#i think my man deserves to be a little bit of a woman too. as a treat <3333

[another-clive-blog]

Here’s to hoping that Dimitri catches up to Clive <3

I'm on a roll with this AU so you get a fanfic I wrote on the train !!! (I love the train <3 Best place to write or listen to music or get stuck for 3 hours)

Some Trigger Warnings : a character experiences molecular unstability in a way similar to a panic attack. I also do refer to the time freeze gun as a regular gun in terms of vocabulary (I don't know much about it) so someone gets shot theoretically ? On that note a character (not saying who) experiences time freeze and it is described from an outside POV -it's pretty terrifying to watch-. As always, someone is spiraling down, a second person is losing faith and a third one is not having a good time

Claire's footsteps echoed on the pristine floor as she ran down another flight of stairs. They couldn't be too far- Dimitri barely had a headstart and Clive was, well, unwell. They should still be around here, they had to be.

The doors in front of her were wide open and so she went in the mirror room- a mirror room, what a stupid idea, she should have known from the start that something was wrong with-

Dimitri.

She almost missed him with how fast she was running, but an unusual speck of light in the darkness of the room caught her attention.

Clive.

"Oh no-" she whispered, far too low for any of them to hear, especially with the buzzing of the time freeze gun.

Dimitri hadn't shot- yet. Clive was backed in a corner, arms spread against the mirrors as if he was hoping to find some sort of secret tunnel. There wasn't any, Dimitri knew that : that was why he didn't bother restraining him, instead pointing the gun at him from a distance. He was going to shoot, he was actually going to deliberately put his associate's life in danger.

Claire wouldn't stand for this.

In a few steps she was behind Dimitri : then, it was just a matter of squatting down and kicking his legs from under him.

Dimitri gasped as he fell backwards and the gun fired : Clive ducked down, narrowly avoiding the freezing ray. The latter reflected on the mirror behind Clive, then another, and another one-

Claire took advantage of Dimitri's fall and surprise to reach for the gun, trying to tear it from his hands : unfortunately, Dimitri had immediately understood what she was aiming for, struggling to keep it out of reach instead.

The mirrors kept reflecting the ray of light, although it seemed to lose intensity with every passing second. Clive remained on the ground : he wasn't so much avoiding the danger as he was simply not feeling able to stand back up again, his whole body feeling more and more distant-

"Why are you keeping me from saving you-" Dimitri wasn't fighting back Claire or restraining her : he was focusing all of his efforts on the time freeze gun in his hands, keeping it out of her reach. It was truly infuriating, for her to make this more difficult than it had to be.

It was infuriating for him to deny her any say in the way she would live her life.

"I don't want to be saved at the cost of more lives," she grunted, her fingers grazing the surface of the gun. Almost there, almost there-

A blood-curdling scream startled her, and she looked back in horror.

Dimitri was quick to react : taking advantage of her inattention, he crawled away and stood up, pointing the gun at the source of the screaming- at Clive.

Clive was curled up on the ground, holding his head in a painful grip. From the way his hands pulled at his hair to the way his whole body was shaking so violently, more than Claire had ever seen coming from him, she guessed that he had to be in tremendous pain : and yet, he was not making any sound anymore. His wide eyes were staring at the ground, as still as his chest because he was struggling to even just breathe, get air in, avoid suffocating-

Claire saw this, and oh that was bad.

She glared at Dimitri in warning : he seemed to get the message, because he lowered his weapon hesitantly.

As she kneeled down next to Clive, Claire had to face the facts : he was glowing even more than before. Although she couldn't understand why that was happening now of all time, she knew that it was causing the state of agony he was in.

She almost put her hand on his shoulder, but stopped herself from doing so. She really shouldn't touch him right now, for all kind of reasons.

"Clive, I'm not sure you can even hear me, but try to focus on my voice, alright ? Breathe in... and out," and with this, she took a deep breath before exhaling audibly.

She wasn't sure how useful that was : it probably wasn't. If she was right and his state was caused by molecular unstability, then he most likely couldn't grasp anything happening in this world right now; but if she was right, it also meant that there was nothing else that she could do for him.

She couldn't help but wonder if what he was experiencing at that moment was similar to what she'd go through. Did he also feel himself go back to the time when it all started ? If that was the case, then he should be feeling things from two weeks ago. Not that far from now, but maybe the similarities made it all the more distressing.

It took some time, but eventually the glowing started to fade back to its previous state : although Claire was disappointed not to see it go away completely, she sighed in relief when Clive started to move again.

Clive slowly let go of his hair to instead put his hands on the ground, trying to keep his balance and support his exhausted body. His breathing was becoming more stable as he looked around, his eyes deliberately avoiding Claire's.

"What happened ?" Claire asked in a low voice, trying to understand.

Clive only shrugged. "I hit my head when that idiot Dimitri shot."

Claire only hummed.

A buzzing sound, again. Claire was starting to hate this gun, and to strongly dislike the one holding it. Dimitri just wouldn't understand, refused to understand that there was nothing left to be done, and she had to take more and more risks to- to do nothing in fact. She could only stop one attempt of his before he'd start working on the next.

And yet she still had to do this, because if she stopped opposing him then Dimitri would be free to do as he pleased.

"Do not shoot," Claire said coldly while placing herself between Clive and Dimitri : the latter understood her strategy very well, looking for a way to take the shot without hurting her. She wasn't hiding all of Clive's body, he could see his arm sticking out, so if he was fast enough-

"Wait," Clive quickly said, and they all looked at him. "We won't achieve anything that way : we're not saving anyone- not serving justice."

"What do you suggest ?" Dimitri asked, sounding skeptical but still giving him a single chance to save himself.

"We should stick to our initial plan and- and finish the time machine," Clive explained. "I can help- I'll do what it takes, but I'm sure we can do it. Just let me work on this, Dimitri, and we'll save everyone."

"Clive ?!" Claire stepped away in anger. "The time machine would cause far more harm than this device ever could ! How can you even suggest that when you know what it feels like ?!" She knew that Clive never took anything seriously, always mocking and taunting, yet this was too far, even as a joke.

She quickly realized, however, that it wasn't a joke. "I could say the same about you !!" Clive answered in much the same tone. "Why are you so mad about me wanting to live ? If you want to die for the greater good, that's your problem !! I am not letting myself get killed just because it's convenient, this world owes me !"

Claire tried to think about something to answer, but she never got to.

Clive suddenly became very pale, and all his anger vanished, replaced by fear. He opened his mouth to protest, beg maybe, before raising his arms in front of his face-

Claire understood too late that she had stepped aside during their confrontation.

Dimitri fired his time freeze gun, and Clive could only close his eyes before getting hit. Claire watched in horror as his whole body slowly came to a stop, still like a statue or a corpse whose soul was not quite gone yet. Even the fear was still vivid, clinging to his face along with that same constant anger : they made a terrifying picture of both his powerlessness and hatred. Or maybe Claire was just imagining this. Maybe there was only fear left. Maybe there wasn't anything at all, because Clive truly believed it to be the end.

The glow finally faded away, and they found themselves in complete darkness.

-_-_-_-

CLIVE ISN'T DEAD HE'S COMING BACK- I love him too much to kill him, especially after everything he went through in this AU

#This AU is filled with unwell people and I am the worst 👍 #Really wanted to write that one scene where Clive admits out loud what Claire is secretly feeling tho #Except that Claire is thinking about herself AND others but Clive only sees the 'little people' (himself) #(And Dimitri has gone too far to stop now my man can't turn back anymore) #I'm sorry Claire you're enduring so much... But also you deserve to feel things and be a bit ugly and humane. I hate flawless Wonder Woman #clive dove #dimitri allen #Claire Foley #professor layton and the unwound future #professor layton and the lost future #My writing #Ask

[pepprs]

my mom isn’t letting my dad go back to his office bc him being out of the house stresses her out and makes her have a flare up and it’s like kind of insane. like i understand why the idea of him doing that would make her panicky and angry as someone who also struggles w separation anxiety and abandonment shit / has physical symptoms from that kind of stress (though not to the same degree ofc) but also he is a grown man. he should be allowed to go to his office and not have to shape his entire life around her needs. and she keeps guilt tripping him out of it and it’s impacting his quality of life a lot and the whole thing is kind of… hm

#purrs #delete later #also she’s guilt tripping me into coming to the stupid fucking potluck on sunday bc she needs the extra help and it’s like… what are you #gonna do when i move out. like i am a grown woman and i should be able to choose how i spend my two precious weekend days. and my dad is a #grown man and he should be able to choose where he works. like is that not a little bit insane. i get it but also….. i do think it s kind of #fucked ip that it’s her way or the highway and her needs take priority over all of ours and she’s asking us to bend to what she wants when #she wants it. like i get it bc she’s sick but it’s not fair for her to expect that from my dad especially. particularly when me and my #brother are back at work / school in more high risk environments than my dad who would be in a private office alll day. and the thing is no #one is brave enough to all her on it bc if we did it would be the END of the world. she even threw a fit on my dads bday and complained bc #the things he wanted to do were things she didn’t want to do like all the man wanted to do was go mini golfing and when that wasn’t good #enough he just wanted to go on a walk and my mom complained the whole time and also scoffed the movie he wanted to watch and said it was #boring and it’s like… wtf it’s HIS birthday??? but what do you expect from the woman who (and in fairness her friends got her these as gifts #but still) has TWO kitchen items that say some variation of ‘a marriage is when one is always right and the other is always the husband’ 💀 #i look at that little plaque every night bc it’s in front of the sink when im doing dishes and it makes me so fucking angry. like my dad is #a whole fucking person and he can be right too and he deserves to make choices and be happy and not have his wife put him down all the time. #idk. and she puts down his family all the time too and complains when he wants to do the most reasonable things for his own enjoyment that #don’t align with hers and criticizes his interests all the time and it just sucks to see. he never shows hurt or anything so idk how he #feels about it but it makes me so angry and sad and when i tell her to stop she just lashes out at me so. 🤪. like how do we get her to stop #making her needs more important than everyone else’s bc… she may be our mom / his wife / whateger but that doesn’t make her queen. no one is #(andalso this has only gotten worse bc of covid / her being sick. like this has been a lifelong thing it’s just it’s a lot worse now bc the #circumstances gave her room / forced her to have to take up more space. and it’s just so frustrating. i get it. but none of us are pawns or #dolls or subordinates or anything. there’s 5 adults here and we should all be able to make choices and not be guilt tripped by her. lol #)

[its44intheehouse]

IN A RELATIONSHIP WITH THE F1 DRIVERS

Wondering what it would be like to date the f1 drivers? 😏

___________________________________________

warnings: not much, fluff?, implied smut, (smut?), dirty thoughts, mentions of breeding kink, cursing.

Max Verstappen

-he's your biggest fan. in every way possible. he loves to support you, to admire you, to see you happy.

-you're his biggest love. he didn't think he could fall for someone that hard. he's completely whipped and everyone knows it.

-gets jealous a lot, but doesn't always show it, although you know better. he doesn't like it when other men look at what's his.

-that's why he has decided that from now on every man will know who you belong to. either by covering your soft neck in bruises or making you walk out of the bathroom with your cunt stuffed of his cum. he absolutely enjoys seeing you squirm all night and try not to make it obvious to everyone in the room that his seed is dripping down your bare legs.

-he loves how submissive you are for him. of course you love being a spoiled brat sometimes just for the fun of it, because then he gets feral. and you always know it’s gonna end in a lot of orgasms.

“I thought you wanted to be a brat? What happened, schat? Fucked your tiny brain out?” his thrusts hit a spot inside your pussy that makes you see stars. He slaps your cheek to get your attention, knowing you’re going dumb already.

All you can do is cry out and shake your head. You can’t talk. You can’t even think. You’re too busy trying to jerk away from his harsh thrusts.

You know he doesn’t like it when you don’t answer him.

“Talk.” he snaps, squeezing your cheeks tightly then slapping you again.

“YES daddy. Sorry for b-being a brat. Please, please! Make me cum!”

Lewis Hamilton

-spoils you all the time; expensive jewelry, cars, clothes, lingerie, vacations… whatever you need or want. also, his card is always on your phone. he insists you use it anytime you want.

“Get yourself something nice, baby… I want to see you dripping with my wealth. You are my beautiful little wife.”

-will always have a hand on you. in the car while he's driving, on your b*tt when you're walking, on your thigh when you're having dinner with your parents and his fingers successfully rub a spot on your clit through your panties that makes you twitch and moan every time. thankfully, your parents were oblivious.

-kisses the ground you walk on. he's a grown man and isn't afraid to show you how a real man loves his woman.

-especially when he's between your legs, showing you how you deserve to be treated.

“Come on, princess… gimme one more. You’d do anything for daddy, isn’t that right princess?” he softly rubs your cheek with his finger, thrusting a little bit more inside your tight and overstimulated cunt.

“D-daddy… too much. I don’t think I can…” you whimper stupidly, still slightly shaking with the intensity of the last orgasm you just had about 2 minutes ago.

He smirks. “Of course you can, baby. Don’t you want daddy’s babies? Hm?”

He loves how pathetic you get after a few good orgasms. He knows he’s the best you ever had. He can make you cum anywhere, anytime. You let him do whatever he wants to you.

Carlos Sainz

-can be possessive at times, but loves to show you off. you are his most prized possession.

when he met you, he knew he wanted to date to get married, not like the relationships he had before.

-takes you everywhere with him; vacations, races. he can't stand being away from you.

-he secretly fantasizes about you carrying his children. until one night after a baby shower when he confesses to you.

“Mi amor… You don’t know how beautiful you looked today with my niece in your arms. I can’t wait to get you pregnant. Make you my precious wife.”

His touch on your thigh gives you goosebumps, and you suddenly feel impossibly aroused by his confession. He didn’t even need to ask. You’d give him as many kids as he wants.

He recognizes the look in your eyes. The craving, the lust. He knows you like the back of his hand. “You’d like that, no? To walk around all round and heavy with my child. To make these tiny tits swell and burst with the sweetest milk…” he grabs at your breasts and squeezes, making you moan in response.

“Yes, papi. I want to have your babies… please touch me…”

Lando Norris

-you're his best friend. his rock, the girl of his dreams.

-datind lando is the most intense experience of your life. he is a fierce lover. but loves to be soft for you sometimes

-he loses his mind when you're being bossy with him, showing off your bold attitude.

-especially when you're making him beg for you.

“What did you say?” You smirk, hovering on top of him, teasing him sometimes with a swift rub of your wet pussy on his erect and red cock.

Poor baby, you edged him for too long and he couldn’t take it anymore. His cock twitches every few seconds and you know he isn’t going to last too long.

“Please, baby… fuck, please.” His voice is hoarse when he talks, probably from all the moans you pulled out of him already. “Let me fuck you, I need it. I have so much cum for you baby… Please.”

You moan at his words and decide to stop the torture. You needed him too. Nothing compares to the way he stretches your sweet little pussy. Quickly, you align yourself with his cock and sink in, making the both of you moan loudly.

Charles Leclerc

-you're eye candy for this man. ever since he saw you he couldn't take his eyes off you.

-he loves to have you at the races. he's constantly trying to show off and be the best, because he loves the look on your face when he wins or he's doing good.

-he's going to be the most romantic man you've ever had. he's always touching you, always tells you what an angel you are, how beautiful you look, what a good girl you always are for him…

-ESPECIALLY if you’re bent over his lap while he’s driving and you’re sloppily sucking on his cock.

“Mm, fuck. That’s is, mon ange, suck my cock. You’re such a naughty girl.” he mocks you almost, and it makes you even more eager to show him who’s in charge. for once.

Gagging a little, you take more of his length in your mouth, forcing your throat open. Suddenly, you feel his hand slap your ass hard and you can’t control the loud moan that threatened to escape you. Your throat squeezes his head perfectly then, and he lifts his hips up a little, hissing at the sensation.

“Gonna make me cum, baby, fuck.”

Your efforts double when you hear that, and you wrap your small hand around his cock, starting to pump his hard, heavy shaft. Your swollen lips are still wrapped around his head, licking and sucking on it desperately, waiting for his hot, salty cum.

The car stops abruptly and you assume he just pulled over. His hand then snatches your hair in a messily done ponytail and forces your head down his cock, making you cry and gag uncontrollably.

“Take it. You greedy girl. Take my fucking cum. Fuck.”

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc imagine #formula 1 #f1 #lewis hamilton smut #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton x reader #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz imagine #lando norris smut #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #max verstappen #max verstappen smut

[jyoongim]

Hey I love your work so much! Could you please write about alastor with a wife who’s just like Jessica rabbit and ended up in heaven because she didn’t know about him killing but came down to visit him after meeting Charlie when she went up there. I just think I’d be wild for someone like Al to have a wife like that

AAAAOOOOGGGGAAAAA!!!! I could have written this in soooo many ways but i think its a bit like one i already wrote but I hope you enjoy nevertheless!!! @alientee

I highly recommend you listen to The Night We Met, Copacabana, and Why don’t You Do Right!!!! That’s what I envisioned for this one request!!!!

The meeting between the Princess of Hell and the Angelic council was a mess.

The Princess had a look of defeat, so you took it upon yourself to let her show you her hotel.

You prompted that you will be the one to go down and see if it were possible that demons could be redeemed.

I mean everyone deserves a second chance right?

You were talk even the worst sinner still possessed some sort of decency.

So you followed the Princess to her hotel to show you around.

Charlie was elated that you didn’t think her dream was just some fluck.

She asked you all sorts of questions. How you ended up in heaven and how was your life before you died.

”Believe it or not I was a singer at a gentlemen’s lounge. Oh darlin you should have seen me in my prime! Jazz, booze, and oh I had the sweetest husband.”

Charlie was shocked. I mean, yes you were breathtaking, but you really didn’t seem like the type to be tied down to some guy.

You giggled at her expression.  It was often the look men gave you when you refused their advances, happily boasting you were a taken woman and not some hussy that could warm their beds.

”Oh you’ll really find that the hotel has character. Our hotel manager might be a little…hmmm creepy but don’t pay him any mind” she said opening the door to the hotel to lead you through the lobby.

And character it did.

The interior was old-fashion but it had charm. A bit masculine for a young woman to run it,  but if the manager was a man, you could see why it looked the way it did.

You took a seat on a couch and waited as Charlie went to gather the residents so you would meet them.

You were slightly nervous. You were in Hell and hadn’t the slightest clue what demons even looked like.

You fiddled with your ring, how you wished to see your husband.

”Everyone we have a special guest so pleeeeaasssee be on your best behavior” you heard Charlie say.

You caught sight of a gnarly bar and the bartender, you smiled

”shot of whiskey on the rock love” Husker turned around and his eyes widened, yours did too “Why i never thought…Husker?!” You squealed happily, lunging across the bar to hug the demon. He smiled and patted your back, pulling away “Husker what ya doing down here?” He gave you a deadpan look, making you laugh. You then thought about it..

If Husker was down here then that…

”Charlie you should have said such beauty in our circle i would have cleaned up a lot better” a voice purred, making your head turn.

A tall spider smiled at you, giving you a flirtatious wink, which you sent back with a wave.

A little cyclone, a snake, and a seemingly human woman entered the room.

Charlie smiled “This lovely angel has decided to have a look around to prove Heaven wrong”

You introduced yourself.

”Now i know you’re not here long so Ill give you a quick-”

Charlie was interrupted by a radio-like voice.

”Don’t tell me you’re going to give a tour without me Charlie? You know we work as a team-” his words trailed off as he caught sight of you.

You stood, a happy smile on your face “Alastor baby!” You practically ran into his arms.

”Ain’t no way…”

”Noooo”

”oh welll that do make ssssennssseee”

”Pretty lady!”

everyone watched in shock as Alastor twirled you around, peppering your face in kisses.

”oooohhh my dear what a surprise this is!” He said hugging you. You heard a throat clear and broke your hold on him, turning to see everyone confused.

You gave a sheepish smile. Alastor beamed and hooked a arm around your waist

”Everyone this doll here is my wife! The prettiest thing that ever graced the earth!” You playfully slapped his chest.

Everyone's mouths dropped.

”WHAT!?”

You sat in Alastor’s lap as you told how you knew the red demon. Rambling on about how you two met and how your lives were like.

They just couldn’t process it.

YOU were married to Alastor. 

Married to the most feared Overlord in Hell. 

Wife to the Radio Demon.

How the fuck?

You were an angel? Literally and figuratively!

”How the hell did Mr. Creepy face fancy talk here get a broad like you?” Angel asked.

Alastor’s chest puffed with pride. His smile almost broke his face “with charm and wit my deluded friend” He said as he leaned his chin on your shoulder.

You giggled, it was always entertaining to see people's reactions to who your husband was.

You turned to Alastor,  lips pouty with a feigned upset look

”Now i been dead forever and not once have I seen you. Why? Why weren’t you in Heaven?”

Alastor stiffened, how was he to tell you that during your time alive he had killed many people just for the fun of it?

“Weeelll my dear I might have killed a few people” 

You blinked and then thought about it.

It kind of made sense, he used to be out ‘hunting’ at weird times of day, be gone at night saying he was working.

 You had a hard time getting stains out of his clothing.

That do explains some things.

”So do you regret anything?” He let out a laugh

nope. Not a single thing.

You shook your head “well since I’m heeeerrrrreee…why don’t we swing by juke joint, if you’re here, I’m sure Mimzy is here. I could use a good time. Its stuffy up there in Heaven. No fun at all”

Charlie perked “Ahh yes you must see how the sinners here are really like and what better than enagaging with them?”

Angel smirked “I know a place waaaayy better than some old booze lounge”

A club. You were at a club.

Your eyes honed in on a mic on the stage and it just happened to be open night.

You batted your eyes and just like that you were on stage.

The lights dimmed and you flipped through some songs to pick.

You might have been a bit old-fashioned but you were caught up on some of the modern singers that came through heaven.

The band nodded at your choice and you took hold of the mic.

With a twirl of your hand, you dawned on a 1920s theme look.

The gang mouths were jaw dropped as you started to sing, the audience was captivated. Catcalls and whistles filled the air.

Alastor felt static run through him as he sighed lovingly as you came down the stage and sat on his lap, mock fixing his bow tie as you sang. You teasingly nipped at his lips, causing his ears to twitch as you smiled going back to waltzing around the stage.

You smiled as bowed as the crowd exploded with cheers and applause as the lights came back on.

Ain’t no way Alastor had a bad broad like you, but the way you happily giggled as he whispered in your ear, pulling you into his chest…

There wasn’t denying it.

You held the Radio Demon’s dark heart.

His sweet, alluring wife

who would have thought?

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #jyoongim #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x y/n #alastor x angel reader #alastor x singer reader

[joelmillerisapunk]

a sweet arrangement

sugardaddy!Joel Miller x f!reader

Masterlist ♡ Sugar Daddy Masterlist

Wordcount: 3,374

Summary: You sign up for a sugar daddy app. What's the worst that could happen?

Warnings: 18+, fingering, oral (both m&f receiving), light bondage, reader might have pullable hair (i dont rememeber if i took it out) quick mentions of slut, baby, sweet baby, sweetheart, darlin

Notes: tysm @saradika-graphics for the dividers. I was cheated on over the weekend, and I wrote this as a "I wish I could be here" instead of being sad." Just another rich!daddy fantasy

You've been feeling financially stretched lately, and after hearing about the concept of sugar daddies and sugar babies from a friend, you decided to give it a try. You sit on your bed and hesitantly create a profile on a popular app, describing yourself as a young, independent woman looking for a mutually beneficial arrangement. As you sit scrolling through, you can't help but feel a sigh of reluctance escape your lips. You never expected to find yourself on a sugar daddy dating app, but life has a way of surprising you sometimes.

After a few moments of looking around the site, a notification pops up. It's a message from a user named "Contractor_Guy."

Curiosity piques, and you open the message, hoping it's not some creepy come-on. To your surprise, it reads:

"Hey there. I don't usually do this sort of thing, but I figured it's worth a shot. My name's Joel. If you're interested in getting to know me, send me a message back."

Feeling intrigued, you reply:

"Hi Joel, I'm not sure what 'this sort of thing' is, but I'm curious now.”

The response comes quickly.

Contractor_Guy: "Haha, 'this sort of thing' is something I usually avoid. But hey, it's a new day, and who knows what it might bring?"

You: Hopefully luck! But seriously, what exactly are you avoiding?"

Contractor_Guy: "Haha, well that's a bit of a long story, darlin.”

You: "Oh, I don't mind a long story. I've got some time to kill. Besides, I find it intriguing that someone like you is on a sugar daddy app.”

Contractor_Guy: "Well, my last experience wasn't the best, and I'm just being cautious this time around.

But, here's the long version. I met a girl a few years back, and at first, things were great. We clicked, and the relationship was mutually beneficial. I was able to provide for her in a way she couldn't for herself, and in return, she was there for me when I needed emotional support. As time went on, she started to change. She became more demanding and less appreciative. It got to the point where she would expect extravagant gifts just for a simple text or phone call. I realized that she was only interested in my money and not in the relationship we'd built."

You: "I'm sorry to hear that. It's not easy to find someone who's genuine and appreciates what you have to offer."

Contractor_Guy: "Yeah, it was a tough lesson to learn, but I'm hoping to find someone different this time. Someone who appreciates the little things, too, not just the material things."

You: "I think that's a fair expectation. We all deserve to be appreciated for more than just our wallets. So, Joel, tell me more about yourself. What do you do for a living?"

Contractor_Guy: "I'm a contractor. I do mostly residential construction and home remodeling projects. What about you? What do you do when you're not scrolling through dating apps?”

You: "Lol, I'm usually at work. I'm a graphic designer, so I spend most of my days in front of a computer. It's not the most glamorous job, but I love what I do."

Contractor_Guy: "A graphic designer, huh? That's pretty impressive. I've always been more of a hands-on guy myself. But I must admit, there's something intriguing about a woman in the arts.”

You: "And who doesn't love a man who can wield a hammer and a chainsaw with equal ease?"

Contractor_Guy: "Oh, I'm definitely good with my hands darlin' ;). ”

You: "Maybe one day you'll show me just how good you are with your hands."

As the conversation continues to flow effortlessly, you both exchange numbers and agree to meet for a coffee date tomorrow. Before signing off, you send a playful message with a picture attached

You: "Well, I'm off to begin the countdown to our coffee date. I'll leave you with this little teaser. ;)"

Insert a picture of you posing confidently in a cute outfit, with a mischievous grin on your face.

Contractor_Guy: "Wow, that definitely has me counting down the hours! I can't wait to see you in person."

With that, you end the conversation eagerly anticipating your first in-person meeting with the intriguing contractor.

The two of you meet for the first time at a trendy coffee shop downtown, and you can immediately sense Joel's charm and confidence. You can tell he's done this a time or two. He offers to buy you a drink and pulls out the mattest black credit card you have ever seen to pay with. He guides you to a table in the back corner, and you both engage in light conversation, discussing your interests and goals. Joel is clearly intrigued by you, and you feel a spark of attraction towards him as well.

"So, tell me more about yourself," Joel says, his eyes locked on yours.

"Well, like I said on the app, I'm a freelance graphic designer," you reply, “It's not the most stable job, but I love what I do."

"I can imagine," Joel says, a hint of admiration in his voice. "I've always been a fan of the arts. But I'm sure you understand the struggles of making ends meet as a freelancer. That's why I'm interested in this arrangement."

"I do understand," you agree, your mind already contemplating the potential benefits of such an arrangement. "It would be nice to have some financial stability while still being able to pursue my passion."

"Exactly," Joel says, his tone firm but understanding. "And in return, I'd like you to be my companion when I need someone to spend time with. We can go on dates, attend social events, or just relax at home. I value your company, you're easy on the eyes and brain, and I believe we would make a great team."

"I think that sounds fair," you say, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. "I'm looking for something similar - someone who understands my situation and is willing to help me out."

Joel offers to take you to his place for a glass of wine, and as he leads you to his car, the conversation shifts to the details of the arrangement.

"Now that we've established the terms," Joel says, his voice low and serious, "I want to make something clear. I'm going to support you financially in any way you could ever dream of or want, but there's one condition."

"What's that?" You ask, your curiosity piqued.

"I want access to you whenever I please, however I please," Joel says, his eyes meeting yours. "I want to be able to use you for my pleasure whenever I want. Are you comfortable with that?"

Your heart races as you consider his request. You know what he's asking for, and you're not sure if you're ready for that level of intimacy. But at the same time, you can't deny the excitement coursing through your veins.

"I need some time to think about it. This is a big decision."

"Of course," Joel replies, his tone understanding. "Take all the time you need. But remember, this is the condition of our arrangement."

As Joel drives you to his mansion, you can't help but feel a mixture of excitement and trepidation. This is unlike any arrangement you've ever been a part of, and you're not sure what to expect. As you follow Joel upstairs, your heart races in anticipation. He leads you into a large, dimly-lit room, its walls adorned with black velvet and soft, glowing lights. A large bed dominates the center of the room, surrounded by various toys and restraints.

"I want to show you what I mean when I say I want access to you whenever I please.” Joel says, his voice thick with desire.

Joel leads you over to the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. He takes a seat on the edge, patting the space beside him. "Come here, sweetheart," he says, his voice soft and inviting.

You hesitate for a moment, unsure of what to do. But the curiosity and excitement pulsing through you win out, and you find yourself sitting down next to him. Joel's hand reaches out to gently brush a strand of hair from your face. "You're so beautiful, you know that?" he says, his gaze intense.

You feel your entire body get warm at the compliment, your heart racing faster than ever before. "Thank you," you murmur.

Joel's hand begins to trace a path down your arm, sending shivers coursing through your body. "I want to make you feel good, sweetheart," he says, his voice low and husky. "I want to give you pleasure like you've never experienced before."

Your mind is racing as Joel's hand continues to explore your body. You're not sure what to do, but you find yourself leaning into his touch, your body craving more.

"I want to show you something," Joel says, his eyes twinkling with mischief. He stands up and walks over to a large wooden chest at the foot of the bed. He opens it, revealing a variety of toys and restraints. Your heart races as you take in the sight. You've never seen anything like this before, and you're not sure what to make of it. Joel walks back over to you, a blindfold in his hand. "I want to show you how good it can feel to let go and trust someone," he says, his voice soft and soothing.

You hesitate for a moment but something about Joel's words and the look in his eyes makes you feel safe, and you find yourself nodding in agreement. He gently places the blindfold over your eyes, cocooning you in darkness. You can feel his hands on you, guiding you back onto the bed. You trust him, and you let yourself relax into the feeling of his touch.

Joel's hands continue to explore your body, tracing patterns and circles that send shivers of pleasure coursing through you. You can feel the bed shift as he leans over you, his breath hot against your ear. "I want to make you feel so good, sweetheart," he whispers, his voice barely above a whisper. Your breath hitches as his hands continue to wander.

Suddenly, you feel something soft and silky against your skin. It's a scarf, and Joel is using it to gently bind your wrists to the bedposts. You gasp at the feeling of being restrained, but the sensation is not unpleasant. Instead, it heightens your senses, making you more aware of every touch and caress.

Joel continues to explore your body, his hands moving lower and lower until they reach the waistband of your pants. He pauses for a moment, waiting for your consent. "May I?" he asks, his voice low and husky. You nod, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He slowly begins to slide your pants down your legs, his hands lingering on your skin as he goes. You can feel the heat of his touch, and you find yourself arching up towards him, wanting more. Finally, your pants are off, and Joel's hands are free to explore your body in earnest. He caresses your thighs, your hips, your stomach, each touch sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

You can feel yourself growing wet, your body responding to Joel's touch in ways you've never experienced before. You moan softly, your hips bucking up towards him. Joel takes the hint, his fingers finding their way to your wetness. He begins to explore you, his touch gentle but firm. You gasp at the sensation, your body quivering with pleasure. His fingers move in slow, deliberate circles that send shivers of pleasure coursing through your body. You find yourself moaning louder and louder, your hips bucking up towards him as you chase the feeling of release. Finally, you can't take it any longer. You cry out as the orgasm washes over you, your body trembling with pleasure. Joel continues to touch you, his fingers gentle as they bring you down from the peak of pleasure.

Slowly, your breathing returns to normal, and you become aware of your surroundings once again. The blindfold is still over your eyes, and you're still bound to the bed. But you feel safe and content, your body still humming with pleasure. He unties the blindfold, and you blink your eyes against the sudden brightness of the room. He's standing above you, a wicked smile on his face. "Did you like that, sweetheart?" he asks, his voice low and seductive.

"Yes sir," you get out with a hoarse voice.

Joel's gaze travels down your body, taking in the sight of you spread out on his bed, still bound to the bedposts. "Mmm, such a good girl already," he says, his voice full of satisfaction. "I have so much more I want to show you."

He walks over to the wooden chest at the foot of the bed and rummages through it, pulling out a variety of toys and restraints. Joel turns back to you, a pair of handcuffs in his hand. "May I?" he asks, his voice low and seductive.

“You may."

Your heart racies with excitement as Joel cuffs your hands above your head, replacing the soft, luxurious ribbon, and securing you back to the bedpost. You test the restraints, finding that they hold you firmly in place. Your heart is racing with excitement, your body tingling with anticipation. He walks back over to the chest and pulls out a vibrator. He turns it on, the buzzing noise filling the room. You watch as he approaches you. He traces the vibrator over your body, teasing you with each touch. You arch up towards him, wanting more. But Joel is in control, and he takes his time, drawing out the anticipation until you're nearly begging for release."Are you ready for more, darlin’?"

“Yes please,” your breath coming in short gasps.

"Good girl." He traces the vibrator lower, teasing your clit with each pass. You moan, your hips bucking up towards him. But he pulls the vibrator away just as you're about to come.

You whimper in frustration, but Joel just smiles. "Patience, baby, patience," he says.

He continues to tease you, bringing you to the brink of orgasm again and again, but never letting you fully come. You're writhing on the bed, your body begging for release when Joel leans down and whispers in your ear. "Do you trust me, sweetheart?"

You nod, your heart racing. "Yes, I do," you whisper.

Joel smiles, his eyes twinkling with mischief. He leans down and captures your lips in a passionate kiss. You moan, your hips bucking up towards him. You're ready for whatever comes next.

Joel breaks the kiss, his eyes locked on yours. "I'm going to take you to the edge, sweetheart," he says, his voice low and seductive. "And then I'm going to bring you back again. And again. And again. Until you can't take it anymore."

Joel's hand moves back to the vibrator, tracing it over your clit once again. This time, he doesn't stop. He continues to tease and pleasure you. Suddenly, Joel pulls the vibrator away once again. You whimper in frustration, but before you can protest, he's replaced it with his mouth. His tongue expertly teases your clit. His hands roam your body as he brings you to the brink of orgasm once again. This time, however, he doesn't stop. He continues to lick and suck at your clit, his fingers entering you and curling against your G-spot as he pushes you over the edge.

You cry out, your body shaking with pleasure as you come hard against his mouth. Joel doesn't stop, his tongue continuing to torture you as you ride out the waves of your orgasm. As you come down from your orgasm, you gasp for breath, your body still trembling with pleasure. Joel's gaze is intense as he watches you, his face flushed with arousal.

"That was so, fucking good," you manage to gasp out, your voice still hoarse from your orgasm.

Joel smiles, his eyes never leaving yours. "I'm glad you thought so," he says, his voice low and seductive. "But I think it's your turn now."

"My turn?" you ask, your eyes wide with curiosity.

"Yes," Joel says, his smile widening. "It's time for you to return the favor.”

You feel a pang of nerves flood your body. “But I'm still all tied up.”

Joel smirks, leaning in. He grabs the hollows of your cheeks, forcing you to look at him, “ I never said you needed to be untied, did I.”

You swallow hard, your mind racing with the implications of his words. Joel releases your cheeks, his gaze traveling down your body. "You're going to make me very happy tonight, sweetheart. Just remember - I want access to you whenever I please, however I please. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," you reply, your voice full of submission.

Joel's smile widens, and he reaches down to unfasten his pants. He steps out of them and his boxers, revealing a hard, thick, ready erection. He climbs onto the bed, his legs straddling your chest. "Now, I want you to take me into your mouth," he says, his voice firm and authoritative.

Your heart is racing as you obey. He brings it up to your lips, and your tongue darts out to lick the tip. You can taste the hint of salt and musk, and you find yourself growing aroused again. You open your mouth wide to accommodate his size. He tastes so good, so intense, and you can't get enough. You begin to move your head, your mouth sliding up and down his shaft. Joel gasps, his hips bucking up towards you.

Suddenly he grabs your hair and holds his cock to the hilt, filing up your entire throat, blocking your airway. You try to gasp for breath as Joel holds you down on his large throbbing cock but it's no use. Your head is swimming with pleasure and arousal, and you're not sure if you can take anymore. Just then Joel releases his grip on your hair, allowing you to breathe again. You take the opportunity to pull away, gasping for air. Joel smirks down at you. "Such a good little slut for daddy already," he says, his voice full of praise. "Daddy wants to see more. Show me how much you want me."

You nod, your heart racing with anticipation as Joel pulls away and undoes your restraints. When he's back on the bed, you take him back into your mouth, your hands roaming his beautiful, full thighs. You begin to suck and lick at his cock, your tongue exploring every inch of him. You can hear Joel growing more aroused, his breaths coming in short gasps.

You feel a hand on the back of your head, guiding you. Joel is thrusting into your mouth, his cock sliding in and out. You moan around him, your hands reaching up to cup his balls. He's tensing, his hips bucking harder with each thrust. Suddenly, he lets out the most primal groan you've ever heard, his cock swells in your mouth. He thrusts into you one more time before coming. You can feel his warm come filling your mouth, and you swallow it down eagerly. Joel groans, his hips stilling as he rides out his orgasm.

You pull away, gasping for air and Joel collapses onto his back, his chest rising and falling rapidly. You can see the satisfaction on his face, and you feel proud of yourself. You've never done anything like that before, and you're not sure how you feel about it. But there's a part of you that's excited, that wants to do it again.

You're both panting heavily, your mind still reeling from the intense experience you've just shared. Joel's gaze is locked on yours, his eyes full of admiration and desire. "You were amazing, sweetheart," he says, his voice a low rumble. "I can't wait to show you more." A wave of excitement washes over you as Joel reaches out and gently strokes your cheek, his fingers lingering against your skin. "I want to make this arrangement work, darlin," he says, his voice soft and earnest. "But I need to know that you're in this for the right reasons."

Your heart races as you consider his words. You know what he's asking, and you're not sure if you're ready for the level of intimacy and commitment this arrangement requires. But at the same time, you can't deny the excitement coursing through your veins, the thrill of being desired and pursued by someone like Joel. You nod, your heart racing with both excitement and trepidation. "I think I'm ready to accept your condition," you say, your voice low and hesitant. "But I need to know that you're in this for the right reasons, too."

Joel's eyes meet yours, his gaze intense and serious. "I promise you, I want nothing more than to care for and support you, both financially and emotionally," he says firmly. "And I expect the same companionship in return."

You take a deep breath, your mind racing with the implications of your decision. But there's a part of you that's eager to explore this new world, to find out what it means to be truly desired and cared for by someone like Joel.

"Okay," you finally say, your voice full of resolution. "I want to make this arrangement work too."

Joel's face breaks into a smile, his eyes filled with relief and joy. He pulls you into a warm embrace, his arms wrapping around you tightly. "Thank you, sweetheart," he whispers, his voice full of gratitude. "I'm going to make sure you never regret this decision."

---

Thanks for reading ❤️ let me know if you'd like more from these two

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller #pedro pascal #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #daddy!joel miller #sugardaddy!joel miller

[the-acid-pear]

Y'all don't know how hard it is to be me <- secondary character enjoyer

#luly talks #fun fact im talking of ofmd 🥰 #esp of my beloveds buttons and swede #i just love blondies what can i say 🤪 #like dont get me wrong i literally love all the characters but those are MY guys... #and its so sad bc buttons was so very relevant and then he just got demoted to secondary character when ed came along 😢 #HE TOOK EVERYTHING FROM ME... /j #btw since im here i once saw someone hc the swede as bigender and i havent been able to forget it ever since #i think my man deserves to be a little bit of a woman too. as a treat <3333

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。08:00 PM — AL-HAITHAM.

idk i just felt like. writing haitham grieving his grandmother. it’s also a slight character study ig. idk if anyone will read this but if you do. just know that he is the core of my heart. his grandmother too i mourn her death so much sobs

“hey,” you say gently, sitting next to him. al-haitham only grunts in acknowledgment, slumped on the couch. “d’you want dinner? i made your favorite.”

“not hungry,” he mumbles.

his grandmother’s death anniversary is a sore spot. it’s a day you tiptoe around carefully every year. you don’t know much about his family—just that he was orphaned very young and raised by his father’s mother until the ripe age of 16. you’ve seen the dainty handwriting inside the covers of books, and you’ve even seen a small, framed photograph that he keeps stowed away.

sometimes, you wish he’d tell you. you wish the far away look and the clenched fist around the fabric of his pants would ease with your presence. you wish he’d tell you about her, that you’d know the woman who raised the man you love—even if only through hushed words and old stories.

“you hate sleeping on an empty stomach,” you hum, placing your hand over his clenched one.

his fist loosens a little—progress.

“i…” he pauses, let’s out a heavy sigh before letting his head fall back. there’s tension in his shoulders, in his neck, in the jaw he keeps so tightly clenched. “i won’t be sleeping for a bit. sorry,” he tries to sound apologetic. you don’t hear much in his tone besides defeat. “you can head in without me.”

“that’s okay,” you shrug, forcing his clenched fingers apart to weave yours in with his. “i don’t sleep well without you anyway.”

“suit yourself,” is all he says.

and it’s silent for a bit. he seems to be thinking deeply—or reminiscing, maybe grieving. maybe all three, but you’re not too sure. you’re never too sure when it comes to how al-haitham feels about anything.

he’s hard to decipher—but he’s easy to pull apart. you don’t understand how someone as hard and calculating as him is so gentle with love, but it’s hard not to notice how soft his touch is, how it lingers, how the tips of his fingers long for you. you don’t doubt he loves you—he never gives you the chance to.

but sometimes….sometimes you wish he’d let you love him properly. to kiss the scars. to admire the parts he thinks are ugly. to shelter the thoughts that have no home besides his own head.

it’s silent for a bit—until it’s not. you break the silence first, like you’re holding a hand out for him from the shore as he drifts aimlessly.

“baby?” you ask quietly. he grunts again in response. “what was she like?”

“who?”

al-haitham is a smart man. probably the smartest you’ve ever met. you don’t think you’ve ever met someone who read physics books as a pastime, and you’re pretty certain he’ll always be the only one. you know he knows exactly what you’re asking and you know he’s avoiding it.

but it doesn’t stop you though—it’s been long enough, you think. you’ve known him long enough. craved him for a few summers and loved him for enough winters that he has pieces of you that fall through the cracks of your resolve.

you think you deserve a few pieces of him too—even if your fingers have to reach past the cracks themselves, even if they have to slice against the jagged edges and bleed a little in the process.

you’ll bleed for him—like the sun rises from the east and sets in the west, your heart beats for al-haitham. and it’ll bleed for him too.

“your grandmother,” you whisper. “you’ve never told me about her.”

“there’s not much to tell,” he shrugs. “she died right before i enrolled in the akademiya and she raised me after my parents died.”

“i’m sure there’s more,” you say gently—his grip has tightened on your hand now. you don’t think he realizes—in fact, you don’t think al-haitham realizes half of what he feels when it comes to vulnerability.

it’s why he realizes he loves you so late. it’s why you fall first and he falls after. but he falls harder—it’s not hard to see.

“she was a kshahrewar scholar,” he offers blankly.

your thumb brushes over his knuckles, and it’s almost like your hand reaches past the shore just a little further—you don’t mind risking the fall into the water if it means pulling him out.

“haitham,” you sigh delicately. he swallows. it’s hard to keep composure for long—even for someone like him.

grief is an evil thing. it’s a familiar friend—one you wish you never made and one you’ll never shake away. it dances with you under the moonlight, when the stars are bright but the sky is heavy. it barely grazes your skin some days but weighs into your bones on others. it’s a cruel thing really—and it hits you harder some moments than others.

“she was kind,” he starts slowly, his hand reaching out and grabbing yours over the shoreline. maybe, just maybe, sometimes he can get tired of drifting too. “she liked to bake. her hands got too weak to knead dough when i got older, though. you would have liked her tarts. she couldn’t read without her glasses and she always forgot they were on her head. she said my father looked like her husband and that i look like my father. she used to ask me to read to her sometimes so i’d sit on her lap and read my books out loud. she loved the sunrise but was never good at waking up on time to see it. she used to drink tea during sunsets. she liked hers extra sweet and i liked mine more bitter. i…” he pauses, voice shaky as his fingers dig into your hand. you squeeze, and he sniffles. “i haven’t had tea since she passed.”

“she sounds lovely,” you whisper. “i would have loved to meet her.”

“she’d have loved you,” he cracks a small smile, shaking his head as he thinks. “probably more than she loved me.”

“i’m sure i’d never compare to her darling grandson,” you chuckle, bumping arms with him. his head drops to your shoulder—you hesitate for a moment before deciding to pull him into your chest. and when he doesn’t protest, when he buries himself into you instead of pulling away, you thread your fingers into his hair.

“i miss her,” he croaks quietly.

“i know,” you soothe. “i know, baby.”

al-haitham has only ever known love twice in his life. one is gone but it lives through the other. the gentle touch against his scalp and the warmth under his cheek is familiar—it feels like the lap he slept on when he was six. it feels like the delicate hands that cupped his cheeks when he was eight. it feels like the soft kisses against his temple when he was ten.

al-haitham has only ever known love twice in his life, and he’s glad that one of them is you.

“you’d have loved her too,” his voice breaks. you kiss his head as you feel your shirt dampen.

“i already do,” you murmur, “she raised you well. i have her to thank.”

his breath hitches at that—and then he pulls you closer, grasps you tighter, falls in love with you harder. his grandmother’s death anniversary has always been a sore spot—but somehow, you numb the ache even if by just a little.

gently, your hand clasps his and pulls him to shore. he’s grateful he doesn’t have to drift alone anymore.

there is nothing i’m more obsessed with than al-haitham’s childhood. i have so many thought about it. and him. and his character. and his inner thoughts and feelings and most of them revolve around his grandmother and more importantly her passing. and idk. he’s just sosososo important to me i wish we knew more about his grandmother. i love her so much i grieve her passing even though we’ve never even met her 😭

#teepods.writings #drabbles. #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x you #alhaitham fluff #alhaitham angst #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin fluff #genshin angst #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact angst

[asimpforyagami]

🇨​​ 🇴 ​​🇳 ​​🇫​​ 🇪 ​​🇸​​ 🇸 ​​🇮 ​​🇴 ​​🇳​ ！

BSD MEN REACTING TO A CONFESSION.

↷ A/N ─ yes new divider again because im indecisive as heck

★ FT. ─ dazai , chuuya , ranpo , akutagawa , atsushi , fyodor

!! TAGS ─ mentions of suicide, insecurities, overall fluff

"i love you."

ᴅᴀᴢᴀɪ.

promptly replies with, "i love you too."

he'll lean into you with an amused smile because he lowkey thinks you're joking

when he realizes you're serious about it he'll immediately stop the stupid grin

and look at you with this sincere look you've never seen on his face before

he'll hold your hand and everything while repeating "i love you too," for a second time, only this time he's serious about it too

definitely asks for double suicide later

"You know it's my motto to unalive myself with a beautiful woman. How lucky of you to have been bestowed upon this honour."

"Mhm."

"I'll say yes if you join me in a double suicide," he asks with puppy eyes.

"Dazai, you already said yes."

"I'll say it again!"

​ᴄʜᴜᴜʏᴀ.

he stops abruptly and half chokes on his expensive ass wine

poor boy is really confused 😭 because "where did that come from??"

he tries to play it cool but he's literally SCREAMING inside

we all know he's been betrayed a lot of times in the past so he feels hesitant about it

will decide to give it a shot tho

100% calls dazai to brag about it

"You may be taller or whatever (as if that matters in the first place) but were you the one able to steal her heart? Eh? I think not!"

You chuckle hearing him update his rival of his new relationship status.

"And anyway," he raises a glass of wine for toast. "I'd like to thank my good looks, good looks and did I mention my good looks (?) for making tonight the happiest night ever."

ʀᴀɴᴘᴏ.

"i know."

he has always observed every single thing about you - how you behave around others vs how you behave around him, the little times you look at him like you want his attention etc etc

he's known about this since like soooo long

he defo also knew when where and how you were gonna confess

went to yosano for tips to react to it and bought you chocolates and stuff. he thinks it'll make you happy :D

eats all of that himself even tho he originally bought it for you but you let it slide because he's a cutie patootie

"You could at least have been a bit subtle about it," he says, munching on his chips. "I mean, anyone who saw you would've been able to guess. I didn't even need my ability for this!"

He lifts his chin up thoughtfully, fingers ripping open another packet of snacks. "You should be grateful I'm not a snitch. Eh, well," he shrugs, "You're now dating the greatest detective in the world! Congratulations!"

ᴀᴋᴜᴛᴀɢᴀᴡᴀ.

"eh???"

like chuuya, he's pretty confused too

"are you sure?"

tries to keep a straight face and hide his fluster

he'll narrow his eyes at you as if he's trying to read your emotions. he doesn't wanna get hurt if he gets too attached to you and you two end up breaking up

also how tf is he supposed to believe that someone like YOU like someone like HIM?

reassure him that he's perfect please :( poor baby deserves the world

"I am a lot of work. I don't think you can keep up with all of that," he says shortly.

"I'll try my best."

"You don't have to."

"But I want to!"

He stares at you for a few moments, looking like he's about to cry.

"Oh, alright then," he waves a hand around. "But don't you ever leave me."

ᴀᴛꜱᴜꜱʜɪ.

screams

"SAY IT AGAIN PLEASE!"

jumps around everywhere in happiness

you dont even get a verbal answer the man's just dancing around

either that or he just faints

he's, like akutagawa, insecure about himself. but he's much more open to showing his emotions to you.

you end up cuddling the whole night or he calls off work to be with you for the rest of the day <3

"I..." he repeats the same word for the fifth time in a row.

"Yes?"

"Don't mind me, I'm just trying to come to terms with the fact that I get to date you."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"No, no!" he panics, wringing both hands all over himself hastily. "I love you! Really!"

ꜰʏᴏᴅᴏʀ.

no reaction. im sorry

spares a small glance at you but otherwise doesn't get distracted from his work

you think he's gone deaf from the way he just ignored you cuz what????

will spend like 15 minutes that way before extending an arm to you and you lowkey DONT KNOW WHAT TO DO??? HELP??

he'll stare at you for a few seconds before pulling you onto his lap and continuing with his work

and that's his way of saying yes

He shuts the computers around him down and taps your outer thigh twice. You immediately stand up and help him up. He stares at you for a few seconds, contemplating something.

"You know, I never thought I'd enable others to call me a lovesick fool."

"Does that mean you are a lovesick fool?"

"A little, maybe," he turns around and walks out of the door while you follow him with a soft smile on your face.

#bsd x reader #bsd x y/n #bsd x you #bsd scenarios #bsd hcs #bsd headcanons #dazai hcs #dazai x y/n #dazai x reader #chuuya imagines #chuuya x reader #fyodor hcs #fyodor x you #fyodor x reader #akutagawa hcs #akutagawa x reader #chuuya headcanons #dazai headcanons #dazai x you #fyodor imagines #atsushi hcs #atsushi nakajima #atsushi x reader #dazai bsd

[awearywritersworld]

the man who embraced wickedness and the woman he used to know

sukuna x reader summary: sukuna is reunited with the only person who ever showed him kindness w/c: 1.25k tags/warnings: heian era!sukuna. angst to fluff. fem!reader. me trying my best to channel an 1800s romance novelist a/n: part 2 to the boy spurned as evil and the girl of his youth. i am once again asking that people check out the artwork by @demonzaemon that inspired these two fics. they also made some artwork inspired by part one, which makes me scream and cry and yell bc it's so wonderful. masterlist

it isn't until nearly two decades after your last encounter that sukuna finally musters the courage to return to the riverside. as he listens to the rush of the water, he hates the way it makes him feel— like the scared, powerless boy he once was.

he won't get too close. instead he stands at the edge of the forest, as if he can hide from his past among the trees.

he decides he must be dreaming when he spots a woman approaching the river, because even though he can see little more than her silhouette, he has no doubt that it's you.

he'd know you anywhere, in this life and the next.

he has no idea how long he stands watching you before he finally gathers the nerve to take a step in your direction.

you look over your shoulder and meet his eye once he's only a few yards away.

the expression that crosses your features is not unlike the one you wore when you first saw him— an earnest sort of wonder.

"it's you," you state as if you've been waiting on him to appear.

"you... remember me?"

"how could i forget?"

you approach him without fear or apprehension, and having you so close after all this time makes his heart race uncomfortably in his chest.

"are you well?" he questions, his eyes trailing down your body before flicking back up to yours. "you look it."

a smile tugs at the corner of your mouth, your gaze falling to the ground bashfully. you rock on the heels of your feet before answering.

"i am well enough... and what of you?"

he's not sure that he's being entirely truthful when he replies, "i can say the same, i suppose."

"it pleases me to hear that you have not been suffering all this time. i must admit, i find that my thoughts still wander to you with remarkable frequency."

you laugh lightly at your own confession, fearing he may regard you as strange for it. on the other hand, he's thinking about how the sound of your laughter is the most beautiful thing he's heard since... well, since he last heard it.

"it is not rare for you to occupy the space of my own mind," he returns honestly.

you grab one of his hands, turning his palm up and running your thumb over the faint scar you find there. he hates the way it makes your face fall.

"i am sorry about that night, for what my father did to you. it was my fault for falling asleep—"

"don't," he stops you. "the fault lies only with me. i shouldn't have let him steal you away. i shouldn't have been so utterly weak—"

it's your turn to interrupt him and you press the pads of your fingers to his mouth to keep him from saying anything more.

"that is the farthest thing from the truth. you didn't deserve that. you deserved not one bit of the cruelty the village mercilessly showed you. you were only a boy, sukuna."

when your fingers fall from his lips, he doesn't try to speak. he doesn't trust that his voice won't betray him.

he can't remember the last time he heard his name spoken so familiarly, so warmly. it makes his throat feel tight.

the silence gives you an opportunity to take in the ways in which he's changed over the years.

his kimono and haori are pristine, a far cry from the rags he used to wear.

his frame is more than double the size of your own, and you know he's no longer living on scraps.

he stands tall, his posture straight and self assured, not that of someone who is feeble and frightened.

but you're not referring to any of those things when you point out, "you're different now."

and of course you're right, he just doesn't know how to tell you that the boy you used to spend your days with is gone. that the blood on his hands is no longer his own. that the person standing before you is nothing more than the monster the villagers always claimed him to be.

so he just nods in agreement and your eyes sparkle as you regard him with curiosity.

"i loved you, you know," you tell him sincerely.

your confession is painful to hear, because it reminds him of everything he lost that night.

"i could love you now, too." you reach up and caress his cheek, trying desperately to read the expression he's wearing. "if you'll let me."

for a moment, you think he might agree to your offer, but your hope is short lived.

"this... this was a mistake."

he turns to leave, intending to retreat to the shadows of the forest, but a small hand wraps around his wrist.

"no." your tone is forceful.

if only you knew what happens to most people who dare speak that word in his presence.

he doesn't say anything, so you add, "the only mistake you've made is waiting so long to come back to me."

he's surprised upon seeing the frustrated tears that well up in your eyes.

"we are but strangers to one another." his reminder stings and it shows plainly on your face. "and that is for the best, i assure you. you don't want to know me— to know the things i've done."

"i care not what you've done!" your voice is so loud, it sends a flock of birds fleeing from a nearby tree. "i care not what horrors loneliness may have driven you toward, because when we belonged to one another you were good. you were kind. you were—"

"stop." each of your words is like a knife in his chest, and his voice cracks from the ache of it.

"i will not! if your only intention was to reject me, why come here at all?"

"i don't know—"

"precisely! you want me, just as i want you. my devotion is yours, sukuna! there is no reason for you to reject that which i willingly give—"

"enough!" he barks at you, grabbing you roughly by the shoulders. you don't shy away from him, even in spite of the way his fingers dig into your flesh and his nose flares angrily.

"you believe that because you showed me a sliver of kindness when we were children that i should throw myself at your feet? your devotion means nothing to me! it does little more than inspire my disgust!"

the words taste like poison on his tongue, but he needs you to believe them.

he needs to believe them himself.

he pushes you away, and while it's not harshly enough to send your body flying to the grass, it does make you stumble backwards.

ire burns in your eyes and he thinks he's succeeded in his endeavor, but once he turns to leave, you're grabbing his wrist again and launching yourself against him.

your hands find his face and you pull his lips to yours despairingly. your bodies move together as if you've spent a lifetime in one another's arms.

then, he's pulling away from you. he's calling you a pathetic fool. he's looking at you with animosity.

but just as quickly, his lips find yours again and he grabs at the fabric of your kimono in an attempt to bring your body closer to his own.

you swear his hands tremble as they find a home on the curve of your hips.

once your lips part, he holds your gaze for what feels like an eternity.

resignation seems to dance across his features, but there's something else there too. desire? hope? longing?

you really can't say for certain.

"i am yours, and you are mine."

you're not sure if it's a question or a statement, so you offer him a slight nod of your head. "today and always."

#m!writes #sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna imagines #sukuna fluff #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu imagines #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #jjk fluff

[belovedcloud]

The Better Man | Best Friend! Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader

Notes: It's been a while since I've actually written something. Been having the biggest brainrot over Leon Kennedy so enjoy. :)

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-> PT.2

WC: 1.2K ik it's short

CW: Cheating (reader gets cheated on, not by Leon), soft dom Leon, porn with barely any plot, little bit of overstimulation, petnames (sweetheart, pretty girl), oral.

Something you didn't expect to see when returning home to your boyfriend was to see another woman beneath him. Was it worth it to toss away a relationship just for some pussy? To your ex, yes. So here you are, outside of Leon's apartment, God knows at what hour. Faint knocking echoed down the hallway as you waited for Leon to open the door, I mean it was nearly 2 am... Would he even be awake to see you tonight? Your thoughts were soon swept aside as you hear keys jingling on the other side of the door. Quickly, you wipe your teary eyes as you see Leon open the door.

"Y/N?" He mumbled with a confused tone as he saw you stood in front of him. Turning his head to check the clock hanging on the wall, the hands of the clock displaying 1:55 am. "What are you doing her-" His words came to a stop as he saw a tear stream down your face. "My boyfriend.. well, not boyfriend anymore I guess" Y/N hushed out before wiping her face, "He cheated on me, and I'm sorry for coming to you at such a late hour but you're the only person who I know that woul-" Leon's fingers made her jump as she felt him tap her shoulder. "Don't be sorry, come here.." He whispered as he embraced her. A newfound warmth spread all over your body as you felt his arms tighten.

Leon slowly lead you to his couch, trying to calm down your sobs into his chest for a few minutes as you spill out what you saw on that same evening. Soon enough, no more tears flooded your face and you could see Leon's expression. Nothing but kind. He got up and after a few minutes he came back with a few snacks and drinks. It was his best attempt to cheer you up - it worked.

"I can't believe I even dated him, you even told me how much of an asshole he was." Y/N sighed as she took another sip of her drink. A slight grin spread on Leon's face as she shit-talked about her ex. "He never deserved you y'know, you up him in both looks and personality." He said as he took a pretzel from the bag, snickering at his own comment. The next 30 minutes was just you and Leon bad mouthing your ex and how he acted. Even in bed.

"He couldn't even last like 2 minutes! He sucked at it and didn't even really bother with aftercare. Unless you call a quick kiss on the lips and turning around aftercare." She scoffed, holding onto a bag of chips. "You're serious?" Leon asked looking at her with a teasing expression. "No he was a sex god." She said sarcastically as she placed a chip in her mouth. Leon couldn't help but look at her with doting eyes. A rush of nervousness spread in your system as you caught Leon staring at you like that. "L-leon?" You tried to snap him back but he wouldn't turn away, only giving you a teasing grin as he replayed your conversation in his head. "I'm glad you left him.." He sighed softly before putting his arm on the armrest. "You really deserve someone better who would actually treat you right, I mean who wouldn't want to be their best for you? Especially in bed.." He mumbled the last part.

"Someone like you..?" You hushed out your question but Leon turned his head to your question immediately. "I-I can't do that to you. I mean I don't want to ruin our friendship because of what I wan-" You cut him off after hearing him spew out nonsense. "Leon. I want you too y'know?"

You didn't think this would lead to Leon slowly parting your legs after gently taking off your panties to see your soaked cunt. "God.. You're so pretty for me sweetheart.." His fingers slowly rubbing up and down your folds, eliciting pornographic moans from your throat. Who knew your best friend would be the better man in bed than your ex? The thoughts of your ex slowly dissipated as you felt a warm sensation cover over your pussy. Leon's mouth. He couldn't help but taste you as a deep groan left his throat, your sweetness making his eyes roll back as he tongued at your folds. His eyelids slightly opened as he looked at you as he swirled his tongue. You were beautiful as he ate you out, in fact you were like a goddess. Moans and groans clashed against each other as the room was filled with wet sounds from Leon slowly fingering your pussy and licking your clit. Your fingers waving through his locks - slightly tugging at his hair as he drowned himself in your juices. "L-leon! 'm close oh f-fuck.." Her voice trembled as Leon continued to his hearts content, groaning out a few praises as he felt you tighten around his fingers. "You're taking it so well baby. So proud of you.." "Can't wait to see you do this on my cock.. you're so fuck.. gorgeous."

A coil slowly started to tighten in your stomach as you felt the stimulation of Leon's fingers curling into that sweet spot along with the quick sucks and swipes on your clit. "C'mon baby.. give it to me." He groaned as he rutted himself into the couch, his sweatpants feeling tight as he felt himself throb whilst devouring your sweet little cunt. "'m cumming! Leon!" Was all you could blabber out as the coil snapped and you felt yourself shake in Leon's grasp. His tongue still lapping at your clit, slightly overstimulating you as you felt your thighs tremble. Leon's fingers still continuing to curl inside of you as he licked up your cum, slowly putting his fingers in his mouth after cleaning the mess. "So fucking sweet for me." He kissed your inner thighs as he pulled himself up from between your legs.

Panting and sweating, you wearily lift up your head that was previously buried into the pillow, looking at him as you saw your slick on his chin. A slight smile appearing on your face. "What's so funny?" He looked at you confused with a grin on his face. "Nothing.." You snickered out as you saw his disheveled hair. Laughter slowly died down and you tugged on his sweatpants, looking at him with pleading eyes.

"Tonight's about you" He said as he kissed your neck, a slight whimper coming out of your mouth as you felt him bite down on you. "I wanna make you feel good too..." You murmured as you tugged on his shirt. Leon couldn't help but laugh slightly as he lifted himself up from your neck and looked into your eyes. "Yeah? You wanna make me feel good?" He teased as his hands slowly rode up your shirt, unclasping your bra and tossing it to the side. The pads of his fingers teasing your buds whilst his lips connected onto yours. A passionate kiss coming from both of you. You slowly break away, still determined to make him feel good - he can't help but accept the offer. He picks you up, a small yelp erupting from your throat as he takes you to his room.

"Can't say no to you, pretty girl.."

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pls don't steal my work :p

#leon kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy resident evil #resident evil #best friend leon kennedy

[holylulusworld]

A different kind of Valentine

Summary: Your fiancé breaks your heart on Valentine’s Day out of all days.

Pairing: former!(any male character) x fem!Reader, Mafia!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, break-up, mentions/implied cheating, making out with a stranger, language, drinking, tipsy reader, a little fluff

Promises shouldn’t be broken.

Promises are meant to be kept. Right?

Love should be strong and unbreakable. If you swear to someone that you love and adore them, you cannot take it back so easily.

How could your fiancé take the words he whispered lovingly not months ago back?

“I can’t do this anymore,” he replied coolly when you asked why his suitcases were standing in the hallways. You believed he must go on yet another business trip.

That he wants to leave you never crossed your mind.

How foolish of you to believe that he wants to stay and keep his promises.

Shell-shocked you watched him grab your hand to slide his grandmother’s ring off of your finger.

You couldn’t think, speak, or even whimper. All you saw was the man you loved turn his back on you.

He stuffed the ring into his pocket, murmuring someone else’s name under his breath. You knew the name. Once in a while, he mentioned his assistant.

Of course, he had to turn your breakup into a cliché. He had to bang his secretary and leave you for a younger model.

If not for the tears running down your face, and the heaviness in your heart, you’d laugh at the fucked-up situation. It felt like you ended up in a bad rom-com slash comedy movie. The only difference was people weren’t laughing at the bad joke your life turned into.

“You can’t be serious,” oh, you finally found your voice. “Why are you doing this? Did you get bored? Is it the wedding? We could’ve talked things out.”

“That’s not it.” He grunted in your direction.

“Is she prettier? Better in bed,” you got angrier and louder. “Does she like it up her ass? Is it that?” You threw the next best things at him, making a scene. “What is it? Huh? Is her cunt squeezing your tighter?”

“You’re just not it!” He bit back and threw his hands up in surrender. “Can you not do this right now? How about you don’t throw a tantrum? People break up all the time!”

“Five years and that’s all I get?” You yelled. “I deserve better than a lame excuse! I want to know what happened to us!”

“I love her because I don’t love you anymore!” He yelled back, making you flinch at his outburst. “It’s not only that the sex is better. She’s all I ever wanted in a woman. You got too comfortable and want to cuddle on the sofa instead of going out and blowing me off behind a bar.”

“What?” You huffed. “I was the one trying to drag you off the couch! You only ever went out with your buddies.” He ignored your tears, and that your voice cracked. “I guess this never mattered. You had to fulfill the cliché. So, go ahead. We will see if she can make you happy.”

You stormed toward the door, blindly grabbing your keys and phone. It was impossible to stand there, staring at the gifts you placed on the coffee table in the living room.

“If you are still here when I come back, I’ll stab you right in the face,” you looked over your shoulder at the man who used to be your moon and stars. “If you touch my shit, you are a dead man. I will find you and your whore and turn you into dog food.”

“Another one,” you slammed the glass down onto the bar counter. “Make it a double.” You placed fifty bucks onto the empty glass. “No, give me the bottle. I think I’ll drink it at home.”

“We don’t sell the bottle for you to take it home,” the bartender gruffly replied.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You glared at the burly guy. “I can drink the whole bottle at the bar, but I can’t pay for it and take it home?” Quirking a brow, you look at the man.

“House rules.”

“Fuck this,” you grabbed the fifty bucks and stuffed the money into your bra. “I’ll get more at the next liquor store. Fuck you, and all of you.”

“All of us?” The bartender asked with amusement.

Storming out of the bar you huffed again. “Fuck Valentine’s Day.” You muttered and walked away, almost running a guy over.

You glared at him and bared your teeth.

“Assholes with a ding-dong between their legs. You are all the same. Useless and worthless…”

“Hey, watch your step, doll,” the guy snickered when you threw your clutch at him. “Ouch, what do you think you are doing?” The man caught your clutch just in time.

“Fuck you too!” You poked two fingers into his chest. “You are no better than the bartender and my lovely fiancé. All of you are useless and have a limp dick. No man is worth my time.”

You snatched the clutch out of the man’s hands. “Language, lady,” he said, his voice now dangerously low. “If you don’t watch your tongue, someone might teach you some manners.”

“Oh, and you are that kind of man,” you slapped him across the face with your clutch. “Who do you think you are?” Usually, you wouldn’t attack a stranger in the dead of the night, but you were a little tipsy, and still mad because of the events of the day. “Threatening a woman.”

“Sweet cheeks,” he said while rubbing his face. It was still red from the slap, and he considered his next step. “I wouldn’t dare to raise my hand against you.” The man stepped closer to grab your clutch. “I said—” He grabbed you by your throat and slammed you against the wall, “I’ll teach you a lesson.”

“I’ll scream,” you began to race. Maybe you messed with the wrong guy. “Get off me.”

“Yeah, you will scream,” he smirked darkly and leaned closer to whisper in your ear. “I’ll make you scream my name, doll. So, what will it be? Do you want me to make you scream, or do you want me to make you whimper my name?”

“That’s not a choice!” You complained. “I have had enough of selfish men believing they can toy with me and my heart. I’ll cut yours out if you dare to touch me.”

“A cocky one,” he dropped his hand from your throat and pressed his hand against the wall, right next to your head. “Tell me, doll. Who hurt such a sweet girl?” He looked you up and down, hungrily roaming your body with his eyes.

“He—” You looked away and blinked a few times. “You’re not my therapist, and I’m not your problem.”

“You made it my problem when you attacked me because a douchebag hurt you. So, again. Who hurt you, doll?”

God, he smelled so good, and his lips tenderly pressed against your earlobe. You didn’t know what got into you, but you grasped for the stranger, taking him by supposed when you pressed your lips to his.

His hands grabbed your face, gently cradling it while he allowed you to dominate the kiss. “Doll,” he murmured against your lips. “You’re a little drunk, huh?”

“Make me forget about him,” you pleaded and fisted his jacket. “Here and now. Come on. Don’t be all talk.”

“I’d love to make you scream my name.” He pecked your lips twice. “I love me a crazy girl hitting me at first sight but, I won’t take advantage of you. You’re hurt, drunk, and a little lost. Let me take you home.”

“I don’t even know your name,” you gasped and stepped back. “I just kissed a stranger and asked him to fuck me. What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing is wrong with you, doll,” his features softened. “It’s alright. I’m a nice guy.” He smirked and laughed as you stepped back again. “My name is Bucky, okay. I’ll take you home if you want me to. Or I could call a cab for you.”

“Y/N,” you murmured your name, embarrassed about your actions. “Sorry. I didn’t want to attack you…or kiss you…or ask you to fuck me.”

“Y/N,” Bucky hummed. “A very nice name.” He said. “For an even nicer woman.” Holding out his hand Bucky waited for you to take it. “I won’t bite, promised.”

“Maybe I like it when you bite me,” you challenged him.

“Let’s stick to getting the alcohol out of your system,” Bucky wrapped his arm around your shoulders when you didn’t take his hand. “Doll, you shouldn’t stay here. We started on the wrong foot, but I’m not a bad guy.”

“What the shit!” You exclaimed loudly while you looked around your apartment. “That bastard had the guts to unpack the gifts I got him before leaving our home to bang that bitch.”

“Hmm…that him?” Bucky lifted one of your picture frames. “He looks like a douchebag. I was right.”

“Why did you come with me again?” You glanced over your shoulder at the stranger in your home. “I’m good. Really.”

“I won’t leave a pretty dame in need alone on Valentine’s Day,” Bucky said. “Not after that man left you for some other woman.”

“I’m fine,” you lied. “Just…mad.” You shrugged. “I had the whole day planned; you know. Dinner at our favorite restaurant, the perfect gift, and naughty underwear to…” You shook your head.

“His loss,” Bucky shrugged while looking at one of the gift bags on the table. “It should’ve been him making big plans for Valentine’s Day. If you love your lady, you spoil her.”

“He found someone prettier and sexier,” you sniffled. “He told me so. The man I loved fell in love with his secretary because he doesn’t love me anymore.”

“Again, his loss,” he stepped closer to look inside the gift bag, taking the lingerie out. “Red lace, huh?”

“He liked red…” You snatched the underwear out of Bucky’s hands. “I wanted to turn him on. It’s been a while since he was interested in doing more than sleep in our bedroom.”

“I’d say white suits you more,” Bucky threw the lingerie over his shoulder. “How about you change into your favorite outfit, and I invite you for dinner. No strings attached, doll.”

“You want to take me out?” You questioned.

“Please let me take you out,” he stepped closer to grab your hand. “You deserve to spend this day with someone who cares.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“Yet,” he said. “Let me get to know you, please.”

You nodded and agreed to go out for dinner with Bucky. It was a risk, but one you were willing to take.

Valentine reloaded

Tags in reblog.

#bucky barnes #mafia au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #A different kind of Valentine

[snapnov4]

marry me | gojo satoru

synopsis: a bad idea disguised as a practical joke turns into something way deeper than you intended it to be.

wc: 1.1k

cw: just good ol fluff!

a/n: happy late birthday to my baby daddy and man of my dreams gojo satoru. i have to marry this man. i have to i have to i have to. anyways. enjoy reading this cute little fic i wrote, meaning i thought abt gojo proposing as a joke and vomited this out. enjoy!

it starts, like all things involving gojo satoru, with a bad idea disguised as a practical joke.

you're sitting across from him, in a restaurant that’s not too fancy, more of a family-type deal. he's forgone his blindfold in favor of his square-framed glasses, but his uniform is still on. he insisted on treating you to dinner after you exorcized an unregistered special grade on your own. however, with gojo, things can't always be so easy; he always adds his patented gojo twist to things, and this time the twist is this terrible joke.

“come on, it'll be funny!” he whines, from across the table.

“you want to propose to me in this restaurant for free food? when you make well over six figures a year? and have full access to thousands of years of old clan money?” you ask, incredulously, reaching to take a sip of your drink, suddenly wishing you had gone with a stronger option.

“yes, exactly. what's not clicking?”

“uhmmm, all of it?”

“look it'll be funny. you could even say no, then you can run out and i get free food as pity points,” he smiles at you, and you find it hard to keep saying no. “i mean, they'll probably all call you heartless and tell me i deserve better but that's fine.”

“okay and if i say yes, what about a ring? or the fact that we're not even together? how is anyone going to believe you?” you ask, thinking you've backed him into a corner, until he just sighs softly, keeping an easy smile, and reaches into his pocket. he pulls out a black velvet box, and shakes it a bit by his head.

“you think i hadn't planned for that?” he asks, smirking in your direction, trying to hold back laughter at your aghast expression, you drag a palm over your face, finally conceding.

“okay. fine! fine! just…try not to embarrass me. please?”

“no promises! also the waitress is coming this way, so get ready. tears are optional but preferred.”

you roll your eyes at his statement, your gaze following him closely when he stands up and walks over to your side of the table. you look around desperately hoping that no one will actually have their attention drawn to you but the thing about gojo is wherever he goes he commands attention. consequently, when he stands at a whopping 6’7 everyone’s already looking, and when he drops down on one knee in front of you, holding that little velvet box in front of you, you catch people’s smartphones shooting up immediately, great. and you're sure the vision of jujutsu’s strongest sorcerer, taking off his sunglasses and holding up a ring box to you would haunt you forever. you think right under reverse cursed technique in his list of talents, they should add acting, because the look in his eyes almost feels real.

the way your name falls so delicately from his lips, before he clears his throat, feigning nervousness. the way he struggles at first to look you in the eyes, the ring sparkling in the dim lighting. he starts:

“you are truly the most beautiful woman i've ever met, inside and out. to know you and love you is a pleasure too great for words, and i want to continue living in it every day. will you marry me?” you roll your eyes, but the smile across your face is genuine, maybe he was right, maybe this is funny. so you have no issue, saying yes, throwing your arms around his neck as he spins you around, delicately sliding the ring onto your finger. the two of you giggle all the way back to jujutsu tech, containers of your free leftovers in hand.

and so it becomes a tradition.

satoru continues to propose to you every time the two of you get the chance to have dinner together, and despite all your better judgment, you laugh and say yes every time.

and what started as a joke, turned tradition, starts to morph into something else.

satoru notices it on a summer day. you're out with the students, supervising them as they spar. the sun’s been beating down for days, he's standing beside you his eyes trained on your hands. your left ring finger has a tan line, it's from that ring. you're not wearing it, you returned it to him last night, forgetting to give it back after dinner and then desperately trying to get your schedules to align for at least five minutes, but he'd been out of town for a week and when he finally got back late last night to find you working on paperwork in your office, he didn't know why it felt like his heart sank when you slid the ring off and put it in his hand.

now, the box feels heavy in his pocket (when did he start carrying it all the time?) and he looks at you with so much adoration that had his blindfold not been on, he'd look like a love-struck puppy to any passerby. you'd been wearing the ring so much it's left a mark on you, it's obvious you'd been wearing it, the tan line a stark reminder that it was there; and something about it makes satoru wish he could make the next proposal permanent. you turn your head to him, smiling softly.

“the first years are something else this year, gojo, did you see yuuji and maki spar? they're going places,”

and he's not sure why but before he can stop himself he's blurting out:

“let me take you on a date.”

you sputter and falter, turning fully to look at him, “are you being serious?”

he nods, that goofy smile of his making you weak to his every whim, it's the same one he gave you that night at that dinner table; the same one that made you start this tradition.

so he takes you out, and then that becomes a tradition. still every day, he thinks of the way that ring looked on you whenever he slid it on your finger, and how he felt rejected every time you gave it back. he'd clear his schedule if he knew he could have dinner with you, just to see the smile you couldn't stop whenever he got down on one knee.

satoru doesn't propose anymore. he figures the next time he does it, he should be serious about it since you're his girl now. on a tuesday night, you're sitting with him on the couch, your legs are thrown over his lap and he looks at you, focused so intently on a book you've been dying to finish, the bookmark always staying near the end as you get called into emergency exorcisms, and he knows. he fishes that ring out of his pocket, the same one he gave you in that restaurant almost two years ago, and there's no fanfare, no cameras, no theatrics. he just opens the box, looks at you, and says,

“hey baby, let's get married.”

and just like the first time, you smile and say yes.

#gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #jjk x reader #gojo fluff #gojo satoru fluff #jjk fluff #vela is a softie #vela loves gojo #fics #trying out a new header style also #got tired of finding those stupid manga panels

[d1xonss]

so ours babys a lil insecure bc of reader and his lil age gap he vents it to rick a little and since shes such a social butterfly literally talking and befriending everyone he gets upset and starts to think lowly of himself like theres younger men men who arent busy leading the community so they can spend all their time and affection on her blah blah he gets these crazy thoughts and she comforts him eases all his worries ):

Forever

✧ Pairing : Daryl Dixon x Reader

✧ Era : Season 6

✧ Pronouns : she/her

✧ Genre : Angst/Fluff

✧ Word Count : 3.1k

AN ~ Aww sad:(( but we love Reader comforting Daryl, it's one of my favorite things to write. And an age gap too?? I love it. Hope you enjoy!

“You’re ridiculous.” Rick spoke with a scoff.

Daryl’s eyes narrowed slightly at the man, not necessarily because of what he had claimed, but because it almost seemed like he hadn’t listened to him at all.

He already felt a little ashamed going to his friend in the first place to talk about how he was feeling, something the man rarely ever did. But that alone showed how desperate he seemed to be for any kind of advice, willing to put himself out there to express what had been going through his mind recently in hopes of some sort of reassurance.

He didn’t really know what had been going on with him recently, but ever since the group had made it to Alexandria, his insecurities slowly began to eat him alive. He started to take note of his appearance a little more, now that they actually had mirrors in the houses provided for them, seeing for himself how much older and tired he really was. It shouldn’t have bugged him as much as it did, but yet, it seemed to be all he thought about. And that constant loop of thoughts only traveled to another, thinking about how much living on the road seemed to age him, while the woman he was madly in love with stayed so young and beautiful.

She was absolutely perfect, not a single flaw, while he on the other hand had countless ones that he couldn’t seem to just get over and ignore. But that wasn’t the only aspect about her that seemed to cloud over his mind. She was quite the extrovert, making friends everywhere she turned as she was constantly radiating such a good and friendly energy. It even drew him in towards her from the start, falling victim to her charming personality. Though it wasn’t her kindness that made him a little more self conscious than before; it was the fact that a few younger men had obviously taken a liking to her natural sweetness ever since they moved here.

Now he knew that she would never cheat on him, the thought never even crossed her mind, but that still didn’t stop his jealousy from bubbling over to a point of no return. Wanting to beat the shit out of any guy who looked at her for just a little too long. He wasn’t blind by any means, and some of them had a hard time hiding the sneaky glances they were taking at his woman whilst she was just in her own little world.

Though the longer he seemed to stew over it for the months and months they had lived there, it made him start to wonder if maybe she would be better off with someone else. Someone a bit younger, more energetic, more outgoing. Someone that matched her personality better than he did. It was no secret that they were polar opposites, but he always imagined that they completed each other in a way, not even thinking twice about it. However, now that he had all the time in the world to think, it slowly started to consume him, thinking more about how he didn’t deserve her at all. But hell, maybe no one deserved her. 

The man then seemed to snap out of his thoughts, scoffing toward Rick who was looking at him with a small smile, “Man, m’ bein serious.” he grumbled.

“So am I.” Rick shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he tilted his head a bit at him, “I really don’t think you have anything to worry about man. You two are always attached at the hip, she loves you…I think you might just be in your own head about it.”

He sighed heavily as he thought to himself for another moment, his thumbnail in his mouth as he contemplated why he was confiding in Rick in the first place. At this point he had it in his head that the man was just telling him what he wanted to hear. “I dunno…” he eventually muttered in response.

Rick only shook his head, “You shouldn’t be so focused on this. You’ve always known how nice she is, everyone loves her-”

“Man, that ain’t the problem. I already told ya that.” Daryl interrupted with irritation in his voice.

“I know…I know.” he assured, “I guess I just don’t see the connection of how you came up with the idea that she suddenly deserves someone “better.”

The archer shook his head with a light scoff, “Seein her talkin with those guys…something kinda just clicked that she should be with someone more fit for her…” he trailed off for a moment, before pathetically shrugging his shoulders again, “I dunno.”

Rick honestly couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Although, he could, he knew that Daryl sometimes got like this, thinking he didn’t deserve the things that he was given. But he never thought he would be standing here listening to him speak about how you would be better off with someone else. Anyone who even caught a glimpse of the two of you could easily see how in love you were with each other. He swore the sight could potentially make someone sick.

The man then cleared his throat, “Well…if you want to know what I think, I say you should talk to her.”

“Talk to her?”

Rick couldn’t help but laugh at how baffled he looked at the suggestion, “Yeah, talk to her. Besides, I think she’ll have a better chance at reassuring you about this than I will, she seems more fit for the role.” he joked.

But Daryl on the other hand scoffed, not exactly loving the idea, “This shit’s already embarrassing, why would I wanna bring it up to her? Didn’t even really wanna bring it up to you.”

“Thanks.” Rick said dryly before stepping closer to slap a hand on the man’s shoulder, “But just trust me on this, alright? You need to tell her how you’ve been feeling. Because if I know you at all, I know you want to keep this bottled up. But that’ll just make it worse and you know it.”

He was right. As much as Daryl hated to acknowledge it, he knew deep down he was right.

But that didn’t stop him from wanting to put it off every chance he got, pushing it into the back of his mind as he always seemed to do in hopes that it would just go away. Though he knew it wouldn’t, he couldn’t bring himself to want to think about it right now.

He went home later that night utterly defeated and clueless on how to even approach the topic in the first place. When the time dreadfully came around, how would he even bring it up? He was never good with words, especially when it came to something about how he was feeling. It was all just stupid and complicated in his mind, not knowing how to actually piece together the things he wanted her to know. But he knew he had to try.

The front door opened and shut with a small creak as he entered the house, kicking his dirty boots off to the side before he softly called out your name. But all was quiet, not a single sound of your voice calling back to him, to which he only assumed you were still out somewhere in the community. It wasn’t often you stayed out this late, but he silently knew that if someone needed the extra help, you would do it in a heartbeat.

The older man sighed deeply to himself before trudging up the stairs, wanting to get out of the filthy clothes he was trapped in before settling for the night, waiting for you to come home. He couldn’t ever really fall asleep without you there. He didn’t know if it was because he would always worry too much if you weren’t right beside him, or if he just physically needed your touch to relax, but it had to be somewhere in that ballpark. Perhaps both…definitely both.

He entered your shared bedroom with a tired huff, beginning to undo the buttons on his vest before folding it sloppily and setting it off to the side on the dresser. His hands then moved to peel off his dirty shirt that stuck to every part of his tanned skin, raising it over his head before throwing it in the hamper across the room to be washed. He ran his hands through his hair to get it out of his face as he crossed the space to get himself another pair of pants to sleep in, when suddenly his movements stopped short.

The tall, full length mirror that sat off in the corner quickly caught his attention as he saw just a brief glimpse of his reflection dancing behind the glass. He blinked a few times as he knew he shouldn’t look too close, knowing it was only going to add fuel to the already ongoing fire. But a part of him couldn’t help it, seeing as it was too late now that he had taken notice of a few new flaws he hadn’t spotted before. It was like some kind of sinkhole that he couldn’t escape from, looking over the things he hated the most about himself over and over again.

He slowly stepped closer toward the object even though he knew he shouldn’t, seeing himself a little more up close as the moonlight poured through the window just above him to illuminate his figure. His eyes scanned everything he could make out in the slight darkness, seeing the wrinkles that were now more prominent on his forehead. Seeing the dark circles under his eyes from the exhaustion and stress that had been weighing on him constantly. And seeing the scars that littered over his entire body.

“Daryl?”

The man nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of your soft voice from behind him, spinning around to see you standing in the doorway. Your eyes widened a little in surprise. Never had you recalled a single time where you had been able to catch him off guard, accidently sneak up on him enough to make his heart skip. He had always been aware of his surroundings, the man had the instincts of a goddamn cat. So to say you were surprised when he hovered about five feet in the air at your presence, would be an understatement.

You raised an eyebrow at him in slight concern, “You okay?” you asked softly as you approached him with hesitance.

Daryl’s stomach had plummeted to his ass, a heat rising in his cheeks from embarrassment as you caught him staring down at himself for a bit longer than usual. He swallowed thickly as he saw you walking further into the room, nodding a bit quickly, “Yeah…m’ fine.”

Though the way he spoke was far from convincing, his voice coming out a bit higher than usual, and the reassuring smile he tried to send your way being a little too forced for you not to realize. Your eyes narrowed toward him in slight suspicion as you came to stand right in front of him, taking in his appearance. There was something that was clearly circling his mind, you had noticed for far longer than he thought you did. But you always knew when there was something off about him.

You gently reached out to grab one of his hands in your own, “Come on…don’t lie to me.” 

He sighed softly, knowing that he should just bite the bullet and tell you, but he couldn’t bring himself to just yet. “Just…just had a rough day. That’s all.” 

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” you said with a slight shake of your head, watching as he furrowed his brows a little in question. “You’ve been acting off for weeks now, you really didn’t think I was going to notice?”

His eyes widened. Shit. 

A small smirk formed on your lips as you clearly saw that you had caught him in a little white lie. It was written all over his face. You squeezed his hand in reassurance, “I’m not upset…I just want you to talk to me.”

He knew he couldn’t avoid it forever, especially after Rick gave him that little wake up call earlier to just rip the bandage off. But he hoped he could put it off for at least a few more days, wanting a little more time to prepare the things he wanted to express to you honestly. Though he could tell just by the way you were looking up at him, that you wanted answers, and he couldn’t just ignore what was standing right before him.

He sighed softly as he looked at the ground for a moment, before slowly nodding his head, “Alright…” he started, not even knowing where to take this. “Look…maybe…maybe this ain’t workin.” he blurted without thinking.

Your eyes widened a little, “What?” 

Daryl’s eyes then grew as well realizing just how bad that sounded, quickly shaking his head, “No, no, I- I mean…that ain’t how I meant for it to sound at all.” he reassured, before taking another moment to collect his racing thoughts. “I’ve been…thinkin recently and…I ain’t gettin any younger. Hell, I feel like I aged five extra years just from bein out on the damn road for so long.”

You nodded along slowly, not really seeing where this was heading, “So?”

He sighed softly, “So…I’ve been thinkin bout how…maybe…ya deserve to be with someone a little more fit for ya. Someone younger than me…someone who can give ya what I can’t.” he spoke almost regrettably, like he dreaded even saying those words out loud in the first place.

The truth was, he never wanted to let you go, that was a knowing fact that didn’t need to be proved. But at the same time, he didn’t want to hold you back from a chance at a better life. One that you so clearly deserved.

But your expression seemed to soften drastically, now hearing his explanation out loud, it all seemed to click in your head. Why he had been acting off for the longest time, it was because he was just thinking too much about something that meant absolutely nothing. When you first noticed his odd behavior, you automatically assumed you had done something wrong without realizing. But now hearing it out loud, hearing how hurt he sounded, all you wanted to do was hold him and never let him go. Wanting to reassure him for the rest of your lives if you had to that he was truly the only man you would ever want.

A small huff passed through your lips, “Sweetie…that’s what this is about?”

Daryl shrugged a little in response, “Well…yeah. I’ve seen ya makin friends with a lot of the people round here…it just crossed my mind that…maybe-”

“Stop.” you said gently as you moved even closer to him, reaching up to give his arms a gentle squeeze, “Don’t say another word.”

His gaze softened as he stared down at you, regret filling him completely as he saw just how his words had affected you.

“I love you…so much.” you whispered as your gripped his arms a little tighter, “I’m not looking at anyone else…I don’t want anyone else. No one else on this whole damn planet would be a better fit for me than you. I don’t need some younger guy. I’m not even friends with them, they only come talk to me if they have a question about something. And most of them aren’t very bright.” you said bluntly, earning a small chuckle from him. “I just wish you had told me about this sooner.”

He bit his lip a bit shamefully, “I know…m’ sorry. I just thought…ya might be better off-”

“I won’t.” you insisted, “You’re all I will ever need…you hear me?”

A small smile grew on his face upon hearing that, knowing that you meant every word. Though there was still another thing hovering over his mind. “Even though m’ an old man?” he asked half heartedly, though a part of him was still serious.

You rolled your eyes a bit, “Just because you’re older than me doesn’t make you an old man.” you laughed softly, “But if that’s something you’re really worried about…I promise to stick around even when you’re eighty.” you winked.

His lip quirked up a bit in amusement as he reached out to place his hands on your hips, gently tugging you closer, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” you nodded, “You won’t get rid of me that easily.”

You then felt his thumbs start to rub soothingly along your hip bones, still a little unsure if this was truly what you wanted. To be with someone like him. “Ya promise?” he eventually asked.

You tilted your head a bit at him, “Come on…what do I have to do to convince you that I want this forever?”

The man was silent for a long moment as he thought to himself, absentmindedly still running his thumbs along your hips as he stared down at you. The truth was he didn’t really need anymore convincing than what you had already told him. Just by the small bit of reassurance you provided, he felt as though he was lighter, a weight being lifted from his shoulders knowing you were his. But still, he couldn’t imagine a more perfect time to make it even more official.

“Marry me.”

Your eyes widened a little in surprise, not expecting him to be so blunt let alone say those words to you at all. He never really struck you as someone who would want to get married at a time like this, but it’s not like you minded. As long as you were with him, that’s all that truly mattered to you.

Only now it felt as if the wind was knocked out of you, hearing him utter those words so clearly as if he meant it with his entire being. You couldn’t help but laugh a bit nervously, “Don’t joke about that, cause you know I will.”

He smiled down at you, shaking his head softly, “M’ serious.” he assured, raising one of his hands to run his thumb along your cheek, “Marry me.”

A lump began to form in your throat as you felt yourself get a little more emotional seeing how real this was becoming. Seeing how serious he was. He really wanted this.

“Okay.” you whispered with a small nod of your head.

His smile only grew, “Okay?”

You nodded a bit more frantically as a large smile broke out onto your face, “Yes…yes I’ll marry you.”

He chuckled, pure relief and happiness filling him completely as he picked you up in his arms, spinning you around lightly as you squealed in surprise. Though he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to seal the deal as he gently set you back down on your feet, kissing you deeply as he felt you hum into his mouth. A part of him almost couldn’t believe that you had agreed, wanting to truly be with him forever. But then again, with the way you looked at him, with the way you said yes with little to no hesitation at all, he knew. You were his forever.

~ Thanks for reading!

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon the walking dead #daryl dixon x oc #daryl dixon twd #daryl fanfiction #daryl twd #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x original character #the walking dead imagine #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead daryl #the walking dead #twd daryl dixon #twd fanfiction #twd daryl #twd #norman reedus #norman reedus fanfiction #norman reedus x reader

[1800titz]

HI. HELLO. Here is my Valentine’s Day contribution. POTTERYINSTRUCTOR!HARRY!! POTTERY MAN! WOOO. Basically almost 7K of clay sexualization and sexually charged fluff (ish). Enjoy! :D

CONTENT/WARNINGS: ridiculous sexualization of clay (I think I’ve managed to fetishize clay in this one??? OOPS), overly suggestive usage of pottery terms, a red-hot, hands-on tutorial for wheel throwing, and embarassingly long descriptions of Harry’s fingers coated in wet clay.

WC: 6.6K

slip: small bits of dry clay mixed with water to create a thick, creamy consistency

Clay is innately erotic. 

Wheel throwing is, arguably, the most pornographic art form, its only competing opponent being, maybe, literal body-painting. And that latter one still falls as a close second. Close, but second. 

Y/N decides that when she wanders into a little ceramics shop tucked away in a busy plaza downtown. There’s no method to her exploration, but the broad glass windows are adorned with dripping, colorful graffiti and its innards call to her. GLAZED, reads the large sign over the awning in blocky, white lettering, stippled with un-glowing light bulbs that she’s sure light alive in the night. 

It’s a cute shop. 

Upon entrance, the young woman discovers tables, as if set up for arts and crafts, crackling, clay covered wheels with shorter stools, and long, tall rows of shelving brimmed with colorless sculptures lining the walls. Despite its packed interior, the studio seems empty of people and quiet besides the soft notes of RÜFÜS DU SOL leaking from the overhead speakers. She roams beside the line of wheels over to a shelf by the door, admiring the myriad of statues there, some obviously crafted with expertise and elegant artistry, and others lopsided efforts that probably deserve a pitied gold star for effort. 

Her eyes are caught on an unpainted little ashtray that’s got a crooked sort of bee in the center when her gaze breaks away to the sound of footsteps. Maybe the shop isn’t as abandoned as she’d previously believed — a man appears from behind a row of white shelving stacked with more unfinished pottery. 

He’s a pretty man, that much she can decide from the downturned slope of his nose and his distracted lash line, focused on twisting the navy rag in his left hand over the tip of his right index finger. A dark baseball cap shrouds his hair, but little brunette tufts sneak out in curled bunches around his ears. That’s where Y/N finds a fun, little red-tinted pearl dangling from one lobe. He’s tatted in patchwork art — a mermaid with its tits out peeks at her from his forearm, soaked over and shining. She assumes he must have just been rinsing clay from that forearm, from his hands, no longer visible over his skin. However, streaks of dried gray stain over his white tee in crackling lines, like an old lamination on a well-loved t-shirt that’s been cycled through the washer one too many times. When he pulls the rag away, she discovers a shade of bright red that’s been painted over his nails.

Almost as if he can sense her presence without looking, his sneakers pause on the tile and he steals a peer up. Yes, he’s quite a pretty man, even when his features shape something caught off guard.

“Hello.”

His voice is rich — this smooth, bass-deep sort of sound driving a foreign lilt, and Y/N thinks that if it weren’t for his lengthy fingers and his cherry polished nails, if it weren’t for his handsomely sculpted face, if it weren’t for his seemingly innate effortless demeanor and style, that voice alone could make her fold.  

“Hello,” she returns, aware that a nervous note plucks at her cadence, unlike his own casual greeting. I promise I’m not shoplifting clay pots in silence, she nearly tells him. 

Thank fuck for the ability to physically bite your tongue. 

“What can I help you with?” the man asks, sauntering forward a bit. It’s probably sort of a polite manner to say what the fuck are you doing here, and the longer the young woman stands in the middle of the empty shop the more out of place she feels, almost like this a private, little haven and she shouldn’t be in here right now.

The song shifts into its choral bass drop of electric keys. That fills the void of the silence as she swallows and fixes a little smile onto her face, fingers tightening over the strap of her tote. 

“Oh, I’m just looking.” 

The man purses his mouth and walks over to the counter, where the register is littered with paperwork and an eclectic collection of faux plants. He sets the rag down beside a floppy one with its green tendrils dangling over the edge. 

“See anything you like?” his hand pinches over his nose, like he’s scratching an itch, before he sniffs and pivots to apparently decrease their proximity, “We’ve got loads — you can make something yourself, or,” another step, and Y/N’s eye bounce from his shorts to his tattooed knees to the hems of his white socks. “…If you know sculpting isn’t your craft, we’ve got ready-to-paint-one's on that shelf there.”

Her gaze follows the direction of his finger, where pasty ceramic bunnies, and angels, and cars line the shelving in multiples. 

“I think—“ the young woman’s tongue peeks out to swipe over her mouth, words growing drier the longer she captures his stare. She focuses back on a lopsided rendition of strawberry, its leaves cradling over as a disconnected lid and its stem a crooked handle. “I like these. They’ve got so much character.” 

She blinks back over to him and watches a soft smile shape over the cushiony pink of his mouth.

It only takes a moment — one where her sight draws back to the strawberry jar for a smidge of a second, before he’s so close that she can smell his cologne, spiced and clean. She ogles his arm, his hand, the way he reaches out between them to cull the piece, mildly appalled by the way he palms the sculpture and dwarfs it in his easy grasp. It’s such a casual maneuver, made almost as if he’s not fondling over something it’d take anyone else two hands to hold. Y/N imagines the dimpled form of clay coated over to match the color of his nails.

“They do, don’t they? I like this one, too. S’a little …ugly, but, s’in, like, a…” the man’s features twist into something silly and pinched, and the young woman rolls her lips into her mouth to avoid exposing her amusement at the brutal candor. His words catch in his throat and bubble as a short laugh, “I dunno. It’s art.” 

He sets it back onto the shelf with a light clink, and turns to face her, posturing against a post in the shelving where the tiers have a break. An exhale becomes paired with his nonchalant lean, arms crossing over his pecs, and Y/N tries intensely not to stare like a hawk at the muscle there. 

“I’m afraid people are coming back for these, though. This row came out of the kiln…” forest green skids to the assortment and then bounds up to the ceiling like he’s in thought, before he casts his gaze back onto her, “…yesterday. And there’s a month-and-a-half window for someone to come back and glaze before we toss or sell them to be painted.” 

He’s chewing gum. Y/N realizes it when she admires the soft stubble coating his jaw, his cheeks — that’s when she notices the work of his jawline over the minty piece. He tips his head. “Did you want to try sculpting something?” 

The edges of her lips break bashfully. “I don’t know if I’d be any good at it.” 

One corner of the man’s mouth curls up lopsidedly, and the beginnings of a dimple nudge into place. He blinks and chews a little slower, “Have you ever worked with clay before?” 

Her delayed, little no is met with the lopsided beam growing even. He nudges with his chin, deliciously bulging arms still tucked over his chest, his playfully raised eyebrows like a wordless notion of have more faith in yourself, “Then you may just be the next Magdalene Odundo. We’ll make a pro sculptor out of you, yet.” 

Magdalene Odundo. Somehow, the name isn’t familiar, but simultaneously, somehow, it feels like a compliment. 

Y/N inhales as his digits shift over his tri’s. “Okay.” 

“Okay,” plush pink shapes a handsome smile, bordering bright white teeth in straight lines. The man tips his head towards the curved berry vase, and then looks back at her, “Did you want to do something like this? All these over here were made on the wheel.” 

Y/N muzzles telling him that she’s no inkling of an idea how someone can morph a lump of clay into a vase, nevermind on a big, spinning platform that moves faster than her eyes can keep up with. The man seems to pick up on the hesitation in her silence. 

“S’easy, I promise. I’ll show you how to throw.” 

Show her. Okay. At least she’s not going to head into vase-sculpting or wheel-throwing or …whatever he’d called it blindly, fumbling over a block of clay on a twirling tray like a slapstick skit personified. At least it means she’s going to stay in his presence. After a moment of thought, though, (and the way she notes that his eyes make unwavering, relaxed contact with her face the entirety of the silent pause), Y/N decides she’s not sure whether that last bit is actually a good thing, considering she’s probably milliseconds away from, like, bracing a hand onto a the shelf to match his level of coolness, or something. And then subsequently sending ceramic pots spilling and shattering over the tile.

She blinks. Her shoulders rise on her nervous inhale, and he makes one of those playful faces, like he’s waiting for her to agree. The young woman’s eyes wander to the line of chairs pressed to its counterparts of wheels. 

“I don’t wanna, like, trouble you—“ 

“You’re not. S’my job,” he tells her, crimson fingertips drumming. She catches sight of his fabric-clad pectorals flexing when he leans forward a little to tack on, “…And to be honest, it’d give me something to do besides fucking around with clay, which is what I’ve been doing for the last hour.” 

Her mouth purses and then settles. “Okay.” 

“Okay,” he says again, and then winds around through a row of little tables that resemble the set up of an art classroom, like the kind she’d have in school. She’s ashamed that her gaze wanders down the back of his arm to ogle the rest of his ink. 

“You can have a seat at one of those wheels,” he tosses over his shoulder as he heads, she assumes, to wind back around the same shelf he’d surfaced from behind, “Just give me a mo’, and I’ll be right back with some clay.” 

It takes Y/N a moment — mostly because she admires the view of his stature from behind as he migrates to a back hallway, irises roaming down the projection of muscles in his back showcased through his tee. They skim down his legs, down the backs of his knees, rest on toned calves. He’s gone far too quickly for her viewing pleasure. The young woman takes another glance at the uneven strawberry-esque vase, and then she pivots to step around the crowded assortment of wheels to crouch into one of those little roll-y stools, feet crossing and uncrossing in the cramped space. 

He’s a sexy man, Y/N decides. That’s the word she’d been looking for all along, although pretty would match the descriptors of his long lashes and his pouty pink mouth. He’s sexy, though, in his baseball cap and his little six-inch-inseam shorts (which show off the sculpt of his tanned thighs and the ink over his kneecaps). He’s sexy when he comes out from the back over to her wheel, a gunmetal gray ball of clay cradled in his palm like it’s not the size of two of her own. He’s sexy in the green eye contact he makes when he settles into a stool similar to her own, right across, when his thighs splay because he doesn’t have enough room to sit otherwise, when he rests his elbows over his knees and stretches one arm out to pass off the clay. That’s when their digits brush, because it’s sort of unavoidable. He manages to make eye contact through that, too. Sexy. 

“Okay. Clay,” the chilled ball the man hands off weighs her hand down, and Y/N’s gaze flickers up to meet his own when he instructs, “Toss it onto the wheel. Aim for the center.” 

The young woman pauses like she’s calculating her aim, gearing up without visibly gearing up, and a little smile tugs at the instructor’s mouth as he waits. The clay lands with a thud onto the plate. 

“Great,” he tells her, monitoring the centering, and then jade bounces back up to her face as he coaxes, “Smack for good luck.” 

Y/N curbs the corners of her mouth out of mirth, hesitating for a moment before her palm lands over the smooth, gray lump in a halfhearted pat. She blinks up, hoping for assurance. The handsome man’s mouth purses like he’s restraining a grin. 

“Harder,” he encourages after a second, the corners of his muted raspberry mouth seeping up a smidge, more openly, “S’not gonna cry. You can go a little harder than that.” 

The young woman rolls her lips into her mouth, raises her hand, and follows his request, molding it flatter under the solid thud of her palm. Evidently, it’s a better attempt, because she earns a, “Very good,” in response from him.

She casts her gaze up to find him dipping his hands into the pot of murky water beside the wheel before a fist knocks lightly at the pedal-resembling lever on the opposite side, sending the wheel into a speeding twirl. And to add to her list of shame, the liquid that coats his fingers — that’s. 

Yeah. 

Y/N swallows and watches those wet hands cup over the clay, partly mesmerized by the way he coaxes the priorly deformed lump into a symmetrical cylinder, stroking up from the base up and back down, and partly mesmerized by the way the cherry polish becomes daubed with slicked clay. 

“I’m just gonna get it nice and easy for you, and then you can get to the fun bits,” the man tells her as if he isn’t currently awakening some deep, deviously sexual desires in her by fondling clay. Jade flickers up. “M’Harry, by the way.” 

“Y/N,” the young woman tells him in response, unsure whether to focus on his searing eye contact or the gentle press of his hands over … oddly erotic artistry in motion.

Harry unwittingly makes the decision for her by breaking the eye contact and glancing down at his work. 

“Y/N,” he says, as if testing the taste of her name on his tongue. 

Y/N takes a breath, smoothing her hands down her thighs. 

“Y/N,” his strawberry mouth parts a tad for a soft breath in, honey smooth cadence glazed in concentration as he presses a flat palm over the top of the clay, keeping his other hand cupped over the length. 

She watches the cylinder mold under his grip into something shorter, and then back up. She watches the way his arms flex, anchored to his body as he presses with the heels of his palms to sculpt. 

“This is called coning. Makes the clay centered so your grip stays nice and even when it spins. Otherwise, s’gonna wobble, and you’ll feel it when you’re trying to work with it.”

Sure enough, after a few moments, when the man takes his clay-sullied palms away, what’d priorly been a lopsided hunk twirling over the platform stands symmetrically, shining post his wet grip. When he balls his hand into a fist and punches over the lever a handful of times, the plate slows to a stop. He blows out a breath and the music shifts to the next track in the background.

“Take your bracelet off for me.” 

The comment is made totally innocuously. Its purpose is solely to preserve the condition of her jewelry — she knows that when his eyes go to meet hers again and he mentions, “Otherwise, it could get covered with clay, or break. Wouldn’t wanna ruin such a pretty piece.”

But it’s the way he says it, right? Two little words, so easy off his tongue. So nonchalant, so purely intended with no ulterior motive. For me. For me, for me, for me. 

It’s shameful — she’s ashamed. She’s no better than a man, Y/N decides, as she peers to the silver bangle with the sliver of warmth slithering through her chest and snaking to her tummy. She’s no better than a man, objectifying this poor, effortlessly sexy ceramics instructor and his casual commentary on a Wednesday. She swallows. 

“Right. Thanks— thank you,” the young woman tells him, her tone garbled with nervous enthusiasm as the fingers of her opposite hand wriggle under the clasp to pop the piece off. 

She’s still feeling dubious about the morality of her thoughts once she’s slipped the bracelet into her tote by her feet and sat back up. 

“Alright,” Harry starts again, elbows braced to his sturdy thighs, “We’re gonna go over what this little thing over here does, because it’s good to know. It sets your speed. We’ve got options—“

Y/N watches the way his arm stretches, she eyes the tail of the mermaid, the lines of scales etched into his skin. His eyes meet her own again. 

“…Fast,” Harry knocks over the lever again with the butt of a vertical fist, a couple more nudges rocketing the wheel into a motion that dissolves priorly visible remnants of clay rings into fast-moving swirls with no decipherable borders. 

Another few nudges has the wheel skidding to a full-stop, and then stuttering back up into a spin when he taps over the pad once more. 

“…Slow,” Harry fixes his gaze back onto her face and watches the curious concentration there. The man sits back up a tad, elbows bracing over his splayed thighs and fingers crooked and lax, coated with slippery wetness and clay. “Find what feels good for you. S’different for everyone.”

Despite the way the directions are made so innocently, so obviously stated as a tutorial that’s not intended to be taken as something suggestive, Y/N finds a heat teeming over her cheekbones. 

“But, I recommend—“ her teeth lodge into the inside of her cheek with subtlety as the instructor hunches a little again, just a tad, to rap over the lever in a pair. The wheel speeds. “—Sticking to something around this.”

The pace of the wheel settles into an easy spin — something that’s still too quick for her eyes to keep up with, but apparently not the fastest setting, judging by the higher speeds he’d displayed moments prior. 

“Alright. Here’s where you come in with your undiscovered ceramic talents,” the instructor tells her, the edges of his mouth so obviously restrained, like he’s amused with his own playful banter. His eyes glinting softly under the buttery light cast by the overhanging lanterns,”M’gonna show you how to drill, but you’ll need to get your hands wet first.”

Harry sits back, elbows still braced to his thighs, hands now coated with slippery clay as he waits for the young woman to douse her own into the bucket. The liquid greets her palms with a welcome chill, and when she lightly cups over the cylinder, it slips under her hands with ease. The man clears his throat, and their digits graze again when he touches over her fingers to guide her grasp. Y/N tries not to focus on the way his hands make her own look as if they belong to a child. 

“You’re gonna take your thumbs—” Harry coaxes, all concentrated seriousness now, and the pad of his own brushes against the knuckle of her left, “—and press over the top, here. Right in the middle, just like that.” 

He takes his hands away and the clay rolls under her fingertips, a divot forming from the pressure of her thumbs. 

“Good. Now what you’ve done is you’ve indicated where you’re going to make the opening. And to do that—“ his hands return, unintentionally persuading her own to fall away and sort of hover stagnantly mid-air, in sullied awe, as he dips the tip of his index into the cleft they’d created together. 

As if hungry for the finger, the clay parts to swallow the pad of the digit. It broadens its starving mouth, and Harry steadies the spread with his thumb, his pointer delving against the inside of the deepening wall. His opposite hand cups over the body as he molds the opening wider. 

Anyways, what Y/N manages to learn from the impressive showcase, before Harry steals a glance to make sure she’s been observing (which she has, very focused, actually), is that clay-working is a dirty, dirty, lustrous art form. Especially under his fingertips. This is all very educational stuff. Perhaps the most impressive step of his tutorial, thus far, is the way that, in mere moments, he cups and strokes and caresses over the clay, drawing the opening tighter. It shrinks until it disappears, and when he smooths his hands over the rounded edges a few more times, the vessel that’s left is an entirely clean slate. Almost as if she hadn’t just spent the last few seconds ogling a weirdly pornographic display of a clay cavern opening in response to the touch of his long finger. This was a horrible mistake, Y/N thinks pitifully — she’s getting aroused by clay working. If there was ever a blaring red indicator that she needed to get laid, this is it. 

“I want you to try now,” Harry directs, totally nonchalant. This is just a casual Wednesday for him, Y/N realizes. He casually fingers clay with his sexy, long fingers, and thinks nothing of it. Maybe she’s just a horribly wound-up pervert. 

Still sort of stunned, she reaches out and cups over the cylinder, clumsily positioning her thumbs in a replication of the manner he’d shown her, aiming for the center and driving a divot into the top. 

“Mm. That’s good. Keep your elbows closer to your body,” he prompts, eyes flickering from her posture to her hands. “Like this.” 

Following his body language, Y/N mimics, ducking a tad and tucking her arms to her torso. After a few moments, she lifts her thumbs to find a centered indent, one that’s similar to the one they’d created together. 

“Lovely. Now,” the chair makes a little rolling sound over the tile as Harry shifts forward, clay-slicked hands (warm, despite their cool coating) cradling over her own to position, “You’re gonna cup here, and then take this finger and push here. Yep. Jus’ like that.” 

The instructor takes his grip away and encourages, “If you need more water, get your hands wet. You can tell you need it if there’s friction — you want it a little wet.” 

She wants it a little wet. Y/N decides, as she dunks her hands into the bucket and returns to the clay, she in fact does not want anything wet right now. This is the last place she wants something wet. Her thoughts are disturbed by the way he grasps her at her hands again and repositions — twisted by the slippery feel of his own wet fingers. The clay over his palms has begun to dry now, morphing lighter and crackling, but the tips of his digits are still soaked and darker in shade. She’s awed when the cylinder gives under her touch, the same way it had for him to encompass her finger. It’s like magic, sort of. Very slippery, wet, weirdly erotically undertone-d magic. 

“There you go,” Harry tells her, baritone soft, “You’re a pro.” Then, after a moment, “You can go a little harder. Don’t be shy. Open it up.” 

She’s not blushing. She’s not blushing, because that would be silly. She presses harder, and the opening widens until it gapes. 

“How long have you worked here?” the young woman asks, naturally trying to change the subject from wet and hard things. Hopefully in an organic enough manner that doesn’t imply how affected she is by said wet and hard things. 

“I bought this place a few years ago,” Harry responds after a second, tone concentrating as he reaffixes the firmness of her grasp (she tries not to verbally apologize, glancing up), “…Both units. It was a smoke shop before, I think.” 

“Oh!” her hands stutter again in surprise, “Are you the owner?” 

He fixes them again, brows pinched, and when he glances up, his brow bone is smooth and there’s a soft smile playing over his mouth. “Indeed I am.” 

“It’s …beautiful in here,” Y/N tells him, gaze walloping from shelf to shelf for a moment, lantern lined ceilings to vine-coated crown molding, trusting that his hands will keep her own grounded to the piece. 

“Thanks. It’s a little crowded, but if you manage to get lost among the …phallic statues and the clay bongs,” he cocks his head, blatantly bridling a simper as he shrugs. At the response of her snort, jade flickers up and the plush of his mouth curls more obviously, “…You’ll find your way out of the maze soon enough.” 

As the walls of the clay grow thinner, the instructor takes his grip away, swiping at his forehead with the back of his hand. “Alright. What are we going for here? A mug? A vase? A bong masquerading as a vase?” 

Y/N takes the lack of his touch as an indication to lighten her own. She purses her lips thoughtfully. “A vase.” 

“A vase,” the instructor parrots, voice low, and then he hunches back over and cups the clay. The young woman returns her hands to meet his own. “I can work with that. We’re gonna build it up. You’re gonna squeeze and lift. Right—“

If his fingers keep brushing hers for the duration of the next …half hour? Hour? (How long does throwing take?), Y/N decides she’ll simply combust. His hands cup lightly over her own, two digits pressed to hers, and hers pinned to the inner wall of the clay in sin. 

“—Here. That’s it. You can be a little aggressive. We’ve gotta get it tall.”

Y/N swallows.

“You said you own both units?” she ponders aloud, “Is there …more?” 

“My place,” Harry tells her nonchalantly, as if it’s the most casual, normal, every day thing to live over a ceramics studio, “S’just over on the next floor.” 

“That’s—“ she realizes her grasp has lightened again, the integrity of the structure mostly only crawling up under the pressure of his own (steady, firm) grip over hers, “…so cool. To have, like, a whole studio right under you.” 

“Mm. I think right now…” Harry cranes his neck to peer up at the ceiling, “We’re under my kitchen.” 

A little breath of mirth tumbles from her when he grins and tacks on, “I think this is way cooler, though.” 

This is The Turning Point. 

And if it was a scene title in a play, Y/N thinks it would be capitalized to denote the importance. It’s important, because somewhere along the trail of her perversions, as Harry had guided her hands into the innards of the clay — fittingly describing it as the body — when he’d pressed his hands against her own to widen its base, when he’d shown her the sponge, things had clicked. It had clicked because she realized she wasn’t fucking crazy. Because Harry then said this thing — this one little thing that would have launched her into a frenzied, internal mess of dubious morality on the basis of her perversions—

But then it clicked. 

“Careful with the amount of water you’re using now, yeah?” he’d told her, maneuvering her grip over the sponge as they’d smoothed over the lip together, “S’all about balance. …If you go too hard, you’ll make a wet mess.” 

Y/N had glanced up. That’s when she’d noticed the way the instructor gnawed into his cheek, almost immediately, almost as if he was amused by some sort of devious inside joke. And then his blocky front teeth had dug lightly into the plush of his pink bottom lip. It was nearly unnoticeable — but she had noticed. Clay was innately erotic, and he was doing it on purpose. It was one, or the other, or both. 

For a little while from there, they work in blatantly charged silence. It’s a very short while, all things considered, and she’s willing to clam up altogether and daydream about his digits for the duration of the lesson, but the tone of his next words nearly gives her whiplash. 

“So what are you doing on this lovely Valentine’s day?” Harry breaks the silence, once again, his tone so even and nonchalant that Y/N can’t begin to fathom where his composure comes from. 

The young woman clears her throat, “Oh. Y’know. Trying my hand at ceramics. The yuzh.” 

Jade doesn’t immediately jolt up when he ponders aloud, “Dinner plans?” 

“Not any on the calendar …that I’m aware of.”

His touch doesn’t lighten, but he does glance up, mouth all (apparently) disbelieving mirth, “You’re telling me you’re not being wined and dined tonight?” 

Feigning offense, the young woman sets her mouth into a line and nudges with her chin in a nod, joking, “Thank you for the reminder.” 

Harry laughs softly, one of those little breaths expelled through his nostrils, and he looks back down to the vase-in-progress, gentle grin undeniable. Y/N matches his amusement, faux indignation crackling. 

“You’re too pretty not to have a Valentine,” the instructor tells her, then, decibel low, almost like it was meant to be under his breath but also entirely not, and all Y/N can do is sit there with instant heat seeping to her face. Because that’s flirting. That’s definitely flirting. Her sexy ceramics instructor is helping her craft a vase out of clay on a wheel with his sexy hands, and he’s openly flirting. 

Y/N stuffs down how initially stunned she is to chew into her bottom lip and volley, “I bet you say that to every girl that comes in here.” 

Harry shrugs. It’s still almost an enraging level of cucumber-cool and composed. 

“Just the pretty ones.” He tacks on, after a moment, “And only on Valentine’s day. Don’t think that line would fit well on a random Wednesday.” 

Y/N snorts. She’s still basking in the pleasant warmth of the flattery when the man peers up and tells her, “I do accept tips, by the way, so. Feel free to leave a tip for the friendly service.” 

“I will—“ she snorts, restraining her open amusement at the way his brows crinkle in concentration as he helps her grip, “—definitely do that.” 

“Sick,” his tongue peeks out to swipe over his lips, disappearing back into his mouth as quick as the pink had showcased. Jade flits up, the corners of his mouth curled up in a little pause of silence, almost he wants to make it crystal clear he does not actually want a tip for hitting on her. 

Anyways, this is all a flustered mess. All of it. Y/N, the pot she’s sure will grow off-center and wobble under her shaky grip, all of it. 

“What about you?” the young woman takes a deep breath, hoping some sort of breathing exercise will help slow the buzzy flutter of her heartbeat, “Any wining and dining? For Valentine’s day?” 

“Not on the calendar,” Harry responds, sliding her own words back to her, his gaze still honed on the work ahead of them, now impressively morphed from a lumpy, shapeless ball into the beginnings of a vase, “As for how I’m spending my Valentine’s day, I did just show this one pretty girl how to shape and smooth. And now, …m’gonna show her how to shape some more.”

Y/N bats her lashes, and then she observes the work of his clay caked fingers, the way they curl and press over the vase in different points of the body, some motions widening the rim and some drawing it more narrow. He bids their tutorial a pause shortly after, explaining, “I’m gonna give you some creative freedom now. Figure out what shape you like.” 

Despite the slight disappointment budding at the close of their conversation, for now, the daunting task of unsupervised throwing is what probably surfaces on her face, more. The instructor catches it when he rolls back in the stool and stands, ogling her for a moment, mirthy mouth caving up in a way that suggests she must look like a deer in headlights. 

“It’s intimidating, but I believe in you. I’ll just be in the back for a sec, give me a shout if you need me.”

Y/N shifts her legs, pressing her thighs together when he adds, “Play around with it.” 

All in all, they manage to end the wheel session with (Y/N thinks, impressively) only a couple of hiccups, both being opportunities presented with unsupervised sculpting. When she’d played around with it (his words) a little too much and had coaxed a priorly even shape into something lopsided and petrifying, it’d swung around on the wheel, each turn quickening its slow but sure collapse. She’d called out for the instructor with a frantic note to his name. Of course, both times, Harry had come out from the back and patiently squeezed over the clay, hands and forearms jolting and flexing deliciously as he’d encouraged it back into something centered (yet another opportunity to stare at slick clay glazing over his fingers all over again), reassuring her that it was normal to struggle, especially with her first time. 

Y/N wonders if he’s constantly full of innuendos, or whether a ceramics studio is just innately an opportunity for double entendres. 

She tries not to make it too obvious when she stands on wobbling legs, when she brushes past him and catches soft notes of his cologne, clean and musky. When he directs her to the bathroom where she rinses clay from her hands into one of those artsy, utility sinks. When she sits at one of the tables, waiting for him to bring the vase over to her, torched and ready for additions, when he gives her another colorless lump. She tries not to make it obvious when she ogles more of his arms, the peek of his nipples through the white, clay-stained fabric of his tee shamelessly. She fears it’s utterly obvious how affected he’s made her, though, when she blinks up at his face, when he shows her what the different little tools in the cup do for sculpting. Y/N doesn’t even look away from him at the introduction of the first tool. She thinks that’s the one that must cross-hatch, driving little lines into the clay. 

“This is called slip,” Harry explains, dipping the tips of his index and middle fingers into the cup near the brushes with no hesitation. The consistency over his fingers, when he pulls them out, is like a wetter, creamier, sloppier variation of the same clay she’d worked with. 

Christ. 

“You put it over the lines you’ve carved to make more clay stick,” the instructor expands. 

Y/N swallows when he smears the consistency coating his fingers onto the lines he’d drawn, his gaze bouncing from his touch to her face. 

“Like, if you wanted to add a handle to a mug, you’d use this method. Or, alternatively,” the young woman focuses on the way the pads of the digits rub over the lines. They fade away. “It’s like an eraser. Careful with erasing, though. …Wet mess.” 

The latter is tacked on as a reminder, and it wonderfully reminds her of the heat coiling in the pit of her tummy. Wonderfully. She swallows again. 

“You can probably use that brush to apply the slip, though, if you don’t want to get your hands dirty again.” 

Flowers. She sculpts flowers with a searing heat between her thighs, because his added little comment of, “I don’t mind,” as he glances to the slip still glazing his fingers, implying that he doesn’t mind to get his hands dirty, does that to her. Y/N sculpts flowers and they settle into a comfortable sort of silence. It’s one where the only sounds are the soft music playing over the speakers and the occasional noise of pages turning from behind the counter as he leans over it and works through some kind of paperwork. She draws lines into the vase, and brushes on the slip, and presses creased flowers to decorate the bulbous body, concentration etching her features. 

She doesn’t notice when she goes over the hours of operation, and Harry doesn’t disturb her, doesn’t tell her that the shop’s been closed for nearly half an hour by the time she peers up and declares, “I’m done.” 

“You’re done,” the man repeats and sets the paperwork down, making his way over to the table where she’d set up, “Let’s have a look.” 

Y/N sits back admiring her artistry. All things considered, it’s sort of an ugly vase. Despite this, a sense of accomplishment buds in her chest as she stares at her creation. 

“I like it,” Harry tells her, nodding like he’s proud of a promising protégé, “It’s quite sweet.” 

“Thank you. What now?” 

“Now—“ the instructor props one hand onto the countertop and the other against his hip, “You wash your hands, you take a picture, and you come back in three weeks to sand it and glaze it.” 

Simple. It’s a simple set of instructions. Y/N brushes crackling, dried clay off of her fingertips against the cloth laid over the table, instinctively reaching for her purse. 

She blinks up at him expectantly, “How much?” 

Dimples wink awake with his soft simper, and he shifts his stance before he asserts, “Don’t worry about it.” 

The young woman’s features shape into something crinkled, something bemused and unwilling of a discount. She shakes her head and glances back down to the tote, “No, I have to pay you. What about your tip?” 

Harry crosses his arms over his chest, pecs flexing with the motion. Flexing, flexing, flexing, when will his muscles stop rippling? He sighs, cushiony mouth still smiling, “I think I’ll live. My tip was that I’ve helped you discover a hidden talent—“

Y/N snorts, eyeing the sloppy attachments to the shapely base, fingers still tucked over her wallet. 

“—It’d defeat the satisfaction and all the pride I’ve got now,” the man declares, shrugging. 

The unconvinced look she gives him coaxes him into a good-natured roll of his eyes, and Harry tuts before he compromises, raising his eyebrows, “But if you must tip me, you can tip me when you come back in three weeks, yeah?” 

Begrudged, the young woman takes her hand from the edges of her wallet. “Fine. Okay.” 

“Okay. Three weeks,” the man reminds her, a little smile playing over the plush of his mouth.

The world of ceramics is oddly pornographic, Y/N decides. But maybe clay isn’t innately erotic. Maybe it’s the way the man’s fingertips mold its shape, the way his digits look soaked in slip, the way his hands cradle over it as a wheel spins under his ducked stature. Maybe it’s the way his jade irises flit to her face when he makes an educational comment that’s obviously suggestive, Maybe it doesn’t have to do with clay, at all. Maybe it’s Harry.  

Maybe it’s the way he tells her, “If I were you, I wouldn’t miss it. Glazing is my favorite part.”

#harry styles #harry styles smut #(ish)? there’s a lot of innuendos in this one #harry styles dirty one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles one shots #harry styles fluff #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles valentine’s day fic #valentine’s day fic

[feelinmatcha]

❛ 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐎𝐊𝐀𝐘, 𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 ❜

description: your boyfriend tends to remind you that you're so easy to love. characters: alhaitham + scaramouche (wanderer) a/n: had this idea brewing in my drafts and decided to finish it off ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

"no, i'm not buying a book from a genre i don't even like."

that's okay, alhaitham will.

actually, the idea of giving you your own bookshelf would already be on his mind as soon as you've successfully moved in with him and kaveh. the only catch? kaveh insists that he builds it himself as a gift.

alhaitham subtly asks you of your favorite wood one evening in the kitchen over a heavy discussion of zaytun peaches that kaveh was supposed to buy earlier that morning. trust me, he already knows which wood you'd absolutely adore, but he took the precaution of asking once again just in case as he'd be quite perturbed that his plan didn't work out in the end like he intended. he wanted it to cater to you, not anyone else.

the topic drifted from zaytun peaches to the week's trending romance novel that you had finished reading a few days ago.

"haitham, you should put this on your to-be-read list!"

"really? what's the appeal, love?"

listen guys and girls, he wants to know why you'd recommend it to him!!!

give him every little detail on why!! you want him!!! out of all people!! to read it!!!

he really just wants to hear you talk about what you find interesting.

contrary to popular belief, he doesn't hate the romance genre. he just finds it... meaningless to read? the last time he gave it a try, there was no actual knowledge in it. just fictional love between fictional characters.

but of course, he would consider it if you were to suggest something. especially if the book has you running laps around the bedroom.

so he sets out on to the nearest bookstore when he's on his 'break' and purchases the same copy you had.

you're DISCOMBOBULATED. BAFFLED.

that night you two would be in bed, settling down for the night, and he whips it out-- his fingers spreads the pages near the ending of the book and he begins reading.

"babe... why are you reading my book?"

"no, it's my book. i bought my own so you wouldn't complain about me creasing the spine."

"but why'd you buy one?"

he side-eyes you, "you suggested the book."

"but i didn't think you'd actually... you didn't have to. i know you aren't fond of--"

"i'm fond of you, and that's enough."

"no, i don't want you starting a commotion here in public."

that's okay, scaramouche will.

he loves you with his entire heart, body, and soul.

if someone stares at you weirdly? they're already being glared down by him. if a salesperson says anything about your attire, your hair (or the absense of it), or your skin-- he's throwing himself across the stall and grabbing their shirt to bring them closer to you.

he makes them apologize.

a woman, a man, an elder, a kid-- doesn't matter. as long as they got a mouth that can yap, he's gonna shut it.

your friends would let what people say to you slide, but he won't.

it's bad enough that he feels as if he doesn't deserve you so when you start thinking of yourself as someone whose less than even the dirt and cement beneath your feet, he's angry at everyone else for letting it get this far.

"what are you talking about? they insulted you and you stood there and took it!"

you don't want to feel like a burden, like someone whose always in need of being protected.

"i'm not your friend, i'm your partner," he grits. "it's what i'm supposed to do, you idiot."

really, it's just the ideal of protecting you that's instilled within his puppet body.

poor baby does not know an ounce of romance yet he said that line so effortlessly and in a way that had you choking on your next words.

as you cling to his bicep on the dirt road, you thank him. profusely. he finds it a bit annoying.

"you need to get better friends." is all he says.

he knew what loyalty was. he practically would get on his knees for it, too. he constantly looked for that in a partner, and you had answered.

he knew loyalty was needed in friendships, as well as relationships. especially relationships.

so it unsettled him when he heard that your so-called friends brushed off the verbal assaults directed to you and had the audacity to then say: "just smile and don't let it get to you"

it wouldn't be the first he's done this and it certainly won't be the last, and that's okay.

he wants to enjoy the smiles, laughs, and jokes you end up sharing with him all in an attempt to calm him down but he's already been calm. he's always found himself significantly calm around you, whether he admits it or not.

"come on, let's go home."

© 2024 feelinmatcha

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #reader angst #reader comfort #reader soft #reader insert #genshin imagines #alhaitham x you #scaramouche x you #wanderer x you

[roosterforme]

The Younger Kind Part 43 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: While you couldn't stop people from talking about you and Bradley, you could absolutely stand up for yourself and your family. Bradley continued to prove that he was the man of your dreams, and you decided to show him some spur of the moment appreciation. Bradley loves you, and he recognizes that spending time with you and Noah always fills his heart to the brim.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, fluff, smut, oral sex, and age gap (18+)

Length: 4400 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

There was no way you were going to tolerate someone talking about you like you were a brainless child who didn't deserve to be with your boyfriend. You hadn't forgotten about those engagement rings you saw on Bradley's phone. You spent half of your time thinking about Noah. Both of them were yours.

As your skirt fabric fell from your hands, you squared your shoulders and unlatched the stall door. Your heart was thudding in your chest, but it was too late now. You were met with startled eyes from the three woman, and you took a second to examine each of them in turn. You saw nothing special. You saw ordinary women who should find something else to do with their time instead of gossiping about you.

You walked right up to the sink, and they scooted out of your way as you washed your hands and dried them with one of the rolled up hand towels. After you dropped it into the discard basket, you carefully examined your still pristine makeup one last time as they stared at you in the mirror. Then you took your dark lipstick out of your pocket, swiped a little more on and pressed your lips together.

"What?" you asked, making eye contact with the redhead as you pocketed it again. "The three of you have nothing to say now?" When you were met with silence you stepped away from the sink and shrugged at the woman with black hair. "I guess I should go get my Daddy to take me home since it's past my curfew." 

You pouted a little bit and rolled your eyes when they still said nothing. But when the one who had been the most verbally aggressive toward Bradley, going so far as to threaten to touch him, opened her mouth to speak, you didn't let her. "By the way, if you want to 'accidentally' bump into my boyfriend, be my guest. There's no way he'd ever touch you otherwise."

She gasped at you as you stepped past her and made your way to the door without rushing. You didn't stick around for a response as your blood pumped hot and hard through your veins. Bradley was the only thing you wanted at the moment, and you had to bite your lip to keep from moaning as you thought about him. 

There he was, right where you left him, still talking to Natasha. When you got close enough, you could hear her telling Bradley, "I'm not leading him on, Rooster. He knows what this is. Just because you were looking for your soulmate and actually found her doesn't mean that's everyone's mission."

She smiled at you as you wrapped your arms around Bradley's waist. His forearm settled across your shoulders without hesitation as he said, "I hate that I have to be nice to you since you're the one who put that fucking dating app on my phone to begin with. Now please don't come whining to me when you break Javy's heart."

She poked his hat so it was crooked before walking away, and then you saw the three bitchy women from the restroom, and of course they were looking right at you. When you smiled at them and wiggled your fingers in a little wave as Bradley kissed the top of your head, they all turned away. 

"Hey, Daddy. Who are those women?" you asked, gesturing in their direction. 

He looked at them with a completely blank expression as he said, "The dark haired one on the left is Halo. She's a WSO, but I hardly ever fly with her. The other two work in admin on base. I have no idea what their names are. Why?"

"Just curious," you said, letting your hand slide down his body to the front of his pants. Bradley's eyes lit up and you smiled as he started to blush. "Come with me, Daddy. Let's check out which of the rare flowers are blooming."

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"Baby, the rare flower exhibit is closed for the night," Bradley said for the second time as you and he walked deeper into the greenhouse. The pulsing beat of the music faded a bit as you led him past a sign that said EXHIBIT TEMPORARILY CLOSED, PLEASE DO NOT ENTER.

"I don't think anyone will notice if we just explore a little bit on our own," you said softly as you ducked underneath the red velvet rope that was hanging across the doorway. Bradley followed you, stooping low enough to make it underneath, but then he pulled you closer to him. The walkways were wider in here, but the lights were dimmed pretty low, and Bradley didn't want you tripping on the stone floor. 

"What do you want to look at?" he asked, but you didn't seem to be focused on any of the plants at all. You paused next to a small fountain toward the back of the room and glanced around with a smile on your lips. 

"I don't want to look at anything," you whispered, kissing him softly as you draped your arms around his neck. Your wildflower scent was better than anything else the gardens could provide. "I just wanted to show you a little appreciation."

Now he was just confused. "For what?" he asked, letting his hands come to rest on your hips as you licked his mustache. He wondered if you were still tipsy from all the champagne and berries you'd enjoyed. But when you giggled and rubbed yourself against him, he started to get the picture. 

"For being the world's best Daddy. I'm going to get you a new mug for your ridiculous collection. It'll say Noah's Daddy in the streets. Princess's Daddy in the sheets."

Bradley smiled as you laughed. "Baby, I'd use it every day."

"I know you would, because you're the best. And you're mine." Your tongue darted out one more time, swiping along his lips, but when he leaned in to kiss you, he was treated to the sight of you sinking to your knees in front of him. "Mine."

You kissed him through his snug white pants, and Bradley knew in the back of his mind that anyone else could duck under that velvet rope if they really felt like it. Two turns along the stone path, and they would know exactly what was happening here. But when you looked up at him and licked those pretty lips, the only thing he cared about was feeling them wrapped around his cock. 

"Go ahead. Show me some appreciation," he rasped, and you moaned as you tugged down his zipper and undid his button. You nuzzled your nose against his underwear as he widened his stance just a bit. It wasn't long before he was hard and huge and ready for you, and you were treating him like a treat you wanted to savor. "God, you're something else, aren't you?" he mumbled, brushing his fingers along your cheek. "Perfect."

Your eyes were wide and bright as you tugged down all of the white fabric just a few inches, and Bradley's cock sprang free, tapping your lips and leaving a streak of his precum on your cupid's bow. You wrapped one hand gently around his length, and with one swipe of your tongue, Bradley's eyes were already rolling back. 

"Oh, fuck," he grunted, taking a deep breath before he looked at you again. He was throbbing in your hand as you kissed his tip and along his length with a lazy little grin on your lips. You weren't in any sort of hurry as you moved in time with the thumping party music still going strong in the distance. Your tongue swirled along his balls before you took one between your lips and sucked gently. "Princess."

"Hmm," you hummed, looking up at him. Your eyelashes brushed your cheeks every time your eyes drifted slowly closed, but whenever they were open, they were focused on his face. You were his gorgeous Princess, and you were always taking care of him. Your tongue was like velvet as his cock rested on your cheek, throbbing in response to your welcome attention. When you released his balls to lick back along his length to his tip, you sighed. "I love you, Daddy."

You sucked on his head, lips pursed in a pretty pout, and when you finally took more of his cock between your lips, Bradley readjusted his stance and placed one big palm at the back of your head. "Nice and slow. Yeah. Just like that." It was heavenly the way you took him deep until you gagged before bobbing on his length. Then you did it again, eyes watering as you made that pretty sound at the back of your throat. "You're so fucking good at this."

You moaned and whined louder, and Bradley looked around to be sure the two of you were still alone as you gagged all over his cock. He tried to guide you slower, but you popped him free and grinned up at him as you pumped your fist along his length. "Do you like this? In the greenhouse?" you asked, gingerly kissing his tip again. 

He growled and pushed your head as you squealed with delight until he was tapping the back of your throat again. He could only grunt. "Yeah. I like this. You spoil me." 

Now your fingers were rubbing and teasing his balls, and Bradley was trying to be gentle with his palm at the back of your head, but you had him close to the edge. He groaned your name, stroking his thumb along the shell of your ear and down to your jaw as you worked him into a babbling mess. You kept your eyes fixed on his as he fucked your face while you bobbed and sucked. The wet sounds and soft moans were obscene, and so were Bradley's words.

"God, Baby. You're a fucking dream. You let me cum everywhere, in every hole. You gonna swallow me down?"

"Mmhmm," you hummed, somehow never releasing the perfect suction you had around him. Your saliva was dripping onto your chest and down to your beaded top, coating your cleavage. Your brow was pinched. Your hands were tight around the base of his cock and his hip. You were ready for him. 

"Good girl," he praised as he came with his cock at the back of your throat. You sputtered and gagged, but you swallowed him down. Your lips parted with him resting on your tongue, and he watched you swallow with little gulps as you tried to catch your breath. 

Your eyes were watery as you licked his tip clean, never pulling him away from your mouth. Each soft swipe of your tongue was accompanied by a quiet whimper of your pleasure, and finally Bradley had to pull away before he got hard again. You kissed along the front of his pants again and let your cheek rest high on his thigh as he tucked his cock back inside his pants. What a sight you were, on the stone floor in front of him, snuggled against his uniform pants. He coaxed your chin up with his fingers so you were looking at him again, and he committed the sight to memory. 

"I love you, Princess."

Your smile made him soft inside, and when he reached for your hand and pulled you to your feet, you came willingly to his arms. He tasted himself on your lips when you kissed him and straightened out his hat. Your fingernails were raking along the stubble that was starting to grow in along his jaw as you whispered, "I got a little lipstick on your pants."

"Good," he said with a smirk. He literally didn't give a shit if everyone knew you gave him head during the retirement party. "You want to grab one more glass of champagne and start saying goodbye to everyone? It's pretty late, and I want to get back to relieve Amelia."

You nodded and let Bradley lead you slowly along the stone path back toward the main part of the greenhouse. 

---------------------------

It was almost midnight when you chewed on one last raspberry while Natasha eyed the front of Bradley's pants and then your lips. "You know, I do think it's amusing the way you get on me about my questionable decisions," she told him with a bland look. "But it's nice to see that mom and dad had a fun night out."

Bradley chuckled as he leaned against the bar sipping a glass of water. He had absolutely no shame right now, and it was making you a little flustered. Sure, you'd been the one to boldly instigate the activity that took place in the rare plants room, but now you were feeling a little more bashful about it as he stood there with his dress whites a bit marked up and his arm around your waist. 

You bit your lip as you looked up at him, and he kissed the tip of your nose. "Don't go and get shy on me now," he whispered, and then you saw the three women from the ladies' room walk past. They were all looking at him, but he didn't spare a glance in their direction as he said, "Ready to go home to Noah and Skittles?"

"Yes," you replied softly, and he finished the rest of his water in two gulps. 

"Let's go."

"Wait," you said as he started to head toward Admiral Bates. "We're not dropping Natasha off?"

He shook his head and said, "Nope. She's going with Javy. Gonna break his heart."

Sure enough, the two of them were sneaking off together as you said goodbye to Admiral Bates and his wife. You watched Bradley stand at attention and salute his commanding officers, and a little flicker of lust rippled through your body. Nobody said anything about his pants, but he was kind of just flaunting it now as you tried to get him outside. 

"Shameless," you murmured once you were out in the cool night air, the salty smell of the ocean all around you.

"I'm with you, and I don't give a fuck who knows about it, Princess. Now let's get home where I can show you a little appreciation."

The drive was quick and quiet as Bradley sang to you. When his favorite song popped up on his playlist, you turned the volume down a little bit so you could hear his steady voice louder over the music, and it gave you goosebumps. He'd sung it for you countless times and always told you it reminded him of you, and tonight was no exception. 

"I always think of you now. All the time."

You ended up on his lap once he parked in the driveway, knocking his hat off so you could run your fingers through his hair as you whispered, "I love you." He carried you carefully up to the porch, your poofy skirt becoming a bit of a tripping hazard that made both of you laugh. And you were still in his arms when he tried the doorknob to find it was locked.

"Okay," he told you with a pleased nod. "She's got the house sealed up just like you always did. I like that."

"So Amelia Benjamin is for sure our new permanent babysitter?"

Bradley slid his key into the lock and said, "As long as Noah had fun, I think so." He turned the knob and opened the door as he called out, "It's just us!" 

Amelia was rolling the ball across the floor for Skittles while she read a book, and she looked up and asked, "Did you have fun?" 

You quickly stepped in front of Bradley, hiding his pants from view as you said, "So much fun."

"Yeah, it was pretty good," Bradley added as he patted your butt and turned to head for the stash of cash behind the TV so he could pay her. "How was Noah?"

"Great! We had fun with the puppy, and he went right to bed."

"Perfect," Bradley said as he counted out some bills, and now you had to play hide the pants as Bradley casually handed her payment to her. 

"Thanks. Are my mom and Mav still there, or did they head back already?" she asked.

You were holding some of the layers of your skirt out to the side in front of your boyfriend like a weirdo as you answered her. "They must have left, because we didn't see them when we were heading out."

Amelia knelt down to pat Skittles on the head before the dog carried her ball over to Bradley's feet with a little limp in her step. "Sounds good. Call me if you need me to watch Noah again," she said, waving as she headed out. "Goodnight." 

"Thank you," Bradley called after her as he picked Skittles up and let her lick his face.

"You need to go take your pants off. I'm dropping them at the dry cleaner first thing on Monday."

Bradley laughed as he said, "I thought you were very proud of yourself."

"I was... until a literal teenager was about to see it!" you told him as you unbuttoned and unzipped his pants before glaring up at him. "Just take them off while I check on Noah."

You walked away with your skirt billowing behind you, and you quietly slipped into his bedroom. He was sound asleep, his breathing soft and even as you let your hand rest on his shoulder. "Hi, sweet Noah," you whispered. You felt like you'd barely seen him all day with the amount of time you'd been out and the hours you had taken to get ready with Natasha. Your fingers grazed his warm cheek before you pushed his hair back from his forehead and gave him a kiss. "I love you." 

When you turned toward the door, Bradley was standing there with his pants unzipped and Skittles in one big hand. "It's time for me to show you a little oral appreciation, Baby," he whispered as he took your hand. 

As soon as he had you on your back in the middle of your bed with your skirt pushed way up, he found out you weren't wearing any underwear. Your pussy was wet, and you were ready for him, but when he nipped your lips as he teased you with his fingers, you broke the kiss. "Can we have a fun family day tomorrow? Us and Noah?" you gasped, your fingers clutching at the insignia pins on his jacket.

Bradley's smirk turned into a smile before he kissed you so gently, you whimpered. He kissed back to your ear as he slid one long finger into your pussy and circled your clit with his thumb. "Absolutely. I love you. Oh, I fucking adore you, Princess."

He worked you over good after that. Your fingers were in your own mouth as Bradley propped you up with his hand for better access. He was making you get a little too loud as his soft tongue and bristly mustache met your clit while he finger fucked you. And then the broad stripes of his tongue that ended in little swirls around your clit let you know exactly what he was planning to do.

"Daddy!" you gasped, hips jerking as you clenched around his thick fingers. He knew he had you. He knew just the right amount of pressure to apply. You squirted for him. You were wet everywhere; it felt like you were laying in a little puddle. 

"Oh, fuck me," he moaned, and then he was on top of you, shoving his cock inside your dripping pussy and making your back arch off the bed. His face was wet with you as he kissed you and let you lick his mouth clean. You felt good if not overstimulated and a little boneless, but with just a few deep thrusts, he came inside you.

His body weight was heavy but soothing as he eased himself down on top of you. "Well," he whispered, "looks like you'll need to take your dress to the dry cleaner along with my uniform." 

You smirked. "I'll put it on my Princess credit card."

"You're damn right."

------------------------

If Saturday night at the retirement party was fun, then the impromptu family day on Sunday was spectacular. Bradley hadn't done anything quite like this, well... ever.

"Mommy!" Noah called out, handing you a purple golf ball at the little putt putt course next to the beach. Then Noah selected a yellow ball for himself and handed Bradley bright green.

"Perfect, Bub," he said, kissing his son while you took him by the hand. Bradley's attention just fluctuated between how pretty you were in your little sundress and how happy Noah looked. He was so preoccupied, you had to keep reminding him it was his turn.

"You're up, Daddy," you said, nudging his foot with your putter. "Why are you so distracted?"

He shook his head and nudged your putter right back before he kissed your cheek. "Just having a good day," he replied. "Thinking about how nice this is."

"We can have family Sundays whenever we're not too busy. Oh, and there's a dog friendly beach trail, so next time we can bring Skittles."

"She's getting her cast off soon," Bradley reminded you.

"Then she can sleep in my bed!" Noah said, hitting his yellow ball very badly. "You promised!"

"Yeah. You promised," you echoed. Bradley was met with Noah's look of excitement and your smug smile. Then you added, "You're just the best, Daddy."

He groaned and bent to scoop Noah up as he giggled uncontrollably. "Let's tickle Mommy," Bradley whispered loudly. He chased you around while Noah stretched his arms out and wiggled his fingers at you. When you pretended to get caught, you smothered first Noah and then Bradley in kisses. Then the three of you eventually returned to the golf game, and Bradley silently congratulated himself for successfully distracting the two of you. 

Because honestly, he was already kind of attached to having Skittles sleep in her little bed in the room with you and him. He didn't want to say it out loud though, especially since he was the one who didn't want a dog in the first place. But he liked having her trot over to him when he got out of bed in the morning, and he liked settling her into her spot at night. And he knew Skittles preferred to be taken outside by him.

"I can't believe I have an eight pound dog named Skittles," he murmured. "How is this my life now?"

Not that he was complaining. He looked at you helping Noah line up his shot at the last hole, and then you and he managed to get a hole in one together before both turning to look at him in surprise. "Did you see that?" you asked.

"Yeah, I saw it," he replied with a smile. "It was incredible. Now let's go celebrate by not asking you to cook tonight."

Dinner consisted of nothing but takeout sandwiches and a picnic table, but it was the perfect end to the day. Bradley was just mesmerized by you as you cleaned Noah's hands with a wet wipe and then cut his sandwich up into little bite sized pieces for him. Then you kissed him on the temple and asked if he would like to have Amelia come babysit him again.

"Remember when you were my babysitter?" he asked you, his eyes wide as you smiled down at him.

"Yeah. I remember, sweet Noah."

He bit into a piece of his sandwich before he said, "I liked that a whole lot, but I like it better now that you're my mommy instead."

"I like it better now, too," Bradley added, and he watched your smile grow.

"Yeah," Noah said, "because you're always at our house now, and you never have to leave."

"That's right. You belong with us, Princess." Bradley thought maybe you always had, and he and Noah were just waiting for it all to fall into place.

You looked pleased as you told them, "I'm not going anywhere."

When Bradley finally pulled the Bronco in the driveway, it was dark out, and both you and Noah were yawning nonstop. "Do I need to carry both of you inside?" he asked.

"Yes," you and Noah answered in unison. 

He picked you up for a piggy back ride before getting Noah out of the backseat, and then he carried both of you up to the porch and unlocked the door. You took Noah with you to get him ready for bed while Bradley led Skittles out the back door. 

"Yeah, I know I'm your favorite," he whispered as Skittles licked his hand before hobbling out to the grass. He'd follow up with the shelter about having her cast removed, and he get her some special treats for a reward as she built her strength up again. 

A few minutes later, he carried the pup down the hallway past Noah's room where his son was already sound asleep. When he walked into his own bedroom, you were already snuggled up in bed with the covers pulled up to your chin. "You sleepy, Baby?"

"Mmhmm," you hummed before yawning again. "All the champagne and mini golfing caught up with me, I guess. Not to mention the blowjobs."

Bradley chuckled as he set Skittles down in her bed with a little pat on her purple bow. Then he joined you after kicking his shoes off. He snuggled up next to you on top of the blankets, still needing to get ready for bed. But he kissed you and watched as your eyelids grew heavier. "Can't forget about the blowjobs," he whispered, and you smiled. "I love you, Princess."

"Love you." Then you were asleep. 

When he got to work tomorrow morning, Bradley would talk to Admiral Simpson about flying in the air show even though he really didn't want to have to chat with him about anything. Not after Cyclone's continual desire to flirt with the one woman who was Bradley's. But he'd do it anyway, because he wanted to make you happy. Then he pulled his phone out of his pocket, and after he verified you were really asleep, he opened his internet browser to check those tabs again.

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Silence, peasants....she is a Princess. Can't wait for Bradley's conversation with Cyclone at work. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 44

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