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crying-fantasies · 6 months ago

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Monsterfucking

Masterlist

Featuring Merformers! Rodimus Prime, smut/fluff/humor, CW: you fuck the fish, that's it, Roddy doesn't know about kissing, licking (sexy and lovingly), handjob, penetration, mention of a knot, barrier language, nesting, light gore (in a fight), mention of Rodimus’ creators, mer pups/cubs (I love these fictional babies so much), long fic.

Days in Cybertron tend to be regulated in cycles, the days are longer than average back on Earth, and it has been years but you still get problems waking up at the start of the day cycle, a new day to work, and a new day to try and not mess all up as a snake-like tail gets clingy, not letting go of your leg and purring when his claws get a hold of your torso again, hardly letting you hold on the data pad and give your boss a message of your more than sure tardiness just to get a thumbs up from her, almost hearing her say “work hard!”

Anything to help an endangered species.

Rodimus tends to be quite the hyper-energy kind of person, well, fish, he stands up more than the rest of the marine wildlife on this planet, and that's saying a lot given the unique metallic nature displayed, it’s a miracle that whatever kind of liquid filling most of the planet's oceans isn't cooking your meat out of your bones; Rodimus stands up, a lot, you've seen the others around, most are friendly, more inclined to curiosity when they touch your legs or look at you from some reef like structures, believing those as the better spot to hide but forgetting to low the light in their optics, first time it happened you were in for a shock as the rest of the team laughed at your spooked reaction to more than 20 pairs of optics shining bright under the liquid, all with overflowing attention to the new organic putting feet on the floating laboratory.

Rodimus would always be more noticeable to you, as he was the first pair of blue optics reaching out to you the same day your work put you there, so far away from your real home, all to preserve the mechanical nature of this planet and it's creatures, Rodimus escaped from his group, servos trying to catch onto his fins, all for nothing as the mech came up to a side of the lab where your official in charge was giving you the tour of the facility.

With shiny red-colored scales and flimsy paper-like metallic membranes, he was just like in the books, something from far away yet seemed organic, it was something so intricate no one could ever think of, the pads in his digits patted your right foot, feeling the texture of skin and thin body hair before giving a high pitched trill when he launched himself back to the liquid.

One of the scientists laughed, “Rodimus likes you”, almost catching on to his designation he emerged back, just to be dragged under by the rest of his group in a hissing feat, especially by a very mad hunter mech.

Mechs they call them, as in mechanical individuals, some skip over formalities and call them mers because the mers call themselves that way; and no, it’s not a joke as you see Chief Medical Darcy act as a referee when Optimus and Megatron are about to rip the fins of one another again as the doctor only sips on his instant chemical coffee, watching them both quarrel like an old couple, using sounds on a piano-like artifact to tell them to, in the mers own language, “frag off already, Optimus, you left him” while pointing at the blue mer, then to the almost smiling big-like ancient shark, playing his piano like a pro, moving pieces and volumes to say: "Megs, you shouldn't have acted like that, you started it”.

They are ancient, going way back to when Earth was still galactic powder, sentient in every way, they have language, culture, arts, and everything in between, the planet was under colonization until someone noticed the fishes could communicate, it all burned down from it, now considered a protected system the priority was to increase their number, as they could tell tales from bygone times, cures and methods never told before; the mer called Alpha Trion knew of a treatment for decayed fins, which somehow also worked on humans, it was incorporated to treat many skin diseases back on Earth, and the pros of keeping them alive overwhelmed the ones trying to sell them in pieces like it was done at first.

Rodimus is part of the reproduction program, more like one of the offspring resulting from it, but you've seen the program, it looks more like a dating event to this point, and then a nursery program, once the mers get good results, keeping the babies is high maintenance even for the most experienced ones, Cory tells you so once he catches on Rodimus going to you more times than ordinary, cuddling your side like an over-affective cat while purring, “he was just a small baby when I handled him, seems like it was yesterday”, he has a very worn-off expression, and the bags under his eyes tell you of unending nights while he has a new baby in his arms, you see a few mers in the pool connected to the nursery, passed out on the floor in uncomfortable positions over beds of wire-like kelp, some with their young sleeping like angels over them, and Rodimus, who is now shining and swimming in circles for some reason around you two as you also hold a baby, is very focused in how the little guppy holds the neck of your t-shirt, even using one of the sleepy carriers as some platform to show off his pretty red and orange scales, “never expected to live enough to see the day he would dance for a human”, you take a moment to think over it, process it, Rodimus has little time to do something when one moment you're standing there and the next you're running like you heard Megatron is coming with a bad temper.

Rodimus hasn't seen you since that day and makes it everyone else's problem while wailing on the shore closest to your room, and you, so shocked you almost dropped the baby back into the water, only hide in the sudden realization that an alien, mechanic, sentient fish wants to have something with you.

It was too much for a Saturday night, excusing yourself and leaving the baby with Cory who shouted something along the lines of it being normal, “Have you seen this fellow here?” he pointed at the red and silver mer in the pool, a new sire taking a rest while his babies were being rocked back and forth by you just a few seconds ago, the silver and white baby, now in Cory’s arms next to his red and white sibling, “have you meet Miss Astoria yet? The co-owner of this preservation program? These are her boys”

How can it be normal? How did it even happen between two different species on two different planets? How come the babies don't even look human? How?

And why is he trying so hard to find you? There is hardly time to even eat next to the shore before he appears once again, at least his blue optics peaking over the liquid before he goes back down, leaving you in a moment of solitude, raising your hopes, that maybe he finally settled for a partner of his species, but no, Rodimus only went back to the ocean and took out some kind of alien mechanical fish, still moving and trying to return from where it came, only to be gutted right there and then in front of you, Rodimus looks at you, expectantly, how can his optics shine so much?

“You know what? Fuck it”

Next thing everyone knows you're sunbathing in your free time on the beach, Rodimus making a donut-shaped nest at your side with his body, thrilling happily while doing so before you are called back, making him look at you, then at the nest, and back at you, big optics pleading and almost whimpering, “what is-? No, no! It's not that I don't like it! You shouldn't even be doing that here!”

Mers hardly do nests everywhere, as it is only recommended to do it near calm waters, safe to raise their young, close to the waters to ensure the moisture of the nest, with enough light to keep the iron sand warm and cozy for the growing protoforms.

Rodimus makes them where he likes or where you stay for a time long enough for him to get back at his job.

Cory tells you that's normal, since you said yes to Rodimus is normal for any newly paired couple to create their own nest, and also the fact that Rodimus is a recently matured young adult makes him more eager over the idea.

Maybe not exactly at the prospect of having a baby, more like the idea of banging.

Rodimus makes a lot of nests around the iron sand, he has one outside your shared habsuit, another out of your side of the laboratory, one in the sunbathing grounds like the other mers, but not one in the nesting grounds or the nursery, being extremely on edge if an unpaired mer looks at you or his nests, Rodimus is snarling at them when he notices, fins flaring with violent intent and only stopping when the other mer is at a distance he considered respectful before going to you as if he was the victim and not the curious young mech, chattering inconsolable until you let him snuggle in your lap, holding to you and whistling happily.

Mers, while being highly intelligent and sentient still go by their traditions, quite animalistic traditions as they fight over themselves to get a partner, and catch the attention of another; a group is wrestling in the iron sand in one of the little islands while you sunbathe with Rodimus, cleaning his fins of parasites or dead scales, taking samples while at it before a road and a snarl catches on your attention, jumping on your spot over the sand and looking at the island, two mers soon to kill each other while some others look, expectantly, waiting for the winner, the mers waiting to make a display and show their scales, show their array once the loser is bleeding energon in the sand and the winner takes the prize, you feel bad for the med, dragging his massive metal body back to the ocean, maybe soon to arrive at the medic area for medical aid, Rodimus calls your attention back at him, his servos holding your hands and pressing them back at his chest which rumbles, then holding onto your face to look him directly at his optics once you notice the healed scars under his scales or the growing pity on the injured mer just meters away.

Doesn't take much to know why he is always so clingy, or the reason for him to have so many scars when you look at his multiple medical reports, all gained after several mating seasons, losing every single one, being dragged back by Cory to patch him up even in a fainted state.

You look at him now, different, both resting in the bed inside your habsuit, still too early in the morning, Rodimus is curled next to you, his arms holding you, tail heavy over your legs, tangled within your legs, a remarkable subject that pointed out what he was and what you are, impossible to miss, still, you know about it now.

Nesting season is still a long way to come but the mating one is ever present once the fights for lovers have ended, Rodimus seems to not be moved by it, or he tries to appear as much as he grooms you with his hands and his glossa, it is more like an affectionate display but it still far from any sex, still, while he tries to rule over your hair with his oral solvents you catch on the puffy look his slit shows; most paired mates had long since gone to more private zones to let their needs and urges free, you are with the rest of the team as everyone gives their farewell to the newly paired young mechs, hoping for the best in the nesting season.

He tries to deny it, trying to keep up with the older mers who choose not to join the younger ones and the ones without pairs, all just doing their usual routines, Rodimus comes back much earlier than usual and becomes more anxious, just yesterday you finally noticed the reason why he didn't like to enter the nursery lagoon, using the piano-like artifact, asking him if he didn't like to come near the nursery even when you or Cory, his partner and his sire, were inside, his answer was simple “you don't like pups”.

Take a moment to let that sink and the misunderstanding born from the moment you realized his intent in courting you, Rodimus was, in reality, giving you much praise while snuggling next to you, presenting how nice you were with the young pup in your arms in front of his sire, happy by the way you two seemed to be getting along and then thinking in how happy his carrier was going to be when he came back with the hunting group, but his sire said something, making you jump and run, leaving the pup behind with his sire.

Rodimus believed you didn't like babies.

Which, in truth, wasn't exactly like that or different, “it may be impossible”, your words translated with the machine made his optics go big, soon pointing at himself, “Well, hard to happen”, Rodimus looked at you with barely closed optics, a little mad and hurt, “how can we be prepared? Or in any case, why now?” of course, it had to be soon, as the days progressed, and as every grooming session got heavier, sometimes you would nap while Rodimus cleaned you, soon feeling the way his servos were touching, massaging, his glossa looming over your neck, denta nipping at the skin.

He has been so strong so far, but it only takes a movement of your leg to make his tail recoil over it, rubbing his dilated slit over your hip, moaning during his recharge, optics opening just slightly when your fingers started to move along the opening, he squeaked, then rumbled out a groan, hissing while letting his slit open, you've seen the books, but it never said anything of it being soft, like rubber, Rodimus moves his hips, his massive tail pumping against your fingers as his arms go to your neck, anchoring himself to you while crying out in ecstasy, your fingers push a little more and you find a protrusion, pushing your fingers out for a moment to show his spike, letting you touch him more, lavish him more, his servos were frantically holding to the meat in your ass, trying to make you move against his spike in a rutted haze, barely giving your time or space to get the pajama pants off, “Okay, if only we could- could you keep it down?”, your laugh is nervous as he seems to be ripped apart on putting you over or under him, groping where he can while doing so, being careful to not catch your skin or hair with his frantic moving seams, finally deciding to put you down in the mattress, rocking his spike in between your open legs, knowing well the differences, but also the coincidences, between your bodies.

Where the slit of his tail was is also the point in which your legs connected.

“Come here”, your instructions are hard to follow as he is overthinking, full of joy while nipping at your neck, eager to couple but too excited to put it in, the little fighting you both do, one to put his spike inside of you and the other showering you with affection, finally ends when your hand catches on the pointy head of his spike, pumping at it while dragging him over, making him curl a little to be able and still be face to face plate.

Of course, you should've expected the unfamiliar sensation, impossible to compare to anything you've ever had, there was desperation in it, and his movements were too fast, too eager, still, Rodimus kept showing what you liked about him, smiling like a dork and holding to you, letting your legs brace to his tail, said tail rocking fast against you like he was swimming, putting your arms around his helm as he snuggled against your chest and neck, leaving bite marks just to show off, never to give you real damage, moving just enough, in that specific part to make you see starts with your breathless indications, easing your worry with forehead nudges that you changed for kisses, taking him for a surprise before he just let you continue, imitating you, when you felt his spike grow, inflaming, he was sure to make you come at least once before he started to pump faster, wilder, until the base was all in, pushing to a point never had before, looking at you with barely open optics as he started to coo and chatter, you didn't know what he was saying without aid, but Rodimus was singing you praises once again, “I love you, we are mates, mates for life, you're mine, I’m yours”, every short break in between his thrilled gibberish were supposed to be words, but you didn't have much to think straight as he kept on leaking into you, overflowing, keeping it all inside while relishing over your limp body as he still moved to let you get all of him, cleaning you once again to let you rest.

Once you slept well, he was back from wherever he went, coming back with food for the day for you both, once you ended your rations he would give you one of those glances, holding one of your legs, smoothly putting it over the beginning of his tail as you let him, seating you over his already wet and dilated slit.

Mating season wasn't a long period, but it was a delightful one, soon comprehended why so many people on base were missing for all of its duration, now being part of them and even learning why some told you to keep your clothes off most of the time except for a night coat easy to open, Rodimus was a good lover, as he barely left your side, and if he did, it was only to get rations from the cafeteria before leaving them to you and expanding the nest he was making outside your habsuit, using his body, curling it over the sand to make it compact at the base, then making a hole in the middle to keep water inside while you rested inside, not worrying about you leaving to do your science as he was sure the other humans just let you rest.

Months later, Cory found Chandler hissing at the ocean, just to stop, startled, like him at the sight of Rodimus, soon making direct eye contact with them, holding a still closed-eyed little black and silver hissing pup between his servos, presenting his own young and beaming with pride as they both heard you screaming Rodimus’ designation with two more pups in your arms from your habsuit, more than likely enraged and worried out of your mind by the lack of your firstborn in the nest where you left him with his siblings, then being startled by the potent cry of the pup that could only be comparable to a dying animal asking for mercy as he was soaked, cold and scared out of his young mind by the emotion of Rodimus’ to show off his offspring, and this was the fourth stop he made so far.

Rodimus’ carrier, Chandler, didn't give his own pup time to ponder what made you so mad before he was trying to knock some sense with violence into his adult pup like he was still a youngling after snatching protectively the pup against his chest to try and comfort him, Cory runs to them to try and save his son from the fury of his partner and his heavy servo, you appeared with your other two babies to see Rodimus being smacked by his carrier without mercy, “Have I not taught you well?! What in the PIT were you THINKING?! What are you DOING with a NEW FORGED PUP OUT OF THE SLAGING NEST?!”

Rodimus was a great lover, he was still learning to be a sire.

Inspired by the work of @tinydefector and @shyspider, love your guys’ work so much, totally lost Mermay but I can try it again with some good monsterfucking.

And if you realized, yeah, that hissing baby is Sunset.

@tf-kinktober2024

#transformers #reader insert #x reader #tf mtmte #transformers x reader #transformers idw #transformers x human reader #tf rodimus #rodimus x human reader #mtmte rodimus x reader #rodimus x reader #idw rodimus #mtmte rodimus #rodimus #tf kinktober 2024 #merformers #merformers x reader

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nopanamaman · 1 year ago

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How do mutants in the Facility live?

Patreon Loredump. August 2023

One of the most frequent types of questions I get are about life in the Facility. So it seems like a good topic to start my loredumping series with!

Apologies in advance for all the photo examples, I hope they work fine for getting the vibes across.

Overview

The facility dome is visible in the distance.

The facility in general – or, as it’s officially known, the Zh. I. Alferov National Institute of Anomalous Research – is a large structure located on the border of the Zone. Its most notable feature is the massive dome surrounded by an outside wall.

The wall. In real life, the famous building of НИЦЭВТ.

The latter is a building in itself, containing offices, lecture halls, resting and dining quarters for researchers, as well as minor labs. All entrances are supervised, though not totally closed off to the public. Excursions, official meetings, TV reports – all of those happen within the wall.

But you will not find any mutants here. As you may have already guessed, all the major laboratories, anomalous artefacts, and, of course, mutants are housed in the dome. The entrances to the dome are monitored and equipped with anomaly scanners, allowing only authorised personnel and mutants to travel between its sectors.

Mutants cannot traverse the facility unsupervised.

What is the mutant classification system?

Depending on their anomalous characteristics, cooperability and method of containment, mutants are sorted into types and numbered groups. Individual mutant numbers usually look like XT000-000.

Let’s use Dmitry as an example.

Dima’s serial number is DT001-319.

The type constitutes the first part of the mutant’s number. Dima’s mutation is Directional Type, hence the letters DT at the start (for the record, KT stands for Kernel Type).

Next we have the 00X number. Mutants are assigned a 001, 002, 003 or 004 class depending on the potency and containability of their mutation – kinda like SCPs, yeah. Dima has a very powerful mutation he has good control over, plus he is sound of mind, making him suitable for 001 containment.

The last three digits are the overall number of the mutant within their type. So if Dima’s are 319, the facility has had 318 directional-type mutants on record prior to his arrival. This does not mean they were as powerful or had the same level of control over their telekinesis, just that they possessed a similar mutation to some extent.

How do different mutant classes live?

001

001 quarters example. Not too different from a hospital or sanatorium

Subjects ranked as 001 are extremely powerful, have good control over their powers and are, most importantly, docile. Since their mutations are very potent and difficult to forcefully contain, the go-to approach is making them not want to leave.

001s spend most (if not all) of their conscious lives surrounded by doctors. The latter foster a particular mindset in their subjects, where the world outside is presented as a place that is unanimously hostile to mutants. This is done by means of propaganda, reminders about their family’s supposed mistreatment and, in case a mutant has some favourable recollections of their childhood, gaslighting. Additionally, subjects are never left alone with each other.

001s get very luxurious treatment by facility's standards, with much bigger, more comfortable rooms than other mutant types. They're even allowed to have gaming consoles, TVs with VHS and video players, and their own bookshelves. Each mutant has their own separate room, which is kept under constant camera surveillance with the toilet being the only blind spot.

Special folders are issued to 001s before experiments with lower-ranked mutants.

Experiments held on 001s are relatively humane so as not to discourage them from staying at the facility. They do undergo daily checkups mostly designed to monitor their mental state. 001s are also active participants in experimentation on lower-ranked mutants, who they are taught and encouraged to treat as lesser beings.

001s are a high-risk investment, so their numbers are far smaller than those of 002 and 003-class mutants. Additionally, because of the potential danger they present, the institute is quick to dispose of 001 subjects by either termination or reclassification to 004. Though, if a 001 manages to stay cooperative long-term, they can become a very valuable asset for the facility.

002 and 003

002 and 003 quarters example. Though, they’re typically not as well-kept

002 and 003 mutant classes can be grouped together, since their treatment is largely the same. Both of these types’ mutations are easy to forcibly contain. The difference is their danger levels. 003s require close monitoring to not be harmful to others, while 002s are borderline harmless. Both types are characterised by general cooperability.

002s live in wards for 2 to 4 people, while 003s are more commonly placed in single-person wards to prevent accidents. A standard room includes a bed, a desk and a small bathroom (multiple beds and two desks in bigger wards).

KT got to take a dinosaur plushie to her room for good behaviour.

Mutants are allowed to borrow books from the library, as well as get drawing and writing materials. If they behave well, they can get a toy or even be lent a handheld console for a few days.

002s and 003s have breakfasts, lunches and dinners together, and can spend some time in the playroom with other mutants (that’s also where they can play computer games and watch TV) – all under very strict surveillance, of course.

In some ways, their treatment is much less cruel than that of the elite 001 subjects.

KT before the DT experiment.

Though, not when it comes to experiments. 002s and 003s are very common, and are thus treated as disposable material in a scientific sense. The people holding experiments on them are a lot less concerned with minimising the subject’s pain or discomfort. Consequently, it’s not uncommon for mutants of these classes to sustain serious injuries or die as a result of experimentation.

That said, 002s have the highest likelihood of getting released from the facility, given they meet the conditions for it (more on that below).

004

004 quarters example. Basically a prison bunker

004 is a special category reserved for powerful mutants that refuse or physically cannot cooperate. This number can also be issued as a temporary or permanent punishment to misbehaving mutants. The 004 quarters are located underground and have the highest level of security, acting as a sort of bunker for the most dangerous subjects the facility has.

004 rooms are even more barebones than those of 002 and 003s. They have no access to entertainment (unless it is somehow required to contain their mutation) and cannot leave their room under any circumstances. They are more weapons than test subjects.

Do mutants receive education?

All mutants from class 003 and above receive basic education, learning to read, write and count. They additionally get curated history and sociology lessons. Some mutants, namely 001s, attend mandatory classes in certain disciplines to better apply their mutation. For example, Dmitry studied anatomy to know the precise positioning of internal organs.

Mutants are also free to study whatever sciences interest them in their free time by asking for educational materials at the library. Needless to say, most kids aren’t too interested in that, and are very uneducated compared to their outside peers.

Is there censorship in the facility?

All the media mutants are exposed to at the facility is strictly controlled.

6 y.o. Dima and his politically correct PSP.

The only movies, cartoons, comics, books and games allowed are those that either don't feature the Zone or mutants at all, those that show the discrimination mutants face outside, or those that are very obvious anti-mutant propaganda.

In essence, there are no positive depictions of human-to-mutant interaction, aside from ones between mutants and noble scientists. And, of course, nothing that goes against the general government ideology.

Can mutants be released from the facility?

It is generally assumed that mutants that go into the dome do not come out.

While they are largely dehumanised, the facility is still publicly presented as a sort of scientific sanatorium and hospice for those that cannot safely exist in society. Releasing mutants that know the truth behind the institute’s experiments into the wild is simply of no benefit to the government. So the majority are terminated once their scientific potential is exhausted or if they become too expensive to contain. As a result, few mutants live to adulthood.

Though, there are exceptions to the rule. Occasionally, mutants deemed non-hazardous can be released back into society. This is applicable to mutants that have not experienced significant mistreatment from the facility, lack the ability to talk about their experiences and optimally have been brainwashed by an appropriate 001 subject.

Have other mutants before DT and KT ever escaped?

The funny thing is, escapes aren’t a particularly rare occurrence.

Dmitry and Katya’s escape in KT’s Official Guide to Coolness.

Despite getting a lot of funding, the facility itself is very disorganised. Most of the money is blatantly pocketed by the higher-ups, so a lot of its structures and equipment are subpar – this includes its outdated safety systems. To top it all off, the security staff isn’t especially well-paid, so their diligence is highly questionable.

With all that piling up, there are around 3 cases of low-level escapes every year. Because of tight budgets and plenty of work to do as is, these escapes are generally brushed under the rug. The institute still keeps tabs on the escapees in case they happen to show up on the radar, but it rarely organises active searches or alerts the public for that matter.

DT and KT’s escape stood out because it was anything but low-level, and pretty bombastic at that. But even that didn’t warrant a public announcement for fear of panic and reputational damage. So if you’re an 003 mutant looking for an opportunity to sneak out… Hell, man, just go for it.

Wrap-up

That’s about all I can say about mutants’ life in the research centre, scratch some small factoids here and there. I tried to answer the most common questions regarding the topic, so I hope your curiosity was satisfied!

#loredump #deepest lore #parties are for losers #katya #dmitry #dr temnova #comfort zone #kt's official guide to coolness

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adafruit · 5 months ago

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🎄💾🗓️ Day 4: Retrocomputing Advent Calendar - The DEC PDP-11! 🎄💾🗓️

Released by Digital Equipment Corporation in 1970, the PDP-11 was a 16-bit minicomputer known for its orthogonal instruction set, allowing flexible and efficient programming. It introduced a Unibus architecture, which streamlined data communication and helped revolutionize computer design, making hardware design more modular and scalable. The PDP-11 was important in developing operating systems, including the early versions of UNIX. The PDP-11 was the hardware foundation for developing the C programming language and early UNIX systems. It supported multiple operating systems like RT-11, RSX-11, and UNIX, which directly shaped modern OS design principles. With over 600,000 units sold, the PDP-11 is celebrated as one of its era's most versatile and influential "minicomputers".

Check out the wikipedia page for some great history, photos (pictured here), and more -

And here's a story from Adafruit team member, Bill!

The DEC PDP-11 was the one of the first computers I ever programmed. That program was 'written' with a soldering iron.

I was an art student at the time, but spending most of my time in the engineering labs. There was a PDP-11-34 in the automation lab connected to an X-ray spectroscopy machine. Starting up the machine required toggling in a bootstrap loader via the front panel. This was a tedious process. So we ordered a diode-array boot ROM which had enough space to program 32 sixteen bit instructions.

Each instruction in the boot sequence needed to be broken down into binary (very straightforward with the PDP-11 instruction set). For each binary '1', a diode needed to be soldered into the array. The space was left empty for each '0'. 32 sixteen bit instructions was more than sufficient to load a secondary bootstrap from the floppy disk to launch the RT-11 operating system. So now it was possible to boot the system with just the push of a button.

I worked with a number DEC PDP-11/LSI-11 systems over the years. I still keep an LSI-11-23 system around for sentimental reasons.

Have first computer memories? Post’em up in the comments, or post yours on socialz’ and tag them #firstcomputer #retrocomputing – See you back here tomorrow!

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hoseoksluna · 9 months ago

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CENTURY | myg

pairing: boyfriend!idol!yoongi x f. reader

genre: smut

word count: 3.6k

summary: when yoongi needs inspiration for the song he's been working on, you're not hesitant to help him.

taglist: join | cp: wattpad, ao3

warnings: idol yoongi working in his studio being all stressed out is a warning on its own, he's also immensely hot and calls himself oppa (god help me i am a weak girl), mentions of a nasty punishment, yoongi is kinda mean, and a little bit horny, clit spanking *heart eyes*, oral sex (f. receiving), praise kink—usage of stickers, raw sex.

note: my god, this was a drag at first but because i feel sm better today, i finally finished this and i feel myself returning to the hoseoksluna that i was before i got sick. :( this was fun to write today omg. yoongi is absolutely delicious in this and i can't wait to start writing smoke 3 after this. my babies, enjoy this smutty one shot. i love you. spam my inbox, i miss you! give me a warm welcome, please. MWAH.

Habitually, singing for him was your escapism. You’d close yourself up in a bubble, withdrawing from the surrounding gray world, and you’d slink away to a realm brimming with vivid colors. In his songs, you could be anyone. A figment of his imagination that had more life in its veins than you ever had the taste of. You’d forget, for hours upon hours, about the anguish of your daily life and mental issues that would trouble you and, taking his hand, he would take you to Neverland, watch over you, then take you home.

This time, however, he didn’t take you to that fantasy land.

He took you somewhere darker.

The energy in his lab was potent with something that tickled you ever so gently when you stepped inside. A dusky room with an even heftier, crepuscular layer of vexation. You could feel it thumping beneath your skin after it grazed you with its fingertips, weaseling its way in, settling, stilling. Your boyfriend didn’t turn around when he heard you shut the door, nor when your tights-clad feet paddled on the floor, as absorbed as he was in his work. No shoes inside the Genius Lab—that was the first rule, one you were disciplined enough from him to remember, even if someone woke you up in the middle of the night.

You paid a great price, once upon a time.

You had walked in with your Nike’s when he called you over, wet and smeared with the snow from the winter’s artwork outside. Despite the fact you rubbed the soles on the mat in the building of his workplace long before you strutted all the way to his studio, there were still little snowflakes that clung to your sneakers. It was your first time there and Yoongi seemed to have forgotten to let you in on the rules. And once he saw the mess you made, he told you off.

Kissed you quite roughly.

Made you promise to never do that again, playfully.

Sank you to your knees and bent you over those melting snowflakes. Spanked you so hard that he engraved the first rule of the Genius Lab into your system.

No shoes inside.

Then, he patted your head.

Gave you a silver star sticker, resembling the snowflake, for being such a good girl that learns well.

You had stuck it on the table right beside his laptop, an etched memory that you recollected every time he’d invite you over.

It’s what he’s mindlessly rubbing with his fingertip as you walk over to him, another winter later, embedding your digits into the ebony night of his hair, the long strands so satiny and sleek. Yoongi gazes up at you from his computer, pale violet flecks adorning the skin beneath his weary, yet ever so trenchant eyes, and you pout at the sight of him. There must be something wrong with the process of his album-making and he’s determined to fix it.

Yoongi takes off his headphones, wraps an arm around your waist. You’re wearing a little black dress for him with a low neckline that uncovers everything private as he leads you to sit down on his lap, greeting you with a raspy hello and a kiss that tells you he needs you more than his own countenance lets on.

You linger in the close proximity, peppering his mouth with tiny kisses that make him visibly relax—his shoulders slump against his chair and he lifts your knees, placing them in the snug crook between his side and his arm, his hand spreading forest fire down your calf, stopping at your ankle, swathing it with those flames.

You cease your kisses, overcome with his body heat, and butterflies zap you in your tummy when he continues to kiss your mouth with those sweet little pecks.

Prolonging the last kiss, he peers down at you with the world’s most affectionate adoration and you blush. You’ve tasted the dulciness of all the seasons with him, and yet it feels as though you’ve just started dating. His love has long made its home within you, but you can still sense its freshness in your bones.

It will never get old.

“I love these, baby,” he husks, his eyes growing more lidded in the heated, cozy atmosphere guarded by the fire of his body, and he drags a hand up and down your leg, spreading his admiration on the nylon of your tights that he speaks of. “You came just at the right time.”

He nuzzles his face in your neck while he paws at your feet and you soften, brushing your fingers through his hair. You think he needs to get out of this place and breathe in some fresh air for his brain to recuperate and be filled with the flimsy, ivory sparks of inspiration.

It’s snowing outside.

It always seems to be when he invites you to his secret spot during the winter months.

“What’s wrong, hm?” you ask, requiring the specifics in order to help him as much as you can. “What is it this time?”

Yoongi grumbles nonsense in your neck, the sound muffled and indecipherable, and you laugh, softly, lifting his head.

“I literally didn’t catch a word you said,” you whine, squishing his cheeks, and Yoongi feignedly sobs, scrunching his eyes shut. You laugh, wiggling his head, encouraging him to tell you what made him darken the energy of his studio so devastatingly.

He inhales a deep breath in and takes his hand to your bum, fondling it. “I miss your pussy.”

You burst out into obscene laughter, wiping a hand down his face. “Be fucking serious.”

Yoongi chuckles, but then breaks into false little sobs all over again. “The melodies aren’t working together, I can’t transform the ideas in my head into this song and I just miss your pussy so bad. I wanna eat it.”

So that’s the source of that dark energy in the lab.

He’s horny.

He wails into your bosom, deepening your laughter that melts into an endearing coo. One that lifts his head and makes a grin blossom on his pale face, a dab of color rushing to the surface.

A pretty lotus flower, opening for you.

You poke a finger into his cheek, your heart constricting at the cute way your nail makes a round dent in that flourishing flesh. “I thought you called me over because you wanted my vocals.”

Yoongi squeezes your bum, sucking in a breath. “I did. I wanted to finish the melodies so I could record your voice, but shit fucking happens. I thought we could write the lyrics together.”

You bite your lip, finding the idea mesmerizing, and your chest clenches, a certain longing for it forming inside. A light flickers in Yoongi’s abysmal eyes at your reaction—and you wish you could fix this situation for him, remove the block and replace it with a creativity of your own.

An idea pops into your mind, abruptly.

You widen your eyes, your smile growing, little by little. Yoongi straightens, his features mirroring yours, and the picture hope paints upon his countenance only drives your idea forward.

“What?”

“Oh my god, Yoongi.” You clasp a hand over your mouth. “What if we write the lyrics first and just hum random melodies, see what fits best?”

He thinks about it, tilting his head. And then destroys the realm that your little idea created.

“I’m sorry, baby, but that never works with me. I know artists that do that, but whenever I tried, I just reached a dead end,” he mutters and you pout, furrowing your brows. He lets you soak in it for a little while before he shakes his head. “I have a better idea.”

Yoongi pushes his laptop to the side and lifts you up into his arms as if you weigh nothing, setting you down in place of it. He moves his chair forward. Spreads your legs. Kisses the inner of your thigh and you fall back, your palms landing on the ivory keys of his keyboard and creating a soft music that raises his brows.

“Do that again.”

You smile and lift your hand, dropping it on the same notes that you did by accident. He looks over to see which ones you played and he kisses the front of your thigh before he reaches over for his notepad and pen, writing it down.

“You’re my little angel, I swear,” he says without taking his eyes off of his writing, then he extends an arm behind you and finishes the melody with a certain ease that causes him to relax even more—and your smile to deepen in your face.

You blush, feeling like that winged creature—assigned to his side to help him.

“I brainstormed some lyrics the other day,” Yoongi mumbles and begins to stare you down with an intention that coils in your gut, your heart quickening its rhythm. “How about you bounce off of it, make up some lyrics while I eat you out? I can play the melody for you that we just made.”

Your mouth parts, your throat drying. Warmth pools in your core, the idea of Yoongi playing on the keyboard while he does something so intimate to you bringing you down to an abyss of madness. He hands you his notepad after he flips to the page with the lyrics he mentioned. Your eyes skim over his neat, black handwriting, the random words that could string together a sentence if there was a little work put in it.

But how are you supposed to focus in those circumstances? It’s not just his dick that makes you braindead—it’s his tongue that does it in the first place.

“What do you say, baby?” he persists, dipping down and scattering kisses along that sensitive part of your thigh, his breath wafting over your core as he switches to the other one, spoiling it with those same wet kisses.

You catch a glance of his shining tongue and that does it for you.

Your heart thumps, violently—and your pussy drools.

“Fuck, Yoongi.”

That does it for him, too.

He goes to rip your tights right in the middle, but you yelp, stopping him.

“No, don’t rip them. They were expensive and they’re my only pair for the winter.”

Yoongi gives you a look, cocks his brow. “Why didn’t you say? I could buy you some.”

You clamp your mouth shut. You don’t like to use his money to buy yourself personal stuff because you have a job of your own and you’re able to take care of yourself, but lately, with prices rising and the rent growing more expensive, there’s little from your paycheck that you could spend on things like these. And you still need to save up for way tougher times.

“I could never ask you to do that, are you kidding?”

Yoongi’s gaze darkens. “Who said you couldn’t?”

You open your mouth to argue with him, but only a yelp comes through when he swiftly tugs the waistband of your tights over your bum and up your legs, lifting them in the process and folding you in half.

You’re sure he’s ripped them.

You’re fucked.

You lean back, landing once again on his keys and at this point he laughs, darkly, telling you which notes to write down and with a shaky hand—you do.

“You’re getting so many fucking stickers today.”

Your heart stops its feral beats and you gaze down at him with a tormented look, your brows furrowed, eyes lidded and cheeks flushed. Yoongi bites his lip and gets his sheet of silver little stars.

He peels one out. “This one's for you coming at the right time.” He sticks it to that one side of your inner thigh that he left unkissed, the sticky part latching to your skin without a hint of a problem. “And this one’s for your smart little brain.”

He sticks it to the bone right across your cunt, smoothing it out with his thumb that then begins to travel and crosses the distance to the soaked center of your panties. Yoongi sucks in a breath as he peers down at the outline of your flesh, parting your thighs a little to gaze up at you through his lashes. “You have two tasks,” he rasps, brushing his lips across your clothed, dampened flesh.

You grip the table beneath you, letting out a whiny sigh, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Pay attention.”

A simple, low order and you pop them open, breathing out in staccatos. He runs that thumb over your clit, puts a little pressure over it. You bite your lip, straining your ears, but the faint pleasure makes it a little bit difficult for you.

“I’m gonna rub this clit and you don’t get my tongue unless you tell me the name of the store, where you’re getting new pairs of tights from today.” He focuses on your nub, circling it with soft grazes that he knows they get you riled up nice and fast, needy and drenched. It’s what he does when you’re watching a movie together and wind up not knowing how it ends. “And once you come for me, you get another sticker for being such a good girl. Is that clear?”

Your lungs heave and your mind spins, your brain cells shrinking with your arousal. You lick your lips. Wetness stains your panties even more. “And the other task?”

He slaps the side of your thigh, making you jump. “I asked you a question, did I not?”

Such abrupt meanness. Other times, it would get you going, but today it’s not something that you’re really feeling. Maybe it’s due to the fact that you’re ovulating and you need the gentleness that he’s more than capable of giving you.

You drift a hand down his face, stopping with your thumb at his lips, tracing the upper line. So soft, so puffy. “Be nice to me, Yoongi.”

His eyes round and a glint perches itself on the top of his chocolate irises. Yoongi sets your feet on both of his armrests. Leans his head against your thigh, looking up at you with a tender half smile.

“Is that an order?” he asks, flattening his fingers across your clit and strumming it, the pleasure heightening and you sink your teeth into the bottom pillow of your mouth, your body following the wave of the delight he provides you, rolling.

“Yes. Be nice or no pussy.”

He gasps, lowly, his smile transforming into that smirk of his that has the tendency to weaken you through and through. “You wouldn’t do that to me.”

Your heart throbs and you love it. “Yes, I would.”

You go to close your legs and sit up, but he stops you. “Okay, fair enough.”

Oh, that solid calmness of his, perfumed with his horniness. You grin, pleased. “Will you be nice?”

Yoongi licks over the bare skin of your thigh, rubbing his face in it. “I’ll be an angel like you if you do the tasks.”

You roll your eyes. A quid pro quo. Fair enough.

“Okay, be an angel to me then and come here,” you purr, aware of the fact that he got you into this mirrored maze of his horniness and you love it, delight in it, which is the sole, unabashed reason why you tug the back of his head down to your cunt, holding him to you.

Yoongi opens his mouth just at the right time, licking over your clothed clit and moaning. But then he fights against your hold and spanks your pussy, smiling playfully up at you while biting his lip.

You jump, whimpering.

“I didn’t hear you say the name of the store,” he retorts, rubbing, properly, your bedewed nub with slow, agonizing circles.

Fuck.

Your breathing quickens and you scramble your blank brain to remember any store that has the least expensive tights. You say the name of the first one that pops up.

Yoongi doesn’t like your answer, though.

He spanks your clit, gently.

“Think again. I’m not buying you anything that will last you for a day. Don’t play me.”

You can’t help the heavy smile rising on your face, your cheeks heating up so much that they ache. And it helps you, his bull-headedness on buying you high-quality garments that are worth the money, to fight—like he did against your hold—your deeply imprinted independence and utter, shyly, with little hiccups, the name of the store that will keep your legs warm throughout the unforgiving Korean wintertime.

“That’s it, baby. Good girl. Let Oppa take these off now.”

Your stomach flips at the title. You’ve always been obsessed with it—as it, without fail, provoked your independence and slowly transformed you into the mindset of a little girl, taken care of by someone stronger, smarter and older than her. All while keeping it intact.

Yoongi knows you can do everything on your own. And he supports it. But it doesn’t mean he’s not willing to give you a hand.

The same hand he now uses to bring your panties to the waistband of your thighs near the back of your knees, dragging it down that skin. He spreads your cunt with both of his hands, gasping lowly at the sheen that greets him and magnetically pulls him in.

He kitten licks your clit and your elbows tremble, giving out on you—another melodies wafting through the air that make him chuckle into your pussy, engraving vibrations that encourage you to lean back all the way and take what he gives you.

“Write that down, can you do that?” he asks, and when he hears you clicking his pen, he tells you which notes those were. You scribble it down, messily, your hand quivering and painting an obscure picture in his notepad as he begins to suck on your clit in intense waves. You shudder, terribly, the lines of his own pen dark, long and disordered like you.

You give in, moaning so loud that he intones with you.

And what you never expected—the tones of your noises provide him with an inspiration he cannot miss. Withdrawing with a wet chin and stealing his pen from you, he jots it down, propping the notepad on your thighs, smiling at the picture you painted.

Writes something else down, too, while you quiver for him, waiting for his tongue.

He kisses your thigh, ravagedly. “Sing these lyrics.”

Taking it from him, the words blur on the paper because he sinks a finger inside your heat, curling it to that spot that he favors, fucking you with a fast motion that unables you, completely, to let out a sound colored by his geniality.

“Come on, baby. Sing for Oppa.”

You cry out, clenching your muscles—scream as he latches his mouth to your clit, flicking it with the tip of his equally genius tongue.

The lab spins, not just your mind.

“I can’t—I can’t. Oh my God, Yoongi, fuck,” you drag out the curse word, the notepad falling out of your hand and plopping onto the ground.

Yoongi hums, delighted, sucking on your nub so vivaciously that your orgasm nears. As if sensing it, he adds another finger in. Validates the incoming of your splendid explosion by making quick, little, deep sounds that lead you to that peak.

You grasp his hair, tightly, humping his mouth. From your own spill screams that fade into soft moans, resplendent of the notes he liked so much and he fucks your hole faster. Pulls out his mouth just a little, flicking your clit from side to side—and you realize he did it so he can watch you come for him.

Come for your Oppa.

And you do. With a squeak, one that fades to a legato, tender moan of his title. With an eye contact that freezes time for a century. And, suddenly, just like that—it’s just you, him and the winter.

Snowflakes that ache to seep into yours and his cheeks.

Yoongi growls. His male pheromones spill out of him like liquid that washes over you and you get a sticker.

Right in the center of your mound.

And he fucks you into wintry oblivion, a snowstorm that swaddles you closer and closer to him. The table rattles, key notes sound out, the slapping of skin conjures ideas in the magnificence of his brain. And then he comes.

With a final stroke and a rope of his cum all over the sticker near your pleasured cunt, he resumes the time.

But both you and him are newly constituted by that winter-kissed century, chiseled by it and irrevocably changed by it.

Yoongi cleans you up and dresses you. You find out he didn’t rip your tights and you give him such a soft, endeared look for it that he coos, chuckling, and pats your disheveled hair, smoothing it down. He kisses you once he fixes you up and, grabbing his keys, phone and wallet, he drives you to the mall, to that exact store you mentioned, to buy you a myriad of tights to last you for a half of a century, grazed and fondled by winter.

And he leads you back to the studio, besprinkled with the snow’s affection, where you watch him create a song out of your pleasured voice, sampling one of your favorite oldie’s tunes that you end up yanking him up to his feet to dance with him to it. The raspy voice of Ray Charles envelops Yoongi’s hands as he guides your hips and he kisses you until the late night hours.

And in those late night hours, he watches you, like the angel you are, as you sing the poetry he wrote with your help.

Neverland doesn’t exist anymore. Not for you at least.

The darker place he took you to is one breathing with the gesture of helping your lover. Warm, moody and timbered. The licks of flames and the earnestness of a love that depends, without fear, on the other person.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪ divider by kthice ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hobiberrystuff, @kam9404.

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lorenzonuti · 1 year ago

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Hibernate.

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roosterforme · 10 months ago

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Aim for the Sky Part 10 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: With a little help from his best friend, Bradley rushes to the hospital, panic overtaking his system at the thought of something happening to one of his girls. He was supposed to be the one to take care of you. He felt like he failed.

Warnings: Angst, hospitals, injury while pregnant, potential pregnancy complications, vomit, blood, fluff

Length: 4500 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

Bradley felt wrappers and empty bottles crunch under his combat boots as he climbed into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut. Nat had the engine started, and she was tearing through the parking garage without a word. This may have been the first time he didn't have the desire to complain about his best friend's driving or her filthy SUV. He felt too numb to really consider anything except time ticking away on the digital clock on the dashboard.

You were fine this morning. Maybe not great, but you definitely didn't appear as though you were going to collapse at any moment. The only thing Bradley knew was that you passed out in your lab and hit the floor pretty hard. When he begged Nat for more information, she just shrugged, her brow pinched with concern while he cried. At least she wouldn't expect him to say anything at the moment, and she wouldn't even get mad if he threw up like he wanted to.

If anything devastating happened to you or Rosie, he didn't know how he was going to deal with it. He should have been checking on you more often at work. He'd been listening to you telling him you were going to try to eat more even though you weren't feeling well, but he hadn't pressed you to do so.

"Oh, god," he choked out, the afternoon sun and bluebird sky mocking him now as he sobbed into his hands. Nat whipped around a corner, honking at someone, and he didn't really care what happened as long as she got him to you and his daughter as quickly as possible. He had been in the car for six minutes already, winding through Coronado, and he was starting to panic more as he thought about how long you might have been unconscious. Or worse, maybe you were still unconscious now. He couldn't think about anything beyond that, because when he started to slip into that unsettling headspace, he felt his hands shake as bile stung the back of his throat.

"Nat, I can't live without her," he gasped, subconsciously knowing he was talking about both of you. Her hand reached out to squeeze his briefly before returning to the wheel, and he watched as she actually cut around a public transit bus to make a turn.

"We're almost there," she promised, and he nodded as his head tipped back against the headrest. If you and Rosie were okay, he was never going to willingly leave your side again. He'd been worried about someone bumping into you at the fucking Hard Deck, and that was nothing compared to this.

"What am I gonna do?" he whispered, eyes squeezed closed as he ran his sweaty palms along the rough fabric of his flight suit, his breathing starting to get erratic. It was his privilege in life to take care of you. Anything you needed or wanted, he'd hand it to you on a silver platter. But the only thing he needed and wanted was his little family. "Fuck."

"Bradley," Nat snapped, shaking him roughly by his bicep as she careened into the hospital parking lot and made a straight shot for the emergency room entrance. "You need to keep it together. Do you understand?"

"Yeah," he gasped, images far more terrifying than anything he'd ever thought about circling his brain.

"If something happened to the baby, your wife is going to need you to be strong."

Her words left him reeling, because he knew he'd never be as strong as you were. That was part of why he loved you so much. And Rose would be just like you, and he'd have two silver platters ready as soon as she was born. He swallowed hard as her SUV came to a screeching stop in front of a door that said AMBULANCE PARKING ONLY, and he fumbled his seatbelt with shaking fingers before jumping out onto the curb and running inside.

There was an elderly man in a wheelchair and a kid with crutches. Someone with a bloody bandage around their head was moaning in one of the seats, but he didn't see you as he came skidding to a halt in front of the check-in desk. "I need to see my wife. She's pregnant." The last word came out like too much of a question for him to handle, and he had to grip the edge of the desk for support while the woman behind it looked up at him with a neutral expression.

"I'll need to see your identification and get approval before you can go back," she told him smoothly as he yanked his military ID out of the badge holder he was wearing and handed it to her. "What is your wife's name?"

Bradley recited it to her quickly and reverently, watching as she typed away on the keyboard in front of her. "Do you know if she's okay? Can you check if she's alright?" he begged, squeezing her desk again as she slowly shook her head.

"I'm sorry, sir, but all I can see is which room she was taken to and which doctors are working on her case."

"But she's pregnant," he repeated in desperation, hoping that if he said it again, the words would still be true.

"I understand," she said smoothly, handing his ID back to him along with a medical bracelet with the date and time stamped on it. "Put that on your wrist, and have a seat while I see if someone can take you back to her."

Bradley stood there, even more numb to his surroundings than he had been in Nat's car. His ears were ringing, and he had a disturbing metallic taste in his mouth, making it harder and harder to swallow as he swayed on his feet. Based on his extensive military training, he figured he must be going into shock, but he would force himself to remain alert until he saw you for himself. Until he felt his daughter moving.

He could hear the woman pick up the phone and say, "Can someone let me know the visitation status of the patient in room seventeen? Her husband is here." There was a pause before she added, "Yes, I checked him in, and he has a bracelet on."

But she wasn't paying attention to him, and he was already moving now toward the double doors that said EMERGENCY ROOM ACCESS: STAFF AND PATIENTS ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT WITHOUT ESCORT. He needed to get to you immediately, and everyone else could literally fuck off. He'd take the double doors right off the hinges with his bare hands if necessary. In fact, he would be more than happy to do so. But as he approached them, ready to get through by any means necessary, one door swung open as someone in scrubs strolled through, and he ducked right inside.

Room seventeen. He read the guide on the wall and rushed down the hallway to his right. The thudding of his heartbeat and the sound of his own breathing was almost deafening as he ran. The fluorescent lights were making him dizzy as he read the number on each door. But then he saw it. Room seventeen was straight ahead, and the door was open a few inches, light filling the gap as he started calling your name. He was almost there as the tears started up again, and he was pushing his way into the room as he rasped, "Baby Girl," at the sight of you on the bed.

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

When you woke up for the third time, you were so dizzy, you turned your head and started to gag. "It's okay," came an unfamiliar voice in the freezing cold room with too bright lights. "I have the garbage can ready for you."

That certainly was convenient. Just when you needed to throw up all of the contents of your stomach, someone was there to help you out. You never had service like that when you were battling morning sickness unless Bradley had been around. You made horrible noises as you heaved, the room still spinning even as you tried to ease yourself onto your back once again. You wanted to say thank you to the unknown voice of the blurry person next to you, but instead you asked, "Where am I?"

"The emergency room at Sharp Coronado Hospital."

That really didn't make any sense. You'd just been at work. Today was your birthday. Bradley was taking you to the hot sauce restaurant for dinner. Then your brain fog began to clear, and you started kicking at the white blanket that was keeping your legs warm in the freezing room. You were in a hospital gown, and when your hands came to rest on your belly, you realized you couldn't feel the baby moving. At all. You shifted your hands around frantically, and while your body was painfully tender, you could feel nothing. No somersaults. No squirms. No kicks. No thumps. Rosie was never this still.

"What happened to my baby?" you asked, voice wrecked with unchecked sobs as the woman beside you set the garbage can down and reached for your shaking hand. "I can't feel her!"

Something caught on the hospital gown, and you realized there were stitches running the length of the side of your swollen left hand. Your rings were missing, which was also scary, but you couldn't think of a single good reason why your daughter wasn't moving around inside your belly when she was always so active.

You sobbed loudly as the woman with you took your hand in hers, and you realized she was trying to calm you down as all of the equipment you were connected to started going crazy with loud beeps. Your pulse and blood pressure were through the roof and getting worse as she finally said, "The baby is okay, but we can't have you going into shock again. Listen to my voice and take deep breaths."

"Why isn't she moving?" you shrieked, still fighting to keep your hands on your belly.

"Because you're on pain medication," she said, and you finally realized there were two sets of monitoring devices, and the one with the wires that led to the band wrapped around your belly were giving a much calmer readout.

"Is that her heartbeat?" you asked, pointing to the screen that was displaying the pattern you were used to seeing when you were at your appointments with Dr. Morris.

"Yes, the baby is just fine. The obstetrician on rotation checked her out by ultrasound before we even stitched up your hand and wrist. But you need to stay calm while the medication starts wearing off. You've got extensive bruising, and we're still treating you for a possible concussion, but we can't keep you on the painkillers for a prolonged amount of time, okay?"

The words almost made sense, but they just didn't. And you couldn't stay calm, because you wanted Bradley. Hot tears leaked from your eyes as you tried to take a deep breath, but you shook from nerves and cold. Your teeth were suddenly chattering so hard, your jaw felt like it was snapping, and you could have sworn you heard someone calling your name. As the nurse took a step away from you, that voice started to sound louder. You squeezed your eyes closed, trying to collect all of your thoughts, but there was no mistaking your husband's voice.

"Baby Girl!" he called out, eyes frantic and face far too pale as he pushed the door open and rushed to your side. His pupils were blown wide as he reached for you, and when he closed his eyes, you saw a tear streak down his face. He blinked a few times like he couldn't be sure you were real, so you reached for his face. He dropped to his knees next to the bed as he took your hand gently in his. "Are you okay?" came his shaky question, and you tried to nod as your teeth chattered. "Is Rosie okay?" His words were filled with something terribly close to agony, and you started crying harder.

"Yes," you whispered, trying to pull him closer. He would keep you warm and make you feel so much better, but his whole body was wracked with horrible sobs as he scooted closer until his lips were on yours in the gentlest kiss.

"Oh my god," he said, voice breaking as he cried. "Oh my god, Sweetheart. You're both really okay?" You were nodding in a jerky motion as his hand slid down to your belly, and you could have sworn the baby squirmed just for him. "I was fucking terrified out of my mind. I'm so sorry I wasn't with you. I love you."

His lips were kissing along your cheek as he kept his arm wrapped around you like you were capable of getting up and running away at the moment. As if you would even want to. It wasn't his fault this happened. It was an accident. You could remember listening to Bickel talking about your new list of tasks and the borrowed equipment from Lemoore, and then you just hit the ground. It was evident that you weren't doing enough to take care of yourself as it felt like your whole system was changing again in your third trimester. You needed to do better.

"I'm okay," you insisted, running your fingers through his hair. He melted into your touch, his face finally relaxing slightly as the color came back to his cheeks. When the nurse cleared her throat, you realized you forgot she was there.

"Sir, I don't think you're supposed to be in here."

Bradley was shooting her a nasty glare as more members of hospital personnel, including a security guard, walked into your room.

"What did you do?" you whispered as your husband held onto you just as gently as ever, but now he was shaking his head.

"I'm not leaving this room until my wife and daughter do," he told everyone in a loud, commanding voice. "You can be pissed off or whatever that I didn't wait to be escorted in, but I'm not going anywhere."

The security guard looked at the nurse, and she simply shrugged in response, but you stopped paying attention to them when Bradley turned back to look at you, his brown eyes wide and sincere as he said, "I'm here now, and I'm not going to let anything else happen to either of you."

Finally, you were able to warm up in his arms, and you calmed down a little bit more with each subtle squirm you felt from the baby. Bradley was kissing along your fingers, being mindful of your stitches when he froze. "Sweetheart, where are your rings?"

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

Bradley wished he smelled better and was wearing something softer, but you didn't complain about the faint scent of jet fuel or the scratchiness of his flight suit as he whispered over and over again how much he loved you. He didn't move an inch from his spot on the floor next to the bed as an emergency room doctor came to check you out again followed by an obstetrician.

"You may have preeclampsia, but you'll need a diagnosis from your own doctor based on historical data from your entire pregnancy. It's hard to tell whether all of the excitement from today is responsible for your high blood pressure or if it's the other way around."

"Preeclampsia," Bradley repeated, giving your fingers a little squeeze. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"It can be," you whispered, and the doctor nodded in agreement.

"Bottom line," the doctor said, tapping the line of fluids being pumped into your body, "you were severely dehydrated and seemed to have a reaction to undereating. The stitches in your hand can be monitored from home until you can see your own doctor next week, so we can discharge you tonight. As long as you keep eating and drinking and stay off your feet as much as possible for the next few days. Healthy meals and rest."

"Okay," you whispered, looking so small and sad in the hospital bed that Bradley wanted to protect you at all costs.

"So I can take them home?" he confirmed, wanting nothing more than to get you cleaned up and changed and tucked into the king sized bed with a tray of food. When the doctor nodded, he sighed in relief.

He had been checking his phone sporadically, which finally helped him solve the wedding ring mystery. Cat took them off of you in the ambulance when your fingers started to swell, and she promised she had them with her. He also knew Nat let Tramp out and was ready to stay the night with him if necessary. She even let him know that she dropped his Bronco off in the hospital parking lot with Jake a few hours ago, and that someone was sitting in the waiting room, ready to give him the keys whenever you got discharged. He wasn't sure who it was, but when you were finally discharged and nearly falling asleep at ten o'clock, he was surprised by what he found.

As the nurse pushed you toward the exit in a wheelchair, Nat, Bickel, Cat and Jake all got to their feet in the waiting room. You burst into tears as Jake handed Bradley his car key and knelt down next to you.

"Don't cry, Angel," he drawled softly. "On second thought, maybe you should cry. Even after waking from that concussion, I hate to inform you that you really are married to Bradshaw." He gave your cheek a little kiss as your tears turned to laughter as he stood up again, and Bradley rolled his eyes.

Nat gave Bradley a hug while Cat fussed over putting your rings onto your right hand for the time being. Then Bickel said, "Do not report to work until you've been cleared by your doctors, Lieutenant Commander. I don't care if that's in four days or four months."

You looked worried now as you ran your fingers along your stitches. "Sir. Did I... break the lab equipment when I fell?" you whispered, and even Bradley could tell by Bickel's face that you probably did. "I didn't mean to."

But there was a reason you liked your boss so much, and you visibly relaxed in the wheelchair as Bickel said, "I'm worried about you, not the equipment, Lieutenant Commander. I'll check in with you on Monday."

When Bradley was finally helping you into the Bronco, you had tears in your eyes, but you looked a lot more relaxed than you had earlier. "I'm so tired, Roo," you whispered as he buckled you and Rosie in with a kiss to your belly.

"I know," he replied, pretty exhausted himself. "I'll take care of everything, okay? I'm just sorry you're not having a better time on your birthday."

When you looked at him and softly said, "It's much better now," he swiped at the tears on your cheeks with his thumbs. "I'm sorry I scared you, and I'll be better about eating, okay? And if I have preeclampsia, I'll make sure Rosie is my number one priority every day, even if I feel awful from forcing nutrients into my body."

Bradley smiled and said, "I just wish I'd been able to take you to Del Mar tonight so you could enjoy some hot sauce." Just then, his phone started ringing in his pocket, and he thought perhaps it was your parents; they'd been biting at the bit for more information after he texted them throughout the day.

"Who is it?" you asked, and he sighed as he checked the number.

"It's the bar I reserved for the evening," he replied, ignoring the call until he got you home.

"Bar? For what?"

He kissed away the rest of your tears and murmured, "Our private silent disco. That's what I got you for your birthday."

You gasped and pulled him close, and even as you cried more, you said, "You're the best husband who ever existed. And I ruined my own night and scared us both half to death."

"Shhh," he coaxed. "We can go a different time. As long as my girls are okay, nothing else really matters. Now can I take you home for a slice of birthday cake and get you snuggled in bed?"

"Yes," you sniffed.

Not even fifteen minutes later, you were standing in the kitchen in your bra and underwear, eating a slice of the cake that said 'Happy Birthday, Baby Girl' which he'd hidden behind a bunch of things in the refrigerator since yesterday. Per the doctor's instructions, he made sure you had plenty of water to drink before he got you in a warm bath and helped you wash yourself.

"Come in," you said softly, stifling a yawn. "I didn't get to do any of the other stuff you planned for my birthday, but I want you in here with me."

With a deep, exhausted sigh, he unzipped his flight suit, your eyes glued to his every movement. His body was aching now from the rush of terrified adrenaline earlier and how much he'd worried about you since arriving at the hospital. He held your left hand above the water and slipped into the tub behind you, his body automatically relaxing as you eased back against him. Then he placed your hand on the edge of the tub to keep your stitches dry, and he held you as he whispered, "I love you," before setting his hand on your belly.

Finally, your heart rate felt normal again, and as the water got cooler, he could tell you were starting to doze off in his arms. He whispered the birthday song, and a smile crept along your lips even though your eyes were closed, and eventually he had to coax you out of the bath and into bed.

Just as your birthday officially ended, you were laying on your side snoring softly, and Bradley kissed your shoulder before he reached for the blue and pink striped notebook and a pen from his nightstand. While he was pleased you were able to fall asleep, he knew he'd be up for quite a while still, processing everything that had happened. The terrible thought of losing you and the baby left him with the realization that he didn't know if he'd actually be able to cope with something like that happening. It made his skin crawl all over again, but he knew he had to process it somewhere.

Hey, Rosie. You'll learn pretty quickly why I love Mommy's birthday so much. Actually, you'll learn pretty quickly that I try to make every day special for her. It's because she makes everything better for me just by being around. Her smile can make the worst day incredible, and her laughter makes me feel like I'm falling in love with her all over again. But today was her birthday, and it was one of the worst days of my life. I was scared that I was going to lose something that could never be replaced. Something I can't live without. I would do anything for you, Rosie. And I would do anything for your mom.

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

When you first woke up on Saturday, your entire body was aching from your fall. For a second, you swore you could hear Bradley and Phoenix talking in the other room, but when you rolled onto your other side with Rose thumping around, you fell asleep again before you could investigate. When you woke up for the second time, you were absolutely certain you could hear Bradley talking to your mom.

You pulled on a random pair of sweatpants and a stretchy maternity tank top, making a stop in the bathroom before heading down the hallway. When you peeked into the kitchen, Bradley had the iPad propped up on the counter, and he had your cutting boards and cookware out as your mom chatted away.

"You have to peel the carrots just like you would a potato, and then you can cut them into pieces about this big."

"Right," he replied, slowly peeling the orange vegetable in this hand and then slicing it while your mom watched. "Should I put it in the chicken broth?"

"Not yet," she instructed. "Wait until you're ready to add the celery and put them in at the same time. And it never hurts to add a few extra carrots."

"Got it," he told her, setting aside three more carrots on the counter. "And tomorrow morning you'll help me with the chicken pot pie again?"

"Of course I will," she promised. "And I'll show you how to make tomato sauce when you're ready."

"Thanks." He wiped his brow with a dishtowel, voice thick with emotion as he said, "She scared me half to death yesterday. I need to make sure she's eating and drinking enough. When Natasha went grocery shopping for me earlier, I had her get these hydration packs that you can add to water along with cases of Gatorade. So those should be good. And if you help me cook every day, I'm hoping she can start to stomach food again."

"It sounds like you have everything under control, but if you want me to fly out, I can be there tomorrow."

Bradley wavered for a few seconds, but ultimately said, "I can handle it with your help over FaceTime. I'll take care of my girls."

"I have all the confidence in the world that you will," your mom told him. "Call this afternoon when she's awake, okay?"

A few seconds later, after he ended the call, you walked all the way into the kitchen while he was filling the crockpot with chicken broth. "Are you making me soup?"

"Sweetheart." He sloshed some of the liquid onto the counter in surprise and then pulled you into his arms. Your stomach was growling, and Rosie was doing somersaults, and you could see the playset in the backyard through the window. "Yeah, chicken noodle soup for dinner, but I can get something else for you now."

You couldn't stop smiling as he listed off all of the food options for breakfast and lunch. "My mom was right. I also have all of the confidence in the world that you'll take top notch care of us."

"You heard my conversation with her?" he asked, running his thumb gently along the skin next to your stitches as you nodded. "Listen, if your parents move to Coronado, I can get my culinary lessons in person. And then I'll have two more people to help me look after you, because to be honest, it's getting harder by the day, Baby Girl. Now how about some avocado toast and a small slice of birthday cake for breakfast?"

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

Take care of your girls, Roo. They mean more to you than anything else. His journal entry made me cry. Rose is already so loved, and I can't wait for her arrival. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 11

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growthhyp · 4 months ago

Text

The Garage Sale III

Aiden stumbled through the bustling college quad, his oversized backpack digging into his bony shoulders. His eyes remained glued to the screen of his phone, navigating the digital labyrinth of his latest coding assignment. The mid-afternoon sun cast a stark contrast on the concrete jungle around him, highlighting the stark difference between the vibrant life of the school and his own monochrome existence. He was a creature of solitude, a black-haired, bespectacled ghost weaving through the throngs of chattering students and athletes. His skin, a rich, deep brown, almost seemed to absorb the light, making him even more invisible amidst the sea of faces.

As he approached the library, Aiden felt the familiar knot in his stomach tighten. It was the same feeling he got every time he knew Abe was nearby. The ginger behemoth was a constant thorn in his side, a living embodiment of everything Aiden was not: brawny, brash, and basking in the adoration of his peers. The jock's laughter, booming and obnoxious, echoed through the air like a siren's call, and Aiden's heart quickened as he tried to stealthily navigate past the group of muscle-bound football players. But fate, it seemed, had other plans.

"Hey, look what the cat dragged in!" Abe's voice sliced through the din, and a wall of testosterone parted to reveal him. He towered over Aiden, his bulging biceps stretching the fabric of his crimson jersey. Aiden felt his cheeks flush as he looked up into the jock's piercing blue eyes. A cruel smirk played on Abe's lips as he stepped closer, casting a shadow over the smaller man.

"What's up, geek?" Abe sneered, his breath hot and minty against Aiden's cheek. "Still playing on that little toy of yours?" He snatched the phone from Aiden's trembling hand, glancing at the screen with feigned interest before tossing it back with a chuckle. "You should come watch me practice sometime. Maybe you'll learn how to be a man."

Aiden's stomach churned, but he clenched his fists and took a deep breath. "I've got better things to do," he muttered, trying to regain his composure. The phone screen cracked slightly when it hit the ground, and Aiden winced. That was a new low, even for Abe. He bent down to retrieve it, his heart racing.

"What's the matter, Aiden?" Abe's smirk grew wider. "You don't like watching real men at work?" His friends, a pack of equally burly athletes, roared with laughter. Aiden's cheeks burned with humiliation. He had to get out of here, now. He straightened up and looked Abe in the eye, his voice quivering. "I've got a class to get to."

Abe stepped aside, feigned disappointment etched on his face. "Too bad," he said, slapping Aiden's back hard enough to make him stumble. "Some other time, I guess." The group of jocks jeered as Aiden scurried away, the echo of their laughter following him into the library's welcoming silence.

Once inside, Aiden found refuge in the quiet embrace of the computer lab, his sanctuary from the world outside. He slumped into his chair, his heart still pounding in his chest. Being Abe's roommate was a living nightmare. They had been randomly paired by the school's housing system, and the irony wasn't lost on Aiden. The jock's boisterous energy and alpha-male posturing clashed violently with his own introverted nature, leaving him feeling like a caged animal in his own room. Aiden's only solace was his computer, the digital world his escape from the relentless barrage of insults and pranks that Abe subjected him to.

But even as the jock's cruelty replayed in his mind, Aiden couldn't help but feel his body react in an unexpected way. Abe's muscular physique was like a siren's call to his hidden desires. Every time Abe flexed his biceps, every time he saw the way his abs rippled when he took off his shirt, Aiden felt a twinge of arousal. It was confusing and humiliating, but he couldn't deny the attraction. He tried to shake the images from his mind, focusing on the cold, lifeless screen in front of him. But as he typed away, his thoughts kept drifting back to Abe's body.

The memory of their first encounter in the dorm room washed over him. Aiden had been unpacking his bags when Abe strutted in, all confidence and bravado. His ginger hair was a fiery crown atop his broad shoulders, and his skin was the color of a perfectly roasted sweet potato. Aiden had felt his cock stiffen in his pants as Abe threw his duffel bag onto the bed and flexed his arms, the veins in his forearms popping as he claimed the top bunk. It was like watching a living, breathing Greek statue come to life, and Aiden had been utterly captivated.

In the weeks that followed, the bullying had only intensified, but so had Aiden's infatuation. He found himself sneaking glances at Abe whenever he could, his eyes lingering on the way the jock's muscles moved beneath his skin like a living tapestry. He would lie in his bed at night, listening to the sound of Abe's deep, even breathing, and imagine what it would be like to trace his fingers over those powerful contours. He knew it was wrong, that he should despise the very thought of Abe's touch, but his body had a mind of its own.

One fateful afternoon, the breaking point came. Aiden had had enough. As Abe loomed over him in the dorm, poking fun at his latest coding project, Aiden felt a surge of anger unlike anything he had ever experienced. He shoved Abe's hand away, knocking over the half-empty protein shake that had been perched on the edge of his desk. The sticky, sweet liquid spattered across the floor, and the room fell silent.

Abe's eyes narrowed, his smirk fading to a snarl. "You little shit," he growled, his fists clenching. "You're going to pay for that."

Without a second thought, Aiden bolted. His skinny legs, usually reserved for carrying his slender frame from one class to another, found a newfound speed as he dashed through the dorm's hallways. The chorus of Abe's outraged curses and his heavy footsteps grew louder behind him. Adrenaline coursed through Aiden's veins, turning his fear into a wild, untamed beast that propelled him forward.

He sped past the open doors of the dorms, ignoring the stunned stares of his peers. His heart thumped in his chest like a drum, each beat a reminder of the danger that lurked just steps away. Aiden knew he couldn't outrun Abe forever, but every second he managed to stay ahead was a victory in its own right.

As the sound of Abe's footsteps grew closer, Aiden's eyes scanned the area for an escape. His gaze fell upon a house with a garage sale sign hanging askew from the doorframe. Without a moment's hesitation, he dashed down the driveway and ducked into the open garage, panting heavily.

The owner of the garage sale was Jack, a towering figure of masculine power that stood out even in the sea of muscular jocks at the college. His straight, tall body was sculpted by rigorous bodybuilding routines, and his attire was as enigmatic as the house behind him. He wore a vibrant blue tank top that clung to his broad chest and bulging biceps, hinting at the strength beneath. Skin-tight black shorts accentuated his powerful legs, and white sneakers with tight laces completed the look. The silver necklace with a gothic cross around his neck shimmered in the sunlight, adding an unexpected touch of elegance to his intimidating presence.

The ancient-looking house with ivy climbing up the walls loomed in the background, whispering secrets of its mystical heritage. The garage was a treasure trove of vibrant garments, a stark contrast to the well-maintained lawns and quaint neighborhood. Aiden, panting and trembling, stumbled into this whimsical scene, his eyes wide with fear as he searched for a place to hide from Abe's wrath.

Jack, the owner of the garage sale, looked up from his perch atop a sturdy wooden chair, his silver necklace glinting in the sunlight. He took in the sight of the panic-stricken college student with a knowing smile. The garments around him fluttered in the gentle breeze, their colors popping against the dark, mysterious aura of the house.

"Looks like you're in a bit of a hurry, friend," Jack drawled, his deep voice rumbling through the garage like distant thunder.

Aiden's eyes darted around the space, his breath coming in shallow gasps. "Please, I… I just need to hide for a moment," he stammered, his gaze landing on the towering figure before him.

Jack's smile grew, revealing a set of gleaming white teeth. "From what?" he inquired, his eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint. The garments around them fluttered, as if eager to hear Aiden's response.

"Abe," Aiden managed to croak out, his voice trembling. "He's… he's been bullying me since we became roommates." He paused, taking in a deep breath to steady himself. "He just… he's a jock, and he doesn't like that I'm… that I'm different."

Jack's expression grew serious, his eyes scanning Aiden with a newfound intensity. "Ah," he murmured, his voice a gentle rumble. "A classic case of the lion and the lamb." He stood up, his muscles rippling as he towered over the trembling student. "Don't worry, little one. You're safe here."

With a wave of his hand, Jack indicated the racks of clothes surrounding them. "Why don't you pick something out?" he suggested, his voice a low purr. "A change of attire might just be what you need to throw that oaf off your scent."

Aiden's eyes widened at the prospect. He had never thought of using clothing as a disguise before. The idea was ludicrous, but at the same time, it was strangely appealing. He shuffled through the racks, his trembling hands brushing against the fabric of shirts that screamed confidence and colors that shouted rebellion. The garments were a stark departure from his usual plain t-shirts and baggy pants, a silent manifesto of self-expression that he had never allowed himself to indulge in before.

Jack watched him with a knowing smile, his powerful arms folded across his chest. "Take your time," he said, his voice a comforting bass. "Find something that makes you feel… seen."

Aiden's eyes fell upon a faded black hoodie and matching jogger pants that looked as if they had been worn by someone of Jack's size. They were simple, yet exuded a strange power, as if they had been imbued with the confidence of a hundred fiery comebacks and the resilience of a thousand unspoken truths. The fabric was soft to the touch, and Aiden could almost feel the warmth of the garments wrapping around him, shielding him from the world's cruel eyes. He looked up at Jack, hope flickering in his gaze.

"Those?" Aiden's voice was barely a whisper.

Jack nodded, his smile widening. "They're perfect for you," he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "They're my old clothes, from back when I was your age. They've got a bit of history, a bit of fight in them. I can see it in your eyes, you want to fight back. But remember, not every battle is won with fists."

Aiden swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. "Can… can I change here?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jack's smile grew even wider, his eyes twinkling with understanding. "Of course," he said, gesturing towards a makeshift changing room in the corner of the garage. It was nothing more than a large, velvet curtain that had seen better days, but to Aiden, it was a beacon of hope. "Take your time. The clothes will fit you like a glove, I promise."

With trembling hands, Aiden stepped behind the curtain, the fabric swishing around him like a dark cloak. He peeled off his own shirt and pants, his skin sticking to the fabric with a cold sweat. As he slipped on the black hoodie and jogger pants, they felt strange on his body—like a second skin that whispered promises of strength and protection. He looked at his reflection in a dusty mirror that leaned precariously against the garage wall, and for a moment, he didn't recognize himself. The clothes were indeed too big for him, hanging off his skeletal frame like a child playing dress-up in his father's oversized attire. Yet, there was something about them that made him feel… different.

As the fabric settled into place, a warmth spread through his body, starting from his chest and radiating down to his toes. He could feel the magic of the garments coursing through him, and with it, a strange sensation grew in his groin. Aiden's eyes widened as he looked down to see his cock stiffening and growing, pushing against the fabric of the jogger pants. The sensation was both terrifying and exhilarating, and he could feel his cheeks flush with a mix of embarrassment and arousal. The hoodie's fabric grew taut around his shoulders, stretching and morphing as his body began to change, filling out the garments in a way that seemed impossible for his lanky frame.

A soft moan of pleasure slipped from his lips as he felt his muscles swell. His biceps bulged, pushing the sleeves of the hoodie to their limits, and his chest grew broad and firm, the fabric of the shirt straining to contain the newfound power beneath it. His abs rippled as they formed, each one defined and strong. The sensation was overwhelming, and he reached up to touch the new contours of his body, his fingers tracing the lines of his pecs in amazement. His once-concave stomach had transformed into a washboard of power that begged to be admired.

His shoulders broadened, the seams of the hoodie giving way to reveal the beginnings of a pair of broad, powerful shoulders that could carry the weight of the world—or at least the burden of his heavy backpack with ease. The fabric of the garments grew taut across his back, highlighting the growth of his muscles as they expanded to fill the space. Aiden felt his heart race as the transformation continued, the blood pulsing through his veins like a symphony of strength.

The sensation grew more intense, his spine straightening and lengthening as muscles he had never felt before began to take shape. His back grew wider, the bones of his ribcage stretching and popping as they made room for the newfound bulk of his torso. He couldn't help but let out a low moan of pleasure and surprise, his breath hitching as his body continued to change before his very eyes. The feeling of power surging through him was intoxicating, a heady mix of arousal and adrenaline that made his knees weak.

Aiden looked down at his legs and gasped. They were no longer the spindly sticks that had carried him from one class to the next; they were thick, powerful pillars that could support the weight of his newfound strength. His calves bulged with each step he took, the muscles flexing and moving beneath his skin like living art. His feet grew larger, filling the space in his sneakers Jack had handed him with a satisfying snugness. The fabric of the jogger pants stretched tightly over his newly sculpted thighs, the seams straining against the unyielding pressure of his growth.

And his cock… it was massive, thick and heavy, demanding attention. It was as if the garments had brought to life every fantasy he had ever dared to think about Abe. The fabric of the jogger pants struggled to contain the monstrous length and girth that now filled his vision. The pressure was unbearable, and Aiden couldn't help but let out a soft moan as he reached down to adjust himself. His hand wrapped around his shaft, and the sensation was like nothing he had ever felt before—his skin was sensitive, electrified, begging for touch.

With trembling fingers, Aiden pulled down his pants, his cock springing free like a caged animal released into the wild. The sight of it was almost too much to handle, and he couldn't resist the urge to stroke himself. The feeling was indescribable—each stroke sent a bolt of pleasure through his body, making his knees weak and his toes curl. The air was thick with the scent of his arousal, mixing with the faint scent of the garage's dust and the musky aroma of the leather jackets that hung nearby. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he leaned against the mirror for support, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

As he came back to reality, Aiden realized the extent of the transformation. The once-shy college student was now a confident, dominant force, his mind ablaze with a hunger for male submission. The very thought of dominating a man, of feeling his cock buried deep inside someone else, filled him with a sense of power that was both terrifying and exhilarating. His interests had shifted in an instant—gone were the nights spent coding and playing video games. Now, all Aiden could think about was the rush of adrenaline from the football field, the feel of a tight end around his thick, swollen cock. His former love for comics and computers had been replaced by a ravenous appetite for physical conquest and the thrill of the chase.

But with this newfound confidence came a sharp decline in his intellect. His thoughts had become as thick and murky as the fog that rolled in off the ocean, clouding his once-sharp mind. His IQ had plummeted to a mere 70, leaving him struggling to grasp the complex concepts he had once found so easy. It was as if the garments had stolen his intelligence in exchange for his newfound strength and bravado. The very idea of his previous life—his studies, his quiet solitude—now seemed like a distant memory, a fading dream from a life he no longer knew.

The transformation wasn't just physical; it was a complete shift in his essence. The clothes had imbued him with a raw, primal power that was undeniable, and it was all he could think about. His once-shy persona had been swallowed whole by this new, alpha-male identity, leaving Aiden to grapple with his newfound desires.

As the first wave of pleasure crashed over him, Aiden's eyes rolled back in his head, and he let out a guttural groan that echoed through the garage. His body convulsed as he came, the warmth of his cum spilling out over his fist and down his thighs. The scent of his arousal filled the small space, mingling with the dust and the faint smell of motor oil. The garments around him seemed to pulse with excitement, as if feeding off his sexual energy.

Jack's eyes widened slightly from outside the curtain, the sound of Aiden's pleasure music to his ears. He knew that the transformation was complete, that the magic of the garments had taken hold. He had seen it before, the way they could change someone so fundamentally, so completely. It was a heady power, one that he reveled in.

As Aiden's breathing evened out, he felt it—the beginnings of a new arousal, his cock swelling once more. He looked down in shock, his hand still sticky with cum, as the fabric of the jogger pants stretched and strained against his burgeoning erection. The magic of the garments was potent, and having worn two of them at once had amplified the effect.

The warmth grew stronger, spreading from his groin and enveloping his entire body. It was a warmth unlike any he had ever felt—it didn't just feel good, it felt… right. It was a warmth that filled him with a deep, primal urge to conquer, to claim what was his. His heart raced, his thoughts a jumbled mess of desire and confusion.

Jack's voice broke through the haze, a gentle rumble that seemed to resonate in Aiden's very bones. "How do you feel, my friend?" he called out, a hint of excitement in his tone.

Aiden's eyes snapped open, his breathing ragged. "Jack… what… what have you done to me?" His voice was deeper, more assertive than he had ever heard it.

Jack stepped closer to the curtain, his own heart racing with excitement. "It's all part of the transformation," he said, his voice soothing. "The clothes, they… they have a way of bringing out the true you."

Aiden's hand stilled on his cock, the pleasure subsiding to a dull throb. He looked at the mirror again, his eyes widening as he took in his new image. He was no longer the skinny nerd that Abe could push around. Now, he was something else entirely—powerful, dominant, a creature of pure masculine desire. The warmth grew stronger, and he felt his body swell with each pulse of blood in his veins. His skin grew tight and hot, the garments clinging to him like a second skin.

The grey hoodie groaned in protest as Aiden's shoulders bulged, tearing the fabric with the ease of a lion shaking off a wet coat. The material split along the seams, revealing the swell of his biceps and the sharp lines of his triceps. The cotton fibers struggled to contain the explosion of muscles that had overtaken his body. His chest ballooned, the fabric of the shirt straining and popping as his abs grew more defined, each one a ridge of power beneath the surface. The neckline gave way, the fabric no match for the newfound bulk that was Aiden's shoulders.

Aiden looked down at his legs, his calves now bulging and thick, the once-flimsy jogger pants now nothing but shreds around his ankles. His feet had grown to size 16, the sneakers Jack had provided now a sad, discarded memory. His toes wiggled in the cool garage air, and he marveled at the sight of them, strong and powerful. The briefs, once a snug fit, now clung to his hips like a lover's embrace, the elastic stretched to its limits by the monstrous cock that jutted out obscenely before him.

The urge to touch himself was overwhelming, and Aiden couldn't resist. He wrapped his hand around his shaft, feeling the warmth and weight of it, the fabric of his briefs doing little to hide his newfound size. His strokes grew more vigorous as the warmth in his groin spread, his moans filling the garage like a siren's call. His hips bucked involuntarily, his body moving with a mind of its own, seeking release from the intense pleasure that was building.

Jack's smile grew wider as he watched through the crack in the curtain. He had seen this transformation before, the way the garments could strip away the layers of a man's identity and leave him a creature of pure, unbridled desire. He knew that once Aiden emerged from that changing room, there would be no going back. The transformation was complete.

As the warmth grew to a crescendo, Aiden's thoughts grew more primal. He no longer cared about his studies, his coding projects, or the quiet life he had once known. His mind was a raging sea of muscular men, their powerful bodies writhing in a tapestry of passion and submission. He was the captain of this ship, the master of this domain, and he would conquer them all.

Aiden felt his cock throb with anticipation, and with a roar of pleasure, he came again. His seed spurted forth, painting the dusty mirror before him in a display of dominance. The room filled with the scent of his release, a potent aphrodisiac that seemed to thicken the very air. The garments around him quivered with excitement, as if in response to his newfound power. His orgasm was a declaration of war against the weakness that had once defined him.

As the waves of pleasure receded, Aiden's eyelids grew heavy. The exertion of his transformation had left him drained, and the warmth of the garments lulled him into a deep, satisfied sleep. He slumped against the mirror, his muscular form heaving with each ragged breath. The sticky mess of his cum was a testament to the intensity of the change, a reminder of the power that now surged through his veins.

Jack watched him from the shadows, his smile never wavering. He knew that once Aiden awoke, his world would be forever changed. The magic of the garments had done its work, turning the shy, introverted college student into a creature of unbridled desire and physical prowess. The sleeping giant was now a force to be reckoned with, and Jack couldn't wait to see the havoc he would wreak upon the unsuspecting college campus.

#muscle growth stories #jockification #male transformation #personality change #jock tf #nerd to jock #roided muscle #ai generated

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commsaquitilabs · 1 year ago

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witheredwritings · 3 days ago

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Hello, I am wondering if u take request for a Tony Stark x female reader, who is also best friend of Tony Stark before he came Iron Man but she has been by his side through everything as well. But it’s a fluff one shot as at the end where they both reveal their feelings for each other which they had from the moment they met and they have their first kiss between them as well.

Ofcoursee, here it is! Hope you like it :)

Virtual Insanity

Summary: In which the infamous line "make love not war" isn't well-respected by this pair of friends. When cyberbullying at Stark industries level develops into a game between these two collegues and friends, something more begins to unravel between the two.

Word Count: 1.7K Warnings: none except Tony's unsufferable ego (all jokes)

A/N: This is a short oneshot. Might turn into more. I'm also still working on the "Soft in the right hands" series for bucky so stay tuned!

You’d known Tony Stark long enough to remember when he didn’t wear the suit — physically or emotionally.

Back then, he was all sharp smiles and sharper intellect, more interested in building arc reactors with cocktail napkin schematics than charming investors. Reckless with nearly everything except the way he treated you. Somehow, against all odds, you’d slipped past the velvet rope that guarded the real him — the sleepless inventor who showed up on your fire escape at 3AM with a bottle of Scotch and a theory about thermal diffusion that couldn’t wait till morning.

You were best friends before Afghanistan. Before Iron Man. Before Stark Tower had its own AI department and a floor reserved just for “Tony’s regrets, part I through XXV.”

And none of that stopped him from hacking your firewall during lunch.

You were approximately three minutes into a well-deserved lunch break — grilled cheese in hand, Spotify playlist on shuffle, and the sanctity of a lab entirely free of explosions — when your firewall went up in flames.

Digitally speaking.

The code on your main monitor began to twitch. Literally twitch. Then twist. And then it smiled at you. A little pixelated smiley face blinked up from the line of code you’d just written, followed by a dancing ASCII cat wearing sunglasses.

“Oh my God,” you muttered, setting your sandwich down like it had betrayed you.

You knew that coding style.

You knew exactly who was responsible.

With the patience of a saint and the energy of someone who was one click away from snapping, you launched into the system’s backend, pulling apart the layers of the digital graffiti with expert ease, unraveling each line of smug Stark-ware. And sure enough, right at the root folder, embedded in a hidden command string, was a line of text:

"Nice firewall, sweetheart. 7/10. Would hack again. - T.S."

Your eye twitched. Your soul twitched.

He didn’t just breach your system. He decorated it. That wasn’t a hack — it was a housewarming party in enemy territory.

The man had billions of dollars, a global tech empire, multiple Iron Man suits, and — apparently — nothing better to do than hack into your secure files during his downtime like a caffeinated raccoon with a superiority complex.

You were going to kill him. Slowly. Or worse — give him a lecture so long and boring it could be classified as psychological warfare.

And thus, the war began.

With your jaw clenched and your heart pounding in that very specific, very annoying way it only ever did around Tony, you stormed out of your lab and stomped down the hallway of Stark Tower.

You bypassed three interns and a mildly offended elevator AI before slamming open his door like righteous judgment. Finally, you flung open the doors to his R&D suite without knocking.

Tony didn’t flinch.

Sleeves rolled up, arc reactor glowing, fingers dancing across a holographic interface. He looked up. Grinned.

“Hey, sunshine,” Tony said lazily from behind a table cluttered with open panels, a half-dismantled drone, and at least three coffee cups. “I was just thinking about you."

“You’re a menace.”

“I’ve been called worse.” He finally looked up, dark eyes glinting with amusement. “But usually by people who didn’t bother updating their encryption protocols.”

You crossed your arms. “You hacked into my system during lunch, Stark. That’s below the belt. I was eating grilled cheese.”

“Maybe next time add some brie and fig jam. Class it up a little.” He grinned. “You’re welcome, by the way. I just gave you a free security audit.”

You stared at him, deadpan. “Did your ego eat your moral compass for breakfast?”

He stood, sauntering over like confidence incarnate in a Henley and jeans, and leaned against the edge of the workbench — arms crossed, smirk fully loaded.

“I’d argue my ego is my moral compass. And it always points due north to: mess with you.”

“You hacked my system,” you repeated.

He tilted his head. “If I can break in, so can Hydra. I’m doing you a favor.”

You crossed your arms. “This is the third time this month you've done something like this. Last week, you turned my digital assistant into a sassy version of yourself. I had to argue with my microwave for twenty minutes before it would heat my soup.”

He beamed. “He’s got a personality now! Named him Toasty.”

“I’m going to rewrite your DNA.”

“Only if we cuddle after.”

You were going to scream. Or kiss him. It was a very fine line these days.

“I’m going to kill you,” you said conversationally.

He grinned wider. “You’re going to miss me.”

So instead, you narrowed your eyes and said, “I hope you like Shakespeare just as much as JARVIS does.”

He blinked. “What?”

You pulled your phone from your pocket, already typing."Your little AI pet seems to have brushed up on his Shakespeare, because he’s about to speak exclusively in iambic pentameter for the next twenty-four hours."

“Wait. No—”

“And make all puns food-themed.”

Tony’s jaw dropped. “You’re a monster.”

You shrugged, already walking toward the door. “Some people bake sourdough for fun. I emotionally sabotage billionaire AIs.”

Tony groaned. “JARVIS

, don’t you dare—”

“Verily, sir,” JARVIS chimed in serenely from the overhead speaker, “I find thy attitude rather cheesy, like brie upon a croissant most greasy.”

Tony’s head hit the desk.

You smirked. “Toasty says hi.”

It went on like that for weeks.

Tony retaliated by installing a movement sensor in your lab. Every time you entered, SexyBack blared at full volume. FRIDAY wouldn’t let you disable it. She said it was “legally classified as a morale booster.”.

It was a war.

You replaced his AI’s voice with Gilbert Gottfried reading Twilight.

Tony responded by having your smartwatch shout hourly affirmations about his hair.

You hacked his suit’s startup sequence. Now it greeted him with:

“Iron Man: The Human Hot Pocket. Online.”

It didn’t stop there.

He replaced your screensaver with a live feed of himself winking, finger guns included.

You programmed his coffee maker to scream “INCOMING!” every time it dispensed espresso.

Naturally, collateral damage was inevitable.

Bruce’s tablet was cursed to play Baby Shark whenever opened. He developed a twitch.

Sam’s Falcon gear announced all takeoffs with: “I’m a little teapot, short and stout.”

Steve’s toaster quoted Pride and Prejudice in Cher’s voice.

“It is a truth universally acknowledged,” it belted one morning, “that a single man in possession of breakfast must be in want of jam.”

He punched a wall. You both got fined.

Even Clint, ever the stealthy one, wasn’t spared. Every time he drew an arrow, it whispered “pew pew” in Tony’s voice.

The tower teetered on the brink of chaos.

Pepper threatened to move to Dubai.

It was late.

The Tower was asleep, mostly. Except for Tony, who you found in the R&D lounge, hoodie on, arc reactor glowing soft under worn fabric. He looked… still. A rare moment for a man who moved like his thoughts could outrun time.

“You gonna yell at me for the coffee pot thing?” he asked, not looking up.

“I should,” you said, easing into the seat beside him. “FRIDAY tried to launch a counterstrike when I made a cappuccino.”

“She’s passionate.”

Silence fell. He just stared at you like he was debating something he’d rehearsed a hundred times in his head.

You blinked. “What?”

Tony opened his mouth. Closed it. Then, “Do you want me to stop?”

You frowned. “Stop what?”

“The pranks. The hacking. I mean, I know it’s probably childish and annoying and… I don’t know. Maybe I just like having a reason to see you all worked up, to just see you more.”

You sat back, heart thudding.

“That,” you said slowly, “is the least emotionally articulate confession I’ve ever heard.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, well. I build flying suits, not feelings.”

You stood and walked over, stopping inches from him. His breath hitched, and yours did too.

“For the record,” you said, “I love your flying suits. But I also kind of love… this.”

He blinked. “The chaos?”

“The banter. The sabotage. The way your face lights up when you think you’ve outsmarted me, even though I’m always two steps ahead.”

“Debatable,” he muttered.

You leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“And I love the way you look at me like I’m the only firewall you’ve never wanted to break.”

He stilled.

Then: “I’ve been in love with you since the day you fried that Russian botnet and called it ‘a poorly coded insult to my intelligence.’”

You smiled.

And then, you kissed him.

It was messy and hot and gloriously overdue. His hands cupped your face like he’d been dying to do it for years, and your fingers curled into his shirt like gravity had given up and he was your anchor now.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, he whispered, “I should have hacked you sooner.”

You smacked his shoulder. “Shut up and kiss me again.”

He did.

And that night, neither of you changed each other’s passwords.

You called a truce.

Sort of.

Now your prank war has a rulebook and a scoreboard. Nat is the referee. Bruce runs support (begrudgingly). Steve is still in therapy.

JARVIS still speaks in sonnets during thunderstorms. Toasty hosts a podcast. FRIDAY hosts a revenge fund.

A year later, Tony proposed via custom hologram code embedded in your firewall — romantic, glitchy, and absolutely extra.

You said yes.

And now, sometimes, late at night, you’ll find yourselves coding side-by-side, teasing each other like always — except now, there’s no more pretending.

Just love. Loud, messy, sarcastic love. With bad lighting, too much coffee, and more happiness than either of you thought you’d ever deserve.

And every morning, when you walk into the lab, “SexyBack” still plays.

You don’t stop it anymore.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading. Don't hesitate to leave a comment behind <3

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