#ugly knickknacks

[shiftythrifting]

A couple recent Facebook Marketplace finds, featuring the worst tchotchke I’ve ever seen! I cannot be convinced that the “basket” isn’t just a wad of earthworms. Also the perfect mirror listing pic.

-Admin BT, Boise area, Idaho

[deathbyclown]

Against the advice of several family members I will be painting my room dark!! They do not understand the desire to be in a dark cozy little hole like a wee creature. I deserve to live like a fuzzy animal tucked underground between the roots of a tree, sleeping curled up with my partner, our little rodent hands holding onto one another as the world moves and sways above us.

[headspace-hotel]

This year has, so far, been for me a series of rapid realizations of what I have been unlearning.

I went to the library. This was a couple weeks ago. I knew I needed to read a book, fiction. I hadn't done so in over a year and it was the longest period of time I had ever gone without doing so. I made a rule: I would only pick books I had never heard of, by authors I had never heard of, and I would not do any preliminary research or even bother to look at what the book was about. I would make my decision on whether to read or not purely on my impression of the title, cover and opening lines.

The book was The Connoisseur by Evan S. Connell. It was kind of a random selection. I sat down with it in a corner of the library and straight up devoured it. I tore through the book within a few hours, without taking a single break. I was captivated. I couldn't put it down.

It is a book about a guy who buys a Mayan figurine in a knickknack shop while he's on a business trip. and becomes obsessed with pre-Columbian sculptural art. There isn't really much of a plot apart from this. He goes to sketchy antique shows, has conversations with museum curators, wealthy art dealers and forgers, and seeks to learn how to distinguish a genuine pre-Columbian piece from a fake one. It was written in the 1970's, so the views on Native Americans are antiquated and sometimes offensive, and there is the troubling thread of the very concept of looting another culture's treasures and treating them as collectibles, though the book is not without commentary on this.

All the same, it was a completely intoxicating read. The vicarious experience of becoming fascinated with a topic and having it unfold a whole world for you was ferociously gripping, and so was the intrigue of the art collecting world itself. The frauds, forgeries, smuggling, museums, academics, aristocrats, auctions and seedy flea markets. Will he ever be able to tell if a piece is "real?" Does it matter if it's "real?" Why does he want to own and possess a piece of art, and how does its "realness" affect that desire? The book leaves you not knowing what to think.

It is a book about curiosity, portrayed in the narrative as a totally unreasonable lightning bolt that strikes a man who has never been fascinated by anything and changes him forever. Why? Why does a Mayan figurine, in particular, speak to him? Why does any piece of art, or any fascinating thing in the world, speak to anyone? It is unknowable.

I went to the library again. I picked a new book using the same rules. This book was Fragile Beasts by Tawni O'Dell. Just like the last time, I was totally captivated. I couldn't put it down.

Did I have a couple major problems with the portrayal of some important aspects of the story? Yes. (It would make the post much longer to discuss.) Was I completely captured by and invested in the story for the time I was reading it? Also yes. The book braids together several very different strands-- the story of a legendary Spanish bullfighter and a wealthy American woman that he loved, two brothers stuck in an ugly family situation after their father's death in a car accident, and a rich old heir to a Pennsylvania coal mining fortune and to the sinister underbelly of her family's business.

There was a lot about baseball, which I know nothing about, and bullfighting, which I know nothing about, and I certainly don't know anything about being a teenaged boy who resents and mistrusts his estranged mother, or an aristocratic old lady who lives in a mansion and eats fancy Spanish food. It was fun to experience so much unfamiliar stuff and to care about things I wouldn't normally care about. Once again I couldn't stop reading until I had finished it.

I don't know that either book was "good," though I thought they were both well written; I just know that reading them was like being hooked up to an IV of something essential and life-giving and feeling it reanimating my body.

It had been a year since I had read any fiction, but it had been much, much longer since I had loved to read. As I became an adult I had become picky and critical about books, and developed a highly sophisticated sense of my taste and the books I considered good- which were very rare. My taste in books became so sophisticated, eventually, that I didn't like books at all anymore.

I had almost withered away from deficiency of that essential nutrient known as STORY. I'd almost crumbled myself into dust from pretentiousness! I may have been terribly wrong about the kinds of things I liked to read, on top of it. And I certainly hadn't realized that story was such an essential nutrient.

"Just entertainment" the pretentious sorts of people might say of a book they think is useless-- but what is entertainment but to absorb your mind in something, and what is absorbing your mind in a book but to experience things you would never have experienced? It expands you and makes you more complicated. It is the study of human existence itself.

Now all I have been able to think about today is finishing my work and going to the library again...

[madamspellmans-met-tet]

🔮A True Love Of Mine 🔮

Lilia Calderu x fem!reader

tags: SFW, storms, fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort, fear of thunder, love confessions, revelations, sleepy cuddles, lilia cuddles, palm reading

wc: ~ 4.1 k

summary: On your way home from town, you get caught in the rain and find shelter at Madame Calderu's Psychic Readings. That night, you learn things about yourself you never would've imagined.

*************************************

The storm hit earlier than expected. You'd gone into town to stock up on ultrasonic cleaning solution and clock oil for your father as you did every other week—the walk wasn't too long and the scenery pretty—only today, the world was ending.

Or so it felt as you pushed forth through the wind lashing in your face and waded through the water that went up to your ankles and had soaked through into your lace-up boots. The raindrops pierced your face like needles, and your coat hung like seaweed from your shoulders, long and heavy, and had ceased to provide any kind of warmth. You made it down the road, cautious of the trees for they might fall, and reached a row of shops.

A nail salon, a shop with pool supplies, and between them, Madame Calderu's Psychic Readings. Since the nail salon was closed and the other shop didn't make the friendliest of impressions, you decided to try and find shelter with the psychic.

Water dripped from the ends of your hair, your nose, and your chin, and you felt like a wet dog. You just hoped you didn't smell like one, too. You approached the glass door, dusty as were the large shop windows, and pushed it open.

A bell chimed above your head, and thick oven warmth embraced you. It was a relief to your shaking, chilled form, and for a moment, you didn't take in anything else but this.

When you opened your eyes again, an array of plants greeted you, which you assumed the owner must've brought in when the storm had reared its ugly face. The interior was colourful, filled to the brim with crystals and knickknacks, with grand drapes on every window, one of which had been decorated with shards of painted glass hung up on a thread. It was so unlike your father's workshop with its dark, antique furniture, the grandfather clocks, the worn carpet—despite your best efforts to bring life into it with some fairy lights and lace tablecloth. This looked homey and inviting.

...unlike the owner, who stepped through the beaded curtain that separated the shop from her private quarters, you assumed, looking nothing short of intimidating.

And there you were, dripping on her Persian rug.

"Um... M-madame C-c-calderu?" you stuttered with chattering teeth.

You expected to get yelled at by the older lady, but the moment she realised you were soaked to the bone, she slipped off her knitted cardigan and rushed to you, muttering, "Oh, honey, oh honey."

She laid it around your shoulders and rubbed your upper arms with her warm, wrinkled hands. "You're drenched, dear." She studied your face with knitted eyebrows. "And your lips are blue, Divine Mother..."

One of her grey curls that framed her face bounced whenever she moved her head. She must be in her seventies, but was still exceptionally beautiful.

"May I—wait out the—s-storm here?" you asked, on the verge of tears from how frozen you were. The tip of your nose, your fingers, your toes—they all ached as if they were about to fall off.

"What a silly question!" She ushered you to sit in a floral-patterned armchair surrounded by countless candles. "I'll get you some dry clothes, girl."

And off she went, through the beaded curtain again, and you sat trying not to freeze to death. The storm raged outside, sent everything that wasn't fixed flying across the road, and bent the trees to breaking. It was early in the evening, but the dense clouds had darkened the sky as if it were almost night.

You set your shopping bag on the ground and rubbed your palms over your thighs to warm them up. Madame Calderu returned a moment later with a folded stack of clothes and towels and set them down on the side table, handing you a towel first and taking one herself.

"Dry up as best as you can and then slip into these. They're from when I was younger," she chuckled, "so might fit you somewhat."

"Thank you so much," you said, and she gave you a warm smile that made your heart squeeze.

It was nothing compared to the leap it made when she began to dry your hair for you while you dragged the towel across your arms and chest. She wrapped the ends of your long, dirty blonde waves up and wrung them out. With her own unruly curls, she must know how to care for hair properly. Her fingers moved to your scalp and massaged it with the towel, and you almost moaned at the feeling.

"Better now, darling?" She stepped back in front of you, and you missed her touch already, but nodded.

"Much."

"Then get changed while I make tea." She took the wet towels with her and turned over her shoulder to say, "Come to the back when you're done."

-> continue

[so-writing]

don't forget to water the plants -- Quinn Hughes

“Don’t forget to water the plants!” 

“I won’t,” he smiled easily as he picked up your bag, “have a good girl’s weekend, and don’t worry about the fucking plants. I’ll take care of them.” 

You laughed and followed him out into the hallway, hurrying to catch the elevator. You trusted him, he’d take care of them and everything would be fine.

**

months later

“I can’t do this,” Quinn runs his hands through his hair while pacing back and forth from the kitchen to the living room, “it’s so fucking exhausting.”

You said nothing, not sure how to respond to that because you weren’t quite sure when things got ‘so fucking exhausting’ for him. As far as you knew, things were good. Your sex life was pretty regular and the two of you rarely fought. 

“Do you hear me? It feels like I’m talking to a fucking wall.” 

“Yes, Quinn,” you finally spoke, “I hear you just fine.” 

“About fucking time.” 

This wasn’t him, not the him you knew, and you struggled with how to react to his hurtful words. If you were quiet, he seemed to get aggravated, but if you responded to him, he instantly got annoyed. There was no winning with this version of Quinn. 

So you said that, “there’s no winning with you!”

It came out louder than you intended, “It’s obvious that I can’t make you happy anymore. Why are we even doing this?”

He was quiet for nearly a minute, his pacing across the apartment coming to a stop, “great fucking question.”

The air between the two of you was thicker than it had ever been. You, sitting on the couch holding back tears, and Quinn, standing in the kitchen with his back to you, had reached an impasse. The past several months of fighting over things you couldn’t recall had come to a finally come to a head. 

“I should probably leave,” you didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to make it final, “this is your place and I’ve never really belonged here anyway.” 

His silence said everything you needed to (not) hear. This wasn’t your home, this wasn’t your place, this wasn’t your life anymore. 

“Give me some time to pack and I’ll go.” 

“Take a few days,” Quinn ran a hand through his hair and sighed, “we’ve got a few road games, I’ll stay somewhere else until we get back.”

It wasn’t until he closed the door behind him, for the final time you’d be there, that you finally let the floodgates open. Salty tears slid down your face as you grabbed your accessories from the bathroom and packed your clothes into suitcases you never thought would be used for this. 

The bedazzled Canucks jersey hanging on your side of the closet sent you into a teary spiral. It had taken nearly a day to place every little rhinestone and Quinn had loved the way it sparkled. You wanted to take it with you, because you had worked so hard on it and he didn’t deserve to keep it, but more than that, you wanted to hurt him. And you hoped, maybe, it would hurt him if he saw your labor of love, for him, hanging by itself in the closet you used to share.

You wanted to hurt him, as much as he had hurt you. 

The Canucks would be on the east coast of the states for the next four days. In that time, you scrubbed nearly all of your existence from the apartment you shared with Quinn. The kitchen was clear of any dishes, snacks, knickknacks, and decor that belonged to you. The living room couch was devoid of all comfy accent pillows and plush blankets you’d bought. The bedroom and adjoining bathroom showed no signs of you ever being there. By the time you were done removing yourself from Quinn’s place, only a few things remained that would remind him of you. 

It was done on purpose, and you knew, it would be the one thing that might actually break through his new, ugly exterior and truly hurt him, just as you wanted. 

Locking the door behind you for the final time, you sucked in a deep breath and pinched the bridge of your nose to stop the tears that wanted to fall. You’d cried over Quinn enough, time to let go. 

***

Quinn returned to a half empty apartment. He knew you’d leave, but the impact of you truly leaving didn’t really set in until he came home to shell of the home he once shared with you. Little pieces of you that used to decorate the space and make it special were now gone, replaced with dust and empty space. 

Your coffee mug, your toothbrush, your favorite pillow, every little piece of you had brightened the space left a dull opening that Quinn couldn’t quite figure out how he would fill. Every piece of you except one, or several rather, your carefully curated plant collection was left by the big window overlooking Vancouver. 

Once thriving, the plants were now turning brown and beginning to crumble. The dry soil was pulling away from the edges of the pots and dead leaves lay on the floor beneath the shelves. It wasn’t until he saw your dying collection, one that you put so much love and care into, that Quinn realized what he’d actually lost. 

He knelt down and began to pick up the fallen leaves when he noticed a post it note taped to the big window, the once sticky edges around the tape curled and peeling away.

don’t forget to water the plants

[five-and-dimes]

💄 pls I'm obsessed with this concept!!!!

Fun fact! The "Dream moves in with Hob and is obsessed with Hob never seeing him less than perfectly put together" was originally an idea I planned to send as a prompt to your blog! But then I started getting into it as was like "....fuck. this is a wip now." 😂 So I'm glad you like it!

“We should go shopping this weekend,” Hob suggests excitedly, wrapping his arms around Dream from behind, “get some decorations or something.” Dream frowned, looking around the apartment, the walls covered in framed posters and art prints, a few potted plants scattered about, knickknacks and trinkets on nearly every surface. “You have clearly already decorated,” Dream says slowly, confused. But Hob only shrugged, “Yeah, but I want this to be your place too. I can clear some stuff out so there’s room for some of your things.” The thought of taking up any more space in Hob’s life than he already does is…terrifying. He has spent so much of his life trying to be smaller, quieter, more palatable. Every part of him always tense and controlled, like a clenched fist, like holding a door shut, like tugging on a leash. Restrained, restrained, restrained. He thinks of blobfish. Lovely enough under pressure, hideous and deformed when brought to the surface. Dream thinks if he allows himself to relax into this space, he will collapse into something soft, and monstrous, and ugly. “I like it though,” he turns in Hob’s arms, smiling serenely, “It already feels like home.” Hob grins, leaning down to kiss him deeply. The apartment stays unchanged.

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

yk how it's a thing that dad's will see you like a fruit once and then will fill the fridge with that fruit? THAT but with our boy Steve? it doesn't have to be fruit, it can be anything. like u once mentioned u like something and next thing u know he keeps getting u stuff related to that. he does it so much that r gets frustrated a lil and tells him that they don't like that thing THAT much

hope that made sense<33

took inspiration from my own obsession with cups and my own flower teapot. gn!reader

he won’t stop buying you cups.

you told him once when he asked, “what’s with all the mixed-matched mugs?” and you told him, “when i go to the thrift store and find some that catch my eye i can’t help myself. plus it’s extra storage for my many knickknacks.”

and when your anniversary arrived that year, steve gifted you a white mug with a bright red ladybug painted onto the ceramic with my love bug written in looping cursive. you cooed and fawned over him about remembering that small conversation.

but now you’re gonna blow your top off. it was cute the first two times, but after the fifth one was a bit ugly, you’ve had to withhold from ‘accidentally’ breaking it.

“baby.” you looked away from a rerun of i love lucy to see steve standing in your doorway with his hands behind his back. wonder what it’ll- “look what i found!” and he pulled out a teapot shaped into a flower. it was so cute.

“oh, stevie…” climbing off your bed to meet him halfway. gentle palms holding onto the body and handle as your eyes took in the details and color.

“reminded me of you, of course. your love from drinking utensils and you’re my favorite flower.” pressing a kiss to your forehead for punctuation.

“it’s beautiful, but steve i have been meaning to tell you-“ “oh god is this a breakup pot!”

“what? no! no it’s not, absolutely not!” rushing to ease his panic. “it’s about the mugs.” pitching your voice down, worried about such a silly subject.

his brows pinched, “you don’t like them?” sounding just a bit hurt. “no i love them, it’s just… you don’t have to just buy me mugs!” unintentionally yelling. steve’s eyes bugged, taken aback, “woah.”

“i appreciate that you remember why i told you, but i don’t even have space for them anymore. and- and i would feel bad if i gave them away, but steve-“ gently placing the pot on the foot of your bed then eyes back to steve, “i don’t want anymore pots or cups, that’s final.” pointing behind you.

he licked his lips then sighed, “well i already knew you liked them so i know i wouldn’t mess up giving you gifts. i don’t want you to pretend to like something just cause i bought it for you.” looking at his hands.

“well i’ll be honestly,” reaching to curl a hand along steve’s, “i hated that clown one. haunted my dreams for weeks, had to hide it deep in my closet.” shuddering at the reminder and it caused steve to laugh with you following. “but seriously,” using your other hand to curl two fingers into his belt loops and give a tug, “you know me very well. so stop putting yourself down and remember, i love you even without constant mugs.”

[magicalbats]

Kinktober 2024 Day 3: Al-Haitham x Reader

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 6757

Warnings: Afab!reader, gendered language, power dynamics, petplay, collaring, predicament bondage, spanking, vaginal fingering, tail butt plug, object insertion

A/N: A few people asked for a follow up to Al-Haitham's piece from last years Kinktober and I'm personally always glad for any excuse to write about more petplay scenarios, so here we are! I hope everyone enjoys! 🫣

⭐

“So,” He intones, casually slouched to one side so he can brace his shoulder against the door jamb. With his arms crossed over his chest he looked the picture-perfect image of idle, confident arrogance standing there before you in the faint glow of a nearby street lamp. It was enough to almost make you sick. “You really decided to muster up the courage and come here after all. Consider me impressed.” 

Hands balled into tight, sweaty fists in the front of your breezy skirt, you pointedly keep your eyes downcast so you won’t have to look him in the face. Damn Al-Haitham and damn you for being fool enough to go through with this stupid idea. Hadn’t he humiliated you more than enough the last time? 

“Is that alright? I could always come back some other day …” 

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re already here, why send you away?” Straightening up, Al-Haitham shifts to the side to unblock the entrance to his home and grant you entry despite looking anything but welcoming. “Come in. And try not to look so scared.” 

You can feel your cheeks quickly growing hot enough to fry an egg on but you stubbornly shove aside all the uncertainty and ill opinions you had of the scribe in favor of focusing only on your objective. Of course that was in many ways exactly what had gotten you into this mess in the first place, yet it seemed you still hadn’t quite learned your lesson. You wouldn’t have shown up at his doorstep like this otherwise. 

Steeling yourself, you stiffly move forward to shuffle past him to stand just inside his foyer while he closes the door behind you. His home isn’t particularly large but it's finely furnished and surprisingly quaint in its own way. You wonder at that as you take in the decor, noticing an odd disconnect between one piece of furniture or knickknack and the next. While some of it was quite stylish other bits and bobbles leaned more towards an eclectic taste that didn’t seem to match. 

And then your eyes land on the neatly lined up row of shoes just off the main entrance. 

Two different sizes. 

“Don’t worry. My roommate is out on business tonight.” He says, supplying an answer to the unasked question, and you bring your head up with a quick snap. 

“I didn’t know you had a roommate.” 

His hand is suddenly right in front of your face when you turn towards him, making you startle, but he merely slips those long fingers underneath your chin to further nudge your attention up at him. Verdant gaze studying you closely, Al-Haitham searches your expression for a drawn out beat — for what, you do not know — before deigning to speak again. “Well, I do. Have one I mean. He won’t be bothering us any time soon though, so tell me what it is you want.” 

Your natural disinclination for him quickly rears its ugly head, and you narrow your eyes up at him in annoyance. “How do you know I want something?” 

“Please. You wouldn’t have come here if you didn’t. Now spill it.” 

Clicking your tongue, you irritably pull away from him and take a step back to put some distance between you two. Hopefully that would be enough to give you a chance to think straight, even though it was clear you hadn’t been doing much of that at all recently. “Look. I know you and I don’t exactly get along even under the best of circumstances but … do you recall what you said to me back in the Grand Sage’s office?” 

“My office, at least for the moment, and yes. I said a great many things to you that day. Which are you referring to specifically?” 

“Gods, you’re such an ass.” You murmur, wondering why you’d even come here when you knew good and well how he was. It’s much too late to start giving this second thoughts though, so you lift your chin in defiance of his surly attitude. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Acting Grand Sage, but I believe you told me I could come to you if I ever wanted a refresher course on our last — lesson. Does that offer still stand?” 

“Oh?” Looking really quite smug now, Al-Haitham allows his roguish mouth to curl into a brief smirk. “Is this supposed to be your way of asking nicely for something? Gotta’ say, your methods could still use some work but I can see we’re making progress. It’s better than the last time, at least.” 

“Are you going to answer the question or not?” You demand, feeling your jittery nerves start to get the better of you. 

If you’d had any other option here you would have gladly taken it before ever subjecting yourself to this particular man’s presence ever again but you just couldn’t seem to stop thinking about the time you’d spent with him in his office. By the end of it you’d been all but preening at his soft spoken praise only to then be cast back out into the real world where people in polite society didn’t talk to each other like that. It was maddening in the worst possible way. 

Worst of all, he still hadn’t signed off on that damn expense sheet even after saying he’d give it another look and yet that seemed to be the farthest thing from your mind anymore. The only thing you really wanted at this point was to experience the same warm buzz of satisfaction you’d felt when he spoke to you in that uncharacteristically soft, doting manner as before. Was that seriously too much to ask for? 

“Just relax. We really need to work on that impatient streak of yours.” He says, evidently recognizing the frazzled look on your face for what it is. “And don’t worry, my offer still stands. I’ll play with you again. Good timing, actually. I recently bought a few things at the bazaar that I think you might like.” 

“Huh?” You blurt, turning to follow him with your eyes when he brushes past you into the rest of the house. “Don't tell me you actually knew I’d come here like this?” 

“That’s a bit of a stretch. All I did was calculate the odds that you would eventually decide to seek me out again, so the expense was justifiable despite being preemptive. Get undressed while I grab everything and wait for me until I get back.” 

And just like that he’s gone, disappeared down the hallway into a room on the far end of the house by the sound of it. 

For a long moment you just stand there, too stunned at Al-Haitham’s gall to take action. You weren’t sure who he thought he was but as usual it was already giving you a headache. Nothing ever went as you hoped it would whenever he was involved. 

Rousing yourself though, you quickly get to work. Far be it that you were any more comfortable with the thought of being naked in front of him than you were the first time, but you’d known what you were signing up for when you chose to come to him like this. And you’re glad to find it’s a little easier without him standing there, looming over you like some scrutinizing gargoyle while more and more of your body is slowly revealed to him, so there was that perk. If anything you were just glad he hadn’t sent you away. 

But once you find yourself standing nude in his living room some of the uncertainty starts to come back. Just what the hell were you doing here? And how were you supposed to position yourself, should you sit or stand? Did he expect you to seamlessly fall into the role of obedient dog again even if he wasn’t there to guide you through the process like before? 

There was no clear cut solution to any of these problems you now faced, and you at last decide to err on the side of caution. You would prostrate yourself for him, since he seemed to get so much satisfaction out of that, but you’d wait for further instruction before doing anything else. It was undeniably silly, but you didn’t want to seem too eager. 

Thus when Al-Haitham returns after another moment or two, he finds you kneeling on the ornate rug laid out across the floor with your legs neatly folded underneath you. He noises a soft sound of acknowledgement as he strides across the room and you attentively zero in on the wooden box he’s got in his hands. 

“What’s that?” You chance to ask, earning a quick, vaguely amused look from him. 

“I wasn’t aware dogs knew how to speak to ask such questions of their masters.” 

Flushing all over again, you breathe out a soft huff through your nose but remain otherwise silent. You’re much more interested in observing him anyway, particularly when he sinks down to sit on the nearby sofa before placing that mysterious box next to him on the cushions. 

Then the full brunt of his attention is back on you. “Come here.” He commands, indicating the spot next to his feet. 

You catch yourself starting to prickle, your pride almost getting the better of you once again, but you quietly remind yourself that this was what you’d wanted. After being hounded by indecent thoughts for weeks now, all of them revolving around the scribe, there was no point making any qualms about it or pretending otherwise. 

So you somewhat grudgingly shift forward to brace on your hands and knees before crawling over to him. You’re acutely aware of the sway of your breasts while you do so, particularly when he was watching you do it and no doubt seeing every little detail of your body in this humiliating position, both the good and the bad. The crippling note of self consciousness that shudders through you is not nearly enough to douse your anticipatory excitement though, and you hesitantly tip your face towards him as you shuffle up to the sofa, earning a nod of approval. 

“Sit.” 

Obediently plopping your ass down on the carpet, you make a point of straightening your back for him to push your bare tits up and out. You felt incredibly foolish for being so concerned about his opinion of your body but that lingering sense of stubborn combativeness quickly fades when he reaches out to pet over your head with an indulgent gesture. 

“Good girl. I have something for you.” 

Feeling fuzzy and warm, you blink up at Al-Haitham through the growing fog as he reaches for the box. That he makes a point of opening the lid towards you so that you can’t see what’s hidden inside almost manages to annoy you but you quickly stamp it down in favor of simply watching him. With a faint rustle, he lifts what you immediately recognize to be a collar from inside and silently presents it to you, just observing your reaction. 

The flustered look on your face must be an interesting one though, because he chuckles a brief laugh only a moment later. “Do you know what this is?” 

Reluctantly nodding, you shoot him a wary look. 

“Excellent. Then I shouldn’t have to waste any time on explaining it.” 

His large, dexterous hands get to work on unfastening the little eyelet so he can pull it open while you frantically try to rationalize this in your mind. Unaware of how hard your heart is pounding in your chest, he leans down to wrap the surprisingly thick band of leather around your throat so he can secure it into place at the back and you just sit there as if in a numb stupor while he does it. 

You couldn’t believe this was really happening … 

“As long as you’re wearing this,” He drawls, still fiddling with the catch to ensure it was sufficiently snug on your neck. “You’ll be my pet and I expect you to act accordingly. I won’t hesitate to punish you if you misbehave but … I also won’t hesitate to reward you either. We can play this game as long as you’d like, and when I take this off we’ll go back to our usual roles. No questions asked. Does that sound fair to you?” 

You slowly nod your agreement, suddenly finding it incredibly difficult to even think a coherent thought. As if being collared by him had effectively pulled a hazy, disarming shroud over your head, you were struggling to formulate anything at all in your mind when the only thing you could seem to focus on was the brush of his hands against your skin, the smell of him. The domineering way he’s leaned over you from his elevated position and the close proximity that came with it. You’d understood on some innate, instinctive level that you wanted him to subjugate you to his will again but you hadn’t expected it to have such an all encompassing effect on you. It was as if your higher functioning ego was slowly slipping away, like sand through your fingertips. 

And when he at last deems the collar to be adequately secured, leaning back to look at you with an unreadable expression, you positively quake under the spotlight of his attention. Al-Haitham may have been able to irritate you far beyond what any other person had ever accomplished, but when he looked at you like that … Archon’s, you would have done anything he asked of you if it only meant he’d praise you for it. 

“You’re certainly being good this evening. Guess you must have really needed this.” His eyelashes drooping to attractive half mast to mirror a very small fraction of the anticipation you were currently feeling, he reaches out to casually flick at the metal ringlet attached to the front of your new collar. “It’s just as I thought. Pink really does suit you. That being said, you have no idea how long it actually took me to find one of these in this color. You should probably thank me for it.” 

You shoot a quick, hungry look at his lap, the muscles in your legs already bracing to lean forward and put your mouth on him, but he stops you in your tracks with another quiet chuckle. 

“Not like that, though I do appreciate your enthusiasm. As long as you continue to be good for me I think we’ll be just fine.” Straightening up from his comfortable slouch, Al-Haitham then reaches back into the box to dig for something else. The sound of metal clinking together makes your heart skip a beat and you anxiously fidget there on the floor while he pulls out a long, complicated string of chains that all seem to connect in the same spot. 

Having no idea what to make of it, you blithely glance up at him in question. 

“This is to help you stay in position. Think of it like a training aide.” 

Evidently that’s all the explanation you’re going to get and you swallow hard, nearly choking on your nerves, when he leans down again. With a simple gesture of his hand, Al-Haitham secures the topmost latch to the front of your collar. The links are slight enough that it doesn’t add much additional weight to your neck, which you’re rather grateful for, but you can tell that they’re still sturdy enough not to break easily.

You start to understand what’s happening in a far off, dreamy sort of way when he reaches for one of your hands next. Directing it up to about chest level, he makes quick work of securing the thin cuff on one of the other trailing chains around your wrist to keep it elevated, lest you pull unnecessarily on the collar should you try to bring it back down again. He repeats the process on the other side to leave you in an approximation of the same begging position he’d made you assume last time, and you just let him do it because … you have no idea why. 

By all accounts this should have been setting off every single alarm bell in your head but it just doesn’t. If anything, your fast thrumming excitement only ratchets up another notch to leave you all but vibrating there at his feet. 

And when he finally settles back to take up the last chain, this one longer than all the rest, you immediately recognize what it is. A leash. One that he wraps the excess length around his knuckles before slowly tugging on it to pull you up to your knees. A shuddering moan slips out as you rock forward under the steady guidance of his gentle yet insistent pulling with your hands uselessly restrained in front of your chest. This was so incredibly dehumanizing … 

“Good girl. You look lovely like this.” His mouth faintly curling again, Al-Haitham reaches out his opposite hand to casually flick his finger back and forth over one of your tightly coiled nipples. “Feeling comfortable?” 

Helplessly mewling, you force your sluggish head to bob in agreement. This was too much and yet somehow not nearly enough at the same time. You felt like you were going mad. 

“On the floor then. All the way.” 

Tense and shirking, you slowly ease back to sit on your haunches before carefully leaning forward to brace your arms on the rug. You have to go slow or risk yanking on your collar, and the insidious nature of this set up quickly makes itself known. Not only were you effectively restrained and at his mercy like this, but the short length of the chains forces you down close to the ground to leave your backside pointed up in the air. Completely defenseless and vulnerable. He could have done anything at all to you in this position. 

The thought alone is enough to make you tremble uncontrollably, and you suck in a deeply frazzled breath when you feel him lean over you again. His hand finds your ass to smooth over it before giving you an encouraging pat that only seems to rush straight to your slicking cunt, making you whine low in your throat. What was he going to do to you when the possibilities seemed limitless and each one made you feel that much more desperate than the last? 

You soon get your answer when he silently withdraws his palm only to bring it back down on the meat of your backside in a stinging, hard handed swat. The suddenness of the slap shocks you more than the actual sharp burst of pain does, and you rock forward with a startled squeak. But he’s quick to do it again, targeting the other cheek this time, to make you mewl and fitfully squirm on the floor. 

“Don’t move.” He warns, giving the now aching skin a mean squeeze. “I’m just going to get you warmed up first before the main event, but if you decide not to be good for me I’ll have to really punish you. Surely you don’t want that, do you?” 

Half delirious, you slowly shake your head and the resulting clink of the chains rattling with the motion further highlights your position here. Even if you’d wanted to fight it there was nothing you could do with your hands secured as they were, nowhere for you to run when you were stark naked and effectively trapped in his home. All you can do is kneel there and take it, feeling your ass jolt in the air when he brings his hand down again to spank across your sit spots in rapid succession before focusing back in on the fattest part of your behind. 

What was initially a briefly sharp starburst of pain quickly morphs into a constant, throbbing sting that seems to spread across your whole backside while he peppers back and forth between your cheeks over the next some odd minutes. It seems to stretch on for an eternity but, logically, you knew it must have only lasted for a short while. Just enough to warm up the skin and leave it tender in the wake of his hand. That’s what he’d said, anyway. 

And you’re so far gone in the hazy stupor you’d slipped into that you couldn’t even fully grasp just how humiliating this really was. Being forced into such a position with your ass shamelessly presented for him to do whatever he liked and yet he chose to spank you. You’d probably be furious with him later on, and rightfully so, but in this particular moment the only thing you can bring yourself to care about is how turned on it was making you. 

The single other instance you could recall where you’d been quite this worked up was the last time you and him had played this game, sequestered away in the relative privacy of the Grand Sage’s office. Never before and never since. 

Here you had real privacy though and a much smaller chance of discovery, particularly if what he’d said about his mysterious roommate being out for the night was true. And it’s clear Al-Haitham plans to take full advantage of the freedom allotted to him by doing this in his own home, because no sooner does he finally pull his hand from your throbbing ass do you feel his fingers descend upon your cunt. 

Yelping a mindless sound of startled delight, you eagerly arch your spine and rear back on his hand in humble supplication for more. He laughs a low, rumbling sound at the display even as the rough pads of his fingertips skirt down the seam of your labia to rub sedate circles over your clit. The gesture quickly makes you realize exactly how soaked you are with copious arousal when he smears it across your pussy lips in the process, making an even bigger mess of you. 

Bless the gods, but you were going to cum in record time. 

“I wish you could see yourself right now, trembling like that with my handprints all over your ass. If it weren’t for your usual attitude I’d even say you look like you were made for this. Do you enjoy it when I touch you here?” 

You let out a needy, faltering groan and jerk your head in a quick nod, making the chains jostle again. 

“Then let me hear you, darling girl. Speak.” 

It’s a real struggle to think clearly when he was still intently drawing his fingers over that sensitive pleasure button but your cotton stuffed head somehow manages to parse what he was asking of you. It was the same as last time. The same ‘trick’ he’d taught you in his office. The memory of idiotically barking like a dog had kept you awake many a night since, and not for the reasons you would have liked … 

You absolutely hate how much it excites you, your cheeks flushing incomprehensibly hotter even as you hang your head low and force out a weak, “Wh - woof!” 

“Oh? Is this not to your liking? My apologies then. Perhaps you want it here instead?” Abandoning your clit, Al-Haitham trails his fingers further up to your entrance where he quickly sinks one of those sinuously long digits into your cunt, forcing the inner sleeve of your body to stretch open around him. 

Stiffly lurching at the unexpected penetration and the jolt of friction that comes with it, you desperately ball your hands into tight fists against the rug in an attempt to ground yourself. “Woof! Woof wh - oof! Ahhn!” 

“Mmm, pretty sounds for a pretty girl. And so tight too. Don’t tell me you haven’t been playing with yourself at all since our last session? Too embarrassed or … were you just waiting for me to be the one to play with this needy little pussy for you?” 

You try to bark again, knowing he was likely to stop if you didn’t, but you can’t quite seem to find enough oxygen to do so. Your lungs were constricting much too tight with the short, labored gasps you rapidly suck in as the tension inside your cunt dizzyingly swells to near discomfort. You were beyond soaked, and the sticky wet clicks he pulls from your shuddering body when he adds a second finger only attests to that. The obscene schlucking sound that starts up when he begins to fuck you with them seems to echo in the space between your ears, adding to the total onslaught to your senses. All you could do was squeal helpless, dire tinged animal noises into the static charged room while he mercilessly pounds into you from behind. 

“Are you going to cum for me already, sweetheart? Gonna’ squirt all over this carpet just like you did on the one in my office? Huh?” 

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, neither slowing down nor ceasing his ministrations for even a moment, and your eyes soon begin to roll back when your impending orgasm suffocatingly bears down on you. The building pressure was too much, the deliberate jabs of his fingers far too concentrated on that receptive bundle of nerves within you. Your body simply couldn’t take it even as you continue to gush excessively around the intrusion, and then all at once the scales seem to tip. 

You cum with a shuddering jerk, frantically wailing in pleasure when you feel your pussy give out to release a fresh deluge of slick. Screwing your eyes shut, you deliriously ride out the juddering waves of pleasure that sweep over you in a torrent as your squeezing cunt uncontrollably erupts around Al-Haitham’s fingers, having once again expertly coaxed you to this unseemly state. It was like being stretched too thin on such a bone deep level that by the time you finally start to come down from the reeling high another moment later you barely even know who you are anymore. 

All that seems to register in your punchdrunk mind is his unmistakably masculine presence hovering over you, his hand slowly withdrawing from your cunt with a messy wet slurp that makes you sensitively twitch. The smell of him, his taste on the back of your tongue. In retrospect it was no wonder just that one fateful encounter with him had ruined you so irreparably. 

How in the world had you not seen it sooner? He was the singularly most infuriating man you’d ever met, yes, but he was also the only person you’d ever known who seemed to understand you better than you understood yourself. You hadn’t even thought you were capable of squirting before this. Damn him. 

Issuing a groggy groan into the rug, you slowly begin to stir from your semi comatose state. You weren’t sure when exactly you’d pressed your cheek into the floor but you force your head up as primly as you can manage given the circumstances. And still trembling with the lingering remnants of your release, you shoot a cautious look underneath you only to grimace when you spot the telltale wet stains bleeding into the carpet. Unfortunately you’re not allowed much of a chance to recover or find your bearings though, and you give a faint hiss when Al-Haitham nudges your attention up at him with a firm tug to the leash. 

That he still looks frustratingly cool and collected despite everything that had just transpired bothers you a great deal but you stubbornly keep those thoughts to yourself. He was going to get an ear full from you later. The least he could have done was put a towel down instead of purposely embarrassing you like this again! 

“Doing good so far?” Luckily he seems to take your nod at face value, and he reaches out to brush a bit of hair away from your face with an unexpectedly tender stroke of his hand. “Good. I’ve got something else for you, if you feel up to it.” 

Rousing from your hazy delirium a bit more, you somewhat roughly clear your throat after not using your voice for so long before venturing to speak. “I know I’m supposed to be playing a role here but I have to ask. When exactly did you find the time to plan all of this? You seem suspiciously well prepared.” 

“It’s not so much that I planned it, but rather I simply followed through on an idea that already existed.” He says, earning a skeptical lift of your brow, and he quietly clicks his tongue when he realizes he’s going to have to offer up a better explanation than that. “You seem to remember everything else I said the last time so I’m surprised you don’t recall this. I told you if I’d had some warning beforehand I would have purchased a few things in advance. Well, I decided that I wouldn’t be caught unawares again. If you came to me I  wanted to be ready.”

“The collar.” You murmur, idly reaching up to touch it with a brief rattle of the connecting chain. “You did say that, didn’t you? What else do you have in there?” 

“Want to find out?” 

Shooting him a wary glance, you consider your options here. It sounded like he’d let you go if that was what you wanted after already having gotten off once, which was unexpectedly conscientious of him, but … were you really satisfied with just that? You’d thought about this almost nonstop for weeks and now that you were in front of him, collared and kneeling at his feet, you weren’t so sure you were ready to call it a night just yet. 

Besides, he still hadn’t made any attempt to see to his own needs and the low simmering pulse in your cunt hadn’t been fully satiated. Perhaps if you played along a little longer he’d stretch you out and stuff you full with something hopefully a bit more substantial than his fingers. A girl could certainly hope, at least. 

“Alright. I’m listening.”

“That's a good pet.” He murmurs, sticking his hand out to lightly palm over your head and you don’t stop long enough to reconsider it before nuzzling into the gesture with a soft purr. It seemed your earlier impression was correct. As long as he kept praising you, you’d do anything he wanted. 

Pulling back, Al-Haitham directs his attention back around to the contents of the box again. You listen to him dig for something, wondering how many items he’d actually purchased for the sake of being prepared, but you can’t quite see what he finally pulls out from your position on the floor. Even when you try to crane your neck up for a quick look the only thing you can make out is him fiddling with something. 

“This might be a bit cold at first.” He warns. 

That’s all the notice you get before he leans over you, hand stretching out on a sure and steady trajectory towards your backside, and you outright squawk when you feel him smear something sticky over your asshole. He does it so casually, such idle surety in the motion, that it sends your heart shooting up into your throat. 

Mewling a soft sound of confusion, you shudderingly try to twist around on the floor to see what he’s doing but he just follows you when you angle away. His ministrations don’t even falter while he continues to smear that mysterious wet goop over your puckered hole to thoroughly coat you in it, your uncertainty growing by the second when understanding starts to dawn. 

Surely he wasn’t — 

“Don’t tense up. You need to relax.” He murmurs, slowly rubbing over your ass with concentrated strokes now to encourage the muscle to loosen. 

Oh, he most certainly was. 

“W - w - wha - -“ 

“No words now, pretty girl. Unless it’s to tell me to stop and that you don’t want to do this anymore, I’m not interested in hearing it. You’re going to be a good pet for me, aren’t you?” 

Whimpering, you screw your eyes shut and try to focus on your breathing. That was easier said than done though, of course. You weren’t used to being touched like this and the prospect of having something inserted up your ass makes you far more nervous than anything else he’s done to you this evening. But it’s clear that was what he’s working his way up to, especially when he starts to carefully prod at the center wrinkle where the tight muscle begins to slacken and give way. He only taunts you with it though, never quite fully slipping his finger inside to penetrate you, and instead he focuses on merely teasing around the interior rim. 

You quickly realize he’s making sure you’re as well coated with that slippery lubricant on the inside as you are on the outside, and it becomes that much harder to keep your head on straight. 

Positively squirming when he at last pulls away some time later to leave your asshole sticky and loosened, you seethe into the rug while you listen to him dig something else out of the box. You have a few guesses in mind, naturally, but nothing quite prepares you for when you crack your eyes open at his behest only to find him dangling a long, fluffy tail in front of your face. 

Attached to the other end is what you can safely assume to be a plug based off the smooth, rounded tip that widens out into a bulbous base before then narrowing down to a thinner stem. The faux fur appendage dangles tauntingly from the bottom of it, and you softly groan at the full bodied shudder that tears through you. He really was going to put that thing inside your body. 

“Take a deep breath for me and let it out slowly. That’s it. Again. Such a good girl you’re being. I want you to focus on relaxing into it and bear down when I tell you to, alright?” 

At your faltering nod of understanding, in far too deep to back out now, Al-Haitham scoots to the very edge of the sofa and leans over you again. Using one hand to spread your sore cheeks open, he brings the plug close with the opposite to gently touch you with it. You jolt at the contact like he’d electrocuted you but quickly still again with an anxious little sob. Helpless to do anything else, you just kneel there at his feet and accept what’s happening while he lazily draws the toy through the excess lubricant he’d smeared all over you. 

When he finally starts to push in on the slackened pucker after another drawn out moment you go stockstill at the unfamiliar pressure, gasping roughly into the carpet. He softly tuts at you, encouraging you to calm down with soft words of praise, but it’s hard. Almost impossible when this was completely foreign to you and the slow stretch of yet untested muscle seems so debilitatingly sharp even in your punchdrunk state that you don’t know what to make of it. 

It doesn’t hurt though, you’re quite relieved to find. Just uncomfortable and more than a little strange, particularly when you could feel your asshole slowly losing the fight. There was too much lube for you to reject it and keep him out, the plug sufficiently smooth to make the penetration more of an easy glide than you’d expected it to be. In tortuous slow motion, he makes you take one millimeter at a time until your hole is stretched wide around the thickest part before gradually pulling back to repeat the process. 

Again and again, he makes your body open up to him before at last issuing the command for you to push. You almost don’t do it, unsure if you even could when the once tight ring of muscle felt so horribly strained, but with a low groan you comply. At the same time you bear down on the intrusion he gives it a quick push, and all at once the whole thing slips inside you straight down to the base. You rock forward with a haggard gasp, mindlessly jutting your ass up in the air as you weakly squeeze around the narrow stem only to realize that it was already too late. 

The toy was firmly wedged inside you now and taking up space that only seems to highlight how very empty your pussy is. He pulls back to admire his handiwork, letting the long tail settle against your soaked cunt with a faint brush of the fur. Trembling almost violently, you dig your toes into the rug and nudge your pelvis up as if you were little more than a bitch begging to be mounted. 

You really didn’t want to think about how apt that comparison actually was right now. 

“Just look at you, darling girl. I can tell how much you’re enjoying this from here,” He says, breaking through the delirium just enough for you to pick up on the vague note of satisfied awe creeping into his voice. Like he couldn’t believe you’d really allowed this to go so far, or maybe he was just finally starting to notice the effect this was having on his own body. It was hard to say with him. 

Groaning fitfully, you press your hot face into the ornate rug and give your ass a brief, supplicating shake. The tail shifts with the motion where it dangles down between your legs, brushing your pussy just so, but it’s not nearly enough to feel good. If anything it just makes you more desperate for his attention, his hand, his cock. Whatever he wanted to give you would have sufficed.

But of course Al-Haitham doesn’t relent and give you what you want. He never does, not directly anyway, and you seethe through your teeth when you feel him stand up from the sofa to loom over you. 

“Sit for me.” 

Blinking through the disorienting fog, you gingerly comply. Push up onto your forearms and get your knees adjusted under you before slowly sitting upright even when you dizzily sway with the motion. The change in position seems to make the plug feel even bigger where it’s keeping your ass stretched open around its width, and you faintly groan at the sensation. 

Al-Haitham is as unreasonable and demanding as ever though, and he barely allows you enough time to get situated in front of him before issuing his next command. “Good. Now beg.” 

The mere thought of assuming that position again makes you wince, your body already a mess of aches and pains, and throbbing arousal, but you comply with this too. It takes a bit of effort on your part to get your legs to cooperate but you eventually manage, somehow. 

And once you’re squatted before him, precariously balancing on your toes with your hands securely fastened up by your chest, you look to him for his next order. You no longer have any wherewithal left to feel at all embarrassed or ashamed of having your cunt on display like this, nor do you have it in you to second guess any of it. All you knew with certainty was that you were drowning in it, this hazy feeling of absolution that seemed to rend you to pieces and mend you back together again in the same breath. Perhaps it was a bit fatalistic, yes, but you’d never felt quite so sexually satisfied in all your life. 

Especially when he smiles, pinning you with one of those exceedingly rare, genuine little tugs of his mouth to indicate that he was pleased with you. It’s fleeting and short lived but you don’t miss it by a long shot as he proceeds to gently pull on your leash to make sure he’s got your attention.  

“Wag for me, pretty girl? Think you can do that?” 

You don’t stop to rethink this either. You just do it, struggling to shake your ass in this awkward balancing act to feel the tail swishing back and forth on the floor underneath you. It’s humiliating and dehumanizing in equal measure, but you would have gladly done that and so much more just to earn another doting pet of his hand, another soft word from his mouth. 

Al-Haitham had awakened something inside you that day in his office, and now you were his responsibility. For better or worse, he was your master and you his obedient, loyal pet.

⭐

Crossposted: here

[nowimjustastranger]

Imagine if Someone to call my own Ford just runs around giving Stanley’s emotional support stuffed animals as well? Like Ford comes across a Stanley with huge emotional issues, and well Ford isn’t the best at comforting him and while he does indeed help that Stanley he feels really bad on not knowing what to say in that moment.

So Ford wanting to be more prepared if he comes across a younger Stanley or maybe just a really depressed Stanley he decides maybe his solution should be small keychain stuffed animals.

1.) Easy to get and easy to replace

2.) Even if it doesn’t work on comforting on certain Stanleys, it does infact shock them enough stop them from spiraling /continuing to spiral.

Stanley: And then! And then he—he just shuts me out like always despite how much I sacrificed just to get here—

Ford: Would…would you like a plushie in these trying times?

Stanley: What?

Ford: *pulls out a small really ugly plushie keychain*

Stanley: …

Stanley: That is the most ugliest stuffed animal I have ever seen

Ford: Oh…I could give you another one if you’d like?

Stanley: No it’s mine now, hand it over

Stanley: *continues rant but is slightly more relaxed holding plushie*

3.) Great distractions for kids, running from the time police, great to throw at people’s eye balls

Why is this the best thing ever? Lol.

Personally, I headcanon that Ford always keeps random shit on him, people stare at him in disbelief/amusement when he empties his pockets since he's got something for every occasion. He's more of a knickknack/trinket person than a stuffed animals guy (but he probably does have a few miniature ones for any kid Stan he comes across).

Thank you for giving me the idea that Ford leaves a little gift for every version of Stan that he helps! It'll be his calling card!

And you're absolutely right about Ford not really knowing how to comfort people but, by the time he meets Stan 77/H, he's been at it for 13 years and he's learned how to handle most variation's of his brother.

[gleasonlovesjasontodd]

jason todd head cannons i have part four

after a while of dating when y’all go out on a dates or just a walk you “accidentally forget your jacket” and jason being the gentleman and wonderful boyfriend he is gives you his jacket but eventually he starts to catch on that you purposely left your jacket at home and doesn’t even mine cause he loves seeing you in jacket and it brings you comfort (i believe he has a leather jacket obviously but also a nice black winter coat).

he knows every freckle, mole, and scar on your body and don’t you dare ever call it ugly because

after a while of dating y’all move in and he would let you decorate the apartment because he’s doesn’t care what it looks like all he cares about is coming home from patrol and seeing you asleep waiting for him because you are his home

i believe he has good eyesight which is good because i personally can’t see

100% carries your shopping bags

i believe when he comes home from patrol and is entering through the window he knocks down the photos you have and tiny knickknacks and he curses at himself because he doesn’t wanna wake you up but you wake up anyway and glare at him and he just looks at you and is like maybe move them 😭

this is for my people who watches gossip girl iykyk 🤭🤭 i believe you would make him a sweater and sew your initial info on the sleeve with a little heart so that he is always wearing your heart on his sleeve and he would cherish that so hard and want to wear it everyday even when it’s hot outside

i believe he sleeps closer to the door for protection. ( i can’t remember if i said this yet)

definitely calls you sweetheart

this man will listen to you ramble on about anything yall could be laying down in bed and. you could be rambling about gossip that your friends told you or listen to you talk about your tv show and he will listen because he loves you so much i believe his hand would be on your waist the whole time and he’s aski questions so that you know he’s listening

at his safe houses that he has all over gotham pictures of you on his nightstand this man loves you so much you have no idea

doesn’t like to take any type of pain killers because he’s afraid he will get addicted

you help him with his blonde streak help him touch it up

he loves kissing you from behind your cheek, your neck, temple,

i just can’t get over how soft he is with you but when he’s out on patrol or with bruce dick he is cursing being sarcastic and all tuff but when he comes home to you just a big softie

this is kinda a spicy thought definitely believe he can take your bra off with one hand

THATS ALL I HAVE I’M SORRY THIS IS BAD I AM VERY TIRED BUT I KNEW I HAD TO POST THIS TONIGHT FOR YALL ALSO I MADE A INTRO PAGE LIKE ALL THE OTHER WRITERS ITS NOT SUPER CUTE BUT I TRIED xoxo gleason 🎀🎀

[transgender-png]

2025 is the year for ugly clutter. justice for my horrid little knickknacks and ungodly trinkets. unleash your inner dragon. spit fire at homophobes.

[bigasswritingmagnet]

The First of Many Goodbyes

Fandom: Girl Genius Pairing: Oggie/Oggie's wife (please name her, Foglios, I beg you) Summary: One of Ognian's greatest losses is fast approaching, and Khrizhan must make him understand that the death that Jӓgers are surrounded by is found at home as much as the battlefield.

A far distant sequel to Meet-Cute-ish.

AO3 Link

It was a nice little house in a nice part of town, with a slate roof and stone walls, brightly painted yellow shutters, a rose trellis, window boxes of small white flowers. And yet a pall hung over the house, an invisible but palpable sense of foreboding and grief, like an incredibly localized stormcloud.

Khrizhan knocked on the door, gently. After a moment or two, it opened. A young woman with a mass of soft ginger curls looked up at him in surprise.

“Good mornink,” he said, politely. “Hy is here to speak to Ognian.”

Her eyes narrowed; her expression grim and wary. Stiffly, she nodded and stepped aside.

The dark cloud was even heavier inside than out, turning the comfortable home into a something like a living tomb. Khrizhan was led into a sitting room and somewhat stonily bade to rest himself in a loveseat that was only just large enough to contain his bulk.

“Grandpoppa,” the girl called, and disappeared through a doorway.

As Khrizhan waited, he took in his surroundings. The furnishings were eclectic but comfortable. The walls were crowded with pictures and trophies, and shelves covered in little knickknacks. Above the fireplace was a painting, a family portrait of parents, children, and grandchildren. Ognian had bragged about it for months, and Khrizhan had to admit it was masterfully done. The artist had managed to capture the sly smile and playful disposition that turned Radka's ugliness into its own kind of beauty.

Ognian shuffled in, and Khrizhan felt his heart sink in sympathy. He had never seen the other man so miserable before. No hint of his perpetual smile; his boundless energy had been bound tight in the exhaustion that sagged his shoulders. Khrizhan did not take it personally when Ognian stared blankly at him without saluting.

“Sit, Ognian,” Khrizhan said, kindly.

Ognian did so, slowly sinking down onto an armchair directly across the low table between them.

“How is she?” Khrizhan asked. He didn’t really want to ask, didn’t need to ask, if it came to that, but it was necessary. The very question seemed to cause Ognian to shrink in on himself.  

“Doctor says any…any day now.” His eyes flicked back to the doorway he’d come in through, and Khrizhan knew the man wanted him out of the house so he could return to his wife’s side. Dimo had said no one had seen Ognian in three days.

“Hy tought as much. Ve—”  

Ognian’s son appeared, bearing a tray with a teapot, one teacup, and one larger mug that would be easier for Khrizhan to hold. The arrival seemed to startle Ognian out of his fog and into the present.

“Oh,” he said, dismayed. “Hy should have asked—”

Khrizhan waved it away.

“Hyu has effery reason to be distracted.”

Vasil set the tray down on the table between them, and Khrizhan took a moment to compare the two men. They had always looked astonishingly similar, and there had been a period of time where they had often been mistaken for each other. But Vasil had aged, while his father had not, and now Khrizhan wondered if Ognian ever looked at his son and saw the man he might have been, if he had taken a different path.

Vasil left, pausing to squeeze his father’s shoulder; Ognian put a distracted hand over his, squeezing back. Khrizhan waited until the man was out of the room.

“De Heterodyne has announce he vishes to ride out—”

Ognian snapped around to face Khrizhan, his entire body going rigid, the color visibly draining from his face. Khrizhan raised a hand, forestalling a reaction.

“—und Hy is here to tell hyu to stay home.”

Ognian sagged again, his eyes closing briefly.

“Until furder notice, hyu is relieved of all duties. Stay vit hyu lady und hyu family. De Heterodyne...understands."

It took Ognian several heavy swallows before he could whisper out “Tank hyu.”

Wordlessly, Khrizhan served the tea. Ognian was staring out of the room again, chewing on his thumbnail, lost in thought. Absentmindedly, he took the cup Khrizhan gave him and sipped it. He choked and nearly gagged at the taste. Khrizhan, his own mug halfway to his lips, paused.

Ognian gestured for Khrizhan to hand over his cup and began to liberally doctor both cups with sugar and cream.

“Hy love my son very much,” Ognian said in a low voice, “but he ken’t make tea vorth a damn.”

Khrizhan took his mug again and warily took a very tiny sip. Even with all the additions, he could taste that Ognian’s son had somehow managed to burn the tea leaves. 

“Vell,” Khrizhan said, tactfully setting the mug aside, “dot leads me to de odder reason Hy came to see hyu.”

Ognian looked wary, his hands tight on the cup.

“Hyu is a young Jӓger,” Khrizhan said. “Young enuff dot hyu could still be alive, if hyu had not taken de Jӓgerdraught.” He nodded towards the door Ognian could not keep his eyes from. “She is de forst vun dot hyu should not have outlived. She vill not be de last. Novhere near de last. De pipple around hyu vill age und die und hyu vill keep goink.” He met Ognian’s eyes and spoke without cruelty or mercy. “Hyu vill live to see hyu son die.”

Ognian put the cup down with a clatter and buried his face in his hands. He was shaking all over. Khrizhan wished he could, somehow, make it not be so. He had had this conversation with hundreds of Jӓgers, watched them face down the looming future and the endless centuries of loss it promised, and every time wished he could change it.

“It is de price ve pay for de gifts de Jӓgerdraught gives us, und it is a steep vun. It is easy for us to…lose touch. Ognian.”

Ognian raised his face, silent tears running down his cheeks.

“It is very temptink to give up. To stay avay from everyvun, to lose hyuself in blood und var. Hy haff seen it before, und it leads to madness, alvays. Find someting dot grounds hyu, someting dot keeps hyu connected to de vorld und its pipple. Someting dot vill help hyu keep being hyuself.”

He glanced meaningfully at the picture over the fireplace, and Ognian’s eyes followed his gaze. The man wiped the tears from his face, looking thoughtful.

“Hy tink Hy can do dot,” he said, softly.

Khrizhan nodded and rose.

“Good. Hy vill take no more of hyu time. Hy know it is precious to hyu.”

Ognian walked him to the door, where Khrizhan put a hand on his shoulder.

“Take de time hyu need. Ven hyu is ready to come back, hyu let me know.” Khrizhan hesitated, and then said, softly, “Hy iz…very sorry, Ognian.”  

“I’m not even dead yet.”

Both Jӓgers jumped. In the room adjacent, Khrizhan saw a large bed had been set up. Lying half-lost amidst the pillows was Radka. She was hardly recognizable as the vivacious woman Khrizhan had known—only a few strands of red in her gray hair, the arms laid out on the blankets knobbly and thin, pale and parchment-skinned—but the look in her eyes was as sharp as ever.

“Hyu is supposed to be asleep,” Ognian scolded.

The woman snorted.

“All I do is sleep. Who is it? Khrizhan? Get in here.”

“Radka,” Ognian said, exasperated despite himself.

“It is my prerogative as a sickly old woman to make as much of a nuiscance of myself as I can!”

“Fine,” Ognian said. “But if hyu’s avake it means hyu can take hyu medicine.”

“Oh really,” Radka called as her husband disappeared down the hallway. “Red fire, Ognian, I’m already dying, what good will it do me?”

Khrizhan chuckled as he approached the bed.

“Good to see hyu hasn’t changed any.”

Radka’s lips quirked as she lay back against the pillows.

“Nonsense. I’m incredibly ornery. I’m on my second doctor, and I’m pretty sure I drove the first one to drink.”

“Ya,” Khrizhan said, nodding. “Not changed at all.”

Radka smiled, but it was rueful and faded quickly. She reached out and grabbed his wrist. He was shocked at how weak her grip was. It was as if the mere act of curling her fingers took all the strength she had.

“Will he be alright?” she asked, softly. “They’re all being insufferably brave around me.” Radka let her hand drop away. “As pleasing as it would be to my ego, I would rather he not spend the rest of his existence wearing black and walking the walls, weeping."

“No,” Khrizhan said, reassuringly. He went for absolute honesty, knowing she would accept nothing else. “He vill suffer, yez, but he vill come beck. He haz hiz family, und as long as he haz dem, he vill not lose himself.”

Radka smiled.

“Good.” Then her smile went a little wider and she started to snicker. Khrizhan raised an eyebrow. “He’s got a vested interest in ensuring the continuation of the family line,” Radka pointed out, eyes shining. “He’s going to be worse than the castle.”

Khrizhan burst out laughing. She was absolutely right. Herding angry mammoths was an easier task than redirecting Ognian when he’d set his mind to something.

“My sympathies to hyu descendants,” he said with a broad grin.

“Vut’s so funny?” Ognian asked, appearing in the door with a small cup in his hand.

“I’m mocking you behind your back,” Radka said.

“Ho, nize break from hyu mockink me to my face,” he said, unperturbed.

Ognian sat down on the bed beside her and handed Radka the cup—though Khrizhan noted he kept his fingers pressed to the bottom, subtly supporting it as she drank. When she had finished, Radka made a face and mock glared at him.

“Fusspot,” she said, stroking his wrist.

“Old hag,” he replied, with aching fondness.

“Hy must go now,” Khrizhan said. “Ve prepare for tomorrow. Tink on vut Hy said, Ognian.”

“Thank you for visiting,” Radka said, warmly. “It was nice to see you.”

The 'one last time' was not said, but felt all the same.

Khrizhan bowed, his eyes stinging slightly, and left them there.

[labselkie]

what if liv made this and then whenever you werent at work with her (impossible scenario) she could just Gaze Upon The Seal Cube when she missed you (she would get no work done because shes constantly staring at it.)

I LOVE THOSE UGLY SEAL PLUSHIES (V AFFECTIONATE I HAVE A LITTLE ONE)

the critter cube of infinite longing.. considering all the knickknacks around her office it isn’t far fetched either and I love that sm

UNRELATED BUT I think they’d get those TikTok shop couple bracelets that light up whenever you touch it. They’d break the battery w how bright it gets

[fluff-e-boy]

Used to share a room with my sister but she moved out for college, and when she left she didn’t take all of her stuff . So now my room is full of knickknacks and other clutter. But most importantly . The current residents of this bedroom are me and a poster of her husband and a poster of her husband and a poster of her husband and a poster of her husband an-

Needless to say I have a mild disdain for my brother-in-laws ugly mug

[fairykazu]

SNEAKING 'ROUND WITH YOU FT. KAEYA contents // snowman building, friends to lovers, confessions, pining, christmasy event note: i listened to w2e's album, 0.1 flaws and all, while writing this but this song fits better: somethin' stupid masterlist

you were waiting outside, hoping that the ring doorbell didn't trigger the notifications on your parents' phone. you bundled yourself up in a puffy jacket and some sweats, hoping that kaeya would arrive just before the cold wouldn't freeze you to death. as the snow fell from the midnight skies, you used the sleeves of your puffy jacket to make mini snowmen, naming one 'snowy' and the other, 'cup of noodles'. man, waiting for kaeya felt like forever to a point you named your snowbaby as cup of noodles. "'it takes twenty minutes' he said." you mocked kaeya as the cold bit your cheeks, reddish hue on your face. even though, kaeya probably wouldn't had, you feel like he just left you hanging.

it's gotten colder as your teeth clattered together, making each step on the patio of the house harder and harder to reach. only making it to the first step to the patio, you sat down and waited for him.

a kick of snow landed on the wooden steps as you looked where it came from, kaeya was hunched over, carrying a plastic bag of random items from the nearest shop, he was out of breath. "whew, oh my god."

"oh my god..." kaeya turned to you as your very cold face morphed into disbelief. "you killed cup of noodles-"

"how did you know i got that in the bag?" kaeya asked as he lifted the bag to show you.

looking at the instant noodle packaging made you drool a little. "oooh thank you, wait no! you killed my baby!" you cried, pointing pile of stepped-on snow next to snowy. kaeya quirked a brow,

"um, the really ugly mounds of snow?"

"yes, my beautiful baby i made while waiting for you asshat!" you sobbed dramatically as kaeya sat next to you, placing the bag of knickknacks next to him. "i am very sorry about your beloved baby, princess. but to make you feel better, i got you, hand heater packets!" rummaging through the bag, he opened the hand heater packaging, showing you the heater.

"i semi-accept your apology."

"i am very gracious, princess. as you warm up with that, i will help you create a better 'cup of noodles' snowman."

"better?" you questioned. "are you implying that the baby cup of noodles i made was stupid and bad?"

he fell down dramatically, draping his hand on his face. "princess, of course not, i will never say that. ummm," he tried to appease you with something else in his bag. "chocolate?"

"sure." you were enjoying thoroughly being pampered. he handed you the chocolate bar as he rolled a snowball in his hands, shaping it unevenly. "instead, of um, late 'cup of noodles' being here. let's make a new one?"

you quietly snorted as you agreed, "yes, you should make me a big snowman in honor of cup of noodles." he furrowed his brows, scratching his head with his other hand,

"like how big?"

you placed down the unwrapped bar of chocolate on the patio stairs and stood up. "like this tall!" you pointed to the floor to the patio's celing.

he laughed nervously, "princess, i fear that that would be too tall for me to make. what if i die instead?" his face grew ruddy from the cold, you stepped closer to him. wrapping your scarf around his neck, feeling the breeze bite you from your turtleneck, you tucked the scarf inside of the loop. kaeya flushed a little but it's not like you noticed anyway. you exhaled a laugh, tugging kaeya to your height,

"it would be okay because you died in honor of 'cup of noodles'." you two's faces were abnormally close. inching away from each other lips, you felt his cold breath ghosting your lips.

kaeya didn't try to do a flirty line with you, having you hear every sound around you. as the snow falls, dancing with each other, forming the flakes and your heart beat a bit faster than before. kaeya, thankfully, broke the ice, "so, princess, if i die, who would give you wonderful gifts?"

naturally, you guys pulled apart as kaeya took a step back. but you took a small step closer, you smiled, "you mean, peace offerings?"

"same thing, isn't it?"

---

you two were a bit further from your house, outside of your room. your window was open as the wind billowed the curtains in the room. you two eventually decided to build snowmen who were not as tall as the patio's ceiling to the concrete floor but instead mini snowmen like snowy and cup of noodles.

kaeya suggested that you two should collect branches for the little arms and rocks for the eyes for the snowmen. you agreed as along if the snowmen were you two together.

you replied, "we should make them look like us."

he smiled, his blue eyes glimmering in the moonlight. if you were mistaken, he could've been an angel too. um, snow angel. "sure."

kaeya was acting like the branches he had collected were logs twice the size of yours. "name, princess, can you help me lug this for me?"

you rolled your eyes and replied back, "if im the princess to you, why should i help? aren't you my shining knight in armor?"

kaeya hid his face into your scarf, hoping you would notice his flushed cheeks was a result of the cold. he cleared his throat, "you are so right, princess." giving you the so-called branches, you carried them in your arms, confused.

he lifted you up, carrying you in princess style. you nearly shrieked in fear as kaeya shushed you with his finger, "hey, we don't want to wake up your parents, now do we?"

"okay, kae." you retorted as he silently snorted. regardless, you dug your face into his nape or really, your scarf. you heard every beat of his heart as he hummed and rubbed circles into your back.

---

he carried you until you two reached the patio once more. you slipped out of his warm embrace as he left you to the cold, he told you that he'll be right back. you sat down against the wall of the house, placing the little branches on the other side of you. out of boredom, you started to make a few little balls to be your base for your snowmen with kaeya. the rocks he picked out somehow matched your shade of eyes, making you question if the pebbles actually turned out to be gems.

after a while, the blue haired male walked back with the plastic bag in hand and your chocolate from earlier in the other. "princess, i got you something, i forgot."

you fiddled with the hand warmth heaters in your pockets as kaeya rummaged through the bag to find a beanie. "if you're worried about your hair, it's like silk lined here." he flipped the inside of the beanie out, showing you the fabric lining. "that's very sweet, kae."

"well, i would do anything for you..." your heart stopped as kaeya's face fell to the ground, trying to cover up his slip up. "because you're my best friend. my, wait, the princess, y'know?"

"yep!" you popped the 'p' at the end. kaeya placed the beanie on your head, covering your eyes for a while. "wha?? kaeya what was that for?" you asked, trying to yank the beanie upwards but kaeya's hand had it stay put in place.

"um, just wait here for a little bit." kaeya answered, taking one of the sticks next to you. you heard him trip, face first into the snow. "GAH!" he shrieked as you shushed him,

"kae, we don't want to wake up my parents, now do we?"

"don't use my words against me, princess." as he struggled to get up from the snow, he took the branch he previously had and drew something around you.

"or what? what are you going to do? aren't you my shining knight in armor, what are you going to dooo~?" you retorted back, trying to lift the beanie up to see what he was doing. you don't know how but he was already there to stop you, "keep this down for now and turn facing the house."

"huh?"

"just do it for a surprise!"

---

he was so glad that you kept the beanie to cover your eyes as he drew a bad heart around you, taking the heart shaped chocolates out. he collected the snowballs you made prior and stacked them. smoothing out the edges as he puts your little branch arms into the snow and his snowman's arms around yours. or at least attempted to fit his stick arm near your stick arms. he took out a bow he bought before and placed it near your snowman and a little toy sword next to his.

"name, you can take off your 'blindfold' now and turn around." he told you as you followed the order. adjusting the beanie so it wouldn't make your hair too flat. did he call you by your first name? it feels strange after all, he called you 'princess' since the beginning of middle school. when he declared that he would be your shining knight in armor.

"kaeya?" you turned around and saw kaeya standing with a chocolate box, swallowed his breath. you looked around and saw the mini kaeya and name as snowmen in a small, badly drawn heart. "what's going on?"

you looked down and the badly drawn heart was around you too. kaeya only managed to laugh, unable to speak to you even though he had practiced what to say beforehand. in the bathroom, forcing diluc proofread his speech to you and even making lisa make sure it's as heart felt as he wanted it to be. he only stammered out words you couldn't even hear.

the words 'i like you' scrambled out of his mouth as "i whah wuah." he wanted to hit himself because it didn't turn out right.

"kaeya, are you okay?" you stepped out of the heart carefully, making sure that you didn't kick over the mini snowmen. his breath hitched as your perfume filled the atmosphere, he's sure that the stars are burning red at this point. "your head is so warm." you pressed your colder fingers against his forehead as he gulped,

"name, i like you." you paused for a moment, glanced into his midnight eyes, the stars could exist in his eyes. wait no, you're looking for a trace of jokes but found none.

you wanted to say "i like you too." but your thoughts were caught in your throat and instead of the statement of requiting with his feelings. you replied, "what?"

nervously, he cleared his throat, "princess, i like-like you." you smiled, he wanted to engrave that into his head forever. he awaited your response and it felt like an eternity. but an eternity he'll wait to hear your response. if you reject him, it's fine because at least he could stay by your side until now.

you tried to fight the words to tell kaeya you like him back. again, the words were just stuck but actions are bigger than words. so instead of telling him, you'll just show him. stepping closer to kaeya, your lips ghosting where his were, you pressed your lips against his. dropping the chocolate box on the snowy grounds, kaeya's eyes widened but returned your kiss. you tangled your fingers with his hair as he was tapping on your shoulder.

pulling apart from the kiss, kaeya was out of breath, "oh my god," his cheeks were warmer. you giggled, "i like you too. that's what i mean."

"im so glad, princess, but also it felt like you were trying to steal my soul." you wrapped your arms around him as he tried to catch his breath. "oh my god."

"kaeya, you're so cute." kaeya looked like he forgot something, "wait."

"again?"

"yes. i promise it's good." kaeya replied as he took out a rose from the plastic bag. it feels like that bag was unlimited with the items he had bought. "name, can i be your shining knight in armor forever?"

"yes, until the world ends." he put the rose behind your ear, if you're worried about if the thorns are there. don't worry about it. he painstakingly took them out by hand until he realized he could've used gloves. you dug your face into the nape of his neck, placing a kiss there. he felt your smile against his skin. "i love you kaeya."

"i love you too, name."

[adidastain]

love to hate you [2]

90s matt stone x fem reader (named Sadie)

warnings: arguing, suggestive themes, Matt being a bully

notes: first person perspective (I, me, my, etc.)

word count: 2311

part one here

—

Matt was standing outside my front door, wearing his heavy black corduroy jacket and picking at his fingernails. I rested my head against the door, whining and moaning. “Why?” I fake cried. “Why are you doing this to me?”

I sighed, opening the door. My hair was still on the more soaking side of damp, unruly and dripping. Matt’s eyes skimmed up and down my body, taking a moment or two longer to study my legs and my chest. I guessed he could see my nipples poking through the fabric from the cold air I was in once I left the steamy bathroom. 

“What do you want?” I asked calmly, though I wanted him to know that he was not welcome here. 

“I wanna talk to you,” he said just as calmly in response. 

Of course. “About what?” I asked him. 

“What happened earlier,” he answered. 

I narrowed my eyes and leaned against the doorframe. “And what happened earlier?” I asked, wanting to push his buttons. 

Matt sighed, kneading the back of his neck. “Can you stop being difficult for just one second?” he asked me. I could hear how tired he was from the heavy exhales he carried with each sentence. I myself could barely speak let alone think properly. 

I laughed, moving to the side to let him in. It was still dark in my apartment, so I switched on the ugly fluorescent box light above my kitchen while Matt took a seat at the tiny circular table off to the side. He looked around, analyzing all of the miscellaneous knickknacks and decor I’d placed all around my kitchen, specifically all of the magnets on my refrigerator and the things I placed on top of my cupboards that were collecting dust. Toy dinosaurs, cheap plastic volleyball trophies from when I was 13, souvenir magnets from my travels, old pictures of me in high school, and embarrassingly enough, my South Park magnet, which I’d been meaning to get rid of for reasons unrelated to my current situation. 

“Didn’t know you liked South Park,” Matt said, making himself quite comfortable by taking his jacket off. 

“Don’t play innocent, I know you’re the ‘mastermind’ behind that piece of crap,” I said, mocking him with air quotations. “One of them, anyway.”

I sat across from him, pulling my legs up close to my chest. I was quite cold. I suddenly missed the warmth of my shower. “What are you here for again?” 

Matt sighed heavily, sitting back in his chair and spreading his legs. He took his glasses off, wiping the lenses on his snug gray T-shirt, which looked to be maybe one size too small. I could see the definition of his chest and shoulder muscles, the fabric clinging to his arms and body. I swallowed, looking at his chest just a little longer. 

“I talked to Trey and we agreed to invite you back on set,” he exhaled, as if he’d been holding it in. 

“‘We’? As in Trey and you?” I repeated. 

“Yes,” he breathed. 

I rested my cheek in my palm, staring at his face until he looked away. “You want me back on set,” I repeated. 

“I agreed to invite you to come back,” he corrected me. “I want to make that very clear.”

I tsked. He was so naive. “You’re crystal, Matt,” I grinned. 

“Great. Then… I will see you tomorrow,” he huffed, standing up.

“Well, hold on a minute,” I protested, standing in front of him and briefly placing my hand on his chest. “I didn’t say whether I’m coming back or not. I need to think about it. Especially considering how I’ve been treated the past 2 months.”

“I’ll give you five minutes,” Matt sighed. “I don’t want to be here anymore than you want me to be.” 

“Can’t I take the day tomorrow to think about it?” I asked, furrowing my eyebrows and crossing my arms.

Matt glared down at me. “No. I need to know before I leave tonight. There are call sheets to be made,” he said, flashing a fake smile. 

“Hmm… ‘kay,” I shrugged, sitting back down. 

Matt stood by the door, staring at me with his hands in his pockets. I just stared back, biting my nails with my legs pulled up to my chest. He could probably see my underwear from the way I was sitting. I swore I saw his eyes dart downward towards my ass for a brief moment.

“Don’t look at my ass, pervert,” I hissed. I put my legs down, resting my hands in my lap. 

“I wasn’t,” he spat back. “Are you gonna come back or what?” 

Matt sighed, leaning against my refrigerator and closing his eyes for a moment. He had to be exhausted. I felt slightly bad for the guy. Then I remembered how much of a dick he was. The guilt was quickly long gone. 

“I might if you leave me alone and let me do my job,” I said, raising my eyebrows. I gave him doe eyes, smiling innocently and trying to be as passive-aggressive as possible. He deserved the attitude. 

“I will, okay?” Matt huffed. “Just hurry up and decide so I can go home.” 

“Are you sure? You’ve been pretty awful to me this entire time,” I stated, standing up. “Do you think you can go one whole month without abusing me on set?” 

“I was not abusing you,” he laughed, rolling his eyes. 

“What would you call it, then?” I countered, taking a step closer to him. 

Matt glared at me. He slid his fingers under his glasses to rub his eyes, exhaling heavily. He wiped his nose on the side of his hand, scratching his scruffy upper lip in the process. He said nothing. 

“That’s what I thought,” I muttered. “Give me a reason for why I should come back to work on your stupid film.” 

“Trey needs you,” He said nonchalantly. He lowered his voice, looking down at his feet. “For some reason.”

“Sorry, what was that?” I asked, leaning closer to him. I heard him just fine. I really just wanted to piss him off. Maybe if I got him worked up enough now, he could get it all out of his system, and he could leave me alone for the next couple of weeks. 

“We can’t get this fucking project done in time without you!” he said, nearly yelling at me, just like he did when he fired me. I flinched, taking a step back. “Trey got mad at me for firing you so he told me to get you to come back.” 

I swallowed harshly, clenching my fists. Pissing him off was fun, until he fucking yelled at me. I guess I had it coming. 

“You’re an asshole,” I said calmly, crossing my arms. 

“And you’re a brat. Call it even,” he scoffed, crossing his own arms as if he were challenging me. Matt looked down at me, practically towering over me. I hated that. I hated how small he made me feel, especially now. His arms and chest looked especially muscular when he crossed them. It was like he was flexing at the same time to make himself look and feel bigger than he actually was. 

“I’ll come back,” I said quietly. 

“Great. I’ll-“

“If,” I continued. “If you admit that you were wrong for firing me and treating me like shit all the time when I was only doing the job I was hired to do.” 

“You have ten seconds to decide what you’re gonna do before I leave and take this opportunity elsewhere,” Matt muttered, raising his eyebrows. 

“I already decided. Now it’s your decision. All you have to do is say three magic words. ‘I… was… wro-‘“ 

“I was wrong,” he sighed, rolling his eyes. 

I smiled, hardly able to contain my grin. I reached up to caress his face, pinching his cheek in the process. It was almost adorable to see such a stone-cold asshole of a man turn so pathetic. I swear I could see his cheeks turn pink out of humiliation as I drew the confession out of him. 

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” I beamed, lightly patting his cheek so it wouldn’t hurt, but just hard enough for it to agitate him. 

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he spat, pushing my hand away. Matt took one last look down at my bare legs, before looking into my eyes again. He swallowed, subtly taking a small step away from me. 

“Here, take this with you,” I said, reaching behind me to grab the South Park magnet off my refrigerator. I placed it in his hand, dramatically folding his fingers over it like it was some kind of precious, sacred heirloom. His hands were very warm and felt soft. “I’ve been meaning to get rid of it.” 

“I don’t want it,” he said, seemingly offended. 

“Just take it,” I groaned. 

“You’re so annoying,” Matt huffed, pocketing the magnet and turning his back to me. “See you tomorrow.” 

“See ya,” I said, giving him a harsh slap on the shoulder as he exited my house. 

Matt gave me one last forced smile as he slammed the door shut behind him. I watched him get back in his car through my peephole. He sat in his car in my driveway for about three minutes, before finally pulling out of my driveway and driving away. I scoffed, running my fingers through my hair. I turned the kitchen light off and locked my doors back up, before going down the hallway and into my bedroom. 

Once I was in bed, my mind was already back on Matt. I smiled to myself, thinking about how I managed to get him to admit that he was in the wrong. He seemed like the kind of guy that would be especially stubborn about that kind of stuff. 

I thought about how silly he looked when he was angry. Sure, he was intimidating in the moment, but looking back, he looked kinda stupid. His nostrils would flare out and a vein would stick out of his neck, but he already looked like so much of a dork that it was honestly hilarious. 

Then he’d cross his arms and puff out his chest. He’d flex every muscle in his body to tower over you and make you feel small and minuscule. I couldn’t believe I actually let myself get bullied by a man who continually acted like a pelican having a temper tantrum. 

I thought about him crossing his arms. Specifically how it made him look so much more jacked than he actually was. Especially in the shirt he’d been wearing that night. It was definitely too small for him, but it had a school logo in it, so I guess he kept it for sentimental value. Still, it clung to his body like latex, and I swear if his waist wasn’t so small, the shirt would constantly be riding up his body every time he moved. Luckily, he was just skinny enough that the hem of the shirt was slightly baggy around where his stomach was. 

My tired mind wandered to wondering what he looked like without a shirt on. I’d seen his stomach before; when we first started shooting in late August, it was still agonizingly hot outside most of the time and he often lifted the hem of his shirt up to wipe the sweat from his face. He had a curvy waist with strong hips, and didn’t have a whole lot of hair on his body; just a little bit below his belly button that trailed down into his pants…

Fuck. 

Fuck it. I remember seeing how shiny his skin would get from his sweat. His hair was quite a bit shorter then and he didn’t have a mustache, so his curls would occasionally stick to his forehead as sweat beaded from his temples. It was gross, I know, but I remember being so enthralled by how he looked when he glistened in the Sun. My stomach would flip whenever he risked exposing his stomach just to clear his face of sweat. 

That was all before he started treating me like garbage, of course. 

God damn it. That was a month ago. 

I wondered how he would react now if he found out that the thought of him turned me on. I pictured his face vividly; eyebrows furrowed, eyes idly fixed somewhere on my neck as he processed it. Maybe his whole posture would change. His whole demeanor. 

He’d probably reject me. But, if he didn’t… maybe he would push me up against the wall and kiss me until my lips turned purple. Or maybe he’d be more gentle. That was unlikely, given how I’d found enjoyment in pissing him off lately. 

The more I thought about it, the harder I clenched my legs together. Of course I got horny thinking about the guy that treated me like shit all the time. Not any of the other guys who were perfectly kind to me and would probably be happy to share a night with me, no. I wanted the guy who picked on me for basically no reason other than to cope with his own insecurities about his professional career. 

Nope. I turned over, pulling my fat pile of blankets over my shoulder and closing my eyes, forcing myself to think about something else. I wasn’t going to let myself get sexually involved with someone who didn’t give a shit about me. That was a mistake I definitely wasn’t going to make twice. 

Instead, I focused on how comfortable I was. That was enough to put me asleep, especially paired with how exhausted I was from the day in general. I dozed off, peacefully sinking into a deep sleep. One that would put me in a lot of trouble the next morning.