#towel gremlin

[modern-inheritance]

Ladies, gents, anyone who can pitch or lay in tents, I have…a confession.

I am showing my coworker, Towel Gremlin (I’m graduating her from Gremling and I PROMISE the towel part makes sense and is not derogatory as she and I have discussed it as a name) the horror of all horrors, the funniest schlocky mockery of the written word, the epitome of poor book to film adaptions:

Eragon (2006).

Now, BEFORE you all throw those tomatoes and pieces of crockery, know this! I have been spending afternoons unloading IC/MIC lore to the point that I’m scared I will break this woman. I also unloaded about how bad the movie is, but how much fun it is to aggressively critique and make fun of during screenings. So this is definitely a ‘let’s have more to laugh about’ thing and not a ‘look at this film for good content’ thing.

Anyway. I couldn’t just do this without confessing to you lot.

As you were.

[staymossy]

Paper towel creatures ~

[vaingod]

morning with the girls

[buckyalpine]

Life update. Oh hello. I haven't posted anything properly in a while and while I'm deeply ashamed, here is whyyy. I have a boyfriend now. I met a nice Italian boy which means I now have a pretty 6'1 blue eyed boy manifested right out of booktok walking around the house. You know you know when you know? I know. 🥺️This man matches every Bucky I've ever written for; I'm talking every single sweet, unhinged, feral, sexy, perfect thing under the sun. Idk what to do with myself. I didn't know these existed. He might as well be out of a build-a-man because how has he matched everything I've ever imagined. I swear he's been conjured through magic. He messes up the bed, lays down the towels, softest aftercare, calls me his feral lil gremlin, reads my fics, has a little bunny, takes care of stray kittens and loves and respects my parents. All with lots of cuddles and forehead kisses. He also has a fucking massive curved uncut co-, he's absolutely ruined me.

Just a warning, you'll probably most definitely will get sick of me but I won't stop yapping about him. I love him, your honor. Any filth you see in fics will now be 100% inspired from real life because this boy is more feral than me and you've seen what I'm capable of writing, do with this what you will. Everyone say hi to my precious bb cause he picked the way I wanted to announce him. ❤️️

Now I promise I'll get back to writing soon XO

[stevesgother]

From Now On (Our Troubles Will Be Miles Away) I S.H

Pairing - Dad!Steve Harrington x Fem!Mom!Reader

WC - 1.5k

Summary - enjoy some christmas stevie with your toddler, and a special announcement… <3

AN - oops! It appears i can’t stop writing steve as a father. y’all can thank mady @skeltn for that one. 

With love- Emma

The soft, staticky sounds of Frank Sinatra’s ‘Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas’ emanate from the thrifted record player in the living room; drifting into the kitchen where you’re rolling cookie dough and wincing as your toddler tries to ‘help’ by adding way too much food coloring into the bowls of frosting.

Over the sounds of nostalgic Christmas tunes, you hear a small crash and the cursing of your husband as he attempts to wrap your eight foot tree in garland.

“You okay, honey?” You shout from where you stand at the counter.

A pause, “Yeah, I’m just–ugh these fuc–”

“Steve!--”

“Fudging lights–” he corrects, “they’re all tangled. I’ve been working at them for, like, twenty minutes,”

“Let me get these cookies in the oven, Ellie and I will come help,” you call back.

More grumbling can be heard echoing from the other room as your daughter, Eleanor, is rummaging through your small container of cookie cutters, eventually giving up and deciding that it would simply be easier to dump all of them out onto the floor.

Her pudgy little hands grab one that's shaped like santa in a sleigh as she declares,

 “I do this one,”

“Do you want mommy’s help or do you got it by yourself?”

She doesn’t respond but clumsily presses the stencil into the floured dough. It comes out a little wonky, but you don’t mind, you aren’t going for perfection. Steve will have eaten them all within the next few hours, anyway.

Speak of the devil, “How are my girls doin’?” he saunters over to you, slightly sweaty from the exertion of decorating the tree and presses a kiss to both yours and Ellie’s cheeks.

When he sees Eleanor’s handiwork, he gasps, “Ellie, baby, these are beautiful!” He fawns over the barely recognizable shapes on the baking sheet like they’re the most magnificent thing he’s ever seen in his whole life.

Ellie can tell he’s pleased with her and starts to giggle with her sticky hands over her mouth. You wisely chose a recipe that didn’t call for eggs, knowing your three-year-old was bound to ingest the raw dough at some point during the process.

Now that Steve’s in the room though, she conveniently decides she’s done helping and motions with her arms for her dad to pick her up. He does so without hesitation, even though she’s covered in frosting and flour, easily lifting her from where she stands in just an oversized tee on a step ladder against the cabinets.

“Let’s go get you cleaned up, huh? Give mommy a break,” he looks pleadingly to you, “Can you please try to untangle the lights while I’m gone?” And how could you say no when he looks so pretty and asks so nicely?

◞◟·̩͙  ͜  ˳��୧ ͜  ◞◟·̩͙◟

By the time you’re finally done unraveling and applying a mess of sparkly bulbs and shiny tinsel to your Christmas tree, Ellie comes barreling out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel wrapped around her and Steve hot on her tail. Miniature wet footprints mark a path from the bathroom door all the way to the couch, and it doesn’t take a scientist to figure out who the culprit is.

“Eleanor Rose!” He yells through gritted teeth, solely because he’s fighting a smile.

You laugh boisterously as you watch your grown husband chase after a toddler in an uncomfortable crouched position that looks ridiculous displayed on someone his size. It’s a sight for sore eyes.

“Hey! It’s not funny!” Now his feigned frustration is directed towards you, “Are you just gonna stand there and laugh or are you gonna help me catch this gremlin?!”

As it turns out, he doesn’t need help after all. When Ellie reaches the couch, she realizes she has nowhere left to turn and succumbs to a fit of giggles on the fluffy cushions. She’s red in the face and certainly not dry, but you can’t find it in yourself to be annoyed. Your couch might be a little soggy, your floor might be a little slippery, and Steve might be absolutely exhausted, but you don’t dare dream of your life looking any differently than this.

Steve’s playing Tickle Monster with Ellie when you realize she still needs her pajamas on.

“You wanna get her dressed or shall I?” You ask him over your daughter’s squealing.

“Oh, take her, please,” you can tell he’s teasing though. If you really wanted, Steve would let you lounge in your bathrobe all day– reading Cosmos and drinking iced tea while he took care of Ellie. He’s in his element when he’s spending time with her. Even when you were just silly teenagers in love, you’d never seen him so fulfilled as he is now.

That sentiment is the only reason why you don’t feel wracked with nerves over the news you’re about to deliver him.

◞◟·̩͙  ͜  ˳꣑୧ ͜  ◞◟·̩͙◟

Steve’s putting the last of the ornaments on the tree when Ellie reappears from her bedroom with a huge smile plastered to her face. She careens into his shins and he stumbles a little with the unexpected force.

“Hi, peanut!” He grunts a little when he picks her up. You follow suit, wearing the matching pajamas Steve had picked out at Sears for everyone last weekend.

“Did you get your jammies–?” His eyebrows knit together, puzzled, as he realizes he doesn’t recognize the top she has on as the one he bought for you all to wear tonight.

“Babe, why didn’t you put her in the–”

It's then that he catches the words printed on shirt in bold, pink letters,

‘Big Sister.’

Once the initial confusion passes, his eyes immediately well with tears and his features soften like butter.

“What? He asks in that quiet, wobbly voice you’d only ever heard him use a handful of times.

“Surprise,” you respond timidly with your hands out in an almost-shrug.

He sets Eleanor down as gently as he can while also rushing to your side. He embraces you so tight it nearly knocks the wind out of you. When he lets up, he still doesn’t let you go far as he cups your face in both of his warm hands.

“How long have you known?”

“A week or so,” you shrug.

“Baby, I can’t believe this!” his quiet, shocked demeanor quickly morphs into something more like excited giddiness and he’s practically jumping up and down now.

“Oh my God!” He picks Ellie up and swings her around by her armpits before smacking kisses all over her tiny face. You know she’s still a bit too young to properly comprehend the gravity of the announcement, but she’s just so happy because her dad’s so happy.

“Ellie Bear! Mommy’s having a baby!” He holds her by her torso and gives her a light shake, she just throws her head back and laughs, not a clue what’s got him so worked up. With her belly exposed, he blows a raspberry on the exposed skin.

You make your way back to his side and engulf them both in a hug. Your perfect little family of three, soon to be four, and you couldn’t be more content than you are in this moment.

◞◟·̩͙  ͜  ˳꣑୧ ͜  ◞◟·̩͙◟

Two hours and one Christmas TV special later, Ellie is snuggled tight to Steve’s chest, lost to slumber. It appears Steve’s not too far behind her as his head is rested against the back of the couch– mouth open and slightly snoring– comforted by his own personal weighted blanket.

“Stevie,” you whisper, giving him a gentle shake, “don’t fall asleep,”

“Jus’ resting my eyes, darlin’,”

You scoff, teasing, “Right,”

He looks down at the sleeping child nuzzled into him, and plants a barely there kiss to the crown of her head. He rises slowly, so as not to wake her, and you follow him to her room.

He sets her down atop the frilly pink comforter with a practised ease, she stirs only slightly, and covers her up with a Disney Princess blanket that was previously splayed at the end of the mattress. You take turns giving her featherlight kisses and wishing her ‘sweet dreams’ even though you know she can’t hear you.

You and Steve are hand in hand as you tiptoe out of her room and close the door with a soft click, giggling like children.

Outside her door, he presses a tender kiss to your forehead. Then to each cheek. Then to your mouth.

“I love you,” you whisper.

“I love you,” he whispers back, “more than anything,”

“Wanna call it a night?”

“Can we make out first?”

You gasp in faux disapprovement as you smack a loving hand against his chest and he fakes a wince for dramatic effect. Always the drama queen, your Steve.

“Keep it in your pants, Big Boy,”

“Don’t call me that,” he tries to sound stern and fails.

“You love it,” you smirk.

You squeal when he grabs you behind your knees and hoists you up and over his shoulders.

“Quiet, baby. You’re gonna wake up our baby,” he scolds through a giggle. You pinch his butt in retaliation.

“Okay, that’s it. Off to bed with you,”

The next hour is spent in bed with your best friend– hushed laughs and languid kisses and skin caressing skin before you both drift off into a peaceful sleep; holding each other close like you always have.

divider credit to @/strangergraphics

[thebibliosphere]

This just in, wet gremlin escaped the towel burrito she was bundled in. Revenge for unwanted bath imminent.

[00valentina-writes00]

could i request leaving ambessa with your child? like, say reader is a single mom and she needs a break (whether to go nap or treat herself to dinner) and you leave your toddler in her care. could we get hcs on that? i feel like with having kids of her own shed know how to take care of a toddler, and her old age had made her juuust a bit softer

Ahem I’m in love with this-

✞⛧ AMBESSA TAKING CARE OF YOUR GREMLIN ✞⛧

✞⛧ When you first ask Ambessa to watch your toddler, she raises an eyebrow, smirking. “You’re trusting me with your little whirlwind? Brave, my love.”

✞⛧ Despite her teasing, she agrees almost immediately. She knows you’ve been burning the candle at both ends and genuinely wants to give you a break.

✞⛧ She insists you take your time. “Go treat yourself,” she says firmly, “and don’t come back until you’ve properly relaxed.”

✞⛧ Ambessa approaches the situation with a blend of military efficiency and surprising tenderness. She sees taking care of your toddler as a mission she’s determined to succeed in.

✞⛧ The toddler, of course, is thrilled to have Ambessa’s undivided attention. They immediately latch onto her, babbling excitedly about all the things they want to do.

✞⛧ She’s not fazed by their energy. Years of raising Mel have left her well-equipped to handle even the most chaotic little ones.

✞⛧ The first order of business is playtime, which Ambessa approaches with unexpected enthusiasm. She’s the type to fully commit, whether it’s pretending to be a dragon or helping them build a block fortress.

✞⛧ “If we’re building a castle,” she declares, “it will be the strongest castle. No weak structures here.” She even demonstrates how to stack the blocks more effectively, much to your toddler’s delight.

✞⛧ Snack time is a carefully coordinated affair. She slices fruit into neat pieces and arranges them on a plate like a tactical map. “Eat the apples first,” she advises. “They’re the scouts. Bananas are the cavalry—save them for the charge.”

✞⛧ Your toddler, of course, eats everything out of order. Ambessa just shakes her head and mutters, “Tactically unsound, but I admire the enthusiasm.”

✞⛧ She’s surprisingly patient when it comes to tantrums. If your toddler starts fussing, she kneels down to their level, her voice calm but firm. “Tell me what’s wrong,” she says. “We’ll figure it out together.”

✞⛧ If that doesn’t work, she scoops them up effortlessly and starts walking around the room, pointing out random objects to distract them.

✞⛧ Ambessa hums a deep, soothing tune—one of the lullabies she used to sing to Mel. It works like a charm, and your toddler’s cries quickly turn into giggles.

✞⛧ She’s a natural storyteller. Whether she’s recounting a toned-down version of her adventures or spinning a completely fantastical tale, your toddler is absolutely captivated.

✞⛧ She even uses her commanding voice for dramatic effect. “And then,” she says, eyes narrowing, “the brave knight charged into battle!” Your toddler gasps, completely entranced.

✞⛧ At one point, the toddler insists on playing dress-up, draping Ambessa in a colorful scarf and a plastic tiara. She allows it with a sigh, muttering, “I’m a general, not a doll,” but there’s a faint smile on her lips.

✞⛧ She secretly loves how much your toddler adores her. Whenever they call her “Bessa” or tug on her hand to show her something, her heart softens just a little more.

✞⛧ Bath time is a new kind of battlefield, but Ambessa handles it with ease. She keeps a towel at the ready like she’s preparing for combat and manages to keep both herself and the bathroom mostly dry.

✞⛧ When your toddler starts splashing her, she gives them a mock stern look. “Are you declaring war on me?” she asks, smirking. They laugh and splash her again, and she actually laughs back.

✞⛧ Once your toddler is clean and in their pajamas, Ambessa lets them sit on her lap while they read a story together. Her deep voice is surprisingly soothing as she reads aloud, occasionally changing her tone to mimic different characters.

✞⛧ She notices how your toddler starts to yawn and instinctively pulls them closer, letting them rest against her chest.

✞⛧ By the time you return, you find them both on the couch—your toddler asleep in her arms, and Ambessa looking more relaxed than you’ve ever seen her.

✞⛧ “You’re back,” she says softly, careful not to wake the little one. “We managed just fine without you, but I suppose you’re allowed to reclaim them now.”

✞⛧ She teases you about needing a break but makes it clear she’s proud of you. “You’re doing well, raising this one. They’ve got your stubbornness, that’s for sure.”

✞⛧ Your toddler wakes up briefly, reaching for her with sleepy eyes. Ambessa’s expression softens as she gently brushes a stray hair from their face. “Go back to sleep, little warrior,” she murmurs.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

QUEEN’S THRONE. 18+

pairing. bucky barnes x fem!reader

> the first image has no implication of readers skin tone, the picture itself has the feel of the fic!!

word count. 2041

summary. you have been feeling insecure and been nitpicking yourself apart. bucky notices and shows you how much he loves your body by asking you to sit on his face

warnings. 18+ only!! reader is feeling insecure within her body and weight, descriptions involving self doubts, little bit of body worship, cunnilingus, face sitting, bucky being a munch and cuming untouched. minors dni

based on this request

No one ever really prepares you for how difficult it is to like yourself, to find parts of your body you don't hate. To not tear yourself apart over things you deem ugly or heinous. 

There's no manual you get for counteracting these doubts in your mind. You're supposed to trick yourself into thinking otherwise - to deceive the mistrust in your brain. But sometimes, the lies you tell yourself to feel better have no effect on you - the affirmations you repeat in rituals feeling like robotic words from self-help blogs. 

You stand naked in front of the full-length mirror in your room, towel on the floor pooled around your ankles. Damp strings of hair collecting on your shoulders, the almost dry strands indicating the time you've stood looking at yourself.

The skin under your eyes soaked with tears, flesh sore and tender from the last near twenty minutes of picking yourself apart. Your gaze hones in on yourself in the mirror, looking at the reflection of your thighs, mindlessly staring at the chub you consider ugly.

Your eyes sadly trail up to your stomach, taking note of the wideness of your hips and patches of stretch marks that litter those areas. Seeing yourself in the reflection after a day of feeling bad about yourself was not a healthy coping mechanism, nor was it one you would encourage - but there was just something inside of you, something inside your brain telling you to nitpick your 'problem' areas. 

It was like there was an evil little gremlin in your mind that made things worse for yourself. That made you give in to the doubts and insecurities - that made you believe them.

Sometimes, you had a better hold on that gremlin, quietening that voice with your own, but on others, like today, that was not the case. You had a difficult day, feeling like a sore thumb everywhere you went - feeling like you stood out in all the worst ways. But that was not the truth - the people you passed on the street were too preoccupied with their own spiral of doubt and shame to even notice your 'problem' areas. 

But, right now, you had no space left for rationality - that loud, pitiful voice overshowing the logical parts of your brain.

You hear a light knock on the door, the sound snapping you out of thought. 

"You've been in there a while. Everything okay?" your boyfriend, James, calls out, his tone soft. 

You clear your throat and grab an oversized tee - throwing on the closest one you can find. "Yeah, out in a minute," you reply, evening your voice to avoid detection. 

"Mind if I come in. Need to grab something," Bucky asks, words muffling behind the closed door.

You hesitate momentarily. "Okay."

The door opens, and Bucky steps into the room, eyes immediately landing on the back of you - head cocking to the side suspiciously. He picks up a t-shirt he pretended to need and walks around the bed to you on the other side - standing beside you as you look out the window. 

"What you looking at?" he asks, subtly scoping you out. 

"Just been looking at the moon," you lie, nodding to the silver crescent in the night sky.

Though he doesn't believe you, keeping his eyes on you as you try to redirect his attention. He extends his neck, reaching his head out to see more than just the side of your face - to see the giveaway he knew was there.

He twists you around more to look at him, making you show your face that you've been trying to hide. His eyes land on yours momentarily before you divert them away, turning from his gaze almost shamefully. He takes note of the sore under your eyes, how they look damp and swollen - how tired you look.

"What's the matter? What's wrong?" he asks, worry evident in his voice. "What's the matter?" he repeats quieter, features softening as he looks at you.

"Nothing," you shrug, turning away from him. "Probably just tired," you partially lie.

He parts focus from you and begins to place together the pieces you weren't willing to share. He glances around the room until he lands on the mirror, the towel on the floor confirming his theory. 

Poking his neck out, trying to meet your gaze again, he calls your name - trying to refocus you.

"You have to stop doing that to yourself," he murmurs, twisting you around to him for the final time. "You're so mean to yourself, and you don't deserve it," he softly shakes his head, reinforcing his words. 

"I wasn't doing that," you reply, bottom lip beginning to tremble with your lie. "I don't do— I don't do that anymore."

His head tilts to the side, not believing you. "Honey," he coos, drawing out the term of endearment as he brings you in for a hug - wrapping you up in an embrace. 

"I don't," you continue, voice almost breaking. "I don't," you repeat, shaking your head softly in the crook of his neck. 

"Okay," he hums, brushing comforting strokes up your back, soothing you. "I know," he murmurs.

He holds you like that, large hands engulfing the middle of your back, caressing you with delicate touch and waiting for you to pull away. 

"I'm sorry," you sniffle, backing away as you wipe your nose on your hand. "I'm being stupid," you shrug with a weak smile, self-depreciation creeping in.

Bucky shakes his head firmly, a soft furrow of his brows indicating his distaste for the topic. He extends his hands to your face, placing palms over your cheeks - stilling your face and making you look at him. "Stop it," he scolds, voice warm and gentle. His hands secure on your face, eyes boring into yours. "You have to stop doing that."

You sigh, a slow, uneasy exhale leaving your lips as if to steady yourself.

"I think you're perfect," he whispers, pressing a kiss onto your cheek - absorbing the tear from your skin. "I wish you could see it too."

His hands leave the placement on your cheeks, moving down to rest on your hips over your tee. One flesh, one metal sitting on the curve. He keeps his eyes locked on you, looking for signs of discomfort, only to find none - your gaze trusting and enamoured. 

Bending at the knee in front of you and at eye level with your 'problem' areas, he glides his hands up your outer thighs - palms running over them intently. He keeps his eyes locked on your upper legs, watching the soft jiggle of the chub - utterly captivated by their beautiful shape.

He hesitantly runs his hands higher and towards your hips, forearms catching on the hem of your t-shirt, rising and revealing your bare pussy underneath. He inhales harshly, the lewd sight of you mere inches away from your face. 

He presses soft kisses over your plump thighs, almost worshipping you - on his knees, kissing parts of you he adores most. He glances up to meet your gaze, your eyes already locked on him.

His kisses trail higher, lining up the crease between cunt and thigh, working up the cute swell of your tummy. "You're beautiful," he murmurs,

words muffling into your hip. "And so perfect."

You rake your fingers into his hair, softly stroking his scalp - all thoughts from earlier dissipating slowly, everything feeling inconsequential with your pretty boyfriend on his knees between your legs.

"Sit on my face," he mutters, pulling away from your stomach to look up at you. "I want you on my face."

Your half-lidden eyes fling open, shock almost slapping you across the face. "What?" you question, gently tugging Bucky's head away from your tummy. "No," you shake your head. "I'll hurt you."

He faintly chuckles as he stands, leaning back onto the mattress. "You won't," he smiles, resting his head on the pillows behind, getting comfortable. "Come on," he nods you over, beckoning you to your throne. 

"I don't know," you reply sheepishly, glancing over him.

"You don't have to sit— just hover."

You step closer and kneel on the bed, pausing like you're debating yourself. "I don't want to squash you."

"You won't," he shakes his head, his expression eager. "Just... come on."

With a gentle sigh and a nod, you crawl up the bed, scooching along the mattress on your knees until you're beside his head. You grip the headboard for support as you lift a leg, placing it on the other side of his head, situating yourself in a hover over his face. 

"I don't want to hurt you— please tell me if I do," you worry, lifting the hem of your t-shirt to get a better look at him below.

"Promise," he says lowly, placing his hands on the swell of your thighs, slowly guiding your pussy closer.

He lays his tongue flat against the slit of your cunt, an immediate pleased hum muffling into your folds. The warm contact of his tongue makes your thighs tremble and breath hitch, everything feeling new from this heightening position. 

With light pressure, he swipes through your pussy lips, tongue lapping you in a leisure rhythm as the tip of his nose bumps at your clit.

His palms graze over your thighs, reaching up to the crease where he can get a hold of you and push you down onto his face. But you notice his pawing and swat his hands off - raising yourself back into a hover and lifting further away.

Bucky doesn't let you go far before he's pushing you back down, a firm grip on your waist keeping you still. "Stay," he muffles into your cunt, caressing it with slow, sloppy kisses.

He laps at your pussy, burying his tongue further into the wet warmth of you - repeated pleasure-filled groans vibrating against you as you give into the bliss. You finally allow yourself to enjoy the moment without doubt getting in the way - all worry slowly being replaced by euphoria as you sink further onto his face.

Meeting his gaze over the top of your pussy, he gives you a wink - the act like silent praise, him voicelessly applauding you for tuning out the voice in your head. 

With one hand on the headboard, you dip the other down, circling the ache in your clit a few times before moving into the short, dark brown hairs at the top of his head. Tugging on his hair as if you're holding him there.

His grip on your waist trails down, moving back to the plush of your thighs where he squeezes - fingers digging into the doughy flesh. He holds you there, muffling moans against your folds as he coats the insides of his boxers in a sheen of his cum - the taste and feel of you alone, enough to send him over the edge.

You twist your neck, looking over your shoulder to the tented cock in his sweats, his head protruding through the wet patch of where he just came. A breath gets caught in your throat at the lewd image, and it all begins to feel like too much, all your senses consumed in the feeling.

With the knot tightening in your tummy, you feel yourself grow closer to the edge - the soft jerk of your hips indicating the closeness of your climax. Within moments, you're cuming on Bucky's tongue, whining broken and spluttered noises into the air.

He continues to hold you there, making out with your cunt through your orgasm - lapping up everything that seeped out. Letting you smear your juices on the bottom half of his face.

You lift your leg from the other side of his head, moving from his face and flopping backwards onto the bed. Laying heads and tails, completely spent. 

But Bucky follows after you - not letting you get far. And before you have a second to process it, he's back between your legs, lips kissing at the soft plush of your inner thighs.

Poking his head up to look at you, he asks. "One more?"

[woso-dreamzzz]

Mimic III

McFoord x Toddler!Reader

Summary: You're being suspicious

There is a hole underneath your fence, at the very end of the garden.

Also at the end of the garden, is a shed. It doesn't get used much so it's a little run down.

There's no connection between the hole and the fence, not an obvious one anyway. Not one that would make Caitlin investigate them both so obviously.

She's much more concerned finding out the reason for your strange behaviour.

You've been shifty recently, which is especially strange for such a little girl. Your second birthday is coming up very quickly but you've seemed to develop fairly quickly now that you've been hanging around with Sam and Kristie's Chook when Caitlin and Katie are busy.

You've also gotten shockingly independent.

There's no need for your leash when you're in the house and Caitlin's happy to let you run around the garden by yourself as she does the dishes, checking on you through the windows periodically.

You're being a little weird and what's even weirder is Coopurr's food going missing.

Caitlin's sure that she's not overfeeding him because he hasn't put on any weight but his biscuits and his wet food are going down so quickly that someone must be taking them.

That someone, it turns out, is you.

Caitlin catches you doing it one afternoon when you grab the whole box of biscuits and a sachet of wet food before toddling out to the garden.

She sighs, letting you scamper up the far side and duck behind the shed before getting up to follow you.

Caitlin really hopes you haven't been eating them like you were when you were younger.

"Gremlin!" She calls," Don't take-"

A puffed up ball of fur hisses at her from where it's dangling from the scruff of it's neck in your hand.

"What is that?!"

"My Spicy!" You say proudly," Spicy, Spicy, Spicy!"

"Katie!" Caitlin yells," You better come out here!"

You're still holding the kitten by the back of the neck, humming to yourself as Caitlin notices the pile of cat food you're been hoarding.

She crouches in front of you, gently reaching for the kitten before flinching back when it tries to scratch her. "Where...Where did you find it?"

"Stuck under fence," You tell Caitlin," I save Spicy."

Caitlin forces a smile on her face. "That's nice. How long have you been looking after him?"

"One week," You reply," My Spicy is special!"

Caitlin warily shuffles closer, kept at bay by the flashing claws off this feral kitten.

"You're being very good with Spicy but can I have him?"

You frown. "Spicy's hungry."

"I'll feed him."

"Caitlin? What's-"

Katie skids to a stop in front of you both, mouth hanging open and discarded dish towel on her shoulder from where she was using it to dry the dishes.

"Spicy, my kitty!" You exclaim," See?"

Spicy snarls and Katie very gently throws the dish towel at him before taking him from your grip.

"Spicy!" You cry, moving to kick Katie but Caitlin's already got you by the back of your overalls, dangling you above the ground as you whine," My Spicy!"

"Katie's just...taking Spicy for a bath."

"I am?"

"Yes, Katie, you are and then we'll take Spicy to the vet."

Secretly, Caitlin hopes the vet will tell her that she needs to take the kitten to the shelter. She doesn't particularly want it in her house but you seem to have gotten attached, if the way you keep fighting against her hold is any indication.

"Want Spicy! Spicy's mine!"

There's that as well and, when Katie comes downstairs with the kitten suitably pissed off and still hissing, you go straight up to it for cuddles and it relaxes in your arms.

"No vet for Spicy!" You insist," Spicy's good!"

"I'm sure Spicy is..." Katie's arms are full of scratches. "...Tolerable but we still need to check he's not sick."

"Then bring home!"

"I don't know, Gremlin, he might want to be with other cats." Katie's very proud of herself for coming up with that excuse, mentally patting herself on the back even as Caitlin shakes her head in disbelief.

You unwrap her excuse so easily, pointing to where Coopurr is sitting, licking his own bum.

"Have Coopurr," You point out," Coopurr is cat. Spicy is cat."

"Er..."

"We keep Spicy," You declare, nodding and rocking your new kitten," Spicy, new home!"

[sweetadonisbutbetter]

I HAVE A PENNY *gives you a copper penny*:) BUTTTTT ! Do you think you could do Female Fluff with Striker? If not it’s alright!

AHWFR *attempts to grab at the penny like a gremlin* i will write the sexy cowboy... as long as i get the penny in the end (TYY FOR THE ASK TOO TEEHEE) reader is meant to be an imp and they will be married bc...i say so thx

Even cowboys gotta rest | Striker x Fem! Reader

Relationship: Romantic Warnings: NONE!!! kinda short

You awoke to the lack of heat next to you. Sitting up, you rub your eyes and sit up, your blanket pooling around your torso as your husband's shirt drapes over you. You stretch and notice the lack of another presence in your bed. You look to his side of the bed, and confirm that he was not there. Sighing, you throw yourself back into your bed. 

‘It seems he has already left for work.’ You think as you move to get comfortable. However, before you can get too cozy, you smell meat cooking. Slightly startled by the smell, you leap out of bed and go to investigate the smell. Bare hooves caused soft clicks on the floor as you neared the kitchen. At the doorway, there stood your husband, Stiker, in all his glory. His ivory hair was a mess, be it bedhead or your constant moving in the night you didn’t know. He was shirtless, wearing something more akin to pajama pants and without his boots. He doesn’t seem to notice you, far too focused on cooking. You just stood there, looking at your husband's back like an idiot. 

You didn’t even notice him finish up the food, plating it onto two separate plates. You do notice him turning around and looking at you. He wipes his hands on the towel that was on the counter, cleaning them of all the grease and dirt on it. His signature smirk makes its way to his face as he greets you.

“Mornin’ baby doll. Yuh hungry?” You dumbly nod at his question, to which he just softly chuckles. He grabs both of the plates and moves to set them down on the table, you following behind him. Taking a seat, he continues to work, pouring you a glass of what you normally prefer in the morning and fixing himself a glass of coffee. You watch as he works, unsure why you are stunned by your husband being home. After finishing, he drags his seat closer to yours and begins to eat. 

Instead of eating, you continue to look at him like he is a stranger. Striker seems to notice your gaze, and without even looking up, he snaps you out of your thoughts.

“Yuh need something, sugar?” 

“You’re home.” You say after a while. He doesn’t stop eating, he doesn’t even turn to look at you, but his smirk does grow bigger ever so slightly.

“Yeah, I’m home.”

You don’t say anything more, throwing your arms over his shoulders, hugging him a bit awkwardly since he is right next to you. However, he doesn’t seem to mind, instead chuckling and throwing an arm around your waist. You begin to pepper his cheek with kisses, elated to have him home. He chuckles some more, no longer eating, instead of relishing in your kisses. While you were kissing him, he pulled you into his lap. Now on his lap, both of y’alls tail wrap around one another. Once you were done peppering him with kisses, you cupped his face and just looked at him. 

“I wasn’t expecting you home today.”  You say as you stroke his cheek. He leans into your touch and kisses the palm of your hand, placing a hand over yours. 

“Even I can only last so long without your touch.” He purrs, causing you to blush and smile softly. He leans forward and kisses you on your lips, as you return the kiss. After the kiss, you attempt to get off his lap, only to be held back by Stiker’s arm. “Where do you think you're going? You are staying right on me.”

You smile and begin to dig in, already excited for your lazy day with your husband.

AHFDF hope u enjoyed thiss, sorry this is so short bawling i don't really have a firm grasp on his character, so I hope I did him justice :DDD

[froggibus]

Beach Day - Overwatch Women

Includes: D.VA, Mercy, Widowmaker, Mei, Kiriko, Brigitte & Junker Queen

Genre: fluff, some crack

Summary: spend a day at the beach w your favorite overwatch lady

CW: lots of sunscreen, mention of skin cancer (Mercy), some suggestive parts but nothing nsfw, drinking & alcohol, mentions of sharks, Kiriko is a brat (affectionate), rare Mitzi appearance

This is part of my Summer Suntacular event, come check it out!

D.Va:

beach gremlin

she has a giant collection of bathing suits & sunglasses that she never wears from doing brand deals

brings a portable speaker so she can blast her favorite summer tunes (much to the dismay of nearby groups)

you best believe she’s asking you to play mermaids

it is near impossible to get her out of the water or to reapply sunscreen

however PLEASE force her to apply sunscreen or else she’s going to turn into a lobster 

wants to have a contest for EVERYTHING

diving, swimming, sandcastles—everything is a challenge

the kids on the beach love her though & ask for a million pictures

she has a dork ass 2D pool floatie of Tokki that she refuses to swim without

you’ll have to bribe her with ice cream to get her out when it’s time to go

it WILL be a three scoop monstrosity of the weirdest flavour combos—like bubblebum, mint chocolate chip & orange 

she’ll want to have a beach themed movie marathon after but fall asleep twenty minutes into the first movie 

Mercy:

she is the beach volleyball PRO

always says she won’t get sucked into playing but ends up in some tournament (and WINS)

total stickler for sun protection—everyone is reapplying their sunscreen every 90 minutes

“I already put some on, I don’t need it”

“Skin cancer does not care.”

you could swear you’ve heard Baptiste say the same thing…

she’ll apply it for you in all the places you can’t reach though & expects you to do the same 

she has a super cute bikini BUT it’s hidden under board shorts and a rashguard (that she totally pulls off)

packs tons of yummy homemade snacks, sandwiches and enough water bottles for a small family

makes friends with the lifeguards on duty and offers them her water

mostly spends time reading on the towel but if you ask her, she’ll come into the water with you to cool off

longingly sighs and looks at those lounge beach floaties like it’s her long lost lover (please bring one for her next time)

she hates sand getting in her house so you’ll have to shower off as soon as you get back (but don’t worry, she’ll shower with you to make sure you’re extra clean)

Widowmaker:

she’ll only go if it’s a private beach, or somewhere more lowkey

she has a total soft spot for tropical cocktails served in plastic cups with swirly straws

somehow her cup is always full even when you swear it was empty a second ago

she mostly wants to lay on the sand and sunbathe, maybe listen to some music

she’s not brash enough to bring a speaker so she just listens to it with her headphones

only goes in the water to cool off, or if you ask her to

get her a pool floatie with a cupholder and you could keep her in the water all day

she’s the one on the lounge float that Mercy wanted

somehow her hair and makeup look perfect even when she’s been swimming

talks constantly about Ĉote D’Azur and the gorgeous beaches there

if you splash her at all (not recommended) she WILL retaliate to her fullest extent 

she’d never admit it but she secretly has fun playing in the water with you

promises to take you to the French Riviera next time you have a beach day

Mei:

nobody deserves a beach day more than her

she’s dragging you down there as soon as the sun rises and not leaving until way past sunset

has a HUGE pouch of different kinds of reef and eco friendly sunscreens that she forces you to apply

brings a book to read while she lounges in the sand and offers to share it with you if you’re bored

has a cute flamingo floatie with a cupholder so she can just drift along the coastline

brings you one of her spare floaties and ties the two of them together so you can float with her

she swears she left Snowball at home but as soon as her soda runs out he shows up with another one

he actually makes a pretty good waiter

even long after the sun goes down, she wants to float with you and relax

“It’s been so long since I’ve been to the beach…thank you.”

Kiriko:

no matter how many times you ask her or she promises not to

she WILL pretend to be a shark and almost get the beach closed and you guys kicked off

loves playing in the sand with the kids and helps them build a HUGE sandcastle

gives one (1) kid a piggyback ride through the water and has to spend the next hour giving piggyback rides

she has a cute donut floatie that looks like a bite is missing that she sprawls across

forces you to wear a hat in the sun, which ends up being an extra one of hers

so you’re walking around all day with a fox eared baseball cap on

oh and she’s also pounding back mudslides the whole day, so good luck with that

this mf is so lazy that when she wants another drink she just teleports there and scares everybody around to death

“you’re gonna give someone a heart attack doing that”

“good thing I’m a medic then”

you’re all doomed

Brigitte:

INSISTS on bringing Mitzi 

“babe he’s a cat. they don’t like water.”

“yeah but he can just hang out!”

you somehow win the argument by pointing out he doesn’t have swim goggles (however he does have a swimsuit for some reason…)

builds a structurally sound sandcastle that’s over four feet tall with a moat and working sand traps

everyone who walks by is completely awed by her sand guillotine 

accidentally squashes some poor kids sand castle and is DEVASTATED over it

spends an hour with them trying to help them rebuild and buys them ice cream to make up for it

lets you wrap your arms around her neck so she can tow you around through the water

probably makes corny engine noises too

brings sunscreen and a hat but forgets about both of them and burns 

takes you to the shops along the coast and buys you the cutest souvenirs

and of course something for Mitzi

insists on buying the two of you dinner after at some nice restaurant with AC and good seafood

Junkerqueen:

are there even beaches in junkertown/junk city?

crazy good at beach volleyball

hanging out at the beach is not really her thing though—she’d much rather wakeboard or rent a jetski (with your credit card lmfao)

however if that’s not your thing, then she’ll suck it up to spend some time with you

probably swims in her jorts

spends her time swimming laps underwater and trying to scare you by brushing up against your legs

challenges every couple that comes near you guys to a game of chicken

you guys win every single time 

breaks at least 2 sandcastles and doesn’t even notice

brings you food and drinks periodically without you needing to ask

refuses to use sunscreen but somehow doesn’t even burn??

steals borrows someones floatie so she can tow you around on it through the water

“Faster, faster”

“Oh, you’re in for it now”

flips over the floatie with you still on it when she gets bored

but she buys you ice cream to make up for it

Summer Suntacular | Masterlist | Overwatch Masterlist

(if you enjoy content like this, interactions go a long way! comments, likes & rbs are always greatly appreciated ^-^ !!)

[redbullhateblog]

why the fuck is patrick sitting bare cheeked in the sauna. the absolute disrespect. i hate him

gonna watch challengers …. let’s see what all the fuss is about

[chuunai]

baby daddy chuuya ! who has been there for you every step of the way since he got you pregnant. the moment you told him that you had his kid in your belly, he swore that he’d be the best dad and husband he could be, kissing your cheeks and resting a hand on your then flat stomach. he’s already scheduling ultrasounds and prenatal appointments of the best care. a baby. his baby. with you.

baby daddy chuuya ! who pulls back your hair and rubs your back while you vomit from morning sickness. gently wiping your mouth with a towel after you finish, hugging you for support before getting you medication. he’s a bit sorry that his kid is already causing issues, but he’s more focused on you. he HATES the fact that you’re suffering, and will be for nine months.

baby daddy chuuya ! who cries after finding out during your first ultrasound that he’s not having just one baby with you, but two of them. he’s a proud father, gladly framing the pictures of the twins in your womb in the main hallway and also keeping a small picture for himself in his wallet. he’ll show off to his men, obviously. his wife is expecting twins, and it’s something he’ll fucking celebrate, alright.

baby daddy chuuya ! who plans a lavish baby shower with your friends and his own friends from the Mafia. the whole time during the party he’s keeping a hand on your swollen belly protectively—his duty as a soon-to-be dad. you’re not lifting a single one of your pretty fingers, not when he can help it. it’s a great party, with it ending with gifts and congratulations from everyone.

baby daddy chuuya ! who goes wild on preparing a nursery for the twins—one boy, and one girl—and who isn’t afraid on spending a shitload of money while doing so. the safest sturdy baby cribs, the softest plushies, tiny clothes, diapers, etc. his children deserve the best, and they’ll get nothing less than that. plus, he finally learns how to build a fucking crib after staring at a manual for 40+ hours and cursing every two seconds. it makes your pregnancy a bit more bearable watching your husband glare at a wrench.

baby daddy chuuya ! who indulges in your weird cravings and tries to appease you. you want pickles dipped in peanut butter? weird, but he’s got it. oh, you changed your mind and instead want ice-cream with cheetos and banana slices? sure, babe. he’ll still make you eat healthy though, even deciding that since you couldn’t drink, he wouldn’t either. you’re carrying two energetic babies, the least he could do was not drink.

baby daddy chuuya ! who’s practically attached to your baby bump. rubbing it—with or without lotion—, kissing the distended belly button, or hell, even talking to his kids inside. playfully scolding them about ‘bothering mom’ and how they were little gremlins. or the times where’d it be late at night and his head rested on your belly, murmuring about how much he loved them and how he’d always protect them no matter what.

baby daddy chuuya ! who ultimately just wants to live as much as a ‘normal life’ with you and his children. his kids won’t be involved with Yokohama’s dangerous underground activities as long as he can help it. no, they’ll live a life he never got to have. safety. love. and the happiest family in the world. his top priorities, now? making sure his family is safe and happy. forever.

[lxvvie]

@fatedeniedhope, our conversations run the gamut from hilarious to riveting and this one was no different. This list is based on this TikTok and since it's Halloween, why not? So, how would the boys react to you talking to them through the camera?

Capt. John Price - Price is the one who channels his Peepawness, stops mid-cigar puff, and squints real hard at the camera all judgemental and shit.

Gaz - May or may not have been startled. It doesn't help that the evening before was spent watching horror movies with you and Gaz was already a little on edge being home alone. Will deny that he jumped some. What the hell are you talking about, baby?

Alex Keller - Keller was busy manspreading and enjoying some downtime only for his peace to be interrupted by some amateur hacker, leading to, "Yeah? You see this?" and him flipping the camera off. Silence ensues and then he hears, "ALEX KELLER!!!!" "Oh, shit..."

Soap - The one who comes barging into the living room, having nearly slipped coming out of the shower with the towel barely clinging to his hips. "Looking good, handsome," is what you say in response, and the look of stunned silence on his face is fucking sending you—

Ghost - The one who was walking out of the living room when you pulled that little stunt. Cue Simon walking back and simply passing judgment with his stare at the camera.

Alejandro Thee Stallion - The one who has a delayed reaction because he is too focused on something else, and even then, all he gives is a quizzical look.

Rudy - He's like the husband in the link. You hear a bang in the kitchen and Rudy rushes into the living room, grabs the pets, and hauls ass... but not before checking to see if everything was off. Oh, and that apron you bought him as a gag gift that time? He's wearing it lmao.

König - The one who goes eldritch-gremlin-Call of Köthulu-John Wick because it's time to kick some names and take some ass. You have to calm him down and let him know it was just you. Damn, König.

Horangi - "Yeah? Wanna see more?" Oh my...

Graves - His inner sleaze comes out and Graves will smack his lips, smirk, and ask you if you're enjoying the show.

Roach - He's the one who'll stare into the camera all cute like a curious cat would which makes you laugh because his expression is hilarious. He starts laughing, too.

Keegan - Keegan.exe stops working and he disappears. Somewhere. You think. Uh... Keegan?

[shittyutmv]

*Humbly offers the gremlin (ink) a towel*

thanks, i left it over there for him pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 4 ink belongs to comyet/myebi

[shiorimakibawrites]

The Opening Act (Happy Little Accident #3)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem! Reader Word Count: 8200+ Summary: Your first date with Matt. Warning(s): Anxiety, low self-esteem, swearing, secret identity dramatic irony, sexual fantasies (oral sex, face sitting, p in v sex, groping), implied masturbation, referenced cat-calling, kissing, suggestive conversation Happy Little Accident Masterlist My Masterlist Tag List:��@loves0phelia, @sarahskywalker-amidala, @fanfiction-fanatic221, @nowheredreamer, @marshmelloyellow02, @milkbummm, @writtenbyred, @beezusvreeland, @dorothleah, @m1cky-y-y, @cestgrace Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. AO3 link

Part Three: The Opening Act

You patted yourself on the back for your self-control.

You managed to wait until you heard Matt’s door close before you jumped up and down with an excited whoop. A quiet one. Well . . . as quiet as you could make it. Hopefully quiet enough that Matt hadn’t heard it. He once claimed to have excellent hearing. Everything you had observed about him since moving in backed up that claim.

Fingers-crossed that two doors and the hallway was enough space to muffle it. Otherwise Matt might realize that asking you out was a mistake. Between the magenta incident and your inability to walk without tripping over your own feet, you had no idea what had possessed him to ask in the first place.

Whatever it was, you hoped that it stuck around.

At least long enough to discover if Real Matt was as good at sex as Fantasy Matt. Hell, even if he was half as good as that . . . you were going to be a puddle of bliss. Just might ruin you for other men.

Shame since you were probably going to run him off being all anxious and weird.

‘No raining on my parade,’ you ordered the brain gremlins sternly. Matt Murdock had asked you out and you were going to enjoy it, damn it!

“What’s got you so excited?” Serena asked, appearing at the bathroom door.

“I have a date,” you said, unable to contain your smile.

She smiled. “That’s wonderful! With who?”

“With Matt,” you said and waited.

The smile widened, became distinctively smug. “I told you that he liked-liked you.”

“You did.”

“Maybe next time you’ll believe me when I tell you someone is checking out your ass.”

“Matt has never checked out my ass,” you objected. “I’m lucky he can’t see my ugly bubble butt.”

Serena paused drying her hair with a towel long enough to roll her eyes. “You don’t have an ‘ugly bubble butt.’ Paula Little, excuse me Mrs. David Fitzroy, is a jealous bitch and always has been.”

You wanted to believe that. You really did. But it wasn’t so easy to banish that woman’s voice and cruel words from your mind. To forget the utter contempt in her eyes. Which was less often these days. Maybe you’d get lucky and she’ll decide to move to DC full-time.

Yeah right. You getting into a whirlwind romance with the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen was more likely.

“Perhaps,” you said.

“No ‘perhaps’ about it,” Serena said firmly. “And that woman is green with envy. And about to get greener the next time she decides to ‘grace’ us with her presence.”

“Huh? Why?”

Serena arched an eyebrow, “Because that beautiful specimen of a man across the hall? The one taking you out . . . when is this date?”

“Tomorrow at seven.”

The other eyebrow raised to match its counterpart. “Not wasting any time, is he? That guy at Josie’s must have really lit a fire under his ass.”

“That guy was not hitting on me.”

“He absolutely was,” Serena countered. “Along with undressing you with his eyes. Why do you think Matt kept looking like he had just bitten into a lemon?”

You hesitated. You hadn’t missed those looks but . . .

“How would he know?”

“Maybe Foggy warned him that someone was sniffing around his girl?”

You felt your face flush at the thought. It was a very appealing image. Your ego really enjoyed it. But the sensible part of your mind warned against putting the cart before the horse.

“One date - that hasn’t even happened yet - doesn’t make me his girl.”

“Maybe not, but you wanna be.”

That you could not argue. You had thus far managed to resist the urge to write Mrs. Murdock on your mini sketch book. Serena and Lex didn’t need anymore ammunition. Bad enough that Serena had teased you about how many of those pages had sketches of Matt. Your protests that you had also sketched Foggy, Karen, Serena, and Lex (just to name a few) was irrelevant.

“Speaking of dates, Darien is taking me to Hidaka for our anniversary tomorrow night,” Serena said.

“How romantic,” you said. Hidaka was a restaurant that served steak and seafood, the fancy kind where you had to wear nice clothes to even get in the door. Not quite black tie but definitely not jeans and a tee shirt. You had heard the food was very good but since it was also rather expensive, you couldn’t speak from personal experience.

“And,” her smile turned saucy. “Remember that lingerie set I bought last month?”

“I remember.” You had gone with her to the store. Serena liked having your opinion on such matters. Not because you were any kind of sex goddess. You just loved lingerie. It made you feel pretty. Even (especially) if no one else knew you were wearing it. Consequently your underwear drawer was almost entirely composed of silk, lace, and satin. “Darien’s going to be picking his jaw off the floor.”

“That’s the plan.”

“Coming back here or going to his place?” You asked.

“His place,” Serena said, then grinned at you. “You shouldn’t need your noise-canceling headphones tomorrow. Not unless Matt snores like a bullhorn.”

You flushed. “What makes you think Matt is sleeping over?”

“The fact that you’ve been thinking about his dick since the day you met?”

Your cheeks felt like they were on fire. She wasn’t . . . . wrong. Matt had gotten the starring role in your sexual fantasies very quickly. He also made regular appearances in your dreams. Not exclusively. For example, there had been a couple involving Daredevil.

But mostly it was Matt. And would probably be Matt again tonight. If you ended up touching yourself. You were feeling a little worked up ever since Lex put the idea of him eating you out in your head. Or rather put it back in your head. You had thought about it once or twice . . . dozen . . . times . . . your fingers gripping his hair tightly while those pink lips wrapped around your clit and sucked . . .

This wasn’t helping you feel less turned on . . .

Serena’s laughter interrupted your horny thoughts. “You’re thinking about it again!”

“Am not!”

“Sssuuureee you aren’t,” Serena teased. “Well, I’m going to bed. Long night tomorrow. Enjoy picturing Mr. Murdock, Esquire pounding you into the mattress!”

“Serena!” you whined but she just laughed and headed into her bedroom.

Out of sheer stubbornness, you tried to ignore just how aroused you were. You changed into your sleeping clothes - a simple pair of shorts and oversized shirt. Brushed your teeth, washed your face . . . briefly considered not washing the hand Matt had kissed before good sense won out. Along with the knowledge that, by this time tomorrow, you might have gotten a real kiss from him.

His lips on your knuckles had been so soft. As soft as you had hoped. And dreamed. You had had a lot of thoughts about that mouth. Was Matt a good kisser? How would his mouth gliding across your skin feel? Teasing, feather light brush of his lips? Little kisses? Gentle nips? Particularly to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh as he made his way up to your . . .

You sighed in defeat. Your cunt was not going to sleep without getting some relief. You slide your hand inside your shorts and gasped at the first touch . . . .

Matt had done his best to tune out your conversation with your roommate. While he couldn’t help overhearing things, he tried to give his neighbors some privacy. Instead he focused on getting ready for his patrol. There hadn’t been more trouble than usual but . . . he froze, the intoxicating scent of your arousal filling his nose.

That it had become familiar over the past few months did nothing to diminish its potency. Neither did all the barriers between him and your cunt. Quite the opposite. His lust for you had only become distilled. Concentrated it until the merest hint, the barest taste, of you was enough to stir his cock.

Go, it begged him. March across that hallway and peel off those soaked panties. They were silk today. He had been the hardest he had ever been in his life the day he realized that you wore nothing but satin, silk and lace under your clothes. Learn to tell the difference by the shift of the fabric against your skin as you moved.

Combined with your pheromones . . . sometimes it took every ounce of his self-control not to pick you up and carry you off to his bed like a caveman.

This was one of those times. He wanted to be gripping your ass in his hands while you ground that wonderfully drenched pussy on his face. He wanted you writhing underneath him, trembling from orgasm after orgasm until the only name you knew was his . . .

He clenched his teeth, shaking his head. Not tonight. Tomorrow. Assuming that was what you wanted. But his erection refused to be dismissed . . .

“Ahhh . . .  Matty.” 

It was the last straw, that sweet little whimper of his name had him leaking and painfully hard.

“Fuck,” he hissed, then pushed down his pants to free his cock . . .

You had fully expected to wake up at some ungodly hour and be unable to get back to sleep. But you didn’t. Much to your surprise, you didn’t wake up until a little after ten. Maybe it was the orgasm? Something about that warm, sated feeling made it easier to settle into sleep.

Idly you wondered if that effect would be enhanced by having Matt’s big, warm body to snuggle against afterward?

Assuming Matt snuggled. You hoped so. Being held in those strong arms, enjoying the warmth of his body and the beating of his heart under your ear . . . it would be such a lovely way to spend a lazy morning.

Serena had already left for work so the apartment was empty and quiet. You hummed as you opened the airtight jar of coffee beans and measured out enough for a few cups. There was just enough. Time for a trip to the roasters, then. A glance at the list on the fridge added a grocery store run to your errand list. It was your turn anyway. You had intended to go yesterday but then yesterday happened.

Your roommate would have gone and done it herself yesterday if she hadn’t been babysitting her brother’s kids. Probably for the best. More errands meant less time to work yourself into an anxiety spiral about your date tonight.

But first, coffee.

Your ears (and nerves) weren’t the biggest fan of the coffee grinder but your mouth wasn’t a fan of pre-ground coffee. It had been fine in high school but after working at the Daily Grind for a year, you just couldn’t stand the taste of pre-ground coffee anymore. It was too stale. The cafe had also ruined you for beans that weren’t locally roasted.

The only benefit to pre-ground coffee from the grocery store was that it was cheaper. But buying something that neither of you would drink wasn’t much of a cost saving. Thankfully your favorite roaster, Connor of Cool Beans, was willing to offer you and Serena a discount for being regular customers. It wasn’t a big discount but every little bit helped.

The delicious aroma, woody with hints of sweetness, rising from your mug told you had made the right choice.

Between running errands and tidying up the apartment (just in case you did end up inviting Matt inside), you were busy enough to avoid any nerves about your upcoming date. Right up until you were putting some things you had borrowed from Serena in her room and saw the dress for her anniversary dinner laying across her bed along with the lingerie, the matching heels waiting patiently at the foot of the bed. And then it hit you.

Your date was in four hours and you had no idea what you were gonna wear.

What happened next probably qualified as panic as you pulled things out of your closet and dresser. Trying to find something that didn’t make you look hideous. A task made more difficult when you remembered that you had no idea where he was taking you or what you would be doing . . . 

Your name being called in a slightly worried voice startled you in looking up from the indecisive pile of clothes on your bed. Serena standing in the doorway, her hair freshly cut into waves that framed her face.

“What’s going on?” she asked. “What’s wrong?” 

“I don’t know what to wear,” you admitted, feeling a little stupid. You were an adult. You should be able to pick out your own clothes.

“Okay,” Serena said, no judgement in her voice. You had been friends for years. She was used to you panicking over nothing. “Let’s take this one step at a time. Where are you going for your date?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s easy enough to remedy,” she said and pulled out her phone. An action that confused you for a moment before you remembered that Matt had given you both his number shortly after you had moved in. Just in case, he had said. Never know when you might need the helping hand of a neighbor. Or a lawyer.

“Hi Matt,” she said. “Where are you taking my roomie tonight? Need to narrow down the clothing options.”

A pause. “I promise.”

That was enough to get an answer. Presumably. She still had her Bluetooth in so you couldn’t hear the other end of the conversation. Didn’t get to hear that deep, soft-spoken voice that made you weak in the knees. Something you were not at all pouting about.

“Good choice! Thanks Matt. Bye.” Serena hung up and slipped her phone back into her pocket.

“Well?” you said. “Where’s he taking me?”

“Can’t tell you. It’s a surprise.”

You frowned. Surprises weren’t your favorite things. They tended to be things like falling on your ass in a puddle or slicing open your thumb on an unexpected knife (never reach into someone’s craft drawer without looking) or getting dumped on Valentine’s Day . . .

“Hey, hey, don’t fret,” Serena said. “You’re gonna like this one. Trust me.”

“Okay,” you said slowly. You trusted Serena. She had been your friend for years before you both decided to become roommates. Well, roommates again. You had shared a dorm most of your time at Empire State. This trust wasn’t quite enough to entirely settle the anxiety. Which paid very little heed to such frivolities as facts and logic.

“Back to the topic at hand, your date outfit,” she continued, eyeing the clothing pile thoughtfully. “One thing I can tell you is that where you’re going isn’t somewhere with a dress code.”

“Which narrows it down from everything to everything minus the dresses in the back corner of my closet.”

“You mean you hadn’t already put your sweatpants collection in the ‘no’ pile? I’m all for being comfortable but that’s more of a snuggle on the couch watching movies on a rainy day kind of date outfit.”

You rolled your eyes. “I wasn’t going to wear sweatpants. It’s just . . . everything else.”

Serena nodded her head. “Let’s start at the bottom and work our way out. Underwear?”

One of the few things not scattered on the bed. You opened the drawer and stared at the possibilities. Maybe keep it simple? Save the ones like the pair with the cut-out heart on the behind for a later date? Yes. Something pretty but unlikely to make you nervous about its boldness . . . especially if said underwear ended up scattered across the floor tonight.

Something like this one, black satin with a matching bra. You set it aside and turned back to Serena. While you were contemplating your underwear, she had been picking out some clothing suggestions. Which seemed to be three choices for a top but only one pair of jeans had been set aside.

“Why those jeans?” you asked.

“They show off that very fine ass of yours.”

Your face flushed. “I don’t have a fine ass.”

“Sorry, darling, you have been outvoted.”

“By whom?” you demanded.

“Me, Lex, Matt . . .”

“Matt has no opinion of my ass.” you objected.

“Bet you five bucks that he does,” Serena said. “And that opinion is ‘hot damn, I need to get a handful of that!’”

“Doubt it,” you said, your face flushing at the idea of Matt grabbing your ass. It wasn’t unappealing . . .

Serena made a huffing noise. “When I’m proven right - and I will be - the ‘I told you so’ is gonna echo across Hell’s Kitchen.”

You rolled your eyes. You loved Serena dearly but she could be so very dramatic.

You turned your attention to the clothes. For all of your disagreement with her assessment of your ass (and its potential appeal to Matt), those jeans were a good choice. Comfortable but nice enough for a date somewhere more casual. Which honestly appealed to you more than somewhere fancy like Hidaka. A special occasion like an anniversary was one thing but for a first date, that was a lot of pressure.

Only thing left to choose was a top. And shoes. But you pushed that out of your mind. As Serena said, one thing at a time.

The fitted tee with the swoop neckline got bounced for being pink. You lived pink just fine but it was too close to magenta right now. And you just couldn’t. Maybe one day, you’ll look back on the magenta incident with fondness or even humor. But today was not that day. The white chiffon blouse with the periwinkle flower pattern was also out. The black bra would be visible. Ask how you knew.

Which left the wrap shirt. It was purple ombre, starting with a plum that was nearly black at the shoulders and ending with a pale violet at the hem. And like the jeans, it was comfortable and looked nice without being too dressy. You added a pair of ballet-style flats and declared yourself done.

“No jewelry?” Serena asked.

“Just my Pixie Dreamgirls friendship bracelet,” you said. “Gotta represent.”

Happily said bracelet didn’t clash with your outfit. Actually none of the outfits Serena had picked out did. Well she knew you liked the band. And that you had intended to wear your bracelet this week to support the band’s mini tour.

Still that grin she was sporting had you narrowing your eyes. Serena was Up To Something . . .

“Well it’s been fun but I’ve gotta get ready for my own date. Darien will be here in about an hour,” she said.

You blinked. Was it that late already? You looked at your watch. Yes, yes it was. Only two more hours to go.

<line break>

You sat on the couch, trying to distract yourself from anxiously pacing with YouTube videos. You were also trying to avoid thinking too much about Serena’s whispered reminder about the box of condoms in the bathroom. Or the handful of them that you had just stashed in your bedside table. Or that you hoped that they were the right size.

Assuming the condoms were even needed tonight. Going on a date didn’t automatically mean sex. Matt might not want to. While certain parts of you were more than eager, other parts were nervous. You weren’t a virgin. You had had sex before. Just not a lot. You seemed to be invisible to most guys. The few who hadn’t . . . were a mixed bag. Interested until they realized just how clumsy or awkward you are. Or just wanted sex.

Mike the Boxer had been an exception. The realization that you made better friends than lovers hadn’t been painless for either of you. Not exactly an experience you were eager to repeat, especially with the added complication of being neighbors who lived right across the hall from each other. Things might be good with Mike now but that had taken time. 

And speaking of time, it had been a while since you had sex with someone other than yourself. Unless your sex toys and Fantasy Matt qualified as partners. In which case, you had been having a lot of sex with a partner. In your bed, in the shower, his desk at Nelson, Murdock, & Page . . .

Knock!

You jumped. Was it . . . yes, it was seven. That was probably Matt. You got to your feet and scurried over to the door. While tempting to throw up the door, good sense had you checking the peephole first. It was Matt. The man you had just been thinking about fornicating with you at his workplace. And feeling rather turned on by this idea . . .

You felt your face flush. And gave silent (and somewhat guilty) thanks that Matt had no way to know this. Okay, be cool and he’ll be none the wiser about you thinking dirty thoughts about him. Step one, open the door.

Matt could dress in a potato sack and still be beautiful. This was no potato sack. This was well-fitting jeans encasing those thick thighs in dark blue denim. This was a crimson red tee shirt that was probably one size too small, making it snug enough to emphasize those big pectoral muscles usually hidden by a suit and tie. The brown leather jacket was looser but couldn’t disguise the broadness of his shoulders. His dark auburn hair looked like it had been freshly blow-dried, neat but so fluffy. You longed to bury your hands in it. And bring that smirking, ever so slightly smug mouth closer to yours . . .

“Hello sweetheart.”

You jumped. And flushed even deeper at the realization that, once again, you had been staring at him like an idiot.

“Hi Matt,” you said. “You look . . . good. Very good.”

You just managed to stop yourself from saying ‘Good enough to eat.’ Or ask him to give you a little twirl so you could see if he looked just as good from behind as he did from the front. A thousand bonus points for you.

Even if Matt looked amused enough for you to swear he knew what thoughts were running through your head. Which you didn’t think he did. Pretty sure you would have been asked to keep your horny thoughts to yourself if he could.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he said. “You are lovely as well.”

More blood flooded your cheeks. “What makes you say that?”

His eyebrow arched. “Because you are always lovely?”

Which only made you even more flustered.

“Do you mind telling me what you are wearing?” he asked.

“No, no I don’t mind,” you said, then described your outfit. “Is that alright? I know it’s not very dressy-”

“The place we’re going isn’t a dressy place,” he interjected, then seemed to hesitate. Like he was suddenly unsure of himself. It was hard to tell with those dark glasses. “I hope you don’t mind. If you’d rather-”

You shook your head, then remembered that Matt needed words. “No, I prefer not-dressy. Fancy places and I don’t mix.”

“What makes you say that?” Matt asked.

“People expect ladies to wear high heels to fancy places and parties. The only time I tried to wear high heels . . . it didn’t go well.”

“How ‘not well’?”

“Broken ankle and dislocated my shoulder.”

He winced. “Let’s try to avoid a repeat of that.”

“That’s my plan. They also frown on people drawing on napkins.”

Matt chuckled a little. “Good to know. I’ll be sure to warn Foggy.”

“Foggy’s a napkin doodler?”

“Napkins, margins of his notes.” Matt’s smile was very fond. “Only good part of meetings with Burke & Winthrop is Karen describing his doodles to me afterward.”

“Funny?”

“Very.” Matt checked his watch. You tried not to have dirty thoughts about watching his fingers glide along the rim. You were not entirely successful. “And not to rush you but we need to get going if we’re going to make it in time.”

“In time for what?” you asked, grabbing your purse and jacket. Well, technically it was his jacket. Which you should probably return to him at some point . . . but it was supposed to be cold tonight, dipping down into the thirties. You’d give it back to him when he was dropping you back off tonight.

Assuming you didn’t invite him inside.

“It’s a surprise.”

You forced your mind to focus on here and now. And that expected but still somewhat disappointing answer. “Not even a hint?”

His lips twitched. “Sorry, sweetheart, no hints. You’ll see in a little bit.”

“I have to. We established that yesterday.”

Matt started for a moment, then laughed. Loud and delighted, a pleased smile spreading across his face. He had a dimple. You didn’t know he had any dimples. Just when you thought he couldn’t get anymore attractive. “We did.”

He offered his hand to you. “Shall we?”

You took the offered hand. Your hand felt right in his. Like it belonged there. 

You smiled. “We shall.”

There was something almost dream-like about this, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. It was far from the first time that you had taken a walk with Matt. You had walked home together from Josie’s or the shops. He had asked you to guide him before. But this . . . this was different. 

Perhaps because you never expected Matt to ask you out. Perhaps because you had dreamed of this more than once. Fantasized about taking a walk in the park or visiting the farmers’ market, snuggled into his side as you inspected apples or admired the play of light on the trees. Moments that you could have now, you realized. Assuming this date continues to go well, you could go with Matt to the farmer’s market or for a walk in the park or a thousand other things.

It was a dizzying realization, one that didn’t felt quite real yet. 

But your dreams could never quite replicate Matt’s warmth or how good he smelled. The sense of controlled strength in his grip around your hand, firm but gentle like your hand was something precious and delicate. It was another thing he shared with Mike the Boxer. Mike never forgot how much damage his hands could do.

These differences provided you with a solid anchor that was real. That you weren’t just having another bittersweet dream.

“We’re here.”

You blinked, mind brought back to the present. You looked around to see where he had led you.

The answer was the back of a line to get into . . . you lifted yourself up on your tiptoes to get a better look at the sign . . . The Drunken Duck. You felt your heart skip a beat. The Drunken Duck in Hell’s Kitchen was where the Pixie Dreamgirls were having their little concert. The first stop in a small tour around the tristate area. The very concert that you had been unable to get tickets for.

The others in line were dressed in tees with the band’s name or other merch like your bracelet. And they were excitedly chatting about the band and the upcoming performance.

“Matt . . .” you trailed off, not sure what to say. You hadn’t realized that he even knew who the Pixie Dreamgirls were. While you believed that one day they would be big, right now they were still a local band. One that you only knew about because Lex had stumbled across them one night and spent the next day getting you and Serena addicted to their music.

Lex had been rather disappointed about being scheduled to work tonight. Serena was less disappointed since she had her anniversary with Darien but had talked about attending one of the later dates. The one in Queens later this month for example, all three of you had neither work or a romantic milestone celebration to interfere with seeing the band perform live.

Still your friends had encouraged you to go to the Drunken Duck concert if you wanted. And you had wanted to. Then Lex’s cat Sappho had gotten sick and she needed help with the vet bill. And well Sappho was more important than any concert. There would be other concerts. There wouldn’t be another Sappho.

“Surprise!” Matt said, grinning wide enough to bring that dimple out again. “Is it a good one?”

“The best!” you said. And unable to contain your excitement, you kissed him.

Your boldness seem to take Matt off guard. But only for a moment. Within heartbeats, he was kissing back. The kiss was everything you had dreamed. Those petal soft lips moving against yours, feather light at first but soon firmer and deeper. His hand cradling your jaw . . . his tongue begging for and being granted entrance into your mouth. Your hands in his hair - when had they gotten there - tightening as he teased your tongue into chasing his back to his mouth. He tasted so good . . .

A piercing whistle had you both jumping apart.

The whistler was the bouncer at the entrance of the Drunken Duck, a well-built dark-haired man with a thick beard whose nose had been broken at least twice. He looked vaguely familiar but for the life of you, you couldn’t remember where you had seen him before. It was unlikely to come to you. Your brain was too occupied with how good a kisser Matt was. With those kiss-swollen pink lips and the pulse of want between your legs.

Seeing that he had your attention, the bouncer said, “You’re holding up the line, lovebirds.”

You felt yourself flush. The line ahead of you had indeed gone inside. You were amazed that you and Matt hadn’t been jostled by the people behind you. Very amazed. New Yorkers didn’t have a lot of patience for people wasting their time. The kiss had lasted forever and not long enough in your mind. But you guessed that it either hadn’t lasted enough or the line hadn’t moved while you occupied fast enough to annoy the others behind you.

It probably helped that you didn’t lollygag about getting up to the bouncer and getting your IDs checked. Though the bouncer’s parting comment of “Enjoy the show, Red” was teasing enough to send that flush speeding down your neck.

“Mind guiding me?” Matt asked, after handing over your tickets to the employee at the second door. “I haven’t been to the Drunken Duck before. And it sounds a little crowded in there.”

“No problem!” you said, taking his arm. You put the bouncer out of your mind in favor of guiding Matt. First stop was the bar to get your drinks. 

He was right about how crowded the Duck was. Maneuvering around the excited patrons was a challenge. Everyone was too busy excitedly talking to each other. Very different from Josie’s where the regulars knew Matt was blind and were in the habit of clearing a path for him. But since this wasn’t Josie’s and Matt had already folded up his white cane, you were stuck trying to wade through to the bar without losing each other. 

Which you managed to accomplish. Barely.

Good. You were getting hungry. The Drunken Duck website said there was food. You had been too nervous-excited earlier to eat more than a hardboiled egg and some toast with your coffee. But now you could smell burgers. And your stomach was pointedly reminding you that light breakfast was far too long ago.

“Hungry?” Matt teased.

“A little,” you said, an answer that had Matt’s lips twitching. Like he was holding back a laugh at your very obvious lie. But you were soon distracted away from your embarrassment at your growling stomach by your arrival at the bar. Upon request, the barmaid pulled out a braille copy of their menu along with a glossy version for you.

You or rather your stomach had already decided on a burger. But there were a couple options even when limited to that. All of them sounded good but tonight, you opted to try the veggie burger. Lex had been here before and recommended it. The harder part of picking out something to drink. The drinks menu was far more extensive.

While tempted by some of the mixed drinks, if for no other reason that some of those puns looked fun to say. The Drunken Duck had apparently decided to lean into the name of their business with many, many bird puns. But in the end you opted for a beer. Mixed drinks with punny names were fun but your favorites tended to be sweet enough to make it easy to underestimate how drunk you were getting. Right up until you stood up and found walking even more difficult than usual.

Not something you wanted. First because you embarrassed yourself in front of Matt enough while being stone cold sober. Second because you had it on good authority that you were extremely candid when drunk. And that Drunk You hit on vigilantes.

Serena and Lex claimed that the night you had overdone the cocktails at The Cat’s Meow, you had spotted Daredevil perched on a roof. And then proceeded to loudly compliment his ass. Along with offering to personally inspect his . . . err . . . billy club. According to your friends, the Devil seemed more bemused than angry about these saucy remarks, simply recommending that your friends get you home before you solicited another vigilante.

You don’t remember anything between your fourth drink and waking up with the mother of all hangovers. And you rather hoped that you never would. Drunk You might have the foolhardiness to offer to ride the Devil until he saw God. Sober You had wanted to die from embarrassment after being informed about that offer. Along with all other ones you had apparently made. You really hoped that, if you ever encountered the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen again, that he didn’t recognize you.

Drunk You would absolutely tell Matt how much you would like him to bend you over one of those little round tables in front of the stage. In excruciating detail. Best not to risk it. One beer, then switch to a soft drink. No worries about in vino veritas.

It was a perfect plan.

“What’s your verdict, counselor?” you asked.

Matt smiled. “Leaning toward a burger. Even though those Parmensian-garlic wings do smell delicious.”

You blinked. “If they smell so good, why aren’t you getting them?”

“I’d rather not have garlic breath during our second kiss.”

Your cheeks felt warm. “You want a second kiss?”

“Absolutely,” he said, a hand reaching to cup your cheek. You could no more stop yourself from leaning into it than you could fly. “And a third kiss. And a fourth. Until I’ve kissed you so many times that you can no longer count them.”

“That sounds . . . nice,” you said. Actually it sounded wonderful. So wonderful that you wanted to pinch yourself to make sure that you weren’t dreaming.

“It does, doesn’t it?” Matt agreed. “And if I asked to kiss you right now?”

“I’d say yes,” you said, your voice gone breathy and your heart racing.

“Then I’m asking.”

“Yes.”

And then he was kissing you.

Kissing Matt was just as heady the second time as it was the first time. A feast for the senses. The softness of his lips contrasting with the roughness of his beard under your palms . . . the taste of his mouth, mostly the sharp coolness of mint but underneath something that you couldn’t describe but desperately needed . . . that simple blend of leather, plain soap, paper, and man filling your nose . . . his warmth . . . 

You whined when he pulled away.

“Sorry sweetheart,” he murmured, pressing his lips to your forehead. He sounded like he was genuinely regretful that he had stopped kissing you. “As much as I’d love to kiss you all night, the show starts in about twenty minutes.”

And you still needed to order your meal and find a table in this crowd. Damnit. You took a deep breath. Then a second one. Until you felt like you could control the urge to climb Matt like a tree. It only took a minute but it felt longer. Especially when the bartender taking your orders gave you both knowing looks. At this rate, your face was gonna be locked in a permanent flush.

Matt paid, under the rock solid logic that he had invited you out. So paying for things during this date was his responsibility. You made a silent promise to yourself to use his own argument against him some day.

The tables arrayed around the stage were even more crowded. And more compacted than around the bar. You had to press tightly against Matt’s side in order for you to walk together. Which wasn’t exactly a hardship. But between guiding Matt while trying not to spill your beer among the tangle of chair legs and feet, it was no surprise that you stumbled.

Alone, you would have ended up on your ass covered in beer. If you were lucky and didn’t knock your head against the table. But you weren’t alone. At the first hint of a fall, one powerful arm snaked around your waist and pressed you against his body. And amazingly you managed to not to lose your grip on your glass. It just sloshed a little.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he rumbled into your ear.

You bite your lip. His breath on the shell of your ear sent tingles down your spine. But his voice, huskier than usual, went straight to your cunt. Matt made a soft noise, almost a whine before nuzzling your neck. “You smell so good.”

This did nothing to cool the heat raging through your body. “Thank you?”

He chuckled. The vibration of it made you shudder. And press your thighs together. It took immense willpower to pull your mind out of the gutter. Thankfully the table you were aiming for wasn’t much further as you were feeling rather weak at the knees. Luck was with you as the table remained free. Maybe because it wasn’t as close to the stage as possible? Maybe if it had been you and your friends, you would have aimed for that one ten feet to the right but you thought it was a little close to the guitar’s amplifier for Matt’s comfort.

Again, you had no idea if the old chestnut about blind people having better senses was true but you had seen him flinch at loud noises. You’d prefer Matt without a migraine. It would put an end to any ideas of hanky-panky tonight. Something you were seriously considering. From the dampness in your panties, you knew your cunt was fully on board with this idea.

Anyway . . . the table you had chosen had a decent enough view. Not the best but the point of a concert wasn’t the visuals. It was the music. And you didn’t need to be close to enjoy that.

Matt didn’t dispute your choice, pulling out your chair for you. Nuzzling your neck once more, his lips brushed across the skin behind your ear. It was the barest touch and yet it felt like a brand. The arm around your waist gave you a squeeze before slowly sliding off so you could sit down. 

Before sitting himself, Matt slipped off his leather jacket. And you felt your mouth go dry.

Those arms . . . your hands itched to explore. You wanted to follow the line of every muscle from those broad shoulders down to the sinewy forearms, enjoying the transition from smooth skin to a healthy covering of dark hair. Trace the veins and scars brought into sharp relief by the bar’s angled lighting with your fingertips . . .  you still didn’t think you could wrap your hand entirely around his bicep. But it would be fun to try, digging your nails while he . . .

“Sweetheart?”

You have got to stop thinking about Matt fucking you while he was less than three feet from you. And maybe actually talk to him. Even if it was really hard not to get distracted by that smirking mouth, wondering what else it could do.

“Sorry,” you said, shaking your head. “Got lost in my head for a minute there.”

“Happens to all of us,” Matt said.

You sipped your beer and cast your mind around for something to talk about. Fortunately the reason for being here provided an easy one. “I didn’t know you liked Pixie Dreamgirls.”

He smiled. “I hadn’t heard of them before you and Serena moved in. But I kept hearing you singing their songs and liked what I heard.”

“I’m glad you liked them despite my singing.”

He shook his head. “Because of your singing.”

“That’s kind of you to say,” you said. You could carry a tune well enough but knew perfectly well that your singing voice was nothing to write home about.

“Just the truth. You have a lovely voice.”

Your cheeks burned. “I do not.”

“You do,” he insisted, his voice firm and brokering no argument. “My eyes might not work but my hearing is excellent. Trust me, sweetheart, I could listen to you all day.”

You felt that flush spread down your neck. Your fingers fidgeted with your bracelet. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Not at all,” he said. “I’m completely serious.”

You shook your head in disbelief. He sounded serious but he had to be exaggerating. No one would want to listen to you yammer on all day. Not even your family or friends who loved you dearly. Matt was unfortunately aware of just much nonsense started to spill out of your mouth when panicked, he had witnessed The Tale of Two Breads among others. There was no way . . .

“You just want to know how far I can fit my foot in my mouth.”

“While it is always interesting to see what your mind comes up with,” he said before his grin shifted into a wicked smirk. “Your foot wasn’t the body part I had in mind.”

“Good to know,” you squeaked out, fresh blood flooding your cheeks. Among other places. Along with bringing to mind your own thoughts on that topic. More than once, you had imagined yourself kneeling between his legs and taking him in your mouth. Wondered how he would taste, how much your jaw would ache afterward . . . what kind of noises he’d make as his thighs trembled under your hands . . .

And just like that your mind was back in the gutter. You shook your head vigorously. You weren’t usually this feral. Was it because you hadn’t gotten laid since you moved into 6B? Were you ovulating? Or was Matt Murdock just so hot that it was impossible to look at him without thots? Some combination of all three?

Or was that smugness in that smirk made it oh-so-tempting to imagine him underneath you, moaning and lost in pleasure . . .

“What’s your favorite Pixie song?” Matt asked, interrupting your dirty thoughts. The smirk hadn’t gone away but he seemed genuinely interested in your answer.

“Er . . . Lavender,” you answered. You empathize with the protagonist giving their crush bouquets of lavender, wishing that they’d recognized the message of love and devotion someday.

“Curious,” he said, then his smirk grew. “I would have thought Candy Apple Red. You sing it a lot.”

Whatever blood had managed to drain out of your face promptly returned. Lyrics about painting your lover’s body with bright red lipstick had provoked thoughts . . . many thoughts. . . ones that would be even more vivid now that you knew how good Matt looked in red.

“And what’s your favorite Pixie song?” you asked quickly. Before your mind could conjure another fantasy. If you couldn’t reign in this horniness soon, you’d need to excuse yourself to the bathroom for some relief.

He made a thoughtful humming sound before his smirk faded into something more sober. Something vulnerable. “Burnt Offerings. It really spoke to me.”

Not difficult to understand why that one would resonate so strongly - a sad but beautiful song about struggling with one’s faith after losing a loved one. You knew about one of those losses but knew there could be more. There was a lot you didn’t know about Matt. You slowly reached out for his hand, uncertain if he would accept comfort. But at the first tentative touch of your hand, he laced your fingers together. You breathed a sigh of relief and squeezed his hand. He squeezed back.

Neither of you spoke, just held hands, but the silence between you didn’t feel uncomfortable. You only released his hand with one last squeeze when your meals arrived at the table. As much as you would love to keep holding his hand . . . it was a big burger. If you tried eating that with one hand, half of it was going to end up on your shirt. Been there, done that. You lost too many shirts to the staining power of mustard. Or raspberry jam. Or so many other things. Not happening this time. You liked this shirt.

Your burger was good. Which you appreciated. It was easy to screw up a veggie burger. Matt seemed to find his first bites of cheese burger just as enjoyable. The fries were just as good - golden and crisp on the outside, warm and fluffy inside. You’d be adding this bar and grill to the list of good places.

It looked like Matt agreed with you. His first bite had been small, more like a nibble. Then with what looked like relief, his next bites had been bigger. But not hurried. He took the time to enjoy what he was eating. It was a routine you recognized. Both from his patronage of The Daily Grind and your own life.

“You’re a member of the club too, aren’t you?” you said.

“Which club?” Matt asked, his head tilting slightly to one side. Like a curious dog. How cute.

“The Fussy-Eaters Club,” you said.

“Ah yes, I have . . .” he paused, thinking about how to word it. “A discerning palette, I guess. For example, I can tell that Abby prefers Ceylon cinnamon for the Grind’s famous cinnamon rolls as well as its chai but uses cassia in things like the spice cake and gingerbread”

You blinked, surprised. While some customers had commented on the subtle floral notes of the cinnamon in the chai, the only people you had seen correctly identify it as Ceylon cinnamon were chefs and bakers. While Matt seemed to live on take out. There was never cooking or baking smells emanating from his apartment. To the point that you were pretty sure the only home-cooked food he got was from you and Serena or Mrs. Gonzales or that older woman you had seen visiting him when he had the flu last fall that looked a lot like Foggy.

“Supertaster to go with your super nose and excellent hearing?” you said. “Are you gonna save any senses for the rest of us?”

He laughed. An oddly relieved laugh. You had the sudden feeling that you had passed some kind of test that you hadn’t realized that you were taking. “You’ve got the super eye, remember?”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t have a super eye just because I can tell the difference between dark navy blue and black.”

“Save Foggy from appearing in court with a mismatched suit. You know the press would have been all over that. Everyone loves hating on the defense attorney.”

“Right up until they need one.”

“Right up until they need one,” he agreed. “So far, how does dinner and a concert measure up against axe-throwing?”

“Axe-throwing?” You repeated, almost unable to believe your own ears.

“Yeah, Google recommended it as a fun first date activity.”

“Really, axe-throwing?”

“Yep. Right between live music and a walk in the park.”

“Well, it’s something different,” you said. “Be memorable.”

“Very,” Matt said. A mischievous grin split his face. “Should we do that for our second date?”

You giggled even as your heart soared with joy. He wanted a second date!  “I don’t know Matt, blind axe throwing sounds more like a third date thing.”

“Hmm, you’re right. Back to the drawing board.” He pretended to think for a moment. “How about dinner at the new Thai place on 46? I haven’t been yet but it smells divine.”

“I’d love that,” you said, smiling.

Any further conversation was curtailed by Fayola, the lead singer of the Pixie Dreamgirls, asking the audience if they were ready for some music. A resounding Yes! was her answer.

“Well, then,” she said. “Let’s get this party started!”

You felt Matt’s hand lace your fingers together as the first notes of Call Down The Moon filled the air.

It had been hard not to skip all the way home. You were so happy. You had just seen a favorite band perform live and it had been so much fun. Your belly was filled with good food and drink. And you were on a date with Matt.

Matt who had taken every opportunity tonight to hold your hand. Who had listened to your excited gushing all the way home with that fond, little smile that made your heart go pitter-patter. Who had kissed you twice and was probably planning on kissing you again now that you were at your front door.

But you had another idea. One that had your heart racing with a combination of anticipation and nerves.

“Hey, Matt?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Do you want to come in for some coffee?” you asked, hoping he picked up on what you were really asking. There was no one else in the hallway but you had to be ladylike. Couldn’t just come out and say ‘I want you to fuck me stupid tonight.’

And it seemed like he had picked on what you hadn’t said, squeezing your hand. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Then,” he said, his voice husky. “I’d love some coffee.”

To be continued . . .

AUTHOR’S NOTES

Thank you Mama Sapph (@sunflowersandsapphires) on Tumblr for brainstorming help.

Hidaka Steakhouse, Cool Beans, Empire State University, Druken Duck Bar & Grill, and The Cat’s Meow are, as far I know, entirely made up businesses. 

Pixie Dreamgirls also exists only in my head. It consists of three members - lead vocals/guitar, keyboard, and drums. Has two albums - Rainbow Magic and Call Down The Moon.

Freshly-ground coffee usually tastes fresher that anything pre-ground, provided the beans have been stored properly.

Tri-State Area or Greater New York means New York City, downstate New York, northern and central New Jersey, and western Connecticut but increasingly these days eastern Pennslyvania.

In vino veritas is Latin phrase meaning In wine, lies truth. It is referencing how people can be forthright after having their inhibitions lowered by alcohol.

According to a symbolism book, lavender means love and devotion in the language of flowers.

Cinnamon is a general name for the bark of five related trees that used as a spice. The Ceylon variety or true cinnamon is a milder flavor with more floral and spicy notes than cassia or Chinese cinnamon but cassia stands up better to longer cooking or in dishes with other strong flavors where the Ceylon might go unnoticed. Cassia is more common on the US market than Ceylon - the cinnamon at your supermarket is probably Cassia. Ceylon is more likely to be found at a speciality store and be more expensive.

Axe-throwing really was suggested by Google when I searched for fun first date ideas.