#doing this for my own amusement more so than anything else

[angelwishess]

𝜗𝜚 Floyra Intro Post !

❝Because theres no one on the land or in the sea more in sync than those two.❞

|| playlist. || moodboard. || pinterest quotes. || pinterest board. || (<- in the “Dynamic w Floyd” section!)

Floyra is the ship of my main oc, Kyra and Floyd! Kyra is my Yuusona twisted from the Disney Princess Stereotype.

This intro post is just to graph out the timeline and details of their relationship. Funfacts at the end :3 (Fair warning though, this ended up being SUPER long… So feel free just to skip to the funfacts if you want HAHAHA)

Please note I may or may not have changed some things in the canon storyline for my own amusement hehe. Nothing too major though.

Tropes :

Idiots to Lovers, Bestfriends to Lovers, Soulmates, literally the DENSEST people ever … Actually they’re more like cowards. Mutual pining, mutual SIMPING they ADORE eachother they are absolutely WHIPPED, chaotic lovey dovey couple, tooth-rotting fluff, no i mean seriously this is the fluffiest ship EVER, they make eachother both better and worse simultaniously. They share the same braincell. Basically already a couple before they even start dating but they dont realize it.

Kyra: “What?? Ofc we’re not dating lmao wdym we’re just friends!!” <- just held his face tenderly and looked into his eyes adoringly while calling him the prettiest boy in the world and kissing his face all over

Floyd: “yeah lol why would u think that” <- arm around her waist, basically always looking at her with a dopey grin and heart eyes

First Impressions

When Floyd heard that there was an unexpected appearance of a magicless student at the entrance ceremony that blazed in with a flaming fire tanuki and set fire to the mirror chamber, he was intrigued. When he learned that very same student was, quite literally, from an entirely different world, he was even more intrigued.

Not to mention the fact she lived in that rundown, deteriorating 'dorm' that was literally called Ramshackle, and she was almost expelled two other guppies on the very first day of school.

But, when he saw her for himself he was... Disappointed.

Often times she just stood by the sidelines, seemingly in her own world with a far-off look in her eyes and an empty smile that ticked him off for no apparent reason.

She never reacted to anything, letting people walk over her like some sort of welcome mat. Somehow, she didn't even feel alive.

To put it bluntly— Floyd thought she was boring.

Just a wimpy, puny little shrimp who didn't even have any magic. Who wouldn't even run away if her life was on the line, weak and defenseless. Naive. How boring, and here he thought he had another play thing... But wheres the fun if he doesn't get a reaction out of it? How lame.

Kyra and Floyd only officially met during book 2.

Kyra passed by Floyd a bunch of times before— but never actually ‘saw’ him. Floyd on the other hand, already had an opinion of Kyra.

Seeing her just simply standing by the sidelines again and saying nothing and just… Staring. He decided to finally approach her straight up.

Deciding to give her a squeeze for the fun of it— he didn’t expect at all for her to hug him back and basically turn the situation on him instead. It flustered him, and made him walk away from the whole scene out of confusion and embarrassment.

Despite everything, Kyra thought Floyd was amusing. and insanely pretty.

Building Interest …

As time passed they seemed to keep catching glimpses of eachother. And with each passing day, she seemed to get more and more... Interesting.

Facing overblots despite having no magic, causing trouble left and right and getting into such ridiculous situations it makes you wonder how she does everything she does without getting tired of how absurd it all is.

When his first impression of her was her being ‘boring', his second was her being naive. How else could you explain it? She had to be either ridiculously brave or incredibly stupid and naive to do the things that she does.

Kyra and Floyd don’t have any notable interactions until the main events of Book 3.

When Kyra decided to strike up a deal with Azul to free all of the students under a contract— Floyd thought she was stupid. Naive, and way too easy of a target. It was laughable. It basically confirmed everything he thought of her.

As Floyd and Jade were monitoring Kyra and Grim as they packed up their things, Kyra acted as if nothing major was happening. Talking to them and cracking jokes like they were old friends. It was then Floyd and Kyra found out they might be more similar than they thought, saying the same things at the same time and holding the same opinions.

When Kyra almost dropped a bag of her things, Floyd helped from impulse. He laughed it off, but Kyra decided to give him a kiss on the cheek as a ‘thank you’.

He froze in place. Not expecting that kind of reaction from her once again, and just kind of… Staring at her as she passed. Jade had another laugh at his brother.

When Kyra first saw Floyd in his merform, he took the chance to try and scare her a little. Just for fun. But just like before— it totally backfired, and Kyra just looked at her with the same wonder as she did the first time. She had the nerve to call him ‘Beautiful’ under her breath, too.

So, Floyd simply swam away after realizing she wasn’t going to give him the reaction he wanted, deciding to play with someone who will.

But when he tried to attack a nearby friend of hers— She punched him straight in the face! A fire burning in her eyes as she straight up threatened him.

Floyd was… Confused. Confused about Kyra, i mean. One moment she was staring at him like he was a of work of art, the next shes throwing hands at him with zero hesitation. He thought she was a pushover— but maybe he was wrong.

She had guts, though. Thats for sure. A magicless little thing like her deciding to put her hands up and fight, even threatening him? A 13ft long eelmer that could rip her apart without a sweat? Something about it.. Scared him a little. Ending up with a bloodied nose, staring down someone who didn’t show any fear or any regret.

Floyd always wanted a challenge. But did he expect that challenge to come in a 5’7 package, decorated with pretty pink bows? No, not at all.

But thats something. And boy, does Floyd love the thrill of the unexpected. After this interaction that past intrigue he had in her before came back 2 times stronger.

It only worsened when Kyra’s little plan to destroy Azul’s contracts actually worked… And Floyd got chills seeing the look on her face.

It was so unlike what he thought of her. A big, smug grin. The face of someone who knows they already won. It was almost malicious. And it was then he realized— she wasn’t as dumb or as naive as he thought she was, either.

But when they got back to the Lounge, it so happened that Leona seemed to have missed one, single contract. When they spotted it, Kyra was the first to react. Managing to grab it before Azul.

Azul wasn’t too happy about it, screeching and yelling for her to give it to him, grabbing her while doing so.

And in that moment of tension, of fear and action, she did something that shocked everyone. In the face of danger, she held the sole contract tightly in her hands and she—

…She ate the contract.

She shoved the glowing papering in her mouth, and swallowed the thing. And it worked. Honestly they didn’t know which was more ridiculous… Her decision, or the fact it was a success.

She grinned so widely, so proudly. She had the nerve to even laugh in Azul’s face. “Yeah, thats right! Screw you, octoboy!”

Floyd couldn’t surpress the laughter that bubbled up his throat watching it all go down. The sound of her laugh ringing in his ears. It was just so… Ridiculous. She was ridiculous.

She had just outsmarted Azul… And the best solution she could think of was to eat the contract? It was downright cartoonish!

But when Azul overblotted, Floyd got to see Kyra in action. He was surprised all over again. But he should be used to it by now, he should expect it. She just keeps surprising him.

She was no pushover— rising up to the challenge when needed. Even if she still acted unserious, even if she acted goofy and wild, she still got down to business and made it work nonetheless.

And he realized she wasn’t anything like what he thought of her before. She was… Nothing like what he thought. Always surpassing his expectations of her no matter how much they changed.

Everytime he thought he had her figured out, she goes and does something that makes him rethink it all over again…

She was very, very interesting. And now, shes got his full attention.

Strangers to Besties!

After the main events of Book 3, Floyd had started following around Kyra more often. Actually, scratch that. He started following her around constantly. She eventually apologized for punching him in the face, too. Surprisingly.

Realizing they were actually very similar, they began hanging out more and more, until they eventually became an inseperable duo that everyone knew about.

At first, most were surprised. Kyra had only just started coming out of her shell, so most were still under the impression she was a sweet, mild mannered young girl.

But after befriending Floyd— all of her self-control truly did go flying out of the window. If she was bad before, she was even worse now. Freely skipping classes more often without a care to go find Floyd, trying to juggle live fish in the courtyard, or jumping out of a window just to escape some of the staff. and the like.

Late night adventures, dancing in the rain, sneaking out of class, spontaneous hang outs and sleepovers, pulling pranks and causing trouble left and right… They were so in sync, its was scary. Kyra was almost like a second Floyd, and everyone knew that it was probably best to run in the other direction when you see them side by side.

No matter what the situation, they always had eachother’s back, too.

It was strange to think they were ever strangers. They felt like they’ve known eachother for years— thats how well they’ve grown to know eachother. They were as thick as thieves!

Hanging out everyday, whenever they could, they just had so much fun together all the time!

To everyone’s dismay, of course. They were far too in sync, if the chaos around one of them was bad it combined when they were together.

Floyd finally found someone who could keep up with him, and even better, keep him on his toes. Kyra surprised him everyday, and thats what he loved. He found someone who understood him, too.

Kyra on the otherhand, found someone who encouraged all of her once repressed desires. She found someone she could be herself with, with no fear of judgement.

Never one without the other, those two. Wherever Kyra was Floyd was surely close to follow, and wherever Floyd was Kyra was most definetly near. They followed eachother around, always stayed close to one another.

Slowly, they’ve grown to not only seek eachother out to go and have fun, but also for comfort.

Platonic ..?

What started as a simple friendship which focused on the high of ‘having fun’ and causing trouble, or just basically being partners in crime— slowly turned into something much more… Intimate.

When Floyd stormed all the way to Ramshackle after a bad day at Mostro Lounge, he didn’t really know what to expect, he just wanted to get away from everyone else and Ramshackle was the best place he could think of.

He didn’t expect Kyra to be so caring. Pulling him into her arms and running her fingers through his hair while encouraging him to rant.

Kyra had always been an affectionate person, he knew that. It started small— little kisses on the cheek and forehead from Kyra to him, hugs and the like. But this was different. It felt different, atleast.

The way she held him felt different, and the way her lips gently kissed his skin made all of the stress from before sizzle into nothing.

He couldn’t help but melt, and before they knew it this became a routine for them, too.

They grew to find themselves comfortable being vulnerable around eachother. Showing sides of themselves to eachother most wouldn’t see. And they knew eachother better than anyone else did.

Simple, friendly touches became something more. The playful wrap of Floyd’s arm around her waist became tighter, and Kyra’s touches on him lingered for longer. Suddenly the playful ‘I Love You’s didn’t seem platonic anymore— atleast not with the way they looked at eachother while they said it.

Simply seeking eachother out to go cause chaos turned into seeking eachother out to just simply be in eachother’s presence instead. Whatever activity they did started to come second, and as long as they were together they were as happy as could be.

Of course, they never recognized this change. In their point of view, they’ve always been like this. But everyone else can see as plain as day, that something definetly changed.

It was painful for everyone involved, really. For some reason neither of them seemed to acknowledge the obvious feelings between eachother.

Everyone could see the way they looked at eachother, the way they acted around eachother… Everything was so painfully blatant… But they still couldn’t admit it. Even when the lines between friendship and intimacy began to blur.

Realizations!

Nothing about their relationship really changed at this point. They just kind of realized their romantic feelings after being deep in denial for WAYY too long.

The first to realize their feelings was actually Kyra, believe it or not. Which is funny because shes never been the best at realizing her own emotions in general.

She was definetly panicked about it, and decided to not say a word of it to anyone. She didn’t want to ruin the friendship they had, after all he was her dearest friend. So she kept her mouth shut and continued on pretending like it was nothing.

She felt selfish having such feelings. She felt as if she didn’t deserve him, like he deserved better than her because she grew up thinking she must be unlovable. And so she kept quiet for the sake of him, too. She thought it was best for the both of them. (<- LIARRRRR!!!!!!)

Floyd realized a little later, it kind of just hit him one day. They weren’t doing anything in particular, he just looked at her and went “Oh. Ohhh.”

Like a lightbulb went off in his head. He didn’t say anything about it either for awhile. Eels are cowards, after all. And he didn’t know if she felt the same. So he just decided to act like nothing happened, continued this routine of theirs that they’ve grown attatched to.

Maybe there were afew times where they wanted to say something about it, to finally admit the unspoken thoughts they’ve had kept in the back of their minds… But they never go through with it. Always backing out last minute, brushing it off.

The two were cowards, dancing around their mutual feelings. Unsure of how the other felt, so they decided to just leave it all unsaid. Even if the look in their eyes said otherwise.

Saying they were just “best friends” was just so much easier. It was what they were used to, what they were comfortable with. It was easier to brush it all off as them being comfortable eachother, sharing beds and exchanging gentle touches. It was all platonic, of course!

…Though Floyd was hesitant with his own feelings. He never expected to find someone that captured his interest so much… Yet he wondered, was he ready to commit?

Strangely, there was no doubt in his mind. It was yes, it always was, yes. The moment he asked himself that question he answered it immediately at the same time.

Of course, because he realized if it was Kyra, there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do. Man, when did he get so whipped for such a silly shrimpy?

Merfolk only choose one mate for life. And Floyd is sure he wanted his to be Kyra.

He was scared of course after realizing his own feelings. Besides Azul and Jade, he's never let anyone get this close to him. It was strange letting Kyra in like this. He didn't plan on her, not at first at least. but now that he has you, he wants to keep you forever.

Man, she just kept surprising him, huh? He never even thought he could feel so deeply for someone. But hes so glad that he found her, that they found eachother.

Difficulties…

When Kyra left with Epel, Rook and Elena during Book 6, Floyd was upset.

Thats an understatement, really. He was furstrated, worried, and somehow he even felt betrayed.

Why didn’t she tell him?? Doesn’t she know its dangerous? Whats a shrimpy like her gonna do, huh?

He knows Kyra can take care of herself, he knows shes capable and he knows she can defend herself. But that doesn’t stop him from worrying.

Throughout the span that shes gone Floyd is restless. Hes snappier, hes moodier and he cant seem to stop pacing around no matter how hard he tries.

But when Kyra gets back— he completely ignores her.

Kyra was so very confused. Actually, everyone was. This was a first for the two of them. Honestly, Kyra expected him to run towards her just like he always does. But he doesn’t.

Kyra is back, but that doesn’t change his mood. If anything, it worsens. And Kyra doesn’t have a clue why! Everytime she tries to approach him, he just turns his heel and walks away. And hes never looked at her like… that..

Kyra is a total mess. And suddenly shes not as good as keeping her real feelings at bay like she usually is. She wondered if she did something wrong? Said something wrong? Was he finally sick of her? And that was when she realized— she was terrified of the thought of losing him.

In desperation she went to Jade. Maybe she should’ve asked Elena for advice instead, but before she knew it she was sat infront of Jade, asking for help with his brother.

If anything, Jade seemed amused with her situation. Of course he did. But with a mischevious twinkle in his eye, she had a feeling he had a scheme brewing up in his head.

Maybe she should’ve known better than to trust Jade… But she didn’t really have a choice, or so she thought as much.

Something about this situation felt so… Deliberate. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but it seemed like he knew she’d come to him for help sooner or later.

After giving Kyra some advice and words of encouragement, he did something rather out of character of him. Bringing into a hug, he held her rather close to himself.

Kyra didn’t really notice this, and accepted the hug with no hesitation. Wrapping her arms around him and sighing as she melted into the well-needed hug.

Little did she know, Jade’s eyes were glued onto his brother’s figure, looming by the doorframe with a scowl on his face. It made Jade chuckle, deciding to tighten her arms around Kyra juust a little more to see what he’d do.

Of course, Floyd wasn’t happy about it. Now, Floyd is not a jealous person by any means. He has better things to focus on, other things to keep him entertained. But at moments like these, when hes already in a bad mood, he can’t help that primal instict, its in his blood after all. A moray is a moray.

Tearing her away from Jade, he drags her to somewhere else. Leaving a very amused Jade watching them leave.

And so, an argument occurs !!! Its a back and forth, Floyd mad about what he just saw, Kyra trying to explain the situation then her getting mad at him back for avoiding her like the plague.

It ended up with Floyd admitting he was mad because she didn’t tell him about her going with them, but at the same time he was mad at himself for not being able to be with her then.

Kyra realizes that, yeah, she probably shouldve let him know she was going. But she couldn’t just brush off the fact he hurt her by doing what he did, shes grown enough as a person at this point to not let her own feelings go unheard.

Reconcilliation!!! They both apologize and promise to do better, and what better way to catch up on lost time than a sleepover??

Best believe that after they made up, they went back to their normal selves as if nothing happened— actually, maybe even worse with how much clingier they are. They seriously missed eachother, seeing how much they stuck together. 😭

“Home”?

When Kyra got news of the possibility of finding a way back to her home she was in shambles. So very conflicted between the place she called home and the place she felt was home.

She knew she had to leave some day. She knew this freedom she had was temporary. She knew one day, she’d have to go back to the life she grew to despise, the life that was never hers.

She didn’t want to leave, though. Of course she didn’t. But still, she didn’t really have a choice.

She decided she wouldn’t do the same mistake and leave Floyd out of the loop. If anyone deserves to know first, its probably him.

And so, while theyre sitting on the rooftop of Ramshackle she mentions it. And Floyd is… Upset. Of course he is. Hes beyond upset, really. He just got his best friend back, now hes hearing she might be going away again? For good? Forever?

No way. He couldnt accept that, there was no way he could. But before he could even say anything— Kyra spoke first.

“I don’t want to go back. I really, really don’t.”

“…You don’t? Huh? Why?” There was a wave of relief that crashed over Floyd when he heard those words fall from her lips, his eyes glued onto the girl beside him. Hanging onto every word she says. “No. Its just… Its not my home, atleast not anymore. I dont think it is.”

“I think, this is my home now.” She chuckles, eyes glued down to the ground below. “…Because you’re here.” She says, turning to look at him. She spoke in that tone that she only used behind closed doors. When no one was looking. That soft, sweet voice she used whenever she carded her fingers through his hair and whispered sweet nothings to him until he fell asleep. It wasn’t unauthetic like the voice she used when they first met— no, it was genuine. Real. Full of adoration, of fondness. Her gaze held so much love.

“…Hah, what’re you gettin’ all sappy for, Sea Angel? Thats so cringe.” He laughed, but his heart soared. Even if it was cheesey, he couldnt help but swoon with just the way she looked at him. Like he was the most beautiful thing in the world. She always said he was the prettiest boy in the world.

She moved forward, her face leaning ever so close to his, so close he could see every line and curve of her features. He laughed at first, “Hey, what’cha tryna do, huh? What? Do I have somethin’ on my face?” He joked, but she didn’t respond. It looked like she was thinking, like she was deep in thought. “…Kyra?”

Her name left his lips for what was the first time. Hanging in the air like a silent prayer of longing, of want. And her own lips met his. Capturing it in a sweet, sudden kiss.

Time seemed to have stopped. It always felt like that when they were together, but this was different. Nothing could prepare him for that— hell, he didn’t even get the chance to kiss her back, the moment felt as if it went on forever but it was over too quickly all the same.

There was a flash of realization on Kyra’s face as her cheeks flushed a red that could rival Riddle on a rampage. Stumbling and stuttering, she couldn’t handle the embarrassment, and before he could even say anything she ran away. Leaving him on the rooftop, wide eyes and a stomach full of butterflies.

Yeah. Kyra is really stupid sometimes.

After that whole thing, she ran to Leona to let out her thoughts. He listened, though he said he ‘didn’t have a choice anyway’.

“So… You kissed him then you just.. Ran? Seriously?” “I PANICKED!!!”

Floyd and Kyra don’t really interact until Malleus’ overblot. And during the time they’re in Floyd’s dream, shes hoping he doesn’t bring up what happened at the rooftop.

Confession!

The confession takes a long, LOONG time. Im talking probably around book 7 or later. Probably when Kyra confirmed that shes staying in Twisted Wonderland. (Everyone thank Papa Crewel, he sorted out her documents for her :33)

Hehe because eels are cowards and they dont take the shot unless theyre sure it’s a winner. So he waits, and waits some more. And of course, that kiss was the sign he needed to finally just go for it.

Eventually, Floyd does confess. Although I still haven’t thought of the details— it does go something like this.

When Kyra at first laughs at him thinking it was a joke, he got annoyed. He didn’t think this was funny, and after seeing the serious look on his face she stopped immediately.

After realizing he was being genuine, she started straight up BAWLING. Sobbing, because she couldn’t believe someone could ever love her the way she is.

Shes deemed herself as unlovable so very long ago, she didnt expect the person she adored so much to ever love her back. She felt selfish, wanting to accept his feelings. But she wanted to be selfish at that moment.

Floyd has never been one to comfort people. He was never the best at it, but if its her, he’ll try. He always does. It was weird, but if it was her he always found himself doing things he’d never thought he’d do for someone else.

When Kyra started rambling about all of the reasons he “shouldn’t” love her, he started talking about why he loved all of those sides of her. Kissing away her tears n’ all. AUAUAUUUGGHHHH

It was honestly super emotional ESPECIALLY for Kyra, but she of course accepts the confession and they FINALLY KISS PROPERLY OH MY GOD THANK U !! ROUND OF APPLAUSE !!!!!!!

Floyd also calls Kyra by her actual name instead of ‘Shrimpy’ or ‘Sea Angel’ during this confession :3

“Its About Time!”

Honestly, nothing much changes after they confess.

Sure it takes some time to get used to them being officially a couple, but they’re still mostly the same.

However, I’d like to think that they just… Don’t mention it to anyone. Not because they’re keeping their relationship a secret, they just ?? Dont ???? Because they’re weird like that idk and its funny to me

For awhile no one actually knows they’re dating, and one day when someone comments on how they really should just suck it up and start dating they’re like “oh, lol we already are” “WHAT—“

Floyd definetly brags about Kyra a lot though 😭😭 and Kyra does the same… theyre both so down bad its SICKENING.

Funfacts!

Floyd was kind of scared of Kyra for a little while LMAOO 😭 shes a little TOO freaky …

Floyd has stayed over at Ramshackle so much that he’s has a bunch of stuff over there. An extra toothbrush, some changes of clothes, you name it. Its probably there. You can bet Floyd just lets himself into Ramshackle all the time, sometimes even in the middle of the night. But Kyra is always so chill about it 😭 (only because its Floyd HEHE)

Before they even started dating— behind closed doors they already acted like an old married couple 😭

Kyra and Floyd are lowkey super domestic behind closed doors, especially after a sleepover. Waking the other up with kisses ….. Helping eachother get ready for the day, helping eachother get dressed … Cooking together …….. theyre so sickening …………

Even if they aren’t with eachother all the time, they still manage to include eachother in their lives somehow. Whenever they go off on a solo-adventure, they always come back with some sort of trinket that reminded them of the other.

Speaking of, they’re both avid collectors of anything they deem cool enough. Random rocks, acorns, a lost penny, you name it. They like to show eachother the things they found throughout the day to eachother!

They have this silly little game Kyra started. She began hiding little sticky notes with sweet messages or a doodle and sometimes gifts in places she knows Floyd will find, and he’s started doing the same thing. Ever since then, its kind of become more like a competition on who can find the most sticky notes 😭

Kyra gets cuteness aggression from Floyd. Yeah thats it.

^^ she genuinely believes hes the cutest thing ever. Whatever u say queen!!!!

Floyd loves giving Kyra random gifts out of nowhere. The gifts can range from ‘a cool rock’ to a designer jacket. Kyra doesnt know which she prefers HAHAHA

Kyra herself prefers handmade gifts, so she loves to make Floyd pieces of jewelry and clothing! Shes always so proud whenever she sees him wearing something she made :3

Floyd and Kyra have been kicked out of class several times for laughing too hard.

They admitted to eachother before they even started dating that they couldn’t imagine their life without the other… can they pls take the hint omg

Floyd always feels super bad whenever he loses control of his temper around Kyra. One time he snapped at her, and he immediately apologized 😭 he told her to slap him if he ever did that again, hugged her so tight too and Kyra honestly found it so cute 😭

Floyd always perks up whenever he realizes Kyra is close by, always running straight to her. Kyra does the same thing and quite literally jumps into his arms.

Both Kyra and Floyd’s main love language is physical touch!! But Kyra loves to compliment him all the time, and Floyd loves gift giving :3

Kyra always greets Floyd with a kiss on the cheek. Yeah she started doing this before they were event dating im afraid ….

Kyra and Floyd love to read together at night, though Kyra usually falls asleep first AHAHAHA

But !! Kyra is also the first to wake up more often than not, and always wakes Floyd up with butterfly kisses on his face :3

Floyd convinced Azul to add some of Kyra’s favorite foods to the menu of Mostro Lounge just to get her to come visit more often

Kyra fights anyone that bad-mouths Floyd. Floyd doesnt know whether to find it cute or annoyed that she keeps getting herself hurt 😭

^^ SPEAKING OF, Kyra literally unlocked a much more caring side of Floyd with her being so accident-prone 😭 girlie got herself injured so much FLOYD had to step in smh …

Floyd is the kinda guy to carry Kyra if her feet started to hurt while walking or if she sprains an ankle teehee

They’re both banned from an arcade in town after they broke a claw machine and stole all the plushies inside. And other things but that isnt as important.

When Floyd feels like hanging out with her, he’ll look for her around campus then just throw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes then just walks away. Kyra never struggles or objects and kind of just … accepts her fate 😭

Rambling…

Kyra grew up thinking the love she received will always be conditional. That she always needed to live up to some sort of expectation, and so she created a ‘perfect’ persona in order to do just that.

She still keeps that persona from the Prologue to Book 1, but begins to break away from it during Book 2– but while in her past she was only loved for the version of herself she created for others— it was the opposite with Floyd.

He disliked her so-called ‘persona’, but fell so deeply in love with her real self.

^^ she was very confused, yet so very happy.

Floyd never expected to ever love or care about someone so deeply, but at the same time he can’t imagine anything he wouldn’t do for Kyra.

Floyd thinks everything is fun as long as Kyra is with him <3

Kyra only ever started showing her more vulnerable side to Floyd during her character development. He was the very first to ever see her break away from the unbothered act she always put on.

Floyd was never one to let himself be so soft and vulnerable around anyone, ever. But strangely, he lets his guard down around Kyra. Kyra knows of the much gentler side to him, and she adores it so very much.

Kyra is extremely understanding and patient of Floyd and his mood swings. She knows he’d never intentionally hurt her, and always knows just how to cheer him up. Whether with a silly joke, a spontaneous adventure or just lying in bed with him in her arms.

Kyra trusts Floyd with her LIFE. She trusts him so much its ridiculous. No matter what the situation, she always feels like she can rely on him… But she wont trust him with her food. Or her plushies.

Extra: Incorrect Quotes (?)

I have more on my 🎀! twst shennanigans tag lol

[sordidmusings]

WIP TUESDAY - Sugar Daddy Headcanons with Shanks and Garp

Saw Schoute's wonderful art WIP and writing and wanted to join the fun! Have some ridiculous Blorbos as Sugar Daddies headcanons that have been on my backburner LOL I've got Shanks and Garp ready for y'all 🫡 They're pretty much done, I moreso have to fill out everyone else on the list 🤡 No warnings really! Just some allusions to spice but nothing explicit. Lots of silliness. I believe they're gender neutral but I'm going to tag as afab just in case because I fear it may be in the subtext since that's the perspective I wrote it from and the one people generally expect for sugar babies. Might be fun to subvert sometime by writing them with explicitly amab sugar babies. I will Ponder lol I'd also love to see what everyone is working on so please take this as a sign to post something of your own!!

The song I blame for everything (I love u Thot Squad):

“This fine old man, he played three

He can knickknack this coochie

With an Amex black card, get a girl a Benz

Reset and do it again”

Word Count: Shanks ~750, Garp ~400 (sorry about the favoritism Vice Admiral 😬)

Shanks

shanks absolutely pursued this type of relationship with you

Your pretty face and open smile snagged his attention but the way you easily met and fed his energy had him at you like a dog with a bone

He’s no stranger to helping people laugh their way into his bed, but the journey with you felt different. He took extra time simply because each moment with you was too good to keep from savoring

You didn’t hide your attraction at any point but he did appreciate that you would try and prod back at him in good humor to test his will and want

You found he had both in excessive abundance

It felt nice to have someone so attractive, established, feared, and adored seek your company and watch him become more interested with each minute he got of you. It also felt nice to see that while he certainly had an abundance of confidence he held no arrogance with you - he played no games in making you question his interest or to assert his importance to you. He treated you as a person (one he mainly wanted to turn to his bedroom tenant but still-) and it made him feel more like a man than a myth for you both too

And holy hell did you like that man - he made you laugh even if at his own expense, he impressed you when he’d let some of his cunning slip through the jovial pirate shtick, he kept your interest with how he could entertain any topic you brought forward, he made you feel beautiful with the way his eyes and hands soaked you in, and he made you feel wanted with the way he treated everything about you with genuine interest. 

The only thing that made it better is how he made sure you wanted for nothing. The first night it was making sure you didn’t pay a cent for anything, you always had food and drink right before you realized you wanted it, his coat found your shoulders the moment you felt a chill, you found yourself in fresh air right when the heat and the noise of the bar became too much. 

After that it was an endless stream of trinkets, from priceless to silly but sentimental, all coming with letters that had you laughing, blushing, and swooning.

Every time he’d visit you (and it was at first as often as he thought he could manage but that managed to get even sooner and sooner because of his need for you) you’d indulge in each other like it was the first and last time

He stopped wanting anyone else - there were enough people across the seas he had to apologize to after explaining why he’d gasped the wrong name and they were never right to scratch the new insatiable itch he had anyway

When it dawned on him how much you had him wrapped around your finger, not just physically and financially but also mentally, emotionally, and he’s pretty sure even spiritually, he may have had a crisis (the crew was very torn between amusement and true wory watching it unfold, especially when the usual rum and patented Beckman Shoulder Pat with Nod didn't ease his turmoil)

It wasn't because he didn’t want to love you, but he truly never thought he’d ever find someone he wanted and needed the way he does you. It was such a foreign concept to him that he felt like the world had tilted and left everything slightly unfamiliar. Especially coming from a relationship he stapled together with riches. Sure, there was also joy, camaraderie, and intimacy holding it together, but he found it harder to trust that someone such as you wouldn't find someone younger and more present to belong to than to trust that you could need him to sustain a lifestyle of ease and abundance.

If he couldn't be sure you'd want him, he'd try and find solace in you needing him, even if it was only for what he could afford you

When he finally told Beckman of his plight, he was slightly offended by the “it took you this long to figure it out?”

He’s currently trying to figure out how to convince you to live on his ship with him. He needed to let you know you’d be safe regardless of your experience level with the seas or battle. 

He’d bring the world to its knees if anything touched a hair on your head

Luckily for him, you knew. Anyone with eyes would from the way he smiles at you.

Garp

Garp was decidedly not in your plans. Yes, you wanted someone older, someone with wealth, someone with influence, someone who would take care of you, but you thought Gilfs were an urban legend told to see what face it would get out of freshies

You’re not complaining tho

He has certainly convinced you that the rarity of his kind just pointed to what a prized role it was to shack up with one

He was rough around the edges to be sure - brash and loud and stubborn - but he used all those traits to get you both exactly what you wanted

All your needs were met without you having to even think of them anymore (you were surprised that needs in the bedroom were included in that, but you supposed you shouldn’t have underestimated a man who could still punch apart battle ships, nor one with such a lust for eating)

Neither of you had any illusions of sweeping romance

You were more than happy with the care and respect that built between the two of you in your roles, growing with each act of service to each other, each piece of comfort, each unintended moment of vulnerability

Don’t get me wrong, the vulnerability ain’t common; most of your time is this man having fun watching you light up when he took you out and tossed his money around for you before taking you home to have multiple courses of dessert

You’ll never get over his gruff voice and curling accent - they helped your brain turn to mush while he coaxed and praised you through happily giving him everything he wants as a thank you for all his care

That voice along with all that burliness and age, which you thought would’ve been a turn off not on, ended up making you feel small yet so protected

Garp didn’t think he’d enter a relationship like this that went on so long and so easily but any reservation or second guessing was lost the moment he saw you and everything just felt natural

Tho he’d still make jokes that always make you groan about how you keep him young better than his troublesome recruits (that he is stuck between wanting to parade you around to see their jaws drop and wanting to keep you hidden away from any young bucks who may try to get your attention before he’s ready to let you go)

Thank you for reading 😘🤍🤍

Masterlist

[daycourtofficial]

vanilla americano 😈

Okay I went a bit different with this one I thought it’d be a perspective we haven’t seen before!!!

Order a drink for Gingerfucker Week here

Vanilla americano - a bat boy + angst

Azriel had spent the past three weeks thinking of nothing but the comforts he had become accustomed to in the last century. His large, much too comfortable bed that allowed him to sleep more than he used to (but not by much). The mattress seemed to pull his large body into it, forming in shape around him for maximum comfort. He had asked Rhysand once what it was made of. He still couldn’t decide if his answer of “peregrine feathers” was a joke or not.

His other comfort had come in the form of hot, relaxing teas Nesta had stocked the House of Wind with, a supply of jasmine honey that seemed endless.

He made it to the second floor landing, about to turn further up the steps, waiting for the house to make him a warm bath and a hot cup of tea when a flood of moonlight caught his eye. It streaked across the floor, the open door to a room he spent many nights complaining about Rhysand in.

“This room’s perfect for secrets.”

Your words echoed through his head as he moved down the hall, hoping to confirm to someone in his family he was alive and unhappy about it. The shadowsinger knew once he saw you he’d no doubt grumble about the past few weeks, some sympathetic barb from you enough to make him feel like he was home again.

He hated being away from his family for so long, but growing tensions throughout Illyria required more presence from the Inner Circle to ensure things were running smoothly.

The house was eerily quiet as he crept down the hall, hoping that Nesta and Cassian had tired themselves out for the night. His shadows slithered around him, coiled as if ready to strike. They gave away nothing, merely whispering look, look, look.

He pushed the door open, finding the room in complete disarray. It sent him into high alert. In a flash he unsheathed Truth Teller, sending his shadows throughout the house to find out where you were and if anything else was out of sorts.

His eyes scanned the room - hundreds of hand-written letters covered the floor, their pages folded and refolded from use. The furniture had been flipped every which way - the bed turned over, revealing several boxes that had all been haphazardly siphoned through.

His steps were silent as he moved further into the room, stepping over the creaky floorboard. What had happened in his absence? Where was the rest of his family?

He wandered downstairs after finding no answers in your room, his grip on his knife unrelenting as he took the steps with ease. His shadows told him only one room was occupied - what used to be Rhysand’s study.

“We are declaring war on Autumn.” His High Lord’s words were spat out as Azriel quietly moved into the room, taking the space next to Cassian. “Eris has played us for the fool the last time and it has to end.”

Azriel looked between Rhys, Cassian, and Feyre, noting the absence of Mor and Amren. Everyone was in nightclothes - he was technically the most formally dressed, a sight he would normally find amusing.

“What is going on?” Azriel’s words were met by a shocked look on Cassian’s face, a subtle head shake asking him not to ask.

“This is a wartime council. It is my decision. We will raze all of Autumn for their crimes.”

“Our decision.” Rhys shot a look toward his mate, her own eyes heating in defiance. “That redheaded fool has done something to convince my sister they are mated. I do not have to convince anyone else that that is an action worthy of war.”

The words clanged through the room and Azriel could not keep the shock from showing on his face.

Mates?

He kept quiet, waiting for more information. An impatient shadow whirled around Rhysand, pulling his attention to the confused shadowsinger. He pinched the bridge of his nose, anger and frustration written in the planes of his face.

“I found letters upon letters from him declaring his love in her room, all dating back over a century. It’s preposterous. I have no idea how long he has been working on this.”

“Rhys, what if this is real?”

“You think my sister could deceive me over this?” The accusation made the room cold.

“What if they really are mates?” Rhys only scoffed in reply, throwing his hands up at the notion. He knew the moment he and Feyre were alone it would be a bloodbath.

“Where is she now?” Azriel felt a cold determination to see her. If he could talk to her, surely this was all a misunderstanding. Perhaps she was seeing someone who used a pen name? Rhysand likely blew everything out of proportion. There was no way she could have been-

“Not here.”

Azriel’s mind was hyper focused, running through every scenario possible. He blinked, taken aback by his brother’s words.

“He took her?” Azriel couldn’t help the defensive stance he took, ready to winnow away into Autumn. Rhys’s silence dragged on far too long, but Azriel remained stoic.

“No.” Everyone continued watching Rhys, waiting for his next words.

“Is she somewhere in Velaris hiding?” Rhys ignored Feyre’s question, waving his hand dismissively.

“For all I know she’s in Autumn.”

Shouts erupted from the room, everyone upset with Rhysand for the constant shift in his mood. Azriel crept out of the room, not even closing the door behind him as he moved toward his room. His chest felt heavy, full of regrets for letting this happen. How had he not known? How had he not stopped this?

His family was arguing, trying to create a plan of action, but Azriel was certain this was no deception from the heir to the Autumn throne. They had all been played a fool by her.

He couldn’t stop the utter devastation at that realization.

Azriel felt his jaw tighten, certain no one had ever gone to such lengths to hide the truth from him. He ignored the tiny part of his brain that kept yelling to him, reminding him how far he would go to protect a mate of his own.

His chest felt empty by the time he made it to his room, his mind and body so tired he felt on the brink of falling over. The spymaster opened his door, a small envelope sitting on his bed with his name in familiar handwriting, the sight of it like a burst of energy.

[theotherrichardpapen]

Reading List 2023-2024 📚

The Secret History - Donna Tartt

The Song or Achilles - Madeline Miller

The Myth of the Wrong Body - Miquel Missé

The Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald

Remainder - Tom McCarthy

If We Were Villains - M. L. Rio

Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov

Bones and All - Camille DeAngelis

The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt

The Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde

Beyond Good and Evil - Friedrich Nietzsche

Diaries - Franz Kafka

Frankenstein - Mary Shelly

Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoevsky

The Call of Cthulhu and Other Weird Tales - H. P. Lovecraft

The Divine Comedy - Dante Alighieri

1984 - George Orwell

The Iliad and The Odyssey - Homer

Unnatural Causes - Dr Richard Shepherd

Things Have Gotten Worse Since We Last Spoke and Other Misfortunes - Eric LaRocca

Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde - Robert Louis Stevenson

The Trial of the Templars - Malcolm Barber

Foucault's Pendulum - Umberto Eco

Demian - Hermann Hesse

Pride & Prejudice - Jane Austen

Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte

The Atlas Six - Olivie Blake

Giovanni's Room - James Baldwin

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo - Taylor Jenkins Reids

Ninth House - Leigh Bardugo

Vita Nostra - Maryna & Serhiy Dyachenko

Pageboy: A Memoir - Elliot Page

Slaughterhouse-Five - Kurt Vonnegut

The Brothers Karamazov - Fyodr Dostoevsky

(updated: 03/01/24)

[essektheylyss]

It is wild to me how many people are like, "hahaha op's speech did nothing," as if I am running and participating in these polls to get validation for my blorbo. If I just wanted to be content with my blorbo, I would absolutely not be tossing him up on a platform to be heckled for a week straight. I would be retreating to some echo chamber Discord server to experience the emotional equivalent of everyone gathering around and petting a puppy.

I literally do not think Essek is going to win this poll! I do not think he is going to win the tournament! I seeded Laerryn number one for a reason! For a number of factors I think it would be very difficult for anyone to beat her! I literally put him and Laerryn on the same side of the bracket so that they would not end up in the final, because I did not think it was going to be an interesting fight! We as a fandom beat "Laerryn could smash any wizard in Exandria without contest" into the ground weeks ago! I considered writing a stump speech just for kicks for every semifinalist, because I like to argue things and I love playing up a ridiculous and meaningless kayfabe!

But like, Laerryn has swept many polls, and it's deeply boring to me if she wins in a landslide. I am a polling nerd, and I can confirm that no one watches landslide races. They are not interesting. And this is fully just for the fun of it, so I am gonna make it interesting.

If there's no challenge, no consideration of how the other side might win, then what the fuck is the point of running a tournament?

In conclusion:

[baeshijima]

— stardust

the world is a vast place. in the grand scheme of things, humans are but a speck of dust; much like how you are sure you are nothing but a meagre speck of dust in the world he lives in, forever to be remained unseen. (if only you knew how you are the brightest star he'd ever laid his eyes upon.)

CONTAINS : gn!reader, 1.5k wc, royalty!au, contract marriage/marriage of convenience, fluff, smitten reca bc what would he be other than smitten, a little hint of bittersweet at the end if read between the lines aha...

A/N : ....i have a paper due monday. i havent started it. why do i do this to myself. (reca i love u can u not hear my cries and wails as fic after fic appears in my brain for u...)

Duke Reca of the northern territory; to many he is a well-accomplished noble, a young genius set for greater things, and the owner-slash-founder of the top theatre company. He is an idol — a role model to those who aspire to be more involved in the artistic side of the world.

To you, however, he is an absolute lunatic, the bane of your existence, and your contractual husband.

It's not like you had much choice. It was either: a) remain as a hollow puppet whose strings danced at your family's fingertips, or b) find some way to escape with outside power.

You, of course, chose the second option. Unfortunately, that somehow led to you meeting the young duke when out in the shopping district, trying to escape the suffocating presence of your family's knights accompanying you by running into a secluded alleyway, even if it was for but a momentary breather.

It was a whirlwind of a meeting... quite literally. Bodies flew; clothing tousled; breaths stolen. Well, at least for you it was like this. He, on the other hand, looked right as rain. (Lucky bastard.) You hadn't realised it was him at first, too absorbed in hasty apologies and the numbing bloom spreading across your backside like a wildfire (really, they ought to incorporate more padding in these flimsy clothes!), but when he uttered an apology of his own for not paying attention to his surroundings with an arm outstretched to help you stand, your mind all but blanked. What was someone of his status doing in a dingy alley? Didn't the newspapers report word of his self-confinement, having not stepped foot outside his manor in fervent preparation of his upcoming performance?

No, never mind all that; wasn't this a blatant opportunity being presented to you? An outside power that could help you escape the clutches of your family...

With gritted teeth, all sense of self-dignity was cast aside as you grasped his outstretched hand with both of your own, gazing into his widened eyes with your own narrowed ones.

"Your Grace, I know this is hardly the appropriate time nor place, but please... marry me!" Your words echoed within the enclosed space. Duke Reca blinked slowly down at you, and it was then you realised you never elaborated. "In... in a contractual marriage of convenience, of course."

"Oh?" he grinned, amusement and intrigue twinkling in his eyes. "And what is it you can offer me?"

"I..." Truthfully, there was nothing you could offer which would be beneficial to someone like him who had everything at the tips of his fingers. You were but a speck of dust in his world, merely floating and remaining unseen within his view. But even so, here you kneeled before him, his gaze wholly fixated on a speck of dust such as yourself. If nothing else, you at least had your desperation — a desperation to be your own person. "My lineage may be from that of a baron's, but I am confident I can be of use to you if you would permit it. So long as you accept my offer, I will do anything to aid you, whether that be through practical means or a performance you wish to see."

A beat of silence.

"Ha... haha... ahahaha!!"

And, as if things couldn't get any worse than a sore rear and disgruntled self, you were pulled out of your daze by a pair of gleaming carmine eyes, a maniacal grin, and his body, now kneeled just like you were, so very close to your own.

"That determination... how brilliantly you burn with such an expression!" The sheer glee which bled through his tone sent shivers down your spine, having never realised someone so esteemed had such a side to him. The duke breathed a breathy laugh and slightly backed up, his hands still holding your arms. "Alright, I look forward to seeing how brightly you will shine in your performance, my dear leading actor."

...Was it too late to back out and find an alternative solution?

Admittedly so, for the next thing you knew vows were declared and you were moved into the duke's residence. You could still remember your family's aghast expressions the moment you declared you were marrying Duke Reca and thus cutting ties with them. It was oddly freeing to see their contorted faces reveal their true nature.

Life as the duke's spouse was... something, to say the least. His servants and attendants almost seemed to have shed tears of joy at the revelation of their ever so lonely duke (their words, not yours) finally settling down and getting married, asking you questions such as how you both met, what drew you to their duke, who popped the question first, why you chose him of all people, so on so forth. It was... cosy. Something you admittedly weren't very accustomed to, but found yourself welcoming nonetheless.

One thing you never expected was for the duke to have a little pet of his own; a little toad dressed in a miniature beret and matching suit, at that. Assistant Director is what Reca had called her, and you think for someone so obsessed with the arts he ought to up his naming sense. She was also quite susceptible to compliments, something you discovered when commenting on the little toad's cute attire, with the duke's baffling translation of her bashfulness and her own compliment on your own looks. Apparently. You're not really sure, but you're inclined to believe it ever since she claimed a spot on your shoulder.

As the days-turned-weeks-turned-months bled into each other, you found yourself oddly lost at how well-adapted you have become of your new life and the duke's personality. From impromptu displays of affection both in and outside the manor to sporadic radio silence on his end when wholly consumed by his fervent passion for a project, you sometimes wonder just how you're still alive with the amount of heart attacks the man has given you.

But despite his... eccentricities, to put it lightly, there are times where you can't quite put a finger on certain expressions he would make when he thinks you're not looking. They're unlike his (once again, to put it very lightly) passionate eyes when rambling to you during mealtimes about an upcoming performance the troupe has; unlike the sheer mania he can exude when something truly sparks his inspiration; unlike the playfully smug grin he would give you when swooping down in dramatic flair to press a long kiss to the back of your palm; unlike the rare darkening of his expression that you cannot help but stiffen at when something or someone in the troupe doesn't quite match his expectations.

No. These ones are... soft. A kind of tenderness and unprecedented longing able to be identified if scrutinised close enough. It was evident in the ghost-like touches he would trail along your skin, as though afraid just a little more force would do irreparable damage. It was evident in the attention to even the most minute details, having everything from clothing to food to the decor suited to preferences you yourself never realised you had. It was evident in the way unadulterated fondness leaked through his tone when his unique terms of affection for you slipped through his lips when all was silent and you were supposed to be asleep.

"My dearest star..."

...Much like now, it would seem.

The bed dips by where your knees slightly bend, hidden under the beige covers. A familiar musky scent surrounds you not long after, and you find yourself involuntarily relaxing at the comfort it brings as your head further burrows into the pillow.

You want to stay awake, even if it's just for a second longer, to hear what he has to say to your less than conscious state. But, oh, his fingers threading through your hair and softly massaging your scalp and the gentle touch of his forehead against yours and the subtle comforting warmth that rolls off his body in waves does little to help you fight the sleep which easily takes over.

Oh, whatever! You'll just try and catch what he has to say next time.

Eventually your breathing evens out, only soft snores now heard within the large shared bedroom. Upon noticing this, Reca cannot stop the fond smile which lifts the corners of his lips, nor can he prevent the softening of his eyes as he continues to gaze at your sleeping form.

"My dearest [Name]," he whispers into the dead of night. Even now, several months later, he still cannot believe his luck to have run into you in that alleyway. It must have been fate which made him heed its call, urging him he would discover something sure to escape that terrible slump plaguing him for weeks on end.

Sure enough, it brought him to something irreplaceable; something he has been searching desperately for.

You.

And, with the tenderest of kisses pressed to your forehead that would put even the most sickening romantics to shame, he murmurs words of promise against your skin, an oath he swears to uphold no matter the obstacles which stand before him.

"In this life, I will ensure you have only the best of endings."

if you enjoyed this, reblogs and/or comments are greatly appreciated <33

[fxstpace]

“wonwoo,” you whisper, nudging his ankle with a sock-clad foot. “wonwoo, wake up.”

he grunts and mumbles something unintelligible, before his lips part and he lets out a soft snore. his hair is a mess—probably because he never seems to stay still when he’s asleep. you reach out and gently trail a finger down the bridge of his nose.

“wonwoo,” you try again. he shivers involuntarily. “baby, darling, light of my life. sugarplum. rubber duck. love boat.”

“i’m going to break up with you if you call me that again,” your boyfriend finally says, opening his eyes and squinting at you. you grin. he sighs, though it’s not a weary sound. more fond than anything else. loving, in the way only jeon wonwoo is. “what do you want?”

you lean over him, elbow brushing over his chest, and try to switch on the lamp placed on the bedside table. fumbling for the switch, you flick it on and blink when the room floods with soft amber light. you kick the duvet off of wonwoo’s legs, ignoring his startled huff.

moving back, you place both arms on either side of wonwoo’s head and hook a leg over his waist. his hands come up to grip your sides. despite his sleepiness, he smiles up at you—a slow, lazy one, the kind he gives you when he’s happy and content. it brings a smile to your own face.

“i want ramen,” you say in response to his question. “i’m really hungry.”

“really?” 

“really.” you nod.

his thumb rubs circles on the part of your hip where your shirt is ridden up. “and you couldn’t make it yourself?”

“you make ramen better than i do.”

“it’s literally three steps,” wonwoo says, amused. “it’s packaged food. it tastes the same regardless of who makes it.”

“it tastes different,” you insist. “please?” 

he laughs, chest rising with the movement. “okay, okay. if you say so.”

“thank you.” you bend down and kiss the corner of his mouth. “you’re the best. i’m the luckiest person alive, i swear.”

“flattery gets you nowhere,” wonwoo says, but when you clamber off the bed, he follows you to the kitchen after grabbing his glasses.

and there’s something so tender about this, so fragile, a delicate sort of thing that you will cherish and protect with your life—something special about cooking and eating ramen at midnight, specifically with him. 

it tastes different.

author’s note — wrote this because i was craving instant noodles last night at 2 am. unfortunately i did not have a jeon wonwoo to cook them for me & i didn’t have any ramen left at home 😔

[steddiealltheway]

Eddie chronically leaves his rings at Steve’s place to the point that Steve checks the bathroom and kitchen sink every time after he leaves, only to find one of them there every time.

Not that Steve is entirely complaining since this means he gets to call him and Eddie gets to stop by on his own to pick them up.

But when they’re at the Wheeler’s place, and Eddie says he’s going to the bathroom, Steve says, “Be careful not to leave one of your rings behind,” with a wink that has the kids exchanging confused looks. But Steve doesn’t notice because he’s too distracted by the light blush coloring Eddie’s cheeks.

“Why would Eddie leave one of his rings behind?” Dustin asks Steve when Eddie’s out of earshot.

Steve laughs. “He leaves one behind every time he washes his hands I swear. I don’t know how he hasn’t lost one at this point.” But his amusement is quick to die down when he realizes the kids are staring at him as if he’s absolutely insane. “What?”

They all glance at each other, and Steve is surprised when Mike is the first to pipe in, “He never leaves them anywhere. They’re like his prized possession. I’ve never even seen him take them off.”

Steve frowns and glances around at everyone, sensing that there’s definitely something he’s missing, so he’s quick to lie, “Well, I guess it was only once or twice that it happened. Maybe it was my fancy soap. Made things too… slippery.”

He gets a few eye rolls at the comment, but the group is quick to move on especially when Eddie comes back a few moments later with all his rings on his hands.

Steve gives him a quick smile, and Eddie is quick to return it, eyes lingering on him for a few seconds longer than necessary and the same blush from earlier returning.

It hits Steve very suddenly.

The rings are an excuse to come back.

And with this knowledge, Steve’s let’s his own gaze linger on Eddie longer than he usually allows, moving into his space more often than not, and carefully keeping track of time, waiting for the hang out to end.

When it finally comes to a halt, Steve is quick to say his goodbyes, hoping that Eddie will join and let the kids have their unnecessarily prolonged goodbyes in private. And luckily, Eddie is quick to move out of the basement, following after Steve in a way that’s supposed to look causal but is anything but casual now that Steve knows to look for the signs.

When he and Eddie silently go out the front door, Steve is quick to turn to him and hold out his hand. Eddie gives him a confused look but offers his hand which Steve takes and slides one of the rings off of.

Eddie stares at it for a moment, looking slightly frightened, as if he’s been caught doing something he isn’t supposed to.

Steve is quick to soothe the fear as he pockets the ring and says, “Just so you’ll have an excuse to stop by later tonight.”

Eddie’s cheeks flush bright red and he runs a hand over his face. “Shit.”

Steve laughs, “So it has been on purpose?”

“No,” Eddie clearly lies, pulling a strand of hair in front of his face.

“And what if I told you I wanted it to be on purpose?” Steve asks.

Eddie freezes for a moment as if he’s waiting for Steve to tell him that he’s joking, but Steve sits in the silence, letting the question settle between them.

“Then,” Eddie starts, taking a small step forward into Steve’s space, “I would-”

The door behind them bursts open and Dustin yells, “Hurry up I have a curfew!” as he races off to Steve’s car.

Steve rolls his eyes at the kid and takes a step back as everyone else makes their way out the door to the cars or their bikes.

Steve and Eddie linger behind for a moment, which Steve uses to quietly ask, “I’ll see you tonight?”

Eddie gives him a bashful smile in return and nods. “Yeah, I’ll see you tonight.”

Steve resists the urge to celebrate in any way in front of the kids and instead puts his hand in his pocket, fingers curling around Eddie’s ring.

As he gets into his car, ignoring Dustin bitching and complaining, he slips the ring over his finger and smiles at it.

He notices the car go quiet and he nearly groans at his mistake.

“Is that Eddie’s ring?” Dustin screeches.

It’s going to be a long drive home, but Steve doesn’t mind when he has Eddie to look forward to.

[ja3yun]

"cat got your tongue?" | L.HS

bf!heeseung x gf!reader warnings: smut (mdni) unprotected sex, cream pie, dom!heeseung, gagging on fingers, slight breath play, pwp, just pure filth from the start, hee is loving but a menace, not proof read, anything else lmk! wc: 2.1k synopsis: heeseung's fingers might be your favourite gag a/n: hi! it's me finally with a small wordcount drabble!! who would have guessed it? anyway this was heavily inspired by a conversation i had with my twin flame ruby @dollyyun , so yes babe i hope you love it!! just something filthy and fun. have a great weekend everyone

“Oh God, Heeseung, don’t fucking stop,” you gasp, voice trembling with a mix of desperation and ecstasy. 

Your words seem to spur him on, his hips driving forward with a rhythm that’s sharp and deliberate, each thrust more intense than the last. His 7-inch cock plunges deep inside you, the set pace teetering on the edge between pleasure and torment. Every time he pulls back, you feel the delicious drag of his shaft slipping against your walls, only for him to slam back in, battering you deep inside. You can’t decide if you want to savour this maddening tempo or beg for more - something harder, rougher, like a man who’s lost in his own lust.

The room is thick with the scent of sex, love, and a passion that feels almost primal. You hadn’t imagined the night turning out this way; there was a different kind of intimacy in mind with cuddles and romantic movies. But it’s your own fault, really. You knew exactly what you were doing when you slipped into his favourite pyjamas - the ones dotted with cute little hearts, the matching crop top clinging to your skin, barely covering your tits. His reaction was inevitable; you had provoked the beast, and now he was giving you everything you silently asked for and more.

Your breath comes in ragged gasps, each thrust driving the air from your lungs. His name tumbles from your lips like a mantra, broken and pleading. "Heeseung...please..." You don't even know what you're begging for anymore - a faster pace, a deeper thrust, anything to push you over the edge that you're balancing on. His gaze is dark and focused, a predatory glint in his eyes as he watches your every reaction, drinking in the sight of you falling apart beneath him. His lips curl into a wicked smile, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice a mix of amusement and lust. “So desperate for me, aren’t you?”

A shiver runs through you, his words sinking into your skin, your core tightening around him in response. Heeseung's hands slide down to grip your waist, fingers pressing into your flesh hard enough to leave marks, and with a grunt, he changes the angle. The new position has him hitting that spot deep inside you that makes stars explode behind your eyes, and your moan echoes through the room.

"Fuck, yes, right there!" you cry out, arching your back as your nails rake down his shoulders. Each thrust grows more relentless, his hips driving into you with a punishing, unyielding rhythm that leaves you gasping for breath, lost in the delicious agony of it all. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, blending with the symphony of your moans, gasps, and his ragged grunts.

Your hands trail down his arms, feeling the taut muscles flex beneath your touch as your fingers glide over the sheen of sweat on his skin. They move lower, seeking the hand that’s gripping your waist with such force that you’re sure his fingertips will leave bruises blooming across your skin by morning. You pry his right hand away and entwine your fingers with his, grounding yourself in that moment of intimacy amidst the ferocity.

The wicked grin on his lips softens into something more tender, his gaze never leaving yours. He brings your joined hands up to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles, his eyes speaking the love that words don’t need to convey. For a moment, there’s a gentleness, a shared breath of vulnerability.

But when you guide his hand to your lips, his expression shifts back to that familiar, dark smirk, eyes narrowing with understanding. He knows what you’re asking for without you needing to say a word. His lips curl up, that sadistic amusement returning as he watches you with a mix of pride and desire.

“You want to suck on my fingers, baby?” he asks, his voice low and teasing, but there’s an edge to it that sends a shiver down your spine. You nod, lips parting slightly in anticipation, but Heeseung doesn’t give in so easily.

Instead, he brings your joined hands back to his mouth, and with deliberate slowness, he slips his own fingers past his lips. His eyes stay locked on yours as he sucks them into his mouth, his tongue swirling around each digit, wetting them thoroughly. The sight makes your breath hitch, a new wave of heat pooling low in your belly. You’re so jealous of his tongue that you might grow green with envy, wishing it was you instead.

With a soft pop, he pulls his fingers free, and that smug, dark grin stretches wider across his face. “Open up,” he commands softly, his tone brooking no argument. You don’t even think to disobey. Your lips part further, and he wastes no time, pressing his slick fingers against them and pushing them past your teeth.

The taste of him coats your tongue, and you moan softly around his fingers. He watches intently, his gaze dark with lust as he slides his fingers deeper, teasing the back of your throat. He forces your mouth open, her stare never leaving yours

“You like that, don’t you?” he whispers, voice rough with desire. “Being so good for me. So fucking perfect.” He presses down more firmly, the tips of his fingers brushing against your tongue, and he grins when he feels you gag slightly. His hips never falter and your legs that are wrapped around his waist anchor you both together while he focuses on your pleasure.

Your eyes flutter shut, and you moan around him, sucking on his fingers as he guides you, your tongue swirling around them just like he’d done moments ago. “Nu-uh, baby. Eyes open or else I’ll stop,” he warns, causing you to string your eyes open in a desperate plea. “You wouldn’t want that, would you?” His tone is teasing and degrading but fuck does it turn you on even more. 

The way he watches you makes you feel exposed, cherished, and utterly controlled all at once. Three of his digits press on your tongue as he uses his strength to widen your mouth, pushing his fingers deeper until your eyes water, and he can feel your breath coming in sharp gasps, rendering you unable even to answer his question. 

The thing about your boyfriend is that he likes you vocal and demands that his questions are answered. Even simple ones like ‘Do you feel that?’ have to be replied with a yes, otherwise he takes the pleasure away from you. But how can you answer when his fingers are imprisoning you to silence?

Heeseung laughs mockingly as he plummets into you at a slightly slower pace. “Aw, baby, what’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?” With each question, he bucks his hip forcefully, the tip of his cock meeting your cervix and desperately willing your eyes to close. The intense pressure has your eyes threatening to close, a tear slipping free, but you don’t look away. You meet his gaze, eyes glassy and lips stretched around his fingers, desperately trying to answer him with a look, a plea for mercy.

He knows exactly what he’s doing. “Look at you,” he murmurs with a breathy chuckle. “So desperate to speak. Go on, then, try.”

You attempt to form a word, but his fingers are still lodged deep in your mouth, muffling any sound. All that comes out is a garbled moan, saliva dripping down your chin as you try to articulate anything that might satisfy him. Your tongue moves helplessly against his digits, eyes begging him for some semblance of relief.

Heeseung’s grin widens, and with a sudden withdrawal, he pulls his fingers from your mouth, a slick trail of spit connecting them to your lips. You gasp for air, trying to find your voice, but before you can utter a single word, he crashes his lips against yours, swallowing whatever sound was about to escape. The kiss is hungry, consuming - tongues meeting in a frenzied dance. His hand, still wet from your mouth, grips your jaw, keeping you firmly in place as he devours you.

Heeseung’s hips drive into you with a brutal, unrelenting pace, his thrusts hitting so deep and fast that you feel like you’re coming apart beneath him. His lips move against yours in a heated frenzy, devouring your every whimper, every plea. Your tongue tangles with his, wet and hot, the taste of him mixing with the desperate sounds spilling from both of you. He pulls back just enough to let you gasp for air, but his lips are back on yours a second later, almost as if he can’t stand to be apart for even a moment.

The hand cupping the back of your head tightens its grip, fingers tangling in your hair as he forces your head to tilt back further, deepening the kiss to an almost punishing degree. The intensity of it sends sparks shooting through your veins, your body trembling with need. His hips snap forward faster, the wet sounds of your bodies colliding filling the room, his cock driving into you with a perfect, punishing rhythm that makes your toes curl and your vision blur.

“Hee…I need to cum…please,” you beg into his mouth, your words coming out in broken, breathless fragments between the feverish kisses. Your tongue explores his mouth, whimpering between each word, and he moans against you, clearly loving the way you’re falling apart beneath him. His hips don’t slow; if anything, he picks up speed, fucking into you with a new fervour, as if your begging has ignited something even more primal in him.

“Cum for me, baby,” he growls against your lips, his voice rough and dripping with dominance. “I want to feel you lose it around me. Come on - give it to me.”

His words are like gasoline on a fire, and your entire body seizes up, muscles tensing as you feel the coil inside you winding tighter and tighter. His thrusts are relentless, his cock driving into that perfect spot over and over again, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. The pleasure is so intense it’s almost painful, your mind going blank with nothing but the feeling of him inside you, around you, consuming you.

The combination of his filthy words, his relentless pace, and the raw need in his voice shoves you over the edge. Your climax crashes into you like a tidal wave, overwhelming and all-consuming. Your walls clamp down around him, squeezing his cock as your entire body convulses with the force of your orgasm. A choked scream rips from your throat, your back arching off the bed as wave after wave of pleasure pulses through you.

“Fuck, yes, that’s it,” Heeseung groans through a tremble and gritted teeth, his rhythm faltering as he feels you tighten around him. He doesn’t stop, thrusting through your orgasm, drawing it out until you’re quivering and whimpering beneath him, barely able to catch your breath.

His hips stutter, and you feel him swell inside you, his cock pulsing as he chases his own release. His hand on your head pulls you back into another bruising kiss, his tongue claiming yours in a messy, desperate dance. His breaths are ragged against your lips, his body tense and trembling. With a deep, guttural groan, he thrusts into you one last time, burying himself as deep as he can go. You feel the hot rush of his release spill into you, his body jerking with each spurt as he fills you completely.

Breaking the kiss, Heeseug presses his forehead against yours as he pants heavily, his breath warm against your face. For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your laboured breathing and the feel of your heartbeats pounding against each other’s chests. His hand loosens its grip in your hair, fingers stroking through the damp strands gently now, his touch a stark contrast to the roughness from moments before.

“God, I love you,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice soft and raw, full of emotion. He leans in and kisses you again, slower this time, his lips lingering against yours in a sweet, lingering caress that has you melting all over again.

“Love you too, Heeseung,” you whisper back, your voice shaky but full of sincerity. You’re still coming down from the high, your body exhausted, jaw sore, but thoroughly satisfied, and you know he feels the same, his lips curling into a lazy, contented smile against yours.

And as he pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you in a protective, possessive hold, you know this isn’t the end but just the beginning of another night lost in each other.

perm taglist: @immortalvessel @sunpov @heeseungspookie @strawberrysavi @monstanctiny21 @diorsyun @heexzbae @yzzyhee @baekhyunstruly @zeeloveshee @haechonly @berryblog @no-mannerism @jaehoonii @notevenheretbh1 @shawnyle @addictedtohobi @jiminie-08 @emberuby @nctislifue @lilyuwon @skzenhalove @heeshlove @idkdykilr @chocminteu @y4wnjunz @rikibun @ivesti @parksunghoonsgf @branchrkive @brownsugarbaybee @xxbluestrifexx @bambangan @dollyyun @iluvikeu @deobitifull @yawnazzz @st1llm0nster @woorcve @heeseungsbm @star-hoon @heelee-01

[wyniepooh]

Closer

you thought that you were already close with patrick and art; turns out, you could get even closer.

Boardingschool!patrick & boardingschool!art x boardingschool!reader.

it’s no secret that the three of you were close.

Everyone at school acknowledges it by joking that you’re practically their manager, because you’re on the bleachers at every practice, seated front row at every match, and the second the match finishes, the first person they go running to is you.

in fact, you're all so close that you've developed a habit to follow them into the locker room after every practice. if anyone ever questioned your entry into the room, they’d both chime at the same time: “she’s ours.”

neither of them bat an eye when you sit down on the bench between the metal lockers and watch them get changed because it’s you, their little manager, and they didn’t ever hide anything from you.

You’d read them the daily school news, explain the daily school gossip, and update them on any homework they missed in the name of tennis practice. they’d thank you in their typical ways by ruffling your hair and throwing their sweaty shirts on you before sandwiching you in a suffocating hug.

You shriek and laugh and say, ‘stop it!’ but really, you’re too focused on the feel of their bare chests against you— slippery from sweat and hot from the heat— to care about anything else.

There’s always a brief moment after all the amusement when the laughter dissipates and you’re all just staring at each other. Your smile fades, and suddenly you’re painfully aware of their rapid breaths rising against you on either side, and the heat of it all fills the silent air with something else other than just audible breaths.

Today it’s patrick who looks over to art first, who returns his stare with pressed lips. you catch a flicker of something in their eyes, but they looked away before you could decipher it. However, it was clear that a silent agreement had been reached right in front of you. you suspect that for the first time since you transferred to the school, they were hiding something from you.

patrick breaks the silence first, turning slightly away from you to gently close his locker as he murmurs, “you know, there have been a lot of rumours on campus lately.”

You scoffed, stuffing your agenda into your bag before smoothing a hand over your hair. “Really? What kind of rumours?”

Patrick shrugged. He pulled a shirt over his shoulders, nodding his head towards art. “Rumours about us, mostly. Tell her, art.”

art purses his lips multiple rimes before speaking. “It’s just trash talk,” he pauses. patrick glances over to him one more time, flashing him a subtle glare before art finally continues, “there's talk about how the three of us are suspiciously close, or whatever.”

“I guess it’s not so much a rumour as it is true,” you responded. You tilted your head towards them both, eyes squinting with humour as you questioned, “you guys do consider us close, right? I mean, after all I do for you guys, I’m honestly glad that people are speculating and starting to appreciate my efforts.”

“It’s just,” Patrick turns back around, shuffling his feet to sit down across from you on the bench with legs on either side of the wooden plank. His hands are gathered in the middle, fingers attempting to itch closer and closer to your own without you seeing.

“We could be a lot closer, you know.”

You raised an eyebrow at Patrick’s sneaky hands, a slight smile still intact on your face as you asked, “How close can we get, pat? There’s a limit to everything. Even the sky.”

“he’s right.”

You almost jump at the sudden voice you hear in your ear. you cleared your throat as he slid closer towards your back. Art mirrored Patrick’s movements with legs on either side of the bench, but his hands fiddled with the edge of your hoodie as he rested his chin on your shoulder.

“We could be a lot closer.”

You observed the way art pressed his lips together, snuggling his face into the side of your neck as Patrick’s thumb rubbed circles on your hand. you hadn’t even registered that patrick was now grinning, guilding your unsuspecting hand towards his dark curls.

You instinctively wrap your fingers around his wet hair, and you almost gasp when you hear patrick whimper. He pants heavily against your wrist, lips tickling the tender skin as he breathes, “why don’t you come over to our dorm after class?”

You shake your head, dropping your hand from his head. “I don’t think-“

“Please,” art whispers against your neck.

You close your eyes, sucking on the inside of your cheek as you sighed deeply. For a beat, you simply listen to the sound of their synced breathing, taking in the familiar smell of the locker room, and the familiar smell of them. When you open your eyes again, Patrick and art are both eagerly staring at you, pleading with silence.

You suddenly laugh, smiling uncontrollably as you lean back against art and pull patrick closer by the hand that is still wrapped around yours. patrick gladly scooches closer until his nose is practically rubbing against yours, and he returns your laughter with a chuckle of his own.

“Okay,” you mutter while glancing back at art, whose mouth was agape with something adjacent to shock.

“so let’s get closer.”

-

a/n: “why don’t u come over to our-“ bags r packed.

[nanaslutt]

Cockstepping with Sukuna (ft. ur new heels)

ʚ cont: fem reader, established relationship, dirty talk, spanking, manhandling, heel fetish, true form sukuna, finger sucking, cumming in pants

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ ࿔

You stood before the floor-to-ceiling mirror in Sukuna's room, smoothing your hands down the priceless red silk dress he bought you the other day. The fabric draped over your body just right, the back of it dipping just above your ass, leaving most of your skin exposed, just how he liked it. You turned around, looking at the curve of your ass in the mirror before your eyes dipped to your feet--or more accurately, the red bottoms Sukuna bought you to match.

You were so absorbed in admiring your own beauty that you didn't hear Sukuna come in. You let your eyes flit up to his through the mirror as he stepped in front of you, two large hands grabbing your waist. His body in front of yours immediately engulfed your frame, making you look tiny in comparison. You turned your head back around, placing your hands on his forearms as you looked up at him. All four of his eyes were already looking down at you, catching your stare.

To anyone else his expression would seem bored, unimpressed--but you had been around him long enough to know the expression on his face was one of pleasure, he was pleased. "Like what you see?" You teased, tilting your head as you craned your head back to look up at him. The corner of Sukuna's mouth crooked up, barely noticeable before he spun your body to face the mirror, pressing your frame against him as his fingers ticked your stomach from his hold on your waist.

You smiled watching his eyes rake down your body in the mirror, his hands sliding down your stomach and stopping just at the top of your thigh before sliding back up. "My vision did not do this dress justice," he answered, clearly awestruck with how pretty his little human was. "Taking all the credit?" You teased, caressing his arms that held you. "I was the one who picked the dress out, was I not?" He countered, one of his eyebrows raising as he met your gaze in the mirror.

"I guess, but do you really think this dress would look this good on anyone else? Hm?" You asked, tipping your head back against his chest and looking at him upside down. A huff of amusement from Sukuna was all you got before he pulled away and began walking toward the other side of the room to grab his jacket. It wasn't often you saw Sukuna in a suit, or anything other than robes really, so this view was a real treat.

You turned back around to make sure your appearance was perfect as you watched him fit himself into his jacket behind you. "These shoes too, they are so pretty. I can't stop looking at them." You said, smiling down at them as you pointed your toe and turned your heel to look at the shoe in all its glory from all angles. "If you were appreciating them properly, you would know the straps are tied incorrectly," Sukuna said, blocking your view of yourself momentarily before he dropped down to a knee in front of you and grabbed your ankle. His single hand engulfing it and the bottom half of your calf.

You were too shocked at the sight of Sukuna kneeling in front of you that you couldn't think of something snarky to say in retaliation. You lost your balance momentarily when Sukuna lifted your foot and placed it on his knee, his too-large fingers pulling at the straps tied around your calf as you placed your hands on his shoulders to prevent yourself from falling on top of him.

He looked up at you from under his lashes, the sight making the breath in your lungs still before he looked back down and continued his work. As he worked on undoing the mess of strings, you couldn't help but admire the view. His shoulders broad and strong under your hands, his thighs filling out his pants, seeming like they were about to burst from his folded position in front of you, and how wide his back was in the mirror behind him. You would also be lying to yourself if you said you didn't notice the bulge of his cock through his tight slacks, though you didn't think it was because of his arousal. Sukuna was a shower, not a grower.

You shivered and felt goosebumps pebble your skin when his fingers caressed your shin as he retied the strings effortlessly. "Cold?" He asked, not looking up from your shin. He was too observant for his own good. You just stared at him in response, ignoring his initial question before you asked, "Where did you learn to do this?" Sukuna paused and looked up at you, giving you his undivided attention. "I asked you a question, woman." He said instead, ignoring your own.

"Sorry, Your Majesty," You joked, rubbing the sole of your heel down his thigh teasingly. You truly weren't expecting to feel his hand squeeze your ankle tighter, his entire body going ridged under your small caress. Your eyes dipped to the bulge of his pants once more, swearing with everything you believed in that you saw his cock twitch when you did. Every atom in your head felt like it was exploding, you could practically hear the little men in your head running around and screaming at the other "THIS IS NOT A DRILL."

"Are you cold, sukuna?" You asked instead, tilting your head to the side as you caressed the side of his face with one of your hands, the other staying firmly on his shoulder. "I don't suffer from such trivial feelings." He responded in turn, keeping his eyes on yours even when you started rubbing your sole back and forth on his solid thigh at a torturous pace. "No? So you curl up to me in bed in the middle of the night for another reason then?" You teased, a smile spreading across your face as you rubbed your sole higher, noticing the veins on Sukuna's hand pop out as he tried to hold himself back, trying not to squeeze your fragile ankle too tight.

"Your incessant teasing will not work on me, woman." He responded, one of his hands curling around the back of your thigh, almost like an invitation. You lightly pinched his chin in your hand, rubbing your thumb over his plump bottom lip before pulling it down gently, revealing his sharp, white teeth, your eyes following the action. "No? It seems like it's working to me." You responded, finally placing the sole of your heel against the bulge in Sukuna's cock that was now a lot larger than it was before.

The king's eyes fluttered in his head for just a moment, his chest rising deeply as he inhaled almost in relief you were finally touching him. "Does that feel good, my lord?" You asked, using the nickname you knew he loved, even if you often used it to mock him. "I wouldn't know, you are barely touching me." He responded, his sharp canines showing as he smiled fully, a predator's smile. "Not hard enough for you?" You asked, a faux pout on your face as you applied more pressure, so much that you almost thought you overdid it, if not for the sinful groan that left Sukuna's throat, his eyes falling shut.

In that moment you felt yourself ruin your panties. Drenched. Just from a single noise. "Sukuna.." You almost whispered his name, not knowing what you were going to say. The hand curled behind your thigh tightened, as he added a third behind your other one, making sure you couldn't escape him. You pressed down again, feeling like you were stepping on a bolder instead of his cock. Sukuna thrust against your heel, his hand squeezing your ankle as he rubbed it harder against himself, using your heel for his own pleasure.

"Harder." He groaned, his eyes now glowing red as he looked up at you, his hunger evident in his eyes. You swallowed hard, feeling your own need like a beacon going off in every cell of your body. You almost stepped off the floor as you pressed against him, the result being a thrust against your shoe, harder this time as Sukuna's body curled in on itself, needing the pressure. Sukuna placed both of his knees on the ground, sitting back on his heels as he pulled you forward with the two hands behind your thighs, his fourth on the floor next to him, keeping him steady.

"When I say harder, I mean it. I am not fragile like you. Do not hold back." He said, his voice low and full of arousal. You nodded and began rubbing the sole of your red bottoms along his dick, back and forth, in a similar motion to how you would jerk him off. You applied pressure, your thighs tensing as Sukuna held you steady while you literally stepped on his cock. "Yes." Sukuna groaned, his head falling back. "Yes, yes, just like that. Exactly like that." You don't know if you've ever heard him be so vocal with his own pleasure before, and it was making the need to touch yourself intensify tenfold.

You couldn't take it anymore. Your hand slid down Sukuna's neck as you brought it back to you, sliding your hand through the slit of your dress as you easily found your way into your panties. The pressure on your clit felt like a relief like no other, only spurring your actions on Sukuna. You felt his groan vibrate through his whole body before his chin fell and he looked up at you, smiling when he saw what you were doing. "I could smell you. I wondered when you were going to touch yourself." He said cockily.

"This is so hot, I couldn't help it." You responded, your voice breathless as you rubbed quick circles on your clit, your legs shaking against Sukuna's hands that held your thighs. Sukuna licked his lips hungrily and removed one of his hands from behind your legs, removing your hand so quickly you didn't even know what happened until you no longer felt the delicious pressure on your clit. "Too bad I did not give you permission to touch yourself, woman." He responded, smiling like the demon he is.

You groaned, pressing harder against his cock in retaliation for taking something so sweet away from you. The man only laughed through a groan in response, pulling your hand that was rubbing your panties forward. Your jaw fell open in shock when he placed your fingers in his mouth, his teeth grazing them as he swirled his tongue around them, tasting you off your fingers. His eyes closed as his mouth fell open, your fingers covered in his saliva as he held your wrist tightly still, keeping you close.

You gasped, looking down at his pants as he thrusts faster against your shoe, his hand forcing your foot to rub back and forth against him quickly. His hand that was stabilizing himself reached for your leg and wrapped around it. Sukuna was so close you could do nothing but tangle your hand in his hair as he placed his head against your stomach, groaning as he used your sole to get off. "More. Give me more, I need more." He growled, your fingers tightening in his hair as you pressed down as hard as you could, leaving it to him to rub your foot over his erection.

"Yes." He groaned through his teeth, nodding against your stomach. "Yes, my woman, yes, do not stop. Do not change a thing." Sukuna's arms wrapped your legs so tight, so close, keeping the pressure so hard that it was difficult to even breathe. You gasped when Sukuna's head brushed against the underside of your tits as his hips thrust upwards and he rose with his orgasm.

His body jerked and jolted as you felt his cock twitch under your shoe. His hot breath tickled your stomach through the thin dress as you wrapped your arms around his head and shoulders, rubbing him hard and fast at the difficult angle, helping him as he rode out his high. He groaned long and hard as he stilled, his chest rising rapidly as his grip on your body loosened.

You stepped back, allowing him to sit back on his heels and look at the damage you did. The first thing you noticed was the flush of his cheeks and the drool on his chin before you looked further down and saw the massive wet patch he was now sporting on the front of his slacks. You watched him grimace as he looked down at the mess he made, his large hand adjusting himself through his pants before he rose to his full height, brushing off his shirt with two hands.

You covered your mouth as you looked him up and down, noticing how disheveled he and his clothes looked. You pointed at the man, gesturing to his whole body before you met his eyes, noticing his crooked eyebrows as he looked at you. "Uraume is gonna be pissed you ruined their work." You snorted behind your hand. Your humor to the situation was short-lived when Sukuna spun you around and forced your body down over the side of your shared bed, the canopy brushing your arms as you laid stomach down on it.

A sharp slap to your ass made you jump before you felt the press of Sukuna's body behind you, and what you swore was his boner which would be crazy since he came less than a minute ago. "Laugh at me again, woman, we will see where that gets you." You wanted to retort with something snarky, but you didn't want to delay your pleasure any longer, so you shut your lips and nodded your head like the obedient human he wanted you to be right now.

[lazycats-stuff]

Batfam at a gala with the reader being dubbed the "hearttrob", the reader is really handsome and nearly everybody wants to get into his pants. However, the reader is actually a really innocent and the family is always on a mission to stop anyone from talking to the reader who just wants to get him into their bed. They're like "nuh uh he only deserves the best"

Oh God, chaos is about to ensue lol. Just everyone being, nope.

Summary: The fam protects their handsome brother.

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, people trying to get into (Y/N)'s pants, protective family...

Out of the 5 sons that Bruce has, both adopted and biological, all of them were handsome in their own way. But (Y/N) was the most handsome one, even more handsome than Damian, who was a second contender to the title. Bruce has never ever made any of them feel bad about it.

Besides, none of them really cared about that title anyway. It was bullshit according to them, but... They had agreed that (Y/N) was the most handsome one. That was something that they couldn't deny in the slightest. They all have agreed that if they weren't brothers, they would try and date him.

Of course, that's what a lot of people tried to do and (Y/N) was called a heartthrob for it. He was often in magazines, gossip ones whilst wearing something nice or casual and the internet would simply explode. It has happened a few times before and it was amusing and Jason nearly died from laughing every single time it happened.

God forbid he gets an Instagram or anything like that.

Internet would not survive in any way, shape or form.

Galas were more often that not insane to deal with. (Y/N) was always a genuine person who would really want to love someone, someone who wouldn't use him for like bragging rights or anything similar. When (Y/N) loves, he loves.

That's something that his brothers knew, alongside Bruce of course. So, being a protective they are, they made a pact to protect (Y/N) from people who would only want to sleep with him. There were many douchebags like that, who only want to get in (Y/N)'s pants.

It was nuts.

The same thing was happening tonight, at a gala for some charity. It was for the homeless people of Gotham city. (Y/N) was dressed sharply, in a classic black suit with a white shirt. Of course, he finished his look with a black tie. He moved around the room to talk to people, avoiding the knows reporters. He wasn't interested in them.

He was more interested in something else and that was his bed. Just two more hours.

However, the others noticed people looking at him, eyeing him like he was a piece of meat for them. A prize. Prey. A trophy. It didn't sit well with any of the family members. (Y/N) deserves nothing more than the best partner he could get.

Only the best.

Jason was eyeing a man who was looking at his brother and has made a move. He started walking towards his brother, but Jason was one step ahead. They were all wearing earpieces, just like on patrol. Jason lifted his glass of wine. " A man is on the move. Tim, he is in your line of sight. " Jason murmured, hiding his mouth with his glass of wine.

Tim turned his head from a man he was talking to and excused himself, quickly making his way to his brother before the douchebag could even reach him.

" Hey (Y/N), Jason wanted to talk to you. " Tim said as he patted his shoulder and (Y/N) nodded, leaving to find Jason, who heard it all and was now trying to figure out a reason to talk to (Y/N).

Tim turned his head to look at the man, who was glaring at Tim. Tim was thoroughly unimpressed.

" I know exactly what you want with my brother. I have seen it time and time before. It won't happen. " Tim said coldly and turned around, leaving the angry man behind.

Damian and Dick smirked from their spots. It was amazing to see it. Truly amazing.

And (Y/N) always turned a blind eye to it. It was either for the reason that he didn't want to deal with people or he simply didn't know. He always played dumb for it, but they all suspected that he knew.

Either way, it soothed the protective urge in them. Bruce knew what they were doing and he was doing absolutely nothing to stop his boys. Only if it was physical. Only then he would step in.

And Alfred? Alfred was the silent watcher, listening and waiting. He listened because most men like that brag about things and are bound to uncover something about themselves. And Alfred is never wrong. He always saw right through them.

As Jason and (Y/N) were talking, the others remained vigilant. It was far more interesting this way. More fun at this gala. Not just this one, but the others too. Far more interesting.

(Y/N) got himself some whiskey and just sipped it slowly. It was a nice evening. Damian moved around, seeing a man walking in the general direction of (Y/N). Damian moved through the crowd of people, watching the man like a hawk.

There was something way off about him. Something was way off. Damian couldn't put his finger on it, but he knew that he couldn't ignore the feeling. If there is one thing that Damian was taught, it was to never ignore his gut feeling about people.

He kept following the man, seeing a lustful gaze in his eyes. That bastard. Damian's eyes narrowed at the man, especially when (Y/N) left to go to the bathroom. Damian's mind went into overdrive, knowing that (Y/N) would be vulnerable there.

" I'm moving to the bathroom. " Damian murmured as he approached the bathroom, making sure to keep some distance. He smudged his shirt a bit to have an excuse to go to the bathroom. He entered it, seeing someone chatting up (Y/N).

Damian cleared his throat as he approached the sinks. " (Y/N), father wants to talk to you. Says it's important. " Damian said and Bruce chuckled through the earpiece.

" Thanks Dames. " (Y/N) said with a smile and excused himself from the conversation he was having with a polite smile. The man kept up a polite smile until (Y/N) left and turned to Damian with a scowl. Damian had to control an urge to not laugh in his face.

" Listen kid, don't ruin this for me. " The man said and Damian kept his cool.

" I know who you are. Your father is a business partner of WE. And Bruce Wayne is protective of his sons so don't make me tell him what you said. " Damian said coldly, but Bruce already heard it. But of course, will keep it quiet as long as the man is somewhat respectful.

Now, the last sentence alone made the man scared. It was a well known fact that Bruce Wayne doesn't take any disrespect about his sons. Of any kind. Damian smirked as he saw that the man has paled.

Damian left without a word and saw Dick who smirked too. " Good job Damian. " Dick said as he high fived Damian in passing, composing himself quickly as the man hurried out of the bathroom, clearly distressed.

The two smirked, making Tim snort from where he watched them with Connor. Bruce subtly rolled his eyes at that, but was happy that Damian took control.

And (Y/N)? He simply remained unbothered, chatting away with Alfred, who was happy to stop for a good chat with his grandson.

[vanderlesbian]

dating simon riley means constant clinginess. large arms wrapped around your waist at any given moment, simon is most comfortable when he's holding you. after being away from a long mission, he'll find you wherever you are in your shared apartment and silently crawl into your arms like a puppy. he'll bury his face into the crook of your neck, slowly inhaling to bask in your scent that he missed more than anything. with an amused chuckle, you'll wrap your arms around his warm torso, gently rubbing his back. "no hello?" you'll tease, to which you always earn a content hum in response, along with simon's hold tightening ever so slightly.

dating simon riley means lots of playful teasing. if you make a typo in a text message, he'll begin spelling the word as your typo for the rest of the day. if you believed in a silly fact, he'd bring it up for the rest of your life. "this is like when you thought our blood was actually blue" he'd snicker, which would cause you to whine for him to stop and swat his arm.

dating simon riley means constantly being cared for. simon is a man who can do everything, or at least tries to. he somehow manages to get to all the chores before you do, which has ended in you reassuring him that you can handle it many, many times. when doing something potentially dangerous like standing on a ladder, handling a knife or using tools, simon will constantly glance in your direction to make sure something won't slip and injure you. like a spidey sense, he's quick to pull you away or come to your rescue if you're in a situation where you're about to hurt yourself. "you alright?" he'll mumble softly, dark eyes laced with worry that is a rare sight to be seen by anyone else.

dating simon riley means you have a second wardrobe. his large clothes are just too comfortable to resist, and he's often left searching the apartment for a shirt that you had placed amongst your own clothes. though, he makes no effort to steal them back from you, as seeing you in his tshirt, his boxers and his hoodie fills him with a loving possessiveness. he'll walk into the kitchen to see you turned away as you wash dishes, wearing one of his shirts as a short dress. managing to silently sneak behind you even with his bulky frame, he'll wrap his arms around you from behind and place a kiss against the nape of your neck. "you look so pretty in my shirt, love." he'll then purr into your ear.

dating simon riley means seeing a side of him that many never do. whether it be physically or personality wise, you see so much of simon that you can't remember the last time you referred to him as ghost. his large pointy nose, his dirty blonde hair that he always forgets to fix in the mornings, and his lopsided smile that appears when you tell the corniest of jokes are all things that many have never seen and never will. he speaks so softly to you; a low tone that you can feel reverberating in his chest when you lay against him. simon is kind, patient and vulnerable with you, and will mutter the words "i love you" against your lips, just loud enough for only you to hear.

dating simon riley means being friends with the rest of the 141. you were the one who wished to host hangouts at your apartment, wanting those closest to simon to like you. despite their intimidating demeanors, you quickly realized just how kind they were. they know just how important you are to simon, which is a rare feat in itself, so they would never treat you in an ill manner. soap will always refer to you as "the missus" when speaking to simon, which never fails to make you giggle when you overhear their conversations.

masterlist

[luveline]

hot bombshell bau!reader flirting and winking at spencer every chance she gets and poor spencer just gets hot and bothered very flustered and blushing😋😋

i love you jade i read ur blog like it's the daily newspaper<33

I love you anon, thank you for requesting ♡ fem!reader

"So," says a voice, low and syrupy as warmth spreads up Spencer's side, "how's my favourite agent?" 

Your perfume a subtle fragrance of jasmine and vanilla alike, sweetness that lingers —and Spencer knows, having thought of you every time he walks past the sugar ring donut stand by the Staples Mill Station for weeks— you put a hand on his shoulder and lean in for a one-armed hug. His skin erupts with goosebumps. 

"Y/N," he says, sounding much too much like a wimp for his own liking. He clears his throat. "When did you get back?" 

He's afraid to look at you. He doesn't have a choice. His heart skips a beat at the state of you, which is to say you look stunning in your dark clothes, a tight cut top that borders unprofessional and a pair of thigh hugging pants that pass the border completely. (He's kidding. Mostly. You're dressed fine. He's a loser, is all.) 

"This morning. They couldn't keep me from you if they tried, handsome. You look good." You disengage from his side. Spencer's relieved and regretful at once. "I love the haircut, they take a little more than you were expecting?" 

"Is it too short?" he asks unsurely. 

"It's perfect."

Spencer's taller than you but he never feels it until you're looking up at him, pretty eyes and quirked lips, permanent amusement in your gaze. "I missed you," you say.

"Y/N," Hotch says as he descends the steps to the bullpen. "We talked about this." 

"Pen and Morgan do it every day." Your eyebrows pinch together. 

Hotch doesn't say anything else, an empty coffee mug in hand as he passes. You don't baulk at his disapproving look, the opposite, sitting on the edge of Morgan's desk to kick your kitten heels gently, a slow back and forth that has Spencer's eyeline pulling down your legs. He shakes it off, but not before you've noticed. 

"You don't mind, do you, babe?" you ask. "My flirting?" 

It'll probably kill him sooner rather than later. "No. Don't mind." 

"'Cus I can stop, I promise. But you're the kind of boy that should be flirted with, you know? And the kind of smart that makes you crazy attractive, which is unfair. It's not like you needed help in that particular department." You lean back as you talk, scrounging around Morgan's things.

"Second shelf," Spencer says. 

You stop your searching to grin at him. Pleased, you reach down to the second drawer of Morgan's desk and find what you'd been looking for, a coveted, half-eaten pack of cherry twizzlers. 

"But we're not like Pen and Morgan," you say, bringing a twizzler to your mouth. 

"We're not?" Spencer asks, confused. He may not summon the necessary charisma to flirt back, but he likes what you have. 

"Nope." You take another bite, chew, leaving Spencer in anticipation. Finally, you swallow, lips curving into an even stickier smile. "'Cus Pen and Morgan are never gonna happen. They're better as friends…" 

You slip down off of Morgan's desk, leaving his twizzlers behind. Spencer has enough sense about him to anticipate your approach. He's proud of himself for the composure he maintains as your footsteps slow. He even takes a step back to follow you, to your abject delight. 

"But we're not just friends, are we?" you ask softly. You lift your chin. He can smell the cherry on you. 

"Y/N, enough," Hotch says from somewhere behind. You refuse to look away, and while Spencer fears his chief's tone, he manages to hold your gaze. "HR will mandate another presentation." 

"It's alright, Hotch," Spencer says. His cheeks are flushed and his palms are clammy, but his voice holds up. "I don't mind." 

"I'm sure you don't." 

"This could all be avoided if we took this somewhere a little more private," you murmur. 

"Enough. I won't tell you again, Y/N. Shouldn't you be helping Penelope with her ViCAP recalibration?" Hotch asks pointedly. 

Spencer takes it for what it is; an effort to separate you from each other before it goes too far. You know it too, rolling your eyes at Spencer like you've a shared secret —Can you believe this guy?— clasping his arm loosely in farewell.

"See you later, Spence." You call him handsome, babe, bub, even sweetheart, but Spence is the worst of all of them because of how you say it, your voice entrenched in pure honey. His heart pangs as you go.  

Hotch lingers by Spencer's side, coffee freshly filled and steaming in rings. "You know, you're getting better," he says sympathetically. 

Spencer rubs the bridge of his nose roughly. "Thanks." 

[pearlessance]

A Dance In The Dark

Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: Joel has always taken care of you. Always been your kind, attentive protector. And that doesn’t change, even when you read a scene from a dark romance novel and discover your tastes may be a bit more sordid than you once thought. But even in this he wants to grant you your every wish—and when he offers to put on a mask and chase you through the woods, the opportunity is just too wicked to pass up.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content MDNI, feelings of embarrassment and shame, established relationship, Joel ties readers hands with his belt, knife play, BDSM undertones (primal play specifically), sexual aggression, degradation, fingering, p in v, hair pulling, shameless smut this is basically just pure filth

NOTE: this is a cowrite i did with joelmillersgirlfriend! we busted this out in less than two days because i was bound and determined to get this published on the best holiday of the year! please check out her stuff over on AO3 where we have several other cowrites because i love her 🩷

happy halloween my loves 🩷

Read on AO3!

MASTERLIST

You don’t tell him right away. Don’t tell him at all, really. 

Joel discovers your peculiar fascination all on his own.

He’s late coming home from work. His dinner sits on a plate in the microwave, leftovers packaged and put in the fridge for his lunch tomorrow. His lack of punctuality is nothing new, but you’ve always been good at filling the time and finding a distraction while you wait for him. 

On this particular night, you’ve changed out of your clothes and into one of his T-shirts, nestled into a soft cocoon on his side of the bed, book in hand. The tea in your mug on your nightstand has gone tepid, too lost between the pages to consume anything but the content in a timely manner. 

You’d found it in the horror section, a book written by a name you’d never heard of, a story of a young woman’s abduction with overarching themes of perseverance and self-discovery. You find it a bit graphic from time to time, the details of her torment vivid and lifelike. But that’s to be expected in a horror novel and doesn’t surprise you.

The part that does surprise you, however, is the romantic undercurrent between the woman and her captor. He makes declarations of love, fully admitting his obsession with the young woman, claiming to want nothing from her but her own empowerment.

It’s an even bigger surprise when you reach the halfway point and discover that your horror novel is also an erotica. And the text is well-written, pulling you into its depths, and you think it might be the craziest yet best book you’ve ever read if for nothing else than the way it makes your heart race behind your ribcage.

“Is it that good?”

His voice startles you so badly the book falls from your hands and into your lap. “What?”

Joel laughs, a soft sound of amusement. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he says, toeing off his shoes. He leans over the edge of the bed to press his lips to your forehead, and you find yourself swimming in the subtle affection.

And you know it’s because you’ve been reading smut for the last three hours straight, but the feel of his lips against your skin is heavenly. You abandon the book, tucking the edge of the dust jacket inside the pages to mark your place and discarding it onto the nightstand. It’s second nature as you twist your hands into the soft fabric of his flannel and pull him close.

He smells like pine and sawdust and sweat. His hands are rough and calloused as he cradles your face, lips turning upwards against yours. When you deepen the kiss, sliding your soft tongue against his, Joel laughs again, a little darker this time. He pulls away and the loss makes you whimper because you need him. And the bastard knows it. Because when his gaze roams over your face, lingering on your lips, there’s a heavy undertone of lust behind the playfulness. “S’alright, sweet girl,” he says gently. “None of that whinin’. M’gonna take care of you like I always do. Just wanna know what’s brought this on is all.”

You’re not sure you can admit the truth to him. And even more than that, you don’t have the words to explain that what’s got you so worked up is a scene in your book where the main character is being chased through the woods, her captor wearing a Halloween mask, under the pretense that if he catches her, he’s going to fuck her. Your cheeks warm at just the idea of such an admission, so instead you say, “I just missed you is all.”

Joel doesn’t believe it for a second. He knows you like the back of his hand and sees easily through the lie. And when he glances at your book on the nightstand twice, you know you’ve been caught before he even says a word. “Thought that was one of those scary books you like.”

“It is,” you tell him. Because, technically, it’s the truth.

He narrows his eyes at you, that all-knowing smirk still plastered on his face. “Yeah? Bein’ scared’s what’s got you all squirmy like this?”

As much as you’d like to deny it, to argue his assessment, Joel leans over a little further and his weight on top of you, heavy and sure and safe, makes your breath catch in your lungs. Warmth pools low in your belly and that low, husky tone in his voice only makes matters worse. 

“Think whatever’s in that book’s got you all worked up. What’s it about, baby? Hm?” Joel shoves the blanket out of the way and slides his hand between your body and his. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the feeling of his hands on you, the contrast of his roughness against all your softest parts. It’s like the first time every time, and you can feel the steady thump of your heart as it hammers behind your sternum.

Heat rises up your chest when his hand touches your favorite spot, already knowing what he’s going to say. You’re drenched, the insides of your thighs slick with excitement. Joel breathes out a tell-tale hiss at the feeling, pulling back to glance down at you. Humor is suddenly nowhere to be found on his face, no smirks or teasing words. Just dark, hot lust, turning Joel’s eyes black.

“Christ,” Joel groans, continuing to explore between your legs. 

You don’t want to tell him what the book’s about, and thankfully he seems to forget he’d asked the question as his long fingers find their place, curling inside of you. 

Joel keeps his promise. He takes care of the ache for you like he always does. He makes you finish on his fingers and his tongue and when he finally sinks deep inside you it feels like relief. You warm up leftovers for him afterward, and he doesn’t pressure you about talking about your book. Instead, he tells you about his day while the two of you sit at the kitchen table and the light of his love fills you from the inside out.

You finish the book in less than two days, but its content lives in your head for far longer. 

Showering, cooking, running errands - you find yourself thinking about that scene in the woods so often you begin to wonder if it’s altered your brain chemistry.

That weekend you go out for drinks with a couple of girlfriends, letting Joel know you’ll likely be late coming home. He makes you promise to call him if you need a ride and says he’s going to invite Tommy over to watch the game.

It’s nothing out of the ordinary. Joel’s little brother practically lived with the two of you until Maria stepped into the picture, and you pinky swear to call if you need him.

You don’t, though. You spend more time gossiping and laughing and catching up than you do drinking. But it’s dark when you pull into the driveway, and though you don’t see Tommy’s truck you assume Joel might have picked him up and you fully expect to see him standing in your kitchen with a hand in the fridge grabbing another beer. 

Tommy’s nowhere to be found, though. And there’s no referee calling shots on the flat screen. There’s no sound at all, in fact. At first, it alarms you. But then you see Joel sprawled out on the couch in sweatpants and a navy blue t-shirt with a book in his hand.

He glances up from the pages only long enough to smile up at you and say, “Hey, sweetheart. Have a good time?”

You hesitate, watching him from where you stand at the doorway. Joel read occasionally, but only if he needed to. If he wanted to learn a new song on guitar, if he had taken on a new car project and had to teach himself how to repair it. He didn’t read for luxury.

“Yeah, it was nice. What about you? Where’s Tommy?” you questioned, tiptoeing over to where Joel was spread out. The book was positioned in a way that didn’t allow you to see its cover, but it most definitely wasn’t one of Joel’s manuals. 

Joel turned to grin at you, his eyes scanning your body, stopping to look at the frown on your lips. 

“He canceled, ditched me to hang out with Maria,” he huffed, rolling his eyes. Your frown deepened as you moved closer to Joel, still eyeing the book in his hand that was conveniently covered by his large palms. 

“Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve come back sooner,” you said, reaching down to run your palm through his gray-streaked hair. You had convinced him to stop touching up his roots, some sick part of you loving how mature he looked. 

“I didn’t wanna interrupt. ‘Sides, I wanted to see what got you all worked up the other night,” Joel explained casually, finally exposing the book he was holding. All of the colors left your face as you processed what was happening, that he was more than halfway done with the story. Joel was well into reading the disturbing erotica, but somehow still hadn’t put it down. 

“This is some dark stuff. You’re telling me that this is what had you drippin’? Had you clenched around me, legs shaking?” Joel asked, breaking heavy eye contact with you to go back to reading.

“Come on, Joel. Give it back,” you whined, reaching down to pull it out of his hands. The word embarrassed didn’t cover how you truly felt. Mortified was a better fit.

He wrestled around in your hold, turning his back to you and shielding the book with his body. “Not yet, I’m just about to reach the good part. I wanna know what happens when he catches her.”

Maybe not mortified. You were fucking humiliated. Tears threatened to spill as you reached down, pawing at Joel’s arms to grab the book. “Stop it. It’s just a stupid fantasy, I know it’s dumb.”

Joel glanced back to see the wetness filling your eyes, instantly releasing his grip so you could take the book back. His large palm reached up to cradle your face, to comfort you.

“Hey now, I never said it was dumb. I didn’t mean to upset you. I guess I never really knew you were into that kind of stuff. Nothing’s wrong with it.”

His words are sincere and make you feel a little bit better, but you still feel ashamed that Joel had read the book. You know he’d never judge you, but it feels like your closest kept secret has been thrust into the light without your permission. Warmth spreads over your face, down your neck, twisting your stomach into knots. “I know but I…I just didn’t expect you to read it.”

“Then I won’t,” he says quickly, pushing himself up off the couch. He places a warm hand on the side of your neck and says again, “I won’t. I promise. No tears baby, alright?”

You nod and sniffle, trusting him, knowing that his words hold sincerity. Exhaling a long breath, you try to shove the mortification away and focus instead on this man before you who loves you enough to learn everything about you, even the things best kept hidden. 

Joel gives you the book and you shove it in the back of your side of the closet, hidden beneath a shoe box. He helps you out of your dress and showers with you, washing your hair while you tell him all about girls’ night and the newest gossip.

After, when you’re both cozy in bed, wrapped up tight in his strong arms, stealing his warmth with your cold feet against his legs, you think maybe you might’ve overreacted about the book. You know Joel would never judge you, not even about this. You think maybe the embarrassment comes from somewhere within, that maybe it’s more like insecurity than shame. And so you say, “I’m sorry about earlier. You can finish the story if you want.”

Joel presses a kiss into your hair. “Not really my type of book, anyhow.”

Even though he says it mostly to comfort you, the words make you laugh. You bury your face into the crook of his neck and can feel the vibration of his amusement as he shares the moment with you.

And when you both settle enough to speak again, his voice is a little quieter as he asks, “You want me to do that to you?”

This time you fight your shame. Wrap it up tight and store it away for something else, something more worthy than a peculiar taste. You think about yourself in place of the main character, running between thick tree trunks with dead leaves crunching beneath your feet. 

You think of Joel in place of the woman’s captor, mask over his face, presence dark and looming as he seeks you out. A shiver runs down your spine, so sharp and demanding that your body trembles in his hold. 

“S’okay if you do,” he murmurs. You can feel each word through his chest, a delicious tremor against your suddenly too-hot skin. Joel lifts his hand and brushes your hair gently away from your face, thumb tracing the outline of your lips. “Know it did somethin’ to you. Turned you real greedy the other day. Hm?”

Arousal pools low in your belly, and you can hear your heart in your ears. You think he could convince you to do anything when he talks like that, voice low and gravelly. “Maybe,” you say. “I don’t know.”

“Read another part,” he whispers. His thumb travels slowly down your chin, over the curve of your jaw, down the column of your throat. “He’s got that switchblade in his hand. Touches her real nice, all sweet and loving. But he keeps that blade right…” Joel drags his index finger slowly across your neck. “ Here .”

The sound that escapes you is more than need, it’s something else entirely; more like desperation. You didn’t think it was possible to want him any more than you already do but this Joel who strikes just the right amount of fear in you? He makes your mouth water, makes you tremble and shake with just the caress of a single touch.

He grips the back of your thigh with his free hand, pulling you close, pressing you tight against the growing erection behind the cotton fabric of his boxers. Joel’s always been insatiable for you, sometimes getting worked up just from staring at you too long. But you begin to wonder if this is something he wants, too. “Should take you out someplace real nice,” he mutters. “Get all dressed up. You can wear that pretty pink sundress I like. Take you out to a nice dinner, treat you so fuckin’ good…an’ when the sun sets, I’d drive you someplace real dark. Let you loose.” 

Even though he’s barely touching you, thumb stroking the skin of your hip gently, your clit pulses between your legs, hips shifting against him of their own accord. Your breath comes fast and labored and you think you’ve never been this fucking wet before—never wanted him so bad . It feels like you can’t think, can’t breathe without it, without Joel . 

“Give you a head start,” he continues. “Long enough for me to put a mask on. Wouldn’t even let you see it ‘til I catch you…An’ I will catch you, sweet girl…but you’d have no way of knowin’ who it was. Could be me. Could be anyone.”

The idea is filthy and disgusting but your body doesn’t seem to mind. Your spine arches, breasts pressing up against his chest. Joel lays there stone still, holding you, letting you rut against him like a woman starved. “ Please ,” is all you manage to choke out. He hardly acknowledges the word, but you can feel the smirk form on his lips against the shell of your ear. 

“I’d fuck the good girl right out of you,” he says. “Fuck you ‘til you’re nothin’ but a dumb little slut.”

“Jesus— Joel .” He's degraded you before, but it’s never been like this, never felt like this. You reach between your bodies and palm his cock in your hand, and a dark laugh leaves him as he helps you. 

In a few quick movements, he pulls himself out of his boxers, shoves your panties to the side, and sinks his cock inside of you, filling you so full it hurts . But you don’t care, because there’s nothing more you need than this, and thankfully he understands. Like he always does . 

Joel fucks you right then and there, whispering filthy things all the while, and you think he’s always understood you. Maybe even more than you’re able to understand yourself. Older and wiser and gracious—always giving you exactly what you need, exactly what you want. 

Before you fall asleep that night, he kisses you softly and asks, “Do you want me to tell you before it happens? To warn you?”

You’re not sure how to answer at first. Because the concept as a whole terrifies you; it’s new and foreign and dangerous. And you think you might need the warning to calm yourself enough to enjoy it. 

But you trust Joel. More than anyone else in the world, you know he’ll always keep you safe. You know he’d never do anything to hurt you. 

And so, you pull the blankets tighter around your shoulders and say, “No. I want it to be a surprise.”

That night, you dream about a man chasing you through darkness whose hands feel more familiar than your own. You think about it for the next week. Daydreaming at work, while you’re making dinner, while you’re driving to run errands. It’s all you can think about, the only thing that fills the gaps of silence in your day-to-day life. 

You wait. And wait. And wait . 

Joel tells you Friday night that he’ll have to work overtime this weekend to make up for a lost part shipment. Nothing new, nothing out of the ordinary. Saturday morning he encourages you to sleep in, kisses your forehead before he leaves, tells you he loves you. And despite no inclination from him, you have a feeling that today is the day. 

When you wake up a little while later, the sun casts shadows through the blinds, and you notice that Joel’s placed that pink sundress on his side of the bed. Laid it out for you. 

You shower and groom yourself, mentally preparing for the moment it finally happens. It has to be today. And if Joel is lucky and planned it out right, he’d find out that you opted out of wearing panties underneath the sundress. He’d find you slick, shaved, aching in anticipation. 

He notices your nervous excitement when he comes home from work, late and covered in sweat from a long day. You’re practically bouncing on your heels, having spent the entire day filling the time, waiting for his arrival. The sun had already started to set in the distance - you probably only had about an hour left of the day. 

Please, God, let it be today .

“Sorry I’m late, sweetheart. Had an electrician cancel last minute, left me scramblin’ to get the project covered. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting,” he muttered into your lips as he greeted you. His arms wrapped around you, his body warm and hot against the thin fabric of your dress.

“That’s okay,” you say. “Everything go to plan other than that?”

“Sure did. Finally finished up that warehouse over on Cherry Street. Figured I’d go out and celebrate.”

You find yourself deflating at the words. Because, usually, Joel celebrating the end of a big project means the involvement of Tommy, too. And if Tommy’s there, then tonight is decidedly not the night.

Joel seems to notice the change in your demeanor. He places his hand on the side of your face and drags his thumb down your jutting bottom lip, releasing it with a wet pop . “Wouldn’t be a celebration unless I had a pretty little girl to buy a drink, now would it?”

Either way, even if it’s not tonight, you know you’ll enjoy the time with him like you always do. So you shelve your disappointment and timidly ask, “Will it be…just the two of us? Did you want to invite anyone else?”

He shakes his head, a playful spark glinting in his warm eyes. “Nah. Just wanna take my baby out. Give me a minute to change and we’ll head out. Sound good?”

You know your nod of approval probably looks too hopeful, too excited, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Not with this golden excitement fills you to the brim, the anticipation making your hands tingle. 

It only takes Joel ten minutes to change out of his work clothes and into a nice pair of jeans and a flannel, but it feels like forever. He asks you about your day while he drives to your favorite restaurant, and listens intently even though you have nothing interesting to say other than the fact that you’ve changed the curtain on the window above the dining room table.

He opens the car door for you and holds your hand as he directs you through the crowd at the restaurant, and orders for you when the waiter comes over. Even though you get the same thing every time, the gesture makes you feel small and safe and cared for.

You drink a glass of wine, and he tries out some sort of hoppy beer. Joel tells you about a song he heard on the radio that he wants to learn on guitar, but while you try to listen all you can think about is what comes after this.

A million thoughts run rampant through your head. He hasn’t said anything about it, hasn’t given you any hints besides laying the sundress out for you, but the rush of it all weighs heavy on your chest. Paired with the lowered inhibitions from the wine and you interrupt him to say, “Joel. Can you just…can you tell me? I changed my mind. I want to know so bad.”

That playfulness returns to his eyes. He tilts his head the smallest bit and leans over the table to hear your whispered words. “Tell you what?”

“You know ,” you insist. “Don’t make me say it here.” Despite the embarrassment that climbs your cheeks as you listen to the chatter around you, you can’t wipe the grin from your face. You try to hide it behind your hand instead. 

“Can’t say I know what you’re gettin’ at here, girl,” he says. But that knowing smirk says otherwise. You can see the challenge in his eyes, the push for you to ask the question you’ve been swallowing down all night. 

Folding your arms on the edge of the table, you lean in as close as you can and ask so softly, “Are you taking me to the woods tonight?”

He smiles—a big, toothy show of enjoyment, and leans back in the booth. Joel’s big, you’ve always known it…but seeing him now, shoulders broad and rugged, arms straining beneath the cotton sleeves of his flannel… God , he makes you weak. You can feel yourself flush beneath his scrutinization. Can feel the familiar stickiness of your arousal begin to gather between your legs, too. “An’ why would I do that, sweetheart? Ain’t nothin’ out there for a little thing like you.”

The wine is sweet on your tongue as you take the last sip and shrug casually, pretending as if your hands don’t tremble with anticipation. You try to put on a show of confidence. “Never know,” you say. “Could be a big, bad wolf out there that needs hunting down.”

Joel laughs at that, but he’s waving down the next waiter he sees for the check.

When you leave the restaurant, you realize now the sun has fully set and the darkness has descended. The moon hands high in the sky, the only illumination granted apart from the headlight of Joel’s truck. He helps you into the passenger side and buckles you in, hands gentle and caring, always taking care of you. 

Pressing a kiss to your shoulder, he asks a single-word question. One you know is likely equally for his comfort as it is yours. “Okay?”

You are. Despite the fear that begins to rise in your chest, knowing the impending events likely to unfold, despite the shadows and the traversing of the unknown, you know that you’ll always be safe with Joel. “I’m good,” you promise.

He drives for far longer than you expect. Past every stoplight, outside of the city limits, weaving through the backroads until you’re well and truly lost. Every time you pass a wooded area you think he’ll slow to a stop, but he doesn’t. And every moment fuels the adrenaline coursing through you, ratcheting both your panic and excitement to immeasurable heights.

When he does finally stop, pulling off to the side of a road you swear you’ve never been down before, your heart is beating so fast you can hear it in your ears. 

He pulls the key from the ignition and the lights cut out, wrapping the both of you in complete darkness. You can make him out just enough, though. Enough to see the predatory look on his face, enough to sense the danger you’ve placed yourself in.

Your mouth goes dry and your brain goes fuzzy as you watch Joel reach into his pants pocket, pulling out a switchblade that glimmers in the moonlight. The small knife makes a snapping noise when it opens, gleaming, taunting you. Excitement buzzed through your body, a nagging voice in the back of your head screaming to run. 

“Better get a move on,” Joel whispers, his face shadowed and lips pressed into a grim line. The energy had shifted so quickly that you were uncertain what to do. Even if you did try to run, you doubted that your shaking body would make it very far. 

A brooding intensity surrounded Joel, and even though he barely moved to reach back and grab something out of the back seat, the air still felt tense with a silent warning. In his free hand was a gas mask, worn and frayed. The round, glass eye lenses were clouded, displaying its years of disuse. He reached up with one hand to slip the mask down his face, leaving only his eyes revealed.

The white-hot heat that was burning through your veins somehow ignited even further when he finally locked eyes with you. Joel’s eyes were narrowed, carrying a different energy behind them; one that was full of mischief and lust. The moment lasted for a couple of beats…

One, two, three…

And then Joel’s hand snapped out, reaching rapidly to lock around your wrist. Thinking, breathing; none of it mattered. The only thing on your mind was running, some animalistic survival instinct that you didn’t know still existed within you taking over. Your wrist easily slipped out of his grip as you flung open the car door, escaping Joel and running into the dark forest.

There was a chill in the air that made your breath fan out in front of you while you ran, your heavy footsteps practically echoing through the woods. Every couple of moments you would stop and glance around, attempting to see through the endless rows of trees. You didn’t see anything and only heard the sound of your own breathing.

Joel could be scary when he wanted to. Like that one time, a couple weeks into knowing him. Some asshole had followed you around the grocery store late one evening, trailing behind aisle after aisle until your hands were shaking in fear. Joel was one of the only people you had befriended in town since you were new to the area. 

He’d showed up five minutes after you’d called him, despite the fact that you knew he lived over ten minutes away. Joel approached the man, and you were grateful that you weren’t the one he was speaking to. Despite not hearing his words from where you were standing, you could see the dark anger on his face, a look that made your blood run cold. 

The guy who was following you left immediately after, scurrying off with his tail between his legs. Joel followed you home in his truck even though your apartment was on the other side of town. He’d never been scary to you .

Until now. 

Joel’s body came out of nowhere, grabbing you and yanking you against him. The switchblade pressed onto your throat, your heartbeat pounding against the cold metal. You couldn’t see Joel since his vice-grip had your back pushed on his chest. 

“You call that running?” he asked, letting his fingers skate down the skin of your thigh, just under the low cut of your sundress. His calloused fingertips caught against your soft skin,  raising higher and higher.

“I think you wanted me to catch you. Here you are, lettin’ me rub on you like the little slut I knew you were. I haven’t even properly touched you yet, but you’re already spreading your legs for me.”

Your face warmed at his degrading words. He was right. The excitement of the story wasn’t only the anticipation, but it was the thrill of the hunt. As much as you wanted Joel to touch you, to make your vision blur just from using his fingers, you knew you couldn’t give in so easily. 

With all of your strength, you push away both of his hands, ripping out of his grip. He reached down to grab you but you snatched his shirt instead, pulling at it fiercely in an attempt to dodge under him. You heard the fabric rip, but you were too afraid to really acknowledge it. 

You took it as an opportunity to escape, dodging Joel’s grasp. You wasted no time in steadying yourself before sprinting away, only sparing a quick glance back to see Joel. His shirt was half ripped, the gas mask blocking any form of expression on his face. 

“Damn, baby,” Joel spoke. He stood, shrugging off his flannel before using the switchblade to finish ripping the fabric of his shirt. “If you wanted me to get naked, you should’ve just said so.”

As much as you wanted to watch the way Joel’s chest flexed in the moonlight, you couldn’t handle any distractions. You had to run.

And you did run for what felt like hours. By the time you stopped for a moment, your heartbeat was in your throat and you could feel a slick mess building between your thighs. Your legs were speckled with dirt and pieces of leaves from the way you were kneeling on the ground, searching for Joel. 

You didn’t see anything extraordinary through the branches of the forest, but you heard something. A snap.

It was enough to get you back on your feet in an attempt to flee.

You couldn’t see him, but you could feel him. Though your eyes betrayed you, you could sense his closeness, could sense the space between you lessening with each passing moment. Sweat beads at your hairline and your panting echoes between the trees.

The cracking sound of wood beneath his heavy work boots cuts through the deafening silence, and you turn abruptly and throw yourself in the opposite direction. But Joel’s fast, too fast . 

He catches up to you in a second, and you know you won’t get lucky twice, yet still you try. You push your legs as hard as you can, running as fast as you can, trying to navigate the uneven terrain.

Joel’s fingertips grasp your shoulder, and you pull away from him so violently you lose your balance, scraping your knees against the rough forest floor.

You quickly turn onto your back, kicking yourself away from him, trying to see through the thick fog of terror in your mind. His slow breaths sound mechanical through the gas mask’s respirator. He looms over you menacingly, looking every bit the wicked man you know he can be.

His shoulders rise and fall slowly, his breaths even while you struggle to catch yours. He tilts his head, a predator indulging in the chase.

And you know right then that you’ve been caught. Stuck in the spider’s web with no hope of extraction. Your voice shakes when you speak. “Joel?”

There’s no softness in him now. None of that gentle ease he always has with you. He lowers himself to the ground, knees on either side of your hips, and grabs for your hands.

You struggle against his hold, even knowing it’s useless. He wraps a calloused palm around your wrists and squeezes tight, and when you buck your hips up against him, trying to wiggle out from beneath his heavy weight, it serves no purpose but to further diminish the little energy remaining in your weary limbs. 

Joel raises your arms above your head, pushing your too-sensitive skin deep into the earth, trapping you in place. You can hear the clicking of his tongue behind the mask. “Stupid little girl,” he says. “Never had a chance. Did you?”

His voice is muffled, deeper. You know it’s Joel. Behind the fear, behind the adrenaline, you know it’s him. But it doesn’t sound like him, not in the way you’re so accustomed to, and it sends a chill down your spine.

He adjusts his position, sliding down your legs just enough to grip the bottom of your dirt-stained sundress and rip it upwards. The air feels like ice against your center, slick with your arousal. You clit pulses with need, despite the way you still fight him, struggling nonsensically in his tight hold. “Look at how fuckin’ wet you are, baby,” he says. “Haven’t even touched you yet an’ that pretty pussy’s just fuckin’ crying for it, ain’t she?”

Your spine bends, arching off the ground. The sounds that leave your mouth are animalistic, a desperate whimpering, a wanton need.

And then suddenly his hand is tangled in your hair, pulling hard at the roots, holding your head up just enough to witness your exposure. “I said look ,” Joel grits out. “Want you to watch just how fuckin’ selfish she is. You listenin’ to me?”

“Yes— yes, ” you choke out. The muscles in your neck strain to keep your head held high enough to see the moment he lets go of your hair. But you heard him loud and clear, and you do just as he says.

His hand slips between your legs, and you fight the urge to let squeeze your eyes shut as his fingers slide over your clit. He circles it roughly and you can feel yourself clench around nothing, your body begging to be filled, begging for Joel . He uses the perfect amount of pressure, deft fingers moving fast, and it takes less than a minute before that familiar warmth begins to trickle in. 

But you want more, you always want more, and so you find yourself lifting your hips upwards, trying to shift his hand lower, trying to let him know right where you need him most. 

Joel laughs. A sick, maniacal sound that sends a cold flood of terror through you. “See? What’d I say? Fuckin’ greedy ,” he says. You know it’s meant to be an insult, but there’s a strange fondness as he says it. An undertone of worship.

You sigh out his name, unable to form another word, forgetting all else that came before this moment, disregarding all things that may come after. All that matters is this, all that matters is him . 

“She wants it so bad,” he murmurs. “An’ I’m gonna give it to her.” His movements are cruel and almost painful as he turns you over, pulling your hips out from under him. Joel shifts your wrists to his other hand and sets them against the small of your back, using his free hand to force your head down. The earthy smell of decaying leaves greets you, and you greedily suck in cold breaths of air, trying to will your heart to slow its racing. 

You can’t see his movements but you can feel him shift behind you, and a second later can hear the familiar clink of his belt buckle and the swish as he rips it from the loops of his jeans. The bite of leather is harsh as he winds it around your wrists, tightening it in a familiar, practiced way.

“Joel,” you breathe out. It sounds like a plea in your ears, and maybe it is. Because everything is too much, too intense . You need all of him, you think. Need the wickedness, that dark thing he’s been hiding all this time. But you need your Joel, too. The one who buckles you in, who kisses your forehead before he leaves for work in the morning. The one you know will always keep you safe, even when he defiles you. “ Joel ,” you say again. 

His hands freeze on your hips, and you can feel the warmth radiating from his skin as he leans over and presses his cheek to yours. He waits for you to speak, giving you as long as you need to sort through the heightened emotions. 

Your brain feels like mush and you struggle to form a coherent thought that’s more than one or two words strung together. You know you’re terrified. But you know, too, that you don’t want him to stop. And so all you manage to say is a barely audible, “I love you.”

He cradles your head in his hand, thumb stroking gently over your temple. And then he runs his nose over the curve of your jaw, and though he doesn’t say it, doesn’t break the spell he’s so carefully created in order to indulge your wildest fantasies, you know that no one has ever loved anyone the way that Joel Miller loves you. 

But just as quickly as that gentleness appeared, it vanishes into nothing like the fog of your breath in the cold air.

“Gonna show you what happens when little girls roam into the woods,” he says. You can feel his erection as he presses it against you, heavier and harder than you think it’s ever been before. “Can try an’ hunt down the big bad wolf all you want. But if he catches you …”

You’re a trembling mess in his strong hands. His words are the only beacon keeping you grounded, you’re certain of it. 

The metal teeth of his zipper grate as he pulls it down and undoes the button of his jeans, pulling his cock out. He slides the head through your arousal, coating himself in your slick. “Just know, whatever he decides to do with you is gonna hurt .”

And then he’s pushing his length into you in one smooth movement, leaving you no time to adjust to the size of him. The stretch is painful and foreboding, every muscle in your body tensing up at the impact. “ Fuck— oh my God —”

“Can pray all you want, but there’s no one out here to save you,” he spits. Joel doesn’t give you a single second to breathe before he’s rocking his hips into you, setting a punishing pace. You can feel his cock throb inside you, can feel that he’s enjoying this just as much as you are. 

You grit your teeth against the pain of it, fingers flexing in his grip. “ Joel —I can’t—!”

“Yes, you can, baby,” he says, voice low and echoing. “I know you can. So shut up and fuckin’ take it.” He leans over you, pressing the side of your face into the ground. You can taste moss and earth but with each thrust, the pain is quickly subsiding, replaced instead with a blinding pleasure. 

That warmth builds again, coiling around your spine. Pressure builds quickly and you can feel yourself dripping around him, making a mess of the coarse hair above his cock. “Joel— fuck .”

He reaches on hand around your hip, easily finding your clit and strumming it with swift, practiced movements. You clench around him and he lets out a deep groan in response. When he leans forward and tells you, “Open your mouth,” you do so immediately, brain fuzzy and overstimulated, unwilling to do anything unless he tells you to. 

Joel slides two of his fingers into your mouth and shoves them so far down you nearly choke. It’s instinctual when you close your swollen lips around him and suck. 

You can hear the smile in his words as he speaks. “There you go,” he mutters. “Told you how this would go, didn’t I? Told you what would happen. Nothin’ but a dumb little slut for me now, baby, hm? Yeah?” 

All you can do is nod, unable to form a single coherent thought. Your orgasm hits hard and fast, almost unexpected. It washes through you, electricity dancing beneath your prickling skin. Your moans reverberate through the trees, and you’re suddenly glad he’s driven you so far out so no one can hear you. 

“Oh, she likes that ,” Joel says, talking you through it, circling your clit and fucking into you a little harder. “Likes the way it feels to be all full’a me, hm? Yeah, there you go. Gonna give this pretty pussy just what she needs.” 

His rhythm falters, staggering just the smallest bit. And while he’s just given you the best orgasm of your fucking life, there’s something about this that makes you feel finally satisfied, full in a way you’ve never been before.

The moment he bottoms out inside of you, Joel turns you on your back and pulls the mask off of his face. His cheeks are flushed and rosy, but there’s a sense of completion in his eyes that you’re sure is mirrored in your own. He kisses your cheeks, your forehead, the bridge of your nose. 

And all you can say is, “Oh my God.”

Joel laughs. It’s one of those full, good-natured belly laughs. Your favorite kind. “Well? Was I better than your book?”

You cover your face with your hands, muffling your giggles between your fingers. “Much better.”

[spacedace]

Still thinking about the Social Worker Jazz concept that @gilbirda posted about and it's slowly turning into a full Anger Management fic send help

-

Jason at length - much longer than it really should have taken really - set the resume down.

The new Social Worker’s resume. Because she was there, in his office, trying to convince him to hire her as a member of his criminal organization.

Crime Alley’s new social worker. A bright eyed Midwestern transplant from some tiny speck of a place that only qualified as a city because there was nothing bigger in a hundred miles in any direction to claim otherwise. The new social worker who had a Psy D. and three masters degrees and who had graduated Valedictorian. The one that had high paying private gigs lined up all over the country with the offering companies fighting over her.

The one who had, apparently, decided to take a shit job in Gotham’s shoddy social services department instead. The one that got kicked to Crime Alley - which was its own division despite technically being a small neighborhood in the grand scheme of things - within her first month. Supposedly for the sole purpose of scaring her off or getting her killed for all the questions she was asking and secret dealings she was sticking her nose into.

That social worker.

“I’m gonna need you to run this by me again.” Jason said, never so grateful for the voice modulator in his helmet as he was in that moment. It stripped out the bewilderment that had bled through into his words and made him sound stoic instead.

“I’d like to work for you.” The social worker - one Dr. Jasmine Nightingale - repeated primly. Back straight, clothes neat - if skewing more on the librarian side of professional - expression confident and hopeful. Completely and utterly oblivious of how fucking insane she sounded. “I was told that you’re the person in charge of Crime Alley.”

He resisted the urge to scrub at his face. It’d just look weird with his helmet on and not do anything to actually settle him in that moment anyway. “I understood that part.”

“Look, Doc,” She earned a doctorate and she was crazy enough to waltz into the office of one of Gotham’s most powerful Crime Lords, he’d be respectful about using her proper title at least, even if he suspected she was ten pounds of crazy in a five pound bag. “You’re going to have to tell me why. I was under the impression the only reason you ended up dumped on our end of the city ws because you wouldn’t play ball. But now you want to sign up for my crew?”

Nightingale frowned a little at that.

“Is that what people are saying?”

“What else are they gonna say?” Jason answered, leaning back in his seat, “Head of the department only dumps Crime Alley on folks he don’t like. And everyone knows he doesn’t like anyone that can’t or won’t play his game by his rules.”

“Alright, well. I’ll give you that.” Nightingale conceded, “Payne doesn’t like me. The feeling’s mutual. But for the record,” She added giving him a wry smile, as if sharing wry smiles with Red Hood was just something people did, “I asked to be assigned to the Park Row and Bowery neighborhoods.”

“You wanted to work here.”

“Yes.”

“Bullshit.”

Nightingale laughed. It was a bright sound. Not especially clear or pretty, but warm and welcoming in a way that carefully calculated giggles or overdone guffaws couldn’t be. Something with real and honest amusement in it, that encouraged those nearby to laugh along. Not the kind of involuntary, nervous chuckling people tended to slip into when they thought they had pissed someone that scared them off.

She just wasn’t intimidated by him at all, was she?

Behind his helmet, Jason found himself smiling. Just a bit.

“I’m serious.” She assured, blue-green eyes meeting the dark stare of his helmet without a moment of hesitation. He watched as she brushed a lock of her bright red hair behind her ear and out of the way. She’d woven it all into a practical, neat braid but a few sly pieces had snuck out to bounce around her. Gilding her quiet professionalism with a playful charm that worked well with her academia but make it cottagecore kindergarten teacher aesthetic.

“I’ll admit, Gotham wasn’t part of my plan when I first graduated. Time and choices take you funny places sometimes.” She plucked an invisible bit of lint off her soft blue cardigan, not nervous but absent as her gaze went distant for a moment. Thinking back on the events that had led her to his fine city. In a blink, those sharp eyes were back to focusing entirely on him. “But Gotham is where I am now, and I want to help.”

She looked at him, a serious, determined expression settling easily on her face. “The city as a whole has so much chaos and crime breaking out all the time.” No censure or horror in her voice, just a neutral fact to be observed. “But where the rest of the city has millions of dollars poured into it by various foundations or charities run by the Waynes, Park Row is largely ignored.”

Jason watched as steeliness sharpened her gaze, the blue-green shifting from the shine of a bird’s wing to the warning hue of something poisonous and deadly. “No one deserves that. No one.” Her chin tilted up, proud but not imperious. “So yes, I want to work here. There are people in Park Row and the Bowery who need help and I refuse to let any of them feel like they are going to be ignored.”

Jason considered her.

Really looked at her. Pealing back his initial off handed impression of her as some clueless transplant in over her head with no idea of what she was doing or what she was poking her nose into to find the real woman beneath. Her confident poise, her clear unshakable belief, her unflinching willingness to look danger in the eye and not blink. The tense curve of her frown, the lines of pain at the corners of her eyes, the simmering anger beneath it all. There was an edge to her, too. Something sharp and dangerously well hidden by the cardigan and folksy charm of her accent.

It was personal for the woman before him, Jason realized. Maybe not Crime Alley specifically, but something about the whole situation. The treatment the neighborhood and its residents received from the city at large, from those even beyond it.

Crime Alley wasn’t a place that received much in the way of charitable thought. The average joe with their house in Somerset and job at some corporate shithole hating every second of their life but thinking at least I don’t live in Crime Alley. Those asshole hoity-toites in city hall throwing money around equally between shit that’d get them re-elected and their off-shore slush funds in the Caymens doing their damn level best to pretend the black mark on the other end of the city just didn’t exist. Bruce, flooding the entire city with charitable programs and carefully constructed infrastructures shying away from the manifested grief and trauma that was the place he watched his parents get murdered.

For the most part no one from outside of the Alley gave a shit about the Alley other than as a place to avoid at all costs. And most of the time those natives that manages to claw their way out into better and brighter lives didn’t ever turn to glance back. Orpheus could have learned a thing or to from an ex-Alley Kid who managed to eek out a steady 9-to-5 and move to Burnley.

And something about that seemed to piss Dr. Jasmine Nightingale Psy. D right the fuck off.

He could see why Bill said he liked her enough to let her in.

“Alright.” He said, tilting his head, watching the woman seated across from him carefully, “Still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here. Why you’re trying to get on my payroll.”

“I’m not trying to get on your payroll.” She said, some of the glinting edge softening, but the steel remaining. Strong and unyielding. “I’m trying to get into your community outreach program.”

Jason thanked god and all the saints once again for the gift of his helmet. That baby had saved his ass more times than he could count both by keeping his head in one piece and keeping his stupefied expressions wrapped up and hidden from view. Dr. Nightingale was one hell of a woman to make him have to rely on that fact twice in one conversation.

“Wasn’t aware that was something I had.”

Nightingale, not fortunate enough to have a full face covering helmet of her own, had nothing to hide her stupefied expression behind. Jason had a feeling she might have removed it to make sure he saw even if she did though. She looked like she had caught him eating glue like it was a cheese stick.

“Yes you do.” She said, sounding deeply confused but unshakable confident in what she was saying. “I’ve seen it. The soup kitchens, the shelters, the collection boxes for donating old clothes, the after school day care.” Nightingale ticked off on her fingers, “I’ve lived here for less than two weeks and I’ve lost count of all the things I’ve seen setup to help people struggling in the area that I’ve been very reliably informed you and your organization are behind.”

Oh.

Those.

“Those aren’t part of some community outreach program.” He said, “We are simply locals offering services for our neighbors.”

He watched as her caught-him-eating-glue expression shifted into one that said she’d stumbled upon him licking electrical sockets for a mid-day pick-me-up instead. He had to give it to her, the woman was not afraid to let one of the most dangerous men in the city know she thought he was a fucking idiot.

“Let me see if I understand this right.” She said, and he appreciated that there wasn’t any kind of condescension in her voice, even though she very clearly thought he’d been dropped on his head as a baby. Possibly from the top of a three story building. “You have a large group of people working together to plan, organize and execute multiple services in your area - your community, if you will - that provide aid and support to those that otherwise would not receive it. Reaching out with your available time and resources to offer these services, that you provide. For free.”

Alright, Jason got it. He had stumbled ass backwards into creating a community outreach program. But he wasn’t just going to let her think she won this one. He was Red Hood, he had a reputation to uphold here.

“What makes you think any of that is free?” He tilted his head at just the right angle, the one that cast shadows across the planes of his helmet and made him look hell-touched and terrifying. “Just because we don’t charge money, doesn’t mean there isn’t a price to pay.”

Dr. Nightingale, dressed like a damn kindergarten teacher, laughed at him.