#hope these suit your needs nonny!

[millerscoffee]

Hello!! 🤍 I was wondering if you could write something where Joel is the reader’s college professor, and then Prof. Miller INSISTS that reader comes over to his home for tutoring assistance, (because of failed tests or bad essays), and then finally coaxes her into letting him have his way with her.

hi nonnie! here it is! i hope you enjoy 💖

extra credit

6.2k | joel miller x afab!reader (professor!joel au)

rating: 18+ MDNI

warning: professor!joel au, age gap (joel is 46, reader is 21), soft!dom joel, pining, consensual sex, pet names (darlin', doll, baby), oral (f receiving), face riding, fingering, piv (unprotected, wrap it folks), squirting, joel spitting over the reader's ass for 0.5 seconds (OOPS IDK???), a pretty dress with easy access, hints of after care, spoiler: honestly prof. miller could've told reader to just do the paper in a different format but – that's the point 🤭

When you picked your major, English was a necessary credit needed to achieve your goals.  It wasn’t your strong suit, but you weren’t one to quit just because you were bad at it.  So far you were coasting through, getting a mix of good and bad grades in your English Lit class when the last essay before finals was presented.

Among the crowd in Professor Miller’s lecture hall, you typically sat in the front.  He hands out papers, hovering by your desk.  Giving you a look of disapproval, he places the grade face down.  You peel the pages in anticipation, a sense of dread falling over you when you scan the big, red mark of failings.  “Shit,” you say to yourself.  That was it.  That was the grade that was the defining factor of whether or not you had to retake this course.  You use the side of your hand to wipe sneaky tears in falling.  You failed.  Doing your best to keep it together, you’re not sure you even heard the rest of the lecture from the possibilities running through your mind.  What were you to do?  How would you recover?

Class was over before you knew it.  The sounds of bags zipping and feet stepping, you stayed seated until you were able to look over to Professor Miller.  Dressed in black slacks, a brown button-up with leather shoes.  His hair was slick, the slightest bit of salt and pepper patched at his sideburns.  He looked like he had it all figured out, and that struck a nerve.  A feeling of jealousy that he knew what he was doing, and you obviously did not.

Professor Miller calls your name when the class is emptied, and you sniffle, standing up to straighten your skirt.  Your manicured nails pick up your essay as you walk over in an attempt to hand it to him.  “I guess you want this back,” you hold your full bottom lip between your teeth.

“Did you read the material?”  Professor Miller inquires, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.  His voice is so dark and honied in comparison to his scowl.  Proving not to judge a book by its cover.  The irony.

“Well, I did, but… I struggle with this stuff.  Predicates and imagery?  I’d rather be learning about biology.  But I need this course, you know.  And I…,” you swallow hard.  God, the last thing you want is to embarrass yourself in front of your teacher.  He doesn’t know you, out of the hundreds of people he teaches – how could he possibly even remember your name?

“Hey,”  Professor Miller takes his glasses off, putting them on the table.  He looks as concerned as you are over it and crosses his arms.  Keeps his distance.  “It happens, you know.  There are things we can do to accommodate.  You’re very bright, I’d hate to see you fail.  You have options.  I can’t let you rewrite the paper, but I could tutor you for your final.  Another option is getting a student tutor, but it’s rare.  You know the workload of this university.  Not a lot of people are willing to sacrifice their precious time.”

“And you are?”  You look up at him with grateful, bright eyes and he loves it.  The praise just from your stare alone is cause for him to clear his throat.

“Listen, for someone like you, I believe it is important to help.  You just need a little more time understanding what you’re doing, is all.  I’m not in my office for the rest of the weekend, though.  You’d have to come by my house…,”  he watches those pretty eyes widen again, and that makes a smirk fall over his greying features, “if that’s okay, of course.  If it’s not, we could work something else out.”

You think about it.  You’ve never had a teacher invite you over, much less someone who looked the way he did.  Though, that was neither here nor there.  His lips formed words you couldn’t even pay attention half the time in hearing.  Maybe that was part of the reason why you were failing in the first place.  But you needed to pass, and if he could help you – and was so kind enough to do it in the first place, you should jump at the first opportunity.

“Okay.  Is there a particular time you’d like me to be there?”

“Are you busy tonight?”

What the fuck. That makes your heart race.  Tonight?  Tonight?!  Ton–

“Tonight… tonight is good.”  How did you even form the words?

“Perfect,” he started, bending down to write his address on a sticky note – his cologne wafts in your direction, and you clamp your legs shut reflexively.  “Here’s my address.  7 o’clock.”

“Seven.  Okay… thank you, Professor Miller.”

“Please, call me Joel.”  His teeth gleamed in a smile, and his personality shined through it.

A personality you didn’t get to see too often from your position behind a desk.

Shit.

---

According to your phone, he didn’t live very far from campus, and you were able to walk to his house without breaking too much of a sweat.  You decided on a black dress, although it was a casual one, that paired nicely with your sneakers.  It had buttons down the front with a relaxed collar.  Your bag slung over your shoulder when you knocked on his door, a nervousness fluttering in your stomach.  It was such a weird thing, meeting your professor in his home.  Much less having him request you call him by his first name.

Your knees all but buckled when you saw him on the other side of the door.

He looks… young in his jeans.  His t-shirt stretched over the broadness of his shoulders, but it’s still loose enough that it doesn’t look ill-fitted.  His stomach, soft at the bottom.  You flash him a smile, but internally you’re reeling over how casual he looks.  You’d never seen him like this, not even during those school meetings that were informal.

“Hey, you,” he’s bright, too.  Charismatic as he invites you into his home.  Takes your bag, lets you take your shoes off until you’re in your socks.  His words hit your stomach, how easy it is for him to talk to you like you’re the brightest sunflower.  What’d you even do to deserve it?

“Hi, Prof– uh, Joel,” you titter, taking in the curated decor of his home.  It was sophisticated, yet a little cheesy at the same time.  His alumni cover his walls and a mix of pictures.  Some with a couple of young girls you assumed were his children.  He has children, you swallow.

“Wasn’t too hard to find this place, right?  When I moved here, I wanted to make sure I wasn’t too far – not much of a mornin’ person,” Joel laughs and you do, too.  Fuck, this feels so easy.  But it’s nothing – it’s nothing.

What you don’t pick up on right away is his open body language.  He places your bag on his couch and you follow him like a puppy – he likes that.  You look so soft under the sienna hue of his lights, your hair falling into place naturally.  Plump and ripe for the taking.  Of course, he meant it when he said he’d tutor you, but the air got thick the moment the door was shut behind the two of you.  What were you doing to him?

Joel’s large frame walks over to his bar cart, turning on his heel to face you, “Interested?”

“Huh?” You blink and he laughs again at your deer caught in the headlights expression.  You’re cute.

“Do you drink?”

“Oh, uh… water would be nice.”

“Water it is,” Joel’s pleasant, gesturing his hand for you to follow him.  And you do – that puppy he was coming to know, right to his kitchen.  You study the marble countertops, the farmhouse style kitchen sink.

“So, tutoring,” he starts, taking a glass from the cupboard, he fills it with filtered water before handing it to you – you thank him with a nod, “I was thinking we could look at your paper, and then go over how to fix things in the future?”  When you take the water from him, your fingers graze.  The first sign of contact, your head continues to nod unthinkingly, but all that scorches your mind is how his skin feels.

“That sounds good,” you overcompensate, shoving the ideas from your mind.  He was your teacher, and it was easy to get back into the mode of why you were here.

Joel’s expression doesn’t change much, still the same grin with hooded eyes and wrinkles at his forehead.  The two lines between his brow.  “Alright, well I have it on the coffee table.  Let’s get settled on the couch, and we’ll get started, okay?”

So you agree.  You take your glass of water and follow him back to the couch where everything was set up – your paper, his laptop.  All of the correction marks in your face as you sit down.  You take another sip of water before placing it down on the coaster.  You dread it, you really do.  Going over your failures?  You scrunch your nose up to yourself, but Joel notices when you’re both settled on the cushions.

“You know, Voltaire said, ‘perfect is the enemy of good’,”  Joel bends his knee on the couch, thigh pressing into the cushion to turn to you and it causes the couch to shift.  The quote makes you giggle a little to yourself, and you shake your head.  “What?” His eyebrow quirks in curiosity.

“Voltaire also popularised the story of Newton’s apple, doesn’t make it true.”

“Huh…,” Joel trailed off, keeping his eye on you – his tongue skating over his bottom lip in thought.  You were so quick all he could really do was laugh, and that made your shoulders relax.  Makes you feel more in control and comfortable to laugh at yourself.  “You got an answer for everything?”

“Not everything.  See this,” you pick up your paper, thumbing over the ink of corrections the man on the couch made and you shrug, “I don’t really understand why this got marked wrong.”  Joel’s gaze flashes over your mouth when your teeth press into the plushness of your bottom lip – he should be given some damn award for having so much self control around you.

“Wrong format.  This citation works for your research papers, right?”  He nods with you before leaning in closer, that damn cologne coming back in full force just like earlier in the day.  You all but freeze when his warm touch graces you again – this time, fingers tracing over where you’re holding the paper.  “Oh,” your voice is soft, a bit of disappointment pangs at your ribs.  You were so busy you didn’t even realise that was the majority of the issues you had.

“So… it’s not really what I wrote, it’s how I wrote it?  You asked if I read the material?”

“Exactly.  If you read the syllabus, you’d see the required format.  Listen, there are some ways for extra credit, I do think this is salvageable.”

You suddenly feel silly.

You did all that work, Professor Miller was kind enough to let you into his home, and it was all for some redundant formatting.  An open palm curls over your chin as you look at the paper in deep contemplation.

“I really fucked up,” you say, hushed in the space.

“You didn’t fuck anything up,” you manage an exhale of amusement at the sound of your teacher curse.  You shift your gaze to look at him.  The curls at the nape of his neck, the way his t-shirt dropped enough so you could see his neck, his chest.  The freckles that splayed over his aged skin.  “You just needed someone to tell you what to do.”

That was the loaded statement.  And a pointed one, it seems.  Someone to tell you what to do.  And Joel wanted to be that person?  Your eyebrows raise for a flash, thumbing over the paper.

“That would be too easy,” you scratch at your neck idly before going for the glass of water, sipping in contemplation. “...I mean, I should’ve known better.”

Joel takes the glass from you, offering himself a sip of your water and it stuns you speechless, doing your best not to convey it.  Maybe he did that just because this was his house.  That must’ve been it.  He was comfortable, but goddamn – the eye contact he gave you when he swallowed the liquid.

It felt intentional.

He watches your features, vague as they were, in what to do next.  He honestly wasn’t so sure what he was doing either.  What?  I know how to give you extra credit, sweetheart.  Too forward, too boastful, too… cheap.  You deserved better than that.  He saw you in class, how hard you were on yourself.  He talked to your other teachers, how well you were doing in your other classes.  He felt for you.  And he was a bit lost in your eyes.  You were all too pretty, too brilliant to be dimmed down to a fuck for extra credit.  Joel could see that.  He wasn’t even sure what he was thinking, you had him distracted.  You threw him off without even trying.  The plight within him grew stronger as he handed back the glass.

“You’re too hard on yourself,” Joel straightens up, his hand cups over your forearm in a way that’s understanding, but also makes goosebumps rise.  You look down to see where you connect and he pulls away slightly.  “Sorry, I–,” “No, it’s okay,” you agree, “It’s okay.  You’re right.”

“It’s just, I see hundreds of bright, beautiful young people every year, but none of them have stood out to me like you.”  He can’t believe the words that are coming out of his mouth.  The candor, the nerve.  A filthy old man, that’s all he was in the eyes of someone as sweet and innocent as you were.  Even if you happened to be experienced – god, what was he thinking?!

Joel clears his throat, shifting a bit in his seat, but he sees the way your lips part, but your eyes don’t show an ounce of shock or distain.  They look soft, and… willing.  You know that is because the pull at your core feels too strong to think of anything else.  You look down at his left hand, making sure you’re not dreaming.  He’s not married?  You’d casually look at his hands from time to time during class and ignored the ache it gave you, but this?  So close?  Backed by the glow of his house?  It was so different from the boys you were used to.  In their dorms or disgusting apartments.  It smelled as nice as it looked.  You realise you’re not speaking, but the way you lean into him says more than you really ever could.

“I don’t know what to say,” shyly, you touch your knuckles to your cheek, “you should teach the guys that go here how to chat with someone.”

It’s a mutter, but not to yourself.  You drink one more mouthful of what you were offered before putting it back on the coaster.  Honestly, any distraction was welcome to defer from the ever-present density in the room.

“Those guys don’t know what they’re talkin’ about anyway.  I know I didn’t at that age.”

There.  The topic right in front of both of your faces.

“How old at you, anyway?”  You inquire, thumb mindlessly circling over your knee.  Joel tracks it, licking over his lips as he answers.  “Forty-six.  You?”

“Twenty-one.”

Fuck.  Fuck fuck fuck.

There’s this standstill, as if you’re both in the air together looking at each other in slow motion.  How will this land?  What are you both even doing here like this?

“I’m sure your boyfriend takes good care of you,” Joel’s eyes, round and bright brown, get lost in yours – the way your breath hitches, the shift of your thighs on his sofa.  He wondered what you tasted like, what sounds you make when these boys who don’t know what they’re doing with their tongue attempt to eat you out.  Do you fake it?  Do you give it to them straight?  Neither of you had a drink from that bar cart in the corner of the room, but somehow you’ve become closer – and more intoxicated.

“Don’t have one,” you respond softly, orbs flickering to the set of plush lips that grow more red the longer you let the tension build, “what about you?  N-no partner?”

Your attempt in confidence wavering the longer he stares at you.  It’s like staring back into the sun and you have your brows knit together until the tug of muscle makes your forehead hurt – smoothing them apart with the twitch of muscle fibers.

“No partner,” Joel’s hand settles on your thigh and you can’t hold it back; you gasp.  But you do something he doesn’t anticipate, or well, you don’t do something: you don’t pull away.

How did you two get to the topic, anyhow?

How did you end up straddling his lap, for that matter?

It’s within six eager seconds that his hand, hot and rough, touches your soft skin, and you – green, you – fervent, throw all inhibitions aside and lunge.  It’s more fluid than you realise, and his hands (both now) grip the backs of your bare thighs and you whimper at the sensation of him squeezing you.  Your wetness against your cotton panties grows from the kneading alone.  No, absolutely not, the boys back in the dorms didn’t know how to do this.

It takes an even shorter time for your mouths to meet.  He’s first to kiss, and he tastes like coffee and his dinner, and the faintness of a cigarette – maybe early in the day?  You couldn’t tell, your head was swimming too deep in now to come back from.

And although his calloused fingers roll patterns into your soft skin, he’s just as willing.  Just as desireful and you can feel it beg to be set free at the seam of his jeans.  His tongue skirts against yours, hips rolling up the second yours tempt to roll down; causing you both to moan in each other’s mouths.

It gets feverish after that.  All teeth, tongue, bite.

You don’t want to stop, you don’t want to take a moment to breathe because fuck, that could stop things.  That could make him realise what is happening.

But that only is another item to your list of naivety.

Because Joel, he’s ready.  His masculine arms wrap around your frame to lift you up just enough so he can get out of his fucking jeans that he now regrets wearing.  Shoulda been wearin’ sweats, but it’s effortless… eventually.  He hurriedly pushes the thick fabric down until they hit at his thighs and you’re pushed down onto his boxers that – holy fucking shit – leave nothing to the imagination.  “Joel, J-,” you pant between kisses, fingernails digging into the base of his neck, he pauses.  Pulls away, gets a good look at your face.

“Y’want this?” And goddamn, you can’t see yourself, but you imagine you look just as fucked out as he does.  On the cusp of every little fantasy he’s had about you from the moment you sat down behind that desk.

“I want this,” you repeat.  You weren’t sure exactly when the nerves subsided, maybe because all of the blood is now rushed at the apex of your thighs, but you mean it.

You want this.  You want Professor Miller.

“You got me,” his breath dances over your lips before guiding you back a bit, “here… I’m going to lie back, I want you to– I’ll show you.”  Your lips quirk up at the fact he’s so flushed he can’t even finish his sentence.

But that soon turns to you flushing when you realise his request.  “I – what?”

“No?”  Joel sits up on his elbows, looking over to you and you’re worried you’ve killed the mood.  It’s just, straddling his face?  Blood rushes to your cheeks.

“I’ve never done that… What if it’s bad?”  His eyes, reassuring, but a deep shade of black now beckons you.

“Darlin’, I think you’ll be a natural.  But I can teach you, if that’s what you want.”

You swallow, straddling his knees somewhere at the bottom of the couch and you think about it.

Joel, on the other hand, was living in a fantasy of teaching you things in and out of school.  Showing you how to make yourself feel good on his mouth – make you forget all about the essay that caused you grief today.  He leans over, pushing it under the couch out of view for good measure.

“Okay,” you agree, though nerves still flood you.  “Okay, you wanna take your panties off?”  You lick your lips at that, biting back another whimper that brought you to this predicament in the first place.  And you did – you wanted nothing more than to slip your underwear off and give into your pleasures.  His voice was deep, graveled with the prospect of him fucking you senseless on his couch and who were you to deny him that?

Who were you to deny yourself that, more importantly.

“Yeah,” doing as you say, you slip off your lace-trimmed undies and abandon them somewhere on your Professor’s floor.  “Fuck,” you mutter.  This was naughty.

“Already so good for me,” you weren’t even sure that Joel’s voice could get deeper, or more inviting, but it does.  You bite your lip and oblige when he pats his chest.  Going over to him, you straddle just above his broad shoulders, and he’s almost out of view with him like this – somehow making it easier to just feel what he could do to you.

Joel on the other hand?  All he can do is see the outline of your glistening core from the shadowed tent you’ve made of your dress and his groans are muffled slightly from the fabric, “Fuckin’ Christ,” he wants to devour you, but he takes his time instead.

Peppers kisses along your thighs that make you claw the armrest, causes you shiver at the contact and you can’t believe this is happening.  “J-Joel,” you hesitate, but his hands are wrapped around your hips now, fingers digging into the breadth of your ass.

“Sit.”  Joel commands.

Oh, fuck.

You’re almost certain you’ll break skin at your lips from biting down so hard, but you do as you’re told.  Anchoring down, it’s subtle at first – the brushing of his facial hair against your folds, his chin prying you apart.  Then, it’s incredibly palpable.  His lips are the first thing you feel as they press and kiss over your middle and as you shudder it only makes your muscles sink deeper on him.  You’re the first to moan, and then Joel, and his mouth is open when he invites you inside it.

“Oh, my god,” thighs shaking, Joel flattens his tongue under the hood of your clit, a body part you were certain hadn’t been touched by anyone else but yourself.  There was no time to compare, the white hot pleasure coursed through your veins and he took his time with it, too.  Made sure he was teasing you, his tongue dipping inside your entrance, as sloppy as it felt.  “Hmmn,” you can’t speak, forearms resting on the armrest now as your head hangs between your shoulders and his fingers make pliable work of your asscheeks.  Pushing you down, using your hips to move back and forth against his mouth – like he’s using you while you use him.

The air is thick under your dress, sticky and humid, as Joel swirls this tip of his devilish tongue in the most astonishing circles you’ve ever experienced, and you know it’s because he has more experience than you do.  Has so much to teach you, if you let him.  Your mouth hangs open as you try to inhale, but it’s just too much.  Especially with the way he thumbs into your stomach, then your pubic bone – lifting it just slightly to expose your clit to him.  An angle, not even you have found yourself.

It almost feels like too much.  It’s intentional, the way his tongue flicks over that bundle of nerves right at the top of your cunt.  Delicious, deliberate.  Two fingers greet your entrance and it startles you, the way he’s rubbing your hole with his two fingers in slow circles before pressing them where you want them most.

“Tell me you want it,” you hear, muffled and fucked, and you shiver at the slightest bit of lack of contact.

“I want it, I want your fingers – please!”

And that seems to send him over the edge of how much he’s willing to hold back because he’s exactly where he was.  Mouth on your clit, but fingers skillfully pressing inside of you and you don’t know how long you’ll last.  Not with the pads of his fingers tapping in the perfect tempo against the ridged spot inside you.

That’s when a weird sensation comes over you.  A pressure, you felt like you had to pee and your insides pulled in more trying to keep it all contained.  “I–,” you start, but it happens so suddenly.  Your orgasm rushes through you, convulsing and almost falling over the edge of the couch, you dig your fingernails into the upholstery.  Your eyes roll back, and fuck, so are your hips.  Unable to stop yourself using Joel’s mouth to keep you exactly right there.  Pleasure pricks your skin, it feels like every cell is ignited – but you jump when you feel a rush of fluid come out of you.  The pressure rebounding out, then rippling pleasure back inside you.  Joel fucks you with his tongue and fingers until he feels you calm down.

“W-what, what… did I do?” You pant, and Joel is groaning, too.  He lifts your hips to get lungfuls of oxygen, so dizzy on you and you notice how soaked his pair of fingers feel on your skin.  Sits you down on his chest and you can see his face finally.  Can see his mouth parting, gasping as his eyes are hooded and so gone.  Curls stick to his forehead, his shirt a dampened colour at the collar.  You blush heavily, embarrassed because you aren’t even sure what that was.  Did he hate that, was that weird?

“C’mere,” he growls with gritted teeth and sits up, the tables turning instantly.  Joel’s stripping his shirt off, kicking every last bit of the bottom half he had on to be abandoned on the floor.  His fingers remove the buttons, but he can’t really get them – those fingers too big for the buttons.  “Here,” you whisper, an intense feeling of lust falling over any self-conscious self talk you had.  You undo the top of your dress one button at a time until your breasts are released from your bra – you moan when he has no problem spilling your tits from the satin, nipples in stiff peaks from your orgasm.  And everything else.

“You know what you did?”  Joel asks, taking both of your nipples between his fingers from each hand.  You moan, lifting your hips and he bites his lip when he sees your cunt front under your dress.  “What was it?”  You ask, curiously.  Innocently.

“You squirted f’me, baby,” he slurs, thumbing over your clit now as he gets a good look at you and he’s drunk on you.  His cock throbbing against your thigh, he taps it against your skin before realising what he needed.

 “Fuck,” Joel mutters and you can tell by the tone it’s not just at your appearance.  “What is it?”  You inquire, eyebrows knit.

“Gotta get a condom,” you hear him mutter, getting onto one foot and you stop him.  “No.  No.  I want to feel you.  It’s okay, I don’t get pregnant–” well that sentence isn’t exactly how you mean for it to come out, but your mind is mush, your body feels boneless underneath him, and he chuckles at that.  At how gone your brain is.  Here he was, thinking he was the only one.  “Okay, okay, darlin’.  I believe ya.”

And really, maybe he should be using more discretion.  But he can’t get the feeling of you out of his head.  You were everywhere.  His mouth, his glistening chest and beard.  He takes you by the hips then, sitting back to flip you on your hands and knees with your help and you moan at the sensation.  Joel looks down at you, groaning of your ass in the air, pushing back for his cock.  “Such a needy little thing, now,”  it’s as if someone else is talking.  This isn’t the Professor Miller you know.  This man has layers and you’re first in line to know exactly what that entails.

Joel takes the base of his cock, bobbing it as it throbs alive in his hand and runs through your slick with the head of it.  “So fucking wet.  Beginning to think you’ve been wanting this for as long as I have.”

You bite a whine and he can see the back of your head nodding as you crane your neck back enough to make eye contact, but his eyes fall down to your ass pressing eagerly on his cock.  Doing your best to press him inside yourself.

“Go ahead,” he slaps his cock on your folds and you mewl at the wet sounds coming from it.  “Take my cock.”

And take, you do.  Joel holds it out for you, keeps it steady and you push back slow on his cock.  Clenching around the head and he growls at that.  “You dirty thing.  This how you fuck all your teachers?”  It burns your skin, pushing your face into your arm and you shake your head.

“Words.” He warns.

“Just you!  Just you, Joel!”

“Just me,” he parrots, hissing when you shift back and you both twitch and groan when you take him to the hilt of you.  It was so thick, stretching you out until you felt split apart from him.  “Just me, show me then.  Show me how you fuck me.”

You bite into your arm then, choking on a sob as you push your ass back over and over.  Your cunt taking him deep like this, it almost feels like too much and not enough at once.  Torturously slow against the spongy spot again

 It felt so amazing taking him yourself, but it was like an itch you couldn’t scratch on your own.  The tapping of his balls against your clit was too far apart in tempo, his cock speared inside you at a pace that didn’t have quite the same leverage as Joel did behind you.

His hands busied themselves on your ass, peeling the muscle apart – pressing his digits to leave bruises and just when you think it’s too much to take, he gives you something else.  His spit falling from his lips right to the velvet of your asshole.  You shudder and flutter around him when it falls to where you’re connected.  Your fingertips grip the other armrest now, cheek resting atop of your hand and you can’t do it yourself anymore.  “Fuck me, Joel!  Professor Miller, please!”

“Shit – you know where to push, don’t you?”  Joel’s wide hands slide up your sides, keeping them locked in place as he pulls your hips to him at first.  Using your whole lower body, your head hands doing your best to keep yourself up but you’re so close when he uses you like this.  When he picks up the pace and you let your head fall on his throw pillow – your screams of desire are targeted into the plush cushion.

Joel is bound up in amazement behind you.  How you feel around him, your gorgeous figure in front of him as he gives you every bit of power he can now.  His hips hammering into you, but with the right amount of speed – not too fast, not too slow.  The sound of his balls slapping against your clit is faster now, and the difference is what you focus on.  The way it sounds.  Joel feels you tighten, pulse around his own pulse and he has to say something to you.  Has to talk you through it, even if he’s not sure you’ll like it.

“So fuckin’ good for me,” he drapes his body over your back, huffing into your ear as the controlled weight of him pushes your ass down just enough to make your thighs shake.  You are soaked, sticky against his abdomen, between your thighs.  Over your own stomach.  You move your face so you can feel his skin closer against your.�� His lips staying on your cheekbone, he grunts and nods.

“That’s it, fuckin’ take it.  I know you can take it.  Those shaky fuckin’ thighs better hold on.”

You feel yourself coil and he is quick to sooth over your hips with his palms.

“Relax, baby.  That’s it, that’s good, darlin’.  Shh, easy.  Do you feel that heat?”

You nod hopelessly, the buildup was so strong you couldn’t do anything but curl your fingers into fists and whimper repeatedly.

“Give into that heat.  Come for me, I know you can be so good for me.  Good for – fuck – fuck.  Good for my cock,” Joel groaning in your ear makes you flutter uncontrollably, and he wastes no time in wrapping his arm around your front, rolling quick circles at the split of your cunt, right at your clit.  “Milkin’ my fuckin’ cock like that, don’t stop.  Don’t fuckin’ stop,” he grits, and you’re gasping.

Clawing at the pillow, head craning up and back as you come.  Mouth gaped, Joel takes advantage – pouring his tongue into it, swirling and drinking you while his cock bottoms into you repeatedly until he can’t take it anymore.  You feel too good.  Perfect, even.

“Joel!” Your whine is high, as your wet folds take his merciless shoves.  “You feel so good, youfeelsogood!”  Your lip quivers, jerking in aftershocks that feel a lot like multiple orgasms.  You aren’t even sure how you feel, but he knows he has to pull out.  So he tells you, rough and pained against your ear.  He doesn’t want to any more than you do.  But as soon as he does, that reward feels just as sweet.

He exhales roughly through his nose, a popping sound filling the room when he pulls out.  Not even needing to touch himself to spill himself over the small of your back.

“Fuck,” he’s out of breath, grunting, and doing his best not to collide into you.  You’re still, the nape of your neck dews with sweat and you can feel it stick to your dress instantly.

“Stay there,” Joel pulls away, and you sit up on your elbows now that you’re fully flat and study his frame walk into the kitchen.

The back of him is just as irresistible as the front.

You hum hungrily at the landscape of his back.  But you do as you say, you don’t move a muscle.  When he comes back, you take note of the splotches of his chest, his neck red and sheened with sweat, too.  He’s just as disheveled.  The paper towel he comes back with is rough against your lower back, but tickles more than anything else.

Makes you wriggle and laugh.

“What did I say?”  He threatens, but his voice is much more smoother and tender.  More playful.  More like what you’re used to.

“Tickles!”

“You must endure it if you know what’s good for you.”  he’s finished enough for you to roll over.  You pull your tits back into your bra with another low laugh, but to yourself at how exposed and a mess you’re sure you look on your professor’s couch.

“I think I like that threat.”

“No more,” and that makes your heart drop.  He must be able to see the disappointed look on your face, so he rephrases his sentence in an instant.  “No more tonight.”

“Maybe I should be teaching you the importance of ambiguity.”

“Next lesson.”

Your heart soars just as fast as it dropped.

---

While you slip on your sneakers, you turn your heel to him – bag in tow.  “Listen, I don’t want this to be why I passed.”

“It’s not – it won’t be,”  Joel chews up the space between you – his hand pressing against the doorframe that your delicate hand adorns at the knob, fully dressed himself, now.  “You will pass by your own volition.  I meant it – you are bright.  You won’t let anybody take that from you, will you?” You knew that wasn’t a question as he tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear, but you still swayed your head ‘no’.

“Not even me.”  He whispers, pressing his lips to your forehead before dropping his arm – allowing you to leave.  And that’s exactly what he’ll let you believe.

“Especially not you.”  You smile, leaning up to kiss his lips – your flavour lingers over his facial hair and tongue.  Your panties in his pocket.

“Goodnight, Professor Miller.”

“Goodnight, doll.”

taglist: @cool-iguana – comment to be added!

[mxstellatayte]

Would a one shot abt Charles and the vibrator panties be a possibility. Asking for a friend😸

it most certainly would, dear nonnie!

hope you enjoy :)

nsfw below the cut <3 minors please do not interact!

warnings: she/her pronouns used for reader, exhibitionism, boring white men yapping on a catastrophic level, dom!charles, sub!reader, vibrator use!, oral (f receiving), charles leclerc eats pussy for his own pleasure argue with the wall, charles leclerc speaking french MMMM, EXHIBITIONISM, carlos makes a cameo

you’ve been walking around the ferrari event all night and you can’t think of any place you want to be less than this blasted gala. it’s a marketing event, so you have to maintain a certain level of composure throughout the evening, but it’s difficult when charles’ eyes meet yours across the hall and his right hand is in his pocket, fingers dancing just over the button to the remote that’s connected to the vibrator nestled in your cunt. the anxiety of him potentially pressing the button all night is almost worse than when he actually does. your fingers tightly grip the cocktail glass in your hand, sipping the drink in an attempt to soothe your nerves. the smooth burn of the expensive whiskey does nothing to calm the boiling feeling in your core, and you nearly jump when you feel his left arm wrap around your waist. 

“good evening, mr. leclerc,” the executive of some social media marketing company says. you haven’t been paying attention to the conversation for the past twenty minutes, the slickness in your core overpowering your will to pay attention to the conversation at hand.

“good evening. i see you’ve been speaking to my partner, haven’t you? i hope you haven’t been boring her too much.” he says it so smoothly, so carelessly, that it makes you want to scream. how dare he have fun when you’re feeling such sexual torture. 

“if i have, she’s been hiding it quite well,” the executive responds. “i was just explaining to her our ideal plan for working with scuderia ferrari in terms of social media marketing. she had some incredible ideas for potential campaigns if our deal goes through.”

“yes, that sounds like her,” and you nearly spill your drink on yourself when the vibrator inside of you turns on, a quiet yelp pulling its way from your throat. “oh, no, love, are you okay?”

“yes, i’m okay, thank you. if you’ll excuse me a moment, gentlemen.” your drink finds its way into charles’ hand and you try your best to walk in a straight line and keep your legs from quivering. charles does his best at putting on a façade of pure ignorance and confusion as he excuses himself from the conversation as well, utilizing the excuse of unusual behavior on your part to easily leave the conversation. 

you barge through the heavy door to the bathroom and barely have the sense to check the smaller stall that contains the toilet before leaning against the cool tile wall and exhaling a heavy breath, cupping a hand over your cunt in an attempt to relieve the pressure building. After taking a few breaths, you jump when the door opens, but you’re glad to see charles’ face when the door opens. you nearly crumble when his hand retreats from his pocket and only increases the pressure of the vibrations, but his strong arms catch you, your hands scrabbling at the expensive fabric of his suit. “charles, please.”

“please what, mon cher?” you pout, moaning when the intensity is increased again.

“please, just fuck me. feels so good, just need you. need you inside of me.”

“there you go, beautiful. i knew you could ask nicely.” charles’s voice is smoother than honey to your ears, and when he helps you back up against the wall and pushes your legs around his shoulders, his knees gently hitting the floor, you feel yourself get impossibly wetter. 

“charles, please. just-” your pleas are silenced when he runs his fingers along your panty-covered slit, a keening breath making you throw your head back. 

“so wet for me, cherie. have you been like this all night?” his eyes flick up to your face and you can't help the whimper that crawls its way out of your throat. 

“yes, all night. now, please, just let me cum.”

“such pretty words. i really should, huh?” with this, he pulls your soaked panties down your legs and slips them off your ankles and stuffs them into his pocket. as gently as he can, he pulls the vibe out of you and cleans it off with one of the soft white towels rolled into cylinders on the countertop next to him. “hold this for me?” he offers you the toy wrapped in the towel, which you accept with shaking hands. as soon as the toy is in your hands, he dives into your heat, his tongue expertly navigating you like the back of his hand. you immediately fight the moan that almost wrenches its way from your throat, but despite your best efforts, a whine escapes. 

“fuck, feels so good, baby, please, don’t stop,” you moan, suddenly not caring about your noise level or the fact that several of ferrari’s sponsors for the upcoming racing season are just outside the bathroom door. despite your lack of mind for your reputation, charles pulls away, making you whine at the loss of contact, but his mouth is quickly replaced by his fingers gently pressing at your entrance, coating them with as much of your slick as he can before pressing them into you. the sudden intrusion makes your back arch and a gasp fill your lungs, but charles quickly tuts at you. 

“gotta stay quiet for me, baby. don’t want everybody out there hearing how good i’m making you feel.” when your walls flutter around him, a movement so miniscule it could be passed off as his imagination, the corners of his lips quirk up into a smirk. “or,” he continues, pressing a delicate kiss to your clit, to which your hand not holding your vibrator to card through his hair and pull, “is that exactly what you want? for every single person outside that door to know who’s making you scream in the bathroom of a black tie event? for them to know that i’m the only person who can make you feel like this? make you sound like this?”

“i’ll stay quiet, baby, now please-” you cut yourself off with another whine because charles has leaned forward again, captured your clit between his lips, and sucks. “oh, fuck, charles. please, please don’t stop. feels so good.” you’re embarrassingly close to cumming from the short time he’s been eating you out and fucking his fingers into you, but you could care less. after being on the edge all night, you whine as you tighten and your back arches off of the wall, your right leg still propped up on charles’ shoulder. “charles, ‘m close. ‘m so close.” your fingers tighten in his hair, the pain on his scalp making him moan into your cunt, and the vibrations from his voice are the last thing you need before you’re sent over the edge, clapping a hand over your own mouth to stop your breathy moans from echoing too loudly off of the tile walls of the bathroom. he continues eating you out through your orgasm, and you almost have to push him off before he’s satisfied. “holy…”

“fuck,” he finishes, making you laugh. when you look down, charles looks absolutely wrecked. his hair is a mess from where your fingers ran through it, his eyes are droopy, pupils wide with lust, and his face from his nose down is covered in a mixture of your cum and his saliva. you almost take out your phone to take a photo of him, but you’re snapped out of your afterglow when someone pounds at the door. 

your stomach drops, and charles blanches. you mouth a silent “fuck” to him, but somehow relief fills your body when you hear a familiar voice on the other side of the door. “oi, cabrón, open the door. it’s time you make even on that bet.”

HEEEEHEHEHEHE this one was so fun to write! let me know if i should do a part two!

[n0tamused]

On my knees for some Geshu Lin content. Specifically some general relationship hcs.

You're a life savior ma'am ✨️

A/n: I got you nonnie 😙 First time writing for Genshu so I hope it's all good. Lemme know what you think

Contents: gn reader, tones of angst, some fluff, nothing much else, pretty much just some regular hcs

-Generally speaking, Genshu Lin would be tough to get to with all the hustle and bustle of his work duty, he's practically always throwing himself at the front lines as he wishes to materialize his goal into reality

-And although he may strike someone like the type to truly be neglectful of all things emotional besides the pure passion and anger to achieve the aforementioned goal, he still submits to human desires

-He rarely takes off time off work, and if he does take days off, when the front lines are secure from TDs, he spends his days working in some other ways.

-The home is in need of firewood? Genshu Lin is already in the woods getting the best tree down and chopping it up. Need food? If possible he'd go hunting himself, but he often just goes to browse the nearby market for the freshest option. Need help with furniture and rearranging? No problem

-He doesn't talk too much, as he's often exhausted and simply lacks in conversation that aren't founded by goals for war. And although that may make him seem one sided, he's much more complex than that

-There’s a weird comfort in his silence, and reassurance in the most human way he clumsily grasps the needle between his fingers to stitch up a hole in his shirt, telling you that you don't have to do it for him - he's got it.

-There’s something so innocently sad in the way he sits at the front porch and stares off at the setting sun, and should you find yourself next to him, he'd be placing his scarred and calloused hand over yours, sometimes thumbing at your warm skin absentmindedly

-He’s been a child, and in the times where everything is so slow and peaceful he finds himself yearning for easier times like that. When he didn't know much about the world and when his parents took care of his worries and he went to sleep with bruised knees and his pillow in his embrace. It's for a reason told that ignorance is bliss.

-Genshu Lin would do his best to be more soft and tender with you, and although it proves difficult for him he doesn't stop trying. Sometimes it's not in the same capacity as the days before, or as straightforward as the other times, but he never truly stops trying to match your needs

-In the end, you became someone really treasured to him. In his words - you wormed your way into his heart and refuse to leave

-His love is rough around the edges too, like a tall sharp fence around a piece of land, but the garden he's trying to build for you is like no other. Tell him of the flowers you'd like there, the trees and the insects and animals, and he'll bring them to you. The fence will expand, you're not trapped, but you're safe.

-Genshu Lin prefers to show his love like that, through acts and gifts and any other physical show of his love, affectionate words are not his strong suit

-In the night he'd cling to you, stuck to your back like glue as he breathes in the smell of your hair after your bath, his arms wrapped around you

-He is not too much of a morning person unless there's a duty to do. So on days off it's a 50/50 whether he wakes up early or not. A lot of times he'd wake up early but decide to stay in bed for another hour or so, for you, and to make up for all lost sleep

-In the mornings where you wake up next to him, with him still dozing off, he'd be the most vulnerable and tender. Smiling softly at you as you move back strands of his messy hair that fell over his face. His half lidded eyes would drink in your appearance that looks nothing short of ethereal and peaceful, feeding his weary heart

-Genshu Lin can't help but draw you closer to his chest, kissing the top of your head and telling you to stay still for a few more minutes.

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[holdmytesseract]

Hi love i wanted to request a drabble/blurb with tom hiddleston where he is getting ready with his pregnant wife for an event and she says something like i look like a whale or huge.....

Some reassurance, comfort and implied smut!!!!!!!

Nothing Less Than A Goddess

Tom Hiddleston x pregnant!Reader

Warnings: pregnancy stuff, insecurities, fluff, tiny bit suggestive smut

Word Count: blurb

a/n: Thank you for that sweet request, nonny! I hope you like what I came up with! 🤗

P.S. This gif is how I imagined him to look in that oneshot. 👀

You stood in the bedroom in your underwear, after just having stepped out of the shower. "Love, are you ready soon? Luke will be here in about twenty minutes." You heard your husband call out for you, from which you presumed to be the kitchen or living room.

"Umm, yeah, I, uh, need to get dressed and perhaps put on a little make-up, but beside that..." An answer came immediately. "Shall I help you, darling? Or do you get along alone?"

You wanted to think about Tom's offer for a moment, but your mouth was faster than your brain. "Yes, please!"

"Alright! Just let me take off my suit jacket and shoes again!"

Now you kind of had a guilty conscience.

"Babe, you don't have to get halfway undressed just to help-" But it was, of course, already too late. Tom appeared no minute later in the bedroom, just in a navy blue shirt and tie, matching navy blue suit trousers and - black socks. "Yes, I have to, darling. No excuses. It's my obligation to help you," Tom stated, while making his way over to you and pressing a soft kiss on your cheek; palms came to rest on your six-month baby bump. "After all, I'm this little bean's dad," he announced; wearing one of his dazzling smiles.

Well, that was true. He had a point.

You couldn't help but smile and placed your forearms on his shoulders; fingers buried in his long blond-brown locks. "Okay," you said; nodding. "Thank you." Tom smiled even wider and turned his head to press a soft kiss against the bare skin of your arm; his scruff slightly tickling and scratching you.

"Now, let me help you." You nodded and turned to pick up your matching white dress from the bed. Tom being the gentleman and caring husband he was, helped you even to step inside; making sure that you didn't lose your balance. Then he zipped the zipper of the dress up; warm fingertips brushing your skin. It sent a shiver down your spine.

Once you were fully dressed, you took a look at yourself in the full-length mirror. The dress was new. You had never worn it before. How could you, with the steadily growing baby within your womb? Impossible. That dress would fit you probably not even a month...

"And?" Tom stepped behind you; hands on your hips and pulling you against your chest. "What do you think?"

You bit your lip; giving yourself a once-over. You gently turned from side to side in his embrace; getting a look from each angle. "I-I, uh, I honestly don't know, Tommy... I mean, I like the dress. It's beautiful, but..." "But?"

You sighed; knowing that lying to your husband wouldn't work. "I... I feel like I look like a whale. I-I mean, I am huge..." You swallowed hard; feeling very insecure all of a sudden.

Behind you, Tom blinked in disbelief. "Apologies... What did you just say, darling?" "That, uh, that I look like a... whale..." Your voice was barely above a whisper. The words hadn't even left your lips entirely, when the Brit started to shake his head. "Oh, no, no, Mrs. Hiddleston. I see what you're doing - and it's not good. I won't let you walk down that dark path."

Tom turned you gently in his embrace; pointer finger and thumb cupping your chin. "Look at me, darling." You complied; your eyes meeting his stunning ones. "You are neither huge nor do you look like a whale. Do I need to remind you that you are pregnant and that it's more than normal for your body to change?" "Y-Yes, but-"

"Ah.Ah," Tom interrupted you immediately. "Apologies, darling, but no. No buts. If you are anything, then beyond beautiful. Stunning. The prettiest woman I have ever laid my eyes upon. Nothing less than a goddess." You gasped; feeling your heart skip a few beats. "A-A goddess?"

Tom nodded. "A goddess, yes. Your skin is glowing. You look more radiant than ever. Your curves are..." He took a short break; licking his lips and swallowing hard. "...absolutely delicious. Drop-dead sexy. To me, Y/N, you are even more attractive than you've already been. I can't take my eyes off you. Especially not since your pregnancy really started to show."

You were kind of overwhelmed by his words; not having expected this. "Y-You really think that?" You asked; still a bit uncertain.

Tom smiled; his other hand giving your hip a soft squeeze. "Darling, would I ever lie to you?"

Your eyes widened. "N-No! Of course not!" He kissed your forehead. "See?"

You blushed.

"Now do you believe me, or do I have to show you how much I desire your body, once we get back home tonight?"

You wetted your lips; suddenly feeling bold. Tom's words had finally gotten through. Especially the last ones.

"Hmm, perhaps, you should yes," you answered; hand playing with his tie. Tom chuckled darkly; his hand on your hip sliding down to give your ass a small, playful slap. "Gladly."

Tags: @muddyorbsblr @mochie85 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @multifandom-worlds @jennyggggrrr @huntedmusicgardenn @hisredheadedgoddess28 @stupidthoughtsinwriting @fictive-sl0th @loz-3 @javagirl328 @icytrickster17 @jaidenhawke @eleniblue @lou12346789 @lady-rose-moon @km-ffluv @herdetectivetheorist @lokiforever @crimson25 @simping-for-marvel @cakesandtom @vanilla-daydreaming @kimanne723 @glitchquake @lulubelle814 @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @buttercupcookies-blog @november-rayne @mandywholock1980 @lokidbadguy @smolvenger

[middleearthpixie]

Can you please write a fic where Thorin falls in love with a human girl, but he thinks she is disgusted by his looks? 🙏

Hi there, Nonny!! I know it took me forEVER, but here you go and i hope you like it! 💜

The Harp

Summary: You and Thorin are friends, but then you find out his feelings for you run deeper, and he’s holding back because he feels he is not good enough for you.  

Pairing: Thorin x fem!Reader (post-sack of Erebor, pre-quest for Erebor)

Warning: None. Just fluffy fluff

Rating: G

Word Count: 4.7k

***

He came into the dining room at the same time each evening and always sat at the same table—the one in the far corner, which was also the darkest corner of the room. He was polite, but kept to himself and you noticed how he always sat with his back to the wall and rarely did his eyes pause from scanning the room. 

The other diners eyed him with just as much suspicion but then again, they all eyed each other with suspicion as well. It was second nature to this lot, as they came from all four corners of Middle Earth. No one was actually from Emyn Vanya. No, every warm body had come from somewhere else to this tiny village on the outskirts of everywhere and yet somehow in the middle of nowhere. Some came to start over. Some came to forget. Some came to do both and some were just passing through. But everyone was from somewhere else and almost no one wished to discuss where that somewhere else might be.

You couldn't help but notice him, for he was a dwarf and the Grey Gander did not see many dwarves in their dining room. And not only that, but he was a handsome dwarf, to boot, with black hair, touched here and there with hints of silver, that spilled over his shoulders in a long tangle of curls. His most striking feature was his eyes, however, for they were the most piercing shade of icy blue you’d ever seen. There was a hardness within those pale eyes, one belied by his polite demeanor and deep, if soft, voice. 

Night after night, this man came in alone. He sat alone. He spoke to no one other than you when you approached to take his order, just as you did this evening. He was polite, if reserved, and spoke only when absolutely necessary, which was an interesting change from the patrons who grew louder and more opinionated as they dove further and further into their cups. 

“Welcome back,” you said with a smile as you approached him. “Might I fetch you a drink to begin?”

“Thank you. A tanked of ale would suit.”

“Of course. And do you know what you’d like or are you still trying to decide?”

He looked up at you with those striking eyes. “The hunter’s stew.”

His order never varied and you were certain you could just bring him a bowl of the stew without asking, which was why you couldn't resist a bit of playing with him. “I think we should start calling that your usual. Perhaps we should change it on the menu itself.”

That earned you one of the dwarf’s rare smiles. “I am not so certain that is necessary.”

“Well, you’ve been in here eight of the last ten nights and have yet to order anything different.” You couldn’t help teasing him. You sensed a hint of sadness in him, one that might explain the hardness in his eyes. And while it was a bit of a risk, teasing this man you didn’t really know, you had to admit, his smile made the risk worthwhile.

“But,” you added, taking your teasing further than you normally did, “you would have to tell me your name first. I certainly cannot ask to rename it Dwarf Stew. That would give the wrong impression, don’t you think?”

A darkness flashed through his eyes and you knew you’d overstepped. Your mind raced as you struggled to come up with something to smooth over his obviously ruffled feathers, knowing your employer would be furious if your flippancy drove away a paying customer. “I mean… that is… I apolo—”

“No,” he interrupted softly, shaking his head, “there is no need to apologize. And you’re right, it would sound odd. So, I suppose then, it would only be fair to tell you my name, wouldn’t it?”

Your heart beat a little faster at that. Perhaps it was but your imagination, but his voice sounded lower than it normally did. Lower and bit growlier. Had he, by any chance, noticed you the way you’d noticed him?

No, that was madness talking. Very few people noticed you aside from being their serving girl. You tended to blend into the background far too easily and since so many people in Emyn Vanya were only passing through, they paid little heed to you.

Still, that didn't stop you from replying, “It would, yes.”

To your surprise, that earned you a laugh. A genuine, honest-to-goodness laugh and one that sent flutters through you as it rolled across the small table in your direction. Like his voice, it was low and silken, and those flutters made you forget your own name for a moment.

“Very well,” he nodded, his eyes meeting and holding yours, “I am Thorin.”

You offered your name in return and added, “It’s wonderful to make your acquaintance, Thorin.”

“And yours as well.”

Heat climbed into your cheeks and you ducked your head, saying, “I will be back in a few moments with your ale,” you hesitated, then added, “Thorin.”

“I will be here.”

Thorin sat back as you darted off and couldn't believe his cheek. What had possessed him to even think to flirt with you? Your interest had to be only because he was a paying customer, because there was no way a woman as beautiful as you could possibly be interested in him. 

The first time he stepped into the Grey Gander, he’d noticed you at once, noticed how easily you smiled and joked with the tavern’s patrons. Your laughter was a silvery melody that made everyone turn in your direction and smile even if they had no idea what it was that made you laugh. 

He noticed everything about you—from that amazing smile and intoxicating laughter to your beautiful eyes and easy grace with which you moved about the crowded dining room. You never seemed impatience, or irritated, and even when someone gave you a hard time about something, you never lost your temper and somehow managed to defuse the most volatile of situations. 

The second night he’d come in, he’d witness such a scene, almost reaching for his sword, propped against the table, when the giant of man actually grabbed you by the arm. He had no doubt he’d have intervened if you needed it, but you didn’t. You smiled at the man as you peeled his fingers from your wrist and very sweetly informed him that if he touched you again, you’d turn him from a rooster to a hen in one fell swoop. 

It was at that moment, Thorin lost his heart.

A foolish notion at best, as you would never feel about him the way he did you. Why would you? He was a dwarf. He had no home. He had been in line for a throne, but now supported himself by moving from place to place, taking work where he could find it. 

That was what brought him to Emyn Vanya. His trade was blacksmithing and the village needed one. So, there he was, in the dining room of the Grey Gander, admiring you from afar and wishing he stood a chance at winning your hand. 

It was just as well, for what did he have to offer you? A king with no kingdom was no better than a pauper, really. Not to mention, he certainly couldn’t compete with the men of Emyn Vanya, who were all taller, slimmer, and far more attractive than he certainly was. You would be a fool to even consider him.

But, he watched you from afar, watched as you moved from table to table, how you brought a beaming smile to the face of an old crone, how you soothed angry children bickering over a toy, how you made a crying infant smile by making silly faces until they could do nothing else. 

How you focused on him as if he was the most interesting man in the room and not, for lack of a better phrase, a homely, homeless refugee. 

If only…

He sighed as you approached with a tankard in one hand. His heart beat so much faster when you met his gaze. His mouth went as dry as the plains between his lost kingdom of Erebor and the city of Dale after the dragon Smaug torched it from one end to the other.

You set the tankard before him. “Your supper will be ready in but a few minutes, Mr. Thorin.”

Mr. Thorin. He smiled, shaking his head. “No Mister. Thorin is just fine.”

“Oh, well that wouldn’t be proper now, would it?” Your eyes almost sparkled as your easy smile curved your lips. “After all, we only just met.”

“This is true,” he nodded, reaching for the tankard. Then, on impulse, he added, “Perhaps you might join me one evening?”

You looked taken aback and he immediately berated himself silently. You fool! What is wrong with you?

But then you smiled. “I think I would like that. I have an off night tomorrow. Would that work for you?”

He was stunned, not only by your agreement, but by your suggestion. No woman ever approached him that way. He’d always been the one to ask. You were bold and he admired that. So, he nodded. “That would work just fine for me.”

“Wonderful. What time?”

“Half seven?”

“Half seven it is,” you told him. “And I’ll be back in but a moment with your supper.”

****

What were you thinking? How could you just blurt out an invitation to him that way? He must think you a harlot, or a wanton woman for doing so. 

But at the same time, as you smoothed a hand along your skirts, you had to admit, you looked so forward to seeing him without having to wait upon him. It was a nice change of pace for you. A break in the monotony of your life that was work, sleep, and more work.

You’d told him where you lived, a rundown little flat above the florist’s shop, and at half eight, when the knock came at the door, you nearly jumped clear out of your skin. Then, laughing at your foolishness, you hurried to the door, before he thought you’d changed your mind and left. 

You smiled as you pulled open the door. “You are early.”

“I allowed myself extra time in case I found myself lost. I’m still new to these parts and this town takes a bit of getting used to.”

“If you remember the streets run east and west, and the avenues run north and south, you might fare better.”

He bobbed his head. “I would, but there are three florists on this street alone.”

“It is a very competitive business in Emyn Vanya.”

“So I’ve noticed.” 

You hesitated a moment and then stepped aside. “Come in.”

As he stepped over the threshold, you tried not to dwell on how shabby your flat was, with its scratched and scuffed hand-me-down furnishings. After you paid your rent and made certain there was food on the table, there was not much money left for luxuries such as nice furniture. Normally, it didn't trouble you. This was your home and you thought it cozy, if a bit rundown. But, when you tried to see it through Thorin’s eyes? 

You saw exactly how awful it must have looked to him. Threadbare sofa. The armchair had a hole in the cushion thanks to a broken spring, which meant that not only was stuffing peeping up from the hole, one received a nasty poke in the backside, should they think to sit there. 

And of course, there was that awful water stain in the far corner. You had no idea from where it had come, only that no matter how much you tried to paint over it, it bled through. You’d given up trying when paint fell into the luxury category.

But, he reached up for the frogs at his throat and then whisked his cloak off to drape over his arm. “This is lovely.”

Lovely? You looked about, wondering exactly what he found so lovely about it. “It’s a bit… ah… worn, don't you think?”

“Lived in, is how I would describe it.” He smiled at you. “Homes should be lived in. That is how they become such. Otherwise, they are but houses, flats, nothing more than buildings.”

You looked back at him. “Lived in?”

He nodded. “Lived in.” 

Then he looked back at you and for a moment, you were rendered speechless. Did he have any idea whatsoever as to how handsome he truly was? Because if he did, he certainly did not act as if he did.

Of course, you kept that to yourself, especially when that night, a deep friendship was born. You had dinner together on the nights when you weren’t working. You spent off days together, sometimes running errands with each other, sometimes just doing nothing. He had a knack for the acrostics printed in the village newspaper and the two of you spent your share of days or nights looking up which answers you thought would work. It didn't matter. He had quickly become your dearest friend and while you loved that, you’d also begun thinking that perhaps there was a bit more to your relationship than only friendship.

It was too bad he’d never given any indication at all that he saw you as anything more than a friend.

So you stayed quiet. Autumn gave way to winter and the Yule holiday was only a few days off when you made your way to Thorin’s forge at the northern end of town. A bitter cold wind whipped down the narrow alleyway where his shop was located and you didn't have to look to know you were near it. The carved wooden sign identifying the forge creaked on its hooks as it swung in the wind. Through the swirling snow, you could still make out the word etched into the wood. 

Blacksmith

Beneath that word, Thorin had carved symbols as well, and when you’d asked, he’d smiled and explained that they were a language called khuzdul, which was his native language, actually. He’d attempted to teach you some of it, and showed nothing but patience as you fumbled over seemingly simple words. Little by little, though, it became easier and left you wishing you had something like that to share with him. 

But then you found something. One night, over several goblets of wine, he confessed that he once played the harp, but had lost his when he’d lost his home, but that was all he would say about either the harp or what happened to his home. So, you’d saved a bit of your pay each week and put it aside and then went to the music shop at the far end of town and found what you’d hoped would be a suitable replacement harp. It wasn't a big, grand instrument, as those were far beyond what you could ever hope to afford, but you hoped he’d like it the same. You couldn’t remember the last time you were so excited and impatient to give someone a gift as you were this one, which was why you braved the worsening weather.  

So there you were, at the far end of a gray-shingled building with a roof in need of repair, listening to the almost melodic sound of metal striking metal. The closer you drew to his workshop, the warmer the air grew and as you rounded the corner, a blast of heat hit you square in the face. It was a welcome sensation as your cheeks felt quite numb from the cold. 

He had his back to you and heat shot through you at the sight of him, shirtless in deference to that blasted heat, the muscles in his back and along his shoulders bulging as he held a piece of iron in one hand, a hammer in the other. The clang rang through you when he brought the hammer slamming against the iron, again and again and you couldn't help but just stare. 

Your eyes roamed over his naked back, heavy with obviously well-earned muscle, and inked with black lines of varying sizes that covered his entire shoulder, stretched across his back, and into the opposite shoulder as well. You had no idea what the symbols and lines meant, but they looked very similar to the ones carved into the forge’s sign, so your guess was they were dwarfish runes or words.

The heat in the forge was brutal regardless of how cold it was beyond the walls. Sweat prickled along your back as you stepped closer. You didn't want to startle him. The iron with which he worked began with an orange glow, but slowly, as he pounded it flat, the glow faded and when he set down the hammer and used a pair of tongs to pick up the flattened piece and thrust it into a tub of water, steam actually rose from the tub.

“Thorin?”

He jumped, letting go of the tongs as he spun around and now heat shot up into your cheeks at the naked chest you found yourself staring at. Like his back, his chest was just as broad, with black hair swirled from one nipple to the other and down across his belly. More symbols had been inked across it, meeting with the design on his left shoulder.

“I am so sorry,” you stammered, tearing your eyes from that impressive sight to meet his startled blue eyes, “I was trying not to startle you.”

“What are you doing here?”

You hugged the package close. “I had to go and pick something up and thought while I was out, I’d stop by.” You peered around him, at the iron still resting in the water. “What are you making?”

“A sword.” He reached for the towel draped over the workbench and swept it across his forehead. “You should not be in here. It’s far too dangerous.”

“I will come no closer then. But tell me, who commissioned the sword?”

“No one. It is mine. I work on it when I’ve a bit of free time.”

“Might I see?”

“It’s not even close to being finished.” He came around the bench and stood before you. His black hair was damp at the temples. 

“You don't have to stop on my account, you know.” You took a step closer to him, the urge to reach out and touch him so powerful, it nearly overwhelmed you. You wish you had the courage to tell him how you’d come to feel about him, as you’d had when you’d left your flat. You’d left there full of fire and determined to confess your feelings for him, but unfortunately, by the time you reached his forge, that courage evaporated like the water in the tub had. 

“It would be rude of me to continue.”

“Not at all. I think it would be fascinating, watching you work.” 

His gaze shifted slightly to his left and you followed it to see what he looked at—a heavy dark gray henley lay draped over a chair by his desk. Without thinking, you shifted the package to one arm and reached out to catch him by the upper arm as he stretched for his shirt.

“Wait, don’t,” you said, shaking your head.

“Don’t?”

You nodded. “I—what is this?” You traced your fingertips along the thick black lines curving his shoulder, unable to believe your own brazenness but unable to halt your touch as well. 

“It’s my… my… it’s a raven,” he managed, his voice deep and huskier than usual. He cleared his throat. “The symbol of my clan, and my family crest.”

You could not keep yourself from tracing along those lines as little by little, the image of a raven wearing a crown slowly showed itself to you. You’d held back from telling him how you felt for so long, now that the opportunity to perhaps go beyond friendship had presented itself and you were not about to let it slip by. But… you had to be careful. It was a delicate matter and that called for delicate handling. The last thing you wished to do was destroy your friendship with him.

With that, you lowered your hand “It’s lovely.”

“Thank you.”

“This is for you, by the by.” You pressed the package toward him. “I know Yule isn’t for several more days, but when I went to pick this up, I grew far too impatient to wait.”

He stared down at it. “What is it?”

“Well, you have to open it to find out.”

He took the package and slowly unwrapped it and then just stared, his blue eyes growing shiny as he murmured, “How did you know?”

“You told me, silly.” You nudged him with your shoulder. “Remember? We were talking about how my neighbor plays the harpsichord and how awful it sounds and you told me you once played the harp. So, I asked Mr. Trumble if he could find me a harp for you and he did me one better. He made this.”

“He—” those blue eyes met yours, wide and incredulous—“made this?”

You nodded. “He did, indeed.”

He gazed down at the harp, and then back at you. “I—this—this is beautiful. I thank you.”

“There is one condition to it, however.” You nudged him once more. “You must play it for me.”

“Oh, I couldn't now. I’d be far too rusty.”

“Well, once you flake off all the rust.”

“Fair enough.” He offered up a smile brighter than any you’d ever seen from him. “You shouldn’t have done this, though. Save your wages, don’t spend them on me.”

“I didn't mind.” You shrugged as if you spent that kind of money all the time. “And it’s Yule, so it was but a small sacrifice.”

He stepped closer. “This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me, you know. I will treasure it. And you.”

And with that, he leaned in and to your surprise, pressed his lips to yours. You froze at first, caught by utter surprise, as this was the last thing you’d expected him to do. For one maddening moment, you wondered if perhaps you were just imagining it.

But then, his lips moved softly against yours and your toes actually curled in your sensible boots when he brought his hands up to cup your face, and you knew that this was, in fact, actually happening. And how wonderful it was! The sensations that rippled through you were soft and sweet, the crisp, coarse hair around his mouth tickling at first, but then you found you didn't mind it so much as it was a caress of its own. 

Your head did a slow spin, his kiss leaving you lightheaded and when your hands came to rest on those massive upper arms of his, your fingers pressed into muscle that greatly resembled stone of their own accord. You were afraid your weak knees might buckle on you at any moment.

His kiss was slow and sweet, teasing and gentle and when his lips parted and his tongue swept gently along yours, your head spun even faster. A rush of heat swept through you. Your lips tingled. Your heart beat harder and faster and it took every bit of will you had to not melt right into his arms. 

When he drew back, his eyes were soft, swirling with an emotion you couldn’t quite place and he seemed as breathless as you were as he murmured, “I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time now.”

“What?”

He nodded. “I do and I did and now I just want to do it again.” Then he paused, a hint of sheepishness creeping into his smile, into his eyes, “Unless, of course, you’d rather I didn’t.”

“No, I’d not rather that at all,” you told him, smiling as you curved a hand against his cheek. “In fact, I’d like it very much if you would do it again. And again. And I think you should keep doing, no matter where we might be.”

A low chuckle rumbled up from the depths of his chest. “So, I am not about to send you screaming into the snow?”

“Hardly.” 

“Are you certain? I mean,” he rubbed his bearded jaw ruefully, a sheepish smile coming to his lips, “I know people whisper about me and poke fun at me behind my back.”

“They whisper about you because they are fascinated by you. And no one pokes fun at you. I know they think you’re quite an excellent smithy, judging by what I’ve heard. And I won’t even tell you what the women say about you.”

To your surprise, his sheepish smile faded and a darkness came to his eyes. “I can only imagine.”

“Have I said something wrong? I thought I was complimenting you. Do dwarves not like to hear how handsome they are thought to be?”

“Handsome?” He snorted as he shook his head. “That’s kind of you, but I’ve seen my own face and that is not how I’d describe it.”

“Well, perhaps you should but have Mr. Sinclair examine your eyes, for you are not only handsome, but very handsome.”

He stared at you, clearly not believing a word you said. “Thank you, but you are just being kind, as you’ve been since we met.”

“Thorin,” you caught his hands in yours, “I’ve been wishing you’d notice me as more than simply your friend, that you’d kiss me, and perhaps I’ve been too brazen in taking the first step. If you wish me to leave you alone, I will.”

“Leave me alone?” His eyes went wide and he shook his head once more. “No, no, I don’t wish that at all. In fact, I—”

A scarlet flush swept up into his cheeks and he went quiet. You waited for him to continue, your heart hammering away at your ribs. All you wanted was for him to pull you into his arms, to tug you flush against that massive chest, and kiss you until you forgot your name.

“You what?” you asked softly.

“I lied. About the sword.” He smiled then. “It’s for you, actually. For Yule. I meant it to be a surprise.”

“For me? But I don't even know who to wield one.”

“Worry not, for I will teach you. When the weather breaks.”

“You did this for me? You would do that for me?”

He nodded. “I would do anything for you, you know.” His eyes softened then as he smiled. “I love you.”

This was the last thing you ever expected him to say and you could only stare at him for a long moment, as your stupid brain forgot how to process words. The best you could muster was a whispered, “What?”

“I love you. I’ve been wanting to tell you for some time now, but how could I when I thought you would be embarrassed to be courted by me. So, I relegated myself to knowing we would only ever be friends, but now…”

“Embarrassed to be courted by you? Are you mad, Thorin? Are you absolutely and completely mad? Because you would have to be to think any woman alive would be embarrassed to be courted by you.” You shifted to wind your arms about his neck. “And no one has ever made something for me. At least, not something as beautiful as a sword. So, if I didn't already love you in return, I would have most definitely fallen at this moment.”

He smiled. “So, all this time, it would’ve only taken a sword to win your hand?”

“I’m a very simple woman, Thorin. You should know that by now.”

Your heart skipped a beat as he eased his arms about your waist, pulling you flush against him. He leaned closer, his lips just brushing yours as he murmured, “I’ll keep it in mind.”

You tried to think of something witty to reply with, but then his lips met yours once more and rendered words unnecessary.

***

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[h0ney-mochi]

Hello! I was wondering if I could request Scara and how he’d react or help reader on their period? This can be headcannons or a small little one shot . Feel free to be creative with it :)

Scaramouche x afab!reader ;; no pronouns mentioned

SFW CONTENT (fem!reader / afab!reader, reader is on their period, Scara is a little confused)

Summary: Hc's/scenario of when Scaramouche finds out you're on your period. Well. You explained it to him.

A/n: sorry for the wait nonnie!! But thank you for being patient ahhhhhh... Thank you for this <33 periods suck ass, good luck to those who r on it !!!! Yeesh... starting to get back into writing, hi 🫶

In my opinion, this guy is most definitely confused at first. But once Scaramouche's got some of his questions answered, he's rather caring. As long as you don't plan on dying on him.

He's confused when he first sees the sight of you curled up, hands on your stomach. Probably asks you what you're trying to do, what's wrong with you until a few sudden thoughts occur.

You're in pain. . . ? You're in pain.

Then he's next to you in an instant, eyes darting all over you. He's asking you what's wrong again, what happened, are you dying??

He's worried, definitely. There's bits of annoyance, frustration too since, well.. for the love of the Archons, don't leave him right now.

But after maybe a few seconds, when you think you're well enough to finally respond, you speak to him. Scaramouche listens, some relief that you're.. fine..? Wait-

"..You're telling me you're bleeding— every month?"

He is still rather confused on that and so he tries to understand. Most of it. So you explain some things, cracking some jokes that the Gods must hate you if they're giving you cramps (which he does not find amusing)

You think you're done with the explanation, slightly apologizing for.. scaring him? Worrying him? And say you'll go to the bathroom for the obvious reasons.

He's still wrapping his mind around it. Decides to do more research on that, because he hates the sight of you clutching your stomach in pain.

Next day he's with you, demands you to tell him what you want. You're confused, because, well.. he can't make your period dissapear magically— so you just shrug, speaking with a nervous smile "A heating pad would be nice..? Chocolate..?"

Of course you'd say something like that. After all, he did use an hour or more of his time to figure out ways to help you. Later that day you're met with sweets that you desired (he didn't go after them, of course not. God forbid him buying sweets for you.. *buys the sweets*)

Would make tea for you. Either bitter how he likes it (if he knows you don't mind the taste) or sweet, if that's more to your liking. Despite not being keen on sugary, sweet things, he'll get it for you. If it helps.

He'll try to be nicer, since now he knows that when you're at that time of the month, you're a little different, sometimes more emotional. Doesn't entirely mean he'll drop his attitude or sassy remarks. You'll just hear a little less of them.

Probably finds out first if you've ran out of pads or tampons. You go to bed, making a mental note to go to the store tomorrow, yet when you wake up and go to the cabinet, you see the packages you needed to buy..

He doesn't admit he bought them for you. Probably says that you're forgetful, since you did say you're a little different on your period.

Scara hates seeing you like this. When you're having cramps, when you're in pain. So he hopes this will end soon.

I mean.. he's not alone since you're hoping the same!

Thank you for the order, hope it suits your taste, dear ♡

© h0ney-mochi 2023 / Please don't copy or repost my work and writings! <3

[vixcynn]

Okay so fyi I'm a white girl with long blonde hair so if this is odd that may be in play 🤷 ps reader of course doesn't have to look like that

HC with the phantom troupe:

I was wondering if you could do something with a reader that does a new hairstyle like every day.

Bonus points if you can include some insecurities about being a outfit repeater.

I have so many magazines and an endless Pinterest board of hair styles, but can never pick one 😮‍💨. My "friend" ( were not that close) tried to down play it like I don't lose sleep over it and said "I never noticed so stop complaining about it, idc." I was talking about how I needed to go to sleep early so I could have extra time to do my hair.

After that I'm feeling kinda down, so what better than fictional characters comforting you or helping you ? Idk that why I'm here.

・✶ ｡ﾟREADER THAT LiKES TO CHANGE UP THEiR LOOK — phantom troupe

first request im trying real bad nawt to geek omggg😭😭 also this isn't odd at all to me nonnie i have the same struggle esp w clothes + ur friend's a dick for dismissing u like that. hope u feel better ma🙏🏾 contains: gn/afab reader, 0.6k wc, might be a bit ooc + this wasnt proofread

CHROLLO

Makes a little game with himself to try and anticipate what your next style will be

Will your hair be up? In braids? It's really a mystery to him

Honestly with this man you never have to worry about repeating an outfit

If you're out shopping with him and he catches you looking at any article of clothing for more than a second he's getting it no question

FEITAN

I feel like Feitan is just.. indifferent about it

Will probably quietly comment on your hair being different but he probably doesn't care much

And honestly you could wear the same outfit 1000 times and he genuinely would not care. This man couldn't recognize drip even if it was falling in his eyes anyway

He would die before admitting it but he's curious to see how you'd style his hair

MACHI

Thinks your hair always looks super cute and will occasionally ask you to do hers

She definitely keeps a hair tie on her wrist just incase you ever need one

However she will have no issues telling you to your face that being worried about repeating outfits is dumb

Tough love tough love🥲

She means well she's just a bit blunt that's all !!

SHALNARK

He's definitely recommending you hairstyles to do

Poor baby probably wanted to help you do your hair one morning but walked in on you on the cusp of a mental breakdown because your hair just wouldn't cooperate

Yea he's backing away slowly and not returning...

But being real he's showering you with compliments because your hair and your clothes

He adores your style and probably gifts you different hair accessories and jewelry

SHIZUKU

Doesn't really get why you consistently do something different when it comes to hair and clothes but she's intrigued

Will sit quietly and watch you do your hair

Probably won't be much help unless you ask her to be

I can see her practicing on you though, Shizuku's can be really gentle with her hands if she's mindful about her strength

NOBUNAGA

Something about this man just screams hair expert

Like that man has inches (not like that) you cannot tell me he doesn't have a bomb ass hair care routine

If he wakes up around the same time as you he's definitely helping you do your hair

Is also your biggest hype man when it comes to how you dress

You could be wearing a dingy t-shirt and some sweats and this man will still act like a professional model has graced his presence

ILLUMI

Now unlike Nobunaga, I think Illumi just was blessed with freakishly good genetics when it comes to hair

This man has probably washed his hair with dish soap and seen no issue with it

He'd probably try to support you in hair and fashion but the things he buys makes you question if you're being punked

The hair products are not suited for your hair type and the clothes he buys makes you feel like you're being dressed by your mom all over again

He's trying though please be patient with this man

UVOGIN

If you value the health of your hair do not let him near it 💗

Jokes aside (I'm not joking) I can see Uvogin letting you practice different styles on him. He lovessss it when you play in his scalp

Love Uvogin but he is the last person you'd want to bring your fashion concerns too

Literally anything looks good to this man, he will have you outside dressed like a literal clown and think the fit is fire

PAKUNODA

She is for sure helping you out whether it be with picking an outfit or doing your hair

Paku absolutely loves it when you come to her for advice

However she hates seeing you stressed out about wearing the same thing :((

She's always reassuring you that you look amazing regardless of the effort put into your outfit for the day

© VIXCYNN. — please don’t plagiarize my work. all rights reserved.

[navybrat817]

OMG NAVYYY HII HOW ARE YA😭😭😭 ever since i watched seb's scene in ghosted ive been so... well... there's no way to say this diplomatically but anyways it got me thinking- you know god spends a lot of time waiting.. for his targets or sum shit.. he must get... bored(wink wink) ya know??? so maybe sometimes his gf comes along with him.. to keep him company.. in that car😏😏😏 and i dont think i need to say anything else you can work ur magic✨✨✨

ANYWAYS BYE LOVE YOU ❤️

Not too bad, nonnie! Hope you're well and hope you enjoy this.

Gentle Sin

Pairing: God the Bounty Hunter x Female Reader Summary: You keep God company. Word Count: Over 1.05k Warnings: S/mut, c/ockwarming, p/ossessive behavior, talk of v/iolence, God the Bounty Hunter (he's a warning, okay?) A/N: Um. This was unexpected! Happy Sinday, lovelies? 🔥 Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. ❤️ Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

It wasn't unusual for God to hide in vehicles or other places to track and collect whatever criminal or individual he was responsible for. The private agent possessed a certain level of patience suited for his job. It didn't mean he always enjoyed waiting, even when the payoff was more than enough. Which is why you were only half surprised when you got a message to meet him in the back of some random car.

"Come keep my cock warm, Angel."

It wasn't a suggestion and his demands weren't something for you to ignore.

"You know one of the things I love about you? You act as if this isn't where you belong, but your pussy knows exactly who she belongs to."

Fucking traitor.

You breathed in and out slowly through your nose as two of his fingers slid across your tongue. He hardly spoke a word when you showed up in the darkened parking lot, both of you careful not to draw too much attention to yourselves as you shuffled around in the backseat. He didn't have to tell you to lose the panties. They were gone the moment he reached out. 

"Did you know there are two main reasons why it's painful for people to wait for things?" he asked, changing the subject.

Loves the sound of his own voice.

"Mmm," you replied, unable to say anything with his fingers pushing deeper into your mouth. What would he do if you bit them? You could figure that out another day.

"One reason is the unknown. They don't know what's coming and they can't stand it," he said, rolling his hips beneath you. Your warm pussy didn't seem to distract him from his mission, the gun in his other hand ready for him to use. "The other is dealing with something they don't want to deal with in the first place."

You moaned when he brought his mouth to your neck and dragged it along your skin, the light scratch from scruff bringing goosebumps to the surface. Every sound you made, every clench of your wet walls fueled his ego. The sin he carved into you was gentle in comparison to the wrath you knew he unleashed on others.

You were special in his eyes. 

"You think you know what's coming, Angel, but I have a surprise for you," he said as he removed his fingers.

"And what's that?" you asked, wondering if he planned on using his ring tonight. "Me coming on your cock and you coming inside me? Not much of a surprise."

Was it too much to admit you loved how he filled you to the brim? That you craved when he spilled hot and thick inside you and claimed every inch of you as his? But you carried power, too. Your cunt did wonders on this man and it was a weapon you enjoyed wielding.

He brought his wet fingers under your skirt with a grunt, seeking out your clit with an expert touch. You didn't have to see the smirk on his face when you arched your back to know it was there. It was a look engraved in your mind the moment he made you his. "That's not the unknown. We already knew the night would end like that because I always get you off."

Cocky bastard. I get you off, too.

"Then what is it?" you asked, whimpering as he teased your bundle of nerves. Your essence soaked the curls as the base of his cock at this point as he tapped the glass with the gun. 

"Your ex-boyfriend skipped bail," he answered, his voice softer and deeper than before. "I don't have to tell you his name and I better not hear you say it."

You managed not to shriek when he pinched your clit, a ripple of pleasured pain causing your toes to curl. You knew exactly who he was talking about and it was one of the reasons he was your ex. Funnily enough you'd end up with someone who is both worse and better. "God, is that why you wanted me here?"

He had no lesson to teach you because you did nothing wrong.

"Partially why. You'll worship no one else before me and I want you to remember that," he said, tapping the glass again like he wasn't playing you like a finely tuned instrument. You wanted to point out you didn't even know the bounty hunter when you dated your ex, but you bit your tongue. "And I have to wonder if I'll shoot my load into you before or after I shoot him."

Was he going to kill him for merely skipping bail? Wasn't he supposed to bring him in alive? Why did the thought scare you and turn you on?

You gripped his arm for purchase when your body began to shake. During one of his ramblings to you, he mentioned he attuned his senses to everything around him. The orgasms he pulled from you proved that and you understood where some of his confidence came from at least. He also knew how to keep you on the edge without sending you over. 

God, just let me finish. 

"My beautiful, wet angel. Does that get you off? Knowing I want to shoot someone just because they touched you?" he lightly taunted, pressing an affectionate kiss against your shoulder. "Wasn't the tune you sang when I shot your partner, but I changed that, didn't I?"

"Don't talk about him," you snapped.

"Still sore about me doing my job?"

You shut your mouth. You couldn't fault him for that, but it was bad enough you willingly slept with the guy who killed your partner. Would good sex ease your guilty conscience?

"Well, your ex has no idea what's going to happen and he doesn't want to face his crimes. Too fucking bad," he said, pulling his fingers away as you teetered on the edge. "And I want him to see what it's like for a god to take you apart. I want him to see you're mine now. Then I'll take him in. After shooting him for good measure."

He shoved his fingers back in your mouth before you could respond. 

"That's it. Taste your sin on my fingers. Plenty more where that came from before the night is through."

I couldn't help myself! Love and thanks for reading. 💙

Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[kdogreads]

maybe grumpy richie x sunshine reader whos also like syds best friend and she comes in and is just extremely nice to him and he flirts w her until syd comes out and yells at him 😇😇

LOVE this! Thank you so much sweet nonnie 😍😍

This is giving suit-Richie, so not that grumpy ☹️🫶

“Hiiiii!” Syd squeals as she’s pops out of the kitchen in her pretty new chef’s coat, “I’m so glad you made it!”

She pulled you into a tight hug and you reciprocated the sheer joy at seeing your closest friend in her element.

“I’m so happy to be here, Syd. This place is incredible,” You shot her a proud gaze and she just waved you down. Typical Sydney to act like it’s not a big deal.

“Thank you—yeah, thanks. It’s been a lot, but let me take you through the kitchen and show you—“

She paused when Richie cleared his throat impatiently, obviously wanting an introduction.

“Ah, right, sorry,” Syd chuckled, “This is Richie — Front of house manager and Carmy’s cousin.”

He extended a hand to you and you shook it gracefully, noting how small your own hand felt in his big one.

“Good to finally meet you, sweetheart. Syd here talks about you all the time,” Richie smiled sweetly at you, and a shockwave shot through your veins.

“Same to you, Richie. I’ve heard a lot,” You spoke confidently as he slowly released your hand.

His eyebrows shot up in feigned surprise, “All good things, I hope.” He ended his thought with a wink and you swear you felt your heart stop for a beat. Those crystal blue eyes staring into yours; you couldn’t stop the thoughts running through your head.

God, he has a pretty smile. And he smells so good. And—

“Well we’ve been friends for like ever and I haven’t given you a tour yet, so,” Sydney trails off, trying to ignore whatever this thing is happening between you and Richie right now.

You tried your best to wipe the giddy grin from your face as you nodded to Sydney, ready to celebrate this incredible restaurant with her.

Syd took you back through the kitchen where you were happy to meet all of the people she’d spoken so highly of — Carmy, Tina, Marcus, even Fak. They were all just as skilled and friendly as she’d told you.

The two of you stayed chatting a while until she took you back out to the table she’d reserved just for you. Dinner service was about to begin and the sharply-dressed servers began seating other excited guests.

You spotted Richie on the other side of the dining room. He looked so handsome with his suit jacket on and buttoned, a new addition to the look you’d met him in earlier. The thoughts running through your mind were downright dangerous.

Your eyes drifted over the menu as you tried to expel Richie from your brain. You tried so hard to focus on the richly flavored dishes on the page that you didn’t notice when someone walked up to your table.

“Doing okay, sweetheart?” You jumped at the sweet, sultry voice, “I’ll be personally taking care of you tonight.”

The lights were just dim enough to hide Richie’s wink and your blushing cheeks.

“Uh, yeah—yes! Great, Richie, thank you,” Trying and failing to hide your giddiness, you watched as he set an icy purple-ish drink down in front of you.

“Vodka, sugar-free cranberry juice and a splash of lime.”

You couldn’t hide the shocked look in your face for the life of you, “Wow. You really do your homework, huh?”

Richie leaned in close, close enough you could feel his minty breath on your cheek when he spoke.

“I’m all about the service, baby.”

A shiver ran down your spine as he straightened up, a smug, knowing smirk on his face. You could tell he was about to say something else when the door to the kitchen swung open just a few feet away.

“Richie!” Syd whisper-yelled, “Flirt with my friend later please, I need your help in here.”

She darted back into the kitchen before either of you could respond. Richie’s smug smirk melted into a warm smile and your cheeks started to feel hot yet again.

“I’ll be seeing you soon?” Richie questioned with an eyebrow raised.

“I hope so,” You folded your hands and rested your head in them, batting your lashes up at a swooning Richie.

He simply nodded slightly, smile still plastered on his lips, before turning to head for the kitchen.

You really, really did hope you’d be seeing him later.

[hailey-murdock]

Hey Hailey , can I make a Matt Murdock x reader request?

Reader is learning braille and reading a smut book. Matt is a little annoyed that you don't put this book down when he gets home and smells you getting wet reading it. One day he is home earlier than you and he starts reading this book and masturbates while doing so and at that moment Reader comes home.

Good boy

Paring: Matt Murdock x Fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, established relationship, smut, implied smut, fingering, m! masturbation, switch!Matt, a little of mean!Matt, switch!reader, dirty talk, hair pulling, choking, praise kink, degradation kink, exhibitionism, overstimulation, Mommy kink, erotica, mentions of sexual intercouse in a church

(lmk if im missing something)

WC: 2.1K

A.N: this is pure smut and its disgusting but I'm a whore for Matt so who cares, hope you enjoy nonnie. And thank you for this cause I went feral last night while writing this 💋

(Reblogs, comment and likes are appreciated)

Matt  was sitting at his desk, sorting through some paperwork of a recent case he had taken with Foggy. When he heard the sound of the front door opening. He knew that it was you, you had gotten home early that day, so he decided to walk to the living room to see you after a long day at the office. To his surprise, he sensed that you were sitting in your usual spot on the couch, reading a book.

Matt walked over to kiss you only to catch a whiff of something peculiar in the air. He sniffed again and frowned. "Is everything alright sweetheart?" he asked.

You looked up from your book, trying to feign innocence. "Yeah, everything's fine," you said, but Matt could hear the slight waver in your voice. "I'm just reading." 

It annoyed Matt that you weren't paying attention to him. You hadn't even kissed him or even taken your eyes off of your book when he came to see you.

Matt's suspicions only grew when he noticed that the book you were holding wasn't anything he recognized. He heard your fingers running over the paper just like he would to read his paperwork at work. Matt reached out to take it from you, but you quickly pulled it away. But he felt something different about this book, it was in braille and he got to feel at least what one word said. Moan. It said moan.

Were you-? No, that's impossible, Matt thought. He of course knew you were learning braille since you thought if you had learned more, you could help him out with more things about the apartment. Like the tags on his suits, paperwork, or even write him a love letter in braille but you couldn't be reading smut. 

"It's nothing," you said, putting your hand over the cover, even though Matt obviously couldn't see it. You felt a bit embarrassed by it and Matt could feel how your blood rushed up to your cheeks.

He could smell your arousal in the air. He could practically taste it on his taste buds. The thought leaves his head and a new one comes to mind. 

Matt thought this was a way to tease him, work him up. But Matt had other plans with you. He pulled away the book from you and he picked you up to have your legs wrapped around his waist as he pressed the both of you against the wall.

You were so concentrated on your book that a gasp left your mouth at the sudden movements and it turned you on more. "Matt- please". 

Matt groaned more as the taste and smell of your arousal grew stronger and it made his cock hardened and throb in the confines of his boxers. "Fuck- such a fucking needy slut. Needing to be taken care of isn't that right?"

You nodded rapidly as you didn't trust your voice to speak. "Words angel, I wanna hear you say it". Matt grinded his hard cock against your clothed cunt. "Yes"

He wasn't satisfied with that answer and he grabbed your neck to look at him and you moaned at the mixture of pain and pleasure all at once. You felt light headed, desire clouding your mind. The need of Matt's cock buried deep inside the warmth of your pussy. 

And the sinful noise filling the bedroom. All of the moans, whines, grunts, and whimpers. The sound of your wetness dripping down his cock onto his thick thighs that you also loved to grind yourself onto. The slapping noise of Matt slamming into your cunt, making him go feral and pussydrunk. 

"Yes what?" Even if Matt couldn't see if felt like his eyes were burning through your body as he waited for your answer. 

"Yes s-sir". You bit your bottom lip when you felt Matt's hot breath down your neck as he left wet kisses down your throat as well. 

"Mhmm good girl. My little girl can actually talk, who would’ve thought, I guess after all you aren't just a fuck toy for me to use, or are you?" Matt chuckled as he whispered his praise and degradation in your ear.

"I- I am your fuck toy sir. I'm yours to use, yours to fuck and bring you pleasure with my mouth or pussy". You had no idea where the boost of confidence came from to say all of this to Matt but you were loving it. 

"I'm your good little slut to make you cum. What do you want sir? Do you want me to get on my knees and suck your cock? Or do you want my wet pussy waiting to be filled with your cum?" A small smirk appears on your face as you think you have taken control for tonight.

"Oh sweetheart, I love this little act you have going on. It's quite hot but I think you need a reminder of who's in charge". Without hesitation Matt moves his hand under your skirt and moves aside your soft panties. Put two of his thick fingers inside, pumping them fast in and out of your soaked pussy. 

And Matt being the ever most cocky motherfucker that he is, smirked when he heard you moan his name and say a bunch of incoherent things. "Look at you, already becoming a mess, just by my fingers. Now imagine if I had my cock inside of you. Bet you would be cockdrunk, loving the way only I can make you feel good. How only I make you fucking stupid. I'm the only one who can or will ever make you feel this good, you hear me slut?"

You didn't know what made you more wet, Matt's fingers working inside of you or his filthy words. Matt was always a smooth talker, why should you be surprised. You became like a puddle, your legs gave out but Matt held you. His words hit you like a train, it made your slick drip down his wrist to his forearm. The way he worked his fingers made you throw your head back and whine at how fucking good he was.

Damn Matt Murdock. How you wanted to wipe off that smirk on his face. But you were in such a euphoric state that it didn't matter at the moment, you would handle him on another occasion. You nodded your head as he spoke so dirty to you, you submitted to him and Matt lived for that.

After a mind blowing orgasm that Matt gave you with just his fingers, you expected to get on your knees and maybe call it a night. Eat dinner, take a shower together and go to bed. But no, how extremely wrong you were.

"Don't think I'm done with you just yet sweetheart". The sinister grin on Matt's face gave it away that it was going to be a long night for the both of you. 

____________________________________________

And just how you expected, it indeed was a long night. You woke up running late to work and it didn't help that your legs felt like jelly. Not long after Matt had woken up too and helped you getting ready and you both had agreed to meet back at the apartment for lunch.

Matt had left a bit more early from work than planned, he wanted to clean up the apartment a bit and cook for you. Once Matt started cleaning he came across something. It was your book, but this was the book you were reading yesterday. Matt wanted to know what it was, were you actually reading such filth?

He sat down debating whether he should or shouldn't read your book. But Matt caved into the curiosity. He opened the book and ran his fingers over the braille. 

"He pushed his tongue into her vagina to get her as wet as possible. He moved his mouth to her clitoris and sucked gently on it as he inserted his fingers into her and kneaded her g-spot".  

Matt cheeks color changed into a bright pink, this was why he smelled your arousal yesterday. It made Matt's cock twitch as he continued to read the book. 

 "Leigh bucked and moaned as he pushed in a third finger, then a fourth. She loved being penetrated, would even beg for it when he withheld it to punish her. But he couldn’t withhold himself from her today. In two hours they’d be married—joined spiritually and legally into one. But what mattered now was to be joined physically, sexually…and the sooner, the better".

Was this maybe what you wanted? To be fucked in a church where the two of you would get married in? Matt couldn't help but the groan that left his mouth as his growing erection was starting to become painful. The idea of you reading this on your own and touching yourself made Matt take off his belt and bucking his hips upwards into the air.

"Leigh’s breathing quickened as Bryce pushed his fingers even deeper into her wet heat. Her muscles tightened around his hand. He kneaded her clitoris even harder with his tongue until her whole body went taut and she cried out, her fluid pouring from deep within her and over his face".

Matt pushes his pants and boxers down just enough to wrap his hand around his cock. The tip was already swollen red with precum dripping down, if only you were there to lick it up from his balls all the way up to his tip.

"By the time he got back to his feet, he’d already opened his pants and freed his erection. He didn’t even let Leigh catch her breath. He shoved himself into her hard and deep, thrusting without mercy or apology. He wanted her raw from sex when she walked down the aisle, every step reminding her of his desire for her."

Matt fists his cock roughly, he knew he didn't have much time and you could get home at any moment and catch him in such a vulnerable act. Oh, but how it made him groan, he wanted you to find him like this. It made him think of all those times he'd fucked you in the bathroom at some stupid work conference with a bunch of egocentric lawyer.

Or that one time that he couldn't wait til home to fuck you and he pull you out to a office and the window wide open, so that New York could see who was the one who could fuck you into an oblivion. His grunts and moans only grew louder, blocking every other of his senses. Matt could still taste you on his mouth from last night and he was so close to cumming until-

You were already on your way to have lunch with Matt. You had even stopped by at a restaurant for takeout and as you approached the door you heard a groan. Immediately you thought Matt had open a wound he had gotten while on patrol a few nights ago. And as you walked into the door to go help him, you heard a moan and your name. 

Your heart started to beat faster when you saw Matt on the couch with your book and his fist around his cock. The smirk on your mouth was inevitable, you watched him for a few minutes. The minute you saw Matt's face twist into a face he would make before cumming you cleared your throat.

Matt stopped his movements and his breathing was heavy, sweat had formed on his forehead and his cheeks were red in embarrassment.

"Sweetheart- I didn't-". He had tried to justify himself but it was useless. You had put the pieces together. 

"I didn't say to stop, did i?" You moved to sit in front of Matt staring at his weeping cock aching for release. 

"N-no….you didn't". Matt spoke so softly that it was barely a whisper. You cooed at him. This was your opportunity to  take control after your intent from yesterday.

"Then be a good boy for mommy and keep touching yourself, and you're not cumming until I say so, do you understand?"

Matt just whimpered, feeling so sensitive that he bit his lip and nodded.

You pulled his hair back to grab his attention. And Matt being a sucker for pain, moaned loudly at the pain. "Answer me Matthew or you won't cum at all".

"Y-yes mommy, I u-understand". Matt needed you to touch him, your small but soft hands felt so much better than his hand. But he was willing to follow and obey your every command.

"Good boy". You let go of his hair and sat back down to watch him in awe. Maybe the both of you should have lunch together more often.

[ahockeywrites]

I’m the “Cole Caufield x Reader; public sex or blowjob?” anon, I really do apologize for not seeing the list of whom you write for! So instead of Cole, maybe Quinn?? Thank you in advance!! Yet again, so sorry!!

warnings: oral m!receiving, public blowjob!, explicit fem!reader authors note: nonny, my anxiety at replying that I didn’t write for Cole was extreme but thank you so much for being so understanding and not hating me (I need constant validation for my mental health). so, how about a public blowjob?

going to the lingerie store with your boyfriend was meant to be a good idea. he loved it when you felt confident in your body and wearing lingerie helped you with that. so a large chunk of his pay check went on expensive underwear that only the pair of you got to see. it didn’t matter who saw, just that you knew you looked attractive.

you had just walked out the changing room in the private suite, well it wasn’t too private. there was a back room to this store that was separated from the main changing rooms for when partners came along to see what their partner was wearing. it was separated by a curtain. the set you had just put on was a Canucks blue with green detailing. the fabric was sheer and your hardened nipples were on full display to Quinn.

it wasn’t as though he wasn’t aroused. after the second set, he unzipped his jeans and had been leisurely stroking his cock as you pranced around in different sets. he already knew that he was going to buy you anything you wanted, he was wrapped around your little finger.

“fuck,” he groaned as he gripped his cock a little harder. this was turning him on more than he thought it would. quinn collected some of the pre come at the head of his shaft to use as a lubricant. “spin round for me.”

you listened and spun around on the balls of your feet to show him the entire set. expletives left his lips once more as you showed him the skimpy fabric that rested on your chest and hips.

quinn didn’t know what he needed from you but it was something. the arm that wasn’t jerking himself off rested on the plush arm rest of his chair, biceps straining as you walked towards him slowly.

“on your knees baby,” he instructed and you obliged him.

your mouth found the head of his cock and you started lapping up the salty liquid as though you were starved. you were starved. starved of his cock. it had been too long (read: one day) since you had his cock in his mouth.

slowly, you took more of him into your mouth until he hit the back of your mouth. your eyes raised to look up at your boyfriend. you hoped to look him in the eyes but his head was thrown back and both his hands were gripping the fabric of the chair. he was in total pleasure and you were the one causing it.

you started bobbing your head up and down, spit coating the whole of his cock. your hand grasped the part of his cock that didn’t fit in your mouth and started moving that up and down with the movement of your head. your other hand rested on his thigh to stabilise yourself.

quinn’s hips started twitching as you moved your hand from his cock to cup one of his balls. it was a trick that you learnt early on in your relationship to increase the pleasure he felt.

“ah fuck,” quinn threaded a hand through your hair, not to hold you in place but to guide you at the pace he needed. he pulled you up and down his cock, the head hitting the back of your throat with every movement. you loved being the reason why quinn felt this much pleasure.

whimpers left his mouth as you knew that he was close. his cock twitched and you continued to play with his balls as he thrusted up into your mouth before spilling himself into your mouth.

you opened your mouth to show the salty, white liquid before swallowing it dramatically.

“we’re keeping this set,” quinn breathed out, “and every other set you’ve tried on. and every other set you wanted to try on. no arguments.”

you nodded before walking back to take the set that you were wearing off.

“keep it on,” you heard from behind you. quinn had walked behind you, jeans hanging around his ankles. he ripped the tag from the bra you were wearing and added it to the pile of underwear you had already tried on. “want to fuck you in it when we get home.”

[crushedbyhyperbole]

Before I Met Angels - Pt 1 - Then...

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus!Fem!Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester arrived on your doorstep with his cheap suit and the promise of a ghost-free future. Playing pretend love interest left you both with something a little more lingering than the ghost.

Words: 2.5k

A/N: This was born of a Nonny request for some oral smut and some insecurity/comfort (which is Part 2) but I couldn't not write the back story so here it is. I hope you enjoy.

Warnings: Canon-typical action/adventure, talk of ghosts and dead people, canon typical violence, profanity, some sexual tension, kissing, and a bit of softness.

***MINORS DO NOT ENTER OR INTERACT***

Dean Winchester had been in your house for over two weeks now, having arrived on your doorstep with his brother Sam after a handful of men in your town had mysteriously died.  It had started a little over two years ago with your boyfriend, Danny, who had died of a heart attack moments before you were going to sleep together for the first time.  Six months ago, other men who you had started dating or who had asked you out started dying as well, their hearts exploded in their chests.

When Dean showed up, it was in a cheap suit and an FBI badge, and the promise of a future without whatever was plaguing you.  It quickly became apparent that he and Sam weren’t really FBI when they started laying lines of salt around your house and carrying your old fire poker or your cast iron skillet around with them.  With talk of ghosts and other supernatural things, you learned that the Winchester brothers were hunters of those things that went bump in the night, guardian angels, if you will, for all who were afflicted by such things.

“I’m no guardian angel, sweetheart.  I’ve met some of ‘em though.”  He replied when you said this to him.   “They’re assholes, lemme tell ya.”

You had laughed but the concept of angels existing wasn’t something you had been prepared for.  But really, how could you be prepared for any of this?

Over the course of the first few days, Dean and Sam staked out your house, taking readings with a strange whining piece of equipment that Sam explained read ghost energy.  The prognosis: your house was haunted, but the ghost remained elusive.

“Maybe it only goes after people I want to be romantic with?”  You fielded, after a discussion about the house’s history.  “You said yourselves that all of the people who died of that exploding heart thing had been people I’d been dating or about to date.”

“You could have a point,” Sam said thoughtfully.  “So we just need to replicate that scenario.”

“You saying I got to get frisky up in here?”  Dean quizzed and you blushed, feeling awkward about suggesting he do something he clearly wouldn’t enjoy.

“I mean, I could…”  Sam began to offer but Dean carried on talking.

“Alright, I got this.”  He nodded at you with a smirk that you couldn’t read at all.  “Let’s get this done.”

He decided that snuggling on the couch would be a good start and see if that prompted the ghost to appear.  The first day, nothing happened, but Dean came back every evening and tried again.  Each night he and Sam came back around sunset and you made them dinner.  Each night Dean would sit back on the sofa with his arm around you and you would snuggle into him as you watched TV; Dr Sexy was his favourite show.  Sam waited either in the car or in a room upstairs as if he was a guest.

Gradually you two settled into a routine where small gestures of affection began to creep into your behaviours:  Dean would stroke his hand down your back to settle on your hip as he passed you in the kitchen, and you would absently touch his forearm when you spoke to him.  It only took a couple of days, but you completely fell under his spell – fake though your interactions were supposed to be.

You couldn’t deny the attraction you felt for him, he was way beyond anything in your league but every time he touched you he lit a fire in you.  Every soft smile, every glance, every time he held you against him on the couch at night was fuel for that fire.  He seemed to enjoy your company but he was just doing his job, simply acting out a role to bring an end to the whole haunting thing.  The haunting thing that didn’t seem to be happening, or so you thought until last night.

Curled up on the couch with Dean for what was the twelfth night in a row, you had started to fall asleep with his arm draped around you, his fingers drawing abstract patterns on the skin of your arm.

“This doesn’t seem to be working,” he said after the re-run of Dr Sexy had finished.  “I think maybe we need to kick things up a gear.  Whadd’ya say?”

You didn’t know what he had in mind but you were a little drowsy and so far in over your head that you simply nodded, receiving a bright grin as a reply.

“You tell me to stop and I’ll stop, okay?”  He whispered into your ear, his lips brushing against you as he nuzzled your neck, inhaling your scent just below your ear.  “Mmmm, you smell fantastic.”  He spoke at normal volume, clearly this was a show to get the ghost to present itself.

You sighed as he kissed your neck, and when his hand snuck under the hem of your top you stiffened, pushing a hand against his chest as if to stop him.

“Relax, sweetheart.  I’ll be good to you, I promise.”

You stroked his chest, feeling the firm muscles beneath and wondered how his skin felt.  When your fingers slipped under his shirt and danced across his bare abs he inhaled sharply, pulling back from his attention on your neck to look at you.

There was a hunger there in his eyes, and he leaned forward to kiss you.  You sighed as his lips met yours, so deeply absorbed in how he made you feel that you didn’t realise the temperature in the room was falling.  His tongue slipped into your mouth and he cupped your face to kiss you properly.  You moaned deeply, succumbing to the heat pooling down in your core.  It was so easy to believe this was real.

“Atta girl,” he whispered when he pulled back.  “You’re doing so well.”

“I’ve never been kissed like that before.”  You practically mewled.

“Well I’m going to do it one more time and then I’m going to ask you to follow me, okay?”

Anywhere.  You nodded as he pulled you to your feet and cradled your face in his hands.  His second kiss was consuming but still slow and measured.  He stroked his hands down your sides and up under your shirt, stroking the skin of your waist and back, and pulling you tight against him.

“I wanna have you so bad,” he said, breathless, resting his forehead on yours but very aware of the changes in the room.  “To be continued….”  He whispered, leading you up the stairs to the guest room where Sam was hiding.

“Dean!”  Sam yelled.  “Hurry it up.”

“I know, Sammy!”  He yelled back.  “We’re on our way.”

The air was charged with static.  You could feel it bristling the hairs on your skin like a bad thunder storm about to happen.  Ahead of you on the stairs, you saw Dean’s rear as he led you quickly by the hand.  Glancing behind, you saw a glitchy shape of a man which bore the face of your dead boyfriend, Danny.

“Danny?”  You couldn’t believe what you were seeing.

“It’s the dead boyfriend!”  Dean said to Sam as you both crossed the salted threshold of the guest bedroom.

“I thought he was killed by the ghost first.”

“So did we.”  Sam said with a frown, looking at Dean in confusion.  “And he was cremated already so what the hell are we gonna do now?”

Dean turned you to face him, tearing your eyes away from the ghost that waited on the far side of the salt boundary.

“Do you have anything of his that could be tying him to this plane?  Lock of hair?  Blood stain somewhere maybe?”

“I don’t know,  Maybe.”  You wracked your brain for anything you had kept of his.  “He gave me a locket early on in our relationship that I never really wore, but after he died I couldn’t just throw it away.  He said it was a keepsake but it’s just got a photo of us in it.”

“That’s got to be it.”  Sam said.  “Where is it?”

“In my bedroom.  Jewellery box.”

“I’ll get it,” Sam rushed to the door, “he’s after Dean, not me.”

Once Sam crossed the salt with his iron fire poker, Danny’s ghost attacked.  It knocked Sam against the wall, hard, and sent him skidding back into the room.  The line of salt was broken and Danny’s ghost came for Dean.

“Goddamnit!  You need to get outa here” Dean said, brows raised, almost begging.

“But he’s going to kill you.”

Maybe if you could reason with Danny, he would just leave.  Maybe if you asked him to move on to wherever ghosts went, that he would see you were ok without him.

“He’s gonna try.”  Dean scooped up his shotgun, pumped it and stepped up beside you.

“Danny, please listen to me.”  You tried to reason with the spirit of your dead boyfriend.  “You don’t need to do this.  Please don’t do this.”

The ghost advanced, paying little heed to anyone except Dean.  His eyes, so filled with malice and hatred, never left the hunter.  For a second, you thought maybe you could stand between them and be safe but the closer the spectre got, the more you realised that he was too far gone.  Unreachable.

“Run!”  Dean pushed you aside and lifted the shotgun, aiming it right at Danny’s chest.

You backed up against the wall and skirted along it as Danny advanced on Dean.  You had to find the locket, but what were you supposed to do with it when you had it?

In your room, you fumbled with the clasp on your jewellry box, dropping the box on the floor.  Chains and earrings spilled out, jumbling up together, snagging into a knot as you tried to pull Danny’s locket free.

The booming sound of the shotgun was deafening.  It was so loud you felt it in your chest cavity and the shock of it made you feel dizzy.  Dean could be heard goading the ghost, taunting it to come and get him before the gun went off again.

In the doorway, Sam appeared looking a little worse for wear.  You held the jumble of gold and silver up to him, panicked that you couldn’t separate them.

“What do I do?”

“We have to burn it.”

“I can’t separate them.”

“Then we burn it all.”

Sam snatched up the metal trashcan and you dumped the twisted clump on top of the paper.  A generous squirt of fuel and a book of matches later and the whole can was ablaze.

Danny’s ghost appeared, in flame, moving towards you as if to claim you but Sam pulled you out of the way as the last of the flames consumed the spirit, leaving behind whisps of smoke.

Dean was sat on the floor of the guest room, bruised and bashed but very much alive.  He gave you a grateful smile and a nod as he got his breath back.  When he stood he hugged you, rubbing both of your arms to soothe you, and kissed the top of your head.

“I think we got him,” Dean said as he stood on your porch ready to head back to the motel for the night.  “But if it’s alright with you, I wanna do one more night to make sure we haven’t missed anything.  Tomorrow?”

You had thought you would never see him again once your haunting was taken care of, but when presented with an opportunity to spend one more evening cuddling Dean Winchester, how could you refuse.  The thought of being alone that night was overwhelming but you felt pathetic asking him and Sam to stay with you.

“I think that’s a good idea,” you smiled weakly, hoping you didn’t seem too needy or too eager to have his hands on you again.  When he had kissed you, it had made you burn with desire for him, and now you couldn’t let go of that heat.  The memory of ‘to be continued’ played whirligig in your stomach.

“Alright, sweetheart.  We’ll see you again tomorrow.”

Dean stepped off the porch and down into your yard before you crumbled under the weight of your emotions.

“Wait!”

He and Sam stopped and turned, Dean looking at you with worry, Sam with sympathy.

“Would you stay with me tonight?”  You felt embarrassed to ask, but the words were out now.  “I don’t want to be alone.”

Dean shuffled his feet, looking at Sam somewhat awkwardly before returning his gaze to you.  His smile was strained, as if he didn’t know how to let you down gently.

“Tell you what,” Sam cut the silence, “I’ve got some research to do anyway, and we missed a call from Jodie, so I’ll head back to the motel and I’ll swing back around tomorrow and pick you up.”

“Sounds like a plan.”  Dean patted Sam’s shoulder and followed you back into the house where you both settled on the couch as was your routine.

The sound of the TV blended into the background, secondary to the steady but quick thu-thump of your own heartbeat and the whoosh of your pulse in your ears.  The couch was soft beneath you, perfectly contrasting the firmness of the man you were partially wrapped around.

Dean looked down at you, catching you looking up at him from under your eyelashes.

“If you keep lookin’ at me that way, that ‘to be continued’ is gonna happen a lot sooner that you think.”  He said with a cocksure smirk.

You grinned, reaching up to slide your fingers over the stubble of his cheek, guiding him so you could lay your lips on his.

Dean sighed through his nose as he delved into your kiss, his arms slipping around you to hold you tight against him.

Whatever chemistry you two had generated over the past couple of weeks was sure to fizzle out once you’d both gotten it out of your systems.  Him acting like he was interested in you, all the affectionate touches he had coached himself to give during that time, the closeness you both had engineered over that time.  It was all bound to drain away, but in the meantime you closed your eyes and succumbed to the desire burning in your chest that told you to have him while you could.

And as Dean sunk himself into you on the soft couch with the TV playing Dr Sexy in the background, you didn’t care if it was just one time, you didn’t care if he would be gone tomorrow, or the next day.  As he sighed your name and made you feel amazing, you knew you would keep this memory forever.  The night you loved your guardian angel.

Read Part Two...?

[beyondthesefourwalls]

RYEWID thought...like a year or two after the main story, Bradley smacks his head hard and everyone panics and nobody wants to be the one to call Pumpkin to tell her the her husband is a dumbass who wasn't paying attention and now he needs stitches. But the good news is it shakes lose a few memories. Like Pumpkin is PISSED and Bradley is like hey remember that vacation we went on? I really liked that ice cream from that place we should go visit. And everyone is like bro wtf?!?!? You're in the hospital moron 😭🤣

Nonny, I loved this ask so much. I absolutely love hearing RYEWID thoughts so thank you so much for sending it to me! I couldn't help myself and wrote a little blurb about this scenario. I really hope you like it!🧡

---- Warnings: language, head wounds, Bradley being clumsy and worrying his wife Word Count: 777 Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Reader (Forgetful Boy x Pumpkin)

----

It was the worst kind of deja vu. You were sitting at your desk in the middle of the afternoon when your phone rang, Jake’s name staring back at you. Your hand shook as you answered it. 

“Jake?” 

“Hey, dollface. So uh…there’s been a little bit of an accident.”

Anxiety clawed at you as he explained that Bradley had hit his head at work. He had just landed on the tarmac after a hop and had missed a step as he climbed out of his Super Hornet. He had tried to catch himself, but had hit the side of his head against the ladder and then the ground when he fell. 

“He’s fine,” Jake assured you, and you could practically hear the roll of his eyes through the phone, “he’s just a concussed dumbass who needs stitches.” 

Still, worst case scenarios sped through your mind the whole way to the hospital on base. By the time you made it through the emergency room doors, your heart was in your throat and you thought you were going to throw up. The nurse at the front desk took in your frazzled appearance and gave you a sympathetic look of her own as she handed you a visitor badge and Bradley’s room number. 

You practically sprinted down the hallway, tears stinging your eyes against your will. You barely registered the laughter filtering out of the partially open door before you burst through it. Your eyes immediately landed on Bradley where he sat on the edge of the bed, still in his flight suit, hand holding a red stained towel to his head. He looked dazed when he looked over, but a smile tugged at his lips when he met your eyes.  

“Hey, Pumpkin.” 

Relief rushed through you when he spoke the name. Several of your friends were crowded in the small room, but you paid them no mind as you rushed to your husband’s side, nearly tripping over Jake’s extended legs. 

“Are you okay?” you asked urgently. 

“I’m fine,” he assured, and with his free hand he tugged you between his dangling legs and wrapped his arm around your back in a loose hug. You’re mindful of the wound on his head as you accept the embrace gratefully. You kissed his cheek when you pulled away, before surveying every inch of his face. You stared into his eyes for a long moment, checking for any sign of confusion or lack of recognition. But it was your Bradley staring back at you, his dark gaze unfocused from the pain meds they had given him on his arrival, but him, nonetheless. You heaved out a long breath as some of the stress left you. Then your face twisted into a glare and you smacked his arm. 

“You almost gave me a heart attack! It hasn’t even been a year yet since the last time, Bradley! Jesus!” 

Someone snickered behind you but you’re too focused on the man sitting on the edge of the bed. He’s still smiling despite your ire. 

“What?” you demanded, “why are you smiling? This is not a smiling matter.” 

“I remembered something,” he said, and he looked so happy that you thought it must be something of significance to him. You wracked your brain thinking of what he still hadn’t remembered that could cause this excitement, but he kept going before you could ask. 

“You don’t drink Fireball because you threw up all over your date at a frat party in college after taking too many shots of it,” he announced loudly, smile stretching. Your eyes widened in alarm. “And seeing me play pool at the Hard Deck makes you horn-” 

You slapped a hand over his mouth to stop him from continuing. Heat erupted under your skin as your friends laughed. You cleared your throat in embarrassment. 

“Let’s save these memories for when we’re alone, okay?” 

He looked completely unbothered and so damn proud of himself at the same time, like he always did when he remembered something. He kissed your palm, mumbling unintelligible words into your skin. You removed your hand so he could speak clearly. 

“What?”  

“Love you,” he murmured. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” 

Some of the embarrassment, anger, and pure fear that you had been feeling faded away as a surge of love and fondness shot through you. You pressed another kiss to his cheek. “I love you too.” 

Right as the doctor walked into the room to stitch the cut, though, Bradley smirked, wiggling his eyebrows. The look he gave you was full of mischief. “You can definitely punish me for it later if you want. I know you like that, too.”

----

Forgetful Boy Masterlist :: Forgotten Moments Masterlist :: Main Masterlist

Notes: This was very fun. I love them so so much🧡

Tagging some of my Forgetful Boy loyalists off the top of my head:

@mak-32 @roosterforme @greatszu @sometimesanalice @gretagerwigsmuse @laracrofted @wkndwlff @bellaireland1981 @teacupsandtopgun @je-suis-prest-rachel @na-ta-sh-aa @gigisimsonmars @crustyhoneybadger @notroosterbradshaw @lt-spork @ijustwantedplums @jynxmirage @imnotcreativeenoughforthisblog

[babyhatesreality]

Steve seems to be strict but loving and gentle at the same time.

How would he handle a situation where she hurts herself on accident and he told her many times before that she is not allowed to do it.

But she did it anyway (not because she was on a bratty time just curious in her little space and didn’t think of any consequences that may hurt her in anyway) 🥺

Hello Nonnie! Thank you for your fantastic ask! This one took me a minute, but I hope this works for you. Hugs to you, and big thanks <3

X Marks the Spot

Pairing: Daddy!Stucky x little f!reader (featuring Steve)

Warnings: DDLG (SSC), f! reader, nicknames, reader is named but name scarcely used, hand swat, reader is overly dramatic (from one of my stories? What??), stern Bucky, reader gets hurt (minor), tears, stern Steve, scolding, time out, threat of spanking, fluffity fluff fluff fluff.

YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMPTION. THIS STORY IS SFW- THE REST OF MY BLOG IS NOT NECESSARILY SO. MINORS DNI. I DO NOT CONSENT FOR MY WORK TO BE STOLEN, COPIED, OR TRANSLATED ONTO ANY OTHER SITE BUT MY OWN. Likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated. 

"It's so SHINY," you said in hushed wonder, reaching out again. The gigantic golden key sparkled in the late afternoon light as it sat on the coffee table. 

Steve's gentle hand intercepted yours for the fourth time in as many minutes. "I said no touching, Baby," he said gently, bouncing you a bit on his lap to try to distract you. "I need you to listen. I've already told you this four times. Don’t touch the key."

"But Papa....it's...so SHINY," you moaned, completely obsessed with the forbidden object and your inability to touch it. 

Steve shook his head, smiling. His grip stayed firm on your waist as he looked up at Bucky. "I think we're going to need to stop reading The Hobbit to her at bedtime," he joked. Bucky grinned back.

"Yeah, she's starting to sound too much like Gollum," he agreed, before ruffling your hair. “She’s one step away from drooling.” You batted Bucky’s hand away, as the movement was distracting you from staring at the light dancing off the key's golden surface.

This morning, the original six Avengers had been given Keys to the City in a huge and pompous outdoor ceremony. You'd been so well behaved, proudly sitting up straight in the uncomfortable white wooden chairs. You had been dressed in your currently favorite blue dress and held Bucky's hand all through the ceremony, Bucky himself in full uniform. Bucky, Pepper, and Jane had all been on unofficial Little duty, making sure you all sat still on the front row and been on your best behavior while you watched your caregivers receiving their accolades. You tried your hardest not to fidget even though the one guy in the ugly suit just kept talking and talking. You were rewarded for your good behavior with a peppermint candy from Daddy. When Papa appeared on the stage, you waved to him, just a little, and he winked back at you. It was the best. And then, the Key came out. 

The second you got a look at that key, everything else faded away for you. It was huge, it was so pretty, and it was calling to you to worship it with all the obsession of a Little. You reached out again, dying to touch the beautiful object. 

Instead of moving your hand this time, Steve gave it a swat instead. It wasn’t terribly hard, but it got your attention. You pouted but Papa wasn’t having it. 

“I told you five times, Baby,” Steve said sternly. “You deserved that and you know it.”

“Definitely time to move this thing out of sight,” Bucky said, picking up the key. They didn’t necessarily have a problem with you touching the key- it was the aftermath that would be the issue. Once you touched it, you were going to want to play with it, and it definitely wasn’t something to be played with. “How about our office?”

“Noooooo!!” you wailed dramatically, squirming to get out of Steve’s grasp. Their office was off limits to you unless they were in there and had said that you could come in. In your little mind, this was the same as the key being shipped to the other side of the world. You wriggled, desperate to get off Papa’s lap. He didn’t let go, which only made you try harder. Bucky sighed patiently and kneeled down to your level.

“Listen up Trouble,” he said sternly, making you stop your squirming instantly. You knew better than to challenge that tone of voice. “This key is not a toy. You are not allowed to play with it. You are not allowed to touch it. Do you understand?” he said, looking you dead in the eye. 

“Yes, Daddy,” you said miserably, deflating. He smiled at you, then leaned forward and kissed your forehead. 

“Don’t worry,” Bucky said, back to his joking self as he stood up. “I’m sure your instinct to survive will kick in shortly.” And with that, he took the beautiful key out of your line of sight. You twisted on Papa’s lap, watching it for as long as you could, sighing heavily when he walked into their office. 

“It’s okay, honey bee,” Steve said, suppressing his grin at your sighs as he cuddled you into his chest. “It will all be okay.”

“But how’s come I can’t touch it?” you said sadly. “I just want to touch it a little, Papa!”

“Because, Baby, it’s not something for little girls to touch.”

“Why?”

Steve bounced you against just a bit, before craning his head to look you full in the face. “Well, love, because it’s a treasure.”

“Like a hobbit treasure?”

“Kind of like a hobbit treasure, yes. It’s something very special and very important.”

“Yeah! Is really ‘portant cause it opens the whole city.”

“...What?”

“Daddy said is a key to the city. How does it open all the doors if it’s so big? Does the doors get bigger?”

Steve laughed and cuddled you closer again. He loved your curiosity and explanations for everything. “It’s a symbolic thing, peanut. It doesn’t actually open all the doors to the city.”

“Oh. Dat’s no fun. Can I touch it now?”

“Still no. It’s very heavy and it’s not a toy. It’s something that we treasure.”

*******************************************************************************

The next day, you had the best idea you had ever had in your entire life. This idea blew every other fantasy world you had created out of the water. You were going to be a dragon and guard Papa’s treasure. 

You wanted to make it a surprise, so when he and Bucky had both come separately to check on you while you were in your playroom, you had shrieked and thrown yourself over your little table scattered with crayons and markers to hide your secrets. You were coloring one of your paper costume masks to look like a dragon and then you were going to use your dress-up rainbow butterfly wings to complete the look. You didn’t want them getting any hints before the big reveal. 

You spent some time gathering the rest of your treasures- everything from your full box of costume play jewelry to the compass in Papa’s bedside drawer to your favorite red shirt that smelled like Daddy, to the rest of your Halloween candy that you’d been carefully hoarding and your most favoritest pictures of you and your daddies. Your room was a colossal mess, but it was worth it. There was only one thing left to get. You put Jellybean at the base of your treasure mountain with strict instructions to guard it all till you were back. You donned your butterfly wings and your mask and you were off. 

You tiptoed very carefully towards their office. You knew you weren’t supposed to be in there, but this was a surprise and you were doing a good thing,so that automatically made it okay, right? Papa was folding laundry in the bedroom, and Daddy had just gotten back from the big Avengers gym and was in the shower. You were in the clear. 

You carefully turned the knob to their office and slipped in. And there it was- in all its shiny golden glory, on the highest shelf, much too tall for you. You set your face determinedly. Nothing was gonna keep this dragon away from the treasure. 

You climbed right up those shelves like you’d seen Peter do when he was wearing his Spidey suit. You reached up over your head and finally...FINALLY...got your hands on that beautiful key. 

Suddenly, your right foot slipped sideways and you lost your balance. You tumbled through the air, and the next thing you knew you were on your back on the floor. You didn’t even have a moment to figure out what had happened before the large metal key decided to follow you down, landing squarely on the top of your foot. And it HURT. Really bad. 

The second he heard your wail, Steve bolted across the apartment, terror gripping his heart. He raced towards your cries, running into the office, and dropped to his knees beside you. "You’re gonna be okay, baby, it’s okay,” he said in a rush, trying to keep his voice calm so as not to frighten you further. He looked around himself quickly, trying to figure out what had happened, when he saw the key laying by your foot. It took him two seconds to put the puzzle pieces together.  “Did you fall backwards?” he asked frantically as Bucky raced into the room, still dripping wet from the shower. When you gave a sobbing ‘yes’, he gently began feeling the different parts of you that might have been affected. He let you sit up after a moment, and reached for your foot. “Did the key fall on your foot?” he asked, trying to carefully move it. You cried even harder, even with his gentle touch, and before you knew it, you were in Uncle Tony’s lab getting your foot X-Rayed by Uncle Bruce, who was working in there at the time. 

“It’s not broken,” Bruce finally declared. Both Steve and Bucky let out a sigh of relief. “Just probably going to be pretty sore and have a nasty bruise for a while. She should stay off it for a day or two. Keep it elevated and iced.” He gave you some liquid Tylenol, which made you wrinkle your nose at the taste but at least your forgot about your sore foot for a moment. Uncle Bruce gave you a gentle kiss on the cheek and said he liked your dragon mask before giving Papa and Daddy the okay to take you home. 

Papa kept you cuddled into his chest as the three of you rode the elevator back to your floor. You were starting to get a little nervous. They had told you not to touch the key and then you’d gotten hurt doing exactly that. Doing dangerous stuff got you in BIG trouble, and you knew it. 

Once you got home, Papa took you straight to the couch and sat you down on the corner of it, so you could stretch your foot out as Daddy went into the kitchen to make an ice pack. Papa leaned down to look at you, his hands on his knees. You shrank down in your guilt and nerves. 

“You are in time out here on this couch for the next five minutes, young lady,” Papa said firmly. “I expect you to act like you do when you’re in time out in the corner. Same rules apply. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Papa,” you whispered, bowing your head in shame. Papa stood up and walked away, as Daddy came in and sat by your foot, silently set the ice pack on the blooming bruise. 

“That okay?” he asked. When you nodded, he stood up. “Good. Time out starts now.” As he walked away, you picked a bit at the edge of your shirt, then looked back at the ice pack. The pain was starting to fade a bit, but that made it even worse because now you were REALLY feeling guilty. But you were a good girl and didn’t fidget. You thought about what you did like you were supposed to. 

A few minutes later, you overheard whispers from the kitchen area, but you knew better than to turn to look while you were still in time out. You heard Papa say “I got this”, before he walked into the living room. He sat down right where Daddy had been, and gently squeezed the toes of your not-hurt foot. 

“Alright, Katie-Cat, time out is over,” he said gently. “Tell me why you were in time out.”

“Cause I touched the key and I wasn’t a’sposed to,” you replied, looking at your hands twisting together in your lap.

“That’s right. You were also in Daddy and Papa’s office. Are you allowed to go in there without permission?”

“No, Papa.”

“No, you are not. And you went in there to play with the key that you knew you weren’t allowed to, didn’t you?”

“Um...yes but no.”

“ ‘Yes...but no’? What do you mean?”

“I didn’t wanna play with the key, ‘cause you said I can’t play with the key, so i wasn’t gonna PLAY with it.”

“If you weren’t going to play with it, what were you doing in there trying to get it down?”

You finally looked up at him, pointing miserably to the mask that was still on top of your head. “Imma dragon, Papa. Was gonna GUARD the key ‘cause you said it was a treasure and I wanted it to be safe ‘cause you liked it.”

Steve’s stern gaze softened a bit at your explanation. “Ah, I see,” he said gently, a hint of smirk crossing his face. “But that means you also would have gotten to touch the key, doesn’t it?” You sucked your lips into your mouth, stalling for as long as you could. “Katie,” he said in THAT tone. You sighed heavily. 

“Um...yeah, I guess.”

“No, there’s no ‘I guess’ about it. It was very sweet of you to want to protect the key but you knew that your plans involved you doing something you weren’t supposed to. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, Papa,” you whispered, your eyes filling with tears. 

“Now, I think you definitely got a good taste of why I told you not to touch it. Your foot hurts pretty bad, right?” You nodded miserably. “When you don’t listen to me or Daddy, you can get hurt. That’s when the dangerous stuff happens. And you know exactly what happens when you put yourself in danger.” You nodded, just knowing you were in for it now. “Well, I’m not going to spank you this time.” Your head shot up, your eyes wide in disbelief. Papa smiled gently at you. He reached out a hand to stroke your cheek. “Your bottom is probably going to be pretty sore already from that fall you took,” he teased you for a moment, before gently taking your chin in his thumb and forefinger. “But if you ever try something like that again, you’re going over my knee, little girl. You know we don’t tolerate you putting yourself in danger. Understood?”

Swallowing hard, you nodded vigorously. “Yes, Papa, I understand.”

“Good girl. Now, your punishment for the rest of the day is to stay on this couch. You heard Uncle Bruce- no running around for the next two days. And you may read or color, but no TV.” You wanted to slump down and pout, but considering you were getting off super light from putting yourself in danger, you weren’t about to push your luck. “Do you have anything you want to say to me?”

“I sowwy, Papa, didn’t mean to be....ALL bad.” Steve couldn’t help but chuckle at your reluctant but honest answer. “I won’t be a dwagon again, I pwomise.”

“Well, now, that’s a shame, because you’re a pretty cute dragon,” he said, leaning into you and grinning. You giggled a bit. “Was this what you were working on in your playroom earlier?”

You nodded joyfully, glad that you were off the punishment talk. “Yeah! I made a dragon mask to go with my dragon wings this morning! D’you like ‘em?”

“I do! I think you did a great job on your look,” Papa said, moving so he was sitting next to you on the couch. He put his arm around you and cuddled you into his side. “And I bet that in a couple days when your foot heals up, we can make a safe dragon treasure for you to guard so you can play dragons all you want. Sound good?”

“You can play dragons too with me! I already made a treasure pile, Papa! You can go see it in my room if you wanna!”

Steve turned at hearing Bucky’s footsteps coming towards you two, having just come from exploring your room. He didn’t make eye contact as he walked past, looking exhausted. 

“I wouldn’t look in there if I were you,” Bucky groaned to his husband. 

“Is it really that bad?”

“Let’s put it this way. You remember that time in Poland when we infiltrated the base looking for the lab documents?”

“THAT bad?”

“Worse.”

[circinuus]

I was wondering if I could request Dazai (possibly Chuuya too, seperate) taking care of a sick s/o? gn please! Take ur time and take care of urself! <33

taking care of a sick s/o

ft dazai, chuuya. 0.7k words

gn!reader

❥ hi nonnie! tysm for the request and the sweet message ♡ if you're not feeling well, i hope you'll get well soon! sorry this one isn't too good, i need to practice writing more

"Dazai, get awayy-"

Your protest was cut by your miserable sneeze, before further drowned in your lover's long whine.

Hell hath no fury like flu during fall, you concluded. And seeing your currently pouting beloved, it seems that it's not that less of a nightmare for him too. Food and medicines are down. Yet, the body pains and subtle headaches still linger.

Dazai had noticed the way you slump at your desk. Hidden among the piles of abysmal paperwork was you sighing and kneading your temple to quell a grating pain that wasn't supposed to be there. Dazai had noticed this; the lack of enthusiasm and vigor in your ever-refreshing smile. And that was all it takes for him to take you by the hand and throw some well-crafted excuse to Kunikida, dragging you back to your shared abode.

That was a few hours ago. 

"Shouldn't you be back at the agency?"

"And leave you alone?" he gasps, partly offended at how you inch away from his kiss. "My flower, what if you're dying from your cold?"

'Oh! we can finally have a double suicide!' he said. 'But death by sickness is nasty,' he then deflates. Despite his vocal laments, they soon fade to nothing but a white noise as your mind drifts to the pile of unfinished works and reports, eyes blank from the haze of your worry and malady.

"A frown doesn't suit you, belladonna," soft fingers rest on your head, and suddenly you are conscious of the creases forming on your brow and the taut arch on your lips.

"Shh, it's okay," his whispers flows to your ears like a lilting tune. Your eyes find their way to his, and swirling in his eyes is a sentiment so foreign. So latched with raw, genuine concern, ripped off all the playful and mischievous glint you wished you weren't the reason for such disconsolate eyes.

"Dazai-"

"Rest." he presses a kiss on your eyelid. Your words soon die in a blissful sigh, too tired and too content to propose another protest.

With his gentle strokes, the angry storm of uneasiness and sickly discomfort dull, and sweet lull of sleep finally embraces you.

You much rather not let your lovable waste of bandage catch your cold. But alas, you are only human. And what can a mere human do when they feel their lover's warmth engulfing their being? So loving and solicitous; you are helpless under his touch.

Besides, you owe him as much for making him this worried.

Chuuya frowns as he observes the thermometer.

"I should call the doctor back."

"Love, please," the thick blanket he draped over you slightly shifts. "He was just here."

'It's just a silly cold, anyway,' a huff escapes your sore throat. But Chuuya isn't all convinced. A deep furrow nestled itself on his brow, and for a second you think he's mad. Maybe it has something to do with you passing out in his office just now; something about fatigue and seasonal flu, the doctor just said.

The mafioso heaves a long sigh before moving closer to sit at the edge of your bed.

"(Name), y'know how much you made me worry?"

"I had the medicines already. I should be fine." you sniff, red-nosed and voice strained. 

"But.. sorry."

"Hey, hey, sweetheart, it's not your fault" he is quick to shush you, fingers moving to rub circles on your hand. "I should've taken care of you better."

"You know it's not your fault," you interlace your hands together. They fit so well, you smile. And from Chuuya's chuckle, he seems to notice your sentiment.

"You're such a sweet thing, aren't you, doll?" he presses a loving kiss on your knuckles. Now you weren't sure it was him or the flu that was burning your cheeks.

"Rest up and don't worry your pretty head." He gives your hand a final reassuring squeeze. "I'll take care of everything,"

Chuuya moves to smooth your blanket, tucking you in for the night. And yes, he resists the urge to press a goodnight kiss on your lips, as much as he doesn't want to wait until your flu goes away. But you can feel the comfort of his hands never leaving yours throughout the night.

♡ @ashthemadwriter

[bit-dodgy-innit]

Cuff(ed) It

Part of my 500 Follower Celebration set in The Shape of Youniverse

The Prompt: You and Steven attend his department holiday party 

Requested by: a lovely nonnie!!

Pairing: Steven x afab!reader, background Jake x afab!reader, and Marc x afab!reader, Reader is married to the system

Spice-O-Meter: 🌶🌶🌶 (Rated Explicit, Minors DNI!)

Word Count: 3.8k 

CW/TW: Tonight we’re pleased to offer Steven’s students being thirsty for him, talk of meddling in one’s marriage (nothing serious though), tipsy (but still very consensual) sex, exhibitionism, f!receiving fingering, mirror!sex, doggy!style, mentions of pregnancy and conceiving, breeding kink, lactation kink and breastplay, dirty talk, tooth-rotting sappiness over little bebes at the end 

A/N: THE FINAL PROMPT FILL! WOOOOO ONLY TOOK ME A SHORT QUICK THREE-ODD MONTHS TO GET THROUGH THEM ALL 😝 This fic? Gonna be honest, she’s a bit chaotic, but in the best way I hope. I started writing it, felt stuck, opened a new document and this poured out. Translations at the bottom of the post! 

“You know, I never noticed it until tonight, but you know who’s actually quite fit?”

“Who?”

“Doctor Grant.”

“Oh girl I knowwwwwww. At school he slouches and wears those dorky shirts, but at stuff like this, when he’s in a suit and his wife’s with him, I always remember how sneaky-hot he is.”

“Oh my god, exactly!”

“It’s like a department rite-of-passage to fancy Doctor Grant a bit, if I’m honest, especially after the holiday party or a fundraiser for the school or something when we all remember how bloody handsome he is.”

“I thought it was just me!” the first girl (a graduate student was your educated guess) giggled.

“No, it’s definitely a thing,” her friend confirmed.

You stood paralyzed in the restroom stall as the conversation unfolded on the other side. You’d already peed, should you leave the little cubicle and inevitably interrupt them?

Would they recognize you? You didn’t want to embarrass them. They were right after all, Doctor Grant was really quite fit, though you were admittedly biased.

Plus a craven, vain, possessive part of you wanted to hear more. With a six-month-old at home, your husband in the midst of three careers, and just the sheer amount of time you’d been together, sometimes the melee of life could make you forget just how well you’d done in the spouse department. It was nice to be reminded.

“What’s the tea on his wife, hm? How did Mrs. Grant cuff that?” The first girl prodded.

Her question was a sentence to stay in the stall. They definitely would recognize you if you emerged now.

“No idea honestly,” her companion answered, “I mean, she’s definitely pretty. They told Dean they met through a friend, and on their first date he took her to an exhibit of her favorite artist and like did all this research to impress her.”

“He had to impress her?” she echoed, her tone tinged with disbelief. Your brow furrowed. Yes, your husband was a fox, but you weren’t totally out of his league, were you? You were certainly worthy of being courted a bit, even if you did jump into bed with Marc on the first date. “I’d be on my knees every night for a guy who looked like Doctor G and was so romantic.”

They both burst more giggles. To be fair, you did spend a fair amount of time on your knees. Especially since you’d started dating Marc first, who unlike Steven, had his fair share of bedmates and exuded more inherent confidence. It intimidated you. So when you started sleeping together, you’d concocted a self-imposed need to prove to Marc that you were up to par, if not capable of exceeding, his former lovers. It was why when you learned his ex-wife was The (stupidly stunning) Scarlet Scarab, you wholly lost your shit. How does one compete with a gorgeous superhero?

“I bet she’s on them a fair bit,” Miss Know-It-All divulged, “Doctor Burke did her doctorate along with him and they didn’t start seeing each other until his last year of the course. And now they’re married and just had a baby. Bitch worked quick.”

“Honestly, can’t knock it,” the first girl conceded.

Thank you, you thought. A part of you wanted to interject that Nyla had been unexpectedly conceived on your honeymoon and you’d dated Marc for a year, then him and his alters for another year after that before getting engaged. The pair of you also weren’t literal babies like these girls currently gossiping a meter away from you. You were both adults, your husband was in his forties for heaven's sake.

“I bet the baby’s cute,” she mused further.

“Oh my goodness, he hasn’t showed you? All Doctor G does is bang on about Nyla. It’s literally either coursework or his kid if you talk to him.”

Your heart swelled. This wasn’t the first time you’d heard from Steven’s colleagues what a proud papa he was to your little girl. Hearing it from strangers, and completely unprompted, was extra special though.

“I’ve never really had a reason to talk to him, and now I don’t know if I can actually without looking like a total idiot.”

“No, he’s really sweet, he’s the type of fit guy who doesn’t know he’s fit. And he’s like scary clever. You can ask him literally anything about ancient Egypt and he knows it. But he’s also not an arsehole about it you know? I’m applying to be his TA next semester.”

“Are you?” she gasped. “Really?”

“Ummm yeah, why wouldn’t I want a dishy, brilliant thesis advisor?” Miss Know-It-All countered. “He should be at Oxford or Cambridge really. You know Sam Miller babysits for them?”

“They do?!” Her friend exclaimed. “Don’t know if I’d want that gig for the inside scoop or if it’d be too much pressure. Their kid is still a baby right?”

“Yeah, I’d say it’s worth it to suss out if Doctor G and her are open to…let’s say, ‘featured players’ in the bedroom.”

“Stop Emma, you’re terrible!”

“She came to one of his lectures once with the baby and Dean thought he heard them fucking in his office.”

Fuck, you swore internally. Steven had sworn the offices would be empty! You’d kept quiet!

“Noooo! Doctor G is hot I’ll give you that, but he dresses like my grandpa. There’s no way he’s that kinky.”

“Maybe he’s not, but she could be,” Emma pointed out. “Only one way to find out.”

“You are such a slag,” Emma’s friend accused her playfully. “Come on, we need to get back, I want another drink.”

You heard two pairs of heels shuffle to the door, then it open and close behind them, and at last the coast was clear. Finally exiting the stall, you robotically washed your hands and touched up your lipstick, moving to check that your hair still looked decent afterwards.

Your gaze lingered in the mirror to give yourself a once-over. You’d chosen a flattering, but pretty conservative dress for Steven’s UCL holiday party. Sure, there wasn’t much you could do about the size your tits had swollen up to while you were breastfeeding, but they weren’t necessarily on display tonight either. Your currently huge boobs were for your husband’s eyes (plus hands, mouth, and sometimes cock) only.

Despite your attempts to leave the eavesdropped chat between Emma and her friend in the loo where it belonged, it became obvious fairly quickly that you failed spectacularly at doing so.

“You alright?” Steven inquired, his features creased with concern. “You were in the toilets for ten minutes and have barely said a word since. Something wrong?”

“I’m fine, sorry honey,” you dispelled the worry from his face. “Just overheard an interesting conversation in there that I haven’t been able to shake.”

You grabbed a fresh glass of wine from a passing server while Steven asked “What about?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“Mmmhmm,” you confirmed, taking a swig of cabernet. “It’s apparently a UCL Ancient Civ rite-of-passage to have a crush on you.”

Your husband looked at you like you’d sprouted another head. His incredulity made you burst into laughter.

“What? I’m not surprised! You’re a very good-looking, intelligent, kind man! I’ve been telling you this since we first met, after all this time—“ you leaned in and lowered your voice to add “—and all the ways I’ve let you fuck me, do you really believe that us getting married and having Nyla was just some cosmic fluke?”

“Honestly? Yeah.”

“Baby—“

Steven averted his gaze and shrugged, offering “Marc was always the handsome one…” as his explanation.

That line. It made you want to whip your wine glass across the room. You restrained yourself and instead growled through gritted teeth, “It feels silly for me to have to remind you as much as I do that you two share the exact same face and body.”

“But still—“

“No more buts anymore Steven! You have co-eds hot for you, you’re officially sexy independent of Marc,” you teased. “And you ought to feel lucky that we’re secure enough in our marriage that I’m not bothered by it. Especially since one of them wants to be your TA and replace Sam as our sitter to see if we’re into threesomes. Which I guess is better than trying to steal you from me outright, to be fair.”

Another gaping incredulous stare from Steven. “Who?”

“I didn’t get her name,” you lied. Truth was, Emma didn’t have a popsicle’s chance in hell at interfering in your marriage. Never mind that you and Steven were deeply in love and had a child together, she hadn’t a clue about the D.I.D, Marc’s past life as a mercenary, his ex-wife, not to mention the service to the Egyptian god of the moon which led to a stint as a superhero. You two had shared and been through too much for a horny twenty-something to impact what you had. “But apparently Dean heard us when we…um, had ‘parental time’ in your office a couple months ago.”

“Bollocks.”

“We knew we were being naughty,” you shrugged.

“Because it was your idea,” he muttered.

“Oh don’t start with me, Doctor Grant. You’re the one who told me not to use the nursing apron,” you fired back. “Didn’t you want to say hi to the department’s Director of Education? There he is.”

***

The rest of the evening unfolded uneventfully, though Emma and her friend, who you learned was named Marnie, did stop by for a quick chat. You were content to clam up and just watch the interaction unfold. They were perfectly polite, unlike their prattling in the bathroom, though they very much fit the trope of a pair of giggling schoolgirls. Steven, of course, was oblivious.

Blame it on the wine, the rare baby-less outing, and being emboldened by strangers raving about how hot your husband was, but when Dean insisted that you and Steven come to the after-party at a pub nearby, you insisted on going. Steven was only one of the professors in attendance, because he was one of the younger, cooler ones, therefore the vibe was much more relaxed and festive than the one at the official university get-together.

You’d had Dean over for dinner (a takeaway dinner that you had to constantly get up from the table because Nyla had started teething that week, but dinner still) so spending time with him was easy and delightful while Steven mingled with his other colleagues.

You also liked to privately touch base with him about Steven’s professional wellbeing. Your husband was tight-lipped about any office woes, and while Dean wasn’t privy to your husband’s D.I.D., you knew that sometimes aspects of it could manifest in your husband’s workplace. The last thing you wanted to do was interfere, but Steven truly loved what he did, and as his wife with a tendency to fret, you liked to keep a tab or two to ensure nothing jeopardized his passion.

“I’m impressed,” Dean remarked as you two huddled outside the pub while he had smoke. “You haven’t batted an eye at all the little first-year masters students throwing themselves at him.”

You laughed. Steven’s hot professor status was really department-wide thing it seemed. “I can’t blame them. He’s very dreamy, but I baby-trapped him so…”

Dean cackled when you punctuated your response with a shrug. “No flies on you, darling. Cheers.”

You and your husband gracefully bowed out when mentions of moving to a club began to take hold. Too tipsy and tired for the Tube, Steven flagged a cab for the both of you, even though it meant that he’d have Jake backseat-driving in his head the whole ride back to Brixton.

Once inside, you rested your head on your husband’s shoulder, hoping to maybe doze off for a few minutes in case Nyla was up when you got home. Steven automatically pressed a kiss to your temple. He was so solid and warm, so safe, you couldn’t help but snuggle closer to him and place a hand over his knee.

“In case I haven’t told you yet, you look pretty as a present tonight,” he murmured into your ear.

You don't know what it was about his compliment, perhaps it was the way he said it, or the way you’d had four glasses of wine, but Steven's soft words of adoration set your body alight.

“Hmm, thank you darling,” The hand that was on his knee traveled towards his inseam to squeeze the meat of his thigh. “Wanna unwrap me? Or maybe just take off the bow? I’d let you slip my knickers aside and play with your present right now if you wanted.”

“Bloody hell,” he groaned, both at your filthy offer and the fact that you’d dragged your hand to cup him through his trousers. “Babe, he’ll see.”

The cabbie had airbuds in (a personal pet peeve of Jake’s) and eyes trained on the road. You shook your head imperceptibly. “Not if we’re careful about it.”

To prove your point, you subtly shifted to drape your thigh over Steven’s leg so he could do just as you suggested. It seemed that your fondling of your husband’s package, steadily but insistently coaxing him to hardness, was able to convince him to follow suit. He tucked his hand under your skirt, mimicking your approach, dragging his palm slowly up your leg. Next, his nimble fingers nudged the dampened crotch of your knickers aside and delved between your folds.

You could feel Steven’s length jump and swell when he made contact with your pussy. It prompted you to rub at him a little harder, biting your lip when one of his digits penetrated you.

“My saucy exhibitionist minx,” he purred into your ear.

“Says the man who screws me in cafe loos,” you shot back without any real heat. How could you be snarky when Steven was slowly, torturously finger-fucking you and his hot, hard manhood was pulsing under your palm?

“Mmmm, I always get a stiffy when we eat there now,” Steven confessed in a whisper about your neighborhood cafe. “That was insane, sucking at your titties and riding my cock like that in the middle of the day.”

“I know daddy,” you sighed, clenching around his digit at the thought. “So naughty, but so good.”

The remainder of the ride home passed in a labored silence between you two, both trying to enjoy each other’s ministrations, but not so much that you clued in the driver. There was one close call when Steven had the gall to sneak another finger inside of you. You nearly drew blood biting your lip to stifle moaning at the intrusion, since it meant you could get straight to fucking once you arrived home.

Tonight wasn’t the first date night you’d come chomping at the bit to make love, so thankfully you two had a pre-established routine. Steven used his coat to cover his groin and went straight to the nursery to check on Nyla while you paid and said goodnight to Sam (your desire was easier to conceal after all). Once Nyla was confirmed to be asleep and Sam had left, you met in your bedroom and tore each other’s clothes off.

The wine warped the edges of your perception, making the clash of teeth and tongues between you and Steven blur into a buzz of arousal, until next thing you knew you were naked, on your hands and knees and your husband was pushing his thick erection inside of you in one determined, smooth shove. You almost moaned the wrong name, nearly keening “Jake” when he entered you, because the position wasn’t one in Steven’s usual rotation. He much preferred for you to ride him, or for you to be on your back - any position where he could sink into your cunt and suckle at your nipples simultaneously.

You weren’t complaining however, and happily pushed back into his thrusts. It wasn’t until Steven angled his hips just right to hit your g-spot, and you threw your head back that you realized it. “We’re in front of the mirror.”

“Mmmhmm,” Steven confirmed, “like to see your tits swing and…ungh, they’ve been watching since you started groping me in the taxi.”

The revelation that Marc and Jake were privy to your coupling had a fresh wave of heat racing down your spine and pooling in your core as Steven continued to rail you.

“Was just so horny for you baby,” you explained, “everyone was eyeing you, but you’re mine and you know you’re mine and I know you’re mine, but I just wanted to feel it. I…I couldn't wait. ”

“You have us now,” he assured you. “Can’t count how many times we’ve seen people checking you out and you’re none the wiser. They can look, but you belong to us, don't you?”

“Yesssss daddy,” you mewled, now equally drunk off the alcohol and your arousal. “Keep giving me your big prick, feels so good.”

“Vamos, Steven, let’s give her more of this big prick she wants so badly,” Jake’s voice growled from behind you. His broad arms moved from your hips to encase your waist and pulled you upright, “Te gusta nena? Like being impaled on our cock like this?”

Your answer was non-verbal, but unmistakably emphatic.

“I think she likes it,” Marc’s American accent chuckled darkly from behind you.  

You whined the increase in fullness the change in position brought about, paired with the image you all made in the mirror together. You were first drawn to your husband’s determined expression, so set on his objective to make you see stars that his face was twisted into a snarl. Next, you glimpsed your large breasts heaving with every snap of his hips, and your cunt speared open on his massive erection. The sheer depravity of your reflection made you tilt your head back onto your husband’s broad shoulder and screw your eyes shut.

You knew Steven had wrestled back control of the body when his two large hands found your tits and began to pluck at your nipples. “Love you so much darling, want more kids together. Want Nyla to be just the first.”

His words made your channel flutter around his length at the thought.

“Would you let me? Maybe not tonight, but I want to fill you up with every last drop of my cum, keep these titties big and leaking for me, watch your belly grow again with another gorgeous child.”

“Ohhh fuck Steven,” you gasped, “I want that too.”

“Yeah? You want me to pump you full again?” He urged you, one hand leaving your nipple to suck his soaked fingertip into his mouth for a taste of your milk.

“Please, please, please,” you chanted. You didn’t want another kid right away, but seeing what excellent fathers your husband made definitely meant you wanted more babies eventually. “For now though, will you just make me cum?”

“‘Course darling,” he rumbled, his hand dropping to your clit to push you over the edge. You’d been simmering with yearning all night, so it didn’t take much more than Steven’s hand on your clit, his other on your breast, and his length hammering into you from behind to drown you in ecstasy.

You crumpled back against Steven’s chest while your orgasm coursed through you, too overwhelmed with pleasure to support yourself. Your husband buried his nose in your hair, inhaling your scent deeply and reveling in the beauty of your release that was unfolding in his arms.

You’d barely floated back down to earth before Steven manhandled you back onto your elbows while he chased his respective climax. The relentless pistoning of his cock into your spent hole emptied every thought from your head that wasn’t “yes”, “good” , or “full”. It wasn’t long before you felt your husband’s seed painting your inner walls and collapsing on top of you.

The late hour and the alcohol made you both slower in extracting yourselves from one another, and after exchanging some sated, passionate kisses, you made a beeline to relieve yourself and wash off your makeup. Steven joined you a moment later in the en-suite to begin his respective nighttime regimen. You two readied for bed in companionable silence. Then:

“It was Emma and Marnie, wasn’t it?”

“Yup,” you replied, popping the p as you dotted on moisturizer, “Don’t hold it against them though, I think Emma’s going to apply to be your TA. It was all harmless in the loo, I promise.”

“Alright,” he surrendered. Despite still feeling buzzed, you clocked a momentary conversation between Steven and an alter in the mirror above the sink. Whatever they said to one another, it prompted Steven to add, “You’re very confident about having us all wrapped around your little finger, aren't you?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” you parried, meeting your husband’s gaze in the mirror. “Especially when I still probably have some of your cum inside me.”

“Esposita está tan descarada esta noche,” Jake pushed forward to remark.

“Soy--no...estoy un poco borracha todavía,” you confessed. As if your husband needed more proof the wine continued to affect you, you announced out of seemingly nowhere, “I need to say night-night to Ny-Ny.”

Steven intervened, catching you when you tried to bolt from the bathroom. “Darling, you can see her on the monitor. Don't wake her up.”

“Don’t tell me when I can see my baby,” you countered with sudden defensiveness that only surfaces when one’s a bit blitzed. You wriggled out of his grasp, “I’ll be quiet.”

You tipsily tip-toed down the hall to Nyla’s nursery, making good on your promise and not causing your daughter to stir at all as you crept to watch her slumber.

It wasn’t as if you wanted to pick her up or play with her, you just couldn’t fathom going to bed without bidding Nyla goodnight. Your eyes studied the little miracle before you. Her plump little feet that you could never pepper with enough kisses, the curve of her lips that must have been painted on her face by a Renaissance master, those insanely long, dark eyelashes she inherited from her father. There were no words, and never would be, to accurately describe the love you had for your daughter.

You silently blew a kiss in her direction, and found Steven in the doorway when you turned to retreat. While you were kind of peeved that he felt the need to supervise you, you weren't that drunk (you were), you pressed yourself into his warm, sturdy side as you both returned to your bedroom.

“She’s just more beautiful than I ever dreamed she’d be,” you whispered reverently.

“I know,” Steven agreed in a murmur as he guided you back to bed. “We’re the two luckiest people alive. Now let’s go to sleep, love.”

A/N: Yayyy we made it! True life: I’m Emma and Marnie IRL. Also are long, sappy afterglows my thing now? Can’t thank everyone enough for getting me to 500, playing with me and requesting these fics, waiting the approximately 98 years it took for me to fill them!! 

ESPECIALLY since in the meantime, I now have over 900 followers which is just bonkers!!!!! BONKERS I TELL YOU! I don’t think I’ll do another prompt celebration like I did for 500 if I reach 1k, but something special will come down the pipeline for sure! Love you all so much and again, from the bottom of my heart, THANK YOU! 

Translations: 

Vamos - Let’s go/Come on  

Te gusta nena? - You like it babe? 

Esposita está tan descarada esta noche - Wifey is so cheeky tonight 

Estoy un poco borracha todavía - I’m still a little drunk 

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