#briefly shown or mentioned:

[fili-oeuvre]

{ INT. CONTAINMENT LABS - CENTRAL HALL }

Samantha led Cosmos through a narrow hall. He made sure to keep pace with her since time. As they walked, he wondered about where she was taking him.

She hadn’t said what exactly or where exactly she was taking him when she came to retrieve him. All she said was that he needed to follow behind her.

He noticed how there seemed to be less and less individual rooms as they went. It was becoming more and more like she was leading him to a more isolated part of the labs.

He wasn’t entirely sure whether to feel uneasy or anxious, but he tried not to think about it. That would cause him to just assume the worse and that wouldn’t help him keep a leveled head.

Besides, he didn’t want to get worked up and then it just turned out that she wanted him to do another obstacle course again.

He just looked down at his own feet for the rest of walk.

Cosmos: [ I hope that… whatever this is won’t be too bad ]

——————

{ INT. CONTAINMENT LABS - OUTSIDE PROCTOR’S PERSONAL LABS }

They finally stopped outside of a large door that opened after only a second of arriving to it.

There stood a very tall no-fur who wore a similar suit to Samantha, but had two dull green stripes on either side of his neck along with the black section around it. His suit was also a dull gray rather than white, with black sections that covered where his forearms and hands should be.

The no-fur had short dark hair that was neatly slicked back and had no visible hairs out of place. It was a bit unnerving how… neat he looked.

Neat seemed like a nice way to put it.

Though that wasn’t what really caught Cosmos’s attention.

On either side of the no-fur’s mouth, he seemed to have two dark "holes" or "spots" that pulsed a faint fading glow. From those “holes”, dark lines went along his jaw to disappear under his clothes and back around towards the back of his neck. It also went down the middle to trace the front of the man’s throat like the natural stripes of some insects Cosmos had seen before in the forest.

Behind the man, a long dark tail flicked behind him. It seemed to have be furry with a tufted end, but something seemed weird about it in a way that he couldn't place it.

Cosmos: [ I didn’t know that they could be this tall! Is… is that a tail? They can have tails?! ]

He looked at the man again and thought of how he seemed to rival even Castor in terms of height.

The tall no-fur looked at Samantha, completely ignoring the small fox who was just trying to take in the very sight of him.

Proctor: Thank you, Samantha. You may return to your other duties now.

His mouth didn't even open and yet Cosmos heard a voice emitting from him. The voice didn't even sound remotely like it was coming from a living being. Maybe from something that was trying to imitate another living being.

He then realized that the voice seemed to be coming from the “holes” on the man’s face.

Samantha didn't seem to react at all to the strangeness of it, but simply nodded and walked back down the hall, leaving Cosmos alone with the strange, tall no-fur.

Those cold gray eyes felt like they were seeing directly into Cosmos's soul. A shiver went down his spine. That gaze made him want to bury himself under a tree and never come out.

Proctor: Please, follow me. *he turned to walk into the room, tail flicking casually behind him as he walked*

Cosmos followed without even realizing he was, as if something in the man’s voice beckoned him forward. He curled his tail around his legs nervously as he looked around the room.

The room was spacious and wide. It sort of reminded him of the inside of a healer den with how big it was. Though, the healer dens were normally full of roots and shelves and other things such as treatment areas that made great use of the space.

This one just seemed to be… empty.

It also had much dimmer lighting than the rooms Cosmos had been in before. The ceiling in particular seemed to be completely shrouded in darkness, but he could swear that he heard something moving around up there.

It wasn’t much of a problem for him though. His eyes adjusted quickly to the low lighting, but he wasn’t sure if that made it better now that he could see what was on the ceiling.

A collection of long, thin… things were nestled closely together, but some were writhing about as if impatient.

It reminded him of how snakes would come together to hibernate in the colder months. Though, snakes seemed a lot less scary than whatever this was.

He was so focused on the center of the mass that he didn’t notice the mechanical tendrils that were quietly lowering behind him. He did however hear the soft sounds that made, but before he could anything a few of the tendrils wrapped around him like a giant snake.

Cosmos: *he tried to gasp in shock but no sound came out* *eyes widened with fear and shock as the tendrils kept him secure in their tight grip*

Proctor: *has his back turned to Cosmos* Don’t even try and talk or fight your way out of this. Some of the other ones thought they could, but it won’t work. Just let it happen, it’ll make my job easier.

Before Cosmos could process what he said a sharp pain shot as a needle was strategically pierced into the side of his neck. With precision, the needle released a substance into his bloodstream, working almost immediately as he felt his muscles to go numb and his head get dizzy.

He couldn’t even scream or shout. All he could do was let out small sounds of pain and confusion as the drug started to overwhelm his system.

More mechanical tendrils moved to hold him up and effortlessly move him to a large table at the center of the room. Moving with precision and surprising speed, the tendrils placed him on the table and holographic restraints appeared to hold down his arms, legs, and head. Bright lights from the ceiling blinded his blurring vision as he struggled to concentrate on what was going on.

Proctor: *he walked back to stand next to the table, looking down at Cosmos* Don’t fret little one, you won’t feel anything when I cut you open. *he reached down to grab at Cosmos’s face to force him to look directly at him, placing his other hand next to Cosmos’s head to keep himself balanced as he leaned over the smaller being* Just relax and don’t fight it.

Cosmos could have sworn that he saw the tall man smiling as he moved to stand over him. Though, it could’ve just been his imagination.

His vision faded to darkness as the drug overtook him.

——————

{ A WHOLE STUDY SESSION LATER }

Proctor: That will be all for today. *has his tendrils lower the unconscious but intact body onto a transport table, careful not to damage the specimen* *flicks his tail at an awaiting attendant to beckon them forward to take the transport table* Please take him back to his cell. I’ve gotten what I need from him for now.

——————

{ INT. CONTAINMENT B: 213 }

The attendant placed the specimen on the bed before promptly leaving. The specimen was still breathing so they had no reason to stay. Besides, they’d likely be waking up in a few moments as the drug wore off.

In the room, a few minutes after they had left, the small little fox stirred. He was still feeling dizzy from the drug, but he regained enough control of his body to curl up into a ball. He hugged his tail like a safety blanket, burying his face in it as if it would chase off anything that tried to hurt him.

He willed himself into a dreamless sleep.

——————

Part 5…

uhhhh, yeah, um, he'll be fine

(*pats Cosmos on the head*)

Previous: Part 4

Next: Part 6

[kxllerblond]

reading book? too much effort. sitting down and writing replies?? can't focus.

youtube rabbit hole of in-depth Barbie history and architectural design of dream houses and playsets? i got all da focus in da world baybeee!

[ziracona]

Hey hey hey - You want a cool writing trick?

So it’s super common writing advice that an audience rarely accepts chance as a reason something good happens to a character, but will almost always happily accept it as a reason for something bad to happen to them. Character is about to be shot, but the ceiling gives way and something hits their attacker? Unbelievable. Character is about to apprehend the badguy but the ceiling breaks and falls on them? God, this poor unlucky bastard—of course that would happen.

Now, if you need someone to have the perfect knowledge or skill or for the universe to help them, the common ways are either earn it by setting it up earlier (IE Max is established in the first 5 minutes to be a universal donor, so it’s not cheap by the time he gives blood to Furiosa in the finale), or make it funny (the Roger Rabbit rule - an audience will excuse anything if it’s funny enough).

The other common option is to make it part of the narrative (IE in Tokyo Godfathers, God really does want that baby to live. By the time Hana gets a literal miracle, there have been so many small miracle buildups, it’s earned).

That’s by no means comprehensive and there’s a ton of ways to do this, but I’d like to introduce my personal favorite: Laundering the Character.

Laundering the Character is taking a cheap move (I know I need Tevan to have crucial knowledge he suddenly remembers to fix a situation at the end of act 2), and legitimizing it by making that same skill, knowledge, or character’s presence, /insanely/ to the detriment of the protagonist first. (Tevan remembers things from before his amnesia at random. This causes him to be mistrusted, and the group fights and is trapped on floor 8 over it. His information drastically increases group paranoia).

This way, by ‘paying’ for the skill first, you’ve legitimately earned it by the time you get to what you originally wanted. Thus ‘laundered’ them.

[voyaging-too]

The most interesting and most important thing about Lord of the Rings is that Frodo fails the quest. He fails the quest, he can’t destroy the ring, he claims the ring for himself, only for it to be taken and accidentally destroyed by Gollum. There are so many ways to interpret that moment!

You can say: evil always defeats itself. The ring destroyed Smeagol, and Gollum destroyed the ring.

You can say: it’s divine providence. Fallible mortals cannot attain grace by their own power. No matter how they try, they will fail unless providence lifts them up. But providence will lift them up. Very Romans 9:16. It depends not upon man’s will or exertion, but upon God’s mercy.

You can say: actions have unpredictable consequences, and here, a series of unrewarded acts of compassion finally gained their reward. There is such a thing as fate, and it is, in its own way, fair. Multiple characters had the chance to kill Gollum, and a good reason to do it too, since he tried to kill them first, and was still a threat. But Bilbo chose to spare him, Frodo chose to spare him, (during the Council of Elrond it’s briefly mentioned that Aragorn and Gandalf and a serious number of elves chose to spare him), and a few minutes before he attacked Frodo, Sam very reluctantly chose to spare him for a final time. If any of them had chosen to kill Gollum, even in reasonable self-defence, he could not have played his part in destroying the ring. But in the decisive moment, the world showed compassion to Frodo as a reflection of the compassion he had shown.

You can say what LeGuin said: Frodo and Gollum are essentially two halves of the same person. Of course the hero can only complete his goal after a violent struggle with himself, only it’s the good half of him that fails, and the evil half that in the end achieves the quest.

You can say: the last time Frodo and Gollum met, Frodo forbade him from ever laying a hand on him, and cursed him to fall into the flames if he tries. The power of the ring, or the power of Frodo wearing the ring, actually caused this to come true. (See this post about Frodo laying a geas.)

What I myself feel and say is this: Gollum thought he was attacking Frodo and taking the ring for himself. What he was actually doing is saving Frodo and saving the world. He saved Frodo from the Ring, from Sauron, from the failure of his quest, from something far worse than mere death. And he’s the only one who could do it: Sam had carried Frodo, he had fought Shelob for Frodo and would gladly die for Frodo, but he could never have hurt him, or taken the ring by force. Gollum could, but only because he didn’t know why he was doing it. He was a sleeper agent of Good. He thought he was attacking Frodo and grabbing the ring for himself, when in fact he was giving his own life, to save his Master whom he loved.

[currently-becoming-potatoes]

List of words for the computer:

LONG POST- more under the cut

STANFORD- Pulls up a file on Stanford Pines, written by an unknown scientist. It discusses his extra finger and praises his intelligence, as well as calling him the “next evolution in the human species”.

BILL CIPHER- Takes you to the Wikipedia page for the Eye of Providence. Also took me to a Sesame Street video about a Jazzy Triangle and a Square. Not sure what prompted the change.

STANLEY PINES: Takes you to a list of EBay listings for brass knuckles.

FIDDLEFORD: Takes you to the music video for Cotton Eye Joe by Rednex.

SHERMIE: Nothing. I sure do wish we got some lore about Grandpa Pines.

GRAVITY FALLS: The text on the computer reads “never heard of it” and the red light on the bottom turns green.

ALEX HIRSCH: Leads to Google Images for “flannel”. Huh.

WEIRDMAGEDDON: Pulls up an article from the Gravity Falls Gossiper about how nothing happened at all and there was no apocalypse.

DISNEY: Screen reads “rat.gif censored for your protection”

SOOS: Leads to a page of writing from Soos himself, referencing many things (including Tad Strange being gay and madly in love with Woodpecker Guy. Love wins!!!)

DIPPER: Leads to a creepy yellow parchment with a message from Bill Cipher himself trying to trick Dipper into blinding himself by staring at the sun for 13 hours straight! Silly! (Also if you keep clicking on it, the page gets darker and blurrier until it implies we've gone blind)

MABEL: Causes stickers to appear on every available surface. Clicking it enough times leads to message “lab now fully Mabelized”.

WENDY: Leads to a note from Wendy that mentions a way to ward off evil triangles written in the bottom corner of the book.

GIDEON: Makes a web recording of Gideon scatting play. It ends with “I love you forever Mabel”. Please shut the fuck up you little creep.

TAD STRANGE: Plays a video of bread with smooth jazz in the background.

TOBY DETERMINED: Leads to a Google search for a restraining order. Holyyyyy shittttttt

WHO ARE YOU: “I could ask you the same question”

SEASON 3: “Season Two”. I guess that’s that lol

This was about all I could find. Please reblog with anything else you can discover! Thank you, fellow Gravity Falls enjoyers!

And make sure to give some love to all the wonderful folks down in the comments! Many of these answers and tips come from what they've found. I can't list everyone, unfortunately- I didn't expect this post to get popular- but, to everyone who's helped out, THANK YOU.

FURTHER EDITS:

BLIND EYE: Pulls up an optometrist’s eye exam. Each line reads “WKHBOOVHH”. Too lazy to translate atm.

PIÑATA: Bill Cipher getting beaten to death /hj

MASON: A note from Dipper listing several anagrams of Gravity Falls characters’ names. You can check in the comments for the answers.

AXOLOTL: “You ask alotl questions”. Thanks for the pun, Alex, but I’m kind of losing my mind rn

MYSTERY SHACK: Leads to a Google search for Confusion Hill, the real-life Mystery Shack!

MYSTERY: “?”

MONSTER: Leads to several YouTube videos for “There’s a Monster at the End of this Book.”

VALLIS CINERIS: Leads to an analog-horror-esque video of Baby Bill and his parents, who have been blotted out by static, and a voice repeating “WHY DID YOU DO IT” over and over again until you stop the video.

PORTAL: “Portal.exe has been deleted. I bet you could build a new one.”

GIFFANY: You need to put it in multiple times. Several warnings about breaching firewall, followed by a message from GIFFANY saying “SOOS! I still love you!” or smth like that, and then GIFFANY herself briefly appearing onscreen. Trying again after that summons her more. Also lets you download some ZIP files.

DORITO: Summons an image of a spinning Dorito, followed by the most cursed image of Bill Cipher I have ever seen.

GOD: A short video of an axolotl in a tank with a Bill Cipher statue plays. This is Alex’s axolotl, shown in the Book of Bill countdown.

REALITY: “Is an illusion”

FILBRICK: “I’m not impressed”

CARYN: “I knew you were gonna write that”

GLASS SHARD BEACH: Leads to an image of the New Jersey Hell Hole.

ANY CUSS WORD: Pulls up a paper reading “NOT S&P APPROVED. WASH YOUR MOUTH OUT WITH SOAP” with an image of soap below.

MATPAT: Leads to a video of MatPat next to a conspiracy board, holding the Book of Bill. He tells us we’re on our own.

BABBA: Plays an audio recording of Dipper singing BABBA. Not Disco Girl, a different song.

CRAZ: Leads to the Jem and the Holograms theme.

XYLER: See above.

AD ASTRA PER ASPERA: Shows us two new journal pages from Ford and Mabel, studying the Cipher statue. They’re definitely worth the read, I teared up looking at them.

ANSWER: “Question”

QUESTION: “Answer”

SEASON ONE: “Season -1: Antigravity Falls”

SEASON TWO: “Season 1” …maybe scratch what I said about Season 3. Or don’t. Things are starting to damage my brain.

CURSED (got from @slimslamflimflam decoding the candle! Thanks!): Shows two pages talking about the dangers of drawing triangles, with the bottom of the second page showing several drawings of Bill and the words “HE IS COMING, RUN”

THE UNIVERSE: “Hologram”

RIZZ: “Life privileges revoked. Now releasing poison gas.” This response is repeated if you type in SKIBIDI or FORTNITE.

BABY: Shows an ultrasound of a fetus Bill Cipher, captioned “Look at what’s growing inside you! See you in nine months, papa!”

JOURNAL 3: “The Journal for Me”

PACIFICA: Leads to a note from Pacifica calling Bill Cipher “ick” and telling us to follow her on social media under “Platinum Paz”

PLATINUM PAZ: Pulls up an image of Northwest Manor with the llama symbol overlaid and a “NW” logo beneath. There's also a short story beneath!

LOVE: Leads to an audiobook of “The Love Triangle”. Need to read later.

BLENDIN: “The time agent lost and presumed incompetent”. Uh…?

SCARY: Leads to another audiobook of a cheesy Goosebumps-esque horror novel written by Bill himself, apparently.

DIVORCE: Shows you the logo of the bar Bill went to after his fight with Ford… Billford bitter exes confirmed

ROBBIE: Leads to the cringiest messages ever. He’s such a failure I love him

CONSPIRACY: Leads to a video of a man losing his mind over the countdown counting up. I feel so seen. (I have been informed that his name is Charlie Day, he's an actor from It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia and that one meme, he had a quote on the back of the Book of Bill, thanks to everyone who explained that to me, I'm sorry, I'm uncultured)

RAT: “Thurburt’s number?”

BLANCHIN: Leads to a YouTube video on how to blanch vegetables.

TJ ECKLEBURG: “Never mention that name again.”

NOTHING: “Something”

SOMETHING: “Nothing”

BURNSIDE: “Burned inside.” Well… at least we know what happened…

WADDLES: Leads to the pig placement network!

THERAPRISM: Pulls up a sign from the theraprism regarding an emergency situation. The code reads "THE OLD ONE".

SHAPE: Pulls up an article on Plato, triangles, and Ancient Greece. This article is presumably written by Bill.

LLIB and BILL: THIS leads to the Sesame Street video every time.

WEIRD: Shows a video of a frightened Weird Al panicking about being trapped in a computer. Sorry, man...

CLONE: Pulls up an image of Paper Jam Dipper, a warning about not getting him too close to liquids, and an option to print.

TRIANGLE: ")" or "Tri harder."

THEYLLSEE: "Is seeing believing?"

DEER TEETH: "For you, kid!"

LIFE: "Life: 72% complete. Now loading: death."

DEATH: "Life's goth cousin."

PINES: "A good family tree."

OWL TROWEL: A slab of hieroglyphs, translating to an ancient ad for an owl trowel.

SCALENE: "Life form not found." EUCLID has the same outcome.

WELL WELL WELL BEING: Some assorted notes from Bill's Theraprism file. These include his greatest love and fear, his art therapy notes, and notes on his phobias. Three clicks is required to read them all.

BOO BERRY: Offers a poem on the meaning of life! Wow! I feel so enlightened!

LOVE YA BRO: Shows us a doodle from Stan of one of his and Ford's Sea Grunks adventures, and another code on the back. It translates to "Kings of New Jersey." I've been told it lets you download the code as a font.

SORRY: Reveals the repaired Backupsmore photo, with a note from Fiddleford about his and Ford's growing friendship. Fiddauthor fans, we are eating well tonight!

HORROR: Pulls up an image and report on The Always Garden, which is essentially a cheap Italian restaurant hidden in the backrooms.

HOLOGRAM: "Universe."

NAITSUAF: Pulls up a page that looks like it would be from the Book of Bill, in which Bill tries to convince us to sell us his soul. Clicking "ARE YOU READY?" pulls up a contract where we can sell our soul to Bill (with an alarming amount of coded fine print. Will need to translate later). You can print this document out, back out, or sign it right there on the web. Hitting "SIGN" causes the words "PLEASURE DOING BUSINESS WITH YOU!" to appear, and the document to close. In other words, I no longer have a soul.

IMSTILLONYOURMIND: Plays a recording of the ocean, with Stan faintly talking in the background. Poor Ford ain't quite over the divorce yet...

HOTXOLOTL: Pulls up a "MOST WANTED" doc on the henchmaniacs.

SEVENEYES: Pulls up a faded polaroid of The Oracle with text on the back that reads "LEAVE HIM. Escape to dimension *blurred out*. It's against the rules but it's the only reality where you'll be safe from him." The code at the bottom (once again decoded by the powerhouse that is @slimslamflimflam) reads "Set a course for Dimension: R34LITY." Is another Cipher Hunt in the makes? Only time will tell, hehehe.

JUST FIT IN: Plays an old commercial with a few moments of speech in the glitches at the end.

EVEN HIS LIES ARE LIES: Shows a transcript from a therapy session at the Theraprism. Bill discusses his relationship with Ford and cuts off the session when someone brings up his parents.

NOT A PHASE: Shows a Google search for "black hair dye stained an entire bathroom."

PAPER IS BOOK SKIN: Instantly downloads a page of fleshy pink paper with the word "ENJOY" written on it!

SHAVE YOUR GRANDMA: Pulls up a few more pages about the human life cycle.

LIES: Pulls up an image of "The Game of Lies" board game, with a long stretch of text from (I assume) Bill, ending with "LIE UNTIL YOU ARE NOT LYING ANYMORE." Someone has some issues...

SAY BAAAA: Pulls up a neat little rhyme about being Bill Cipher's obedient flock of sheep. The code at the end translates to "Black Sheep."

ONE EYED KING: Plays a video of a hypnotist's spiral, with Bill proclaiming "YOU WANT TO PLEDGE YOUR SOUL TO BILL CIPHER" in the background. There is also morse code that translates to "NAITSUAF", leading to a previous discovery- the soul contract.

TANTRUM: Pulls up a transcript of a spat between Bill and Time Baby.

TITANS BLOOD: "HOOT HOOT! Password please!"

CURSE WITTEBANE: Pulls up an image of a Bill Cipher ouija board.

FORDTRAMARINE: Pulls up several rejected files from Ford trying to convince us Fordtramarine exists.

SUCK IT MERLIN: Pulls up a tapestry of Bill riding a unicorn. The code at the top reads "DAY MARE VS NIGHTMARE."

HEY NERD: Plays a commercial advertising things such as a Bill Cipher calendar, the Scrubba-Bill, a severed hand, and the entire Cygnus-XIII galaxy. Half of the image can be found in the Book of Bill.

DESTRUCTION IS THE FORM OF CREATION: Pulls up a frantic page of notes from post-portal-shit Fiddleford. A sticky note at the bottom has a code that reads "Unreality."

RUBBERHOSE: Plays "The World is Small Ever After for All."

IRREGULAR: Shows us Bill's mugshot in color. The code below reads "No prison or attention span can hold him."

UNREALITY: Offers a guide by Bill on how to become immortal.

GUN: "Oh yes oh yes oh yes they both."

ABUELITA: Leads to a video on vacuuming the walls.

YES: "What's McGucket's favorite soda?"

NO: "Your loss..."

REPEATEDLY CLICKING STAN: This stuff deserves a section of its own, away from the OG Stan stuff. It takes you through several Ebay listings on various Stan-ish items until you get to a page written by Bill about Stan's secret shames. "Ex-wives" further confirms our theory on Stan and Eda's relationship, as well as revealing many other bits of lore. "Fears" is somewhat goofy to be honest. "Secret Shames" reveals that Stan is a fanfiction writer and that his mother is the only member of his family who truly loves him outside of Ford and the kids. "Unreported Crimes" is somewhat goofy as well. "Failed Products" basically confirms that Stan is that world's Alex. "Lowest Moments" is genuinely depressing, and "Darkest Thought". Well. I'm not spoiling it lol. And the bit on "How He Beat Me" causes Bill to get more and more frantic/angry the more you click it! Comedy GOLD!

DIPPY FRESH: Leads to a Reddit post of the Burger King Kids Club.

MEOW: Leads to a TikTok of a man playing the Gravity Falls theme on that cap keyboard.

HELP ME: Pulls up another video of Alex's axolotl and the tiny statue. Rip Bill ig :/

R34LITY: Pulls up several photos of the henchmaniacs in live-action, captioned "They found a new home."

JOURNAL 1: "The journal of fun."

JOURNAL 2: "The journal for you."

FBI: "Your webcam is on. We are watching."

BURNED INSIDE: Shows an image of a charred Oregon Parks badge and nametag on the ground.

HECTORING: Plays a silly little country song!

OROBOROUS: Pulls up two journal pages about Fiddleford buying Ford an axolotl to keep him company, and Bill subsequently telling Ford to get rid of him. There's also some code on the first page that reads "CHONKY BOY." Ford, you wonderful dork.

[myownwholewildworld]

THE RIGHT KIND OF WRONG ― dbf!mechanic!joel oneshot

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3 pairing: dbf!mechanic!joel x f!reader. summary: your car breaks down and you make a deal with your dad's best friend, joel, who happens to be the best mechanic in town. you'll work for him over the summer holidays to pay your debt back, but maybe you can find a pleasant shortcut to it? a/n: well, well, well... what can i say? this whole uniformed!joel shit is giving me proper brain rot. i don't know what came over me while writing this but i just rolled with it. i do appreciate any notes you may wanna leave to keep me motivated hehe. enjoy! x edit: forgot to mention this oneshot was prompted by this ask! warnings: 18+, mdni. no outbreak AU. juicy age gap (reader is 21, joel is 48). rough, ABSOLUTE filth & i'm not even sorry. some edging. semi-public groping? masturbation (f and m receiving). oral (f and m receiving). pussy pronouns (she/her). unprotected piv. mouth fucking. very mild brat taming kink. transactional sex. alternating pov. reader is female but that's about it. w/c: ~8.9k of pure filth. divider by @cafekitsune

“Ugh, not again, c’mon!”

Your cranky little car did not have it in it anymore. It was almost fifteen years old now, having passed down from your older brother to you when you turned sixteen five years ago. Out of pure frustration, you hit the steering wheel with the palm of your hand and let out a raspy grunt.

The check engine light had lit up on the dash, which was what caused your fit. And then, as if orchestrated by the universe, the engine made a loud, clicking noise. You flattened your forehead against the wheel, your fingers curling around the rubbery texture with a tight grip.

“You stupid car!”, you screamed at it as if it was a sentient being. “I’m broke, you cannot die on me like this!”

You were on the parking lot of a café. Early that afternoon you had met with some friends to celebrate the beginning of summer and the end of the academic year. One more and you would be done with your degree ― it looked so damn far away, but you still had this summer to look forward to.

Rummaging through your purse, you finally located your cellphone and quickly dialled your dad.

“Yeah?”

“Hey, dad. I’m at Betty’s. The fucking light has come on again?!”

“Watch your mouth!”, he reprimanded you from the other side of the line. You could hear him huff and puff with disapproval. “I think your car is on its last legs, gonna have to think about buying one.”

“You know I can’t afford that, all my savings are going into my degree. I’ll just have to get it fixed for now.”

“Take it to Joel’s then. See what he thinks.”

“But it’s a Sunday, you think he’ll be open?”

“That man is a workaholic, you bet his business is open today.”

“Alright, you reckon he’ll do it for free?”

“For free?” He laughed; you could imagine him shaking his head. “I doubt it, but maybe he’ll give you a discount. Gotta go, little bug. I’ll see you at dinner. If you can make it, obviously.” He mocked you.

“Ha, ha… So funny. Talk to you later.” And you hung up.

The drive to Joel’s garage was a fucking torture. Every time the engine made a squealing noise, your heart would jolt to your throat. You tried to encourage it, whispering sweet nothings in the hopes it would get appeased and make it to Joel’s repair shop.

You also got distracted by your filthy mind. Joel had been in your DILF radar since you were nineteen. Three years ago, your dad celebrated his 45th birthday with a barbecue in the middle of summer. Joel had turned up in a white tee shirt, khaki shorts and flipflops, with untamed silvery curls and a crate of beer under his arm.

When the Texan heat became unbearable, he had stripped himself of his clothes, fashioning a pair of short swim trunks that had left you breathless and wet. When you watched him get out of the water later that afternoon, you could have sworn that the tip of his dick had shown briefly before he discreetly tucked it away. That image had been burnt into your retinas and haunted you since then.

Unconsciously you licked your bottom lip, your core molten with slick, as the car came to a halt. You had arrived at your destination.

There was an old Ford at the front of the garage, someone working under the hood. When the driver’s door of your car slammed against the frame, Joel peeked up from the engine he was working on.

His eyes flickered with recognition. He grabbed an old rag to clean his big, veiny hands of grease and oil. You wondered what else would be big and veiny. Stop it, you dirty fucker, you told yourself.

“Hey, Joel!” You waved at him with a smile.

“What’s up, kiddo?”

You rolled your eyes at him, the grin staying on your plump lips.

“I’m not a kid anymore, Joel. Have not been for a long time now, y’know.” You punctuated, unsure of what you were trying to achieve with that comment. Well, you knew, but did not want to admit it to yourself.

“Oh, I know”, he husked, his voice suddenly gruff.

Tilting your head to one side, you looked at him with question marks in your pupils. Why had he accentuated that “know”? And why all the sudden was your cunt gushing? How could he make you wet with three simple words? You were going to need to request a booty call that night from your friend with benefits.

“Uh, uhmm”, you laughed nervously. “The engine light on my car has come on for the third time this week and the motor is making weird noises, could you check it out for me, please?”

“Sure thing, lemme see.” He took the keys from your hand, electricity cracking between you.

You pursed your lips, a gesture he did not pick up on. Joel walked to the driver’s side, activated something and then the hood popped open. He walked around to the front of the car and propped the hood up with the metal rod that was inside.

As Joel was inspecting the motor with his broad hands, you put one foot in front of the other in a vain attempt to rub your knees together and cause some friction in your needy cunt. You squeezed your thighs some more as you watched him work with his hands, and you imagined what it would feel like if he was working you instead.

Oof! Take it down a notch, girl, you thought to yourself when your clit twitched in desperation.

Then Joel turned around to look at you.

“When was the last time you changed the timing belt?”

“The... what now?” Your mind was hazy with lust, but even if you had been at your full mental capacity, you wouldn’t have known what he was talking about.

“The timing belt. In the engine. What ensures that the camshaft and crankshaft rotate in sync?” He looked at you with a cocked brow, cleaning his hands again on that old rag.

Oh, I would pay big bucks to be that rag.

“Are you even speaking English?”, you replied back, partially because you really had no idea what he was talking about, partially because your brain was all mushy with desire.

“I’ll take that as a ‘never’ then. You should really get it replaced, seems like that’s your problem. Have you had trouble starting the car?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, this very morning.”

“Yeah, sounds like it. You need to change it asap, if it breaks while you’re driving it would be bad, very bad. You could have an accident. Also trying to fix it after it’s broken will cost you even more.”

“So… will I need to break the bank?” You asked, already flinching at the idea.

Joel seemed to take a second to consider your options, leaning against the passenger’s door and scratching his scruffy beard.

“It’ll be $800.”

Your heart almost stopped, your mouth agape.

“Eight fucking hundred?” He nodded. “Well, can I― Can you not give me a bit of a discount here? You are best friends with my dad. Pretty please?” You laced your fingers together in a prayer and batted your eyelashes at him.

With a low grunt, he straightened his back and folded arms at his chest.

“I’m already giving you one. I would usually charge $1100. You’re already getting a bargain.”

“Well, what about $300?” You counteroffered.

Joel’s brows knitted together and then loudly scoffed.

“What? You think I’m a fucking charity? No, kiddo. $800 and that’s it. If I go any lower, I’d be losing money. Got a business to run here.”

You really did not have $800 bucks to spare. In fact, you barely had five hundred bucks to your name. Asking your family for money was not an option either ― not because you were proud (you were), but because money was tight. Your parents already had enough struggles as it was, you did not want to add to the pile.

You visibly pouted and stumped one foot against the gravel, vexed. A loud sigh slipped through your lips as you pressed the heel of your hands against your eye sockets. You needed the car.

Dropping your hands to your sides, you looked at Joel with puppy eyes, covering the distance that was between you. Pleading, you palmed his strong forearm, your fingers wrapping around the girth of his muscles.

For a brief second, you wondered if you would be able to fully grip his erection. Would your fingertips be able to touch your thumb? Or would he be so thick you would need both hands to handle him?

“Joel, pl―please?”, you stammered, your arousal playing games with your vocal cords.

Unwillingly, he scanned your body up and down ― slowly, taking his time, pondering his options.

Joel had wanted to fuck you for three years now, since your lustful eyes widened at the sight of only his tip on that dreadful summer day. He could vividly remember the way you had chewed your bottom lip as you watched him slide his cock back in his swim trunks, shamelessly, without blinking. You only stopped devouring him when someone talked to you, snapping out of your trance.

That night, when he got home, he had jerked himself off with you in his mind. He had imagined your plump lips sealed around his glans, the tip of your tongue playfully caressing the slit ― your sparkly eyes looking up at him, dreamy and teary, imploring. He had taken his sweet time, rejoicing in his fantasy, until he had spilled in the palm of his hand, as if he was a hormonal teenager. And every time he would fuck someone to find relief, he would visualize your cunt sheathing him, clamping down on his dick like a beartrap.

Ever since then, every time his eyes landed on you, his blood would boil and his cock would harden. Just like now, dick pounding against his boxers, begging to be paid due attention. With the eyes of his imagination, he saw himself letting go and throwing you into the back of your car, drilling your pussy relentlessly until you came wailing, asking for more.

Joel sucked in his breath ― he needed to calm down, distract himself with something else. You were his best friend’s daughter. He shouldn’t be daydreaming about fucking you stupid. He had seen you grow since you were a babe.

Never thought of you any other way until that fateful barbeque, when he realised you were a full grown ass woman. Suddenly he had seen you for what you were: a fuckable brat who could get his cock rock-hard with the simple lick a of a lip.

An idea formed as you begged him. You looked desperate ― desperate enough to him at least.

Joel cracked his tongue, his expression unwavering. But if you could see, you would know his cock was throbbing already.

“Well. I do have an idea.” His words dragged, his erection making him feel uncomfortable.

“You do? I’m all ears!” You exclaimed with a lopsided grin, your delicate fingers tighter around his forearm.

His head snapped to his right, pointing to a sign that read “Hand Car Wash”.

“If you help out all summer handwashing cars, I’ll consider part of your debt paid”, he explained, looking down at your hand touching him.

“In full?” You eyed him as if he was your goddamn saviour and that unsettled him.

“I said part of it, kiddo. I’ll leave it at $300.”

You batted your eyelashes at him. Did you know that your suggestiveness was wreaking havoc?

“Anything I can do so the $300 reduces to zero?”

“I’ll think about it”, he reluctantly conceded. Joel had a few ideas in mind, but none of them were precisely appropriate. Not for a twenty-one year old to do with a forty-eight year old at least, that was for sure. “Be here tomorrow at 9 AM, sharp. The team works from nine to twelve, Mondays to Fridays.”

You frantically nodded, almost squealing in excitement. The noise you made forced his cock to twitch. He could make you squeal too, only if you would let him.

“I’ll be here! Thanks, Joel.”

Before he could think, you let go of his forearm and hugged him close to your chest. To your round breasts. Those two meaty globes he wanted to palm so badly. He could swear your nipples were stabbing at him. You embraced him so close to your body, his bulge pressed gently against your lower belly, and he wondered if you could feel him.

And then you stepped back. Quickly, too quickly for his liking.

“You’ll need to leave your car here, don’t want you driving back in that junk. I’ll have a look at it tomorrow. I’ll give you a lift back”, he offered. “Lemme close first and I’ll be right back in five minutes.”

“No probs, take your time.” You smiled at him as you went back to your car to grab your things.

Soon you were on the passenger’s seat of Joel’s pickup truck. It was dusking on the horizon, the light scattering through the windshield. Joel put down the visor so he wouldn’t get blinded by the sun.

“So how’s college going?” His attempt at small talk made you smile.

“It’s good, hard but good. The first year was really bad though. I didn’t know anyone there, so had to make friends and everything.” You mentioned, shrugging, while mindlessly playing with your seatbelt.

“I’m sure you had no problems making friends”, Joel said distractedly, checking all the mirrors before turning at the streetlight.

You placed your elbow on the window frame, the back of your head resting on your palm, and you turned to look at him.

“How are you so sure?” You asked, curious to see what his take on you was. The man was like a brick wall.

“You’re so vivacious and talkative. You’re not the shy kind either, always were part of the popular group in high school, weren’t you?” You nodded, but he didn’t see you, all focused on the road ahead. “Bet’cha you have all the boys running after you.”

Well, that was unexpected. For both you and him, because you saw how his jaw clenched. It was almost imperceptible, but you were so aware of his every move, your body so in tune with his, you couldn’t have missed it.

Had he noticed you? Like, actually? Was it possible that Joel fucking Miller, your freaking dad’s best friend, could look at you with other than paternal eyes? Why would he make hat comment otherwise?

Your cunt, still wet from your previous innocent interaction, fluttered. You had no butterflies in your stomach ― they were actually clapping their fragile wings in between your legs. This man was a fucking menace to your senses, and he seemed oblivious to the effect he had on you. Or did he? Time to find out.

You giggled at his question and patted his upper thigh a couple of times, as if he had cracked the best joke you had ever heard. The pad of your fingers almost caressed his groin, that sweet dip where his thigh met his pelvis. The denim under your touch suddenly stretched as Joel flexed his leg, trying to release the tension that had rapidly built up.

You bit your bottom lip as he peered at you askance, your hand still too close to his crotch.

“I actually do, but none of them seem good enough, y’know? I want a man, not a boy”, you ventured, your top teeth sinking further in the soft pillow of your bottom lip.

You saw Joel sucking in his breath ― and the grin in your face grew. He was definitely not immune to you, at least not as much as you had originally thought. He looked so unattainable, always so distant, you had wondered if, in his eyes, you had never grown up.

“Do you now, kiddo?” He asked between gritted teeth, tone throaty.

His brown eyes drifted down for one second, watching the tips of your fingers rubbing the denim of his jeans slightly, and then he locked them back on the road. You heard a low grunt vibrating in his throat, although he tried his best to suppress it.

“Yeah. I’m sick and tired of stupid childish boys. They are just boring now, they lack― well, you know.” You let him brew with your unfinished sentence and removed your hand from his lap.

You could tell Joel finally was able to breathe again as his chest expanded slowly. His reaction to you left a prickling sensation in your pussy ― wet, throbbing, needy. You pressed your knees together, but what you really wanted was for him to reach for you and dunk his thick fingers in your slit.

“Your dad’s there.” He stated, succinct, after clearing his throat.

You looked over your shoulder and through the window to realise that, in fact, you had arrived home. Your father was already waiting for you on the porch, probably because he recognised the noise of Joel’s truck’s exhaust pipe. And then he started walking towards you.

You suppressed a pouting grimace ― you wanted just a few more minutes alone with Joel. A few more moves and, who knew? Maybe you would have him fingering the shit out of you. But thanks to your father, you would never find out.

Your father knocked on the passenger’s window and you rolled it down, smiling. Although what you really wanted to do was smack him for interrupting.

“Hey, dad.”

“Hey, sweetie. How’s the car?”

“Well…” You looked at Joel ― you had already forgotten what was it that needed replacing.

“The timing belt is going. Bit expensive but your daughter and I have reached an agreement. Will reduce the price for her but she’s gotta come work on the hand-wash business”, he explained, matter-of-factly.

“Sounds ‘bout right. Get your first taste of what the real world is like.” Your dad laughed at his own occurrence, while your mind drifted far, very far.

“I’d love to get a taste.” You answered feigning innocence, turning your face to Joel with a very wide smile painted on your mouth.

His eyes darkened, transfixed on yours. Oh, he knew exactly what you meant. He subtly stirred on his seat and you wanted to giggle so bad, but refrained.

“Hey, Joel. There’s a game on tomorrow night. You wanna come over? Can have something to eat, few beers, will be fun. I need the company, God knows this lady over here just complains while scrolling through her social media”, he pointed towards you with his thumb and you simply rolled your eyes at him.

Watching football with your old man was as boring as it got. However, if Joel Miller was there, he would have your undivided attention. Well, not him, the screen, obviously. Duh.

Your eyes shot to his, expectant. Your cunt was even more anticipative of his answer.

“Yeah, why not?”

Famous last words. That was Joel’s only thought as soon as he entered his best friend’s home. You greeted him at the door, all smiley and welcoming, ignoring the fact that you had been trying to get him hard the. whole. fucking. day.

You had come to work with some very short jeans ― every time you bent down to rub the sponge on the car’s bodywork, the bottom part of your perfectly round ass cheeks would show beneath the denim. Did you even wear any underwear? He thought not.

And then that white crop top was the fucking end of him. You had gotten it all wet when a loaded sponge dripped all over your front while you were talking to him about some trivial thing he could no longer remember. You had tittered and apologised while you scrunched it to get as much water out as possible. And the only thing he had been able to focus on were your pointy nipples, staring right at him, screaming for his caress.

After that, he had been at full mast the whole damn shift.

“Hi, Joel, come in!” You greeted him excitedly, swinging the door open.

He had taken a cold shower before coming over, but maybe what he needed was a fucking ice bath. Because the moment you batted your eyelashes at him, his cock twitched again. Joel had fisted his dick while showering, in the hopes that emptying his nuts before seeing you again would placate his lust for you.

Nope, hadn’t worked. Not one bit. This was probably a bad idea.

“Hey, kiddo.” He greeted you, emphasizing the last word.

He could literally be your fucking father, but that did not seem to deter you. If anything, it spurred you on. Had you no shame? Had he no shame? Because he should have stopped you the moment you started to be suggestive. Instead, he had let you go on, enjoying every single second of it.

Joel walked in and made his way to the kitchen, with you on his heels, where your father was lathering up some ribs with his secret sauce recipe.

“Hey, Joel. Let me get that from you”, he said before cleaning his hands on a kitchen towel and grabbing the beer crate from him.

Feeling they were still cold, his best friend cracked two open and handed him one. Joel lifted the can to his lips and saw you looking at him from the corner of his eye.

“Want one?” he asked, since you were of legal drinking age.

You shook your head no, wrinkling your nose in disgust.

“Eww, nah. I hate beer”, you sniggered and his dick spasmed some more.

“‘Course you do”, said your father before he could reply. “You only drink― What’s that crap again?”

“Gin and tonic, dad. It’s literally gin and tonic mixed. It’s not that fancy.” You huffed and puffed, shaking your head.

“This youth mixing everything because they can’t have proper alcohol. What’s next? Mixing beer with lemonade or something like that?”

“Well, that’s actually a thing. It’s called a shandy. Don’t be so old.”

Joel let you two have a go at each other. Observing the exchange, he sat down on one of the stools in front of the island, knees slightly bent.

“What?! You listening to this, Joel?” You father exclaimed with a joking tone. “Is Sarah like this too?”

“Yeah, exactly like this. Thinks beer is disgusting and everything. Thought I raised her better than that, but apparently not.” He jested, sipping from the tin can.

“How’s she doing?” His friend asked.

“She’s fine. She’s turning twenty-four in a couple of weeks. She moved out two months ago, gone to Houston for her new job.” He couldn’t help but be proud of his Sarah. She had accomplished so much. “She’s supposed to be here for her birthday, but we’ll see. She’s always so busy, don’t really know with what.”

“Aren’t they all? I barely see this one over here and she still lives under my roof.”

You folded arms, rolling your eyes again, while you sat down beside Joel on another stool.

“Sorry for having a social life? Like, what do you want me to do? Stay here with you watching football? Got better things to do, dad.”

“So you ain’t staying tonight then?” Your dad asked.

Joel turned to study you, interested in your answer. Could he have some reprieve tonight?

“Of course I’m stayin’. Would be rude not to when we have guests over, right, Joel?” And as the last words abandoned your mouth, you placed your left hand on his right thigh under the counter.

God have mercy.

Joel’s muscles stiffened, one in particular more than the others. His thighs were tense as he gripped the beer can with more strength than what was necessary. He kept his eyes to the front, taming his breathing.

He should have done something, slapping your hand away from his lap for instance. But he didn’t. And you took that as an invitation, because soon enough you were kneading his bulge under the kitchen island. Your palm rubbed harshly against the denim, and he saw you chewing your bottom lip.

Your father busied himself with seasoning the ribs and the French fries, oblivious to what was happening just a few meters away from him. This feels fucking wrong, but so fucking good, Joel thought to himself, your hand frisking his groin brazenly.

His cock was thudding with desire under his clothing, begging to be freed from its prison. You sensed his desperation, because you quickly tried to clasp your hand around it. Feeling your frustration at the inability of fisting him properly, Joel parted his legs to give you better access. If that was not an open invitation, nothing was.

I’m already going to hell. Joel had to stop himself of sucking his breath in when you started to unzip his jeans. His eyes slightly widened, but that was his only tell.

“So who do you reckon is going to win tonight?” Your father asked as your fingers dipped underneath his boxers.

Your warm skin against his beating cock dulled his senses. Then you took his dick out of his boxers and attempted to circle his girth while working him. Joel had to drink from his beer to shut himself up.

“Not sure, but I’d like for the Longhorns to win”, he spat the words out as best he could given the circumstances.

“Yeah, would be nice seeing our hometown win something this season”, your father continued with the small talk.

Joel’s thighs flexed when you started pumping him decisively. Fuck. He briefly looked down at his erection. It felt too damn good, your tiny fingers gripping him hard as you slowly moved your hand up and down on his lap. The tip of his cock was glistening with precum and you expertly rubbed it on his foreskin with your thumb.

As your father turned around to put everything in the oven, Joel took the chance to look at you. With your gaze averted, you pretended there was something interesting in the wall in front of you, while your right hand was buried underneath your slutty denim shorts. Joel could swear he could hear the squelching sounds your pussy was making while you played with yourself.

“Right, I think this is it. Gotta wait for an hour until everything’s properly cooked. Wanna move to the family room in the meantime?” He happily chattered as he walked around the kitchen island.

You reacted quickly and let go of his shaft. With his lap right under the kitchen counter, Joel hoped to hell his friend would not see anything out of the ordinary.

“Yeah”, he said with a coarse voice. “Need to go to the bathroom first.”

Your father just nodded as he sauntered towards the living room and Joel almost let go a sigh of relief. You simply chortled as you put your left thumb in your mouth, making it obvious that you were tasting his precum.

Joel’s cock jerked on his lap as he whispered a blasphemy. Quickly he tucked away his painful dick back in his boxers and zipped his jeans as he stood up. Then he retreated to the bathroom, needing a fucking moment to find his composure again.

Until he heard you.

“Gonna go get my phone charger, be back in a jiffy!”

Before Joel could close the door behind him, you slipped your hand in the door gap to stop him from shutting it. You caught him off guard, because he stepped back, brows knitting when he saw you under the door frame.

“What’cha doing?”, he questioned you.

You could feel the rigidity radiating from him. You entered the small bathroom and silently closed the door behind you, both of your hands holding onto the doorknob on your back.

“I came to finish what I started.”

You didn’t give him time to think ― if you did, you knew he would put an end to this. You were too turned on, your cunt beating every time your heart did. Your pussy lips were all wet and puffy ― you could feel your slick trapped between your folds, almost seeping into your panties. You had unleashed the beast and wanted it all for yourself.

So you threw yourself into Joel’s chest, your teeth softly scratching his Adam’s apple as one of your hands found its way back to his cock. He tilted his chin up and groaned at your touch. His pounding dick felt warm and velvety against your palm, so hard from working him under the kitchen counter a minute before.

Once he opened his eyes again, he looked down at you as you gripped his erection with both hands. Slowly you jerked him off, feeling powerful with him on the palm of your hands. Every time you pumped him, your clit would twitch in response. He had not touched you yet and your pussy was already palpitating for him. You could not wait to feel him inside you, stuffing you full.

 “We shouldn’t, your father is right there―”

You could not care less. And to make it evident, you sunk to your knees in front of him, still holding his cock, now at eye level.

Your tongue darted out and you leaned his dick forward until the tip rested flat against your tongue, your hands still working his veiny shaft.

“You were saying?” You asked before briefly pecking his glans.

“Fuck”, was the only thing he managed to mumble.

That was your cue to give free rein to your lust. You nudged his column with the tip of your nose as your mouth drifted down to kiss his balls. Then your tongue slid out in its full extension, and you flattened it against the underside of his cock, slowly lapping at it until you reached the top and sealed your lips around his mushroom head.

Glancing up at him, you saw pleasure softening his features as you took him in further and further down, until his cock reached the natural resistance at the end of your throat. When his tip bottomed out in your mouth, Joel’s eyes found yours. His jaw visibly clenched at the sight of you kneeling in front of him, cock burrowed in between your lips, tears gathering on your bottom eyelids because of how his dick was outstretching you.

You moaned as Joel pulled his hips back, his shaft leaving your wet cavity, now full of precum and saliva. You swallowed to make room as you avidly tipped your head towards him, your lips hunting down his dick again. Slurping so you wouldn’t drown in fluids, you ate his cock like if it was the last edible thing on earth.

At that moment, something shifted in the air. As if Joel, finally, let go of his prejudices and accepted what you were giving him: your mouth to use as he pleased. His fingers hovered over your temples and then they clamped down on your skull as he held you in place.

“Stay still”, he commanded, and you nodded, his cock sitting snugly in your mouth.

His hips moved back and then forward, rocking his dick in and out of your lips. First slow, then picking up a pace. You stayed put throughout while he fucked your mouth mercilessly, palms against your knees like the good girl you were. Then his glans breached your uvula and you inevitably gagged at the intrusion.

He forced you to remain still as he tried to go further down, but there was nowhere for him to go. Your eyes welled up while you fought back the need to cough, almost unable to breathe.

Joel snapped his hips back and your mouth became free. You started panting while trying to catch a breath. Joel cupped your chin up so you would look at him. His sly grin told you he was enjoying himself a bit too much.

“Can tell you’ve not eaten many cocks, have you? Despite pretending to be this slutty brat in front of everyone, hm?” He asked, his voice rumbling in his chest.

“Well, I―” He didn’t let you finish the sentence because as soon as you opened your mouth, he slotted his dick back in between your plump lips.

“I actually don’t wanna hear it.��

Inevitably your cunt gushed at his roughness. He was right though ― you had only given head to two guys before and their cocks did not measure up to his. Your jaw had actually started to hurt now due to the effort you were making to house his dick in your mouth.

Joel quickly resumed his pounding, fucking your mouth relentlessly ― his hips swaying back and forth in front of you.

“Sweetie! Can you bring my charger too please?” Your father’s question forced both of you to snap out of the sexual haziness you both were feeling.

You two froze in place, Joel’s cock still in your mouth.

“Or I can come get it.” Then you heard his booted steps coming up the corridor.

In a panic, Joel stumbled back and you sprang to your feet, eyes widened with fear.

“No! Don’t worry! I’m coming!” You shouted back, hoping that your voice sounded far away enough to him.

The steps stopped and you both listened to him walking back to the living room. “Thank you, sweetie!”

You turned to look at Joel, who had grabbed a bunch of toilet roll to clean off the mess on his still throbbing cock.

“Joel, I’m sorry, b―”

“Just go before he changes his mind and comes looking for you”, his voice was strained with effort. His erection had to be painful by now without any relief.

But he was right. You couldn’t risk it. Neither of you could. So with apologetic eyes, you slithered out the bathroom door and ran to your room to snatch a couple of phone chargers.

Fucking torture that was.

Joel had never been in a worse position than that. Sat on the couch with you, your father on the recliner just a couple of meters away ― and his dick still pulsating, his balls full of unspent cum. His cock would writhe in his boxers, asking for a relief that never came. He was in excruciating pain and was not able to concentrate at all. All the small talk your father did went over his head, didn’t pay attention to the TV’s commentary either.

From time to time, you would graze his thigh lightly ― and on one occasion you slid your naughty hand towards his groin. Luckily the living room was dark, the TV being the only source of light, so your father didn’t pay much attention to your provocations. You quietly kneaded his bulge, curling your fingers around his erection underneath, and it got to a point where Joel had to force your hand away, because he was too close to coming.

So, when he waved you both goodbye and got into his truck, he could literally not wait to get home. Under the dim light of the lampposts that filtered through the windows into the truck’s cabin, Joel freed his aching dick and fisted it from the base. With his head tilted back against the headrest, he furiously jerked off ― fast and with no measure, to the point it was almost hurting. Tension built up from his nuts upwards and when Joel finally got relief, he groaned audibly as his cum spurted out in white, thick streaks.

With a heavy sigh and some laboured breathing, he opened his eyes, looking for some tissues to clean the mess on his lap. As he was putting his cock back in his boxers, something caught his attention.

The darkness camouflaged you well, but he spotted you on the window of your room, watching him eagerly with half-lidded eyes and chewing your bottom lip. Then your head leaned forward, your chin almost touching your chest, and Joel suddenly understood what was happening. You had been touching yourself while observing him do the same thing, until you orgasmed too.

Your eyes locked on each other’s through the blackness, something dark and perverted floating in the atmosphere. The whole thing felt wrong. The right kind of wrong.

The next week had been a continuous dance between the two of you. You too suggestive, him too evasive. After you had seen him wanking in his car, you had thought you had him under your spell. He had looked like a damn teenager chasing his release, unable to contain it much longer.

But you couldn’t blame him ― you had had him on edge for almost five hours. First touching him under the counter, then sucking his dick in the bathroom, and finally kneading him on the couch with your dad only two meters away.

It all had affected you too, because as soon as you had scurried away to your room and had looked out the window, you fingered yourself with your eyes locked on him. You came so hard, that you had to steady yourself on the windowsill, trembling knees and all. And once the orgasm softened its grip on you, you had realised he had been watching you as you rode the last wave of your climax.

So yes, for a week you tried to seduce him again, because you needed to know how it all ended. Having him burrowed down to your guts was a necessity now. However, it got to a point where you almost gave up ― it was draining having to follow him around like a bitch in heat. You still had one ace up your sleeve though. One that you hoped to play this afternoon. Because if you didn’t fuck him today, you were going to lose your shit.

You focused on your task, which was rubbing the soaked sponge on the bodywork of the car. Two other people were doing the same thing on the back, while you were slightly bent over the hood trying to reach the middle. Your breasts brushed against the metalwork, your white tank top completely wet with soapy water, almost transparent now. The coldness was refreshing in the asphyxiating Texan heat and your nipples especially welcomed it, wrinkling tightly and showing through the fabric.

When you straightened, you caught a glimpse of Joel eyeing you intently. But you pretended you didn’t ― maybe you needed to play difficult, show him no interest. Reverse psychology. So for the rest of your shift you just ignored him, fully conscious of how his sight followed you at all times. Let him brew.

Joel didn’t say a word though, didn’t come close to you either. But you heard him wicker while you were openly teasing one of your teammates. Were you trying to make him jealous? Absolutely. So, you giggled and played with your hair at the tasteless joke your colleague told you. It wasn’t funny, but you wanted Joel to listen to your flirting.

Midday came around and the other two people working on the hand wash business said their goodbyes. Joel employed a father and son in the shop too, who left the garage to go home for lunch. And then it was only you and Joel left. Just as you had planned.

“Joel? Can you help me with this, please?” You politely asked him after lifting a bucket full of water up to your chest.

You took a couple of steps forward and the water spilt all over, soaking your shirt completely.

“Shit”, you heard him say under his breath, jogging towards you.

He slipped his arms underneath the bucket to release you from its weight and then placed it back down between both of you.

“What are you doing? You’re gonna hurt your back with such terrible manual handling.” He reprimanded you, tutting.

“Something hurts and it’s not my back, Joel.” You muttered, your fingers wrapping around his wrist to haul him closer to you.

You were done with subtlety. You guided his hand to your pussy and pressed it gently.

“Hurts right here.” The low, needy mumble poured from your lips like honey.

Joel’s eyes squinted just a tad, and his nostrils flared. You saw the inner battle in his chocolate eyes, and you fucking hoped he lost.

Soon you had the answer you had been looking for. The palm of his hand flattened against your crotch, holding you possessively, and pulled you against his broad chest. You couldn’t help but moan when your breasts pressed against him, your taut nipples aching with sensitivity.

“You’re so fucking nasty, kiddo. Been watching you all week, trying to get me hard all over again, haven’t you?” You shyly nodded, biting down your bottom lip as you glanced up at him, his palm rubbing your cunt with determination. “Of course you have, you’re so cock drunk. You loved sucking me, didn’t you?”

You shook your head yes, holding onto the waistband of his jeans. You whimpered when his thumb burrowed in your pants, trying to find your slit over all that clothing unsuccessfully.

“Joel, please.” You begged for mercy, for relief, for something ― anything he could give you, you would take.

“You want me to fuck you, kiddo?” His free hand cupped your chin, tilting your head up, while his thumb kept nudging your damp slit. His mouth hovered over yours as you simply nodded again. “Hm? You want me to destroy your pussy?”

“Yes, yes, YES.” You were already gushing at his dirty talk.

With no more prodding, Joel bowed down and sunk his tongue in your mouth, darting in with the ferocity only a man on the edge could feel. He swept your entire cavity in an open-mouth kiss that left your knees shaking and your pussy throbbing. You moaned into his breath and your tongue lapped at his, the span on his fingers gently covering your neck and squeezing lightly.

Joel’s hand between your legs moved to your ass, pressing you into him. His swollen lump poked at your lower belly intimately and you couldn’t resist the urge to dip your hand in his boxers. He audibly groaned as you attempted to circle his whole girth and failed. Just like a week before, you would need both of your hands around his shaft to properly grip him. You pumped him once, very slow, your hand gliding down till it found his balls.

Joel grunted in the middle of the sloppy kiss and pushed you to go backwards until your body met the back of his pickup truck, which was parked at the end of the driveway. Out of prying eyes, you hoped. Not that you cared that much at this precise moment, anyway.

His beard scratched the skin on your cheek as his lips drifted down to your neck. You looked up to the clear sky before you closed your eyes, giving his pulsing cock a light squeeze that snatched a moan out of him.

Without warning, Joel broke the messy kiss and knelt before you, his hands tugging at the waistband of your shorts with no difficulty. Soon your pants were around your ankles, your panties quickly following, leaving you naked from the waist down. Joel helped you take them off but left your tennis on.

Still on his knees, he peeked up with a devilish smile, then leaned forward and lapped at your mound. A heavy sigh slipped from your lips as your fingers raked his salt and pepper curls. The tip of his tongue brushed the point where your slit started and then licked upwards, his tongue skidding through your skin until it reached your belly button.

You pursed your lips, wanting him to go down, not up. In fact, you pushed him down ever so slightly and the cold of his breath against your wet skin when he laughed made you look down, frustrated.

He kissed the beginning of your slit again and when you thought he was going in, he stopped. You whimpered, thwarted, as he got back up to his feet and towered above you.

“You want me to touch you where it hurts, hm?” He questioned with his lips ghosting yours. “Your pussy? That’s where?”

Not waiting for your reply, his index dunked in your pearly furrow and traced it in its entirety, from your quivering hole to your thumping clit. And then he did it again, for good measure.

“You’re soaking, kiddo. I’ve barely touched you and you’re already dripping.” To emphasize his words, Joel suddenly dived his finger in your opening, a squelching sound making it obvious that you were, in fact, dripping. “You hear that?” He forced his finger out and then back in, the wet, sucking noise even louder this time.

You frantically nodded as he fingered you, his thumb caressing your begging clit as he did. You mewled into his chest, eyes shut, trying to calm the fluttering of your inner walls around his lonely finger. Lonely not for long, because Joel then introduced a second. You held onto his sides, his tee shirt scrunching in your fists, the orgasm building up.

“C’mon, squeeze your cunt for me. Show me how tight you are”, he whispered in your ear as his relentless fingering picked up a faster pace between your legs.

You happily obliged and squashed your walls together around his fingers as he dextrously stroked your g-spot. All of a sudden, a firing sensation built in your clit without warning and the haziness of pleasure took over your senses abruptly. You came hard, very hard, wailing his name as he kept on fingering you until the last wave of your climax washed over you.

What the actual fuck? You thought to yourself, amazed. You rested your forehead against his chest, catching a breath and feeling your arousal wetting your inner thighs.

Still recovering from your unexpected orgasm, Joel picked you up and settled you down on the edge of his truck’s cargo bed. Your feet dangled in front of you, and you parted your legs to make room for him while you wrapped his neck with your arms and licked into his mouth.

“Now I’m gonna eat you raw, kiddo. Give you some of your own medicine.” His hoarse tone gave you goosebumps. Palming both of your breasts over your wet tank top, he pushed you down until your back met the floor of the cargo bed, your legs hanging freely from your knees down. “Is that what you want? This old man feasting on your pussy, on her? ‘S she gonna like it?”

“Joel, please, just― Yes, eat my pussy. Eat her, eat me, please.” You begged with a small voice while you pinched your nipples over your shirt, eyes closed.

And finally, he did. With his hands on your knees to keep them apart, Joel lapped at your cunt in one sweet sweep. Your body trembled with elation, shivers firing down your spine. His tongue caressed all the crevices in your shiny slit, lips puffy and reddened. His thumb found your clit as the tip of his tongue played with your leaking hole, going in and out a few times ― fucking you with his tongue.

You were not able to take it for much longer ― with Joel’s tongue lodged in your creamy fold and your fingers playing with your nipples, you were done for. Soon you came undone, tension growing in your lower belly and molten lava finding its way out. You howled his name, your knees pressing against his head, holding him in place as you came in his mouth. Joel sipped from your fountain, leaving not even one drop behind, your pussy licked clean of your own discharge.

His turn to find relief.

Even though Joel had been fisting himself while eating you raw, the roughness of his palm could not compare to your warmth. He just knew your pussy would hug his cock just right. And he was dying to find out.

Pushing his work jeans and boxers down to his ankles, he kicked his feet until they came off. Soon his security shoes and socks were kicked to the side too. With renewed energy, Joel jumped on to the cargo bed. You propped your torso up with the help of your elbows to study his erection, wetting your lips unknowingly.

Your eyes lingered on his cock for too damn long and it twitched on his hand.

“Spread your legs, kiddo.”

And so you did without complaints. You stretched your legs, Joel having a perfect view of your glistening pussy. You were so horny, he could literally see your cunt palpitating from this angle. Knelt between your legs, he leaned forward until the tip of his dick brushed against your slit, so damp again it just slid off. Jerking himself off, he nudged your soaked entrance with his mushroom head and your mouth opened, shaping a perfect O.

“So needy, isn’t she? Aren’t you? Playing difficult to catch today, trying to make me jealous with that stupid boy, but in reality, you’re just a desperate brat wanting to get her pussy drilled by her dad’s best friend.” His dirty talk did not stop while he pushed in, your flesh parting to house him until he bottomed out.

Joel moaned, sweat gathering on his brow, his hands on either side of your head. He stood still for a long minute while your cunt fluttered around him, sheathing his whole length. He could feel your inner muscles adjusting to him.

You were so cockstruck you didn’t even reply.

“I’m gonna fuck you now, so take it well, kiddo.” He warned before tilting his hips back and abruptly back in.

You wailed loudly at the first thrust, and Joel had to muffle your screams by covering your mouth with his hand. You licked his palm, but he didn’t let go. He did not want you to alert the neighbours around the garage. His hips bucked against yours and then, after a few teasing shoves, Joel started jackhammering you fast and viciously hard.

You draped your legs around his waist, the heels of your white tennis pushing on his ass cheeks, encouraging to go deeper and quicker. And so he did, uncovering your mouth to replace it with his.

Joel fucked you mercilessly, filthily. He drove his dick in and out of you in quick succession, drilling your tacky pussy. And he knew you were loving every single second of it. Your soft sobs only spurred him on and when your moist pussy clutched around his drumming cock announcing your orgasm, he couldn’t restraint himself for much longer.

He stoically let you come while riding your own climax. His balls tightened and his belly muscles strained, signalling his own relief.

“Where?”, was the only word that he managed to whisper.

Your eyes were still closed, a languid smile lingering on your lips, all blissful and satisfied while he was still fucking suffering.

“In my mouth.” Your reply was almost his undoing.

Joel snapped his hips back, his hard, throbbing cock slipping out. He dragged his body across yours until his thick, hairy thighs were on each side of your head and his nuts were resting on your chin, his ass hanging over your breasts.

“Open”, he husked, raspy and throaty.

Still with your eyes closed, you parted your lips, and Joel shoved his beating cock down your throat unceremoniously. He leaned forward over you ― his hands holding his weight off you, flat against the cargo bed’s floor. And then Joel started fucking your mouth mindlessly, as if it was your cunt ― his testicles slapping against your chin and your eyes welling up.

He could feel your head almost rocking up and down below him with the strength of his thrusts. You only stopped swaying underneath him when your hands grabbed his buttocks, your fingers sinking in his flesh.

With a guttural growl, Joel came undone and his thick cum filled your mouth. You stayed still while the last white ropes spurted out the slit on his tip, finally reaching the bliss he had been chasing for a week.

Joel lifted his hips off your face and his dick came out of your mouth with a pop.

“Eat it, kiddo.” He requested of you, towering above you.

From this angle, flat on your back and with Joel almost sat on your face, you saw first his balls and then his soft cock hovering over your eyes. What had just happened was filthy, and you loved it, even though you were sure that your throat would hurt tomorrow.

“It’s $300 if I swallow”, you kidded out of nowhere, almost gargling with his cum as your mouth was full of it.

Joel chuckled as he came off you, sitting down on your left.

“Deal”, he agreed.

And so you gulped his cum down, letting it slip down your throat until it landed in your belly. You smiled at him before opening your mouth to show him it was empty.

Joel’s chest rumbled with satisfaction.

“Good girl.”

[prythianpages]

Tonight, the Light of Love is in Your Eyes

Azriel x Rhysand's Sister (reader) | You find yourself in the middle of a political affair, where you seek refuge in a dance with Azriel. And in the spur of the moment, Azriel tells you he loves you for the first time.

warnings: secret love, implied smut (brief mention), you and az being impulsive and risking it all

word count: 1,900

a/n: I used the dialogue of this scene from The Witcher as a prompt for this fic.

“Hybern is still close to Spring. Though they’ve lost the war, it seems their alliance still stands. Bradwell has shown interest in her, it’d be best if she takes his favor tonight. Or even Tamlin’s, they are closer in age.”

Your gaze is fixed forward, but your mind drifts, creeping into the quiet mental conversation between your father and brother. They speak of you, as if your own desires are inconsequential, and it stings more than you let show.

“Why should she? When the High Lord of Autumn, who fought alongside our armies, has six sons and one on the way…”

Breathe in, breathe out. You force the command on yourself, struggling to maintain the composure you’ve perfected over years of courtly life. The mask you wear feels more fragile tonight, your heart threatening to crack the facade. 

You allow your eyes to wander and regret it when you meet the gaze of Bradwell–the eldest son of Spring. He is watching you, green eyes gleaming with a predatory sharpness, his smirk oozing arrogance. As if you’re a prize to be won–a prize already won. The sight of it turns your stomach. 

It’s instinctual almost–the way your eyes gravitate toward Azriel as they always do at the slightest discomfort. He’s been your anchor, your safety blanket for years. He stands just a few steps below you, tall and stoic. 

His hands are clenched into fists, shadows weaving and writhing along his limbs in a frenzy, whispering secrets to him that you ache to hear. His head is turned toward Bradwell and there’s no doubt his gaze is hardened into an icy composure when the eldest of Spring suddenly peels his gaze off of you.  

As you pull your gaze away from the Night Court’s Spymaster, you catch your mother’s eye. She sits beside your father on a much simpler throne. She sends you a sympathetic smile and you cast your gaze down, mask faltering as a blush creeps up your neck.

By the Cauldron, how you wish you could be anywhere but here. You’d much rather be alongside Cassian and Mor, who are most likely indulging in the fine wine and cheeses. The only redeeming part of these insufferable court parties.

“Is it not best to keep our most at-risk enemies close? Spring–”

Your body tenses, each muscle coiling as you listen to the words between your brother and father, their minds still unaware of your presence within them. It’s laughable, almost. Rhysand taught you well. You were a later bloomer when it came to the manifestation of your powers but the daemati power runs strong in you. 

Movement catches your eye. It’s Bradwell. He begins to make his way toward you, one hand already reaching for the sage-green handkerchief embroidered with a golden beast. A token you know he plans to offer. The sight of it makes something in you snap. You can’t take it anymore.

You whip your head around, your heart pounding, and your gaze finds Azriel once more—the only one you want. The only one you’ve ever wanted.

“Azriel, will you dance with me?”

The words escape your lips before you even realize you’ve said them. There’s a brief moment where the world seems to still as Azriel turns to meet your gaze. His eyes widen slightly, shadows pausing briefly in midair–the only sign of emotion he shows. 

But you feel a flutter in your chest.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s danced with you. The two of you have danced plenty of times before. However, it’d be the first time you’d give him your first dance. A notion that seems silly but held to a high esteem in the Court of Nightmares.

You feel your father’s and Rhysand’s gaze also on you–the latter’s eyes narrowing at you. He’s already sensed the lingering presence you left in his mind, and you can feel his talons scratching at the edges of your mental walls. But you hold steady, just as he taught you and push him away.

Azriel keeps his eyes on you yet his shadows peer over his shoulders, the dark tendrils darting back and forth between your brother and father. Cautious and a bit defensive.

It’s your mother who breaks the silence. She had kept her gaze on the dance floor in front of her, that same knowing smile playing on her lips. “It is impolite to keep a lady waiting.”

Azriel nods his head. “Of course.”

He shifts forward–one foot resting on the first step while the other remains on the ground floor. He extends his scarred hand to you, his shadows barely able to contain their excitement, betraying the cool mask he dons.

You smile—truly smile—as you place your hand in his, and together, you walk toward the dance floor. Your heart swells with defiance as you purposefully avert your eyes when passing Bradwell, chin held high. Rhysand’s mental claws scratch harder, desperate to break through your defenses. You continue to shut him out, strengthening the walls of your mind. 

The Cauldron simmers in your favor. As you reach the dance floor, the music shifts to a slower, more romantic melody. Azriel’s hand wraps around yours, his fingers enclosing around your palm while his other hand rests gently at the small of your back. The tension in your body melts under his touch and you find yourself leaning in closer to him, your body always yearning to be with his.

Shadows slither softly around you, hiding within the seams of your black dress like a protective shield. Azriel’s eyebrows furrow and you recognize the brief distant look in his eyes. “Rhys is not happy,” he murmurs. “Your first dance was supposed to be with the eldest son of Spring.”

His jaw clenches and you see the way his shadows curl tighter around him as if to suffocate the jealousy he dares not voice.

“Let him sulk. I get to decide who to dance with, who to be with.”

Azriel was the master of composure. He’s always calm, steady, controlled. But tonight, something in his gaze feels different. There’s something vulnerable there, something pained. He looks away for a moment, as if trying to keep his emotions from manifesting further. 

“I can’t offer you what he can..."

His hand twitches in yours, like he’s about to pull away, but you hold him tighter. “Good,” you respond without hesitation. “I don’t want anything that arrogant ass has to offer.”

Azriel’s eyes snap back to yours, searching, conflicted. He hesitates, as if still grappling with the part of himself that believes he doesn’t deserve this. That you deserve more, much better than him. Someone who can give you the world, not someone who only knows to live in the shadows.

You intertwine your fingers with his, lips curling into a small grin. “Your ass is the only one I want,” you add, your power reaching out to him and gently slipping past his defenses to show him the marvelous view you had of his backside earlier.

And as your thoughts drift to the last night you shared together, where you got to see all of him, Azriel lets out an exhale, his lips mirroring the upwards curl to yours. Taking advantage of the grip you have on his mind, you show him more memories from that night. The way his scarred hands had caressed every inch of your body, his lips following the path his hands made…

 “I can’t give you much,” Azriel’s voice had dropped to a whisper, barely a rasp as he leaned his forehead against yours. His nose brushed with yours, lips hovering right over your own.  “But I can give you everything I have.”

You smiled softly at him, your fingers brushing the side of his face, tracing every line and contour of the male who held your heart. So beautiful, so perfect. 

“That’s all I’ll ever need,” you replied and then closed the small gap between you to kiss him.

The pained look in his hazel eyes melts into something warmer, something sweeter, as he takes in the memories of that night through your eyes. He had never doubted your love, but the weight of his own insecurities—his belief that he was beneath you—constantly gnawed at him.

Every time he touched you in secret, every night you spent hidden away together, he feared that someday you might wake up and realize he wasn’t enough.

But here, dancing with you, the way your eyes held him, he felt that overwhelming doubt ease. To see and feel the depth of your sincerity, as if your very soul called out to his…

“I love you.”

Your heart stilled at the words, your step faltering. In a smooth maneuver, Azriel spins you around, catching you effortlessly before you could stumble. His hands steady you as you face him once more.

 “That’s the first time you’ve said that,” you breathe, your voice barely a whisper, though you know Azriel’s shadows are already ensuring no one else can hear your words.

“It can’t be,” Azriel murmurs in disbelief, brows furrowing slightly. 

“You used to think it,” you quietly admit, your gaze dropping for a moment before returning to his. It wasn’t that you had ever meant to pry, but when it was just the two of you, his mind was often at ease, unguarded. Sometimes, his thoughts would be too loud for you to ignore. “But tonight, you finally said it.”

The shadows hidden within the lacey seams of your dress stir and you watch as one of the shadows lingering over Azriel’s shoulders slithers up and curls around his ear. His grip on you tightens and your ears perk up. 

The song is coming to an end and though couples continue to dance and whirl around you, your nose picks up on an approaching scent. Fresh wildflowers and oak—rich and lovely, exuding the essence of Spring. Yet it fills you with dread. You don’t want this moment to end. You’re tired of pretending, of living this life of secrecy.

“Azriel,” you say, one hand reaching out toward his face to turn his attention back to you. A bold move but tonight, you’re ready to be even bolder. “Kiss me.”

His shadows stir, swirling anxiously around him, their whispers warning that too many eyes are upon you both. You can feel his hesitation, the unspoken question in his gaze as he searches your face.

“In front of everyone,” you confirm. Show them I’m yours, you speak into his mind, and only yours.

Azriel pauses, his chest tightening at the implication of your words. He can feel Rhysand’s presence–furious and demanding– trying to slip into his mind. No doubt trying to steer him away from this impulsive display and away from you. 

He feels the weight of the room pressing down on him—the sons of Spring and Autumn watching his every breath.

But all of that falls away when he meets your eyes again. 

There is only you in this moment.

The one who had always been able to see through his walls, the one who made him feel like the most precious thing in the room, the only one he cared about.

“Kiss me,” you whisper again.

And Azriel is not going to let you ask a third time.

Not when the light of love is shining so brightly in your eyes. His hand covers yours on his cheek, and then, he leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that silences the room.

Whatever comes next, you’ll face it together.

a/n: It's been awhile since I wrote for Az. Miss this shadow daddy lol. Part 2 is already up 🫶🏽 you can find it here.

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits13, @lorosette

fic tag: @noisyinfluencerstrawberry

[fakebwitch]

rafe finds handcuffs in your room…

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

“you done?” rafe asked you for the third time, wandering around your room occasionally taking in his hands a polaroid, plush or a book — whatever was in front of him — observing it and scrutinizing it, trying to make the time pass as quickly as possible. “5 minutes” you said finishing applying the mascara, catching in the reflection of the mirror the figure of rafe intent on observing a small stuffed animal.

technically you were supposed to go to a restaurant for dinner, but rafe had shown up at your house early and you still had to finish getting ready, so now he was in your room waiting for you to finish your makeup. “you got many of this uh?” he said referring to the plushies scattered on your bed and a some on the shelves, “rafe stop touching everything” you said turning briefly to him, he put the plush on the bed raising his hands in the air whispering a little “okay”.

“what are you doing now?” he asked you approaching slowly, his brows farrowed as he watched you search in a drawer full of those that looked like pencils in his eyes. “lip liner” you said grabbing one in your hands, rafe watched you without saying anything as you began to trace the contour of your lips.

he looked at the watch on his wrist letting out a small sigh, he was getting bored. he approached a chest of drawers near the bed, the first drawer was slightly open and his eyes caught a glimpse of something that immediately caught his attention, it was perhaps the second time he entered your room so he had not yet explored what you were “hiding”. you had been dating for a month, the first time in your room had been the previous week, but beyond a heated make out session and foreplay nothing had happened, you had not yet had sex.

too focused on making the contour of the lips perfect you hadn’t noticed that rafe, too taken by curiosity, had not been able to hold back and had opened the first drawer all the way, very slowly. all your bras and panties were neatly folded together with some babydolls. rafe was taken by surprise, turning to give you a quick look and check that you were still busy with the lip liner. he couldn’t stop the hand that moved between the various bras, quickly observing the decorations, the details, the colors, and not to mention the panties, he couldn’t look at them like he really wanted — because they were all neatly folded — otherwise you would have noticed his intrusion.

while his hands rummaged through the various babydolls, his mind wandered quickly, imagining what you would look like wearing them. the fact that you hadn’t had sex yet certainly didn’t help, he was currently whipped sexually, and seeing all those things didn’t help, but then something hard met his fingers, rafe’s eyes widened quickly, giving you a quick look before giving into temptation.

noticing you were still busy — you were applying lip gloss — extremely curious he pulled out the unknown object from where it was hidden, and they were... handcuffs. he almost choked on his own saliva, they had their typical silvery color but they were covered with a baby pink fur. he quickly recovered, a smink grew on his face as he turned towards you, the handcuffs dangled between his hands.

“handcuffs, huh?” he examined them, catching your attention, a mischievous grin painted on his face “i didn’t know you were into this kind of thing” you quickly turned to him, your eyes slightly wide as you got up from your seat walking towards him, “rafe where did you get them?”.

rafe smirked, holding the handcuffs out of your reach as you approached him, his eyes glinting with amusement. “oh, they were just sitting in your drawer,” he teased, swinging them lazily back and forth, “you know, like an invitation for me to find them.”

“rafe” you warned, crossing your arms, though you could feel your cheeks warming. you hated how easily he could fluster you. “give me them now” you said trying to grab the handcuffs from his firm grip. he tilted his head, stepping back a little, clearly enjoying your reaction. “oh, come on” he drawled, inspecting the soft pink fur around the cuffs. “these are… cute” he said trying to hold back from laughing.

“rafe cameron, i swear—” you lunged forward, trying again to grab the cuffs, but he dodged, laughing as he held them high above his head. “nah think i need some explanation” he said looking down at you, his eyes lingering with amusement and something more, lust maybe?. you groaned, standing on your tiptoes as you tried to reach his hand. “seriously, rafe, give them back. they’re a gift from my friends. they’re not even—”

“not even what?” he interrupted, raising a brow. “not even used? ‘cause judging by how red your face is right now, i’d say you definitely—”

“rafe!” you cut him off, swatting at his arm. he laughed harder, finally lowering the cuffs enough for you to snatch them out of his hand.

“i’m just saying” he continued, smirking as he watched you shove them back into the drawer, “if you want to try something… different, you can just tell me. no need to keep secrets, babe.”

you slammed the drawer shut, turning to face him with an exasperated look, “you’re impossible.” he gave you a teasing smile getting closer to you, his hands gripping your waist, his face got closer to yours, moving to you ear. “although” he whispered, a mischievous glint returning to his eyes, “if you ever do want to put those to use… i wouldn’t mind.” he said placing a small kiss under your ear, his words lingered on your head more than they should’ve. you bite your lip as his eyes met yours, he surely knew how to get under your skin.

you shook you head quickly recovering from what had just happened, shoving his chest playfully, “i’ll let you know” you simply said with a teasing smile, walking past him to grab your bag. rafe looked at you, his eyes lingering on your body for a bit too long as he rolled his tongue inside his check, his fist tightened around his side.

“come on, we’ll be late” you said innocently leaving the room, turning off the light starting to walk down the corridor. rafe left the room staring at you for a few seconds, they way your hips moved, your back uncovered... he felt his pants getting too tight, you were driving him crazy.

“you can’t keep going on like this, you know that uh?” he said walking slowly, you laughed shaking your head, it was going to be a looong night.

[fireinmoonshot]

drawing the line | bucky barnes x fem!reader

THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR MARVEL'S THUNDERBOLTS*.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader Summary: Bucky Barnes has messed up big time ... he just doesn't know it until he sees you and realises he really should've checked his texts. Warnings: There are very subtle mentions to reader having some issues mentally but nothing specific is mentioned other than her being very guarded and angry. This is inspired by and takes place during a scene from the Thunderbolts movie! It has direct spoilers for the film! If you haven't seen it and don't want to be spoiled, don't read this one yet. Word Count: 1.9k. A/N: It has been three whole years since I wrote for Bucky Barnes. Thanks to Thunderbolts, I am so back 🥰. I had this idea for the movie when I saw it again yesterday and I plotted most of it out at work today. I'm really happy with how it turned out so I hope that you will all enjoy it. More Bucky fics coming soon – as well as more Bob and Joaquín too! 💗 Requests are always open.

Bucky realises he’s made a mistake pretty quickly.

In his defence, he isn’t very good at checking his phone – especially now that he’s a congressman and he has even less time on his hands than usual. But he’d been worried about Mel, the assistant of Valentina, and had figured that by tracking her phone like she’d asked, he might have a better chance at finally taking Valentina down.

If he had read his texts, though, he would’ve seen one from you. Valentina says I have one last mission and my contract is up. I’m on my way. Have a bad feeling about this one though. Can you track me? 

Yeah, he’s messed up.

He’s even more certain of that when he’s pulling the unconscious bodies of Ava Starr, Yelena Belova, John Walker and Alexei Shostakov out of the limo he’d blown up and he finds you with them. Thankfully, you’re not injured. 

When you come to, the first thing you see is Bucky, sitting opposite you with his eyebrows knotted in worry. For a moment, everything is fuzzy and you’re not sure how you got here – and then everything comes back to you.

You’d been trying to outrun Valentina’s men who’d been coming after you after your escape when Bucky had shown up. Everyone in the car had been more than excited and you’d felt relieved – he’d seen your text and he’d come to save you – until he’d practically blown the limo up with you inside of it.

“What the hell, Bucky?” You blink, squeezing your eyes shut briefly as you adjust to the light in the room. You look around, seeing the others all sat nearby – tied up, some of them even restrained with pieces of metal that Bucky had wrapped around them. 

It’s when you see them tied up that you realise you’re not. 

“Doll,” Bucky starts, his voice soft. “Listen, I–”

“Do not ‘doll’ me,” you shake your head. “So, blowing up our car and almost killing me is okay, but you draw the line at tying me up?” You motion to the others and then to yourself.

Bucky sighs. He knew you’d be mad, but this is another level of mad. He understands – of course he does, you’d nearly died. But regardless, he’d hoped you’d be a little more lenient. “I didn’t even know you were in the car.”

You raise your eyebrows and scoff. “I text you and say hey, this mission feels wrong and you don’t think twice? Am I talking to Bucky Barnes right now? What happened to the guy that ran seven red lights two months ago when I got into a minor car accident just to make sure I was okay?” 

He stands up and runs a hand through his hair, walking a few steps away from you. Behind him, you stand up as well, crossing your arms over your chest and staring him down – like you do very well. Bucky knows that you can be stubborn when you want to, but this is the next level to that. He loves your stubborn side. He loves this side of you as well… but he hates that it’s him that the anger is directed at.

This is not the you that he’d been tangled in the sheets with only a few nights ago. This is not the you that had kissed him goodbye before he’d headed off to work last week. This is the you that he’d seen the first time he ever met you. Strong, guarded as hell and pissed off at the world.

“You texted me?” He mutters, and then regrets the words the second they’re out of his mouth. He resists the urge to pull his phone out of his pocket and check his unread messages. 

For a second, you just stare at him, and then you start laughing. “I texted you? Are you serious right now?” You exclaim, turning away from him and shaking your head. “No, why on earth would I text my boyfriend when I was going into a potentially life threatening situation set up by Valentina Allegra de Fontaine? I’ll remember that for next time and keep it to myself, since you’re apparently too busy to check.”

“Well, would you have even read my message if I had replied? Considering you were on a mission? Yeah, I don’t think so,” Bucky can’t help but bite back a little.

“No, probably not,” you admit. “Because I don’t have a phone anymore – it fell out of my pocket when I was running for my life back at the vault and then it got incinerated, like I would have if it had been even one second later!”

Your voice is raised even louder now, basically yelling at Bucky, though you hate to do it. You and Bucky never fight like this, not really. But this whole situation has gotten under your skin and you can’t help but be mad at yourself for thinking Bucky had come to save you, when in reality he was just there to kidnap the others for some unknown reason.

Unsurprisingly, there’s nothing that Bucky can say to that. He stares at you, eyes wide as the full gravity of the situation settles on his shoulders. You’d almost been incinerated. And then Bucky had almost killed you himself. Was there any coming back from this?

In the silence, you hear a cough and both of you turn to look over at the others, all of whom are now awake and sitting upright, watching the two of you. How much of your argument had they heard? You wince internally and start to walk towards them.

“You either untie them, or you tie me up with them,” you say, sitting down beside Walker.

Walker looks over at you, a confused look on his face. He obviously had no idea that you’re with Bucky, even though the two of them know each other. You try to ignore the feeling in your stomach, the one that says that maybe Bucky means more to you than you do to him, especially since Walker doesn’t even know about you two.

Bucky thinks it over for a moment before shaking his head and walking over to you again. He crouches down beside you and decides he’s going to try again – even though the eyes of every other person in the room are focused on him. He reaches up to try and tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear but you bat his hand away. 

“I’m not tied up so I can still tuck my own hair behind my ear, Barnes.” 

You turn away from him, looking over at Ava and Alexei. 

“This is your boyfriend?” Ava asks, looking between the two of you. “Girl.”

The one word says everything. You almost laugh at her.

It doesn’t take long for Bucky to make his decision. He stands up again and then beckons for you to stand up as well. “Stand up and let me tie you up, then,” he says, hoping that he sounds as nonchalant as he is intending to be. Even though not one part of him is actually intending on tying you up. It’s true – he draws the line at that.

You stand up and one second later, Bucky has picked you up and thrown you over his shoulder. You yelp, hitting his back as he walks out of the room, leaving the other four alone. “Bucky, what the hell are you doing!?” You exclaim.

He pushes the front door of the garage open with a foot and then kicks it closed behind him. Once he sets you down on the ground outside, you move to push him, but he’s quick to grab your wrists and place them gently on his chest instead. You’re mad, but he’s not going to let you hurt him, or accidentally hurt you more than he already has.

“I’m not continuing this argument inside in front of all of the others,” he says, nodding his head towards the garage and trying to focus on the feeling of your hands on his hands and the pressure of them on his chest. You’re here. You’re alive. He didn’t kill you. Nor did Valentina.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” you shake your head and try to pull your hands away, but his grip is too strong. “I’ve said everything that I needed to say in there, Bucky. I asked for your help, you almost killed me yourself. It’s clear enough.”

“You said what you said, but you barely let me get a word in, doll.”

You shrug your shoulders and look away from him, focusing on the mountains in the distance and wonder how long it’ll take the others to get free so you can all get the hell out of here. Even though a small part of you, the part of you that isn’t clouded by your anger right now, wants nothing more than to wrap your arms around Bucky’s body, bury your head in his chest and feel his arms around you.

“I’m sorry I didn’t see your message,” he begins, hoping you’ll let him talk. “I’ve been so bad with anything that’s not work these days and trying to bring down Valentina that I’ve put everything else to the side. I shouldn’t have put you there too.”

“Yeah,” you mutter, still unable to look at him.

“I didn’t know you were in that limo when I blew it up. I just knew that there were people in there that could help me bring down Valentina once and for all and I was going to stop that limo at all costs,” he explains. “You don’t know how terrified I was when I saw you were inside of it. I swear, I spent five minutes just checking to make sure you weren’t injured before I brought you all here. I couldn’t bring myself to tie you up after all that, doll.”

“Likely story,” you huff under your breath, as if the thought of him checking you over to make sure you were okay doesn’t make your heart beat faster and your fingers, still pressed to his chest, itch to pull him closer to you.

Bucky removes one of his hands from yours and carefully reaches down to cup your jaw, forcing you to look up at him. You try and restrain yourself for a few moments before eventually meeting his eyes. Just looking in them tells you that he’s speaking the truth. 

“I would never do anything knowingly to hurt you, doll,” he says. 

“I know,” you reply, voice soft as you try not to lean too much into his hand. 

“Then do you forgive me?”

“No,” you shake your head, but in the progress, you can’t help but relax into his grip a little. You let out a sigh, your eyes fluttering closed at the feeling of his hand on your face. “I don’t forgive you yet, Bucky. I need time.”

Bucky nods and lets out a small breath of relief. “I’ll take it.”

You remove one of your hands from Bucky’s chest and place it over the hand that’s still on your jaw. “We need to talk,” you start. “Not you and me, all of us. There are things that happened down there in that vault that you need to know about before we go after Valentina, if we can even get the others to join us.”

“Okay,” Bucky agrees. “Just one more thing.” He leans down and presses his lips to your forehead before dropping his hand from your jaw and stepping back away from you, clearly wanting to give you space even though you hadn’t asked for it. The thoughtfulness makes your heart swell in your chest. “C’mon doll, let’s go.”

[notsodelirious]

everyone seems to think jason is this big bad dom who's kinky and teasing and all that shit

NO??? PLEASE??????

let me tell you, jason as big as he is, he's just as soft and WILL melt the moment your fingers graze him ANYWHERE

bro starts whimpering even at the mere THOUGHT you touching his dick, but would never bring it up cause he's scared you'll reject him and be disgusted

so he puts on his mask, kisses you, teases a bit, and then backs off as if nothing happened

but the moment you do initiate anything with him? he's gone, left, away

he can't help but pour all his love into you, it's almost emotional

he's so touch deprived and needy for any kind of positive attention and affirmation that he has to will himself to not cry when you look at him with so much love in your eyes, much less when you want to show him just how much you love him

AND GOD PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE KISS THAT MANS SCARS

HE MIGHT ACTUALLY START CRYING

he has always been so ashamed of them, so scared you'll run off the moment you see him, all of him (especially about the autopsy scar)

so the moment you stay instead? the moment you stare at him with adoration and litter him with kisses, saying how beautiful he looks? IM SORRY, HES GONE

him and the puddle on the floor? same thing

yearning is this mans first language and I stand by it

I've been seeing so much of dom Jay so please let my boy be soft😭

(tim, on the other hand, is exactly what people think jason is, mans a little snarky piece of shit everywhere and always, and i love him as he is)

(also sorry for the rant, got carried away a bit 😅)

absolutely no worries about the rant Anon, I love your way of thinking <3 sorry this took so long but I hope this answers your prompt

Look at me — Jason Todd

synopsis — you love Jason, even if he doesn’t believe you’ll love every part of him

notes — NSFW MDNI pretty please, also so long and so not edited, so apologies (edit — has been proofread, somewhat, but still not edited)

tags — established relationship, mentions of canon death, mild blood and injury, smut as mentioned above, 2.5k words, no use of y/n, gn!reader, Jason calls the reader “baby” and “babe”

The first time you see his scars, it’s completely unintentional. You run cold so you’re constantly turning the heat up in your apartment, far beyond what Jason thinks is reasonable. He complains, but you can’t help but note he’s a big guy, ‘obviously he’s not going to feel as cold as you do’.

His complaints continue, even after you’ve settled down to watch a movie, moaning about how ‘it’s so damn hot in here, it feels like a sauna’, and then proceeds to pull his hoodie off. You didn’t mean to stare as he tugs the offending piece of clothing over his head, but his shirt rids up just the slightest bit. Just enough to reveal a gnarled pink scar across his hip bone and a sharp, clean but raised scar right down his lower abdomen.

You’ve always assumed he has scars—he’s a vigilante; you’ve seen him come home limping more times than you’ve seen him get a full 8 hours of sleep.

Besides, it isn’t as if you’ve never seen any scars on him. He exists in t-shirt and the skin there is littered with scars of all shapes and sizes, from gunshot wounds to knives to mosquito bites. You’ve treated the occasional surface wound on his face or leg from time to time. You had seen his skin and he’s shown himself to you.

But that doesn’t stop you from staring.

This is different.

Only as the realisation that you’ve never seen him shirtless dawns on you, that you start to consider why that is.

You almost reach out to brush your fingers against the raised skin but he manages to dislodge himself from his jumper before then.

He tosses it onto the floor, kicks it out of the way just enough so neither of you will trip on it. He pauses briefly when he notices you, your stare. You tug his shirt down before he can even consider the movement himself, covering the sliver of skin that had been exposed to you.

You sit, in complete silence. You aren’t waiting for anything, you simply have nothing to say as you continue to watch the movie. A shaky hand reaches for yours and you can’t help the warmth in your heart when you feel his lips rest against the back of your hand.

The second time, you don’t even see anything at all. Another movie, a little less attention paid to it, as Jason kisses on you, your cheeks, neck, lips. You laugh softly as you let him, gently running your fingers through his hair, smiling at him as he comes up for air.

“What are you smiling like that for?”

“I just happen to have the prettiest boyfriend.”

You almost miss how his cheeks flush softly in the dark room and you laugh a little louder, pulling him down for a kiss as you straddle his lap. You let your hands roam, feeling his broad shoulders, arms and back as he dissolves beneath your touch, like sugar in warm water. You smile against his lips as he sinks into the sofa, soft panting a little too frantic for the slow-paced make-out session.

“Is somebody flustered?” you joke kindly as you tilt your head to lean against his cheek, hands on his hips and tugging on the hem of his shirt. “Don’t know what to do with yourself?”

“Please…”

You pull back just enough to see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, his eyes practically crossing all to look up at you, and watch your face.

“Please?” you repeat softly, as your fingertips brush against his lower stomach, feeling the muscles tense and twitch at the featherlight touch. “What are you asking for, baby?”

Your fingers creep higher, following the raised bumps and lines you can feel on his skin, under his shirt. He shivers, a soft moan slipping past his lips as you reach his pecs. You lay your palms flat against them, taking great joy in squeezing them gently and making Jason’s heart pound faster beneath your hand.

“Enjoying yourself?” you said, sly as you kiss his jaw, down his neck to press your lips to his pulsing jugular.

“I- please, I-“ You can’t help the breathy laugh as you move downwards, leaving tender, open mouth kisses along his throat, sucking his skin here and there, revelling in the soft moans and whimpers that slip from the back of his throat. Almost instinctually, his hips buck against yours—you hum, amused, before grinding back against him, feeling him tremble beneath your ministrations.

“I-“

Your hands continue to feel under his shirt, around his ribs, down his waist, down his sternum-

“Stop.”

You freeze, pull back and look at him.

“Jay?”

“I just-“ he swallows as he looks at himself, then at you, as if debating whether or not he should finish the thought and explain. Eventually, he just wordlessly shakes his head, pulling your hands out from beneath his shirt, “No.”

“Okay,” you kiss his cheek before sliding off his lap to settle beside him. You don’t understand what’s wrong, and as curious as you are, it’s not like you’re going to push him for an answer.

Jason is many things: loyal, kind, loving, a dickhead—but emotionally vulnerable and open is not part of that list. Pushing him to do or say anything leads to a quick dismissal at best. And an outburst at worst.

Jason would come to you in his own time.

That time happened to be a week later.

It’s a long night, he forgets himself. He climbs in through your window, tries to be as quiet as possible. But tonight, he forgets himself, shuts the window behind himself just a little too hard and the frame rattles softly. He doesn’t notice you stir or the soft mumble as you roll onto your side, too focused on trying to shed his leather jacket. Through bleary eyes, you can just about see him move about the room, hearing him curse silently.

The bathroom door closes before the lights flick on. Cupboards open and close, more cursing. You slip out of bed, recoiling a little at the cold floorboards beneath your feet, and pad towards the bathroom, knocking softly before pushing the door open.

“Jay?-“

“Shit-“

You freeze at the sight of each other. His bloody shirt is on the floor, staining a couple of your white tiles a vibrant red. Medical supplies are strewn across the counter, medical gauze packs ripped open and a suture needle halfway set up.

And Jason was…

A large gash spanned from his ribs to his hips—at least from what you could from beneath the bloodied towel he was holding his wound.

“Jesus, don’t you knock-“

“What happened?” you ask instead, rushing forward to help him staunch the bleeding. He groans as you apply pressure but doesn’t push you away, letting you come up close to him. You chance a peek beneath the make shift compress, trying to not pull a face as you convince yourself it’s not as bad as it looks.

“I’ll stitch you up,” you say softly as you look around the bathroom—the suture kit that he had already pulled out isn’t sterile anymore, you’ll have to take out a new one… “Go lie down, I’ll…” You trail off as you look up at him, meet his distant gaze as he stares down at you, almost unseeing. “Jay?”

He blinks and the afterimage of fear you saw flicker across his face is gone, face falling back into something more impassive.

“Lie down,” he mumbles, “Yeah… yeah, sure.”

He slips away from you, most likely a little dazed from the bloodloss. You’re itching to know how he got to that point, who could have gotten close enough to slice him like that but you shelve all those questions for later and begin to prep from wound care instead to go make sure your boyfriend doesn’t bleed.

You return to him minutes later, with an unopened first aids kit and clean hands and kneel beside him, from where he was sat on the edge of the bed.

“You don’t have to…”

“Horizontal, babe,” you say softly as you nudge him. He settles as you flip open the kit and start cleaning his wound, apologising quietly for every wince and sharp breath.

Stitching him up is simple enough—his pain tolerance terrifies you but you don’t utter a word, just make sure to get the job done as swiftly and painlessly as possible.

You cut the last stitch, roll off your gloves, dump the whole thing on the bedside table—unsanitary and dangerous but your hands are trembling a little too much and your nerves a little too frayed from worry to truly care.

“Okay,” you swallow as you press a piece of clean gauze against his fresh stitches, “Sit up, lemme bandage you up.” Jason complies as best he can, muscles flexing under his skin as he sits up for you and you shuffle closer to wrap clean bandages around his midriff. You try to solely pay attention to the task at hand but now that nobody is in danger of bleeding out, you can’t help but let your eyes wonder across his bare torso. They trace the scars that litter his chest, linger on the large Y, carved from beneath his collarbones, joining at his sternum before disappearing beneath my bandaging.

“Sorry,” he says in a small voice. You tuck the end of the wrap into itself before you look up at him. He doesn’t look back, expression almost sheepish as if he were embarrassed. “I’ll put a shirt on-“

“Don’t.” You climb up onto the bed, straddling his thighs as you cup his face, “You’re gorgeous.”

“Don’t say that…”

“Have I ever lied to you?”

“You told me you didn’t finish the ice cream last week.”

Your laugh rings clear in the still bedroom as you lean forward to kiss him.

“Well I’m not lying now,” you whisper against his lips. The kiss is slow, tender, as you both pour your souls into each other. “You scared me shitless.”

“Sorry-“

Your fingertips graze along the large scar on his chest.

“I’d ask you not to do it again but you probably will, won’t you?” He nods as he follows your hand, breathing deepening ever so slightly as you feel him. “Guess I’ll just have to enjoy you while I have you here.”

“Babe…”

“Shh,” you push him down carefully, avoiding his injury. “Just let me take care of you.”

His sighs are soft as he follows your lead, letting himself be pushed and pulled around. You kiss him, in a way only a devotee can worship their deity, lavishing him and devouring him.

“You’re so fucking pretty.”

You move down his body, from his jaw to his neck. Your tongue runs along the straight scar there—you wonder what happened. You always wonder. But some stories were better kept for quieter nights.

Your lips and tongue brush along his skin, tracing every jagged scar you come across.

“Babe…” he moans breathily as he squirms ever so slightly beneath you, resisting the urge to buck his hips against your body.

“Is there something you’d like, handsome?” You smile as you thumb his nipples, your glee only growing as he whimpers, arching his back into your touch. You pinch them, tug them, make him squirm and pant harder. “You’re so needy, aren’t you?”

“Baby, please-“

You leave hickeys on his chest, following the large scar down between his pecs.

“So desperate.”

“Babe-“

You bite his pec, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to make him keen and buck his hips against yours, making you groan in turn. He grinds his covered hard-on against your crotch, seeking any friction he can.

“You need it, don’t you?”

His nodding is furtive and eager and your heart sores while your hand creeps downwards, following down his happy trail and dipping past his waistband.

“What do we say when we want something?”

“Please,” he whimpers as he looks up at you, adoration and desperation pooling in his deep green eyes. Tears brim along his waterline when you finally wrap your hand around his cock, warm and heavy against your palm. “Please. Please, please, baby, please-“

You tug him out of his underwear before you slowly start to pump, running your thumb along the head of his cock, teasing his leaking slit with the pad of your thumb.

“Such a polite boy,” you purr just as you sink lowered, kissing the scar on his hip before nuzzling your cheek against his cock. “Stay still for me, okay baby?”

You don’t give him any more warning before you’re sinking down on him, taking him into your mouth, wrapping your hand around what you can’t reach. You hollow your cheeks as you pull back up, bobbing your head on his dick as he moans and whimpers above you.

“Baby, baby, fuck-“

You hum in response, vibrations running through him making him shudder. His fingers tangle in your hair as suck his dick, gripping you like he’s unsure whether he wants you to stay or go.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, babe-“

You look up at him from beneath teary eyelashes, blinking up at him as if you aren’t choking on his dick. You pull away, making him whine in protest but you don’t cave, continuing to jerk him off.

“You wanna cum, handsome?”

“Yes! Yes, yes, please, I’m- please.”

You lick the precum pearling from his tip before you swallow him down again, grinning at the soft wail and tightening grip. You feel more than hear the moment he tumbles over edge, thick cum shooting down your throat. You swallow before you can choke, but tears gather in your eyes, leaving you sputtering and coughing slightly when you come up for air.

“Good?” you ask softly as you wipe your face. He mumbles unintelligibly as he nods, strong arms finding your shoulders to drag you closer.

He mumbles something about returning the favour later, but you just laugh quietly as you pull him against you, resting his head against your shoulder, so he can bury his face in the crook of your neck.

“Don’t worry about it,” you say as you run a hand through his hair. Only to pause as you bring a hand up to your mouth, pulling a hair out of your mouth.

Jason freezes before chuckling softly, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I don’t mind hair in my food,” you quip back cheekily, which only makes him blush.

“Jesus.”

You kiss the crown of his head as you snicker.

“Go to sleep, handsome.” You run your hands along his back, tracing idle patterns against his skin, on his collarbones and shoulders.

“They’re from my autopsy,” he mumbles softly as he tucks himself against you. “From when I died…”

You hum, but don’t speak.

Afraid that maybe you’ll uncover the dread blooming in your gut.

You’ll ask later, is what you tell yourself as you watch Jason yawn, and promptly slip in a heavy, restful slumber.

•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

(holy shit was this a doozy to write; I usually never write 2k words in less than 48 hours but I hope your enjoyed <3)

[occidentalavian]

Full map of Exandria, 2024 update!

Map images and Wonderdraft file download [HERE]

Hi everyone! It's been about 4 years since my last map. In that time more of Exandria has revealed itself to us, and while it is still not a complete picture, we now have enough that I felt it was time to make an update.

The biggest change from my previous map is that I am no longer using the Elven Tower Cartography assets. This is because previously I installed them incorrectly, in a way that meant that people who downloaded the map file were unable to see the assets unless they installed it in the same weird way that I did. Rather than fixing this, I instead opted to use the default Wonderdraft assets, that way it can be viewed out of the box without having to download something else first!

As before, Tal'Dorei and Wildemount are the most accurate to official maps, and we also have an official map of at least one arrangement of the Shattered Teeth, which is re-created here. We have a portion of Marquet via the Oderan Wilds and Hellcatch Valley maps, but the rest, including all of Issylra is still mostly made up, based loosely on a very old and tiny map briefly shown on screen by Sam in episode 103 of Campaign 1! Naturally when any new maps come out, this map will (eventually) be updated to reflect them.

There are some locations that are new to this map as well, such as the Demithore Valley in Issylra from Campaign 3 and all the towns visited in The Re-Slayer's Take up to episode 10, these being Himblewood, Josgren's Hollow, Shoresight Isle, and the Hug Hive. Ta'Dorei has a few new towns, Mooren and Heldenfaire, which were mentioned in Tal'Dorei Campaign Setting Reborn, as well as a few unnamed village clusters, the Foramere and Vues'dal villages. For these and the Mornset Countryside I included some non-canonical paths connecting them to the main roadways. Also included in Mornset is Roch Mar, the village that Vox Moronica visited all the way back in Episode 12 of Campaign 1, before Critical Role even did separate numbering for one-shots and thus included this unrelated episode in the campaign. This town isn't officially confirmed to actually exist in Exandria, so consider it my headcanon and a paper town. Moving on to Wildemount, Vo Village got upgraded to proper town status, and I've also included Yardel from The Nine Eyes of Lucien, Ghostwall from The Tales of Exandria: The Bright Queen, and Galgarad from the Dark Star adventure on DnDBeyond!

I want to give a special thanks to Don Farland for his original fan map of Exandria, created all the way before the release of Explorer's Guide to Wildemount, upon which I originally based my map of the Shattered Teeth. Incidentally, I believe that this depiction of those islands was the basis upon which the official map by Andy Law is based upon. I would also like to thank Niko Vanhala for his fan-made maps of Marquet and Issylra, upon which I have loosely based my maps of those continents. And of course thank you to Andy Law and Deven Rue for the official cartography of Exandria!

[very-merry-birthday]

🍓 Nicknames 🍓

Summary: The story of you and Dean's relationship, told through nicknames.

Warnings: Mentions of sex but not quite smut

~~~

🍓 Sweetheart -

The first time Dean met you, that's what he'd called you. It felt like butter, a smooth luxury, dripping off his lips.

You parents had briefly known John, so when the Winchesters shuffled into town, you were their first point of safety.

Dean had walked in one day, his younger brother in tow, all swagger and confidence. He'd watched as you hopped off the counter, offering him a mug of coffee, trying to resist the temptation to let his eyes drop down your body. He was trying to be respectful, as respectful as he could be.

"Sure, I'll take some, sweetheart."

Your breath had hitched in your throat as he spoke, the name sending ripples through you.

You'd spent the rest of the day barely speaking. Sam had taken the lead with whatever hunt the two men were working on, so that just left you and the older Winchester listening. The whole time you'd caught small glances at each other, missed eye contact, the occasional brush of fingers when handing him another cup of coffee.

Only the next day had you realized Dean calls every girl he meets sweetheart.

🍓 Kid -

You hated the nickname. You were barely any younger than Sam, but Dean still insisted on calling you it.

The first time you'd gone on a hunt together, you'd come prepared. Dean was cautious at first, but by the time you'd shown them your skills with a knife, he had no choice but to let you swing along.

This wasn't your first hunt, not by a long shot, with your own parents training you to keep your wills about you long before the Winchesters came into your life.

You'd beheaded the vampire before Dean had even seen it coming at you, wiping your face with the back of your hand ready for the next one.

"Nice work, kid." Dean had said to you, the nickname hitting you like a ton of bricks.

Of course, he was the only one who could make you feel like a child even when you were able to wield a knife better than anyone he'd ever seen.

You'd raised it to Sam later in the day, asking if he'd ever used the nickname on him.

"Kid? No but he's called me worse. Why does it bother you so much?"

"It's patronising, it's like he doesn't see me as capable."

"Oh he sees you as capable alright." Sam chuckled to himself, "He's been on at me for weeks about bringing you along on a hunt."

You were taken aback, "No, no he said he didn't want me coming?"

"That's news to me, honestly I think he's just trying to mess with your head."

🍓 Darling -

Dean hadn't called you sweetheart in months, the kid nickname firmly sticking. No matter what you'd done, that's what he'd called you, keeping his distance. Even his glances had slowed, you no longer caught him looking at you in the rearview, no longer brushed fingers with him over coffee.

A month after you'd moved into the bunker, you and Dean were up late together, both hunched over books, the early hours beginning to break on a long night.

That's when it had hit you, and you went running off looking for a book you'd remembered reading once before, only returning once you'd found the page you were after. You'd placed the book on the table, Dean leaning over you, your bodies practically touching.

"It's a Musca. That's what that glue they keep finding is all about."

"Well damn, I think you just about cracked the case, darling."

As soon as he'd said it he knew he couldn't undo it, the word hanging in the air above you both. He'd waited for a moment, his body pressed against yours, heat emanating off of him. He wet his lips as he allowed himself to take another look at you, from this angle he towered over you, clearly being able to see down your shirt, looking at the contours of your chest covered in a thin bra.

Then he'd coughed back to reality, leaning past you to pick up the book and stepping back again.

"Right, I guess I'll give Sam a call then, thanks kid."

🍓 Gorgeous-

You'd come stumbling back in after a heavy night of drinking, you and Sam only just able to keep Dean's limp body supported between the two of you. You were able to drag him to the room and lay him on his bed before Sam had run off, needing to vomit the beers back up.

Deans eyes has opened tentatively, smiling as he saw your face.

"You come t' take care of me?" He slurred out, reaching out to touch your hand. "I'm sick."

"No, Dean, go to sleep, you're just drunk." You wanted to pull away, go back to your own room, wait for your inevitable hangover, but you let him hold your hand as he closed his eyes again, feeling your warmth. He pulled you into him closer, and you found yourself sat on the bed next to him.

"Don't go-" Dean murmured into your side, breathing gently.

"I'm not going Dean, I'm right here." You let your thumb rub against the skin of his hand, trying to comfort him.

"Don't go, gorgeous." He drifted into a drunken sleep.

🍓 Baby -

He never mentioned the gorgeous incident to you, and you were so drunk you barely even remembered it yourself. All you knew is that for the next few weeks he seemed cagey.

He didn't speak to you much, keeping to himself wherever possible. But you still caught him looking, more blatantly than he ever had before. When you were reaching up to a high shelf in the kitchen, there he was taking a glance at your exposed midriff. When you'd lean over to pull the duffle bag off the floor, he'd be behind you taking a look at your ass. Even on long drives you'd find his eyes trailing down your legs, a small smile revealing itself at the corner of his lips.

But then something shifted. Sam was the first one to notice it.

The three of you were just finishing up a hunt, the stifling motel room in the rearview as Dean drove, his cassettes the soundtrack to your freedom.

"I'm glad to be outta there." Dean had said, turning up the music.

"Me too, can we all agree that we need two rooms whenever we next get a motel." You'd wound down the window, letting the cool air hit you.

"'Course, baby." Dean leant his hand out, brushing your knee only slightly as a sign of agreement.

There was a beat in the car as you all watched his hand retract, unable to work out what had just happened. The music played on, the crappy speakers sounding a million miles away.

"Did- did you just call her baby?" Sam pitched up from the back seat. You wanted the air to swallow you, awkwardness overwhelming you. If this had just been you and Dean you'd have ignored it, blinked and pretended it had never happened. But Sam had seen, and he wasn't going to let it go.

Dean coughed, clearing his throat as he worked through what he was trying to say next. "I call the car baby, Sam, it's not a big deal."

🍓 Princess -

The nickname had hung in the air between you for three days. Three long days of thinking about his fingers brushing against your knee, of how the words had fallen out of his mouth so easily. Three silent days of you and Dean ignoring each other, no tentative glances, no secret looks.

On the third day Dean had come to you with a proposal.

He'd knocked on your bedroom door late at night, quietly enough that if you were sleeping he could pretend he hadn't even tried. But you weren't sleeping. Right as he had made up his mind to walk away you opened it, surprised to see him on the other side.

You invited him in, making small talk as you got him to sit on your bed. That's when he'd told you his idea.

"Sex. Pure, no strings attached, sex."

That's how you'd found yourself up against the wall, his hands on your waist, his mouth against your jaw, leaving heavy kisses. He'd pulled your shirt up, taking a step back to admire you.

"You're fucking gorgeous."

He came back to your room every night that week, both of you acting like it would be the last time but knowing it wouldn't be. He let his mouth explore every part of you, taking pleasure in making you moan his name.

"Louder for me, princess, let me hear you."

🍓 Y/N -

'Just sex' turned out to be harder than expected, his lingering looks at you complicating the days, the cuddling after complicating the nights.

You didn't mention it to each other during daylight, it was your own secret you kept even from yourselves. But each night he'd be there, and you'd let him in, both of you needy for more.

Then you were back in a motel on a hunt with Sam, and you knew it had to stop. Nowhere to go in such close quarters. Nowhere to spill your secrets.

You could tell he was pent up, spending every day watching you and not being able to do anything about it. You were too, but tried not to let it show.

And then you were in the middle of a hunt, and Dean was the furthest thing from your mind, your training kicking in, your only thoughts on the task at hand. The demon seemed to come out of nowhere, shoving you hard as your head hit the wall, knocking you down. The air thinned, your mind going dark as you heard the commotion in the other room, and then Dean was there. And he was holding your head. And he was shouting to Sam for help, looking at you with desperate eyes.

The next day he had sat on your bed in the motel, handing you a glass of water. Your fingers had brushed against each other, and memories of the first time you'd met had filled your mind.

"Y/N." He'd said. He never called you by your name, you could tell he was trying to work up the courage to say something important. "I can't stand the idea of loosing you. I can't even stand the idea of not being around you. This thing we've got going on- it's good don't get me wrong- it's fucking incredible in fact- it's just... I want more. I want you, all of you. Completely and all the time."

🍓 Honey -

You walked into the bunker, pushing another six-pack in the fridge for later. Deans strong arms came up behind you, enveloping you in a firm hug, his face burrowed in the crook of your neck, soft kisses across your skin trailing along the line of hickeys from the night before. He lifted you off the ground slightly for a moment, and you laughed loudly, swatting his arm to put you back down.

Sam looked up from the table and rolled his eyes; it was a familiar sight he was now used to, though it had taken some months to become accustomed to it.

Dean did as you said, putting your feet firmly back on the floor and spinning you around to face him. He kissed your forehead, a grin across his face as you motioned for him to kiss your lips instead.

"I love you." You'd said as he kissed you, the words falling out of your mouth as they had a hundred times by now.

"I love you too, honey."

[animeyanderelover]

I would also like to ask for obanai, Muzan, Light Yagami and Sebastian's reaction to a darling wearing revealing clothes? Thanks!

My connection to the internet is still not fixed. I’m literally writing this during university break because I have a stable connection here.

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, stalking, delusional behavior, overprotective behavior, manipulation, degradation, humiliation, suggestive themes, Nsfw in Muzan's part, abduction, death

Tags: @leveyani @lovley-valentine7 @chxxz @maggiequinn59 @nightmaresprophet

Darling wears revealing clothes

Sebastian Michaelis

🐈‍⬛​It isn't the time with its set fashion that is going to hold Sebastian back. In fact the demon certainly enjoys the free spirit you showcase in a time where women dress modest and must never show too much skin. Unless they have a rather salacious reputation to them that is. What is going to motivate him to keep you from wearing such revealing clothes outside is his own possessiveness. Undeniably you are a feast for the eyes but as you are his mate you should ensure that such a sight is only for him to enjoy. Perhaps if time and fashion would be a different one he would be much more lenient to let you outside. As of now so much skin would gather too much attention from everyone. He can't have other men lay their greedy eyes on you now, can he? Only a minx would still dare to go against his words and you are certainly one. Your confidence is very attractive yet in this scenario it isn't too appreciated. You must want to tease and test him if you keep on insisting to wear your clothes even outside. If it is his limits you wish to overstep, then it should be only fair that Sebastian shows you the consequences. With less clothes you would look even more ravishing for him after all~

Yagami Light

✍️​Light has a vision. A vision of a perfect world with him as a God. A perfect world with you by his side. However, he has envisioned you in a very specific way. A way that doesn't include the far too revealing clothes that you often wear outside of university. Sure, the world is slowly changing and the fashion evolves with it yet Light finds this trend to be nothing but distasteful. You are his woman and for that you shouldn't dress in ways where just everyone can ogle you. For Light it is about retaining your innocence as well as hiding from other eyes what should only be shown to him. He cannot just forbid you to wear those clothes though. At least not as long as he needs to hide his identity from you. So instead Light decides to go with subtle manipulation to get inside your head. A lot of backhanded compliments are given where he comments that you are quite brave for wearing such things or mentions briefly that he would never let his sister wear those clothes. He constantly offers you his jacket, insisting that it is windy and that you could get sick. Sometimes he gety very passive-aggressive, asking if your outfits earn you a lot of attention from others and if that is your intention.

Iguro Obanai

🐍​Obanai is under the daily risk of having a heart attack, your clothes far too inviting for lustful eyes to linger on you. Even he has troubles looking at you for too long without getting very flustered but he does his best to never let his eyes linger on your thighs or your cleavage. Silently he has a lot of objections but he is unable to voice them as he doesn't want to earn your possible anger or sadden you. Instead he gifts you cloaks, scarfs and other items which you will hopefully use to cover yourself a bit more. Unable to speak up his own thoughts yet well aware how many lecherous people are out there, Obanai is left with the old strategy of stalking you. His two-coloured eyes are always watching for anyone looking at you lustfully or snickering behind your back. Save to say is that anyone who dares to give a wrong reaction becomes a temporary target. His jealousy and his overprotective instincts make for a very overbearing presence even though he reminds in the shadows. You shouldn't be surprised if certain people start avoiding you. Not after a visit from Obanai and threats he didn't even bother to hide. Either stay away or lose tongue and eyes so that they may never speak or look wrongly again.

Kibutsuji Muzan

🩸​Not even a whore would dress as skimpy. Are you really such a low creature, offering your body to just anyone? Muzan has lived through dynasties and historic events and is stuck in a very traditional mindset. If you were just any woman he would simply discard you. Yet you are his woman and for that by extension his possession. How dare you dress in ways where everyone can look at your body? It seems like you need to be reminded that your body belongs to him. You lack respect of his claim on you and Muzan will be swift and cruel to remind you of everything. It is unacceptable that you walk around the way you do. All your clothes will be torn away from you the moment he has you in his possession, replaced by clothes that he deems to be fit for someone who belongs to him. Any arguments or rebellion are going to be squashed as he has little tolerance. If you misbehave you are going to be treated accordingly. But if you truly wish to be treated like a slut, he can do that. Surely you'd appreciate sitting completely naked on his lap and cockwarming him whilst he holds a meeting with the Upper Moons. Next time he might even see it through to bring a few loved ones of yours.

[bellaxgiornata]

What Did You Expect?

Pairing: Matt Murdock x nurse!fem!Reader Word Count: 2.2k [Matt Murdock Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+; mentions of sex, injured and snarky Matt, little jealousy, exes after a breakup, angst, hopeful ending

Summary: In need of medical assistance, Matt interrupts your evening–but you hadn't been alone.

Prompt: "Are you jealous?"

a/n: This is a short one shot for @mattmurdocksscars 2.5k Follower Celebration Writing Challenge event! I've never written Matt as an ex before (quite like this), so this was a lot of fun! Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

A sharp hiss of pain flew from between Matt’s lips, the noise harsh as it broke through the silence of your apartment. Eyes shifting up from the bloody, six inch gash along his left bicep, you briefly paused your stitching to glance at his face. Matt’s mouth was twisted up in discomfort, his features pinched tight in a grimace as you worked. He hated getting stitches, you’d always known that, but tonight he seemed determined to bear the pain as quietly as possible.

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” he bit out dryly.

Rolling your eyes at his comment, you returned your attention to your fingers as you resumed your work. He really did not have room to talk when he'd shown up unannounced on your fire escape asking for a favor at such an absurd hour. Especially after everything that had happened between you both only a few months ago. 

“Considering it’s almost one in the morning and you interrupted my evening?” you replied tersely. “I think I’m enjoying your discomfort the proper amount, Matthew.”

A bitter huff of air fell from him, his head turning over his other shoulder as you continued to work. Out of the corner of your eye, you knew where his attention had focused right now–towards your bedroom. Again. You’d caught him repeatedly shifting his head just slightly in the direction of it as you’d been stitching him for the past few minutes. As you pulled the needle through his skin once more, you could see the way he tensed in your dining chair. Except this time you could tell the tension in his body had nothing to do with the needle.

“Yeah, well,” he added quietly, a bitter edge to his words, “it seemed like your evening had already come to its conclusion by the time I'd shown up.”

“And what a satisfying conclusion it was,” you shot back.

Matt shook his head at you, his attention shifting away from your bedroom as he focused on a spot straight in front of himself. His lips were drawn into a thin line as he sat there shirtless, still drenched in sweat and blood from his time running around the city tonight. 

“Wasn't that satisfying,” he remarked.

Your hands stopped what they were doing, your gloved fingers resting against his bare and bloodied arm. Slowly, your eyes traveled from his injury upwards to his face. Matt was sitting there, the faintest hint of a pleased smirk on his mouth as if he was satisfied with himself for that jab. 

“Were you listening that closely, Matthew?” you chastised. “Finding new hobbies while you're out there surfing rooftops now? Is eavesdropping on women having sex the new thing for The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen?”

Matt's smirk faltered before slipping off of his face entirely. A frown took its place instead, his hazel eyes narrowing at the blank screen of your television across the room. He'd long since discarded the black mask on your kitchen table, pulling it off after he'd stepped inside your apartment–just like he used to do when he stopped over during patrols in the past–making it impossible for him to hide his expression. It wasn't like he needed the mask around you anymore, though. You'd known all about the Devil when the pair of you had been dating.

“I wasn't intentionally listening,” he countered bitterly. “I came here looking for help. It's not that easy for me to stitch something one-handed while also blind.” His lips twitched in distaste as his voice lowered. “Not my fault you weren't alone when I stopped by.”

Pursing your lips as you worked, you felt a flash of frustration run through you. You didn't like that he'd come by tonight of all nights. You had just finally started to move forward after the breakup, trying to at least let guys into your bed even if you weren’t ready to let them into your heart. But you liked it even less that he'd overheard something so personal on top of it. Especially because it wasn't that he'd just overheard you having sex, it was that Matt’s heightened senses could invade your privacy enough to know the truth–that the guy you'd been with tonight couldn't play your body the same way Matt could.

“And it's not my fault that you did stop by. You could have gone to Claire,” you pointed out, trying to finish the last few stitches.

Matt scoffed at the comment. “Yeah, alright. Next time I'm bleeding from a deep laceration, I'll go the extra few blocks to Claire's place instead,” he shot back. “I wasn't exactly expecting you to be entertaining company quite so late, sweetheart.”

Your teeth grit together at the way he'd called you that again. It used to be spoken with such soft tenderness when you two had been together. Tonight? The condescension and anger was clear each time. 

“What did you expect, Matt?” you asked, finishing the final stitch. “It's been over four months since we broke up–since you ended things and shoved me away. I'm not a damn nun.”

He huffed out a sharp breath at your nun comment, a sarcastic smile on his lips. “Hilarious.”

You turned and set your supplies back on the dining table, digging around in your medical bag for a bandage to cover his stitches with. Pulling one out, you began to open the packaging before focusing back on Matt.

“What?” you asked, arching a brow at him as he sat in front of you. “Are you jealous? Is that it, Matthew?”

A loud scoff fell out of him before he pulled an exaggerated face.“Of course I’m not jealous,” he snapped. 

As you began covering his stitches with the bandage in your hands, you once again rolled your eyes. “You certainly sound jealous to me, Matt,” you argued. “You haven’t stopped focusing on my bedroom since you’ve been here. I can tell what you’re doing, I’ve known you long enough.”

“It’s not jealousy,” he countered. “I just figured you'd at least pick a guy who doesn't douse himself in cologne. Someone with a less irritating voice and who actually knew how to get you to properly finish when he’s–ahh!”

Eyes narrowed, you dropped your gloved hands away from his arm where you'd purposefully pressed a bit rougher than necessary against his wound while applying the bandage. He was far too comfortable discussing what he’d overheard considering the breakup and his four month long silence with you. 

“Not everyone has the same unfair advantages you have,” you retorted. “You probably wouldn't be quite so successful at cunninglingus yourself if it wasn't for your heightened senses, Matthew.” You paused, shooting him a glare that you hoped he could at least feel the heat from. “Not that my sex life is any of your damn business, nor is it up for discussion. You should be sitting here thanking me for even helping you right now instead of intentionally irritating me.” 

Matt's lips twitched again at the corners as you rose to your feet, beginning to clean up the mess you'd made trying to help him. Peeling off your gloves that were coated in his blood–not an unfamiliar sight to you in the past–you stepped into your kitchen and tossed them in the garbage.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, voice still tight.

“Don't tear those open on your way home, either,” you muttered, referring to the stitches. “I'm not staying up until three in the morning doing them over again.”

Stepping back around where he sat in your dining chair, you focused on putting the rest of your medical supplies back into your bag. Next to you, Matt leaned over towards your table with a grunt and grabbed his torn and bloodied black shirt from off of it. Out of the corner of your eye, you were aware of him pulling it carefully back on.

“I can hear your heart, you know,” he pointed out.

Your jaw tensed at the unexpected softness laced with something else. Something like satisfaction.

“And maybe you should stop listening to it,” you warned him.

A heavy silence filled your apartment as he continued to slip his shirt on over his head, slowly putting his arms through the torn sleeves. Finished putting the supplies back into your bag, you began to zip it up, but now you were far too aware of your traitorous body after his comment. Of course Matt could still hear the way you reacted around him even if you didn’t want to feel that way. It wasn’t as if you had any control over your body when it came to him.

Matt rose to his feet beside you, leaning past you to grab his mask from your kitchen table next. As he did, you caught the face he made. His nose scrunched up and his eyes narrowed, the corner of his lips curling back in disgust, just as it had done when he’d focused on your bedroom. 

“What?” you asked.

With a deep frown on his face, he straightened beside you. “You smell like him. Awful cologne and…”

His voice trailed off, not finishing his sentence. You could guess what else you smelled like from the guy you’d had over to Matt’s senses. Sweat, pheromones, and the aftermath of sex. You'd have felt bad for him if it wasn't for the fact that he'd been nothing but a jerk since he showed up asking you for help in the middle of the night.

“I'm sorry I didn't have a chance to shower before I gave you free medical treatment,” you replied stiffly.

Picking up your bag, you turned and began heading down the hall towards your bathroom. But as you walked, your hand tightened around the bag in outward anger. Despite that anger, your heart ached at this painful, unexpected interaction tonight. It was the last thing you’d wanted to deal with when you’d been trying to move forward.

You’d just barely gotten halfway down the hall when Matt spoke up again. He’d spoken so quietly that you’d had to strain to be able to hear him.

“A shower wouldn't have done enough,” he murmured, pain coating his words. “The smell goes…deeper than that.”

Stopping in the doorway of your little bathroom, you glanced down the short hallway back towards him. He was pulling the black mask over his face, but you caught the expression on it before half of it was obscured by the fabric. Hurt. But not the physical kind from the knife wound you'd just helped him with, a different sort of hurt. The kind you knew he hid behind with the physical pain he endured when he went out on nights like this.

Which had been the main problem between you both. Matt often struggled to communicate his feelings with you, but he also never took care of himself. He preferred to run around the city at night instead, even after you'd just brought him back from what felt like the brink of death some nights. Sometimes it felt like he was doing it to punish himself and not the criminals of Hell’s Kitchen. While you respected what he did, you hated how he pushed himself without a care for his own well-being over and over. It had been hard to watch, eventually becoming the topic of far too many fights–until it led to Matt taking the easy route and ending things. 

“I'm sorry,” he said softly. 

Expression falling as you stood just outside your bathroom, you felt that ache in your chest grow. Those two words carried so much weight as they hung heavy in your apartment, the distance between you both incredibly palpable. That apology was meant for more than just his attitude tonight. 

“Yeah,” you said just as quietly. “Me too.”

Matt hesitated for a moment, his focus still on you before he nodded slowly, acknowledging your words. Turning, he easily navigated his way around your living room despite the four months since he'd last been in it. Taking a step back into the hallway and away from your bathroom, you turned towards him and watched his retreating form. He looked so worn now that he wasn't throwing biting comments at you–his shoulders were slightly hunched and his head hanging. 

“I'm glad you're alright,” you called after him, catching the way your voice had caused him to stop. “And I'd rather you come here for help than bleed out on the streets. Just for…future reference.”

Matt paused by your window, one gloved hand on the bottom of it. His masked head shifted over his shoulder in your direction again, and you saw the small, sad smile on his lips. 

“I appreciate that, sweetheart,” he replied.

Matt turned back to your window, pushing it up and slipping back out onto your fire escape. As he closed it after himself, you noticed how he'd called you that without the condescension he'd been using most of the night. Rather, the sound of it felt like it carried a different meaning now. 

One that said ‘I miss you.’ 

Matt Murdock One Shot/Shorts Tag List: @pazii @shouldbestudying41 @kmc1989 @ebathory997 @yeonalie @shiorimakibawrites @xxdrixx @wkndwlff @leikelle @pinkratts @lazyxsquirrel @1988-fiend @marvelcinematiquniverse @carstairswife @stilldreaming666 @kiwwia-wiwwia @willwork4dilfs @will-delete-this-later-probably @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @theetherealbloom @yarrystyleeza @dramaholic18 @ladywholikesreading @millennial-birkin @tartbeanpuzzles @harleycao @sunflower-tia @gamingfeline @juskonutoh @kezibear @ninacotte @withyoutilltheendoftheline @justanerd1 @scriptedmoon @ardent-crow @lucienofthelakes @sarahskywalker-amidala @flowher @loves0phelia @a-half-empty-girl @zomtart @justvalkyrie @steve-chandler @valhallavalkyrie9 @let-it-go-and-live-again @thetorturedpoetcalleddez @steviebbboi

[prosypepper]

“taping it” with tooru oikawa

this is part four of my kinktober event!

word count: 1.5k

warnings: nsfw, timeskip oikawa, recording, degredation, unprotected p in v, finishing inside, backshots, fingering, squirting mention🙌, nasty nasty nasty. (18+ mdni!)

notes: early :33 enjoy first haikyuu fic. also need recommendations for what to do w toji cus i wanna write for him so badddd😆but im out of ideas. love u!

kinktober masterlist | masterlist

play ▸

0:01

0:02

0:03

“is it recording?” you ask, soon appearing in the frame as your fiancé adjusts the camera. oikawa squints at the screen, grinning when he can see the full view of the bed behind him. he steps back, turning around, walking over to your cute form, and you’re covering your naked body with a fuzzy blanket. his bare body is shown off to the camera, in all of his glory – hard cock bobbing as he struts towards the bed. 

the hotel room is lit by the two lamps on either side of the bed, casting a yellow-white glow over the both of you. oikawa crawls over you, coming to plant a sweet kiss on your lips. he’s so sweet and tender with you – and awfully desperate to show the world who he really belongs to. you lean into his kiss, locking your lips with his, holding onto his shoulders. his slim, experienced hands come to drag the blanket off you, but you quickly stop him.

“tooru, wait—i’m nervous,” you squeak, giving your fiancé an utterly adorable look with your doe eyes. he smiles at your expression, cockily soaking how anxious he continues to make you, even after so many years of being together. 

“it’s okay, pretty girl,” tooru coos in reply, watching how your eyes cross as they focus on his lips coming to your forehead. the kiss makes you relax into the sheets and let go of the blanket, allowing for oikawa to peel the blanket off. “relax, just gonna show the world how well you satisfy me, y’know, since they’re so concerned.” 

right… the whole reason your soon-to-be husband suggested this tape was because of all the hate comments online, the forum posts and discussions had online about how there’s no way a man like oikawa was going to marry you. your engagement broke the internet, and now, well… 

the two of you were about to break the internet again.

3:46

3:47

3:48

“open your legs, pretty,” tooru commands, pushing the soft blanket to the side of your body. no matter how many times you did this, you always felt so nervous exposing yourself to him. like he was a god among men—and with his looks, no one could blame you. 

“okay, tooru,” you murmur, spreading your thighs slightly. oikawa can’t help but relish in how trembly you are, anticipating his next move. he takes leeway to quickly grab behind your knees, pushing your legs against your chest, holding you in place by the back of your thighs. no time is wasted before he leans down, tongue darting out to meet your slick folds. 

you throw your head back into the soft pillows, hand reaching for tooru’s  hair to pull it. he groans at his locks being tugged, the vibration sending chills down your spine. the tip of his tongue comes to circle around your clit briefly, before wrapping his lips around the nub and suckling delicately. every squeak and moan of his name is music to his ears – and picked up by the camera, too. his tongue dips down lower, slightly fucking you with his tongue to pull more choked whimpers from your throat. 

there’s nothing else like the taste of you to tooru. the way he felt about you would be described as worship – in each conference or interview he quite literally couldn’t shut up about you. he wouldn’t shut up about you. he made sure that everyone knew just how much he loved you.

that’s what he was doing now, too.

9:59

10:00

10:01

“you ready, baby?” tooru coos into your ear, peppering a few tickly kisses to your neck and cheek. you giggle and nod your head. a sweet gasp is drawn out from your lips the moment oikawa lines himself up, your sensitive hole fluttering around just the little bit he had given you. tooru lifts his head up to look at you; with your eyes screwed shut and mouth slightly agape, all in anticipation for him.

tooru slowly begins to push himself in, aching length stretching you out so easily. you whimper loudly at the familiar stretch, a heavenly feeling the more he slips into you. when he bottoms out, tooru stays still for a few moments, giving both of you time to get lost in the feeling. your mind goes halfway blank, and all the way when he begins to pull his hips back and slam them into you. 

his back facing the camera looks a bit awkward at this point, as it shows his whole body tensing up with each harsh thrust he gives you. the camera only picks up on the loud slapping of skin together, and each moan you give that’s loud enough. 

oikawa allows himself to let loose for this first part, jackhammering his pelvis into you meanly. he kisses your cervix every time he slams his cock all the way into you, earning confirming moans and whimpers that you just love it so much. all your noises are compliments to tooru, they each make his head grow bigger and self-esteem rise—as if he needed that, anyway.

28:47

28:48

28:49

“tooru—,”

“what, hmm?”

you slap your hands over your face in embarrassment, all to the pleasure of your fiancé as he opens your legs to rest atop his own. he has you comfortably sat on the corner of the bed, while his legs come on either side of you, trapping you into a position with your thighs open. this position gave the camera a good look at you, feeling more exposed than you had thus far. 

but the second the tips of oikawa’s fingers poke your spongy g-spot, those worries practically melt. 

it would be no surprise to anyone how good the tooru oikawa was with his fingers. but unfortunately for anyone else, they’d never have a chance to experience his skills in the way you did. he had come to know all the sweet spots of you, inside and out, and he used them to his full advantage. tooru took pleasure in making you crumble by himself, and how easily you did so. 

the camera picks up the lewd imaging of you spread out, the famous setter’s middle and ring finger slowly yet surely pumping in and out of you, your body quivering each time he hit that spot.

49:56

49:57

49:58

“tooru—please,” you plead, choked sobs coming from your throat.

your fiancé has no intentions of giving up on his crusade—but you’re beginning to regret allowing him to make this tape. he had been fingering you for realistically about 20 minutes, but in your mind, it felt like 20 years. 

it was insane how much pleasure can be brought to you by someone’s hand.

a nasty squelching is halfway picked up by the microphone, but unfortunately, the viewers wouldn’t be able to hear the filth being poured into your ears. it was unholy, the mouth on that man. yet he whispered so quietly, just to you, some things that would honestly ruin his career—almost as much as this sex tape would.

tooru’s constant switching of attitude gave you whiplash.

“you’re so disgusting, getting off like this in front of a camera.” “this feel good, baby? ohh, what about this?” “so pretty, baby, look at yourself.” “tell them how much you love me.” “oh my god, did you just squirt on me? nasty.”

you practically cry of embarrassment, shame, and pleasure all in one as you gush around tooru’s fingers. eyes roll into the back of your head, crying out more when he rips his fingers out of you just to rub your clit and force more out of you.

chest heaving, you throw your head back onto tooru’s chest, waving a white flag to tell him you were ruined. yet, after giving you a whole minute to calm down, he kisses your cheek and begins to shuffle, moving you and flipping you around. before you know it, your eyes can’t help but make out your figure in the camera, in a deep, lazy arch.

“almost done showing ‘em, babe.”

1:12:17

1:12:18

1:12:19

tooru revels in the reflection of himself in the camera, a smug look on his face when he clutches onto your hips even tighter. your poor body is all the way fucked out, pathetically shoving forward into the sheets. 

“where do you want me to cum, angel?” oikawa smoothly asks, cocky grin apparent just from the way he speaks to you, “tell ‘em where you want it.”

“inside, tooru—cum inside, please,” you reply, making sure it’s loud enough to be picked up on film.

your fiancé wastes no time to harden up with his thrusts, bursting inside of you after a few pumps. your walls squeeze around him and milk him dry, keeping inside every bit of seed you were gifted. shaky legs twitch and spasm when tooru pulls out of you, leaning down to give you a sweet kiss on your left temple. 

mere seconds pass, and oikawa steps off the bed—somehow, still hard—and walks over to the camera, smiling at your tired body, leaving an awkward angle of his face as he picks it up to stop the recording.

1:15:43…

replay? ⟳

[pretentious-blonde]

right

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: a date that doesn’t go as planned, steve starts to panic, but you’re there to steady him

warnings: anxiety, mention of suicide?? (like one line)

a/n: soft and tender steve!!! he is such a sweetheart in this istg

series masterlist

You had just finished choosing your outfit, adjusting the fabric to sit on your shoulders, when your phone rang. Steve’s voice was apologetic the moment you answered. You could practically hear him running a hand through his hair, messing up those carefully styled locks of his as he tried to explain himself.

“Hey, I’m so, so sorry,” he spoke quickly, urgently. “I swear I’m not trying to stand you up. It’s just—I’ve got this kid here whose ride hasn’t shown yet, and… well, I can’t leave him.”

You could picture him perfectly: face scrunched in concern, probably perched on the edge of his cluttered desk. He sounded so regretful on the phone, and you hated that he was even stressing over something so trivial.

“Steve,” you said gently, cutting off his rambling apologies. “It’s okay. Really. I’ll just head over to the school. We can go together once their parents show up.”

Your reassurance was immediate, relief palpable in his responding sigh.

“You’re sure?”

“Positive,” you replied, twisting a stray thread on your sleeve. “See you soon.”

The call wrapped up on a calmer note, and you took a moment to smooth your hair in the mirror, feeling optimistic that it was deciding to behave itself. The two of you had planned a nice evening—a proper sit-down meal somewhere slightly fancy—and although things weren’t going exactly to plan, you couldn’t deny how much you were looking forward to seeing him in his classroom again. 

Grabbing your bag and keys, you slipped out the door, a small spark of excitement humming beneath your ribs. The drive to Hawkins Elementary was peaceful, dusk painting the sky in shades of lilac and amber. Soft music played through your car speakers, but your mind drifted more than once to a certain teacher…

Something about him, surrounded by all that childlike wonder, made him feel impossibly soft. That, paired with his contrite tone, made you want to reassure him in person. 

When you arrive at the school, there’s a still energy settling over the place. Most of the staff and students have long since gone home. You park in a spot near the entrance, stepping out into the gentle air of early evening.

Inside, the lobby is quiet, illuminated by the mellow glow of overhead lights. The smell still strangely nostalgic, it tugs at memories of your own school days. Behind the front desk stands the elderly receptionist you’d met briefly before. He’s in the middle of packing up his things, a well-worn coat draped over one arm. He looks up, a welcoming smile lighting his features.

“Back so soon?” he teases gently. “Another delivery, perhaps?”

You return his smile, recalling your last visit.

“Not this time,” you say, shaking your head. “I’m meeting Mr. Harrington?”

“Ah, yes.” A knowing glint sparks in his eyes. “Still in his classroom. Been there quite a while.”

“Thanks,” you reply, taking a moment to note the kind crinkles around his eyes. Then you turn toward the hallway.

The corridors are hushed, classroom lights off, and the echoes of a busy school day fading into memory. You’re headed toward the same door you’ve visited prior: 2B, the sign now familiar.

Steve’s pencil stills when he hears the soft click of the classroom door. The moment he sees you, he falters, breath catching in his throat.

It’s obvious how much effort you had put into tonight—hair carefully styled, a soft glow to your skin that makes something tighten in his chest. Guilt flickers for keeping you waiting, but it’s drowned out by something stronger. 

The fact that you dressed up for him. 

He was torn, wanting to leap up and greet you properly, but he’s got a child at his side. So he settles for a warm, if slightly measured, Hey. His tone gentle enough not to startle the boy to his right. 

It was a stark contrast to the way he wanted to react. You deserved so much more than this.

“Hey,” you return, eyes drifting to the desk to see what they’re working on. He forces himself to swallow the pang of regret that he can’t whisk you off to dinner right this second. His mind spins with half-formed apologies—mentally promising he’ll make this up to you, somehow.

“Can I sit?” you ask, one hand resting on the back of the child-sized chair across from him.

“Sure,” Steve says quickly, gesturing with the pencil in his hand. He bites back a smile as you awkwardly manoeuvre into the small chair—it takes some getting used to. He would know.

Once you settle, he glances at the kid beside him. The boy’s chin is practically touching his chest, his expression clouded with an unmistakable sadness. 

“Hey, Samuel,” Steve begins softly, scooting a bit closer to the child. “You remember who this is?”

Samuel lifts his gaze from his drawing, eyeing you without the spark kids usually have. 

“She gave us the books,” he mumbles. There’s a small hitch in his voice that tugs on Steve’s heartstrings. The poor kid’s been waiting far too long for a ride that hasn’t arrived.

“That’s right,” you say softly, offering a gentle smile. 

Samuel just shrugs, returning his attention to the paper in front of him. Steve’s brow furrows; he hates seeing the normally bright-eyed little boy so down.

You desperately want to lighten the mood, so you lean forward, resting your forearms on the small table. Dinner can wait, the sad kid in front of you takes priority right now.

“So, what are you guys doing here?” you ask, voice patient.

Samuel pauses, glancing up at Steve as if seeking permission. He nods, a tiny, encouraging smile shaping his lips. Talking to you is nothing to worry about.

“We’re drawing,” Samuel offers at last.

“Oh yeah?” Your voice lightens, interest shining in your eyes. “Can I see?”

Cautiously, Samuel sets down his pen and turns the paper so you can look. 

“I’m drawing my dog,” he says, a hint of pride creeping into his voice.

“Whoa,” You tilt your head, offering an exaggerated tone, eager to make him smile. “It’s really good. What’s his name?”

Steve watches Samuel’s face soften just a bit, reminded of better things than this long wait. 

“Scooby,” the boy says, glancing between you and Steve.

“That’s a great name,” you tell him, leaning in as if sharing a secret. “Did you pick it yourself?”

Samuel nods and a smile blooms on your face, and Steve’s chest feels inexplicably full at how you’re managing to draw the sad boy out of his gloom. He thinks you’re trying, but honestly, he can’t be sure if this is just who you are. Watching you interact with his student fills him with pride.

Clearly, you have an effect on people.

“It’s awesome.” You nod as you push it back towards the boy. “Gonna be an artist someday. I can tell.”

Samuel’s lips curl into a small smile, and Steve catches the way your kindness ignites the faintest spark in the boy’s eyes. He glances at you, guilt flickering across his face as he mouths a silent sorry for making you wait. But you just shake your head in reassurance. Don’t even worry about it.

“And what about you, Mr. Harrington?” you tease as you lean forward, a playful lilt in your voice. “What’re you drawing?”

Steve chuckles, ducking his head with a hint of bashfulness, not quite expecting to be sharing. He lifts his paper, revealing a carefully drawn sketch of the school’s entrance. It’s surprisingly detailed—the double doors, a few kids scattered out front, even a bright yellow bus parked at the curb.

He grows self-conscious as you glance over his scribbles, but it’s impossible to miss the care in each pencil stroke—the familiarity with every line and angle. There’s an intimacy in the way he’s captured the building, drawn entirely from memory, as if it’s a place he knows by heart.

What you don’t see are the countless times he’s stood in that very spot, staring at the view, willing himself to step inside. Day after day, swallowing the anxiety just enough to make it through the front gates.

Yeah, he knew it by heart.

“It’s not as good as Samuel’s, but….” He adjusts the paper in front of him, his pencil once again gliding across the page as he trails off.

“Well,” you say, shifting closer to the kid, but locking eyes with Steve. “I’d say you’re both very talented.”

Your enthusiasm is infectious as it wraps around him. His cheeks heat up again—something that seems to be happening a lot whenever you're around.

You lean forward, fingers brushing over the paper until you find a clean sheet and a decent pencil. Looking to Samuel, you tilt your head gently. 

“Is it alright if I join in?” you ask, voice just above a whisper, not wanting to break the comfortable calm that’s settled around the three of you.

Samuel hesitates, then gives a small, welcoming nod, so you begin sketching a few light lines—a simple floral pattern that requires little thought. Maybe a vine of leaves, or a daisy shape that reminds you of summer. It’s calming, focusing on the soft arcs and petals.

After a moment, Samuel’s shoulders slump a fraction, and he turns his attention back to his teacher. 

“Has my mom called?” he asks, voice subdued.

Steve’s expression softens with sympathy. 

“Not yet, buddy,” he says gently, setting down his pencil. “But she should be here soon, alright?”

The boy nods, looking down. “Alright.”

“Hey,” Steve leans forward, propping his elbow on the table. “But we’re having fun right?”

Samuel lifts his gaze, sadness still evident. 

“Yeah...”

Steve fought the urge to frown, not wanting the kid’s sadness to drag him down too—but more than that, he was desperate to lift his mood.

When he glanced up and caught the way your expression had wilted, the sadness in your eyes mirroring his students, it was clear this was getting to you too. And if there was one thing Steve couldn’t stand, it was seeing the people he cared about weighed down.

He racked his brain, trying to think—think—up something, anything, that might make the boy smile. And if there was one thing he’d learned about kids, it was that the best way to break through was with a distraction. Something new, something shiny to pull their mind in another direction. 

That, at least, he had plenty of practice in.

“Guess what?” He asked casually. 

Samuel peers at him. 

“What?”

A playful spark lights up Steve’s warm brown eyes. 

"Someone told me once that the best moments happen when you don't expect them."

Samuel thought for a moment about his teacher's words, trying to make sense of the profound statement. 

“Like what?” The boy tilts his head, confused but intrigued. 

Steve taps his pencil against the table, thinking. Slowly, a grin tugs at his lips as he pulls a memory to the surface. Pushing his chair back slightly, he leans in toward the kid, ready to share it.

It’s clear he’s done this plenty of times before.

“Like… this one time, I got stuck waiting in a super long line at the arcade when I was your age. Thought I was gonna be bored out of my mind.” He rolls his eyes in an exaggerated way that makes Samuel perk up a bit, already captivated by his teacher’s words. “But then, this older kid showed me how to do a trick where you flip a coin over your fingers—kinda like this.”

He picks up a pencil, rolling it effortlessly over his knuckles. It’s not perfect—every so often, he has to catch it before it slips—but to Samuel, it might as well be a magic trick.

“By the time I got to play my game, I didn’t even care about the wait anymore,” Steve continues. “I’d learned something really cool.”

Samuel watches with wide-eyed fascination. “I wanna do that!”

Steve winks, gently placing the pencil on the desk so Samuel can grab it. 

"Sure you will," he says, laying on the dramatics. "Just takes a little practice."

There is a small surge of warmth that floods you as you watch the two of them together. You cast your gaze back to your floral sketch, but you can’t stop the slight smile from curving your lips. Steve catches your eye for a second, and in the silent exchange, you can feel how he’s trying so hard to make this okay—for Samuel, and in a way, for you too.

Just as he is about to launch into a more detailed demonstration of his coin-flipping trick, the classroom door flies open, revealing a woman slightly out of breath, cheeks flushed from rushing. Her wide eyes dart from Samuel to Steve to you, immediately brimming with apologies.

“I’m so sorry,” she manages between quick breaths, pressing a hand to her chest as though she’s trying to slow her racing heart. “I—I got held up and—”

“Mom!” Samuel bolts up from the table, all traces of his earlier sadness vanishing in a burst of excitement. She crouches down, arms opening to gather him into a hug. 

The kid leans back slightly, his face lighting up. “I drew Scooby!” he exclaims, pride evident in his voice.

“Oh, you did?” Her tone melts with relief. “That’s amazing, baby. Why don’t you show me?”

Beaming, Samuel spins around to grab his artwork and then holds it out proudly for her inspection. The moment she sees the goofy dog’s face, her own lights up with genuine delight. 

“Wow, that’s so so good, honey! When we get home, we’ll put it right on the fridge, yeah?”

“Yeah!” Samuel nods, bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

Steve rises from his chair, long legs unfolding as he stands and tucks his pencil away. The woman looks up at him with gratitude shining in her eyes. 

“Thank you so much,” she breathes, a slight tremor of emotion in her voice. “I really appreciate you staying with him.”

Steve waves off the thanks, a dismissive but gentle gesture that speaks to his genuine humility. 

“It’s not a problem,” he says, glancing fondly at Samuel. “We had a great time, didn’t we, buddy?”

“Yes!” Samuel nods so hard his hair flops over his forehead. “And I learned a new trick!”

“You did?” His mom arches a brow, looking between her son and Steve. “Well, you’ll have to show me when we get home. Ready to grab your things?”

Samuel dashes off to gather his backpack from the corner, and she turns back to Steve, her face still awash in relief. 

“Thank you. It won’t happen again, I promise—”

Steve’s smile is calm, understanding as he holds his palm up. 

“If it does, you’ll just get another drawing, right?” He shrugs with playful lightness, hoping to ease any lingering guilt she has.

“That’s…” she says, voice catching as Samuel skids back into the room. A laugh escapes her, soft but genuinely thankful.

She straightens, ruffling her son’s hair. “Alright, say goodbye to Mr. Harrington.”

Samuel turns, waving a little too enthusiastically. “Bye, Mr. Harrington!” 

“Take care.” He lifts a hand in farewell. 

The door swings shut, and the moment Steve catches sight of the clock on the wall, his lips press into a tight line. His eyes widen.

“Shit—” He practically scrambles across the room, “we gotta go—like, now.” Snatching his coat from the back of a chair. “The table was booked for… ten minutes ago,” voice tight as he reaches for his phone on the desk.

“Steve.”

He’s mid-dial when you place your hand gently over his. He barely glances up, still fumbling with the buttons. 

“I’m sure they can—”

“Steve,” you repeat, a touch more insistently. “It’s fine.”

His gaze snaps to yours, and there’s guilt evident in the crease of his brow, the way his shoulders pull forward defensively. 

“It’s not fine. I mean—look at you,” he insists, flicking his eyes over your outfit. “You—you got all dressed up, and—”

“Hey,” you squeeze his hand, and he finally stills, waiting until he meets your eyes. “I dressed up for you.”

Something in his chest thumps painfully at those words. He opens his mouth, probably to offer another round of apologies, but you speak first. You step a fraction closer, heart stuttering in your own chest as you do. 

“We can do it another time,” you tell him as he sighs.

“This was seriously not the plan,” Steve grumbles, free hand raking through his hair. His breath is still uneven, cheeks tinted pink.

“Maybe not,” you concede, “but I’m here now.”

He nods, swallowing hard. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “You are.”

Should be eating steak at Enzo’s right now. 

“And,” you add, voice brightening a little, “I haven’t finished my drawing.”

His eyebrows shoot up. 

“Are you serious?”

A giggle escapes you, the sound soft and reassuring. 

“It’s been a while since I’ve felt like a kid again,” you explain, gesturing at the brightly decorated classroom around you. “What better place to keep going?”

Steve shakes his head like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing, but there’s a lopsided smile at the corner of his mouth. 

“Alright,” he murmurs. “If you wanna spend your evening drawing, I’m not gonna stop you.”

“Good,” you tease, turning back toward the table scattered with crayons and pencils. “But you have to join in, too.”

He exhales a short laugh, relenting as the tension uncoils from his frame. 

“Fine,” he says, rolling up his sleeves. “Fine.”

He drapes his jacket over the back of the chair before settling across from you at the tiny table, where crayons and half-finished sketches are scattered about. A small, playful grin tugs at the corner of his lips as he scoots his chair closer.

He can’t quite wrap his head around the fact that this is how you want to spend your Wednesday evening. It’s nothing special, at all.

You seem to make the little things feel like something more, and he doesn’t know what to do with that—except lean into it, let himself get caught up in your glow.

“So,” you say, tapping a pencil against the table, “what’re you gonna draw next?”

He lifts one shoulder in a shrug. 

“Not sure yet,” he admits, looking up at you with curious eyes. “What do you think?”

A mischievous spark lights in your expression. 

“Draw me.”

“Yeah, right.” He scoffs, a hint of pink crawling across his cheeks. 

“I’m serious,” you press, leaning forward so your arms rest on the edge of the desk. “Always wanted my portrait done.”

Wow, demanding.

Now he had no choice but to put his subpar art skills to the test. But the more he thought about it, the more he didn't mind. The idea of drawing you was actually kind of nice—it meant he had a reason to stare at you, he wouldn’t have to come up with an excuse either. Really, it was a win-win.

“If it looks terrible, you can’t be offended,” he warns, gesturing with the pencil in his hand.

“Deal.”

You push aside the floral doodle you’d been working on earlier, grabbing a fresh sheet of paper. 

“What’re you doing?” Steve quirks an eyebrow. 

“Drawing you,” you say, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Only fair, right?”

He huffs out a chuckle, though he can’t quite hide how flattered he is by the thought. You’re damn sweet. Honestly, you’d probably be a better fit in this classroom than he is, the way you can turn this disaster of an evening into something positive.

“I guess so.”

Leaning over, he grabs a nearby hardcover book—something about geography, judging by the cover—and props it upright on the table like a little barrier. 

“What?” you laugh, tipping your head to see his hands around it.

“I want to be surprised when I see it.” His grin widens, his brown eyes dancing. 

“Trust me, you’re gonna be very surprised,” you tease, tightening your grip on the pencil.

He laughs, the sound low and affectionate. Then he sets his own blank sheet in front of him and glances over the makeshift partition at you. 

“Okay,” he mumbles, lips quirking into a half-smile. “No peeking, alright?”

“Never,” you say, though your voice carries a playful challenge.

Pencils scratching softly against paper form a gentle soundtrack as the two of you work, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, yet sharing the occasional glance that makes your heart flutter. 

“So,” you say, keeping your gaze on the half-finished sketch in front of you, “does this happen a lot?”

Steve finishes shading a small curve on his paper before responding. 

“Missing dinner with a pretty girl?” He glances up, meeting your eyes. “No, I usually try not to make a habit of that.”

“I meant parents being late,” you clarify, with a small chuckle. 

So, Mr. Harrington can flirt. Good to know. 

He sets the pencil down, tapping it absently against the desk. 

“Sometimes,” he ponders. “They have long hours, multiple jobs. I usually stick around anyway, lesson prep, grading quizzes, stuff like that.”

Anything to avoid being home alone. 

“Can’t be easy for the kids, though,” you say, a little crease appearing between your brows.

A soft sigh escapes him. “Sure, it’s not ideal,” he admits. “But in Samuel’s case, his mom’s doin’ her best, you know?” 

He doesn’t elaborate further, but his expression speaks volumes—he sees more than anyone realises, and he tries his hardest to fill the gaps.

“They’re lucky to have a teacher like you,” you say gently.

A faint flush creeps over his cheeks, and he ducks his head. 

“Like I said,” he murmurs, voice low enough that it makes your chest tighten. “Kids love silly.”

Both of you return to your sketches for a moment. You’re perfecting the curve of his jaw, the slight wave of his hair, when your curiosity peeks again.

“So, what do your parents think about you being a teacher? They’ve gotta be proud, right?”

The question sets a flicker of nerves across his face. He fiddles with the pencil a bit before answering. 

“Uh… sort of,” he begins, brow furrowing. “They’re happy I’m, you know, employed. But they weren’t exactly my biggest fans after high school.”

“Why not?” You tilt your head, wanting to understand. 

He draws a breath, eyes darting to his paper as if searching for courage. 

“I was kinda… lost when I left school. Had no clue what I was doing. My dad wanted me to work for him, but that just… wasn’t an option.” Something raw appears in his gaze. 

There was no way he could work for his father—not when he was already at his lowest. 

The man who pressured him the most, expecting him to survive in a high-stress office? He could already picture it: barely holding himself together while his dad, with his uncanny ability to pick apart his deepest insecurities, chipped away at what little confidence he had left.

Put all that together, and he knew he wouldn’t have made it to the end of the year.

The thought alone scared him.

“Screw what your dad says.”

“Wow,” his mouth curves into a tiny, startled smile. “Never heard you be mean before.”

“I’m not being mean,” you give a playful shrug. “Just being honest.”

“Yeah, sure,” he drops his eyes to the table and nods, the corners of his lips quirking upward. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

Like you even have one.

There’s a short lull in conversation as you both sink back into the comforting rhythm of drawing. This time, it’s his turn to speak up. 

“So,” he ventures, sketching a light outline of your hair, “you think you’re gonna keep the bookshop for a while? Y’know, with the finances and stuff?”

"I hope so," you reply, your voice bright with the same enthusiasm you feel in your chest—despite the stress. "I’m still finding my way, and like, I knew it wasn’t going to be easy.” You breathe in a sigh that makes his pencil still. ”It’s just… doing it alone. That part still scares me sometimes."

Steve nods, understanding flickering in his eyes. He hates seeing you struggle, especially when there’s nothing he can do to fix it. It feels like Samuel all over again, and he’s already wracking his brain, searching for some way, any way, to be of service.

"Is there anything I can do?" he murmurs, always needing to be useful. "To help, I mean."

You shake your head. 

"This is plenty," you say, your voice a little softer now. "I like this,” you gesture between you both. "Spending time away… with you."

With him. 

And god, it’s like fireworks in his chest. The fact that he is the reason you're feeling even a little better—it echoes exactly how he feels about you.

He doesn’t have much to offer, but he’d give you this and more. He’d whisk you away whenever you needed it. That, at least, he can do.

"Well," he says quietly, not trusting his voice fully, "I’m always a phone call away. I can be there."

You nod, offering him a quiet thank you before turning your attention back to your drawing.

Steve Harrington sure was something.

It baffled you how he was still single—especially when he gave so much of himself so freely. Offering what he could without expecting anything in return.

Moving here felt like the right choice.

Meeting him felt like the right thing.

He sets his pencil aside, blowing out a theatrical breath as though he’s completed the masterpiece of a lifetime. He did have a great reference, after all. 

“Alright,” he declares, tapping his fingers against the paper. “I think I’m done.”

“Hmmm, yeah,” you glance down at the final touches you’ve added to your own drawing, then give a small shrug. “Me too.”

He leans forward, sliding the book aside but quickly clutching his drawing to his chest so you can’t see it. You mirror his motion, both of you practically giggling at this playful standoff.

“You go first,” he says, eyes bright with anticipation.

“Why?” you challenge, raising a brow.

A crooked grin tugs at his mouth. “Isn’t that what ladies do?”

You roll your eyes for dramatic effect, but the smile that follows is genuine. 

“Fine.” Leaning forward, you carefully place your sketch in front of him.

It’s not perfect—you know that. But as his gaze sweeps over your work, a low laugh escapes his throat, warm and surprised.

He’s delighted.

One could call it abstract—modern, even. It's a far cry from any respectable piece of art, but you have captured him not just in likeness, but with something real.

To him? It's priceless. You even included the faint dimple that appears when he grins. He had forgotten what that even looked like.

“You really got me.” He murmurs, studying the details.

“About time I made my old art teacher proud,” you joke, trying to mask how pleased you are that he likes it.

“You sure have.” Steve’s eyes lift, warm and appreciative. Not a hint of sarcasm in his statement.

Fuck, you’re precious.

His soft expression steals the slight sting from your cheeks, though you still feel the warmth of his compliments. Clearing your throat, you eye the paper clutched against his chest. 

“So… are you gonna show me yours, or what?”

A flicker of apprehension crosses his features before he offers you a small grin. 

“Sure.” Slowly, he passes the sheet over.

The moment your eyes settle on his sketch, your breath catches in your throat. 

It’s incredible.

There’s a tenderness in every line, an intimacy woven into the drawing. He’s captured the shape of your eyes, the curve of your smile—even that subtle confidence you sometimes forget you have.

Your fingers hover over the page before lightly tracing the details, almost as if touching it too firmly might smudge the feeling behind it.

“This is… really good, Steve,” you say, half under your breath.

His cheeks redden, and he scratches behind his ear. 

“You think?”

You nod. “Can I keep it?”

“Course you can,” he says, hurriedly straightening in his chair. “Drew it for you in the first place.”

A spark of bubbly excitement flutters in his chest as he watches you carefully set the drawing aside—not folding it, not tucking it away like an afterthought. You’re going to carry it home just like that, like it actually means something to you.

That alone makes him ridiculously happy for humouring your request of the evening. 

The clock on the wall blinks at you both, reminding you that the night has slipped far later than intended. With a small sigh, he flicks his gaze between you and the scattered art supplies. 

“Since we missed dinner,” he ventures, voice warm, “I know a diner that’s open late, if you’re hungry.”

A grin spreads across your face, soft and genuine. “That sounds way better than some fancy restaurant.”

Relief mingles in his tender expression—his eyes crinkling just enough at the corners. He sets the pencils aside. 

“Alright, but first…” He picks up your drawing—your portrait of him—and walks over to the nearest wall of taped-up masterpieces. With a careful hand, he pins it among the rainbow of kid-drawn dinosaurs, flowers, and stick figures.

You step up beside him, your shoulder brushing his lightly. Your eyes sweep over the vibrant array of drawings. Some of them were clearly made with Steve in mind—crude sketches of his unmistakable hair, big hearts labeled Mr. Harrington, and even the occasional speech bubble with some goofy letters scrawled inside.

“You really make an impact here,” you say, voice hushed with genuine admiration.

Steve glances sideways at you, then back at the wall. 

“I’m… not so sure about that.” There’s a bashful edge to his tone, like he can’t quite see the effect he has on others.

You turn, glancing at a couple of the drawings—an especially adorable one with MR. H scrawled in bold marker. You’re close enough that he can feel a hint of your warmth, your presence tethering him right here, right now. 

“If you can’t see it,” you tell him gently, “you must be blind.” Your voice softens, and you tilt your head. “I mean—look.”

He follows your gesture, eyes drifting over bright crayons and enthusiastic scribbles. There’s a tangible love in those images—love for the teacher who stuck around after hours, who shared life with them, who cheered for them every step of the way.

Even when he struggling himself.

“You’re special, Steve.”

His heart thumps hard. The weight of your words collides with the sudden awareness that you’re right there—looking at him in a way that makes the room tilt. He barely manages a breath before your gaze meets his, and for a heartbeat, neither of you moves.

Everything about you—the kindness in your eyes, the gentleness of your smile, the fact that you spent the entire evening drawing dumb pictures with him without a single complaint—hits him all at once. 

He’s overwhelmed by how right this feels. 

Without really thinking, he bends closer, gaze dropping to your lips as he crosses that small distance.

When his mouth meets yours, it’s soft. Tentative. Like he’s afraid the moment might vanish if he pushes too hard. But when he feels you press back—just as gentle, just as eager—something sparks inside him. 

It’s like a release of breath he didn’t know he was holding, the sweetest, most perfect rush, better than anything he’s felt in years.

He cups your jaw tenderly, the warmth of your skin sending shivers along his arm. He’s half-aware of how fast his heart is pounding, how desperately he wants to deepen the kiss—yet a flicker of nerves has him pulling back just enough to look at you. Your eyes are shining, and the look in them nearly undoes him.

“Sorry,” he breathes, voice a little shaky from adrenaline and pure exhilaration. “I just—”

You cut off his apology with a quick, playful peck that makes his cheeks burn. 

He wants you to do that again.

“So,” you say, lips curling into a grin that all but steals his sanity, “dinner?”

A small, breathy laugh escapes him, his fingers still lightly touching your cheek as if he can’t quite let go. 

“Yeah,” he manages, voice thick. “Yeah—dinner.”

With his pulse still thundering, he reluctantly lets his hand slip down. You gather up coats and keys and stray papers, placing them in his hands to put away correctly. You head for the door, and when you pause to wait for him, you extend your hand—palm up, an invitation.

It’s for him.

It’s a rush of gratitude, a soft feeling he doesn’t quite know what to do with. Without thinking, he slips his fingers through yours, giving a gentle squeeze.

It’s such a simple gesture, barely more than a touch, but somehow, it makes his chest feel full—like he might burst from it.

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