#drawn years ago but scratched at for some months

[sofiapagen]

Interpretation of Setting Up Boundaries

[shojizbae]

Peeping Tom

Tamakixreader x mirio

Word count: 4K

Warnings: smut, voyeurism, oral (m&f receiving) jerking off, safe sex practices

Mirio didn’t mean to. He really didn’t. UA had very recently moved into the dorms when it happened. It was a Friday night, and he just finished a shower after getting home from his work study. Apparently, the walls were a little thinner than he expected.

Sometime around 8:30, he heard it. It started slow at first, talking. A movie played, but it changed so often that he couldn’t figure out which one. He had only a pair of sweatpants as he toweled off his hair when he heard it.

“(Y/n), woah!” It was the voice of his best friend and neighbor, Tamaki. His shy, elvish friend had finally confessed to his now girlfriend three months ago. (Y/n), a kind but rambunctious girl who had been dropping not-so-subtle hints for almost two years was one of Mirio’s favorites in the class.

Since getting together with Tamaki, she had drawn him out of his shell. It seemed tonight she would drag him out a little more complicated.

“What ‘woah’?” She gently placated

Now, Mirio, of all things, was not a snoop, but he was curious. Luckily, he wasn’t a cat, so he pressed his ear to their shared wall.

“W-we were just watching a movie. I didn’t expect you to get all handsy.” He said, and even through the wall, he could hear his best friend tucking his chin into his chest in embarrassment. So, they were finally gonna have sex?

Two weeks ago, Tamaki came to Mirio and Nejire with this concern. (Y/n) had very nonchalantly asked if he was ready or could consider getting physical with her. After about twenty minutes of gently calming him down, as he seemed to begin hyperventilating, he managed to say something he wanted meanly. Although his anxiety could try your patience occasionally, you were proud of the semi he was sprouting at the mention.

After that conversation, he went to Mirio, who coincidentally was with his girlfriend. He knocked at the door open (Y/n). Want to have sex with me!” He proclaimed in the closest voice he could muster. Unfortunately, he entered a scene from a magazine in the back of the store.

Nejire was in her school skirt and bra, her hair was disheveled but tucked to the side, and she was lying/ straddling Mirio's lap. Mirio was only in some checkered boxers and had one hand on her boobs and the other on her ass below her skirt. He managed a squeak before he spun around and slammed the door shut behind him.

His friends dressed quickly and chased him down, finding him with his head shoved deep into the dorm refrigerator.

“Uhh, Tamaki?” Mirio scratched his cheek but couldn’t hide his smile and his friend's antics

“Yeah, M-mirio?”

“Whatcha doing, man?”

“Uh, just getting a tea?”

“Yeah?” Nejire confirmed, “I thought Yaobara took the last ginseng one. And you hate the matcha ones?” Hado placated

“No, I think I see a Yuzu one back here.” He reached in and pulled out a can of lemonade and cracked the can open. He toon a sip just for show although not bringing himself to make eye contact “mmm refreshing. Well gotta get back to my dorm!” He tried to breeze past the couple until one of Mirio’s giant hands pushed him back by his chest.

“Slow down there, partner! What was this you said about you and (Y/n) having sex?”

“Mirio, not so loud!” Amajiki exclaimed

“Yeah, babe, why don’t we take this back to your dorm?”

“Right,” Mirio looked at his girlfriend with smitten eyes, then at Tamaki’s cherry-red eyes. “Why not yours?” He offered. Tamaki hung his head and pathetically followed the couple to Hado’s dorm room to discuss what this meant.

That was two weeks ago.

Ever since Togata had been anxiously waiting for some kind of sign that (Y/n) had gotten Tamaki into the sac. He felt like some religious fanatic awaiting a divine character, and here it was. Giggles and sighs, and the TV in Tamaki’s bedroom turned up a considerable few clicks.

He kept his ear pressed to the wall, but his curiosity was getting too powerful for him. Accidentally or subconsciously, he slipped through the wall, so his head and left should be passing ghostly through the barrier.- Now his head was in Tamaki’s dim closet where he always left his doors cracked for a long-standing fear of monsters. From his angle, he saw a scene that was downright painting-worthy.

You were sprawled over Tamaki’s lap with both hand tangled into the hair at the base of his neck. Tamaki had one hand up the back of your cardigan which was slipping down your right shoulder. It seemed he was fumbling with your bra clasp which frustrated Mirio because they had spent a considerable amount of time teaching him all about bras.

Frustratedly, you sat up and whipped your cardigan to the side, unclipping your bra and pulling it out of the front of your camisole slowly to tease your boyfriend. With the news he could see, Tamaki looked downright disfigured. His tie hung off his bedside lamp, the top three buttons of his school shirt had been hastily undone, and a speckling of hickies already decorated his neck and chest. Mirio heard him whimper below you as he braced his hands on your thighs.

“You’re beautiful (Y/n).” Tamaki proclaimed, which shocked both who’d heard it

“You don’t need to butter me up, babe, I’m already so wet for you.” You purred as you sunk back to his lips. Tamaki did his best to keep up with you, but the overwhelming barrage of kisses and the constant figure eight of your hips against his was becoming too much for him. Mirio watched in delight as you climbed. His best friend was like a hungry cougar. You gently placed your hands in each of his collarbones, pushed him back onto the plush pillows, and placed a gentle peck on his lips before shimmying down his thighs.

You landed softly on the carpet on your knees with your hands braced on his thighs.

“Uhh (Y/n), what are you…?”

“Shhh, babe, I want this to be special for you.” You held your pointer finger up to your lips in a hushing motion. Then you dug at his belt and enjoyed the iconic sound of a metal clacking against metal.

“(Y/n), You really don’t have to.” He anxiously pleads

“But, Ama, I want to.” That made something in Mirio’s stomach do Olympic gymnastics. There was a pleading glint in your eyes as you begged him silently. He closed his mouth and eyes and gave the subtlest nod known to man, and you dove back in. You tucked some hair behind your ear and undid the button and zipper of Tamaki’s green trousers.

“Take off your shirt, babe.” You ordered, and he obeyed happily as you tugged his boxers. He wriggled around and tossed his shirt into oblivion, and you fished his dick out of his briefs. “Woah, babe, you have such a pretty cock.” You stated proudly.

Mirio had to agree. Of course, he had accidentally caught glances in the locker room, but he was seldom hard in those situations. He could tell from this distance that your statement wasn’t just flattery. It was above average in length with a plump cockhead and perfectly flushed pink. Mirio watched as you took a lick from base to tip, and Amajiki warbled beneath your touch. You took his balls in your left hand and played with them.

Amajiki was notoriously neat, so he wasn’t shocked to see his friend had done some manscaping.

“(Y/n)~” he drawled the final syllable as you slowly sucked on his tip. Mirio could see his friend's abs flexing and twisting as he struggled under your mouth. “(Y/n)!” He groaned. Suddenly, he touched your shoulder and pulled off with an almost cartoon pop.

“Why are we stopping? Is it bad?” You added anxiously

“No! No, it’s. He wiped his eyes and tried to collect his thoughts. “It’s really, uhuh, really good. I don’t think I’ll last one second if you keep going.” He wiped his sweaty brow

“Aww,” you gave a downward smile, proud of yourself for being a natural. You started climbing up him again and gave him a long, searing kiss so he could taste his own precum on your lips. You started reaching behind you for the zipper of your skirt, but Tamaki caught your wrist before you could retake the lead.

“I’ll be taking care of that.” He stated as a wave of confidence overtook him. He held under your armpits and spun the both of you around, so he landed with a giggle in the tangle of his blankets. Often, you forget how strong your boyfriend is. Partly because he rarely wore tight or revealing clothing that showed off his sexy, lean muscles. They didn’t exude the confidence typical of people as powerful as him.

As he stood, he tucked himself back into his boxers but shucked off his pants and folded them at the waist before tossing them to the side. You laughed at his continued clean behaviors, and Mirio just enjoyed it. He claimed back over your abdomen to kiss your lips and your forehead.

Sensing his tiredness, Mirio returned his whole body to his bedroom and got some water. He brought his fist toward his chest in victory and recapped some water. He’s seen plenty more than what is appropriate, right? There should be no need to keep snooping? Right?

Mirio checked the lock on his door, relieved that he remembered to lock it while changing. Although it’s not as if everyone in the class hadn’t seen some part of him during training. He took another sip from his water bottle and plunged his head back into his ‘peephole.’

What he saw was miraculous.

Amajiki was laying shooter style between your spread legs. He had his right hand stuffed deep in your cunt, and with his left hand, he was holding yours.

“L-like this (Y/n)?” He sought your guidance and received only a high-pitched sigh

“Yeah! Mhmm,” you attempted to clear your throat to gain some composure. “Yeah, just like that, Ama.” You sighed

“Ok, but how’s the pace, or should I do anything else.”

“Y-you c-could play withhh my clit?” You offered. Mirio was gobsmacked. How did his shy, reserved best friend get his girlfriend to stutter like him?

“O-ok.” he unlocked his fingers from yours and started making gentle circles. He tried to find it, but notoriously, it seemed to be the eighth wonder.

“Um, a little higher, baby,” you took your once-connected hands and guided his left hand up to your clit and hiccuped. You found it, and Tamaki's gentle hands lay you out.

“Like this?” He smiled up at your pinked face

“Yeah, just like that, baby.”

“So this is good?”

“Yeah, hun, this is euuh,. This is really good,” you accidentally interrupted yourself. Jeez, Tamaki, Mirio thought you really needed more confidence.

“You know,” Tamaki jumped at the sound of your voice, “nothing's wrong, babe, just if you wanted, you could use your mouth.”

“D-do you want it?”

“Only if yoUU!” Before you could confirm, he placed his mouth right where his left hand was. The squee you let out emboldened both boys witnessing you. Until now, Mirio had been balancing on his knees and his right hand while his left hand pushed against the wall. Now, his left hand slid down to his navel and slipped under his champion sweatpants. There was a considerable pile of pre that had pooled in his pants, and he thanked his twenty-minute earlier self who had chosen to forgo underwear.

Quickly he was able to grab onto his cock as his gaze was fixed on you, the porno in front of him. Amajikis left hand had vacated your clit as his mouth took the promotion. Instead, he was grasping desperately at one of your boobs, and his right did its best to assault your g-spot.

Evidently, his right hand was doing a good job, and you moaned and writhed beneath your boyfriend's ministrations.

“Fuck baby, keep going,” you looked your leg over his shoulder and locked him closer to your pussy. Mirio started to circle his cockhead with his thumb as he heard your moans pitch up.

You sunk your right hand into his hair, which made Tamaki groan a little. Your left hand flew out to grip a nearby pile of comforter.

“Tama, uhh, I’m so close! Please, whatever you do, don’t stop or change anything.” And he obeyed happily, maybe adding to the intensity only emblazoned by your tenacity. Your other leg wrapped around the side of his ribs as you reached climax. All coherency left him as you came a jumble of Tamaki's names and various moans and squeals.

Mirio gripped his dick a little harder, and you squirmed and relished the first orgasm someone had provided you. Tamaki sat on his knees and wiped his mouth as he admired how wrecked you looked. Your hair was spread in a million directions, and your tank top was ridden up so he could see your belly as it rose and fell. Your skirt was flipped up, and your panties hung off one of your knees. Even your socks seemed to be slipping if your body as your boyfriend devoured the sight of you.

He had watched many a dirty movie, but nothing compared to how sexy you looked right now. Sweating, shaking, and your face was completely red.

Tamaki was doing much better. He, too, was out of breath and slightly damp, but most noticeable was his cock dancing and straining against his navy blue briefs.

“Aww baby, that looks like it hurts,” you reached for his waistband and tugged him so you were both sitting on the bed, “why don’t we take care of you.” You sat his back against the wall and almost tore his boxers off him. You stood up and pulled your camisole over your head, and brandished it to the side. You gave him a smile as his eyes locked onto your breasts. You saw him swallow and, for the show, fanned himself like a lady at church with his hand.

Boldly, you pulled the zipper of your skirt down and let the green pleats free fall, and you stepped out of it. Despite being buried in your pussy just a minute before, the sight of you completely naked and on display for him was golden. His cock stood at attention, painfully awaiting you.

You climbed back onto your boyfriend's and kissed him sweetly to reassure him. His confidence broke briefly as he awaited your insight.

“Here, hold onto my hips.” You place your hand over his and guide them to the fat of your hips. You rose slowly on your knees and used your right hand to guide his cock to your awaiting pussy. You paused right as you made contact.

“Fuck! I forgot condoms!” You put your forehead on his collarbones in defeat.

“That’s okay, baby,” he secured a hand on the small of your back and leaned the two of you forward. He slowly opened the drawer and pulled out a box of condoms, pulling out the roll and ripping one off.

“How did you?”

“After that night, I went out and bought some. I-I had to call Mirio for help.” He admitted, ashamed.

“Aww, baby.” Mirio stopped his hand as he smiled at the memory. It was nine at night when he got the call. It took ten minutes to calm down a very overwhelmed Tamaki and explain that most of the scented or rubbed condoms were not a good choice and that he should go with latex unless he knew you were allergic to latex. You weren’t, so he got some pretty generic-looking lubricated condoms with a little doctor-recommended check. He didn’t make eye contact with the cashier; he only handed her enough cash to pay and grabbed the box before she could give him change.

You both settled back into position and he ripped the foil open with his teeth. Your knees buckled a little at the sight and you helped guide the condom down his dick. As you slid him down your folds you paused right at your pussy and looked in his eyes.

“Mhmmm,” he managed to grit out, and you slowly sunk his head in. Both of you seemed to moan and were keen on the contact. Your hands flew up to grip his shoulders, and he sunk into the small of your waist. Mirio gripped his cock reignited by the double loss of virginity. Slowly you eased down his cock and experimentally brought yourself up and down once. You shuddered in his lap.

Tamaki slid his hands down your waist to your hips, and you picked up the pace, bouncing up and down his lap with more confidence. With his help, you rode him with a passionate curiosity.

Mirio picked up the pace as you two seemed to find a groove. The purple-ette enjoying the sight of you taking him for his pleasure and the satisfying squelch of your pussy around him. Every lift and drop of your hips forces his eyes to shut a little, but every time, he forces them back open to allow himself to soak you in.

You’re not doing much better. Already sensitive from cumming minutes earlier, the excitement of finally getting to fuck Tamaki swirled into a greater pleasure than you could imagine. Unfortunately, it was interrupted by the ghost of cowgirls.

“Ow ow ow!” You settled your hips

“What? What is it, baby?” He clamped his hand on the side of your face.

“Foot cramp.” You shook it and winced

“D-do you wanna switch?”

“Mhmm,” you nodded, and he kept his hold on the side of your face but gave you a gentle peck. Then he slid his hands under your legs and picked you, only to slam you down on the mattress. You bounced and laughed as you held his face for another kiss. You tucked some stray hair out of his face as he guided himself back into your sweet, warm pussy.

You made eye contact as a slight gasp slipped from your mouth. Tamaki leaned over you and placed your arms around his neck. He placed both hands by your ears and started up a slow and gentle pace. Before he realized your eyes were going the same rolling back/ force open pattern.

From this position Amajiki was hitting all the best angles. Mirio thought he was spoiled for getting the pleasure of witnessing this. Every grunt and every sigh even the squeak of the mattress beneath Tamaki’s knees was only fuel for his fist. He brought his hand up to his mouth so he could collect a weight bead of spit which he spread over his throbbing cock. He could feel his balls keening with the need to release but he was trying to time it with the movie he was witnessing.

On your side of the wall was bliss. You kept your arms around his neck but still wove your fingers through the thick hair at his nape. When you gave a particularly strong tug Tamaki crooned into you touch. He moaned a little harder as you tugged on him.

“D’yo like that, Ama?”

“Y-yes,” he managed to plead.

“Y’want me to do it again?”

“Yes-fuck, please!” You were shocked to hear your typically formal boyfriend swear at you. It was hot, so you pulled harder in his gorgeous silky hair. You only pulled more erotic sounds out of his lips, which were coated in a thin layer of saliva from chewing on them.

“Fuck again! I-I’m gonna cum!”

“T-Tama!” You nearly started laughing in surprise at his foul mouth. But the obsessive rhythm of his hips was bringing you closer to the edge again. “Just keep going. I’m ughh,” you groaned against your will as he teased your G-spot.

“Deeper Tama!” You begged. He grabbed each of your ankles at your request and brought them up by his ears. He leaned down on you and landed a searing kiss on your forehead and then brought his pace a little faster, lingering at the depression of his thrust.

“Ahh, right there! Please don’t stop!” But he was sputtering out from exhaustion and being on the precipice of an orgasm

“I can’t- I’m not gonna!” He sounded absolutely pathetic

“It’s fine, baby. Just keep going.”

“Do you want me to pull out?”

“Why would you wear a condom? Inside please” At that, any scrap of reserve fell away as he pounded into you, desperate to cum.

“(Y/n)! Uh, I’m gonna!” He parked his hips deep in your pussy as he came with a whimper. Your eyes rolled so far back that he was nervous; they might not return. As he came to, he felt like he was strangled by your pussy, clamping down and spasming around his cock. You raked your hands down Amajiki's back, desperate to cling onto something for fear you might float away.

If he were to look back on it, Mirio would say that the noises you made as you came sent him hurtling over the edge. In a split-second decision, he permeated his other hand through the wall to bite so he could damper his sounds. He shuddered, and his ear rang after he came. A nasty white matter on the wall was evidence of his Tom peeping.

He pulled himself back through to his room to assess the damage. He would need to change his sweatpants because of a big precum stain on the grey fabric. He laughed at himself and how live-action porn got him so riled up.

“Oh jeez,” he put his clean hand on his forehead. Directly after he had hidden the evidence, a pounding at his door nearly scared him out of his skin.

“Miri! Togata! Why is your door locked?” He zipped over to his door, unlocked it, and gave his girlfriend a kiss on the forehead as she sunk into his chest.

“Long day, baby?” He similarly caged her in

“So long,” she whined

“You want to hear something that will cheer you up?” He pulled back so he could look at her adorable little face

“Always,”

“They finally did it.” He admitted with a downward smile

“YOU SHUT YOUR DAMN MOUTH!” She leaped back, accidentally activating her quirk

“Yeah, I heard it all.” He smirked proudly. “You wanna go over and bust them?”

“Yeah!” She cheered sharing similar smirks and penchants for mischief. Mirio threw on a t-shirt and they crept next door. Stupidly the couple had forgone locking the door. The two bust through the door to reveal what could have been a sweet wholesome moment.

(Y/n) had her head laid on Tamaki’s chest and Tamaki had an arm over her shoulder and was stroking up and down with his finger tips. But as the couple blew threw Tamaki’s door sending the couple flying up and out of their sheets.

(Y/n) grabbed the nearest blanket and held it to her chest to conserve some of her modesty.

“What are you doing get out!” You screeched in embarrassment while poor Tamaki cowered, mortified.

“Ok ok,” Mirio backed out in surrender “did you kids have fun?”

“Out!’l you hollered. The incident did not stop you by any means from continuing your fun. You just remembered to lock the doors. But no padlock could keep out your neighbor of a peeping tom.

[northernsiberiawinds]

Thief.

Hi @nonvme​ how are you?

I usually solve such issues in personal messages with the authors to give them the opportunity to simply apologize and not repeat their mistakes, but this situation has upset me a lot, because I wrote to you in the comments a few months ago, but you never answered me (your private messages are closed).

You steal my textures and call it your own, as well as sell it on your patreon without any permission and credits.

Let's start from the beginning.

1. https://www.patreon.com/posts/sakira-skin-and-67386343

���credits: obscurus-sims, lamatisse, and google lol” — absolutely no mention of me, it's amazing, because it's almost entirely my texture.

“Do not claim as your own, I work way too hard to have somebody else try to claim my stuff“  —  It's so nice to ask to respect your work when you don't respect someone else's.

Do I need to comment on something? She just took my skin n7, added a couple of details on face and called it her own. And she put it in early access on her patreon to make money on already free сс. She listed other authors in the credits and didn't mention anything about me.

2. https://www.patreon.com/posts/precious-skin-75050799

“Do not claim as your own, I work way too hard to have somebody else try to claim my stuff“  —  and again. The duplicity of this man never ceases to amaze me.

Here she changed a bit more, but she used my skin's face as a base. And again, no mention of me in the credits.This time she didn't mention credits at all, but I see at least @obscurus-sims​ details.

3.

“Credits to Slephora, Obscurus, and Pinterest for all respective bits and pieces”  — okay.

And again, no difference. The textures are identical.

Honey, if a person wants to use my eyelids, he just uses it. There is no need to put my cc in early access again, which has been free for three years.

I want to say that I create my textures completely from scratch, without using EA blanks. Absolutely all the details on my skins are created by me. And as an artist, I can say with confidence that it is impossible to create a texture that will match someone else's pixel by pixel. It's impossible. Moreover, most of my textures are completely drawn by me. What refs from the Internet is she talking about? Did you take refs out of my head? By Bluetooth?

@nonvme you can still apologize and I won't hold a grudge against you. Just apologize and remove my textures from your page. If you had answered me a few months ago and corrected your mistakes, then I would not have written this post and would not have spoiled your reputation. But you didn't answer me.

I'm sorry that you all had to read so much text. I hope your day is going much better than mine.

P.S. I had to re-post to remove some 18+ pieces from the skins.

UPD 15/06/23

Guys! Thank you so much for all your words of support! This is really very important to me. I didn't even expect you all to support me so much. I don't have enough words to express my gratitude to all of you 😢❤️!!!

Nonvme deleted CC that included my textures, and also promised not to use it anymore. It's enough for me to forget about this incident and don't contact patreon support.

I want to add that any author who makes his textures from scratch knows every pixel of his texture. The author of the original content will know if you have used his texture, even if you have somehow modified it. If you steal other people's textures and you haven't been caught yet, it only means that the author hasn't seen your page/cc yet, because he can't monitor the entire Internet. But one day he will find out about you, do not doubt.

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

I saw someone saying that the farmer is “special” (explaining why they always get to see the blue jellyfish every summer) and this idea came to my head.

May I request some headcanons on the adventurer’s POV where they realized the farmer is “special”, and kinda fall for them the moment they realized that?

Think of it as like the lantern scene between Eugene and Rapunzel in Tangled. Thanks in advance ^^

Honestly, it turned out more like one-shot than headcanon, but I hope you enjoy this format as well, dear anon. Thanks for the ask! 🫰💕

_________________________________________

Alesia:

It had been so long since Alesia had set foot in the Cindersap Forest. The last time she'd been here was probably ten years ago, when Marlon had taken her to train and gather mushrooms for brewing elixirs. It hadn't changed much since she'd moved to Castle Village, so it would be easy for her to remember all the paths here. Venturing deeper into the forest, she scrutinised the majestic poplars, looking for the secluded spots of mushroom colonies and simply enjoying nature. After all, she had missed the forest...

The archer's attention was drawn to some movement behind the dense blackberry bushes. Crouching down and trying not to make a sound, she curiously crept closer and closer until she finally reached the bushes. What Alesia saw made her very surprised. She had expected to see a fox or a grouse, but instead she saw the Farmer surrounded by wild deer.

A young male, three females, and four fawns - one big friendly family of noble creatures that surrounded the Farmer and would not let them pass. The adult deer licked Farmer's hands, jostling slightly in an attempt to take all attention for themselves, while the little fawns jumped and galloped around unrestrainedly. One even stole a tasty cave carrot from the Farmer's basket.

Alesia was so amused by this picture, how all these forest creatures demanded the Farmer's attention, affection, to be scratched behind the ears... And the way the Farmer glows with happiness, how they genuinely laugh and smile...

The crunch of a dry branch that the sniper stepped on immediately made all the deer turn their heads in her direction and prick up their ears. The male shook the signal and the whole herd galloped away, leaving the slightly confused Farmer alone.

Alesia emerged from the bushes and nodded a greeting to Farmer.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare them," she smiled slightly guiltily at Farmer.

"Actually, I should thank you. They follow me around forever when I'm picking berries in the forest," Farmer was still smiling just as broadly. "Or else they'd steal all my carrots from me!"

That event was something Alesia would remember for a long time after returning to the Galdoran Continent.

Lance:

The Lunaloo migration, or Moonlight Jellies as they are commonly known, is perhaps one of the most majestic phenomena Lance has ever seen. They are frequent visitors not only to the Stardew Valley, but also to Ginger Island, so Lance was able to enjoy the beautiful sight without leaving his post.

Once again, the pale light emanating from the magical jellyfish illuminated the entire shore. Lance sensed this energy and quickly teleported to the docks. However, he didn't know that there were more spectators here who had come to see the jellyfish.

Farmer had been on Ginger Island for a month now and their presence wasn't too surprising. But as far as the pink-haired adventurer could remember, all the people of the Valley come together on this day. So why is the Farmer here? And alone?

Lance wanted to call out to them, but stopped himself when he noticed something even more unusual: at least five green, Shining Lunaloo were swimming very close to Farmer when they put their hand into the sea water. Such jellyfish were very rare, and the fact that there were as many as five floating near Farmer...

"A wonderful sight, don't you think?" Lance thought to himself that he should learn not to scare people with his sudden appearance, for this was the second time he'd made them jump in surprise. "Sorry, my friend, didn't mean to disturb you."

"That's okay, don't worry," Farmer assured him, and then their attention turned back to the jellyfish. "Look how beautiful!" they pointed with their hand at the glowing water.

"Beautiful creatures, indeed," Lance agreed.

The two stood in silence for half a minute, only the sound of the sea waves and the distant noise of the local jungle fauna could be heard.

"You know," Farmer broke the silence, "I don't know why, but those jellyfish, the green one, always come near me. Strange, isn't it?"

"Lunaloo are creatures imbued with magic. So it's no wonder they sense magic in you, too." Or something special, Lance wanted to add, but decided not to distract the Farmer any further with conversation, examining the jellyfish closer and setting himself up for dreamy thoughts.

Isaac:

Fireflies... They were strange creatures, at least to Isaac, who had never seen fireflies. In fact, neither had he seen any of the other fauna of the forest. The dark-haired adventurer was so used to the quicksand and bloody fog of the Crimson Baldlans that he was beginning to wonder about fireflies. Even the gardens created by their witch Camilla in Castle Village can't compare to the beauty of nature. And yes, Isaac was a connoisseur of beauty too, even but only a couple of people knew it.

He was standing on the dock near Marlon's boat, enjoying the silence of the night and the scenery of Adventurer Summit. And then, it flew past him - a glowing bug that caught the Isaac's attention. The firefly flew higher and higher, and without knowing why, Isaac followed the insect up the stairs. What was his surprise when the firefly he was following headed straight for the Farmer, who was surrounded by dozens of other fireflies.

Like a large camp lantern, they stood motionless, trying not to scare away the bugs that had managed to land on their sleeves. Noticing Isaac, the Farmer chugged a smile.

"Hey, good night. Um. Yeah, I know I look a little silly for you, right?" Silence was the answer for Farmer, and they weren't surprised at that - Isaac was a man of few words. The most they could hear from the monster hunter was a snort because the Farmer had once again interrupted his rest and enjoyment of solitude with his noisy company.

But the scarred man had a completely different look - there was no rolling of the eyes, no irritation, no anger, no indifference. His gaze was so soft and so unnatural to Isaac that the Farmer was a little confused.

Isaac, after all, was a connoisseur of beauty, and now he was looking at something more beautiful. Maybe something more beautiful than even the fireflies.

[encasedinobsidian]

Hi and welcome to my island! Peep my recent/ongoing works..

ain't shit sweeter ♡ father-in-law Javier Peña

In the late 1990’s, Javier Peña transfers to the DEA field office in Chicago, finally given a long-awaited opportunity to spend more time with his son while he adjusts to life post-Colombia. But in the midst of it all, he falls in love with the woman who resents his very presence in her life; his own daughter-in-law.

didn't cha know ♡ Joel + Tommy Miller

I fell in love with him. That much should be obvious by now. I can’t imagine that my recall of the last few months is anything more than a lackluster attempt at hiding the obvious truth of the matter — plunging into the depths of immorality and lying and cheating while I played house with his brother.

finally dawn ♡ original characters, seeking what is desirable spinoff

That abyss he circled, dipped his toes in, bathed in, drowned in — it’s not so dark now, not a bottomless pit of darkness for him to fall back into or get drawn into by claws scratching at his skin. Someone gave him a lantern somewhere along the line, lit up the space around him so that he could see what rock bottom really was. And he was there alone, don’t get it twisted — he sat with his arms around his knees and looked around to see that there was nobody there but him. And he still sits there sometimes. Every dark evening when Mia is asleep under his covers and he’s leaning over the kitchen island, eating the marshmallow-less Lucky Charms while the wind rustles in the trees of his backyard and he thinks back on a year ago. His chest tightens at the thought of being back there, in the house that didn’t feel like it belonged to him or his ex-wife.

seeking what is desirable ♡ Joel Miller

extras: lasagna I taralli I time away

Naomi is married, Joel is married, and they can't stay away from each other.

lovesick/evergreen ♡ PNW cop Javier Peña

Life seems to oscillate between underwhelming and overwhelming these days - the light pitter patter of rain on the window and the vibrating thumps of bass, the dark of the bedroom curtains and the flashing lights (pink, red, blue, purple, neon writing, blinking arrows), fuzzy police radio chatter and a hollering crowd. Most days it’s an empty coffee mug in the sink, two plates, the low ticking of the wall clock. It’s dad and then it’s Chief Peña, Officer Peña. Usually just Peña. Sometimes it’s Javi. He likes it when it’s just Javi.

amicus curiae ♡ sleazy lawyer Joel Miller

"In a pickle? Call J. Miller, at law.” J. Miller Law Office, it says in large, gold writing against a black banner above the single floor. There’s a dry cleaner on one side and an adult video store on the other, with a buzzing neon sign spelling XXX in bright red on the frosted window. Not once has it failed him to forge his own path. Self-made is what he is, the king on top of an empire forged brick by brick, one laid on top of the other, day after day, night after night.

Sympathy for the Devil ♡ swimming instructor Frankie Morales

“Who am I in your eyes?” Frankie asks, taking a step towards Hailey and circling her waist with his hands, pushing her over the threshold of his territory, into his space. “Some kind of Antichrist? The devil himself? Put in your life to lead you astray, make you sin?” His hands are on her back and the door is still open behind her, eyes adjusting to the warm lighting in his living room that stretches into the kitchen, the couch illuminated by the TV and the hazy air above the coffee table, the ripples of smoke coming from a joint halfway tucked into an ashtray. “M— maybe,” she murmurs, looking down at his shirt with her hands on his chest, swallowing so hard she hears the gulp in her throat, “They told me he'd be tempting, and that's all you've done… Tempt me, into— into adultery.”

smalltown shit ♡ Charlie Swan

"You’re a little young, aren’t you?” he asks, and it isn’t with a scowl but it’s something of the sort, a narrowing of his eyes and a dryness to his voice. It’s no better than a scowl anyway, his skepticism like a concrete wall between the two of you under the dim lights of the bar where Charlie is stuck with you, just where you want him.

+ more on my ao3

[chronicroderick]

Confessional / Priest!Hannibal

Will Graham wants to fuck a priest, Father Hannibal Lecter.

Smut, Priest Kink, Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham, Blowjob, Face-Fucking, First Time With A Man, Anal, Implied Internalized Homophobia

Confessional on Ao3

-----

“Father?” The word echoed through the empty corridors of the stone church. There was no answer except for the distorted resonance, making Will’s question sound more like an expectation.

Will Graham had been going to this church every couple of weeks for half a year now. It was one he had always passed on his evening jogs. Pillars with gargoyles atop them, twisting carvings of vines along the bannisters, daunting in its dark beauty where it stood among the office buildings and the floor to ceiling window paned highrises. Baltimore was not so strange, there were always plenty of churches. Too many, if you asked Will. The severity of this one was what always caught his attention. Old stone outside that was tarnished almost black by time. He had wondered how old it was. He wondered about the services. Eventually he decided he had the time to step inside, that was months ago, he had met Father Hannibal that day.

He shut the heavy doors behind him with a slight bang. There was still only silence. The candles were lit though, mounted on the dozen columns that lined the outside of the pews, and the ones gathered around Jesus’ feet at the front. Their flickering yellow light illuminated the gold cross in a way that made it seem like it pulsed, the red paint dripping from the statue’s crown of thorns and nailed limbs appeared almost black. It was then that Will realised how late it was, the evening mass was already over, just barely, he was sure, but the sun had long since hidden itself behind taller buildings, leaving the stain glass unilluminated, and the corners shadowed. He approached the statue, a moth drawn to the light and the warmth it offered, his footsteps clunking louder than ever it seemed. When he got close enough that all the pews were behind him he saw the faint light coming from one of the rooms offset from the congressional area. There was the sound of a pencil scratching and the shuffling of papers.

“Father?” He asked once again, this time a bit louder despite being closer than before. The scratching stopped and he heard someone exhale.

“Is that you, Will? You missed the service.” Father Hannibal sounded exhausted.

“Yeah.” He’d done it on purpose, but that purpose was still as ambiguous as a dream.

There was no beckoning into the office, so he stood a great deal away from the door, lingering with the candles. He listened to the clergyman gather his papers, closing something, maybe a book, and pushing in a chair. The lamp light from inside the room went out with a click, cloaking the other man in darkness until he reached the outer cusp of the doorframe.

“I reckon that was not a mistake on your part.” The priest’s face looked almost ghastly in the dim light, his high cheekbones and steep nose bright, while the shadows of his cheeks and eye cavities lept and shook.

Will shook his head, looking down at the layered shelves of candles, drawing an index finger up the side of one to wipe away some white wax that had almost made it down to the wood.

“A mistake? No. I can come see you if I need to, can’t I?”

Father Hannibal came closer, but Will did not look up, “Are you seeking absolution, Will?”

The long black bottom of his gown swayed around his feet for a second when he stopped walking and Will allowed his eyes to travel up from there, over the merry green stole draped around his neck, pausing on the brilliant white of his clerical collar.

“I believe I am. It may come too little too late.”

“Nonsense,” the man took Will’s hand and enveloped it in both of his, patting the top of it, “It is never too late in the eyes of the Lord. I will listen, as will He.”

With a gentle smile, he let go, and gestured for Will to follow him to the second pew. Gathering the skirt of his gown in his hands, he sat down in the middle of the row and waited with practised patience for the man to speak. The brunette only looked at his feet for a long moment, gathering his courage, before ultimately stalling.

“Shouldn’t we be in Confessional?”

“If that would make you more comfortable, we can. I figured this would be more fitting, you are an unconventional man, and not a member of the flock.”

Will smiled ruefully, “Church isn’t really my thing.”

“I know.” Father Hannibal almost sounded admiring.

“So,” Will looked at him now, angling himself so he could face him the best he could, their knees brushing against one another. “How do I begin?”

“You make the sign of the cross,” As the pastor spoke he mimed, and Will followed along, “then you say ‘Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.’ after which you tell me how long it has been since your last confession.”

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been… I’ve never confessed before.”

He felt like he should whisper or steeple his hands, though he only folded them in his lap in the same way the priest did his, and bowed his head, eyes still open.

“Now tell me your sins.” There was an edge to Father Hannibal’s voice that seemed more than priestly.

“I…” Will took a breath, “I guess my lack of prayer is a sin. I do not go to church or read the bible. I have lied, as a child and as an adult. I have stolen, mostly as a child. I am sure I have been prideful and envious and lustful. I masturbate.” He chuckled.

“Now is not the time for jokes, Will. This may be uncomfortable, but I would rather you take this seriously. You came to me. What is it you seek?”

“I want to be forgiven.” The words surprised Will.

“By God?”

“Yes. God doesn’t care about me. He doesn’t care about people like me.”

“Homosexuals.” Father Hannibal filled in the blank with ease.

“Yes.” Will unfolded his hands and gripped the edge of the seat, he refused to look into the priest’s eyes, afraid of what he might see.

“I am not meant to judge you. I can only take your words as a vessel. What exactly about homosexuality is it that you wish to be forgiven for?”

He shrugged, “I only want to feel like I tried. Like I said the words in his house, like I did not give up completely.”

“You wish to let Him know that you're still one of his children, in spite of your lack of faith,” Father Hannibal observed, “When you masturbate do you think of God?”

“What?” Will’s cheeks turned scarlet.

“Do you imagine he is looking down on you, watching your self pleasure, aware of no doubt your thoughts of other men, which you know is a mortal sin?"

Will swallowed, “Yes.”

“Did you come here tonight to seek forgiveness from God or to seek forgiveness from me?” His question held authority and a cold curiosity.

“I came here to… From you, but you knew that.”

“I did. I am not blind to the way you look at me, Will Graham. A man of the cloth. Is it me you imagine in your bed at night?”

His knuckles turned white where he gripped the pew, his face scarlet and his eyes scrunched closed. This was more embarrassing than he had ever imagined it to be.

“I just needed to say it. I just had to get it out of my head so you could reject me and I could move on. I’m sorry. I know you can’t have sex and I know you – you can’t be gay anyways. It was – I just everytime I see you I –”

His apologetic rambling was cut short by the feeling of cloth brushing against the fronts of both of his knees. Will opened his eyes and looked up, only to see the faintly lit silhouette of Father Hannibal standing over him. The light from the gathering of candles behind him made him seem like a disciple himself. The bench was deep, so he towered over Will more than normal, and he looked down at him with an expression no less serious than when he was performing confirmation.

“Open your mouth.” Father Hannibal’s voice was smooth as sin.

“What?” Will asked meekly.

“Open,” the minister cupped the back of his head, “your mouth.”

So Will did. Not obscenely wide, just barely, as if he expected to have the body of Christ placed on his tongue. The priest’s robe had a row of black buttons all the way down the front, and a green cloth belt that tied tightly around the waist like that of a pirate. It matched the ornate stole. Will watched the man’s free hand untie his belt with ease, letting it fall to the floor before undoing only five buttons in the front.

“If you want this, pull it out.” All priestly patience was gone from the man’s voice and in its place stood an indescribable blackness.

He wanted it, more than anything, so Will reached into the robe without question. It took him a moment to sort through the cloth, but when he felt the hot skin of his erection, Will pulled it out eagerly. Father Hannibal took in a sharp breath as the cool air of the church hit him and his cock bobbed in front of the other man’s face. Will looked up at him, asking permission, unsure if he should really be doing this.

“Go on. Show me what you must be forgiven for.” Hazel eyes burned into Will’s blue ones and he took him in his mouth.

He could taste the salty precum immediately on his tongue. It was smooth and delightly, Will flicked his tongue over the small hole, causing Father Hannibal to shudder. He swirled his tongue around the tip, teasing the edges of it, sucking on just the end, until the fingers in his hair curled tightly. Then he took the whole thing in his mouth, all the way down to the base, excited to please, excited to have even this part of Hannibal. He swallowed, allowing the back of his throat to clench around the tip of the dick before pulling it out with a small gasp. Looking up at the priest once again he saw the man was biting his lower lip, in a way that looked almost pained. Will could not have that. He wrapped a hand around the shaft, slowly pumping it near the base as he took it in his mouth again. His head bobbed in Father Hannibal’s grasp, he moved as fast as he dared without scraping him with his teeth, overcome with need. He flared his tongue along the bottom of his shaft as he moved up and down, caressing it in a way that made Hannibal groan. This delighted him, finding a rhythm best he could and taking as much cock down his throat as possible with every pass. Firm hands gripped his head, causing him to look up with wide eyes, never stopping, and see the way Father Hannibal had become super imposed on the statue of Jesus on the cross. The gold shone brightly behind him, pulsing like before, this time in sync with the way the priest began fucking his face. Will’s eyes watered, but he focused on not giving the man any reason to stop. He could hear the wet noises his own mouth made, obscene in a bedroom and even more so in the current setting. Father Hannibal registered it at the same time he did, his lips twisting into a sneer, and he gripped the brunette’s head tighter, moving it faster, burying Will’s nose briefly into the front of his robe every time he forced his dick all the way down the man’s throat. Will still gripped the pew with one hand, attempting to keep himself in place against the onslaught he graciously accepted. Suddenly, his mouth was empty, both hands removed from his hair, and he had to wipe away the drool that had collected at the corners of his mouth.

Father Hannibal looked down at him silently, as if giving him time to collect himself before speaking, “You have my forgiveness, Will. I hope God can forgive us both.”

He then grabbed Will by both shoulders, half lifting him, allowing him to catch up and stand the rest of the way, before kissing him, hard enough that when Will’s lip was caught between their teeth, it got cut open. The taste of blood blossomed in both their mouths, causing a deep rumbling to come from the clergyman’s chest, while Will groaned in response. He could feel the man’s freed cock brush against the outside of his pants, an unwitting tease to his own erection which strained against the fabric of his jeans. He shoved his tongue in the priest’s mouth, allowing the man to taste himself as their tongues met. It was delicious. Hannibal’s precum and Will’s blood, equal parts in an intimate dance.

Pale hands travelled up from Will’s shoulders to his neck, while he simultaneously reached around Father Hannibal, strong fingers gripping the creases along his back and pulling their bodies closer, until their hips ground together. He felt hungry.

“I’ve thought about this so many times.” He whispered when he broke the kiss, panting softly.

The priest was silent, eyes flickering between Will’s lips and his eyes, and in response Will trailed his right hand over the other man’s clothed ribs, up his chest, and wrapped one side of Father Hannibal’s stole around his hand. He watched carefully as the man’s face registered understanding.

“There’s a certain eroticism to being more powerful than God, isn’t there?”

The brunette chuckled softly, taking the end of the stole and wrapping it around the back of Father Hannibal’s head, pulling until it rested loosely against his throat, like a scarf.

“Shhh.” Will whispered, “Don’t say his name again.”

The clergyman’s eyes narrowed, but he allowed the shorter man to turn him around and bend him over the back of the pew with a firm hand. Will yanked back on the stole, forcing Father Hannibal to lift his head as it choked him, trapped between the wood and Will’s aching erection. He ground his hips against his ass, its shape slightly distorted by the robes, but not by much. Sighing, he rutted against it, the outline of his cock pressed between the other man’s cheeks.

“I want you and I want you now, Reverend. Pull your robe up.”

Father Hannibal did as he asked, fingers gathering the fabric of his clothes and bringing it up over his waist, draped over his back, now all that lay between Will and his goal was a pair of starched black dress pants. He ran his free hand down the man’s back, until he caressed his buttock, tightening his grip on the stole until he heard Father Hannibal grimace. For a moment he worried it was too much, maybe topping was not a good idea, but when he bent over and snaked his hand around to palm Hannibal’s erection, it was rock solid and leaking a steady drizzle already.

“Good boy.” Will whispered in his ear, licking the shell of it as he began pumping the other man’s cock.

He felt the priests back stiffen and arch underneath him, pushing his ass deeper into the crook of Will’s hips. This earned a small growl from Will, who traded Father Hannibal’s flesh for his belt buckle, pulling the man’s pants and boxers down roughly past his ass, before undoing his own belt. The moment Will’s erection sprang free he trembled with excitement. In the dim light he could still see how pink it was, painfully hard, the slight bend in it dipping deliciously near Father Hannibal’s entrance. He was almost afraid to stroke himself, he might finish before he even had a chance to fuck the priest. That would be a waste. Will yanked on the stole, forcing Hannibal to arch his back even more, presenting his ass in the most inviting way, before the brunette spit onto the hole and rubbed his thumb around the rim. With a surprising amount of tenderness, he worked his digit into the ring of muscle, not wanting to hurt the man more than he had to. It was tight, slow work, drawing little whines out of Hannibal as Will pushed it in deeper, circling as much as he could as his own cock leaked now.

“Please.” Father Hannibal begged. It was quiet, resolute, almost dignified.

Will said nothing, only removed his thumb and spit again, this time as much as he could, and pressed the head of his dick against the entrance enough to trap the small amount of lubrication there. With one hand on Hannibal’s hip, the other still wrapped in the stole and resting in the small of the man’s arched back, he slowly pressed in. They both gasped in satisfaction, Hannibal clenching down on his cock in a way that made him want to shove the entirety of it in, but he held back, certain this was the priest’s first time with a man.

“Relax. I’ve got you.” Will said.

Father Hannibal inhaled audibly, shuddery, as if those words roamed beyond sex. He relaxed slightly, Will pushed in and out, going a little deeper every time, being as careful as he could until he was sure the clergyman was ready. It felt good. Eventually he moved faster, making Hannibal take most of his length. He moaned, a breathless sound as he bottomed out for the first time. The inside of Hannibal was pure heat compared to the desolate church and Will watched the way the muscle tried to hold his cock inside as he pulled almost all the way out before slamming back in. This caused the minister to mewl as he brushed against his prostate. That was enough for Will to pick up the pace. He was immediately an animal, slamming into Father Hannibal with all the force of his fantasies, the force of many nights stroking his cock alone in his bed imagining this moment. Hannibal let out a soft pant everytime he was filled up, the wood of the pew screeching ever so slightly along the floor as he was shoved into it by the force of Will’s thrusts. Skin slapping against skin filled the large room, the drapes swaying with some unforeseen draft, the wax from the candles pooling onto the wood shelves as the priest was stretched open over and over.

Will was panting, trying to catch his breath as he pumped in and out of Hannibal, a sheen of sweat covered them both and his thrusts began to lose their rhythm. He abandoned the stole and instead grabbed the pastor’s hips with both hands, forcing him back onto his cock as much as he could. The priest caught on, spearing himself on Will’s dick over and over, both of them groaning, both of their eyes fixed on the shimmering cross, on the watchful eye of Christ, half turned away as he hung from his crucifixion.

“Hannibal.” Will half groaned, half warned. He was close.

“I will love you, Will.” Father Hannibal breathed. It was more than an earthy promise, and Will knew it. It was celestial. It said; ‘If God can not love you, I can.’

And he came undone, bottoming out once again, to be sure he came as deeply as possible inside Father Hannibal. He moaned loudly, his hot seed filling the priest, and as it did he felt the muscle tighten, milking every last drop out of him as the other man had his own orgasm. They both slumped briefly, Will on top of Hannibal, Hannibal on top of the backrest of the pew. It was silent now, only their shaky breathing occupying the space around them. Will was almost positive he could hear the clergyman’s semen dripping onto the floor, from where he no doubt painted the back of the pew. It made him chuckle and he slowly pulled out, his cum rushing out of the man and down the inside of his thigh. Father Hannibal righted himself fully, pulling his pants back up despite the mess and straightening out his robe and stole the best that he could before turning to face Will, hands still buttoning the front buttons as he spoke.

“I hope you will come to Confessional more often.”

Will smiled, making himself presentable as well, “If it suits you, I will,” he paused as both their hands stilled, just staring at one another, then added, “I’ll love you, too.”

This made Father Hannibal smile and lean down to peck his lips, a soft, chaste kiss, before they parted ways. White wax dripping down to the floor under the feet of the Lamb of God.

[markie-baby]

If You Love Me | pt.1

🌹AngstFluff/Smut (18+ MA) Part II 🌹Black Female Reader x Mark Tuan 🌹shower sex 🌹Your boyfriend Mark has been away on his first solo tour for his album, The Other Side. You haven't seen him in months and something is...off. Now that he's back home, there are a few things you need to get off your chest.

You stared intently at the last text messages your boyfriend sent you.

(7:00 pm) Markie-moo💜: I just landed😁

(7:05 pm) YAYYYY💕 can't wait to see youuuuuuu

(7:05 pm) you sure you don't need me to pick you up?

Read 7:09 pm.

(7:10 pm) Markie-moo💜: I'm sure😊 I need to go by the studio real quick, then I'll be omw

(7:10 pm) Markie-moo💜: I can't wait to see you, beautiful🖤 I've missed you so much

(7:15 pm) Okay💕 Let me know when you're otw home... I've missed you more!

Read 8:30 pm.

You glanced up at the time on your screen...It's 11pm.

"Your father is very late." You sighed at Milo, who could only look up at you and tilt his head as if he understood the severity of you using the word 'Father' and not 'Daddy'.

The television screen shined through the tall bottle of red wine that sat on your living room table, which casted a shadow on an open bag of gummy bears. You already started snacking on them an hour into waiting for Mark to get to your apartment, and only just realized that you obliterated half the box already. You spent the past three days gearing up for Mark's arrival from his first album tour; aimlessly cleaning your place, cooking all of Mark's favorite foods, buying wine, and meticulously sprinkling rose petals all over the bedroom. You even got dressed up and wore that perfume he liked on you... only to find yourself feeling silly, scratching the belly of his furry baby, as your bones grew stiff waiting for him.

Regrettably, you couldn't deny that you weren't surprised he was a little late. The strongest part of your relationship with Mark was first and foremost, honesty. Mark hated lies and had never told you one himself. Which is why it was so obvious that he has been lying for the past few months. Badly. I was stuck at the studio and I lost track of time, being the most frequently used of the bunch. You'd find him speaking in a low tone for phone calls, rarely letting you use his phone or laptop, and getting absorbed into his phone screen. He started becoming distant... becoming someone completely different from the man you met. You started suspecting he was cheating.

You moved to LA six years ago to pursue owning a business and had no intentions of having a long-term relationship. Mark was a little timid towards you when you first met him through a mutual friend. He never said much outside of the realm of "Hi", "How are you", and "How are you doing?" But as you stuck around more and more, you couldn't help but be drawn to him. You felt connected talking to him about your aspirations, hopes, and fears, knowing that he was always there to listen and share some of those same feelings. It also helped that Mark was (and still is) the most beautiful man you've ever met in your life. Every time you met up with him, you found yourself drinking up all his features; from his pink, heart-shaped lips that opened to a breath-taking smile, to his deep, dark, entrancing eyes. The last time you got lost in Mark's eyes as his best friend, was when your business hit an all-time low.

~

"I just don't know, Mark..." you sobbed through clogged sinuses. "I don't think I can't still support myself if my business can't make more sales."

Mark was only inches away from you on your couch as you cried into your fetal position.

"Hey, hey..." Mark gently placed his warm hands on your shoulders. "Don't think like that. You've done amazing so far... There has to be something else you can do to get your sales up."

"Well..." You poked your head out briefly. "I could do more marketing... but I already spent so much money on marketing and-"

The tears started reforming in your sore eyes as you hid your head back into your knees. Silence hung in the air like a bad joke as the idea of complete failure circled in your head... You would have to leave the life you worked so hard to build in LA, only to return home to square one, with your tail between your legs. You weren't ready to leave your hard work, your home, your friends, or Mark...

"Y/N..." You felt Mark leaning closer to you with a rasp in his voice. "Look at me."

You reluctantly looked into the eyes of your friend, and suddenly, all the anxiety and fear that you felt only seconds ago, felt like forgotten emotions. His eyes seem to pull you into their calming, deep brown pools.

"Ever since I met you, I have seen you fight and work hard for this. I've admired your passion, and how dedicated you are to your dreams... It's one of my favorite things about you. You can't give up on this now. Not after you worked this hard. Not after you've built this life for yourself all on your own... Not to mention how hard it would be to say goodbye to you if you leave."

"Mark..." You felt your heartbeat in your throat.

"I care about you... and I hate seeing you struggling like this. If you need help, why didn't you ask me?"

"I just didn't want to inconvenience you... I know you've been busy in the studio and doing photoshoots I-... just figured that could do this on my own. Like I've always done everything on my own."

Mark's eyes trailed yours, slowly inching to your nose then your lips...

"You don't have to do this alone." You felt Mark snake his long fingers in between yours. "I'll be there for you... like always."

The bubble developing in your throat was an indication that the waterworks were rising again. Up to this point, Mark has been the most supportive, honest, sweetest, considerate, and the most chill person in your life. He's always been there to listen to whatever you had to tell him; what you see each other doing in the next few years, or a late-night drunken rant about pineapples on pizza. And whenever Mark called, you would drop everything just to hear how his day was. Whenever you hung out with him, you could be alone or in a group of other people, it was like it was just you two. Your soul mate...

You looked into Mark's eyes again, feeling your heart start to race... in your trance, your eyes wandered across his face, admiring how the low glow of the Livingroom television showed his soft textured skin. How his hair was poofy since he raced over to you from his nap. Sometimes you felt like you didn't deserve someone this amazing and supportive to be in your court. But Mark was just your cute little blessing on top of all the other ones. Overcome with emotion, you crash into Mark's arms and held him tight.

"Thank you so much, Mark. For everything." Your stress left your body in a big sigh. "I love you..."

You felt Mark's arms around your waist slowly pull you closer to his body and his face buried into the crook of your neck.

"I love you more..."

You replayed his response in your head as you held on to him.

"I love you more" Thump.

"I love you more" Thump-Thump.

"I love you more" Thump. Thump-Thump-Thump. Thump.

Your heart started to race. Goosebumps raised when Mark's breath lightly brushed your neck, and you felt his strong heartbeat thump against your chest. What was this feeling? You were scared to pull away, frightened of getting lost in his gaze again.

"Um, right s-so..." You cleared your throat. "Thanks again, Markie."

You tried pulling away... but found that Mark's grip was still tight around you.

"Wait..." He spoke in a low tone that made your spine shiver.

Your heart felt like it was going to climb out of your mouth. Of course, you've been this close to Mark plenty of times before, you guys have practically held hands before. But there has never been this type of tension hanging in the air. It was almost suffocating. You looked into Mark's eyes for some sort of sign... but damn, he was looking so gorgeous. Your eyes traced his whole face; every curve of his pink lips, every line in his jaw & every eyelash sitting upon his beautiful eyes. Oh, his eyes... they seemed to sparkle... and they were intently fixed on your mouth. Instinctively, your hands made their way up to his jawline, which produced a small sigh from Mark's parted lips.

He was slowly closing the space between your faces. The heat started to rise in between your ears, as you battled with the thought of kissing your best friend. If you did, you could be either making the best decision of your life... or ruining a friendship with a man you cared for deeply. But you couldn't deny... you wanted him. With every heavy breath that Mark breathed, with every second his hands tightened around your thighs, with every inch that his lips drew closer to yours... your desire for him grew. The realization that you loved him grew.

"Mark-"

With the most genuine softness, Mark closed the painful gap between both pairs of lips. Both of your bodies were lost in each other... neither of you realized just how steamy your little make-out session got. You became a couple shortly after, with this year being your third year together.

~

With each passing day, you felt more frustrated in your conflicted feelings. On one side, you were upset at him... but more at yourself for letting the situation grow. On the other hand, you felt the yearning for him grow hot and restless in your core, and eventually, you couldn't help but touch yourself out of the thought of him. The way his dark, loose curls flop over his forehead, the sparkle in his eyes, the sincerity of his smile, the sweetest of his cologne, the slight curve of his lips, the softness of his skin, the heat of his breath-

You snap out of your trance when you hear the jingle of keys at the door. You tap your screen back to life. It's 11:55 pm.

"I'm home!" Mark poked his head through the door at beamed at you on the couch.

"Mark..." You couldn't help but sigh.

"Babe!" Mark cheesed the brightest smile you've ever seen as his chest collided with yours.

His arms tightly squeezed around your waist as you heard him drink in your scent. Finally, your boyfriend was home, with a bouquet as bright as his smile. Almost instinctively, your nerves weakened in his warm embrace, and you melted around him. You forgot about everything you were ever upset about. With every bone in your aching body, you wanted to hold him... feel his skin gently graze yours, caress his adorable face, and shower him in kisses... but he still broke his promise. The one person in your life who was always truthful, real, and loyal... wasn't anymore.

"I missed you so, so much..." Mark whispered into your ear.

"Mark..." You pulled away from him. "What took you so long..."

"I'm sorry," He sighed. "I got tied up again-"

"Mark I..." You paused. "I've spent all of the past 3 days preparing all this stuff for you. And I have been... trying so hard to be so excited for you to come home. For you be in my arms again, to kiss you, to make absolute love to you..."

"What?" Mark's eyes widened.

"We need to talk about something."

Mark's smile slowly started to fade and the bouquet slowly lowered from his grasp.

"You've broken the one promise that we've had in this relationship... you lied to me, Mark. And you've been doing it over and over... And I'd hope that our bond was strong enough for you to realize that I would notice that."

"Hey-"

Mark gently placed the bouquet on the kitchen counter and held both of your hands in his.

"Do you truly think I'm cheating on you?"

You looked longingly into his eyes, only to be handed a cold, serious gaze in return.

"No," You bit your lip in hesitation. "You wouldn't do something like that. But I don't know what to think, Mark."

Mark sighed deeply...

"I leave for months and come back to a fight..." He scratched the back of his head in frustration. "You said that the one promise we made in this relationship was honesty, but you broke another one too. You don't trust me to be loyal to you?"

"I do trust you! But what am I supposed to make of this, Mark?" Your eyes stung.

Mark's cold gaze softened. "I have never had the thought of ever cheating on you and would never. I'm sorry that I was distant and made you feel that I wasn't being truthful."

"I'm sorry I didn't talk to you about it until now..."

"You have nothing to be sorry about. I've been waiting for forever just to get back home to you." You felt his warm hands caress your waist. "Can I please kiss my beautiful girlfriend now?"

"Yes." You breathed.

Mark snaked his hands further around your waist, and with a passionate firmness, pursed his lips between yours. You felt your body tingle with warmth and your heart beating heavily against your boyfriend's chest. A groan left Mark's lips as he left yours.

"Hey..." Mark's voice turned raspy as he eyed your body. "You deserve my honesty; The real reason I have been distant is because I was putting a lot of energy into planning something really important."

"Planning something...?" Your head cocked to one side. "For your album?"

"No, for you."

"For me..?"

Mark's lips cut your question short and derailed your train of thought.

"It's a surprise for later." You could feel a smirk developing on your boyfriend's soft lips. "Let me enjoy the surprise you have for me first."

Mark gazed over at the romantic display you made in the living room.

"Do you like it? I hope I didn't go overboard..."

"It's perfect." Mark looked into your eyes with the utmost sincerity. "And you even got me my favorite gummy bears? It's everything I could have wanted. And you being here with me makes it all better."

Mark infused passion into every aspect of his life, and his way with words was no exception. Surprisingly, conveying his feelings verbally wasn't always his forte in our relationship. However, he consciously broke free from the habit of murmuring, trailing off, and avoiding eye contact. Despite not being the most talkative when we initially met, the incomprehensible extent to which Mark went out of his way to express how much I meant to him was truly remarkable.

"I'm so glad you're home." You wrapped your arms around your boyfriend's torso and pulled him close.

"Me too." You felt a light peck on your forehead. "Why don't we get this night started?"

~

It was 2:45 am when the credits started to roll on the third horror movie that Mark insisted that you both watch. Unfortunately, he had been too invested to realize that you had fallen asleep since movie number two. You found the most heavenly spot on his chest to rest your head, and with his right arm snuggled gently around your torso and his left hand resting on your thigh, it was a guaranteed recipe for a great night's rest.

"The gore in that was something else-" Mark cut himself off when his eyes came to gaze on your sleeping figure.

Your face was adorably smushed up to Mark's chest, letting out soft breaths as you rested. All four of your limbs found themselves wrapped around his slim body, trapping him in your sloth-like embrace. Mark's eyes traveled and the bottom hem of your dress found itself dangerously hiked up to expose your smooth thighs.

Mark rubbed his hand against your thigh. "Wake up, babe."

You blinked your eyes awake and gazed upon the tired eyes of your boyfriend. "Oh shit, did I fall asleep?"

"Definitely. And I think you were snoring a bit, too." He joked.

"Oh stop." You rubbed your eyes to get a better view of the clock. "Oh shit, it's late..."

Mark's voice became hushed. "Maybe we should...continue this celebration upstairs?"

"You're ready for bed?"

"I am. But not necessarily sleep."

You smirked, picking up on his hint. "Oh, I see..."

Without saying another word, you took Mark's hand and guided him up the stairs, where you were greeted by the romantic glow of the moon.

"Oh..."

"You like it, right? I got rose petals, the candles are all lit..." You gestured towards the bathroom.

Mark pulled your hand back towards his body and planted a firm, hungry kiss on your lips.

"You are so sweet. This is amazing..." His warm hands caressed your cheeks. "How do I deserve someone as perfect as you?"

You could feel the heat of his breath on your lips. He was close, too close. The temptation to press your mouth to his was too much to handle. You could almost taste the mint of his toothpaste.

"I know I've been a little distant for these past few months." Mark started. "It's just... I've had a lot on my mind. There's something I've been meaning to talk to you about, but I didn't want to rush things."

"Yeah?"

"But now, I can't hold back." He cupped your cheek and brushed his thumb against it. You felt his gaze bore into yours, and he seemed to study every inch of your face.

"What is it, baby?" You pressed.

"I'm so in love with you. I love you so much that it hurts. I love how passionate you are, I love how you make me feel when we're together, and I love that you've been patient with me during this whole process. You're my rock. You make me want to be a better person. I want to be worthy of you."

"Mark, you already are." You gently held the sides of his face. "Don't say that. You are good enough, Mark. You have such a kind heart and a big soul. You're the most loving and caring person I know. Just don't get too caught up in your music, and start overworking yourself. You're not gonna find me there."

Mark let out a soft chuckle in response.

"You always know what to say," Mark breathed. "I need to ask you something."

"What is it?"

"I know that I was gone for a while, and I want to make it up to you. So, how would you feel about me taking you on a trip?"

"A trip?" You shot him a confused look. "Where would we go?"

"Oh, don't worry about that." Mark kissed the tip of your nose. "I'll take care of everything. Just be ready to leave for this weekend."

"Three days??" You giggled. "You really just planned a whole trip, huh?"

"Anything for you."

As Mark leaned in to kiss you again, you couldn't help but notice his scent. He smelled like the airport and the plane and everything else that was not his normal aroma.

"Speaking of jet setting, you smell weird," you chuckled.

"What do you mean?" he laughed back.

"I'm not sure, but you just smell different."

"Well, I should take a shower then," he suggested. "And maybe you can join me."

"Okay, but don't try any funny business." You smirked.

"What?" He feigned innocence.

"You heard me," you replied, wagging your finger at him.

"Well, I guess we'll just have to wait and see," he said, pulling you close.

"Wait and see, huh?" you repeated.

"Yeah, just wait and see."

You rolled your eyes and pulled away from him, making your way toward the bathroom. As you walked into the bathroom, you could hear Mark following closely behind. You pulled him toward the bathroom and turned on the shower, the sound of the water filling the small room. The sound of unzipping made your head turn to Mark, who was already undressing. You watched on in perverted wonderment at how his abdominal muscles flexed under his perfect skin as he moved to remove his underwear. He glanced over his broad, muscular shoulders, smirking while keeping eye contact as he bent down. You admired how his hair grew poofy from the steam beginning to form around him.

"Enjoying the view?" Mark's husky voice startled you, causing your eyes to snap to his face.

"Shut up," you said as you joined him, sliding the flimsy slip of material you wore onto the floor.

Mark's eyes burned with need as his gaze traveled up your legs, slowly drinking in the image before him.

"Damn..." he breathed as he raked his teeth across his bottom lip, his dark eyes meeting yours.

You smiled coyly at him as you stepped into the shower, closing the glass door behind you. Mark's eyes never left yours as he joined you in the warm spray of the water.

"Mmm," he hummed as he cupped your cheek and brought his lips to yours.

The kiss was soft and sweet at first but quickly turned passionate and needy. You ran your fingers through his damp curls as he pressed his hips into yours, his hardening length brushing against your stomach. His hands were everywhere, exploring every inch of your bare flesh as the water cascaded around you. You moaned softly as his lips found your pulse point, sucking the sensitive skin into his mouth.

"I love the sounds you make," he growled as he gently nipped the delicate skin.

"Hey, don't forget that you have to take a shower, stinky." You chuckled.

Mark grinned and rolled his eyes, grabbing the bottle of shampoo that rested next to the tap.

"Okay, okay."

You watched in anticipation as he squirted some of the soap into his hand, before applying it to his hair. His eyes stayed fixated on yours, which flickered down briefly to take in his naked, glistening body. You couldn't help but admire his perfection, even when doing the most mundane task. How his pectorals flexed with every movement, as he brushed and lathered the soapy bubbles throughout his coils of dark brown hair. How his veins tightened from his arms to his hands, and how each drop of water seemingly dripped at a pace slow enough for you to memorize. Your gaze traced down from his chest to his abs, and even further down past the borderline of pubic hair where-

"Babe."

"Sorry, what?" Your eyes shifted back to his face.

"Were you paying attention?" Mark smugly raised an eyebrow.

"I was definitely paying attention..." You trailed off.

"So what was I saying?"

"You were saying, that I was being the best girlfriend ever!"

"Mm-hm."

"By making us dinner tonight."

"Mm-hm."

"And how your favorite gummy bears are an ample reward for me having to put up with you-"

"Alright," Mark chuckled as he laid his index finger on the seam of your lips. "Point made. You got me."

"Duh." You nipped at his knuckle. "You're so easy. What did you say, anyway?"

"Something..." Mark teased as he dunked his head back under the water, washing the remaining shampoo down his torso. "About how much I really, really, missed touching you. All of you."

You snorted. "You mean our little quickie at LAX before you left didn't cut it?"

"Is that what you call what happened at LAX?" He asked, pulling you close and pressing his arousal against you.

"Yes," you giggled. "Because that is exactly what we did. You were the one trying to miss your flight."

"I couldn't help it." He groaned. "It was just so hot."

"Oh shut up." You laughed.

You grabbed the bottle of body wash, poured some on your towel, and rubbed the soap into the cloth.

"Are you gonna help me or what?" You asked playfully.

"What do you think?" He replied, grabbing the other end of the towel and helping you rub the wet cloth along your body.

Your breath hitched as his hand moved from your ribs down to your hips and your mouth dropped open when you felt his fingertips graze your behind. You groaned loudly as Mark continued to caress your ass, his other hand sliding around your waist and pulling you into his embrace. You shuddered as he pressed his lips against your neck, murmuring words of love and encouragement in between every kiss.

"Why didn't you come with me on tour, again?" Mark asked as he continued massaging your skin.

"We talked about this, Mark," you replied, lightly rolling your eyes. "I wanted to be here and continue working. And I don't think I'm cut out for road life."

"But I wanted you there..." he pouted, making your heart stop. "I missed you like crazy."

"I missed you, too..." You turned to face him, seeing him still with an upset frown. You reached for his hands and gently ran your thumb over his knuckles.

"But I don't think I can spend another tour without my Markie-Poo," you admitted with a soft smile.

You looked up to see your boyfriend with the brightest grin you've seen him with in a long while. Mark immediately took the back of your head and pulled your face towards his in a loving embrace, getting soap all over his arms and torso...

"So you're telling me that the next tour I have, you're coming with me?"

" I promise."

"I could get used to having you near me every day," Mark whispered into your ear, his low voice sending shivers down your spine.

"I'd hope so," You replied. "It would be pretty confusing to accommodate another presence in our bed, otherwise."

You could see a pout starting to form on your boyfriend's lips. You loved how Mark could make a face of indifference switch from a stone-cold wall into a begging, adorable, child. The pout quickly melted away, however, and you were only able to appreciate its short existence for a split second. His eyes shifted from your own to your neck, his pale and slender fingertips gliding gently against your exposed collarbone.

"Hey..." You whispered into his ear. "What are you thinking about?"

Mark didn't speak. Only paused for a moment, as if contemplating what he wanted to say, but only getting lost in your beauty. Your breath hitched. His eyes were focused on yours as he inched closer to you. He never broke your stare until his hand suddenly reached up and he placed it ever so carefully against your cheek, causing you to inhale deeply. His eyes flickered over your face, resting for a brief moment at your lips, then back up to meet yours once again. His hand traveled from your cheek and made its way down to your chin, tilting your head up slightly. His lips met yours, softly and gently. He didn't push or rush. He seemed to savor the moment, pulling away just enough to let out a small whimper.

"Did you just moan?" He asked.

"Mmmm, maybe," you replied teasingly.

"If we weren't in the shower right now..." he started.

"Then what would we be doing, Mark?" You asked, grinning at him.

"Then," he said, his low voice rumbling as his hand wrapped around your waist, gently moving his face close to yours. "I would be taking you against the glass."

Mark kissed your forehead tenderly and continued his gentle ministrations against your skin.

"We would start slow," he began. "My hands would travel all over you, starting at your hips. I'd go over them over and over until I could feel you shake."

You bit your lip as Mark's movements matched his words. You could feel your cheeks warm from the way he talked. He had never talked to you this way. Never with the confidence and sultry tone of voice. Mark was normally a gentle, passionate, yet quiet lover.

But this was different. It was sexy. You loved it.

A moan escaped from your lips, unable to suppress the shiver that ran throughout your entire body. The mere thought of having him inside you caused your muscles to twitch and spasm. Mark chuckled lightly as he leaned into you, his hands still exploring your curves. You loved it when he held you. His touch felt so warm and comforting. It made you feel safe and protected, but at the same time, you loved how strong his arms felt against your frame. He felt so large compared to your small size and it gave you the most pleasant butterflies.

"After that I would pick you up, your legs around my waist," he said softly, pulling back a bit to stare into your eyes. "And then, I'd drive you insane..."

He emphasized each word as if he were whispering them into your ear, and his words left you breathless and speechless. Mark's voice had a way of making you feel things you've never felt before.

"Sounds like you really want to have shower sex," you said with a slight giggle.

He kissed you passionately as his hands glided back to your ass once again, gripping you firmly as he slowly lifted you in the air. You wrapped your arms around his slender neck, and your legs around his waist. As your curves pressed against him, you could feel his excitement, causing your eyes to widen slightly. You hadn't even touched him yet, and he was extremely excited for you.

Mark placed one hand against the shower wall for support and you looked into his beautiful brown orbs once more.

"Have you been wanting me, like I have been needing you?" He asked in a low and husky voice that sent shivers through your body. You answered him by pressing your lips against his and kissing him passionately. After a few seconds, Mark moved his kisses across your neck and down to your collarbone. He sucked on it lightly, causing you to gasp as your nails dug into his shoulders. He let out a small groan, and you couldn't help but laugh slightly. The man was adorable.

For five agonizing minutes, he tortured you with his mouth, and slowly lifted you higher. Your heart started beating so fast, causing a mixture of nervousness and excitement that blended perfectly.

"Relax babe," Mark cooed.

You took a deep breath, the smile not leaving your face, and nodded at him.

Mark entered your slit slowly, his length engulfing your walls slowly. You sucked in a breath and shut your eyes tight, letting yourself enjoy this feeling of being filled so completely by your boyfriend. He went deep, his entire length inside you now. He let himself stay there for a second, giving you time to get used to this new feeling. Then he pulled out a few inches before sliding back into you. He continued this process, slowly getting a rhythm, his thrusts growing in power. You moaned each time his length penetrated you.

"Yes..." you breathed and heard Mark moan in response.

He increased his pace even more, driving his length into you and then withdrawing completely with each thrust. Soon, the sounds of water splashing off your wet skin filled the room. Mark became a mess of grunts and pants every time he penetrated you, audibly teasing you toward your climax.

"Babe, you feel so-" A deep moan escaped your boyfriend's parted lips.

His breath was hot on your neck as he worked you towards your release, and it felt like electricity every time his skin touched yours. You had forgotten where you were, who you were, and what was going on around you, it was only you and Mark.

"Mark..." you moaned.

You couldn't hold off your orgasm any longer as waves of pleasure washed over your body. He continued his ministrations as you rode your high, and you watched him as you came down. You looked in awe at this beautiful specimen of a man standing before you as he held you in his arms. He just smiled at you and placed a kiss on your forehead.

Then he exhaled and put you down, slumping against the cold tile wall. His wet hair dangled over his blushed face. You smiled and placed a hand against his cheek, stroking it gently as you gave him another kiss, he kissed you in return, and the soft brush of his lips lingered as you pulled away.

"I love you," he said, his gaze fixed on yours.

"I love you, too."

You say "You took the energy out of me."

Mark smiled and leaned back against the wall. "I guess you could say that," he smirked, raising an eyebrow. "Do you think you'll be able to get to the bedroom? Or do you need me to carry you?"

You slowly stood up, ceasing the sound of running water with your index finger. "Carry me, please!" You pouted and raised your arms.

Mark chuckled as he opened the shower door to retrieve your towels.

"Alright, alright, my queen," Mark threw your wet towel on your head, muffling your laugh. "I'll carry you to the bed."

You pushed the towel off of your face as Mark slipped his arms underneath your wet body and scooped you up into his arms.

"Mmm, you smell much better," you murmured as you nuzzled against his neck. Mark snorted and kissed the top of your head.

You were smitten by his scent and the way he handled you with such ease. He gently laid you on your bed, sinking in on top of you, like you had been daydreaming of for months.

"I've missed this," he whispered, "missed touching you, missed watching you sleep..." He brushed a strand of hair away from your face and gazed down at you like you were the only person in the world.

"I missed waking up next to you, seeing your face in the mornings, and hearing your voice at night."

He brought his lips to yours, softly and sweetly like he was afraid you would break. His lips tasted like the memories of stolen kisses in dark corners and glances behind closed doors. The more you tasted his lips, the more you craved, and you pressed into him, desperate for more.

"Baby, I've missed you so much," he mumbled against your lips, "and you don't understand how crazy it's been."

"No kidding," you replied, returning his kiss with equal vigor.

"Everywhere I went, fans were throwing themselves at me. All I could think about was you. All I'm ever gonna want is you."

Your heart skipped a beat at the confession. You pulled away to smile at him, taking in his beautiful face. It wasn't just his looks that captivated you; it was his mind and his heart. He was pure goodness through and through, and you knew you were the luckiest person in the world.

"And all I ever want is you," you replied. Mark cupped your face and stared into your eyes, his deep brown eyes pooling with emotion. "You okay, babe?"

"It's nothing...I just- I love you," he said, his voice cracking slightly, "so much."

You kissed him fiercely, overcome with emotion. "I love you a shit ton too."

Mark laughed, the corner of his eyes crinkling. "Well, you better. You won't be able to get rid of me that easily."

"Good."

Mark smirked and moved his head down, trailing kisses across your stomach and past your navel.

"What are you doing down there? Aren't you tired?"

Mark looked up, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

"It would be a waste not to take advantage of the candles and rose petals, don't you think?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

~

To Be Continued.

[its-sixxers]

Emergency Commissions (with bonus raffle!)

To make a very long story short, I was involved in a car accident one year ago and had my savings obliterated due to replacement parts for my vehicle taking 10 months to arrive and my work requiring me to drive. I thought a couple of months ago when my car was finally repaired I was in the clear, and then my car insurance bill came due and oh boy looks like I might not be making rent for October. I've taken everything but the minimum coverage off my car and am looking into selling my car and getting something older/cheaper but that takes time and bills are now.

So you, my beloved Tumblr, are getting a deal in hopes I can scratch up some scratch quickly here! I am offering the following commissions:

FAN ART GRAB BAG - $15 USD

Give me a character and I'll draw them. Suggestions for posing are welcome, the more options for me to pick from the merrier! Multiple characters multiply the price by # of characters.

CHARACTER ART - $35 USD

Do you have an OC you want drawn? I can do that! Give me references and an idea of what you'd like with them and hey presto I will give you an art.

BONUS RAFFLE

In appreciation every person who gets a commission will be entered into a raffle which will be drawn on November 5. The winner of the raffle will get a free commission of any type with a limit of 2 characters. Each commission counts as one entry, so if you get a couple done you get two entries!

Technical stuff:

Prices are in USD. Please contact me via email at spaceturra@gmail.com as it's much easier to keep track of everything that way than our beloved/beloathed tumblr messenger. I use PayPal invoicing - you don't need a paypal account, just an email I can send it to for you to choose your payment method of choice.

All commissions will be a colored sketch that are at least waist up - unless a preference for portrait (shoulders up) is specified. Unlike my usual commission method I will not be offering revisions or tweaks as time is of the essence (unless I miss something in the references given) - you will receive a final piece to do with as you please. Prices are based on time taken - fan art pieces will be rougher than character art pieces.

This deal will run until the end of October, but as I am also working my regular job getting all of the pieces done might run into November. I might end things earlier if I get enough commissions in to cover my shortfall so everyone can get some art in a timely fashion.

I will not draw:

Sexual content / waist down nudity

Overly detailed designs (mecha, complex tattoos - if curious ask!)

Thank you all, and stay safe out there!

[leidensygdom]

Ok, artfight thoughts time! In bullet points for readability's sake!

I've beaten my record for art points/sizing this year! I made 16 artworks on 2021, 38 in 2022, 57 in 2023, and 55 in 2024. (It's been technically 2 less in 57,but I had a couple of pictures with extra characters in 2024)

However, out of these 57 from 2023, there were 14 fullbodies, 8 halfbodies and 36 portraits.

This year I have done 20 portraits, 15 halfbodies and 25 fullbodies- Which did take quite more time than last years' portrait rain! I wish I could've at least given the remaining revenges a portrait. I got 2542.75 points for it!

I've received a bit over 60 drawings this year, which is def a record. First time I end up with an actual negative ratio- 45%. It's been a fight to keep it up.

(if i hadn't got food poisoning, an uti and three periods in july maybe i'd have got the chance to get that up to 50% i've been in spain with and without the S dfhguhdf)

This year has been very enjoyable, besides being sick for a bunch of it. A lot of art- Some of which I've shared, some I'll share once it gets posted. Very honoured about it!

However, it's also the first year I've had to report a bunch of stuff, which (admittedly) has not been handled well by the moderation team. I got a traced attack and a kink-related attack (which i do not allow), I've had friends get the same, and a friend had a whole character traced and stolen. Most of these reports did not really get handled, and even the art thief didn't get banned. That's been quite stressful!

Out of all my attacks, 48 have been revenges and only 7 have been attacks I started myself. I had a list of well over 30 people I wanted to attack, which I barely managed to scratch the surface of

@totesnotaustralian did a wonderful sheet to track artfight data and such, and I have some stats from it! (Ignore the revenge number, I messed up the sheet there jgxhdhjf)

While my first weeks were almost team stardust (friendly fire hell was real), a lot of the later attacks were for Seafoam! And... Here's the character data- With how much they've been drawn each year and in total!

Some fun details and tendencies from this thing:

Vyxander has been drawn the most this year, with 13, which is also the most I've ever got a character drawn in a single artfight. Argyros followed up with 12 on his debut year. Previously, the record was at 10- Which the Onirist got on their debut year.

Some of the new characters this year were fairly popular (like Argy at 12, Starborn at 6). Older characters (other than Vyxander) have been drawn far less in favour of the new ones. Yxala and Relent got 3 attacks each- Which is surprising, given they were the main picks previous years! Poor polycule!

Urion keeps being my most drawn character at a whooping 24, having been drawn 8 times each year. Their post campaign version was more popular on their first year, but has been drawn just 3 times this one- But it's been wonderful art anyhow!!

On the underdogs: Areel has been drawn just once on his debut year (understandably, given his wild armor). Laestis has actually not been drawn, it was a NPC of hers who did, which I counted as a Lae drawing. Osten has been drawn 5 times--compared to being the only one to not get art last year. Mythannae and Yden did not get any art, despite Yden winning that popularity poll I ran a while ago.

and uh, that's quite the long post. I have a lot of art to share from Artfight- Keep an eye for it in this month, because it's quite the backlog!! If you've made it down here, thank you for putting up with this long boy

[steddieasitgoes]

Written for @eddiemonth Day 11 Prompt: Pirate read on ao3 | link to my ao3 Eddie Month series

There are a lot of challenges that come with being a parent: dealing with tantrums, having to be responsible, cooking all the time, making friends with other parents (thank God Steve’s a people person because Eddie would rather stab himself in the eye with a fork than listen to Brenda brag about her kids — Newsflash Brenda, all our kids shit in the toilet, it’s not an accomplishment!) Fortunately, Eddie’s conquered them all, mostly. What he hasn’t conquered, though, is the biggest parenting challenge of all: saying no to their little girl.

But, like, can anyone even blame him? How is he supposed to look at Rosie with her big, brown eyes behind her purple round glasses and her lush, springy curls and tell her no? He’s not, that’s how. It’s even worse now that she’s learned how to wobble her lower lip and bat her eyelashes (Dustin and Erica are on babysitting probation for that one.)

It’s a move she’s already perfected and has been pulling all day to keep Eddie from doing any of his actual parenting duties while Steve’s held up at school in a marathon of parent-teacher conferences. But it’s fine. Better than fine if he’s straight with himself. There’s nothing Eddie loves more than some quality make-believe time with his daughter. Brings him right back to his Hellfire days. And once Eddie commits to a story, he’s in it until they reach the end (or until Rosie gets bored — whichever comes first).

He takes world-building just as seriously, which is why their living room has been transformed into a pirate ship. The long couch stands in as the main dock. An assortment of cardboard boxes from their latest Costco run stacked in a chaotic way on the front and the end, making up the stern and bow. A once-white pillowcase is now stained with purple marker — a Rosie original drawn in the middle — and hanging from the broom shoved into the couch cushions. (Steve’s not going to be happy about that one, but he’ll level with him later.)

Rosie is dressed in her favorite pirate costume. One of Steve’s button-up shirts and her favorite black leggings. Her feet (and most of her legs) are shoved into a pair of Eddie’s old black boots and the left lens in her glasses is covered in black duct tape (fuck, he hopes it doesn’t scratch them). The store-bought pirate hat disappeared weeks ago so in its place is one of Eddie’s old bandanas. Thankfully, the store-bought sword they bought her last year hasn’t gone missing (he’s pretty sure his streak of saying yes would have to end if she demanded access to the kitchen knives). Oh, yeah, and she’s refusing to answer to her name — responding to Eddie only when he refers to her as Cap’n Skittle.

“It’s time you walk the plank, traitor!” she shouts, hoisting a well-loved Garfield stuffed animal over her head. Hopping on the couch cushions, she glances at Eddie over her shoulder. “One-arm Gravy, prepare the plank.”

“Ay, Ay, captain,” Eddie says, saluting with the hand that isn’t pulled through the sleeve of his shirt and resting on his stomach. Rosie really made him commit to the whole one-arm thing, and he’s not about to suppress her creative whims.

With a careful step into the middle of the couch, Eddie reaches for one of their custom decorative pillows. It takes a few tries, but eventually, he manages to get one end of the throw pillow balanced on the edge of the couch while the rest hangs off.

“The plank is ready, Cap’n Skittle.”

“Time to meet your end, Garfield!”

Without a moment of hesitation, Rosie chucks the Garfield stuffed animal off of the couch, sending it flying across the room and into the bookshelf against the other wall. Thankfully, nothing breaks or falls over. Explaining to Steve why Rosie isn’t in bed yet is easy. Explaining how his mint condition replica of the Beamer broke, not so much.

“See you never traitor,” she cackles, far more sinister than a six-year-old should sound.

On second thought, maybe suppressing her creative whims is a good idea, Eddie thinks for a moment before shaking his head. Nah, Wayne let me do whatever I wanted, and I turned out fine.

“It’s time to celebrate!” She gathers the rest of the stuffed animal-turned-crew mates as she skips her way back to Eddie. Hoisting and swaying her sword high up in the sky in celebration.

“Not so fast,” Eddie says, shoving his arm back through the sleeve of his shirt. He peels off the paper mustache Rosie demanded he wear and yanks out a sword he’s been hiding in the waistband of his pajama pants.

Rosie screams, lowering her own sword in preparation for a duel. “Not Cap’n No Moosetach! I killed you.”

“You tried to be a hero Cap’n Skittle, but you failed to remember the most important thing about being a pirate captain,” Eddie says, voice an octave lower than usual. He takes a tentative step forward on the couch and then another and another until Rosie’s trapped between him and the armrest. He holds his sword up to her chin, not touching, but close enough for her eyes to go a little crossed as she stares at it. “We never die before we get our treasure.”

Eddie swings his sword, but Rosie’s quick, swinging hers back at him. It’s the beginning of an epic sword battle that has both of them doing the most. Rosie leaps at him, wrapping her arms and legs around his middle until they’re both toppling over onto the couch. She quickly gets to her feet, shoving her sword in Eddie’s face for a moment before he rolls off the couch and into the “waters” below.

“You’ll never get the da’blooms,” she shouts. Glancing over her shoulder at the hoard of stuffed animals on the couch, she shouts, “Man the cannons!”

Eddie barely has time to shield his head before she’s throwing pillow after pillow at him. Shouting orders left and right to her “crew mates.” Hoisting himself up, Eddie gets back on the couch and engages in another battle with Rosie. Swords clinking against each other as Eddie hums a made-up soundtrack for their battles. He gets lost in the humming and has no time to defend himself when Rosie jabs her bony elbow into his ribs.

“Jesus H. Christ,” he groans, massaging over the spot. “That hurt Rosie.”

“Who is this Rosie you speak of?” she growls, threatening him with her sword. “I don’t know any Rosies!”

Eddie bites the inside of his cheek to keep from snorting. She may not biologically be his daughter, but oh man, does she make up for it in her quirks and personalities. After all, no one commits to a fantasy role more than a Munson.

The battle continues with both of them taking turns being the winners and losers until the front door knob starts to jingle.

“Avast Ye,” Eddie says, pulling Rosie in close. “A landlubber approaches.”

“Aye,” Rosie nods. “We can take him together.”

“A truce, you say? Only if you give me half of your Doubloons.”

“I’ll give you three.”

This time, Eddie does snort, earning a fierce glare from Rosie before the front door opens. Steve steps in, looking more exhausted than ever before. His lucky striped tie is pulled loose, his blazer slung casually over his shoulder.

“Aye, it’s the wealthy merchant Sir Steven of Stevensburg.”

Despite the pure exhaustion on his face and in his bones, Steve cocks his head to the side and arches his brow. “Sir Steve of Stevensburg? That’s the best you can come up with?” He toes off his work loafers and pads his sock-covered feet further into the mess of the living room.

“Hey,” Eddie whines, voice returning to normal. “Cut me some slack; we’ve been at this for hours.”

“Shush you landlubber!” Rosie says, leaping off the couch and into Steve’s arm. “If you want our Da’blooms, you have to fight me and Cap’n No Moosetach.”

“Da’blooms? I don’t need your da’blooms.”

“Then why are you braving these here seas, Sir Steven?” Eddie asks as he steps down from the couch, eager to get his hands on his clearly exhausted boyfriend.

“Well, I am a Prince in search of a fair maiden. A princess, actually,” he says, nuzzling his face into Rosie’s neck. She squeals in delight before squirming out of his arms and dropping to the floor. “Do you know of any princesses around here?” Steve cups his hands over his eyes, turning them into binoculars, as he glances around the room.

“Me! Me!” Rosie shouts, jumping up and down. “M’a princess! The prettiest princess in all the land.”

Steve crouches down to Rosie’s height. Hands on his hips and tired eyes squinted in a focused manner as he studies her pirate costume. “Hmm, I don’t know,” he puzzles, dramatically tapping his chin.

Eddie watches Steve take on the role of a Prince. When Rosie first started getting into make-believe, Steve struggled with the “yes and-ing” that comes with improvised play. It took a while for him to come out of his shell and allow himself to actually be goofy. If Eddie ever gets his hangs on the Harringtons he swears he’s going to ring their neck for stifling Steve’s creativity. Because dammit, his Steve is creative! Weaving epic adventure stories like it is second nature. Sometimes even better than Eddie can.

Eddie absolutely adores it when Steve gets like this. When the pressures of being an adult fade away all that matters is the story and Rosie’s imagination. It totally works for him too.

“You look like a pirate to me,” Steve says, finally, before standing up to his full height as he looks down on Rosie.

“Cap’n Skittle, to be exact,” Eddie says, saddling up next to Rosie with his sword outstretched in Steve’s direction. “The most vicious pirate to ever pirate the seas.”

“No, no,” Rosie shouts, yanking the sword from Eddie’s hands and tossing it aside, “‘M Cap’n Skittle now, but if you kiss me, I’ll turn into a princess! Kiss me, you’ll see!”

There’s a beat where Eddie and Steve share a fourth-wall-breaking glance. A silent should we be worried about this? and eh, it’s probably fine in return. They’re caught up in their half-concern, half-amused state that neither one realizes Rosie is moving until it’s too late. She throws herself at Steve, scaling her way up his legs and into his arms.

“Kiss me! Kiss me! Kiss me!”

With a laugh, Steve dramatically dips Rosie in his arms before planting a kiss on her lips. He pulls away with a loud smooching sound that has Rosie giggling and then rips the bandana off of her head. “Be still, my beating heart. You are a Princess!”

“Told ya so,” Rosie says before quickly switching to her new Princess role. “Tis I Princess Buttercup and you’re Prince Peanut. Together we’re Prince and Princess Peanut Buttercup!”

Damn candy commercials, Eddie thinks, hiding a smile behind a lock of hair. Glancing at the clock, Eddie realizes it’s way past Rosie’s bedtime. A fact Steve also picks up on based on the look he’s giving Eddie. A raised brow followed by a dramatic wink. He can practically hear Steve saying, watch this — forever the expert at getting Rosie to bed.

“What say thee, Princess Buttercup? Shall we retire to our room for a royal slumber?”

“But m’not tired,” she pouts.

“Ah, but Princess Buttercup. You must sleep so tomorrow we can defeat the evil Lord Munsington.”

“Munsington? Really?” Eddie laughs, shaking his head.

“We’re not talking to you, Lord Munsington,” Rosie scolds, shooing Eddie away with her hand. “We’re going to need lots of sleep to defeat him, Prince Buttercup.”

“Well, then, we better get started,” Steve muses, carrying Rosies toward her bedroom.

Eddie doesn’t follow, letting Steve get some quality time in with Rosie before she falls asleep. Besides, Eddie’s all storied out after hours and hours of playing pirates and witches and fairy tea parties. He collapses on the couch instead, letting his own eyes shut until he hears Steve’s feet padding their way to him.

“Missed you,” Steve says, kissing the top of Eddie’s head before sinking into the couch cushion beside him. He’s already stripped out of his work clothes, clad now in a pair of worn sweatpants.

“Missed you too,” Eddie says, snuggling up to Steve’s side. His warm shirtless body feels relaxing on Eddie’s aching bones. Especially his ribs which are already bruising from Rosie’s brutal hit earlier.

“Looks like I missed a good storytelling day.”

Eddie hums. “Well, we lost the plot at the end there, but yeah, it was a good storytelling day.”

“Worth the mess of our living room?” Steve asks, glancing around at the cardboard boxes, stuffed animal graveyard, and pillows littering the floor.

“I’ll clean it up in the morning, promise,” Eddie says through a yawn. “Right now, Lord Munsington needs his sleep.”

“Come on then,” Steve huffs, hot air fluttering the unruly tendrils of Eddie’s hair. Heaving Eddie off of him, he stands to his feet before extending a hand out. “Prince Peanut is feeling generous and will allow Lord Munsington to sleep in his bed.”

“Will cuddling be allowed?” Eddie asks, slapping his hand into Steve’s.

With a swift yank, Eddie’s on his feet and being propelled into Steve’s awaiting arms. He wraps his own around Steve’s neck, fingers kneading at the knots in his neck. Steve groans in pleasure before his own arms wrap around Eddie’s middle, squeezing.

“Cuddles are always allowed.”

Untangling himself from Steve, he moves his right hand until it rests on the small of Steve’s back. “Then let’s get a move on it,” Eddie says, guiding them towards their bedroom.

[bijouxcarys]

Fine Wine (Robert Plant x fem!OC)

Masterlist

Description: Our fiery OC from Cherry Lips receives a call from the man she's seen the world with, after months of distancing himself. She may just be the medicine he needs in his time of uncertainty…

Word Count: 6.5k

Tags: @celestial-dragoness @firethatgrewsolow @callmethehunter @strsmn @m-faithfull @chromations @angrychicksposts @friccinfricks @inanebula

He was greeted with an icy draft as he pushed open his door. A stark contrast to where he’d been two hours prior. A fleeting bask in the heat of his past. But that’s all it was. Fleeting. In the past.

Robert knew it had to happen. Ahmet would have enjoyed seeing the lads back together, even if it was just for one last show. It was necessary to remind himself of that fact, otherwise the work gone into the past month would be for nothing. Though, his brain—that guy up there—tried to convince the rest of him that it was truly fruitless. And he knew what he’d have to deal with for the next year or so…

Robert, is there any chance of a Zeppelin tour again?

Mr Plant, how did it feel to be up there again?

Do you think Jason lived up to his father’s name?

Are you and Jimmy planning on working together again?

What’s your relationship like with John Paul Jones?

Why wasn’t Stairway To Heaven released as a single?

How do you think your voice has changed?

Robert, why don’t you want to talk about Led Zeppelin?

Bob, can you sign this for me? Bob?! Who the fuck do you think you are, mate? You’re only gunna sell it on eBay.

Scratching at his head, Robert reluctantly turned the light on, revealing his current home exactly how he left it. Hah, why wouldn’t it be? There’s nobody here to disturb it…

There was so much of the world he still needed to discover, to figure out. More music out there to be made. So much bigger than the walls of this London flat sat high up in a building full of more flats, with even more people, with even more stories–Oh, shit, are you Robert Plant? I need to call my best friend and tell her you live right near me!

Thankfully, that common situation was less common in the area he chose to live. It made him feel dirty, buying such a luxurious flat in such a well-established complex. Some called it a penthouse, but no, that was two floors up. Alas, he did have a pleasant view of… the city. Okay, maybe not that, but at least he could go for a walk to the nearest coffee shop… Okay, maybe he couldn’t have that human experience, either. 

To think that 34 years ago, he would be in the deep end, engaging in whatever post-show debauchery the band could muster up, and now he was here… A 59-year-old man unable to escape the 25-year-old boy that hadn’t experienced the true meaning of heartbreak yet. He was free, seeing everything in bold, whilst now he lived in a precarious state push and pull.

Desperately wishing for the world to see him as Robert Plant the musician, as opposed to Percy of Led Zeppelin.

Oh. There it is… There lies the conflict—his conflict. If he was hell-bent on enjoying music in all forms, being who he was at heart, why on Earth was he sitting on the edge of his bed, curtains drawn, dwelling on the fact that he wasn’t, in fact, Percy anymore?

Nobody told him the truth. Nobody told him when he was wrong, how he could improve himself. With the odd exception, there wasn’t a single person he came across in his ventures of life, who didn’t automatically compare him to, what he considered, that peacock prick of the 70s.

However, be that as it may, the audacity of Percy still ran rampant through Robert’s veins. If there was one thing age taught him, it was to grab life by the horns, come hell or come victory.

In his self-pity, still slightly buzzed from the bit of alcohol he’d already ingested that night, he took the leap in finding that familiar contact name in his phone, holding it to his ear as the dial tone held his breath with its frequencies.

Her phone rang just as she was about to take her first sip of wine, idly wandering in the kitchen of her sleekly designed flat. Half expecting it to be another call from the supervisor, she answered with an exasperated “Hello?,” bypassing the sensical act of glancing at the caller ID.

“Cherry…” he rasped, the name tasting bittersweet on his tongue.

Stiffening her posture, her previously tired eyes had blown open at the voice on the other end, as clear and crisp as it was in person. “Robert?”

“Cherry,” he repeated the silly nickname he’d given her a decade prior.

“Uh…” Delicately setting her wine glass back on the counter, she leaned against it, quizzically dropping her eyes to the floor. “This is unexpected…” She heard a gruff sigh, followed by some movement, coming from his end.

“I’m sorry…” he apologised, running a hand over his face as he stared out of his bedroom window. His phone felt heavy in his hand, bearing the weight of his audacity. Audacity he knew he should have kept at bay. “I guess age makes ya more of an arsehole…” he mumbled.

“Age? What are you talking about? Are you alright?”

“I’m as alright as an old man can be…”

“Your crypticism isn’t helping you seem less like an arsehole, if that’s what you’re concerned about.” Rolling her eyes, she moved to grab her wine again, making her way over to the sofa.

A lengthy pause followed. There’s a reason they describe silence as deafening. It irritated her to no end; she was able to take two whole sips of her wine during the time he left her in this ominous limbo.

“Why are you calling me?” she finally asked through a sigh, perching herself on the arm of her sofa, swirling the fragile liquid in her glass.

“Just… wanted to talk.” His words were unconvincing. Like a stroppy teenager insisting they want the beef stew bubbling on the stove, all whilst eyeing the takeaway menu on the fridge. She could read him, even through the phone. Plenty of practice by now.

“Well, so far it’s just been me talking…” She waited for an answer, even checking her phone to see that they were still connected. “Are you gonna tell me what’s up?”

“Nothing’s up…”

“Okay, and I’m currently in Russia,” she responded dryly.

“Are you?”

“Seriously, Robert?” she huffed, scrunching her eyebrows up at his atypical ignorance. “Look, if you’re not going to tell me why you really called me, I’ll just hang up, I’ve got zero patience for this right now.”

Yes, that’s it… Tell me I’m wrong. Give it to me straight. A satisfied smile tugged at his lips as he dropped his head in relief.

“Please tell me what’s wrong…” Her voice softened, almost mimicking a beg.

He chewed his lip, glancing at the clock on his bedside table. Was he really this pathetic that he needed a woman to come over and make this already stressful evening a little less gruelling? Well, yes, he was. To him, at least.

“Do you, uh… think you’d be able to come over?” His voice faltered.

Pausing mid-sip, she double checked that she was hearing things right. That her ears weren’t playing tricks on her. It wouldn’t be that outlandish to suggest auditory hallucinations at this point; it was bizarre enough that he was calling her in the first place. “You want me to come over? As in… to you? Right now?”

“Please…”

The silence that followed was thick with anticipation, punctuated only by the distant hum of traffic outside Robert’s window. He held his breath, waiting anxiously for her reply, acutely aware that he was asking a lot.

Finally, she broke the silence with a soft exhale, her voice tinged in a subtle mixture of disbelief and curiosity. “I guess I could… Why do you want me to come?”

Robert’s mind raced, searching for the right words to explain the tumult of emotions swirling within him. “I… I just need somebody,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Someone who won’t sugar coat things… Someone who knows me.”

She felt her heart stumble at his vulnerability, how fragile his voice sounded on the other end of the phone. Despite the fact that their interactions had become sparse over the last year, she couldn’t ignore the connection that still lingered between them, forged in the crucible of the years they’d spent in each other’s company.

Without another word, she made a decision, fuelled by compassion: rarely felt, but cherished when present. “Alright,” she said softly, her resolve firm. “I’ll come over. But you have to promise me something…”

A spark of hope ignited within Robert’s chest as he listened intently, hanging on her every word.

“...You have to tell me what’s bothering you. And don’t try and downplay it, either. Deal?”

A wave of relief washed over Robert as he nodded, a sense of gratitude playing eagerly at his heart. “Deal,” he agreed.

That leads them to the present, sat across from one another in his living room. Neither of them knew how the night would end, but all Robert knew was that he appreciated her willingness to come over at all.

“I thought you might have been out,” she speculated, accepting a glass of wine as a gallant replacement of the one she had to pour down the sink at home. Robert immediately shook his head, resting into the sofa with a hand rubbing around his bristly beard, unknowingly complimenting his fine wine allure. “Didn’t fancy another rodeo, huh?” she wittingly asked.

“I should imagine Jonesy’s all cosied up with Mo by now. Don’t know if I can say the same about Jimmy, though,” he huffed through a rueful laugh.

Biting her lip, she smirked to herself at his implication that Jimmy hadn’t lost his wild streak. “Well, I think it would be rather bizarre if Jimmy was with John’s wife right now, don’t you?” Injecting a bit of light into the atmosphere with her jesting tone, her smile grew with Robert’s in response.

Robert’s gaze lingered on her, from the light dimples on her cheeks, to the lips he would kill for. Though, now, they remained painted with a more natural tone as opposed to the deep cherry tint he associated with her. So beautiful.

She had to admit, upon noticing his wandering eyes, a familiar flicker kindled in her stomach, taking her back to the moment he first surveyed her from afar, all those years ago. “So…” she breathed, angling forward with her elbow resting into the cushiony surface of the chair arm, adjacent to the matching sofa Robert had relaxed on. Nestling her chin into her hand, she studied him. “What’s going on?”

Smile falling slightly, Robert cleared his throat and took a sip from his wine. It was discernible how desperately he was clambering to find the words, thoughts racing a millions miles a minute.

“Robert, I can’t help you if you don’t tell m–”

“Do you think I’ve lost my looks?”

Now, she wasn’t expecting that one. 

Anyone who took one transient careen at him instantly concluded that Robert Plant knew of his appeal. So aware of his allure, it bordered on arrogance. He always played the game, no questions asked.

She let out an unintentional scoff, amused by his inquiry. Surely, he wasn’t serious. However, upon leering into his eyes a moment longer, she quickly realised he was being anything but frivolous.

Through a fated smirk, she asked him, “Is that really what you’re so upset about right now?”

He winced, huffing as he shifted on the sofa. “Not really. Well–yes, but no…”

“My God, men are so indecisive.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” he shot back with a boyish grin.

“Stop,” she pointed her finger at him. “Stop being so charming and funny, it doesn’t work on me.”

“Are you sure about that, darlin’?”

“You’re diverting.”

“So are you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not the one who called after not bothering for months on end, am I?” And…there it is. 

He knew this was going to come up at some point, and he was inclined to agree with the vexation it bestowed upon her. As he kept his eyes firmly locked on hers, he saw as clear as day the betrayal that encompassed her. Perhaps a strong word for their situation, but the hurt in her eyes spoke of nothing less.

“Cherry… I’m sor—“

“That seems to be the only word you know lately, Robert,” she interrupted him coolly. “Y’know, I came over because you sounded upset, and believe it or not, I still care about you.” She rose from the seat, making steady back and forth paces across his flat. “God knows why I care about you, but I do.”

Robert parted his lips to speak, but she kept going.

“Do you know how happy I was when I got your text the other month?” she asked, turning to look at him. “Even if it was just to say happy birthday.” She shrugged. “Maybe some tiny little part of me wished that you’d have kept in touch, but then I came to my senses and realised that you’re Robert fucking Plant!” She chuckled airily, running her hand through her hair.

His gaze fell to the floor, pondering her words like a bout of bad news. With a swallow, he slowly responded. “And why is Robert Plant so different?” Her scoff brought his eyes back to hers.

Then, almost as if it pained her to utter the words, a stern gleam in those big brown eyes, she answered with the truth. The whole truth. Nothing but the truth.

“…Because nobody comes close… to being like you.”

Compliments. More compliments. He shook his head with an exasperated resolve.

“No, don’t shake your head, when you know it’s the truth.” Taking a deep breath, she stepped a little closer to him, staring him down like a predator cornering its prey. “So I’m gonna ask you again…” she uttered, “What’s wrong?”

“I told you—“

“You asked me if I thought you’d lost your looks, you told me nothi—“

“I’m old!” He finally snapped, voice uncharacteristically raising. Distressed. Vulnerable. He shot up from the sofa, peering down at her with hesitant eyes. “All those people who came to see me tonight,” he pointed in the direction of the window, “They wanted to see that bare-chested young lad strutting around the stage and wailing like a newborn fuckin’ lamb!”

Robert breathed out heavily. It was his turn to start pacing, everything that had built up all evening practically spilling out of him like nickels from a glass bottle.

“Ya know, I’ve tried for the past 25 years to not be that anymore, to get as far away as I possibly could from all the bollocks, but tonight was a real fuckin’ grim reminder that all anyone ever cares about is my name!”

She’d never seen him this irate. He had his moments, irritable and unsatisfied with certain situations and people around him, but never failed to remain calm and respectful at all costs. The man she watched bounce back and forth in the dim light of his very un-Robert-esq home was the personification of a life lived to the fullest, only to reach a point in which there seemed very little left.

“Robert, I—“

“I realise I’m a massive fuckin’ hypocrite, by the way—being upset about people always expecting the young, virile Robert Plant, but also wishing I could have been that tonight.” Spinning on his heel to make another lap of the room, he was halted when she stepped in front of him, hands coming up to hold onto his arms. “Does any of that make sense, Cherry? Or am I going bonkers?” he asked with a hushed tone.

Sighing, she looked over his attire. Silky shirt with some sensible black slacks, encasing a body that displayed his advancing age. The lines on his face spoke of an earthy wisdom and a lifetime of laughter. Hair, previously a vivacious blonde, now faultlessly whisked with an ashy tint. His stomach was no longer landscaped, and one could no longer catch the intensity of his muscular build.

No, he wasn’t what the world instantly pictured when faced with his name. But he was still, without a doubt, the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

“Robert…” she breathed, bringing a hand up to gently trace the pads of her fingers over his beard, along his jaw, before stopping to place her hand flat against the side of his face. “My sweet, darling Robert… You have no idea, do you?” Dropping her voice to a whisper, she took in the edges of his features, how the blue in his eyes still shone brighter than any star in the sky.

The warmth of her hand against his skin made him weak. His eyes hooded, and he found himself instinctively resting into her touch. “About what?” he replied, matching her tone. His hand wrapped around her wrist, keeping her near.

Endearing was the word that sprung to mind. He was so endearing at that moment. So naively heedless. She couldn’t help but smile, as if a whole new light was gleaming down on him. Layers she had never been able to peel away were now crumbling at the lightest touch.

“How perfect you are…”

“I’m far from perfect.”

“Maybe not by the official definition,” she agreed. “But my definition… it’s all you, Robert.” 

Any anger she may have felt for his distancing himself, any iota of annoyance at his unintentional ignorance, was insignificant when compared to the kind of love she felt for this man. “I don’t care how old you are. I mean, you’re not even that old,” she chuckled. “I don’t care that you’re not… Percy, or however you want to describe yourself back then.”

Robert’s eyes shut as he gently rested his forehead against hers, hands lowering to grip onto her waist like he’d never get to again.

“I never knew you as that person, and I don’t want to. Because the man that’s been in my life for the past 10 years has given me more to live for than any arrogant little peacock could,” she grinned at her own wording, knowing she was using his own opinion of himself as ammunition. He picked up on it, a low chuckle rumbling in his throat.

“And let’s not forget,” she smirked, snaking her arms over his shoulders. “A lot of girls have a preference for older men, Robert, and as far as I’m concerned, you’re the ideal. Plus, we don’t call you Daddy for no reason…” she giggled.

Even through his subdued demeanour, a tint of light pink coloured his cheeks; he hid it by dropping his head to her shoulder, tilting to take in her scent. “I don’t care about a lot of girls right now…” His words were muffled, but the way his lips gently tickled the side of her neck spoke for him.

“Robert?”

He lifted his head to look down at her. “Hm?”

“You’re beautiful,” she told him firmly. “Okay? I don’t ever want to hear you saying otherwise, because it’s bollocks. Pure bollocks. Alright?” 

Okay, well maybe one person tells me the truth…

With a smile, he bit his lip and nodded, willing to take any word that fell from her perfect lips as gospel.

“Good.”

“Can I kiss you now, or am I still in troub–”

She cut him off with a heady kiss, hand holding the back of his head and fingers gripping at his corkscrew locks. A sigh of relief fell from him as he mirrored the passion, wrapping his arm around her shoulders to cradle her, encompassing her in his hold. His own fingers made a venture, delicately threading through her thick hair.

Eventually, he found himself backing her in the direction of his bedroom, willing footsteps following his lead. She didn’t even have to give herself to him. All she needed to do to keep his mind at bay, stop the intrusive thoughts from swirling in the recesses of his rapid mind, was be there.

But his Cherry was always insatiable, no matter the situation she found herself in. Like his own, her libido intensified in her 30s, and he deemed himself lucky to be on the receiving end of such licentious longing.

“I’m not gonna lie to you,” she hummed as Robert trailed his kisses along her cheek, eventually stopping at her neck. “When I got home from work, I wasn’t expecting anything like this to be happening tonight.” His bristly facial hair was tough against her skin, but provided a stimulating tingle nonetheless.

Chuckling, he nipped at her neck and guided her further backwards until she had no choice but to let her weight fall onto the bed, his following suit. His face hovered closely over hers, taking in her features. Admiring. Silently worshipping. She was everything.

“What?” she whispered up at him, stroking her thumb over his cheek.

Shaking his head, a small smile appeared on his lips. “Nothing… Just happy you’re here. With me.”

She huffed out a small laugh, placing a barely-there kiss to the tip of his nose, before nudging him to lay down so she could settle on top of him, legs trapping him under her. Using her hand flat on the bed beside his head, she propped herself up as she lingered over him. His hands were urgent as they gripped onto her hips, needily pressing his fingers against her curves. God, he wanted her so bad… It was next to impossible to be in the same room as her and not experience the familiar twitch below. That bloody blazer… She made every article of clothing look perfect, and she looked perfect wearing them.

Clocking his distracted gaze with a smirk, she smoothly brushed stray curls from his face. “What do you want, Robert?” she whispered, watching the way his eyes dilated and flickered through a mirage of emotions. “Tell me…” she encouraged, her lower lip slipping between her teeth in anticipation of his answer—an answer she was certain she could predict.

He sighed heavily, tilting his head to the side. “I don’t want you to think it’s all I called you over for, darlin’...”

She responded with a sweet smile and an airy laugh, shaking her head. “Hmm, no…” she mumbled, glancing down at his lips. “You told me why you called me over…” Lowering her face to his, their lips narrowly skimmed over one another. 

“Now, I need you to tell me why you want me to stay…” Her voice had dropped to a sultry whisper, accompanied with a bold shift of her hips.

Jaw clenching, his grip on her tightened, goading her to keep up with her movements, to which she complied. “You really want to know, luv?” he gruffly asked.

“Dying to know…” she replied through a breathy sigh and a subtle smirk.

It seemed a mere millisecond had passed before one of his hands came up to hold onto the back of her head, pulling her down so he could speak directly into her ear.

“I want to feel you again,” he began, inching his other hand steadily from her hip in the direction of her backside. Guiding the paced movements she was still conducting. “Want to feel you forever,” he continued, words muffled against her.

By now, the strength keeping her propped up had waned and she found herself collapsing against him, once again completely wrapped up in his embrace, adhering to his ministrations, playing into his hands.

“I miss the way you wrap around me, baby,” he kept talking, barely realising each syllable sparked flutters between her legs. “And how sweet you taste…” Maybe he’d forgotten how much she enjoyed his voice in these intimate moments, but as she continued the rolling motion of her hips, the friction against her heightening arousal dragged a choked moan from her throat.

“Oh, ya like the sound of that, do you?” he provoked, his hand now holding onto her rear, but no longer guiding her; she was doing that all on her own. Taking her face in both of his hands, he brought her back up to face him. The familiar flush on her face, hooded eyes, the way her lips had parted and gentle gasps had fallen… “You like me talkin’ like that, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” she breathed with a wanton nod. “Please…”

“Please, what, darlin’?”

“I-I need you…”

“You need me to do what?” His fingers began a steady journey over her chest, down to her stomach, where he inched his hand under the thin material of her blouse. Skin to skin. Fuck…

She whined, gripping onto his shirt, a furrow in her brow. “You know what I want, Robert…”

“Hmm, not sure I do–”

“I will leave if you keep playing with me.” As much as she wanted her threat to sound genuine, stern, her body was completely ablaze, and there was no way it sounded any stronger than a desperate plea.

Robert smirked at her, sneakily managing to slip his hand further down, until it was snuggly hidden within her trousers, her arousal prominent against the soft lace of her underwear. She gasped as he applied pressure, grounding her hips involuntarily.

“Somethin’ tells me yer not going anywhere, luv.”

Smug prick… Always so fucking charming…

Her eyes fluttered shut as he released the pressure against her underwear, but instantly reapplied it.

“I can already feel how badly you need me, sweetheart,” he casually commented, loving the way he could break her down. Just with a mere touch. “You just have to tell me… then I can give you everything you need and more…”

“My God, just fuck me already…” she murmured, craving more than a simple touch over a layer of clothing. Robert responded with a throaty chuckle, beaming at her as he removed his hand from her trousers and swiftly pulled himself up into a seated position, her legs immediately wrapping around him to stop herself from falling back.

With a challenging glint in his eye, he leaned forward, arms encircled securely around her as she dangled from his lap off the side of the bed. Her hands were holding onto his shoulders, giving him a warning glare.

“Now, now, don’t give me that look…” he chided, lowering his gaze down to her attire. “You look gorgeous in this blazer, but I think it needs to come off now.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” She obediently shrugged the heavy fabric from her shoulders, trusting that Robert wouldn’t drop her in the process. It fell to the floor, landing in a crumple—she’d surely chastise herself when the time came to put it back on, but at that moment, she couldn’t have cared any less.

A sharp squeal exited her mouth as Robert suddenly stood up, swung around and dropped her on the bed. He gave her a cheeky smirk, before lifting her legs to perch on his shoulders. Turning his head, he delicately worked the buckle on her heel loose.

“I like these shoes,” he nonchalantly complimented as he pulled it off her foot, dropping it down the side of the bed, before he repeated the action on the other. He pressed a kiss to her ankle and lowered his hands to unbutton her trousers, tugging at them when she lifted her hips. 

There she was, laid over his bed, in nothing but a white, gossamer blouse and the contrasting underwear in a characteristic black lace.

“Y’know…” Sighing, he crawled over her, allowing her to slowly pop open the buttons of his shirt when he got close enough. “I’ve always wondered—with you in particular—how I managed to get so lucky.” He ran his hands up and down her bare thighs, savouring the smooth skin under his fingertips.

She didn’t necessarily answer him, only sent him a playful eye roll before pushing the intricate silk from his shoulders, where it was then tossed to the side to join her trousers on the floor.

Robert displayed no sign of hesitancy in his shirtless glory; he looked like a transcendental entity—a god of his own likeness. So deserving of everything good, yet the creator of the very same thing. 

Her wandering eyes flooded with lust. She cursed the inability to squeeze her thighs together at the sight, at the situation. But before she could mourn the friction, he was down there in its place, as though he saw right through her longing. The soft fabric of her blouse became too constricting as her heart hammered away at the image of Robert knelt down on the floor with his upper body slotted between her legs, so she unbuttoned the garment, the air around them hitting her skin in a stark revelation.

“I told you I missed how you tasted,” he mumbled against her thigh as he peppered small kisses along the flesh, inching closer to her aching core, but bypassing it to replicate the motions on the other leg. His beard added a bout of sensation, hips rolling upwards in her thinned patience.

When he pressed his mouth against her clothed centre, she exhaled deeply, the simple touch sending sparks all throughout her body. Robert hummed against her as he caught her scent, mouth aching to taste what laid beneath the flimsy material. Soon enough, his own stoicism scattered—he had to have her against his tongue, now.

With a hungry resolve, he pulled the lace down her legs and pushed her open, the sight stirring his fervour below. He glanced up at his Cherry, deftly tracing his thumb over her already teary folds. She had her head settled against the soft sheets, managing her breathing in preparation for the delicious sensations that were to come. My perfect girl… Robert leered proudly, looking back down at the view.

He gently spread her open, her bijou pearl enticing and ready for the taking. Pink, glistening… 

“So pretty…” he murmured to himself, taking an experimental lick just below the sensitive nub, eliciting a small flinch from the goddess laid in front of him. He licked his lips, relishing his appetiser. Next, he flattened his tongue against her entrance, collecting her arousal, and dragging upwards until he gave her the contact she so desperately needed.

By the time he attached his lips to her clit, she was already pining, throbbing. A small cry fell from her lips as he performed a suction motion, tongue swirling around her in lazy circles. She was trapped in his hold as he wrapped his arms around her legs, keeping her open and completely at his mercy.

Robert proved, with the sublime movements he bestowed upon her, that old men do, in fact, do it better.

With a grunt, he pulled his head back long enough to lewdly spit, mixing their fluids together in a union of lust. Her pants were a pleasant breeze to his ears, and her writhing form was his reward.

“That feel good, darlin’?” She nodded her head, one of her legs pulling him closer to her. “Look at me.” With a whimper, she lifted her head with the strength she could muster to meet his stormy eyes—eyes punctuated by grooves of sagacity. “Yer still my good girl,” he praised with a knowing smile, the wisps on his lower face shimmering with her juices. “Aren’t you?” She nodded again, practically unable to speak through her yearning. “Words, luv.”

“Yes… I’m still your good girl,” she shakily succeeded, swallowing thickly.

“Yeah, you are…” he whispered, pressing a brief kiss to her core. “Still Daddy’s good girl…”

She furrowed her eyebrows at the name she hadn’t heard in so long. The name she hadn’t even uttered to anyone else since the last time she found herself in this position with Robert. 

An untamable animal under a gentle predator with an even stronger desire to tame.

“I’m gonna make this pretty little cunt cum now, darlin’,” he hummed, “You just lay back and enjoy every second…” He eased her back down with a hand on her stomach, before lowering his head and resuming with his erotic assault.

An elongated moan expelled from her body as Robert seemed to return with a vengeance, tongue rapid against her pulsating, swollen clit, edging her—driving her—towards a much craved release.

Once he slipped a finger inside, stroking upwards in tandem with his tongue, she was done for. Her moans turned to cries, her whimpers turned to whines, and his name flew from her lips at a rocketing pace. 

Hips gyrating, back arching, she was in ecstasy.

Gripping tightly onto the bed sheet beside her head, her legs tightened over his shoulders, drawing him closer than ever.

Another finger.

More suction.

Closer.

And closer…

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum—don’t stop,” she gasped.

He didn’t.

What followed was nothing short of an otherworldly climax, tensing all over, gripping his fingers and pulsating into his mouth. Her hand shot to his hair, grabbing at the ash-blonde curls as he growled in validation, drinking in her release with the vigour of a water-starved cheetah.

She rode her orgasm out, body shaking and twitching as his comedown kisses hit sensitively against her. Eventually, he ceased his motions, snaking up her body, marking her on his journey. Each searing kiss to her flushed skin accompanied an indentation of his teeth. When he got to her chest, he dragged his lips between her breasts, up her neck, and finally punctuated with a heated kiss to her lips. 

Her remaining clothes were quickly shed, as was his, as they fell deeper into their salacious reunion. Inching up the bed in the scorch of their connection. Both eager, desperate, urgent. It didn’t even feel real when he eventually eased his cock between her legs, filling her up with a steady thrust of his hips.

Robert never seemed to pull back from her; only stayed as close as possible, absorbing her every reaction, even the most miniscule, the most subtle… He noticed everything.

The pace he set. The small tightening of her limbs wrapped around him. The rhythm of her breathing. And, of course, the ripples and twitches and flutters from her welcoming cunt. She took all of him so well—she always did. 

How he’d gone so long without her was a mystery. A foolish decision on his part, for he never felt more alive than when in her presence.

Hooking his arm underneath one leg, her body titled, cock kissing the hilt of her walls with every passion-filled jive. Her moans were melodic at least, with no limitations in their effect on Robert’s reverie. Fingernails raked over his back. Noses brushed against one another. Eyes fought to stay adhered. It was the copulation of a lifetime; even the first night they spent together sat miles from this.

“Cherry…” he groaned, evidently darkened chest hair grazing along her bare skin.

“No…” she managed to choke out, shaking her head. “D… Don’t call me that…”

Even more than her words, her eyes begged him to drop the silly nickname; it scarcely matched the moment, and gave their kinship too superficial a meaning.

With a smile of admiration, he pressed his lips to hers, free hand raking through her hair as his thrusts gained a jolting flair, building them up. Closer, and closer…

“Grace,” he finally whispered against her lips. “Grace, Grace, Grace…” he breathed, dropping his head to her neck.

Her name was exemplary on his lips. He practically chanted it the more he drove into her, knowing he was bringing them both closer by the second.

A lifetime could have passed, and neither one of them would have noticed. Completely, utterly, wrapped up in their mutual admiration for each other. Nothing else mattered. Their jobs, and all the emotions that came with them, were peripheral. Faded into the background. All that remained were the two of them.

Robert and Grace.

“R-Robert…” she panted, lips brushing against his shoulder. “God… fuck, I’m close…”

“Yeah?” he mumbled against her neck, his nipping quickly turning into biting, sucking, claiming.

“Mhm,” she nodded with a whimper, lifting her hips to meet his eager thrusts.

“That’s it, baby…” he approved, ensuring to match their rhythms. His breathing waned in its regularity, a heat rolled over his entire body. Just need to feel her…  “Cum for me, Grace, please… can’t hold it any longer—fuck, you feel so good.”

It took mere minutes after Robert moved to press his forehead against hers, staring her down, for her to finally succumb to his behemoth gifts. She held onto the side of his face, nails digging into his shoulder painfully as she clung to him.

Ears buzzing. Eyes blurring. Head thumping with the beat of her heart. The way she gripped around him, paired with the breathtaking expression of her face as she reached her zenith, was almost too much for him to handle.

“Fucking hell…” he groaned, taking in her responsive form as validation of his abilities. During her descent, he spilled into her, restrain seeming like a fargone possibility. He gyrated, growled, and ensured to empty himself completely inside of her.

Their bodies were tacky, hot, flustered, trembling, as they laid there, entangled in each other’s limbs. Her eyes fluttered open, focusing on the overhead lights in his room that were yet to be switched on since his return home. Having him in her arms, in his bed, was a long-awaited scenario she never thought would come to fruition.

But it had.

Eventually, he rolled over, bringing her into his protective hold. Somewhere, lingering in the back of his mind, he feared she wouldn’t be here come sunrise. That she’d realise she was making a mistake, take one look at him upon waking up, and disappear as quickly as possible. The grip he had on her was his way of keeping her there, with him, for as long as he could.

Though, it just wasn’t enough to ease his mind…

“Grace…” he called out slowly, his voice practically shot.

“Yeah?” She looked up at him, head resting on his chest.

“Can you stay?”

What a question to ask… She raised an eyebrow, looking into his eyes. The uncertainty baffled her. How he thought she might leave was an enigma to her.

“I wasn’t planning on leaving,” she assured him with a whisper.

He responded with a sigh of relief, and a kiss to her hair, before shifting the two of them further up the bed so they could comfortably bury themselves under his sheets.

There was no second guessing herself as she wrapped her arms around him, his back pressing against her chest. She held him close, smiling to herself when he found her hand, lacing their fingers together in such an affectionate position.

They laid there, lit by only the city lights that spilled through the edges of his curtains, for a few more minutes. Listening to the beating of each other’s hearts, and the steady rhythm of each other’s breathing.

“Will you stay for breakfast?”

Grace opened her eyes, giggling softly. “Yes, Robert. I’ll stay as long as you want me to.”

Oh, darling… that would be forever.

[animasolaoriginal]

(8) I n n o c e n c e L o s t

He finds her in a brothel of all places. A chance encounter, but one that will change his life – and hers – forever. – or: A story about a cowboy who falls in love with a prostitute, who happens to be so much more than that.

GENERAL TAGS: NSFW! Explicit! Size difference, age gap, slow burn romance. Cowboys, outlaws, prostitutes. Historical inaccuracy. Horses, guns, violence.

Chapter 1▫️2▫️3▫️4▫️5▫️6▫️7▫️8▫️9▫️10▫️11▫️12▫️13 ...

Chapter 8: The Connection

m!OC x f!OC -- WORDS: 5.7k -- READ ON AO3

when conflicts turn into cravings

Chapter 7 -- Chapter 9

8

There are two conflicting things inside Nebbia's head.

One is just: kiss. How he kissed her, that he wants to kiss her, his lips, his mouth, his tongue, the scratch and tickle of his beard. The breathless, warm sensation. Kiss.

The other is: father. And there's the conflict, because she doesn't know what to think about that. Doesn't know how a father should be. She still recognizes the problem: fathers shouldn't kiss their daughters. Right? Not like that! But then she also doubts he actually is her father. Just because they share a dimple? Is that enough?

But their connection is there, that tension between them, how easy it is to be around him, how safe she feels. Is that how a father should feel like, or is it just Ben? In his protective, caring way, the gentle giant, holding her so cautiously while also handling her like a doll, picking her up, carrying her around, moving her how he wants to. Is it just their size and age difference?

She doesn't need a parent, never has, never will. She needs him for something else. To be there, hold her, kiss her, do more things to her... Things a father shouldn't do.

But then: does it matter if he is or isn't? She told him it didn't, and honestly: they'll never know. There's no proof, just that little dimple. She's noticed it on his face before, only on the right cheek, just like hers, but she's never drawn the same conclusion he had. So he knew her mother, loved her mother, about twenty years ago, give or take some months (nine?), but is that enough as well?

If anything, it is just strange to think that he did those things to her mother that she wants him to do to her. Though, to be fair, at the end of the day, Keira was just another woman in his life (and she bets he's had many), just another body he can press his against.

The concept of mother and father is something she will never fully understand. Madam Claire hasn't been a mother figure, none of the other girls or women in the brothel have been, and Ben is not a father figure, despite his age and size and demeanor. He is just Ben. And she refuses to think of him as anything else. It won't change her feelings for him anyway.

Feelings. That's the warmth in her stomach when he touches her, the shivers on her spine when he leans closer and whispers into her ear, the little throb between her legs when he looks at her, with those dark but warm eyes, when she looks back into his rough, handsome face, searching for that little smile that so rarely grazes his features, that makes her heart flutter.

Right now, her heart is close to exploding. She feels like a rabbit cornered by a wolf – if the wolf had warm hands and strong arms, holding her protectively against himself. She inhales deeply but quickly, rough little gasps, more air in than out, trying to calm herself after whatever happened just now. (Kiss. Kiss. Kiss.)

Ben is warm beneath her, against her, around her. Her fingers stroke his thick dark hair (much darker than hers), messing it up even more. She slowly relaxes into the embrace, coming down from the unusually intense moment (just a kiss...). She's done so many other things with her mouth before, but this has felt special, like an explosion of some kind, on her lips, on her tongue, on every inch of skin that he has touched.

She moves her head and presses her forehead against his neck, taking another deep breath, inhaling him, while her hands smooth down the back of his head, until she puts them on his shoulders and leans back, meeting his gaze, shifting on his lap. His dark eyes are intense, black on one side, a deep glowing amber on the other where the sun hits his face. A soft smile (that smile!) curls his lips, and she can't help it, she smiles back, it's contagious.

His eyes shift to her cheek, but she ignores the sight on his, doesn't need to see that dimple. It doesn't matter. Instead she moves her hands up and puts her palms on his cheeks, rubbing over his beard. He watches her, patient and calm. She is tempted to move back in, kiss him again, kiss him for the rest of her life (if only she could live off just his kisses, what a wonderful world that would be!), but her own body betrays her as a loud rumble breaks through the quiet moment of just them, the birds and the hum of the forest around them. And Thunder snorting just a few feet away from where they're sitting on the small porch.

Ben smirks at her. “Hungry?” While she blushes, looking away with a groan, he moves one of his hands to her stomach, gently spreading his long fingers on it, giving it a soft press. “I'd say you could use some food, huh? Skinny little thing that you are.”

She huffs, wanting to pout, but his hand on her stomach feels too nice, so warm and comforting. Looking down at it, she puts her own hand on his, scoffing a laugh at how small hers is in comparison. She feels his warm breath on her forehead before he leans in and presses his lips to it.

“Come on, let's see what can we're opening today. I think I'm in the mood for some peaches,” he says with a chuckle, shifting beneath her. More than reluctantly, she grabs his shoulders and gets off his lap, then steps back and holds out her hands for him to grab.

“Need help, old man?” she teases with a smirk.

He throws her a dark glare, but the corner of his lips curls up into a smirk of his own. He grabs her hand, but instead of letting her pull him up, he pulls her back in, and suddenly his hands are on her waist as he flings her over his shoulder. She yelps in surprise, clawing at his back as her world is turned upside down. He gets to his feet, hurling her up with him, one hand on her rear, the other hooked around the back of her knee.

“Ben!” she screeches, her hair falling over her head, a sense of vertigo gripping her empty insides as she kicks her feet playfully.

He only laughs, a deep vibration through his body, and carries her back into the cabin.

The sun has moved far into the sky, casting barely any shadows as they sit on the small porch of the cabin and share a can of peaches. The air is thick, it's going to be another hot day it seems, and she realizes it must be peak summer. The few times she was allowed to leave the brothel to do laundry in the backyard, she hasn't noticed as much.

Now, sitting in the bright sunshine, wearing Ben's clothes, the cut-off jeans tied high around her waist, the black undershirt that's thin but still sticking to her sweat-slick body, and the shirt she's already discarded of and using as a blanket to sit on, are not ideal for this weather (though they are useful at night when the temperatures drop immensely). She wiggles her toes, glad to have at least a little bit of skin exposed.

“We'll ride into town today and get you some more clothes, okay? Some boots too,” Ben mutters past a bite of slippery peach before handing her the can.

She nods, fishing another piece of fruit out of the small container, her fingers wet and slick, and she barely manages to get the bite into her mouth. “Is it safe, though?” she asks, swallowing, wiping at her sticky mouth.

He huffs a grunt of confirmation. “We managed to put quite the distance in, should be safe enough. No one's behind us anyway, guess we slipped away before they could decide what to do.”

“Hmm,” she makes, eyeing the almost empty can. “Last piece, do you want it?” she asks, holding it on her palm.

“Nah, you eat it, you need it to get bigger,” he teases with a wink.

Nebbia scoffs. “But I'm already full, you're probably still hungry, hm? I bet that giant body of yours needs it more,” she teases right back.

He watches her for a moment, a strange glint in his dark eyes. Slowly he leans in, closes his long fingers around her hand and holds it still while he grabs the last piece of peach between the forefinger and thumb of his other hand. “Open up, missy,” he grunts, smirking at her.

She tilts her head, unable to keep the grin down. When he leans even closer, she opens her mouth, tongue out, flat and wide, and waits with her heart beating faster. He puts his fingers to her mouth, the sweet, slippery fruit touching her tongue, and she tastes it and him, feels the warmth of his fingers against her lips – and she can't help but close them around his fingertips. It's almost an instinct.

His gaze darkens, his jaw clenches, and while she gives his fingers the slightest hint of a suck, pulling them slightly deeper, he groans, removes his fingers and replaces them with his mouth as he captures hers for a deep, searing kiss that causes her to gasp in surprise. His hand grips the back of her neck as he pulls her towards him, quickly slipping his tongue between her lips, licking around the inside of her mouth, and she tastes the peach on her tongue and him, more of him, and before she knows it, he leans back again, swallowing audibly.

She realizes he's stolen the fruit right out of her mouth. A deep blush creeps up her cheeks as she watches him lick his lips, giving her a wide smile. “Guess you were right, I was still hungry after all,” he says and winks at her. He grabs the can from her hand and drinks the last bit of liquid in it, then puts it to the ground and stands up.

As he walks past her to prepare for their departure, his hand ruffles her hair while she looks after him with her lips still parted. That man...

“Show me your hand,” he requests after he drops the bags next to her a few minutes later, crouching down with a stern look on his face. She frowns, shifts on her knees and extends her hand, having already forgotten about the cut she's gotten from climbing through a broken window in the middle of the night. It feels so long ago, it's only been half a day.

He takes her small hand into his larger one, turns her palm up, moves his thumb gently over the bandage. It sticks to the wound, and the fabric has darkened a little. She watches him remove it carefully, trying not to wince, and he keeps his eyes on her when she can't control her reactions. Her heart races, and it's not the slight pain of the cut, but the intimate gesture that makes her stomach churn.

She's still trying to make sense of all these emotions whirling through her, the conflicting ones as much as the overwhelming ones, the ones that make her yearn for more. He's just tending to her wound, cleaning it with cautious dabs of a cloth soaked in alcohol, then wraps a new strip of bandage around her palm, his long fingers working with confidence and ease, while she has to force herself not to shiver whenever there's skin to skin contact.

There's a faint taste of copper on her tongue when she realizes she's bitten her lip hard enough to draw blood. Being done with her hand, Ben looks at her, then raises his own to wipe his thumb over her bottom lip, his dark eyes wandering over her mouth before they move higher. She meets his gaze, her heart fluttering, stomach tense and warm, and that obnoxious throb somewhere lower makes it hard to breathe.

“We should go,” he then says, quiet, a low hum in the air between them.

She swallows, nods, licks her lips – and his thumb by accident because she's too focused on his face than to notice his hand still holding her chin. A smirk plays around the corner of his mouth, and before she knows it, he's leaned in and gives her a short but sweet little press of his lips to hers, not even a proper kiss, just a brushing, and it's enough to make her cheeks warm up even more.

“Come on,” his voice wafts to her ears, and he stands up and grabs her elbow to pull her onto her feet.

She's back on top of the giant horse, sitting sideways in Ben's lap, gripping the horn of the saddle tightly, his arms around her as he guides Thunder through the thicket of the forest. The vertigo of being so high up is still there, but as it's midday, and when they finally leave the forest, she can at least focus on the horizon, vehemently trying to ignore the ground so far below her.

He's asked her to put her long hair up into a messy bun, and he's secured it with one of those black bandanas that are tied around one of the saddle's straps. Conveniently placed should he ever need to hide his face while on the back of the large animal. With everything happening she has barely had time to think about the Wanted posters he's shown her. About his past.

Robbery. Theft. Murder. Being an outlaw, wanted by the law. Just like her mother.

She turns her head slightly and looks up at him. He looks different in the daytime. Messy dark hair shimmering black and brown and auburn in the sunlight, locks moving with every up and down of the horse, his brown eyes are glowing, warm and inviting, his skin weathered and tan, the darkness of his beard not as full as at night, almost a little patchy, sprinkled with the hint of lighter hairs in between, trimmed but also a little messy in spots, thicker above his lip and around his chin. Rough looking, but she knows by now that she likes the tickle of it on her sensitive skin.

“Do I have something on my face?” he suddenly asks, lips (oh the shape of his lips) curling up into a smile, stretching his beard over his cheeks, exposing the dimple.

“Uh,” she stammers, clearing her throat, feeling a deep warmth creeping up her neck. “Yeah, a lot of hair, actually,” she tells him and sticks her tongue out playfully.

His laugh resonates through his body, moving into hers. He tightens his arm around her waist and pulls her closer, holding her securely in his embrace while he leans down a little, and before she can pull her tongue back fully, he's captured her mouth, giving her tongue a gentle suck, then kisses her softly (a sudden explosion behind her eyelids, sweet tingles on her skin, a somewhat familiar heat rushing into her stomach) before he leans back up again, licking his lips.

“Cheeky little thing,” he rumbles, and she blushes even more, giggling quietly. His eyes focus back ahead as Thunder trots along a path through a wide field, the forest long behind them. But she doesn't really pay attention to her surroundings, she's still looking at Ben. “Anything else I can help you with?” he whispers without looking at her.

She coughs slightly and looks away. “Is it really safe?” she then asks quietly, turning back, trying to see their destination in the distance. “Going to town?”

“It is,” he says confidently. “Nobody knows us there. Don't worry.”

“Are you sure?”

“I doubt anyone will recognize you looking like this,” he replies, shifting the reins into the hand around her waist to raise the other to pat the messy bun on top of her head. “And to be fair, I look like every other man of the West, or the wild. And,” he adds, leaning a little closer, his rough cheek scraping against her soft skin, “we're just going shopping, sweetheart, nothing to be worried about. Most shop keepers are very discreet...”

“And you're not gonna rob them?” she asks bluntly, turning her head back to look at him out of the corner of her eye.

He laughs, nosing her cheek before leaning back. “No promises,” he says with a wink.

“Ben!” she calls out in a mixture of shock and playful indignation.

“No robberies today,” he sighs, his hand moving down to grip her nape gently. “If you insist...”

His touch sends shivers through her body. For a moment he leaves his hand there, long fingers curling around her neck, teasing at her throat. She swallows hard against them. Eventually he slides it down along her spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake, then it's back, resting on her thighs as he passes the reins into that hand again.

She's gotten quite used to Thunder's constant bumping motions, the up and down, the swaying. Somehow the giant horse moves rather smoothly over the flat terrain, his heavy hooves seemingly barely hitting the ground. What she's not gotten used to yet (or ever will) is how Ben's subtle touches make her feel now. They seem even more exhilarating, sending more shudders down her limbs, warming her from within, fueling the throbbing between her legs.

Now the combination of the horse's movements and Ben's touches is really not ideal. She inhales sharply and tries to focus on what lies ahead. Shopping.

The town is small, smaller than the one she's lived in her whole life (not that she's seen much of it, though), it's just a dirt road and a couple of old wooden buildings on one side and a vast open field on the other. A saloon, hotel, general store, a stable at the end. Not many people around, only two other horses parked outside the bar.

She's relieved. Ben guides Thunder towards the front of the general store and swiftly hoists himself off his back with a wide swing of his leg and a heavy thud when his boots land in the dirt. Without much hesitation, he grabs her waist and lifts her off as well, his touch strong and reassuring, but too short for her liking.

While Ben grabs the reins and wraps them around a pole near the steps leading to the porch up to the store, Nebbia readjusts the tight belt around her unusually high-waisted jeans (she still feels particularly small in his pants, the legs are too wide, the cut off edges fringing and tickling her feet, the form just doesn't fit, and frankly the rough fabric chafes a little between her legs with how high he's pulled them up). She's rolled up the sleeves of both the undershirt and the warmer plaid shirt, but it's not helping in the scorching heat of the sun.

So going shopping actually sounds pretty good right about now.

Ben holds out his hand to her, and she puts her smaller one onto his palm and smiles a little shyly, before he leads her into the general store. A little bell above the door announces them when they enter the rather dark room. Shelves line the walls, filled with various boxes and cans and other containers, and she wonders if she'll get clothes here after all.

“I'll be right with you!” calls a voice from somewhere in the back, and she realizes there must be more rooms. “Take a look at the catalog while you wait!”

Her confusion grows, but Ben leads her towards the counter and pulls a thick book towards himself, flips casually through the pages while squeezing her hand a little. She watches him, watches his long fingers moving the printed pages, how the veins and tendons on the back of his hand move under his tan skin. She's slightly distracted by the sight, imagining his hands elsewhere, and when he suddenly steps around her and places those hands on her shoulders, she gasps softly, turning her head to look up at him.

“Pick something,” he whispers softly, nodding towards the book in front of her.

She blinks, then looks back, noticing a section full of drawings of women in various clothes. Dresses, skirts, blouses, even pants and belts, shirts and vests. She flips through the pages, so many options, coats, jackets, shoes, even underwear. Bloomers, long and short and very short, chemises and nightgowns, corsets, various pieces of very revealing lingerie. She blushes at the drawings, biting her lip.

As if she hasn't worn most of those things herself before, has seen real women wearing them. It does feel like a very long time ago, even though it's been barely two days now, or less? It feels more, at least it's been a couple of very long nights, that she can say.

The clerk joins them on the other side of the counter and together they decide on quite the collection for her. She's highly embarrassed to discuss her clothing choices with two grown men, and is even more embarrassed when she realizes that Ben has to pay for all of this. But he doesn't hesitate one bit at the large sum at the end. He only smiles, his hand on her waist as they wait for the shop keeper to gather their purchases.

(“I can give you a better life,” he's said the night they have met. But considering how he lives, tucked away in the forest in a dilapidated house surrounded by tents and wagons, she's forgotten how wealthy he may be.)

“Does the young miss want to slip into an outfit right away?” the other man calls from the back, startling her slightly. She looks up at Ben, and he only nods, giving her a gentle nudge, but she grabs his wrist and shakes her head, pressing her lips together, the idea to be alone in a room with a strange man sending cold shivers down her spine, the bad kind.

He frowns, but then nods, his features darkening slightly. “Of course, forgive me, I'll come with you,” he says softly, grabs her hand and leads her into the backroom where the clerk stands in front of a wall of various garments and dresses and other clothing items organized on racks. There's a partition screen in one corner, some more boxes and shelves in the other.

“Well, what's it going to be?” the clerk asks with a friendly smile, and Nebbia feels almost bad that she's assumed he might harm her in any way. She looks at the clothes he's laid out for her, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Ben steps beside her then.

“Something comfortable should do, we have a long ride ahead of us,” he says, his voice low and particularly booming in the small room.

The other man nods and grabs the riding skirt they picked out, and one of the blouses, both in earthy tones, the skirt in a deep brown, the blouse in a soft beige with white stripes. She takes the clothes from him with a shy smile and turns towards the privacy screen, when she feels Ben's finger hooking around the back of her belt.

“This too,” he whispers, holding out a pair of medium long bloomers. Her eyes widen, but she grabs it quickly, then slips behind the screen, her cheeks bright red. She has no idea why she is so embarrassed, that man has seen her naked multiple times now, probably also knows how sore her bum is from riding in too big jeans for a night and a day. It's just strange to her that a man would care about her like this.

She quickly strips off the borrowed clothes and puts on the new ones. There's a floor length mirror leaning against the wall, and once she's done buttoning the blouse that feels so nice on her skin, she takes a cautious look. The riding skirt sits snug on her waist, accentuating the swell of her hips and following an almost A-shape downwards, and despite being called a skirt it's actually a two-legged pants-contraption, looking like a skirt. Should be useful for riding like a man, she thinks.

The blouse is quite form fitting, the fabric soft and cool on her skin, hugging the curves of her small breasts, the dip of her waist and the shape of her spine. The sleeves are rolled up but can be pulled down as well, for now she leaves them up, exposing her pale forearms. Watching herself, she tugs at the black bandana and frees the long waves of her hair, trying to smooth it with slightly shaking hands. But it's messy and quite unruly (maybe she should ask Ben for a brush or a comb), so she decides to braid it into a sloppy side braid instead, fixing the ends together with the bandana.

“Are you done?” she hears Ben's deep voice.

“Yes,” she replies and steps out from behind the partition screen. His dark eyes are on her immediately, wandering up and down, and she's still blushing.

He steps closer, one large hand finding her waist. “Beautiful,” he whispers, giving her a soft smile, before he blinks and looks down. “You need shoes.”

He turns back to the clerk watching them from the other side of the room, and while she still fights her rapidly beating heart, the men discuss shoe choices, and then Ben returns with a pair of black ankle boots and a pair of white frilly socks.

She gasps softly when he kneels down in front of her and grabs her ankle, she can barely put her hands on his shoulders for support. He lifts her foot slightly, one, then the other, and puts the socks on (long warm fingers sliding along her skin, squeezing her ankle), then the shoes, and when he's done, he straightens up again and nods at her, seemingly content with how she looks.

The shoes give her a few inches more to her height, but she still has to look up at the tall man who keeps smiling at her. A strange sight, but not unwelcome. Yet it does remind her of the dimple on his right cheek, much more visible now, and what it represents, supposedly.

“I have to say, I enjoy dressing you up,” he whispers with a wink, and she blushes yet another shade of red, if that is even possible. He grabs her hand and gently pulls her along, then accepts the large bag of clothes the clerk holds out for him.

“Wait!” she suddenly says, remembering something. He frowns at her, even more so when she slips out of his grip and quickly walks back to behind the screen. “Your clothes,” she says, grabbing the jeans, undershirt and plaid button-up from where she has discarded them. Fishing the switchblade he'd given her out of the pants pocket, she looks at it, then bends down quickly to secure it inside her sock, feeling it press against her ankle, like a reminder (to hopefully never having to use it).

“Oh, you don't need them anymore,” he tells her, then looks towards the shop keeper. “Can we leave those here?”

“No!” she says a little too loud, causing both men to stare at her. “I... I'd like to keep them...” They smell like you, she wants to add, but doesn't.

Ben watches her for a moment, then sighs and holds the open bag towards her. She smiles happily and puts his old clothes to the new clothes he's bought for her (another skirt, a sundress, more blouses, bloomers and a chemise). Then she grabs his arm and smiles up at him. His eyes are on her cheek before he meets hers.

It takes him a moment to move on, to break eye contact (weave through the unspoken words between them), but then he pulls her along, thanks the clerk and leaves the store with her.

Outside in the sun, the giant black horse snorts in greeting. “Look, Thunder, how generous Ben was,” she tells the animal and pats his large neck, then grabs a few sugar cubes from the pouch hanging off the horn and feeds them to him, while her eyes wander to the tall man who attaches the bag of clothes to the saddle, looking up at her words. She smiles at him. “Thank you,” she then adds quietly. “That really was generous, and maybe a little too much... but I'm grateful...”

He walks towards her, raising one hand to brush the back of his finger against her cheek. “Anytime, sweetheart,” he whispers, then leans down, his lips so close to hers, but then he drifts off and presses them to her other cheek. She hums, both in delight and disappointment.

Straightening back up, he watches her for a moment. “So, how do you wanna sit now, with your new attire?” he asks, cocking his head to the side as he leans casually against Thunder's big body.

“Is it really going to be a long ride?” she whispers softly, stepping closer to him, tilting her chin up to look at him.

“We'll ride the rest of the day, yes,” he replies, watching her closely.

“Then the... lady way, I guess, it is more comfortable,” she says, mindlessly playing with the stirrup strap in front of her while her eyes wander over his face. “Unless it's not for you?”

“Any way is fine with me, you barely weigh anything,” he muses with a smirk, one of his hands moving to her waist until he pokes her side, making her squirm and giggle.

She grabs his wrist, pouting up at him breathlessly. He only laughs, then properly grabs her waist and hoists her into the air effortlessly. She can't help the little shriek escaping her. Luckily the town is still pretty empty, though she suddenly notices a shadow in the window behind Ben. The owner of the general store is watching them, and she wonders why. But then she sits on Thunder's saddle, sideways like requested, and focuses back on the tall man now climbing up behind her.

He always makes it look so easy to get up the giant animal. Once he settles in the saddle, both boots in the stirrups, he grabs her again and adjusts her position, nudging her between his thighs with her legs dangling off to one side. His hand rests heavy on her knees, holding them comfortably, while the other snakes around her back and grabs the reins.

Thunder starts moving with a gentle nudge of Ben's spurs and a click of his tongue, slowly walking past the rest of the buildings. When they pass the saloon, the swinging doors fly open and a group of men emerges, laughing and arguing, loud voices in the quiet afternoon. Ben completely ignores them, but Nebbia throws them a curious gaze.

They're all wearing cowboy hats and boots, jeans and chaps, gun holsters, some even have two, crossed over their hips. She's seen the type before, most without their pants on (or at least their dicks out), and suddenly realizes something.

“Hey, why aren't you wearing a hat?” she asks quietly, looking back towards the other men.

He doesn't reply right away, causing her to look at him instead. She catches the clenching of his jaw, but when he notices her stare, he smirks at her. “Do I have to? Am I only a real cowboy with a hat on?”

“Well, I always assumed that's part of the outfit,” she laughs.

“Outfit?” Ben chuckles and shakes his head with an amused glint in his brown eyes. “Never tell a cowboy you think he's wearing an outfit. Being a cowboy is so much more, it's a job, it's a lifestyle, not just an outfit. And you know, I don't even think I am one.”

Outlaw. Thief. Murderer. The words come to her instantly, and she's ashamed they do. He's more than those words too.

“I'm just a man trying to find his place in the world,” he muses, squeezing her knee.

She watches him in silence for a moment, biting her lip. “So am I, I guess,” she whispers, and his eyes move down to hers. “Not a man, though, obviously,” she adds with an awkward little laugh. “But –”

His voice is a deep rumble when he asks: “Have you ever thought about what you'd like to do, where you'd like to be, if... well, if you weren't born in that brothel?” Destined to service men? she adds in her mind.

“No,” she replies without much thought. “I never thought I'd actually leave that place, to be honest...”

He tightens his arm around her slightly as he spurs Thunder on to walk faster. The horse falls into a steady trot, making them bounce a little on his back. She grabs Ben's arm for support. “Well, you're free now,” he tells her with a warm gaze. “Start thinking about it.”

A shy smile makes her lips twitch. “I will,” she whispers after a moment, nodding pensively. She turns her head back to look ahead, scooting closer to him, leaning against his chest. He holds her there, shifting the reins to his other hand to wrap his arm around her completely.

There is only one answer to his question in her mind right now: with him. Wherever he goes. Whatever he does. She wants to be with him.

Chapter 7 -- Chapter 9

End notes: Kinda turned Ben into a sugar daddy in this chapter, huh? Oh well, not the worst thing that could have happened.

Remember the cut Nebbia got from climbing out of the window in chapter 6 or the switchblade he gave her? Yeah, me neither while I wrote this. Oops. But never mind that, I tried to work it in between scenes, hope it works somehow.

By the way, the whole eating out of cans and flipping through a catalog to buy stuff is blatantly stolen from Red Dead Redemption 2, as are many other things, but we'll not dwell on that, okay? It's my prime source of Wild West research.

Credits to the respective owners of these pictures. I don't own anything. I gathered these from all around the Internet. If you see your picture and would like to have it removed, please tell me!

Thank you for reading! Next chapter on Friday!

AO3 -- MASTERLIST -- INSPIRATION POSTS

[colleybri]

Answer the questions and tag 5 Fanfic Authors

Tagged by @mosylufanfic :)

1. How did you get into writing fanfiction?

I’m relatively unusual here, I think, in that whilst I’ve been writing it since my teens I have had a good twenty year break up until a few months ago. Years ago, I just started writing it for my own pleasure - certainly no internet or easy ways to share it back then. More recently, I can attribute my return to one thing and one thing only: my love of the series Andor. An obsession that came out of nowhere in September 2023 when I watched it for the first time and it resonated with me in a way nothing has come close to in quite some time. After several months of writing various analyses of it I felt the urge to get creative.

2. How many fandoms have you written in?

Not many - most recently, Andor - obviously - and with the obvious overlap of Rogue One. Going back: I started out on E.T. (early teens then so that will date me accordingly :) ) - moving on to Aliens, The Silence of the Lambs and The X Files. Some novels then too: Narnia and Clive Barker, notably.

3. How many years have you been writing fanfiction?

As above, really. I’m in my mid 50s now - which I imagine makes me one of the older ones here. I dabbled most recently in the late 90s, with The Phantom Menace slashfics that were hugely popular back then - one of my friends was a superb writer (her stories were considerably better than the film itself ) and absolutely churned them out on whatever forums were around. They were a wholly new thing to me and I hadn’t even seen the film, but I dabbled a bit anyway :)

4. Do you read or write more fanfiction?

I write more at the moment, but I’m gradually trying to catch up with the reading. I missed Andor when it was first released and therefore the glut of fics from that time. But I’m getting to know the writers I really like and rediscover my own interests, genre speaking, along the way.

5. What is one way you’ve improved as a writer?

It’s really hard to compare as I haven’t got much left hanging around from my earlier years, but I would say that with several decades of teaching Lit under my belt now I do care a lot more about characterisation than I ever used to. It used to be all about the plot. I’m finding myself very drawn to subtext-heavy dialogue, internal monologues, drabbles and even poetry - the last being something I never thought I’d touch with a barge pole. I’m not saying I’m any good, just that I enjoy the challenge. That’s the main thing, in fact. These days I’m happy to embrace a challenge rather than shy from it. 

6. What’s the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

That would be what human flesh tastes like. For a Silence of the Lambs fic, obviously. The answer is apparently “pork crossed with beef” so I guess a genuine ragu lasagne would scratch that particular itch if anyone’s curious. 

7. What’s your favorite type of comment to receive on your work?

At the moment, as I’m pretty much starting from scratch and trying to find readers, absolutely anything. Probably excluding ‘don’t give up the day job’. 

8. What’s the most fringe trope/topic you write about?

Probably the cannibalism thing. Though that’s no doubt more mainstream nowadays…. I haven’t even looked at all the Hannibal (tv series) fics out there. 

9. What is the hardest type of story for you to write?

Anything long - the longest thing I ever completed was a 250 page novel but I was 14 at the time and haven’t come close since. Haven’t the stamina these days. Same with reading – I prefer one shots.

10. What is the easiest type?

Missing scenes or scene commentaries - not so much easy as such but probably my favourite forms, so they come relatively easily once I really put my mind to them. I find analytical essays the easiest of all, if I know the text well, but that’s no doubt a teacher-thing. I’ve made myself a regular feature on the Reddit Andor sub, probably to the chagrin of some :)

11. Where do you do your writing? What platform? When?

Looking at other answers to this one, I’m a bit perplexed. I have an elderly iMac and write on that. Hell, I used to do everything in long hand. Thank God I learned to touch-type. I guess I use Googledocs when forced to use my laptop. I’m fortunate to be semi-retired, so I generally find the time.

12. What is something you’ve been too nervous/intimidated to write, but would love to write one day?

Something longer, I guess. Hard to tell. I was and am intimidated by Smutfics, but had a go at a challenge recently and was quite pleased with the result. Not something I’ll be writing often though - not the main event, anyway. Love the buildups, and there’s some really great erotica out there, but I do get pretty stuck using the same vocabulary if I’m not careful. I’ve done a few humorous variations and quite liked those too. I’m British, lived in Bath for many years so like to imagine Austen’s ironic take on sex scenes quite a bit. 

13. What made you choose your username?

Nothing very deep - it’s to do with where I live. I’m a keen birder and Colley is an old West Country (England) word for a blackbird. 

Apologies in advance for tagging you - I’m sure some or all of you have been ‘done’ already! I don’t know a huge range of writers yet and I’m new to Tumblr and Discord. Absolute social media dinosaur as I am. 

Tagging @beladonna02, @ceruleanphoenix7, @faceofpoe, @jake-and-amy-are-married, @vadercat

[andromedaexists]

WUPDATE: Desecrate

𝚆𝚎𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝙾𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟿𝚝𝚑 || 𝙰𝙰𝙰𝙰𝙰𝙰𝙰𝙰𝙰𝙰𝙰𝙰𝙰𝙰𝙰𝙰

HI! IT'S BEEN A WHILE!! a lot has happened! just a general life update first: I started my post-baccalaureate and then immediately dropped out of it because what the fuck. i've applied for a masters program at tiffin university that's designed with working people in mind so hopefully that goes better. i've gotten a really big promotion at work and i think i'm staring down the barrel of another promotion soon. my health has gone to hell and back and to hell again. i published another book!! and so much more but i think that's all imma go into here for now!

Because now it's time to talk about Desecrate! The big news: I completely scrapped what I had and started from scratch a few months ago. I mean like fully got rid of everything, bought a dry erase calender, and started re-plotting from there.

There were a lot of reasons for this, but the biggest one was that the pacing wasn't right. I started writing Desecrate as a novella, and the pacing was still going as if it was a novella despite being drawn out into a novel.

So where are we now? Now, we're roughly 13k into draft 2 of the story! I'm really pushing to have this draft finished by the end of November so that I can send it to editing and start getting ARCs together.

There's been a lot of changes to fundamental parts of the story with this overhaul, and I'm very excited to start updating my intro and character pages to reflect them! Some of these changes include:

Benny's looks changing

Benny's place in the story (from a one-sided attraction to a Queer Platonic Partner)

the introduction of polyamory to the story

giving Kit more issues

toning down the sexual content while simultaneously ramping up the themes of sexual freedom

THE CHURCH FINALLY HAS A NAME

the formatting!! god i'm so excited to talk more about the way that i'm formatting this book it's so cool!!!

and more!

And with all that talked about, it's time to get to the fun part...

snippies time!

“Oh my God!” Benny gasps beside him. “Kitty, you never told me that you were a cheerleader!” She points to a photo in the center left of the wall, one from eighth grade. The year before they moved. The year before Kit’s life changed. A pang of sadness resounds through Kit as he looks as the picture. He was happy, truly happy then. He misses those much simpler times when he didn’t know who he was but that didn’t matter, that didn’t stop him from doing what he loved to do with the people he loved to do it with. “Yeah, for a few years until we moved to the city. I miss it a bit,” he responds. Kit isn’t sure he’d ever willingly step back into the grueling days of practice again, especially not if he was forced to wear one of those suffocatingly tight skits, but idealistically he missed the routine and the excuse to find himself attractive.

and another

“Penny for your thoughts, Mr. Michaels?” “Just thinking about the excellent lecture, professor, and trying to plan out some extra reading for this weekend to dig deeper into the creation of the canons on my own.” Professor Leonard smiles at him, she had always enjoyed talking about Kit’s niche study interests. “What about them caught your interest?” she asks. Kit holds the door open for the professor as she situates her belongings in her arms so she can grab her cane.

and maybe one more:

Irritated, he answers the call. “Yes?” “Kitty!” Benny’s voice comes through the phone bright and loud. Kit takes a breath in, closing his eyes as he does so. “When are you coming to pick me up? You are coming to pick me up today, aren’t you?” “Shit, I lost track of time Ben. I’m leaving the library right now, I’ll be there in ten.” “Okay! I’ll see you then, love. Be safe!” she says before hanging up on him. Kit listens to the dead line for a moment before opening his eyes and setting his phone down.

and some texts, for good measure:

More updates to come!! I'm not sure if I'll be able to get these updates out every week, but I'll try!

TAGLIST

@lockejhaven @mr-writes @eleanordaze @flowerprose @starlitpage @dogmomwrites @annetilney @ceph-the-ghost-writer @inkspellangel @outpost51 @love-whatit-loves @bebewrites @smol-feralgremlin

Please fill out this form to be added or ask to be removed!

[wafflesandkruge]

hello, wraith (kanej 3+1)

3 times Kaz hears Inej behind him and 1 time he doesn't.

ao3

a/n: hiiii if the premise sounds familiar then you've probably read the original ficlet which i posted a few years ago (a real fan ty). after sab s2 (ew) i wanted to revisit some of my old kanej fics and rewrite them bc i noticed a lot of changes and edits i wanted to make so they're less,,,cringe. original can be found here if you want to do a comparison (pls don't). the plot is exactly the same, but (i hope) the writing has improved, so pls enjoy ✌🏼

The first time Inej entered his office through the window, he heard her coming. Her cheap boots scratched along the rough brick of the Slat’s exterior wall, and Kaz was alerted before she’d even reached the second floor below his office. He set his paperwork down with a sigh and pushed the window open for her just before she could reach for the latch. “Hello, Wraith.”

Inej clambered through the window, frustration evident in every movement, and pulled her hood down. In the soft candlelight of his office, her skin was luminous brown, the light catching the gold in her ears and the gleam of the knives at her waist. It had only been about a week since she’d left the Menagerie, and Kaz was pleased to see her color had improved somewhat. But her spywork needed improvement if she was to be of any use to him. “I could hear you a mile away.”

Inej pursed her lips, taking his criticisms silently. He could have said that it wasn’t her fault, that her boots were the problem, or her inexperience with the cityscape. But he was not kind, and Inej was not made of glass that would shatter under the slightest pressure. He opened a drawer in his desk and withdrew a small, wooden box.

“Don’t come back here until you can do it soundlessly. With these on.”

He tossed the box at her. She flipped the lid open and a combination of displeasure and anger flashed across her face. Kaz knew what she was seeing—metal anklets with dozens of little bells strung on them, not unlike the ones she’d worn at the Menagerie. 

It was a test, and a challenge, in a way. Kaz watched as she stared at the anklets for another moment, then snapped the box shut. Her lips were pulled into a scowl, but still, she nodded mutely and left his office without a word.

-

The second time had been about a month after the first. Kaz had been worried—Inej had disappeared for long stretches of the night, only to reappear at the Slat early in the morning. When he’d put a tail on her, they’d all reported the same thing: she was practicing climbing in the warehouse district. Why she thought that was safe, he had no idea. He’d posted a Crow there to watch her discreetly, then put it out of his mind. Either she would learn, or he’d overestimated her. And Kaz Brekker was rarely wrong.

He smiled to himself and set his paperwork aside. It was always nice to be right.

“Hello, Wraith.” 

Inej paused, half of her body still outside the window. 

“How did you know?” They were the first words Inej had spoken to him in almost two weeks. She pulled herself through the window and stood to the side of his desk, each movement as silent as shadow despite the anklets clasped around her boots. She looked well rested despite her late nights, her countenance more confident and self-assured than ever. A new knife, one with a simple bone handle, was strapped to her forearm. He’d seen Jesper purchasing the same one from a street vendor during one of their trips to Fifth Harbor. Inej making friends among the Crows would be useful to him in the future. 

He leaned back in his chair and folded his gloved hands together. “I don’t let the same person get the drop on me twice. But you passed. The anklets.” 

He extended a hand, and he could see the way Inej’s gaze was drawn to his leather gloves, a thousand unasked questions in her dark eyes. She unclasped the anklets and placed them carefully in his palm, her fingertips brushing against the leather for the briefest second. Kaz’s breath hitched at the slight pressure. Although it was impossible through the thick material, he swore he felt a lick of warmth from her skin. His skin went cold. 

He pushed past his body’s panic and threw the anklets into the fireplace. Inej’s gaze was finally averted from him and he could breathe again. She watched them burn with a small curl of her lips, then was gone as quickly as she’d appeared.

-

The next time, Kaz was busy working on the Crow Club’s monthly accounting. He hardly looked up when he felt the telltale change in the air. “Hello, Wraith.”

Inej made a small noise of acknowledgement, then crossed his office to the small cabinet of medical supplies he kept around for emergencies. There was some clattering around and a few muttered words in Suli, then Inej plopped onto the chair in front of her desk and dumped supplies onto his desk.

Kaz looked up, peeved. “Inej, what– Ghezen!”

She’d tracked bloody footprints all over his office, from the window, to the cabinet, to the chair where she now sat, wincing, as she cleaned the cut and blistered undersides of her feet. “Don’t worry,” she said, in that unnervingly calm way of hers, “I’ll clean it up.”

“That’s not–” Kaz bit back a curse, not sure why he felt so irritated. “What the hell happened? Was it another gang?”

She gave a noncommittal shrug as she began wrapping bandages around her foot. “My boots wore out. I climb better without shoes anyways, but I am not used to Ketterdam yet.”

“Don’t be stupid, you’ll contract some disease before the day is out,” Kaz growled. He wasn’t about to lose his investment over something as foolish as an infection. “Borrow a pair from someone downstairs until you get paid.”

“As you say.”

As soon as Inej was gone, his office clean as she’d promised, Kaz paid a visit to a grisha fabrikator.

-

Years later, Kaz sat at his desk, a blank page in front of him. With a sigh, he squared his shoulders and put his pen to the paper. Greatly esteemed Council of Tides…

If there was one thing Kaz hated more than kissing up to people, it was not getting what he wanted. He gritted his teeth as he used his most flattering language to ask for a blind eye at a certain berth, then signed the letter with a flourish. He stuffed the scrawled letter and a promissory note for an ungodly amount of kruge into an envelope and prepared his wax seal. Just as he started to melt the wax, his candle blew out with a gust of wind. Kaz paused.

“Hello, Wraith.”

The wind whistled on, but the voice he so desperately wanted to hear was missing. Kaz glanced at the window just to be sure. There wasn’t a soul in his office other than his, and that was debatable. Swearing softly to himself, he relit the candle and sealed the letter. He was losing his touch.

On his way to the Council of Tides, he passed by The Wraith’s berth. It was empty, as it had been for a month. Kaz glanced at the gray horizon. It wasn’t quite enough for him just to know she was out there somewhere, bringing down justice to those who deserved it. At every moment, he craved her silent presence next to his, her bright smiles, even her Suli proverbs. It was selfish, he knew. But he couldn’t help wanting. With one last glance, he continued on his way.

After a relative success of a meeting, he walked back through the harbor towards the Slat. Night had fallen, but the docks were still busy with wandering crews and raucous laughter. Kaz’s cane clicked against the ground as he turned his collar to the wind and resolutely went on his way. Perhaps there’d be an interesting brawl tonight, or Jesper would pay a visit. He passed by berth twenty-two. Then spun around. It was occupied, the crew already busy unloading by the dim streetlights. A voice came from the dark behind him. 

“Hello, Kaz.”

[captain-ghost]

Everyone loves some Torchwood cats, huh?

(^ John and Gray, from an animation I did a few months ago)

I designed Gray with his... Insane amount of torture in mind. I feel like he wasn't scratched up enough in the show. 🤷‍♀️

(I've upgraded John's design a little since these two. His eyebrows were the wrong shape. 🙄)

John is designed to look similar to Jack, as they were fairly similar once upon a time. I also really love that someone noticed I made Jack's design a bobcat to make him stand out. I thought about Jack's design quite a lot, and the complexity of it also lends itself to the strangeness and confusion surrounding his timeline.

I've also got this fairly old design for Ianto's sister Rhiannon. Her design doesn't get used much but I loved the black and white patches so much it inspired my sona's design. 😍

I do have designs for Rhys, Rex, Suzie, and a couple other characters, but I haven't drawn them out properly in a very long time. 😳

You can certainly have a lined Rhys design and another random Jack drawing I did last year though! ;D