#The Dab™

[sonixcx]

This photo is everything

[mirror-to-the-past]

Lol, I've been giggling at this video of KH voice clips to the melody of "Espresso" (that inescapable Sabrina Carpenter song).

I love seeing non-AI voice splicing videos in the year of our lord 2024 🥺

[azsazz]

Over Ice (Part 3)

Hockey!Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Anon Req: She’s walking around Campus and BOOM right smack dab into Broody McBrooder!! She THEN finds out he’s the tutor for one of her hardest courses (personally Psych would be a good one) and they become super duper close with him and the team!!!

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 3147

(Part 1) (Part 2)

_________________________________________

Rhysand’s face hurts.

His hands do, too, but the scrapes and splits in the skin of his knuckles have nothing on the cut in his lip, which currently stings from the rush of alcohol that passes over his lips.

It’s cold, crisp, and free, so it’s the best beer he’s had all night.

Hell, his cheek is bruised too. It’s not a Picasso of mottled yellows, greens, and purples yet—curtesy of the time he spent poking and prodding the knotted bump in one of the locker room mirrors, post shower.

The only thing that isn’t bruised is his ego because he more than won that fight against the Penguin’s center, Kallias Winterborough. He fucking wiped the ice with him and then proceeded to use the rest of his team to clean house.

Somewhere in the Hockey House—aptly named for the number of players that reside in the five-bedroom, two-story craftsman—you and his cousin meander around, violet Solo Cups in hand because the red ones are so overrated. Plus, one of their biggest rivals—the Foxes—wear crimson, and no one at Velaris University would ever be caught repping that team at one of his parties.

It's a move he’s regretting a little too much right now, unable to revel in the Bat’s big win with his lip split in two. Fucker got him good, he can admit, but never aloud. Cassian would never let him live it down and Azriel would shoot him a scathing glare at the mere mention of another school’s team under their roof.

Az takes his superstitions seriously.

“Rhys, dude.” Cassian stumbles in through the square arch connecting the spacious living room to the cozy kitchen. It’s the only thing Rhysand doesn’t like about the Hockey House: no open floorplan. That means, when he plays host as he so often does because he can’t afford a hangover from hell following most mornings, he can’t see what’s going on in the kitchen if he’s in the living room or vice versa.

He can’t see people sneaking up the stairs, and even though he keeps his room locked at all times following the Cassian Incident™ that included two leggy blondes and the Frozen Four first place trophy—announcing the next afternoon that blondes do, in fact, have more fun—he still doesn’t trust a horde of university students on a high from their win not to do anything stupid.

Speaking of stupid…Cassian slides to a halt beside him. He’s so eager to share whatever the hell with Rhys that he overshoots, slamming his hip into the counter. His friend howls, and much unto Rhys’ surprise, others join in, like it’s some kind of victory cry and not one that says ‘I just bashed my hip in, somebody help me, please.’

Rhysand is in no mood to help.

“What’s up, Cass?” Rhys sighs, frowning when he tips his bottle back to his mouth only to find it empty. He hadn’t realized how much he drank; thought he was nursing it with the way his lip burns.

Cassian’s face contorts from pain back to amused like a flick of a switch and the pain was long forgotten. His nose is permanently crooked from the number of times he’s broken it during fights both on and off the ice, and he’d be missing one of his pearly whites if he hadn’t just gotten it fixed earlier this week. Thankfully, his moustache has been shaved off for tonight, showing off his plump, pink lips. His brunet hair is the longest on the team, just brushing the tops of his massive shoulders, and thankfully. On one side, it’s tucked tightly behind his ear, showing off the gold ring he punched through it on a dare at their first party freshman year.

Cassian’s hazel eyes have a spark in them that 1: Rhys has seen too many times, and 2: never means anything good.

Rhysand narrows his own, breaking that eager contact to scour the kitchen for another beer because goddammit, he’s going to need it with the way his friend is all but shaking with excitement.

“Have you found your nurse yet?” Cassian asks, trailing him around the marble slab counter.

“My what?” Rhysand side-steps a couple making out so hard that they go crashing into the first thing that isn’t each other: the wall. The petite girl with bright blue hair whimpers loudly, and the noise is swallowed up by the guy that’s sticking his tongue straight down her windpipe.

It looks grosser than it seems, Rhys defends when a pang of want slaps him right in the chest.

“Your nurse, dude,” Cassian whines. He slips on a rogue wet patch on the obsidian floor tiles and now Rhysand has another thing to dislike in this house. All he needs is someone cracking their skull open on his kitchen floor or the couple to fall and have his teeth through her lips from the impact. “You know, cause you’re all injured.” He waves flippantly towards Rhysand’s wounds.

“I don’t need a nurse,” Rhys answers, confused. He pulls open the fridge and snags two beers off of the shelf Cassian and two of his other roommates have dedicated it to. He hands one to his friend, who pops the top off with his teeth, and Rhys raises an unimpressed brow. “I didn’t get that hurt.” Plus, he’s already been to see the team trainer for his shiners.

He busies himself with the beer opener that’s stuck to the side of the fridge, then grabs the roll of paper towels from their holder to wipe up the mess Cassian’s leaving footprints with. Well, he unrolls a few and tosses them onto the spill, anyway.

“No, I mean like a lady nurse.” Cassian waggles his brows. “Someone who can kiss you better, maybe even give you a hand—”

And, well, that might just help his mood.

“Hey.” Azriel breezes into the kitchen like he’s still on his skates. He has his own cup in hand, filled with water. Rhys know this because he’s never seen Azriel drink anything other than water and the occasional coffee. He takes his training more seriously than half of the team, which bodes well for Rhys because he always has a gym buddy, but sometimes, he wishes his friend would let loose, even if it meant seeing a girl. Or sleeping with one. “Heads up.”

The warning has Rhys standing straighter, ready to abandon his beer on the counter to play his role as captain and the one in charge of the party. His roommates naturally defer to him in house affairs because they’re used to it, but really, Rhys doesn’t have much more room in his packed schedule for warding off drunk students and stopping fights.

The last thing he needs tonight is to find himself in the middle of a fight.

“Rhys!” A perky blonde squeals, and his shoulders drop for a second only to tense right back up when his cousin throws herself into his arms.

He catches her with an oof, spitting out her wild locks that somehow always end up everywhere. He loves his cousin dearly, like a sister, but why is she here right now?

He doesn’t see you following your roommate into the kitchen, jaw slack like it’s been since you first saw the Hockey House lit up in all of its glory. The place is absolutely massive, it looks like it could rival one of the houses on Greek row.

The kitchen is moody yet warm. The dark tiles match the onyx-stained flat arch you just walked through. The lighter gray marble countertop brightens the room, and the deep blue cabinets paired with the soft lighting paints the room in perfect synchrony.

It’s absolutely stunning.

Neither of you see the other at first. Rhys because he’s still trying to blink Mor’s hair from his eyes and you because you’re entranced by the interior design of the home. There’s no way five boys could possibly live here, let alone five hockey players. It’s a bit of a mess with the party raging around you, yes, but you haven’t seen one hole in the drywall, not one forgotten dish nor a pair of boxers left of the bathroom floor—you checked.

Because you were using the restroom of course, you weren’t looking for that specific reason.

“Hey, Mor,” Rhys greets when she finally detaches herself from him. She doesn’t go far, only stepping back enough to introduce you to him. “What are you doing here?”

Violet eyes clash with yours, drawing your heart to a standstill. He looks just as good as he did when you were sprawled out on his chest: dark hair clean and mussed through, red lips parted as if the words he wants to say are stuck in his throat.

The only thing different about him now is that cut in his lip and the redness to his cheek from his fight on the ice that you bore witness to.

The memory replays in your mind again, awakening tingles in your body that shouldn’t be. And just how you’re praying for them not to, they converge right between your thighs, settling in nice and hot and begging for attention as the sight of him with burning violet eyes as he decks his opposition across the jaw replays.

It really shouldn’t have been as hot as it was, and he himself shouldn’t be as hot as he is, either.

You hold yourself still, focusing eighty percent on your attention on trying to calm your eager bits down and the other twenty percent on making sure you don’t look constipated while doing so.

Rhys blinks at you and you return his blank stare, watching, waiting to see if he recognizes you, too.

Oh, he does.

“We came to see your game tonight,” she says, as if it isn’t obvious from your attire. The attire that Rhys is currently dragging his eyes down, drinking in every inch—all four of them—of the jersey your roommate forced you into tonight. You watch his eyes flare as he reads the number across your chest. His number, you’re just now realizing.

Heat floods your cheeks but you’re unable to bolt like you so desperately want to. Your heart is beating three times as fast in your chest as he slowly, slowly, rakes his gaze up from your legs that are glued to the floor, all the way to your eyes, that are glued to his face.

“This is (Y/N),” Mor announces, gesturing to you with a flourish. When you make no move forward to greet them, her red nails curl around the hem of your jersey and yank.

You stumble forward, and the trance is broken. Unfortunately, so is your face, because you slip in something on the tiles and are plummeting face-first into the ground. You squeeze your eyes shut tight, lips parted to scream or groan, whichever your mind catches up to first—

The impact never comes. Strong hands grip your arms, stopping you from eating tile. You’re too stunned to speak, even when you’re planted back on your feet and staring into the chest you were lying on only this afternoon.

Rhysand Cunningham.

Jesus, you’re really going to have to stop saying his full name like that. It’s creepy.

“Easy now,” Rhys says, making sure you’re steady. You somehow find the courage to look him in the eyes, hastily tamping down the mortification that threatens to consume you.

As soon as your eyes lock, it’s like magic.

There’s no other way to describe whatever is happening between the two of you right now. His light touch is searing, and so are his eyes as he scans your face, making sure you’re not hurt.

Rhys’ abandoned beer sits precariously close to the edge of the counter, and Cassian accidentally knocks it off with his elbow when he dodges a playful swat Mor tosses his way. It goes crashing to the floor, startling you and Rhys from your trance.

You jump, gaze following the noise. Rhys’ hands slip from your body and you shiver at the cold that replaces him, even though it’s stifling in this house with the number of bodies packed into it. You manage one large step back that he doesn’t seem to notice because he’s already snatching the paper towels from where he put them last and barking at passerby to “be fucking careful.”

“I, uh,” you stutter, and holyfuckingshit, he’s leaning over to clean up the mess. You get a full view of that toned ass; despite the jeans he’s wearing. It’s perfect, round like an apple, juicy like one too, you bet. The sudden urge to lean over and sink your teeth into it hits you like a semi— “I need to use the bathroom.”

You scurry away from your roommate and her cousin like it’s your ass that’s just been bitten into.

Rhys grumbles the entire time he cleans up the spilt beer. Cassian tried to help, his chocolate eyes wide and sad, spouting off apologies like he did something much worse than break a fucking bottle, but hissed when he cut his thumb on a sharp edge. Rhys had pushed him away from the scene immediately after that.

He wonders if Cassian is going to bound off into the living room and find himself a nurse of his own, now.

“Hey, where did your friend go?” Rhys asks Mor who’s chewing on a cherry stem. He grimaces, not even knowing where those came from.

“Roommate,” Mor answers pointedly, serving him a harsh look that only confuses the hockey player.

“Okay…where did your roommate go?” He clarifies, eyes sweeping the room for you. Disappointment prickles at his skin just as much as the look his cousin is shooting him. He’d gotten his look at you alright, but he’s suddenly feeling like the single up-down he gave you was not nearly enough.

“To the bathroom,” she answers, rounding the counter, eyeing all of the opened bottles of liquor on top. She must not see anything she likes, because he doesn’t reach for anything. “Why?”

Why? Because you brought her here and I want to be nice? Rhys thinks. I want to get to know her, maybe somewhere private—

“I didn’t really get to introduce myself.” Is what he goes with.

Mor snorts, rolling her eyes because she is not falling for that one. “She’s off limits.”

“Then why did you bring her here?” Rhys blurts, unable to stifle the words before they slip out. Damn beer.

“Because we wanted to see your game,” Mor replies, watching her cousin closely.

If you wanted to see my game, you shouldn’t have warned me against your roommate, he thinks, and then cringes.

“Well, thanks for coming, cuz,” he offers, because there’s no good rhyme or reason to start arguing with her. Especially when both of their parents are just phone calls away.

He’d rather be getting the third degree from Mor than his mother, anyway.

Rhys swiftly changes the subject. “Hope you enjoyed me kicking some ass.”

Mor’s tight face melts into amusement. She laughs, tossing her head back on her shoulders. “Yeah, I really did enjoy that, actually.”

It’s at that exact moment that Rhys catches sight of you again. You’re caught halfway in the archway of the kitchen, presumably on your way back from the bathroom. Your lips are pulled into a smile as you giggle, and he wishes he could hear it over the gods-awful music. Your eyes are bright and he watches you brush a strand of hair behind your ear, cheeks pinkening with a blush that makes him wonder just who’s putting that look on your face.

Rhys takes one step to the left and his entire body begins boiling with heat when he catches sight of one of his players speaking to you.

If she’s off limits to me, then my players are off limits to her.

And that’s exactly what they are, too, players. Mor’s right, he can’t end up letting one of his teammates fuck around with you, not when you’re so close to his cousin. She’d be devastated if you got hurt, and fuck it, he would too. He’d kill one of his guys if they broke your heart.

Rhys doesn’t talk sense into himself as he stalks your way, doesn’t think about the repercussions or his actions when he slides up to your side, all rigid muscles and sharp looks.

“What do we have here?” he asks, drawing you away from the friendly conversation you were having with the handsome hockey player about the types of tapes and casts that can be used when treating different injuries.

It’s James Attor, from your Athletic Training Techniques class. You’d recognized him, but didn’t know he played for the Velaris hockey team. He’s a sophomore like you, and more interested in the injuries part of his sport than the actual scoring.

“Oh, hey, Cap,” James greets, shrinking under the scrutinizing gaze of his team leader. He knows that look, it’s the one Rhys gets before he’s about to lose his mind on the ice. “I was just talking to (Y/N) about—”

“About nothing,” Rhys finishes for him, and you frown. What the hell is his problem?

“James, wait,” you call, but it’s too late, he’s already slipped into the crowd of people dancing in the middle of the living room, and you don’t have supervision to see through them.

Whirling around on your heel, you glare up at Rhys. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Rhys asks, striding back towards the kitchen. You decide that playing stupid doesn’t look good on him. And neither does that split lip.

You can’t believe you wanted to get closer. For a better look at his wounds, of course.

“That!” You exclaim, throwing your arm out and pointing where you were just standing. It serves no purpose because Rhys isn’t facing you, which only stokes your anger further. “I was talking to him!”

“Yeah,” he rounds on his feet so fast you don’t even see it coming and for the second time today, you run smack dab into the middle of his chest.

This time, you don’t tumble into a pile of limbs.

You blink, dumbfounded.

“And I’d prefer it if you don’t,” Rhys finishes, chest tight. He feels on edge at the way your body pressed up against his, like lightning in his veins. He grits his teeth, willing the feeling to go away.

“Yeah,” you scoff, tossing him your best glare. You cross your arms over your chest for effect, but all it does is make that skimpy shirt you’re wearing ride up more, and both Rhys’ eyes and throat catch at the sight of your creamy skin. Your word sounds like a threat when you say, “Unlikely.”

_________________________________________

Over Ice Taglist:

@saltedcoffeescotch @acourtofbatboydreams @mrsjna @velarisdusk @bionic-donut @tenshis-cake @eleganttravelercloud @lilah-asteria @serena05 @bwormie @soph1644 @house-husband-of-castlemurdock @tothestarsandwhateverend @topaz125 @judig92 @se7enteen--black-blog @thecraziestcrayon @cherry-cin @itsinherited @justafictionalnerd

[kitten4sannie]

ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴜʀᴇ ᴘʟᴀɴᴇᴛ

ᴛᴇɴᴛᴀᴄʟᴇꜱ/ᴛɪᴛꜰᴜᴄᴋɪɴɢ ➠ ᴡᴏᴏʏᴏᴜɴɢ

pairing: intergalactic alien idol! wooyoung x cyborg call girl! reader (fem) feat. ai! san

genre: futuristic au, idol au, smut

summary: your company pleasureplanet™ gets a call from the most sought after idol in your galaxy, requesting you for an evening. he shows you a side his fans have never seen before.

w.c: 2.5k

warnings: switch! wooyoung, reader adapts to whatever woo wants for her own pleasure ^^, alien heat cycles, woo’s got an big alien cock, implied voyeurism, praise, begging, tentacle sucking + fucking, deep-throating, titfucking, choking kink but not in the way you think, unprotected sex, just…so much cum and alien goo lol, breeding/impreg kink, actual impregnation (in this economic climate??), oviposition, creampie, cum inflation

a/n: i’m giving my lord and savior cthulhu all the credit for bestowing this idea upon me,, it’s not like i’ve been wanting to write something this heinous for months and months… where’d you even get that idea from?? haha…ha. but fr im so happy i finally got to write out something that’s akin to a hentai lol i’m living my best smut writer life rn. please heed the warnings and if you did so i hope you enjoy :3

Now Playing:

ᴘʟ4ʏɢ1ʀʟ ʙʏ ʟᴏʟᴏ ᴢᴏᴜᴀÏ

0:01 ❍─────── 4:28

Volume: ▁▂▃▄▅▆▇ 100%

ᴘʀᴇᴠ | ꜰꜰꜰ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ɴᴇxᴛ

Wooyoung woke up from his sleep in a cold sweat, the flashing lights projecting from the room’s flatscreen making patterns on his glistening skin as he sat up, his body filled with an odd, though familiar heaviness that he knew he would have to take care of sooner than later. 

“Shit, is it happening already?” he whispered to himself, groaning as pulled himself to the edge of the king-sized bed to sit comfortably. “San, do a body scan.” Wooyoung rubbed his tired eyes, waiting for his in-house AI system to kick in, a familiar ding suddenly ringing out inside the empty room.

A projection of a youthful man with sharp, feline-like features appeared on the wall closest to Wooyoung’s bed. He looked in Wooyoung’s general direction, giving him a cordial smile and a bow. “Good evening, Wooyoung.” Blue rings of light formed along the edges of San’s brown eyes, studying Wooyoung’s form. “It appears that your BPM is above normal range. Abnormal body temperature and cortisol production have been detected. Unusually high levels of arousal and semen production are recognized as well,” the AI stated matter-of-factly, blinking. “You seem to be exhibiting symptoms of an illness that members of your sector are susceptible to contracting during this time of year. Would you like to see an in-depth analysis?” 

“Yes, San.” Wooyoung waited for a moment until a prompt appeared on the small computer built into his wrist, tapping a few options, until it projected various images to him. The application showed him what he was in denial about discovering, the bright red letters indicating that he was indeed smack dab in the middle of an intense heat, and to make things worse, he was carrying. To make matters even worse, he knew his kind was required to transfer his offspring to a willing partner, or else his own body would become a birthing ground.

Knowing that he had too many fans relying on him in the intergalactic entertainment world, it simply wasn’t an option for him to retire. He would have to find someone that could host them for him, but where? And so late in the night? Who could possibly–

“Hey, sexy, are you looking for a late-night lover?” an ample-chested member of the spider dimension with eight hooded eyes and fearsome mandibles questioned Wooyoung from the bright TV screen, bringing a bit of their web together into a pattern that formed a heart.  

“Oh?” Wooyoung murmured, realizing that just perhaps his reluctant, desperate prayers to his galaxy’s god were in the process of being answered.

A curvy gray alien leaning seductively against a bar table continued the spiel, “Someone you can unload your deepest desires onto? Someone that can make your wildest dreams come true?” 

“Well, look no further.” An enthusiastic, though automated voice took over this time, as the screen showcased the company’s shiny logo, while it flipped through a slew of optional playmates across the screen like pages of an open book, showcasing the wide range of choices Wooyoung had. “Our playmates at Pleasure Planet will take good care of you. For price options, call (XXX)-XXX.” 

Wooyoung bit his lip, about to look away from the TV when you popped up on the screen, drawing his attention to you, your human-like beauty mixed with the metal intricacies of a robot standing out to him. 

“Well, what are you waiting for, baby?” you asked Wooyoung through the screen, laying across a plush velvet couch in only a small black slip, your back arched, running your fingers up along your sleek body, until you brought them into your hair to push it behind your ears, your fingers brushing against the small lit-up chrome circle near your temple. “Give me a call~” 

Wooyoung gulped so hard, he almost swallowed his Adam’s apple, knowing what he had to do. He rubbed at his sweaty neck, feeling more beads of sweat trickle down his neck to his chest, the loose sleep t-shirt that was hanging off his shoulders now tinted a darker color. “San, call Pleasure Planet and book me an appointment with the cyborg girl.” 

“Right away, Wooyoung,” San obeyed, bowing at the waist, before his image dissipated, the wall returning to a blank state. 

࿏࿏࿏

A soft ding sound filled the empty space of Wooyoung’s expansive cyber chamber after some time went by, finally distracting the overheated alien from his current predicament. He continued to lay in a fetal position on the side of his bed, too overwhelmed by the dizzying amount of arousal that was swirling around his insides like a shoal of fish. “Is…nnngh…she here, San?” 

San’s form materialized onto the wall once more, scanning his Master’s crumpled up body, running a number of tests, finding that the situation was beginning to grow imminent. “Yes, she is, Wooyoung. Please begin the mating ritual as soon as possible, to prevent less favorable outcomes. I’m sure your company wouldn’t want you–”

“You think I don’t know that, San?” he snapped back, holding a hand to his disruptive abdomen, groaning in both pain and unexplainable pleasure, as what Wooyoung could only describe as molten-hot lava churning around inside his core, just aching to spill out of him. “Where the fuck is she? I need to–”

“I’m here for you, Wooyoung. Please, put your worries to rest,” you replied as you entered his room, Wooyoung’s eyes following your movements like a moth to a flame, taking slow steps up to his bed, shedding various articles of your clothing until you were bare for him. 

“O-oh, hi,” Wooyoung croaked, doing his best to sit up in his bed with his head against his pillow, beads of sweat already soaking into it, strands of black hair sticking to his forehead. He watched you climb onto his bed and crawl towards him, his eyes shifting from your face to your body, trying to get his spinning mind to stop for a moment. “Wh-what’s your name?” 

“Y/N, but you can call me whatever you want. I’m yours for tonight~” You mounted him, lowering yourself down to feel his aching length pressing into your heat through his boxers. 

“Y/N…” he repeated softly, entranced by you. 

Smiling down at him, you gently ran your hands up his rapidly rising abdomen, feeling up his soft body along the way, eventually slipping him out of the sweater he was in, eliciting a whine from the alien below you. You brought your lips near Wooyoung’s parted ones, whispering against them, “Oh, baby, you’re in bad shape, huh? Need me to take care of you?” 

Wooyoung nodded weakly, his hands on your thighs, feeling your soft skin underneath his heated grasp. He squeezed into it, swallowing harshly, his Adam’s apple visibly bobbing inside his throat. “Y-yes, please, it hurts so bad…” 

San, who was still watching from the wall, cleared his throat, doing his duty and informing his Master of important information. “Master, please return to your body’s natural state soon. Your vitals are starting to worry me.” 

“I got it, San,” Wooyoung grunted, glaring at the AI, before returning his attention to you. “Oh my god…” He groaned at the sight of you running your hands up and down your perfectly created body, your fingers slipping past the metal, glowing seams that sealed you together, until you got down to your glistening cunt, your fingers spreading yourself open for his viewing pleasure, all while grinding back and forth against his slippery, clothed length. “Y/N…fuck…I just…don’t want to scare you…” 

“You won’t, trust me. Please, let yourself go, Wooyoung, it’s okay,” you reassured him softly, licking at your fingers before they returned to your perfect pussy, rubbing at your clit, feeling zaps of electricity course through your body, your artificial synapses firing off inside your brain. “I’ll take care of you, I promise.” 

Inhaling sharply, Wooyoung closed his eyes for a moment to ground himself, knowing you wouldn’t judge every inch of him like people on the Universal Net did. Little by little, he let his body return to its natural state, small, ridged scales growing in patches along his skin, which exhibited an electric blue tint wherever his blood settled in the most, long, slick-covered tentacles emerging from his form, some of them idly curling around different parts of your body — the most notable change to his body being his cock, which tore out of his boxers from its size. It was no longer human-like, but instead resembled his wriggling appendages, had prominent ridges, leaked a steady flow of blue, viscous pre-cum, and had an obvious girth to it, thick, heavy-looking, and perhaps capable of stretching you open to your particular model’s max capacity for cock.

“Oh, Wooyoung,” you sighed, small digital hearts forming within your hooded eyes, cupping the alien’s flushed face, bringing your lips to his. “You're beautiful.” 

Wooyoung melted into your kiss and body respectively, bringing his hands up to your own face, holding it, his tentacles exploring the rest of your form for him, a few curling around and in between your tits, others sliding along your thighs and hips, while his slippery cock idly rubbed back and forth along your cunt like it had a mind of its own, sending waves of pleasure into the both of you. “Fuck, I need you so bad, Y/N…” 

A string of saliva broke your kiss as you pulled back, squeezing your tits together around the tentacle that was between them, licking at the wriggling tip. “How bad, baby? How bad do you want to fill me up with your cock?” you asked breathily, feeling the tentacle begin to thrust faster and faster, dripping blue pre-cum onto your slick skin. “You want to fuck your cum into me, Wooyoung? Fuck me so deep, it reaches my womb?” 

“Y-esss, please, oh my god, please,” Wooyoung moaned out, grabbing at your hips, continuing to grind his large, ridged cock against your cunt, unable to stop gasping for air from how hard he was breathing. 

“Then, come here,” you purred, reaching down to grab Wooyoung’s cock and pushing it inside you, feeling it fill you up inch by inch until your hungry cunt swallowed it in its entirety, your bodies essentially becoming one. 

Any semblance of composure completely left Wooyoung’s burning body in that moment, encouraging him to grab onto your hips like handlebars and drive his cock deep into your cunt over and over, his tentacles still eagerly exploring the expanse of your skin, some rubbing into your clit, others still preoccupied with your now bouncing tits, an additional tentacle loosely wrapping around your neck, the tip of it sliding along your cheek like it was licking you. “Feels so fucking good being inside you, Y/N, I’m gonna melt.” 

“Take me, Wooyoung, do whatever you want to me,” you told the alien in between pants, opening your mouth when Wooyoung’s tentacle rolled down your other cheek and across your lips, eventually slipping inside your mouth when you opened up, the small round disk built into your temple continually flashing blue the longer your body short-circuited with pleasure, your sensitive flesh squelching lewdly each time they joined together in slick, gooey harmony. 

Wooyoung watched you with a fondness that bordered obsession, drooling at the sight of his appendage fucking itself into your bulging throat that it was wrapped tightly around, still bringing you down onto his cock at an unnerving speed, the heaviness swirling around inside his lower abdomen growing more and more prominent. “I’m going to breed you, Y/N, did you know that? I’m going to fill you to the fucking brim with my kids.” 

You gurgled happily around the thrusting tentacle that was currently stretching out your lips and throat, your body shuddering with pleasure once load after load of blue goo spilled into your willing mouth, dripping down the sides of your chin and traveling along the rest of your slicked-up body. The tentacle left your mouth with a lewd pop and slowly wrapped around your waist instead. “Fill me up, Wooyoung, please, fuck it in me, deeper, I need it,” you begged him, desperately driving yourself down on his thick cock, cupping your own overheated cheeks, the hearts inside your eyes growing more and more bright each time the alien’s cock slipped deep inside your sloppy cunt.  

“Gonna fuck you so full, Y/N, gonna plug you up with my cock so you have to be my breeding bitch again and again,” Wooyoung mindlessly moaned out, simply driven by his overwhelming lust and instinctual urge to procreate, the heaviness moving closer and closer to his pulsing cock. 

“Yes, give it to me, please…!”

San, who had been silently observing the entire time, cleared his dry throat up to announce, “Delivery of offspring will be completed in…three…two..one…”

Neither you nor Wooyoung could tell who had came harder between the both of you, your joined moans and pants filling up the heavy air in the room. Wooyoung’s hands were cemented against your lower abdomen, able to feel as each warm, egg-like object had been deposited into your contracting cunt. “Feel them?” he asked under his breath, looking up into your barely open eyes.

“Yeah, I feel them,” you breathed, feeling dizzy just from the sensation of being filled to the absolute brim, Wooyoung’s cock acting as a dam until he knew that nothing except loads of his cum would come out afterwards, a small bulge present inside your stomach being the proof of what had been done to you. 

Wooyoung let out a small whine, slowly pulling out of you, his cock flopping lifelessly onto his pelvis, his eyes focused on the way your used hole fluttered around nothing, dribbles of electric blue cum dripping out, until a flood of it came seeping out in between your sticky bodies. With a blissful smile on his face, Wooyoung rubbed your stomach with gentle circles, humming to himself. “Let me know when you’re ready for another round, okay, baby?” 

You smiled softly down at him, placing your hand over his, ready to ask him for another round as soon as possible when San spoke instead.

“I hate to interrupt, but you have quite the schedule tomorrow, Wooyoung…practice at 9, vocals at 11, a fan meeting in the Twilight Quadrant at 3….” San slowly informed in a disheartened tone, a drop of sweat cascading down the side of his sleek face. 

Wooyoung growled, grabbing a pillow and tossing it at the wall, the image of San blurring temporarily. “Shut off! Shut down, San!” He looked back at you, rubbing your hips gently, unable to stop smiling at your pretty cybernetic face.

San disappeared from the wall, but his voice remained. “Just so you know, I don’t actually have a shut-off button, Wooyoung. I’m sentient…” 

Wooyoung’s fingers clenched into your hips, his eyebrows twitching downwards. “Oh my god, San, just wait till I fucking figure out how to hack your programming…” 

San cleared his throat, shaking his head, though it wasn’t visible to either of you, especially since you were both too busy eye-fucking each other. “Again, I’m sentient. That’s out of the realm of possibility.” 

“San!” 

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© kitten4sannie, 2024.

[djevelbl]

fuck drawing animals all my homies hate drawing animals (i can't get the legs to stop looking goofy)

ahaha not me speedrunning 3 IMtober prompts bc i didn't feel like doing shit yesterday and the day before that--

[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 · · · · 𝚅𝙸. 𝙹𝚊𝚗𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚢 ║ ⓒⓗⓐⓟⓣⓔⓡⓔⓓ

𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 || 𝚗 𝚊 𝚟 𝚒 𝚐 𝚊 𝚝 𝚒 𝚘 𝚗 || 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 | PAIRING(s): Joel Miller x fem!OC/reader

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | CHAPTER CONTENT: inherent power imbalance due to boss/employee dynamic, Feelings Turning Into Action™, fucked up family relationships and drama, abusive relationships, brief mention of abusive child/parent interaction, alcoholic parent, Joel being protective, Joel being an old man, dialogue on steroids, the messy journey of healing | WORD COUNT: 10.4k

| CHAPTER SUMMARY: After a chaotic, tumultuous New Year's Eve, you start the New Year off with Joel by your side and make some much overdue resolutions.

The light is coming from the wrong direction.

The gentle glow of the hazy, hesitant sunrise creeps slowly through the blinds and sheer purple draperies, ghosting against the impending day. There’s an unfamiliar but welcome stillness to it all, but the subconscious recognition that you aren’t waking in your own bed stirs you. Your lids lift and flutter as your mind begins piecing together all the atmosphere and context of your current setting.

The cuffs of Joel’s flannel, bunched up in your grasp, beckon your nose closer just to breathe in the scent of him. When your eyes flutter again, the room is significantly brighter. The blink of an eye and hours gone by. You’re fully awake this time, though; no drifting again. The house is still a comforting quiet, but there’s the intimations of someone else already up and about. The crust in the corner of your eyes feels particularly sharp as you rub them. The floor is cool against the arch of your foot when you swing your legs from the warm bedding and finally start to face whatever awaits you.

You’d kissed Joel. He’d kissed you back.

And then you’d practically run off upstairs while he sat there in shock. Did he regret it? Did he think you regretted it? Do you regret it???

No. There’s no amount of mortification that could ever make you truly regret finally getting to know what his lips felt like against yours. Still, you can’t quite meet your reflection’s eye while washing your hands in the hallway bathroom after peeing. His pants feel soft and warm around you. You stare into the sink, finger dabbed with toothpaste acting as a brush, and give up looking for mouthwash after a minute or two. Nothing left but to go downstairs and be confronted with the aftermath of your impulsive, reckless advance last night.

Music drifts low from a speaker somewhere in the corner of the kitchen.  A spice bottle is almost to his nose as he squints at the label. He huffs and glances off the other way and snatches something off the countertop. The swell of his bicep stretches the hem of the sleeve as he bends his arm towards his face. The slightest peek of his torso is revealed when his shirt lifts from the movement.

Joel Miller in all his scruffy morning glory. Pajama pants impressively wrinkled. T-shirt sporting several misshapen areas that droop and give from being pulled too many times. Hair mussed and tousled. Scruffy beard serving as a place for his hand to rub contemplative passes as he skims the label on the spice bottle, words and letters coming into focus with the help of his readers perched atop his curved, proud nose. His lips move in little rounded and bent shapes as he wordlessly reads through what you imagine is the ingredient list. He looks so warm and cozy and homey.

He’s breathtaking.

Your silent ogling is noticeable, apparently, because Joel notches his head in your direction in a swift jerk, eyes and mouth softening at the sight of you.

“Morning,” you offer up nervously.

He smiles, an affectionate, relieved wash over his features, and returns the greeting with more confidence. “Mornin’.”

“Uh, Happy Ne–” You stop yourself short of wishing him a happy new year when you remember you already did that several times last night and would rather not bring up your incredibly forward advance that went with it.

He grins easy like he knows your train of thought. “Hey, it’s—”

“No,” you interject. “Listen, I shouldn’t have—” You take several strides into the kitchen. You need to own up to your actions and take responsibility for making things weird. Had you made things weird? There was something shifting and new in the air, that was certain.

He holds up a hand to stop your spiel, but you drive the conversation forward.

“I’m really sorry about last night, and I shouldn’t have just done that,” you hastily apologize. “And if I crossed a line, I’m– I really wasn’t meaning to make— I just–”

“It was nice,” he contends with a casual shrug.

“Wait, what?”

You weren’t really sure what to expect, but it wasn’t that. A reminder that things need to remain professional, maybe. A gentle correction that you hadn’t asked permission before kissing him. But a declaration of acceptance? You hadn’t let yourself hope for that much.

“Yeah, you know, I haven’t had one of them in a while,” he explains. “A midnight kiss on New Year’s Eve,” he adds when you shake your head in confusion.

“So you’re… not upset with me?”

“The only thing that’ll upset me is if you don’t help me read the fuckin’ tiny writing on this thing.” He holds the spice bottle out for you to take. 

“Um.” You hold it in your hands and read out the list of ingredients in the mix. You hand it back to him and fix your face from the dubious, hesitant hope it wants to broadcast. 

“Thanks, Pluck,” he beams and gives your upper arm a quick rub before continuing whatever it was that you’d walked into.

Was that it? Was it really going to be that simple? No big conversation? No huge deal made about it? You aren’t sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, and you aren’t sure if it makes you feel better or worse.

“Y-Yeah, Goob. No problem.”

He sorts out some additional spices and sets them beside some pans. The oven is already on a low heat, and you smell something salty and sweet. 

“You, uh, got anywhere you gotta be this mornin’, or ……?” he hedges.

Is he asking because he’s trying to be polite and doesn’t want to outright ask just how long you plan on invading his personal space? Is he asking because he wants you to stay but doesn’t want you to feel obligated to do so?

“No. Is that–Is that okay?”

“Perfect,” he chimes. “Need me a sous chef today.” The corner of his mouth twitches up like there’s some funny inside joke. 

“What’re you making?” you ask, deciding to just take his lead and act like everything is normal. 

It’s the least you can do for letting yourself get out of line last night. You wish he could just understand the sense of calm and safety that overrode your brain when you woke up with his arms around you. You wish you could explain how after months and months of feeling seen by him, you’d finally given into wanting to be felt by him, too.

“Classic New Year’s Day dish. Ham, cornbread, and black eyed peas.” 

“Never had it,” you admit with a shrug.

He gives a theatrically shocked look, wide palm clutched across his chest, with an exaggerated gasp to pull it all together. You giggle and give him a small shove with your elbow.

“You’re acting like everybody should’ve heard about it – like it’s some huge deal.”

“‘Round here it is,” he contends. “Been makin’ this every New Year’s since, well, as long as I can remember. Used to have it as a kid, and then I just sorta kept it up when I got old enough, I guess. Now I still make it even though it’s just me around to eat it.”

“Oh.” Even though he hadn’t said it in any way to suggest it, you can’t help but feel like you’re intruding on some private tradition meant for those nearest and dearest to him, which you most decidedly are not.

“What’d’ya mean ‘oh’?” he snorts.

“Just sounds… I dunno, sounds special, I guess. Sounds nice.”

“It is nice,” he agrees. “And, yeah, pretty special, too.”

You force yourself to meet his eye again, and the warm, welcoming brightness there speaks volumes.

You belong in this space. You’ve earned yourself a seat at the table for something like this. I want to share this with you, too.

“So you gonna learn the ropes and join the ranks?”

“Such a fearless captain at the helm, how could I refuse?” you jibe.

He throws you a flimsy salute and stations you to prepare the cornbread. Your body feels electric every time his shoulder bumps into yours side by side at the counter as he explains the “absolutes” and the “must nots” of the meal.

He explains how you soak the beans the night before so they cook evenly and timely, how it's imperative to use yellow cornmeal for the cornbread, how a pinch of sugar brings out the flavor and compliments the ham.

“You gonna eat greens if I make ‘em?” he asks over his shoulder, digging through the fridge for various ingredients.

Thankfully your brain autocorrects I’ll take anything you want to give me, Joel into “I’ll give them a try, sure.”

The morning passes languid and cozy as you watch him come to life, animated and bright over something clearly sentimental and meaningful to him. Part of you knows that you’re involved simply because you happened to be here, but another, smaller part of you likes to imagine that he would’ve liked to have had you here and a part of it all regardless.

Being this close to him, all soft and cozy in the kitchen as you share in a little feel-good bubble, brings the simmering want that your kiss last night sowed. It’s teething and clawing in your belly, this need for more more more of him heightened in every conceivable way. Any minor and innocuous movement or glance threads a burning wire throughout every bit of you, all alight and inciting as though it was being done just to pull you further into the clutches of him.

Your body feels hot and itchy, the urge to just throw caution to the wind and kiss him again - just to see what would happen - inches closer and closer to drowning out all the sensible thoughts in your head. You’d expected a more stilted, awkward atmosphere this morning and had waited for it, but it never came.

The better than expected reception has emboldened you in a way that you don’t recognize. The only thing keeping you from throwing yourself at him again is the notion that he deserved – you both deserved – to know that you weren’t just being reactionary from last night’s trainwreck and seeking out something to comfort yourself as a result.

You get the first major distraction from your inner thoughts when Joel’s phone lights up with a call. A silly little photo of him and Sarah together, her name bright across the top of the screen. It’s a video call. His eyes flit to yours, something apologetic mixed with something imploring. You aren’t sure if he wants you to be in the background of the call or not, but you aren’t up for all the questions that would garner.

“I just remembered I should probably charge my phone from last night,” you point out. It’s not untrue. You went to bed with it unplugged and didn’t think too much of it with everything else swirling around your mind at the time.

He nods and tells you there’s a mix of chargers on the desk in your room before picking his phone up just as you make your way out of the kitchen. It doesn’t take much searching to find a charger that works with your device, and you quietly descend the stairs to avoid alerting Sarah to your presence. You listen to the light, affectionate lilt in Joel’s voice as he talks with her.

You find the closest vacant outlet and plug in your phone. It takes a few moments before it comes to life again. There’d been no notifications on your old phone, which hadn’t died because old bricks like them seemed to survive just about anything, but you still worried you’d missed something on your work phone. No missed calls or texts from your dad, which is a relief, but there are a few from Kenzie along with dozens of texts.

A quick scan through the messages reveals numerous apologies and pleas for you to let her know you made it somewhere safely. There are a few notable messages, namely i wasn’t thinking straight as well as i fucked up so bad pls im sorry i just want to know if ur ok.

You feel guilty for worrying her, which annoys you for some reason, but it’s the overwhelming feeling of self-disgust for leaving her by herself last night that takes center stage. You know deep down you should be making sure she’s okay, too – that nothing horrific happened after you abandoned her, drunk and emotional with two creeps in an already unpredictable environment.

You lock the screen and push the phone aside on the table to finish charging. A hearty chuckle from Joel draws your attention back to the kitchen where you stealthily creep against the doorframe to listen closer. He’s holding the phone at an unnatural angle above his face, fat fingertip poking and jabbing at the screen as Sarah mocks him for not knowing how to use technology.

“You sure got lots of energy for somebody who was so drunk last night she didn’t even text me that she got home okay,” he chides half-heartedly.

“Ohhhh my god, dad, I’m sorry,” she groans almost petulantly. “I was with Ben – you know that. I was perfectly safe, I swear.”

“Uh huh. Weren’t you just sayin’ how y’all were both taking turns throwin’ up earlier?” he snickers.

“It wasn’t that much,” she scoffs. “Like, two times each max.”

“Yeah, enjoy that while ya can, kiddo, because once you hit about thirty those hangovers start lastin’ longer and hittin’ harder.”

“Yeah, well, right now I’m young and invincible,” she jokes. “And hungry.”

“You mean you ain’t had any time to cook up some peas and ham in between all the puking?” he snorts. “How’re you gonna usher in good luck and prosperity in the coming year?”

“Ugh, that actually sounds so good right now,” she huffs. “Me and Ben should try to find somewhere that makes it so we can have it today.”

Joel rambles about how next year they should just come stay with him so he can play chauffeur and chef for them. You’re hyper-aware of how neutral and nonjudgmental the conversation is. She’d called him and evidently spoken freely about how she’d had too much to drink, hadn’t been entirely responsible during her night out, and had been sick as a result of her revelry for a good part of the morning. 

Joel hadn’t given her a lecture about being hungover and overindulging and hadn’t admonished her for not texting when he’d told her to. It was just an uncomplicated, warm conversation about their lives and happening –  a simple exchange between two people who simply cared about each other.

You wish you could see Calum.

“Alright, tell Ben I said hi and all that.”

“I will, dad. Love you.”

“Love you, kiddo.”

“Love you. Bye.”

He’s smiling warmly at the screen when the call disconnects. His expression holds so much tenderness and warmth it makes your insides feel syrupy. He rests his phone on the counter without locking it and continues staring fondly. When you crane your neck to see what’s holding his attention, a little gasp gets caught in your throat. His head snaps your direction, fingers quickly turning the phone over and hitting the lock button.

Your eyes meet, and you swear you must’ve imagined it. Surely he hadn’t taken one of those pictures Kenzie sent of you yesterday and made it his wallpaper. His bugged eyes and mouth practically agog suggest otherwise.

“Phone charger?” he chokes out while regaining some composure.

“Huh?”

“Found a phone charger?” he repeats, fumbling forward with the conversation and glossing over the fact that he almost definitely has you set as his phone background.

“Um, yeah. Yes. Charging it now.” You nod and clamp your teeth together to hold down the nervous giggle threatening to bubble up.

“Good. That’s good.”

His cheeks are flushed a delightful shade of pink as he runs a hand along the nape of his neck, eyes zipping around for a diversion. “Your, uh, friend doin’ alright? She text you that she got home okay?”

Classic Southern gentleman. Chivalry isn’t dead, apparently, but you’d wish in Joel’s case at least that it’d take a long nap. He never would’ve left anyone, especially a young woman, in a situation like that. If he knew the truth about how you’d deserted her and threw her to the wolves, he’d probably not be all warm and fuzzy about sharing sentimental family traditions with you and letting you spend the night in his house.

“She’s fine,” you mumble, now also avoiding his eye and looking around for something to occupy your gaze.

“You, uh, you never said what happened last night other than some sorta fight between the two of ya….”

“Just dumb stuff,” you say quickly – dismissively. “It’s fine.”

He bobs his head, slow and understanding despite the fact that you both know you’re lying. “Okay.”

“So anyway—”

You rock on the balls of your feet and gesture broadly to the stovetop. He takes the hint and gets back to putting the meal together. Things return to a normal cadence, and he strikes up conversation again as you plate the dish into pale blue bowls that somehow are so distinctly Joel that it makes your heart ache for something you don’t understand.

“Any resolutions?” he asks when you finally sit down together in front of the steaming food.

You chew a tender piece of ham and work it over for a moment in thought. “Mmmmm, this is delicious,” you praise. “And, uh, I dunno. Always seems like I’m jinxing something if I try to think that far ahead. High expectations means big disappointments, you know?” 

Being candid with him felt so dangerously freeing. Even sharing that small bit of truth had you hungering to let everything out in all its chaotic, thorny veracity.

“I do,” he sympathizes. His forehead scrunches and relaxes. “Ya know, sometimes when things feel like that, it can be less intimidating to just pick somethin’ real small.”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugs and works through a heaping spoonful before answering. “Just mean that you can start with somethin’ that ain’t high stakes. Even like watching more movies, like you said a coupla weeks ago. Just somethin’ you wanna do more of, somethin’ to make you happier.”

You hide a smile behind a big bite. His preoccupation with you getting to watch and enjoy more movies – all because you’d mentioned it almost offhandedly some weeks ago – makes your tummy feel fluttery. 

“That actually doesn’t sound too bad,” you concede. “I think that’s a really good one.”

“So there ya go: resolution sorted.” He has that big, lopsided grin that makes you want to devour him.

“And what about you? What’s your resolution?”

He thinks it over, takes it earnestly into consideration, and decides on something you think wouldn’t hurt for you to take up, too.

“Taking bigger chances, maybe? Maybe not like crazy leaps of faith or somethin’, but just– I dunno, not letting me talk myself outta somethin’ every time. Maybe just not thinkin’ too hard on things every single time, learning to lean into instincts or whatever a little bit more.”

“Trusting your gut,” you summarize.

“Yeah, trustin’ my instincts,” he reaffirms.

The meal and the company have left you feeling full and comforted, and the two of you make quick work of cleaning up the kitchen. It’s so calming listening to Joel hum a song you don’t recognize, feeling like somehow you know it intimately after hearing him sing it. Midday rolls around, and it’s the first point where the bubble bursts.

“You never said anything about a ride home,” he starts.

“Oh. I guess I didn’t.”

The sentiment that you’ve overstayed your welcome leaves you embarrassed.

“I mean you’re more’n welcome to stay as long as ya want. Just don’t want you stickin’ around because you feel sorry for me bein’ by myself or somethin’. Don’t wanna hold you hostage.”

“Joel,” you huff, entirely incredulous that he could ever think you wanted anything other than to be right next to him, wherever that happened to be. “This is the best New Year’s I’ve had since… well, this is the best New Year’s I’ve ever had, actually.”

Joel makes a face, and you’re sure he’s wondering how on earth that could be true when you had such a terrible night last night with Kenzie. “Kinda hard to believe that,” he chortles. “Bar must be so low it’s in hell for that to be true.”

Just as he often did, Joel ran straight into the point without knowing just how right he was.

The burgundy sedan parked outside your house isn’t one you’ve seen before, and it’s certainly seen better days. You don’t even bother lying to Joel about the fact that you don’t recognize it despite it being parked clearly in front of the curb of your house.

“M’comin’ with ya” is all you get before he’s opening your car door  and herding you to the front of the house like a personal bodyguard. Not up for discussion, and certainly not going to be disputed. It doesn’t feel domineering or demanding, though. It gives a sense of calm and protection. Your dad’s compact SUV is parked in the driveway as usual.

Joel inspects the lock and seems satisfied that there’s no sign of forced entry or damage to it. You tense as he turns the knob and heads inside first. You tail him like a second shadow, eyes darting furiously around for any indication of something amiss. The foyer has several shattered picture frames on one side, and the doorframe into the living room is missing a chunk out of it at about shoulder height. You set your handful of items on the foyer table with a shaky hand as you strain your ears to listen.

“You stay behind me, you understand?” is Joel’s firm demand, maybe the first one you’ve ever really heard from him with such a tense tone. You nod and let him take the lead again.

“Dad?” you call out. Joel whips around and pins you with a look that says you probably shouldn’t be shouting out your location into a house that’s clearly had some sort of disturbance recently. You duck your head down and mumble an apology.

How could you explain that the state of the house isn’t out of the norm? How could you explain to Joel that you wouldn’t have looked twice at the damaged areas if you’d come home like usual? The only aspect of it that was unexpected was the worn down sedan parked outside.

A soft sound travels down the adjoining hallway where your room is located, and your heart sinks. Had your dad gotten drunk and decided to ransack your room for an impromptu inspection? Was he going to find the envelopes of money you’d hidden around that end of the house in various vents? How fast could you get a handle on the interaction before Joel put his foot down and demanded you tell him everything? Could you control the situation enough that your dad and Joel wouldn’t get into a physical altercation?

Without thinking, you rush towards the sound and get an immediate hiss of disapproval from Joel who picks up his strides to cut you off right in front of your bedroom door. A louder sound comes from somewhere you can’t see, and you’re almost knocked on your ass with how quickly Joel shoves you behind him, acting like a shield. There’s some shuffling – whoever it was in your room now being alerted to you and Joel’s presence in the hallway - but you can’t see past the width of Joel’s back, and his arms are outstretched behind him to keep you bracketed and guarded.

“Who the fuck are you and what the fuck are you doin’ here?” he snarls.

“Jesus christ, man! What the fuck! Who the fuck are you?” a man’s voice snaps back, a trill of panic laced in the challenge.

“You got ten seconds to get the fuck outta this house before I–”

Joel doesn’t have a chance to finish his threat as you launch out from behind him and stagger towards the stranger’s voice — except it’s not a stranger at all.

“Calum!” you gasp when your eyes land on him, confirming that it really is him even under all the bumps and fresh bruising and dried split lip.

You’re running and crashing into him with loose limbs before you can even process the situation fully. Hot trails stream down your cheeks as you grab at him and grip him tight so he can’t get away – not that he’s trying. Your chest fractures into a tiny million pieces when he lets out a soft exhale that’s one breath away from weeping as he grabs you up into his arms and holds on for dear life.

You’re a blubbering mess, but Calum isn’t far behind, sniffling and warbling your name as he holds you closer and sways you both on the spot in a meager attempt at self-soothing. 

I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so sorry he keeps saying over and over.

Your strangled whispers of “it’s not your fault” and “it’s okay” fall on deaf ears.

“This your brother Calum?” Joel interrupts. His voice has a tense edge to it, like he’s still not at ease with the situation.

You break away from Calum and nod. “This is my brother Calum,” you confirm.

He eyes him with patent suspicion but doesn’t speak on it. You step closer to Joel, who surprises you by angling his body slightly in front of yours and directly addressing Calum.

“You make a habit of going through her shit?” he demands in a harsh voice you’ve never heard from him until this moment.

“Joel!” you snap. “He can be in my room. Stop it.”

You and Calum exchange a loaded glance and drop it quickly. You know he can sense that Joel isn’t abreast of all the nitty gritty details of your life. Joel cocks his head sideways and back to meet your eye like he’s sizing up whatever silent, weird undercurrent he’s clearly not privy to.

“There’s a car you don’t recognize parked in front of your house and then we come inside to find shit banged up and broken. Then there’s sounds from your fucking bedroom? After you called out and nobody answered? He’s lucky I don’t fuckin’ carry because plenty of people woulda assumed it was a fuckin’ intruder and shot his ass,” he gripes.

It’s so unlike Joel to be so tightly wound, and it’s hard to pin exactly why he’s reacting so severely.

“Hey, man, I didn’t mean to scare anybody,” Calum offers. “I’m sure that it was kinda crazy to walk in on the house like that. I’m sorry.”

Joel is still tense, the lack of being clued in on the unspoken situation clearly causing him further agitation. “You got any explanation for why you look fucked up?” he demands.

“Joel!” you hiss. “Don’t fucking talk to him like that!”

You round on him now, placing yourself between the two of them, and square up your shoulders.

“Hey, it’s okay. I get why he’s–” You’re sure Calum is ready to stick up for Joel, but you’re not having it. Joel has no right to come into your house and demand anything from Calum. 

“He doesn’t get to talk to you like that,” you say plainly.

Joel’s outstretched hands beckon you closer, a gesture of apology and placation. “Can I talk to you in private in the hallway for a minute?”

Calum gives you a terse nod, and so you agree.

“Somethin’ weird is going on here,” he starts in a low voice once he makes sure Calum’s out of earshot. “I don’t know what it is or if you know what it is, but I don’t feel comfortable leavin’ you here alone with him.”

In a moment of clarity, you’re afforded the realization that Joel is acting so unkind and sharp because he’s afraid. Not of Calum and not of the mysterious stranger he’d been up until he’d confronted him in your bedroom. No, he’d been afraid that something or someone could’ve been lying in wait to harm you. Leftover frustration at the feelings of adrenaline and fear that you could’ve been in a potentially unsafe situation by yourself if he hadn’t insisted on accompanying you inside. A threat to your well-being that ultimately ended up okay but still left him with an electric energy to keep you out of harm’s way.

You soften and take his hands in yours. “Joel, I trust Calum with my life. He’s safe. I promise you, he’s okay.”

Joel swallows hard and slides his jaw back and forth in a moment of calculation. “Would you tell me if he wasn’t?” he wonders. Your head inches back in surprise at the question, but he’s talking again before you can even answer. “You would tell me? If you needed to get out of here? Because you know if you said the word, sweetheart, we’d be outta here no questions asked. You’d come to mine, and we’d figure it out from there. You’d tell me if that’s what you needed, right?”

His hands slide above your hips on either side of your body, a gentle squeeze pressed into the flesh there. Something in his pleading eyes and open, earnest face that tell you he’s not just talking about right here and right now. He’s begging for you to tell him that you’d come to him if you needed somewhere to go, someone to talk to.

“I know more than ever that you’d show up for me, Joel. Last night you came to get me without a second thought. Trust me, I know I — I know that I have you.”

“You do,” he repeats firmly. “You have me.”

You’re locked into each other much in the same way you were on the couch last night. His lips part ever so slightly, and you don’t need the fireworks bursting into the night air to feel that same fiery explosiveness between you. You tilt your head back in an invitation. Kiss me.

“I can, um, I can go if that would….” Calum’s head is peeking out of your doorframe, eyes darting curiously to where Joel’s hands rests on your waist.

“Let’s just take this outside,” you announce abruptly, turning on your heel and making for the front door. Calum follows in step with Joel stepping in sync behind him. You know Calum doesn’t have anything he needs to grab on the way out. There’s nothing for him here anymore. You grab your things from the front table and hop down the porch steps.

“Ride around the block and talk?” Calum surmises from your silent thoughts.

“Yeah. Just give me a minute, okay?”

He nods and shoots Joel a wave before heading to his sedan. You turn to find Joel still watching him with a probing stare.

“Hey,” you gently prod him.

His gaze settles down to you and softens. He’s still worried. You can see it in every etch and downturned corner of his mouth.

“He just ain’t gonna explain anything about why the fuck the house looks like that? Who the fuck was he throwin’ hands with? Your fuckin’ dad?”

He sounds almost incredulous, as if the idea of Calum and your dad beating on each other was outlandish rather than the normal fare that it actually was.

“Probably,” you answer plainly. Your mind is racing too fast to come up with something, so you opt for the most simple version of the truth.

Joel’s brow pinches together with a whole new expression of concern. Why doesn’t that upset you? Why does that sound like it’s not a surprise to you in the slightest? Why don’t you seem fazed by any of this?

“Listen, I’m going to go for a drive with him so we can talk—”

“In that piece of shit car?” he balks.

“Joel,” you warn. “I’m going with him. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

His hands splay wide across his hips, one knee jutted out while he thinks it over. He huffs but eventually appears to come to the conclusion that you’re getting in that car with or without his approval.

“I want you to check in. Not a text, okay? Call me,” he urges. “Please,” he adds softly. 

“I promise. I won’t leave you hanging, okay? I’m going to call you first thing.”

“That thing even have heat?” he wonders aloud, almost to himself. “You gonna be warm enough?”

He doesn’t wait for you to answer and instead peels off his outer flannel. He helps you work your arms through the sleeves and straightens it up on you. He brings you into a tight hug and rests his mouth just beside your ear.

“You tell me if you need anything. Anything. I’ve got you.”

You shiver when his lips graze your earlobe as he pulls away. He watches you get into your brother’s car, sparing an inquisitive look at your house just as you round the corner and lose sight of him in your rearview mirror.

The drive to a nearby park is quiet and serene. It feels unreal and leaves you almost giddy just to be in close proximity with your little brother again. He parks and cuts the engine. He turns to face you, and for a moment you just smile back and forth. A rarity to be in each other’s company without the threat of imminent harm closing in on all sides.

You break the silence first. 

“What happened with dad?”

He scoffs and flicks the steering wheel. “Came to talk to him. A real conversation - or at least that was the goal. Figured if I did it on New Year’s it wouldn’t be so bizarre. New beginnings and setting intentions and all that.”

“I can’t believe he even let you in.”

“He didn’t. I still had a key. Dumbass hadn’t changed the locks. Probably thought I’d be too afraid to ever step foot in the house again, so no need to change them.”

You swallow hard thinking back to that fateful day Calum had left. He’d have every reason to be afraid of crossing the threshold of that front door ever again. You straighten up and dismiss the memories for now.

“So, you waited up for him? Or …. I mean, what happened?”

He smirks, but it lacks any trace of amusement. “Well, he was already pretty hammered when he got in. Saw me waiting in the living room and accused me of coming to ‘kill him like the coward I always was.’ Told him I’d come to talk with him and see if those bridges were really burnt up, you know? I think he got kinda smug thinkin’ I meant I wanted to make sure I hadn’t burned any bridges because I wanted to come back, so he let me stay and say my piece.”

He shakes his head and laughs as if recalling the memory of it was too absurd to be real. “ Once he realized I was basically letting him know I had no intention of speaking to him ever again, he got pretty pissed. That’s when we started scuffling. I tried to hold back so it wouldn’t escalate, but he just kept going harder. You know how he gets.”

Your lips press together in a tight line. You knew very well how your father got.

“Anyway, I got him off me and told him I was leaving. Didn’t need him calling the cops or something. He was already bent over the kitchen table with a bottle of something when I went out the back. I hung around until he blacked out because I could tell he was going to, you know? Didn’t know where you were and wanted to wait up for you. Wanted to see you and make sure you were okay.”

“That unfortunately sounds about right, I guess,” you sigh. “ Um, thank you for sticking around to see me. I’ve– It’s been a little bit. How’ve you been? I’ve been worried about you.”

“Been doing okay,” he offers up noncommittally with a lazy shrug. “Don’t wanna jinx it by saying it’s been going good, you know?” he exhales in a laugh. 

“But you are? Doing good?” you press. 

“Yeah. I am.”

He picks at his hands like he’s hesitant or unsure of what to say and where to start. You give him the space and time he needs.

“I stay and work at a halfway house sorta place. They agreed to let me board there even though I’m not on anything. No drug habit or whatever to overcome, but they still allow me to board there.  Guess they took pity on me and needed some extra help anyway. So. Yeah. Got a safe place to lay my head at night. Get two free therapy appointments a week there. My counselor specializes in sobriety and recovery, of course, but he’s still been a big help with all… my stuff.”

“Wow,” you breathe. Your chest feels like it could burst hearing how well he’s doing and how secure he sounds. “That’s so amazing!”

He snorts and waves off your praise. “Yeah, wasn’t all that impressive when I first got out there. Bouncing from shelter to shelter. It’s where I met Jaz, though. She’s the one who got me linked up with the sober house. Wouldn’t be doing as good if it weren’t for her.”

“Jaz?”

He gets noticeably antsy at the way you clocked his attachment to this Jaz person. “Yeah, Jaz. Or Jazzy. Jasmine.” He says her name so delicately, like if he spoke a syllable too harshly the name would crumble altogether on his tongue. There’s a soft reverence there, and you want to know all about whoever it is that has your brother so clearly happy.

“So you still get to see her then?”

“I guess you could say that.” His shy grin stretches until the glint of his teeth is visible, his palpable joy unable to be contained. “Only about every day.” He doesn’t bother holding back now, his whole face beaming with a bright smile.

“So are you….”

“Yeah. Girlfriend territory, definitely. I mean, we haven’t sat down and had the conversation or anything official, but… I mean, if having Thanksgiving with her folks isn’t official then I don’t really know what is.”

You stiffen slightly with a twinge of hurt at the mention of him spending Thanksgiving with a new family. A normal family. One that didn’t include you. 

Realizing the impact of his choice of phrasing, he quickly attempts to correct himself. “I shouldn’t have said it all casual like that. I’m sorry.”

A watery smile plays on your mouth. You tell him that it’s okay. That you know he didn’t mean anything by it. That you thought about him on Thanksgiving Day, too, and imagined that he was somewhere with a group of people who were warm and kind and welcoming. How happy you were to know just how right you’d been in your wishful hoping for him. That you don’t begrudge him for doing so well all these months apart.

He in turn tells you that he thought about you often. About how he’d told Jaz’s parents all about you already. That her mom was a Community Outreach Coordinator who, along with Jaz’s Nonprofit Organization Lawyer father, had given her the passion for helping others and offering the gift of her empathetic heart.

Calum went on to share that Jaz and her parents knew all about his upbringing and what had landed him in a shelter on his own so young in the first place. How they’d taken it in stride and applauded his steps to bettering his situation. How they’d said how proud he should be of himself and how proud they were of him.

His own eyes shimmer now with fat lines of wet threatening to spill over. He sniffs loudly and clears his throat. You imagine it’s probably the first time in his life a parent, even if it was someone else’s, told him they were proud of him.

“I came back because… well, I wanted to see you, but also because my counselor had said I should give myself ‘the gift of closure.’ Coming back to talk to dad and make sure that deciding to go no contact was the right thing. Because I was starting to doubt myself, you know? Even with all the good things happening with him out of the picture, there was still that little thought of what if. And thinking like you and him were a package deal or something since you still live at home. My counselor said that wasn’t true, you know? And after all that went down this morning, it was the push I needed to cut ties with dad completely.”

“I understand.” You look out into the clouded sky, a visual white noise to let your coherent thoughts through. “There’s no path forward there. Just a dead end.”

“Yeah…. I always sort of knew it, in a way, but I think I needed to come here to leave myself with no doubts. And – just let me finish saying this, okay? – I owe you an apology. I should’ve reached out. I didn’t have your number when I left because my phone died and got cut off, but I still could’ve— I dunno, I could’ve called the grocery store or something. Reached you that way. I was just so into my own shit and getting my head clear that I just left you behind, and I didn’t even mean to. I didn’t realize it had even happened, and that’s what makes me feel so fucking bad about it all. I didn’t realize how long it’d been since we last spoke, and it’s not okay. I got so lost in my own process to deal with all this shit that I just left you here even though I know exactly the sort of shithole it is.”

“I don’t blame you for getting out and not looking back.”

“I know that. You were always too nice for your own good, I think.”

You share a small laugh at the truth of it. The laugh runs short when he offers a place for you to come with him.

“Just… up and leave? Calum, I-I can’t do that.”

“Dad’s not stable. You know he’s not fucking stable,” he rebuts. “It’s only a matter of time before he does something serious. Not just a broken door or a slap across your face. He’s dangerous, and he just gets worse the longer time goes on.” You can hear the tinge of fear in his voice.

“I know,” you concede. “I’m-I’m working on it, okay? I’ve got a real job now, and I’ve been able to put aside more money than ever. I’ve got myself into a good path to getting out, but I want to do it on my own terms.”

“And do those terms include Joel?” he pries with a smile you can hear in his voice without even needing to look.

“Maybe.” You bite back a grin and shrug.

“So, what? I tell you about Jazzy, but I don’t get to hear about him? Fuckin’ guard dog of a boyfriend. Thought he was gonna beat my ass for a second there,” he huffs in a laugh.

Boyfriend. The sound of it makes something warm and syrupy drip down your spine. As much as you’d love to claim him as such, you tell Calum it’s not quite that straightforward. You don’t downplay your feelings for Joel when Calum asks you about it directly. He’s delighted at all the thoughtful gifts you received for Christmas. You tell him all the small things Joel does that make you feel supported and set up to succeed and seen. You tell him how you don’t know what to do with all of it sometimes. How you feel overwhelmed with the goodness of it all at times. 

“I know. It’s such a weird feeling, isn’t it?” he commiserates. 

“What feeling?”

“Of somebody taking care of you. Wanting to. Not expecting anything in return. It’s a mindfuck.”

You both burst into a fit of laughter, something so freeing and weightless about the candor and being so deeply, intimately understood passing between the two of you. 

“You know, Joel seems like a good guy,” he notes after a beat of quiet. “I think you should go after it – whatever it is to you. Really. Just– Just chase happiness, you know? Because you deserve it. You deserve to have that.”

You reach over and squeeze his arm, shooting him a soft look of appreciation. “It means a lot to know you get a good feeling from him, even if he probably was about to rock your shit at the house.”

He chuckles again and tucks his chin down in reflection. “I do. But I trust you, too. Your judgment. And, if you feel safe with him, then he’s my new favorite person.”

Your next exhale feels like you’re breathing out all the tension and last bits of apprehension about diving head first into Joel. 

“Plus he’s just so handsome,” Calum gushes theatrically.

You playfully shove him but don’t argue because it’s the truth. But just as good things do, it has to come to an end eventually. Calum apologizes for having to leave so he makes it back by curfew. You aren’t ready to go back home just yet.

“Drive me to Joel’s?”

“Like I didn’t figure that’s where you wanted to go,” he snorts. “God knows you don’t wanna go back to dad.”

His engine sounds pitiful as it cranks to life, but you’re quickly headed back into the neighborhood. He pulls to a stop outside Joel’s house but motions for you to wait before getting out.

“Hey, promise me you’ll go to him if dad does anything.”

“Calum, I can’t just—”

“No. Promise me.”

You sigh and give in. “Okay. Fine. I promise if anything happens, I’ll go to Joel.”

That placates him, apparently. He leaves the car running while he walks you to the door. You see him grin from the corner of your eye when the front door swings open to reveal a relieved looking Joel who appears appropriately sheepish and apologetic about their previous interaction.

“Sorry about that. Earlier, I mean. Just got a little high strung there for a minute. Hope you don’t take it too personal,” Joel says with a sort of tail between the legs kind of tone.

“Not at all. Consider it history, Joel,” Calum supplies brightly. “Actually pretty glad there’s somebody out here looking after my sister like that.”

They shake hands and put the awkward first meeting behind them. You hug Calum as tight as you can and triple check that he has your number before seeing him off. Joel shuts the door softly behind you both just as Calum rounds the end of the street.

“Well, this is a pleasant surprise.”

“Yeah, sorry I didn’t text or call before coming over.”

“You can come over whenever you want. Open invitation. You should know that by now, sweetheart.”

A loud sound from the TV draws your attention, and Joel skirts around the couch for the remote to mute it. You follow closely and ogle the way his shirt stretches the span of his back with each movement. You hear Calum’s voice echo in your head.

Chase happiness. Chase happiness. Chase happiness.

You can’t stop thinking about kissing Joel. He’d kissed you back last night, hadn’t he? Was it just reflexive? You’d both just woken up. Maybe he was just so shocked by it that he didn’t have time to react in a way that was aligned with his actual feelings? Had it meant anything to him? But then you could’ve sworn he wanted to kiss you again just a few hours ago in the hallway of your house.

“Found it.” He switches the volume off and sets the remote back down on the table before plopping down onto the couch and patting the spot next to him. You sink slowly into the cushion beside him and work your flannel – Joel’s flannel – off you.

“Thanks for letting me borrow this.”

“You can keep it on if you need to.” He almost sounds like he wishes you’d keep it.

“I’m good. Thanks.”

“So, did he… what was goin’ on with–”

“Can I ask you something first?” you interject.

Joel sits up straighter and angles himself towards you. “Yeah, of course.”

“Are you– Did you think anything after… when I … last night when those fireworks woke us up?” you gulp, chickening out on asking a straightforward question.

He’s quiet in thought for a few beats and reaches out gently for your hand, which you readily slide into his warm palm. 

“You really wanna know?”

“Yes.”

“I was thinkin’ about how guilty I felt to just take from you like that,” he admits.

“What?” you gasp. “ You didn’t take—”

“You’d just been in a fight with your friend – obviously had a bad night. Needed somewhere to crash. Probably weren’t in the best of mind, and that still wasn’t enough to keep me from kissin’ you back.”

You sit in a stunned silence and absorb this alternate version of events that hadn’t even occurred to you. It made sense from his perspective, you suppose. You’re glad you didn’t tell him about Logan because you can only imagine the sort of unwarranted guilt he’d feel about it.

“And I, you know, I’m your boss, and if I’m puttin’ you in a weird spot–it’s just – I don’t wanna take advantage–”

“If I kissed you right now, would you kiss me back?” you interrupt in a strained whisper.

His head inches back in surprise. “I– Would you want me to?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “I would. I really would.”

He licks his lips and nods, eyes skirting down to your mouth and then back up. He reaches out for you no sooner than you’re clambering onto his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck. His mouth is hot and eager on yours, the plush give of his lip contrasting delightfully with the scratch of his beard. He rocks up into you, pressing on the curve of your spine to flatten your body against his. The wet smack of your mouths is only drowned out by the breathy moans escaping your throat.

The warm pad of his palm runs along your back where his hand is shoved under your shirt – his shirt – and dances across your bare skin. Your body writhes against him instinctively, seeking out more points of contact between the two of you, as the kiss deepens. His free hand wraps around your hip and encourages the swivel of them against his lap. Joel’s gravelly groans spur you on until you’re deliberately rocking against the plump of his belly. 

You’re thanking yourself for forgoing your bra and panties from last night and just donning the clothes Joel gave you to borrow because there’s so little separating your bodies. When your reflexive grinding lands the heat of your core against the firm pressure of his thigh, you gasp and break from the kiss.

 Joel’s eyes are dark and half-lidded, eyeing you with a hunger that makes you clench around nothing. 

“You gotta tell me to stop if you need it to stop,” he grits.

“I don’t want you to stop,” you choke out as you rush to resume the heaven of his touch.

You chase his lips and pout when you realize his mouth is drifting to the side as he pulls away for a moment longer.

“Listen, I just gotta– I gotta make sure of somethin’ before I get caught up in all this and can’t string two thoughts together. Are you, uh… you been with … somebody before?”

You blink a few times and level your breathing while you process the unexpected question. “You mean am I a virgin?”

His face flushes a million degrees. “Yeah, I guess that’s what I’m askin’.”

“Are you a virgin, Joel? You’re pretty pink right now.”

He flushes deeper. “Nah, quit it. M’serious. I just, you know, I wanna make sure you’re— I don’t wanna hurt you or anything is all. I don’t mean to ask after your whole history or somethin’—”

“You sorta sound like you’re interested in deflowering me,” you tease.

“Christ, I dunno about that,” he scoffs.

“You mean the idea of a sweet, innocent virgin doesn’t do anything for you?”

“Honestly, it’s — that would be— that’s a lot of pressure if I’m bein’ honest. Not that I wouldn’t— I would take care of anybody that needed— I mean, of course, but I think I’d be so in my head about it the whole time worried I’d ruin your first time or somethin’.”

“Well, you’re off the hook. I’m not a virgin.”

He gives you a crooked smile. “Phew,” he jokes.

“But, um. Well, I’ve actually never— I’ve only been with girls, so I’m sort of new to … your type of equipment,” you admit.

“Oh. Oh.  So– wait. You— you’ve had stuff up there before though, right?”

“Fingers.”

“Small fingers if it’s just been girls.”

You shrug. You can feel heat flooding your face now, too. You hoped you weren't coming off as inexperienced and scaring him away. “Normal fingers,” you petulantly argue.

“No, what I mean is—” he takes your hand in his, easily cradling it in the size of his own “—mine might be a little more to take. Among other things.”

Heat floods your cheeks and panties. “We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to,” you assure him. While you really do mean it, you pray that Joel doesn’t want to stop.

“How about we just see after you today, huh?” he suggests. “See where that takes us.”

“What did you have in mind?” You roll your hips against his lap and giggle when he groans and grips your sides.

“You gonna be trouble for me, huh?” he rasps. He slips a hand under your  waistband and curves his hand around the meat of your inner thigh, knuckles grazing against your pussy lips.

You jolt forward with a loud moan and grip onto his shoulders, mouth gone slack. You catch the satisfied grin on his face before he ducks his head to nuzzle your throat where he lays a line of wet, open mouthed kisses.

You grab at his wrist to push him closer to where you ache to be touched, but he freezes for a split second in confusion, thinking you wanted him to stop. A devilish grin blooms on his mouth when he realizes it’s quite the opposite, and then he’s teasing his thick fingers in a V on the outside of your lips.

“Can’t even wait for me to touch you there, can ya?” he goads. “You need it real bad, huh?”

You shake your head dumbly at a complete loss of words. He grins even wider.

“Yeah you do,” he hums low and breathy.

He presses against your thigh creases before drawing his fingers together, trapping your lips between his middle and pointer fingers. He massages the engorged flesh and applies pressure and friction to your clit with your own folds. The smear of his movements makes your dripping arousal smack and pop.

“Please touch it,” you beg, not even caring how desperate and needy you sound.

“Like this?”

Four of his fingers stacked on top of each other form a wide, flat plane against your folds where he runs firm passes. Your hips buck as you cry out, and you feel a release already building. You could say it was the much needed tension relief or how long you’ve wanted Joel like this, but it’s undeniable that he is about to make you come faster than you can ever remember with anyone or even yourself.

“Yeah, you like that,” he husks. “All wet and needy. You just let me take care of that.”

“I think I’m gonna come,” you squeak out.

“Yeah?” His face lights up with an eager hunger. “Come for me, sweetheart. Lemme see how much you like my hand, and we’ll see what else I got that you like.”

You grind in sync with his rubbing, and your pussy clenches hard and deep inside, feeling so intense you could swear it’s pulling on your stomach muscles with each contraction. Everything is a hazy euphoria as your orgasm tears through you. You’re vaguely aware of Joel’s running commentary to himself as you come down from your high. Murmurings of “pretty when you come for me” and “look so good like this.” You whine when he removes his hand, but he just chuckles and goes back to kissing and nuzzling your neck.

“You gonna let me see it or am I just allowed to feel it today?”

“You can do whatever you want to it,” you breathe, drunk on pleasure.

“Mmmm, just like I thought. Trouble.”

He turns and lays you on the couch. You feel weightless and warm. He asks if it’s okay to tug your pants down, and you draw another chuckle from him when you impatiently start shoving at it yourself. He pulls them down to your thighs and drags one pant leg all the way off before discarding them completely. He sucks in a sharp inhale when he leans in closer to your soaked pussy.

“Fuck me that’s pretty,” he murmurs under his breath. 

He drops a leg off the couch so he can crouch forward and rest his cheek against your thigh. You nearly launch off the couch when he presses a soft kiss to your clit. “Sshhh sshhhh, I got you. So sensitive, sweetheart.”

“I can’t help it,” you pout.

“I’ll be real gentle, okay? I just wanna taste you.”

“Okay,” you say back in a hush. “Lemme feel your mouth.”

He grunts at the invitation and hovers just next to your glistening core. “Look at me. Wanna see your face when I eat this pretty pussy.”

You oblige and prop yourself up slightly on your elbows until you’re holding Joel’s gaze. Your head snaps back when he flits his tongue just inside your slit, and you have enough mind to crane your head back down to look at him like he asked you to. His grin is wild and devilish, eyes locked onto you and waiting for you to look at him again before he’s lapping slow strokes up and down. 

You’d always thought that if you ever did end up getting with a guy that they wouldn’t be as skilled at going down on you as the girls you’d been with or even want to at all based on stories you’d heard from others. Apparently neither applied to Joel because you can barely keep yourself conscious of anything but him and his mouth as he devours you with a genuine enthusiasm that only further turns you on.

“Feels so good,” you whine.

He groans in approval, and the added vibration nearly sends you over the edge right then and there. He yanks your lower body closer to him so he can drape your leg over his shoulder, and you realize the loud, pitiful whimpers and moans floating through the room are coming from you.

“Look at me when I make you come,” he urges.

You hold eye contact right as he latches onto your clit and sucks with wet, pursed lips, and you’re freefalling again. Your entire body droops against the cushions, hands grabbing Joel’s curls as he rocks his head back and forth to work you through your high. He gently laps at your release, slipping his tongue around and inside you and suckling every drop until you’re limp and worn out.

Your head lolls to the side, and you watch as Joel grips a large bulge in the crotch of his pants. He almost looks pained as he squeezes, and your eyes widen at the size of his outline.

“Fuck, are you okay?”

“Just tryna…. tryin’ not to come, sweetheart,” he grits, leaning back to sit against the couch.

You scurry over to him and palm him through his pants. “I want you to come, too.”

“This is about you tod—” He lets out a ragged exhale when you clumsily stroke the outline of him.

“Please. I wanna see you.”

He obliges with an okay, sweetheart, and you keep your expression in check when the heft of him falls free. You’ve never seen one before, but you’re pretty sure that his is bigger than average. You awkwardly grip a hand around it and gently tug up and down.

“Show me how to do it,” you whisper.

He presses his hand around yours and strokes faster, but it feels a bit dry. You spit onto the tip of it, and his face is something you wish you could capture forever. Brow knitted, mouth hung open and low. Looking like he’s indebted to you and astounded all at once. The added lubrication makes your hands move faster, and you watch curiously as his balls start to pull up into themselves.

“M’gonna come,” he warns, and a few seconds later he’s erupting all over himself and both of your hands with a guttural moan.

It’s unfamiliar and arousing to see the thick ropes of cum spurt and splatter everywhere, and you watch with unabashed interest. You’re only pulled away from examining the way his stomach rises and falls as his breaths even out when he slings an arm around you and pulls you into a kiss.

It’s slower and more deliberate than before, and you taste the tang of yourself on his tongue. You get into a lazy, sated rhythm, exploring and learning one another, until you both eventually slow to a stop.

“That was really nice,” you say in a hush.

He grins and nods. “Yeah, it was.”

“I feel so good.”

“Mmmm, me, too. Wanted to make it about you, but I just got so fuckin’ hard tasting you.”

You giggle and cuddle up against him. “You looked so hot when you were coming.”

“Same to you times ten. Looked like an angel singing when you came all over my fingers and mouth.”

“The devil was an angel, too, you know,” you joke.

“Like I said earlier: trouble,” he laughs. “Just my kinda trouble, sweetheart. Just my kinda trouble.”

Thanks for your patience on this one. I will be slow responding to anybody who comments or reblogs because of irl shit, but I will do my best. Thanks for reading.

tagging:

@survivingandenduring @bizarrelove-triangle @cumberpegg @verybigvag @jodiswiftle

@umnitsa @ellenmunn @fairy3333 @doblasftcisco @ctrlaltdel3te

@fishingforpike @copperhalfcent @zooty-and-fruity @jupiter-soups @walw1017

@beelzebeth87 @pastelpinkflowerlife @samiamproductions @koshkaj-blog @dontjudgemyobsessionpls

[blkkizzat]

Geto x Black!Reader

Blkkizzat's high intrusive thoughts:

(actually non smut look at that).

Sorry I just got this wild ass intrusive thought of being an exchange student in Japan and on your day off from classes you are visiting cultural sites. You wander into Geto’s cult temple by accident. You quickly realize you walked into the wrong fucking place™. The melanin in your blood compels you to not ask questions and get your black ass the fuck outta there asap (when you see some shit you really weren’t trying to see). On your way out you end up running smack dab into Geto. Mimiko and Nanako instantly ridicule you and demand you apologize for bumping into ‘Geto-Sama’. Geto is amused by your clumsiness and thinks you're cute. Where he fucks up is when he ends up calling you ‘kinda cute for a monkey’, not realizing the implications of calling you that and you being a black girl. Chileeee. This results in you slapping the everloving DOGSHIT out of that man. I mean mario coins everywhere bitch. You hit him so hard if you had any significant amount of cursed energy you surely would have knocked a few curses out of his ass too. And the room freezes. He’s shocked. The twins are shocked you’re still breathing long enough to cuss him out the way you do for being racist. Then you storm out of there and he's at a loss for words because 1 that's not how he meant it so now he feels like an asshole and 2 no one has ever dared to hit him in the temple before, especially no one as weak as you. You could barely see curses. And Geto feels compelled to explain himself but suddenly realizes his actual explanation ain't necessarily beating those racist allegations neither. So Geto's just standing there looking stuck while you storm off. For the first time in a while, someone hasn't been afraid to call bullshit and as a result, he’s contemplating life choices and how he got here. Nanako notices you dropped your student ID card and Geto from then on becomes obsessed with making it up to you.

A/N: OKAY but this is how the anime should have went cause someone just needed to slap the crazy out of this man then give him a hug and throw him a little ass and I promise you shit would not have escalated how it did. Pussy saves lives people he just needed a lil bit of that kizzat.

[plussizefantasia]

Munson's Commentary

Flufftober Day 22: Haunted House

Modern AU: Eddie Munson x f!reader

Word Count: 1.3k

AN: This was inspired by a real-life experience I had at one of those scare experience places that are like hainted houses on steroids. I wish I had had an Eddie Munson to protect me, but alas I had to do it myself. Feedback and Reblgs are much appreciated. See y'all tomorrow!

divider credit @royallaesthetics

“You guys are fucking sick, you know that?” You spat out at Robin and Steve who were over on the sidewalk laughing their assess off. 

This was their idea, doing the Scare Factor Experience ™ and you were totally not afraid to admit that when it came to shit like this you were a wimp. You had told them so right after they suggested the Saturday night outing and yet, here you were. Waiting on the sidewalk outside this warehouse-looking place with a bunch of other young adults in various states of intoxication. It was halfway to freezing out here and you were in a simple jeans and sweater-combo. Which would have been sufficient for hanging out at Steves as the plans had originally been.

Robin had seen the ad on her phone while scrolling on the couch and immediately started convincing the group that it would be “So fun” and “a great idea”. Bullshit. You didn’t consider being scared by weird people in makeup was a great way to spend your night.

But you’d been outvoted and unceremoniously shoved into the back of Steve’s car so you apparently didn’t really have a choice.

When you’d arrived and seen how long the line was you’d tried to convince the others that it would be too long and you should just go home, which only caused another round of booing at you and some minor bullying that you wouldn’t put up with form anyone except your friends.

It was obvious you were on edge, which to the dumbass duo over there meant that you were free game apparently. They’d been trying to jumpscare you in line every ten minutes for the past hour and had successfully gotten you a few times.

“C’mon guys, leave the scaring to the professionals.” Eddie had told them, wrapping his arm around your back and pulling you into his side. 

“We’re just messing around Munson.” Steve had replied, sticking his tongue out at your curly-haired savior. You stuck your tongue right back out at him and turned to his your face in eddies chest. Eddie hadn’t really said much tonight, usually you can’t get him to stop talking but tonight was different for some reason.

“You okay, Eds?” You mumbled into the neckline of his shirt.

“Yeah Princess, just not thrilled about being here.”

“I thought you liked scary things?”

“I do, but you don’t. I don’t want to force you to do this but I also don’t want to leave you out here where I can’t keep an eye on you.”

“Aww Eds. I’ll be okay I promise. I’m just a little scardey cat sometimes.”

“You shouldn’t have to be okay about it. Tweedle dee and tweedle dum over there should’ve taken no for an answer and planned to go another time.

“Thank you for sticking up for me Eddie, but seriously It’s not that big of a deal.”

“If you say so, princess. Just know that I’ve got your back.”

A few more minutes went by, during which your little group shuffled closer and closer to the doors. At one point, Nancy and Jon joined your group. You don’t know who had texted them but they were here now. You loved hanging out with them but weren’t too excited at the prospect that more people were going to see you freak out in a few more minutes.

Eventually, your group made it to the doors and listened to the guy at the entrance explain the rules. No pictures, no running, and definitely no putting your hands on the scare actors. Apparently, some people punched when they were scared.

You and Eddie were smack dab in the middle of your group. Robin and Steve had locked arms and were raring to go at the front. You and Eddie were right behind them, Eddie still having his hand on your back, attempting to rub soothing circles into your skin. Nancy and Jonathon were behind you too, whispering back and forth between the two of them and giggling. You had no idea what could possibly be funny right now.

The guy who had told you the rules pulled back a thick black curtain and told you all to go ahead into the starting room.

Stepping past the curtain submerged your group into a sea of darkness. There was no light except for the faint glow of the fire exit sign right behind you.

Steve and Robin marched confidently towards the other set of doors in the room, past that was the haunted house, which didn’t have any exits you could take once you went through it.

Together they pushed the doors open and a dark red light could be seen on the other side but not much. You were trembling in your boots at this point. You could feel your tears begin to water and your breath begin to pick up and Eddie did too.

“I got you, Princess.” He whispered into your ear, and you calmed down even if it was just lightly. Slowly and with a small push from Eddie your feet began to work again and you started shuffling forward and into the first room.

This room wasn’t really a room, more like a hallway. The walls were made of some kind of metal sheeting and above your heads were red pulsating lightblubs. The hallway wasn’t very wide, meant for only one person to go through at a time. Eddie grabbed your hand and took the lead. Slowly pulling you behind him but turning his head back a couple of times to check on you. Behind you, Nancy was looking around, without the need to hold her boyfriend’s hand and you were suddenly distracted by the feeling of fear, as it was quickly replaced by embarrassment. 

However, the feeling faded just as quickly as it had come when you entered another room. One modeled after a kind of run-down hospital. There was a woman behind a counter, dressed in a blood-covered nurse's outfit. In her hands was the largest needle you had ever seen, her head was tipped back and she was laughing like a maniac.

You were absolutely terrified. It was all too much, the low lights, the creepy soundtrack in the background. The fog that was being pumped into the building made it hard to breathe and you could tell you were beginning to panic. That was until you heard, “Do you take walk-ins? I don’t think I have an appointment,” come out of your boyfriend’s mouth. You couldn’t help but smile. If Eddie had a superpower it would be his humor, it was one of the many reasons you loved him. 

Room after room, Eddie would make you laugh and feel better by cracking some jokes. A room that looked like a butcher, complete with fake hanging pigs? “I’m a vegetarian, do you have like a salad or something?” A dentist’s office “Will I get a sticker when I’m done?” And so on and so on. Every time an actor would jump out at you he would say “Hello!” in a cheery voice. Once or twice you heard him say “Happy birthday”. 

By the last room, you were laughing more than you were screaming and your heart was warm with the love you held for your goofball. He held your hand the entire time and made you forget all about the terror that was supposed to be flowing through your veins.

The last set of doors opened up and immediately you could breathe better, the fake fog not following you into the outside air.

“That was awesome!” Robin yelled, turning to look back at the rest of you.

“It was fun, I could’ve gone without Munson’s commentary though.” Steve ribs, sending a wink your way to let you know he was just joking around.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Harrington, I’m hilarious,” Eddie replies.

“You really are.” You pipe up, placing a kiss on your boyfriend’s cheek and sticking your tongue out at Steve one more time.

[bansheeboyy]

Mason didn't think anything of the photoshoot. Why would he? It was just some paint on his feet, the usual gimmicky schtick that photographers loved to whip out to add some pizazz to what otherwise was a basic photoshoot.

What he failed to realise was that it wasn't just paint. Mixed in was Gigglex™, an experimental chemical that increases skin sensitivity to astronomical levels. Dabbing a bit on your skin and rubbing it in was one thing, but slathering your bare soles - already fairly ticklish - in it and letting it soak for an entire photoshoot was entirely another.

So when Mason was kidnapped later that week, and his shoes and socks were removed, and his feet were locked in stocks that were suspiciously calibrated to his exact foot shape and size, he was certainly alarmed and angry, thrashing in his bonds, but he wasn't terrified.

Which he definitely should have been.

Because when that first fingernail traced down his left sole, he felt a ticklish sensation like nothing he had ever experienced before, not when he'd pissed off his mates, not when he'd gotten on the wrong side of his teammates in a 6v1 tickle fight. Those had been bad. This was something else.

"Oh dear, Mason. A little ticklish are we? Bless you. I can see the headline now: Mount Mercilessly Tickled Out Of 250k!"

Mason kicked his feet, trying to flex them reflexively, but the stocks held his feet tight, the toe ties keeping his soles taut and immobile. How had they gotten the stocks so perfectly shaped to hold him in such torturous stasis? How had they gotten his exact foot dimensions? Why was he suddenly this ticklish? It made no sense!

"Look bro, that's a lot of fucking money. Can't we work something ouhuwohwowohwohOHWOHAHAOAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

"Hush, Mason." The man sang, spidering his nails on both of the insanely ticklish soles before him, actively showing his captive just how ticklish he was, and how much he was at the man's mercy. "Save that energy. You've got a lot of laughing to do before you get outta these beauties." He patted the stocks lovingly. "We built 'em special for you. Thank goodness security at that shoot was so lax. They didn't even notice my guy getting a scan of those handy footprints you left on that paper, or him getting a cutting. But then again, they didn't even notice that the paint cans they were using were compromised, so I'm not exactly shocked."

If the poor footballer could have spoken through his guffaws, he probably would have said every swear under the sun, cursing his tormentor's family, his looks, anything. As it was - the nails still torturing his feet with lightning bolts of ticklishness - the most he could express was "AHDHiapleasghahahahhahahahafuckauahahaiaiaaahahahahaohnoooonahahahahahajesushsushsahahahahahFUHUHUHCK!"

The man smiled. "Hey, look on the brightside, Mason. By the time you've agreed to wire the money over, which I can't imagine will take long judging by how much you're howling already, this will probably count as the cardio of two training sessions."

Mason was already beginning to sweat, the yanking at his bonds getting more frantic, his kicking legs trying in vain to move his solidly stuck soles as the man tickled them with skill and efficiency.

"Come on, Mountey. Let's hear that pretty little laugh of yours..."

[bri-cheeses]

Shredding the gnar on the pow pow: A compiled list of skiing Rosekiller headcanons

So. Um. I want you guys to know that I was out skiing all day on Friday and Saturday, and so now I’m inspired. Anyways, y’all know how much I love the idea of Skier Evan ™ and will use any chance i get to force it upon you. So i’m taking that chance right now with some Skier Rosekiller ™ headcanons 💕

- Barty would be a snowboarder, one hundred percent. You skiers out there know EXACTLY what I am talking about when I say that (for those of you who don’t know, snowboarders are just. so annoying. They clog up hills and stop and just sit down in the middle of the runs, blast out music from their speakers with no respect for other people and their ears, and are just usually rude in general) (wow that actually kind of made me sound like a Karen but i PROMISE that they are actually annoying, everyone agrees)

- But yeah Barty would snowboard, Evan would ski, and they’d be absolute menaces while doing so, because skiing always brings out the most unhinged thoughts a person has

- I just KNOW that they would touch each other wayyy too much on the way up to the top of a hill.

- Like Barty would kick his one unstrapped leg up and lay in on Evan’s lap, or manage to sit on Evan’s lap while they go up, or just hook one leg over Evan’s and put an arm around his shoulder while doing so

- And Evan would be slightly less… overt (?) and mostly just lean on Barty most of the time and put his head on Barty’s shoulder, but occasionally he’d grab Barty’s thigh and just. Drag it into his lap because he wants to hold it

- Oh also, Evan would definitely do that thing where you scoop up a bunch of snow up onto your ski before getting on the lift, and then once he’s on the lift, kick up his ski so that the snow sprays on Barty and goes down his coat.

- And Barty would shriek like a little girl whenever Evan does that

- Evan would love gap jumps and moguls (or bumps, whatever you want to call them) and double black diamonds

- Barty would prefer the rails/entire terrain park in general and going through the woods where there are explicitly signs saying not to go through the woods (which I have definitely never done in my life, nope)

- They would both unashamedly flirt with the ski lift operators, even though they are dating each other (but seriously, how are so many ski lift operators that cute? I don’t understand it)

- They would be the type of people to heckle other skiers from the lift, and cheer really loudly whenever someone landed a jump or boo if they didn’t (it might sound mean to do that but it’s actually so funny when people do that to you lol)

- Evan would constantly give Barty one of his ski poles so they could sword fight on the way down

- Make out sessions in the middle of the woods up against a tree?? I’m thinking yes

- Neither of them would wear helmets; Evan would wear beanies and Barty would wear a hoodie underneath his coat and pull the hood up

- There are. So many stickers on Barty’s snowboard

- With stickers in mind, they’d also love to leave random stickers on lifts, too (the Mona Lisa dabbing is the one sticker i’ve seen that immediately comes to mind when thinking about this, idk why)

- So. Much. Bombing. (bombing is where you just go straight down the hill and try to go as fast as humanly possible)

- I forgot to mention this above with the heckling from the ski lifts, but they would find so much joy in cupping their hands around their mouths and yelling “YARRRRDDD SAAAALLLEEEE” whenever someone did a yard sale in front of them (that’s when someone falls and everything goes flying, your skiis and poles and sometimes helmet and gloves, too. It’s super funny to see, but not very fun to do lol)

- Anyways yeah I think that’s it, I just love the idea of these two skiing together <3

[strang3lov3]

5 people I'd like to get to know better

Thank you for the tag @evolnoomym 🩷

Last song: Mayonnaise by the Smashing Pumpkins

Favorite color: Light blue

Last book: The Black Death: The Great Mortality of 1348-1350: A Brief History with Documents by John Aberth

Last movie: I got halfway through Alien and then the baby alien emerged from the dude’s chest. I got wigged out because of the blood and guts and the guy screaming in pain.

Last TV show: Gosh. I haven’t been watching much TV. Just a lot of Northernlion streams. I suppose Sopranos too, but at a slower pace because it’s making me anxious and I can only take so much.

Sweet/spicy/savory: Depends on my mood but never spicy. I have the heat tolerance of a marshmallow. At a Christmas party last year, we ordered a bunch of wings and ate them with the hot ones hot sauces. I faked a dab each time and wouldn’t even touch da bomb.

Relationship status: engaged for almost a year now, but in November I’ll be celebrating 5 years with my other half ❤️

Last thing I googled: the menu of the Spanish restaurant my fiancé is taking me to tomorrow evening. He’s gonna get the tapas platter, I’m gonna have paella, and we’re gonna share everything. The last time we went, the restaurant owner kissed my hand and I blushed.

Current obsession: Silent Hill. I wanna be fucked by both Pyramid Head and James.

Looking forward to: going to the movies this month to see A Real Pain, Gladiator II, and We Live In Time. Eating so much popcorn and drinking rootbeer and eating The Good Ice™ during those movies. Writing fics. Stepdaddy!Romey especially. Finishing my research paper and being done with this semester. Going to sleep in freshly cleaned bedding tonight, being held and having my back rubbed by my partner. The blueberry pie my grandma’s making for my birthday. For my bangs to grow out the rest of the way

Npt - @luiscarrutherss @greenduvet @ovaryacted @zloshy @covetyou @beefrobeefcal

[butmakeitgayblog]

Happy Pride 🌈 Would AWTR Lexa loved attending Pride with Clarke?

Ehh. Yes and no.

Yes she would've loved to be surrounded by fellow queer people and feeling the community of it, no she would also simultaneously have hated being smack dab in the crowd. Yes she would've loved holding Clarke's hand and seeing all the performers doing their thing, no she would've hated the commercialism that infected everything with a fiery passion. Yes she would've loved kissing Clarke any time she damn wrll felt like it, and maaaybe hearing a few ooohs and awws and wolf whistles from a passing pack of Baby Gays™. Yes she would've loved dragging her wife to every single vender just to peruse everything they sell and then ultimately not buying anything (cue Clarke: 😑), no she would've felt violent every time some corporate shill tried to stuff a megabillion dollar company's cheap rainbow pen in her hands. Yes she would've loved going to get a drink at a fully decked out gay bar just to get pleasantly drunk and handsy while feeling her wife's grabbing her butt every time they danced, no she would not have liked feeling other sweaty bodies gyrating against her because the place was so packed with messy drunk people who don't know how to pace themselves (it's just irresponsible, Clarke, that's all I'm saying. They're gonna feel terrible tomorrow 🤷‍♀️.)

Yes she would've loved the glitter and drag shows. No she would've hated having to pay $8 for a bottle of water.

Such is a life of give an take. But alas...

[nnnyxie]

KICKS DOWN YOUR DOOR SWAT TEAM MILITARY STYLE.

Did someone say ,, blueberry pop tarts? Well guesswhat , I'VE GOT EM!! FRESH FROM THE HARVEST!!!!!! Tosses these in your general direction, dabs, and grapples away.

leo 🫐

Leo, who shudders and feels his hands twitch– a nervous tick– when April returns to their (relocated and refurbished ✨) lair with you in tow. You, in all your beaten and bruised and battered and broken renown.

Leo, who then and there, swears to protect you with his entire life.

Leo, who takes on a softer tone of voice and tries to distract you with sweet jokes as he moves to patch you up. He’s the residential Team Medic, after all. But Donnie's there too, and that's comforting. As he moves and flitters about you, he tells you everything he was doing as he did it - an effective distraction tactic and who to pull it off better than him? - as he's not trying to add (the) insult (of the unknown) to injury.

He’s careful to not move too quickly, skillful and mature and with every ounce of compassionate care you needed in that moment. All while feeling a dangerous, seething anger bubble below the surface of his chest—somewhere at the center of his ninpo, disturbed and rippling with a burning urge to protect— with every uncovering of wounds on your frail body.

Leo, who watches April tuck you in when the whole ordeal is over and barely holds on until then. He’s haunted, and it shows.

He wouldn’t consider himself a vengeful person, per se – and the surge of protectiveness he had for you, a kid he’s admittedly never met before (then why did you seem so devastatingly familiar?), was uncanny. A bit uncomfortable, in all honesty. Yes, he loves kids and yes he’s a hero but. This? This was different. You were different. And as much as he wants to know why . . . he's content to just help you for now. It's all he can do.

Leo, who busies himself with fixing you a plate with fresh pizza: Hawaiian and- if you weren't so adventurous in the tastebud department- classic pepperoni, and barely dodges Mikey's wooden spoon cracking over his head, the orange box nagging about 'nutrients' this and 'any other time but NOW with that junk' that. But he still slips the plate on the tray alongside Mikey's chicken-vegetable-pasta soup, crackers, and small separate cups for ginger ale and water.

Leo, who [once you're settled in and become delightfully comfortable with them, obvi] is definitely a little clingy. Not in a bad way though! He always asks permission, respects your space and boundaries – even helps you to establish them if you have trouble saying no – and doesn’t take it to heart if you decline, but on the bright side that you do? He loves to snuggle up with you. He ruffles + smooths your hair, chuckling fondly when you whine and either a) bat him away or b, his personal favorite) indulge in his shenanigans and adopt the cutest pout on your chubby little face. Hugs you a lot, too. (Only if you’re comfy!) He really likes giving you reassurance and comfort in any and every way possible, whether physically or emotionally. He can be that stronghold for you. He wants to be that for you. You learn a lot from and with him.

Leo, who's a fruit (HAHAHA) roll-up of: Fun Reckless Uncle! :D™, Doting Motherly Figure read: just mother #2, Annoying but Necessary Big Brother and The Dad-est Dad all in one! 

. . . Leo, who has to be held back by both Donatello and Casey when confronted with your former foster mother as they finalize the paperwork at the adoption facility — the witch was spitting the most dastardly things at and about you (thank Pizza Supreme you weren't there), and if Leo threw all his moral principles out the window for the sake of you— his little cielo— then that was nobody's business except him and the involved party, wasn't it? 

🟦🟪 (Donnie got her back for it. They both share a fist-bump whilst walking away from the *metaphorical* explosion behind them. Don't mess with the Disaster Twins OR their Dumpster Baby.)

Leo, who takes it upon himself to teach you swordsmanship, and is absolutely floored when the day comes that you best him in a sparring match – a day that comes way quicker than he could've imagined. You were really something, weren't you? 

"Clever little charmer. I'm so proud of you."

Leo, who denies ANY and ALL astute observations ACCUSATIONS that he CRIED when they dropped you off at SCHOOL for your first day after having you all to themselves for several months and no he was NOT an “OVER-EMOTIONAL MOTHER HEN”, DONNIE. D:<

Leo, light-hearted jokester Leo, who does a complete 180 to somethin' murderous if he discovers you getting picked on—goodness forbid bullied. It isn't limited to just school, either! Some jerk tries to mess with you in public? Leo's right up in their face(s) with his odachi at the ready. Though his intimidating aura, lower, rougher tone of voice and some choice words are enough to send them scattering.

It's no doubt that the whole Clan is super protective over you, but Leo? He's a unit of his own. His Mama Bear Instincts is right up there with Raph and April and it's petrifying: deadly glares that pin you to the spot and mean mugs paired with venom words delivered so smoothly, it takes people a moment to realize the insults, the threats, but boy do they get across. Speaking of April and/or Raph . . . if they don't get to the poor soul who decided to try you first, then guarantee it'll be Leo. Pizza Supreme knows that there'll be hell to pay once he gets to you. Nobody will ever get to you so long as he's around. You can guarantee your sweet little cachetes of that.

Leo, who especially loves it when it’s you, him, and Casey hanging out. He adores all-around family time with everyone of course, but when it's just you three? He feels a different kind of fulfillment. It's foreign, but not unwelcome. It's ancient, yet young. It's sweet, blissful, and so, so warm. He is perfectly content to just, watch you both bond. To also bond with you. His familia. His little treasures. His kids.

Leo, who — if you weren't already fluent — casually teaches you Spanish just for the heck of it, but is highly amused and more than slightly touched when you pick it up really well and use it in everyday dialogue. You both hold entire conversations in Spanish and definitely pretend to talk smack about the others just to mess with them. Even if they can understand everything you're saying. In actuality, you’re probably just reciting unnecessarily complicated ice cream and pizza combination orders while giving your target the deg deg expression. He’s escaped from the playful wrath of his siblings with you in tow more than once, and y'all's combined laughter makes his heart light and burst with joy.

Leo, who tortures you on the daily (hourly, more like) with endless puns and dad jokes. ALBEIT ,, if you somehow enjoy them? Goad him on, even? Ay, mi burbujita, you've got him wrapped around your cute lil' finger.

—but if you ever start reciprocating?

Oh. It’s over for the entire clan. You bounce wise-cracking wit off of each other like an endless game of verbal tennis! You’re both unstoppable. It's terrifying. Maybe even more so than the Invasion (/lh). Donnie is side-eyeing the flash drive with concealed backup plans for the new escape pods and a clandestine bunker hidden deep in the depths of New Jersey’s sewers. There’s nowhere anyone can hide. You both crave the chaos, and the chaos craves you both. Then. The day comes when you turn the tables and 😱OUT-JOKE😱 Leo with some clever jokey-joke of your own!! It's a groundbreaking moment that renders him absolutely speechless. — Bro’s flabbergasted. Bamboozled. Taken aback. Led astray. He’s going through withdrawals. He’s writhing like a salted slug. He’s frothing at the mouth. How could it have come to this? But most of all? He bows at your feet in complete and utter reverence. Your TRUE Hamato honor was gained this day. No, no- forget the ninpo that swirls beautifully around you in a mystic aura. No- not the designated weapon tailored specially for you. This is what makes a legend. You will forever have his respect. like you didn’t already jsjsj he’s so silly. (For all his theatrics, NOTHING can belie that he’s stupidly proud and it all shows on his cute, dum-dum face.)

— bro’s flabbergasted. Bamboozled. Taken aback. Led astray. He’s going through withdrawal-like symptoms. He’s writhing like a salted slug. He’s frothing at the mouth. How could it have come to this? 



Leo, who is indeed wrapped around your little finger, but he teaches and guides you as well as he can. He teaches and guides you well. 🩵 

Leo, who can't help but feel this was always meant to be. And when Casey opens his big mouth (/aff), he can only grin warmly when he realizes that yes. You, you were always meant to be.

He loves you endlessly. His tesoro, you will always be.

SO HAPPY I DIDNT LOSE MY INBOX REQUESTS SKSGSK

honestly i have nothing to add onto bc it’s like you crawled inside my brain and picked at every little dumpster child thought /pos

[ghastigiggles]

helloooo

can u write lee!luka and ler!natasha with the prompt "And what are you going to do, tickle me?" please :)

maybe natasha is ‘punishing’ luka for sneaking out and getting himself (mildly) injured while he’s still recovering :)

thank youuuu 🫶🫶🫶 (love ur work :D)

Mischievious Prompts [Temporarily Closed]

“C’mon, doc, it’s really not that bad!”

Natasha tore her gaze away from the alcohol swab she’d been preparing to give Luka a tired, raised eyebrow, her tone flat.

“You almost went through the wall. It’s a miracle you’re not paralyzed. The wounds and bruises should be more than enough of a warning for you to take it easy at risk of it getting worse, you know.”

“It barely hurts - ow -”

She couldn’t help rolling her eyes at his softened hiss of pain as she dabbed an open wound, quickly securing it with a bandaid before he could pull himself away - and with that, she shoved him back against the bed, well and truly annoyed.

“Now, you’re going to rest for at least a day - then I’ll assess your condition and decide if you’re well enough to go back out there.”

“And if I don’t?”

She stopped cold, squinting at him; years of dealing with the undercity’s reckless youth had taught her the true might in the Mom Stare™, but to Luka’s credit, if he was cowed by it, he didn’t show it. Strengths that lay in showmanship, she could only assume. 

“... You don’t want to play this game with me, I mean it.”

“No, I mean it. What would you even do? Tickle me?”

That made her snort, and she leaned back over him with a shadow over her gaze, despite the tense smile she returned to him - and the sudden, startled yelp that she got when she abruptly squeezed his hips in reprimand. 

“Aha –! Waitwahait –!!”

“No, that was a good idea, actually,” She quipped back; “They say laughter is the best medicine –”

“Fihine, I’ll rest! Please!”

“ – Hm. That’s more like it.” Satisfied, she pulled away, leaving him to flop back in the bed with a defeated huff – but despite herself, Natasha couldn’t help the fond smile that stole her lips as she moved to put away her supplies. 

[imunbreakabledude]

I AM FREE!! :)

I was so caught off guard lol. for all the times I've opened that chest all like 👀 this time it totally shocked me, i saw the seed in the invo, i was like "that's the enhanced, right? wait, is it?" in the second or two before the Collection Log popup appeared.

i give thanks to OSRS forces of chance for this -- I prayed so deeply for AVERAGE luck here, I told myself I was super fine with going on rate or even a smidge over, so long as it wasn't super dry... (and not that I would've been MAD to get super spooned, but this wasn't a place I really wanted to, since I wanted the shards, the GP, and the experience that came with doing at least somewhat of a proper CG grind).

and... my prayer was answered, because I got almost EXACTLY median luck. per the wiki's dry calc, 49.6% of people would have 0 enhanced drops by 274 kc, and 50.4% of people would have one or more. so I'm almost smack dab in the middle -- and also got "lucky" in the EMOTIONAL sense in that i got my 6th armor seed only a few days ago, so I don't have to keep going and feel a little nuts going for the "common" but still needed drop to finish the armor.

(actually, it looks like my armor seed luck was statistically speaking "better" than my luck getting the enhanced here - wiki calc says only 47% of people would expect to have 6 armor seeds at this KC, so, "luckier" but still close to the median).

This honestly feels like a best-case-scenario for my own red prison experience, so I'm very grateful for that. I feel like I'm Good™ at the content (not a master, but good enough to do it consistently, come back to it any time) but I'm also not completely burnt out on it. So I can see myself coming back to do some more KC once in a while and hope to get lucky on a second enhanced for the blade of saeldor.

but omg, what a weight it is to have this done, but also to have the fear of going dry here off my mind. and to not feel like any other activities I do are silly to be doing before getting bowfa.

AND i accomplished my personal "CG done before 2100 total" goal so I don't have to feel guilty about skilling anymore, either, and I can just gear up for a sick 2100 total progress post :) :) :)

this is a nice feeling, trying to sit in it and appreciate it :)

[hyaffiliate]

Achieving a Radiant Complexion: A Simple Nighttime Skincare Regimen

In our fast-paced lives, it's easy to overlook the significance of a proper nighttime skincare routine. However, dedicating a few minutes before bedtime can make a world of difference in achieving healthy, glowing skin. Let's delve into a straightforward nighttime skincare routine that will leave you feeling pampered and your skin revitalized!

Cleanse: The First Step to Radiance

The foundation of any effective skincare routine is cleansing. Before heading to bed, ensure your face is free from makeup, dirt, and pollutants that have accumulated throughout the day. Opt for a gentle cleanser suitable for your skin type. Gently massage it onto your face using circular motions, focusing on areas prone to oiliness or dryness. Rinse thoroughly with lukewarm water to preserve essential oils.

Recommendations:

Aprilskin Carrotene IPMP™ Hydromelt Cleansing Balm

JUNO & Co. Clean 10 Cleansing Balm 10 Ingredients Makeup Remover 

La Roche-Posay Toleriane Purifying Foaming Facial Cleanser

Exfoliate: Unveiling a Fresh Canvas

Exfoliation is essential but limit it to 2-3 times a week to avoid overdoing it. A gentle exfoliant will remove dead skin cells, unclog pores, and enhance the absorption of your skincare products. Look for products with natural exfoliants like jojoba beads or alpha-hydroxy acids (AHAs).

Recommendations:

SkinMedica AHA/BHA Exfoliating Cleanser 

Dermalogica Daily Microfoliant - Exfoliator

Paulas Choice--SKIN PERFECTING 2% BHA Liquid Salicylic Acid Exfoliant

Tone: Balancing the pH

After cleansing and exfoliating, toning comes into play. A toner helps balance the skin's pH levels and prepares it for better absorption of serums and moisturizers. Choose alcohol-free toners with soothing ingredients like rose water, chamomile, or witch hazel.

Recommendations:

PCA SKIN Nutrient Face Toner

THAYERS Alcohol-Free, Hydrating Lavender Witch Hazel Facial Toner

SOME BY MI AHA BHA PHA 30 Days Miracle Toner

Serum: Targeted Treatments

Serums are packed with potent ingredients that target specific skin concerns. Whether it's fine lines, hyperpigmentation, or dehydration, serums offer a concentrated boost of active ingredients. Gently apply a small amount to your face and neck, letting the serum work its magic overnight.

Recommendations:

COSRX Snail Mucin 96% Power Repairing Essence

Paula's Choice CLINICAL 1% Retinol Treatment

Derma ProGenix Advanced Anti-Aging Skin Care Serum

Eye Cream: Soothing and Refreshing

The delicate skin around the eyes requires special attention. Apply a nourishing eye cream to help reduce puffiness, dark circles, and fine lines. Use your ring finger to dab a pea-sized amount around the orbital bone gently.

Recommendations:

IMAGE Skincare, VITAL C Hydrating Eye Recovery Gel

Dongyu 5% Caffeine Eye Serum and Under Eye Roller Cream

QOI Dark Circle Eliminator

Hydrate: Locking in Moisture

Moisturizing is crucial to keep your skin hydrated and plump. Select a night cream or moisturizer that suits your skin type, whether it's gel-based for oily skin or thicker for dry skin. Massage it into your skin using upward strokes to promote better circulation.

Recommendations:

COSRX Snail Mucin 92% Moisturizer

Dermalogica Intensive Moisture Balance

PCA SKIN Collagen Hydrator Night Cream

Lip Care: Soft and Supple Lips

Don't forget to show your lips some love! Apply a nourishing lip balm or treatment to keep your lips soft and supple throughout the night.

Recommendation:

LANEIGE Lip Sleeping Mask

Overnight Mask or Face Oil: Nourishing and Repairing

For an extra boost of nourishment, consider using an overnight mask or face oil. These products provide intense hydration and repair your skin as you sleep, waking up to a fresh and revitalized complexion.

Hands and Feet: Extending Skincare Love

If you have a few extra minutes, pamper your hands and feet as well. Moisturize them with a rich cream and put on cotton gloves and socks before sleep, allowing the products to deeply penetrate and hydrate the skin.

Recommendations:

Paula's Choice Radiance Renewal Night Mask

LANEIGE Water Sleeping Mask

Beauty Sleep: The Ultimate Secret

Finally, the most essential part of any nighttime skincare routine is a good night's sleep. Aim for 7-9 hours of uninterrupted rest to give your skin and body the time they need to repair and rejuvenate.

Remember, Consistency is Key!

The true magic of any skincare routine lies in consistency. Don't expect overnight miracles; instead, practice this easy nighttime skincare routine regularly and patiently, and you'll soon notice a radiant and healthy complexion that makes the effort entirely worthwhile.

So, go ahead and treat yourself to a little nightly skincare ritual – your skin will thank you for it!

P.S Highlighted are my personal favs