#Hemmings Classic Car

[captainfreelance1]

The Great Race with Toyota and the Racer Day 2 (2016) James Bestwick and Lawrence Foster driving with guest Amy Purdy on Day Two of their endurance rally road trip from Sacramento to Reno.

[automotiveamerican]

Carbon-Fiber 1970 Charger and 1969 Camaro Just the Start of a Wave of Composite-Bodied Classic Muscle Cars - Daniel Strohl @Hemmings

One thousand pounds. Half a ton. Way more than any strongman contestant can lift. That’s how much weight Finale Speed has been able to cut out of a 1969 Camaro by replacing its steel body with carbon fiber. And the company’s aiming to bring that supercar technology to pretty much any American muscle car. “Carbon fiber’s been around for years,” said JD Rudisill, who founded Finale Speed in Yukon,…

[jaythes1mp]

Your secrets are ours, kid

Yandere BatFam x Reader — CH10 -> CH9 -> CH8 -> CH7 -> CH6 -> CH5 -> CH4 -> CH3 -> CH2 -> CH1

8919 words, 46418 characters, 408 sentences, 290 paragraphs, 32.8 pages.

The car comes to a stop outside a fancy restaurant. The building is huge, the exterior lit up with soft, warm lights. A Doorman is standing outside, the entrance framed by a pair of elegant lion statues either side.

Bruce gets out first, holding out his hand to help you out of the car. His face is neutral as you step onto the sidewalk, his hand still gripping yours. He gives a short nod to the Doorman, who immediately opens the door to the restaurant without a word.

The interior of the restaurant is just as impressive as the outside. High ceilings, a grand lobby, and a row of archways leading to the dining areas. Expensive artwork hangs on the walls, the lighting soft but flattering. The interior is opulent, with glittering chandeliers and high arched ceilings. The soft buzz of conversation fills the air, mixing with the sound of silverware clinking against china.

The sound of soft classical music filled the air, mingling with low murmurs of hushed conversations. Almost immediately, as soon as Bruce steps inside, the atmosphere hushes. Every eye turns to look at him, then at you. The way everyone was watching you made you squirm. It was like everyone except you was in on some sort of secret.

Bruce leads you through the restaurant, his hand is still holding yours, his steps confident and assured. You get the sense that the staff know him well as you both pass, various people nod in greeting as Bruce murmurs a few words to them.

Finally, you reach a private booths, secluded in a corner, away from any potential interruptions.

The private booth you’re settled into has a dark, rich oak interior, with a large semi-circular leather booth wrapping around the table in the centre. The table is covered in a crisp white tablecloth, with a variety of fine china and sparkling silverware laid out.

Bruce motions for you to take a seat as he slips into the booth opposite you, his eyes still quietly taking in your features. You mumble a soft thanks in return. Feeling well underdressed.

A waiter appears beside your table, a tablet in his hand, a fake, courteous smile on his face as he addresses you both.

"Good evening, Mr Wayne. What can I get for you tonight?"

Bruce’s voice is measured as he responds, his gaze never leaving you. "Good evening. A bottle of the house red, and two glasses, please."

The waiter nods and disappears, leaving the two of you alone and enveloped in quiet. There's a strained atmosphere in the air, Bruce's eyes watching you intently as you shift awkwardly in the booth.

The atmosphere in the booth is tense, the silence between you and Bruce almost deafening. Trying to break the ice, you attempt a joke, your voice soft as you speak.

"Buffet, huh? You'd think a place this fancy would have a set menu."

Bruce quirks an eyebrow at your joke, a small smile flickering across his face. Despite the situation, he can't help but find it endearing.

He leans back in the leather booth, his broad frame taking up the majority of the space. "Well, I figured you might prefer to pick your own food.”

He pauses for a moment, his eyes still trained on you, "Unless you'd rather I pick for you."

Your chuckle is nervous and soft, a strange mix of anxiety and amusement. You feel a touch out of place, sitting in this posh restaurant, with Bruce Wayne staring across at you.

"No, no," you say quickly, "I can pick my own food. I don't want to trouble you."

The tension in the air is thicker now, the weight of expectations almost palpable. You fidgeted nervously in your seat, your eyes darting around the booth before settling back on Bruce's unwavering gaze.

You take a deep breath, your fingers fiddling anxiously with the hem of your shirt. You feel embarrassed, almost vulnerable in your ignorance. "Um, actually," you admit, "I'm not really sure what's on the menu here."

There's a hint of vulnerability in your voice, a vulnerability you'd usually try to hide in these situations. But in front of Bruce, you can feel yourself slipping, your guard lowering just an inch. He always seemed to leave that effect with you.

His expression softens as he watches you fidget nervously across from him. He notices every little detail, the way your fingers play with the hem of your shirt, the way your gaze darts around the booth before settling back on him.

Bruce's eyes soften as he hears the hint of vulnerability in your voice. It's a sound that's all too familiar to him, yet coming from you, it tugs at his heartstrings nonetheless. He leans forward, his forearms resting against the table, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Don't worry about it," he reassures you, his voice gentle, "You don’t have to pretend to have a taste for fine dining or anything. You can tell me what you want, or I can order something for you."

Bruce's words are a surprising contrast to the confident, almost arrogant persona he usually exudes. Here, in this moment, he seems... gentle, almost fragile in his own way.

He pauses for a moment before continuing, his eyes studying your face for any kind of response. "Although, I have to admit, I'm a little surprised to find you out alone at this time of night."

Your head snaps up suddenly as realisation hits you. "Oh, shit." You curse under your breath, your eyes wide with realisation.

The guilt settles in as you start to consider the possibility that you've interrupted something important. Maybe Bruce had a prior commitment, a business meeting or a social event, and you've stumbled right into the middle of it.

"I'm sorry," you say quickly, your voice filled with genuine remorse. "I didn't mean to intrude. Did I ruin your plans for tonight?"

Bruce watches you carefully as your realization sinks in, your eyes widening in guilt. He notices how your body tenses, how your fingers twist nervously in your lap.

He lets your words hang in the air for a moment before responding. "Ruin my plans? You think you're the one interrupting my night?"

His words are soft, but there's a hint of amusement in his tone. As if the thought of you interrupting his plans is almost absurd to him.

Bruce had patiently waited for nearly forty-five minutes, his evening already planned out. He had booked out the entire restaurant, reserved for just the two of you, and a select few of nobodies, with the kitchen specially rented for your taste in food. He had gone through all of this trouble, just to see you.

And now, sitting across from him, you had believed that your little run-in had ruined all of his well-laid plans.

Bruce sees the guilt and worry in your expression, your shoulders tense and brow furrowed. He can't help but feel a pang of something within his chest at your expression. Of course, you would think you ruined his plans, that you somehow inconvenienced him or got in the way of something important.

As your words hang in the air, he considers telling you the truth. That these were his plans. That spending time with you - watching you grow, listening to you breathe, hearing your voice - meant more to him than anything else that the world could ever offer.

Spending time with you, his precious one, trumped all else. He would willingly cancel any other plans, rearrange any meetings, just for the opportunity to sit across from you like this. Spending time with you trumps anything and everything else.

Tonight, however, he would feign ignorance. He would act as if you were merely a convenient disruption to his otherwise busy schedule. He didn't want you to know the extent of his dedication and devotion to you. Not yet. One day you would come to be aware of the fact. Tonight however, he’ll pretend.

Bruce's face betrays nothing as he watches the guilt and worry etched on your features. He can see it clearly, the worry and guilt in the set of your shoulders, the furrow of your brow. It hurts him to see you this way, to think that somehow, you are the one who ruined his evening plans.

As your words hang in the air, a deep, silent pang resonates within his chest. He can see the tension in your shoulders, the furrow of your brow as you chew on your lip. He notices every little change in your expression, and it makes his heart ache a little bit. He wants to tell you. He wants to reassure you. To tell you that you didn't ruin anything, that you were the plan.

Finally, he lets out a soft sigh, his voice breaking the silence. "You didn't ruin anything," he says, his voice low and reassuring. "I'm not too bothered. It's not like I had something particularly important to do tonight."

He pauses for a moment, watching as your expression changes to reflect the relief that washes over you. He can see the tension leaving your body as his words sink in.

He lets out a soft chuckle, his mouth curving into a small smile. "Besides, I'd rather spend my night out with you than anyone else."

He's treading dangerously close to revealing just how important you are to him, how much you actually mean. But he just can't keep the words from escaping. To not let you know who you really are to him. You were his child. His sweet, broken, child. One that he will soon mend back together gently. Give you everything you deserved yet never got to experience.

Your expression immediately relaxes, relief washing over your face as you take in his words. It's hard to describe the feeling that floods through you. It's a strange mixture of comfort, surprise, and reassurance.

His soft chuckle and smile bring a warmth to your chest that only he can manage to ignite.

As he says he'd rather spend the night with you than anyone else, your breath catches in your throat.

You can feel the danger in his words, his care and devotion carefully concealed behind a thinly veiled facade. There's a raw honesty to his tone that makes you shiver.

The meaning behind his words hitting you like a wave. This man, this powerful, wealthy, influential man, would rather spend his time with you.

You have to bite your lip to conceal the small smile. No one has said they’d rather spend their time with you. Definitely not that woman. It so unexpected and makes you feel all warm and fuzzy.

The way your expression relaxes, the surprise and relief etched on your features, makes his chest tighten a little bit. It's a feeling he's never experienced before. You're reacting in a way that is completely foreign to him. Completely new. Something he's never really gotten to experience.

Bruce notices that you're biting back a smile, and a wave of satisfaction courses through him. He's able to elicit such an unexpected, genuine reaction from you. One he's sure you don't give to just anyone. It's a feeling of pride.

He’ll have to message Tim to send him the cameras footage of that moment later.

The waiter suddenly reappears at the table, a bottle of wine and two glasses in his hands.

Bruce's attention momentarily diverts as he nods his thanks to the waiter, taking the bottle and the pair of glasses.

He gives the waiter a dismissive gesture, indicating that he can take his leave. The waiter murmurs a soft, "Please enjoy your evening, Mr Wayne," before he exits the booth once more.

He pops the cork from the wine with ease, his hands almost like a practiced expert.

He then pours a generous amount into both glasses, the liquid a dark, rich color as it sloshes against the glass.

He hands you one of the glasses, his fingers brushing against yours for just a moment as his eyes meet yours.

"Take a sip," he says, his voice surprisingly gentle.

“Oh. I’m not the biggest wine drin...” the words die on your tongue by the encouraging grin on his lips. You look down to the rich red liquid, swirling the glass for a second before closing your eyes and drowning down a small sip.

It... wasn’t bad.

He watches as you hesitate, the words dying on your tongue, before taking a small sip of the wine. He can see the surprise flicker in your eyes as you taste the liquid. There's a hint of doubt on your face, as if you're expecting it to taste awful.

When you don't wince or make a facial expression, he lets out a soft chuckle. A satisfied sound that's low and gravelly.

"See? I don't have that bad taste in wine, do I?"

You manage to make a small sound of agreement, despite the heat of embarrassment that creeps up your face.

His chuckle, low and gravelly, sends a shiver down your spine. It's a sound that never fails to make you feel both calm and a bit flustered.

You take another, slightly larger sip of wine this time, the liquid warm as it slides down your throat, leaving a pleasant burn in its wake.

He observes as you swallow the wine, his eyes never leaving your face. He can see the slight flush to your cheeks, the way your body reacts to the warm liquid in your system. There's a small spark of triumph in his eyes.

He takes a sip of his own glass, his gaze still fixed on you.

"You're not a frequent drinker, right?" he asks, his tone casual. He already knows the answer.

You shake your head, the heat still present on your cheeks. You take another small sip of the wine, almost in an effort to cool down.

"No, I'm not," you admit, your voice a touch more shy than you wanted it to be, "I don't really drink that much. Bad experiences in the past.”

It was the truth. You didn't drink often, and you certainly didn't want to accidentally embarrass yourself in front of Bruce Wayne of all people. And the men that woman used to bring home left a sour view on alcohol for you.

His eyes soften a bit at your admission, a look of quiet understanding passing over his features. He lets the silence hang for a moment before responding.

"I see," he says. There's an undertone in his voice, almost a hint of anger at the implications of your past.

But he doesn't press the subject any further. He has his suspicions, but he won't ask you to dig up painful memories. At least, not here. Not now. Maybe someday. Maybe someday he'll get you to open up to him fully.

As the quiet stretches between you two, you take another sip of the wine, letting the warmth of the liquid soothe your nerves.

You can feel his eyes watching you, his gaze steady and intense, even as he tries to soften his features. It feels both terrifying and reassuring at the same time. Terrifying, because you feel so seen under his gaze. And reassuring, because you trust that he's being sincere.

The wine is starting to take effect now, your head feeling a bit fuzzy, your inhibitions slightly lowered.

The change in topic is abrupt, but it allows you a moment to compose yourself.

Bruce's voice breaks the silence, his fingers absentmindedly rolling the stem of his wine glass between them as he addresses you. "Have you had enough time to think over what you're craving?" he inquires, his eyes fixed on your face, observing your expression. His gaze soft.

Your thoughts are slightly fuzzy now, the wine having settled in your stomach, making it easier for you to express yourself.

You think for a moment, your mind swirling as you try to think of something to eat. Your first instinct is to tell him it doesn't matter, that you can eat anything. But the look on his face, the way he's studying you, tells you that he won't accept that answer.

So you say the first thing that comes to your mind.

"Nuggets," you murmur.

Humiliation washes over you, the realization of your faux pas sinking in. You cringe inwardly, mentally kicking yourself for even entertaining the idea that there might be something like a children's menu in a high-class establishment like this one. There's practically a "no minors allowed" sign plastered over the door. You can almost hear the staff snickering behind your back.

You want to bang your head against the table, sink into the leather seats and disappear.

He can't help but raise an eyebrow at your response. Nuggets.

He almost wants to laugh, the sound bubbling up in his chest. He manages to hold it back however, sensing the embarrassment that's painted on your face. There's a certain... charm to your honest, albeit slightly tipsy response.

But he finds the suggestion endearing, the image of you with a plate of nuggets amusing. It's such a simple request, a request that so many people would immediately dismiss. But the fact that you had suggested it, had actually thought there was a possibility of this place offering such a thing, somehow makes his chest feel lighter.

Your ears burn with embarrassment, and your eyes fall to the table, avoiding his gaze. You half expect him to roll his eyes, to make some comment about how childish your choice is.

But instead, you notice a flicker of something in his eyes before he speaks. It's a mixture of surprise, and something akin to amusement.

He holds back a laugh, the sound coming out as a low rumble in his chest. When he speaks, there's a hint of a smile on his face. "Nuggets, huh?"

The heat on your face increases at his words, your cheeks flushed with a mixture of the wine and the embarrassment. Your hands fidget nervously in your lap, fingers twisting and untwisting, looking for something to do.

You can't believe you just admitted that. That you actually suggested you order nuggets in a fancy establishment like this one. God, this is so pathetic.

You open your mouth to try to amend your statement, trying to salvage the already ruined evening, but no words come out.

He notices your flustered state, the way your face is flushed and your hands nervously fidgeting in your lap. It's an endearing sight, and he feels a pang in his chest, a mixture of protectiveness and affection. He wants to reassure you, to tell you that there's nothing wrong with wanting nuggets.

He lets out another soft chuckle, his eyes softening even more as he speaks. "Hey, there's nothing wrong with that. I can order them for you."

He’s silently thanking Dick for the list of food places you frequent.

Your face only flushes deeper, the heat practically emanating from your skin now. You hadn't expected him to actually agree to it. You were sure he'd laugh, or tell you to pick something more suitable for your surroundings.

You hazard a glance up at him, meeting his gaze, and are met with a soft, earnest look in his eyes. He's not mocking you. He's not looking down on you.

The realisation sends a wave of relief through you, and the words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them. "You would? Really?"

Jason would have made fun of you for how you sounded.

"Of course," he responds immediately, his tone completely genuine.

He motions to the waiter, who's standing at a discrete distance, waiting to be summoned. It takes only a moment for the waiter to hurry over to the table, his expression schooled into perfect professionalism.

Bruce addresses the waiter bluntly. "Nuggets," he states, his eyes flicking back to you, silently asking you to confirm.

When you avoid the waiters eye contact Bruce lets out a small chuckle, quickly hidden into his palm as if he’d coughed. “And one medium rare steak with mixed vegetables.”

The waiter nods, his expression remaining neutral, though you can see a hint of bemusement in his eyes. To hear Bruce Wayne, billionaire and Gotham City's biggest philanthropist, order nuggets of all things must be an unusual sight for the man.

You can't help but feel relieved that the waiter doesn't comment on the order though. The last thing you need is even more embarrassment.

Your eyes widen a bit at the addition of the steak, and you shoot Bruce a questioning glance.

Bruce catches your questioning glance, his eyes sparkling with an impish mischief. He can see the surprise and confusion in your expression, and he can’t help but smirk a bit.

"Don't worry," he assures you, his tone a touch too innocent, “the steak's for me.”

You deadpan. Seriously? That was his way of assuaging your worries? Steak for him?

As you give him a flat look, he can't help but chuckle at your unimpressed expression.

"What?" he asks, feigning innocence, "I'm hungry."

He leans back into his seat, a small, amused smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he watches you. He can see the mixture of surprise and skepticism on your face, and he finds it almost endearing.

You roll your eyes, a small huff escaping your throat. Typical rich guy, ordering steak.

There's a comfortable silence that falls over the both of you, as you watch the waiter walk away from the table. The alcohol in your system has left you feeling a bit light-headed, and you can’t help but feel a bit more at ease. Like you can fully relax for once.

But a question burns at the back of your mind, and the alcohol makes it a bit easier to voice it.

You break the silence, your voice somewhat slurred as you speak. "Can I ask you something?" you say, your tone casual.

Bruce turns his attention fully back to you, his gaze steady and attentive. He can see the light flush on your cheeks, a result of the alcohol in your system.

"Of course," he responds, leaning forward a little bit, "ask me anything."

You pause for a moment, searching for the right words as you try to articulate your thoughts. Your mind is a muddled mess of alcohol and shyness, which makes it a bit harder than usual for you to speak. But with a bit of willpower, you manage to push the words out of your mouth.

"Why do you do what you do? Why do you want me to do it?" you ask, your voice soft.

His eyebrow raises in a silent, inquiring question, encouraging you to elaborate on your question.

Your voice cuts through the air, your words firm and a touch bewildered. "Everything," you gesture emphatically with your hand, the vague motion encompassing everything you're trying to convey. "The business. Helping people, charities. You could have anyone to do whatever you wanted."

You pause for a moment, your confusion and disbelief clear in your expression as you meet his gaze. "Why would you need to fund my random blog?"

Bruce leans back into his seat, his features taking on a contemplative look. He can sense the confusion and disbelief in your tone, and he can understand why you're asking such a question.

He takes a moment to answer, letting his words settle in your mind. When he speaks again, his voice is steady and sincere.

"It's simple really," he says, his eyes never leaving yours. "I see potential. I see someone who’s willing to try, to make a difference. I suppose I just want to give you the means to do it."

It’s a nice sentiment, but you can tell he’s holding something back.

Your eyes flick to his face, searching his expression for any hint of deception. But there’s nothing but honesty in his gaze. He truly believes in you, in your potential. The thought is both thrilling and terrifying.

You try to process his words, the weight of what he’s saying slowly sinking in.

There’s a question burning on the tip of your tongue, but you’re hesitant to ask it. It feels too personal, too vulnerable. But the alcohol in your system makes you brave, and the question slips out of your mouth before you have a chance to stop it.

"Why me?" Your voice is soft, almost inaudible.

Bruce's gaze softens at your question, his eyes studying your face intently.

"Why not you?" he replies. The words are simple, but they carry a weight to them.

He can see the vulnerability in your expression, the desire to hear a more detailed answer. But there’s a part of him that’s hesitant to fully divulge his reasons.

You lean back against the plush leather of your seat, your thoughts racing.

You're honestly not sure how to respond to that. The depth and sincerity behind his words catch you off guard, and you're momentarily at a loss for what to say.

Bruce watches the emotions play across your face, the mixture of surprise and flattery at his answer. He can tell you’re surprised, maybe even a bit wary in accepting his response. But he can also see a hint of curiosity, a hint of eagerness to know the why behind him.

He takes a subtle breath before he speaks, choosing his words carefully.

"Because I believe you have a voice worth listening to," he says quietly.

You bite your tongue, looking away in thought.

Bruce knew that his words would get to you. That he could charm his way through an explanation rather than admit the truth.

You can feel his words stirring something within you, a mixture of emotions. On one hand, it's flattering, almost dizzying, to know that someone like Bruce Wayne believes in you that much. But on the other hand, there's a nagging skepticism, an inkling that there's more to his reasons than he's letting on.

Your fingers pick at the fabric of your sleeve, a nervous habit you can never quite shake off. You glance up at him, your eyes meeting his.

"Is that really the only reason?" you ask, your voice tinged with uncertainty.

Bruce can see the skepticism in your eyes, the way your fingers pick nervously at the fabric of your clothes. He can tell you're searching for more, that you want to hear a deeper reason for his actions.

His gaze doesn’t waver, his composure not faltering even a bit.

"Why? Do you think there's another reason?" he asks, his tone as casual as ever, betraying nothing of his inner thoughts.

You shake your head, feeling slightly flustered at his response. You had hoped he'd offer up more information, give you a deeper explanation. But he's not budging, not willing to divulge more than he's letting on.

You let out a small, frustrated huff, the sound almost inaudible. You're not sure how to respond to his casual denial, his nonchalance in dismissing your question.

For a brief moment, you almost contemplate asking more direct and personal questions. But the moment passes, and the waiter returns with your food.

The waiter silently places your plate in front of you, the golden-brown nuggets sitting innocently on the white china. There's an awkward moment of silence as Bruce and yourself glance at the plate, before the waiter quietly slips away.

You stare at the heaped plate of food before you, your eyes widening at the sheer amount of food placed before you. The white china plate is practically overflowing, not a single part of it left untouched by the generous portions of food. You swallow hard, your gaze shifting to Bruce, who is calmly cutting into his own steak.

"Why is there so much...?" you can't help but ask, your voice laced with bewilderment. "Is this normal here?"

No, this isn't normal. Bruce has made arrangements to ensure you have a substantial meal, much more than usual. He’d grown worried over the small portions you’ve been making for yourself recently. Each day watching the cameras with an angered expression. So you will be eating every piece of chicken on that plate and you will be enjoying it.

He’s scolded Jason far too many times for letting you do this to yourself, it’s about time he’d taken it into his own hands.

Bruce can see the surprise written all over your face, the way your eyes widen at the sight of the food on your plate. He lets out a small, amused huff, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

"They tend to be... generous with their portions here," he responds, an air of nonchalance in his tone. "Don't waste it."

He cuts another piece of his steak, taking a bite as he watches you. His gaze flicks back and forth between his own plate and yours, making sure you’re actually eating.

You swallow hard, your gaze shifting back to your plate. You're not sure how you're supposed to eat this much food, let alone even finish it. The small bites you're accustomed to taking seem pitiful in comparison to the massive amount of food before you. But you know you can't refuse, not with Bruce watching you, silently waiting for you to take a bite.

You pick up a single nugget, gingerly taking a bite. The crisp texture and flavor of the nugget fill your senses, and for a moment you momentarily forget about your worries.

Bruce watches you carefully, his gaze fixed on your every move. He takes another bite of his steak, his eyes lingering on you for a few moments longer before he speaks.

"Slow down, you'll choke," he advises, his tone jokingly admonishing.

You pause for a moment, the nugget halfway to your mouth. You shoot him a brief glare, momentarily forgetting your manners.

"No, I won't," you argue, your voice slightly muffled as you chew.

Bruce can't help but suppress a small chuckle. Your stubbornness amuses him, your irritation at his comment almost endearing.

"You will," he says, his tone firm, though there’s an amused sparkle in his eyes. "You're eating too fast. Slow down, enjoy the food."

He takes another bite of his steak, his gaze still fixed on you. It’s amusing to see you pout at him, your expression somewhere between annoyance and embarrassment.

You huff in irritation, rolling your eyes at his words. But deep down, you know he's right, his voice echoing your own internal thoughts.

You take a moment to collect yourself, forcing yourself to slow down as you take another bite. The food is good, the flavors rich and satisfying. But you can't help but grumble under your breath.

Your words are delivered with a mix of petulance and half-hearted jest. "You're not my parent, you know," you mutter, the words leaving your mouth with a hint of teasing.

It's clear you're unaware of the way his knuckles tighten around the handle of the knife until they're almost white, nor do you notice the way his jaw clenches ever so slightly at your words. You're entirely oblivious to the possessive, dark fatherly look that flashes in his eyes.

Bruce has to bite his tongue to refrain from correcting you. He was your dad. You just didn't know it yet.

Patience, he has to remind himself.

Bruce is thankful for the years of his rigid self-discipline, years of controlling his thoughts, feelings, and emotions. He’s thankful for the tight control he has over his mind, the strict control over his senses. Because in that moment, the urge to correct you, to claim you as his child is immense. It’s difficult for him to keep his words at bay.

He clears his throat, the sound more of a forced noise than anything. His voice is slightly strained as he responds to your words. Though he forces the calm, steady tone of his words to remain.

"Just eat your food.”

You're too preoccupied with the taste of the food in your mouth to notice his brief change in tone. His words break you out of your thoughts, your attention shifting to him.

You glance back down at the plate in front of you, the pile of food still standing despite your efforts to eat it.

"I’m trying," you say, a slight hint of annoyance in your tone. "But you're giving me a lot of food here."

Bruce remains silent, his gaze fixated on your plate, calculating the amount of food left.

He takes a moment to think, silently observing you. He scans the remaining food on your plate, mentally calculating how many more bites you’d have to take. He’s not satisfied in the slightest, not until he can see your plate completely empty. He needs to be sure you're going to finish all of it.

“You can do it,” he says, his words a simple, casual statement.

You groan. “dude.”

You roll your eyes at his words, your annoyance with the situation growing. The amount of food still left in front of you seems almost intimidating, especially with Bruce silently watching you.

You’re not used to eating so much, and the thought of finishing all of it makes you slightly nauseous.

“I feel like I’m being fattened up for something,” you grumble under your breath, your tone half-serious, half-joking.

Bruce leans back in his seat, a silent chuckle escaping his lips at your comment. The sound is subtle, only barely heard in the quiet restaurant.

The corners of his mouth twitch, a hint of a smirk forming.

“You ate more than this the last time we were out together, kid.” He says in return, his voice teasing.

His words are meant in playful jest, but there’s a hint of possessiveness in his tone, a hint of protectiveness, the protective fatherly instinct lingering within him.

Your eyes widen in surprise at his words, your expression quickly morphing into annoyance.

"Oh, shut up," you retort, a hint of petulance in your tone. You continue to eat, trying to ignore the smug smile on his face.

You chew on a nugget for a few moments, contemplating his words. "...You remember that?”

Bruce’s smirk widens, watching as your expression morphs to an obvious mixture of surprise, annoyance, and mild humiliation. His tone is casual, yet the amusement is obvious.

“Of course I do,” he responds simply. “I pay attention to things.”

For a normal person, what you ate over two weeks ago would be forgettable, insignificant. But Bruce Wayne isn’t a normal person, not by a long shot. He’s observant, his mind committing details to memory almost second nature to him. Anything that relates to you he makes sure to keep note of. All of his kids interest, really.

You huff in annoyance at his response.

“Oh, right. You’re a billionaire, how could I forget,” you snark back, rolling your eyes at the casual way he responded.

The fact that he’d remembered such a small, insignificant detail of your night together caught you off guard. And for a brief moment, it makes you feel… special, the idea that you’re important enough for him to remember things about you.

“What else do you remember from that night?” you ask, your curiosity getting the better of you.

Bruce takes a moment to respond, his gaze locked on yours. There’s an almost imperceptible smirk on his face, a hint of pride.

He remembers the entire night, every little detail. Every word that slipped from your lips, every small gesture you made. He remembers it all, committing each memory to the back of his mind. And even if you could somehow forget the colour of your coat, he’s always got the footage from that night to look over time and time again.

But he won’t tell you that, not yet. Instead, he responds with a casual yet vague answer.

“I remember a lot.”

You hum, “mysterious.”

You raise an eyebrow at his response, the vague yet casual tone of his voice. It’s an answer that gives nothing away, yet at the same time makes it clear that he remembers more than he’s letting on.

The thought of all the possible things he could remember makes something churn in your stomach. Part of you wants to pry, to ask more.

But you know better. There’s a reason Bruce Wayne is Gotham City’s most popular billionaire. The man’s secretive, that much is clear.

Your curious expression does not escape Bruce’s notice. He can see the way you’re contemplating your next question, your mind working a mile a minute.

His gaze flickers over your expression, taking in every detail. He knows you’re tempted to ask more, to pry and probe him for more information. He can read you almost as easily as he reads a book.

But he remains calm and collected, his smile never wavering.

“Finishing your food, yet?” he asks in return, his tone shifting the topic away from his memory.

Your eyes widen in surprise, darting down to the plate in front of you. Two lonely nuggets stare back at you, their former coating of sauce now reduced to a glistening sheen.

The sight of the near-empty plate triggers a wave of realization. You had been so caught up in conversation that you hadn't even realized how quickly the food on your plate had vanished, the satisfying sensation of your grumbling stomach barely even registering in your awareness.

Bruce can see the moment realization washes over you. The way your eyes widen, the surprised expression that crosses your features.

He can tell you hadn’t even noticed how quickly you’d finished your food, too caught up in conversation to pay attention to the almost empty plate.

He lets out a small, pleased hum, his eyes flickering across your face for a moment longer before he speaks.

“See, that wasn’t so hard,” he teases quietly.

You flush, your cheeks burning slightly from embarrassment. It’s embarrassing to think that you’d actually finished all the food on your plate, without even realizing it.

You open your mouth to reply, but Bruce continues.

“One more bite,” he says, his tone almost fatherly, yet firm. His gaze flicks down to the two last nuggets on your plate.

You look down at the food, your stomach feeling full. You don’t think you can eat anymore without feeling nauseous. But the expectant look on Bruce’s face makes it clear this is not a request.

The tone of his voice, the fatherly insistence of his words, leaves no room for argument. The way his eyes flicker expectantly to the two remaining nuggets on your plate tells you that it’s not a request. It’s a demand.

You grimace slightly. The thought of forcing down one more bite of food makes your full stomach churn, the feeling of nausea rising in your gut.

“I feel like I’m gonna be sick,” you protest, your voice almost a petulant whine.

“No, you won’t,” Bruce responds simply. He can see the nausea in your face, the look of discomfort in your eyes. But he’s not backing down from this, not now.

His jaw is set, his gaze unwavering as he locks eyes with you, silently making it clear he won’t accept any arguing.

He leans forward just slightly, his gaze intensifying the slightest bit. “Now eat, Sunshine.”

You want to simultaneously kick his face in and curl up into a small ball of fuzz.

You don’t think that you’ve ever been talked to this way. Not even by the woman who raised you. It’s new.

There’s an authority in his tone, a hint of possessiveness in his gaze. He’s telling you what to do, demanding you finish the food on your plate, expecting you to listen to his every word.

It’s a tone that makes you want to both melt into a puddle and stand your ground and refuse. It’s a tone that makes your gut flip, your heart flutter, the butterflies in your stomach suddenly flying around in an erratic mess. Not in any sexual way, but in a way that makes you long.

“...Sunshine?” you murmur, looking up at him with an arched eyebrow.

A hint of a smile tugs at the corners of Bruce’s lips when he notices your reaction to his tone, the arch of your eyebrow at his nickname. He knows it caught your attention, the way your eyes widened slightly, the way your voice came out as a soft murmur.

“Yeah,” he repeats in a matter-of-fact tone, the hint of a smirk still on his face. “Sunshine.”

His gaze flickered over your expression, taking in every little detail. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was almost preening.

The tone of his voice, the way he said the single word, sends a shiver down your spine. It sounds almost sweet, almost affectionate. The way he glances over you, the way his gaze seems to linger over you, it’s as if he’s claiming you as his.

“That’s a weird nickname..” you say, your voice almost timid. You can’t keep the hint of a flush from your cheeks.

“Why Sunshine?”

His smirk widening at your quiet words. He can see the way your gaze flickers away, avoiding his, the way the flush on your cheeks deepens.

“Why not?” he counters, his tone almost challenging. He takes a moment, his eyes flickering up and down your face.

“You’re a little ray of sunshine, kid,” he says eventually, his voice quieter but almost affectionate.

The rest of the night blurs together in a rapid succession of events that seem to move almost too fast for your brain to register. In a flash, you find yourself stepping out of the luxurious limousine, the streetlights casting a soft glow on the sidewalk.

Bruce’s larger hand still grips your shoulder, his grip both supportive and affectionate. His voice is warm as he bids you farewell, his words echoing in your ears.

"Good night," he says, his voice gentle yet firm. "I’ll see you soon."

Had you given the man your address...?

You chalk it up to the wine. Bringing your hand up to wave the black vehicle goodbye before adventuring up the worn down familiar steps that you called home.

As you wave farewell to the retreating car, you find yourself pondering for a moment whether or not you had actually given Bruce the address to your apartment. Perhaps the wine had been to blame.

With a slight shake of your head, you turn away from the departing limousine and begin your familiar ascent up the worn-down steps of the building you called home. The night air is cool and crisp, the glow of the streetlights casting elongated shadows on the concrete paths and cracked walls.

You linger outside the door of your apartment building, your keys clutched in your hand. For a few moments, you simply stand there, the cool night air caressing your skin as you press your forehead against the solid wooden frame.

You can't help but let out a soft sigh, the thought of facing Jason on the other side of that door not very appealing. You're not quite ready to deal with him just yet.

With a deep breath, you finally push yourself away from the door, the cool night air still caressing your face as you turn your attention back to the lock. You insert the key into the keyhole and twist it, the familiar click of the lock sliding open filling the air around you. As you push open the door, you brace yourself for what awaits inside.

As you step into the apartment, you're met with a peculiar sight. The living room is dark, save for a few dim shafts of light filtering in from outside and casting flickering shadows across the furniture. There's a strange stillness to the air, an aura of tension that you can feel even before registering the shape sitting nonchalantly on the couch, illuminated by the silvery moonlight.

Jason's tall form is casually sprawled across the piece of furniture, his body tense and his gaze focused on you with an unwavering intensity.

The moment you step into the living room, your eyes immediately land on Jason's form lounging on the couch. His tall frame is casually sprawled across the furniture, each muscle taut with an obvious tension. His eyes, sharp and dark, fix on you with a penetrative intensity that makes your skin tingle.

He doesn't move or speak, instead choosing to regard you with a quiet, almost unsettling stillness. The silence stretches on, the only sound the soft hush of the night outside and the faint ticking of the clock.

Your lips are caught between your teeth as you approach, your movements tentative and slow. Your eyes remain fixed on his face, his tense expression unwavering as you come closer.

Finally, you stop a few feet away, clutching a small bag in your hands tightly. Without a word, you hold it out in front of him, the rustle of the paper bag breaking the heavy silence.

Jason's eyes flicker to the bag extended towards him, tracking your movements with a guarded wariness. He makes no move to take it, instead regarding you with a suspicious eye.

A beat of tense silence passes before he finally responds, his voice low and gruff. "What's that?"

“An apology for storming out.”

Your response is quiet and deliberate, your voice carrying a hint of remorse. Jason regards you for a moment, his eyes fixated on your face. Finally, he shifts slightly, leaning forward to accept the bag from your hand.

His fingers brush against yours, the touch brief yet sparking a small jolt of electricity up your arm. "An apology, huh?" he responds, his voice a touch gruff but edged with a trace of reluctant understanding.

"It's your favourite," you motion, the words leaving your mouth in a soft whisper.

A small moment of silence passes before Jason responds again, his voice a bit gentler this time. "You didn’t have to," he replies, an unexpected but noticeable shift in his tone.

He regards you for a moment longer, a touch of surprise in his expression, before lifting the bag and peeking inside. At the sight of the familiar, beloved treats, a flicker of warmth sparks across his face. He looks up, meeting your gaze.

"You remembered," he mutters, his voice still gruff but laced with a hint of begrudging gratitude.

You nod your response, your movements weary as you finally collapse onto the couch beside Jason. Your body sinks into the soft cushions, the weariness of the day seeping into your bones.

"Made a stop on my way home," you explain, your voice quiet yet clear in the softly lit living room.

Jason grunts, acknowledging your explanation with a barely perceptible nod. He's still carefully avoiding your gaze, his focus fixed on the bag of treats. He’s not really angry. He never could be. Not with you.

After a moment of silence, he finally speaks, his voice a mix of gruffness and reluctant warmth. “Thanks,” he mumbles, the words a testament to his gratefulness despite his usual tough demeanor.

“Anytime man.”

Jason glances up at your response, his eyes flickering to your face. A brief moment of quiet passes, the sound of the night creatures outside the only background to the silent exchange between you two.

Eventually, he replies, a hint of gruff warmth lacing his words. “Damn right, anytime.”

Jason’s eyes flick up as you let out a small, amused snicker at his words. A small, sardonic grin pulls at his mouth, his shoulders relaxing just a bit.

"You think that's funny?" he mutters, his voice edged with amusement.

He teases, his voice taking on a more playful edge. "Don't see what's so funny about me saying you can bring home my favourite treats anytime you want."

Your snicker only increases in volume in response to his faux-offended tone, a smile slowly breaking out on your face. Jason's stoic expression cracks just a little at the sight, a reluctant smile pulling at his own mouth. He scoops his arm around your waist and pulls you close.

His large arm hooks easily around your waist, giving a gentle tug that pulls you closer to him. You end up pressed against his side, the warmth of his body seeping into your own. Despite the initial surprise at the sudden movement, you don't resist.

Jason keeps his grip on your waist firm, holding you against him as he shifts a bit to make room for you on the couch. His body is warm and solid beside you, a comforting presence in the dimness of the living room.

He leans back against the couch, his arm still around you as his gaze once again drifts down to the bag of treats in his lap.

"You always know what’ll get me to forgive you, don’t you?" he mutters, his voice low, yet holding a hint of affection.

His fingers idly play with the edges of the bag, the slight rustle of the paper filling the quiet space between you.

“Yep.” You pop the p.

No use of y/n, no descriptive features for the reader mentioned, no gender.

Did I drone on about nuggets? Whattttt nooooo… you must have read that wrong.

Tag list: @zero-s-tea @chemicalsandghosts @yandere-enthusiast @starsdotalk @small-mushroom-fae @wpdarlingpan @dhanyasri @tojislvrr @phoenixgurl030 @mel-star636 @lilyalone @lavender-moony @nickey-diano @sociallyakwardpanda @obsessedwithromance @thickerthanthieves @nckcn @xxrougefangxx

For the Americans, your weird only being able to drink when you’re 21 law doesn’t exist anymore, you’ve joined the rest of the world at 18.

[tojipie]

3:30

pt. 2

content: age gap, reader of age as always, dilf toji, nsfw, teasing

──────────────────────

“toji?” you stand in the doorway of the older man’s bedroom, anxiously playing with the hem of your sweater. the suns only barely began to peek through the blinds of the house, shrouding his form in a blanket of semi-darkness.

you anxiously watch the rise and fall of his chest, waiting for a reply. the deep rumble of his breath fills the room as you rethink whether you should bother him on his only day off.

“i missed the bus.” you whisper apologetically, padding to the side of his bed and prodding his buff shoulders with your much smaller hand. “m’sorry.”

the huff the older man let’s out only makes you feel worse as you watch him turn over, pulling the covers over himself and settling deeper into the mattess .

“‘m’sorry toji…” you whine over the lump forming in your throat. the pressure you feel behind your eyes soon gives way to the feeling of watery tears. “i-it’s finals week a-and—“

“you know why i let you live with gumi n’ me pretty girl?” he cuts you off abruptly, eyes still closed as he mumbles into his pillow.

you’re taken aback by the question, unsure whether he wants an actual answer or not.

“cause my parents kicked me out?” you mumble, rubbing the wetness from your eyes with the back of your hand.

“cause i knew you’re not the kind of broad who likes to be a fucking bother.” he states plainly, finally opening a sleep-swollen eye to look back at you with a half grin.

you’re about to apologize again but quickly quiet down and step back once he rises from the covers. toji reaches for the jug of water by his night stand, taking a hearty swing before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. his eyes rake over your form, stopping appreciatively at your bottom half.

“fuck you got on?” he asks, taking another swing of water. the sleazy grin on his face let’s you know he’s just teasing.

“it’s our uniform.” you state plainly, a little embarrassed from the attention. you lean forward and look down at your bare legs, smoothing the creases in your skirt with your hands. “megumi kind of wears the same thing, just with slacks. you’ve seen him.”

“megumi doesn’t roll his little skirt up like a tease, sweet girl.” the older man chuckles, lifting the hem of your sweater to thumb at your double-folded waistband.

“everyone does that.” you mutter, stepping back to hide the way your thighs squeeze together at his whims.

“oh yeah?” toji rises with a groan and passes you without so much as a glance, yawning and rubbing the sleep from his face with a calloused hand.

“get my keys.” he tells you. “fuck... what i gotta take care of you too?”

˚ ✧ ───────────

“thank you for driving me.” you mumble, closing your eyes at the feeling of the warm spring air circulating through the car. toji has the roof down, clad in a black wife beater as he taps the steering wheel to the beat of the song currently booming through the classic vehicle.

“huh?” he leans in, motioning for you to tell him in his ear, clearly unable to hear you over the music.

“wh- thank you for driving me!” you half yell, eyes wandering to the half empty bottles of water that line the floor of his green dodge.

“yeah, you’re good doll.” he tells you, still nodding along to the song. “don’t worry about it.”

you’re thankful to have no onlookers as the two of you pull up to the front of campus. the older man makes no effort to turn down the radio, unlocking the car and lighting a cigarette while you gather your bag from the backseat.

“i’ll pick you up, ok?”

you pause, looking up at him with unease.

“you don’t have to..”

“i want to.” he tells you, blowing smoke to the side with a grin. “i’ll take you for ice cream or something. you like shit like that right?”

you nod, mouth slightly agape at his sudden show of interest. you could do ice cream, in fact you’d love to do ice cream.

“3:30 then?” you ask him, padding over to the door of the driver’s side.

he nods, taking another drag.

“thank you.” you mumble, leaning over to press a sweet kiss to the soft of his cheek, immediately recoiling in embarrassment.

“fuck.” he groans, reaching over to smack the back of your thigh with a calloused hand. smoke trails over his lips when he speaks.

“yeah, 3:30.”

you feel your stomach melt as you watch him drive away. what you don’t see is the ways he snakes one hand down to give his cock a squeeze before turning the radio up further.

[carlsangel]

VIRGINITY (PART ONE)

carl grimes x fem!reader

(you and carl ask for some advice.)

tags: mentions of sex, mentions of loss of virginity, the talk

masterlist here!

read part two!!!

You think about sex all the time. It sounds wrong but it’s true, you’re a teenager, it’s on your mind. You often wonder truly what it’s like. What it feels like, why people rave about it so much, why it’s such a huge part of who people are. It always confused you but you were curious. You’ve seen movies before, the classic make out between two people that would cut to them naked with the sheets covering their top half.

You wanted to know if it was like it was in the movies. That’s why, after a while of you and Carl dating, you’d come to the realization that you would soon lose your virginity. As weird as it sounds, the two of you were constantly worked up. Maybe it was the fact you loved each other so much or maybe because you lived in a world where you could die any second. You were genuinely worried to die a virgin.

Anyway, the both of you had countless make out sessions where you both pawed at each other to no end that you believed would finally end up with him inside of you. Every time you were interrupted. It was never the right time, there was just simply too much going on whenever you two tried. There was always someone in the house, God knows how much Rick hates to knock. You guys always had to watch over the baby and you couldn’t leave her unattended because her naps never lasted long.

You talked about it and you’d actually planned on trying the next time Rick and Michonne were out of the house for a while, as long as you were up for it. You’d have Olivia watch Judith, you’ll figure out some lie to tell her.

When Rick mentioned a supply run that they’d be gone for, you two gave each other a look but acted like everything is normal. Inside, you were excited to have a couple days to yourself. But then it hit you.

You’ve never had sex, how are you meant to know what you’re doing? There was nothing you could look at to give you a clue as to how everything worked. Carl didn’t have a clue either, so he went to the one guy knew to ask. You went to the one girl you knew to ask as well.

“Hey, Glenn?” Carl approaches him while he was working on a car near the gates of Alexandria. He didn’t want you to know he was asking how to have sex, he much rather you assume he knew what he was doing and let him handle it. Glenn looked up from the car and wiped his forehead of the sweat. “Hey.” He responds, looking between Carl and the car.

“I sort of need some advice…if you’re able to help.” His tone is embarrassing, he’s obviously gotten the talk but he was never told what exactly to do. “Uh yeah I have some time.” Glenn places the tool in his hand down on the floor, standing up to wipe his hands off. “What’s up?”

Carl looks at him hesitantly but knows he has to do this. “So um…I know like…what sex is but, i was wondering if you could tell me a bit more how it um..how it works?” He rambles, watching Glenn’s eyes go wide at his words. “Uhhhh….” Glenn thinks for a moment, the moment getting increasingly awkward as he stalled. “Well, use protection.” He swallows hard, trying a tone of voice to make the situation less weird. Carl makes an odd face at him, sort of cringing. “W-well do you need one- a condom? Like is that why you’re…” Glenn’s voice trails off when he realizes that Carl is actually asking so he can act on his advice.

Carl looks at him and nods, hesitating to answer. “Yeah.” He responds, his hands fiddling with the hem of his flannel. Glenn stares at him, somewhat uncomfortable. He pats his pants feeling around his pockets and he reaches into his back pocket. He pulls out a condom, a strip falling from the singular one he meant to take from his pocket. He rips one off quickly, shoving the rest back into his pants frantically. “Just take it.” He sticks it out and Carl takes it and shoves it into his own pocket. “Why do you just have these on hand?” Carl asks, sort of in a disturbed tone.

“Well I- forget it just…” He takes a step back and looks back to the car. He can’t look at Carl but he takes a breath to prepare to give better advice. He continues. “Look, just communicate with her, I think that’s the most important thing okay? You’ll know what you’re doing in the moment.”

─── ⋆⋅ ꩜ ⋅⋆ ───

“They never know where to put it so you’re gonna have to show ‘em.” Maggie tells you handing you a glass of water while you’re sat on her couch. She was very open about this which made you feel more comfortable. She settles into the couch next to you and looks at you intently. “You just gotta know that it’s what you want in the moment. You understand?” She has a light but serious tone.

“Yeah, I guess I’m just scared it’s gonna hurt or something.” You giggle awkwardly. “Well it might, if you bleed that’s normal too.” You squirm a tad at her words. “But you might not. It shouldn’t hurt after you get used to it. Just have him wait while you adjust to the feeling.” She gives you a content smile.

“Okay, I really appreciate this I wasn’t sure who else to go to…” You take a sip of your water and she nods. “If you ever need anything I’m here. Just…don’t get pregnant. That’s another thing, wait till you have condoms. And don’t forget to pee after.” She adds.

You thank Maggie and she decides to walk you out. You look for Carl and Glenn to meet up before dinner. You head towards the gates to see them talking which you find sort of ironic, you had no idea he was asking for advice like you were. He notices you and waves bye to Glenn before walking over to you, Maggie walking over to her husband. Sort of like a trade off.

“Don’t tell your dad I gave you that!” Glenn shouts. Carl gives him some sort of confirmation and returns his attention back to you.

“What’s that about?” You question.

“It’s nothing.”

a/n: the next part will be banger. trust. ANYWAY I HOPE U GUYS LIKED ITTT :> thank u anon for requesting!!! next part comes out maybe this weekend!!! i’ve got some school stuff popping this week sooo it’ll take a little to come out, also it’s smut and i’ve never written that before SO IT MIGHT TAKE ME A LIL

tags: @zomb-1-egutzz

[daddykinkkinard]

! crossposting from my twitter !

bucktommy costume analysis 👔

hi ! i'm a fashion student and am really interested in costume design so i wanted to do a (long) post on tommy's style and how i think buck might be influenced by it in s8 as seen in "buck's britches." :))

[about tommy]

tommy's wardrobe is entirely functional and indicative of his dedication to his work. it's practical, useful, and speaks of his can-do attitude.

all his signature clothes (henleys, shackets, canvas jackets) have historical traces to being used as workwear.

(1) henleys - this one, ironically in the philippines it has its own term in our local language. it's called a camisa de chino and is used by laborers. although i live in a different country, i'm sure its use case is still the same for other countries as it's historically deemed the workman's undergarment.

also: yes. tommy is technically right. there were henleys in the 80s. even in the 1880s. so what we're learning here now folks, is that he's a smartass little shit.

(2) shackets - historically, also an item used by the working class. they were mostly worn to prevent any possible stains on inner clothes from their work (i.e. dirt, grease, grime, etc.)

(3) canvas jacket - although this was only seen in 7x04, it's more likely that he still owns a lot more. (waxed) canvas jackets are traditional workwear often used as weatherproof outerwear or heavy duty rainwear.

as a form of fun speculation, i'd like to think some of these items are also in his closet:

contrast collar canvas jacket

an authentic flight jacket

overalls, but only for when he fixes up the car

denim trucker jacket

if anything, who better to listen to when talking about tommy's clothes than tommy himself !

here's lou's cameo for me describing tommy's closet as rugged, practical and useful :))

[about "buck's britches"]

now to the "buck's britches" post. two notable items of clothing:

the famous flight jacket

baker pants.

now here's the thing about buck:

buck doesn't wear utilitarian clothing. in fact, he doesn't wear woven clothing all that much. he wears knit. knit polos. sweaters. hoodies. he is not a workwear person. in fact: he's a comfort person.

that's his primary reason for style that's a testament to his own character. buck is widely recognized as the more radiant and funny character. he has charisma and is very inviting, which is accompanied by his choice in clothing.

soft, warm, comfortable.

which goes back to the photo ostark posted on his instagram story.

(1) flight jacket - here's where i have to go and burst everyone's bubble for a bit. this is only a flight jacket because it's labelled as such. but categorically, it isn't. flight jackets are the classic term for bomber jackets.

bomber jackets (and flight jackets) were workwear used by the military, characterized by garterized cuffs and hems and short bodices. for pilots, they were interchangeable. but modernly, they have some more definable features.

characteristically, flight (or aviator) jackets are leather with shearling or sherpa collars. bomber jackets are the modernized version taking the silhouette and cuff designs and making them more accessible through material choice (linen—like buck—nylon, silk)

(2) baker pants - as the name suggests, it's a piece of kitchen workwear often in twill (which i'd assume is what oliver is wearing), denim, cotton or linen. it's characterized by the topstitching to outline the pockets and diagonal pocket openings (vs. the usual curve).

so very evidently: buck has been influenced by tommy's style. he's wearing woven material versus knit for one. if i were hopeful, i'd say they're exploring one another's style because they're sharing a closet.

[character analysis]

woven fabric as a material is sturdy. it's more structured and does not stretch. think: cotton, linen, rayon, wool, denim. what this means for buck is that, by virtue of being tommy's boyfriend he is introduced to structure, groundedness and maturity.

tommy's closet is filled with utilitarian clothing and workwear. he, as a character, is known to be emotionally grounded and mature and it translates to his clothing.

buck adapting the defining features of his wardrobe shows how much tommy has helped him get off his hamster wheel.

in fact, even the inverse can be noted. when buck asks for a second chance and practices communication towards tommy. he's wearing a woven buttondown. and in emphasizing tommy's desire to make buck comfortable, he's in a hoodie. neither of which are common for one another.

buck and tommy, even through subtle clothing choices are becoming part of one another's world and that makes me so soft as someone whose love language is fashion.

[wishful thinking]

perhaps maybe we could see tommy in a fully casual sweat set? i know that they might be protecting lfjr but man. if i see a hoodie on him. (nqueso, if you can sneak me a photo of him in knitwear ill love you forever i just want to prove my theory right i wont even post it)

if they are putting buck in this sort of attire, my guess (or hope) is that they have tommy ease up too.

it would be nice to show buck's effect on tommy as much as tommy's effect on buck because tommy's an established character and has a backstory that the writers could explore.

so if the 9-1-1 costume designers ever see this:

please put tommy in a sweat set. or a hoodie. (not a zip-up one, im talking real hoodie). i'm willing to compromise with overalls. i see what you're doing with buck's wardrobe, and love it. maybe tommy's could soften up too :))

thanks for reading ! 🫶

[mysteriesmuse]

childhood trio izuku, katsuki, and y/n!! who are constantly dragged to each other things! Like, Katsuki and Izuku who both got signed up for T-ball and Pee-Wee Soccer. Katsuki who eventually got good at it and had baseball tournaments every other weekend and your parents are dragging both you and Izuku out to watch Katsuki. The sweetness of a sticky box of crackerjacks and peanuts shared as you spend dozen of weekends sitting together in the stands at his field games with the big pointer finger foam hand and corn dogs — and the everlasting hope of catching a ball. It gets close to happening once or twice, and eventually Katsuki reluctantly gives everyone in his fanclub a signed baseball from the game. It sits proudly on your bookshelves.  Katsuki who in middle school eventually gets recruited to the small wrestling team as well and so now you’re stuck in the van in between these too in the back seat and driving all the way to his other tournaments in a giant sweaty gym. All of you with folders of paperwork in your laps as you dutifully try to complete hw before the match. You and Izuku snickering behind your books as Katsuki complains about a weggie from the uniform being too tight in the crotch. And Izuku, who started winning at spelling bees at an early age; whose ramblings landed him a spot in debate club when he got older. The T-ball never really stuck for him like it did for Kacchan. Who’s got an auditorium full of overachievers and stuffy dressed people staring at their stopwatch’s that are taking down every note. The evenings where there’s a tie being grueling. The early mornings a challenge of wits as you and Katsuki used to pilfer through a dictionary together. Index fingers frantically running over the letters of the words Izuku was trying to spell as your heads nearly bump into each other. The evenings where you’d lay your head on his or your parents shoulders as you tried to stay awake . . . Momma Inko always gently patting the two of you on the shoulders when the debate is over. You and Katsuki rubbings the sleep out of your eyes as you run off to congratulate Izuku. The late night milkshakes in the car as he continue talking about all the exciting little quirks of the game. You nodding along w The hours spent where Izuku would practice his word count at the kitchen table afterschool. You and Katsuki, used to the new routine, now bring headphones to drown out the noise of him practicing his talking so that you both can focus on studying. And y/n who’d gotten signed up for dance classes the same time the boys were busy attempting miniature versions of sports. Eventually sticking with it and finding that she’s naturally talented at looking graceful across the ballet stage. Always having Izuku and Katsuki come out to the performances and sitting with all the parents. The two of them always forced to dress formally like proper audience members and each of them clutching and handing you a bouquet of their own choosing when you arrive from backstage. Izuku’s classic green button up and eagerly handing you a sweetly wrapped ghetto bouquet as he comments on the ballet. Katsuki who comes out in slacks and loafers and sheepishly hands you a classic bouquet of red roses with his sweaty hands. Sometimes even getting you a matching bouquet so you can take photos with it in your costume; a factor you never seem to miss with a gasp and tease. Y/N who’s always preparing for the ballet over at Katsuki’s house. His father taking the time to help prepare your costume and pointe shoes together. The family office (which already was a design studio) now an explosion of ribbons and bubble gum pop as pins and needles do hems and tucks. Your mother and his always taking the time to practice teaching you how to do the makeup and hair yourself. Katsuki will always peak his head into the office to office to announce his presence as you swivel your head and beam from the dress pedalstol.

Y/N who quickly dives into theatre and music. The Suzuki cello lessons taking place for so long that eventually when Katsuki gets signed up for drum lessons the new carpool starts to break your routine. Instead of the usual music that you’re studying your accompanied by Katsuki tapping anxiously with his fingers against his knees. His lessons that take place down the hall so loud that you can hear them in the midst of your scales. And everyday for the first few months when asked how it was you’d grumble and snark out “not really sure it was impossible to hear with the super loud drums next door.” And quickly his lessons require a little bit of piano playing and soon enough the hallway is filled with plinkering notes as he attempts a sonata every Wednesday for 20 minutes.  Eventually he gets good enough that his mother starts pressuring him to accompany your cello playing. And it’s 2 grueling days spent at his house where you’re forced to sit as Katsuki stiffly positions himself at the keyboard and hammers out the accompaniment to your solo. Very quickly the parents learn that this isn’t going to work very well and you and Katsuki go back on your merry way with lessons. Sometimes now you even get a good giggle when hammering along to something only for a drumstick to fly out of his hand. The resulting pause and string of curses simply hilarious from your safe distance.  Y/N who joins theatre and try’s out for the musicals for several years. Whose excitement and participation in captivating performances moves Izuku to join shortly after. Momma Inko packing snacks into your bags as you stay afterschool. Your own parents picking the two of you up and having Izuku over for dinner until Momma Inko gets off of work.  Izuku who’s fantastic at memorizing lines and lyrics that he quickly gets lead roles especially when there’s so few boys in theatre. And you who’s good enough at music and dancing that you’re on the “dance team” which is a special group of students from similiar backgrounds who get to do the more interesting choreography. The two of you a perfect duo of tenor and soprano which means that you can sing out all the songs out of context to your hearts content together. The two of you incredibly enthusiastic the year you do Macbeth because it’s the first time you’ve both landed big roles: Izuku as Banquo and Y/N as the head witch in the play. And now the both of you get to interact together on stage besides just being ensemble and chorus members.

Every rehearsal in costume you get to prance around with a cloak and dare to scare Izuku in the dark backstage. Except he’ll usually silently flinch and then grin with his arms open for an embrace whispering “n/n!” as he beckons you forth, “didn’t know you got back from costume and makeup already. That was super fast. You look good - uh I mean bad. Yeah, bad.” 

And Katsuki’s forced to watch by himself with all of your folks giving y’all a congratulations and handing off another bouquet to you and giving Izuku a playful punch to the shoulder. The parents enthusiastically asking to get pictures of the two of you in costume. 

Y/N with best few photos always ending up on your wall just like the rest of them that you have with the boys after everything you’ve done all these years together. Izuku has his catalogued by year in a scrapbook and Katsuki has his favorite one framed: a photo of you in your ballet outfit and him in his baseball get-up with a fashion disaster Izuku in the middle as he had to dress up for both events. The poor boy slightly sunburnt and covered in a far amount of glitter sandwiched between y’all. 

[ellieslittlewh0re]

Temptations part 3 - step-sister! ellie x fem reader

part 1 - part 2 - part 3

wk - 5k

additional tags- step-sister! ellie, sarah doesn’t exists in this bc I said so, band! ellie, weed! mentions, cocky! ellie, loser! ellie, perv! ellie, sexual tension, overstimulation, orgasm denial, light choking, use of the word daddy like once, word cock/dick usage, oral (reader! receiving), fingering (reader receiving), strap-on usage (reader receiving), pussy slapping (sorry but not really), spit play, ellie is messy w it, scissoring, finger sucking, e! is rough but also really hot, implied consent obvi

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You quickly pull away, the loud banging on the

door practically sent you into a shock.

What were you thinking? We're you even thinking at all? That was a dumb question because no, you weren't. You simply let your body take control- letting it fulfill whatever fucked up need you had.

Ellie pulled away with a huff, frustrated in more ways than one, as she walked towards the front door, leaving you in the kitchen with a soaking patch growing inside your panties.

"The fuck took you so long?" Ellie said, annoyed, greeting the man at the door who was nothing but a stranger to you.

You get up, adjusting the hem of your dress to make sure everything was covered and walk towards to them.

"Sorry man. Tire blew out- had to put on a donut."

The guy said, sounding pretty unaffected- buzzed beached hair and a piercing on the arch of his eyebrow.

"I thought you said you got pulled over?" Ellie asked, sounding pretty fed up already.

"Ohhh yeah- a cop pulled us over to tell us we had a flat. Was wondering' why the road felt so bumpy." The man trailed off, mentally putting together the puzzle pieces in his head.

He was high.. like really high, the whites of his eyes a shade of pink, half closed and glossed over.

He glanced over Ellie's shoulder, meeting your shy and slightly guilty-ridden face.

"Damn Williams- you didn't say you had a new girl with you."

He points a finger in your direction, making you more uncomfortable with the acknowledgment.

"Don't be a fucking creep- she's my sister." Ellie snaps back, moving further in front of you like she was shielding you from his sight.

"Get in the van ash before you piss me off more."

Even from standing behind her, you could tell she was rolling her eyes. She was never the patient type.

The man "Ash" threw his hands up, spun around, and walked towards Ellie's car, a classic creeper van that she got because "it's convenient to move shit."

"Sorry bout' him. Weed burned all his brain cells, but I promise he's harmless."

Ellie apologized as she turns around to face you, scratching the back of her neck. Bingo.

"S' okay." You giggle, chasing her eyes with yours and when she looks- you bat your doe eyes at her, your lips widening into a gloss coated smile which made Ellie's cheeks flush and her head spin.

If it was up to her, she'd say fuck the band and fucking anything else that got in her way of having you to herself.

She would've had you bent over the same counter just moments earlier- your bare tits smushed against the granite while she had your dress hiked up over your ass and her knuckles snugged deep inside your pussy.

Ellie clears her throat, rocking on her heels as she looks around the room at anything but you. You weren't going to make this easy for her, and you wanted her to know that.

"Ready to go?" Ellie holds out a hand and you take it, letting her lead you two out the door and down the driveway.

This was Ellie's way of pretending that you're hers, even if it's just for tonight, canvassing it like it was just innocent sisterly affection.

The back of the van was packed to the brim with three more people besides the man that you met earlier, along with instruments and other equipment that you couldn't name.

Ellie points at them individually, telling you their names, and they all greet you in unison, laughing and smiling- not one of them seemed entirely sober but friendly enough.

Ellie insisted you were her passenger. She pretty much kicked Ash from the front seat so you can sit beside her- claiming "family comes first".

It was kinda embarrassing. I mean, Ellie wasn't being the most subtle, so you mouth a "sorry" under your breath in his direction before putting on your seat belt, but you couldn't deny how hot your face felt when she'd openly favor you to such a degree.

The van shortly filled with a thick haze of smoke, the music cranked to an overwhelming degree and everyone talking- more like yelling over each other. It was fun though, and it felt refreshing to be with a group of people that didn't care what anyone else thought about them, freely being themselves without feeling bad about it.

"Here- you take control." Ellie said without looking at you, eyes still on the road ahead as she hands you the aux cord.

"Oh- no- Ellie I don't know what to put on."

I take the cord in my hands, turning it over in my fingers.

"Just play anything babe-"

Ellie cuts herself off to fix her mistake, but it was too late. She slipped, and she quickly froze, waiting to see if anyone else in the van caught on, but they didn't, too busy finishing off a joint and laughing at the top of their lungs.

But you? You definitely noticed, and for a second, it felt normal until Ellie's reaction reminded you it wasn't.

"Babe, huh?" You chuckle, mocking her words under your breath as you plug in your phone, scrolling through Spotify until you find something that felt like a safe choice.

Ellies felt her cheeks ignite, both from embarrassment but also your reaction. You weren't mad or scared; you smiled wildly at the nickname, embracing it, and based on your body language- you encouraged it.

You shifted in the seat, scooting as close as you could, turning your body in her direction and crossed your legs, not bothering to fix your dress that scrunched up to the point your lace underwear was peaking out from under the fabric.

You traced shapes on her forearm that rested on the center console with your manicured nail, tracing the lines of her tattoo. You felt Ellie tense under your touch, swallowing hard and trying her best to keep her eyes on the fucking road.

Sisterly affection, right?

-

Ellie pulls the van into the alley behind the bar, shifting the gear into park.

It was pitch black, the only light source being a light pole at the corner, flickering in and out, making the already sketchy area even more unsettling.

You take a deep breath as you exit the car, shutting the door and adjusting your dress.

"Do you play here a lot?" Your voice peaks in question, looking at Ellie who was already unloading the van, holding something heavy in her arms, veins and muscles straining under the weight.

"Yeah- every other weekend or so."

You tried helping in any way you could, grabbing mic stands or rolled up cords, but Ellie always shot you down, shaking her finger followed by a "tsk tsk" and a "can't have you gettin' hurt, princess- the old man will never forgive me."

You eventually give up, knowing anything about your step sister-she's stubborn and doesn't take no for an answer. Instead you sit in the van, legs hanging out the side with the door open, observing the amount of effort it took all of them, but if you were being honest... you only looked at Ellie.

How could you not?

Her biceps bulged, and veins popped in her forearms and all the way down to her hands. Her face was focused, eyebrows scrunched together that made her look unapproachable, but when ever she caught your stares, she'd always give a side smile and a wink.

She was a literal walking wet dream.

-

To say the bar was crowded, was an understatement. The small area was filled with people that were hip to hip, waving beer bottles in their hands, yelling and cheering like they were celebrating a hard-earned victory.

It smelled like smoke and sweat; stickers and hand draw graffiti decorated the walls. Most of the people in there, we're young, mid-20s/ 30s, with the occasional older biker types sprinkled in.

You stood by awkwardly, definitely wishing you wore something that blended in more while Ellie and the rest of the band were setting up on the makeshift stage that was only a few feet from you.

You dazed out into the crowd, rocking from foot to foot when you felt Ellies presence loom over you.

"We're about to start. If you want a drink or anything- just tell Mario at the bar that you're here with me. He'll hook you up." Ellie said in a unintentionally raspy voice, crouching down on the stage to be at eye level with you.

You smile at her, looking down and giving Ellie the perfect time to ogle your tits from a downwards view.

You look up at her and lean in, positioning yourself between her bent knees, letting your nails linger over the denim of her jeans.

You stand on your tippy-toes so that you could get close enough to whisper.

"I'm not taking my eyes off you."

Ellie took a deep breath in as those words danced off the tip of your tongue, so sweet and yet, so suggestive.

Ellie bit the inside of her cheek hard; to bring her back down to earth after the way you teased her. She lifted a finger, tapping it to the underside of your chin, not in an affection way, more of "keep that shit up and see where it gets you" sort of way.

She stood, returning to the center of the stage and draped the guitar around her shoulder, plugging it in and strumming the cords to ensure the tune.

The crowd erupted into cheers louder than before, you look around and can't help but smile as the first few notes start to play.

You didn't recognize the beat, but you didn't care. Your eyes solely looked at Ellie, tuning everyone else out.

She sang into the microphone, chipped black nail polished fingers holding it in place on the mic stand. You felt entranced- under a spell, too busy soaking up the sight and not wanting to forget this night happened.

She looked like a natural, happy, and in her element, beads of sweat forming on her forehead and bridge of her nose, making stands of her hair stick to the sides of her face.

You sway to the music, rocking from side to side with a stupid smile on your face; because all you can think is, she was born for this.

Ellie tried her best to interact with the crowd, but it was hard to look at anyone else knowing you were there, front and center. The way your face lit up in shades of green and red from the neon lights overhead, your smile beaming and how effortlessly you swayed your hips, not too much, but enough to help Ellie imagine you using those movements- swirling your hips on her strap.

You catch Ellie's attention, using the opportunity to blow a kiss at her which definitely may or may not have, made Ellie's voice crack.

You can tell she was frazzled- embarrassed that her mistake echoed into the bar, but no one else seemed to care, too busy singing along and dancing- not to mention inebriated.

You cover your mouth to hide a giggle, your cheeks gleaming from the fullness and sweat of the hot bodies that danced around you.

-

Ellie and the rest of the band; were starting to pack up after saying their closing lines and thanking everyone for being here tonight.

The crowd had fizzled out. Most left, respectively-being it was almost 3 in the morning, while others passed out over tables and chairs.

"Well, whaddya think, was it everything you'd dream it'd be?" Ellie asked, dropping down from the stage to dangle her legs over the edge right next to you.

You leaned against the platform, placing a hand on her knee, looking around to make sure everyone else was still putting shit in the van.

"I think-"

You draw out your words, hushing them into a whisper.

"You- might have found your biggest fan."

Somehow you ended up between her thighs, your hands on each knee as you continue to lean into your words.

Ellie found herself subconsciously leaning in, closing the space between you, her eyes flickering to a darker gaze, her lips parted slightly as short breaths escaped them. You had a spell on her, a girl who thought she could snake her way between any women's legs, but you?

You had all the power over her.

"What do you think you're doing, huh?" Ellie asked, her voice low and coarse from her hours of singing/screaming into a microphone.

It sent shivers down your spine- how she loomed over you, how she looked at you- like she was ready to jump your fucking bones.

You bat your eyelashes, inching you hands further up the inside of her jean cladded thighs, "m' not doing anything, el's... just showing my appreciation is all." You play dumb, rubbing circles dangerously close to the seam of her crotch.

"You're unbelievable-"

"Vans' all packed, ready to go-?"

Ash called out, entering the doorway from the back alley.

You pulled away, clearing your throat, trying to shoot down any suspicions that he may have had. 

Ellie kicked off the platform, running a hand through her shagged haircut.

"Yeah- let's blow this place."

She took your hand in hers, letting you trail behind her as you go back to the car.

It felt urgent and rushed, feeling her grip. She was frustrated and wanted to get you home as quickly as possible to teach you a lesson- make herself feel like she was in control again.

-

The ride home was... tense. Ellie didn't say a word, her jaw clenched, white fisting the steering wheel.

When we got home, she didn't bother saying goodbyes or offering anyone to crash for the night, which she usually would do. She was too determined, too eager to let any more distractions get in her way.

The rest of her band pulled out of the driveway, red brake lights disappearing into the distance, while Ellie continued to tug- more like drag you into the house, making sure to be as quiet as possible to not wake your poor, unsuspecting father.

She drags you up the stairs, your heels making you trip, but she doesn't ease up. The grip on your wrist tightening.

You whisper yell to her, telling her to slow down, but it went unacknowledged.

She yanks you into your bedroom, practically pushing you onto the bed, shutting the door quickly, but making sure to turn the knob so it wouldn't echo a clicking noise throughout the house.

Your heartbeat thuds harder against your chest, propping yourself up on your elbows as you looked at her. You felt a tightening in your stomach, and the room felt like it was on fire.

"You had fun tonight, huh? Like playing your little games with me?" Ellie said accusingly, steeping to the foot of the bed, placing a knee between your legs that dangled over the side.

"I don't know what you're talking about." You continue to act innocent, lowering your voice into a hushed wined like a kicked puppy.

Her knee between your legs forces them apart, displaying your laced-covered heat.

Ellie clicked her tongue against her teeth, slinking a finger to raise the hem of your dress to get a better look.

"Want me to take care of that?" She teases, a cocky smirk hinted on her lips as she motions a eyebrow raise at your sopping cunt.

You almost whimper just from hearing her voice alone, in fact, you probably did.

You don't respond, too distracted by how fucking hot you felt.

Ellie widens her stance, prying your legs further apart as she climbed on top of you.

"Or- do you want me to let you deal with it yourself."

She mere inches from your face, her breath brushing against your lips.

You shake your head desperately, indicating a no.

"Ah-ah.. need to hear you say it pretty girl."

She smirks, her eye contact deepening.

"N-no els.. need your help." You whined, hoping it would make her have pity on you.

Your hands reach up, snaking your fingers through her hair.

She dips down further, pausing before your lips touch. Ellie's lips ghost over, barely grazing yours. Her knee hikes between your thighs and bumps against your cunt.

"A-ah.." You moan, biting your lip and start to grind yourself down on her knee.

In an instant, something ignited in Ellie, hearing your moans and how you desperately tried to get yourself off with little patience or rhythm. She connects your lips, and a low moan vibrates in your mouth as she slips her tongue inside, grazing your teeth and spongy walls.

"You're fucking killing me.." She growls between open mouth kisses, letting her knee drag over your poor, neglected pussy.

You whine, placing your hands on the back of her thighs and pushing her harder against you.

"S' not enough... need more e-ellie."

"Pretty girl needs more, huh?" She said mockingly in a way that sounded dehumanizing.

You nod enthusiastically, your eyebrows furrowing up in frustration.

"Then beg." She stopped all movements with her knee, and your hips raise to connect the contact, but it was no use- only she can save you now.

"P-please els.. I'll do anything- I'll be good.. please." You babbled and pleaded, not really sure what you were saying, but you didn't care as long as it got her to touch you.

Ellie smirked down at you, clearly satisfied that she had you this needy.

"Atta girl... have to be quiet though- Can't have dad hearing you getting fucked, can we?"

You nod pathetically again and Ellie rewards you with a kiss for how good you were being. She pulls away, hovering over you on her knees as she looked down, eyes trailing slowly to take you all in.

She gets off the bed, kneeling at the edge of it to be eye level with your soaked cunt.

"Up."

She taps your calf, signaling for you to prop up your legs and you do what she says without any hesitation.

She thumbs over your pussy, looking up to watch you squirm from the littlest touches that she gives you.

She rubs tight circles over your clit, and to be honest- it felt like a punishment- how lightly she was doing it, knowing how fucking worked up you were.

"Els... please." You whine, tears forming in the corners of your eyes, thrusting your hips up shamelessly.

You hear ellie chuckle to herself before she palms your pussy harshly, rolling her wrist against it which caused you to cry out.

"Sorry baby- just love seeing you all stupid for me." She continued to feel you through your panties, getting you more wet than before.

The pet names she was throwing out had you close by itself, knowing how fucking wrong it was, but fuck... nothing has ever felt this good.

She wrapped her hands around your thighs, fisting the fat between her fingers to spread you out more. You cover your mouth to suppress a moan.

She dips down, hovering over your cunt and you felt her breath hitting your core before she flat tongues a strip over the fabric. She uses her fingers to tug aside your panties, letting the tip of her tongue flick your erect clit.

You bite down on your hand while the other fists your comforter, rocking your hips against her tongue.

"F-fuuu- mm." Your jaw hangs open, fully engrossing yourself with the sensations of her skilled touch.

"Taste so fucking good, baby.. knew you would." Ellie whispered- almost growled between each taste, her hunger growing more out of control.

You pull at the top your dress, yanking your straps down your shoulders and palm your tits, kneading the fat between your fingers.

Ellie noticed, her eyes widening a little before going dark again. She rips off your underwear, yanking them down your legs and tossing them to the floor.

You yelp/moan in surprise as her hands grab you by the back of your thighs and yank you down further to the edge of the bed. She pushes your knees up, leaving your pussy fully exposed to her.

"So pretty.. such a pretty pussy." Ellie says, almost to herself as she placed a kiss to your bud before taking it into her mouth, suckling it until it was swollen and puffy.

You were a mess at this point, overstimulated, and at the same time, you wanted more.

Ellie sat up to watch you carefully, running her fingers over your folds before slapping your puffy cunt repeatedly. It started light at first, but each slap had more power than the last, and she just watched. She watched you squirm, and buckling your hips, trying to get away, but her other hand had a tight grip on your hip to keep you in place.

Full-on tears were streaming down your face at this point, and your clit was throbbing, but you still felt so empty and desperate to be filled.

"E-ellie.. it's too much.. n-need you inside." You said through broken sobs to the best of your abilities.

Ellie's hand tighten on your hip and it will definitely leave bruises for the days to come.

"You need me inside pretty girl?" Ellie fakes a sympathetic tone, her hand smearing your slick further down your thighs before placing a kiss to the delicate skin.

You nod down at her through wet eyelashes, using the back of your hand to wipe away a stray tear.

Your exhale was cut short, Ellie's finger plunging into your pussy, slow at first and just holding it inside, curling it against your walls.

"O-oh- fuuck." You fist the sheets at your sides, your dress bunched up where it only covered a small portion of your mid-section, leaving all the most important details on display.

Her single finger was joined by a second, pumping in and out slowly and spreading them apart inside you. Ellie lacked any rhythm, purposefully slowly her movements when you were close to your climax.

You were a mess, hair sticking to your forehead, and your lip was swollen and raw from biting down on it to keep yourself fucking quiet.

Ellie loved every second of it, watching you fall apart from every little thing she did to you, but it was getting harder to ignore how her boxers were sticking to her own arousal.

After Ellie was satisfied that your were properly stretch out for her, she got up and left the room, leaving you confused on the bed.

She returned not even 2 minutes later, her pants gone, leaving her in just her boxers and her black muscle tank, but she had on something else; a harness that cupped the underside of her ass and a purple silicone dick that stood between her thighs.

Your breath catches in your throat, and a shudder runs down your spine as she strolls over to the bed. 'How could she possibly get any hotter?' You thought to yourself.

She gets on the bed, crawling over you and cages you in with her hands on either side of your head.

Her hand reaches around your throat, squeezing lightly as she connects your lips, it's sloppy and rough, leaving you begging for what's to come.

You break away, your hand coming up to tuck a stray hair behind her ear.

"We shouldn't do this."

"Oh- now you want to stop?" She grins, her hand on your throat coming down to squeeze your tit before rolling your nipple between her fingers.

You moan, squeezing your eyes shut as your head presses further back into the mattress.

"S' not what I said." You whisper sweetly.

"Good-" and just like that, her hand holds the base of her dick, lining it up to your entrance, running it along your folds, and coating it in your slick.

"P-please, please, Ellie.. I need it- O-oh.. fuc-k." You're cut off by her dick slamming into you, fully disappearing inside your cunt. Your nails sink into her forearm, surly leaving crescent shapes into the flesh.

She slowly pulls out only to snap her hips forward, repeating the motion that had you reaching for her, begging to feel her lips on yours again.

You were split open, brain foggy and the only thing you could focus on was her. You whine and moan, sharpe exhales cut short by the tip of her cock hitting your cervix just right. You are babbling incoherently, barely able to form a coherent thought, simply muttering her name over and over again, and it was music to Ellie's ears.

She falls forward, her hand wrapping around your jaw as she plants open mouth kisses to your puffy lips, wet of your saliva mixed with hers.

"Fuck- taking me so well, baby. Such a good girl."

She breathed into your lips, pent up frustration covered up by praises.

Ellie was growing more insatiable, her hand wondering down to squeeze your tit, pulling at your redden and abused peak, but it wasn't enough.

Her pointer and middle finger glazed over your bottom lip, smearing your spit across your face before tapping for entry. You opened hesitantly at first, too fucked out to question her. Her fingers slip in, reaching further into the back of your throat. You moan around her, tasting yourself on her as she presses against your tongue.

Ellie snaps, her hips rutting faster against yours, hitting deeper and harder than you thought anyone could. You yell out in painful pleasure, Ellie's hand coming up to cover your mouth as she sucks on your neck, breathing into it like a women starved. Ellie wanted to take her time with you- wanted you to beg for her to come, but she was past that point.

Tears steamed down your cheeks, your nails clawed at the back of her shoulders as she pistoned into your aching cunt. Your cries were growing louder, muffed by Ellie's hand and she felt your body tense under her, signaling how close you were.

Her lips tugged at the sensitive skin below your ear, pulling and letting it plop back into place, moving up to position her lips over your ear.

"Cum fr' daddy, baby girl."

That's all it took, hearing her primitive voice echo in your brain, feeling her breath fan over your neck. Your hips buckle and then stiffen, her lips capture yours the hide the cry that you both knew was coming on. Your back arches off the mattress, your legs tighten around her waist to keep her deep inside as you come undone on her cock.

She slows her pace inside, snapping her hips against your spongy walls, working you through your orgasm.

She quickly placed a kiss to your worn lips, carefully removing herself from you. You were left breathless, still feeling the aftershocks sparking through your body, not noticing Ellie ridding herself of the hardness and the rest of her clothes minus the black sport bra that she kept on.

She crawled back on the bed, her hands prying your knees open as she portioned herself between your legs.

You barely had time to take in the fact she was almost fully naked, her toned stomach and defined 'v' that lead your eyes down to her dripping pussy.

"Wha-? Els... what are you-?" You ask, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"M' not done with you yet, baby- not after the way you've been teasing me- gonna use your pretty pussy to cum... can you let me do that?" She smirks, rubbing a hand down your inner thigh. It wasn't a question- she was simply vocalizing what she was going to do, and who were you to deny her? 

Your breath hitches, your cunt clenching around nothing, already missing the pressure of her inside. You nod weakly at her, taking your bottom between your teeth.

"Good girl." She coos, leaning down to kiss your knee.

She wedges herself between you two, positioning one of your legs over her shoulder as she sinks down onto you.

"Mm... fuck- oh my god- you make feel so fucking good babe." Ellie moans, grinding her sopping cunt against yours, the combination of your slick coating your thighs and hers.

You're beyond gone at this point, eyes blown out, and the corners of your vision going dark. Ellie grunted with each snap of her hips, her temple resting against your calf as her eyes focused on where you two were connected. Her jaw hung slightly and her brows furrowed upwards, little moans threatened her tongue.

You felt your stomach tightening, your clit pulsating and rubbed raw.

"E-ellie... I can't- gonna cum." You whine, your tone dripping in lust, and desperate to come undone.

"M-me too.. fuck- gonna cum all over your fucking pussy." Ellie said through clenched teeth, speaking more to herself than to you, getting off to hearing such crude words come from her mouth.

If kissing your step-sister wasn't bad enough... this was crossing the line of downright; filthy. The sounds that filled the room, wet skin rubbing against more wet skin, your whines mixed with Ellie's moans and sharp, shallow breaths. It was something straight out of a porno.

"You feel so-fucking-good.. oh my god-" Ellie's jaw drops, rutting her hips harder and faster against yours to reach her growing climax.

Your nails dig into her hip bone, your body going limp and you just take it, too fucked out to do anything else.

You babble her name weakly, eyes rolling back into your skull, grabbing at her in any way you can.

"Fuck-fuck-ohmygod-" You cry, causing Ellie to kiss your inner thigh that rested on her shoulder, sweetly, cooing words of 'I know' and 'cum for me pretty girl'.

Her hips sputter and jolt, growing harder to keep her pace as she reached her peak.

One last glide of her hips had both of you falling apart, shaking and squirming beneath her, whining and moaning into the back of your hand.

She slowed her pace before stopping all together, gently removing your leg and brought it down to rest on the bed.

She laid beside you, breathing heavily, bringing her forearm to rest over her eyes. You both stay like that for for a moment, catching your breath and letting the silence creep into the room.

Ellie turns to face you and brings the sheet up, and over your frame, slinking an arm over your torso. You turn to look at her, almost too engrossed in her features to think about the consequences. Her skin was dewy, freckles sprinkled her cheeks and upper lip, and her lips were full and a darker shade of pink from how chaffed they were. She was beautiful, and you were fucked.

"Probably shouldn't have done that, huh?" She chuckles, bringing her hand up to remove a strand of hair from your face.

A burst of air escapes your nose as you return a giggle, placing your hand on top of hers as it cups your cheek.

"Probably not- what are we going to do?" You ask rhetorically, eyes dazing up to the ceiling.

Ellie hums in thought, memorizing the side of your face, wanting to remember every detail of your skin.

"We could change our names... move to the other side of the country." She teased, but only partly.

"Ha- seems like a lot of work for the sake of having sex with someone." You playfully scoff, rolling your eyes.

Her thumb dances over your bottom lip, swiping back and forth like she's deep in a thought.

"Just say the words and I'll buy the plane tickets."

[telesilla]

Not gonna go out on this limb on a 25k post, but maybe it’s okay that kids today don’t know as much about using an actual computer as we do/did? Is it useful knowledge? Of course it is. So is using a sewing machine or being able to rebuild your VW with a copy of that one book every VW driver used to have. That’s not the right question—most practical knowledge is useful after all. The question should be “is it relevant to the way people live right now.” “How to Keep Your VW Alive” is a timeless fucking classic; my ex and I kept our copy long after he sold his VW. But I’m not buying a copy now because it won’t exactly help me keep my VW ID4 on the road.

And it’s funny, because I tend to read along with those posts and nod my head, because back in my day we HAD to know all that computer stuff. And then for some reason today, I remembered a conversation my mom and I had with my grandma in the mid 70s when I was a teenager. Grandma made my mom’s wedding dress. She worked at a department store doing alterations on foundation wear, which if you look at 1950s foundation wear, you’ll realize was both necessary and difficult. So she was shocked when I said most of my friends didn’t know their way around a sewing machine. “But how do you make sure your clothes fit?!” Well, Grandma, people don’t wear heavy foundation wear any more and clothes don’t need to be as tailored as they did back in the day—it’s 1975 and the only alterations I need to do is hemming my flares so they just touch the floor when I’m wearing platforms.

Now you can back up and look at the broader picture, the one that says, but your car should be repairable by you as long as you have clear instructions, and you should be able to alter your clothes or make your own, and yes, you should know how to organize the files on the desktop of your laptop. But the fact that for the most part it’s become easier and easier to just not do those things (if they can be done at all) isn’t exactly the fault of Kids Today. And it’s certainly not meeting them where they are or even trying to understand why they feel they don’t need that knowledge if, instead of looking at why they don’t have it and maybe even don’t need it, you just decry their lack of the Deep Wisdom.

[yokohamapound]

Hi bestie! Great to find a new BSD blog! For starters, can we have some hcs on what kind of lingerie Dazai, Chuuya, Ranpo, Akutagawa and Fyodor would buy their fem!s/o? ;)

Hey, I hope you enjoy these!

Characters: Dazai Osamu, Nakahara Chuuya, Edogawa Ranpo, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke, Fyodor Dostoevsky

Warnings: NSFW, lingerie

Dazai Osamu

This man is what we like to call an omniwhore. If it's on your body, he's interested in getting it off and getting you off.

Dazai's stated himself that he has quite wide-ranging tastes, so it's highly likely he'll just buy you something you'd feel sexy in, but if he had completely free reign...?

His tastes are pretty classic. He'd probably go for something black, with lace. He likes how it feels, warmed by your skin, against his hands, his tongue...

That being said, you don't need to buy anything expensive to seduce him. You could be lounging around in one of his shirts and a pair of thigh-highs and that would count as lingerie to him.

Dazai is someone who likes seeing his s/o wear his clothes, especially in a dishevelled, just-got-fucked kind of way.

Nakahara Chuuya

Chuuya's favourite colours seem to be black and red, which isn't a surprise coming from anyone in the Port Mafia. Chuuya leans towards an edgy, femme/homme fatale style if he's choosing lingerie for his lover.

Think bustiers, garters, body harnesses, edging into bondage chic, I guess you could say. These are his tastes and you don't have to subscribe to them, but if you do he'll be shoving you into closets, back seats of cars, his personal office, the club bathroom. Pretty much anywhere he can get you alone and start ripping off buttons.

There's a certain part of your body, and anything that brings his attention to it is enough to get Chuuya raring to go.

Thighs.

Stockings are great, but those little harnesses or garters that go around your thigh get him bricked up like an 18th Century window.

If you're feeling cheeky, you can lift up the hem of a skirt or let him see the outline of it under your pants. Man is gripping the edge of the table.

"You're killin' me with these, dollface."

Edogawa Ranpo

You know those candy thongs?

Jokes aside, I feel like Ranpo doesn't buy you straight-up lingerie as much as he occasionally grabs a little costume for you. Straight-up sex is probably kinda boring, even if it feels good, so why not have some fun with roleplay?

You could be a cute little nurse and he's the world's greatest detective.

Or you're a cute little maid, and he's the world's greatest detective!

These aren't cheap costumes, though—he'll get you some nice, high quality stuff and not those itchy, shiny polyester things from Shein.

If he does buy you underwear, it has cute prints and colours. I feel like he likes stripes, pastel ones. Pinks and blues and soft yellows, because it lowkey reminds him of candy wrappers.

However, one time he did just bring you a bag from the grocery store.

"Ranpo, why is there a can of whipped cream?"

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke

Okay, do not send Akutagawa into a lingerie store because he will panic and he will destroy the store with Rashoumon. At first he will be highly dismissive of buying you underwear—are you not capable of buying it yourself?

Give him time to come around to the idea that he can choose what he sees on your body, the intimate garments that are going to hug your skin under your clothes, for his eyes only. Then he gets it.

Akutagawa's taste definitely runs to dark fabrics: deep burgundies, black, of course, deep purples and emerald greens if he's branching out a bit. Lace and frills, but also a touch of leather and metal. You can't take the Port Mafia out of the boy, after all.

I don't know if this is a Port Mafia-induced kink but he also likes body harnesses. The straps against your skin, especially if they're cinched a little tight against your soft flesh, remind him of when he binds you in Rashoumon and spreads you out underneath him.

This works with normal outfits too, actually. If you wear something floaty with a body harness underneath, and he sees it? Especially when you're out in public or on the job?

There's gonna be a whole different kind of screaming coming from that dark alleyway.

Fyodor Dostoevsky

I'm hardly original in thinking this, but Fyodor would strikes me as the type to lean toward something clean, pure. Angelic, one might say.

White is very common, especially delicate fabrics like lace and silk. Fyodor likes to get his cold hands on you, to feel you shiver at his touch, and the contrast between warm, soft skin and cool, slippery silk pleases him.

The sight of your legs sheathed in pretty white stockings, lace clinging precariously to your upper thighs—that's a temptation he struggles to resist, especially when you sit on his lap. He's a stocking man and will ensure you always have plenty in your drawer.

Little babydoll nightdresses too, usually delicate and translucent.

Oh, and blindfolds.

He also has a lovely collection of pretty silk ropes to tie you up in.

[folkloresthings]

A little prompt maybe? Oscar didn't do well in a race and he's extremely frustrated even if he tried to act cool around everyone reader knows he's not alright.

Once they're finally by themselves Oscar can't help himself and starts kissing reader wanting to take his frustration out on reader.🤭

again, had to elaborate more than just thoughts for this because oh my god 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 longer than i meant to as well rip

it had been building all weekend. ever since he was ran off the track in qualification and lost out on a good starting position. the entire race had been, quite frankly, a disaster. you could barely watch it, the saying car—crash tv becoming all too real. but you had to be there for oscar, your loving boyfriend, because you knew how this would impact him.

he only sighed and gave you a quick kiss when you met him after the race. he didn’t have time to talk, ushered off to an interview, where he painted on that classic smile and shrugged the poor result off. but you could see it. those eyes you’d grown accustomed to had gone dim, disappointment hanging off of his every move. the others fell for his unbothered facade, but you knew him too well.

“you okay?” you finally asked oscar when you were both safe back in the confines of your hotel room. he’d been quiet the whole way there, the frustration and anger building the more times he replayed the race in his mind.

“fine,” he grumbled, slumping onto the edge of the bed, bouncing a little on the soft mattress. you pout, setting your bag down and slipping off your shoes. padding over to him, you slide yourself into his lap with ease. his hands find your waist by habit, legs straddling his thighs.

“can i do anything?” as soon as you offer, he’s got his lips on you. his kiss is hard, nearly knocking you backwards if it weren’t for the death grip he had on your hips. every bit of tension he’d been feeling spills past his lips, desperate for you to ease his pain.

when he breaks from you, lips swollen and breathless, your eyes are wide. oscar had always been gentle with you, even down to just a kiss, but there was a side of him slipping through that you didn’t know existed. and you’d never been so glad for a shit race.

“use me,” you whisper, stroking oscar’s stubbled cheek. his brows furrow, still catching his breath from the kiss. “you can use me. let it all out on me.”

you watch as your boyfriend’s eyes darken, understanding what you mean, hesitant hands creeping to the hem of your skirt.

“please,” you reiterate, shifting your hips on his hardening crotch. “let me help you relax. use me.”

in a flash, oscar’s on top of you and pulling your clothing from your body. the tear of your panties makes you shove him a little, mumbling something about your “favourite pair”, but the words fall away when he wraps his lips around your clit.

“fuck, oscar,” you whine, hand tightening in his hair. he’s a starved man, lapping you up like he’s been promised his last meal on earth.

pulling him up by the roots of his brunette locks, you revel for a second in the sight of his. his lips are slick with your wetness, pupils blown side. tasting yourself on his lips pulls a deep moan from your chest, grabbing lower at where his dick pulses hard against his middle.

“use me,” you repeat, guiding his tip to your dripping centre, clenching around nothing in desperation for him. “oscar, please. as hard as you want — just let go.”

it’s all he needs to slip into you, right to the hilt in one go, all breath leaving your chest at the feeling. he groans lowly, letting the feeling of your tight walls sucking him in wash over him. you grasp at his back, nails digging into his skin to urge him along.

“shit, darling,” oscar grunts, hips snapping against yours. your quiet hotel room fills with the sound of skin on skin, his moans and panting and your whines of his name. his grip was sure to leave a bruise in the morning, littering your breasts and middle. you whimper when he slips out of you, feeling emptier than ever, until he expertly turns you on your front.

his rough grip pulls your hips backward, ass rounding for his eyes only, letting him pound back into you at a brand new angle. it takes everything in you not to slump into the mattress, his endless fucking into you taking over all of your senses.

“stay right there for me, baby,” his australian droll fills your head, hands slipping to you front to hold you up. “feels so good, so fucking good. my girl, my good girl.”

his endless babble brings that white heat rising in your core, falling over the edge before you can even warn him. your thighs shake, collapsing into the soft bed as you gush on his cock, surely soaking the hotel sheets. the tightness of your hole as you cum squeezes oscar’s length with such a warmth that he’s crying out for you.

a few more hard thrusts and oscar’s load spills into you, coating your walls and dripping out of your pulsing hole once he slips out. falling down next to you, his hands turn gentle when he pulls you into his side, cradling your head to his chest.

“thank you,” he whispers and kisses your temple. “that really helped.”

“you should have terrible races every weekend if that’s the outcome,” you giggle, pressing yourself closer into him.

“no promises on the races,” oscar whispers. “but just say the word and i’ll fuck you silly whenever you want.”

[automotiveamerican]

How to get started replacing and welding body panels - Jim Smart @Hemmings

How to get started replacing and welding body panels – Jim Smart @Hemmings

Yes, novices can weld and repair sheetmetal with plenty of patience and attention to detail Sheetmetal fabrication and replacement mystifies a lot of us because it takes talent and patience to achieve the desired results. It also takes experience. However, every skill we learn has to start somewhere, and panel replacement is something you can learn both by doing and by watching others who know…

[shroomi1e]

❝ closer to me ❞

sampo + jing yuan + gepard + blade

summary: attractive ways they pull you closer / get your attention

cw: gender neutral, no phys description of reader, mostly fluff but blade's has a hint of spiciness

a/n: finals had me in a chokehold ya'll😭 also i'm in the middle of moving across the country so yeah that's been fun... safe to say i won't have much time for writing since i haven't had time for literally anything. have this in the meantime though

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sampo : by your belt loop

the belt loop is a classic, maybe even overdone, but it’s something that just screams “sampo”

it doesn’t matter whether you’re chatting with friends or alone with him in one of the dark alleys of belobog; sampo always wants you close to him. sometimes it’s to see your cheeks turn pink, and other times it’s to pull you away from danger.

especially when you’re up and about above the surface, where cars and trains criss-cross each other when the traffic is busy. if you’re standing a bit too close to the edge to the sidewalk while a car is passing by, his first instinct is to put a finger through your belt loop and pull you closer to him.

but other times it can be possessive. not the burning envy and jealousy that often leaves a bitter aftertaste, but the light and teasing possessiveness that sampo often displays. especially when you’re chatting with the others in belobog with your lover right behind you.

he watches your interactions fondly, but you’re acutely aware of the way his fingertips lightly run along the waistband of your pants, subtle enough for the others to not notice. he even leans forward just a few inches, his breath teasing the shell of your ear.

and his finger hooks through the belt loop, but he doesn’t do anything right away. he wants you to wonder when he’ll pull on it, to watch you stumble over your words as his finger plays with the small piece of fabric hanging off of your pants.

once the time is right, the cat pounces, and sampo tugs you backwards so that the back of your head gently bumps against his chest. he holds in a smug chuckle at the way you squeak, your body stiffening at the sudden gesture.

“ah, r-right, we needed to be somewhere. i-isn’t that right, sampo?”

sampo doesn’t give you an answer, opting to give you a smug smile laced with feigned innocence. you hurriedly wave goodbye to your friends and walk away, much to their confusion. even as you lightly slap his arm, all your lover can do is chuckle. after all, you do look quite cute with your arms crossed, lips in a pout and your cheeks pink.

“don’t do that, it’s embarrassing…”

he quickly hooks a finger into your belt loop again, this time the one on the side. the tug is slightly harder, not enough to surprise you too much, but enough to make you stumble into him. he catches you by putting an arm around your waist, his gloved fingers playing with the hem of your shirt. he leans down, his lips grazing your ear.

“but you love it, don’t you? don’t lie to poor old sampo here, you’re gonna hurt my feelings!”

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jing yuan : by your chair

jing yuan honestly thinks these meetings are a bore. perhaps even unnecessary. his chin rests on his palm, his eyelids drooping as they grow heavier and heavier. he hears words, but they only go in one ear and out the other. the only thing that’s keeping him awake is your occasional pinches to his thigh when he’s about to fall asleep.

and when he subtly glances towards you, all he sees is your stern expression, an eyebrow raised as a warning for him to stay awake. he’s promised to stay awake for today after missing multiple important meetings… but he can’t help it that he’s so bored!

he almost looks like a kicked puppy, sad that his owner won’t play with him. the least you could do is to entertain him, but alas, it seems you’re rather focused on the affairs of the xianzhou luofu. your eyes are fixed on the papers in front of you, your hands politely folded in your lap.

but jing yuan is determined. he’s promised to stay awake, so he will, but not without having his own fill of your attention. at first his hand starts on your knee. you give him a quick glance but don’t think too much of it.

his fingers drum against your knee, tugging on the fabric of your pants. when you shoot him a questioning glance, he gives you a small smile, silently asking for your attention. he’s hoping that maybe you’ll put your hand on his knee as well, maybe even hold his hand under the table. not to mention you’re sitting way too far away from him for his liking. but he also knows that you wouldn’t be shaken so easily.

upon receiving no reaction, his fingertips reach out for yours. jing yuan gives you puppy-dog eyes. c’mon, i’m so booored…

the way you narrow your eyes at him says it all. you’re the general here. stay focused while we’re on the job, will you? his pout deepens, a small sigh escaping his lips. is it so wrong to want your affection?

jing yuan’s had enough. his hand moves from your leg to the chair you’re sitting on, and as if you weighed nothing, he yanks your chair closer to his until you’re right next to each other. your shoulder bumps against his, your knees touching. the screech of your chair against the floor was loud enough for others to notice, much to your dismay… but your lover seems rather happy now that you’re sitting side-by-side.

you’re startled, to say the least. everyone in the room gives the two of you a quizzical look, but jing yuan thinks they should be used to it by now. the two of you are lovers, right? what’s wrong with him wanting you to sit a bit closer to him?

and with a victorious smile, he puts his arm over your shoulder and continues to listen to what his coworkers have to say. your wide eyes and parted lips don’t go unnoticed, but he could always attend to that later. (he still fell asleep btw)

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gepard : slight tugs on your fingertips

gepard often has a hard time voicing his needs. on the battlefield, he’s always firm and assertive, ensuring that the silvermane guards do their respective jobs while also staying safe. but whenever he’s around you, his voice catches in his throat and his words come out in jumbles. while he has no trouble leading his comrades into battle, gepard often finds it difficult to ask for something as simple as holding your hand.

maybe he’s going out on a walk with you on a rare day that he’s free, or perhaps he wants your attention while you’ve been chatting with a friend you ran into while out and about. gepard doesn’t have to courage to simply grab your hand and hold it, so he instead holds your fingertips in his hand, giving it slight tugs.

“geppie, you know you can always just hold my hand or hug me, right? there’s really no need to ask every single time.”

he swallows a lump in his throat, and his first instinct is to apologize. “i- er, sorry… i’m just not really sure how to ask.” gepard wasn’t lying though, he genuinely isn’t sure how to ask. does he just grab your hand? should he still ask out of courtesy? what if you don’t want to hold his hand?

his hands are much bigger than yours, and it almost seems like he’s scared of hurting you with how gently he tugs on your hand. but still, the gesture is noticeable enough for you to catch on, and you eventually learn to know what he wants just from that small tug on your fingers. when you respond by looking at him with curious eyes or by intertwining your fingers with his, gepard feels a sense of relief knowing that you understand.

it’s gotten to a point where your lover always tugs on your fingertips before asking for something. of course, gepard always follows it up by shyly whispering in your ear or stumbling over his words. but it’s a way to let you know he wants something from you, even the smallest things.

whether he wants to hold hands, a hug, a kiss, or even for you to just look at him, it always starts with that tiny gesture. he’ll do it while you’re in the kitchen cooking something for him before hugging you from behind. he’ll do it while you’re walking side-by-side as a silent way to ask to hold hands. and he’ll do it on late nights when he’s tired, his eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips in a silent request for a kiss.

he still wishes he could be a suave, cool lover that can smoothly ask for a kiss or maybe even just kiss you outright. but gepard is a gentleman through and through, and every kiss, hug, and held hands will only be followed by his gloved hands tugging on your fingers.

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blade : by your neck

the first time it happened, you were surprised. flabbergasted, even. the most conventional way to pull someone in for a kiss would be to either lean in close to them or hold onto their waist to pull them closer. but the last thing you expected was for blade’s fingers to gently wrap around your neck and pull you closer to him for a kiss.

his grip was soft, barely applying pressure to your neck. but it was still firm enough to lead you closer to him, close enough for your lips to meet his. and when the kiss broke, you stared at him with wide eyes. blade isn’t sure why you’re surprised, though. all he did was pull you in for a kiss, what seems to be the problem here?

even when hugging you, his hands don’t pull you in by your hips or waist; one hand is always on the back of your neck to bury your face into his chest. his bandaged fingers smooth over the nape of your neck, idly drawing patterns on your skin as he holds you close.

blade finds that his hands naturally want to touch your neck. he likes feeling the shallow thumping of your pulse against the pads of his fingers, wondering if his heart beat in the same rhythm as yours.

when he comes home from his duties, he’ll often find you sitting at your desk reading or attending to your hobbies. you can barely hear his feet pad against the floor as he approaches you from behind. you’re still not aware of his presence looming behind you, subtly looking over your shoulder to see what you’re doing. and before you know it, you feel a hand place itself on the base of your neck. you don’t fret though; you know exactly who it is from the feeling of the bandages wrapped around his hand.

“hi, blade,” you’d greet him gently. but your eyes remain fixed on your book. not him. that seems to be a problem.

“hm,” is the only reply you get. blade’s thumb rubs against the side of your neck affectionately, his fingers still gently wrapped around your neck. his hand moves further to the side of your neck so that his thumb can press against the underside of your chin. he tilts your head back, pushing your chin upwards so you can look at him while he’s standing behind your chair.

his hand moves up to hold your jaw, his thumb playing with your lower lip. you wait with a bated breath as if you know exactly what’s going to happen. and the moment your eyes flutter shut, blade leans down to meld your lips with his.

once the kiss is broken, he playfully drums his fingers against your neck. “mm, that’s better.”

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i was giggling and kicking my feet while writing blade's part ngl

[avatar-anna]

Ithink the first time professor interrupts one of harry’s workout sessions, she definitely gets all blushy and bashful, and he definitely notices and loves it.// can you make it a blurb pleaseee with harry teasing prof about oggling him, only if you're comfy with that?? thanks!!

Let's Get Physical

The Professor Series

You didn't know how he did it.

Here you were, body bent over as you heaved—even though you knew it would be easier to get air in your lungs if you stood up straight—hair falling out of your ponytail and sticking to your sweaty cheeks, which were probably an angry shade of red. Your legs had been the consistency of jello twenty minutes ago, and you weren't sure if you were going to be able to walk back to the car without falling over or passing out or both.

In other words, you were an absolute disaster.

Turning your head to the side, you looked at your boyfriend, who had broken a sweat but otherwise looked almost exactly the same as when he woke up this morning and suggested you go on this infernal run with him. He looked better even. His sleeveless shirt revealed muscles that were glistening with sweat, and when he lifted the hem to wipe his brow, your eyes zeroed in on his stomach, the butterfly tattoo, the trail of hair that led down to—

And now your face was red for a completely different reason.

"You okay down there?"

You rested wobbly arms on your hips and slowly straightened to look Harry in the eye. "No."

Harry grinned, clearly amused by your disheveled appearance. He looked too good for someone who just went on a run. You knew how you felt on the inside, which probably translated pretty well to how you looked physically, and Harry was just standing there fresh as a daisy.

Running. In the morning. You'd never been much of a morning person, but you were definitely not the type to exercise regularly. You got your fix by riding your bike around, and you made sure you got your steps in at work, but physical exertion? On purpose? And once again, in the morning? Absolutely not.

The things you did for love.

"You did really well," Harry said, stretching his arms above his head as he did so. While his head was tilted up, you couldn't help but stare, your mouth hanging open slightly.

You'd never been the type of person who based your affection for someone solely on looks. You valued relationships of the mind, being with someone who could somewhat keep up with you when you spoke to them. Harry was one hundred percent that person, but right now the only words that came to mind were two that you overheard your students using a few weeks ago: stupid hot.

"My whole body hurts," you managed to say, unable to keep the slight whine out of your voice. "I'm overheating, I probably have blisters, and these shorts are riding up my ass. Meanwhile, you look like one of the marble statues in the Classics Department—it's unfair."

You could tell Harry was trying to hold back a laugh as he digested your mini rant. You didn't mean for all of that to come out, but you were tired, and maybe a little delirious. He was making you delirious. You knew Harry was handsome, you saw him nearly every day, but something about his post workout appearance was putting you on edge. How his shorts weren't driving you crazy was also plaguing your mind, but mostly it was the overall look of him that had you at a loss for words.

"I think there was a compliment in there somewhere, so thank you," he said. When all you did was huff and glare at him, he took a couple steps closer to you. "I know those red cheeks of yours are from more than just the run. I can see right through your huffing and puffing, darling."

Your heart fluttered even more at the way his breath tickled your ear, but you were still cross with him for getting you out of bed to go on this run in the first place. Your perfectly soft bed in your temperature controlled bedroom. His teasing was noted and not appreciated.

"You're so—"

"Sexy? Devastatingly handsome? Hot?"

"Yes—No—Don't put words in my mouth!"

Harry's grin was smug as he said, "Doctor Y/l/n, are you getting a little hot?"

"I've been hot, that's what I've been trying to say! And you—you're not helping!"

He finally did let out a laugh then before leaning over and kissing your cheek. "Let's get you home."

"Please," you said gratefully, wanting to launch yourself at him the minute you returned and lie down and never get back up at the same time. Cardio had never really been your thing, but for some reason you let Harry pull you out of bed way before you should've been awake. Why you'd gotten up before your alarm at all was a mystery, but here you were, and now you were wondering if you'd ever catch your breath.

With Harry looking the way you did, you didn't think that outcome was likely.

You settled for holding Harry's hand as you walked back to his car, putting all your focus into not tripping over your feet. Your heart finally stopped beating wildly in your chest, which was a nice feeling, though now you were aware of all the sweat—on your back, your hair, your arms and legs. There was simply no way people actually endured this kind of physical exertion for fun.

"I love you, but I don't think I'll be joining you again," you said as you slid into the passenger seat of Harry's car. Once he was in and had his seatbelt on, you rested your head on his shoulder. "I don't think I'll be doing anything ever again."

"You could've stayed home," Harry said, resting a hand on your knee as he peeled onto the street. "Don't get me wrong, I love seeing you all hot and bothered—"

"Shut up," you said, moving his hand off your knee, even if, but he only moved it back.

"But," he continued, rubbing his thumb on the inside of your leg. It was such a casual touch, and he wasn't even looking over at you as he did it. He was just...happy to be near you. Harry always was. So even though he'd made you all flustered and promptly teased you for it, you rested your hand over his and patiently waited for him to continue. "Exercise means a post-workout shower."

There was a suggestion in Harry's tone that made your stomach flip and your heart pound the way it had been when you'd been desperately trying to keep up with him this morning. As he let his clear offer to take a post-workout shower together settle in, you just looked at him and sighed breathily through your nose.

He truly was the most handsome person you met. The hair under his ratty blue baseball cap curled perfectly, his jaw had just the right amount of stubble covering it, and there was a bead of sweat that was trailing down his neck, drawing your eyes as he swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing as he hummed along to the song playing from the car's speakers.

If you knew how to draw, you would capture this moment with a pen and paper. You technically had a perfect memory, but there was something so much more intimate about recalling each detail you loved about Harry and using it to create rather than just pulling it from where your brain had stored it. But your line of thinking was just so clinical. People often found your intelligence remarkable, but you'd always admired the kind of genius that lied in art and creativity. It was why Harry intrigued you so much when you met. He was so different from you, yet was so remarkable in his own right. He could express himself in ways that you couldn't, he saw things differently than you did, approached the world and his life at a different angle than you did, but was no less precise or right.

But he was different, today was clearly an example of that. Sometimes you were surprised by how well you and Harry seemed to get along when he was just so—

"Did I lose you?"

Blinking, you blushed and said, "No. I'm right here."

"Tell me what you're thinking," he said, voice soft and curious, the way it always was when he said those five words.

"Lots of things," you said honestly. "How I'm going to get out of this car let alone up the stairs to shower, for one."

"I'll carry you, of course," Harry said, smiling as he neared the street leading up to his house. A few moments of silence passed before he continued. Squeezing your leg, he said, "Don't hide from me, love. Tell me what you were thinking about."

You flipped the hand that was on your leg so that his palm was facing up and began to trace the lines on it. Parts of his hand were callused and rough, something that you weren't quite used to when you first met. But now you found Harry's hand steady and reliable, a source of comfort whenever you became nervous or overwhelmed. It didn't take a long time to realize you didn't want to hold anyone else's hand but his for the rest of your life.

"Did you know that Julius Caesar chose his soldiers by reading their palms?" you asked instead of answering his question.

"A sound military plan," Harry replied, knowing you weren't ignoring his request, just taking your time getting there.

You shrugged. "Not the worst in history."

Harry hummed, then asked, "Do you ever think about teaching history?"

"Instead of psychology?" you asked.

Now Harry shrugged. "I don't know. You seem passionate about it. Might be an interesting change."

You did like history, and you loved talking about it. It would be hard to narrow down what subject you actually wanted to focus on, especially when there were so many to pick from. But ultimately, "I kind of just like talking about it with you."

You were still looking down at Harry's hand, thinking of all the precision it would take to sketch the lines and creases in it. You were so transfixed that you didn't even realize the car had come to a stop in front of his house, or that Harry was blushing all the way down to his neck.

"Is that so?"

"Yeah. No one ever listens to me the way you do, you know?"

"Well, that's because no one explains it to me like you do."

Before you could ask what he meant by that, Harry's hand slipped from yours as he opened the door on his side of the car. As promised, he came around and opened yours, arms outstretched like he was fully prepared to carry your jelly limbs into the house.

"What do you mean?"

Harry tucked a strand of hair that had fallen from your ponytail on your run this morning. Most of your hair had fallen out, actually, but you appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

"You explain it like you were actually there. It's cute, and interesting, like I'm listening to a story."

"A good one?"

"The best."

You couldn't help but smile wide at that. Instead of letting Harry carry you out of the car, you leaned forward and kissed him, your hands cupping his cheeks and rubbing your thumbs against his skin affectionately. Harry didn't hesitate to rest his own hands on your waist before creeping under your sweater.

All those thoughts you had about him this morning came flooding back to you in one huge rush, making you wrap your legs around his waist and pulling him closer. Your lips hastily moved to his jaw, then his neck, trailing down and nipping at skin until—

Harry's breath hitched and you grinned as he lifted you out of the car, closing the door behind you with a definitive slam. Peals of laughter left you as Harry began to nuzzle your neck, his stubble tickling your skin the way you both knew it would as he made his way into the house.

*.*

A few weeks later, you stirred from sleep as you felt the bed shift as Harry sat up. Through squinted eyes, you watched as he stretched his arms above his head, the muscles in his back flexing and popping rolled the sleep out of his shoulders. You watched for a minute, admiring your boyfriend while still half asleep before reaching a hand out and lightly running a hand along his back.

Only startling slightly, he turned around, grinning down at you when he saw your half open eyes.

"Morning, Professor. I was gonna head out for a run this morning if you wanted to—"

Your hand had been trailing up his arm and across his shoulder until your index finger found the gold chain of his necklace. With one swift tug, you pulled his lips onto yours and his body until it was hovering over you.

"No, you're not," you said.

Harry grinned into the kiss, his hands already searching for the hem of your shirt. "No, I'm not."

[kikimurphys]

The Wrap Party (Part 4)

Warning: none

The late afternoon light filtered through your window as you stood in front of your mirror, carefully applying the last coat of mascara to your long lashes. Your heart raced in anticipation. Tonight wasn’t just any night—it was a proper date with Cillian. After everything that had happened between you, this felt monumental, and you couldn’t shake the nervous energy bubbling inside.

As you finished your makeup, your phone buzzed on the dresser beside you. A text from him: On my way. xx

Your heart did a little flip at the sight of his message. Butterflies danced in your stomach, and you felt a rush of excitement. God, why am I so nervous? You took a deep breath and smoothed down your dress, trying to steady yourself.

You’d chosen a black, loose-fitting long-sleeved dress that hugged you in all the right places, the hem stopping just under your bum, showing off your toned legs. It was simple yet elegant. Paired with matching black kitten heels, a bold red lip, and your hair styled in loose waves, the look was casual but effortlessly chic. The kind of look that didn’t try too hard but still felt undeniably sexy.

Just as you finished spritzing on your favorite perfume, the doorbell rang. He’s here.

When you opened the door, there he stood—Cillian. He was dressed in a dark, tailored shirt and jeans that fit him perfectly, his hair slightly tousled in that effortlessly charming way. The moment his eyes landed on you, they darkened with appreciation, and a slow, appreciative smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

"Wow," he murmured, his voice low as he took you in. "You look… incredible."

You felt a blush creep up your neck, heat pooling in your cheeks at the way he was looking at you. “Thank you,” you said softly, slipping your bag onto your shoulder and stepping outside.

He leaned in to greet you with a kiss, gentle and warm, his lips brushing yours as you gripped his shoulders for balance. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer for just a moment before he pulled back. “Ready?” he asked, his voice soft but laced with excitement.

You nodded, smiling as you followed him to the black luxurious car waiting outside. Of course, he had a chauffeur. As the car door opened, he gestured for you to slide in first. Always the gentleman. You settled into the back seat, the plush leather cool against your skin as he joined you.

The drive was smooth, the city lights flashing by as you both exchanged small talk about your day. There was a comfortable ease between you, but the undercurrent of attraction buzzed just below the surface. When the car finally stopped outside the restaurant, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter of nerves as you stepped out onto the pavement.

The restaurant was stunning—sleek and modern, with an upscale ambiance that screamed sophistication. You could tell just from the people inside that this was a place for the elite, the posh crowd who knew they were something special. But instead of feeling intimidated, you found yourself amused by it all.

As you were seated at your table, the mood shifted slightly, becoming more intimate. The candlelight flickered between you, casting soft shadows on his face as you both perused the menu.

“What are you thinking of ordering?” he asked, glancing up at you with that mischievous glint in his eyes.

You smirked. “Hmm, I think I’ll start with the lobster bisque. Very fancy, right? What about you?”

“Steak. Medium-rare. Can’t go wrong with a classic,” he replied, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “Though, I have to say, I didn’t take you for the fancy-lobster-bisque type.”

You laughed, feeling the tension ease as the conversation naturally flowed. “Oh, I’m full of surprises. And I’ll have you know, I can also appreciate a good burger from time to time.”

His grin widened. “Good to know. We’ll save that for our next date then.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Next date, huh?”

“Oh, absolutely. I’m already planning on it,” he teased, leaning forward slightly. “Maybe somewhere less… posh.”

You felt a flutter in your chest at his words, and the night continued with that same playful energy. As the courses came and went, you found yourself opening up more, sharing stories and anecdotes about your lives.

“So, tell me,” he said after a sip of wine, “how did you get into the whole acting thing? Was it something you always wanted?”

You paused, thinking for a moment before answering. “It’s kind of funny actually. When I was little, I wanted to be a writer. But I was always a bit of a drama queen,” you joked, “and in school, I just loved being on stage. It felt like the one place I could be completely myself—or someone else entirely. You know what I mean?”

He nodded, his eyes focused on you intently. “Yeah, I get that. There’s something about stepping into someone else’s shoes for a while. It’s freeing.”

You tilted your head, curiosity piqued. “What about you? I mean, you’re this big, successful actor now, but was that always the plan?”

He chuckled. “Not exactly. I actually wanted to be a musician. I was in a band when I was younger, but acting sort of… found me. I still miss music sometimes, but I wouldn’t change a thing. I love what I do.”

You smiled, feeling a genuine connection in that moment. It wasn’t just surface-level attraction—you both had these deep, shared passions that fueled you.

“So, rockstar Cillian, huh?” you teased, taking a sip of your wine.

“Don’t mock me,” he said with a playful grin. “I had my moments.”

The conversation flowed effortlessly after that. You shared more stories—embarrassing moments from your youth, the worst jobs you ever had, the weirdest fan encounters. You laughed until your sides hurt, especially when Cillian told you about a particularly odd fan interaction where someone had asked him to sign their baby’s forehead.

“I swear, I didn’t know what to do,” he said, still laughing. “I just kind of… awkwardly patted the baby’s head and walked away.”

“Oh my god, that’s ridiculous,” you giggled. “I would’ve paid to see that.”

By the time dessert came around, the chemistry between you was undeniable. You both leaned in closer, sharing secretive smiles, your knees brushing more often under the table. Every touch, every glance felt electric, building a tension that neither of you could ignore.

As you walked out of the restaurant toward the car, his hand naturally found your waist, keeping you close as you both laughed, slightly tipsy from the wine. Your steps were clumsy, but you didn’t care—you couldn’t stop teasing each other, and every playful bump or stumble made you more aware of how close he was.

The moment the car door closed behind you, the tension in the air shifted again—electric, charged. You barely had time to think before your hand reached up, fingers curling around the back of Cillian’s neck, pulling him closer. His body pressed against yours instantly, his chest firm against the softness of your dress.

The kiss deepened, his lips parting to taste you as his tongue slid teasingly against yours, slow, deliberate, like he was savoring every second. It was intoxicating—the way he moved against you, the heat building between your bodies in a languid, heated rhythm.

He pulled back just enough to speak, his breath hot against your lips. “Couldn’t wait, could you?” His voice was a low murmur, teasing, his fingers still gripping your waist with a possessive touch.

You bit your lip, your pulse quickening. “You’re the one who can’t keep your hands off me.”

He chuckled darkly, his hand sliding lower to cup your bum. The soft, firm squeeze made your breath catch, your body responding instantly to his touch. “Can you blame me?” he whispered, his lips ghosting over your ear. “Look at you... You’ve been driving me mad since the moment I saw you in that dress.”

A shiver ran down your spine at his words, your body aching for more. His other hand slipped down to caress the bare skin of your thigh, inching closer to the hem of your dress. His fingers grazed the sensitive skin there, teasing you, promising more without giving it yet.

“You’re killing me,” you breathed, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him even closer, needing to feel every inch of him against you.

His hand slid under your dress, finding your clothed core. His fingers brushed against the thin material of your thong, and a soft, involuntary moan escaped your lips. The sound made him groan, his grip tightening as he pulled you harder against him. His lips crashed into yours again, hungrier this time, his tongue claiming yours with a slow, sensual rhythm that sent a rush of heat straight to your core. Every stroke of his tongue against yours was deliberate, a game of control and desire, each kiss deeper, wetter, as you both lost yourselves in the sensation.

“Fuck,” he growled against your lips, his voice rough with want. “You’re soaked already, aren’t you?”

You nodded, too breathless to answer, your body arching into him, craving more. His fingers slid teasingly along the seam of your thong, just barely pressing against your core, making you whimper in frustration.

“Say it,” he whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “Tell me how much you want me.”

Your voice was shaky, but the need in it was undeniable. “I need you, Cillian... I can’t—” You gasped as his fingers pressed harder against you, sending a delicious jolt of pleasure through your body. “I can’t wait.”

A low, dangerous chuckle escaped him. “Good girl,” he murmured, his lips returning to yours in a heated, possessive kiss. His hand moved in slow circles, his fingers grazing you through the thin fabric, making your legs tremble. The friction was just enough to drive you mad, your body aching for more, desperate for him to take you right there.

By the time the driver pulled up in front of his building, both of you were on edge. The minute the car stopped, Cillian was out, offering his hand to you with a smirk that sent your pulse racing. You took it, your legs trembling slightly as you stepped out of the car. The heat between you was unbearable now, both of you too far gone to care about anything but each other.

The porter barely acknowledged you as you entered the lobby, but you heard him greet Cillian with a polite “Good night, Mr. Murphy,” while he pressed the elevator button for you.

As soon as the elevator doors closed behind you, the heat exploded. You didn’t even wait for him to make a move. Your back hit the mirror with a soft thud, and you pulled him into you, your lips crashing into his in a fervent kiss. His tongue slid against yours, hot and slick, teasing you, making your knees weak as you moaned into his mouth.

He groaned against your lips, hands gripping your waist as he pressed his body into yours. “Fuck, you’re killing me,” he muttered, his voice thick with lust as his lips found that spot behind your ear again, the one that made you shiver. His hand moved from your waist, slowly gliding up to cup your breast through your dress, his thumb brushing over your nipple until it hardened beneath his touch.

Your head fell back, a soft moan escaping your lips as your body arched into him. “You like that?” he whispered against your skin, his lips trailing down your neck. “You like when I tease you like this?”

“Yes,” you gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders for support. “God, yes.”

He chuckled softly, his fingers teasing the fabric of your dress. “I bet you do. I’ve barely touched you, and you’re already falling apart, aren’t you?”

The elevator dinged, signaling you’d reached the top floor. As the doors slid open, you stepped out, and Cillian followed close behind, his hand gently resting on your lower back. When he unlocked the door and gestured for you to enter first, you felt a mix of excitement and anticipation pulse through you.

His penthouse was just as you’d imagined—sleek, modern furniture arranged against the backdrop of floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the shimmering city lights. It was breathtaking, but you barely had time to admire it before you felt his warm hands slide over your shoulders, fingers deftly sweeping your hair to one side, exposing the curve of your neck.

"Been waiting all night for this," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. The rasp in his voice sent a delicious shiver down your spine, his Irish accent making the words even more irresistible. His lips grazed the shell of your ear, and you could feel the heat of his body radiating against yours.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep control, but your pulse quickened when you felt his hands glide to the small of your back, slowly pulling down the zipper of your dress. "Waiting to feel you," he murmured, his lips trailing soft, lingering kisses down the side of your neck, making your breath hitch. "Waiting to taste you."

The way his voice curled around each word set your skin alight. You let your bag drop to the floor with a soft thud.

"Then do," you purred, voice low, laced with desire. You turned to face him, your lips finding his in a slow, tantalizing kiss.

His mouth crashed into yours with a hunger that made your knees weak. The kiss was deep, consuming—his lips soft but firm, moving expertly against yours, coaxing you to let go. His tongue brushed yours, teasing, exploring, as his hands slid down to your hips, pulling you flush against him. You could feel the hard planes of his chest pressing into you, the heat of his body igniting something wild inside you.

You whimpered softly against his lips, your hands fisting in the fabric of his half-open shirt, tugging him closer. His tongue swept over yours again, this time slower, more deliberate. Each stroke, each flick sent sparks down your spine, and you found yourself melting into him, lost in the sensation.

He groaned softly into your mouth as his palms cupped your ass, squeezing firmly. The sound sent a rush of heat through you, pooling low in your belly.

“Believe me,” he growled, his voice dark, rough with desire as he pulled back just enough to whisper against your lips, “I will.”

Before you could respond, he lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist. This was going to be a long night, you thought.

tags:

@mamawiggers1980 @xsweetcatastrophe @galactict3a @thistheivyseason @cillianmurphyvevo @sweetcheesecakesblog @cillianmurphyfanatic