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murdrdocs · 12 days

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sweet as a grape

description. ART DONALDSON lost a match, leading him to sulking at the hotel bar. when you slide up next to him he starts to feel like he won.

includes. SMUT MDNI 18+, submissive art, no challengers spoilers, fem!reader, sex w a stranger, drinking (but no drunk sex), masochism, dry humping, virgin coded/inexperienced art, choking, gagging (self inflicted), brief rimming, slight overstimulation, lots of allusions to masturbation, allusions to edging, art is a fucking freak

wc. 3.6k+

a/n: this is all based on assumption since challengers has yet to be released at time of posting. artwork is nighthawks by edward hopper. title from too sweet by hozier. some plot inspiration taken from @too-deviant's ray bans

Art Donaldson knows he's good at tennis. He knows he's great, and he knows that with greatness comes attention. Reporters always looking to get an exclusive from him, coaches always looking to take credit for the gained speed in his serve, brand, and companies looking to put his face on something, and people throwing themselves at him, begging for even a glance so they would have a story to tell their friends.

He knows this. But it still comes as a shock whenever people prettier than he thinks he deserves turn their attention to him. It's still a shock when you, a being with far too much beauty and grace, slides up next to him.

He smells you before he sees you. A sweet scent wafted to his nose, hitting him against the face with a pleasant slap. Then he senses you, the aura that radiates off of your body. Warm and comforting, even with the blistering heat from out that is attempting to permeate the hotel bar. He doesn't gather the courage to look at you until you speak. And your voice, God there's something about it. Something that makes Art's muscles loosen for the first time in hours, as the smooth lilt of your tone is a nice change of pace from the grunts on the court and the grating ridicule from the reporters asking him about the match, all disappointed faces reminding him that he lost.

But sitting here, on a barstool next to you, Art begins to feel like he won.

"I'll have what he's having," you tell the bartender with absolute confidence. You're leaning on the counter just a bit in an attempt to make your voice clearer, your ass perked up in the air enough to grab Art’s attention. He doesn't mean to look, really, but as he brings his glass to his lips he can't help how his eyes cut to the side briefly.

Besides, the skirt of your dress is long enough to cover your backside.

Art shakes his head. "You don't want what I’m having." He shouldn't be having anything right now. He might have lost his match, but this isn't the end. The alcohol will only slow his recovery, he knows this, but his half-assed reasoning of needing to drown his sorrows took over his mind, settling into his frontal lobe and steering his choices.

The bartender is already sliding a replica of Art's drink your way. You raise it and Art clinks his glass with yours. Then he watches you taste it. It's strong, straight liquor placed on ice which barely does anything to make it smoother, but you take it like a champ. You only take a sip, though, your eyes squeezed shut as it goes down before you place the glass back onto the counter and wave the bartender over again.

You flick your tongue out to catch a drip of liquor that missed your mouth. It’s so pathetic how just that one movement makes Art shift in his seat.

This time, you order something sweeter. Something more your style Art figures. Art doesn't think before he orders one for himself, too, and follows up the order by telling the bartender to place these drinks and any that will follow on his tab.

It doesn't take long before he confirms that you know who he is. But you're subtle about it. Your recognition comes in your glances. The way you narrow your eyes. The way you smile and laugh at his poorly made jokes. The way you ask him how he's doing—your tone a little firmer, as if you'd been in the stands today watching the close match that ultimately led to a loss. And it's then that Art recognizes you, too.

He'd seen you briefly, just one glance before he was turning back to focus on the match. Your eyes had been covered by a pair of sunglasses then, but at the end of the match when everyone else was cheering for the winner, Art saw you cheering for him. Stood at the entrance to the locker rooms, your stacked bracelets glinting in the sunlight as you clapped. The sound of his blood rushing to his ears had been deafening then, the red in your eyes distorted every image. At the time, he believed that not one clap was in his favor. But yours surely was.

He can't tell if your intentions are really any different than anyone else who has tried to sleep with him, but he doesn't care. Because he just wants you so bad.

And for once in his life, he lets himself have what he wants. He accepts that he's a desired person, even on his off day, and he takes you, possibly the most desirable person he'd ever laid eyes on, upstairs to his room, and lets you have your way with him.

He lets himself show a side he’s never shown to anyone else before. A side that is only seen when he’s tugging his cock all alone, his mind helpfully conjuring up images as he sped up the flick of his wrist, only to slow his motions down to a stop on his own accord. And he would continue the delicious torture, for as long as his mind and body could conjure, especially if he lost a match.

This is a more compliant side. Less of a persona he’s put on for the media, and more of a man who just wants to please and be pleased.

Tonight, with you laying back on his bed and waiting for him, he considers his options. He doesn’t know if he should continue his usual routine of self-inflicted torment. Or if he should give into you completely and lose himself amongst the nectar that’s gathered between your thighs. When he sees the imprint of your arousal, he decides that he’ll go along with whatever you want from him.

It doesn’t take much for him to live up to his promise.

You’re lying on your side, your head resting in your hand as you smile up at him lazily. You’d both had your last drink a while ago, and with the way they were spaced out Art doesn’t think you’re drunk. He’s not drunk, but he still feels elated. He feels like a teenage boy when you beckon him over and he complies willingly, crawling towards you until he’s sitting on his haunches.

You lay on your back, staring up at him, blinking up at him. And Art waits. He waits and waits until he realizes you’re waiting for him to make the first move.

He bends down and presses his lips to yours. The shape of the kiss is awkward since Art’s position forces your lips to align together at a perpendicular angle. But you don’t mind it. You let the initial press linger for a second before you place one of your hands onto his side and pull him towards you. Art interprets your pull as wanting him to land atop you and he does.

The bed is large enough that only his feet hang off when he straddles you, placing only the weight of his bottom half over you and holding his top half up with a hand pressed into the mattress.

His other hand settles on the thin strap of your dress. The material hangs off of the angular end of your shoulder, just close enough to fall off. Art doesn’t know if he initially intended to pull it down or push it back up. But you look up at him, your eyebrows slightly raised. It’s a look he knows well. He’s seen it on many opponents who doubted him.

You’re challenging him.

He pulls the strap down and that’s all it takes for you to take his face in both of your hands and pull his lips to yours. You have some unexpected strength in you. Your tug throws Art off of his balance until his chest collides with yours. You’re not deterred at all, your leg hiking up over Art’s hip as you press your foot into his lower back.

Your dress must have slipped up somewhere along the way because Art can feel the warmth of your center pressing against his pants. He does it subconsciously, not even realizing what he’s doing until you reciprocate the movement, but he’s grinding into you with long and languid swipes of his boner into your arousal.

There comes a point where the two of you need to pull your lips away from the other. But Art stubbornly doesn’t want to. His lungs ache for a breath. His head screams at him, telling him that kissing you can’t be more important than breathing. But for a moment there, just a single moment, Art believes that it is.

When you pull away first, Art tries not to take it personally.

“Will you fuck me?” You ask him through your breaths. Your question takes Art by surprise. Your words are so blunt. A little crude. But they stiffen the pressure in his trousers. He likes how assertive you are. It has his head spinning and somehow he manages to hide how desperate he is in his reply.

“Only if you ride me.”

Not much can be hidden whenever you’re on top of him.

You’re staring down at him, likely with a view not too dissimilar from Birdseye. Art knows that like this, he’s probably spread out before you like he’s on an examination table. From the heavens, you’re able to notice every single thing about him that you choose to.

The way his breath hitches when you sink on him. The way he’s a little lost behind the eyes, the two big blue windows unfocused enough to suggest how much pleasure he’s getting from this. He starts to feel a little insecure, but then you bring a graceful hand down and push his damp blond hair off of his forehead, providing the ventilation needed.

Gratefully, his eyes fall closed and his head tips back. You bring your hand down to cup his cheek and Art instinctively turns his head just enough to place a blind kiss into the center of your palm.

“Will you look at me, Art?”

You ask him so politely, your voice just as sweet as it was earlier in the night when he’d only been imagining something like this. He wishes you were a little firmer with him, but he still obeys, slowly peeling his eyes open.

He’s instantly grateful that he did. Because for just a brief second, he forgot just how divine the image above him was.

Your body is almost completely bare since the top half of your dress has been pulled down to reveal your tits. They shake with each movement. With each controlled way you sink down onto him. In the same way he’s in his element on the court, he figures that you’re in your element here. You look so natural like this, stripped by the wish to satisfy your most basic need. But you’re so good at this. He wonders if you’d had as much practice at this as he has with his craft. Not that it matters to him, especially since any previous practice you could have had would have only contributed to this time, making it as heavenly as it could possibly be. But Art thinks he wants to practice this, like this, with you more often.

The way your cunt takes him in is hidden by the skirt of your dress. With a hand more shaky than expected, Art lifts the hem and the sight he’s blessed with makes him dizzy. He has to take a controlled breath, look away, and then come back to it.

Your pussy is so pretty. He can’t see much from this angle, and he wishes he could see more, but he can both see and feel how wet you are. In a risky move, you’d allowed Art to forgo a condom and he sincerely hopes he won’t regret it later. The last thing he needs during the height of his career is a bastard with his eyes and a monthly check written to a one-night stand. But when he’s able to feel you intimately and see how your essence is shining his dick, he can’t regret anything.

Everything seems like it was meant to be at this moment. Even the damned neon ball that escaped his racket by just an inch that brought him to the bar this evening anyway.

“Here,” you mumble. Art doesn’t know exactly what you’re referencing until you knock his hand away and replace it with your own. You lift your dress over your head and throw it to the floor where it joins Art’s already discarded clothes. Now you’re both even in terms of nudity. But the fields are definitely still uneven.

You have complete control in this setting. Art doesn’t mind it one bit.

You reach your hands down and take Art’s grasp in yours, directing his rough palms up to your body. You place his touch on your waist, but getting the feeling that he’s allowed to touch more than that, he lifts his hands up and grazes his fingertips over your erect nipples.

Your reaction is appreciative so Art does the movement again. He’s amid his third swipe when he remembers something. The magic button one of his old hitting partners told him about one afternoon during unwanted locker room talk.

He sticks two fingers into his mouth, unable to help the way he stuffs them a little too far back. He only stops when he gags just once, and then he pulls the digits out, satisfied by how slick they are, and brings them between your thighs.

It takes a moment for him to find it. He curses under his breath when he misses the first time, and grunts when he misses it the second time, but the third time is the charm. He presses at first, attempting to see if he’d found it. And when your hips jerk, he begins to draw on his memory and starts circling your clit.

You moan, your head tipping back as you start to ride Art with more fervor. More passion is behind the way you move your hips. More determination is in the way your hands press into his torso to ground yourself. You have one hand below his navel, manicured nails scratching his happy trail while your other hand slides up higher and higher.

And just when Art thinks you’re going to reach your target, you stop. The base of your hand presses into the top of Art’s sternum while your fingers lay across his collarbones. You’re so close. Just a little …

“Higher. Please.”

You don’t say anything, you don’t give him a look, you just do as he says. You push your hand up higher until you find the other end of the magnet.

When your fingers wrap around his throat, Art groans from deep in his stomach. It comes from a place he’s only ever accessed during an intense game. Never during something like this. Briefly, he wonders if this could be considered a game. But if it is, it’s one he’s losing. He’s not even bothering to fight back. You’re dominating him and he likes it. Hell, he fucking adores it.

You’re the one in control here, so it’s only natural that Art asks for your permission to cum.

The need steadily approaches, pushing through his body, working its way through the maze until it finds the end which leads directly up into you.

“‘m close,” he warns. “Can I cum? Please? Will you make me cum?”

You nod fervently. Art sighs, he relaxes into the bed with a delusional belief that he’ll get to cum any moment now.

Your words clear things up for him. “Make me cum first, Art. Then I’ll return the favor. Deal?”

He doesn’t pout or complain. He just agrees. “Deal.”

He uses his free hand to grip your hip and speeds up his touch on your clit. His fingerpads slip down just a bit to gather more wetness, and then he brings his touch right back up and settles it right onto the part of your clit that protrudes the most.

The sight of you cumming is so beautiful. Just this one hit, this one time, is surely enough to make Art addicted. While he watches you cum, taking in the way your chest pushes your tits out and your head throws back, revealing the gorgeous line of your neck, he thinks that he wouldn’t mind if you had his kid. As long as it guaranteed that you would always be in his life.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t get to make his sex-hazed thought a reality as you pull off of him, ignoring the way your cunt is gripping him with resistance. You settle beside him, sitting with your legs tucked under you. Your hand comes to Art’s cock, and it only takes a few strokes before his hips are lifting and he’s cumming.

You press your lips to his while he releases, stroking him determinedly while you kiss him messily, lots of saliva and tongue swapping between the both of you. When your hand around his throat tightens just a bit, Art’s hips stutter, and his cock twitches in your hand. He can feel you grin against his lips.

“Let me clean you up?” You ask him with the prettiest smile. He’s dazed when he nods, not really knowing what he’d just agreed to. When you settle between his legs, Art almost backs out. He��s still sensitive, he knows it without you even touching him. But it’s rude to push a pretty girl away when she’s offering to use her mouth on him.

So he sits through it.

He fists the bed sheets and tries to swallow his groans whenever you lick the cum off of his torso. He accidentally whimpers when you wrap your lips around his tip. And he can’t hold off the deep moan that pushes out of him when you allow his cock to sink into your mouth.

This cavern is different than the last. A little rougher, but the constant pressure and warmth from your tongue is comforting. He was already softening whenever you first took him in your mouth, but his dick is allowed a single moment of rest. He hardens inside of your mouth, and when he’s ready, you start to suck him off.

It’s embarrassing how quickly he’s close. But he can’t really hold off when you use your hands to push his legs a little further apart, and you abandon his dick for a brief second to bring your tongue lower, pushing the muscle along his pink-clenched rim before you drift back up. Art’s gasp is pitiful. Even to his own ears, he sounds like something out of a porno, his voice wobbling as he moans, sounding like he’ll cry at any moment.

His back arches and he decides he needs more of you. He takes a bit more control, even though it happens accidentally. He presses a hand into the back of your head and rams his cock up into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat more than once and triggering your gag reflex.

When he cums this time, it’s in your mouth, and you suck him clean again. He moans your name all the while, the syllables becoming more broken each time he repeats it. He thinks he’s praising you, but he doesn’t know what he’s saying. For a second there, he doesn’t even know where he is.

Then, when he comes down, he’s silent. He’s like a cat with the way he shudders. He’s absolutely spent, labored breathing reverberating throughout the otherwise silent hotel room. You slide up to his chest, laying your head in the center. Your hand has been taken off of his neck and delicately placed into his hair.

You play with the curls for a second before speaking.

“You okay?”

He nods, letting himself catch his breath a little more before he speaks.

“Yeah. More than okay. You?” He brings a hand to your back, pulling you closer to him. You’re staring up at him from his chest, and like this, you look innocent. Heavy eyes blinking up at him, your lips pulled into a smile.

You hum affirmatively. “Shower? Or bath?”

Art laughs a little when he says, “Bath. Definitely a bath.” He knows that his legs would be a little too shaky to withstand a shower, and as he follows you into the bathroom, his suspicions are confirmed. He’s satisfied to see you struggle a bit with stepping into the tub.

Sex with you was fucking amazing, and somehow, the ease with the two of you hasn’t diminished. You’re both sober, any alcohol that could have remained in your systems definitely been expelled by now, but you’re just as charming. And Art is just as relaxed around you.

He thinks that he could exist with you for a while.

When he awakes on his own the morning after, he thinks he was too wishful the night before. Maybe he’d been reading way too much into something that was solely a one-night stand. He sits at the edge of the bed, head hung and tail tucked, but then his mood improves just a bit when he sees your panties laid forgotten on the floor. Even when he throws them with the rest of his clothes from his suitcase, he doesn’t let his mood improve too much.

He has pissed, showered, and is standing over the sink to brush his teeth when he sees your note attached to the mirror.

had to leave. thought you had things to do. call me sometime. or come visit. room 1046, here until tomorrow. xx

The note is placed carefully with the rest of his belongings.

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson smut #art donaldson x you #art donaldson challengers #challengers movie #celeste writes challengers

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voyeurmunson · 4 months

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Dreams: Steve Harrington Blurb

⚠️Explicit sexual content. Minors DNI⚠️

*there's no plot here. Just wanted a little Steven smut.* originally posted on my main blog which is non existent at this point 😂 thanks tumblr

***

"H-Holy shit." You pant breathlessly, looking down at Steve buried between your thighs. Steve Harrington.. The King of Hawkins High.. How the fuck did I get here? You had barely talked when you were in school. Little flirty comments here and there but now you had both graduated and somehow ended up at the same small party years later.

You're leaning against the wall in the cramped closet, your leg tossed over his shoulder. You reach down gripping his fluffy hair as he continues working you with his skillful tongue.

"Ohh. Don't stop.. Steve, please don't- fuck, baby." your fingers tighten in brown locks as you begin to rock against his face making him moan into you. You watch him carefully, this image something you've only ever seen in your dreams. And it was so much fucking better in reality.

His nose brushes against your clit over and over as you grind on his face, his tongue lapping at your soaked pussy, his fingers digging into your skin making your thighs tremble.

"I'm gonna cum. Steve, I'm so close." you whine, grinding your hips even faster, covering his face with your slick. He surprises you with a rough smack to your thigh, the action sending you over the edge.

"Y-Yes!" You cry out as your head falls back into the wooden panels, your body shaking wildly. Your thighs squeeze around his ears as your sweetness coats his face completely.

Your hips come to a stop but his tongue doesn't leave. Swirling through your cum, exploring every part of you. He moves lower, slipping his tongue into your dripping entrance, fucking it deep within you.

"I- ohh fuck." you can't form any sentence at this point. Your heart is pounding in your chest as he gives you everything you've ever wanted.

Well, almost. You still wanted to know if the rumors were true. If he was as big as they say.

He takes his time, enjoying the mess he made you make before he gently takes your leg from his shoulder, standing up. He looms over you, leaning close, his warm body pressed against yours, face shining with the evidence of your orgasm.

"You're naughtier than I thought, angel." He grins, his warm tone making you melt.

"I wanna- can I touch you?" you blurt making his grin double. Instead of speaking he grips your wrist tight, guiding your hand to his clothed cock.

You take your hand, tracing the outline of him, feeling his full length beneath your fingertips.

Fuck, he's huge.

"You gonna let me fuck you against this wall, honey? Want me to fuck you so deep? Wanna feel me in your stomach, hmm?" The dirty words coming from his soft lips make your face turn bright red.

"Please." you whisper, turning around placing your hands on the wall. You feel his lips on your neck making you sigh blissfully, his chest pressed up against you from behind.

"Ready for me, baby?"

You nod rapidly, biting your lip, hearing the splay of the zipper.

Now this.. this is my dream come true.

#steve harrington blurb #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #Steve Harrington

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gffa · 3 months

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Usually, I like to finish reading a fic before recommending it properly, but I've been sucked into about five different STAR WARS fics recently that I've gotten far enough into that I'm willing to trust my heart to them because they're scratching a very specific itch for me--namely, that I want deeper explorations of both the Jedi Order and of Anakin's character. I want fic to punch me in the feelings over both of these aspects of the story. I want fic to sometimes set Obi-Wan and Anakin aside and focus on Ahsoka for awhile, really tell her story. I want Jedi themes woven into a story. I want an exploration of Anakin's mindset that reminds me of just how much I love him and have sympathy for him. And fandom has delivered for me.

DO YOU WANT FIC TO BLACK OUT TO AND LOSE AN ENTIRE WEEKEND OVER? HAVE I GOT SOME RECS FOR YOU:

✦ Out with Lanterns by SkyeBean, ahsoka & mace & jedi & clones & cast, 312.5k In another universe, Jedi Masters Plo Koon and Depa Billaba decide a Padawan could do Mace some good. It takes a while, but he eventually agrees. When he takes Ahsoka Tano as his Padawan, Mace knows that he's broken through a Shatterpoint and changed the course of a life. How, he doesn't know. This fic accomplishes several things that have sent me over the moon: 1) At its heart, it's an Ahsoka fic that shows her growing up as a Padawan, going on missions, learning lessons, and having character growth. 2) It weaves in so many other characters around her, that Mace is there in almost every chapter, serious but warm in the Force, just as beautifully characterized as she is. 3) The other Jedi get their moments of excellents, Shaak taking Ahsoka on her Akul hunt was wonder to read, seeing Obi-Wan show up for a chapter had me over the moon, Adi taking care with Ahsoka was lovely, Depa was a shining star when she took Ahsoka under her wing, Fox growing used to these strange Jedi and growing into himself through Ahsoka's eyes was wonderful. 4) The writing is that kind of solid that I don't mean as mid-tier, but the kind that I feel like can bear weight on it, I can pick it up and read for 30k and barely realize any time has passed, despite that I've gotten through an entire arc of the fic. 5) It does an incredible job of balancing that feel of The Clone Wars show, without directly copying anything, that it's like these are arcs that I could have seen on the show itself, the lessons woven in, but still with enough plot moving forward and action to make it exciting. If you want more Jedi-centric fic in your life (where they don't have to be perfect! sometimes they can be less than perfect and it's okay because they're still good! ohhhh, my heart warmed at that) or you want to read a lovely Ahsoka-centric fic in a different life, but still so recognizably herself, then this is one I want to shove right in your face immediately.

✦ Take it from the top and try again by mauvera, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon & padme & mace & dooku & cast, time travel, 116.k wip Five years into his self imposed exile on Tattooine, Obi-Wan Kenobi is gifted the chance to go back and bring hope back to the galaxy. With hindsight on his side, he fully intends to save his master, save his padawan, make some new and old friends again, prepare the Jedi for a war they’ll hopefully never see and begin to pull apart all the many tangled threads of the Sith Lord’s plans. Should be relatively easy. Right? I got sucked into the first fic in this series (which is complete, if you want to read it--it's not the end of the story, but it's a good stopping point and feels like it should have some solid resolution if you don't want to get into a wip) and read the first fic over the course of about three days because I was sucked in so thoroughly. I can never get enough of Obi-Wan time traveling back to the past, where he loves the Jedi and they love him, and I love this one because he has to make genuine plans for changing things--things change and I have no idea how that's going to affect Palpatine's machinations! Exciting! But it's also a lovely look at Obi-Wan's dynamics with multiple characters--I found the Obi-Wan & Padme scenes a hightlight personally, their friendship really blossomed as they both flung themselves into trying to better the galaxy, even if she doesn't know he's from the future, that he's working so hard matched a lot of her energy and I really enjoyed that--from Qui-Gon to Mace to Padme to Anakin and, as the sequel progresses, Dooku as well. It's another Jedi-positive fic, it has me invested in the plot, it's a joy to see competent!Obi-Wan, and I would love to shove it at more people.

✦ Post Order 66 Exile AU by Livsy, obi-wan & anakin, 46k (wip-esque) After a failed order 66, in which many Jedi still died but the Sith were defeated, an exiled warrior and a boy wander a distant planet and attempt to get along. This is probably the shortest fic on this list but I'm including it because it genuinely felt longer than that, for how dense the emotional intensity of it is. It's an AU where the Jedi barely eked out a victory, still on the edge of extinction in many ways, and Anakin deep in the pits of the dark side, so Obi-Wan takes him to a backwater planet in exile for the both of them, traveling through the countryside and just trying to make it from day to day. What punched me right in the feelings place is that this fic doesn't shy away from the hurt and the anger on both sides, that both of them are allowed to be unreliable narrators that have their own points of view on what's transpired and what lays between them. It doesn't back away from the hurt they both feel, the despair they both feel, yet there's hope here. It's ultimately a story about clawing yourself back from the dark side, and it's beautifully characterized for both of them, that unkind things are said on both of their parts, but you understand why the characters are in the place they are. It's wrapped up in a lushly written backdrop, with some lovely Japanese feudal era details woven in, but also with a Star Wars patina spread across all of it. It's not necessarily a kind fic, but if you like fic that bites down on a wound, I enjoyed this series a lot and would love to see it continued--but, honestly, what's here is already enough resolution that, looking back on it after the initial "Noooooo, I need more!" feeling has faded, I'm actually very satisfied with. ✦ Men of Power by AlabasterInk, obi-wan & anakin & mace & yoda & jedi & palpatine & cast, 86.1k wip When an old powerful man suddenly comes in and sweeps your underage Padawan away without so much as a by your leave, that’s the time to start asking questions. I'm only about 20k into this fic, so I can't say what shape it will take later on or how much pairings might come into it, but I still had to come running over to shove this fic at people, because it's scratching the itch I have for Jedi-positive fic that explores the idea of Anakin's trauma from his childhood as a slave, that this is a child who is wound so tight and comes from such a horrible thing having been done to him, having been owned as a person, that I understand why he stays silent on some of the things I desperately wish he could talk about or he doesn't really believe some of the things the Jedi tell him. It's a fic that takes a lot more care with Anakin's character than I think canon ever intended, weaving in a lot of the heartbreaking stuff from Legends' supplementing the canon, and is creating something that punches me right in the feelings place for him, that he's such a bright, brilliant boy, but I see why he struggled and it's not about assigning blame in any direction. It's about deeply caring people who fate has take a few steps to the left and something shifts just a little--and I appreciate that there's something very delicate feeling here, that the Jedi just don't have any real reason to be suspicious of Palpatine, his actions make sense, they genuinely can't feel any ill intention from him in the Force, they discuss why it would make sense that he'd want to support Anakin, all while we the readers can see, in hindsight, where the shadows have been creeping in. If you want Jedi-positive fic that also leaves some teeth marks over Anakin's trauma being explored in a way that is entirely sympathetic to him, then I want to shove this fic at you, too.

#lumi.txt #star wars #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #mace windu #yoda #ahsoka tano #jedi order #fic recs #star wars fic recs

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bitchesuntitled · 19 days

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When It Rains

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Warnings/Tags: 18+ MDNI, go on get! PWP, mostly porn but some plot, unprotected PIV(Don't do this IRL, be safe, make smart choices), kissing, fingering(f receiving), cream pie, flirting.

I'm trying to practice smut more, be kind. This is for @undercoverpena's April Showers prompt!

Thank you so much to @notjustjavierpena for helping me with the moodboard and the grammar stuff, @strang3lov3 for editing and leaving encouraging comments, and @beefrobeefcal for also betaing! Don't know what I would do without you lovely people! ❤️

@jay-zzle is my Spanish expert and dear friend who has helped me with a lot of my translations. Plus she's also one of the main reasons I'm trying to learn Spanish 🥰

divider by @saradika-graphics

Masterlist

You’ve been assigned the stakeout with Javier Peña at a nightclub, where it’s been rumored that some of Escobar’s sicarios frequent regularly. It’s not a problem per se, but it could just be a tad distracting considering the circumstances. No one, not even Murphy, has seemed to catch wind of what has been going on between the two of you; the late-night meet-ups, the storage closet, the file room, hell - there was even one time late at night in the office the three of you share. You’re professional though, work always comes before play. That’s been the rule since the beginning.

“Looks like it’s gonna rain,” Javi comments, pushing his head to the car’s window, and looking up, “We could definitely use it.”

You hum in agreement, watching the nightclub like a hawk. As you listen to the pulsing music radiating from the club, watching people file in and out of the building, none seem to be any of Escobar’s crew just yet. The night seems to be growing darker as the clouds glide across the sky, covering the bright moon's light. Soon enough, small drops of rain begin to fall, turning into fat drops within minutes, downpour to follow.

“Fuck,” you hiss, gripping the steering wheel and peering out the dash window, “Of course.”

“Nothing wrong with some rain,” Javi smirks, looking at you.

“Except for the fact we can’t see shit!”

“Maybe we could do something else with our time?” Javi suggests, laying his arm against the back of the bench seat and scooting his hips forward to get more comfortable. His hand creeps onto your shoulder, rubbing small circles against the bare skin there, skimming past the hem of your tank top.

“Javi,” you scold, shrugging your shoulders to get your point across, “No, we’re working.”

“Can’t see shit in this rain,” Javi grumbles, crossing his arms across his chest, “Least we could have some fun.”

“Maybe it’ll die down,” you suggest, looking at him. He matches your stare with those pleading eyes of his. Those dark eyes, the way they make you want to melt every single time they land on you.

It’s been 20 minutes and the downpour hasn’t relented. After seeing how you wouldn’t be doing something else with your time like he suggested, Javi’s beginning to become restless.

“When it rains it pours, hermosa,” Javi says, grinning at you. Your pulse jumps at that word. Hermosa. He knows exactly what he’s doing. That’s how it always starts.

“Javi,” you warn, reminding him again, “We are working. You know the rules, work then play.”

He moves closer to you, leaning over to whisper in your ear, “We’ve played at work before, cariño.” Goosebumps pebble across your skin. You hope he can’t see them with how dark it is. You crane your head away from him and grab the binoculars from the dash, choosing to ignore the burning desire between your thighs. You just need to focus on work. You feel Javi lean back in the seat, his eyes boring into the side of your head. You put the binoculars against your face, grunting in annoyance when you still can’t see anything.

“Bebé,” Javier says, grabbing the binoculars from your grip, “Let’s call it night, hmm?”

He throws them into the back seat with a smirk, leaning closer to you, grabbing the back of your neck, and gently urging you toward him. His index finger sweeps against your cheek, brushing a stray hair behind your ear. He smiles warmly at you before dipping his head to meet your lips. Your hands rest against his chest, fingers fiddling with the open V of his button-up.

You moan against his mouth when he licks your bottom lip, allowing him access to slip his tongue inside. Your tongues caressing each other, your hands move to the nape of his neck. Your lips make their way to his jaw and down his neck, your teeth lightly scrape his pulse point.

“Mira que duro me pones(look how hard you make me),” Javi says, pulling you onto his lap, grinding against your center to let you feel his growing bulge. “Te deseo(want you),” he growls.

You let out a faint gasp. Javi has a firm grip on your thighs to keep you against him, one hand finding its way to your center, palm pressing firmly against your clit through the denim of your jeans. You moan against his throat at the sensation.

“Javi,” you whimper as he flicks the button of your jeans open and begins to tug on them impatiently. “Fuck, Javi. I gotta get my damn shoes off first.”

He grabs your jeans, helping you out of them after knocking your shoes off. Javi brings his hand back to your center, rubbing precise circles against your clothed clit, moving down to pull your panties aside. Javi hums, capturing your lips again, tongue tangling with yours, enjoying feeling the slick against your slit.

“So wet,” he says, teasing two thick digits against your entrance. You hum with a nod of your head, crying out when he pushes them into your wet heat.

“Javi,” you moan, putting your head into the crook of his neck, rolling your hips in time with his fingers. “Fuck.” Beginning to feel the coil in your belly tightening.

“¿Así, bebé?(just like that, baby?)” He asks, moving his thumb to massage small quick circles on your clit. You whimper his name when he curves his fingers just right, hitting that spot he knows you love. His mouth leaving open mouth kisses along your neck, reaching your pulse point he begins to suck lightly. You can feel the coil in your belly tightening more, your walls beginning to flutter against his fingers every time he hits that spot with the pads of his fingers.

“Eres mía(you’re mine),” Javi whispers against your neck.

“So close,” You whine, moving your hips faster, his fingers sinking in deeper with each roll of your hips. He moves his head from your neck to look at you, gripping the back of his neck, crashing your mouth into his. Javi moans, beginning to feel your walls clamp around his fingers. The coil in your belly snaps, shooting white-hot lightning through your entire body. Your hand pulls onto the hair at the nape of his neck, causing Javi to let out a guttural groan, pulling you back down from your high.

“Fuck me,” you sigh against his lips.

“That’s the plan, cariño(honey),” Javi smirks, kissing you again, scooting to lay his back against the seat.

Your hands slide down his chest, popping open the buttons of his shirt. You smirk, leaning into his collarbone and placing soft kisses before biting down gently.

“Fuck, bebé(baby),” Javi says sucking in a breath, moving his hands between your bodies to fumble with his belt, “Te necesito(need you)”

You lift up, swatting his hand away to work his belt and jeans open. He lifts his hips and helps you lower his jeans, his stiff member slapping against his stomach.

“Javier Peña,” you tsk, shaking your head at him, “Commando? Did you miss laundry day?”

“Knew about this assignment for weeks now. Asked to be paired up with you,” Javi smiles, wiggling his eyebrows. “Figured this would happen.”

“Oh, fuck off!” You laugh, playfully smacking his chest.

“Awe, come on now, chica sucía(dirty girl)” Javi says, placing your hands on his chest, “You know it’s—“

You grind against his cock, hands pressing firmly against his chest and he lets out a groan.

“That’s one way to get you to shut up,” you grin, slowly grinding your wetness along his shaft, the tip catching your bundle of nerves with every roll of your hips. Javi shifts up grabbing the back of your neck and pulling you to his lips in a hungry kiss. He moves his hand down to line his cock up to your entrance and you slowly sink down on it, taking it inch by inch. You're no stranger to Javi’s cock but each time feels like the first with how thick he is.

“Estás tan apretada, mi amor(you’re so tight, my love)” Javi growls, against your throat, “No pares(don’t stop)” holding onto your hips as you sink further down on him, ass cheeks finally resting on his thighs. You kiss him, both of you taking a minute to savor the feel of one another, Javi gently rubbing his fingers up and down your spine with one hand while the other holds your cheek.

“You’re so beautiful,” Javi murmurs, caressing his nose against your cheek before capturing your lips again, moaning into the kiss as you tentatively roll your hips. His hand settles on your lower back, letting you take control at a slow tempo, letting you enjoy the way his cock massages your inner walls. You moan feeling your nipples beginning to harden between your layers and his chest.

“Javi!” You gasp when he snaps his hips holding onto your lower back firmly.

“Need to see you,” Javi huffs, moving his hand from your face to your shoulder and pushing you to sit up, breath hitching as you swallow more of his length into your core. He rids you of your tank top and pushes the cups of your bra down. You begin to lightly bounce on his cock, moaning at the feel of his hands on you, fingers from one hand beginning to pinch your left nipple while his other hand slides down your ribs, gripping your waist. “Eres mía(you’re mine),” he growls. You can feel your climax nearing, your thighs beginning to shake, feeling the heat running through your body as you bounce.

“Want to take you out,” Javi grunts, your walls begin to tighten at his words, “Make sure that ev-fuck-everyone knows you’re my girl,” he rambles, gripping your waist tighter, snapping his hips into you. “Eres mía(you’re mine).”

“Javi,” you cry out, wanting all of those things and more, your walls fluttering around his shaft, “Fuck, Javi- yes, yes, yes, yes!” Your walls clamp down on him, milking his cock while your vision blurs.

“Fuck,” Javi whines, hips stuttering, emptying himself inside you. He sits up, wrapping his arms around your back to pull you closer to him. Your arms wrapped around his neck, kissing him softly, leaning your forehead against his, trying to catch your breath. Javi looks into your eyes and grins as his softening cock slips out of you.

“I’m serious, corazón,” Javi says, “Want it all.”

“Me too,” You nod, a grin stretching from ear to ear on your face.

“Peña?” You hear the radio chirp against the dash, Murphy beginning to call for you as well. “Anyone there?”

You giggle as Javi leans over, keeping a grip on you in his lap to reach the receiver. “Peña here.”

“The hell are you guys?” Murphy asks, “It’s been raining like cats and dogs for a fuckin’ hour, and no word from either of you!”

“Heading back now,” you say, shaking your head and laughing.

#UndercoverAprilShowersChallenge #pedro pascal characters #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña x reader #javier peña narcos #javier pena smut #javier peña x you

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prettyprettypaci2 · 2 months

Text

Drool - Part 3

💊 Part 1 💊 Part 2 💊

"Oh no, Jess! It looks like our newest patient had a visit from the Potty Monster."

Your brain feels like it's melting. You're desperate to tic, but every muscle in your body is too sluggish and heavy to do more than slosh around in the sinking pool that has become your mattress. The enormous pacifier strapped in your mouth bubbles and squeaks as your lolling tongue pushes creamy drool through the pink shield. But that familiar wetness has been joined by a new one: a puddle of bitter-smelling urine that has periodically expanded and reheated over the last hour, your lower body paralyzed by Nurse Molly's muscle relaxers.

"Mmmmnnnnnnnnggggggggggghhhhhhhhhh," you moan into the thick shaft of the pacifier, dripping pathetically onto the tight cloth bib. The weight of your accumulating drool has now pasted the bib to your chest, and you can feel your saliva seeping through the thin pink paper of your hospital gown.

"You never mentioned any bladder troubles on your application, honey. It's okay, but it's a very important detail for the doctor to know about before your treatment can start!"

Your face gets so hot you can practically feel it crackle. You DON'T have bladder troubles! Nurse Molly obviously gave you too many muscle relaxers! You want to stammer out in protest, but with the leather strap securing the pacifier to your lips, you're completely unable to contradict your nurse's assumptions.

"Jess, I'm going to go fetch some protection. Can you do what you can with the waterworks?"

You become aware of a new presence as Nurse Molly leaves the room: a young woman in a white uniform with shoulder-length hair dyed in an eye-popping pink. You're humiliated to be seen by a stranger while you're writhing stupidly in a lake of your own pee and drool, nursing a fat pacifier and barely able to lift your worthless, mittened hands. You turn your head away as she approaches.

"Hmph. Just what we needed...another bedwetter," she says, her voice oozing with a mix of amusement and genuine frustration. "I'm Nurse Jessica; I'm usually on the night shift. I looked at your file. You're a twitchy one, aren't you? You've got a lot of work ahead of you, especially if we have to start dealing with soaked mattresses."

Nurse Jessica reaches behind your head to untie your cloth bib and peels the saturated square of fabric off of your chest. She tosses it to the floor with a wet plop before folding down the pink-and-white fiberglass guardrails of your bed. You desperately want to explain that you're not actually a bedwetter...but as the pink-haired nurse rolls you onto your side and begins laying down piles of dry towels, all you can do is suckle, sniffle, and moan.

Still unable to move under your own power, you try to focus on the television that has been playing non-stop since you were brought to the room. The bunny cartoon has been replaced with a show where some lady in a princess costume is interacting with puppets. The dialogue and plot are deliriously simple, but it's still preferable to acknowledging Nurse Jessica as she tears off your damp paper hospital gown and begins scrubbing your naked bottom. Once again, lacking any outlet for your instinct to tic, you try to concentrate your nervous energy on the rubbery bulb of the pacifier in your mouth.

"How's our super soaker?"

You hear the familiar voice of Nurse Molly as she pulls back the privacy curtain of your room. At first, it looks like she's brought some extra towels for mopping up your accident, but then you realize...

"Thick, thirsty diapers for our shy little lamb! Don't worry, honey, it's not uncommon for people with motor control issues to have some bladder problems. You didn't have to be embarrassed!"

"Nnnnnnnnnnhhhhhhhhhhh!" You cry out in a panic as Nurse Molly unfurls the massive diaper, holding its hourglass shape aloft like a white flag of surrender for your dignity. The plastic backing crinkles and pops, and you begin to writhe in your bed as she approaches with the mass of soft, heavy padding.

"Nnngh! Nnngh! Nnnnnnnnnngh!" Gurgling uselessly into the rubbery nipple that fills your mouth, the lingering effects of the muscle relaxers join forces with the puffy, constraining mittens to leave you completely at the mercy of these two beautiful nurses. Unable to communicate, you stare up at Nurse Jessica with pleading, desperate eyes as Nurse Molly snaps on a fresh pair of latex gloves and squeezes a liberal amount of white cream into her palm.

"Oh...do you need to tic? Get the wiggles out?" Nurse Jessica sneers, ignoring your obvious panic at the prospect of being taped into the massive diaper. She retreats over to the white-and-pink dresser, which you're surprised to realize is stocked not with the clothes and personal items you brought to the clinic, but with a menagerie of animal plushies, toys, and strange-looking clothes.

"Here, cuddle with Honey Horn. That should calm you down." Nurse Jessica dangles a giant stuffed unicorn above you, nuzzling it against your naked chest in a bid for you to grasp on.

You gasp slurpily as you feel the cold cream in Nurse Molly's gloved hand against the sensitive skin of your bottom. Instinctively, you wrap your bare arms around Honey Horn and pull her against your shivering body, aching for warmth and stimulation. All you can do is suckle, wimper, and squeeze the plushie unicorn as Nurse Molly lifts your legs so they form a right angle with the ceiling.

Nurse Jessica holds your ankles, and you feel the cold, damp towels replaced by a velvety, dry cloud. You wiggle against the odd sensation of your cream-slathered skin on the cottony lining of the soft diaper. You've regained enough feeling in your legs to feel the tightness of the leg guards hugging your thighs as Nurse Molly folds the popping plastic up to your belly button. The ripping tapes are like thunder in your ears, and when the nurses' hands finally let go, the new bulk around your hips stays. You summon the strength to shift Honey Horn to the side, just so you can behold what you already know: you've been snugly and securely diapered.

"Now we need to change out this mattress, honey, so we'll need you to get out of bed. It looks like you still have jelly legs from your medicine, so it's probably safest if you hang out with Honey Horn on the floor."

The nurses work together to lift you up and slide a purple cotton t-shirt over your torso before tying a fresh cotton bib around your neck. By the time Nurse Molly helps you plop down onto the pink blanket that Nurse Jessica spread out on the linoleum, your bib is already catching droplets of warm drool that ooze through the shield of your ever-present pacifier. You have no choice but to cling to Honey Horn, unable to do anything else with your mittened hands as you try to summon feeling back into your legs with weak kicks of your pink jelly sandals. And as you lie on your back, squirming and moaning through helpless suckling, your ears ring with the crinkles and pops of your fluffy white diaper, bulging like a balloon, overwhelming your senses with its tightness, its bulk, and its crackling song...

Crinkle, pop, squish, suck. Crinkle, pop, squish, suck.

💊 Part 4 💊

#diaper pee #diaper training #ab dl lifestyle #diaper sissy #ab dl diaper #diaper gal #diapered247 #ab dl mommy #diaper dependent

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changisworld · 3 months

Text

Kisses & Ribbons

What better day to write my first Hyunjin one-shot than on Valentines day <3

MDNI, OBVIOUS 18+, Smut warnings under the cut.

Word count; 2,301

©ANY translation, copy & paste, posting of my work is strictly forbidden for ANY posts/ writing i post.

PSA FOR ASKS/REQUESTS: i WILL get around to posting everyone’s requests i’m just sorry if it takes a bit of time but whatever you request i’ll post it!! IM ALSO MAKING AN ANON LIST!! just send me anything & tell me what emoji u wanna be!<3

Any reblogs/ Comments are deeply appreciated<3 This is just complete smut with literally no plot.

main masterlist here

SMUT WARNINGS: Marking{f receive} Shibari, PIV, Use of vibrator, lots of praise, a few spanks, spit, creampie, lovemaking, quite fluffy, aftercare, oral {f receive}, experimenting, mention of safe word but not used, flavoured lube, subspace, multiple orgasms,

++ Hyunjin & Reader are married, non idol au, Hyunjin is still a hopeless romantic because DUHH.

You & Hyunjin are just back from a live Jazz music restaurant where you had both decided to spend valentines day, eating delicious food & slow dancing to the music surrounding you but cancelling out as you enjoy the closeness of your husband.

You both practically tumble through the door already kissing eachothers lips, his feeling like mini pillows against your own. You take off his long cream coloured coat & he takes off your matching one.

You both somehow make it to the bedroom before he softly places you on the bed, him following after you & his stomach on your chest, keeping his weight on his elbows & hands before breaking the kiss. "You still up for trying what we discussed, beautiful?" he asks, stroking your hair softly as his eyes glisten. You smile at him & lean up to kiss his nose & you let out an affirmative hum. "of course, i've been thinking about it ever since you mentioned it hunny" you say in a quiet voice, cheeks blushing. Hyunjin hums back at you & he disconnects himself from you, now standing up as he walks over to your shared wardrobe as he fishes out a red velvet box.

He walks over & places it on the bed, not opening it but instead looks back at you. "why not you get undressed for me baby, hmm?" He asks, his ears red & yours equally so. You undo your beige blouse & hyunjin settles himself behind you, helping you wiggle out of your black skirt & tights, kissing your shoulder & back of your neck as he does so.

Hyunjin takes his clothes off too after setting you back down on the bed, leaving him completely bare & you in your red lace thong & matching panties. Hyunjin crawls over you & begins kissing you, his knee in-between your core, your hands reach up to cup his cheeks as you subconsciously begin slowly grinding against his thigh, seeking friction. "You that desperate already baby?" he asks you, hand reaching to your core & cups it. "We can start now then pretty, as stunning as you look in this set, do you mind taking it off for me hm?" he asks you as he lifts himself off of you to reach for the red box still sitting unopened on the bed.

You wriggle your thong off your skin & unclasp your lace bra, your nipples getting hard instantly at the slight temperature change since the material has now came off. Hyunjin opens the box & pulls out a set of red rope with some pieces of ribbon still laying in the box. Your breath hitches slightly as your stomach gets butterflies looking at hyunjin, your husband, holding the rope in his hands. "Can touch it? I wanna feel it." You ask, holding your hand out, he hums & holds the rope out so you can take it as he sits down next to you.

"Are you definitely are you wanna do this sweetie? We don't need to if you're having any sort of second thoughts." Hyunjin says softly, taking the rope back off you as he leans in to your neck & gives your earlobe a couple of kisses. "Of course i want to, you know i'll tell you if i change my mind babe" you reply, eyes closing to fully take in how nice his kisses feel. Hyunjiin hums again & pulls away from your neck, your back shivering at the loss of contact.

"Okay, do you remember the safe word y/n? You can use it any time.. of course." His voice soft in tone, now straightening out the rope in his hands. "red. I won't forget." You blush as you watch hyunjins veiny hands feeling the rope. He smiles back.

"Okay baby, lie down for me for me please." You don't even think twice before crawling up so your head is on the pillows, hyunjin following behind.

Hyunjin begins tying the red rope around each of your limbs & torso, creating chriss-crosses in-between your tits, slightly pinching them before slightly manhandling you, flipping you on your back to finish the ties, kissing each inch of skin he covers. By the end, your hands are tied to your stomach, immobile, your legs connected to your hands so you're in a mating press & you have rope on the very insides of your thighs, causing a slight pinch & burn on your outer flaps. He grabs the ribbons that were still inside the box & ties them to your knees, one above your pussy & the other one on the bits of rope that cross over in-between your breasts.

Hyunjin finishes tying you up before standing up to admire hiss work & also to admire you. "Does anything pinch or hurt more than it should?" He questions, finger stroking your leg. "No, i'm fine to continue hunny." you reply, showing him a smile.

Hyunjin walks over to the bedside table beside you & pulls out some strawberry flavoured lube & a small bullet vibrator. He kisses you from the side which you gladly reciprocate, feeling extra needy. He walks around & crawls up the bed so his face is now at your now dripping cunt. "Look how wet you are jagi, my mouth is watering even looking at it.already swollen, your clit is peeking through already." He shoots you a smile & you blush instantly, getting a bit shy.

He flicks open the small bottle of flavoured lube & lets a few droplets drip onto your cunt which makes you flinch but the rope makes it impossible to move away. He opens his tongue & puts a bit of the lube on it before he moves down & takes a long, slow lick the entire way up your core, making you gasp as he lets out a groan. He pulls back to spit onto your core. "I don't know why i ate dessert earlier when i knew this can't be compared to anything on any menu in the world. Pussy is so plump & swollen because of the rope isn't it? You enjoy it this much hmm?"" He hums out, looking at you with his cat eyes. "Feels so good jinnie, don't stop, please." You tilt your head sideways to avoid the eye contact, getting shy of the position & helpless position you're currently in but he is quick to tug at one of the ropes up at your tits, making you jolt & you look back in his direction, eyes slightly watery from the burn. "Don't get all shy on me now, we're just getting started." He doesn't give you a chance to reply before he basically dives back into your folds.

He begins slurping, nibbling, kissing & straight up moans into your core which obviously sends vibrations to your clit, making you whine out even louder than hyunjins noises. He adds a finger into your wet walls & that tip you over the edge instantly, your legs try their best to shake despite the rope keeping you set in place as you come undone all down his fingers & tongue. You open your eyes as you come down from your high & realise hyunjin has been giving you kisses & sucking dark marks onto them while he waits. "Ji-jinnie need you, p-please" you pant out, still trying to catch your breath & tugging against the ropes holding your arms. "Soon, y/n, be patient. I'm not quite full yet mkay? let me show you how much i love you." you can't help but get butterflies in your stomach, despite being together for so long now.

You open your mouth to reply but the words get caught in your throat as he dives straight back into your cunt, letting his nose nudge against your clit repeatedly as his tongue now makes its way inside you, making you practically squeal. You try your best to jolt your hips away but also closer to his face at the same time, you don't even acknowledge the now buzzing vibrator now making noise until it presses against your completely ruined clit which makes you quite literally scream. "J-jin-baby too-too much!" you say, tugging against your ropes, to no use.

Hyunjin doesn't reply verbally as he now releases his tongue from your hole, your juices dripping off his tongue onto the bedsheets, joining the huge wet patch already formed on the bedsheets with the lube, spit & your juices. He drags the vibrator down from your clit & inserts it inside you as he now suctions his lips back onto your clit & begins wiggling his tongue & spitting his saliva all over your clit as he swears he can feel your clits heartbeat, at the same time he begins grinding his naked cock against the bed, getting some friction & stopping his movements every time he feels himself getting close. You are thrashing around, eyes watering & drool leaving your mouth, leaving you in a complete babbling mess.

Your next orgasm hits you before you can even warn him.. your orgasm making itself known by spraying all over the bedsheets, hyunjins face & in his mouth. He unlatches himself as you're legs are shaking uncontrollably & he smacks your thighs & red raw pussy, making you scream even more.

Hyunjin takes his breath back as he rests on his knees, looking at the state you're currently in, sweaty, drool everywhere, tears staining your cheeks, skin all red from where the rope has been rubbing against it, leaving marks he will be appreciating even after tonight & your cunt, red, pulsating & 1.5x the size it usually is.

He crawls up the bed so he is beside you,face still covered & glistening in your juices & rests his head on his hand as he grips your jaw to make you look at him. "You already floating hm? That's way faster than usual.. new record, you still wanna continue?" He asks, fingers still holding onto your jaw as he slithers his thumb into your mouth & you let him, tongue circling it slowly as you nod at his words, giving him the go-ahead.

Hyunjin gets off the bed before walking around to your side of the bed & he pulls you so your ass is against the edge of the bed & your head is in the middle. He drags his cock up & down your folds because he can't help but be addicted to the way you slightly gasp at his touch but too far in your own world to even properly react or flinch.

He spits onto his cock to lube it up that extra bit & then pulls out the vibrator, completely soaking wet as he turns it off & lays it on the bed. He pumps his cock once then lines it up to your folds before slowly pushing in.

He lets out a loud groan as his eyes snap shut & his head rises up to face the ceiling, trying his best to not blow instantly. He looks down at you to already see you looking at him, mouth slightly open as your eyebrows are slightly frowned, making faint noises. He thrusts into you slowly, both of you making noises, his much louder than yours, He wants.. needs to be closer to you so he unties your legs from where they're connected & he spreads them enough so he can lie forward, chests connecting as he begins kissing down your neck, whispering things in your ear. "so good for me hunny, trusting me like this.. you are the most beautiful person.. thing, in this entire existence, you.. feel s-so amazing my love, g'na cum in your..my pussy mkay?ffuck." He raises himself off your chest & stands back up, moving his now damp, sweat drenched hair out of his also sweat covered face.

He reaches down to tug on the rope against your tits again, dragging red marks into your flesh which makes him whine even more just simply at the sight. Your eyes are completely glossy as your tongue is rolling out of your mouth & your babbling incoherent words. Hyunjin reaches down to play with your clit again & you let out a choked louder whine at the feeling, twitching as you clamp around hyunjins dick as you come again, even stronger than the previous ones if that's even possible which makes Hyunjins hips stutter.

"cummin' around me b-baby? g-g-d you're a w-w-work of art, my own muse, gna cum, t-t-you feel too good." He grunts as he leans into you again, stroking your cheek & your hair s he cums inside you, biting down on his pink plump lips as his own orgasm shoots through his veins.

You both stay in this position for a few minutes, heavy breathing & little whimpers filling the room. Hyunjin uses the rest of his strength to pick himself up again & he begins untying you from the rope, kissing all of the red marks & soothing them with his fingers. He leans up & kisses your lips & tip of your nose before he grabs a damp towel he set on the dresser before the scene started & slowly wipes your cunt, cleaning it up & trying to help calm down some of the swelling.

He positions you back up so your head is on the pillows & comes up & lies next to you as he gets the bottle of water he had left in the bedroom & opens it & holds it to your lips. "cmon baba, you gotta drink this, hm? this took a lot out of you" he whispers in your ear, you don't reply but you part your lips for him to feed you some water which you swallow. He places the water bottle back on the bedside table & he cuddles into you, surrounding you in his warmth as he kisses all possible areas he can reach of you. "Happpy valentines day, my love" he says, kissing your earlobe, admiring you as your eyes shut, breathing now calming down as you nuzzle yourself in his chest, skin on skin as you're both still lying naked, no noise in the room except the clock ticking & your breathing.

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devilfic · 9 months

Text

❝right place, right time❞

V. curiosity killed the cat.

parts: previously / next plot: when else would you get a chance like this? pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: surgeon!reader, secret identities, slow burn, suggestive content, you're awfully nosy aren't you. words: 6.2k.

a/n: trying out something new with headers. also, hey! it's been three months! I did not realize! I am so sorry!

If you were to recall any other time you'd stood in the middle of your apartment, blindfolded, while a strange man you didn't know undressed for you, you'd come up a little bit empty. You were failing to accept that there was ever a time at all, let alone one happening right now.

But you can't look. You have to listen to the shuffle of clothing, the small grunts and heaves of breath, the maneuvering about your home that carries a breeze to your heated skin. Seconds pass where there is no movement at all, not even an exhale, and then, "C'mere."

You stumble forward and immediately bump your shin against your coffee table—the good shin, the one that isn't cut up in ribbons—earning a sharp "tsk" from your guest that has you flushing. You reach up to your makeshift blindfold and tug it off.

To say you were... probably not supposed to see this was an understatement. You're distracted by two trains of thought, the first being his upper body. Batman is half-sitting on the edge of your kitchen table while his under suit hangs from his waist. Every line and curve is sculpted like a meticulously maintained statue. You follow the deep divots of his collarbones, the swell of his chest, the soft yet defined skin of his torso with each ripple a sign of his strength. His cowl is still in place, and even his gloves remain.

And also, though you'd never tell him this, he looked pretty damn good.

The second thought is that he has more pressing concerns than an old gunshot wound. There are bruises littered all across his upper body, signs of fights that were too heavy-handed. You tried to imagine the force it would take to really, really hurt him under that armor. How a bullet had passed through what should be impenetrable.

The first time you'd had his skin exposed to you, it had barely been anything. A cut hole in his suit, just enough room to focus on the blood and the flesh. You hadn't even thought about it.

Now, beneath all the broken, mottled skin was the evidence of the last three years at work. Between the muscle and size of him, you were beginning to understand why he didn't take his health as seriously as you did.

Batman watches you, head tilted to the floor. One arm props him up on the table and his other hand rests over his knee. His upper armor lay discarded on the table behind him along with his utility belt. He doesn't blink as you approach, doesn't bother saying anything first. He has an intense look on him at all times and it's no different now. Even if he's trusted you enough to bare this part of himself to you, you could see the tension in him. He was prepared to fight if it came down to it.

You don't want that. You clasp your hands in front of you, shrinking yourself down like you were facing a fetterless beast because that's the best approach you've got, "Can I touch you?"

His eyes dilate. He hadn't been expecting you to ask that. You'd already touched him before without asking, had shared plenty of touch before. He moves the arm holding him up so that you can get a better look.

There is a small patch of raised skin on his side that you're delighted to find free of stitches, healing over. You press a finger to the area beneath the healing wound, feather-light. "It's looking a lot better," you begin, glancing up, "though I wish you'd keep it wrapped a little longer." You try not to let your fingers wander too much, regardless of the mind they had of their own, "How'd the bullet break the Kevlar? From what I've seen, that's pretty tough stuff from a distance."

Batman grunts when you press into a bruise on his rib cage, apparently the freshest of them all. You apologize, but he pays you no mind, "There wasn't any distance. They got close and kept shooting until it broke."

"Not to be morbid, but why didn't they just go for the head?"

Batman huffs again, though it sounds more like a laugh this time, "You don't think they tried?"

The image of him on the ground and a gangster with a gun towering over him, fighting to get in a lethal shot springs to your mind. You imagine his hands gripped around the barrel, forcing it from between the eyes, down and away until they just starts letting off every bullet in the mag until- "Oh."

He grunts again.

Despite the fact that he'd come close to death, he hardly looked bothered. You'd lived a life like that, and there wasn't a day that went by where you weren't baffled by the sheer stupidity of your youth. Maybe if you'd been smarter back then, had more self-preservation, you would have stopped much sooner.

Now look at you. A man with a gun threatens your life once and suddenly your whole world is thrown off kilter.

You're not actually looking at his bullet wound anymore. You're looking at his bruises. "You don't have doctors, right? So what happens when you... break a bone? How do you explain all this to an ER nurse?"

"I never said that."

"Well, no. You just brooded and ignored me. Which I took for an answer."

"I don't go to hospitals. If I can't fix it myself, I find someone who can."

You remember the other part of that conversation, when he'd mentioned someone looking at his wound, "That person that checked you out last time?" Batman hums. "Are they like me?"

"...No." You think that's all he'll say, having given you more information than perhaps he'd have liked to, but he surprises you, "Not a doctor, but knows what to do. From experience."

That doesn't narrow down the picture of Batman's Nightingale at all. After all, any number of people in Gotham had knowledge like that just from living here. You also figure if he's lasted this long, they must know what they're doing, "I guess you don't really need me fussing over you after all."

He doesn't need to dignify that with a response, and if he were to, you'd expect him to agree. Perhaps throw in an "I told you so" if he was feeling particularly jovial. You don't expect the sincere, "I think you have the right after saving my life."

You laugh, "By that logic, you should be up my ass about taking care of myself. Scratch that, the whole city's ass."

"I am. Or I would've taken your invitation."

"How many times do I have to say that was a stupid move before you let it go?"

"It's only been half an hour. It's not even cold yet."

"I'm sorry, okay? I can't help..." You falter. What could you say? Your feelings bigger than your vocabulary, if you tried to imprison them in words, you worried they might scare him. Might scare you. The truth was that you trusted him. And his insistence that you shouldn't didn't stop you. "I told you when we first met that I believe in what you do for Gotham, that I want you to keep doing it. I meant that. It's why I fuss and why I left the window open, why I keep hoping you're there and why I hoped you'd come save me that night. I believe in the Batman and I believe that even underneath that, you're a good person. Am I wrong?"

Batman keeps your gaze. You'd give anything to know what he's thinking at any given moment, but especially now. Your desire to be understood comes at the cost of being exposed. You realize that in this situation, he knows so much more about you than you may ever know about him.

That kind of realization is terrifying. You can't take it back now.

Your next realization is that your hand is touching his stomach, more comfortable in its place than it reasonably should be. It'd been hovering there since he'd started telling you about getting shot, warm from his warmth. You don't immediately pull away.

Your hand moves with him when he draws in a breath, "It's not something you can call yourself."

"You're a good person. There. I said it." You tip your chin up in defiance.

"You don't know me."

Then let me, you want to say. "Then prove me wrong."

A tick passes. Then, Batman stands to his full height. Your hand naturally falls away as he zips his suit back up to the neck, then his hand goes for the shirt you'd discarded. It shouldn't shock you the second time, but you shiver when he pulls it taut around your head once more, careful not to catch your hair in the knot.

You listen for the growing familiarity of his grunts, the heavy effort of pulling his armor back over his body, the click of his utility belt about his waist, and then you await the return of his cowl but the noise stops there. Your hands hover in front of you with nothing to do, too afraid to remove the blindfold early but too afraid to break the tense silence.

So you stand there, back to him, waiting for him to give you the okay. You can feel his eyes on your back (all over, really) and a trickle of humiliation works its way up your spine the longer it goes on.

You hear noise again a minute later, though it's not the sound of him putting his cowl back on. It's his boots. He's walking toward you.

You're anticipating something, a touch or a whispered final farewell. A sillier, nervous part of you is anticipating his breath on the nape of your neck. Bending his head down. The heat of his chest against your back. You imagine him dipping his mouth to the curve of your throat and the image sends a tingle up your spine. You're not expecting your hand taken hostage and something slipped into your palm. It feels small and round along the sides. When you allow your fingers to collapse around it, it feels flat. Batman doesn't release your hand until you're holding it properly.

Then you hear him put on his cowl. Then you hear him leave.

Yanking off the blindfold, you're shocked to find that there's a phone in your hand. A flip-phone. It's a prepaid, a simple one you'd find at any bodega up and down your street. You try to imagine Batman of all people, in civilian clothing, walking into one of your neighborhood's haunts and buying this for you.

You flip open the phone and find that in the contacts list, there is only one: "For emergencies only".

Huh. Batman just gave you his number.

You do not hear from Bruce Wayne for a week.

After the papers are signed, you're told rather abruptly that he'll be flying overseas. Business, Alfred had said, and that you'd be expected to be at Wayne Manor the morning of his return for a checkup if you weren't called to Verona before the week's end. If your head hadn't started swimming with the idea, you would have had the wherewithal to be excited about it.

But seven days come and go and you're eventually standing in the penthouse, poking and prodding the man of the hour while Alfred watches on from afar.

Bruce is an obedient patient, if not a little robotic. Every answer is a "yes", "no", "just a little bit". He's in perfect physical health from what you can tell, from what he allows you to see with all his clothes on. The most of note is his visible tan, and halfway through the examination, you can't stop yourself from commenting on it, "How was Italy?"

It's the first question that isn't about his appetite or sleep, so he's not as quick to answer, "Fine. Warm."

"Must be nice. Did you enjoy the beaches?"

Alfred snorts so loudly that it redirects the attention of both of you, but he has his nose deep in tax statements when your eyes find the butler. Bruce looks a little annoyed when he answers you, "I didn't go. I was in meetings most of the week."

You frown, "It's that sunny in Verona?"

"Any sliver of sunlight has him turning colors." Alfred no doubt knows from humiliating experience, and while Bruce doesn't look very pleased, you're just thankful the butler feels in good enough spirits to joke with you. Perhaps now that the contract had been signed, he'd resigned to his fate that you were here to stay. At least until Bruce's mysterious interest in you dulled his rose-colored glasses.

You try to picture Bruce basking in the sun—the kind of sun that didn't find itself on this side of the world—and all you see are scenes right out of Baywatch, so uncharacteristic that you shake your head just to get rid of them.

"Any concerns?" You ask, and then you're reminded to look down at his hands in his lap. You can't help yourself from asking, "What about those?"

Bruce follows your line of sight to the scarring over his knuckles, dimmed some due to the tan. You watch his face the entire way, hopeful to catch him in a lie. He turns over his palm, looks at you through his lashes, and says, "No, I... I fight. On purpose. It's a hobby."

That catches you off guard. You thought someone with his bank account would be into golfing.

Bruce nods over in Alfred's direction when you don't respond, "Mixed martial arts. Alfred will tell you. He's been teaching me since I was ten."

Sure enough, Alfred is watching the two of you over the rim of his glasses, "Just the basics." He confirms.

It adds up, though you can't help questioning it, "Isn't that kind of a violent hobby? Seems pretty dangerous for the future CEO of a major corporation."

"It was self-defense first, then a... hobby." Alfred spits the last word out like a rotten tooth. "Trust you aren't the first to mention it, and surely won't be the last."

You frown, "Just so you know, I'm a general surgeon. Brain damage isn't my forte."

Bruce doesn't answer. He doesn't get the chance. Dory barely has a chance to announce the arrival of guests before they're flooding the living room with balloons, streamers, flower arrangements, and more. You're taken aback by the sheer extravagance. Was it someone's birthday? You look at Bruce for an answer, but it's Alfred who shoots up to welcome them in. You hear him instructing a group of musicians to a corner of the room that you've only now realized has been cleared away of the antiques that once held space there.

A man rushes past you, carrying a folded banner in hand, and another immediately follows with a ladder that almost knocks your things off the end table. You catch your bag and hold it to your chest.

"I'm sorry, the crew for the party is here early." Bruce sounds almost disappointed.

"Party?"

"For the mayor. I'm hosting a celebration tonight for the mayor's new deal passing." Bruce rolls down his shirt sleeve once he unwraps the blood pressure monitor and hands it back to you, rolling his shoulder as you begin to pack up.

"That's awfully kind of you." You comment, glancing at the array of gold and purple being carried in. "I should get out of your hair then-"

"Would you like to come?"

There he is again.

He had such a nervous energy about him all of a sudden. Someone with his power and prestige should believe they have the world in the palm of their hand (because he does), but every time he locks eyes with you, it's like it all falls away. In your presence, he's just a man and you hold all the power.

"I wouldn't want to intrude."

"You wouldn't. It's... supporters, donors, friends. Politicians and some press too but nothing too formal." Bruce must notice the way you shrivel because he's quick to add on, "There'll be wine. From Italy. And champagne. Not from Italy, but it adds variety."

If you didn't know any better, you'd say he wanted you to come.

And it wasn't that you weren't intrigued. You admired the mayor, and being a part of something like this was a once-in-a-lifetime offer. Donors meant money-makers like Bruce who, if going off their politician of choice, would be looking for causes to fund. You could practically hear your boss's heart break at even the idea that you'd turn this down.

It wasn't lost on you that your new position with Bruce Wayne had made you, accidentally, a spokesperson for the hospital. Missing the opportunity to milk the pockets of a few more billionaires would be a waste.

And Bruce... really seemed like he wanted you to come.

"Mr. Wayne," Dory's frail voice calls from the top floor, peering over the railing, "I need to speak with you about precautions for tonight."

Precautions?

Dory hurries back down the hallway without another word, and Bruce grows distracted. You think that he's forgotten all about convincing you to come to the party, but he turns to you one for one last second, "It's at eight. If you'd like to come."

And another thing: you'd have a good reason to snoop around Bruce Wayne's house.

"Nothing too formal" your ass.

You'd had the good sense to spot a rich person lying out of their ass and had dressed as nicely as you could for the occasion, clearly a good decision.

The gathering of guests are all comfortable an hour into the party and a few drinks in, too. You immediately sneak yourself a glass the moment Dory lets you in the door. Bruce is knee-deep in conversation with who you recognize to be a councilwoman, and you catch Alfred observing the party from the edge of the room while hired servers tend to the guests. Mayor Reál is sat on a couch with a glass of champagne in one hand and her suit coat thrown over the back. She's got a line of guests leaning in to hear her recount some story about a diplomat from out of town. You wouldn't have a chance to speak to her tonight, you feared.

Somehow, you find yourself gradually floating in Alfred's direction.

He pays you no mind, not obviously anyway, but he does start speaking once you're in earshot, "Master Wayne invited you?"

Your lips purse. You try not to take his words as the insult they sound like, though his emotionless stare past your person doesn't help his case, "I debated coming. He seemed to want me here."

This gets him to look at you. Then, he turns away again, scanning the party for any signs of disorder. You noticed the tension in his shoulders almost immediately. Even if he didn't want to be friendly, that wouldn't stop you, "I can only imagine how nerve-wracking this must be."

Alfred furrows his brow. "I beg your pardon?"

"Letting strangers handle your fine glasses. God forbid someone trips."

A few moments of silence pass between you and your throat threatens to close up thinking your joke didn't land, but eventually, Alfred huffs, "That would be Dory's concern. That woman is very serious about the dishware."

Dory didn't look it. Greeting everyone with bright smiles and instructing them into the main room, she was more relaxed than Alfred was. "Then what's yours?"

The butler looks down to the side at you, but doesn't bother turning his head in your direction. He clearly didn't want the chance to miss anything, but the guests were behaving. "Someone ending up where they don't belong."

Perhaps that was why he was guarding the staircase with his life. Upstairs, you imagined, was where Bruce slept. Perhaps it was where the late Mr. and Mrs. Wayne had slept once upon a time too. If anyone were to disturb their belongings, you imagined this would be the last time a party was held in the penthouse.

But that got you thinking, "Do you hold parties often?"

"No. Never. This was all Master Wayne's idea, though I can't say it wasn't sudden."

Never was a strong response. Emily knew his shut-in status more intimately than you, but from what you saw, he did just fine on TV. He's got that interview smile on right now, cordial and fair. He laughs at the right times and makes sure to nod often enough so that his conversation partners know he's listening. He looks completely normal when you're not around. Excruciatingly normal. A picture of a proper businessman, billionaire, and bachelor. A man who should have been hosting parties weekly like the Gatsby that was expected of him.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

The way he tip-toed around you was the only proof you had that all of this was just as weird as it felt, that he knew this setup was out of the ordinary. That there was more to this than he or anyone else was telling you. A near-death experience had ushered him into the light of day and had put you right next to him. Maybe this was his version of Eat, Pray, Love.

A crash is heard from some distant part of the house and you see Alfred visibly tense. He looks uneasy to abandon his post, but you set your glass on a windowsill and take a step up the stairs, "I can keep watch until you get back."

Alfred looks skeptical, though another crash is all that's needed to convince him. He holds out a hand to the upstairs, "No one is allowed on the second floor. Understood?"

You nod, just shy of standing to attention and saluting. He rushes off without further convincing.

Your eyes naturally find Bruce again.

He's now in conversation with Mayor Reál and three other politicians all vying for his attention, though it's only she who seems to actually hold it. It's painstakingly obvious that they've seen what his dollars can do, and getting an endorsement from the newly emerged billionaire would do their campaigns wonders, but Bruce doesn't seem convinced of them.

And, if you were honest, it was a good sign.

Despite how little you were yet to understand about him as a person, you did know these politicians. You'd seen their campaign ads and the thinly veiled attempts at distracting from their shady pasts. Many of them had been in office alongside Mayor Mitchell. Many of them had rebranded, denounced him entirely after the Riddler debacle, if only to save face. There was no doubt in your mind that most of them had known about it, if not had their fingers in the pie.

Batman had promised you he wasn't corrupt. You had to believe him. You had to take his word for it.

Reminded of the caped crusader, your hand falls to your pocket to feel for the phone nestled there. Ever since the Batman had given it to you, you'd kept it charged and on you at all times, anxiously waiting for a call or a text or something.

But you hadn't seen or heard from him in a few days. If he was out there, he at least wasn't getting hurt, and that should have overjoyed you. It should have. It just... could also mean something else.

You slip the phone out of your pocket and confirm your suspicions. No messages, no missed calls.

The phone should have put you at ease, reassured you, but all it did was make you restless. Waiting for it to ring, wondering if it had and you'd missed it. You force it back into your pocket before you can fuss over it anymore than usual, and that's when you catch the sound of metal clanging against metal. It's distinct. It's coming from the second floor hallway.

Shit.

You rush up the stairs none too carefully, cursing that you couldn't take them two by two, and when you finally get to the second floor, the banging only grows louder. A glance back at the party assures you no one else is following.

It takes a turn down another hallway before you see a drunken couple standing at an iron gate, one holding their heels and drink in hand and the other positioning a fire poker over the latch. As soon as you spot them, the one with the fire poker drives it into the padlock on the handle and snaps it right off.

"Hey!" You call, and the two of them look to you, giggling like school children. The one with the fire poker puts it to the side, flashing you with a too-straight smile that is meant to put you at ease. It does nothing of the sort. "You can't be up here."

"Sorry, we were trying-" She hiccups, giggling into her hand, "-we were trying to get to the roof, but this place is fucking huge."

The closer you get, you realize that the gate is sealing off an elevator shaft. There's only one button, however, and it points downward.

Sweeping the broken padlock off the floor, the couple shuffle out of your way. "Well, this isn't it, but I'm sure if you ask the nice British man downstairs how to get there, he'll tell you." And then, for good measure, "And don't tell him you were up here or you're never coming back."

The two of them look sober enough to understand, but they're still enjoying themselves as they make their way back downstairs. You watch them go the entire way. If they didn't heed your warning, you'd get the brunt of his anger over this.

You set the padlock down on a nearby table and pick up the fire poker, unsure where they would've snatched it from. You only hoped they hadn't sneaked into any of the rooms to get it.

And then, you wonder where the hell this leads to.

There's the elevator at the front door, the one that each and every one of you had arrived in, but when you pull back the iron gate and peek inside, there aren't any floor numbers. There's two buttons: one that goes up, and one that goes down.

The inside shakes when you step in. For a moment, you wonder if it had been locked because it was out of order, and your heart drops to your stomach thinking that it might drop down a height of sixty stories all at once, but it steadies eventually. It's clear it hasn't been changed, just one part of a fitting antique carved into the other world that is Wayne Tower.

There's a weak white light that buzzes overhead and those two buttons. Curiosity itches.

Whatever was down there, whatever this thing led to, the Waynes didn't want anyone to find it. The "precautions" Dory had mentioned came to mind.

But if they didn't want anyone to find it, why throw a party here where two stupid drunks could wander off and break into it?

You're sure Alfred didn't imagine anyone would come at it with a fucking fire poker, but it had been that easy.

Your eyes burn into the button. That'd be so easy, too.

If you gave into your desire, allowed yourself to push it and someone found you, you'd be fired. You could be stripped of your license for violation of patient privacy, enough HIPAA rules broken in the time it takes to satiate your curiosity. Wayne Enterprises would sue you into oblivion. Jersey would no longer be a question. Nothing would save you.

But there was something down there that you needed to see. You knew it. Felt it like claws burrowing into the wrinkles of your brain.

Your finger twitched at your side and you saw Bruce's face in your mind, all sad eyes and something hidden beneath his skin. He'd wanted you to come, wanted you to work for him—clearly against Alfred's better judgement—and he would trust you not to go any further. Even though he doesn't know you.

Some indignant part of you thinks that isn't your problem.

That same indignant part of you, the part that had convinced you to run with wolves as a teenager, gave in.

The elevator kicked up, so loud you worried everyone in the party could hear it, but then it began its descent with its steady whirring. You held on tight as it dropped floor after floor after floor after floor.

It must've been twenty years or maybe a minute and a half. The elevator comes to a shaky stop. A door outside the gate slides open, revealing... darkness. Absolute, all-consuming darkness.

The meager light above you does very little to light your way as your heart jumps into your throat, regret bubbling up in your chest. You can hear small chittering sounds from within the darkness and dripping like leaky pipes. You're hesitant to pull back the gate, more than eager to leave this a mystery unsolved. You're not entirely sure that if you were to step out into the abyss, you wouldn't fall into Hell's mouth.

But then, light fills up the darkness.

Giant, white stage lights flicker on one by one straight ahead and the first thing you see is a car covered by tarp, elevated on a platform at the heart of the room. There are tools laid haphazardly around the ramps, as if whoever had left them there had abandoned them in a hurry. You can't see much else from this angle except a grungy, muddy mountain bike with its helmet hanging off the handle.

A garage. The big, scary void was a garage. Your heart falls back into place with a dusting of shame crawling up your neck.

You're about to take yourself back to the penthouse when you startle at the sound of a voice—no, voices—echoing off the walls of the garage. None of it makes sense at first; the discussion starts up like you'd just walked into earshot, as if they'd been talking the entire time and you'd only just started paying attention.

You touch a hand to the gate and peek further into the room, pushing it back to let you out. You're cautious, eyes flitting to and fro to find the source of the voices, but all you see are tables and computer screens and a TV just a ways away from you, having flicked on with the power. Seconds later, you recognize the voices. Newscasters. News 7 WGOT to be exact.

What really captures your attention is the darkness that hadn't been chased away by the lights. There are sconces all along the walls that keep the main area lit, an area you realize looks an awful lot like a subway terminal, but they cease at the cutoff of the platform. The lights are bright enough to show some of what lies ahead: train tracks.

You step further into the room, examining the peculiarities: a car engine here, a microscope there, subwoofers packed on top of subwoofers, tables and desks and computer screens everywhere.

A desk near the center of the room catches your eyes next. There are radio transmitters, files, and lamps scattered about the surface. None of it resembles the pristine study upstairs, what you assumed was Bruce's personal base of operations. No, this desk looked lived in. The two or three empty mugs lined up by a table leg tells you as much.

What kind of business could a CEO get done down here? The place smelled of mildew and you could feel the vibrations of trains running above ground.

Your eyes flicker over a leather-bound journal and a handful of folders, your eyes catching on names that only sort of tickle your brain. Names you've heard recently. Names you've heard upstairs. Did he have files on everyone at the party? The level of detail wasn't surprising, not for someone with his kind of position. You doubted he would take a chance on anyone that he invited after last year.

You brush a thumb over one when you catch a name that you don't recognize as quickly. Ironic. It belongs to you.

You snatch the file without thinking, flipping open the cover to see your headshot scanned off your medical ID badge, but there are other photos. One of you and the rest of your department, another of you mid-handshake with the Dean of your alma mater. Publicly available stuff. Except for one you've never seen before. It's candid, though the heavy beating of your heart in your ears is making it hard to determine when it could've been taken. It looks recent. Somewhere outside of Gotham General. You were still in scrubs, completely unaware.

With these types, it wasn't unusual to hire a private investigator before hiring on a complete stranger, let alone one who managed your very life and well-being. You kept telling yourself that, swallowing down the rising unease in your gut, when you made the mistake of turning the page.

There was a picture there that no one should have access to. Your fingers shook as they ghosted over the black and white image, the shock in your eyes, the barely captured tremor in your jaw.

Every single feeling came rushing back to you all at once as if you were 16 again. Standing still in an alleyway. Watching her blood splatter the concrete. Staring down the barrel of the same gun as it turned on you, promised you would be next.

Some names were redacted, but you could tell from the first few lines of the police report beneath your mugshot that it was exactly what you feared it would be. He shouldn't have this.

Panic rises in your throat. You can't keep the nausea down, the growing urge to vomit up your last two drinks onto the paper. Maybe you'd ruin it completely and then... and then...

It still happened. You couldn't change that.

The entire terminal rattles and pulls you out of your shock. A train was passing right above you, sending bolts and screws clattering to the ground. You accidentally drop the file and one of the screens flickers on.

There were four different feeds—camera feeds. CCTV. One of the living room, one of the kitchen, one of the foyer, and one of the second floor. All four wink away, replaced by new angles, and you realize with a chill that one of them is pointed down the hallway leading to the elevator. If these were recording... if Bruce watched back the feed...

You tremble in place, waiting as the feeds are replaced with new ones. You wait for one that would confirm you had stepped into the elevator, had come down here. You wait for the killing blow.

But it doesn't come. There's one camera in that hallway, pointed at such an angle that, really, there's no way to tell if you got on or not. It's all you need to put your file back and rush out of there.

Your teeth are chattering as you climb back into the elevator, shut the gate, and let it take you back to the penthouse, but your mind isn't with you right now. It's back there, years ago. It's reeling. It's thinking he knows, he knows and this all must be a trick. He hired you and he knew. He knew and he let you in his house, let you find that couple, let you think you had a choice to get this far because he knew the truth and the truth was that you would take a chance like this because it took one night and her brains blown out of her head and Bruce would be waiting to arrest you because you never changed-

The elevator comes to a stop. Your name is called in that same moment, and you quickly hurry off the elevator and shut the gate just in time for Alfred to appear.

You probably look incriminating enough, all wild-eyed, but all Alfred does is release a deep, deep sigh. Then, he walks over to you and examines the broken padlock and the guilty weapon in your hand. You hadn't realized you still held it. You've turned the metal warm with how tightly you grip it. "No one got on, yes?" Is all he says.

You nod.

Alfred seems to think that's enough. He holds out a hand for the fire poker and you eagerly hand it over, "I met your friends a moment ago. They've been sent home. I'm afraid letting them onto the rooftop would've resulted in a lawsuit."

It takes you a second to register that he's joking, a second longer to laugh with him, however shaky, "They got as far as breaking the lock before I stopped them."

"Lucky as they were. This elevator's broken."

You blink, "Is it?"

"I'm afraid so. That's why we keep it locked. Who knows what could've happened if someone had stepped inside?"

You did.

"I believe Bruce was looking for you," Alfred offers, and you notice the slight edge to his voice. The forced smile on his face is all it takes for you to be certain, "It appears the mayor would like to hear about your work at Gotham General."

It's an out. You'd be stupid not to take it, "Right. Thanks. Good luck with the... door."

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#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne scenarios #bruce wayne fic #bruce wayne angst #bruce wayne fluff #bruce wayne #batman x reader #batman scenarios #batman fic #batman angst #batman fluff #the batman #battinson x reader #battinson #dc #mjwrites

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undiscovered-horizon · 4 months

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Rainy Season - Morpheus x Reader

[Spoilers for Brief Lives I guess?]

[MASTERLIST] | [Sandman-inspired playlist]

SUMMARY: Fed up with Dream's stubborn and at times childish attitude, you leave Dreaming. But when Morpheus's sorrow makes itself known, Matthew has to fetch you before the kingdom completely floods.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 1.7k

It’s a tumultuous morning in the Dreaming. Even if none of the dreams and nightmares are privy to the ongoing feud, they know something is wrong. It’s as though the air in the kingdom, the marrow of their bones, turned bitter last night. Their skin is crawling but the sun is shining as it did yesterday. They birds chirp the same song they had throughout centuries. And yet, against their better judgment, something is terribly out of place.

To be honest, you don’t even remember how all of this started but the damage is already done.

A frustrated scream ripples through your chest, "The world doesn't revolve around you!" You're fuming. There's only so much patience one person can hold and recently, Morpheus had proven himself exceptional at trying to reach its limit until he, unfortunately, succeeded today. "For someone who's supposed to know every thought ever entertained, you sure can not look past the tip of your own nose."

His eyes, cold and hurt, stare at you in utter confusion. Dark eyebrows furrow. "I do not know what you're expecting of me,” he states in an angry voice. It appears that he really does not understand the reason for your outrage. "I am not human, I am unable to look at the world as you do."

Of course he says that, you think to yourself. It seems to be his favorite line of defense. Dream of the Endless is a strange, eldritch creature. He doesn’t comprehend the world like a mortal does and, or some reason, he treats this fact of nature as an excuse not to try. At first, you thought it charming - to see the universe through the eyes of a creature you can barely begin to understand. Who wouldn’t? The strange wonder of the man in front of you made you seek his company again and again. Truthfully, there’s something poetic about it: the reason you’ve come back to him so many times might be the very reason you bid him farewell. For good.

"Good news, then: you don't need a cardiovascular system to exercise empathy.” Your sarcastic tone has an effect on Morpheus. He frowns, hurt by your words, only to grow angry that he’s so affected. Dream’s pride makes him want to not be influenced by your bitterness. Alas, he cares more than he’s willing to admit. "Not everything is about you, Morpheus, and until you realize that, I don't think we've got more to talk about. Goodbye."

Even after you shut the door behind you, the word echoes through the castle. The stone walls seem to whisper it back to Morpheus, rubbing the salt in his wound. How strange it is - to be haunted by somebody still alive. To be the king of dreams and feel hopeless. It would be funny if it didn’t make him want to be unmade.

A thunder rolls. A blue lightning splits the sky in two. Despite the lovely weather in the morning, it starts to rain in the Dreaming.

The storm doesn’t stop after a few hours nor does it cease after a few days. Black clouds cover the sky as they did four days ago. The only change is in the water level: the kingdom is flooded. When everyone thought the rain is bound to stop soon, no one minded much the rising tide. However, when the situation only worsened with no evidence that it’s going to improve in the near future, worried voices started to reach Lucienne. If the storm doesn’t cease in the next day or two, some parts of the Dreaming will share the fate of Atlantis.

If Morpheus knew he was being observed, he didn’t show it. Perhaps he doesn’t feel up for another confrontation. In any event, he remains still, standing against the balcony reiling, as his friends begin plotting:

"How is he?" Matthew whispers to Lucienne. "Has he moved from there at all? Ate something? Said anything?"

"That's three 'no's, I'm afraid,” she answers slowly. The librarian lets out a heavy sigh. "He's just dramatically standing there, wallowing in pity."

Dream really is 'just standing there’. Drenched. His hair and clothes are stuck to his pasty skin. It can’t be comfortable but it would appear that matters other than cosiness are on his mind at the moment. For the past few days, ever since you left, he hasn’t moved even a quarter of an inch. Truthfully, he looks about as alive as a marble statue, if monuments could appear excruciatingly miserable.

"Should we do something?" The raven continues. What he really wants to ask is 'What should we do?’ but Lucienne seems to catch the undertone of his words nonetheless.

"You could ask her to come back but no guarantee she'll want to,” she thinks out loud. "They've fought before but this time she looked really defeated."

Morpheus, although doesn’t need to breathe, sighs loudly. As he exhales, another lightning tears the sky apart.

"Alright, I'll try to convince her to talk to him again,” Matthew states. His worried voice makes him sound determined to have the two of you reconcile. "Hopefully, we'll be back before you need a canoe."

Lucienne doesn’t respond. As much as she doesn’t want to admit to her pessimism, she knows better than to have much hope in the matter of Dream’s love life.

Repetitive tapping on the window diverts your attention from the dishes you were washing. Seeing the black bird sitting on the outside windowsill, you quickly wipe your hands against the dishrag and jog to open the window.

"Matthew?" you ask in surprise.

He wastes no time pleading his case in a plaintive tone. "You gotta go back to him. Everything's gone to shit."

You furrow your eyebrows. Leaning against the wall, you cross your arms on your chest. "What do you mean?"

The raven hops closer to you. "It's been pouring nonstop since you left. He's just standing there, soaking wet and he won't talk to anyone."

It might sound sadistic but it’s a nice thought that he’s grieving your departure so severely. For what it’s worth, it means he’s not as blase as he likes to appear. Perhaps, Morpheus cares about you more than you’re even aware of.

"How bad is it?" you ask warily.

"How bad?!" Matthew screeches. "The House of Mysteries is so flooded, Abel is fishing."

It sounds like 'bad' is nothing more than an elegant euphemism. In his heartache, Morpheus is willing to let Dreaming decay and fall into partial ruin. If your accusation had been correct and Dream of the Endless truly is unable to care about anyone but himself, such a disaster would never have happened. A selfish ruler wouldn’t let his realm turn to rubble because of a broken heart. And if you’re more important than what he calls home, then…

"I'm assuming that's not a usual feature,” you give the raven a half-hearted response. The thoughts inside your head are in a painful turmoil, trying to lift the truth out of the indications.

"Yeah," he answers sarcastically.

Matthew glares at you in anticipation. Perplexed, you rub your arm without thinking much about it. Right, it's the mature and responsible thing to do but at the same time, why do you have to be the one to cave in every time you two fall out? If Morpheus cares for you as much as his dramatic show of pain and grief would suggest, shouldn’t it be him travelling across world and realms to reach you?

The raven cocks his head. Something about the look in his eyes changes as though his frustration has faded away or grown into desperation if not powerlessness. He’s tired and out of options.

"Alright, let's go," you say with a sigh. "But no promises. I still have pride and self-respect and he's still a stubborn..." you take a deep breath, "nevermind. Let's just go."

Miserable.

That's the only word that comes to your mind as you stare at him from afar. One would think that an entity of his sort can not be or look miserable but maybe this world is even stranger than you've thought. His clothes are drenched to the point of being see-through. Dark, once-tussled hair is now stuck to his face and neck. Dream's body looks even more stringy as his head is hanging low between his shoulders.

The rain is almost deafening. Your cautious, hesitant footsteps shouldn't be audible and yet Morpheus turns around to look at you when you come closer.

"I didn't think you'd come back," he says in a low, groggy voice. Dream's eyes, once blue and cold, are now red and unsettlingly vacant. Has he been crying? "What do you want?"

You take a deep breath. It was vain to expect him to welcome you with open arms. An eldritch being with a bruised ego and a broken heart could never make for a hospitable host. Even to those whom he misses the most.

"I still stand by what I said, it's just..." you hang your voice for a moment to find the proper words. Seeing him so broken by your fight makes some part of you want to renounce everything that lead to your argument. Anything just for him to be alright again. But the more reasonable side of you knows that such an action would only hurt both of you in the long run. "I admit, I could have said it in a more civilized way. I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that harshness."

His gaze falls and Morpheus looks away for a moment.

Whether he's doing it consciously or not, the rainstorm ceases. Black clouds slowly drift away to uncover a clear, blue sky. Somewhere in the West, if there are cardinal directions in Dreaming, the sun is beginning to set. Despite the significant improvement, the air remains cold. A harsh wind nips at your drenched form. In a vain attempt to shield yourself from the discomfort of the weather, you put your arms around your torso. Still, your body trembles.

"Perhaps I should have put more effort into understanding your concern. I'm..." he turns silent for a second. His lips are apart but no sound is coming out of his mouth. Dream's hurt gaze meets yours. "Sorry," he whispers finally. Despite his voice being hardly audible, the weight of his confession is almost deafening.

"There's one more thing, Morpheus."

Those sad blue eyes stare at you in anticipation. The misery on his face makes you think that he's expecting to have his heart broken again, instead of mended.

A couple of grey clouds reappear above your heads. Oh no.

"I'm tired of always being the one to reach out," you confess. His gaze is too intense and you quickly look away from him. There's much on his mind. "No matter who's right or wrong, it's me who bridges the gap between us. Even if that angers me, I still do it. Every time. And I don't know what that says about me."

Your body trembles again but this time it doesn't go unnoticed by Morpheus. He, quite literally, pulls a coat out of thin air. Dream's movements are almost fearful as he cautiously places the garment around your shoulders.

"Perhaps in certain aspects, you are better than me," he answers quietly while fixing the coat to fit you better.

You know you're pushing your luck when you look at him again and ask a not-so-innocent question:

"You mean a 'better person'?"

"I'm not-" He bites his tongue just in time. Morpheus is not a person. Both of you are perfectly aware of it. But it was the mention of this very fact that had brought such disastrous rain to Dreaming. "Yes. A better person."

There's not much conviction in his words but there is, however, a silent promise to find it.

______

Now that I’m in mourning, I thought it fitting to finish reading "Brief Lives" and the bittersweetness of it felt all the more pronounced. Reading it prompted me to rewatch the show and long story short I’m kind of back in my Sandman feels.

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gaybananabread · 6 months

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Hi!!! 💖 If 21 isn’t filled yet for tickletober, do you think you could do ler Asmodeus and lee Fizzarolli from Helluva Boss? The new episode has me craving for some tickle content for them they’re so cute!! Hope you’re well and take all the time you need. 💖

TickleTober Day 21 - New Discovery

Writing this one made me happy. I dunno what it was, but writing the scrunkles just boosted my happy brain chems. I know I’ve been squeaking these in at like 11:50 something at night, but I actually paced myself this week and loved getting this out! Hopefully you like reading this as much as I did writing it. Enjoy!

Lee: Fizzarolli

Ler: Asmodeus

Summary: After a shitty day, Fizz is more than ready for some love from his partner. Ozzie is happy to help, though he does it in his own silly way. After all, what's love without some laughter?

Warnings: swearing (obviously), implied murder (don't worry, they deserve it)! This is a tickle fic, so if you don't like that, scroll away!!

Hell's worst kept secret…

Not wrong, but the title still pissed the pair off. Ever since the kidnapping incident, they had been a bit more open with their relationship. They obviously weren't announcing it; all of Hell didn't need to know that Ozzie and an Imp were together. But around the factory and his quarters, the fruits were showing more PDA and less shitty excuses when they were caught.

The workers knew better than to say anything.

Still, the occasional whisper or snide comment outside of Asmodeus's safe zone got the jester's blood boiling. Especially when they were about his man.

"Did you hear about Asmodeus and that little imp? Man, what a way to fall. Never thought the embodiment of Lust would do that to himself." The second demon nodded, smirking. "Oh, Fizzer-something? Yeah, a big rooster and a clown. Sounds like the plot of a shitty porno." "Heh, they kinda are!"

Oho, Fizz wanted to rip their throats out and shove them so far up their-

Whooo-kay. Deep breaths, deep breaths. He promised Asmodeus that he wouldn't let small-minded loudmouths get to him, especially sinners. But they so deserved it, and he was just a few feet away…

They just had to keep talking, though. "And hey, he didn't even pick a working one! The thing's defective! Robotic limbs and shit. Dude really needs higher standards."

That was it. The jester turned, running at them with nothing but rage and hate in his eyes. The dumb fuckheads barely had time to begin a plea before Fizz went to town.

When his Fizzie got home, Ozzie immediately knew something was wrong. His partner’s colorful clothes were coated with black blood. The sin hurried over to him, surveying the imp for injuries before scooping him up into his arms. “Fizzie, babe, what happened?”

Asmodeus’s voice radiated concern, comfort and love for the jester. Fizzarolli couldn’t have gotten any luckier when him and the demon connected for the first time. Or the second. Or the many, many times after that. Eh, who needs labels?

“Some…assholes, spewing shit about you and me. I tried, but…they needed a lesson on how to shut up.” One of the robotic arms was damaged in his fit of rage. Apparently the loudmouthed sinners had a bit of fight in them. Fizz still disposed of the garbage; he just got a bit messy.

Ozzie sighed, nuzzling his feathery head against Fizz’s smooth skin. “Froggie, I love that you wanna defend me, but it’s not worth you getting hurt. I’d take all the shit-talk Hell has to offer if it meant you’d be okay.”

So mushy… The imp rolled his eyes, secretly melting inside at the sweet words. “Alright, alright, I get it. No more fighting over your honor. Tell Hallmark the message worked.”

Then he did Fizzarolli’s most favorite thing ever. He laughed, a deep snort kicking off the rumbling chuckles. Fizz laid his head on Ozzie’s chest, feeling the vibrations and listening to the short burst of amusement. The sin stood, sighing out a final huff before carrying his partner to their bed. It was the only one big enough for Asmodeus, let alone Fizz, to fit.

Following their pattern, Ozzie removed his elaborate suit, slipping on his robe instead. He then helped the jester peel away the blood-stained outfit, quickly drawing a bath for him. They were at the point where it was just second nature; one of them has a bad day, they get a warm bath, cuddles and shitty RomComs until they fall asleep. That day was Fizz’s day to be pampered.

After some calming back rubs in a nice bath, all blood was clean and the imp was feeling a bit better. Ozzie got him a new arm, making sure to give him little forehead kisses as he worked. Finally, they were ready to lay down.

Surprising no one, Ozzie was the big spoon. He hugged Fizz close under the covers, rubbing his back soothingly. The Lust ring’s RomCom channel played distantly on the TV. It was barely a minute before the jester was dozing off. The sin’s touch softened, absentmindedly wandering across Fizzarolli’s bare skin.

His feathery fingers eventually made their way to the imp’s sides. Fizz was drawn from his sleepy stupor by an unexpected buzzing along his side. A feeling he hadn’t felt in quite some time. He squirmed a bit, feeling the fingers go back to his back. The moment he settled back down, however, they returned.

A quick glance at Ozzie’s dreamy expression told him that the sin wasn’t doing it on purpose. The rooster just thought he was giving him soft affections. Sighing, Fizz squirmed again, adjusting himself so the tracing was closer to his lower back. That was apparently a big mistake.

The moment one of the feathery fingers brushed his back, he squeaked, flinching away from the touch. Asmodeus immediately went into Mother Hen mode, lightning his touch and looking for injuries. “Fizzarolli, why didn’t you tell me you hurt yourself? Back injuries are serious!”

Ugh, why did he have to care so much? “I-I didn’t…” The lighter touch was somehow worse, sending a flurry of butterflies to attack his stomach. Fizz’s tail twitched, trying to wag; he made sure to force it still. Unfortunately for him, that also meant he took a small amount of focus off his verbal reactions. The smallest, teensiest little giggle slipped past his lips. Ozzie immediately stilled his fingers; as a sin, he easily heard the noise. Then something clicked.

“Froggie…are you ticklish?” Shit…Fizz tried to run, a burst of adrenaline pulling him from the sleepy peace. Ozzie was on him before he could move an inch. The little imp didn’t stand a chance.

“W-wait! Ozz, don’t you fucking dare!” His robotic arms wrapped around the sin’s body, trying to push him off. That was nearly impossible, as Asmodeus was over four times his size and much stronger than the prosthetics. Still, he could only try.

The rooster smirked, his demeanor doing a complete 180. Ozzie went from concerned and soft to playful and smug in seconds; it was almost scary how fast he could switch like that. “Oooh, babe, I definitely fucking do~”

Before he could get another protest out, ten feathered fingers attacked his torso. Five running along his back, five snaking around to his stomach. In seconds, small giggles slipped past his lips, a blush tinting his scarred cheeks. “N-nohoho! Ohohozzie you dihihick!”

“I know it’s one of your favorite features, but let’s leave my dick out of this.” Stupid, cheesy words; it was unfair how blushy they made him. Fizz tried to wiggle away, but even with his insane flexibility, Ozzie’s strong arms kept him trapped.

He twisted and kicked, his limbs swinging and flailing as he tried to escape. He didn’t fully mind the tickling, but Fizz had an image to protect. The amazing, alluring, ass-kicking Fizzarolli couldn’t be seen getting reduced to a giggly puddle; even if nobody was watching but his boyfriend.

“Tickle tickle tickle, Fizzie~” He just had to tease… If there was one thing that killed Fizz, it was Ozzie’s silly teases. Normally, they were just flustering. Those teases, though; they drove him nuts. “Shuhut the fuhuhuck uhuhup!”

Ozzie loved the sight of his squirmy boyfriend. The genuine laughter, happy smile, vibrant blushes and adorable noises warmed his loving heart. He genuinely couldn’t be happier than when he was with his Fizzie Frog; especially when the imp was all giggly like that. “Awww, babe, I’m just tryna cheer you up! Are you not feelin’ just a teeny bit better?”

Okay, that wasn’t fair. He was definitely feeling better than when he arrived, but that wasn’t totally because of the tickling. Being around Asmodeus, as evil as he was, immediately boosted his mood. “Thihis- ihit’s nohot fahahair! Youhuhu suhuhuck!”

“Only for you, Fizz~” Just to be evil, Asmodeus fluttered his fingers on the jester’s hips. FIzz squealed, his arms swinging to try and grab Ozzie’s hands. Oh, that asshole! “SH-SHIHIHIT! AHASMODEHEHEUS! NAHAT THEHERE!”

Ozzie chuckled, loving the high-pitched cackles from his partner. “But right there is my favorite! C’mon babe, you gotta admit that this is pretty cute.” Fizz groaned through his laughter, thrashing under the sin’s tickly assault. His robotic appendages were no help, merely bouncing off the sin’s feathered skin instead of actually deterring him.

“NOHO IHIHI”M NAHAT! OHOZZIEHEHEEEE!” Fizz could feel his tail wagging, the tip making a gentle thump against the sheets. At least the rooster wasn’t teasing him about that. “Ooh, Fizzie, your tail’s wagging. Are you enjoying yourself?” Spoke too soon…

Seeing that he was working his partner up a bit too much, he moved away from the imp’s hips, deciding to focus on Fizz’s neck instead. “Alright, alright. I won’t kill you, Fizzie babe.”

“F-fuhuckin’ feehels like ihihit!” Fizz whined, his laughter dying down to squeaky giggles. He turned his head, burying his face in the pillowy mattress. The muffled giggles only made him cuter, in Ozzie’s opinion. He leaned his head down, peppering the jester’s face with light kisses. Fizz scrunched up his shoulders, both loving and hating how the ticklish kisses made him melt. “Bahahahaaaabe!”

Ozzie chuckled, basking in the way his boyfriend reacted to the silly affections. The faces in his hair were smiling wide, portraying his obvious adoration and love. So fucking cute…

It was almost comical, the way the large sin cuddled up to the smaller imp. The love they shared was like no other; based on good communication, mutual respect and pure affection, it was about as healthy as you could get. Sure, they weren’t officially public, but nobody else needed to know about them for it to be wonderful. Especially in the cutesy moments like those.

As much as Fizzarolli loved the attention, he was wearing out. Dealing with the dicks from that morning, combined with the goofy fun, had him pretty drained. “Ohozziehehe! Plehease, noho mohohore!”

And just like that, it was over. Asmodeus respected boundaries more than any other creature in hell; the moment Fizz wanted him to stop, he would, no questions asked. He did, however, pull the imp against his chest, rubbing small circles into his back to help calm him down. The sin’s voice was soft once again, save for a teasing edge. “Easy, babe. You okay? I didn’t go too far, did I?”

Fizz took a few deep breaths, getting out the last few giggles as he snuggled against his man. “Uhum…no, you’re good. But *damn*, did you have to go for my hips?” Ozzie snorted, nuzzling his head against the imp’s. “You know I did. It’s adorable, how can I not?”

He held Fizz tight, flipping them over so the jester was laying on his chest. It was their favorite way to sleep; Fizz could feel the warmth of his boyfriend, and Ozzie could sleep peacefully, knowing his partner was safe while he was with him. Fizzie grumbled, but didn’t protest the movement. He was tired, and he couldn’t deny that the sin’s chest was rather comfortable.

The covers were pulled over the pair, concealing almost all of Fizz’s body. His concealing hat was removed, placed on its holder for the night. It was nice, affectionate and calm; just the way the pair liked it. They drifted off, the small yet happy smile never leaving the imp’s face.

#hb tickle #lee!fizzarolli #ler!asmodeus #ler!ozzie #ticklish!fizzarolli #augtickletober2023 #tickle fic #sfw tickling community #tickle #augtickletober 2023 #augtickletober #helluva boss tickle #hb fizzarolli #hb asmodeus #hb ozzie #fizzmodeus #fluffy tickles #the skrunkles

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howtodrawyourdragon · 1 month

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The Post In Which I Deduce How Old Baby Hiccup Was When Valka Disappeared

You know, in order to write this Httyd Retelling, I have to do some preparing. I have to collect plot points for future storylines, keep certain canonical facts in mind and take a closer look at certain scenes.

Like the flashback scene in which Valka gets taken, for example. Because that'll be a vital scene for the prequel-type fic that I'm currently working on.

And I don't think I've ever realized how truly young Hiccup was when his mother was stolen from him. And I'm not talking about how he was a baby, because that fact is obvious.

I'm talking about how it's possible he was barely 6 months old.

And there are a couple of things about the flashback that point to this.

When Cloudjumper finds Hiccup and appears to play with him, I notice that Hiccup is:

Laughing

Grabbing Cloudjumper's wing talon

Clapping once (which could be a fluke as he is waving his hands around wildly)

Appears stimulated by Cloudjumper's attention and actively seeks interaction

Now, the laughter I won't waste much time on because I don't really see it as an indicator. On average, it starts as early as 4 months, but in my experience that highly depends on the child. I've seen a 3 month old laugh, I've seen kids not start laughing until they were almost 1.

Points 2 through 4, though, are much more interesting as what Hiccup is exhibiting is actually not "true" play, but rather hints that Hiccup is still actively learning to interact with the world around him. This may seem strange for people who don't interact with babies and toddlers on a daily basis, but children actually have to learn to play and this starts by interacting with the world around them.

Putting a variety of things in their mouths, sucking on things, grabbing things (like Cloudjumper's talon), shaking things, etc. This is usually how a baby between ages of 4 to 6 months old begins to learn how to play.

You can try to offer toys to a 3 month old, but chances are they won't do anything with it or even react much too the toy at all. Older than 6 months old, it's possible you can see them actively pick what interests them to inspect rather than simply put whatever they've been giving in their mouths.

In my personal experience, it's not until around 4 months old when babies start to show interest in the things around them. (Which doesn't mean you shouldn't try to stimulate your child by at least offering a toy before that time, we do.)

Something else of note in this scene is:

Hiccup can't sit up

No teeth

Hiccup simply lying there swaddled in a cradle is actually a big indicator that, not only is he not sitting up yet, but he doesn't appear capable of rolling over.

And if you think "Oh! but that's because he's swaddled in furs!" Wrong! Babies of any age are surprisingly determined. If a baby wants to roll over, they will fidget their way out of the swaddle and roll over. In no good conscience would Valka or Stoick leave Hiccup in a cradle unattended if this child showed signs of rolling over.

Now babies can start rolling over as soon as 4 months. (If you know what that looks like, it's quite an endeavor, takes a lot of manuevering, which the previous unattended Hiccup didn't appear to be doing)

And I know you may be thinking; "doesn't that mean Hiccup is younger than 4 months in the flashback?" I don't think so simply because of how he reacts to Cloudjumper, whose attention and stimulation he actively seeks out. Rather, I actually think Hiccup is a little bit of a late bloomer physically.

He was canonically born prematuraly, to the point that his mother feared he wouldn't make it. And often when a child is a late bloomer physically, they actually usually end up ahead of the other kids in other areas. Like mentally, verbally, or with their finer motor skills.

In my experience, children who can walk by the time their first birthday comes along, take longer to even begin to start talking. (which takes the form of making sounds. Not forming words, but voluntarily making sounds)

Meanwhile kids who are barely crawling by their first birthday are usually already showing signs of forming words (usually done by trying to repeat sounds they hear others in their life say) and verbally responding back to the people in their life (though through sounds and not actual words)

Being late in his gross motor skills while actually excelling in his finer motor skills and speech seems in line with the Hiccup we know and love. Even between the ages of 15 and 18, he still appears to be a bit of a late bloomer. The example I'm thinking of is how he can work years in a forge, yet struggle to pick up a single weapon versus to 3 years later when he's a swordsman himself and picks weapons up with no problem now.

That brings me to the lack of teeth.

On average, babies will begin to teeth between the 4 and 7 months old. From my personal experience, it tends to start much closer to 7 months than the minimum 4 month mark. I've even looked after plenty of children who didn't start to teeth well beyond the 7th month mark. (even had one who didn't start teeth until they were almost 1 and then suddenly got multiple teeth in at once.) Hiccup has no teeth.

So lets line all of the evidence up.

In the flashback, Hiccup:

Actively seeks interaction with Cloudjumper

Actively interacts with the world around him, but doesn't know play yet.

Responds positively to Cloudjumper's stimulation

Doesn't yet appear to even try to roll over

Has no teeth

And all of these points point to the very likely scenario that Hiccup was only 4 to 5 months old when he and Stoick lost Valka.

4 to 5 months old.

That's hella young to be losing your mother, a terrible time to lose your wife and mother of your very young child and, honestly, a terrible time for a mother to have her abduction be preceded by watching her premature son and her husband almost die due to her lack of actions.

I realize that I'm ending this post with a hot take, maybe even an unpopular opinion, but as it already takes months for a parent who gave birth to feel somewhat normal again even without breastfeeding their child... No wonder Valka, in this highly sensitive and vulnerable time, internalized that both Stoick and Hiccup would've been better off without her.

Valka, who:

Was still on month 4 after her pregnancy, meaning her hormones would've still been all over the place

Had to breastfeed with a lack of better options at the time, meaning it would remain that way for quite a bit

Had a traumatic labor that involved nearly losing her son

Her son who was born much too early, which would come with complications (right down to getting him to eat at all, for example)

Almost watched Hiccup and Stoick die in a fire right before she got abducted by a dragon, which would've meant hours if not days or weeks of believing she was going to get eaten

Doesn't mean she just gets to stay away for 20 whole years, but it definitely puts a different perspective on her sudden departure from Hiccup's life.

Everyone in the Haddock family was hurt that day. Though, the biggest victim of all was that literal 4 month old boy.

Video from SoloMinike-Movies & Shows scenes HD for reference.

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#source: 5 and a half years of daycare work ages 0 months to 2 and a half years and 8 children max from monday to friday from 7 am to 5:30 pm #still working in that daycare rn btw #httyd movies #httyd 2 #how to train your dragon 2 #hiccup haddock #stoick the vast #valka #the haddocks #stalka #long post

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normal-thoughts-official · 7 months

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Okay. It's official. I fucking hate the way Choices is dealing with the "MC gets kidnapped" shit

They're focusing on the plot to the detriment of any emotional stakes, which is always a bad move but it's a particularly bad move when we barely understand what the threat is this time but have been missing these characters and wanting to see them again for three years. Every expression of feeling over MC's kidnapping feels rushed and squeezed in, like they're trying to get it out of the way so they can get back to the Valax shit. Imtura, Nia, and Mal made up in five seconds without us even understanding how exactly this awful fight went down to begin with. MC explains what happened while they were in captivity and they all just go to sleep. Not even a "holy shit MC, are you okay?" or "we will end her" or anything. We don't even get a general line of how they reacted like "they were horrified" "they were angry" "they were sad" "they didn't give a flying fuck" or something.

Even Imtura's grief, while definitely the best written one out of the four, felt like it was dealt with in seconds (I'm yet to play with my Imtura-romancing MC in my other acc so I'm not sure how it goes with her in the bathhouse but it shouldn't take romantic involvement for the grief to last). Even when Valax shows up a second time it doesn't feel like they're as terrified of the idea of losing MC again as they should be

There are some pretty good angsty lines and moments but they always pass so quickly it feels like they're brushing it all off. It almost feels like fanservice. "See, here, your LI kisses you as if pouring all the longing of a year into it. And then you go to sleep. Happy?" No, actually. For fuck's sake, you have to dig deeper than that

The only moment we had that wasn't plot related was bathhouse scene, which was cute, but felt entirely out of place. They just made up, they still don't even know what happened to MC, if MC's okay, they barely had the time to catch up and they're just carefreely dunking each other in the water? It could have been played like a cathartic "finally having fun after so long of suffering" sort of deal at least and then it would work, but it simply wasn't written that way and it just feels like their entire dynamic is botched and weird and we're supposed to forget that for the last year MC was gone and Imtura had a massive fallout with the rest of the group. They keep alternating between these super dramatic declarations and lines and acting as if nothing has happened, and it just doesn't work. Take the time to deal with the emotional consequences of the LITERAL INCITING INCIDENT OF THE STORY, then you can jump into battles against the big bad hot gorgeous goth woman. This just feels like they don't want to deal with it and are just throwing some lines here and there so we don't complain

Don't get me wrong, I'm generally enjoying the story and I'm happy to have the gang back, but PB's not doing their own plot justice, especially considering they've supposedly been writing this for three years. The emotional stakes are always what carries a story, even a fantasy/action one. We have to care about the characters, which we do because we have since book 1, but it doesn't seem like the story does and it gets more and more disappointing every week

#im just venting but god im SO frustrated I've been looking SO forward to bolas2 and it's just not delivering #playchoices #blades of light and shadow #bolas #bolas2 spoilers #choices bolas #blades of light and shadow 2

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theetherealbloom · 4 days

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BUT DADDY I LOVE HIM - CH.3

Chapter 3: Dutiful Daughter, All My Plans Were Laid

Summary: After harboring a crush on your dad's charming best friend, Joel Miller, you graduate college only to be confused by something he supposedly said to you, but then he and his daughter Sarah, reluctantly move away due to his work. Six months later, Joel returns to town, and you're desperate to confirm if his words were real. Both you and your dad eagerly await his arrival but for entirely different reasons. As feelings intensify, you realize that falling for him might not be temporary after all.

Paring: Dbf!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Angst, AGE-GAP Romance, Reader is Early twenties and Joel is in his late 30s to early 40s, Secret Romance, Sneaking Around, FLUFF, LOTS OF SMUT, SMUT, SMUT, Heavy Make Out Session, Oral Fem Receiving, Kissing, Barely any plot, NOT A SLOW BURN AT ALL, Relationship, Swearing, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, Flattery, Awkward, Virgin reader, inexperienced reader, slightly Self Deprecating, Suggestive Content, Size Kink, Reader is “smaller” than Joel but no further descriptions, Breeding Kink, PWP (wrap it up), Body worship, declaring their love for each other,

Word Count: 10k

A/N: THERE ARE SO MANY OF YOU… UHM, HI! We’re nearing the end of the mini-series. I believe I have one or two more chapters to write and then we’ll have the epilogue. Thank you for all the comments, reblogs and likes! I look forward to reading all the feedback from ya’ll, it really does give me the motivation to write. Thank you all again!!! 🤍☺️

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: But Daddy I Love Him by Taylor Swift

Previous Chapter → Next Chapter | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

As you lay there, wrapped in Joel's arms, you can't help but steal a glance at the small alarm clock on the nightstand. The glowing numbers tell you that it's nearly 3am, and as much as you don't want to leave the warmth of his bed and his embrace, you know that you can't stay forever.

Your dad is expecting you for breakfast in just a few hours, and the thought of him having a heart attack if you don't show up is enough to make you sit up and take notice.

"I don't wanna leave," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper as you snuggle closer to Joel, inhaling the intoxicating scent of his skin.

"I don't wanna let you go," Joel replies, his accent thick and heavy as he tightens his arms around you, pulling you closer still.

You can feel the heat of his body, the strength of his muscles, and the warmth of his embrace, and you know that you could stay there forever, wrapped up in him.

But reality calls, and you know that you can't ignore it forever.

"I wish we could stay like this forever," you say, your voice filled with longing and sadness.

"Me too, darlin'," Joel replies, his voice filled with emotion. "But we both know that we can't."

You nod, your heart heavy with the weight of the decision you both know you have to make.

"I guess I should get going," you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I guess you should," Joel replies, his voice filled with regret.

As you reluctantly pull away from Joel, he surprises you by gently tugging you back into his embrace, his lips seeking yours in a kiss that is both passionate and intense. The taste of him lingers on your lips, a bittersweet reminder of the connection you share.

With a soft sigh, you finally gather the strength to untangle yourself from his arms, a pang of longing tugging at your heart as you begin to get dressed. Joel watches you, his gaze filled with a mix of desire and tenderness, his southern drawl adding a soothing cadence to his words.

"Let me help you, darlin'," Joel offers, his voice warm and comforting as he assists you with your clothes, his touch gentle yet possessive. The intimacy of the moment lingers in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the bond you share.

Once you're dressed, Joel's arms wrap around you, holding you close as if reluctant to let you go. His embrace is both clingy and sweet, a silent plea for you to stay a little longer, to prolong the inevitable parting.

"I wish you didn't have to go," Joel murmurs, his voice filled with longing. "I could hold you like this forever."

You lean into his embrace, savoring the warmth and security he provides. "I wish I could stay too, Joel," you whisper, your voice filled with emotion. "But I have to go."

As you prepare to leave, Joel's gaze lingers on you, his eyes filled with a mixture of love and regret. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, a silent promise of his affection and devotion.

"I'll be counting the minutes until I can see you again," Joel says, his voice filled with sincerity. "You mean everything to me, darlin'."

As you step out onto Joel's front porch, the cool night air brushes against your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of his embrace. You take a deep breath, savoring the scent of the night, your heart heavy with the weight of your decision to leave.

You make your way quietly and quickly to the back of your house, tiptoeing through the darkness, your mind filled with thoughts of Joel and the intense connection you share. As you slip back into your bedroom, you can't help but feel a sense of bliss and excitement, knowing that you'll see Joel again in just a few short hours.

The anticipation builds within you, a simmering heat that courses through your veins, fueled by the memories of your time together. You can't wait to feel his touch again, to lose yourself in the passion and intensity of your connection.

As you lay in bed, your mind drifts to thoughts of Joel, his drawl echoing in your mind, his words of love and devotion filling your heart with warmth and joy. You know that what you have together is special, a bond that goes beyond mere physical attraction.

You close your eyes, drifting off to sleep with a smile on your face, your dreams filled with the promise of a future filled with passion and love.

As the morning sunlight streams through your window, you wake up feeling refreshed and rejuvenated, the memories of the previous night still fresh in your mind. You can't wait to see Joel again, to feel his arms around you, to lose yourself in the intensity of your connection.

With a sense of excitement and anticipation, you get ready for the day, your heart filled with hope and joy, knowing that you have found something truly special in Joel.

You make your way downstairs to find your dad had gotten up extra early today. He glances at you and asks, "Well, someone's happy this morning. Did you sleep well honey?"

"Huh, what? Oh... yeah, I was pretty tired from yesterday so I just kinda passed out," you say, trying to be nonchalant. But you can see your dad give you a suspicious look before taking a long sip of his coffee.

"So... you and Joel..." Your dad begins, and you feel blood rushing into your ears, making you feel dizzy.

You raise your eyebrows at your dad, waiting for him to continue.

He clears his throat and says, "You gonna go with him to pick up Sarah later?"

You nod and smile at the mention of Sarah, "Mhm! I'll text you when we're leaving."

"Alright then, just..." Before your dad could finish that sentence, the doorbell rings, and you watch as your dad moves to the front door. When he opens it, Joel is standing there in a grey tee and those tight jeans with his hands in his pockets.

Your heart skips a beat as you take in the sight of him. "Fuck. He looks so good," you think to yourself, your body responding to his presence in a way that you can't control.

"Hey there, darlin'," Joel says, his deep Southern accent sending shivers down your spine.

"Hey," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper as you take in the sight of him standing on your doorstep.

Your dad has his eyes narrowed between the two of you, before saying, "Be sure to tell Sarah hi for me, I'll be going now."

You and Joel say goodbye, and watch as your dad hops into his car and drives off to work, leaving you alone with Joel.

"I missed you," Joel says, pulling you into a tight embrace.

You melt into his arms, feeling the warmth and strength of his body against yours.

"I missed you too," you reply, your voice filled with longing.

As you pull away, Joel's gaze lingers on you, his eyes filled with desire and affection.

"Let's go pick up Sarah," he says, his voice filled with excitement.

You nod, your heart racing with anticipation as you make your way to the car. The feeling of gratitude for the connection you share with Joel washes over you, knowing that it's something truly special and rare.

As you approach the car, Joel grabs the keys from your hand and gives your ass a playful smack, causing you to jolt in surprise.

"Hey!" you exclaim, looking at him with mock indignation.

Joel's smoldering gaze meets yours, filled with a mischievous glint that makes your heart race.

"Darlin', you just sit back and relax," he drawls in that deliciously Southern accent of his, sending a shiver down your spine. "I'm in charge of the driving, and you're in charge of lookin' like a damn goddess."

You can't help but smile at his playful banter, feeling your heart flutter with excitement as you slide into the passenger seat. Joel's eyes follow your every move, and you can't help but feel a little self-conscious under his intense gaze.

As he starts the car, you can't help but feel a sense of contentment and happiness wash over you. The connection you share with him is electric, a magnetic pull that draws you in and makes you feel alive.

With one hand on the steering wheel, Joel reaches out to place his other hand on your thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. You let out a soft moan, biting your lip as you feel a spark of desire ignite within you.

"You like that, don't you?" Joel murmurs, his voice low and husky. "You like when I touch you like this."

You nod, unable to find the words to respond. Joel's touch is intoxicating, making you feel dizzy with desire.

"Good," he says, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Because I love touching you, feeling your body respond to my touch. You're mine, and I'm never letting you go."

You lean back in your seat, feeling a sense of contentment and happiness wash over you as Joel's words of love and affection fill your ears.

"So... darlin'... how'd you feel about tellin' Sarah about us?" Joel asks, his Southern accent sending shivers down your spine as he rubs his thumb gently on your thigh.

You play the thought through your mind, considering the implications of sharing your relationship with Sarah.

"You want her to know?" you ask, looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.

Joel nods, his eyes filled with warmth and affection. "Of course, darlin'. Do you?"

You take a deep breath, thinking it over. "Will she be okay with it?"

Joel smiles, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "With you and I? Yeah. To be honest... I talk about you to her... a lot."

Your heart skips a beat at the thought of Joel sharing his feelings for you with Sarah. "Really?"

Joel nods, his thumb still tracing lazy circles on your thigh. "Yeah, darlin'. I can't help it. I'm crazy about you."

You can't help but smile at his words, feeling a sense of belonging and love that you've never experienced before.

"Okay," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "Let's tell her."

Joel's face lights up, his eyes shining with happiness. "Really?"

You nod, feeling a sense of excitement and anticipation wash over you. "Yeah. I want to share this with her. I want her to know how much you mean to me."

Joel leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your hand. "Thank you, darlin'. I promise you won't regret it."

As you and Joel make your way to the parking lot of the airport, the anticipation of reuniting with Sarah and Tommy fills the air with excitement. The energy between you and Joel crackles with anticipation as you head towards the arrivals area, scanning the crowd for their familiar faces.

And then, there they are. Sarah and Tommy, standing out in the crowd like beacons of joy. You can't contain your excitement and start waving your arms wildly, practically bouncing up and down with anticipation.

Sarah's eyes light up as she spots you, and she breaks into a wide grin, her steps quickening as she rushes towards you and Joel. Tommy follows closely behind, a smile playing on his lips as he takes in the scene before him.

"Hey, you guys!" Sarah exclaims, throwing her arms around you in a tight hug, her excitement contagious.

Sarah then turns to Joel, her eyes sparkling with joy as she throws her arms around his neck, embracing him with her whole body.

"Hi dad," she says, her voice filled with warmth and affection.

Joel's face lights up at the sight of his daughter, and he wraps his arms around her, pulling her in for a tight hug.

"I missed you too, baby girl," he says, his voice filled with warmth and affection.

He presses a gentle kiss to her forehead, his love for her radiating off of him in waves.

You watch the exchange between Joel and Sarah, feeling a sense of warmth and happiness wash over you. The bond between father and daughter is something special, a testament to the love they share.

Your gaze shifts to Tommy, and you make your way over to him, a friendly smile on your face. You wrap your arms around him in a warm embrace, feeling the strength and warmth of his body against yours.

"Hey there, it's good to see you!" you exclaim, your voice filled with genuine warmth and affection.

Tommy returns your embrace, his arms tightening around you for a moment before releasing you.

"Hey, it's good to see you too!" he replies, his voice filled with genuine warmth.

You take a step back, your hands still resting on his shoulders. "So, how was the flight?" you ask, your curiosity piqued.

Tommy shrugs, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Oh, you know, the usual. Turbulence, crying babies, and the occasional snoring passenger."

You laugh, the sound rich and full. "Sounds like a blast," you say, your voice filled with sarcasm.

Tommy grins, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, it was. Trust me."

As you all make your way to the car, the banter and teasing flow freely, the shared history and inside jokes adding to the sense of closeness between you.

Joel takes the lead, helping Tommy load his and Sarah's suitcases into the trunk of your car. His strong arms lift the heavy bags with ease, his movements fluid and efficient.

Sarah watches him with a proud smile on her face, her eyes filled with admiration and love.

"Hey dad, can I sit up front with you?" she asks, her voice filled with excitement and hope.

Joel shakes his head, a gentle smile on his face. "Sorry, baby girl. It wouldn't be polite to do that since it's not my car."

Sarah pouts, her bottom lip sticking out in disappointment. "But I want to sit up front with you!"

Joel ruffles her hair affectionately. "I know, but we have to be polite. Maybe next time, okay?"

Sarah nods, her disappointment forgotten as quickly as it appeared. She climbs into the back seat, her eyes sparkling with excitement and joy.

Tommy follows suit, his movements easy and relaxed. He slides into the back seat next to Sarah, a friendly smile on his face.

As you all settle into your seats, the car is filled with laughter and chatter, the shared excitement of the journey ahead palpable in the air.

As Joel navigates the car out of the airport and onto the road leading back to his house, a sense of contentment washes over you. The familiar sights pass by outside the windows, the hum of the engine providing a soothing backdrop to the lively conversation inside.

You feel Joel's hand on your upper thigh, his touch warm and reassuring, a silent declaration of his affection for you. Your heart flutters at the intimate gesture, and you steal a glance at him, meeting his gaze with a shy smile.

In the rearview mirror, you catch Tommy raising his eyebrows playfully, a knowing look in his eyes. Sarah, oblivious to the silent exchange, gazes out the window, her expression one of wonder and excitement.

The dynamic in the car is one of comfort and familiarity, each person bringing their own energy to the mix. Joel's presence is a steady anchor, his touch a source of comfort and reassurance. Tommy's playful teasing adds a lightness to the atmosphere, while Sarah's infectious enthusiasm fills the space with joy.

Eventually, you arrive back at Joel's house, the journey from the airport filled with laughter and chatter. As you all step out of the car, you lend a hand to Joel and Tommy, helping them with the suitcases and other items as you all make your way into the house.

Tommy excuses himself to put away his things in the guestroom, while Sarah does the same in her new room. You take the opportunity to help Joel fix up a few snacks for Tommy and Sarah, the two of you working together with ease and familiarity.

As you put the finishing touches on the snacks, you feel Joel's arms wrap around your waist, pulling you close. His lips find your neck, peppering kisses along the sensitive skin as he inhales your scent.

You lean back into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. The connection between you two is intense, a magnetic pull that draws you closer together.

As Tommy makes his way back into the living room, Joel releases you, a playful smile on his face.

"I see you two found each other," Tommy says with a wink, a teasing glint in his eye.

You feel your face heat up, but Joel just chuckles, his arm draped around your shoulders.

"Can't help it," Joel says with a shrug, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before turning back to Tommy.

Tommy raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eye. "You gonna tell Sarah?" he asks, grabbing a potato chip from the ceramic bowl on the counter.

Joel nods, a small smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, when she gets down here," he says, his voice filled with warmth and affection.

Just then, Sarah appears from around the corner, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "I knew it! Finally! He's been talking about you non-stop and was an absolute grump for the past few months!" she exclaims, a wide grin spreading across her face.

You feel your cheeks flush at the mention of Joel's infatuation with you, but Sarah's excitement is infectious.

Joel chuckles, his arm draped around your shoulders. "I guess the cat's out of the bag now," he says, his gaze softening as he looks at you.

Sarah claps her hands together, her eyes shining with joy. "I'm so happy for you two!" she exclaims, pulling you into a tight hug.

Tommy joins in, a warm smile on his face. "Welcome to the family," he says, his voice filled with genuine warmth.

You quickly send a message to your dad, updating him on your whereabouts and letting him know that you'll be having dinner with the Millers, and that he's welcome to join you all.

The rest of the evening is filled with laughter and conversation, the four of you sharing stories and memories as you get to know each other better.

As you were nearing finishing dinner, you hear a knock on Joel's front door, and he excuses himself to answer it. You continue to laugh loudly at Sarah's jokes while Tommy rolls his eyes playfully.

But then, you hear a familiar voice call out your name, and you find your dad standing by the entryway of the dining area. The room falls silent as all eyes turn to him.

"Hey Dad... we just had dinner. Do you want anything? I'm sure I can fix you up a plate," you say, standing up to greet him.

Your dad shakes his head. "No, just had dinner with some of the guys back at the shop. I wanted to say hi to Sarah and Tommy. Didn't think you'd still be here... thought you'd be home already," he says, giving you and Joel a pointed look.

Sarah, bless her heart, quickly jumps in to save the day. "Oh! That's my fault. I insisted she stay here for dinner since I missed her so much," she says, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Your dad chuckles, his gaze softening as he looks at you. "Well, I'm glad you're having a good time. I'll let you all get back to it, just don’t be home too late," he says, giving you a quick hug before turning to leave.

As the door closes behind your dad, a sense of calm settles over the room. You all let out a collective sigh of relief, the tension dissipating as you begin to help clear the table and clean up the dishes. You insist that Sarah and Tommy take a break and get some rest after the meal.

Just as you're elbow-deep in soapy water, scrubbing at a stubborn spot on a plate, you feel Joel's presence behind you. His strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you gently away from the sink.

"I'll wash 'em, darlin'," he says, his voice soft and reassuring. "You can rest too. You've done so much already. I can take it from here."

You turn to face him, a grateful smile on your lips. "Are you sure? I don't mind helping," you say, your voice filled with appreciation for his thoughtfulness.

Joel's gaze meets yours, his eyes warm and filled with affection. "I'm sure. You've been a big help today. Let me take care of this," he says, his drawl adding a soothing cadence to his words.

"I'll help dry the dishes and put them away," you say, grabbing a towel from the drawer next to the sink.

Joel chuckles, his arms wrapping around your waist as he presses a gentle kiss to the side of your head. "Fine, darlin'," he says with a wink.

You bump your hip with his, a playful grin on your face. "Come on, slowpoke. Let's get these dishes done," you say, sticking your tongue out at him teasingly.

Joel laughs, the sound deep and rich. "Alright, alright. Let's get to work," he says, his arms still wrapped around you as you begin to dry the dishes together.

The warmth of Joel's body against yours, the sound of his laughter, and the easy banter between you creates a sense of comfort and familiarity that you cherish.

As you work together, the pile of dishes slowly dwindles, the kitchen gradually returning to its former state of cleanliness.

Finally, the last dish is dried and put away, and you turn to face Joel, a satisfied smile on your lips. "See, that wasn't so bad, was it?" you say, your voice filled with playful teasing.

Joel grins, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "No, darlin', it wasn't. But I think I'll let you do the dishes next time," he says, his arms still wrapped around you.

You laugh, the sound rich and full. "We'll see about that," you say, your voice filled with playful challenge.

You and Joel make your way back to the living room, the sound of laughter and chatter filling the air. Tommy and Sarah are settled on the couch, their attention focused on the TV as they watch some show they had found.

Sarah turns her head, her eyes sparkling with curiosity as she tilts it at the two of you. "So... when are you gonna tell your dad?" she asks, her voice filled with playful teasing.

You glance at Joel, a mixture of emotions swirling in your chest. "I'm not sure... but hopefully... soon," you say, your voice filled with uncertainty.

Joel nods, his arm draped around your shoulders as he pulls you closer. "Yeah, we'll tell him when the time is right," he says, his voice filled with confidence and reassurance.

Tommy turns his head, a knowing look in his eyes as he takes in the exchange between you and Joel. "Well, whenever you're ready, we'll be here to support you," he says, his voice filled with warmth and affection.

Sarah nods, her eyes shining with excitement. "Yeah, we can't wait to see what the future holds for you two," she says, her voice filled with genuine happiness.

The room falls silent for a moment, the weight of the conversation settling over you all. But then, the sound of laughter and chatter fills the air once again, the tension dissipating as you all settle in to enjoy the rest of the evening together.

As you lean into Joel's embrace, his arm wrapped around you, you can't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over you.

"I had a lot of fun today," you say softly as Joel walks you back home, the short distance feeling longer with each step as a mix of excitement and nervousness swirls within you.

Joel's hands are tucked away in his jeans, a subtle restraint evident as he refrains from intertwining his fingers with yours, a silent acknowledgment of the need for caution in the presence of your father.

He hums in agreement, a small smile playing on his lips. "I did too," he replies, his voice warm and filled with affection.

You glance up at him, a hint of longing in your eyes. "Wish I could stay over tonight, but y'know... my dad," you sigh, the reality of the situation sinking in as you step onto the familiar steps of your front porch.

Joel nods, understanding the unspoken boundaries that need to be respected. "I get it. We'll have plenty of time for that," he says, his gaze lingering on you with a mix of desire and restraint.

You smile, your heart filled with gratitude. "Yeah, definitely. Thanks for walking me home," you say, your voice soft and sincere.

Joel leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Anytime, darlin'," he murmurs, his deep baritone sending a shiver down your spine. "I've been meanin' to ask you... d'you mind comin' with me to grab a bite to eat and then head to the store to pick up a few more things for the house tomorrow?"

You nod, a smile spreading across your face. "Of course," you reply, your voice filled with eagerness. But then you remember, “You know what small towns are like. People talk.”

“I can’t guarantee anything,” Joel admits. “But we can only do our best to keep our hands off each other until it’s the right time to have everyone know. If you think that’s for the best,” he susgests, and only try to make you feel better.

You let out a small sigh and eventually nod and give him a small smile in agreement.

Joel's eyes sparkle with affection. "I'll see you soon, darlin'," he says, sweet as whiskey.

As you watch Joel's retreating figure, a smile tugs at the corners of your lips, a silent acknowledgment of the warmth and affection that fills your heart. Reluctantly, you turn and head back towards your house, the day's events still lingering in your mind.

The familiar surroundings of your home envelope you, the sound of the television filtering in from the living room. You pause in the entryway, taking a moment to gather your thoughts before making your way towards the comforting glow of the screen.

"Hey, Dad," you call out, your voice filled with a mix of nervousness and excitement.

Your father looks up from the television, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Hey, kiddo. How was your day?" he asks, his eyes filled with genuine interest.

"It was good," you reply, trying to sound casual. "I'm going with Joel tomorrow to help him pick up some stuff for his house."

Your father raises his eyebrows, a hint of a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Oh, alright. Sarah and Tommy coming too?"

You shake your head, feeling a slight flutter in your stomach. "I don't think so... I think they wanna fix their things and rest up a bit."

Your father nods, his gaze studying you for a moment, a hint of a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Just the two of you, huh?" he says, his voice laced with slight concern.

You feel your cheeks flush, but you hold your father's gaze, determined to be honest. "Yeah, just the two of us," you confirm, your voice soft but steady.

Your father leans back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Alright," he says, his voice calm and reassuring. "Just text me when you leave, okay?"

You nod, a grateful smile spreading across your face. "Thanks, Dad," you say, your voice filled with appreciation.

You feel a warmth spread through your chest, the weight of the day's events finally starting to catch up with you. "I'm gonna head to bed," you say, stifling a yawn. "I'm kinda exhausted."

Your father chuckles, the sound warm and familiar. "Get some rest, kiddo. You've got a big day ahead of you tomorrow," he says.

You nod, leaning in to give your father a quick hug. "Thanks, Dad. I love you," you murmur, your voice filled with emotion.

"Love you too, kiddo," he replies, his arms tightening around you for a moment before you pull away.

You tuck yourself into the cozy comfort of your bed, a big smile spreading across your face as you let out a contented sigh.

As you settle into the familiar softness of your pillows, your mind can't help but wander to Joel. The thought of spending the day with him tomorrow fills you with a sense of giddiness and anticipation that you can't quite contain.

You hum a soft, lilting melody to yourself as you move through your morning routine, the excitement for the day ahead bubbling within you. The sound of your father stirring in the kitchen reaches your ears, and you know he's likely headed out for an early shift at the shop.

After quickly whipping up a simple breakfast, you hear a familiar knock at the front door, and you can't help the grin that spreads across your face as you practically bound towards it.

Pulling the door open, your eyes are immediately drawn to the sight of Joel standing there, his tall frame leaning casually against the doorframe. His silver curls are neatly pushed back, and he's dressed in a different colored flannel than the one he wore the day before, paired with his well-worn jeans.

A smirk plays on his lips as he takes in the sight of you, his eyes sparkling with a mix of affection and mischief.

"Mornin', darlin'," he drawls, his deep voice sending a shiver down your spine.

"Hi," you breathe, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious, yet unable to tear your gaze away from him.

Joel chuckles, the sound low and rich. "You ready to head out?" he asks, his arm reaching out to gently brush against yours.

You nod, your heart fluttering at his touch. "Just let me grab my bag," you say, turning to retrieve it from the nearby table.

As you turn back to face him, you catch a glimpse of your father in the kitchen, offering you a warm smile and a subtle nod of approval. The gesture fills you with a sense of comfort and reassurance.

Turning your attention back to Joel, you can't help but feel a surge of excitement and anticipation. "Okay, I'm all set," you say, your voice brimming with enthusiasm.

Joel grins, his hand finding the small of your back as he guides you out the door. "Then let's get goin', darlin'," he says, his touch sending a thrill through you.

As you step out into the crisp morning air, hand in hand with the man you've come to care for so deeply, a sense of anticipation and uncertainty lingers between you.

"What are we gonna do, Joel?" you ask suddenly as you settle into the car's passenger seat, the weight of the situation pressing down on you.

To be honest, it's the last thing Joel is thinking about, and your question catches him off guard. But he can see and feel how it's affecting you, the worry and doubt etched in your expression.

"You could just sneak over to my house every night. Make sure you're back home in time for breakfast," Joel suggests, trying to lighten the mood, but he knows deep down it's not as simple as that.

"Do you think your dad might already kinda know?" he asks, his voice soft and filled with concern. "Deep down, I kinda mean, darlin'."

You shrug, a mix of emotions swirling within you as Joel drives. You feel annoyed at yourself for even bringing it up, but Joel is grateful that you did.

"Or we could just go. Take off," Joel says, thinking aloud. He feels you turn to look at him, his hand still rubbing comforting circles on your thigh.

"You mean... just leave?" you ask, the idea not entirely foreign to you.

"It's not something we have to think about right this minute, but do you really wanna stay here, in this house? In this town, tutoring kids for a few bucks an hour?" Joel questions, his voice tinged with a hint of restlessness.

He remembers one of the main things he doesn't miss about small towns – how everyone seems to know everyone else's business. And in the case of you and Joel, that would be none of their damned business.

"But you only just bought the place, and Sarah and Tommy just arrived, and I guess the only thing I'm really worried about is Dad. Screw tutoring," you say, your brow furrowed as you grapple with the weight of the decisions ahead.

"I only bought the place... only came back to town to be closer to you, remember?" Joel explains, his voice filled with sincerity. "Sarah's school transfer papers haven't been processed yet, and Tommy has to go back anyways. I didn't think in my wildest dreams that I'd have you all to myself on day one, darlin'."

"You're a pretty fast operator, that's for sure," you tease him, a hint of a smile playing on your lips, but the underlying tension remains unresolved between you.

The realization that you are well and truly Joel's, the depth of your connection with him, fills you with a sense of contentment and joy. It's a problem, but the best kind of problem to have, a testament to the love and bond you share.

Unbeknownst to you, Joel hasn't checked his messages yet, but he's confident that the call he made to boost your dad's business will yield positive results. It may not all happen today, but he's hopeful it will help your dad regain his confidence and pride in his work.

In the meantime, Joel is adamant that you shouldn't do anything you're not comfortable with. He inquires if you're the only tutor available at the college.

"Of course not," you sigh, a hint of resignation in your voice. "It'll just mean a couple of college kids keep their tutoring money from Mom or Dad, is all," you reflect, the weight of the situation settling on your shoulders.

From your perspective, the real challenge lies in explaining to everyone that you've been with Joel the whole time. The thought of facing your father's reaction weighs heavily on your mind, and Joel is keenly aware of the potential conflict that may arise.

He knows that your father's protective instincts will be triggered, and navigating that aspect of your relationship will require patience and understanding from both of you.

"Well, if we're gonna burn for it, we may as well burn together," Joel tells you, his voice filled with a mix of determination and tenderness.

"But there's no point makin' it harder on ourselves either," Joel adds, his tone thoughtful. "Let's just wait and see, huh?" he suggests, his eyes meeting yours with a reassuring gaze.

The idea sinks in – it isn't the end of the world if you stop tutoring, and if nobody has caught on to the fact that you two are together, why stir up unnecessary trouble?

Relieved when you agree, you relax back into your seat, the weight of the situation lifting slightly. Joel parks the car on a street lined with small stores and cafes, the hustle and bustle of the town adding to the charm of the moment.

Despite the external distractions, it feels wrong to be near you and not show you how much you mean to him. The subtle touches and stolen glances have evolved into something deeper, a connection that demands to be acknowledged.

By the time you graduate from those fleeting moments to a full-blown kiss once you're back in the car after your meal, the intensity of your feelings for each other becomes undeniable.

Just as the moment seems to crystallize into something special, a female voice interrupts, shattering the private bubble you and Joel had created.

"Oh! Hi, Professor," you squeak, the sudden intrusion jolting you out of the intimate moment.

Joel, his expression darkening, turns to face the unexpected visitor, a protective instinct rising within him as he assesses the situation with a keen eye.

As the scene unfolds, Joel quickly grasps the situation at hand. A mildly annoyed college professor, Professor Hannah Bennett, catches her star tutor – you – in the arms of a man, instead of where you're expected to be.

The initial tension softens as Professor Bennett's gaze meets Joel's, her expression shifting from annoyance to curiosity. Joel, ever the gentleman, gulps slightly before extending his hand in introduction.

"Professor Hannah Bennett," she says, regaining her composure, though Joel feels her hand limp in his for a brief moment, a sign of her surprise.

Her eyes flicker from Joel to you, who has momentarily lost your voice in the unexpected encounter. The professor, quick to regain her professional demeanor, decides to leave you two to your own devices.

"Your dad mentioned you were helping his friend... uh, new neighbor," she stammers, a deep blush coloring her cheeks.

"Just maybe more notice next time if you're not up for tutoring for the day, that's all I ask," she adds, her tone taking on a more authoritative air as she reverts to her professorial role.

"I think I'll take a rain check on tutoring for a while, Professor Bennett," you declare in a clear, resolute voice, your hand slipping into Joel's for support.

Joel's pride and satisfaction are evident as he grins at your decision. The old professor huffs in disapproval, muttering something about the younger generation, before swiftly retreating from the scene.

"You quit?" Joel asks, his eyes filled with a mix of amusement and admiration, leaning in to kiss you deeply before you can respond.

"I guess I did," you reply, a hint of amazement in your tone at the sudden turn of events.

"Was it hard?" Joel teases, and you shoot him a sidelong glance, a hint of amusement in your eyes.

"The professor's the soul of discretion," you assure him. "But if we're caught like that on our first time out together..."

Joel knows exactly what you mean. The potential fallout from such a public display is looming, and he can feel the weight of it pressing down on you both.

"C'mon," Joel urges, determined to enjoy the moment despite the impending challenges. "Show me around town. Take me grocery shopping," he suggests, his voice filled with enthusiasm.

"We can fill up both our pantries and maybe we can cook up a storm for dinner?" he asks, but he can see the worry etched on your face.

"Hey, your dad was alright with the idea, right? To come with me for the grocery run?" Joel reasons, hoping to ease your concerns.

Relieved when you finally yield, a smile spreading across your face as you relax. "You're right. He did," you agree.

"But easy with those kisses," you're quick to add, a hint of playfulness in your tone. "What if it was Dad that happened by just now?"

Joel bites his tongue, and to keep you happy, he agrees to the new terms and conditions. No aggressive public displays of affection – a small price to pay to maintain the delicate balance of your relationship.

Your little run-in with the professor has only affirmed Joel's feeling that small-town eyes and ears are always connected to big mouths. He knows they'll have to be cautious, at least for now.

"Say," Joel asks once you're back in the car, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Is there like a lingerie store or something in town too?"

You raise an eyebrow, unsure if he's teasing you or not. "I think there is, but I don't think that's where you wanna be seen hanging out, is it?" you ask, a playful challenge in your voice.

Joel chuckles, his gaze focused on the road ahead. "I'll keep it in mind for future reference," he explains, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

As he navigates the quiet streets, Joel makes a mental note that you're going to need a ready supply of all things underwear. The memory of tearing yours off is still fresh enough in his mind to remind him that he wants to make it a regular occurrence.

As you and Joel make your way through the quiet streets of the town, you can't help but feel a growing sense of unease. It must be your imagination, you tell yourself, trying to push down the nagging feeling that something is off.

But as you step into the local grocery store, the truth becomes undeniable – everyone is staring at the two of you. You're nowhere near touching, and you definitely don't have a sign around your neck proclaiming your newfound intimacy, but the curious gazes and hushed whispers are impossible to ignore.

You keep forgetting that a man of Joel's stature and presence is bound to turn heads in a small town like this. But as quick as the locals are to stare and gawk, they're just as fast to look away, especially when they lock eyes with Joel's unwavering gaze.

"Grab whatever you need, whatever you want. For your place, too, darlin'," Joel says, his voice warm and reassuring, though you can see the strain in his expression, the desire to reach out and touch you palpable.

He focuses his attention on filling the biggest cart he can find, his movements efficient and purposeful. You can't help but wonder how you're going to explain a houseful of food to your father, but you're sure he's well aware of just how naturally generous Joel is by now.

After filling up not one, but two overflowing carts, you can't help but protest the sheer volume of groceries Joel has insisted on purchasing. But he's quick to reason with you, his voice low and conspiratorial.

"The less I have to go out to shop, the more time I have to work on my new house," he says, his words laced with a hidden meaning that's clear to you.

You nod in understanding, realizing that his reasoning is not just about efficiency, but also about maintaining the appearance of propriety in the eyes of the small-town community.

As you check out, the total on the receipt makes your eyes widen, but Joel simply shrugs it off, his focus on ensuring you and your home are well-stocked. You actually think it's a great idea – if you both stock up now, you won't have to venture out for anything later.

No tutoring, no errands to run, at least for the next week. The thought of having all that spare time with Joel has your heart racing with anticipation, and you're pretty sure he has a few ideas of his own.

But as Joel pulls into your street, your breath catches in your throat. There, parked out front, is your father's truck. You swallow hard, the weight of the situation suddenly pressing down on you.

"Your dad's home," Joel says, his voice strained, but there's no hint of worry in his tone. If anything, he sounds more like an animal guarding its prized possession than someone afraid of getting caught.

Taking a deep breath as Joel pulls into the driveway, you brace yourself for the moment of confrontation you've been dreading. But as you both start to unload the groceries, the anticipated showdown never materializes.

Far from it, your dad practically leaps out of the house, a huge smile spreading across his face as he welcomes you both. Joel's mood instantly shifts, a sense of relief and contentment washing over him – if your dad is happy, so is Joel.

And just like that, you're off the hook for now.

"You're home early, Dad," you observe, but he's way too pumped up about something else to ask you two where you've been. He's grinning like a maniac, and you can't help but wonder if he's finally cracked.

Catching Joel's knowing look, you realize that this must be good news somehow. Whatever it is, it's clearly put your father in an exceptionally cheerful mood.

"I dunno what you did, Joel, but it worked!" your dad almost shrieks, pumping the air with his fist before high-fiving Joel, who doesn't seem surprised at all.

"What did you do?" you ask them both, but it's as if you've disappeared or something. Your dad has gone into full Joel-best-buddy mode, slapping his back and whooping and hollering. It's not until you're all inside that you can finally get any sense out of him.

"I'm booked solid for the next three months!" your dad exclaims to Joel, who's trying his best to look excited for your father's good fortune.

"And that, uh, client of yours? The one who collects all those vintage cars? Guess who he wants to be maintaining them all?" your dad asks, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

"That's great news. I'm glad I could..." Joel begins, but your dad is on a roll.

He's re-hiring the mechanics and workers he's laid off, and he's going to "expand the business." He's going to do better than ever from now on.

He's going to...

He's going to make you vomit if he keeps going on about it.

"Dad," you finally say, talking over him to get his attention.

"Yeah, sweetie, what is it?" he asks, holding his thought so he can keep telling Joel all about his fresh business plans.

"Nothing." You smile. "But are you gonna stick around, or do you still have that tractor to fix?" you ask, wondering if you and Joel will have any time alone now.

And you haven't even thought about what's going to happen when it's time to go to bed.

"Oh, yeah. Thanks, honey, but I've got Lucas going out to do it now. Boy! Is he glad to have his old job back!" your dad exclaims loudly, beaming up at Joel.

His admiration for Joel makes you feel like you're not the only one who thinks he's pretty amazing, which he is to a lot of people. But to you, he's the only one.

"You've done the hunting and gathering," your dad proclaims, his eyes sweeping over the abundance of meat and groceries you and Joel have just started to unload. Sarah and Tommy quickly make their way outside, greeting your father and offering to help with the remaining items that belong to them.

"So I'll start making us all a feast to celebrate," your dad announces, asking you if you can finish bringing in the groceries while he and Joel "catch up."

The subtle way he singles you out of the conversation is not lost on you. If this had been a day or two ago, before you had just lived through the best twenty-four hours of your life with Joel, you wouldn't have minded. But you hadn't counted on your dad being home early, nor did you expect him to hijack your man as soon as he saw him again.

You look to Joel for help, but he only shrugs, a strange expression crossing his face when your dad's back is turned that has you stifling a giggle. Instantly, you find yourself forgiving the entire group for being in this crazy situation.

You do as your dad asks, leaving out the items he calls for, the ones he'll need to amaze you all with his cooking skills. But once that task is complete, you're left awkwardly hanging out in the kitchen, feeling miles away from Joel. Maybe you should just go to your room.

No sooner do you glance towards the hallway leading to your bedroom, Joel's stern look stops you in your tracks. The message is clear – he wants you right where he can see you.

"I might just go change," you tell the room, knowing your dad is not paying attention, still talking a million miles a minute to Joel, who gives a little nod of approval.

You haven't seen your dad this excited, ever. Whatever Joel did has clearly done the trick to help your dad out, but are you really going to have to hear about it all night? It feels like you are.

By the time you change clothes, trying to look nice but not overly dressy for Joel, your dad stops long enough to notice you for a change.

"Sorry, honey. I've just been so pumped all day. And I've just gotta talk to the man who made it all happen," he explains, shooting Joel another glowing look.

"Don't let me do all the talking, though, and don't worry about skipping tutoring today. I already spoke to the professor," he adds, making your heart freeze in your chest.

"So? What have you two been up to all day?" he asks, snapping off a celery stalk from one of the brown paper sacks, crunching it loudly as he leans back against the counter.

Now, he's all ears, eager to know what it is that you and Joel have been up to.

He looks from you to Joel, and you can feel your mouth hanging open. You're waiting for Joel to save you both, which he does without effort.

"I had sweet darlin’ here help me run some errands, we did some grocery shopping, and then she showed me around town," he says, and none of it is a lie.

Your dad's brow creases with attention as he listens, already looking bored if he can't keep talking about his own good news. Joel does skip some parts, though, including the more intimate moments you shared – your father wouldn't be interested in those details.

But once Joel suggests you help him out like you did today more often, especially with all the plans Joel has for his new house, and hanging out with Sarah and helping her by tutoring her, it starts to sound more like a job offer than anything else.

"Well, it's up to you, hon," your dad says thoughtfully after a moment, not even a hint of suspicion in his voice anymore.

As your dad busies himself selecting ingredients for the meal he's going to prepare, you can't help but feel a mix of emotions swirling within you. The prospect of spending more hours talking and eating with your family and Joel looms ahead, a bittersweet reminder of the newfound dynamics in your life.

Joel's pivotal role in saving your dad's business is evident, and it's clear that your father is more than willing to follow Joel's lead from now on. Despite the relief and gratitude you feel, there's an underlying longing for the quiet moments alone with the man who has quickly become the center of your world.

"I wasn't getting paid very much to tutor, Dad," you remind him, shooting a playful glance at Joel when your dad's attention is elsewhere. You can't help but ponder what your hourly rate might be if you were to accept his unofficial job offer, a hint of mischief dancing in your eyes.

It takes some time to adjust to the new dynamic in the kitchen with Joel and your dad. You find yourself fighting the urge to seek out Joel's touch every few seconds, a silent reminder of the growing connection between you.

As you call Sarah and Tommy over for dinner, the atmosphere shifts to one of camaraderie and relaxation. It feels good to simply talk, eat, and goof around without the weight of other concerns pressing down on you.

Throughout the evening, you notice the subtle strain on Joel's face, a reminder of the complexities of the situation. Yet, your dad remains your dad, unwavering in his friendship with Joel, creating a unique bond between the three of you.

As the meal progresses and conversations flow, you find yourself washing up alongside Sarah, the men engrossed in their post-dinner discussions out on the porch. Sarah decides to head back to the house early, leaving you with a sense of peace and contentment in the quiet moments that follow.

The realization hits you like a ton of bricks – you might have to spend the night away from Joel, not just tonight, but potentially every night until you both figure out what to do. It's not a happy thought, and you know Joel is thinking the same thing as the time for bed draws closer.

You've spent more hours today not touching and kissing than you two have actually been able to do so, and you just know Joel isn't happy about that either. So when your dad comes back inside without Joel or Tommy, you try not to sound panicked as you ask where they both are.

Your dad chuckles, "He went home, sweetie. He lives next door now, remember?" he asks, stifling a yawn and scratching his belly, letting you know he's about to turn in.

"I gotta huge day tomorrow, so I might not even see ya before or after work, but thanks for helping Joel out. He's really saved our bacon," your dad says, pecking your cheek before stretching out another yawn and heading to his room.

Not long after hearing his door close, there's a light rapping at the back door. You spring around and see Joel, his finger pressed firmly to his lips before he stalks over to you in two steps, kissing you with a desperation that takes your breath away.

"Wait 'til he's asleep again... Then come over," he murmurs, cocking his head and darting back out the door before your dad shuffles down the hall again, this time in his pajamas on the way to the bathroom.

Once your dad goes back to his room, you know he won't be coming out again. And if he does, he'll think you're asleep. So, tidying up the rest of the kitchen in record time, it isn't long before you hear your dad blowing bubbles in his sleep, and you're hot-footing it next door.

The need for Joel's touch is overwhelming, the hours spent apart feeling like an eternity. As you step into his home, the familiar scent of him envelops you, and you can't help but feel a sense of relief and excitement wash over you.

Without a moment's hesitation, you find yourself in his arms, your lips crashing against his in a desperate, passionate kiss. The world around you fades away, and all that matters is the connection you share, the hunger for each other's embrace.

Joel's deep, southern drawl sends a shiver down your spine as he leans in, his lips brushing against your neck. "You gotta be quiet for me, darlin'," he murmurs, his warm breath caressing your skin. "Can you do that for me?"

You nod eagerly, your heart racing with anticipation. The need for his touch is overwhelming, the hours spent apart feeling like an eternity. As his strong arms wrap around you, pulling you flush against his muscular frame, you melt into his embrace.

Joel's calloused hands roam your body, igniting a fire within you that threatens to consume you. His lips crash against yours in a desperate, passionate kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with a primal hunger. You whimper softly, the sound muffled by his searing kiss.

"That's it, darlin'," Joel growls, his voice dripping with desire. "Let me hear how much you want me." His hands slide down to your hips, gripping them firmly as he grinds his hardness against you.

You gasp, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure through your core. "Joel," you breathe, your fingers tangling in his silver curls. "I need you, please..."

He chuckles, the deep rumble vibrating against your skin. "I know, sweetheart. I'm gonna take care of you." Deftly, he lifts you, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he carries you towards the bedroom.

The world around you fades away, consumed by the raw, primal need that pulses between you. Joel lays you down on the bed, his calloused hands caressing your curves as he hovers over you, his eyes dark with lust.

"You're so damn beautiful, darlin'," he murmurs, his lips trailing featherlight kisses along your jaw. "I've been waitin' all day to have you like this."

You arch into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips. "Then take me, Joel," you whisper, your voice dripping with desire. "I'm yours."

With a growl, Joel captures your lips in a searing kiss, his hands roaming your body as he slowly, methodically undresses you. The air is thick with the scent of your arousal, and the sound of your ragged breathing fills the room.

As he buries himself deep within you, you cry out, the sensation of being so completely filled sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Joel stills for a moment, his forehead pressed against yours.

"That's it, darlin'," he murmurs, his voice strained with restraint. "Let me hear how much you love it."

You whimper, your hips rolling against his. "Joel, please," you beg, your nails digging into the taut muscles of his back. "Don't stop."

With a groan, Joel begins to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate, driving you higher and higher towards the precipice of ecstasy. Your bodies move in perfect harmony, the world around you fading away until all that exists is the two of you, lost in a haze of passion and desire.

The room is filled with the sounds of your shared pleasure, the heady scent of sex hanging in the air as Joel's movements become more urgent, more primal. Your bodies move as one, a symphony of desire and need as you reach the pinnacle of ecstasy together, the intensity of your release washing over you in a wave of pure bliss.

As you come down from the heights of pleasure, Joel holds you close, his heart pounding against yours as you both catch your breath. In the aftermath of your passion, you're left feeling sated, fulfilled, and more connected to Joel than ever before.

In this stolen moment, you know that no matter the challenges that lie ahead, as long as you have Joel by your side, you're equipped to confront almost anything. The future may be uncertain, but in his arms, you've never felt more at home.

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mylovelies-docx · 9 months

Text

Sorry, I Love You - Part 9

Oh wow, a new chapter? Who'd have thunk it.

My posting schedule is all off and I honestly don't know if I can get it back under control. I have no idea when I'll get time to sit down and write and when inspiration will strike, so I can't assure weekly updates. But I'll try my hardest to get this story out! I have future chapters written, it's just that I have no way of connecting them right now :/ Oops.

Plot: You and Bucky have a good thing going - best of friends that also have more than a little chemistry between the sheets. Everything is fine until you develop feelings for the man who doesn't want a relationship. What will happen when Bucky finds out?

C/W: Ah shit, here we go again. Angst, arguments, jealousy

Word Count: 2,250

Tag List: NOW CLOSED! If you'd like to keep up with this story, please follow my blog and turn on notifications! ❤️ you :)

[Prologue][Part 1][Part 2][Part 3][Part 4][Part 5][Part 6][Part 7][Part 8]

Some moments are easier than others. Sometimes you feel like you’re not pining like a love-sick teenager enough to think that you can actually do this – you can actually be friends with the man you love.

But then there are moments like tonight.

A few weeks have passed since community get-together, and you and Bucky are the new kids in town. Everyone drops by to say hello, leave you with enough food to last the winter, and invite you both back to their homes for dinner. It’s all very sweet, and you would appreciate the hospitality in any other situation.

But the amount of mothers trying to marry their daughters off to Bucky is insane.

Several have not-so-subtley seated Bucky next to daughters of marriageable age, while everyone else is silently discouraged from interrupting their conversations. It skeezes you out when the girls are barely out of their teens, but most of the girls are around your age or older. Morality-wise, that’s a whole lot more appropriate. Internal monologue-wise, ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh doesn’t even begin to cover it. What you feel whenever he laughs at something they say, or looks at them with his intense blue eyes – it hurts. That’s how he used to look at you, once upon a time. Like his life wouldn’t be the same without you in it, like you’re one of the most important people in his world.

To be fair to Bucky, you probably read waaaay more into it than he ever meant. And you only ever really saw that look come out when you were straddling his waist and grinding hard on his cock, skin mottled with his teeth marks and wearing his metal hand as a necklace.

Stop, stop, stop, stop!

Anyway,

You’re usually placed next to older, widowed relatives, as most of the young men in the town have already settled down and popped out a few kids with their spouses except for Petre. Tessa foists the two of you together at every possible opportunity, hoping you’ll hit it off and decide to get married in the near future.

Petre is nice, smart, cute, but not really your type. You’re convinced that you’ve only ever had one type and he’s off-limits. But Petre’s company is much more enjoyable than the sad, lonely older men they try to pair you with – it never feels great to be compared to someone’s long lost love – so you don’t mind having someone around your age to talk during these things.

Speaking of.

“It’s a nice night, yeah?” Petre comments. The night is warmer than expected, but you and Petre are still bundled up in your coats as you stroll through the dead copse of trees near the latest dinner party. The sun had set only minutes ago and the stars are making their presence known. There’s next to no light pollution in this area, so you always take the time to admire the night sky when you have the chance.

You often take walks with Bucky up and down your street as a way to decompress after your shifts at the HYDRA facility. After the first week or so of being everyone’s errand-runner, they’ve slowly built up your workload to include calculations and deductions based on redacted data – it’s not as much information as you’d like, but it’s enough to build a foundational understanding of what the experiment was about.

You hum in agreement and continue walking. It’s about time to turn around and head back, but you can’t bring yourself to return only to watch Bucky flirt with the pretty girls that were also invited.

“Is something the matter?” Petre asks you.

You startle out of your petty, jealous thoughts. “Hm? Oh, no. Nothing’s wrong,” you reply with a smile.

“It’s just that you seem very distracted tonight,” he responds.

With your hands in your pocket, the only thing you can do is shrug your shoulders. “Just tired, is all. It’s been a long week at the office.”

“Ah, I know the feeling,” Petre commiserates.

All of the sudden, a wailing, piercing shriek ricochets between the tree trunks and reverberates in your ears. Tensing with adrenaline, you take two steps forward, ready to intervene in whatever events are unfolding in the darkness.

Before you get much further, Petre reaches out and takes hold of your elbow. Turning you around, he starts leading the way back. You try to tug your arm from his grip, but he holds firm.

“The cry of a vixen who is looking to mate. They’re rather vicious creatures this time of year, foxes. We don’t want to get in her way,” Petre deters.

“But…” you begin, looking back over your shoulders and watching for unexpected movement among the swaying branches. “It sounds so real.”

“Terrifying, really. I was just as concerned when they began, as well.” Petre gives you a tight smile and relaxes his grip slightly when you stop trying to pull away.

“What do you mean?” you question.

“What?” Petre’s eyes flash around quickly, looking through the woods that surround you.

“‘When they began’. What do you mean by that?”

“Ah,” Petre replies. “When mating season began.”

There’s no more discussion on the eerily accurate sound of a woman in distress. You can only trust that Petre would know the local fauna and their habits better than you, since you’ve never spent an extended period of time in areas such as this.

***

The neighbor’s house finally comes into view. A lone figure stands silhouetted against the porch as they lean against the railings, their arms braced against the banister and posture rigid. When you get closer, you realize that the figure is Bucky.

You can’t see his face, but you can feel his eyes on you. And apparently Petre can as well.

“He doesn’t like me?” Petre asks.

“Why do you say that?” The question puzzles you because Bucky has no reason to dislike Petre. He’s been incredibly helpful so far, allowing you to ask as many questions as you want about himself and others and he doesn’t seem bothered by it at all. In fact, you feel as if you and Petre have become friends.

“It just seems like he’s never happy to see me.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that – James just has RBF,” you reply nonchalantly.

“RBF?” Petre replies.

You laugh as you and Petre climb the stairs, only now realizing that he still has a hand on your arm. You’d forgotten all about it, but you miss the slight warmth that permeated through your jacket when he removes his touch. You turn to look at him, but Petre is looking away, his hands now deep in his pockets. Turning your focus onto Bucky, you see him watching Petre, his eyes squinted.

A large smile returns to your face as you reach up and grab Bucky’s chin, squishing his cheeks and making his lips pucker from the pressure. “This –” you say triumphantly, “is an RBF.”

Bucky glares down at you and swats your hand away. You cackle at the perfect example of Resting Bitch Face™ in front of you, throwing your head back in joy. When you right your posture again, you can see a small smile on Bucky’s face as he laughs along with you.

“Whatever,” he murmurs. He shakes his head in exasperation before circling his arm around your shoulders. Bucky begins dragging you back down the steps you had just ascended and you grunt in protest. “It’s time to go,” he says simply.

“Ugh, you’re so rude,” you say to him. Craning your neck as much as possible, you look back towards Petre who remains on the porch. “I’ll see you later!” you call backwards with a wave. Petre raises a hand in return, face hidden in shadow as Bucky’s had been.

Focusing back on the road in front of you, you can practically feel what little mirth Bucky had drains away. Looking up, you notice that his jaw is clenched and a hard look has entered his eye.

“What’s wrong?” Now you’re worried that something happened to Bucky while you were gone that has put him in a bad mood. Did someone say something to him? Did one of the women reject his advances? You can’t see who in their right mind would turn him down, but not everyone feels the same way about him as you do. But if it’s the latter, the guilt you feel only slightly outweighs the relief.

“You don’t think you’re spendin’ too much time with him?” Bucky says between clenched teeth.

A frown appears between your eyebrows as you continue to look up at him. “No?” you respond. “He doesn’t seem to mind.”

“Ofcoursehedoesn’t,” Bucky mutters under his breath, but you can still hear him.

You slide out from under Bucky’s hold, his agitation sparking flames of your own. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You don’t think you’re leadin’ him on a bit, Y/N?” Bucky asks you.

You scoff. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You’re always hangin’ around him!” Bucky quips back. “You’re flirting with him and walking out of parties together. All these people, Petre included, are going to think you’re pitching for an engagement.”

The hurt and pitiful feelings from earlier tonight come flooding back. Only this time, instead of feeling them for what they are, you combine them with the anger his comment brings. How dare he accuse you of leading Petre on? As if he isn’t doing the same thing to all those girls?!

“And what about you?!” you yell, the last word ripping its way between your lips and setting your tongue ablaze. “You don’t think you’re stringing all these girls along behind you? You don’t have any intention of getting into a relationship with any of them, either, do you?”

As the words escape, you remember how Bucky sat you down and asked for a friends-with-benefits situation. Said he wasn’t ready for a real relationship, but tired of one night stands. How the two of you could help each other out since you weren’t seeing anyone either. The old resentment towards yourself and how you let yourself fall for someone wholly unavailable whiplashes back into your mind after months of repressing it.

If he could ask that of you, does that mean he’s asked someone else? You usually arrive home later than him, but on some occasions that you are released early, he’s not there. Instead of asking where he’s been, you had just let it slide since it could have been construed as possessiveness. Like your feelings – that Bucky believes to be long gone – entitle you to his life. You hadn’t wanted to risk anything at the time, but now your mind can’t help running wild at the possibilities.

“It’s not like I’m screwing his brains out every time we’re gone!” You shout at Bucky. You had been walking down the road away from the house party which was on a street with few homes, so there’s nobody around to hear your fight. “We’re not in the bathrooms having quickies, he’s not fucking me against a wall, or bending me over his motorcycle! He hasn’t proposed we fuck around with each other until someone better comes along!”

Your chest heaves with the effort of expelling these vicious words from deep within your heart, and you can feel a burning beginning to creep behind your eyes. You hate getting angry – hate that any strong emotion makes your eyes well with tears and makes you look weak. And in this situation, you are weak – weak against Bucky, weak against yourself, weak against the knowledge that the one man you’ve ever loved never felt the same way and never will. Your inability to keep yourself from falling for someone you knew you could never have? Your jealousy that he is probably sleeping with one or more of the women in town? That makes you weak.

And you can’t stand to be weak in front of Bucky again.

“Newsflash, Buck: I know how it feels to be lead on by you and it fucking sucks!” You lower your voice slightly and take another step away from him. “I know that wasn’t your intention, and I didn’t feel that way at first, but that’s how I feel now.”

“You were my best friend, Y/N – I didn’t want to lose that!” Bucky exclaims. “And I genuinely thought we were on the same page!” He takes a deep breath and clasps his hands over his eyes before saying, “And seeing you run off with Petre all the time just reminds me of us – how we’d always sneak away to get some time alone. It’s just –” He drops his hands and sighs heavily, looking up at the star-studded sky and then back down to you. “I’m jealous.”

“You’re jealous?” You ask incredulously. “Why?”

“Because –” You can tell that he’s struggling to get this out, and if he hadn’t started this argument and accused you of wronging Petre, you might have been more receptive to what he’s saying. More understanding. But right now, your anger swallows all empathy and hope that his words would usually supply. “Because that could have been us,” he breathes. Bucky takes a tentative step in your direction, but freezes solid at the icy glare you send his way.

“No,” you say flatly, “No, it couldn’t have. You made that abundantly clear when I asked.”

You turn your back on him and start running, ignoring the sound of your name as you leave Bucky behind.

Part 10

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