#Lessons in Dexterity

[stevenrogered]

Dexter's wedding speech draft in the book vs the show

#one day #one day netflix #onedayedit #emma morley #dexter mayhew #leo woodall #ambika mod #bts one day #one day spoilers #one day tv #mystuff #can we just #can i draw your attention specifically to #“Mum knew from the beginning Em was the one.” #and “happier than ever been” #AND WE GREW UP TOGETHER NOT AS KIDS AS GROWN UPS LEARNING LIFE'S BIG LESSONS #WHAT A LINE

[jessequinones]

Writing Lesson: Remembering the Past

I moved from the United States of America to Australia and since then I’ve tried to rewatch some cartoons from my childhood, mainly ones from either Cartoon Network or Boomerang and I can't find them. They're not on any streaming services and I can’t buy physical copies because they’re extremely expensive. Sure Tubi might have some old cartoons such as Popeye or the original Superman, but I didn’t grow up with them. I wanted to rewatch cartoons from the 60s-early 2000s, shows such as The Jetsons, Flintstones, Yogi Bear, the original Animaniacs, Dexters Laboratory, you get the picture.

So why am I bringing all of this up when it comes to writing? Well it got me thinking that yes, while these shows were racist, and aged like milk being left out in the sun, I would argue that it’s still important to rewatch them. Not just for nostalgia shake but as a writer it’s a good idea to remember the past so we don’t repeat it.

I know, “if you don’t remember the past you’ll be doomed to repeat it” but the thing about that saying is, it’s not actually wrong, but I think it get’s overused so no one understands why we say it.

Stories change and evolve over time. The stories we read and were told as kids, might not be the same ones we tell our children because it doesn’t work for them and that’s ok. Stories are supposed to evolve over the years because they show that we as humans are evolving as well. However, if we start to no longer show the past what lessons can we learn to improve?

You see history is a funny thing, if we know our history and the lessons it brings we can do stuff to avoid making the same mistakes as the previous generations. However, if the previous generation's mistakes are lost in time, how can we avoid them if we don’t know what those mistakes are to begin with?

That’s what the saying means. Remember the mistakes our parents, grandparents, great grandparents and so on so we don’t make those same mistakes. This is one of the reasons why every couple of generations society seems to go backwards since the mistakes of the past are being forgotten or ignored and we do them again.

Now I’m not one of those people who think we should stay in the past, life was better back in the old days because let’s be honest, it wasn’t. We were just kids and didn’t understand how the world works. I think we should be able to tell new stories while also not wiping the old ones from existence just because the old ones no longer make money. Of course, they aren’t going to make money the people who like old things are old and there'll always be fewer old people compared to younger ones.

All I'm saying is that if we could keep the old stuff available for as long as possible, we should try and do so. Is the past embarrassing and racist? Yes, but so are we. As a society, many stories are being told that I already know aren’t going to age well in the next couple of decades but we shouldn’t forget about them. Keep learning, keep improving, keep being better.

If you want to reread some old books as a bit of a history project I got some for you. "The Giving Tree", "Gone with the Wind", "Lolita" (my god is that a bad story, why was that ever popular?) "The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn", "Stranger in a Strange Land". I could go on but those are some classic stories that it would be best not to forget about them. It’s important to understand why they were popular and what newer lessons we can get from them.

I also understand history for most people is kind of a boring subject, and while I don’t have advice on how to make learning fun. Perhaps if you’re a writer, and don’t want to read some old books in the genre you writing in, there might be a Youtube video you could put on or something? I’m not asking anyone to do a ten-page history report, just to try and remember some of the mistakes that were being taught in the old days so we could create new and more progressive ones instead of just repeating the same mistakes and never moving forward.

#writing #writeblr #book #books #history #writers of tumblr #authors of tumblr #bookblr #the giving tree #Stranger in a strange land #gone with the wind #The adventures of Huckleberry Finn #mark twain #writing lessons #the jetsons #the flintstones #dexters laboratory #yogi bear #animaniacs

[flamestar126]

Locked out

#ignore the tie suddenly coming into existence #he'd let him in his own lab eventually #just gotta teach him a lesson about not losing his keys first #dexter's laboratory #dexter's lab #dexdark #dexter #mandark #flame draws

[lizzieheartsfanclub]

The most effective thing about Ever After High is that every student has their own personal struggle that adds another element to just how life-ruining the destiny system is.

Apple is so terrified of what will happen to her if she doesn’t follow her destiny, that she is willing to compromise everyone else’s happiness to make sure it happens. This disregard for other people is only encouraged by the influential adults in her life.

Ashlynn has to be a servant to an abusive family and live knowing that the ultimate end to her supposedly happy ending is dying to set the stage for her daughters traumatic backstory, starting the whole cycle over again with no chance for any of them to escape.

Blondie feels so pressured to fit in to a deeply classist/monarchist society and ashamed of her parentage that she constantly presents a fake version of herself to everyone she knows, even her best friends.

Briar has to spend her whole life waiting for the moment her destiny comes and she falls asleep for a century. She knows that when she’s woken up, she will be forced to marry a boy dozens of years younger than her who she’s never met and live knowing that everyone she ever loved is dead and gone, the very things that she watched cause her mother’s emotional breakdown.

Cedar’s father was so afraid of watching her repeat his mistakes that he overcorrected, making it impossible for her to ever learn lessons for herself. She is also forced to share incredibly personal details with anyone who asks her questions, and can’t be trusted by her friends with any of their secrets, and it’s all because of her father’s past trauma.

Cerise has to hide who she truly is and never gets to see her family together and happy despite the fact that her parents have potentially the most healthy and mutually beneficial marriage in the whole franchise.

Daring was groomed from birth for a destiny that ends up not actually being his at all, leaving him aimless, feeling as though he has no purpose and has wasted his entire life.

Darling is forbidden by patriarchy and destiny to become a knight, the only thing she really wants, and at which she would be better than both of her brothers. She has to hide who she is and what she loves from everyone she knows

Dexter lived his whole life never knowing what his destiny would be but also knowing that whatever it was he’d have to commit to it forever the moment he discovered it at Legacy Day.

Duchess has spent her whole life knowing that the story she’s commited to living out ends in tragedy for her, and then had to watch the very people she’s been jealous of for years because of their seemingly happy endings give up those endings, while Duchess, loyal and rule following Duchess, is still stuck with her tragedy.

Faybelle tries so hard to commit to what she sees at her destiny that she’s never had a real friend in her life. Even still, no one recognizes her for all that effort and all she’s given up to be a suitable villain. Everyone is more afraid of Raven, who doesn’t even want to be evil.

Hunter has to constantly go against his moral compass to fulfill his destined role as a Huntsman and to try and make his father proud of him.

Kitty has been taught over and over again to value her Mother’s approval over all else, even at the expense of her friends. Her destiny is to create mischief, but how much more mischief can a dissolving world take before it’s too much?

Lizzie finds it almost impossible to express love or care for anyone else due to her mothers excessive conditioning that’s nearly akin to brainwashing. The saddest thing might be that her mother is actually, in her own way, trying her best to prepare Lizzie for a world that will only ever see her one way—as a villain. Now she lives in Ever After, princess to a kingdom that might not even exist for much longer, having given up everything for a destiny that may soon be impossible.

Maddie is a refugee forced from her home into a world she barely understands at a tender age. But she cannot express any angst or negative feelings about this circumstance, because to do so would go against her character. She lives in a world obsessed with destiny and stories while not even knowing if she’ll ever be able to return home and live out her story.

Raven is judged by almost everyone around her for her mothers crimes, many of which were required of her by destiny in the first place. She is nearly forced to commit to becoming a tyrannical megalomaniac (and almost falls into it herself, several times) who would be sentenced to lifelong punishment and torture for committing acts that weren’t even her idea in the first place, and the one punishing her would have been the very girl who begged so often for her to stop being so difficult and just follow her destiny.

#ever after high #eah #cartoon #cartoons #mattel #apple white #ashlynn ella #blondie lockes #briar beauty #cedar wood #cerise hood #darling charming #dexter charming #daring charming #duchess swan #faybelle thorn #hunter huntsman #kitty cheshire #lizzie hearts #madeline hatter #raven queen

[cryptotheism]

She awoke to a boxcar full of corpses,

which was damn lucky, because it meant she now had a one-way train ticket to exactly where she wanted to go. All that was left to do was pass the time.

The student took inventory of her body. It was the first thing she knew to do in case of catastrophic injury, but the ritual of it was almost meditative now. Start at the bottom, work your way up.

Feet: Sore from walking. The leathery sheathe of mutagenic skin that ran up to her shins was largely unfeeling scar tissue at this point. They looked and functioned like a pair of high-topped hiking boots, except permanent and a part of her body. They were a rough custom job, designed for traversing the pools of acid that dotted the necrotic swamps common to her homeland. Home. Not much left of home now. She was getting sidetracked.

Legs: Also sore from walking, but less so. The musculature was hers, but the skeleton was reinforced with carbon-steel after a fall when she was little. Shock absorbing hydraulic femurs were nice for someone who did as much walking as she did. Skin was necrotizing again. Gotta get that replaced. Maybe one of the corpses is fresh enough to provide a graft.

Pelvis: Mercifully unfeeling. The surveyor had grabbed her by the hips. Skeleton was completely replaced a long time ago, but she could feel a hitch in the joint of her left leg whenever she moved it just so. An easy fix but time consuming, and not the sort of work to be done on a moving train. No necrotization here, at this point it was all synthetic. Uterus was completely original, not that it meant much. The little bundle of braided tubes that assisted her endocrine system remained stapled to her skin. The jangling was annoying, kept getting stuck on her hatchet, thus, staples. Fluids were looking a little dark, she must be dehydrated.

Torso: Felt fine, aside from the strain on her spine from carrying her things. Even with the augments, spines in general were just poorly constructed. Flesh was scarred, lots of burns, but mostly original. Both clavicles were removed and replaced with cargo sockets. She rolled her shoulders, it seemed like everything was working well. Breasts and sternum had been removed too, replaced with subdermal bulletproofing. She had spent extra for the good stuff there. One solid hand-ground piece of sloped armor. Getting shot in the lung was a lesson you only needed to learn once. Heart was completely mechanical. She even had a backup in her bag just in case. She traded the old lung and the breast tissue for that.

Right Arm: She rolled back the sleeve of her heavy coat and stretched her arm, watching the little electric motors dance. It was strong and dexterous, with half a dozen small tools built into the length of her forearm. No need for skin. In a pinch she could perform everything from network intrusion to basic surgery. Most of it was covered by the sleeve of her heavy coat. The amputation was above the elbow. She had leased her original arm for the current mechanical one when she was working on the pit crew for for an order of knights. She ended up keeping the arm.

Left Arm: She liked her left arm. She was proud of it. The trademark of a sythetimancer. It was pretty. Biological and mechanical features blending seamlessly together. Coils of veins and circuitry making intricate braids up her arm terminating in perfect Fibonacci spirals. Softly bioluminescent blood, filaments formed from calcified nerve tissue, synapse clusters under crystal clear de-pigmented bulbs of alpha-keratin. She concentrated for a moment, allowing the whirls on her palm to twist and readjust themselves with a tingling sensation. Carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, all recombining into butane. She snapped her fingers, igniting a tiny flame, letting it dance along her fingers for a few moments burning and repairing the flesh as she went, spirals parting and coalescing like leaves navigating the twain of a gentle river. They looked like the little shell fossils she found at the white desert when she was little. Memories. Loss.

The spirals in her hand began to twist and pulse, little corkscrews of bone began to form, growing outwards against the thin layer of biosynthetic skin. It hurt. She winced, and regained control a moment later. Careless. She shook her arm, and the flame on her finger went out.

Head: Still a bit hazy from the pain. Where to start with the head? Neck. Parched. Currently being warmed by a scarf with a length of handmade maille hidden in the folds. Rebreather was working well because it was made well. It was made well because she made it. She made it because it used to be her job. Like everyone of her strain, she had no teeth, only two solid ridges of tough bone, largely blunt and made for gnashing but gradually coalescing into a single triangular point, evolved for ripping flesh. She clacked her jaws together experimentally. Clack. Clack.

Eyes were tired and dry. There was a short mechanical hiss and a snap as she the shields over her eyes retracted back into their sockets in her cheekbones. The only light was from a pair of grates in the ceiling, but the glare nearly blinded her. She snapped the shields back into place, and the heads up display came slowly back into focus.

Originally her skin was the sort of rust color common to her strain. By now it was a deep weather-worn red, except for the parts that were charred black and rotting. Gotta replace that. If she could grow hair, she had done a damn good job of making sure it was thoroughly singed off. It occurred to her that it might be fun to have hair one day. Maybe she could make it herself. Would it grow in spirals? She looked down to open the bag of genebending tools at her waist, and her heart jumped into her goddamn throat.

Staring up at her from the pile of corpses was a pair of bright red eyes on an unnaturally pale face with no nose or lips. Which would not be terribly upsetting or surprising, had it not just said “well met” in an oddly pleasant female voice, attempt to sit up, fail, and then ask politely if its new acquaintance would stop sitting on it.

This is the first chapter of Amber Skies. The complete story can be read here, along with its currently-in-progress sequel, Emerald Seas.

#Amber Skies #Emerald Seas

[beatrixstonehill2]

"Is my punishment almost over?" Emily asked her boyfriend, Joey.

"No, not yet, baby girl..... I think you need to learn your lesson a bit longer."

"But....! The tournament is in a month. How can I perform like this?"

"Not my problem.... You should've thought of that before being such a naughty girl, Emily."

Joey wasn't wrong, in a way..... Almost a year ago he started dating an Olympic silver medalist gymnast, who was known the whole world over for her skill and dexterity. Shortly after dating her, though, he was sent something damning by a random person online.... At the time, Emily was basically flat chested, yet had a cute butt and tended to give the cameras sensual, flirty looks, often blowing kisses and winking at the camera, sometimes bending over unnecessarily to give the people filming her something to zoom in on.....

Turns out when pervy guys reblogged these clips and admitted to masturbating to her performance, she would reply, happily encouraging them. On her official account, zero shame, her with the silver medal as her avatar. She'd tell these random men to 'milk their cocks good' and 'cum real hard for her tight little ass', like some porn star. Joey saw this and was very amused..... So, he decided Emily had to be punished--badly. He told her she had to obey him and take breast growth pills, to give the next national gymnastics tournament before the Summer Olympics a good show.

"I'm sorry, Joey..... you know I can't help myself. I love to flirt."

"Which just tells me how badly you need to be punished. Look at this one I found! Some random married guy posted that he wants to throw you in his van, hogtie you, and put 'a pile of kids in your pretty gut'. Did you block him....?"

She shook her head. "No....."

"Oh wait, you went on an extended RP session in the public comments about how he was going to abduct and rape you. Damn, you're one messed up girl."

"Messed up as a guy that makes his girlfriend grow a pair of boobs that weigh 50lbs each? Knowing she's a gymnast!"

"Nah, not as bad. But hey, think of all the hot interactions you'll have on Instagram now! You're gonna step out, not in your leotard, but a bikini, these gigantic udders spilling out. And you'll do your routine.... as well as you can. Think of how many guys are gonna jerk off to that."

"Fuck.... that's so hot." Emily bit her lip, fondling her pussy and breasts. "They're so heavy.... I look like an idiot with these things....."

"Well, you are an idiot. A horny, drooling idiot, too obsessed with fondling that swollen pussy of yours to care whether or not millions see you flirt with married men and RP getting knocked up by them."

"I'm.... it's just a little addiction, is all. I could try therapy...."

"Nah, I think you deserve to be nothing but walking jerk-off fodder. You're done being a real athlete. They'll just have you on because your oversized, goofy looking udders will make so many desperate, horny men tune in. And a whole bunch of normies to make fun of you."

"Fuck you.... you find these tits sexy..... You just came so hard inside me!"

"Well, I find them less sexy than I do the fact that I made you grow them. Understand?"

She nodded obediently. "Yes, master."

"Good girl, now, isn't it going to be fun watching you balance those giant tits and a belly full of my kids at the next tournament? Damn, by the time the Olympics roll around, those tits will weigh 100lbs each. Won't that be so fitting? I can't wait to see you even try to perform..... Then your career will be sitting on OnlyFans, immobilized by those cartoonish udders, masturbating all day like the drooling, horny idiot you really are deep down. You'll be flirting with your desperate, gross fans, all of your regular fans won't want anything to do with you as you sit there ten hours a days fondling yourself, surrounded by a pair of tits too big for you to carry on your own....."

"Fuck you...."

"Don't act like you don't agree. You aren't an athlete Emily, you aspire to be nothing but walking jerk-off material. So you might as well go for gold, isn't that right?"

Emily bit her lip, rubbing her heavy breasts. "Then I better go for 200lbs each...... be totally trapped by these things...."

"Now that's the perverted little idiot I love."

"I aim to please, Master. ❤️"

#breast expansion #be #enormous breasts #immobile kink #gigantic breasts

[daylite-writes]

Fragile Things - Yandere!Childe x Reader

At least he’s regretful when a punishment goes too far…

cws: kidnapping, isolation related punishments, yandere, self harm, softer yandere, heavier content.

1k words

~~~

“Baby, hey, look—look at me.” He was speaking firmly, his hands on your wrists, restraining you. Keeping you from clawing your skin any more than you already had.

You were absolutely inconsolable, babbling words even you couldn’t discern, sobbing, shaking. “No—no I-I—Ajax. A-Ajax.”

“That’s right. That’s right. Eyes on me. Oh baby. Too harsh? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so rough—”

You only broke down further, each hiccuping sob dragging you deeper as you tried to curl in on yourself.

Ajax hadn’t just kidnapped you. He’d been extremely thorough in breaking you. So thorough, a more logical you would have realized he underestimated how much you could take.

You’d been isolated, for the most part. Trying to escape the cabin in the snowy wilderness was not a good idea. Partially because, well, snow. And partially because it was easy to track people in the snow.

When he—inevitably—did catch you, he was upset. You knew the risk of punishment when you made the choice, but what he did was different to what you expected.

Your wrists, ankles, and neck all ached badly. For over a week you were locked up and shackled. And not the kind of locked up you were before the attempt. No, there wasn’t a warm cabin, a fireplace, or Tartaglia’s sloppy attempts at keeping you happy. A fucking closet. No light, windows. Ajax didn’t even speak to you when he left you food.

It was so different to everything you’d ever known, growing up in the free rolling hills of Mondstadt. You already struggled in the confines of the cabin, but kept silent and still in such a small space?

A week of that, and now he decided you were good. That you’d probably learnt your lessons. But that morning, when he went to let you out, to welcome you back with a teasing ‘I hope you learnt your lesson’ and a patronizing hug, he found you… in a less than desirable state.

Shivering not from cold, throat raspy and raw, eyes trained on the ground. You didn’t even notice him at first. Not as he spoke, each shackle falling off with a click. Not as his mood shifted as the light from the hallway illuminated your skin.

You’d been clawing at it, to the point of bleeding, stretching your limited dexterity in order to anxiously and unconsciously hurt yourself. Like a caged bird plucking it’s own feathers from stress. You’d only been brought to reality when he picked you up, jerking away from him as tears sprung to your eyes again.

He said something you didn’t process as you tried to stand up, stumbling like a doe on new legs, vision gray around the edges.

You weren’t sure how it all went down. But somehow you two ended up on the couch, settled between his thighs, your back to his chest as you shaked and begged and tried to get away, only partially aware. “No no no no—Ajax please.”

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, I got you. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He repeated, letting you claw at his forearms instead of your own skin. “Breath, breath little dove. It’s okay, It's all over baby. I’m sorry, it was too much, wasn’t it? You’re too fragile for me to be mean like that.”

You continued your quick, flighty, panicked breaths as he gently tried to get you back to reality. Eventually, you’d slowed down, settling against his chest, eyes still wide and breaths still quick. Like a live rabbit in the hands of a trapper.

“You with me, baby?” He asked gently. As your chest struggled to rise and fall again, you gave a quick nod, not looking up at him. Your eyes were trained on some far off spot, pretending to be anywhere else other than that damn closet. You weren’t sure you even realized—truly realized—you’d left. “There we go. There. That’s better darling. See? Everything’s alright now.”

“E-everything's alright…” you repeated, nodding to yourself.

“Yeah. See? Not too bad. I’m sorry for your punishment, I got all caught up in my emotions. I should have known you wouldn’t do that well alone, without me.” He laid his cheek on the top of your head, voice taking on something fond. A content sigh sounded above you. “You’re so soft. I need to be careful not to break you. But you need to be careful too, baby.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment, before squeaking out a soft, “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, no more escape attempts. Okay?” He said, and you nodded. He ran his fingers through your hair, having let go of your wrists when you weren’t paying attention. His blunt nails, worn from hard work, scratched gently at your scalp. “That’s right.”

It continued for some amount of time. It was hard to tell, really. You were on the edge of freaking out but somehow also falling asleep. Everything ached, from your ribs to your wrists.

At some point, he grabbed them again. Gentler this time. He lifted one, holding it gently as his thumb rubbed at your self inflicted injuries.

You felt like a caged bird, bars too tight and owner too inexperienced to keep you from plucking your own feathers from stress.

He sighed above you, and you turned your head away so as to not look at him. “Poor thing.” The condescending words felt strangely genuine as he laid his cheek on the top of your head. “It’s okay, I’ll take the week off and we can fix this, okay baby?”

He quieted for a moment, and belatedly you realized he wanted a response. You made a small, hollow noise of acknowledgement, which came out raspy from your throat.

He sighed again, as if this was so hard on him. It was hard to find the energy to be angry though. So you just stayed silent as he dropped your wrist and dragged you closer to him. He was cold to the touch, but even his love was warmer than isolation.

~

Not quite sure how this one managed to be both softer and rougher than my usual works. Sorry it was so short! And yes, the next part of traitor readers will be coming… eventually. I’m having a touch of trouble formatting it which is getting in the way of be writing it. Side note, I’ve expanded my fandoms open for requests! HxH and to a lesser degree HSR!

#yandere tartaglia #yandere childe #yandere ajax #yandere genshin impact #yandere childe x reader

[acapelladitty]

Can we please get Cooper using that lasso to tie up his little Smoothie? 🙏🏻😩😩

abrasive

Summary: After a day of teasing, the Ghoul turns the tables and you find yourself bound up in one delicious hell of a predicament.

(warnings for: predicament bondage, rope play, sadism, abrasive play, clit torment, overstimulation, dom/sub dynamics, cruel teasing, cunt torment, nipple torment, hints of petplay, spitting, oral sex, slight dubcon)

Fic Masterlist

Link to AO3

"Hands up before I pin them up there with my knife, little viper."

In the sweltering heat of the desert, the wood of the abandoned barn feels warm against your back as Cooper slams you against the wall - his gloved hand harsh against your chest as he plants his fingers between your exposed tits to keep you there.

"Only way to keep you from mischief, sweetheart. Maybe you'll take a lesson from this and learn what happens when you tease a man without mercy."

He wasn't wrong. You had woken up with a wicked game in your mind and his attention throughout the day had been claimed by your hands and body as you took every opportunity to tease him; from brushing against his groin with your hips to bending to the floor with an exaggerated arch in your back, ass displayed high in the air and in definite view of his gaze.

For the most part, he had ignored you, but as you passed this old barn, you found your waist gripped by his rough hands as his hard cock pressed up against your ass.

Time for a pitstop, cowgirl.

A growled line which instantly flooded your cunt as you allowed yourself to be marched to the interior of the barn.

Cooper is as dexterous as ever as his hands lock around your wrists and quickly loop the end of his lasso around the joints, the roughened rope feeling extra abrasive against the sensitive skin as it's pulled tightly. The rope is raised - taking your hands with it - until he hangs it off an old rusted hook, the height enough that you are forced to stand with your back straight to keep the pressure off your arms.

Exposed tits bouncing freely in the hot air, Cooper pauses his rope work long enough to smack at your left tit with a playful strike - his gloved fingertips catching your erect nipple like a lightning strike which sends pained arousal careening across your skin.

Yelping at the contact, he repeats the strikes until your nipples are reddened and peaking and your mouth is drawn into a tight line as you fight the urge to cry out with a mild howl.

"Almost like udders." Cooper mutters with amusement as he pulls your left tit up to his dipping mouth, sucking your nipple between his lips as you give a shuddering sigh. It only lasts a moment before the feel of his blunted teeth pressing against the sensitive bud forces your back to arch off the wall as your fingers claw against their restraints.

"Cooper, please." You whine, feet stomping against the ground as he keeps up the cruel pressure for another few seconds before releasing your nipple. His sunken cheeks appear even deeper as his face remains dipped and you can see the flash of his teeth as he offers you up a wolfish grin.

"Easy, pet. Any good cowpoke knows that sometimes you've gotta check the product from time to time."

"M'not a pet." You deny hotly, unwilling to let the name slide even as it sparks a fresh wave of pleasure across your belly.

"No?" Cooper frowns and his voice takes on a playful, dangerous lilt as he grips your waist roughly. "You don't want to be a breeding cow for me, huh? Think you're better than that. Well, I hate to piss on your parade, little viper, but I think you'll change your mind on that one."

A sinking feeling, one plagued by arousal, trickles down your spine and you gasp as Cooper's hands grab the remaining rope that hangs free of your hands and he offers you a roguish wink before setting the new part of his plan into place.

With a considerable length of lasso left, he's careful to pass it through your legs, grunting as he pulls it tight against your cunt.

"Can't have you slipping free now, can I?"

His fingers adjust the rope and you grind your cunt into his hand, making his task even more difficult as he fights your arousal to ensure that the lasso is centred through your slit - each small movement forcing the material to brush roughly against your revealed clit in such a way that it sends sparks of lightning up your spine.

"Cooper!" You whine, his name rolling from your mouth like a plea as you attempt to curl your body away from the pressure; a futile effort as he simply tightens his grip and follows your thrashing body without much difficulty.

"Keep struggling, darlin', and I'll add something nasty to that rope so you feel it even worse."

Stilling your body as you don't doubt his threats for a moment, you allow him to finish tying the ends of his lasso to the restraints around your wrists. Now, every slight movement in your hands or back causes a fresh heat of friction to burn between your thighs as the rope scratches along your most sensitive skin.

Groaning as the rope grinds against your slickened folds, the pressure is almost unbearable on your clit and you step to your tip toes to try and alleviate some of the discomfort.

"See you in an hour. Try not to move too much, sweetie. I need something left between your lovely legs to fuck when i come back now."

Genuine anxiety alights in your face as you watch him walk away, your jostling against the rope making your exposed tits shake and cunt clench against nothing.

"Hey! Wait! You can't leave me like this!"

"Says who?"

"What if someone else comes?"

"Hrm." Making a small noise in his throat, Cooper turns on his heel as he strides back to your position. His fingers wind within your hair and pull your head high, igniting fire in your scalp. "Then maybe I should mark my territory."

Hawking his throat, you flinch as he spits on your cheek. Gasping, you turn your head to the side as the liquid drips free to your chest - trickling down between your tits to leave a ticklish sensation in its wake.

"An hour." He repeats and you follow his movements with your head as he disappears through the barn doors, slamming them shut with such force that you feel the wall behind you vibrate.

x-x-x-x-x

Time slowing to a snails pace as you remain pinned to the barn wall, by the time the hour has passed - your sorry body is in some state.

Arms aching from being held over your head, your wrists have a rawness to them as they twist against the ropes restraining them in a futile effort to find some desperate comfort. A trickle of sweat rolls down your chest at the effort and you wipe off your forehead on the side of your arm. Tits continuing to hang free in the warm air, the pucker of your nipples refused to settle as the constant arousal of your cunt has left you a sweating, suffering mess.

Every slight motion of your lower half is torture.

As soon as Cooper had left, you had immediately tried to play the situation to your advantage. Rolling your thighs and standing on tiptoes, you were able to manipulate the rope a bit as it rubbed at your clit with a maddening sensation - enough to have your breath coming in short pants but nowhere near the stimulation needed to make you come.

But, try you had, and all your efforts had succeeded in doing was making your cunt a swollen and dripping mess which took every movement as an opportunity to spark a fresh sear of heat in your overly sensitive flesh. Even spreading your thighs further hadn't helped as it only made the rope tighten against your punished slit.

Almost driven insane by the constant flux of pained pleasure and wicked stimulation, by the time Cooper reappeared, you were ready to beg forgiveness for whatever he wanted.

You missed his silent entrance, his hand tilting your chin up from the floor startling you into a solid jerk which only served to draw the rope across your clit with a sadistic intensity; a jolt of sensation which is too much and has you crying out in place of a greeting.

"Enjoying yourself, sweetheart?"

His hand already clawing its way within his slacks as he frees his livid cock - the hard length jutting free of his body with obvious interest - the expression on Cooper's face drips with his arousal.

"No." Almost sobbing with relief at the sight of him, you very carefully straighten your body and push your chest out to him as you await him freeing you. "Please, Coop. Let me free."

"Not quite yet." Cooper rolls his textured hand along his cock, jerking himself as he soaks in the thoroughly ruined state he has found you in. "It's quite the view. And how are these doing?"

Grunting as he fists along his cock, Cooper brings his free hand to your exposed chest as he pulls and plucks at your nipples with a vicious pinch. His touch is like lightning, the sharp pain of his fingers melting with the burning discomfort in your cunt as you can't help but pull away from his hand - the shift of your body allowing the rope to chafe against your clit in such a way that it sparks fresh tears in your eyes.

"Hurts, Coop."

"Naw, it ain't hurting, sweetie. You've barely been up there an hour. Maybe I'll leave you til the rooster crows and then you can really tell me how it hurts."

His hand drops to your cunt and you bawl like an animal as he uses his fingers to stroke along the rope - simultaneously feeling the mess of your arousal and dragging out a wicked spike of pleasure from your abused, sensitive flesh.

Thrashing in place at the rough treatment, the worst of it is the throbbing, deep arousal which makes you press into his hand as much you try to pull away. Your clit swollen like crazy due to the constant scouring, his fingers feel like lightning as they rub gentle circles around the sensitive nub.

"You gonna come for me, sweetheart?"

"Y-yes!" You howl, the word coming out as a stutter as the extra stimulation sends every nerve into overdrive. "Please- FUCK, Cooper. I can't, please."

Cooper rolled the rope between his fingers, clamping the coarse rope around your clit so that every abrasive millimeter clung to your most sensitive nub. It was torturous as heat scorched through your whole cunt, the intensity making your eyes water and toes curl against the floor.

It was a violent orgasm; one marked by the howl in your voice as you rode his cruel fingers and pained pleasure tightened your limbs while you came all over his hand. Your soaked cunt quickly making a mess of his fingers and the lasso which bound you as you writhed against it - every slight movement only pushing your body further into overstimulation.

Cooper pulled away and you collapse in an instant, the muscles of your legs trembling like jelly as your hands remained elevated. You could only vaguely muster the energy to grunt and squeal lowly as Cooper started to untie the ropes and free you from your bondage. When his fingers loosed the rope which clung to your cunt, a small groan of relief followed and, even to your own ears, it sounded pathetic as hell.

Cooper chuckled softly, allowing you to fall into the solid heft of his upper body as your legs struggle to support you. His fingers grope at your hips, the dull ache of his hold alerting you to the small, purple bruises which will no doubt mark the skin for the next few days.

"Now, since I've been such a gentleman and there ain't nothing in life free, I'm gonna let you fall to those trembling knees and you can suck me dry. Eh, sweetie? How does that sound?"

Clutching his duster like a lifeline as the head of his cock bumps messily against your stomach, you stand slightly bowlegged to keep the pressure off your cunt - the flesh feeling sore and swollen in the warm air.

"Yes, sir."

His hand tilts your head up to meet him once more, blazing eyes holding your own as he pins you with heated features.

"You gonna wrap those pretty lips around my ghoul cock and take everything I have to offer? If I don't feel you're doing the most then I'll pin you down and fuck what's left of you." His accented syllables flowing over the threat, Cooper's voice is so low that it sends a fresh shudder coursing through you.

"Smart choice, cowgirl."

You wince at the thought of his cock slamming into your abused hole and nod with enthusiasm, gently slipping yourself down his body as you fall to your knees.

Pleased with that, Cooper's gloved hand locks itself around the back of your head as you wetten your lips and prepare to accept him into your willing mouth.

#havent written much for this type of ropeplay before so im excited #cooper howard #the ghoul #fallout #fallout tv series #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you #cooper howard smut #fallout fanfic #fallout smut #ghoul smut #walton goggins #fallout prime #fallout tv show

[pin-k-ink]

Gojo Satoru X Reader (pt. 1)

pt. 2

CW: teacher-student relationship, male masturbation, lots and lots of sexual tension, third-person perspective

a/n: i just watched miller’s girl last night so this was heavily inspired by it. well…somewhat

Whispers slithered through the hallowed halls of Jujutsu High like ominous serpents - rumors about the scandalous relationship between Gojo Satoru and his sole female student. At first, she dismissed the gossip as absurd. Sure, her mentor could be incorrigibly flirtatious at times, like their first meeting when he mistook her for a new teacher and gallantly swept down to press his lips to her knuckles. Even after she corrected him, the silver-haired sorcerer seemed delighted to have "such a lovely little lady" as his pupil.

He proceeded to give her an unsanctioned personal tour of the dormitories, escorting her to the teachers' quarters, claiming her room was mixed-up just to have her staying close by. Now she has to explain to new students why she’s rooming with that notorious manchild.

The rumors intensified after she officially joined Gojo's class. Though undeniably childish outside the training grounds, he proved an exemplary mentor, deeply familiar with the nuances of her innate techniques. More importantly, he was fiercely protective, exemplified the day he saved her life.

She'd been ambushed during a mission, her ribs crushed by some malevolent spirit. Splayed helpless amid the rubble, she watched in detached horror as the skeletal beast sidled closer, drawn by her agony. Then, a blinding flash of black and white - Gojo had arrived.

The next thing she knew, she was gasping in his arms, pain screaming through her body as he jostled her with calculated roughness. "Glad you didn’t puke on me this time," he teased with a wolfish grin, referencing her violent reaction to her first forced teleportation.

This bizarre, backhanded banter marked the start of a profound intimacy between master and student. What began as a mere academic relationship steadily morphed into something akin to family - perhaps the closest she would ever know. Like now, waiting side-by-side for the train home, his dexterous fingers idly weaving the silken strands of her hair into intricate braids. A futile bribe of mochi had failed to dissuade his pleas to use his teleportation, so she resigned herself to crowded public transit, crumbs inevitably showering her shoulders as he kept himself busy.

Aboard the train, packed amid throngs of exhausted salarymen, she stiffened as unfamiliar calloused fingers trailed up her stockinged thigh. A harsh reminder of her juvenile "uniform" - another of Gojo's juvenile pranks. She clenched her fists, nostrils flaring, determined to withstand this violation with dignity.

Suddenly, a strangled yelp split the air as the unseen hand retreated. She found herself crushed against her mentor's powerful frame, his broad chest pressed to her back, arms enveloping her in an unmistakable claim. His fingers trembled with barely contained fury where they splayed across her abdomen.

After that sickening highway incident, when she awoke battered and bloody amid the wreckage, new rumors swirled about the disturbing closeness between teacher and pupil. Gojo's gentle touch roused her from the hazy brink of consciousness, his thumb swiping some blood from her ashen lips before he murmured, "You look like shit, kid."

From that point, a new routine emerged - one she anticipated with visceral dread, yet perverse longing. In addition to their intensive training regimens, where he enacted relentless "lessons" that seemed calculated to map every aching plane of her body...at night, he would appear in her dorm. Her sanctuary from prying eyes, where he could tend her wounds and brandished injuries with exacting care, stripped down to her underwear.

Even the most casual gestures between them began to carry subtext, like at the school sports festival. One ill-advised taunt from a rival combatant, and Gojo materialized behind her in an instant, hoisting her over his shoulder with barely-veiled possessiveness. His fingers dipped to swat her rear before facing down the offending student, eyes glinting with menace. Mere inches from flaying the young man with his Hollow Purple technique before the principal intervened.

Such public indecencies fueled fevered gossip about the forbidden relationship between the supremely powerful sorcerer and his nubile disciple. Rumors she could neither confirm nor deny...especially after the way he claimed her that night in the sanctum of his apartment.

The celebratory dinner after her sports festival triumph was a blur of italian cuisine and sultry looks. Gojo escorted her back to his flat for "freshening up" before returning to campus. Or so she assumed, until emerging from his steamy bathroom engulfed in a cloud of vapor, wearing nothing but an oversized dress shirt pilfered from his wardrobe. The damp fabric clung like a sensual rumor, outlining her lithe curves in diaphanous definition.

Whatever semblance of self-restraint typically graced Gojo's demeanor nearly disintegrated as he pulled his student into his lap. For a torturous minute, primal instincts threatened to overrule his better judgment - to simply slam her down onto the mattress and fuck her with reckless abandon.

But a flicker of lucidity pierced the haze of lust just in time. This was his precious protégé, the woman who had utterly bewitched him both in body and spirit. He couldn't simply take her like one of his flings. Not without her explicit consent.

Drawing a steadying breath, he reached over to gently take the towel from her hands, using it to slowly dry her hair. All the while, desperately attempting to ignore the insistent throbbing in his groin, the painfully prominent bulge straining against the fabric of his pants.

That night marked the first time he'd allowed himself to truly surrender to the sinful fantasies that so frequently plagued his thoughts when in her presence. As she retreated to her room, Gojo mentally praised his own restraint. But the image of her, draped in nothing but his oversized shirt, branded itself into his psyche.

Only after bidding her a quick goodnight did he seek the solace of his own room to fist his cock with unrestrained fervor, her tempting image fueling each increasingly frantic stroke. When his orgasm finally washed over, her name spilled sacrilegiously from his lips in a guttural rasp.

Come morning, he maintained an aura of unruffled nonchalance around his student, as though the pervious night's events were merely fever dreams. But she could see the hairline fractures in his implacable veneer, instinctively sensing their dynamic had irreversibly shifted after beholding the undisguised hunger burning in his eyes.

Something primal had awoken between them. And neither was prepared to confront the smoldering aftermath.

#jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader #gojo smut #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo x reader smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader smut

[foldingfittedsheets]

I’m ridiculously comically bad at some dexterity based skills. I’ve talked about being wretched at folding but I’m equally bad at cutting.

I worked at an oil and vinegar shop, cutting fresh bread for samples every day for a year with no improvement. My manager gave me repeated lessons and was absolutely perplexed that I was incapable of any growth. I genuinely tried so hard to no avail.

Usually my beloved will precut slices of the loaves they make because it’s just better all around. I don’t mess up the angle of the loaf or mangle the slice. Today they didn’t have time.

I have no explanation for how bad I am at this.

#ramblies #I am riding the struggle bus hard enough that I almost cried about what I did to their perfect bread #but they told me it will still be delicious even if I were tearing chunks off with my hands and that’s all that matters

[dancingbirdie]

Hi hi! I absolutely adore your astarion smut and I saw you were looking for ideas sooooo, how about reader being distracted watching him work with his hands?? Like he could be sat fixing his shirt with a sewing needle, flicking book pages or lockpicking- whatever- but it has an effect, his nimble, veiny hands being just soo good at things that he can’t help but notice just how zoned out and squirmy they get.. some teasing and loving jokes about it ensue until maybe one thing leads to another and he’s sat behind his pretty tav fingering them, bringing them to the edge over and over, whispering and nipping, carefully mocking them about somthing as simple as his hands getting them going.. just making them melt.. idkkkk man it gets me just thinking about it pahahah

Hi, anon! This was a WONDERFUL prompt to get me out of my smut rut. Hope you enjoy! xoxoxo

Like my smut writing? Find more here.

A Lesson in Lockpicking

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Astarion x fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.5K

Warnings/Tags: Hand kink, praise kink, semi-public sex, mild exhibitionism, teasing, vaginal fingering, smut with a little plot

Summary: Astarion notices you watching him pick some locks. He offers to give you a lesson you won't soon forget.

*****

It was unfair, really. No one should have hands as lovely and dexterous as he did. 

You were practically salivating, watching Astarion’s nimble fingers pick lock after lock in the underground bank vault that you and the party had happened to stumble upon. While the others were far too distracted by crates of silks and gold troves, you had eyes only for Astarion. Or, more specifically, Astarion’s hands. 

The others were slowly pilfering their way around the cavernous room, pocketing what they could without encumbering themselves. But not you. 

No, you were too entranced by the movements of the rogue before you, as he worked to release the heavily rusted lock on one of the many jewel-encrusted chests scattered about the vault. You bit your lip, studying the way the tendons in his hands flexed and relaxed with every twist and fidget of the wrench and pick he held. His long, slender fingers balanced the tools with a graceful sort of ease that you knew could only come from years of practice. And the way he curled his wrist while manipulating those tools, it was almost too much to bear. 

You blushed as you realized you had subconsciously clamped your thighs together, your body desperate to relieve some of the growing tension within you. 

Gods above, you hoped that if anyone – especially Astarion – noticed your intense gaze, it could be chalked up to your excitement over another chest opened. Surely that made sense given the circumstances. Right? It was embarrassing enough to catch yourself squirming over just his hands doing some mundane task, let alone having someone else realize it. 

Within seconds, Astarion had the lock released. Tossing it carelessly to the side, he heaved open the lid of the old chest to reveal the contents within. Another heaping mound of gold and jewels, same as the rest. Clearly unimpressed, he rose from his crouch and slunk over to the next locked chest, beginning the process again.

Gods, you needed some air. Needed to be anywhere else but watching him pick another lock open. With a tight cough and shake of the head, you mumbled a “nice job” as you skirted by him, desperate to put some distance between yourself and those mesmerizing hands of his. 

*****

He had known why you were watching him so intently earlier in the day. Of course he had known. Even without his heightened sense of smell alerting him to your arousal (thank you elven heritage and vampiric consolation prizes), your expression in his peripheral vision told him everything he needed to know. 

You were coveting. But not for the gold in the old chest he had popped open in record time. 

No, your eyes had been focused singularly on him. On his hands. And sure, knowing this, perhaps he had embellished his movements a bit more than necessary. Perhaps he’d slid his fingers across his tools with a more lascivious flourish than lockpicking ever required. And perhaps he’d curled his wrist suggestively as he released the tension from those over-wound lock pins. But, oh, the way you had squirmed and clenched your thighs together as he did so was worth every second of that exaggerated performance. 

So enamored with his hands, you’d neglected to see the smirk ripple across his features as the lock opened with a muted snick. 

All the better for him, though. 

Your starving expression had produced so many entertaining ideas in his mind while he worked. 

And what made those ideas all the more enticing? You had no idea of the plans he had in store for tonight. 

*****

It was late. Everyone else had retired to their tents for the evening, but you had volunteered to take the first watch. Like most nights, it was fairly quiet, nothing but the sound of crickets chirping and owls hooting in the distance.

You were stoking the fire with fresh tinder as you caught sight of Astarion reentering the camp. He was whistling some bawdy tune you recalled from the pubs of Baldur’s Gate while he sauntered toward you, tossing and catching some metallic thing that flashed in the firelight. 

“What’s that you’ve got?” you whispered as he drew closer, mindful of your sleeping compatriots. 

“Practice lock,” Astarion replied, tossing you the object. You turned it over in your hands, noticing its striking resemblance to one of the locks he’d picked earlier in the day. 

“Why are you giving me this?” you questioned, eying him warily. 

“I caught you watching me today, darling. I assumed you were too shy to ask for… lessons,” he supplied. 

He had an innocent-enough tone, but still, it had you gulping audibly. Did he intend a double meaning to his words, or were you just desperately lusting after him? You couldn’t be sure. It certainly meant he had noticed your staring earlier, but far be it from you to correct the narrative he had formed in his mind. You would rather be buried alive than admit the truth to him right now. 

No Astarion, I couldn’t give a damn about lockpicking. I just can’t stop watching your hands and thinking about all the ways I’d wish you’d use them on me. Even the idea of that confession caused a blush to bloom across your neck and cheeks. 

You cleared your throat and nodded. “Right. You’re right. Thank you for offering.”

His smile widened. “Of course. I was thinking,” he began, as he circled around you, graceful as always. Like a feline cornering their dinner. 

“We could have our first lesson tonight. Right now,” he continued. 

You shivered, unable to see him any longer, but feeling him close behind you. 

“Isn’t it a little late for that?” you asked weakly. 

You both felt and heard his chuckle by your ear, his breath blowing tendrils of your loose hair into your periphery. He’d gotten so close without you even realizing. His preternatural stillness was always catching you off guard. 

“Oh no, darling. It’s the perfect time for it, I think,” Astarion murmured. You shivered again as his nose traced a path up the column of your neck. “Let me show you.”

“All right,” you whispered, desire choking your voice into some muted, demure thing. 

You clenched your jaw, commanding yourself to remain calm, as you felt him settle around you. Felt his body press snugly against you. You watched as his long legs stretched to bar you in while he circled his arms around you, resting his forearms on bended knees. His chest was flush against your back, his chin resting on your shoulder. You knew if you turned your head, your lips would be close enough to touch. 

You were effectively caged within his embrace. Even fully clothed, it felt electric, everywhere his body touched yours. It took everything within you just to maintain your breathing. 

Your eyes tracked his every move, as one hand moved to pluck the lock still clutched in your fingers, while the other hand revealed a simple lockpick – a long metal stem with a tiny curved hook at the end. 

“It’s simple, really,” he murmured. “Do it once, and you’ll never forget.”

“Is that so?” you replied.

“Mm, quite so,” he crooned. You could hear the grin in his voice. 

“Watch me,” he continued, as he held the lock in one hand and inserted the pick with the other. 

You obeyed, taking in every minute movement of his fingers as he twisted the pick this way and that. This close, you could truly appreciate his beautiful porcelain skin. The way the blue-gray veins underneath snaked around each knuckle of his hand, a delicate webbing that came alive with each fidget of his fingers. The dance they performed against the tendons in his hand, as they rose and fell while he continued to work. 

A quiet snick, and the lock handle popped open in his palm. 

You blinked, impressed by how quickly he’d managed to free the pins within. 

“See? Simple. Now you try,” he whispered. 

You felt your stomach drop. 

Fuck. You were utterly, completely fucked.

You hadn’t been watching the actual pick at all. You hadn’t the slightest clue how he’d maneuvered the tool. Once again, you’d been far too distracted by his hands. 

You remained still, hesitating to accept the lock and pick he now offered.

“Is there a problem, darling?” he crooned after a moment’s pause. You could hear it again, that grin in his voice. 

You turned your head slightly to take in his expression. There was mischief in his eyes, that much was unmistakable. Whatever game he was playing with you, you could tell he was enjoying it immensely. 

“I, um… I think I may need to see you do it again. I’m not sure I’m ready,” you confessed in a hoarse voice. 

“Oh, but you were watching my hands so intently! I doubt you missed a thing,” he chuckled, his eyes alight with amusement. 

Gods damn it all, you thought to yourself, eyes roving across his face. Taking in the telltale signs in his expression.

He knew. He’s probably known this whole time. 

You sighed, surrendering to the heat of the blush that was now coloring your entire face and neck. 

“You know I haven’t been watching the pick, Astarion,” you murmured.

“Whatever do you mean, darling?” he gasped in mock surprise. “What could you have been watching then?”

You rolled your eyes, turning away from him to face the campfire once more. “You know already, you ass,” you grumbled.

“Tsk, tsk. Evading my questions and now name calling? Honestly, darling, I thought we had something special,” he pouted. 

You groaned, smacking one hand against your forehead. His teasing would be the death of you. 

“I was watching your hands,” you groused. 

“My hands? Whatever for?”

“Gods damn you, Astarion. You’re really going to make me say it?” you snapped, whipping your head around again to glare at him. 

“Oh, I really am,” he chuckled. His shit-eating grin did little to lessen your embarrassment. 

“Fine. Fine!,” you spouted, exasperated. “I like watching you work with your hands. It… gets me… excited. And then, I start thinking about all of the other things I’d like you to do with your hands…” you paused.

“And?” he prompted. His teasing expression was gone, replaced with something more akin to what you had been feeling for him all day. 

“And… and I think about how I’d like you to use your hands on me,” you finished in a whisper, mouth watering at the look of anticipation on his face. 

“All you had to do was ask, darling,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss you as his hands slipped down to the front of your breeches. With deft hands, he loosened the knot there and pulled the strings free from their bindings, jerking the leathers down past your hip bones.

You gasped and keened back against his chest as you felt his fingers slip beneath the fabric, skimming past the tuft of curls to brush against your swollen clit, slick with arousal. 

Astarion groaned. “Fuck, you’re absolutely drenched. Is this all for me?” he asked, as his fingers drew slow, languid circles against you. 

You mewled a pathetic “yes” as your hips subconsciously rutted up, pressing yourself harder against his fingers. 

“Just from watching my hands, darling? Just from watching me pick a rusted lock?” he teased. 

You huffed and nodded your assent. 

“Naughty thing, you,” Astarion chuckled, trailing the fingers of his other hand against your entrance, barely entering you with one finger before removing it entirely. 

You whined your disapproval, inching yourself forward in an effort to communicate how much you needed those fingers inside you. 

“Shh, shh,” he admonished, kissing your temple. “We don’t want to wake the others, now do we?”

“No,” you breathed, burrowing your face into his neck to muffle your noises. “I’ll be quiet.”

“That’s my good girl,” he cooed, slipping two fingers inside you. The sudden fullness caused you to groan desperately against his skin, becoming a long, drawn-out noise as he began pumping them with sure, deft strokes. 

“No, we can’t have them see you getting finger fucked by the rogue in the firelight,” he whispered, working you now with both hands. “Although, I think the wicked part of you likes the idea of getting caught like this, hmm? Part of you wants them to see how I’m taking you, so easily, right under their noses? In the middle of camp? You want them to see how well I fuck you into oblivion with only my hands. You want them to hear and see how I make you moan.”

With his fingers on your clit and three knuckles deep in your cunt, you were far too gone to form an articulate response. His voice, so alluring it was sinful, only stoked the growing inferno within your lower body. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” you cried against the column of his neck, both an admission and a plea. “Yes, Astarion, yes.”

“I know, I know. You naughty, precious thing. My sweet girl. My wicked one,” he cooed, planting kisses along your cheek and temple. “You’re doing so well. Making this so easy for me, love.”

You whined at his words, relishing the sound of his voice as it uttered the sweetest and most deplorable things. You nearly saw stars as he slipped a third finger inside you, thrusting into you harder as his fingers drew tighter and tighter circles around your clit. 

“You can’t last much longer now, can you, darling?” he whispered. “Not when I’m fucking you like this, hmm? Tell me. Tell me how much you want to come.”

“Please, gods, please, Astarion. Let me come,” you pleaded, covering your mouth with your hands now to try to quiet your noises. It was becoming almost impossible to keep quiet. You could feel your release barreling through your body, desperate to spring free.

“I want you to. I want you to, my sweet one,” he responded between kisses. “I want to feel you clamp around me, knowing it was my hands that turned you into this pliant, mewling little thing.”

“Yes,” you moaned in agreement. “Yes, please.”

“Take your hands off your mouth, darling,” he whispered hoarsely against your jaw as his fingers ratcheted up their pace. “If you’re going to scream for me, I want everyone to hear it.”

It was the last push you needed before freefalling into ecstasy. Your climax rocketed through your body as his name burst from your lips, your hands freed from your mouth to clutch his thighs in a vice-like grip. 

You were so lost to the sensation, you couldn’t tell how loud you had cried Astarion’s name. You simply melted back into his embrace, absorbing the aftershocks of your release while he held you snugly against him. 

“Good girl. So good for me. So very good,” he whispered praises while his hands trailed errant patterns across the goosefleshed skin of your arms. 

“Did anyone hear us?” you whispered after a while, blinking open your eyes to take in his expression. 

He laughed, causing you to bounce lightly against his chest. “Oh, I’m sure they did. You sang like a songbird for me, darling.”

You huffed in annoyance, too relaxed to drum up much more irritation.

“If anyone complains, I’m going to tell them it was your fault,” you grumbled. 

“I suppose that’s fair. I’ll apologize to them on behalf of my hands, since that’s what started it all,” he smirked. 

#dancingbirdiewrites #astarion x reader #bg3 astarion #astarion #astarion bg3 #bg3 astarion fic #astarion smut #astarion ancunin #astarion x f!reader #astarion romance #astarion x you #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x mc #bg3 smut #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfic prompt #bg3 fanfiction #smut requests #smut

[devilmademewriteit]

Javier Peña & Joel Miller Headcanons

a smutty edition<3

warnings: rough sex/smut (fem penetration, oral (both receiving), fingering) so 18+ only content; fem!afab!reader; dbf!Joel Miller; step!dad Joel Miller (so step-cest [I’m sorry]); implied age gap; choking; spanking; smoking (and probably more—this is just pure filth, read at your own risk).

TYSM for 500 followers!! In honour of that, enjoy some slightly depraved Joel Miller & Javier Peña headcanons based on requests yall have sent me<33333

PS: DBJAG part 3 coming to YOUR dash, real soon! Read part 1 here & part 2 here!

—

Javi laying his steady hands against the soft, inner skin of your thighs, spreading your shaking legs wide open for him and letting out a sinful groan. He’d never seen anything so perfect as the sight of your aching cunt dribbling down onto your cluttered desk. His practiced tongue draws long, breathy exhalations from your lips. Keep quiet while I taste you, querida. Skirt bunching around your waist, underwear shoved in his back pocket, your knuckles turn white on the hardwood edge of the table as you listen for footsteps, voices, the distant ring of a telephone.

“Be a good girl and keep watch for me—or d’you want everyone in the office to know just how needy this pussy is?

Dad’s best friend, Joel Miller, fucking you dumb from behind in a dark, deserted alleyway, muffling your cries with a calloused hand over your mouth. His fingernails dig mercilessly into the skin under your cheekbones—Joel loves watching the combined effect of his cock and his suffocating palm on your big, drunken eyes, sending them rollin’, straight up to the skies. He laughs when you squirm against his hips, responding to every desperate moan you breathe against his skin with a lazy, harsh slap to your ass.

“Always wanted to send you back to your old man with my cum drippin’ down your thighs”

It’s your first month at the new job—after graduating college, you thought the possibility of being hazed was behind you. That is…until you get assigned a seat next to Javier Peña at a work dinner, feeling a rough hand slide up your leg and long, dexterous fingers ease your underwear to the side, teasing your aching clit all night long. He engages you in small talk with your boss—the weather and politics—speaking nonchalantly as his middle and fourth fingers pump in and out of your pulsing cunt.

“Words a little hard tonight, sweetheart? Or something else getting you tongue-tied?”

Joel’s massive hands on either side of your head as he facefucks you selfishly, tears running down your puffy cheeks while you near-suffocate on his thick length. Open wide before you swallow, baby—show me how my cum looks on your lil’ tongue. Grabbing at his forearms and staring into his dark, hungry eyes, dazedly wondering how you’ll manage to hide the bruises on your knees in the coming weeks. Dragging a thick thumb under your eye, he drinks in the sight of your tear-soaked face.

“That’s right,” an approving groan. “Knew that pretty lil’ mouth was good for somethin’ other than whinin’”

Riding Agent Peña on his unmade bed, bringing your lighter up to the cigarette hanging from his mouth til’ the tip glows red-hot. Breathing in the smoke he blows out between your ecstasy-parted lips as he rolls his hips against yours, the dark head of his cock pressing against that spot inside you.

“Look at me when you come, hermosa. Look so fuckin’ pretty with my cock up inside you.”

Getting lessons from your step-dad, Joel, on how to stroke, suck, and ride a cock properly—like a big girl. He talks you through it slowly, breaking you in til’ you’re sore, bruised, and thoroughly used. Like that, Joel? Pumping his hard length between your delicate, devoted fingers, watching intently as his face contorts with pleasure. Alright, angel—that’s enough playin’ around. Facedown for me, now. Listening, paying attention, doing your best to be the perfect little student.

“N’ when a man says he wants to come inside this needy lil’ pussy, you say yes, alright?”

Blowing off steam with a couple of girlfriends at the bar and running into the very person who’s been making your work-life so stressful. Watching him flirt with other women for hours before he bothers a glance your way. Rolling your eyes when he winks at you. Javier’s low voice rings crystal clear despite the loud music filling the space—one hand on your shoulder, the other hovering over the back of your neck as he leans down to whisper softly in your ear.

“Roll your eyes all you want, querida; we’ll see how tough you are when I’ve got you on your hands and knees, beggin’ for it”

Joel Miller—over double your age and double your size—growing tired of the short, tight clothing you’ve been wearing around him. Dressin’ like that’s gonna attract the wrong kinda attention, sweetheart. Testing him, pulling him in with a wicked, skyward gaze—that’s what I’m hoping for, Miller—and getting rewarded with a thick hand around your throat, rough fingers manhandling your breasts. Need me to show you what the wrong kinda attention feels like? Nodding enthusiastically, needing for him to use you.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart, if I’da known how much of a slut you are, I woulda fucked you stupid the second you were legal”

Bonus fluff:

Agent Peña carrying you home to his couch after watching you take one too many shots at the club. He just can’t help stepping in to rescue you, regardless of the fact that he barely even knows you. When you wake up in the morning, confused and thoroughly hungover, he’s already at the office—but there’s a warm coffee, an aspirin, and a muffin waiting for you on the nearby table.

“you really can’t handle your tequila, hermosa. did you eat?”

Joel kissing you roughly at the peak of his climax and then finding himself completely unable to stop. Your lips are sore, red, and severely abused by the end of the night and still the man can’t get enough of you. The grey-speckled hair of his mustache brushes against your Cupid’s bow and he tastes like necessity, something desperate in the way his mouth clings to yours, his hand delicately cradling the back of your head. Almost as if you were precious to him.

“you sure know how to make a hard man soft.”

—

TAGLIST: @mads-grace4 @anyas-stuff @liviloo12346 @bookofbee @mattmurdocksgirlfriend @stardust-chords-enthusiast @fruitcupsworld @sallymilkweed @sullysflm @sexygaypalpatine @livyjh @s-unflowxr @lostsoldieronahill @maudlinflowers

[calaisreno]

His Favourite Jumper

Sherlock can be careless, but he always tries to make things right.

1627 words / Prompt: Eavesdropping

“What’s this?” Mrs Hudson frowns at what he’s showing her. “John’s jumper?”

“John’s favourite jumper. I need to fix it.”

She takes it in her hands and assesses the damage. It’s a nice jumper, all worsted, cabled up the front, the sleeves set in with steeks. Certainly hand knit by someone who knew what she was doing. She assumes it’s a she; there aren’t many men she knows with the patience to knit.

“What did you do to it?”

“The flat was chilly, so I was wearing it. Borrowed it. John wasn’t home. I was doing an experiment and spilled acid on it. I’ll need matching yarn, I assume. And knitting needles.”

The holes are extensive, she notes, and even a good darner would find it hard to repair such extensive damage. Still frowning, she looks up at him. “Do you know how to knit?”

“Well, no. But knitting is just interlocking loops. How hard can it be?”

She stifles a snort. The poor boy is distressed, but determined to fix what he’s ruined. No one should despise a novice effort, but…

“Sherlock, love, these are a lot of holes, and matching the colour and type of the wool is a bit harder than you might think. Even if you could find a match, even you could darn them all, it’s not going to be like new. He’ll be able to tell.”

His face falls a bit. “But he can’t know I’ve ruined it. And he’ll notice it’s gone.”

“You might buy him a new one.”

“This one was hand-made by his grandmother. It won’t be the same.”

 Nothing is the same, she wants to say. Sometimes we have to let go of things. 

But he’s looking at her so hopefully, and it’s a shame to crush that kind of hope. It’s obvious what’s happening. He’s been in love with John since they moved in together. Sherlock can be careless, but that’s because he’s heedless in his enthusiasm. This isn’t the first jumper he’s ruined, and that’s surely part of his worry. John does have a temper. 

“Just tell him. He’ll forgive you.”

“He’s always forgiving me, and I just keep ruining things. Please, Mrs Hudson. Won’t you show me how?”

Now his eyes shine with tears that threaten to fall.

She gives him a darning lesson. 

John notices the jumper is missing. She sees him going through the laundry, looking for it, and then through the bins. 

When he asks, she plays the innocent, asking him when he last wore it, whether he might have taken it off and left it somewhere. He shakes his head.

She’s watching an old movie late one night when Sherlock brings his work down to her. 

“It looks awful,” he says, slumping on her sofa. “I can’t give it to him like this.”

“I think you’re underestimating him, love. He’s not going to leave because you ruined his jumper.”

“This is not the only thing I’ve ruined,” Sherlock replies. “I broke his mug, I lost his charging cord, and I accidentally set his book on fire. It was only a paperback, but still. He must think I’m trying to drive him out.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

Sherlock’s face is pleading. “Please, Mrs Hudson. You must show me how to knit.”

“Knitting a jumper takes time.”

“How long, would you estimate?”

“Well, there’s the size. It’s not a large one, so that’s all right, and it’s a thicker yarn. Made in the round, so there won’t be much stitching up. But you’re a novice, and that adds hours. I would say… forty hours, minimum.”

“A week, then?”

“When will you find forty hours in your week to work on it?”

“John goes to bed earlier than I do, and he’s at work most days. I’ll sleep when he’s home, so I can work on it when he’s gone or asleep.”

She gives him a knitting lesson.

A skilled eavesdropper, she overhears their conversation, John asking, Sherlock giving a shrug and suggesting that if he had indexed his jumpers, maybe he wouldn’t have misplaced it. 

At night, Sherlock comes down for instruction. She shows him how to make ribbing around the bottom and cables as he travels up the body. He has good dexterity and makes quick progress.  

“He’s bought himself a new jumper,” he informs her. “Very cheap. Obviously machine-made. And the yarn is plastic!”

“Acrylic,” she says. “It has the advantage of laundering well. No shrinkage.”

“I hate it,” Sherlock replies. “But mine looks uneven. I’m not happy.”

“You have to check your gauge. You’re new to this, so it’s probably changed as you’ve become more proficient.” 

She pulls out her gauge ruler and shows him. “See? It’s narrowing. Your stitches are getting tighter.”

“How do I fix it?”

“You can either switch to larger needles, or you can recalculate, unravel, and start over. Either way, you’ll need to pull out a few rows.”

He presses his fingers against his forehead. “This is going to take years!”

“Not years.” She pats his hand. “You’ve got the hang of it. Even experienced knitters have to pull out days of work sometimes. It’s worth it to get a jumper that looks good.”

He gives a heartfelt sigh, slides the jumper off the needles, and begins pulling the stitches out.

She admires his determination. It takes him weeks to work his way to the armholes, and then she shows him how to do a steek where he will attach the needles for the sleeves. As his consulting business picks up, the weeks turn into months. 

At Christmas, John wears a dark blue jumper with an Icelandic yoke of red and white. She admires it; he smiles and tells her his grandmother made it for him. Sherlock’s eyes are on him, every time John isn’t looking. It’s not the jumper he’s admiring.

The jumper is set aside after Moriarty steals the Crown Jewels, hacks into the Bank of England, and breaks into Pentonville Prison. 

Sherlock bows out of John’s birthday, claiming he has a ‘thing.’ When she comes up to check on him, he’s finished one sleeve, ready to start the other.

She can see John is hurt that Sherlock skipped his birthday. He didn’t even get him a card. He says nothing, but the way he looks at Sherlock makes her certain; he’s in love with his flatmate.

Afterwards, an awful silence fills the flat. She can hear the floorboards creak a bit as John paces back and forth. There’s no violin to soothe him to sleep. 

It’s days before she can bear opening the door of his room, but she knows she has to put things in boxes. His brother has promised to continue paying the rent until he can collect his things. But it’s heartbreaking, looking at all the familiar clutter. She has to tidy up.

There are clothes scattered on the floor, and she gathers them for the wash. She goes through his drawers, tallying how many boxes she’ll need. In the wardrobe, all his suits and shirts hang in dry cleaner’s bags. 

As she prepares to close the wardrobe door, she spots a file box with a label reading: Experiment. Do not open!

She opens it, of course. Can’t have experiments biding their time in the wardrobe. He always had odd ideas about what was acceptable. 

Inside, she finds the jumper. He worked on it for more than a year, and it’s nearly done, just the bottom half of the second sleeve left, and he’s tidied up the ends on the inside already.

It’s a good piece of work, she decides. A long apology for something John would surely have forgiven. It’s love unspoken, words he could never say.

Such a shame, she thinks. 

That evening, she finishes the second sleeve, weaves in the final ends. It needs hand washing and blocking, so she takes on those tasks as well.  

When it’s done, it looks perfect. If she were judgemental, she would say it’s even better than the original. She folds it and wraps it in tissue paper, places it inside a Marks & Spencer shopping bag. 

John Watson is going to get his apology, even if it’s long overdue.

She finds the dismal little flat where he’s living now. Moving out hasn’t made him any happier, she can see when he opens the door. 

“Mrs Hudson,” he says, apologetic. “You didn’t have to—”

“It’s fine, John. I’ve brought you something.”

He opens the bag, reaches in. Frowning, he pulls out the jumper. 

“This,” he says, practically speechless. “It’s beautiful. It’s almost like the one…”

“The one Sherlock ruined,” she finishes. “He was so distraught over that, John. He was afraid you wouldn’t forgive him.”

“And… you made this… to replace it.” He’s feeling the wool, an incredulous smile on his face. “Mrs Hudson, this is beautiful.”

“No, love.” She smiles, the tears starting to fill her eyes. “He made it.”

For a moment he just gazes, not comprehending. “Sherlock? He made this?”

“For you. He ruined the other— it was an accident. You know him, so careless when he got caught up in things. And he wanted to make it right, so you’d forgive him. He didn’t know how, so I taught him. He did it all himself.”

He buries his face in the jumper. She can see his shoulders shaking.

“There, love. He had it nearly done, and was intending to give it to you, before… well, I know he’d want you to have it now.” She pats his shoulder. “He really loved you, John. I hope you know that. He worked on this for over a year, right up to the end. He loved you.”

Weeping, John raises his face. “I loved him too. And I forgive him.”

@lisbeth-kk @keirgreeneyes @totallysilvergirl

A knitter of jumpers myself, I imagine that Sherlock would enjoy the mathematical aspects of the craft. 🧶 💕

#mayprompts2024 #johnlock #his favourite jumper

[g0ldenglider]

Do you think that Mary Ann and Zelda know each other? They are both barbarians who would have been in the same year. Neither of them seem to be/have been in the same class with Gorgug (ofc Zelda had private lessons with Porter in freshmen year, but I assume that wasn't ALL of her classes) so it stands to reason they might have been in the same class block.

I like to think they actually got on okay. They're both very reserved and clearly neurodivergent it's easy to imagine them partnering up on group projects when Zelda doesn't want to ask someone else and Mary Ann doesn't care to. They make for an interesting match up with Mary Ann seemingly being a very brute force style of combatant and Zelda being a dexterity focused Eagle barbarian, but them being probably the shortest two barbarians in their year. I bet they enjoyed hanging out in class and not actually having to talk to each other, maybe chatting occasionally about crystal games

#also imagine gorgug finding out that his ex and his classmate he hates are friends. devastating for him #zelda donovan #mary ann skuttle #fantasy high #fhjy spoilers #d20 #sunny talk

[starsofteal]

A Lesson and Love

Halsin x Tav // Halsin x Reader (GN) Summary: An accident in the forest leads to an injured child and a rattled Tav—cue daddy Halsin to the rescue.  A/N: One of my favorite things to imagine are these little vignettes of life after the events of the game, when Halsin and Tav and all the children build a life for themselves in Thaniel’s realm. I love the idea of Tav coming into a more parental role after a life of high adventure, and how out of their depth they feel, especially when it appears to come to naturally to Halsin. And, of course, I’m a sucker for Daddy Halsin just as a concept.   Warnings: broken arm (not graphic), fluff (is it hurt/comfort if it’s just physical pain and not emotional angst lol?) 

The sun filters through the tree canopy of the forest just outside Moonrise Towers. The echoes of children’s laughter surrounds you as you relax against a sturdy tree trunk, catching your breath. 

You had coaxed the children into their favorite game of chase—not that it took much convincing on your part—in a desperate attempt to rid the children of as much energy as possible, hoping it would make for an easier bed time tonight—a foolish hope considering how endless their energy seemed to be these days. 

Not that you mind the extra energy. No, in fact, after everything you had been through, nothing brings you more joy than this life you’ve carved out for yourself: surrounded by children and their boisterous laughter, in a safe haven serving to provide hope and safety to all who need it, and then, of course, there’s Halsin. 

Halsin, who you had forged such a deep and lasting connection with over your journey, who shows you the true definition of love and selflessness every day. The love you had found with Halsin will always be the greatest treasure to come out of your ordeal. You’d go through it all a thousand times over again just to end up here, in Thaniel’s Realm, with Halsin, and all the many charges you gained along the way. 

The very charges who seemed determined to send you to an early grave. 

“Nathaniel, be careful!” You admonish from your spot on the forest floor. The young boy, hardly more than six, makes his way up an oak tree, climbing onto a limb with a carefree dexterity that could only come from a child who had been spending far too much time out in the forest with Halsin. 

“I am being careful,” Nathaniel quips back, slowly rising to his feet to grab onto an even higher branch and lifting himself up on it. 

“That’s high enough.” Your voice has a final note of warning in it as you rise to your feet. “Come down from there, now.” 

“Aww, that’s no fun.” Nathaniel pouts, but ultimately acquiesces, turning his body and kicking his feet over the edge of the branch to begin his decent. 

The accident unfolds before you as if in slow motion, but you’re utterly helpless to intervene; feet frozen in place. Nathaniel releases his grip, but his foot just barely misses the lower branch, sending him barreling towards the ground. Your heart stops. A sickening crunch sounds out as he hits the ground, arms out trying to break his fall. There’s a heartbeat of silence before Nathaniel’s wail pierces the air. 

You’re at his side in seconds, crouching low to the ground. The other children swarm in around you, their cries of concern and fear adding to the din.

“Back up, now please,” you order, not unkindly, assessing the damage in front of you while also trying to maintain an aura of calmness. A quick observation tells you that Nathaniel’s arm is definitely broken, the crunch you heard earlier serving as its own confirmation, but other than that, plus a few bumps and bruises, he seems okay. The relief is overwhelming. 

“Nathaniel, sweet, come here,” your voice has a soft, calming tone to it that seems to have an instantaneous effect. The small boy doesn’t need to be asked twice, scrambling into your lap and holding his injured arm close to his chest. You hold him close, pressing a kiss to his temple, as his cries quiet to low whimpers. 

“Cana and Ava,” you call out to the two eldest girls in the group. “I need you two to go find daddy Halsin, okay? Be quick, but be safe.” The pair nod eagerly before dashing off, and you send up a quick prayer to the Oak Father they hurry. 

The rest of the children watch on as you continue to soothe Nathaniel, rocking back and forth. More than a few are shedding sympathy tears, the rest in various shades of distress. 

“He’ll be okay,” you soothe the group. “But this is an important reason we have to follow rules, even when they’re not very fun. They’re there to help keep you safe.” A ripple of nods tells you they’ve more than learned the lesson and its one they won't be quick to forget.

“Go on,” you nod to the clearing, “go play. Daddy Halsin will be here soon.” 

The children reluctantly sulk back to the playing area, though their spirits are too down to continue the game of tag with the same ferocity. 

“You’re being very brave right now, Nathaniel,” you murmur, looking down at the child in your arms. He looks so small, and you feel your heart break in two. Nathaniel presses his head up against your chest and sniffs, wiping his nose on his tunic with his good shoulder. 

“I’m sorry I climbed up high,” he whimpers, fresh tears falling from his thick eyelashes. 

“Oh hush, hush, hush, none of that,” you refute. “The important thing is that you’re safe. A fall from not much higher could have been far worse. Daddy Halsin will be here soon, okay? Just keep being brave, can you do that for me?” You feel Nathaniel’s nod against your chest, and you continue your rocking. 

Finally, you hear the thunder of footsteps running through the forest. You turn your head just as a large brown bear bursts into the clearing, two children atop its back. With practiced ease, they slide off, landing softly on the grass and joining the rest of the children who watch in awe as a burst of bright, magical light erupts. The bear disappears, Halsin standing in its place. 

“My heart, what happened? Are you okay?” Halsin’s eyes are wide with panic as he takes in the sight of you on the ground, Nathaniel curled around his injured arm in your lap.

At the sight of daddy Halsin, Nathaniel’s tears start up again with vigor. “Daddy Halsin,” he wails. “My arm.” His sobs wrack his tiny body, and you wrap gentle arms around him, starting your soothing rocking again. 

Halsin crouches low, getting on one knee. “Now, now, my little adventurer,” his voice is low and gentle. “Let me have a look.” 

Nathaniel leans back against you, carefully exposing the broken and swollen limb, a deep bruise already blooming across the surface. Halsin hums in acknowledgement as he examines the limb. 

“Hold very still for me,” he warns before closing his eyes and raising a hand sheathed in golden magic. His hand hovers above Nathaniel’s arm, causing Nathaniel to bury his head in your chest. “You’re doing such a good job,” you whisper to the boy, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

The glow of Halsin’s magic fades. “There, how does that feel?” 

Nathaniel perks his head up and gives his arm a tentative wiggle. “Wow,” he marvels, his eyes growing wide. “It doesn’t hurt anymore!” Jumping up off your lap, he throws both arms around Halsin’s neck. “Thank you daddy Halsin!” 

Halsin’s strong arms wrap around the child, and the sight nearly brings tears to your eyes. “Of course, my boy,” he replies. “Try to be more careful now, promise?” 

“I will, I promise I will,” Nathaniel hastily replies, already wiggling out of Halsin’s arms and eagerly chasing off towards his adopted siblings. 

Halsin chuckles as he takes a seat next to you in the grass. 

“Well, he got over that quickly,” you joke, leaning into his side as he wraps a strong arm around your waist. 

“These children are strong, resilient. They’ve been through so much at such a young age. It’ll take more than a broken bone to keep them down, I’d wager.” 

You hum in agreement, absentmindedly picking at a few blades of grass. “Thank you for coming so quickly,” you murmur.

Halsin says nothing, just pulls you closer, holding you even tighter. “I’ll always be here, my heart.” His warm lips press against your temple. 

“You’re so good with them, Halsin. You always know what do to, how to act, what to say.” You can’t stop the sigh that escapes your lips, rustling the small pile of grass blades you’d compiled. 

Halsin’s brows furrow. “What is it, my heart?” 

“It’s nothing,” you attempt to shrug off his concern, but he knows you all too well. 

“Tell me what’s on your mind,” he urges. “Please.”

One look in those green eyes has you giving in. With another sigh, you pull your knees up to your chest, resting your chin atop them. You keep your eyes on the children playing ahead of you as you attempt to sparse apart your thoughts and feelings. 

“When Nathaniel fell, there was a moment where I just…” you pause, gathering your breath. “I just froze. I didn’t know what to do. I was terrified. And then I heard him cry and my heart broke into a thousand pieces. There was nothing I could do. I failed him.” You bury your face against your knees. 

Halsin nods his head in understanding, letting your words sit in the air for a moment before nudging you with his shoulder. “Would you like to hear my perspective?” 

You pause for a beat, before giving a slight shrug of your shoulders. 

"I saw you taking charge of the situation. Your fearless heart, your sharp mind, willing to do whatever it takes to take care of the people you care for. You’re relentless in the heat of the moment, whether it’s on the battlefield or here in our home. I saw Nathaniel in your arms; I saw you providing a sense of safety and comfort at a time when he was scared and in pain. You were everything he needed in that moment.”

Halsin’s words of confidence stir you and you raise your head up to look at him. 

“I was so scared,” your words are barely above a whisper, a confession. “After everything we’ve been through, I thought I was beyond ever being scared again. But he looked so small crumpled up on the ground.” 

“You’re not alone with those feelings, my love.” 

At that, you offer Halsin a quizzical expression. “You? I feel like fear isn’t even in your vocabulary.” 

“Me? A stranger to fear?” Halsin chuckles. “My heart, as soon as the girls told me there was an accident here in the forest…” He trails off, his voice taking on a somber pitch. “There aren’t words for the way my heart stopped.” 

You place a comforting hand against his arm, the thick bands of muscle briefly tensing and relaxing at your subtle encouragement.  

“I raced here as fast as I could. It wasn’t until I had you and the children in my sights that I felt I could finally breathe again.” 

Halsin covers your hand with his own, a soft smile on his face. “I think perhaps the drawback to living such an idyllic and wondrous life such as this, is that we have so much more to lose now than we ever had before. And there is a fear in that. But I know that this magnificent journey of ours is only just beginning. There is so much more joy to come.” With that final sentiment, Halsin presses a kiss to your forehead. The warmth of his lips against your skin radiates through your entire body, and you tilt your head up to meet his lips with your own. 

A chorus of “ewwws” and “yucks” erupts from the herd of children now gawking at the two of you, and Halsin doesn’t bother to hold back his howling laughter. 

“To be continued at a later time, my heart,” he murmurs in your ear before pressing another kiss to your cheek and rising to his feet to join the children in play. His grabs two of the closest children in his arms, lifting them up high off the ground. Their squeals of delight pierce the air, and the rest of the children clamber over one another for their own turn. 

You smile, leaning back against the oak tree, letting the warm rays of the setting sun graze your face, as you take in the beautiful view before you. 

#halsin #halsin silverbough #halsin x reader #halsin x tav #halsin x oc #halsin bg3

[where-dreams-dwell]

*One Day Netflix Spoilers*

You can interpret it however works for you, and I don’t know how it played out in the book, but I loved the scene where Em and Dex got together.

Because Emma *chose* Dexter. When she didn’t have to, when she had other options, knowing all of his baggage, and knowing that they would probably be able to stay friends if she didn’t. And she still chose to start something romantic with him.

Emma was at the highest point of her success: a published author, signed for a second book, sent to live abroad in an exciting new city. And she’d started seeing someone who (from the little we see) is kind, charming, and cares for her. Emma is winning in every sense!

And she initially rejects Dexter. Her reasons make sense; she doesn’t feel he truly *wants* to be with her, just that she’s there and he’s lonely. She is sure of herself and her place in the world, and turns down the man she used to crush on because she wants it to be real. When given this opportunity were not shown a knee jerk, desperate, ‘oh my god, finally, yes!’ moment when he says he wants to be with her. She was NOT waiting on this, and she’s not PINING for him. It actually shows huge strength that when the man she used to like finally wants to be with her, she has the inner strength to say no and stick to what she deserves; a proper relationship with someone who truly wants her, not a placeholder.

Dexter lays his heart on the line, leaves himself competent venerable, and Em says no.

You could interpret Em coming back as unsatisfactory: a woman in her prime, going back to the man she’s been pining over most of her adult life. But it can also be seen as an empowering moment.

Emma knows all of Dexters issues and chooses him anyway. Dexter has literally just laid out his current headspace and issues, and it’s clear she was supporting him as the divorce was announced and agreed upon. And previous episodes show they’ve been close throughout Dexters marriage and fatherhood, with Em stopping in at his job and answering his late night calls. She’s been his best friend again for several years and knows his struggles, so she is going in to any romantic relationship with her eyes open.

Reducing Emma’s choice to being a silly or naive one I think misses huge parts of who she is, things which are key to her characterisation. Throughout the series she’s shown as intelligent, savvy, switched on and determined. Even when she’s unhappy or trying different things, she is sure in her conviction to do *something*. When she’s unhappy at the restaurant and Dex suggests teaching she makes a career change and trains. When she’s at her lowest (post headteacher affair and loosing Dex) she turns rock bottom into a spring board and tries once again to write her novel.

Emma is the embodiment of conviction. Whether it’s knowing what she wants or just knowing what she doesn’t, she is decisive and commits to her path. She’s the perfect foil for Dex who’s lesson across the series is to stop running from difficult feelings, and learn to process unpleasant emotions.

So she didn’t choose Dexter on a whim, and I love that they showed that. Em leaves Dex, turns him down, and goes to dinner with her lover in the city she’s loving living in, while doing the job she always wanted.

And she could have left it like that and they would have likely remaking friends. They did after that kiss at Tilly’s wedding, and after they slept together. So she has nothing to loose by rejecting him.

But Emma *chooses* Dex. She knows herself and what she wants, she knows who she is and what she is now capable of. What she wants, if it’s on the table, is to be with Dexter. So she commits to it.

They could have made her jump at the option to be with Dex. The writer could have had them get together when Dex was at the height of his fame or Em at the lowest point of her life. And either of those could have easily had a sense of fear on Em’s part: to be equal to Dex, to be good enough for him (in her head), to finally make it. But doing it this way gives her all the power, all the agency. And I *love* that.

From comments later it’s clear their relationship was good, they do work well together and they make one another happy. We’ll never know how Emma’s life could have gone if she stayed with Jean-Pierre. But the life she chose with Dex *was* happy. As Ian said ‘[Dex] made her so so happy’: wether you think she could have done better or deserved more, a life with someone who makes you happy… isn’t an insignificant thing.

We’ll never know if it was *the right* choice to be with Dex. But seeing how happy she was it’s clear it was a *good* choice. And that’s all we can ever hope for.

#spoilers #one day #one day netflix #emma morley #dexter mayhew #the power of choosing #female characters