#they are still probably one of my favorite couples of all time

[wildfloweroutlaw]

Sticky Fingers

warnings: SMUT!! minors dni. some fluff. friends to lovers. switch!azriel. unprotected sex. oral (male and female receiving). underwear fetish. a bit of voyeurism. azriel is an after care king. wing play. shadow play. i really threw the kitchen sink at this one so lmk if i missed anything!

word count: ~7k WHOOPS my fingers slipped.

a/n: reader matches azriel’s freak!! this is more fleshed out continuation of this little piece AND my first ever azriel fic. for the sake of this story, let’s just assume that you can winnow to The House of Wind because let’s be fr, only being able to fly or walk up the 10,000 steps would be such an inconvenience. and to the one person who asked for this @darkbloodsly …. thank you ❤️

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Azriel’s little escapade in your bedroom a few weeks ago had been one of the most exciting things he’d done in quite some time. It was also one of the most violating. After he had returned to his room with your obscenely tiny pair of panties, he had been filled with a whirlwind of emotions. Shame. Guilt. Self loathing. But underneath all of that, the desire remained, unchecked and unbound.

Which is probably why every couple of days since that incident, he found himself staking out your room, waiting on you to leave The House so he could go in and rummage through your underwear drawer freely. He found that you had acquired a very intriguing collection. Several lacy black pairs, a pair that was a deep red and made of the softest silk, a strappy blue pair that he felt perfectly matched his siphons.

He couldn’t help but to let his mind run rampant, picturing you in every single one, picturing himself pulling them off of you. However, today’s discovery may have just been his most favorite of all.

Unsure of how he missed them all the times before, Azriel’s eyes caught on a light shade of pink. Digging to the very bottom of the drawer, he grasped the lovely material and pulled it free.

While not as daring or extravagant as some of the other items in your trove, this pair was sinfully soft and seemed so unlike anything you would normally wear. Instantly taken with the dainty pink shade and the tiny little bow adorning the front, Azriel decided that these would be his prize of the day.

Pocketing the skimpy undergarment, he sent several of his shadows through the house to ensure you were still out running errands. When they reported that the coast was clear, Azriel silently made his way down the hall and back to his own quarters.

A sick thrill went through his body and curled low in his stomach as he closed the door behind him. He pulled your lovely pink panties out of his pocket and studied them once more. Gods he should not be as turned on as he was by a pair of fucking underwear, but they were yours and they had touched you more intimately than he knew he ever would, no matter how often he dreamed of that.

Typically, Azriel held off on this part until it was late at night and everyone had already gone to sleep… but The House was empty for the next few hours and his cock was already painfully straining against his pants.

Fuck it. Pushing off the door, he made quick work of his clothes as he crossed the room to his large bed.

Laying back against his dark, plush pillows, Azriel made himself comfortable, tuning everything in the world out except for the thought of you and these godsdamned panties.

He palmed himself gently at first, the head of his cock already flushed and leaking with anticipation.

He imagined what your hands would feel like against him, how big he would look in your smaller hands, how you would stroke him. Would you prefer to pleasure him soft and tenderly? Or would you set a punishing pace with a tight grip? Azriel knew that he would let you touch him anyway you wanted to, he would let you do anything you wanted to him.

He let depraved images of all kinds fill his mind. He let himself imagine what your soft skin would feel like under his touch, let himself imagine what beautiful sounds he could pull from you. Azriel knew it was unlikely he would ever truly know, considering he had never allowed himself to openly pursue you. However, he supposed he would settle for your panties.

Finding the delicate fabric beside him on the bed, he brought the soft material that carried your sweet scent to his aching member. He shuddered at the first touch and let out a deep groan at the sensation. Several of his shadows trailed down his body, the cool sensation only adding to his pleasure. They always got rather excited when he used your undergarments in this way.

Seeing your panties against him like this always brought about a feeling of wrongness that only served to turn Azriel on even more. Now, watching the pink cloth and that fucking little bow caress his cock, he was fairly certain this could count as a sin.

And damn if that didn’t make his blood pump all the faster.

Fisting your panties against his cock, Azriel let his head fall back, soft black curls splaying upon his pillow. He allowed his mind continue to run wild with thoughts of you, deep guttural groans and soft moans of your name slipping from his lips.

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You opened the front door to The House, finding the place quiet. Which made sense considering Cassian had matters to tend to in Illyria this evening, and you were supposed to meet Nesta for dinner in just a little while. Azriel most likely had plans of his own that he almost never felt inclined to share.

You had been out running errands for the last few hours, but the evening had proved to be chillier than you anticipated. You decided to just run home and grab a sweater, assuming you would probably be out late with Nesta. Kicking off your shoes by the door, you made for the stairs.

As soon as you rounded the corner to your hallway, you were greeted by several of Azriel’s shadows.

Suppose he is here then.

The wispy tendrils wrapped themselves around you and begin to gently tug you down the hall. Confused but curious, you followed along hesitantly.

“Is everything okay?” You knew you would never get a response, but you always had a habit of speaking to Azriel’s shadows. You were actually very fond of them.

Several of the shadows trailed up your arms and twined into your hair. Apparently they had grown fond of you as well. The feeling of them against your skin was always something you enjoyed, and you found their presence to be very comforting.

You allowed them to lead you past your own bedroom door and down the hall to Az’s room. You found a few more shadows waiting outside, and they too greeted you warmly. Tugging you forward, the shadows continued to urge you towards the door. “I-I don’t understand…” you whispered to the wisps of darkness.

“(Y/N).”

Your heart stuttered in your chest, and for a moment you questioned if you were hearing things. But you had heard your name, however faint. You were certain of it.

You raised your hand to knock on the door, not wanting to just barge in to Azriel’s room, even if he had presumably called out to you.

Before your fist could make contact with the wood, some of the shadows darted out, turning the knob and silently pushing the door open. You were certain your heart stopped beating as you took in the sight in front of you.

Azriel. With his head tossed back. Face dusted with pink. Large wings splayed across his bed, eyes screwed shut, plump lips parted, legs spread wide, tendrils of shadows trailing down his body.

And he was stark naked.

Oh gods. You should walk away. You should close the door and pretend you never even came home. But by the mother, he was pumping himself with his hand, hips bucking up in response, and you couldn’t help but drink in the beautiful sight and the lovely sounds tumbling from his lips.

This was wrong. You should not be here. You weren’t sure why his shadows had pulled you to his room, but Azriel’s lack of awareness of your presence made it clear this was not intended. And the longer you stood here, watching like a fucking pervert, the stronger the pulsing between your legs grew.

Suddenly your eyes caught on a piece of pink fabric clutched against Azriel’s… well, extremely large member. You quickly took note of the familiar tiny bow peaking out from his hand and you thought your heart was going to break free from your ribcage and leave you standing here like the fool that you were.

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Azriel was lost in his darkest fantasies. He wasn’t sure if it was the long week he had, or the way you had looked in that dress that fit you just right before you had left The House this afternoon, but he just completely gave himself to the pleasure.

And gods he could smell you, stronger than any other time before. Your lovely scent entrapped within the fabric of your panties seemed thicker, sweeter… headier.

Azriel’s eyes flew open, shooting to the other side of the room and he saw you, standing there. Face tinged with red, eyes wide, and chest heaving against your dress.

And he wanted to die.

With an unspoken command, the mass of his shadows flocked to him, some of them unfurling themselves from where they had been twinning around you, and came to conceal his naked form. of course he had left his clothes halfway across the room.

He pushed himself up off the bed and felt heat crawling up his neck all the way to the tips of his ears. He literally could not imagine a worse scenario than this.

Fuck, you would probably hate him after this. This would ruin your friendship for sure. You would want to move out of The House, far far away from him and his demented perversions. Azriel’s mind, once filled with glorious images of you, was now flooded with a whirlwind of thoughts. And none of them were good.

“(Y/N) I-I can explain-“ Azriel managed to stammer out. How could he explain this? He doubted there was any excuse he could come up with that wouldn’t make him look creepy. Maybe you hadn’t seen the panties? He could perhaps say they weren’t yours, even if you had seen, but he wasn’t sure how long you had been standing there.

“Those are mine.” You simply stated, as if you were telling him the sky was blue.

“I…. Well, I-“ gods be damned, this would be a good time to be able to form a cohesive thought. But his racing heart and overwhelming mortification were short circuiting his brain.

“And you said my name.” You took a step forward into the doorway. Azriel’s shadows were obscuring the majority of his body, and at your words, they seemed to grow all the more restless.

Azriel briefly considered winnowing out of his room and fleeing Velaris- No, Prythian. “(Y/N) I am so sorry, shit, I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry. I-I know this is so wrong-“

You took another step forward. Well, you were already knee deep in this horrifically embarassing situation, for both of you it seemed. You may as well see where this takes you. “You can continue… if you are comfortable doing so, that is.”

Azriel’s heart stopped beating for probably the hundredth time in the last 5 minutes. “I… what?” His hazel eyes scanned your face for any sign of mockery or judgment or disgust.

“I was enjoying the show. Quite thoroughly, I must admit.” Your heart was thundering, and you were terrified of what Azriel might think. But you felt the overwhelming need to own up to invading his privacy, to watching him. To take control of this situation.

And he had very clearly been thinking of you… “If you are alright with it, you can carry on. Don’t feel like you must though. I can also leave if you’d like.” You motioned behind you to the door.

“You… aren’t angry with me?” Azriel’s shadows dissipated slightly, now he was visible to you from the chest up.

“Do I seem angry to you?” You asked, managing a smirk that you hoped made you look braver than you truly felt.

Azriel allowed himself to take you in fully now. You had been shocked, yes, but there was also something else dancing in your eyes. And your scent was slightly different than usual. He took a deep breath in, mind going quiet. You were aroused. “No. I suppose you don’t seem angry.”

Azriel allowed his shadows to slowly leave him, some of them choosing to return to you. A chill ran down his spine as he watched your eyes drink in his bare form.

He took a couple steps backward until he could rest on the edge of the bed.

He searched your face again, wanting to ensure that this was really alright with you. Finding no signs of discomfort, he plucked the dainty undergarment from the bedspread and began to tentatively work the material against his still hard cock. “Is this… what you wanted to see?”

Your chest began to rise and fall quickly again and you sucked in a breath at the sight of him. “Yes…” you sighed out, fingers going to the clasp of your dress at your neck. You quickly undid the mechanism and let the material fall and pool at your bare feet.

Azriel’s eyes widened and he let out a soft moan at the beautiful sight. You weren’t wearing a bra and stood before him in only your underwear, the tiny, lacey black pair that had originally caught his eye the very first time he thieved from your chambers.

What in the seven hells was happening? He decided not to question it, tightening his grip on his member and began to stroke more confidently.

Your eyes were glued to him, wandering from his proud wings, across his gorgeous face, down his heavily tattooed chest and muscled stomach, all the way to his scarred hand fisting your fucking panties against himself.

You had desired Azriel for so long, but he never pursued you beyond friendship. The male was notoriously difficult to read, and you were always too afraid to go beyond simply flirting with him in case he truly wasn’t interested in you. You never in your wildest dreams could have imagined this.

You took a few more steps forward, brushing your fingers against the erect tips of your breasts, sighing at the sensation. The pounding between your legs had amplified to an all out ache, and you were more than eager to find out just how far Azriel would let this go.

You now stood before him, between his spread legs, eyes locked to his hazel ones. You brushed back a stray lock of his dark hair, and lightly ran your fingers across his flushed cheek. “Do you enjoy pleasuring yourself with my panties Shadowsinger?” You let your eyes drift back down to where he worked himself.

Azriel was reveling in your sweet touches and felt there was no reason to attempt to deny the claim now. “Yes.” He groaned.

You felt a sudden surge of power, his words stroking your ego like his hand stroked his cock. “And is this the first time you’ve stolen a pair from my room for this purpose?”

Azriel tried to avert his eyes, still feeling ashamed of his actions, but your hand gripped his chin and turned his gaze up to meet yours. If his senses weren’t currently being overwhelmed with the scent of your arousal and you weren’t staring down at him like you wanted to devour him, he would have thought this was some cruel attempt to get him to confess. “No.” He answered honestly.

You smirked at his admittance and you could feel your panties growing more soaked by the second. You dropped to your knees before him and you could not deny that he looked like a god above you. He was absolutely divine. And your face was a mere foot from his cock. This was not at all how you had expected your evening to go, but you certainly weren’t complaining.

You took in the sight of his swollen tip, shaded an angry color of red from lack of release. His pre-cum had soaked both his member and the fabric of your panties, leaving him glistening in the evening light

“Fuck, you are so hard.”

Azriel moaned in response, as he watched you with curious eyes. He wasn’t sure what you were doing, but he loved that you were here with him, and seemed to be just as turned on as he was.

You inched your face a little closer, leaning between his thick thighs. “Oh Azzie, this seems rather uncomfortable. Would you allow me to help you?” You crooned as you looked up at him through your lashes.

Azriel felt like he could die happily any moment now. That nickname and the image of you, between his legs, staring up at him like that, was something that would stick with him long past the grave. However, a thousand protests rose to his mind.

He didn’t want you to feel like you had to do this. He wanted to tell you that you didn’t need to, that you shouldn’t, because he was unworthy of your touch. But he stopped himself.

Everything told him that you wanted this too, wanted him. As hard as it was to believe, he did not think you would be here, responding so… positively, if you didn’t want to. However unworthy he felt that he was, he felt the desire to be selfish more.

He had dreamed of this for so long, and now the opportunity to have you, in whatever capacity, finally has arisen. He would be damned if he didn’t seize it.

“Yes. Please.” He didn’t care if the plead sounded pathetic. He needed you to touch him. Now.

With a grin that could only be described as devilish, you gently grasped his wrist, urging his hand away from his member. He still clutched the now spoiled pink panties in his hand. You tenderly pulled them from his grip, unbunching the material and letting it dangle in the space between you two.

You studied the damp fabric, glancing between it and Azriel’s face. “You’ve made such a pretty mess of these Az. I can tell how much you like them.”

Beyond words and drowning in anticipation, Azriel could only muster a nod in response.

You tossed the underwear across the room to join your dress. Heart pounding in your chest, you slowly gripped Azriel’s cock. You tested the waters with a gentle, almost teasing stroke and you felt him throb in your hand. You quickly glanced up at his face to see if he was still okay with this.

You found him leaned back on his palms and studying you intently, eyes half lidded and filled with desire. The look of sheer need gave you a shot of courage, and you tightened your grip slightly and increased your pace.

Azriel moaned out your name and your core turned to molten at the sound.

“Does that feel good, Az?” You cooed to him, squeezing your legs together in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure there.

“Gods, yes (Y/N). Touch me however you like… please.” He could not stop staring at you, your gorgeous practically naked form, and how small your hand looked wrapped around him.

This was better than any fantasy he had ever conjured up.

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth at his praise, loving how it sounded in his deep voice. “How about this?” You leaned forward and wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, sucking gingerly.

Azriel short circuited, his entire body shuddering from the feel of your warm, wet mouth on him. He let his head loll back and his eyes flutter closed as a guttural groan reverberated from deep in his chest. “Fuck I- yes.” He gripped the blankets beneath him.

You hummed against him in response. You always felt that Azriel was too hard on himself, punishing himself for gods knew why. You were determined to spoil him with much deserved pleasure.

You licked him from root to stem before taking him deep, one hand working what you could not fit in your mouth, and the other gently caressing his balls.

Sounds that may have been considered embarrassing to some males, spewed from Azriel. He could not help it, nor did he care to hide them. You were making him feel this good and you deserved to hear that. “Sweet girl, shit- that feels incredible.” He growled.

As you continued your ministrations, Azriel worked a hand into your hair. Not forcing your head down, or applying any pressure, just reverently caressing your locks. He finally peered down at you again, discovering you staring back up at him, head bobbing up and down his length and moaning around him. He noticed you had brought one of your hands between your legs and were grinding your clothed cunt against your palm.

You were going to kill him.

You were going to suck him within an inch of his life, and the sight of you touching yourself to pleasuring him was going to send him on to the after life.

Just as Azriel was about to pull you off of him, you released his cock with a pop of your lips. You stood then, placing your hands on Azriel’s firm chest and urging him backwards. “Lay in the center of the bed for me please, Azzie.” You asked sweetly.

Azriel nodded and found himself scrambling backwards, doing as you said and moving to lay back. Azriel rarely ever relinquished control in the bedroom, preferring to service his lovers to their liking. However, he felt very comfortable following your lead and this was actually really lovely. Well, it was far beyond lovely.

You moved to hover over him, straddling his waist and you felt a thrill surge through your body at the sight of the massive Illyrian warrior beneath you. “Is it alright if I try something else?” You asked, still unsure about how much Azriel wanted from you.

He gingerly grasped your hand, one of the first few touches he had allowed himself since this all began, and guided it to his chest where he pinned it beneath his own larger hand. “Of course,” he rasped, “I told you already. Touch me however you like… I am yours.” The admission was vulnerable, but felt so right to him.

Your heart clenched at his words and you nodded, lowering your hips to his. You began to slowly, but firmly grind your still clothed pussy against his length, loosing an airy moan in response to the glorious contact.

“I bet my panties feel much better like this, hm?” You leaned down to murmur in his ear, nipping at his lobe.

Azriel shuddered underneath you, wings twitching against the sheets. “Y-yes, (Y/N). So much better.” His hands hesitantly reached up to grip your waist, giving you time to protest if you wanted. When you showed no objections, he tightened his hold on you and pulled you down against him, harder. Azriel delighted in the noise he drew from you.

He continued dragging your hips across him, both of you breathless at the sensation. “Gods above, you are so gorgeous…” He let one hand travel up to your breast, stroking a thumb across a hard nipple and smiling to himself when you cried out.

“Would you like to see what you’ve done to me?” You breathed against his neck, a hand tracing circles against his chest.

Azriel nodded, then almost protested when you pulled away from him. That was until he saw you standing at the end of the bed, slowly shimmying out of your panties. His breath hitched to see you completely and utterly bare before him, then sputtered out of him when he took in the way you crawled up the bed towards him.

Kneeling beside him, you pressed the soaked cotton of your underwear into Azriel’s hand. “You’ve turned me into a complete mess Az…” you confessed.

Azriel took in the absolutely drenched material, and let out an almost animalistic groan when he scented your arousal coating the fabric. “All of this is for me? I’ve barely gotten the chance to touch you yet.” He would be lying if he said that wasn’t a major boost to his ego.

He slipped an arm around your waist and turned, pinning you beneath him and slotting himself between your legs. “Let me change that…”

He pressed messy kisses along the length of your neck, sharp teeth grazing over a particularly sensitive area. Azriel reveled in the sound of your breathless moan and the way you pulled him tighter.

He dipped his head to lav at a nipple, rolling the other between his thumb and forefinger before latching his lips around the sensitive bud. Azriel slid a well muscled thigh against your leaking cunt, applying just enough pressure to have you gasping for air.

He did not miss how you rocked your hips against him, desperate for friction.

Thus far, Azriel had allowed you to take the lead, to show him how much you wanted from him, making him feel better than anyone ever had before. Now, Azriel wanted to return the favor and show you how good he can make you feel.

He kissed a path between your breasts and down your stomach, glancing up to find your bottom lip between your teeth and eyes pressed closed. He worked his way lower, and lower, until all he could smell was your heated sweetness.

He inhaled deeply, and let out a long breath that fanned against your sensitive cunt, causing chills to erupt all over your body.

Guiding each of your legs over his shoulders, his hands found purchase on your thighs, spreading you open for him. He placed a couple of gentle nips along the inside of your thigh, before softly asking “Is this alright?”

“Yes. Gods, yes.” You excitedly nodded your head, as if you took too long to answer he may change his mind. Although, a quick glance down at Azriel’s face told you that wasn’t the case. He stared up at you like you were his favorite meal. You lifted your hips slightly, urging yourself closer to his mouth.

He huffed a laugh before pinning you back down to the bed. “Try to stay still for me, sweet girl. Want to make you feel good.” And then his tongue was upon you. He licked a strip right up your center, expertly locating the sensitive bundle of nerves and swirling around it.

White hot pleasure shot up your spine, and you cried out. Hands searching for more contact, you reached down and entangled your fingers in his dark locks, Azriel rewarding you with a low growl when you pulled slightly.

His mouth was maddening. It was like he already knew all of your favorite things as he stroked your clit with the warm velvet of his tongue. Every time you managed to crack your eyes open, you found hazel ones staring back at you, full of hunger and reverence. He kept your hips throughly pinned down, leaving you no choice but to take everything he was giving you.

Suddenly, you felt a cool brush against your collar bone and looked down to find several of his shadows curiously exploring you. The inky tendrils wound themselves around your nipples, the ghost of a touch just enough to drive you crazy, just as Azriel wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked.

Every thought in your head ceased to exist and your back arched away from the sheets. A wanton scream tore its way up your throat and you fisted Azriel’s hair tightly, which only seemed to spur him on more.

“Fuck Azriel, there- yes!” You babbled as his grip on your hips loosened slightly, allowing you to wind your hips against his mouth. And mother above he was moaning into your pussy and… oh gods.

You raised your head and watched him unabashedly rut into the mattress, just as needy as you were.

And that was nearly your breaking point. Seeing this beautiful male, wings spread behind him, letting you fuck yourself on his face, shadows twining around your body. You were not like to forget this as long as you lived.

Right as you teetered on the edge of oblivion, you pulled him off of you quickly. “Azriel… need you. Want to cum on your cock. Please.”

“As you wish.” Azriel rose slowly, chin glistening with your slick, and placed his aching cock where his face had just been.

He leaned down and studied your pretty face intently, sliding one scarred hand to your jaw. He then pressed his lips against yours, the kiss searing his very soul.

This was the first time his lips had ever touched yours, other than that one drunken night when you all had played spin the bottle. Although that kiss had kept him up for many nights, it was nothing like this.

“Can you taste yourself? Can you taste how sweet you are? Could spend an eternity with my face between those beautiful legs…” Az mumbled against you.

“Y-yes. I want you to show me more of what you can do with that mouth another time.” You grinned up at him.

Another time. His heart leapt at that. Azriel had not allowed himself to think past this moment, for fear that this could be the first and only time he experienced you this way. Yes, he could show you everything he knew and more.

Grabbing the base of his cock, he lined himself up with your entrance, and pressed his forehead against yours. He ever so slightly began to push in. You were soaking wet, but you were also extremely tight and the last thing he wanted to do was hurt you.

The stretch burned, but not in a way that was painful, just uncomfortable. Holy gods he was huge. You felt his shadows run up and down your arms in a soothing caress, Azriel’s hand at your waist mimicking their motions.

Once his hips were flush with yours, you both sat utterly still, chests heaving against each other. Azriel fought back the urge to thrust as he allowed your body to adjust to his size. “Are you alright, Princess?” He cooed, pressing a tender kiss to your cheek.

“Yes… Azzie. Please.” You began to squirm underneath him, unable to patiently wait any longer.

“I know, sweet girl. I just don’t want to hurt you.” He brushed a loose strand of hair back that had fallen into your face.

“I appreciate your concern Azriel, but I will die if you don’t move. I need you to move.” You pleaded, fingers digging into his muscular shoulders.

Without another moment of hesitation, Azriel slowly drew out of you before pressing back in to the hilt. He had never, never, felt anything as good as this before. He knew that with just the first fucking stroke, he was losing himself to you

“Fucking hells (Y/N). You’re so godsdamned tight… feel so good on my cock sweet girl.”

You cried out at both the sensation and his words, any feelings of discomfort giving way to burning hot pleasure as Azriel fucked you slow and deep. The normally stoic and reserved Shadowsinger was passionate, shocking you with how intently and thoroughly he was loving you.

Azriel angled his hips, rutting in to you at a slightly faster pace now. He buried his face deep into your neck, panting and moaning like he was young male all over again. He was trying his best to fuck you the way you deserved, but it was already so difficult to not unravel completely.

“Azriel…” you moaned his name like it was a prayer, “gods you’re so big… stretching me out just right. You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about this.” You pulled his face to yours for another searing kiss, carding your fingers through his soft hair.

Azriel was genuinely surprised that you had thought about this with him, and the confession only turned him on more. He sped up his pace more, pulling back slightly to watch you.

And you stared back at him. You took in the massive wings looming behind Azriel, noticing how they twitched every so often, like they were restless. You remembered one drunken night that Azriel had admitted to you that the rumors about Illyrian wings were in fact true, but that he very rarely felt comfortable enough to allow his lovers to actually touch them.

You wanted so badly to run your fingers down the beautiful membrane. Not only to see his reaction for yourself, but also because you wanted to feel special to him.

Maybe that was foolish, and maybe this whole situation was no more than a manifestation of your shared physical attraction and nothing more. But you could not stop yourself from wanting. “Az… may I touch your wings?” You asked nervously, afraid to ruin the moment.

Azriel drove home a particularly deep stroke, causing you to cry out and tremble around him. His hand came up to guide your eyes to his, and his stare was molten. “I’ve already told you baby, touch me however you like.”

Your heart squeezed at the fact that he felt safe enough with you to allow you to touch him in a way he rarely let others.

You nodded, taking in his words through the haze of pleasure. You reached out slowly, fingertips just inches from his wings. “H-how?” Your hand remained hovering in the air, unsure.

He huffed a laugh that turned into a groan as his hips met yours. “However feels natural to you. There’s no wrong way, just be gentle.” He extended a wing, offering you better access.

You searched his face for any signs of discomfort or hesitancy. Finding none, you simply nodded and ever so lightly grazed your finger tips across the ridge of his wing.

Azriel’s entire body went taught as a bowstring before he shook, the most delectable whimper working its way out of him. His fingers found that sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs and began to draw quick, tight circles against it.

You were certain the entirety of Velaris could hear your sounds of pleasure now. You placed another exploratory stroke on a different part of his wing, and continued when you saw the way Azriel’s eyes screwed shut and his brow furrowed.

“If you keep doing that you are going to make me-“ Azriel was interrupted when the soft pads of your fingers rubbed against a particularly sensitive spot.

His hips faltered, a string of curses tumbling from his lips as he went careening over the edge and into the abyss of ecstasy, crying out your name and hips snapping against yours.

At the feel of his fingers against your clit, his shadows caressing your body, and his warm seed pumping deep inside you, you came completely undone on his cock. Consumed by burning pleasure, all thoughts eddied out of your brain except for Azriel.

For several moments the two of you remained there, chests heaving against each other, both attempting to unscramble your minds. Azriel eventually pulled out rather reluctantly. “Sit tight.” He murmured against your heated skin, before disappearing from sight.

Minutes later, Azriel reappeared with a wet rag in one hand and a glass of ice water in the other. He set the glass on the table before turning back to you, using the rag to clean you up. “Are you alright?” His eyes flickered between your face and his hands.

You nodded, a grin blooming on your face. “I think I’m more than alright Az. Are you alright?” You parroted his question back to him.

“Yeah. Yes. I am… maybe a little surprised that we somehow ended up here, but I’m glad that we did.” He offered you a grin to match your own that showed his dimples.

His hand found your back, helping you to sit up, and he situated you against the mountain of pillows on his bed before handing you the glass of water. “Here. Drink.”

You accepted the refreshing drink greedily, drinking about half the glass in just a few gulps. Offering the drink back to Azriel, you cleared your throat. “I myself am surprised as well. This was… not really what I expected of my evening. Or ever honestly.” You gave a small shrug.

Azriel settled in beside you, pulling the fluffy duvet up to cover you both. “(Y/N) I do really need to apologize for what I did-what I’ve been doing…” he studied his lap intently, suddenly finding the bed spread mighty interesting.

“It was wrong. Very wrong. I shouldn’t have entered your room without your permission, let alone rummage through your dresser and…” he trailed off, feeling red hot shame creep up his neck.

“And steal my underwear?” You finished for him, brows raising in amusement.

“Yes. That. It was an extreme invasion of your privacy, and wrong on so many levels. If you never want to speak of this again, or never want to speak to me again… I would understand.” Azriel could not bring himself to look at you, to see what you might be feeling.

You gripped his jaw, guiding his gaze back to you. “Az… I told you already, I’m not angry with you. I felt like I proved that rather thoroughly, but I will say it again. You are my friend Azriel. None of this changes that fact. If you are open to it, I’d actually like to do more of… this.” You motioned between the two of you and gave him a big smile.

“I-I am definitely open to it. I would like that very much. I guess you could say I’ve had a bit of a crush on you for a while now…” Azriel glanced at you with heated cheeks and a dimple peeking out as he rubbed the back of his neck.

You let out a breathless laugh, the sound making Azriel’s heart jump in his chest. “Well I guess I can now admit that the feeling is mutual.” You snuggled down into the pillows further, cherishing the warmth of his body next to yours.

Azriel turned to you, propping his head up on a fist. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving. I was actually supposed to meet Nesta for dinner.” You glanced to the window in Azriel’s room, noticing that the sun had already slipped below the ridge. “She is probably pissed I stood her up, but there’s no sense in going now… and I’d like to stay with you.”

Azriel grinned at you then. “Well perhaps you would consider sharing a meal with me? We can stay here if you want.”

You agreed eagerly and Azriel offered you one of his large, but incredibly soft shirts to wear even though your room was just down the hall. You cherished the feel of the material against your otherwise naked body, his scent surrounding you, the shirt reaching your knees. It made you feel special.

Azriel had the house whip you up your favorite foods and the two of you stayed in his room for the remainder of the evening, chatting and swapping stories as usual. However things definitely felt…. different between the two of you. But in a good way. In the best way.

You must have dozed off eventually, because you awoke to the early morning sun spilling in through Azriel’s parted curtains. You quickly realized that Azriel himself was curled around you, one arm slung over your waist and your back pressed to his chest.

Feeling you stir, he mumbled a groggy good morning, voice rough with sleep. You would be lying if you said the sound didn’t send heat straight to your core all over again.

You turned in his grip to face him, “good morning…” you brushed a couple of your wild strands of hair back from your face and cleared your throat. “I’m sorry if I have over stayed my welcome. I didn’t intend to fall asleep here last night.” You studied his face for any sign of annoyance.

One side of his lips tipped up in a lazy grin, revealing a dimple. “Nonsense. I’ve enjoyed your company... even if you did snore.”

Your eyes widened for a moment, face growing hot. “I do not snore Azriel! I think I would know if I did.” You protested, brow furrowing.

Azriel’s grin only grew, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “And how would you know that?”

“Well I’ve never had any complaints about it before.” You explained, praying to the gods that you actually didn’t snore the very first night you ever spent in Azriel’s bed.

Tracing lazy circles on your side, Azriel’s eyes perused your form. You looked so beautiful wrapped in his huge shirt, blankets pulled up over your hips, hair askew in a thousand different directions.

“Perhaps they were just too polite to mention it?” His gaze flicked back up to yours, unable to hide his full on smile at your flustered responses to his teasing.

“You could have done me the same courtesy, asshole.” You shoved his bare chest playfully causing a laugh to spill from Azriel’s lips. Despite what happened yesterday, things felt… comfortable.

You reluctantly untangled yourself from his arms, sitting up to stretch. “I better go inform Nesta that I’m still alive. She’s probably assuming someone kidnapped me last night.”

“I pity the person who would try to kidnap you.” Azriel placed an arm behind his head, watching you shuffle out of the bed, secretly wishing you would stay longer.

You snorted. “True. I also better find a peace offering to give her as well, as an apology for flaking on our dinner date.” You turned to Azriel then, drinking in the sight of him sprawled on his back, blankets pooling around his waist, tattoos swirling down his bare chest and arms. Gods, he was delectable and you wanted to jump his bones all over again.

Azriel was staring at you as well, admiring the length of your bare legs and how his shirt hung down to almost your knees. A surge of male satisfaction flowed through him at the sight. “I think that’s a good idea. I apologize for ruining your plans.” Azriel wasn’t sorry in the slightest.

You gave him another big smile, something you found happening very frequently when he was around. “You can ruin my plans anytime you’d like Shadowsinger.” You began gathering your belongings, preparing to make the trek down the hall to your own quarters. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

Azriel nodded. “Anytime you’d like.” He parroted your earlier words back to you.

You bid Azriel goodbye and began making your way out the door, your pile of clothes filing your arms, when you heard Az call out your name.

Turning back towards him, you found him holding up your lacy black panties from yesterday, a smirk plastered on his face. “I think you’re forgetting these.”

You gave a one shouldered shrug, one corner of your lips curling to match Azriel’s. “You can just hang on to those for me.” Watching his eyes widen, you closed the door behind you, smiling all the way down the hall to your own room, and already counting down the seconds until you could see the Shadowsinger again.

⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°

EEEEK i had SO much fun writing this!! feel free to let me know what you liked, i always appreciate feedback 🫶🏼.

[theocddiaries]

[A couple of days later, Shadow and Sonic are at the latter's house]. Sonic: Bed made every day with clean bedding, he even ironed Amy’s plushies’ outfits. Not to mention the garage: spotless. I went in earlier, and I didn’t even need to turn on the lights because his stupid tools were shining so bright I almost went blind. Let me tell you, Shadow, I am NOT having a pet in this house. Shadow: I don’t know, maybe we got the tactic wrong. Sonic: We?? [Tails arrives home with a loaf of bread and a grocery bag]. Tails: Hey, guys. Sonic, look, I bought bread and did the groceries. You wanted to make rice tonight, right? I got the ingredients you usually use. Sonic [throws a furious glance at Shadow before taking the bags with a forced smile]: That’s great. Such a good kid. Tails: I am, aren’t I? Sonic: Yeah… I made you a snack. Your favorite. A ham and tomato sandwich. [hands it to him]: And since you’ve been behaving so well, you can eat it on the couch while watching TV. Tails: No, Sonic, not on the couch, it’ll get dirty, and that would be very irresponsible. Sonic: Okay. Well, but you’d like a nice big bowl of mint ice cream, wouldn’t you? With mint chips and some chocolate syrup. Tails: I doubt I’ll still be hungry. Sonic [through gritted teeth]: Okay. Tails: And you can watch your show in peace, I’ll clean the plate when I’m done. I bought a new sponge-- Sonic [snaps]: Oh yeah? Do you even know what a sponge looks like? Because last time I checked, you wouldn’t have touched one even if it helped you grab your tools!!!! Shadow [steps in]: Sonic-- Tails: The sponge would probably do a better job than you. [takes a smug bite of his sandwich and heads to his room] Sonic: OOOOH, the audacity! GET BACK HERE, YOU LITTLE--! Shadow [grabs him by the shoulders]: Calm down-- Sonic: No, I am NOT calming down! That kid is mocking me! All over that stupid chao! LET GO OF ME, YOU SECOND-RATE EMOTIONAL SUPPORT PLUSHIE!!!! Shadow [takes a step back]: Okay! But breathe, you're gonna pop a vein! [Sonic breathes heavily, running a hand through his quills.] Shadow: Look, the kid has been behaving well. We should give in on this, we promised him. Sonic: “We” again? Look, Shadow, you better be referring to you and your damn people-pleasing, because for once, I didn’t open my mouth. So you better march over there and tell him there’s no chao, you hear me? [huffs and starts to leave the kitchen. He slaps the grocery bag childishly]: Bought a sponge… the little bastard!

Part 1

[alexrosa13]

Valentine Encounters

Greyson x female!reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: 800 words, 3rd person perspective

Note: fanfiction for my Valentine's Event

for masterlist and request info head to the navigation →

how did Zayne's evening go →

~★~

... Greyson was stressing out more than Zayne about this whole thing, not caring about what he'll do on the day that's supposed to be spent with your loved one, since he was way too shy to ask his crush out, luckily, his crush came to him...

Work in the hospital kept him busy, but the thoughts about his 'friend's' plan kept him stressing, even tho there were 0,001% chances for something to go wrong. He couldn't help but feel anxious, I mean it was a huge step for their relationship and he knew just how important that woman was to doctor Zayne, her refusal would absolutely break him.

Today's shift was about to end, wrapping up paperwork at the front desk he was thinking about what to do back at home, with nothing interesting coming to mind.

While putting his signature on one of the papers he heard the voice of the one person who always seemed to show up at the worst (best) time, always teasing him on the way. He didn't want to fall for her, but with her every visit at the hospital it was harder and harder to keep his dreamy thoughts at bay. But then again: there's no way she would ever glance his way with romantic intentions in mind. She probably preferred someone who could flirt back confidently and sweep her off her feet.

"Yes, thank you, I'll make sure to keep an eye on my diet for this week." just the sound of her beautiful voice made his ears heat up. She had some issues with her stomach, that's all he heard from the nurses checking on her, but she didn't need to stay at the hospital for monitoring, so it was probably nothing major.

After a couple more pleasantries exchanged with the nurse she turned around with a paper in her hand, not noticing him at first.

Quickly he lowered his head back to the papers, praying for her not to notice him eavesdropping on her conversation.

His prayers were however ignored by the gods, and he heard that same voice now right behind him.

"Greyson, hi!" he turned his head her way, now praying for her not to notice his pinkish cheeks.

"Hello." was she always this enthusiastic? She seemed pretty calm when talking to that nurse...

"How is my favorite doctor doing?" her smile made him feel butterflies flying all around his stomach, not to add her comment: a favorite doctor? He felt like a teenager talking to his crush.

"Well, just finishing up paperwork before finally getting off work." he dropped his eyes to the papers once again, unable to hold the eye contact.

"Oh so you're free for the rest of the evening?" she asked with a... hopeful tone? Was he imagining things?

"Well, yes." he probably imagined that.

"Well then... What do you say to spending the rest of the evening with me?" his eyes went up to her once more, confused, was she asking him to go out? Well it was probably just as friends, right? "We could go watch some movie or go get some food? Well I'm kinda on a diet right now due to my stomach rebelling against me, but I'm sure we can still find some restaurant that serves the food I'm allowed to eat."

He didn't miss the slight hesitation in her voice and the way her eyes seemed to run around her surroundings just to avoid meeting with his.

"Only if you want to, of course." finally she gazed at him, a gentle and nervous smile on her lips. His brain lagged for a moment, is he imagining it?

"I..." should he agree and probably fall harder for her just because of that one meeting or refuse her and not make himself catch another heartbreak.

But the look in her eyes made it impossible to turn her down, I mean, he could keep his feelings to himself just to keep her happy, right? That's what she would want from him, to be just friends...

"I would love to hang out with you." he said, hopefully masking the disappointment he felt at the thought of being friend-zoned.

"Great! So you go sort out your work stuff and I'll wait for you right here." she said, immediately cheering up at his agreement.

He can suck it up for one evening, it won't be hard, right?

"I just need to go and change clothes, I'll be right back." leaving the paperwork to be sorted by the front desk workers he sent her a smile.

What he didn't expect was to get a quick kiss on his check from the woman of his dreams...

"I can't wait to go on a date with you!" she jumped up a little at her excitement before turning around to sit in the waiting area, checking something on her phone.

Dumbfounded he made his way to the changing room, the event which just took place still not really coming through to him.

Just when he changed from his work clothes and looked in the mirror he finally realized...

A DATE?

[heretherebedork]

I have missed the way Kan looks at Thua so much. The love and the worship and the passion and everything comes from him and the way he slowly learned to accept not just his love for Thua but himself and that they could love each other and I cannot wait to see them again.

[yellllowstar]

slowly I'm recovering the beauty of discovery

(creature by half•alive)

(textless + timelapse below cut)

[vulpinesaint]

the difference that offering a child kindness and compassion can make... one of the kiddos was crying the other morning missing her mom. Sobbing crying. and i talked to her and she wasn't able to say very much from crying so hard but confirmed that she knew her mom was going to be back and it was going to be a good day and it was going to be alright but she was just inconsolable. and we did some good breaths together but she just couldn't get her breathing under control. so for like ten minutes i just had her drink some water and gave her a hug and sat with her while she cried until we were going off to the next activity and she had to go with different counselors. and by then she'd calmed down a little but was still sniffling and obviously upset but the important part is that even though i didn't even get her to stop crying anytime i saw that little girl the rest of that day and now throughout the rest of the Week after just sitting with her and offering some compassion i see her notice me as she goes by and she always looks right at me and smiles and gives me a little wave when i say hi. like we haven't had any other conversations since then but i can see the way that she recognizes me now. i'm not her favorite counselor i haven't spent more than twenty minutes with her tops but that little girl takes the time to seek out my acknowledgement cause i showed that i care about her.... y'know... cause i was gentle with her and that meant something to her... all to say. it doesn't matter if you have extended interactions with kids. it really doesn't. small things can make such a huge impact on children and i really sincerely think it's so important to show them kindness... help them up when they fall. give them a hug. sit with them while they cry. cause even if it doesn't Fix things even if you don't solve the problem or do anything really materially Helpful you will have shown that child that people care about them. and they notice... they remember... they do...

[aphel1on]

the most autistic thing i've done in the past year is when i typed out a transcript of the text from the entire main storyline in Pokemon Legends: Arceus into a wordpad document, complete with basic image descriptions, and then i didn't even write the fanfic which was supposedly the reason i started that whole project in the first place

[moveslikekeithrichards]

wouggghh . Bitches . that old man is so dear 2 me

[jackass-jones]

The way akishinji and ashbella both have dramatic coma scenes and dramatic shot through the heart scenes like we’ve gotta stop meeting like this 😩

[awfuckitssunshine]

Stuff I Like List

The funky little list of stuff i draw, might draw, or generally just vibe about

because I desire to <3

Not including youtubers because... it would be a longer list than it already is

Also, note, none of these are in specific order just specific categories

~~~~~~~

The Good Shit:

South Park

Cookie Run/Cookie Run Kingdom

My own OCs (Kiin and Ty)

MLP(fluttershy my fav fr)

Minecraft <3 (creepers and endermen my beloved)

Greek mythology

Stardew Valley

Delicious Shit:

Parkour Civilization

don't hug me I'm scared

Animation vs Minecraft/Animation vs Animation

Bobs Burgers

Dark Deception

Sally Face

Old RPG horror games (Ib, Misao, Mad Father, etc etc)

Eddsworld

DHMIS

Night in the Woods

Obscure/Weird/Childhood Serotonin That Aren't My Main Delicacies:

FNAF(Including fangames like Joy of Creation)

I Was A Teenage Exocolonist

Mighty Med

Bratz

Yandere High School/YHS (Sam Gladiator)

Monster High

Ever After High

Sonic Underground

My Beautiful Paper Smile & Choo Choo Charles (Two Star Games beloved)

Trolls (Movies)

Coraline/ParaNorman/Corpse Bride/Nightmare Before Christmas

Gravity Falls

Over the Garden Wall

Kindergarten 1 and 2

Home Safety Hotline

True Crime/True Crime Podcasts

DnD

Chilla's Art Games

Just Shapes and Beats

Killer Frequency

Ravenous Devils

TAWOG/The Amazing World of Gumball

Craig of the Creek

Warrior Cats

Total Drama (including Island of the Slaughtered)

Road 96

Hi Fi Rush

Nicktoons Unite

Doll Customizing

Grojband

[profound-bouquetbird]

i would absolutely ADORE some daisuke smut. i feel as if he'd have a praise kink...

Guess I'm writing smut now 🤷

These headcanons are mostly gender neutral but since I'm a girl its written from a female perspective, if one of you request these headcanons with a male s/o it's no big deal! I'll write it :)

Also, I will be following a nsfw alphabet list but in a crappy order 👍

Also, I did use a picture instead of a gif, sue me.

❥ Starting off with the headcanon you already mentioned: I do believe Daisuke has some sort of praise kink. He would love to get praised for doing the simplest of things, but he doesn't get a hard on every time you praise him, only if it's in a dirty context ☝️

❥ It will take a bit to get this man going. If you decide to drop subtle hints, he will get it but will ultimately think it is all in his head, so you have to be a bit straight forward most of the time. Example:

"Gosh... My head hurts." Daisuke complained, taking a seat next to you on the couch. A bright idea suddenly enters your mind as you smirk to yourself, turning to your boyfriend, Daisuke, with a suggestive look.

"I know what can cure a headache..." You stated, resting your head on his shoulder with a wide smirk. Daisuke stares at you for a moment, as if to process your words.

"... You'll grab me a painkiller?" He said after a couple moments of silence. That ultimately killed your mood as you let out a loud sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose in exhaustion.

❥ Yeah... be a bit more straight forward.

❥ As for the top or bottom dilemma, he'd be a switch leaning bottom. Why leaning bottom, you may ask? It just feels right.

❥ He can be a top if asked, but he'll still require huge amounts of praise and reassurance to make sure he's doing a good job. He prefers to have you on top so that he can feel of use, since you're the one that knows your body the best. But he does have occasional bursts of dominance where he is actually being a soft dom. Also yes, if he were to be a top he'd be a soft dom., argue w the wall.

❥ He is vocal in bed, and when I say vocal, I mean it. If he's not moaning and groaning, he's babbling nonsense into your ear. It doesn't even have to be sexy 😭. He would just be whining about work or a hard video game level while he pounds into you or when you're riding him.

"Swansea was... mhn- so rude today." Daisuke panted, gripping onto your hips tightly as you bounced up and down.

"Tell me more, Hon." You moaned above, quickening your pace as you rested your hands on his chest. He let out a couple of groans and moans before continuing to whine about how bad his day was.

❥ As for his favorite position? Doggy. He's a simple man. Hitting it from the back and pressing up against you from above while biting onto your shoulder to suppress his moans? What more could a man want.

❥ Even though he's not often in that position, it's still one of his favorites. He probably suggested to do positions you haven't done before just to see if they feel good or bad for you two. As I mentioned, he's eager to please and wants what makes you feel best.

❥ Stamina? Average. He could go two to three rounds without a problem, but after the third he'll feel overstimulated and tired. If you're still energetic and want more, he'll eat you out/suck you off until you're satisfied.

❥ What about aftercare? The king of aftercare... in his own special way. He would continuously ask you what you need, what you want, what he should do, is he hurting you? He's sorry if he is. Meanwhile you're lying there, barely able to comprehend his words from how fast he is speaking. After a while you two eventually get into a routine and he doesn't bombard you with questions as often.

❥ What about experience? He has had a couple of girlfriends before he met you, but it only led to make out sessions, nothing more. Unless you count his own hand as experience, I wouldn't put him very high on the list.

❥ What about how they are in the moment? Serious or silly? I'd say he leans towards silly more, but he can be serious when the time calls for it. As I mentioned previously, he rants about dumb stuff and on a couple occasions you had to stop what you were doing to laugh.

❥ As for where you two have sex, it mostly stays in the bedroom. If you're on the ship, it definitely stays in the bedroom. But when you're on land/in the comfort of your own home? No surface is safe if he's horny enough.

❥ As for his kinks, he doesn't have many. As I mentioned, praise in one, but on the list also falls blindfold sex, gagging, maybe spanking, and maybe a bit of hair pulling (both his and yours).

❥ Oral? He doesn't love it, nor does he hate it. As much as he wants to please you, he prefers getting head than giving. Don't get him wrong! He enjoys giving you head too, but even he has to be selfish sometimes. He'll ask for head in the most random times too, mostly because he's messing around. But if you accept? He was serious all along! I don't know why you would think otherwise 😁.

You were just sitting in the lounge area, already being done with your chores for the day and just waiting to be given a task. Though, your boyfriend, Daisuke, also seemed to be done with his tasks, taking a seat next to you in silence.

That silence was soon broken as Daisuke leaned into your ear with a shit eating grin.

"Wanna give me head?" He asked quietly, setting back down. He just wanted to fluster you because captain Curly was also in the room. You looked back at him, completely unphased as you shrugged

"Sure." That took him by surprise, his own face turning pink instead of yours as he looked around sheepishly. He quickly, yet gently grabbed your wrist before pulling you into a more secluded area.

❥ This man is a roller-coaster when it comes to that type of stuff. He would tease you to no end, but when you actually tease back? How could you! Now he's all red and flustered >:(

❥ He's awful when it comes to taking care of himself down there. It's not like he has a jungle, but his hair is just cut weirdly, and he doesn't know how to take care of certain parts. If you offer to help him, he'll be embarrassed as hell and would initially refuse, but after a bit of convincing he would cave.

❥ He has stolen your underwear at least once to see if it gets him going, which it kind of does but he is overwhelmed with embarrassment and overall feels bad. If you're a woman, he would grab a bra to recreate those videos you see on TikTok of men pretending to be flies, He even tries to put it on for a bit.

❥ As for his pace, it again really depends. Though he can get off by being slow, he does need a bit more roughness in order to finish off properly. Not full on pounding into you until your legs go numb, bit just enough (if you suggest the prior, he wouldn't be totally opposed, but you'll have to reassure him a shit ton during it and after).

❥ He thinks extreme dirty talk is cringe, change my mind. This man cannot take you nor himself seriously while trying to talk dirty like in the movies.

"Oh- yeah? You like that? You li-" Daisuke cut himself off with a loud wheeze, immediately stopping with his thrusting as he covered his mouth to laugh to himself.

"Don't laugh-" You tried to scold, but ultimately caved and began laughing as well.

"I can't- 'm sorry--" He wheezed once more, being overwhelmed by embarrassment at his words.

---

Thats all folks!

[nezuscribe]

life as a hit man was dirty but simple, and gojo preferred keeping it that way. he didn’t know his clients names, they didn’t know his. he’d send over proof of his work, they’d wire in the money. dirty, yet simple.

so when he gets a message to kill the daughter of some oil tycoon, he doesn’t think much about it. sure he thinks it’s cheap to go for the kid, but what does he know. this is the most he’s ever been offered for a one shot job, so he’s not an idiot to turn this offer down.

and unfortunately, that meant his next confirmed target was you.

he gets your information, where you go to school, what apartment building you live in, where you like to eat. usually he prefers a straight shot to the head, but sometimes sneaking in something to your food lets him off easier.

gojo gets to know your routine. what you do at what time. what shows you watch, what your favorite sweater is. he watches from the high rises that faces yours, crouching down so none of your bodyguards could see the reflection of the magnifier of his rifle.

and gojo is used to taking out a wide range of people. men, women, grandpas, aunts. it’s just business to him. but there’s something about you that makes him hesitate to pull the trigger.

maybe it’s the fact that the weeks he’s spent trailing after you he’s noticed you’re pretty much a loner. you keep to yourself, never bothering anyone. you don’t seem to have my friends in your classes, or even out of them. gojo never questions to morals of his clients or who they ask him to kill, but judging you so far you seem to have done…nothing wrong.

you treat the old lady who works in the convenience story with such kindness that gojo wonders if you were born into this level of wealth, because most people of your status treat those beneath them like ants. you always hold the door open for your body guards despite them insisting they do it for you. you always buy some food for the stray cats in the alley you pass, and you never yell when you’re on the phone with your dad, even though gojo tracks those calls and feels the need to yell for you.

it all comes to a moment when you’re at your favorite coffee shop (he knows this because you come here so often), and you’ve managed to weasel away from your bodyguards. he knows they must be freaking out by now, but you just want some alone time.

he’s right there, right behind you, the little pouch of his condition of drugs that instantly kill in his pocket ready, and you turn around with your coffee cup and bump into him.

your eyes seen, letting out a shocked gasp as the iced drink stains his shirt and pants, the cup not empty on the floor.

“oh my god, oh my god,” you stutter out, scrambling to find some napkins, “i’m so so sorry! i didn’t even see you there - gosh,” you shove some napkins into his hands, trying to dapple the coffee away but it does nothing to help, “i can’t believe…!” you trail off, the two of you moving out of line so you don’t hold the others up and your shaking your head in dismay, mad at your clumsiness.

“it’s alright,” he assures you, waving it off as his eyes take in your appearance. “don’t even worry about it, accidents happen.” it’s the first time he’s seen you this close, and he feels that pouch growing heavier in his pocket.

because you’re pretty. really pretty. and he likes the plush of your cheeks, the scrunch of your brows, the way you’re nearly gnawing your lip raw. you seem even prettier in person, and there’s a lump forming in his chest, something he’s never felt before.

“no, no,” you murmur, trying to find the tide pen in your bag, only to realize you left it at home, “and it’s stained too, fuck. i am so sorry about this, you probably have somewhere to be and…” your words trail off as you scramble for your wallet, pulling out some cash as you push it into his hands.

it’s more than he needs to replace the shirt and pants, probably enough to buy him a couple pairs from ralph lauren, but you still seem to think it’s not enough as you look for more.

“it’s no worries at all, i keep an extra of shirts in my car for emergencies like this,” gojo lies smoothly and you look up from your purse, eyes wide in shame. fuck he really likes your eyes too.

“no, please take it, it’ll be on my mind all day if you don’t,” you insist, but he’s shaking his head defiantly, a reassuring smile on his face as he hands the money back to you.

“and it’ll be on my conscience all day if i take it,” he promises you, and after you realize he’s not going to retract his hands you take the cash, shoving it back into your wallet as heat settles all over your body.

of course with your luck you spill coffee all over the most attractive man you’ve ever met.

you still look worried, finding another napkin as you take out a pen from your purse, messily writing something down.

“this is my contact information if you ever need me to replace your clothes,” you hand it over to the man with an apologetic smile, “please don’t hesitate to call me, i know stains and that’s gonna be really hard to get out,” you go to say something else but your eyes dart to the large windows behaubd him, catching sight of your body guards who seem to have seen you, and your face falls.

“i’m really sorry, again, but i have to go,” you mutter as you speed off, waving goodbyes to the stranger as you duck your head down and leave the coffee shop, not wanting to cause another scene as three buff men race in to find you.

gojo stands there almost in a haze, looking at his stained white shirt to the napkin with your number and name on it.

almost as if he didn’t already know it, almost as if you weren’t the girl he’s supposed to kill.

and in that moment he realizes how screwed he is, because he’d rather down that packet right there than shoot you down, and he’s never felt this dread before.

[irisinluv]

Isekaied as the Yandere Villain!? Pt 2

Part one

It was almost 2 minutes before I realized I was still dragging the crown prince behind me. I quickly dropped his hand and looked at him, not able to hide the embarrassment on my face. Listen- I’m committed to the bit. I WILL be the crazy jealous fiancé. But… I’m still human ok. I just dragged a full grown man down several halls and a flight of stairs while I spaced out thinking about how I’m gonna buy my cat premium wet food once I get back home to her.

It’s fine, I’m not flustered at spacing out about my cat, my characters just flustered because she’s been holding the hand of the man she’s obsessed with, that’s all!

“Well…. Did you still want to dine and take that walk?”

I expected him to scold me for my mistreatment of Cressida, grow irritated from me dragging him along like this. Instead, he chuckles and threads his arm in mine, and begins escorting me down the hall.

“Absolutely, have you dined outside by the roses yet? There’s this lovely pavilion that I am eager to hear your thoughts on.”

And that’s how I found myself under an impressive array of roses, all trained up and around a cozy dining area, creating a canopy of green and pink over an intimate tea table. The food was equally impressive, I had to keep reminding myself that the other me is used to this lavish lifestyle, to not gawk at the fancy tiny sandwiches and deserts.

“Well? Is everything to your liking? ”

I’m going off script here, how am I supposed to know how the villainess would react to a romantic scene like this?? If my “evil crazy” side isn’t supposed to be directed at him, and she’s usually kinda distant and unsure around him…. That means I should probably respond pretty curtly, polite, yet not really engaging. But…. I’ve already messed that up…. I guess I can be more genuine when it’s the two of us like this. He can think that this version of me is the facade, that I’m pretending to be pleasant, and then will start to see what a jerk “I” truly am when Cressida’s around. Besides…. I almost feel bad for the villainess. She really just seems like she was shy. Who knows- maybe, if given the opportunity, she really would have opened up more. It’s clear she loved the prince, and just didn’t know how to show it. So, with that thought, I made up my mind.

“It’s breathtaking! Roses are my favorite flower, and I’ve never seen so many kinds in bloom at once…. Plus the food and company leave little to be desired.”

There you go- slip in some subtle flirting! I’m not quite sure what time period this is supposed to be, but I get the impression flirting as bit more high class here, and I think I can have some fun with that.

“I’m glad, to be honest I was a bit flustered asking you to dine with me… you caught me quite off guard today, but in a good way.” He reaches his hand across the table and places it on my own, “I’d like to do this more often, you and I. I feel like the confines of our current arrangement have left us practically strangers, despite being engaged for several months already. I’m enjoying just being companionable with you, even if it’s just existing comfortably in the same room.”

Ohhhh, I know I’m the villain in this story but I can’t help but root for him- what a sweetheart! It’s so obvious he’s been lonely, I can’t wait for him and Cressida to fall in love and have a couple of kids that they’ll spoil rotten. And in the meantime…. Maybe I do have a bit of evil in me, because I’m going to selfishly enjoy this handsome man treating me to lunches under roses and reading in cozy libraries while I can.

“I know exactly how you feel your highness. Now, you mentioned a walk?”

We spent the afternoon laughing and chatting, and it felt nice to chat without worrying too much about my role. He asked me about that book I picked out earlier, and listened attentively as I caught him up with where I’m at in the plot. In turn, I asked about what papers he’s been signing, documents he’s been drafting, etc.

The only thing I had to do was send glares to any young ladies we passed, settling my hand on his arm possessively, and I saw their eyes widen and faces disappear behind fans as they whisper to one another. I can picture this illustrated in a manhwa- the nasty princess sinking her claws into the gullible prince… hopefully all these ladies will start gossiping and we can really cement this evil persona of mine now that Cressida’s here.

When we returned to our separate apartments, I explored my rooms a bit until servants came to get me ready for dinner, and I slipped back into the frigid bitch persona. The servant girls dressed me in a slightly stuffy gown, but I had to admit, I looked gorgeous. I sat stiff and straight as they did my hair, forcing myself to be the very picture of cold indifference. I then dismissively thanked them for their help, then sat there awkwardly as they stared at me like I was crazy.

Ohhhh shit…. The original story hadn’t prepared me for this. My character was a villain, yes, but a side character for the most part! How was she supposed to act towards her servants? I went over what I knew- the novel showed the villainess alone quite often, usually obsessing over Eric and plotting/stalking. It showed her with Eric, and how distant and awkward their relationship was when together. And then of course the numerous scenes with Cressida where the Villainess did all sorts of heinous things to the sweet girl. But… it never depicted her with servants, or even any friends or other nobles. Just… Eric and Cressida. Was other me not actually a bitch all the time? Am I being unnecessarily rude right now? Oh god I’m such an idiot.

The story is told through Cressida’s point of view- of course there’s more depth to my own character than I initially thought! The Villianess must be a misunderstood introvert! Unsure of how to act around her crush, she’s fiercely insecure and jealous of this new girl who doesn’t struggle the same way she does. When she notices the prince slipping from her grasp, she acts out against Cressida because she can’t bear to lose Eric!

As someone’s who’s worked minimum wage jobs and struggled with social anxiety most of my life, I try to be nice to the people just working to survive, but here I am acting like these poor women are the dirt beneath my shoe…. Ok. Um. Well they’re still standing there in shock, I can fix this….

“You really did a lovely job… my hair has never looked so gorgeous, you’re truly talented! And I think the prince will be very pleased with this choice of ribbon!”

There- I was nicer, and I brought it back to Eric, so I’m still the lovesick fiancé whose entire world is waiting for her in the dining room. I frowned as the servants scuttled out of the room with hurried excuses, all of them looking like they were about to faint. Damn it… I can’t believe I misread the relationship between us. I probably just ruined their night by being uncharacteristically rude. I’ve gotta learn their names next time…. Maybe ask them to help me eat some fancy pastries as an apology…?

I didn’t know it, but while I was lamenting how wrong I was about the Villainess’ character, the servants were all gossiping to the others about what had just transpired.

“You’re telling me she said THANK YOU!?”

“Yes!!! And then you should have seen how nervous she got! She just rambled, blurting out such a sweet compliment, and she even tied it back to the prince!”

“I had no idea how precious she was… I can’t believe I never realized she’s just shy! In a new place, all alone aside from her new fiancé…. Who I gather she’s got a bit of a crush on! Poor dear.”

“Ohh our sweet girl, I’m sure it must be hard bonding with the prince, when all you do is sit yards apart and hardly speak …”

“Well I may have some news about that… and it’s no wonder she was a bit flustered today, because I saw the two of them in the gardens today! They were both nothing but smiles- absolutely smitten with one another!”

“Such a lovely girl, and we never knew it all this time!”

Apparently, I had it backwards. The real villainess truly was a 2D, basic character. She was insecure and possessive over the prince, bullying Cressida half to remind her who Eric belonged to, half for the fun of it. But she didn’t let on to anyone about the true depth of her love for him. She didn’t gossip to her handmaid, didn’t ask the servants which dress he would like better. Simply acted as if they did not exist, hardly saying a word to them.

While I thought my blunt “thank you” was colder than they were used to, and then tried to smooth things over…. It was more words than they’d heard from me in the whole time I’d lived in the palace. They lapped it up and declared me their own shy little dove after that.

When I arrived to dinner, I realized why daily dinners weren’t exactly a bonding activity for the villainess and Eric. The table was massive, and only held two chairs, one at either end. It felt so…. Cold?

Eric had beat me there, and quickly stood up from his seat, waiting until I sat and a servant pushed in my chair to retake his own seat. He smiled at me and said,

“Good evening, princess.”

He had to project his voice slightly. It wasn’t like he was shouting or being loud, it was just the manner of speaking you use when talking to an elderly relative, clearer, and enunciating better so they could hear you.

I replied back, projecting my voice similarly, and found the conversation was, in fact, more awkward than it had been earlier. We ate our food mostly in silence, occasionally one of us would say something and the other would stop moving their utensils on their plate, listening closer as they ask,

“What’s that?”

By the time dinner was over and we each went to bed, I felt drained. I could have just been louder I suppose- but it’s so hard to keep up a conversation like that. I know we get along- we had chatted all afternoon after all. But some part of me realized it’s probably good to keep a bit of distance between us, even if I’ve rewritten things to be a bit chummier between the two of us. Cressida needs to swoop in and steal him from me… and my job is still to leave that room for her to do so.

It’s hard trying to be someone else, yet also making sure you lead the plot in the right direction- it’s exhausting! I feel like both director and actress!

It’s with this in mind that I launch myself into the softest bed I’d ever felt, and passed out. My first day as princess consort, the Yandere fiancé, complete.

While I was getting acquainted with my feather bed, Eric was speaking with the head waitstaff.

“Yes, tomorrow, would you mind adjusting the seating situation? I’d like for the princess consort and I to be closer together from now on. Yes, and ask my assistant to arrange my schedules like so, I’ve detailed it here. Thank you.”

At the same time, Cressida was recounting her run in with the prince and I to her handmaiden as she finishing unpacking and settling into her family’s guest apartments. Which, unbeknownst to me… was right across the hall.

Series discontinued- sorry my loves. Ik y’all wanted more but the good news is that I’ve seen several really talented authors picking up this idea and executing it wayyyy better than my sporadic mood writing ever could.

[macfrog]

homesick

a cowboy like me one shot

oh, i missed these two. here's a little check-in on my favorite morally irresponsible outlaws.

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

summary: you spend the weekend back home in austin with joel.

warnings: age gap (early 20s/late 40s), twinge of angst, piv sex in the shower (beware of slippage). you know the drill with these two. part of the cowboy like me universe, but can probably be enjoyed as a standalone.

word count: 6.3k

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“This is Joel Miller. I can’t come to the phone right now, so leave a message and I’ll get back to ya.”

You wait for the beep, pacing along a wall of steel cylinders. The laundromat is stifling, the machines’ drumming deafening. It’s eighty-something degrees out, and it’s only six o’clock.

“Pick up, Miller. Hello? Hello? I know you’re there. Can’t come to the –” you clear your throat, strum the twang in your vocal cords, “– Can’t come to the ph-owww-ne right n–”

The line clicks as he picks the handset up.

“Did you call just to make fun of me, kid?”

You halt, spinning on your heel. “So you were screening me?”

He scoffs. “Didn’t notice the time. I’ve been out back with Tommy.”

“Oh,” you mellow, tongue curling around your ice cream, “We don’t have to call right now, you know. I’m just doing laundry.”

“It is six there, right?”

“Yeah, but don’t let me keep you. Go hang with your brother.”

Joel sighs as he sinks back into his couch. “Keep me. He knows you were calling tonight. He’s probably outside fraternizing with the neighbor, anyway. Won’t even notice I’m gone. Laundry, huh?”

“Mhm.” You suckle on the lip of the waffle cone. “It’s a beautiful night, and I’m stuck being force-fed Mötley Crüe and watching a steel drum shred my panties.”

“Sounds like a good time to me.”

“Enough, cowboy.”

“I like Mötley Crüe,” he chuckles. “They got some hits under their belt.”

“Name five.”

“Five,” he says. “You’re asking a lot there, darlin’.”

“Of Mötley Crüe or of your memory, old man?”

Joel hums. “Should’ve seen that one coming, baby.”

You boost yourself up onto one of the dryers, swinging your legs. If there were anyone else in the laundromat, you’d care to hide your fluster – but you’re here on your own, and the man just melts you. All girlish and giggly, you feel his words swirl around your stomach like sweet honey.

“Tell me about your day,” you say, covering the flutter in your voice with another mouthful of ice cream.

“Well,” Joel says, “weather’s fine, work’s fine. Almost done with that renovation for your favorite clients.”

You gasp. “The old couple with the cats?”

He grumbles. “That’s them. They still hate me, by the way.”

“The couple, or the cats?”

“…Jury’s out.”

You snicker.

“Then, uh, I called Sarah, had some dinner, and now here I am talkin’ to you.”

“Hm. I’m your favorite part, right? I’m your favorite part of today?”

Joel pauses, breathing for a moment. Slow, quiet, but sure, he says: “You’re my favorite part of every day.”

The smile on your face cracks, crumbles into something more pained. Your heart sinks.

It’s been three months since you were last home. Technically, it’s been seven weeks since you were in Austin – but Joel was out of town for the weekend, and you spent four days cleaning your dad’s gutter and watching westerns.

It’s been three months since you were last in Joel’s arms. In his house, in his clothes, in his bed. Three months since you heard his voice not through the crackle of a thousand miles apart; since you smelled him on your skin, not on the flannels you’ve stolen from him.

Three long, tough months.

And it means nothing, anyway. All this missing each other. So you tell yourselves, and so you tell everyone else. You’re not together, you’re not committed. You’ve been seeing other people, so has Joel – even if he’s only been on two dates in the nine months since you moved away.

Spending a casual weekend together here and there is enough to get you by. It’s easier this way, right? It’s cleaner. There are no crossed wires, no strings at risk of becoming tangled.

Only – your entire relationship is woven in tangled strings. Messy, knotted, twisted around your fingers and threaded through your ribs. A summer’s worth of weaving yourselves closer and closer together, only to be pulled apart come fall.

It didn’t take long to prove that when a knot is pulled, it only binds tighter.

It only binds sorer.

“Anyway,” Joel says, “your turn. How was your day?”

You gulp, slipping down from the dryer to check on your wash. If you speak, you’ll break, and if you break, you’ll sob.

“Baby? You still there?”

“Yep,” you croak. You wipe your eyes with your sleeve and shake your head. “I – uh…Yeah, my day was fine.”

The line quietens.

“You sure? Everything okay at work?”

Your reflection blinks back at you in the window of the machine, warped and molten. She opens her mouth and replies, “All good.”

He can read you even three states apart. “Let me call you back. Hold on.”

The call disconnects before you can protest. Over your shoulder, another regular shuffles into the laundromat.

She smiles, skin supple and sun-spotted, looking but not looking you in the eye. She slides her full basket over one of the machines on the other side of the room, and tosses her clothes into the drum.

When your phone vibrates again, you pass by her and out onto the street.

Joel’s pixelated living room stretches across your screen.

“Joel,” you sniff, “Joel, it’s –”

“Can you see me?”

“No, you gotta flip your –”

“…never know why the damn thing don’t –”

“The button with the arrows. The camera button, Joel, it’s –”

His coffee table flips, and in place – straight, dark brows drawn tight in a frown. Crows feet, scar across the bridge of his nose. Peppered hair a little longer than the last time you called, beard a little thicker.

The only person in the world who can weaken your knees and splinter your chest, in one fleeting glance.

“Hi, baby girl,” he whispers, expression softening. “Look at you.”

You slump against the warm wall, sliding down. One sight of him, and your knees give. “Oh, my God, I miss you today.”

Joel laughs. His head cocks, smirk tugging at his lips. “I miss you every day.”

“Yeah, that’s – that’s what I…” you sigh, “…That’s what I meant. It’s just – some days, you feel a little further away.”

“Today one of those days?”

You nod. A car soars by, whipping hot air from the road which pours over your bare legs. “It’s just…been a day. That’s all.”

“We can talk about it, if you want. You’re hell of a lot smarter than me, darlin’, but I’ve had my share of bad days before. Never does any harm to get it off your chest.”

He smiles. It breaks your heart.

He works ten hours straight, some days. Out at the crack of dawn, home with only enough time and energy to nuke something in the microwave. Somewhere amongst that, he fits in beers with Tommy and ridiculous DIY jobs your dad elicits his help for.

And still – he sets aside an hour or two every few nights, specially for you. He collapses into his couch, decaf in his mug, and puts the world to rights with you on the other end of the phone.

The meaningless work dramas, the paper building up on your desk. The commute, for the love of God – the traffic jams you swear will one day be the death of you. The last thing Joel needs is to listen to your problems on end, and you tell him so.

“Bullshit,” he replies. He shakes his head, takes a sip of his beer. “I asked, didn’t I? Talk to me. Tell me what’s goin’ on.”

You groan. “I just…I wish I could turn my brain off. Just for a little while. No meetings, no call times. No helping my dad trim the trees in the yard when I’m home for the weekend.”

He laughs. “He rope you into that one too, huh?”

“Sure did.” You tense your fist, wince at the memory of splinters you were still plucking from your palm even weeks later.

“I got nothing to complain about,” you tell Joel, “I know that. This job is…it’s right where I want to be. Just – sometimes, I miss being back in Austin, following you around Costco and hiding from my dad. It’s like life was simpler then.”

Joel chokes. “I guarantee you,” he coughs, thumping his chest clear of beer, “life was not simpler. Not by a long shot. Goddamn.”

He swings to his feet and wanders across the room to his kitchen. Past his armchair, past the guitar mounted on the wall. Past the dining chair he always hangs his coat from. You know the anatomy of his home better than your own, it feels like.

You sure as hell miss it more than your own.

“Lemme see…” Joel squints over his phone. He leans over his kitchen counter. “What’s next weekend look like for you?”

You shrug. “My weekend off.”

“Nothing planned?”

“Nothing yet.”

He nods. “I’m meeting a supplier on Saturday afternoon, but if you can stand to be without me for a few hours, then…”

His eyebrows lift.

So do yours. “Then…?”

“I can look at flights,” Joel says, “get you booked tonight. Pick you up Friday, drop you off Sunday. Spend the whole weekend with your brain shut off, if that’s what you’re lookin’ for.”

A wave of warmth floods through your chest. Relief, maybe – or simple adoration for the man on the other end of the phone. Most likely, the way it always seems with Joel, it’s both at once.

He loves you. Enough to break every rule in the book. To go behind his best friend’s back for an entire summer. He loves you enough to let you go, watch you follow your wildest dreams, and then be the safety net at the end of each long day, each hard night.

He loves you enough to scratch everything off his calendar for a few days, just to make sure you’re okay. Just to hold you in his arms, heart beating a rhythm he knows better than his own. Just to sing you to sleep, and wake you up with burnt toast and runny eggs.

You pull the collar of your shirt over your nose and weep into the material. “I ever tell you how much I love you?”

He smiles. “Not half as much as I love you.”

“Gross.”

“I know.”

The laundromat door flings open.

Face now flushed and hair scraped back, the woman clocks you immediately and throws a pointed finger in your direction. “Are you coming to get your panties or what, little girl?”

She clicks her teeth and disappears again. The blind hanging over the door rattles with the force it slams closed.

“Guess that’s my cue,” you whisper, heaving to your feet. “Better go get my panties.”

“Why?” Joel’s making his way back outside. “Ain’t like you’re gonna need ‘em.”

You scoff. “Talk later, cowboy.”

Austin welcomes you back with a delayed flight, a screaming seatmate, and a raging headache.

The airport is busy. Loud busy. All chittering couples, hordes of kids with nauseatingly bright backpacks. You drag your suitcase through to arrivals, careful not to trip over the wheels of the stroller ahead.

When you spot his tall, dark figure weaving between bodies, the gate hushes. You move towards him by instinct, parting the crowd as you go. The magnet in your chest senses its partner drawing nearer, and nearer, and nearer.

And nearer, until he’s reaching out. He’s close enough that his hands land on your waist, and it’s the first time in three months that you’ve felt this weight – his weight, the way only he feels – all around you.

Joel pulls you in to his chest. He locks you in, resting his chin on your head.

“Hi, honey.”

You inhale his scent, breathe in the comfort of him. “Hi,” you exhale.

Tears prickle at your eyes. It feels stupid. He looks down at you, thumb swiping across your cheek, and a salty droplet spills.

“How was the flight?” he asks.

“Good.”

“You okay?”

“Perfect, now.”

“You look perfect,” Joel grins, “Look like the sun.”

And you could swat him away, could shrug him and his flirting off. The sun sure as hell doesn’t look stewed in three-hour plane, too tired to move and too clingy to unhook from her dad’s best friend’s arm.

But that’s not what he’s saying, is it?

You do look different. You feel different. You feel brand new. Golden – just like the sun.

These days, it feels like there are two versions of you. One, you’ve spent the better part of a year polishing off – electric and vibrant, eyes wide and head spinning, moving through her day like gliding on air and then collapsing in a heap come nightfall. Chaos with a clipboard and call sheet.

And the other – slower. Steadier. Surer on her feet, simpler in her ways. Dust under her heels and a Texan shine in her smile. Honeylike; moving where her body tells her to go, drinking up the world as she pleases.

There’s a moment, stood under the fluorescent lights of the terminal, where you feel the first give way to the second. Safe now, in Joel’s arms, to slip back into her old, worn boots and shutter her mind – even just for this weekend.

“Come on,” he whispers, wrapping his hand around yours. “Let’s get you home.”

And there never seemed like a better idea than that.

He keeps your things in his shower caddy.

Bottom basket, strictly yours. Shampoo and conditioner and bodywash and a loofah, all exactly where you left them last time you were here. He says it as he cranks the handle, holds his palm under the flow until it’s just right.

“The strawberry stuff…?” Joel nods to the bottle, face screwed.

You gasp. “You don’t like it?”

He shakes his head. “Like it on you. I smelled like a fruit farm for a week, baby.”

“Makes a change from wood trimmings,” you mutter, peeling the shirt from your chest.

Joel glares over his shoulder. “You wanna say that a little louder?”

“No, sir,” you whisper, and step into the cubicle.

The water pours over your head and down your spine, breathing life back into your body. You close your eyes and let it wash down your face. LA feels so distant, so lost to the steam and serenity in Joel’s ensuite.

He lingers in the doorway, watching as you turn under the shower. He smiles when you hold your hand out and flick your fingers.

“Soap, please.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, dropping it in your palm.

You slip the velvety bar over your skin. The soap lathers in thick, milky bubbles, cascading over your chest down to your hips. Your hands lift from your navel to cup your breasts, pinching your nipples between soft fingers.

Joel’s jaw ticks. He crosses his arms, shoulders tensing. “Easy, darlin’. Dancing with the devil here.”

It burns low in your stomach.

You pass him the bar back. “Maybe I want to dance,” you murmur. “Maybe he does, too.”

His eyebrows lift. “Maybe he does,” he agrees. He trades the soap for shampoo, tapping the bottle against your hip.

The heat grows under your skin. Having him watch, his close eye on you as you wash the suds from your hair and slick bodywash over your skin.

His eyes drift from your chest to your waist, looping up to your soaked eyelashes and dripping bottom lip, diving again between your legs.

Hungry. Starved, even.

Three months of secret photos and sexy phone calls to get you both by. Three months of imagining you, fist around his cock in the dead of night, coating his stomach just with the thought of you.

And right here, right now, in his shower: the real thing. The forbidden fruit. Body hot and skin soaked, just as desperate as he is. Just as needy.

You step forward, reaching for his shoulders. Arms around his neck, dampening the collar of his shirt, you pull him closer.

“Dance with me,” you whisper against his lips, stealing a kiss.

Joel’s gaze darkens. He takes your jaw and tilts your head back. Voice like thunder rolling over you, he warns, “I told someone we’d be somewhere.”

You smile, tugging on the hem of his shirt. “We’re running late. Something’s come up.”

His arms lift and you pull the cotton over his head, tossing it to the floor. He’s the same solid sculpture as always. Strong and wide, torso scattered with hair which thickens across the span of his chest.

He rids himself of his boots and jeans, kicks his underwear off, and joins you under the water. So big that he corners you, so tall that he has to adjust the showerhead.

Pressed up against your body; warm, manly scent raining over you. He’s hard, tucked right by your hip, rutting gently as he steals kiss after kiss.

He’s addicted to it. To you. Has been ever since that first night, the first taste of poison. Has been, probably, since that first glimpse of you last summer. For all the wrong reasons and in all the wrong ways, for better or worse –

You break him open. You make him weak.

Joel groans when you wrap your hand around him. That familiar weight in your grasp. He glances down to watch your slow strokes, fighting back a filthy smile.

“Missed you,” he breathes, voice lost to the patter of the shower. He slips a hand between your legs. “Ain’t gonna last long, are you?”

“Fuck,” you hiss, grinding into his palm. You toy with his bottom lip, nipping at the edges of his smirk. “We got all weekend. Just – just fuck me.”

He hikes your leg over his hip and lines up. A blooming ache when he notches at your hole, tip teasing your entrance.

Your back curls. You wrap your arms around Joel’s neck, whimpering into his chest.

“’s alright,” he kisses your neck, “Just take it nice ‘n slow. Get her used to me again, baby.”

He pushes inside, two heavy hands on your waist. Always in control, always easing you in. He holds you delicately, moving inch by inch, watching the twist of your brow and bite of your lip before sinking in further.

He reaches up and tilts the downpour to the wall. Lifts your fragile body, split in two on his cock, and pushes you against the tile.

Your cunt aches as he slides out. She clamps around his tip. It hurts – but you don’t want to let him go.

“Stay,” you cry, nails digging into his shoulders. “Stay inside me.”

He hums and presses his lips to the hinge of your jaw. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere, baby. I’m right here.”

His hips move forward. Your cunt opens for him the deeper he moves. Like welcoming him home, remembering the way it feels to be this full. The stretch of taking him, the air stolen from your lungs. The love you can never find the beginning nor the end of.

And then he’s moving quicker, sharper, one arm wrapped around your neck to cradle your head. Hips snapping against yours, slowing to a roll when you yelp.

Whispering sweet nothings in your ear – how good you’re taking him, how tight she is. How much he’s missed this, missed her, missed you. Never wants to let you go, never wants to be anywhere except right here, feeding you his cock and watching you come undone.

“Made for me, huh?” Joel grunts. He presses his forehead to yours and slips the words across your tongue. “All mine.”

“All yours,” you echo, weeping under him. The flame catches and curls around your stomach.

The missing piece to the last nine months. The dead-end dates, the hazy hookups. Awkward good mornings, and goodbyes that never seem to come quick enough. Sneaking off home to shower the scent of it away, to replace it with something sweeter.

Him.

Because none of them are him.

They don’t make you laugh and they don’t make you come. They don’t see you, don’t hang on your every word. They don’t – they can’t break your world apart and paint it something new. They don’t know your every move, don’t understand the most fleeting glances.

You could spend forever circling every bar and every diner; what do you do for work and where did you grow up. You could chase the tail of every flannel shirt, search all over for that twinkle in his eye.

They’re not him. They’ll never be him.

Joel coaxes you where he needs you. He fucks you until you’re quivering in his arms, head rolling across his shoulder. His thrusts begin to stall, breathing turns to panting, teeth sink into any part of your skin he can find.

He moans into your neck. The sound nudges you towards the edge.

“I’m close, baby,” he grits, “’m so close.”

You look up at him through tear-soaked eyes.

Three months. Since the last time he touched you, kissed you, fucked you like this. Since the last time he lost control, came deeper inside than anyone before, or anyone since.

Three months since the last time you held him in your hands, lined your lips with his, and begged him to stay in you.

Joel laughs. “Dangerous little game, darlin’.”

But he’s fading. He’s falling under, same as you are.

You want it. You need it. Need to be full of him – that ache when you walk, the warmth leaking down the inseam of your thighs. The feeling of being his, all his; ruined and wrecked in the sweetest way.

“Stay – inside,” you plead. “I want you to – want it so bad.”

“Keep begging, honey. Sound so cute when you’re desperate.”

“Please, Joel,” it’s getting harder to hold, “Just wanna feel you in me –”

“I know, I know,” he shushes.

You tense in his arms, gasping. “I’m gonna – come –”

“So,” Joel smirks, “come.”

And it snaps.

You scream into his chest. Your climax pulls you under, drowns you in a heavy wave of pleasure. Your hips lock, legs clamp around his waist as you cry out.

He plants a hand flat against the tile to steady himself. He holds you still as his own orgasm rolls through, pumping your swollen cunt with each rush of warm release.

You collapse against his body, bubbling and mumbling something incoherent.

He hears you, though.

He shuts the water off and rocks you back and forth. His cock slips from between your legs. “Shh, shh,” lips to your temple, “’s my girl. Such a good girl, baby. So good for me.”

You hum in response and pull yourself upright. You trace the shape of his beard, soaking wet and soft under your touch, following the droplets of water to his chin.

He kisses the tips of your fingers. “I love you,” he says. Chants it like a prayer, leaning closer and closer until his lips are against yours. “Love you more ‘n anything.”

You giggle. “You’re tickling me.”

Joel nuzzles his nose into your neck. He wriggles his fingers under your ribcage. “Can’t get enough of you,” his tongue swipes across your hot skin, “Swear to God, baby, you’re killing me.”

“Joel,” your head falls back with a clap of laughter, “Joel, stop – oh, my God, you have to stop, please – Joel!”

He hoists you onto his hips and turns. Hands still exploring, still pinching and squeezing everywhere they shouldn’t be, he carries you out to his bedroom and drops you onto the mattress.

“Here,” he chuckles, wrapping a towel around your body. He knots it over your chest and rubs your waist, before flopping down onto the bed with a sigh.

You roll over on top of him and fix the dripping hair from his forehead. “Missed you,” you whisper, trailing kisses along his collarbone.

He smiles. His heart flutters beneath yours. “Missed you more,” he says.

His semen drips between your legs. He’s softening against the inside of your thigh. The bed is soaked, sheets that’ll need changed before you sleep tonight. You’re tired, spent, pussy throbbing from the loss of him – and it’s all so perfect.

Being here, with him. Seeing him, feeling him on your body. In your body, for crying out loud. Holding him, kissing him, loving him up close.

It’s fucking perfect.

“What are we running late for?” you ask.

Joel’s eyes flutter open. He cocks his head, frowning.

“You said we had somewhere to be,” you clarify.

“Oh,” he winces, “Uh, your dad’s. He’s havin’ us for dinner.”

“Oh,” you echo. “When is he expecting –?”

He glances at the clock. “Half hour ago.”

“Nice.” You push yourself up, slipping from his grasp. “Well, this is about to be awkward.”

Joel folds his arms behind his head. He tracks your flurried movements: lugging your bag across the floor, tearing through it for an outfit that doesn’t scream, Your best friend just fucked me senseless in his shower.

When you straighten and lift your arms, eyes wide, his lips turn.

“You said you wanted to dance, baby. I was just following orders.”

The sun filters through the leaves, breathing back and forth with the sway of the trees.

You’re horizontal in a deckchair, feet in Joel’s lap, blanket around your shoulders. Full on burgers and baseball talk; if it weren’t for your dad’s riveting conversation about his new lawnmower, you’d probably be asleep.

“Ride-on,” he tells Joel, nodding. It makes gardening a real thrill, apparently. He flicks a hand over the span of the yard. “Whole thing done in less than twenty minutes. Hank says he’s half a mind to make an investment himself.”

Joel purses his lips. He strokes your ankles soothingly. “Sounds like a good buy,” he placates.

Your dad drums on his armrests, admiring his yard some more. He mumbles something about raking the leaves, painting the fence, then – with a vigor that makes you jump, he taps your arm.

“How’s work, kiddo? Still rockin’ ‘n rollin’?”

Your eyes flash across Joel’s. The hell does that even mean?

The corner of his lip twitches. Your guess is as good as mine.

“Yep,” you lie. “Living the dream, Dad.”

Joel says nothing. He hasn’t told your dad why you came home – hasn’t even mentioned the tears outside the laundromat. Your secret is safe with him, you know that. Some puzzles are easier to figure out, the less eyes that are on them.

He hasn’t even brought it up with you yet. Granted, you’ve been home all of four hours, and a solid quarter of that time has been spent naked with him back at his place – but he’s waiting for you to make the first move.

This weekend doesn’t have to be about work. Hell, it doesn’t even have to be about you feeling homesick. It can be as simple as you hadn’t seen your dad for a few weeks, or you heard the news about the damn lawnmower and just had to pay a visit.

It’s what you’ve always loved so much about Joel. It’s what reeled you into him in the first place.

He just lets you be. No questions, no pressure, no worries. He knows you’ll figure it out – you always do. And if he knows that, then it makes you believe in it, too.

Dad sinks back into his chair with a sigh. “What’s on the cards this weekend, then?”

“Joel’s down San Antonio way tomorrow,” you yawn, “Some supplier meeting.”

“You don’t feel like a road trip?”

Your eyes roll to Joel. He’s already staring back. You cock an eyebrow, smirking into your glass.

His shoulder rolls in a shrug. “Your call, chief,” he says, tipping his drink to you.

The minute he mentioned the meeting last week, you knew you’d be tagging along. Two hours each way and an hour in between is too big a chunk of your weekend together to miss out on.

That – and you’ve missed Joel’s front-seat singing.

It doesn’t matter what you planned on doing – rolling around his bed for three days straight, driving to San Antonio and back. Hell, trimming your dad’s trees and cleaning his guttering.

As long as you’re doing it with Joel, it’s enough.

It’s what you came home for in the first place.

The drive passes quickly enough. Joel’s truck doesn’t have Bluetooth, and he only keeps three discs in his glove compartment: Don McLean’s American Pie, a Guitar Classics compilation album, and a blank disc with SARAH MILLER, SECOND GRADE scrawled in Sharpie.

He whips it from your hands when you fish it out of the compartment.

“Listen, listen to this,” Joel says, slotting it in the tray. “Found it a couple weeks ago. I listen to it when I’m drivin’ to work.”

Her squeaky, seven-year-old voice punches through the cabin. “Welcome to my presentation –” she roars into the mic, pausing when a voice picks up in the background. “Huh?” Sarah asks.

“You’re holdin’ the mic too close,” Joel murmurs, almost fourteen years younger. “Farther. Farther,” he says, and then – “Alright. Go.”

“Welcome to my presentation on Amelia E-Earhart,” she resumes, clearing her throat. “She…Oh, Daddy, we gotta restart. I forgot to tell ‘em my name.”

Joel covers his laughter with his fist, reciting it line for line. “Tommy said he’s gonna make her a copy for her birthday,” he says.

“Oh, my God. She’s gonna hate you guys, you know that, right?”

He nods. “I’m countin’ on it.”

Sarah rounds off a few facts about twentieth century air travel before Joel swaps her for the radio. He hands you the disc and you place it safely back in the glove compartment.

You curl up in the passenger seat, swinging your legs over to his lap.

He rubs your calves and glances over, smiling. “You okay over there?”

“I’m more tired than I was when I landed,” you reply, and he laughs.

You haven’t had much of a chance to catch up on sleep. The second you made it home last night, your dress was on the floor at the foot of Joel’s bed. He woke you this morning with his lips on your thighs, your underwear around your ankles.

He was midway through cooking breakfast when you floated into the kitchen to return the favor. The toast burned, the eggs shriveled to a crisp, and your knees bruised.

Fuck it, right? You’ll miss him when you’re gone. When all that’s left are the memories, and the sound of his climax through speakerphone.

An afternoon spent on the road is good recovery time, then, for all that’s waiting for you when you make it back to Joel’s tonight.

A few off-key covers of fifty number ones from the last fifty years later, you’re pulling into a barren lot headered by a beige trailer. The supplier springs out – a beefy guy with a full head of thick, white hair. He crosses the lot as Joel parks up.

Joel rounds the truck, pausing when he spots you lingering at the tailgate. He curves a hand around your neck, thumb circling over your pulse point. “You comin’?”

You twist the hem of your tee around your finger. “Maybe I’ll stay out here and wait. It’s a nice night, and you ain’t gonna be too long, right?”

He shakes his head. “Be as fast as I can. If it gets dark out, you come inside, alright?”

You shuffle into his embrace. “Promise.”

He kisses your head and steps back. “Here,” he slips the flannel from his shoulders, “If you’re sittin’ out. Got my phone if you need me.”

He disappears inside and the door falls closed. A cluster of moths twirls around the light on the trailer’s side. You hop up on the bed of the truck, crossing Joel’s shirt around your frame, and nestle against the back window.

The sun pulls down towards the horizon, sending dregs of daytime in ripples to the stars. She’s still alight just beyond the trees, still burning a hole in the sky. She winks at you from a distance.

The world looks different from Austin. Bigger, like the view from your bedroom window. There’s always more, just beyond the horizon. There has to be more, right? More than four pink walls and a chest of drawers. More than Sal’s store, more than Rita’s cross stitch.

You chased that more halfway across the country – only to realize it was in your hands the whole time.

Him and his lazy smile, sarcasm as thick as the accent he speaks it in. Rolled up sleeves and messy collar; a half-empty cup of coffee and a cracked watch face.

He’s all the more you could ever need.

You’re still perched on the tailgate, staring skyward, when Joel finishes up.

He swaggers across the lot, tan arms speckled with dry dirt, boots kicking up dust. He tosses a fistful of papers in the front seat, then drifts around to settle between your knees.

“Hi,” he whispers, tucking his nose under your jaw.

“Hi.”

He plants his hands either side of your hips and kisses your neck. “Home time, sweet girl.”

You glance over your shoulder.

This time tomorrow, you’ll be on your flight back. Row twelve, seat C. Joel’s flannel over your shoulders, slowly forgetting the scent of him, mile by mile. You’ll sleep with it tucked under your chin until it no longer smells like oak or pine, or the mint bodywash he uses.

You’ll miss it the way you’ll miss him. Holding onto every last moment. Deep morning voice, warm, safe embrace. The rumble of a laugh in his chest, the glimmer or mischief in his eye. The touches he saves just for you; the words he whispers when the lights turn out.

You wrap your arms around his neck.

“Can we go watch the sunset somewhere?”

Joel glances off behind you. His eyes flit back to yours, sunlight catching their ochre and setting him ablaze.

“Get in,” he pulls you down, “I know just the spot.”

It’s almost dusk by the time you reach the outlook.

A twisty dirt road which opens up between some trees, halfway out of the city. Joel reverses the truck and parks in the clearing. The two of you slide onto the tailgate, sharing a bag of fruit gums he had stored alongside Sarah’s CD.

The stars turn one by one, dotted across deep indigo. The last of the day’s blush still lingers where the city meets the sky. Tucked between trees and twilight, it feels as though you’re the only two in the world.

Joel holds the bag out, and you pinch a couple pieces of candy. “How you feelin’?” he asks, looking out to the skyline.

“Okay, I guess,” you mutter. “This has been a nice reset. I wish I could take you back with me.”

Joel laughs. “I don’t.”

“No?” you suckle on the sweet fruit, “I think you’d fit right in.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” He shakes his head, pinching your chin. “Naw, LA is yours. It’s something you did, all by yourself. I am so proud of you, honey, do you know that? I mean, I miss you like hell, I really do…”

He glances back down, rustling the bag in his hands. He’s hiding, you know him well enough. Staring at his lap instead of in your eye. When he looks back up, there’s a glimmer along his waterline.

“…But the way I feel any time you call, and I know…I know you’re out there doin’ something you actually give a shit about. You ain’t stuck here, too big for your own bedroom, too comfortable for anywhere else.”

He slips a hand over your knee and squeezes.

It’s infuriating, how right he always is. You’re working your fucking ass off, and for good reason. Austin was always too small for the world inside your head. Missing each other is a price you’re both willing to pay, for the luxury of not missing out on every dream you’ve ever had.

But –

“What if it keeps getting harder?” you sniff, “What if I need you more?”

Joel clicks his teeth. “’s always gonna get harder. That’s life, darlin’. But the hard times won’t last forever. And when it feels real tough, and you feel like you can’t do it no more, you call me. You jump on the next flight. You switch your brain off, and you let me take care of you for a little while.”

You shake your head. Tears break loose, rolling down your cheeks. “I can’t ask that of you, Joel, you got your own shit to worry about –”

“Baby.” He sighs. “I’m old. I’ve done everything I think I oughta do. You know, the days I know you’re gonna be callin’ at eight o’clock – it’s all I can think about. I’m at work checking my watch every five minutes.”

You giggle, turning into the crook of his arm.

“It’s true,” Joel snickers, “I’m like a goddamn teenager. That’s what you do to me.”

He catches you and pulls you against his chest.

“What I’m saying is – there ain’t nothing that matters more to me in the world than you. My own shit to worry about? You mean – you?”

“Shut up,” you scoff, spitting tears into his shirt.

“You call,” he says, resolute, “and I’ll be there.”

“I’m calling,” you whisper. “I’m always calling.”

“Then I’m always here.”

You sit back, bracing yourself on Joel’s thighs. He wipes the wet from your cheeks and fixes his shirt over your shoulders.

“You know, one day,” you tell him, “you’re gonna get a call, and it’s not just gonna be for the weekend.”

He smiles. “I know.”

“One day, I’m gonna come home forever, Joel.”

“I know,” he repeats. “And I’ll be on the front porch waitin’.”

[sttoru]

·.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. you leave megumi with your husband so you can make them breakfast. you quickly realise that that might have backfired.

wc. around 1.3k

tags. dad!toji x wife!female reader. fluff. reader gets called ‘mama’ by both toji & megumi. half beta read.

“ow, careful there, brat.”

your husband’s deep voice echoes from within the bathroom. you’ve left megumi in his care this morning so you’d be able to make breakfast in peace. toji was all grumpy about it, since he had to wake up early when he had no work, but eventually agreed to your proposal.

you hum your favorite song while frying eggs. the sizzling in the pan did help avert your attention from toji’s grunts of annoyance somewhere in the distance, though only for a couple seconds. your hear your child’s laughter slip between the noises of aggravation. it piques your interest.

“one more time and i’m putting y’r ass in time out,” toji’s deep voice sounds muffled. he sounds rather serious about whatever is bothering him.

you turn the stove off and walk towards the hallway, standing at the doorframe as you look in the direction of the bathroom. you tilt your head and try your best to pick up on snippets of the conversation between your husband and son.

the sound of bottles dropping on the floor is the first thing that allows you to guess that megumi’s acting up. you know how mischievous your little toddler can get, especially at his age. toji isn’t one to gentle parent his kid—he tries to, of course, but sometimes he can’t help but be a bit rough.

“megumi fushiguro.”

you raise your eyebrows as toji uses your child’s full name. he rarely does, only when he’s really upset or about to lose his marbles. you decide to see what was going on for yourself. you walk towards the bathroom, cleaning your hands against the material of your apron. you knock once before pushing the door open.

you stick your head through the little gap, ready to identify the cause of the commotion. the first thing you notice is the chaos on the floor; bottles, tubes, toothbrushes, and all other kinds of products lay cluttered on the bathroom tiles.

your eyes then land on your husband’s broad and scarred back, “hey, honey. did something hap—”

your voice trails off once toji turns around, revealing the jaw dropping scene. nearly his entire face is covered in loads of shaving cream and even his black hair hasn’t escaped the soft foam.

the bathroom counter is completely wet, and the water runs down the edges in small drops. the culprit of this entire scene is sitting right on that same counter, clapping his dirty hands together that were smeared with toji’s shaving cream.

you blink and walk towards the two. you can’t possibly be mad at the sight, finding toji’s situation more funny than worrisome. You try to act serious and clear your throat, “uh, yeah. so what’s happened here?”

your husband rolls his eyes and nods his head at the little boy in front of him, who’s giggling and kicking his legs. toji tries to wipe the shaving cream from his nose, attempting to get it out of his hair as well, “i tried to be a good dad and include him in my morning routine, that’s what.”

the man clicks his tongue as he now realises how dumb of a mistake that was, “gave him the opportunity to put some shaving foam on my jaw ‘n the brat totally blew it. started attackin’ me with the stuff.”

toji grumbles. he wipes away the foam that got on the mirror afterwards. it’s nearly gotten everywhere. he lightly nudges megumi’s forehead with a scoff, “never again, y’hear? the little shit can’t sit still for even one second.”

that explains the stuff on the floor. you know that megumi could grow bored easily if he isn’t the centre of attention. he’d start doing anything to be the focus of his parents. toji probably didn’t pay him much mind, wanting to get his morning routine over with.

“language, honey.” you sigh and look down at megumi who’s still reaching his messy hands up to his dad.

toji huffs and leans back, not giving the little boy a chance to put more shaving cream on his face. he’s learnt his lesson; kids do not understand it when you tell them to ‘only put a little bit’.

megumi whines and threatens to throw a tantrum. you notice that immediately and try to keep his mind off things by picking him up. you turn on the faucet and try to wash his little hands, “c’mon. give mama your hands.”

the little boy shakes his head furiously, squirming in your embrace in attempt to get away. you sigh and grab his little wrists gently. you lower him to the sink, trying your best to wash away the shaving cream as the first step of solving this grande mess.

“no, mama!” megumi is stubborn as he voices his complains. toji watches from a distance whilst he struggles to clean the overload of shaving cream from his face.

you make the mistake of letting go of your child’s wrists to grab a washcloth. megumi takes his chance and pats his messy hands against your face, leaving you no space to process what he’s doing.

your mind takes a second before you realise what’s happening, “hey! quit it, ‘gumi.”

you try to grab ahold of megumi’s tiny hands again, but they move too fast for you. plus, he’s pretty skilled at avoiding yours. you can feel the foam slowly cover your entire face; from your jaw and cheeks, to your nose and forehead.

it was inevitable at this point.

“toji, do something,” you grunt and struggle to contain the energetic toddler in your arms. you take a peek at your husband and find him grinning at the predicament you’ve gotten yourself in.

toji simply shrugs and enjoys the fact that you’re experiencing exactly what he had experienced just moments ago. seeing you struggle to contain your disobedient child only proves that his parenting skills are not the problem in this situation, your toddler is.

“ye did that to y’rself, mama.” toji hums in amusement. he leans against the wall, the blue towel now loosely hanging off head after he’s given up on getting the foam out of his hair, “now y’know what i’m talkin’ about. he’s a lil’ monster.”

megumi squeals in victory after he’s gotten both his parents covered in shaving cream. you want to say something to your child, but you’re at a loss for words. even now, you cannot bring yourself to be mad at him. he’s just a kid who’s having fun with his parents.

“i made mama pretty! hehe.” megumi grins and encourages you to look in the mirror. he points at your reflection and awaits the words of confirmation. his blue eyes look up at you, nearly sparkling with joy, admiring how pretty he’s made you look with that white foam all over your face.

toji joins in on the fun. he comes to stand behind you, looking at you through the mirror. he snickers, already forgotten about his irritations that occurred in the first place. he nods in approval at megumi’s words, “gotta agree, son. y’r mama looks much prettier like this.”

your husband’s teasing comment adds fuel to the fire. though again, you cannot bring yourself to be upset at the situation.

you look at the reflection in the dirty mirror. you all may appear disheveled due to the foamy mess on your bodies—and yet even at that moment—the only thing you actually manage to see is a happy family of three.

[leaky-bunny]

omo tropes i absolutely adore:

humping to help hold. watching someone wiggle and whimper and moan while rubbing against their hand or a pillow (or my fav: a partner's leg) is enough to make anyone's mouth water. when someone is so close to an accident that they have to distract themselves with the enticing friction of something pressing on their parts? delicious.

peeing in bottles. for amabs, they have to try and aim their twitching cock into the hole while drops leak out of the tip. for afabs, they have to line up their pee hole with the bottle's opening, oftentimes making a mess because the piss just sprays out too aggressively. either way, it's just sooo *chefs kiss*

physically holding the pee hole shut. this is something i've tried a couple times myself and let me tell you, it's a truly magical thing. with a finger firmly pressed against someone's pee hole, you essentially cut off their option of relief completely. no matter how hard they squirm and relax and even push, nothing can come out. they're forced to sit with the maddening feeling of fullness until eventually the finger is removed and all the piss comes gushing out of them in a torrent.

begging. probably a basic answer but i don't care, i'm a whore for dirty talk. phrases like "i can't hold it much longer" or "i feel so full" or even just "please let me pee" is enough to make me instantly slick. bonus points if there's a term of authority in there like mistress or sir.

peeing outside, especially in the woods. there's something so electrifying about squatting down behind a bush or watching a stream splatter against a tree trunk or make a puddle in the dirt, especially if someone is at their absolute limit and has to find a spot for a last resort.

having to stop mid way through peeing. imagine finally, finally getting the release you crave and then all of a sudden having to shut it off. the shiver you get, the way your pee hole convulses, your bladder aching with all that liquid still trapped inside. my favorite scenarios of this include: being stumbled upon while peeing outside, someone physically pulling a character away from the toilet, a dom stopping a sub's stream just to be mean, and even the classic "i'll just pee a little to relive some pressure."

being tied up while desperate. one time i read this fic about a girl being strapped to a chair and pressed for information by this guy who kept giving her water as "mercy" since she'd been there a while. her bladder started filling and soon she was desperate and he used that to his advantage, pressing on her bulge and teasing her until she broke and told him everything in exchange for access to the bathroom. i can't remember how it ended and god i wish i could find that again, because the idea of being restrained and not even able to squirm is delicious.

the iconic pee dance. i mean come on, what's not to love? when someone's resolve finally crumbles enough for them to abandon all sense of dignity, you know they're truly at their breaking point. seeing the full package is truly a treat; i'm talking hands shoved between thighs, feet prancing back and forth, knees bending up and down, body hunched over at the waist, face scrunched in concentration, the whole ordeal. it's the sexiest sight imaginable, especially if that dance suddenly stills and a flood follows soon after.