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halcyone-of-the-sea · 10 months

Note

You know, all I want is to spend some time with Nikto on his off-days and have him read Dostoyevski to me, if you don't want to make this like a single fic you can maybe incorporate it into "ravishing allure" some time later 🥹

"…and there can be no love otherwise."

PAIRINGS: Nikto x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: If anyone could make the bad days better, it was Nikto.

WORDCOUNT: 2.3k

WARNINGS: Stress from work/life, lack of sleep, mostly fluff, comfort, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

There were times you wondered if putting up with your job was really worth it. Sure, you needed the money to pay rent, food, and bills, among a laundry list of others that just seemed to never end, but was the cost of your sleep the metaphorical soul you had to hand over?

Every day you came home tired to your little apartment—neighbors loud and the light in the bathroom flickering because the electrician had never shown up to fix it. Tired, but unable to fall asleep until everything else was done. So, you’d make dinner, clean, shower, sit down to mindlessly watch a show on TV for half an hour, and then stumble into bed.

Only to stay awake and stare at the ceiling.

You can’t say why you do it, thinking over the things you did wrong and the awkward conversations you have with coworkers; you shouldn’t care about it—really, you shouldn't. Yet you can’t stop your brain from slipping like a slide to every instance, every millisecond where you felt the air of the interaction change. Side-eyes and confused looks.

And then at six o’clock, you’d drag yourself out of bed with bags on your face and a drained expression to do it all over again.

“Hi, how can I help you today?”

“Oh, of course, we have some in the back—I’ll go grab it for you.”

“Thank you! You have a good day now, Sir. Come back soon.”

It just felt fake. Greet, help, take money, wave and smile, repeat, repeat, repeat. But maybe today would be slightly different, by the second pair of shoes that were placed in your apartment entry as you slowly opened the front door.

Boots—black and set an equal distance apart with a cleaned surface despite the places they’d been and what they’d probably stepped through. They were neatly situated under the small bench you had for convenience, and you blink at them as you softly shut the door and lock it. A large, and matching in color, jacket was folded and placed atop the flat surface—keys sitting in an indent.

Nikto, ever the neat and tidy one. He must be back then.

While the two of you didn’t live together, the bear of a man had made a habit of coming over when he returned from deployments with KorTac—you’d given him a key the second year you’d been together.

Your ears faintly twitch to the sound of cooking, nose moving just a second later to the scent of something on the stove. Clinking pans and silent footsteps. He knew you were here, sure as anything. Weakly sighing, you shift out of your jacket and shoes; tossing them in the general direction of the bench as you rub at your eyes and drop your purse to the floor with a slap of canvas.

How do you explain looking like shit?

Shuffling into the kitchen, you undo some of the buttons on your blouse to let yourself breathe, dress pants running along the carpet as your feet pad like a hound’s slapping paws. Vision blurry and eyelids threatening to close on you, you find the tall man in front of the stove, moving something in a pan with sizzling oils with the wide flex of his shoulders.

On another burner, there’s a large pot of simmering water—the counter has already been cleaned up of flour and mess, a tidy pile of dirty items sitting in the sink to be washed. You stare for a second before you grumble a hello, forcing your body to sag into his back as you walk over and slap your forehead into his spine.

Nikto grunts lowly in response and continues what he’s doing.

While it wasn’t rare to find him in the kitchen—in fact, you prefer it when he cooks—but usually when he got back you opted to order supper. He always insisted, gruffly, that he wasn’t tired, but you just wanted him to relax.

It was fun to baby him.

“Didn’t know you were going to be back today,” you whisper into him, arms hanging by your sides.

“We were released early,” his voice is deep and harsh—a bark of his Russian accent and rasp. Every word is thought out and said with purpose. “Conflict in schedule.”

You hum lowly, and it’s immediately after that Nikto stiffens, back going straighter. It’s the fact that you don’t even notice that you’ve completely screwed up your own routine that tips him off; how your change in pace had made him initially suspicious as he’d heard you enter the apartment.

You hadn't commented on his eyes. Hadn’t tried to get him to turn around to see them.

There was a running gag that Nikto tolerated—you’d grab him carefully by the chin and tilt his blank eyes to you in all of their icy glory. Sparks of glass and chilled storms inlay near the pupils. You’d stare, smile, and then say, “Yup, he’s still in there.”

Even if you couldn’t see it under his balaclava, Nikto’s lips would part and he’d study your face for a minute in silence, before lightly bonking his forehead to yours. A strange and unique kiss that only he could perfect in his intimidating way.

You hadn’t even attempted that.

Nikto puts down the fork he was using to push around the fried potatoes and mushrooms; Pelmeni still simmering in the pot for another five minutes. The cut-up dill and melted butter on the counter are pushed from his mind with a purpose in his veins.

“What is wrong with you?” Nikto turns and you stifle a fatigued snort as you look up at him. It wasn’t his fault, of course. English isn’t his first language, and you found his broken, or sometimes bare-bones blunt, sentences to be endearing.

“Such a way with words, hm?” You can’t help but tease, and you can see the annoyed furrow of his brown brows, nose huffing a breath. “Just tired, Nikto.” Your words make his gaze slide along the very visible bags and the red veins of your eyes.

He mutters something in Russian under his breath, lids narrowing on you as he grasps your shoulders and moves you back so he can look you up and down slowly in a near clinical breakdown of atoms. As if he can peel back clothes and splay nerves to light.

“You look horrible…Sickly.” You can see the brain working as your lips go into a line to stay off your loud laugh. “Like dead woman walking.”

He was so much better with actions than words, this beast of wide shoulders and shifting thighs that could crush your bones to dust in an instant. You liked that about him—you never had to guess when he was being genuine or not.

“Work’s been rough,” you chuckle lowly, sliding on a fake smile that doesn’t fool him for a second. “Nothing I can’t…figure out, okay? Thanks for making supper, I love when you cook.”

Nikto’s eyes soften just a smidge, his hands holding your flesh just the littlest bit tighter. His expansive chest rises and falls in a heavy sigh, the bulk of his stomach and pecs visible under the tucked black t-shirt and his spare cargo pants.

Without a word, you’re being lifted with little more than a huff of, “моя нежная девочка… keep awake.”

You squeak as you’re settled onto his shoulder, hanging off like a sack of grain as his arm wraps over the top of your tailbone—large other hand on your thigh and fingers firmly grasping your skin.

“Nikto—!”

“Hush,” he grunts, a bark of a chuckle wafting out as your hand playfully hits his back with a pathetic slap. The man raises a brow, smirking under his face covering. “What do you expect to do with that, girl?”

“To let you know,” you poke at his spine and he shifts your farther down his shoulder in retaliation as you scramble and grasp at his shirt; giggling as your head sways to his steps. “That I won't go quietly!”

“Good to know,” he grumbles. “I would want nothing less, eh?”

His hands make sure that you don’t fall, even if you were to start wiggling or slipping.

You go limp and let him carry you into the living room, face burning with appreciation as your limbs let themselves rest. Nikto slings you back over his shoulder and drops you to the couch as you laugh, head purposely hitting the pillow as your chest rises and falls with breaths.

The man stares down at you as you chuckle in gasps, always one to stare at any chance he gets. His arms crossed at his chest, feet apart, and shadow slipping over you from the overhead light. You gaze up silently, a smile on your lips, and quizzically raise to your brow.

“Stay,” is what he says to you, icy vision sliding down your body with a hum of approval. He sends a teasing slap to your thigh before striding back into the kitchen, narrowly missing your leg kicking out at his arse.

Nikto scoffs at your attempt and disappears.

Normally you’d run at him and jump on his back, hanging off like an animal, but being as fatigued as you are, you call a mumbled curse at his name and curl sideways. Your face nuzzles into the pillow, smiling lightly before you let your eyes momentarily close.

You must have taken a quick nap because it seemed not even a second later that you were being shaken awake by a hand on your arm; spreading up to run over your cheek as your lashes flutter. “Милая.” You sigh, vision blurry and your head pounding. A strong scent hits your nose and you perk—rubbing at your eyes and face. “Eat.”

A plate of fried potatoes with mushrooms and another bowl of Pelmeni are on the coffee table, and the former is shoved into your face by a strong hand, the small dumplings topped with melted butter and dill.

“Pelmeni,” Nikto states in a monotone, blinking at you as if you don’t know his own culture’s food by now. He made them often enough, which was why you liked him so much—food was truly the way to your love.

You’d taken up baking some of Nikto’s favorite desserts once, had failed horribly, and left most of the kitchen work to him—but the funny thing was that whenever you did bake, the man still always cleaned his plate. You’d never seen him turn down your food, even when you could see his eyes scrunch with restrained aversion.

“Да,” he would grunt out, “good.” It was so strained you always laughed so hard your lungs hurt after. On the off-hand, Nikto’s skills in the kitchen were enough to get you to sell your car for just another bite.

Sitting up, you carefully take the bowl and look up at him, smiling deeply.

“Thank you, Nik.” The man hums and turns his head away, still unused to outright affection even two years in. “Nikto~” you draw out his name, tilting your head to the side and trying to catch his gaze again.

“Silence, woman,” he growls with no real heat, huffing before carefully placing his forehead to yours again as you expected him to. You giggle and stare into his eyes smugly.

You knew what he was waiting for. Your blood runs hot, face going into a picture of care. His blues blink at you as snowflakes mingle with mist; a mix of cold and desolate landscapes that offer no reprieve from harm besides the small glint of fire they gain when they lock with yours.

“Yup,” you whisper, and Nikto’s shoulders loosen as he presses more deeply into your skin. “He’s still in there.”

He stares intensely, and the faintest of twitches under his balaclava tell you all you need to know.

Nikto makes sure you eat your fill and when you’re done he takes the dishes and washes them while you shower and get into pajamas. Sluggish, but warmed by a full stomach and your boyfriend’s care. You come out to find he’s already reclining on the couch, book in hand as the other bends behind his neck. Lights were low and the heat turned up. Nikto opens his side to you and your body snuggles next to him—it had taken a long time to earn his trust like this; to be near him and to freely give affection.

It would be longer still until you saw his face, but you can live with that. There was no rush, and you knew it was a large soft spot even if he’d never shared the details as to why.

You sigh deeply and Nikto grunts, moving his arm behind your back and keeping you to his chest as he reads.

This is a common sight from him, and he begins reading to you in his mother tongue from the works of Fyodor Dostoevsky, the grit and gravel of his voice sliding into words and sensations as you practically feel it coming from his chest and throat. Your head situates itself under his chin, feeling his free hand playing with your hair until you go brain-dead except to the way he feels and sounds. Harsh words had never been more gentle.

Halfway through he switches to English, his sentences now more slow and thought out and your lashes flutter; breath soft as you take in his scent of oakmoss and amber. His heart beats steady and true.

“‘To love is to suffer,’” he reads, fingers rubbing circles into your clothes and letting you sleep as the day grows faster into a cold night. He glances down with easy eyes, gripping you just a bit closer as your body entirely goes limp in his embrace. “‘...And there can be no love otherwise.’”

He silences himself and watches for a moment before he closes the book, dropping it silently to the coffee table and staring past you at the ceiling. The man feels your warmth bleed into his scarred and damaged skin and whispers something akin to vindication.

Nikto listens to your steady breathing and holds you. Steady. Noiseless.

He grunts to himself and only presses you closer.

TAGS:

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beyondthesefourwalls · 6 months

Text

Something Worth Remembering

Summary: You were hopeful that you’d be moved into your new house before Christmas, but after another renovation delay, that’s not in the cards. To your credit, you make the most of the situation, and Bradley falls in love with you even more because of it. But he’s determined to make your first Christmas together special, and sets out to plan a surprise that ensures the holiday will be one both of you will always remember.

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Reader (no use of y/n)

(can be read as Forgetful Boy and Pumpkin from RYEWID, but not necessary to read that first)

Word Count: 3.7K

Warnings: Warm fuzzy Hallmark feelings. Language. Allusions to smut.

Notes: Some holiday action for my faves. Written for @bellaireland1981's Winter RomCom Challenge with the prompt "home for the holidays”. Also as part of The Forgotten Moments Collection, but can very much be read by itself.

—---

____

Bradley stopped short when he walked through the front door, eyes widening as he took in the scene in front of him.

“Um…Pumpkin?”

“You’re home!”

You popped up so suddenly from the other side of the counter in the kitchen that he jumped slightly in surprise. “Am I?” he asked slowly, closing the door behind him and bending down to unlace and take off his boots. You laughed brightly as you stepped around some of the shopping bags on the floor to get to him. He accepted the kiss from you eagerly, feeling the stress from another work day dissipate as he wrapped his arms around you.

“Contractors called,” you told him once you pulled back, resting a hand on his chest. Your ring sparkled in the light streaming in through the open curtains, and Bradley couldn’t help but smile before he registered the words. “There’s a delay with the electrician and the flooring.”

Bradley groaned, the familiar annoyance of hearing the word “delay” coursing through him. The home the two of you had purchased was a fixer upper, tucked into the end of a cul de sac in a neighborhood not too far from base. There was work that needed to be done to make it everything you wanted, but neither of you had anticipated all the headaches that would come along with that. It would be a long project, you knew, but the contractor you had hired had promised it would at least be livable within the first few weeks.

That had been nearly two months ago now, and the delays kept piling up. Barely anything had been done at this point, and he knew he’d have to call the administrative office tomorrow to extend the lease on the on-base apartment, again.

“Of course there is.”

You smiled gently, and Bradley couldn’t help but let some of the annoyance slip away at the soft look on your face. He took a deep breath and let himself relax, pressing a kiss to your forehead before releasing you. He gestured to the tiny apartment the Navy had provided you with, smaller than the shoebox you had called home back in DC, that definitely did not look like what it did when he left for work this morning.

“Is that why it suddenly looks like Christmas threw up in here?”

You threw your head back as you giggled. The sound caused a full blown smile to cross Bradley’s face, warming him from the inside out.

“I was holding out hope that we would be able to spend Christmas in our new house, even if it’s not finished. But since the electrician’s are delayed, the floor people can’t come until the 28th. So I decided to finally cave and decorate here instead. But I didn’t want to spend a bunch of money on nice decorations, because I want to save that for when we’re completely moved in next year.”

“So…”

“So I may or may not have bought out a good portion of the Dollar Tree Christmas aisle, and spent way too long deciding on white lights or multicolored lights for the $20 table top tree that I bought.”

Bradley laughed loudly, looking around your temporary home once again. Red and green and gold covered the minimal available surfaces, and a small lopsided tree sat on the corner table in the living room, a bag of what he assumed to be decorations sitting beside it. Your cat, Florry, was curled up on top of a pile of bright green garland on the floor.

"Who needs a fancy new house when we can have our own little tacky winter wonderland right here?"

Your eyes sparkled with delight as you spoke, clearly thrilled by the idea, or at least incredibly amused by it. Bradley knew that Christmas was your favorite holiday, and how much you loved the festive season. This would be the first one you ever spent together. When you had toured the house months ago, you had pointed out the perfect place for a tree and where certain decorations could go. You had been so excited to spend the holiday in your new home. As the delays started coming in you had adjusted just how grandiose your plans would be, but you had taken it in stride. Now you were only six days out from Christmas itself and you were once again just making the best of the situation that neither of you could control.

Not for the first time, he wondered how he had gotten so lucky.

"Alright, Pumpkin," he said, "Let me go change, and then I’ll help you make this the tackiest, most magical Christmas ever."

You grinned at him, a mischievous spark in your eyes. "Challenge accepted."

_____

The Dagger Squad had an impromptu and unofficial holiday party the next night at the Hard Deck, and it still blew Bradley away seeing you intermixed so perfectly with his friends, both old and new. You floated from conversation to conversation and when he wasn’t by your side, he watched you with a smile on his face. He knew you were perfect for him, but seeing you fitting in like this just reaffirmed it.

“How’s the house coming along?”

He looked over at Mav as he leant against the bar beside him, handing him a fresh beer. He was still getting used to being around his godfather after all this time, but they had settled into a peaceful kind of hesitancy as they relearned what it meant to be in the other’s life, and it was nice, even if Bradley had to remind himself to breathe sometimes.

“Slowly.”

His tone must have relayed how he was feeling because Mav shot him a sympathetic wince. “Another delay?”

“Yup.” Bradley let out a frustrated sigh as he ran a hand through his hair. “They can’t get the electricians in until tomorrow, which is when the flooring was supposed to go in. So now that got pushed to after Christmas”

Mav clasped a hand on Bradley's shoulder, offering a supportive squeeze. "It'll all come together eventually. How’s she taking it?”

He snorted as he brought the drink to his lips, taking another sip. “She handles stress and shit like this better than anyone I know.”

Mav smiled, nodding in what looked like approval. “You got yourself a good one.”

Bradley hummed his agreement and let his eyes stray to you, chuckling softly when he saw you dancing with Nat. Sometime in the last few minutes, you had stolen the Santa hat that Coyote had arrived with, the red and white material perched on your head. You twirled around with his best friend to the Christmas song playing over the jukebox, laughing merrily. You really did love this time of year.

You had told him that you didn’t care where you spent the holiday, so long as you were together. It was your first Christmas together, after all. But Bradley still felt guilty over not being able to get you into the house sooner. You had only been married for a few months, and you had given up your whole entire life to move out to California when he got permanently assigned here. It’s a decision you would make again and again, he knew, but he still wished there was something he could do, too. You had made far more sacrifices than he had. He wanted this holiday to be special. Memorable.

You were just a little bit tipsy when you got back to the apartment that night. You had clung to Bradley’s arm with both of yours the whole way up to the third floor from the parking lot, but the moment you walk through the door, you’re releasing him to go plug in the tiny table top tree. You plug in the string lights lining the kitchen counters next, humming a christmas song he can’t quite place under your breath as you do. You turned to him once the space was illuminated, the soft golden glow highlighting your smile.

“Pretty nice, huh? These cheap decorations aren’t so bad - I may just keep them for the new house, too.”

Your ability to make the most of everything made his heart stutter. He was in front of you in only three quick strides, one hand landing on your hip while the other cupped your face. He bent to connect your lips in a kiss. He could still taste the peppermint from the candy cane you sucked on on the ride home, and the taste of the champagne Penny had broken out at the end of the night for a toast. You didn’t hesitate to wrap your arms around him and return the kiss, both of you getting so lost in it that by the time he pulled away, he was panting.

“You must really like the cheap decor,” you breathed, and Bradley huffed out a laugh at your joke.

“I just really like you,” he quipped, and he enjoyed how a shiver went through your body at his response.

As you changed into pajamas and settled on the couch together, an idea started forming in his head. He thought he might know just what to do to make this holiday memorable for you after all.

_____

“Are you sure you don’t mind me running out for a bit?” you asked for what was probably the tenth time as you slid your sweater on over your head. Bradley groaned to himself as your body was covered from his view as he lounged in bed. He had been watching you get ready, enjoying not for the first time how getting dressed was almost always the last step in your process.

“I’m positive,” he said, also for the tenth time. You gave him a dubious look and he couldn’t help but laugh. “Pumpkin, I promise it’s okay.”

“I know, but it’s our first Christmas Eve together!”

Bradley moved so he was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding his arms open. You stepped between his spread legs and let your hands rest on his shoulders as he looked up at you, squeezing your sides through your red sweater. “Technically, it’s Christmas Eve morning. And I think you getting brunch with Nat and Coyote’s wife will be nice for you. You’ve been so busy with work and the move that you haven’t really had time to make friends.”

“I was already friends with Nat.”

He rolled his eyes at you fondly. “You know what I mean.”

You sighed again, fingers playing with the hair on the back of his head in the way that always calmed him down, even when he wasn’t feeling stressed out. He thought maybe the motion soothed you, too. “I think it’ll be fun.”

“Yeah,” you admitted slowly, nodding hesitantly. “I do too.”

“Then go. Have fun. I’ll be here when you get back, and we’ll spend Christmas Eve together. The morning doesn’t count.”

You snorted, but nodded nonetheless. He accepted the kiss you gave him right as your phone started ringing from the bedside table. Nat was there to pick you up, just like he had requested her to when he asked for her help with pulling off this surprise by getting you out of the apartment for a few hours today.

He gave it ten minutes after you had left before he jumped up and started taking down all of the decorations you had strewn throughout the apartment. It was easy work considering how small the place was, only taking him a few trips to and from the Bronco. He grabbed the small tree last, carrying it delicately so that none of the ornaments fell off and wouldn’t have to be reconstructed.

It didn’t take too long to get to the house at the end of the cul de sac that was now in both of your names, traffic light despite the holiday. He let himself in with the key that was still shiny with how new it was. He let out a sigh of relief when he flipped the switch and the overhead light in the living room actually turned on - with everything that had gone on, he wouldn’t have been all that surprised if it hadn’t. He made quick work of bringing in everything from the car, including the items that he had purchased and kept in the trunk without you seeing them this week.

He knew he had limited time, as Nat could only commit to a few hours of keeping you distracted, but it would be more than enough with what he needed to do. His phone buzzed right as he was finishing up a little more than an hour later, your name flashing up at him.

Pumpkin🧡: Getting the check! Back soon❤️

He sent back a response telling you he’d see you soon, quickly finishing up. He locked the door behind him and jogged to the Bronco parked in the driveway, and he was only back at the apartment for less than 10 minutes when you walked in the door with a large smile on your face that quickly morphed into horrified confusion.

“What happened to our decorations?”

“Hey, Pumpkin. How was brunch?”

“Were we robbed?”

Bradley barked out a laugh, shaking his head at your wide eyes. “Of our dollar tree Christmas decorations?”

You just gestured wildly around the space, devoid of any hint of the holiday cheer that had existed in its space earlier in the day. He laughed again, closing the distance to where you stood at the still open front door. He reached around you to push it closed before pulling you into him. He kissed your forehead, your nose, and then finally your lips, pursued in an adorable pout. “We weren’t robbed,” he assured you. “But I do have a present for you. Go get changed.”

“What?”

He squeezed your hips, smiling warmly. “Trust me?”

You eyed him closely for a moment before your pout eventually settled into a soft grin, and you let out a long sigh before you nodded. “Always.”

He kissed you again, a little deeper this time, but pulled away before he could get totally lost in it. “Pajamas are on the bed.”

“Pajamas? It’s 2pm!”

He only chuckled in response, playfully smacking your butt when you started walking back toward the bedroom. “Trust me.”

You got even more suspicious when you emerged from the bedroom and saw that he had Florry in her carrier at the door and had changed into his own pajamas. He twirled his keys around his fingers and then held open the door for you. Once you were in the Bronco, cat meowing at your feet, he held out a red silk piece of cloth that made your eyebrows shoot up.

“Seriously? A blindfold?”

“Think of it like a Christmas adventure. Now let me put it on.”

You huffed a breath but he knew you weren't actually mad - you loved surprises, and there was a smile tugging at your lips as you turned to allow him to tie the silk at the back of your head. He kissed your hair when he was done and turned to start the vehicle.

“You know,” you said casually, just as Bradley was pulling out of the parking lot, “this blindfold might come in handy later. We should make sure the headboard we pick out has appropriate accommodations.”

He groaned at the implication, a flush creeping up his neck on instinct. You giggled happily, knowing the effect you had on him. He rested a hand on your thigh as he drove, yours covering his in a familiar move. The feeling of your ring on his skin was one he had grown to love in the last few months since you’ve gotten married.

You threw out guesses the entire drive over, each one more extravagant and ludicrous than the one before. By the time he pulled into the driveway that one day will be an everyday occurrence, he was grinning so hard that his cheeks were starting to hurt.

“Don’t move,” he said when he saw you reach for the door handle. He jogged around the Bronco to the passenger side, opening your door. He helped you down before reaching back in for Florry’s carrier, pressing it into your hands so you could carry her, while he focused on you.

"Alright, Pumpkin," he whispered, his voice laced with eagerness. "Keep your blindfold on, and I'll guide you." His hand tightened around yours as he led you out of the car and towards the front door of your new home. Excitement coursed through him as he thought about your reaction, and he loved that he knew instinctively that it would be positive.

He loved that he knew you so well.

“Stay here just a second,” he instructed once he got you through the door. He moved away from you to quickly plug everything in, coming back to you once the room was cast both in the sunlight streaming through the windows and the artificial LED lights.

He stood in front of you, a grin playing on his lips as he watched you fidget with anticipation. Your blindfold was still securely in place, blocking your vision from the surprise he had prepared. You were so damn beautiful, and he would never understand how he got lucky enough to call himself yours.

"Okay, baby," he said softly. He gently took the carrier out of your hands, setting it on the floor and letting the cat out to wander the new space that he had cleared of anything that might hurt her, before moving to stand behind you. Your back flush against his front, he moved his hands up your arms in a smooth caress, settling on your shoulders and squeezing in affection. "You can take off the blindfold now."

With trembling hands, you reached up and slipped the silk cloth from your eyes, revealing the scene before you. Gasping in awe, your eyes widened as you took in the sight that unfolded in the living room.

“Oh my God. Bradley.”

The room was still very much a construction zone, but he had moved all of the decorations from the apartment, plus a few more that he had gotten, to decorate the barren space. The tree you had bought sat on the floor in the corner. Blankets lined the unfinished floors, as well as humongous cotton puffs to replicate snow. An air mattress covered with bright red sheets and a green blanket was in the middle of the room. Everything looked straight out of a tacky high school Christmas play, but it was so bad that it was almost good - whimsical and unique.

He watched as you took it all in, feeling his heart beating double time in his chest. When you turned to face him, there was a wide smile on your face, and tears shining in your pretty eyes. You didn’t have to ask for him to know what you were thinking.

“I wanted our first Christmas together to be in our home, even if it’s not finished yet. I figured we could camp out for the day. You-” The words were knocked out of him as you launched yourself into his arms. He held you for a long moment, pressing a kiss into your hair as your laughter settled. “You deserve something special, Pumpkin,” he finally finished, voice softer than it had been.

You pulled back just far enough to meet his eyes, your hands cupping his face. “All I need is you, baby. You know that?”

He turned his head just slightly to press a kiss into your palm, nodding once. “I do.” A smirk twitched at his lips, his mustache twitching with the expression. “Does that mean you want me to pack all this up and return your gifts, too?”

The gasp you let out was damn near scandalized. "Oh, no you don't!" you playfully swatted at his chest. You motioned toward the tacky decorations with a mischievous grin. "We can't let these go to waste. It's our first Christmas, after all."

Bradley chuckled, arms secure around you. "It sure is," he whispered, his voice filled with affection. He leaned down to capture your lips in a sweet kiss, the taste of anticipation lingering.

“Besides,” you murmured quietly, your eyes sparkling with a familiar look that had him warming from the inside out. “This gives us a jump start on christening the place. That air mattress looks mighty comfortable.”

Desire flared through him, and he wasted no time in scooping you up in his arms, carrying you bridal-style towards the makeshift bed. Your laughter echoed in the space as he laid you down.

“You know I’m gonna make you pack all of this back up and put it back up in the apartment until at least New Years, right?” you asked him, slightly breathless as he moved his kisses from your lips down to your neck, nipping at the skin.

Bradley chuckled, his hands pushing your shirt up, revealing soft skin that he loved to touch. “Oh, of that I have no doubt.”

Later, you lay nestled together underneath the green blanket, the crackling sound of a virtual fireplace playing from his laptop on the floor beside you while Christmas music played lightly from your phone. You were basking in the glow of the makeshift display as your breathing calmed. You pressed a kiss to his chest, right over his beating heart. He was sure that it skipped a beat at the gesture, but if you noticed, you didn’t comment on it.

“I can’t wait until we’re in here for good,” you whispered instead.

He hummed in response, tracing lazy patterns on your bare back. “Me too.”

You snorted after another moment, propping your head up to meet his eyes. “Hell of a first memory to make here, don’t you think?”

Bradley laughed lightly, a contented smile spreading across his face. It certainly was, in all of the best ways. “I’ll remember this forever,” he said, voice filled with warmth and conviction, because he couldn’t fathom ever forgetting any moment with you, especially something as perfect as this.

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

Main Masterlist :: The Forgotten Moments Masterlist

Notes: It's been far too long since I wrote anything for these two. I hope you enjoyed it! Likes/comments/reblogs are always appreciated if you did🧡

Thanks to @roosterforme and @mak-32 for all their help!

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artificial-transmutations · 14 days

Text

Friday Friendship

Hey there! This one is kind of a spiritual successor to Calling the Plumber - and as such, it is one of the rare gay to straight stories of mine. While I do try to keep it friendly and without any homophobia or hate, feel free not read the story if you don't like g2s!

It was hard to overlook Montgomery and Archibald. Of course, that was always the case. But here, on the dirty construction site of their new home, the expensive silk suits of the couple stood out even more than elsewhere. Yes, the two of them were together - and they made sure everybody knew it. Not only were the two gentlemen standing in a tight hug whenever possible, but their flamboyant and colorful clothing left little doubt about their sexuality.

They were those kind of gays that conservatives were afraid of. Both were old enough to have been alive during the stonewall riots, although only Montgomery was actually there as a teenager. Still, the aged couple embodied everything the gay community prided itself on having achieved during the last decades.

Their house, too, would be a statement. The mansion was the largest construction in the area, and the most expensive one. It was going to be built on a large hill, overlooking the town, and its style was... extravagant. The house was to be built in a modern architectural style, but the two men had insisted that the walls would be entirely covered in rainbow colors, although that was still in the future by now. Surrounding the mansion would be a magnificent garden, a park even.

"My dear, are you satisfied with the construction?" Archibald asked his husband in his lime green suit. Montgomery had dyed his hair in an orange-pink tone today and wore a purple tie to his green suit. It was hardly the first building site he visited, since he had made a fortune in real estate.

Archibald, on the other hand, was a bit more conservatively dressed. His suit was a more subdued shade of beige, although his tie was of a bright sky blue color. He usually didn't dye his hair, and today was no exception: He wore the gray with pride, although he spent a fortune on hair and skin care products. He, too, had a respectable job as a top manager in a logistics company.

"Well, darling, I'm not sure yet." Montgomery replied. "I want it to look great, and the work has been good so far. But frankly, it feels that the workers motivation is somewhat underwhelming."

"I think I know what you mean, my dear." Archibald commented as they walked through the empty shell. "It is barely three in the afternoon on a Friday, and there isn't anyone around anymore. The workers must be out partying already. I can't fault them for that, but it is rather annoying, isn't it?"

"Indeed. It would have been nice if they were a little less lazy, though. The garden is behind schedule, and I believe the electrics are going to be delayed by another month."

"That is quite unfortunate."

Montgomery nodded and they walked a bit in silence. It was true. There was still a lot to do, and it looked like the workers left early for the weekend.

Finally, Archibald sighed.

"I guess I could take a look at the progress the electricians are making. I do know a bit or two about this. Maybe then we can talk to the foreman about their work. It's a pity that we cannot supervise every little thing here, but our jobs demand a lot of our time. If only we had a bit more hands-on control."

"My, what a fabulous idea! I will take a stroll through the garden then, to get a better picture there."

The husbands kissed each other on the lips as they split up and Archibald opened the fuse box. He had indeed done a bit of electrical maintenance in his prime, so he knew that what he saw in the box was nothing less than a mess. He sighed and was about to close the box again, but hesitated. No, he couldn't leave the mess like that. He would just tidy things up a bit, to show those inexperienced workers how it was done.

Carefully, he began to work on the wires, but before long, he felt uncomfortable. The fuse box was located in the bright afternoon sun, and it was just positively hot here. Still, not wanting to leave his work, he slipped out of his jacket and hung it over a nearby wall. He didn't notice that the piece of clothing disappeared once he turned away, nor did he notice that his hands became nimbler as he rearranged the wires.

Montgomery on the other hand found the garden construction even less advanced than he had hoped. Even worse, someone had left a few plants out in the heat. They would surely be dead by the time the construction continued on Monday. Montgomery couldn't let that happen. This garden would be beautiful, and no plant would die under his watch.

He carefully carried the plants to the place they were supposed to be. Of course, he knew - he had planned the park all by himself, so he knew where everything was supposed to go. As he arrived at the shady place, he understood why the plants hadn't been placed yet. The ground was wet and muddy, and there weren't any holes yet. He would need to talk to the foreman about that, but the man was surely already in the weekend as well. There was, however, a shovel nearby. Now, aside from ceremonial groundbreaking, Montgomery had never held a shovel. It wasn't that he didn't understand the concept, but he was just not the type for physical labor.

Well. He looked over his shoulder to his husband, who was apparently still busy looking at the fuse box. It seems like he had some time on his hands, so he might as well. Grimacing, he grabbed the shovel and carefully stepped on the soil, trying not to ruin his expensive shoes or pants. That worked well, for about two steps. But as soon as he tried to break the ground with the shovel, a big clump of wet soil splattered on his lime green silk pants.

Montgomery frowned. Well, that suit was ruined anyway. No reason to stop there. Determined, he pulled the shirt out of his pants and opened his vest. He wasn't going to ruin his custom tailored suit for no reason.

Meanwhile, Archie was getting into his work even more. From time to time, he had to wipe his brow, though, as he was sweating like an animal. His dress shirt was stained with multiple sweat stains already and didn't really *look* like a dress shirt anymore, but more casual. The same could be said for the rest of Archie as well. A certain youth had returned to his face, as he was concentrated on his work. This way, he didn't notice when his hairstyle dissolved into an unkempt mess or when a bit of stubble grew in on his chin. His shirt clung to his body now, drenched in sweat. It had long ceased to be a dress shirt though but had become a plain - although rather filthy - beige t-shirt. His tie was nowhere to be seen.

Due to the wetness, the shirt didn't leave much to imagination regarding his body. Not just his face had rejuvenated, no, his entire body had. He was leaner and his muscles firmer now. Out of the V-neck of his sweaty shirt poked a few golden hairs, and before long, his main hair had turned into a Nordic blonde, as well.

Meanwhile, Monty was digging like crazy. He had to get those plants in the ground, or the foreman would... Wait, what was he thinking?

He stopped for a moment, to scratch his head. Thinking was not his strong point, and Monty knew that. But he had other qualities, that made up for that. When he grabbed the shovel again, to keep digging, he heard a ripping sound that made him stop again. The shoulder of his shirt had ripped. His boss was going to kill him! Although, it appeared somewhat strange to him that he was wearing such a colorful and impractical shirt. Perhaps there weren't any other shirts left?

He looked around and saw only one of the electricians still on the site. He knew the guy, he was friendly enough. He surely wouldn't mind if Monty went shirtless for a bit. With an effort not to damage the clothing even more, he peeled out of the garment. He was only half successful with that, and a few more rips sounded before he had finished taking it off.

Monty looked down at his muscular and hairy torso. The cold air was good, and he wasn't afraid to get dirty.

With every movement of the shovel, his arm muscles tightened, and his frame filled out more. A short beard sprouted on his chin, and his now full earthy brown hair shortened to a more practical cut. It wasn't like he had money for an expensive hairdresser, after all.

Finally, he had the holes ready and wiped his hands on his sturdy pair of work pants. Now, he only had to put the plants in. Despite his impressive physique, Manny was always very careful with the flowers, and he made sure that none of the roots got damaged or that he didn't break the stem.

He looked at his work. Good, that would look great, once the plants grew. Someday, he would have a garden of his own, and a house like that. And a beautiful wife and two, no, three children. But that was still a long way to go, with his poor pay.

Someone behind him cursed and Manny looked back to the electrician.

Chad was still sweating like crazy as he worked the wires. His mates had all gone to the clubs by now and he was stuck here and had to fix the mess he had created. That was only fair, but he wished the foreman wouldn't have noticed until Monday. He had to hurry up, though. He didn't want to spend his Friday night on the site, after all. Perhaps he would even get lucky and find a guy... No, what was he thinking? Working on these fruits' house had made him all confused. No, perhaps he would find a busty bombshell to take home tonight. Chad felt his cock growing hard at the thought, creating an obvious bulge in his work pants. Great, more distraction.

Chad tried to readjust himself, just in time as he sensed the big burly gardener approach. He knew the guy loosely but had forgotten his name already - if he even had known it at all.

"Hey, everything alright with them wires?" the low voice of the brute asked in a friendly tone.

"Yeah, I just need to finish up here... Should be done aaaaany minute now..."

Manny watched Chad connect the last wires. Poor guy. His t-shirt was soaked with sweat, and he looked like he was really hot and stressed out.

"Cool. It's no fun working late, and on a Friday. Hey, do you want to hit a bar after that? I could go for a cold one."

Chad looked over his shoulder at the bear of a man. Was that guy hitting on him? Na, his face only showed dumb innocence.

He shrugged. "Sure, why not, eh..."

"Name's Manny." Manny said.

"Great. Manny." Chad said and closed the now somewhat better looking fuse box before wiping away his sweat once more.

"I'm Chad."

Manny and Chad left the building site together this Friday afternoon. Neither of them knew that they were going to become best friends over this and many more beers. Manny turned out to be a great wingman for Chad, and Chad even ended up as Manny's best man during his wedding and godfather for his first child. Sometimes the closest friendships are forged in the Friday afternoon sun of a construction site.

#male transformation #muscle transformation #dumbing down #sweat #gay to straight #age reduction

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hammity-hammer · 10 months

Text

steve harrington realizing that he’s got no purpose if he’s not protecting the people he loves from outer-dimensional beings, and has a minor (read: major) spiral about it post-vecna & the party fixing everything. he’s just a regular ole 20 something with no purpose— his friends are all in school, except eddie, who managed to pick up an apprenticeship as an electrician; putting all of that wire knowledge to use (just not in cars, he hasn’t hotwired one since 1986 and he’d like to keep it that way si vous plais) and making the rich houses have even cooler guts than they deserve.

the kids end up graduating (their first tries) and heading as one little pack to the same school (don’t ask me which, i’m a college drop out) and steve, eddie, and rob end up staying just outside of indy. rob finished school early, because of course she did, and she found that she may have a knack for hanging around high schoolers, so why not teach them how to become polyglots like she is?

steve still doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing— he bartends at a little club in the gayborhood, because they went there so often that the bartenders just kind of pushed him into it, and don’t get him wrong— mixing drinks and flirting all night is super fun, but it also… is kind of depressing? even if he gets to be around people like him and see them happy— he knows that a lot of alcohol and drugs causes that happiness and he wants so badly for his people to be out and proud and not murdered for it. but he can’t do that,, so he does the next best thing.

he talks with one of the regulars, andy, who owns a little tattoo shop on the corner, and andy invites him to come check it out. so he does the next day he’s free, and holy fucking christ. tattoos aren’t his thing— at least not on himself, but on other people they’re gorgeous. and they’re painful, but you’re turning the pain into art and you get to live with it in your skin and look at it and think about the fact that you’re here and you made it and you fucking survived. and people purposefully put scars into their bodies? and not in the i-battled-literal-other-dimensional-beings-and-won kind of way, or the i-battled-my-personal-demons-and-won kind of way, which both are things he’s dealt with so fucking intimately— but in the i-will-decorate-this-flesh-prison-and-make-it-a-castle kind of way, and that’s fucking beautiful. queer people taking their bodies and making them into art with ink and hot metal and needles and the love that they have for each other and the passion and the fucking spite at the world that keeps them going and making their presences KNOWN.

and maybe he gets some piercings while he’s there— it’s fascinating and feels so weird and freeing when the needle punctures his flesh and the jewelry goes in— and now he’s got a shiny little ring hanging through his earlobe; his nostril; his lip.

he learns that piercings take time and effort and care and that he has to treat himself with love to be able to heal— and that he is deserving of that love and care and dedication, especially from himself.

he keeps going back, maybe not always to get stabbed, but to watch others have it done. to see how different people’s anatomy takes different piercings, how he can’t have a piercing through his cheeks because he bites them too much when he’s anxious, but the girl that just left got both of hers done and they looked good. they fit her face, like little shiny dimples.

eventually, the piercer, killie, asks steve when he’s going to help them with their needles and their piercings— and he doesn’t know how to react because he hadn’t even thought about it and yet… maybe he could help other people fall in love with themselves and their bodies and help turn them into art one day

maybe he could be a pretty boy with his scars and his metal and his missing chunks and his polos and his jeans and his sneakers.

#steve harrington #i just love him your honor #steve as a piercer would be so cute #piercer!steve #im obsessed with this and sent ro a 5 minute long voice memo today talking about him #because he is near and dear to myheart #as someone that got into piercing to help other people feel beautiful #i think that he would love this #and i absolutely think that he wouldnt know what the fuck to do post vecna #and get jealous that everyone else has a thing #and he doesnt have one #because all of his things were always things he shared #and this is one thing that he shares— but not with his friends #just with the people that own the lives that he’s changing #one stabbing at a time #also queer people in the 80s are the reason we even have the modern day piercing industry and i owe them my life #and the piercer’s name is inspired by the person that pierced my lobes when i was five #and my mom indeed has dimple piercings #so those are my little art inspired by life or whatever moments

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thinemoonshine · 3 months

Text

𓆰𝒷𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑔 ♡𓆪

cha hyun su x female reader genre: romance, angst , fluff (because hyun su is a cutie) type: series (but can be read as a oneshot) word count: 1,791

part 1 of series ◄◄ ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ part 3 of series

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ synopsis: cha hyun su and (y/n) go on a mission together to find items requested by eunhyuk but then, meets an unexpected danger that threatens their life and death. monster hyun su makes a small appearance ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

"Hyun Su."

(y/n)'s call snaps the said other to whip his head to her- eyes widening and brows raise along with the makeshift spear in his hands. "Huh?"

"Let's check this room," she says and points to a door she then, swings open. Hyun Su follows her inside before taking the lead once they slip through the entrance.

They're now on a joint task to find a couple of things needed for the livelihood of the residents. Okay, well one of them was assigned on a mission and the other made the choice to tag along. Guess who's who?

Asking Eunhyuk wasn't option. Everybody knows how uptight and aloof he can be- for good reason of course but, that's exactly why (y/n) had to go behind his back. She went ahead and stalked Hyun Su like a tail the moment Eunhyuk left after giving him a rundown of his objectives for the day.

"You shouldn't have come," Hyun Su quietly expresses his disagreement to her decision but (y/n) just shrugs and scans the room for valuables.

Contrasting Eunhyuk's constant character however, Cha Hyun Su had changed little by little. He's more vocal regarding his feelings now compared to before and he's less solemn. He's also less hesitant to reach out to (y/n) when it comes to asking for comfort although, it rarely happens. Still, there a lot of things he keeps silent about such as when he was zoning out before; what thoughts were he thinking, he won't say. All those time (y/n) used to accompany him in the quarantine room bore fruit.

"Ooh! Batteries," she alerts with subtle excitement and points to a torn 4-pack battery set peeking out from under a shattered mirror. She reaches out to grab it but is intervened by Hyun Su who quickly picks it up.

"...You'll get cut," is all he mumbles while stuffing the batteries into his backpack. A small smile stretches on (y/n)'s face at his attentiveness towards her. "These are my tasks."

Her smile widens at his proclamation that indirectly means for her to just do nothing. The search continues.

"So, duct tape's the last one. Where can we find that?" (y/n) wonders aloud after they found the rest of the items in the list. She's responded with a tug on her sleeve to which she reacts with letting Hyun Su drag her away gently to the upper level and in front of a door. "Janitor room?"

Hyun Su nods and quickly pulls his hand away from her shirt- afraid he'll get greedy for her hand if he were to hold longer. "I once saw the janitor tape the hinges of the electric box together before the electricians came. I think, he should have one. Hopefully."

The words he speaks sound incoherent to (y/n)- the letters blurred and jumbled in her head as his rapid action of pulling away causes a slight undesirable tug in her heart. But she manages to brush it off and reach for the doorknob.

Yet once again, being interrupted by her knight in shining armor who sneakily slips to the front and opens the door. He walks in to search for the tape and lets (y/n) to just stand and watch. He mimics a cat when his face snaps towards the tape with large eyes sparkling with quiet glee.

"Here's the ta—" His sentence is cut after he takes the object and turn to (y/n) whose hair gently flutters to the side from a breeze. His brows furrow and (y/n) shares the same reaction.

She turns her face to the direction of the source and lips part in shock at the sight of a broken window. "Hyun Su, that window's broken. Something must've got in."

"What?" Hyun Su blurts and throws the tape in his bag before rushing out to shield her. His eyes then darts to the camera before belatedly realizing that the CCTV on the floor had broken down. This meant that whatever it is that happened here, Eunhyuk would be unaware of. No one will know if anything is to happen to them here. If anything happens to (y/n).

Dread fills him as panic ensues like a sprout rapidly growing its stems and roots to every end of his figure- a siren blaring in his head and heart pounding faster than ever. "(y/n), we have to go."

A faint whimper follows.

He frowns, confused by her lack of response despite feeling her standing behind him. So he turns- and the sight is enough to shatter him whole.

A monster with what seems like the deformed head of a spider and a twisted figure of a sea creature with debris and broken glass sticking out of its back had coiled its tentacles around (y/n) who's frozen with fright. Her eyes are wide with horror as she stays still- trying her best not to agitate the monster who only captured her soundlessly yet have done nothing after.

In fact, it's now staring at Hyun Su with its 8 black protruding eyes that look like they'll pop any second- all blinking in different times which rises goosebumps in their skin.

But Hyun Su's much too terrified at the possibility of losing (y/n) that he sees nothing but a target to kill.

SLOSH!

He stabs his spear into one of its eye, causing it to explode and inadvertently loosen its grip on (y/n) who quickly limps to the ground.

"(Y/N)!" Hyun Su shouts and pulls her up before dashing through the halls with her almost floating behind him. "In here!"

He slips into a room and shuts the door before falling to his knees to be eye-level with her who's desperately trying to catch her breath. The monster's tentacle had suffocated her, turning her skin and lips a shade of blue. Her head's spinning from the lack of air.

"(y/n)! (y/n), are you okay?" Hyun Su asks frantically as he constantly brushes her hair away from her face as she holds her head in his hands. His gaze heavy with concern scans her but is interrupted by a large growl, followed by a slam near their door. "...It's going to find us."

(y/n) sees nothing but colours and shapes and suddenly finds herself in an enclosed space before seeing Hyun Su's face near hers.

His lips form words. He's saying something. But (y/n) can't hear them. She's having trouble keeping her eyes open as her chest heaves for air. Seeing her dazed state, Hyun Su then forms a small smile, a smile that doesn't reach his eyes but for some reason, it reaches so deep into her chest. It... stings.

His shadow then swallows her when he bends down slightly- letting their foreheads touch for just a few seconds long before he hesitantly pulls away.

The light then disappears around her as the closet doors are closed by Hyun Su who leaves a gap big enough for air but not enough to replenish hers completely.

And so, she faints.

She awakes with a gasp and she quickly shoves the doors open- tumbling forward as a result but feels something minimally soft cushioning her.

Hyun Su's backpack.

Panic overtakes as she recalls the mangled monster and the life threatening situation she experienced. And yet, it's now strangely quiet and... Hyun Su is nowhere to be seen.

"Hyun Su," she mutters and rushes out the room with the bag only to gasp at the large volume of blood smeared on the floors and walls- but what scared her the most is the bloody handprints scattered around the windows which eventually increased on the layers of duct tape used to cover the crack they saw before. "He covered this. He's alive! Hyun Su!"

It's as if she's a madman- running around the hallways in search of him and completely disregarding the fact that there could be another monster. It's unlikely, anyways, or else they would've came out before.

"Hyun Su! CHA HYUN SU!" She shrieks and drifts to a stop in front of the janitor room where the door is open by ajar. She's scared to swing it open wider. What if what she sees is worse than a 'missing' Hyun Su? What if... he's not just gone?

But relief settles in the moment she sees him collapsed on the ground, breathing and alive- although, battered and bruised.

"Cha Hyun Su," (y/n) sobs and pulls him into her arms. He stirs.

He pants onto her back as she lays his head on her shoulder. "...(y/n)? Why are you h-here?"

"For you," she answers without pause and she feels him flinch.

"I told you to not come for me... If I don't come back, don't search for me," he strains his voice and (y/n) pushes him up- tightly holding his cheeks against her palms with a glare.

"Stop being sappy and just rest up, will you?" She scolds and Hyun Su's eyes flicker between her angry ones- feeling a thump in his chest and question marks seem to appear on his head. "Now, shush."

She pulls him back down to her shoulder and hugs him tightly in hopes to hide the tremble of her arms and the tears that brim her eyes. Acting tough seems to work, thankfully.

No, it doesn't. Not at all.

And yet, as selfish as it sounds and as much as he wants to hit himself for it, Hyun Su feels... grateful that she's so deeply affected by him. That she's moved by him. His lips stretch to a grin as he nuzzles further into her shoulder- shuffling to the crook of her neck to feel the warmth of her skin.

"...If you try to sacrifice yourself for me again, you better stay alive," she suddenly says.

"Alri—"

"So I can kill you personally."

"Oh..."

Despite her death threat, the joyful miens they each wear show their heartfelt feelings for one another.

'I'd like to see her try,' a voice that's eerily similar to Hyun Su's chuckles in his head and his smile drops- eyes turning completely black before they fade just as quickly.

'Shut up,' Hyun Su snaps back in his head and wraps his arms around (y/n)'s waist- unintentionally leaning towards her for security and comfort which causes a blush to creep on her cheeks.

a/n: do leave a like and reblog if you like them because they will totally help in motivating me!! thanks for reading ઇ♡ଓ

#cha hyunsu x reader #cha hyun soo x reader #sweet home x reader #cha hyun su x female reader #sweet home #cha hyun su #fanfiction #cha hyun su imagines #cha hyun su fanfictions #sweet home fanfictions #sweet home imagines

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b0r3dtod3ath · 1 year

Text

Slow domestic life with Sebastian

masterlist

word count: 517

-If you don’t work or have a day off: slow mornings: cuddles in the bed, hot coffee, breakfast on the balcony, sunshine, whispering/ low quiet tone.

Sebastian loves to watch you. Not in a creepy way. He notices little details in your morning routine. The slight change in your voice right after you wake up. He loves that every time you brush your teeth you lean on the wall. He loves when you do a little confused spin when you don’t know where to look for your favorite mug. He silently giggles when your face scrunches up when you take a first sip of your coffee.

For the first few months of his retirement the fear of boredom occupied his mind. It was soon erased as he learned how to appreciate the slower pace of life. For most of your relationship it has been long distance. Of course you would try to see each other as much as possible. He would invite you to his races and would always spend his holidays with you. But it was hard- not seeing each other for longer periods of time, not always being there for each other. You both hated it and tried to avoid it at all costs but sometimes he would have to leave for a weekend with an unresolved argument in the air. But now, he is grateful that he can be with you all the time.

-He’s so excited for spring; I imagine him having a little veggie garden, a few fruit trees and of course his bees. There would be an outdoor dining table on your terrace. He would love to invite your family and friends for some dinner and wine.

-Because of all this free time he has now he learned how to cook. He can make dinner on his own but he insists that you should cook with him so he doesn’t mess up anything. Obviously he just wants your company.

-Lewis stops by anytime he is in the city. You and Sebastian always insist that he stays at your place for a few nights. It’s like a little holiday for him. When he leaves you always give him at least two jars of honey.

Speaking of honey- I feel like Seb would give it away to everyone. Family, friends, neighbors, even a random electrician that came to fix something.

-Lots of sitting together in comfortable silence. Just doing your things with each others company. It’s mostly reading books, maybe Sebastian sometimes writes in his little journal.

-I feel like he has a set sleeping schedule. For sure in bed by 10 PM but he likes to just lay on the bed for a while before actually sleeping. But I also see him going to some clubs maybe - to spend some time with his friends.

Idk why but I don’t think he would be very cuddly while sleeping. He doesn’t hold you tight, he just has his arm loose around you. If you insist then he would hold you closer but he likes to have his space while sleeping.

-sings in the shower.

#sebastian vettel imagine #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 headcanons #sebastian vettel x reader #sebastian vettel headcanons #sebastian vettel imagines

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anarchistfrogposting · 11 months

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I don't consider myself an anarchist but i'm pretty sympathetic, there's just some stuff i'm not sure yet would work well under anarchism as i understood it after reading the bread book.

What would incentivize people to work, for example, at oil rigs away from their communities doing dangerous work?

Would it be that they'd have a smaller expectation for how long they're suposed to work? Like, instead of you working 9-5 for 8 months instead you work 9-5 for 4 months and then can just do things you like the rest of the year?

Yes hi hello! This post re-emerged from the depths of accidental deletion!! I’m getting the bus to go get a burrito so let me talk about this one!!

Kropotkin actually talked about dangerous work; after all, some work is just inherently and unavoidably a bit more dangerous than others: so what’s the point? Why bother?

To start, resource extraction is going to be inherent to any industrial economy, but it’s worth pointing out that when you eliminate a lot of overproduction, an inefficiency inherent to capitalist economy, the demand for extraction is going to shoot down in a big way. That’s a big reason why a lot of the more hardcore environmentalist movements have been radical leftist ones; it’s features inherent to capitalism which are bringing about the downfall of the environment which sustains us.

Another big consideration to make is that a lot of the danger of these fields arises solely because the demands of the profit motive incentivise management to overwork/underpay/cut back on or wholesale eliminate critical safety measures; there’s a reason why unions and collectives in those fields are such critical players in the constant battle to keep people safe.

There are quite a few fields in the domestic/public sector, as well (think electricians, certain waste management professions etc.) which are (and were more so in the past) fairly dangerous but are not generally regarded as such because they’re regulated well in the public domain/have very strong unions/have otherwise strong safety regulation.

This stuff gets safer and safer as we improve the automation of our economy, as well.

It’s worth remembering as well that those remote professions and operations are, in a way, their own communities, as well, and for some people travelling long distances away for more lonesome work is quite an attractive prospect; I once knew a geologist who said he found the relative isolation quite peaceful. My great grandad did some remote mining and he always talked quite positively about it when I knew him (although this is very anecdotal - if anybody in the field wants to weigh in I’d be more than happy to hear what you think).

About hours as well;

If there’s no profit motive, then industrial processes are going to be driven by how to do them as safely, efficiently, and easily (among other stuff). The demand for hours is going to be a lot less tough because you’re going to be able to have more workers and source better equipment without worrying about how it will cut into your bottom line; so yes, the hours will be shorter and the shifts less demanding, with a greater support network and safety network when shit hits the fan. All of this, of course, makes this kind of work a lot more attractive.

But what about dangerous work in general? Why would anyone put themselves in danger?

You just have to look at the tremendous danger that volunteers face to understand that humans don’t really need a profit motive to put their lives on the line to better their communities and the world, or to feel part of something greater than themselves. Not everyone is going to want to do that, and that’s ok, but some people really derive a lot of happiness and fulfilment from dangerous work.

Humanity is flexible and diverse; working together to champion that is our strength, and it always has been.

#anarchism #anarchist #anarchocommunism #praxis #communism #communist #revolution #leftism #leftist #danger #dangerous work #mining #resource extraction #q and a #qna

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sirensea14 · 3 months

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Smiling critters ,headcanons cuz this is n e c e s s a r y and for s c i e n c e

Kickinchicken is A S I A N because i said so/j. He's the greatest in sarcasm

Craftycorn is Scandinavian in my head for some reason

In school, Bubba is usually the one with the biggest bag and the ultimate supplier of papers. If there's a quiz, hands will be up to him asking "Can we have a piece of paper?" (This is way funnier in my native language than in english💀)

Bubba recites way too much, snatching away all the recitation chips, sometimes, teachers may ask him to substitute them for a bit

The teachers are, of course, Miss Delight and her sisters

Dogday is the president of the class (if only there were more critters lol, then he wouldve gladly taken the role) or the one shouting "Everyone! Quiet!!" when the critters are too noisy

Pickypiggy sits at the back, eating away her snacks and lunch

Catnap dozes off often, but when the teacher calls him, he can answer it correctly. Lazy but smart kid

Kickin only carries a small bag

Bobby and hoppy often gossips with each other. Bffs XD. Theyre also the girly girl and tomboy of the smiling critters respectively

Bubba is good at math and science but doesnt remember shit about history. Meanwhile kickin does better in that subject than he is in math

Bubba and catnap can be school rivals, but catnap doesnt really care (nonchalant)

Crafty, ah yes, crafty, our ultimate artist of tte group. She supplies crayons and pencils, so both her and bubba are the suppliers lol

Kickin can sing and dance, he and Hoppy can go on in a breakdance competition /j

Bobby cheering for hoppy while that happens

Dogday cheers for both (poor dog cant pick a side)

Crafty and dogday are great on writing essays

Pickypiggy x food canon yeah?

Crafty loves to share her original stories and works, dogday and bobby often cheers for her

Bobby, the ultimate fashion lover

Picky is great at home economics subject

Dogday is well on all subjects but notably physical education and english are his strength, i also imagine him to be good at electrical installation and maintenance (eim) tho this is a senior high strand and the critters arent in that grade level, so in elementary terms, he's the mini electrician of the group

Catnap is mostly asleep lol, he's most active at night and sometimes studies at that time. He also reads some of crafty's writing if he has some spare time at night

9 students are awfully few imo, i wish i could see more of dogday shouting at them to settle down, id like to see him in authority

Catnap's bag resembles a pillow and feels like a pillow

Dogday is their role model

Crafty likes to look at the window whenever there's a discussion of lesson

Most beautiful handwriting award goes to: bobby bearhug

Ugliest handwriting award goes to : me/hj im debating whether it be catnap, kickin or bubba lol

Best actress/actor: bobby and kickin, worst: bubba (he's awkward af)

Hoppy and bubba are left handed

While i write all of these headcanon, pickypiggy is eating in her own corner

Catnap would sometimes lean on dogday's shoulder if theyre beside each other. Dogday tries his best to not move his shoulder even if he's busy (like telling the group to be quiet, yes to dogday showing authority)

Thats all, thank you for coming to my little headcanon talk🗿

#poppy playtime #poppy playtime chapter 3 #smiling critters #smiling critters headcanons #headcanons #dogday #catnap #bubba bubbaphant #hoppy hopscotch #bobby bearhug #kickinchicken #craftycorn #pickypiggy

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chiriwritesstuff · 4 months

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Random Headcanons from Random Characters in 'The Girl in IT' Pt. 3 - Minor Characters

Have you always wondered how Tess came to work at Miller Construction Group? Or how Ellie ended up being adopted by Joel? Here are the headcanons for the rest of the gang at Miller Construction Group! Read Joel's and Sugar's lists!

Tess Servopoulos:

Tess actually met the Miller Brothers by chance. She was fresh out of a divorce and went to Austin on a whim- they met at a pool hall. She did have a minor attraction to Joel - before he met Sugar, but their tempers and clashing personalities never allowed a romantic relationship to flourish. Joel helps Tess by giving her a Job, which gives her the fresh start she was desperately searching for.

For those curious, she and Joel have never been intimate with each other, not even a kiss!

She IS slightly jealous of Sugar, though. I think it's more because everyone sees a different side of Joel with her around, which solidifies the fact that Joel never saw Tess as a potential romantic partner.

Joel also helped Tess further her career by paying for her MBA.

Tess lives in Joel's old house (in the show). It is completely renovated, of course.

Tommy Miller (& Maria):

Tommy is the Construction Superintendent for Miller Construction Group. He's the man on the ground, managing the project from the site.

Before Sugar, Joel would never watch porn at work, but Tommy would. He once disabled the entire company server with a virus, and their old IT specialist, Gloria, subsequently quit afterward from all of the stress.

Tommy would sometimes "spy" on Sugar before she started to work for the company. If he saw her in passing, he would mention it to Joel, asking him why he just doesn't get his head out of his ass and just talk to you.

Maria is the official "office mom". She runs the odd errands, offers to pick up lunch for people, and acts as a recon for Sarah. Like Connie, she knows everything that happens in the office.

Joel and Sugar are not the only ones who fool around in the office...

Sarah Miller:

Sarah is slightly younger than Sugar (Sugar is 36, Sarah is 32). Sarah was initially weirded out by this fact but being that her husband is older than her by ten years, she's a lot more open to her relationship with Joel. She also found an old Polaroid photo of Sugar in Joel's nightstand drawer once while looking for something, and she tells herself that she won't get in the way of her father's happiness.

She is married and has one child, making Joel a grandfather. Sarah's husband also works at MCG as an Electrician. They had a secret romance - Joel had walked into her office, catching them making out which led to him punching him out. Her eventual husband then spends a year trying to convince Joel that he is in love with Sarah, and only ends up relenting when he witnesses a sweet moment between the two of them, realizing how happy Sarah is with him. Joel still gives her husband a hard time, though.

Sarah kept her last name after she got married.

She has a bachelor's degree in communications.

It is rumored that Sarah was only placed as the head of HR only because she had to keep cleaning Tommy's messes (because let's not forget- he watches porn at work too), and Joel didn't feel comfortable with an outsider handling their business.

Ellie Williams-Miller:

Ellie moved to Austin with her Guardian, Marlene. Marlene was hired as the Head Architect for MCG, so Ellie was always hanging around the office in her youth. When Marlene suddenly passed away when she was 14, Joel felt like he owed it to Marlene to adopt Ellie. This happened five years after Joel met Sugar, which makes Ellie 19 going on 20 in TGIIT (I did age her up a bit).

Ellie loves music and noticed Sugar with her Sennheiser Headphones in her office, naturally, she waltzed into her office asking about it. They bonded with their love of music - Ellie feels comfortable enough with Sugar to talk to her about her problems. Sugar is the person she comes out to first, asking her for advice on how to approach Joel with the topic.

Ellie has a crush on Riley, an engineering student working under Bill.

When Ellie finds out about Sir Bubbles (Sugar's cat), she begs Joel to help her make a cat tree for Sugar's birthday. This cat tree is massive.

Ellie is tattooed, just like how she is in TLOU 2. She got her tattoo at the same time Joel got his - she drew the Sunflower that eventually ended up on his hand.

If Ellie didn't apprentice for MCG she would like to be a tattoo artist.

Bill & Frank:

They are married.

Bill teaches a self-defense class for women, including weapon handling.

Frank is an interior designer.

Frank has a secret group chat with all of his fellow gossips in the office, including Maria and Connie.

Bill cooks for all of the company meetings and seminars. He refuses to be compensated every time.

#The Girl in IT #The Girl in IT Lore #The Girl in IT Headcanons #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller x female reader #joel tlou #joel the last of us

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moldforest · 3 months

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Meet the Electrician ! 〽️⚡⚠️

In case of a defective toaster or loose contacts in your wiring, call 1-800-he-will-probably-cause-a-small-fire-trying-to-fix-it !

Elisio Casu swindled his way into the Mann Co. facility maintainance crew despite his more than lacking real portfolio; the Italian charm is unbeatable. Higher-ups caught wind of his constant mishaps and the mostly destructive, violent nature of them, and saw enough potential to recruit him for a trial month on the battlefield.

Freshly deployed with the Team, one of his new tasks was actually learning to repair and maintain electrical devices. The killing part he already had down, whether he liked it or not.

In time he will prove himself useful on and off the battlefield by disabling the power of entire enemy facilities, rewiring sentries to send electrical impulses that burn sappers to crisps, and of course housework like assisting The Sciency Bunch in various deranged experiments. Purely for educational purposes, of course. Nothing malicious ever brews in self proclaimed innovators' minds.

If he is successful, or even survives, remains to be seen.

Thanks for reading this itsy bitsy lore bit :3

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mystra-midnight · 9 months

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Haunted Hoedown - DAY FOUR

summary: it felt like a thunderstorm was roaring in your head. Yyu heard him, but his words didn't register in your brain the way they should have. there was only building, mounting, and ruining pleasure that was spreading through your organs and seizing your limbs.

warnings: ghost!eddie x reader. mentions of an unsatisfying sex life/readers ex being a douche. masturbation. voyeurism. somnophilia. eddie being a tad mean/dom.

words: 5.7k

notes: day four of the haunted hoedown challenge being hosted by @inklore and @psychedelic-ink. a bit delayed because i was away seeing amy lee live and in person and fangirling. i tried a different style here with that i'm not 100% sure i love but i hope you enjoy reading.

prompt: american horror story Inspired + “i would burn the world for you.”

May 7th. 2001.

"Tell me why this place is so cheap."

You looked wide-eyed around the apartment. It was utterly perfect—exactly what you'd been hoping for when moving to Hawkins, Indiana. The walls were painted off-white, there were brand new stainless steel appliances, and there were timber floors throughout. The ceilings were high, and there was a little reading nook, two large bedrooms, and a large clawed bathtub.

But the best part was that it was advertised at more than half the true market value. It was absolutely ridiculous, crazy, and completely illogical, and you couldn't understand why.

You saw the realtor flinch at the question, which immediately brought you down from the clouds. Shit. Of course, it was too good to be true. There had to be something wrong with the property for the owner to be selling it for practically next to nothing.

With a sigh, you faced him. His expression was grim.

"Well, you see, um, there was, uh," he stammered, tripping over his words as he searched for the right ones, the ones that wouldn't scare you away. "About fifteen years ago, before the urban development and technology boom came to Hawkins, a young man died in the trailer park that used to be on this lot."

Your heart dropped as the horror of his words sank in, but the feeling was fleeting. Someone who was a stranger to you died ten years ago. They hadn't even lived in the apartment, so that didn't explain the next-to-nothing price. You said as much to the realtor, pressing him for more information.

"The owners want to sell the property quickly, rather than for money. They've explained that there were some... how do I put this? Some strange events occurred while they were living here."

"Such as?"

"Things would move when no one was around. There were always problems with the central heating. The televisions and radios would change channels in the middle of programmes or turn on in the middle of the night. I assume most of this is because of defective wiring somewhere in the building, but none of the electricians were able to find the cause."

You watched him cringe, as though saying the words aloud was physically painful to him. It all sounded ridiculous. And none of it was enough to make you turn down such a fantastic property for such a stupidly low price.

"That's all?" You teased, flashing the man a smile. "Consider the place sold.

June 11th. 2001.

Despite the realtor double-checking and then triple-checking, you crossed your T's and dotted your I's and bought the apartment that same day. You moved in the following month, piling boxes upon boxes, each one with a specific room written on it in your scribble: kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, guest room, reading. You bought new furniture and decorated the walls with pictures of your family and the knick-knacks you'd accumulated after college.

It had taken weeks to sort out all the rooms and empty all the boxes, but the apartment finally felt like a real home, and you'd completely forgotten what the realtor had said when showing you the property: strange events.

It started after three blissful and uneventful weeks. Things had started to go missing, just like he said. It wasn't anything overly important, just small things like your rings, your glasses, or sometimes even your panties. Things would go missing for days at a time before reappearing in locations that they had no business being in.

And then the cold started. Not just cold, but freezing cold.

It got so bad that some nights you would see your own breath misting in the air. It never seemed to matter how high you set the thermostat or how many blankets you piled on top of you—you couldn't stop shivering.

But while all these things were certainly strange, they weren't illogical. You could explain each of them: you misplaced things because you'd moved towns—hell, you'd moved states—and were getting used to living somewhere new. It was also cold because the central heating was faulty. The lights would flicker because the wiring was done wrong. All of that made perfect sense.

But what didn't make a lick of logical sense was when things started to move while you were staring right at them. Hallway doors would swing wide open, slamming into the walls as though they'd been ripped open violently in fits of rage. Shadows would creep along the walls when you weren't looking. You'd catch a glimpse from the corner of your eyes of these stalking shapes, only for them to be gone when you turned to look at them.

Then the photos started to fall from their hooks on the wall, sometimes thrown across the room, so that the frames broke and glass shards littered the floors. You make yourself a meal only for the plate to be thrown off the table and against the wall, leaving the paint stained with splotches. It frightened you, leaving you turning off the lights, running to bed, and hiding under the covers like you were suddenly twelve years old again.

The worst of it was when the dissonant whispering started. It would wake you in the middle of the night, leaving you clutching a baseball bat for dear life. Your co-workers all agreed that you were stressed and overworked, probably exhausted from uprooting your entire life and moving across the country. None of them believed in ghosts, horror stories, or haunted houses.

You thought you might be going insane until you saw him.

July 4th. 2001.

Eddie Munson.

"Hey!" You called, startling the boy standing in front of your dresser. The top right drawer was opened, and your panties were on full display. Hidden beneath them was your vibrator, and you found yourself flustered, angry, embarrassed, and scared.

He looked at you with wide doe-eyes, swimming pools of brown that you could easily get lost in if he wasn't holding a pair of your panties to his nose like some god-damn pervert. You held a bat in your hand, ready to swing, when he turned and ran. You give chase, following him around the queen bed with fresh sheets and into the bathroom that joined the two bedrooms.

By the time you rounded the bed and made it through the doorway, he was gone, seemingly having vanished into thin air. Your panties were on the ground. You spent hours checking rooms, closets, and any nook and cranny a boy of his size could hide in. You even called the police and filed a report, but there was no evidence of forced entry.

In the days that followed, you took to sleeping with the bat besides the bed and a kitchen knife beneath your pillows. It was childish, but having them so close made you feel safer.

The next few weeks were surprisingly and uneventful, and soon you settled back into a familiar routine. Work five days a week, from eight in the morning until five in the afternoon, come home and eat, channel surf for a few hours, shower, and sleep. You were even able to have friends over without anything weird ruining the atmosphere.

It was as you were chancel surfing that you saw him again. You were looking through the music stations for something to listen to while you showered; you skimmed through the pop stations and skipped over the metal stations before setting on one that was playing When It's Over by Sugar Ray. The song was catchy and tended to get stuck in your head with how much it played on the radio, but it was a good one.

"Wait! Go back!"

You screamed.

With your heart pounding wildly in your chest and your stomach having fallen out of your arse, you stared at him. He seemed entirely unaware of your fright, instead gesturing frantically at the television. "Turn it back!"

This was the first time you'd gotten an up-close look at him. He was dressed in black jeans with rips in the knees and a shirt that said Hellfire Club. As he motioned between the remote in your hand and the television, it rode up, revealing a trail of hair that started at his navel and disappeared into his jeans. He had a leather jacket on and a denim Dio vest over it.

He looked like something straight out of the 80's.

"Back!" He yelled louder this time. He sounded panicked and frantic, and that was what snapped you from your stupor. You flicked backwards through the channels, finding the metal music one, when he ordered you to stop. He stared wide-eyed at the television, where Metallica was playing a live concert. You recognised the song; it was Fuel.

"That's James Hetfield," he said, his tone disbelieving. He flopped open-mouthed onto the couch as Kirk Hammett and Lars Ulrich began the opening rift. "This is Metallica."

"Yeah?"

"I don't know this song."

"It was released about four years ago; how can you not have heard it?"

You pressed yourself tightly into the arm of the couch, feeling it dig painfully into your back, when he whirled around to face you. His face was overcome with surprise, shock, and something else you'd yet to comprehend. Wild curls bounced around his face before settling into place.

"Four years?"

You shivered beneath the intensity of his stare and his emotions; even his presence in your apartment sent a chill down your spine. You nodded quickly, clutching the television to your chest like it was a weapon. Your grip was so tight that your knuckles ached.

"That's not possible," he whispered, turning back to the television as the lyrics started. "They look different. They sound different. This is crazy. They just released Master of Puppets?"

That caught your attention, and it was then your turn to be surprised.

"That was fifteen years ago."

"What?" He rounded on you a second time.

Over the next few weeks, you learned more about him. He’d lived in the trailer park with his uncle Wayne, and he’d passed in a tragic accident, an earthquake; his uncle had never found his body. You suspected there was more to it, but he was unwilling to give more details.

That accident had happened fifteen years ago, and the trailer park had been demolished about seven years later. A development block had been built to replace it, which eventually turned into an apartment complex as Hawkins expanded.

Eddie had only been twenty-one when he died. You learned that he liked music. Well, no, you learned that he loved Metallica and Dio. So you started to leave the television on when you went to work, letting it play from dusk to dawn to keep him entertained. Then you started buying magazines and comics to leave them open for him to read; you even bought home Metallica's latest CD.

And as the weeks dragged on, his presence in your apartment became less terrifying, except for the times he would seemingly materialise from nowhere. You even started asking him to hang out with you at night. The two of you would spend hours watching movies and music videos and just talking.

September 19th. 2001.

"Come on, Eddie!" You whined. He was behaving like a child, and you were exasperated and fed up with his antics. He was standing in front of the door with his arms crossed over his chest, obscuring the words on the front of his shirt.

"Don't you 'Eddie' me," he cautioned, his brown eyes narrowing into a glare. He hated the idea that you were mocking him, though he was smart enough to realise that wasn't what you were doing right now. "He's an asshole. I don't understand why you can't see it."

"Because I know him! You've only ever seen him! Briefly, I might add!"

Eddie threw his hands up in frustration; the sound that left his mouth was all but a growl. He wanted to grab you by the shoulders and shake you until your brains leaked out of your ears. Then you might be smart enough to realise that Michael was a fucking douchebag. "And I see you too!" Eddie spat, the fieriness in his tone making you roll your eyes and shiver simultaneously.

"Every time you've seen him, you come home frustrated, like the man doesn't know how to fuck or something! You always come back bitchier than when you left!"

"Eddie!"

If you could have hit him, you would have. His words hit too close to home for comfort. Michael was nice enough, if not vain and at times arrogant. He came from money, and he often acted and thought that money would carry him through the world. But he treated you well enough, and you enjoyed his company most of the time.

Except Eddie's intuition hit the nail on the head—Michael didn't know how to fuck. At least, not well. Each time you felt the familiar warmth of orgasm approaching, the same thing happened. It didn't matter that you'd be crying out his name and clawing at his back, begging him not to stop; he'd move, change his angle, change his pace, change his position, and you would be left a frustrated mess.

On the rare occasions he cared, he was able to make you cum. He'd work you over until you tumbled into oblivion, his fingers buried in your pussy as it clenched and spasmed around them, your back arched off the mattress. But he cared for his own pleasure above all others, and nine times out of ten, you didn't finish.

"Eddie!" He mocked. "Is my name the only thing you can say, sweetheart?"

"I'm not taking dating advice from a dead man!"

You regretted the words the moment they left your mouth. Tears burned in the back of your throat from how you swallowed the urge to cry, your emotions reaching a fever pitch as you walked through him. And as you passed, the cold of his presence enveloped you in a frigid hug but didn't stop you.

Instead, you left.

You drank too much that night; said too much, and let Michael work you over for far longer than you normally would. After being compliant and patient all night, he draped your legs over his shoulders, grunting and groaning as he fucked you, only to cum on your stomach before kissing you goodnight and slipping away. That had been the boiling point.

The relationship ended with you slapping Michael so hard that your hand hurt.

When you made it back home, the apartment was dark, cold, and empty. The television had turned off automatically at some point in the evening, and none of the lights were on. You’d expected him to be waiting for you with a smug smirk and an I told you so attitude, but Eddie wasn’t there, and that hurt more than the disappointing sex.

September 26th. 2001.

Six days later, you still hadn't seen him. Each night you tossed and turned, his absence from your life a gaping wound that often left you bleeding out and gasping for air. The apartment felt too large without him—too quiet and too empty. But you resigned yourself to the fact that you'd chased him away. He'd have found someone else to haunt, someone who appreciated him instead of insulting him. So you found something else to occupy your mind.

Except while you were settling into the mountain of pillows on your bed, the scent of clean linen and vanilla swirling around the room, he decided to make his grand reappearance. Well, no, not exactly.

The moment he chose to reappear was when you were sprawled on the bed, thighs spread wide, and heels dug into the mattress as you worked the tips of your fingers over your aching clit and into your leaking hole. You hadn't had sex since breaking up with Michael, but the ache had been in your belly long before that. The knot between your hips was pulled taut when you saw Eddie standing at the foot of the bed, panic bursting to life inside your chest. You snapped your thighs tight together, your hand flying to press into the sheets to hide the sticky evidence of your arousal.

"Don't stop," he said softly, his voice breathy and light. His wide-doe eyes meet yours. "Please."

"Eddie," you whispered as your face warmed with embarrassment. He didn't miss the way you rubbed your thighs together, desperate to stifle the ache between them. In that moment, you wanted him to be the one touching you. You wanted to feel the warmth and weight of his palms as he held you down and his breath on your neck as he kissed, bit, and sucked. You wanted him in the worst way, and it hurt you beyond words that you couldn't have him.

"Open them." His tone was harsh this time—forceful and demanding, enticing a soft whine from your parted lips. The smirk that found its way to his plump lips was sinful. "No wonder he couldn't get you off. Was he too soft, sweetheart? You need to be told what you want to do, fucked like a whore, to be able to cum?"

Eddie wanted to grab your ankles and drag you to him. Your little nub was so sensitive that he wanted to spread you open and rub the tip of his tongue against it until you were begging for him. He wanted to watch you cum on his cock, his fingers, his thigh, his tongue, and his cock again. He wanted to feel you with every fibre of his ghostly being. "Be a good girl and open your legs, yeah?"

You were slow to react. You parted your thighs slowly and shyly until you were exposed to his hungry gaze. The insides of your thighs were sticky and shiny with the evidence of your first orgasm; your puffy folds were still slick as you parted them with your fingers, moving to rub one on either side of your clit. Your breath hitched at the sensation and the way his eyes followed your movements.

"Eddie," you whined his name softly while your head tipped back, your throat exposed, and your chest heaving with each sharp intake of air. The crown of your head mashed against the pillows, leaving your hair a mess. You imagined the way his hands would feel—rough and calloused. He'd played guitar before his death; you knew he'd be good with his fingers. He'd be able to find that spot deep inside your gummy walls that made stars, no, galaxies, burst to life inside your veins.

"What a fucking prick." He spat the words through his teeth, each syllable filled with venom. "Didn't know how good of a thing he had until it was gone. Never even deserved to have such a pretty pussy if he couldn't get you off. I bet he couldn't even do it with his fingers buried in there or with his tongue, either. Bet he just rammed his dick in without getting you worked up first."

"He doesn’t.." You sighed, your breath airy and full of arousal. "He... he never tasted me."

If it were possible, Eddie would have cum in his pants like a fucking virgin. Not only had that asshole left you a worked-up and unsatisfied mess because he didn't know how to fuck you right, he'd never even tasted you, which was a crying shame. Right now, all Eddie wanted to do was have your sweet cunt beneath his mouth. You were a feast on display, and he was forbidden from tasting, touching, and fucking.

Eddie watched as you pushed your fingers into your clenching hole, chasing the orgasm that was starting to sear through your veins. You were so wet, your slick dripping down the crack of your ass, only to be lost in the bed sheets. "Forget about him," he followed up with a gentler tone, the cold of his presence enveloping the air around you until your nipples turned to hardened peaks that crowned your tits. "Forget about him. Just touch that hot cunt for me, sweetheart."

You answered him with a whimper, your lower lip quivering before being captured between your teeth as your fingers moved deeper, seeking and searching for that sweet stop. You heard his sharp intake of breath as you fingered yourself; the schlick sounds echoing around the room were obscene and pornographic. Your slick arousal coated your fingers, your hand, your palm, and your thighs, shining beneath the dull glow of moonlight that peaked through the windows.

"Harder," he barked, and you obeyed. The heel of your palm slapped against your clit with each thrust of your fingers. "Faster."

It felt like a thunderstorm was roaring in your head. You heard him, but his words didn't register in your brain the way they should have. There was only building, mounting, and ruining pleasure that was spreading through your organs and seizing your limbs. You come hard and long, crying a pretty symphony made up entirely of his name.

October 31st. 2001.

It worked for a while.

In spite of the entire situation making your face burn, you couldn't say no to him, not when he looked at you with those pretty doe-eyes or when he called you his good little whore. Thus, Eddie watched as you masturbated for him every night. He would tell you when to cum and how to touch yourself. You'd be told how many fingers to use and watched as you fucked yourself open.

It worked—until it didn’t.

After days and weeks, it wasn't enough to just touch yourself. You wanted him to touch you, but that was entirely impossible. So you threw yourself into your work and your social life to distract your meloncholy heart. But each night, in the privacy of your apartment, you belonged entirely to him. You worked a double shift today in preparation for Halloween. Eddie hadn't said anything when you'd come home exhausted. All you wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep like the dead.

And that was exactly what you'd done.

You didn’t remember falling asleep, but you knew you weren’t awake yet—you were floating on clouds in that blissful in-between. It was 3:15 a.m. in the morning, and you vaguely recognised the blurry red outline of the didgital clock on the bedside table. The witching hour on All Hallows' Eve.

It was only the sudden, sharp zing of pleasure that woke you.

You cried out. Your voice was hoarse, and your vocal cords were thick with a myriad of emotions: sleep, confusion, panic, and sudden desperation. Reality finally dawned upon you as honey-sweet pleasure swept through your limbs, making them feel heavy and sluggish even as you grabbed a handful of the thick mop curls between your spread thighs.

You bucked your hips without intention, pushing his face deeper between your sticky folds until he grabbed your waist and pinned you to the mattress. When he pulled back and wrapped his wet lips around your throbbing clit, you could feel him smiling. A deep hum rumbled through his vocal cords and vibrated through your core until you were moaning outloud, your back in a perfect arch as red-hot lightening sizzled through your veins.

"E-Eddie?"

The panic in your voice finally encouraged him to lift his head. His doe-eyes were blown wide with lust, almost entirely black. You saw the way his chin dripped with a mixture of his saliva and your slick; he was a vision of exctasy that made your brain short circuit. This wasn't possible—it literally wasn't possible. But it was real. You felt the weight of his hands on your waist, the way his fingertips dug into your skin hard enough to leave bruises, and the way his weight dipped into the mattress.

"Was wondering when you'd wake up, sweets," he mumbled, his breath hot against your mound. Your thighs trembled and squeezed around his head when he dipped his head to lick from your quivering hole to your clit, lapping at the slick that practically leaked from you. There was a part of you screaming, wanting to rage and be angry at him for doing something like this while you were sleeping. There was also a part of you that wanted to be as distraught now as you had been the day you found him sniffing your panties.

Both parts were quiet, making room for the horny, touch-starved part of yourself to come to the surface. Your nails scratched his scalp when you tugged hard on his hair. Eddie tightened his hold on your waist to stop your impatient squirming as he kitten-licked your folds. You were already embarrassingly close, and he knew. It was obvious from the way you were squeezing your thights around his head until his hearing muffled and how you squirmed and wriggled as the pressure in your belly built.

You made this sound—a little gasp of pleasure—that sent arousal rocketing through his veins and straight to his cock when he pushed two fingers into your tight pussy. His fingers were thicker than yours, larger and longer, reaching deep and rubbing against all of your nerves. You came without warning, slick walls clamping rightly around his thrusting fingers as the world shattered around you into sweet oblivion. Eddie kept his lips wrapped around your little nub, sucking and flicking his tongue against it as crystal shards of pleasure shot through her entire being. It felt like a bolt of white-hot lightning had struck your soul and set her world ablaze.

When you sagged against the mattress, Eddie climbed the length of your body, his lips leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses from your clit and up your belly, through the valley of your tits, until you were tasing yourself on his tongue. You touched him for the first time with shaking hands, feeling his skin against your palms, tracing the outline of each tattoo, and feeling how his muscles shifted and tensed beneath his skin as he settled between your thighs.

He was real; he was here, and he was yours.

As Eddie rubbed his cock against your sticky folds to get himself slick and lubricated, he groaned into your mouth. The flushed tip nudged your clit, causing you to gasp and arch beneath him. "Eddie," you moaned softly, your entire body burning and your eyes pleading for more.

"Say it." He growled. His breath was hot on your neck as he smeared open-mouth kisses along the column of your throat. He already knew what you wanted, but he wanted you to say it. He had to hear you say it. When you bucked up against him, desperate to feel him fill you or for friction of any kind, he pinned your hips down, refusing to give into your demands.

"Eddie," you whined. "Eddie, please, please, fuck me—ah!"

The stretch as he pushed inside was intense and immediate, more so than anything you'd ever felt. But it wasn't painful. No, it was deliciously mind-numbing. Your nails dug deep into his shoulders as you threw your head back. Your lips parted in breathless cries when he bottomed out, filling you so completely. The two of you have never talked about this moment, his size, or what to expect when having sex. Mostly because neither of you had expected this to ever happen.

Now that he was between your legs, holding them open with heavy palms, you knew that he was big—bigger than Michael and your other ex's. Eddie watched the way your lips clung to him as he pulled back, leaving only the crown of his cock nestled in your tight walls, and he moaned as you sucked in each inch of him when he snapped his hips forward. It felt like he was carving his way into your guts, rearranging your organs, or hitting the back of your throat. Maybe that was over dramatic; you were cock-drunk and delusional already. Maybe it was just the intensity with which you wanted him to act that made you irrational.

All that you knew for certain was that he was here, and he was fucking you, and you never wanted him to stop. You were crying, the tears having finally fallen, and you couldn’t stop shaking as lava pooled in your stomach. Eddie grabbed you by the chin, his thumb and forefinger pressing into your cheeks, so that you were pouting when he kissed her again. "Look at me when I'm fucking you."

Your eyes snapped open. When did you close them? You didn't know.

"This is what you needed, huh? You just needed a cock inside you—someone to fuck the attitude out of you. You're just a cockwhore, aren't you, baby?" His voice was rough as he growled the words through his teeth. He was hovering over you, hands on the mattress either side of your head, trapping you in the shelter of his body. You cried out when he made a particularly deep thrust; his aim never faltered. He found that spot that made galaxies come to life and made your thighs tremble around his slim waist.

"Answer me!" He repeated it louder this time.

"Yes!" You wailed. You felt racked with pleasure when he put a hand on your tit, palming it roughly and pinching your nipple to bring your attention to him. "Yes, yes, I'm a whore, just a cockwhore—of god, right there, right there."

"Whose whore?"

"Eddie, Eddie, please, need to cum—"

"You wanna cum?"

"Yes, yes, please." He was holding you at the edge of the world, leaving you staring into the abyss. You were buzzing with excitement, entirely ready and willing to take a leap of faith with him. You needed to free-fall; you needed to float through the clouds, and he wasn't letting you. Not yet. Not until you gave him what he wanted.

"Then tell me whose whore you are."

"Yours! Your whore! Just yours!"

Now that you'd given him what he wanted, he fucked you harder, impossibly so. The sound of his pelvis hitting the backs of your thighs was a constant smack, smack, smack. The headboard hit the wall with a resounding thud, thud, thud. The neighbours would surely complain, but you don't care because he's going to break you, ruin you, and wreck you.

The knot in your stomach unrolled quickly and all at once. A fresh wave of rapture raced through you like lightening arching through your veins, leaving you staring at the roof with wide-open eyes that took in nothing that they saw. Your back bowed into a perfect arch as you came harder than you thought was ever possible—even harder than you had the first time he'd watched you touch yourself.

Eddie buried his face against your neck, his abdomen dipping in and out as he chased his own release, his breath superheated against your skin while he panted. He was lost in you—the smell of your shampoo, the taste of your chapstick—utterly and hopelessly lost. Eddie came only a moment later, long and hard, painting thick ivory ropes along your quivering walls.

"So fucking good, baby. Pussy was made for me." He rambled between kisses, licks, and bites along your neck. Your nails scratched down his back as you preened beneath his praise, your mind somewhere in the clouds, no higher, in the thermosphere. "You're squeezing me like a damn vice. Fuck, you're perfect. I would burn the world for you. You're mine, aren't you, baby? My desperate whore. All mine."

Eddie kept you pinned to the mattress, legs still thrown over his shoulders as he huddled over you, almost folding you in half. He grabbed you roughly by the chin, forcing you to look at him. Your eyes were unfocused, and your face was streaked with tears. He felt your pussy still fluttering around his softening cock as you rode the coattails of your orgasm, each aftershock making you twitch and shake. He kissed you hard until you were breathless. You mewled into his mouth and pawed at him.

And you knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that you were his.

#haunted hoedown #hauntedhoedown #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x you

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quietlyimplode · 8 months

Text

the language of flowers and silent things

Whumptober 2023: Day 16 - Don’t go where I can’t follow

Warnings: whump but nothing explicit

Word Count: 2k (gif not mine)

Summary: Yelena sends a coded message, a trap or askance for help?

A/N: <3

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

‘Meet me in Stockholm. Come alone.’

The coded message bypasses Tony’s AI and Natasha feels it could only be Yelena.

The message is accompanied by coordinates to a café and time.

Natasha smiles at the old language and tries to explain to Clint, that the coordinates and time are wrong.

By swapping the second number and reversing it, you get the true coordinates and time.

It’s not Stockholm.

It’s Rome.

Not 1pm but 4am.

The date reads for the next day.

She still thinks the ‘come alone’, still stands though.

There’s a distinct happiness and apprehension that comes and Natasha pushes the feelings down, she can’t afford hope.

Not just yet.

Clint is adamant on coming, but Natasha worries that if he does, it’ll spook Yelena into leaving, and when he puts it to the others she finds that Tony also wants to help.

Steve stands back and watches the arguments unfold until she explodes at all of them.

“Likely we have one chance at this. You,” she points to Clint, “don’t need to come, you do however need to broker peace with Fury, so on the off chance she does want to defect we have a place for her. Shield may be gone but he can still pull the strings. And you,” she points to Tony, “can do the behind the scenes setting everything up. If she comes here, can you find her a place to stay? Somewhere near mine or Clint’s apartment. She probably won’t stay there but maybe the offering of it, could entice her to come. Pepper knows what I mean, there’s money in my bank account to lease it; just use that?”

Natasha puts her hand up as Tony starts to protest, “just use the money? It’s not like it’s my only bank account.”

She smiles.

“And you, Captain, sorry, I don’t think symbolism of America is quite what I need right now.”

He nods back.

“It’s fine, Sam and I have a lead on Bucky anyway, you don’t think it’s all connected do you?”

She shrugs, stepping towards him.

“Where’s the lead?” Clint asks.

Steve looks at Tony who makes it appear on the screen.

“It actually is in Stockholm, Tony’s AI picked him up in the Vasa Museum and tracked him to Strotorget where it lost him. The main square was too busy,” he tells her.

She looks to Tony and nods.

“I didn’t know you were helping?”

Tony gestures around.

She shakes her head, cutting off his cocky retort.

“No, you follow your leads and I’ll follow mine, hopefully both of us will get some answers.”

She can feels Clint’s gaze on her.

“I’m coming,” he tells her, “whether you want me there or not.”

Rolling her eyes, Natasha nods; “fine but you’re coming to talk to Fury with me.”

The train station in Rome is busy, like the airport.

Clint climbs up the rafters dressed as electrician and hopes that he��s been inconspicuous enough that no one has noticed his ascent.

“Nat, I have eyes on you,” he tells her, “three exits and a café to your right.”

He uses the sight to look at the furthest exit.

“Do you think she’ll come as herself?”

“Blonde hair and all?”

Clint knows she can’t answer, but he likes to talk all the same.

“What’s your opener going to be?” he wonders, out loud.

“How’s it going? Long time, no see?”

He looks at the the other exits, not seeing anyone matching Yelena’s description.

A young girl approaches Natasha and immediately she stands.

Clint’s heart sinks, of course Yelena would be underhanded and use little girls to lure Natasha.

It’s effective.

He watches her move, following the girl.

“Nat, stop, no, don’t follow her,” he huffs, adjusting his potion and tailing after her from above.

The second exit, he thinks.

“Natasha, do you hear me? Don’t be a fucking idiot and get played,” he tells her.

He reaches a dead end from above and is forced to just watch as she makes her way to the exit. He races back the way he came, hoping she takes small steps as he loses sight of her.

He hasn’t even seen Yelena.

“Nat. No. Don’t got out, don’t go where I can’t follow, slow down I’m almost there, just wait,” he swears almost out of breath, as he hurries down the ladder.

By the time he reaches where he last saw her, she’s gone.

“Can you help me find my sister?” the little girl asks Natasha.

“I lost her and I can’t find her.”

Natasha’s heart sinks, as openers go, it’s a pretty good one she’s got to admit.

“I’ll help you find her,” Natasha replies.

“That’s what she said you’d say,” the little girl smiles.

“Follow me.”

Natasha stands, hears Clint’s warnings, his panic, as the little girl moves seamlessly through the crowd.

If she stops, she knows she’ll lose her.

“She wants to see you alone, she says your boyfriend can’t come,” the little girl says, eyes following Natasha as she walks backwards and then forward.

“Follow me.”

They exit through a news agency, the girl nodding to the owner as she leads Natasha through.

The exit leads behind the shops, into a thin corridor the girl running down so that Natasha has to hurry to catch her.

“Follow me,” the girl giggles.

And then, she disappears.

Natasha turns where she did, and comes face to face with Yelena.

“Hello, big sister,” Yelena says, gun held at Natasha chest.

“So easily you fall into a widows web,” she taunts, and then, pulls the trigger.

Clint calls Tony, he has no idea what to do.

They’ve disappeared and whilst he knows how absolutely flawless Natasha is at running and hiding, he feels they should have planned this better.

He knows she is compromised when it comes to Yelena, but he didn’t think she would be stupid.

“Can you get a live map or the area?” he asks in greeting.

If Tony is put off by it, he doesn’t say, he just sends Clint a real-time map on his tablet and tells him to swipe through the cameras and exits.

“Can you track where Natasha went?” he asks, looking at all the available ways of exit.

Tony does so, far quicker than Clint knows he ever would, and then sends them back to overlay the camera.

“Car park,” Tony surmises, “or basement, is there a basement?”

Clint growls in frustration, “which one!?”

“Car park,” Tony tells him, “I think.”

Clint runs, heading to the endless car park, and the rows of cars outside.

“Which one!?” he asks, “where do I look?”

Tony doesn’t answer.

“You can’t find her can you?”

He starts with the first row, then down the column and feels the desperation bubbling.

“Nat, you idiot, why did you have to be such an idiot?” he mutters to himself, “not compromised, my ass.”

“I’ll run the full diagnostic,” Tony promises, “we’ll find her, I swear.”

“Wake up,” Yelena says, wafting smelling salts underneath Natasha’s nose.

“Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey,” she smiles, squatting in front of Natasha.

“Isn’t that what Melinda used to say to us?”

Natasha opens her eyes and watches Yelena pace.

Her arms tied to a metal chair, knotted into her legs as there’s no movement in either.

Yelena stops and looks.

“Are you going to kill me?” Natasha asks bluntly.

Yelena rolls her eyes.

“Isla came to see me, was that you?”

Not answering, Natasha tries the restraints again.

“I think it was. It’s what Isla alluded to anyway. The tracker, you disabled it, and now they just want me back. The thing is, I like being free. It’s only been months and already I know. I have this headache, and it’s like I’m forgetting something- I can’t concentrate- that I need to do something.. But the only thing I can think of is you.”

The pause is large as Natasha waits for her to continue.

“I don’t know whether to forgive you or kill you and if the thing that I need to do; the thing that will set me free, is something that they’ve programmed in my head. A fail safe, for both of us. I kill you, then I kill me,” she holds the gun away from both of them, and places it on a chair opposite Natasha.

“Forgive you, or kill you,” she repeats, “but to be honest, I don’t think I can do either.”

She moves slowly around, the cadence of her voice slow.

“I had to see you, to see if I could perhaps do both, maybe one and then the other and maybe this headache would go away.”

She picks up the gun and sits on the chair.

Natasha hesitates.

“What do you think now?”

Yelena stands, emptying the bullets, placing them in front of Natasha.

“There is a part of me that angry. So angry and confused. I want them to tell me what to do. Tell me what my next mission is, give me some structure to my life. There’s nothing. Just endlessness,” she pauses.

“Is that what life is? Is it what freedom is?”

“But no, you’re not the one that needs to die,” she finishes. “I see that.”

Natasha feels the adrenaline fade and the drowsiness of the drug run through her.

“Your people will be coming soon,” Yelena says, not moving.

“You can come with me, with us,” Natasha offers.

“If you wanted too, of course.”

She pauses in the offer, trying to gauge Yelena’s reaction.

“You could be a freelancer within the remnants of Shield or under their employ. Defection,” she offers.

“Or, you could just be here, with me,” she says softly.

Yelena stands.

“You left me,” she says off handed, “you didn’t come for me.”

The words hold such sadness that Natasha doesn’t know what to do with them.

“I’m sorry,” Natasha repeats, unsure what else to say.

“I don’t want your apology, not now, but I do know, I maybe, I think I know why. I think…”

Pacing, Yelena holds the gun.

“They’ll be here soon,” she repeats, still not leaving, perhaps wanting to hear what Natasha is saying.

“There’s an address in my top left pocket,” Natasha tells her, “it’s your apartment if you want it. Leased under Fanny Balankov.”

Yelena’s small smile at the name and the inside joke gives Natasha hope.

“There’s money, passports and an offer of defection, or if it feels better, freelance supports, it doesn’t offer the same protections but it does give more options and no full debriefing that usually takes months.”

Natasha feels like she’s doing this wrong.

Clint should be here. He did it for her, he knew all the right words to say, all the ways he could give her hope.

Right now it just feels like she’s failing her sister again.

“They’ll be coming for you,” Yelena repeats, sitting down.

“Yeah,” Natasha replies.

“They are.”

Clint finds her in the basement, tied to a chair.

Gun raised he points it at Yelena.

“Hello,” she says casually, “you must be Clint.”

If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it.

Yelena holds her gun away and shakes her head.

“Put it away, we’ve called a surrender,” she smiles.

He does as she asks, but only because there’s no way he’s going to be responsible for taking down Natasha’s sister, he doubts they would get close anyway.

Yelena turns to Natasha.

“Be seeing you,” she nods, and then sets the smoke grenade off, forcing Clint to rush to Natasha.

By the time the smoke clears, Yelena is gone and Natasha is untied.

“What happened?” he coughs, leading her to the exit.

Natasha is silent until they reach the car.

“I don’t think I did a good job at convincing her,” she whispers.

Clint half hugs her as he opens the passenger door.

“Maybe you did better than you think,” he consoles.

47 notes · View notes

artificial-transmutations · 9 months

Text

Beating Recession

Recession sucked, that much was clear to Logan even before he checked his email inbox. When he saw a few replies to his job applications from the last days, he sighed. He didn't need to open the mails to know that the news was bad, but he did so anyway.

"We regret to inform you..." - Logan didn't even read on. He had lost his job as an apprentice electrician about half a year ago. The company was going under, and Logan, the youngest and least experienced worker, was the first to go. That's how it was in this business. Since then, he had applied to every single position that came up - but apparently, the current economic situation was so bad that nobody needed another worker.

Logan had hoped that his apprenticeship would get him a job, but the fact that he was only 20 and had not much practical experience hurt him. Slowly, money was becoming a pretty big problem. Whatever savings he had (for some real estate of his own! As if that was going to happen!) had melted away over the last months. His rent was due, and he had no income.

In fact, he was one month late with his rent already, and although his landlord had been cool about it, Logan did not see how he would be able to keep his apartment. He really, really wanted to avoid moving back in with his parents who had their own problems, too.

So, what was he going to do? There wasn't much more to do than keep looking for a job, even though his chances were slim.

He opened LinkedOut and looked for openings, just as he had done multiple times before this week. The sparse list of jobs had not changed, so Logan scrolled on.

He was about to give up again when a listing caught his eye.

"Escape unemployment today! Change™ job agency will find the perfect job, for the perfect you. Apply here!"

He had heard of such agencies before, and the results were not pretty. Usually, they just took the applicants' data and sold it on. They would claim to have found a job for you, but it usually wouldn't work out, and the applicant would have paid money for this useless service. Still, Logan was curious enough to click the link. If they wanted money, he would back out immediately - it was not like he had any to spare.

To Logan's big surprise, when he clicked the link, a new page opened, with a web-based chat interface. Before he could close the tab again, there was already a message in the window. It read:

"Kevin: Hey, and welcome to the Change™ job agency. My name is Kevin. How may I help you today?"

It was a nice surprise that they didn't try to sell him anything or even ask for his data before he had entered the website. Well, no harm done. He might as well give them a try. Hesitating slightly, Logan's fingers hovered over the keyboard before he typed:

"Hi. I'm Logan and I'm looking for a new job."

The answer came quickly, but not so quickly that Logan would suspect the other person to be a chatbot. After some moments, Kevin's reply appeared on the screen:

"Great. What kind of job are you looking for? And what kind of salary are we talking?"

Logan considered the questions. This was probably the point where they would ask him for his data. He silently cursed his excessive caution. Of course, they had to ask these questions. How else should they offer him anything?

"Uhm. My last job was as an apprentice electrician, but at this point I would be pretty happy about just any job. The salary should be high enough to pay my rent."

Logan hesitated before hitting enter. He didn't want to come over as quite so desperate, but the truth was, he was.

"Okay, no problem. Do you have a preferred working sector?"

What a weird question. Why did it matter what industry he preferred?

"Uhm, not really. I guess anything is fine."

"Very well. Before I look up what's there in our database, I would need some basic information about you. Namely gender, age, ethnicity and sexual orientation."

"Wait. What does my sexual orientation have to do with a job? Besides, why do you need to know my ethnicity? Is this even legal?"

Logan had typed furiously and pressed enter before thinking about his reply.

"I understand your confusion. We here at the Change™ job agency strive to find not only a job, but the best job for the best you, so we need to know what we're working with. It wouldn't be very appropriate to apply a person as an actress who is really good at sports, now would it? Of course, you have to understand that your answers are confidential and will not be disclosed to any third parties, especially not your future employer."

That was fishy deluxe. Logan really didn't want to feed some unknown job agency all that highly personal information. On the other hand,... what did he have to lose?

"Well, I guess it can't hurt. Uhm. I'm a male, 20 years old, I would call myself white and I'm heterosexual."

"Wonderful. One last question: Are you comfortable with nudity and public sexual activities?"

"Wait, WHAT? I mean, uhm, sure, I guess? I mean, why should I need that?"

"This question is purely to determine if we should also have a look in the adult entertainment section of our job offerings. Alright Logan, please stand by while I enter your data into our search engine."

Logan leaned back. He felt a bit uneasy about all that. But it was not like his answers could lead them directly to his apartment, so he felt relatively safe.

A minute or so passed, and Logan started to think that he had been tricked after all, but just as he was about to close the tab, a new message appeared.

"Sorry for the delay, I had a few calls. We found two jobs that could be a fit. The first one is an office job in a big insurance company. To be honest, it's not that good of a fit and it doesn't pay very well either."

"That's fine." Logan wrote. He was incredibly on edge now. Could it really be so easy to find a new job? And he even had a choice?

"What's the other one?" he added to his previous message.

"Okay, the other job is a bit more unconventional, but we have the feeling it could be a great match. It's an actor position in the porn industry, at the famous XXX Incorporated."

"Porn? What? Are you serious? I mean, I don't have anything against porn or nudity or whatever, but I'm not sure if this is the kind of job I want."

Logan felt mixed feelings. The prospect of being some office drone sounded pretty uninteresting and a low pay wasn't all that good either. But a porn actor? Logan had to admit, the thought felt somewhat interesting, but he doubted he had what it took for that? Weren't porn stars famously hung and well-built? That was certainly not Logan. Just as he pondered those thoughts, Kevin's answer appeared:

"I understand Sir. So, should we continue with the first job opening then?"

Logan bit his lip, but the curiosity got the better of him.

"Wait. What does the second job entail? I mean, I'm not exactly... equipped for the porn business."

"Well, as I have said: It's an actor position, so you would star in some new adult entertainment productions. While I understand your modesty, our records show that you are more than adequately gifted for this kind of job."

Logan felt confused. He absentmindedly scratched his crotch before he replied:

"Uhm, sorry, I don't think you understand. I don't really think my..." Logan paused. Was he really going to write that? It was embarrassing, but at least he could be reasonably sure he would never meet this Kevin in real life. So, he continued:

"... penis is big enough for such a position."

The answer came promptly.

"Really? Better have a look to be sure ;-)"

A winking smiley? That wasn't very professional. Actually, the whole sentence wasn't. Still, Logan couldn't stop himself from glancing at his crotch. What he saw made him take a double take. His soft cock was forming a visible and ample bulge in his jeans. Logan knew that he was slightly smaller than average, so that was ridiculous. It was almost a... a porn star-sized bulge!

He stared at his package, but it wasn't growing any smaller. With trembling hands, he opened his jeans. Immediately, a well-filled pair of boxers escaped the confinement of his jeans. The dick print of his soft member was clearly visible in his underwear, and it wasn't just much bigger than Logan remembered. It was among the biggest bulges he had ever seen in his life!

His hands explored the impressive manhood through his underwear and felt every centimeter of the hardening dick. He had no idea what had caused this growth, but he wasn't complaining. Before he could interact more with it, however, he noticed another message on the screen.

"Are you still there, Sir?"

"Sorry, yes." Logan hurried to reply. What was he going to write? "I was below average just a few moments ago but now I have one of the biggest cocks in human history"?

Instead, Kevin answered.

"Good! I trust you had a chance to inspect your assets?"

"Uhm, yes."

"So, have you made up your mind, or should I look into the office position?"

Logan was torn. He wasn't sure what he had seen just a moment ago. Still, his enormous cock that was half-hard in his boxers was there, undeniably.

"Let's go with the porn star position." Logan finally typed, and his heart was racing.

"Very good! Now, as I mentioned, the position is in the adult entertainment sector. Do you know the company XXX Incorporated?"

Logan thought quickly about it before replying: "No, sorry, never heard of them."

"That is not at all surprising, since they specialize in the adult sector for homosexual men. According to your data, you identify as heterosexual. I hope that won't be a problem?"

Of course, there was a catch. Logan had heard about these gay for pay people and he hesitated yet again. They paid well, supposedly, but...

"Uhm. Would that mean I would need to be on the receiving end?" He wasn't too close-minded and could imagine kissing another man if he had to, perhaps even receiving a blow job from one. But having another person fuck him in the ass? No, that was way beyond his comfort zone.

"I believe the technical term you are looking for is 'to bottom'." Kevin replied, and added another message shortly after:

"But the company is, in fact, looking for a 'top' actor. They put it like this: 'We are looking for a well-built top for our new productions.'"

Logan was relieved. While he was a gold star gay man (why did he put 'heterosexual'? That was utter bullshit!), he was a strict top. This position sounded better and better. Still, one thing raised some new doubts.

"Hold on. I'm hung like a horse, but I wouldn't say I'm very muscular or even fit. I'm not much of a gym goer."

"Are you sure ;-)?"

Again, with the winking smiley! Kevin sounded so very professional most of the time, but then there were these messages. Logan scratched the back of his shoulder with some effort. Whenever he raised his arms so high the mountains of muscle on his upper arms danced and made it difficult to reach his back. Logan suddenly realized that something had changed - again! His shirt strained against his muscular chest, and as he lifted his shirt, he could see some cobblestone abs on an otherwise flat stomach. His calves had become thicker and strong. His jeans, which had felt slightly loose earlier, now seemed to be getting tighter.

Logan had never been very athletic. His body was lean, but not fit or muscular. That had certainly changed. When he looked at himself, he hardly recognized himself anymore. A huge dick, and a studly body.

Logan shook his head and let the shirt fall again. Whatever was going on, it was not a bad thing, was it?

"Alright, so I'm a buff top with a big cock. Is there anything else?" he smiled as he wrote that.

"Actually, there is one further requirement, but given your cooperation so far I don't believe it will be much of a problem either." Kevin replied, in his professional tone again.

"And what would that be?" Logan was intrigued.

"The company is especially looking for a, and I cite, 'huge, dominant Black top with large dick. Intellectual capabilities are not required'. Are you feeling up to that task? ;-)"

This time, Logan immediately raised his shirt to watch his body change. As soon as he read the words, his skin began darkening, first a golden bronze and then a rich black. It was a gradual change but happened very quickly. His muscles became even more defined, and his body hair thickened and grew even darker.

He didn't know what 'intellectual capabilities' meant, but as his body grew larger and thicker, he felt a strange fog entering his mind. It was a little unsettling at first, but it wasn't entirely unpleasant. His usual thoughts quickly became overshadowed by his raising libido. As he grabbed his huge, Black throbbing cock, a dominant smirk crept on his mouth.

He turned his attention back to the computer and typed:

"Yeah, baby. I think I can make that happen. Just tell me who to fuck and I'll be there!"

He saw Kevin reply with a street address and a date and time, but Logan decided he would read that later. Now, his cock demanded his entire attention. He absentmindedly noticed his webcam turning on but paid it little attention. If Kevin wanted to watch him jerk his fat cock, he was very welcome to. After all, he just helped him find the job of his life!

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nudevastate · 10 months

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Hi, do you have any advice on practicing separatism?

sure!

1.) the very first thing you have to do is to cultivate a very strong relationship with yourself. i know that's a bit of a dumb thing to read, but it's true. as women, we have always had to play a role in a patriarchy. we are always just someone's daughter, someone's mother, someone's sister, someone's girlfriend, someone's wife, someone's concubine and so on, and never just us on our own. get to know yourself without needing the filter or having to live vicariously through your relations with other people. find yourself and find what it is that drives you. are you a creative soul? find something to create. do you have a lot of love to give? volunteer at a shelter, whether it's for battered women, the homeless, or animals. spend time in solitude and learn to listen to yourself.

2.) and then, go ahead and find your soulmates in other women. maybe that sounds overdramatic lol but definitely find your tribe with women exclusively. if there is a hobby you are into, find out if there is a club somewhere you can join where there are lots of women to get to know. make female friends exclusively. it's not to say that you should ignore men outright (might be too dangerous to do that), but you shouldn't rush to make them your friend. if anything, you should prevent making any male friends until and unless he proves himself to be trustworthy. (which may never happen, so whatever.)

3.) the obvious and the most debated portion of separatism is to, of course, abstain from dating, having relationships with, and having sex with men. i could pull up so many statistics and reports as to why being with men is horrible for women's health and livelihood, but i'm sure you can find those yourself. realize that the concept of heterosexual romance is made up in order to prop up the institution of "traditional marriage/family life" geared up by secular religious groups that are extremely misogynistic in nature. you can always take yourself out on dates; you can always go on "friend dates" with your gal pals. you can always masturbate or, if you do have same sex attraction, have sex with other women. you can always just date women. or just be single and thriving!

4.) a lot of the times, when women waste their time with men, they also end up missing out on some amazing opportunities. i know i missed out on some great milestones in my life back then because of this. now that you're single and by yourself, what do you want to do? what is it that you've always wanted to try, but didn't because a moid told you no? do you want to travel? get a tattoo? get a wild haircut? work on your body at the gym until you've got envious muscles? (men seem to hate muscles on women for some reason which is dumb.) now go ahead and DO THOSE THINGS, and realize how stupid the whole thing was when an ex-bf tried to prevent you from doing those things. it's because they make women happy. women are the most happy when they get to call the shots in their own lives. it's your turn now!

5.) find a community that accepts and even strongly encourages your separatist lifestyle. thank god for the internet. you can find likeminded women on here, on discord (there are loads of female exclusive discord groups to join out there now!), or other online spaces that you can find other women who are just like you. they will also give you tips on how to deal with emotions that comes with it, such as loneliness, and how to combat it. bonus tip: there ARE religious/spiritual groups that are female exclusive. dianic wicca is one of those, and they only let in women to join. practicing spirituality with women is so amazing and will also help you distance yourself further from men.

6.) request a woman. whether that's for your primary doctor, your gynecologist, a plumber, a driver, a teacher, an electrician, a photographer, whatever it is, try to check and see if you can request a female. if you can't, go someplace else. i understand that this is sometimes impossible in certain situations since men take up 50% of the world's population, but you have a voice and a mouth and you should use them. request a woman. hire women!

7.) not sure how old you are, but assuming you are in high school or about to graduate, see if you can go to an all women's college or university. if that's not possible, be sure to request going into classes that are run by female professors either all the time or the majority of the time. i can't tell you all the horror stories i've read and heard from female students when it comes to abusive and/or creepy male professors. be on the lookout for female professors on campus, and talk to them to help you out with your class schedules each semester. you deserve to be in a female only space.

8.) this is a hard one for me, but try to phase out your media consumption that was created by men. start watching movies and tv shows that are made from female directors. read books by female writers (you can start small with reading fanfics made by women lol and then go into actual books). buy products that was made by women, for women, and stop putting your money into corporations that are run by men who don't care about you. listen to music that was made by women. consume and purchase artwork made by women instead of men. watch videos made by women about topics you are passionate about.. these will normalize being in a world filled with female voices that may be similar or different than you. realize you don't have to keep listening to men if you don't want to.

9.) this one is also a little hard because of logistics, but try to see if you can work for a women-based company for employment. there may be resources out there especially for women who are in STEM and looking for work, and they can point to the appropriate companies that are either run by women, or are mostly female. it feels good to work in a place that has a lot of women in it rather than with a lot of men. i understand this might be difficult depending on the industry you are in, but try to make the most of it. if you are stuck in a career that has a lot of men in it, continue to practice separatism by keeping a strong emotional and mental distance from male colleagues, and physical if you can help it. (this is why remote work is amazing for women tbh!)

10.) this is more like a final boss thing lmao but if you can, if you have the means to do so, and if it is at all possible.. see if you can find an all female commune to visit at least once, and see for yourself how healing and amazing it is to live amongst women in everyday life. this is something i want to do in the long term, but i need to do some things in my life first before i can do so. but i would love to continue with and end my life in an all female commune, and die alongside with women, rather with a man.

and there you have it. there might be more, and maybe some others might chime in with their own tips, but these will help immensely. realize that perfection is not necessary, and you will stumble a few times before you can become 100% separatist, but it is possible so don't worry and take your time!

#separatism

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