#I plug one and two more appear

[positivelyapunovexponent-good]

sighhhhh Gd really gives her functionalest analysis to her least functional soldiers

[thisishurtingme]

Why is everything so fucking expensive all the time. JFC it never fucking ends.

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Neighbour - Noncon

With your electricity out and your devices dead, you have no choice but to turn to your neighbour for help. He's more than willing to welcome you into his home. Really, you're lucky he's such a nice guy.

Tags: male yandere x gender neutral reader, noncon, somno, just the tip anal, daddy kink but only if you squint, 3.3k words

Living in the middle of nowhere had its perks. Privacy. Untouched nature. Peace and quiet.

But after the third day with no electricity, those perks were starting to look pretty damn weak. Your fridge was sitting in an ever expanding puddle. Almost all your devices were dead. And if you had to take one more cold shower you were going to cry.

It was when you were digging through your drawer looking for desperately needed batteries that you found your neighbour's number. He'd offered it to you a little while after you moved in, and while you two were on friendly terms, you'd never actually spoken for longer than a few minutes. You sighed, looked at the 10% left on your phone and decided that desperate times called for desperate measures.

You: hey, it's me. I still haven't got any power. Do you mind if I come over to charge some stuff?

He replied almost instantly.

Unknown: aww that sucks

Unknown: come on over. I've got hot stew and a generator

Unknown: and you can take a hot shower too if you want

Score. And to think you found him intimidating at first. Just goes to show that you can't judge on appearances. You packed a change of clothes, your devices and the last tub of ice cream that wasn't totally melted. You'd find some way to properly pay him back but a tub of chocolate fudge double cream wasn't a bad way to start.

He was waiting on his porch when you pulled up. A bear of a man in a flannel and blue jeans, a five o' clock shadow darkening his jaw.

"Howdy neighbour," he drawled, opening your door for you while you grabbed your stuff. "Regretting leaving the city yet?"

You huffed a laugh. "You do NOT want to know the answer to that."

His cabin was much larger than yours, a two storey behemoth with wide windows and exposed beams. It had a rustic charm - like some natural park Air BnB where they charged a weeks pay for just one night. A little too big for just one man. Didn't he get lonely?

"I brought some ice cream and chocolate to say thank you. And also because it miiight have been melting."

He opened the door for you and ushered you through with a hand on your lower back.

"Hell, I'll never say no to something sweet."

There was a fire burning in the fireplace and a stack of logs in a crate next to it. He was so much better suited to this life than you were. He locked the door behind you and slipped the keys into his pocket.

"Old habit," he explained with an easy grin.

"Why don't you get settled? I'll plug your stuff in."

You handed over your tech with a relieved sigh.

"Thank you. Really. I'm so behind on work already and I haven't heard anything back from the power company."

"I wouldn't hold my breath," he said. "Once ended up going a week straight with not even a light bulb flickering."

You winced. "It gets that bad?"

"Yep. Especially in winter. Gets dangerous then too."

He tilted his head at you, concerned. "You need to get yourself better sorted before it starts snowing. I hate to think of you stuck out there when the blizzards start rolling in."

God, could you be any more of a city slicker? You rubbed your neck, embarrassed.

"Thanks. I've been here a few months now and I guess I just didn't realise how serious things can get."

"It's all good. But if I'm honest, I get worried thinking about you out there all alone. Plenty of drifters end up passing through. Not a good place to be alone, not for a little thing like yourself."

Little? You wanted to feel indignant, but looking at his bulk, you reckoned that most folk probably seemed little to him.

He lead you to the fireplace and poured you a mug of coffee from the pot that was waiting for you. He jerked his head at the hunting rifle on display above the mantle.

"I can teach you to shoot, if you've got some free time."

You took a sip of the coffee, internally debating with yourself. You could see the sense in your offer but you weren't a big fan of guns. Hell, just being around them was nerve wrecking enough. Maybe -

You looked down at your mug in surprise.

"This is some really good stuff."

The coffee was strong, bitter in the best sort of way. You could catch a hint of chocolate in it too. Just sweet enough to make your toes curl.

" 'Course. Only the best for my guest. Help yourself to another cup. I'll just put your stuff on charge and be right back."

You finished your drink in a few sips and happily poured a second serving. Hot coffee... man, you didn't think three days without it would be so tough. Usually, you were pretty sensitive to caffeine. But by the time your neighbour came back, your head was tilted back and you were half asleep.

You tried to shake yourself out of it but he just laughed and pushed you back down.

"You probably haven't had a good sleep since the power went out. Just rest. We can talk once you wake up."

"I'm sorry..."

"It's fine." His hand was still on your shoulder, thumb rubbing small circles into your neck. "It's just fine with me."

You drifted off after that. Into a deep sleep without any dreams. Waking up was like slogging through molasses.

"Finally up sleepy head?"

It was dark outside and your neighbour was on one knee in front of the fire place, coaxing fresh wood to catch.

You sat up slowly. Your muscles ached and there was a strange, salty taste on your tongue.

"My heads killing me..."

He stood, poker still in his hand. "You must be starving then. I've already got some food on the stove. You'll feel better after you eat."

You didn't feel hungry at all. If anything, you felt almost hangover.

"Thanks," you managed. "I'm sorry to be such a bother."

He waved you away. "I don't mind a bit."

He came back with a bowl of steaming hot chow and stood with his arms crossed on the back of your couch while you ate.

"It's real late. I reckon you should stay over. I don't want you driving on dirt when it's so dark."

"Oh, it's fine. I've already put you out so much."

"Don't be silly. I insist."

You shivered without meaning to. That almost growl, low and bordering on menacing. It was so familiar, so...

"Just like that. Look at you, half asleep and still desperate for my cock."

"You like the taste? Yeah, I bet you fucking do."

"Ain't just gonna use your mouth next time."

You squeezed your eyes shut. Where the hell was this coming from? Were you remembering some sick dream from this afternoon?

"You okay there neighbour?"

You nodded. "Just my head."

Maybe he was right. Driving when you were so disorientated was just asking for trouble.

"If you really don't mind... I'll be happy to sleep over."

He laughed, a deep, rumbling thing. "I'll make the guest room up special, just for you."

"Could I use your shower too?"

"I offered didn't I? Come on, I'll show you where it is."

He took you to the master bedroom and jerked his thumb at the en-suite.

"Hot water is the most reliable in there. Door doesn't close that well though, so don't mind it. I'll be downstairs when you're done."

You brushed your teeth carefully. You lips felt sore, bruised in a way you couldn't explain.

You waited until you heard his footsteps going down the stairs before you stripped off your clothes. You stood under the hot water for a good few minutes, luxuriating in the feeling. The bathroom was thick with steam when you finally got to scrubbing yourself. The door was open just a crack and the bedroom beyond was dark. You forgot all about it until you heard the creak of the hinges.

You whirled to face the door, your hands coming up to cover yourself. The steam was too thick to see through. You called his name.

Nothing.

You stepped out with suds still on your thighs and pushed the door open. The room beyond was empty.

You sighed. God, you were being paranoid. Your neighbour was a great guy. It was unfair of you to treat him like a peeping tom when he'd gone out of his way to make you comfortable. It must have been just an errant draught.

You stepped back into the shower and rinsed yourself off. But no matter what you told yourself, you still kept an eye on the door.

When you went to change into your fresh clothes, you spent at least five minutes hunting for your underwear. Did you drop it somewhere? Oh, please say your undies weren't just sitting in the middle of his hallway. That would be beyond embarrassing.

Eventually you gave up and just decided to go without them. Not comfortable at all but still better than walking around in a towel to look for them. And much better than calling your neighbour in to help. Wouldn't that be fun? 'Hey neighbour that I don't know that well, you haven't seen my intimates lying around, have you?' Yeah, you'd never again get invited over after something like that.

When you were dressed, you found him already on his way up the hall. He was carrying a glass of water and some pills.

"Thought you might still have a headache, so I brought you some painkillers."

You paused, nervous but not sure why.

"Thanks." His hands dwarfed yours when he handed them over. You didn't recognise the name of on the pills, but they looked harmless. You tossed them back and gagged at the bitter aftertaste.

"They pack a punch, so tell me when you start to get drowsy."

"Aye aye captain."

You followed him to the guest room. It was at the very back on the second story, quieter than the rest of the house. A huge glass wall gave you a view of the forest disappearing into the darkness. You could see the ghost of your reflection in the glass, your neighbour a hulking, shapeless mass at your shoulder.

He took a seat in an armchair across form the bed and stretched out his legs. You perched on the edge of the mattress, still feeling a bit like an intruder.

"How long have you been staying out here?” you asked.

He smiled at you, teeth glinting almost wolf-like. "Got you curious?"

"A little. Folk in town say they hardly see you. I don't know... I'm just wondering if you ever get lonely."

He was quiet and you cursed yourself for being so nosy. You hurried to fill the silence.

"It's just that I get a bit lonely out here too. 'Specially when it's so quiet. And I guess I was wondering if it's the same for you."

He smiled at you, rueful. "At times. Used to be worse, but I've got a new interest to keep me occupied nowadays."

"Oh yeah? What?"

"Bird watching."

"Really? What do you look for?"

The way the room was lit up, you couldn't see his eyes. They fell into shadow and you only had his lips to read his emotions by. He smirked, slow and almost mocking.

"Just one bird I look out for. Flighty little thing. Tends to get caught by predators a lot. You’d probably recognise it."

The polite thing to do would be to ask what it was called. You didn't. Some part of whispered that you wouldn't like the answer.

You must have been quiet a little too long because he took it as his cue to leave. He stood, a mountain of muscle, his eyes not quite as nice as they seemed that afternoon. A trick of the light, surely. He wouldn't hurt a fly.

"You rest up. Got a busy day tomorrow."

"G'night."

He was gone before you thought to ask what he meant. And you were passed out on your pillows before you realised it. He was right. The pills sure did pack one hell of a punch.

You were aware of a shadow at the end of your bed. You weren't fully awake, and your limbs were slow and heavy with more than just sleep.

"Who..."

The shadow reached down and one warm paw circled your ankle.

"Just me little bird."

You knew that voice. It was the voice that brought you warm food and invited you in from the cold. You could trust it. Could go back to sleep and not worry about anything.

'No,' some part of you hissed, 'He's not as safe as you think.'

"Cold..."

The shadow laughed and it was the laugh of the fox finding the rabbit's den. Nasty. Hungry.

"Cold huh? Don't worry baby. I'll warm you right up."

He yanked your ankle towards him and your whole body slid down the bed. You were too drowsy to stop it.

"Knew you were gonna be mine the second I saw you," he cooed, hands running up your thighs.

His fingers slipped under your waistband, nails scraping your hip bones.

"Dumb little thing from the city. Doesn't even realise I've tripped all their breakers. That's why you don't have power baby. It's all me."

His fingers were as big as the rest of him. Thick, meaty. Skin rough from working outdoors. You whined when his fingertips scraped the edges of your hole.

"No underwear. You needy slut. That's practically a written and signed invitation to fuck you."

He pulled your pants down to your ankles and pushed your knees up to your stomach. And you were too out of it to stop him. Limp and pliable as a fuck doll.

Your tight ass was exposed to the cold air, entirely at the mercy of whatever he wanted to do.

"Cute." He circled his thumb around the rim, almost pushing in but not quite. "Wanted to be in this ass since you first showed up at my door all those months ago. Lookin' up at me all sweet. Fuck, it's enough to drive a man to desperation."

He lowered his head and you could feel his warm breath washing over your thighs.

He dragged his tongue across your hole. Some part of you must have been more awake than the rest, because your whole body jerked away from him.

"None of that," he cooed, hands digging into your thighs and dragging you back. "I haven't even gotten started yet."

He licked you again, deeper this time. The flexed tip of his tongue pushing at your entrance, and to your dull horror, actually slipping in. He moaned and you could feel the vibrations all through your crotch.

He pulled out and spat, rubbed it in with his fingers. One of them pushed in until the second joint, curling into your walls so rough that you gasped.

"Please..."

"Please what?" he mocked. "Please fuck my tight little ass? Please cum inside me? Use your words little bird."

"Please...stop..."

That made him laugh again, made him shove his finger in all the way to the knuckle. Twisting so cruelly as he pulled out and jerked back in.

"Stop? Stop? After all the work it took to get you here? No way baby. I'm not slowing down and I'm sure as fuck not stopping."

You heard the sound of his belt unbuckling, followed by a sharp intake of breath when he nudged his leaking head against your hole.

"You’re not going to remember this. And I'm not going to leave any evidence."

He pushed your legs tighter against your chest.

"So as much as I want to fuck you rotten, you're gonna have to be happy with just the tip."

He'd done a good job loosening and lubing you, but it still burned like a hot poker when he forced his way in. He groaned, almost in pain.

"You're fucking choking me. God, do you want my cum so bad?"

You could feel when the tip was in. That tiny difference in thickness between his head and shaft was oh so noticeable when your ass was clenching and fluttering around it. It was the smallest mercy, but mercy nonetheless.

He was panting from the effort of getting it in, the effort of holding back. The size difference between you almost perverse. Like a draft stallion trying to mount a pony. In every way, he was just too fucking big.

He spat in his hand and brought it to his cock, ran his palm up and down his shaft with sickly wet strokes. The combination of his palm and your squeezing ass was fucking delicious.

He had great stamina but fuck if it didn't feel like you were milking him.

He let go long enough to smack your ass. It almost finished him. You clenched around him so hard it felt like his tip was getting fucking crushed.

"Shiiiit, you're the best hole I've ever had. Can't wait 'til I can go all the way."

You whined, pitiful as snared prey. There were words there, though they were too slurred to make out. Something about Daddy and please and stop. He ignored you.

He pushed in a little deeper and watched your face scrunching up. So helpless, so fucking caught. That was what did it. The knowledge that he could do this to you at any point and you'd be helpless to stop it.

He came inside you, snarling through clenched teeth, his fingers digging into your thigh hard enough to bruise. You'd notice the marks in the morning and chalk it up to just being clumsy. But he'd know. He'd see the bruises peeking out from the hem of your shorts and his cock would twitch just a little at the memory of leaving them.

His cock pulsed. Shot strings of spunk deep inside you. You could feel it. Hot, too hot. Gross. Make it stop. Get it out.

He pulled out with a wet pop. His cum drooled down and he took a minute to work it back into you with his finger. Your hole was gaping just a little and it made his balls pulse. If he had the time...

"A real fucking mess. And on my good sheets too. You're a terrible guest."

He mopped up whatever cum remained with a balled up piece of martial that he pulled from his pocket. Even in you stupor, you recognised it as your missing underwear.

"Terrible guest, but the perks of having you around are pretty fucking sweet."

He dropped your knees back to the mattress, pulled your pants back into place and roughly yanked the duvet over you. He grabbed your jaw and smiled at the lost, drowsy look in your half open eyes.

"Got a big day tomorrow. Gonna wake up and find your whole house was flooded. Ruined. Gonna have nowhere to stay but with me."

He sounded smug. It made your guts twist.

Outside, the night grew quiet. A predator was hunting and most prey knew better than to catch its attention.

"I made sure of it. All your family and friends in the city are away from home. There's no one around to help you out..."

He tightened his grip just enough to watch the fear start dancing in your eyes.

"No one...except me."

He let you go and smiled that same warm, comforting smile from that afternoon.

"Dumb little thing. Got no clue how your water mains work, do you? Got no idea how easy they are to sabotage."

He tutted. "Got me so damn busy. I'm gonna have to run to your place, fuck shit up and be back here before you wake up for real."

He traced his index finger over your lips and left behind a sticky coating of spunk. You'd wake up tasting salt again, with no memory of why.

"But it's fine. I forgive you. After today we'll have plenty of time together. Rest of our lives in fact. So just sleep tight and forget what you think you've dreamed."

There are perks to living in the middle nowhere. Privacy. Untouched nature. Peace and quiet.

There are perks, but unfortunately for you, your neighbour isn't one of them.

[foldingfittedsheets]

The location of the sex shop I worked was a haven for spiders. We had tall ceilings and skylights and unused storage rooms. It was a spider paradise. We quickly sussed out which coworkers to call on in case of emergency. The Dorito lady was a solid ally for spiders but absolutely petrified of moths.

But there’s actually a hierarchy of fear. Most people don’t realize. The person least afraid is the one forced to deal with the bug in question. If coworker B was scared, but coworker A was petrified, well coworker B was gonna have to screw their courage to the sticking place because by the law of fear they were the most competent person on scene.

Thus enters Rick. Rick first appeared in the back storage room. This room doubled as a second bathroom so we went in on a semi frequent basis. The girl who’d gone in to pee shot out again gibbering with fear about the biggest spider she’d ever seen had just run across her boot.

We sicced Dorito lady on it. She returned, shaking her head. “He was squatting on a power cord where it plugs in. I couldn’t get a clean shot at Rick.”

“Rick?”

She shrugged. “Spiders that big need a name. Seemed like a Rick.”

Rick, freshly named, became a store menace. I’d normally say this was probably a case of multiple spiders being mistaken for one but everyone who encountered him swore up and down there could be no mistake. This spider was massive, fast, and distinct. A gladiator among arachnids.

I never encountered Rick. His exploits grew in the telling but the theme was consistent: no one could kill him. He’d hunker in places that no one could reach and dart away when a strike missed. He also chased off the more faint hearted, charging them in bold dashes. There could be no benign cup transplant to remove Rick from the premise. He was not leaving.

The saga of Rick continued for two months. Not seeing him was almost worse, a fearful wariness when going to the bathroom or stepping into quieter areas. I waited with dread, hoping my eventual run in would have me on shift with Dorito lady to protect me.

It was not to be. There was a girl the same who hated my one moment of singing that was absolute piss-herself scared of spiders. She’d slam straight into a panic attack and couldn’t think or speak. And so it was that one night on shift, I heard her scream.

It was unmistakable. I was in the front window turning off the open sign. Through an obstacle course of mannequins and lingerie I performed an acrobatic sprint out of the window, darting up to find her quivering at the front counter, fully crying. I radiated calm at her and said, “Just point.”

I knew it was Rick. Our destinies were intertwined and we had always been pulled toward the inexorable battle that was drawing nigh.

Her hand raised to point to our sandwich board sign at the front of the store. So Rick had the metaphorical high ground. There was no quick easy strike on the slanted signs surface.

I armed myself and marched into battle, my knuckles white on my chosen weapon. I would do this, because I must. Because there was no one else. And because I wanted to close and go home.

I saw Rick immediately and I honestly don’t think I’ve ever seen a bigger spider since. Outside of a tarantula, he was truly the most massive spider I’ve ever beheld outside a zoo enclosure or terrarium.

We regarded each other. Rick launched off the sign toward me and I stomped my foot reflexively, making him pause in his charge. Then I raised my weapon. Anything else, I believe Rick could have evaded. He’d bested most of the store thus far. But I had chosen chemical warfare.

I doused the shit out of that spider with cleaning spray, stunning him with a barrage of chemicals. While he froze, choking on the unexpected deluge, I dropped a paper towel over him. My foot came down.

I felt his exoskeleton crunch and I can feel it still to this day. The shattering was as of bones and I truly mourned that we had been forced into senseless war. If only he has cleaved tighter to the shadows. If only he’d crawled willing into a cup for relocation. I released a full body shudder of horror, fear, and adrenaline as I stepped back.

I took several quivering breaths. I donned a veneer of calm and tidied the battlefield of it’s corpse then went to reassure my coworker that all was well, while internally I still shook.

You fought well, Rick. I hope you sired many more monstrous children to haunt retail workers in the years to come. Rest in valor, you monster.

[shycoconutt]

It isn’t until you’re laid out underneath him, face burrowed in Nanami’s neck, hands gripping onto his biceps for dear life as he ruts into you, that you notice it.

Right there, where the peak of his shoulder meets his trap muscle, the pale skin decorated with hundreds of small freckles, appears an unnatural, angry indentation.

As you feel his cockhead ram into your cervix over and over, you fixate on this point, eyes going a tad cross eyed as you process what’s in front of you.

“The sword I carry on my back and my duty as a sorcerer is the cross I choose to bear.”

You don’t notice the small bead of drool that escapes the corner of your mouth, or the way your hand instinctively wraps around from behind his back to press the pad of your middle finger into the small divot.

Your eyes widen and your pussy pulses at the small whimper he gives you in response.

Your touches are light at first, but you need to know more. Holding fully onto his shoulder now, you press two of your fingers firmly into his meaty flesh.

The noise that escapes his mouth in reaction to your touch is uncharted territory. Somewhere between a moan and a cry, Nanami folds you fully into a mating press, snapping his hips into you unrestrained.

You understand completely—the mental, emotional and physical toll his line of work has on his being. He is the strongest man you know, but even he needs support. That is your duty, and you give it your all.

“That’s it, that’s it, Ken,” you coo while wrapping both hands around him, pressing with all your strength into his shoulders as he cries out, “Release all your tension. Give everything to me, I can take it.”

It isn’t long until he’s dumping all of his thick seed into you, coating your slick walls. He collapses on top of you, more small spurts escaping in the aftershocks.

Wanting to keep him close, you wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his torso, giving his whole body a playful squeeze. His half-hard length remains in you, keeping you plugged with his essence. You can feel the pressure of a small bulge inside your lower tummy. You’re full of him, just how you like.

Nanami softy clears his throat, willing himself to speak.

“Do you, uh, do you mind massaging my shoulders while we lay here? Your touch is heavenly, darling.”

You smile and hum in response, softy beginning to work at him while he shifts lower to take one of your nipples gently in his mouth.

For hours you two lay there while he softly suckles your tits and you relieve any remaining tension in his body. Every once in a while, he slowly grinds his cock into you, bringing you both to multiple climaxes over the course of your lazy afternoon together.

[tarotsoul]

Smoke & Light — Part One

SUMMARY: Your ex-boyfriend gives you his dealers number, but you don’t expect for him to be so fine. And you certainly don’t expect him to be so goddamn flirty.

WARNINGS: heavy mentions and usage of drugs and driving under the influence (weed), azriel is a drug dealer, kissing, swearing, teasing, masturbation -- don't fuck your plug guys

WORD COUNT: 9.9k

SERIES MASTERLIST

Your patience was wearing thin. Very fucking thin. Those three grey dots mocked you as they bubbled at the bottom of the screen—disappearing and reappearing again—until they were replaced with another less than satisfying message.

Brandon: are you taking the piss? Why didn’t you just ask when you were here earlier?

You scanned the message over, swallowing back the groan at the idea of another potential argument. You needed to nip his attitude in the bud, you weren’t entertaining his bullshit anymore. Gnawing at the inside of your cheek, your fingers quickly typed a response.

You: I didn’t realise I was out until I got home. Can you get any or not? Just lmk

The dots appeared again after a few moments of silence, and you prepared yourself for the snarky remark he was most likely to give you, and took a deep breath to compose yourself in advance. 

Brandon: no. I can’t get you any. Sort it out yourself for once.

There was no way in Hell you were going to let your frustrations show. Despite the pure anger and annoyance that began to bubble even more within you.

Brandon could be a lot of things. A liar. A cheat. And a fucking asshole. In all honestly, the only thing he was truly good for was the occasional above par fuck and the fact that his dealer had the best weed you’d ever smoked.

But when they were the only two good things he had going for him, it was hard to justify the disgusting behaviour he showed throughout almost your entire relationship. You broke up every few weeks as it was, but if you’d known about the cheating before, you would’ve left for good sooner.

Instead, you found out a year and half into the relationship, coming to the deafening conclusion that he had, in fact, never been faithful for a single moment of his teenage and adult life.

Fuck him. And fuck his shit sex. The weed, you could get yourself.

You: lmao ok. What’s his number?

A heartbeat after he read the text, he was calling you. And the moment you answered the call, he was his usual, un-charming self.

“What the fuck do you mean what’s his number?”

“Hello to you, too.” You murmured, tucking yourself under the blanket on your couch.

His clipped tone didn’t startle you, didn’t worry you about any form of consequences. He wasn’t scary, even when he tried to be. He was just a douche.

“What do you mean what’s his number?” He repeated himself, that agitation growing thicker and thicker with every word he spoke.

“How else am I supposed to get any?”

“Find your own dealer.”

He was being bitter now, pathetically so. You picked at the aged edges of your book, a novel you’d read five times over but one you couldn’t get enough of. Your love for it could be seen by the fading print of the front cover and the severely broken spine—despite how careful you tried to be with your readings.

“Brandon, I’m not going to find a random dealer. Your Azriel guy has good stuff and I know it’s safe. Besides, me going to the same person as you is not going to affect you in any way.”

He was silent for a moment, mulling over your words. Despite his dreadful personality and lack of love and care and compassion, he knew how little you knew about marijuana. He was the one that taught you to roll, after all.

You’d barely smoked before you met him, and on the rare occasions you did get high, it was usually in the form of gummy edibles your friends had. And you weren’t addicted or reliant on it in any way. You just enjoyed a smoke every now and then if you’d had a long day.

Alcohol had never been your favourite, and you much preferred to feel the chilled buzz from a joint than cradle a hangover for two days after a soirée.

“Fine. I’ll text you his number. Say Marco gave you his number, it’s a code he made up—had cops on him a while ago. He can be a bit of an ass, don’t let him shit talk you. Ask for a 3.5, he usually charges 40 for it. It’ll last you a couple weeks unless you’re planning on smoking heavy.”

It was easy to be pulled back in when he was like that. When he did the bare minimum of offering advice on things he knew you weren’t too sure on. But you were better than that now, smarter. You weren’t going to fall back into your old ways again.

Not with him. Not with anyone.

“I’m not. Thank you.”

The line went dead as soon as the words left your mouth and a few moments later, he texted you Azriel’s number. You would’ve appreciated a reminder of what you were supposed to ask for but at least you got his number. Small wins. You weren’t his responsibility anymore.

It took you a few minutes to figure out what to say, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as you typed and erased, typed and erased. Until you settled on ‘Is this Azriel?’ and finally sent the message.

Ten minutes passed and you didn’t get a response. Your nose was tucked back into your romance novel as you chewed on the drawstring of your hoodie. In all honesty, you could’ve quite easily slipped into a peaceful slumber under the warm golden glow of your lamps.

That was another thing Brandon couldn’t respect. Your No Main Light rule. The vibes were always immaculate with gentle warmth from lamps. The main light was not allowed on under any circumstances. You much preferred the cosy feeling of golden hues that accentuated the deep green leaves of your plants and vines that scattered the walls and crevices of your home. 

Your phone chimed from your lap, a small surge of anxiety pulsing in your chest. You unlocked the screen and read over the message.

Azriel: depends who’s asking.

Ah, Brandon did warn you. You considered fucking the whole idea off. Maybe cracking open a bottle of wine and snuggling on the couch with a book or tv show would be better than having to meet this asshole, but the bottle of White Zinfandel wouldn’t give you the mellow buzz you wanted.

Not unless you had at least four glasses which was usually paired with a hangover the next day. Something you did not want to entertain. So, you bit the bullet and typed your reply.

You: y/n, got your number from Marco. You about?

The more you let your mind wander, the more you realised how little you knew. You had no clue how this sort of thing worked. Would he come to you? Your home? Would you meet at a location of his choice? Or would he just stash the weed somewhere for you to collect and you don't cross paths at all?

But the burning fire of the what-if anxiety was quickly trampled and extinguished when another text came through and instead of him deciding for you, you were given a choice. 

Azriel: sure, I can meet you at old tower in 20 if that’s good for you? If not I can drop to your location. 

He didn’t seem as much of an ass now. No, quite the opposite. But you supposed that offer was something he probably gave to all new, female clients. If he truly was an ass or not, you couldn’t fault him for the consideration. 

Old Tower was the old old watermill tucked slightly away in the centre of the city. It had been derelict for years, but due to its location—so close to all the necessities and right opposite the police station—no one ever tried to break in or set it alight like many other derelict listed buildings had been in the past. 

Even now, at almost midnight, that part of the city would still be bustling with city-natives and tourists alike. And you appreciated the safe and public meeting spot he suggested. 

You: old tower in 20 is fine. 

As quickly as you sent the message, you received another reply. A text describing his blue Mustang and his licence plate. You shook the nerves off as soon as they came. Azriel was respectful and well known. He dealt to make his money and that was that. 

But the facts didn’t stop you from sharing your location with Brandon just in case, nor did it stop you from double checking you still had your little pepper spray clipped to your keychain. 

The walk to the Old Tower wasn’t a bad one. There were many ways you could access it, most of them leading you through the city, but here were a few that hid you behind back roads and alleyways—those were routes you never took. Not on your own and certainly not in the middle of the night. 

The air was still a bit sticky from the summer heat, and while the denim shorts you wore kept your body cool, you were grateful you kept on your hoodie—just that extra layer that protected your arms and shoulders from the chill of the breeze that your legs never seemed to experience. 

It didn’t take long for you to reach the Old Tower, and it took even less time to spot the electric blue 2022 Ford Mustang. Small tufts of white smoke emitted from the exhaust as it sat in its standstill, headlights facing the opposite direction of what you came in, but you could still hear the engine humming from your short distance away. 

You double checked the licence plate to the number Azriel texted you, and slowly made your way closer. While you didn’t know much about drop offs, deals, and weed in general, you did know the unspoken rules of picking up. And if you were picking up from someone in a vehicle, most people got inside for a few minutes before leaving. 

Azriel must’ve noticed you from the rear view mirror because just as you approached the back of the car, the passenger seat opened wide, inviting you in. You sucked in a breath but accepted the invitation, keeping your eyes forward as you settled into the warmth of the leather seat and closed the door shut. 

You finally let your body shift and your eyes met his. And you were fucking done for. 

You’d never seen a man so strikingly fucking beautiful before. He was tall, lean and muscular and oozed pure sex and charisma. Tan, golden skin and dark, luscious hair that swept loosely down his forehead and curled gently around the tops of his ears. 

His face was chiselled not too sharply, a subtle gentleness to the stark contrast of the cold, brooding aura he carried. And those eyes. Christ, those fucking eyes. Hazel iris’ that dripped with a golden hue of honey. 

You swallowed down the dry lump in your throat and willed your lips to part so you could finally speak. “Thank you for meeting me so late.”

And Azriel was absolutely hooked. 

When you’d texted barely thirty minutes ago, he did not expect to be meeting with someone so fucking gorgeous. Your soft hair was twisted in a loose braid that hung over your shoulder, wayward strands having fallen from the updo and framing your face mesmerizingly. 

Your eyes were the most captivating thing he’d ever seen; rich in colour and wide with slight anxiety, despite the sleepiness he could slightly notice beneath them. Your voice sounded like a fever dream. It wasn’t sickly sweet like most women he knew or dealt to. Perhaps it was just the sleep, but there was a rasp—a very slight ruggedness—in your tone and Azriel was certain he’d never heard something quite so sensual in his life. 

He cleared his throat, that all too cheeky grin teetering on the corners of his mouth. “I was already out,” he shrugged, nonchalantly. “How much are you after?” 

His voice was a perfect blend of sweet and rough. A deep depth to his tone that skipped hand-in-hand with a sweeter note. God, he was unreal, and the sound of him had you forgetting entirely what exactly Brandon told you to ask for. 

You pulled your lips between your teeth and offered a very sheepish��but mostly embarrassed—smile. “Um… I’m sorry,” you found yourself apologising for the second time tonight. “My ex used to do this part, so I have no idea how this works.”

You couldn’t help the flush that rose to your cheeks at your own admission, couldn’t handle being the subject of his firm gaze, and you absolutely could not fucking handle the soft rumble of rich laughter that chuckled through him. 

“Do you smoke a lot?” Azriel finally asked, a slightly amused smile on those full lips of his. His pink tongue swiped out to wet them and your heart thundered against your ribcage at the sight. 

“Not really,” you cleared your throat. “Just every now and then. Semi-regularly, I guess.” There was no such thing as semi-regularly when it came to drugs and alcohol. To someone’s own self, sure. But not the general mass that consumed whatever it was they did. 

Some considered three joints a day ‘semi-regular’, while others considered it as a joint every few days. Azriel had a feeling you were the latter, but he didn’t say anything about his thoughts or what you’d said. 

Instead, he hummed and chewed at the inside of his cheek in thought. He wasn’t laughing at you or your lack of knowledge or understanding. Usually, he’d have kicked a new client out of his car by now and told them to figure it out on their own—he was a dealer, not a fucking private tutor—but with you, he didn’t seem to mind explaining or breaking things down so it was easier to understand. 

Neither of you white understood why he was happy to explain, but you didn’t complain. You’d much prefer this than the alternative version of him that you’d been warned about. 

“A 3.5 would probably be best for you, then.” He decided. 

Yes, a 3.5… that sounded very familiar. You nodded, slowly, considering your next words carefully. You had already disclosed the most embarrassing part of not having a fucking clue how this worked, one more probably wouldn’t hurt, would it? 

“This is going to sound absolutely ridiculous,” you chuckled nervously, scratching at the nape of your neck. “But can you break that down in joint terms?”

Azriel laughed again, softer this time, through a breath. It was odd, really. He wasn’t laughing to be cruel or to embarrass you further. It seemed to you that perhaps he found it endearing—your innocence on the matter—and maybe, just maybe, you reminded him of himself when he too at one point, had no idea either. 

“It depends on how strong you have them. Do you smoke blunts or just joints?” 

Your eyes widened animatedly. “God, no. Just joints. I think a blunt might wipe me out.” 

A glint of warmth and light fluttered through his eyes for a split second. “So, a 3.5 would get you like seven joints.” 

“Yeah, that would last me like a week, two weeks.” You nodded. “I’ll have a 3.5 then, thank you.”

Azriel hummed in agreement, and it was only when he reached for the centre console and flipped open a compartment that you saw his hands. His golden skin was marred beyond belief, etched in burns and an array of pigmented colours. Your stomach lurched at the sight. Not from fear or pity or disgust, no. Your stomach twisted in agony, your brain couldn’t comprehend a reason for scars like that. 

You looked away as quickly as you clocked them, not wanting to stare and not wanting him to notice. You supposed he was used to lingering gazes, but you would not be a name added to that list of people. 

Azriel did nothing but make you feel comfortable in the brief few minutes of meeting one another. He was kind enough to not laugh in your face and kick you out of his car after your admittance. You were not about to make him feel uncomfortable either. 

He pulled out a small plastic baggie stuffed to the brim with forest green nuggets and handed it to you between two scarred, pinched fingers. You took it gratefully, a full and genuine smile on your lips now as you thanked him, reaching into the back pocket of your denim shorts for the cash. 

“Did you want me to roll them for you, too?” Azriel’s teasing voice dripped with sarcasm and your eyes snapped to him with a stern look. “‘Cause that’ll cost you extra.” 

“I know how to roll, thank you.” You bit back, and while your voice and tone held all the conviction, the amused glint in your eye and the corners of your mouth told him he hadn’t offended you in the slightest.  

“It’s twenty-five.” Azriel chuckled from beside you. 

Your brows furrowed as you pulled out two twenty’s, meeting his gaze again. “Isn’t it usually like forty?”

The air now smelt of that tangy, vile scent, something that you don’t think you’d ever get used to. Or enjoy. He shrugged, flipping down the lid of the compartment between you. “You’re a new client.”

You raised a brow now, a taunting smirk creeping at the corner of your mouth. “Do you always undercharge new clients, then?”

Azriel liked you. Very much. You didn’t shy away or hide your personality from him, even after only knowing one another for barely an hour in total. He had a feeling he was barely scraping the surface. 

He matched your stare, only he wasn't teasing. “Only the pretty ones.”

There was no hiding the heat that crawled up your neck and sat heavy on your cheeks. It had been a long while since you received a genuine compliment. Let alone one so forward and from someone so unexpected. You averted your gaze from him, looking at the two twenty’s in your hand. Raising them, you pursed your lips. 

“I only have two twenty’s on me. So you may as well take the full forty.” 

Azriel didn’t listen. Instead, he pinched one note from your hand, his skin brushing yours but you didn’t falter, didn’t shy away. He was warm, and despite the scars and marred skin, his skin was softer than you expected. 

You huffed, not ungrateful for the discount but this was his livelihood and taking away from that felt wrong to you. 

“Let me know when you’re out.” 

You smiled appreciatively and nodded, stuffing the bag and cash into your hoodie pocket and reaching for the door handle. “I will. Nice to meet you, Azriel.” 

He watched you climb out of the car, offering another warm smile as the cooler evening air kissed at his skin. He wanted to ask how you were getting home, if you’d be walking alone or if you needed a ride. But Azriel couldn’t cross those lines, especially not with someone he only just met. 

So he bit his tongue and prayed to the Mother above to get you home safely. “You too, Y/N.” 

He started up the engine again as soon as the door closed, but he didn’t drive away. He watched you through the rear view mirror until you were out of sight and when he finally looked down, he found his jeans tight around his crotch and a painful erection. 

“Fuck.”

“Why don’t we give the brownies idea a try?”

Azriel’s head felt like it may explode. For the past two hours, he’d been stuck in a discussion between his brothers regarding new ideas for new products to sell. And while Az and Rhys had no ideas to suggest (all agreeing cocaine, molly and ket were not up for discussion), Cassian was still hellbent on making weed brownies—despite knowing not a damn thing about baking. 

“Cass,” Rhys sighed, pinching sharply at the bridge of his nose. Azriel was going to lose his shit, he couldn’t go through this again—for a fifth fucking time. “We literally spoke about this last week! None of us know how to bake!” 

Cassian paid no mind to Rhysand’s clear frustrations with him and scoffed as he threw his head back on the couch. “It can’t be that fucking hard.” 

“Then by all means, buy your own shit and burn it while you try and figure it out.” 

Azriel blinked, looking between the pair. He’d barely said a word, too worried he may get a bit too heated. Cassian got like this sometimes—most of the time—and more often than not, Az got the idea he only did it to get a reaction out of Rhys, who had very little patience when it came to him.

Someone had to play mediator and devil’s advocate in every situation, and somehow, even since they were teens, that role always landed on Azriel’s shoulders. 

Deciding enough was enough, he leant forward and peered between them both. “As much as edibles would help out sales, Rhys is right,” Cassian snickered at him, “It’s not a good idea right now. Not when we have no clue what we’re doing, and especially not when we’re having problems with our supplier right now.”

It was silent in the room for a moment, for the first time in an hour. And after a few minutes passed and no one spoke, Rhys stood from the couch with a sigh. “I’ve gotta get going to the parlour. All my sketches are there and I’ve got a long day and a huge back piece to tattoo tomorrow.” 

He clapped a hand against both Az and Cassian’s shoulders before bidding them a goodbye and leaving. Cassian remained sulking on the couch, thick and toned arms crossed on his chest with an unsatisfied scowl on his face. Azriel took purchase on the coffee table in front of him, lips pursed to suppress his amusement.

Cassian often got like this if he was told no or something didn’t go his way. When they were younger, Azriel used to roll his eyes and tell him to get over it. But now, in their mid-twenties and Cassian sharing a striking resemblance to that hunky character from that one Disney movie, Azriel found his sulking the best form of entertainment. 

“Are you not working tonight?” Az broke the silence with a lighthearted question. As much as he found his brothers face amusing, he didn’t really have the energy to deal with it all fucking night. He had shit to do, people to see. And he didn’t particularly want to bring Cassian along to his drop off’s—not when Cass scared the shit out of most people. 

“Club’s closed, waiting for Nes to finish. Staying at hers tonight,” he mumbled.

Relief was quick to flow through Azriel’s blood as he let out a breath. His phone chimed from his back pocket as he said, “Tell her I say hi,” and a gentle smile tugged at the corners of Cassian’s mouth.

Az and Nesta had a decent friendship, he was closer to her than he was Feyre, but maybe that was because Nesta didn’t tiptoe around Az like most other people did. Maybe that was why he liked you so much. You didn’t shy under his gaze, and you didn’t treat him differently after noticing his scarred hands. 

Yes, he saw you watching, inspecting with hurt and curious eyes. But you didn’t say anything so neither did he. And when you purposely brushed your skin against his when you took that bag of bud, he knew you’d done it out of silent reassurance. 

And yet, he hadn’t heard from you since you met three days ago. Not that he expected you to message so soon, not after you said the 3.5 would last around two weeks, but he still felt that deep disappointment whenever he checked his phone and your name wasn’t the one to have messaged him. 

He needed to get a grip on himself, really. But you were different. So different from anyone he’d ever met or known before. You didn’t play up to any facade, you didn’t hesitate to tease him back. You were honest, painfully so when you admitted you were clueless, but that only made him find you even more endearing. 

“What about you?” Cassian’s voice drilled into his ears, abruptly pulling Azriel away from the memory of you. He quickly typed back a reply to a client that he could drop off within the hour and shoved his phone back in his pocket. 

“What about me?” Az asked. 

“Any plans?” 

Azriel shrugged, elbows leaning on his spread thighs and the oak coffee table creaked beneath his firm weight. “I’ve got a few deals to do, but that’s about it.”

Cass nodded, finally unfolding his arms and letting them drop to his sides. “Well, you know where I’ll be if you wanna come by, Nes would be happy to see you.”

Azriel raised a brow. “I saw her two days ago.”

His brother gave him a look, one that suggested ‘yeah, I know, but you’re like her best friend and she loves you to literal death’, and that was that. 

Cass left soon after, picking Nesta up from work and leaving Azriel home alone for what seemed like the thousandth night in a row. He didn’t mind it, not really. He enjoyed his own company and when Cass stayed at Nesta’s and Rhys stayed at Feyre’s, it meant Az could play around with new melodies and not be scolded for playing guitar at 4 a.m. and waking everybody up. 

Having the apartment to himself was a win-win for everyone involved. 

Only tonight, he didn’t want to sit and play with new sounds and rhythms. Not when his mind was completely distracted by you. By your smile, your eyes, by that sensual voice of yours that he hadn’t stopped replaying in his memory for the past three days. 

It wouldn’t hurt to send just one text, right? Just the one, just to check in on how you were finding the bud. As if you hadn't smoked it before they met. 

He shouldn’t. This wasn’t what he did—he didn’t chase after girls, he never had, and he most certainly did not get hooked—especially not on someone he’d known for three days. 

And yet, despite that, Azriel found himself on your messages, hovering his fingers over the keyboard and typing out a quick text and sending it before he could even think about it. 

Azriel: how’s the bud?

But it wasn’t his lack of thinking before sending the message that had his jaw slack, no. It was the fact that as soon as the message travelled from the box to the messaging thread, you had already opened it. Like you were already on the chat. Perhaps debating your own text to him. 

Those grey bubbles appeared at the bottom of the screen and Azriel made quick work to click out of the conversation. His heart should not have been stammering in his chest the way it was, he should not have felt so anxious about what you may think if he read your text as quickly as you read his. 

You: very good. And you were right. 7 joints! 

And then, another.

You: I may need a top up sooner than i thought, if that’s ok?

Azriel: what happened to it lasting you 2 weeks?? Nah, that’s fine. Did you wanna meet up tonight?

You: would that be ok?

Azriel: yes. Old tower in 20?

You: life saver <3 see u then!

He tried his damned hardest not to stare at the little heart you sent him, tried his best not to picture you thinking about texting him to meet up again. But all he tried, it didn’t work and a smirk began to tug at the corners of his mouth. 

His Ford Mustang parked outside the Old Tower fifteen minutes later, the engine still humming softly and his eyes flitted between the rearview mirror and his view in front of him, trying to gauge which way you’d come from. 

He didn’t expect for you to come out of the shadows in a third direction, one in the wake of the passengers side, and he didn’t realise until the door opened and you slid your body inside his car, shutting the door behind you. 

“Hi,” you turned to him with a beaming smile—eyes gently blazed with a moody pink hue. 

Azriel drank you in. Your hair was down today in what he presumed was your natural waves, face bare of makeup save for the sheen of pinky lip gloss that coated your mouth. You wore an oversized cropped olive cardigan; the large buttons done up just enough to offer a slither of a peek of the white bralette you wore beneath, and a pair of straight-legged black cargos. 

Gods, you looked even better than he remembered, but Azriel wasn’t naive to your staring either. Your eyes caught notice of his thick, muscled arms. They weren’t hidden beneath a jacket this time. No. They bulged from the black t-shirt he wore, and his brown skin was etched in intricate swirls and shapes and designs in black ink. 

You gulped, visibly so. Tattoos had always been an immediate attraction for you—not that Brandon ever had any—but the sight of Azriels and the one that hid beneath the sleeve of his top and curled up and around his neck… Gods, your throat felt extremely dry.

And Azriel noticed everything. 

“I thought you said you didn’t smoke much?” 

Your eyes finally snapped to his hazel ones and warmth coated your cheeks and chest. You cleared your throat, blinking a few times to regain some sense of composure. “I don’t,” you retorted. “Girls night. And it was my turn to host.” 

Azriel tried not to think too deeply into the idea of you having a night at home with your girlfriends, stoned and warm and cosy and all inhibitions thrown out the window. He wondered if those were the types of things you did with your friends. He’d been with a few before that did. 

He looked away as soon as he felt that familiar tightening in his jeans. “So, you want another 3.5?” He cleared his throat, lifting the compartment between your seats. 

You hummed, eyes following his movements. Your gaze lingered on his biceps for a moment, trailing down to the veins that protruded from his smooth skin. You didn’t know what was wrong with you. Oftentimes than not, you found yourself horny and riled up when under the influence, but never like this. Never so strongly at the sight of two veiny, tattooed arms. 

“Um, yeah… please.” You finally spoke. “I promise it’ll last me longer than three days this time.”

Azriel prayed to the fucking mother above that it didn’t. But he didn’t say anything. Instead, he retrieved a 3.5 baggie and handed it to you, closing the compartment again and the second he opened his mouth to speak, you were already grabbing a marred hand and shoving two twenty’s into it before forcing his fist closed. 

Perhaps it was the buzz of the joint you smoked on your way, or perhaps it was the pure arousal you felt at the sight of him and the feel of his hand in yours that gave you a surge of confidence. Whatever it was, it had you saying, “Pretty clients might get a discount from you, but incredibly attractive, tattooed plugs get full pay from me.”

Azriel was stunned for a moment, by both your boldness and the shameless compliment. His mouth blubbered open, a retort just as flirty as yours on the tip of his tongue when the sound of his ringtone blaring through the car’s bluetooth speaker cut him off. 

He disconnected the call a bit too quickly, an amused smile teetering on the curves of your already twisted lips. Azriel paid no mind to his own actions, instead turning back to you with a fire in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place. 

His lips parted in another attempt to speak when that gods-dammed phone interrupted him for a second time and you could no longer hold your laughter. Azriel decided there and then that the next time he saw you, he’d make sure he heard that sweetness again. 

You didn’t give him time to cut the call off again. Instead, you reached for the door handle and offered a grateful smile. “I’ll text you when I’m out.”

His senses were too on overdrive. Too torn between wanting to stop you, even if to spend a few more moments in your presence, and the deafening sound of his fucking phone. But you’d exited the car and closed the door behind you before he could do anything about it. The cash was still stuffed in his warm hands and the incoming call continued to make his ears bleed. 

“What?” Azriel seethed the second he answered the call. It was silent for a moment, the caller caught off guard by Az’s tone but that only pissed him off further. 

“It’s Brandon,” the line paused for a moment again. “You about?” 

Azriel felt his blood boil. “If I don’t fucking answer the first time, that usually means no.”

He disconnected the call without another word, marred hands now gripping the wheel until his knuckles turned white. He hated the way he was reacting over you—over being interrupted from your presence. But he couldn't help it. Couldn’t get the thought out of his head of how sweet your lips probably tasted with that gloss. And without it. 

Azriel’s chest heaved slightly, that all too familiar sense of arousal tightening in his pants. He couldn’t stand this, couldn't understand how a tiny slip of your bralette could have his mind and body reacting like this. How a subtle smirk and a sultry gaze could have him ready to blow a load in his pants. 

Christ, he needed to sort himself out. Absent-mindedly, Azriel snuck a hand between his thighs, large scarred hand palming at his length through the fabrics. His breathing turned quicker, his movements growing needier. If he didn’t sort himself out soon he’d been in agony. 

With one hand on the wheel, he forced himself to drive—only for a moment or two until his Mustang was parked idly between two buildings and switched off the engine to not draw too much attention to himself. 

He was above this—above getting himself off semi-publicly. But he couldn’t fucking help it. He didn’t care how shameful and icky he might’ve felt afterwards, not when he was so desperate. 

As soon as the car was covered in shadows of darkness, he unclasped his seatbelt and unpopped the buttons of his jeans. He didn’t bother to pull them down, only releasing the zip and reaching into his boxers to tug his length free. 

The second he felt his skin on him, he shuddered. His slender fingers wrapped around his thick shaft, offering himself a teasing squeeze as he slowly moved. Azriel didn’t need lube or lotion—not when pearly beads of semi-translucent arousal leaked from his pink, ruddy tip. He smoothed it down his length, mewling at the contact he rewarded himself. 

And all he could think about was you. 

Your eyes, your lips, your voice.

He let his mind wander to sinful images of what may lay hidden beneath your clothes—beneath that little white bralette. Azriel quickened his pace as his eyes fluttered closed, the back of his head hitting the headrest. He throbbed in his hand, a gruff moan tearing from his throat. 

Azriel could picture you clearly in his head; on your knees in the footwell, your dainty hands around his cock as your lips kissed and sucked him. His hand in your hair, bobbing you on his length, watching your eyes water from the size of him as he hit the back of your throat. 

His breathing grew ragged, filthy images of your choking on his cock filling his brain, clouding his sensing and coaxing a release out of him. Azriel didn’t think he’d ever come so quickly before in his life, but the idea of you looking up at him with sultry eyes through thick lashes had him spurting warm ribbons of cum into his hand as he cupped his head to minimise the mess. A desperate attempt to replicate what he imagined the warmth of your mouth would feel like. 

As his breathing began to even out, the post-nut clarity hit him like a ton of fucking bricks. Shame boiled in his blood, a tint of pink embarrassment painted on his cheeks as if the shadows judged him, too. The idea of seeing you again while knowing what he’d done to the thought of you… it made his insides churn slightly. 

But more than that, it made his cock leap again in anticipation of soon being in your presence once more. 

“Az, what do you say? Up for a double date?” 

Feyre couldn’t hide her smile, unable to keep her emotions in check when it came to her attempts to set Azriel up. But the instant disappearance of his smile wasn’t missed on her. Nor was the way his shoulders tensed slightly. 

He sighed. “Fey, as much as I appreciate your concern for my love life, I don’t need to be set up.”

She pouted at him. Despite that always being his answer, she still held a shred of hope every time she suggested it. Even if he never changed his mind, she was willing to continuously try, even if he did find it annoying. Even if she didn’t tell him until the very last minute. 

“Who’s the lucky girl then, Az?” Nesta piped up with a wide grin from her seat in the couch, tucked closely into Cassian’s side who paid no mind to the conversation at hand. 

He rolled his eyes at her. “There is no girl.” 

“Guy, then.” Nesta scoffed, waving a hand. 

Azriel didn’t want to entertain this conversation, especially not because it had somehow brought his mind back to you. Something he’d been so desperately trying to avoid. 

Though, he supposed it was inevitable. He would be seeing you again at some point and then he’d be stuck right back where he started. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure why he was doing this to himself— why he didn’t allow himself to pursue you if that was what he truly wanted. 

His phone chimed from his pocket. 

In hindsight, it was probably a good thing that Azriel didn’t hear from you for two weeks. It gave him ample time to attempt to get his hormones in check, but it didn’t stop his blood from warming everytime he received a notification. Each time, he was left with slight disappointment to find it was just another client. 

Until today. Until now. Where your name was in fact the one on his lockscreen and all of that forgetting and willing to get you out of his mind faltered. 

You: Hey, are you free later?

Azriel: I'm free all night.

When you didn’t respond, Azriel assumed you were looking for a more direct answer. So he sent another text. 

Azriel: old tower in an hour good for you?

You: see you then.

He couldn’t help the frown that furrowed in his brows at your reply. Given, your only communication was mainly through text, and perhaps he was looking too much into it, but you didn't seem yourself. And that thought shouldn’t have irked him as much as it did. 

He barely bid anyone a goodbye, throwing a mumbled ‘see you later’ as he grabbed his shit and left. 

His first stop was to Sean, a lean Asian guy that had been buying off Azriel for two years now. He was decent enough, never tried to haggle or complain about the prices. They shared a mutual respect and minimal words were shared when Az handed him a Q and Sean gave 140 in one swift motion. 

And just like that, Azirel moved onto the next.

And then another. 

And another. 

Until he was waiting at the Old Tower and watching your silhouette approach the Mustang. You entered the car just like you always had done, though you didn’t meet his gaze this time. Instead, you kept your line of view ahead. Your hair obstructed the side of your face, effectively shielding you from his prying eyes. 

“Sorry I’m a little late.” 

Azriel absolutely did not like the quake in your voice as you spoke, nor did he like the way you seemed to cower into your body and clothes. Clothes that didn’t seem to match your usual vibe—instead, the mismatched black sweatpants and bright pink puffer jacket gave off the impression you threw on whatever was around you. 

Somehow, Azriel still thought you made it look good. On you, the outfit looked both planned and effortless. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that that wasn’t the case. 

“You good?” he asked through the piercing silence. 

You hummed, twisting the bulky silver ring on your thumb. “Yeah, just tired.” You tried your hardest to offer a convincing smile as you turned to him, but Azriel noticed the way it didn’t meet your eyes—the eyes that appeared slightly bloodshot, though he had a suspicion it wasn’t from smoking.

Not wanting to press on the matter, Az opened the compartment and pulled out a baggie of your usual amount and kept it pinched between two scarred fingers. You reached for it, the cash in your other hand but he kept his grip tight. 

Azriel raised a brow. “You’re sure you’re alright?” 

You could see the concern flood his hazel eyes, and the sight pulled on your aching heartstrings. How could someone who was a virtual stranger care more for you than the ones who were much closer in your life?

You didn’t trust your words, so you nodded and he finally released his hold on the bag. “Alright,” Az sighed. “It’s a different strain than my usual stuff, so go a little lighter with it. It’s pretty strong.” 

You were incredibly thankful for the warning, though you couldn’t help feeling a little offended. Did he really think you were so naive and new to this world that you couldn’t handle a new strain at your usual strength (which, admittedly, was very weak) without greening out? 

But as quickly as that feeling rose, it faded. He was a dealer, afterall, and he couldn’t afford to lose business all because someone thought they knew better and had a bad trip. 

“Thank you,” you muttered out, already reaching for the handle when his ruggedly soft voice stopped you. 

“You wanna smoke before you go? I can drop you back after.” 

You whipped your head to him, blinking through slightly blurred vision. With a brow raised and widened eyes, your lips parted. “Together?”

A smile stretched across his full lips, one so full of charisma and keen interest that it awakened something deep in the pit of your stomach. Something you distinctly remember feeling the last time you saw him. 

“Why not?” 

You swallowed as your hand slowly fell from the handle and made its way back in your lap. Your smile morphed into a smirk that matched his and the air shifted into something unreadable. Something palpable but not quite real. 

“Really? Do you normally smoke with your clients?” 

Azriel’s wicked grin widened. “I do with the cute ones.” 

You choked on a laugh, rolling your head back until it hit the headrest and Azriel didn’t think he’d ever seen or heard anything so fucking beautiful in his life. That laugh would haunt him in his dreams to a blissful paradise. 

“First, I’m pretty. Now I’m cute… what’s next?” 

Damn the rules he set himself. Damn the restrictions he forced when it came to someone who piqued his interest. It was about time Azriel took what he wanted for once. Even if that meant he started with no longer feeling guilty for flirting with you. 

Chewing at the inside of his cheek, Azriel started up the engine and shifted the gearstick. “Guess you’ll have to wait and find out.” 

He tilted his head to the dashboard compartment and you pulled it open. The small warm white light lit the cove, a golden hue casting on a small yellow tin. Throwing a glance to Azriel, he nodded and you pulled it out, closing the compartment and popping open his travel tin. 

It was packed with perfectly rolled joints and blunts. The smell was strong—potent—but you didn’t mind. Not as much as you had before. You picked one random of the bunch and pinched it between two fingers. It was rolled tightly and packed full, a very small twist of paper at the end and you hummed, impressed. 

Of course he could roll perfectly. And you had a feeling just two pulls of one of those would keep you warm and fuzzy for the remainder of the night. 

“There’s a lighter in the cup holder.” Azriel spoke as he pulled out of the space and began to drive further out of the lights of the city. 

You pinched the lighter. Just a simple black one, no funky pattern or engraved initials like most others had. No, Azriel’s was one that came in a pack of five and the other four were somewhere in the car or back at his apartment. 

“We can smoke in here?” you asked softly, that crack in your voice easing. 

Az hummed, taking a right turn. “If you’re comfortable to.”

You waited a moment, eyeing the joint and then him. “You drive when you smoke?” 

He seemed to notice your somewhat apprehension when he nodded again. He turned to you briefly before flicking his eyes back on the road again. “I drive better when I’m stoned. But if you’d prefer, we can park up somewhere.” 

You shook your head, warmth caressing every inch of your body. You didn’t know what it was, but something had overcome you. An overwhelming sense of pure yearning. You could admit when you first met Az that he was attractive, incredibly so. But now? Watching him, speaking with him, smoking with him… oh God’s… you had a fucking crush on your plug. 

“You wanna start it or should I?” Azriel’s voice broke you from your epiphany and you blinked quickly, willing the rising heat to just fuck off and give you a moments reprive. 

“Oh,” you squeaked. “You can, it’s your weed.” 

He didn’t look away from the road, not for a second. With a hand on the wheel and the other shifting gears, he edged his head closer to yours and angled his face just slightly with his lips parted. You were stunned for a moment, realising what he was asking you to do, and you swallowed back that bubbling arousal as you placed the unlit joint to his lips and sparked up a flame, igniting the end.

Az hummed in thanks as he took a long, deep drag. You couldn’t take your eyes off him. He was a fucking sight. Cheeks ever so slightly hollowed and eyes barely squinted as the smoke filled his lungs. 

A scarred hand left the gearstick to reach for the joint, his thumb reaching for the bottom while his forefinger grazed the top and he pulled it away with another fresh intake of breath, settling the drug further. 

You were soaked, you were sure of it. Your previous problems from today were a distant memory as you finally watched him exhale and bring the joint to his lips again for another long pull. 

The sound of the windows opening broke you from your trance and only then did you realise you hadn’t yet put on your seatbelt. You tore your gaze away to clip yourself in and when you turned back, Azriel was offering you the joint. 

With your free hand, you accepted it, the other stuffing the cash in his cup holder with the lighter. You inspected the joint, tried not to let your heart race. You’d only ever smoked with your friends and Brandon. Never with a dealer. Never with someone like Azriel. 

You slotted your pursed lips over the same area Az did, and inhaled as deeply as you could. The burn at the back of your throat was stronger than when you smoked your own joints, and as it filled your lungs you pulled it away and held back a cough that gagged to release from your throat. 

With a shaky exhale, you swallowed around the dryness of your mouth before bringing it back to your lips for another drag. When you pulled it away, the burn wasn’t as bad and you passed it back to Azriel who took another turn on the roads. 

“Where are we going?” You pondered, a certain rasp to your voice from the strength of the joint. 

Azriel took two short pulls and angled the burning end out the window, flicking off the excess ash before offering it to you again. 

“Wherever you want,” he replied. “But first, we should probably get some food for when the munchies kick in.” 

You laughed as you exhaled another breath and handed the joint back to him, waving a hand to signal you were tapping out and did not intend on smoking anymore. Five pulls of that shit was more than enough for you. You could not handle the idea of greening out in his car with him. 

Azriel stifled a laugh and finished off the rest of the joint by the time he pulled into a drive-thru. He placed his order first, turning to you with flushed cheeks and hazy eyes. You blinked a few times, your brain requiring a few moments to catch up with what was happening. 

“I’ll have the same as you.” 

He stifled a laugh as he spoke into the machine, doubling up on his order and driving through to the next window. Azriel paid no mind to you when you attempted to offer him your money—barely even looked at you as he tapped his card against the reader and then reached for the cash in the cup holder, shoving it back in your empty palms. 

“You can keep that, too.”

You knew it wasn’t up for discussion, so you begrudgingly took your cash back and stuffed it into your jacket pocket again. Az stopped in the parking lot, the two of you eating through hushed yet uncontrollable giggles at the people that passed by. 

It was the first time you’d heard his laugh so unrestricted and it spread another shot of warmth through your body. It continued like that for another undisturbed hour, where after the food, Az sparked up another joint and began the drive to your apartment. You’d told him Old Tower was fine, but he wasn’t okay with that. 

“Too many freaks around at this time of night. I’ll drop you to your door. Put your address in the GPS.”

And it wasn’t until the drive back to your apartment that you were reminded of your previous troubles. The ones that caused your teary eyes and sombre mood. The buzz off the night felt like it had dwindled away the second you thought of your situation, and you were left slumped in your seat again, fiddling with your fingers. 

Azriel noticed your change in mood almost immediately as he glanced over to you before flicking his eyes back to the road. He took another drag of the joint. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You pondered his offer for a few moments, weighing out whether or not you should. In the end, what difference would it make? If you divulge your issues or not, it wouldn’t fix them. But perhaps talking about it might help. 

“My sister got married yesterday and no one told me.”

Azriel blinked rapidly, almost spluttering on the breath he exhaled. “What?” 

“Yeah.” 

He waited patiently, eager for some sort of explanation as to how and why something like that was kept from you. But he didn’t know the relationship with your family, he couldn’t presume anything. For all he knew, you had troubles just like his. 

“My family and I didn’t have the best relationship growing up. I was born from a toxic relationship so I was cast aside as a kid, I guess. I thought we were past that, though. I thought things were better.”

That familiar ache sat heavy in Azriel’s chest. He knew all too well the hurt that came from being shunned by your own family. He wouldn’t wish that upon anyone. Especially not somebody like you. 

“I’m sorry.” His words held such compassion and sympathy. No pity, just pure understanding. 

You blinked back the tears, not wanting to show just how much it had all affected you. But it was no use. A single drop slipped down your cheek and as quickly as it fell, you wiped it away. 

You were agitated now, extremely so. “I didn’t even know she had a boyfriend, Az.”

“Why would they do that?”

There was a pause. And then, “because her now husband was my first everything.” 

You waited for the statement to settle into the thick night air. Your first kiss, first boyfriend, first time. First love. Azriel could understand even more now just how much it hurt you. And the fact they kept it a secret? Even your family knew what they did was wrong. 

“I’m so sorry, that’s truly fucked. But you know, families suck sometimes. I only speak to my mom.”

“Oh?” You hadn’t realised you were even on your street until he parked right outside your apartment and flicked on his hazards. 

Azriel flicked the but of the smoke out the window and held out his hands, showcasing the marred flesh and patchy skin. “My half brothers did this to me when I was eight. They didn’t like that our mom had me with another man before she had them. They said that my bastard blood tainted the family, so they wanted to taint me.” 

Azriel had absolutely no fucking idea why he was divulging such an intimate and traumatic part of himself. But he made no attempt to hide or sugarcoat any of the truth. Especially not when he looked up from his hands and caught sight of your face. 

Salty tears silvered the linings of your eyes at the truth of what had happened to him. Bile crept up your throat and hatred for his family formed. Eight years old. You felt sick. 

“Az… I’m so sorry. That’s… I can’t even…”

But Azriel waved it off with a gentle smile. “It’s awful, sure. But I’m fine. I wouldn’t have met Cass and Rhys if that didn’t happen. They may be my found family, but they’re my brothers. Blood doesn't mean shit to me.”

A single tear slipped down your warm cheek, staining the skin in its wake. Azriel reached out to wipe it away, his touch gentle and soft and yet all-consuming. Your gaze met in a flickering glance of hazy eyes and fluttering lashes. 

And then next thing you knew, your lips were on his. 

Azriel was quick to kiss you back; moulding his plump lips around yours as his large palms cupped the sides of your face. He was sweet on your mouth, a hint of salt from his fries and he swiped his tongue across the seam of your lips, you almost imploded. 

Azriel was no better. The second he got a taste, he was a starved man. Your tongues met in needy strokes and Az had never tasted anything like you before. Sweet like the watermelon lip gloss you wore, and a tang of smoke that haunted your mouth. 

He was hooked, desperately fucking hooked. Your own hands reached up to hold his wrists in hopes of keeping his touch on you. Azriel kissed you deeper, licking across your teeth before settling even deeper in your mouth. 

It was needy and messy and every unspoken word of desire was poured into that kiss, your touch. He could stay like that forever, kissing you, tasting you. Azriel could feel himself stretching in his pants, and from the almost inaudible whimper that strained from the back of your throat, he was certain you were just as needy between your own thighs. 

The thought spurred him on, as it did you. Your hands trailed down his forearms to his biceps, feeling at the muscle that tensed beneath your touch, until your arms were wrapping around his neck and he was pulling you closer over the centre console. 

Azriel kept a palm caressing your jaw while the other snaked to the side of your neck, his long fingers weaving through the hair at your nape and blunt fingernails scratching at your scalp. 

In your drug and lust filled haze, Azriel was shifting in his seat. You let one arm leave his body to reach for your seatbelt, planning to unbuckle it and crawl into his lap for a deeper, richer taste of him. 

But the second the safety belt was released, the blaring sound of an incoming call through the car's speaker jolted you both apart. It was then, and only then, that the gravity of the situation finally sunk in. 

His eyes were glazed over with something you’d never seen on him before, his lips even plumper and smeared with your gloss. You didn’t look much better. Only your eyes were wider than his and your hair had been a lot more dishevelled. 

Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, the insistent ringing of his phone jarring your eardrums. For the fourth time tonight, warmth settled over you again but in the form of embarrassment. He confided in you about a trauma so deep, and you’d kissed him. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologised breathlessly. 

Too caught up in your own fear and anxiety of what you’d done, you missed the way Azriel’s brows furrowed. His confusion quickly turned into panic when the thought settled in that perhaps you had regretted it. That even though you kissed him, perhaps you felt he had pressured you. 

And that made him sick to his stomach. 

Before Azriel could utter a single word, your hand was on the door handle and you were pushing it open. “I’m sorry, I should go.” 

You climbed out of the car as you uttered another apology, and slammed the door shut without so much as offering him another glance. The incoming call died to voicemail but Az couldn’t take his eyes off your empty seat, couldn’t get the taste of you off his tongue, the feel of your lips off his. 

Frustration grew at himself. Azriel turned forward in his seat, nostrils flared and teeth grit. He’d fucked it. He’d gone and fucked it entirely. His open palm smacked against the wheel before gripping it tightly, taking a moment to compose himself. 

He looked over at your seat again. 

Despite the lack of your physical presence, you were still there. In scent and touch and taste. 

Azriel was fucking done for. 

A/N: guys you have no idea how EXCITED I am to finally be reposting this series. I love plug!az with every fibre of my being and I cannot wait to share it again and finally finish it!!! This is the original first and second part merged together and I’ll be scheduling the next part for some time next week!!

If you enjoyed it please consider giving it a like and reblog! Writers love to hear your feedback <3

[littlelovelunette]

Gamble Gone Wrong

Sevika x F!reader

Content warning: NSFW, gambling, rough sex, strap on, butt plug, anal, spanking, degradation, spitting, implication of shower sex, vaginal sex, choking, cnc, eating out

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

“I don't wanna play, Sev,” you had said, “I'm sometimes either too good or too bad. Neither will look good to you.”

“Just give it a go, one time won't hurt,” Sevika had said, smoking her cigarette with a cocky grin.

… That cocky grin was slapped right off her face after you won, ruining her winning streak and practically throwing the pieces of her dignity over her head like confetti.

“It's okay, baby, I don't like poker anyway, hey, hey, it's okay,” you immediately began trying to comfort Sevika who looked a little baffled for a while before she slammed her fist down, grabbing you and sweeping you off your feet.

You giggled as Sevika took you to your shared bedroom, pinning you down to the bed with a grunt.

Sevika pushed you down against the bed, kissing you hard and sloppily. You laughed a little in the kiss, Sevika was mad at you and you were aware of that. Mainly because you beat her in Poker.

You gasped as Sevika grabbed your panties and tore them off, “Those were expensive, y’know?” you mumbled as Sevika made you get onto your hands and knees at the edge of the bed.

“I'll get ya’ 10 more,” Sevika answered before delving two fingers into your pussy, drawing out the slick wetness, “You get off by getting me pissed huh?” Sevika slapped your ass leaving a red handprint.

“Mhm, I do, what are you gonna do about it?” you grinned a little, your eyes fixed on the bed sheets as you tried to understand Sevika's actions by the touch only.

Sevika didn't answer you, and then you felt the end of a fairly large butt plug against her asshole, “Shit,” you cursed under your breath, “Sev, that's too big.” you managed out, legs trying to close but Sevika held them open with her mech hand.

Sevika laughed, her laugh a mixture of cruelty and dominance as she spat on your genitalia, rubbing the wet saliva over your asshole and pussy before she pushed the buttplug in harshly.

“O-ow…” you bit your bottom lip as you felt the toy invade your insides and stretch you, the burning stretch threatening to swallow you whole.

“You're taking it so well though, such a slut. Don't tell me you've been touching yourself back here,” Sevika taunted.

How did she know…?

“I…- I have,” you mumbled back.

Sevika's eyes widened a little and she sputtered, “Yo, wha-...”

“I have touched myself back there before,” you said a bit more firmly this time. Sevika, although shocked for a bit, quickly regained her composure and slapped your ass, “Dirty little slut, aren't you?”

You moaned at the sensation and trembled a little, feeling Sevika turned you onto her back. Sevika pulled your legs apart, a little smirk appearing on her dark lips.

“You look so sexy from here,” Sevika undressed you and did so herself too before stepping back to put her strap on.

It was purple, dark purple and huge, the veins and ridges, the sheer length of it made your skin crawl with hunger and need. You had to fight the urge to simply moan at the mere thought of feeling that toy stretching out your insides and reaching so deep within your pussy.

You were brought back to reality when Sevika grabbed your breasts, pinching and pulling at the nipples, her mech arm provided coldness against your nub and her flesh hand made it feel warm.

“A-ah, daddy…”

Sevika smirked, rubbing the tip of the dildo on your slit.

“Like it, don't you? Of course you do, you're a cute little slut for me. All spread out and needy, look at you dripping all over the sheets,” Sevika taunted, her hands moving to grab your hips tightly, bruises appearing.

“Want daddy to fuck your insides up?” She asked, as she looked at you, you couldn't help but nod helplessly.

“Yes, daddy, give it to me…” you said, that was it.

All restraints broke when Sevika grabbed your thighs, spreading them wider as she slammed in her huge dildo inside your hole, making your wet pussy squelch and tighten further over the intruding object.

“Oh, Sev!—” you moaned but then got cut off when Sevika grabbed your chin, “What did you call me?” her voice was low and simply a growl.

She forced your mouth open, spitting inside before her hands traced down to your neck, choking you as she thrusted at a violent pace making the bed creak in protest. Her thrusts were sloppy and relentless, angered and brutal. Your toes curled at the sensation as you moaned quite loudly. You were sure anyone at a 20 feet proximity knew how hard Sevika was fucking you right now.

You managed to choke out a moan, Sevika's hand still choking you, the pain felt so delicious. Tears appeared in your eyes and Sevika pulled her hand away from your throat, grabbing the underside of your thighs Sevika lifted your legs onto her shoulders.

Sevika managed to reach deeper, slamming the dildo against your g-spot, abusing your hole thoroughly. “My stomach…”

Sevika laughed at your mindless blabbering and looked down at the dildos imprint on your lower abdomen only making her smirk more, her pace heightening.

“I'll ruin your fucking holes. You're mine, got me?”

Your eyes closed tightly as you felt the buttplug starting to slip out of your asshole no matter how much you tried to clench it in.

“Daddy, the plug..” you managed through the violent thrusts

“Hm?”

You whined as she gave particularly harsh thrust making the buttplug slip out of your asshole with an almost comical pop. Sevika looked down and smirked, “Tight ass, huh?”

Sevika pulled the dildo out of your pussy, white residue shining on the purple strap as she, without any warning, thrusted the dildo into your asshole.

“Daddy!” You screamed out. Sevika grabbed both your ankles in one hand, pushing your legs up and folding you easily as she thrusted the strap all the way inside.

Sevika continued pumping the strap with a smirk on her face, she could do this for hours.

“Daddy, please, I can't anymore,” you whimpered, hands clawing at the bedsheets desperately but Sevika didn't cease.

“You can and you will,” Sevika growled, moving faster until you squirted all over her lower abdomen, her bush and abs.

Sevika pulled the dildo out of your now gaping asshole, finger tracing the reddened rim.

“So well, baby,” Sevika said as she pulled your legs down, her head disappearing between your thighs as she delicately licked and sucked your pussy, cleaning you off your own juices.

“Daddy, no… d-d-daddy, I can't…” you sobbed but Sevika didn't let up and continued sucking until you eventually cam again.

Sevika got up after that, smiling a little as she cradled your trembling body, “Did so so good for me,” she kissed your forehead.

“Want a shower?”

“You'll just fuck me in there.”

“You'll like it.”

“Let's go.”

[spearofheaven]

⋆˚࿔ CANDY SHOP — kamo, choso

SUM. horny and inexperienced, choso stumbles across a sex shop nearby. he didn’t expect his purchase of a toy would include more than stellar customer service.

CONTAINS. 18+ content, MDNI. 1.2k words. x fem reader. non canon compliant/au. smut. use of a toy. sorta kinda public. orgasm denial. sub choso. use of mistress.

A/N. couple months later and i still love pathetic men :p (last repost and i’ll stfu i swear)

“welcome to arousal zone.”

you stood behind the counter with a playboy magazine in hand, chewing cherry flavored gum while haphazardly flipping through a couple of the pages. anything that helped pass the slow shift faster.

working at a sex store on the outskirts of tokyo hadn’t been exactly what you’d wrote down on your five year plan—but it paid the bills. once you removed the occasional frat boy that stumbled in buying an anal plug as a gag, the job wasn’t too bad.

you looked over to see the pale man stepping foot into the store—immediately looking out of his element. he gawked at the selection available at the front like a zoo exhibit, staring at anything and everything that he could take in before making his way further into the shop.

choso roamed the halls of the store like a lost puppy—staring at all the different toys outlining the shelves. cock rings. fluffy handcuffs. pocket puss- choso nearly cracked his neck with how fast he did a double take, eagerly placing the box in his hands. he began reading through it, sticking it under his arm when he finished.

along with a waterproof vibrator. until he realized.. he had no idea how any of this shit worked.

“excuse me.” he walked up to the counter with the two items in tow, meeting your bored expression when you looked up from the magazine.

“do you have any tips for any toys… or how they work?” he rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish expression on his face upon asking the question. you raised a brow, leaning across the counter. not missing the way his gaze went down to your chest.

“well it usually depends on what you’re into, but i can give you a hands-on demonstration if you’d like.”

which is how you found yourself locked in the cramped fitting room, rubbing your palm across the stranger’s hardening cock. “lemme see the toys you picked out.” you snagged the boxes up before eyeing each piece, deciding to unbox the vibrator.

“so this one has four modes—each one more intense than the last,” you explained, your fingers tracing the outline of his cock. you looked up from the manual to see him gulp, a devilish smile appearing on your lips. “don’t worry, i’ll take care of you.”

you flipped the switch on, the wand vibrating in your hand, “though i gotta say, you’re desperate. letting me do this and i don’t even know your name.” his cock visibly twitched the moment you pressed the tip against the tent in his pants.

“d’ya want to know my name?” the man asked through shaky breaths, his chest starting to heave. he unzipped his pants, lowering them down to his thighs before speaking up again, his cock leaking onto the patch of hair going up his stomach.

before you had the chance to respond, he quickly spoke up, “choso, my name’s choso.”

“choso,” you tested the name on your tongue, a moan leaving his lips when you did. you slowly started to move the vibrator against his hard cock, watching the man grow even more and more sensitive.

“more,” he looked over at you with big, pleading eyes that almost made you want to agree.

“try that again,” you clicked your tongue, pulling the vibrator away completely. you dragged your manicured nail down his happy trail, pulling away before you reached the trimmed patch of hair at the base.

choso racked his brain as he tried to figure out what you wanted to hear, deciding to go with the next best option, “give me more, please. i’ll do whatever you want me to do, accept whatever. just give me more.”

“that’s it, there you go,” you placed the vibrator against his shaft yet again, moving to the second level of intensity. your hands moved down to his sac, holding them in your palm before starting to gently move them in your hold.

“ngh-fuck!” choso was reduced to a puddled mess, gripping onto the ends of the dressing room bench. you switched over to the last level without much of a warning, feeling his thighs quiver underneath you.

he tried—he really did. try to think of anything else other than the impending orgasm. thought about the wretched smell wafting off his brother’s back. thought about the questionable things he’d encountered during his late night wanks. but to no avail.

it was shameful how quickly just a couple of your words and the vibrator had him this close.

"lemme cum," choso whined, his cock twitching with every buzz of the vibrator that jolted against his shaft. drop after drop of precum fell onto your hand as he approached his climax, his balls growing heavy.

"i don't know, you were being a little impatient there, baby. we talked about this," you cooed, cruelly pulling the vibrator away just right before he had the chance to cum. a loud whine left his lips, bucking his hips to try to get any friction. to try to get anything.

“p-please mistress. make me c-cum, please,” choso’s voice cracked, quickly correcting his mistake. you pressed the vibrator two times, lowering the intensity before pressing it against his sensitive cock. rubbing his own pre with the wand like lube.

“see what happens when you ask nicely,” you mused, leaning in and pressing an open-mouthed kiss on the side of his neck that had him shivering. gently suctioning the skin between your lips, leaving him with a purple-red reminder of your time together. “but fine, i promised to take care of you after all.”

choso came within seconds of you increasing the vibration against him again, a pathetic and desperate moan leaving his lips, “right there, mistress. right there, please please don’t stop.” rope after rope of cum landed over his pants and thighs, a couple droplets managing to land on your fingers.

his eyes were locked on the way you stuck your pointer in between your lips, watching intently as you swirled your tongue around it to collect every drop. it had him wondering what you’d do to his cock if given enough time. “leave a couple seconds after,” you broke his fantasy, getting up from your spot and setting the vibrator down.

discreetly leaving the dressing room like it was all a dirty secret. and as the post nut clarity started to hit—hard (almost nearly as hard as him after that sinful imagery), he started to feel like a dirty secret.

choso took a couple seconds to gather his breath, pulling his pants up and stuffing the vibrator back in its box before making his way over to the register.

"come again soon," he didn’t miss your innuendo, scrambling to pick up his bag as soon as the receipt printed. he left the store with his cheeks slightly flushed and his zipper down, a couple white stains marking the black material of his jeans.

about as subtle as a bull in a china shop.

you turned to look at the next customer in line, a balding middle aged man with a gold ring sparkling on his finger, “can i help you?”

"can i get the same service that he got?"

[burymagdalene]

Off the Map - S. Reid x Reader

In a lovingly competitive game of showing you just how mean your teasing really is, Spencer and reader find out some of Spencer's weaknesses as he's explaining yours.

pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader genre: Smut (18+ pls pls) tags: attemped soft!dom Spencer, he's easily overwhelmed. Munch!Spencer, teasing, you're both a bit sassy, loads of dirty talk, "talking you through it" of sorts, pinv sex, and some early load busting, screw it! wc: 3.3k a/n: I headcanon season 2 Spencer as someone who likes how it feels to be cocky but gets turned on super easily and struggles to deal with that combo. This is an extension of my thought here!

The spring equinox has finally arrived to salve your freezing limbs like an oil to a rusty hinge. The winter was brutal, you almost froze over completely. Somehow you made it, Spencer’s window is wide open as sun dances over his bed while you two lay on completely opposite sides, legs intertwined and slowly moving together.

Spencer is against his headboard, reading through a case file as your head slightly dangles off the end of his bed. Craning your neck a bit to look up through your bent knees you find his eyebrows slightly pinched, the wheels in his head spinning at the unfathomable speed they always do. 

“Are you almost done?”

“Mm.”

“The case? Are you almost done… would you say we can see it from here?” You laugh softly as your blood continues to rush to your head where you lay.

“No. You’re distracting me.”

His words aren’t sharp, he speaks them in an apologetic way, like it's his fault he’s so easily distracted by you. You guess it sort of is.

“How much longerrrr?”

“Hard to tell with these things. Kidnappings but I can’t find a comprehensible link between the different locations they were taken, it’s almost-”

“I’m gonna shower.”

Spencer hums high in his throat as if to say, “good idea!”, and squeezes your knees tightly between his one more time before moving so you can slip off the bed easily.

Padding to his bathroom, you get a thrill of excitement. You really have only ever showered in his bathroom with Spencer. Showering alone for the first time entices you, it really feels like the space is yours to own alongside him.

You want to read the ingredients to every product he owns and look at his shower wall and trace hearts into the steam.

Waiting for the water to heat with your chin in your hand you can’t help the small grin formed on your lips. You just know how particular and neat he is about his space, it's silly but it feels like an honor to be trusted with his shower. 

Once submerged, you get to look around. You love how Spencer smells so having free reign to look over his products has you giddy. 

Though… he has absolutely nothing to write home about. Soap bar, incredibly uninteresting scentless shampoo and conditioner, and an equally unscented body wash that appears to be bought from a farmers market.

Of course, this is exactly what you should’ve expected but makes you groan when you can’t blast Spencer’s smell all over you like a plug-in Febreze air freshener. 

Shower ending quicker than anticipated, you dry off and put on a spare old t-shirt and boxers you stole from Spencer’s dresser before heading to his room. 

“You know,” you begin while walking back into Spencer’s bedroom, “I was excited to smell like you. Use up all your soap. Whole lotta nothing.” You laugh and sit beside him on the bed. Spencer’s eyes still trained on the case file before he sets it down to look at you.

“Hah. You’d be shocked with how many damaging chemicals there are in body washes, hair wash. Especially for women. The sulfates in all that can irritate your skin, make your hair fall out, and even lead to cancer. Actually, did you know that even lung issues can get worse with sulfates by how they can decrease lung function with fragrance and can make asthma conditions worse. So, you should really use cleaner products.” Spencer rambles on while rubbing one of his hands on your hip.

“Hm. I guess. I usually get sulfate free stuff anyway. You have no faith in me.”

“Good. This way you still smell like you after you shower.” 

“Yeah? What do I smell like?”

Spencer lets out a drawn out sigh. Picks up his case file.

“You’re distracting me.” He sing-songs. 

“Wh- hey! No fair, you banished me to shower and said you’d be done after!”

“I did not.”

“You insinuated…”

“Who has the eidetic memory?”

You huff and rest your head against his shoulder. If he doesn’t want to spend his free time with his lovely, beautiful, and perfect partner (his own words) then he should just let you be close to him in silence.

Silence never was either of your specialties.

After probably two minutes, you start getting antsy. You’re watching his fingers trail across the lines on a little map beside him, close enough to smell the nape of his neck. The glasses on the bridge of his nose slide down slightly.

You trail one of your hands “innocently” to his stomach. Rubbing slowly back and forth, one of your pinkies slips underneath the band of his trousers and Spencer stiffens immediately.

“So is this… how is this less distracting?” Spencer grabbed your wrist loosely, not moving you, but applying a pressure that surely tells himself that he is indeed still in control. He’s still trying his best to work.

You giggle and place a kiss on his temple, move your hand away. Spencer sighs out a laugh and bends down to kiss your shoulder in return.

If rubbing his stomach was too teasing, you have to get your hands on him another way. Knowing this was not going to be any less distracting, if not more than rubbing his stomach, you place your hand down to run slowly up and down the expanse of his thigh.

Spencer doesn’t say anything for a moment before looking over at you with his big pleading eyes, the ones you know so well.

“I’m…too…” Spencer trails off before looking down and chuckling.

Everything about him is contagious, you laugh too. 

“What? What? Thigh petting is off limits too?”

“It. Yeah, it turns me on too much.” His cheeks tint pink.

“Ahh. Right. So how can I touch you in a way that doesn’t pull your focus from work?”

“Umm,” Spencer scoots down a bit from where he was leaning against his headrest and puts the file down, “Uh.”

Giggling you trace a fingernail lighting on the sensitive inside of his arm. 

“Here?”

Goosebumps rise on his skin, his head reels.

“Oh, I get it. Here?” 

You lift that same finger to trail lightly at the skin on his throat, to his collarbone.

“Baby…” He scoots his body impossibly closer to you, his side pressed neatly up against yours.

“Or… should I stop?”

“Ugh. No.” He groans at openly admitting you’ve won him over.

Laughing, you lean in to finally kiss him properly. Now more eager than you were, Spencer kisses you back with an unspoken thanks for being able to pry him away from the inevitable eyestrain he would’ve gotten. He recalls a time where he mentioned to you how sometimes after looking at a map for too long he will blink and look away but it’s burnt into the back of his eyelids.

Spencers hard on pokes the side of your hip as he shifts to lay halfway on top of you. Lifting one of his hands to cup the hinge of your jaw, his fingers slightly squeeze, opening your mouth a bit wider for him to move his tongue against yours. Spencer always feels more confident when your mouth is busy not teasing him till the tips of his ears go red.

A moan at the bottom of your throat comes out and you take that as a sign to deepen the kiss, pushing the back of his head till your lips start to feel numb around the edges.

He pulls away briefly, talking against your lips in rushed out breaths.

“You have signs too. You’re not the only one who remembers erogenous zones. I could distract you pretty easily too.” 

Apparently, nobody has ever introduced Spencer to the phrase “it’s not a competition”, but the underlying proposition has a chill going down your spine.

“Is that so?”

“Mhm.” Spencer mumbles against your lips, biting your bottom lip softy as a parting gift before he pulls away. “Here. Let's try something.”

With an equally lazy and cocky smile stretched on his pretty lips, Spencer rises and scoots himself across the bed to find where the map he has folded in his case file rests. Pulling it out he hands the map over to where you still lay.

“Spence- huh?” You chuckle, not sure what his motive is.

Spencer starts moving towards you again, “You go look where I circled Milford, Ohio and you read to me where some of those connected lines are going to. Try it.” Spencer laughs softly at your skeptical gaze as you lay flat against his pillow and slowly raise the map over your gaze.

“Um. The red line looks like it’s connecting to… well, Kentucky… Covington?” You hadn’t picked up a physical map since you were a kid probably, you rely too heavily on your gps to continue this game.

While you’re slowly looking at all the drawings Spencer has made over this map in the past, his circles and dots all work together to display the intricate makings of his mind, how his ever impressive thought process manifests itself, it’s beautiful in a way. 

It’s… he’s kissing your inner thigh now?

“Spence!” You giggle, “what?”

“Go on, tell me what else you see.”

You get it now. He’s pressing soft slow kisses on each of your bare thighs now. The initial giggles you had slowly dissipate as realization sets in that you’re getting a taste of your own poison. 

“Uh-um,” you stutter, clearing your throat, “you have a really, pre-precise hand drawn circle-” you gasp at a nip at your thigh at your attempt at humor.

“I know you can do better than that.”

Spencer's tongue laving on the sensitive skin of your inner thighs has gotten you more frazzled than you expected. It feels mean, you only used your hands on him earlier, you wouldn’t be so rude to blatantly-

“Hips up?” Spencer whispers against your skin. His wet kisses are left cooling against your flesh as a warm swipe of wind enters his window and caresses you alongside him.

Wordless, your hips raise, you don’t really care the ways in which you have his mouth against you as long as you get there eventually. Despite popular belief you can be patient.

With Spencers boxers off, and your pussy on display now he takes his fingers and traces the outside of one thigh up and down, each time he trails up he gets closer to where your upper thigh and hip meet.

You remember his snide, you can do better, and refocus your eyes to the map again.

“Shiit… um. Here! Here, you have a red line drawn from Milford up to… C-canada? It’s um, it’s off the map. What does that mean?”

You can feel Spencer's lips smile against the skin of your lower belly while he’s feeling the soft skin of your clit with such a feather light touch it almost feels more intense than direct contact.

“That, my dear, is off the map because earlier you wanted to put your hand under my pants and I was so shocked my pen trailed off. That's what that means.”

Gulping, you let go of the map, it softly flutters to the ground beside you without a sound. With the barricade gone, you and Spencer are making direct eye contact again.

“Oh.”

Your thighs involuntarily tense, wanting to squeeze and hold Spencer in place between where you want him most. Spencer’s fingers spread you open for him to break eye contact with you for a more glimmering wet location on your body.

“Are you sorry?” He mumbles out a prompt so you can end this incredibly taught tension that is about to snap any second.

“I think…it’s harder than I thought, yes I am-”

You could’ve said I think you’ll survive, or not really, but there’s something so perfectly sweet about that funny grin he gets that reads “I actually did it!” All over his face, you have no shame in letting him win.

Before you can even verbalize a punctuation for your apology, Spencer is whimpering and licking a stripe up your pussy, your head falls harshly back against his pillow as you adjust to the swing from light touching to full sensation.

Spencer's too distracted now by his mouthy task so you take it on yourself to reach down and take the glasses off his face for him, he hums against you, still quite mannered even when taking you apart.

With his whole face at your exposal now you are able to grind yourself up and down on his face more eagerly. You and Spencer alike go crazy when he’s eating you out so intensely that his nose is buried into and there’s suspicious glimmering up to his brow bone when he’s done with you.

Totally involved in whatever dynamic today's events created, you want to feed into his clear begging for apologetic sympathy. 

“Don’t, ah, don’t know how you do it. Seeing all those connections- crazy, baby. So smart.”

You’re rewarded with a mix between a whine and grunt against your clit, no doubt that his hidden cheeks are pinking.

Once Spencer begins to take big suctions of your lips and alternates that between smaller suctions against just your clit, any drive to talk in long, legible, sentences flies out the window. You’re so close to coming you can taste it, you’re sure Spencer can too.

You can’t even warn him, not that you need permission, you just reach out to capture his hand in yours so you can squeeze it through the orgasm that is currently sending flashes of light behind your eyelids.

Huffing out a groan, you take a fistful of Spencer’s hair to pull his mouth off of you. 

“Shit that felt good, come here.”

Spencer laughs and crawls up your body to kiss you, his boner kissing your stomach through layers as he does so.

“That felt good?”

“Mm. Want you now.’

He does his usual subconscious small squeak in excitement that you don’t even think he notices and pushes his shirt that you’re wearing up to expose your breasts.

One hand fisting the white fabric, the other rests on one boob as he sucks small marks on your collar and cleavage, never able to fully satisfy his wandering mouth.

“You’re so gorgeous,” a kiss on your neck, “I’m so happy.”

His giddyness is replicated as you pepper his cheeks with kisses, hands finding their way down to his pants again as you pull down the zipper and tug once.

Spencer takes off his pants and underwear with little urgency as you fling your top off to his floor and move to take his button up off as well with trembling fingers.

He snorts lightly, “what’s the rush?”

“D-don’t you want me?” It’s not meant to seem insecure, you kind of wanted it to be bossy and sarcastic, but want has threaded itself so deep into your vocal chords that it just sounds whiny.

“Mhm,” he takes his shirt off and kisses your forehead, you both maneuver down again so he can rest on top of you. Spencer pushes his chin out lightly to tap your forehead, signaling you to lean back against his pillow. “You know that, silly.”

While you begin kissing again, he takes the spare pillow not underneath your head to place it under your hips.

“I’m not lying about before. I also know all the things that make you tick, you like to feel the pressure against your lower back while I’m in you because it releases the tension you store there, makes the pressure of me inside you more intense.”

Spencer giggles at your dazed expression as he reaches for a condom from his bedside table, 

“You just revert that stress you keep there to your thighs when you squeeze them around me.”

He’s starting to get breathless, his teasing works just as well against himself, the most delicious double ended sword.

A few tantalizing swipes against your clit and entrance and Spencer is pushing his head into you, pulling his lips in to keep his moans from drowning out yours. Which inevitably will happen, and he always gets embarrassed, but right now he has the strength to hold them back.

Your toes curl where they’re pressed against his sides, he’s taking his sweet time stretching you out around him. Which, he knows you die for as well.

“Ah. Always feel so good. Can’t- ahem,” he presses his chest flat against yours, changes topic, “you love when I take you slow because you like when I hold back for us both, b-because you can’t.”

Fuck?

“Spence-” You whimper in shock, he’s exceptionally talkative today. Hellbent on proving to you that he is indeed obsessed over what your biology has learned to want the most.

You can see the way his lips tremble as he’s talking and fucking you slowly, though. His talking you through it has bitten him in the ass, he’s forgotten how much he loves dirty talk that even his own words are breaking him apart.

Voicing the stuff that turns you on is arousing him incredibly. Not something he really accounted for as he feels that familiar sensation in his stomach. 

That’s surely nothing?

Spencer has picked up his speed now, driven by how your whines are building off of each other and curses are falling from your lips.

“If- If I let you be in control all the time-, Jesus… you’d uh.” He pauses his sentence with a loud whine, the thought of what he’s saying making the heat inside him pulsate in a painful way. His tummy is turning at such speeds that it can barely keep up with his words. 

“You’d be like a…bunny- uh jack rabbit. Jesus, I can’t.” His whines crescendo, sealing off this throat to hinder his own sweet talking.

You’re not even sure what’s happening, what’s going on inside his head that has him smashing his face into your neck to cum as he trembles on top of you.

He dirty talked you so hard he couldn’t even take it.

“M’ so sorry.” He’s whimpering against the skin of your neck, hips still moving against you slowly, pulling out everything he has to give you.

Head spinning at how fucking hot this is, you reach one hand down to rub your clit in fast circles as the other one pets the back of Spencers head soothingly. 

Unabashedly moaning loud now, you throb around his sensitive dick while you touch yourself.

“Spence, you’re a piece of work-”

You can’t help but notice your legs digging into his sides, the merit behind his observations remaining strong. 

“Baby- touch me, wanna cum.” You plead to him, Spencer pulls his head from your neck, whipping himself into action.

Still inside, he quickly pushes your hand away to take its place, he’s murmuring god god god as his humiliation and striving to make you cum hard meld in his brain.

When you cum for the second time, Spencer sucks in air sharply between his teeth as your twitching against him pushes him into complete overstimulation. He stays put though, watching the bliss in your face through half-lidded eyes is the biggest reason to take a bit of pain. 

Eventually he pulls out, once you’re dragging him in for a long kiss.

“Baby, I’m so sorry.” He laughs in between kisses at himself.

“Spencer, you’re so sexy. Such a sweet thing.”

He groans, tugs you on top of him while he’s flat on his back. You push his messied hair off his forehead in tender passes, you’re sure he can feel all your love in the way your nails caress his scalp.

“Mr. talk the talk-”

“Stop!” He laughs anyway. “I’ve never finished so fast.”

“And you’re calling me the jack rabbit!”

[sakuravalenp]

Don't eat anything else - Part 3 - DP X DC

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Masterpost

Sam had somehow fallen asleep after hours of rolling in her bed, so of course, when her phone started ringing, she was just about ready to send the thing flying across the room. She covered her ears with her pillow, hoping the thing would shut up soon enough, and cursed her past self for leaving the phone in her desk instead of plugging it to the socket that was just behind her bed. She could have already shut the thing off then, but no, she’ll have to get out of bed to do it. She was going to maul whoever decided it was a good idea to call in the middle of the night.

With a resigned huff, she got out of bed and went to the desk, stumbling over the chair because of course she hadn’t pushed it back into the space the desk left for it, and snatched the phone roughly, pulling the charger and making her pencil case fall off the desk. The clattering sounds let her know she had also left that open. She groans, and squints at her phone screen, her eyes complaining at the sudden light, she takes a look at the insistent caller: Tucker. She answers while letting herself fall into the chair.

“Tucker, it’s like two am. You better be dying, or I swear to the ancients I’m throwing your beloved PDA into a natural portal to never be seen again!”

“Check the Phantom chat.” Sam blinked. She was expecting some sort of dramatic response. Then her mind caught up to what her friend had just asked.

“Did Danny text anything!?” The call was already being placed on speaker as she took her phone off her ear and started looking for their chat server.

“You’ll have to check yourself, it’s a full text wall, I’ve just read like- the first paragraph. Just- check it out and call me back when you’ve read it all.”

Sam frowned at the beep of the call being ended. She had never hated so much that their server took so long to load. She understood why; a hidden server that went through the infinite realms? Tucker was a genius for creating it. Still, in times like this the waiting was excruciating.

Danny didn’t tell them anything about his life with Vlad. She would say it screamed red flags, but it was Vlad. The moment the man had gotten custody of Danny all the fire alarms were going off in Sam’s head, and they hadn’t stopped since.

They tried not to push much at the start. The Fentons and Jazz’s death was too fresh, so they just checked in, asking how things were going, trying not to prod. But weeks turned to months, and they hadn’t been able to see Danny, and he was not telling them anything.

They had been keeping tabs of what they could get. Danny checked in at least once a day, until he didn’t. There would be days without response, and then Danny would check in again with some vague excuse. When that became common enough, Danny stopped making up excuses and just directly checking in without explaining the absence.

His texts were useless to understand his situation, other than he was well enough to text them, so their next focus was his public appearance. There weren’t a lot of those, but they would be happy with any scraps they could get. 

Vlad had taken Danny to more than a couple of galas and some political events, proudly flaunting his heir, and yet, there were barely any photos of Danny at said events. It was up in the air whether it was due to Vlad avoiding the pictures getting out or due to how difficult it was to get a clear photo of Danny.

Nevertheless, the few pictures they did get weren’t great. He looked emaciated, lost so much weight, lost any brightness in his eyes. Still, Sam had almost cried from relief the first time they got a picture. The mind can be cruel when there's nothing to hold it back, and Sam had about a thousand terrible thoughts of what Vlad could be doing to Danny. At least he was in one piece. 

Her phone vibrated, letting her know the server had finally loaded. There was a bubble beside the Phantom group chat letting her know there were new texts. She pressed on the group chat and was indeed greeted by a wall of text. She scrolled back to find the beginning.

Hey guys, you’ll probably won’t see this until tomorrow but I needed to write this right away before I started doubting. Not that that’s really a choice at this point, not when the Waynes already left with those notes.

The Waynes? Oh, yeah, Danny had mentioned Vlad had invited them to dinner once. First visitors they would be getting. Sam had idly wondered if she would have gotten a chance to see Danny if her parents were more influential. She had never wished for her parents to be richer before. 

So anyway, the Waynes visiting kind of changed things here a bit. I may not have been really honest about how things were going here with Vlad. Though, you probably already knew that, and I’m sorry, but I don’t know if I can tell you guys. I just don’t think I can get myself to tell you, and I’m so sorry, because you’re always there and deserve the truth, but I can’t. So, let’s just leave as things hadn’t been great, and Vlad was more of a monster than we ever thought he could be. 

Sam didn’t like that, it was terribly vague. What had Vlad done to Danny that he didn’t feel he could tell them? Sure they had been dealing with Danny’s silence, but now he was straight up telling them he couldn’t get himself to talk about it. The fact that he couldn’t even explain what Vlad had done meant it was probably worse than what she imagined.

They’d faced their fair share of horrors over the years while combating the rogues, and there had never been a problem verbalizing it. Something horrible had happened. Sam was going to kill Vlad. She didn’t care what the full story was, if it was bad enough that Danny actively refused to tell them, it was bad enough to revoke Vlad’s right to existence. 

The thing is, I can’t keep this up. The Wayne’s came in, and Vlad's plans for dinner made me realize I couldn’t let this keep going. I managed to sneak a note to Timothy Drake-Wayne. Everyone knows the Waynes have connections to the Justice league.

Sam frowned. The Justice League had been shining for their absence from everything involving Amity. That absence still burned like acid. They’d begged for help. Pleaded. Amity had become a warzone more than once, and no one had come. Would they really show up just because the Waynes got involved?

I know they hadn’t been answering our calls, but now it affected the Waynes. Again, I can’t explain how it affected them, but I’m pretty sure the Waynes will make sure the Justice League gets involved. I had to tell them that Vlad isn’t human. It would only end in an apocalypse if they came looking for Vlad without being prepared. They’ll look for you guys. I told them you had the means to combat him. 

Oh shit. Was she really meeting with the Justice League? In friendly terms? After all the ignored calls, Sam had swore it would be on sight if she ever met the assholes. And if they really showed up just because the Waynes were the ones to call, Sam wasn’t sure if she could keep it civil.

I didn’t reveal myself to the Waynes, I don’t know what the Justice League stand on ghosts is, all this is already a big risk, the GIW are bad enough on their own, there’s no way we would survive the Justice League hunting us, but Vlad needs to be stopped. I need you guys to give them what they need to not be possessed, and the ectoguns that I modified, maybe an ectoshield. Nothing more, they have a good history with non-humans, but I don’t know if we can trust them to not start a hunting campaign after Vlad. Try making it clear that this is a Vlad problem, not a ghost problem. I’m sorry I’m leaving everything to you guys, I can’t do anything from this side.

Her breath trembled. If the Waynes were really able to convince the Justice league to finally intervene, they might have days. She and Tucker needed to prep everything.

Ghost attacks had become rare since the portal was destroyed, but sometimes ghosts still came through naturally forming ones. There couldn’t be a ghost attack while the Justice League was there. Not when they needed to convince them that Vlad was the exception, not the rule.

They needed to get the gear and figure out how to lie to the Justice League convincingly enough that they wouldn’t turn every ghost into collateral damage.

Because Vlad might be the monster. But the League could still be the executioners.

Still, despite all the anxiety running through her veins, Sam felt hopeful. Danny had reached for help, after months of silence he had finally reached for help, and for once there seemed to be a chance they'd see Danny again. 

/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

They couldn’t continue reading the paper right away. There was no way to do it. Cass was more sensitive to people's deaths than anyone else in her family, and Bruce had focused on supporting her so he wouldn’t have to think about what he had just eaten. He had helped Cass to the bathroom like he hadn’t vomited as well. Tim had mumbled something about needing a shower, a really long shower, and left. Jason had forgotten the pretender had been bathed in that cursed soup.

He did think about taking the paper and finishing reading it himself, but green edged his vision, rage bursting under the skin, and he needed an outlet, which he didn’t have here. The punch he had thrown onto the wall had already left a mark, and this was a house they rented as Waynes, he couldn’t just trash it all.

He had worked through some breathing exercises Dick had introduced to him. He’ll never tell Dick, but they did work somewhat. It wasn’t really a surprise, Jason knew Dick had anger issues. The bastard seemed like the perfect young adult holding it together these days, but Jason was there for his teenage rebellion, and that was supposedly an improvement from how he had been as Robin. So of course the breathing exercises helped, but it wasn’t enough.

He felt like giving the wall another punch from the frustration, but he had been trying to “redirect his anger” in less violent ways lately, and this was the kind of situation where it would be better to clear his head instead of exploding. He could save the explosion for when they had that reprobate on their hands. 

His phone was pinging and Jason knew it was probably the rest of the family asking for an update. The sudden silence probably got them worried the supposed poison had been something serious, and as the only one in commission at the moment, he should be the one reporting, but he was pretty sure he would crack his phone if he used it right then. His helmet took his attention where it resided on the desk, and he made a decision.

You’re not supposed to ride while you're angry, that’s how accidents happen, but that didn’t apply to people like him. Red Hood spent most of the night in his motorcycle while absolutely furious; they knew how to ride without becoming a public safety issue. 

He grabbed his helmet and screamed before putting it on. “You better don’t read the damn note before I’m back!” And then he was on the road once again. 

He rode around the small city, making the same circle over and over again at maximum speed. Harsh changes in direction that made the adrenaline pump in his veins. It was a good outlet. At some point the green receded enough for him to think clearer. He lowered the speed a bit, and connected his helmet to the comms. The questioning screams from everyone on comms came instantly.

“Shut the fuck up. I can’t understand a single thing you are saying.” As expected, that didn’t have any effect, but a minute later the line went dead silent. Babs must have muted everyone's lines. 

“Hood, what’s the situation? Did the antidote work without problem?” Babs asked.

Jason almost laughed. Antidote. They wished it had just been some stupid poison. “It wasn’t poison, or drugs, Batman and Orphan are… physically fine.”

There was a moment of silence, then Jason could hear the crackle of a line joining the comms again. “What does that mean Todd?” Damian finally asked.

Jason could feel the rage try to creep back at the thought of what really was in the food, he pushed it back. He didn’t want to really talk about what really was in the food. Another crackle. “Little wing? What was in the food?” 

Jason sighed. Why should he be the only one in commission to report back? No, he was glad to not have been anywhere close to that hideous concoction that didn’t have a right to be called food. He turned the speed back up.

“Apparently, Vlad Masters is a cannibal. One in the habit of sharing his taste with others.” The silence in the other line was about what he expected, so was the new explosion of voices that came afterward. 

Yeah, no. Report given. They could deal with the news themselves. Jason disconnected from comms and started riding back to the house. Checking the time on the edge of his helmet screen, he saw he had been riding for quite some time. How has two hours already passed? 

He left the motorcycle in the garage. There was no one there, so Jason wandered inside. He found Tim was sitting on the sofa with his laptop in the living room, the note folded beside him. Bruce sat on a chair beside him still looking pained. Jason talked from the door.

“Did you actually wait for me?”

Tim shrugged and without taking his eye off. “Figured it would be better to read once we were all here.”

“Where’s Cass?” He asked, walking to the opposite side of the couch.

“She asked to be filled in later.” Bruce answered. “It’s better we read the rest of the note already. I can’t imagine what else Danny would like us to know.”

Tim sighed, like someone had asked him to be the one to read the letter instead of him being the one to take it upon himself. He took the note, unfolding it again, and Jason could see he was making an effort to ignore the first line.

“I don’t know who the victims are, or where Vlad gets them, but they’re recently deceased. So somewhere there must be people disappearing constantly. It may not be the same place all the time, or it may not even be the same city. Vlad isn’t human.”

“Fucking great. Just what we were missing. What is it this time? A vampire? He definitely has the aesthetic going for him.” The pretender glared at him for the interruption, but Jason thinks the situation fully justifies his reaction.

Bruce sighed. “Language. Please, go on, Tim.”

“He’s a kind of ghost.” Tim raised an eyebrow but continued reading. “I know it may be hard to believe for outsiders, but ghosts are pretty much a common occurrence in Amity Park.”

“I thought that was just a tourist trap.” Jason commented, which gained him another glare from Tim. Jason didn’t bother to acknowledge it, though, inside, he was quite enjoying getting the little shit annoyed.

Tim huffed, and lowered the note a bit before commenting. “There are quite a few claims of ghost sightings, but we couldn’t find any proof of them when we took a look at Amity while searching for a house to rent.” He turned to the computer and started typing something.

“Even then, those reports were not of great importance, mentions of seeing a figure for a couple a seconds in the corner of a room, of a shadow following them around the city, or a pale little kid running around in the cemetery.” Bruce added. “The whole city works around the theme.The biggest school is called Casper High, and most attractions are named after ghost-related puns. We concluded it was, in fact, a tourist trap.”

“So what, the kid is imagining his guardian isn’t human? Making things up to cope with the fact that he is a cannibal? That-”

“Um. Bruce, you might want to see this.” Tim interrupted him.

His eyes were wide, scanning quickly through a webpage. Jason moved close to see the screen, and so did Bruce, standing up from his chair to lean over the back of the sofa. Tim started reading titles while he passed the mouse over them. 

“Octo-Ghost Assists Kindergarten Party and Almost Becomes The Birthday Girl's Pet. First Ghost Attack of the Week in Casper High, Red huntress Captures It Before It Can Disrupt Class. Ghost Known as Lunch Lady Visits Local Restaurant and Asks for a Cooking Battle With the Owner: See the Unexpected Results. Don’t You Miss When Ghosts Would Interrupt Class at Least Once a Day? A ranting blog by Phan_number1. None of this existed when we were checking Amity!”

“How is that even possible? The Batcomputer should have pinged something if there was anything blocking the information,” Bruce says in what sounded like a monotone voice, but any of his kids could tell he’s alarmed by the fact that so much information was successfully hidden from the Batcomputer. “Try sending a link to Babs.”

Tim goes ahead to do that with the ranting blog, but honestly, Jason couldn’t care less if the oh-so-great Batcomputer missed this.

“So the kid isn’t making things up, great. Can you both have your freak-out about the information blockage after we finish reading the note?” If Tim were a super, Jason would have a hole on his front, he’s sure of it.

Babs: Why are you sending me a recipe for making ghost-themed pie?

Tim looks at the message in disbelief, and clicks on the link he had sent. The ranting blog opens, no pie recipe to be seen. Tim takes a screenshot and tries sending it, but a warning message appears, saying the file is corrupted. He tries to send an image of his gallery, it goes without any problems.

“This is weird. It’s not like any kind of blockage we had seen before. It even redirects links to a page that matches the city's theme.”

“Try sending the image through the Bat server.” Bruce says with a voice that it was more serious than Jason expected, which makes him glance back at the man. 

Bruce is glaring at the computer with a dark expression. Realization hits Tim, and he quickly tries to send the image through the Bat server. It goes through, and even Jason feels relieved at the received checkmark. 

“Okay… okay. So they’re monitoring private conversations, but the Bat server is still safe.” Tim murmurs. Then goes ahead and tries sending the link once more, with a message saying it should open the website shown in the image. 

Oracle: All that link opens is the pie recipe Red Robin. If this is some kind of joke, you know the Bat server is not for that.

Tim rolls his eyes at the response and starts writing down a response, explaining the situation to Babs.

“The link must be blocked by IP Address. Tell her to try using a residential proxy.”

“Already on it.”

Jason hates when the old man understands more about technology than he does. Damn his time in the grave. He had been working on getting up to date, and he can do some basic hacking and whatnot. Enough that he doesn’t need external help for every little thing. But he’s still so far behind. 

Oracle: I’m in. You’re also seeing all these things about ghosts?

Red Robin: Yes. 

Red Robin: Somehow they have the city under a blockage that the Batcomputer wasn’t able to detect.

“Okay. Babs can take care of investigating that. We have a note to finish reading, remember?” Jason says, reaching for the paper Tim had left beside the computer, which Tim promptly snatches back. “Hey!”

“You won’t read it outloud for everyone.”

“According to whom!?”

“Kids…” Bruce sighed, “Continue reading, please, Tim.”

The little shit looked smug for a second before going back to the note.

“Please understand that in general ghosts aren’t bad, it’s just Vlad. But ghosts are powerful, and Vlad is really powerful. This can’t be resolved through normal means. I know the Waynes have contact with the Justice League, so I ask you to please get in contact with them, and don’t get anymore involved. I doubt the Justice league is equipped for the type of ghosts we have in Amity park. My friends Samantha Mason and Tucker Foley know where to find specialized weaponry and protective devices. Please, convince the Justice League to go for them first, it would be a disaster if one of the Justice League was overshadowed by Vlad.” That’s where the letter ended.

“Overshadow?” Bruce echoed.

Tim wasted no time putting the word into Google, which, now that Jason noticed, was decorated with little ghosts. Did Amity have its own Google doodle? The definition of the word popped like any other word would, and Jason wondered if that was something else that was blocked outside the city.

“It seems to be how Amity Parkers refer to possession.” Tim said after skimming the definition.

“What do we know about Samantha Mason and Tucker Foley?” Bruce asked, already in work mode.

“Not much, outside of being known friends of Danny. The Masons are a well positioned family in Amity; they’re new money. Izzy Manson, Samantha's great grandfather, invented a machine that twirled cellophane around deli toothpicks, the patent and inheritance placed the family where it is today. Pamela Manson owns a jewelry brand that’s grown in popularity in the Midwestern elite, while Jeremy Manson is a real estate developer. They often attend galas in Wisconsin, and sometimes in other big cities. Samantha Mason is a known teen activist, and has had her fair share of incidents at galas.” Tim said, as he opened the report he had made before coming to Amity.

“Incidents?” Jason asked.

“She has a sharp tongue and doesn’t seem interested in keeping appearances. It’s well known she isn’t fond of the styles her mother gives her for the galas. In any photo she posted on her personal accounts in the last two years, she has a gothic aesthetic.”

“Ah.”

“There’s less about Tucker Foley. His mother, Angela Foley, works as a chef at a local restaurant called “A Ghost's Secret Recipe.” His father, Maurice Foley, is an IT technician for the city government. Tucker seems to take after his father in his interest in technology, and has a history of winning local programming contests.”

“There’s nothing that really screams “I know how to fight ghosts and have ghost weaponry” is there?” Jason comments.

“Well, this is the information we have while searching with the city's information being blocked. Search for Daniel Fenton on the web,” Bruce says, and when Tim enters the name, a lot of news articles come to light. “We should have suspected something when there weren’t a lot of news articles talking about an explosion taking the life of a whole family.” Tim nods to that.

Jason frowns at the screen. “Are you seeing these titles? Local ghost hunters die from mysterious explosions? Something tells me that the access to weaponry has more to do with Danny’s parents than anything about Samantha and Tucker.” 

“What did we have about the Fentons from the investigation in Gotham?”

“They were supposedly part of the tourist industry, “entertaining tourists with street shows about ghost hunting.” We were literally blocked from one of the most important details of Danny’s life.” Tim groaned. 

Bruce sighed. “Let’s try getting some sleep. We’ll try meeting Samantha and Tucker tomorrow in the late afternoon.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Late afternoon?”

“They’re teenagers. I would prefer to interrupt their class time or disturb them too late. They might not even know we plan to meet with them.”

Tim nodded, already starting with the new background check. “I doubt Masters lets Danny have his own phone.”

Jason unceremoniously closed Tims laptop, putting it aside and carrying the kid in a firefighter carry.

“Trying to rest applies to you too.”

Tim protested as he trashed, trying to get him to let go, and if the pretender had actually been serious about it, Jason may have not been able to keep a hold of him.

“I’ll tell Babs to leave the investigation for tomorrow as well. You’ll have time before we go meet Danny’s friends, so let’s rest for some time first, okay?” Bruce said with that voice he always used when he was treating them like little kids. And if Jason found it soothing, that was between his mind and himself.

Tim groans, but relaxes, accepting defeat, and the kid is asleep before Jason even makes it out the living room. Jason wonders, not for the first time, if Tims ability to basically sleep anywhere, anyway, anytime, would go away if the kid actually followed the sleeping schedule Bruce and Alfred tried imposing, instead of taking random naps around the clock. 

He’s sure the little shit will be back in front of the computer in 30 minutes. Whatever. He already did his mandatory older sibling duty by getting him to stop for a nap. 

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Next part

[whambambatfam]

Webs of a Wing

Chapter 3

It's scrunkly time.

I hope you guys like it, I wasn't so sure about this one. T∆T

Reader ages 12 - 15

───── ⋆⋅ 🕸 ⋅⋆ ─────

Not long after Grayson's departure from the manor... He came along, Jason Todd.

Coming in, rough around the edges, and bringing joy to the hollow halls. Ones you've roamed like a ghost on your own for years. He's got more adolescent defiance than your whole clique put together. The type of energy that shook up the old bones of this old house and awakened hope in your heart once again.

This was the kid's first time having a solid roof over his head, warm bed to sleep in, decent food to eat and people to worry about him, a real home. Unlike Bruce, who couldn't come to terms with your relations or Dick, who felt threatened by it. Jason was loud and clear in his intentions, he wanted to make the most of his new family. Including you.

A boy with black hair, blue eyes, and a stocky build for a twelve year old stands besides Alfred. “Master Jason will be living with us in the manor. He'll be a brother of sorts to you, just as Master Dick.” but you didn't want this to be like your and Dick's unstable relationship.

Alfred smiled at the determination set on your face as you gave him your name, “It's nice to meet you.” your hand quickly outstretched to the boy, “Uh, I hope.. we can be.. friends?”

Jason's face lights up your offer, taking your hand in his, “Yeah, friends. ‘Never had a sibling before.” Tugging you closer, his hand in yours pulls you along, “Come on, show me around.”

From then on, your days spent with only Alfred for company had a new, refreshing addition. 

Alfred has allowed the two of you to start cooking your own breakfast unsupervised. Given that you don't burn the kitchen down. “How many times have you done this?” Jason huffs as he picks egg shells from the bowl he's whisking. They slip through the tongs of the fork as he scrapes them along the side.

Pouring your egg mixture into the frying pan, you smile teasingly at him. “Only a few.” You take the bowl from his frustrated hands, “Try this, it might be more your speed.”

He accepts the wrapped loaf of bread with a scowl. Pulling out the toaster with a grumble, “I'm not an idiot, I know how to fend for myself.” 

“I never said you were. I've seen you do all kinds of stuff.” You move to the sink, wetting your fingers to pluck the last bits from the bowl. “

Jason turns away, stuffing four slices into the double toaster. “So it's just cooking that i suck at?” He drops his head on the counter, arms crossing as he grumbles.

Returning to the stove, you move your own cooking egg to the side. “No! You're the best at, like, everything you do.” Tipping the contents into the pan it sizzles to life again. “A few shells won't change that.”

There's pink clinging to his ears at your praise, “I'm not good at everything..”

“Oh my- obviously!”

“What!?” Sputtering, he whips his head around.

“It's bruning!” Yanking the plug from the toaster, the blackened squares pop up together. Three out of the four of them come out half charred. 

“Tha-that doesn't count.” The heat creeping up his neck flushes his face. “You distracted me!” 

“Uhuh, yeah.” You slide the omelet onto a plate for Jason as he replaces the burnt bread. “Your eggs are done.”

Jason is quick to deflect the old butler's inquiries on the smell of burnt bread. You'd hate to have your kitchen privileges revoked. When you offer to teach him how to crack eggs and use the toaster, he tells you to shut up with an obscured smile.

You were happy. Even when the newest boy wonder was busy training his nights away with the Bat. Talking about Bruce, spending time with him, connecting with him like you never could. Even when Dick started to hang around again. Coming to the manor, eventually joining the occasional patrol. Now Nightwing, protector of Blüd Haven. Brand new spandex, stupid big collar, and everything.

It didn't hurt to see him appear to come around slowly to his successor. Eventually accepting his replacement with relative ease. When you would always just be a thorn in his side, locked in a one-sided fight for first.

"You know how to fight, right?" The two of you were sitting outside. It was as muggy as Gotham usually is but it felt nice to be out.

He snorts, tossing a stone hard across the water. "Of course. Can't get by on the streets without." The small rock hops only twice before sinking.

Swiping a smooth stone from the shoreline, you run your finger along it, inspecting each divet and groove. "Can you.. teach me?" 

Sure, you were trained in martial arts but, being on the mat differs from being on the street. While your work in Gymnastics has helped you slip through and run when need be. You knew you might have to fight back one day. Maybe you wanted to.

There's a huff of exasperation behind you "Yeah, no, not happening." 

Dick Grayson's approach was silent until he wanted you to know he was there. Arms crossed and face already set in an unimpressed look.

“What?!" Jason jumps to his feet, making his way swiftly over, "I could totally do it!" 

"Then what?" With a raise of his brow, he scoffs, "Get grounded forever?" 

"It's not like I'm gonna take them-" Dick cuts him off with a raised hand.

"Stop, Jay. You're only going to get the both of you in trouble." The older siblings' hands make their way to his hips.

Tossing your rock across a water's surface, it skips along three times before sinking. “I'm not exactly new to it.”

You're almost surprised when Dick actually responds. "I'm sorry, kid. Bruce isn't going to be happy about it either.” 

As if he would even notice. "You wouldn't have to be so.. worried if I could be taught to defend myself.” Sighing in irritation, you turn your gaze back to the water.

“You don't need to, we can protect you just fine." Dick steps up behind you, patting your head. The contact catches your breath painfully and you have to fight the urge to swat it away. "And if you really don't want anyone to worry. Stay home. Stay safe." Stay out of the way. 

When he finally leaves, you feel like you can breathe again. Jason's abrupt grasp pulls your attention back to him, "Dickie and the old man can blow smoke." His grin was brighter than the sun, his hand clasping yours as he pulled you to your feet, "Let's go."

You can't fight the pull at your own lips, feet stumbling to catch up to his sudden pace. "Right behind you."

No, it didn't hurt. Because you won't let it, because, despite it all, he always came back to you. 

After packing your schedule with martial arts training Mondays and Wednesday before stitch work and knitting circle with Alfred. Gwen decides to join your gymnastics, her studies leaving her sitting at a desk too long. Tuesdays you drag both girls to self defense classes, you've seen enough shit go down with the birds. Also, it's Gotham, they should be better equipped to handle themselves. Your photos with Mj for the paper is due Thursday morning in time for the paper to come out on Friday. That leaves the weekend up for grabs. This one in particular was claimed by both your friends and brother.

“Whatcha readin’?” 

Jason jolts in his seat, slapping his hand over his mouth to subjugate any embarrassing noises. With a bark of your name he whips around to find you snickering over his shoulder. 

Cerulean eyes narrow as he grumbles at you. “How do you do that.. it's unnatural.” 

It was unnatural to he who trains under the Bat. You used to hate being unintentionally sneaking. Mj and Gwen can pick you out of a crowd of clones, there's no way you could sneak up on either of them. But, other people? Shrieking when they finally realized you were in the same room as them. That only made you feel even more invisible, and not in the ways you wanted.

You scoff, “That's dramatic.” Now, with Jason, you can finally get a laugh from it. Settling down on the couch beside him, you recognize the book in his hand, “Hey, that's one of mine!”

Swiping it away before you have the chance to snatch it, “Ha! Shouldn't have left it out.” he lifts the novella over his head, tongue stuck out at you.

“It was in my room, on my bed.” You huff, jumping for it as he stands, holding it over your head. 

“Yeah, it was, wasn't it?” Jason smirks, waving the book just out of reach, “Y'know, you actually have taste. Sometimes.”

“Give it back!" Grabbing his forearm you try pulling it down but do better at lifting yourself off the ground.

"I'm almost done." He chuckles into his fist at your frantic cat like swiping.

"Wow. So, this is the totally cool brother you've been talking about?” At the sound of a new voice, he snaps his attention to Mj. Arms crossed as she leaned against the archway to the living room.

“Dunno.. Sounds like a bully to me.” Gwen chimes in coming up besides her. She mirrors Mjs stance, doubling the judgemental

The book falls from Jason's hands and you catch it. Tucking it away safely under your arm.“Wha- uh, no! I am totally cool, ask them!” Jason whips around to hiss at you, face flushed with mortification, “Why didn't you tell me you were bringing your friends over?”

You roll your eyes, “I did. That's, like, the one thing we talked about before school this morning.” You can just barely hear the strained ‘Oooooh, right.’ as he mumbled something about a long night under his breath. Of course, he tries to make a ‘smooth’ recovery only to be blasted by your friends. You do, eventually, come to his defense.

It's nice to bring these two sides of yourself together like this. Jason may make an ass of himself but at least he knows how to not lose face completely. It makes you proud when, at the end of their stay, they sing his praises. Insisting on involving him again in their next visit to the manor. 

He came home, he sought you out, he wanted that connection you craved. The one thing you wanted, for one of them to look away from the stage of their busy lives and find you there. Waiting at home, creating that solace from a bustling world beyond these solid walls.

Creeping your door shut, you slide the lock closed. Having someone walk in on you was never a worry before. Now, whether it be doing homework together, exchanging books, deciding anything, general complaining and gossip, avoiding chores, especially hiding from Bruce and occasionally just to annoy you. Your brother struts in whenever the whim strikes him. The prick.. Shuffling to the bed, you land on it heavily alongside your bookbag. Books, pencils, and such escape their confines, your camera ferried out on top of the pile.

With a stretch and sigh, you get ready to nip pick. Three folders, each with a plethora of candids, articles, and notes. One in particular is becoming just a smidge overcrowded. Threatening to spill its contents every time it's jostled a bit too much.

What can you say? Your brother serves more than just justice in that cute lil Robin suit, and his action shots are the best. The guy is out there having fun and it shows. Your friends even agree when you can't help gushing over your late night photography sessions.

Well, after calling you crazy for going out at night in this city. Especially, with how close to the fighting you had obviously gotten. It may have taken a while to convince them that you weren't going to get yourself caught up in the middle of a Riddler maze or Two-face shoot out.

Deciding which should go in and which should come out is always a tedious process. The one with better exposure or with neater composition? You've already got a shot of him perched on that same gargoyle but, this one's a year old now. Maybe you could keep both, like a comparison, but you couldn't possibly.. maybe.. Then you'd go over your count and need to tosse another and you'd have to pick which and-Your cell rings. 

Lost in thought, the noise makes you jump like a cat at the loud sound. Swiping the noisy thing off the sheets, you answer with a huff.

“Heyyyy.. Sorry, I can't make it tonight..” Jason's voice came through the phone with tight regret, “I've got, uh... something came up. Tomorrow, I promise.”

It was a phrase you've heard before, more times to count. They'd use such weak excuses, only for tomorrow to never come. There was no later.

“Yeah, it's okay Jay.” The response was automatic, coming without a thought. How could you deny their call to action? There were always going to be things more important. “I get it. Just.. be safe, okay?”

“Of course, not like I'm doing anything crazy. I'll be with Bruce, we're fine.”

So, it didn't hurt that he tried keeping you in the dark like they did. You knew his concern was real, his care genuine. At least you want to know that he meant it, that he wasn't trying to push you aside. You'd just have to trust him.

“Up there! It's Batman!” A young boy yelps and tugs at his mother's arm, finger raised to the sky.

Eyes cast upwards, you watch as they jump from one building to the next. Capes billowing in the wind behind them. Following close, you run along sidewalks and duck through alleyways to keep up.

Pulling your camera up, you snap shots of Robin as he leaps off a rooftop. Capturing him mid-air, bright yellow fluttering behind him. The domino hardly masking his face of sheer joy paired with intense focus. His were always your favorite, filling his folder was easy. You wish you could show him some of the pictures you have of him. Maybe someday the two of you could go through it together. Would he find it creepy? Hopefully not...

You would never dare voice it but, you were envious of them. When they took to the soggy Gotham skies, gliding with ease above it all. Mouth hung agape, you watched the wind blowing through Jason's hair, and Dick with his flips and twirls. Even Bruce, using his cape to glide alongside them.

Well, maybe you told- “Alfred!” Your ride’s here and your mad dash through the city has been cut short.

“Crime alley is no place for an upstanding teen.” He tuts with a smile as you reach the car. Always a pinch of sugar with his scolding, “Come along, let's get home.”

Hopping in beside him, you can't keep your eyes off the stars. “I want to fly like them one day...” With a hum, He drives you two back to the manor.

Life is feeling better by the day. It's as if everythings clicked into place. The years you get with him are the most whole you feel. The only real sense of normalcy throughout your youth.

That night, he was home late despite not being on patrol. You overheard, well eavesdropped, that Jason was put off duty. Still he was out on his own, positively pissed, and came home after dark. Heading straight to his room, he brushes off Alfred, insisting on being left alone.

You can't help finding yourself standing anxiously at his door anyway. It didn't feel right, letting him fester in his anger alone. Knocking yields no results but, calling out his name softly earns you the same in return.

Opening the door slowly you peek in to see him, sitting on his bed with a box. His face is grim but he waves you in, motioning for you to sit with him. You do, placing yourself at the foot of his bed. Across from him with a box of papers and photos between you. Jason fiddles with an old looking photo, scanning it over and over. 

"I know you don't like talking about it, but," He swallows thickly before his eyes can meet yours pensively. "You, um, got a mom, right?"

It feels like the wind’s been knocked out of you. Yeah, you didn't like to talk about it, let alone think about it. "I guess, technically." You shrug it off the best you can, "I mean, ya know, everyone's gotta come from somewhere."

He rolls his eyes, dropping the picture back into the cardboard. "Yeah, no shit, that's not what I'm saying."

Really? You came to check in on him. Now you’re being snipped at over something he knows you're sensitive about. "Well, then, I don't want to know if your just-" Before you can fully lift yourself off the bed, he's gripping your wrist.

"Wait! I'm sorry, don't go!" His fingers tremble around his hold on you. He tries not to squeeze you too tightly while still keeping you close. "I-I just.." His other hand grips the box enough to crumple the cardboard under it.

"Jay..." You sigh, this unusual distress from your brother making giving in easier "I don't know. Maybe before but, I don't remember back then." Just nightmares of things you couldn't grip the memory of fully. Thinking of your mother and what she may have gone through with you? Only if it could help with whatever's eating at him, "I can't remember anything before being here. Blurry faces, locations I can't place. I didn't even know what her name was. Can't remember her face.."

When you sit back down he finally releases you. A hand runs through black curled, "I shouldn't have asked. Sorry if it's..."

"No, it's whatever. Who cares? Just..." You shrug, looking over the darkening Gotham sky, "Must not have been anything good." Fingers twist into the sheet below you in unease.

It did hurt though, every question slipping through your finger never to be answered. Flitting past your mind painfully when you linger too long on the past.

Your eyes are drawn back to Jason as he pulls a paper from the box. "I got some stuff earlier and..." He shows you old documents and photos that he was given by an old neighbor. You recognized the little Jason with, from what you're told, his father and stepmother. 

His explanation paused as you cooed at his baby face, which he does not appreciate. So, the woman who raised him, who passed, wasn't the same as his birth mother, who's alive. "I think I can find her but I don't know how long it'll take. I"

"That's," Blinking a few times at plie of evidence towards his childhood, you look back at him. "alot, but I'm sure if anyone could do it, that's you."

"You're not gonna.. try to talk me out of it?"

"Would you listen?" You raise a brow at him, his shoulders shoot up in turn, guilt evident. "Exactly." With a smirk you help him pack away everything. His face still knit pensively even after he sets the box aside, you scan the partly packed suitcase. It starts to feel too real but you know there's no helping it. So, you offer him all you can, taking his hand in yours, "Look, I don't know where you're going or what you're doing exactly but,” You squeeze his fingers and he returns it, “I trust you and I'll always be here for you."

Jason pulls your connected hand, rigging you into a tight embrace. "Thanks." His chuckle waivers against your shoulder, arms constricting around your midsection.

You repay his embrace in kind, forgiving the crushing weight of his hug as you blink away tears. "Just, please, stay safe. Okay?"

"Of course, look at who you're talking to, I'm the definition of cautious." He pulls away enough to give you a winning grin and you return it with your hardest 'You're joking, right?' face. "Alright, fine. I'll be careful. I'll be safe. Promise.”

“So, how are you getting there?" You sit crossed legs on his beds as he packs his bag. Chin resting on your palms you tilt your head as his rifles around his pocket.

“These!” He presents her a literal handful of credit cards. "I'll be flying, first class, duh” he notices your dropped jaw. "Please don't tell Alfred..." 

Teeth snapping shut, hands dropping to your lap, you blink at his little card haul, “Jason," you sighed, exasperated, “Where are you going?"

“The.. middle east?” Chuckling nervously as he stuffs them away, he watches the concern grow on your face at just how far he would be going.

“Your- Please, if you listen to anything I say. Jason.” You grab his shoulders, setting him with your sternest look “Do not die.”

“Oh my- Seriously?!" Rolling his eyes he shrugs your hands off, “I'm not gonna die!"

───── ⋆⋅ 🕸 ⋅⋆ ─────

Tag list?!

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[petermorwood]

More on pre-electricity lighting.

Interesting to see this one pop up again after nearly two years - courtesy of @dduane, too! :->

*****

After experiencing a couple more storm-related power cuts since my original post, as well as a couple of after-dark garden BBQs, I've come to the conclusion that C.J. Cherryh puts far too much emphasis on "how dark things were pre-electric light".

For one thing eyes adjust, dilating in dim light to gather whatever illumination is available. Okay, if there's none, there's none - but if there's some, human eyes can make use of it, some better or just faster than others. They're the ones with "good night vision".

Think, for instance, of how little you can see of your unlit bedroom just after you've turned off the lights, and how much more of it you can see if you wake up a couple of hours later.

There's also that business of feeling your way around, risking breaking your neck etc. People get used to their surroundings and, after a while, can feel their way around a familiar location even in total darkness with a fair amount of confidence.

Problems arise when Things Aren't Where They Should Be (or when New Things Arrive) and is when most trips, stumbles, hacked shins and stubbed toes happen, but usually - Lego bricks and upturned UK plugs aside - non-light domestic navigation is incident-free.

*****

Here are a couple of pics from one of those BBQs: one candle and a firepit early on, then the candle, firepit and an oil lamp much later, all much more obvious than DD's iPad screen.

Though I remain surprised at how well my phonecam was handling this low light, my own unassisted eyes were doing far better. For instance, that area between the table and the firepit wasn't such an impenetrable pool of darkness as it appears in the photo.

I see (hah!) no reason why those same Accustomed Eyes would have any more difficulty with candles or oil lamps as interior lighting, even without the mirrors or reflectors in my previous post.

With those, and with white interior walls, things would be even brighter. There's a reason why so many reconstructed period buildings in Folk Museums etc. are (authentically) whitewashed not just outside but inside as well. It was cheap, had disinfectant qualities, and was a reflective surface. Win, win and win.

*****

All right, there were no switches to turn on a light. But there was no need for what C.J. describes as stumbling about to reach the fire, because there were tinderboxes and, for many centuries before them, flint and steel. Since "firesteels" have been heraldic charges since the 1100s, the actual tool must have been in use for even longer.

Tinderboxes were fire-starter sets with flint, steel and "tinder" all packed into (surprise!) a box. The tinder was easily lit ignition material, often "charcloth", fabric baked in an airtight jar or tin which would now start to glow just from a spark.

They're mentioned in both "The Hobbit" and "The Lord of the Rings". Oddly enough, "Hobbit" mentions matches in a couple of places, but I suspect that's a carry-over from when it was just a children's story, not part of the main Legendarium.

Tinderboxes could be simple, just a basic flint-and-steel kit with some tinder for the sparks to fall on...

...or elaborate like this one, with a fancy striker, charcloth, kindling material and even wooden "spills" (long splinters) to transfer flame to a candle or the kindling...

This tinderbox even doubles as a candlestick, complete with a snuffer which would have been inside along with everything else.

Here's a close-up of the striker box with its inner and outer lids open:

What looks like a short pencil with an eraser is actually the striker. A bit of tinder or charcloth would have been pulled through that small hole in the outer lid, which was then closed.

There was a rough steel surface on the lid, and the striker was scraped along it, like so:

This was done for a TV show or film, so the tinder was probably made more flammable with, possibly, lighter fuel. That would be thoroughly appropriate, since a Zippo or similar lighter works on exactly the same principle.

A real-life version of any tinderbox would usually just produce glowing embers needing blown on to make a flame, which is shown sometimes in movies - especially as a will-it-light-or-won't-it? tension build - but is usually a bit slow and non-visual for screen work.

*****

There were even flintlock tinderboxes which worked with the same mechanism as those on firearms. Here's a pocket version:

Here are a couple of bedside versions, once again complete with a candlestick:

And here are three (for home defence?) with a spotlight candle lantern on one side and a double-trigger pistol on the other.

Pull one trigger to light the candle, pull the other trigger to fire the gun.

What could possibly go wrong? :-P

*****

Those pistol lanterns, magnified by lenses, weren't just to let their owner see what they were shooting at: they would also have dazzled whatever miscreant was sneaking around in the dark, irises dilated to make best use of available glimmer.

Swordsmen both good and bad knew this trick too, and various fight manuals taught how to manage a thumb-shuttered lamp encountered suddenly in a dark alley.

There's a sword-and-lantern combat in the 1973 "Three Musketeers" between Michael York (D'Artagnan) and Christopher Lee (Rochefort), which was a great idea.

Unfortunately it failed in execution because the "Hollywood Darkness" which let viewers see the action, wasn't dark enough to emphasise the hazards / advantages of snapping the lamps open and shut.

This TV screencap (can't get a better one, the DVD won't run in a computer drive) shows what I mean.

In fact, like the photos of the BBQ, this image - and entire fight - looks even brighter through "real eyes" than with the phonecam. Just as there can be too much dark in a night scene, there can also be too much light.

*****

One last thing I found when assembling pics for the post were Folding Candle-lanterns.

They were used from about the mid-1700s to the later 20th century (Swiss Army ca. 1978) as travel accessories and emergency equipment, and IMO - I've Made A Note - they'd fit right into a fantasy world whose tech level was able to make them.

The first and last are reproductions: this one is real, from about 1830.

The clear part was mica - a transparent mineral which can be split into thin flexible sheets - while others use horn / parchment, though both of these are translucent rather than transparent. Regardless, all were far less likely to break than glass.

One or two inner surfaces were usually tin, giving the lantern its own built-in reflector, and tech-level-wise, tin as a shiny or decorative finish has been used since Roman times.

I'm pretty sure that top-of-the-line models could also have been finished with their own matching, maybe even built-in, tinderboxes.

And if real ones didn't, fictional ones certainly could. :->

*****

Yet more period lighting stuff here, including flintlock alarm clocks (!)

[c4tluver02]

Can I request a fluffy Steve Harrington x fem! reader long oneshot where reader is pregnant and they are sitting in the living room watching a movie and all of a sudden, reader feels the baby kick for the first time and reader tells Steve and guides his hand to her stomach and Steve talks to the baby and they are just in awe over feeling the baby kick and they talk about how they can’t wait for their daughter to get here?

baby bump

summary: After finding out the gender of your baby things start to feel real. First time kicks and cravings are the new normal!

warnings: mention of pregnancy, r has long hair, mentions of morning sickness (for like a second), mentions of eating more

wc: 1.3k

a/n: i don't know anything abt being pregnant so if this is wrong lets pretend it isn't!!!! thank u for the request <3

It’s a lazy Sunday afternoon, neither you or Steve have anything going on allowing for you both to relax on the couch. A movie is playing on the TV and your head is laying on Steve's lap. His fingers thread through your hair and the feeling makes your eyes flutter shut. The movie long forgotten, simply too relaxed in Steve's presence. He’s been working a lot ever since the news of a baby coming so you are soaking up any moments with him. Last week you both found out the gender, a beautiful healthy baby girl. You couldn’t be more ecstatic and Steve was already thinking of the shade of pink to paint the nursery. 

-

 “Do you think she would want more of a rustic pink or like a Barbie pink?” Steve asks on the drive home from your appointment. You two have red eyes from crying tears of joy. Hearing the baby's gender makes everything feel even more real. 

“I think rustic definitely.” You say nodding. The small picture of your ultrasound in your hand. 

“I think so too, I’ll have to start looking for a crib. Think the guys would help?” Steve asks, thinking about Jonathan and Eddie. The idea of making a whole new room in just a few months now makes him a little stressed. 

“Oh totally and Eddie owes me a favor for eating my cheeseburger the other day.” It was a simple mix up, he ate your sandwich instead of his own. But in the moment tears threatened to spill from your eyes.

“I know Rob will help with the paint and picking out furniture. I still have to call her to tell her the news.” He says giving your thigh a squeeze from excitement. When he found out you were pregnant he told Robin right away. She came over the next day with gifts and candy for you. 

You looked at him with a large grin. Filled with excitement and happiness that you are having a baby and that Steve is Steve. A perfect partner and soon to be dad. 

-

You knew no matter what Steve would be a great dad, but knowing he will be a girl dad just clicks in the most perfect way. Already infatuated with you, he won't be able to say no to your new baby girl. 

Steve was already so great with you. Quick to be by your side when you have any sickness– despite you trying to shoo him away the first time it happened. Too scared he would find you gross you made him plug his ears which made him then yell out for you to ask if you were ok. But the more it happened the more he was there and wouldn't take no for an answer. If Steves gonna do one thing it's take care of you. Any late night cravings you had he would get with no complaints. He truly was perfect. Obsessed with your bump always talking to her, like when she was pushing on your ribs and he asked her so sweetly to move. 

Now you're all laid out on the couch half asleep and you feel a weird pain in your stomach. A little jab that was so quick if you were moving you might not have even felt it. The feeling made you shoot up in shock, a hand on your stomach. Steve looked at you with his thick brows raised, concerned. 

“What? What's wrong? Is she okay?” Steve asks quickly as he grabs onto your wrist. Like he needed to know the answer right away.

He finally took a breath when he saw a big smile appear on your face. You grab his hand and gently place it on your bump in a certain location. “She just kicked me.” You say it almost in a whisper like if you said it too loud she'd stop. 

Steve pressed his hand a little firmer to your belly trying to feel the sensation. His eyes are wide and you look at him as you wait for her to do it again.   

As if on cue she kicks again and Steve gasps. “Holy shit she's kicking!” It comes out in a half yell half laugh and he leans in to give you a quick kiss. Too excited, needing to put his energy into something. 

You're both fully sat up now only locked in on the baby's next move. She gives another kick and this time Steve sees your stomach move and stretch from the action. He scrunches his nose up a little. 

“Does that hurt baby? I can tell she’s using all her force.” The way he says it with a concerned but interested tone makes you giggle. 

“Nope.” You say popping the P at the end. “It feels weird but it doesn't hurt.” Your hand is over his holding it to your stomach and Steve can't help but swoon. 

“Maybe she'll be a soccer player? She seems like she has strong legs.” Steve says.

“Hmm, maybe a gymnast? They have really strong legs.” Steve nods at your response and you both lay back on the couch. 

Steve leans down a bit to rest his chin on your stomach. His hand is still on your belly but now he's rubbing it gently. 

“I can’t wait to see what type of personality she'll have.” He says.

Steve looks so pretty right now. Carefully giving your tummy little kisses and his long lashes flutter. You can't help but run your fingers through his hair and he groans at the action. 

“I hope she has your hair.” You say with a giggle but you really do mean it. 

“I hope she has your eyes, and your nose, and your lips, and your giggle of course.” 

You roll your eyes at his comment in a playful manner. “You're obsessed with me.” 

“I am.” He gives your belly one last kiss before sitting up again. “I am obsessed with you and our baby and I can't wait to have more.”

“More? Stevie, we haven't even finished having one!” You let out a giggle that's so warm Steve thinks it could truly melt his heart. 

“I know but I can imagine us with like 6 little Harringtons running around.” The look in his eyes tells you he's 100% serious and that he's given this thought. 

“Hm and who will be pushing out these 6 Harringtons?” You ask, looking at him with a huge smile on your face. So happy in this moment, thinking about the future you and Steve will have. 

“Sweetheart, if I could do all the hard work, trust me I would. Then I could give you all the babies you want.” Steve slides his hands on your waist which is a little on your stomach due to how far out it is, rubbing his thumb up and down. 

“Let's focus on this one and then we can talk about more, deal?” You ask, putting your hands around his neck. The movement makes you two get closer but the bump creates a bit of distance. 

“Deal.” He responds, kissing your temple. The movie you guys were watching is now rolling the credits, neither of you saw the end but that's okay because in a few months you'll have a daughter.

“Stevie?” You ask but Steve knows the tone in your voice. 

“Yes angel?” The smirk he has on could be one related to the Cheshire cat. All knowing and ready for what you're about to ask. 

“Do you think you could make me some eggs and toast?” The puppy dog eyes you give aren't needed but accepted. It doesn't matter that it's 10pm or that you had dinner a few hours ago. 

“You are a hungry little bug aren't you?” Steve says into your stomach as he kisses it. Getting up to go to the kitchen but not before grabbing your hands to help you up.

“She is, isn't she? I must be growing an athlete in there.” You say, referring to your earlier statements. 

Steve laughs and rubs your back as you walk in front of him. He knows tonight you'll wake him up for more food but right now he couldn't be happier. 

[cafterdark]

I don't think y'all truly grasp what fucking a god would be like.

Not only are they beings who can shape reality like clay, but they have such a massively different conception of time, morality, and existence that they become alien to you

For example, let's say you are a normal guy:

One moment you're looking at yourself in the mirror, the next in a quiet field. Before you even have a chance to react, a voice rips through your tissue paper body. It is multilayered, unable to stick to one voice, but is it smooth and alluring and almost feminine.

"I have chosen thee to be my temple." The voice says.

"W...who are you?" You stutter out.

The voice doesn't answer. For a moment you wonder if you've gone insane, then she begins. A thousand hands of light touch you, some delicate and precise, some wild and rough. They grab and grope and tear and claw and brush and pinch and slap all over, all at once. One hand grabs your short hair and forces you to look up in the air and she says:

"Let me show you your purpose."

You are launched in time to a temple, backwards or forwards, you don't know. It is lit by candles, showing that you're at the feet of a massive marble statue of a nude woman. The hands force you to your knees, all while feeling up your boiling body. You look up and only catch a glimpse of her beautiful thighs before you're unstuck in time again.

You feel yourself dragged back to reality. You're in a woman's body, being fucked by two other women in a dingy hotel. One hold the leash to a collar around your neck, the other holding your legs as she fucks you with her dick. The hands are still there and guide you, teasing each moans from your throat and buck of your hips. You've never felt this good ever as you start ascending the mountain of arousal. The collar chokes you enough for a momentary blackout

You're back in the temple, still looking up. You catch a glimpse of her hips, grabbable, with curves in just the right spots. You blink in awe and find yourself in another woman's body, actually no, a robot woman's body. You're connected to a machine made of tech so powerful you can't comprehend by series of wires and plugs throughout your body. A woman, dressed in lab wear smiles, kisses you, and starts the machine. You feel a jolt of pleasure shoot through you. The woman's smile widens, then a notification appears on your HUD

Sensitivity increased 150%

A soft glide teaches down your back and you feel your entire body kicks in response. You ascend further up, climbing step after step towards orgasm. Each touch the machine simulates makes you skip ten steps. The woman's laughs at you makes you skip more. The heat is unbearable, your fans spinning at Max speed, their noise filling the background. You get a warning notification about overheating and you're back at the temple.

The hands keep your arousal steady as the hand tilts your head further up still. You're enraptured by the most perfect pair of tits you have ever seen. The last bit of thought you we're holding onto is wiped away by their glory. But before you can properly worship them, you're thrown back in time.

You're in another temple, hazy and thick with the perfume of incense. You're in a priestess' body slick with oil, prepared to worship your goddess with your other priestesses. You look around and see the rest of your order staring at you and approach. After a long moment, you realize that you're the offering. The other women attack you with kisses and teeth and hands and nails in just the right spots. Each blow brings you closer to the peak. They pin you down and begin fucking you with their trained tongues and you blank out. You're so close now you can see the peak. You pray to just be allowed to reach it.

You're set back to the temple again and with one swift yank of your long hair, brings your eyes to the statues face.

It's you.

You don't know how you know. It looks nothing like you, but it's you. And you're gorgeous you can feel the orgasm coming, it's so so so so close now. The world stops, your body freezes.

You find yourself stuck one step before the peak, staring at your beautiful features and unable to do anything about it. You're stuck there for a long time. An hour? A year? A Millennia? A second? You don't know. But by the end, you're asking Her to let you cum. She responds:

"Do you know your purpose?"

"Yes... Goddess," you pant out. "As your temple... Where your followers... Worship you"

"Good Girl" She says.

Those two words bring you over the edge and you find yourself cumming harder than you've ever done before. Each convulsion rips away a part of your past life, what you ate for breakfast, your job, your hobbies, your name. If you could think through the tsunami of pleasure, you wouldn't care. Goddess will provide, she always will. But for now, you are drowning in devotional ecstasy.

After an eternity, you finally feel the afterglow bleed in. The hands let go and you collapse to the floor, letting the darkness consume you.

You wake up on the bathroom floor and groan. Was it really just a dream? You get up and look in the mirror and see you. Not the fake you that you wore before, but the you Goddess crafted, her masterpiece. You smile and dance in your body, that statue turned flesh, and laugh a beautiful laugh to celebrate and thank Her.

"You know your purpose and are trained in it," She says in the back of your mind. "Begin."

"Yes Goddess"

You leave the bathroom and begin your new life. After all, what's a god without her temple?

[dcxdpdabbles]

I reread Dauntless Matchmaker recently and I love it, could you please make another part? Either that or another part for One Hell of a Bellhop, Legal Compensation, or Mr Flavors Soda, any of the above would be great, your choice ^-^

Danny skips up the stairs towards Wayne Manor's front entrance with a binder, a few notebooks, and his laptop tucked away in his carry bag. Humming under his breath, he raises his hand to knock. Before he can touch the wood, the door swings open to the beaming face of his fake boyfriend, Tim Drake.

"Hi!" The other gasps breathlessly. He adjusts his cardigan from where it had fallen off his left shoulder. Danny has noticed something about Tim. He was always so nervous and clumsy. The poor thing was taking his heartbreak badly.

"Hi, Tim." Danny grins. He holds up his NASA theme bag with pride. "I brought the stuff!"

His boss' brother lets out a string of nervous chuckles that slowly dissolve, coughing when he chokes on his spit. Alarmed, Danny started smacking his back in hopes of helping. He wishes he could say this was a one-time thing, but Tim, unfortunately, does this often.

"Master Tim?" Alfred calls from down the left hallway.

"I'm fine! Everything-cough-hack- everything is fine!" Tim screams back, entirely red and looking a tad bit mortified. Clearing his throat, he straightens to full height, back pin straight and looking every bit the young gentleman of his standing. "Shall we move to the viewing room?"

Danny knows he's only trying to save face, so he only smiles and steps inside. As they had agreed on two weeks ago, Danny loops his arm through Tim's, pressing himself close to the other's side, just as Alfred walks by.

The aged man seems pleased to see them so affectionate, which Damian said Danny had to play up because otherwise, it would not be believable. Tim only dated men and women who showed their care through physical touch, and he was often seen holding hands or looping arms with his partners.

As it is, Tim does his part well, beaming up at Danny. He was taller after hitting a second growth spurt, but sadly, he seemed to take after his mother rather than his father. Danny was only two inches taller than Tim.

On the other hand, Jazz grew like a weed. Once it became apparent, she took after Jack in height. Dan's appearance gave Danny hope that he would break the six-foot mark in a few years—you know, if the madness and devouring Plasmius didn't affect his development too much.

"What are you showing me today?" Tim asks as they stride past Damian. The younger boy makes a face, the same one Danny made whenever Jazz brought over a boy, and they were being sickly sweet. He offers his boss a smile in return, watching those intense green eyes roll.

"I brought evidence of why Yetis' healthcare is far superior to ours." Danny pats his bag with a satisfied smirk. "Nothing beats Frostbite."

Tim melts. "That's amazing. I can't wait to hear all about it. Then we could go get dinner. How does Divine Palace sound?"

"The upscale restaurant? I would need to change before I'm allowed in there. It has a dress code, doesn't it?"

Tim snuggles closer. "You can borrow one of my suits."

"You know it's bad luck to wear someone else's clothes?" Danny tells him they have just arrived at the viewing room. The projector is set up, and Danny is waiting to plug in his laptop. A sizeable plush couch is pushed in front of the large empty wall, where Tim plans to curl up and watch Danny's presentation.

Meeting someone who adored all the educational information about Ghosts and their culture was lovely. Danny's parents were more interested in the aspects of biology and anatomy than the sociology and anthropology he studied.

After he finished his slide show—sadly without pictures as ghosts disrupted the camera—he would show Tim his notes, which the two could flip through together on the couch. Since his PowerPoint lacked images, Danny settled for some drawings and blurry photos he had stored in his binder while exploring the Zone.

He started it when he was fourteen, gradually growing over the years.

"Why's that?" Tim asks, throwing himself on the couch and crossing his legs underneath him. He places his elbow on the meat of his thigh and leans his head on his hand, his eyes never leaving Danny.

They seem to be shining, utterly captivated by the Halfa.

"It makes it easier for ghosts to overshadow you," Danny answers promptly, unzipping his bag to take out the materials from his bag. He had to look away from his friend because the way he was staring was making him a bit flustered.

"Overshadow?"

"It's another way of saying possession, but it's more politically correct." He responds, plugging in the wires to his laptop and watching the lock screen of his computer appear on the wall. "My sister's first boyfriend attempted to do that to her. Gave her some of his girlfriend's stuff so she could form around her and use Jazz as an anchor to stay on this plane."

"And you saved her before he could succeed," Tim sighs adoringly.

Danny puffs out his chest. "I did!"

Tim pressed a button on the side of his couch. At once, the thing expands, pushing the backrest down and expanding the bottom until it forms an even flat surface. Danny initially thought it was a recliner, but apparently, rich people had couches that could turn into beds in seconds.

He lays flat on his stomach, kicking his feet and leaning on both hands as he smiles like a loon at Danny. "That's amazing."

Danny bites his lip, trying to be modes,t but it's hard when he's being praised by someone like Tim Drake.

"Well, it's just what a good brother does. All I really had to do was use his bad luck against him, and really, Jazz sort of snapped out it when he tried to punch me," He babbles while scrambling to log into his account. He needs to do something before he bursts from all the giddy, mushy feeling in his chest. "It was nothing compared to when I had to win a pie-eating contest against Baker."

"Hmm?"

"Baker is a pasty theme ghost that is shockingly powerful. He locked me in a battle for five days before I convinced him to switch to a food theme contest." Danny laughs, shaking his head at the memories. "I was stuck in bed for a day with the biggest stomach ache, but I won that day. And victory was sweet."

Tim swoons.

Just as Danny is booting up the presentation, his superhearing catches the whispers of Tim's other siblings from the hallway. Damian had instructed him not to let anyone else in the household learn the truth of his contract because it would eventually get back to Alfred.

After meeting the man, he completely understands the paranoia.

"Who is that?" He's pretty sure that's the oldest Dick.

"Tim's new obsession." Answers Steph with a smirk in her words. "Apparently, he's some paranormal-obsessed conspiracy theorist."

"Why does he always go for the crazy ones?" Jason sighs dramatically.

"Have you seen Danny's biceps? Were it not for his health issues, I would have thought Tim found a secret off-duty hero."

Danny hastily focuses on his first slide, trying not to show his fear. Tim continues to watch him kick his feet and play with some of his hair. He has a habit of twirling his hair. Tim almost always does that whenever Danny sees him.

[xoxochb]

“who's the cute guy with the wide, blue eyes and the big bad mm?” it’s jason grace, your honor

——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

jason was utterly screwed. from the moment he had entered cabin one and saw you of all people laying atop his bed (yet again— who the hell else would be?) of course it was you, it just had to be you. why couldn’t it have been a harpy coming to eat his intestines? or past monsters seeking revenge? but no, of everyone it was you. he knew that he had training in— by now— under a half an hour but he couldn’t help the fact that right now you had never appeared to be more ethereal, the way you’re wearing his sweatshirt, on his bed, with your bare legs sprawled along it, and the soft light peeking through the thin curtains, like as if the sun had known just exactly how to illuminate your face to make you look like a elysian angel

swiftly, he makes his way to his bed where you sit. you flash him his favorite soft smile of yours and his knees nearly buckle on the spot. you were so doing this on purpose. you close your book and place it on his bedside table before patting the spot beside you for him to sit. and he does, most definitely, without another thought lays beside you. should he make a move and risk being late to training? or perhaps allow you to sit there and look perfect while he suffers horribly? he chose the first option. he urgently connects his lips with yours, sliding a hand underneath his/your sweatshirt. you attempt several times to call out his name, maybe for an explanation as to what the fuck he’s doing, but you can’t find it in yourself to care what he’s doing or why he’s doing it because you’re just happy he’s here and he’s kissing you

with his free hand, jason holds your jaw to assure you can’t part from him as his tongue swipes over your lower lip before you part your lips so it can enter. he lets out a hum of satisfaction when you grant him permission, surely taking full advantage of it. while on the other hand (quite literally), his fingers trail downwards to loop around your lacy underwear, currently the only thing you had been wearing underneath the sweatshirt. painfully slow he slides them down your legs (but again at the same time it was incredibly swift), yet still unsatisfied with the clothing you had own, he pulls back with a frown. with a quiet “life up a little” you elevate yourself from your position so he can remove his/your sweatshirt from yourself before you lay back down as his fingers now find a pathway up your bare thighs

and without a warning (though you should’ve seen this coming), he plugs two fingers into you, eliciting a strangled— somewhere between— a moan and a gasp from you at the sudden pleasurable sensation. his pace begins slow, starting off easy so you can adjust to him at once. but, soon enough he quickens it. you murmur some incoherent ‘sentences’ between soft noises, and as his fingers curl inside you, your mind turns into complete clouds, stopping anything but his name to leave your reddened lips. you tug at his blond hair as you feel yourself growing closer to your climax. what even more so makes your breath grows (progressively) ragged is when you feel an electric shock flow through your veins, once, and twice. at this point you’re completely starry eyed, you arch yourself into him for further pleasure, your moans becoming louder, your legs shaking about ready to collapse beneath you, your hair sticks to your sweat-veiled face— you’re a mess

finally, his fingers curl into you once more, bringing you to the edge. slowing down by only a tad, he continues working you, prolongs your orgasm as you dig your nails into his biceps and you cry out his name. and with one final swirl through you, jason slides his fingers out of you and meets your tear-brimmed eyes with a smirk

“sorry ‘bout that. you look gorgeous in my clothes though, have I told you that before?”