More color studies (Iâm really having fun with those, expect more, maybe)
wallacepolsom
noise dept.
todays bird

tannertan36
hello vonnie
Xuebing Du
h
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
ojovivo
KIROKAZE
Stranger Things
Aqua Utopiaď˝ćľˇăŽĺşă§č¨ćśăç´Ąă

blake kathryn

Andulka

⣠Chile in a Photography âŁ
sheepfilms

#extradirty
Sweet Seals For You, Always
tumblr dot com

seen from Malaysia
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seen from United States
seen from Malaysia

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seen from United States

seen from Malaysia

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seen from United States

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@imaginebeingquiet
More color studies (Iâm really having fun with those, expect more, maybe)

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honeysuckle tangerine. [hinata shouyou] chapter one.
>> You agree to tutor your crush of almost a decade, and there are some rather unexpected consequences
or
Hinata discovers your biggest secret during a tutoring session, and then he realizes he's the only person who knows <<
series status: [ongoing]
tags: college au, college hinata is HOTTTTTTT, hopelessly in love reader, sunshine shouyou, erotica ghostwriter reader
a/n: this was posted YEARS ago on ao3 but im finally continuing it so please enjoy hinata shouyou who burns like the sun
masterlist. ||
[feel free to buy me a cup of coffee!]
---------------------------------------
Are You Going My Way? | Complete | John "Bucky" Egan
5 parts + epilogue, 45k words Lost and found in fourfive parts. John "Bucky" Egan x female!reader Warnings: 18+ smut, mentions of blood, wounds, operations, hospitals, war
*** Hitchin' a Ride Part 1
Or two times you told John Egan no, and the one time you said yes. Words: 7k | Warnings: mentions of blood, wounds, hospitals
*** Follow Me Where I Go Part 2
Or how you stopped worrying and learned to love trouble.
Words: 8.5k | Warnings: smut, 18+
*** As I Walk Through The Valley of The Shadow of Death Part 3
Or how hell could not keep you away from each other.
Words: 10.5k | Warnings: war, blood, graphic descriptions of war and wounds, angst, 18+
*** I'll See You on The Dark Side of The Moon Part 4
Or how John Egan really needs to learn how to shut up already.
Words: 9k | Warnings: smut, war, blood, graphic descriptions of war and wounds, angst, 18+
*** Lights Will Guide You Home Part 5
Or how losing each other was never an option.
Words: 9k | Warnings: war, blood, graphic descriptions of war and wounds, angst, 18+
*** A Lovely View of Heaven, But I'd Rather Be With You Epilogue
Donât go where I canât followâŚ
Words: 2k | Warnings: mentions of death, grief
youâre too good to me (and you know it, too) pt. 1
pairing: peter parker x fem reader
summary: For some unknown reason, Peter Parker cannot stop finding new, inventive ways to humiliate himself in front of you.
And for some reason, you keep helping him up anyway.
Or, the 5 times you save Peterâ and the 1 time he saves you.
a/n: binge-watched the entire rom-com catalogue on netflix and now its everyone's problem. also literally my first completed fic, pls be kind. wordcount: 1.6k
tags: 5+1 fic, slow burn, friends to lovers, reader is annoyingly oblivious, peter is a sad dork, no use of y/n, sarcastic peter and an even more sarcastic reader, multi part, past gwen and peter, not canon compliant
(one)
The only thing Peter feels right now is the searing cold of linoleum against his cheek as he lies sprawled in a random frat house bathtub, gangly limbs bent every which way.
The room is spinning. Makes sense â he did just drink half his weight in shitty beer handed to him by some guy named Brian. Or Ryan.Â
Whatever. It doesnât matter.
What does matter, though, is that his girlfriendâ exâgirlfriend, love of his life, the sun in his sky, Gwen Stacy, is three thousand miles away in a cozy apartment in London.
Very much not here.
They finally broke things off. Mutually â he likes to clarify â because long distance just didnât make sense.Â
Different priorities. Different goals. It was the logical decision.
Which, Peter thinks, is exactly why it hurts so much.
There was no dramatic fight. No screaming in the rain. No broken dishes or slammed doors. Just talking. Calm, quiet talking, with the occasional tear or two. But it was all so civil.Â
So reasonable.
And somehow, that makes it worse.
Maybe he wanted a fight, for her to throw everything to the wind and just jump into his arms. But that didnât happen.
He groans, vaguely convinced heâs going to throw up, until the bathroom door creaks open.
He doesnât have enough self-control â or, honestly, any dignity â to announce that this hiding place is currently occupied.
So he keeps lying there. Wallowing. Face pressed to the cold and probably filthy bathtub.Â
âOh my god.â
Yep. That tracks.
He can feel his face flush. Not sure if itâs from the alcohol or the sheer mortification at the fact that someone just caught him mid-existential spiral in a frat house tub.
âAre you⌠Okay?â the voice asks again, tentative now.
Peter twists his head awkwardlyâstill not bothering to lift himself from his slumped positionâ in a way that he thinks is probably going to give him a stiff neck in the morning.Â
What he sees when he finally blinks the world into focus is... unexpected.
A girl, a college girlâ you.Â
You look reasonable, at least more put together than he is. Youâre holding a Solo cup in one hand, and in the other a pair of heels dangling by the lacy straps.
Your face is twisted in concern. Genuine concern.
That, somehow, is the most embarrassing part.
Peter attempts a thumbs-up, but in his drunken state, it missesâ his hand goes limb flopping back onto his chest.
âRight,â you mutter. âYouâre, like, three bad decisions away from alcohol poisoning.â
He squints up at you, eyes straining against the harsh glow of the fluorescent lights.Â
They wrap around your head like a halo, he chuckles to himself.
âYou say that like itâs a bad thing.â
You raise an eyebrow. âIâm going to get you some water. And maybe an Advil, also maybe like some wipesâ Iâm pretty sure that bathtub floor is housing at least three different types of STDâsâ
Peter groans. âDo you have a time machine instead? Iâd rather go back six months and break up with Gwen first, or at least stuff myself in her suitcase and be smuggled into London.â
You pause in the doorway, looking at him as if you're trying to figure out if heâs kidding or just terminally pathetic.
âOkay, bathtub boy,â you say, âtry to stay alive for the next five minutes.â
And then youâre gone.
Peter closes his eyes again, hoping the spinning will stop if he just lies still long enough. Though, for some reasonâ tucked under the haze and the fogâhe wants to follow you, but his limbs are heavy like they're being weighed down with sandbags.
He lies there for what feels like a millennium.
Youâre realistically only gone for around five minutesâ but it feels like it stretches into forever.
The door creaks open again.
Peter peeks one eye open and groans dramatically, just in case itâs the Grim Reaper coming to collect his soul.
Itâs not.
Itâs you. Backlit by LED lights, holding a bottle of water, a crumpled paper towel, and something that looks suspiciously like a granola bar.
âWow, youâre still alive,â you observe.
âBarely,â he croaks, reaching feebly for the water in a way that reminds you of a sad cartoon mouse. âIs this heaven?â
You ignore that.
Instead, you hand him the water and crouch beside the tub with a quiet sigh that says you didnât sign up for this, but now itâs your problem anyway.
He cracks open the cap and downs the entire bottle in a few desperate gulps. Then leans back against the cool porcelain, eyes fluttering shut.
You hand him the granola bar.
He blinks at it.
âIâm not sure I remember how to chew,â he says gravely.
âYouâll remember,â you say. âOr youâll choke. Honestly, either one would be kind of on brand for tonight.â
Peter grins at that. Itâs weak and crooked and way too pleased with itself for someone curled up like roadkill in a tub.Â
âAre you always this nice to strangers, or am I just special?â
You laugh â short, incredulous. âActually, I came in here to hide from the hivemind of frat boys outside, but found a catatonic college boy whining about his ex, face down in a disgusting frat house bathtub.â
Peter winces. âLow blow.â
âYou earned it.â
He takes a bite of the granola bar and immediately regrets it. It tastes like cardboard.
Still, he chews.
You sit on the toilet lid, elbow perched atop your knee and cheek pressed against your fist, like you're holding the worldâs most reluctant intervention.Â
The party thumps distantly through the walls â muffled bass and sloppy laughter, like the world didnât just end because Gwen Stacy went on that plane.
Peter swallows, then leans his head back again, sighing. âThis was not how I imagined my Friday going.â
âYeah, me neither. I just came here for the free booze and ended up playing Florence Nightingale to a boy in a bathtub.â
Peter lifts a finger. âMan. Iâm technically a man.â
You stare. âYouâre drinking lukewarm Bud Lite and crying about your ex. You are, at best, a man-shaped boy.â
He opens his mouth to argue. Stops. Nods.
âFair.â
Thereâs a beat of silence.
Thenâsoftlyâ âSheâs really gone, huh?â
You look at him. âYour ex?â
He nods. âGwen. Sheâs in London now. Doing grad school. Being brilliant, changing the worldâ without me. I told her it was okay. That weâd both move on. And I meant it. I still mean it. It justâŚâ
ââŚstill sucks,â you finish.
He looks at you. Grateful. Like maybe the bathtub isnât the loneliest place in the world anymore.
âYeah,â he says. âIt really does.â
You smile, gently this time. âWell. At least youâve got granola.â
Peter chuckles, the sound rough but real. âYouâre not going to let me live this down, are you?â
âOh, absolutely not.â
The next morning, Peter wakes up to the smell of coffee.
Which is wild, because he was fully prepared to never smell again. Or move again. Or be alive, really.
He blinks one eye open. Immediately regrets it. The sunlight coming through the window is way too aggressive for someone whose blood-to-beer ratio is still questionable.
Thereâs a blanket draped over himâ suspiciously soft, and cozyâ and a pillow that definitely didnât belong in a frat house, actually, heâs pretty sure the frat boys in Delta Kappa Tau didnât own any form of pillow covering whatsoever.Â
Also, the couch beneath him smells like vanilla fabric softener and, thankfully, not frat boy sweat.
So not a frat house, nice solve Peter.
Panic sets in.
He shoots upright way too fast and instantly regrets it. The room spins.Â
From somewhere behind him, a voice says, âEasy, Nosferatu. Youâre safe.â
Peter turnsâ slowly this timeâ to see you, standing in the doorway, holding two coffee mugsâ one with âWorldâs Best Dadâ printed on the side.
Youâre wearing an oversized ESU hoodie that looks way too comfy on you, and fuzzy socks that make an unfortunate squelch as they hit the floorboards.
You hand over the warm mug like itâs a peace offering.
He blinks down at it. âThis isâŚ?â
âCoffee,â you deadpan. âItâs what people drink after nearly vomiting in a strangerâs bathtub.â
Peter groans and slumps back into the couch, cradling the mug like a life preserver. âI didnât vomit, though.â
âSure. But the vibe was there.â
He exhales a slow, embarrassed breath. âRight. Uh. Did I, like⌠sleepwalk here? Or did you drag my unconscious body across campus?â
You grin. âNeither. You walked, basically crawled. I gave you water and sustenance, and you turned coherent enough to tell me you lived ten blocks away, and then immediately fell asleep mid-sentence. So, no, I wasnât about to let you wander the streets like a hungover Bambi.â
Peter stares at you. âYou took me home?â
You gesture around. âI took you to my home.â
He groans again, rubbing his hands down his face. âIâm so sorry. This is⌠probably peak humiliation for me.â
âHonestly? You werenât even the worst part of my night.â
He lowers his hands. âHow could anything possibly top this?â
You sit across from him, sipping your coffee like itâs no big deal. âI stepped in a puddle of beer, glitter, and unidentified bodily fluid in someoneâs hallway and ruined my favorite heels.â
Peter winces. âOuch.â
âTragic,â you agree. âBut you did call me a âwise and glowy bathtub angel,â so I guess my night was somewhat salvaged.â
He groans again, dragging the blanket over his face. âIâm never drinking again.â
âSure you arenât.â
A beat of quiet stretches between you, broken only by the soft hum of your air conditioner and the occasional traffic outside your window.
Peter peeks out from under the blanket. âHey⌠thanks. For not leaving me to die. And for the granola bar. And this couch. And possibly saving my life.â
You smile. âYouâre welcome, bathtub boy.â
âItâs Peter, actually.â âBathtub Boy has a better ring to it.â
(Former-141 SpecGru Reader) - last update: 9/23/24 Banner by @sentientcave
You were part of the 141. And then a mission went wrong. Maybe you didnât follow orders, or you just made a stupid mistake. Maybe both. You woke up in the hospital room alone. By morning, you were meeting your new team.
Content: Light Angst, Polyamory, Injury, Safe/Sane/Consensual Intimacy (Specific warnings at the start of each chapter)
Introducing: Captain Castle "Daddy" Alistair
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Introducing: Rook "Duke" Alistair
Part 11
Part 12
Dividers by @cafekitsune

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bright as the morning, soft as the rain
sebastian (stardew valley) x reader
â§ tags : gender neutral reader, canon divergence, a lot of author liberties, alcohol, fluffy, pre-relationship, mildly suggestive but sooo mildly lol.
â§ wc : 3.4k (this is ridiculous lol)
â§ a/n : the thing to get me out of my writing slump being sdv fanfiction is hilarious.
hi! this is the first part to a silly little alternative first kiss series i have planned for the stardew romanceable characters. i think the other ones will be shorter (hopefully but lol).
i will link the rest of them as they get posted. i hope u like. rbs appreciated. also tagging @antique-remains (hi this is fang on my side blog lol)
â§ synopsis : sebastian wants to do anything but think of you. he's failing miserably on that front. sam and abigail are not helping.
.đĽ Ý ËËâ˝Ë・â
âEarth to Sebastian,â Sam snaps his fingers in front of Sebastianâs face. Sebastian jumps in his skin. âWhatâs with you today? If youâre not gonna take our pool playing tradition seriously, Iâm not playing.â Â
He swipes a hand over his face, cursing under his breath. Half-empty Joja-Cola can sits directly besides his pool stick, the faint air of smoke and liquor in the air. Right. Heâs here to play pool. Â
 He pinches the bridge of his nose with exasperation, shaking off the feeling before scratching the back of his neck. Â
âNo, sorry. I wanna play, justâŚgive me a sec.â Â
âGot something on your mind Seb?â Abigail prods, unfortunately intuitive. Sebastian scowls at her. She stands to her feet to get closer, sitting on the edge of the pool table with her cheek turned just enough to look at him. Her smile is coy. âA certain someone, maybe?â Â
His scowl deepens, lip curled in distaste. âNo. Move. Youâre in my way.â Â
âYouâre a bad liar.â Abigail says with a resigned sigh, arms crossed. âYou werenât this spacey last time you dated someone. â Â
âFuck off,â Sebastian sighs. âItâs not like that yet.â Â
Abigail grins before Sebastian can correct the slip up. âYet. Yet, he says.âÂ
Sebastian feels himself blush. âUgh.âÂ
He sighs as he stands back up, leaning against his pool stick. Sam stops whatever he was doing (messing with the pool table deliberately, Sebastian assumes), taking newfound interest in the conversation. Â
âOh, you two talking about our new neighbor?âÂ
âNot really new. Itâs been like⌠what a year or two almost?â Abigail adds. Sam shrugs. Â
âThatâs true. But it feels new to me anyway.â Sam says. He gives up on pool it seems like, abandoning his stick on the table in favor of navigating to the box pizza balancing on another table nearby and his drink. Sebastian watches him shimmy a slice of the pie, not bothering to blow on it as he eats. âOh is that why your heads in the clouds? Figures.â Â
âI didnât say that. Abigail said that.â Â
âAnd youâre saying sheâs wrong?â Â
Sebastian huffs. ââŚYes.â Â
Part 12 SpecGru reader!!
No content warnings for this chapter.
You mull over your captainâs words in the hours before dinner. Sitting behind Nova in her temporary room, Doctor Whoâs opening theme warbling from your laptopâs speakers. You gently work oil into her scalp, following the precise alleys formed by her braids.
Itâs a soothing ritual, not just for her, but for you. An act of care for a woman whoâs been so kind and patient with you. Who always stood her ground on your worst days, and never allowed herself to be goaded into a useless argument. Sheâs warm beneath your fingers, soft against your chest, the scent of coconut and cinnamon sweet in your nose.
Slowly, you begin to card through memories you put great care into neglecting.
Part 11!!
Sorry this took so long (and that itâs a bit short) I have trouble with scene switching sometimes, and it makes me cut up the story into pieces.
No Content Warnings For This Chapter
Somewhere between your pride and the numbing passage of time lies the way you really feel about the 141. It's undeniable that you're still deeply hurt by what transpired; a chronic ache like a mended bone, only noticeable in the cold, or when you sleep on it wrong. For them, it was easy to reach inside your chest to extract your heart, sternum soft and malleable. It was harder with SpecGru, the bone grew back harder, thicker. You had to crack your ribs open and scraped the chambers on bone shards, but at least they stopped the bleeding.
You donât miss the 141, not really. It wasnât just those final, brutal days spent lying alone in a hospital bed that filled those transfer papers. The culprit had been the time that isolation had afforded, to think more deeply, to analyze your position through a less-optimistic lense. Those last conversations had just been your signature on the line.
You donât blame the gun for firing, you blame whoever pulled the trigger.
You Kill Ghost (18+)
Pairing: Simon Riley/Fem Reader/Johnny MacTavish Content warnings: Masturbation, brief play-acting DV, PIV sex, oral (f-receiving), fingering Word Count: 3.7k
Service Dog Johnny Part 17 (full part list here)
Câmon, just one orgasm.Â
You shift your shoulder down in an effort to get a better angle with your hand, but that was a mistake because it makes the shower spray wash down the front of your body, turning the spit between your legs into unusable, dry wet. Frustrated, you curl yourself away from the water again and spit on your fingers, giving it one more go because you need it.Â
Itâs not even that youâre particularly horny, although it has been a week since youâve been touched. Itâs that you need to feel something good. You need to get your mind flooded with something other than sadness, and an orgasm is cheap and easy, even if itâs only for a handful of seconds. Itâs like a little promise that pain isnât forever. You could use some of that right now.Â
Mint the people must know; does Eri feel guilty that you broke up just because she doesnât like you or is she happy to finally be rid of you đ¤
Wednesday rolls around and she's more excited than she's been in a while. Instead of date night, the household has reverted to television night. Aizawa had even ordered food in-- something he never does.
"I recorded the episodes you missed-" Eri bounces on her toes, up, up, up, up. "I recorded them and. and if we start right now we can catch up before-"
"Not tonight, Eri." Aizawa is leaned back in the couch, hand over his eyes and a sigh on his lips. He hasn't eaten anything, or looked at the television once.
She stops bouncing. "But you won't know what's happening."
"it's fine."
"No, it's not fine," Eri says. "Sanji is-"
"Eri, I said no//."
He says it so roughly that it scares a flinch from the girl. She holds her own hand as she processes this new development, this chance from the normal.
"Are... are you mad at me?"
Aizawa's hand falls away from his head. His expression is neutral, normal. "No."
"It feels like you're mad."
"I'm not, I'm-." He watches the middle distance. "I don't know."
The theme song starts and they watch in silence. When it ends, Aizawa flips the television off.
"You were right," he says. "I'm lost."

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i think it'd be so funny if you were dating aizawa and eri didn't like you (solely for 'taking her dad away from her')
Eri isn't supposed to be up and out of her room right now, but frankly, she thinks it's a dumb rule. She isn't a toddler anymore, she's practically a teenager! If she wants to walk around her house, she can.
...Besides, she's pretty sure Aizawa only has that rule so he can sneak you over.
"It'd be for the best."
Your voice catches her attention. She knew it. Eri presses herself to the wall and sneaks through the hall. You kitchen light is on, flooding the darkness, and she can watch your shadow dance against the wall.
"Eri isn't a normal kid, she needs more," you continue. Anger flushes Eri's face; she knew you were bad, but she didn't think you were evil. "This would be in her best interest."
Aizawa is hunched over the counter, head in his hands.
"She's been through so much, I don't know if changing her circumstances like this would be the best thing--"
He groans, then sighs, shoulders sagging.
"...you're right,' he says. "I don't want to do it, but you're right. It's for the best."
Your shadow embraces his, head resting on his shoulder.
"It'll be lonely," Aizawa says after a long silence. Eri's been chewing what this could mean. Are you trying to send her away? Out into the world so you and her dad can smooch without getting interrupted?
"Only for a little." You kiss his cheek. "You'll get over it."
"It's going to ruin me."
"I know. Me too."
Eri doesn't sleep that night. She stays up, thinking about boarding school and homelessness and a life without Aizawa in it. Mostly, she thinks about you and how she loathes, loathes, loathes you.
The moment she hears Aizawa come home from his shift, she's out of bed and down the hall once again.
"Please don't send me away," she blurts. Her caretaker almost looks fatherly as he kneels, arms open for her to run into.
"Eri, a nightmare? It's been so long since the last one." He rubs her back, just like always. "I signed the papers, remember? You're my daughter now. Legally. Forever. You aren't going anywhere."
"Then why are you going to be lonely?"
"You heard that?" His expression goes soft as he strokes her hair, then hardens again.
"Me and, uh- we won't be seeing each other anymore."
your personal space has never really truly been yours since youâve started dating him. his muscled arm around your waist when you wake up in the morning, has become as familiar as the sunrise itself. it used to be cute, his warmth a cozy start to the day. but now, it's suffocating, like he can't bear to let you go, even in his sleep.
you shift carefully under his weight, not wanting to disturb his sleep. his breath keeping its steady rhythm against your neck, and you wonder if he dreams of you as you lean in to kiss his forehead gently. he smiles in his sleep, a small, contented expression that almost makes you want to slip right back into his arms.
the sheets rustle softly as you slip out from his grip. you slowly tiptoe across your shared bedroom, craving the simple pleasure of being able to enjoy making coffee alone. the smell of freshly ground beans fills the kitchen, and you lean against the counter, enjoying the quiet morning.
but as your coffee brews, a twinge of guilt creeps in and you can almost imagine when he'll wake up and wonder where you've gone. despite enjoying the well needed alone time, you knew the longing to be close to him will pull you back into his embrace sooner than you'd planned. almost as if in complete sync with your thoughts, you hear a mumble approaching the kitchen, and then his voice, thick with sleep, calling out softly,
"angel cmon back to bed with me, you know i donât like sleeping without you"
ŕŠâŠâ§âË gojo, nanami, bakugou, iwaizumi hajime (27) althetic trainer, oikawa, kuroo, geto, choso, yuji, midoriya
ocean blue eyes - social media au masterlist
part one
part two
part three
part four
part five
part six
part seven
part eight
part nine
.... offputting gamer girl and the pretty aspiring model she edits pictures for
there's really no reason to help her -- Bisa was a bully in high school, even more insufferable in college. She's always gotten everything she's ever wanted, from men to jobs and anything in between-- it should have been a pleasure to refuse her when she asked for help getting her little 'modelling career' off the ground.
But, frankly, Margo couldn't pass up the chance to see her like this.
"Lift your skirt just a bit," Margo orders, camera still pressed against her face. The lens is focused on the silk hem of the nightie and where it hangs, just under the swell of her mons. The white contrasts against her brown skin, sultry and innocent all at once. She stands above her photographer, the angle making her look even longer and leaner on camera.
"Like this?" She drags it up with her whole hand and Margo gets a peek of pussy, freshly shaved. Disappointing, but her cunt still squeezes at the sight.
Like Bisa was known for good things in high school, Margo was known for the opposite. She was offputting, shy--
And aggressively gay.
It's why Bisa ever offered her the job. I'm trying to appeal to perverts, she had said, and you're the biggest one I know.
"Nah, just the edge with a couple fingers-- like you're rubbing your clit."
Bisa raises a brow, skeptical.
"Your middle and ring fingers, gently." Margo obliges, trailing the fabric up just a hair, until only a sliver of her hip's crease is visible-- a tasteful little tease of skin. "Just like that. Move your hair to your other shoulder too."
Click, click, click. She catches an array of pictures.
"Fuck, that's really sexy."
"You're a freak." Bisa cocks a hip and there's a spattering of camera shots as Margo tries to catch the pout on her face. "I bet you're gonna jack off to this later."
"I can barely keep my hands out of my pants."
okay but hear me out on this; cowboy aesthetic on your faves makes them 10x more attractive idkidkidk like frontier man aizawa, cowboy atsumu and rancher kita, vaquero sero u feel me ?
so I was a Horse Girl for a long time and I always wanted a Cowboy/rancher x prissy show jumper/dressage reader
"Now miss," Ukai flicks the brim of his hat, popping it up out of his eyes just enough to really watch you. With knee high boots and tight riding pants, you certainly don't look like anyone else he's ever leased a stall to. "Lemme ask you a question real quick."
You barely spare him a glance as you hoist your smooth, black leather saddle from the wall. It's so tiny compared to the others that hang there -dusty western ones, meant for work and leisure more than competition, but it's still big in your arms.
"Hold on, lemme get that for you." Ukai holds his arms out and you happily pass the tack off to him. It smells of Murphy's oil soap.
"Thanks, cowboy," you walk around him, bridle hanging off your shoulder and reigns threatening to drag on the ground. Ukai has no choice but to follow you back to your horse's stall, where the beast in question is peacefully nibbling his evening hay.
Ukai sighs as he leans against the metal bars of the stall, still holdinh your things. "Why are you here?"
You have the audacity to look at him like he's stupid. "To ride my horse."
"Nah, I mean here. On this ranch." he clarifies, "There's some pretty prissy stables in town that specialize in all... show nonsense. They gotta be closer to you."
The tranquility is suddenly cut by the hoops and hollers of the boys outside, a cluster of eight voices- some happy, others annoyed. Hinata, his youngest farm hand at only 18, laughs loud enough that your horse starts, jumping a bit before settling back into his meal.
"Plus you wouldn't have to deal with those bozos."
"Those places charge a lot more than you do." you reply as you slide open the stall door. When you click your tongue against your teeth, the bay perks up and eagerly pads towards you." "And don't have the same size paddocks as you do. Fat Boy does better when he can run around before he works, but honestly? We're happy as long as there's a ring to ride in, right Fatty?"
"Fat Boy?" Ukai could come up with a lot of names for him, but fat boy certainly wouldn't be one of them. If he remembered correctly from your paperwork, the horse was some sort of warmblood mix from some sort of nice bloodline-- and it showed. Western breeds are compact and sturdy, made for long days of work, while this horse was all leg, built lithe and almost too tall for the stable door.
"Yeah, well, his show name is Father Boisterous," you roll your eyes at that, "Fat Boy fits him better."
You quickly get "Fatty" ready, brushing him off and throwing on your helmet. Ukai's forgotten about the saddle he's been holding until you gesture for it.
"Besides," you smile, "There's no gentleman at the other barns to carry my things for me."

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Clueless Alpha Bakugou not realizing that his Omega coworker is being a brat because they're broody as hell because their heat is coming up and all they want to do is nest and prepare for another heat and instead they have to work with him and his stupid scent that sticks to everything and isn't helping their situation
Man watches her treat the interns like pups with how she fusses after them, confused because if he so much as breathes near her she snaps at him, notices her sneaking off to buy soft items like pillows and blankets, and still has no clue because why would he speculate on an Omegaâs personal life.
Than comes the day she isnât in the office and he finds out itâs that sheâs called out for the week and it still doesnât quite click.
He assumes sheâs sick and worries if sheâll be ok because she lives on her own and thatâs when it clicks. When he heads over uninvited with food and medicine and is confronted by the overwhelming scent of heat flooding his senses and, heâd have left if told to, but now heâs calling out of work too.
The only complaint is that even in the middle of her heat, sheâs still snapping at him when she wants something.
You live in a human town in a fantasy world. In recent history, werecreatures enlisted to fight alongside humans throughout a bitter war in the territory. The result of that alliance is a (sometimes tense) tolerance between these two species who generally do not get along.
In the wilderness near your town, a werebear veteran has made his home. Bearish in appearance and manner, he vastly prefers solitude and is actively hostile to visitors. Sometimes he comes into town to sell meat and pelts from his hunts. The other humans are frightened, but you find him fascinating and peculiarly handsome.
i couldn't resist and i can't write short things, so please be patient while i retread some of what @snowkissedmonsters set up.
âGood luck!â
You stare after Anton, the liaison officer, as he rides away, at a complete loss of what to do now. Youâve felt a headrush of sorts, like sliding down a hill in winter, since you first resolved to volunteer to help Temar and his slamming of the door in your face was an abrupt stop before you even reached the bottom. You cross your arms, telling yourself its because of the mild chill, not out of anxiety or embarrassment.
have i done anything more than the bare minimum for what i should actually do today? no.
have i written more of this story instead? absolutely.
/
They were not. Any hope you had for some softening of his attitude was quickly dashed.
i tried sleeping on it, but no luck. still possessed by this idea. oh well
/
Dinner preparation is tense, quiet, but a relatively smooth affair. Temarâs already got the chicken dumplings nearly done so you leave that to him and handle the rest.
managed to get the next part down before bed, enjoy!
/
Finally, you plate is clean and your belly is full. You manage to take Temar by surprise by snatching up his plate in addition to yours, bringing them over to the wash basin before he could do some himself. Youâre determined to do something useful while youâre here and heâs feeding you.
who ordered Temar's POV? everyone including the original prompt? fair enough
/
Temar braces himself before he goes back in the main room, his forehead pressed against the solid wood of his walls.
here's the rest of Temar's POV
dedicated to @snowkissedmonsters poor burnt pizza - sorry lol
/
âYouâll sleep here,â Temar points out, continuing to refuse to look back at you or his bed for that matter.