#tiny!y/n

[itsgothgirlthyme]

chapter 3: breakfast for two

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stranger things g/t

a/n: heavy on the dialogue. reader gains confidence but has no faith in steve. and steve is trying not to prod too much (but also he wants answers…)

borrower!reader × steve harrington

You sat on a marble kitchen table with your legs splayed out in front of you. Soft clinks of cutlery and something sizzling made you more than alarmed. Yet the food being cooked up was mouth watering, considering you hadn’t eaten in days. You watched the human hum to himself with his back turned to you. It had taken quite some convincing for him to carry you here with your permission. His round brown eyes pleaded and he muttered promises you couldn’t keep count of. Stubbornly you’d gotten off that damn pillow, and fell into soft sheets. Luckily you were fine, other than for your bruised ego. It was then, you crossed your arms, huffed, and agreed to be carried by Steve. 

You no longer shook like a leaf under the presence of him, and kept eye contact as long as possible. He smiled first in the morning as you demanded his attention. A rush of heat rose to your ears but you kept eye contact. 

“And breakfast is served,” he said as he slid his plate on the counter beside you. You eyed the plate the size of his palm, quite big for you though. There was steaming, steaming, fresh food awaiting you. You raised a brow and looked up at him. He had a towel swung over his shoulder, and his hands were on his hips. He nodded towards the plate and you got up quietly to the plate. Sitting with one knee pulled to your chest, and your broken one in front of you. 

“I know it’s kinda big, the plate,” he cringed, “but it’s the smallest thing I could find,” he said as he dragged a chair next to the island. “It's one of my mom’s china teacup plates,” he added and he ate from his own plate. 

You were silent as you ate, but internally you were celebrating. The food was delicious, the best meal you’d ever had. You devoured the big chunks in peace, despite how ravenous you were for them. 

“Hello?” Steve said your name and you looked up at him. “Hungry huh?” he asked with a laugh. “Makes sense actually,” his brows furrowed and he pursed his lips together. 

Dustin, and even the time before that. You’d never had a warm meal, and a beautiful plate to eat it from. 

“Since you liked that so much, I’ll try to cook more actually,” he said as he got up from his chair, “would be good for me anyways,” he mumbled. 

You wiped your hands as he picked up your plate. He put the dishes in the sink and turned back to you. His lips formed a thin line as he put his hands on his hips. He looked down at you expectantly. 

“What?” you asked. 

“… what else am I supposed to ask?” he paused, “what are you?” he asked.

Your eyes went back to your makeshift casket around your leg. You chewed on the bottom of your lip, feeling his eyes on the back of your head. 

“Borrower?” you muttered.

“Sorry, what?” he asked.

“A borrower,” you looked up at him.

“A what?” he squinted his eyes at you. 

“A borrower, people who borrow secretly in order to survive,” the words just rushed out of your mouth. You clasped your hands over your mouth, oh yes, tell the giant of your own people who want to be kept secret. Not that you had even seen anyone like you for years, the memory of your parents was faded at this point. You’d been alone for, god knows how long. 

“Oh good,” he let out a breath, “that’s good,” he ran his hand through his hair. 

“Wh-what would be bad about it?” you squinted at him.

“It’s complicated,” he dismissed with his hand. 

“Okay…”

You both were in the kitchen, not moving, and the only thing you could hear was a clock ticking. You filled your cheeks with air and blew it out. 

“So,” you clicked your tongue, “what are you gonna do with me?” you asked.

“Do with you?” his brows furrowed. 

“Yeah, I mean… eat me, torture me. Whatever humans do,” you said. 

“Woah woah what?” he scoffed, his hands rested by his sides. “I’m I’m not going to eat you.”

“Torture? Or–” you were cut off.

“Stop, stop,” he shook his head, and his hands were on each side of you, “I’m not going to hurt you. Remember, I promised?” he lowered his head to meet your gaze. 

Your heart hammered but your hands didn’t tremble, and you didn’t want to flee. His warm breath gently pressed on to your skin. You blinked and felt your heart swell.

“I guess,” you looked down at the smoothed marble. 

“Okay good,” his voice still soft. 

When he backed away from you let out a breath of air you’d been holding in.

“Where were you living before Dusting found you by the way?” he asked.

“Uh,” for some reason you took a second to answer, “Dustin’s home. In his walls.”

“What?!” Steve asked wide eyed. 

[luxthestrange]

KNY Incorrect quotes#123 BUT WE KNOW HOW 'THAT' TURNED OUT-

Prequel to "This"

Tiny Hashira!Y/n*Ontop of Gyomei, Wearing his haori...only his haori seeing him tied up*Dont worry~...I'll be gentle~

Gyomei*Is shacking abit with a blush*"DONT BE AHH-"

We flew too close to the sun with these waxed wings-

[glitchven]

Hhhh tiny suns and moons

(Click for better quality)

Extra stuff

[baby-tini]

Dabi with a daddy kink.

Oh, and this man would fuck you in public. Not even like, "fuck in a public bathroom," would bend you over in a restaurant with everyone watching and do it.

A/N- I just want to start this off with.. why the hell are you so right?!?! He absolutely is the type of man to do some shit like this~ 😩 I hope you like it...

CW- smut, daddy kink, public sex

The first time it happened, it was an accident and you swear by that, really you do. It was in the heat of the moment, his cock was just so deep and your brain was fuzzy, everything seemed so high and cloudy. His hand was so warm and big around your neck, lithe fingers calloused and squeezing just right. Your voice coming out garbled and squeaky, tongue limp and wet, hanging out so pretty for him. So soft and warm on his thumb as he slips it in to keep you quiet for him.

He freezes when he hears it at first, cerulean eyes shooting to your own, burning hotter than hades flames. Dilated pupils leaking uncertainty as they flicker from your irises to your lips, thumb sitting pretty wrapped in plush skin. But you give yourself away when your eyes get all wide and anxious, at that point you know, that he knows what you said. That little gargled whine of "Daddy" was real, it came from you, and fuck, the repeated spews of "sorry, 'm so sorry Touya", "didn't mean it, just so good Touya." Leave him light-headed, heart pounding against his chest, pupils dilated on a high he didn't know was achievable. There's a quick, tighter squeeze around your throat before his hand pulls away to wipe the tears off your cheeks, hands moving wet hair off sticky wet skin.

"Shhh, it's okay, calm down pretty baby, I'm right here, yeah? I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere. But I need you to say it again princess, say it again for Daddy, please?" You try to say it again, you really do, for Touya, but it comes out choked, you don't mean for it too, it gets caught in your throat when his wet thumb presses down on your sticky clit. Rubbing rough circles into the little pearl, getting leaky juices on the floor when it drips off his cock, smearing on your thighs. "Try again baby, need to hear it again, you sound so pretty, hm?" Too much. It's too fucking much, his voice is raspy and cracking, warm breath panting in you ear, pleading with you.

He gets faster in his pace, cock twitching inside it's warm confinement as his balls slap against your ass. Heavy and full, ready and willing to give you everything you need. But it's too hot and stuffy in the dirty alley-way, people walking by and laughing. Parts of different conversations bouncing off your ears as your eyes roll back. The first spurt of warm cum he fucks into your cunt, has you keeling and pleading with him, voice raising in pitch as your nails dig into un-burned skin, blood starting to leak and gather under your nails.

"Daddy please, too much please, I can't, please I swear I can't, 'm too full," his hips stutter while hitting against your own. His abs clench, body tensing in full from the euphoria. Head thrown back as his eyes clench tight, white canines biting deep into your neck, pulling away soaked in crimson as deep imprints burn in their wake. The pain leaves a dopamine rush in your brain, ears buzzing from the overstimulation of everything.

"There you go baby, there you go, 'm so proud of you, so fuckin' proud, good girl." It's all so warm. His hands burning as electric eyes stare you down and whisper praise into your ear. Warm, wet tongue licking up ruby from your throat- smearing it onto un-flawed perfect skin. The full shock that wracks through your body when you cum for him makes you feel faint, legs like jelly and thighs strained from being wrapped around his waist for so long. The cobble from the cold, stone wall leaving nasty imprints on the backs of your thighs and arms. But it's all so worth it, worth it for Dabi, worth it for Touya.. worth it for Daddy.

[ane-doodles]

Thank you!!

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

pov ur bestie saw that ur hand was within Grabbing Range and LUNGED at that opportunity (breaking u out of ur Bad Thoughts Spiral and grounding u with how silly he is)

[madamemiz]

mmm, protein!

based on this prompt:

[sun-snatcher]

( credits to the lovely @chrlie-cox for this adorable gifset ! )

✟ — 1/? | IN RE: “ODI ET AMO.” | i. The Problem with Stalemates.

summ.  You and Matt Murdock have been rivalling for Summa cum laude since the start. It’s your guys’ thing. So when you start to slip— it only makes sense that it’s him who catches you of all people. pairing. college!matt murdock / f!reader w.count.  4k, baby! a/n. set pre-s1 , pre-established ‘frenemy’ relationship , academic rivals-to-lovers , Matty is a soft cocky boy with blindness for rizz , Reader is an aloof girl who has a staring problem , latin title quoted from below . fic tag. #INRE:

“Odi et amo. Quare id faciam, fortasse requiris. Nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior." — Catullus, "LXXXV"

SALUTATORIAN ; VALEDICTORIAN.

Magna cum laude ; Summa cum laude.

You and Matthew Murdock.

Or, in re:

“Heckle and Jeckle,” Foggy laughs, half-exasperated and half-impressed at the mock-trial unfolding before him.

( It’s nearing almost an hour in. Nothing new when it comes to the likes of both you and Matt. )

Backchat, bickering, and banter is to be expected whenever you and Murdock cross paths. You can barely remember when you even began locking horns with him, really— it’s almost become a staple of your week to get rapt in a practice dispute with him that almost always ends up without a verdict or pushed to the next lesson for a retrial.

Professor Nguyen likes to call you two ‘Stale-mates’ because of that, and much to your chagrin, it’s stuck.

God forbid Matthew Murdock ever becomes a mate of yours. The thought has you scoffing. 

Murdock has always been outdoing you by a hair’s breadth since the start of law school, and you refuse to believe it’s ‘natural talent’ no matter how much everyone else claims it to be. He’s simply better. Which means you need to be better.

He’s also cocky, and charmingly so, you can admit that— the whole confidently-sweet-blind-gentleman shtick has half the class swooning and half the professors vouching for his success; which is exactly why he’s the bane of your existence. He had an, advantage, if you will, with a face like that. 

And brains, ofcourse.

“Objection, Foggy— I mean— Your Honor,” he amends, “Uh, I believe the defendant just called me a stubborn dumbass? I’m pretty sure that constitutes misconduct.”

The lecture hall breaks into laughter. 

You throw your hands up. That— well. Okay. Maybe you do tend to speak on impulse. But he had that effect on you: Disarming, as if acutely aware of your buttons to push and exactly when to push them.

Definitely not because he’s more level-headed than you when it comes to debates.

( Definitely not because of that jawline, either. )

…Whatever.

“Sustained, Mr. Jeckle Murdock,” Foggy waves. “As for you, Ms. Heckle, as much as I personally know how much of a pain in the ass my roommate can be, please maintain professionalism in court.”

Later, behind the lectern, Professor Nguyen dismisses the class short of a few minutes before it’s end. “As entertaining as it was, today’s trial went nowhere. Both parties ended up at an impasse, as usual. A stalemate.”

You wrinkle your nose at that. ( Matt notices from his end of the room. )

“And while it does show that dear Heckle and Jeckle here skilfully know their way around law, it also shows that both of them are terrible at exercising it. Why? Because what we’re trying to do here, at the end of the day, is find a conclusion. To seek resolution.”

Prof. Nguyen looks pointedly at Murdock. A swell of pride washes over you. ( Which, is recognisably a petty and self-indulgent thing to feel, considering he can't even see her look at him, anyway. )

“You should’ve taken the settlement, Matt. It was practically gift-wrapped,” Foggy tells him afterwards, during their usual trip down campus for a quick grab-and-go snack. “Doesn’t always have to be a cage fight, y’know?”

“And give Ms. Heckle the satisfaction of thinking she won on terms? Not a chance,” he snorts, nudging his guiding arm. “She’ll see that as surrender. At least, I would, with a compromise like that. Besides, even if the tables were turned, you know she wouldn’t have taken it either.”

“Aw, you guys know each other so well, don’t you?” Foggy sing-songs. “Practically all up each other’s faces earlier. Swear I thought she was gonna jump your bones for a sec—”

“Oh, c’mon, Foggy,” he groans, “Not this again.”

“I’m serious! God, if you can see the way she looks at you.”

“Fortunately, I can’t.” 

He can. In a way, ofcourse. Not that he’d ever admit that. Yeah, sure, he’s privy in the fact that you’re undoubtedly attracted to him, what with the fluctuating heartrate and tell-tale scent of natural pheromones, but that still doesn’t discount how you genuinely find him grating above it all. 

Matt would’ve almost considered it endearing— if he didn’t find you just as frustrating at times, too. 

It’s the boldness, he reasons. You never seemed to hide. Unapologetically and deliberately agitating.

( …Pretty voice, too. )

“You’re still smiling. That’s creepy. What’re you smiling about, Matt?”

It’s only when they’re too exhausted to read through some lengthy case study about Torts, lazing over their beds in their messed up dorm room, that the conversation gains traction again.

“Next time, remind me to keep your ass out of settlement negotiations.”

“I was giving her a reason to come back with a better deal,” Matt says, face half-smushed against his pillow.

“Mhm, sure. Just admit it—” Foggy pokes his head out the side of his laptop. “—you want her to come back. Every. Single. Time.”

“That is, hah, not true. I just wanna win fair and square.”

“You can’t see, but I’m making the biggest ‘that’s bullshit’ face ever,” he snorts, setting the debris of his bed off to one side. “First of all, law isn’t about winning. It’s not a game, and you of all people know that. Second of all, you can’t deny the sexual tension and chemistry of academic rivals!”

Chemistry that don’t exactly mix well, Matt wants to argue, not with your cross-sword tempest of a personality and his cool as ice quickdraw against every contrement you two share. Half of the school calls the pair of you oil and water when really it’s more a struck match to open gasoline.

Instead, he goes with: “Did Marci tell you that, Foggy-Bear?” 

Matt receives a pillow to the face. He barks out a laugh. “Okay, low blow, sorry, buddy.”

“You’re just jealous I got a girl and you’ve got the hots for the ‘Heckler’.”

“I do not. And in her defense, that nickname came from a good cause.”

( The ‘Heckler’, of which was borne: the time you discovered one of the University’s wunderkind sophomores got away with harassing Nabilah from your Interdisciplinary Legal Studies class under a registrar’s aegis.

You’d harangued both men, tore their reputation asunder with damning evidence, and left a monstrous shiner across the student’s face that printed all over the front page of Columbia Daily Spectator— the school paper— as a cherry on top. 

Matt remembers your voice echoing the flagstones: Another victim’s story swept under the rug of shitty institutionalised silence along with all the untold scandals!

No one crosses you since.

Until Matthew Murdock, of course, and so turned ‘Heckler’ into Heckle and Jeckle. )

“Never thought I’d see you come to her defense, Mr. Jeckle Murdock.”

“Well, I am an aspiring lawyer.”

“And Ms. Heckle—” Foggy points with a finger. “—is your literal enemy! She’s the only person standing against you and a Summa cum laude distinction— right after me, ofcourse— and is also the most stubborn force to be reckoned with.”

Matt shrugs. “She’s… you know. Passionate. I respect that.”

He regrets his words as soon as they leave his mouth. He can feel the smirk cutting across Foggy’s lips before he could interrupt him.

“…Respect, huh? That’s what we're calling it now?”

“Foggy.” Another groan. Matt volleys the pillow back— manages to clock him straight to the head despite an attempted dodge. “I respect her. Doesn’t mean I care about her.”

Matt Murdock realises very quickly he eats his words.

If he had the time to feel humiliated about it, he probably would.

“Heckle!”

On a sunny Monday afternoon, you wince mid-step down the flight towards your seat in the lecture hall, a lovely— you glance at the clockhand— 15 minutes late to class. 

The attempt to sneak in is ten times more awkward with the now-empty coffee cup in your hands.

“Nice of you to finally join us, Heckle,” comes the Professor’s terse voice. Tardiness has always been scorned by Mr. Lowell, and over the past few days— you’ve been arriving later and later. It’s unusual of you.

“…Good afternoon, Professor,” you greet, sheepish. 

You’re suddenly pinned by a hundred gazes. All except your Jeckle.

Murdock’s standing with a cant to his head and a smirk on his face you want to wipe off, looking pointedly forward. He must have been called upon in class to dispute a case before you stepped in. 

“Before you take your seat,” Prof. Lowell begins, “A tenant has claimed ‘illegal eviction’ after their landlord changed the locks to their door when they were away for a week. What’s the landlord’s best defense, in this case?”

You blink. Gather yourself by muscling your tote and laptop to another arm. 

“Abandonment. Since there was an extended period without any notice, or in this case, a week’s absence of no communication— they have reasonable grounds to assume abandonment was the tenant's intention, and justify locking the door as preventing damage or unauthorized occupancy.”

Matt Murdock’s reply is quick as lightning. 

“Abandonment is not a specific ground for eviction according to the law.” ( He doesn’t bother reminding you under which law and in what section; he knows you’re smart enough to know. ) “The landlord is still required to follow eviction procedures and file a holdover case in Housing Court to prove anything, regardless of their concerns about damage or squatters.”

Then, to add insult to injury: “Though self-help eviction can be deemed practical— it cannot be legally justified,” he shrugs. “So the tenant’s rights are still violated.”

The class turns to you. 

Your mouth opens, and shuts. 

Murdock smiles.

( It’s hardly a triumphant one, considering you were set up for failure. Little context, and even less evidence— Mr. Lowell is notorious of knowing exactly how to punish his students without making it blatant. Had the tables been turned, Matt knows himself he’d have argued the exact same thing and lost the exact same way. )

“Thank you,” the Professor nods. “Well argued, Heckle and Jeckle.”

You take your seat.

Then:

…Matt’s smile drops.

“Hey, uh, Foggy, is she—?”

Foggy is telling him something, probably clapping him on the back for actually winning, but he’s tuned everything out in favor of listening to you.

Matt tilts his head to concentrate. “Is she, Is she okay?”

“Hah, after that? Probably n—”

“I’m serious, Fog.”

A blink. 

The tone in his voice sends Foggy looking over his shoulder to look at you. “Not that I can tell?” he scrutinises. “Looks like her typical self. Not exactly wallowing, but maybe she's tired today?”

No, Matt doesn't say. 

You’re… crying. Been crying. 

He can hear your quiet sniffles; feel the hitching of your breath in the air; can taste the salt in it from where they’ve dried down your cheeks. Your bracelet tinkers as you down the remaining droplets of your cold brew.

“Something’s wrong,” Matt says, an hour later, for the third— Or fourth time? He’s not sure. He hasn’t been concentrating on whatever the lecturer has been saying, too busy paying attention to you.

“I can’t shake the feeling.”

“As someone who’s job one day involves taking hyper-educated guesses; I’m pretty sure she’s just stressed as hell. I mean, we’re law students. Even the great Ms. Heckle is bound to lose herself every once in a while, Matt.”

This is different, he wants to insist, even though the logical part of him is reasoning out the same answer. It wouldn’t hurt to check, though, if the nervousness he can practically feel radiating from your end of the room is really just workload-stress. 

He’s devised a flimsy plan by the time the lesson is over. Flimsy, by way of meaning: he thought of it on the spot as everyone rushes out of class when the clock struck 4pm. 

A clumsy bump. Brailled papers sent fluttering to the floor. Matt’s stellar acting as a blind man struggling to gather scattered work.

You curse and mutter an uncandid apology. “Didn’t see you.”

“Makes two of us,” Matt jokes, and once you’d neatly stacked his papers and returned it, goes:

“Heckle.”

He feels your gaze flick up to him.

“Jeckle.” 

A pause. Matt flounders. He hadn’t really expected to get this far. ( Neither did Foggy, apparently, who he can feel peeking around the corner. )

“I…”

“Listen, Murdock, I’m not in the mood,” you sigh in the silence, and he can hear your bracelet charm again as you raise your hand to rake through your hair. “You won. Congrats. Is it not enough for you that I got caught with my pants down in front of everyone already?”

“No, that’s not— That’s not what I was gonna talk about. I just,” he fumbles, fidgeting with his satchel’s strap, “Wanted to know if… everything’s okay.”

You blink.

Matt waits for a scoff. The curt counter. The caustic remark. Then, like a record-scratch jerk on a vinyl:

“I’m fine. Thanks.”

A lie. And an uncharacteristically polite one. The beat pulses late, loud and clear in his ears. 

And, perhaps most curiously:

That rush of bloodflow around your elbows, carefully hidden under your sleeves; the faint scent of coagulate pooling into a fresh haematoma and forming a shaped contusion on your arm. 

A bruise.

You’re late for Advanced Legal Ethics on Tuesday.

Professor Abena is a strict Ghanaian woman who never tends to be lenient, but you tell her you’re late because of a dragged-out interview for an externship. She buys the lie.

Matt doesn’t, for obvious reasons.

The bruise on your arm has begun to fade. He wonders how long it’s been there. 

You disappear too quick for him to ask. 

You’re absent on Wednesday.

It’s hard to focus without you.

“Where’s your stale-mate, Mr. Jeckle?” Professor Nguyen jokes.

Wish I knew.

You miss MBE Prep.

Matt tries not to worry.

He offers to take the theory typescripts out the Professor’s hands to pass along to you— just so he gets the excuse to ask around if anybody knew where you were, or whether you had a roommate.

( No one’s exactly sure— apparently your only friend had dropped out a year ago due to some medical issue, and you’ve been a loner since. )

Foggy learns from Marci, though, that she’s pretty sure you stay in a single-dorm at Lenfest Hall.

Word-of-mouth reaches you by Friday that Matt Murdock had demolished four other students back-to-back on a practice Defamation case. 

He’d apparently told Foggy he misses having competition.

You don’t smile, but… it’s a very close thing.

The Diamond Law Library on campus is gargantuan, so you’d practically jumped out your skin when someone decided to take the seat across your work-scattered table. At 9:45pm on a Saturday night, the library’s mostly a ghost town.

It’s Murdock.

Under the moon and the flaxen-dim lamplights, he’s painted more softly than you’ve ever seen him.

( Perhaps it’s the sweater and the mussed hair. Whatever it is, you’re just glad he can’t ever see you staring. ) 

He greets you in lieu of the usual head tilt:

“Heckle.”

“Jeckle.”

You continue before he can. “What do you want?”

( Blunt. Cursory. Borderline rude— he almost sighs in relief from the familiarity of it. )

“It’s more of: What does Professor Nguyen want,” Murdock says, inviting himself by folding his cane and resting it on the table to take a seat. “Remember the Legal Research assignment? She wants it done in pairs.”

Ah. So this is where it’s going. “There is absolutely no way in Hell that I’d partner with you, Murdock.”

“Ah, well,” he shrugs, nonchalant. “You were absent Wednesday. A little too late to say no. ‘Sides, she already noted I’m gonna be your partner.”

Something in your frontal lobe haywires. Words catch in your throat. Your palms are thrown wide. “What do you mean—?! Why the hell didn’t you partner with your ‘B.F.F’ Nelson?!”

( Someone shushes you in the distance. Matt almost laughs when he senses you flick a middle finger their way. )

“Because I have an advantage,” he states, matter-of-fact, and because it’s far better verbiage than saying ‘you need me’ to one of the world’s most independent and mule-headed people alive. “And I know it’ll hel—.”

“I don’t want your help,” you override, pen placed down with an impatient slap. 

Murdock leans back against his seat. There’s a mien you see washing over him; the same calm, collected and cocky one that he always slips into whenever he’s called up for an answer or dialogue. Prepared for a fight.

“Listen, Heckle. It’s the final year, and we’re drowning in work. Now, I can tell by the fact that you’re here on a Saturday night that you’re behind on something, because I know I would be if I missed nearly a week of classes. What you need the most is time, and fortunately for you, working with me grants you that.”

A confused look. “You’re gonna buy me time?”

“Us,” he rights, cheekily, before explaining simply: “Me being visually impaired has its perks. I’m blind; considered disabled. And students with disabilities have the right to ease of access and accommodations.”

The chair creaks as you sink back into it. He can tell you’ve already connected the dots.

“Like an extra week for submissions,” you huff, resigned. 

Matt drums his finger on the table edge. “A week and a half if I push it. I mean, Ms. Nguyen loves me. Can’t blame her, really.”

Another eye-roll, but with less heat this time. Matt knows the space of contemplative silence is really just for show in favour of protecting your ego. Which— fair enough. He’d have done the same.

“You’re holding a cudgel over my head,” you say, testy.

“I prefer to call it an olive branch. Speaking of which: Mr. Ravi from the prep course handed out a review guide…” He trails off as he feels for his bag, sliding out two spiral bound booklets and setting it on the table. It’s a compendium of notes for the final year bar exam.

A braille label is pasted on the top right corners of both books. His fingers read the raised dots, before he slides it across. “This is your copy.”

Your finger runs curiously at the dents translating your name.

Unbidden, you picture him domestic in his dorm room, meticulously taking the time to emboss a label to differentiate yours from his. The thought alone has you with half the mind to rip it off.

(You end up leaving it as is. Wouldn’t’ve made a difference if you did, anyway. Yeah.

Totally not because you find it endearing— No. Never.)

Coloured sticky notes with chicken-scratch writing are littered across some pages as you flip through. He must have heard you thumb at some of them, because he goes, “Oh, I got Foggy to annotate whatever you might’ve missed. I hear he’s got bad handwriting so, uh, I made him do it on post-its. If you can’t read it, you can ask him.”

( …God, he makes it hard to be pissed off at, sometimes. Maybe you just need more caffeine. )

“Mh. How thoughtful of you.”

It’s the closest thing to a sincere thank you he’s sure he’ll ever get. Matt has to bite back a smile. “You’re welcome, Heckle.”

You set the guide aside with your other study materials, ignore the nickname. “How’d you even find me here?”

He shrugs. “You won’t believe me even if I told you.”

“Try me.”

“Alright. I caught a whiff of coffee and misery a floor away and knew it could only be you,” Murdock jokes, smoothly. (Except it’s not a joke. He could smell your perfume and your cold brew from the stairwell.) 

When you scoff, he makes a you-asked-for-it face. Before you can remark, though, he lets out a soft exhale. It’s honest.

“…Your bracelet.”

Realisation takes a moment. “You heard it?”

“I recognise it,” he emphasises. “Always makes a sound whenever we argue because you like to throw your hands around. Like tiny bells.”

That shouldn’t have felt more intimate than it sounds.

You breathe sharply out your nose. Press your tongue against your cheek. The air is charged with something, but not so much the keyed up kind you two share in a mock-trial. If anything, it almost feels right; as if he’d filled in a space you hadn’t yet realised was empty. 

Margining a comfortable silence. 

“Where’d you go?” Matt decides to finally ask, so imperceptibly that had you not been in the silence of the library, he doesn’t think you would’ve heard him. “Mock trials have been boring,” he adds, before he can even stop himself. 

It’s a sliver of heart. Unforgivable sentiment to extend to his so-called nemesis.

He hears your heartrate spike. The sleeve of your jacket shifting as you fidget at your arm. The bruise is healed, now. Matt can’t tell if the adrenaline he can sense is borne from his question or his admission.

“I visited my friend in the hospital,” you say, turning your attention to your pens and highlighters instead as you put them away. “She was my roommate.”

Steady pulse; honest truth. “A week-long visit?”

“I caught something there and ended up sick.”

The fib is delivered so fluently he’d have been convinced if he hadn’t been listening to your heart. Matt breathes a sigh out his nose. He’ll have to try again another time, he supposes, and fortunately he’s bought plenty with you.

“Feeling better?”

You zip your pencil case sharply. Shut your laptop with an abrupt click. “Well, I was, until you came along. So, no.”

A lie. Beat late, loud and clear. 

Matt Murdock tilts his head at you. Puppy-like, almost— as if he’s studying you.

Then he ducks his head and smiles.

It’s punctuated by the briefest slip of knowing, soft laughter; Has you tarrying over the flash of his canines; the dimple carving into his cheek; the windswept look of him in his stupid navy, cotton-light sweater.

…Boyishly handsome. It stuns you into place. 

“I’ll see you Monday,” he avers, “Don’t be late, Heckle. Remember, we’re stale-mates, now.”

“Shut up,” you snap, bristling.

Somehow, against all odds—

It’s the least insulting tone you’ve taken with him yet.

( Matt considers it a win. )

[sanchensky]

"You’ve met the Fools of Fate"~

@pure-plum Latest Weal and Woe chapter was so sweet I swear my soul melted a bit from reading it :'3 Honestly Eclipse seems so nervous there, I genuinely just want to hug that anxiousness out of him xD

Tho here I made him look a little more malicious. Gotta think twice about that hug hehe :>

And some process under the cut cuz why not x)

[luvscnarios]

Heaven is a Bedroom ✩࿐࿔

Pairing :: Gallagher x fem!reader. Word Count :: 1.6k. Warnings :: one paragraph of smut 💀. Notes :: idc if Gallagher doesn't gain much traction on my acc, I still love my old man <3.

Usually, Gallagher wakes up to his dark and desolate room. The air is corroded with the odor of alcohol and potent tobacco, the curtains block out almost any sunlight, and the bed itself is threadbare with a single pillow and a few cheap sheets. It was a far cry from luxury, calling it comfy would be a stretch, but Gallagher was used to it either way. So when he opened his eyes to the blinding rays of dawn’s sunlight that streamed from the windows, he had never been more confused in his entire life. 

And if that wasn’t strange enough, he turned his head over to see you, a sweet-looking lady completely bare with your messy hair sticking up in all four directions and dark marks all over your skin. You weren’t even fazed by the fact he was in your bed, too busy sipping on water from a cat-print glass tumbler. He had to blink and rub his eyes a few times, wondering how the hell this was even happening. It wasn’t until Gallagher let out of those world-famous dad groans did finally capture your attention, tilting your head and giving him a curious look. “Good morning, sleepy. Did you sleep good?” 

You couldn’t be real. Here was a man who was in his late thirties, smelled like shitty cologne and booze, looked high half the time, and that is what you had to say? No screaming and kicking him out on the spot? Just asking him if he slept well? Gallagher had to be in heaven because you must be an angel. He sat up next to you and felt the chilly air hit his skin, realizing he was naked too. And after a good two minutes of being confused, the memories of last night finally floated back into mind.

A bar with flashing lights, blaring music, and sweaty bodies grinding up on each other. And poor little you, all alone in your tiny black dress and pink bows in your hair, left behind by all your friends. Gallagher was supposed to be bartending that night but how could he leave a vulnerable thing like you? It was painfully clear you were meant to be cozied up in the corner of a library rather than a crowded bar, too timid and quiet for your own good. So before he thought twice about messing with a young girl like yourself, he had you sat at the bar counter and chatted you up. Meaningless conversations he couldn’t remember were held and he started drinking, downing shot after shot. Not once did Gallagher realize you weren’t drinking with him, your cup of wine that he gave you for free barely half empty. Turned out that behind those innocent-looking eyes and creased brows, you were quite the charmer once in an environment you were comfortable in. Smiling, giggling, and letting the compliments spill from your lips were natural for you. And before he knew it, he was leaning in for a kiss. 

As if on cue, you turned your face so his lips landed on your cheek. Your bubbly laughter rang in his ears and all he vaguely remembered was you whispered in his ear. Something along the lines of “come home with me” and like a lovesick fool, he grabbed the nearest coworker he could find to take his spot as bartender. Sure, that probably wasn’t allowed and there was a good chance of messing up everything by leaving since he was the most skilled. But with a babe like you whose voice dripped with saccharine temptation, he was no better than a puppy. 

How he actually got to your house, he wasn’t so sure. Between the shots he had back at the bar and the darkness of the night, he didn’t know and frankly didn’t care. What he did care about was that once you guided him to your unlit room inside your quaint apartment, you were quick to strip him down. So much for those innocent eyes and timid persona, a facade to hide your appetites.

The only clear memories he had of the night before were the way you first rode him and how he watched in awe as you struggled to take him. How your mewls and whimpers filled the air along with skin slapping skin, the way you looked down at him with watery eyes for him to fuck you. The way you begged to get roughened up and how he flipped you over so he could have you in missionary. Not to mention how vividly he could recall the sensation of your legs around his waist, the skin of your neck as he gingerly kissed and nibbled on it, and your smaller hands in his large grasp. And most importantly, he remembered how you cried out his name as you came for the first time that night, his own orgasm following embarrassingly quick. 

However. That was all last night in the heat of the moment and recklessness fueled by alcohol. At least on his side. For Gallagher, he never would have thought he would so quickly hook up with such a young woman like yourself. But he thought you looked so cute, so inviting that he had to take the bait. Not that he regretted it. He would repeat last night a thousand times over if he had to. And as he sat next to you in your bed-with was soft with luxurious blankets and down pillows-he could stare at you with novel fondness. Out of all the occasional hookups he had in the past, Gallagher could confidently say you were his favorite. Whether or not you would tolerate his company now a day later was yet to be answered.  

“Err, yeah. I slept alright. How about you, doll? No soreness I hope?” He glanced around your room as he spoke, suddenly feeling very out of place. Your bed tucked in a cozy corner of your room, movie and artist posters adorning the walls. Pink shelves held lots of different houseplants and even the nightstand next to the bed had a lamp in the shape of a flower, a digital clock in pink, and several books that all had fancy-looking titles. There was your closet with sticky notes on them, no doubt serving as reminders for yourself. Your desk was on the opposite side of the room, a pegboard near it that held many trinkets and other things that you found useful. And like the cherry on top, the walls of your room were soft pink like the bows that were in your hair last night. Your room was nothing short of paradise, as adorable as you. And Gallagher felt like he stuck out like a sore thumb among the cutesy decor.  

And it also rubbed in the fact even though you were much younger than Gallagher, you managed to have your life more put together than him. That was a tiny slap to the face and a bit of a wake-up call. Even after having a messy one night stand, you went on with your normal morning routine. Before Gallagher could begin to question the direction of his life, you graciously responded to his questions as you set your water down on your night stand. 

“I’m a little sore but I don’t mind. Last night was fun.” There it was. That honeyed voice coupled with a little giggle at the end. It was crazy to even his own mind how weak that voice made him, how desperate became to hold you close. And that he did, carefully pulling flush against his side. Gallagher wasn’t sure what reaction he was expecting, but he was uncharacteristically happy when you reciprocated his gesture by hugging his side. He pressed lazy kisses on your silly bed hair and let out an audible “awe” at the sight of you holding him so tight. 

His chest was twisting painfully. That never happens after a hookup. If anything, he’s gone before the other person wakes up. And yet, he felt so welcomed in the fuzzy blankets of your bed and your embrace. How he would give to fall asleep with your sweaty body clinging to him again with your cheek squished against his chest. To wake up in your darling little room with plants and posters all over. You were as fresh as springtime flowers, in the height of your bloom while Gallagher was nothing more than a dog running all over. But then again, the saying “stop and smell the roses” must exist for a reason. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to relax and stay a little longer. Brushing his lips against your ear he simply whispered, “Say the words and I’m gone. If not…I know a good breakfast place.”

You take a moment to think and his heart dropped at the idea of being kicked out so brazenly. Then Gallagher mentally kicked himself for thinking so ahead. The two of you met last night, shared one intimate moment and he himself could barely remember all the details. A very crappy way to get to know someone, but he still wanted to try. You were the younger one here but you made his heart feel like a schoolboy in love, even if he didn’t show it. 

Thank goodness you were a literal angel because you nodded at his proposal, sealing the deal with a kiss to his lips. It’s soft and chaste with your hand cupping his face, but Gallagher still silently reveled in the tenderness of it. You pull away and he admires your beauty: from those alluring doe eyes and tempting lips to the dark love bites he left on your skin. Something was growing within Gallagher, something he hasn’t felt in so long, but for once he was just going to let things run their course. 

“Sure, I’m down for breakfast. You pay, of course. And we’ll call it a date.”

[uc1wa]

18+ minors dni

OCT. 17 — KINKTOBER ‘23

KNIFE & GUN PLAY WITH JASON TODD

ktober m.list

tags: fem reader, blood, gun play isn't gorey, penetrative sex, cum play for a second, possessive jason, reader calls jason daddy once, (if i missed any pls message me!)

jason hesitated only slightly when you had mentioned having rougher sex. took a beat to read your face one night after dinner when the topic was somehow brought up, a tilt of his head and arch of his brow following.

it wasn’t like the two of you were purely vanilla when it came to your bedroom tendencies. you started by asking jason to choke you, your hand placing overtop of his to press harder—clearly nervous of his strength and your limits. then, jason tested out slapping… and with the way your pussy clenched around him, it was safe to say there was a green light in front of that too.

but… when you were playing with the switchblade that the man kept in his pocket when you had run the blade over your fingers gently, and the words, "i wouldn’t be upset if you used this in bed," fell from your tongue, jason could only smirk to himself.

"want me to put a lil’ tattoo on you princess?" he asks, holding his hand out in asking for the blade, to which you hand to him. you nod with a grin, lifting up the thin fabric of your pajama shorts. the soft flesh of your upper thigh being exposed, your fingers running over the skin. "right here," you say, the skin right under the hem of your panties being traced with your fingertip.

you look from the skin between your hip and thigh to jason who’s sat in front of you, his eyes darkening as he looks at your skin. the hand that’s not holding the blade grabs the soft flesh, squeezing it and giving it a little tap.

"'jason’s'… how does that sound?" green eyes meet yours, his demeanor changing to one of those that says he's ready to pounce on you at any given second. "mhm, mark me up. wouldn’t be your first time," you nod with a laugh, pulling up your top to show one of your boobs, a dark purple love mark sucked into the skin from two days prior.

jason tilts his head in thought, questioning if he should hold out on telling you his desire that followed yours. the desire that has just reached the front of his mind, a thought that only a questionable vigilante who's killed hundreds would have. his eyes trailed over your body as he does so, to which you scrunch your eyebrows. "yes?" he holds a momentary finger up at you as he silently walks away, making his way into your bedroom without a word.

a few minutes go by, your attention is turned to the television until the man walks back into the room. nothing has changed about him, besides the fact that he’s holding a hand behind his back. one end of jason’s lips is tugged upwards despite the nervousness to reveal the idea he was keeping away from you.

he takes a seat, sweatshirt bunching up around his hips as he brings his arm forward. now your eyes widen—excited and nervous yourself. the hesitation is understandable, as any other sane person would most likely make a run for it.

the shiny, clean metal was one you’d only seen when jason had come home from being the red hood. when he had come off of patrol and you were in the rarity of being awake at the late hour of the night, watching him strip himself of his vigilante clothing and tools. the tools he had hidden in the back of your shared closet, several locks attached as a safety measure.

the mechanism that your boyfriend had used hundreds of times—either to take a life or to severely hurt another. now, holding it in front of you, his eyes never leaving your face.

"why not both?" he asks, turning the gun to show you that the safety is on, continuing to open the slots where bullets would be found and showing that it was clear of any possibilities of harm.

while jason was around guns and every possibility of weaponry on a daily basis, you weren’t. but, you weren’t opposed to the idea, and the way your heart rate quickened and your underwear started to get wet was proof of that.

with wide eyes you nod and stand up to take jason’s hand, leading you to the room that you were normal to experimenting in.

you both were quick to strip yourselves of clothes, your mind occupied with ways that you could make use of the gun, finally landing on the one thing that you know jason would like.

on a carpet in front of your bed, you fall to your knees on the ground below you, hands sitting pretty and expectantly on your thighs. wide eyes watch your boyfriend smirk at the way you’re ready for him, finding his space in front of you, standing tall and proud with the gun still in his hand.

if jason hadn’t cleaned his guns religiously, you wouldn’t dare to put the one in his hand anywhere near you—god knows what would lie on the surface of it. but, jason took care of them as if they were his prized possession, the same way he took care of you.

so, he places the gun in front of him, right where his cock would usually fall if you were to suck him off. instead of him, though, your tongue slips between your lips to find the tip of the gun, letting it lay flat against the underside of the cool metal while his cock stands proudly behind it.

his eyes stay pointed downwards, watching the way you wrap your lips around the cold metal. while his face doesn't read anything but focus, his internals are going off the charts. his cock hard as a rock while his heart beats faster and faster in anticipation. anticipation of watching you suck his gun, and his cock, and fucking you with pretty metal touching your throat and scarlet running down your thigh from his idea of a tattoo.

while your soft lips left a salivated mess on the tip of jason's pistol, you decided to bring a hand to his member. thumb running over the tip, pleased to feel his pre and following suit in running down his length, beginning to slowly jerk him off. a soft smile tugging your lips when you watch his breath hitch in his throat from the contact.

like a flick of a light switch, jason's throwing the weapon to your bed with a shake of his head. helping you stand up with a hand holding your throat, forcing a choked whine to leave you because of the strength of your boyfriend. your eyes go wide when he leans down to face you, grip still holding the soft skin that coats your neck.

"i'm gonna give it all to you tonight, sweetheart. don't worry about that pretty head of yours, okay?" he questions, throwing you on the bed and finally releasing you, allowing you space and time to catch your breath while jason takes his time crawling between your legs that you oh-so gladly spread for him.

it should be a crime to be as wet as you are due to the minimal contact your boyfriends had with you. hardly laying more than a hand on you and dripping onto the bed without care, eyes meeting his dark ones and watching as he grabs the gun once more.

only this time, his confidence is at a high. all hints of hesitation leaving his body and the action of rubbing the opening of the gun between your folds is done selfishly. of course, he knows it feels good with the symphony of whines and moans you sing for him, but he can't help but to indulge in the sight alone. dark eyes watching the way your cunt flutters, begging to be penetrated rather than teased with the metal.

jason's hungry for everything you give to him.

"such a slut," he begins, locking eyes with you once more, "all wet from a fuckin' gun?" you babble something that sounds like a confirmation, and it makes jason scoff, halting his movements just where you need him; tip of his gun pressed and paused at your entrance. "beg for it."

your cheeks flush, turn red at the demand he makes. but, it's dumb to deny it. dumb to act like you won't fuck the killing machine that was just pressed to the puffy lips of your mouth.

"fuck me with it, please," you say lightly, knowing it's not enough, but wanting to push jason further. after all, he said he'd give it all to you tonight, so you'll make him prove it.

his voice grows deeper, louder and he nudges your clit that begging for attention with the metal, allowing weight to fall on it which makes you squirm under his harsh gaze. "fuckin' pathetic... fuck you with what?"

your eyes roll back, hips rolling forward in attempt to move the dead weight that is the gun and gain some stimulation. but, it's to no avail. your eyes grow wide, swollen lips closing before opening once more. "please daddy, wan' you to fuck me with your gun. gonna feel so good, please please please," you press, and jason eats it entirely. angry red cock spilling with precum, milky streak falling against one of his veins.

"mhm, princess," he says, moving the gun downwards and pressing it to your entrance once more, slowly, eyeing the way your hole swallows the metal that pushes inwards until it can't anymore. the sweet moan is something he appreciates, though he knows the size is only a fraction of his cock that you're used to. but, the coolness of it does enough to feel foreign and good.

with a cocky smirk on his lips, he begins fucking you with the weapon. pulling it in and out of you slowly, but increasing in speed with each thrust he delivers; a big hand holding it with his index and middle finger holding the trigger subconsciously. aiming straight towards your cervix, which he'll touch soon enough.

and he fucks you well. fucks you with an arm that has pretty scars and newer cuts littering the skin. veins starting on the top of his hand and trailing to his forearm pumping blood that's evident in the way his cock is begging for attention. but he wants you to cum once on the gun. make a mess out of it in a way that's unlike anything he's ever experienced.

and once you're arching your back against blankets, moaning his name out in a near yell, and attempting to move a hand between your legs to get him to stop fucking you, stimulation too much, he finally gets what he wants.

jason's perverted thoughts cloud his head when he's slow to pull the gun out of you. looking at the metal that's covered in your milky essence. slow enough that there's a string of wetness that connects you to the weapon, and he could cum from that alone.

but the real finale is when he realizes that your cum is filling the barrel of the gun, filling the once-empty space with yourself. he brings it to your lower tummy, spilling the mess all over you in a manner that's filled with pure filth. proceeding to throw the gun to the side, acknowledging the fact that it's served its purpose for tonight. the pain of his hard-on is finally coming to his attention, and he needs to stuff his pussy.

"how'd that feel, gem?" he questions, moving against covers and watching your half-lidded eyes. both hands pull your thighs up so he can push them back, tip teasing your swollen entrance. "g-good," you whimper, and jason would be lying if he paid any attention to your response. your convulsing pussy is the only thing that has his attention right now, the way you're attempting to suck him whole.

and without warning, he's pushing his entire length between your legs, filling you whole and halting his movements once he's completely surrounded by your soft walls. groaning at the sensation of you clenching around him, but resisting moving his hips the way he wants to.

one hand remains gripping the fat of your thigh while the other grabs the switchblade lying on the mattress beside your pretty figure. flicking it open with his fingers, somehow making it look like an art while he's in the process of doing so. your attention follows it, almost forgetting that you're being stuffed full of jason's cock without movement. unwillingly cockwarming the man.

"remind me, baby. where'd you want my name?" jason's eyes move to meet yours, and without fail, a whimper slips past your lips and he feels the tightness that's close to making him hammer himself into you. but he has the patience and self-control that you don't.

his palm meets yours halfway, letting go of your thigh and letting his hand fall overtop of yours, smoothing over the top of your thigh. in the space that's dangerously next to where he's laid out inside of you, and it makes him more hungry for you if that was possible.

he's transferring his blade to the hand that's closer to the skin where you want it, tracing only enough for your skin to become a shade lighter under the pressure. once again looking up at you, he takes note of the way your lips fall open while anticipation grows in your eyes. it makes him smile wildly, a reminder that you want this. that you're the one who asked for it.

"'s gonna hurt," you whimper, and jason shakes his head, setting the blade on your thigh while his big hand takes your jaw in his hand, squishing your cheeks. "you can handle it, baby. c'mon, where'd my strong girl go?" a smile pulls your lips upwards. "it'll feel just like that tattoo you wanted, it's like a trial before the real thing." he leans towards you, holding back a groan from the way he pushes himself deeper inside your cunt to do so, giving you a sloppy and messy open-mouthed kiss.

then he's pulling back, blade in hand once more, and beginning to get to work. the whimpers are a symphony to his ears as he presses the sharp tip against your soft skin, cutting his name so pretty in your flesh. his eyes watch the way the deep red liquid peeks through the cracks, beginning to drip down the side of your skin. the hand that's not cutting his name into you is squeezing and rubbing the skin of your stomach soothingly.

his hips moving in small circles, enough to give the both of you something, but not enough to make him mess up his painting.

"so fucking pretty, honey," jason says as soon as he's finished, throwing the bloodied blade on the floor to clean up later. but his eyes are unable to see his finished work of art, and jason isn't one to waste.

pulling out of you with a moan, he leans down to the expanse of your thigh, licking over the blood with his tongue flat. he doesn't take note of how you sit up, your eyes widening at the stinging but warm sensation. you watch the way scarlet red coats his tongue, finding its way to the corners of his lips while he sits back up on his knees.

jason's cock stands tall as he uses his thumb to collect the blood from his lips, dark eyes watching yours as he sucks on his own digit. longer than needed, but he can see you like it; whether it be your fluttering cunt or your eyebrows that furrow. he laughs, knowing he's completed what had to be done in order for you to fully be his property.

because now jason's pretty slut girlfriend can't show her cunt to any other man without reading jason's name right beside it.

🏷️: @harleycao, @idyllcy, @hails227, @aviixol, @hopeannalea, @hearttjason, @roysjason, @blursotongz, @zaxlarza, @wartofart, @loviie-stuff, @nmw-am, @nightjarwings

[itsgothgirlthyme]

tiny!reader x human!steve x human!eddie

3inch tiny!reader

this is a draft that i randomly kind of finished, so i’ll just post. if you seriously have any requests let me know, i’d love to write away :)

word count: 1,037

i do wanna write something better btw with these three :,)

info:

You’re a borrower and overtime have been revealed to the party. You meet Eddie for the first time after Dustin practically forces you and leaves the trailer without explanation.

It’s just really awkward now.

—

Inside of the trailer which Dustin has deserted you in is a giant (human) and you. You’re standing on the coffee table in complete awkward silence.

“So… have you always been like this?” Eddie asked.

You looked up at the curly haired man with curious eyes. He rested his elbows on his knees. He fiddled with the rings on his hands when you tried holding eye contact he looked away. His dough eyes made it to the objects around. Though he didn’t look at you.

“Yep,” You responded.

He nodded his head. You were surprised at how non eager he was to look at you, ask rapid fire questions like Dustin, or even touch you. You didn’t let your guard down though. Your eyes were on him and even if your few friends trusted him it didn’t hurt to be cautious.

The crack of bone made you flinch and take a step back. Eddie shifted his knuckles and continued to crack them. Until he noticed your small figure moving back out of the corner of his eye.

“Sorry,” He apologized immediately and dropped his hands to his sides.

Your back was straight as a ruler and the fight or flight was kicking in. You’d drifted to the edge of the table farthest away from Eddie. His size would make it easy to nab you but reaching over would spare you a couple seconds. To escape, if needed but you remembered Dustin’s promise.

He promised you Eddie wouldn’t hurt you that he was actually a really nice guy. That apparently “high school” gave him a bad reputation, which still confused you because you didn’t know what that meant. Dustin also promised he would be back soon but he seemed to be running late, and that put you on edge.

You did not want to be stuck with a stranger longer than you had to.

“I’m not going to hurt you and I’m sorry for being… awkward,” Eddie’s booming voice hit your ears. “I’m just not usually used to meeting a couple inch tall people I guess, but you’re cool though…” His words drifted when you stared at him blankly.

You were one step away from stepping off the ledge and using your lovely hook to hop off the table. Though he seemed genuine, dangerous, but genuine. Eddie pressed his back against the couch and looked away from you shyly.

“It’s three inches tall actually,” You said with a grin.

Eddie's dark eyes flicked to you with surprise.

“Dustin insisted on measuring me,” You shrugged. “I actually didn’t know giants had so many forms of measurements,” You said.

You scratched the back of your neck and laughed at yourself. The memories of Dustin explaining different “metric” systems to you exploded your brain. It was another reminder this world wasn’t made for you, it was just too damn big.

“How much do you know about… giant stuff?” He asked.

He seemed amused now and less scared of you running off.

“I mean, I’ve recently learned how your electronics work,” You said with air quotes around “electronics”.

The word didn’t roll off your tongue that well but you tried anyhow. You were quite eager to learn the functions of a toaster or television up close. Dustin was happy to teach you of course as well, but the moment Steve discovered you he disapproved of your excitement for “dangerous” things.

You continued to ramble about anything that came to mind. Eddie would comment or nod his head for you to go on. Eventually it turned to you describing the world from your eyes. You didn’t touch on your life in the walls but you continued.

Eddie shifted in his seat and now loomed over you. You actually had to catch your breath from how much you spoke. You hadn’t had someone to listen to you for so long, engaged and encouraging. The shadow over your gave you chills and Eddie’s eyes looked black from the lack of sun. Though his eyes twinkled with a kindness and softness you weren’t expecting.

You stood up looking up at him. Neck craned up to meet his face. His knuckle rested under his chin with eyes down on you. Your heartbeat rose and your face felt hot all of a sudden.

Though the gazes were lost when there was banging outside of the van. You immediately jumped and looked around for the best exit. Habits die hard you supposed.

Eddie watched you frantically look for a safe spot to hide. He frowned at your panicked state and got up. You did find a spot behind a tissue just in case.

When Eddie opened the door he was baffled to say the least. You heard your name be called out by none other than Steve. A breath of relief escaped your lips.

He was loud and upset as he shoved passed Eddie. The brunette continued to call your name while Eddie tried to calm him down. Assure him that you were okay, but that didn’t do it for Steve.

It wasn’t until he saw you on the scratched up wooden table that he dropped to his knees. His face being the only thing in your vision. Immediately bombarded with questions if you were okay, and after minutes assuring you were okay he seemed at ease.

Steve then put his hand behind your and scooped you up. Warmth enveloped your body as your stomach flipped. His thumb gently pressed on the left side of your face.

“Oh my god, Steve,” You huffed.

He was still making sure you were okay. You couldn’t help but smile at him being careful. Him cradling you in his hand had become routine. Of course he usually asked but when he was in a panic he couldn’t help it.

“Ouch, I’m not crazy Harrington,” Eddie said from behind him.

You looked behind Steve’s shoulder to see Eddie fiddling with his rings again. Steve turned around and his shoulders dropped.

“Sorry, just wish Dustin told me what he was planning. The kid is doing whatever he wants these days,” He said in response.

“Oh trust me I know,” Eddie said and crossed his arms over his chest.

“It’s an attitude problem,” You chimed in.

…

a/n

i didn’t know how to end this so oh well lmfao

psst— here is more

[luxthestrange]

KNY Incorrect quotes#110 Yeah "Tripped"

Gyomei*Is caressing your face to see it*... You’re smiling, What happened? TinyHashira!Y/n*Sits on his chest, squeezing his boobs *What? Can’t I smile just because I feel like it?~ Muichiro*Is currently drawing Sanemi falling down the stairs with crayons*Sanemi tripped and fell down the stairs today

[naffeclipse]

What would Y/N do is Orca!Eclipse was having a panic attack?

He would try to hide from your sights and deal with it on his own, panicking and struggling with the squeezing pressure in his chest that makes him wonder if his heart will simply stop and he will float belly up, dead. He can't be seen as weak. That's not attractive. That's not going to make you stay. But you would find him anyway.

You're bewildered and alarmed watching the orca siren flounder as if he were under attack, but he couldn't be. He's the apex predator of the Arctic. You finally beckon and perhaps even touch him when he thrashes beside the ice. Your gloves slide down his slick skin but you take him by the face and hold him still, speaking softly to him. You don't know what's wrong. You only know his eyes are wide and wild, darting everywhere but you.

Softly, calmly, you tell him everything is alright. He's safe. He's going to be okay. You're here. You don't want him to be scared or hurt or alone. His breaths are off-tempo and hitched like he's drowning above the sea. Your thumbs softly stroke his cheek while he slowly clings to you, his claws pressing so tight to your coat that you're afraid he's going to puncture the fabric. Instead, he slowly drags himself onto land and pulls you against his wet chest. This time, you don't fear it so much.

He curls tightly around you, clinging to you like a child. Even stranger, he's silent. He's so terribly quiet and you fear that he's gone into shock or something of that nature. You keep talking to him, telling him things about photography and other places you visit, anything to keep him grounded with your voice. You don't think you make any sense or you sound boring, but when you pause for a few seconds too long, his arms begin squeezing you. You continue, and he gradually uncoils from whatever is gripping him.

You ask if he wants to talk about it. He says no. He just wants to hold you. He begs you to stay, to not leave him. He doesn't want to be alone again.

So you stay with him in his arms until he's almost back to old himself.

[baby-tini]

dazai who goes down on you after you tell him that you’ve never received oral or just sex in general for a matter of fact <3 he’s quick to tie your hands behind your back and spread your legs to shove your cunt in his face.. he promises he’ll make you feel good and to just trust him, he’ll overstimulate you and make you cum so hard your vision clocks out for a bit. he’s already cummed untouched by this and his cock is aching to be inside you but he can’t get enough of your taste or the sounds you make. he loves the way you’re sobbing in pleasure and falling apart so easily, especially cause you’re a virgin and you cum quickly !! you’re so overwhelmed by anything he does and he adores it, he could rub and suck at your sensitive clit and you’d be on the edge of an orgasm.. or he could slap your pussy only to moan and sink his tongue into your hole. you think he’s being soo mean by not giving you a chance to recover but when he looks at you with those big brown eyes and whines about how he just wants you to feel good, could you really deny him??

This!!! It's so on par with him too, he lovess eating you out, it's his favorite past time. He's said it before and he'll say it again, he wants too die between your legs, he wants the last thing he tastes too be your cunt. Especially if your a virgin, I do think Dazai has a sweet spot for virgins because their so inexperienced and he finds sick sadistic joy in bringing them to tears from heavy overstimulation. He's sick like that, especially if you came too him, with the want of him taking your virginity because you trust him and you want your first time too be good. Because all he has too do is rub your little clit and your cumming all over his hand and your crying now because it was an accident 'samu and you're sorry and he's just has the most feral grin as he brushes your apologies away, because he likes it, he likes that you're letting go for him, that he can have you cumming so much, so quickly from just a few strokes of his thumb, he's so honored little thing. Despite it being your first time though, he's still gonna be mean, cause that's just how Dazai is. He's fucking mean. So yeah, he'll give your clit a couple garsh slaps, and he'll push down on the lower part of your stomach as his fingers push in and out of you so that you cum quick, knowing he's the one that told you not too cum yet and that if you did, that would be the only time you came that night, and when your pushing at his head because you genuinely can't take it anymore, he looks up at you with those big brown eyes, they're so soft as he asks if you're really gonna deny him the closest thing too paradise that a man like him can obtain.

[so-very-small]

hey here hold this

*drops a tiny clown into your palm*

*the clown honks softly*