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strangely-written-desires · 28 days ago

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CW: Non-Con/Dub-Con

MINORS + AGELESS BLOGS DNI

You get one on pure impulse. The lure of it was tempting indeed, yours with one simple click of a button, and this one’s on a discount. How could you resist?

Slimes began trending just recently, with videos popping up on your page raving about how loveable they are, how they don’t require much, and how they are perfect pets if you’re away a lot.

Life has been stressful, and incredibly lonely, and this seemed like the perfect thing to help you get through it; it would be nice to have something to take care of, to look after. So you bought one.

It arrived quickly—one-day delivery is truly something—and in pristine condition. The packaging was odd—a single metal cylinder in such a big box—but you supposed that slimes could handle it; they’re resilient monsters, after all.

The cylinder is fancy—a smootn cream color, practically futuristic—and it has instructions on how to care for it. These include what to feed it (practically everything; rat poison is not recommended), how to play with it, and what to do if it starts to feel ill (very unlikely). You hum as you read it, pausing once you get to the red lettering.

‘Do not kiss or bite—’ Who’s biting these things? ‘—Human saliva contains bacteria harmful to slimes; if it ingests any bodily fluids, immediately keep your distance from it and call this number. XXX-XXX-XXX’

You furrow your brows at this, finding it odd, to say the least. Slimes are known to have the ability to eat anything, any poison having little to no effect on them; they’re virtually indestructible. But human saliva is what does it? You shrug, figuring that perhaps domesticated slimes are different—weaker, more prone to harm.

You open it, and the side of the container slides open with a hiss. It’s not long before it begins to spill out, latching onto your fingers before sliding onto your hand—cool and smooth to the touch.

You marvel at the sight of it, in awe, as it continues to climb up your arm, studying the feel of your skin and your scent. Its touch ticklish; you laugh at the feeling. It practically purrs at that, pleased as it tries to inch its way toward the source of the sound.

“Woah, woah, getting a little too close there, bud,” you comment, gently removing it from you, the warning still fresh in your mind, “wouldn’t want you to get hurt on your first day.”

You set it down on the ground, stepping back when it attempts to climb you once more. “How ‘bout you explore the place instead? It’s your home now, too, you know.”

It pauses its movements as if understanding you (you wouldn’t be surprised if it does; slimes are quite intelligent, or so you hear) before seemingly looking around the place—you can’t really tell because it has no face, no eyes to gaze upon. You leave it to its own devices, wanting it to adjust to your home and not crowd it too much.

Yet everywhere you go, it follows, never straying and always attempting to climb you. You eventually relent, letting it stick to your shoulder as you go about your day. It’s awfully clingy, not that you mind, but the reviews never said anything about that.

Slimes usually come in many different colors, but domesticated ones are vastly limited; those ones come in green (the classic), blue, and purple, but yours is different. It’s an unusual hot pink. A pretty color, but not common, not at all. Maybe that’s why it was on sale.

It feeds on anything, enjoying everything you give it. You’re sure if you gave it trash, it would munch on it happily—not that you’d ever do such a thing; your slime only eats the best of the best, the best of the best being whatever you eat. However, over the course of several days, you’ve found out its odd need to try and consume everything you put in your mouth.

Your toothbrush? Cups you’ve drunk from? Utensils you’ve used? You’ve had to bat it away, wrestle it off the counter, and keep it from devouring your discarded trash. You’ve even caught it trying to go through your dirty laundry.

Whatever reviews that said it was low maintenance and barely had any problems are fucking liars. Not that you would ever send it away; you adore it and its little odd quirks.

You specifically bought a slime-proof cage for when you have to step out and are unable to keep it devouring everything you touch. The container it came in would’ve done just fine, but you wanted it to have some space to move around in—to not feel contained and trapped in one tight place. You never thought it could escape; after all, it is “slime-proof,” specifically designed to keep it in place.

Those stressful days never do vanish, but its presence makes it better. Bearable. And you don’t feel lonely anymore. Instead, your days are filled with a sort of warmth that hadn’t been there before.

You're grateful for that.

Although, on particularly stressful days, you turn to more primitive ways of relief and relaxation.

Today’s one of those days.

And it’s on one of those days that you don’t hear it slipping out of its cage in the other room—glass broken and shattered, scattered across the floor. You don’t hear how it slithers to your bedroom, desperate to taste your arousal in the air. It slides under the crack of your door, basically speeding to get to where you are as you chase yourself to the edge—try and fail.

Your vibrator’s dead, and your fingers aren’t doing the job; they are too short to hit that gooey spot just right to make you shake with pleasure. Your frustration builds as you pump them in faster, swirling your clit in a desperate attempt to push you over.

You jolt when the slime creeps onto your leg, your orgasm falling flat. Your lip quivers, eyes blurring from the frustration of another failed attempt. Shock and anger burst through you, bewildered at how it escaped its cage.

“How did you even— What are you…stop it, get off,” you hissed, moving to pull it off your leg.

But your hand goes right through the slime; it doesn’t stop, continuing its ascent up your thigh. You panic, foolishly using the hand, still slick with your need, to move it. It pauses, your fingers tingle as it slurps up what’s left on it. You try to take back your hand, but it latches on, keeping it in place.

“Let go—”

Dread fills your chest, waiting for something to happen, but nothing does; if anything, it looks bigger. Once it's had a taste, you can feel it shiver for more. It unlatches, fingers thoroughly cleaned from your arousal.

You see small parts of itself reaching for your wet cunt, little tendrils reaching to taste the juices dripping from it. You try to bat it away, get it off you, but it doesn’t budge.

“Wait, don’t. Don’t—”

It’s too quick for you to stop it, soaking up the juices beneath you before moving onto your cunt. It’s eager, pushing itself into you with a forceful thrust; a choked gasp escapes your throat.

It buries itself in you, drowning itself in your slick just to taste it—devour it. Its want for more is almost monstrous; you feel it slowly growing inside you. It starts to move, doesn’t give you time to adjust, to process, before plunging deeper and deeper into you.

It has you writhing on your bed, gripping the sheets to have some sort of anchor. It retracts before diving back in.

You cry out, pleasure wracking you with each thrust, hitting that spot over and over again. You frantically rub your puffy clit, trying to reach that high that’ll have you falling over the ledge.

You should probably stop to think about how you currently are getting fucked by a slime—your supposed pet slime—but after multiple failed orgasms, you don’t think to care at the moment.

You feel it expanding, stretching you open with no remorse. Besides, you can’t stop it; it feels too good to stop, not that you could even if you wanted; it seems in no rush to slow down.

It’s not long before you fall over, toes curling, back arching as your eyes roll back. It fucks you through it, drinking up your cum like its last meal, leaving you panting and spent. Yet it doesn’t stop; it continues, despite how overstimulated you are. It makes you cum three more times before it decides it has its fill for the day.

It continues this routine everyday, there’s a day where your cunt isn’t stuffed full of it, milking you for all your worth. It doesn’t consume any food, deciding your cum’s enough to satiate its hunger.

You can’t tell if your decision to get a slime was a good one or not.

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fruitjoos · 3 months ago

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serving up suds!

parings: patrick zweig x fem!reader / art donaldson x tashi duncan

word count: 3.9k

summary: you and the rest of the girls on the tennis team need to figure out a way to earn money for new uniforms. your boyfriend suggests the best idea.

contains: SMUT 18+ with lots of cute boyfriend patrick plot, fluff, only contains art and tashi as side characters (sorry), suggestive language between art and tashi, oral (m receiving), inaccurate numbers probs, if you think anything else should be added, please let me know!

note: wrote this simply because i love and miss pookie patrick zweig so enjoy… i planned to post i choose you but wanted to post this instead! also, not edited – will be doing so shortly.

You stood in front of Coach Williams, arms crossed and brows furrowed, your frustration barely masked. “We don’t even have proper uniforms,” you said, voice tight. “They just told us to wear red tank tops and the shortest white shorts we could find. It’s ridiculous. No one takes us seriously.”

It had been a minor irritation at first, something you could almost shrug off as a small injustice. But when you found out that the boys' team, including your boyfriend Patrick, had crisp, matching uniforms—with collars and the school logo stitched on the chest—your irritation curdled into anger. They looked like a team. They looked respectable. And you? You and the other five girls on the team looked like a mismatched afterthought.

A few of you had approached Coach Williams, hoping she’d understand, hoping she’d do something. You told her how embarrassing it was to stand on the court, mismatched and disheveled, while the boys walked by in their pristine gear. She’d just sighed and said the school didn’t have the funds. “Those boys raised the money themselves,” she added, almost proud. “If you girls want uniforms that badly, you’ll have to do the same.”

You groaned. Right, like it was that simple. You had done the math in your head—the cost would be at least a thousand dollars to get anything decent, something that would make you all look polished and cohesive. You wanted sharp collars, the school name embroidered in neat white stitching over your hearts, maybe even matching skirts. But there were only six of you, and $200 each was a lot to ask from college girls already juggling tuition, textbooks, meals, and a list of other expenses that never seemed to end.

The thought gnawed at you for days, and finally, you did something you never would’ve considered before. You went to Patrick. The two of you were sprawled out on the campus quad, the grass prickling your skin, the sun warm on your back. Patrick was fiddling with a Rubik's Cube he’d picked up from god knows where, twisting it clumsily, his focus entirely absorbed. You were trying to study, your math textbook open in front of you, but the thought of those damn uniforms kept distracting you. You sighed, louder than usual, trying to get his attention. He didn’t look up.

Another sigh, this one practically a groan. Patrick smirked, eyes still fixed on the colored squares in his hands. “Something on your mind?” he asked, voice teasing, as if he was enjoying your distress.

“Actually, yeah,” you said, sitting up and crossing your legs. “The girls’ tennis team needs uniforms.” He finally glanced up, confusion flickering in his eyes. “And I was wondering…” you trailed off, giving him a mischievous grin before reaching out to tickle his side. He jerked away, laughing, and caught your wrist. “...if you could, you know, maybe donate a little to help out.”

“You’re cute,” he said, kissing your cheek. “But I’m broke. Spent my allowance for the month already.”

Your head slumped against his chest, and you whined, letting the sound drag out, like a child who didn’t want to go to bed. “C’mon, Patrick. We need this.”

He chuckled, but you could sense his patience thinning. “Why don’t you do a fundraiser or something?” he suggested. “I don’t know, a bake sale?”

It was a simple idea, but it sparked something. You sat up straight, eyes bright with sudden inspiration. “A car wash!” you said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “We could do a car wash! Who wouldn’t want to donate to a group of girls in bikinis?”

Patrick’s smile faded. “Wait, I meant like selling cookies or something, not—”

But you were already on your feet, packing your things, a plan forming in your mind. Oh you’ll be selling cookies all right. “Thanks, babe! I’ll call you later,” you said, barely looking back as you headed off to find the other girls.

Patrick’s voice trailed after you, a mix of amusement and resignation. “Great. This is going to end well, I’m sure.” But you didn’t care. For the first time in days, you felt a thrill of hope. If it took a little shamelessness to raise the money, so be it. At least the girls’ team would finally have the chance to be seen.

You stood outside Art Donaldson’s dorm room, tapping your foot impatiently, half-wishing you didn’t have to do this. You were almost certain Tashi was hooking up with him. Everyone on the courts could sense the weird tension between them, the way they eyed each other during practice. It wasn’t admiration for his technique, that was for sure. Art was talented, sure, but he played like a baby deer—deft, but awkwardly loose, stumbling into his own brilliance.

Your knuckles rapped softly against the door, and when it finally creaked open, you caught sight of Art’s glassy eyes and his half-buttoned shirt. You had to stifle a laugh. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, and not because he was taking a nap. “Uh, is Tashi around?” you asked, already guessing the answer. Art glanced over his shoulder, almost as if he was checking to see if she was still there.

“Yeah, but she’s busy,” he said, with a casual shrug that didn’t quite hide his irritation.

“I’m sure,” you replied, tilting your head with a knowing grin. You leaned past him, raising your voice. “Tashi, come out here! I’ve got an idea!” Art winced, his expression morphing into a tight-lipped smile, the kind you give when someone’s overstaying their welcome. “She’ll be out in a minute,” he muttered, stepping back to let you linger in the doorway.

You could hear the faint sounds of shuffling before Tashi appeared, her hair tousled and her expression caught somewhere between glee and annoyance. “What are you doing here?” she asked, eyes narrowing.

“Patrick gave me the best idea,” you said, ignoring the way she rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed. She didn’t even try to hide her skepticism—those words didn’t belong in the same sentence, and she knew it.

“No, really,” you insisted, giving her a playful shove. “We should do a fundraiser!”

Tashi’s face softened slightly, but her arms remained crossed, a single brow arching. “A fundraiser?”

“Yes! Think about it—tight bikinis, soapy cars, a bunch of frat boys with too much cash to spare. We’d make bank!” You bounced on your toes, grinning—your excitement spilling out uncontrollably.

She scoffed, but you caught the flicker of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Maybe she was amused, or maybe it was just the sheer absurdity of the situation. “I’m not selling my body to a bunch of frat boys,” she said, shaking her head firmly.

“You’re literally in there with Art Donaldson,” you shot back, your shoulders slumping with exasperation.

Tashi’s eyes narrowed, and she folded her arms, leaning against the doorframe. “So, what’s that supposed to mean?”

You let out an awkward laugh, waving your hands. “Oh, nothing. Just making an observation.” You could see her jaw tense, but you pressed on, undeterred. “Anyway, I’m telling the other girls. We’re doing this, with or without you.” You winked, trying to keep things light, but Tashi’s expression was unreadable as she watched you turn and leave.

A week later, you found yourself in your dorm room, sorting through an array of colorful bikini tops. The whole plan felt like a gamble, but you were determined to make it work. You wanted it to be fun, at least, if you were going to be out there scrubbing cars for spare change. Patrick was sprawled on the edge of your bed, watching with a bemused expression. “You’re seriously going through with this?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

“You suggested it!” you argued, as you adjusted the lettering on a handmade sign with your glitter gel pens.

“I suggested you bake cookies and sell them on campus,” he corrected, waving his hand as if to swat away the absurdity of your plan. “This is not what I meant.”

“We’re just washing cars,” you said, shaking your head as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “And besides, it’s for a good cause.” You added a few more swirls and hearts to the sign, mockingly repeating his earlier words in a high-pitched voice before tossing a pink towel at him.

Patrick caught the towel and laughed, shaking his head. “You’re something else.”

Grabbing your keys and the finished signs, you turned to him, flashing a grin. “Walk me over there,” you said, already halfway out the door.

He groaned, dragging himself to his feet. “I better get a free car wash out of this,” he muttered, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips. The two of you headed down the hall, and as you passed by, you could almost imagine the scene—the sun beating down, water glistening, and a line of cars full of guys willing to fork over their cash just to see a group of girls make a splash. Maybe it was shameless, but you were desperate, and desperate times called for bold, glittery, bikini-clad measures.

The sun was barely up, but the day was already heating up as you and a few of the girls set up the buckets of sudsy water, sponges bobbing in the foam, and wrangled with the nearest hose. Patrick stood nearby, scanning the growing crowd like a bouncer at a club, his eyes narrowing at any guy who dared stare a little too long when you bent over to dip your sponge. He was protective like that, and maybe just a bit possessive, but you couldn’t deny it felt good having someone in your corner, even if he looked ready to body check anyone who ogled you.

You were just about to yell something smart at him when Tashi strolled up, the sound of her flip-flops soft on the concrete, and every head turned as she made her entrance. She was all long, tanned legs, glistening in the sunlight, a tiny bikini peeking out from under her daisy dukes, and she moved with a sort of effortless grace that made you want to both envy and applaud her. You let out a sharp whistle, catcalling her as she approached, unable to resist. She rolled her eyes.

“Careful, those eyes are gonna get stuck back there one day,” you said with a small smile on your lips, and you could tell she was enjoying the attention.

“You look so hot!” you squealed, bouncing on your toes. Tashi flicked her hair over her shoulder, pretending to be exasperated, but she knew she was killing it, and so did everyone else.

Hours passed, the sun climbing higher, scorching the asphalt, and the music thumped from the speakers you’d set up, loud enough to echo down the block. You and the girls took turns yelling at passersby, daring them to get their cars washed, and you couldn’t believe how fast the line grew. It felt like every guy within a five mile radius had suddenly remembered he needed a wash, and they queued up, engines idling, windows down, some leaning out just to get a better look.

Your bodies were practically spilling out of your clothes, skin glistening, slick with soap and sweat. You pressed up against car windows, sponges swirling over the glass, your laughter and chatter floating above the music. “Thank you!” you sang out, flashing bright smiles as you took crumpled bills from hands reaching out of car windows, a parade of faces you didn’t even recognize. You skipped over to where Patrick was standing, collecting the money, and tossed the latest stack of bills into the box he was holding.

The pink, glittery box which you wrote ‘Stick something in me!’ on. It was heavier than you’d expected; you were actually making bank.

Before you could turn back to the cars, Patrick caught your wrist and pulled you close, his hand warm and firm. He cupped your cheeks between his fingers, smushing them slightly, and before you could even register the movement, he kissed you hard, right there in front of everyone. It wasn’t gentle, wasn’t soft. It was a claim, a brand, like he was marking his territory for all to see.

“You’re mine,” he said, his voice low, but loud enough for everyone nearby to hear, a hint of a challenge in his eyes. He wanted to remind you.

You blushed, caught off guard, but then a grin spread across your face. “I’m yours,” you repeated, just as firmly, before pulling him down and planting another kiss on his lips, making sure the message was clear. As you pulled back, you saw a few guys in line avert their eyes, and you laughed to yourself, a mix of pride and relief swelling in your chest. You had Patrick, you had the girls, and if things kept going this well, you’d have those uniforms too.

"Six-fifty… seven-fifty," Patrick counted, his voice low and steady, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in soft pinks and purples. You were sprawled out across the lawn, grass tickling your bare arms, and you watched him with a warm, tired smile, the kind of smile you give when everything feels just right for once. It had been a long, sweaty day, but now the breeze was gentle, like a cool kiss against your skin, and you felt almost weightless. Your body thrumming with a sense of accomplishment.

“Okay, that’s great!” you said, grabbing his arm, a burst of giddy excitement surging through you. Around you, the girls broke into their own cheers, hugging and high-fiving each other, still buzzing from the success of the day.

“And $100 from me,” Patrick said, pulling out a crisp bill from his wallet and tossing it into the box with a casual flick. The girls swarmed him, shaking his shoulders and showering him with thank-yous, calling him sweet, generous, the best. Even Tashi, who’d been leaning coolly against Art, broke into a grin, and she nudged him with her elbow. Art, who’d been half-pretending not to care, rolled his eyes but couldn’t resist. With a reluctant sigh, he parted with another $100, mumbling under his breath as he handed it over.

“Fine,” he said, almost as if the word hurt, but he was grinning a little, too, when the girls shrieked and patted his back. Rich people, you thought, shaking your head with a smirk. They always made it seem like giving was a struggle when it barely scratched the surface of their wallets.

You took a breath, pushing yourself up to your feet and looking at the small circle of girls around you, their faces flushed and glowing under the dimming sky. "I just want to say… thank you," you started, your voice slightly hoarse from yelling all day but still earnest. "I know this wasn’t exactly easy, but we did it. And I’m really proud." You reached into your own wallet, pulling out a $50 bill, twirling it between your fingers, and held it up like a trophy. “Here’s to us. And new uniforms!”

The girls erupted, their cheers echoing across the lawn, loud and jubilant, as if they’d just won a championship. For a moment, it felt like they had. The line between a football team scoring a last minute touchdown and a group of college girls hustling for their dignity had blurred, and you all basked in the glow of it, even as the day faded into night.

Later, you stumbled back to your dorm, too exhausted to think but too exhilarated to sleep. You flopped down on your bed, sinking into the mattress, letting out a long, satisfied sigh. You barely had time to close your eyes before Patrick followed, landing on top of you with a playful thud, his chin digging uncomfortably into your stomach.

“Ow,” you laughed, swatting at his head as he tried to adjust, mumbling an absent apology. He shifted, then propped himself up, and you cradled his face in your hands, tilting it up so you could look into his eyes. They were the soft blue of summer berries, glinting with mischief and tenderness, and you felt a sudden rush of affection that made your chest ache a little.

“I have the best boyfriend in the world,” you said, the words coming out soft, almost like a secret you were finally ready to admit. Patrick’s cheeks flushed a faint pink, something he did so rarely it was almost a treat to see. He gave you a shy, crooked smile, and you could tell he was savoring the moment, letting it hang in the air between you.

Then he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours, slow and careful, his mouth tasting faintly of your pomegranate chapstick. It was gentle at first, then firmer, like he was memorizing every bit of sweetness. When he pulled back, his eyes were still half-lidded, and his lips curved into a teasing smile.

“So, what’s the reward for being the best boyfriend?” he murmured, his gaze flicking over your face, taking in every detail as if he hadn’t already committed them to memory. His eyelashes fluttered, casting a silhouette across his cheeks, and you felt a shiver of warmth spread through you.

His reward for enduring the humid, sticky air all day, the sun beating down relentlessly on his already sunkissed skin, was right here, pressed against him. He had been patient, sitting there with the box of crumpled bills, sweat glistening on his forehead, eyes darting protectively every time someone lingered a little too long on you. He deserved something for putting up with the heat, the endless chatter, and the occasional, awkward guy who looked like he wanted to challenge him just for standing there. And this was it. You, warm and pliant under his hands, your fingers tangled in his hair, lips brushing his, teasing, like you were savoring every second as much as he was.

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head in mock contemplation. “Hmm, I guess I’ll have to think of something…” you said, running your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer until your noses touched. “Maybe a little more of this,” you whispered, your lips brushing his as you spoke, letting the promise linger in the space.

You rolled over, his back sinking into the worn mattress. You let your lips graze his jaw, then drifted down to his neck. He shifted under your touch, laughter mingling with a nervous squirm as your breath tickled his skin. “You’re so good to me,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to his earlobe. “So supportive,” another kiss at his temple. “And so, so handsome.” A faint smile broke across his face, eyes closed, lost in the moment.

You let your fingers glide over the cool, metallic buttons of his shorts, tracing each engraved design as if it were spelling out something only you knew. You helped him pull them off, giggling as you threw them across the room. Your hand dipped into the dark mouth of his boxers, rummaging past his trimmed bush of curls, until your fingers closed around the smooth, familiar shape.

His hard cock slid out, catching the light above, precum gleaming, almost tauntingly. You held it up to your mouth, breathing in the faint trace of scent that lingered, delicate but intoxicating.

You stared at it for a moment, feeling a slow, subtle warmth unfurl in your chest. It was a tiny, almost imperceptible smile that tugged at your lips, like the beginning of a secret, and you could feel the tension building under your skin, pooling low in your stomach. Something about holding it in your hand made you feel powerful, like you were in control.

The head was your favorite color—deep, cherry red and glistening like a polished gem when you pulled back his foreskin slowly. You slid it between your lips, supple and sweet. Your tongue circled over his tip, feeling the tiny slit. His sap dissolving against your taste buds. You closed your eyes, savoring the taste.

His arousal melted on your tongue, sweet and syrupy. A thin string of saliva stretched between your lips and the tip when you pulled it away, snapping when you moved it too far. It was deliciously wrong, like sneaking a piece of forbidden fruit.

"You’re so sweet," you murmured, almost to yourself, but loud enough for Patrick to hear. He glanced up, his expression lustful and high.

“Wanna taste it?” you asked, slightly lolling your head to the side. The way you said it was innocent, almost playful, but there was a glint in your eyes, a subtle edge to the offer. You leaned up to him, grazing your tongue over his lips. He moaned at the contact. You grabbed his jaw, letting the glob mixed of your saliva and himself fall onto the heart of his tongue. He groaned, letting it slide down his throat. “I love you.” he whimpered, sloppily inhaling your lips.

You furrowed your brows, mocking the desperate look in his eyes. You watched him, a slow smile curling on your lips. You hadn’t realized how much you’d loved being in control. It reminded you that, for once, you weren’t following the rules, and that felt more delicious than anything you’d tasted in a long, long time.

You pumped your hand up and down his shaft, practically begging him to release all over your pretty face. “You wanna come for me?” you asked with a sweet, honey tone. “I’m so close,” he panted, fingers tangling between your strands of hair. “Fu– please,” he cried, mouth gaping open while hips desperately bucked toward you.

Taking him in your mouth again, you slapped his stiff cock against your tongue, the familiar sensation flooding your mouth as saliva pooled in your cheeks. His fluids mixed with spit, oozing down your lips and pooling on your chin. It felt disgusting, the wetness creeping along your skin, but deep down, every drop was a small victory for making him feel good.

With each stroke, you watched the fizzy mixture drip, the mess clinging to your hand and wrist as you pumped vigorously. You squeezed him in your palms, watching him sputter. Come painting across your face. You bit your lip, trying to steady your hand, hoping you milked him empty. His slit deflating a little more with every squeeze. You could see the droplets peeking through, mocking you.

He threw his head back, catching his breath. “Feel good?” you teased, sucking your fingers. You slid your body up his, his bare cock still hard, brushing against the skin of your thigh. His body jolting at the touch.

"Thank you for your help today, baby," you murmured, letting your lips brush gently against the tip of his nose, a soft, affectionate kiss.

“Anytime,” he said, a playful glint in his eyes. “And don’t hesitate to bring me any other problems you’ve got,” he added, only half-joking, clearly savoring the reward you’d just given him. “I’m always glad to help.”

You laughed, the sound light and warm, as you slipped off the bed. “I’ll keep that in mind,” you teased, padding across the room toward the bathroom to shower. You glanced back at him once more, a smile still tugging at the corners of your mouth, “You coming?” you ask, disappearing into the bathroom.

He slid off the bed in a hurried, awkward motion, the springs letting out a sharp, staccato creak that echoed through the room. His feet barely touched the floor before he was shuffling off, making his way into the bathroom behind you.

#challengers #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #challengers fanfic #patrick zweig smut #tashi duncan #tashi duncan x reader

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nikkento-writes · 3 months ago

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"Look!"

Nanami glances up from his newspaper, brow raised as he watches you stick your ass out, showing off your new pair of underwear. He squints, reading the words printed in glittery font. "Sweet, sweet, sweet...?"

You beam at him, nodding. “Aren't these cute? They had a sale online so I got a bunch with different patterns and sayings.”

Surely you know that parading around in your panties, regardless of how innocuous or risqué they are, stirs something in your husband. He folds the newspaper, setting it down on the nightstand. “Come here,” he beckons you, patting your side of the bed.

You reach for your pajama bottoms in the drawer, but then he says, “No pants. I want to take a closer look at them.”

There’s a flutter in your belly at the way his voice sounds, stern and domineering. You don’t question him, making your way to the bed and kneeling next to him, waiting for his next command.

“Turn around,” he tells you, and you obey, facing away from him. His hand hovers your ass, finger barely tracing the letters etched on the fabric, making your skin buzz. “Sweet, sweet, sweet,” he repeats, breath hot on your ear, a slight tremble in his voice. “How about the other side?” He pulls you towards him, his legs spread out so you can sit with your back pressed to his chest, his erection throbbing against your tailbone. He rests his head on your shoulder, looking down between your legs, thoroughly inspecting the bow stitched on the front. “Is that it?” He slides his hand around your waist, thumb grazing the waistband.

“Yeah,” you answer him, swallowing the saliva collecting on your tongue. You’re certain there’s a wet spot forming at the crotch of your panties now, your arousal growing each passing second.

He tuts disapprovingly, nipping at your ear lobe. “We can’t have that, can we?”

You moan loudly as soon as he presses his fingers to your aching clit, massaging deep circles through the thin layer of cotton. A growl escapes him. “These will be much prettier with your cum, don’t you agree?”

“Kento,” you whimper, turning to kiss him sloppily on the lips.

With his free hand, he grabs hold of your chin, keeping you in place as he ravishes your mouth with an eager tongue. His fingers continue to work magic on your swelling bud, the fabric darkening with your arousal leaking through. He smirks, whispering, “Good girl. My sweet, sweet girl.”

It’s not enough for him. He won’t stop until your panties have been properly ruined. He reaches for the top drawer of the nightstand to retrieve your vibrator, pushing it thrice to the highest setting, his entire grasp buzzing from the vibrations. "Right here, huh?" he purrs, pushing the fluttering tip to your clothed clit. Pleasure courses through your body, limbs shaky and twitchy from the sensation, toes curled against the sheets. “That’s the spot.”

Your mouth hangs wide open, eyes glazed over, face tacky from sweat. He chuckles as you clench up, climaxing into your underwear, the material sticky on your wet cunt. “Look how pretty it is now with all your cum.” He gently pats your pussy, smearing your arousal deeper into the fabric. “Such a good girl, making a fucking mess for me.” He hooks his finger on the waistband, tugging it down to see it for himself, the cloth glistening with your orgasm. “Fuck,” he curses, his breathing labored, unable to contain himself any longer. “Take them off, sweetheart. Let me taste you.”

Soon, you’re straddling his face, fucking his mouth, his tongue and lips relentless on your clit. All the while, he has your wrecked panties wrapped tightly around his cock as he strokes himself fast, ruining them even more with his own cum.

#nanami x reader #nanami kento #jjk smut #nanami x you #nanami drabbles #nanami smut #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento smut #nanami kento x you #actually inspired by a real pair of underwear I have #and a new kink I unlocked recently lol

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annebd · 18 days ago

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winter warmers, day 16: secret santa. ~1800 words <-holy shit.

There’s a little box on the corner of Daniel’s desk, wrapped neatly in green paper and topped with a gold bow. The tag is a small square card, no more than a couple inches across, with a short message on one side:

To: Daniel

From: Your Secret Santa

Daniel opens the box and unfolds the carefully wrapped tissue paper bundle inside to remove the expected Scrabble tile. Today is the letter H. He tucks it into the top drawer of his desk, along with the rest of the tiles. The bow is also gently removed and stuck up on the pinboard next to the other twenty-two bows that he’s gotten so far this month. Some are gold, some silver, a few red and green.

There’s one particularly sparkly bow that’s been shedding glitter on him and all of his possessions for the past week. Halfway through the marketing team meeting last Thursday, Max reached over and brushed his thumb across Daniel’s cheekbone.

“You are all shiny, Daniel,” he said and showed him the sparkles of golden glitter that he’d rubbed off. “Always you’re so handsome, but today you’re like a shining star, too.”

Daniel was pretty sure he’d turned bright red, not even the deep tan in the middle of an Australian summer able to hide the color rising in his cheeks.

“Oh, uh, thanks, mate,” he replied and then turned back to the meeting on the last marketing push for Christmas sales, while trying not to think about the feeling of Max’s hand against his skin.

Today’s bow isn’t quite as glittery, but it does glint prettily in the glow of Daniel’s desk lamp. It’s 8:52am on December 23rd. Early enough that he has time to sip his coffee without interruption for a few minutes as he waits for his computer to boot up and he has to hop into the workday.

He eyes the drawer that holds the Scrabble tiles and decides he’s got time. As he’s done so many times so far this month, he pulls them all out and scatters them across his desk. Twenty three tiles so far. One of them is a blank, but a little question mark has been drawn on in black sharpie.

The ? tile showed up on the 17th, and he assumed that that was the end of it, so he’d spent the entire day trying to unscramble the letters, but couldn’t get anywhere. When another N arrived the next day, he realized that it wasn’t quite over yet.

The first box had arrived on the first of December. He wasn’t expecting it. George, over in operations, had floated the idea of doing a Secret Santa exchange a few weeks prior, but there had been so much hemming and hawing, with no one really wanting to commit, that he’d given up and moved on. Daniel hadn’t given it any further thought until the first box showed up.

Like every day since, the little box was wrapped inexpertly, though neatly, with green paper, and had a red bow stuck right on top. The same note, from “your secret Santa,” was attached. The Scrabble tile that day had been a D. Daniel assumed it stood for Daniel and that someone was either playing a silly joke, or truly had the worst taste in gift giving.

That assumption was only further confirmed on the second, when another box arrived, containing an R, which he could only assume stood for Ricciardo.

Thoroughly confused, he stopped by George’s office to poke his head in the door and ask when the Secret Santa drawing had been and why he hadn’t been involved.

“There was no drawing, mate,” George told him. “You lot were all too cool for the idea, so I didn’t bother. Why d’you ask?”

“Huh,” Daniel said, flummoxed. “Never mind. Don’t worry about it.”

He brought it up to Max when they had lunch that Friday. It was Daniel’s favorite part of the week- getting Max all to himself for an hour, to make ridiculous jokes and watch Max turn pink from laughter.

“Strange, isn’t it? Just a random couple of Scrabble tiles. What, am I supposed to use them to make a name tag for myself?”

“Maybe you have a secret admirer,” Max replied. “And they are, of course, just using the Secret Santa as an excuse to send you gifts.”

“They’re some weird gifts, then,” Daniel said, and took a bite of his pastrami on rye. It was good. Mustardy.

“They might get better. It could be fun.” Max looked over at Daniel, who was in the middle of another big bite of his sandwich. “You’ve got a little-” and pointed to the corner of Daniel’s mouth. He reached out, as though he intended to swipe away the crumb with his own finger, but he pulled back and let Daniel dab at his mouth with a napkin.

“Thanks, Max. And I guess you’re right. But I reserve the right to be annoyed if it’s just a bunch of letters spelling my name.

Day three put a wrench in the name theory when he popped open the box and found a V. So definitely not his name then.

Over the next couple of days, he received a W and a Y. On the following Monday, he showed up to two Ls and another E, each tucked into one of three boxes lined up carefully along the edge of his desk. He’d wondered what would happen over the weekend, and he was quietly pleased that his secret Santa had taken into account the extra days.

And today, as Daniel sits sipping his coffee with twenty two letters and a question mark, he decides that he’s got to be able to figure this out. Christmas is in just two days, which means that he’s only expecting two more gifts. And really, he’s only expecting one gift, since the office is closed on the 25th, and he’s not coming in for anything- even a secret Santa surprise.

Daniel mixes the tiles around, trying different combinations of words. The twenty three tiles at hand read NOIVUHHTLEMIWARELDYNIE?, which he’s pretty sure isn’t a thing. He can spell various words. He’s got the letters for DANIEL, but not RICCIARDO, so he’s mostly ruled out his initial name tag theory.

He’s been able to make a few phrases, some more promising than others. He had “HAVE YOU LET ME DIE?” laid out when Max stopped by his desk last week.

Max had raised an eyebrow at the phrase and given Daniel a disapproving look. “You don’t think that’s what your secret admirer is saying, do you?”

Daniel shrugged. “No clue, mate. Your guess is as good as mine right now.”

Max didn’t offer any actual help, but he scrambled the tiles again so that the question was no longer visible. “I don’t know either, but probably it isn’t about death.”

Daniel tries a few more letter combos, but nothing is jumping out at him. As the clock on his desktop ticks over to 9:00, he gathers up the tiles and places them back into his drawer.

When he heads out of the office that afternoon, he bumps into Max in the elevator. “You’re wrapping up early today!” he exclaims.

Max is always staying late at the office, and Daniel is forever trying to get him to leave on time, have a life outside of work. But Max insists that software engineering waits for no man, and he’d rather just get as much work done in the office as possible, instead of having to take it home with him and continue with it there.

“Hello, Daniel,” Max says. “Yes, today is an early night. I have some things to do today. Before Christmas, you know.”

“I’m glad,” Daniel replies. “See you tomorrow?”

Max gives him a big smile. “Yes. Tomorrow. See you then.”

The next day is Christmas Eve, and, Daniel assumes, the last day of his Secret Santa gifts. He still has no clue what the tiles are supposed to be telling him, but he feels a nervous energy thrumming in his stomach. Something big is coming, he thinks.

He gets to his desk by 8:45, eager to unwrap his final gift and finally figure out what’s going on. To his surprise, instead of just the one little green box he’s expecting, there are three wrapped presents on his desk. The first is the usual green box, but the tag that he’s expecting to proclaim the usual salutations instead proclaims “open me first.” He checks the other two. The box to its right reads “open me second.” And, just to be sure, he confirms that the final box on the end says to open it last.

With a slight shake in his hand, he picks up the first box and plucks off the bow to secure it to the pinboard. He opens it up and pulls out the last tile, another W. He adds it to the stash in his drawer and then reaches for the second box.

It’s the same size as the first, wrapped in the same way- no bow on this one. Perhaps it’s a one bow per day kind of deal.

Inside, there’s a small slip of paper folded in half. Daniel unfolds it to find a clue:

W_ _ _ Y_ _ H_ _ _ D _ _ _ _ _ W _ _ _ M_?

He waffles for a moment. Does he open the third gift, or does he unscramble the letters? The opening instructions didn’t say, so he supposes he could do either. Tiles, he decides.

He pulls open the drawer and tips the tiles onto his desk, then carefully arranges each one face up and pointing in the right direction.

Slowly, he starts moving tiles around. The Y is probably You, he guesses. So perhaps the M is Me? And then H could be Have. W is What? No, he realizes; that wouldn’t make sense. W for Will?

A sentence begins to take shape.

WILL YOU HAVE D_ _ _ _ _ W _ _ _ ME?

Daniel is fairly certain where this is going. He arranges the last few letters into place and then reaches for the third box. He tears open the paper, carefully as usual, and opens the box.

Inside is a card, on which is printed the name of the fanciest restaurant in Perth, which Daniel has been wanting to try for months, but which he has lamented to Max several times is impossible to get reservations for.

Beneath the name of the restaurant is today’s date, the 24th, and a time, 7pm.

Beneath that, there’s a final line, which simply says “TURN AROUND.”

Daniel takes a deep breath, steadies himself, and then swivels in his chair.

Behind him, Max is leaned against the doorframe to his office.

“So?” he asks. “I asked a question, I think.”

Daniel looks back over the tiles, laid out neatly on his desk. He looks back at Max and grins helplessly. “Yeah, Maxy. I would love to.”

#winterwarmers2024 #my fic #maxiel #i had so much fun with this one!

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jennaflare · 6 days ago

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So You Finished Disco Elysium and Don't Know What to Play Next

You may have seen my other games rec post (if not, there are a lot of recs there). But I have since played many more games that, if you love Disco as much as I do, you might also really enjoy! (Many of these are on sale for the Steam Winter Sale until 1/2/24, go check them out! Some are even as little as like 2 USD!)

A House of Many Doors

This one was mentioned very briefly in my last rec post, but I think A House of Many Doors deserves more words dedicated to it. This game is set in The House, a strange dimension of huge rooms that pulls things and people from other worlds into it, trapping them forever. You play as one of the house's denizens, and you are on a mission to escape.

If you enjoyed the concept of The Pale in Disco, I think a lot of aspects of The House will appeal to you as well.

Norco

Norco has been on my wishlist since I made the last post, but I finally got around to buying and playing it a few months ago. Norco is an RPG set in the oil town of Norco, Louisiana, and paints a beautiful and strange picture of the rural-industrial south. It contains heavy Christian themes and absolutely stunning pixel art. One of my favorite games I played this year.

Clickolding

Cickolding is a very short horror game in which you play as a person getting paid to click a clicker while the man above watching. It's weird and highly sexually charged, though no actual sexual content occurs. I can't say too much about this but it is an experience, for sure.

The Pale Beyond

In The Pale Beyond, you play as the first mate aboard The Temperance, which is bound for the Antarctic in search of a missing scientific vessel. Things, as you might expect, do not go according to plan. You must keep your crew alive, relatively healthy, and in good spirits.

This one's also a strong recommendation for fans of The Terror, for obvious reasons. (Side note: if animal death is a trigger for you, I'd recommend playing this with caution, or not at all.)

Inscryption

Inscryption is the game that changed my mind about deckbuilders (I used to really not like them), which opened the door to my current addiction (Balatro. If you haven't bought it, don't. Your friends may never see you again).

Inscryption is a horror deckbuilder roguelike that is by the same creator as The Hex and Pony Island, both of which I also recommend. It's an incredibly fun game, and I recommend not looking into the plot too much because it's way more fun going into it as blind as possible.

Slay the Princess

In Slay the Princess, you are the Hero. You must slay the princess. If you don't the world will end. That's all there is to it. Why would you do anything other than slay her, after all? You don't want the world to end, do you?

Slay the Princess is a time loop game where your choices affect the next loop -- I don't want to say too much on that because it's a fun thing to experience yourself.

80 Days

Inspired by the Jules Verne novel, you play as Passepartout, valet to Phileas Fogg. Your employer has entered a bet to race around the world in 80 days. In this text-based adventure, it is your job to balance his budget and health, and to plan your route.

There are so many ways to make this journey, and enough different events that I'm far from having seen it all despite how many times over I've played it. Highlights for me include: falling in love with a man while we nearly died in the arctic, getting jailed in Russia for nearly a week because I made some poor choices, and abandoning our mission to become a jewel thief.

Other Games You Might Wanna Check Out

Jalopy, Overboard!, Vampire: The Masquerade - Bloodlines, Yes Your Grace, Buckshot Roulette, A Date With Death, Fields of Mistria, Obscura, Tavern Talk, Killer Frequency, Not For Broadcast, The Life and Suffering of Sir Brante, Bastion

#disco elysium #norco #clickolding #the pale beyond #a house of many doors #inscryption #slay the princess #80 days #game rec #game recommendations

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luvjunie · 1 year ago

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— less is more

pairing: e-42!miles morales x fem!reader

contains: some tears, a little misunderstanding but a fluffy ending

summary: miles makes quite a bit of cash from his jobs, and with his love language being gift giving he often likes to spend a lot of it on you. however, you didn’t grow up with much, and this makes it especially hard for you to accept such expensive things from him without feeling overwhelmed. wc: 1,224

a/n: based off this request! some people might find this reader easier to relate to so i definitely wanted to write it

Gifts were something that came with the territory of dating Miles Morales. Big bouquets, flashy accessories, shopping sprees at the mall, and probably every single stuffed animal he’d ever caught you eyeing whenever the two of you went out. If you so much as looked at it, it was on your fire escape the next morning. At this point, you had so many on your bed that you were starting to run out of room to sleep.

And you knew he meant well, and you tried your best to enjoy it the way you imagined you should but it was all so foreign to you. Your life was much different before you met him, and it was more along the lines of nervously checking your bank account to see if you had enough cash to buy a five dollar starbucks drink to ‘treat yourself’, or if you’d have to wait till next week’s paycheck for blended coffee with some whipped cream on top.

Most of your clothes were hand-me-downs from your older siblings, or duds you’d secured from the Salvation Army a few blocks down on the colored-tag sale days, and that was the way you liked it. Humble beginnings is where you came from and humble was the way you intended to keep it.

So now as you stared down at the small jewelry box in your hands, Tiffany & Co embellishing the top in silvered letters, trepidation began coursing through you at the size of the box alone. Anything that came in a tiny package such as the one you were holding was bound to cost more than anything you’d ever managed to buy yourself. You realized you must have been lost in thought as you sat gawking at the untouched gift, because your boyfriend’s voice sounded like it was underwater the first few times he called out to you.

“Baby?”

“Hm?” You blinked, looking up at Miles from where you were seated on his bed to see him leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

“Go ‘head and open it, don’t leave me hanging.” Miles joked, brows bunched slightly in confusion.

“Oh— right,” you laughed half-heartedly. Swallowing hard, you gently pried the small box open with hesitant fingers to reveal the prettiest diamond necklace you think you’ve ever seen. Light glinting off the encrusted jewel, Miles waited with bated breath as he watched your hand tremble towards it, a choked inhale catching in your throat as you felt the weight of the pendant alone.

“Well?” he asked quietly.

“How much was this?” Your throat felt tight; uncomfortably so, like the air in the room suddenly wasn’t the kind you were meant to breathe.

Miles glanced to the side for a moment, then stood up straighter. “I mean, I paid for it if that’s what you’re asking...”

“How much was this, Miles?” Voice trembling when you spoke, you asked again but louder, and this time he knew you actually wanted an answer.

Confused because he didn’t take you for the materialistic type, he racked his brain for the memory of the total the clerk had read out to him and scratched his forehead.

“Like… three hundred and some change…maybe? Probably four? I don’t remember. Why does this matter?” He let out a peeved sigh, eyes widening as he watched your shoulders start to shake.

“Ay, mi amor, ¿que pasa? (what’s wrong, my love?)” Miles asked gently as he rushed to sit next to you, taking the jewelry box from your loose hold. He looked down at it disappointedly, lips pursing at the necklace he’d spent so long picking out. He thought you would’ve loved it. “You don’t like it? I can get you somethin’ better—“

“No, Miles. I… It’s perfect.” Warm tears rolled past your waterline and you wiped them away in a rush, aggravated that you were even crying in front of him about something like this. How could you explain yourself without sounding ungrateful or confusing him even more?

Miles licked at his dry lips as he tried to think of what to say. He was usually so good at reading your body language, but this time he was completely lost. You could see it on his expression when you looked at him that he was having a hard time understanding what was going on, and it only made you cry harder.

“No entiendo… (I don’t understand…)” He set the box down next to him and took your hands into his, head lowered to try and meet your averted gaze. “I’m lost.. If it’s perfect, then what’s wrong?”

You inhaled a wavered breath, the feeling of his thumbs rubbing the backs of your hands serving as encouragement for you to go on.

“I just…” taking a breath, your shoulders shrugged weakly. “You spending money on me like this, I— It feels like I’m using you. You should be spending your hard earned money on things for yourself, or… saving it for better things, not spending it on me.”

“Money is nothing to me when it comes to you.” he denied immediately.

“I know, and that’s the problem.” Your lips trembled, but thankfully you were able to prevent more tears from coming.

“Y/n, I—“

“Just, please. Let me finish.” You pleaded quietly, looking up to see him slowly nod at you. “I love you, Miles, and that means I love everything you do for me as well. But I’m not used to things like this.” you looked in the direction of the overturned jewelry box. “It’s a lot.”

Silence filled the space around the two of you. You felt incredibly guilty for even bringing it up, it was never your intention to make him feel this way. There was an energy shift and you could sense him regressing back to the version of him that once didn’t know how to express his love for you.

“I’m sorry.” he murmured simply. He didn’t know what else to say, he didn’t even understand, but he offered it to you anyway.

“No no no, Miles,” You guided his doleful eyes back to you with a hand on his cheek, your tone sincere. “I love the way you love me, really, I do. You don’t have anything to apologize for. It’s not your fault— I’m just not that kind of girl and I don’t know if I ever will be. But the way I grew up and the things I’m used to have nothing to do with you, and everything to do with me, okay?”

He frowned slightly. “So… No more gifts, then?”

You shook your head. “Giving me nice things is how you show your love towards me, I know that, and it would be unfair for me to take that from you. I’d be crazy to not appreciate how you’re always thinking of me wherever you go.”

Chewing on your thoughts, you contemplated the best way to give your answer.

“Okay, so it’s like this,” you sat up a bit. “You could give me a rock, and I’d cherish it like it was the best thing in the entire world, simply because you gave it to me. What I’m trying to say is how expensive the gift is doesn’t matter, all that matters is that my wonderful—“ your head dipped to meet his avoidant eyes. “caring, and thoughtful boyfriend got it for me. I don’t care about the money, I only care that it came from you.”

Miles brightened a little at that, and started to put things together after your explanation. “So, I can still get you nice things, but… less is more?”

A melancholic smile touched your lips before you pecked his cheek. “Less is more.”

He picked the small jewelry box up from the bed. He understood you completely now, but was still a bit bummed. “Does that mean I have to return this?”

You immediately shook your head. “Of course not, baby. I love it, and I think it’s beautiful. Just keep what I said in mind for next time, okay?” He nodded and you turned your back towards him so he could put it on for you.

“Good, cause I kinda lost the receipt.” Miles smiled coyly at the slightly shaky laugh that sounded from you as he unclasped the necklace, draping it over your chest and fastening it.

You peered down at the gorgeous piece around your neck, gently gracing over it with your fingertips. Your heart warmed at the thought of him picking it out for you, how he spotted something this beautiful and needed you to have it. You had to admit, it was absolutely stunning and you didn’t think you’d be taking it off any time soon. Even if the price of it had almost sent you into shock, you were more than grateful to have a boyfriend like him.

“Thank you, Miles. I love it, really.” You faced him once again with your confession, the sincerity laced in your tone accentuating the adoration in your eyes. Your hand caressed the apple of his cheek, it raising when he smiled contently and leaned into your palm. “But I love you, more.”

#junie’s works ᥫ᭡#miles morales fanfiction #miles morales fic #earth 42 miles fluff #miles morales headcanons #miles morales x reader #miles morales x black reader #miles morales x fem!reader #across the spiderverse fanfiction #earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles x you #earth 42 miles x black reader #earth 42 miles x reader

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clockwayswrites · 1 year ago

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Both Ways at Once Part 1

wc 868, Masterpost

“You’ve read the dossier?”

The clipped words were in time with their quick steps down the pristine white hall.

“Yes.”

“All of it?”

Danny resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Unlike you, Hellblazer, I read my contracts before I sign them.”

“You wound me, Pomp,” John said, twirling an unlit cigarette between his fingers. “I’m just trying to protect you from the Big Bad Bat. He’s had a bit of a mare over this case. Hell, as a consultant, you shouldn’t even be seeing this with the access level things are at, but…”

“But you’re stuck and need my pretty baby blues on things to help you out,” Danny said, batting his lashes obnoxiously at John.

“Fuck off,” John said without any heat and shoved Danny away. “But the Bat is anxious about it. All the Bats are. If you can help us solve it sooner, then the better, because when the Bats are on edge, everyone is on edge. And it’s a fucking nightmare around here already with all the bloody do-gooders let alone when they’re all worked up about something…”

“Everyone’s on edge, got it.”

“Nightingale,” John said, voice unusually serious— serious enough to make Danny stop even without the hand on his arm. “I’m not saying this lightly. I like you, like you well enough for a psychopomp and whatever the fuck else you are at least. Tread lightly.”

“Got it, Constantine. I’ll work extra hard not to piss anyone off,” Danny said, patting John’s hand with his own tattooed one. Danny picked back up his same quick pace, but his mind now spun trying to figure out what exactly he was walking into. The dossier hadn’t gone into details, just conditions. Supposedly the risk— some side effect created by a villainous magical spell gone wrong— was presently and thoroughly contained. Danny would be able to observe the risk, the individual originally affected, and the items present at the time. He was not to interact directly with the risk, answer it’s questions, or under any circumstance touch it.

It read as a pretty standard contract magical unknown.

John wouldn’t be this concerned by a standard magical unknown. So what was he about to walk into? It seemed like he might actually want to listen to John this time, even if that was always a fifty-fifty chance of being an absurdly stupid idea.

Danny shifted his grip anxiously on the handle of his kit: an old traveling salesman’s briefcase fitted out with a careful collection of haphazard items. Most of the other occult practitioners mocked Danny��s tendency for used items. Half burned candles, old books wiped and rewritten, estate sale candy dishes— odd choices for most people, but for Danny they sang. They spilled the secrets of the world known and unknown to him. He had to trust that between his tools and his skills (let them believe he was a mere psychopomp), he would come out of this at least safe, if not with answers.

Didn’t mean that a few of his tattoos didn’t crawl in warning.

(Who knew what spot of skin that damn ink moth would wander to now.)

“Justice Leaguers,” Danny greeted with a nod as they finally finished winding through repetitive hallways and stopped outside a room.

“Nightingale, thank you for being able to attend to this so promptly,” Wonder Woman greeted him. Of the Justice League members (outside of the Darks) that Danny had interacted with on other consulting gigs she might be Danny’s favorite, so he offered her a smile.

“Of course, it sounded like things were possibly on a time table from the contract, so I’m glad I was between pressing matters,” Danny said. Right then his most pressing matter was a need to find a laundry mat, but the Justice League certainly didn’t need to know that.

“Right, well,” John jumped in when no one else said anything, not that Danny had expected much from Batman with how he was lurking like a shadow. “Er, this way.”

Danny glanced at the room label of ‘containment cells’ as the door unlocked with a clank and hissed open. After John’s warning, he wasn’t surprised that they were taking whatever this was seriously.

There was more white and gleaming metal behind the door. A neat row of spartan cells were set behind thick acrylic glass and metal. Danny’s eyes locked on the figure in the third cell. He stumbled.

He might be sick.

“What the fuck are you all doing?!” The words ripped from Danny in a snarl.

That was a protector spirit.

He brushed past Wonder Woman and through John’s reaching arm.

They had a protector spirit in a cell.

Intangibility washed over Danny, cold as always, as he stepped through the glass wall of the cell.

The spirit stopped in their pacing, the opaque red helmet tilting.

John screamed something at him.

The flashing red of alarms glinted off gleaming surfaces.

Danny reached out and rested his hand over the spirit’s sternum, and they practically crumpled around the touch. Gloved hands clung desperately to Danny’s arm.

A low growl rumbled in Danny’s chest. “They’re hurting you.”

They had a protector spirit in a cell.

How dare they.

----

AN: So, um, yeah. Still sick. Not a cold or allergies at all and not easy to clear up and prob a new life long thing. Which is great. Super cool. I needed more ways to be sick.

But have the start of this thing that I used to take my mind off things! My, what could be going on?? (Also why do I apparently have a tattooed Danny agenda?)

Stay delightful (and well), darlings!

I no longer tag people for various reasons. You can instead be notified by subscribing to the masterpost!

#dp x dc #dead on main #both ways at once

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cosmicalily · 2 months ago

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"written by the aces" - a mini series by @cosmicalily. view series masterlist, and outline here

7. "going home" | kim seungmin x fem!reader

Fuck anyone who says they doubt you, I love everything about you, you know, even all of the the things you say you don’t like, nothing I don’t like. I love that you never pretend with me, even from the start you taught me to be, nothing but me

author's note: oh lovesick kim seungmin, you'll always be my weakness

warnings: seungmin has some implied insecurities (not discussed)

“What are we even here for?” Seungmin asked, feigning annoyance as you roamed aimlessly through the aisles of the supermarket.

“I don’t remember,” you replied, wandering into the haircare aisle.

Seungmin huffed, although you didn’t miss the soft smile on his lips before he did so. “That’s why I told you to write a list or something, baby, you always forget.”

When Seungmin had introduced you to his friends, they’d been expecting someone scholarly, quiet and well-organised; essentially, a second Seungmin. “Did you meet her in the library?” Hyunjin had teased. “No, in the stationary section looking at notebooks!” Jeongin had snorted.

However, when you proved to be almost as chaotic, if not more, than Han Jisung himself, they’d been surprised, albeit happily. You couldn’t be more different from Seungmin; you were very physically affectionate, and had no troubles expressing your emotions through words. You were forgetful, yet refused to take actions to prevent it. You were sporadic and inconsistent, planning things last minute and taking your boyfriend on adventures on a whim. It had taken Seungmin time to get used to you when you first met as friends, but he soon found himself drawn to your confidence and chaos. You were a bit all over the place, yes, but you were his, and you found he helped contain the unhelpful aspects of your personality, such as struggles to focus and just generally get shit done, whilst you brought out the louder, gigglier side of him.

“Oh well,” you chuckled and shrugged, pulling out bottles of shampoo and examining the labels closely. “Ooh, this one’s on sale, Seung! Maybe I should try it, your big sister told me it was really good.”

Seungmin took the bottle out of your hand and placed it back on the shelf. “No,” he said stubbornly.

“Excuse me, Kim Seungmin?” You raised an eyebrow and crossed your arms across your chest. “I think I’m allowed to select my own shampoo brand.”

Seungmin rolled his eyes. “You wouldn’t smell the same, stupid. I like the one you use now. It’s nice.” He pulled you close and shoved his face into your hair to prove his point, and you giggled and smacked his arm lightly.

“What a sappy baby,” you tsked, pinching his cheek and grabbing two bottles of your usual shampoo and conditioner.

“Is that everything?”

“I just want to look around, Seung, then I’ll remember,” you pushed the trolley happily, skipping a little.

“Baby, we’ve been looking around for like twenty minutes. It’s gonna get dark soon, and it’s already snowing outside.” Seungmin gestured out the big windows, where flecks of snow drifted through the wind, dusting the cars parked outside, including yours, like icing sugar.

“Okay, okay, fine,” you huffed, picking up your two bottles and returning your trolley, and he shook his head. You squealed as he scooped you up, staggering along to the cashier.

He deposited you, paid for your items, then ran outside, almost slipping on the icy tarmac.

“It’s so pretty,” you gasped, squeaking as a snowflake landed on your nose and another melted down your cheek. “It’s very cold, though. Can we get inside, Seung?”

He nodded and opened the car, and you bundled yourself into the passenger seat, shivering as he turned the heater on.

“Dramatic, much,” he chuckled fondly, starting the engine.

“Shut up, I’m so cold,” you hissed through your teeth, blowing on your hands. “Hey, stop that, turn the car off.”

“That’ll turn the heater off,” Seungmin stated.

“I don’t care.”

“Where the fuck is your logic, baby?” Seungmin laughed.

You shook your head and dragged yourself over the console, planting yourself onto his lap. His cheeks flushed a little and he took the keys out, his arms moving to your waist automatically.

“You’re really warm, Seung,” you mumbled into his shoulder, wrapping your arms around his neck. “You’re always so warm, like, you just make me feel so cosy and soft and fluffy and gross.”

“Gross? Excuse me?”

“In a good way. I feel so sappy and lovey-dovey when I’m with you. I disgust myself. If I saw a couple acting like this in public, I’d be like, ew, that’s so weird, but I love acting like that with you. It doesn’t feel cliche or weird. It feels right.”

“Oh, baby.”

“Shush. You’re gonna make me blush.”

Seungmin lifted your head off his shoulder. “You already are, idiot.”

You slapped his cheek lightly. “Fuck off. It’s your turn to be overly sappy with your feelings now, Seung.”

Seungmin took a deep breath. “When I first got with you, all the guys were so surprised, because you’re so different to me. And when they were surprised, it made me nervous, because I trust them so much, though you better not tell them that, or they won’t shut up about it. Then Chan told me he hadn’t seen me act so carefree, so happy around anyone like this in a long, long time. He said he thought you were so good for me, you brought out parts of me he missed seeing.”

You stared into his eyes, biting back a smile.

“And it’s true. I’ve never really felt this happy around anyone before. I worry less, and when I worry, it's less about myself. Because I know you don’t care about the things I worry about myself; like my appearance, or my personality. You just love me. And I’ve never been loved like that before.”

“You went way sappier than I did, loverboy,” you giggled, but pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips. “I love you so much, and it makes me happy that I make you as happy as you make me. You’re mine, yeah, Seung?”

“Always,” Seungmin pressed his nose to yours, then wrapped his arms around you tighter.

You sat, in the front seat of your car, in the supermarket parking lot, bodies entwined.

Sure, you should be getting home, but you weren’t in a rush.

Wherever he was, he was your home.

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glitterjay · 8 months ago

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ENEMIES TO LOVERS | 이희승.LHS

summary: heeseung finds himself drawn to the girl he initially clashed with. two competitive rivals notice the sparks that fly every time they encounter each other. beneath the surface of their hatred lies a hidden chemistry drawing them closer despite their efforts to resist. could love possibly fire up from sparks?

genre: feuding families, a little bit of everything (smut, fluff, angst), enemies to lovers

warnings: will contain smut, heeeseung and reader are in their late 20s, more to be added.

in case of wanting to be part of taglist, please send an ask with what fic you would like to get @ for as I will be making one list for each one. series masterlist

prev | next

taglist (open): @drunkhee @jvjsssnaa @minniejenseo @slut4hee @nyxtwixx @m1sskz @tanisha2060 @heelee-01 @enhypenlovre @rainingleaves @hommyy-tommy @hollyoongs @seungjiseyo @cheeryyyyyyyy @ramenoil @yorukoshii @pockettwinzz @samouryed @capri-cuntz @jjklvr9 @minjaexvz

lee incorporated, one of the biggest companies to rule the world, was now facing trouble with its sales—something never seen before in the many years the company has been in operation.

its success had been ongoing throughout the years, making it impossible for new competitors to even make it as such—until the last few years.

the feud between the two companies had been going on publicly, only adding to the sales of each one as well as increasing their popularity.

heeseung didn't understand why the other company seemed never to give up and, in fact, kept shooting up in sales before his very eyes. his family was counting on him to keep the legacy of lee incorporated, but he was beginning to think it was impossible.

throughout the last year, you've been meeting up with different investors who seem to be interested in having some kind of connection with your company. you've also had the opportunity to be in the same room as heeseung, the future owner of your competition.

it was evident how frustrated he would get when an investor would set up a meeting with the both of you, thus making it easier for them to see which company would be the better option. his eyes shot glares at you every time, as if every look was a dagger thrown straight at your back.

that was the case now. both of you stood side by side as you gave a presentation as to why the investors should choose one over the other. you were both professional enough to keep it calm but couldn't help glaring at each other from time to time.

"thank you for your time, both of you. we will be reaching out to the candidate we like most, and we wish the other party the best of luck."

both of you bowed politely until the meeting room was empty, leaving only the two of you in the room. you sighed, taking a seat in one of the chairs that had been occupied moments ago.

"if you're that tired, just give up," heeseung said, fixing the sleeves of his white button-down.

you scoffed, grabbing a fistful of hair to tie it into a bun. "as if."

every encounter ended almost like this. sometimes you would exchange more than two words; other times you would bicker until someone else caught both of your attentions; or sometimes you wouldn’t say anything at all, one of you walking out of the room right away.

there was a spark you felt between the both of you that only lit up in such moments. heeseung felt it, too. but it was only normal to feel such hatred when your enemy is in the same room as you.

if you could leave any type of feedback—whether it be an ask, reblog, or comment—that would help me a lot.

#enhypen #engene #enhypen smut #hard hours #kpop smut #kpop #enhypen hard hours #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen heeseung #lee heeseung #heeseung x reader #enha imagine #enha heeseung #enhypen fluff #enha fluff #enhypen angst #enha angst

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maxcontainersline · 2 months ago

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What is storage containers mainly used for?

Storage containers are used to store products until they are ready to be shipped. They have various uses and come in all sizes. Some storage containers are made of even cardboard or wood, while others are made of plastic and steel. Some storage containers are used as shipping containers also. The open top containers for sale are ideal for storage but not for shipping.

Storage containers can be huge and are used to store grain before it is packaged into smaller bundles and shipped. Businesses of all types look for open side containers for sale and use it. They might have to store small items for their office under one roof. A container that can hold various items is used. These are frequently made of plastic like boxes or bins are used.

Some products require huge storage containers. These are also available. Products will frequently be stored before they are shipped. Sometimes people look for refrigerated containers for sale to store specific food, chemicals and products in refrigerated containers. Sometimes the same refrigerated storage container is used to ship the product.

Getting open top containers for sale can be as simple as looking on the internet for them. You will get a dealer of storage units that you can purchase from.

Distributors, manufacturing companies and offices will require open side containers for sale. There is always something to store for a short span of time. The items being stored may be for sale or they may be required by the companies for their own use. Offices will have to store paper and other kinds of office supplies. This is true for big offices specifically. A knitting mill making its own material will have to store their material until it is time for it to be sewn into sweaters.

#Open Top Containers for Sale #Open Side Containers for Sale #Refrigerated Containers for Sale

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jo6hny · 11 months ago

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Neighbor - Hazel Callahan

Pairing: College! Hazel Callahan x College! Reader

Contains: fluff, kissing, slight angst, everyone knows you like each other besides the both of you, drunk hazel, reader being an idiot, hazel being an idiot, sylvie and isabel mentioned.

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: A very drunk Hazel Callahan stumbles upon your dorm room thinking it was hers. What happens when your crush and next door dorm neighbor wriggles her way onto your bed?

A/N: This was written for the anon that requested it! I hope you like it <33 also, sorry if the description of college is inaccurate, i’m not american !! Requests are open!

Knock Knock.

The sound of the knock interrupts your reading. Curious, you get out of bed to see who it is. The comfort of your bed and the book in hand long forgotten as you made your way to your door. You rarely get visitors and your roommate, Sylvie, barely ever knocks. She’d usually just barge right in regardless of what you were doing.

“Hi neighbor.” The brunette greets you on the other side of the door with a smile and a small tupperware dish on her hands. It was Hazel, the girl who occupied the dorm room right across yours. She looked good today. Scratch that, she looked good everyday. There was just something about Hazel Callahan that was charming and adorable.

“Oh, hi Haze.” You smile, greeting her back. “What you got there?”

Hazel extended the dish towards you and said, “This is for you! There were some leftover brownies from the bake sale yesterday and I thought I’d give you some. I would hate for my beloved neighbor to starve.”

Your smile grew wider at your neighbor’s gesture. If you weren’t so blinded by hunger, you would have thought that she’d given these to you because she liked you. Not that she did, though. Hazel seemed to be friendly with everyone. And, well, she always seemed to deflect your advances.

“Aw Hazel,” You cooed, taking the dish from her. It felt hefty, the dish didn’t just contain a few pieces of brownies, it had a lot. Your heart swelled at the gesture.“Thank you so much! I’ll give you something back, I swear.”

Hazel shook her head at this.

“You don’t have to. You always do nice things for me, anyway.” She gave you a dimpled smile. Well, that is true. But it was a two way thing between you and her. Always watching out for each other, especially whenever there were inspections.

You couldn’t exactly pinpoint how you two became close, or well, acquainted. But you knew it was because of Sylvie. She and Hazel were best friends, have been since highschool. Sylvie always told you about their “fight club” back then and how it was a women empowerment thing that saved their school from…football players? The details weren’t exactly clear, especially with how fast your roommate talked. Anyway, you meet Hazel through Sylvie. They’d always hang out at your dorm or Hazel’s dorm, whichever was available. You didn’t mind when they were at yours, they usually just geeked out about weapons and bands and all that shit. Plus, Hazel was easy on the eyes. You could look at her all day if you were being honest. Her hair was dark and soft and always so fragrant. You imagined what it was like to run your hair through her locks, how it’d feel between your fingers. And her eyes were to die for. They were like opals in the sense that they shifted colors ever so often. Most of the time they were blue, but there were times when they’d look silver or green. All of these traits (and more) were what made her so enchanting.

“Well, no worries, Haze. We look out for each other.” You reply, putting a hand on her forearm. It wasn’t obvious, but Hazel’s breath picked up when you touched her. Because unbeknownst to you, she actually did return your feelings. The tension between the two of you was apparent to everyone except the two of you. Sylvie knows it, Hazel’s roommate Isabel did too. Basically everyone on campus did.

“So…” You trailed off. Hazel was too distracted by your touch, her mind was elsewhere. “Um, are you going to that frat party later?”

The blue eyed girl snaps out of her trance at your question and nods.

“Oh, yeah! I’m going with Isabel and Sylvie. Are you?”

“I can’t.” You sigh, slightly disappointed. This was supposed to be an opportunity for you to spend time with Hazel (and Sylvie and Isabel, of course).

“Oh.” Hazel said dejectedly. You picked up on your neighbor’s tone at your reply.

“Sorry, Haze.” You apologize, squeezing her forearm. This caused the brunette to short circuit again. “I have to finish reading this book for my lit class.”

“That’s-That’s okay.” She replied, feeling uncool at the way she stuttered.

“Maybe we can hang out another time?” You said, hinting at a date with her.

Hazel nods at your suggestion. “Yeah! We can bring Sylvie and Isabel too.”

A frown forms on your face at her suggestion which you quickly wipe off and replace with a smile.

“Yep. Sure.” You said, not feeling too enthusiastic. Was there something wrong with you? Did she not like you? You didn’t get why Hazel kept rejecting you.

“I’ll see you, then.” She replies, walking back to her dorm room across from yours.

Back at the comfort of her room, Hazel slaps the palm of her hand on her forehead. It only just registered to her that you wanted to hang out with her without Sylvie and Isabel.

“Stupid.” She muttered, letting herself dramatically fall onto her bed. The brunette groans at her inability to take cues. It’s not that she didn’t want to be with you, it’s just that she had a hard time taking in what you say sometimes. It was hard for her to discern things especially when you were in front of her. Hazel sometimes wished that she were normal. Normal enough to notice the little things. If she were, you two would have gone out by now. The brunette groans again at the thought and buries her head in her pillow.

────────────────────────────────────────────

Finally onto the last chapter of your book, you decide to rest a bit before moving forward. Closing your eyes, you ease into your mattress a bit and let your head fall onto your soft pillow. A few more minutes you would fall asleep, the book forgotten. Sylvie seemed to have found herself back into your shared room as you heard the door being pried open. Weird though, she didn’t seem to make any noise as she entered. Usually she’d announce her entrance and make herself known. Oh well, maybe she had too much to drink. Back to resting.

“Mmph.” A voice that wasn’t your roommate’s grunted across the room from you, the voice wasn’t Sylvie’s. This alarmed you and your head was filled with thoughts of danger. Your mind recalled all of the instructional videos you watched on self defense and you were counting on your brain to remember all the necessary steps when it came to it.

Taking a careful peek, you notice that the stranger had made themselves comfortable in Sylvie’s bed. They were facing the wall so all you could see was the back of their head. The person had dark brown hair which flowed down to the base of their neck and they had a boyish cut.

“Oh my head hurts so bad.” The stranger groaned. Recognizing her voice, you realize that Hazel was the intruder. She turns and wriggles around the bed which also helps you confirm her identity.

“Hazel!” You exclaim, trying to get her attention. She must’ve thought that she was in her dorm room. The brunette didn’t seem to register your voice and continued wriggling around the bed.

Slowly, you approach her and look at the situation fully. Alcohol reeked through her clothes and there she was in all her drunken glory sprawled all over Sylvie’s bed. Hazel Callahan, your biggest crush, was in your dorm room. The two of you were as close as neighbors could get but you’ve never been alone with each other. You weren’t sure what to do. Should you wake her up? She seemed out of it, though. You’d assumed that Hazel was the type of person you’d need to drag around back to her own room because of how hard it would be to wake her. Plus, she may not look like it, but Hazel had some serious weight on her. The memory of seeing Hazel in a tank top with her toned arms flashed in your mind and you had to physically shake the thought off before you could get any more flustered. Deciding against taking Hazel back, you took it upon yourself to gather a bottle of water and some meds (which you keep just in case) to her.

“Hazel,” You nudge her softly. This caused her to stir a little. “What are you doing here, bub? You got the wrong room.”

“What?” She replied, opening one eye and scanning the room. “Oh you’re right. This isn’t my bed.”

Hazel starts to stand and get off the bed much to your disappointment and relief. What she does next surprises you, though. The brunette then decides to plop herself down on your bed and make herself comfortable.

“This is better.” She mumbles, pulling the comforter up to her chin.

“Oh, that’s not…” You say unironically. Racking your brain on the best possible move, you ultimately decide to just let the blue eyed girl be. There was no harm in letting her sleep for the night in your bed, right?

Wrong. Hazel kept pulling you into bed with her until you lost your footing and gently crashed on top of her. Your neighbor quickly used this to her advantage and wrapped her arms around you, securing you in her hold.

“Hazel, buddy, wake up.” You whisper, trying to get yourself out of her tight (but comfortable) grip. If you had it your way, you would reciprocate the cuddle but she was drunk and she wouldn’t remember any of this in the morning.

With your free hand, you continuously poke the brunette until she got irritated and opened one of her eyes to look at you. At this, she smiled and uttered your name.

“Hi, pretty. What’re you doing in my room?” She muttered, patting your hair.

“It’s not your room, Haze.” You whisper, trying to hide the blush that was forming on your cheeks. Your body felt warm.

“‘M pretty sure it is.” She mumbled, closing her eye again. Hazel seemed comfortable like this. Like she’d imagine doing this before. It had you thinking about whether or not she thought about you too.

Ridding your head of the thoughts, you decide to give in. There was no waking your neighbor up and you were pretty tired too. Sighing, you relax your body and try to sleep all the while racking your brain on what to tell Hazel tomorrow.

You’re awoken by a groan from your intruder neighbor last night. Hazel must be awake. Taking a look, you realized that you were now facing your wall and Hazel’s arm was wrapped around you as she nuzzled her nose into your neck from behind. The thought of your position made the blood on your cheeks warm up.

“What?” You hear her mumble. Hazel rids her nose off your neck and sees that you were on the receiving end of her hug. You could feel her physically freeze at the sight. Deciding to break the ice, you faced Hazel and gave her a smile.

“Hi.” You whisper, scared that if your voice was louder you’d freak her out more.

“H-hello.” She whispered back, unsure of what her eyeballs were seeing. At that, your neighbor rubs at her eyelids to make sure you weren’t an illusion.

“You okay?” You ask as you sit up. You reach over your dresser and hand her the water bottle and meds from last night. “Here, drink this. It’ll get rid of the headache.”

Reluctantly, she sits up and takes it from you. Hazel looked lost, like she couldn’t believe what was happening in front of her eyes. Still, she took the meds and ingested it. Her head was killing her and she wasn’t going to reject being saved by an angel.

“Is this real?” She asks as she finally speaks her thoughts out loud.

This earns a giggle from you and Hazel’s heart picks up at the sight and the sound of your laughter. God, you were so pretty. Especially with you on her bed, well, it was your bed but that’s besides the point.

“I’m pretty sure it is, Haze.” You reply, fidgeting with the blanket on your bed.

“Did we?” She trails off, her eyes wide. Hazel clasps her hand over her mouth in an attempt to cover up her gasp.

“Oh, no! No, Haze. Nothing bad happened, don’t worry.” You reply, putting a reassuring hand on her lap. “You just got lost is all. Got the wrong dorm and you thought my bed was yours. You were pretty drunk.”

“Oh, alright.” She replied, seemingly disappointed. Hazel wasn’t very good at masking her emotions and you could tell that she felt bad about something.

“If it matters to you, I wasn’t mad or anything. You can stumble here drunkenly all you want.” You reassure her. The last thing you wanted was to scare your crush off because she found herself on your bed after a seemingly wild night.

“And I didn’t say anything weird?” She asked warily. Hazel didn’t trust herself whenever she was intoxicated. She didn’t have a filter whenever she drank and she was scared out of her mind that she yapped on to you about her feelings.

You shake your head at her question. “No, you’re all good. Though you did call me pretty.”

Hazel’s cheeks turned a slight shade of pink.

“It’s true.” She said. Ah, maybe she was still a bit drunk. Hazel mentally facepalmed at how she just openly admitted her admiration of you. This wasn’t how she imagined it going. In her head, Hazel confesses to you after a big life changing moment. Not this, not after drunkenly stumbling into your room.

“I think you’re pretty too, Haze.” You whisper, leaning in closer. This is it. You were going to kiss and confess your feelings. Happily ever after. The thought made your heart race.

Hazel jumps at your action; her eyes were wide with surprise. Did you read it wrong? Oh god, you just made her uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry.” You blurt out, hands wailing all over the place. “I didn’t mean to, I thought we were flirting. I’m so sorry, Hazel.”

Hazel does a double take at what you said. The wires in her brain were all flaring up and her eyebrows furrowed.

“You were flirting with me?” Hazel asks, confusion taking over her senses. She never thought that you’d be into her. Well, maybe you were. She wasn’t good at seeing signs. Sometimes it felt like you were flirting but her brain tries to push it off. She didn’t really see why you would want to be with her, to be honest. Some of the trauma from highschool carried on til this day and it’s something she has trouble with.

“I have been for the past six months, thanks for noticing.” You mutter, breaking eye contact with the brunette. All your confidence disappeared. You felt dumb for ever thinking that Hazel would feel the same about you. She didn’t even know you were flirting.

“I’m sorry.” She says as she hesitantly takes your hand. “I didn’t know. Well, a part of me did. It’s just that I’m bad at this.”

“No, Haze. I’m sorry too. I should have been direct with you, to be honest.” You interlock your fingers together and squeeze her hand.

“For what it’s worth, I do like you.” She replies. Your breath hitches and your mouth is agape ever so slightly. Hazel Callahan just confessed to you.

“Oh my god.” You exclaim, freaking out. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to return the feelings. I just wanted to let you know.” Sweet Hazel, again, wasn't reading between the lines. But you didn’t let this bother you.

Taking her face in your hands, you decide to plant a kiss on her soft lips. Your neighbor was surprised at this but eventually melted into the kiss. It was everything you dreamt of. Hazel’s lips were soft and gentle. She kissed you with such yearning, like she’d dreamt about this moment too.

“Dummy.” You say, exasperated. “I like you too.”

Hazel smiles and the dimples on her cheek peeks out. Suddenly everything was quiet in her mind and the only thing she could think of was you. The brunette took your hand and kissed it, a declaration of her love and her loyalty. She couldn’t believe it. This moment was bigger to her than anything ever before. You were the quiet in her mind and the roar of her heart.

#hazel callahan x reader #hazel bottoms #hazel callahan #lgbtq #bottoms movie #hazel callahan imagine #wlw #lgbtqia #hazel callahan scenario #hazel callahan fluff #lesbian #fanfic #hazel callahan fanfiction #bottoms 2023 #bottoms imagine

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freedomfireflies · 2 years ago

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Use Me*

Summary: An extra for Teach Me*

You bring home a new outfit, and your best friend Harry decides that it's high time he show you exactly what you've been missing with a little payback.

Blindfold and all.

Word Count: 4.4k

*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞You are so much more important!*

“Okay, close your eyes. Close your eyes—thank you.”

Harry huffs as he settles onto the mattress, lashes firmly pressed together, and hands on his legs.

You peek out from behind the bathroom door, eager for his reaction to the little lingerie set you purchased the other day. It’s unlike anything he’s ever seen you in. Lacey, and skimpy, and best of all…equipped with thigh and wrist restraints.

Sure, he adores you in anything. Plain, simple bra and underwear. No underwear and a big shirt. Granny panties and sweatpants. And you adore him for that.

Truthfully, you mostly picked this outfit for yourself. You liked the colors and the handcuffs. And even better? It was on sale.

But you know Harry will absolutely lose it when he gets a glimpse. You’re fully prepared for him to rip the fabric right from your body, although you will warn him not to. It might have been on sale, but it was still rather expensive.

Although you have a feeling it will be worth it.

Tiptoeing into the room, you come to a stop right in front of him, anxiously sucking in a deep breath.

“Okay,” you murmur, arms resting by your sides. “You can look.”

With a raise of his eyebrow, he lets his eyes flutter open once more until he can see you.

A quiet stretch of silence settles between you as he rakes his gaze over every inch of your body. From your eager smirk to your glittery painted toenails.

You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly. You’ve never felt so nervous.

Then, he stands.

His tall frame towers above you, and your breath hitches as he steps up.

“Fucking hell,” he breathes, large hand outstretching for your hip. “You…shit, Bee. I…”

Words evade him as your cheeks warm. “You like?”

“Fuck,” he says again, and you laugh. “Where…why…shit.”

You slip your hands around his neck as he takes hold of your body and presses you flush against his chest. “Thought we could try something new. Know you’ve been stressed lately, and I figured…why not help you unwind?”

His darkened expression travels up the length of the outfit for a second time. “God, I don’t fucking deserve you. Look at you, Bee. I can’t…never seen something so beautiful.”

You feel his fingers dance across the lacey fabric, inspecting every inch. Reveling in the way your body feels beneath the material. And when he makes it to the cuffs around your wrists, his eyebrow cocks up.

“Oh?” he murmurs, lifting it up as his thumb strokes across the leather restraint.

“They attach down here,” you explain, nodding toward your thigh. “Thought that might be fun, too.”

“Yeah?” His eyes fill with child-like wonder as he studies the lock.

“Yeah.” You push up onto your tiptoes until you can brush your lips against his. “Wanna be at your mercy, Daddy. Want you to do whatever you want. Have me any way you want me.”

You can’t help but smirk to yourself when you hear his breath catch. You’ve taken this interaction from sexy to sensual, and his grip on your hip tightens.

“Is that right?” he murmurs, and the sudden change in inflection makes your stomach flip. “Want me to toss you around like you’re nothing but a fucking toy, hm? Use you just the way I like?”

You nod as he begins backing you up toward the wall.

“Missed me this week, haven’t you, Bee?” he continues, eyeing the delicate bow between your breasts. “Missed being my cock-drunk little whore?”

Your lip disappears between your teeth as you fight back a moan.

“Missed the way I take care of you?” He dips down, mouth following the curve of your jaw before he settles over the spot beneath your ear. “Missed being good for me?”

Your nails curl into your palm when your ass meets the door, and Harry smiles as he nips at your feverish skin.

“D’you wanna be good for me, Bee?”

You’ve never wanted anything more. “Yes…”

“Good. Then turn around.”

Goosebumps explode across your skin as he uses his hold on your waist to spin you toward the wall until your cheek presses into the paint.

You gasp eagerly, thighs clenching together as he smooths his palms over your shoulders and down your arms. He worships your body. Pays it the utmost respect as he drinks you in.

“Fucking beautiful,” he muses beneath a heavy breath. “You’re a goddess, Bee. So fucking real and so fucking perfect.”

You notice he curses more when he’s truly turned on, and it makes your ego swell as you grin.

“And you’re mine,” he whispers, almost reverently. It’s quiet. You almost miss it, and it doesn’t seem as if this was something you were meant to hear.

“Yours,” you repeat anyway, and you feel his fingers dance along the backs of your legs while he crouches down. “Always yours, Har.”

“Good.” He reaches for your wrists and guides your arms back. You feel him fiddle with the locks before the restraints are tightening and your mobility becomes limited. “How’s that, baby?”

Baby. Your head spins. Each loving nickname goes straight to your heart before traveling to your cunt. “It’s good.”

“Not too tight?”

“Well, I’d argue the tighter the better, but…”

A firm but playful slap is had to your ass. You squeal and squirm away from him, but his grip returns to your hips and pulls you back.

“Funny,” he snorts, although he doesn’t sound amused. “You enjoy mocking me, hm?”

“No. I enjoy it tight.”

Another smack. “Yeah?”

Your eyes squeeze shut, pain and pleasure radiating across your backside. “Yeah. Figured you should know that by now.”

“I should, huh?” You feel the tip of his nose ghost across your ass cheek before his lips make contact to the curve above your thigh. “I know a lot of things about you, Bee. Like the fact…that you’re…a brat.”

Another spank ripples across your body, a bit harder and more prominent until you go flying into the wall. Your automatic instinct is to raise your hands and brace yourself, but the harsh reminder that they’re attached to your legs now makes you groan.

Harry says nothing but you feel his fingers hook into the crotch of your panties, pulling the lacy material away from your pussy to get a better look.

“What did I say?” he murmurs proudly, letting himself lightly brush over your aching hole. “Look at you, already dripping for me, and all I did was spank you.”

A shuddered breath passes between your lips.

“Isn’t that right?” He travels up to your clit, flicking it once in warning. “Like it when I punish you, yeah?”

“Yes.” There’s no point in denying it. Not when the evidence is sitting right there in his face. “Yes, Har, please—”

“No, see…I don’t believe you’re in any position…to make demands,” he decides, removing his hand completely until you nearly crumble. “Not after the way you’ve been teasing me this week.”

You feign innocence, lashes fluttering as you attempt to glance back at him. “What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean,” he scoffs, straightening back up. His hips press into your arms and hands while his hands brace to the wall beside your head, almost as if to trap you there. “All those texts…all those pictures…trying to distract me while I work.”

His lips find your cheek while images of your previous conversations run through your mind.

“Coming home to find you touching yourself while screaming my name,” he continues menacingly. “Even made yourself squirt, didn’t you?”

The night in question springs to the forefront of your memory, flashes of the dildo and his face filling your consciousness.

He presses himself against you, mouth moving to your ear.

“And you didn’t save me a goddamn drop.”

He spins you around so fast, you feel dizzy. But your gasp of intrigue dies by his tongue as it’s forcibly shoved in your mouth.

“Naughty fucking goddess,” he grits, licking at your bottom lip just to taunt you. “Made me fuck my fist in the shower just to feel like a man.”

Again, you attempt to reach for him. Desperate to fling your arms around his neck and jump onto his body. But the cuffs hold steady, and you nearly burst into tears when Harry steps away from you, leaving your body cold and without his touch.

“I think it’s time for me to teach you something, hm?” he proposes, and your wet eyes widen. “Think it’s time I teach you…how it fucking feels.”

His fingers suddenly reach for the front of your bra, grabbing onto the wire as leverage before slinging you toward the mattress.

You bounce a bit when you make contact, stomach meeting the bed a bit harshly although it’s cushioned by the soft duvet.

“Daddy, please,” you whisper, the nickname coming easier to you now. You momentarily wonder if you’ll be lost to your subspace tonight. You almost hope you are. Would love for nothing more than to be consumed by him. In every way possible.

He ignores your plea as he walks toward the nightstand. Pretending to be oblivious to the way you squirm for him. “Been thinking about this all week, Bee. Thinking about bending you over every fucking surface in this apartment and taking you the way I want.”

You can’t help the shiver that travels along your spine.

“Even thought about fucking you nice and slow,” he continues, pulling open a drawer in order to rifle through its contents. “Wanted to take my time with you, baby. Wanted to feel every fucking flutter of that pretty pussy around my cock.”

You love hard and fast with Harry. But you love soft and sweet, too. Love when he wraps your legs around his hips and presses his mouth to yours. When he slows his rhythm so you can feel his cock drag through your walls before pushing back in.

“Wanted to take your tits in my mouth,” he adds, plucking the silk blindfold free before shoving the drawer shut. “Wanted to mark every inch of your skin so you’d see me when you fucked yourself. So you could press on every little bruise and remember how much Daddy loves you.”

If he keeps speaking to you like this, you’ll come right here, right now without so much as a touch.

“Now?” He slowly begins to walk back, soft tie running along his palm mockingly. “Now I get to fuck you from behind. Get to use you like my own little fuck-toy. Over and over and over. And you?”

His knee meets the mattress, holding him up while he dips closer to whisper, “You get to fucking take it.”

His legs move to straddle your hips while the scarf is brought over your head and hovered near your eyes.

“Har,” you whimper, jerking away from the object. “No, wanna see you. Please—”

“You do?” he coos, almost as if truly torn by your confession. “Well…isn’t that too fucking bad?”

This has to be the cruelest he’s ever been and while your heart is breaking at the thought of not being able to touch him or see him…you feel oddly thrilled.

Because your Harry is kind and sweet and attentive. And even now as he’s mocking you, his touch is gentle. Making sure to feel for any twitch of disapproval as he guides the fabric over your eyes.

Darkness fills your mind. Your world. Until all you know is the feel of his cock beneath his pants subtly grinding against your ass. And the feel of his hands as they secure the knot behind your head. The sound of his voice murmuring, “You okay, baby girl?”

Your answer is reflex: “Yes, Daddy.”

He chuckles in that sadistic way that makes the ache between your thighs triple tenfold before he’s maneuvering back off the bed.

“Interesting how you can behave when you want something,” he muses, and you hear the sound of his zipper being pulled. “How you’ll lay here and be my cock-dumb little duchess until I’m satisfied.”

You will. You’ll be anything he wants. Do anything he wants as long as he wants it.

“Oh, baby,” he suddenly hums, and you feel his palm sweep up the back of your leg. “Don’t tell me you like being called my stupid little slut.”

You aren’t sure when you developed a degradation kink, but it seems to be making itself none this evening, and you swallow a whine as he moves his touch higher.

“You do,” he decides, and you have a feeling you know why. He can see exactly how much your body enjoys it, a front row seat to your pitiful clenching through the sheer fabric of your lingerie. “Why’s that, Bee, hm? Liking knowing that you belong to me? That this weepy little pussy only cries for me? That I can ruin you any fucking time, any fucking day? And you’ll just have to take it?”

Your cheek meets the comforter as Harry begins to crawl toward you. You imagine this is mostly a rhetorical question and truth be told, you’re too wound up to find an actual response.

The bare skin of his leg brushes teasingly against yours and sparks shatter down your spine as you mewl and attempt to scoot back.

But without your arms and your sight, it proves quite difficult, and Harry laughs at your fruitless attempt.

“Uh-uh,” he tuts. “We do this my way, yeah? On my fucking time. Since I had to wait all goddamn week just to get a taste. Had to wait for you. Watch you lick that pretty come from your fingers without ever saving some for me.”

The tip of his cock makes contact with your ass before he’s guiding it between your cheeks just to taunt you.

“But this is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he continues, fingers wrapping around your hip to pull you up to your knees until your weight rests on your shoulders. “Wanted to get filled and fucked until you were crying. Wanted to beg for my forgiveness just to have me deny you.”

He’s going so slow, and it nearly wrecks you as you attempt to revel in his hand on your body. In anything he’ll give you.

You feel him pull your outfit to the side, creating the room he needs as you sigh and whisper, “Harry, please…”

“Harry, please what?” he murmurs. “D’you want my cock, honey, is that it?”

His voice is sex. Sweet, sinful sex that you could drown in and your eyes roll back into your head.

You love his name. Love that his name makes you think of him. His body, his touch, his heart. Love when he devotes himself to you. Promises that he belongs to you in the same way you do him.

“Speak,” he suddenly growls before you feel a slap to your outer thigh, just beside your arm.

“Yes,” you whimper, face nuzzling into the bed as if to find any sort of relief. “Yes, Harry, please…”

“Uh-uh,” he warns again before his palm suddenly smacks down on your cunt to make you yelp. “Try again.”

“Yes, Daddy,” you breathe, finally satiating him.

“S’a good girl.” He teases you a bit more, circling the head of his cock around your opening while humming under his breath. “You know…I was really looking forward to tasting you, Bee. Was so fucking excited to get my tongue all over you, having you squirming—have you begging me to take you on my face.”

He nudges himself closer until your mouth drops open in a desolate cry. The pain from being so empty nearly kills you, nails curling into your palms as you struggle with the urge to reach for him.

“God, honey, I was really gonna take my time with you,” he murmurs, caressing your hip to accompany his disappointing remark. “Was gonna keep you here forever. Was gonna worship you, hold you, love you. Give you everything, baby girl. Was gonna take such good care of you, and now?”

He goes still, and the room fills with apprehension.

“Now I just have to take,” he whispers before thrusting forward, driving his cock inside with no hesitation.

The stretch, the burn, the fill is all you know. It floods every one of your senses, exactly the way he said when it was his turn.

He really is all you know, and this is the kind of euphoria that you could get high off of. This is the only thing that matters to you. Just him.

Him.

You feel his fingers weave through the roots of your hair as he begins working himself in at a rapidly increasing pace. He keeps you pressed to the mattress, little grunts of adoration slipping from his lips as he goes.

“What’s the matter, hm?” he huffs, keeping a tight hold on your waist, his pace unforgiving. “Why you squirmin’, baby?”

You take in a needy gasp for air before panting, “S’good, Har. So good—”

He suddenly tugs on your wrist, twisting your arm a bit further behind your back as if to punish you. “No,” he seethes. “Thought I taught you better than that, hm? Thought you were gonna be good.”

Good? you think. Why weren’t you good?

The sudden snap of his hips to your ass makes this question a lot clearer as you garble over a cry and try again.

“Daddy,” you correct desolately. “It’s so good. So fucking good, Daddy, please—”

He makes a disapproving scoff before releasing your hand to take hold of your hip once more. “Fucking pathetic,” he sneers, and it sends chills straight to your cunt. “Ask you to do one fucking thing, Bee. And you can’t even do it, can you? Just have to fucking disobey me.”

The fingers in your hair move for your tit still kept snuggly within the confines of your outfit.

But that doesn’t stop him. He takes hold of your nipple and tweaks it between the rough, angry pads of his fingers.

“Bet Tina would know better,” he continues, now kneading you in his palm. “Bet she’d be so fucking good for me. Take me so well. Call me by the correct name.”

The thought of his former crush makes your teeth grit, despite the way the coil in your stomach tightens. You don’t want to imagine how she’d behave for him. Don’t want to imagine her calling his name, or even a pet name, as he fucks into her.

“She’d fucking take me the way she’s supposed to.” His knee kicks your leg further open. “Wouldn’t whine, wouldn’t complain. She’d be my good little fuck toy, wouldn’t she? She’d be everything you aren’t.”

One particularly determined thrust later, you’ve lost it. Coming around his cock with a moan so lewd, surely your neighbors think you’re watching porn.

He begins to slow, now holding you securely on his cock as he helps ride you through. And he’s quiet. Far too quiet and it makes your heart ache.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper into the darkness, burying your face into the comforter as if to hide. “M’sorry, Daddy. M’so sorry. Didn’t mean to, couldn’t help it. Tried to be good but it felt so nice—”

He pulls out, leaving you to whine rather dejectedly before you feel him grab onto your hips and turn you over onto your back.

“S’that how you wanna play this, honey?” A bit of rustling follows as the bed dips and his touch grows cold. “Just wanna use my cock to get yourself off? Is that all this was to you?”

“No…no, no,” you attempt to argue, but it’s weak and fragile.

You feel him hoist you back up onto your knees before you’re being dragged closer.

“Think you did,” he muses, hands wrapping around the backs of your thighs to settle you onto his lap. “Greedy little goddess, aren’t you? Taking whatever you want? Without so much as asking first?”

Everything is dark. Your mind is fuzzy. Your arms are sore, and your cunt is swollen and abused.

Yet hearing him speak to you keeps you grounded. Keeps you present. Tangled in the web of his dominance and infatuation as your pussy is rolled over his cock.

“Fine then,” he mumbles, and it’s sadistically amused. “You wanna use me? Then use me, Bee. Fucking use my cock to get yourself off. Ride me until your poor little legs give out, yeah? And then maybe I’ll let you come again.”

Without the use of your arms for balance, you feel a bit unsteady. Shaking slightly as one of his hands leaves your waist.

“Har,” you whisper quietly, subtly breaking the scene as if to look for assurance.

You feel him ghost through your arousal before he’s nudging himself back in, a bit gentler this time around.

Then, he takes hold of your body once more to keep you upright, thumbs stroking along your curves.

“You’re all right,” he says, keeping you both in the moment while simultaneously telling you everything you need to hear. “You’re gonna use me. Gonna be my good girl and make Daddy happy.”

“Yes, Daddy,” you reply quickly. Automatically. Feeling safe in his strong touch.

With that, he begins rolling you forward, using his own strength to do most of the work.

Your heart races beneath your chest, skin sticky with sweat and sex as you drip down your thighs and onto his. You’re sensitive. Overwhelmed by the love and lust you have for the man you can’t even see.

And he feels so good. Twitching inside of you, hard and heavy. You can feel everything. Every fucking inch of him and a shudder travels over you as he lifts you up and pulls you back down.

“That’s it,” he grits. “Just like that, Bee—shit. God, wish you could see yourself, honey. Wish you could see the way you take me. You fucking take me so well. Like you were always meant to, yeah? Like you were always supposed to take my cock. Have my babies, give me everything.”

You careen forward, gasping so loud, your throat begins to ache. You’ve never heard him speak this way before. You didn’t even know he had a breeding kink. And you didn’t realize you had one either, considering your rather long history with your own anatomy.

But now, as he dangles the idea in front of you, you can’t help but indulge in it.

He hisses when he feels the way your body reacts to him, touch growing tighter as his thrusts become sloppy yet sharp.

“Oh, y’like that, don’t you, Bee?” He rolls you a bit faster. “Fucking like the idea of having my babies, don’t you? Want me to fill this cute, little belly with my kids, yeah? Get you nice and pregnant?”

Tears become caught in the blindfold, tongue going numb as the pleasure builds. As it races toward you like a runaway freight train.

“Who would’ve thought, hm?” he nearly growls, voice deep and thick with desire. “Really wanna play Mommy and Daddy, don’t you? Wanna see my come in this pretty pussy all goddamn day, yeah—”

The noise you make straddles the line between moan and wail, and your body slumps forward as the orgasm rips through every muscle.

He attempts to catch you, keep you steady and calm, but he’s close to his own. His rhythm is desperate and slightly uncoordinated. Rushed commands of, “Just like that. Come on, so fucking good, Bee. M’almost there. Good girl, good—”

It’s warm as it fills you. And even without being able to see, you know most of it is dripping from your cunt and down your legs.

Suddenly, you feel an emptiness where his hand used to be. Skin growing cold as you’re left to miss his touch.

But then, there’s a flick to the knot behind your head, and your eyes are met with the world around you.

You’re allowed only a moment to adjust to the light before you feel a pair of lips pressing to yours.

Him.

The kiss back is quick and feverish. His tongue in your mouth, his fingers back on your hips, his curls tickling your face.

“So fucking good, baby,” he whispers frantically. “Fucking hell. Don’t think it’s ever felt like that before.”

“I know,” you agree quietly, voice a little hoarse. “Felt so good, Daddy.”

He smirks against your cheek before pulling back to get a good look at you. Then, his palm slides beneath your jaw to guide your eyes down. “Look, baby girl. Look at how good you look right now, dripping in my come.”

You whimper when you see the collection of liquid between your bodies, the memory of his promise still lingering in your mind. Even if it’s not physically possible for your body to give him what he wants, you enjoy knowing that he’s keeping it inside you. That he wants to see his come settle inside your pussy for as long as he can.

His thumb begins to dance across your cheekbone in soft, delicate strokes until your focus flicks back up to his face.

It’s so beautiful when it’s slightly sweaty, little curls sticking to his forehead, lips swollen and so very pink.

He’s everything.

“You doin’ okay, my love?” His question is gentle. As if cocooned by a cloud. “Know that was a little rougher than normal.”

You nod before nuzzling yourself into his hand, lashes fluttering shut. “So okay, Daddy.”

He grins again before his amusement seems to disappear into concern. “Baby…you know Daddy was just playing, yeah? Know that there’s nobody better than you.”

For a moment, you’re left to wonder what he means until her name rings through your mind:

Tina.

You nod again as he reaches for the locks around your wrist to flick them free, releasing your hands.

And the moment you have your previous mobility, you fling your arms around his neck and bury yourself into his chest.

“I know, Daddy,” you whisper, reveling in the feel of his cheek against the crown of your head. “Know you love me.”

“I do,” he breathes, and it’s so sure. “Fucking love you, Bee. And I’m so proud of you. So proud to have you as my girl. My good fucking girl.”

Your smile is tired but your heart has never felt so full.

He holds you to him for hours. Whispering sweet nothings into your ear until you eventually fall asleep.

And throughout every dream, one constant:

Him.

Next Part:

~ Guide Me*

Previous Part:

~ Lead Me*

- Full Teach Me Masterlist

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

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