like-a-clock

[like-a-clock]

Need way more picture of them. They're so cute.

🌱 a memory to hold on to 🌿

haven't done a scenery drawing in a while and wanted to it for mental health. ref photo under under cut.

(i didn't add the text, it was already part of the image, but i agree with it wholeheartedly)

[like-a-clock]

Ehi, if you are a minor, please, don't read this!

..anyway, this is amazing! Someone helps doctor Harvey, please.

Sumer Daze

Fandom: Stardew Valley Pairing: Harvey/Farmer Rating: Explicit, 18+ Word Count: 3728 Tags and Content Warnings: masturbation, desperate pining, explicit imagery, Harvey's midlife crisis (affectionate)

Summary: An innocent crush on the new farmer turns into a very big problem for Harvey when she comes in nearly having given herself heatstroke.

🚫 18+ ONLY 🚫 This fic is rated Explicit and is not intended for minors. Please do not interact if you're under 18.

The doorbell above the clinic chimed causing Harvey to look up from his notes—blood pressure trends in summer, most of them old men with pride too thick for hydration. He could hear that it was the farmer talking to Maru at the front. It was only moments before she strode into his office.

“Good morning, Doctor.” Her cheeks were flushed beyond belief, her collarbone damp, and her hair pulled back with a handkerchief. Her shirt was tied at her waist, most of her stomach uncharacteristically bare above her denim shorts, making him nearly short circuit. She held a basket, as usual.

“Oh—hello there,” His voice cracked halfway through. He cleared his throat. “What, uh. What brings you in?”

She lifted the basket slightly. “Pickled peppers. Told Maru I’d drop some off when the new batch finished. Hope you don’t mind me barging in.”

“No, not at all. That’s… very thoughtful.” He stood too fast and bumped the edge of his desk. “Are you doing alright?”

Her smile faltered a little and she swayed as she set the basket down. “It’s just hot out there. I know Summer’s just started but I’m already done with it.”

“Have you had any water today?”

“I had a glass with breakfast.”.

“Sit down, you’re redder than a tomato,” he said. 

“I’m okay,” she said, even as she did as he asked.

“You’ve been out doing chores all morning?” He took her temperature.

She nodded, more sheepish now. “I fed the ladies, the chickens I mean, weeded the south plot, foraged a little near the mountain pass— then I walked here.”

“You’re overheated,” he said firmly, removing the thermometer. “You’re lucky you made it in. You're on the verge of heat stroke!”

“I just thought I’d swing by—”

“You need to cool down, slowly. I’ll get you something with electrolytes—” He did his utmost not to look at the way her shirt clung to her, or the small droplet of sweat that had just trailed from the hollow of her throat down to the swell of her chest, nor at the line of her thighs where the denim rode high. He took a breath. Professional. Be professional.

“Alright,” he said. “Stay seated. I’ll be right back.”

She gave him a grateful look, her eyelids heavy from the heat, lips parted as she sighed, and he had to physically turn himself around before she noticed how hard he swallowed. It wasn’t the first time she’d brought something by. She baked for the whole town, as far as he could tell. Left preserves at the library. Biscuits on the blacksmith’s workbench. Brought sweet rolls to Caroline even after being told no sugar. She always brought peppers and flowers for him and Maru.

He opened the mini fridge with a little too much force, pressed the cold bottle to the back of his neck before turning around again to make his way down the hall.

She was swinging her legs a little off the table. Looking around the clinic like she might rearrange the place if he gave her a weekend and a paintbrush, but her gaze was a little far away.

He cleared his throat. “Sip slowly. Please.”

She took the bottle and took a few gulps, and he attempted to ignore how her throat moved as she drank. When she lowered it, she sighed again. 

He nodded. “Good. Thank you. You’re not going anywhere until I’m sure you’ve cooled off.”

Then she tilted her head at him, still a little dazed. “Maybe I shouldn’t’ve come all the way into town,” she mumbled. “I just got excited about the peppers... Thanks for taking care of me.”

He forgot how to speak for a moment until he could at least say, “That’s… that’s what I’m here for. And I’m glad. For the peppers,” he clarified. 

She took another drink, trying not to chug and upset her stomach. This time he watched the line of her throat shift and the way her fingers curled around the bottle, noticing the dirt under her nails. He was from a small town not unlike this one, but had spent much of his adult life up until about eight years ago in the city working at a hospital. She was even more of a city girl, but the moment she slipped on those work gloves she had acclimated like a fish to water. She was a farmer now. 

“How’s your vision?” he asked, softer now.

She looked up at him. Her eyes were a little  glassy, but focused. “Mmhmm.” A beat. “You’re very sharp.”

He blinked.

“I mean—you’re very in focus. Not that you’re sharp. I mean—well, you are. Sharp. Smart. Just—my vision’s fine. But also, like your sense of dress. It’s good to know that some guys still know where their waist is supposed to be.

He nodded, trying not to let anything show on his face. “Good. I think.”

Her smile broke through again, loose and sheepish, more than a little punch-drunk from the heat. He’d never seen her this flustered before. “Sorry,” she murmured, rubbing the back of her neck. “I think my brain’s still cooking. I might need to lie down when I get home.”

“You’re allowed,” he said. “It’s dangerously hot today. I would recommend you spend the rest of the day horizontal.”

“Robin told me to take a nap after breakfast,” she admitted. “Should’ve listened.”

“You should always listen to Robin,” he said. “Town policy.” He glanced at her legs again, then immediately regretted it. She had thick, strong thighs and shapely, well-used calves. He cleared his throat and turned to the sink, ran the water, filled a basin, and let his hands work while he focused on the sound. He soaked a cloth and wrung it out with more force than necessary. The cool water against his skin helped, barely. Maybe he needed a cold, wet rag of his own. He inhaled through his nose and let it out slowly.

“Lie down for me,” he said, already reaching for the basin, deeply regretting his phrasing.

She did so with a groan, clambering onto the table, bare legs sticking faintly to the vinyl as she shifted, the thin parchment paper crinkled loudly. The sound made something in his stomach tighten. Her neck stretched long and open. Her hair, damp with sweat, had started to come loose from its twist. She was pink and soft around the edges, almost—

Stop that.

Harvey turned back with a professional detachment that was starting to feel increasingly fragile. Her shirt had ridden up slightly—just a sliver of her stomach visible where it curved, soft and pink, against the paper. Her eyes were closed now, lips parted, the rise and fall of her chest still a little too fast. He held out the cloth.

“Here. Just lay it across your forehead.”

She reached up and took it from him, their fingers brushing briefly. Then she pressed the cloth to her forehead and let out a sound and her eyes closed in relief. “Oh god,” she moaned, “that feels so good.” Oh god, that feels so good, Harvey–

Absolutely not. Get a grip.

She didn’t mean anything by it. She was just hot. And tired. She made another breathy little noise of relief that made his fingers curl against the counter. His body locked up but he forced himself to move to the little freezer where his lunch sat untouched. He grabbed the two little ice packs and wrapped them in paper towels. “Put these under your armpits.” 

“My armpits?”

He gave her a hard look, one he kept in his back pocket for stubborn patients. Mostly George. 

She made an expression he couldn’t pin, and she shifted a little on the paper or shivered, maybe from the thought of the cold, he assumed. She sighed and took them, putting them where he asked. “Happy?”

“I’ll be happier when you’re not in danger of having a stroke.” He turned sharply and walked to the far end of the room under the pretense of checking the intake notes. There were no notes.

“How much is this going to cost me?” she prodded. 

“We’ll call this even. For the peppers.” He braced his palms on the countertop, eyes fixed on a paperweight.

She murmured something about needing a cold shower and “not in the fun way,” he decided—gently, silently, professionally—to leave the room.

“Rest here a bit,” he said, voice steadier than he felt. “I’m going to… file something.”

She gave him a lazy thumbs-up.

He stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind him. He stood on the other side of the door for a full five minutes, staring at the wall. Arms crossed, jaw clenched, trying to remember the breathing techniques he taught patients during anxiety attacks. It was the heat. That’s all. A hot day, a flustered farmer, and an overactive imagination fueled by too many quiet mornings and too few outlets. Still, the image wouldn’t leave him. The slow rise and fall of her chest. The curve of her waist where her shirt had ridden up. The sound she made when the cool cloth touched her skin. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Counted backwards from ten. Then again.

You are a physician. You are an adult. You cannot get a hard-on because a nice young woman brought you peppers and almost fainted from near heat stroke. He exhaled slowly. Then turned and walked back into the exam room. She was still lying back on the table, the cloth draped lightly across her forehead, her knees bent just enough to make his brain short-circuit again from the sight of the undersides of her thighs. “I didn’t fall asleep, did I?”

He shook his head. “No. But it wouldn’t be the worst idea.”

She shifted slightly, grimaced. “My legs are sticking to the vinyl.”

He made a noise that might’ve been sympathy. Or perhaps desperation.

“Hydration’s helping,” she added. “I don’t feel so spinny anymore.”

“That’s good.” He moved slowly, deliberately keeping his eyes on her face. 

She smiled—drowsy, content, still pink from the heat. “You’re always so nice to me.”

He paused. Not long. Just enough that he hoped she didn’t notice. “I try to be nice to everyone.”

“I know,” she sighed, sounding disappointed. 

He swallowed hard. Nodded once. “I’ll… just be over here, then.”

She closed her eyes again. Let her hand drop lazily to the side, knuckles brushing the edge of the exam table.

He sat at his desk and opened a blank chart and wrote absolutely nothing.

That evening Harvey lay on top of the sheets stripped down to only his boxers, his skin tacky with sweat. The fans had been running in his apartment since he closed the clinic for the day, and still, the heat clung to everything. It was nine o'clock at night, but dusk still clung to the world, refusing to let night come in full just yet. The window was cracked, but there was no breeze—just the distant hum of crickets and the occasional bark of a dog in the distance and he couldn’t help but wonder if it was Farmer’s dog, Bunny. He stared at the ceiling and kept very, very still.

Desire had become something he’d made peace with having passed him by. A muscle gone unused, atrophied beyond use. Something young people had the luxury of indulging. Not forty-year-old country doctors with cholesterol lectures to give even older men. Apparently that was no longer the case. Whatever desire he had assumed would remain dormant was now very much awake, and very, very hungry. What had started as a small crush he assumed would pass with time was clearly evolving. He could still see her, cheeks flushed, legs sticking to the vinyl, collarbone damp with sweat, her voice breathy from the heat as she moaned over a wet cloth on her forehead. He shifted and pressed a hand to his stomach and tried to will away the sensation with sheer stillness and force of will, but it was no help.

His cock had been hard off and on all evening, but he hadn’t let himself so much as look at it. He’d eaten a flavorless dinner standing up and washed dishes with cold water up to his elbows. He had sat by the open fridge for fifteen minutes, pretending he was checking for old food to toss. Now he lay in the dark, hard and aching and utterly alone. He let his hand drift lower cautiously, as if someone might walk in. As if touching himself might make it real. The pads of his fingers brushed over the front of his boxers,and he groaned. His other hand came up to cover his eyes, breath already uneven. Get a grip. She hadn’t done anything on purpose. She hadn’t known what it would do to him. His cock pushed against the fabric. He shifted, grimaced, and pressed his palm flat over it through the cotton, making his whole body jerk. He dragged his hand away to run it up through his hair, then rested it against his forehead. He had gone years without this. Not simple arousal, but real desire for someone else. He enjoyed Farmer’s company. He enjoyed it very much. But this was a new level, new territory. He wanted Farmer. 

This wasn’t real. This was exhaustion and loneliness and a very pretty woman with flushed cheeks and sticky thighs who needed his help. His professional help. His hand drifted down again. He wasn’t thinking about her on the exam table anymore. He was thinking about her on her back in his bed, her shirt open and sweat-slicked, her hair finally out of that tight french twist and splayed out across a crisp white pillow. He was thinking about her chest rising too fast, her lips parted, her thighs spread wide around his hips, heels at the base of his spine. The noise she’d made in the clinic haunted him, pouring kerosine over tinder in his imagination. 

He shoved his boxers down and swore under his breath, wrapping a hand around it, just to still it—but the contact made his breath catch. It had been so long. Not since he’d masterbated, necessarily, it was a natural thing to do like shaving or bathing or even doing laundry. But still, this was the first time there was any real want behind it. Want for someone else. His hips flexed into his fist. He dragged his hand again, slower this time, his thumb catching at the head, smearing the slick over it. His chest hitched and his eyes squeezed shut. He imagined her under him, chest flushed, lips bitten pink, sweat pooled in the dip of her collarbone.

Oh god, that feels so good. Harvey.

He moaned, low and strained, and bit his forearm to muffle it. His hips lifted again, shallow and instinctive, chasing the heat of his own hand. He kept his eyes closed and tried not to think too hard, but her voice wouldn’t leave him. That soft, dazed way she’d moaned. The way her thighs had parted just slightly as she shifted on the table. The sound the vinyl made when she stuck to it and tried to shift again. His hand moved faster. He didn’t mean for it to. Just—god, it felt good. He hadn’t let himself imagine this kind of softness in years. Not for himself. Not from someone like her—young and alive and wide open in ways he wasn’t sure he even remembered how to be.

But she’d smiled at him. She’d teased him about his fashion sense. 

I want to make you feel good too, he thought suddenly, fiercely. The kind of thought he would never have said aloud. I want to take care of you. I want you to fall apart for me. His cock twitched hard in his grip, and he groaned again—lower now, desperate. His wrist bumped his stomach, sweat slick beneath it, and it made everything worse. He stroked again. And again. Her mouth on his shoulder, whispering his name. Panting it.

The ache broke open and he came with a shudder that lifted him off the bed, teeth sinking into his forearm as his hips jerked through it. It hit harder than he expected, wet and hot and so sharp it hurt. His breath stuttered, dragged out in one long exhale that sounded like something dying.

The sound of the fan came back to him, then shame crept up his spine. He let go slowly. His stomach was tacky with sweat and cum, and the sheets were a mess beneath him, but he didn’t move yet. He just lay there with one hand on his chest, the other resting limp at his side, heart still thudding against his ribs, searching for a means of escape.

It happened again three nights later.

She’d brought over a jar of spicy pickled green beans, left them with a bright, “Don’t eat them all at once!” and waved goodbye with one hand still stained from whatever berries she’d been foraging. Her nails were dirty again and her calves were scratched from the brambles. Her hair had that wild, windswept look that meant she’d been outside since dawn. She had smiled at him like he was an old friend. She’d leaned on the clinic counter while they talked. 

That night, he didn’t even pretend to wait. He washed the dishes and turned on the fan, and by the time he was in bed, the ache had already started. He touched himself thinking about her voice again. The way she said his name. The way she looked when she was too warm, too tired to filter herself. The way her lips parted when she was thinking, or surprised, or pleased.

He came fast embarrassingly fast. 

The second time, it’s only three nights later. She’d come by in the afternoon with small blackberry tarts. Said they didn’t set right but she couldn’t bear to throw them out. They were perfect. He ate three before dinner and hated himself a little for it.

That night, he didn’t even make it to the bed. He’d stepped out of the shower, reached for his towel, and remembered the smudge of flour still clinging to her shirt, how she’d smiled and rambled on about how hard it was getting to balance tending to the crops and finding things to do with the produce. 

He came into his fist with his other hand braced against the sink, his hair still wet and chest heaving.

After that, it only got worse.

Every time she stopped by. Every time she laughed and tilted her head and asked about his day. Every time she leaned close to point something out in a book or touched his sleeve to get his attention or mentioned, offhand, that she’d been thought of him while reading. By the time summer was half over, he dreads her coming to the clinic, knowing he’ll be useless afterward. He’ll make notes he won’t remember writing. Lock the door early. Lie back on his office cot and touch himself while the room still smells faintly of whatever pie she left behind.

Sometimes she hugged him before she left. Just a quick, friendly press of her arms around his middle. He would stand there stiff and helpless, heart racing, trying not to breathe her in too obviously. That night, he fucks his hand like it’s the only thing keeping him sane. He wants to stop. He tells himself he will stop.

But then she comes in wearing a new sundress and her hair down, cheeks pink from the sun, and says she saw some wild plums up by the railroad tracks if he wants to go picking sometime.

And he just— He doesn’t make it to sunset.

By the last week of July, Harvey had stopped trusting himself.

He still saw patients. He still watered his houseplants, still swept the clinic floor every morning, still restocked bandages in alphabetical order. But it was all muscle memory now—performed at arm’s length, like watching someone else do it through fogged glass. Farmer had been in three times that week. The last visit was to bring him a jar of tomato jam that she insisted “tastes better than it sounds, I promise.” He’d thanked her with a smile and kept his hands on the counter.

That night he came twice.

The first time was quick, frantic, face pressed into his pillow to muffle the sounds. The second was worse—slow and helpless, hips twitching up into the air, his hand wet and aching. He came with her name half-swallowed in the dark, then lay there afterward staring at the ceiling like it owed him an apology.

He told himself it wasn’t about her. Not really. It was loneliness. Biology. Proximity. He hadn’t been touched in years. The mind did strange things when you let it go too long without warmth.

But then he’d see her again.

And she’d say something like “My Hero,” or “You’re always so calm, I need more of that in my life,” or “Be honest, have you ever worn a bad shirt in your life?”

And he’d want to fall through the floor. Sometimes he’d be in the middle of his rounds, taking blood pressure or checking a child’s ear canal, and a thought would ambush him: Her thighs on either side of my head. His hands would tighten. He’d excuse himself. Wash them again. Stand over the sink and mutter something sharp to himself under his breath.

He wasn’t proud of it. He knew what it looked like. A middle-aged man pining after a woman ten years younger, letting his brain slip into the same patterns he’d condemned in others. He hated it; and yet every night, his hands betrayed him.

Sometimes, he’d come just from the thought of holding her. From the image of her curling up in his lap at the end of the day, skin warm from the sun, fingers absentmindedly tracing his wrist while she told him about the color of the eggs this morning or the weird shape of the zucchini harvest. And then he’d lie in bed with his chest aching and wonder if something in him had broken for good.

[like-a-clock]

I wanna try so bad to drawing him, but I'm so stuck in my art block..

g-g-g-guysssss...tsukauchi

[like-a-clock]

I find Spinner so sweet. He made errors, sure, but I really find him sweet.

₊˚⊹ 𝗠𝘆 𝗛𝗲𝗿𝗼 𝗔𝗰𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗶𝗮 𝗥𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽 𝗛𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗼𝗻𝘀 ⊹˚₊

Featuring: Dabi ✧ Shigaraki Tomura ✧ Kurogiri ✧ Overhaul (Kai Chisaki) ✧ Twice ✧ Stain ✧ Mr. Compress ✧ Spinner

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

Reminder! These head-canons are all about keeping it realistic—flaws and all. So let’s Step into the unpredictable world of the LOV and find out how each one might love… or destroy.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Dabi

Their Dynamic in a Relationship: Dabi is emotionally unavailable, distant, and self-destructive—not exactly the kind of guy who showers you with love. If you expect softness, don’t. He keeps things casual at first and doesn’t do labels. You might not even know if you’re actually dating until he starts getting jealous over stupid things, like you talking to Twice for too long.

His way of showing “affection” is dark humor, teasing, and physical closeness, but he won’t open up emotionally. If you push for anything deeper, he’ll push back—hard. He’s reckless and doesn’t care if he gets hurt, so seeing someone care about him makes him uncomfortable. But deep down? It scares him even more that he wants to care about you.

Dabi’s biggest red flag? Disappearing for days without warning and expecting you to be fine with it. His biggest green flag? Once he’s actually attached, he’d burn the world for you.

Who He’s Drawn To: Someone who can keep up with his dark humor and cynicism but isn’t naive enough to think they can “fix” him. He likes people with bite, someone who calls him out on his BS but won’t get overly emotional about it. He might say he prefers someone detached, but the truth? He will fall for who make him feel something, even when he doesn’t want to.

⸻

Shigaraki Tomura

Their Dynamic in a Relationship: Shigaraki is possessive, emotionally intense, and socially awkward. He doesn’t trust easily, and even if he likes you, he’ll push you away at first—partially because he doesn’t want to be dependent on anyone, partially because he’s scared of literally decaying you.

He’s territorial as hell but not in the traditional way. He won’t be the type to glare at people for looking at you, but if someone disrespects you? They’re dead. No hesitation. He doesn’t believe in showing off love publicly, but privately? He’s clingy, needy, and desperate for validation.

His biggest struggle? Controlling his emotions. If he’s angry, he needs space—otherwise, he might say something he regrets. If he’s hurt, he’ll shut down completely. You need patience to be with him, but if you stick around? He’ll worship the ground you walk on.

Who He’s Drawn To: Someone patient and understanding, but not weak. He hates being pitied, so he’s drawn to people who see him for who he is and accept him without trying to change him. If you’re overly emotional or clingy, he’ll get overwhelmed, but he also can’t handle people who are too distant. He needs a middle ground—someone who gives him space but never actually leaves.

⸻

Kurogiri

Their Dynamic in a Relationship: Kurogiri is calm, composed, and weirdly protective. He acts like a caretaker, making sure you’re safe, fed, and taken care of—but in a way that feels more paternal than romantic at times. He doesn’t show love in words, but through actions. He always remembers the little things, like your favorite drink or when you need rest.

He’s insanely loyal, and once he considers you his, nothing will shake that. He’s also the least toxic of the bunch, but that doesn’t mean he’s harmless. If anyone threatens you? They disappear. No questions asked.

Who He’s Drawn To: Someone intelligent, mature, and emotionally stable. He doesn’t do chaos—he already has to deal with Shigaraki’s tantrums. He prefers someone composed but not lifeless, someone who understands when to push him and when to back off. If you’re reckless or impulsive, he’ll spend most of his time cleaning up your messes.

⸻

Overhaul (Kai Chisaki)

Their Dynamic in a Relationship: Overhaul is controlling, distant, and obsessive—but in a cold, calculating way rather than a passionate one. You don’t date Overhaul. He chooses you. And if he does? You belong to him. He doesn’t do casual relationships, and he doesn’t tolerate disobedience.

He doesn’t show affection traditionally—he shows it by protecting you, providing for you, and keeping you “safe” (aka isolating you from anything he deems a “threat”). He expects complete loyalty, and if you betray him? There’s no forgiveness.

His biggest red flag? Treating you like an extension of himself rather than an individual. His biggest green flag? He’d do anything to keep you safe—no matter what it takes.

Who He’s Drawn To: Someone obedient, disciplined, and composed. He doesn’t do messy, chaotic people—he sees them as weak. If you’re too independent or rebellious, he won’t waste time on you. But if you’re someone who follows his rules? He’ll protect and care for you with unwavering devotion.

⸻

Twice

Their Dynamic in a Relationship: Twice is chaotic, affectionate, and emotionally all over the place. He falls fast and hard, and once he loves you, you’re his world. He craves constant reassurance and hates being alone, so he’ll cling to you like a lost puppy.

He’s funny, playful, and makes you laugh constantly, but his mental instability makes things unpredictable. One second he’s showering you with affection, the next he’s spiraling into self-doubt.

His biggest struggle? His identity crisis. Sometimes he questions if he’s real—and he’ll need you to ground him when that happens.

Who He’s Drawn To: Someone patient, fun, and good at handling emotions. He needs stability in his life, but he’s drawn to kindness and warmth. If you can’t handle his highs and lows, it won’t work.

⸻

Stain

Their Dynamic in a Relationship: Stain is intense, ideological, and hard to get close to. He doesn’t do casual relationships—if he’s with you, it’s because he sees you as worthy. He respects strength and doesn’t tolerate weakness, so he’s more likely to be your mentor before your lover.

Affection? Extremely rare. But if he does love you, he shows it by guiding you, protecting you, and believing in you.

Who He’s Drawn To: Someone strong-willed, independent, and unshakable. If you’re weak, he won’t respect you. If you’re shallow, he won’t even look at you.

⸻

Mr. Compress

Their Dynamic in a Relationship: Mr. Compress is charming, theatrical, and deeply intelligent—he’s the kind of guy who always knows the right thing to say at the right time. His relationship style is playful and flirtatious, but not shallow. He enjoys keeping you on your toes, teasing you with smooth one-liners, and making you feel like you’re in a storybook romance.

Despite his playful nature, he’s calculating and highly perceptive—he knows exactly what makes you tick, and he uses that to his advantage. He’s not controlling, but he is manipulative in subtle ways. If he wants you to do something, he won’t demand it—he’ll persuade you so smoothly that you think it was your idea all along.

Affection with him is grand yet personal—he loves dramatic gestures, deep conversations, and making you feel like the protagonist in his performance. But underneath the showmanship, he’s guarded. You might feel like you know him, but in reality? He only lets you see what he wants you to see.

His biggest red flag? Keeping secrets and only revealing what benefits him. His biggest green flag? He will always keep things interesting, and he deeply values intelligence and emotional depth in a partner.

Who He’s Drawn To: Someone quick-witted, playful, and not easily fooled. He loves a good verbal sparring match, and he needs a partner who can challenge him intellectually. He’s drawn to people who have a strong sense of self, because as much as he enjoys the game of persuasion, he respects someone who can’t be easily swayed.

If you’re too naive or gullible, he’ll find it boring. But if you’re too closed off, he’ll get frustrated trying to figure you out. The perfect balance? Someone just as clever as him, but who keeps their cards close to their chest.

⸻

Spinner

Their Dynamic in a Relationship: Spinner is loyal, nerdy, and awkwardly devoted. Out of all the LOV members, he’s the most “normal” boyfriend, meaning he actually tries to have a healthy relationship—but his insecurities hold him back.

He’s used to being overlooked and underestimated, so if you show genuine interest in him? He attaches quickly. He’s not the best at flirting, and he might even doubt that you actually like him at first. He’ll need a lot of reassurance, but once he trusts you, he’s ride-or-die loyal.

He’s a dork at heart, so expect gaming dates, deep talks about hero society, and late-night rants about Stain’s ideology. He wants someone to believe in him, and if you do? He’ll worship you.

His biggest red flag? Low self-esteem, which can lead to him being overly dependent on you for validation. His biggest green flag? He genuinely wants to be better for you.

Who He’s Drawn To: Someone supportive, patient, and willing to see past his flaws. He doesn’t expect perfection, but he needs to feel respected. If you belittle him or make him feel like he’s “lesser” than other villains, he’ll shut down.

He’s most compatible with someone who makes him feel strong and valued, but also someone who won’t let him obsess over his inferiority complex. He needs a grounded, steady presence in his life.

« So, you went for the bad boys, huh? But what if you had a hero instead? If you’re curious about the softer, more righteous side of love, check out the Heroes x Reader version. »

Let me know if you have any feedback or if there’s any warnings I need to put on my post, I also take any requests from all fandoms that I know of. I hope you enjoyed reading this!

[like-a-clock]

Oh God. This is so hot.

you're so pretty and soft and tight that all might cums the second you rubs your pussy against his cock

[like-a-clock]

Hi, I read your “making out with Dabi headcanons” and I just wanted to ask if it would be possible to do one for Spinner?

Headcanon: Making Out With Spinner

A/N: Sorry if this took awhile 😔 college is kicking my ass right now

Making out with Spinner would be an intense yet surprisingly tender experience. His rough, reptilian features, covered in scales, give his skin a unique texture, adding a distinct physical sensation to every touch. Despite his tough exterior and the prejudice he’s faced, Spinner would be a bit shy and awkward at first. He’s not used to close intimacy, so there’s a sense of hesitance, like he’s unsure how to handle the situation. But once he lets his guard down, he becomes deeply passionate, fully immersing himself in the moment.

His kisses would be slow, deliberate, and slightly rough around the edges. You’d feel the contrast between his sharp, pointed teeth and the warmth of his lips. There’s a sense of vulnerability as he tries to control his instincts, careful not to accidentally hurt you. Spinner's large hands would be surprisingly gentle, cradling your face or resting on your waist, as though he’s scared to hold on too tightly. You’d sense his devotion and the unspoken emotions he doesn’t quite know how to express in words.

He might not be the most experienced or graceful, but there’s something undeniably sweet and earnest about Spinner when he’s with someone he trusts. Making out with him would feel like peeling away layers of his guarded nature, revealing a soft side he rarely shows to anyone else.

Making out with Spinner would be an experience filled with raw emotion and intensity, but also a level of care that he rarely shows. At first, he’d be stiff, unsure of how to approach something so intimate. His awkwardness would be endearing, his sharp eyes darting between you and the space around, trying to figure out what to do without fumbling too much. He’s not used to feeling desired, so every touch, every graze of your lips, would be met with a sense of awe and uncertainty. But the moment he realizes you’re as into it as he is, he lets go a little.

His kisses would be deep, almost desperate—like he’s making up for lost time, or trying to make the moment last forever. His scaled skin, cool to the touch, contrasts with the warmth and passion he brings into every kiss. There’s a roughness in the way he holds you, his hands firm on your body, but they’re not careless. His grip would tighten as his confidence grows, pulling you closer, but he’s constantly checking himself to make sure he’s not being too forceful. Spinner is all about balance; he’s never had someone like this before, and he doesn’t want to mess it up.

He’d be unpracticed, maybe a little messy, but there’s something thrilling about it—how raw and unfiltered his emotions are. Spinner’s sharp teeth might graze your lips occasionally, sending little shocks through your body, but he’s careful not to hurt you. You can feel the tension in him, the way he holds back just enough to stay in control, but there’s an animalistic edge to him, a wildness that makes every kiss unpredictable.

There’s a sense of devotion in the way he leans into you, like he’s pouring everything he can’t say into the kiss. His breath would grow heavy, and you’d feel the weight of his body pressing against you more as his desire overtakes his hesitation. Spinner’s tail, something he’s usually self-conscious about, might curl around your leg or rest against your side, adding to the closeness of the moment. It’s his way of showing how much he trusts you, allowing you to see all of him, even the parts he usually hides or feels insecure about.

And when you pull back, the way Spinner looks at you is full of unspoken emotion—gratitude, disbelief, and something deeper, like he’s found something in you he didn’t think he deserved. There would be a sense of quiet intensity, a lingering connection that stays even after the kissing stops, making every moment with Spinner feel more special and intimate than he ever thought possible.

.

.

.

Masterlist

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I really think he's a soft one, deeply inside.

A softer moment for my favorite crusty neighbor (and an excuse to draw jellies!)

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am i really making fanart of a doctor if i don't make an apple joke. it just so happens that that one apple made him sick, and now he's questioning everything

apples and doctors are some kind of folk tale or something in this universe guys. some ppl actually believe it, like how parents tell their kids santa puts them on the nice or naughty list depending on how they act. i think that's funny

or maybe it's just not that serious and i should stop trying to make this work in the canon lmaooo

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Look at the chicken of Shane. Hidin' in his coat. So cute!

So... I started playing stardew and got to the winter....

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My Hero Academia: Vigilantes Episode 1 - All Might appreciation post

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Mh.

wet cat,,,,,

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"We got this, ladies!"

...he's so cute.

I LOVE that harvey does aerobics 😭😭 Hes so cute in his outfit i cannnt💚💚

(zoom in for better quality :])

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I enjoy the doodles so much! I swear, I love them!

And I swear that I knew that Akio was a doctor with wife and kid. He's got this good doctor vibe, totally!

Hiroto was a surfer? So cool! Now I can totally image him going givin' lesson at Gang Orca's aquarium. Love it.

And Kenta...love him so much. So cozy and shy! So cute.

And now, the grandpa. What a man. Love him so much 🥹❤️

He's so cool and strong.

Totally see Hizashi training with him.

Love the fact that he helped her daughter (totally a sweet woman, I can swear) with her children. True man, with the heart in the right place.

Thanks for using your time for answering my question! 🌻 a sunflower for you.

P.s.: Heisuke's costume...chef kiss!

Hi! How are you?

I kind of fell in love with your take on the Yamada family! Can you give us some headcanons on them? I'm so curious!

Please, be safe! 🫶🏻

hey!! so here’s a little chart with the bros’ quirks and basic info :3

hiroto and mic are closest, they always played together and match each other’s energy quite well. they grew up getting into trouble together and doing a lot together in general.

as for mics grandpa, his dad wasn’t around so grandpa heisuke was like,,, his father figure growing up. heisuke has the same quirk as his grandson so he did a lot of training mic himself. as an old man, hizashi saw his grandpa as a hardass who was unnecessarily strict. which in some ways was true. in heisuke’s youth he definitely was described as an…ehem…lady killer…and matched his glam rockstar look.

he took care of his daughter and her children till he passed away when mic was in college, taking care of five children alone was something he wasn’t going to leave his daughter to do.

he also has a natural tolerance to mics volume! (as i like to hc mic does as well) so a wailing baby zashi was never too much for him :3

anyways there’s what i have for now!! enjoy the little doodles ^^ i’m so happy y’all like them so much <3

— michi

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This is so cute ❤️ got rainbow in my heart, now.

Have this art I made of them I don't rlly like it because I realised I forgot that it's snowing RIGHT AFTER I FINISHED

(they're my fave trope of father and daughter)

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Title: Shearing Day

Rating: Explicit (MDNI)

Relationship: Shane/fem!Reader

Word Count: 7205

Summary: Shane has a hard time accepting you don't regret him. You make sure he knows the truth.

Read on AO3 or below

You liked to think of yourself as a pretty resilient person. Shitty family, string of disappointing relationships, opportunity after opportunity that never quite panned out? It’s all good. Chin up, soldier. Keep it positive. Keep it moving. It was like a rubber band, right? If life pulled you out of shape, you’d snap right back into it.

Which is why you were a little annoyed with yourself when Shane started avoiding you after the gridball game.

You weren’t surprised. Could have predicted it. Maybe you did predict it. You knew there’d be ups and downs, bumps along the way. You’d handle them with grace and a cool head because you weren’t trying to fix Shane, you were just there to be with him.

And yet. 

He was ignoring your texts. And there’d been no sign of him at the saloon. You hadn’t bumped into him on the edges of the farm where he was “just taking a walk, can’t a guy take a walk?” Nada. 

He was avoiding you.

Even though it made sense, even though you predicted it, it still hurt. It’d meant something to you, that boundary you’d crossed together. You wanted it to mean something to him too.

If you were being completely honest, his silence also pissed you off. You were working on that. You wanted to give him grace, logic your way out of the insecurities that kept whispering that it was your fault, that he’d seen something in you that night that disgusted him, that his avoidance was about you and not him.

You were resilient, right? You could snap right back. So you tried not to ruminate on it. It was hard.

So was farming, it turned out.

You were trying to focus on sheep that day. Ten big, fluffy sheep sweltering in the summer sun. They had no business with so much wool on them this time of year, but the shearer from a few towns over kept putting you off and at this point you were sure they just weren’t going to come through.

“Do they look hot to you?”

You were asking Emily, who was currently walking amongst the sheep. She looked like a blue haired cartoon princess, handing out apple slices and giving scritches behind the ears. 

“They do look a little cozy for the weather, poor things. No word from the shearer?”

“Nope.” You let your lips pop on the “p.”

“Hmmm,” Emily said, rejoining you at the fence. She leaned back, faced the sun, eyes closed. “You could try asking Shane.”

You tried very hard to ignore the way your heart jumped at his name. “Shane?”

“Yeah, he used to help Marnie all the time. It’s been a while, but I bet he’d do it for you.” She gave you a sly look. “Give you an excuse to go track him down.”

Emily had been rooting for you and Shane ever since you first sat down next to him at the saloon. She’d known him since they were kids, had seen his ups and downs.

“You’re right… he‘s being a bit of a raccoon though.”

Emily nodded. You were referencing something she’d said when you first started chatting with Shane at the saloon. He’d brushed you off, left for the far side of the room. You’d tried not to let your hurt show, but Emily was Emily so of course she spotted it.

“This one time,” she’d said, leaning on the counter and wiping down a glass, “I found a raccoon with a broken leg, He would have died without my help, but he didn’t know that. All he knew was that I was big and scary and hurting him more than he was already hurting. He scratched my arm all up, but I don’t regret it.”

You were trying not to regret it.

“I guess that’s to be expected, though it’s hardly fair to you,” Emily said. “I know he’d help, though. He really is cuddly underneath it all.”

You thought about the way Shane had leaned against you that night, the way he’d interlaced his fingers with yours on the bus. About how he’d pressed his face into your neck as he touched you, as though grounding himself. About how it felt when he’d let his guard down and was just himself. Just Shane.

You sighed and looked out at the sheep. They really did look uncomfortable. “You’re right. Guess I’ll have to go find him.”

Emily clapped her hands in delight. “Perfect! They’re going to make the best fabric! Let me know how everything goes!”

You agreed, watched as your friend couldn’t help herself and went back for another round of cuddles. 

Finding Shane wasn’t going to be the problem. Figuring out what to say to him was.

—————-

You knew you could find Shane on the dock, so when night fell that’s where you went.

The fat gibbous moon lay close to the tree line, casting just enough light that you could see him there. Slumped in his jacket, bare feet dangling over the edge. You joined him, kicking off your sandals and letting your feet skim over the top of the water. You sat close enough that you could touch him if you wanted. Lean your arm against him, feel the warmth of his body, smell the unexpectedly fruity fragrance of his hair. 

You didn’t, though.

You didn’t say anything.

Shane didn’t say anything either.

The crickets around you chirped.

You heard an owl somewhere off in the distance.

“Hey.” You broke first, not able to stand the silence any longer.

Shane grunted in acknowledgment.

You wanted to grunt back. Wanted to ask him why he was avoiding you. Was it something you said? Something you did? Something wrong with your body, your personality, something wrong with you? You wanted to push him into the pond and fish him back out again and kiss him and peer inside his head and make him just talk to you.

Instead, you said: “Emily says you shear sheep?”

That got his attention, at least a little. “Yeah, I have.” His voice had a hollow quality to it. It brought your mind to rainy days and deep, deep holes.

“I’m getting nowhere with my shearer, and my gals look like they’re about to melt. I’d do it myself but I’m pretty sure I’d get a hoof in the eye.”

Shane’s face looked a little softer now, though it was hard to tell for sure in the moonlight. “Yeah, let me handle it. Emily’s day’d be ruined if you got blood on the fleece.”

“Thanks.” And then, because you couldn’t help it, you added “send me a messenger pigeon when you can come over, since your phone doesn’t seem to be working.”

Shane’s mouth twisted. “Yeah. Sorry.” 

You didn’t say anything.

Shane didn’t either.

A wet plop sounded across the pond. A bullfrog had jumped into the water.

“I miss you,” you said at the same time as Shane said “You probably want some space.”

You looked at each other for a moment. 

“Why?” Shane asked.

“Why?” you asked.

Shane slouched further into his jacket. “Figured I’d do you a favor and not make you have to let me down easy. You seem like the type who’d be all nice about it, but that just hurts more.”

You stared at him for a moment. “You’re rejecting yourself for me?”

Shane didn’t say anything, just stared out over the water.

You let out a frustrated breath. Where do you even go with that? “How about we pretend that I get to be in charge of how I respond to things and not you, huh?”

You could see the side of Shane’s mouth quirk up. “My way works better. Keeps the universe in balance.”

“The universe…. Shane, what are you talking about?”

“I have this theory.” Shane kept his eye trained out over the water. “There’s a balance to things, right? Nature and seasons and all that shit? It applies to people too. Everyone has a certain balance of good and bad that they get. If you get too much of one, the universe balances it out. I’ve had too much good lately, so I’m gonna get curbstomped real fucking soon. Might as well take the bull by the horns about it.”

“Shane…” You hardly knew where to start. “That is the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard.”

He smiled humorlessly. “Stick around, kid. I’m just getting started.”

“No need to go any further,” you said, “because your whole theory is bullshit.”

Shane shrugged. “The evidence bears out. Every time I get happy, the universe makes a correction. You’re next. There’s no way someone like you could put up with me for long. It’s like a rubber band. The longer I put things off, the harder it’s going to snap.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. You’ve got that thing about you, like you’re going to try and fix me, and when that doesn’t work you’ll get tired of it and…” He snapped his fingers. 

You gaped at him. You didn’t know if you wanted to comfort him or shake him. Of all the reasons Shane could have been avoiding you, assuming that you were going to reject him had never crossed your mind. Now that he’d said it, it made perfect sense. Of course he’d assume something good wouldn’t last. Of course he’d do everything he could to escape the sword he felt dangling above his head.

You hated it. Hated that he thought you were only there to fix him.

“I’m not… I'm not trying... is it that hard to believe that I just like you?”

“Yeah,” was his simple response.

“Shane…” you were grasping at the words now, trying to find a way to get around the voice in his head that was so much louder, so much more convincing than anything you had to say. “I really like being with you.”

“Don’t,” he said, and you felt a flash of annoyance at his quick rejection. “I know you think that for now, but you really don’t.”

You were spluttering a bit now. “I’m sorry, what? You know how I’m feeling better than I do?”

“I can see the signs,” is all he said.

“For fuck’s sake…” 

“It’s fine,” Shane said, his voice flat. “I’ll come by tomorrow and take care of the sheep. Thanks for the pity fuck. I’ll see you later.”

Excuse me?

You absolutely wanted to shake him now.

“I’m sorry, pity fuck!? Are you fucking kidding me?” It’d been a while since you’d felt angry like that, righteously vindicated, claws out and ready to tear in. “In what universe was that a pity fuck!?”

Shane didn’t answer. Didn’t look at you. Kept his eyes trained on the pond. 

It was infuriating. 

“You think I’ve got some kind of martyr complex?” You were on a roll now. “What, I just go around trying to fuck the sad out of everyone I meet? Who the fuck do you think I am? I wanted to be there with you, you absolute ass.” 

It felt good, in a way, to be so riled up. Like you could send some of that energy to Shane, sitting on the dock all quiet and still. Press your hands into his chest, resuscitate him, a defibrillator made of indignation and frustration.

He just stayed silent, staring out at the water. 

“Why the fuck do you think you get to tell me how I feel?”

He didn’t answer.

“It meant something to me.” You hated how small your voice sounded as you said it.

Shane gave you nothing. 

To think you’d sought him out. To think you were ready to forgive him for the silence, to understand, to make space, to grow together. 

Fuck

“You know what, don’t worry about it.” You got to your feet, shoved your sandals back on. “Don’t worry about a fucking thing. See you around.”

You looked back, once, as you clambered up the hill from the pond. Shane hadn’t moved. Still sitting there. Still staring out over the water.

You didn’t look back again.

——————

You hadn’t slept well that night. You couldn’t stop replaying your conversation with Shane in your mind. His world view. His assumption of rejection. The way he seemed so sure of how you felt, wouldn’t hear you say otherwise. The phrase “pity fuck.”

You hated it. 

After a few hours of fitful sleep you woke up feeling foggy and vaguely hungover. The sun felt brighter than usual as you opened up the barn, making you wince as you considered your sheep.

It was going to be hot today. Hotter tomorrow. Even worse the next day. Your shearer was a no-go, and Shane wasn’t going to show up after how you’d left things last night.

It was alright. You were resilient. Easier to just get it done yourself anyway.

“Well, ladies, looks like it’s just you and me.”

You’d spent half the night watching sheep shearing videos, the best distraction you could find for the thoughts on repeat in your head. The competent woman made it look so easy, maneuvering the sheep as if they were a particularly wooly bag of flour. She’d had a set of electric clippers. All you had were hand-powered shears. You were glad for that - less chance of damage, for you and for the sheep.

“Alright, Gertie. Let’s do this.” 

Gertie looked at you, chewing on a piece of hay. There was nothing going on behind those eyes. 

You approached her from the side, tried to move her like the woman in the video did, but within seconds Gertie was kicking and baa-ing. You dropped the shears in your attempt to calm her. When you bent to pick them up she knocked her skull into yours with the force only a creature with a completely vacant mind could produce. The impact left you seeing stars.

“What the fuck are you doing?” 

You staggered back, blinking rapidly, trying to focus on the figure standing in the barn doorway. “Getting concussed by a sheep, obviously,” you said when you realized it was Shane.

For a second you’d forgotten you were mad at him.

“I told you I’d do it.” He was carrying a case, hefted it onto a bench. “You think I’m that big a piece of shit that I wouldn’t show up?”

There he was, telling you how you felt again.

Well, alright. You were in a pissy mood anyway. Might as well make it double or nothing. “I figured it was a pity shear,” you snapped.

Shane looked at you for a long moment. His jaw was set, but there was something in his eyes that made you want to squirm, take it all back, just hold him. The vulnerability you saw the first time you met him, and a million times since then. “Can I just do this for you?” he finally said.

You didn’t know how to feel. But there was no question you needed his help.

“Yeah. Yeah, thanks. What can I do?”

“Just stop harassing the sheep,” was all he said as he started unpacking his case. 

“Roger,” you replied with no real joy, and you watched him get to work.

——————

Turns out watching a nice lady shear a sheep on your phone’s screen was nowhere near as enjoyable as watching the guy you had a (admittedly complicated) thing for wrestle livestock in real time. It’d clearly been a while since Shane had done this, but what he lacked in efficiency he made up for in strength and determination.

He’d started the job dressed in his usual jacket, but by the time the first sheep was done he’d stripped it off. By the time the second was over you noticed big circles of sweat on his shirt. Halfway through number three he’d stripped that off too.

It was the first time you’d seen him shirtless, you’d realized. Even on the beach he’d kept his t-shirt on. It was a crying shame, because the man looked incredible topless. Big, broad shoulders, strong biceps, sturdy around the stomach. You wondered if it brought him back to his gridball days, the way he lifted and turned and maneuvered and grappled.

You wondered what it would feel like if he did the same to you.

By sheep number five you were enjoying the show so much you debated sticking a few bills in his waistband. Instead, you brought him a glass of lemonade.

“Thanks,” he said, draining it in one long swallow. You silently handed him your undrunk portion, watched as he drained it too. He handed the glass back to you wordlessly, then got right back to work.

By midday you had a pile of beautiful fleece and nine much cooler looking sheep. The only one left was Gertie. She’d kept near the fence, pacing and bleating whenever Shane came by to herd one of her friends away.

“Want me to round her up?” you asked as Shane used his shirt to wipe sweat off his forehead.

“Nah, you’ll scare her even worse.” 

You tried not to bristle at his tone. “So what do we do?”

“I’ll get her. Got any carrots or anything?”

“I’ll check.”

One of the nice things about living on a farm is that if you needed a carrot, all you had to do was root around in the dirt a bit. While most of your time and energy went into your animals, you kept a sizable garden, and it was easy to find Gertie a treat.

“Thanks,” Shane said when you handed him the bright orange root. He wiped off the dirt on his pants, broke it into a few pieces. “Go over by the fence - we’ll want to give her some space.”

You did as you were told, standing back and watching Shane work. He moved slowly towards the scared creature, settling down on his rear and sliding over to her as he got close. He held out a piece of carrot, let her come to him. You could see his mouth moving, quiet words you couldn’t quite make out. He gave her a gentle pat as she stayed near him, fed her more of the treat.

Something in you softened as you watched him. You wondered how he would react if you approached him the same way, with calm confidence, cool headed and patient, letting him relax into an understanding that it was going to be alright.

You imagined it’d work better than yelling at him, at least. 

Shane’s touch, his approach, was magic. He won Gertie over with surprising efficiency, and soon there was one more fleece to add to the pile, one more happy sheep joining her friends.

“Stay for lunch,” you said as Shane started packing up his shears.

He paused, seemed to turn the invitation over in his mind. “I’m disgusting. I should go shower,” he finally said.

“Shower here.” You’d blurted it out without thinking, but now that it was out in the world you couldn’t grab it back.

Shane hesitated, that vulnerable look back in his eyes. He wanted to stay, you realized. Wanted to stay but was at war with himself about it. “I don’t have any clean clothes.”

“I’ll throw what you’ve got in the washer. You can hang out in my robe while they dry.”

He looked down at the shears. “You really want me to stay that bad?”

“No, I’m putting a considerable amount of effort into convincing you to stay because I’d prefer not to be in your company.” 

He smiled a half smile. You noticed his cheeks were a little pink. “Alright. I guess I don’t have anything better to do today.”

Just what everyone wanted to hear.

You took a breath. Thought about Emily, about raccoons with broken legs. About scratched up arms and vulnerable green eyes

“You really have a way of making a girl feel special.” You were teasing him, but he didn’t take it that way. 

“Sorry,” he said. “I can just go.”. 

“No,” you said. “I’d really like you to stay.”

He finished packing, closed the case. “Okay,” he said, then gave that half-smile. “As long as we both acknowledge it’s a pity shower.”

You snorted. “Whatever it takes, Shane.”

Whatever it takes.

———————

Pity.

The word rolled over and over in your mind as you showed Shane how to work the shower, as you picked up the laundry he set outside the bathroom door. You thought about it as you put soap in the washing machine, turned the dial. You thought about it as you listened to the sound of the water.

Pity. 

Like you were doing charity work. Like Shane was taking something from you every time you interacted. Like you were being a martyr instead of connecting with someone you truly enjoyed being near. Like you were trying to fix him.

You weren’t trying to fix him.

It bothered you more and more as you stared at the bathroom door. You wanted him to know. Wanted him to understand in a way that words couldn’t seem to accomplish. Wanted him to accept it, to acknowledge your feelings as separate and opposite to whatever his head was telling him. To stop feeling the tension of the universe drawing back, ready to sting.

“Fuck it,” you muttered to yourself, and let yourself into the bathroom.

“Is that you?” Shane sounded slightly breathless from behind the shower curtain.

“Yeah, I’m coming in.” You were already stripping off your shirt and bra.

“You’re what?” Shane’s face peered around the curtain, eyes widening almost comically as he saw your half-dressed state. 

“I’m coming in,” you said again, enjoying his dumbstruck expression as you stripped the rest of the way. “And I’m not leaving until you admit it wasn’t a pity fuck.”

“Wait, shit, no, fuck.” You stopped, a foot away from the curtain. From Shane, whose face held a mixture of panic, desire, and awe.

“You okay?” you asked. 

“I’m…” He shifted, eyes darting up and down, from your face to your breasts to your legs and up against. “You’re…” 

“I am,” you confirmed. “Can I come in?”

He swallowed. His face seemed flushed, even for the steamy bathroom. “I’m… I’m naked.”

“Mmm-hmmm,” you agreed. “I had a feeling, what with the shower and all.”

“I’m…” his eyes traveled down your body again, then shot back up to your face, almost guiltily. “I’m… compromised?”

You couldn’t help the laugh. “What does that mean?”

He didn’t say anything. You moved to look into the shower. You went slowly, giving him time to object if he wanted to. 

He didn’t.

As you peered behind the curtain you quickly realized what “compromised” entailed. Shane stood there under the spray, one hand wrapped around the shower curtain, the other around his cock.

His very hard cock.

He dropped it immediately.

He must have been stroking it before you’d burst into the bathroom.

Oh.

Oh.

That was something you could work with.

“I… I was just…” 

You honestly didn’t care why he was in his current state. All you cared about was keeping him there. “I’m coming in,” you declared. 

Shane didn’t object.

It was warm and humid inside the shower. The falling water ran in rivulets down Shane’s messy head, down his chest and arms. He watched you with a mix of desire and trepidation. You moved under the spray.  Moved close to him, close enough to hear his breathing over the sound of the shower. Close enough for the ball of your foot to brush up against his little toe. Close enough that you could press your mouth to his without having to lean forward.

“Can I kiss you?” you asked quietly. 

Shane’s lips parted. His eyes dropped to your mouth. “Yeah,” he said.

And so you did.

A soft press at first. To his top lip. To the bottom. He stayed still, letting you lead. When your tongue gently nudged the seam of his mouth he let you in. His tongue greeted yours softly, pressing back against it without moving forward. You heard him groan, soft, felt his fingers on your hip, very gentle, barely brushing. Felt his cock tap against your stomach as you shifted.

“Fuck,” he huffed, taking a step back. The shower was small, so that was all it took for him to be flush against the wall.

“Do you want me to stop?” you asked.

He shook his head, slow at first, then harder, emphatically. 

“Good,” you said, and wrapped your hand around his length.

For a second you were reminded of Gertie. Shane’s face seemed to lose focus, taking on the same vacant expression you were used to seeing on your sheep. You smiled at him, gave him a soft squeeze. 

As you’d first seen that night in the stadium, Shane’s cock was noticeably thick. While it wasn’t the longest you’d ever encountered, its heft more than made up for it. You liked the way it felt in your hand, hot and heavy, such a useful tool for making Shane’s eyes fall closed, his cheeks flush pink.

“It wasn’t a pity fuck,” you said, and squeezed again.

Shane groaned. 

You pressed a kiss to his jaw. To his cheekbone. To the spot just below his ear. “Say it,” you whispered as you gave him another squeeze.

He groaned once more, shuddering underneath you. You let your hand trail down and cup his sac. Fondle it. Gently, gently, push it up towards his body. “Say it,” you said again.

“Fuck.” His voice was harsh, cracking. “Fuck I… fuck.” You’d brought your free hand up to his shaft, squeezed in rhythm with the hand on his balls.

“It wasn’t a pity fuck,” you prompted. Your hands didn’t stop.

“It… it wasn’t…” His eyes were squeezed closed, hands pressed back hard on the wall of the shower. 

“Keep going,” you said, falling into a steady rhythm of pushing and squeezing. 

Shane groaned again. “You’re.. why are you… fuck fuck fuck.”

You were squeezing a little harder now. Not nearly enough to cause him pain, but enough to make sure he understood your point. “It wasn’t a pity fuck. Say it.”

“It… it wasn’t…” he took in a huge, hitching breath. “It wasn’t a pity fuck.”

“Good,” you said, rewarding him with a slightly faster pace. He moaned into it, body tightening with pleasure. “Now say it again.”

“It wasn’t… fuck… it wasn’t a pity fuck.”

“Good. Again.”

“It wasn’t a pity fuck.” He sounded a little more confident now, though his voice hitched as your thumb moved up to trace across his head.

“Good, Shane,” you whispered. He gave a full body shudder at the sound of his name. “Now show me how you like to be touched.”

His hands were on top of yours in an instant, guiding you to a much tighter grip than you would have expected. He bucked into your hands, forehead coming to rest on your shoulder, groaning, breath hitching, shaking. You pressed a kiss to his wet hair, loved the way he leaned into you. His hands felt strong over yours, fingers calloused and clever. He gasped lightly with each squeeze of your hands. 

“I want to be here,” you said. He moaned, his thrusts losing rhythm. You kissed his temple. “I want to be here with you, Shane.”

That seemed to do it. He groaned, grunted, and was coming over your joined hands. The shower washed you both clean.

You anticipated the way he leaned on you this time, braced yourself for it. He pulled you close, buried his face in the curve of your neck. You held him, stroked his hair, murmured quietly until the hot water ran out and a deluge of cold had you both scrambling out of the shower.

“Refreshing,” you laughed as you threw Shane a towel.

“That’s one way to put it.” He was looking at you very intently. You felt a little thrill go through you, twist through your core. You tried to shake it off.

“My robe’s over there.” You pointed at it with your head as you wrapped a towel around your torso. “I’m going to go get dressed and start some lunch.”

You left Shane to it without looking back. You told yourself it was to give him privacy, but if you were honest you were feeling a little keyed up. You’d take a couple minutes to cool down, recenter yourself, and then take on whatever came next.

It seemed Shane had a different idea in mind.

You were toweling off your hair when he entered your bedroom. He didn’t knock. You hadn’t dressed yet, and instinct had you cringing, covering up with the towel as he came through the door.

“Shane! I -“ It was foolish - you’d just spent the last ten minutes plastered to him, but it felt a little different here in the bedroom, especially with the way he was looking at you as he stood there in your surprisingly well-fitting robe.

“I figured… since we’re barging in on each other and all…” He swallowed, that nervous look on his face. You wondered if he was about to bolt, or puff those quills up and say something to push you away.

“What is it?” Your voice was gentle.

“I… I want more of you. Now, I mean. And after now too, if you want. But definitely now.”

His nervousness seemed to be waning. Something else was starting to take its place - the Shane you’d been seeing for the past month. The one with a little bit of confidence, a little bit of light. The sun peeking out from behind the clouds. The universe slackening the rubber band.

“I’m all ears,” you said, shifting your towel to wrap back around your torso. You couldn’t help the smile spreading across your face. He looked cute, you realized, standing there in your light purple robe. Hair mussed, cheeks a little pink, an answering smile of his own. “What are you up for?”

“Well…” He glanced down, scratching at the back of his head in such an endearing gesture of nervousness you wanted to pull him to you, kiss his flushed cheeks. “You looked so cute out there, when I was shearing. I kept thinking about how I wanted to…” He trailed off, staring down at your feet.

You were loving this. “Go on…” you prompted.

“Yoba…” Shane groaned, swiping a hand down his face. “I kept imagining getting down on my knees in front of you and eating you out.” 

He was beet red now. You couldn’t help the delighted “Shane!” that came out of your mouth. 

“What? What?” He looked vaguely panicked. “Shit, should I have not said that? I’m so fucking out of practice with this….”

“No no no,” you said quickly. “I’m all for it! Damn, get over here right now, I’m all in. If you still want to, of course.”

“If I still want to,” he repeated incredulously. “Like going down on you wouldn’t be the highlight of my entire fucking life.”

He wasn’t moving, though. He was still standing by the door. 

“C‘mere,” you said, holding out a hand. He looked at it for a moment, then crossed to you, took it. You pulled him close, sighed as he put his arms around you, ran an open hand over the top of your back. 

“You feel so nice,” he whispered. 

“So do you,” you said.

Shane pressed his mouth to your bare shoulder. Kissed it. Let his lips linger a breath above your skin. You shivered at his gentleness, felt something start twisting again in your core.

“It wasn’t a pity fuck,” he said.

“It wasn’t a pity fuck,” you confirmed.

His mouth traveled up your neck, placing soft kisses on your pulse, your jaw, your cheekbone, your temple. 

“You want to be here,” he said.

“I want to be here,” you confirmed.

He pressed his lips to the corner of your mouth. Stayed there for a moment. You could feel the tension in his body, the way his hand trembled on your back. His mouth shifted, kissing your lips now. You let him control it. Something about how soft and gentle he was made you melt. His hand cupped the side of your head, thumb brushing against your cheek, and you wondered if maybe you were going about it all wrong, if what he needed was gentleness and romance and whispered endearments and soft brushes of your fingertips. 

But then he was backing you up against the bed (breath hitching, face so so close to you as you moved), pushing you down by the hips to sit, dragging your towel off of you in the process, and you figured he was probably just fine with the current pace.

He pressed you back further, laying you down on your back, scooting you up the bed. You expected the kisses to continue, but instead he pulled back, looked at you. Your core coiled up even tighter as his eyes darted over your body. “Yoba,” he said. “You are so far out of my fucking league. Fuck.” 

“Get down here,” was all you could think to say. You grabbed him by the collar of the robe, pulled him down against you. He went easily, settling in between your parted legs, lips slotting against yours, not slow and gentle this time. He was back to the quick, nearly frantic pace you remembered from the stadium. It made you arch your back, the sudden rush of sensation, the feel of lips and stubble and tongue. The tips of your breasts brushed against the softness of the robe, and that was absolutely not what you were interested in, you wanted heat and skin and Shane, so you pulled at the collar of the garment as he kissed you, helped him shrug it off, and the feel of his heavy warmth as he laid back on top of you was exactly, exactly as good as you thought it’d be.

His lips, his weight, the feeling of skin on skin was decadent, had you moaning, shifting your hips under his, chasing more sensation. You could feel his cock hardening again, and that was just a-okay by you, forget his mouth, you wanted him in you, here in your bed, deep and slow and heavy with the window open and the smell of sun-warmed grass wafting through. But he was gasping a little, breaking away, sitting back on his knees. “I need to focus,” you heard him mumble. 

“I need you to touch me,�� you replied. Shane smiled at the words, genuine, sweet, eyes sparkling a bit. 

“That’s the plan, baby. Just… fuck, just give me a sec, okay? I’m still a little… it’s just…” he trailed off. One of his hands had found its way to your thigh. It rested there, warm and still. It only drove you a little bit crazy.

“Still getting used to it?” 

Shane’s mouth twisted a little. “Yeah,” he said. His hand moved, stroked up and down. He watched it. “It meant something to me,” he said after a moment.

It took a minute for your mind to catch up, to realize he was saying what you’d been needing him to say ever since that night in the stadium.

“Yeah?” you said.

Shane nodded. Then, with what seemed like great difficulty, he brought his eyes to meet yours. “Sorry for… for making you think it didn’t. It’s all so much at once… it’s almost like it hurts.” He scoffed, looked back at his hand. “Sorry, that’s stupid.”

“It’s not,” you said. 

Shane shrugged. “I’m really, really fucking bad at this.” His eyes met yours again. “I’m sorry for being such a dick. You didn’t deserve that. Can I just make you feel good now?”

You laughed, feeling light and happy and not just a little bit turned on by the way his hand kept moving up and down your thigh. “Yes please.”

Shane smiled, a little tight, but genuine. “Good,” he said. “Now stay still and let me do this.”

You would have quipped something back, a “yes, sir!” or an “aye, aye, captain,” but both of his hands were on your thighs now, pressing down all warm and steady, the calluses on his palms causing just the slightest bit of friction as they moved upwards, his thumbs spread and grazing the line where your legs met your core, opening you up, and honestly words weren’t something that felt all that important in the moment.

And then his mouth was on you too, on your lower stomach, kissing below your navel, soft and breathy and lingering. You ran your fingers through his hair and he made a small sound, nodding into you. You carded the strands as his mouth worked, moving to your hips now, traveling down to your thighs, pressing kisses in a wide arc around your core. 

It was sweet, the way he seemed to be enjoying you, but also a little frustrating. His warmth, the feel of his lips, the way he was breathing in through his nose, it went straight to your stomach, your hips. You felt yourself tensing as his lips pressed high on your inner thigh, less than an inch from where you wanted his mouth but still so, so far away. 

“Are you waiting for an invitation?” you finally asked.

Shane looked up at you from between your legs, a look in his eye that you’d never seen before. Confident. Daring. Maybe even cocky. It struck you that you might be in a little bit of trouble.

“Little eager, aren’t we?” he teased, and pressed another soft kiss to your thigh.

“Gotta… fuck.” He’d nipped at the spot he’d been kissing, the sudden sting zinging through your core. You heard him huff a little laugh. “Gotta get the fleece dealt with this afternoon.”

“Mmmm,” was all Shane said. He’d switched to sucking, latching his mouth onto that same spot, that bit of skin so teasingly close to but so entirely not what you needed. 

“Shane….” you whined, hitching your hips up as your thighs tensed.

“Easy, girl,” he laughed, anchoring you down with one flat hand on your hip bone. 

“Oh, fuck off,” you muttered, and it made him laugh harder.

“Who’d have thought our new farmer would be so fucking needy,” he mused, voice warm with just a hint of smug. 

“Who’d have thought you’d be such a fucking tease?” You yanked on his hair as you said it, playful, but the way he groaned as you pulled was anything but lighthearted. 

Interesting. 

You pulled a little harder. Shane looked up at you, eyes blown out in a way you’d never seen before. “You want it that bad?” You couldn’t tell if it was confidence in his voice or awe. 

You nodded, a little too overwhelmed by the way he was looking at you to figure out what to say. 

“Yoba,” he breathed. “How are you fucking real?” He still wasn’t moving though, was still looking up at you, so you tightened your grip on his hair. His lips parted, his eyes squeezed shut, and he shuddered between your legs.

“Focus,” you said. Repeating his words from earlier was about all you were able to do.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Okay, okay, okay.”

You relaxed your grip, loved the way he seemed to fall forward, pressing soft kisses - one, two, three - to your mound before tracing the tip of his tongue over the hood of your clit. You gasped at the touch, so much closer to what you needed but not yet satisfying. “More,” you said, tugging lightly at his hair. The way Shane groaned seemed out of proportion with the gentle pull, but fuck, it was working, his tongue was on you properly now, working at your nub with soft, steady licks that had you gasping within seconds.

“Fuck,” you whispered, trying to keep from bucking up into his mouth. You could feel his stubble scraping against your folds, your inner thigh, the scratch augmenting the gentle stroke of his tongue in a way that had you clenching, desperate to move. You dispersed the tension by running both hands through his hair, stroking, grasping, pulling, enjoying his moans, the way his shoulders shuddered as you clutched him. You could see how flushed his cheeks were as he tongued you, the way his eyes squeezed shut. You tried to memorize the image, the feeling, the way his breaths were coming quick and excited, the way his hands were stroking at your hips. 

His tongue quickened, firmer now, flicking steadily at the side of your clit, each movement managing to hit a nerve that sent waves through your body. Part of you wanted to slow down, to savor the feeling of his mouth on you, his warmth between your legs, but the other part of your mind was stronger. The selfish, greedy one. The one that wanted more, that wanted now, the one that was pulling harder at his hair, fed by the noises Shane made as you did. The one that pushed up against his hands, pulled him into you, held him there as he kept hitting that perfect spot that was making you groan, making you round in on him, muscles tight and shaking, mind going gloriously blank for the first time in days, in weeks, in months. Since the first time you saw him. You hovered in the climax, tense, stretched, like a rubber band about to snap.

But instead you shattered, falling apart in a rush of joy and wet and heat and affection and Shane, looking up at you with clear green eyes. 

“Shit,” you whined, letting go of his hair, falling back on the bed. “How are you so good at that?”

Shane pressed one more soft kiss to your mound, then looked up at you with a grin. “Gotta be good at something.”

“Yoba,” you groaned. “Get up here.” He shrugged his way out from between your legs, crawled up next to you. You reached an arm out, let him rest his head against your chest. He was warm, a little scratchy, eyes closed and jaw relaxed. You scratched your fingers through his hair, closed your eyes. A breeze floated in through the open window. You could hear a sheep bleating somewhere out in the barn.

“It’s going to hurt like hell when I fuck this up,” Shane said, so quiet you could barely hear it.

There was no way to logic him out of it, no way to set the gears right in his mind. All there was to do was hold him, stroke his hair, let him feel the beat of your heart. You were resilient, and so, you knew, was he. 

You pressed a kiss to his head, felt him snuggle in closer, loose and relaxed despite his words. It would hurt like hell if this ended, you realized, but it wasn’t an inevitability. If the universe snapped at Shane, let loose that rubber band, you could always snap at it right back.

And as Shane sighed into you, interlaced his fingers with your own, you vowed that no matter what, you would snap back harder. 

Masterlist

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Look at his smile. And the little wrinkles at the eyes ❤️

you can see his eyes in all his time skip panels... he's not hiding behind his shades anymore 🥹❤️