#i'm not super happy with this but it's done and behind me now

[woso-dreamzzz]

Read II

England Lionesses x Child!Reader

Mary Earps x Child!Reader

Summary: There's a reason you don't have sugar

You hold reading lessons every day at camp because you want the rest of the England team to not be knuckleheads anymore and to prove Mikey from school wrong.

It's not easy to learn how to read so you know you need to come back to make sure everyone has been keeping up with their learning because that's what Mummy and Daddy do to you.

They started teaching you how to read very early so you were fairly advanced when you went to school.

You think Mikey's just jealous because you're a good reader and he's a bad one but, still, you want to make sure to prove him wrong.

Mary always says the best revenge is proving haters wrong. You don't know if Mikey's a hater but you'll assume he is because better safe than sorry.

You've done a good job at teaching everyone though because Maya, Millie T and Tooney all give you some sherbet sweets. They make your mouth go a little tingly when you try them but you like that feeling so the three of them keep feeding you more.

They're responsible for you while Mary's getting the last bit of treatment before you all get on the coach to go to the stadium. Usually, someone else is responsible for you but you did a quick reading lesson for Maya and Millie with Tooney as your assistant so they're supervising you before the journey.

You decide that you really like the sherbet straws they give you and Maya dares you to see how many you can finish before you have to go.

You don't count but it's definitely a lot.

Enough for you to feel super hyped when you're finally reunited with Mary. She's picked out a set of four seats with a table and she's already got your rucksack full of books open for you to pick from.

You're very advanced in your reading for such a young kid but even you struggle a little bit. Now that you've taught Mary to read, she can read very well from the books that are a bit too complicated for you right now so she's in charge of reading them to you as you drive to the pitch.

"Er..." You say as you look at the selection," That one."

"Alright," Mary says, cracking open the book and clearing her throat. She gets about halfway through before she notices how wiggly you're being. "Hey, rugrat, do you need the toilet?"

You frown. "No. Keep reading, Mary."

"Are you sure? I can take you."

"No, Mary. My book, please."

"Alright." Mary keeps reading but she's acutely aware of the way you keep wiggling in your seat.

You seem to think you're fine though. Or, at least, you don't think you need the toilet which is Mary's main worry.

"Okay," She says finally," Go and find someone to hang out with. I need to talk to Tooney."

You seem all too happy to scamper off, practically throwing yourself at Beth across the aisle.

"Tooney!" Mary snaps, interrupting the conversation she and Alessia are having.

"Jesus, Mary! You scared me there!"

"What did you give my sister?" Mary demands," She's never been like this before."

"Like what?"

"Like that!"

Mary points over to where you've decided it's a funny idea to crowd surf over the girls at the front, who are bouncing you a bit as they pass you off to the girls sitting behind them.

"She doesn't do that! She's also not wiggly on the bus! What did you give her?"

Tooney winces. "I gave her nothing!"

Mary narrows her eyes. "What did you let Millie and Maya give her?"

Tooney's eyes dart to them quickly before she clears her throat. "I've got the right to remain silent! Anything I say or do can be used against me in a court of-"

Mary's already moved off before Tooney can finish and she crosses the coach to confront the other two. "I'm not interested in excuses. Tell me what you've given my sister."

Her gaze is clearly intimidating because Maya and Millie fold instantly and Mary's on her way back to her seat, easily plucking you from someone's arms to set you back down next to her.

It seems most of the sugar rush has disappeared now but then another problem makes itself known.

The bus goes over a series of bumps and you make a little aborted movement forward.

Mary recognises the action and whips out a plastic bag. "Here, rugrat," She says," Let it out. Let it all out."

She rubs your back as you throw up. It takes a lot longer than usual to hurl up your guts and Mary narrows her eyes over the top of her seat to look at Millie and Maya.

This is all their fault, Mary knows it.

It's because of all of the sugar you've consumed that you've thrown up so bad and, as she ties the bag shut, Mary briefly contemplates throwing it at Millie and Maya.

"Juice, please," You say and Mary hands it to you," Sorry, Mary."

"It's okay," She says," It's not your fault. Do you want to continue your book?"

You nod, leaning against your sister, energy drained. "Yes, please."

[pangolinheart]

FFXIVWrite DAY 24 - SUIT PT. 2 (EXTRA-CREDIT)

Find part 1 here!

(Please be kind to me I don't know how to write romance or historical fiction or characters who have chemistry but i tried my hardest, dammit!)

Rating: General Characters: Haurchefant Greystone, Warrior of Light (Z'rhiki Irhi) Relationships: Haurchefant Greystone/Warrior of Light Word Count: 2,000 Content Warnings: None

The full moon lit the courtyard in blue and silver, lending it an enchanting, spectral quality. The loud thrum of activity that permeated the dance floor was muffled by the stone walls and paned windows, leaving the exterior pleasantly quiet. He idly wondered if there were any other ne’er-do-wells who had snuck away from the tasteful entertainment to enjoy a bit more privacy. If there were, they had already secreted themselves away among the hedges.

He had made his way unhurriedly across the ballroom and had lingered for a short time at the door before slipping through it, ensuring that no curious stares followed him outside. In that time, he had lost sight of her, and he wandered aimlessly through the grounds. He had no doubt that his path would eventually wind its way towards her. He ambled to and fro for a short time, enjoying the sights and smells of the labyrinthine garden before he found himself following the sound of running water down a familiar footpath. Sure enough, there she was, perched on the edge of a stone fountain, legs crossed in a manner most un-ladylike, dangling one hand carelessly into the cool water. The fountain was not quite as grand or as expensive as the one that stood at the center of the courtyard, but he knew that it was her favorite. She liked all of its carvings of mythical beasts from the world over; manticores, unicorns, gryphons, sea serpents, and more he couldn’t even name. Her gaze was turned skyward when he approached, towards the glittering stars that sprawled overhead, far beyond the reach of the yellow light that poured from the manor house. He took a moment to admire her like that: staring dreamily at the stars as her hand drew small patterns in the water.

The picture lasted only a minute, however, as she soon brought her eyes back down to smile impishly at him. He smiled back at her fondly; the only child of the Irhi family, and the scourge of not only her own house but noble houses everywhere. She was loud, crass, and openly flirtatious in a social strata where so much as sharing more than two dances with the same partner was enough to label one “promiscuous.” She invited men and women alike to dance, though more and more her invitations were politely declined. She wore whatever she felt suited her at any given time, be it lavish dresses or men’s coats, to great protestation. She rode astride horses and challenged men to races. She was overly familiar with servants. She snuck out of her parents’ house to visit raucous taverns, where she sang and danced and even climbed onstage. She indulged liberally in good food and alcohol, played childish pranks, and told scandalous jokes. She was a blight on her parents’ reputation and polite society at large, and he couldn’t help but find himself quite taken with her.

“You know,” He mused, coming to stand before her. “Some might find it highly improper for a young lady such as yourself to be strolling the gardens at night, unattended. Especially in the company of a man. What would your parents think?”

“Nothing they haven’t thought before, surely,” She replied flippantly. That was probably true. It was hardly the worst thing she had done, and her parents hadn’t disowned her yet, to the consternation of many. “And if you’re so concerned about my good name, you didn’t have to follow me. I didn’t ask you to.”

“Didn’t you?”

“No,” she denied, though they both knew that the invitation had been intentional, if unspoken. She knew he couldn’t say no to her. She didn’t even have to ask the question.

“Though, she continued, “I can’t pretend I’m disappointed with the company.” She flashed him a grin.

He smiled back, somehow feeling at ease even as his heart fluttered. “Weren’t you enjoying the party?” He asked.

She snorted, something he was sure would have been deemed “unbecoming” back inside. “I was enjoying the party plenty. It’s other people who weren’t enjoying me enjoying the party. I came out here to give them a reprieve.”

Haurchefant chuckled at her dramatic tone. “How very magnanimous of you,”

“Isn’t it just?” He only noticed that there had been a mostly full glass of wine sitting on the lip of the fountain when she raised it to her lips to quaff some.

“You look lovely tonight,” He managed to find his manners again as he looked at her. The dress she was wearing certainly stood out – looking nothing like what he knew to be the fashion of the time. It was fitted much lower, rather than cinched just under her bust, and lacked the distinctive square neckline. Instead of the pastels that were favored for summer occasions, it was a dark, rich color, somewhere between blue and violet, with a diaphanous overlay dotted with glittering beads that reminded him of the stars above.

“Do I? Thank you. I rather like this dress.” She looked down at herself, and her smile looked almost sad. “My mother hated it. She didn’t say anything – she was probably thankful I managed to bring home a dress at all this time – but I could tell. I don’t think many people inside like it either. I’m sure it’s too showy or too immodest or too fanciful or too something. I just don’t like the kind that are in style now. They make me look like a child playing dress-up with my mother’s things. Something like this just suits me better, don’t you think?”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Haurchefant said warmly. It did suit her – beautiful and completely out of place, like a flower whose seed had been blown in by a foreign wind, blooming amidst the primroses and daffodils. “Though, I confess, I’m surprised you don’t find that your mother’s opinion adds to its charms.”

She bit her bottom lip and frowned. The toe of her boot worried the cobblestones at her feet. “I don’t do things specifically to upset my parents, you know.” She pointed out. “I just… do what I like and more often than not they find it upsetting. Even if I wanted to make them happy, they make it so damnably impossible.”

She sounded genuinely frustrated, and he raised his eyebrows in muted bemusement. It often seemed as if she had not a care in the world for what others thought of her, and he had never seen past the defiant mask she donned in the face of criticism. He supposed it wasn’t too shocking. The constant disapproval and social ostracism was bound to erode even the strongest will. Having suffered his own fair share of scorn, he was not without sympathy.

Cautiously, he lowered himself to sit next to her at the edge of the fountain, making sure they were still a few ilms apart, and set his hands on either side of himself. “Do you want to make your parents happy?” he asked gently.

“Sometimes,” she admitted, keeping her gaze low. “But it’s a bit late for that now, isn’t it? Besides, it seems like the only thing that will make them happy is me being miserable.”

Haurchefant could certainly see how it might seem that way, though he doubted that was truly the case. “I’m sure your parents view it as trying to secure your future happiness. If they cared not at all for you they could have disinherited you long ago.” It was a harsh reality, but not an altogether uncommon one He had seen it happen a handful of times, though in at least half of such cases reconciliations were eventually made. He doubted that would be the outcome for her, though – be it by gods or devils she had been imbued with a fearsome stubbornness.

A bitter laugh slipped past her lips. “They probably should have sent me to a convent while they still had the chance.”

He considered her, imagining her unruly laughter and boundless energy. Even the city itself seemed like a cage for her, so he could only imagine how much more she would chafe in a nunnery. “While I’m personally glad that they did not, I’m certain it was also for the best for all involved. You… don’t seem well-suited to life in a convent.”

This made her laugh with more sincerity. “I suppose you’re right. I would have set the place ablaze and gone running screaming and naked through the streets before the year was out.”

He almost choked on whatever he had been about to say next and was sent into a fit of coughing and laughter. “That would… certainly be a sight to see.” He managed when he recovered. Her grin returned.

“Wouldn't it? Now if I really wanted to drive my mother out of her wits, I’d commission a painting of just that. Fortunately, I’m a benevolent daughter and would never do such a thing.”

“Fortunately indeed,” He agreed. He cleared his throat. “Though, I suppose I should point out that if you truly wish to please your parents, you certainly won’t accomplish it by sitting out here with me, of all people.”

He felt as much as saw her eyes slide over him, thoughtfully. Her lips quirked. “Well, sod it then! They’ll just have to find some way to cope. As I said, I do what I please, with who I please, and if it doesn’t please them, its due to their own poor tastes.”

Suddenly, she fixed him with a curious stare. “And here we’ve spent all of this time talking about me.  But what of your good name? You’re not worried that you’ll tarnish it by associating with a scoundrel like me? And one to whom you’ve not even been formally introduced, at that!”

“What good name?” Haurchefant returned in jest. “I’m the bastard son of a nobleman. Even ‘twere I a saint, I’d rank just above the kitchen staff. And the lives of saints seem so very dull.”

“Well, up until the martyrdom, anyway,” she mused. “Honestly, between the two of us it’s impossible to tell which of us is the bad influence upon which.”

 “It would seem you are right once again, my lady,” he agreed amiably. “I suppose we’re both damned.”

“That we are.” She tossed back the rest of her glass of wine and abruptly stood up. She turned to him and extended a hand. “So, in that spirit, would you care to dance? That’s what we came here for, isn’t it? If you listen, you can still hear the music from inside…”

He marveled at her for a moment. She possessed all of the traits that books and common wisdom declared unattractive in a woman, and yet, looking up at her from this angle, her face framed by the starry sky, he couldn’t help but think she was one of the most beautiful people he had ever seen.

“I believe it’s considered highly improper for a lady to invite a man to dance,” He said, though his hand was already in hers.

“Well, if we’re both to be cast into the fiery hells anyway, I don’t see that it matters. A dance of the damned, then!”

She pulled him to his feet and one of his hands found her waist, while the other remained wrapped in hers. He tugged her closer, just a little too close to be proper, and his ears strained to hear the faint melody that drifted out to the garden so that his feet could find a rhythm. Soon their bodies fell into time, and she began to hum along with the tune, slightly off-key and adding her own little flourishes where she felt appropriate. As they danced in that secluded corner of the garden, so close together they could feel the warmth of each other’s bodies, moving to the sound of her voice, he thought if they could dance like this in hell, being damned might not be so bad after all.

[slasherscream]

really wish people would read blog rules more, it makes running blogs like this very low reward and you feel like a machine if people aren't commenting and aren't even abiding by one of the, honestly, very few and politely phrased rules i even have

[javiscigarette]

Teacher's Pet

Joel Miller x virgin f!reader

Summary: 25 years old, anxiety-ridden, and still a virgin, you ask your friend Joel for advice on your upcoming date. But you're more of a...hands-on learner. And he's more than happy to help. 

Warnings: PWP, unbalanced power dynamics, virgin!reader, neighbor/bff/more experienced! Joel, age gap, first kiss, virginity loss, fingering, oral (f receiving), frequent check-ins, soo much banter and Joel is a menace also so soft and sweet :')....(ends on a cliffhanger but there will be a part two I swear).

w/c: 7.7k idk what happened

a/n: I am resurfacing for your monthly reminder that I do in fact still write!! Inspiration for this came out of literally nowhere but I took it and RAN with it and I think I like it?? As always, thank you to my baby love @undrthelights for helping me with this and always listening to my rambling and for being my biggest enabler Ilysm

Part Two

my masterlist

"Fine! What if, hypothetically speaking of course, you were to, hypothetically, give me a, um, hypothetical, lesson or whatever." Your heart is pounding so hard you can feel your pulse throb in your neck pound in your ears. You slowly drag your hands away from your face and look at him. He stares right back at you, brows furrowed. "A what?" "Forget it. forget I said anything,” you mutter, shaking your head.  "No no wait, hang on, what do you mean? A lesson? Like a…a sex lesson?” 

"Seriously, Joel. Fuck off" you snap but with no bite or heat behind it. You bring the sweating bottle of beer to your lips and finish the rest of the now lukewarm liquid off in one gulp. 

"What? I just find it hard to believe that you've never even had a kiss. Didn't you go to high school? Didn't you ever get invited to a party? Didn't you go to college? College kids do the do like all the time” 

"Clearly not all the time" you mutter, a tad bitterly.

Joel raises his hands defensively and takes a sip of his own beer. "Just seems crazy is all. There's gotta be some chick or dude out there willing to take pity on you and pop your cherry."

You audibly gag at his choice of words. "I don't need a pity fuck, thanks." You stand from the couch and head over to the fridge. The bottles of cold alcohol inside are calling your name and you want something that will help soothe your nerves. You're not a big drinker, but when Joel is prying into your love life like he is now, you wish you were.

"Okay,” he starts from the living room. “Maybe I worded that wrong. What I meant to say was, there's gotta be someone out there who would be more than willing to show you a good time."

You groan and let your forehead fall against the fridge door. "That's the whole point! I came here to get advice for my date, someone who might actually be interested in me, and all you've done is make fun of me for not having fucked anyone yet. So thanks, Joel. You're a real pal."

You push away from the fridge and slam the door shut, a second beer in hand.

"Alright, alright, calm down." He says, hands in the air as if you were holding him at gunpoint as you head back to the couch. "Look, if this guy really likes you then he's not gonna care. Probably won't even be able to tell if you are or aren't."

"You think so?" You ask hopefully.

"Well, I mean, unless you're like... super bad."

Your heart drops into your stomach and you glare at him, "Joel."

"Oh come on, I'm kidding. You're not gonna be bad, okay? Just, go into it with an open mind and just relax. If he tries something you're not comfortable with or makes you feel weird, tell him. And if he gets pissy, dump his ass."

"That simple, huh?" You scoff.

"Well, yeah. You're the one who made it complicated by thinking it was a big deal."

"It is a big deal, Joel! I know nothing!

"Nothing? You ain’t ever watched porn? Jesus, I had no idea you were such a prude."

You can't stop yourself from rolling your eyes and slapping the back of your hand against his arm. He yelps and laughs, rubbing his arm.

"I've watched porn before" you retort. 

"What kind?" he asks with a wiggle of his brows.

"None of your fucking business" you respond, feeling your face heat up.

Joel's lips quirk into a shit-eating grin and you're quick to smack him again.

"Okay okay, sorry!" he says through his laughter. "So what exactly are you afraid of?"

You're not really sure how to answer. It's a combination of so many things, most of which are irrational fears and insecurities. Sure you've seen it all done before, but you're well aware that none of it is realistic. At least, not completely. And just the fact that you're freshly 25 years old without a single notch in your bedpost makes you dizzy with anxiety. It's not like you're saving yourself or anything, it's just that hook up culture has never agreed with you and there's never been an opportunity that made you feel like it was the right one. That is until now, with your cute coworker who you thought was miles out of your league asking you out on a third date. And now, the prospect of being in bed with him is looming over you like a dark cloud and the last thing you want to do is mess it up.

"I guess, I'm just afraid that he's gonna be disappointed, or I'm gonna weird him out, or I'm gonna do something wrong and embarrass myself.” Joel nods along and listens. "And if it is bad then we still have to work with each other and then what if it's awkward and everyone knows about it and then he hates me and--"

"Okay, whoa slow down there, buddy" Joel says, putting a hand on your shoulder. "One, you're overthinking this. You're literally thinking like, five steps ahead of what's actually going on. It's a date. And even if it does end up in the bedroom, you don't have to do anything you don't want to. No one's forcing you, okay? He can't. No one can."

"I know, but I want to," you reply quietly.

"Alright. Then do."

"I don't know howwww!! " you whine, flopping backwards into the couch.

Joel groans and sits up a little straighter, scrubbing a hand down his face. 

"Well, there's no magic trick, I don't have a secret sex manual I'm holding out on ya."

You sigh, shoulders sagging as you look over at him. The idea comes out of nowhere, well, not exactly from nowhere, but it pops in your head so fast that you then have to bite your tongue before the words bubbling up from your throat come tumbling out. 

It's not a bad idea, not necessarily. 

You've been good friends with Joel ever since you moved in next door last year. An unlikely pairing, a 40 year old contractor and an almost 25 year old office worker. But after offering him a six pack as part of introducing yourself to the neighbors, you'd gotten along fabulously. He fixes things around your house and you send him home with hot dinners and warm, gooey cookies and you watch movies together almost every Friday night.

 It's an easy friendship, open and honest and supportive, and Joel has never given you reason not to trust him. He's a good guy, if not a little brash, but you know deep down he means well. And it doesn't hurt that he's objectively attractive, with his tall and sturdy frame, strong, calloused hands, dark messy curls....It's not a bad idea.

It's an absolutely insane idea. 

You continue to stare at him, clenching your teeth together to hold back the question sitting on the tip of your tongue.

"What?" he says, looking back at you.

"Nothing" you mutter, eyes flicking away.

"You've got that face you make when you're about to say something really stupid, so just get it out."

You glare at him again, not enjoying the way he can read you so well.

"I wasn't gonna say anything."

"Well now you're lying."

"I'm not."

"You're doing it again!"

"Doing what?!"

"That face!"

"I'm not making a face!"

"Yes you are! Just spit it out!"

You groan and hide your face in your hands. You blame it on the one beer even though you know you’re not anywhere close to being drunk because how else would you justify what you’re about to say? You wait a moment, thinking about the weight of it but your mouth opens before you can stop yourself. 

"Fine! What if, hypothetically speaking of course, you were to, hypothetically, give me a, um, hypothetical, lesson or whatever."

Your heart is pounding so hard you can feel your pulse throb in your neck and hear it in your ears. You slowly drag your hands away from your face and look at him. He stares right back at you, brows furrowed.

"A what?"

"Forget it. forget I said anything,” you mutter, shaking your head. 

"No no wait, hang on, what do you mean? A lesson? Like a…a sex lesson?” 

His eyes are wide, and he looks incredulous. You can't blame him, because the more time that passes between your suggestion and now, the more ridiculous the idea seems.

"I’m sorry, that was…It was stupid. Pretend I didn't say anything. Let's just watch a movie." You move to grab the remote, but Joel's hand covers yours, stopping you.

"Is that what you want?"

You look at him, searching his expression for any sign of disgust or apprehension. But all you can see is the same Joel you've known for months, patient, warm, and understanding.

"I know. I know it's stupid. But I can't get this date out of my head, Joel. It's all I can think about and the more I do, the more worried I get and I just don't want to fuck it up. And I know we're friends and this is weird and gross, but I just thought that... maybe, I could have some practice, so to speak."

He doesn't say anything. Just keeps looking at you, the panic rising in your chest the longer the silence stretches. You start to fidget, wringing your hands together in your lap.

"I'm sorry, that was way out of line" you say, moving to stand up, your skin sweaty and hot with embarrassment and your feet ready to run out the door and never come back. 

But Joel catches your wrist, gently pulling you back down to sit next to him.

"Joel" you whine, not wanting him to humiliate you any further.

"It's okay, come here."

His voice is softer than before, and his eyes are kind. You let him pull you closer, the two of you sitting knee to knee. You can't bring yourself to look him in the eyes, not with your cheeks and the tips of your ears burning like they are, but Joel doesn't push. He simply moves his hand from your wrist, sliding it into yours. His palms are rough and warm, and the simple touch alone is comforting.

"You really wanna do this?” he asks softly. You can feel his eyes boring into you. “I mean, I'm not exactly a prize winning catch. And it's not like there's a shortage of willing men out there."

You shrug and chew the inside of your lip.

"Yeah, but you're my friend and I...I trust you."

There's another pause, and you wish that you could just disappear into the couch and erase this moment from your memory.

"How drunk are you?" he asks, glancing at the beer bottle on the coffee table.

"You saw me finish one bottle. And half of another. I’m barely tipsy."

"Not drunk?”

"Nope."

"You're gonna remember this tomorrow."

"Uh huh."

"And you still want to?"

You groan for the millionth time and squeeze his hand.

"Yes I want to! Look, if you don't want to then that's fine. It was just a dumb suggestion and we can just forget this ever happened."

He hums, considering your words. His hand slips out of yours, and you think that's it, you've scared him off and washed the friendship down the drain. That you'll have to hide from him from now on, that you'll have to pack your things up and move because the mortification would be too much, and that he'll hate you, and—

His two fingers sliding under chin surprise you, and he tilts your head up. He's looking down at you with that same even expression, eyes big, soft, and warm as he slides his hand over to cup your jaw in his palm. 

"If you want to stop at any point, just say so, okay? I won't be upset and we can go back to the way things were before. Got it?"

You nod, your throat suddenly too tight to speak. His thumb sweeps over your cheekbone, the tender touch is enough to make your heart skip a beat. There’s no way this is actually happening. That your first kiss is going to be with your 40 year old menace of a neighbor. That you’re going to, how did you put it, get a sex lesson from him. His gaze flicks down to your lips and back up to your eyes and you’re positive you’re no longer able to breathe. 

"Can I kiss you?" he asks softly. You nod. 

You're sure he can hear the thumping of your heart in his own ears as he leans down. His other hand comes to rest on your hip and when his lips touch yours, a soft, tentative pressure, you're not prepared for the electricity that shoots through you.

He's barely done anything and already you feel like you're floating. Your own hands reach out to clutch his shirt, keeping him close, afraid he'll pull away and leave you cold and wanting if you don't. But he stays put, pressing himself against you, his lips working gently against yours. You follow his lead, kissing him back while trying not to overthink it.

It's nothing like the kisses in the movies or the books, where fireworks explode behind your eyelids or where your foot pops up in the air. It's far more subdued, more quiet and subtle. But the warmth that pools low in your belly and the goosebumps that erupt on your skin when his tongue slides against the seam of your lips, light and quick, makes you absolutely melt. 

He pulls back before you can really react, and you're left with a dizzying rush of both blistering desire and excruciating anxiety. You want to pull him back in and never let him go. But your heart is beating so fast you can hardly breathe, your nerves are buzzing, and the urge to run and hide is nearly paralyzing. 

"Was it bad?" you ask tentatively, cheeks heated.

"No" he replies, giving your hip a squeeze as a smirk plays on his lips. "It was fucking awful. Worst kiss of my life"

"Shut up!" you hiss, pushing him away with a hand on his chest. He laughs, the sound easing some of the tension in your body. 

"I'm just teasing" he says, voice dropping lower. "C'mere, we can work on it."

His lips find yours again, and you try not to smile into the kiss but it's hard when you can feel the way his lips are quirked up as well. It doesn’t take much else to get you to relax and let yourself fall into the moment, into the gentle press of his mouth and the warm hands on your hip and your cheek. He swipes his tongue against your lips again, his fingers pressing lightly into the hinge of your jaw to tilt your head back and coax your lips apart.

You let him, sighing as his tongue glides across yours, hot and smooth and sweet. Your hands slide up his chest, finding purchase around his shoulders, and when you move forward, pushing yourself against him, he grunts softly but lets you. He kisses you until the both of you are gasping for air, and when he pulls back, his lips are wet and red and you're certain yours must be as well.

"Better?" you ask, a bit breathless.

"Getting there" he answers with, his breath warm where it fans across your cheek. 

"You're such a liar" you say with a goofy smile.

"Yeah, I know. Now try again, practice makes perfect.” 

You roll your eyes but lean back in nonetheless. It's a bit more heated this time, the feeling of his teeth nibbling on your bottom lip making you squirm. His hand rounds over your hip, palm smoothing to the small of your back to pull you closer, the heat of his body radiating through your clothes and warming your skin. Your hands move on their own accord, no thought behind the action as they slide up to his shoulders and then his neck, your fingers finding home in the curls at the base of his skull. When you give them a slight tug, you're rewarded with a muffled grunt from Joel. Emboldened, you pull back, lips swollen and tingling.

"You’re a good kisser,” you pant. "Is that something people usually say?"

"When it’s true" he says, grinning at you. "And since I know you're gonna ask, I'd say that was a C+, maybe a B-."

You scoff but blush furiously at the smile he flashes, his eyes crinkling in the corners.

"Well then, tell me what to do next. What do I need to know?"

Joel hums as he thinks for a moment. 

"What do you want to do?"

You stare at him for a second, blinking.

"I don't know, that's why I'm asking you" you say, shaking your head a bit.

"Well, how far do you want to take this?"

You swallow hard, suddenly feeling very shy. You can’t deny that when the idea popped in your head it was accompanied by the mental image of you naked, spread out on his bed, but the actual act of asking him, or better yet, actually doing it is... intimidating to say the least. Are you really about to let him go all the way, to see you bare and vulnerable, let him pop your cherry as he would disgustingly put it? All just to “prepare” for a date with a guy who might not even like you that way?

Yeah, probably.

"All the way" you answer. “I want to go all the way” 

He doesn’t pounce on you like you expected, doesn’t press his lips against yours in a frenzied kiss that you had half hoped for. Instead, he simply looks at you, his brown eyes boring into yours, searching.

"Are you sure? You can always say no and you're not gonna lose me as a friend if this isn’t what you actually want. I don’t want you thinking that."

You can't help the laugh that bubbles up and slips out, because of course Joel, your kind, thoughtful Joel, would say that. He's a good man. A great one, even.

"Yes, I'm sure. But if you don't want to, I get it, I can just leave and-"

Joel laughs, the sound traveling up from deep in his chest, the rumble vibrating against you.

"Sweetheart, I wouldn't be doin’ this if I didn't want to. Just makin’ sure this is what you really want."

"I want it.” 

He squeezes your hip and swipes a thumb over your cheekbone once again. 

“Alright then.” He nods, firm and resolute, and then looks around the room. “ We’re not doing it here, though. If you're getting the full Joel Miller experience, we're gonna do it right.” 

Your eyes roll reflexively, but your heart picks up its pace regardless.

"I’m not gonna do anything if you call it that ever again."

"Fine, fine,” he relents. “Let me show you what a good, thorough fucking feels like. Better?"

Your jaw drops, and he's laughing at you, his body shaking with amusement.

"Fuck you" you grumble, shoving him away while trying to hide your coy smile. 

"Yeah, that's what I'm hoping for," he says with a wide, self-assured grin.

"I'm leaving" you declare with a false sense of offense as you rise to your feet. Joel is quick to do the same and before you can take a single step away, he slips a finger through the belt loop of your jeans and tugs you back into him, wrapping an arm around your waist.

"I’ll stop, I’ll stop. I'm sorry" he says, not sounding it one bit.

You huff, but let him pull you closer until you’re pressed against his chest and you have to tilt your head back to look at him.

"I’ll be good. I promise."

"Liar"

"Well, yeah. But I can promise that I'll make you feel good."

You can't help the giggle that spills out and he kisses it away, his lips warm and plush and sweet against yours. The hand not resting on your lower back comes up, curling around the nape of your neck and keeping you close. You sink into him, and the fog creeps in again, dulling the rest of the world, making it seem fuzzy and distant, like the memory of a dream. All you can focus on is him, the warm solid weight of him against you, the strong arms holding you, the way his mouth moves against yours. And then he’s pulling back all too soon and you have to stifle a whine.

"Come on" he says, tugging at your hand.

His bedroom is dim, the little lamp on his nightstand and the faint glow of the moon through the curtains providing the only light. You swallow and take a deep breath as you step inside, your bare toes digging into the plush carpet, his hand warm and large where it grips yours.

He holds onto you as he sits on the edge of the bed. You step forward, letting him pull you between his knees. His hands settle on your hips, and you can feel their heat through the fabric of your shirt.

He doesn’t ask if you're sure again and you’re grateful because you’re not sure if you could form any kind of response right now. Instead, he slides his hands up and under your shirt, fingers dancing across your skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps. Your breath hitches as his hands smooth over your ribs and around to your back, the tips of his fingers mapping out the curve of your spine, skimming over each notch and bump. They climb higher, the fabric of your shirt bunching around his wrists. 

“Can I take this off, baby?”

Your heart jumps to your throat but you nod anyway. He grabs the hem and tugs your shirt up and and you lift your arms so he can slip it off over your head. He tosses it aside, the fabric falling to the floor beside the bed. You’re left exposed, vulnerable and bare, save for the worn out bra you wear, a few too many washes and a few years past its prime.

Your hands itch where they hang by your side with the instinct to cover yourself, hide the imperfections that you know so well, the stretch marks, the softness of your stomach, the way the cups of your bra are just a bit too small and spill over the tops.

But then he’s pressing his lips to the space just above your navel, his scruff tickling your skin and making the muscles in your abdomen jump and twitch. His hands find your waist again, and when his lips continue their path upwards, his palms follow, skimming up your sides, thumbs tracing the outline of your ribs before stopping at the band of your bra.

"This too?" he asks, voice quiet and husky.

"Yeah" you answer with a squeak, and he grins like a kid in a candy store.

His fingers undo the clasp deftness that makes your knees go weak, the straps slipping from your shoulders and the whole thing sliding down your arms, landing somewhere near your shirt. 

"God, baby, look at you" he murmurs, his hands cupping the underside of your breasts, his thumbs sweeping over the tops and then down the slope and around your nipple. Your breath hitches, the gentle touch sending a shiver up your spine. "You're fucking perfect."

The praise is unexpected and it sends a jolt of heat through your core. You whimper quietly and his hands are on you again, the calloused palms rough on the soft skin of your breasts. He kneads the flesh, squeezing gently before rolling your nipples between his fingers, pulling and pinching and teasing. 

He pulls you closer and ducks his head, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. He looks up at you through his lashes, eyes dark and hooded, and his pupils blown wide with desire.

"Can I?" he asks.

"Please."

He leans in and wraps his lips around a peaked nipple, his tongue swirling around the sensitive nub, the gentle heat of his mouth on your skin making your knees weak.

His mouth works on one breast, tongue flicking and teasing while his free hand continues its work on the other. Pleasure builds and coils deep inside, the sensation unfamiliar but certainly not unwelcome. You whimper and he pulls away, releasing your nipple with a wet pop before giving it a sweet parting kiss.

He turns his attention to the other, his teeth grazing over the stiff peak and drawing a whine from your lips. He sighs when your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling at the strands until he groans softly against you. He sucks your other nipple into his mouth, the flat of his tongue pressing against it and dragging up and around, swirling and flicking. You’re already breathless, panting, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on your forehead.

"Feels good, Joel," you whisper shyly. 

"I know, honey" he says, a soft smile pulling at his lips when he pulls away. "Feel good anywhere else?"

He doesn't wait for a response, simply slips a hand between your thighs, cupping you through the denim, the simple action making you squeak.

"Here, huh?" he says, the heel of his palm pressing against you.

You gasp softly and nod, biting your lip, too shy to say anything.

"Get on the bed, baby."

You comply, crawling onto the mattress and scooting backwards towards the pillows, sitting at the head of the bed as you watch him. His eyes never leave you as he pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it onto the floor. Your heart thumps as you stare at his bare chest, his tanned skin dotted with a light dusting of salt and pepper hair. He's broad, his shoulders thick and chest solid. Your fingers burn with the urge to reach out and touch him, so you do, extending a tentative, slightly shaky hand.

He watches you closely, eyes flitting down to the palm pressed against his chest before meeting yours again, his mouth curling into a smile.

"You can touch" he says, reaching down to curl a hand around your wrist and bringing it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the center of your palm before guiding your hand back down to his chest. "I think most people would enjoy that."

"You're having entirely too much fun with this,” you mumble while your fingers spread out across his pec.  

"It is fun" he counters, his own hand sliding up the inside of your thigh, thumb pressing against the seam of your jeans and rubbing up and down. "But it'll be more fun once these come off"

Your lips part, a puff of air rushing out.

"You gonna take them off?" you ask, the words slipping out, bold and unbidden.

He grins, his brow quirking up.

"Look at you, being all bossy"

"You like it" you say, finally feeling some of the anxiety slipping away, the familiar and comfortable banter between the two of you slipping into place in a new, unfamiliar situation.

His smile takes up nearly his whole face as moves closer. 

“I sure do.” 

He looms over you, bracing himself on an elbow next to your head before ducking down to kiss you, his tongue easily slipping into your mouth, warm and insistent. You sigh into it, your hands finding the warm, bare skin of his back, muscles gliding beneath your palms as you slide them up and around, fingertips digging into his shoulders. He's so warm and solid and you can't help the little noise that slips out, a soft, needy moan. You're about to break the kiss and beg him to touch you, give you something, anything, but he pulls back before you can. 

"Impatient. I like that too" he says, voice barely above a whisper.

He kisses the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then down your neck, his beard scraping against your skin. He continues his path, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses across your collarbones and down the valley between your breasts, his beard tickling your sternum.

His palm presses into the top of your thigh, and you instinctively open your legs for him, his hand immediately moving to cup you through the denim, thick fingers pressing against the seam and the bundle of nerves just below. Your hips rock up, seeking more pressure and he grins, entirely too pleased with himself right now.

You huff, and he laughs, the sound rumbling in his chest, but he relents, undoing the button and zipper of your jeans and tugging the fabric down, revealing the pair of pink panties underneath. 

Joel sits up, pulling your jeans down your legs and letting them drop off the side of the bed, the sound of the denim hitting the floor indicating that you've officially crossed a line that neither of you can come back from. But if the hungry, desperate look on his face and the way you're practically vibrating underneath him are any indication, neither of you want to.

"I'll start with just my fingers, yeah?" he says, his hands running up the insides of your thighs, touch light and teasing, the tips of his fingers brushing the edge of your panties. You nod dumbly, at a complete loss for words right now.

He ducks his head, his lips landing on the smooth skin stretched over your hip bone. You squirm, ticklish, and he grins. His mouth is a great distraction from his hand, which has found its way back in between your legs, his fingers now pressing against damp fabric.

"Shit" he curses, his touch firm. "Fuckin' soaked already. Am I just that good?" he quips with a smirk.

"Jesus do you ever shut up" you gripe, but the effect is ruined by the whimper that escapes you when his thumb sweeps up, pressing hard against your clit. 

"Oh, that's a pretty sound" he murmurs, repeating the motion to pull out another one, your hips bucking against his hand.

"Now," he starts, his tone shifting to the same one he uses when he's about to impart some life lesson. "This guy you're gonna see, or any man for that matter, should always take care of you before himself. That's just common fuckin' sense. And if he doesn't, you send him on his way" he continues. "Because a man that don't wanna see a woman get off is no fuckin' man at all"

You're about to interrupt, tell him he's an idiot and ask him to please, please, get on with it, but his fingers sliding under the elastic of your panties, swiftly pulling them down your legs steals the breath from your lungs. Your pulse sky rockets and you shift underneath him, crossing your thighs in instinctual effort to hide yourself from him. 

"M'sorry I didn't shave or anything" you blurt out, your throat tight with anxiety and embarrassment once again 

Joel just shakes his head as he pries your legs apart.

"Baby, I could not give less of a shit about that."

"But-"

"No" he says, the word firm, an edge of command to his tone. "You’re not apologizin’ for that. And if a man gives a shit, he's a fuckin' child who doesn't deserve the honor of bein' between these thighs" he says, pushing your knees further apart.

You nod and bite your lip, the words that are just so very Joel, settling in your chest and easing the tension in your body. You let out a long, slow breath and relax, trying to ease the nervousness.

"There ya go" he says, his fingers dancing along your slit, gathering the slick pooling there. You shudder at the gentle touch, your hips rolling up just a bit before you force them back down into the mattress, trying to keep yourself still.

"Nuh-uh. None of that" he says, immediately noticing the movement. He slides his free hand under you, his palm pushing into the small of your back and encouraging you to move again, to lean into your pleasure. "You take what you want, baby. Show me how good it feels. That's all I wanna see."

You squirm and whimper, the simple, almost lazy touch driving you insane. You've touched yourself before, brought yourself over the edge while imagining what it would be like to have the things you read about and watch in videos happen to you. But you've never managed to make yourself feel this good, never felt pleasure so intense, never felt a burning pressure in your abdomen so demanding that it radiates all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes.

And he's barely touched you.

"How's that feel?"

You can't even form the words, so you just nod and hum, the sound a mix of a whimper and a moan, your hips rolling up against his palm. He chuckles, and then the pressure increases, the friction building, his fingers slipping down, collecting more of your wetness to ease the drag against your skin.

He moves his fingers down, down, down, the tip of one circling your entrance, gathering the wetness pooling there. You whine loudly, any shame and modesty you once had replaced entirely with desperate need and pure desire.

"Please, Joel" you whisper, voice shaky.

"I gotcha" he says, dipping his fingertip in, just barely, and pulling a moan from deep in your chest. "Gonna give you what you need"

You groan, a long, low sound as he slowly sinks his finger into you. It's nothing like your own, so perfectly thick and long/ And you found the spot before, the spot that he curls his finger up into, but never at this angle, never with the perfect amount of pressure that he's applying right now. 

"Mmm, look at that" he coos as you clench tightly around his finger.

"Joel, god, feels so good" you whimper pathetically. 

"I know, honey, I know."

You clench again, the cockiness and self-assured attitude that usually gets under your skin now ignites your whole body in an entirely different way. He keeps his eyes on your face, watching as your eyes squeeze shut and your mouth drops open, your head tipping back as the pleasure builds.

"Another" you beg, the fullness not nearly enough.

"Greedy girl" he chides, but he pulls his finger out, and slides two back in. You swear that you could come from this alone, but he doesn't let you, the hand that was supporting your lower back disappearing, only to reappear between your thighs, his thumb circling your clit with firm, steady strokes.

White hot pleasure wraps around the base of your spine, the dual sensations of his fingers and his thumb sending you spiraling. The sounds falling from your lips are unrecognizable, high and desperate as your mind goes blissfully blank, your entire focus on the heat coiling in your abdomen. Your eyebrows pinch together and you bury your face in the pillow next to your head, trying to hide the ridiculous expression you're surely making, but you inhale the traces of his shampoo and cologne that cling to the fabric, the scent pushing you even closer to the edge. 

You try to hold back. Surely you're not supposed to come this quickly, not just from two fingers and a thumb. Surely that's a sign that you're an easy lay, or too inexperienced, or-

"Just let it happen, baby. I can feel it, Just let go" Joel says, his voice cutting through the thoughts racing through your mind, his fingers crooking inside you and dragging across the spot that makes your hips stutter and a cry fall from your lips.

You can't hold back any longer, the pleasure cresting and crashing down around you. You squeeze his fingers, your back arching, the heels of your feet digging into the mattress as you roll your hips up into his touch, seeking more and more and more. And he gives and gives and gives, working you through it and drawing it out for as long as he can before you melt into the mattress, bones and muscles liquid and warm and satisfied.

He pulls his fingers out, and the sudden emptiness draws a disappointed whine from you, his answering chuckle making you smile.

"That was- fuck" you sigh, not quite capable of coherent thought.

"Absolutely mind-blowing? Yeah I know" he teases. You roll your eyes but don't say anything because it's true, and his cocky grin fades into a soft smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he watches you return to Earth. 

"Can I- can I return the favor?" you ask, your gaze flicking down to the noticeable bulge in his jeans.

He grunts and shakes his head.

"Not yet. Got somethin' else in mind."

You frown and push yourself up onto your elbows, watching as he shifts from his position. You're about to ask what he's going to do until he's settling himself on his stomach between your thighs. You suck in a sharp breath as you realize exactly what he's got planned and your heart jumps, anxiety clouding your mind once again. 

He rests his cheek on your thigh, his eyes meeting yours.

"Alright?"

You swallow and nod, licking your lips.

"Yeah. Just... no one's ever-"

"Yeah, I got that much, that's why we're here" he says, smiling smugly when you glare at him. 

"But what if it's not good? Or I don't taste good? Or-"

"Stop" he says, the single word halting your runaway train of thought. "You need lessons in relaxing, not sex. You're so fucking tense all the time"

"Sorry" you say, immediately cringing.

He sighs, his breath ghosting over the skin of your inner thigh, making you shiver. "What did I say about apologizin'?" he says, his tone slightly sharp.

"I know. Sorry- shit, sorry! Fuck!"

He barks out a laugh and you huff, bringing up both hands to scrub over your face.

"See what I mean?"

"Yes, yes, you're very smart and know everything"

He hums and nips at your thigh.

"Damn right I do."

You want to snark back, but his mouth is moving, his lips trailing down the inside of your thigh and towards where you're aching for him, slick and wet and throbbing. He takes his time, laying kisses on your thighs, hips, and stomach, his scruff scraping the sensitive skin, huffing out a laugh when you start to squirm, your patience wearing thin.

His hands smooth over the soft flesh of your inner thighs, urging you to spread them wider before spreading you open with his thumbs, exposing you completely. You feel exposed, vulnerable, and the urge to close your legs and hide yourself from his gaze is overwhelming, the embarrassment making your skin burn. But before you can even think about closing them, his tongue is on you, sliding up the length of you and circling your clit. The moan that escapes you is embarrassingly loud and high pitched, but the mortification is easily swallowed up by the pleasure.

He hums against you, the sound and the feeling sending a shudder through your body. Your hands grip the pillow behind your head and you try not to buck up into his mouth, but your attempts are futile. He doesn't seem to mind though, in fact you think it spurs him on, his tongue flattening against you and lapping at you messily, the wetness he's coaxed from you smearing across his mouth and chin.

The sound is lewd and obscene, the sloppy, slick noises and the soft grunts and groans that rumble in his chest as he works you up. He pulls back, his breath coming out in pants, his chest heaving as he looks up at you, his eyes dark and hooded.

"Don't know what you were worried about" he says, his voice low and raspy. "You taste fuckin' divine"

His beard is shiny and damp, his lips glistening, hair messy from where your fingers were tangled in it. The sight of him looking so completely disheveled and filthy has you clenching around nothing, the ache almost too much to bear.

He doesn't say anything else, just ducks his head and gets back to work, his mouth moving with a renewed urgency, his hands gripping your thighs and pushing them further apart, allowing him better access.

Your eyes roll back and your mouth falls open, a constant stream of moans and whines and babbling pleas and praises falling from your lips, but you're not really sure what you're saying, not really sure of anything except the intoxicating pleasure coursing through your veins.

You hear him moan, can feel the vibration against your skin, and you glance down at him, and that's a mistake. The sight of him, his eyes closed and brows drawn together in concentration, his cheeks hollowed out as he sucks and nips and laps at you and– is he fucking grinding his hips into the mattress?

You're fucked.

A throaty moan tumbles past your lips as your hips start to rock, a rhythm forming as you chase your orgasm. His hands leave your thighs and he slides one arm up, the weight of it resting against your abdomen to keep you still while his other hand snakes down, fingers dipping inside again, finding the spot that makes you see stars.

"Fuck, Joel, please, oh my god, I'm so- please"

He groans in response, the hand on your stomach pressing down harder to meet the two fingers curling and stroking inside of you. You cry out at the increased pressure right as he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking and swirling his tongue around the bud, his fingers moving faster and faster. Flames lick up your spine and spread throughout your body, threatening to burn you alive. 

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, knocking the wind out of you and turning your limbs to jello. Wave after wave of blinding euphoria crashes over you and all you can do is cling to the pillow and arch your back, your toes curling as he continues to work his fingers and tongue, happily letting you ride his face and grind into his mouth.

He doesn't let up, not until you're a whimpering, trembling mess, physically pushing his head away when it becomes too much. He pulls back reluctantly, a wicked grin plastered to his face, his chin and mouth absolutely soaked. You're panting, struggling to catch your breath as the aftershocks make you shiver despite the content warmth spreading throughout your entire body.You feel sated and sleepy, a bone deep satisfaction making you feel boneless. 

But as you come down from your high, rational thoughts start to filter in and you suddenly remember the reason this all started in the first place.

You're here to learn, he should be teaching you how to please a man.

How to please him. 

You watch as he gets off the bed and wipes his chin with the back of his hand. Your eyes shamelessly rake over him, the dusty pink flush that decorates his neck and chest, the curve of his belly down to the impressive bulge in his jeans. 

You push yourself up, ignoring the way your arms tremble with the effort. He looks at you, his eyes scanning your face no doubt looking for signs of distress.

"You ok?" he asks, eyebrows pinched together in his typical concerned Joel fashion.

"Yeah" you say, a little breathlessly. "But I still want to..."

Your voice trails off and you glance down at his crotch, hoping he gets the message.

"That's alright, baby. It's a lot, we don't-"

"No" you interrupt, a hint of desperation in your voice. "You said you would teach me. Please, Joel. I-I wanna learn" You hope it's a good enough cover to the fact that you really just want him, your original goal forgotten. "I just don't want to embarrass myself" you add, pouting slightly for good measure, praying to god that he can’t detect the underlying want for him and him only.

He watches you for a moment, seemingly contemplating his decision. And then his eyes narrow, because of course he knows. There's never been an instance where you succeeded in lying to this man. He always, always knows when something is off.

"Alright" he says, a slow smile spreading across his face, something mischievous sparkling in his eyes. "Dick sucking class is now in session"

You groan, your face twisting with visible disgust.

"Oh my god, that was terrible."

"What? It's true" he says with a shrug.

"That is- no, no way. Never say those words ever again. Ever." you say, pointing a finger at him accusingly.

"Or what?" he challenges, taking a step towards the bed.

You gulp and lick your lips.

"Or..."

He waits expectantly for a response. You have none, so you just shake your head and look away.

"Yeah, that's what I thought"

You glare at him and then sigh.

"You're a bully"

"Am I?” He asks, taking a step back to give you more room. “ 'Cause you're the one that asked me to teach ya. On your knees, kid. Let's see whatcha got."

You chew on the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress a grin. You don't know how he does it, but his ability to make a joke or a quip out of anything always has a smile tugging at the corner of your lips, even when the jokes are awful and the puns are terrible. Even when the joke is about you getting ready to suck his dick. 

"You're a bully and a pervert" you say, sliding off the bed and sliding to your knees, the plush carpet doing a decent job at protecting your joints.

"And proud of it.”

"Pride is a sin."

"So is premarital sex, so I'll see you in hell, honey"

You snort and look up at him from your place on the floor, grinning widely.

"You're ridiculous"

"You love it"

And that's the thing, isn't it?

Because you do. You love his innate ability to make you laugh, to make you smile even when he's about to take your fucking virginity. He knows how to comfort you, how to put you at ease, when to push you with his teasing and when to pull back and let you take control. You've never met a person who has so effortlessly made their way into your heart.

And here you are, on your knees for him under the false pretense of practicing for a man who's name you can't even remember right now.

You shake your head, the motion clearing the thoughts and the emotions that were swirling in your head, the ones that make you want to stand up and kiss him, kiss him until your lips are numb and you're left gasping for air.

"Joel?" you say his name softly.

"Yeah, baby?"

"Teach me."

Part 2 is already in the works I promise hehehe thank you for reading I hope u all enjoy!!

[midastouch013]

Scars and All

Based on this request

Summary: You and Natasha have been dating for almost a year, and so what happens when you finally find out why things never get steamy

Warnings: Insecurity, Scars, Flashbacks of Redroom. Super soft Nat.

---

You and Natasha had been dating for close to a year now, having moved in a month ago to the floor Tony had given the both of you happy to see his, and you quote ' favourite spider' so in love, and though your relationship was incredible in so many ways, there was one aspect that sometimes caused a bit of frustration. Every time things got a little bit steamy, Natasha would freeze up. And every time it left you confused, more than before with every occurrence.

It happened again tonight. You were tangled up in each other, lips locked in a passionate kiss, hands exploring, when Natasha suddenly pulled back, her breath uneven.

"Stop," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

You froze, your heart pounding. You were frustrated, sure, but you respected Natasha enough to honor her wishes. With a heavy sigh, you pulled away, trying to hide your disappointment.

"Are you okay?" you asked softly, concern evident in your voice.

She nodded, avoiding your gaze. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just… not feeling it right now."

You couldn't help but feel disappointed, but you didn't want to show it. Instead, you forced a small smile and said, "Okay. I'm just gonna… take a cold shower then."

Without waiting for a response, you got up and made your way to the bathroom, leaving Natasha alone on the bed.

The cold water did little to wash away your disappointment. You couldn't shake the feeling of frustration, unable to understand why Natasha kept pulling away.

After what felt like an eternity under the icy spray, you finally turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. As you dried off and got dressed, you couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

When you emerged from the bathroom, you found Natasha lost in her own world, her eyes unfocused as she begged someone she had only told you about once, Madame B, not to hit her.

Your heart broke at the sight. You knew Natasha was reliving a moment from her past, a nightmare from her time in the Red Room. Without a second thought, you crossed the room and enveloped her in a tight hug, hoping to ground her in the present, having it done many times previously.

"Nat, it's me," you whispered, your voice soft and soothing. "You're safe now. You're with me."

Slowly, Natasha's breathing began to steady, and the tension in her body started to ease. She clung to you, burying her face in the crook of your neck as she struggled to break free from the memories that haunted her.

You held her close, whispering words of comfort and reassurance until she finally began to relax in your arms.

After Natasha falls asleep in your arms, you gently tuck her under the covers, making sure she's comfortable. With a lingering glance, you quietly slip out of the room, closing the door softly behind you.

You make your way downstairs and pull out your phone, dialing Yelena's number. She picks up after a couple of rings.

"Hey," she says, her voice filled with concern. "Is everything okay?"

You hesitate for a moment, not sure how to explain what just happened with Natasha.

"Not really," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "Nat had a flashback… to the Red Room, I think."

There's a pause on the other end of the line before Yelena speaks again. "Is she okay now?"

"Yeah, she's sleeping," you reply. "But… I don't know what to do, Yelena. Every time things start to get… intimate, she freezes up. I can't shake the feeling that it's connected somehow."

There's a thoughtful silence before Yelena speaks again. "Does my sestra shower with the door closed?"

You frown, confused by the seemingly random question. "Uh, yeah, she does. Why?"

Yelena hums thoughtfully. "And does she ever… mention anything about about her post-missions "

Your heart skips a beat as the pieces start to click into place. "No, she doesn't even let me see her till she's in pajamas. Why?"

Yelena lets out a heavy sigh. "Look, I think… Y/n, you're pretty smart, so I'm surprised I have to be telling you this, but my sister is insecure about something. And maybe, just maybe, that's why she keeps pulling away."

"But what insecurity?" you question," She-"

Before you can say anything else, Yelena interrupts you. "Sorry, I have to go. Kate's calling me. Just… be there for her, okay? She needs you."

After Yelena hangs up, more incidents with Natasha flash through your mind. Little moments that, when looked at together, begin to form a pattern. And suddenly, it hits you like a ton of bricks. Natasha's insecurity is about her scars.

Just as you're connecting the dots, Natasha comes downstairs to grab something to eat. Wordlessly, you grab her by the hips and lift her up.

"Hey, what are you doing?" she squeals, trying to wriggle out of your grasp.

Ignoring her protests, you carry her back upstairs to your room. Once there, you gently set her down on the edge of the bed, ignoring her playful protests.

"Okay, seriously, what's going on?" she asks, confusion evident in her voice.

You don't answer right away. Instead, you kneel down on the floor in front of her, taking her hands in yours.

"Tasha, I love you," you begin, your voice steady. "And I want you to know that you can talk to me about anything. I know… I know that something happened tonight, something that triggered a flashback. And I think… I think I know what it is."

Natasha's eyes widen in surprise, and for a moment, she looks like she might bolt. But then she takes a deep breath and meets your gaze.

"You do?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, squeezing her hands gently while taking a deep breath, trying to find the right words to say. "Natasha, do you not like your scars?" you ask gently.

Natasha's defenses go up immediately, and she tries to deflect the situation with humor. "What, these old things?" she says, gesturing to her scars with a forced smirk. "Just battle wounds, nothing to worry about."

But you're firm in your resolve. You don't let her deflect this time. "Nat, please," you say, your voice pleading. "I need you to be honest with me."

She sighs, the forced smile slipping from her face. "Fine," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "Fine, you want the truth? I hate them, okay? I hate the way they look. I hate what they remind me of."

Your heart breaks at her words, but you keep your voice steady. "Why, Nat? Why do you hate them so much?"

And then she confesses, her words tumbling out in a rush. "Because I'm afraid, okay? I'm afraid that when you see them, you'll finally realize that you're dating a monster. A cold-blooded murderer. I'm afraid that you'll look at me and see nothing but a killer. And I love you so much, and I don't want to lose you. But I'm afraid that these scars will scare you away. That I don't look… sexy with my scars and all."

Tears fill her eyes as she speaks, and you feel your heart breaking all over again.

You feel a surge of anger and hurt at Natasha's admission. How could she think of herself like that? And how could she think that you would ever see her that way?

"You really think that?" you say, your voice coming out a bit harsher than you intended. "That I would see you like that? That I would ever think of you as a monster? God, Natasha, how could you even think that?"

Natasha flinches at your words, and for a moment, you regret the harshness of your tone. But then you take a deep breath and soften your voice.

"I'm sorry, It wasn't supposed to sound so rude, but… I get it, Nat," you continue, your voice gentle now. "I get that you're scared. And I understand why you feel that way. Even if I've not been through what you've been through, I'd like to think that I get it. But you need to know that I love you, scars and all. And I would never, ever think of you as anything less than amazing."

You feel Natasha's arms tighten around you, and you know that she's listening, really listening, to what you're saying.

"And another thing," you add, your voice firm now. "You need to stop calling yourself those hateful things. You are not a monster, Natasha. You are not a cold-blooded murderer. You are a hero, you are the role model to millions of kids out there, and you're my girlfriend. There's no way in hell could you be what you claim to be. Don't you ever forget that."

Natasha doesn't say anything in response, and for a moment, you worry that you've pushed her too far. But then she pulls back slightly, her eyes meeting yours.

"Thank you," she whispers, her voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you for… for loving me, scars and all."

You shush her with a gentle finger to her lips. " What have I told you about that?" you ask in a tutting tone.

She chuckled breathily, a faint smile on her face " Never thank you unless I don't want dinner that night"

You look into Natasha's eyes, your heart overflowing with love and reassurance. Without saying a word, you lift her (Well yours, but anything that was yours was hers) t-shirt and leant in to press a gentle kiss to one of her scars, then another, and another, until you'd kissed each one.

Each kiss is an act of reassurance, a silent declaration of how beautiful and attractive you find her scars. And with each kiss, you feel Natasha's tension slowly melting away, replaced by a sense of peace and acceptance.

When you finally pull back, Natasha is looking at you with tear-filled eyes, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips.

"I love you" she whispers, her voice filled with emotion.

" I love you more"

"Willing to bet on it?"

--

[luveline]

kisses before dinner —the harrington family gets ready for a dinner party. mom!reader, 3k

"...and I told mommy she needed my help but your mom doesn't like listening to me anymore," Steve says, eyebrows pulled together, "because of that one time I told her the side of the refrigerator was supposed to feel warm and it broke. But I'm usually right."

Wren blinks at him dopily where she lies in the dip of his thighs. Steve has his knees up, back flat on the couch and head propped by a pink fluffy heart pillow from Bethie's bed to speak to her face to face. 

"I promise you'll understand when you're older. I'm a genius." He strokes her little forehead. Steve's youngest daughter is too baby to look like anybody, but he's starting to think she looks like him anyway. "And now mom has to run the washing machine again when we were already super duper busy." 

"Shut up!" you yell from the kitchen. 

Bethie giggles from the same place, seemingly, raising her voice to join in, "Yeah, daddy! Shut up!" 

"That's so not nice." Steve shakes his head at Wren in dramatic disbelief. She smiles at him. "Isn't that mean? Don't you think that's sick?" 

"You're being a know-it-all again!" you continue. "And we'd be less busy if you were helping me!" 

"I'm sick of helping," Steve says conversationally. "I help all day long." 

Wren gurgles and lifts one of her hands toward him. Steve holds it in his, rubbing at her palm with a gentle thumb. She totally gets what he's saying, agrees with him no doubt, breathing out heavily as Steve gives her hand a wave up and down. 

"Steve," you say, dropping the angry act to pull him in, "please, sweetheart, I really do need your help."

"How am I supposed to say no to that?" Steve whispers. "Does she guilt trip you that way?" 

Wren doesn't giggle, but the breathy, happy sound she makes as he crunches forward to kiss her forehead is close enough to make Steve laugh himself. He moves her carefully into the curve of his arm and stands, wishing he could stretch, exhausted by another long week but undeniably happy. "Let's go see what they want," he murmurs to Wren. 

You and Bethie are in the kitchen by the stove. She's wearing oven mitts too big for her, and you're crouched behind her offering steady instructions. "Don't touch the sides, my love. Only the baking tray. If it feels warm and you're not happy, tell me, and I'll take it straight away." You wear your own oven gloves.

"I can do it," Beth insists, squaring her features. 

Beth takes the baking tray and its cookies into her hands, walking with short steps to the counter, where she slides the tray up high. You lean over her to make sure it's settled before closing the oven and dashing a kiss into her cheek. "Well done, gorgeous girl," you say, scratching lightly at her shoulder as she preens under the praise. "One day you'll be making cookies all by yourself."

"But not for a while?" she asks, startled. 

You kiss her again. "Not for a long, long time." 

"Did you need my help or my approval?" Steve asks, his hand making a small thump with each pat he taps into Wren's back. "A taste tester, right?" 

"I need you to find your other daughters. I have no idea where they are," you say with a rueful smile. 

"Okay." Steve has carried babies. He's carried them for years, tiny ones and ones too big to need it, carried nonetheless. But something about Wren in all her newness makes him nervous. He hates carrying her up and down the stairs, too aware of the times he's missed a step or tripped up. "Can you take her?" 

"Yes!" Bethie says, running to her unofficial chair at the dining table and holding out her mitted arms as she sits. 

You nod at him and take the seat next to her. Steve hands Wren over into her sister's waiting hold, more than confident you're still there to take over if things get overwhelming. Wren looks comically large in Bethie's lap. 

"I have her, dad." Beth leans down to touch her nose to Wren's. "Hi, Wren. Hello, hello," she says softly.

Steve gives your cheek a swift but loving stroke and leaves in search of the other kids. He can hear Dove in her room talking to herself in make believe, but Avery, the oldest, isn't with her, nor is she in her bedroom. Steve knocks on the bathroom door. 

"Are you in there, Ave?" 

No answer. Steve raises his voice. "I'm coming in." 

He peeks inside slowly but she's not there. Eyebrows raised, Steve asks, "Avery, where are you?" Nothing. "Avery Harrington, don't make me worry! Please." 

He lets his head drift to one side, listening for an answer. Avery rarely gets told off and she hates it; she'd jump to tell him where she was if she were up here. 

Or so he thinks. Just as he's taking the stairs again to look for her someplace he must have missed, he hears sniffling coming from the master bedroom. 

Idiot, he thinks, relief taking tight hold. He doesn't like not knowing where the girls are. He should've checked your room to begin with. 

"Ave?" he says, opening his bedroom door. "You in here?" 

"I'm here, dad," she says, peering up from the space between the top of the bed and his nightstand, kneeling on the carpeted floor. 

"What are you doing down there? We gotta get ready for Aunt Robin's party." 

Her cheeks shine in the slice of light from the open door. Steve closes it behind him and flicks on the big light, rounding the end of the bed to help her up. He hooks his hands under her arms and pulls her into his chest, bed springs creaking as their joined weight lands. 

"Why are you crying?" he asks, cuddling her to his front. "What's wrong? Why didn't you come and find me? You can't stay here crying all by yourself, that's not cool. How am I supposed to make it better if I don't know what's wrong?" 

"Dove bit me." 

Steve gasps. "Again?" 

"On my hand, dad." She holds up her wrist. "It hurts." 

He presses his cheek to the top of her head, taking her arm tenderly to analyse the bite. It's a nasty thing, not bleeding but cruel and stark. "I'm sorry," he says. 

"You said I can't be mean–" 

"No, you can't–" 

"But it was really mean." 

"I know," he murmurs, "but I just don't… we can't be mean to Dove when she bites because she doesn't know it's wrong, okay? She doesn't remember. She knows it's the wrong thing to do, but by the time I tell her she doesn't know what she did." What Steve means is that the first time Dove bit Avery, Avery reacted on impulse and slapped her sister in the stomach. There isn't a bridge yet to connect to Dove why she might have received such a thing (though Steve teaches all the girls that hitting is never okay no matter what), so Dove just thought she was being hit. It was a very tense half hour of tears. 

Steve rubs Avery's back as she starts to cry in earnest. "I will tell her not to bite you, honey. I swear, I won't let her be mean to you. I'll tell her until she understands." 

He's been trying to teach Dove not to bite, but saying 'no' doesn't seem to do anything. Positive incentives don't last, and taking her toys wouldn't make much sense, because again, she doesn't get it. 

"You know," Steve says, wiping her cheeks tenderly, "I'll tell her again and again and again until she stops, and it'll work, because it worked with you." 

"What?" 

"You used to bite me sometimes, but you used to bite mom all the time." 

Avery looks at him in horror. "I did?" 

He puts her down onto her feet and takes her hand. He'd like to tell her this story while sitting down, but Robin's house beckons and time is running short. "Mom would come home from work and you'd be very happy to see her, but she would ask you what you did today and where we went and you'd bite her." 

He peeks into Dove's room and finds her missing. Downstairs, you say, "No! No, no, babe!" and he assumes she's been found. 

"Why would I do that?" 

Steve holds her hand buoyed between them as he descends the stairs. "We decided it was because you missed her. When your Dove's age you don't know how to say that. You don't even know what that is. I'm a thousand years old and I don't even know what I'm feeling half the time. So mom stopped hugging you after work for a bit until you calmed down." 

"But I don't go to work, dad. Why did Dove bite me?" 

"What were you doing?" 

"We were playing with Mr Scruffles and the care bears and she just bit me for no reason!" 

Steve stops at the bottom of the stairs. "Were you being a bossy boots?" 

Avery glares at him. "I just told her to stop taking Funshine bear." 

"Well," Steve says, smiling at her in apology, "maybe, next time, you can come and tell me, and then I'll tell her to stop taking Funshine bear, and then when she wants to bite someone she bites me instead of you. That could work, yeah?" He would much prefer it. 

Steve takes Avery to the kitchen, where you've transferred Wren into her bassinet while Bethie eats a cookie, her cheeks messy with chocolate, and Dove languishes in your arms, small hands touching your hair curiously. 

"Dove, will you look at this?" he asks, showing her Avery's bite mark. "You see that, honey? That's what you did when you bit your sister. We don't bite."

You gasp. "No!" you say, stern but far from cruel. "We don't bite. We only bite when we want to eat something." 

Dove frowns. 

"When you bite," Steve says, trying to appeal to her smarts. It'll stick eventually. "You give Avery an owie. That's why we can't bite, okay?" 

Dove can tell she's being chided even if she doesn't totally get why. "No," she says unhappily. 

"Can you say sorry to Avery?" you ask, reassuring her with a gentle squeeze. "Say, I'm sorry, Avery." 

"Sorry, Ave'y," she mumbles. 

Avery can't glare for long. She doesn't hold a grudge, not like her dad. "It's okay. You didn't mean to." 

You beam at Avery like she's hung the moon. "You're so nice, my big girl. Can I have a look at your wrist? Did that hurt?" 

Her mother's concern draws fresh tears. You swap children, and Dove quickly forgets what happened as Avery cries in little sniffles on the countertop. Steve brims with a familiar brand of pride as you comfort her, kissing and offering treats to help her feel better. I picked the right one might be applicable, only Steve didn't choose you so much as he happened upon you one day like a miracle, and then begged to keep you. Luckily for him, you've always been very agreeable on that front. 

(As in, you love him more than can be said in any one language.) 

"What are you upto?" Steve asks Bethie.

She shows him her food-covered hands. He nods like this is awesome, but in reality chocolate stains her t-shirt and she's going to have to change before they leave. Dove rams herself against his leg and looks up with her eyes widened. 

"What?" he asks. 

"Um…" 

"What do you want?" he asks, softer. She starts to frown again. Steve bends. "Drink? Crackers?" No dice. "What about some pear slices?" 

Dove loves pears more than anything, the sticky, sugary sliced kind from the can. Her frown disappears and she walks off, thankful to be understood. Steve's just grateful he wasn't bitten.

"What else did you need?" Steve asks, winding around you where you're cleaning Avery's cheeks. A damp washcloth drips down your arm.

"More time. Have any?" 

"Wren's bag is done, bottles done, Bethie's dinner." He whispers the last part. Bethie is a picky eater and she grows pickier with time, and Robin knows this, but she's not a parent (as sweet and caring as she might be for the girls). Only something you or Steve have made is something Bethie will deign to eat, and she's insecure about it despite having no reason to be. "Beth needs a new top. Your blouse needs to go in the dryer, and I can't find my nice pants. Avery?" 

"I don't need anything." 

"You sure? You have Mr Scruffles?" 

She wraps her arms around your neck. "Just want a hug." 

"Then I guess I'm busy while daddy does all my chores," you tease Steve lightly, your touch similarly soft where it tracks up and down Avery's arm. "I'm sorry Dove bit you again. It's not fair. Not fair at all. Maybe we should only have you playing downstairs until me and dad figure it out, okay? I don't want her to keep taking bits of you." 

Steve clears the checklist. Not to brag or anything, but he's a pro. You both are. Life is hectic as always and you knew getting out the door would be a process, so you planned accordingly, and you arrive at Robin's with time to spare, though Dove smells strongly of sugary pears and Bethie's new shirt has fingerprints on the back. 

"Hi, crew!" Robin greets. "It's my favourite Harringtons!" 

"We're your only Harringtons." 

"That's not true, I went to college with a Harrington." Robin ushers the girls inside. They want one thing and one thing alone —hugs. Dove is the most insistent, dropping your hand to offer Robin her arms. She picks the small girl up and smiles at her with a monumental amount of love. Robin doesn't have favourites but Dove demands it, sometimes. Avery says, "Hello, Aunt Robin," and hugs her stomach, while Bethie puts her arm behind Avery and hugs them both. 

Steve's arm shakes. "Any chance I can get through? This is a really heavy baby." 

"Hi," Robin says, ignoring him without guilt. "You guys are the best part about having a best friend." 

Steve logs that one for later revenge and eases around the mass of bodies to take Wren into the living room. "Holy fuck," he says, "I thought you weren't coming?" 

Eddie rolls his eyes. "I wanted to see the girls. It has nothing to do with you." 

They hug and pat each other on the back, and then Eddie drops to his knees in front of Wren's car seat to smile at her. "I love her so much. Can I have this one? Y'already have so many." 

"No you absolutely cannot. Where's Dustin?" 

"They're all in the backyard. Mora's teaching them how to make grass flutes, or something." 

"How'd you get out of that?" 

Eddie shrugs. "She doesn't like me. Doesn't make any sense, goth and metal are like brothers." 

"Is she goth? I thought we settled on hippie who wears dark clothing." 

"You guys are such losers!" Robin says, like a tree adorned in girl-shaped ornaments. "Don't bitch about Mora." 

"Don't swear in front of my kids!" 

You, having taken off your shoes and coat, unlike Steve, shimmy around the table. "He said 'fucking bitch' in front of Bethie the other day," you gossip, sitting by your friend's side. Eddie gives you a quick hug. You're undoubtedly his favourite Harrington. 

"He's a disgusting man who shouldn't have kids." 

You gasp and elbow him. "How dare you." 

"Can we go play with Stinky?" Avery asks Robin. 

Robin puts Dove down, short hair flying every which way, "If you can find him. But be nice, okay? He's agitated today. Mora says it's something about the supermoon." 

Avery laughs and Dove races to follow her sister up the stairs. "Ave, remember what I said, okay?" Steve calls after her. "Come and tell me if she's being bad! And no going in the bathroom!" 

Bethie remains, oddly. Though it's obvious why she's stayed the longer she lingers, her gaze flickering between you and Eddie. 

He holds his arms out. "Hello, Beth. You want a bro hug?" 

Bethie laughs and meanders into his waiting arms, where he pat-pat-pats her back like he did to Steve, eliciting a wave of happy giggles. "You've gotten so big again!" Eddie says, moving her away kindly. "Woah!" 

"I'm glad people have stopped saying that to me," you joke. 

Steve's delighted, laughing loud and sudden, and you're always pleased to have made him laugh, practically collapsing in his direction. He pulls at you until you're arm's reach. 

"What does that mean, Eddie?" Bethie whispers. 

Eddie pulls her into his lap. "It means your mom is happy about baby Wren being born." 

"I'm really happy too." 

"I bet you are! Your dad told me you're like his little helper, is that true?" 

Steve turns into your cheek. A quick stolen moment before he kisses under your ear and pulls away. "Wow," he says, smiling at you, "could we, like, actually have a conversation right now? A full one?" 

You beam. "What do you wanna talk about?" 

Steve could happily talk about everything and nothing with you. Before bed you guys are usually tired but excited enough to be alone together that you'll talk about the colour of the new dish soap or Avery's broken pinky nail. "Seen any good movies lately?" 

You give him the look. He practically invented it, that sticky, gooey eyed love as you murmur, "Mm, no. Don't think so. How about you?" 

He leans in for a kiss. 

"Yikes," Eddie says, covering a giggling Bethie's eyes with his hands. "Robin, house rules, please!" 

Steve drops his arms heavily over your shoulders for a warm hug. "He's just jealous," he whispers. 

[oozedninjas]

Snap call

Summary: You send him nudes while he is on patrol, and Raph isn't quite happy about it.

A/N: I've been working on this for a couple of days! Hope you like it :) To that person who's been asking for Nightwatcher smut, wink, wink

Warnings: 18+ /NDNI / Breeding / sending nudes / Nightwatcher!Raph / Raph is around his early 30's / super brief ass-eating / dirty talking/dom!Raph

It is past midnight when he slips through the narrow window of your apartment’s room, still wearing his vigilante armor. His labored breaths rumble within the helmet, delivering them with a metallic tint that makes you tingle.

"Do you think you're funny, sending dirty pics all night while I'm on patrol?" He says, his voice raw as he approaches. It only takes him a few swift strides to stand beside you. The metallic clang of his boots on the floor sends a shiver down your spine, building anticipation. “Strip, now.”

A grin threatens to arise at the sight of him in this state, burning for you, but you bite it back, ditching the thin fabric of your pajamas in a heartbeat. The moment the last strand of clothing falls off your body, Raphael grips your arms, forcing you to turn around, back to his front. He closes the space between you. The icy metal of the Nightwatcher’s armor to your bare skin makes you gasp.

The cool of his gloves scrapes against your heated skin as his palms trail a path from your shoulders to your arms to dance lower, dipping across your abdomen and up from there. His grip tightened around your breasts. You catch your breath. 

Expert fingers pinch your nipples, pulling, rolling them just enough for a soft moan to leave your lips. Raphael growls, enjoying the sound. His voice echoes through the metal helmet.

"Look at my little whore, too desperate to have me filling you up that you can't even wait for me to finish patrol?" he teases, as he keeps playing with them.

"I've been wanting this the whole evening..." you mutter, voice trembling.

"And you're not even sorry! Fucking cheeky of you," he chuckles, it's dark and sexy. "Let's fix that."

Raphael lifts the helmet from his head, placing it carefully on the bedside table. Under the room's dim illumination, the metal surface becomes a hazy, distorted mirror. He pushes you to the bed, barely giving you time to adjust on all fours before he licks a strip from your cunt to your ass. Your mouth gapes, and a whine puffs off.

"Mmm, so fucking tasty," 

His voice makes your blood run hot. Raphael sinks his face into you with not even a hint of shame as he starts fucking you with his tongue, wet and warm, impossibly soft against your pussy. He'd slide it over your clit from time to time, granting it the tiniest of attention.

You whine, pushing yourself to him, but Raph bites the inside of your thigh adequately hard to make you yelp. His hand fists your hair, pulling just enough to tingle your scalp. "Don't be greedy," he murmurs in your ear from behind. You can make out the scene of the reflection on the helmet.

 "Tell me, what do you want?"

His hot breath tickles your ear. Everything he'd just done left your pussy a complete mess. You could feel the dampness dripping. God, you wanted him to fuck you stupid, nothing more. But the fear of another bite from a direct answer keeps your lips sealed.

"What’s the matter? Can't my doll think straight?" Raphael says, pushing a metal finger inside your cunt, dreadfully slow. 

"Please— " your voice weak and desperate.

He smirks. "Yeah, that's more like it. But, please what?" he says, rubbing the tip of his finger on that sweet spot inside as he keeps you still by the hair. "Please stop?" 

"No!" it came out so desperate you cringed. His soft chuckle soothed you a bit. "Please fuck me," 

He withdraws, emptying you. You want to jerk back to chase the delicious feeling of being full, but he halts you. 

"Yeah? How bad do you want it?" 

"Very— please," you whisper. His grip on your hair burns so fine, "Please, I'll be good... I'll be good."

"Fuck yes, you will," Raphael says, thrusting inside in one motion. It janks your breath off. He reaches deep, just the right spot. You can't help the lewd moan that follows.

"Look at that drunk-like smile," he tells you, letting go of your hair as he brings you up to embrace you against him. This shift has you on your knees, back resisting against his torso. The cold armor soothes the fire of your skin. Raph holds your face toward the reflection on the helmet, forcing you to watch your blissful expression. "You're such a good little slut for me. Gonna make you feel good, you want that?" 

"Yes," you breathe, desperately holding his hands where they rest over your body,  clenching and unclenching around his shaft.

He mutters praise in your ear, but you can't make it out as he starts pounding in and out, rhythmically, building a pace that makes your head fall back, mouth gaping while loud moans along with the filth of skin slapping fill the air.

He curses under his breath, you're tight, he says. You feel good, he's going crazy. "Touch yourself, let me see you," Raph takes your hand to drive it down to your front. You reach your clit, not losing detail of his dark gaze reflecting on the helmet, absorbing the whole scene.

It takes you a few seconds to pair his thrust with the circles over your soft nub, but once you do, it feels fucking heavenly. You make it last for as long as you can, right there where pleasure lingers strongly right before the peak. Your orgasm crashes over you, numbing everything. 

"Fuck, yes, just like that- t- that's a good fucking girl," 

The pulsations of your high around his cock trigger his own, and he comes loud and long. The hot loads filling you up weaken your knees.

He holds your ground before gently placing you on the mattress, allowing his weight over you as he rests. 

"Remind me to send you nudes more often," you say, once you catch your breath.

A raspy laugh pours into your ear, tickling. 

[maxwellatoms]

Hello Mr. Atoms, I'm an animation student in college and fan of your work. I got this assignment in which I need to ask questions to a professional in the area. Could you pretty please answer them? It'd mean a lot to me.

1- Are you happy with your career? How it's going.

2- What are your opinions, expectations and hopes about the independent animation industry that's developing?

3- What do you think about the advent of artificial intelligence? Do you fear for the future of animators?

4- If money wasn't a problem, would you still do what you do?

5- Any animators you admire and would like to mention?

Okey dokey.

1- Are you happy with your career? How it's going.

Not really, in that there seems to be no career left.

The animation industry swelled its numbers greatly before 2020. Almost immediately after that, corporate greed synergized with a pandemic to reduce animated programs and the number of people working on them to almost zero. It takes almost a year from beginning to end to make a single episode of an animated show (by the modern standard). There was nothing being made in 2020 and four years later, we''re not in a much better spot. It's going to be a long drought for (especially) Kid's TV Animation.

Recently, many of my former co-workers have hit the financial wall and can't continue, moving away after (sometimes) 20 years in the industry. I begin to wonder if I'm very far behind.

A "bounce back" a year from now would need to start today. There are still some animated shows being made now, but those are almost universally "library" properties. That means it's an existing I.P. (Intellectual Properties like Garfield/Mario/Batman/Star Wars) so as an artist you're immediately in that box. Depending on the property and the studio, it can be an unpleasantly tight box. I grew used to holding and maintaining the vision for a show, but it's less fun when it's not my vision. It's even less fun when you can't inspire someone to follow your vision because they've been so ruthlessly abused.

I'm pretty sick of how big media corporations treat their employees. If I inherit one more burnt out crew due to mismanagement, I'm gonna lose it.

Over a decade ago I fought hard to get board artists story credit for the episodes they were actually writing, and felt like I'd won a big victory for everyone. The second my back was turned, it all reverted.

Mostly... what is the point now? My career is/was developing ideas, crafting those ideas into a workable show, then managing teams of thirty to seventy people to produce a couple of dozen episodes per year. Studios actively do not want new ideas right now, and are actively searching for ways to eliminate what artists from the process. I'm not sure what my job would be under this new system, but it feels like they decided to hang onto the anxiety-inducing deadlines while removing anything remotely pleasurable from the experience.

2- What are your opinions, expectations and hopes about the independent animation industry that's developing?

It's the only way to get anything done, currently.

The current state of the industry is not sustainable. I (along with a lot of other animators I know) are trying to decide what's next, and pretty much everyone agrees that "you just have to make something".

It is (in that very specific way) a great time to be a young animator. The system was never going to treat you well anyway. If you can get something like a Hazbin Hotel happening without studio help, you can currently write your own ticket. I'm super proud of Vivsie, because that's a LOT of stuff to handle. I never had to handle my own marketing or drum up money to make Billy & Mandy happen.

There are opportunities there, but it's definitely "Hard Mode". The best idea is probably to team up with a few other people you like and like to work with.

Hopes? I hope that the young animators take over and make something new on top of the bones of the old industry, rather than just allowing that industry to patch its rotting hide with their collected works.

3- What do you think about the advent of artificial intelligence? Do you fear for the future of animators?

I suspect true AI might just peace-out like ScarJo in "Her", but we're not there yet. What we have now isn't Artificial Intelligence at all (though I do believe it may be the underpinnings of the Artificial Suconscious of what may one day become an actual Artificial Intelligence.)

The LLMs and "Generative AI" are (so far) a big dumb waste. They consume tons of energy and aren't great for doing anything creative. If you've sat down with Chat GPT for a creative writing session, you've probably run into the "out of the box" limitations which prevent it from talking about sex or violence-- which happen to be a major component of most stories.

Still, the technology has come incredibly far in an incredibly short amount of time. I imagine we're going to hit the point where we're being hazed by artificially generated political ads way before Generative AI can produce a consistent and usable character turnaround, so that'll be the test. Whatever the legal fallout is from this stuff over the next few years will set the tone.

Still, studios have a vested interest in pleasing their shareholders. Generative AI potentially has the capability of not only replacing swaths of money-eating artists, but handing that control directly to the billionaire studio heads. Mark my words: We're headed straight for billionaire-generated content.

I don't think the public at large will want to watch Elon Musk's fever dreams, so there's that. So law and general distaste might stave it off for a while, but I think there's just too much impetus for studios to continue to try to please their investors. "AI Art" is here to stay.

Eventually that will lead to millions and millions of bots generating millions and millions of songs and paintings and movies all day every day. Most of it will be utter trash. Right now (so I'm told) viewers are already burnt out, and will generally only click on what they already know. On Netflix, where there are twenty things you've never heard of and one you have, you're more likely to pick the thing that gives you comfort and gives you a guarantee you're not wasting your time. With exponentially more A.I. trash, how would you even begin to filter it out?

You'd need absolute control of an already existing distribution system. We currently have a few of those, and all of the media companies are desperately trying to merge with them to insure their own survival.

To me, the post-Gen-AI landscape looks a lot like old-school Cable, but with endless I.P. and fewer masters.

4- If money wasn't a problem, would you still do what you do?

The real question is, maybe, "What am I even doing?" These days I try to do a lot of gardening. I'm trying to learn new art skills, because suddenly twenty five years of experience managing, drawing, and writing isn't worth much. I recently worked on Jellystone until Zaslav lost 2.5 billion in the wash and had to find justification for his new yacht. The show before that? Also culled midway through to save money. The days of multi-year gigs seem to be over, and if I'm going to scrape by doing freelance, maybe I can do that somewhere else.

I'll always make art. I can't seem to help it. Ideas aren't my problem-- it's executing those ideas without the help of a structured pre-existing system. I honestly don't know if I'll ever be able to pull that off. My strengths are great, but were always supported by friends I worked with.

Can I start an indie cartoon with all of these cool friends? Sure, maybe. Most of those people have gone on to have other careers of their own and got used to being paid. Now nobody is getting paid and no one can pay anyone else. My immediate circle are all now middle-aged people with families and no jobs. Convincing them to give up a large chunk of their day for an idea that's not guaranteed to pay off is going to take some real effort.

I technically have fifteen years until I can claim my "retirement", assuming that still exists by then. That's a pretty big hole to fill with... I don't know what.

The difficult "What comes next" discussions at home are really just starting.

5- Any animators you admire and would like to mention?

There are a lot of cool animation people out there. I already mentioned I was proud of Vivsie. I was also reminded recently just how great C.H. Greenblatt and Mr. Warburton are. I know they're my friends. They're both just really upstanding, creative people who take good care of their crews.

The treatment of animation industry professionals by the studio system has been one of the most demoralizing and heartbreaking parts of this demoralizing and heartbreaking time.

---

So there ya go. If you want to look for someone whose attitude is a little more upbeat, I won't blame you a bit.

Wherever you are, I wish you the best of luck. For me, just climb up there and crush it. I would very much like to add you to #5 someday.

[sxorpiomooon]

What does your younger self think about you? A pac reading

This reading scared the fucking shit out of me guys had to gather alot of courage to do it. Good luck

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Pile 1-

I think pile 1's younger self thinks that they have been indulging themselves in something too much for no reason? Like pile 1 has been too impatient. They might think that you might have started to focus too much on the appearance of things I especially see this for yourself too. This pile might be too focused on how they look overall and I see it causing them harm. "Only understanding the cost of things and not their value" is what I heard. This is so cute but I think pile 1's younger self likes how feminine they've become now? For some reason I had a vision of cinderalla. I think this pile's younger self is super excited about them being able to dress up nicely. I think the younger self also thinks that you guys have more resources than you did back then whether it's in the material sense or people but they're very happy with that. For some of you, if you are trying to get pregnant or alr have kids i see your pile being very very excited and happy about that too. The younger self also thinks that you guys tend to walk away from things too early? Oml pile 1 i hope y'all not gambling n shit😭 anyways they think that just when you are about to win, you decide to leave that thing behind. The main message I get is being patient with yourself also heard "my patience leads to perseverance"

Pile 2-

Your younger self is satisfied with how far you've come. Especially in the emotional sense they think that you have reached emotional stability and know your worth and it makes them happy. Also if you are someone who wins a lot of awards and has a pile of awards stacked up perhaps someone who's also athletic, your younger self is very proud. pile 2 has found themselves. I see that you might have had a lot of experiences helping you in gaining wisdom and whatever you needed to be at this level. Your younger self also loves how sensitive you are and how much in touch with your emotions you are. For some of you, i see that you've not turned out how you would've expected yourself to be(in a good way) so even your younger self is surprised. They love how much of a dreamer you are. However I think this pile has a lot of struggles or tests that life or fate puts them through. You might struggle a bit with authority and communication this I see happening bc of not proper communication I think your younger self wants you to have more clarity regarding that.

Pile 3-

Your younger self thinks that you've lost your way and your sight.

"If you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you."

Is something that I heard immediately. Your younger self might think that you are very trapped and alone misguided in this world right now I keep hearing unreal monsters lure for some reason? Your younger self might also think that you have been lied to or taken advantage of by people? However, your younger self also thinks that alot of things are going wrong simply because you are trying to find your way and as long as you make sure to balance everything especially your priority and as I heard "the life that you want" it will all be ok

Pile 4-

Your younger self wants you to live your life and indulge into things and whatever that you like but they also want you to take a few minutes to see the bigger picture of it every time before you make a decision or do something. "Does it really serve me?" Is something that I keep hearing. Having pleasure and fun is nice but it also must be done to a limit. Me and the devil keep playing in my head and I keep hearing ego. Some of you have to keep your ego in check. Brat keeps playing in my head and I'm seeing a dj party for some reason. Your younger self also thinks that either you alr have or you are going to start a new beginning very soon and they seem excited for that bc that might be the path you are meant to follow. They want you to take the leap of faith and have courage in yourself. They also want you to always keep learning and defend yourself when needed

[beatrixstonehill2]

Vince walked around his town's annual Oktoberfest celebration, catching sight of someone he hadn't seen in years, his high school crush, Natalie. Only not quite how he remembered her. "Wow, Natalie! Get a load of you.... looking better than ever!"

"Oh my god, Vince! I'm soooo happy to see you! And thanks.... I'm getting that a lot." She giggled, giving her belly a few good slaps as she guzzled her beer, wiping her lips afterward.

"Damn, you're putting those things away, huh? I remember you used to be all straight-edge, education comes first. You were cute, but not a whole lot of fun."

"Gee, thanks. I know, I know, I was so stuck up. But that's all changed now, and for the record this is my fifth beer already! Which, mmmm, reminds me!" Natalie slightly spread her bare legs and feet, pissing without a hint of embarrassment. "Mmmmm, that feels so good! I hope you don't mind." She bit her lip, talking as she pissed shamelessly in front of everyone.

"Not at all, a girl your size probably can barely control it, I bet."

She shook her head, still going, taking a big sip of her beer. "Just barely. I'm such breeder now, I'm getting used to just pissing myself if I need to. My womb is gigantic most of the time, my poor bladder's crushed. All the beer I drink probably doesn't help either. Mmmmm...."

"I can't believe how much you've changed. Last I heard you were a big shot in going to University in the city, about to get your Bachelor's. I still remember you tutoring me in English and I felt like a moron talking to you. Everyone knew you were the smartest girl in class."

"Those were the days! Well, I did good in college but my family talked me into dropping out and giving up on my education."

"What? For real?"

Natalie slapped her belly so hard it made a loud smacking noise. "Uh-huh! You know my family are pretty traditional, Christian types..... Sooo, they asked to talk to me and basically said that they were being quiet about how they really felt. They were proud of who I was becoming, but deep down wanted me to return to my small-town roots. They told me they always hoped I'd be barefoot and pregnant, sleeping around town, popping out kids left and right with a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other. They talked about how they prayed I'd come to my senses and lead a normal girl's life like God wants, or whatever. They said I should be breeding and having tons of sex with all kinds of guys, satisfying the local men, not leaving one behind. I should always be pregnant, and basically make my whole life about pleasure, to embrace being dumb, and to stop embarrassing them by being this super smarty city girl in college."

"And just like that you gave it up to make them happy, become a dumb little breeding cow?"

"Yep! Pretty much.... And I've got to say, I'm way happier living a simple life like this. I have all the sex I want with whoever, drink all I want, smoke like a chimney, show off my massive belly full of kids to entice the locals into getting out a little pent up frustration on me! I do such a wonderful service to the community now. I really feel like I'm giving back every time these men fill me with their seed and pound away at my poor, swollen pussy...." She giggled, giving her belly another slap, finishing her beer. "Oh! All done.... better get another. You want one?"

"Sure, I guess."

"That's the spirit! While we wait in line how about you bend me over, hike up my skirt, and show me how big a crush you really have on me....."

"Damn, I should've come back home way sooner I guess...." He gave Natalie a playful spank, leading her to the waiting line at the makeshift tavern nearby, his cock already anticipating getting to finally fuck his first major crush, with some added weight, a much bigger ass, and a huge belly full of kids. He knew in the coming days they would need to do a lot more catching up, while she could still walk, that is.

[captianbrnes]

Pretty like the Sun

Summary: When you start to doubt yourself, Bucky is here to pick up the pieces you left behind.

Warnings: Insecure reader, that's all i think

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!reader, friends to lovers

Word count: 1k

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆

You don't even remember how it started. It just switched one day and now all you could focus on was ur ‘faults’.

Were you even fit to be an avenger? How did people like you? Did your friends even truly like you? Weeks went by and you could feel yourself slipping more and more, you tried to act normal to your super friends hoping no one would notice. Bucky did.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ 

 “Have you noticed anything wrong with Y/n? She just seems off, im worried” Bucky expressed to Sam and Natasha in the kitchen while making a cup of coffee.

“ Idk man she's your girl shouldn't you know?” “She's not my girl Sam.” He rolls his eyes knowing Sam knows about his crush on you.

“Maybe go up to her, just go check on her.” Nat says as she pats the super soldiers’ back, leaving the kitchen.

He decides then that the only way he'll know is to ask so Bucky gets up to head to your room. 

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ You're laying in bed staring up at the ceiling when you hear 3 knocks from the door. Not feeling up to talk to anyone, you don't say anything hoping whoever’s there will just leave. “ Doll it's me Bucky, I want to talk, can you open the door for me?”

Oh Bucky… Your crush for the longest time, also one of your closest friends. Ever since you first joined the avengers you knew you were done for. His immediate smile threw you off your feet and it was then you knew.

You and Bucky started to become closer to each other over the months, spending most of your time together either watching movies or walking around New York. Bucky was one of the people who you cared about the most and that's why you felt so insecure. You wanted to be your best for him all the time, be perfect in hope that he’ll maybe fall for you just like how hard you fell for him.

What you didn’t know was that he already fell just as hard.

The first time Bucky spotted you he couldn't believe his eyes. He didn't understand how someone could be that beautiful, your eyes shined and your smile glowed, you look like the Sun. He cared so much for you and hasn't felt this much love for anyone ever and just wanted to make sure you’re okay, that's why he's here.

You decide to get up and open the door for him, checking the mirror beforehand making sure you look okay. “ Hey Buck, everything okay?”

You choke out looking up at him while trying toseem happy. “ Yeah everythings fine, just wanted to check on you, haven't seen you in a while… Can I come in?” Bucky says rubbing his hand on the back of his neck hoping that you'll let him in and open up to him. “ Uh sure-” You both opt to sit on your bed and it's then that Bucky takes your hand and decides to speak up.

“I'm here because I'm worried about you doll.. What's going on? You know you can talk to me right.” He says looking down to you with genuine worry in his eyes. He could get so scared sometimes worrying if he upset you in some way. “ No, I'm fine-” “Dont.” Bucky interrupts. He tilts your chin up to meet his eyes.

“ Don't act like it's fine when it's not. Some Things upset you, I want to know what it is. Let me help you like you helped me” This was it. As he said that you felt yourself breaking and water managed to make it out of your eyes finally breaking down.

“Hey hey hey, i got you, you're okay breath baby, breath.” Bucky says holding you closer to him and accidentally letting a pet name slip out. After Bucky gets you to breathe and calm down he sits you on his lap and starts to speak.

“ You're okay Y/n, I'm here with you okay. Just talk to me whenever you're ready.”

It's then you finally speak up and voice all your insecurities about how you dislike how you look and feel as if youre useless and don't matter to the team. Bucky’s heart starts to break hearing these words come out of you feeling as if you're not good enough. He can't stand to see you like this anymore and put his forehead on yours making sure you're looking at him.

“ Look at me, doll, I have never thought about you in any of those ways. You are the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen and the best thing that's ever happened to me.”

“I want you to know how incredible you are and that I understand how you're feeling but that none of it is true. I am so in love with you it's crazy.” Bucky spills out not caring about if you feel the same anymore, he just needs to get it out.

“ You light up a whole room with that smile of your doll. You're the funniest person I've met and bring me so much comfort… I've never cared about anyone like i've cared about you.``

“Bucky i-” Is this true? Does he really feel the same way? “ Bucky, are you serious?” you exclaim.

Realizing that you might not share the same feelings, buckys eyes go wide with worry looking like a kicked puppy, before saying “ I um- I know that you might not feel the same ways as me but i couldn't keep it in any longer. And I'm sorry if I ruined anything I didn't mean-”

You silenced him as you crashed your lips into his humming into the kiss. You guys finally pull away after a while and decide to cuddle up under the bed together, your eyes closing.

There's still much more you guys need to talk about in the morning but none of that comes to mind now that Bucky’s finally holding you in his arms.

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

A/n : Hiii!!! Hope you liked the story. Im going to try to write more just and super busy.....

[kozachenko]

[Click for better quality]

Ok yay I'm back from my vacation yipeeeeeee. I started this drawing of Keiki before I left and I was half considering just giving up on it.... until I did a short study of facial planes and then got motivated to work on this again! I'm glad I didn't give up on it though, as I'm actually really happy with this one!

Artist's Notes;

So as I mentioned in my last post about Touhou 17, I wanted to finish this by the game's five year anniversary but with how progress was going I didn't want to rush this so I decided to take a long break from it. Mainly because of the face. For a while now I was kind of feeling like I was stagnating with my drawings, not really in the clothing but in the bodies. There was something about the way I was rendering them that I just wasn't happy with, and after talking with someone else about this issue, I realized that the reason I felt this way was because the faces were too flat and didn't match the rest of the drawing and that I needed to find a way to make the rendering of the face feel consistent with everything else. So after doing a short study of the plains of the face (I used this 3D head model from art station as a reference for my short study, please go give this person some love as they are a lifesaver) I went back into this drawing and applied what I learned here. It was only after that that I finally became motivated to finish the piece, and while it started off as just a simple character sketch like Saki and Yachie's were, the moment I added in Keiki's little fire dragon I knew I had gotten in too deep and now here we are with a full on background. OK it's not super crazy or anything, but it gets the job done and it's better than there just being an empty void behind her. It's rare moments like this when I use brushes other than the Clip Studio Default Charcoal Brush and use the Clip Studio Default Paint Brushes as well (god bless the oil paint and dry gouache clip studio brushes, they were amazing). I don't know why but painting fire has always been really fun for me, there's something oddly satisfying about it y'know? I do think that another reason for this problem was because I was drawing faces like I would in my more sketchy style that didn't mesh well with my lineless style, so I'm glad I've started remedying that.

After adding in the fire dragon I had an idea to kinda make it feel like splash art in the way the composition works... probably because I have been playing Reverse 1999 again and it has taken over my brain. I do feel like Keiki's tools get a little lost in the composition, and I didn't fully render the metal parts of them mainly because I didn't feel like they needed it, but that's just something for me to improve on later down the line.

If you guys are wondering where I went for my vacation, I went to New York and got to go to the MET and the Museum of Natural History. In both places I found Kofun period stuff and I was so happy to see it you have no idea. I remember one of the Haniwa I saw had some neat face paint under the eyes that I tried to replicate with the makeup under Keiki's eyes in my drawing, though I think I'll gave to figure out how to draw makeup on characters because this reads more like blush to me than anything. While drawing this I also looked up some references of Kofun period jewelry and really liked the stuff I found, which also meant that now she has proper Kofun earrings instead of earrings shaped like Kofun tombs. I put some of the things I referenced with a closeup of Keiki's face as well down below. I made her outfit more reminiscent of the outfit I gave her at the beginning of the year with the buttons and all, though I do want to try and draw her in some more period accurate clothing like the Haniwa I took a picture of at the Museum of Natural History. I wish I could find a way to make her handercheif look better though as I wish I made it a little bit bigger, though I think I'm saying this because I've looked at this drawing for too long lmao. Once again something to work on for when I next draw her. Also want to get better at rendering hair, as some details (like the little strands in front of her ears) kinda got unreadable due to the similarities in colour lol.

Now you may have also noticed the little cracks I added onto Keiki's face, and that's because I have fallen in love with the idea of Keiki's body being made from ceramic and that she crafted her body herself. While they aren't very visible I also tried to add some doll joints to her body, which is an idea I played around with in the past but never went to far with. I also want to get better at rendering cracks in ceramic, porcelain, etc, as I'm not sure how those read in the drawing. I also have a headcanon where the cracks in Keiki's face show up because of heightened emotions, and while Keiki is aware of this and does her best to make sure her face doesn't break off.... she will still end up with at least a few cracks during any given day, and she can often forget to repair her own body quite frequently so Mayumi has to remind her quite a lot. Mayumi even taught herself some basic sculpting techniques to help repair parts of her body that are so badly damaged to the point where Keiki can't repair them herself, i.e. if both her arms broke off, Mayumi would put them back together for her so Keiki can at least have something to repair herself with rather than nothing. I also like to imagine that if Keiki created her own body, if you took a look at Keiki from the beginning of her life she would look completely different compared to now.

BTW If you guys are wondering what a very very angry Keiki looks like....ok in order for this to make sense have any of you read volume 11 of Land of The Lustrous? Am I bringing back some memories for those of you that have? Ok good, glad we all got that mental image brewing in our minds, I'll probably draw a version of Keiki that is somewhat inspired by that one day as it's an idea I've had for a little while now. And to those who haven't gotten to that volume yet and are confused.... don't worry about it, just keep reading :)

[egoistars]

FUNNY VALENTINE wriothesley

your boyfriend doesn't seem to love you anymore, so what do you do? complain to neuvillette of course!

warnings: kissing, u being dramatic, neuvillette being done with ur shit, u and wriothesley being super gross and in love

you defeatedly slump into a chair in neuvillette's office and sigh for the fifteenth time in the past few minutes. the hydro dragon slides both his hands down his face, much like how he's seen the people of fontaine do when they were in distress.

"(name), if you don't tell me what's wrong i can't help you." in the several hundred years he's lived, neuvillette doesn't think he's spoken those words more than he has now. as he raises a delicate, white teacup to his lips, you burst into tears, violently twisting your head away from him.

"please, don't drink that in front of me," you cry, shoving your face into an overly expensive pillow on his couch. "that duke wriothesley would always drink tea and i cant stand to see it anymore! i will die parched if i have to!"

"if you're implying wriothesley doesn't love you anymore, you are surely mistaken. i'm not too familiar with human emotions, why don't you pay furina a visit? i'm sure she can understand you better."

at the sound of furina's name, you feel your body run cold. the image of your friend laughing until her face flushing crimson red dashes across your mind like an arrow, shooting you in the chest as you bleed out in an impending doom. you love her, truly, but she would never take you seriously in a situation like this.

"hmm, if you don't want to talk to furina, how about i call wriothesley and have you talk to him yourself? he is your partner, he'd be more than happy to talk through this issue with you."

"no! he's the problem! why would i want to talk to the problem? he doesn't love me anymore, neuvillette. he usually kissed my forehead twice before he leaves for work, but today," you pause for a moment, placing a hand on your chest to soothe the agonizing ache of your heart. "he only gave me one."

neuvillette promptly kicks you out.

"now what's this i hear about you crying to the iudex of fontaine about a broken heart?"

normally, the sound of wriothesley's smooth yet slightly mischievous voice would send you sprinting toward him. today however, you were distraught and feeling slightly petty. the only thing that can satisfy your heartbreak was him on his knees, sobbing with a gross trail of snot running down his nose, begging for your forgiveness.

you quickly learn that in the end, wriothesley always wins. with your back faced toward him, he wraps his muscular arms around you in a warm embrace, the fur of his uniform tickling your neck. grumbling unintelligible words, you dejectedly turn to face him but can't hide the thumping of your chest behind narrowed eyes and pouts. wriothesley laughs at you, pressing a kiss on your forehead, one on your left cheek, and one on your rights.

"i'm sorry for forgetting our routine, you petty minx? i ever do something as horrendous as that again, tell me and i'll make it up to you with as many kisses as you want, yeah? if that's not enough, i'll apologize with tears and jump into the primordial sea in your honor."

as the finale of this vomit-inducing opera, he follows the monologue by pressing a loving kiss to your waiting lips, pulling back to rest his forehead against yours.

"yeah you better keep your fucking promise," you threaten. the two of you know you don't intend to be mean by the way you melt into his touch. "i ordered your favorite today so you don't make me regret that."

maybe your boyfriend does love you after all.

[jkslipppiercing]

So show me | Part 1 | jjk

♡ summary: your boyfriend has always been a fan of PDA, unlike you.

♡ genre: angsty, not really fluffy, a lot of frustration, miscommunication

♡ pairing: boyfriend!jk, frustrated!jk, whipped!jk

♡ warnings: oc is self-conscious, both of them are severely frustrated, not much in this lol, little bit of cursing, y/n is super horny, suggestive content.

♡ WC: 2.5K.

♡ a/n: well hello again! i'm back lol. this is the first part of the "show me" series! i hope you like it <333 this is my first go at angst, and im trying to ease myself into it 😭😭 i have zero clue as to what im doing please help <3

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enjoy!!

"That'll be $22.50."

You smile sweetly at the cashier, opening your purse to pay.

Handing over the money with a grin, you thank her.

"Can I get it gift-wrapped, please? That would be great."

Christmas is about a week away, and the holiday vibes are clear as stockings and ornaments hang on every wall of the store. Decorated christmas trees shine with bright colorful lights and the festivity of the shop you're in makes you feel warm on the inside, in addition to the amazing smell of cinnamon.

On that note...why does it smell so good in here?

Christmas has always been your favorite holiday, multiple reasons why. one of the many is spending time with your loved ones...and buying them gifts.

Something about seeing them so happy just makes you feel happier by ten-fold.

The cashier smiles in return before she nods, holding the item as she turns her back to you and starts wrapping.

Meanwhile, you take the time to admire the little details of every single decoration-taking it all in- just when you feel a presence behind you.

Jungkook steps close, engulfing you in a tight embrace and humming softly. You welcome the feeling of security, humming back at his body warmth as he back-hugs you.

"Hey baby."

you giggle. "Hi."

"You done shopping?" He asks from above you, his chin pressing into the tip of your head. He had drifted off earlier on and left you to do your shopping, telling you to call for him if you needed any help.

"Yep. I asked for gift wrapping. Should be done in a few."

"Mmm, good."

Jungkook hums, dipping his head down. he inches towards your neck, resting into the crook of it and humming in a deeper- more suggestive- manner.

The sole sound has you kind of- blushing? Even though your cheeks never got that red, your eyes water and your breath hitches. You call it 'blushing' in your book.

He always does that kind of hum when you're doing a good job pleasing him...stuffing his cock-

His hands that were once wrapped around your arms and trapping you now release, only to circle around your waist instead, this time more intimately.

You love these kinds of moments, though you can't help but notice that the cashier is almost done wrapping your gift.

You find your eyes glued to her movements, almost anxious.

Jungkook's hand inshes dangerously close to your tit, and you grow slightly self-conscious in response, eyes still set strictly on the cashier's hands.

Her seeing you and your boyfriend in this situation would be kind of...awkward?

It's not that you don't appreciate the affection, you've just been more of a private person. Always loved to show love when alone, but never been a fan to do so publicly.

Jungkook, though? If PDA (Public Display of Affection) was a person? It would definitely be him.

Trying to voice out your thoughts, you whisper to him.

"Jungkook."

"Hm?" Again, that oh-so-beautifully-deep hum.

Fuck.

He snuggles his head even deeper into the crook of your neck, making it harder for you to think.

"We're in public."

He raises his head a tad bit, so you can hear him better.

"We're the only people here."

"Still, the employee could find it uncomfortable-"

"Are you uncomfortable?"

You're not.

You love jungkook.

Of course you're not uncomfortable.

You just care about people's opinions...a little too much.

Privacy is your thing, and you've always stuck to it- making sure not to make anybody feel a certain type of-

"Oh."

When you take too long to respond, your bad habit of overthinking the simplist of things pulling you under, jungkook's arms slip and waver.

He stays silent.

Jungkook was never silent.

He completely untangles and detaches himself from you.

"That's not-" You try to explain yourself, but the cashier beats you to it as they turn around and walk over to you.

"Here you go."

You accept the neatly wrapped box and thank her, rushing to leave. Your breath catches in your throat when you see jungkook already through the exit of the store.

You fucked up.

---

Under any other circumstances, you would've welcomed the pitter patter of the rain against the car's surface with wide, open arms.

But instead, you want to shrink; let the world split in half and swallow you whole.

Jungkook hasn't said a single word since you've left that store.

He went straight to his car, waited for you, then directly drove off as soon as you got into the car with him.

Not. A single. Word.

You observe him, taking note of how automatic- distant- his actions are. With one hand on the steering wheel, he rests the other on the armrest as he stares straight ahead. It's like he can feel your gaze burning a hole to the side of his face, but he's numb to the heat. Your eyes beg his own to look, but his are deaf...far; so far away.

You shouldn't have stayed quiet.

Mentally groaning at your stupidity, you lean your head against the window.

The rest of the ride home is silent.

---

"Jungkook."

No answer.

"You can't keep ignoring me like this."

Well, he can.

He proves that to you when he lets the barbell join the floor with a hard thud.

Only a small grunt of triumph escapes him, but otherwise; silence.

He hasn't spoken to you.

He parked the car under your apartment building- in its usual spot- exiting the car and heading to your home.

-silently.

He entered the apartment and left the door open for you, changed into his usual workout attire, and headed into his personal gym.

-silently.

It has been an hour since he's been in here, not sparing any effort to check on you.

You're getting quite frustrated with him. It's just- unreasonable.

He has his reasons for acting this way- you'll give him that- but where'd all the communication go?

You've been with Jungkook for well over a year now, and it feels weird; whatever this is. It hasn't ever happened before, probably because a similar situation has never occured.

You'd always hold hands in public, and it was never a problem for you.

But as a first real relationship...guess you were growing self-conscious about it.

What if they saw?

Will they speak?

Your train of thought cuts off as the sulking man grunts again, this time louder; intended to grasp your attention back to him.

He must've seen you zoning out.

"Enough, Jungkook."

Your words leave a tangy taste on your tongue. You really don't want to argue with him what-so-ever, but this is ridiculous.

he's being ridiculous.

You two could've talked it out to figure what the problem was- you should.

Instead, you're running after a person that keeps looking back to make sure you're still there.

He wants you to feel like you're genuinely being ignored, which is just- again- unreasonable.

Okay, the earlier...incident hurt him a little bit- and maybe a little more than that- that much is evident.

Jungkook merely scoffs at your words,

yet again ignoring you.

Fucking hell,

he's actually pissing you off.

"Giving me the silent treatment?" Your eyes sharpen with challenge, and his own light up with one of their own.

He leaves whatever he was doing to cross his arms and properly stare you down, almost belittling you- no, not almost, he is.

You've always known just how much Jungkook loves a challenge.

"Fine by me." Your smile is so sweet- but it's wrong. It's not the kind of smile he's used to.

And with that, you exit the gym, grab a random book, make yourself a cup of coffee, and prepare yourself for the long night ahead.

---

It's been...two hours.

Two long hours of utter torture.

And you've read a total of five pages.

Dammit.

Instead of reading, you're embarrassed to admit how instensely you've been ogling him for two hours straight.

He's just so hot.

The way he lifts weights like they're nothing.

The way his groans and grunts fill up the quiet space- and the whole entirety of your thoughts, leading them to other, much more sexual, places.

The way those exact sounds resemble the ones he's likely to make during sex.

You can basically feel your underwear sticking to you, your arousal evident.

For the first time since you've sat on this bench, stubbornly so, with your book and cup of coffee, he flicks a gaze over you.

Indifferently.

It makes your blood boil.

Your eyes lock.

his cold,

yours set ablaze by intense emotions of frustration.

You rip your gaze away from him to set it on your book, only to look back up at him two seconds later.

He slings a towel over his shoulder, grabs a bottle of water and unscrews the lid.

gently placing the bottle on his lips, he opens his mouth and chugs a mass of water all at once.

He repeats the motion once...twice... and your eyes are glued to the way his adam's apple bobs.

A thick lump forms in your throat, your breaths quickening. Must be...horniness.

You take the chance to properly look at him;

hair ruffled, body hot, muscles bulged.

Theres a slight sheen of sweat highlighting his neck, and a vein pops out from the way he's angling his neck up.

Your senses heighten.

He sets the bottle down, only to turn to you.

You try your best to hide the hormones.

Your eyes then trail down his neck to his collarbones, and you almost drool.

Scratch that, you're definitely drooling.

He looks fucking divine.

Well, of course.

He always does.

He looks as divine as it feels to love him.

You've always loved Jungkook. You still do. From the moment he waltzed into your heart with no foul intention and swept it off its feet, you knew you were absolutely done for.

Wrecked,

Ruined,

No longer containing any available capacity in your whole being to love anyone else.

Anyone but him. Even saying you love him more than you do yourself wouldn't be over-exaggerating...it would be true.

Call it obsession?

So be it.

A subtle scoff turns your attention back to him; body erect and all guarded up, his body language almost makes you tense up yourself.

You know for a damn straight fact that this is going to lead to an unpleasant conversation- even more so an argument- but whatever it is that's sizzling between you two like static electricity needs to die down.

It was never like this.

Tension,

Frustration,

Miscommunication.

"Bold of you to stare at me like that." His eyes never leave yours a second when he speaks.

He locks his hands behind his neck and rests them on his nape. His forearms bulge, and your eyes physically hurt from how hard they're trying not to gape at him.

Knocking his head back, he stares at you through his lashes with hooded lids and the most beautiful dark eyes.

You would've found the sight quite attractive- you do- but the subtle dig aimed at your staring attracts your attention more.

"Better get used to it, then." You stand, maintaining a protective stance yourself.

You're not angry, or...defensive, thought you might be a little shameless.

You just want this to end. For everything to go back to the way it was.

He smirks.

Your eyes harden.

"Oh yeah?" He lazily strides in your direction, and you cross your arms, almost acting nonchalantly.

Your irritation is evident and so is his, but the tension is so heavy on your shoulders, it makes your muscles tense.

His steps shorten until he's only a few feet away.

Not too close,

Not too far,

Yet feels like hundreds of miles apart.

"Wonder where that's coming from."

"Guess you'll have to find out."

This time, it's you who smirks when a sudden spark of challenge ignites in his irises.

"What i'd like to find out," He lowers his voice, his tone calm; in contrast to the dark storm reflecting the thoughts of his mind through dark, fogged up orbs. "...is what the hell on earth it was that happened today."

You stare at him, contemplating your options.

"I felt self-conscious."

The response is quick, but you're satisfied. You want to be completely honest. That's the best way to go at it.

You notice how he blanks out before you look away. Almost like he's fighting with himself over what to think of the response, his eyes portray the most intense feelings of complexity.

Quickly covering the slight feeling of confusion with frustration, his brows tug together, and in another context, you would've found the action to be adorable.

"Self-conscious? About us? What-" He scrambles to understand, and your eyes widen by an inch. "-are you- like- not sure about us? Anymore?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" You directly jump to answer his questions with one of your own. Your own brows join together, and the frustration builds further.

"Fuck, y/n." He gives you his back, walking in the opposite direction.

"What- I didn't even mean it like that!" Your voice raises slightly, purely in expression of desperation.

Why is this so complicated? It wasn't even that big of a deal.

He looks at you over his shoulder, his features bitter.

"How did you mean it then?" He scoffs, but his words come out quiet, serious, and clear of sarcasm. They come out hurt.

"Look- I just-" You take a deep breath, staring at the floor. "I don't want to fight."

You look at his feet, directing your gaze to a place where your mind doesn't feel overwhelmed. When you look at him, you want to look at his eyes, nose, lips...all of him. When you look at him, you see nothing but him. The whole world disappears when you do.

When you look at him,

You can't think about anything but how much you love him.

And right then it's like the whole world stops.

Like it's just you and him, in this gym, with nothing and no one else but each other.

"Fight?" His eyes rage with a thousand different broken emotions all fighting over dominance at once.

He shifts closer to you, only eager to show you the true weight of his love for you.

His index finger hooks under your chin and tilts it up to meet his eyes, only making your breath catch.

"I'd drop to my knees and beg if you wanted me to."

You feel your eyes water. There's nothing you could possibly think to say to him in this moment, except...

"I love you."

He returns a sad smile.

"Show me."

He cups your cheek.

Strokes it with his thumb, once.

Twice.

And in his presence remains a cool gust of air as his touch lingers and leaves a fire awakening.

Just then you realize: the fire that seems to spread further and further is that of love, nestled in between the teeny crooks and tiny nooks of your heart; the wildfire seemingly one of pleasurable pain.

Gone is jungkook, and welcomed is the loneliness as you hear the shower turn on.

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[luveline]

Ok Derek angst what about a non-bau gf getting jealous of his flirting with Garcia? Bc ngl if my bf did that with a girl who I hadn’t met I would be super upset and then May be his gf meets Garcia and realizes she’s a girls girl and super sweet? Idk u can take it any direction

ty for your request ♡ fem!reader

You don't want anything to do with Penelope Garcia. Honestly, you wouldn't ever meet her if you had your way, but you're level-headed enough to know that she's important to Derek. Integral to his life. It's a miracle you put off meeting her as long as you had. 

At first, you genuinely thought she was Derek's mom. He always ended calls with, "Love you, mama." It was only a few weeks ago when he shook things up to say, "I love you, babygirl," did you look up from the book on your thigh to ask who it was.

"Penelope," he'd said, like he was confused. "Who'd you think?" 

You shrugged noncommittal, earning yourself a hair pet and a kiss. You lay awake that night wondering if you got it wrong. You'd heard a hundred stories about her and felt reluctantly fond, but now? Your boyfriend calls other girls pet names, what do you do about that? What can you? 

You ignored it. And now you have to meet her. 

She doesn't seem as nefarious as you've imagined her, springing from her seat at the cafe table to hug you. "Hi! Oh my god hi! I can't believe I'm finally meeting you, I've never been this happy in my life! You're so pretty!" 

You wince at her arms thrown over your shoulders but reciprocate. You aren't a total bitch.

"Thank you," you say. She smells like coffee creamer and hairspray. She pulls away to beam at you, her lips painted a shiny, pretty red. "It's nice to meet you. Derek has nothing but good things to say about you."

It sounds awfully formal, like you're opening a bank account with a teller who has a shared acquaintance. Derek gives you a look. You give him a look back, mutual confusion. She may be his best friend, but you don't know her (and what you do know you're jealous of, so). 

Derek takes your hand despite your off behaviour to show you off with pride, his teeth peeking from behind his lips milky white. "My two favourite girls had to meet eventually."

"I thought I'd be more jealous about coming second," Penelope says, eyes twinkling, "but I've never seen Derek so happy." Her voice turns scratchy like stretched linen. "He deserves the best, you know? And it's clear you're it. He's smitten."

"Maybe don't give up all my secrets, sweetheart," he says. 

Seeing them together chills your raging envy. There's a lot of love there, clearly, but the sexual tension you pictured is fictional. "Girl code, my love,'' Penelope says with a shrug. She winks at you. 

Insecurity nags at your skin like condensation on a cold window, "You've known Derek for nearly six years? Have you guys always been this close?" 

"Well, mister muscles here didn't bother remembering my name for the first couple of weeks that we worked together, so he deferred to pet names. And, you know, he's him," —Penelope gestures to him as if to say, behold, drawing a startled laugh from you— "and I'm me, so. I didn't want him to stop." 

"Hey, now." 

Penelope shakes her head at you. "He always does this." 

"If 'this' is stopping you from talking bad on yourself, babygirl, then yeah. I'll always do it." 

You feel clarity break, the sweet taste of relief and the muggier lick of shame. Derek and Penelope have a special friendship. That you knew before meeting her. She's made a huge, irreplaceable impact on his life, and Derek has clearly done the same. They aren't playing work husband and wife —there are reasons for their affections that go well beyond the surface flirtation. 

"I get it. Nobody ever called me anything so nice as Derek calls me," you confide. Derek's eyebrows leap up. You've never told him this; you're telling Penelope as a sort of apology, though she can't know that. "I never got asked out growing up. When he asked me on a date I thought he was trying to win a bet." 

Penelope's expression flickers with relief. There and gone, quickly replaced by sympathy. "Are you kidding? You're so pretty, Derek's lucky he got to you before someone else did." 

Derek kisses your cheek. His lips linger against the apple of it, your joined hands pulled instinctively to his firm torso. You might be imagining it, but Derek seems to know everything, so he probably knows the hill you've just climbed in your head. "Damn straight I'm lucky. I'm surrounded by beautiful, genius women. This is paradise for the modern man." 

You flush at his touch and praise. Penelope makes a pleased squeak. "Ooh, you guys are cute! You need to let me take a photo. This'll make a great printout for your wedding."

"Penelope." 

[seat-safety-switch]

Mini-golf is something I've spoken about many times, at great risk to my own life. In my town, you see, the mini-golf industry is represented by an extremely powerful lobby. That's why we have approximately three "courses" for every hundred people, the highest ratio in the world. Why am I against it? No golf carts means no driving.

You might think it's silly to be opposed to mini golf purely on the basis that I don't get to drive a little electric car around the property at irresponsible speeds. I'm sure you have strong opinions about things that I would consider silly, too. That makes you look like an asshole now, doesn't it?

Thing is, enjoying the great outdoors is best done with an open-air vehicle, gazing at the wonders of nature. And even if those wonders of nature have been artificially curated by the same groundskeeper who is now screaming at me for having driven across four sand traps and the country club, it still counts as calming.

Mini-golf? Too damn small. The mind rebels. Not natural, every sense screams, until you end up getting super mad and eject your putter into the parking lot on the 19th stroke on a "par 2" hole while some very patient toddlers wait behind you in line, not yet having been taught the concept of "play-thru," but perhaps also not wanting to pick a fight with a fully-grown adult who achieves apocalyptic rage levels when not operating a motor vehicle.

Now, I've worked out a sort of methadone solution here. Halfway house shit. Because I can't afford to play on the big expensive country club courses (it's sort of a Caddyshack situation, but mostly just the part where they hate me and everything I stand for) I'm stuck with mini-golf, and have to make my time at Al's Little Tee Big Fun and Ed's Big Fun Regular-Sized Balls as enjoyable as possible. That's why I brought a mini-golf-cart.

That's right. For just a few bucks on eBay, you too can avail yourself of a 1:24 scale golf cart that you can take out of your pocket and pretend to drive between the holes. Making vroom-vroom sounds is a little unrealistic for what is supposed to be a brushed-DC forklift motor, but you gotta do what makes you happy. The only downside is that this tiny plastic conveyance came from Playmobil, which almost certainly means it's going to explode in some kind of elaborate German mechanical failure soon. Like the poor guy in the parking lot last time whose GTI had a mini-golf putter get stuck in the windshield.