#wrench-bench

[mpsansy]

you put me in a casper the friendly ghost hyperfixation and i’ve literally only seen like one movie in my entire life!! /notmad you and your tiktoks got me so interested i had to find your tumblr to get more info!!

anyway i’ve walked out of reading up all of your info for your casper stuff and seen all your art and i would love to see/hear more abt stinkie i think he’s my favourite!

Gosh I don’t know how much more of these kind words I can take (please don’t stop, I’m seriously so happy and appreciative for all the love!!!!)

And not to worry, most people have only seen the 1995 movie. Which honestly, that’s the backbone of my version. The only thing I took out is the love interest… by putting someone else in it (Casper and Wendy). But that ain’t important right now. It’s more like a nice addition later on, like a dessert at a big ol’ dinner. Right now, I’m trying to get to the fine delicacies that is all of Casper’s family members. Which frankly only consist of the following:

Stretch

Stinkie

Fatso

and

Echo (previously known as Elizabeth McFadden, aka: Casper’s mama!)

These four are the main important ones in Casper’s life. And even more so in death. Think I’ve explained how the mother could come back, but I’d have to dig it up. But to paraphrase what I said on it, I wanted the trio to go find her as she calls to them specifically. Saying that she’s not imaginary and that they know her. Wanting only to come home to her family and be with them once again.

And for that reason, they get serious about the whole thing once it clicks. Which to many already feels very strange. They’ve never been the serious type, but hey! That’s the appeal to them. Each one being unpredictable and spontaneous.

Speaking of uncle Stinkie, I have a small thing to share. I’m currently editing a fanfic of mine on Stinkie and Casper, but since you’re here asking. I want to make this known as it’s significant to him. That thing is that he loves the outside, more specifically the bugs that are out and about in nature. Gazing upon them is a thing he and Casper probably enjoy doing together.

Oh! And besides Fatso, Stinkie also plays games with Casper. The games usually consist of: playing catch, racing, and his personal favorite, how far they can spit. Casper has won more times now than poor old Stink here. But that’s okay. The boy’s embracing the beauty of nastiness. Making Stinkie so so proud of his little nephew.

Phew! Apologies, that must be a lot of info. I just can’t help myself.

[ofthe-valley666]

New obsession - Blue Lightning and Golden Eagle. Why? No clue. So enjoy my little HC designs for these two ig. Also, me and oomf came up with Blue Lightning X Wrench and it’s been brainrotting me so bad jdjskskmsm

I can’t stop drawing these dinguses

[blackmapmedia]

.dad's shop.

[oldmanlogan]

i think im too mentally ill rn to be taking a poetry class

[confines]

i didn't feel like sanding down the whole chair after i'd gotten it taken apart so i just sanded one piece and it's so beautiful. 😭 i'm gonna have to cut a half inch off the legs because they've gone a bit punky but hardwood can come back from pretty much anything. i ♥ natural materials!!! i ♥ when rich people buy incredibly expensive furniture, don't take care of it, then put it up for sale for the middle class to turn their noses up at it until i can swoop in and rescue it! :))))

[rotapathetic]

HIMBO .ᐟ RAFE ┆ meeting reader ✶

❝ not all quite there . . .

. . . crazy with a wrench ❞

pure lapdog behavior 𖥔 unabashed showing off chaotic inner monologue 𖥔 himbo .ᐟ rafe’s introduction 𖥔

“hey, hey,” rafe slapped topper in the chest about five times until topper responded, “stop hitting me, i’m right here.”

rafe ducked down in his seat suddenly, bracing his head, “did she see me?” topper looked around, already over rafe’s behavior, “who? why are you in that position, you look like a fetus, dude.”

rafe peeked over his arms, seeing you were now turned around. he blew out a breath then responded, “that girl over there. you know her? don’t answer, i don’t want you to know her. actually, can you go over there and put in a good word?”

topper blanched, “i am so confused. do you want me to talk to her or not?” rafe shrugged, tilting his side to side, “a little. not too long. crap,” he said suddenly, ducking back down, “i think she looked over again. or am i delusional? i can’t tell anymore. she can’t see me until i’m ready.”

topper frowned, “ready? what are you about to do, you just healed your ankle from jumping two stories, don’t do that again.”

rafe shrugged, “i can and i will. just . . tell her about how much i can press. girls like that right? does she look like she’s into bench pressing? don’t look at her. say something about how i fix cars. and i can fix her car if she has a car. if she doesn’t, tell her i’ll buy her one.”

topper stood, making his way over while walking backwards, “so, that’s all gonna scare her. i got it,” he turned around, making his way towards you.

rafe shifted in his chair, crossing a leg over the over, then putting them back down. he stretched to flex his arms, then quickly put them down too. how the heck do you sit?

while rafe wondered that, topper was doing his best to introduce rafe, “he’s not all quite there . . crazy with a wrench, though.”

rafe looked up after he settled himself when you turned your head to look at him, smiling when you spotted him. that means go, right? rafe sprung up, making his way over, not being able to sit still for another second now that you looked at him. smiled at him.

“sup?” he said once he reached you two, gesturing his head for topper to go away. topper got the hint, returning to his seat. passing rafe, he muttered, “she doesn’t have a car.”

rafe blurted, “i can buy you one,” startling you. he wasn’t able to see topper shaking his head in disappointment as he walked away. your brows scrunched, “sorry?”

rafe smiled nervously, “me too. um, i can buy you a jacket. you look cold,” you realized you were rubbing your arm, “oh, yeah. no, it’s fine. not that bad,” you laughed slightly.

rafe shook his head, anxious you were cold and possibly uncomfortable, “no, if you’re cold, i’ll get you a jacket.”

you tilted your lips, “it’s fine, really. i’m leaving soon, anyway. kind of bored . . was that your friend?” you attempted conversation, but rafe was distracted, staring at you after you mentioned leaving, until he heard the last part of the sentence.

“huh? no, don’t think about him. where are you going?” he didn’t want you to leave yet. did topper talk about his bench press? did you care? did you want to see the callous on his hand from handling tools?

“uh . . just back home. my comfy place,” you muttered shyly. rafe nodded, then frowned. you don’t have a car, are you walking? alone? “i can walk you. i can buy you a jacket on the way. what kind of cars do you like?”

you couldn’t keep up with all that he said at once. you giggled, rafe slightly going weak in the knees at the sound, “sure, you can walk me. i’m still fine about the jacket. mustang’s are pretty cool. what’s your favorite?”

rafe responded distractedly, “the one that drives. you said i can walk you?”

you really have never met a guy like him, “yeah, but i don’t even know your name,” you narrowed your eyes, jokingly suspicious. you didn’t expect rafe’s response, “i’d endure fifteen stab wounds before i hurt you, i’m rafe,” he held his hand out.

your eyes widened, “oh . . don’t do that. nice to meet you,” you shook his hand, responding with your name, then turned to start walking. rafe followed alongside you, thinking about how sweaty his hands just were and how you probably didn’t like that. is he walking alright? are you sure you don’t want a jacket?

“your hand . . ” you suddenly spoke. rafe stilled slightly, scared you noticed the sweatiness. great one, rafe. but then you continued, “it felt rough. what’s on it?” rafe turned to you quickly, excited you brought it up and not the sweat thing. he extended his hand again, “i have a callous, look . . ”

[honeyandruin]

Idle Hands - Auto Shop Teacher!Joel Miller x Reader : PART TWO

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Pairing: Auto Shop Teacher!Joel Miller x Reader (college AU)

Summary: Part two of Idle Hands as so many have requested. After the night in your car, you tried to believe it was a mistake (and failed). But back in class, the tension is impossible to ignore—and when jealousy gets the better of him, you both learn you were never going to stop.

Warnings: 18+ only. MINORS DNI. Age gap, explicit sexual content, JEALOUS JOOOOEL BABY, unprotected sex, choking, rough sex, possessive Joel, teacher/student dynamic, praise & degradation, power imbalance, aftercare.

Word count: 3k (please don’t hate me that it’s a shorter one than the usuals)

A/N : I tried tagging everyone who asked to be tagged, and if it didn’t work, I’m so sorry!

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The shop smells like motor oil and old concrete.

You stand in the doorway a beat longer than you mean to, gripping the strap of your bag so hard your fingers ache.

Joel is already there, the hood of a rusted-out sedan propped open in front of him. He’s bent over the engine bay, forearms braced on the frame, jaw dark with stubble.

When he straightens, you swear he feels you watching him. His head turns—just slightly—and your eyes catch.

For a second, everything from last week floods back at once: the heat of his mouth, the low sound he made when you begged. The way he’d buried his face against your throat and whispered the filthiest things you’d ever heard.

He doesn’t look away.

His gaze drags down your front—like he just can’t help it—and when he drags it back up again, something in his expression flickers.

He’s trying to be neutral. Professional. But he isn’t ignoring you. And that almost makes it worse.

You take a slow breath, moving to your usual workbench. He watches you go, wiping his hands on a rag he keeps tucked in his back pocket.

“Morning,” he says, voice low. It’s the first time he’s spoken to you since he left you in your car with your hands still shaking.

Your heart beats too fast. “Hi.”

He hesitates like he wants to say something else. But the classroom door bangs open behind you—other students filing in, heavy boots echoing across the concrete—and whatever he was going to say dies before it can reach you.

You drop your bag on the stool, pulling out your notes and trying not to fidget.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him watching you a moment longer before he clears his throat and calls the class to order.

“Alright,” Joel says, voice steady but quieter than usual. “Listen up.”

He shifts his weight, bracing one hand on the edge of the workbench, the other still worrying that rag.

“For your final project, you’re gonna do a complete brake system overhaul. Pads, rotors, calipers—front and rear. You’ll bleed the lines, verify pressure, and log every step. If it doesn’t stop on the test drive, you fail.”

Someone groans behind you.

“Yeah,” Joel says flatly. “That’s the point. It’s meant to be hard.”

He sets the rag aside, crossing his arms over his chest. “If you have questions, you ask. Don’t guess. Don’t half-ass. And don’t touch anything you’re not ready to finish.”

His eyes flick to yours again—just for a beat—and your stomach flips.

“Get started,” he says, voice low. “I’ll be around.”

The group breaks apart in a shuffle of boots and muttered complaints. You exhale slowly and pick your way toward your assigned bay, heart thudding.

You spend the next half hour working in silence, carefully removing the first caliper. You can feel Joel nearby—hear the scrape of his boots, the low murmur of his voice as he checks on the others—but he doesn’t come over to you.

You’re trying to focus. Really. But the memory of his mouth on your skin keeps blurring the edges of everything.

That’s probably why you don’t notice Kyle until he’s too close.

“Careful,” he says, leaning an elbow on your bench. “You’re gonna strip the bolt if you keep wrenching it like that.”

You pause, glancing at the caliper bracket in your hands. “No, I’m not. I’m backing it off a half turn at a time so I don’t crack it.”

He smirks, ignoring you. “If you want, I could help you after class. Maybe go over it together? Over dinner?”

Heat crawls up your neck, part embarrassment, part annoyance. You set the part down carefully, wiping your hands on a rag.

“I’m good.”

“You sure?” He tilts his head, smile widening. “No offense, but it looks like you’re struggling. Wouldn’t want you to mess it up.”

“She’s not.”

You both turn.

Joel is standing a few feet away, arms folded tight across his chest. He’s not pretending to check the other bays anymore. He’s just watching.

Kyle shifts, trying for casual. “Yeah, I just thought—”

“You thought wrong,” Joel cuts in, voice low. “She’s doing it right. Let her work.”

Something in his tone makes Kyle’s smile flicker. He glances at you like he expects you to jump in. When you don’t, he huffs a little laugh and backs away.

“Whatever you say.”

You don’t look up until Kyle’s gone. When you finally meet Joel’s eyes, they’re darker than before—something quiet and furious simmering underneath.

“You don’t need him,” he says, voice rough.

“I know.”

He holds your stare a second longer. Then he pushes off the beam, turns, and walks away—like he has to physically remove himself before he does something about it.

***

The rest of the afternoon drags.

You try to keep your head down, focused on reassembling the caliper and logging each step in your notes. But every time you glance up, Joel is there—never watching directly, but close enough you feel it anyway.

You can tell he’s making himself stay occupied. Finding excuses to check inventory, update paperwork, do anything that keeps him from looking too long.

And you hate how much you like it.

By the time the clock above the door clicks past six, the last of the class is packing up, slamming their lockers shut. Someone mutters a goodbye on the way out. Another kid laughs, cursing about how much his hands hurt.

You pretend to be absorbed in double-checking your torque specs, but your heart is hammering.

You don’t look up until the door closes behind them.

Then it’s just you. And him.

Joel is at the desk again, one hand braced on the top, his other rubbing slow over the back of his neck. He looks tired. Not the usual end-of-the-day tired—something deeper, heavier.

You wipe your hands on a clean rag and gather your notes, forcing yourself to move like nothing feels different. Like the room isn’t too quiet. Like the memory of his mouth on your skin isn’t still playing behind your eyes.

Your boots scuff over the concrete as you cross to his desk.

He doesn’t look up.

“I finished the checklist,” you say, voice softer than you mean it to be.

He flips a page in the logbook, staring at it without reading. “Leave it there.”

Your pulse thuds in your throat. “Joel.”

Nothing. Just the tick of the old clock above the tool cabinet.

“I don’t—” You hesitate. “I don’t want this to feel like a mistake.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t lift his gaze. “It was a mistake.”

You swallow, fingers flexing on the edge of his desk. “You didn’t look like you thought that at the time.”

He drags a hand over his mouth, exhaling slow. “Don’t.”

You take a step closer. The air between you feels too thin.

“You don’t mean it,” you whisper.

He lifts his head then, finally meeting your eyes—and whatever you were braced for, it isn’t that look.

Wrecked.

His hand curls into a fist on the desk. “You think this is what you want?”

You don’t back down. “I know it is.”

He shakes his head, rough and disbelieving. “You don’t.”

Your voice drops, steady and soft. “Then show me.”

His breath shudders out. For a long second, he just looks at you—like he’s waiting for you to take it back. Like he’s hoping you will.

You don’t.

And that’s when he moves.

He comes around the desk in three slow steps. Stops just shy of touching you, so close you have to tip your head back to meet his eyes.

His hand lifts—hesitates—then finds your jaw. His thumb drags along the edge of your mouth, the touch so careful it makes your heart ache.

“You have no idea what you’re asking me for,” he says, voice low and ruined.

Your heart hammers so loud you’re sure he can hear it. His thumb drags across your lower lip, callused and warm, and you see the moment something in him fractures.

“I’m asking you to fuck me,” you breathe.

He goes still. Completely, utterly still.

A ragged sound tears out of his throat—half growl, half plea—and then his mouth crashes down onto yours.

The kiss isn’t careful. It isn’t soft. It’s all teeth and heat and desperation, the kind of kiss that feels like it’s been clawing at him for weeks. His hands find your hips, dragging you into him so hard you lose your breath.

“Jesus,” he mutters against your mouth, voice hoarse, like he hates himself for how good this feels. “Fuck—”

You don’t give him time to second-guess it. Your hands slide up under the hem of his work shirt, feeling the heat of his skin, the hard planes of his stomach. He shudders when your nails scrape lightly over the trail of hair leading lower.

“Goddamn it,” he rasps, and without breaking the kiss, he reaches past you.

The heavy thunk of the deadbolt sliding home is deafening in the hush.

He keeps his mouth sealed on yours, like he can’t bear to stop touching you long enough to think about what he’s doing.

He walks you backward, slow but unrelenting, until your hips hit the edge of the nearest workbench. The cold metal bites through your coveralls. You gasp, and he swallows the sound, groaning into your mouth like it’s killing him.

His hands are everywhere—palming your ass, squeezing your hips, dragging up your ribs. When he finds the zipper at your chest, he hesitates for just a heartbeat.

“You sure?” he mutters, voice wrecked. “You fuckin’ sure?”

“Please,” you whisper.

That’s all it takes.

He tugs the zipper down in one slow pull, the rasp of it loud in the quiet. His palm slides over your chest, thumb brushing the thin fabric of your bra. The contact makes your knees threaten to buckle.

“You have any idea,” he growls, mouth hot against your throat, “what you do to me?”

You try to answer, but he’s already dragging his mouth lower—nipping at the side of your neck, the curve where it meets your shoulder. His free hand rucks the coveralls down your hips, bunching them at your thighs. You feel the rough scrape of his calluses on bare skin, and the noise that slips out of you is embarrassingly needy.

“Look at you,” he mutters, lips brushing your ear. “All fuckin’ sweet now. All mine.”

You drag your hands up his chest, fisting the collar of his shirt to keep yourself steady. He catches your wrists, pins them to the workbench behind you, and holds you there like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

“You think that little shit had a chance with you?” His voice drops lower, almost a snarl. “You think I was gonna stand there and watch him touch what’s mine?”

The possessiveness in his tone makes your breath stutter. “Joel—”

“That what you want?” he demands, words hot and ragged against your mouth. “Some fuckin’ boy who doesn’t know what to do with you?”

“No,” you gasp, thighs clenching around his hips. “Want you.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, like it’s breaking him to hear it. “You fuckin’ do.”

He lets your wrists go—only to shove your coveralls the rest of the way down. The cold air kisses your skin, and he palms your ass, dragging you flush against the thick line of his cock straining his jeans.

“Feel that?” He grinds against you, making you whimper. “That’s what you do to me. Every time you look at me like you want it.”

Your hips rock into his, chasing the friction. “Please.”

“Yeah,” he mutters, voice rough, “gonna give it to you, baby.”

He kisses you again, messy and deep, while his hand drags between your legs. When his fingers find how wet you are, he groans like he’s in pain.

“Fuck me,” he rasps, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re drippin’.”

His fingers slide through the slick heat, circling your clit just hard enough to make you bite your lip. He watches every reaction like he can’t look away.

“You want me to take my time,” he mutters, thumb pressing harder, “or you want it fast?”

“Fast,” you gasp. “Please—I—”

He cuts you off with a low, filthy laugh. “Course you do.”

He doesn’t waste another second. One hand fists in your hair, tilting your head so he can kiss you again while the other tugs at his belt, freeing himself. The blunt head of his cock bumps your thigh, hot and heavy, and your breath breaks.

He flips you before you can think, palms flattening between your shoulder blades, pressing you down against the cold workbench.

“Stay,” he growls, his voice so deep it scrapes something raw out of you.

You brace yourself, fingers curling around the metal edge, and look back over your shoulder.

His eyes meet yours—dark, starved—and something in them flickers.

“Gonna fuck you so good you forget about every other man,” he mutters. “Gonna fill you up so full you remember you’re mine.”

He drags the head of his cock through the slick between your thighs, teasing you just long enough that you whine.

“Say it,” he rasps, hips nudging forward, the stretch already making your vision blur. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You,” you choke out, voice breaking. “You—fuck—”

“That’s right,” he breathes, sinking deeper. “All fuckin’ mine.”

When he bottoms out, his hand wraps around the front of your throat, tilting your head back so he can hear every gasp. His hips pull back—and when he slams forward again, the sound it makes is obscene.

Your fingers slip on the workbench. His grip tightens around your throat—just enough to hold you steady—and his other hand slides over your hip, guiding you back to meet each punishing thrust.

“Christ,” he mutters, voice ragged. “So tight—so fuckin’ sweet for me.”

You whimper, every thrust sending sparks up your spine.

“That little shit,” he pants, hips snapping harder. “Thought he could even touch you—”

He drags his hand lower, finding your clit, rubbing rough circles that make your knees buckle.

“Tell me,” he growls, breath hot in your ear. “Tell me who makes you come.”

“You,” you cry, voice splintering. “God—Joel—please—”

“That’s right,” he breathes, voice cracking. “Only me.”

The pressure builds so fast you can’t think. Can’t breathe. His cock drives into you, relentless, and you know you’re close—so close—

“Come on, baby,” he groans, thumb pressing harder, pace turning erratic. “Come for me.”

Your vision goes white. You shatter around him, hips jerking back into his as your orgasm crashes through you—hot, blinding, unstoppable.

He doesn’t stop. Keeps thrusting through it, hips snapping against your ass, low curses pouring from his mouth.

“Fuck—gonna fill you up—”

You can feel every ragged breath, every shudder, right before he finally spills inside you with a rough, broken sound.

When it’s over, he stays there—forehead against your spine, breath gusting across your skin.

As the last tremor leaves your body, you collapse forward onto your elbows, cheek pressed against the cool metal.

Joel doesn’t move for a second. Just stays bent over you, his hand splayed wide across your stomach, breathing like he’s just run every mile he’s ever owed.

After a moment, he drags in a shaky breath. His palm slides up, brushing the underside of your breast, lingering like he’s memorizing the shape of you.

“You okay?” he murmurs, voice wrecked.

You nod, your throat too tight to speak.

He slips free with a low groan and tugs your coveralls up enough to give you a shred of modesty. Then his hand cups the back of your neck, warm and heavy, like he can’t stop touching you even if he tried.

“C’mere,” he says softly.

You let him help you turn around. Your legs are unsteady, and he notices—his big hand bracing your hip until you’re upright. You can’t look at his face for a second. Not when you feel so wrung out. So full.

His thumb drags along your jaw. “Look at me.”

You do.

His eyes flick over your face, something complicated and unspoken in them. Guilt, maybe. Hunger that hasn’t faded. A tenderness you weren’t ready for.

“You wanna come by my place?” he asks, voice low. “Get cleaned up…maybe eat something?”

Your heart does something traitorous in your chest. “Yeah. I—yeah.”

His mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile. “Good.”

He steps back, adjusting himself and tucking himself away with one hand, moving like a man who knows he’s going to hell and still can’t bring himself to care. He re-zips your coveralls, slow and deliberate, his knuckles brushing the tender skin of your chest.

When he’s done, he smooths the zipper flat. His thumb grazes the little metal pull tab.

“You got a dorm room, right?” he says, trying for casual and failing. “Probably not a lot of privacy there.”

You huff a laugh, still a little dazed. “Tiny. Thin walls. You’d be…pretty hard to hide.”

He lifts a brow, mouth tugging at the corner. “Yeah? You think I’m worth hiding?”

“Think you’re worth a lot more than that,” you murmur.

A groan rumbles in his chest—soft but unmistakable. He dips his head, pressing his mouth to yours, slower this time. Not careful, exactly. But different.

When he finally pulls back, he nods toward the door. “C’mon. I’ll drive.”

You trail him toward the door, your heart still tripping over itself.

Just as he unlocks the deadbolt and pulls the handle, you clear your throat.

“So…” you say, voice small but teasing, “does this mean I pass?”

Joel goes still.

Then—very slowly—he looks back at you over his shoulder. His eyes are still dark, but there’s something softer there now.

“No,” he says, voice low. “Means you’re gonna need a lot more practice.”

And before you can think of something smart to say, he leans in and kisses you again—like he already can’t wait to fail you all over.

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Here is the second part that yall asked for! I hope I did yalls requests some justice. @boscogirlsworld, @pixieeee101, @glitterspark & @kaseynsfws 💚🫶🏻

[mpsansy]

i gotta ask,, did casper witness his own funeral? did any of the mcfadden’s see their funerals?

… did they all /get/ funerals or was everything (their deaths) done so quickly (in close timing) that only one or two of them did?

Casper didn’t cause he went on a two year long rest, Elizabeth didn’t cause she immediately went to try and go back home, only to get lost in between worlds. The trio did see their own funerals however!! And the faces they saw then, they would soon see again. Most of their friends were monsters in disguise so that’s the reason for saying all that from the jump.

I’d say they’d reunite with their friends when they emerge as spirits, but even that’s sort of wishful thinking cause lots of time has passed. And likely forgot them as they were doing their own thing as ghosts. An ask for later, but anyway!!

That’s the other thing. Their deaths all happened months after Casper’s. The order of which they died went with Stinkie, then Fatso, and finally Stretch. (All my old prompts for Casper and his family may as well be slightly irrelevant because my thoughts are really solidifying on how I want certain things to go. At some point I’ll make a concrete doc or post on here.) So I think it’d be worth it to make their funeral arrangements fall close enough to each other that they get buried together. They’re a trio that are never broken up. :p

[strnilolover]

Special birthday request hehe

Ride or Die Matt - reader ignores Matt after he hasn't fucked her in a while and gets bratty whenever he speaks to her. Matt sees her sexual frustration and draws it out a lil until she begs for it. The actual smut is yours to create and imagine. LOVE YOUUU

⌗ . . . A GOOD FUCK

WARNINGS : DOM!MATT. MEAN!MATT. BRATTY!READER. SMUT. PNV. DEGRADING. TEASING. SEXUAL FRUSTRATION!

for my lovely kay!! @endereies happy happy birthday!! <3

you knew matt wasn’t intentionally meaning to ignore you—you knew he had a big race coming up in a week and he just wanted to make sure everything was perfect and ready for himself to win.

but it was getting to you.

sitting in the hot garage day after day just to watch him work on his car with chris—his attention barely on you day after day. you were growing frustrated—needy—the tension in your body so tight you felt like you were going to burst.

and really today was no different than the last few. you were in the garage again—sitting on the empty tool bench in the far corner with your legs crossed. you were doing everything in your power not to look at him. you wanted to be mad at him—you were mad at him. but it was like your body just didn’t care what your mind thought.

matt was bent over the open engine bay of his race car, sweat dripping down the back of his neck and his hands buried deep inside the guts of the machine. chris was next to him, his sleeves rolled up with grease on his jaw, and tossing tools between his fingers while reading torque specs off his phone.

“she’s still knocking on the left side. probably a valve lash issue.” chris muttered, reaching for a socket wrench. “did you tighten these already?” you overheard him ask and matt grunted, reaching back and pulling a rag from his back pocket to wipe his hands. he nodded, sighing. “twice. and she’s still not settling.”

“You think it’s the camshaft?” chris asked, trying to help matt figure out what could be wrong with the car. he hummed. “could be.” matt replied before he stood straight for a moment, cracked his neck, and swiped sweat from his brow. his half-zipped suit hung low on his hips, exposing the white tank under it, stained with grease from the car and whatever else.

you didn’t even blink. chris noticed your behavior—and you were sure matt did too—and shot you a quick look, raising a brow at the way you sat there all stiff and silent, but didn’t say anything. he knew better.

matt had already tried to make conversation with you three times already today.

“did y’see the new tires?”

no reply.

“you wanna help baby? or just pout all day?”

still nothing.

“you’re not mad at me right?”

you were. but you smiled sweetly at your phone like he didn’t even exist. and matt scoffed low under his breath and leaned against the hood while chris ducked back under it. he was watching you and that made you twitch, but didn’t look up. he definitely noticed.

chris glanced up from under the hood of the car with a smirk like he was used to tuning you both out when you got like this. he himself could feel the tension between you two now beginning to grow rapidly. “i’m gonna..go grab the plugs.” he muttered, suddenly disappearing toward the supply shelf in the back.

as soon as he was gone, matt tilted his head at you and smirked like he was going to say something, but instead he gave you one last knowing look before he turned back to the car with that same smug little shake of his head.

matt definitely knew. it was like he could read you like an open book even if you didn’t want to be read. you were needy—throbbing and pent up. and you hated that he knew. hated how cocky he was about it. like he could feel it on you.

you could feel how flushed your face was, how hot you were just from him staring at you. it had been days since he’d touched you—fucked you. and it felt as if every little thing he did just served to rile you up more. you just turned yourself away from them once chris returned, keeping silent.

you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. not another glance or sound. you crossed your arms over your chest, your lips tight as you just stared away from them. your phone was still in your lap, but you’d scrolled past the same tiktok five times. you couldn’t focus.

you hadn’t realized that matt started to watch you again until he spoke—too wrapped up into your own head and trying to be mad at him. “baby.” matt called again, from across the garage after chris walked off again—this time taking his sweet time at the far end of the room. “you’re not even gonna look at me?”

you didn’t. you were barely breathing at this point.

there was a long pause—nothing but the sound of chris messing around somewhere in the back room could be heard. but the the sound of his boots coming toward you echoed through the garage.

you didn’t bother to move. but your stomach dropped and your cunt clenched—it didn’t take long before your eyes flicked up in spite of yourself just as he reached the tool bench you were sitting on. his frame was towering over you, arms crossed as he looked down at you.

“you’re actin’ like a fuckin’ brat.” he muttered, voice low enough to be for you only. “and honestly, it’s cute.” and you just blinked, like you didn’t hear him, but your nails dug into your arms. “don’t give me that.” he said with a chuckle, dropping his voice lower as he leaned in closer. his hands came to rest on the side of the bench, right by your thigh. “you’ve been sittin’ there all day with that little attitude. like i don’t know exactly why you’re so quiet.”

you still didn’t say anything—but it was becoming increasingly hard to stay quiet. to not just give in right now and drop your whole bratty act. you knew what you were doing—you did this every time you wanted his attention. he was so close. too close.

“poor baby.” he said, the mock sympathy dripping from his words as he cocked his head. “so neglected. must be real hard not getting my cock for a few days, huh?” and you clenched your jaw, exhaling slowly. your thighs pressing together. of course he knew—but you weren’t expecting him to say it out loud. not here at least.

“bet you been touchin’ yourself when I’m not around. whining into your pillow.” he sneered, his fingers barely brushing the top of your knee as his hand moved slowly. “but it’s not the same, is it?” and that’s what got you to finally look at him. finally. and he grinned.

“m’not a brat.” you mumbled, crossing your legs the other way, trying to move away so he wouldn’t make your walls crumple anymore than they already were. “oh, sweetheart.” he said, now dragging his thumb across your thigh. “you’re the fuckin’ definition of one.” he leaned down now, his lips right against your ear. “but i love when you act like this. makes it more fun to break you down later.” and then he pulled away, giving your thigh a light squeeze then and tap before turning away to go back to his car.

your heart was racing now, and you swallowed—your stomach already twisting and turning—mind running with so many thoughts of what he just might do.

-

the next day was worse. you were so much more worse.

you didn’t even say hi when you walked into the garage—and honestly you weren’t even sure why you kept coming back in here when you knew you didn’t have to. but you just strutted in anyways in a pair of tight little shorts and a cropped tee.

you made it a point not to look at matt when he glanced up, watching the way you climbed up onto that same tool bench and crossed your legs. but your whole body was stiff—because you could feel the way he looked at you.

chris was underneath the car, his legs sticking out like some cartoon, which honestly made you crack a small smile. but you wiped it away quickly as you started to peel open a popsicle you had brought with you and stuck it between your lips without a word.

matt shook his head and chuckled under his breath—he knew what you were doing. and you knew that he knew. it was on purpose, what you were doing. every little slurp you made on the red popsicle was for him. even the eye-roll you did every time you moved your head down was meant to test him. to tease him—just to see how far he’d let this go.

but he just kept working, even if you were staring to become distracting. his eyes flicking over to you every few minutes, watching the way some of the juice from the popsicle was dripping down the sides of your mouth. and how your nipples were poking through that shirt of yours. of course you weren’t wearing a fucking bra—matt didn’t like the thought of chris’ eyes landing on you and seeing it.

you sat there for a while, not watching the boys, just scrolling on your phone and eating your popsicle until it was finished. but at some point chris had left to “take a call.” he knew how you guys got, and really he wish he didn’t, but he was around be too often to where he started picking up on little details. and so he shoot a knowing glance between you both before heading out. the door swung shut behind him.

and that’s when the air seemed to change. it became more tense—so thick you could probably cut it with a knife. you and matt were both on edge, but it wasn’t going to be him who was going to snap first.

you didn’t hear mat move right away, just the sound of tools being set down gently in the tool boxes where they went before the sound of a rag was heard. and then his shadow was being casted over your legs. he didn’t give you time to react before he was already speaking to you.

“i should bend you over that hood.” he murmured, not even giving you the satisfaction of looking directly at you, instead he was looking else where. his hand rested on the edge of the bench beside you, fingers slowly curling just like they had yesterday.

he startled you to say the least but all you did was blink slowly before your lips parted, taking little breaths in and out. your heart hammering.

when he finally looked at you, he moved to step between your knees. “don’t look so shocked sweetheart. done nothin’ but try to provoke me today.” and you couldn’t stop the next words from slipping past your lips. “fuck you.” you mumbled, though it came out breathy.

he hummed, his hands moving slow—up your thighs, spreading them apart just a little as he leaned it towards you. “i like this version of you. all pouty. all worked up.” your breath hitched as his fingers ghosted over your core—so close you could feel the heat radiating off his knuckles.

but he didn’t touch you. not in the way you wanted him to—and that make your head spin, your walls crumbling down in an instant. “please.” you whispered without thinking and matt tilted his head, smirking to himself. he had you exactly where he wanted you. “please?” he echoed mockingly. “that’s it?”

he tsked, leaning in so close to you that his lips brushed your ear, just like they had done yesterday. and you could feel the way your breath caught in your throat. “nah, baby. you’re not gettin’ my cock until you’re begging for it. i wanna hear how bad it hurts not having your pussy stuffed after a few days.”

you whined, your hips shifting forward. he hadn’t even done anything to you yet—but yet here you were—your body already on fire and your mind already beginning to turn to mush just from how he was talking to you. “it hurts,” you whispered. “been hurting all week.” your words were breathless, almost inaudible as you spoke.

matt shifted just slightly, moving his palm to suddenly press flat against your cunt over your shorts—your legs parted more for him as you gasped at the contact. it was such a small move, but fuck did it feel amazing.

“oh, I fuckin’ bet.” he growled, his fingers now moving to rubbing slow, firm circles over your clothed clit. he was focused on the fact that chris could come back into the garage and see you both like this—no—he was focused on making you pay for how you had been acting towards him. “this little pussy’s been neglected, huh? bet she’s been so fuckin’ soaked for me, isn’t she?”

you nodded so fast you thought you’d get whiplash, your breath catching. he was always so hot when he spoke to you like this. it was exactly what you needed—and you were so so close to getting what you wanted, it was like you could taste it. “mhm—yes. fuck, matt please.” you begged just slightly, but it obviously wasn’t enough. because just as your hips started to grin against his fingers, he pulled back and just stepped away.

just like that.

and you stared at him with your lips parted in disbelief. he touched you and then backed off—why would he just do that?

“mm-mm. that’s not what i asked for.” he said, reaching out and wiping his hands with a clean rag, turning back toward the car with a smirk. “i said to beg. not whimper. makes you sound desperate baby.”

you were seething. your eyes turning to slits as your voice started before your brain could catch up. “matt!” you slid off the bench, storming over to where he way by his car, your voice beginning to raise. “you’re such a—” and before you could get the rest of the words out, matt was spinning quick to pin you back against the edge of the car with a hand against your stomach. “careful. sat the wrong thing and i’ll edge you on my tongue for an hour just to send you home without my cock.”

your eyes widened—welling just slightly as your whole body began to throb even more. it wasn’t fair how he was acting—he would’ve just given into you by now. you felt as if you’d cry right here and now with how much you needed him.

“now be a good girl,” he whispered, one hand coming out to grab at your hip as the one on your stomach began sliding down and into your shorts. his fingers dancing along the outside of your panties, tracing faint lines over your pussy. “and tell me what you want.” you were warm—everywhere—the wet patch on your panties growing by the second, sticking to you.

“want your cock,” you gasped, the words being mumbled, your pride crumbling. your body basically shrinking in front of him. “please—want it so bad—been aching for days.”

“yeah? what, you want it—here?” his fingers moved and pressed hard over your clit. you nodded desperately, lips parting as your eyes fluttered shut for just a moment. “c’mon baby, say it. tell me what filthy little thoughts have been swimming around in that pretty head of yours.” your hips twitched at his words, eyes fluttering back open.

“I want you to bend me over and fuck me like i’m nothing.” your voice cracked just slightly—you felt so embarrassed. “want you to use me. make me cum so hard i forget how long i waited.” matt groaned out a noise of approval before he leaned down, his mouth connecting to yours in a heated kiss.

his hand moved out of your shorts, coming up to land on your other hip as his lips broke away from your own, quickly spinning you around—pressing you against his car. the hood was down now, and you hadn’t even realized it was. almost like he planned for it to end like this.

he pressed a hand up between your shoulder blades, a quiet signal for you to go down. and you listened—bending yourself forward and arching the best you could, letting your legs spread more for him.

you let yourself lay flat, your cheek pressed to the metal of the hood. matts hands grabbed at the waist band of your shorts and yanked them down to your knees—your panties now on full display for him, absolutely soaked through. “look at you, soaked through your fuckin’ panties,” he muttered. “how pathetic is that?”

you turned your head slightly to look over one of your shoulders the best you could—catching a small glimpse of him before you let your head fall back down. “please.” you whined, pushing your hips back against him. you could feel how hard he was already, his cock straining against the material of his pants.

he thought about teasing you more—letting you grind yourself back into him like a needy girl—but he decided not to waste anymore time. after all, he was getting impatient himself.

so he just reached down and slid your panties to the side, his other hand coming down and undoing his pants, pulling his cock out as quickly as he could. he pulled back slightly so he could spit down onto his hand, reaching down to fist himself until he was slick enough. the loss of contact made you whimper, your desperation growing more by the second.

he chuckled when he noticed, tsking before grabbing your hip and lining himself up. “so fuckin’ impatient baby. you want it so bad? then fucking take it.” and with that his hips pushed forward rather rough, his cock burying itself so deep inside you, it nearly knocked the wind out of you.

you moaned loud—the sound almost between a cry and a scream—but he reached around and clamped a hand over your mouth rather quickly, shutting you up as his hips snapped forward. “shh, baby. y’gotta keep it down. wouldn’t want chris hearing what a needy little whore you are, hm?”

you shook your head, small “no’s” slipping past your lips as your nails scraped against the hood of his car. he started fucking you rough and deep, one of his hands tangling itself in your hair as the other stayed over your mouth.

“five days without my cock and look at you,” he hissed. “takin’ it like you’re starved for it. you are, aren’t you? so upset that my attention hasn’t been on you, you greedy girl.” your moans we’re muffled against his hand, drool pooling in the palm of it as he tried to keep you quiet.

“say it.” he growled, the hand in your hair yanking your head back and away from his hand that covered your mouth. your moans echoing through the garage now as his cock kisses that sweet spot inside you over and over again. the drool now trailing down the sides of your mouth, pool against your shirt.

“I—i was upset!” you gasped, a hand reaching back to grab at him every time he rammed inside you. your scalp starting to burn slightly from the grip he had on your hair. “just—just wanted your attention matt—missed it—please!” he cursed under his breath, his own eyes rolling back from how good you were behaving now. “there’s my good girl.” he murmured. “all that attitude just cause you needed what? a good fuck?, hm?.”

you nodded, the words dying on your tongue as he fucked you faster. the car under you was shaking and neither of you cared if chris heard you—both of you were just focused on the moment and how good you both felt.

every part of you felt on fire—from the heat or from matt you weren’t sure. but your stomach was becoming tighter, your orgasm building. you were crying by now, you were sure of it—your eyes all watery and nose sniffling as matt’s hips didn’t stop. he could feel the way you clenched around him, drawing him in every time he pulled out—it was like you were milking him.

“c’mon sweetheart, i can feel you clenching around me. you gonna cum already? missed my cock so much that you can’t even last?” your body shuttered at his words. he was mocking you—and you tried to deny it, tried to lift your head to say no but it was no use. he wasn’t lying.

the hand tangled in your hair pushed your face back down to the hood of the car, sliding down to grab at the back of your neck. holding you there. “cum on my cock baby. show me how bad you missed me.” hips get kicked your legs wider as he thrusted forward, the new angle making your eyes rolling back as you clenched around him again.

“ah—ah—oh fuck!” your body shook and tensed, walls fluttering around matt’s cock as you let go. you came with a loud cry, your juices beginning to rush out and down his cock. soaking the back of your thighs and the front of his pants. your legs almost threatened to give out on you, but matt just held you up as he fucked you through your high. his own not too far behind.

it wasn’t long before you body started to become over sensitive, twitching slightly in his hold as you started to babble. “matt—fuckfuckfuck—ohmygod—“ his hand on your neck decided to move again, this time trailing down your body and pressing to your clit, rubbing it quickly as his thrusts started to become sloppy.

“y’gonna cum again baby. c’mon, want you to cum again—you can do it f’me.” he groaned, his body leaning forward to press his chest flush to your back, his teeth sinking into the flesh of your shoulder as his hips stuttered. he stilled moments later, his balls drawing tight as he spilled himself inside you. thick ropes of cum painted your walls, some even leaking around the sides of him as he tried to bury himself deeper into your cunt.

the feeling of it triggered your second orgasm—your cunt clenching down around him once again as you came. your vision blurred for just a moment as small gasps slipped out of you. matt continued to empty himself inside you, making sure to fill you to the brim before his body relaxed on top of yours basically.

“this what you wanted, huh?” he muttered, turning his head two press a kiss where his teeth bit into your flesh. light purple marks already blossoming around the bite. and you nodded, your body half-limp and your mind absolutely gone. your breath catching.

“good.” he whispered—his arms moving to peel himself off of you gently. he was being gentle now. this was your favorite part after it all—how gentle he is with you, knowing he pushed your limits just a little. “stay right here for a sec while i get stuff to clean us up baby.”

you whined as he started to pull away—not wanting him to go. you just wanted him close now. “matttt.” but he just shushed you as his hips pulled back, his cock slipping from your now spent and full cunt. he watched as a mixture of his cum and yours leaked out of you, giving just a small smirk before he wandered off to get some clean rags.

matt had managed to get you both cleaned up in time and dressed before chris came back inside. matt had been situating you on his lap, your head snuggled into his neck, before chris came back into the building. you yourself were already starting to doze off in his arms, your body tired and weak.

and chris glared at you both—knowing just from how calm you were and how smug matt looked—that something went on in here that he’d rather not think about. a quite “you guys are disgusting.” muttered from him as matt just laughed.

a/n : this was supposed to be posted on june 28th but i’m very bad at sticking to a schedule obviously. but happy birthday kay!! my sweetest and bestest friend ever. i love you so so much and i hope your day was fantastic and just know that you are stuck with me forever 🤗

this also isn’t proofread so if there’s any spelling mistakes, i apologize

[takenbypeter]

Ahem… I would like to request a fic with Bob where the reader has never been kissed before >:3 and is in love with him heh and is almost as nervous and awkward as he is

Case Of The Giggles

Bob Reynolds x reader 

Words: 971

A/N: you know I LOVE first kiss storiesssss! I actually have one ready for Bob that I’m planning on posting later but it wasn’t awkward enough so I wrote this one too! Anyways I hope you love it 🫶

Despite what people told you, you felt bad for being considered a late bloomer. 

It wasn’t some big secret that you hid, but it wasn’t something you bragged about either. 

Never been in a relationship. Never had your first kiss. 

Frankly you honestly just found it difficult to even talk to men. But then came Bob. 

Bob was simple. 

Not in his emotions but in the way he connected with people—the way he connected with you. 

It started with one simple conversation that led to a deep one and suddenly you two were like kindred spirits. Linked together. 

He found something hilarious? He had to show you. 

You saw a book you’d think he’d like? Shared it with him. 

You two shared your good days and bad days together and in time, the moments shared had you questioning if you had actual deep feelings for the man. And after some contemplating you realized…you did. 

Everything about that thought made you nervous. 

From the thought of what confessing could do to your friendship. To the idea of what would happen if you actually got together. It all created one huge tangled ball in your stomach, one that you clearly were not doing good at hiding. Eventually the ball of feelings came out, not from you first but actually from Bob. Which led to your first date which was why you two were sat, side by side on a picnic table a bit away from an ice cream stand. 

Bob mentioned an inside joke, one that always made you crack up and instead of the usual laugh that he loved hearing, he was met with a single smile as your eyes then went back to the cup in your hand. 

“Okay,” he set his own cold delicacy down, turning to you again, “Where are you?”

“Huh?” You asked, your mind coming back down to earth. 

“What are you doing?”

You shook your head at his question, “just thinking,” was what you said, “about how we ended up here,” you said and he laughed. 

“We took a cab.”

You shot him a look as a smile crept onto your lips, “you know that’s not what I meant.”

“I know.”

You exhaled a deep sigh, closing your eyes and then opening them. “I’m thinking about how disastrous this could all go,” you said, sending him an unsure smile. You knew you should be happy about him and you—and you were. But you also had this gut wrenching feeling that you would do something to mess it up. And while you would be afraid to share that thought with anyone else you weren’t afraid to share it with Bob. 

“It’s not going to go disastrously,” he assured, finding himself being the positive one for once when usually you were. 

You two sat quietly, finding yourselves lost in your ice creams. His voice cut through the silence, “do you want to know what I’m thinking about?”

You nodded, setting your ice cream down, “sure.”

He took a breath, something he’s gotten into the habit of when he expressed himself, something he actually picked up from you. 

“I’m thinking about,” his eyes looked up and down your face, his features softening, finding solace in them, “how pretty you look under these lights.” Your lips curved but you did your best to contain your smile. He could easily see right through you. “I’m thinking about how lucky I am to have met you,” he paused again, his fingers grazing yours that sat on the bench between you two, “I’m thinking about how happy I am when I’m with you.”

After that one, you realized just how close you two were. You felt his body heat draw near as he did and just when he was going to meet you, you of course just had to get the nervous giggles. Laughing a bit you pushed him away from you creating a distance again. 

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” you said, “it’s not you I’m just…” you straightened again your laughter dying out more embarrassed now, “nervous.”

His expression shifted into one of surprise. 

“You’re nervous? Join the club.”

“You’re nervous?”

“Are you kidding me? You should see how twisted my insides are just thinking about even the possibility of getting to kiss you right now.”

You laughed again causing him to smile. 

“Don’t laugh!” He commanded. 

“I’m sorry!” You shouted back. 

You became serious just for a moment while he stared at you. At the forced silence you both burst into a light case of the giggles until it quieted down. 

“Okay stop. I’m gonna kiss you now.”

With your nerves still present but reduced, you straighten your posture, “okay, do it.”

You stood still, heart still awry as he neared. His hand reached up to your jaw holding you secure and after what felt like an eternity, his lips met yours. 

Your facial muscles that were ready to tug upwards into another fit of laughter instead relaxed as you followed his lead. 

Unlike you, Bob moved with purpose. Like he was giving his whole heart to you in this small innocent kiss and you were receiving it and giving your own right back to him. 

Although you were uncertain about how your limbs were moving you weren’t focused on that. Instead you were focused on the way he felt. 

His lips were warm against yours. 

Warm. Inviting. Sweet. Chocolatey and minty. 

You savored his taste, while he did yours until his lips smiled as he leaned away. 

You looked at him curiously, as he beamed back at you. “Now I have the privilege of telling people I was your first kiss,” he said, causing you to mirror his expression but he met you again for a quick kiss, “and your second.” He repeated the action again before saying, “and your third.”

[starynightskyyy]

Warnings: smut, cnc, choking, mentions of pregnancy, daddy kinks, really intense smut. The first few parts were inspired by a post from @toweranne

Summary: After you tease your mate Jacob for the fifth time by coming to his house in short shorts, he finally snaps.

The air was thick with motor oil, pine, and that unmistakable scent that was just Jacob—earthy, warm, intoxicating. You sat perched on his beat-up workbench, legs swinging, the hem of your shorts riding up just a little higher each time he glanced your way. He was leaning under the hood of his rebuilt Rabbit, shirtless, his bronze skin glowing under the harsh fluorescent lights. Muscles flexed with every twist of his wrench, sweat trailing down the line of his spine as he worked. Jacob emerges from under the hood, wiping his greasy hands on a rag. His eyes immediately find you, a wolfish grin spreading across his face

"Hey, beautiful, you just gonna sit there and watch me work all day?" He stalks towards you, radiating heat and raw magnetism.

“I thought you liked me watching,” you teased. Jacob stepped closer, every movement smooth and predatory, like a wolf circling prey — except you weren’t scared. You were aching. “I do,” he said, voice lower now. “I like it a lot.” His hands found your thighs, large and hot against your skin as he stepped between your legs. The energy shifted — electric, magnetic. You felt it hum through you, pooling in your stomach. “You always wear the little shorts when you come here."

His hands slide higher, fingers digging into your flesh possessively. The rag falls forgotten to the ground as he presses closer, caging you against the workbench

"Mmm, testing my control again?" He leans in, breath hot against your neck. "Those shorts are gonna be the death of me, you know that? Are they for me?” He teased, referencing the shorts. “Maybe,” you breathed, trying not to squirm under his touch. “And if it is?”

Jacob growls low in his throat, his hips pinning you firmly against the bench. The hard outline of his arousal presses against you, making him groan softly

"You want me that bad, baby? Been thinking about getting my hands on you all day…" He trails wet kisses along your jaw.

“I’ve been trying to be good,” he growled, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the side of your neck. “Trying to take my time. But you make it so hard, baby.” Your hands travelled up his back, nails lightly scraping his shoulder blades. “Maybe I don’t want you to be good.” Jacob froze for half a second. Then — gone. The leash snapped. He crashed his lips into yours, hot and hungry, devouring your breath like he couldn’t get enough.

His hands are everywhere now, frantic and desperate as he claims your mouth. The scent of your arousal is driving him wild, making his head spin with desire "Fuck being good..." He tears at your shorts, literally ripping them in his haste. "You're mine to ruin right now," you groaned. "Fuck, ruin me. That's what I come here every day hoping for,"

Jacob's eyes flash gold with primal need, his wolf nature taking over completely. He grabs your thighs and lifts you up, slamming you down on the hood of his car

"You want it rough?" He yanks down his jeans, freeing his throbbing cock. "Hold on tight, princess." Your eyes widen at the sheer size of his cock. He was huge. How that was going to fit, you had no idea.

Jacob notices your expression and smirks, stroking himself slowly while watching your reaction

"That scared look on your face just makes me want to destroy you more… Don't worry, I'll make it fit." He positions himself at your entrance. You spread your legs wide, your sopping cunt exposed for him to see.

With a possessive snarl, he thrusts into you in one powerful movement, stretching you to your limit

"Fucking perfect…" He holds you down, not letting you adjust as he starts pounding into you. "So tight for me, baby…" Your eyes widened, and you shrieked in pleasure as he filled you up in one thrust. Your walls tried to adjust, but he was railing you before you could get the chance. It felt amazing.

His pace becomes brutal, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the garage

"Taking my cock so well…" He grabs your throat, applying just enough pressure to make you lightheaded. "Such a good girl for daddy…" You whimpered at his lewd words and how well he was pounding you. Your hands gripped his forearms, nails sinking into the bronze skin, leaving crescent marks.

Jacob leans forward, his massive frame covering you completely. The metal hood beneath you is scorching hot from his body heat

"You're gonna cum on my cock right here, on my car. Show daddy how much you love it." He angles his hips to hit that perfect spot inside you. You screamed. You could swear his tip was in your womb from how deep he was in you.

Jacob growls with approval, fucking you through your screams. He lifts your legs higher, folding you in half and pressing your knees to your chest

"I can feel you clenching… You want me to fill you up with my pups? Make you all swollen with my babies?" You tried to speak, but all that came out were moans and incoherent babbles, so you just nodded instead.

He slams his hips harder, pistoning in and out at an animalistic pace, his knot starting to swell. His wolf features starting to emerge more noticeably, fangs sharpening and claws digging into your flesh

"Gonna breed you right here… mark you as mine forever…" His voice becomes guttural, driven by pure animalistic instinct. You gripped his shoulders in an attempt to ground yourself. You were so close, the knot in your stomach tightening like a coil, ready to explode.

Jacob's knot fully forms, locking him inside you as he roars out your name. His release hits him hard, pumping you full of his hot, thick cum, mixing with your own juices

"Cum for me… Now!" He bites down on your shoulder, hard enough to make a deep claiming mark, his wolf bite. The bite pushed you over the edge. Your head fell back and you screamed, cumming hard. white liquid oozed from both your bodies down the shiny hood of his car.

Jacob laps at the blood from his bite, holding you close as he pours his seed into you, filling you to the brim. His chest heaves with exhaustion, but satisfaction shines in his eyes as he sees the mark on your shoulder.

"That's my girl… Mine forever." He strokes your hair tenderly, still buried deep inside you, his knot keeping you both connected. You panted, biting your lip. "Fuck, Jake. That was so good."

He chuckles, pulling you up to sit on him. The movement causes his cock to shift, making you gasp again

"Better than usual, huh? Guess you really did want to be ruined today. I should make you come to the garage more often…" He kisses your temple. You smirked. "I'm not opposed to that. Not at all," you said between pants before collapsing forward into his arms.

Jacob returns the kiss passionately, his knot finally starting to deflate, but not pulling out just yet. He breaks away to pepper your face with gentle kisses

"Love you so much, baby girl… I can feel you milking me for more. Such a needy little mate." He looks down at your stomach. "I wonder how many pups I've put in you."

[sh4nksslvt]

A Doodle in the Cold

On a chilly night aboard the Polar Tang, you borrow Law’s coat and discover a doodle of yourself, unraveling his hidden feelings in a series of tender, awkward moments.

Law X reader | ONE SHOT tags: fluff, sfw, ooc(?) a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe n akward word count: 1.7k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

The Polar Tang hummed softly beneath your feet, its metal walls groaning against the icy wind of the winter island you’d docked at. The crew had ventured onto the snowy shore earlier, gathering supplies and indulging in a rare snowball fight, but now, as night fell, the sub was a haven of warmth—or it would’ve been, if the heating system hadn’t chosen tonight to malfunction. You shivered in your thin jacket, rubbing your arms as you wandered the corridors, seeking the mess hall where the Heart Pirates were likely huddled.

The faint clatter of mugs and laughter guided you to the right door. Inside, the crew was sprawled across mismatched chairs, a portable heater glowing weakly in the corner. Bepo, bundled in his own fur, was recounting a tale of slipping on ice, his paws waving dramatically. Penguin and Shachi, ever the instigators, were snickering, while Ikkaku was trying to fix the heater with a wrench, muttering curses.

You leaned against the doorframe, smiling at the scene. “Any luck with that heater, Ikkaku?”

She glanced up, blowing a curl of hair from her face. “This thing’s older than the ship. Might as well pray for a miracle.”

“Or for Captain to stop being stingy and buy a new one,” Shachi quipped, dodging a playful swipe from Penguin.

Your gaze drifted to the corner, where Trafalgar Law sat, legs crossed, a book balanced on his knee. His hat was tipped low, casting shadows over his sharp features, but you could tell he was listening, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. He hadn’t joined the snowball fight earlier, claiming it was “beneath a surgeon’s dignity,” but you’d caught him watching from the deck, his eyes lingering on you as you laughed with Bepo.

“Cold, Y/N?” Bepo’s voice snapped you back. The mink tilted his head, concern in his dark eyes. “You’re shivering.”

You shrugged, trying to play it off. “It’s not that bad. Just… brisk.”

“Liar,” Ikkaku said, smirking. “You’re practically a popsicle. Captain, lend her your coat or something. You’re just sitting there brooding.”

Law’s head lifted slightly, his gray eyes narrowing at Ikkaku before flicking to you. “I don’t brood,” he said, voice low and dry. “And I’m not a charity wardrobe.”

But he was already setting his book down, his movements deliberate. You opened your mouth to protest—really, you were fine—but Law stood, shrugging off his long black coat with a fluid motion. The crew fell suspiciously quiet, their eyes darting between you two like they were watching a play unfold.

“Here,” Law said, holding the coat out. His tone was gruff, but his gaze softened for a split second, betraying the gesture’s weight. “Don’t make a habit of it.”

You hesitated, caught off guard by the offer. The coat was heavy, lined with soft fur, and it smelled faintly of antiseptic and something warmer, like cedar. “Thanks,” you murmured, slipping it on. It was comically large, the sleeves swallowing your hands, the hem brushing your knees. You couldn’t help but giggle, flapping the sleeves like wings. “I look like I’m drowning in this.”

Penguin snorted. “Captain’s coat’s got more presence than half the crew.”

“Speak for yourself,” Shachi shot back, but he was grinning, clearly enjoying the moment.

Law rolled his eyes, sinking back into his chair. “Keep laughing, and I’ll Room you all into the snow.” But his fingers twitched around his book, and you noticed he hadn’t quite met your eyes since you put the coat on.

The crew’s banter resumed, and you settled onto a bench near the heater, the coat’s warmth seeping into your bones. It was cozy, almost too cozy, and you found yourself fiddling with the pockets, your fingers brushing something crinkled inside. Curious, you slipped your hand in and pulled out a folded scrap of paper. It was small, no bigger than your palm, and when you unfolded it, your breath caught.

It was a doodle. A simple, pencil-sketched outline of a person—you. The curve of your jaw, the way your hair fell over one shoulder, even the little scar on your knuckle from a mishap with a rigging knife. The lines were meticulous, almost tender, capturing you in a moment of quiet focus. At the bottom, in Law’s precise handwriting, was a single word: “Y/N.”

Your heart stuttered. You glanced at Law, who was still buried in his book, or pretending to be. His shoulders were tense, his fingers gripping the pages a little too tightly. Had he meant to leave this in there? Was it an accident, or…?

“Y/N, you okay?” Bepo’s voice broke your trance. He leaned over, peering at the paper. “Oh! That’s you! Did Captain draw that?”

The room went silent again, all eyes swiveling to Law. You could’ve sworn the heater sputtered in embarrassment. Law’s head snapped up, his eyes locking onto the paper in your hand. For a moment, he looked like a deer caught in a spotlight, his usual composure fracturing.

“Bepo,” he said, voice dangerously calm, “stop talking.”

Bepo squeaked, hiding behind Penguin, who was barely containing his laughter. Ikkaku leaned forward, smirking. “Well, well. Didn’t know you were an artist, Captain. That’s some serious detail.”

“It’s nothing,” Law snapped, but his ears were pink, a rare crack in his stoic facade. He stood abruptly, striding toward you. “Give it back.”

You clutched the doodle to your chest, grinning. “No way. This is adorable. You drew me?”

“It’s not—” Law faltered, his hand hovering as if unsure whether to snatch the paper or retreat. “It’s just a sketch. I was bored.”

“Bored?” you teased, holding the paper up. “You wrote my name on it. That’s not bored, that’s sentimental.”

The crew erupted into hoots and whistles, Shachi clapping Penguin on the back. “Sentimental! Our captain’s got a heart after all!”

Law’s jaw clenched, but his eyes softened when they met yours. “Tch... you’re making this a bigger deal than it is,” he muttered, but he didn’t move to take the paper. Instead, he shoved his hands in his pockets, looking anywhere but at you.

You folded the doodle carefully, tucking it back into the coat pocket. “I’m keeping this,” you said, voice quieter now, meant just for him. “It’s sweet, Law.”

He huffed, but the flush on his cheeks deepened. “Do what you want,” he grumbled, turning back to his chair. “Just don’t expect me to draw you again.”

The crew’s teasing continued, but you caught the way Law’s smirk returned, subtle and private, as he sank back into his book. The moment felt like a secret shared, fragile but warm, like the coat still draped over your shoulders.

Later, the crew dispersed, leaving the mess hall quiet. You lingered, sipping lukewarm tea, the coat still wrapped around you. Law hadn’t asked for it back, and you weren’t eager to return it. The doodle burned in your mind, a tiny window into the man who hid so much behind his sharp edges.

The door creaked, and Law stepped back in, his hat now off, revealing tousled black hair. He paused, clearly not expecting you to still be there. “You’re still wearing that,” he said, nodding at the coat.

“It’s warm,” you replied, smiling. “And it smells like you.”

His eyes widened fractionally, and he coughed, looking away. “Don’t say weird stuff like that.”

You laughed, setting your mug down. “Come on, Law. You can’t draw me and expect me not to tease you. It’s too cute.”

“It’s not cute,” he said, but there was no bite in his voice. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, studying you. “You’re… impossible.”

“Says the guy who doodles his crewmates in secret.” You patted the bench beside you. “Sit. I won’t bite.”

He hesitated, then sighed, dropping onto the bench with a grace that belied his grumpiness. The silence was comfortable, the hum of the Polar Tang filling the space. You nudged his shoulder. “So, how long have you been drawing me?”

He groaned, rubbing his temple. “You’re not letting this go, are you?”

“Nope.” You leaned closer, grinning. “Spill, Captain. Is it just me, or do you have a whole sketchbook of Bepo and Shachi too?”

“Just you,” he said, so quietly you almost missed it. His eyes flicked to yours, then away, the admission hanging between you like a spark.

Your heart did a little flip. “Just me?” you echoed, softer now. “Law, that’s… really sweet.”

He shifted, clearly uncomfortable with the vulnerability. “It’s not a big deal. I sketch when I can’t sleep. You were… there.”

“There,” you repeated, amused. “You mean, on your mind?”

“Stop twisting my words,” he growled, but his hand brushed yours on the bench, and he didn’t pull away. His fingers were warm, calloused from years of wielding Kikoku, and the contact sent a shiver through you that had nothing to do with the cold.

You tilted your head, studying him. The dim light caught the shadows under his eyes, the faint stubble on his jaw. He was always so guarded, but tonight, with the doodle and the coat and this quiet moment, he felt closer, more human. “You know,” you said, “you don’t have to hide stuff like this. I like seeing this side of you.”

He snorted, but his fingers curled slightly around yours. “You’re too nosy for your own good.”

“And you’re too stubborn for yours,” you shot back, grinning. “But I’ll keep your secret. No one else needs to know you’re a softie.”

“I’m not a softie,” he said, but his thumb brushed your knuckles, a small, unconscious gesture that made your chest ache.

You leaned back, pulling the coat tighter around you. “This is staying with me tonight, by the way. It’s too cozy to give back.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re stealing my coat now?”

“Borrowing,” you corrected, sticking out your tongue. “Unless you want to freeze me out here.”

He shook his head, a rare, genuine laugh escaping him. It was low, warm, and it made your heart skip. “Fine. Keep it. But don’t expect me to make a habit of this.”

“Too late,” you said, standing and stretching. “You’re already my personal artist and coat-lender. Next, I’m getting you to knit me a scarf.”

“Keep dreaming,” he called after you as you headed for the door, but his smile lingered, soft and unguarded.

The next morning, you found the doodle still in the coat pocket, now joined by a small, folded note. In Law’s precise script, it read: “Don’t get used to the coat. But… nice smile.”

You grinned, tucking the note beside the doodle. The Polar Tang was still cold, but with Law’s coat around you and his quiet affection in your pocket, it felt like the warmest place imaginable.

[bvrnesher]

❝ The art of flirtation ! ❞ ― leo valdez !

tap here for chb masterlist ! here for reqs info

a/n: this was a req, but i accidentally deleted it TT. ! This is short as fuck, but I tried 🫂

— ✦ pairing: leo valdez ! reader.

LEO VALDEZ DID NOT invite you into his workshop.

Let’s make that clear.

You showed up. With your sketchbook, your paints, and that annoyingly pretty sunshine-aura thing you had going on—like some golden art nymph from a Renaissance painting decided to cosplay as a demigod and crash a garage.

You just waltzed right in, right past the “No Touchy” sign, the hazardous contraptions, and the suspicious trail of smoke leading to the corner where Leo’s latest death-trap invention was probably preparing to self-destruct.

And then, without asking, you sat down.

Right on his favorite workbench.

The one with burn marks, mechanical limbs, and a mysterious stain he’d never admit was salsa.

“Hey, Leo,” you said, like you owned the place. Like this wasn’t a sanctuary of gears, grime, and chaos but your own personal studio.

And just like that, he was done for.

You weren’t supposed to stay long. You’d said something about “inspiration” and “sunlight and steel” and how his workshop “had good vibes,” which sounded fake—but also suspiciously like a compliment.

So Leo just blinked at you, watched you pull out a battered paint palette and start sketching, and then spun on his heel and marched back into the clutter muttering something about “boundaries” and “how hot people always get away with stuff.”

That was, like, an hour ago.

And Leo liked chaos.

Not the dangerous, world-ending kind—he’d had enough of that to last a lifetime—but the fun kind. The kind that made your hair smell like smoke and your hands stained with oil and laughter. The kind that made sparks fly from metal and from the stupid little grin he always gave you.

Now? You were still there. Legs crossed on his bench, covered in smudges of gold paint and soft humming, your brush swishing across a canvas that rested against a toolbox labeled “DO NOT OPEN (seriously this will explode).”

You were a walking contradiction: warmth in a place built on fire, elegance in a place built from metal, and chaos in a form Leo somehow didn’t want to throw out the door.

So, naturally, he had to bother you.

For balance.

You sat on the workbench, surrounded by scattered sketches, sunbeams, and the faint scent of oranges. Your fingers danced across the canvas like they had a secret to tell. You looked out of place in the middle of scrap parts and smoke—but somehow, you belonged more than the blueprints ever did.

Leo peeked around the wall, a smudge of grease on his cheek and a screwdriver still behind his ear. He tried not to smile. Failed.

“Hey, sunshine,” he called, leaning on the doorway like he was auditioning for the role of "most annoying boyfriend alive." “Don’t mind me, just checking if the goddess of light came to bless my extremely important tinkering with her divine presence.”

“You mean I came to save your mess of a workspace with actual taste?” you said calmly, flicking your paintbrush with a flourish. “I should charge for the aesthetic upgrade.”

Leo gasped, staggering back like you’d stabbed him. “You wound me, art girl. You really do.”

You didn’t flinch.

“You know,” Leo continued, peering dramatically over your shoulder, “this whole art-in-my-space thing… very bold move. Should I be worried? Is this how invasions start?”

“You’ll survive,” you said, not looking up from your painting.

“Debatable,” he muttered. “You’re sitting directly on my wrench stash. That’s a war crime.”

You tilted your head, dipped your brush into a bright streak of orange, and replied calmly, “I’ll move if you say something that doesn’t sound like a bad pick-up line.”

Leo gasped. Clutched his chest like he’d been shot. “You insult me. That was a great pick-up line. It had flair.”

“It had grease stains and poor delivery.”

“Oof.” He collapsed against the bench, sighing dramatically. “You wound me, Apollo girl. First, you break into my temple of fire and invention, then you destroy my ego.”

You just kept painting. Which, frankly, made it worse.

“What are you even painting, anyway?” he asked, craning his neck to get a peek.

“The way sunlight moves across metal,” you answered simply.

Leo blinked. “You mean like… a shiny toaster?”

You smacked him with your paintbrush. Gently. He grinned anyway.

“Okay, okay,” he said, hands raised in surrender. “No toaster metaphors. Got it.”

There was a pause. A soft one. Your brush slowed, catching the light. Leo found himself staring—not at the painting, but at you. Your calm, your focus, the tiny smile you tried to hide whenever he teased you too much.

His heart did a little thing. Probably a short circuit. Or something poetic. Gross.

He looked away.

“You know,” he said eventually, “you don’t have to come in here just to steal my lighting.”

“Oh?” you replied, not missing a beat. “Then why do you keep turning the ceiling mirrors to catch the sun where I sit?”

Leo paused.

Then groaned.

“Ugh. Busted.”

You smirked.

Later—much later—he found himself sitting beside you, both of you on the floor, surrounded by paint-splattered rags, half-disassembled gadgets, and the soft buzz of quiet companionship.

Your painting leaned against the wall, golden and warm. His half-finished invention sparked beside it, humming softly like it didn’t mind sharing the space.

“You know,” Leo said quietly, “I always thought this place was too chaotic for someone like you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Someone like me?”

“Y’know. All light and soft colors and poetic metaphors about sunshine.”

You nudged his leg with your foot. “You’re all sparks and fire and grease stains. Guess we’re both chaotic in our own way.”

Leo smiled, small and real. “Yeah. But you’re the pretty kind of chaos.”

You looked at him for a moment—really looked—and then leaned your head against his shoulder.

“And you’re the kind that makes a mess and calls it a masterpiece.”

“Rude,” Leo muttered. “True. But rude.”

And for the first time in a long time, the workshop felt complete.

Not perfect.

Just… warm.

— 💐 Req: Heyyyy could you maybe write Leo and an Apollo reader, with him tinkering and her doing art in his workshop? Then maybe he comes to bother her with bad jokes and teasing?

[kjhbsies]

Cool About It

navigation | main masterlist | rules

James Potter x reader

synopsis: Y/N never meant to fall for James Potter— it just happened. But she always knew where his heart truly belonged: with Lily Evans.

wordcount: 1,328

note: angst, angst, angst. Inspired by the song "Cool About It" by boygenius. one of my favorite songs to listen to.

part II: Multo

divider from @enchanthings

Y/n didn't expect this to happen. She never planned on falling in love with James Potter, but somehow, it happened anyway.

Maybe it was inevitable. Maybe it was written in the stars— like a cruel storyline at her expense. But can you blame her? James was the kind of person who burned bright— warm, radiant, and impossible to ignore. Every time he walked into a room, the whole place seemed to be a little more alive. His laughter was infectious, his presence magnetic, and his smile? Don't even get her started on his smile.

He was kind in a way that made people feel seen and important. Special.

And maybe, for a while, Y/n thought she was special, too. But she wasn't. Not in a way that Lily Evans was.

She stood behind a thick trunk of an old oak tree, hidden in the shadows, watching the scene unfold before her like a spectator to her own heartbreak.

James and Lily sat on the bench, their bodies angled towards each other as if the rest of the world had faded away. He was grinning at her, that lopsided, charming smile of his that he saved just for her. And for once, Lily wasn't pushing him away. Her green eyes were soft, and the small twitch of her lips was a dead giveaway that she clearly was enjoying this.

Y/n watched as he scooted closer, his confidence unwavering— and possibly spiking higher each passing second that Lily wasn't blatantly rejecting him. James lifted an arm, testing the waters, but this time— this time, Lily was letting him. She didn't roll her eyes. She wasn't pushing him. She just blushed, her rosy cheeks dusting a tint of pink like a soft flower blooming under the sunlight.

Y/n felt something inside her crack.

She knew James had loved Lily since the first time he laid his eyes on her. She saw how James spent the past 6 years of his life making grand gestures, confessing his undying love for her, only to be shut down every single time. And still, he never stopped. He waited. He changed. He became a better version of himself, all for her.

How can Y/n compare to that?

The answer is that she couldn't.

She had known that James Potter was never meant to be hers. That they were just friends. That he only ever saw her as his best mate, his partner-in-crime, the one he laughed with, joked with, and shared secrets with— but never loved. Not in a way that she wanted him to.

And yet, she had fallen for him.

A bitter smile tugged at her lips, but it wasn't enough to stop the tears from falling from her eyes. It wasn't enough to dull the ache in her chest, the sharp, gnawing feeling of knowing she would never be the one he looked at like that.

She didn't even realize she was crying until a warm hand suddenly covered her eyes, blocking her view of the gut-wrenching scene in front of her.

"Don't do this to yourself," Remus murmured.

The gentle one. The observant one. The one who probably had seen it coming before she even did.

His fingers were warm against her skin, shielding her from the image of James and Lily together, but it was too late. It had already burned into her memory, imprinted to her soul like a scar that wouldn't fade.

Y/n let out a shaky breath, but the moment Remus dropped his hand, she turned, burying her face into his chest as the first sob broke free. Remus hesitated for a second before wrapping his arms around her, holding her close, his touch careful but firm.

"It's okay," He whispered. "It's gonna be okay. I'm here."

But it wasn't okay. It was never going to be okay.

Because no matter how hard she pushed it down, not matter how hard she fought against it, she was in love with James Potter.

The night was colder than usual for summer. A chilly breeze rolled through the cobblestone streets, sending goosebumps crawling through Y/n's arms. She shoved her hands in her jacket pockets, keeping her head slightly bowed, eyes trained at the ground as she walked.

She didn't want this. She had tried every excuse she could think of to get out of walking home with James. She said she was fine. She said she had something else to do. Even Remus had stepped in, offering to take her instead, but James had simply glared at him— a sharp, uncharacteristic gleam in his hazel eyes.

Remus had exchanged a knowing glance with Y/n, one that didn't go unnoticed by James. And maybe for a second, just a fleeting moment, he felt something strange stirring in his chest. A weird, uncomfortable feeling he couldn't quite place. But he immediately shook it off before it could even linger.

So now, here they are.

James walked beside her, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. He was energetic, as usual, narrating a story gleefully. He didn't even seem to notice how Y/n kept a distance, how she barely responded, how she was quieter than usual.

"—And I swear, it's the best video game I've ever played in months. You'll love it. Well, actually, you'd probably think it's a waste of time, but it's not. You should come over to my place sometime, and I'll show you."

Y/n only let out a small hum but didn't respond.

James didn't notice. Or if he did, he ignored it. He continued, his voice animated, hands gesturing now as he talked.

"And Mum and Dad got another dog. That's three now, can you believe it? A bloody zoo, our house is. But you'd love this one. He's kind of short and chubby, but in a cute way. I'll ask for his picture later, and I will send it to you."

Another hum.

James finally glanced at her, his brows furrowing slightly. His smile wavered just for a second before he plastered it back on.

"Oi, are you even listening?" He lightly nudged her.

Y/n blinked, finally snapping out of her thoughts. She put on a forced smile. "Yeah, of course. A new dog. Sounds nice."

James leaned in at her and squinted, unconvinced. His gaze flickered over hers like he was trying to read her mind.

"You sure you're alright? You've barely said anything. Is it because I didn't let Moony walk you home? Because, come on, I know he's your favorite and all, but I can be just as—"

Y/n cut him off with a small laugh. "James, come on. I'm fine, really."

"...Really?"

"Yes," Y/n let out a small huff. "How's your date with Lily, by the way?" She asked, completely diverting the topic. She tried to sound casual, light, like the words didn't burn a bitterness in her tongue.

James perked up instantly, eyes lightening at the mention of Lily's name. He ran a hand through his thick, messy curls, grinning in that boyish, lovesick way.

"Oh, it was brilliant. We went to this little cafe near her house. She loves their tea there, you know? I always thought she was more of a coffee type of person, but nah, apparently, she loves a good chamomile."

Y/n nodded, swallowing a lump in her throat. "That's nice."

"And get this. She actually laughed at my joke this time. Do you know how rare that is? She never thinks I'm funny. But she laughed this time, like a genuine, real laugh."

"That's great."

James sighed dreamily. "Yeah, yeah it was."

And Y/N just nodded along, pretending like her heart wasn’t aching, like every word wasn’t a knife twisting in her chest. Pretending like it didn’t hurt to hear him talk about Lily the way she wished he’d talk about her.

She looked straight ahead, her steps steady, her expression neutral, willing herself not to break.

Because she had to be okay about it.

©kjhbsies

[toolssuppliersinuaedubaiuae]

A brick hammer is a fantastic tool for many hardscaping projects. The hammer, one of the most often used tools for a professional mason, is always in the tool bag. This multipurpose tool is necessary to remove small rock fragments from rocks or cracked bricks quickly. Thanks to its solid two-sided head and long-lasting handle, it is a dependable and essential tool for any masonry project. That is why it is very comfortable to use, and also, this is the reason people like to use it with other items like chain wrench, hand files, or even bench vice supplier in Dubai UAE.

[prettealolilol]

i like to think about the duality of the kids about people shipping Bruce with anyone, because the guy has been elected as the most handsome man in the country for years, has this whole playboy Brucie persona and is often seen with someone at his arms (men and women)

on one side, they'll be like "ew god no, i do not want to imagine dad like-" and "oh my god some people actually ship Bantman and Joker wtf ??" and they'll do their best to filter every social media to avoid any thirsty or shipping content about Bruce

when the press ask them about it, they be like:

Tim : "Would you like it if I asked about your thoughts on your dad cheating on your mom with his secretary ? No ? Then mind your own business." when the dad was in fact cheating with his secretary and now everybody knew because Tim was live when he answered

Jason, pulling out a gun : "i swear to god i'll shoot the next person who asks me this and then i'll shoot myself. Ugh, do i look like i fucking care about the old man's sex life ?"

Dick, smiling uncomfortably : "i don't really live at the manor anymore and i barely see him with my job so you know..." when it has been in fact a week he's been sleeping at the manor after patrolling with Batman

Damian, frowning as usual, looking at the guy who asked him as if he did not have a brain : "Father is careful in not mixing his carnal activities with the family life so i do not have any hindsight on his sex life. i do not wish to know regardless." the journalist is taken aback by the explicit answer of this ten year old, while his brothers are trying not to laugh behind him (Jason was not hiding his snickering)

on the other side, you cannot tell me those guys are not the biggest shippers in the world

like Jason would want Batman to date Wonder Woman just so she could be his step mom. i strongly believe the guy has a ao3 and tumblr account and is very much active on both. he definitely reads batman x green lantern fics just to annoy Bruce (even though his dad has no idea, but still gets shivers when Jason is reading one)

Dick and Duke both ship SuperBat although for different reasons. for Dick, that's his uncle there, he was there when they met and saw them as they slowly became best friends. he strongly believes they are made for each other. Duke just think it would be super cool (no pun intended) if the Superman and the Batman were dating.

Stephanie just likes to roll with it, some days she feels like shipping superbat, others she'll be more into batcat, or batlantern. she's pretty volatile and doesn't really have a favourite, but when she gets into one she's all in. she'll be arguing and insulting people online who disagrees, sharing crazy theories...

Cass doesn't really care, she'll listen to any of her siblings ranting about their thoughts (especially Steph) and juts find it adorable (and funny how much they care)

Tim probably ships superbat because they are completely opposed, and he finds the parallels really interesting. he definitely writes fics (Jay reads his fics and they exchange about it without knowing it's each other)

Damian doesn't really see the point. but he has drawn of few fanart (Jason tried to bribe him with money once and Damian had to remind him of his inheritance) when Bruce benched Tim and him and he ended up drawing some batlantern that Tim printed and plastered all over the manor. Bruce had to restrain the access to the printer (Tim hacked into it the next day)

Barbara, although she doesn't really ship, is the one you go to if you search some content, she'll find you the most heart wrenching, 200 thousand words, slow brun, angst/comfort fics you'll ever read (the type of fic that changes you deep into your soul). she still likes debating with the batkid

Regardless, if there's one things they all agree on, it is Bruceman (love those fics were the batkids just go along with it). like it's hilarious but the fans make some pretty good points and they are in fact impressed. it's also the safest ship as it would not happen in any situations so they don't have to worry about their dad being stolen