#but i carved that spoon myself! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pleasantlycrazyworld · 2 months ago

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Hiiiii!!!:]

Request for Logan x reader where they carve pumpkins and watch scary movies, or maybe they do a halloween night out or something!!

(I hope this isnt too "late" to request fall/halloween stuff)

I had too many ideas so this is like a 4+1 type of fic lol it can be for any Logan and it's gender neutral! Request are still open!

The 4 times Logan didn't want to participate and the one time he did

1. Going to the pumpkin patch

You basically had to drag Logan to the pumpkin patch. You woke up so excited, the weather was finally a nice cool and crisp real autumn morning and it was supposed to stay nice all day, so naturally you thought it would be a good day to finally go get your pumpkins. Logan thought differently.

The pumpkin patch wasn't his idea of a good time. There were little ones running around, parents weren't really watching their children, and the couples that were there were all matching. You tried to get Logan to wear a matching outfit with you. "Come on, it'll be cute!" he rolled his eyes at your argument and wore his regular flannel instead.

At least flannel is correlated with fall.

You picked out the pumpkins the two of you were going to carve. When you asked for his opinion, you were met with a shrug and his typical response; "get whatever you want, babe." Usually, it was a nice response. It was his way of telling you that he could buy you whatever you wanted. If you were torn between two different colors in sweaters, he would say that because technically, he could buy you all of the damn sweaters, and he knows you'll look amazing in whatever. However, this wasn't exactly a good response when there were hundreds of pumpkins to pick from.

You showed him the pumpkins were finally decided and he grabbed them for you before carrying them to the little counter to check out. You sighed, feeling a little defeated? a little guilty? You weren't sure what the emotion was that you were feeling. You just felt bad for dragging him to do something he obviously hated so much.

2. Carving pumpkins

You know the pumpkin patch was a failure, but you wanted to carve your pumpkins asap. As Logan drove the two of you home, you were looking up pumpkin carving inspirations, and by the time you did get home, you were practically buzzing in your seat.

You jumped out of the truck and grabbed one of the pumpkins, Logan chuckled as he watched you zoom from the truck to the front door, seemingly forgetting that he had the keys. He could tell you were pouting due to the door being locked still, so he trudged out of the truck to the front door. "Move over, sweetheart," He mumbled and wrapped his arm around your waist to move you aside so he could unlock the door for you.

Once you got inside, you put the pumpkins on the table and kissed Logan on the cheek. "Do you want to help carve the pumpkins?" You asked with puppy eyes that you know make it difficult for him to say no to. He just walked past you, and for a second, you thought he was going to the bedroom, but then you heard rummaging from the kitchen. Looking behind you, you see Logan coming back to the dining room table with a couple of knives, spoons, and paper towels.

He sits in silence and rolls his eyes when you just stay standing there. "Are you helping or not? I'm not carving two damn pumpkins by myself, " He grumbled as he started cutting the bottom off of one of the pumpkins so he could start degutting it.

You snapped out of the shock and nodded, "Let me go get a plate I want to save some seeds" You go to grab a plate, but he stops you by showing you a plate, "Cut open your damn pumpkin, will ya?"

The two of you could feel a smile starting to form, and you sat next to him to start degutting your own pumpkin.

3. Watching a scary movie

You wanted to make up for the other day. You really thought Logan would enjoy the pumpkin patch more than he did. Halloween and autumn were your favorite time of year, and you wanted to enjoy it with your man, so you were determined to find something he enjoyed about the season, too.

You figured a movie date night would be perfect! There is no need to leave the house. There wasn't even a real need to change out of your pajamas. You made pizza from scratch and even made the popcorn on the stove top; everything was prepared, and all Logan had to do was pick out a movie for the two of you to watch.

He ended up picking the creepiest movie you'd ever seen.

He didn't think much of it. Honestly, he remembered the movie coming out decades ago and got excited to resee it. "Oh, I haven't seen this since it first came out" He tried to sound nonchalant, but the excitement was clear in his voice. You looked over his shoulder to see the movie he had picked, and you froze.

Something had to be fucking with you, out of all the things this was what made Logan excited? Now you loved horror movies, but Rosemary's Baby??? no. You just couldn't handle that movie, but dammit he was so excited. You swallowed and nodded stiffly. "Sure Lo. Sounds great" He smiled and put it on before wrapping his arm around your shoulder.

Half the pizza is gone, the movie is about a quarter over and you were buried into Logan's shoulder. "Baby?" He asked with clear concern, "We can watch something else." He went to turn the movie off, but you jumped up before he could, "NO!" you let out a nervous giggle and shook your head, "It's just starting to get good, I really want to finish it"

You pulled him back to how he was and reached over to turn the movie back on, "You'll just have to protect me if I get too scared" you said teasingly, but you'd never been more serious before. He chuckled and held you closer than before. As the movie continued, you hid in his chest so he could enjoy his movie, and you could sleep tonight without having nightmares.

4. Going to get costumes

If you thought getting him to the pumpkin patch was hard, this was damn near impossible. You had to use threats, and he knows it's a bluff. It has to be a bluff. But he also knows you, and you are always true to your word, so he's too scared to risk it and just admits defeat.

He gets in the truck and drives you to the local Halloween store. You have him following you around like a puppy. He's honestly too afraid to lose you in this store. There's so many people and so much that they're selling. The store felt very claustrophobic to him, so he just sticks to you.

You pick out a couple's costume (it can be anything, but I like to think of a red riding hood and a wolf lol) and he groans aloud knowing you will have him wearing it for whatever party you drag him to.

As you check out, he listens to you ramble on about going to get tacos, and he just shakes his head and agrees to go get some. You're lucky he loves you so damn much

5. Passing out candy (the one time he was excited)

Today was finally Halloween and sadly you had to work until six, you told Logan the day before that you wouldn't be home in time for the beginning of trick or treating, but you will be home for the rest of it. You showed him exactly where the candy was since you had to hide it from him. "What do you mean you hid candy from me? I built this house there's nowhere to hide candy." He said, nearly pouting. It wasn't his fault he had a sweet tooth, and dammit he deserved some candy.

You clocked out as soon as you possibly could, and as you walked to your car, you went to text Logan, letting him know you were on your way home, but your phone was already dead. You sighed and decided to just head home before the streets got too busy with kids.

As you pull into your driveway, you can see the lights in the house on, and you can hear music playing. Confusing washes over you. With how Logan had been acting all month, you thought he would have the lights off and act like no one was home for trick or treating.

You walk to the door, and your heart swells with the sight in front of you. Logan hadn't noticed you walking in just yet. He was busy giving a toddler dressed up as Cinderella a sucker from the pumpkin bowl that had been sitting on the table completely empty this morning.

Not only did he put the candy meant to be passed out in a tacky looking pumpkin bowl, but he was also bent down to the kids' level to give them their candy. "Don't you look beautiful, princess!" He praised the little one who started giggling at the attention. As you walked closer to the man towering over the little ones, a gasp left your lips before you could think of holding it back. Logan Howlett, a man who acted like Halloween preparation, was torture was.... dressed up?

Tears were close to falling as he turned around. He acted as if nothing was going on, "Hey darlin' how was work?" He asked, closing the front door before walking over to you to kiss the crown of your head. "It-it was good." You stuttered slightly as you took his form in the costume fully in. "Your dressed up" you said, and he nodded "Well yeah, you bought us the costumes" He shrugged, "I thought you wanted me to be dressed up, the kids have been loving it but I did scare a toddler earlier" He frowned deeply "I gave them extra candy." He explained and looked at the bowl that was close to being empty, "Well I've been giving them all extra candy. They've been great costumes, though!" He tried to defend his actions, making you laugh.

"I'll go get my costume on, and you can tell me what I missed while we wait for me, kids." You said as you went to the bedroom to change. When you came out, his heart skipped a beat. To him, you were just so perfect.

For the rest of the night, he sat on the porch with you and filled you in on the costumes you'd missed earlier in the night.

That night, you realized something, Logan may not be excited to do many things that you loved to do, but he would do anything for you.

Tagging:

@userchai

@mahi-tamashi

@100percentlazybonez

@lanassmarty

@western-pyro

@misscrissfemmefatale

@marit332

@navs-bhat

@fluffy-b33z

@chaimshelii

@aoi-targaryen

@eyes-ofhell

@sad0ni0n

@fries11

I think the taglist is updated? Lmk if it isn't and I'll add you! This taglist is just for Logan!! I'm planning on starting to write for Bucky again so lmk if I should make a taglist for him as well <3

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett fluff #wolverine #wolverine fluff #wolverine x reader #xmen x reader #logan howlett imagine #james logan howeltt #logan howlet #halloween imagine #logan howlett x gn reader #logan howlett x female reader #logan howlett x male reader #logan howlett fanfic #logan wolverine #wolverine imagine

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obsessive-evie · 1 year ago

Text

keep them on, please

pairing: Caitlin Clark + fem!oc

word count: 6.5k

warnings: smut, explicit language, mentions of rough sex, inappropriate use of jewelry??

Sets of perfectly mismatching rings always covered my fingers. A wrap-around Lilly spoon ring for my pointer finger was a specific favorite of mine. And Caitlin’s.

My girlfriend’s slightly anxious personality meant her eyes gravitated towards safety. Which was often found in the familiar, or my rings. The same rings every day on the same fingers, fiddled with in the same patterns, flipped across fingertips absentmindedly by myself.

So any chance my girlfriend could get, her hand would find mine, and I loved it. And every time without fail, her lengthy fingers would always find a way to maneuver said silver rings off of my own smaller ones, and into hers. She would fiddle with them, slide them along my knuckles, and look at them so closely you’d think she was trying to memorize every carving and scratch.

I’ve never really asked her about it until I noticed she looks at them during… certain times.

We had just arrived home after a night out with friends, after a few drinks in and her hands had gone a little too far up my thigh for the busy upscale bar, I’d told her we should head home.

The whole ride home was spent with my slightly more than tipsy girlfriend glued to my hands. The hands that once roamed over my thighs and hips in the dimly lit bar were now brushing over my knuckles and flipping my rings as she leaned on my shoulder.

Arriving back at her place for the night, we had ended up half clothed- my dress bunched up around my hips with straps falling off my shoulders as she hovered above me, her black silk shirt all the way unbuttoned to reveal a simple lace bralette.

Of course her hands held mine as she kissed my neck, leaving it up to me to undress us one handed. The silk shirt that I picked out for her highlighted her pale skin in the low light of her bedroom, the shadows from it accentuating her collarbones and abs as she left small bites on my neck.

Caitlin’s large hand came to pin down my own, her knuckles squeezing harder around my rings, which reminded me I needed to take them off before this went any further.

Pushing back on her shoulder with my one free hand, I break our kiss, “Wait babe sit up for a sec,” I say. She leans back to sit more on my thighs than on my hips, allowing me to sit up and begin to take off my rings.

A warm hand stops me, wordlessly, she pushes my shoulders back down and returns to my neck. I let her, thinking she just wants to makeout right now and not go any further.

But once she’d pulled me out of my dress and untucked her shirt from her jeans (the action totally didn’t kill me a little), unbuttoning them along the way, I realized this was most definitely not a makeout.

Pushing on my inebriated girlfriend’s shoulder once again, except this time hooking my leg around her own, effectively flipping out positions and seating myself atop Caitlin’s hips.

Attempt number 2 of taking off my rings: also unsuccessful.

I took a moment to appreciate my girlfriend with my hands on her abs, “You’re so pretty baby.” She still doesn’t say anything, a tendency of sleepy/tipsy/horny Cait. I brought my hands together once more to pull off my rings, but before I could even get one off, her hands stop me again.

Gentle and warm fingers press into my wrists, her thumbs barely cutting into my pulse point. Before I realize what’s happening, shes sat up onto her elbows and is kissing the soft inside of my wrist, followed by my palm, then the back of my hand, then lastly my knuckles, her lips barely brushing the cool metal adorning them. “Keep them on,” she finally voices in a quiet, almost timid voice. Caitlin going reserved in the bedroom wasn’t entirely unusual. She was an anxious person half the time and a confident powerhouse the other half, I never knew what I was going to get when we were undressed.

But this edge to her voice, the slight waver in her tone, the way her eyes relaxed slightly, like she was melting into my gaze. This was different. New. This wasn’t our usual game of cat and mouse, she was showing a different form of vulnerable I rarely got to see.

Her lips slide down my fingers, past my rings, until my nails are barely resting on the flesh of her bottom lip. Her soft grip on my wrist doesn’t change as she slowly opens her mouth wider and to take my center two fingers into the warm wetness. Her tongue juts out just slightly, sliding my digits deeper and deeper, making me gasp at her unwavering eye contact and bold actions.

Her lips close around my knuckles as she closes her eyes, my rings sitting just behind her lips. I can’t quite breathe, or think.

That’s when I feel her tongue begin to slide up and down the crevice created by my two fingers together, sucking just slightly. She tilts her head back faintly, allowing herself to slide the tip of her tongue under the rim of a thick stamped ring on my middle finger. The small but strong muscle moves said ring back towards her mouth as she slowly slides my hand away from her.

Her eyes open slowly once my nails are resting once again by her now closed lips, covered in spit this time. Now missing a ring, my pulse quickens at what I just witnessed. My tall and usually tough girlfriend completely surrendering to me, and taking my fingers in her mouth oh so gently, sucking on them and covering them with her warm spit.

Her soft eyes bore into mine as she opens her mouth to reveal my ring sitting so perfectly on her tongue. She sticks it out slightly, an offering, I realize. Like a pearl in an oyster, my shiny spit covered ring stands out against the deep pink of her mouth and tongue.

I reach my middle finger back over her tongue, placing the tip of it in the center of the ring, and slide it back onto my knuckles with my ring and index finger. The motion I’ve done a thousand times now has a different meaning to it once I look back at the loving eyes of my girlfriend.

She almost looks too pretty, too soft laying there like this, tongue stuck out and spit beginning to pool on the muscle. It slowly slides back into her mouth before she closes her shiny lips again and swallows. Caitlin’s takes a deeper breath, like she was in a slight trance (I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t either), and restates, “keep them on,” there’s a pause, “please.” She says the last part in an almost pleading, ever so slightly shaky voice. If I didn’t know her as well as I do, I probably wouldn’t have been able to hear it. But the unmistakable lilt of sheer wanton desire slides under her words like a silent stream.

I nod, feeling air enter my lungs in a deep inhale, allowing myself to breathe after such a tense moment. My fingers retreat from her lips, and I notice the sheen on her chin and surrounding areas. I swipe my thumb slowly across it, and her mouth opens slightly, almost instinctively. Before I back out, I dip the edge of my thumb into her mouth, opening her jaw wider by pressing on the lower row of her teeth. The slight bite of them pressing into the pad of my thumb makes me want her more as the dainty silver band sitting at the base of it is now flooded with spit.

I withdraw from her mouth once more after she swipes her tongue gently across my thumb. Keeping my hand resting on her jaw and cheek, I lean down to kiss my girlfriend deeply.

I breathe in her pulse, her soft hair underneath my under forearm as it holds myself up above her head, the taste of her lips on mine, and the unmistakable tang of metal on her tongue. I moan into mouth when she pushes her hip up into my center, her hands still resting frozen by her side like she’s waiting for permission to grab at my hips.

My right hand wanders down from her jaw to her neck and collarbones, framing where they meet in a perfect U-shape. My movement seems to spur her on, and I finally feel the familiar warmth of her hands on my hips, cradling the lace covered flesh with such gentle firmness I can’t help but kiss her harder.

My hand resting on her neck slides around to the muscle of her shoulder, sitting up and pulling her with me.

“Off.” Is all I say, sliding the silk fabric that was already hanging off her shoulders down the silent strength of her arms, as it was more just hanging off her slender form after being untucked earlier. Next I undo her belt, sliding it out of its loops without breaking eye contact. She understands to lift her hips after I unbutton her pants and open her zipper, revealing a matching. Set.

The same pattern of black lace and ribbed cotton adorns her hips and pussy, melting me from the inside out. My eyes meet hers before I slide her pants the rest of the way down her long legs, sitting myself back on her smooth skin of her thighs. She looks away, clearly nervous and awaiting my reaction.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” is all I can breathe out before I lean back up to capture her lips, my hands (and my rings) digging into her prominent hip bones to hold myself up.

The two of us were now only wearing our bras and underwear, each just sultry enough to elicit a reaction, but comfortable enough to wear on a night out. Caitlin’s was simply more jarring to me.

Don’t get me wrong, my incredibly sexy girlfriend liked to be girly and feminine, but usually opted for her more practical sports bras and simple underwear. So seeing her strong body covered in something so delicate and pretty was a pleasant surprise, even if her bra was visible all night.

Her warm hands pull my hips down onto her protruding ones, making me gasp into our kiss in surprise. Letting the sparks it creates burn through me, I push my hips down to hers this time, moaning into her mouth at the pleasant buzz. As I begin to move back from her hips, she pushes hers up, continuing my pleasure.

I shift my weight to my right knee holding myself up outside her thigh so I can reposition myself seated on just one of her strong thighs, allowing my kneecap to meet her black lace.

A bitten lip and a short exhale is my gift in return.

I move my knee once more, sinking back down onto the tense area where her hip bone meets her thigh. We fall into this rhythm, pushing my knee into her clothed center, grinding down and towards her on her thigh, while she pushes her leg up and flexes.

The result of this repetition is the sight of my girlfriend beneath me, wearing a matching set (which alone would kill me anyways), with her eyes squeezed shut, hips twitching and grinding against my own. Her mouth parts slightly with a gasp, her abs begin to flex even harder as her shakey grip tightens on my thighs.

I pull her hips down onto my knee and slow my grinding, allowing her to squeeze her thighs together. Running my decorated hand up her abs and chest, stopping once I get to her collarbones, I lean my head down to whisper in her ear, “you look so filthy fucking yourself onto my thigh.”

Her whole body shudders, her breathing stalls and comes out in rushed puffs of hot air, I see her mouth open wider as she tilts her head back.

Oh shit

Fast paced pants and whines fill the dimly lit bedroom, and she’s finishing on my leg before I can process how fast she got here, especially just through her underwear.

I don’t slow my movements, not for a second. Not even when her grip on my thighs turns almost painfully hard. Not even when I’m worried she’s not breathing at all.

A large and harsh exhale leaves her spit slick mouth, and her shudders seem to slow. I wait for her to slow her hips herself, leaving my knee pressed into her for Caitlin to decide when she’s done. Her hips come to a full stop, her tense abs and neck relax, and her death-grip on my thighs eases.

Her eyes are still closed when I slowly ease my knee away from her core, kissing her cheek softly as a distraction. Consciousness seems to flood her face after air fills her lungs once more for a complete breath at my actions.

I smile softly, kissing her cheek again, followed by her nose. She opens her mouth to speak, meeting my eyes. Nothing comes out, her eyes vulnerable and almost embarrassed. I move a piece of hair out of her eyes, admiring how the dark strands pool above her like a halo in this light.

“Are you okay?” I whisper softly, almost into her mouth. Her face flushes even more crimson, averting her eyes and tilting her head away from me. Her clear embarrassment at how fast she finished on my thigh surfacing at my question.

Oh so gently, I cradle her jaw, turning her back to face me. I kiss her firmly on the lips this time, not allowing her to turn again when I pull away. “I’ll ask again,” I whisper into her mouth, keeping her eyes on mine, “are you alright baby?” A slow but firm nod is what follows.

I feel her take a deep breath with her whole chest before responding, “I just didn’t expect that is all.” I feel a small smile grace my face at her embarrassment, her warm deep brown eyes nervously dancing between my own. My own teeth dig into my lip, deciding to be slightly cruel, I push my knee back up into her, making her gasp and squirm before I say, “I liked it.”

I can see her holding back a moan, slightly from overstimulation and slightly from my words and attention. I push again, making her flinch slightly, “Not yet, I can’t,” she gasps out, holding my hips firmly away from her, our slight strength and size imbalance making it easy for her to do so. My thumb soothes the creases between her brows, admiring her features in the moonlight.

She kisses me this time, myself too distracted with the beautiful girl beneath me to notice her own stares at my lips. We kiss until I can’t hold myself up anymore, my arms giving out forcing me to lay fully on my girlfriend. Our chests pressed together, hearts beating in synch, trying to melt every golden molecule of her body into mine, we stay like that for not long enough.

My hand on her jaw and cheek rings dancing along her warm skin, my other still playing with her hair, Caitlin moves her own hands up my back and waist, pulling me closer.

Before I can slink back down her body to give her another deserved orgasm, I’m flipped onto my back by the lithe muscles holding me. What once was my embarrassed and shy girlfriend post orgasm is now a smirking and hungry looking brunette above me. She begins kissing my neck softly, making me melt into the pillow. I almost don’t notice when her smooth hand slides under my slightly arched back, unclasping my bra in one quick movement.

Before I can protest and remove hers too, she sucks where my neck meets my shoulder, hard. “Hey! That kind of hurt…” I say in a tone slightly whinier than I would’ve liked. She laughs a breathy laugh before pealing the black lace off my chest and shoulders, tossing it to the side somewhere in her room. Her large hands cradle my upper rib cage, thumbs dipping into my sternum just under my boobs while her middle finger reaches all the way over the side of my torso.

She continues her slightly rough kissing on my neck, trailing down to my newly exposed tits. She knew how sensitive they were at times, and decided to get payback for earlier I guess. Attacking the soft flesh with a flurry of her tongue and occasional strikes of teeth, she began leaving tiny marks all down my chest and rib cage.

Deciding I’ve had enough of this teasing, and the fact that she still has her bra on, I pull her shoulder blades forward into me, causing her to lean down on top of me with her head pressing into my sternum. She looks up, meeting my eyes slightly, so I cradle her jaw yet again and make her fully look at me. “Kiss me,” I say, milking the slightly pouty nature hoping she’ll abandon her post at my tits in favor of my mouth.

She does, my girlfriend never being able to say no to me when I give her any ounce of control. Oh well bye bye control for her.

The second she gets close enough to my face, my decorated hand finds her neck, squeezing slightly in a consistent but firm grip. Never hard enough to hurt her or cut off her air yet, but hard enough to make her freeze. Now knowing how she feels about my rings, I make sure to push the base of my fingers just as hard as my fingertips.

Her eyes change again, back to a similar vulnerable air from before. Pushing harder with the base of my hand and wrist, I moved her away from my face and sit up as she moves. All I simply do next is push on her shoulders and she’s falling back into the pillows once more. There must’ve still been enough alcohol in my girlfriend’s system for her to be so pliant with me, her usual cocky demeanor shining through occasionally, even when she’s a total bottom for me.

Seating myself once more on her hips, borderline lower stomach. I keep her eyes on mine as I slowly remove one ring, a smooth moonstone juts out from its silver casing, so I place it on the nearby bedside table. Quite frankly that would not be comfortable in any situation. I make it very apparent I’m keeping the rest on by placing my hands on her chest firmly, and dragging the cool metal up and around her back.

She gets what I’m trying to do and arches just enough for me to unhook her perfectly pretty bralette. Repeating the actions she did for me silently, I take my time reveling in every inch of newly exposed skin, knowing she’ll start getting nervous soon under my gaze.

Running the now seven silver rings up and down her stomach and sternum, around her chest and collarbones, while purposefully avoiding too close to her tits, Caitlin begins to squirm. I glance up at her face, noticing she wasn’t making any kind of noise yet. She had her bottom lip trapped between the sharp teeth I know all too well, face turned to the side, eyes glancing anywhere but me while her eyelids fluttered every time I got closer to her nipples.

I lean down to kiss her cheek, which brings a small smile to the clearly high strung girl beneath me. Following that kiss with a quick one where her jaw meets just below her ear, then the side of the her neck, the hollow of her throat, the inner tip of her collarbone, lastly a feather light peck on her sternum. I pause, just hovering above her tits, I can almost feel her heartbeat pick up as my breath tickles her skin.

Glancing up her face once more, I take it her almost anguish gracing her features before relenting, and kissing my way across her chest. A gentle suck on one of her perked nipples and I finally get a noise out of her. A breathy, barely there whine albeit, but a noise nonetheless. Caitlin was typically pretty quiet during sex, usually holding back her noises out of embarrassment, or simply opting for heavy breathing and swearing, the occasional whine telling me I’m doing something right.

Rubbing up and down her sides, I move to alternate sucking on one nipple, and gently rubbing and pinching the other, eliciting a few more heavy breaths, and finally, “fuck, babe.”

I smile, taking that as my cue to start kissing her abs. I won’t lie, I definitely spent far too long with my lips attached to her abs. Little bites, gentle hickeys, kisses, anything I can to mark up her toned stomach, I will 100% always do. I can’t help it her muscles are incredibly hot and only available when she’s beneath me.

Her breaths come out faster and harder the lower I go, treating every ridge and hard line with a stark mix of gentle tongue and sharp teeth. My hands still keeping busy on her chest and sides, my large etched ring on my middle finger brushes her right nipple, catching on it as my hand travels. This simple action results in a buck of her strong hips, and her hand coming to hold the back of my head (like my head had anything to do with that action?), accompanied with a gasp that melts into a soft moan.

Her noises are more consistent now, but I can tell she’s still holding back. Never one to ask or beg for me to do anything, I travel to her hips, biting on my way down to her thighs to ease up on my relentless teasing. She finally looks down at me once I’ve seated my lips at the junction of her hip and thigh, sucking intently on the soft flesh there.

I grip her twitching hips slightly harder than necessary, making sure she feels the cool press of the metal adorning them into her soft skin. I keep her eyes on mine, making sure Cait sees my next move.

Kissing just above the lace on her hip, I pause. Grabbing the thin fabric between my front teeth, and her mouth parts even more. I pull the lacy black underwear concealing my girlfriend down to her thighs, then fully off her with my hands once I reach her knees.

Running my hands back up her outer thighs as I kiss the soft skin on the inside of them, she parts the strong muscles for me. This new position of staring directly at her cum covered pussy sends a new kind of determination through me.

I hesitate, glancing back up at her face for approval before moving straight into kissing and gently licking her dripping cunt. Her shaking hand immediately comes to gently hold the back of my head, her long veiny fingers threading themselves into my hair. I eat her out almost teasingly for a few minutes, holding back from sucking too hard or for too long. She seems to notice the teasing nature of my tongue.

“Babe,” is all she says softly, immediately glancing away and looking back at me with nerves. I don’t pause my tongue, I simply look up and meet her pleading brown eyes. Moving one hand from its tight grip on her hips, I run my fingers over the divots and lines of her abs and ribs, making sure she feels it. The newfound freedom of her hip means she immediately pushes down onto my face slightly.

I pull away entirely, earning me an annoyed glare and the sight of my usually tough top girlfriend throwing her head back onto the pillow in frustration.

“Eyes on me baby,” is all I say in a tone far lower than I expected. The warm brown of her eyes changes from sassy annoyance to one of shock and desire when I, without breaking eye contact, lean down slightly and spit directly onto her already wet pussy.

Diving down to clean up my mess, I eat her out with the fervor and pressure she clearly has been wanting. I’m met with a shocked moan and strong arching hips almost fighting against me to push further into my mouth. I lick up and down her folds, concentrating my lips on her clit.

I manage to keep my girlfriends hips down just long enough for her breath to pick up again, her thighs to start to squeeze around my head, and her hand to push me almost painfully close into her cunt, my nose barely peaking out over her warm mound.

Just as she sucks in a gasp of air, telling me she’s close, I pull away. “No, fuck you oh my god no,” she says, pleading. Her hand that was resting by her side comes up to cover her face, pushing loose hair out her eyes and brow. I smile at her frustration, it meaning she felt good. But I can make her feel better.

I kiss the thigh directly to my right softly, a small sign of remorse for my angry girlfriend. “Babe I swear to god if you don’t-“ I cut off her whining by sucking on her clit, hard. Her protest turns into a moan, half silenced by her hand now over her mouth. Gently flicking and pinching her nipples along with my mouth practically devouring her pussy, it’s not a surprise when my girlfriends heavy breathing picks up again, her thighs fight against my tight hold, and her back begins to arch just slightly. I hear a flurry of small curse words mumbled under her breath get more and more frequent. I press on her toned lower stomach gently, knowing the pressure inside her surely clenching cunt might’ve been enough to push her over the edge into pure pleasure. If I didn’t stop my movements and pull away. Again.

She punches the bed next to her, getting more than frustrated now. “Please oh my god I was so fucking close,” she says through spit slick and bitten lips, her eyes almost glassy. Cait rarely bottomed, let alone pleaded with me.

I kiss up her abs again, knowing her frustration at me is only because of her denied pleasure. Clearly she’s sobered up enough now to be vocal about what she wants, because by the time I get to her tits she’s talking again.

“Babe I am so serious what the fuck was that for I’ve been good I didn’t even move that much I just wanted you to-“ by the time I’ve reached her neck, I slide my middle two fingers into her rapidly moving mouth, effectively shutting her up. Despite her anger, Caitlin eagerly sucks on my fingers again, her warm mouth enveloping the metal and my nails. I sit myself atop her abs, maintaining eye contact as I push my fingers deeper that she can comfortably take, sliding them back out halfway before she gags.

I continue this motion until the fire in her eyes has dimmed slightly, showing me she won’t fight me when I slide a third finger into her mouth. My pointer finger however, doesn’t just have her beloved wrap around spoon ring, but a simple twisted band sits past my first knuckle, halfway down my finger. She clearly feels it on her tongue, because her eyes flutter slightly when it brushes far back in her mouth.

Submitting before me, I let myself rest and put my whole body weight on her torso, knowing the strong girl beneath me won’t be hurt by my smaller frame. (I’m totally not transported back to when she made me grind on her abs without any help as punishment for leaving a hickey so far down on her thigh it peaked out her basketball shorts. Thankfully it could’ve been mistaken as a small bruise but she was annoyed nonetheless.)

I decide she’s coated my fingers well enough, pulling out until only the very tips rest inside her mouth again. The pretty brunette takes in large gulps of air, spit dripping out of her mouth with every pant. Without moving myself, I reach the saliva covered hand behind me, and in once swift motion plunge two dripping nimble fingers inside my girlfriend.

Her reaction is instant, finally receiving what she’s been begging for, and so intently focused on. “Oh shit,” she says, I’m assuming mainly at the fact that the rings she’s been obsessing over and asked me to keep on were now inside of her, assisting me inside her tight walls. The pace of my middle two fingers pick up, causing her to arch slightly despite my weight on her torso.

“See? Was it so hard to be patient?” I say slightly teasing, grinding my hips forward to stop her from giving me a sassy remark. Caitlins large hands encase my hips, guiding me slightly forward and backward while I continue my relentless pace inside her. The pressure of her flexing abs beneath me combined with her poorly held back moans and breathy sighs when I curl my fingers up into her g spot were enough to send shocks of pleasure up into me, even through my underwear.

My hand begins to hurt uncomfortably from the awkward angle and speed, but I wouldn’t dare slow my grinding or my movements inside her. I plant my hand on her chest, using it as leverage to push myself onto her lower stomach. My hips now act as external pressure, eliciting a whine from my girlfriend. She turns her head to the side, panting with her eyes shut.

A constant buzz of pleasure fills me, so I decide to add a third finger to further Caitlin along.

“Thank you,”Is what I receive in return, the cool metal of my spoon ring and knuckle ring now deep inside her. My third finger was clearly what she needed to amp up her pleasure.

“How long?” I ask.

“What?” She says, clearly confused and fuzzy from the stimulation. “How long have you wanted this,” I slow my movements, hoping to get an answer.

She meets my eyes for just a moment, but lays her head back again and closes them, licking her lips in avoidance. I press my fingers into her as deep as they can reach, hard. She gasps.

“It doesn’t-“ another thrust, “it doesn’t matter okay.”

I stop my movements all together.

“Answer my question and you can finish, prettygirl,” I drawl, hoping the pet name I knew as her weakness would help my case.

“I said-“ she starts sassily, I begin to pull my fingers out at her denial.

“Wait wait fuck, no okay,” she rushes out, meeting my eyes desperately and trying to reach past my hip to grab my wrist unsuccessfully. I raise my eyebrows, keeping my fingers half out of her, feeling her pulse around the tips.

She takes a few steadying breaths, and opens her mouth to talk while still turning her head away from me. A simple glide of my hand off her chest and onto her chin allows me to turn her to look at me. “I won’t ask again, how long have you wanted my rings to stay on.”

“A while…” she appears to be thinking hard despite her clear embarrassment, “probably since that day in the car.” She says.

I wrack my brain as to what she’s referring to, and recall a late night drive turned quick fuck in the backseat after I said I couldn’t sleep.

She had ridden my fingers in my lap with her hand around my neck, not choking me but it was the thought that I knew she could that did it. She had sat herself atop my thighs, only taking the time to take off my middle two rings before sinking herself down onto my fingers, her own already working me up for my second orgasm. It was a rushed affair full of bitten lips, necks left bruised and seats left stained. Cait had confessed to me while driving that she thought about what it would be like to be rougher with me, leaving more marks and even choking.

This night however, was over three weeks ago, and we had fucked many times after that (many incorporating her rougher thoughts).

“Why didn’t you tell me you wanted them inside you,” I whisper, leaning down slightly to take the weight off my hips, but also to force her to keep looking at me.

“Didn’t know if it’d be okay and…” she trails off. I give her a moment before she gathers any courage she has left and finishes, “it meant having to ask you to keep them on, and bottoming at the same time and that’s just- I can’t just-“ she sighs, clearly embarrassed and frustrated.

“From now on I want you to tell me if there’s something like this on your mind, okay? And besides,” I lean down close to her ear, making her breath hitch, “you’re so fuckin pretty when you’re flustered.” I make my point by plunging my fingers back into her, and she gasps before I kiss her neck, sitting back up.

I return to my relentless pace, hoping to actually make her finish after all this teasing and edging.

With all three decorated fingers now seated deep inside her wet, pulsing cunt, I bring my thumb up to circle her clit. The closest thing I’ve ever gotten to a true moan from my girlfriend graces my ears, spurring me to start grinding again.

Minutes into this process, she bucks her hips hard enough to make me gasp. Her thighs start to shake a steady rhythm. Each time I would push back in, her hips would grind down into my hand, and her strong thighs would twitch when I began to pull back out. Her gasps and breathing turned to swears and whines, telling me she was close.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck fuck, I’m- babe don’t stop, please I swear don’t stop I’ll be good don’t stop,” she repeats a mantra of cuss words and pleas the closer she gets to finishing. Her promise of being good is new, but we’ll come back to that. Her slick is already pouring out of her and onto my stiffening hand.

I wouldn’t dream of denying her again. Besides, she’s strong, and scary when she’s mad.

Her legs bend inwards, head thrown back, mouth gasping and attempting to form words, and she finishing on my hand with a loud whine as her nails dig into my hips. I feel her cunt squeeze around all three fingers, her cum making each of them slide in and out as I keep my steady pace, bringing her through her second -but well deserved- orgasm. Her twitching and clear pleasure sends me over the edge with her, my own body tensing and arching on top of hers.

The thought of what we look like from the outside keeps the shockwaves of pleasure coming.

Finally, I slow my grinding and fingers to a stop, catching my breath a moment before I fall over. My girl looks fucked out beneath me, and I see a single tear track run down the side of her face.

I slowly pull my fingers out of her, which causes Caitlin to open her eyes like it was the hardest thing ever. I make sure she’s looking when I suck her juices off my fingers, going back in with my tongue to get her cum from around my rings.

I finally find the energy to roll off her, keeping my arm strewn across her rib cage as we both catch our breaths. “You did so good baby,” I say, kissing her cheek and moving closer to her warm body that was glistening with sweat. A soft “mhm,” is all I get in return, exhaustion clearly plaguing my girlfriend.

“You gotta go pee sweet girl,” I say softly, moving hair out of her face and eyes. “Of course after fucking me within an inch of my life the first thing you’re thinking about is a UTI,” Caitlin laughs with her voice taking on a rougher note, telling me she was louder than I thought.

“I’ll take it you liked it then?” I tease. “Yeah you asshole, I did,” she says in response, referencing my edging and mean tactics. I smile, kissing her cheek, followed by her temple and forehead. My hands tenderly rub over her stomach and hips as I try to soothe any other aches.

Finally she pulls away from my grasp, heading towards her adjoining bathroom.

While Caits gone, I take off my rings finally, making a mental note to wash them really well later, and slip under the covers, removing my soaked underwear in the process. Her warm body slides into the bed next to mine, her long arms enveloping me in a blanket of comfort, despite our earlier actions.

She speaks first, “I do trust you, you know that.” I wait for her to continue, “It’s just hard for me to say what I want to say, you make me nervous you know.”

I don’t know what I was expecting, but this fragile confession wasn’t it. I turn in her arms to face her. My hands find her face immediately, her vulnerable eyes finding mine in return. I stare into her beautiful features for a moment, just savoring this bubble of time. “I’ll always be patient with you when it matters,” is all I softly say, hoping she gets my message.

“Besides, you’re always in charge, what’s wrong with me making you nervous for once.” I joke. This makes Caitlin laugh, her hands ghosting over my back. She kisses me softly, melting my body and soul into hers. She’s the first to pull away after a few heartbeats, “I love you,” she whispers into my lips.

I kiss her again before replying, “I love you too, even if you think I’m scary.”

“Woah now I said you make me nervous, ain’t no one afraid of your 5’6” ass.” She says through small laughter. I pretend to act offended, even turning my head towards the ceiling to avoid her.

Her gentle hand cups my jaw, turning my face back towards her before saying, “I love your ass though if that counts for anything.” Her comment earns her a slap on the bicep and a disapproving head shake, even if I’m smiling ear to ear throughout my scolding.

She pulls me closer before I can say anything else. So close it feels like she’s trying to weld our hearts together, my head tucked into her neck and hers resting on my shoulder.

Eventually I hear her breathing even out, and I too join her in dreamland to the thought of how lucky I am to have a girl like Caitlin, even if I’m scary.

#wcbb #caitlin clark #caitlin my wife #iowa wbb #cait likes to bottom too I don’t make the rules #once again written in my notes app #smut #smut and fluff #oc has more features this time !#Caitlin Clark smut

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bloodygnqv · 7 months ago

Text

Oh Say Can You See

John Price x fem reader

cw: smut!! minors dni!, size difference (reader is described as small but dw there’s no infantilization), uuuh i think that’s it??

A/N: fuck the national anthem it’s a lana song. it’s been a while since i’ve written smut hope you enjoy anyway bless you all xx 🙏🏻

“Are you okay, love?” John asks you from where you’re laying on your side.

He’s all warmth and comfort, musk and tobacco and leather, a stark contrast between the feminine fruits and spring flowers and candy you enjoy wearing.

His voice is a quiet rumble, the crackle of a fireplace, the roar of an engine, the step on snow.

“Mhm, yeah,” you reply, sleepy and pliant, “Just really missed you.”

John lays on his side as well, cuddling you from behind. He’s always been the bigger spoon, arms and hands so large, so strong he can fully wrap them around your waist, cup your breasts in his palms, keep you to himself. His greed for you and your affection lodges in his throat.

You can feel him hardening against your back, and you stifle a small smile. “Go ahead, John, I’ve been waiting all day,” you whisper, your own desire sparkling in your belly, black milk and rose red and the veil of longing.

“God, you’re soaking. That needy pussy just needs some attention, huh?” His fingers slide against your slit gently as you whimper an affirmative and lift your leg a bit to give him access.

“I can take you, John, really, you can just slide in,” you mumble, stroking at his thigh greedily.

“Are you sure, sweetheart? You’re so small and I haven’t prepped you, you know it might hurt…”

Concern laces his voice like poison ivy. It almost makes you melt — he’s always been like this from the moment you two got together, soft care and love so strong it almost suffocates you.

“Yeah, I’m sure. I played with myself earlier..”

“Okay then,” he permits. He taps the head of his dick over your pussy, still not going in, syrupy whines escaping your throat.

And then his cock notches at your leaky entrance, slowly going in, and every little nag and annoying pesky thought hide somewhere in the back of your head.

“Oh,” you gasp and look down to where you two are connected.

John isn’t very long, but he’s thick, thick enough that you feel the stretch every single time you have sex. He carves out a place for himself in you, Galatea and Pygmalion, gentle marble across your legs (his large hands completely envelop the expanse of your thighs, leaving galaxy marks in his wake).

“Yeah,” John breathes, heavy, grunting out a response, “That’s it. Almost there, love, you can take it. Shit, you’re tight…”

You mewl, hands scraping for purchase against the duvet as he runs his fingers through your hair, his beard tickling your neck, whispering cotton candy filth in your ear. You know he’s already pushed in as you feel his heavy balls snug against your ass.

“There you go. Feels good, eh?”

“It does,” you whimper. There’s the slightest touch of too much, tiniest specks of pain, but they’re quickly chased away by the time John starts thrusting lazily. You’re not gonna last long, and if John’s satisfied grunts are anything to go by, he isn’t, either.

You grab his thick arm from where it’s perched over the gentle curve of your waist, delicate wrist teasing the underside of his palm and intertwining your fingers.

You’ve never felt more at home. You’re exactly where you need and want to be, ballad-like moans and late comfortable nights, devoted eyes and lust as a virtue. John’s filling you up just right, quenching the thirst that has simmered in you all day, pushing you off the edge.

John’s other hand reaches around and starts playing with your clit, just enough pressure in circles to bring you over the edge. He always goes the extra mile when it comes to expressing his love through pleasure, making your legs shake, newborn fawn, you are, seeing constellations and new planets beneath your eyelids.

“I’m gonna cum,” you murmur.

“Go ahead, baby. I missed you so, so much, my beautiful girl,” John rasps, peppering small kisses on the canvas of your neck.

There it is — the explosion of feeling and love and pleasure in your tummy, crawling down your legs and up your arms, making you moan and fist the sheet under your body.

Your orgasm pushes John to the edge, and you can feel his spend spilling in the crevice of your cunt, loud groans echoing in the corners of your ears, arms tightening around your small frame. That’s his favorite place to cum in, warm velvet around him, all that love that burns like a motor in his skin.

John pulls out slowly and lovingly cleans you up as your consciousness slips away from you. It’s been a long, long day, and the great sex is but your favorite way to release tension and put you in that space between wake and sleep.

The afterglow sneaks its way in your vein as you lay across John’s thick, hairy chest and close your eyes. This is your favorite time of day, all warm and snug and happy.

“Go to sleep, sweetheart.”

His caress always feels like a blanket, a balm to soothe your wounds, a hazy morning dream you don’t want to wake up. It makes you all the more grateful, lying with the man you love in a space you two made.

#jana writes !#john price x reader #captain john price x reader #cod x reader #john price x fem reader #cod mw2 x reader #john price smut #call of duty smut #price x reader

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hitomisuzuya · 1 year ago

Note

scara smut halloween theme!

we’re carving pumpkins together and he has the idea to carve a little hole for his yk and he tells us to pull the guts out of the carved pumpkin but instead we grab his dick and things escalate from there

Halloween smut. Scaramouche x fem!reader. Smut. Blowjob. Overstimulation. Pumpkin carving.

I wasn't very confident in myself when I wrote this, honestly..

Scaramouche scoffed you, rolling his eyes when you told him you wanted to carve a pumpkin for Halloween. "How childish," He said as he lifted the pumpkin onto the table. You'd chosen a pretty good sized one from the pumpkin patch.

You looked so excited about this silly little tradition that it was almost too cute.

"I love doing this every year," You said, picking up the knife. You stabbed it enthusiastically into the top of the pumpkin.

"Okay, no more knife for you," It was both incredibly sexy, and a little frightening to see you stab the knife into the pumpkin like that excitedly. He wasn't going to lie, it made him hard. "Find a pattern on your phone you want me to carve for you."

And he didn't want to risk you cutting your delicate little fingers either.

You pouted your lower lip out for a moment while scrolling through patterns on your phone. He looked relieved when you showed him a fairly simple pattern.

Scaramouche set to work carving the pumpkin. Honestly, he would never admit this, but this was fun for him. And maybe he wanted to impress you with his pumpkin carving skills.

"Huh? What's up?" You asked, seeing he was looking at one of holes for the eyes in contemplation.

He looked right at you, smirked and said, "What do you think it would feel like if I stuck my dick in there?

You immediately blushed."Scara, I don't think that would equal-" Why did boys have such a fascination for holes of any kind?

Before you could finish, he cut off you off with a scoff. His smirk however never left his face. "Go on, take the guts out," He crossed his arms, and raised an eyebrow. "With your hand." He pushed the scooping spoon off the table when you reached for it.

The guts looked squishy and gross. If you weren't going to encourage him in his curious endeavor, then he wanted to see you squirm a little as payback.

"Scara, seriously?" You pinched the bridge of your nose.

"Do it~," He said teasingly. "What's the matter? Think it would be too gross." He laughed when you sighed and reached into the top of the pumpkin. You refused to let him dent your pride.

Scaramouche wasn't expecting his cock to twitch and throb hearing your fingers slosh around in the pumpkin as you scooped the guts out into your hand. "It sounds just like my fingers when they squelch in and out of your hole."

"Quiet from the peanut gallery," You replied, dropping the guts from your hand onto the plate. You looked at him, and saw the growing tent in his pants.

Your back talking only made his cock strain more in his pants. Scaramouche's eyes widened, his breath hitching in his throat when you dropped to your knees in front of him. At first he thought you were going to grab the scooping spoon off the floor, so he kicked it away under the table. "The guts aren't down there."

"No, they aren't. But, your cock is," You replied, looking up at him with a blush on your cheeks. His teasing warranted some payback of your own.

"Can't resist me long enough to carve a pumpkin, hm?" He purred, looking down at you as you unbuttoned his pants.

"Remember what I said about comments from the peanut gallery," You replied over Scaramouche's groan of relief when you took his cock out.

"Tch, listen here, you little-" He grit his teeth, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as you prodded your tongue on the head of his leaking cock. He grabbed a handful of your hair, pulling on it before he brought your mouth closer to his cock.

You sucked wetly on the tip, wrapping your hand around it and squeezing. That made his hips jerk forward. "Fuck, I almost cummed when you did that,' He groaned, forcing your mouth down on his cock.

Your eyes widened, tears stinging in your eyes as he abruptly pushed his cock into your throat. It throbbed in your mouth, your throat spasming as your coughed. You adjusted your breathing, vibrating a long moan on his entire length.

You flattened your tongue on the vein that bulged to the surface, sucking when Scaramouche started thrusting into your mouth. The more pleasure your mouth brought him, the tighter he gripped your hair. He needed to do it to ground himself because you always sucked him off exactly how he liked it.

Messy and sloppy. Drool poured from your mouth to soak into his cock, his thighs trembling as he fucked himself into your throat. You nuzzled his pelvis, making yourself choke on his cock. He whimpered in pleasure when you immediately started sucking again after you coughed.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," He cursed, holding your head in place, mindlessly thrusting into your mouth. "Don't stop sucking until I cum," He tugged on your hair. "You know I fucking love it when you moan pathetically on my cock."

You vibrated a pleased moan along his length, bobbing your head up to suck on the tip again. After a few moments, he hastily stuffed his cock in your mouth again, filling your mouth with cum.

Your mouth felt utterly worshipping as you sucked him off through his orgasm. However, your kept your hands on his thighs when he let go of your hair. Remember that payback?

You didn't stop sucking. This payback was coming in the form of overstimulation. You ground your mouth on his cock, making him whimper louder as he leaned against the wall. His knees shook and nearly buckled.

Scaramouche's head was starting to spin, the dull ache of overstimulation washing over him. He could barely find coherent words, the curling and licking of your tongue as you sucked was nothing short of exquisite to him.

He rubbed his fingers through your scalp, whimpers bleeding into moans. Panting he pulled your mouth off of his cock, looking down at you with a lustful glare. "You have 5 seconds to breathe before I fucking cum down your throat again.

#genshin impact #genshin smut #fem!reader #genshin imagines #scaramouche #scaramouche smut #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x you #modern au

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ihearthes · 2 months ago

Text

Abbey Road Studios:

A Harry Styles Meet Cute

Author: @ihearthes

Pairing: Harry x Original Unnamed Female Character

Rating: Fluffy Meet Cute

Word Count: 3439

“You’re shitting me?” I gaped at my manager. “THE Abbey Road Studios? How did you…? When am I…? What the actual fuck?”

Her grin across the desk was wider than a grand piano. “When I talked to the publishers about the audiobook, I assured them that being in the quintessential studio where the Beatles recorded The End would lead to a more inspired audiobook recording of your book The End.”

Leaping out of my chair, I rushed around her desk and hugged her tighter than a guitar string nearing its breaking point. Her laughter was rich, the hearty kind that could be served with both a spoon and a fork. Maybe even a knife thrown in for good measure.

“I’ll make you proud,” I vowed before releasing her and returning to the other side of the sparse wooden desk with its ornate carvings on each of the four legs.

“You already have,” she grinned. “After all, you have the most popular music podcast in the world.” Her statement was a major overstatement. Although my 2 year old podcast Time Machine Tunes was growing, it was barely in the top 100 music podcasts. Maggie was convinced the book would drive more listeners my way. “This book is going to be the icing on the cake of your popularity. You’re going places, kid.”

While I could have managed without the ‘kid’ tacked onto every sentence the 72-year-old American dynamo spoke about me, I was keenly aware that I still had a long way to go in establishing my career as a historical music writer. Without Maggie fighting on my behalf, I would still be shopping my manuscript to publishers. Meticulously researched despite the subjects not honouring me with an interview, my book was garnering buzz from the musical world before the final manuscript was even sent to the publisher.

“If you’ve heard the author’s podcast, you’ll understand her fascination with the greatest band of all time. You’ve heard the stories of how they ended, but this book delves more deeply into the stories surrounding their breakup,” read the promotional blurb written by Cameron Crowe.

Maggie never would tell me how she managed to convince the great Cameron Crowe to write a blurb for my book, but I suspect it had something to do with the past she never mentions, likely involving a stint as a groupie in the late sixties.

Days later, the popular zebra crossing was laid out before me with a steady stream of fans lined up to record their personal rendition of the most famous band photograph ever taken. I took a deep breath. In one tote bag, I carried my favourite teas, biscuits, and a bag of fresh fruit. The other tote bag held a copy of my bound manuscript with notes written in the margins of how I want to sound when I read certain parts of the text aloud. Places to pause were marked in pink highlighter. Sentences to be spoken with more emphasis were underlined. The usual.

This is how I prepare for my podcast, so I shouldn't have felt as strange as I did. At the bottom steps of the studio, I took a deep breath, closing my eyes and whispering to myself, “Just act normal.”

My fingers pressed on the wooden door, and it surprisingly opened at my touch. Inside was a reception desk with a stony-faced twenty-something female sitting behind it, tapping lightly on the keyboard keys, and a security guard wearing a uniform that must have weighed double the young man wearing it.

“No tours. The shop is next door, Miss,” the receptionist politely used her pen to point the way.

Gulping air, I nodded, then spoke in a rush. “I’m here to record. I mean, I have an appointment. I mean I’ve – my manager, really – has reserved a studio for me.”

So much for acting normal.

“Which studio?”

“The Front Room?” I ventured.

She tapped her pen on the book in front of her before shrewdly surveying me from head to toe. “Oh yes. Hand over your ID please so we can verify your identity.”

I fumbled my way through my pocketbook, seeking the one item that always seemed to fall to the bottom, no matter how large or small my bag might be. Just as I felt the leather of the small wallet touch my fingers, it slipped away again until I finally had to set the bag on her desk to more effectively dig through it. In triumph, I finally withdrew the offending item, raising it above my head.

The security guard simply stared at me until I freed my licence from its card slot, handing it over with a flourish. With a brusque nod, he took it from me with two fingers, exiting the room to another office.

“Should I – follow him?” I inquired, my voice a combination of shaky and firm.

“No.” Her reply was curt.

Minutes later, he emerged, handing me back my licence before directing me to another door. “That’s the Front Room. The team is waiting for you.”

My insides quivered like a bowl of elderflower jelly as I took the steps necessary to walk to the identified door.

“Ta!” I waved to the front office team before opening the studio door and stepping inside. Closing the door behind me, I slumped against it, eyes closed, and whispered, “You daft git.” Because of course I would see them again. Soon probably. And every day for the week while I would be recording.

“Excuse me?” The voice caused me to stand up straight.

“Oh, I didn’t mean you.” My eyes took in the slight man standing before me in blue jeans and a cosy oversized jumper. His curls were ringlets that reached his shoulders, and his beard was neat and trim.

“Who did you mean?”

Wincing, I frowned, my face cycling through about five different expressions before settling on a smile that, I hoped, lit up my whole face. “Me. I meant me. I’m —” Freezing, I held out my hand to this man, briefly forgetting my name.

“I know who you are. I’m Sean, your engineer.”

“Oh! It’s so nice to meet you. Thank you for helping me.”

Sheepishly, he shuffled his feet. “Don’t thank me too profusely. This is my first time doing this on my own.”

“Congratulations!” My voice squeaked out a little too loudly. “This is my first time recording in a real studio. My podcast is normally recorded in a tiny room at home that I’ve converted into a studio.”

“I’ve heard your podcast,” Sean reveals. “My partner and I never miss an episode.”

Grasping my hands together, I hold them over my heart. “Really? Thank you so much. It’s my baby.”

“One of these days you’re going to need a producer, you know. You can’t keep doing it all on your own. Not if you want to get bigger. And you’ll need a recordist. And an engineer too.”

“Oh.” My voice was tiny. His words felt like a scolding and a dismissal of my teensy podcast and my dream to grow it into something larger.

“No, no. I didn’t mean anything by it.” He was quick to correct my assumptions. “You’ll continue to expand your audience, and more people will want to be part of your team. It’s the natural evolution of recording. Unless you’re not any good – which I’ve already said you are.”

Choosing to take him at his encouraging word, I set my totes on the sofa in the control room. “Sean, I’m confident we’re going to get along just fine this week.”

“I’m sorry that you’ve just got me. It’s usually a bigger team here for the Front Room, but…” His voice trailed off, and I focused on his face.

“But?”

“It’s nothing.” He mindlessly picked some lint off of the immaculate sound board. “Some of the rest of the team thought it was sacrilegious for you to come into Abbey Road Studios to share your book about how THEY ended.”

The emphasis on the pronoun made it clear who he meant. “Ah, I see. They refused to work with me even though they had no idea what the book actually says or how much research I did?”

His shoulders raised and lowered, and his eyes roamed the floor. “Like I said, I’m sorry.”

The reluctance of the rest of the team set like a stone in my stomach, but I shook off the negativity. Oh well. Fuck them.

“Their loss,” I grinned.

He smiled back at me. “Agreed. Let’s do this.” Sean gestured around the space, pointing out everything I needed to know, and I unpacked my totes in preparation for the day. “Nice selection of teas,” he commented.

“My throat gets dry sometimes.”

As if he needed my explanation. He had worked with loads of people who probably needed tea to lubricate their throats, so it couldn’t be unusual. Why I felt like I needed to justify every bit of my practice was beyond me. I was a professional after all.

A professional who had no idea what she was doing in a fancy studio like this.

Apparently I was feeling a twinge of imposter syndrome.

“Shall I heat some water now?” Sean asked as I unpacked the manuscript with all of its sticky notes resembling the jagged cliffs of Dover. It was really sweet of him to offer, so I agreed. The control room wasn’t very big; other than the sofa, it housed a couple of plants and, of course, the prominent sound board. Sean flicked the switch on the electric kettle to the left of his console and turned back to where I was standing, my manuscript tucked to my chest as though it contained a pirate’s treasure.

“Let’s get you into the booth,” he said, leading me through the only other door in the small studio. “We mostly do music here, as I’m sure you know. But I think I’ve got things set up well for an audiobook. I brought in this small desk and a chair. If you don’t like the chair, I can find another one. Oh, and I found this.” He directed my attention to a book stand. Sheepishly, he smiled. “I was worried a music stand would be too flimsy.”

His simple preparations were touching, and my gratitude was boundless.

My arse settled into the chair, and I sighed at how luxurious it felt on my bum. “Perfect!” I proclaimed, placing the first chapter of the manuscript on the book holder.

“Great! Let’s try some different microphones and test your voice.”

An hour plus a few minutes later, we had finalised the microphone choice as well as the calibration of the sound board controls with my voice. My cup of tea was to my right and my coloured pencils were to my left so I could easily grab them to indicate changes to my delivery.

To record, Sean closed the door between the control room and the booth, but I could see him through the full sized soundproof glass inset on the door between us. During the first couple of hours, he would encouragingly nod to me at times. Or he would grimace, and I would know I had to read a section differently. Or louder. Or softer. Or with more expression.

“Uh, this first chapter will probably take a long time to record,” Sean shuffled his feet as we finished our morning tea. “Don’t panic. Once we get into a groove, the rest of the book will go much faster. It’s just that we have to, you know…”

“I understand,” I commented, nodding graciously. “It’s fine. As long as we get finished with the book by the end of the week…”

“Oh, that won’t be hard.” He flapped his hand at me. “We might even have time on the last day to record a few of your upcoming podcasts.”

“Really?” I was intrigued at the thought.

“But only if we don’t get too distracted.”

Ha! What could possibly distract me from my work?

I found out the answer to that question that very afternoon.

Sean and I were finally recording chapter two, our bellies full of the lunch he’d convinced a studio runner to take away from a nearby Indian restaurant. The remnants, half-full boxes of rice and curry with naan bread, covered the top of the coffee table by the sofa.

We had switched out the comfy chair for a wooden stool so that I could sit upright, practise my best posture and, most importantly, not fall asleep after the heavy meal. Sean played the roles of engineer, recordist, and director with joy and a skill that I came to both appreciate and disparage as the early afternoon flew by.

When I looked up from the script in front of me as we were in the middle of chapter three, I was surprised to find Sean turned towards the main studio door, his lips moving as though he were talking to someone.

“Hey!” My voice expressed my gentle offence in his headphones. “I thought we were a team, but you’re not even listening!”

He shook his head, removing his headphones and punching the button for his microphone.

“Take five. There are a couple of fans of yours out here who want to meet you. I think you might recognize one of them.”

Ugh. Fine.

Standing from the stool, I stretched my arms over my head, my vintage Beatles t-shirt rising and revealing my belly button. Through the large window between the booth and control room, I watched as Sean stood, his head bobbing up and down and a grin on his face.

When I could stall no more, I opened the door, leaning against the door jamb as I examined the two men standing by the studio door.

“Hi,” said one.

My jaw dropped as the other man’s face came into focus. Holy shit. How was he here? Had Sean joked about him being a fan? He must have been because there was no way…

“Jeff Azoff,” I breathed, attempting to speak coherently. “You’re Jeff Fucking Azoff.”

“Yes” was his smooth answer. “And I’m sure you know who this is…” He gestured to the man with him, and I shifted my gaze briefly to him. While extremely handsome, his face didn’t ring any bells, but I decided I’d better be polite and go along with the implication that I should know him by sight.

“Nice to meet you,” I muttered, quickly turning back to THE Jeff Azoff. “How did you…? I mean, holy shit. The number of times your father’s name has appeared in my research is staggering. Did you grow up surrounded by all of those musicians? REO Speedwagon? Dan Fogelberg? The fucking Eagles?”

“Yes,” he nodded.

Man of few words.

“What was it like? Oh wow. What I would give to pick your brain. Did I hear Sean correctly? You’re a fan? You listen to my pod?”

Once more, he bobbed his head in answer to my multiple questions. And then he tried to hoist me off on his friend again.

“Harry has worked with some other great artists,” Jeff began, nodding towards his companion.

Dismissively, I waved my hand in the direction of the handsome man who simply grinned, an extraordinary dimple appearing.

“YOU know my podcast?” I demanded of Mr. Azoff.

“Yes.”

Holy shit. Confident I would need to pry any future responses out of him, I placed my hands on my hips.

“You’ve heard my series about the Eagles then?”

“Indeed.”

“And? What did you think? Are you going to tell me everything I got wrong?”

“No, but I really think you might want to talk to Harry about…”

I interrupted. Whoever this Harry was, I was much more curious about this man’s take on my podcast. “Has your father heard my podcast?” My voice may have squeaked a little when I asked the question.

A nod was the only reply I got before he turned back to the bloke with him.

“Is this weird for you?”

“No.” The handsome man appeared to be amused as his lips twitched to the side, and his eye crinkles magically appeared. “Unique, but not weird.”

Narrowing my focus on the handsome one, I squinted. “You’re a musician recording here?”

“As a matter of fact, I am,” he grinned. “I’m Harry.” When my face still showed no signs of recognition, he added in a smooth voice with a northern accent, “You might have heard of me. My music has won a few awards. Harry Styles.”

The blood drained from my face. I had been freaking out over Jeff Azoff when the muse to Stevie Nicks was standing in front of me? It was Harry who grasped my elbow when I started to fall over from a lack of oxygen, gently guiding me to the sofa.

“Maybe some water?” he asked Sean who rushed into the booth to grab my water bottle, handing it to Harry quickly.

“Sip it slowly,” the Grammy winner said, and I ignored his instructions, nearly choking as I sucked water into my lungs. “Hey, hey. Easy there.” Glancing at Azoff, Harry laughed, “This feels more normal.”

“You –” I choked, coughing between words. “You – know – Stevie – Fucking – Nicks.”

Curiosity furrowed his brow. “That’s why you nearly passed out? Because I know Stevie?”

“You not only know her.” My voice was filled with incredulity and awe. “You’re her muse. You’ve performed with her – and with Fleetwood Mac. And you were the one who inducted her. Holy fuck. You must have done something right in life.” Stopping, I swallowed. “Holy fuck. I must have done something right in my life.”

He had settled on the sofa next to me, his face a mass of confusion. His head was tilted, and his lips were pursed as he scratched at his head.

But I didn’t have time to wait for him to catch up. “You can introduce me! Fleetwood Mac is my next podcast series, and if this book does well, I might write a full book about them. I’ve been engaged in a deep dive of reading about their time as a band. I’ve read everything I can find – official or not. In fact, there is a stack of books on my nightstand about Stevie and Mick and the rest. You have to introduce me. It would mean the world to me.”

My pleading must have broken through his confusion, and he cleared his throat. “You want me to vouch for you to Stevie? I don't really know anything about you.”

“But you listen to my podcast, right?” My head swivelled between Harry and Jeff. “Oh! You could read my book. See what my style is. I swear I would do right by Stevie. I’m so disappointed that I didn’t get to meet Christine before she… Anyway, I’ll do anything for an introduction. What do you need from me?”

“Anything?” Harry humoured me.

“Yes.” Swallowing, I nodded eagerly.

“You’re saying I could read your book? The one that’s not yet published? The one you’re recording now?”

My head bobbed like a cormorant.

“The one that’s about The End? That book?”

I hadn’t stopped my silly affirming as my head continued to move in the same up and down pattern.

“And maybe Jeff could read it too? And my friend Paul?”

My head froze, mid-bob. “Paul? Sir Paul? Sir Paul Fucking McCartney?”

Harry laughed, a delightful tinkling sound, his head rearing back with his joy. “Does everyone in your world have the same middle name?”

“Huh?”

“Fucking. Jeff Fucking Azoff. Harry Fucking Styles. Stevie Fucking Nicks. Sir Paul Fucking McCartney.”

Slapping my hand over my eyes and forehead, I groaned. “Please don’t tease me or joke with me. I’ve been trying to get Sir Paul to talk to me and read the manuscript since I started writing it. Not a single response to my queries.”

“Hmmm…” Harry murmured, tilting his head to one side. “So if you would do anything to meet Stevie, what would you be willing to do to meet Paul?”

“Name your price.” I was hoping he wouldn’t ask for much. All I had was the flat I shared with a friend from uni and a wardrobe of vintage clothing I’d carefully culled from a variety of charity shops.

“I get to be there when you meet them.” My head whipped up so that our eyes connected. “Plus five dinner dates with me.”

My eyes narrowed, “In addition to any meals we share with Stevie or Paul?”

Nervously, he licked his lips and glanced at Azoff who shrugged, seemingly disinterested.

“Yes.”

Author's Note: This really is just an introduction to these characters as part of a series on Meet Cutes. Who hasn't dreamed of meeting Harry Styles somewhere? Live vicariously through these women who randomly run into Harry Styles as part of their normal lives. How might one chance meeting change their lives forever?

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #my writing #harry styles fanfic #original writing #harry styles meet cute #harry styles imagine

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punkitt-is-here · 1 year ago

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How can I cultivate the same, "just keeping making stuff all the time" kind of energy you have? It's very impressive and something I wish I could do!

well, theres a couple reasons i think! one is that i just found ways to be satisfied with small amounts of work. its in part because of my ADHD, but my parents were always trying new things (motorcycles, leatherwork, acrylic paint, collage art, photography, video editing) so that definitely rubbed off on me; i had a great example of people just wanting to try stuff. i keep making stuff all the time because i love trying out new things; you don't have to be an expert to try something new! you just have to have a desire for it! wanna make a zine? google it! wanna write a comic? give it a shot! wanna get into woodworking? buy a carving knife and find a stick or something! i think theres plenty of ways to find entry points into interesting stuff and you gotta let yourself be okay with making shit that sucks just because its fun. which leads me to my second point!!

im okay with being dogshit at stuff! i try new things, i kind of suck at them, and i think it's either 1. cool that i made it this far or 2. kinda funny that this is what its like at the moment. i know that sucking is never permanent, everything can be improved with time, and rarely does anyone ever magically get good at something first try. i think of myself as a talented artist, but its over the course of 2+ decades of drawing; im always improving, and no matter what im going to find things i want to get better at, so why fault myself now for not being perfect? a couple of months ago i really wanted to try woodcarving, so i made spoon with my dad. did it turn out great? not really! you cant even use it as a spoon! but im glad i tried it, it was fun, i had a great time with my dad, and now i know a little bit more going in next time. the idea that you have to be perfect or make tangible progress every single time you try something new is a recipe for burnout. i promise you, it doesnt matter if something doesn't come out like God's Gift to Humanity! Did you have fun? did you learn something? are you satisfied in some small part? good!

(pictured: tha spoon)

last, im just really easy to please myself! I'll make a doodle or implement an idle animation in my game or color a piece and go "wow! thats so cool i did that :)" and it really is just a matter of realizing that its fucking COOL to create stuff, no matter how small! whatever you made didn't exist before you, especially in your own unique way, and now it does! doesn't that rule?! i'm obsessed with it! even if its just a stick figure, its a stick figure you made, and it wasn't there before. thats fucking awesome!!! art is so cool!!!! i think that being happy with small goals and victories is a great way of trying out new things and showing off cool stuff u made, no matter what skill level. :) this turned into a whole big thing, but i hope this helps! tl;dr is try things if they seem fun, be okay with not being good at them, and find stuff about it that makes you happy or satisfied!

#petegrammarman #my posts #asks #advice

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thecraftgremlin · 3 months ago

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Another day another wood carving attempt. Today I made a little spoon:

And I only cut myself once this time! Progress!

#i sanded it a little before going in to carve the bowl of the spoon so that’s why it looks smooth #i want to sand it some more but later my hand hurts #turns out wood carving is tough on my weak little animator wrists!

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bigdvmnhero · 1 month ago

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relationships: dick & tim

word count: 6,019

summary:

“I—” Tim recalibrated. Desperately, he scanned Dick’s face—his features blurred over, a wall of nothing; Tim chipped away: “You were a kid, who’ll blame a kid? They won’t hurt anyone again. If you want to, to, to talk to anyone—but it was a long time ago, you’re Nightwing now—”

Tuesday morning: a video was uploaded to one of the deep web black markets. The footage, shot on those grainy vintage camcorders. But Tim knew that boy in the thumbnail; his eyes had memorized him, the heft and shape and dazzle of him, imprinting like an afterimage.

Or: a brother is a witness; there's your tragedy.

The apartment had that new-in-town smell: mothballs and desperation. Boxes upon boxes were strewn on the floor. One of them had a dirty plate forgotten on top of it. Old pad thai grease. Armed to the teeth in his full Robin regalia, Tim felt vaguely underdressed in Dick’s kitchen—like there was a speech to do, and he was already forgetting the words.

“Did I lose you again?” Dick said, through a mouthful of his second demolished mango. He was eating them fatherless-style. Dick had been talking about—insurance, maybe. “What’s up?”

Across him, Tim straightened. “Nothing, just.” Mortified, thinking about how I almost spritzed myself with cologne before coming here. What was this, prom? Tim just needed this to go better than last time, was all.

Last time: Tim’s absolute trashfire of a Bludhaven visit; Dick’s rictus of a smile; Dick’s face going bloodless in the half-dark as Tim mentioned Bruce’s adoption offer, absolute god-tier cringe; why’d he do that? It was the same look Dick wore, that first time Tim brandished the original Robin suit from its glass case. Of course Dick disappeared then, all dark and brooding into the night, seeyanara, or never; Tim never could stomach a Never.

He wanted to tell Dick he was working hard to learn it, too—the Bat’s art of Sheer Presence. The way its silhouette inspired awe, stillness. That lately Dick spooked easy, like an animal trying not to be seen. That on nights Tim was almost catatonic with grief, his first half-formed thought was, I want my brother.

Tim said, “It’s not every day you eat scrambled mangoes in Richard Grayson’s apartment.”

“Ever since I saw one of our knife-throwers eat it like this, I always wanted to try it.” Dick picked up a comically large knife and bisected the mango, carving the hairy seed out, before scraping its insides silly. He handed one of the halves to Tim, anointing it with a too-big spoon. Where was this man’s cutlery? “It’s supposed to look like a bowl, then you can walk around eating like that. Neat, huh?”

“Guess so.” Tim accepted Dick’s mango concoction with a smile. Maybe a spoonful, to be polite. Watch and weep, Alfred. “You know, I always wanted to try eating a mango like an apple.”

“Well, we got two left,” Dick snorted, digging into the plastic bag. “Make your dreams come true?”

Do, please. Truth was, Tim daydreamed of it often—no capes, no mission, the solace of a brother only a nightmare-city away, and his quiet balcony. If Tim was lucky, a heart-to-heart. Namely, about the No Good, Very Bad Year he was having.

Same one he was sure Dick was going through now, if only Dick deigned to tell him anything.

“Let’s try it together,” Tim said, conspiratory. “Skin and everything. Sprinkle some seasoning. Alfred would call it… positively diabolical.”

“Oh, I’d move heaven and earth to see that look on that man’s face again.” Dick tipped the mango-bowl into his mouth, then licked his lips with sticky satisfaction. “God. This stuff is top-shelf. Which sunny, tropical island did you pick them from, Tim—the Philippines?”

“Just a freebie. From a grateful citizen.”

Wow, and he was starting to lie to Dick the way he lied to Bruce: with alarmingly little remorse!

The truth: Tim had seen the streetcam footage. Dick Grayson liked to linger longer than normal by that market stall on Hammerstone; stuff was always overpriced, but he stayed for the small talk, exchanging recipes and turning over spotted fruit, face soft with a small secret joy until some goon on busted tires screeched by, or the disembodied voice in his comm summoned him back into the fold—exit Richard Grayson, bereft of mangoes.

“A freebie, huh?” Dick said.

Tim shrugged. “Stopped a mugging on my way here.”

“‘Course you did.”

Tim looked up to see a secret smile on Dick’s face, the dimple deepening. Tim ducked his head—it was always intense when Dick did that, holding your eyes to wait for his words to land. When Dick pushed himself away from the table, Tim was glad to look without being seen.

The scrape on Dick’s elbow matched Batman’s data: Nightwing smashed himself free from a plexiglass wall when it came down on him; there was that wispy patch of petrified-looking hair near his left ear where the flames nearly singed his scalp off. Take a few drunk accidental teenage arsons, a rice cooker, and a wall outlet that hadn’t been maintained since the 80s, and you get a nice, toasty residential building that collapsed in forty minutes. With their training, Nightwing should’ve been in and out in five, tops.

Dick coughed as he groped inside the cupboard. Lung irritation, Tim noted. Possible airway inflammation. Shoddy haircut. Dick must’ve tried to trim the charred split ends. If Tim was there. If Tim had covered his blind spot. If Tim was someone Dick could count on from time to time, maybe.

Maybe.

If, if, if.

“Sorry, haven’t stocked the fridge yet,” Dick said. “Water fine?”

“Yep,” Tim says, popping the P, and looked at the carpet the moment Dick’s stagelight-eyes turned his way. His gaze had scanned Tim with that same cataloging sweep earlier. If Dick noticed the weight of Tim’s Mission, paling him like some kind of sepsis, he said nothing. Tim knew what Dick was trying to do. This polite distance, not quite cold, not quite warm, was a dead sea any man could drown in. Bruce currently was. Dick intended to leave Tim here too, in the rolling distance, where no eyes could follow. Fat fucking chance.

Watch me on the trapeze, Tim, said Dick from the memory; staring from a boy’s impish face; those torch-bright eyes, holding his frightened ones. I’m going to do my act—’specially for you. And Tim had watched. And Tim had never stopped, how could he ever stop?

“So, this friendly visit…” Dick slid him a chipped mug of water. “B asked you to check in, or is this gonna be a regular thing from now?”

“Naw, I was just,” Tim waved vaguely. “around.”

“And you got free mangoes.”

Tim sipped. “Thought I’d share my spoils of war.”

The cold hard truth: Tim needed a reason to see his brother now. A work reason. No one wasted Nightwing’s time. While dodging stilted dinners at the manor and Bruce’s guilt-marred face, Tim had spent the better part of his days turning the adoption offer in his head, plugging a fake uncle into his stage-life, not calling Dick, and tracking transactions in the deep web black markets. He had a lead to a CP ring tied to Gotham’s cluster of orphanages—just more children slipping through Her fingers, with no one to come looking. But Tim was looking now. Ten years too late, maybe, but looking all the same.

Bless Barbara and her detailed surveillance notes. He’d set up the alert as instructed and lost himself in the Styx waters of rote work, wading deep, the world submerged into the dull clack of fingers on a keyboard.

Tuesday morning, a new video was uploaded—the price tag: half a million in crypto.

The preview was fifteen seconds long. The footage, cast in near-darkness, had grain matching those recorded on a point-and-shoot that hadn’t been in the market for at least eight years. JVC VHS-C Camcorder, that was how old it was. But Tim knew that figure in the thumbnail. Canary-yellow cape, bloodied knees and pixie boots. A costume for someone ten apples tall.

Only one Robin was fighting against the affliction that was Gotham in single digits. And Tim would know him; his eyes had memorized him, the heft and shape and dazzle of him, imprinting like an afterimage.

Watch me on the trapeze, Tim.

“Get a visual,” was all Batman said, when he called an hour before. This was a case he didn’t think Batman was even supposed to know about, but Tim didn’t press; that voice, floundering in the undercurrent, was all Bruce. “I’ll take care of things here.”

Lung irritation, Tim thought. Grainy footage. Bruce’s cryptic-as-hell phone call. Charred split ends. Nightwing’s casual suicidal patrols? Yeah, Tim was going to dry-heave across Dick’s apartment floor; the inside of his mouth was all sour, like something gone bad overnight. Dick knew about the leak, but not that Batman and his underperforming Robin were on the case, too. Tim was gonna have to do it again—like his first day at the Cave, digging up the memory of Dick’s ghosts, not letting the damn dead stay dead.

Dick threw a hand towel at Tim’s face with a laugh. “Wipe your mouth, Timmy.”

Nicknames, huh.

If Dick hated him, he was hiding it well. Like a child, Tim obediently cleaned the pulp from his mouth. Then, like a coward: “Could I—bathroom?”

read the rest on ao3

#dick grayson #tim drake #dick and tim #dc #nightwing #my dick & tim thesis the drive to hypervigilantly perform vs the need to dismantle the truth FIGHT #bigdamnher0 #writing

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