#I just want to hold him and shake him like an 8 ball

[moosemann404]

Finally, a game for me

[phoenixcatch7]

If there's one thing I like more than time travel it's crossover reincarnation, so.

Botk link reincarnated as Damian Wayne.

An incredible weapon master of all types, but especially prodigious with a sword - he was beating knights at the age of 4 and with his memories as intact as they get for him I can see that goalpost moving even further (probably with traps and tricks, a 3yo doesn't exactly have great bodily control).

He's an excellent survivalist, agile, strong, durable, cunning and creative. He can move like a feather in the breeze, strike from behind with ease. His first kill, an animal, did not stir him as it did the other children. With his poise, grace, skills, obedience, he ought to be ra'as' finest assassin in the making, a jewel in the crown of the league.

Except he never speaks a word. Half his targets escape unscathed. He skates by true punishment on the merit of his skills and achievements in other missions. Testing has shown it is not a physical deformity that prevents his speech, but not even talia has been able to coaxe a word from him past his second birthday.

It is a defect ra'as is growing more and more frustrated by, as each attempt to fix these two final flaws ends in resounding failure. Less extreme solutions are running dry.

Talia fears those solutions. Her child does too, she knows. For them, there is a possible solution, more extreme than anything ra'as would tolerate.

She sends him out of the league. To his father.

To Gotham.

[tojiphile]

ONE PIECE LIVE ACTION MEN + DICK HEADCANONS & SIZES

a/n. i wrote this last night at 5am while sleep deprived so the further it gets the more wack it gets LOL

cw/tw. f!reader, rough sex, blowjobs, dirty talk, slight exhibitionism, body hair, skinny penis, unprotected sex, for 18+ readers

MONKEY D. LUFFY

— 6.5” but thinks he’s average, so he doesn’t stretch it out with his abilities. not too girthy, but he makes up for it with his unrelenting stamina. it curves up against his stomach and leans left slightly. a little bit messy because he tried to shave it once and nicked himself, so he just settled with the hair. honey-toned towards the base and a deep red at the tip, especially when he’s raring to go.

— he wants to do it in every position, on every surface. he has you bent over the dinner table, one leg up and slamming into you mercilessly. he has you spread eagle in the bathtub, legs locked behind his back as he stuffs you full. it’s almost as if his dick is made for you, the curve perfectly abuses your g-spot as every orgasm overwhelms you, and you’re left a sobbing, babbling mess. he wants to know if he’s doing well, and he gets his answer when you chant “s— so, ah! good, fuck, d— don’t stop!” like a prayer.

RORONOA ZORO

— long, fat and heavy. he’s blessed with a stunning 7.3” length, though if anyone asks, he rounds down to make them feel more at ease. veiny. the mushroom tip is flushed purple, and it’s rests nicely on your tongue!! probably messy down there, he doesn’t see the point in shaving or trimming, but if you ask nicely, he’ll grunt, roll his eyes, and do it for you.

— you insisted that you didn’t need any prep, but as you straddled him, lining up your cunt with his cock, you soon realised your mistake. you have to spread yourself open, face scrunching up, and slowly sink down. he loves the feeling of your pussy walls fluttering as you start riding him. when your eyes flutter shut and your hips stutter, he takes control—holding you tight by the waist and fucking into you until you’re screaming.

SANJI VINSMOKE

— 6.4” and so so pretty. slender, with a pale shaft that leads into a rosy pink at the tip. it curves up and to the right. the carpet matches the drapes. he keeps it neat, though he probably doesn’t grow much hair anyway. he trims it once every few days, but he’ll never admit to it. smells the best AKA smells really clean, like soap.

— he goes crazy when you maintain eye contact and drop to your knees. you take his cock in hand, lifting it to run your tongue on the underside, tracing a prominent vein. you swirl your tongue around his sensitive head and his whole body is shaking, knees buckling as he chases that familiar high.

USUPP

— coming in at 5.8”, he makes up for it in his thick girth. when he jerks himself off, he can barely wrap his hand around it. he’s soooo sensitive that the wind can blow and he’s be hard. fat fat fat mushroom head that’s olive, golden-hued, and always oozing precum. heavy heavy balls. he might be clumsy and inexperienced, but his size alone is enough to make you drool. trims sometimes but only when he thinks he might get lucky.

— his hand grips your hair as you worship his cock, working magic with your mouth. as you jerk him off, you give small kitten licks to his leaking tip, tasting his salty precum. you whisper, “i want you” and before you know it, he has you pinned under him, rutting his thick cock into you desperately. his eyes are fixated on the way your cunt swallows him, and only strangled groans escape his lips.

BUGGY

— sorry buggy simps but he’s definitely a shower not a grower, though he still does comes in at a nice 6”! also, it’s ya boy, skinny penis. built like a tree branch but at least it’s really veiny, AND he knows how to talk you through it. so really, it might not be the most impressive but with his confidence when he’s fucking you? he’ll fuck you out and make you believe he’s 8” and 5”.

— he loves admiring your sopping cunt as it swallow him whole, your princess parts stretching to to accommodate his cock. he likes to fucks you. he presses you up against a window and fucks you from the back, choking you with his forearm and practically purrs, “taking me so well, ya dirty slut, fuckin’ cunt was made for my cock.”

SHANKS

— he doesn’t act like it buuuuuuut monster cock. it’s 7.8”, thick, and curved so much it slaps against his happy trail. let me tell you that when he sun tans, he does it naked. he lathers that horse cock up with sunblock and spreads eagle on the sand, hands behind his head, so he’s bronzed and beautiful. trims when he feels like it or if you ask, he doesn’t really think much about it.

— he doesn’t look like he’s putting in much effort when he fucks, barely breaking a sweat, but he has you writhing, hands gripping the sheets, eyes hazy and choking on your own spit. he knows what he’s doing to you. his thumb finds your clit, rubbing in delicate circles making you cum over and over again until you’re absolutely wrecked. when he’s close, he picks up the pace, grunting heavily, hips stuttering as he spills his seed inside of you. when he pulls out, he takes the time to finger fuck his cum back into you, your body shaking as you work through the aftershock.

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 11

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7 || PART 8 || PART 9 || PART 10

Steve waits until everyone’s gone home to open the letter. Chrissy had ribbed him over not sharing but, no matter how supportive she is, she just doesn’t get it—she can’t. No matter what she’s shared, her and Jeff are clearly dating. And even if they hadn’t been, Jeff likes girls. The worst thing that would’ve happened is him turning her down.

With Eddie? The worst thing that could happen is total annihilation.

And Steve’s never been good at holding himself back. He cares fast, and he cares hard, and he can never quite stop, no matter what changes, or how much distance he puts between himself and the other person. Look at Nancy, and Tommy, and Carol, and his parents, and every single relationship he’s had where he’s all in, and the other person never meets him. He doesn’t even need halfway, hell, he’d take a quarter.

But even that’s never how it works out. If there’s one thing he’s learned, it’s that Steve Harrington is too much, always.

So, if his fingers shake as he opens the letter, who can blame him?

But, inside is everything he could have ever asked for—Because you’re it, baby. He caresses the words, fingers trembling, heart shuddering in his chest to a beat that sounds a lot like, “maybe, maybe, maybe.”

He knows it’s stupid. This letter isn’t for Steve, not really. It’s Chrissy’s face Eddie pictured when he wrote it, Chrissy’s lips he imagined kissing, Chrissy’s hand he imagined holding. But, it’s hard to remember, when there’s such longing on the page in front of him.

He doesn’t know what to say, thoughts running too fast to pick them out and write them down. He tries, pen stuttering over the page in half-formed sentences, until he’s left with:

  Eddie —

  You don’t want to know what I

  Someone has loved you. I love

  I’ll take anything you

  Fuck

Hee crumples the letter up into a ball, and tosses it across the room toward the trash bin. He shoots, he misses, he lays down with all the lights still on.

Steve stares down at Eddie’s letter, helpless in the face of the bubbling hope, unwilling to squash it. He folds the letter back up and puts it under his pillow, hoping for dreams, just like Eddie had said.

He doesn’t.

Steve’s tired the next morning, zoning out during class, and shuffling through the halls like a zombie. Chrissy keeps sending him worried looks, and even Robin asks if he’s okay in Mrs. Click’s class, which she was right, they do share.

Steve tells her he’s just tired, and she drops it, but there’s a sad, knowing smile on her face.

It happens at lunch. Eddie jumps up on his lunch table, boots thudding loudly against its metal surface, drawing all eyes in the room toward him. Everyone looks away, familiar with his tabletop rants by now, but Steve can’t look away.

Eddie’s magnetic when he’s like this, a black hole swirling everything up in its path. Steve doesn’t want to miss a thing, barely blinks as Eddie begins the familiar walk across the Hellfire table.

“Forced conformity, folks—it’s what’s killing the kids!” he cries, clapping fast to punctuate the sentence. Across Steve’s own table, Tommy boos, gaining momentum when the people around him laugh and join in. “Oh, don’t act so high and mighty, Hagan, you’re the worst of all.”

He’s grinning, but it’s not the dimpled one. He’s just baring his teeth, a predator scenting blood. “You’re all so focused on shooting balls in laundry baskets, like that’s all there is, but guess what? You’re going to be a washed-up has-been before you’re even out of this school.”

He takes a few steps forward, eyes straying from Tommy farther up the table, making it clear he’s talking to all of them. “You don’t realize that daddy’s money’s gonna dry up, and you’ll be left with a wife and three kids you don’t even like, reliving the old glory days like they were even worth remembering.”

“Come say that to my face, Munson!” Tommy cries, standing up from the table as the rest of them egg him on.

Eddie makes a little rock and roll symbol and smirks, like that’s exactly what he wanted Tommy to say. “And you know what? That’s all you’ll deserve for the shit you’ve pulled. A sad lonely life with your sad flaccid dick.”

And suddenly, he’s looking right at Steve, gaze piercing straight through Steve and into his soft, squishy underbelly. There’s blood in the water, and by Eddie’s laugh, he can taste it. “You’ve earned it,” he says, not even blinking, his eyes so intense Steve can’t breath with it. “After all, once a jock, always a jock.”

Chrissy links their fingers and squeezes his hand beneath the table. Steve blinks, spell broken as he squeezes her back in thanks. He looks down at his remaining chicken nuggets, appetite gone.

“You okay?” Chrissy asks, barely audible with all the continued heckling.

Steve glances up just in time to watch Eddie jump down from the table and plop his ass down like none of it happened at all. He’s laughing as Jeff and Gareth pat his back, but he looks deflated, like the whole spectacle took everything out of him.

“I will be,” Steve replies, pushing his lunch tray away.

If nothing else, he has something to write now.

*** 

Eddie can’t get the look on Harrington’s face out of his mind. He’d been at the top of his game, riling the jocks up enough that Hagan had jumped up like a jack-in-the-box. But, then he’d looked at Harrington, and it’d all gone wrong.

The guy was drooping into himself, mouth down-turned, eyes like a kicked puppy. Eddie stuttered, got caught up in him, something unnameable stuck in his throat. Eddies doesn’t even know what he’d said after that, couldn’t hear himself think much less speak, until Harrington finally looked down at the tabletop and their eye contact broke. 

Now he’s stumbling over his words, trying not to even look Harrington’s way as he finishes off his speech. It lacks the usual oomph, but Eddie doesn’t care; he just wants the whole thing to end.

Eddie stumbles down into his chair, shuddering through his smile as Gareth and Doug elbow him in the side, ribbing him good-naturedly. He chokes out a laugh, and doesn’t look at the jock’s table for the rest of lunch.

The next time he sees Harrington, there’s another complication to contend with in the form of Robin Buckley, best known for her proficiency on the trumpet and quirky outfits. And now? She’s best known for attaching herself like a barnacle to Harrington’s side.

Except, if she was a barnacle, Harrington might at least try to shake her off. But, no. He just smiles at her, and whispers with her, as she inserts herself between Chrissy and Harrington like she belongs there.

Chrissy, for her part, seems to like the girl as well.

Eddie doesn’t get it, can’t comprehend what the hell’s happening, and it makes something squirmy and viscous sink into his stomach every time Buckley inserts herself between the pair, every time they smile at her.

But, they still stop to talk to him in between classes, so Eddie tries to drop it.

“It just doesn’t make sense!” Eddie cries, phone clutched to his ear, not even letting Gareth get a word out before he’s continuing the conversation Jeff had rudely interrupted by showing up to lunch. “What the hell is Harrington’s deal?”

“Dude, you’re like, obsessed,” Gareth replies, clearly talking around a mouthful of whatever after-school snack he’d chosen this time.

“Is he trying to date every girl in school at the same time?” he whines, yanking on his hair hard enough that his scalp tingles.

“You’re just jealous,” he replies, and that same squirmy feeling makes Eddie wriggle his whole body, like there’s a chill in the air.

Is the heater on the fritz again?

“Of who?” Eddie screeches before quieting down, peeking into the living room to make sure Uncle Wayne hasn’t stirred. He hasn’t, but Eddie still keeps his voice lowered as he continues hissing into the receiver. “Of Harrington? Don’t be absurd.”

Gareth laughs, “I don’t know, man, but this whole thing is just getting weird.”

“I know, right? What are they up to?” Eddie asks, ignoring Gareth’s muttered “not what I meant,” like he hadn’t said anything at all.

He never figures it out because Buckley never comes around—not to band practice, or Hellfire, or any of the other times Chrissy and Eddie (and Harrington) are in the same place. Eddie should be relieved. He’s not.

Everything is spiraling out of his control.

But, the letters keep coming, and Eddie keeps devouring them

  Eddie —

  I really liked your tabletop speech this week, even though you made fun of the jocks. Some of them definitely deserve it. Do you hate all of them, or just the bullies?

  You laughed, but it wasn’t your real laugh like when Mr. Danver accidentally said ‘orgasm’ instead of ‘organism’. I love your laugh, I thought about it all day. Kind of like when your favorite song gets stuck in your head.

  I know I’ve said it before, but I do really like you. But, if you knew me, I don’t think you’d like me. It’s okay, though. I’m stupid like that—always putting my whole heart into people who don’t feel the same.

  I’m sorry, this is probably not the letter you hoped to get. I’ll be better next time, promise.

  Yours,

  Your Secret Admirer

  P.S. Put your response in the World Atlas, the long one that they have to put sideways on the bookshelf (because no matter where you are, I’ll always think of you).

They all make something flutter within him like his lungs are growing wings and flapping themselves out of his body entirely. Even as it leaves him breathless and aching, he wants more of it, longs for it.

It’s just—she sounds so sad, lately, like she’s losing hope in this at all.

All Eddie wants to do is reassure her. So, he keeps writing back, pulling his heart off his sleeve and flinging it down on the page for Chrissy to read, hoping he’ll somehow see those same feelings reflected in her eyes.

He never does.

So, he pokes; he wheedles; he pines for a girl on a page that never quite stands before him. And he pours it all onto the page.

  Secret Admirer,

  I don’t think it’s all jocks—you’re too nice for that. But even you have to admit that a lot of the jocks are only doing it to be at the top of the food chain. Guys like Carver and Harrington Hagaon? They don’t even care about sports, they just want peons to fawn over them. But, there’s people like you, too, so maybe more of them are better than I expect.

  I can’t imagine knowing who you are and not liking you. You’re the nicest girl I know. You don’t have to tell me who you are, but if you do? I promise, it’ll all be okay.

  Yours, always,

  Eddie

  P.S. You don’t have to “be better,” baby. I just want you to be you. That will always be enough for a guy like me.

It’s not enough—something is breaking open in him that words on the page can’t quite mend.

“I’m going to ask her out,” Eddie says once Harrington and Chrissy have left the latest Hellfire session, still inexplicably coming despite never playing.

Jeff chokes on his sip of soda, coughing harshly enough that some of it comes out of his mouth and splatters onto the table.

“Gross, dude,” Doug says, but still pats his back like he’s burping a baby.

“Are you serious?” Gareth asks, tone disbelieving.

Eddie makes crazy eyes at him, trying to psychically beam all his thoughts into Gareth’s head like, yes I’m serious, and, you know about the notes, why are you looking at me like that, and, what the hell else am I supposed to do to crack this mystery wide open?

“That is such a bad idea,” Jeff cuts in once he’s got his coughing under wraps.

Eddie whips towards him, scowling at his best friend as he replies, “you’re just jealous.”

Jeff sighs, heaves himself out of his chair, says a quick, “whatever, dude,” and walks out of the room without a backward glance.

“Aren’t you his ride?” Doug asks.

Eddie flaps his hand in dismissal and replies, “forget about him,” despite his gut sinking down into his boots at Jeff’s words.

“Well, how are you going to do it?” Gareth asks, the only one of his friends to seem even remotely excited.

Eddie keeps flapping his hand and replies, “never you mind.”

That even gets Gareth to scoff, knowing Eddie well enough to know that means he’s got nothing.

But there’s a thought niggling away at his brain: why not finish this thing the same way it had begun?

On his way out the door, he drops his latest letter to Chrissy into the trash bin and doesn’t look back. He’s got a new letter to write.

*** 

“You know this is juvenile, right?” Jeff asks.

Chrissy pulls the world atlas off the shelf with a roll of her eyes.

Her and Steve had fought about him picking up the letters alone, and Chrissy had won the way she always does when it comes to matters of his safety. He’s sulking in the parking lot now, waiting for her to retrieve it for him.

But, there’s no letter behind the cover. She flips through the whole book, then shakes it, pages flapping wildly, to see if anything falls out. Nothing does. No note, at least not yet.

Steve will be disappointed.

“They’re boys, of course it’s juvenile,” Chrissy says, turning away from the shelf to make pointed eye contact.

If boys are stupid, Jeff is the stupidest of them all. She thinks she can see a tinge of red to his dark cheeks that makes her smile. Chrissy turns away to pick up her book bag where she’d left it on the closet table.

“There’s no letter?” Jeff asks, sounding surprised.

Chrissy sighs, responding, “not yet. I’ll have to check back tomorrow.”

Steve will be crushed. He’s been weird about the letters since he’d begun writing the first drafts alone. Even with the minor polishing Chrissy puts on them after, they’re Steve’s words and feelings, no matter what Eddie thinks. And it shows in the way he takes them home and pours over them for days before slinking back to her with the original letter and his response, cheeks rosy as she fixes his spelling errors.

“Eddie’s planning on asking you out, you know,” Jeff says.

There’s a clatter behind one of the shelves, but Chrissy barely notices. “He said that?” she asks, turning sharply toward him, hand still clutching her book bag. 

Jeff nods, lips pursed. God, what are they going to do? This whole thing has spiraled so far out of either of their control. Chrissy had known when she offered that there was a chance Eddie would catch on—that he’d see her leaving a note, or catch her picking one up.

Better her than Steve, she’d thought then. No matter the awkward situation she’s found herself in, she still thinks that, even more so now. Better her than Steve. Steve, who’s proven himself kinder than she ever imagined, who would be run out of town, her ex-boyfriend at the head of the mob.

Chrissy can hear someone shuffling out of sight, feet shuffling on carpet far too close for comfort, so she steps closer to Jeff and lowers her voice. 

“Do you know when?” Chrissy asks, anxiety leaching into her. She needs to talk to Steve. Flirting with Eddie is one thing, but going on a date with him? Going out with him? That’s a whole other monster.

And then, of course, there’s Jeff.

“No, he hasn’t told me anything,” he replies, something small and hurt in his voice.

Chrissy’s never had a best friend, but Steve’s given her a little taste of it, and she’d be hurt if he didn’t tell her something like this.

“He’s probably embarrassed,” Chrissy says, aching to reach out and touch, but they’re in public, and Jason could be lurking behind any corner; the last thing she wants is to put a target on another person she cares about’s back. “You’re still his best friend.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he sighs, but when she bumps their shoulders together gently, his lips quirk up.

He smiles over at her, bumping their shoulders together himself as he asks, “drive me home?” as if it isn’t a foregone conclusion. “And stay for dinner?”

That gives her pause. She can feel her cheeks flushing. Despite taking the next step in their relationship, Jeff’s never invited her in, not where his parents and brother are. They haven’t even really discussed what they are, not with this whole secret admirer thing hanging over their heads like the Sword of Damocles.

But she wants to. She wants to hold his hand in the halls, go to his house for study dates and dinner, kiss him somewhere where they don’t have to be furtive.

It’s all stolen moments with Jeff, kisses and conversations made in haste when all she wants to do is linger. So, she says, “yes, please,” and bounces out into the parking lot.

Steve isn’t there, and neither is his car.

“Maybe he went home?” Jeff asks, but he looks just as unsure as she feels.

“We’ll call him when we get to your house,” she asserts. She’s relieved when all he does is nod and follow her to her car. 

She’s got a best friend to find.

*** 

Robin knows something’s gone wrong as soon as she sees that dangerous gleam in Carver’s eyes. She knows whatever it is, it’s about to go catastrophically wrong when she follows his line of sight to where Eddie stands chatting away with one of his friends.

Still, she stands frozen, watching in breathless horror as Eddie waves goodbye to his friend, that familiar happy grin on his face as he slides into the driver’s seat of his van. Heavy music blares from the rolled-down window as his van sputters to noisy life.

When she turns back to get her eyes on Carver, he’s gone. She spots him only as Eddie peels out of the parking lot, Carver’s douchey car hot on his heels.

Robin turns and runs back into the school. She’d spotted another douchey car still loitering in the parking lot; Steve’s in here somewhere.

She checks the library first, knows from previous confessions that it’s where he and Chrissy work on most of the secret admirer notes. It’s deserted aside from a scattering of freshmen in one corner, and Nancy Wheeler arguing with the librarian about a text the library doesn’t seem to have.

She finds herself in the gym next, unsure if any sports are currently in season, but nice guy or not, Steve’s got jock sensibilities. He likes the gym. There’s a singular kid shooting baskets, but based on the rack of balls off to the side, there might have been more.

She goes to the boy’s locker room without thinking, pushing the swinging door open with sweaty palms and shaking arms.

Inside, she finds boys, all blessedly dressed.

“Ohhh!” they call juvenilely as she stands there, shocked as four pairs of eyes lock on her.

“Girl in the locker room!” someone calls; she’s pretty sure that’s Tommy Hagan’s smug voice, but she barely notices, too caught up in trying to find her boy in the mess of bodies.

“Steve,” Robin strangles out.

Her skin feels tacky with panic sweat, and in the past five minutes of searching, she’s run her fingers through her own hair enough times to leave it sticking on end. She’s sure she looks more like a troll doll than an enticing member of the opposite sex.

“He already left,” a guy she doesn’t recognize responds, eying her up and down. “But I’d be more than happy to help you out.”

As if his meaning wasn’t already clear, he bites his lip and swipes his lip like he’s wiping up drool as all the other boys start “ooooh”ing in unison again. Is that something they’re taught in elementary, or something?

She doesn’t wait for them to continue, just turns and runs out of the locker room, panic nipping at her heels.

She runs back out to the parking lot, out of places to check and desperate to not miss Steve leaving.

That’s where she finds him, leaning casually against his car like Eddie’s life isn’t at stake.

She runs so fast, limbs uncoordinated and breaths coming rapid, that she doesn’t stop in time and hit’s Steve straight in the chest. 

She bounces off, almost falling to the pavement until he grabs her shoulders and steadies her. Steve’s hands feel big on her shoulders, the pressure of his palms pushing her soul back into her body as she takes big, deep gulps.

“What’s wrong, Bobby?” he asks, already looking at her like she’s a wet puppy he’s ready to scoop into his arms and dry off with the shirt on his own back.

There’s too many witnesses, and too many damning words to be said, so all she whispers is, “you need to go, Steve.”

He wrinkles his nose, but something of the gravity of her words must sink in because he leans in without hesitation and meets her pitch as he asks, “where?”

Robin steps even closer, damn-near standing on Steve’s toes as she begins her stilted explanation.

“Jason Carver followed Eddie’s van in his car,” Robin starts, words blurring into each other in her haste to get them out. “I don’t know what he’s planning, but—“

She doesn’t get to finish; Steve bolts to the driver's side door and flings himself into his car without sparing her a second thought.  She can’t blame him.

Robin only hopes he makes it in time.

PART 12

[whaleofatjme1920]

Kinktober Day 8: Step Right Up! Win A Prize! [Laughing Jack X F!Reader]

Warnings: slight degradation, cum stuffing MINORS DNI

AN: look. It’s been a busy day. I started writing this while I was waiting for a movie to start at a movie theatre (I would never be on my phone while the movie is actively playing trust)

AN: I had so much more written. But then. It got. Deleted. And my inspiration went out the window. Whoops.

Kinktober Masterlist

Reblogs are appreciated!

Your eyes widen as you see the tall, lanky clown before you leer over your open legs. He’s got a smirk on his lips as he eyes your pretty cunt, his own cock dripping with precum over how you glisten for him.

“I’m so glad you decided to step up,” he coos as he presses the head of his cock against the lips of your pussy. “The carnival was rather dull before I saw you,” he muses. Laughing Jack hums softly as he slides the tip up and down, coating himself with your slick. It makes him chuckle when he sees you shiver with delight, like you can’t help but give into him.

It was your idea to go to the carnival. Your idea to spend the night looking at ‘all the pretty lights’ and getting some funnel cake because of course you happened to crave some. And it was your idea to listen to the chants and exclamations of one of the carneys in his attempt to rope you in.

His words were sweet and addictive, and he was challenging your ego.

Here you are now, laid out on your back just in order to win a stupid prize. You can hear carnival music off in the distance. You just had to let him challenge you, didn’t you?

Take x amount of creampies and win a prize!

One might be a small plastic dagger, cheap and available at any dollar store. Three would guarantee a small stuffed animal. And five would be one of the big stuffed animals! The big prizes that everyone sees but no one actually expects to get!

“C’mon, open up that pretty cunt for me,” Laughing Jack mutters to himself as he shoved himself inside of you. He revels in how you gasp and claw at anything you can get your hands on, even a little at him in an attempt to ground yourself. It’s cute, almost.

He loves how tight you are. He starts to rut instantly, not caring about how you feel or how you adjust. This is his game to play, and you agreed to his rules! His large, clawed hands move towards your breasts. He thumbs one of your nipples.

“Such a slut, getting hard over something like this,” he giggles to himself as he ruts into you harder. The sound of skin on skin reverberates around his stall. He doesn’t care who’s going to hear him, not like anyone would bother him. It’s his circus, after all.

He ruts harder and harder. Laughing Jack isn’t shy that he’s using your body for his pleasure. He can head you gasp as you take his thick cock even deeper. “Such a tight little hole,” he muses.

You finally sink your nails into his forearms. You listen to him pound into you and try to hold on. Your legs are shaking and trembling. In a vain attempt to find yourself again, you wrap and lock your legs around his waist, screaming when he presses in you harder.

“Oh fuck!” You sob as you feel his balls slap against your ass. He’s going to stuff you as much as he can, that’s for sure. You figured creampie was something kind of… adult… but you didn’t want to assume when you originally stepped up to talk to him.

Turns out that your instincts were right.

You feel your cunt gushing all over you when he slams you into the ground. Your eyes squeezed shut as he fills you with hot, sticky cream. It makes soft little squelching noises from the sheer amount, liquid strings connecting the two of you from where your bodies are intertwined.

“Little cum slut!” He gleefully teases you as he sees your pussy flutter and beg for more. You’re already bursting with his load. He wonders how much more you can take. Laughing Jack manages to forcefully detach your legs from his waist before he folds you like a lawn chair. “Mmm, perfect position for cum sluts, wouldn’t you agree?” He asks rhetorically.

“Wait what—?” You reply in a half daze as you feel your legs rest on his broad, tall shoulders. He curls you more, your body his plaything as he bends you how he pleases. Laughing Jack giggles to himself as he shoves himself inside of you once more.

He hums softly as he pushes the back of your thighs with his hands. “Take it, you slut,” he coos sweetly to you. “Take it. Don’t you want a bigger prize?” He teases.

You feel your eyes rolling up from the pleasure. His cock is so big, girthy in a perfect way, oddly striped in black and white but he’s got wins and his thickness is delicious. So, you look up at him through your haze and nod. “Y-Yeah, I can take more,” you cutely answer him. Your head isn’t all there but that’s okay; Laughing Jack knows your true intentions.

He hilts deep inside of you and groans as his cum fills you once more, almost bursting you with how much of himself he’s stuffing into your overworked pussy. “Atta girl,” he grins, “you wanted the big prize? Keep taking it like the little whore you are and you’ll get it.”

[dollfacefantasy]

UNCOVENTIONAL LESSON ♡

pairing: chris redfield x fem!reader

summary: throat training w/ chris

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, blowjobs, daddy kink

kinktober slot: day 8 - throat training

"That's it. That's a good girl. Oh, look at you go. Taking so much for me," Chris coos from above you.

Your eyes soften, your mind sinking further into that hazy headspace where you leave everything up to him. You couldn't respond verbally because your mouth was currently occupied with a more important task. Sucking his cock.

Lately, this had been your favorite time of the day. The part where you could turn your thoughts off and fill yourself with something much more pleasurable. You'd just slide between his legs while he was watching tv or playing a game. Even if he was working, he'd still smile down at you and stroke your cheek.

"My baby's ready for her lesson, huh?" he'd ask before pulling out the thick shaft that had your mouth watering in seconds.

Those moments were becoming the highlight of Chris's day too. The times where he could 'teach' you how to take his cock, as if you didn't already know. You knew how to get him off. There was no issue with that. But this was like a game for you two. A way to feel closer - a special thing just for you and him.

Like always, Chris's hand pets your head. His thumb rubs at your cheek as it passes it by.

"Sweet baby. Working so hard for your daddy, aren't you?" he says, voice at that timbre that melts your brain into a puddle with a few words.

You slurp as you pull back, your hand picking up the slack your mouth's absence leaves. Nodding, you stare up at him with your wide doe eyes.

He chuckles and watches how your fingers stay gripped around his length. It was thick, took a little effort on your part to keep your digits curled around it as they stroked.

You lean back in, resting your cheek against his cock while you pump. Slick with your saliva, the clear fluid smears on your face a little with a mix of precum that oozes from the top. His thumb comes down to swipe most of the mess away and rub it across your lip instead.

"Messy girl," he croons.

The words bring a little smile to your face. It soon vanishes as you rise up again and part your lips to take his cock down your throat again. You start with the tip, suckling on it before sliding the rest of him into your mouth.

You bob up and down in a steady rhythm. He can tell you've been learning. Your suction's just right. You don't use any teeth. You can even take all the way back to your throat without gagging. Your head stays down with your nose nestled against his bush, his musky scent all around you.

He groans and tilts his head back, patting the back of yours approvingly.

"You're a fast learner, baby. So good, listening to everything daddy tells you," he sighs.

You pull back quickly, and he nearly cums on the spot. He grits his teeth to stave off the rush of pleasure. Your lips smoosh against the tip in a kiss and let another glob of saliva seep out and run over the veiny shaft down to his balls.

"Tastes so good, daddy," you whimper.

"I can tell. Turns you into a little slut every time," he mutters.

Another whine falls from your lips. You wrap your mouth around his dick again and suck with renewed fervor. His cum was all you wanted right now. Your hand comes up to fondle at his balls gently, feeling how they tighten for you.

He feels the muscles in his stomach contracting too. Clenching his jaw, he resists the urge to buck into your mouth and lodge his cock in your throat while he cums. Your mouth is just so wet and warm and perfect.

While he manages to keep his ass on the couch, he can't hold off his release. You moan happily as it floods your mouth. You keep bobbing your head as he cums, moving up and down until he tugs you off because he's too sensitive.

You swallow every drop and beam up at him. "Did I do a good job?" you ask, acting as if you need the confirmation.

Chris shakes his head lovingly and scoops you up onto his lap. You get kisses on both cheeks and a thumb rubbing over your chin.

"Of course you did. So well that daddy might have to give you a little reward for your perfect performance,” he says, leaning in to connect the two of you in a kiss.

[ymiko0]

A/n: request! I had to delete the draft so I unfortunately dont have the ask...but I do remember what the ask is about!

Tags: breeding, creampie, afab!reader, mating press (guess my fave position lol), mentions of pregnancy, unprotected sex (I dont condone this action),

He grips your thighs harder, your knees almost touching your ears as he continues to drill in you. Your eyes swelling up with tears and sobs escaping your sore throat.

Dazai moaned, unrestrained as he kept slamming his hips against yours, his balls slapping against your slicked bum, the air filled with the smell of arousal and wet slaps.

He loved the way you felt around him, your walls fluttering around his shaft, providing the warmth he oh so longed for. He cages you between his arms, placing his weight on you as he pounded into you with much more fervor.

He cant stop— he doesn't wanna stop. The feeling of needing to fill you up everytime just grows as he does so.

Dazai was never a man who wanted children, he thinks it's a ridiculous idea for a man like him to have offsprings.

Thats why when you asked him to cum inside you— he hesitated. He was afraid of what might come after. The thought of having children scares him.

" O-oh..! Fuck—! "

But your reassurance gave him the push to spill inside you.

And he was ecstatic.

His eyes rolled back as his hips stuttered and jittered, it felt amazing. Filling you up while feeling your walls clamp around him was euphoric.

Is this why some people loved to have children so much? Because he sure is convinced. This practice made him feel so much closer to you, he grew to love it so much to the point that he doesnt waste his release anymore,

He wants it inside.

—his excuse? Lesser mess.

" Haah..— oh fuck—, fuck, fuck, fuck—! " he let out breathy moans, he was nearing his release again.

" ah—! O-osam—..h! "

you interrupted yourself as you felt him rub your clit, your legs shaking from his hold as his pace began to loose consistency.

He kissed your swollen, red lips, a subtle action thanking you for this moment.

" Oh! Fuck— fuck fuck! y-y/n! Oh gosh you're so— "

You felt his pace falter and hips shake, he let go of you legs and placed them on his shoulder, kissing you once again as he stilled inside you, deep and felt his essence paint your insides.

He stilled his hips against your entrance, still folded in half and still clinging onto him.

You both bask in the aftermath of the climax, feeling his cum spill out of your abused hole, muttering a few words of praises against your ear.

But after a few seconds of composing himself, he began slowly rolling his hips again.

he whispered to your ear as he began to pick up his pace.

" ....just one more yea? Bella'? "

Hes addicted.

A/n: I personally think dazai doesnt want children...but would think about it if his spouse wants them! Very ooc as usual h a h a.

Fuck counter: 8

[raven-dor]

Could you do a cute fluffy Edmund Pensive, where like he’s been busy with his duties and reader gets lonely and he makes it up with like a cute dinner under the stars and maybe ends in nsfw if you write that

interrupted

In which king edmund the just cannot seem to find a moment alone with his lover

PAIRING: edmund pevensie x reader, lucy pevensie x PLATONIC!reader, peter pevensie x PLATONIC!reader, susan pevensie x PLATONIC!reader

WARNINGS: fluff, young love, horrible timing

WORD COUNT: 1,823

AN: This is set during the Golden Age, meaning Edmund is 21, Lucy is 18, Susan is 23, and Peter is 24!! I don't write NSFW, sorry!!

The nymphs played among the trees, floating wherever the wind took them. She sighed. Last time she’d been in the woods Edmund had brought her to the most exquisite waterfall, and they’d- She blushed. 

Aslan, she missed him. 

“Y/N! Are you listening?” Susan sighed, tapping her lady-in-waiting’s shoulder. “Y/N?” 

The girl shook her head, curtsying quickly. “My lady, I apologize.” What was she supposed the say; that she’d been daydreaming about her brother, wishing that she was in his arms rather than this boring conversation. Not that Susan was boring, quite the opposite, but talking about what shade of blue she wanted for a dress was not the highlight of her day. 

The gentle queen smiled, laughing at her friend. “It is alright; I was only talking about what dress I’d like to wear.” 

“May I assume you will wear the gold again?” She raised an eyebrow, teasing the queen. “It is your favorite.” 

“You’d be correct.” Y/N walked over to the wardrobe, pulling out the dress for later that evening. “Perhaps you could do that hairstyle with the flowers…” 

“Whatever you wish, my lady.” 

Susan sat down at her desk, glancing over the stack of papers. “Will you be in attendance?” 

“I would not miss it for the world. Queen Lucy’s birthday has always been the most anticipated event of the season. She has the most exquisite taste.” 

Susan nodded, humming. “And what will you be wearing?” 

Y/N smiled. “I suppose this will do.” 

The dark-haired girl looked up, shaking her head. “Go in the wardrobe, find a dress you like.” 

“Are you quite serious?” 

“Of course.” She looked back down, waving her away. “Now go on.”

Susan kindly gave her the rest of the day off, stating that she would be too wrapped up in responding to all the letters to make use of her time. Y/N knew Susan could tell she was anxious for some time to herself and wished she could thank her for reading her so well. 

She supposed that was what happened when you were around someone for 8 years. 

Often, when Susan let her go and do as she pleased, she found herself in the library. It was large, larger than any library she’d ever seen before. There were ladders for each shelf, every one leading to the second floor. On the second floor, there was a corner that had the perfect view overlooking the town. 

That is where Y/N relaxed every day she could manage. Filled with too much excitement at the prospect of seeing Edmund, she could not find it in her to read, and so she simply stared at the people below, smiling at how peaceful Cair Paravel looked. 

A cough broke the silence. “My lady.” 

Y/N grinned, jumping to her feet. “Your Grace.” 

The young king smiled back. “You look-” 

She ran to him, pressing her lips to his. “Aslan, I missed you.” 

He sighed, pulling her close. “I missed you much more.” 

“Not possible.” 

He sighed, leaning his forehead against hers. “How has your day been, my love?” 

“Your sister let me pick a dress for Lucy’s birthday ball.” She smirked. “I believe you will like it.” 

His cheeks grew red. “Will I?” 

“Most certainly.” She walked out of his hold, sitting down on the couch once more. “Care to join me?” 

He winced. “I would love to, it’s just-” 

She forced herself not to glare at him. “I understand.” She shooed him away. “You have duties. I will see you later this evening.” 

He nodded but looked unsure. “I can stay-” 

“Edmund, I will be fine.” She smiled. “Really.” 

Guests piled into the ballroom, extravagant gowns making it hard to walk through the crowd. Y/N greeted each guest personally, thanking them for coming to the occasion. Lucy’s lady-in-waiting had spearheaded the occasion but was insistent on putting the finishing touches on the young Queen’s hair, so the task fell to Y/N. 

“My lady.” King Peter stood in front of her, a bright grin adorning his face. “Do tell Maria she did excellent work.” 

She nodded. “Of course, Your Majesty.” 

Peter’s wife laughed, teasing him. “Or you could just tell her yourself, my dear.” 

He nodded. “What would I do without you?” 

“Most likely go mad.” She smirked. “Amongst other things.” 

Y/N smiled. She’d remembered their wedding well. It had been a grand occasion, with lords and ladies from all over Narnia visiting. Aslan himself had made an appearance, but what really stood out to her that night was that Edmund had asked her to dance. 

Where was Edmund? 

She scanned the room, locking eyes with him. She blushed, waving, but he did not wave back. Instead, he went back to his conversation with some Telmarine lord. She tried to brush it off, but Peter noticed instantly. He always noticed everything; it was rather annoying at times. “I’m sure he’ll be done soon enough. It’s his sister’s birthday, after all. He can’t work forever.” 

Y/N smiled. “I believe he would work forever if the option was available.” 

“Yes, well…” He sighed. “Perhaps I have been too hard on him. Maybe if-” The horns blared, signaling that Lucy was approaching. The crowd turned towards the two great doors, murmurs echoing. Lucy appeared at the top of the stairs, the picture of beauty in her pink gown. Her hair was long, flowing past her waist, with gems thrown in every so often. Her crown sat perfectly atop her head, and her smile radiated warmth. 

“Queen Lucy the Valiant.” 

Thunderous applause rang throughout the hall. Peter might have been the loudest of all, besides his wife, who had always had a soft spot for the younger girl. She smiled, clapping politely when something tapped her shoulder. She turned, rolling her eyes at Edmund. “So now you have time for me?” 

He tilted his head. “Sorry?” 

She hissed. “I waved at you. Did you not see me?” 

He stepped closer, smiling as he whispered so the nosy noblemen didn’t think something was amiss. “I’m sorry, I was making an arrangement with Lord Sopespian.” 

“I wasn’t aware there was any tension between us and Telmar recently.” 

“There aren’t.” 

She looked at his curiously. “Then what were you-”

“Edmund!” Y/N gasped, sinking into a deep curtsy. “Your Grace. Happy Birthday.” 

Lucy smiled. “Please stand Y/N. You know I hate it when you do that.” 

“Yes, Your Grace.”  

The young girl looked in between the two. “Did I interrupt something?” 

Y/N shook her head. “Not at all Your Grace. I was just leaving.” She turned to Edmund, barely curtsying. “My King.” 

He sighed. “Y/N, please-” 

She walked away, leaving the siblings in silence. Lucy smirked. “What have you done now?” 

The halls of Cair Paravel were bustling, servants, nobles, and the likes walking through. Y/N was on the way to the kitchens to fetch Susan some afternoon tea when she spied Edmund’s black hair in the crowd. She dropped her head, trying to avoid the uncomfortable conversation that was sure to follow. 

She’d almost gotten past him too, but he’d stopped, tilting his head at the sight. “My lady.” 

She kept walking. Edmund tried not to groan. “Y/N.” 

To that she responded, whipping around, her eyes wide. “Your Grace, it is highly inappropriate to-”

He raised an eyebrow. “Follow me, please.” 

“I am meant to be getting your sister tea, Your Grace.” She glared. “If-” 

“It will only take a moment.” He crossed his arms. “Come.” 

“If you insist.” She murmured, following after.

Edmund chose to ignore that, rounding the corner and opening the door to his office. “After you.” 

“People will-” 

“Nothing you haven’t done before.” He waited, and she groaned, walking in.

“What is it that you need Your Grace?” 

“You were right.” 

Y/N tilted her head. “And this is regarding?” 

“Your dress. It was exquisite. You looked like a queen.” 

She fought the blush forming on her cheeks. “Is that all, Your Grace?”

“Stop calling me Your Grace. I understand that my duties have been…” He tried to find the right word. Y/N murmured, staring at the ground. “Interferring.” “Yes, interferring with our plans, but you must understand.” He walked over, grabbing her hands. “It is not of my choosing. I am not purposefully ignoring you.” 

“I never said-” 

“No you did not.” He smiled. “But I feel after two years, I know what you look like when you are upset. My love…” He kissed the back of her hands. “I am sorry. Truly, I am.”

“It’s alright Edmund. I’m sorry for losing my temper, I just-” She sighed. “I enjoy your company. I can’t help but miss spending time with you.” 

He nodded. “Would a midnight dinner under the stars interest you?” 

She grinned. “Edmund, I don’t want you to fuss over me.” 

“You say that, but you’re smiling. Besides, that is my favorite activity.” He smirked. “Would you really deny your king the pleasure of your company?” He leaned in, their lips inches apart. “Please say yes.” 

“Yes.” She whispered, heart beating. “Kiss me.” 

“As you wish.” 

“Edmund?” Y/N called out, waiting where he’d asked her to. “Darling?” 

“Over here.” She followed his voice, gasping. “Oh my-” Her eyes watered. “Edmund, this is too much.” 

“Is it?” He looked at his work, shaking his head. “I think it’s perfect, you deserve all this and more.” 

The blanket was laid out with candles surrounding, rose petals throw haphazardly. The stars shined brightly above them, and he had two baskets of food. She grinned. “Is that-” 

“Honey cake?” He nodded. “Made them myself.” 

She laughed. “I can tell.” She pointed to his cheek. “May I?”

“Please.” She stood on her tiptoes, brushing off the flour he’d forgotten. 

“This is so kind of you.” 

He laughed. “Nonsense. Shall we?” He handed her a honey cake, grinning when she rolled her eyes. “Good?” 

“Perfect.” 

“Peter pulled me aside today.” 

Y/N tilted her head. “Really?” 

“Something about prioritizing myself over work. Said he noticed I was neglecting my personal aspirations, whatever that means.” He raised an eyebrow. “That wouldn’t be your doing, would it?” 

She shook her head. “No, but he’s not wrong.” She put her hand over his. “You work too hard my love.” 

“Is it so bad that I want to ensure Narnia is safe?” 

“No, but to what end? You need to sleep. Don’t act like you do, I know you’ve been staying up lately. It does Narnia no good if you work yourself to death. What will we do then? Do you expect your brother or sisters to take up your role?” 

“Spoken like a true queen.” 

She sighed. “Edmund…” 

“I suppose you’re right.” 

“When am I not?” 

He glared playfully. “You’re rather chipper.” 

“I can’t help it.” She leaned over, kissing his cheek lightly. “You make me happy.” 

[its-all-stardust]

Sugar || 8

Masterlist || Part Seven || Part Nine

Steven Grant/Sugar Mommy!Reader

Word count: 4.6k

Series Summary: You meet Steven in a museum gift shop and feel an instant connection. Before you walk out the door you decide, perhaps against your better judgment, that you need him to be your sugar baby. Now you just need him to let you treat him right.

“What’s that look for?” Steven asks when he walks into your apartment.

You greet him with a grin, almost bouncing on the balls of your feet. You couldn’t wait for him to get here.

Your hands are on his chest, his on your waist, and you’re leaning into him before the door is even closed. “How do you feel about getting dressed up and being my date in two weeks?”

Steven seems to catch on to your excitement, realizing something is up. “This isn’t a regular date, is it?”

You shake your head. “Charity auction. I just got word today that I have an opening for my plus one, and I want you to come with me.”

He frowns, his hands twitching against you. “You had another date?”

“Just Dan. He had to cancel. He’s having a surprise party for his son that day.”

Somehow, Steven’s frown manages to deepen. “Who’s Dan?”

You feel him start to pull away, but you slide your hands up and lock them behind his neck, preventing his escape. There’s an elated tingling in your chest, and you soften your expression.

“Dan is my CFO. He always goes with me to these things to handle all the schmoozing because I don’t like talking to people.” Steven’s shoulders relax under your arms, the lines easing from his face. You press a reassuring kiss on his cheek. “Is that an acceptable answer?” you tease.

Steven sputters, though his hands are pressed more firmly against your waist, pulling you closer.

“If you wanted to be with other men, who am I to stop you?” he says. Though you can hear the relief in his voice, you also detect a lingering nervousness.

Your lips move to his jaw. “Too bad I don’t want to be with other men.”

Steven’s breath hitches. “No?”

You shake your head, inadvertently yet wonderfully nuzzling into him. “I only want you.”

A bold statement to say to a baby, but that’s how you’ve been lately. It started before your vacation just two short weeks ago, but it’s grown since then, and so far, you haven’t had reason to stop.

You only want Steven, which may be more than a little dangerous for you. You have sugar babies because they’re not like traditional relationships. They’re easier for a number of reasons, and generally, you don’t develop…certain feelings for your babies. They dutifully fulfill their role as companions, and you’ve always been fine with that.

But Steven has become more than just another baby to you. If you’re not careful, you could end up hurt.

“Oh,” Steven breathes, apparently all he can say. He’s practically vibrating against you, though, telling you all you need to know about how your words affected him.

Then, he says, “Good,” and kisses you. Steven is holding onto you like he can’t bear to let you go, and you return the intensity in kind. Your hands are in his hair, nails scraping along his skin.

He nips at your lips, drawing a gasp from you.

He’s been getting bolder, too.

When you finally part, Steven’s pupils are blown wide, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so… possessive.

“I should make you jealous more often,” you tease, trying to hide your elation that Steven seems to only want you, too. You’re not the best at reading people, but unlike some, Steven has never tried to hide how he’s feeling.

“No,” Steven says softly before burying his face in your neck, his hands roaming along your back. “I don’t want to hear about you with other people.”

Your heart is beating so fast; it’s a wonder it’s still in your chest.

Maybe, with Steven...

You didn’t pick this dress for Steven. That’s what you tell yourself anyway. You liked it because the fabric isn’t itchy, and the fit isn’t too tight. Nor did you pick it because you know it gets you lingering stares.

No, you chose it because you thought it was pretty. That was all.

The lie only worked until Steven saw you coming down the stairs.

His eyes are wide, his mouth hanging open. You saw him nervously playing with the cuffs of his jacket, endlessly twitching, until he spotted you.

The dress isn’t flashy—this is a classy fundraising event, after all, not a film premiere—but it exudes a quiet power.

It’s floor-length and midnight blue, with a shallow v-cut neckline that provides only a hint of cleavage. The sleeves are long, trailing a mere inch above the hem of the skirt, your heels saving them from touching the floor, and split just above the elbow for ease of use of your arms.

The finishing touches are the silver jeweled appliques on your shoulders in the shape of starbursts. They square out your shoulders, giving the illusion of perfect posture and fierce demeanor.

Not wanting to do the work yourself, you visited a salon earlier in the day to get your hair and makeup done. Steven saw that before the completed look, and even then, he was stunned by you. Your hair is pulled into an elegant bun to show off your neck, not a single strand out of place. Even the pins are carefully hidden, making your hair appear magically held in place. Your makeup isn’t heavy except for your eyes. Dark lashes and liner pulled into sharp angles, softened only by silver shadow across the lid. A deep wine-red lipstick completes the look.

Your only accessories are silver earrings to match the appliques and a clutch made to perfectly match the fabric of your dress. That way, you can carry it as your side without drawing the eye too low.

The only flaw with the whole ensemble is that you can’t wear the bracelet Steven gifted you. The gold makes it clash with the silver on the dress. You probably wear the bracelet too much, anyway; pearls are too soft to be worn every day, but you can’t bear to part with it. It was a struggle not to pick another dress entirely to match the bracelet or even take the dress in to have the appliques replaced with gold versions.

You’re afraid that would have been too much, though, and decided against it.

Even without the bracelet, Steven is still in awe of you, and that’s all that matters.

“I think I forgot how to breathe,” he says when you reach him.

Heat builds in your face as you say, “I could say the same about you.” You can’t help but reach out and smooth a hand across his right shoulder and down his chest.

Steven’s suit is black with the bowtie, of course, custom-made to match your dress. It is, admittedly, a little uninspired in terms of men’s fashion, but the norm for events like this. But even still, the suit is cut to Steven’s body perfectly, showing off his figure in the way only fine tailoring can do. His look is complete with artfully slicked-back hair, a style typically reserved for special occasions, leaving him looking a little less like your Steven. The Steven you’re used to.

After your many dates, you already know he cleans up nicely, but it’s still a sight to see every time.

“Only the best for you, love,” Steven says with a simple, offering his arm.

Though any event attended by the wealthy is used as an informal business opportunity, they are also for showing off. The nouveau riche tends to do so by wearing fancy clothes and jewelry. They make a show of how much money they have, bragging about mansions and vacation homes in foreign countries.

Old money falls into quieter luxury. The things they show off aren’t objects but rather something intangible. They talk of things such as new business dealings or proudly state that a spouse or child has a new position within a corporation or even the government, displaying not just their wealth but their power.

You, though, do neither of those things, not now that you have others to do the talking for you. Now that Dan isn’t here, you don’t have to listen to yet another round of your accomplishments being listed to potentially interested parties who could be convinced to invest or point your company toward more lucrative dealings.

You already did your time playing the rich man’s game at previous functions over the years, learning and avoiding all the faux pas typically done by those who haven’t learned to act like they were born to this. Some of the others forget your money is just as new as the overly flashy crowd. You know how to blend in; you’ve had to do it all your life. Things aren’t much different now, even though the crowd has changed.

And even though you tend to dislike these functions for the most part, you still have your own showing off that you want to do. There’s a reason you can fit in around here, after all.

You want everyone to see Steven on your arm.

Some, if not all, of your peers may suspect what he is to you. You don’t care, and chances are they won’t either. Some of them will likely have their own sugar babies in attendance with them. But you want to show them that none compare to your Steven.

None of them are as free or as open as he is. He doesn’t have to pretend to be air-headed to keep your interest, and as handsome as you think he is, he’s more than just a pretty face who fawns all over you.

You don’t plan on staying for long. A brief appearance usually appeases the more judgmental crowd. You’re not so renowned that you can decline all invitations with a small six-figure apology for your absence. It isn’t so bad, though. You do like dressing up on occasion, and it’s the perfect excuse to get Steve dressed up, too. You’re always looking for an excuse to make him into a model for your personal photoshoots, pictures tucked away in a folder on your phone.

After a flute or two of champagne, a respectable bid on something that isn’t terribly ugly, and enough people seeing—and admiring—Steven at your side, you’ll head home. The night will end at your apartment with your baby wrapped around you and a healthy transfer into Steven’s account for the pleasure of his company.

Ever since you and Steven returned from Germany, he’s been sleeping in your room with you whenever he stays the night. His bed has practically been untouched for the last couple of weeks; his own apartment even less so. These days, his room is just extra storage space for Steven to toss his clothes onto, and you couldn’t be happier. You’ve come to look forward to your new nighttime routine.

“So, do you get a paddle? Will there be a man talking so fast you can barely understand him?” Steven asks as the two of you enter the venue—a gorgeous art gallery, the host of the event.

“As fun as that would be, I’m afraid this is a silent auction,” you sigh. “You’ll only see this crowd at an auction like that if the lots are full of less-than-legal items.”

“What, really?” Steven asks in disbelief. “Aren’t those for, I dunno, shady people?”

“Oh, Steven,” you say indulgently. “These will be some of the shadiest people you’ll ever meet.”

Glass in one hand, Steven’s arm in the other—with him dutifully holding your clutch—you make your way through the gallery. Many of the pieces up for auction are paintings. They’re usually donated by some of the night’s guests looking to redecorate their homes. This way, they can get rid of the old paintings and find something unique for their newly refreshed foyer, all the while pretending they did it in the name of a good cause.

A few sculptures are scattered about, but those are usually never quite as popular. You also spot different memorabilia, either for some sport or another, or even items from a particularly beloved movie or actor.

Tonight’s selection also contains vintage handbags and jewelry. You’re sure there are other items about, but you’ve always had particular tastes and have rarely found items at an auction that you’re genuinely interested in. You only look because it’s expected of you.

A call of your name makes you pause, searching for the source.

Coming toward you is Daphne, a wealthy widow in her fifties. Like you, she doesn’t have the pedigree of some of the others, having “married up” after meeting her husband. Because of that, she’s never been as uptight as some of the other people you’ve interacted with, and as a result, you’ve always liked her.

“It’s good to see you,” you say, giving her a quick hug, mindful of your glass and hers. “It’s been ages.”

“You’ll need to squeeze me into your busy schedule for dinner some evening,” she teases. When she pulls away from you, she turns to Steven and says, “This isn’t Dan.” She looks him up and down, a knowing smile on her face.

“I’m Steven,” he quickly says, tensing beside you, apparently still a little jealous about your coworker.

“My date,” you provide without needing to as Daphne and Steven shake hands. 

“Is he good?” Daphne asks you after introducing herself. She can guess that Steven is your sugar baby. She knows that’s your usual relationship, and she often has one of her own. She’s one of the few people you’re comfortable talking about babies with.

You glance over at Steven as if evaluating him. His nervous twitching has returned, and you’re unsure of the exact cause. A frown threatens to pull down the corners of your mouth, but you don’t let it succeed.

“He’s good,” you tell Daphne, giving Steven’s arm a reassuring squeeze. His cheeks darken.

He’s still responsive and isn’t blocking things out, a good sign that he’s not about to shut down.

“Where did she find you? I’ve been looking for a new man,” Daphne says, turning back to Steven. She always treats babies like people, unlike some who treat them like shadows, inconsequential, and best left seen and not heard.

“At the National Art Gallery,” Steven replies, a little strained, unsure what he’s allowed to say. “I work there and she was enjoying the exhibits.”

Daphne’s eyebrows raise slightly. She was likely expecting him to give a website. You usually prefer your babies to go through a screening process, so she knows picking up one at random—in person, off the street—is unusual for you.

“How serendipitous!” she exclaims with a genuine smile. Daphne then leans in toward Steven. “Now, tell me, Steven, how do you like your job?” she asks quietly with a pointed glance toward you.

Before you can say anything to try to reign Daphne in, Steven looks at you, his expression softening, the nerves falling away.

“It’s not really a job, though. Not to me. I just…like being around her.”

Your face starts to heat up as Daphne’s eyes flit back and forth between you, a knowing smile on her face.

“Good! Well, I won’t keep you,” she says, stepping back. “You two enjoy your evening. And I’ll be calling your assistant next week about dinner.”

After your goodbyes to Daphne, you and Steven continue walking around the gallery hall. You point out some rather dreadful pieces and make some talk with some of the other guests. As time goes on, you notice Steven steadily getting more quiet. You don’t think much of it. Putting on a show, even a minimal one, can be draining. His uneasiness has been following him all night, so you remind yourself not to stay longer than needed and keep moving.

“What do you think of this one?” you ask Steven, looking at the least ugly of the handbags. You’re still trying to find something to bid on that you could stomach the thought of taking home.

Before he can answer, the sound of shattering glass and a startled yelp fills the hall. Suddenly, Steven steps closer to you, his arm thrown protectively across your body as he searches for the source of the disturbance, his body tense.

“It’s alright,” you reassure, gently placing a hand on Steven’s arm. “Someone knocked into one of the servers.”

The tension leaves Steven, and his arm falls. You’re a little shocked. You’ve never seen him react like that before, though you haven’t exactly been in any situations where he would need to try to protect you.

“Sorry, I just….” He trails off, his voice sounding lower than usual. He shakes his head, confused. “I don’t know why I did that.”

You squeeze his arm. “Steven, are you alright?” you ask softly. “You’ve been a little off tonight.”

A slight frown forms on his face as he looks at you. “I’m fine. I promise,” he says, his voice mostly returning to normal. Then he gestures to the handbag you were evaluating. “You were thinking of this one, yeah?”

“I was,” you agree, looking Steven over. You don’t think you need to pull the plug on the evening quite yet, but something is going on with your baby. You chat about the bag for a moment, both of you pretending everything is fine.

As the night goes on, Steven starts becoming more and more withdrawn. You could have sworn you heard him mumbling to himself at one point, but when you asked him what he said, he claimed it was nothing. Though he was hesitant at the beginning of the night, he at least still made polite, though limited, conversation with the other guests you stopped and spoke with. Now, even you can barely get a word out of him.

“I think this will look lovely in your room,” you say to him as you come to a stop in front of an abstract painting that’s nothing more than splashes of various shades of a questionable yellow. You’re trying to get some reaction out of him, trying to gauge his feelings.

Steven doesn’t look as nervous as he did earlier in the night, but his brow still holds a slight furrow, and his posture, though perfect, is rigid. When you lean into him, he’s not as soft as he usually is. He doesn’t return the favor, leaning into you as he always does.

Steven doesn’t react at all to your suggestion of the hideous painting. It’s like he didn’t even hear you.

“Steven, look at me.”

He inhales as if preparing for something and finally turns to face you, though he doesn’t quite meet your eye. You take his chin and gently tilt his face toward you, making him look at you.

“Tell me what’s wrong.” Though you keep your voice soft, gentle, there’s no mistaking the order in the words. He stares at you, mesmerized or lost in thought—you have no idea.

“I don’t…feel like myself,” Steven finally says, his voice sounding…wrong. “Can we go?”

Your hand falls from his chin down to his chest. “Baby, why didn’t you tell me something was wrong?” Usually, if Steven wasn’t up for something, he would tell you immediately. This isn’t like him at all.

Steven takes a second to answer. “I didn’t want to ruin your night.”

Your gaze softens, and any irritation, however mild, leaves you. “You could never ruin my night,” you tell him, filling your words with admiration.

You quickly turn around, typing in a random amount on the tablet for the ugly yellow painting, placing your bid, and making your mark for the evening. Then, taking Steven’s hand, you start heading for the exit. “Let’s go.”

As you wait outside, you start mentally running through everything you have at home that might help Steven. If tonight just made him anxious, maybe even overstimulated, then you can have him change into something comfortable, dim the lights, and make everything nice and quiet. You can even brush out his slicked-back hair if he’ll let you touch him. Whatever he needs to makes him feel more like himself.

If he’s feeling sick, you’re sure you have something in the cupboards to help. If you don’t, you’ll just have someone deliver it.

“Can we go to my place?” Steven asks suddenly as your driver pulls the car up to the curb.

“What?” you say automatically, pulling from your thoughts and leaving you momentarily confused. “Are you sure?” To say that you aren’t a little hurt that he doesn’t want to be at your apartment would be a lie.

“Yes, please. I…need to be there,” Steven says, again, not looking at you.

You ignore the slight wound and focus on your baby’s needs instead. If he wants to be at his place, then that’s what you’ll do for him. After instructing your driver to go to Steven’s apartment, you take his hand again. It’s limp in yours, but he doesn’t pull away.

When the car stops in front of his building, Steven practically leaps out, pulling his hand from yours and leaving you behind.

You sit there, absolutely stunned and left unsure of what to do. Steven didn’t technically invite you up to his apartment, but neither did he bother to say goodbye.

Confused and more than a little hurt, you gather your clutch and sleeves and follow Steven out of the car, telling your driver to wait for you. You don’t exactly have a plan as you follow Steven into the building, narrowly catching the door before it closed and locked you out, but you hope to get some sort of answer from him.

Steven does a double-take when you slip into the elevator right behind him. Apparently, he wasn’t expecting you to follow. As the lift slowly grinds its way upwards, you and Steven are again silent, with him steadfastly avoiding eye contact.

Too stressed, too focused on Steven, you don’t process anything about the building itself. Any other day, you’d be thrilled to finally be allowed into Steven’s private space, but right now, you can’t think of anything other than what’s going on with your baby.

A dark part of you starts to whisper that it’s you. You did this to Steven and he wants out. But then a more rational part of your brain argues that he never would have looked at you the way he did just a few short hours ago if that were true. You’ve known Steven long enough to realize what a terrible liar he is. He couldn’t have faked his awe.

Whatever is happening, it’s something else. Something happened to him after you arrived at the gallery that caused him to act like this. You just need to know what so you can fix it.

The doors to the elevator open, on which floor, you have no clue, and Steven leads you off toward his apartment, no longer rushing to get away from you but notably keeping his distance.

Pulling his key from his pocket, Steven unlocks his door, allowing you into this part of his life for the first time. You had always wanted it to be under better circumstances.

The first thing you notice is the books. It’s not that you didn’t believe Steven when he told you how many he has, but hearing about it and seeing it are two very different things.

They are stacked everywhere. Shelves are overflowing, and neat piles are littering the entire apartment. There are even some spilling into the kitchen, gathered around the shelves that serve not only to separate the space from the rest of the flat but also host the tank for Steven’s pet goldfish, Gus. Before you can take in much else, Steven is moving away from you, taking off his jacket and hanging it on the back of one of the chairs at the kitchen table.

Then he grips the back of the chair, the jacket bunching under his fingers. When he still doesn’t say anything, you do what you always do: take care of him.

Spotting a kettle on the stove, you make your way toward it, glazing at the wall immediately to the right of the door, taking note of the map and various postcards.

From his mom.

You suppose it’s something since, as far as you’re aware, she’s yet to return any of Steven’s various calls. Steven even told you this apartment is technically hers, but you’ve wondered more than once if she’s ever returning to London.

Grabbing the kettle, you take it to the sink, fill it, and put it back on the stove before opening the cupboards and hunting for a mug. Thankfully, the teabags are on the counter, left in their original tin. Steven’s eyes follow your every move. Only once you set down a mug and patiently start waiting for the water to boil does he finally speak.

“What are you doing?”

“Making you tea. Sit.”

Steven takes a step toward you. “You don’t need to do that.”

“Yes, I do,” you say sternly, turning to face him. Steven pauses, a little taken aback. “Sit,” you repeat more gently and return to your task. He pulls out a chair, the legs scraping along the floor, and obediently sits.

As the kettle whistles, you take it off the heat and pour the water into the mug. The silence is overwhelming as the tea steeps.

“Is it me?” you ask after a couple of minutes. You keep your back to Steven as you move around the kitchen again, hunting for sugar. Even though you don’t believe it is you—not entirely, anyway—you need to know what it is. You need to be delicate and the best way is to ease into it.

Steven doesn’t answer you until you stand across the table from him and set the tea by his hands.

“No. It’s not… it’s not you.” He shakes his head. “You’re… you’re good.” He goes silent again. He doesn’t touch the tea.

You wait for a moment before moving around the table to stand at his side. Sucking in a breath, you’re about to speak but hesitate. Maybe you should let it go and let Steven work out whatever’s wrong in his own time. Ultimately, though, you continue.

“Is it something you don’t want to talk about, or is it something you don’t want to talk to me about?”

Steven’s posture stiffens even more as he keeps his gaze on his hands. After showing no signs of responding, you reach out, taking his chin and turning his face toward you for the second time tonight.

“Steven.” Nothing else. Just his name and the unspoken plea for him to give you some sort of answer.

His eyes search yours for a moment before he takes a steadying breath. “I can’t tell anyone,” he quietly admits. “I’m sorry.”

You nod. Some things are too hard to share. You won’t begrudge Steven that. “But you’ll be okay?” Steven nods, your hand still on his chin. Leaning down, you kiss his cheek. “I’ll be here to listen if you can tell someone someday.”

When you pull away, Steven’s face is redder than you’ve seen in months.

“O-okay,” he breathes, his voice a touch shaky.

You hate to do it, but you know you should leave. Whatever Steven’s going through, he’d rather do it alone. You have no right to intrude upon his personal life as much as you have tonight. You’ve done all you could and can’t blame him for not wanting to open up to you.

You’re just his sugar mommy, after all.

You step away from Steven without another word and take the agonizingly short yet still too-long walk to the door. Swinging it open, hand on the knob, you glance back, catching Steven’s eye before he quickly looks away. For a moment, he looked like a complete stranger staring back at you.

Shaking the thought from your head, you pull the door shut softly behind you.

[amara555555]

He’s lonely, I can fix that~

Gun Drabble~

Mimi:

Goo’s eyes couldn’t pop out more. He looked the demon from smile just standing there, waiting for someone to pluck out the balls like mr potato head.

Gun was picking out tiny tutus. Like the most tiniest tutus and biggest bows that would combine over his and Goo’s head and still have space for 2 more heads.

He finally asked.

“Watcha got there?”

He tries to as casual as he’s humanely possible. Gun turns around with attitude.

“Why do you care?”

Goo scowls.

“You’re holding a tutu! Who’s that for??”

Gun rolled his eyes.

“No one”.

Goo scoffed.

“My ass. You got a love child eh?”

Gun grimaced. Wrong answer.

“……your gonna put that on your d-“

Gun throws a rack of clothes at him.

———/-//———————-

Goo took in the interior of the shop they stood in. Pastels of every colour along with pet collars along the walls. Some fluffy, bells, bows, diamonds, leather, metal- but Goo just wanted to know why and what was Gun doing in a girly ass shop like this? One he wouldn’t be caught dead naked in????

Gun picked a light pastel pink fluffy collar with tiny pearls. And a pink bell.

Goo’s eye twitched and he rubbed over his glasses as Gun stepped up to the counter to pay.

“…..you a pastel dominatrix dear ole pal?”

Gun threw the cash register at Goo-

—————————————

Goo’s head rested in his palm as Gun walked with a pink holster leash. It was lengthened with glitter, gems, and hearts.

He grinds his jaw as Gun took a seat and sent him a look.

“What?”

Goo blinked and pointed at the leash.

“That for me?”

Gun slaps Goo-

———————————

Goo tried to peek over at Gun’s phone who held it in a special angle of privacy. Goo huffed and puffed in silent before Gun was called away by Charles.

He watched Gun go before double taking in noticing his phone still on the table.

A sinister smile creator up his cheeks before he snatched it and giddily logged on by using Gun’s password of ‘Shiro Oni.’

His smile dropped in noticing the large the page that popped in his face of Pinterest. With cats and Tutus.

He started doom scrolling on Gun’s favourites before a shadow dimmed his vision and he turned to see the black scleras and white pupils of a very pissed off Gun park.

“……wh-“

Gun punched Goo’s head in.

——————————————

Goo couldn’t take it anymore. He knew he hadn’t been over to Gun’s place in ages but COME ON! What could’ve been so different that he’s buying socks out a 8 year old girls store?

Goo’s head was still cladded in a bandage as he zoomed down Gun’s junkyard and aimed straight for his shack.

“Oh sweet pea~ daddy’s home-“

He barges through the door and Gun’s there.

Holding the most girly, accessorised, expensive, pampered, beautiful, long fluffy tail, rag doll kitten he’s ever seen.

Her big blue eyes and long white thick coat of fur was currently being dried with a hair dryer and Gun’s gaze was of pure fury.

Meanwhile the cat looked to her dad before reaching up with her paws to press her-??!

“YOU GOT THE SOCKS FOR A CAT?!”

Goo finally connected the dots. The bows, the leash, the tutus, socks, food, treats, bows, fluffy collars, bells, pink bows, toys, BOWS……..were all for this tiny cat???????

Gun eyes burned holes through Goo before he pecked his cat and let her roam the floor. She settled on her paws before gently shaking herself out and Goo almost ugly cried from cuteness.

Her fluffy tiny body clad in a tiny pink tutu, her paws clad in tiny pink socks, a enormous bow behind her head, her fluffy pink collar rang its bell when she shook her head, and a tiny clip just under her ear and above her eye.

“Here baby-“

Gun punched Goo through a car.

————————————

They both sat bloodied and sticky as the sun hung over the the junk of the yard as they shared a bottle of soju.

Gun sipped his gently as the cat nestled herself in his lap. Goo looked over at her before scratching behind her ears.

“She got a name?”

Gun looked down at her before scratching under her chin, her purrs vibrates through the silence of the sunset.

“Mimi.”

[maturemenoftvandfilms]

Chancellor Perdue

Featuring the 14th Chancellor of the University System of Georgia, Sonny Perdue

Last year, I was working part-time at the University System of Georgia headquarters in Atlanta. That's where I came to know Chancellor of the University System of Georgia, Sonny Perdue. The former US secretary of agriculture and Georgia governor asked me to be his aide in the fall of 2024. It was then I would find myself admiring his stocky 5’9”, 77-year-old figure, eventually dreaming about him and waking up with a hard-on. And to make matters worse or better, I suspected he might be interested. But I would resolve to not convey any gay vibe to encourage him.

That fall, I accompanied Sonny on a weekend fundraising-and-recruiting trip to Houston, where I flew on a private jet with him and attended a dinner with donors. Since I was there stag, I just hung by the bar when everyone else was mingling, including Sonny and I got pretty tipsy that night. So much so that I found myself in Sonny’s hotel room, where the two of us were hitting the mini bar. The lights were dim, Sonny had removed his jacket and tie, and he’d ordered porn on the television. In the movie, two young guys were banging a chubby, middle-aged woman.

He had just excused himself to the bathroom. I expected the old man to shut the door when he entered the bathroom, but he didn't. He just walked up to the toilet and unzipped his pants. When I realized I hadn’t heard him pee, I looked over briefly and was surprised to see him stroking a thick, 8 inch uncut cock. I admit I started to get pretty hard and because of that, I stared too long, and he noticed. I looked up to see Sonny looking right at me, smiling.

"You are gay aren't you?" He asked, breaking the awkward silence.

"Yea." I answered without even thinking.

"Thought so." The old man said as he stood there shaking his dick back and forth as it swelled up. "You want to suck it?"

Giving in to lustful temptation was the only thing I was good at. I walked over to him and kissed him, wanting to do that for so long. Quickly, Sonny started unbuttoning my shirt, unzipping my pants, and basically tearing my clothes off as he moved his tongue around inside my mouth. I fell onto my knees in front of Sonny and with his full 8" cut old man cock pointing in my face, I stuck out my tongue and flicked the head of his prick. My tongue slid down the side of his cock and back up again, licking him with vigour as I felt my cock flutter uncomfortably in my pants. I reached down and unzipped them, allowing my prick to fall out and leak precum onto the carpeted floor.

Holding his cock at the base, I went back to his balls, sucking and licking as I started jacking his fat cock like hell. I looked up to see his shirt undone all the way. He had each of his nipples between his fingers, twisting and rubbing them while I pounded his cock. His head was tilted back and his eyes were closed as he hunched toward me.

I looked up to see his shirt undone all the way. He had each of his nipples between his fingers, twisting and rubbing them while I pounded his cock. His head was tilted back and his eyes were closed as he hunched toward me. I grabbed the base of his cock and wrapped my lips around it, my tongue thrust against the shaft as I swallowed half of his dick.

"Oh yes…" Sonny moaned as I felt his big hand grab my head and press it down. I looked up, my mouth full of juicy cock, he was looking down at me and smiling.

I began bobbing my head up and down his shaft as his nuts bounced invitingly against my chin. I reached up and tugged at his nuts, they were sweaty, my fingers curled around them and he moaned with satisfaction. I pulled away from his cock and put a hand on his thigh, rubbing him while I jerked my cock, he let go of my head and wrapped his hand around his wet cock, stroking generously. I stood up and pulled my pants off, throwing them onto the floor.

Sonny reached down and took my cock in his other hand, pressing my throbbing cock against his own, his fist wrapped around them both. I gasped as I felt my cock press against his wet prick. He grabbed the back of my neck and pulled my face down. I licked his chest, moving my hands down to his butt cheeks and I squeezed them while gliding my tongue over to his hard nipples. I felt his hand grip tighter around our kissing cocks while my tongue swirled around his nipple as I sucked them eagerly, first the right then the left as my hand massaged his butt cheeks.

Suddenly Sonny pulled his hand away from around our cocks, laid down on the bed and began by stroking his dick. I followed him eagerly, and knelt down beside it, pressed my tongue against his thigh and licked my way up to his nuts. My tongue lapped at his nuts while he lay there stroking himself.

"Ride me." He whispered, looking like he was all ready to cum and everything.

As I stood up and looked around for some lube, Sonny told me he had some Vaseline in his bag in the corner. I walked over towards it and bent over to pull the Vaseline out, as I bent over I felt him grab my legs. Looking back from under my legs, I saw Sonny kneeling behind me, his cockhead resting on the floor, leaving a wet mark on the carpet.

I let out a sharp gasp as I felt his tongue slide down my crack.

I held on to the wall as my legs began to shake as his tongue slid up and down my sweaty crack until it pressed against my hole.

"Oh yeah." I moaned as he slid the tip of his tongue into me, tonguefucking me, eating my ass.

Sonny did that for around five minutes till I knew my hole must have been dripping, then he stood up and took the Vaseline tub from me. My cock was twitching and I wanted to touch it, but I knew if I did, I'd shoot as I watched him rub the Vaseline over his prick while heading back to the bed. As he laid back, spreading his legs wide, I climbed onto the bed and lifted one leg to the other side, hovering over his crotch, his 8" pole. As I lowered myself onto his cock, I felt the head against my hole and he immediately thrust all 8 inches into me.

I gasped loudly, so loudly in fact that I’m sure the people in the next room heard.

Placing both my hands on his chest, I dug into it as I lifted my ass and slid back down again. Sonny let me take control, so I rode his dick, stopping whenever I thought he was getting close to coming so we could kiss.

After teasing him and prolonging the excitement, Sonny was desperate to cum. Just then, this white haired older man took charge and flipped me over. Sonny had grabbed my feet and held me wide open for a hard pounding. The bed springs creaked loudly as the sound of his body slapping against my young skin. My cock bounced around and leaked like a faucet onto my belly. Sweat dripped off Sonny and covered my hot body. The room was steaming and filled with the sounds of Sonny's balls slamming against my ass, my cries of being fucked, and his groans of approval.

10 minutes later of ass pounding ecstasy, I knew I was going to cum and told Sonny so. He slowed his thrusts and began stroking my cock slowly. I couldn't take it and fired my load onto my belly. It wasn't big, but I had a good pool of sperm all over my belly. After squeezing the last drop out of me, Sonny resumed his assault on my ass and fucked me till I was dizzy.

I could tell from the look on Sonny's face that I was about to get a big load up my ass. He suddenly bellowed like a bull and dropped his cum deposit deep in my ass. He must have shot 10 or 12 huge spurts of cum in my ass. Now for a man in his late seventies, that was impressive. And as Sonny pulled out, I heard his cock make a wet pop as it left my popped cherry before he fell beside me, breathing like he'd just ran the marathon.

We slept very well that night.

[daisybianca]

pairing: lewis hamilton x yn

summary: lewis is kind of a mafia type of guy here, but he still remains the best f1 driver in history with 8 championships (!). mafia means that he kinda kills people. he's always hot put now he is double hot. idk if that's even possible, but anyway. you're his girl, and he sees that someone made a bruise on your hand. spoiler alert: i doesn't end well for the guilty man.

warnings: lots of cursing words, sexual actions, mentions of death, etc

(a/n): it is written in 1 pov, from his point of view. though it couldn't get any hotter? nah, it can.

WHEN I UNLOCK my mansion's door and come see my girlfriend crying, three completely different options pass through my mind.

One. Killing someone.

Two. Making someone regret.

Three. Doing both of those after kissing my woman's tears until the don't exist anymore.

I rush to her on the couch, not even bothering to shut the door behind me. "What happened, baby?" I get on my knees and try to hold her close to me. She doesn't meet my gaze. She's hidden her face behind her little hands, but I can still take a glimpse of her scorching hot, red cheeks. "Hey, y/n, talk to me." I try to persuade her, even though it seems impossible.

"P-please," she stutters, and something dark and colorful captures my attention on her left wrist.

Fuck.

It's a bruise. A fucking bruise. A huge one to be exact.

I try to compose myself. It's not even enough. I think my jawline starts to tremble, and I don't even notice at first. "Y/N," I force her to look at me, forcing her hands away off her beautiful face. Her features are soft but her precious eyes have turned swollen and her lips are tighter than ever. "Who did this to you?" The words come out sharp. I don't even think about them to be honest.

She is my fucking woman. These are the rules. Nobody is allowed to touch her in a way that she doesn't want to. Not even me.

I cup her small face with both my hands. "Who hurt you, baby?"

I hear a soft cry and then she tries to speak again but doesn't manage to do it properly without stuttering.

Fuck, I won't look good in jail clothing.

I bit my lip in order to not lose it just at this fucking moment. My fists become a ball. My girl notices and places her little ones over my hands to stop the shaking.

"Baby, please," I mouth. "Tell me who the bastard is, and I swear, he'll never see sunlight again to touch you." Forcing myself to stand up, in a matter of seconds, I sit on the couch, and she's moved on my lap. I think I'm losing my mind each time she looks at me, and I don't know who to kill. "Just tell me a name, Y/N."

She finally stops crying. Fuck.

My heart jumps each time she attempts to speak but is unable to due to the silent sobs.

A few seconds pass.

A few more, too.

Eventually, I feel a hand pressing on my chest and immediately blood rushes straight to my cock.

Damn it.

Of course, my dick doesn't get the whole situation. It has a whole brain of its one. In fact, we are under hard circumstances right now. And surely, there can't be anything harder than that at the moment.

She hides her face in my neck. I place my hand on the back of it and wait.

I think my blood pressure is on its fucking limits when she turns to face me. "It's my ex." She blurts out suddenly. I want to laugh but I don't.

Oh this fucking bastard again... Though we were done with him by the time I threatened him with his life if he ever got close to my girl again. But he definitely isn't the type of guy loyal to anything. Not to promises, not to threats, not even to his ex-girlfriend.

"He asked to meet me. I said no, but he wouldn't understand. He was waiting outside my place this morning, claiming he'd like to talk. I wanted to get away from him, but he grabbed my arm and..." her voice breaks.

I hold her for a few seconds as the sobs initiate again. Afterward, I get up and make a very important call. Returning, I am very pleased to meet a much-better-looking, without-any-tears woman sitting on the couch and scrolling through her phone.

Noticing me, she looks at me. I try to smile. "He'll be dead till midnight." Sitting next to her, I take her on my lap and kiss the dry tears off her cheeks.

And then I start undressing her, not because my dick is asking for it since one hour ago, but because she seems in the mood for it.

"I just want you to fuck me, Lewis." She says as I press my palm around her neck and spread wet kissing along her breasts. "Fuck me like you hate me."

I smile. "Baby, I could never hate you."

"Just do it for an hour," she moans against my ear. "Please."

I stop to look at her, laughing. "An hour?" I rise my eyebrows. "Love, you underestimate me."

She laughs too, and we're off to upstairs, where one of the mansion's bedrooms is located.

I want to make love to her, truth to be told. Passionate and delicate. But she asked for a rough fuck.

She knows I'm a man capable of doing both. So I proceeded to doing them.

[jellalism]

Kinktober 2024, Day 8: Doll (Erotica)

You walk in on your friend Wriothesley fucking a doll that bears a striking resemblance to you.

Word count: 426 words

Genre: Erotica

Reader's gender and sex: Gender neutral. No sexual characteristics mentioned.

Content warnings: None

Notes: Modern AU

Read below or on AO3.

It’s only 3 p.m. when you enter your house. Normally, you’d still be working at this time. However, a client had canceled their appointment with you, and so you were able to go home earlier than expected.

You hang up your coat, remove your shoes, and place your bag under the coat rack. You consider what to do with your free time. Read a book, watch some TV, make some music…? As you walk into the living room, you hear your friend and housemate Wriothesley calling your name from his bedroom. He must have heard you come home, you figure. You walk to his bedroom and open the door.

As you do so, he speaks—or rather, moans—your name once again. You look at him in horror, and he looks up in shock. He is completely naked, balls deep in what seems to be a sex doll. Wait a minute, you think. You take a closer look at the doll. It looks a lot like you. It’s not just a little similarity, it’s like Wriothesley has put in quite some effort to make it look as much like you as possible.

He sees you realize what the doll looks like. “I-It’s… it’s not w-what…” he stammers. But he doesn’t finish the sentence.

You are still frozen to the spot, unsure what to think, what to do. A thousand thoughts are running through your head. But, you notice, many of them are not negative. Rather, you are quite flattered that he finds you desirable. And, now that you look at him naked… his muscular body is quite impressive. And that fat dick—you involuntarily imagine it entering you. You try to shake the thought, but fail miserably.

You want it.

You close the door behind you, and remove your shirt.

“Wh-what are you doing?!” Shock is written all over his face.

“What does it look like I’m doing, Wriothesley? I’m not accepting that you are fucking a doll that looks like me, when you could be fucking the real thing instead.” You slip out of your pants and underwear.

Wriothesley looks at you in shock, but then puts his hand to his forehead and laughs, all the tension leaving him. “So it’s like this. I should have invited you to my bed sooner.” He rolls off the doll and kicks it off the bed. “Come.” He holds out his hand. As you grab it, he pulls you toward him, and you fall on the bed. “I’ll treat you real good.” He presses his lips on yours.

[tightjeansjavi]

The Menu | Part 5

“my body is a cage”

A/N: I wrote this in a matter of hours yesterday..and also decided to say fuck the canon timeline so <3

~word count: 4.6k~

Pairing | dark!joel miller x f!reader

Summary: Joel promises that he can make your pain go away. He’s a man that never goes back on his word.

Warnings: trauma responses from SA (not by Joel) mildly descriptive flashback to SA, degrading language, hurt, comfort, dark!joel, protective!joel, he’s kinda shit at communicating, but he’s trying his best for you, softish!joel, talk of the past, angst, sprinkle of fluff, intense emotional feelings, you and Joel let your guard down around one another, age gap, (Joel is in his 40’s and reader is in her late 20’s. I played around with the canon timeline a bit) reader has no physical descriptions, +18 minors dni!

A languid roll of condensation drips down the base of Joel’s glass that has long since been abandoned the second you fell to your knees in an unceremonious fashion between his parted thighs.

Acceptance already began to make its home again in your heart when you watched Joel slowly shake his head. It hurt, like all rejections do, but it stung a little deeper than you were willing to admit.

Joel Miller didn’t want you anymore. He’d forget about you when the dust would inevitably settle. He’d find someone else to bury his troubles into. It wouldn’t be you, and maybe that was for the better. Maybe the presence of Joel in your life was not a good thing.

It still hurts. No amount of whiskey-melded poker face could mask that.

The weight of his actions seemed to strike their mark along him as well. Another drop of moisture slid down the glass, pooling along the worn down coffee table. He blinked once, twice, swallowing the prominent lump growing in his throat. His pupils had blown wide like two shiny 8-balls. Fuck.

The blooming awkwardness reared its ugly head when a silent tear traveled down your cheekbone. Once the first one escaped, the flood gates opened.

His gut twisted and churned painfully like a stranded ship being tousled by an onslaught of unforgiving swells. He couldn’t tear his sights from your doe-eyed teary gaze. His own tears threatened to spill when you flinched from his right hand moving upwards towards your face.

His fingers quivered when they finally settled against your clammy skin. Joel Miller would never believe himself to be a gentle-touched man. Maybe a long time ago when the sun warmed his skin, and joyous laughter echoed in both ears, and his eyes were bright and full of life, but now? His kindness was reserved, locked away, buried six feet under the cold clutches of earth. The key was thrown away, forgotten and rusted away along with what remained of his tattered and bruised heart.

Here in his hold, your skin warm, soft beneath the rough calluses of his palm, he felt. He felt not just anger, but guilt, sadness, a newfound ache that was tangled up in that stupid four letter word that he would be damned to ever utter its existence again.

“Hey, it’s okay, Angel. It’s okay. You’re safe.” He reassured you, big brown eyes never leaving yours.

You had never heard this brutish man speak to you in such a sincerely soft way. There wasn’t an ilk of pity or condescendence in his tone. Nothing but concern, fear, a desperate need to ascend comfort in his words.

He was so..confusing.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, choking back a sob that died in your throat. “You—you should go, Joel.” You went to brush away his hand to crawl as far away from him as physically possible, but he wasn’t budging. He’d never leave.

“Hey, look at me.” He commanded softly. His other hand found purchase around the left side of your face. His movements were gentle and slow. He wanted to ground you, to keep your soul from being plucked up like a marionette. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

You pushed and pulled against him, grinding your teeth together when he still sat unmoving. It was as if you were the unsuspecting bird, and he was the wet cement that would soon harden and fossilize around your body.

“Why?” You questioned. Your sadness had ebbed away and was quickly replaced with simmering frustration. “You don’t want me anymore, Joel. There’s nothing left for you here, so just—fuckin’ leave.” You snapped.

“Angel, I never said I didn’t want you anymore. Please stop fightin’ me. Please.” He pleaded, the rough pads of his thumbs swiped under your eyes, collecting the tears that pooled there while they awaited their time to fall.

“You didn’t need to say it, Joel. I could fuckin’ feel it.” You sniffled, falling back on your haunches in defeat.

“No, sweet girl. You’re mistaken. I swear. I’m shit at this. This whole..communicating thing has never been my forte. I’m sorry. I’m so—sorry. But somethin’ about this ain’t feel right. I—I don’t want to assume, but somethin’ happened to you. I know you don’t want to tell me, but maybe—”

“But maybe what, Joel? Why do you even care? Why all of a sudden—when you said yourself that I’m nothin’ but your whore on stilts. A tight hole to fuck whenever you please. What, did you have a sudden change of heart? Gonna manipulate me into believing that you actually care about me? Fuck you—”

“I swear on my daughters fuckin’ grave that I care about you. I am not manipulating you into believing anythin’ that is leaving my mouth, Angel. I am tellin’ you the truth. You mean somethin’ to me. Puttin’ it into words ain’t easy for a man like me, but you’re hurtin.’ You’re in pain, and I swear to god if some sick fuck put their hands on you, I’ll make sure they never see the light of day again.” He confessed fiercely.

He might as well get down on one knee and sign his life off to you in red ink. To ensure his promise to keep you safe and protected like he was some knight in shining armor.

Benji yanked you up by the scruff of your neck like you were some stray cat, or a tattered ragdoll. You felt like a bug at his mercy, awaiting a painful death of being squashed beneath a leather boot, split into a million pieces. You could hear his friends snickering in the back while they were still fisting their cocks like the disgusting hounds that they were. “Jus’ remember your place in this world, Angel. No matter what anyone tells you, you will be nothin’ but a come-stained, filthy whore. And when you return to him, like I know you will, he’ll toss you away like yesterday's trash. All men are the same, sweetheart. They don’t like it when another dog has been in their bitch.” He spat cruelly, a glob of saliva landing along your cheek.

“No, Joel. I’m nothin’ but a come-stained whore, and you’ll toss me away like yesterday’s trash.” You whispered solemnly, chin tilting downwards in disgust with what was instilled in you to be your true identity. Crestfallen tears were wept. Tears that trailed down your cheeks and rolled down the expanse of his bare wrists and forearms. Each teardrop that landed upon his skin sent his anger flaring upwards the way that smoke rises from a blazing fire.

“Who did this to you, Angel? Tell me his name, and I swear to you that I will make this all go away. Tell me the name of the man who laid his fuckin’ hands on you. Tell me, please. Please, Angel. I want to help you.” He was on the cusp of begging, hating the fear that began to douse the flames. The fear that maybe it was too late, and the damage was done already.

Your eyes slowly meet his, rimmed in red, skin puffy and dry. From just the look alone that you gave him, he knew who had done this to you. He knew the second your lips parted, and uttered the name that sent the beast inside of him awakening once more.

“Benji.”

The dam broke the moment his name left your lips; you crumbled. An echo of gut wrenching, broken sobs tumbled out of you as Joel scrambled to keep you together. He was on the floor with you now, cradling you in his arms while struggling to gather up the broken pieces figuratively scattered around him. It was as if you were loose grains of sand, and no matter how many times he scooped you up into his gentle palms, you kept slipping through the cracks.

You found yourself crawling into his lap, straddling his hips with your arms latched around his neck. You anchored yourself around him while his shirt soaked up your heavy flowing tears like a sponge. His arms were around you like a cage, comforting you the only way he knew how; through touch. One large hand came to cradle the back of your head, while the other rested along the curve of your spine, drawing soothing circles against your skin with the rough pads of his fingertips.

It’s okay, Angel. I have you. You’re safe. I promise.

and through your tears, and your aching, you wanted to believe him. But believing and trusting someone never came easy. Especially in this world. To throw all your eggs into one basket would be considered foolish. Since the night of the outbreak you had convinced yourself that you needed no one. Not a shoulder to cry on, or a friend to confide in. You hadn’t sought for human connection till you crossed paths with Joel Miller. And now you felt guilty for webbing him into your life. For making this mountain of a man feel.

Was it intentional? No. But sometimes we lose all sense of control and ultimately find ourselves giving into that thing that we fear the most. In all retrospect, you had tried to push Joel away from you, but he was a stubborn man. The most stubborn person you had ever met. A whole lotta bark and bite. Fearless until he gave into feeling. Unmoving until he began to feel for you. The girl that was just looking for a vice to fill a void, and instead found a man that would quite literally kill for you. He’d lasso the fucking moon and bring it down to you if you asked. He’d be your friend, your shoulder to cry on, your comfort in the odd hours of the night when the nightmares would creep in.

He’d be your laughter, your anger, your sadness. He’d be whatever the fuck you wanted him to be. That was the thing about men like Joel Miller, they were fiercely loyal to the ones they loved to the point where maybe he was the foolish one. Maybe he had bitten off more than he could chew. And if that were the case, he’d lick his wounds, convince himself that he was okay, and move on until his body would ultimately give way to the grief he carried day in, and day out.

“Will you let me take care of you, Angel?” He asked suddenly, so softly you could barely hear him through the thick of your messy tears.

“If you wish it.” You sniffled, cheek pressed firmly against the damp fabric of his shirt where your tears had soaked through.

He rumbled a sigh, nostrils flaring while he tilted his chin down to take a peek at your current state. He’d never seen you look so tiny, frail, curling into yourself like a mouse shriveling from a house cat on the prowl. His latent caretaker instincts were kicking into full drive after the dust had been blown off of them and wafted through the stagnant air.

“C’mon, sweet girl.” He urged in a gentle tone, strong arms tightening their hold around you while his hands gently hoisted you up by your thighs. His knees creaked and groaned from carrying the weight of himself and you to a standing position. You clung to him still in a koala like fashion.

“Where are you taking me?” You asked unsurely.

“Takin’ you to the bathroom so we can wash the pain away.” He replied quietly.

His footsteps are soft, yet calculated while his hands stay secured around your thighs. He uses his shoulder to push open your flimsy bathroom door. You find yourself sitting along the toliet seat, back resting against the wall with your hands in your lap. You begin to pick at the skin around your nails absentmindedly. You flinch slightly when the sharp edge of your nail tears through dry cuticle skin surrounding your thumb. The sting feels nice, calming in a sense.

Your eyes stay focused on the wall even when the shadow of his silhouette looms over you, and his warm palm suddenly engulfs your own.

“Don’t do that.” He whispers, brows furrowed when he notices the bead of blood on the side of your thumb. “You have beautiful hands, Angel. Don’t go’n ruin ‘em.” He means every word.

“I’m sorry.” Is all you can really say.

He slips his fingers through your own and you can feel every ridge and rough callus through his skin. His thumb strokes the outside of your hand in a tender sweep.

You want to cry, but you don’t. Instead you lean your head back against the wall and close your eyes while the sounds of the water sloshing into the tub drowns out your thoughts.

With his freehand he constantly checks the temperature of the water to make sure it’s not too hot, and not too cold. The last thing he wants to do is shock your system. He glances up at your face for a moment before he focuses on his blurry reflection in the rippling water.

How can I make her pain go away?

It's not something that will ever go away. It becomes bearable, but with time. All you can do is be there for her the best way that you can. He reminds himself.

“Angel.”

Your eyes snap open at the sound of his voice ringing in your ears.

So it wasn’t all a dream.

“Uh..the water should be good now. Do you want some privacy? I don’t—need to be in here with you..I understand if you—” he’s stumbling over his words more than he intended to, but this is uncharted territory for him, and he’s unsure.

“No.” You finally speak, “I want you to stay.”

He breathes; relieved for a moment. “Okay, I’ll stay. Do you..want some help?” He’s referring to your clothes and if you require assistance in undressing.

“Please.”

He nods reassuringly before standing up to his full height from where he was kneeling alongside the tub. “Arms up.” He softly requests while he reaches for the hem of your shirt.

Your body works strictly on autopilot, boneless as you lift your arms above your head so it’s easier for him to pull your shirt up.

His wounded knuckles brush gently against your sides when he begins to lift the fabric from your body slowly. Gooseflesh begins to rise when you're exposed to the room temperature air. Your hands instinctively move to cover your modesty and he pretends to not notice the way you immediately fold in on yourself.

It hurts him to see you in such a state as this, but his feelings do not matter, he reminds himself. Yours are far more important than his own.

He waits for your consent to pop the button of your jeans followed by the zipper. His eyes stay locked on your own when he begins to ease the worn denim down your thighs. There’s two gaping holes in the fabric around your knees that weren’t there before. He begins to feel the bile rise before he forces it back down.

You're trembling by the time he reaches for the elastic waistband of your tattered panties and he finds himself freezing in place when your hands snatch his wrists frantically.

“I won’t take them off, okay?” He reassures you. “I promise.”he adds for good measure.

You trust him, and that scares you, but it’s enough for you to release his wrists from your death grip.

“Turn around, please.” You croak out, still struggling to find your voice.

He doesn’t protest, or say mean things, or make you feel ten times smaller than you already felt. He obliges your request silently.

You wait until his back is facing you before you pull your panties down over your thighs. You catch a glimpse of a maroon saturated stain that will be forever tattooed in the flimsy fabric. You want to sob, but instead you drop the material to your ankles and discard them with the rest of your tattered clothing.

He doesn’t turn around to look at you until you give him permission. By that point you were already carefully lowering yourself into the tub. He finds you with your knees protectively tucked up to your chest, folded in on yourself. A dull, sullen look glossed over in your once vibrant irises. Your eyes cast down to your reflection before staring off into nothingness once more.

“Can..I get you anything? Are you hungry? I can whip you up some soup or somethin?’” He asks while lowering himself to sit alongside the tub. He doesn’t care that his lower back pinches a bit, or his knees creak, he just wants to be there for you in any way that he can.

“Just a cigarette would be nice.” You mumble out a reply. Your eyes meet his softened gaze for a moment with your chin resting along the dip of your knee. “He took the ones that you rolled me, along with the pills, and the pistol you lent me. I’m sorry, Joel. I—I’ll pay you back.”

“Hey, you don’t have to pay me back for any of that, okay? I don’t give a fuck about the pills, and I lent you the gun and cigarettes, Angel. Don’t worry about that, okay?” He reached into his back pocket, pulling out his own stash and a lighter. He leaned forward, placing the cigarette between your lips before he ignited the unlit end with the lighter.

You took a long drag, letting the smoke attack your lungs, and the nicotine ease your brain into relaxation, and calm your rising anxiety.

“Okay.” You finally speak, willing yourself to scoot closer towards the edge of the tub to ash the cigarette over the side.

“Tell me something that..makes you happy.” He catches you off guard while you take another long drag. You blow the smoke off to the side, creating a hazy cloud that soon dissipates.

“Something..that makes me happy?” You question apprehensively.

“Yes. Jus’ anythin’ that you can think of that makes you happy, Angel.” He rasps softly as he awaits your response.

“The rain. But specifically when it’s storming. I love that earthy smell after a storm. When everything smells fresh, clean, alive. I like the dreary days too. Where it rains from morning through the night. I like the sound it makes when raindrops land on the pavement, or roofs. I know it might sound silly, but when I was a kid I used to sit out on the driveway with some neighborhood friends and watch the storms roll in. Always found myself getting excited when the clouds grew darker and the wind picked up..that first flash of lighting, and rumbling thunder?” You trailed off, unsure if you said too much, or too little for his liking.

“Oh, yeah, I have to agree. Who doesn’t love a good heavy storm? Perfect sleepin’ weather too. Back in Texas we’d get some pretty wild storms out there. Flash floods and all that jazz. Didn’t matter to me cus’ I’d always sleep with the window open. My younger brother, Tommy, was afraid of thunderstorms, up until the point of me tellin’ him that we were always safe inside. Think he got over the fear by the time he was ten.” Joel found himself reminiscing on his childhood, and a simpler time that felt like a ghost to him now.

“I didn’t know you had a brother.” You ashed the cigarette over the side of the tub once more before offering it to him. He declined with a slight shake of his head. You need it more than I do.

“Yeah, he’s..well, I don’t know where he’s at. Left with the fireflies a few years back. Thought he could be a hero and save the world. I send him radio messages every now and then jus’ to check up on him.” He sighed softly. His arm came to rest along the side of the tub, palm resting upwards in case you needed to, or wanted to hold his hand.

“Do you miss him?” You asked, shifting closer to him.

You could visibly see him tense from your question. Tommy was a sore spot for him, a festering wound at times. He felt resentful after everything he had done for his younger brother. The sacrifices he made to keep both of them safe from harm. But deep down he knew he couldn’t stay mad at his kin forever, but he wasn’t ready to let that resentment go just yet. He still needed to heal.

“I miss him more than I’m willin’ to admit, Angel. Not sure if he really misses me all that much.” He shrugged indignantly. “What about you, do..you have any siblings?”

He realized then that he didn’t know much about you at all. He knew your name, and your body, but he wanted to know more about what you were like before the world went to shit.

“Nope. Only child. Mom and Dad tried for another, but some things just aren’t meant to be.” It was your turn to shrug now. He caught you eyeing his outstretched palm resting along the chipped porcelain. If he had the ability to read minds, he certainly was reading yours now.

“And..your parents?” He asked, assuming the inevitable answer.

“Both dead. Car crash a couple years before outbreak. I was too young to comprehend any of it. Grandparents took me in luckily. We pretty much lived in desolation out in the middle of nowhere after that. Not much civilization out in the sticks.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” His tone is soft, baritone deep and soothing. And truth be told, you’re still confused. You can’t help it especially when you know this is the same man that just hours ago was trying to bust down your door.

Joel Miller made your head spin.

“It’s alright, Joel. No need for you to be sorry. Life sucks sometimes. It’s just something I’ve come to accept.”

He nods affirmatively. Life does suck sometimes, ain’t that the truth.

“So, where exactly are you from then? South? Midwest? West?” He couldn’t help his curiosity to know more. He didn’t expect you to be an open book by any means, but he’d take anything you’d give him.

“Montana. Grandparents owned a horse ranch out there. Real peaceful, open country, fresh air.”

“Ah, so a real country girl then? Well, guess you and I are closer than we originally thought, huh? How’d you end up all the way in Boston?” He stretched his arm out slightly when it had grown stiff from the position it had been in.

“If you consider Texas and Montana to be close, then sure, cowboy.” There was a glimmer of sass in your tone. Just enough to cause his ears to perk up. “Honestly, after the outbreak, things just turned into one big blur for me. It’s like I had to grow up overnight. Grandpa taught me how to use a shotgun, killed my first infected shortly after that. Grandma was the first to fall, and Grandpa followed a year later. I stayed in the ranch for as long as I could, fendin’ for myself. Was only a matter of time before raiders became a problem, and I packed a bag, took a horse, and headed east.”

Joel was having a hard time comprehending just how young you truly were when the world as you knew it turned to shit. You were just a kid, a little girl fending for yourself. When he realized you were just about Sarah’s age, he didn’t know how to process that newfound information either.

“You were..just a kid when this all happened.” He nearly whispered in disbelief at the thought of a younger version of yourself, strapped with her grandpa's shotgun, and nothing but open country to trek through.

“I was.” You confirmed. “I’m sure this is just my brain blocking all the bad shit out, but I don’t remember much of what happened after I left the ranch. I guess it’s a miracle that I managed to survive this long. Guess my luck hasn’t run out entirely, huh?”

“No, it certainly hasn’t, Angel. You’ve managed to defy practically all the odds that were placed against you.”

You fall silent again, casting another look down at your reflection while the cigarette perched between middle and forefinger dies out. “What’s your favorite color, Joel?”

“Oh, so now we’re goin’ elementary?” He teases lightly in hopes to brighten your spirits just a tad. He’d kill a thousand men just to see you smile again. “I think I have to go with a shade of blue.” He decides.

“Ha. Ha. You’re hilarious, cowboy. You’re the one who started with the personal questions. I think knowing your favorite color is definitely considered a personal question.” You feel your lips twitch, almost as if they are trying to curve up into a smile, but it doesn’t quite happen. “And blue..like the sky?”

“Nah.” He shakes his head, “blue like the ocean. But y’know..like all the shades. What about you, Angel? What’s your favorite color?”

“Purple.” “But not just any shade of purple. The kind that you can see in sunsets. It’s almost got like a pinkish hue to it? Or the purple in lavender fields. We had loads of it growing at the ranch.”

“Mm.” He hums thoughtfully, “Sunsets sure are pretty.” He’s far more relaxed now with his legs outstretched in front of him, and his chin resting along his bare bicep as he looks at you.

He asks you more questions, finding out that your favorite movies were arguably LOTR (unfortunately the third, and highly anticipated film never made it to the theaters; damn you cordyceps) and The Last Unicorn. He learned that your favorite drink of choice, before the outbreak, was either a virgin pina colada (because it tasted like the beach) or the classic kiddy cocktail; a childhood delicacy.

You learned that he and his younger brother Tommy, worked as contractors in Austin Texas, and that Joel used to be married..and he had a single daughter that he raised practically on his own. Her name was Sarah, and she died the night of the outbreak; Joel’s birthday. You also now know that his favorite movie was Curtis and Viper 2.

And through the midst of your back and forth domestic conversing, you find yourselves holding hands again. You’re not sure if he initiated it, or vice versa, but neither of you let go.

There was an unasked question that circled heavy in the air, like two vultures waiting to dive in for the kill. He could sense it just as much as you could. Addressing the elephant in the room was not going to be easy, but you were beginning to realize that Joel wasn’t going anywhere. In fact, you were shocked to find that he hadn’t climbed into that damn tub with you.

“Joel?” You ask suddenly, skin beginning to prune from being in the water for too long.

“Yes, Angel?” He’s hopeful, but realistic given the circumstances.

“Did you..mean what you said earlier? About..making this all go away?”

“Yes.” He didn’t even hesitate to answer. He was not the kind of man to go back on his word. “I will make sure that he pays for what he did to you, Angel. He’ll suffer, and I’ll make him wish he was never born.” Oh, he’d make him pay alright.

“Good. I want you to kill him, Joel. And I want to be there to see you do it. I want to be right there when he takes his last pathetic breath—” you don’t even realize how hard you're squeezing his hand in your grasp that his knuckles are beginning to turn white from the pressure.

“Of course I’ll kill him for you, Angel.” That wasn't even a request in his mind. Benji would die at the hands of Joel, and you would get to watch.

and then..you told him everything.

banners made by the lovely @saradika-graphics 🤍

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[skythealmighty]

Wheel, the Paranoid: An in-depth scene-by-scene character analysis

"We aren't so much angry as very, very worried." - The School of Life

TL;DR: Wheel is not as mean or as angry as he seems on the surface; in fact, he's decently logical, but also paranoid and often worried about things everyone else brushes off! He covers up his fear with anger, and doesn't actually hate anyone (though he does have a sort of rivalry with WWFT). He also has a penchant for fairness in most things, doesn't like killing, and probably feels guilty over Felt Container's elimination. Most importantly though, he's distrusted Clock since the beginning, holding firm in his belief that something about this was very off- and unfortunately for him, was only proven right after he was eliminated. All in all, he's a very interesting character overall, not just because of his elimination scene!

FAIR WARNING: The full analysis below the cut is over four thousand words. There's no content warnings, but it's very, very long without any pictures. Have fun lol

IT’S TIME FOR THE [1:00] - Who’s Jason??

1:30 - “I’m having a weird feeling about today, a feeling that… something’s going to happen. Something bad’s going to happen!”

Note the panicked expression, and the worried expression that follows when Felt Container brushes him off. His first instinct is to look at the sky, too- maybe that’s paranoia, but he was the first one to notice Clock. And sure, he’s a bit mean about it, but it feels like he’s genuinely trying to warn Felt Container about whatever’s coming.

1:59 - “AHHHH! WHAT IS THAT!”

Probably the most reasonable reaction to a being like Clock appearing out of nowhere. He also seems to try and maybe scare Clock away? 

2:11 - “WHO ARE YOU?!” “Ha! Hi. My name is C.L.O.C.K.: Thing That You Tell The Time ohhh wait my name is not an acronym.” “WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM US?”

Figuring out motives. He clearly doesn’t trust Clock immediately (good, but also furthers my earlier maybe-point about paranoia). Notice how he says “us” and not “me”, meaning he’s saying this for everyone (whether they would think to or not).

2:28 - “Okay, I’m in!” and 2:47 

In both of these instances, he’s the only one with a different expression from the rest. Narrowed eyebrows at the premise of a competition show (2:28), and disbelief (negative) at the prize (2:47). I don’t think he went “WOOOHOOOO” with everyone else- and he still clearly doesn’t trust Clock. Not yet.

3:06 - [The whole sequence leading up to the first intro]

I feel bad for him here; he looks genuinely afraid, especially when he gets closer to the ground. He still looks angry, but- well, he’s definitely more afraid than properly angry.

4:45 - “Dang, if only you were like a street lamp or crossing signal or something, would have had a cool team name idea for that.”

While No Way and 57 Ball are occupied with that conversation, Wheel looks offscreen. There’s no way of knowing where he’s looking, but from context clues, it would make a lot of sense if he was keeping an eye on Clock, given his immediate reaction to them. He only actually talks when it’s almost the very end of the time, and… it’s a BFB reference. I don’t know if this was a conscious decision by Wheel or just a reference for reference's sake, but it feels like he pulled the first thing that came to mind to pretend he was participating. (The nervous tone makes me think that he could be afraid of Clock doing something to him for not saying anything.)

6:47 - [Wheel pacing]

Okay, he says he’s doing the challenge here, but he’s more likely just panicking and saying he’s doing the challenge to cover that up. 

8:36 - “Team Earth! Where is your card?” “I KICKED IT!” “He kicked it.”

I’m probably reading into this way too much, but when he’s shaking (or vibrating intensely), it’s pretty clear that he really REALLY does NOT like Clock. (Either that or he’s hiding fear with anger.)

9:35 - “NOOO! That’s not fair, I demand that you host a second challenge, so that we can RIGHTFULLY see who-”

On the surface, this sounds like bratty whining, or nitpicking, but with the context of future episodes this could easily be read as Wheel being afraid of being UFE. After all, a wheel is random, and his team could be picked, even if they did the challenge. (This could also be read as proof for him actually caring a lot about fairness- more on that later.)

IT’S TIME FOR THE [2:00] - Best Source For Weather Information

0:30 - “I’m already out man… anyways, it says next up is Words With Friends Tile.” “LET’S GOOO!” “Wait a minute. H- HE DOESN’T HAVE ANY EYEESS!”

Very small and unserious moment, but another point to the “Wheel caring about fairness” chart. Someone without eyes could very easily win a staring contest, after all. (Of course then he gets into a fight with WWFT, but from the cartoon SFX and the blank stares afterward, this is probably lighthearted and maybe even a common occurrence.)

1:33 - “Yes!! I can’t wait to beat ALL OF YOU IN THE NEXT CHALLENGE!”

This sounds like a brag or a taunt (and in part it probably is), but after seeing this scene multiple times his expression seems over-dramatized… is that the word I’m looking for? Exaggerated. It’s likely he doesn’t actually mean it. (And then the intro sequence happens and he sounds equal parts nervous and annoyed at being picked up. It’s probably less surprising the second time.)

3:48 - “THERE’S NO MORE TEAMS! There’s no more teams!”

Unimportant detail but Wheel is glaring a bit at WWFT and then in the next scene glaring at him even harder (and vibrating in anger), probably because of the fight earlier. Silly little thing I wanna point out!

4:39 - “This doesn’t seem very fair…” “Sure it is!” “Oh okay!” “What.” “Well it ISN’T fair!! None of us even know how to DO the challenge!”

Another point for Wheel caring about fairness! Even when No Way blindly accepts Clock’s response to No Way’s point, Wheel challenges it in his friend’s (?) stead, and then points out another unfair aspect right afterwards. Of course, after his nitpick is fixed, he declares himself hyped for the challenge- this I believe easily, though, since he seems like the athletic type and likely finds this sort of thing cool.

5:15 - [Wheel, 57 Ball and Refill Station doing the challenge]

More proof to Wheel caring about rules- he doesn’t react to Refill Station at all, but he glares at 57 Ball when he sees him rolling on the rail instead of grinding with a board like the rest of them. 

7:14 - “Whuh!? One spot left??” [Vase shatters] “OUT OF MY WAY! HUFF HUFF HUFFF HUFF HUUAGHH I’m gonna make it!!” [Portal appears] “Huh?” “Yes! I’m out!” “WATCH OUT!”

Important moment, in my perspective. It furthers my theory of him being afraid of being UFE, since immediately after Clock mentions there’s only one spot left, he rushes forward recklessly enough to injure Vase. I’m not exactly sure if he really meant to do that, though, because he tries to warn Green before a scenario that’s sure to (and did) kill him. That’s his first kill, actually, if I remember correctly- despite him seeming mean, it’s clear he’s not the antagonist he pretends he is.

IT’S TIME FOR THE [3:00] - Next

0:58 - “Welcome back Pool Ball, Orange and Tire-” “DON’T CALL ME THAT!” “Okay!” “Wait last ti- huhhh???” “We lost the challenge, genius, I’m getting pretty used to this already.” “YOU… you’re the reason I LOST THE CHA-”

It’s not just me, right? Wheel seems extremely high-strung here- yelling immediately after only one minor button was pressed (Clock using the wrong name). From experience with my brother, I can see this being caused by one of two reasons- either he’s overwhelmed, or he’s guilty… or both. After all, he’s up for elimination, and he just accidentally killed someone. He actually seems to be mildly shocked at Green until Green snarks at him, which is when he snaps at him and accuses him of making him lose. I don’t think he actually blames Green- this feels more like a knee-jerk reaction.

1:20 - “GO AHEAD, DO IT!! JUST DO IT ALR-”

He’s definitely used to the intro sequence and hates it, but this feels like a massive overreaction- adding to my theory of him being on edge. He snaps at Green with a threat when he slams him into the ground a few times (maybe as revenge for Wheel killing him) and laughs at him, probably because Green is exacerbating the situation and adding to his stress.

2:11 - “Luck?? LUCK? I DON’T NEED LUCK!”

If I could guess what he would say next, it would be: “I NEED TO BE SAFE!” Uh… that’s my only comment for this bit, other than yep, I still think he’s tense.

3:09 - “You almost killed me, how did you get so many votes?!” “And I’ll do it again if it means people like me!!”

To be blunt, this feels almost like a confession. I don’t think he’s talking about his fellow contestants here, he’s talking about the voters- he needs their favoritism to be safe from elimination, and he’s willing to go pretty far for that. The game is picking up, the stakes are getting higher, and things are getting more intense. I don’t think he dislikes Vase or has anything against her, he’s just being honest. He also seems to be getting more into the game now, his competitive nature arising- despite his distrust towards Clock, he’s far more willing to play their game now that he’s won a few challenges.

5:31 - [Wheel getting water from Refill Station, then getting scared by Clock] “Water bubbler is NOT allowed, that’d be way too easy!” “Wait, what’d you just call me??” “You just SAID ‘get you a cup of water’.” “Yeah, it’s supposed to be a challenge, go on and-” “Hey, I have a cup of water for you Clock.” “...YES!!”

This is a long quote, but all of it is needed for the context. Wheel is taking the easy route here, rushing ahead of everyone else to do so before they think of it- he cares about fairness, but at the time of him getting the water, Clock hadn’t said it was against the rules yet. He’s sort of exploiting a loophole- which fits his admission earlier about being willing to do whatever to keep the audience on his side, just in this case pertaining to his willingness to take the easy route so he can be safe as fast as possible. (Also, his confident “heh, too easy” afterwards feels to me more like an expression of relief than a brag, but it is kind of both.)

6:12 - “Are you sure? It seems like people are already on their way to that lake over there, we gotta be quick.”

Wheel only has a very short (and easily missable) appearance here, but even though he’s safe, he’s keeping an eye on the game rather than relaxing elsewhere. This will be brought up soon.

6:48 - “I’ll be taking this!!”

Honestly, this whole sequence confused me a lot at first, kind of contradicting most of the assumptions I made about Wheel from 1:00 and 2:00. After a lot of consideration, though, I think I’ve come to a reasonable enough theory: he could have made this decision by taking inspiration from Snowball, who he’s quoted before and kind of tries to take after in terms of gameplay. After all, Snowball made it surprisingly far acting this way, and he does not want to be eliminated. This theory depends on whether or not BFDI as a franchise exists in ITFT’s world, though. (There are other theories I have, but they don’t hold a lot of water. This scene still kind of confuses me.)

IT’S TIME FOR THE [4:00] - Do NOT Use The Popcorn Button

1:02 - [Wheel revived] “...youuu don’t have anything to say this time?” [ `,:[ ] “Hm…”

It’s official, he’s used to (and REALLY tired of) the intro sequence. Also, the last few times he actually said anything before the intro, it didn’t exactly help his case, so he might as well just let it happen. He’s definitely not happy about it, though.

1:39 - “One two three four… I thought I put four of you up for elimination this time!”

His expressions here… sorry I don’t have anything to say it’s just. Boy why you so ò៱ó

1:59 - “I shouldn’t BE HERE, I didn’t even lose the last challenge!!” “Why don’t you just… leave then?” “You don’t WANT me here?” “No! No, I didn’t say tha-”

This feels like half catastrophizing and half playing into the Snowball role (as per my earlier theory). He doesn’t want to be at the elimination area, but he doesn’t want to be told to go away, either. Furthermore, I think his frustration here was aimed at Clock, not any of the others, but he had a knee-jerk reaction when No Way interrupted what might have turned out to be a rant.

2:07 - “You’re a loser brah-” “YOU’RE A LOSERRrrrr for the sake of my safety, I will try to use, nicer words.” “...okay?” [PUNT]

I’m not exactly sure how much beef Wheel has with WWFT, but it definitely feels like an ongoing thing- maybe a rivalry or something similar. He was very quick to fight him even before he started acting meaner, after all- and that at least explains him punting WWFT. As for the “for the sake of my safety” part, after a second glance, it’s likely he means safety during elimination, seeing as he looks directly at the camera (fourth wall?) right after he says this. (It seems, to me, that he already assumes he’s going to be up for elimination, and in danger because of this.)

3:54 - “Wellllll next safe is Wheel!! With 0 votes!” “...you’re… serious..?”

Okay this isn’t important at all but it’s really silly. I just wanted to put it here

4:02 - “NO! Let me do the rest of them, you don’t know what you’re doing!”

The thing about this is, he’s right. I have no way of knowing if he’s just trying to insult Clock here or something else, but I feel like this has a double meaning. Clock doesn’t know what they’re doing, and Wheel is aware of this- possibly because of previous eliminations- and his point is proven later by Clock quite literally admitting they don’t know what happens with the eliminated contestants as Green is turned into a radio. (Also, him calling WWFT “Words With STUPID Tile” is pretty funny, and a point towards the two of them having some sort of rivalry?)

5:18 - “Wheel, I think you permanently killed Polka Dot.” “Okayy, wasn’t me- no, really! It was Vase!”

Part of this feels like him defending himself in front of the viewers (plus it almost looks like he’s looking at the camera at 5:23), and the other part feels like he’s defending himself to everyone else, particularly No Way, maybe because the two of them have so far a neutral/positive relationship. Besides, he’s right- Vase was the one who had the idea for the Sun to shoot fireballs at Wheel and the cloud, even if Wheel did cause the cloud thing in the first place. He’s not the one who killed everyone through that.

6:00 - “Here are your teams for this challenge! And only this challenge!!” “Wow, uneven teams again? Huh.”

Another point for Wheel and WWFT having a rivalry- as soon as it’s confirmed that they’re on the same team, Wheel glares at WWFT with balled fists. Also, unlike in [1:00], Wheel no longer has an angry expression in the zoom-out- he does look mildly upset, but it’s more like he’s resigned, almost. He’s getting used to the game and Clock.

6:13 - “Can we name our teams??” “NO!” [ :( ] “...whatever, fine-”

I’m not sure exactly why he immediately says “no” (it could be for a multitude of reasons- playing into the Snowball act, or maybe it’s because he’s aware that the teams will only last for one episode), but the backtracking after Refill Station looks sad doesn’t feel as begrudging as it might seem- he plays the mean act, but he clearly feels a little bad about making RF sad. (I hate to compare this to the tsundere trope but honestly… this is a very tsundere thing to do. You know I’m right.)

6:44 - “WHAT IS THAT?!” “Yo, I think that’s Polka Dot!” “Oh hello Polka Dot!!” “Chill, chill, wait waitwaitwaitwaAAAAAAAAA-”

It’s the exact same panic that Wheel had upon Clock suddenly appearing, down to the words! The difference is, he doesn’t seem to try and hide that panic here, expression genuinely afraid as he looks between WWFT and Refill Station (neither of whom are panicking), and his default angry expression (the same one when he was dropped before the first intro) only returns when the polka dot void starts to spin them around. Once again, he’s worried when no one else is, just like in [1:00]. (It almost feels like his panic is exaserbated by the fact that he’s the only one panicking- they should be worried, why are they just accepting this?)

6:54 - “Come on guys, do the challenge!” “DON’T YOU THINK WE SHOULD SORT THIS OUT?!” “Nooo, no it’s fine!” “!lennahc eht egnahC !lennahc eht egnahC !LENNAHC EHT EGNAHC” “Actually, nevermind, uhh… yeah, let’s… let’s do the challenge. GO!”

Proving my last point, he immediately points out that yeah, maybe they should do something about the weird thing that just appeared; looking frustrated when Refill Station brushes him off, similar to when Felt Container brushed him off in [1:00]. He’s not so much angry as he is worried and frustrated that nobody seems to be validating his worry. However, when the polka dot void starts acting weird and speaking in reverse, he begins to look afraid again and starts trying to get Refill Station away from it. Though he’s clearly still a bit upset that no one’s doing anything about it, he realizes that it’s dangerous and then tries to protect himself (and others) by picking his battles and getting his current teammate away from the danger. Once again, it’s clear he’s not the antagonist he sometimes pretends to be- why would he do this if he didn’t care?

7:37 - “I mean we have so many loaves of bread, we could just mash all of em together into a nice bread structure, what do you guys think?” “Yeah!” “SIIIKE! AHAHAHAHA-”

This daydream seems kind of significant to me because of the people he’s thinking of in it- Polka Dot, Green, and Felt Container. Polka Dot is currently missing, and he was just recently accused of permanently killing her (also, the polka dot void could have reminded him of her); Green is someone he accidentally killed in [2:00], despite him trying to warn him; and finally, Felt Container is the first person he went to when he felt that something was off in [1:00], and who was eliminated the next episode. Given the pattern of Polka Dot and Green being people he had a hand in killing, this could mean he feels he’s at fault for Felt Container being eliminated and assumedly killed. (In fact, he could have even seen that elimination, but there’s no way of knowing if he did or didn’t.) Something, something, survivor’s guilt…

8:39 - “Oh, it’s you again. You trying to steal our idea??? Huh?? HM?!” “Bro, chill out. It’s literally Polka Dot.” “Oh YEAH?? Well, can you explain what THIS is??”

First, he doesn’t seem particularly enthused that they’re all back by the polka dot void, especially since earlier he was trying to get Refill Station away from it. Him ‘accusing’ the polka dot void feels kind of just like a silly joke, but it could also be him proving he’s not afraid of it or something- either way, though, he clearly doesn’t believe that it’s Polka Dot. (He also looks afraid/shocked when Polka Dot shows up in the thought bubble, a similar shock to when he first saw Green after he died. Just pointing that out.)

9:11 - “GUYS! I figured out what we can do!! We can combine all of our ideas!”

It feels like he’s somewhat abandoned the Snowball route by now- and also, he looks almost genuinely excited (or maybe proud) when he suggests this. Maybe he’s just excited that he’s sure his idea will win them the challenge, but to me it feels like he’s happy he realized a solution that could include all of the team. (He definitely cares.)

10:10 - “Didn’t you say this WASN’T a cooking challenge?” “This is nowww a cooking challenge!” 

Yet another point to Wheel caring about fairness- he immediately points out Clock contradicting what they said about the challenge when it was announced, because it now suddenly being a cooking challenge is unfair.

10:38 - “TRUST me Clock! I’ve had it, it’s very good. Yep! …ehh, actually, that can stay right there.”

He’s hyping up his team’s creation, or at least trying to, to possibly give them a better chance at winning the challenge. This could just be for his own sake, but I’m willing to believe it’s for the whole team’s sake too. (He definitely doesn’t want to be up for elimination, though.)

10:54 - “Vote for one of the members of eeuughhh-”

Pay attention to Wheel’s expressions here. Immediately, he first looks nervous on first showing up on the elimination screen. Then, he looks surprised and then mildly suspicious of Clock being there, followed by slightly startling at Clock disappearing from the spot he was looking at. He looks at Polka Dot a little sadly, and then at the screen, worried but resigned. To me, this mainly feels like he’s nervous about his fate at the hands of the viewers (though honestly, he has been this whole episode), but also guilty at possibly killing Polka Dot from the look he gives her- or sympathetic to her mild panic, since she seems to silently apologize for appearing to squish Clock. (I’m not wholly sure why in between those, he gives Clock such a distrusting squint- at least not specifically, since I stand by the fact that he’s been distrusting of the host since the beginning.) Whatever the case, this whole sequence says a lot about Wheel to me, even if it’s just from his expressions.

IT’S TIME FOR THE [5:00] - Fifty-Seven Tears Of The Star

0:56 - “Speaking of the elimination… I think… I wouldn’t mind, a bit of a delay?” “Oh, you scared or somethin’?” “NO, no, I just think… we should look for Tile!” […] “NO, YOU’RE JUST SAYING THAT ‘CAUSE YOU’RE SAFE!!” […] “Know what? SHUT UP! Y- y- man- I’m- I’ma do my own thing.”

That’s pretty clearly a boldfaced lie. He’s been afraid of being eliminated from the start, and especially last episode. I don’t even need to analyze this deeply at all- it’s clear to everyone, even the other contestants, that he’s lying. He just doesn’t want to seem scared, so he covers it up with anger. This has been a pattern since [1:00]; it’s just much more obvious now.

2:48 - “RRRAAH I hate those guys, I hate the GRASS, I hate the SKY, I hate the AIR, I hate the TIME- oh… hm.” “You hate what?” “YOU.” “You… hate me?” “YES. ���here we go again.”

Notice how fast he’s speaking in the beginning. To me, it sounds like rambling for the sake of rambling- he’s frustrated and afraid, and he doesn’t know how to get it out properly, so he does this mini-tantrum. I don’t think he means most of what he says there- when kids react like this, they often don’t either- but I do think he means it when he says it to Clock. He’s never liked Clock, this is just the first time he’s openly saying it.

3:10 - “Oh my, please be sure to watch where you’re bouncing, you could have hurt somebody!” “WHO IS THAT-”

Well, isn’t this familiar? This is the same reaction he’s had to Clock- just less intense. This could indicate that he’s not just untrusting of Clock in particular, he’s wary of all strangers. Unsurprising, considering what I’ve analyzed already, but still worth noting. I could also be reading into this too far and he’s just confused, though. (Also, WWFT does an L dance at Wheel, that’s hilarious.)

3:40 - “EXPLAIN. NOW.” “I don’t know anything about that!” “CLOCK.”

As far as I can tell, he’s confused, so he wants answers and goes to the nearest person he can trust (No Way) and then to the host, who probably SHOULD know the answer. It’s not clear whether this is from distrust of Well, or just him panicking, but honestly it could be both.

4:06 - “Oh nonono end this nightmare, one Clock is ENOUGH!”

Okay, well, this is really funny, but also adds on to the fact that Wheel does not like Clock at all. He even sounds a little afraid here- which could be partly because it’s the elimination and he’s just generally nervous, though it would make sense if after all that’s happened he did fear Clock.

5:20 - “[Not like you’ll be around to hear more, bruh, you’re just kinda stupid, like. Overall.]”

At first, I thought this might have been a flashback of things he’d heard before, but more likely WWFT is saying these things in real-time and Wheel is just halfway tuning it out. (This confirms that WWFT and Wheel have a negative relationship, at least.) As for why he’s tuning it out, he seems sort of… pensive, almost. Lamenting. He knows he’s going to be eliminated (he has for a couple hours, at this point), he just kind of doesn’t want to hear it from somebody he clearly dislikes. It’s also possible he’s worrying about what will happen to him. (He could also be thinking about what WWFT just said earlier about 57, but that’s less likely.)

5:32 - “One… one… one, wh- NO-!” “AaaaAAA any final words, Wheel?” “I’m so mad at ALL OF YOU I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU MADE ME LOSE THE CHALLENGE!”

And here it is, the moment he knew was coming. He’s panicked, now, and doesn’t try to hide it, before reacting in the easiest way he knows how- blame, anger. He’s scared, and lashes out because of it, possibly falling back into the Snowball strategy on instinct. He still doesn’t mean any of it, though, as proven by what happens next:

5:43 - “Okay… I… do have a few final words, actually. The Sun, keep doing what you’re doing, you could be an absolute challenge BEAST!” “Thank you!” “Refill Station, you really just need to calm down sometimes.” “Oh my, I love this place, I love the grass, I love the sky! I love the- NEW FRIENDS!!” “What is even happening?” “You are the FINAL member left on our original team and I want you to know that I wish you luck!” “Oh! Thanks…”

This? He means this. This isn’t just him talking to team members, either- he’d never been teamed with the Sun. To the Sun, he encourages, to Refill Station, he gives advice, and to No Way, he wishes luck. In fact, I even think he had more to say, Clock just interrupted him! He cares, and though he’s used to being the mean one, he wants to make sure the people he likes know this before he’s gone, even if it ruins his image. (After all, he won’t get another chance to.) In this moment, he’s letting himself be vulnerable- something he hasn’t done since the start, and maybe even since before then- and it’s important. This is the crown of his arc. This is who Wheel really is behind all the anger and fear. (It’s just a little sad that he only feels like he can and has to do this when he has no time left.)

6:07 - “So… what now?”

The end. He’s hurting, and terrified, and yet his default response is a furrowed brow- he hides his fear with an angry expression. Even at the very end, he kicks and fights and bares his teeth. (No Way and Refill Station look distraught while they have to watch. No Way even reaches out to him, as if to help.) With everything we know now, this is honestly heartbreaking, but at least I can say his last actions proved my point:

Wheel wasn’t mean or evil. He was scared. And he had every right to be.

Thanks for reading!

[nightwriter357]

Smosh Summer Games:ships part 8

Thank you so much for all the support guys. After this one there's 2-3 parts left and I'm so excited for you to read it and hear you opinions on it!! Hope you guys like this one!

Part 8: Why is everybody afraid of love, LOVE.

Waking up next to him still felt bittersweet. This is temporary, you reminded yourself. Soon, you’d be waking up alone again, the warmth of his body just a distant memory.

His grip tightened, almost like he could read your thoughts, pulling you a little closer. You stirred and turned to face him, only to find his eyes already on you, half-lidded but awake, studying you.

“Were you watching me sleep?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

He smirked, though there was something softer in his expression. “Caught me,” he said, voice low. “Hard to look away.”

“Smooth.” You smiled, despite yourself. He leaned in, brushing his lips against yours, the kiss soft at first but deepening, almost like he was trying to hold onto every second.

When you finally pulled away, you could feel the weight of the moment between you.

“So... last night really was the last time, huh?” You tried to keep it casual, but your voice wavered slightly.

Damien blinked, his lips parted like he was about to say something, but you cut in before he could respond. “All of this is gonna be over soon,” you said, tracing a finger down his chest, playful but tinged with the uncertainty of what came next.

He sighed, pulling you even closer, his breath warm against your hair. “I don’t know,” he murmured. “I just... don’t want to stop.”

You nudged him playfully. “Then don’t, I'll give you a minute longer.”

He chuckled, his chest vibrating against you. “Is that an invitation?”

“Maybe,” you grinned, feeling a little lighter.

He pulled you back into his arms, the hug lingering a little too long, but neither of you seemed in a hurry to break it. It felt like you both knew that when you did, the illusion would shatter. You thought about asking him if he felt the same way—if this was more than just a fling to him—but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

Instead, you settled for breaking the moment with a nudge. “We should probably head up before someone comes looking for us. Can’t have them questioning why we're always sneaking of”

He groaned, reluctantly letting go. “Yeah, I guess. But if they ask, I'm blaming you.”

“Fair,” you laughed, rolling out of bed with a grin. “Come on, let’s go.”

As you both got dressed and headed up to meet the others, you couldn't shake the feeling of his lingering touches or the unspoken words between you. By the time you reached the group, you pushed the thoughts aside, deciding for now to just enjoy his company.

When you arrived, the others were already gathered, except for Courtney and Shayne, who were nowhere to be seen. You caught a few curious glances from the others, but nobody said anything—yet. They seemed far to invested in their own conversation.

Arasha smirked. "I didn't dominate; I was just... exceptionally prepared."

Angela, raising a fork in her hand, chimed in. "If by 'exceptionally prepared' you mean psychic, then sure."

Arasha raised her mug in silent agreement, her face unreadable. "I'm having a ball, though. Doesn't matter who wins."

Spencer feigned disappointment. "A ball? Really?"

Arasha didn't miss a beat. "Sorry didn't meen to appropriate you culture. A ball is plenty, who needs two anyway?"

Spencer blinked, mock-offended. "Hey, you're expelled for that."

As the group joked around, you couldn't shake the thoughts of this morning. Each glance from Damien seemed to carry more weight than the laughter around you. Are you ever going to be able to not be distracted by him?

Angela snickered. "Is that even something a judge can do?"

"It's usually up to management," Trevor added, nodding sagely.

Olivia leaned in, whispering far too loudly, "Management? So, Rhett and Link?"

Trevor furrowed his brows. "It would be Ian and Anthony?"

She lowered her voic  leaning closer. "Oh, right! That explains why he's been hanging around."

Anthony shook his head with a grin. "You literally whispered that TO me."

Damien chuckled beside you, his hand brushing yours under the table, sparking that familiar warmth between you two. You couldn't help but glance his way, that bittersweet feeling creeping back in.

Chanse playfully nudged Arasha. "We have been trapped on this ship for way to long. We need to meet people, dance, have sex."

Your eyes met Damiens as you tried to supress a smile.

Tommy piped up, wiggling his eyebrows. "So... who do we think is the last person here that got laid?"

Angela laughed, setting her cup down with a bang. "Well, Shayne and Courtney are missing... so I guess it's safe to assume it's at least one of them!"

Everyone chuckled, nodding in agreement. 

Tommy glanced around, leaning forward. "Okay, but who's gonna be the next person to have sex?"

Arasha didn't hesitate, locking eyes with you. "Y/n."

You froze, choking on your coffee. Damien, who had just taken a sip of his drink, nearly spit it out. "Uh, no. Not me. Like how would I even do that?"

You felt your cheeks heat as the group exchanged knowing glances. "Seriously, not me," you echoed, feeling the weight of Arasha's smirk from across the table.

"Oh, really?" she asked, her voice as smooth as ever.

For a second, you swore her gaze shifted to Damien, then back to you. But before you could react, the conversation kept going, leaving you and Damien awkwardly glancing at each other.

Arasha's lips curled into a small, mischievous smile. "But if we were stuck here, Angela would you kiss Amanda?

"No way," Angela scoffed.

Arasha smirked. "But what if you're choking and need mouth-to-mouth?"

"And what if you're doing mouth-to-mouth and you need choking?" Tommy added with a wink.

Amanda, unfazed, leaned back in her chair, a mischievous grin on her face. "I would," she quipped, winking at the group.

Angela eyes looked as is they were going to pop out of their sockets, while the rest of the table erupted in laughter, Amanda elbowed her playfully. 

You smiled along still puzzled by the moment that had just passed. It wasn't what Arasha said, though- that definitely lingered, it was the way she said it. Like she knew something you didn't. 

"Well, at least we know Damien wouldn't be hooking up with anyone," Arasha said with a sly grin. "You know how he is—he's gotta actually like the person first."

Your heart jumped at that, stealing a glance at Damien. What does that mean?

Damien didn't look at anyone else but you, his expression softening. "Yeah... I'm not into meaningless things." His voice was quiet but firm, each word carrying a weight that made your breath hitch.

Tommy, oblivious, chuckled. "No random flings, huh?"

Damien's gaze never wavered from yours. "You could say that," he said slowly, his voice carrying weight. The implication hung in the air, and your chest tightened, trying to read between the lines.

The intensity of his words sent your thoughts spiraling. He means me... doesn't he? It was too much to process, the uncertainty, the possibility. You needed space.

"I, uh, need to... get some air," you blurted, standing quickly as you excused yourself from the table.

You barely registered their responses as you walked away, your heart pounding in your chest. You had to talk to Courtney. Now. As you left them at the dining table you could hear Angela saying, "but she went downstairs? is she getting air inside?

 You weren't sure if barging into the room to talk about this was a great idea—especially with Shayne there. You had told Courtney about you and Damien hooking up, but this? This was a whole different level of confusion. Still, you couldn't keep it bottled up anymore. Talking about this felt... awkward, but you needed to figure out what was happening. 

You burst into the room, barely giving Courtney and Shayne time to process your frantic energy. They both sat on the bed, chatting before you interrupted.

"I need to talk to you... about Damien," you blurted, breathless.

Courtney raised an eyebrow, exchanging a look with Shayne.

"Oh, so it's finally happening," Shayne said, smirking.

You blinked. "Wait, what? You knew?"

"Of course," he replied, sitting back. "I've known for a while."

You blinked rapidly, confused. "How? I only just told Courtney!"

Shayne glanced between you and Courtney, his smirk turning into confusion. "You told her?"

Courtney stifled a laugh, sensing where this might be heading. Shayne didn't pick up on it.

"I mean, we already told her that," he continued, clearly thinking you were on the same page.

You threw your hands up, bewildered. "Wait, wait... hold on. How could you know? I never talked to you about... Damien and me."

Shayne grinned, still oblivious. "Come on, he told me WAY before he told you."

You stared at Shayne, dumbfounded. "Wait, how could you know before me? That literally makes no sense. What, did Damien give you like... a rundown of all of it before it happened?"

Shayne, still unaware, gave a confused chuckle. "Well, yeah, obviously he told me about it before you."

Your face twisted in disbelief. "BEFORE?! What do you mean 'before'? I'm pretty sure I was there every time. I would have known BEFORE you?!""

Courtney's eyes widened, "Wait everytime? It happned more than once!?"

You blushed, your voice low. “a.. few times.”

Shayne raised an eyebrow, still not catching on. "Uh, can  ithappen more than once?"

You stared at him, completely lost. "What? Yes, what do you mean, ofcourse if can happen more than once? It's not like you guys have only had sex once?" You looked over at Courtney."

Courtney stifled a laugh as Shayne blinked in bewilderment. "Wait, WHAT?! You guys had sex?"

Courtney burst into laughter, clutching her sides. “Oh my god, this is the best thing I’ve ever witnessed!”

"That IS what we are talking about?!" you exclaimed, rubbing your temples.

Shayne ran his hands through his hair, looking utterly flustered. "Wait, that’s what you’ve been talking about this whole time?!  - So your saying he told you that he's inlove with you and then you had sex?!"

"Yes" You froze mid-sentence. "Wait... WHAT? In love with me?! I'm just talking about the fact that we had sex!"

Shayne looked like he was processing way too much at once. "Hold up. So Damien, who has been in love with you for years, finally hooks up with you... and you thought it was a fling?"

You blinked, trying to make sense of everything. "Oh my god. He likes me? Like, actually likes me? I didn't know he was in love with me! I thought it was just... something that happened."

Shayne let out a half-laugh, half-groan, shaking his head. "Oh my god, this whole time... How did you not see it?"

Your eyes widened.  Shayne facepalmed as you started to ramble. "He likes me? Why? How? When? Oh my god—he's liked me this whole time?"

Courtney snorted, wiping away tears from laughing. "This is such a mess."

"I like him too," you muttered, your brain short-circuiting from the revelation. "I... I need to talk to him."

Shayne groaned. "You better, because I need to lie down after this.."

Courtney had a wide smile on her face, "Oh my god, this is going to be so good."

You dart out of the room, practically skidding around the corner as you spot Damien near the door to your cabin. Your breath’s still catching up, but you launch into words anyway.

“Damien!” you pant, rushing over. “We—we get along, right? Really well?

He blinks, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, I know.. we do. What’s up?”

You take a deep breath, trying to slow your racing thoughts. “Okay, good, because I want us to still get along when we get back, even after… you know, everything that’s happened.”

“Uh-huh…” he responds, clearly not following where this is going.

“And now that we know all of that, there’s… also a lot of stuff we don’t know! Or, I mean, stuff you don’t know, or that I know but you don’t know—yet!” You’re practically vibrating with energy.

Damien's eyebrows scrunch together, trying to piece together what you're saying. “Wait, what? I mean, I think we know eachother very well.”

“Yes! Exactly!” You pause, realizing how close you’re getting. “Well, not exactly. I mean, yes, but—wait, no, I mean—ugh, I don’t know how to say it!”

Damien’s brow furrows, his confusion deepening. “Waht are you trying to say?”

 You take a deep breath, trying to collect yourself. “I mean, I..

Just as you’re about to blurt it all out, Spencer pops up between you two, practically bouncing with excitement. “Hey, lovers! Time for the game!”

You gape at Spencer as he throws his arms around both of you. “Let’s go!” He pulls you both away before you can get another word out. You glance back at Damien, who’s still looking mildly puzzled, but you’re already being whisked away.

Your chance slips away as Spencer drags you off, and all you can think is: Great timing, Spencer. Great timing.