#For no apparent reason of course ✨

[tinyperson00]

My attempt at replicating the bsd style-

it’s a lot freaking harder than I thought ;-;

I’m not used to the skinny limbs save me 😭

anyway imma just go- *looks up at time* HOLY SHIT ITS ALMOST 1am- I GOT FRICKING SCHOOL AT 5:30am

WELP 🫡

I’m still not tired tho……. All nighter on a school night part 31?

[thepsychiatrix]

✨ Astro-Observations. ✅ 📸

♡ moon-saturn (capricorn moon & 4th house placements) could indicate a serious maternal influence in one's life.

》》

~~Aries dominants win in being extremely good looking, it must be the Martian energy or just the gift of undying passion. Plus most of them, are not forcefully domineering.

Libra in men, give unreal attractiveness it must be the air effect.

And here's the deal 🍃, apparently, Scorpio men look sexy too 💋, but I feel as though the Aries men become more attractive because of their charm, and how conscious they are to the surroundings.

》》Compared to Scorpio's ♏ ....introvertedness.

♍ Virgo and ♋ Cancer have the potential to be great friends. I don't know what actually makes them compatible, must be the feminine expressions that compliment one another trine. 🔽

Virgo ♍ for being the sign that presents our daily habits can mean having an overall pleasing personality, all factors constant.

-I don't think the merchant of the zodiac, Mercury ☿, is a merchant for no good reason. And therefore wherever we have our mercury placements could indicate how we can be our very own "self-made merchandise" .

🎃Which further explains why Gemini for example is the sign of broadcasting, and when broadcasting comes about, there's no day to do it, than everyday. Put yourself out there everyday, but by looking up to our mercury placements we understand how.

In Virgo the people are capable of being greatly innovative 🚰 . While in Gemini, the natives will be endowed with cognitive thinking skills, great mental abilities. ♡

Having Virgo placements represented by the immaculate & wise nature of the feminine could also indicate that natives have close to perfect features.

Or generally, people that can possess perfect presentations of themselves.

or people that just need to be viewed as a neat and organized person, an attribute induced too by the feminine nature of the sign.

🎶 🍇 heavy 2H, venus and Taurus placements---I have noticed have a tendency to gain weight easily, they're self-indulgent with a clear sense of expression, either through fashion, their modes of luxury, or just glamorous thoughts, and grand ideas. 💡 parties & celebrations. 🎉

🏬 Aquarius, 11H and Saturn/Uranus represents the death of the ego, for the masculine, when it is absolved into the spirit. Where things like patriarchy are rendered useless by resounding revolution. 🔥

That absolved nature of the spirit, makes some individual inclined to the other-worldly and strange*original path/routines.

&

Of course Aquarius ♒ is the odd ball because being the sign that rules the heaven, and air sign, that's the higher octave of mercury, mixing the strokes of genius into a personality.

🎎The same happens in Pisces for the feminine, and therefore there would be no doubt, that people with profound 12H, 🌊 Neptune-Jupiter, Pisces placements are great delusional lovers. I feel like this people have literal trouble barely hating anything.

🪄🪄🎰🎰♥️♥️♠️♠️🎴🎴🃏🃏🧵🧵🧶🧶🎨🎨🖼🖼🔮🔮🎱🎱♣️

[zepskies]

What Does "Supporting Writers" Mean? ✍️

Apparently it's Fanfic Writer Appreciation Day! To all my fellow writers, I truly appreciate you for bringing me joy, making me smile on rough days, and giving me my weekly/daily dose of escapism and warm fuzzies. (Shoutouts to you personally below.) 💓💓

But what does it mean "practically" to appreciate your favorite writers, especially on Tumblr?

For example, I know some fanfic authors are starting to block "serial likers": people who'll go through someone's entire masterlist and hit the "like" button on 20-something stories without commenting or basic reblogging.

While I think blocking them is extreme, I understand the authors' frustrations. I've actually been asked if I'll ever leave Tumblr, since many of them have dropped off over the past few months, or even the past few years.

I'm still here for two very important reasons:

I love to write about my favorite characters. I write primarily because I love it, not just for the kudos.

I'm friggin' blessed to have a lot of friends and lovely readers on here and Ao3 who support me immensely on my writing and on this blog in general. I love and appreciate each and every one of you! Which is why I do my best to reply to your comments and reblogs. 💖💖

Of course, there are many reasons why a writer might take a break or stop writing entirely, but one of those reasons is also why the #supportwriters tag exists...

And why you'll see us include banners like this on our posts:

(Credits: cafekitsune, me, inklore)

That being said, here's my own rule of thumb on how I try to support my fellow writers when I read something I enjoy:

If I "liked" something, it means I had the time to read a story all the way through and I enjoyed it! (Or I'm bookmarking it for later in the day lol)

If I have the time to read it, I have the time to leave a comment on what I liked the most about it.

If I have the time to write out a comment (anywhere from a few seconds to a few minutes), I typically put that comment in a reblog -- maybe even add a gif or two for ✨razzle dazzle.✨ That way I can share it with the rest of my followers, so they can see it and hopefully enjoy it too...

Why? Because Tumblr isn't TikTok or IG. Reblogging is the best way to help a post gain traction on Tumblr. The algorithm doesn't care much about likes.

But on a more human level, supporting writers is just the basic thing of -- if you enjoyed something you read (that a writer shared for free), just let them know what you liked about it.

Remember that there's a person behind the content you enjoy. They might have been working on that story for weeks or months, or even years before they got the courage to post it.

They might really be putting themselves out there, writing about a topic or subject matter that they're not sure people will even like or engage with.

Maybe they're exploring something new, like a character or trope they've never written before.

Maybe they're expressing part of themselves that they haven't even told another living soul.

Maybe they just wanted to write something fun and smutty or angsty or fluffy and want to share the escapism with you.

Whether they've been writing for years or are just starting out, any and all is valid.

For me, as a writer and a reader, supporting my fellow writers often means supporting my friends. And 9 times out of 10, the way we became friends was by leaving feedback on their work and asking them questions, or responding to their awesome feedback on mine.

If you want a little jumpstart on how to leave feedback, whether encouraging or constructive, here's an awesome post about it (not mine).

Shoutout to some of my favorite writers 💞:

(In no particular order)

@waynes-multiverse @luci-in-trenchcoats @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior @thatonewriter15 @rizlowwritessortof

@waywardxwords @tofics @kaleldobrev @deanbrainrotwritings @deanwritings

@jawritter @deanwinchesterswitch @justagirlinafandomworld @ravengirl94 @waywardxwords

@spnbabe67 @deanwanddamons @ejlovespie @kittenofdoomage @venus-haze

@talltalesandbedtimestories @sam-is-my-safe-word @jacklesbrainworms @artyandink @princessmisery666 (I just starting reading your stories, but I'm continuing with Samnesia soon!) -- and I'm sure many more! 💋

[yinyangyandere]

💔 Gone, But Not Forgotten ll Disney Villain HCs💔

Synopsis; 'How Scar, Frollo, Jafar, Hades, Hook, and Ursula would react to their s/o losing someone close to them'

ll Caution: Discussions of death, somewhat of a vent

A.N.; Man, first post on this blog and it's something sad. What a way to start this whole thing. In any case, I wanted to make a small "vent-imagine" as my own grandmother passed away today. I won't get into too much detail, but I find solace in thinking about my favorite characters helping me during all of this. Sorry if anything's OOC; I'm not the best at writing, and even if these are just headcanons, I still apologize if there's some mischaracterization I accidentally did. But, I hope you enjoy. Have a great day!

ll SCAR ll

Admittedly, he’d be rather standoffish about the subject at first. He’ll still be there beside you as you grieve, but he’s more at a loss of words than anything.

Scar disliked his father, so he didn’t feel too much grief when King Ahadi died protecting the Pride Lands. If anything, he felt more resentment towards him since, with his dying breath, Ahadi had given the title of king towards Mufasa.

However, even if they were distant at times, his affinity towards his mother, Queen Uru, was more apparent. They were more close together, and while he’d never actually say it out loud, her eventual death of old age tore through him. So, in that aspect, he does somewhat understand your pain.

He’ll be more quiet as you process everything, but he’d still offer some words of understanding to you.

If you cry in the attention of others, he won’t do close PDA; he’ll wrap his tail around you and sit close to you though. But if you two are alone, he’ll wrap a paw around you and gently bring you over to do the lion version of a hug.

If you’re okay with it, Scar will give you several licks and allow you to weep in his mane. Even if he may dislike the prospect of dirtying his special source of pride, he’ll allow it for you alone.

“Life is often unfair, but we must keep pushing on. If not for your sake, then let it be for their’s.”

/// ✨ ///

ll FROLLO ll

Out of all the villains, Frollo probably handles what you're going through the best.

Thanks to it being around the 1400s, people passing away were definitely more common, so he was used to any grief you display and assure you that it's alright to cry.

Due to his job of being a figurehead of the Church, he is accustomed to death in general and, while he doesn't officiate the funerals of every single citizen of Notre Dame, he'll gladly do your loved ones.

In fact, he'd probably find a way to be the priest for the funeral even if you were hesitant. Frollo is both persuasive and assertive at once.

It would be a standard, if not slightly more sophisticated, Catholic funeral. Knowing him it would be a burial rather than something like cremation. Otherwise he would probably say some shit like "And send them down to brimstone and fire?! No, they shall be buried and that's final."

Of course, his stony expression doesn't waver before and after the funeral. Though, deep down, he's worried for you. He knows that, after losing someone close to you, you are capable of spiraling down into depression and…the chance of losing you.

He’ll be clingy for a little while, subtle enough for you to not catch attention but enough to make others raise a slight eyebrow.

“My Lord, please watch over my love, for they are currently weak and vulnerable. Allow me to protect them no matter the cost.”

/// ✨ ///

ll JAFAR ll

Jafar’s much like Frollo in how he approaches the situation. On the inside, while he’s truthfully more grateful about the prospect of your attention being more on him in the future, he’s still concerned for your well-being and does wish to help you in any way he can.

He may be a bit overprotective of others coming near you during all of this. God forbid someone, peasant or otherwise, makes fun of you for any reason. It doesn’t matter if they taunt you over you weeping or anything else, he will have their head. Not even to aid him in any magic or sacrifices he tries to do. He’d probably just feed their body to pigs or something.

In normal circumstances, Jafar adores teasing you. However, he’s sensible enough to know not to do so with the problem at hand. While he misses the comebacks you would snap back at him, Jafar would rather not potentially hurt your feelings. He’ll be glad to wait until you feel better.

Remember what I said before about him being grateful for the possibility of your attention being focused more on him from now on? If he notices you’re upset after a while, he decides to shove his pride a bit to make you happy. He asks if, when he’s able to become Sultan, you would be alright with the idea of him actually resurrecting your loved one.

If you say yes, he’ll actually be honest about it. After the Genie grants him his first two wishes, especially the sorcerer one, it will be done post-haste for your sake. If Genie tries to dissuade him from it, Jafar’ll make “the blueberry-pasted moron” zip his trap.

Whether you say yes or no, you’ll ask him how he could do that. After all, despite still being able to do some sorcery, subjects like necromancy are still foreign to him. In response, he’ll grin and say back to you:

“For you, I would remake the world to suit your vision with no qualms. For you, dearest flower; I would do anything for you.”

/// ✨ ///

ll HADES ll

When you tell him the news, crying all the while, Hades would look confused at you for a second.

“Uh, doll? You know who you’re talking to, right?” Oh.

If you ask him if that’s even allowed or not, Hades would laugh and give you a wide smile. Like he cares about “rules” or what not. It’s his Underworld to reign over, not anyone else’s.

He’ll fish out their soul and allows you to see them. It’s a heartfelt reunion, and as both of you cry in happiness, Hades would be standing off to the side like 🧍. 

If both of you agree to it, he’ll also allow your loved one to come back to life as well. If they were old when they died, he’ll make them younger and healthier as a bonus.

He can’t stand mushy-stuff, but he refuses to see you in sadness or in pain. A tad bit of jealousy aside, Hades knows this will make you fall further in love with him. As if you weren’t already head-over-heels for the smug bastard before…

“C’mon, babe. No need to thank me. Go have fun or whatever; just don’t tell Zeus. Guy’s a killjoy!”

/// ✨ ///

ll CAPTAIN HOOK ll

Not going to lie, if you tell him about the situation and start crying, he would join in with you. He may be a pirate but he’s not completely heartless.

While you grieve, Hook would be there for you every step of the way. And if he’s there for you, so is the rest of the crew. You’d be pampered and spoiled, anything to show he’s here to help whenever you ask for it.

He’d probably be the type to try and get your mind off of it. Looking out at sunsets, going through collected treasure, sharing stories (especially ones that he knows you would laugh at), that sort of thing. 

Even if he’s in front of his crew, Hook will give you the best comforting hugs. If you’re feeling sad, just resting your head on his shoulder with his soft, fluffy hair would be enough to soothe you.

When you two are alone, he’ll quietly sing gentle songs to you, far different from the usual sea shanty he’d parade about. If you begin to cry, he’ll wipe away the tears falling down your face (of course making sure his hook doesn’t cut you) and urge you closer to him.

Definitely the sweetest out of all the villains.

“Look up at the stars, love. See how many there are? Know that, one of them, is your loved one. They’ll always be there to guide you on the darkest nights, even if you are alone.”

/// ✨ ///

ll URSULA ll

As you go through the stages of grief, like with all of the villains listed here, Ursula would do her best to stay by your side and help when need be.

She’d be very touchy with you, offering hugs, kisses, hand-holding, all the works. She knows all too well the feeling of being alone in the world, and Ursula is determined to make sure you don’t feel like you’re going through all of this alone.

I hope you’re okay with her embraces being a bit “slimy” feeling; though, if you’re dating her, I’d say you’d be used to it by now.

Thanks to her deal-making skills, she always knows just what to say in this situation. Except, while she was often dishonest with the deals she made, she’s 100% genuine here. 

All-in-all, definitely second-best when it comes to being the sweetest to you in this time of your life.

Not related to Ursula herself, but Flotsam and Jetsam would be all-over you. You know how dogs can sometimes tell when their owner is feeling sad, and they comfort you by just laying their head on you? That’s them. Despite Ursula sometimes being overwhelmed by the two’s shenanigans, deep down, she’s thankful that they help cheer you up.

“Oh, angelfish, there, there. You were good to them, and I’m sure that they’ll always watch over you from now on. Just like me.”

/// ✨ ///

Thanks for reading! 💛

[galvanizedfriend]

Fic Update: Speed Dating [4/4]

Roomates!AU. Friends to lovers. Rom-Com Vibes. AH/AU Klaus is having a bad month, so Caroline decides it's a great idea to drag him along to a round of Speed Dating. Other men in the room do not approve. (That's how it starts, anyway) --

Caroline doesn't see Elijah again for the next two days. Whatever has brought him to town, he either glides through the apartment like a ghost or their schedules are totally at odds. If not for the extravagantly tailored wool coat hanging by the door and what Caroline has quickly learned is a very distinctive brand of grumpiness on Klaus, she might have thought he'd already left.

Fate seems to be sparing her the embarrassment of coming face to face with him again after that first encounter, and it's probably for the best. But curiosity gnaws at her like an unscratchable itch. Elijah has intrigued her for years, far more than any of Klaus' other siblings. Finally putting a face - well, a little more than a face - to the name was satisfying, but it has fueled her desire to know more.

The Mikaelsons carry an enigmatic allure, a heady mix of glamor and mystery that is equal parts magnetic and intimidating. Despite living with one and being friends with another, the family remains a riddle to Caroline. The more she learns, the murkier it gets. It's maddening. Nothing about them makes sense. Caroline can't even decide if they have a deep dislike for each other or love one another to unhealthy degrees.

After two days, though, she's just about lost hope of bumping into Elijah again. She doubts he'll be staying for much longer, especially with Klaus' cordial show of hospitality. Not that Elijah seemed bothered - being caustic to siblings for no apparent reason seems to be one of those things that are normal by Mikaelson standards. It's just how they operate.

She is mindlessly scrolling through Instagram after yet another grueling shift at the hospital, waiting for the microwave to deliver her sad leftover dinner. Her feed is embarrassingly weak. It's been ages since she even posted anything new. Her last photo was taken on a night out with Tyler, for crying out loud. Should she even keep it there? What's the proper etiquette for when you break up with someone for no earth-shattering reasons, the relationship just fizzling out and running its course? Is it rude to delete all evidence of him from her social media? Is it expected? Would he even care?

Has he deleted her from his feed?

Come to think of it... Is Tyler even seeing anyone? Read the final chapter here

--

Can't believe I'm starting out my years by actually finishing something. 🤧 After 100 years of pain, it's finally done. If anyone still remembers what this is, I hope you enjoy it! Beware of the smut! As always, your comments/kudos/reblogs are very much appreciated and help to feed the monster who should be working but is writing fic instead. Happy 2025, folks! ✨

[beardedjoel]

pretty little wife | meet cute, part 2

joel miller x f!reader one shot collection

series masterlist | main masterlist | ao3 | ✨kofi ✨ summary: 9.5k words; joel takes you on your first date, and it doesn't end up like he'd planned. not that either of you seem to mind, of course. warnings: 18+ MDNI! no apocalypse au, relationship/dynamic not established yet like the other chapters, unprotected piv, rough sex, oral sex (f receiving), reader is a little bratty in this chapter, talks of brat punishment, sub/dom relationship, dirty talk, pet names for reader, joel is so fucking handsy here i am Feral, minor bits of angst (reader backstory stuff) a/n: welp apparently i am incapable of writing a short chapter for these two right now >< i'm really loving the way that pretty wife started out a bit bratty and has this pipeline to being joel's good little wife it's kinda doing something for me

You don’t know if your heartbeat could get any louder, nearly drowning out the trill of the line ringing in your ear. You’re moments away from speaking to your mystery man from the bar again, to Joel, who’d seemed intent on changing the entirety of your life with one single fuck in a bar bathroom.

“Hello, Miller Contracting,” a deep voice lumbers out on the other end, sounding nearly clinical with the greeting. You have no doubt it's Joel - his voice feels too recognizable, the deep richness of it combined with his Texas twang that had you absolutely swooning last night. You will your lips to part, for words to rush out, but you pause, trying to get the lump out of your throat.

“Uh - Joel?” you croak out.

“Mhm,” he replies absentmindedly. You picture him at a desk somewhere, sorting through papers, or working on a construction site, his muscles bulging out his shirt and you’re temporarily lost to the fantasy. “What can I do for you?”

“I-it’s me -” you say, repeating your name to him. “From last night…” you add on.

He laughs, a deep rumble in the phone, and your heart lifts what feels like miles within your chest. “Yeah, from last night, didn’t need to clarify, sweetheart.”

“S-sorry. I’m Nervous,” you say simply, wringing your hands together on your lap.

“Now hang on a second, how’d you get this number? Don’t recall givin’ it out,” Joel says, a hint of playfulness in his voice. The fact that he seems eager to talk to you, tease you, immediately dissipates the nervousness you’d had about calling him. 

“Er, I’m persistent, that’s all I’ll say,” you tell him with a flush of your cheeks.

“Well, if I’m honest, I’m happy as hell to hear from ya,” Joel says. You feel your eyebrows twitch and mouth part in surprise.

“You are?” You wish you didn’t sound so desperately surprised by the fact, but the words tumbled out of you before you could stop them.

“Felt like a damn idiot, forgettin’ to get your number last night. Not how a gentleman should act.” You can practically visualize Joel shaking his head at himself and running a hand through his hair on the other end.

“And you think you acted like a gentleman otherwise?” You smirk and bite your lip, already feeling a tingling in your limbs, a slow, swirling pool of arousal sinking deep into your gut.

Joel chuckles and makes a small humming sound. “Maybe not, but it got you callin’ me, didn’t it?”

You laugh heartily and agree with a sultry “mm-hmm.”

“So listen, I knew if I ever got to speak to you again, I wanted to… uh-” Joel clears his throat, and you can hear a slight wobbling, like he’s nervous. “See if I could take you on a proper date.”

“Oh really, a date? Not just a bar bathroom this time?” you ask, trying to quell a little bit of your excitement, play it cool around him. You’re having a hard time believing that he’d want to take you out, for some reason. This past year or so has been a slew of failed dates, refusals to call back, men telling you one reason or another you no longer interested them. This tended to happen after they’d already gotten something from you, which had only served to make you feel worse about the entire thing. You tried not to let it get to you, but really, you were craving to be loved, to be seen for who you were and loved for it. That was something you hadn’t gotten enough of in your life.

“Now listen, if you’re gonna be like that, maybe I don’t need t’take you out, do I?” Joel teases, and the tingling in your core intensifies, your legs rubbing together just at the low drawl of his voice prodding at you.

“I’d love to, Mr. Miller,” you say coyly, and you hear a sharp hiss of breath from Joel’s end.

“Little shit,” he mumbles.

“What’s that?” you lick your lips and fight the urge to twirl your hair, the feeling of getting him so riled up just over the phone giving you a perverse little twinge of satisfaction.

“Fuck, I need to see you again,” he nearly groans, and you’re unsure if he’d even meant the words for you to hear, so low and quiet. ”Dinner this Friday, then?” Joel asks you, and you bite your lip and scrunch your face up in excitement, knowing he can’t see you.

“It’s a date.”

Joel picks you up that Friday at 6:30, a bit of a sweating, anxious mess after fussing over your makeup and outfit for the last two hours. You end up landing on a white, frilly mini dress with a corset top, knowing your tits are on perfect display for him. A devious huff of laughter leaves you when you reach into your underwear drawer and dig out your sheer white over the knee stockings with a lace trim at the top and slide them up your legs. Maybe you are in the mood to be a bit of menace for him tonight, you think to yourself. The thought of Joel’s eyes practically falling out of his head when he sees you in this makes you smile and nearly squeal with delight as you put your finishing touches to your outfit with accessories and a touch up of your shimmery lip gloss.

When you bound outside of your apartment building, you can see a nearly pained expression on Joel’s face through the windows of his blue truck, pulled up right in front of your building. You hear the clicking of your little heels on the pavement, giving you a boost of confidence as you stride towards him, feeling your hair bouncing behind you.

You feel… fucking hot. And you know it’s partly because of who you know is going to be looking at you all night. Joel takes too long to stare and enjoy the view of you walking over before he’s scurrying out of his truck to reach you and grab the car door. 

“Evenin’,” he says, clearing his throat and you notice he seems a bit more quiet and shy in the light of day. He seems almost dazed, trying to take in as much of you as he can in just a few seconds, blinking as he processes just how tiny everything you’re wearing is.

“Got you these,” he says, holding out a small bouquet of flowers full of different pastel flowers and greenery. You can tell he put some thought into it, that he didn’t just pick a random bouquet and roll with it, and it makes you smile. 

“Thank you,” you say, studying the flowers for an extra beat. “Such a gentleman,” you coo as you step past him and start to climb into the seat. He huffs a little as you pass and shoots his hand out to grab your wrist, a tight hold as he yanks you back towards him. He doesn’t waste a second before pulling you flush with him, pressing the tops of your tits further out of your dress and onto his chest, covered in a button up shirt. His hand splays along the small of your back, rough and warm, seeping through the fabric of your dress. He leans down, capturing your lips with his.

“Not gonna give me a proper hello, were you?” he rasps once he pulls away. “Thought you were a polite girl.”

Your lips part and spread into a little smile as you lick your lips. “Sorry,” you say, putting your eyes down to the pavement for a moment before lifting them back up to his and cupping his face, raking your fingers through his beard and leaning back in for a soft, chaste kiss. “There’s your hello.”

“Mhm” Joel mumbles before he takes your hand in his, guiding you into his truck where you settle in, wrapping the seatbelt around yourself and watching him walk back around the front of the truck to the drivers side, admiring the way his button up hugs his broad form. 

When he sits down, instead of starting the truck he just looks over at you, drinking in your show of skin, hungry glances all over your body until his gaze lands on your tits, the swells of your breasts heaving slightly as you breathe nervously now that you’re alone with him. 

“You look like a goddamn angel, or somethin’,” he finally says, flicking his eyes to the tops of your stockings, and you notice his jaw set tightly while his hands clench in his lap. He softens a little once he looks at your face, amused eyes looking back into his. “Beautiful,” he adds, and you beam at him, twirling a bit of your hair around one of your fingers.

“Thank you,” you say shyly, leaning a little closer to him, knowing your cleavage is only being pushed together that much more at this angle in your seat. “You want me to be your little angel, Joel?”

“Christ…” he says under his breath, reaching his hands up to grip the steering wheel, knuckles going white with the strain of it. “Think you already seem to know the answer.”

“Well, I’ll take it you like my outfit, then. I picked it out special for you,” you tell him cheerfully, flouncing the skirt of your dress in your lap a bit. 

“Sure do,” he says quickly, starting the car, seeming to need to high tail it out of here before he completely ditches the dinner reservation to have his way with you. You opt to just watch Joel drive, observing his profile with a small, thoughtful smile. You see his brows twitch as he feels your stare on him, and he turns to the side while he’s stopped at a red light, giving you a closed lip smile.

“Did you just ask me on a date because you felt bad?” you ask suddenly, biting the inside of your cheek.

“Felt bad?” Joel asks, turning his eyes back to the road. 

“For what happened the other night.”

Joel huffs in the seat next to you, his head shaking the smallest bit. “You think I felt bad about any of that? What gave you that idea, now?”

“I… I don’t know. I was just surprised you still wanted to take me out after…” you trail off, glancing out the window to try and avoid your own spiraling thoughts.

“C’mon, doll, need to give me more than that. If you don’t wanna be here you gotta say.”

“No!” you cry out a little too loudly.

“If you just need to hear me say that I liked fuckin’ your tight little pussy or whatever gets you off, just say it, yeah? Don’t need these roundabout questions like a little brat,” Joel snips, and you swallow hard, realizing he’s gotten the complete wrong idea.

“N-no, nothing like that, Joel, I… I really want to be here, I really do. I guess I was worried,” you suck in a breath. “That you’d just be done with me after you got what you wanted. That’s what other guys have done. Older guys.” You can feel your voice getting mousier, quieting with your confession, afraid that the answer will be exactly what you’re afraid of. Joel’s expression softens, the lines between his brows letting up as his eyes lighten a bit.

“First off, I ain’t other guys, and I want you gettin’ that in your head right now, okay?” Joel says, glancing over to see you nodding small little bounces of your head, eyes wide. “Okay?” he asks again, a little more stern this time, reaching a hand over to grip your thigh.

“Okay.” 

“Good. An’ I ain’t even close to getting everything I want from you, probably never could be, so don’t wanna hear you say anythin’ like that again, got it?” His grip squeezes on your thigh, and you place your hand over it, covering his hand with your own.

Your mind spins, reeling with such a strong confession from him. You don’t know how it’s possible that after one night together, the both of you have something damn near unexplainable, something that’s been nestling itself deep into you since then. You tilt your head a little, giving him a soft smile, feeling all the worries you’d had this entire week start to melt away.

“Got it,” you tell him with a stern nod, your hair falling over your shoulder.

“Good girl,” he says, patting your thigh a few times. They twitch and clamp together a bit with his praise, the familiar rush of arousal from the other night coming back to you when he used those same words. You catch Joel smirking out of the corner of your eye, the effect he had with those two simple words not lost on him. 

You can see his face steel, his jaw setting tighter as his fingers move up your thigh, unsticking from the bare flesh he’d been touching and climbing upwards.

“You dress like this a lot? Or just wanted to get a rise out of an old man, hm?” he asks, fingers digging into your plush skin a little harder.

You twist your lips into a thoughtful pout, knowing it shows off the shiny pink of your lip gloss a little better, and Joel’s eyes drift there for a brief moment when he glances at you. 

“Sometimes.” You give him an indifferent shrug. “Mostly wanted to see how you liked it.”

“I’ll bet you did,” Joel replies plainly, nearly sounding irritated, but you somehow know that he’s more angry with himself right now, barely able to keep his trembling hand from moving further up your thigh.

“I mean, I thought the stockings might be too much, but don’t you think they go just perfect with this dress?” You trill in an innocent tone to him, moving his hand to play with the lace edges at the top.

“Mmm,” Joel replies, lips pressed tightly together. His fingers bury themselves under the band of the stockings, pads of his calloused hands grazing the skin underneath. You try to hold back a shudder but it’s no use, Joel’s touch is fully electric, sending a zip of pleasure up your spine. 

Your legs spread open wider in the seat, inviting him to move higher and you let out a quieter moan and slide the hem of your dress up a bit higher. You’re warm all over, skin flushing as his hand creeps up towards the apex of your thighs. You admit you’re having even more fun than you thought teasing him. He’d done this same thing to you at the bar, sloppily kissing along your neck until you’d felt nearly insane with need for him, and it gives you a little pump of satisfaction to see him falling apart so quickly. 

“Even got…” you breathe out, “The matching panties on.” Another tiny little mewl slips out when Joel’s fingertips slide along your inner thigh, ever closer to where you know you’re already wet for him. He peers over to see your chest heaving a bit, curves looking so inviting - all it would take was one little tug and your tits would be spilling out, just as they had the other night, so pretty and just for him. 

“Fuck it,” Joel grunts out, tearing his hand away from you and pulling off to the side of the road, turning into a passing neighborhood and swinging the car into the closest driveway to turn around. “I live close by, we’re goin’ to my place right now,” he says. “Fuckin’ wearin’ this little shit to get me all worked up…” His voice is mumbling now, seemingly to angrily talk to himself as he keeps his eyes straight ahead, not looking at you. 

His face is going pink with the effort of holding back from you, grunting while he maneuvers the car and speeds off, booking it towards his house. Your mouth forms perfect O before it splits into a grin, knowing you got exactly what you wanted from him. Something about driving a man like Joel crazy - someone who seems reserved, in control of these kinds of situations, makes you feel a little spark of pride mixed with your dousing of arousal.

“Teach you some damn manners, that’s what I’m gonna do,” Joel mumbles quietly, letting out little sighs of irritation.

“J-joel…?” you ask carefully.

“Mm-mm, not a word right now. You’ve said enough.”

You clamp your lips together, knowing you maybe shouldn’t be as thrilled as you are right now, feeling like sparks are dancing across your skin, magnifying right where Joel holds you, squeezing to where it might leave a bruise tomorrow, as if to hold you down, keep you in this car with him.

“Please…” you whimper, unsure what you’re asking for, just knowing you’re growing more desperate to feel him on you, inside of you.

“Please nothin’. You’re gonna act like this, I’m gonna react accordingly, you got that?” Joel snips, veins on his forehead protruding as he drives along, unable to even look in your direction. You stay silent while he whips through a suburban neighborhood, finally pulling into his driveway. 

“Stay,” he spits out before exiting the car, coming over to your side and opening the door. 

“Thank you,” you coo sweetly, which gets a devious smirk from Joel. 

“You’re tryin’ to be good now, are you?” he scoffs, wrapping his hand around your upper arm. 

“Thought you liked fucking good girls,” you say with a sly smile, repeating his own words back to him. He chuckles low and deep in his chest before tugging you out of the car, keeping one hand on your arm and the other pressed on your lower back, guiding you to the front door. Instead of letting you step out of the way, he presses himself so that you’re between his body and the door as he reaches around to unlock it, keys clanking in his awkward position. 

You can feel him, hard and long, cock painfully erect and pressing against your ass. You fight the urge to grind into him, thinking that maybe he may not see that as something a good girl would do. Instead, you let a little whimper slip out when he digs into you deeper as he turns the nob and pushes the door in. 

“Gonna be makin’ a lot more of those pretty little noises soon, honey,” he says low, near your ear as he nudges you inside. It’s dark, only bits of the setting sun coming through the windows, and you fumble past the doorway, the only anchor you have is Joel’s hand on your back. 

He flicks a switch, illuminating the room with a dim floor lamp, and you can see that you’ve stepped into his living room. It’s modest but cozy, and definitely seems to ooze his busy, bachelor lifestyle with plain, somewhat mismatched furniture. You had to hand it to him, though, just upon first glance he seemed relatively clean, unlike some men’s places you’d visited. 

“This is a nice pl-“ you start, cut off by one of Joel’s arms wrapping around your torso and pulling you into him with a thud. Your back is tight against his chest now, his head burying near the crook of your neck. He’s kissing you urgently - every spot he can find, biting and sucking and flicking his tongue, all gentle but firm, full of an unrelenting passion and frustration.

He groans loudly, hand tracing up your chest to grasp at one of your tits, squeezing it firmly and running his finger over your nipple. Both are hard and aching for him, poking through the fabric of your dress with no bra holding them back. He sucks so hard on a spot on the side of your neck that you gasp and twitch in his hold. He chuckles, quickly soothing the spot with his tongue and lips. 

“Couldn’t wait for me to get my hands on you, is that it? Why you dressed like that, hopin’ I’d bring you back here? Say fuck the nice dinner reservation I made us?” he finally speaks, nearly growling in your ear.

“I just - I-“ you stutter, mind reeling from his warmth blazing into your skin now, his voice rumbling close to your ear, low and gritty and sounding… almost angry with you. You feel a tightening in your core, pooling between your legs and you already start to ache for him, turned on by the way he��s chastising you and covering you with marks. 

“You were such a good girl the other night for me, can you do that again? Or you want to keep bein’ a brat?”

“N-no I liked being good for you, remember?” you blurt out, chest heaving and body fighting the urge to squirm out of his arms and show him, get on your knees and finally get him in your mouth. 

“Didn’t seem to think so in the car… if I didn’t know any better you wanted me to punish you, fuck you fuckin’ dumb ‘til you submit to me. And the thing is, honey, I like my girls to be good f’me. Don’t wanna have to work for it unless I want to.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I just wanted to play around, make you a little crazy for me,” you say with a whine, your bottom lip starting to quiver. 

“C’mere, lemme see you,” Joel says, a quick grunt as he spins you around, catching you along your back with one hand, tilting your head up by the chin with the other. He takes in your wide, pleading eyes, plump lips turned into a frightened frown, and sighs. 

“S’okay, doll,” he says much softer, thumbing your chin and then stroking his fingers up your cheek. “Lucky for you I was in the mood to work for it a bit tonight, and you know why that is?”

You shake your head mutely, absolutely dumbstruck by his dark eyes narrowed and looking straight into yours. He’s so beautiful, so much more than you even remembered from the other night. It nearly sends an ache into your chest, just how perfect he is. 

“‘Cause you’re worth it, pretty girl. What kinda man would I be if I didn’t have to work for it a bit, hm?” His voice is changed, a bit more flexible, his tone coming off kinder now. You feel a surprised smile tugging at your mouth and you let it spread a bit, showing Joel that you’re pleased with what he said. 

“Show you how pretty you are…” he trails off, his eyes drifting down to your chest, where he’s watching your curves spilling out the top, your dress pulled down from the way he’d been touching you there. He tugs slowly on the fabric, pulling it so your tits are both spilling out, letting the neckline tuck underneath and press them upwards. 

He leans down to capture your lips in a softer kiss, letting your lips and tongues begin a gentle dance with each other. Joel’s fingers make their way under your dress, sliding the hem up to reach your ass, large palms splaying across both globes. He pulls you even closer, grinding you against his arousal and you groan, absolutely soaking for him, needing for him to touch you where you want him most. 

“Got your ass and tits out like a little whore for me now, don’t you? Like being my little whore?” he grits out, and you nod with a quiet mhm, lolling your head back as he places a few little bites on your neck. 

“Let me fuck you in that bathroom and comin’ home with me the first date ‘fore I can even buy you dinner,” Joel tuts, continuing to knead the plush flesh on your ass, stepping forward so that you have no choice but to walk backwards and further into the living room. He smacks your ass hard before rubbing the spot with a soothing touch. 

“Now get inside and take what you’ve been askin’ for, honey,” he says, stroking the side of your face gently. 

“W-where do you want me?” you ask timidly, looking into his chest before trying to meet his eyeline. He’s so intimidatingly in charge right now you can hardly meet his gaze, dark brown, nearly black in the dimness of the house. 

Joel seems to like your question, smirking and stroking your cheek again, calloused fingers sending a jolt of electricity that travels down your spine. “Good girl for askin’,” he coos, a flash of excitement in his eyes at your docility for him. He takes his hands to your shoulders, gently guiding you to stand in front of the couch. He turns and sinks back into the cushions, watching you stand in front of him, anxious with anticipation. 

“You gonna dress like a slutty little doll, I’m gonna treat ya like one and play with you as long as I want, yeah?” A quick, stunned nod from you before he continues. “Now take off that pretty dress,” he says, his tone deepening with the command. His eyes are glued to your chest where your tits are still popping out of the top, practically burning a hole in you with the intensity, heat creeping over your skin. You lift from the bottom, pulling it over your head in one slow movement, standing before Joel in only the skimpy lacy thong you’d chosen for tonight - white to match your dress and stockings. You reach to pull the stockings down and Joel shakes his head, eyes snapping to where your hands are. 

“Mm-mm, didn’t tell you to do that now, did I? Leave those on, doll. Panties next,” he drawls, and you follow his command, stepping out of your thong and leaving it on the floor beneath your feet. You take a nervous gulp, waiting for his next words, feeling right between your legs slickening even more as his eyes hungrily take you in. 

“C'mon over and sit right here,” Joel says, patting his lap. His words have an immediate effect, just like when he’d asked you to get on your knees at the bar, your body moving for him of its own accord. You pad over the few steps to him and settle yourself onto his lap so that you’re facing him, thighs on either side of his. Joel’s hands find your hips, holding you and stroking his thumbs along your bare skin there. There’s such a stark difference between the two of you right now - Joel, fully clothed, not even a button undone yet on his shirt, and you with the entirety of your body naked and exposed save for your stockings, sitting on top of him because he’d asked for it. All the fabric on your bare skin feels odd in the best way, like you’re doing something so wrong yet so right at the same time, like you’re Joel’s dirty little secret somehow with the way he has you in the palm of his hand right now.

He cocks his head a little, looking at you more seriously now. “Now listen, should’ve said this the other night, but you saw how I like to be in charge of things, right?” he says.

You nod. “Yeah,” you breathe out, just barely. You’re distracted by the feel of his broad, muscled body beneath you, his hard length pressing into you through his jeans. You feel your head swimming but you try to focus on his words.

“So tonight if it gets to be too much, if somethin’ is wrong, you gotta call out ‘red’ for me, mkay?”

You nod again. 

“Gonna need you to use your words, honey.”

“Yes, I got it. Red,” you repeat back to him, and the ghost of a smile comes to his lips. 

“Good girl,” Joel says, tucking your hair behind your ears and smoothing it. “Now…” he trails off, his grip tightening on you in an instant to flip you off of him and next to him on the couch cushions, his body following closely behind so that he’s on top of you. His mouth crashes into yours, all heat and tongue and teeth clashing and you moan into it with surprise, still trying to get your bearings from all the sudden movement.

He slips down your body, his lips trailing a hot, wet mess along the way as he sucks your neck, your tits, briefly swirling a tease of his tongue over one of your nipples before he finds his way between your legs. They fall open for him in your dizzied state and he takes no pause before burying his head there, licking fat stripe up your slit, groaning loudly at the taste of you. He licks the same pattern several times, relishing in all the slick arousal that was just for him, he thinks greedily.

When Joel starts to lap at your cunt in earnest, his tongue poking your entrance before flicking at your clit, repeating the motions over and over, you throw your head back, whining loudly and writhing down into his face and chasing your pleasure.

“F-fuck, I’m -” you whimper. “Joel I’m already gonna -” Your legs shake and he seizes one of your thighs into his palms before the other hand slips between your legs and swiftly buries two fingers inside of you, going deep to press against your g-spot. You’d thought endlessly about that feeling since the night with him in the bar, the way he’d been the first person to show you what you’d been missing, to bring you world ending pleasure when he split you open. You’re desperate for it again, knowing his fingers are enough, but you can’t help but picture the way his girth had stretched you, pressed into you so deeply that you already felt addicted to it.

When he pulls your clit into his mouth, pressing on the spongy part inside of you at the same time, you cry out, feeling your hips bucking into him, body taut and shaking as he pulls your orgasm out of you. His name spills from your lips as easily as anything you’ve ever said in your life, like you’ve been saying it for years and no other man has existed for you, could exist for you.

You slump back, breathless and wanting, a sheen of sweat coating your body from the intensity with which he’d rocked your reality, and you quickly realize he’s likely far from done with you tonight. It makes your stomach churn with anticipation, and you bring yourself back, focusing on the gentle touch of his lips on your sensitive nerves, peppering your pussy with little kisses, leading out to your thighs.

“Good fucking girl f’me, didn’t take long at all, did it?” he says wryly. 

“M-more…” you mumble, blinking your eyes to clear some of the post-climax fog you’re feeling, but it’s no use - Joel can see already how fucked out you are, barely even five minutes in. His heart swells with pride, excitement, the sick satisfaction of having you under his thumb, his to devour completely, body and soul.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, finally meeting your desperate, soft lips with his. He’s on top of you, his body slithering over yours again, pressing against you. Your hands reach up and start to unbutton his shirt, hesitantly at first, but a small noise of approval from him urges you on, indicating that he’s okay with you making that decision. When he finally shrugs it off, you take a moment to pull yourself back from his kisses to gaze down at him, his bare chest revealed to you for the first time. You feel your sex ache as fresh arousal starts to drip out of you seeing the salt and pepper of the curls on his chest, his defined but still soft abdomen, so inviting and sexy. You start to feel nearly feral, your gut coiling tight with the need for him to fuck you again, to watch his perfect body relentlessly use you for his own pleasure.

“S-shit…” you manage to gasp out when you gingerly run a hand down his chest, letting your nails scratch through his hair, and Joel hums against you as his lips find your shoulder. You rake your fingers downwards, leading all the way to his happy trail where you leave your fingers to rest on his belt. He looks delighted at your visceral reaction to his body, never thinking much of it himself, the way it had gotten slightly doughy with age and his hair had already started graying. But seeing you see so much in it that he can feel your legs tighten underneath him, pussy likely fluttering just at the sight, makes his core twist in pleasure and his cock twitch.

He caresses your face gently, his touch soft despite the mischief growing in his eyes. “Don’t think you learned your lesson yet, bein’ such a brat in the car,” he says, letting you start to undo his belt. When his cock springs out, you nearly start again at how length and thick it is, nearly having forgotten just how stunning it was outside the confines of your memory. 

Joel notices your fresh reaction to his cock, the length of him twitching in anticipation to fuck you to pieces, to fuck you into being a good girl again. He can’t help but remember just how much it had shut you up to take his cock just a few nights ago, and he nearly whimpers at the memory alone. 

“N-no? Don’t think so?” you tease back, grinding yourself against his bare and freed cock and Joel responds first with a surly little growl, two of his fingers possessively gripping your chin. His eyes flash in a way that you think should scare you, but you can’t help but feel comforted by Joel’s presence nonetheless.

“Exactly what I’m talkin’ about, bratty little ass, y’are. And let me fill you in on somethin’ for your own good,” he drawls, running his thumb along your lower lip. Your breath is baited as your lips part in invitation to him and he doesn’t slip it inside, not yet, at least. He hikes your hip up with his other hand, angling you towards his body as he steps closer between your legs. “I don’t like brats, I want my girl to be nice ‘n good to me. Are you gonna be nice ‘n good to me, doll?” he says, finishing the thought.

You swallow hard. You don’t know how serious he is, if this is part of some bigger game of his, this dominance he likes to have. You feel a pull in your heart, like you find yourself agreeing with him, that the look he’d given you when he called you good girl and obedient the other night were exactly what you’d been seeking your entire life. There was something there, something to take pride in, that he thought you were doing good enough for him. You’d wanted to tease him tonight, sure, make sure he still thought you were beautiful and sexy, afraid you’d get left behind so quickly in the more than likely slew of women he could have interested in him. Joel’s version of sexy just happened to be someone submissive for him, and the way you’d felt being that for him the other night, so far tonight, it was exhilarating, like a part of you that you’d had no idea existed until now, until him.

“I don’t want to be a brat,” you say quietly, gazing up at him with delicate eyes now, having your decision made. You reach a hand down to his cock, practically pulsating with need for you, sitting so close to your warm heat as he hovers above you. You gently palm it, wrapping your hand around the shaft, admiring the fact that your fingers can’t even fit around the expansive girth of it.

“I want to be your good girl,” you breathe, and Joel’s eyebrow cocks before his thumb settles into your mouth as he groans a little. You sit still, the saltiness of his skin so inviting but you don’t dare move, feeling that it's some kind of test, one you intend on passing.

Joel knows that you’ve figured it out. He strokes the side of your hair lovingly with his free hand and chuckles deep and low, the sound reverberating in the quiet room.

“Suck,” he finally commands, and immediately you suckle on his thumb, hollowing your cheeks and swirling your tongue around it. Joel’s eyes flutter a bit and he groans between the feel of your hand on his cock and warm tongue wrapping around his thumb. He pushes it deeper and deeper, another one of his fingers entering your mouth, met with the same enthusiasm by your tongue. He gives a final push of his fingers, gagging you, and your hand falls off his cock, having you distracted enough that you barely notice he’s notched himself at your entrance. When he splits you open with his head you gasp around his fingers, stuffed far back in your throat. It burns and aches and stretches but you feel exhilarated by it, awakened and alive by the absolute girth of him breaking you open and finding a place inside of you as he pushes on inch by inch.

“Good girl,” he whispers roughly, eyes intently locked onto yours as they widen and tear up with all the different intrusive sensations. But despite all of that, your insides warm at his words, finding a home in your heart and nestling in. That’s when you know for sure - you’re done for, you’re a goner, this is the man you’ll spend your life doing this for, chasing and seeking those two little words from him no matter what it takes. You want this.

“Y’sure that’s what you want? Be my good little doll? Be sure before I use you like one,” he says, checking in with you quietly, his lips lingering just above yours.

You nod, your breath hitching, and he can see the fear of the unknown in your eyes, but he smiles at your willingness to try for him. “I want it, I want it, use me, Joel,” you breathe out erratically, the words tumbling out of you without a second thought.

The next moment is nearly a blur, a switch seeming to flip in Joel as pops his fingers out of your mouth, grunting with the effort of yanking your hips upwards so that you have no choice but to wrap your legs around him. He begins a relentless fucking into you, pounding his cock over and over, and its only now that you can see just how well controlled he had been these last few minutes, so collected only to unleash it on you now. Your eyes squeeze shut, rolling back into your head as you bite back the cries of him stretching you so quickly and harshly, so much more rough than the other night.

“Fuck…” he groans, “Tight little pussy, could never forget how good it feels, just like I remembered, baby,” he praises as he continues to jackhammer into you. Your body is crumpled up underneath his huge frame on the couch, legs moving further up his body until they nearly reach his shoulders. He takes the initiative to tug them that way, propping your ankles onto his shoulders before he takes a swift bite at one of them. You yelp but quiet immediately, letting the soft moans you’d been making slip past your lips again instead. 

You see Joel’s approval in his smirk, the way his face contorts with pleasure as he goes red from exertion, his body gathering sweat as you run a desperate hand down his chest. You feel so far away in this position, your lips so far from his, wanting to feel your skin touching in every possible spot. You’re drunk on him already and need more, more of his warmth and his scent and the feeling of him. 

“I want to - p-please, feel you closer, please…” you beg, hoping that your politeness will win him over into doing something that you want.

“Yeah? Want to bounce on this fat cock of mine, pretty girl? That do you some good?”

You nod quickly and urgently, breathing in with the anticipation of being moved as Joel pushes his cock as deep as he can before bracing himself to swap your spots. It feels effortless, the way he contorts the both of you until he’s laying back on the sofa and you’re straddled on top of him. 

“Oh my god…” you murmur when you sink fully down onto him. Your head tilts back and mouth gapes open as you feel him so fully, pressing so deep inside of you at this angle. “Joel…”

“I know, baby, m’so deep in there,” Joel says soothingly now, his demeanor changed for the moment. He starts to move your body for you, achingly slow on his cock while he urges your hips up and down. One hand slides to your belly, gently pushing low down on your abdomen. “Feel m’self right in there, baby, right where I’m meant to be,” he coos, looking at his hand in amazement. 

“Feels so fuckin’... so good,” you whine, starting to move more quickly on top of him. You can’t compare it to anything else, anyone else you’ve ever been with, the way Joel’s cock stretches you with each new thrust, the pain giving way to an aching pleasure as your walls are stimulated over and over by him.

“C’mere,” Joel grunts out, wrapping his bulky biceps around your back and pulling you down so that your top half is more flat against his chest. He slips one hand into your hair, bringing you in for a deep, hungry kiss that you both moan into. At this angle he holds more power, able to thrust up into you after he bends his knees. You’re losing all sense of time, of sensation and noise around you, just Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel fucking into you with everything he’s got, his hot breath on your neck and ear and buried into the side of your hair. His lips warm and wet on any part he can find while you take and take and take what he’s doling out, your cunt starting to ache from the way he’s pounding into you but desperately begging for more, fluttering around his length. Your moans ramp up when you feel your clit start to brush against the curls at the base of his cock, his name whispered into his neck in between your cries. 

“There we go, doll, get what y’need, c’mon,” he says near your ear, urging you on. You’re only brought back to some semblance of reality as Joel smacks your ass with a swift, hard slap and you moan out. A new flutter and gush from your cunt around him makes Joel grunt and he fucks up into you like a crazed, possessed man, intent on only you you you. 

“Tha’s right, honey, so fuckin’ wet for me,” Joel grits, his hips snapping in a nearly impossible pace into you. You think you’re starting to black out, your vision a bit spotty from how hard he’s ramming the entirety of his cock into you, your g-spot so stimulating along with your clit and you’re grasping at the cushions on either side of you, nearly pounding your fists into them as Joel holds you close, not letting you move an inch, not letting this climax get away from either of you. 

“God, Joel, fuck… I c-can’t -“ you whine, your entire body tightening, damp with sweat as your tits slide across his chest with each new thrust. 

“Y’can, now be a good girl and come for me,” Joel says, hot heat of his lips meeting yours for a sloppy kiss, both of your tongues half missing the others’ mouth, making a mess on your faces full of saliva and the remnants of your lip gloss. Everything is so slick, slippery, and you gush between your legs, your wet arousal dripping out around where he enters you again and again. 

You snap, the invisible tether you’ve visualized inside of yourself finally breaking and you let go, practically convulsing on top of Joel with erratic grunts and moans and the lewdest sounds you’ve ever heard yourself make. You bear down on his cock as he rides you through the waves of ecstasy that take over your entire being. 

“Good girl,” he coos over and over, his quiet praises only serving to plunge you further into this blinding hot cavern of bliss that you’ve fallen into. You can feel how his cock slips in and out around the way you’re creaming over his length, and you finally quiet into his chest, a spent mess. 

Joel stops moving for a moment, giving you time to catch your breath as he strokes the back of your head. You nearly want to purr with the contentment you feel as he lightly drags his fingers across your head.

“Your turn,” you finally say, a wry smile pulling at your lips. You pick yourself up a bit, wiggling your hips on him and hissing a little at the oversensitivity of your shot nerves. 

“My turn,” Joel echoes, a devious little twinkle in his eye is all you see before he sits up, pulling you close and kissing you as he ruts his hips into yours a few times. He quickly pulls out of you, handling your body roughly but smoothly as he turns you, pushing you down, knees on the cushions and chest pressing against the back of the couch. He crowds behind you, spreading your knees for you and you can feel his wet cock slap against your ass as he positions you and then himself. 

Joel’s cock forces its way between your legs again, immediately sliding into your wet heat. You bristle a little under the full size of him again, determined to take it like the good girl you say you are and let him spill every drop of cum he has inside of you. You realize you’ve said some version of that out loud in your mental fog when Joel chuckles a low, devious little noise and slams into you hard. 

“Yeah? Want all my cum, want to have me fuckin’ my cum into you, fillin’ you up?” Joel asks and you nod dazedly in reply. He plants a firm hand on your back, sinking you into the back of the couch while he pounds into you, chasing after his pleasure, using you to get himself off. You’ve never been more turned on, and you feel the creeping need of desire filling low in your belly again. 

Joel’s free hand starts to smack your ass relentlessly, as if to spur you on while you bounce your hips back into his movements. 

“Yeah, pretty girl, so good, takin’ this cock like a good girl,” he chants, erratic movements of his hips telling you how close he is. 

“Fuck, fuck, so tight…” he bellows out, “Gonna come inside you, baby.” One more thrust and he’s done for, his hips sputtering and stopping deep inside of you as he unleashes while your cunt flutters, your body reacting in pure effervescent joy to feel his spend coating you again. Joel wraps his arms around your chest, yanking you to fall back with him so that you’re laying side by side, tangled in each other's arms. You both breathe heavily, sweat and stickiness intermingling as you lay so close. 

“We missed our dinner reservation,” Joel says after a few moments of silence stating the very obvious. “We could order some takeout, how’s that sound?”

You listen to the beat of his heart where your head rests on his chest, steady and strong as it still comes down from his climax. You hum a little approving noise, nodding your head. 

“Yeah, that sounds good,” you tell him, barely able to care much about anything else right now. You think in this completely fucked out, limp state you’d let him feed you practically anything, spooning each bite into your mouth like you’re a helpless child. The thought makes you shudder a bit, a feeling of fear creeping over you that someone could have such an effect on you as to change you like that, to pull this side of you out that you’d buried deep inside. 

“Don’t wanna move, though,” you whine, snuggling down onto his chest. 

“I know, I know,” Joel says soothingly with a hand running down your hair. “Gonna have to eat to keep up with what I’m gonna do to ya next, though.”

You lift an intrigued brow and glance up at his face to find him already giving you an amused expression. “I’ll order us some food, why don’t you put on your pretty dress again and we’ll pretend we got our date, how about that?” he says.

You bite your lip in an effort not to smile too widely, and you give him another nod of agreement, finally sitting up and then clambering off the couch and stretching. Joel’s eyes roam your still bare body, unable to believe he could be ready for another round this quickly when his cock twitches at the sight. You throw on your dress and adjust it, smoothing the sides of your hair. 

“How do I look?” you ask innocently with a twirl, as if he hadn’t just been buried deep inside of you, stealing any semblance of reality from your very being. 

“Perfect,” he says with a chuckle. 

Joel orders Chinese food, and the two of you sit at his kitchen table, a candle lit that Joel had dug out from deep within a cabinet sitting between you two at the table. 

While you’re already sure the physical attraction with Joel isn’t wanting for anything, you’re pleasantly surprised to find that you two are connecting on all sorts of topics - from old country music that you listened to growing up to your dream vacation destinations. It seems like you two have more and more in common the longer you talk, or at the least, have an interest in the things the other person is saying. You can’t help but feel like you have a lot to learn from Joel, someone who has life experience, different interests (“old man interests” you tease him), and a whole new perspective on the world. You could listen to him for hours, sitting with your chin in your hand and lashes fluttering as you gaze at his perfect lips speaking about all of these new things. 

“Can I tell you something?” you finally say during a quiet moment, when your plates have long been pushed away, swirling your third glass of wine in your hand. One foot is planted on the dining chair, knee tucked up to your chin where you rest it, lip worrying in between your teeth. 

“Mhm, ‘course,” Joel says casually, sipping from his own glass. 

“When I said I couldn’t find my passion before… I’ve always known what it is, what I want out of life. I just can’t… say it because it sounds, well, silly.”

“Try me,” Joel replies coolly, his eyes flickering with curiosity. 

“I’ve always wanted to be -“ you hesitate, swallowing hard. “The reason someone comes home. The person they come home to. That’s it. That’s all I want. My parents… they never had that. Sure, they came home, but only because there wasn’t anything else to do, nowhere else to go. I never felt it from them. I’ve always wanted to just take care of someone and be that for them…” you confess, trailing off as your cheeks heat with the tipsy confession, slightly embarrassed to reveal it to Joel. 

He considers your words with a small hmm and a cock of his head. “You’re talkin’ about a marriage, yeah? You wanna be a married woman.”

You nod, breathing out a sigh. “Women I know, and my parents, oh god, would probably freak out if that’s what I told them. That I just want to be someone’s wife, make each other happy. Be there for them. It’s something I’ve been too scared to admit until now, because my parents just want me to go to school, get a job, and be successful in the ways they’re successful, but…” you pause to glance at Joel, then back down to the table, tracing your nail along the knots in the wood. “What if I want to be successful in the ways they aren’t?”

Joel’s face contorts slightly, feeling your pain. “You gotta do what you need, sweetheart. Fuck what anyone else says,” he says plainly. “I can relate, y’know. I was married before.”

You snap your gaze up to him, somehow surprised, but realizing maybe you shouldn’t be, that this man is well into his forties now and has lived an entire life before ever laying eyes on you. “Yeah? And…”

“Was all pressure. Wasn’t right. Divorced over ten years ago, so don’t feel too sorry f’me. Her parents had all this pressure on us gettin’ married but I knew she wasn’t the right one for me. Ended up divorcin’ five years later.” He tuts at the memory - the waste of time, the endless arguments, the strain of it all for nothing.

“I’m sor-“ you start, cut off by Joel grabbing your hand across the small table, dwarfing it in his palm.

“Said don’t be sorry for me, yeah? I’m sittin’ here with you now, aren’t I?”

A smile tickles at the corners of your lips and you look down bashfully, letting your fingers curl around his. “Yeah, guess that’s true.”

“Come on over here,” Joel says, patting his lap and setting his wine glass on the table with a small clink. 

You slide out of your chair, padding over and getting into his lap effortlessly. His fingers spread along your back to support you and you curl your legs up, resting against his chest. 

“Y’know marriage is a lot, right? I know you know, you’re a smart girl, can tell you’ve thought about this.”

“I know,” you snip. “It’s not something I’ve ever taken lightly. I just… that’s what I want.” You don’t know how to express to him the yearning deep inside of you, the way you’d watch your parents moving in parallel lives, just happening to share children and a home, and wishing for anything more than that. Praying you’d never meet that same fate, that you’d be so sickly, passionately in love with your future spouse that the entire world could know from a single glance. That you’d give your life to make sure they were well taken care of, and they’d do the same for you.

“Sweet girl,” Joel says quietly, nuzzling his nose against the top of your head. “I know you’ll get what you’re lookin’ for. Anyone’d be lucky to have you.”

Your skin heats at his close contact and adoring words, your stomach twisting a little with the anticipation that it could be him - could Joel be the one lucky to have you, as he said?

“W-would you?” you stutter out, licking your suddenly desert dry lips. “Have me?”

“Honey, I’d have you a hundred different ways and never tire of it. Such a sweet, smart, special little thing you are.”

Your lips purse into a smile, fighting the urge to giddily giggle right in his lap. You tilt your head up to kiss him, a motion he gladly returns as he deepens it for a few moments, tasting remnants of the wine on each other's tongues. 

“That what you want? Want me to have ya?” he asks quietly, the question carrying more weight in your mind than maybe he’d meant. 

“Yes,” you say, a whisper into the quiet air of his house.

“Stay w’me then, this weekend. Don’t wanna let you out of my sight.”

You nod, nearly imperceptible as your mouths meet again, passion driving the kisses now as you squirm in his lap, desire igniting every cell of your body. Joel chuckles against your already puffy lips and shakes his head. 

“Gonna ruin me, you know that?”

Three months later, Joel proposes to you in a park you frequently walk in together, a perfectly sunny and breezy spring day with the smell of fresh blooms surrounding you. You have on a pink dress, matching the explosion of color around you in the budding and blossoming trees and bushes. Joel wraps a hand around yours before getting down on one knee and revealing a solitaire diamond in a black velvet box, promising you all of the things you’d revealed to him in private months before. Someone to come home to. Someone who will come home to you. Succeed together in all the ways you’ve always wanted. Cherish you. And most importantly, love you for who you are.

[fandomsnrambles]

The spinjitzu family has recently become my roman empire for some reason, you’re all going to see so much of them 😭

Anyway, i’ve been thinking about his relationships with his sons recently. And I know he doesn’t have a good relationship with any of them.

I know people argue ‘Wu was his favourite’ but i think if we actually look at how he acts, you realise he didn’t really have a favourite. I also feel personally inclined to respectfully mention that just because Garmadon said it, doesn’t make it true. Characters have biases that mess with their worldviews after all. It’s like saying Wu’s to blame for the devourer’s bite because he said he was. Even though he was like seven, maybe nine and had no idea that snake even existed.

Thats why you should take everything they say with a grain of salt and then consider their actions.

Wu’s relationship with his father is complicated. In the spinjitzu books he mentions how he wants his father’s approval, but doesn’t know how to start with getting it. We also get hints of the FSM’s (flawed) parenting methods in the show. I’ve noticed he’s emotionally distant even if he’s physically there. I mean, Wu says his father talked to them (Garmadon and Wu) less after the Aspheera incident. Makes me think that the FSM was definitely not there emotionally.

Due to this, Wu’s emotional needs as a child weren’t really met. His fathers distance hurt him and the FSM (maybe accidentally) neglected him. I say accidentally because i’m pretty sure the FSM is a traumatised child soldier who doesn’t know how to properly cope with everything so they just shut down/dissociate.

Wu was also raised with high expectations (alongside Garmadon.) This probably put him under a lot of stress to keep up. I’m thinking gifted child who got burnt out and more depressed as he aged.

I also think the FSM has trust and paranoia issues. You can look at Nineko and the way they went about dying for this. This guy really hands their son a script of where he died without telling him he gave it to him and mentions the bare minimum details. (I wonder if mentioning too much details got the FSM hurt. Maybe thats why he’s so distant.) Of course, trauma doesn’t really excuse being a flawed parent.

I also feel the need to mention that Wu unintentionally copies his father’s trauma responses. Heck, we could even talk about how Garmadon does the same, and later Lloyd. They all bottle their emotions and issues and hope nothing bad ever happens with that ever. Too bad for them though, we know how this ends

(Oof this is ✨generational trauma✨ at work)

Moving on to Garmadon, we know that after he got bitten by the devourer, the FSM helped him through his episodes and tries his best to find a cure. From this i can honestly say that the FSM did love and care for his sons. But this doesn’t mean they knew how to properly show that they did (especially because he doesn’t have a proper basis for what parent-child relationships should even look like.)

We see this when we get to know of Garmadon’s insecurities as a child. He doesn’t think there was anything wrong with him and seems to hate how the FSM tries to find a cure for him. Maybe because he doesn’t like the implication that he needs ‘fixing’ more than anything else. Garmadon’s also different than Wu in the sense that he grows more resentful of his father as he grows older whilst Wu clings to his father’s attention to get approval/praise.

I also want to mention how this resentment built up also affects how his perception of Wu’s relationship with their dad. He thinks Wu is favoured probably because Wu doesn’t have the venom and is the good one (because the venom apparently makes Garmadon the ‘bad’ one) and he sees his younger brother as the golden child. This probably built to jealousy and then guilt for the jealousy because Garmadon does love his brother a lot.

The high expectations also come’s into play here. It probably puts a lot of weight on Garmadon’s shoulders. Which doesn’t make his growing feelings of resentment better nor does it make his insecurities about his venom any better.

What makes this whole situation worse is that NO ONE in this family knows how to communicate. Wu doesn’t tell his dad or his brother how he feels, Garmadon doesn’t as well and FSM wouldn’t be caught breathing a word of his feelings to be honest.

This whole family would rather die than communicate ffs.

In conclusion:

[fiapartridge]

4th of july! -> beckett x hazel 🇺🇸💛✨

pairing: beckett sennecke + hazel summary: hazel introduces beckett to his first fourth of july, filled with hotdogs, fireworks, and of course, kisses... warning(s): kissing, fluff author's note: okay im a little late but i had to write about this LOL also someone requested a little makeout 👀 so i tried my besttt; i might do a hotter one in the future idk -- this one was like cutesy wc: 2.3k

is this really a tradition? —

“There is no way you guys do this on the fourth of July.”

Hazel and Beckett stood around the dining table in Beckett’s apartment, five hotdogs and a tiny American flag sat on the wooden slab in front of them as Beckett questioned the validity of this “apparent” tradition.

“We do it every single year,” Hazel shrugged.

Beckett nodded, eyeing the hotdogs like they were his sworn adversaries. “So, every American tries to eat a hotdog in less than a minute? Like, this is a real tradition?”

She smiled, nodding. “Yes, and you wouldn’t know that because this is your first fourth of July. So, c’mon,” she scooted him closer to the table. “Eat up, it’s tradition.”

And Beckett, being the innocent and oblivious angel he was, dove in headfirst. Hazel set the timer, her fingers trembling with barely suppressed laughter, and watched as he grabbed the first hotdog. He closed his eyes and stuffed the food into his mouth with the confidence of a boy determined to honor a tradition—or the confidence of a boy who wanted to impress the pretty girl he was with. But Hazel’s stomach churned, not from the sight itself—well, yes from that too—but from the absurdity of the situation.

Beckett attacked the hotdog, his jaw working furiously as he chewed. His cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk’s, and Hazel had to press her lips together to keep from giggling. She could see him struggling to chew quickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. Ketchup dribbled down his chin, and a piece of bun stuck to the corner of his mouth, causing her hand to fly up to her mouth, trying not to gag.

She nearly lost her composure when he started on the second one. Beckett’s eyes were still closed, his face a mask of determination as he forced the second hotdog into his mouth. Hazel’s eyes widened as she watched him stuff the entire thing in, bits of bun and mustard smearing across his face. His fingers, slick with condiments, fumbled with the next hotdog, but he for some reason, perhaps because he’s a hockey player with a girl watching him, didn't give up.

Her stomach twisted in knots—not from nausea, but from the effort of holding back her laughter. Hazel glanced at the timer, watching the seconds tick down agonizingly slowly, her heart pounding with a mix of amusement and a sort of affection for the poor guy. No guy has ever eaten two and a half hotdogs in less than a minute for her.

When he finally managed to swallow the last bite, she couldn’t contain herself any longer. 

“OKAY, OKAY, OKAY! YOU DID IT!” she shouted, barely able to contain her laughter as Beckett put the hotdog down, ketchup smeared all over his once pristine face.

He looked at Hazel, breathing heavily, his hands on his hips. “Every American does this?”

She laughed as she took in his big, sad puppy eyes. Ignoring the mess of hotdog juices and ketchup, she wrapped her arms around him, and he hugged her back instinctively. “No, I’m just messing with you, but this was definitely entertaining to watch,” she said, looking up at him as he slowly broke into a grin.

“Oh, you’re gonna pay for this.”

“Beck–”

Before she could finish, he scooped her up and tossed her onto the plush couch a few feet away. He loomed over her, planting messy, ketchup-flavored kisses all over her face.

“Beckett, I’m gonna gag!” she managed to get out between fits of laughter. Hazel began to cough, making Beckett feel instantly concerned. He sat up, pulling her close, and rubbing her back in slow, soothing circles. His eyes watched hers, cursing himself for putting her in this situation.

But before he could feel too bad, she wiped her ketchup-covered hand across his cheek, smearing it all over his face.

Beckett paused, his mouth wide open in surprise, before scoffing. “I’m gonna give you five seconds,” he declared as Hazel yelped, her laughs bouncing off the walls as she ran off the couch, Beckett chasing after her.

Best 4th yet.

fireworks and kisses —

The beach was littered with Ducks players as Hazel talked with Amanda, discussing all of the questions they had queued for the next coming weeks. 

“We could ask for their skincare routine,” Amanda suggested.

Hazel laughed, watching the boys try to do handstands in the sand. Trevor egged on Beckett, telling the boy he couldn’t do it. In sheer willpower, and not wanting to bruise his ego, Beckett stepped forward, went down on his hands, and tried his best to do a handstand. It looked more like a sad downward dog position.

“They’re all gonna say they just use water,” Hazel replied, thinking back to Will’s interview with Bauer Hockey.

“What if we ask for their celebrity crushes?”

“Already know it: Livvy Dunne, Megan Fox, and Margot Robbie—ask any of them.”

Calling Mason over, Amanda asked him, to which he happily responded with, “The queen, Margot Robbie.”

Hazel’s hand shot up. “Called it!”

Sneaking up behind her, Beckett’s arm snaked around Hazel’s shoulder as he smiled down at the girl. “What’d you call?”

Holding the hand that drooped over her, she smiled proudly. “Mason’s celebrity crush.”

“Oh, Margot Robbie, right?” Hazel laughed upon hearing Beckett’s response as Amanda rolled her eyes.

“Okay, okay. That one doesn’t work,” she sighed.

Staring at Hazel, Beckett smiled. “‘Mind if I steal her for a sec, Manda?”

Sighing, Amanda began walking to the other guys. “Keep her, I need a drink.”

They both laughed as Beckett dragged her closer to the water before plopping down on the sand. Hazel followed, sitting beside him as their knees knocked together. Her head rested on his shoulder as they watched the night sky. There weren't many stars out, not like out in the woods in Washington where Hazel and her family would go out every year for Fourth of July. It was the best place to watch fireworks because you could see the stars, too. It felt special and safe and she just missed her family. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t feeling a bit homesick.

“How’re you feeling’?” Beckett asked, watching the rushing water in front of them.

“I’m okay,” she whispered softly. “Just missing home.” She didn’t have school during the summer, but her work continued during the draft and the development camp, doing more interviews and social media work than ever. This was her first summer without her family and to say she missed them would be an understatement.

Beckett’s heart ached for her. He also got bouts of sadness where he wished he could just be back home, watching movies again with his dad, cooking with his mom, and driving around Toronto with his sister. If he didn’t have Hazel, surely he would have been on the first flight back to Toronto right now.

“Did you facetime them today?” he asked, genuinely curious. He’s met Hazel’s sisters through facetime and Instagram comments. They’re funny and loud and unique—and they argue all the time, but it was hilarious. They felt like a big, close, tight knit family and he couldn’t wait to meet them in person someday.

She sighed. “Yeah.”

“What’d you guys talk about?”

“What they’re doing to celebrate, Marcy’s going to the fourth grade, and,” she stammered, her cheeks growing pink. “You.”

Beckett’s smile grew wider as he gently pinched her side. “Oh, you talked about me?” he teased.

Hazel laughed, rolling her eyes. “Didn’t say if it was good or bad.”

“Oh, well, knowing me, it was probably good.”

Shoving him, he fell into the sand as Hazel chuckled, her smile going from ear to ear. “You’re such a smug piece of shit.”

Beckett laughed, pecking a kiss on her cheek. “If it counts for anything, I’m glad you’re here.”

“Beckett—” Hazel started.

“OKAY, I’M STARTING THE FIREWORKS!” Trevor yelled, a smoldering stick in hand. “GET BACK, GET BACK, GET BACK!” he shouted as everyone laughed at him, yet staying at a safe distance because, well, it’s Trevor. Something bad is bound to happen.

Hazel and Beckett scrambled to their feet, their laughter mingling with the chatter of the Ducks players chirping Trevor. They made their way to a safe distance, watching as Trevor lit the first firework.

The fuze sparked and fizzed, casting an orange glow on the sand. A moment later, the firework shot into the sky, a trail of light streaking upward. It exploded with a loud boom, cascading into a shower of red and gold sparks that illuminated the beach below.

One after another, the fireworks followed, each one better than the last. Green comets burst into shimmering emeralds, blue stars scattered across the pitch black sky, and purple chrysanthemums bloomed in mid-air. 

Hazel watched in awe, her eyes alight with the show ahead. Her homesickness momentarily forgotten. Beckett stood beside her, his arm casually draped over her shoulder, their closeness and the laughter from everyone beside them being another comfort amidst her missing her family.

As the last embers faded into the night, Beckett turned to Hazel, their faces illuminated by the faint glow of the dying fireworks. There was a warmth in his eyes, a mix of safety and love and affection and a thousand promises that she knew he would always keep. There was a sort of “home” feeling she felt with him and everyone else on this beach, like maybe you could be in two places and still be home.

He gently cupped her face with one hand, his thumb brushing against her cheek. “You okay?” he whispered.

She nodded, smiling softly at the boy before whispering, “I’m okay.”

Slowly, he leaned in, closing the distance between them. Hazel’s eyes fluttered shut, her heart racing as she felt his breath against her lips.

Then, finally, their lips met, and it was soft and familiar and sweet. As the seconds ticked by, it deepened, becoming more confident like their lips fit together like a lock, or a puzzle piece. It felt…perfect. 

Beckett’s hand moved to the back of her neck, pulling her closer as she slid her hands to his shoulders, fingers tangling in his hair as she responded eagerly. Their breaths came in quick, heated bursts, the world around them fading in oblivion. The sound of the waves and laughter of their friends were distant memories as they lost themselves in each other. 

Beckett’s hand roamed from her back to her waist, his touch sending shivers down her spine. Hazel’s heart pounded in her chest, her entire being focused on the sensation of Beckett’s lips and the warmth of his hands and the closeness of his body.

As they broke apart, both were breathless, their foreheads resting against each other. Hazel opened her eyes to find Beckett gazing at her with a tenderness that made her heart ache in the best way possible.

“I really like you,” Hazel beamed.

“Next book’s gotta be about us, okay?” Beckett whispered as Hazel laughed.

“Okay.”

They stayed like that for a moment longer, savoring the closeness between them. With a gentle kiss on her forehead, Beckett took Hazel’s hand in his, their fingers intertwining. 

“Come on, Hazy,” he smiled, leading her back to where their friends were still celebrating. “Gotta tell the boys were the next great romcom.”

As they walked hand in hand, Hazel couldn’t help but feel this tightness in her chest—a good tightness. Not just because of Beckett, but because of everything. Because of the world around her, the people around her, the boy next to her. She felt something special here. Something worth staying for.

taglist! @bunbunbl0gs @crazy4smitty

[grandlinedreams]

You’re like the main reason why I’m active again on tumblr. Like, a billion thumbs up for all your really good work.

I had in idea stuck in my head (blame book Instagram) where YN x Law where YN comes back to the polar tang from spending time with Nami and Robin, and they borrowed some books to read. Law doesn’t think anything of it, until he somehow finds out they’re ✨spicy ✨ books.

Waugdjsns pls you guys have been so nice i'm 😭😭😭 but also bookstagram is always two opposites of an extreme with either inspiration galore or just kind of a '...i'm just gonna...leave these people to it' for me but that's okay!! Everyone is entitled to like what they do but anyways!! Of course I can work with that idea though!! I hope this is to your liking 🥺

[Heads up!: implied suggestive book content, a little suggestive in general]

In terms of people you could hang out with when around the Strawhats, Law is glad you choose to hang around Nami and Robin. Neither seem to attract the same level of chaos as the rest of their crew seems to (neither does Sanji, but there are obvious reasons why Law isn't particularly fond of him) and though he knows you love your crewmates, having familiar faces outside of the Polar Tang seems to keep frustration based squabbles with them at bay.

That being said, you like to test the limits of how long he tolerates your absence before he's reaching out to you via transponder snail. "We do have things to do," he reminds you, and though he does his best not to sound like he's sulking, he can hear the smile in your voice.

"I'll be back before you know it, Captain. Don't worry." He does worry even though he tells himself that he doesn't, tension easing from his muscles once you're back aboard the Polar Tang. This time you have a two bags in hand, ones he eyes with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

"This is for all of us," you say as you hold up the bag of neatly packed food, "Sanji insisted on sending me back with some new recipes for us to try and said I should let him know what we all think."

"And the other?" Law points and you pull it out of his reach.

"They're books," you say simply, "for me. Nami and Robin had a few recommendations."

And then you're walking past him, conversation apparently finished. He doesn't think much of it after that, would never scold you for wanting to read when he does plenty of it himself, both for studying purposes and not.

It becomes a problem when he realizes that in having new things to occupy your time and attention outside of your job, you've severely curbed time spent with him.

So when you settle yourself on your shared bed with a book in your hand and seemingly no intention to pay attention to him from now until you inevitably go to sleep, he sets his own plan into action.

"Coming to bed on your own for once?" You ask when he settles behind you, long legs bracketing your own as he settles his chin on your head.

"Something like that," he answers, and you turn the page of your book even as his arms wind around you. He frowns when you don't react, now settling his chin on your shoulder. "Is that book more interesting than me?"

This time you reach up, patting his cheek absentmindedly. "Of course not."

It's not the answer that Law wants, far from it ㅡ and so he switches gears, tilting his head to press a soft kiss to the slope of your neck. And then another, and another ㅡ and if you've noticed what he's doing, you do a damn good job of ignoring him.

Until he starts nipping at your skin, little pinches of his teeth to worry small blooms of strawberry pink on your skin. "Did you need something, Law?"

"Your attention," he says simply, lets himself be petulant like a child behind the safety of a closed door. He reaches for your book, tugging it free and angling himself away from you when you swipe at it. "What is in this book that's so interesting?"

"Law, no! Give it back, please." He has half a mind for a moment to simply shut it without a bookmark just to annoy you (it's the teasingly mean streak he's had since childhood days with Lami) but instead, he decides to scan the page you'd been on himself.

Oh. Oh. So that's why you'd been so interested in these books as of late. He turns towards you, raising an eyebrow. "Never would have thought you to be one to read these kinds of things, [Name]."

"Shut up," you hiss, swiping the book back, though your glare is ruined by how red your face is. "I'm a grown adult, I can read what I want."

"Never said you couldn't," Law fires back before he's reaching, pushing you back until you're beneath him. His gaze flicks over his handiwork from earlier, smirk tugging at his lips as mischief shimmers in his eyes. It's rare that he's in one of these kinds of moods, and he plans to take advantage of it. "It's pretty rude of you to tell me to shut up, though. I was going to suggest we try out some of the things in that book of yours."

[honey-minded-hivemind]

idea

Imagine a Au where Mutants and Vampires are somewhat one and the same, and like- imagine it's an au with a reader kinda like mocha(Rewind!Reader) in personality and all that-

They're living in an apartment with their roommate (✨Kevin✨) who sometimes invites people over at night, tho they always are gone the next day, probably just left while reader was asleep- though the people never visit again... Huh-

Maybe another odd person moved into the apartment and decided to introduced themself to people in the apartment(actually just Reader and Kevin for- Reasons(probably another one of the X-Men)

Strange how people who come by that Kevin apparently knows ask to be invited inside tho-

Cube Anon

Oh... I LOVE IT!!!

This Reader (let's call them Malt or Cinnamon) is an overworked, tired teen/young adult, who shares an apartment with their co-worker, Kevin. They're a swell person, they make dinner for Reader, and accept Reader's gifts of cool rocks and sketches and little bits of jewelry, so they're cool in Reader's book.

Of course, Kevin is always up at night, but so is Reader, it's when they're usually working. So they tend to sleep during the day, when the sun doesn't sting their eyes and their mouth feels less achey, just curled up on the mattress or the couch, wrapped up in a nest of blankets-

Kevin invites friends over sometimes, who always ask to be invited inside, which Kevin always laughs off, saying they aren't in the 1800s anymore~! Reader fell asleep soon after, but notes Kevin is very fond of a few different visitors, namely one they call "Logan", another they call "Jubilee" and a few others with odd nicknames such as "Storm", "Beast", "Gambit", "Rogue", and a few others with more normal names like "Scott" and "Jean"... The funny thing is, Reader never sees them... Theyvusally fall asleep before they arrive, with Kevin saying they left before Reader woke up...

It's all a bit odd, but Reader decides not to dig deeper than that. They don't know what weird cult or possible relationships Kevin has, but as long as they aren't sacrificing Reader or burning the house down or spilling blood on the floor, then it's fine. They have bigger problems to deal with than weird friends of Kevin...

(Kevin grins at Reader while they sleep, they never though they'd see their old buddy, their little fledgling, again-!)

[happylittleshrub]

Continued Rambling about Game Rocket: Part 2

Rambling commences beneath the cut!

Not Rocket related but I need to give a shout out to the pac-man birthday cake Mrs. Quill made, it looked fantastic! And Quill didn’t even eat a single slice I can’t believe this. I am appalled. Mrs. Quill apparently also got trick candles because after Quill blew them out the flames just kept blinking. Such a prankster, that Mrs. Quill. 

Anyways back to our regularly scheduled Rocket. 

I thought it was so funny how he rode on top of the cage while Quill pulled it 🤣Like Cinderella riding her carriage to the ball lol ✨ I took a picture but the screenshot didn’t save for some reason >:( 

Rocket’s face when Groot was taken away was so sad :( He looked so heartbroken my poor bby (Also I sided with his plan after Quill stopped flashbacking. Of course I trust Gamora and she probably had a good idea but if something involves Groot’s wellbeing and a prison break how could I not go with Rocket?) 

When the Guardians are supposed to be sneaking around but they keep whispering to each other the entire time like the dorks they are XD 

I liked when Rocket complained about how terrible the wiring in Lady Hellbender’s throne room was and how he wanted to leave a note saying it needed to be fixed lol I love Tech Nerd Rocket so, so much 

Also this:

Drax: What’s it like in there?

Rocket: Smells like wet fur.

Drax: That’s probably because-

Rocket: I KNOW IT’S ME!

When we free ‘Groot’ and Rocket immediately runs and hugs him? 🥺🥰 Oh my heart! And then when ‘Groot’ isn’t responding and Rocket is so concerned about him?? Their friendship in this game is so stinkin’ precious I love it!!! This is another difference I noted between Game Rocket and MCU Rocket is that Game Rocket seems more willing to be outwardly affectionate (Well, at the very most towards Groot anyways 😅)

Also Groot tattled on us 😞 Oh poor Groot you’re too pure for this world

When we’re back on the ship and get this exchange: 

Drax: Money is all you think about.

Rocket: Also bombs.

Gamora: And booze. 

Rocket: [gasp] BOMBS MADE OUT OF BOOZE!

I can’t with him ✋🤣 He’s so goofy

The shriek he lets out when he finds that the llama chewed the ship’s wires!!! I actually thought it was the llama making a noise till I glanced down and read the subtitles: Rocket: [screams]

It was shrill. And to think he made fun of Quill earlier in the game for shrieking. Rocket, you have no room to talk lol. 

Oh and while I was idling around on the ship the greatest thing happened: ROCKET STARTED HUMMING!!!!! Oh my gosh it was so cute it made me so happy 😄 I wish I had recorded it 😢

Also I heard a door opening and closing over and over again so I went to check it out and found Rocket running back and forth like a madman fixing the array. Look at ‘im go.

[f0point5]

The new fic was wonderful, I cant get enough of Em and Max I hope you never stop writing about them! That being said, I'm curious, would you write about one (or all four!) Times Max had to run around a city looking for Emelia?

Okay I’m sorry about how this turned out 🫣 I know in the fic it referenced that Max didn’t know there was a problem and only found out once she left but I am taking some artistic license with this being one of the four times! Don’t hate me 🫠

I did actually start a different one featuring Emilia’s dad so I may finish that one and we will get a funnier/more on brand instance of Emilia running away but…I hope you enjoy this one in the meantime!

✨Set in September 2021✨

They nicknamed her “The Bolter”

Max watches the sunrise in total, deafening silence. He thinks at some point he gets up to feed the cats. He thinks, but he isn’t sure. He’s so tired. His eyes are watering. It’s not tears. He can’t sleep. He wants to. He doesn’t want to. It doesn’t matter if he wants to, he can’t. He can’t sleep knowing you’re not home. He can’t sleep not knowing you’re safe.

He looks at his phone again. He has it on loud and on vibrate but he still checks. Still hopes.

Daniel: Did you hear from her?

Lando: She’s not answering me sorry

Clara Albizzi: You fucked up

That last one makes me feel sick. He did fuck up. He knew the second he’d said it. The way your face just fell and you couldn’t look at him. The way your shoulders hunched over.

You’re the reason she’s not here!

You hadn’t even packed a bag. Hadn’t even taken keys for a car. You’d just picked up the shoes that were lying in the hallway and left.

And he’d let you.

It had taken everything in him to stand still and let you leave, even as the fear set in. Fear that smelled like freshly cut grass and petrol. Fear that felt like crisp night air. Fear that looked like headlights in the dark.

The restraint had only last a few minutes.

You had blocked him, of course. So he’d called your friends. He’d ended up calling half of Monaco including more drivers than he ever spoke to regularly. Everyone denied hearing from you. He’d actually driven to Daniel’s to confirm his story that he wasn’t home. Max wondered more than once if you’d earned more loyalty from his colleagues than he had. Even if one of them was lying to him, at least you were safe.

But he couldn’t take the chance that you really hadn’t ended up at someone’s place. You didn’t have you bag with you, or even comfortable shoes. You couldn’t pay for a cab. It was that thought that had sent him to the Hotel de Paris. It was your favourite hotel in town, you even checked in for staycations sometimes. They would have your information, so you wouldn’t even need a credit card. The receptionist had refused to tell him if you were staying there - illegal, apparently - but something about his appearance must have incurred her sympathy, because she’d said that they hadn’t had any unexpected guests.

That had sent him to Sass Café. A long shot, because you didn’t usually self medicate alone, but he’d tried anyway. Fifty times he thought he’d seen you across the room as he’d weaved his way through the hoards of people. Normally he could spot you anywhere but when all he wanted was to see you he’d seen you everywhere.

By the time he’d got home, some time in the wee hours, Max could feel himself starting to shut down. As he’d called your name to no response and checked your room to find it empty, he could feel himself starting to get cold. He’d sat down on the couch, intending to think about what he was going to do next, but the thoughts had started to get away from him. The memories of the last twelve hours began to fold in on themselves, becoming smaller and squarer and so too did the feelings. The anger, the frustration, the panic, the disappointment, it all got more manageable, packing itself away in the corner in his mind that Max had so often found himself hiding in.

Even the fear had gone. The fear had gone somewhere around 5.30 am, when the darkness started to wane. As he sat on the couch and watched the sky go from black to blue to the colour of the dress you wore to Luka’s christening, his leg stopped shaking, his fists unclenched, and the tightness in his chest disappeared.

Finally, emotions had given way to a familiar and encompassing emptiness. Max just felt numb.

You’re the reason she’s not here!

What had he even been so angry about? He could almost laugh at himself. He hadn’t been angry. He’d been embarrassed. You’d told him you’d found underwear that wasn’t yours in the washing machine and he’d been so fucking embarrassed. And then he’d thought, what did he have to embarrassed about, and he decided in a split second it must be because you were judging him, and who were you to judge him when you were the reason he was fucking random girls in the first place. His relationship had ended because of you.

You’re the reason she’s not here!

Except you weren’t the reason. Not really. It had been Max’s choice and he knew that. Max needed you more than he’d wanted her and he had never once regretted that choice, although wherever you were, you probably thought he did.

He almost wishes he could feel all of it. Whatever it is that’s been forced under the surface because he can’t deal with it. He can’t feel anything. His eyes are sore and unfocused and they sting.

He drags a hand over his face. He should do something. Get flowers, or call the police, or…anything. But he doesn’t. His limbs don’t move. He just sits there…like he’s waiting for someone to pick him up.

You’ve got to come back.

Don’t worry, Max. They always come back. You’ll apologise. You’ll do better next time.

His eyes water again. This time it might be tears.

Somewhere behind him, one of the cats meows. Maybe he didn’t feed them after all.

“Max?”

At the sound of your voice, Max’s head turns so fast his neck hurts. He blinks furiously at the sight of you. For a second he thinks he’s imagining you.

“I brought strudel,” you say, holding up a small folded pastry box.

Max gets up before his he tells himself to. He wants to pull you into his arms, the urge to do it is the only thing he’s felt in hours, but stays still. You’re back, but that doesn’t mean he’s forgiven.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” he says. His voice sounds hoarse.

“Not everywhere, clearly,” you say with a shrug.

“I went to Sass, Daniel’s, I called Lando, Alex, Clara, Zita,” he says, as if trying to prove that he’d tried. “I went to the hotel to see if you were there. I’ve been around the whole city all night, I didn’t sleep,”

“Oh.”

You look a little sheepish, almost guilty, as you make your way to the kitchen. Max follows, too far behind for his liking but he’s still too scared to get closer.

He sits on one side of the island and you stand on the other. He really takes in your appearance now. Hair up, no make up. Wearing a pyjama shirt. Where the fuck did you get pyjamas? He doesn’t care. His eyes run over you one more time. He might never let you out of his sight again.

“Don’t scare me like that,” Max admonishes, though there is no strength behind his words.

“Don’t piss me off like that,” you retort, and there’s strength behind yours.

The look you give him cuts like second place, and he looks away. He looks out to the balcony. The sky is cobalt now. What time is it?

“Did you mean it?” You whisper into the silence.

Max looks at you now. “No.”

“But-“

“No.” This time it’s an oath.

You shake your head as you open the pastry box. “Max, you obviously kind of meant it,” you say, turning to pick up two plates from the counter. “And I don’t blame you. I know I’m the reason you and-“

“You’re not the reason,” Max insists. “She’s the reason. She thought…she made that choice. And yeah, a part of me is still angry about it, and I cannot talk to her so I took it out on you. That wasn’t right and I’m sorry. I don’t know why I even- I’m sorry. It was my fault,”

Take responsibility. It’s your fault. You caused this to happen. If you don’t like the outcome then stop making people angry.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, quieter this time. Even to his own ear it sounds a little more desperate.

You stare at him, eyes narrow, like you’re trying to read him, and Max almost flinches under the scrutiny. Finally, your face softens, and you sigh. Something in your posture eases.

“Max, it’s okay,” you say gently. “People fight. I just felt like shit and you know how I get. You’re fight, I’m flight, remember? I was…anyway, it doesn’t matter. We’re okay, right?”

“Yeah,” Max says. “Of course.”

You don’t look like you believe him, but he’s telling the truth. If you’re okay, then he’s okay. If you’re there, then he’s okay. If you’re home then that’s where he wants to be.

You shuffle around the island with two plates of strudel, padding on bare feet towards the living room with Max in hot pursuit.

“Where did you go?” He asks, now noticing that not even your shorts are the ones you left in last night.

“The Maybourne,” you explain, settling on the corner of the couch, legs outstretched. “The concierge gave me some spa pjs,”

Max takes a seat next to you, further than normal but closer than he’s been to you in what feels like forever.

“I’ll pay you back for the room,” he says with a rueful smile.

“Yeah, I think you will,” you say haughtily, and Max forced himself to laugh. There must be something in his expression that tips you off, though, because your face falls. “I’m sorry I left,”

Please don’t ever do that again.

The words are on the tip of his tongue but he swallows them. He doesn’t ask. He can’t. He has no right to ask you that, because no one can ever promise not to leave and he can’t promise to be worth staying for.

“It’s not the first time,” Max says with a chuckle, nudging you with his elbow. “I’m used to it by now,”

You roll your eyes and turn on the tv, flipping through to find the Moto GP race as Max yawns. The buzz he felt at your return is wearing off and the exhaustion is creeping up on him. He doesn’t want to sleep yet, though. Not when you’re still in his periphery. It’s stupid, but some part of him needs to be consciously in your presence for a while.

“Max, you can go to bed, if you want. I know you didn’t sleep,”

“No,” he says, a bit too quickly. He imagines that he blushes when you notice. His cheeks certainly burn. “I’m just….I’m fine here.”

You reach over to pick up a pillow and lay it on your lap. “At least lie down,” you say, patting the pillow like you do to get one of the cats to sit on you. Max hesitates, but only for a moment, because he’d do just about anything you told him right now.

He settles his head on the pillow, eyes fixed on the tv. He used to do this with his mum, he remembers. The first night joke after being with his dad for months, she’d put on a movie and Max would lay his head in her lap while they watched. He doesn’t think he’s ever told you that.

Your hand running through his hair is like a little jolt of energy, somewhere above him he hears you giggle at the shiver that goes through him. You don’t stop, though, finger massaging his scalp. It quiets all of his nerve endings.

“You need a haircut,” you tell him. He knows what you’re doing, but he can’t bring himself to care. As long as it’s you doing it.

“Yeah,” Max agrees. It’s the last thing he says before he finally falls asleep.

[ilikekidsshows]

Sorry for jumpin your ask box like this. Marinette stans are... a pest to say the least and I wanna rant here because this seems to be like a save space. When I say it here my frustration can't cause trouble for me or anyone else.

I don't care anymore if people say I'm just a stupid salter who hates Marinette, I don't think this show will ever be able to undo the absolute fucking hypocrisy that is Marinette de-transforming and trusting an as good as defeated Gabriel like an absolute damn MORON

When 6 episodes earlier Adrien had to apologize in shame for 'having caused Marinette's disadvantage' against Lila in the class when HE literally still doesn't even know about what happened in the damn bathroom, but Marinette for damn sure KNOWS that Gabriel is an insane and sadistic abuser and terrorist!

And of course Marinette fans are bending over BACKWARDS to talk their way outta acknowledging any kinda truth one could be upset about. Saying that it's not the same cause Marinette is 14 (like Adrien and everyone else, too??!) and is, like, the purest and most wonderful but horrifically abused and misunderstood person who ever existed and that Gabriel not having taken Marinette's generous (empty) offer was totally just Gabriel betraying her pure and angelic heart that tried to do the right thing like the hero she is because 'she's so pure that she was able to see the good in him and wanted to give him another chance 😌'

When, what the hell?? Adrien was and IS being ripped to SHREDS for so much less cause of Chameleon! Just because Marinette couldn't ever confront Lila in a way that goes beyond "point finger and scream and then get upset when that doesn't work for 5 seasons straight"! There is NOTHING anyone can claim that makes the hypocrisy here make sense. Nothing. Didn't she just 'lovingly' patronize Adrien by saying that "sometimes the good we see in other people is only a reflection of our own goodness" and he had to act grateful that she's still able to love him despite his naivety and wrongness?? That was 6 episodes ago! Marinette, where did that energy go now that it's YOU?

Adrien had to 'learn his lesson' in shame and be reprimanded for a good moral advice he couldn't possibly know would backfire because he unknowingly said it about the show's most evil psychopath apparently

But Marinette can seemingly be the most gullible, hypocritical, and illogical moron on the planet, detransforming for no god damn reason in front of the not entirely disarmed and dying mass terrorist, abuser, and magical enslaver who's about to fail and loose everything he ever loved and fought for

But SURE, she totally didn't do Adrien's 'offense' from season 3 just 1000x WORSE, cause, didn't you know? It's ✨Marinette!✨

Her flaws don't matter. In fact, anyone who says she is capable of REAL flaws apparently just mindlessly hates her and strong female characters like her. She can do everything everyone else gets dragged to hell for cuz fuck everyone and everything I guess! Mademoiselle center of the universe might be sad if morality applies to her.

At least if they'd SAY IT that they are okay with pathetic double standards and hypocrisy, but no. Everyone is acting like they're on the moral high-horse by just ignoring everythin that doesn't make Marinette look like the greatest person ever, because it's ✨Marinette✨and we're just mean haters who "don't get it". I sure get that Marinette's fans' and especially STANS' words have lost as good as all validity in my eyes starting with the retooling season 4 because of how incapable of basic self-reflection they seem to be!

btw, I didn't talk to them in this tone. I just wanted to have a conversation with people who say that they think the Marinette and Adrien situations are different and I get nothin but unfiltered hypocrisy and excuses upon excuses! It's just "Adrien was WRONG because Marinette was RIGHT!" with "Marinette was RIGHT but Gabriel was such an awful person to HER that he unfairly punished her pure heart of justice™! 🥺"

Like, get the hell out man. How is any discours supposed to ever exist again after all this??

I apologize again for intruding, I needed to get this off my chest. I still wish you a great day and thanks for providing a place for group therapy 😅

---

Marinette stans love to claim that any consequences for her actions is Marinette being “punished”. They’ve been crying and throwing up about “Marinette getting punished for things that aren't her fault” ever since the original pre-retool series. Even when there's no character to point an accusing finger at, they claim that the writers are punishing her whenever she doesn't get away with something scot free or gets minorly inconvenienced by anything. The idea that Marinette having anything less than a perfect day with every character worshiping her is the same as her getting “punished” has been the basic toxic Marinette stan’s creed for years.

I'm also just going to be really mean: all of Marinette’s good traits that the stans repeat are wildly exaggerated from traits every non-villainous character has. Because, if we take their claims literally, I certainly don't see this “pure heart of justice” and “always helping others” the stans claim she does, because she's too busy moping about or chasing Adrien whenever she's on screen to have the time to help people as much as her stans claim she does. She sometimes helps her friends and family and she saves Akuma victims cause that's her job, but so much more of her life is taken up by worrying about herself.

She's also not strong, physically or mentally. She is not secretly jacked and she has never gotten out of a stressful situation victorious without someone else there to prop her up first. In terms of these things, Marinette is average, “just a normal girl with a normal life”. Marinette isn't weak exactly, but any other “good” member of the cast is the same. She’s not exceptional in these things, but the stans love to claim she’s the greatest, purest, goodest thing that was ever spawned into existence in the world of Miraculous. I know the phrase “strong female character” lost any meaning long ago, but it’s kinda laughable we’re at the point where explicit failures like the season 5 finale are being touted around as signs of strength.

I also agree that the Miraculous fandom just can't handle discourse anymore. Some time ago I saw a post that had someone wondering why there weren't many new analysis posts in the fandom post-season 5 and the reason for that is that the fandom doesn't have space for that kind of analytical thinking anymore. The analysts saw what SentiAdrien would do to the series and, when the fandom exploded into the expected abuse apologia, they left. In addition to that the series can no longer withstand any kind of analytical viewing so the remaining, highly defensive fandom is against questioning what they're watching. You can't enjoy this show if you employ any kind of critical thinking, because the morals the writers elevate are rancid.

Marinette stans have always been like this. I've never been harrassed by Chloé stans and I used to post some very spicy stuff about Chloé. Every time I've been harrassed in this fandom, it was done by Marinette stans. The more toxic Marinette stans have always been the worst part of this fandom and now that the writers are pandering to them, they're really bold about pushing everyone else around.

[hyungieyoongi]

Wedding Bells

Pairing: Best Man!Taehyung x Maid of Honor!Reader

Genre: Enemies to Lovers (feat. a shared bed trope moment 😏) 

Word Count: 1.9K

A/N: requested by @agustverse​ for my follower milestone celebration! I hope you love it bestie 💜 

This is the last of my follower milestone drabbles! These have been so fun to write for y’all. Thank you for all of the love and support ✨

“I’m sorry, I must have misheard you,” you said in polite disbelief, “I thought I heard you say that the reservation got mixed up.” Your smile was wavering, quickly losing patience as the hotel receptionist nervously clicked through her computer program.

“My sincere apologies, ma’am, but there is nothing I can do. The reservation for the wedding block clearly states that the maid of honor and best man are to share a room. The rest of the hotel is booked, I’m afraid,” the receptionist gulped, pushing her glasses up her nose anxiously.

“Oh, come on, Y/N, it won’t be so bad. We can cuddle,” you looked over at Taehyung, brown leather jacket slung over his shoulder, a lollipop in his right hand. He popped it back into his mouth, shooting you a wink as you glared at him.

Kim Taehyung—best man and a ranking member of your Top 10 Least Favorite People. Your best friend’s fiancé, Park Jimin, and him had been friends for years. Unfortunately for you, that meant seeing him on birthdays, at holiday parties, nights out with your bestie and Jimin—he was always there. And now apparently, he was spending the wedding weekend sharing the same hotel room as you.

“We will do no such thing,” you responded, shuddering at the thought. “You better keep it in your pants long enough to get through this weekend.” Taehyung held his hands up, feigning innocence.

Over the past few years, you had gotten used to seeing Taehyung with numerous women. Pretty girls seemed to throw themselves at him. His nonchalant attitude about it and inability to stop flirting with everyone, including you, was one of the many reasons you disliked having him around.  

You turned back to the receptionist. “Fine, it’s only two nights.” She handed you the keys to your room with an apologetic smile. You passed one to Taehyung, shoving past him with your suitcase to head to the elevator. You heard him thank the receptionist before following you.

“Don’t be like that, sweetheart,” Taehyung said, beating you to the elevator door as it opened, holding it for you. You rolled his eyes at his attempt to be gallant. “The bride and groom wanted us to get along this weekend, anyway. Think of it as a crash course in bonding with me.”

You punched the number four on the elevator panel, the doors closing, trapping you inside with Taehyung.

“I would rather stab my eye with a fork than bond with you, Taehyung.” He let out a loud laugh at that one. “I am here because my best friend is getting married. I refuse to let you ruin this weekend for me.”

“Same here, sweetheart. We’re all here for the happy couple.”

You ignored him as you made your way down the hotel hallway, opening the door to your shared room, groaning as you saw the one large bed against the wall.

“Of course,” you mumbled sarcastically under your breath.

“See? I told you we could cuddle,” Taehyung said, breath tickling your neck as he spoke too close to you. You flinched away from him in annoyance.  

“Whatever. Just stay out of my way, alright?”

“Anything for you.”

48 hours to go.

---

Between checking on the bride and locking yourself in the bathroom to get ready for the rehearsal dinner, you successfully avoided Taehyung as he lounged on the bed and flipped through the channels on the hotel television.

You stepped out of the bathroom, hairspray and perfume mixing in the air in an invisible cloud behind you.

“Alright, your turn,” you said to Taehyung, packing your clutch purse for the evening. You didn’t hear him moving from his spot on the bed, so you turned around, ready to remind him that he only had an hour before he had to be on his best behavior fulfilling his best man duties. His gaze had gotten soft as he looked at you, his lips upturned at the side in a small smile. “What are you looking at?” He snapped out of it at your tone, hopping off the bed like nothing had happened. He put his hand on your hip as he passed you, the space tight between the bed and the dresser in the small room. Your skin tingled underneath the light pressure of his fingertips.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” Taehyung said, closing the door to the bathroom with a resounding click.

44 hours to go.

---

The rehearsal dinner was a success. Everything was in place for tomorrow—all you had to do was make sure your best friend made it down the aisle.

Well, and not strangle your unexpected roommate in the meantime.

You fluffed your pillows, trying, and failing, to get comfortable.

“Would you stop fidgeting and go to sleep?” Tae asked, voice muffled by his own pillow.

“I’m trying,” you hissed. “Maybe it would help if you stopped hogging all of the blankets.” You yanked the covers over to your side of the bed, trying to get an even share.

“If you need me to keep you warm, all you have to do is ask,” Taehyung offered, tone laced with mischief. You didn’t need to turn your head to know he was smirking in the darkness. You huffed, choosing to ignore him.

Rolling over, you pulled the comforter up under your chin, closing your eyes tightly.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Taehyung cooed.

“Goodnight,” you grumpily responded.

39 hours to go.

---

Taehyung woke up to hair brushing against his cheek, arm wrapped snuggly around a soft, warm figure. He buried his face into his pillow, breathing in the smell of lavender-scented shampoo, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the silky material underneath the palm of his hand.

His eyes shot open when he realized who was next to him. Fingers freezing against you, he pulled his arm away slowly, trying not to wake you. You’d kill him if you found out the two of you woke up cuddling like this. You’d definitely kill him if you found out that he wished he could stay like this all morning.

He quietly got out of bed, placing the blanket back over your sleeping form, brushing your hair away from your face with a gentle touch. You stirred slightly but didn’t wake up.

Taehyung was gone before your alarm went off.

32 hours to go.

---

“Sleep well last night?” Taehyung asked, startling you. You hadn’t seen him all day as you got ready with the other bridesmaids and the bride. You looked him over, handsome as ever in his black tux, annoyingly perfect. You noticed his bowtie was slightly crooked, tsking at him as you placed your bouquet down to fix it for him.

“I slept fine, thank you,” you said politely, fixing his tie, hands patting his chest when you were satisfied with your handiwork. You tried to pull away, but Taehyung’s right hand reached up to grab yours before you could. He leaned down kissing the back of your hand delicately. You looked at him, shocked.

“You look beautiful, Y/N,” he complimented you, standing up. You gaped at him, slightly flushed by the genuine compliment.

“Shall we?” he asked, handing you your bouquet and holding out his arm for you to take for the processional down the aisle.

“I-uh-yes,” you cleared your throat, “Yes, let’s go,” you said, swallowing thickly.

You blamed the butterflies in your stomach on nerves.

You hoped the fact that Taehyung kept stealing glances at you during the ceremony was because you had too much blush on or something.

You ignored the fact that he looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

You pretended that you didn’t like it.

26 hours to go.

---

Taehyung ran after you outside of the venue, eyes frantic with worry.

“There you are, Y/N, I have been looking everywhere for you! What the hell are you doing out here?” Taehyung asked, shrugging out of his suit jacket so he could drape it around your shoulders.

You took a deep breath.

“I just needed some air,” you explained, staring down at the ground.

Lies.

You needed to get away from him. Away from his gaze. Away from his hands that felt so right in yours as you slow danced together at the insistence of the newly married couple. Away from how confused you felt at this person that you loathed. You did loath him, right? Despite the fact that he made you laugh, never let you walk home by yourself at night when the four of you would go out to the bars, remembered your favorite foods, always smelled so good…you loathed him…didn’t you?

“It’s freezing out here, come back inside,” Taehyung insisted, holding out his hand for you to take, to help you up from the cold metal bench and lead you back inside.

“Don’t you have a bridesmaid to flirt with? Why are you out here looking for me?” You questioned, standing up on your own. Taehyung dropped his hand, clenching it in a fist at his side. “Every wedding I have ever been to that you’ve attended has ended with you flirting with one of the bride’s friends. Shouldn’t you be doing that instead of standing out here with me?”

Taehyung grimaced at your tone.

“That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it, though? Don’t you think I’ve noticed how every time we all go out together, you end up going home with some girl?”

“Stop it.”

“What? I’m telling the truth,” you scoffed, kicking at a pebble on the ground with your heeled shoe. You refused to look at him. “I’m just wondering who you would be taking back to your room if you weren’t sharing it with me.”

“I don’t want to be with anyone else!” Taehyung suddenly exclaimed. You looked up at him, watching as he ran a hand through his hair in agitation. He stepped toward you. You wanted to step away, but you stubbornly stood your ground. Taehyung looked down at you, sighing in frustration. “Don’t you get it?”

“Get what, Tae?” The nickname slipped past your lips before you could stop it. His eyes widened slightly, pupils blown out with frustration and something you couldn’t name. He looked away for a second, breathing deeply before turning back to you. He placed his hands on your cheeks, looking at you like he had all throughout the ceremony.  

“I don’t want to go back to my room with anyone but you, sweetheart,” Taehyung said, thumbs stroking the flushed skin of your face, the annoying pet name that he always used with you suddenly sounding much sweeter than it had before. “I haven’t in a long time.”

“Oh,” you breathed out, shocked at the turn of events. “Oh.”

“This isn’t exactly how I intended to tell you,” Taehyung said, smiling shyly at you. “But will you please come back inside so I can keep flirting with you until you realize, deep down, that you feel the same?”

You rolled your eyes at his presumptuousness, but there was no real fire behind it.

“Please, like your flirting has ever worked on me,” you countered, smirking at him. Tae smiled, leaning forward to press a kiss to your cheek, catching you off guard.

“No? Is that why you’re blushing?” he teased.

“Shut up,” you grumbled, letting him take your hand in his and lead you back inside.

“Make me,” he winked at you.

24 hours to go…until your first official date, at least.

---

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[itsnotamatterofif]

YEEEEEESSS I live for steamer/freight family. Slick is very definitely the rogue sibling that no one can control but they don’t half worry about. Have a little scene between her and Rusty

✨Want a stex mini fic? Send me an ask!✨

Once again, Slick is in a ditch.

It's not even a nice ditch. Usually when she's pissed off an engine enough to be thrown off the train she's left at a station or a delivery yard, but being ditched in the middle of track following a scam on a particularly cantankerous engine isn't exactly uncommon. At least this ditch is pretty close to a town, so she should be able to hang on the back of a passerby without a problem, but it's just annoying; she was this close to taking a good bet from him about a race she'd rigged for next week, and if he hadn't recognised her at the last minute she would have been a hundred and fifty pounds richer.

With a huff, she squats near the tracks, scuffing  at the rocks and pebbles with the brake plate of her boots. She'd probably be home in the next ten minutes if that fucker hadn't gotten all grumpy about it, but now she's stuck here, reading the graffiti that lines the walls of the bridge up ahead. If she was a bit more daring, she could probably attempt to make it home herself, but someone finding her passed out on the tracks is infinitely more embarrassing than actually having to ask for a lift, so in her spot she stays. Thankfully it's a nice day, and it's not raining as long as that grey looking cloud stays where it is, so the waiting game it is.

Within five minutes she's bored of looking at clouds, and within ten she's bored of kicking her feet in the rocks. It's not like this is a quiet line, quite the opposite usually, but apparently Sunday timetables have decided to kick her ass today. There's a faint sound in the distance, a reverberation along the rails, but it seems far off as Slick sits uncomfortably on the pebbled floor with a grumble.

The rumble gets louder, the rails clattering slightly, and Slick perks up. Sounds like whoever it is is going fast, but that shouldn't be a problem, she's had plenty of years experience of jumping at the right moment to cling onto the back of whoever is going past. Hopefully it's a diesel, hopefully it's not Greaseball-

As the engine gets closer, the sound changes. Rhythmic in its movement with distinct push and pull, Slick feels whatever hope she had drain away as she looks out to the eastwards track and sees a plume of steam shooting up over the treetops. It's ain't Momma, that's for sure - she hardly ever leaves the yard these days - and as the distinct scream of a whistle echoes across the tracks, she rolls her eyes and kicks the dirt again.

Of course, it had to be Rusty.

There's no time to hide as he turns the corner onto the straight that she's stuck on, hurtling along the track whilst Slick prepares for the inevitable one hundred questions he's going to ask. Looks to be just him today, no coaches or trucks trailing behind him; it's almost strange to see him without Porter at the very least, as if he looks top heavy or slightly unbalanced with just his own bunker, but she's sure there's a good reason. Rusty is one of those people who has an excuse for everything no matter the situation, which pisses her off to no end.

By the time Rusty spots her and slams on the breaks, it's too late for him to stop in front of her, stuck on the side of the tracks as he hurtles past with a screech. The heavy sound of pistons and blazing fire kicks up as his wheels slowly spin backwards, almost painfully slow as he rolls back to her; it's kind of funny in a way, watching him try and reverse when she knows just how much effort it takes for him to get started once he's stopped, but it doesn't seem to bring him down. As she folds her arms and rolls her eyes impatiently, Rusty finally stops within reach, apologetic smile etched on his face as he reaches to let out a billow of steam awkwardly.

"Didn't expect to see you here, Slick," he says, voice laced with surprise, "I thought you were on shift with that visiting diesel, what happened?"

"Pissed him off," she answers brashly, huffing out an annoyed breath, "apparently he couldn't stand the sight of me for ten more minutes just to get me home, so the asshole uncoupled."

It's not the whole truth, and she knows Rusty knows that from the slight raise of his eyebrow as he purses his lips in thought.

"Well, you ought to hop on then." He straightens his back, scooting forwards slightly so that she can hitch up. "I'm heading back to the yard, if you can cope with being stuck to a steamer, that is."

He sticks his tongue out in jest as Slick rolls her eyes and clambers back onto the tracks.

"Good fuckin' thing it's only for ten minutes then," she argues, rolling her eyes again - riding with Rusty is never ideal, she hates the stink of coal smoke and ash that settles into her armour when she gets stuck on a train with him, but right now it's either hitch up or sit down. It barely takes a minute before the sound of Rusty's pistons pumping echos along the track again, and, albeit very slowly, they're away.

"So, what did you do this time?" Rusty asks after a minute or so of awkward silence, "insurance fraud? Revenge hit-?"

"None of your fuckin' business," Slick snaps back, and annoyingly she knows the exact expression of mock surprise that Rusty is wearing without seeing his face.

"Just thought I'd ask in case-"

"Well don't," she hisses, and crouches to hide behind him slightly as a bigger train speeds past, "what are you doing out on your own?"

"Orange Flash broke down at Leamington, so Control asked me to take the repair truck over since I didn't have anything scheduled for today," Rusty explains easily, no hint of any frustration found which frustrates Slick in turn, "dropped them off about an hour ago, and then they can ride home with Flash once they're fixed - good thing I took the job, how else were you planning to get home?"

He says that like there was a chance he wasn't going to accept the run, which makes Slick frown a bit in thought; it's no secret to anyone that Rusty has been getting less and less jobs following some new financial directive putting more focus on the newer diesels, and his frame is looking distinctly worse for wear in the gloomy afternoon sun, whole flakes of rust visible from where she can see. It must be painful, judging from how much Momma complains about it when she hasn't been cleaned for weeks, but if it is, Rusty doesn't say anything.

"Dunno," she answers as Rusty draws to another stop at a set of signals up ahead, "I'm pretty good at hitchhiking-"

Rusty hums, equal parts concerned and unimpressed. "That's dangerous, Slick, what if you missed and got hurt or the engine threw you off?"

"Hasn't happened yet," she grumbles - she’s a really on a short fuse from being dumped, if Rusty wants tell her how to live her life he can shove it, "I can handle myself - I don't need a second Momma, Rusty, I knew I'd get a godamn lecture from you-"

The lights flick green, and Rusty shrinks away, shoulders hunching slightly as his pistons begin to push; if they were face to face he probably would be walking away by now, Rusty’s not one for blow-up arguments with her.

“I know,” he mutters, barely audible over the hissing of his engine, “I just worry about you sometimes.”

She clicks her tongue, rolling her eyes in annoyance. “Then don’t.”

“Trust me, I try not to,” he argues back, and there’s a sudden bit of fire in his voice that she wasn’t expecting - Rusty stopped arguing with her a long time ago, having learned any argument with her was a lost cause, but apparently picked today to break the habit, “I’d rather not think about you mangled somewhere because you’ve pissed off the wrong engines, but at least, I dunno’, let someone know if you’re planning on pissing someone off on the rails? Even if it’s not me, either Lumber or Porter, then if something goes wrong they can get help for you-“

“Control would have sent someone out eventually, Rusty, chill-“

“What if they didn’t, though, or you were hurt?” There’s a distinct clack of his jaw snapping shut, steel hitting steel as he squares his jaw in frustration. “I ain’t trying to be Momma, she’d tell you to stop fuckin’ about completely, I just think if the folks you target can dump you in the middle of the tracks without a concern, what else would they be happy to do once they find what you’ve planned for them?”

She doesn’t have an answer for that.

The yard station looms before them as Rusty pulls into one of the side sheds, the one nearest the freight yard. Blessedly, it’s empty, and as Rusty slows to a stop, Slick can’t help but jump off the tracks as soon as possible.

Reaching round to a small pouch on her external tank, she pulls out a few notes, shifting through them as Rusty sorts himself out and chills his firebox back out for resting.

“Oi, steamer,” she calls - why is she nervous about this? - as Rusty’s head snaps around, “next time you’re in Birmingham, take this to a maintenance engineer called Amal, he’ll get you cleaned up.”

Rusty’s eyes widen for a second as he wheels over, looking between her and the pound notes. “I’m- I’m fine, Control said they’re getting someone in next quarter-“

“And you know as well as I do that that skimping bastard isn’t maintaining you and Momma anymore,” Slick interrupts, grabbing his hand to stuff the notes into whether he wants them or not, “you’re on a freight run on Saturday, right? Ask him then, before your creaking gets bad enough to wake the whole yard up.”

As Rusty’s hand closes around the notes reluctantly, she spins on her break plate. Rusty’s a sentimental bastard at the best of times, if he starts trying to give the cash back or thanking her for it she might just lose it again. Behind her, she can already hear Rusty stammering, and can’t help but laugh slightly at his predictability.

Maybe she’ll just let him know next time she tries something big.

[sazzujazzu]

Clone OCs are taking over my brain again (in other similarly shocking news, water is wet) so I decided to do a silly little sketch of one.

Well, the only other one I've (sort of kind of) made besides Shrieks. I just couldn't figure out his face, I've only ever drawn him with a helmet even though I know exactly the kind of hair he has. (I feel a bit worried with the hair I gave him and the small face tattoo that he resembles Tup too much, but it was an honest coincidence I swear 🥺 maybe he and Tup were friends as cadets and grew matching hair? Who knows! Not me. I just love undercuts and man buns 😶)

Known to some of his brothers as "ARC trooper with the emptiest head in GAR" (his only brain cell is being kept safe by Shrieks), Jain is both a fierce fighter and an absolute sweetheart.

(and, apparently according to my phone, a valid slut 🫢 I guess he likes to have fun on shore leave, and I won't judge)

Jain is always the first to volunteer on every high-risk mission. It's not that he has a death wish, he does it to "enjoy the thrill" and also to protect his brothers as much as possible. He is incapable of feeling fear, and it's one of the reasons he picks the most high-risk suicide missions; because he knows he won't freeze in any situation.

He prefers heavy weaponry, and in battle situations, he will not back down until Shrieks or Nem gives the order.

The nickname "the emptiest head in GAR" refers to the fact that Jain is not as smart as most of his brothers. While this originated as an insult, the man himself found it funny, and after proving his skill in battle multiple times, some brothers began turning the "emptiest head" into a compliment, claiming that "Jain's head must be empty to store all that kriffing bravery".

Jain is Shrieks's right hand man and a dear friend to Nem. He has immense respect in them, having dyed a few strands of his hair pink to honor the general. (the similar hairstyle is, again, a pure coincidence) He has also Nem's facial marking tattooed to his left cheek (after asking if it is culturally okay, of course) as a sign of loyalty.

I'm releasing him into the wild, go arc man go ✨ make friends and be the valid slut my phone wants you to be ✨💃✨