#but sometimes she in a silly goofy mood

[lmelodie]

Everyone likes to talk about the Bernards and the Jack Frost’s and even the Carols when discussing attractive people in this movie. But listen people. You’ve all forgotten ONE VERY IMPORTANT CONTENDER!

I am actually in love with Mother Nature and not nearly enough people are talking about her. Where is the MN fan content? Well its here now babes. And because she is so badass and sweet, I decided that she needed a pinup photoshoot. Because she deserves to also be sexy.

In universe this was either Cupids idea or Cupid hijacked this idea and completely took it over. He is behind the camera hyping her up, and she’s just having such a fun time.

[non-un-topo]

queer quartet prompt: arm wrestling in ye olde pub 👀

fghfdsfg thank you Rae, this one was so much fun!!

“What’s happening over here?”

Having sensed Andromache’s presence far across the stuffy, dimly lit pub, Quỳnh only had to open her hand for a wooden tankard to then be placed there. She smiled in thanks, and linked her arm with Andromache’s the moment her lover exchanged hands to lift her own ale to her lips. Because if she did not lock her in, Quỳnh knew she would go running across the floor towards the growing crowd in a heartbeat.

“Oh, Athena’s tits,” Andromache sighed, as expected. Quỳnh chortled into her ale, sending foam spraying into her eye.

“I leave for a moment,” continued Andromache, “and they’ve caught the attention of the entire pub!”

Quỳnh politely did not comment on her ancient lover’s resemblance to a grouchy crone.

“You know how they get when inhibitions are lowered,” she said. She felt rather comfortable from where she stood and watched, to be honest. There was never a dull moment with their little undying troupe.

Ahead, a crowd of sweaty patrons were challenging the sticky summer heat to cram in together around a small table. As voices raised and cheered, ale splashed to the warped wooden floor around them. It was an awfully intense scene for what was going on. That was, of course, the boys — Yusuf and Nicolò — engaged in an arm wrestling match that definitely did not require that much eye contact.

Their hands were steady — they rarely ever shook — but with their left hands they each gripped the sides of the little table with such force Quỳnh honestly expected it to fly off its wobbly legs. If that be the case, she knew, they’d just continue to wrestle until one of them lost or they got… distracted.

Judging by the subtle break of eye contact as Nicolò dropped his gaze down to the wide open collar of Yusuf’s shirt and Yusuf’s eyes focused on Nicolò’s bicep under his rolled-up sleeve, Quỳnh did not expect it would take long from there.

“They’ve been holding on a while,” she praised, in any case. Naturally, given the number of years they’d both spent swinging swords around. There was really only one way to end this game quickly, hence the reason she still had Andromache’s arm trapped in her own.

“Release me,” Andromache commanded, of course.

Quỳnh snorted and tugged her closer. “Why should I? Perhaps we can ask these friendly patrons to place bets, and then we can purchase all the ale we want tonight!”

“You make a fair argument…”

“Of course I do, I carry the brains of this entire family.”

Andromache attempted to playfully stamp on her foot but Quỳnh dodged her boot with ease, taking a measured sip of her ale and exclaiming a pleased, “Aah,” at the taste.

“Tired?” Nicolò asked then, in his low voice. Oh, that tone. Perhaps this game would end sooner than Quỳnh thought. “You could always let go and end this now.”

“Never,” hissed Yusuf. Sweat poured down his temple like liquid gold in the candlelight. Quỳnh watched as he flexed his fingers, gripping Nicolò’s hand somehow tighter.

“I think they are playing the stranger game,” muttered Quỳnh, in Andromache’s ear. Andromache startled herself with a laugh, then turned it into a frustrated groan.

A man in the crowd shouted something, rooting for Yusuf it sounded like, and others joined, mugs raising over their heads. The very air about them smelled of sweat and tension.

Yusuf grinned then, showing teeth. “Sounds like you’re losing, handsome thing.” Then he winked.

With a resigned Alright, Andromache downed the last of her ale and tossed the tankard to the floor — for which Quỳnh would later scold her. After all, people did not live like barbarians anymore, Andromache. But in the moment, Quỳnh hid her shocked laugh in her mug and watched with wide eyes as Andromache stalked up to the table, sleeves rolled up to her armpits.

The crowd quieted as she loomed over the table and, after a swift glance over each of their faces, Andromache looked down at the boys and declared, “Allow me to show you what real strength looks like.”

They let go, ending the match just like that, and they both looked up at her with wide, pleading eyes.

Yusuf raised his hands. “Now wait, Androma—”

But it was too late for him. Quỳnh sipped on as Andromache seized his hand and tensed every muscle in her body. Yusuf cried out, more of a squawk really, as Andromache slammed his hand to the table in a matter of seconds. The crowd exclaimed in shock.

As poor Yusuf rubbed his bicep and shouted very dramatically for Nicolò to flee, Nicolò stood from his chair with a wooden screech. Andromache did not spare him the same honour — instead, she simply took him by the arm and with a great, steady huff she flipped him over the table.

The silence that followed was so stark, Quỳnh could hear the delicate little tinkle of a man pissing himself across the room.

The boys scooted towards each other on the floor, a little shaken and rosy-cheeked. Quỳnh simply finished the last of her ale and nodded to herself, accepting the craziness of her little family.

Affectionately, and certainly out of place to the patrons watching but perfectly in place to Quỳnh’s eyes, Andromache ruffled the boys’ hair. She raised her hands then, speaking to the crowd,

“Drinks are on me!”

[elitaswife666]

Jazmin bean hello kitty WIP

thank you Beyonce for letting me finish the sketch and part of the outline 😍

[audioandart]

a beautiful woman :0

History wants so badly for Cleopatra to be beautiful. Like they can’t conceive of Rome being intimidated by anything less

[seokminfilm]

one for me, one for her | lee seokmin

pairing: lee seokmin x reader

warnings: non-idol au, fluff, kissing, physical touch, whining, mentions of dogs, seokmin is a big baby in this, seokmin calls reader baby, reader uses honey (once) & seokmin's nicknames, goofy shenanigans, someone put silly seokmin down (jk let this man live)

"Baby, you won't believe what I got!" Seokmin comes into the kitchen in a rush, breathless and cold as he strips himself of his coat and scarf. His sharp nose is reddened from the cold, and his eyes are glossy from the tears that must have come from the sharp wind. A bag dangles from his arms, and you stare at it, curious.

"Honey, what is it?" You ask, letting the vegetables simmer as you turn around to a quick kiss from Seokmin. Most of the kiss misses most of your lips and grazes your face instead, which you laugh at before Seokmin pulls your attention back to the mystery bag.

"I was at the store, right?" Seokmin starts the story quickly, and you go to the cutting board, chopping up even more vegetables as you reply with an attentive sound.

"I was looking for the ingredients you wanted me to get, I really was! I had the list out and everything─" Seokmin places one of the bags beside you on the countertop, and you pat his shoulder, giving him a silent thanks as he smiles.

"But I came across this section of frames, and since I was browsing for some new ones, got these!" Seokmin whips out the case to show off, revealing a clear-framed pair that perfectly fits his simple grey top.

"Oh, they're so cute! They're gonna look great on you, Seok." You smile, and Seokmin puts them on, giving you a model view as you giggle at his playfulness. "Very chic."

Seokmin giggles like a cute child, and you smile at him, face falling just a bit as he pulls out a matching pair. "Why do you have an extra pair? I don't need any glasses," You ask, confused, and Seokmin's smile grows wider, glancing around the room as he calls for your dog.

"Pippi! Pippi, come here, girl," Seokmin whistles for the dog, and you sigh, crossing your arms as you look at the matching case in his hand.

"Is that for Pippi?" You ask confusedly, and Seokmin stares at you like you had just said one plus two equaled five before replying with a dry, "Yes, duh."

Seokmin had his moments─sometimes he was a bit too serious about lighthearted things and therefore had to have you lighten the mood and reassure him that it wasn't the end of the world. Other times, though, he would do ridiculous things like this.

Ridiculous things like buying your tiny dachshund a pair of clear glasses, like it would wake up, and choose to wear them daily.

"Seokkie." You say seriously, and Seokmin bristles at your tone, pouting as his eyes go wide. "What? You don't think it's cute?"

You're at a loss for words for Seokmin's unbelievable and stupidly adorable actions, and you just shake your head, sighing as you give him a smile. "No, no. I think it's adorable. Go find Pippi, and let her try them on."

Seokmin's confused, slightly hurt expression changes into one of pure joy, and you can't help but melt at his happy countenance, breaking into an even wider smile as he sprints into the living room, obviously on the hunt for the dog. "Pippi, come here, baby!"

After about twenty minutes of silence on Seokmin's end, you finally finish preparing dinner and setting the table, to which Seokmin comes back with the dog in his arms. She looks uncomfortable with the glasses on the tip of her extended nose, and Seokmin frowns, looking at Pippi with sad eyes.

"I don't think she likes it, baby. Look at her face." Seokmin's voice is pouty, and you sigh, scratching Pippi's back as she stiffly moves her head toward you, trying not to knock off the frames.

"She does look cute though," You try to encourage Seokmin to smile, and he does, smiling softly as he bumps the dog up and down in his arms. "She does."

"Now, maybe we should let her go and eat dinner. We can try to wrestle them on her after, okay?" You pat his shoulder, and he relinquishes the dog to the ground, letting her leave the pretty frames on the ground as she shuffles away.

"I think she looks so cute though. Hopefully, we can get her to like them." Seokmin takes your hand in his, and you bring your hand to his cheek, rubbing it softly as you smile.

"We can try. Even if she doesn't like it, I'll wear them for you." You promise, and Seokmin kisses your lips softly, very happy as he nods.

"I like that idea, baby."

[froggibus]

Saw your post!! Any thoughts on what Junkrat, Mei, Venture, and Sombra might do if their respective s/o's wanted a prize from a claw machine? Who can actually do? What do they do if they can't?

Claw Machine - Junkrat, Mei, Sombra & Venture

Genre: fluff, little crack

Summary: how your s/o would win (or steal) you a prize from a claw machine

CW: sombra’s a jerk, established relationships, theft (in a funny silly goofy way), Ven gets stuck in a claw machine, none of these people are good at games sorry

thanks so much for giving me a cute fluffy req ^^ I really appreciate it. sometimes writing so much smut gets a little overwhelming so I am grateful for fun little ideas like this!! 💓 hope you’re having a great day lovely someone pls remind me in the morning to give this a proper banner

@kitsune-loves-fics wrote a beautiful continuation of Venture’s part! come check it out here 💓

Junkrat:

insists he’s the best at claw machine games

he is not.

however he will spend all day and all the money he has just so he could get you whatever prize you wanted

unrelated but Mako is probably crazy at claw games

keeps promising he’ll win it for you but progressively gets worse and worse at the game

eventually gets annoyed and starts shaking the machine

please walk away it’s so embarassing

if that doesn’t work he will literally break the glass and just grab the toy for you

gets down on his knee like a dork and hands it to you

“for you, little cricket”

grabs your hand and runs away giggling from security

you’re legally obligated to keep the toy forever or else he’ll get sad

Mei:

probably average at the claw game

she won’t try all day but if you really want it, she’ll give it at least ten tries

gets kind of confused when she can’t win and decides to apply some science to it

literally calculates a bunch of math based on how fast it moves, how far away it is, size of everything etc

the math still doesn’t help

some kid probably comes up and does it on the first try and she’s staring at them like ‘how’

is completely focused on this damn claw machine now just to get you a little plushy

please bring her a drink or something to boost her mood

when you walk away she’ll try to put her hand in the machine but her arms are too short :(

in the end she recruits snowball and together they manage to get you your little plushy ^^

however she feels so guilty about it after she has to confess to you

Sombra:

she will never let herself be defeated by ANY machine

she’ll probably tell you to win it for yourself and lean against the machine with a smirk while she watches you

you’ll pout at her and beg for her help but she wants to see how ‘dedicated’ you are first (whatever that means)

eventually she gives in (she can never resist you) and steps up to try the game

and immediately loses.

doesn’t even try again, she just hacks it and forces it to do whatever she wants

doesn’t just grab you one plushy, she practically cleans out the whole machine

“liv can we just leave? people are starting to stare?”

“just one more, cariño”

it will not be just one more, but how can you resist when she’s being so sweet?

Venture:

dork ass steps right up the minute you press your face on the glass and coo about how cute it is

“don’t worry babe, I got this”

(they really do not)

they will hyperfocus on it and play it for literal hours

they’re not even bad at it—they keep winning prizes, just not the one that you want

you could leave for ten minutes and come back and they’ll still be trying it

after maybe an hour of playing they get you to stand on the side and shake it for them

if that doesn’t work, they try to shove their arm up there but they’re so muscly they get stuck

you end up having to call the fire department to get them unstuck lol

and the owner of the place feels so bad (or maybe embarrassed) for you guys that they unlock the machine and just give you the toy

masterlist | overwatch masterlist

(if you enjoy content like this, interactions go a long way! comments, likes & rbs are always greatly appreciated ^-^ !!)

[netherfeildren]

I urge you: Bite me

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Sometimes love hurts like a split nail, and sometimes we like it like that.

Sometimes Joel hurts like a split nail, you like him like that too. 

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Raider era Joel; Angst; Obsessive behavior; Possessive behavior; Toxic relationships; Controlling behavior; Mean Joel; Kind of soft Joel too; Frankly, some pretty pathetic behavior; Surprisingly soft sex; Breeding kink; Creampie; Oral sex (f!receiving); Dirty talk; Fingering; Come eating; Size difference; Older man/younger woman; Buckle up we’re going old man trapping!; Joel Miller comes with his own TW

A/N: Idk what to say, she's just in a silly goofy mood, I guess!

Title is from Stigmata: Escaping Texts by Hélène Cixous

Word Count: 9.8K

Read on AO3

You’ve been watching him for close to half an hour now. The longest you’ve probably ever gone without him catching you, barking at you to get lost. 

Sometimes… he’s mean.

Cold and brutish and maybe even a little cruel. Not an ounce of patience for the pesky little crush he knows you’ve been nursing for him from the first moment you’d met him. He’s never thrown it in your face, a sort of kindness, you suppose, but it’s always just there, on the periphery, the tip of his tongue, the corner of the room. Hanging over your heads like a black cloud. The reality of the fact that you’re pretty sure you’d do anything he asked of you, in any form, no matter what it was. You’d give him anything if he wanted it from you. This pervasive need to please and impress him. To be strong enough, smart enough, savvy enough to keep up with him and Tess, and yet, you’re always shut out, left behind, scolded or scorned or belittled, and still, and still you want him.

But then other times–other times he could be sweet. Or whatever weak sort of pretense of sweetness a man like him could muster up; like the fruit he brings you on occasion, sweetness. The first time he’d done it you’d cried yourself to sleep afterwards. Heart set to burst, stomach in your throat. Getting down on your knees in gratitude to a man who is just on this side of not completely hating you for a simple piece of fruit doesn’t seem like the best way to get him to respect you, to not look at you as a burden. You’d held off from doing that… just barely. 

Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel

You don’t think you’re obsessed with him. Or– you don’t like to call it that. But you do look up to him and you do want him and you would do anything he ever asked of you no matter what it did to you. You’d met him and Tess shortly after you’d arrived in Boston, joined their crew or whatever it was that they called themselves when they went out and did things they weren’t supposed to be doing. You know they have something between them, don’t know the specifics, the technicalities, and you don’t like to think of it. Mostly you push it from your mind and look the other way when they get too close, intimate voices and lingering touches that make your belly sour and curdle, your eyes pinch hot so that you have to call it a day and head home after that. 

They live together. Or at least you think they do. They keep you at arms length enough to know that there are two apartments they keep, one that you’re pretty is for contraband and one for fucking and sleeping and eating, but you’re not entirely sure. Another thing you like to close your eyes to. 

They never let you do much, don’t trust you, don’t think you competent or strong enough which is fair and fine you suppose. But you’re smart, good with numbers, sound logical head on your shoulders and they know this. Hard pressed as they are to admit it, sometimes you have good ideas, and sometimes they come to you for your opinion on logistics, distances, measurements. These are the times Joel is cruelest. He gets mean when he’s nervous, like a bad dog. And your involvement in their business makes him nervous as hell. Mostly you fetch things for them, and Tess likes to call you puppy sometimes which you know is just another way of saying you’re his little bitch. Something that, deep inside of you where it’s quiet and secret and maybe a little delusional, you think he’d not stand for if she actually said those words out loud. There is, you think, a line to his cruelty and a space he keeps you in, and that line is not to be crossed and that space not to be trespassed, and if it weren't for the way he looks at you sometimes, the fruit or the sweater he’d brought you once, it’s soft, goes with you, he’d told you, you’d not have noticed that line or that space. But it’s there, you know it’s there. 

Lately though, things have been… you don’t know, tenser, perhaps. Angrier, on the edge of something, verging on a scream or a fight. Between the two of them, but also towards you. You’d worried they were getting sick of you or that they’d finally realized the little they had you do was not nearly enough to warrant including you in their takings – even though you knew they always cut you short and took the bigger piece for themselves. A few days ago, you’d been exhausted, taking shifts at the old mall for cleanup behind their backs, Joel doesn’t like it when you take FEDRA work, but the dude you rented your little room from had told you last week he’d be upping your rent to twenty rations a week, a truly obscene amount. And you didn’t want to tell Tess and Joel, you didn’t, couldn’t ask them for help, and you also didn’t want to get kicked out of your room. So you’d taken a few shifts on the down low, just as a source of cushion. They’ve been planning a big haul for several days now, and she’d come to you to double check their measurements and distance calculations. Easy work you should’ve been through with quickly, but you’d been so tired. Overworked and underfed because sometimes you’re stupid and soft and share too much with the old lady that lives in the room next door to yours, and your head had been throbbing something fierce, vision glowing bright white. You just needed sleep, and Tess had been so sick of you, angry and snappish, and you’d even thought, just for a second, that she was going to strike you when you couldn’t make sense of their notes and the plan she was disclosing to you. Which had admittedly surprised you for as shit as they usually treated you, they’d never once, either of them, laid a hand on you. And it had surprised you doubly from Tess who, despite the puppy shit, could sometimes be sort of kind to you. You know it’s pity, but you also know she’s a good person. Despite the stealing and the drug dealing, and yeah probably, or most definitely, even the murdering – she’s a good person. Or whatever semblance of a good person a world like this allows for now. So yeah, something was off. A petty and bitter and terrible part of you hopes it’s something between them. That they’re breaking up, that he’s leaving her, that he’s finally realized he wants you as much as you want him. Wishful thinking of a silly little girl. 

He calls you soft. Sometimes, he probably even calls you dumb. How could he not when you follow him around the way you do? Half the moon shining in your eyes for him. You could say you don’t care, and most of the time you don’t, but like you’d said, things were different recently. Tense and angry and there was a frenetic sort of energy that buzzed around Joel whenever you came around now, an extra ounce of pity punctuated by something sharp and mean in Tess’s gaze that’s added to you having pulled back a little from them as of late, as well. 

And then there had been, well… you don’t want to think of it. You turn your face away from where you’ve been watching him the past half hour, sitting on a dirty bench a ways away from where he’s been having a conversation with another man since you’ve been sat here. They look like they're arguing, or better said, the man looks like he’s trying to argue at Joel who’s scowling down at him with a look of utter disdain and disgust, thick bulging arms crossed across his chest. You cross your own legs at the knee, pressing your thighs together. You don’t want to look at him anymore. You don’t want to see him anymore. You don’t want to love him anymore because you’d never really loved anyone else before your whole life, but you’re pretty sure you love Joel. As mean or as angry or as cold as he can be, you’re pretty sure you love him. Again, like you’d said, silly girl. 

And there had been that thing last week, the bursting of the old rotten fruit the three of you pose as, which you don’t like to think of, but which, if you’re being honest, has lived like the plague, like a parasite inside of your mind the past week since it’d happened. You were supposed to meet them at noon last Thursday at the apartment, but it’d seemed like it was about to start pouring so you’d headed over a little early, had put on the soft blue sweater he’d brought you days back and hadn’t wanted it to get wet. Foolish. And you’d knocked, you had, you always did for this exact reason, but when there’d been no answer you’d stupidly pushed the door open anyways, they’d told you to meet them there at noon it was only ten minutes to noon, you weren’t even that early, only to be met with the sight of Tess’s retreating form into the restroom, shutting the door behind her, and him, a curdle of bile in your throat, his naked torso, thick and strongly built, hard muscle and hair and scars, jeans open and his thick, long cock, lying heavily on his belly, still shiny with damp slick, the white of his spurted semen glistening on the skin of his abdomen and chest. There was a sheen to his collarbones and his forehead and his dark curls were a mess, like fingers had been recently run through them. 

When you were ten you watched your parents get killed in a raid right in front of you. The sight of him like this by the hands of another woman was not as bad, but very close. You’d paused for a too long second, hand on the doorknob that felt cold as dry ice, burning your skin, and the two of you had just stared at each other. His gaze had been so vacant, so hard. Like he’d wanted you to see, like he was glad. You couldn’t help the tears that had filled your eyes because you knew that he knew. Knows how you feel. A muscle under his right eye had spasmed at the sight of your emotion, the frown in his brow deepening and as he’d made to stand up to tuck away the source of your horror you’d spun on your heel and ran. Down the stairs and straight across the entirety of the QZ to the opposite end, as far away as you could get from them and that apartment and the sight of his wet and used cock. You’d gone to the far wall of the QZ that spot where you knew there was a little part in the slats you liked to look out of sometimes when you were feeling restless and trapped, and you’d thrown up in the dry and overgrown grass. 

It’d been a week and a day since then, and you want to hate him so badly. You want to hate him so badly. But you’re pretty sure the incident had only made you want him more. 

And you want to hurt him too.

Which is surprising because you lack a severe sense of violence or hardness a life like this now warrants, but also not because it’s just been too much. Too much of being belittled, too few scraps of kindness, affection, softness, compassion, anything. And maybe you were soft or dumb or too young, too naive, too weak or any of the other things they liked to call you, puppy, but you also have a limit, even though you’d not previously known that it existed, and you’re pretty sure now that you’re coming to that limit pretty soon. 

Honest or pathetic or whatever it is that it sounds like, the truth is that you just want someone to be nice to you. To pet your hair or hold you or tell you that you’re good and that it’ll all be okay. You want that very badly, and he will not give that to you, this you know with absolute certainty. 

There is also the issue of your friend Adam. Adam who lives on the opposite side of your old neighbor, and who is kind and sweet and patient and who helped you get the clean up job at the mall. He likes you, you know it. Maybe he even wants you. But he’s just so– he’s not– no, you won’t think on that either right now. 

Over half an hour now, and he’s not snapped at you to quit staring at him. Come over here and handed your ass to you for following him around or eavesdropping on his conversation. He hasn’t looked over at you a single time. Maybe he hasn’t noticed you, maybe a week and a day is long enough for him to have forgotten about you entirely, and your heart pinches and burns at the thought. You close your eyes to the warm sun. The weather is so unusually nice today. The sun, soft and soothing, and if you tip your head back and let the light of it shine through the thin membrane of your eyelids, you can feel that heat seep into your eyes, feel it on your bare arms propped up on the back of the bench. You’re tired today, again. That sort of bone tired that makes you dizzy and sick in your belly. Not enough food, not enough sleep, not enough anything. There’s a meagerness that lives about you all the time now, but there’s warmth right here in this spot on the bench, and Joel nearby, and even if he hasn’t noticed you, even though he’s never really noticed you, the sun is still there, and it’s still nice to watch him from afar. And yes, you’re pathetic, but you don’t really care about that so much, to be honest.

You want to hate him so badly. 

“Where ya been?” He knocks the edge of his boot into the prominence of bone on the outside of your ankle and you hiss, jerking your leg back and away from him, not having heard him come up. He never says your name. Never. You’ve heard him utter the word four times in the entirety of the time the two of you have known each other, and it makes you want to bear your teeth at him or kick him in the shin, scream until his ears bleed. Does he really think you so small and insignificant that he cannot even address you by name when he speaks to you? Asshole. 

“I’ve been here,” and there is too much truth to the words. 

“On this bench?”

“What?” you look away from him again, swallowing. He is not a funny person, and you would like to tell him so. He’s looming over you, hands on his hips and a pissed off look on his face, and sometimes, you’ve realized that the angrier he gets the wetter it makes you, and you really don’t want to think about that right now either. You’re too tired, you don’t want to think about anything. You wonder if anyone’d notice if you just laid down right here and went to sleep forever. There are two warring sides within you, one that whispers that you could drop dead infront of him, and he’d not give a single fuck, and another that says that if something bad happened to you he’d be truly, truly displeased. 

You feel newly hatched, newly made, too exhausted to deal with the enormity of all you feel for him right now. 

He tries to knock your ankle again, and you whip your face back towards him “What do you want?” You spit at him, and his mouth parts, a little shocked, you’ve never been anything but meek and sweet and desperate towards him. But the shock of your temper passes quickly, and you watch him harden like stone before your very eyes. His face and demeanor going stony and angry and serious, readying to put you in your place. The sight of it chases all the fight out of you, you deflate like a sadly trampled flower and seem to melt into the surface of the bench. Let him do and say what he will, you don’t care anymore. 

“I want you to fucking look at me when I’m speaking to you, first of all. And I want to know where you’ve been and why you haven’t come around?” 

Voice dead: “Don’t you also want to know why I don’t knock before walking into other people’s homes?” And you don’t know where it comes from, and you kind of feel like you might vomit at his feet or start crying or a little bit of both, but you’re glad you say it anyways. 

Another look of shock, and if you weren’t so beaten down bone dead tired, you’d probably smile a little. But that passes quickly again too and like a knife to a lung or a fist to the belly he says, “You did knock.”

So he knew and let you see anyways. You nod once, “You’re right, I did.”

“Is that what this is about?”

“What?”

“Stop being purposefully fuckin’ obtuse, little girl.” Little girl, fuck you.

“Obtuse. Big word, I thought you needed me for the brains.”

His frown changes, different form anger, more like confusion; “What’s wrong with you today?” You don’t know. You feel sad. Tired. Alone. Angry. 

“Nothing,” you lie, looking away from him. “Did you need something from me?” You know what the answer will be.

“No.” Yeah.

A dip of your chin. “I gave Tess my notes. The plan for tonight’s good.” You slide to the far end of the bench so that you can stand without being too close to him, and he takes a single side step towards you. All at once: confused, questioning, angry look on his face. You want to smooth out the little frowning wrinkle between his eyebrows, you want to hate him, you want to take him inside of you. The sight of his wet cock flashes in your mind. If he fucked you it’d hurt, you’re sure of it. You’re also sure you’d like it if it did. Your mother had died before you’d become a woman, gotten your period, known anything about what it would be like to walk around the world with a thing between your legs that men would covet. You’d gone to live with a woman who was kind of her friend, but not really, but who in the end, had been kind enough to shelter a lonely child, told you about the world and set you up so that you’d at least survive on your own, if not thrive. She’d told you that sometimes love hurt like a split nail, and that sometimes we liked it like that. That sometimes people came out a little gnarled and looked for equally strange things in return, and that you should be wary of this but not punish yourself for it. Things were the way they were. You’d not understood at the time, had only thought her to have the saddest sort of eyes you’d ever seen in your short life, but when you looked at yourself in the mirror now as a grown woman, you saw those same sort of eyes reflected back at you, and you felt you understood what she’d meant. 

He takes another small step towards you, and you look the opposite way, down the street towards your cold little room with the land lord who you’re pretty sure is eventually going to ask for a fuck instead of rations. The thought of that is somehow tragically better than the thought of his damp and used body and that cold and taunting look in his eyes, Tess’s pity and sharp voice and desire to strike you. 

Adam had said he had more work for you tonight, you think you’ll sleep for a few hours and then go find him. “You’re not coming,” he says sharply, interrupting your thoughts, invading your thoughts like always. 

You look back at him, the frown, the aggressive, commanding aspect of him. Of course he doesn't want you there. “No, I’m not. I have other things I need to do.” Stupid to add that on, but you can’t help yourself.

“Like what?”

“My friend Adam has been finding me work.” Stupid, stupid. Shut your damn mouth.

“What the fuck are you talking about? That’s where you’ve been running off to these past few days? I thought we had an arrangement the three of us–”

You scoff, “An arrangement? That’s what it was? I thought I was just your puppy,” and the words burn and writhe like something poisoned on your tongue. You’d never said that word aloud to him, never acknowledged what it is they see you as. 

He swallows, at a loss for words, “Listen, if this is about–”

“Joel, I don’t care how you keep your dick wet. We had,” another bitter laugh, we, what a fucking joke, “The arrangement served its purpose, but I think it’s run its course, don’t you? I’ll help with plans when you guys need me, but I need more work. Teddy,” the landlord, “s’been asking for more rent rations–”

“That slimy fuck can’t do that to you–”

You ignore him, stepping back and soldiering on, “And I need more work. I’ve been helping the clean up crews–”

His eyes go wide and bugged and furious, and he takes several more steps to match your retreating ones, “You’ve been doing fucking what? And who the fuck is Adam?” he growls, hand coming up to catch you when all you want at this moment is for him to finally let you go. At the same time, the man he was speaking to before, the pseudo arguer, calls out to him from behind, coming up upon the two of you, and when Joel turns to look back at him you spin on your heel and scamper away as quick as you can. He calls out your name after you, the fifth time he’s ever said it, and it is no longer a split nail, but a split limb, a split rib, a split heart, something terrible and devastating. 

You make it back to your room in time to collapse into the saddest puddle of tears that’s surely ever existed. Face down, buried in your pillows you cry for a thing you’d never even had the possibility of having, but which still hurts like a blow to the skull nonetheless. Something that you can no longer push from your mind or close your eyes to or swallow and hide away in your belly. He doesn’t love you. He never has and he never will, and there was never the possibility of it, and you have to accept that. And you must also accept that it is not some failing on your part, his inability to choose you, to love you. You know that there are parts of Joel that are broken beyond repair, sometimes people come out a little gnarled and look for equally strange things in return, and you cannot tell yourself either that it’s his loss because honestly, perhaps, it isn’t. Perhaps, it just isn't meant to be, and it is no sort of loss because it was never really anything that was ever supposed to really be. You must tell yourself these things not to hurt yourself but because you are tired of hurting. He doesn't love you, and it isn't your fault, and there's nothing you could have done about it and nothing you can do about it and things move forward anyways. 

You sleep after this, lulled into unconsciousness by the pounding of your temples and the slow, cold drip of your tears across the bridge of your nose and into your ear. The wall your bed is pushed up against is a sickly yellow color, deep, old cracks and water damage marring the surface, and it’s such a sad sight it makes you even more depressed, and when you finally close your eyes to escape it, even though all you can see in your mind is the look on his face right before you walked away from him, even though it’s an infinitely painful sort of thing, it soothes you in a sick and twisted sort of way to know he’s out there in the world existing. Even if you want to hate him, even if you don’t, even if his very existence pains you, it’s still somehow comforting. 

-

The job Adam has for you turns out to be stupider and more dangerous and bigger than you’d bargained for. His crew is trying to steal a generator from an old FEDRA warehouse that they’d heard about through their grapevine of informants. He doesn’t tell you what the generator is for, nor where it is they’re exactly stealing it from. All he tells you is that he needs you to stand at a previously decided upon spot in the woods near where their drop off location is, and keep watch. There will be another person posted a few miles away from you, and if there’s any movement there shouldn’t be you’re to come looking for the next person who’ll find the next and then the next and alert whoever it is that needs to be alerted that something’s amiss. Stand, watch, signal if necessary, and it seems simple enough, but the catch, the fact that you need to leave the QZ is what you’d not accounted for. Something you’d never done before. After several hours of restless sleep and a slightly revolting can of old chili and beans you feel partially more yourself and not so haggardly terrible. You’ve decided that the conversation with Joel never happened and that you’re going to avoid the two of them for the rest of your life and pretend like you never met them and they don’t exist and maybe you’ll even give Adam a chance to fuck you, and then perhaps, the memory of Joel will be jostled out of your head by another mans dick. Good, sound plan. 

It’s raining something awful outside by the time the two of you make it to the meetup point and the place where you’re to stay and keep watch, and you don’t think about the fact that at this very moment Tess and Joel are probably also sneaking their way out of the QZ to go on their own run. You’re comforted by the fact that you know that their raid will lead them in the opposite direction of where you’ll be tonight. The spot you’re to keep isn’t so deep in the woods that the moonlight isn’t able to make its way through the trees, and the rain has abated slightly by the time you’re settled into your spot on the cold ground where you’re to wait and watch. Adam leaves with a short nod and a brush of his thumb to the high arch of your cheekbone which elicits a slightly nauseating flip of your stomach that you choose to ignore. Evasion is obviously your favorite tactic of self preservation, and you wonder when all this burying of your head in the sand will finally catch up to you. 

You sit for several hours in the dark silence, and it eventually stops raining and with the cessation of the cold downpour comes your fear. The silence is so loud and the dark seems to swell and throb around you with the loss of the rhythm and movement of the rain. You’re freezing cold, and Adam had said to not move until he came back for you, but he’d not specified how long that’d be, and now that you’re stuck here, shivering and stomach cramping with hunger, fuck those beans, you’re realizing how ostensibly stupid this was of you, and you also can’t help but think that Joel would have never asked this of you, he would have never left you out here in the dark wilderness unprotected, he probably would’ve tied you up and muzzled you before he even let you out of the QZ, and to be perfectly honest, you think you’d probably like that too. Pathetic. 

You sit for a short while longer before something shifts. The moon or the wind or something that doesn’t feel right; your level of fear ricochets up to a scream for a second, and then you hear the snap of a branch from what seems to be one side, and then the shift of trees from another direction. You get to your feet and make a slow circle in the place your standing, frightened eyes searching the darkness for something that shouldn’t be there, and as you’re about to call it quits and bolt, fuck Adam and his stupid plan, you’re jerked back into a rock solid, wide chest, large, rough hand clamping tight and painful over your mouth. You freeze paralyzed for a single second, heart racing within your chest like a small animal on the verge of death, but then his rough voice, angrier than you’ve ever heard it, soft in your ear. “You better tell me I’m hallucinating you out here right now.” Your body sags, adrenaline leaving you in a florid rush, so that you’re wilting in his hold. You make a choked, garbled sort of noise in your throat, head hanging so that the weight of it is held in the cup of his palm, and you’re pretty sure you feel his head bend to nose into the back of your loose hair at the base of your skull. The two of you stand like that for a few moments while you catch your breath, and yes, that’s definitely the tip of his nose smelling at your hair, the soft place behind your ear. The feel of his skin meeting yours sparks a sort of frenzy within you, and you snap into rage, limbs jerking and shivering and throwing you into movement, pulling yourself out of his grip and whipping back to face him. In the weak light of the moon you can see that his eyes are darker and angrier than you’ve ever seen them. Even that time you were incredibly stupid and clumsy and had slipped on a ladder you shouldn’t have been climbing, for a job you shouldn’t have taken and cracked a rib. He is definitely more furious with you this time. 

“Let me guess,” he spits, taking an aggressive step towards you, “This is the fucking job your little fuckin’ friend got for you.” He says your name again, for the sixth time and twice in one day, and it’s enfolded in a casing of rage that feels bitter and punishing in a way that makes a sharp pain start up behind your left eyeball, deep in your brain. “How fucking stupid can you be coming out here? You’re going to get yourself killed, caught, thrown in FEDRA prison, and I’m not gonna be able to get your ass out, you hear me? You are not fuckin’ built to be out here doin’ shit like this and–”

You rush at him suddenly, using all your weight to slam your palms into his chest, the rain has started up again, and he’s slightly slippery and steaming hot beneath his wet clothes. You slam your tiny and inconsequential fists into the incredible strength of his chest, the other going up to the edge of his jaw to try and shove his face back but he’s too strong and too big and too unmoved so that you’re left to resort to simply digging your nails into the meat of his cheek like a pathetic little kitten. “I am so fucking sick–” you try and shove him again, and he takes a looming step into you, bumping his chest into yours and jostling you into taking a forced step back, “Of the way you treat me.” You drag your nails over the edge of his jaw and down his neck, trying to draw blood, incite a reaction, but he’s made of stone and you hate him. “You’re such a fucking asshole all the time, and I’m tired of it, and I hate you.” There are tears sliding down your face, and you thank the sky for the masking of the rain. “You find me so fucking burdensome, so annoying, so useless or whatever your fucking problem is with me then go away, leave me alone! What I’m doing out here is none of your business.” Another weak slam of your fists to his chest, the drag of your nails down the thick jut of his collarbone, and you shove yourself back and away from him. Chest heaving, throat choked with tears and resentment and fear and love for him. 

“You hate me, huh?” he says very quietly and very calmly. 

Your face spasms in frustration and rage, and you turn away from him to face the dark of the surrounding woods, hands coming up to clutch and pull at your hair. “Yes. I hate you so much,” the sobbing heaves make it all sound very convincing, you’re sure. 

“And you’re tired of the way I treat you?”

Why is he so fucking calm? Maybe you should hit him again. “Yes, I am.”

“Got your little panties all in a twist, don’t you, little girl?” Little, little, little. Your heart dips down into your stomach, your arms falling to hang limply at your sides. “But I bet if I checked, they’d also be wet for me right now, wouldn’t they?” You’ve never heard his voice sound like this. You turn slowly back to look at his face again, but before you can even shake your head, deny it, he’s rushing at you, strong hand clamping painfully around your jaw, smooshing your cheeks together, and he’s seething at you through clenched teeth. “You fuckin hate me? Well I hate you back. I hate you more. More than you could ever imagine, and I fucking hate how much you make me want you.” Your eyes go wide and shocked and full of tears. “Huh? How ‘bout that? Bet you weren’t expectin’ that, were you?” He’s so angry the drawl of his accent is deepened, sharper, amputating the ends of his words with his rage, and he shoves you away by the grip on your face, leaving you to stumble in shock. 

You can’t speak, can’t say anything, he’s struck you dumb. Your eyes slither down his wet form. His soaking flannel is plastered to his thick torso, big, bulging arms and wide chest, his long legs encased in dark denim. When your gaze makes its way back up to his face he’s scowling at you. “Got nothin’ to say?” You take a tiny step back and he matches it with one of his own forward, a half jerk of your chin. “Have you let that stupid fuck have you?” 

And you really weren’t expecting that, “What?” voice confused and breathy, heat pooling low in your tummy. You look over his shoulder at the dark space behind him, “Where’s Tess?” 

He shakes his head, irritated and short, “I pissed her off. She stayed back. Adam – are you letting him fuck you?” Another step forward to match one of your own, and his eyes flash down to your feet, he gives a slight shake of his head as if to warn you off of your retreat. 

This angers you. “What do you care who I’m letting have me? What if he is fucking me? As if that’s any of your damn business.” You take two more steps back, and his face spasms in anger. 

“Fucking run,” he whispers, “I dare you.” Your legs lock in obstinacy, you’re not doing what he tells you anymore. “Answer me. Are you letting him fuck you?”

“No.” Pathetic. 

“But he wants to.”

“Yes.”

Something verging on a snarl deep in his chest, “And he brought you out here? Left you out here alone? When he wants you like that? And you were stupid enough to let him?” But suddenly, something is clicking inside of your mind, and you’re not really paying attention to the things he’s saying to you anymore. He’s angry. He’s jealous. You give him a little smile and oh, that really pisses him off. You give another step back, nod your head gently at him, soft smile widening. Another deep, rumbly sound that makes your cunt go soft and wet and your heart gallop inside of you. “You better fucking run, little girl. You’re not going to like what happens when I get my hands on you, and I’m not going to care.”

It’s not a threat. It’s a promise, and you don’t need him to tell you twice. You spin on your heel and make a run for it. Weaving through the trees, guided by the weak light of the rainy moon, you know there are houses a short ways west, and you pump your legs and arms as fast as you can in that direction. You’ll hide in one of them. If he finds you, catches you is a thought for when or if he does so. But you can hear the heavy pound of his boots slamming against the ground behind you, close enough to jostle your heart up into your throat, and you let out an entirely inappropriate little squeal as you do your best to speed up. But he’s stronger, legs longer and more powerful and being caught was an inevitability. As soon as the first house comes into view an uncompromisingly strong arm is wrapping around your waist, painfully crushing your ribs in the circle of his grasp and slamming you into his chest. He comes to a jerking halt with you held in his arms, and the length of his panting, steaming body presses into your back, his other arm coming up to circle you as well, and he reaches for your heaving breast, clutching the heavy weight of it tightly in his hand and squeezing a ragged moan out of the both of you at the same time. “Caught you,” he whispers into your throat, pressing a thick, growing erection into your bottom. He spins you in his hold, nothing gentle about the way he handles you, grips you by the jaw forcing your mouth open, fingers digging between your molars and slams his mouth to yours, wet tongue licking into you, tasting behind your teeth, the surface of your tongue. You moan and claw and scratch at him, trying to hit him and pull him closer and push him away, all at the same time. Hand snaking from your jaw to fist in the back of your hair he yanks your head back, wet mouth left open and panting and that anger is different now, something unrecognizable about it when he says, “More than anything though, I hate how much I want this cunt.” His hand on your waist has slithered down over your ass and between your legs to cup your pussy in his wide hand, fingers pressing harshly at the seam of your denim over your clit. You think you must whisper his name because he nods his head once, and then is bending at the knees to press his shoulder into the soft of your belly and straightening to his full height again with you slung over the thick mass of his wide shoulder like a sack of potatoes. You don’t even protest, just lay there limply, arms and hair hanging overhead and swaying with the rhythm of his gait as he starts to walk towards the first house, and all you can think is finally. 

He does two slow roves around the house before he tries the backdoor handle, in the end, simply resorting to kicking it in. He pauses at the threshold for a moment, and he’s not even slightly out of breath with the entirety of your weight folded over his shoulder after that chase. The ground is so far away from where you hang, he’s so tall, and you can’t help it when you drag your hand up the denim over the back of his thigh, over the thick swell of muscle of his ass to the edge of his jeans where you tuck your fingers in, feeling the heat of his damp skin. He growls at that, at the feel of your exploration and grips the back of one of your thighs tightly, the other coming up to squeeze an ass cheek in his hand, and then you feel the press of his face and the sharp bite of his teeth as he sinks them into the side of your ass over the thick fabric of your pants with a gruff snarl. You whimper, digging your fingers into the muscles of his lower back. He kicks the door shut behind you and moves slowly through the entire house after that, pistol gripped in one hand, you in the other, making sure the house is alone and secure. When he’s finally assured himself that the two of you are alone, he makes his way to one of the bedrooms, shutting and locking the door behind the two of you and then ripping the old dusty comforter and pillows off the bed where he shucks you off his shoulder, letting you fall to the mattress with a limp bounce. He doesn’t even ask, doesn’t say anything, simply starts at the laces of your boots, pulling them from your feet and then your socks where he lifts your small foot, big hand wrapped entirely around the thing of it, and drags his teeth over your sensitive instep. You moan, trying to pull your limb away from him, but he flashes you a hot and warning look and you settle. What’s the point in fighting, you think, if this is the very thing you’ve wanted all this time anyways? He pulls you up by the lapels of your too thin jacket, which he tuts at recriminatingly, divests you of it. Before he pushes you back to flop on the bed again, he grips you by the throat to lick into your mouth once more, moans deep and wanton in his chest, a vibration of sound you’ve never before heard from any man at the simple taste of you. He works at your jeans and sweater next, then finally your panties and bra. He doesn’t seem to really look until you’re finally entirely bare for him, limbs splayed out, soft and loose and too sticky sweet. His eyes are like fire, they burn, and you stretch and arch for him, letting him scorch you. He falls forward, propped up over you by the strength of his thick arms and dips his head to suck a single nipple into his mouth, opens his jaw wider and bites at the full globe of your breast as if he could swallow the entire thing. He moves to give the other one equal attention, your hands coming up to thread through his thick curls, and when he looks back up at you his gaze is manic, and if you wanted him less, maybe had more sense, it would perhaps be frightening. 

“What do you want?” He asks you in a way that tells you he doesn’t really care what your answer is.

“Anything.”

He shakes his head at you as he moves to grip you beneath the bend of each knee to spread you wide for him. “Begging for things you don’t know nothin’ about.”

“I don’t care,” you tell him, “I want them anyways,” because it’s the truth, and he nods his head like he already knew, like he knows everything there is to know about you and maybe even the things that you don’t even know about yourself yet. 

“You’re too young,” he shoulders his way down to lay on his belly between your thighs, and when his eyes land on your slick, swollen cunt his voice drops down to an even lower octave. “And you want this too much.”

“I know. I don’t care.” You drag your thumb over the arch of his thick eyebrow, the hairs are coarse but soft and then he lowers his mouth to your pussy.

He eats your cunt like everything else he does, a little mean. Starts with gentle laps, soft kisses, but eventually, graduates to sharp sucks and harsh nips, all teeth and tongue and plush lips so that your hips are arching in desperate and begging little motions, thrusting up into his face. When he presses first one then two of those thick long fingers into your opening it pinches in a way you weren't expecting. Only his fingers have you twinging on the verge of discomfort, and you don’t know how you’ll take his cock, but you know he isn’t going to give you the opportunity for choice or pause, and so you lay there and spread your legs wider and take it. He interchanges between rough and gentle, fingers petting softly at that sensitive place inside of you you’ve always wanted to give him, but mouth sharp and mean sucking harshly at your clit, nipping at the lips of your sex and the vulnerable soft of your thighs, covering the entirety of your pussy with his mouth and then licking at your fluttering hole when he pulls his fingers from you to taste the rivulet of slick you’re weeping for him. He groans and you watch the shift of his shoulders and back, the thrust of his hips as he grinds his cock into the mattress desperately, the gathering of sweat at his hairline. He presses his fingers back in, crooks and shakes them inside of you to jostle your orgasm forward, and like every other time you’ve followed him into complacency and obedience blindly, you gush for him, a broken sob of his name splintering from behind the line of your teeth. He’s sucking and kissing at your clit, the space above where his fingers penetrate you, but when you throw your arm over your eyes to hide the sight of your overwhelmed tears from him he pauses, “Want your eyes on me when you’re coming for me, you understand?” A pinch to your asscheek, a kiss to the top of your mound. You sniffle, shifting your head to rest your cheek on your shoulder and watch him over the swell of your breasts as he resumes the work of his mouth on you. He licks through your folds, pulling his fingers from you to lap up all of your spilled lust, and when he’s done, pulling back to look down at you like some conquering villain he reaches down and pats the top of your cunt, “She’s mine now,” he tells you, and you can’t even dispute it. He kneels between your spread legs, a murmured, wanna look at you, as he starts on the buttons of his shirt, pulling it open and baring himself to you. You’d already seen his naked chest that other time, and the memory of it embitters the moment, you turn your face into the crook of your raised arms, hiding your face away from him, and he tuts at you. “Told you, want those gorgeous eyes on me at all times.” And you love him, Christ, you do. It’s the most unfair thing in the world, the most painful thing that’s ever happened to you in your entire life. You want to cry and scream and kick. You obey anyways. Shifting your face with a small sniffle to peer up at him from beneath your lashes. You want to pull your legs closed, feeling suddenly, unbearably shy and hurt and newly made. Like the orgasm he’d pulled forth from you had brought to light the reality of your existence in the world, in his life. A non entity. 

And like he can read your mind, like he’s acquired a direct line of communication for himself to your brain, your very heart: “Me and Tess haven’t been anything for a while.” He goes for the button of his jeans, you listen to the teeth of the zipper parting for you. “Not since you started coming around.” You would like to ask him to stop. You make to close your legs, your cunt like a wound in the shape of your desire for him, bared and obvious to the whole world, but he grips you about the round of your knee, squeezing the joint and keeping you spread for him. “I just couldn’t anymore. And the other day– what you saw the other day was just me being desperate and pathetic and unfairly angry at you. It was me being weak and stupid, and that isn’t an excuse.” He stands and shucks his jeans, he’s not wearing underwear, and God, you want him with a sort of desperation that’s unhinged and maybe even wrong or depraved. “She knows we’ve been through. Told her again today, but still… I needed to stay away to keep you away. This shouldn't be happening right now, and yet it’s going to anyway, and after this, it’s going to keep happening–” Your heart flames into elation, and then goes frozen and bitter all at the same time. You want to kick him away, but settle for trying to twist away from him. Angry and hurt and not wanting to hear anymore, to think about him fucking her, of their shared history, their relationship. 

You try and wriggle away, but he pulls you back by your hips, big hands sliding up the slopes of your waist to squeeze and knead at your breasts. You grip and claw at him, “I don’t care, I don’t care. I don’t want to hear any of it. You’ve been so–” you gasp on a sob. 

“I know,” he nuzzles into your skin. “I know,” a kiss to your jaw and his bare form is settling between your thighs, his thick, long cock coming to rest heavily over the wet, parted seam of your cunt. You gasp at the feel of him there. “Don’t think I’ve ever wanted to take something for myself as badly as I wanted to take you. It made me mean as a dog.” He sucks a nipple into his mouth, biting gently. His mouth is everywhere, his hands gripping and pinching at your breasts, clutching at your ass to grind his hard cock against your pussy. He pulls back, and the wide head notches at your entrance. Oh, please, fuck me, fuck me. Finally. 

“Gonna fuck your little cunt, baby. Make you all mine.”

“Please, Joel.” He goes slowly at first, fat head catching on the rim, popping it in and out, he pauses to look down, only his tip held inside of you, and he spits, right at the place where the two of you’re connected, smears it in with his fingers. 

“Hot little pussy. Gonna take the whole thing, greedy little girl. Aren’t you?” You nod your head stupidly, mouth hanging open, eyes wide and wet, and you wonder if he can read that you’re in love with him there. You kind of hope he can. He presses in slowly so that you’re forced to feel every bump and ridge, your hips rocking unconsciously, trying to take more faster, but he’s big, thick and heavy, and the taking is not easy. You’re left gasping and arching, writhing wantonly on his cock by the time he’s sunk balls deep inside of you. There’s a bead of sweat sliding down the slope of his cheek, and you have to force yourself to keep your mouth shut and your tongue inside with the hopes of catching it there. He pants and groans, pulling and pressing you closer into him, grinding deep so that the wide head rubs at the mouth of your cervix. You can feel the ripple and shiver of your muscles, your body trying to adjust to such a large invasion and he kisses and licks at your face, your neck and shoulders and tits, and when your breathing has finally settled he pulls back to look down at you, gives a few light thrusts of his hips, eyes glued to the place where your cunt swallows him, spread obscenely, fit to burst around him. He looks back up at you, “Have you adjusted?” A pause for a brief nod of your head, “Yes? Good. Not gonna be gentle.” You don’t think you’ve ever wanted him to be gentle. After all, the way you’ve always felt about him has never been gentle in turn either. His thrusts take on a brutal edge, the wet slap of his balls against your ass loud and sticky against the slick curve of your ass. “Fucking Christ,” he bends his head to nip at your breast, big hand coming up to squeeze the entire thing and suck it into his mouth, “Got the wettest little cunt, baby.” 

You want to beg him to go harder, deeper, to fuck you like he’s in love with you. “It’s yours,” you whisper instead. 

“Yeah– fuck yes, it is. Yeah, baby, take my cock. Just like that.” He grips you by the knee, bringing your ankle to his shoulder to bob limply there, folding you entirely in half so that he can drill into you, and you reach up to hook your fingers against the edge of his bottom teeth, pulling his mouth open to peer inside. He laps and bites at your fingers, grips your own jaw, your throat, and you drag your nails down his jaw, his neck leaving little scorches of hurt in your wake. “Wanna see you fucked full of my come. Wanna see you leaking me. You gonna let me fill you up, sweet girl?”

Yes, yes, yes, please. Please, fill me up. 

Your other ankle thrown over his shoulder now too, he presses his entire weight into you, his face pressed against yours, whispering into your skin, “And if I fuck you full of my baby? What’ll you do then? Hate me more?”

“No, no, never,” voice delirious and filled with a sort of frenetic energy he seems to be able to harness at whim. “Please, please, fuck me full of your baby. Please, I want it so bad, Joel. I do, I do.” He pauses his thrusts, holds there in the depths of you, grinds and squeezes you so tight you think a lung might burst. 

When he pulls back the look on his face is just as unhinged as you’ve always felt about him. “Fucking Christ,” he starts to slam back into you, thumb at your clit, the other cradling the bowl of your skull in his palm, fingers woven through your hair. “Yeah– yeah, I’m gonna do it,” he grits. “Then it won’t fucking matter if you hate me or not. You’ll be stuck with me anyways.” He bends to kiss you again, and he tastes like violence, you lick into his mouth, take in the taste of his tongue. When he pulls back to look down at where he’s fucking into you, you reach down to grasp the half of his cock outside of your wet clutch, you want to feel where he’s caliming you, shiny with your slick, you half jack him off with sharp little tugs. “Come inside me, come inside me.” He changes the angle, punches at your g-spot, and the rub of your hand over your clit where you’re gripping him, the feel of his skin, his voice, the slide of his cock, in, in, in, and you’re both shivering and jerking with orgasm, throbbing into one another as he starts to fill you with his spend, his teeth bared in a growl as he marks you with himself. His hips slow, press and grind, and you feel the heavy jerk of his cock inside of you as your muscles work to suck him deeper, milking his come out of him with each tightening pull of your cunt. He presses his face into the damp crook of your shoulder, licks at the sweat gathered there, mouths wetly at your jaw, and you run your hands up the bumps and ridges of his muscled back. There’s a slight tremble running through him, and you hope it means he’s as overwrought by this as you are, that he wanted this as badly as you did, that he’ll want it again as desperately as you already do. He starts to shift, moving down the length of your body, kissing and licking as he goes, his sated cock slipping wetly from your cunt with a shuddered groan from him as he settles back again between your legs and starts to lick the slick from your overwrought cunt. Not seeming to care that he’s eating his own come as well. “Look so pretty drooling me here,” he murmurs, thumbing gently at your trembling opening. “Gonna fill it every day now. Fuck it full of my baby. You want that?” He looks up at you with a sly look, nipping at your thigh, sucking marks into your skin, all you can do is nod. Once he’s through licking you he crawls back up your body, wedges your jaw open and with a puckered mouth lets a long string of spit and come slowly seep out of his mouth and into your open, waiting one. It’s disgusting and dirty and entirely delicious. 

As he flops back on top of you heavily, you drag your nails up and down his skin, threading your fingers through his curls and angling his head to hide beneath the edge of your jaw. His breathing starts to slow and deepen after a while, and you smile lightly, wrapping your arms and legs around him like snaking, strangling vines, and pressing your nose into the thick of his hair, taking in the musky, masculine scent of him, you know that after this you'll do anything, anything to keep him here with you just like this. 

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

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[starless-nightz]

Ashlyn with a mute s/o?

Ashlyn with a mute! S/O HCs

note -> I love Ashlyn so much she so silly I just wanna kiss her face :33

warnings -> none.

content includes -> fluff, protective! Ashlyn, she learns sign language.

Ashlyn quickly adapts to your way of communicating. Whether it’s through sign language, gestures, or written notes, Ashlyn is incredibly patient. She takes the time to learn any communication methods you prefer, and she finds it endearing how much care you put into expressing yourself in other ways. She would be your personal translator too.

Ashlyn is highly observant, and she picks up on your moods and thoughts even without words. She’s skilled at reading your body language, and sometimes it feels like she can sense how you’re feeling just by the look in your eyes. It creates a bond between you where words become less necessary—she’s always paying attention to the little things.

She loves your silent strength. Ashlyn finds your quiet nature calming, a grounding force in her chaotic life. She admires how you’re able to express so much through your actions rather than words, and she finds herself relying on your presence more than she expected. In a world full of noise, your silence feels like peace.

She’s fiercely protective of you. Even though you’re perfectly capable of handling yourself, Ashlyn is quick to step in if she senses anyone being dismissive or condescending because of your muteness. She’ll cut off any disrespect with a sharp look or a cutting remark, making it clear that she won’t tolerate anyone underestimating you.

Ashlyn is naturally expressive, and she loves how she can speak without needing you to reply. Whether it’s teasing you with a sly smile or pouring out her heart during a vulnerable moment, she never feels like your silence is a barrier. In fact, it makes her more open, knowing you’re always listening intently.

She adores the non-verbal affection you give. Whether it’s a soft touch on her hand, a reassuring smile, or the way you lean against her when you’re comfortable, Ashlyn cherishes these moments. To her, they’re just as powerful as any words could be, and they make her feel deeply connected to you.

She’s great at filling the space with humor. Whenever there’s a lull in communication, Ashlyn loves to throw in light-hearted comments or jokes to keep things playful. She knows you can’t always respond verbally, but she enjoys the way your eyes light up or the small smile that tugs at your lips when she’s being goofy.

Ashlyn becomes your biggest advocate. If anyone ever struggles to understand your way of communicating, she’s quick to step in and explain or help bridge the gap. She’s never patronizing, though—she just wants to make sure you’re heard, in whatever way works best for you.

She respects your boundaries and never pushes you to speak if you don’t want to. Ashlyn knows that communication isn’t just about talking, and she loves finding new ways to connect with you. Whether it’s through shared looks, small gestures, or moments of comfortable silence, she feels like your relationship is built on an understanding that transcends words.

She loves how thoughtful you are. Without needing to speak, you have a way of making Ashlyn feel special. Whether it’s leaving her small notes, surprising her with something meaningful, or just being present when she needs support, Ashlyn is constantly reminded of how deeply you care.

Ashlyn never feels like anything’s missing. Your silence doesn’t create distance; it brings you closer. She knows you understand her in a way few others do, and she treasures every moment you share—whether you’re communicating with words, gestures, or the quiet, unspoken bond you’ve built together.

[attractedtopeoples]

Tara Yummy NSFW Headcanons

NSFW Alphabet

Tags/Warnings: mdni, minors do not interact, smutty/suggestive content under the cut, don't like don't read, written with afab!reader in mind

Jake version here, Johnnie version here

A/N: sorry this took forever, i was on a forced hiatus, also if there's any other people you wanna see one of these for lemme know and i will work a lot quicker for those ones i promise :)

Aftercare (what they're like after sex)

Tara isn't one to tire easily, however I don't feel like she'd want to go anywhere to far from the bedroom/bed (if that's where you were). Typically I believe she'd prefer to be the one taken care of but in a situation where the roles are reversed I think she'd be quite caring to her partner.

Body Part (their favourite body part of their partner, and their favourite of their own)

She loves your hands, they way they can grab her or hold her, either gentle or rough. She especially loves it when your hands are on her hips or her waist, subconsciously tightening your grip on her when she provokes you to do so.

She is very confident about her chest and her thighs, mainly the latter. This is because she knows how you feel about them, and your admiration fuels her personal confidence especially in the bedroom.

Cum (anything to do with cum)

Loves to taste herself on your tongue, making a mess of your face is always fun for her, and when you make a mess on hers she is sure to look you dead in the eyes as she cleans it up (with her tongue)

Dirty Secret (a dirty secret of theirs)

loves it when you leave hickeys, whether in the valley between her tits or on her inner thighs, she loves being able to know they're there but no one else can see them.

Experience (how experienced are they?)

Tara is relatively experienced, enough to know what to do and where to do it, and enough to drive you completely mad everytime. although experience doesn't really matter with Tara, seeing as 1- confidence and 2- she's a quick learner.

Favourite Position (goes without saying)

Sitting on your face is one of her favourite positions to be in during sex, your hands on her thighs, preventing her from squirming and pushing her down onto your face with more pressure due to her original hesitancy that always disappears. She loves it all.

Goofy (are they more serious or silly in the moment)

I'd say Tara is more serious in the moment, but if it's a soft moment, when your both cracking jokes or being a little silly she matches the mood easily.

Hair (how well groomed are they?)

It entirely depends upon her mood, sometimes she'll have shaved, others she'll have waxed. Sometimes she just trims it a bit and others she just ignores it. All times she knows you don't mind and she doesn't mind with you either.

Intimacy (are they romantic during sex?)

Tara rarely doubts herself, meaning she finds it hard to not be completely honest in the moment if she knows she's with someone she trusts to care for her and be cared for by her at the same time. This means that the level of romantic feelings will entirely depend upon the partner, and how they choose to act in the moment. Tara tends to adapt to that quite quickly but underneath it all she prefers to have a more intimate moment with her partner rather than a careless one.

Jack Off (masturbation hcs)

Loves masturbating to the sound of your voice, whether it be a voicemail or a call of some sort, or even a voyeur situation, your voice guiding and/or praising her will always help her through finishing.

She doesn't see the need to do it often however, typically having her partner, but when she does she rarely rushes through it.

Kink (1 or more of their kinks)

Voice Kink - loves hearing your voice in her ear, whether your mouth is pressing kisses on her jaw as you whisper words of encouragement to her or if your on the phone with her telling her exactly how much your missing her. She loves it.

Pegging - she loves it when she can wrap her legs around your hips, enjoying the feeling of your hands on her hips as you fuck her however she needs, and having your larger frame over her is something she adores.

Marking/Hickeys - she might not love them to be really obvious but she loves having them nonetheless, the feeling of the memory on her skin playing a constant reminder of you in her head. lovely.

Location (preference of place during)

Depends on the mood, if you're at home, then it tends to be the bedroom, but if you're at an even together and you can get away for a moment to the bathroom where one of you can slip under the others dress- then she'd gladly take the opportunity.

Motivation (what turns them on)

Your voice mostly, and your hands. As discussed above, she loves your voice and she loves your hands, so if your arms are wrapped around her from behind, fingers lightly pressing against her lower stomach as you press chaste kisses to her neck as you talk to her, well it's up to her how the night goes from there.

No (what turns them off)

Any time when it gets to be too rough/too much, throwing/manhandling one another = no, biting to bleeding = no, any overly sadistic/masochistic act = no. I don't think she's a big fan of knife play or blood play for sure, and any heavy duty bondage is off the table (chains, rough ropes, metal handcuffs, or spreader bars)

Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

has no preference, love to give and loves to receive, and she's naturally quite skilled at giving (to a f!partner, due to similar anatomy ofc) but in the case of a amab!partner i believe she'd prefer to receive (this is a bit projective because I don't like suckin dck, but wtv)

Pace (self explanatory)

(again) very much a mood thing, as i've said she tends to adapt with however she feels in the moment, but she isn't one to rush intimacy if they have the time to be patient.

Quickie (their opinions on quickies)

She prefers to have a longer, typically more private, moment with her partner. This aside she isn't against them, simply prefers a more private moment.

Risk (do they experiment? do they take risks? etc)

Will experiment if her partner experiments- again is a rather adaptable partner- and isn't a huge risk taker, but is willing to step out of her comfort zone when she's with someone she trusts and feels safe with.

Stamina (how long do they typically last?)

Tara doesn't tire easily, but isn't a superhuman either, 2 (maybe 3) rounds will be enough to satiate her on a calm-ish night, but again is willing to push if it's someone she trusts, or if she's particularly pent up.

Toys (do they own/use them?)

She owns them, not a huge amount, but she does. She uses them sometimes, never as a 'I will never not use them' situation, but she isn't adverse to using them both by herself and with her partner.

Unfair (do they tease?)

She teases in the sense that she easily can make her partner worked up, and she knows how to use her hold over her partner (whether by looks (clothes and the not-wearing of clothes) or words and promises).

Volume (how loud are they?)

Depends on the type of moment that she and her partner are in, when it's a soft/lazy/comfortable moment, then she isn't all that loud, maybe whispering in your ear or whimperin against your skin. In other moments this can obviously change, and adapt to whatever pace/location that's going on.

Wild Card (a random headcanon)

She may love it when you appear a bit bigger than her, whether you're towering over her or simply existing taller/bigger than her, but when you're sat on your knees in front of her and your hands are on her thighs- well she can definitely appreciate that as well.

X-Ray (what's going on under the clothes)

Tara has an hourglass/pear shaped figure, and is completely and utterly stunning.

Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Relatively moderate, isn't weirdly addicted or dependent on sex (obviously), but wouldn't opt to live life completely celibate.

A very average (if anything, slightly larger than average) sex drive

Zzz (how quickly do they fall asleep afterwards?)

If the two of you are cuddling and purposefully preparing for sleep afterwards, she can sleep pretty easily. If you two have other things to do, or simply want to stay up together and shower or watch TV, she's entirely capable of doing so for a few hours.

[itstivan]

If I see someone mischaracterize the sbg kids on tumblr ONE MORE TIME. I’ll end it….

NO. AIDEN ISNT PSYCHOTIC AND INSANE. HES NOT IN AN INSANE ASYLYM. ITS HIS COPING MECHANISM.

TYLER ISNT A HORRIBLE, BITCHY, RUDE PERSON. HE’S PROTECTIVE OVER HIMSELF AND TAYLOR BECAUSE HE DOESNT WANT TO GET HURT AGAIN. ITS WHY HE DOESNT OPEN UP FOR SO LONG. OBVIOUSLY IT DOESNT GIVE HIM AN EXCUSE TO BE MEAN SOMETIMES, BUT HE’S NOT GOING TO BE A DICK TO YOU FOR EXISTING!!!!

TAYLOR IS NOT A DUMB BIMBO. SHE HAS FEELINGS. SHE CAN BREAK DOWN. SHES SMART. SHES LITERALLY INTERESTED IN ROBOTICS??!?!? HOW CAN SHE BE DUMB AND DITSY?!?!? SHES NOT ALWAYS GOING TO BE IN A SILLY, GOOFY MOOD. AND I SAW PEOPLE GET THE AUDACITY TO SAY THAT HER KINDNESS WAS “JUST AN ACT.” WHICH IS ABSOLUTE BULLSHIT BECAUSE SHE HAS BEEN SHOWN BEING KIND MULTIPLE TIMES, EVEN IN STRESSFUL SITUATIONS.

ASHLYN IS NOT A FUCKING BITCH. SHE HAS NOT GROWJ UP AROUND FRIENDS. SHE DOESNT KNOW HOW TO INTERACT WITH FRIENDS. JUST BECAUSE SHE HAS BREAKDOWNS AND YELLS AT HER FRIENDS SOMETIMES OR GETS ANNOYED/UPSET WITH THEM DOESNT MAKE HER A BITCH!!!! I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH. PEOPLE KEEP SAYING SHE DISHES STUFF OUT BUT CANT RECEIVE IT. AND THEY SAY SHES MEAN TO EVERYONE BUT SENSITIVE. RED HAS LITERALLY SAID THAT ASHLYN IS AUTISTIC AND HAS TROUBLE WITH HER EMOTIONS, SHOWING THEM, EXPRESSING THEM, AND RECEIVING THEM. OBVIOUSLY IT DOESNT EXCUSE IT, BUT AGAIN. IT EXPLAINS IT!!!

(coming from an autistic person^^^^)

AND LOGAN ISNT A CRYBABY!!!! HE PROBABLY HAS HAD THE MOST NORMAL REACTION TO BEING STUCK IN A FUCKING ALTERNATE DIMENSION WITH MONSTERS!!! OBVIOUSLY HES SCARED AND GOING TO CRY. PEOPLE BASH ON HIM JUST FOR BEING INSECURE, A CRYBABY, AND ANNOYING. BUT LOOK ME IN THE FACE AND TELL ME WHAT 14 YEAR OLD BOY ISNT ANNOYING IN SOME WAY SHAPE OR FORM??? EVERY SINGLE 14 YEAR OLD BOY IVE MET AND IS ACCURATELY PORTRAYED IN MEDIA IS AT LEAST A TEENSY BIT ANNOYING. AND OBVIOUSLY LOGAN IS GOING TO BE INSECURE ABOUT HIS STUFF HE WAS BULLIED OR IT COULD JUST BE HIM BEING INSECURE BC HES 14!!!!

Thankfully no one really mischaracterizes ben!!! And if people did I would lose it even more!!! 😇😇😇

would say more but yall are prob sick of me bc of this rant but wtv had to get it off my chest 😇😇😇🎀🎀🎀

if i see one person say im overreacting i will go insane

[desb3ar]

You’re Not Helping

Summary: Being funny at the wrong time.

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara and Co. x Spidervariant!Reader

A/N: PLATONIC READER!! You’re pretty much the life of the party <3. This is gonna be stupidly goofy because im in that mood LMFAO. This is veeeeeery low effort because it was a simple idea

——————

There had always been a dangerous flaw that seems to be unchecked. A problematic talent that will always leave your fellow colleagues in harms way with the commotion you’d cause with the insufferable antics you presented on the table. The thing that always happens during any mission, especially when things are quiet and dull. It was your way of keeping the energy and spirits high. What am I trying to say?

You are funny as FUCK.

You always had your way of making quips, like any other spider-being could, but something about your comedy always left people with hurting abs from the constant barrage of funny jokes you’d gunned them down with. It was a relentless attack, friendly fire if you will, because it always ended up with someone laughing too loud and compromising their position. As self-sabotaging as that may be, you wouldn’t do what you did if you couldn’t handle what came next.

Often times, you’ve received heavy critiques from the society’s leader, Miguel O’Hara, for putting people in danger because of your lack of professionalism. Jessica Drew would back him up, sometimes. However, she had never been happier when you joined, your jokes being a highlight of her day. You remembered when Jess and you were supposed to be doing a stakeout, scoping out for an anomaly. You had the villain’s file on hand and started to make the most ab shredding roasts that had Jess shed a tear.

“Lookin’ like a whole bottle of what the fuck.” You’d say.

Jess cuts you a lot of slack because of your high skill in the spider-arts. She takes great pleasure in being paired with you on missions because she always knew it was gonna be a successful and absolutely hilarious one.

You loved working with Jess too, because you yourself are a fan of her sense of humor. You hoped you’d be able to work with her more and more because of the amazing chemistry you two had.

Another person you love to hang out with was Peter B. You and him had busted each other’s guts before when you ate lunch together. Spoke about silly stories that had your food run cold from how engaged you two were. Which was absolutely crazy since Peter chows down given the chance.

Today is different. You were on a mission with Miguel. Before you both went to the dimension where the anomaly was located, he made it abundantly clear he didn’t want the jokes and quips today.

“This is a serious matter and I don’t want you to twist it around to be some joke.” He lectured.

You gave him a thumbs up and complied. However, like the snake you are, fingers had been crossed.

The two of you were in the middle of searching for the anomaly, staking out to be sure that nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Miguel had told Lyla to scan the area, in which she did. She wouldn’t come back till it was done, which was odd for her. It never takes her long to do scans with how technically advanced she is.

So now, you and Miguel are practically playing hide and seek to dig up anything about where the anomaly could be. This dimension was a strange one, it was filled with tunnels… Very echoey… Not good. You two were spilt up to cover more ground, but no luck.

“Damn.” You whined, arms crossed as you kicked a rock. “Where the fffu-. Bro oughta be a D1 camouflager. Where’s Lyla?”

“Dunno’. It doesn’t take Lyla this long to make a scan.” He grumbled with slight annoyance. “Gotta run another test…”

The two of you continued to look endlessly for the villain, but as expected, yet again, no luck. This was frustrating Miguel, everything he planned didn’t fall into line like it was supposed to and he hated that.

It was then that the two of you decided to regroup. Reunited, you took five and leaned against the wall.

“I’m getting the suspicion that the signal is messing with Lyla’s functions… How though…” Miguel muttered to himself trying to figure the dilemma out.

Then, in the silence, you blew a raspberry. The noise bounced off the walls.

This earned you a peeved look from Miguel.

“What?” You asked innocently, holding back a grin.

Miguel somehow managed to roll his eyes despite his mask being up, and turned away from you.

Your comedic side began to surface… This mission is just too stale.

“… Hey.” You spoke up, grabbing his attention with him slightly turning his head to you. “… Knock, knock.”

“Don’t.”

“C’mon… Knock knock…” You pressed. Miguel sighed.

“…. Who’s there.”

“To.”

“… To who.“

“No,” You snickered, “to whom.”

Miguel had the most disappointed head shake known to man when you were trying not to laugh. You gain composure, only by the slightest.

“Okay that was wack- Uh- Oo Oo- What do you-”

“No no- No more.” He said in a hushed yet loud tone.

“What do you call a spider with 10 eyes?” You asked blatantly.

“What-” He said annoyed.

“A spi-i-i-i-i-i-der.”

Okay, that was good.

Miguel sighed heavily… He sounds like he’s smiling, but you didn’t wanna believe it. “Alright alright.”

“One more one more.” You said quickly as you thought up another one. “What… Do you call two Mexicans that play basketball?”

Oh BROTHER.

“… WhAt…” Miguel had to look away.

“Juan on Juan.”

Miguel had to take a deeeeep breath with that one.

“… Okay.” There was a hint of laughter. “You done?”

“How does the moon cut his hair? Eclipse it!” You couldn’t help but laugh. Miguel snickered slightly…

“I… Stop stop we-“ He takes another deep breath, not wanting to laugh. “We need to focus and figure out-“

“Aye aye- I asked how much a roof cost… He said it was on the house-”

“(Y/N). Shut UP.” Miguel was trying to be serious but you were weakening his ability to keep composure, so he demanded with a slight laugh. “We can’t- We gotta mission and you’re-”

“Why was Mrs. Clause unsatisfied with Santa Clause? Because he only comes once a year.”

Miguel nearly lost it, he quietly shouted. “YOU’RE NOT HELPING.”

“ONE MORE… PROMISE….”

“Fine go go go.”

“How do you get a Mexican uncle’s attention?”

Miguel has a feeling he knows where this is going… “How?”

“Tapatio on the shoulder.”

Got him.

He nearly yelled before he covered his mouth. He gave you a playful punch on the arm and it caused the both of you to laugh together.

Hearing him laugh was something you’ve never thought you needed. He had the most goofy laugh you heard, he even snorted, which caused an echo in the tunnels.

“I can’t take you no where.” Miguel said as he was trying to calm down.

It was then Lyla FINALLY comes back with a scan. However, she was holding her oversized phone. She had recorded the whole exchange. You and Miguel looked at her with shocked faces.

“Saving that for memories.” Lyla said as she did just that.

“Lyla? Where have you been? What took you so long?” Miguel said with a clear smile on his face because he hasn’t winded down yet.

“It didn’t take me long to do the scan, I was just wanting to see if they could get you to crack.”

“… LYLA-“

“You got a cute snort too, like a lil piglet-“

“LY-“

“Also the guy is headed this way.” Lyla explained, pointing down the tunnel, causing the both of you to get yourselves together so you can take the anomaly down.

———————

an extension of the goofy head cannons? yes.

[oicuperp]

forgor to post this ehehe

HEADCANONS UNDER CUT !!!!

john is usually an average player (even though he always gets a low score) but he sometimes has to sit down (hes old and tired okay ...) BUT he still tries to play from the couch

lawrence just doesnt take it seriously + leg thing hurts

hoffman LOVES to show off . strahm hates it and gets super competitive but he sucks at dancing

strahm (like i said) is really mid, too stiff and refuses to dance at first but he still tries to surpass hoffman when he sees hoffman is doing too well (and usually fails) . he stops playing if he misses a gold move

amanda is usually really goofy (specially when it's a pair dance bc she gets to be silly with adam (theyre the siblings ever methinks)) but sometimes gets REALLY competitive if hoffman is winning

lynn / jill / lindsey are pretty average i think ,, lindsey has to dance between hoffman and strahm so strahm doesnt hit hoffman with the remote . same with lynn between hoffman and amanda (when shes in competitive mode)

added william bc i was in a silly goofy mood and i imagined him dancing and giggled a bit ehehe hed be so silly

adam just likes to have fun specially if he gets to dance to a goofy song with amanda teehee but hed definitely hit someone bc he forgot to use the wrist thingy

[gaybananabread]

•• @/Anon For the TT prompts, how about Lee!Miguel and any ler for day 5 or Ler!Peter B. with any lee for day 24? ••

TickleTober Day 24 - Joke

~This is the second half of a request for day 5. Not sure if the Anon will see it, but I still had fun writing this! Hobie’s little quips towards Peter were so casual and fun; I think they deserve more little moments together. If you’re seeing this, thank you for requesting, and I hope you Enjoy!~

Lee: Hobie Brown

Ler: Peter B. Parker (& special guest appearance by Mayday)

Summary: Peter is in an extra corny mood, telling all of his best (worst) dad jokes. Hobie refuses to acknowledge anything funny about them, staying stubborn. With a little help from his daughter, Peter quickly finds a method to get him to appreciate the jokes.

Warnings: none! This is a tickle fic, so if you don’t like that, scroll away!!

“Okay, okay, how about this one?” Peter chuckled, bouncing his little girl in his arms. Hobie was hanging out with the two that morning, and the father had decided to unload his favorite dad jokes to pass the time.

“I just read a few facts about frogs,” Peter grinned, giving the line a few seconds to sink in. “They were ribbeting!”

Hobie giggled through a groan, running both hands down his face. That was, like, the thirtieth dad joke he’d told within the past ten minutes. One man can only take so many horrible puns and cringe-worthy jokes.

“I’ll pay you ta stop.” The punk peeked out from behind his hand, seeing the goofy grin on his friend’s face. Peter was a great guy, especially when Hobie just wanted someone easy to talk to and chill with. Plus, Mayday was adorable.

The jokes, however, were killing him.

“They’re good! Mayday likes my jokes, don’tcha, sweetheart?” Peter held his daughter out in front of him, making her giggle and kick in the air. “See? She gets it.”

“She’s yer kid. She’s gotta ge’ it.” He couldn’t help but roll his eyes at Peter’s reasoning. He doubted the toddler understood the concept of jokes just yet, but it was still a cute thought. “Lil’ bit pro’lly don’t even get the point o’ jokes.”

“Hey! Every Parker gets jokes!” Peter huffed indignantly, hugging his daughter to his chest. The girl squealed as she was slightly squished, wriggling in her father’s arms. “Watch this. Mayday, what do you get when you cross a bee with a sheep?”

The girl stuck her tongue out at him, studying his face. She was trying to figure out what he was saying, paying about as much attention as a child of her age could.

“A baa-humbug!” Peter made an obnoxious baa-ing sheep noise at the beginning of his punchline, making the toddler squeal in amusement. It was a good trick, Hobie had to admit.

“Aw, c’mon! She jus’ liked the sheep noise!” Hobie rolled his eyes once again, tossing his hands up in protest. The joke was so corny; it made it hard to laugh when all he wanted to do was cringe.

“You are such a downer!” Shaking his head, Peter hoisted Mayday onto his shoulders. He glared at Hobie, nudging Mayday’s little arm until she copied him. It was – unfortunately for Hobie’s resolve – utterly adorable.

“Cram it, ol’ man.” The punk turned away, crossing his arms as he hid a fond smile. He adored Mayday more than he’d like to admit, and Peter was a funny, sweet guy to hang around. Even if he did hurt Hobie’s brain sometimes.

“I’m not that old yet!” Peter’s shoulders jumped up with his protest, his daughter snickering at the feeling. “Oh, hush, you little scamp.” He scratched a finger down one of her tiny soles, making the girl kick and squeal. She tugged at his hair to keep her balance, which he was used to by then.

Actually…he might’ve found a way to show Hobie just how funny his jokes really were.

While the teen's back was still turned, Peter fired a shot of web at him. Hobie's spider sense buzzed a second to late, not really counting Peter's silliness as a threat. The thread hit him square in the back, yanking him towards Peter.

Hobie’s back hit the man’s chest, two strong arms quickly wrapping around him. It was a little awkward with the height difference, but Peter made it work. While Hobie may have had height on his side, Peter was stronger.

“Lemme go, ya geezer!” Hobie twisted and thrashed in Peter’s grip, but he couldn’t fight with his full strength; Mayday was still on the man’s shoulders. He didn’t want to risk accidentally hurting her.

“Let’s try this again, shall we?” Peter’s smug voice grated against Hobie’s nerves as he tried to pry the man’s hands off. "Why was the stadium so hot after the game?"

“I don’ care!” Hobie stomped his feet, trying to drown Peter out. Unfortunately, the man could just say it right in his ear.

“Nope! Because all the fans left! Eh, eh?”

Instead of waiting for Hobie’s inevitably underwhelmed reaction, Peter dug his finger’s into the punk’s hips, making him snort into a burst of loud, scraggly laughter.

“GAHAHAHAHA! FUHUHU- *snort* PEHETER!” Hobie tried to fold in on himself, but he was stopped by the man’s strong grip around his chest. He was trapped in a tickly hug with no viable ways out.

“Language! You know better than to curse around Mayday.” Peter shook his head before drilling his thumbs into the little pocket above Hobie’s hip bones, pulling a shriek from the lanky teen.

Mayday seemed thoroughly amused by all the chaos, climbing over her dad’s shoulders to reach for Hobie. She nuzzled her tiny head against his neck, her wily curls softly tickling behind his ears and across his neck. Hobie tried scrunching his shoulders up, only causing the girl to giggle and press closer.

“GEHEHE’ YOUHUHUR DEHEHEVIL- *snort* OHOFFA MEHEHEHE!” Hobie tossed his head around as carefully as he could, trying his hardest not to hit the girl on his shoulder. It was incredibly unfair, using her as a shield like he was. The teen had to admit that he was a bit impressed.

“Devil?! My little girl is an angel, thank you very much!” Gasping dramatically, Peter spidered his fingers up to Hobie’s sides and ribs. While the boisterous laughter was quite nice, he didn’t want to exhaust the teen entirely.

“I-Ihi dohohon’ wahanna ahaccidentahally huhurt heher!” Hobie’s cackles died down to pitchy giggles and laughs, his voice about an octave higher than normal. He made a good point, but the man still needed Mayday to keep him from fighting.

“You wouldn’t hurt her. I’d trust you with Mayday’s life if I had to. It’ll be fine.” Peter disguised a tease under the compliment, clawing his way up and down the punk’s sides. He really was enjoying himself; seeing the kids laugh was always fun.

“Y-youhuhu- GYAH! Youhu neehehehek!” Hobie nearly cursed, but Peter censored him with a quick scribble to the navel.

“Being mean in British is still being mean, Hobie.” Peter chastised him, tutting as Mayday went right back to snuggling her fuzzy head against his neck. Now that his reactions were calmer, the little squeaks and voice cracks came through perfectly.

“B-Brihitish ahain’t a lahahanguage!” Hobie’s shoulders scrunched once again, giving Mayday a little boost. She giggled from the movement, patting her small hands against his rosy cheek. It was adorable, making it near impossible for him to be irritated at her.

“So nitpicky. First, you criticize my jokes, and now you’re correcting me? For shame, Hobart, for shame.” The dad gave Hobie’s hips one more good squeeze, mainly trying to distract him from the fact that he’d just said the boy’s full first name. That usually got some not-so-nice words in response; he wasn’t looking to teach Mayday anything else that MJ would scold him about.

While the punk usually could’ve held on for much longer, his cheeks were getting sore, and he could feel Mayday slip a little with every big laugh and squeak. He knew Peter would never let her even come close to hitting the ground if she fell, but the teen was anxious nonetheless. He knew what he had to do…

Enjoy the ego boost, Parker.

“F-fihihihine! Youhuhuhur johohokes ‘re fuhuhunny!” Hobie finally conceded, trying to bring his squirming down to a minimum. He’d get his revenge later, no doubt, but peace was his only option for the time being.

“There ya go, kid!” He gave Hobie one last squeeze of a hug before pulling back, taking his daughter with him. Mayday whined at the break in contact, reaching out for the giggly punk.

“J-jehehez, ruthless ol’ bum…” Hobie muttered the words under his breath, meaning absolutely nothing by them. It wasn’t uncommon for him to exchange loving insults with his older friends and mentors.

The teen recovered pretty quickly, taking the squirmy toddler into his arms when he was able to breathe normally. She immediately cuddled into his chest, demanding snuggly affection that no being with a heart could deny.

“Yer lucky she’s ‘ere, or you’d be in tears.” Hobie calmly laid the threat out, slowly swaying to make Mayday smile. He loved the little rascal’s grin, especially the cute little gap between her front two teeth. While he didn’t seem the type, he really did love kids.

“Uh-huh, sure,” Peter huffed, knowing all too well how true that statement was. One thing that was always interesting about Hobie: he was willing to dish out whatever he received, and vice versa. It made for playfully fun slow days at the Society.

“It’s almost her nap time. Wanna help me put her down, maybe grab something from the cafeteria? I’ll pay,” Peter offered, gently nudging the boy’s shoulder with his own.

Hobie was quite peckish after all the goofy activity, and making Peter pay for things would be a step in the vengeance direction…

“Al’ight, yeah. Let’s go, gramps.” Cradling the sleepy little girl against his chest, Hobie started for the lobby. Peter rolled his eyes before catching up, reminding himself to steal some of the teen’s fries in retaliation.

Maybe he could even have busted out some of his worst burger puns, though they might’ve been too cheesy.

[geneviveleocardius]

mike munroe and his way of loving you

a sucker for you.

mike’s love for you is bold and undeniable. he’s the guy who grabs your hand in the middle of a crowd, spins you around, and dips you into a dramatic kiss just because he can. his confidence doesn’t waver, and he wants everyone to know he’s crazy about you.

his kisses are playful and teasing most of the time—quick pecks that turn into stolen moments of passion when you least expect it. but when he’s in a tender mood, his kisses become slower and full of affection, as if he’s trying to show you how much you mean to him without saying a word.

he absolutely adores your neck. not just because he loves trailing kisses there, but because he likes how sensitive it is when he teases you with soft nuzzles or whispers. he’ll smirk and say something like, “you’ve got the best neck in the game, babe. i’m just here appreciating greatness.”

during your period, mike is a total sweetheart with a playful edge. he’ll joke, “so, how many mood swings do i need to prepare for today? just kidding—sort of.” but then he’s all about bringing you snacks, massaging your feet, or letting you use him as a pillow.

his love language is physical touch, hands down. whether it’s pulling you into his lap, wrapping an arm around your waist, or just playing with your fingers absentmindedly, mike loves staying connected to you in any way possible.

mike loves making you laugh, and he’ll stop at nothing to do it. whether it’s goofy impressions, corny jokes, or spontaneous dance moves, he lives for the sound of your laughter and the way your face lights up when you’re happy.

he’s got a protective streak, but he handles it with charm. if someone flirts with you, he’ll casually step in and say something like, “hey, buddy, thanks for keeping her company while i was gone. she’s all mine, though—better luck next time.”

mike is so into surprises. he’ll plan last-minute road trips, set up spontaneous date nights, or even show up at your work with your favorite drink. he thrives on keeping things exciting and seeing the joy in your reaction.

his teasing is endless, but it’s always filled with love. he’ll call you silly nicknames, poke fun at your quirks, and pretend to be offended when you roast him back. “wow, babe, that one cut deep. who taught you to be so mean?”

mike is obsessed with your legs. he loves watching you move, whether you’re walking, dancing, or just lounging around. he’ll grin and say, “what can i say? they’re perfect. you should probably thank your genetics or something.”

when he’s feeling vulnerable, he tries to hide it with humor, but you can always tell. in those moments, he’ll cling to you a little tighter, whispering, “don’t ever leave me, okay? i mean, not like you could—you’re stuck with me now.”

no matter how playful or teasing he gets, mike makes sure you never doubt how much he loves you. he’ll say it outright, bold and unapologetic: “you’re my everything, babe. i know i’m annoying sometimes, but hey, you signed up for this chaos.”

[ccaramel-llow]

I present to you: A request featuring Jax, Zooble, Gangle, and Caine with a musician s/o because DAMMIT it sounds adorable

Reader’s a goofy fella, real silly, they can play a BUNCH of instruments, sing well, dancing, they love it

but they can be a shut in sometimes 👉👈

seeing as Zooble does the theme song (and has to rework it when someone new shows up-) and I just get the vibes you can’t convince me that Zooble isn’t at least a little bit of music nerd /lh /j

(i am also a music nerd tbh, Thats why me and zooble are marri WOAH WHO SAID THAT)

JAX

. Honestly he'd ask you to to play an instrument over someone while their speaking because hes a little evil shit you know?

. Makes fun of you and says your music sucks when he secretly loves it when you play.

, He finds you attractive and hot if you play the guitar while screaming angst-y shit if your emo like that/j , but he bullies you for doing that as well.

, He'd ask you to teach him how to play the drums while your speaking to someone. not because hes jealous or anything, Nope. He is.

, He sucks ASS and DOG SHIT at dancing. Expect him to step on your feet if you try to dance together.

, Since you're a "shut in" He tries to get you out more but then later gives up and just comes into you're room or personal business without warning to smother you with his so called " Love language " (Which is just bothering you until you yell at him to shut the fuck up)

, Hides in your room to listen to you play, Or sits outside your room just so he can hear you play.

, Loves it when you sing, He has to fight his demons and intrusive thoughts (he wants to sing along with you to rizz you up COU-)

, Beats up and bullies anyone who says you aren't great at playing, Dancing, Etc.

" My lover IS the best musician here. Wanna repeat that you little s(*&$! ?"

ZOOBLE

, They pretend like they don't care. Like at all.

, Although, In reality they care and love your music a lot! They even ask you to teach them how to play an instrument

, Zooble would always listen and be there for you when you played, Enjoying the soft/Rough melody of a song that you were presenting for them in a private space.

, Tell's everyone to shut up when your about to play, And mask's their excitement with anger.

, Their eye's shine when you pull out an instrument and their eyes go dull whenever you weren't gonna play.

, Ask's you to play a song sometimes when their in a bad mood.

, Zooble also cannot dance for jack SHIT. Do not try to teach them how to dance. They'll go insane i swear.

, Since you're a shut in, She always asks if you're busy or not, Or if your comfortable or stressed before asking to play a song because they dont want you to get overwhelmed.

, Adores your voice, And always secretly makes sure you dont over stress your voice out.

, Compliments you when you're finished singing.

" You did great out there. Uh, Hope you dont mind teaching me how to play soon?... "

GANGLE

, She LOVES It when you play calming melodies using your preferred instrument.

, Probably asks you to play the violin as she stares at you with heart shaped eyes.

, Would go feral on Jax if he breaks your instrument on purpose and cry with you in your room trying to comfort you.

, Smothers you with a lot of compliments when you are finished playing.

, Rants about you often to show you off and because you cant get off her mind.

, She smiles brightly when you play an instrument.

, I feel like she'd be an okay dancer!! She'd ask you to dance every now and then, But if you dipped her during dancing she'd be extremely flustered and her eyes would turn into the shape of a heart.

, Likes to hum along with you while you sing. Gangle really is inlove with your voice and starts to just doze off while admiring you.

" (Name) Is the very best person i had ever met... I hope xey play more melodies soon!! I love it when they sing.... BUT YOU DIDNT HEAR THAT FROM M-"

CAINE

, He would honestly go ' AWOOGA HOT DAMN ' all over you.

, Can play piano, Please let him duet with you.

, Stares at you with lovey dove-y goo goo eyes while playing, Admiring you as you both play, Definitely not imagining you guys making out.

, Like Gangle, He too smothers you with compliments but extreme. Like, He's peppering your face with teeth kisses if given consent.

, Since he's short, He'd love to dance with you!! He has to float if your too tall, But if your the same height, He attempts to pull the spin and dip move on you to rizz you up.

, ADORES YOUR SINGING. SING FOR HIM PLEASE.

, He always records you singing and listens to you singing in his free time while thinking about you.

, Would always try to get you to open up since your a shut in. If your always in your room, He always tries to get you out because he's afraid you would reach your breaking point and abstract. He cant lose you.

" My dearest is the absolute best at playing instruments, Dancing, And all that stuff... Oh how much i love xem.... What do you mean they aren't?"

[chrissturnsfav]

can we get more on star’s personality? love your work sooo much, especially your rapper!chris x singer!reader au!!

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

ofc you can! and thank you, i’m so happy you like it!

for anyone who’s confused, star is the nickname i gave singer!reader.

here are some of star’s personality traits/likes:

᧔•᧓ she comes off as very confident and lively on stage, but when off stage, she is a very sweet and humble person! she’s also a bit shy and timid at times (ex. with paparazzi, meeting new people, etc.)

᧔•᧓ she can be very funny when she wants to be! she’s always able to make people laugh, and she’s also pretty goofy and silly. when she’s drunk, her funniness shows a lot.

᧔•᧓ she is very clingy, especially when she’s drunk or high. she’s always wanting to be with chris, always wanting to cuddle. if they’re out at a club and she’s drunk, she’ll cling onto his arm the entire time and beg to leave.

᧔•᧓ she can be sassy at times! she only gets this way with people she’s comfortable with, chris deals with it all the time. if she’s in a bad mood, it won’t take her long to get snippy with chris. chris doesn’t mind it because he knows how she is, but if it goes on for a while, he’ll get a little pissed off and call her out on it: “listen, i dunno why you’ve been givin’ me an attitude all day ma, but m’gettin’ tired of it.”

᧔•᧓ she loves dogs! she’s been begging chris for one to coparent and he’s all for it, but with their busy schedule, he doesn’t know how they’d manage making time for a puppy without having to get a dog-sitter. maybe one day! ;)

᧔•᧓ she has an obsession with sonny’s angels. she has a little glass case she keeps on a shelf in her bedroom that holds all of them, she has a few on her dashboard in her car, and she even has one that hooks onto her phone. chris thinks they’re creepy, but he deals with it because he knows how much she loves them. he even will sometimes open the glass case and turn them all around the other way because he feels like they’re always staring at him. (idea inspired by @sturnioz !!).

᧔•᧓ she would rather stay in than go out. a night in with chris or her friends with wine and netflix seems much more appealing to her than going out! she also enjoys hosting game nights at her house with her friends!

᧔•᧓ she loves to keep her relationship with chris pretty private along with her personal life. her and chris don’t talk about any arguments they have publicly, and they do their best to ignore rumors. all the public knows is that they’re together and clearly have heart eyes only for each other.

᧔•᧓ her favorite artists are: chri$, sza, frank ocean, mac miller, pnd, rihanna, travis scott, and ken carson!

᧔•᧓ she loves the soft girl coquette style! her favorite things to wear are: sweaters, mini skirts, dainty lace tops, ballet flats, bows, and gold jewelry. her favorite clothing brands are: brandy melleville, alice and olivia, vivienne westwood, edikted, aritzia, and urban outfitters!