lips into a tight line to suppress the urge to sigh.

She lifted her eyes to meet his, her stern gaze wholly unaffected by the way the blue of his sparkled with mischief. “The dressings, Private Bennett.”

“You can call me Tom, y’know,” he said airily, the smirk on his face never faltering as he snatched up the dirty bandages and turned to walk away.

“I’d rather not,” she muttered wearily to his retreating form, turning her attention back to the sailor laid dozing in the cot beside her.

All of her rounds were much the same; Tom trailed behind her, flirting shamelessly, and every remark made her blood boil. For the patients yet to regain consciousness, she could mercifully ignore him. However, for the sake of maintaining a pleasant bedside manner for those who were lucid, she had to smile, laugh and remain polite.

As the days dragged on, she found herself wishing the boat coming to ferry Tom Bennett back to England would arrive sooner. Attempting to keep her temper in check and not give him a well deserved telling off in front of everyone was becoming as exhausting an effort as it was caring for the wounded. He was a pain in the arse.

It had been a particularly demanding day - several of the patients being treated for severe burns had developed infections - by the time the next nurse arrived to relieve her of her duties, she was desperate to be off of her aching feet. Sitting down heavily upon a bench in the rest area, she fished her cigarette case from her apron pocket, flipping it open and placing one delicately between her lips. Before her hand could reach for her matchbook, a flash of flint followed by flame ignited in front of her, illuminating the end of her cigarette into a bright, cherry red glow.

She blew out a tight line of smoke, her eyes narrowed in displeasure as she looked up at the smug face of Tom Bennett. The sight of him was enough to spoil the pleasant taste of tobacco that she usually revelled in upon her first drag. The corners of his mouth were upturned into a self satisfied smile, his eyes crinkled in quiet amusement as he looked down at her. He always looked like he was entertained by a joke that only he was privy to, it drove her crazy.

“Thanks,” she said curtly, taking another drag.

“Anything for you, gorgeous,” he winked, seating himself beside her and lighting up a smoke of his own.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” she muttered darkly, gazing off into the distance, her lips pursed.

“Do what?” He mumbled around his cigarette, keeping it perched at the corner of his mouth.

She sighed, pressing at the point between her eyebrows with the thumb of her free hand, an absentminded gesture of exasperation. “Everything’s a joke to you, isn’t it?”

Tom snatched his cigarette from between his lips, holding it between the forefingers of his right hand as he raised his palms in a defensive gesture. “Enough misery ‘round ‘ere, ‘int there? Jus’ tryna make you smile.”

“Well, you’re not,” she spat, taking a quick puff, savouring the short burst of lightheadedness that the nicotine rush afforded her.

He gave an easy shrug, fixing her with a dopey grin. “Well, I don’t see anywhere ‘round ‘ere where I can buy you flowers, so my witty charm will have to do.”

She scoffed, flicking away her butt, and rose to her feet, storming off.

“See you tomorra, yeah?” he called after her, “unless you want someone to help warm your cot tonight?”

Fucking prick.

Sleep evaded her that night. Tom had gotten under her skin. It made her furious that with so many men injured and dying around them, he failed to see the gravity of their situation. How could he be cracking jokes and making clumsy attempts to seduce her in the midst of a war? He needed to be taught a lesson, to be taken down a peg or two, and she decided she was the person to do it. Perhaps if the tables were turned on him, then he’d realise just how inappropriate his behaviour was and feel rightfully ashamed of himself.

The following day, as Tom accompanied her on her rounds, she laughed heartily at his flippant remarks, allowed her fingers to linger against his as he passed her bandages, and stared deep into his eyes every time she addressed him.

“Lucky sod,” he’d jested as she’d dabbed gently at the burns on a patient’s chest.

“You’ll get your turn later,” she’d quipped back with a wink, causing his jaw to fall agape. He’d been quick to close his mouth again, averting his attention to the floor as his cheeks had turned crimson.

It was obvious her being receptive to his advances was having an effect on him. All day she saw the way his eyes widened in disbelief, the slight blush that crept into his cheeks when she returned his flirty banter. He was uncomfortable with not being given the brush off, and she was enjoying every second of it.

“What are you playing at?” His voice came from behind her, as she was rifling through the medicine cabinet, searching for a bottle of iodine. It was a quiet corner of the medical tent, partitioned off from the sick beds for medical personnel to replenish supplies and dose out medicine.

“What do you mean?” She asked casually, not turning around as her hands continued to move aside brown bottles. She hoped the clink of the glass was enough to disguise the hint of amusement in her voice, and if not, at least he couldn’t see her smiling.

“You’re flirting with me,” he stated simply, though his voice didn’t carry its usual confidence.

“Am I?” She replied with faux innocence, casting him a glance over her shoulder.

He wasn’t standing as straight as he usually did, his brow was furrowed and he had his hands clasped in front of him. He was nervous.

Good, she thought.

“I–I think so, yeah…”

She rounded on him, closing the distance between them, delighting in the way his posture visibly stiffened as she pressed close, placing her palms against the broadness of his shoulders.

“I guess I finally figured there’s no use in denying what’s between us,” she cooed, “can’t fight it any longer.”

“Yeah..?” He asked, blinking rapidly, lips parted as he stared down at her with wide eyes.

“Absolutely. You deserve a reward, Private Bennett,” she said, reaching up to card her fingers through the softness of his hair. “You fought so bravely, it would be an honour for me to give myself to you. You’re a war hero.”

His face blanched, and for the first time since she’d met him, she saw the corners of his mouth turn downwards, a flicker between anger and sadness causing his brow to furrow and his gaze to dull. He grasped her wrists gently, moving her hands back to her sides, before quickly walking away.

She had expected to feel triumphant in managing to fluster him enough to get him to back down, but she didn’t. It was wholly unsatisfying, a heavy feeling of guilt sat like a stone upon her chest. There was something in her words that had utterly knocked the wind out of Tom’s sails, she had pushed too far. She hadn’t embarrassed him, she’d crushed him, and the worst part was she wasn’t entirely sure what she had said that had caused such an unexpected reaction.

He was quiet for the rest of her rounds, silently following orders, not meeting her eye when he spoke or was spoken to. It was as though all the light had gone out of him. He didn’t hang around for a smoke once she was relieved of her duties, so she was forced to follow after him as he strode back to the sleeping quarters reserved for uninjured naval officers.

“Hey, wait!” She called out, her feet hurrying to keep up with his longer gait, finally falling in step beside him. “I’m sorry if I upset you.”

He stopped, huffing out a sigh as he turned his face upwards, briefly closing his eyes, before looking back down at her. “Forget about it,” he muttered, “message received loud and clear. I won’t hassle you no more.”

She was left standing there as he walked off, leaving her alone. Despite what he said, she knew forgetting about it was the very last thing that she would be able to do.

Her rounds were miserable over the days that followed. Tom didn’t laugh, he didn’t smile, he didn’t even speak unless spoken to. As reluctant as she was to admit it, she missed his jokey flirting. Whatever this was, the silence and sadness that hung between them, she hated it. She couldn’t question it in front of patients, and as soon as his obligation to her was fulfilled for the day, he hurried back to the naval quarters, making it clear he had no desire to speak to her.

Even the patients had started to notice it - of course they had - the stony silence that the pair worked in was a stark contrast to Tom’s usual annoyingly proud and jovial demeanour.

“Lover’s quarrel?” A private with a head injury asked playfully, as she pulled away his dressings to check on the wound.

Tom spoke before she had the opportunity to respond, his tone arrogant and steeped in annoyance. “Nope, just focusing on the job, mate. Got a ship coming to take me away from here tomorra, and the quicker I’m on it the better.”

She felt her heart lurch at his words. So preoccupied with the fact that Tom was refusing to speak to her, she had completely forgotten that he’d be leaving soon. Now his departure loomed imminently and the thought of it made her chest tighten uncomfortably. He couldn’t just leave and never speak to her again without giving her the chance to make amends, or to help her understand what she’d done wrong in the first place; that wasn’t fair.

He didn’t even look at her as she turned to him, instead he handed her the clean set of bandages he’d been holding and walked away, leaving her to finish up with her patient alone.

“Must be nice,” the injured private remarked, as she pressed the clean dressing to his wound and bandaged it up. “Wish I was leaving.”

“Me too,” she uttered softly, a sombre feeling settling over her as she realised she was talking as much about herself as she was the patient she was treating.

Tom was nowhere to be seen for the rest of the day, and she was left to complete her rounds by herself. She supposed she would grow used to it once he left. The strain they were under would be lessened by those fit enough to travel on the boat tomorrow being removed from their care. However, she felt like she was missing a part of herself without him at her side; like looking at the wall and not being able to see her shadow cast upon it. The weight of his absence would fade, but the hurt and uncertainty wrought from his disdain would not. She needed to put things right before he sailed away from her tomorrow, or she would forever live with the guilt of it.

She waited impatiently for the rest of the day for nightfall, deciding that if this was a conversation she was going to pursue then it was better to do so without witnesses - or at least when those witnesses were asleep - the canvas confines of both the medical bay and sleeping quarters provided very little privacy.

Once it was suitably dark, she made her way to the large tent that housed the cots of the naval officers. The humidity made the night air sticky and it clung to her skin, feeling as thick as the inky blackness of the sky above her.  A wave of nervous apprehension washed over her as she reached for the canvas flap - what if Tom was already asleep, or refused to speak to her? What if other sailors were awake and questioned her reason for being there?

A simple white lie of delivering pain relief could deal with the latter of those problems, but she had no idea how to deal with the former. Before her pounding heart and trembling hands could convince her otherwise, she pulled back the partition, greeted by darkness and the gentle snores of those who were asleep. A few kerosene lamps were lit by the beds of those who were still awake, their dull glow illuminated the men that were sitting up reading, smoking or playing solitaire with playing cards spread out across their blankets.

Her eyes searched the gloom for Tom, half expecting him to be fast asleep. Finally, she spotted him, and her stomach erupted into nervous flutters as she saw that he was still awake. She felt as if she was intruding upon something far too intimate, seeing him in the tight white t-shirt and briefs of his underclothes. He laid upon his front, the legs of his tall frame almost hanging off the edge of the cot as they crossed over at the ankle. The low lighting that glowed across the sharpness of his features cast long shadows across his corner of the tent, however, it was not dark enough to hide the yellow canary that fluttered around the small cage that he had balanced upon his pillow. His attention was so focused upon the bird and its shrill twittering that he didn’t even notice her as she stepped carefully towards him.

“Who’s this then?” She asked quietly, once she was a few paces away from Tom’s cot.

His head snapped up quickly, brows raising in surprise as he took in the sight of her, almost as if he couldn’t believe she was standing in front of him. He cleared his throat, shifting onto his side and propping himself up on his elbow before responding. “Her name’s Vera.”

“Vera…that’s a pretty name,” she said, offering him a soft smile as she fidgeted awkwardly with her fingers, forgetting everything she had wanted to say to him.

He lifted the cage, placing it gently on the floor between his cot and the tent wall, then looked back at her. “So what brings you ‘ere then?”

“You won’t speak to me,” she replied. Her voice sounded small, sad and vulnerable to her ears, and she loathed it. She had come here to apologise and then leave, not get upset.

“Usually, people take a hint when that happens, they don’t barge in on them when they’re going to bed.”

His reply hit her like a physical blow, and he must have seen the way her face fell, as he was quick to follow it up with; “But I guess I can’t blame ya for wantin’ a peek at me in me undercrackers.”

She felt instantly lighter as she saw the playful grin spread across his face, turning hers away as she felt her skin grow hot.

Silence fell between them once more and she drew in a steadying breath before lifting her gaze to his again. “I couldn’t let you leave without knowing how sorry I am,” she stepped closer, “I don’t know what I said that ticked you off exactly, but what I did I did with the intent to teach you a lesson, to humiliate you, and that was wrong. I was sick of your flirting, but I realise now that after all you’ve been through that you were just trying to make a horrible situation a lighter one. You’re so brave, and–”

“I’m not fucking brave,” he snapped, making her jump.

“What?” She moved to stand directly beside his cot, her head tilted slightly in confusion.

“I’m not brave,” he repeats, his voice turning to the hushed tone he’d used previously. He scrubbed a hand across his face and fixed her with a tired stare. “I’m not a war hero.”

She blinked rapidly, furrowing her brow as she perched upon the edge of his makeshift bed. “Is that what got you upset? Because I called you a war hero?”

“Do you know why I joined the Navy?” He asked, shuffling back to make more room for her to sit within the narrow space.

She shook her head, allowing him to continue speaking.

“Was avoiding the nick,” he uttered, sniffing. “I’m not a hero, I’m a coward dodging a stretch in prison.”

She was surprised by this, but not repelled. He was hardly the first man to join up to the draft to avoid the authorities, and he would be the last. She sighed softly, looking him in the eye. “That doesn’t change any of what you’ve been through, or how bravely you fought aboard that warship. You should be proud of yourself.”

“Well, I’m not,” he said sullenly, “I’m not going back. The minute I get back home that’s it, I’m done with this bloody war.”

“You can’t do that,” she told him softly, suddenly feeling afraid for him.

“Why not? It’s not my fight. I saw people fucking die. I don’t wanna give my life for something I don’t believe in.”

“You could be hanged for desertion,” she argued, a hint of desperation in her voice. Before she had time to think about it, her hand reached for his, grasping his fingers with her own.

“Dad’s a conchie,” he said, intertwining his fingers with hers, “I could be too.”

She glanced down to where their hands were joined, almost wanting to scream in frustration. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“Well, what am I s’posed to do?” he seethed, snatching his hand back, leaving her to silently mourn the loss of the contact.

“I can’t convince you to do anything, Tom, but please talk to your dad before you make a decision you can’t take back.”

“Y’know, that’s the first time you’ve called me that,” he said, his expression softening.

“What?”

“My name. It’s usually always Private Bennett. I like it when you call me Tom.”

She averted her gaze, feeling her skin blaze with embarrassment once more. “I guess I should get going. Us talking’s probably keeping people awake.”

His hand shot out, grasping hers once more as she rose to leave, making her freeze in place.

“Stay,” came his softly uttered plea.

“There’s all these other people,” she protested in a quiet voice, though she sat back down.

“I just want you to lay next to me. We probably won’t see each other again after tomorrow, and I don’t wanna be alone tonight.”

“I dunno…”

“No funny business, I promise,” he said with a smirk that immediately crumbled her resolve. “I’ll be on my best behaviour.”

“Alright…”

Tom laid out straight and pulled the blankets up around himself, holding one side up in silent invitation for her to join him. She slid underneath, not realising quite how tight the confines of the single cot were until her body was pressed right up against his.

Wordlessly, he leaned over to turn out the lamp, then turned to face her, slinging an arm over her waist and closing his eyes.

She laid there with her eyes open, just about able to make out his features in the darkness. The humidity combined with the heat of Tom’s body and the blankets thrown over them made it uncomfortably warm, and it was an effort not to squirm. But that wasn’t her only means of discomfort. It was difficult to keep her breathing steady and her body from trembling in spite of the heat; she hadn’t anticipated being in such close proximity to Tom to have such an effect on her. The feeling of the long, lithe muscle of his body pressed against hers made her pulse race and her core throb with desire, though the sensation was intermingled with pangs of guilt. He was seeking comfort in her, and here she was lusting after him when she’d spent the last two weeks berating him for doing the same to her.

His breaths fanned softly across her face, and she was convinced that he had fallen asleep, until his grasp on her waist tightened slightly, his fingers digging into her flesh. She froze at the intimacy of it, ashamed of the way desire pooled between her thighs at the gesture, until he ducked his head to bury it into the crook of her neck.

“Help me,” he whispered against her skin, a desperate plea for something, anything to make him feel better.

She reached up tentatively in the darkness, her fingers stroking through the silkiness of his hair. He sighed contentedly in response, and the sensation made her shiver, causing an involuntary tug at his tresses, making him groan and grip her tighter.

“Please,” he murmured into her neck. His hips began to grind against hers, the evidence that he was just was affected by her as she was him more than apparent as it pressed repeatedly against her.

Before she had time to consider the absurdity of it all, she hooked her thigh over him, prompting him to roll onto his back as she straddled him. Her chest rose and fell erratically as she stared down at him. He looked back with wide, imploring eyes, his fingers flexing firmly against the swell of her hips, urging her into action.

The touch was enough to ground her, to give her pause to realise they were in a tent full of sleeping sailors, that she’d rebuffed all of Tom’s previous advances, that come tomorrow she’d never see him again.

She swallowed thickly, trying to move off of him. “We shouldn’t.”

“Please,” he repeated with more urgency, his grip upon her tightening, stilling her and preventing her from moving away.

It was the begging of a desperate man, a man who had seen awful things, who was afraid to die, who was sailing away tomorrow into uncertainty. How could she say no? And how could she deny herself? Over the last two weeks she had seen unimaginable horrors, worked tirelessly, didn't she deserve a little fun?

She allowed the throbbing between her thighs to guide her actions as she reached beneath her skirt of her uniform, tugging her knickers to one side. Tom’s breaths grew unsteady as his eyes watched her in the darkness, his own hands moving to push down his briefs.

As the swollen head of him pressed against her entrance she felt that she was aroused, though not wet enough to make his passage an easy one. She had to rise and sink down repeatedly against the upward thrusts of his pelvis before the tight muscles of her heat finally yielded to him.

Sinking all the way in to the hilt, Tom hissed loudly, earning himself a quiet scolding from her. “Quiet, or you’ll wake people up.”

He bit his lip as she rocked her hips gently, allowing herself to adjust to the intrusion. It had been a while since she’d been with anyone this intimately, and it stung slightly, though the pain was not unpleasant.

She gazed down at him, seeing the crease between his eyebrows as they furrowed against the intensity of his pleasure and the effort to stay quiet. Seeing his face contorted into such a state, even though the darkness prevented her from seeing him clearly, was enough to have her sensitive walls clenching with desire, and she took that as her prompt to begin moving in a steady rhythm, lifting up as she rocked forward, then down as she pulled back.

“Fuck…” Tom murmured under his breath, his fingers leaving indentations in the flesh of her hips.

“Does that feel good?” She asked, her voice breathless with exertion.

“Y–yeah…don’t stop.”

In that moment, none of it mattered; the sheen of sweat upon her skin, the other people asleep around them, it all faded to nothing. Her only focus became the man beneath her begging for more and the exhilarating ache each time the head of him brushed against a sensitive spot deep inside of her.

“You’re so brave, Tom, and you’re doing so well, making me feel wonderful,” she breathed, as she moved atop him.

His expression was one of utter submission and pure adoration, his eyes were glossy with pleasure, his full lips were parted. He clung to her as though he was a drowning man and she was his lifeline, and she supposed she was in a way. She served as a much needed moment of respite when all around him was fear and uncertainty.

She could feel her peak beginning to crest alongside his, his cock pulsed inside of her with each spasm of her core. She pulled off of him as white hot waves of pleasure crashed over her, stifling his groan of satisfaction with a hot, messy kiss - the first they’d shared - as she tightened repeatedly around nothing and he spilled himself across his lower abdomen.

He laid against her chest afterwards, once he’d cleaned himself up, and she cradled him to her breasts, gently ruffling his hair. A satisfied ache had settled between her thighs, and her eyelids felt heavy with tiredness.

“Will you write to me?” He asked quietly.

“If you keep your promise, Tom, then I might not know where to write to.”

He hummed quietly before falling silent.

“You will keep your promise, won’t you? You’ll speak to your dad?”

“Yeah,” he whispered back, almost thoughtfully, “I promise.”

Tom left the next day, and she didn’t see him again, though he often crossed her mind. Six months later, when she was stationed in a hospital in Paris, her heart stuttered in her chest as she looked upon the familiar, yet bruised face of a man laying unconscious in the ward she was working in. She smiled as she approached the bed and looked upon the sleeping form of Tom Bennett. He’d kept his promise. He was a hero after all.

[undercovercameron]

sous chef

summary: rafe let’s himself play the husband role with your little life in your trailer. oh, also, he loves you. (alternate summary: the first time rafe tells you he loves you)

notes: i had a lot of fun writing this, i just love a domesticated rafe cameron that isn’t insane about coke and isn’t a murderous psychopath…. there’s also alcohol and marijuana use in this! def sexual content and in a particular prayer position…. anyways this was cute and i often romanticize my life in this way too! enjoy pls

tags: rafe cameron x pogue!reader

word count: 2042

When Rafe steps down the rickety stairs and onto the soggy grass, the humidity smacks him in the face like a wall of pond-scented wet sponge.

“Fuck,” he curses, raising a hand to his brow, and squints in the late morning sunshine. A mosquito buzzes past his nose and he swats it away with a golden ringed hand. His head pounds like a drum. Damn your cocktail skills— you always find a way to get him fucked up despite his tolerance. It’s the Pogue in your genes.

That thought makes his head pound harder, but he knows he wouldn’t have it any other way. The only thing he likes in his family’s high-brow country club culture is the shit that comes with money. And with your limited experience in that, you’re a break from the bullshit.

He fumbles in his pocket, looking for his keys, but his fingers just land on empty gum wrappers and a lighter. He ascends the trailer steps in twos, wrenching the door open, and starts for the kitchen. There’s movement in your bedroom but he just grabs his keys and finds his way back outside into the muggy weather. He doesn’t know exactly what he’s rushing out to do— his plans aren’t until the afternoon.

He’s halfway to his Range Rover parked haphazardly next to your early 2000s Corolla when the front door’s hinges squeak and you call out to him.

“Needing this?” You hold up his wallet between two fingers, and he snorts. You step down onto the grass with bare feet. You’ve got a black lacy thing on top and a pair of half-buttoned jean shorts on the bottom.

“Take anything you aren’t supposed to?” He says, squelching over to your half-dressed form.

“Maybe. You know that’s my mom’s thing, not mine.” You roll your beautiful eyes.

“That right?” He says quietly, sliding his wallet into his pocket and taking your neck into the side of his hand. “Never know, with you.” His mouth meets yours for the first time that day, and you sigh. His hand smoothes down your waist and he tucks his fingers into your waistband, feeling the material of your panties. His favorite pair.

You stumble in the soft earth, feeling yourself being tugged closer, and your arms wind themselves around his shoulders. He’s hot and pulsing with feeling under your touch.

You taste like mint toothpaste and something like watermelon from last night. Every time he kisses you you taste like Sunday mornings and sunshine. But he finds the will to pull away with a hand on your collarbone.

“I’ll see you tonight.” His tilted face glints in the sunlight and his eyes are half lidded and relaxed. At peace.

“What’s tonight?” Your brows pull together, lips screwed up, and he lets go of you.

“I’m goin’ fishing with some buddies later today. I’ll bring you something I catch.” His blue eyes follow yours as you scan his face.

“Mmm.” You smooth a hand down his chest. “My own personal Hank Parker.”

He turns, sliding you off of him with both of your wrists in one hand, and backs towards his car with a chuckle on his lips.

“You’re weird.”

“You’re sexy.” Your gaze moves from the top of his head to his shoes. “Bye.”

“Mhm. Bye.”

His back turns to you and he grins foolishly to himself, depressing the unlock key on his fob. You’re going to ruin him someday.

Later that night, he approaches your door with a cooler, a backpack slung over one shoulder, and a limp in his step. He can’t escape a fishing trip without some sort of injury. He’s lucky if it’s minor. The lights are on in your trailer, and you had even lit the citronella candle on the tiny picnic table off to the side of the front door.

He knocks on the flimsy door on merit and upon no response, shoulders into your living room with a huff.

“Y/N?” He calls, nothing but the crickets chirping and some soul music coming from your radio making any noise in the small house. He sets his things down onto the counter and your lack of response starts to make him a little worried.

That nagging worry immediately disappears when he saunters into the small bathroom and sees you sitting on the toilet, feet propped up on the side of the tub, smoking a joint and painting your toenails.

“What’re you doing?” He asks for some reason, face splitting into a grin, and you pluck the half-smoked J from your lips and hand it to him. Smoke curls out of your mouth and into your nose, and he just chuckles as he takes a hit.

“Multitasking,” you say, eyes meeting him before going back to the task at hand.

“‘S what I love about you,” he murmurs, and leans down for a kiss. You grant him one without acknowledging the beat your heart skips. He barrels on, trying to make you forget his lingual mishap. “I’m going to clean the fish while you finish here and then we can cook, yeah?” He sucks the life out of the joint and hands it back. You push it between your lips and nod, swiping a final time at the pinky toenail of your left foot. Five down, five to go.

“Sounds good, baby,” you mutter through your focus. He turns and you smack his ass as he leaves, relishing in the jump and curse word he grants you in response. You smile around the filter in your lips.

Finishing your nails takes so long that Rafe already has the fish in the pan and half of his drink drained by the time you appear from the bathroom with freshly-purple toenails and the lingering cocktail of marijuana and acetone in your hair.

“What’re our sides, Chef Rafe?” You ask, having a sip of his bourbon. You cringe and make a disgusted noise at his favorite alcohol.

“I heard you—this brand is good, snob. And there are potatoes in the oven.” His broad back is to you as he pokes at the fish in the pan, the smell of hot oil and cooking meat lingering in the air. He even opened the window above the sink and lit that candle you like.

“Sounds perfect,” you murmur, sidling up behind him, and curl your arms around his waist. The worn surf shop shirt he has on is smooth to the touch, and his skin is even smoother when you push the hem up to get your hands on him. “You look so sexy cooking for me.”

“Yeah?” He sets down the spatula and reaches for the cajun spices next to the stove. “How sexy?”

“Really sexy.” Your fingertips toy with the waistband of his jeans, and a colony of goosebumps prickle the skin of his forearms. He nearly shivers when you press your palm flat to the muscle above his pelvis and slide past his belt. He seasons the fish a little more with a shaky hand.

His eyes fix on a single crooked tile in the faux backsplash when you creep your hand down into his boxers, and your mouth presses to his back when he hangs his head. Your fingers smooth down the length of his dick, skilled and familiar, and his mouth drops open.

His heart starts to beat quicker when you pull his zipper down and unbutton his fly in one fell swoop, hot face pressed to the thin material of his shirt. He can feel your grin through it. Your thumb swipes across the tip and he sucks in a breath and grabs at your wrist. He starts to let you go when you kiss at his shoulder blade and curl your hand around the shaft and start to move.

“You have a good day today?” You murmur, bringing your hand back to your mouth to spit into your palm before getting back to it. He looks to the side, silently cursing, and squeezes his eyes shut.

“Mhm.” His word breaks into a groan and you relish in the sound. He’s so good at pleasing you and getting you loud, it’s nice to just hear him for once. His fingers grip the edge of the stove so hard his knuckles pale.

“You smell so good.” You squeeze a hand at his waist, another one working hard in his boxers, and he chokes on one of the rawest moans he’s ever expressed. Your grin widens. “So good, baby,” you kiss through.

“F-fucking—…” He exhales heavily and his hips jerk at the increasing sensitivity. “You’re too good at this.”

“Not possible,” you say, and peek over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of his face. His ears are a bright pink, same as his lips, and his face is screwed up in something akin to bliss. You love it.

Your fingers slow for a moment, letting him catch a breath. He pants a little bit but licks his lips, eyes blinking open and looking surprisingly dark. You move his shirt aside with your other than and creep your fingers up his abdomen, stopping briefly at his abs before lowering back to hold onto the anchor of his stomach. You press a kiss to his bicep before your hand speeds up again, fingers a little tighter.

“So sexy,” you compliment smoothly, your smirk evident. “Needy.”

“Stop,” he breathes, eyes closed once again and biting at his lip. “You know that’s my line.”

Your thumb slips over his tip once, twice, then three times. He nearly chokes on a groan.

“It’s true.” A bite to his upper back. “So fucking sensitive to me you’d think we’re virgins, huh?”

His head rolls on his neck, internally cursing, and he grabs again at your wrist as you move quicker.

“Y/N,” he starts to chant, squeezing his eyes.

Swiftly dropping onto your knees diagonal to him, you grab at his right arm and pull him around to you. His side crashes against the stove with the force but he just pants and grabs at your hair to pull you closer to his dick.

You push him into your mouth with one hand on his hip and the other curled around the back of his thigh. He lets out the most wrecked sound when you push him all the way to the back of your throat. You suck, hard, and watch as his head tips back and his mouth open in an O.

“Fuck,” he shudders when your tongue swirls around him. “Shit.”

You go high on your knees, grabbing at the base of his dick, and push it further. His hips stutter and his fingernails dig into your scalp, but you dismiss it when he goes nearly silent.

“Please,” you mutter, mouth full, and that’s what sends him barreling over the edge.

“Fuck!” He forces out between his teeth, and it immediately turns into a gasp. “Y/N.”

You just ‘mhm’ and open your mouth so he can see. He release his grip on your hair and pets down the side of your head, panting with his eyes locked on yours. You leave him with one final suck that makes him shiver and then pull back. You get to your feet, happy with yourself, and seal him with a kiss. He grunts into your mouth but reciprocates.

“I think the fish might be burning, honey,” you comment, peeking over at the stove, and he just closes his eyes and shakes his head.

“I fucking love you.” He grins, not quite catching his breath.

You don’t necessarily freeze, but you stay silent. You take a moment to just look at him, watching the way his eyes fall open and the corners of his mouth turn down as his grin falters.

“I love you, too,” is all you say, eyes twinkling, and then you open the fridge and turn away from him. “We don’t have any cranberry juice.”

You’re simply looking for the ingredients to your preferred drink, but a bashful blush finds its way onto your cheeks.

His heart and lungs start working again and he turns back to the stove, taking hold of the spatula.

“Looks like you’re going to have to use orange juice,” he says through his smile.

[dilfartist]

Model 2099

Pairing; Yandere Android Miguel O’hara x reader

Synopsis; You always thought of your android Miguel as a loveable companion. Little did you know he had an unhealthy obsession with you. And it even went as far as hurting someone who hurt you.

Word count; 3.3k

Tw; yandere theme, dark themes, dead dove don’t eat (maybe).

Reader description; Female/GN

Your skin felt frigid. Your fingertips, ears, and nose all numb despite your body being clad head to toe in warm apparel.

In Nueva York, the snow descended in great, unforeseen amounts. On the first day of the predicted cold weather, the snow reached from the street to the concrete. It was narrow enough for a child to build a snowman. However the next day, the snow reached higher, enough to cover the doorsteps of some apartments on your block and blanket the roads in ice.

Now your street felt lifeless. The only cars seen were the ones parked on the sidewalks. None of your neighbors left the warmth of their homes.

You dig your left boot into the hill of rampant snow, then bring the right one to propel yourself further. Unlucky you, having to fight your way home through the snow just because you needed a few necessities. The weather forecast predicted the snow would last for at least two days, so you went out to retrieve toilet paper, soup cans, microwaveable dinners, and a flashlight in case of power outs.

Grasping the handle of the front door, you pressed it forward, enough for you to enter. Swiftly, you shut the door behind you to sponge in the warmth coming from the heater. Once your numb fingers began to absorb the heat, you peeled off your gloves - well these gloves weren't yours; they belonged to a co-worker nice enough to lend them to you- and threw them inside your purse. You let out a pleased sigh. The house had a tidied aroma, smelling like someone had used enough bleach for it to still be identified hours later despite drying. Still, the apple cider fragrance spray claimed the house, if only slightly. Disrobing yourself off your coat, you call out to your Android. "Miguel! I'm home!"

Usually, your android - Miguel O’Hara, model 2099- waited beside the door to greet you after a hard day's work. Helping you disrobe your jacket and asking you about your day. And even when slightly off-timing, he'd let you know of his presence with a "welcome back!" from wherever he was in the moment. Oddly enough, there was no reply. You look up, puzzled by the lack of response. "Miguel?!" You call out, voice more audible for the other side of the house this time. Again, no reply.

You don't think much of his absence, presuming he had forgotten to grab an ingredient for tonight's dinner and would be back home in no time. Sometimes he'd be so focused on one task that the other errands would be forgotten. Miguel could handle himself.

The majority of lights in the house were turned off; furthering your conclusion about your Android’s whereabouts. You stepped into your kitchen, examining the room. Aside from the pots on the stove, nothing had changed in the kitchen. The kitchen was spick and span, per usual. You'd remember to thank him when you saw him.

Approaching the stove, you took note of the two pots simmering on the stovetop. One sat on the front burner, the other on the back burner. You lifted the lid, allowing the steam to escape. Your stomach rumbles, craving the smell. I groan, feeling impatient, placing the lid back on the pot.

The aroma of dinner leaked out of the slightly ajar pot, alluring you closer for a taste. You entered the kitchen, following the scent of the meal simmering on the stove.

Raising the lid off the pot, you dip the ladle into the soup, scooping as much as you can. You took a small sip, savoring the creamy-rich taste. The taste is addicting and you can’t get enough. You dip the ladle in once again, drinking the soup until the ladle is empty. Then again you repeated the action.

“Don't worry, dinner will be ready in just a minute.” The abrupt sound of a person’s voice states. You flinch in surprise, A hand is placed on your chest, dropping the ladle, and your heart thumps quicker than before. “Miguel!” You gasp, “You scared me.” You whirl around to meet his eyes.

Miguel gives a small apologetic smile, setting the basket of clothes he was carrying onto the table. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Miguel says softly, accent getting heavier at the end. “Didn't hear you come in.”

“No, it’s fine.” You reassured. “Thank you for cleaning.”

Even if Miguel was programmed to clean, you always felt the need to thank him for his labor. No matter the times he reminded you that he was a machine designed for that very chore.

“I should also apologize for not greeting you at the door; My clothes were in the dryer.”

“It's fine, Miguel, really. You don't have to greet me at the door every day.”

Once again, Miguel provides you with a small smile; however, his smile does not reach his eyes. If the guilty smile Miguel sported wasn't enough evidence of his guilt, the flashing red LED on Miguel's right temple certainly accomplished the job.

The LED’s scarlet color quickly transitioned into a light blue color, indicating Miguel had gotten over his negative feelings.

It was terrifying knowing the sole dissimilarity between the two of you was the LED. Without the LED, you wouldn't have thought Miguel to be an Android. Knowing the sole difference between the two of you was the LED was in a way terrifying. Without the LED installed in the right temple of Androids, no one would be able to tell who was a robot and who wasn't.

Dragging the box cutter down swiftly, the tape splits open. You take a step back examining the package. The package is light brown, standing up vertically against the wall. “What the hell is this thing?” you ask, amused. A good friend of yours shipped you a gift out of the blue, so you called her up to catch your reaction.

“Open it and see,” she replies sarcastically.

You roll your eyes and spread the folds of the box open. Package peanuts spill all over the floor, and you grumble at the mess that piles on the floor. “Goddamn it,” you’re just about to complain some more when you catch something out of the corner of your eye. You freeze in place, you raise your head in an unhurried motion, the dread in your abdomen expanding.

You holler with fright, falling on your ass. “Did you send me a dead body?!” you exclaim into the speaker of your phone.

Your friend on the other side of the line enjoys your reaction, laughing so hard she begins to have a coughing fit. “Oh my god,” she hums in satisfaction, “you’re too funny, (Name).” After a while she settles down, no longer laughing but her tone still caries the puerile amusement she once had a moment ago, “It’s not a dead body. It's an Android.”

You were familiar with the concept of an android. Androids have been ubiquitous since their first release, and you’ve encountered many, but the majority of the time they were owned by establishments due to their overwhelming expense. Which is why the thought of you owning an Android was mind-boggling.

You stutter out a response, not sure how to approach the profound surprise, “You- I- why did you give it to me? Not that I’m complaining. It's just- this had to be about 8,000 dollars!” Then it hits you; you and she are in the same boat when it comes to funds, “Wait- how the hell did get this?!” you rub your temple, examining the face of the bot through the blurred glass that contains it.

She responds nonchalantly, “Aaron is wealthy remember? He bought me it.”

Aaron was her new boyfriend, he came from a wealthy background and she took advantage of that fact every moment she could. And he didn't seem to mind. Buying this bot would be like buying a box of cereal for him; not something to think twice and a regular ordeal.

You lift a brow, perplexed by the fact she gave you such an expensive gift. Not that you were complaining, of course, just simply curious “And you gave it to me? Why?” you question.

“He got jealous because the Android is literally breathtaking and I just couldn't keep my eyes off him. So being how he always is, he requested for me to throw it out. I mean his voice, Jesus,” she suppresses a squeal, “and not only that, he’s 6’9 and muscular!” she continues to gush about him, you unconsciously tune her out, your focus too busy on analyzing his blurred features.

You hum in acknowledgment. “Well, let me take it out, I’ll have to research it. Thanks for the gift, I'll talk to you later. Bye.”

You take a seat at the dining table. Miguel saunters to the stove, opens the lid, and takes a portion of the soup out to pour into a porcelain bowl. You cock your head to the side, curious to know the reason two respective pots were brewing their own soups. “What’s the other pot have in it?” you question.

Miguel glances at you for a moment then continues to prepare your bowl. “Mrs. Peterson is sick,” he carries the bowl over and sets it gently in front of you. “She asked me to prepare her some soup. I offered her the soup I made for tonight’s dinner, but you know how she can be.”

Mrs. Peterson lived next door, and she adored Miguel. She was sixty-three years old, childless, and had no family members in general. She always required his assistance and Miguel always obliged.

A frown tugs at the corners of your lips, concern morphing your face. “She’s sick? That's too bad. That’s sweet of you to help her.”

Mindlessly, you use your soup spoon to stir the steaming liquid in the bowl. Anxious of the answer he’ll reply to you with, you take a breath of courage. “Did David come by today?” you question, voice low and meek

Miguel is quiet for a beat until he decides to speak up. “No, and if he did, I’d deal with him,” he states carefully, touching on the subject to convey his understanding. “You haven't called him, have you?” his tone is identical to a nagging best friend who is tired of seeing you whine over a boy.

“No.” you shake your head, eyes shifting to meet his, “no,” you say once again to reassure him. Miguel appears satisfied with the answer he received, “Good. Don't go contacting him after what he did to you.” you let out an exasperated exhale. Leaning back in your chair, setting down the soup spoon in your hand, “I- Miguel, I think I might have deserved it.”

Miguel snaps his head in your direction, wearing a stern mug, “He had no right to put his hands on you, no matter the reason.” he chides. He leans his massive body against the counter, folding his arms, fully engaged in the conversation.

“I brought up his ex!” you argue on his behalf. Why? You’re unsure.

“Oh, so he should act the same way she did, to you?” Miguel is a tad bit galled, being sardonic with his retorts. Now he’s fully engrossed in the discussion, leaning his massive body against the counter, giving you his undivided attention. “Slapping you so hard you hit the wall.”

It hurts how factual his words are. It’s enough for you to look down in chagrin, a lump forming in your throat making it hard to swallow. Let anyone else be in your situation, you’d chastise them for such a weak mindset. Make sure they knew there was no good reason to blame themselves for someone else's wrongdoing. But being that person who feels empathy for the person who hurt you, feels so much more embarrassing than having a friend be that person.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” you say lowly, speaking any louder would make you cry.

“It’s fine, (Name).” Miguel consoles, moving from the counter to rub a comforting hand on your back. You sigh, feeling soothed by the little gesture. Miguel leans down, tilting his body slightly to face-to-face with you. Miguel looks at you with such tenderness a shover travels down your spine. “He won’t hurt you again, I’ll make sure of it” His expression as a whole is soft and full of fondness, though his red eyes pierce your soul.

“Miguel bot 2099,” you mutter the title of the YouTube video on your TV screen. You click play and the video loads for a second before finally playing.

A woman appears in a pitch-black void background. Her whole body is a golden color and she sports an elegant white dress that fits her figure. “Hello, I am Lyla.” she greets sounding welcoming, “I am the mascot of the company LYLA. We are the ones responsible for Androids and Ai’s. You must have clicked on this video because you must have purchased a Miguel bot or you’re just curious.”

Lyla presents a Miguel bot that emerges on the screen out of nowhere. “Miguel O bot is one of LYLA’s number one selling Androids. And there’s a reason for that.”

“Miguel is used for three sole reasons.”

Three Miguels appear on the screen, all in diverse outfits. One is in a business suit, another in a red and blue apron covering a white t-shirt, and the last one is shirtless with leather pants.

Lyla puts her hand out, motioning to the first one in a suit. “Here we have Workbot Miguel. Miguel’s hardworking nature mends well with a work environment, which is why he is mainly purchased to be a working android. Miguel has a variety of skills that companies yearn for in employees. Barriestabot Miguel, Assistant Managerbot Miguel, Firefighterbot Miguel, and Nursebot Miguel are just a few Androids listed in this category of the bot.

Lyla moves on and the camera pans to the second Miguel clad in the apron and white shirt. “Household Miguel: with household Miguel, you’ll never have to worry your head about cleaning or cooking, that’s his job! He pays necessities and bills if you have no time. And he is great with children!”

She moves on for the last time. “And here we have the Miguel meant for adults eighteen and above. This is sexbot Miguel, mostly found in male strip clubs or can be purchased online. We assure you, that you’ll feel pleasure you’ve never felt before. He comes with a remote control, which switches from hardcore dominant to soft dominant to submissive. We’ve created his intimate parts to the point numerous test participants felt like it was the real deal, and probably even better. He’s crafted to seem real so he includes fluids. The fluids are not real, they are simply there for it to seem real or by the user's choice. The fluid can be bought in stores near you or online. There are fruit flavors as well as desserts.”

The Miguel Androids disappear and Lyla is left by herself. “If any malfunctions occur with the bots, we have programmed the Miguel to have a Lyla AI to sit on his shoulder and help the user repair the issue. Lyla’s are never the same. They don’t appear like I do. Lyla’s come in all shapes, sizes, and ethnicities.”

Lyla gives a smile, a smile that you can’t help but feel uncomfortable by. It’s like she's staring right at you. In you.

“We hope you enjoy your Android. Your friends at LYLA.” the video concludes.

You sit there mentally processing the information for a minute, rubbing your chin. Your gaze moves to the Android, now propped up on the wall, and outside it’s containment. Miguel is definitely tall and extremely muscular as he was claimed to be. You can see why Aaron demanded she throw him out; he couldn't compete with him in the slightest.

Miguel had tanned skin, dark brown hair pushed back, two thick bushy eyebrows, and old wrinkles. Why did they choose to make him aged? They never explain. Maybe it’s to target families and people with daddy issues, you think. You walk over, looking up at his face. His eyes are shut.

“Didn't explain how to turn you on,” you grumble. Your hands explore the skin of his neck until your fingertips brush against a button on the back, you press down until a humming sound emits from the Android. You take two steps back and watch as the Android powers on. On his left temple appears a blue swirling light. His eyes flutter open.

...Are they red? That's...not right.

Your brows crease at the sight. You take out your phone, glancing at the original model once again. Yeah...Miguel should definitely have brown eyes. “What the hell..?” you whisper.

Putting your phone away to be polite to him, you greet him. He looks down at you, “Hello. My name is Miguel O’Hara.” he states casually.

His red eyes are piercing into you, but still, you find yourself bewitched.

“Thanks, Miggy,” you smile slightly at him, not yet recovering after the hard topic. Miguel was right, David’s vitriolic behavior towards you was inexcusable. Miguel would be there for you. He’s been your support more than your own boyfriend has been for months. Granted one is a robot, but sometimes you don’t even realize it with how human he acts.

A high-pitched beeping sound echoes from the left side of the house. “The washer is done. I put in another load when you came in. I’ll be back.” Miguel saunters off.

You stand up, walking over to the stove holding your empty bowl. You reach for the first pot but then decide against it. Mrs. Peterson wouldn’t die if you had one bowl of the soup. You reach over and open the second pot. You scoop as much soup as you can onto the ladle and pour it into the bowl. Once filled nearly to the brim, you place it down on the counter. You grab the lid, placing it back onto the pot.

You turn your attention back to the bowl.

“What the hell?” you mumble, squinting to guarantee yourself you weren’t crazy.

Poking out of the soup was something white. Nothing you could identify from just one look. You take your spoon and pick up the white thing with it.

It was...an eyeball! A human eyeball!

You scream in terror, dropping to the floor, your fall causing the entirety of the pot to plunge with you to the ground, reverberating a clank. You crawl away, from the dark liquid puddling the floor. More and more body parts are revealed; a big white toe, fingers of all sizes, another eyeball, and you can only assume the chunks of meat are the entire body. You shake like a leaf in the wind, looking around for something to do! What were you going to do now?!

Your panic is interrupted by a creak in the floorboards outside the kitchen. You snap your head in the detection of the sound to see Miguel standing in the doorway, taking up the whole door with his body. You cower in fear at his physiognomy. His expression is indistinct, bloodshot eyes watching you like a lion catching its prey attempting to sneak off. You stare at each other, both unmoving from your spots. You’re the first to speak, though if it weren’t for the pregnant silence and the motion of your lips, “I’m sorry,” your voice cracks, the lump in your throat making a comeback. “Please don't hurt me.” you whimper.

Miguel saunters towards you, you scoot back still on edge. Miguel knees down, taking your face into his hands. They feel warm. Why? He hushes your cries with such tender you nearly overlook the situation. “I had to,” he spoke up factually. “He came in here, threatening you for telling his mother about the fight. I couldn't let him hurt you again.”

You let out a muffled cry, looking into his crazed eyes bloodstained eyes. He presses a kiss to your forehead and whispers, “I made sure he’d never hurt you again.”

[cor-lapis-candy]

Look at me, look my zhongli icon in the down turned eyes and hear me as I say beidou has a kept woman that Ningguang has waiting for her at the jade chamber for when she is in port.

Kept pampered and swathed in the finest silks that are not publicly available, dressed as fine as Ningguang's own personal woman is.

Beidou met you when you were nothing but one of the attendants assigned to her one visit to the jade chamber, a pretty thing dressed in official wear but still so cute, and compared to the men on her ship you smelled so sweet and clean that she could help but tug you close and smile lazily as she compliments your hair and the perfume you wear.

From then on you are always assigned to the captain whenever she is docked and in the chamber, her 'pretty girl' or 'landlocked heart' each time she calls you by these it's only met with flushed cheeks and shy little nods.

It's only when your regular duties begin to change that you notice what your new role is, tucked away in a side room is the woman you know is lady Ningguang's lover or 'personal attendant' as the other call her, only once you are shown to a new lounge and a pretty sitting robe do you understand the new role you have been given.

Beidou is rarely in port and she is so close to ningguang that it is no shock that the lady of the jade chamber has her own personal lover see too teaching you how Beidou likes her lovers, spending days learning how to kiss properly, how to not freeze up as someone touches your thighs, everything but how to actually sleep with beidou is shown to you that right is reserved for her alone.

The very next time she is in port you are bathed, oiled and perfumed to her standards, left on her bed in the jade chamber, waiting for the captain to join you with nerves that felt like they could rattle even morax if he felt them.

How could Beidou keep her hands off you as she enters the room, you smell divine perfectly clean and dressed in this almost see-through robe that hides nothing from her vision as she walks up to the bed. There is no preamble or coy moves it's just a calloused hand tugging the tie free and a whistle as she takes in your figure as you lay pretty for her with flushed cheeks and slowly pebbling nipples from the intensity of her gaze alone.

Ningguang's lover and personal attendant may have trained you for this but nothing had you prepared for the actual moment you were under the captain, the scent of sea water on her skin and booze on her breath as she noses along your neck kissing and nipping freely as she sighs out praise for how soft you are and how good you smell.

It's a blessing to have someone so sweet and that smells so good after weeks at sea with her crew that only really bathe, or well sponge bathe when they get itchy. Her hands tug on your hair and tilt your head back so that she can leave more and more dark hickies and marks that won't last till she is back in port but she will grumble that you will feel them till then.

The callouses on her fingers make the way she drags them down your chest and hips intoxicating, digging in as she pulls you against her thigh and starts out a slow rocking motion against the thick leather at the top of her boots, smirking as you whimper and rut against her, shamefully looking up at her as your cunt shines her leathers in a whole new way.

Rocking your hips against Beidou's thigh may have made you a wet needy mess but when your fingers are in the captain's hair tugging and messing up the long tresses of brown as she buries two fingers into you and rolls her tongue against your clit, nothing you could have been "trained" for would prepare you for the eager way Beidou eats you out, licking up every drop of slick that comes from you and even as you try to squirm and move away she is pulling you back in and holding you down.

You aren't getting away from her eager mouth before she is done, and Beidou's isn't done until the silk of the bed under you is drenched, ruined and unusable ever again.

[dazedandconfused-15]

Dom billy giving you a bubble bath after a long day at work, he sits behind you and rubs your puffy pussy calling you his good girl and ur just his subby girlfriend crying cus hes hands are so thick and perfect 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫❤️❤️

Here you go😇😝

Warning: 18+, sexual content.

Dragging yourself to the kitchen, the full moon's leftovers from a restless night still haunt you. As soon as you got home earlier, you laid down on the couch to get a few minutes of rest. Surprise surprise, that turned into a solid hour nap. You hate leaving the dishes in the sink, so as soon as you see them you start washing them before preparing dinner later.

-Babe?

-In here! – you answer, rubbing your forehead with your arm. A lock of hair falls on your face and you blow it away.

Billy enters the kitchen and puts the house keys in the bowl, his eyes on you. -Hey.

You give him a tired smile, rinse a breakfast bowl under water, and place it on the dish rack. -Sorry, I forgot to wash the breakfast things. When I got home I just had to sit on the couch for a bit but fell asleep. I was exhausted.

Billy comes up to you as you rub a dish with the sponge. -Not a big deal. Leave it here, I’ll do it later.

-I’m almost done.

You sigh as he turns off the tap, resting a hand on your arm. -It's Friday. I’ll do it. Just c’mere.

You grab the towel he holds out to you, drying your hands. You turn towards him, finding yourself trapped between the kitchen counter and his body. His blue eyes roam over your face. He has a spot of motor oil on his cheekbone, which you brush away with your thumb.

-What’s going on? D’you have a bad day? – he asks as his fingers graze the skin of your hip under your shirt.

-No, no. Just...just a long one, that’s all.

Billy hums. He moves closer and kisses the corner of your mouth as his lips linger there, his mustache teasing you deliciously. You can smell the faint scent of cigarettes in his kiss.

-Alright. Let's get you in the bath. Relax a bit', huh? - he asks, his big hand goes up your back and wraps itself around the back of your neck, warm and reassuring.

A bath sounds like a good idea.

A few minutes later, your body sinks in the bathtub as you let the warmth of the hot water envelop you. The bubbles shimmer like iridescent jewels. The rhythmic sound of their bursting orchestrates a gentle melody.

-Aren't you coming? – you ask Billy.

He is sitting to your left, his arms resting against the edge of the tub. He reaches out a hand and brushes your lips with his thumb.

-I thought you wanted to be alone for a while.

You shake your head, kissing his thumb. Billy gets the message and stands up, undressing. When he sits behind you and grabs your hips, drawing you closer to him, you lean your back against his chest with a satisfied hum. His hands rest against your belly. You never cease to be amazed at how your bodies contrast with each other. His golden skin seems even more tanned against your fair one. Your legs trapped between his are small.

Wrapped in the warmth of his body and the warm water, you let out a long sigh trying to ignore the tension in your shoulders. You try to disconnect yourself from thoughts of work. It's no use at the moment.

-You need to stop worrying so much, y'know. - Billy says at one point. His thumbs draw circles on your belly, which relaxes your nerves a little. 

-I know. It's just...there's so much to do. I don't even know if it's gonna work.

You just opened a coffee shop in Hawkins. Things are going well so far, but there's still so much to do. Robin and Max are a great help. Taking care of the marketing and branding part has taken a lot of work, and you all really want this business to work. You are finishing up the recipes and adjusting some aspects of the interior design, but the pressure is a lot.

-Don’t be so negative. The food’s great. Have I tried it or not?

-Yeah...

He nudges your jaw with his nose. -And what did I say? Like the pancakes, what did I say when I ate those pancakes? You know I'm always straight-up with you, especially with this stuff.

You hum in acknowledgment, folding your left leg and resting it against his muscular thigh. -You loved them.

-That's right. I'm not the only one. When you guys gave Eddie one of those blueberry muffins? Man, he cleaned up the whole tray.

You let out a laugh at the memory of that episode.

-You worry too much. S'gonna be great.

-You're right. - you murmur, feeling tingles spread through your belly as his hands creep further up.

-Now you just need to relax. - his breath brushes your ear as his thumbs grazes your nipples, which immediately stiffen under his touch. -Yeah?

You nod, his thumbs sending direct signals between your legs as he rolls your nipples between them.

-Let me take care of ya.

A gasp leaves your lips as you feel his fingers graze the petals of your sex. His hand is big enough to cup it entirely. It is as if an electric shock is going through your body. You can feel the blood rushing down there as all of your nerves wake up from his touch. He knows your body by heart, knows exactly how to touch you, what gets you squirming for him. You had a couple boyfriends before him, but none of them was able to touch you like him. Not even close. And it wasn’t a matter of time either, because Billy got you gushing all over his hand the first time he touched you in that parking lot a year ago. His finger rubs your clit in slow circles, you can feel the wetness build up no matter the water surrounding you. You instinctively arch your back, seeking contact with his hand.

-You're so eager, aren't you? - Billy reprimands you as he bites your ear, slowing down his movements. -Are you gonna be good and stop moving?

-Huh huh. – you bite your lower lip as you strain to relax back against his torso.

You feel his hard length pressing against your lower back, and it only increases the need for release. His fingers are spread to each side of your labia, and he begins to slowly massage you up and down, your throbbing, hardened clit rubbing against the palm of his hand.

-Mh, yes. - you whisper with a gasp at his touch.

The water around his arm has cleared from the foam and you can see his large hand rubbing you, turning you on even more. His other hand is on your left breast, playing with your nipple poking out of the water.

He pants against your ear as he brushes your slit with his middle index finger and you automatically twitch with the need to feel him pushing inside your hole.

-Such a greedy pussy. - he rumbles. Then his words cut through you in his slow, accusing tone. -Can you feel how wet you are?

-Mh, just need it so bad...

-What do you need, baby? - he asks, knowing fully well what you want as he circles your entrance with his finger. Waiting for you to say the word.

-Your fingers. – you breathe out, and it takes all of you not to thrust your hips forward and swallow his finger.

-Where do you need 'em?

You feel your cheeks burning. You have always been shy. Billy is the opposite of you. Has always been. He’s all cheeky and uninhibited and doesn’t care if he falls into the vulgar. And he demands the same from you. You can't escape him.

-In my pussy. - you whisper, and he hums in appreciation, his voice rumbles against his chest.

-Atta girl.

He pushes his finger inside you, filling you to the brim. You gasp, tilting your head back, feeling the metal of his ring against your labia, waiting for him to start moving. And when he does, you let a low moan. You instinctively pull your right leg out of the water so that your calf rests on the edge of the tub to be spread for him and give him more access, water dripping onto the floor from your foot.

-Yeah, just like that. Open wide, baby. - Billy whispers, and almost pulls out his finger to add another one, tearing a high-pitched groan from you.

You lift your head from his chest, watching in rapture as his big fingers move in and out of you in the water, the heel of his hand against your pubis. The air in the bathroom is hot and humid, your body is on fire. A drop of sweat slides down you temple. You never want it to end, but at the same time, you feel the burning need to release.

-More. - you whisper, resting your head back against his shoulder. You move your hips to meet his movements, but as soon as you do Billy pulls out his fingers.

Your sex contracts around nothing. You feel frustration rising in you and you’re about to say something but Billy wraps his hand around your throat.

-What did I say? - he murmurs, his lips against your skin.

His voice is a warning in itself. If you move, he gives you nothing.

-Sorry. It just feels so good. Please, Billy.

You turn your head meeting his blue eyes, begging him with your gaze. You press your lips against his for good measure. Billy grunts, his tongue finding yours as he lightly tightens his hand around your throat. The pleasure and slight adrenaline of the gesture mingle, causing a shiver to run down your spine. His eyes lock into yours as he slowly pushes his three fingers inside you. Your eyes flutter as he fills you again. You feel him increase his pace and you no longer contain the sounds that leave your mouth, your breath mixing with his. Then he curls his fingers and hits the spongy skin inside you, and something uncomfortable mixed with something beyond pleasure makes you close your eyes. Your leg begins to ache from its position against the edge of the tub, but you can't bring yourself to care, desperate as you are for the release. Your hips though, start to move on their own again, meeting his fingers urgently.

-God, yes ... ah ...

And just like that, he pulls out his fingers again.

You turn to look at him, frowning in dismay. Billy shakes his head, his hand slowly rubbing your swollen sex. -You're not listening.

-I’ll listen! I promise. I won't move. Just, please... - you moan, straining not to move against his teasing hand.

His fingers linger on your swollen labia. -What a brat. - then he roughly pushes his fingers inside you, without warning.

You cry out against his mouth and he silences you with his lips. His tongue follows the movement of his fingers and you almost roll your eyes at how erotic and overwhelming all of this is.

-Can you stay put baby? Want me to make you cum? Huh? - he asks, curling his fingers inside you.

You answer with a noncommittal sound, your toes curling every time his fingers apply pressure against that patch of skin. You feel yourself reaching the end quickly, feeling like you’re sliding down towards the edge of a ravine with alarming speed.

Billy tightens his grip around your throat, forcing you to open your eyes. He looks at you under his long dark lashes with a certain hunger. -Want you to watch me when I make this pussy come.

-Huh huh. – you nod eagerly, your nose brushing against his. -Please, yes.

Your legs start shaking as he keeps hitting that sweet spot, the familiar warmth in your belly starts spreading until you can't take it anymore and you cry out, contracting violently around his fingers, your flesh pulsing rhythmically, your eyes nearly crossing from the intense and long pleasure, so good it almost hurts.

-Yeah, such a good girl. - he whispers, his fingers moving gently inside you as you ride out your orgasm. Your legs give out as you loll your head to the side against his chin, your eyes fluttering shut, feeling utterly spent. Billy kisses your forehead, his hand now gentle around your throat, his thumb caressing your jaw.  -You did so well for me.

You just let out a sigh, feeling lulled by the warmth of his body and the smell of his cologne surrounding you, feeling at home.

[mcmookiemeal]

Giving Donkey Kong a bath

“If you would just sit still, this would go a lot easier.” You frustratedly sighed.

Donkey kong sat impatiently in the large wooden tub filled with soapy water.

You were the one who practically forced him into this tub after finding out he doesn’t properly bathe most of the time.

“You’re scrubbing too hard!” He snapped back at you, crossing his arms like a child throwing a tantrum.

You scoff and continue to sponge around all the spots where dirt is potentially hiding under his fur.

You honestly wondered if Dk had been bathing in mud for all these years.

He plays with the small rubber ducky you gave him to keep him distracted while you clean him thoroughly.

“I like this little guy.” He laughs as he squeaks it with his large fingers.

You harshly scrubbed behind his ear causing him to flinch a little bit to which you apologize softly.

“You’ll be glad to hear I’m all done with the scrubbing.” You confirmed as you threw the soap back into the water.

Grabbing the strawberry scented shampoo bottle from the counter, you squirted a generous amount on both your hands before returning your focus back on Dk

“I think you’ll enjoy this part.” You giggle.

Taking both of your hands, you gently massaged deeply through the fur on his head. Fingers moving all around his head in a thorough manner.

“Oh wow…”. You can hear the smile in his voice.

Once his head was completely covered in the white foam you figured it was time to wash it out. You took a cup from beside you and filled it with the water from the tub.

“Lean your head back.”

“What? why-” You cut him off and poured the cup of water on his head. His wet hair falling over his eyes as he coughed out some of the water that got in his mouth.

You told him to lean his head back and he didn’t listen so that was on him.

“What was that for?!” He yelled, angrily throwing the rubber ducky at the water.

You shrugged and smirked.

But lucky for him bath time was officially over and it was time to dry off with a nice warm towel.

You quickly grabbed a towel for him and helped him step out of the tub.

His wet fur dripped onto the wooden floor as he shivered from the light breeze that flowed through the tiny hut.

“Here, this’ll warm you up” You took the towel and dried his body off.

After he was all dry he looked extra fluffy, almost like a blanket that was just freshly taken out of the dryer.

Dk lifted his arms up to his nose and took a few sniffs.

“Wow…I smell amazing!” He exclaimed and pulled you into a near bone crushing hug.

“Im glad you like it but please put me down, I cant breathe.” You wheeze.

He apologizes quickly and drops you back onto the floor.

Suddenly his eyes light up and he stares at you with a huge toothy smile on his face. He looks like he might be on the verge of exploding.

“We have to tell my dad about this new magic stuff that makes me smell good!”

“Its called shampoo-”

“Yeah yeah whatever!” He grabs your arm and pulls you out of the hut and pretty much throws you into the passengers seat of his kart.

You buckle up and grip the dashboard as he gets into the drivers seat and revs up the kart.

It looked like giving Dk a bath was gonna be more than just a one time thing.

A/N: This is my first post on this blog and I hope you enjoy the Dk content because the sweet guy deserves more!!

[aeoki]

Sweet Sweet Hunger - Chapter 1

Location: Seisou Hall Common Room Characters: Mitsuru, Nagisa & Niki Season: Autumn Writer: Mai Nishioka

TL Note:

Wagashi is traditional Japanese sweets that have red bean paste and are often served with green tea. 

This is a method used to cut daifuku (rice cake stuffed with fruits or paste). You can view this video (link here) for a better idea how it’s done.

Amanatto/candied natto are beans covered in sugar syrup. Its name is derived from natto (Japanese fermented soybeans) as they look similar.

Momotarou (often translated as Peach Boy) is a traditional Japanese folktale and talks about a boy who is born from a giant peach and goes on a journey to defeat the demons marauding the land he lives in. He befriends three animals along the way by giving them food.

Niki: *Munch munch…*

! Mmm! This cake is absolutely delicious~♪

Let’s see… The sponge cake is fluffy and just melts in my mouth. It’s also been soaked in a Western liquor and it brings out the flavour of the fruits… There.

Alright, next! I’ve been eating cake after cake so maybe I’ll have some wagashi[1] next.

Eeny meeny miny moe~... alright. I choose you~♪

Oho? I’m supposed to cut this strawberry daifuku with a string[2], right?

I see… I can cut it without destroying the fruit inside and it makes a pretty cross-section too.

This earns more points~ Visuals are important when it comes to food. Only the best chefs are picky about plating.

Alright, time for a bite… *Munch, munch*

! Is this really rice cake?

It’s delicious and melts in the mouth right away…♪ The red bean paste is light and smooth. It's as if I took a bite of a celestial maiden’s robe!

I need to note this down… 

What should I pick next?

Mitsuru: *Sniff sniff* I can smell something nice over there~ It’s calling me over…♪

Niki: Ahh–

Mitsuru: Ah! Shiina-senpai’s eating a mountain of desserts!

Niki: Hmm? *Munch munch… gulp* Oh, Tenma-kun. What’re you doing here?

Mitsuru: I smelled something good after coming down to the first floor and ended up here after following the scent, y’know!

Niki: Huh? Smell? You’ve got the nose of a dog, Tenma-kun~ You might make a good chef if you’ve got such a keen nose.

Mitsuru: What~? No, I prefer eating, y’know! So I’d rather be an eating specialist!

Shiina-senpai, you’re so lucky~! You’ve got so many desserts in front of you. That’s something I’d be seeing in my dreams, y’know? *Drool* ♪

Niki: Oh. Do you wanna join me? I’ve finished tasting the ones over there, so you’re free to have them.

Mitsuru: Oh, are you sure!? I wanna eat them!

…Hm? But what do you mean by taste? Why’re you doing something like that? It’s a waste to just taste it and not finish them, y’know?

Niki: No no! I wouldn’t do something like that! I would’ve still taken responsibility to eat them all even if you didn’t come along, Tenma-kun.

I was just trying not to fill myself up too quickly. This is my little tasting event that’s both beneficial to me and also something I enjoy doing.

Mitsuru: Tasting event?

Niki: Yup. I have a blog where I post food and dessert reviews and I’ve been getting a lot of views recently~

I figured I should post more often, so I decided to hold a tasting event where I taste everything all at once.

Mitsuru: Oh! I know about that! Your blog is called “Hearty Appetite All Year Round”, right?

I’ve read it too~! All the food you recommend looks delicious, so it’s so much fun reading it, y’know? ♪

Niki: Ohh~ You’ve read my blog? I’m flattered ♪

Well, anyway, that’s why I’m trying out all these desserts. I’ve prepared a lot, so you’re welcome to eat them once I’ve finished tasting them.

I’ve been thinking recently that it’s pretty nice to share and eat them with someone else.

Mitsuru: Yaaaay ♪ Thanks a bunch, Shiina-senpai!

Niki: Don’t mention it. I’m an adult now too~ I have no issues sharing my food.

I’ve been feeling less stressed mentally and stomach-wise now that my food expenses are balanced. So this is what it means to become an adult, huh…

Mitsuru: Ahaha, you’re so weird~ I don’t understand what you’re saying, Shiina-senpai!

Alrighty, I’m gonna try this one ♪ *Munch munch*

Mmm~!? What the–!? I’ve never had anything so good! It’s fluffy and tastes expensive, y’know~!

Niki: Right~? But these madeleines weren’t actually that expensive.

Madeleines were originally pretty well-known amongst the locals here, but its popularity suddenly skyrocketed throughout the entire country last night.

Mitsuru: Really~? If they’re cheap, I’d love to have heaps more, y’know!

Hm? Hey, Shiina-senpai. What’s that? Candied natto[3]?

Niki: Oh, good eye, Tenma-kun~! Didn’t think that would catch your eye.

This is something that’s only available over the counter and on their online store~

They’re almonds that are coated with coffee and fresh cream.

Mitsuru: Hmm? Coffee? I don’t think I like bitter stuff.

Niki: It’s not bitter at all~ There’s not much of a coffee flavour to it…

There’s a slight bitterness and it goes perfectly with the sweetness. You won’t be able to stop once you try one~!

Mitsuru: Now I’m starting to get excited, y’know! I’ll give it a try~!

Nagisa: …You two look like you’re enjoying yourselves. Having a little dessert party?

Niki: Oh, Ran-kun. Hey, there.

I’m trying out a whole bunch of different desserts for my food blog.

Tenma-kun came along since he smelled them and now we’re eating them together.

Mitsuru: Yeah! I’ve become buddies with Shiina-senpai and we’re eating desserts together, y’know!

Nagisa: …Hehe. Seeing you befriend each other over food is just like the scene from the Momotarou[4] story. 

…Your food blog is pretty popular, Niki-kun. Ibara has told me he reads it.

Niki: Wow, the Vice President reads my blog? That’s a surprise~ I didn’t think he’d be interested in food.

Nagisa: …Yeah. I don’t think he reads it as a hobby but rather, he uses it as reference when purchasing gifts for others.

Niki: Oh, that makes sense. Come to think of it, I’ve got a lot of comments that say something similar.

Nagisa: …Hmm. You’re having a tasting event? There are so many desserts in front of you.

…Hm? You have so many but you don’t have “tiantian” that’s trending right now?

Niki: “T–Tiantian”...?

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤNext Chapter →

[1920sladydectective]

Nurse Aesop Part Two (Not Proofread Lol)

You had known it was coming for several days, the simmering pain and cravings served as a reminder that your body was working on a tight schedule, one that did not care for your social calendar or your newly shared sleeping arrangements. 

Twinges woke you as you forced yourself to breach the soft sanctity of the bedcovers, cold air rushing onto your exposed legs as you hobbled quietly to the adjacent bathroom. If your estimates were correct you would have about ten minutes before the cramping in your abdomen became unbearable and your vision started to blur. 

Grunting as leant against the sink, the cool porcelain doing little to calm you, you allowed your eyes to flicker shut as you attempted to ignore the nausea. 

Aesop despised waking up alone, especially since the arrangement was so fresh, his palm anxiously rubbing the bare cotton sheets as he blinked back confusion, a soft groaning smashing through his tiredness. As smoothly as he was able, he rose grabbing his wand and wandered to the bathroom, concern consuming him at your rosy cheeks and clenched fists. 

Calling your name did little to rouse you, as he invaded your personal space, arms wrapping around you from behind as he planted a kiss to your crown. His cool skin triggered a slightly louder and more surprised grunt. 

“I was calling for you,” He muttered, rubbing rhythmic circles onto your wrists as your hold on the sink loosened slightly. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” It was gentle and frustrated, as he kissed your head again, “It’s my monthlies,” 

“You didn’t wake me, not really,” Aesop said, circles moving from your knuckles to your lower abdomen as you let out a shocked cry, “I think we should get you into a nice bath,”

“You need to go back to bed, it’s four in the morning, you have classes to teach later,” 

Aesop laughed slightly, as the flick of his wand caused a sudden gushing flood of water from the sinks, “I know that,” a pause, “Won’t you let me care for you, Little Dove?” 

His tone was deep and sugary, coating you as you tried to ignore the overwhelming relief. He had his own pains and so often cared for you too, yet it seemed to please him to do so, and you were not one to deny your loved ones their pleasure. 

The bathtub filled quickly with hot, steaming water, as he stepped away and filled it with all manner of sparkling, technicolour potions and salts, the smell alone making you sag slightly with happiness. 

With an assured swiftness, Aesop took your hand and helped you into the bubbling pool, your clothes long since discarded, as a blissful whimper eked out. In the small interlude it took to run the bath he had already forced two pain potions into you and as a result, the combined treatment had you limp with joy, body sucking up all of the nurture. 

Absentmindedly you realised that Aesop was murmuring to you, as he sat on a transfigured chair, sponge in hand as his soft strokes rubbed your tired skin. 

“Darling,” His voice was quiet and peaceful, stubble grazing your forehead as he went about cleaning you, “So precious, so perfect, my Angel,”

It was difficult to remember the pain of your period with a gorgeous man above you, whispering sweet nothings as lavender and lemon filled your nose. In fact, it was difficult to do anything at all, as you drifted into a light daze, the potions abolishing the last of the twinging pain. 

The next thing you were aware of was a deep musky scent, as he lifted you from the water and wrapped you in a towel that felt impossibly soft,  your malleable body leaning into his as you yawned loudly. 

“Twas nice,” You said into the fabric, heavy eyes fixed on him. 

“I told you it would be,” He sounded almost smug, but you didn’t have it in you to mind, as he steered you towards the bed. 

“But my clothes,” It was slightly delirious. 

“I’m getting your clothes, and everything else you need,” He turned, looking at you, “Sit down,,” It was firm, and your legs were weak, so you did. 

Aesop hated to see you unwell for any reason, but as you sat pouting in a towel with damp hair sticking to your cheeks, he couldn’t help the magnificent ache in his chest at the feeling of loving you. You fought him as he wrestled you into soft bed clothes and he snorted his way through the poorly matched battle, well timed kisses to the cheek disarming your meagre defences.

As if you had never left, you found yourself in bed bundled up with your head resting on his chest, body tingling with relief as you desperately tried to keep a conversation with Aesop. 

“I love your perspective on things, Firefly,” Aesop said, nuzzling your cheek, “But now is the time for sleep, not for pondering,” 

“Can I ponder in my sleep?”

“If you wish to, Sweet One,” He laughed, heart twisting again as your breathing evened out, body succumbing in the middle of a rebuttal sentence, “Dream of me,”

[thesnacken]

Appointment

The follow-up piece about Tarra and Handler Miaride.

A heavily-bandaged bundle stirred in the corner, right on schedule. Lethe meandered over, stepping firmly enough to be audible and not much more. Kneeling over the heap she cooed, "Its time to wake, delicate thing. They've called for another interview. You know how important these are."

She tried to drip as much honey into her voice as she could. Making it face this kind of scrutiny felt cruel, naught more than a doll made flesh, but the unpleasantness was necessary.

"I know how you hate such things. I've got something new for you, its heavy and soft. You'll barely know where you are. When we return I'll treat you to something pleasant, alright?"

It didn't respond, but neither did it resist being hoisted upright. Lethe was stronger than her wiry frame would suggest, especially in the rosy-dim light of her quarters. She draped its arms over her, placing feather-light kisses along its neck and shoulder as she undid the tight wrappings about its torso. She stroked the reddened skin gently, massaging it back to a healthier-looking pallor. She hummed as she worked, shifting her all-but-lifeless charge in her lap. More bandages unfurled, freeing the supple skin about its hips and thighs. It shivered slightly, prompting its steward to cover the exposed skin with a heavy blanket.

"Steady, my dear thing, I've only just started," she whispered, "We'll bathe you soon, and dress you in such soft and pretty things. You'll be so convincing, there's nothing to fear." Lethe continued to coo and comfort, pressing her lips against its body as she worked. It was best to get its nerves awake now, before the bath. She wondered if the dear thing even recognized the work she put in. She had to believe so. It was such thorough work, she mused to herself, certainly it was appreciated even by a doll.

The last of the bandages about its body fell away, and the handler lifted her fingers to its face. It looked so peaceful, the thought of disturbing that peace was a pit in her stomach. She pressed her lips to the doll's as she pried off the wrappings on its face, giving it something else to think about. Its eyes remained firmly closed, unwilling to brave even the gentle ambience of the carefully curated room. Its breathing quickened, stirring properly now to a convincing semblance of life. Lethe hefted the doll in her arms, cradling it against her chest, resuming her gentle, hummed work song. Tarra had been a romantic, once, before all of this. Taken with poetry and ballads and wistful songs of far-off paradises. Lethe invoked them whenever one took her, hoping it soothed the pearl of that the once-vibrant Tarra had been. The dedication to that memory drove Lethe, unwavering, to her service.

Automated systems, ever-vigilant, drew a lukewarm bath, in which the pilot was delicately placed. Its handler worked meticulously with a gentle sponge, devoting to a quality of care she scarcely provided her own body. She lavished her precious charge with more soft kisses across its fingertips, knuckles, and wrists, then calves and ankles and soles in kind. Sweet and gentle soaps wafted their scents through the bathroom, lingering in its rich brown hair as it clung to its face and her fingers. The handler pressed her nose against its neck, indulging in the smell. It may have preferred porcelain, in a dream, but Lethe was glad it was still delicate skin.

After meticulously drying the vacant pilot, she dressed it in an outfit of delicate laces and silks and soft cottons worthy of the very heavens. Perhaps Tarra didn't care one way or another, but it was her doll, in the end. It would be breathtakingly gorgeous, for her appreciation if no one else's. A skirt of deep blue swayed as Lethe fussed about its chest, concealing satin ropes that squeezed the doll about its joints, mostly another indulgence. She traced the ropes across its seamless, flat chest and its delicate shoulders. She draped a delicate blouse over its arms, coiling the ropes about its elbows, then securing them to cover the interfacing sockets at its wrists. Lethe stole another kiss as she draped hip-length shawl over Tarra's shoulders, and fastened its wrists together with the last of the ropes. Fewer things to think about made what little it would need to do more achievable.

The handler gingerly braided the doll's hair, lovingly weaving in pins and ornaments it could never have accomplished on its own. Only one article remained, and she held it like it burned her. "May I see your eyes, my precious thing?" The words came out nearly like a whimper, how she hated to cover its face. Yet it complied, and Lethe's heart hitched in her chest as she stared into the golden irises of her friend, her charge, her most beloved posession. What an honor, it was, to be able to dress it to match what a beautiful bauble it was in her heart. She kissed it again, then once on each eye as she beckoned them closed again. Alleviated of her heavy heart, she wound a heavy shroud about its head, and it eased again. Lethe checked the clock, noting a few spare minutes for her restraint and industriousness. She drew her hands about the countertop, beckoning containers up from within the surface. She examined the containers, and selected a milky-white bar, breaking it in half. She bit down on the half meant for herself, then broke the remained into bite-sized pieces. As she managed the slowly-dissolving substance between her lips she held the fragments to her charge. It parted its lips as she pressed the food inside, hesitating to chew as it held to her thumb. "Oh you can't be tempting me like that," she sighed, "Business first." It took another piece, sighing in kind.

"Yes, I love you. We'll be done soon, my most precious thing."

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Ash… please hurt Finn <3

Just something short and sweet for your Friday...

CW: Dehumanization, captivity, pet whump sort of, sadistic whumper

Rancher's Rest, California, January 2005

The man who used to be Finn Schneider - who even in his own thoughts more and more called himself by the nickname his captor had given him - slept as much as he could during the day.

It helped him escape the unrelenting smell of decay from the basement that seemed to seep up through the floorboards like water soaking a sponge. Sometimes Robert lit overwhelming candles, brown sugar and vanilla, oranges and cinnamon. They didn't cover the bad smells so much as join with them to create something far, far worse.

When he slept, he could stop smelling things. Sleep helped himescape the screaming he could hear, sometimes, inside his head or out of it. He wasn't always sure if there was someone alive in the basement or if he was just listening to the echoes of ghosts.

Sleep helped him forget he spent the days in a dog cage built to hold a man.

The muzzle firmly covered his jaw, mouth, and nose, with airholes to breathe but no room to speak. Even his screams were too muffled to carry far. He had stopped trying a long time ago. Easier not to.

In any case, the days passed faster if he slept through them.

So he tried.

He blinked awake at the sound of the key in the door, rolling his shoulders and shifting on the pile of folded blankets and old, flat pillows. He used to feel his heart start pounding and a cold wash of terror every time Robert came home.

Now he just felt... tired.

Robert stomped inside, humming cheerfully. Weak winter sunlight cut briefly across the floor in front of the cage, then disappeared as the door closed again. "Take your boots off, Bobby," He muttered to himself, shaking his coat from his shoulders and hanging it in the wooden rack attached to the wall by the door. "Boots off, then inside. Can't track mud in. Boots off."

Clunk clunk. The boots went onto the woven rag mat, and Finn closed his eyes.

"Shit weather all day," Robert grunted. Maybe to Finn. Maybe himself. Finn didn't know or care any longer. "Sun finally showed up but it's still mud all over the place. Landslides down south. Mudslides taking out houses, all kinds of damage out there."

He moved with flat feet in their dull socks, once white but gone gray, from the door and moving past Finn in his cage, past the basement door where only bones and barrels waited today, into the kitchen. The smell of diesel followed him like scent trails in a cartoon, settling heavy around Finn's face and making his stomach flip.

More thumping footsteps, and Finn let himself doze, vaguely aware but caring so, so little about what could happen next. It didn't matter.

Whatever it was, it would hurt.

He must have fallen asleep once more - he heard the shower shut off and the radio playing in the kitchen, afternoon news delivered by soothing voices.

-holidays give us all a chance to be generous to those we love who love reading. I want to begin my recommendations with a Christmas story about a Christmas story. Novelist Paul Auster's beautifully illustrated little tale about being commissioned by the New York Times in December of 1990 to write a Christmas story, and the surprising pleasure this brought him.

A man from the New York Times called me and asked if I would-

"All right, little Mouse," Robert said cheerfully, interrupting the soft-spoken novelist on the radio with his own rougher, raspier voice. "Work day's done. Out you come."

Finn watched him, and felt the first trickle of nerves and the cold stone of the fear he never quite overcame settling heavy in his chest. When the cage was opened, Robert using the key he wore always on a string around his neck to unlock the padlock, Finn didn't move at first.

He shook his head, just a little.

Then Robert grabbed his arm and yanked him out.

Finn grunted behind the muzzle as his head banged into a metal bar, briefly flashing white behind his eyes as he flinched. His hands scrambled for purchase along the sticky, sharp carpet fibers. Robert chuckled, enjoying the sight, and ruffled Finn's greasy, dirty hair affectionately.

Finn caught himself making a sound far too much like an animal's whimper as Robert's thumb ran over the spot where he'd hit the bar, pressing down.

"Don't be so stupid next time and it won't happen like that," Robert said, cloying and mockingly affectionate. "Stupid thing. Now come on, Mouse."

Forehead throbbing, Finn followed him - crawling on hands and knees like a dog, head down, eyes on the floor. His own breath felt loud, from within the muzzle. Humid and damp, in and out, barely getting enough fresh air. His head spun, a little.

That might just be from hunger, though.

Robert snapped his fingers and pointed to a spot on the floor near the table, and Finn shuffled hurriedly forward to sit there, legs crossed, watching him with dull eyes as he went from the cupboard to the stove, dumping some kind of beef and potato soup from a can into the pot sitting there. The gas flame flickered to life, and Finn wondered what it would take to make this house explode.

"The guys at work had this mysteries show on today," Robert said, all cheerful conversation, as he popped open a beer and took a drink, sitting in a creaking wooden kitchen chair and leaning over to undo the buckles that held Finn's muzzle on. It dropped to the floor, and Finn stared down at it.

He wanted it back.

His face felt all wrong without it.

"You were on it, did you know that?"

It took a second for the words to filter in, and then he turned to look up at Robert. He couldn't remember the words, at first. Or he knew the words but couldn't remember how to form them with his mouth. He managed, hoarsely, "I was?"

"Sure were, Mouse." Robert was in a good mood - he leaned down and put the chilly aluminum edge of the can to Finn's lips, feeding him tasteless foamy American beer cold as ice sip by sip. "Special episode on people like you, went missing in Death Valley. Not even the only German who was featured. Neat episode. Talked about this whole family that just up and vanished. They'll never find them, for sure. Nobody will find you, either, when I'm done with you. Maybe I should put you back."

Finn struggled - Robert talking tended to just move like water around him now - but he turned to look up. "Put... Put me back?"

"Yeah. Dump your bones right back in the Valley, let them find you somewhere they've looked before. Wish I had recorded it or something, could show it to you. Oh, well. Your mom's looking real rough these days."

Finn had to turn away at that, his heart twisting itself as he thought of her, afraid and alone and probably sure he was dead by now. Even if she kept looking... She was looking for bones.

Some of the beer Robert was feeding him missed when he moved, dribbled down his chin to his collarbone, making him shiver.

"Hey! Spilling beer is a capital offense in this house, you stupid piece of shit!"

Finn knew he should apologize, but his mouth wouldn't move. He thought of his car, wrecked just off the road. Bottles of water, his book of CDs, clothes and all his things. He thought of his mother sifting through looking for anything-

Anything at all-

Any sign he was alive-

Being told over and over that no one would ever find him-

"Listen to me when I'm talking to you!" Robert's voice was a deafening roar, and his foot caught Finn in the side of his head, kicking him onto the dirty tile before grabbing his hair and slamming his head down into it.

Finn cried out, instinct overriding emptiness as he scrabbled with his useless hands to try and paw Robert away.

He took a punch to the face. White light burst and pain without sound, like a star exploding inside him. He went limp. The rest of the beating hurt, sure, but at least Robert had stopped talking about his mom.

He could be grateful for that.

They'll never find you.

-

Carriozo, New Mexico, 2009

The man who was Finn Schneider was currently going by the name Bennett Collins. He laid on his back in a broken-down motel in a town no larger than his hand, staring up at the ceiling and decidedly not thinking about scorpions. He'd put his shoes up on a shelf in the closet, just in case.

His phone rang, and he groaned as he shifted onto his side, flipping it open and putting it to his ear. "We don't meet until tomorrow," He said by way of greeting.

"I know, I know. But hey, I have some good news for you." Noah's good cheer made his skin crawl, but he owed the man his life and freedom, even if he didn't know what to do with it.

"What good news?" Maybe the job was called off. That would be nice. His birthday was coming up, not that he had ever told anyone his birthday, and he had had a dim thought he might spend it with a book. If his eyes would let him read one. If his mind would focus on it and not just stare at the same sentences over and over without ever taking them in.

"They found the Germans!"

Finn waited a beat. "Noah, we have a whole country. If no one had found us before now, that would be odd."

"Not-... Okay, fine. Be that way. The Death Valley Germans, that family went missing back in the 90s? We talked about it a couple of times?"

Noah had talked. Finn had stared off into space and made noises like he was listening and tried not to think about it too much. To think about their car found off the road with flat tires and no water and emptied bottles of wine.

His own car, full of water, with no him.

His own family, his mother searching, forever-

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. The motel air was stale and musty, but at least it smelled like the window unit A/C on blast and not like rotting bodies or the Death Valley sand. "Yes. What do you.meam, they found them?"

"Some hikers did. Found some bones and IDs, a friend of mine works with the local police and told me about it. That's good stuff, right?! They found them! Maybe they'll find you some day, huh?"

"You keep me moving too much for that."

"You've never asked me not to."

"I-..." Noah was right. He hadn't ever asked. He had just done the work, and not lifted his head, not looked back. What could he give anyone who had known him? A walking corpse, luckier than the other dead bodies. Maybe. He could pay them back for their love and for looking for him by giving them back a shadow that looked like their son.

"It's fine. I don't mind taking care of you. You'll be at Albuquerque tomorrow for our next job, yeah?"

"Sure."

"Good. Hey, make sure you eat some dinner tonight. I'll be here if you need anything, little Mouse."

Finn's chest went cold. "... What? What did you-"

What did you call me-

"What did you, um, say? Couldn't-... hear you."

Weight pressed down like a boot on his chest, heavy and steel-toed, pushing away air as he tried to breathe in. The air smelled like decay and lemon cleaner. His stomach flipped.

"What?" Noah paused. The pause felt too long. "Oh, I said I'm here for you. At my house."

No, you didn't.

"... Okay. I'll... I will see you tomorrow, Noah?"

"Yeah. Keep your head down. Oh, hey, you're in Carriozo, right?"

Had he told Noah that was where he would stop?

"Y-yes."

"Cool. I stayed there once. Nice diner, makes the best beef and potato soup..."

Finn hung up the phone, launched himself from the bed, and barely made it to the toilet before the nothing he had eaten all day found its way back up.

By the time he could stop, his head was throbbing, and all he wanted was to curl up in his cage in the dark. He moved on his hands and knees back to the bed in the little motel, opened his laptop where it has been charging, and typed with pointer fingers one letter at a time. Death... Valley... Germans...

Death Valley skeletons solve riddle of missing German tourists, read a headline. The letters swam like fish across his vision.

Finn laid his head down on the pillow, closing his eyes and trying to tell himself to breathe. They found them. Thirteen years but they found them. He might have smiled.

Robert had been wrong.

About that, anyway.

-

@finder-of-rings @endless-whump @arlin-always-writing @thefancydoughnut @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @eatyourdamnpears @hackles-up @grizzlie70 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp

@whumperfully @pigeonwhumps @squishablesunbeam @darkthingshappen @whumper-soot @pumpkin-spice-whump @pardonmekreature @d-cs @honey-is-mesi @whump-queen @sowhumpful

-

[hisgrief]

CHARACTER SHEET — repost , do not reblog .

FULL NAME.  gary james turner.

NICKNAME.  gaz. 

PRONOUNS.  he/him.

SIZE.  6ft4.

AGE.  41.

ZODIAC.  aries sun. gemini rising. cancer moon.

SPOKEN LANGUAGES.  english.

PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS.

HAIR.  naturally dark. usually cropped short. tends to curl once allowed to grow out. hairline beginning to recede. occasionally bleached.

EYES.   hazel green. expressive. hooded. prone to a thousand-yard stare. crinkle at their corners when he smiles. he's often described as having puppy-dog eyes.

BODY TYPE.  slim and lanky. broad in the shoulders and narrow in the hips. long limbs. large hands and feet. looks like a greyhound trapped in a human's body.

VOICE.   warm and kind. thickly accented. lowers when he's comforting someone. he has a particular tone when speaking to the animals in his life. example:

DOMINANT HAND.  ambidextrous.

POSTURE.  not the best. tends to slouch to make himself seem smaller and less intimidating.

SCARS.   so many. a couple are products of his upbringing, such as the cut through his left eyebrow and the lack of straightness to his nose. all the others were earned during the attack that killed his wife claire and turned him into a werewolf. he was torn to shreds and had a chunk of flesh removed from his right shoulder. most scar coverage focuses on his upper body, with his legs mostly undamaged. his back took the brunt of the attack, turning it into a mess of ugly scar tissue.

BIRTHMARKS.  covered in a smattering of moles across the entirety of his body. his favourites are the two on his right inner thigh, which he calls his 'vampire bite.'

MOST NOTABLE FEATURES.   his accent. his height. his tattoos. the thickness of his eyebrows and the warmth of his eyes. how quick he is to smile with his entire being. his loud, unrestrained belly laugh. SCENT.  cigarettes. whiskey. warm masculinity. light freshness. he tends to stick to lighter colognes and uses them sparingly due to his sensitivity to smell.

CHILDHOOD.

PLACE OF BIRTH.   preston, england, in the royal preston hospital.

HOMETOWN.   small mining town in lancashire, england, which he prefers not to name. he just says he's from lancashire.

SIBLINGS.  none.

PARENTS. his mother, angela turner, is alive and still lives in lancashire. his father, clive turner, is deceased.

ADULT LIFE.

OCCUPATION.   tattoo artist and owner of INK INK, NUDGE NUDGE.

CURRENT RESIDENCE.   verse dependent, but generally lives in the apartment above his tattoo shop, which is situated in LA.

CLOSE FRIENDS.   anyone and everyone who'll take him. he's particularly fond of frenchie, written by @gingerspiice.

FINANCIAL STATUS.   comfortably middle class. makes good money from INK INK, NUDGE NUDGE and operates an online store where he sells the carvings and furniture he makes.

DRIVER'S LICENSE.   yes, but he generally prefers to walk.

CRIMINAL RECORD.  clean. somehow. he avoids cops like the plague and tries not to get on their bad side. he has first-hand knowledge of what they're capable of.

VICES.   alcohol. cigarettes. marijuana.

SEX AND ROMANCE.

SEXUAL ORIENTATION.  bisexual.

PREFERRED SEXUAL ROLE.   versatile.

TURN OFFS.   cruelty. bullies. overt aggression. people who lack passion. fun sponges.

TURN ONS.   a sense of humour. kindness to animals and the vulnerable. passion. hard workers. people who keep him on his toes but also help ground him.

LOVE LANGUAGE.   acts of service. physical touch.

RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES.  loyal. tendency to get swept up in the heat of a new romance. will adore his partner with every fibre of his being. romantic. chivalrous. will cook candle-lit dinners just for the hell of it. his partner's biggest fan and ally. a little inexperienced and naive due to spending almost all of his adult life in a monogamous relationship. will be slow to accept a new partner into his life due to the traumatic loss of his wife, but is well aware that she would want him to move on.

MISC.

CHARACTER'S THEME TUNE.   oceans of slumber - the banished heart.

HOBBIES TO PASS THE TIME.   sketching and drawing, wood-carving, camping trips, bushcraft, fishing, building and revitalising furniture, playing the acoustic guitar, playing the jaw harp and the harmonica, reading, coming up with bad dad jokes, cooking.

LEFT OR RIGHT BRAINED.   right-brained.

SELF-CONFIDENCE LEVEL.   he'd consider it fairly high. he doesn't think he's the best-looking bloke, but he knows he makes up for that with his inherent charm. his confidence has however been pretty severely knocked in the aftermath of the attack.

[mikazuki-juuichi]

Sponge Bath (Morenatsu fanfic)

Hey.

While battling leukemia, got to work on a few drabbles --this is the first. Juuichi in the hospital gets a really nice suprirse. Hope you all enjoy!

*

H DRABBLE 1: Sponge.

By: Yawar.

Fandom: Morenatsu. In continuity with my "The last year".

**

Juuichi breathed in, out. He could acutely feel the cotton bathrobe covering his big body; the hospital bed beneath him, too. Roll on your side gently every so often but stay in bed. Recovering from a backdraft --common firefigther injury. Could be worse. Didn't breathe fire. But he was singed here and there. Not scarred all over like Hiroki but... he would have a few black lines in his fur and possibly purple flesh underneath. It didn't sting by now. He might be released soon... ish... depending how well the rest of the treatment went.

He appreciated everyone visiting either in person or online. Even gifts like the fancy apparatus for breathinge exercises Kounosuke sent or the special honey muffin Torahiko managed to sneak in. But he was so... tired somedays.

A knock on the door. O yes. Sponge bath.

"Come in..." he said --then his eyes opened wide when instead of the usual team of chipper nurses in came --Shin? And Kenji? Carrying what looked like a fully stocked SPA care package?!

"Huh? I thought you guys were visiting later..."

Kenji grinned. While Shin explained: "This is, shall we say... a special surprise."

"We're gonna bathe you from now on!" said Kenji.

Juuichi's round ears twitched. "I --how? How do you get permits to..."

"Kazenari Hospital," Shin said matter-of-fact, "has certain contributors that can push for one's brother and husband to have, oh, special permissions. Let's leave it at that."

Certainly. Juuichi knew how much Shin disliked using his family's influences. So this --yes, this was huge.

"O... okay. And how do we... ah, hehe..."

The first thing that came out of those huge bags was --nail clippers and ear wax removers.

Kenji set to work on Juuichi's ears --they did this since forever, cleaned each other's ears. Knew by heart exactly how gentle to be, how thorough.

Shin started on Juuichi's toenails --he had an excellent way to clip, avoiding any painful spots. Somehow the resulting curve felt artisanal. And then his soft touch between Juuichi's toes... same once they worked on his hands.

"Would this be, what do they call it, a pedi-mani?"

"I suppose," was Shin's reply. "But those don't usually have... this". He lifted Juuichi's heavy right foot and gently kissed the upper sole pad. Juuichi sighed, bemused and so pleased.

And now: The main event.

First they spread a large plastic bag underneath his head. The first gentle stream of water was --perfect!

"Hot just shy of tepid," said Kenji. "I remember."

All down his head, somehow avoiding his ears with milimetric precision. Grape-scented shampoo rubbed by two sets of hands all over his scalp then rinsed off. Now ears, forehead, closed eyelids, nose, happy closed mouth, chin --neck.

Next, his arms. Kenji took the left and Shin the right. Sponges rinsing him from fingertips all the way down the elbow, then to the armpit. His fur spiked, letting them rinse the flesh --extra tender with the wounded bits.

His barrell chest... each nipple, each pec, his bellybutton... warm then cool as they went.

"Now," said Shin "Want to wash your genitals yourself--"

"No..." Juuichi whispered, eyes pleasantly closed. "You do it... you guys..."

They did. Pubes. Groin. One of them gently squeezed his penis to get all droplets out. At this point it would be hard to tell which one.

Then legs. Soles, toes, back of knees...

Now he had to help them turn on his side so they could do his back. Shoulder blades... from this position it felt new. His rump, his tail --and a hand diving into the cleft, washing it as thoroughly!!

Oh, it was over too soon and yet somehow it lasted the perfect amount of time.

As they toweled him off then rolled him again to switch the wet blanket underneath for a dry one, Shin remarked: "And here we go! This will be our daily treat for you."

Kenji added: "But you know, this might be easier with three. How would you like your brother-in-law here next time?"

"Keisuke?" said Juuichi, just a bit surprised.

"Drummers have very strong fingers," Kenji winked at him.

Juuichi smiled sinking into the pillow Shin was arranging under his head. "...yes! It might as well be --family bonding time!"

**

[vivienneastor]

with @zackastor  | vivienne returns to zack's cabin after his illness, and makes it clear what she thinks about the company he's currently keeping

Zack Astor -a few days have passed. With him getting better, Fleet had decided to return home. They had both gone out of the cabin together, Fleet to go back to his house and Zack to go out on a hunting trip. By the time he gets back, it's dark out. A little bit sweaty and bloodied on his hunt, he makes his way inside the cabin - not calling out but figuring that Vivy has already made her way back-

vivienne astor -she's vigorously stripping the bed, throwing the bedclothes on the floor where all of Zack's clothes are already heaped; noticing Zack in the doorway, Vivienne picks up her pillow and sniffs it, staring at Zack. She takes the case off, tossing it onto the heap, and then tears into the under-casing, starting to rip the sponge pillow itself into chunks- The entire place reeks. You let him sleep in my bed?

Zack Astor It's not your bed. -Zack's eyes narrow as he watches Vivienne rip up the pillow itself as if it had been contaminated and had to be thrown out- You don't have to wash my clothes. They're not dirty. No need to waste any soap on that. -he slowly steps towards her to grab one of his shirts from the pile-

vivienne astor Leave it. -her voice cracks sharp as a whip, and she abandons the ruined pillow to stride over to Zack, holding his chin in her strong grip, angling his head around- You reek, too. All of your clothes do. -her fingers sink in, hard- I thought he was supposed to make you better, not encourage you to get sicker.

Zack Astor -he freezes immediately. His jaw clenches as she grabs him, sending pain through his cheeks as her fingernails dig into his skin- I'm not- I'm fine. I'm not sick.

vivienne astor You have always been sick. My darling.

Zack Astor -he inhales sharply through his nose- I'm not sick. -he repeats, his voice having a rough edge-

vivienne astor -her voice, in contrast, goes silkier, but without any gentleness to it- That's not what your family thought. That's not what Hunter thought. But you don't care, do you? About your brother who you left to rot in the road without a moment's hesitation. That's your gratitude. -she sneers, stepping in closer, almost scenting him- I'm not surprised. Boys like you are never grateful. Only thinking about getting off wherever you can, in whomever you can. Did you, Zack? Did you fuck him all over my house?

Zack Astor -something in his gaze shifts, not breaking but something akin to it- He was dead already. He was dead before I was there. -he sounds defensive, almost. He doesn't answer her question, meeting it with silence-

vivienne astor Part of him was dead inside from the moment he found out what you really are. How sick you are. -she glances down at the pile of laundry- Tell me where else you indulged yourself so I know to scour it clean. Or I'll fetch your toyboy back and make him do it.

Zack Astor -his gaze suddenly hardens again- You're not gonna touch him, Viv.

vivienne astor -her own gaze sparks to meet his, and she lets go of his face- Oh. Is that so, Zachary.

Zack Astor It is. You are not going to touch him. -he repeats as he stares down at her, his gaze hard, jaw muscles working-

vivienne astor -she regards him for a while, then backhands him across the face, striking hard and without warning, her wedding ring gouging his cheekbone- Don't bring your whore into my house again. Fuck him in the yard like the dogs you are.

Zack Astor -his face flies to the side. Pain spreads hotly on his cheek. He touches it and it comes back red with blood. His gaze blinks back to her- Don't talk about him like that. -his voice sounds hoarse, and it feels like it isn't quite his own. He can hear his own blood dripping onto the floorboards- He's better than you'll ever be.

vivienne astor -that stops her, though she'd been turning away; Vivienne turns back to look at Zack, an expression nearly like shock on her face- Zack. Please tell me you're not this stupid. I thought you were just satisfying your base urges. You've always been weak in this area but you've never been foolish. Don't tell me you're starting now, here, of all places.

Zack Astor -he stares at her, his nostrils flaring a little as he breathes. A sense of shame creeps into him that makes him tense up, but he doesn't back away.- Don't touch my clothes.

vivienne astor I'll burn them all if I feel like it. You should be glad I'm only washing the stench of your idiotic decisions off them. -she starts to bundle them up, packing everything into the sheets and tying it up into a tight sack- When your little boy romance all falls down around your ears and you're the laughing stock of this town, when you've handed everyone who hates you the means to mock you, then you'll think about this moment. And you'll remember that I warned you.

Zack Astor -he swallows hard, now finally taking a step back as he watches his own clothes being bundled up. His throat muscles work and he averts his gaze. He feels strangely young in this moment, and he doesn't like it.- I'm going out.

vivienne astor Go, then! Don't tell me about it hoping I'll ask you to stay! Be a man for once, Zachary!

Zack Astor That's not my fucking name. -he mutters. Without much of any other word, he turns around and steps out, calling Rex with him with a whistle-

vivienne astor -she watches him go, then collects the ruined pillow and the bits she'd torn up, taking Zack's pillow for her own side and replacing it with that-