#it doesn’t even have a brand name on the box

[toomanyteefs]

Bought a SUPER off brand bootleg Tron light cycle NotLego set and it was missing the same three pieces for each cycle, but they werent super important pieces and overall I think it’s pretty fucking kickass! (I think the official Tron Lego set is honestly kinda ugly, and the only part of it I really want is the Rinzler minifig, which I can get seperately for like $20 on eBay, so Lego is not getting $130 out of me today!)

[pure-smut]

feral.

featuring: Ryomen Sukuna x f!reader

contains: college!Sukuna, established relationship, birth control tampering, unprotected s*x, noncon/dubcon, breeding k*nk, size k*nk, cunnilingus, multiple rounds, creampies, stalking, toxic behaviour

word count: 2.4k

note: all characters are aged up to 21+!

MDNI | 18+ content

series: 1. infatuated | 2. obsessed | 3. addicted | 4. toxic | 5. feral

masterlist

a/n: okay this is the actual final part!! tysm for all the love y'all have given this series, sukuna is truly one of my muses he's just so fucked up lmaooo

“Good news,” you say, beaming. “No more condoms!”

Ryomen Sukuna’s head snaps up from where he was lazing on the couch, scrolling his phone.

“What?”

“No more condoms!” you repeat. “I switched to a different kind of pill, it won’t make me feel as bleh.”

Sukuna can only stare at you. You cross the living room and kneel beside him on the couch. He’s been so patient with you, so doting, you feel bad you changed up your birth control so suddenly last time. You reach across to run your fingers through his hair.

“I know you hated the condoms,” you say, an apologetic smile on your face.

“Stupid things,” Sukuna grumbles, leaning into your touch.

The two of you had only had sex once with a condom and it was obvious Sukuna was displeased. Since then, you’ve been sticking to hand and mouth activities, which is great but not enough forever.

“Well, I’m sorry,” you tell him. “We don’t need to use them anymore.”

You lean across to press a kiss against his lips.

“I missed you, ‘Kuna,” you tell him softly, your eyes glancing down pointedly. “All of you.”

A grin crawls across his face as he kisses you back.

“You still have me, baby,” he says. “I’m right here.”

Truthfully, Sukuna’s been slipping you sleeping pills every couple of nights, taking his fill of you without a condom. You wake up every so often a bit achy and sore but Sukuna’s careful to clean up after himself, never leaving a trace, so you don’t pay it much mind. Meanwhile, Sukuna’s happy to keep doting on you, knowing he’s spilling his seed unprotected in you without you even knowing.

He slipped you the morning after pill the first couple of times but the more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea of getting you pregnant. Your needy little pussy so eager for his cum, fucking his load into you until it takes. The idea was intoxicating. So he stopped spiking your coffee with the morning after pill. All he needs to do now is wait.

Until you interrupt his plans again.

Sukuna waits until you’re out of the house before he starts rifling through the bathroom cabinets. He finds your new pills quickly, a few of them already popped. He regards them with disgust. Just another barrier between you.

He takes a picture of them, making a note of the name and brand. After some difficult searching and a trip to the dark web, Sukuna finds someone who’ll send out several identical boxes, except filled with sugar pills instead. With a grin, he orders them.

Sukuna has to spend a few days finishing inside you knowing you’re still protected, waiting for the fake pills to arrive. He knows you’d get suspicious if he refrained from sex – it’s Sukuna, after all – so he fucks you the way you want, the thought of the prize at the end keeping him going.

You return home one day to see Sukuna with your favourite flowers, the lights turned low, and a smile on his face. Your sweet boyfriend.

You remember what you thought of him before you got together – an arrogant fuckboy would be putting it lightly. What should have been a quick, albeit satisfying, one night stand has somehow turned into the most loving relationship you’ve ever had.

You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him deep, your tongue flicking over his. He’s been in a semi-bad mood ever since you said you were switching pills but he seems to have gotten over it, returning to the gruff but loving guy you know.

“I love you, baby,” Sukuna mumbles into your mouth. “Get on the bed.”

He doesn’t give you time to respond before he carries you through to the bedroom himself. You’re used to this, being manhandled by Sukuna, so you only giggle as he throws you onto the bed. He reaches under your skirt to tug off your panties before crawling between your legs.

Sukuna inhales the scent of you. You smell so dark and sweet, it’s like you’re custom built to turn him on. Ever since the night he broke into your room to taste you as you slept, he hasn’t been able to stop tasting you. You often find yourself in the middle of tasks, cooking or studying, interrupted by Sukuna nudging his face between your legs to lap at you.

Sukuna wraps his arms around your thighs to pull you closer, his tongue parting your folds. You’re already glistening for him, so ready for him, and he loves that about you. Loves that he can take you whenever he wants, your pussy just waiting for him. You taste even better now that he knows you’ve been on the fake birth control pills for a week now, your scent somehow more powerful now he knows you’re unprotected, ready for his seed.

He groans into your pussy at the thought, his cock already throbbing. He licks a fat stripe along your lips before prodding at your entrance, lapping at your sweet honey. His nose nudges your clit, making you groan and card your fingers through his hair. You’d grind against him if you could, if his grip allowed you, but you’re no match for Sukuna’s strength. He always holds you in place, holds you exactly where he wants to.

Sukuna eats your pussy selfishly, the way he enjoys it rather than you – your pleasure being a nice bonus but not always necessary. His thick tongue slides in and out of your hole, gathering as much of your slick as possible, and you have to whine for him to please, please lick your clit. As usual, he brings you to the brink but doesn’t take you over unless you beg him.

Sukuna latches onto your clit, sucking it with just enough pressure to send you hurtling over the edge. His tongue swipes over the sensitive bud as he sucks and your whole body would buck if he wasn’t pinning you down so tightly. You moan and writhe as you come undone on his tongue, Sukuna licking up your juices as they run down his chin. He only pulls away when he’s painfully hard, needing to feel you around him before he bursts.

Sukuna quickly positions himself, slinging your ankles up over his shoulders as he aligns with your sopping cunt. He pushes himself in, feeling the fat head of his cock pop inside you before several more inches follow. You cry out his name, digging your nails into his forearm.

He normally goes slower than this, normally lets you adjust. But when you look up at him, Sukuna’s eyes are feral. Something instinctual has taken over him, has made him desperate to rut into you.

“S-Sukuna,” you whimper. “P-please… slower…”

A muscle bounces in his jaw but he obliges, the sound of your begging appeasing him. He doesn’t push any deeper but instead fucks you with shallow thrusts, only going halfway down his shaft.

It feels like your needy pussy is sucking him in, despite your pleading, and Sukuna has to fight to restrain himself. Your sweet, fertile womb is waiting for him and there’s nothing he wants more than to coat it with his cum.

But he does love you. He loves you so much. He doesn’t want to hurt you, not really, not when you’re whimpering so sweetly for him, your nails digging into him so desperately. So he rocks his hips, waiting for you to adjust, waiting for the wince on your face to turn to pleasure, before he sinks himself deeper.

“Ah, fuck… that’s it…” Sukuna half sighs, half grunts as he bottoms out. “Who’s pussy is this?”

“Y-yours, Sukuna,” you moan.

“Who do you belong to?”

“You, Sukuna!”

“Say it.”

“I belong to you. All of me belongs to you.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, your brain foggy with lust.

Sukuna’s pushing you to the brink again, his thick cock pistoning in and out of you as he rubs against your most sensitive spot. Sukuna feels you cream on his cock, helpless to it, your body not your own.

As you moan and mewl, Sukuna looks down at you and pictures you pregnant with his child. He imagines your swollen belly, how your heavy breasts will sway, how you’ll be with him forever.

His forever.

It’s enough to finish him. Sukuna groans long and low, sinking inside you as he spurts load after load into your womb. He fills you to the brim, his orgasm so powerful he falls onto his arms, muscles shaking.

He’s still inside you as he kisses you roughly, unlike the sweet, deep kisses he usually gives you after sex. You kiss him back but it’s only when you feel his hips rock again, his length still inside you that you realise he’s not done.

“’Kuna…?”

Sukuna ignores you as he pulls out long enough to flip you onto your stomach. He pushes your leg up, bending it at the knee to give him better access as he slides himself into you again.

You gasp as your tender pussy is violated, your hands splayed out as Sukuna pins your down with his body weight. He’s still fully hard, his girth hitting a new angle as he fucks his load back into you.

“S-Sukuna…” you whimper. “M’sore!”

“Quiet,” he commands you, voice rough. “I can feel how fucking wet you are so be a good little slut and let me finish.”

Sukuna’s harsh voice silences you as you bury your face into the pillow, hands fisting the bed sheets. He’s right – you’re tender but you’re still enjoying it, your pussy drooling around his cock. His cum is only making you sloppier, only making it easier for him to fuck you. So you stay quiet, softly whimpering into the pillow.

Sukuna continues fucking you, the feel of your plush walls still so tight around him and the lewd squelch of your sopping pussy making his second orgasm build quickly. He wants to fuck as much cum in you as he can, wants to fill your womb with it.

The fact that you’re unaware, still thinking you’re protected, is a delicious bonus. A thrill runs up his spine as he thinks about how you’re letting him fuck you, letting him cum inside you, when you never would if you knew.

If you only knew.

You lay there, legs nearly numb and body drained of any energy, as Sukuna continues to saw in and out of you. You feel one of his large hands scoop under your hip, lifting you slightly so he can go deeper. Sukuna handles you like you’re just a hole for him to fuck and you realise the thought makes you even wetter. Your walls are so sensitive, each stroke feels like fire through your body, half pleasure and half pain.

Your abused pussy clenches involuntarily around Sukuna's girth as he forces a orgasm from you, his hips snapping against your ass at a brutal pace.

Having you in this position reminds Sukuna of every night he’s fucked you while you’re asleep, your body limp and pliant, just waiting to be moved to his liking. Except this time he's fucked you into submission, his own personal little fucktoy.

“Fuck…” he mutters, his cock swelling. “You’re such a good girl for me. You’re so fucking good.”

He’s so close. Your pussy feels too warm and soft, too greedy for his cum for him to last any longer. Sukuna grips your hip hard enough to leave bruises, holding you in place as he fucks into you. His balls tighten at his approaching orgasm and you can hear his moans behind you, his cock nearly overly sensitive.

You’re almost relieved as you feel his hot cum spill inside you, Sukuna’s thrusts slowing as his cock throws thick ropes of his sticky seed in your womb. Your breathing is ragged, your face streaked with tears you didn’t realise you were crying.

Sukuna pulls out of you but stays where he is, breathing hard. After a moment, he presses a soft kiss to your shoulder.

“Sorry, baby,” he murmurs. “Couldn’t help myself. You just felt so good.”

Sukuna smooths his hand across your back, pressing more gentle kisses against your neck and shoulder. You let him, blinking away the last of the tears.

“I love you,” Sukuna says quietly.

You roll over to face him, wincing at the tender ache between your legs.

“I love you too,” you whisper.

Sukuna kisses you again, the way you remember, soft and deep. You want to ask what came over him but when he tells you he’s going to clean you up and run you a hot bath, you decide you don’t mind.

True to his word, Sukuna gently cleans you before leaving you to soak in the bath. He offers to stay with you but you insist you want to sit alone for a while, peppering him with reassuring kisses. And you do sit alone for a while, for a few minutes.

Quietly, you climb out of the bath and open the cabinet to find your birth control pills. You check you’ve taken the dummy pills Sukuna got you before putting them back in the cabinet. You sink silently to your knees and carefully lift one of the tiles on the bathroom floor. Sitting there are your real birth control pills.

You pop one free, swallowing it quickly before putting it back, replacing the tile without making a sound. You climb back into the bath slowly so you don’t splash before lying back again, relaxing.

You first discovered Sukuna’s sleeping pills when he was out collecting your favourite takeout some weeks ago. You figured that was the reason you were waking up some mornings with a familiar ache.

You discovered the tracking app on your phone the morning after Sukuna had installed it and had spotted him following at a distance behind you some days. So you gave him what he wanted – you made sure he saw you ignored other men and you never lied about your location.

You got your own set of morning after pills once you found the sleeping pills, knowing immediately what Sukuna was up to. He might think you’re unprotected, might fuck you like you are, but only you know that’s not true.

You close your eyes, enjoying the soak of the hot water. You know Sukuna does this because he loves you. Because he’s obsessed with you. You like that he's rough with you you, that he loves you so much he stalks you, that he wants to get you pregnant so he'll never lose you.

You love him just as much back. Your sweet, doting boyfriend who thinks he knows everything about you, who thinks he’s the one in control.

Your smirk to yourself.

If only he knew.

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Taglist: @sterzin @venus1224idkpleaze

[dandylovesturtles]

It's time! For Room Fic Part 4 Part B! Of how many parts? IDK ANYMORE

This is the longest part of the fic yet, and it's also the most... talky. But I felt like this was a part of the recovery everyone wanted to see so I thiiiink it's fine.

Content warnings: vomiting, HEAVY discussion of eating issues (including calorie counting, done purely as a recovery mechanism in this fic but still worth noting), mentions of the non-consensual voyeurism that happened in the first part, and as always, anxiety and aftermath of torture

If you're lost, start here!

I'm soooo tired I only proofread like half of this. it'll go through full editing when it goes on AO3

-----

Leo crashes into his room and grabs anything within arm’s reach to pull over himself. The blanket from his bed. A cardboard box, contents dumped on the floor. His skateboard, a beach towel, a plank of wood used to prop up action figures.

He cowers into his claustrophobic, makeshift nest, clutching his ill gotten gains to his chest. He doesn’t know why he bothered, because there’s nowhere to hide in here, and then they’ll…

They’ll do what? It’s his family. And if they’re upset with him for stealing the chips, well, he deserves that. Who is he to take food, when they’re running low already?

That’s what he expected, actually, when the lights flipped on and Raph was standing there. To get yelled at, chewed out, dressed down - the way he’d been waiting for Raph to do this whole time. Why can’t he just do as he’s told? Why does he always make the wrong decisions?

But Raph hadn’t yelled. He ran off. And now Leo doesn’t know what to expect at all.

He assumes Raph went to get their dad, or even Draxum. He waits in his hiding spot, heart pounding in his ears, and listens for the call of his full name, the surefire indicator that he’s in Big Time Trouble. He stole food, food he isn’t even allowed to eat, and when they’re running low, too. He doesn’t know what the punishment is going to be, and the fear of not knowing pulls him deeper into his nest.

He wants to know. He dreads finding out.

Time passes. He has no idea how much. There’s no clocks in here (there hadn’t been any clocks in there), and his phone is on the nightstand, hooked to its charger. To get it he would have to leave his hiding place. And he’s scared.

So he waits and waits and waits. Until his limbs grow uncomfortable and cramped, until no amount of shifting dulls the pain. His heart is still rabbit quick in his chest. (He may be a turtle but call him the hare-)

No one comes for him.

Finally, finally, when his body physically can’t take this position anymore, he scoots out of his hiding spot and gets to his feet, bag of chips clutched in his fingers. He walks to the curtain over his doorway - though “walks” is really overselling it, with the way he pauses for hours between every step.

When he makes it to the doorway, he peeks out.

The lair is quiet. Everything is dark. No one is stirring.

He makes his way back to his bed, and looks at the bag in his hands. He feels so anxious that he’s nauseous. And he can’t eat if he’s nauseous or he’ll lose his dinner.

So he can’t even eat the damn things. The irony would be funny if he could laugh.

He kneels down and fishes around under his bed for a box he knows is there. It’s full of little toys and trinkets from childhood - things he saved from the old lair that he couldn’t bear to throw away, but is too embarrassed to be seen with.

He dumps the contents of the box into the bigger one he hid under earlier. This is more important.

Then he hides the chips inside and scoots the box under the bed.

He climbs back onto his mattress, cringing when the bed springs creak. His blanket is still on the floor, but he doesn’t want to get up and risk making more noise.

So he curls up on his mattress and stares at the wall and tries futilely to sleep.

Donnie’s brand new curtains don’t even help. Maybe that’s part of his punishment.

-----

Somehow, he manages to make it to breakfast. He doesn’t remember who poked their head in to tell him it was ready, or how he picked himself up and walked to the kitchen. He just ends up there.

Mikey greets him with a sunny grin and the announcement that he gets oatmeal today, along with his scrambled eggs. There’s even some banana on top of the oats. He should be excited for the variety, but he feels numb. Still, he smiles as he’s expected to and thanks Mikey and hopes it passes scrutiny.

Draxum comes in, and then his dad. He stiffens up for both, muscles tense while he waits for the yelling to start. But no one starts yelling. Draxum sits and eats and Leo hears him give a reminder to take vitamins. Splinter reads out the shopping list, and everyone scrambles to add last minute items. 

Normally, this is where Leo would be chiming in with all the snacks and junk food he wants, but he knows if he says anything he’ll be turned down, so he doesn’t. He can feel the weirdness of it, but he doesn’t take his eyes off his food to see anyone’s appraisal.

Donnie’s last in; he drinks his coffee fast and tries his luck with adding uranium to the list. He grabs a granola bar instead of eating what the rest of them are having, then tells Mikey to meet him at the entrance in five minutes and leaves. Mikey piles the dishes in the sink, then rounds the table to give everyone a hug goodbye, Draxum included.

Leo smiles when Mikey gets to him. Says, “Have a good day, Mikester.” Swallows down the impulse to grab on and beg him to stay.

He finishes breakfast, then goes to the TV room and settles into the recliner. Raph comes by and pats his shoulder and tells him to call if he needs anything. Splinter hops up and pats his head before following Raph away.

He’s alone now. Alone, with Draxum, who’s currently in the kitchen doing who knows what.

(Leo doesn’t like leaving him alone in there. All their food is in there.)

(Well, not all of it. Leo’s made sure of that.)

He lays in the chair and pretends to be asleep. And he listens. 

To be sure that his brothers and dad are really gone, and aren’t coming back for a forgotten wallet or phone.

Until Draxum leaves the kitchen and moves for the train car he’s taken over as his own.

Until he’s sure no one is watching him.

Then he gets up. He goes to his room. He’s not sure why he feels like he’s sneaking, when he’s obviously allowed to be there.

He makes sure all his windows are covered, curtains or otherwise. Makes sure the curtain over his door is stretched as far as it will go.

Then, as silently as possible, he reaches under his bed and pulls out the box. Opens it to reveal his stolen goods.

He unrolls the top of the bag, wincing at each crackle of the plastic. His eyes dart to the door, to the windows, to make sure no one is there, no one is watching him.

Then he reaches his hand in and grabs a chip in his fingers.

He’s not sure if he should do this now. Maybe he should wait, save this when things get dire. But everyone is gone. They’ve left him alone, with Draxum. What if Draxum doesn’t let him eat, with no one here to step in?

He’s scared of being hungry again. He doesn’t want to go back to that place. 

Just a few, he tells himself. Just a few, and then he’ll stop.

He pulls the chip out of the bag, and takes a bite.

-----

They’re at the local grocery where no one asks questions, basket half full and three minutes in to Splinter trying to decide if the Buy One Get One Half Off deal for frozen dinners is really worth it or not, when it occurs to Raph that maybe they shouldn’t have all left at the same time.

Of course, in normal times this wouldn’t have been a big deal at all, especially with a nominally responsible adult in the lair. But times haven’t been normal for over two weeks now. The thin shell of his little brother, once always the biggest and loudest in the room, now trying to make himself as small as possible, isn’t normal. 

They got Leo back, but it still feels like someone else has him.

And now Raph feels guilty. He’d been so desperate to just get away, from the feeling of being inadequate, from the fear he’d make things worse, that now he’s probably made them worse anyway by leaving Leo alone with a guy he does not like. Raph should have stayed home. Or told Mikey and Donnie to wait until he and Splinter were back before leaving.

(That worries him too, for different reasons. He knows he can’t lock his brothers up in the lair to keep them safe. But he kinda wants to.)

But he didn’t do any of that, and now they’re out and Leo is alone. Raph thinks of the chip bag and sighs. He just can’t seem to make the right decisions. The calculus is overwhelming, and Raph’s always left math to Donnie.

“Hey Pop,” he says, watching Splinter flip his fourth TV dinner over to look at the nutritional information. “Do you think… Leo is gonna be okay?”

Splinter pauses, then gingerly puts the box into their basket. He pats Raph at the knee, and Raph feels the overwhelming desire to be small again. 

“...Yes, I do. It will take time and care, but I think, one day-”

“No,” Raph cuts in, “I mean, do you think Leo is gonna be okay today? I mean, we kinda just ran off and left him alone.”

“He is not alone.” Splinter makes a face, at odds with his words. “Baron Draxum is the most annoying man in the world, but he would not let harm come to you boys.”

Raph rubs his neck. “Sure, but… Leo’s not exactly Draxum’s biggest fan. Especially not now…”

“Blue does not have to like him,” says Splinter airily. “He just has to eat the food Draxum gives him.”

“Yeah, but that’s the whole problem,” Raph insists. “He’s bein’ a huge jerk about it.”

“Ah… I know. I have spoken to him about his… tone.” Splinter waves a hand. “He is trying to be more polite.”

Raph thinks back to breakfast this morning. He’d laugh if anything were funny right now. “Is that why he was all “please” and “thank you” and “sorry” this morning? He looked like he ate a lemon.”

And judging by how distant Leo was acting, he doubts any of it made an impression. 

“It just proves that the man is incapable of being nice!” Splinter chuckles. “Do not worry, Red. We will only be gone a few hours. Most likely, Blue will sleep until we are back.”

“Raph hopes so…”

They continue moving around the aisles, crossing things off their list as they do. It’s normal and boring and Raph thinks he needs that right now. If only it distracted him from the thoughts in his head…

There’s so many questions to dwell on. And the biggest one looms over them all, constantly drawing Raph’s attention back to it.

They’re in the soup aisle when he speaks up again, saying, “Hey, Pops, do you think…” and then flagging out before he can voice it.

“Often,” says Splinter, reaching for a can of tomato bisque. “But at my age, it can be difficult!”

Raph snorts despite himself, grabbing the soup can and passing it to his dad’s fingers. “Come on, Raph’s trying to ask a serious question here!”

“Hm.” Splinter puts the can in their basket. “Then I will give a serious answer.”

“Do you think…” Raph shifts the shopping basket from one hand to the other, and resolves not to chicken out this time. “Do you think Leo did the right thing? Not talkin’ to that Bishop guy?”

Splinter goes quiet for a long time. He points to a can of alphabet soup, the kind Leo insists he’s too old for but will happily eat when he’s sick, and Raph dutifully puts the can in the basket.

“…I think he did the brave and noble thing,” he says at length.

“That ain’t the same,” says Raph.

“I do not know if there was a right thing.” Splinter’s voice is sad, fingers idly stroking one of the soup cans. “It could be that if Blue had talked, he would not be as hurt as he is now. Or it could be that Bishop would have… disposed of him, once they had what they wanted.”

The idea of Bishop “disposing” of Leo steals Raph’s breath. But it’s not like he hasn’t thought of this before.

“April said pretty much the same thing.”

“Oho! April is very wise.” Splinter nods in satisfaction, affirming for Raph once again that his favorite kid is definitely April. But then he looks up at Raph sidelong and says, “But that answer does not satisfy you.”

Raph sighs. “It’s just… what if he thought he had to stay quiet, because of something I- because he thought it’s what he was supposed to do?”

A furry hand lands on his. Raph takes a deep shuddering breath, and uses his free hand to scrub at his eyes. They’re damp, suddenly, and he’s not sure when that happened.

“…I often worry the same thing,” says Splinter, “about all four of you.”

Raph doesn’t know what to say to that. He already knows that their dad would give anything for the four of them to not have to fight; he also knows it’s out of his dad’s hands.

Why can he accept that, but not accept the same for himself?

“I’m afraid I do not have an answer for your question,” says Splinter, pulling Raph back to the grocery store. “I want you boys to be safe. But the situation Leonardo was in afforded him no safety. I’m not sure there is a choice he could have made that would have helped him. Still…” Splinter sighs. “It could be the reasons he made the choice he did are troubling.”

“Yeah,” says Raph. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Mm.” Splinter pats Raph’s hand. “Your questions and worries are wise ones, Raphael. Meditate on your answer, and when you are ready, share it with Blue. You will find your path forward together.”

Raph chews on his lips. “I’m scared I’m gonna mess up,” he admits.

“Sharing the truth in your heart is never a mistake,” says Splinter, “so long as you are doing it with love.”

Raph blinks at him. “Pops, isn’t that a line from one of your movies?”

“It is a good line! Very heartfelt.” He picks up another can of soup and tosses it into the basket. “As long as you are talking to Blue with love, you will do just fine, Red. And remember, this is not your sole responsibility. We are all here to help each other.”

It should be self-evident, but the reminder pulls some weight off Raph’s shoulders. It’s not just up to him. Everyone is coming together to help Leo. That’s why Donnie and Mikey are at the scrapyard, to finish making curtain rods for Leo’s room. That’s why Draxum is always researching and scribbling in his notebook, refining his meal plan for Leo’s recovery.

It’s not just Raph against the world. He isn’t alone, and neither is Leo.

“Yeah, I know. Thanks, Pops.”

“Of course, Red. Now, let’s keep moving or we’ll be late getting back!”

On their way to the checkout line, Raph spots the candy aisle, and a bag of hard, sour candies. He stops, reaching out and brushing the bag with his fingers.

“Mm… that is Blue’s favorite, isn’t it?” asks Splinter.

“Yeah.” Raph pulls the bag off its hook, holding it over the basket uncertainly. “I know he can’t have ‘em yet, but he’ll be able to eat normal stuff soon, right?”

“Right.” Splinter nods. “Put them in! We will hide them until Draxum says it is okay, then give them to him.”

Raph grins and drops the bag into the basket. At least it’s something to look forward to.

-----

Leo is halfway through the bag of chips when the curtain to his room is pushed aside and Draxum is standing there.

He was saying something about the vitamins Leo forgot to take as he came in, the little blue pill organizer clutched in his hand. But now he freezes, taking in the scene: Leo with a handful of sour cream and onion chips, his cheeks bulging slightly, the salty evidence tracking up the sleeve of his hoodie.

He’s crossed the room before Leo can blink. He grabs Leo’s wrist, and Leo cries out, twisting his arm to try and free himself.

But he can’t, he’s weak, he’s so weak-

“What are you eating!?” Draxum bellows. He tosses the pill organizer onto Leo’s bedside table; one of the lids pops open and there’s little plinks as vitamins scatter. “How much of this have you had!?”

He wrenches the bag out of Leo’s grip, and Leo yelps again as he loses the food. The only food he had, and now Draxum has it and Leo is going to-

“This bag is over half empty,” snarls Draxum, waving it in Leo’s face. Leo doesn’t have the presence of mind to defend himself, because he’s still trying to wrench his wrist free. He claws at Draxum’s arm with his free hand, and somehow it gets Draxum to let go; he jerks away with a gasp, dropping the handful of chips to the floor, and at the same time the ones already in his mouth leave painful scratches down his throat and lodge there. Leo doubles over and wheezes in a desperate attempt to get air.

“Are you- Leonardo!” Draxum looms over him, and Leo doesn’t have the strength to flee. He can’t do anything as Draxum strikes him, once, twice, three times on the shell in big, open-palmed slaps.

A white-hot cough rips up Leo’s throat, and he spews the half-chewed potato chips across his blanket, bits of drool and spittle dangling from his lips and tears rolling down his face. He sucks in a deep breath as feeling returns to his limbs.

The hand that hit him moves toward him again, and Leo dodges this time, flinging himself off his bed and into the floor, scrambling backwards to put distance between himself and his attacker.

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” he shouts, hand flailing for his swords and not finding them. Where did he put them? Where did they take them?

“Leonardo-” 

Draxum takes a step toward him, and Leo pushes to his feet, grabbing for anything nearby to defend himself. But there’s nothing, nothing, where are his swords-

“Leonardo,” says Draxum more firmly, and he takes another step forward. “Stop this, you’re going to hurt-”

“No!” Leo presses himself back against the bookcase on the far wall, the metal shelves biting into the skin of his arms. “No,” he repeats, and a high, manic laugh bubbles through his throat. “You took my food.”

“This,” Draxum shakes the bag, “is all empty calories. This is not going to help your recovery! Why can’t you just do as you’re told-”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Leo spits. He feels stronger than he did a moment ago, pushing himself off the bookshelf and standing on steadier legs, squaring up against Draxum. “Just do as I’m told?” He laughs, a cold sound. “Just like Bishop wanted.”

Draxum stiffens. Something about his expression is… weird. If Leo didn’t know better, he’d almost say Draxum looks scared. “Do not compare me to him,” he says, and his voice is much lower than it was a moment ago. “I am trying to help you.”

“Help me?” Leo holds out his hand, taking a step forward. “Then give me my food back.”

Draxum watches him, gaze unwavering. He holds the chip bag closer to his chest. “I cannot.”

Leo barks out a laugh, high and cold. “I knew it. You’re just lying to me.”

Now he’s the one advancing on Draxum, slow but strong steps, one at a time. Draxum does not move.

“Leonardo-”

“I’m on to you,” says Leo. His voice is a chilly sing-song. “You’re sooo happy to have everyone out of the house. Now there’s no one to stop you from torturing me. Now you can watch me suffer.”

“I do not want you to suffer,” says Draxum, his tone measured. He still hasn’t moved an inch, even though Leo is right in front of him now, within striking distance. 

“Then why did you take my food!?”

“This is not good for you,” says Draxum. “I’ll feed you a healthy lunch in two hours.”

“Yeah?” Leo shakes his head. “What do you want me to do for it?”

Draxum’s eyes widen. “What do you mean?”

“Come on. Tell me.” Leo grins. It hurts his face. “Want me down on my knees? Want me to beg?”

Draxum’s face goes a shade paler. “No,” he says, firm. “You don’t have to do anything.”

“I don’t believe you,” says Leo. He laughs again. “I don’t. I don’t BELIEVE YOU!”

His fist connects with the glass- but it’s not glass, it’s Draxum’s face, and he goes sailing across the room like a rag doll. He slams back first into shelving, and there’s a clatter as Leo’s possessions tumble and fall around him.

He looks at Leo, eyes wide but expression steady, despite the fact that Leo just…

Leo… doesn’t know what just happened.

He shouldn’t have been able to hit that hard. He shouldn’t have been able to hit at all- Draxum should have blocked that, should have fought back, should have… should have…

“...What?” says Leo, and it comes out with a crack down the middle.

Draxum watches him a moment longer. Then he sighs and pushes himself off the shelves, getting back to his feet. He doesn’t come closer. “I cannot give you these,” he says, indicating the bag. “But I will not fight you.”

“...Why not?” Leo asks, because it just doesn’t follow anything he thought was happening here.

“Because I care for you,” says Draxum simply. Like it’s obvious.

“...I don’t understand,” Leo says, because he doesn’t.

Draxum nods. “That’s because I haven’t properly explained it to you. I didn’t think it was necessary… but it was. Is.” He sighs, rubbing his cheek, starting to glow red from Leo’s punch. “I’m very sorry for that, Leonardo.”

Leo stares. Draxum is… apologizing? He should be attacking, fighting back, not apologizing!

The adrenaline leeches out of Leo, leaving him sagging in the middle of his room - his messy room, with everything thrown around like it’s in an active war zone. A million emotions are running through him, his dying rage warring against the confusion and the beginnings of remorse, a roiling mix that leaves him feeling sick to his stomach.

…Oh wait, no. He’s actually sick to his stomach.

Leo clamps a hand over his mouth, and Draxum is moving again - more calmly, this time. He drops the chip bag on the floor and grabs the wastebasket Leo has sitting by what could generously be called a desk. He holds it out, just in time for Leo to lose his breakfast and all the chips he just downed.

Leo hovers over the wastebasket until he’s empty, until he’s spit a few times to try and get rid of the taste. Then he wipes his mouth on his palm and looks up at Draxum warily.

“Are you finished?” Draxum asks.

Leo shrugs. Draxum takes that as an affirmative and lowers the wastebasket to the floor by the doorway.

“Why are you helping me?” Leo asks.

“I’ve been helping you this whole time,” says Draxum, and it’s only the exasperation that manages to break through that makes Leo think it’s - maybe - not a lie.

“Why?” he repeats, more urgently. 

“Because you are my son.”

Leo steps back, his knees knocking into his bed. He sinks down onto the mattress, balling himself up until he can wrap his arms around his knees. 

“No,” he says. “Mikey’s your son. Raph and Donnie, they’re your sons.”

A look passes over Draxum’s face. It’s… sad.

“You are my son, too.” Draxum takes a step toward him, then seems to second guess himself and stops. “I know we don’t get along. But the fear that froze my chest when they told me you were gone couldn’t mean anything else.”

Leo stares at Draxum, searching every part of his expression for any hint, any suggestion, that he’s lying. He waits for Draxum to change his tune, to start yelling again, to hit him, to do something.

Draxum doesn’t. And Leo sags on the bed. The feeling of fear with nowhere to direct it leaves him floating.

“I’m going to explain everything to you now,” says Draxum. “But I need to get a few things first. Will you be alright on your own for a few minutes?”

Being alone for a few minutes sounds great; Leo needs to pull himself together. He nods.

“Good.” Draxum stoops and picks up the wastebasket, then the bag of chips, and the chips that fell on the floor. “Answer your phone,” he says, “before your brother comes back to skin me alive.”

Then he leaves the train car. It’s only then Leo realizes his phone is ringing - has been ringing.

He scrambles to pick it up, seeing Raph’s name and picture lighting up the screen. Raph, who is supposed to be getting groceries, because they’re running low.

Raph, who apparently didn’t rat him out about the chips.

Leo shakily presses the answer button. Then he takes a deep breath and swallows to try and calm his voice.

Then he does what he does best and starts talking.

-----

“Heeey, bro,” says Leo, and Raph wants to weep with relief.

He’s two full blocks away from the grocery now, headed for the manhole cover closest to the lair. Their groceries are somewhere on the street behind him, and Splinter is held tight in his other arm. When Leo didn’t pick up right away, Raph started moving.

He felt it, after all: not as strong as the first time, not as desperate or afraid, but still there. Leo, terrified and alone and angry, crying out for help.

Leo hadn’t answered the first four calls, and the worst scenarios are still playing out in Raph’s imagination, even though he can hear Leo now.

“Leo!” he cries, and nearly fumbles the phone. He hits the speaker button, lowering it so Splinter can hear, too. “What happened!? Are you okay!? We’re on our way back right now!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” says Leo, and his voice is scratchy and hoarse, but trying to be placating. “What are you talking about, big guy?” He sounds shaky, like saying those words in that tone is taking so much effort, and Raph wants to hit something until it breaks. 

“Just tell me what happened,” he says, trying to sound calm and failing. Splinter pats his arm and speaks up.

“We just need to know if you are alright, Blue.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” says Leo, his voice cracking a bit on the last word. He clears his throat. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Raph falters, staring at the phone. Does Leo not know? Could Leo really not feel himself doing that?

He gives his dad a helpless look. Unfortunately, Splinter looks just as helpless. Raph dithers on his answer too long, finally choking out, “Raph just… got a bad feeling.”

“You get bad feelings over everything.”

(Raph wishes he did. Then he would have gotten a bad feeling when Leo went to Run of the Mill on his own.)

“This was just… a real bad feeling.”

“Leonardo,” says Splinter softly, “are you certain you are okay?”

“Yeah,” says Leo, and he doesn’t sound like he’s okay, but like an actor pretending to be someone who’s okay. “It’s… Look, me and Drax got in a fight, but it wasn’t a big deal.”

“He fought you!?” Raph shouts. Someone across the street gives him a weird look.

“Not physically!” says Leo hastily. “Not- I mean- he didn’t- it’s not like he would hurt me, right?”

It sounds a little too much like an actual question, and Raph feels queasy.

“He better not, or Raph’ll hurt him.”

“Red,” says Splinter softly. Then he says, into the phone, “No, Blue. He will not hurt you.”

“...Right,” says Leo quietly. “Yeah. He won’t.”

Raph breathes shakily, trying to quell the urge to pummel a car parked on the side of the road into scrap metal. “Listen, we’re on our way back right now, okay? Just give us-”

“You got the groceries already?” Leo interrupts. He sounds so fragile.

Again, Raph looks helplessly at Splinter. This time, Splinter steps in.

“We’re getting them right now, Blue. Then we’ll be on our way back.”

“...Yeah. Cool. Good.” Leo clears his throat again. “Then… see you guys in a few?”

“...Yeah,” says Raph, at a loss. “A few.”

“Okay. Well. Bye.”

He hangs up. Raph doesn’t move the phone, staring at it long after the screen goes dark and Leo’s smiling face disappears.

“Pops, we’re not really going back for the food, are we?”

“He’ll be upset if we come back without it.”

Raph knows he’s right. He knows that. But everything in his body is screaming to get back to Leo right now, not to leave him alone for another second.

“We can’t all run off and leave him again,” he says.

“Yes,” agrees Splinter. “You are right.”

Raph nods. Then, even though it tears him apart, he turns around and starts walking back to the grocery store. He hopes no one spotted their bags and took them, or they’ll have to start over. They’ll have to leave Leo alone even longer.

“He hated being alone as a kid,” he says.

“I know,” says his dad.

“We shouldn’t have left him today. I knew it.”

“Yes. You were right.”

Raph feels a little mad at Splinter then, that he didn’t think through the consequences. Splinter said this isn’t on Raph alone, but if he’s the only one thinking about the wellbeing of his brothers…

His brothers.

He puts Splinter down, then unlocks his phone again. “I’m gonna call the other guys. They probably felt that, too.”

“A good idea,” says Splinter. Raph nods at the approval, then clicks Donnie’s contact.

Thankfully for Raph’s anxiety, he answers on the second ring. “Hello you are now conversing with Donatello,” he says in a rush, following up with, “What happened to Leo!? Are you home!?”

“No, but I talked to him,” Raph reassures him quickly. “He says he and Barry got in a fight.”

“A fight!?” Donnie echoes. “Aha! I knew he’d turn back to supervillainy one day! You owe me twenty bucks!” A pause, and then Donnie says, “Wait, is Leo okay!?”

“No,” says Raph honestly, “but I think it’s just a normal sort of bad. It wasn’t that kinda fight.”

“Ah. An emotional fight…” Donnie sighs. “But it was bound to happen, I suppose.”

“…Yeah,” Raph agrees, even though he thinks there must have been something they could have done to prevent it. He thinks about the chips again. He doesn’t know what the right thing was, still. “You felt it, right?”

“Yes. It wasn’t as strong as the first time, though.”

“What about Mikey, did he feel it, too?”

“Probably.”

Raph frowns. “You don’t know?”

“I am not Micheal.”

“…So can you ask?”

“I suppose I can text him for you.”

Raph nearly drops the phone. Then he glances down at Splinter, looking for any hint that he’s listening into Donnie’s half of the conversation.

“Why don’t you ask him, since he is right there with you where he is supposed to be!?”

“H-huh? Oh. Oh, yes!” Donnie chuckles nervously. “The buddy system, where he is my buddy, and stays in the same place as me and doesn’t go anywhere else.”

“Right,” hisses Raph. “That buddy system.”

“Yes! Well. He iiiis…n’t with me, but! He is. Here. On the other side of the junkyard!”

Raph rubs the bridge of his nose. “Well, tell him to get back from the other side of the junkyard right now so he can be with his buddy!”

“Yes, I will do that. Right now. And then we’ll be together because we’re in the same place, haha, but I’m so very busy right now goodbye Raphala!”

He hangs up the phone. Raph scowls at it.

“Is everything alright?” asks Splinter, and Raph wants to rat them out, just for a moment, but he ain’t a snitch. Even when he thinks his brothers are being unbelievably stupid.

“Everything’s fine, Pops,” he says, quickly opening his text thread with Mikey.

boy you better get your butt back to D right now or so help me you will NOT like what comes next

Then he gives Splinter a strained smile and repeats, “Everything’s fine! Let’s get those groceries!”

-----

When Draxum comes back, he’s carrying a plastic baggy, a bottle of Gatorade, and a whiteboard under his arm. He requests permission to sit on Leo’s bed, and Leo nods reluctantly.

He sets the whiteboard to the side, then opens the Gatorade and passes it to Leo. Then he opens the plastic baggy and holds that out, too.

There’s crackers in the bag. Leo takes them, a little stunned.

“I can eat these?” he asks.

“They’ll help settle your stomach,” says Draxum. “It’s not good for you to eat too much, but it’s also not good for your stomach to sit empty.”

Leo cautiously takes one of the crackers out, watching Draxum as he does. When no hand reaches to stop him, he takes a bite, chewing slow. He still feels a little nauseous, but the familiar texture and taste of the cracker soothes him somehow.

“Good,” says Draxum, propping the whiteboard on his knees and popping the cap off a marker. “Take sips of the drink, too. You need the electrolytes.”

Leo does as he’s told, alternating bites of the cracker with sips of the Gatorade. His stomach slowly unknots, and the tension in his shoulders relaxes.

He wasn’t expecting a snack, but Draxum brought him one.

On the board, Draxum has written the days of the week, and drawn out a grid underneath them. Leo eats his snack and watches as Draxum fills each square on the grid with a number.

“Where’d you even get that?” he asks after a minute.

“I borrowed it from Donatello’s lab.”

Leo whistles. “Without asking?”

“I don’t think he will mind.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Leo points at the numbers. They aren’t times, or prices, so… “What are these?”

Draxum lowers the board, turning to look at Leo. “Do you know what refeeding syndrome is?”

“…Should I?”

Draxum shakes his head. “No, there’s no reason for you to have known. I should have explained this sooner, but it didn’t feel necessary. …And I thought it might scare you.”

“Scare me?” Leo repeats. He’s not sure what could be even more scary than the fear he feels all the time now.

“I am not telling you this to scare you,” Draxum stresses. “I am telling you this so you understand what is happening now.”

Leo slowly nods.

“Right. So, do you know that when a person is starving, their body changes how it processes nutrients?”

“Yeah, it’s like, starvation mode.”

“If you must call it that,” says Draxum with a nod. “The body stops relying on carbs and glucose and uses fatty acids instead. This helps preserve the muscles, but causes a severe depletion in intracellular minerals.”

That sounded like a Donnie-level infodump to Leo. He stares at Draxum blankly. “Can you say that again, en Ingles por favor?”

Draxum actually makes a noise that could almost be a laugh. “Alright, think of it this way: a painter wants to use purple, but their purple paints are running low. So they start using red and blue mixed together, which solves the problem of preserving the purple paint, at the cost of running low on red and blue.”

Leo raises his eye ridges. “Is this how you explain stuff to Mikey?”

Draxum shrugs. “He understands art metaphors.”

Leo settles back a little more comfortably on his bed. He munches on a cracker. “It’s fine for today. Think of a comic book metaphor for next time.”

Draxum gives a long suffering sigh and says, “Fine. But do you understand now?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Good. So when a person eats again after a long term starvation event, their body won’t start relying on glucose again right away. It’s still in “starvation mode,” as you called it, and switching isn’t easy. The painter buys a new purple paint, but the color is different enough that they will have to use more red and blue to blend the two together.”

“I’m starting to lose track of the art metaphor here. We added purple, but we’re still low on red and blue, right?”

“Yes, precisely. Your body is low on critical minerals, and those need to be replenished at the same time it is given more carbs to convert to glucose.”

“But I still don’t understand why that means I have to eat less,” says Leo.

“Digestion itself takes energy,” says Draxum. “And the body isn’t using the tools it’s being given properly yet. So it is using more and more minerals without replacing any. The imbalance leads to stress on the body, which has negative downstream effects.”

“So, TLDR, if I eat too much right now, my body can’t handle it and I’ll get sick.”

“I have no idea what TLDR means, but yes, simply put.”

Leo looks at the cracker in his hand thoughtfully. “So all the times I’ve puked are refeeding syndrome?”

“No,” says Draxum with a shake of his head. “That is because your stomach has shrunk, and you’ve overstuffed it.” A pause, then Draxum adds, “Though I believe what just happened was a stress response.”

“I’m not stressed,” says Leo. The look Draxum gives him is not convinced. “Sooo then what is refeeding syndrome if it’s not barfing?”

“The lack of minerals causes severe stress on all parts of the body, especially the organs. This can lead to a number of disorders… including organ failure.” Draxum pauses, like he doesn’t want to say more, but he still adds, “In extreme cases, it can lead to heart failure.”

The cracker Leo is holding slips through his fingers. He feels his pulse speed up, something cold and terrible sliding through him.

“If I eat too much my heart could stop?” he asks, and his voice is small.

“In extreme cases,” Draxum repeats. “If you began showing symptoms, we would take you to a hospital. Even in the Hidden City there is no mystic cure-all for this, but they could at least reduce the stress on your organs.”

Leo shakes his head. His hands are trembling. The words feel like they’re coming to him through thousands of feet of water.

“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

“I did not want to scare you,” Draxum says again. “And I did not think it was necessary. Refeeding syndrome is entirely preventable, if precautions are taken.”

It barely penetrates. All Leo wants is food. All he wants is to eat. But now food somehow feels like the enemy. He suddenly queasy again. Should he even be eating these crackers? What is safe? What isn’t?

“Is this forever?” he manages to ask. 

He doesn’t know how to take it, if it is.

“No,” says Draxum quickly. He raises his hand and reaches toward Leo, but Leo flinches. Draxum lets it drop again. “…No, Leonardo, it is not forever,” he says, and his voice is more soft than Leo has ever heard it - more soft than he thought Draxum capable of. “The most critical time for refeeding is the first five to seven days. You are almost clear of the danger zone now. And your enhanced biology may even mean we’re already past it… though I am still being cautious.”

Leo lets out a breath. So it’s not forever - it may even be over. It doesn’t calm the racing of his heart (at least he knows it hasn’t stopped, ha ha), but it does make him feel like he can pick up the cracker again.

“Then what happens once we’re past it?”

“That is what this is for.” Draxum lifts the whiteboard again, perching it on his knees. “Even once you’re out of danger of refeeding syndrome, we’ll still need to build your daily food intake up gradually, until you can eat like you once did. These,” he taps the board with the marker, “are my calorie goals for each meal and snack. As you can see, every day it goes up.”

Leo looks over the counts. They don’t really mean anything to him, but he can at least see how the number increases across the seven days on the board. “How many calories is normal?”

“Based on calculations I have done, going off what I have seen you boys eat as well as my own estimates for your growth, you and Donatello eat roughly five thousand calories a day, sometimes going as high as six thousand when you are particularly active.” Draxum scribbles the number in the corner of the whiteboard. “It’s high compared to humans, but within perfectly healthy limits given your mutant biology and high metabolism. Raphael eats more, and Michelangelo eats a bit less, though not by much.”

“Yeah,” Leo gives a chuckle, “kid can put away a whole large pizza by himself when his blood sugar’s low.”

“Unfortunately, I have seen him do it.” Draxum sighs. “But right now, you are averaging much less.” He taps the numbers. “Our goal right now is to get to where you are eating around twenty two hundred calories a day steadily, without getting sick.”

Leo has never been the math guy, but even he can handle some simple division. “Less than half? Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. That is why ensuring that your meals are as nutritious as possible is important.” He nods at the pill organizer. “And why the vitamins are important.”

Less than half as much as he used to eat… It leaves Leo feeling a little dizzy again. Nine days without food wrecked his system this hard?

“Don’t panic,” says Draxum in that soft voice again, and Leo feels a little resentment for how it pulls him out of his ensuing spiral. “You can see that your counts are going up steadily, and as we reintroduce solid food it will get even easier. And this is not hard and fast. Going a little above this is not an issue. And I am constantly readjusting as we go. It will take time before you are… putting away entire pizzas.” Draxum scrunches up his face in distaste. “But in a few weeks, you will be eating a much more normal diet than you are now.”

Leo rubs his hand up and down his arm. “Normal like, I can eat potato chips without getting yelled at?”

Draxum sighs. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you to begin with.”

“Yeah, well…” Leo fishes his last cracker out of the bag and rubs it between his fingers. “I gave you a black eye, so I think we’re even.”

“Hmph.” Draxum almost sounds amused, though he doesn’t let his lips quirk up even a tiny bit. Leo thinks he might be allergic to smiles, unless he’s doing something evil. “Still, I hope you understand the situation now.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Leo takes a small bite of the last cracker. Takes his time chewing and swallowing it. “The main thing is you’re going to keep being a pain in the butt for the next few weeks, right?”

“Yes, you’re stuck with me.” Draxum watches him take another bite of cracker, then says, “There’s something else you need to understand, Leonardo. The goal of this,” he taps the whiteboard, “is to keep you from getting sick. It is not to keep you hungry.”

Leo stares at the board, and the calorie counts, all laid out neatly. “Sure,” he says, and he doesn’t feel it.

Draxum hesitates, then taps each row, reading off, “Breakfast, lunch, snack, dinner, snack. Smaller amounts of food more frequently, to keep your stomach full without overstuffing.”

“Makes sense, I guess.”

“And this can be moved around. If you eat breakfast earlier than normal, you can have a snack in the morning instead. But you tend to sleep in, which is why I structured it this way.”

“Nine’s not sleeping in,” Leo grumbles.

“Nine is- no, this is not the point.” Draxum gives his head a shake. “The point is, if you want to move your eating times around, we can. The goal of this is to keep you from getting sick. It is not to keep you hungry.”

“I heard you the first time.”

“No, I’m not sure you did.” Draxum again uncaps the marker, then writes across the top of the board five simple words:

If you are hungry: eat.

Leo stares at those words. It feels like a trap, a trick - Draxum’s being all nice right now, but the way he ripped the bag from Leo’s hands…

“I was hungry when I ate the chips,” he says, and it’s a little bit of a lie, but that’s not the point. He watches Draxum carefully, for any sign that this is all fake, and Draxum really does want him to suffer.

Draxum’s brows furrow. “You are not in trouble for eating,” he says. “You’ll never be in trouble for eating. It is just good for you right now to eat healthy things. 

“I know it isn’t fair,” he adds, voice blunt, “but life rarely is.”

Leo studies his face. And the amazing thing is, he doesn’t think Draxum is lying.

“So… if I want a late night snack, I can eat some crackers?” he asks, waving the empty baggie.

“Yes. Or a banana, or some yogurt… If you feel very hungry, you could even eat some egg, or leftover soup.”

“And you’re fine with me just eating… whenever?”

“If you are so hungry you need to eat an extra meal, I just ask that you let me know, so I can adjust.” He taps the board. “But yes, I am. You know the stakes now. I trust you.”

Trust. Leo’s never had much of that from anyone. He looks down at the empty bag and wonders if it’s really true.

“…Is there anything you need right now?” Leo lifts his eyes back to Draxum’s face. “I can get it for you.”

Leo thinks about it. “When did you say lunch is?”

“About an hour and twenty minutes, now.”

“Then… I’m fine.” Leo pushes himself further back on his bed, dropping his trash into the space between them.

“Hm. I will bring you some more juice to drink.” Draxum nods at the pill organizer. “You still need to take those.”

Leo shoos him off. “I will, sheesh.” Now that he knows how important it is.

Draxum rolls his eyes and gets up. He takes the trash, but leaves the white board propped against the wall at the foot of Leo’s bed.

He’s almost to the door when Leo clears his throat and says, “Hey Barry?”

Draxum pauses, hand grasping the curtain. “Yes?”

“Any chance we can skip telling my dad and brothers about… everything?”

Draxum looks back at him. “Trust me when I say that I would like to omit this as much as you… But I am going to have to tell your father, at least.”

Leo groans, letting his head fall back on his pillows. “This sucks.”

“Then I will try to think of ways to make it suck less.” Draxum pulls the curtain aside. “Rest, Leonardo. I’ll bring your juice.”

Then he’s gone, leaving Leo alone.

-----

Raph puts the groceries down in the kitchen, then looks toward the escalator leading down. He should stay and help put everything away, but all he wants to do right now is rush to Leo’s side.

“Go,” says Splinter beside him. “I can take care of this.”

That’s all the permission Raph needs; he takes the escalator steps two at a time and crashes down onto the lower level.

Draxum is there, standing outside Leo’s train car and looking at one of his notebooks again. When he hears Raph, he closes it and looks up.

Raph’s eyes catch on the bruise forming on Draxum’s cheek and eye - it’s just starting to darken, but Raph can tell it’s going to be a plum shade of purple by the end of the day.

“He told me it wasn’t physical,” says Raph immediately. A little dangerously.

“It wasn’t, on my end,” says Draxum.

Raph finds that he believes that, and he can’t help the way his lips quirk up at the news.

Draxum scowls. “Yes, yes, very funny.”

Raph claps him on the shoulder. “Come on, Barry. You know you deserved it.”

“We can debate that later,” says Draxum, dry. He nods at the train car. “He’s in his room.”

“Raph figured.” He locks eyes on the room, wishing he could see past the curtains to know Leo’s state. “When you guys were fighting, he… called for us again.”

Draxum’s expression turns more concerned - nearly imperceptibly so, but Raph knows him well enough by now to see it. “Yes, I know.”

“You felt it?”

“No.” Draxum pulls away. “I have things to discuss with Lou Jitsu. Is he in the kitchen?”

“Yeah.” Raph wants to know what Draxum saw, but he always wants to get to Leo as fast as possible. In the end, the draw to his brother is stronger, and he steps forward. “Help him put the groceries up.”

“If I must,” says Draxum, and then he walks away toward the escalator. Raph doesn’t hang around to watch, instead hurrying to Leo’s room.

The room is a mess, even more than normally. His action figures are scattered everywhere, comic books have been knocked from the shelves, his blankets are on the floor. Leo himself is in bed, vacant expression staring at nothing Raph can see, and it’s an eerie way to see his little brother, usually never without his phone or a comic book in his quiet moments. 

He clears his throat, and Leo’s eyes flick his way. “Hey, Leo.”

“Hey.” Leo rouses himself to alertness, like he’d been sleeping with his eyes open. He shifts on his pillows so he can better see Raph. “You guys got the groceries?”

“Yeah, we did,” he assures Leo. He walks in, standing over Leo’s bed. He’d been so anxious to get back here, but now he finds himself trapped in the same place as always, unsure what to say or do.

Leo stares up at him. “…Everything okay, hermano?”

“I came to ask you that.” Raph sits down on the edge of the bed, then startles when something hard falls against his arm. He looks and finds a whiteboard, with numbers that make no sense to him written in neat columns (not Leo’s handwriting), and, across the top:

If you are hungry: eat.

Raph can’t help but stare at those words a few seconds longer. Is this something Leo needed to be told?

Beside him, Leo is saying, “Me and Drax got in a fight, but we worked it out. It’s fine.”

“Yeah.” Raph grins, tearing his eyes away from the whiteboard to look at Leo. “I saw the shiner you gave him.”

He’s expecting a grin back; for Leo’s expression to turn mischievous, or cocky. For Leo to proudly take credit for punching Draxum right in the eye.

He’s not expecting Leo to flinch and look away. “I thought he was better at dodging than that,” he says.

Raph falters, not sure how to respond. He knows Leo; his little brother would never hit anyone for no reason, even someone like Baron Draxum. Leo might playfight, Leo might even throw things at them from time to time, but he never aimed to hurt, only to irritate. 

Once again, Raph doesn’t know the right way to approach this situation. Should he try to talk to Leo about this? Is he the right person to try? Would Leo even want to hear it from Raph, who so often struggles with his own anger responses?

(He thinks about the fight again, and feels a rush of shame.)

He’s still trying to work it out when Leo changes the subject.

“Why didn’t you tell him?” Leo picks at some fuzz on his sheets. “About the chips.”

That’s something else Raph has been trying to figure out. But now, for this question at least, he has an answer.

“They didn’t have anyone’s name on ‘em.”

Leo’s fingers pause. “But you know I’m not supposed to eat those.”

“Yeah, well… I still wasn’t gonna tell. Raph’s not a snitch.” He shrugs. “Look, I know Barry’s right and you gotta be careful about what you eat so you don’t get sick. But this is still your house, Leo. We agreed a long time ago that unless food has someone’s name on it, it’s fair game.”

Leo actually smiles just a little at that, and Raph feels his heart leap at the sight. It’s not quite a full, big Leo smile, but it’s something. “And sometimes the name doesn’t stop us.”

Raph laughs. “That’s just because I got three little brothers who are a pain in the shell.” He reaches out to rub Leo’s head, and is a little surprised and a lot pleased when Leo doesn’t duck it. 

(It wraps around to concern again, when Leo seems to chase the touch like he’ll drown without it.)

“Listen,” he says, “Draxum gives you any more trouble and you just come tell me, okay? I’ll deal with it. We’ll get it worked out.” He moves his hand down to scratch the ridge of Leo’s shell, right where he can’t easily reach himself. “Raph’s got your back.”

Leo goes tense under his fingers, and Raph thinks he’s said something wrong. But the soft little, “Oh,” Leo says after isn’t upset. It’s just… surprised.

But why would he be surprised by that?

But when Raph thinks about it… when’s the last time he told Leo that? When’s the last time he felt like Leo had his back, too?

Somewhere along the way, he and Leo lost what made them them. Best friends, friendly rivals, brothers through thick and thin. It all got swallowed up by their fights and disagreements. And then Leo was taken from him.

But Leo isn’t gone. Leo is right here.

And suddenly Raph doesn’t know how he’s made it this long without hugging his little brother. He should have already. That should have been the first thing.

He moves the hand that’s scratching Leo’s shell to more firmly grab his back, watching close to see Leo’s reaction. Leo’s eyes flutter closed, like he feels totally safe, and Raph doesn’t waste the trust that’s been given to him.

He lifts Leo up and pulls him into his lap, wrapping his arms around in the safest bear hug he can give. Leo melts into it, his head leaning against Raph’s plastron, his arm coming up to loosely hook itself around Raph’s neck. 

“I gotcha, Leo,” he promises, cradling him close. “I gotcha.”

“I know,” says Leo, but Raph wonders if he really does. Raph hasn’t done a great job of showing it.

He still doesn’t know his answer. He still feels a stab in his heart when he thinks of Leo saying he did what a hero would. But April was right. Leo doesn’t need big emotional confrontations right now. He needs his big brother.

And Raph can do that. It’s the thing he’s best at.

“Hey,” he says, “wanna come watch Jupiter Jim: Venture to Venus with me?”

Leo opens his eyes to squint up at him. “Dee’ll hate it if he misses the sing-along parts,” he says, but now, finally, a little bit of his mischievousness is back.

Raph grins. “What Donnie doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Leo laughs then, small and tired and hoarse but there. Raph gives him another squeeze, then stands up and takes Leo with him.

He’s still unsettlingly light, like he was when Raph lifted him from the cot. But there’s a little more of him back.

If they get a little more of him every day, eventually, his little brother will truly be home.

-----

Leo stays in his lap for the movie. He makes no attempt to leave and Raph makes no attempt to remove him.

Splinter brings them lunch around the halfway mark: the alphabet soup they bought at the store for Leo, with bread and more banana for after. Leo complains that he’s not a little kid, but out of the corner of his eye Raph catches him industriously fishing around for the letters L, E, and O. He gets a little, self-satisfied smile on his face at his accomplishment, and Raph has to force his eyes to focus on the screen before he squishes Leo like one of his teddy bears.

After lunch, Leo dozes off. It’s not a surprise, especially given how eventful the morning was. Raph’s just glad it’s actual sleep and not that scary, blank-eyed stare he saw Leo with earlier.

Raph stays there after his arms fall asleep, after the movie ends, after he hears Donnie and Mikey come home (together, at least). He’d stay there all night, but Splinter comes in and puts a hand on his arm. He’s carrying a plate with a snack for Leo.

“Draxum wants to talk to you and Purple and Orange.”

Raph looks at Leo, still curled up against him, and shakes his head. “I don’t wanna leave him.”

“It’s alright. I will be here with him.” Splinter pats his arm again. “Take a break and stretch. You can sit with him after you’re done.”

Reluctantly, Raph gets up. He shifts Leo to the chair as carefully as he can (Leo murmurs in his sleep but doesn’t wake), then looks back at Splinter.

“You’ll be here when he wakes up, right?” he asks again.

(Maybe he’s still a little mad.)

“Yes,” Splinter promises. “I’ll be here.”

So Raph leaves. He shakes out his arms and legs, stiff from holding Leo, then swings by the bathroom before making his way to the kitchen. He can hear Mikey there already.

“-tell us what happened,” Mikey is saying, standing with his arms crossed and face angry. This is the most frustrated Raph can remember seeing Mikey act toward Draxum. Beside him, Donnie looks equally agitated.

“I have told your father what happened,” says Draxum, looking much more calm by comparison, “and we have agreed to maintain Leonardo’s privacy for now.”

“Is it about Leo’s privacy or do you think we just don’t deserve to know?” Mikey snaps. Raph knows that tone, and he knows this is about to turn into a fight.

He steps into the middle before it can. “Hold up, Mikey. Let’s hear him out.” His little brother does not seem happy with that, and he opens his mouth to argue, but before he can Raph refocuses on Draxum. “Tell us what’s goin’ on, Barry.”

Draxum’s eyes move slowly between all three of them before landing on Raph. “As I was telling your brothers, Lou Jitsu and I have agreed not to tell you all the details of what happened earlier, primarily because we are not sure how much Leonardo himself is comfortable with you knowing.”

It stings, but Raph knows he’s right. It’s like the security tapes Donnie chose not to watch. They have to let Leo decide how much they know and how much they don’t.

Still, Raph has his concerns. He folds his arms, mimicking his brothers behind him, and stares Draxum down. “Alright,” he says, and ignores the indignant noise Mikey makes behind him, “but did you tell Pops everything?”

“Yes.”

“Everything?”

“Yes,” Draxum repeats. “He needs to know, so we know how to care for Leonardo going forward.”

Raph isn’t as good at reading people as Leo, but it’s not like Draxum is an enigma, either. He doesn’t think the old goat is lying, so Raph relaxes his posture.

“Okay,” he says. “As long as Dad knows.”

“He did something so bad Leo punched him!” Mikey argues. “Leo doesn’t just do that!”

“In his defense,” says Donnie, “Draxum’s face is very punchable.”

Raph snorts at the indignant look Draxum gives that remark.

“Honestly,” says Draxum with a sigh, “all four of you boys are the same… But I can tell you that much.” He looks down, not meeting their eyes now. “I took food from your brother’s hands, before I realized what an error that is.”

All of them stiffen. Behind him, Raph senses Donnie shifting his weight in agitation. 

“You took food from him!?” cries Mikey. He sounds so betrayed. “Why!?”

“I was worried about him making himself sick,” Draxum explains. “But I did not handle it well. I have already apologized to him.”

“You better have!” Ah, there’s Doctor Delicate Touch.

“I have,” Draxum repeats. “And we have reached an understanding… which is what I need to talk to the three of you about.” He looks at them now. “There are going to be some new rules around here, at least for the duration of Leonardo’s recovery.”

“What rules?” asks Raph. “Besides don’t yank food out of Leo’s hands?”

“Well, that is an important one.” Draxum nods. “But we have also decided to adhere to a more strict meal schedule than you do normally. If meals are coming at regular, predictable times, we think this will reduce a lot of stress for Leonardo.”

Raph thinks of the words on the whiteboard. Of the neat rows of numbers. Does Leo wonder when he’ll be fed next? Does it scare him, not knowing?

Doesn’t he know his family would never let him go hungry?

“It makes sense,” says Donnie behind him. “We usually eat whenever we feel like it, but if Leo has to be careful with his diet, having a routine will make it easier.”

If Donnie thinks so, it’s probably right. Raph nods. “Yeah, sure. Whatever we gotta do to help Leo.”

Draxum nods back. “Right now, we’re planning for breakfast at eight, or whenever he wakes up, lunch at noon, and dinner at six. Leo will get regular snacks as well; smaller, more frequent meals are better for him right now than three large ones. Of course, the three of you can still do what you feel like; if you want your own snack, or want to eat later, you can.”

“Let’s all try to eat with Leo,” says Raph, looking back at his brothers. Donnie nods immediately; Mikey hesitates.

“Will Leo be in trouble,” he asks, “if he eats snacks when you didn’t tell him to?”

“No,” says Draxum. “I have already told him this. If he’s hungry, he can eat; he doesn’t need anyone to tell him he can.”

Raph’s glad to hear that; he knows he wouldn’t have been able to play food police. Mikey seems to calm down at this reassurance, too, and he nods.

“Okay. Then, we’re starting tonight? Dinner at six?”

“Yes.” Draxum seems relieved, that Mikey doesn’t look so angry anymore. “You can help me, if you want.”

“Duh,” says Mikey, and Draxum cringes. “I’ll be here!”

He and Donnie leave then; Donnie says he’s going to finish Leo’s curtains, and Mikey goes to his room. Raph hangs back, watching Draxum.

“You sure you didn’t touch him?” he asks, once he’s sure his brothers are out of earshot.

Draxum looks at him, open, not hiding. “I did not. I acted rashly, but I would not lay a hand on him.”

“…Okay. I believe you.” Raph folds his arms. “But if Leo ever tells me anything different, you know what happens next, right?”

“I do. But I would not hurt him.” Draxum looks nonchalant, despite the conversation. “Despite my best efforts, I’ve grown fond of all of you. I’m here to help him.”

Raph can’t help but smile at that. It’s probably as close as Barry will ever get to being affectionate.

“Thanks, then. For all you’re doin’.” Raph turns to leave. “But don’t yank food out of his hands again.”

“I won’t. You have my word.”

Raph decides to take it.

-----

“Blue…? Are you awake?”

Leo blinks his eyes open to find Splinter peering down at him, a plate in his hand. Blearily, he sits up in the recliner. It takes him a moment to realize he’s by himself now - Raph has gone.

It makes him feel a little sad. He knows Raph still has something he wants to yell about, but there for a short while, it was really nice to just be his little brother.

Now his dad is here, with food. Leo remembers the chart Draxum gave him - breakfast, lunch, snack, dinner, snack - and feels his heart relax.

“Hey, Dad. Yeah, I’m awake.”

“Very good. I have brought you some more yogurt and fruit.”

“Yippee,” says Leo, tone flat. “I’m gonna be the most regular guy on the planet after this.”

Splinter laughs at that, and it makes Leo feel a little sense of triumph. “Cherish it while you’re young.”

“Ew, gross,” he says, and Splinter laughs again.

Leo eats his snack. The projector skips on the screen, still on but with nothing set to play. Splinter settles in on the arm of the chair and waits until Leo’s almost done.

Then he says, “Draxum told me what happened earlier.”

Leo goes stiff. He swallows his bite of banana around the knot in his throat. 

“Yeah, he… said he was going to tell you.”

“I’m sorry that he was so harsh with you. You are not in trouble for taking the chips. The food in this lair is as much yours as it is any of ours.”

“I know,” says Leo, even though he’s not sure of anything anymore. But it’s what Splinter wants to hear.

“I won’t be leaving you alone with him again.” Splinter pats his arm. “He may be reformed, but he is still stupid, and not at all fit to take care of children!”

“Which is what makes him perfect for a public school lunchroom,” says Leo, and grins when it gets another laugh out of his dad.

Leo finishes his snack. The projector is still skipping. It makes a little clicking noise every few seconds.

“...Leonardo,” says Splinter, and Leo tenses up again.

“Oh no, full name…”

“You are not in trouble,” says Splinter again. Leo wonders why he keeps saying that. “But I have to ask you this again. When you were… with the EPF. Did anyone touch you in any way?”

Leo stares at him. Why are they having this conversation again?

“No. I told you that, remember?”

“I remember. But I have to make sure.” Splinter puts his hand on Leo’s. Leo stares at it. “Did anyone… make you do something you didn’t want to do?”

“Uh… besides stay there?”

“Leonardo.” Splinter’s tone is not angry, but Leo still winces. “I understand that this is uncomfortable to talk about. But I need to know for your safety. Did any of them do anything to you? Or make you do something to them? To yourself?”

Leo stares at his dad’s hand. He thinks of getting down on his knees and begging.

“...No.” He gives his head a shake. “They didn’t even hit me or anything.” And it’s the truth.

They didn’t really do anything to him at all.

“...Alright.” Splinter leans over and presses a kiss to the top of Leo’s head. Leo keeps his eyes on their hands and listens to the skip of the projector. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Yeah. Sure.” He hands the empty plate over and sinks further into the recliner cushions. He wishes the conversation hadn’t curdled the snack in his guts. “Uh, can we… turn on something so the projector isn’t making that sound?”

“Oh, yes!” Splinter sets the plate aside, then grabs for the remote. “It is aaalmost time for Scorpion Treadmill!”

Leo snorts despite himself. “Sure, sounds great.”

Splinter finds the channel and settles into the chair next to Leo. Leo closes his eyes and listens to the Japanese he can barely understand and his dad’s laughter, and tries to ignore the way his own skin feels slimy.

-----

After dinner, and after his snack, Donnie shows him the new curtains.

The new rods are just as makeshift as the ones from the day before, with the same color and the same details. Leo loves them. He tells Donnie so, and Donnie grins big and happy, and Leo feels happy, too, that he can still make at least one brother look like that.

“Oh, I’m so glad you like them!” says Donnie, for what must be the fifth time. “But seriously, if you want me to add some smart tech to them, just say the word.”

“Thanks but no thanks, Dee. I don’t want my curtains to gain sentience on me.”

Donnie pouts, but it’s good natured. He comes over and sits on the bed next to Leo, the two of them looking around his room. It’s crazy to Leo, how different it looks now. Though, maybe the mess is contributing to that feeling…

“It’s so dark in here now,” Donnie observes. His tone is totally neutral in a way Donnie could never hope to fake, so Leo doesn’t take it as a judgment.

Which is good, because Leo doesn’t know how to explain that he likes it that way. That the dark makes him feel calm and safe. Hidden.

“I could always add more lighting,” he says instead. He has his lanterns and a desk lamp, but he has to admit, some things will be harder without the ambient lights from outside.

“Oh, I can do that next!” says Donnie. “What kind of lighting do you want? I can see what I have in the lab-”

“Whoa, hey,” says Leo quickly. He reaches over and flicks Donnie on his big forehead. (It lacks any force, because Leo is still weak, but Donnie says, “Ow!” exaggeratedly anyway.) “I get that you’re trying to help, but you’ve done enough. I know you must have some battleshell or robot or nuclear bomb you’re dying to work on instead.”

Donnie falters at that. He eyes Leo, the same way everyone does lately, like he’s some kind of timebomb that might go off.

“I just want you to be comfortable,” he says.

“What do you mean? I’m super comfy!” Leo waves the sleeve of his hoodie in demonstration. “It’s the lair, Don-ton. Same as always.”

Donnie’s expression goes even flatter. He turns his eyes on the train car walls. “Same as always? It hasn’t even been a year.”

Leo flinches. Right, well… So it’s not the same as ever. But it’s the same as the one he was stolen from, and that’s all that matters, right?

“You know what I mean.” He bumps their shoulders together. “It’s home. It’s where you guys are. I’m totally fine.”

And he means that.

He means it, he means it, he means it.

“...Right.” Donnie is trying to sound like he believes Leo. “Well, if you change your mind about the lighting, you know where to find me.”

“I sure do, hermano.” He bumps their shoulders again. “Thanks, though.”

They sit for a moment in silence. Leo wonders if he should offer a late night movie session, or if he should send Donnie on his way. He’s torn. He doesn’t really want to be alone. But he doesn’t want to bother Donnie more than he already has.

Before he can decide, Donnie’s phone dings. He picks it up and clicks something on his screen.

“What’s up?” asks Leo.

“Oh nothing.” Donnie waves a hand. “Draxum just finally decided to leave. About time…”

“Huh? How do you… know…”

Leo leans over on his shoulder to look, and answers his own question.

Cameras. Of course Donnie has cameras. This one is outside the entrance to the lair from the sewers, and Leo can see Draxum’s retreating back as he heads for the nearest manhole.

“The camera alerts me whenever anyone other than one of the five of us leaves,” Donnie is saying. “It’s part of the security upgrades I’ve been working on.”

“Security upgrades,” Leo repeats, feeling a little faint.

Donnie doesn’t notice, jumping on the chance to infodump. “Yes! I’ve added more cameras, and proximity alarms, and I’ve been working on more upgrades to our trackers, like I told you. Oh, and new security measures for my baby, of course. And once Shelldon’s new body is complete, I’ll integrate him with the system as well, and…”

Donnie’s still talking, but Leo can’t hear it. His eyes are tracking all around his train car - the dark corners, the shelves, the nooks and crannies.

Donnie has cameras all over the lair.

Where are the cameras in here?

-----

For another night in a row, Leo doesn’t sleep.

[inkedells]

look at me a little more | dbf!joel miller x f!reader

A/N: first of all, SMUTTT so much smut up ahead. holy crap this is the longest thing i've ever written (pathetic, i know, blame the commitment issues) enjoy lovies!! also lmk if you want a part 2 maybe possibly!?

m!dni | requests open.

summary: dbf!neighbor!joel accidentally drenches you (virgin!reader) while washing his car and you can’t help but notice the way he eyes you up. it’s only once he’s in your bedroom, fixing your closet door as an apology, that you realize the best person to rid you of your virginity and teach you precisely how to please yourself and others had been right in front of you the whole time; it's getting joel on board with the whole idea that's the hard part.

word count: 5.5k

tags/warnings: SMUTTTT, virgin!reader, dbf!neighbor!joel faces moral conflicts (to fuck or not to fuck!?!?), porn with plot, sooo much tension, dirty talk, use of pet names, blowjobs, handjobs, cumplay, reader eats joel's cum, grinding, making out, oral sex, no!outbreak au, reader's innocent in the sense that she doesn't really know how to do a lot of things when it comes to sex but still has a ton of desires

masterlist

There was a certain shame that came with being infatuated with your dad’s best friend.

You were sitting around on the porch on a hot summer afternoon, wearing your shortest cotton shorts as you sipped the juice box brand you had loved since you were a little girl. Legs crossed, foot tapping the air, and most importantly, eyes absolutely trained on the ripple of Joel Miller’s biceps as he washed his car.

You didn’t know why you liked to stare at him so much. But you did know it was wrong. Immoral. Eyeing up someone in their forties? What was wrong with you? That was your dad’s best f—

“Hey, Mr. Miller!” You called over, shutting down every ounce of doubt in your mind.

He turned around without hesitation, and when he did, you waved. The first time you’d done that, he had to work a little harder to figure out the source of the voice, eyes searching in random directions before finally settling on you. But now, it was like he knew exactly where to look—And, well, that was all it took for you to decide you would be spending the next hour washing a car if it meant spending time with Joel.

So you settled your juice box down on the wooden floor of the porch and skipped over to his house. He must not have heard your footsteps behind him over the sound of the hose, so your simple tap on his shoulder resulted in him whipping around, hose in hand, as he consequently drenched you.

You yelped, breaking out into nervous laughter both from shock and how cold the water was. Joel fumbled to turn off the hose as he began profusely apologizing. “Jesus Christ, I’m so sorry—”

Then he properly saw you. From Joel’s perspective, your clothes were reduced to translucency, practically melting into your skin.

But you didn’t know that. You never fully grasped just how vulnerable you had become from his accident, so when you caught him averting his gaze as quickly as he could, you were a little confused.

“You—Uh—I,” Joel stumbled before clearing his throat, “There’s clothes. Inside. Sarah’s. You can, um, you can go and… y’know. Change into them. Walkin’ all the way back to your house doesn’t seem like a… viable… option.”

By then, a blush had already risen to your cheeks just from how delicately Joel was treating you. As if you were something he had to be careful with, like if he didn’t think long and hard about every word coming out of his mouth, there would be consequences. 

“Lead the way.”

Joel gave you a firm smile before swallowing the lump in his throat and motioning for you to follow him as he walked. Once he had the front door open, he let you go in first. Even as you carefully walked past him, you could feel his eyes staring at you.

“Up there,” Joel gestured, “Um, first door on the left. I’ll… be outside.”

As he explained, you subconsciously scanned over the planes of his body—probably a habit you picked up from the multiple weeks of watching him work. But then he was turning to leave, and you could tell he was still really tense. You didn’t know why a simple accident had him so tripped up, but you had the urge to alleviate his worry.

“Hey,” You called, arms wrapped around yourself in an effort to stave off the cold. He turned around, concerned until he saw your soft smile and relaxed a little, “On a scale of one to ten, how sick and tired are you of washing that truck?”

There was only one way to break Joel out of his nervous state; you had to make the situation lighthearted; you learned that from years of watching him hang out with your dad.

He searched your eyes for a beat, eyes completely unwavering, before muttering, “Like a fifty.”

You both breathed a laugh at that. For the briefest moment, you thought you noticed Joel’s gaze flitting to your chest. Your breath caught in your throat, but before you could do a double take, his eyes were glued to yours again.

“So then,” You started, regathering yourself and pushing away whatever your brain was conjuring up, “How do you feel about replacing one lousy chore with another?”

“What kinda chore we talkin’?”

“Well, my closet door’s all screwed up. And you know, instead of apologizing for soaking me by way of expensive concert tickets and a brand new car, like how I know you were planning on doing—”

“—Oh, of course,” Joel sarcastically remarked, playing along as you quickly noticed the worry on his face faded into a crooked grin.

“Well, I really think I can just settle for the closet door fix. Go ahead and save the brand new car for when you break my toaster.”

“Okay, okay,” Joel laughed, “I get it. Go change, then you can lead me to this broken closet door.”

-

Sarah’s clothes definitely belonged to a fourteen-year-old. Not your taste, but then again, if you were fourteen like her, you probably would’ve dressed like that too.

You couldn’t settle on a top, all of them were either too small or bore a graphic design too childish for you. You did find a pair of stretchier shorts that fit alright though, so you decided you’d just pick up one of Joel’s shirts from the pile of clean laundry you saw sitting atop the washing machine downstairs.

When you made it out the front door, the hose was away and his toolbox was resting on the ground by his feet. Joel was drying up his car with a cloth, and when he heard you hop down the steps and subsequently turned your way, you weren’t exactly expecting him to completely stumble at the sight of you in his shirt.

“Oh—You, uh, I thought you were gettin’ Sarah’s clothes?”

“I was, none of her tops fit so I grabbed one of yours from the laundry downstairs.” You absorbed Joel’s cryptic reaction and began to worry. “I’m sorry, Mr. Miller, I really should’ve asked—”

“—No, no, it’s fine. Really. Doesn't matter.”

Joel picked up his toolbox, then the both of you began walking over to your house. It wasn’t that far away at all, probably a couple of hundred feet at most, but he opted into small talk anyway.

“Um,” Joel began, “What’d you come over for in the first place? Didn’t really get a chance to ask ‘cause of this whole… debacle.”

You giggled at his old man vocabulary. Debacle.

“I wanted to help with your car, but looks like those plans got derailed.”

He breathed a polite laugh. “Yeah, well. Guess it turned out that way.”

Before an awkward silence could fall upon the both of you, your brain settled on something to bring up.

“Hey, my dad’s having that July 4th barbecue the day after tomorrow. You’re coming right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it, honey.”

Honey? Honey. Honey honey honey honey—

He cleared his throat. “Where is your dad, anyway?”

You were both standing on your porch now, Joel’s eyes raking you over as you fumbled with the front door.

“Um, I think he’s out working.”

“Great.”

Great?

Before you could ask him what he meant, Joel realized what he had said. “Wait, no, not great. I don’t—I don’t know why I said that. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

You pushed the door open. “Hey,” You brought a hand up to his chest and patted it, “You’ll give yourself a heart attack if you keep assuming all your mistakes are colossal and worthy of that much panic.”

His shoulders seemed to relax a little at that—you weren’t sure if it was your hand or your words that did it.

Eventually, you both found yourselves in your bedroom. You were sitting on the edge of your bed as you watched Joel work. Kneeling on one knee with a screwdriver in hand, he fumbled with one of the closet door’s hinges as he muttered little things to himself under his breath.

“Thanks for this, Mr. Miller.”

He turned to you, nodding as he seemed to process that he was in your bedroom. Your bedroom.

“So,” Joel began, as he dug through his toolbox, “Is your boyfriend visiting too? Or, y’know, girlfriend. Three months is a long ti—”

You softly smiled. “I don’t have a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend.”

He turned to look at you again as he turned a screwdriver, this time scanning you over. “Hm, I don’t believe you. Sweet thing like you? Single?”

“Oh, stop,” You blushed, shooing him off.

Joel stood to his feet, dusting his hands off on his thighs. “All fixed. Next time you ne—”

“—I’ve never been in a relationship before. Actually.”

Joel stared at you for a moment before diverting his gaze to the ground. “I, um…”

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that. You don’t wanna know about my completely nonexistent dating history,” You lightly smacked your forehead, “Wait, it’s existent if we count the boy I dated for a week in fourth grade.”

Joel laughed, sitting down next to you on your bed. “It’s okay. I haven’t really dated anybody since Sarah’s mom, either. Long-term, anyways.”

“Yeah, well at least you’re not a virgin.”

Joel seemed to tense at that, and you immediately regretted saying it.

“Oh gosh,” You cringed, hands gripping your head, “I really just say anything, don’t I?”

Joel chuckled, head hung between his shoulders with his eyes squinted shut. You eventually laughed, too, simply because—and you realized it sounded stupid—Joel’s laughter was contagious.

“Alright, alright,” Joel beckoned, “Lemme be serious for a second. C’mere.”

You slumped down next to him, staring up at the ceiling before turning to make eye contact.

“That’s not something you have to worry about. You got time, honey, you’re in college. All that crap about late blooming isn’t real. It’s about whenever you’re ready, and whenever you find the right person to do it with.”

You smiled up at him softly. “Thanks, Mr. Miller.”

“Joel. Just Joel.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look away from him. So you stayed like that, searching his eyes for something you didn’t have the courage to say out loud.

“Joel,” You echoed, repeating his name back to him, bottom lip caught between your teeth.

“I, uh…” Joel trailed off, his gaze flitting down to your lips. “I…” He tried again, but it went nowhere.

You exhaled, and almost immediately, his hands cupped your face as he leaned forward and pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to your lips.

It was warm, and gentle, and amazing, and you didn’t know if you could ever let him stop kissing you with how delightful the scruff of his beard felt against your skin.

He did break the kiss after a few seconds, though, and it left you breathless. “Joel…”

His muscles seemed to visibly tense as he mistook your speechless state for confusion. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I don’t know why—”

“—No. No, I liked it,” You smiled softly at him, “I, um, you know. Wouldn’t mind if you kissed me… again.”

With reassurance that you weren’t absolutely appalled, his limbs relaxed. He leaned forward again until he was kissing you. Slow at first, languid. But then it turned fervent and desperate, breaths being exchanged into one another's mouths as lips slotted together like fingers intertwined—so perfect, as if they were biologically designed to do so.

It wasn’t long until he had your back flat against your bed, and you felt his growing hardness dig into your hip.

“Y’know what that is, don’t you?”

You nodded hesitantly.

“You know why it’s there?”

You shrugged.

He gripped the fabric of your—no, his—shirt as his voice rumbled, “You prancin’ around in my shirt did that.”

Without a second thought, you clumsily palmed him there through the thick fabric of his jeans and reveled in the consequential shuddering moan he let out

“Joel, I don’t… I don’t think I know what I’m doing.”

“That’s okay, honey, I’ll teach you.”

Propping himself up with his elbow, he placed his hand atop your own and guided the movements of your open palm. Things like pressing your hand further into him so as to increase the pressure between his legs, and encouraging back-and-forth motions that had his hips rutting and his breath hitching.

Once you got the hang of it, he removed his hand from your own. You felt his hand snake down your neck, then the side of your torso. 

“I trust you,” You whispered, fingers playing with the happy trail peaking Joel’s pants, hoping to absolve him of any guilt or doubt.

But the second Joel’s fingertips grazed the waistband of your shorts, he froze. He was staring off somewhere to the right, so you followed his gaze until you found what he was so disturbed by.

A framed photo on your nightstand, one of you standing next to your dad on vacation in Maui.

You understood immediately; that picture was an astute reminder of exactly who’s daughter Joel was about to debauch.

Your hand fell away from his crotch as he leaned back on his haunches and ran his hands through his hair with worried eyes.

“Joel?” You whispered, but then he was completely backing off of you as he muttered curses under his breath. “Hey, no, come back. What’s wrong?”

It was a dumb question. You knew what was wrong. Even though you were well beyond legal, it seemed to mean little in the situation—the facts were, if he touched you, it was betrayal.

“This is…” Joel panted, standing to his feet and raking his hands through his hair, “I shouldn’t have… Fuck. Fuck. I have to go.”

And just like that, he was gone.

-

That night, your lights stayed on and you didn’t close your curtains.

You stripped yourself of Joel’s shirt first, going excruciatingly slow in case Joel happened to be watching through his neighboring window. You occasionally shot glances at his window on the off chance that the window illuminated, but you quickly realized if the two of you made eye contact that wouldn’t be good either. You’d gotten all the way down to your underwear before you spotted his light flick on from the corner of your eye.

So you did the first thing that came to mind; You turned your back to your window. Panties halfway down your legs, torso bent with your knees straightened as you slowly shed your clothing. Hoping. Hoping for him to avert his attention ever so slightly and accidentally catch you like this. Hoping he would think of it every time he talked to you.

Without ever making eye contact, you would never know if Joel actually saw anything, and he would never know you hadn’t actually “forgotten” to close your curtains.

No pressure on either of you.

You went to sleep with a hand shoved down the front of your panties as you thought of all the things you wanted Joel to do to you.

-

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Jesus. What time was it? You stretched until sleep left you and opened your eyes as wide as you could (not very wide at all). From what you could gather, the sun was definitely up. You, however, did not have the willpower required to read off of your phone screen 5 seconds after waking up, so you answered the phone without reading the contact.

“Hello?” You groaned, voice gruff from sleep.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

You knew that voice anywhere. Almost immediately, you shot upright and cleared your throat as you rubbed your eyes. “Oh, hey Mr. Mill—uh, I mean, Joel,” You breathed a nervous laugh before remembering his question, “No. No, it’s okay I was like, basically awake already, um, so… what’s up? Why’d you—Why’d you call?”

“Right, so just to preface, I understand things are not... ideal... between us right now. But to be honest, you’re the only person available who I trust with this, and… let me just explain. I got called into work unexpectedly and Sarah’s gonna be home alone. Lately, she’s been getting into these rebellious fits, and I just don’t want to risk another situation where she sneaks out at night to meet up with her boyfriend again.”

“Sarah and rebellious fits? Really?”

“Yes, believe it or not. So do you think you could just hang around my place for, to be honest, a long while? It’s looking like I’m gonna be home really late tonight. Oh, and I can pay you.”

“Oh, shut up, you’re not paying me.”

Joel exhaled appreciatively through the phone. “Okay, well I’m home right now if you wanna come by and eat some breakfast. Least I could do. I gotta leave in like thirty minutes by the way, so. Take your time but also don’t take your time?”

You smiled, hoping he could hear it in your voice. “Yeah, I’ll be there soon.”

“Thanks, honey.”

Oh god. There it was again. You thought you might actually pass out, but you quickly turned off your racing brain enough to mutter a small “mhm” before abruptly hanging up.

Okay. Joel Miller. Your dad’s best friend, who was this close to absolving you of every ounce of innocence in your body… just asked you to watch his daughter. What could go wrong?

When you got to his house, he had left already (you definitely took too long in the shower). He did leave out a plate of food, though, along with the message, “Thanks again. Enjoy the pancakes,” scratched out on a post-it note.

And boy did it turn out to be a long day. Sarah wasn’t that much of a handful, she mostly took care of herself. The hard part was lunch.

You attempted to cook something for the two of you, but it only ended in disaster when you left the quiches in the oven for too long. Then you decided Penne a la Vodka couldn’t be that hard, and you couldn't be more wrong. A whole box of pasta was ruined because Sarah didn’t realize the pasta went in after the water boiled, not before. Eventually, you both just accepted defeat and ordered Panera Bread.

Later, Sarah popped into the living room to let you know she was going up to her room to take a nap, and you figured you’d do the same on the couch.

The last thing you read was the time on the cable box; 7:37.

-

Metal clanking. The turn of a key. The creaking of a door. The blaring siren of an alarm system.

“Jesus—Fuck. I thought I told her to turn off the alarm at 8.”

And Joel’s voice.

You jolted awake, blinking wide as you moved to sit upright on the couch. The time on the cable box was 11:50.

Soon, the alarm stopped, and not long after, Joel’s figure came into view. He was wearing a denim button-up with work pants and work boots.

“Hey,” Joel called, setting his things down next to the kitchen island.

“Hi,” You replied, “How was work?”

Joel gave you a polite smile before pulling open the refrigerator door to retrieve a beer. With his head still poked inside the fridge, he replied, “The usual.”

“Well, what was the usual li—”

“—Were you asleep?”

“Uh…" You cleared your throat in an effort to stall as you debated whether or not you would lie. "Yeah, I was. Sorry.”

Joel took a swig of his beer, staring at you from across the room for a minute before blurting out, “The usual is busy. Extremely busy and tedious. But, um, how was Sarah? Hope you weren’t asleep too long.”

“Nope,” You lied, “I Wasn’t asleep long at all. Sarah was great. We had a bit of trouble with lunch, but everything ended up fine.”

“Good. Good. Well you can head out now, thanks for taking care of her.”

No. You did not want to "head out." You rose to your feet. “Joel?”

He looked around as he swallowed his beer. “Uh, yeah?”

“I actually wanted to talk to you. About yesterday.”

He peered down at the ground, swishing around the bottle in his hand. “That’s—That’s okay, honey. I think it’s best we forget that happened.”

“What? But why?”

Joel crossed the room and sat down next to you, leaning back against the couch while you sat back down on the edge with your elbows resting on your knees.

“Come on,” He started, “Don’t act like you don’t know exactly why we’re… this… is impossible.”

“Joel, I—”

“—I’m sorry. You should get home now.”

You turned around to face him. “Joel. No one has to know.” 

“As I said, I’m sorry. I handled yesterday… terribly. There were a million different ways to go about that, and I somehow chose the worst one. But we don't work. We can't work.”

You felt your eyes begin to water, but you tried to push the feeling down.

“Hey, hey,” He lulled, the hardness of his attitude falling away as he noticed the sad shine in your eyes, “Don’t cry.” He pulled you against him, rubbing your shoulder firmly.

“Joel,” You mumbled in a small voice, sniffling against his denim shirt with a frown.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to justify what he was quickly realizing was inevitable. You were an adult, somebody else independent of your father. It was your choice who to get involved with, just like it was his. This was mutual.

He knew he would regret it later, but your innocence and desperation allured him to the point of no return.

“It’s late,” Joel began, voice gentle as he offered you one last out, “You should go home. You need sleep, you’re not thinking straight. I’ll call you in the morning.”

“No,” You replied, removing yourself from his body so you could look him in the eye. “I don’t want to leave. I want you to… I want you to do what you said you’d do.”

Knowing exactly what you were talking about, he redundantly asked in a whisper, “And what’s that?”

You wiped a stray tear as you clumsily moved to straddle his lap. Almost automatically, his hands found their way to your hips, his thumbs rubbing circles into the slivers of skin peeking between your cami tank top and the waistband of your shorts. But it seemed at some point his consciousness realized what he was doing because his hands suddenly dropped to his sides. And, well, you just wouldn’t have that, so you grabbed hold of his wrists and returned them to where they were settled on your hips before you rested your own hands on Joel’s chest.

“You remember, don’t you?” You shifted in his lap, “You said you’d teach me.”

“How to have sex.” He said it more like a confirmation rather than a question.

You blushed at his blatant use of the word. It was like every fifth thing coming out of his mouth was sending your brain spiraling. You cleared your throat. “Yeah. Yeah, sex. Blowjobs, orgasms, literal sex. All of it.”

Silence for a beat. “I have one condition,” Joel warned.

“Yeah, what is it?”

“The second I suspect your dad is onto us, that’s it. It’s over. No more messing around, none of it. I can’t lose my best friend.”

You nodded. You probably shouldn’t have agreed so easily, but you didn’t actually think you and Joel would ever get caught.

“Okay, then,” Joel whispered. “Good. What do you wanna do first? Start off easy.”

You looked around the room nervously, careful not to make eye contact as you spoke. “Like. I dunno. Maybe for right now, I could just… touch you. Touch it, I mean.”

Joel nodded, and when your breathing began to grow the slightest bit uneven from nervousness, he noticed and rubbed your upper arm reassuringly. “Hey. Relax. Climb down and sit right there on the ground between my legs, and I’ll show you where to start.”

And so you did. Joel peered down at you with heavy lids as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, and thus began your first lesson.

“Unbuckle my pants.”

With shaky hands, you removed his belt and undid his fly. You couldn’t explain why, but as soon as you caught sight of the bulge in his boxers, your mouth watered.

“What…” You began, “What now?”

“Whatever feels comfortable.”

With a light, feathery touch, you delicately traced a singular finger along the outline of his cock. Joel shivered at the contact, hands shooting to grip the sofa. Touching it felt different this time, more intense because you could feel every ridge and vein; you blamed it on the much thinner fabric dividing your fingers and his cock.

Your breath shuddered before speaking, “Can I take it ou—”

“—Yes, God, yes.”

You hooked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, pulling downwards until his cock sprang free. It was thick, long, and wet at the tip, and you found yourself instinctively leaning further into it.

“Okay,” Joel sighed shakily, “Now just form a circle with your fingers and stroke it.”

You did as Joel said, and when your fingers finally made contact with his cock, you sighed at how velvety the skin was there. Soft and smooth, except for the trimmed hair surrounding the base. You stroked him steadily, biting your lip as you watched the wetness leaking from his tip spread down his shaft.

“Twist at the tip, honey, twist at the—Yeah, just like that. So good, you’re doing so good.” You couldn’t help but smile when Joel tilted his head back from the pleasure of it all.

With Joel still reeling from the contact of your hand, you took his momentary refusal to look down at you as an opportunity to surprise him a little.

You leaned forward and kitten-licked his tip, and it had him finally making eye contact with you as he whispered, “Oh, do that again.”

And so you did, adoring the look of pleasure strewn across Joel’s face.

Joel offered you a quick, crooked grin. “How’s it feel?” He asked, brushing his thumb along your bottom lip as your tongue played with his tip.

You pulled away for a moment to respond, “How’s what feel?”

“Licking a man’s cock.”

You let the spit that had gathered in your mouth drip down onto his length. “I have the urge to do more with it.”

“Like what?”

“Like put it all the way in my mouth.”

And so kitten licks turned into long stripes up his shift, which turned into eager suckling on his tip, which turned into forcing his cock down as far as it could go without making you gag.

Joel’s hand gripped the back of your head, but he never pushed you down. Whenever you did accidentally end up gagging, he petted your hair, mumbling encouragements as best he could through the blinding pleasure. Things like, “Yeah, honey, doing so good. That’s it. Just a little more. Mhm.” And his affectionate nature, his gentleness, his reassuring words—he was exactly how you hoped he would be like. Not to mention, the general hotness of it all had your hips canting down against nothing, in desperate search of relief.

“M’close, sweetheart. Take it—Take it out.”

“I don’t wanna,” You replied in a hoarse voice as you jacked him off.

“You’re not ready for that, honey, just take it out. Take it out.”

You reluctantly complied, removing him from the tight heat of your mouth, drool dripping down your chin as you stroked him rapidly.

“Joel, I… I think I’m wet.”

He moaned a curse at that, his chest rising and falling in rapid breaths as his orgasm approached him. “Jesus f-fuckin’… Tell me more.”

“I need you to touch it for me next time. Please. Maybe you could… Maybe you could put your mouth on it like how I put my mouth on you.”

“Yes, yes, oh fuck, I’m cumming, don’t stop stroking it,” Joel moaned, hot white spurts shooting up and all over your hand as you stroked him through it.

With his breathing still labored, he panted out in a high voice, “You’re lying. You’re f-fucking lying. Tell me the truth.”

“About what?”

“This isn’t—You’ve done this before. No way you made me cum this hard and it’s your first time.”

“Well,” You breathed a nervous laugh, “That’s flattering. But you’re my first. Trust me.”

When his orgasm fully subsided, Joel lay slumped against the sofa with his legs spread wide. You remained between them with your head resting on his thigh as you just stared at his cock. Took it all in, every curve, every vein, and inevitably, the cum that spurted itself over the surrounding area.

“What are you doing?” Joel chuckled, petting your hair as you smiled.

“I’m… I don’t know really. I just can’t stop looking at it.”

But then curiosity got the best of you, and you began to drag your fingers through the mess at his base. It caught Joel off-guard, his entire body stiffening as he watched you.

“What does it taste like?” You asked quietly as you examined the cum on your fingers. 

“Oh my god,” Joel groaned through his labored breathing, “I swear, if you do what I think you’re about to do, I’ll be hard again in five seconds.”

“I’ll take my chances,” You joked, bringing your finger to your mouth and licking it clean, ultimately wincing at the taste. “It’s like, bitter. And salty. And kinda sweet. But mostly bitter and salty. To be honest, it’s kinda nasty but I can see myself getting used to it.”

“Wow,” Joel sighed, “You just really know how to set the mood. Make things real romantic.”

“Oh, shut it,” You huffed, playfully swatting his thigh before getting up and plopping down next to him on the sofa as he got to work stuffing himself back into his pants despite the mess he made—that was a problem for future Joel. 

“Gonna miss you, little Joel,” You joked to his crotch.

“Oh my god, you’re the worst,” Joel chuckled painfully with his fists in his eyes. “I’m never letting you near ‘little Joel’ again.”

“Mm, no, because I just made you cum so hard you thought I was lying about being a virgin.”

He sighed at that. “You got me there.”

“I did, didn’t I?”

You both laughed at that; In fact, you both were laughing a lot. And at everything. In your head, you blamed it on the ecstatic high of being in each other’s presence this way.

When the mutual laughter died down, Joel looked at you for a moment, admiring you. Then, slow and hesitant as ever, he leaned in to kiss you.

“Do you taste it?” You whispered, breaking the kiss as you fought another giggle.

“Yes, actually. Wait, don’t say it please, this is actually a nice moment—”

“—Your cum!” You loud-whispered.

Another sigh. “My cum.”

You eagerly kissed him back after that, swearing off mood-breaking jokes for the rest of the night. Eventually, you even became too tired to kiss, simply letting your forehead rest against his. Your eyes fluttered shut as his hand snaked up your leg and inched under the leg of your shorts, using force to push your legs open wider.

“Need me to take care of this?” He asked into your mouth before letting his kisses travel down to your neck.

“Joel,” You breathed, breaths beginning to come out in rapid succession as your hips gyrated in response to how dangerously close Joel’s hand was to your pussy. “I… I’m tired.”

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to do a thing,” Joel breathed, removing his hand from beneath your shorts in order to pull down the waistband. “It’s a yes or no question. Just give me a yes or a no.”

Your breath hitched as you opened your eyes and stared at the little bit of empty space left between you and Joel. The throbbing between your legs was bad, but it was something about the delayed gratification of saving things for later that stopped you from saying yes. “No, I… I think that’s it for tonight.”

Joel withdrew his hand, reassuringly cracking a brief smile. “Hey, uh, spend the night. It’s way too late, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

You shrugged. “Yeah, but what about Sarah?” 

“I came home super late, you fell asleep, and I didn’t want to wake you.”

You thought about it for a second before agreeing. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Thank you. But I’m taking the couch.”

“What? No—”

“—Joel. I’m taking the couch.”

He looked at you skeptically but then agreed. “If you change your mind just let me know.”

“I will. Goodnight.”

Joel squeezed your leg before getting up and making his way to the stairs. “Goodnight.”

masterlist

A/N: strikethrough means i can't tag you, check your settings

taglist:

@basicoccult @myhusband2cool @fleuraimer @chunguk @xkyxkyxxlylcylulucufifluclu @pintsizedsunshine @s1eepy-bear @daddysuperduperlonglegs @worhols @evyiione @criesside @saph-cyare

@gswizzsstuff @baloobalee @gessmiller05 @trynasurvivelol @yazsos @marchai @pompii @alyssa1216 @daddy-din @msmagix4 @blooming-bubs @huffle-punk @whorrorain @iliketoeatstrawberrypocky @onlineplant @totallynotastanacc @hiddenbabynyc @thedoctorofpoop @kamcrazy123 @afterglowsb-tch13

@redplaidedandcladed @simping-soldat @martyluvsu @mingiast @teddybonkers1960 @brittmb15 @ellswilliams @laurasunsole @senaar-ika @whore4ellie @harrysbitvh123 @atremises @silkiers @bbyanarchist @pawnshopbluess222 @https-hann @cassiesolos @xanqels @jawgrinder

@daylighthrry @victoriamay1357 @jeezkiddo @its-spooky-these-days @pedro-luvr @chibimosa @sagethephantom @loathsome-gargoyle @alejaa-a @greenclues @june-julie @spenciesprincess @donttamethebeasts @alec0 @djarinsimp 

[rafeandonlyrafe]

crimson red part two

words: 1.3k

warnings: 18+ only!!!, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, NON/DUBCON, R*PE, M*RDER, stalker!rafe, branding, scaring, p in v sex, unprotected sex, knife kink, descriptions of blood

part one / part two / part three

you can practically feel rafes eyes on you. all day every day, no matter where you go, you know he’s not far. you try to go on with your normal routine, chest bandaged up underneath your shirt as you cringe, tugging at the scars as you attempt to reach the top shelf at the grocery store.

“here, i got it for you.” a tall man reaches up for you, grabbing the box of cereal and placing it in your hand.

“thanks so much!” you sigh with relief. you certainly don’t want to stretch your scars and cause them to start bleeding again.

“no problem.” he smiles at you. “i’m liam, what’s your name?” “oh, uh, y/n.” you also smile but he must get the vibe that you’re not really interested, giving you a nod before continuing down the aisle. liams handsome, but you won’t drag anyone into your life, not when rafe is knocking at your door every night. he doesn’t need to break in anymore, you gladly open it for him.

you finish your grocery shopping, wishing you would have gotten a chance to go earlier as you shiver, the cold air hitting your skin as you step out, still pushing your cart now filled with bags.

the setting sun guides you towards your car, making you realize that theres no streetlights as you squint to load your car, filling the trunk when you hear someone clearing their throat. you turn, expecting rafe.

“oh, hi.” you realize through the growing darkness that it’s liam.

“hello again.” his voice is deep, but nothing like the easy purr if rafes. “can i help you load your groceries?” you look to your cart, only a couple bags left.

“i’m almost done, but thank you.” you nod, turning back to your car, but you don’t hear his footsteps moving away on the pavement, instead there’s a scuff of a step forward. you keep your attention on your trunk, praying that he will get the hint and walk away. you hear a strangled gasp that has your eyes widening, turning quickly to see liams body crumple to the ground.

“oh my god, rafe!” you scream. rafe moves quickly towards you, pressing his palm against your mouth as your eyes widen.

“i told you to stay away from men. the only reason i don’t slit your throat too is because i heard you telling him to leave.” rafe moves his hand slowly, your chest still heaving up and down but now under more control.

you look from his blue eyes to liam, his eyes now completely lifeless and glazed over, red spilling from the cut on his throat.

“now let me help you.” rafe loads the rest of your groceries while you stand frozen. you let him move you, carefully take your hand and guide you to your passenger seat. realization doesn’t set in until rafe drivers you home, taking all your groceries in for you while you’re sat stunned in the car.

“come on inside.” rafe coos softly, his voice in contrast to the sharp blade inside the leather sheath hanging from his belt.

“oh my god.” your words whisper out before you scream the next ones. “you’re a murderer! you killed that guy!”

rafes hand is back over your mouth as you begin to struggle, trying to get away. you knew rafe was capable of terrible things, but you never expected for his obsession with you to go this far.

“shut up.” rafe grunts, letting out a shout when you bite at his palm, sinking your teeth in and pulling back, trying to hurt him even a little bit as much as he hurt you.

you manage to squirm away for only a minute before rafe is dragging you inside. “you made a serious fucking mistake!” rafe yells, tossing you over your shoulder as you resign to your fate, slumping forward. “going to show you what happens when you are a fucking brat.”

he throws you onto your bed, your body bouncing as he tugs your shirt off, not caring about the tears streaming down your cheeks. he rips your shirt in two pieces like it’s paper, so effortlessly it has your eyes widening, a reminder of his physicality, his pure strength.

“r-rafe.” you plead out, but he ignores your whimper of his name, grabbing your wrist and using your own shirt to tie it to the headboard. he rips your sports bra off next, again tearing it, causing your skin to burn from the sudden movement of the fabric. your other wrist is tied up next, so tight it makes you cry out.

“rafe, please, i’m sorry.” you lean forward, trying to convince him to stop. “i was just scared.” “you should be scared of me. i could fucking kill you and you act like such a brat. you should have waited for me to help you in the grocery store.” it’s ridiculous. all liam did was help you get something off the shelf, and rafe fucking murdered him for it.

“you’re right.” you nod. “just be gentle, please.” you plead, your cunt bruised and red from last night when rafe had you, shoved your face into your own mattress to soak up your tears as he tore your pussy apart.

“ill do whatever i want.” rafe peals the bandage back from your breast, tapping the scar in a shape of his first initial. “should i remind you that you're mine?”

you just whimper. you have nothing left to say, no dignity still inside as rafe tugs your pants off before undressing himself, placing his sheathed knife on your bedside table like always. a reminder, now a reminder stained with an innocent man's blood.

“my pretty little pussy.” rafe coos, fingers swiping through your folds. “she's so pretty i love her so much.” he bends down to kiss your clit before baring his teeth and biting down, making you cry out, back arching as you strain against the wrist restraints.

“did that hurt or did you like it?” rafe questions, kissing your clit again like he didn't just gnaw on it. “or both?”

you know he expects an answer, the way he's looking up at you impatiently. “both.” you hate admitting how much you like the effect rafe has on your body, but with his face in your cunt you know the rush of wetness would give it away anyways.

“good girl.” he hums. rafe picks your hips up, so used to manipulating your body as he shoves his hips forward, sinking his cock inside of you in one smooth motion.

“fuck, still so tight.” rafe grunts out, immediately setting a fast pace, cock stretching you out without remorse. the pain just amplifies your pleasure as you moan.

rafe is thankful that you have no close by neighbors with how loud the both of your are, his thrusts hard and punishing, one hand moving to pinch and pull at your clit, deciding not to be gentle as part of your punishment.

“p-please untie me rafe.” you whimper out.

“what, so you can just bite and hurt me again?” he shakes his head. “i don't think so.”

rafe groans as your cunt clenches around him, your hands gripping onto your ruined shirt, fingers starting to go numb from lack of blood flow.

“maybe i should just leave you tied up. maybe get some handcuffs and chains that way no man will ever flirt with you again.” rafes eyes stay on the scar on your chest. “maybe i should finish carving my name on you.”

“n-no. im yours, rafe. i know that.” you do. you thoroughly belong to rafe. even if he forgot about you, let you go free, stopped watching your every movement, you'll never be truly free. he's utterly wrecked you for anyone else to the point where you crave him.

with every thrust of his cock and tug of his fingers, you feel yourself breaking more. 

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart @pradabambie @tobesolovelysstuff @alexiskirkland @rafestar @brioffthegrid @juniebugg @magicalyoura @cokepewpsii @mysticallystilinski @luvdella @aerangi @folklorsweet @yourenogoodforme @auryyz @mayhem-72 @thestarlithideout @marvelfanfics1recs @rafesgiirl

[laurentdirosetti]

"Support character" [part 2]

{Idia Shroud x gn/MC}

Tags: playing videogames together, competitive, bet, smut...

Idia’s room was just like you imagined it would be, an otaku’s room —books scattered on the floor, open boxes in every corner, merchandising from different animes and games, posters on the walls… Also, the air in the room is really heavy, why is it so hot in here? Is it because of the computer or- 

MC: ARE YOU ALRIGHT? 

His hair was bright red, redder than when we were in the storage room, and not only the color was hot red, but the temperature too. 

Idia: so-sorry, this is the first time a girl has entered my room (anyone other than Ortho or me for that matter).

That was the issue, haha… now I’m nervous too. I should do something to break the ice in this situation, or rather cooler the temperature. I think I recognised one of his figurines on that shelf… 

MC: Isn’t that Ruri-chan from “The Magical Ruri Hana: Demon Girl”?

I was staring right at Ruri-chan when I asked him, so it was a surprise when I turned around to look at his face and saw his expression. For a few seconds the time stopped and he gave me a death stare. Why is he so scary all of a sudden? Did I mispronounce her name? Impossible, I’ve been watching that series since I came to this world, mostly because it was the only serotonin I could find after nearly dying over a kid’s tantrum. 

Idia: you know Ruri-chan?

Maybe because you were nearly as introverted as Idia or because you were nervous, the only answer you could find to his suddenly cold attitude was that this was the beginning of the typical “man interrogation over a common interest to prove your authenticity as a fan”. So before he could start making you questions about the show, you blow out all the lore of the series. 

Idia’s face was as rigid as a rock until you finished your monologue on Ruri-chan’s journey. You stopped talking to catch a breath when he grabbed you by the shoulders and suddenly snapped.

Idia:  ARE YOU TELLING ME THERE WAS ANOTHER OTAKU IN THE ACADEMY AND I DISCOVER IT NOW? Why did it take you so long to talk to me? How is it possible that I didn’t know about this before? I mean, I have control over all the technology and internet connection here. I should’ve been notified if a student was watching anime, how is it possible I didn’t know about you till now? What did you do? What kind of firewall did you use?

MC: I just watched it on Ramshackle’s TV…

Idia: ah… that explains everything, that TV probably doesn’t even have an HDMI port, let alone Internet… 

MC: Idia… my shoulders are starting to hurt.

He sure is strong, it's hard to tell by those baggy clothes he's always wearing. He instantly opened his hands to let me go as soon as he heard me. He looked troubled he might have hurted me. 

MC: don’t worry, I may not have “mana”, but my HP is full.

He couldn’t help but smile at my dumb -almost cringe- comparison. I think my “break the ice” mission was successful. Idia is very expressive, he snapped from nervous, to surprised, to confused, to happy in the the blink of an eye. I wish he stopped using that floating tablet of his to attend classes so I could see more of his expressions. 

As soon as he released me he went to pick something from his wardrobe, a pair of controls apparently. The controls in my world were less complex than this ones. Idia handed me one of them and I began to study the buttons. It would be a lie to tell I knew how to grab it, clown music is playing inside my head. I wanted to play videogames with him, but truth be told I don’t have money to fix Rammshackle’s sink let alone buy a videogame or a console. 

Idia saw my troubled grin and step towards me, shadowing my entire persona. 

Idia: Is there a problem? You don’t like the color or something? Is it the brand?

MC: well, you see, the thing is… 

This is gonna be so embarassing. First, I ran into problems trying to defend him against nothing, cause he wasn’t even hearing those jerks. Second, I made him hide with me in the storage room and now I have to tell him I wanted to play videogames with him but didn’t even think about the possibility of the controls being different from my world. Defeated, I lower my head to evade his soon to be inquisitive gaze. 

MC: …I don’t know how to use these controls, they are different from the ones in my world.

Silence was so loud I couldn’t take it anymore and looked up. He was trying so hard not to burst out laughing at me his cheeks were red and his jaw was so tense I could see his neck muscles contracting. Finally, he let out a little pfft and grabbed his mouth and chin with his hand, pressing his cheek with his index.

Idia: I’m sorry but, you went through all that trouble to play together and you don’t even know how? Cute.

Lucky for me I don’t have magical hair that turns red when I'm flustered, but I’m sure it’s not hard to guess just by looking at my face. 

Idia: don’t worry, guess I’ll have to teach you as I did with my little brother, come here.

He sat on a visible comfortable plush sofa, big enough for him to open his leg and ask me to sit between them. Funny, when we were in the storage room he was so nervous and now he openly asks me to sit on top of him, hasn’t he noticed?

Dumbfounded, I did as he requested and sat on the gap between his thighs, creating a space between us as a way to surpass the embarrassment. Unfazed, he glued his chest to my back and slipped his hands around my body. As if I was walking on thin ice, I slowly rested my arms on top of his. Then he moved his hands on top of mine on the controller, guiding my fingers on top of the buttons. My ears were bright red as I could feel his breathing chilling my neck, whispering a slow pace explanation on how to use the controller. His fingers moved mine slowly over the buttons, his hair fell as a cascade over my shoulders sliding between my legs. I don’t know what is happening and I would swear neither does he. He’s so focused on explaining the lore of the game and controls he hasn’t realized the hot mess he got cuddled beneath him.

Idia: Did you get that?

He asked, suddenly making me snap out of my cloud. Even though it was difficult, for many reasons, I caught a glimpse of his monologue while trying to survive my ocean of hormones. 

MC: Well… It seems quite complicated to be honest. Maybe I can understand it better once I play the game. 

Idia: Great, let’s play. I’ll connect the other controller so we can multi-play this. 

The controller was right next to us, already plunged, so he didn’t move an inch and his arm were still surrounding me. The soundtrack of the game started playing and far too late I realized he meant to play in this position, basically cuddling each other, with our arms tangled, his body temperature on me and his breathing on my neck. We haven’t even started, but I can tell I already lost. 

Unfortunately for him, after playing for nearly an hour, I tried my best to give him a hard time beating me. I lost all the matches anyway, but at least I could hear his groans all along, echoing in my ears. 

Idia: SO much for being a snob, you are tougher than you look. But rest assured, I would never let a newbie beat me at my favorite game. Ortho has tried many times and I should give him a pass -you know the whole “Idia let your little brother win once”- but as a weeb I have a reputation yk. 

That smirk on his face… he’s sure full of himself. I have almost grasped the dynamics of this game, maybe I could beat him. I’m a pretty competitive person and that arrogance only ignites something dark in me, something stupid. 

MC: I bet I can ruin that reputation of yours in our next round.

Idia: Are YOU implying YOU can win? LMFAO, if delulu was a sport you'd have a gold medal. If you beat me on this round I’ll be your chair or whatever -not that it’s even a possibility.

MC: Do you mean I can ask you anything if I win? It’s this one of those anime situations in which the winner can order the loser around the whole day? 

Idia: Yeah, that kind of shoujo stuff. Afraid?

MC: Mmn… Well, you’re already quite the comfortable chair.

That came out of nowhere, but I decided to keep my cool and rested my weight on his chest even more, looking up at his melted honey eyes now widening from sudden embarrassment. His peachy cheeks are so cute. Plan complete: this may be considered cheating but the only way to win is to distract him and by the discontrolled beating of his heart reverberating on my back I can tell it already worked. 

We began playing, in the game we were two characters fighting each other in a 2D horizontal landscape. I didn’t learn all the combos, but I mastered the parries and evasions, so it was nearly impossible for him to even scratch me. He was focused on attacking while I was determined on defending, a never ending match it seemed.  In real life it was the other way around, I continued non-stop “attacking” him while he tried his best to “defend” himself. Each time I evaded one of his attacks my butt moved against his lower body. From the corner of my eye I enjoyed his leg contraction at every “unintended” pound I gave him. After almost an hour of playing him, and the game, his breath was a mess, he was trembling all over and his dick was rock hard between my ass cheeks. My intention was to win the game, but I’m not quite disappointed with the actual development of the situation. I could take this as a win already.

Then I felt a thrust, his body rested on top of mine and I swear I can almost tell his longitude just by the pressure on my lower back. He snapped, his fingers were moving so fast on the buttons I had to make an effort to see them, he left me no chance to defend myself neither in the game or reality. As my character fell to the ground completely defeated, my head stumped on the floor as his hands pressed my shoulders to the ground.

Face to face, among the darkness of his room I could only differentiate two golden orbs and his face lightly illuminated by the gentle blue of his hair. 

Idia: I won.

My whole belly was on the palm of his hand as he slowly lifted my shirt all the way up, until he grabbed my neck under the clothes. 

MC: Wh-what are you doing?

Idia: I won, so the loser must do whatever the winner demands, right?

MC: Bu-but you haven’t say anything yet.

Idia: Oh, then I want the loser to fix my joystick. 

What? Oh…

As I stupidly tried to understand that I noticed his hard-on pressuring my lower belly, near to my intimacy. 

Idia: you see, a certain snob player broke it mid-play. Any idea on how to fix it?

He completely snapped, I almost can’t recognize him. Where is the shy boy I was messing with? The situation has escalated more than I would have imagined, but this doesn’t put me off in the slightest. Seeing Idia all hot and bothered surely is rare enough and I want to push that dominant side of him a bit more.

MC: maybe… It just needs some cleaning?

I questioned opening my mouth and letting out my tongue. His sigh was filled with excitement and anticipation, I could catch him bitting his lips for a moment.

He moved his knees to the sides of my head and lowered his zip and trousers. My eyes, now more used to the low illumination of the room, enjoyed the view of his thighs, pale as porcelain. He looks so fragile and slim, or that was my line of thinking until he uncovered his dick. Hard, veiny and leaking precum on top of my forehead; the length was the size of my face. This was going to hurt.

I accepted my destiny and kept my mouth open for him to enter mercilessly. But, that wasn’t the case. At a slow pace he started going down on my mouth, he filled my cavity with just the tip and almost the middle of his length. Then, he took my chin in his hand and caressed my cheek, pressing it on his dick and slowly massaging it from outside. I didn’t know what to do with my tongue so I tried to lick his dick and press it more against my cheek. His eyes glittered from a moment and he let out a soft chuckle. 

Idia: seems you’re really eager to clean it, babe. But this much won’t do I’m afraid, you need to get it all wet enough.

Instantly, he continued letting down his hips  until all his dick was in my mouth and throat. He was so deep in me my lower lip was touching his balls. Strange enough, this wasn’t as painful as I imagined it to be, I wonder how can my throat be twitching around him and I’m so calm? Maybe, his sweet expressions are keeping me from gagging. His mouth is a little open, from this angle I can only see his tongue moving above his pointy teeth. His eyes are locked in my throat, probably a bulge has formed, his fault after all. He’s been so long in this position I could possibly draw his dick by having it inside me. 

When I thought he would start moving, his balls twitched against my lip and his cum flooded my mouth non-stop. When he released everything in me he fastly got up, letting me catch a breath. He cumed so much there were lines of cum running down my cheeks to the ground. I coughed a little after drinking all.

When I sat on the floor and looked up I could feel his gaze contemplating my whole display, heavy breathing and a surprised expression.

MC: that was fast. 

Idia: I endured playing in hard mode, literally, a few minutes ago. Thank me I didn't finish by just seeing your ahegao face. Also …you didn’t need to drink that.

MC: I told you I would clean it. 

Idia: quite the awful job, It's all sticky and twitching, maybe you can clean it better down here…

To be continued...

Part 1

[senseofnewness]

what are your own like personal headcanons about art donaldson!!! i love hearing about silly thoughts people have <333 (i love your writing btw!!)

(thank you bby <3)

random art donaldson headcanons

• at 31 years old, art donaldson still can't grow a full mustache. it's as if god took all the body hairs meant for him and gave them to patrick zweig instead.

• art wears tom ford’s azure lime, a fragrance that is fresh and crisp, with none of the heavy muskiness you might expect. some might say it smells a bit feminine, but it suits him well, at least, it always smells clean.

• he named his daughter lily after his grandmother, liliane. although she didn't raise him, they shared a special bond. it was liliane who introduced him to tennis.

• he is a secret fan of the lord of the rings and occasionally quotes gollum, much to tashi’s annoyance, who rolls her eyes at the nerdy side of her husband.

• his favorite food is lasagna, but not the kind you'd expect. he doesn't crave the gourmet freshly made lasagna his personal chef prepares. what he really loves is the store-brand frozen lasagna, the kind that comes in a box and is microwaved. tashi only allows him to eat it on his birthday.

• out of all his body parts, hands are probably his favorite. which is why he finds holding hands to be one of the most intimate gestures. he prefers sturdy hands with slender fingers and manicured nails.

• art had never blocked patrick’s number all those years, just so he could one day say "the phone works both ways" if patrick ever tried to blame him for their falling out.

• he has an irrational fear of spiders. if he spots one in a room, he cannot bring himself to sleep in there, even if tashi has killed the spider for him. in his mind, the spider’s family might be plotting revenge, and that thought is enough to keep him awake at night.

• art donaldson hates the taste of coffee, no matter how many times he had tried to like it in an effort to appear more mature. to him, it always tastes like straight-up dirt. he prefers to stick with vanilla milk.

• he has tried the curly girl method countless times, hoping to restore the curly texture his hair once had as a teenager. despite his efforts and the many products he has tried, his hair remains persistently straight.

• art chews his nails when nervous. and he will chew on anything else he can get a grip on as well. tashi tries to break this habit by painting his nails with bitter nail polish but it doesn't stop him from biting them, it just tastes like shit now.

• art rarely swears or gets angry, but when he does, tashi knows he will spend the entire day brooding. it's all about muttered complaints and scowls. the only thing that typically soothes him is a warm bath.

• when lily was born, art sobbed so loudly that the nurses had to ask him to quiet down to avoid disturbing the other babies in the hospital wing. tashi was so mortified that she pretended not to know him.

[nsfw]

• he wears those tiny underwears because he doesn't feel supported in anything else. he needs his pink fuzzy balls to be secured on the court. a lesson he learned the hard way. when he was fifteen, one of his balls slipped through the leg of his loose boxers during a match, and patrick teased him about it for months. ever since that day, he has sworn off boxers entirely.

• when patrick taught art how to jerk off, art waited for patrick to be asleep to look closely at the sock patrick had used. he studied the slimy stains, comparing the cum to his own, just to make sure everything was normal with him.

• he isn’t a fan of quickies. he prefers to take his time with tashi, believing that making love is about enjoying every moment and taking the time to bring her to the edge. to him, it’s not really making love if she doesn’t climax too. however, there are times when he becomes so horny after a particularly intense practice session, where tashi had pushed him harder than usual, that a quickie becomes necessary.

• he has incredibly sensitive nipples and gets easily aroused when they’re touched or teased. when tashi wants to make him shut up during an argument, she just pinches them and he starts whimpering.

• sometimes he can't help but think about the fact that patrick had been with tashi before him, and it turns him on. the thought of them together becomes a driving force, turning into a personal competition. he feels the need to prove to tashi that he is the best sex she will ever have.

• tashi used threats of her strap-on as a way to motivate him during his matches, but now, instead of fear, it has become a source of excitement. art knows that each victory means tashi is waiting for him at home with her silicone cock, ready to celebrate.

[breezy141]

OMG YOUR CASEOH FIC WAS SOOOO CUTE🩷🩷

PLS PLS write more for him noone writes for him😭😭 maybe a jealousy? One ik it's basic but I think the jealousy trope is so cute BUT ILL LOVE ANYTHING 🩷🩷

of course i csn! also i knoww, i wish people wrote more for him! i hope you like it 💌 masterlist.

jealousy, jealousy | caseoh x f! reader

sum: you and case were currently filming a video for your youtube channel, you were at mcdonald’s chillin. however, case soon became agitated as a “fan” got a little to close to you.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

overtime, you had been able to rack up 2.6 million followers on twitch, and 1.4 million on youtube. you were able to make quite a name for yourself, giving you opportunities to do brand deals for clothing brands, and tech-y brands. as well, you’d met some great people such as, jynxzi, his girlfriend breckie, sketch, and caseoh.

quite quickly, you and caseoh clicked. instantly becoming great friends, and hanging out every chance you could, as well as streaming together. such as, PO box openings, playing 3 scary horror games or even filming a few vlogs for your separate youtube channel.

it was obvious that you and case liked each other, but you were both to shy to make the first move. case knew he was yours, just as you knew, you were his.

currently, you and case were clutching at your stomachs as you were both laughing uncontrollably at the the camera. you had seen such a funny moment take place and neither of you could get it out of your mind. you were sat outside of mcdonald’s eating some nuggets, that you both shared.

“i’m sorry that was hilarious” case says while wiping the corners of his eyes, you breathed out slowly as you attempted to calm yourself down. after a bit you continued you talk about some random topics, making sure to address the camera every once and awhile.

while talking, a guy who seemed to be in his early twenties walked up to you and began talking. “hi! i’m a big fan i was just wondering if i could get a picture with you?” you placed does your drink down and nodded to the man. “hi! of course! what’s your name?” the man smiled sweetly. “adam” you smiled back, standing up and wiping off any crumbs.

you clicked off the camera really quickly.

this isn’t the first time someone has asked you for a photo, it doesn’t annoy you too much as you enjoy interacting with your fans. “can you take the picture?” adam asks, pointing his phone towards case, not very kindly either.

you frowned slightly, case sat there staring at the guy, before moving. “yup” he replied, as he took his phone and placed his half eaten nugget down and stood from his chair.

adam placed his hand on your hip and pulled you to his side. you were kind of uncomfortable, you didn’t expect for him to be so handsy, case continued staring not wanting to show his irritation.

“could you maybe put your arm on my shoulder maybe? sorry..” you spoke with a quiet voice, feeling uncomfortable by even bringing it up. “it’s only one photo” adam said, trying to justify his action.

“she said move your arm, do it your not having a picture with her” case spoke up, trying his hardest to hide the pure jealousy. that should be him holding your hips, should be him getting close to you and holding you close to him.

adam cleared his throat and did as he was told. you smiled sweetly, and case took the photo. almost immediately, case handed the phone back to adam. “thank you” he said quietly, walking away from you both.

you hugged your arms, and looked over to case. he watched the guy as he walked away, “are you okay?” he asked, making his way over to you. “yeah, i just didn’t expect him to do that” he nodded and took your hand leading you back to the table.

“i know, i mean he could of least gave you a warning, there was no need for all that” you raised your eyebrow at him “i mean really, he had no basic respect for you. and he should, especially in your presence” he spoke as he used his nugget to point at you. “i don’t like the way he held you, wasn’t right i m-”

“are you jealous, case?” he turned to you and shook his head. “no, why would i be jealous..” you giggled to yourself.

“i’m not jealous”

“okayy”

“don’t do that, i’m NOT”

“okay okay!” you looked over to him, smiling.

“okay maybe just a little, how could i not be though!?” case explained playing with his cap. you could tell he was nervous. “i just didn’t like how he held you like that, he was too close for my liking” he shrugged as he defended himself.

“it’s okay, i understand. i think i’d react the same” he sighed, feeling guilty about the way he reacted, he didn’t want to look you. his knee bounced as he thought about what he said.

you scooted closer to him, and wrapped your hand about his arm. “heyy, it’s okay i promise. i get why you reacted the way you did. no need to be ashamed” you flashed him a sweet smile, and kissed his cheek.

immediately his cheeks went a dark shade of red, you giggled to yourself as you watched him smile to himself. his knee had calmed down completely.

“thank you”

:)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

i hope you enjoyed. it’s currently 11:40pm and i have a maths exam tomorrow. i should be sleepin 🙏

[queenofallimagines]

Blue Lock boys and having a S/O who has a sex toy collection

A/N: This is extremely self indulgent and came to me while browsing the internet. Part one of 2 and These are also all real toys so if you know exactly what I’m talking about lmao kudos to you✌🏿

Isagi:

- lmao oh boy

- Brand new to this world

- Only has the blue flesh light you got him as a joke for Christmas

- He uses it more often than he’d like to admit…

- So when he comes to your place and he’s in the mood to get nasty

- You gotta hold his hand bc he’s gunna be a little nervous

- You ask him if he’s cool with toys and he’s like ofc

- Very excited to see what you use to make yourself feel good

- Then he is taken aback to see a box of sex toys ORGANIZED BY COLOR

- “We in for a more rough mood today or like a quick thing?”

- “YOU USE THEM FOR DIFFERENT SCENES??”

- Let him take a look through your treasure chest(pun intended)

- And he’s like 🙂 bc how does he use that

- “So whats this?? It’s like flat but it has silicone flowers on the top??”

- “Oh that’s a grinder you strap it to a pillow”

- “….and it’s supposed to be green and blue?”

- “The colors on this one were pretty 😤 aesthetic matters too!”

- Best way is to just dive in and let him test out each one

- His favorite so far is this pretty little one called CLAUDETTE and he likes grinding on it while he kisses you and fucking into it

- Likes how the colors look all funky and fun

- “Is that-“

- “A football colored one yes it is.”

- “…..you didn’t have this before you met me did you?”

- “Listen it’s not MY fault that you be away on games a lot and this just so happened to be in your girth!”

- He will indulge you and do those dick mold cast things and will demand to see videos of you fucking yourself with it when he’s away

- Nothing would make him rush home faster than seeing a video of you moaning all pretty in nothing but a spare jersey of his bounding up and down on an exact replica of his cock begging him to hurry home

- Fuck the game he’s on the first fight back to Japan IMMEDIATELY

- LOVES to use them in punishments!

- When you’re acting all bratty he’ll pretend he’s not on his very last nerve

- Not super good at controlling his true emotions but when he’s calling you pet names making you feel all flustered can you really tell he’s upset?

- So when he flips a switch and tells you to “hold fucking still or I’ll tie your hands to the headboard” and he’s in between your legs holding you down it’s definitely a surprise

- Has one of the vibes that are controlled by phone

- He’s not so cruel as take you for a stroll in public

- (Also he really doesn’t want to get slammed with a public indecency charge because you can’t keep quiet)

- He’ll make you wear it as he goes about his business in the house

- Ignoring you without a care in the world as he’s relaxing on the couch and you’re begging him to bend you over anything

- “Hm? I didn’t hear a ‘I’m sorry for being a brat Yoichi’ so all that crying ain’t doing nothing”

- He has really good control when he’s pissed

- Usually that glassy eyed look while begging him to ruin you would be enough to have him on you like a dog in heat

- Buuuuuy unfortunate for you upset yoichi is some cold

- He’s literally not even flinching as you grind in his thigh making a mess all over his pants

- Rolling his eyes before shooting you the most annoyed look

- “You gunna keep making a mess on my pants or you going to fucking apologize already?”

- “I-I’m sorry Yoichi… please I need you so bad.”

- “Fucking finally.”

- Throws your legs over his shoulders but he’s still mad so he’s gunna edge and then overstimulate you before he even pulls his cock out

Nagi:

- oh he’s so silly

- Like he’s definitely like??

- Probably accidentally finds your stash before YOU show him

- “Oi, what’s this thing over here?”

- And you walk in and he’s messing w a silicone octopus cockring

- Boy if you don’t stay out my mf closet-

- Wants you to show him all the cool weird stuff you have

- “How do you even use this?”

- “Like any other toy???”

- “This tentacle is NOT like a regular sex toy.”

- Does it again by laying down on some of your stuffies and sees one w a obvious zipper

- Opens it to see a dildo inside

- “Why is this IN here?”

- “So nosey mfs like YOU don’t just come in my room and find my shit.”

- “…..that’s fair.”

- His fav for you to use on him is this gold and grey silicone stroker that has skin like texture

- When he’s too lazy to move he likes you being on top of him kissing and biting his neck while you slowly move the toy on his cock

- Will have him squirming and moaning loud as hell like you’ve never seen before

- Nagi isn’t the most vocal but he’s moaning like a pornstar

- “Ohhhh fuuuck pretty keep stroking me like that.”

- No better way to get him to fuck you like you want then to slow stroke him with a fleshlight or stroker

- Asks you to make a cast of your pussy

- When you actually make him one it’s like never brought up again until one night you get a text around 2am a few hours before nagi is set to touchdown back in Japan

- Of him fucking it like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do

- Not sure who the fuck recorded that for him🤨 bc it’s too good and so are the angles to be a shaky one handed quick video

- Moans about how he can’t wait to feel you cream on his cock

- As the most obscene noises play from your speakers with the image of seishiro fucking into a fleshlight of your likeness all messy with lube and cum

- From the way the video starts off he had to have been at it for a while already

- You catch a glimpse of his hazy eyes as he’s mercilessly pounding into the toy

- When the video ends you get another text from him

- ‘Just got out the airport be home in 25’

Hiori:

- you’d think he’d be like weirded out

- Or confused

- Nah

- He’s seen all the gamer porn there is to see

- Monster and fantasy themed sex toys are a walk in the park

- “Woah, they like make dragon dicks that you can actually ride?”

- Favorites are Ophiuchus the Forgotten, Spyro Slim, and the twilight Moon

- He likes textures so anything with more ridges and bumps the better!

- Likes ones that seem normal. He’s a sneaky fucker so hidden in plain sight is great

- Like oh you thought this was a regular lipstick? Nope! A bullet vibe

- Has like 6 of these in your purse at all times

- Annoying as will pull a “hey can I talk to ya for a sec?”

- And then lead you into a secluded area and shove a toy in you while having his mouth do the heavy lifting

- “Mmm~ taste better when you’re this scared.”

- Someone get his ass 🙄😒

- Let’s you fuck him but like you’re a service top at most

- Not very try willing to give up power because that means he looses the game

- Will tie you up and ride you

- Puts on his most slutty performance and really lets himself get whiny

- As soon as he unties you it’s a chance to get him

- Like oh so anyway we’re not done🥰 now you can’t touch

- Will send you links to stores asking you what you think

- “Check out this dark souls one”

- “Yo, baby who the FUCK is that going to fit inside”

- “:((( but it glows in the dark”

[ladylooch]

When We Met - [Nico x Lexi]

Vanilla, Nico thinks to himself. That is the other note to what he is smelling right now. 

Citrus, vanilla, and sweet roses- like the pink ones he got for his mother from the corner market earlier this season. 

For weeks, this same sweet, soft scent has lingered in the elevator on his way to practice. Sometimes it is there in the evening too, but mostly in the morning. Like whoever it belongs to just exited the elevator car before he got into it. Every day, Nico has been trying to pinpoint the notes of the perfume. He was pretty sure there was citrus and something floral. It took him days to nail down the rose connection. But the final note of sweetness wasn’t making sense to him.

Now he knows.

He stuffs his hands into his pockets, looking down at the elevator floor. Unexpectedly, a sadness drifts through his mind. He knows the scents, but not the girl they belong to. 

It doesn’t make much sense, but Nico wants to know her. She has excellent taste in perfume. What else does she have excellent taste in? He would like to know. He finds himself wondering about it at practice too. Once it happened during a game. Nico plays at too high of a level to be that distracted by perfume. Plus, this is a huge building and the chances of bumping into her are low. 

The elevator hits the bottom floor. Nico hooks a left towards the mail room, opening the door with his fob. He takes in the room of gray mailboxes, seeing he is alone. He walks over to his, sliding the key in and turning it open. He cringes when he sees the amount of mail stuffed inside. The box is almost full. Understandable considering that he can’t remember the last time he came down this way. Getting mail is a mundane task for Nico. Sure he walks by the mailroom every day when he gets home, but those extra few steps feel like too much effort after a grueling game or an OT loss. 

Carefully, he slides his hands on the top and bottom of the mailbox. He glides the big stack of paper out of his box, then curses when the package box key falls to the floor between his Nikes. Nico gets the papers the rest of the way out, tucking them against his chest before he crouches down to grab the key. 

As he does, the door swings open and quick foot steps speak inside. Nico keeps his gaze down, not wanting to take the chance of recognition. His fingers grasp the key in his hand and he slides it into the package box. He twists the lock open, grabbing a package out. It’s a sponsorship box he knew to expect. He shuts the door to the box then stiffens as he smells that same perfume from the elevator.

He shoots up like a bolt of lightning.

“It’s you!”

“OH MY GOD!” The brunette yells, tossing her mail into the air. “I didn’t know anyone was in here!” 

“Oh, I-I’m so sorry.” Nico mumbles. He tosses his mail onto the table in the center of the room, then rushes over to help her pick hers up.

Crouched down on the ground, Nico catches the gaze of the most stunning green eyes he has ever seen. They’re framed with long, curled eyelashes and a soft purple eye shadow that makes them pop. Her face is filled out with a full pink mouth and rounded cheeks that dust pink from their interaction. Long, brunette hair falls over her shoulder where it is held in a high pony tail. Holy smokes, his perfume queen is gorgeous.

“Do I know you?” She murmurs as they stand back up. Nico hands her mail in his hands over, but not before sneaking a peak at her name: Alexis.

His perfume queen, Alexis.

“Uh… I don’t think so.” Nico shakes his head.

“So what did you mean when you said 'it’s you'?”

“Oh! Um…” Nico pauses. How is he gonna say this and sound normal. “I recognize you from your perfume.”

Her thin eyebrows furrow together. 

Shit, that wasn’t it.

“I smell it every day.” He tries agin. She looks to the side, taking a slight step away from him.

Also not it.

“Okay.” She nods, looking down at her mail. She flips it over so the address is facing down. 

“What brand is it?” He asks, shoving his hands into his pockets so he looks less intimidating. An amused smile pulls up one corner of her mouth. Then she sucks her cheeks in, looking down at her shoes. She is wearing black and white Nikes too, but more athletic, paired with light blue scrubs. A name badge is clipped to her pants that says Lexi, not Alexis. 

“It’s YSL, flowers and flames.” She finally responds, hiking her bag over her shoulder.

“Nice. Maybe I can spray some on my pillow.” He tries to joke.

It doesn’t land.

He mutters a Swiss explicative under his breath as she purses her lips together. Her green eyes widen and she inhales a deep breath.

“Sephora has a sale right now.” She offers up. Red streaks into Nico’s pale cheeks. He turns, clearing his throat and heading back to his pile of mail.

“Good to know. Sorry about your mail.”

“Thanks for helping me…?” She murmurs back to him, ending with a question like she isn’t sure what to call him.

“Nico.”

“Thank you, Nico.”

“Least I could do.” He says as he gathers his mail back into his arms.

“I’m Lexi.” She tells him as she holds the mail room door open for him. He shuffles out with his arms loaded down. “Are you going up?” She motions to the elevator.

“Ah, no. Well, yes.” He closes his eyes at his stammering. Damn, is today his first day speaking English? “I am going up, but I’m going to take the stairs. Didn’t get my steps in yet.”

She pauses, like she might say something, then nods.

“Have a good day. Nice meeting you.”

“You too.” He shouts after her before dipping into the stairwell. He looks up at all the flights of stairs he has to climb, then gets to it before he can talk himself into getting back in the elevator with Lexi. As much as he wants to, he thinks he’s freaked her out enough today. 

By the time Nico gets to his floor, he is huffing and puffing. He may be in peak condition right now for hockey, but skating is no match for the strength it takes to climbs that many stairs. Sweat spills from his hairline, beading down his neck and shoulders to collect at the small of his back in a puddle. He struggles to pull the keys to his place out, dropping mail with each movement. He gets the door open, collecting the envelopes then letting the door slam behind him after he gets into his place.

“Fuck me.” He mutters, going directly to the table to drop it all off. 

A quiet knock hits his front door. Nico looks towards it with narrowed eyes then stalks over to the door, annoyed by everything that has occurred in the last ten minutes. He flings the door open, expecting to see one of his teammates who also lives in the building.

Instead it’s Lexi. 

Nico softens his face, seeing her holding an envelope addressed to him in front of her coy face.

“You dropped this.”

“Oh. Thanks.” He smiles sheepishly, grabbing the envelope from her hand. “I swear I’m not normally that weird. I’m very normal.” A smile stretches her perfect, pink lips apart. Lips that Nico wants to feel brushing against his, that perfume he is obsessed with melting into his skin from her body heat meeting his. 

What is wrong with him? He just told her he is normal and now he’s picturing her kissing him and grinding into his-

“Good to know this is what my perfume turns you into… bye Nico.”

Nico’s heart flutters in his chest. Did she just… flirt with him? His brown eyes raise over her head for a second, then come back to her face.

“See you around?”

“Yeah.”

“Say hi when you do.” She offers as she walks backwards.

Nico’s lips part in surprise and awe, unable to move his mouth to speak anything else to her. 

An easy wave is lifted over to him as she heads back into the elevator. 

The strangest giggle comes out of Nico’s mouth as he walks back into his apartment. He catches his reflection in the windows across the room. He looks like all seven of the dwarves wrapped up into one person. 

He may have just met her, but Nico Hischier is hooked on more than just Lexi’s perfume.

Read more Nico and Lexi here.

[the-universal-sun]

owww, can we get Little Ford crying about Stan too? Could be pre portal or post weirdmaggedon guilt!

(if you want to ofc)

Sorry this one is so short! My minds been places today, but I wanted to work through my ask box. Sorry everyone for taking so long, by the way! It’s just been a long couple of weeks!

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“Space Junk is any Human-made object orbiting Earth that no longer serves a useful purpose…” Ford read aloud to Dr. Mittens from his “Fun Fact About Space!” book that Stan gave him earlier. He doesn’t know if his brother stole it or paid for it, but he didn’t really care, he likes the book either way, and Dr. Mittens did, too. He turned the page, starting to read about comet make up, when Stan walked in with lunch. Ford immediately perked up with a big smile as Stan put down his plate. Stan always knows how to make lunch that he’ll eat, this one was an extra crispy grilled cheese, cut into squares, he doesn’t like triangle sandwiches, not anymore.

“Thank you, Buddy,” Ford says, nodding Dr. Mittens’ head along with his words, setting his book down, he doesn’t want his soon-to-be greasy fingers to mess up the pages.

“You’re welcome, Buddy, thanks for using your manners.” Stan says, tweaking Ford’s glasses with his usual slight smirk. Stan’s dressed super casually today, just a new tank top and his boxers, staying cool in this hot summer. Ford’s still wearing a turtle neck, just thinner than his usual one, the heat even getting to him on some level.

Stan turned around and Ford saw it. That mark on Stan’s shoulder. The burn. The Brand. The brand that he did, that he pushed his brother into all those years ago. There on his shoulder was the evidence that Ford hurt him, hurt his Buddy, his Stan. Ford’s breath hitches, loud enough he guesses for Stan to look at him. He can’t read the look his brothers face, but he thinks he might be worried. But how could he be worried when Ford was worried!? He frantically pats the space next to him-after moving Dr. Mittens to the table-motioning for Stan to sit down.

“Poindexter, are you alright, there? You-ah- just kind of stopped. Was it the grilled cheese? Did I mess it up? Man, I’m sor-Whoa!” He barely listened to Stan, pushing his shoulder until he had a clear vision of the burn in his shoulder. It looks so bad, so dark. He did that. He feels feels his eyes prick with wet hot tears, he’s such a bad brother. He’s supposed to be a big brother, but here he is, reading childrens book books to a stuffed animal! He feels his chest feels tight, his throat feels dry and all he wants right now is curl up in Stan’s arms and listen to Bill Nye! But how can he do that, knowing how badly he’s hurt his brother!

Ford can feel his chest stutter in-in-in something! But he can’t name what he’s feeling because he can’t think hardly! He’s aware enough to know that he’s sobbing into Stan’s back, against his scar. He feels Stan turn around and wrap his arms around him, hauling him into his lap and speaking against his ear.

“Shh, Sixer, it’s okay, I’m okay. The scar’s fine, it’s healed and it doesn’t hurt. I’m not mad about it, I’m not mad at you. I could never be mad at you, you’re my Smartypants, huh?” Stan whispered in his ear, slightly bouncing his knee in an attempt to calm him.

Ford didn’t even realize he mentioned the scar. Did he? Stan probably guessed why he was crying, his brother was good at reading people like that, Ford never could. Stan was such a cool brother, Ford was lucky to have him. He sniffles, trying to subtly wipe his eyes on Stan’s shoulder, but guessing by the chuckle, he was caught. He swallowed his spit, but his throat still felt dry.

“B-but it’s m-my fault. The hurt on your shoulder, I did it.” His ears feels hot, embarrassed of his higher pitched tone and bad grammar. He can’t help it when he’s little, and Stan’s never made fun of him, but he’ll still feel that shame on occasion, the shame of going against societal acceptance.

“Hey now, what did we agree when we talked about that? We both fu-uh messed up. I mean-Stanford, I pushed you through-“ Stan pauses and winces, not wanting to bring up the portal incident, not when Ford’s little, and not when he’s already upset. Man, he’s really messing this up. “Th-the point is that we both have made mistakes, we have both Burt each other. But most importantly, we have said sorry to each other, okay. So it’s literally no harm and no foul. So please, Buddy, dry those tears, and let’s eat that grilled cheese, hm? I’ll even feed you so you can read without greasy fingers!”

Ford giggles as Stanley tickles his chin, his words calming him a bit. Stan always knows how to cheer Ford up, he loves his brother so much. Ford knows he’ll still be down for the rest of the rest of the day, and he’s sure Stan will know too. Usually, when Ford gets upset like this, Stan will let him cling, let Ford follow him around. He’ll wrap Ford up in his weighted blanket, and just sit with him, let Ford just exist with no words needed.

Stan sets Ford aside, plops Dr. Mittens and Ford’s book on his lap, and opens it back to Space Junk, and picks up the plate with the grilled cheese.

“So, tell me about Space Junk, Poindexter. Whatzit? I’m a assumin, Junk in Space?” Stan jokes as he holds up one half of the sandwich to Ford’s mouth.

“No! Well, yes! But, Buddy, it’s more than that, right Dr. Mittens?” Ford laughs as he looks at his stuffed animal, taking a bite from the sandwich poking his mouth. He chews and swallows before beginning to read the page again.

“Space Junk is any Human-made object orbiting Earth that no longer serves a useful purpose…”

[jiminrings]

c*ntroversial fics (the series) sneak peeks :-)

at your will — wherein jungkook swore to leave his pornstar life behind, atleast until he does a video behind your back.

Your chest swells with pride knowing that Jungkook is wanted by many, but he doesn’t want anyone but you.

To have him in the first place, much more as your first boyfriend, had already been a shot in the dark. He was a mutual friend of a mutual friend who loitered in your flower shop, just because he didn’t have an umbrella whilst it was pouring outside and didn’t want to fight with one of nature’s worst forces (a cold).

He wants stability and you want it as well, even if it’s from him; most especially if it’s from him.

Jungkook’s too much of an unorthodox, out-of-your-league guy — and yet you’re perfect for each other.

At the end of the day, however, you can’t reverse the fact that Jungkook’s much more experienced than you.

No matter how many nights you share with your first boyfriend, you can’t negate how many people he’s seen even if he sleeps with his head buried to your neck. You can’t just simply ignore the fact that you can’t tell how many times he made everyone else cum before you, even if it’s in a set or through a screen by simply watching him do his job.

In days like these wherein Jungkook’s shirtless as he makes you your breakfast or fixes something in your bathroom, you can’t help but think if it’s been a plot line to his adult films before. 

When he coos to your face and giggles at your silent confusion about how things work, you’re harshly reminded of the fact that you and Jungkook aren’t on the same calibre. You’re not on the same podium, you’re not verified with the same check mark, and you’re not used to the same bright lighting that highlights nothing but your pleasure — maybe even the sweet, occasional pain that Jungkook seeks.

No matter which way you look at it, you can’t deny how knowledgeable he is about pleasure and being the embodiment of it. You can’t ignore the number of condoms he has on hand, nor the array of toys he has, nor the natural ease he has to himself whenever you’re intimate. 

You can’t skirt around the fact that you feel out of place underneath Jungkook, or in whatever position he puts you in.

“My sweet doll,” he’d call you endearingly when you’re spacing out as you do the work you take home with you, and instead of being gratified by the pet name like usual, your stomach churns at the unspoken bother — how many other people has he called that?

“You okay, baby?” he’d ask you whenever there’s a frown or a furrowed appearance of brows on your face. The question had been your saving grace for the longest time since you got together, but when Jungkook asks you now, you only grow irritated — how many times has he whispered that to the ears of those who’d been under him before?

Jungkook’s yours, even if there had been many before you — even if there’ll probably be more after you.

“Going somewhere?” you ask sharply, the tone of your voice going unnoticed by Jungkook because he chalks up the edge to it to your workload.

“Mhm! Just meeting my old friends,” he chirps, dashing down the stairs in a frenzy.

Jungkook looks good. Clean. He’s pristine with the way he’s freshly-lathered and shaved, doused in perfume that’ll practically lure everyone close to him.

“Oh,” you swallow the lump in your throat, refusing to breathe Jungkook in even if he kisses your temple. “Old friends?”

There’s a knot that forms behind your eyes and you fear that if you let Jungkook closer to you at the moment, your vision would turn white; that your eyesight would see past him and instead focus on the packaging of that one coveted brand’s pheromone perfume in the trash, or the box of ribbed condoms that you hate in his side of the bathroom dresser, or the way how Jungkook’s old work phone vibrates on his dresser.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head too much,” Jungkook mutters to your hair, a snort coming out past his lips belatedly when he mistakes your silence for embarrassment.

You can’t deny any longer that Jungkook’s more experienced than you in practically everything; in sex, in love, and in life — maybe even in lying.

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fine print — wherein namjoon's always made it know that he hates being in an arranged marriage with you. alternatively, you date namjoon's friend because it wouldn't hurt him anyway — you think.

Namjoon misses a lot of things.

He doesn’t notice your new haircut even if you took off five inches and lightened it. He doesn’t even react when you invade his personal space and purposely create situations wherein you have to shove your scalp in his face (read: there are actually none), only huffing and asking you what got into you that day.

Your husband doesn’t notice either when you water down his favorite expensive perfumes and he’ll be forced to smell like what he paid for, for exactly two minutes before he ends up smelling like tap water. He doesn’t even acknowledge you when you make a show of sniffing him and asking him if he forgot to put perfume on today, before incessantly offering to spray him with your own.

Namjoon doesn’t even notice the tiny things you do to annoy him — to get a reaction out of him because no matter what you do, you feel as if you’re insignificant to him as you were before you got married. He’s a brick wall with an electrical fence placed in the middle of the most mundane ocean to exist, and you’re merely a castaway who’s hoping to reach him.

He’s infuriating. He’s annoyingly calm to the point of nonchalance, the complete opposite of what you are. You care too much, even for an arranged wife, and Namjoon cares car too less, even for an arranged husband because the bar is extremely low.

“I put salt in your coffee instead of sugar,” you hum, toying with the new bracelet you paid for using Namjoon’s card (you didn’t even like it, you just bought it because it was expensive and you wanted him to notice you; he didn’t) as you watch him eat the breakfast that the cook made, the pancakes you made only sitting cold on the side.

“Did you now?” Namjoon grunts disinterestedly, shrugging with ease. “Didn’t drink the cup you made anyway.”

Namjoon’s infuriating — he’s far too infuriating, it actually molds all of your anger for him into helplessness. 

Your husband’s a busy man who only tends to is family’s airline and nothing more. He won’t give you the time of day, he won’t touch you, and he won’t even grace (or annoy) you with his presence for whatever it is that you ask of him. You do ask for him and in fact, seek him out almost all of the time; the only problem is that he doesn’t want to come to you.

You may have Namjoon’s family name but you don’t have him at all. You have only crumbs of him (far smaller and scattered than the ones you intentionally put on his bedsheets) and you’re a beggar he won’t look at twice. You’re a name on his ledger that only boosts him for everyone else but drags him at home because he wants nothing to do with you.

You’re fed up. You’re exhausted to the point of almost no return that if you’re a lowly fish in the ocean, you’d rather sink to the bottom than be carried away by the current that Namjoon leaves you in.

Namjoon misses a lot of things, but oddly enough, he doesn’t miss the way you haven’t tried talking to him tonight.

He doesn’t miss the way you’re dressed up all pretty, even if he has no plans with you.

“Where are you going?” he raises a brow, looking up from his phone. 

He looks a little confused, maybe even worried, when you don’t spare him a glance as he repeats your name thickly into the air.

“Out.”

“By yourself?” he clarifies, shaking his head when you don’t reply. Namjoon unanimously pulls himself up from the couch, tucking his phone into his pocket as he internally combs through his closet for an outfit to save some time. “To where? Ugh. Give me ten minutes, I’ll just-…”

Namjoon thought this was your direct, no-frills invitation for him to go out with you tonight, but with the way you grit your teeth and stop in your tracks coldly instead of skipping in joy (typically following him into the closet like you’ve done numerous times before with this approach), he realizes that its not the case at all.

“I’m not going out alone.”

“Then who are you with?” Namjoon counters, the edge that accompanies his voice being unknown to you. He sounds wary — perhaps even jealous if you hadn’t gotten it through your thick skull that he doesn’t want you the way you want him

You remain silent at the question, not because you’re nervous, but because you don’t want him to know at all.

You don’t want Namjoon to know that his friend asked you out on a date.

The ache in your jaw from clenching it loosens when you finally break eye contact, the whiff he gets of your perfume, instead of his own that he knows you use, irking him when you turn your back on him.

“Don’t wait up.”

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was it casual? — wherein jin's a gentleman and you're his one and only girlfriend, except everyone else gets the same treament you do.

Jin helps those in need.

He carries your bag for you wherever you go, even if you don’t ask him to. Your boyfriend has no problem whether he’s carrying the well-loved, brown leather bag you use almost on a daily basis, or the occasional backpack that has too many keychains on it and jingles loudly at every step, or even if it’s the embarrassing grocery bag you use when you’re in a hurry to do an errand.

He doesn’t give you any problem when you ask him where to eat because he has an answer every time (different ones too at that) instead of a default wherever that you’d give him. Jin doesn’t give you any flak either when you look at his plate longingly after you suffer the consequences of being adventurous and ordering something unlike your usuals, instead exchanging your meals without so much of a complaint.

Jin’s caring for the needy and there’s no doubting it. He kissed you silly right after you gashed your knee in the middle of a crowded field that one time, and he willingly missed the start of the fireworks show just to crouch down and tie your shoelaces for you that one night.

You’re in need of him. You’re the needy. You’re the girlfriend who knows full-on about what friends and strangers alike say about you and Jin and how he’s simply just too good to be true, too good to be with you, and you agree with them everytime.

You’re in need of Jin and you’re the needy — yet you’re not the only one.

“You’re not sleeping in?” you mutter in confusion, propping yourself up with a pillow as you try to remember if you should be doing the same and just happened to forget that you had to go out with him today.

“Sorry, baby,” Jin breathlessly apologizes for interrupting your sleep, the whiff of perfume that you get from his neck when he leans down to kiss you being proof that he’s indeed going out, alone. “A friend needs me. She needs someone to the heavy lifting for her because she’s moving out,”

“Does she not have the money for movers?” you blurt out with a frown, your inability at the moment to filter your words only being highlighted by the fact that Jin doesn’t seem to be perturbed at all to be doing all of this, for a friend, at 6 in the morning.

“Tone,” he lightly scolds you, rolling his eyes playfully as he lends you a few seconds by running his hand through your hair, all before he has to leave and be unavailable for the whole day. “Yerim does have the money, but she also has friends.”

Your brows furrow at the mention of his friend, one that you’ve heard many times before, and one who happens to just need your boyfriend’s help all the time.

“Oh, is Hoseok coming too?” you ask, trying to reach for a branch that you hope would divert you from diving further into your worries. Surely enough, Yerim (who seems to be unable to do anything by herself at any point in her life) has also enlisted the help of Hoseok, your mutual friend, because heavy lifting is involved and Jin needs another pair of hands — right?

You happen to be wrong though, as always, as long as it’s in the name of Jin’s chivalry or whatever it is that’s much, much stronger and volatile than being a gentleman.

“Nope. Just me.”

“Just you?” you clarify, nodding slowly. “Yerim, a promoter in the city, only has you for a friend?”

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two more c*ntroversial fics for august + more!!

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hee-hee welcome to another series!!! this takes me back to my 2017 clichés n i will forever remain nostalgic :-) to get ahead of questions, i fear that this series would only be exclusive for patreon citizens!!! dgm wrong i'm not closing the door forever on Not Ever posting a fic or two from this series (maybe as a holiday gift from me or something!!), but as of now n for the foreseeable future, i'll only limit it to patreon :O it just happens that the target audience for my c*ntroversial (?) fics, i think andddd i've also observed, are not suited for the majority of my tumblr base!!! my writings on tumblr tend to always have redemption towards the end + palatable comfort paired with hurt themes, but as for this series..... yea u get what i mean 🫂💗

anywayyyy if u want to read these pieces now + a lot more exclusive pieces + gain early access to general fics (aka fics that are available for both tumblr and patreon citizens), head over to my patreon!

p.s. u can also sign up as a free member on patreon to get the occasional free short fic/sneak peek, but pls take into mind that they r only put up for a limited time!!! :D

[erinwantstowrite]

Would you ever... create like... LOF au oneshots....? Like, one chapter lengths stuff for things that you were thinking of putting in but didn't, or doing like a "Peter if he was younger, meeting the bats" or "what if Bruce was his dad, not Dink?"

i have been collecting scenes that ended up not being in LoF... Like, some scenes that were in a different POV before they got changed (there's a Tim POV that got scrapped and ended up as Peter's instead, this is the hardware store scene), scenes that ended up not being in it at all (Peter and Dick were going to have dinner with Donna, but it wasn't coming out right when I tried writing it) etc.

I do like the idea of doing drabbles for LoF like I do for Home too, or maybe even writing someone else's POV of a scene that I did put in LoF, or writing things that the others were doing on certain days, etc.

though there are some things that i might end up putting in a different au instead of scrapping it all together. like this scene:

[ Peter is holding a fridge. Somehow, this is both a cause for alarm and also not at all what the problem really is.

See, Peter woke up this morning with the goal of going around and logging Gotham’s map so he could input it into the Jumping Radar. Peter really wants to avoid going back to the library, and doesn’t feel like testing his chances at a new library just yet. However, that plan ended up on the back burner sooner rather than later.

There’s this little old lady on Bourbank Avenue, a little close to Benny’s, that Peter says hello to when he sees. Her name is Margerie, and usually outside tending to her rickety garden. “Poison Ivy is more gentle with people who care about the plants.” She had told him, and taught Peter her ways of tending to beans, beets, carrots, and spinach.

Well, Peter said hello to her today. Stopped by to chat while she taught him about how to tell when a tomato is at its best. And that’s when he heard about her fridge.

“I’ve had it so long, it’s no wonder it gave out on me,” She had said.

“How long has it been?”

“Well, Benji was still alive…”

“Who?”

“My son.” Margerie had smiled. “He was the one who’d remember that kind of thing.”

And, well, jeez. Peter’s not a monster. He went looking for a damn fridge.

However, he didn’t have the money for a fridge. So what he could do was find where Margerie’s hired worker dumped the fridge, fix it, and find some way to bring it back without anyone noticing he’s a skinny 14 year old who shouldn’t be able to do that. This endeavour led him all the way to a dumpster, where it turns out he can’t save the fridge after all.

But there was an appliance store in the Diamond District that Peter had passed by. And wouldn’t you know it, he found a fridge outside in their dumpster that was able to be salvaged. It’s perfectly clean, too, just sitting there brand new and with a faulty ice box that no one wanted to work around.

So.

Peter is holding a fridge.

That’s somehow both a cause for alarm, and not the problem.

Cause of alarm- he dropped it on his foot when a group of people ran behind the appliance store, and he almost shrieked in pain and alerted them that he was behind the now dropped fridge. He heard the crack in his foot and felt it and prayed, but no- broken.

Peter pushes the fridge off of his foot, yanks the broken thing back, and gently drops the fridge back into place. He’s far enough against a chain link fence to be hidden very well, thankfully, and none of the people who ran back here had seen him. (Yet?) He presses his back against the chain link, biting his lip and pressing his thumb on the injury. It’s not that bad, he can already feel the healing itch. But it’s enough that with only a couple meals in him, that it’ll take longer than Peter would like for it to get back to normal.

“Fuck! Scatter! Why’re y’followin’ me, y’idiots!?”

The real problem: not the broken foot.

“This was tha only place ta run!” Another shouts back. “Fuck! This is bad!”

“No shit! Y’fuckin’ moron- y’led a Bat right to us!” A third hisses.

Peter peeks around the fridge in time to see the third guy grabbing the second by the collar, slamming him up against a wall with a thud.

hello! hey, watch? look it look it look it

Whatever scuffle was about to happen is quieted. Peter glances upwards, but he doesn’t see what he knows is there, in plain daylight. There’s a presence on the roof of the appliance store, but where? Peter should be able to see them, but…

there there there!

He doesn’t get to focus on the presence that’s there. Instead, his eyes are starting to adjust to the fact that- hold on-

Peter glances up. Gotham is usually cloudy and grey, but… there’s nothing blocking that light of a stormy early morning. And yet, everything in the area is growing darker and darker. Peter’s skin crawls, a tingle that settles down his spine and tries to make up for the increasing lack of light. The group of teens start to panic, looking for a way out that isn’t possible in this dead end.

Darkness encompasses the area. Peter takes short, silent breaths. His ears twitch with every movement from the teens, every whisper of panic. Their heartbeats are erratic, and it’s like they already know which Bat this is. There’s seven heartbeats, panicked, trying to escape…

And one that is calm. There’s a breath and the scuffle of a foot from the rooftop.

Peter closes his eyes even though it’s already dark. His spider-sense is making up for what he can’t see, a mental map of the area created in his head. He feels the air move around him, and listens as the Bat takes each of them out one by one.

The thuds of one companion freak out another. “Scotty?”

But then he’s out too. Peter hears two more meet the same fate, knocked out cold on the concrete. He opens his eyes as the Bat approaches the last of them, just in time for the shadows to recede back to where they should be.

Signal stands over the last, now unconscious guy.

The Bat hasn’t broken a sweat. He almost looks bored when he starts ziptieing the gang, complaining aloud, “Y’all couldn’t have waited until tomorrow to cause trouble?”

Whoa.

Peter had seen Signal doing his thing a couple times when he was out and about, but never this up close. That…

That was fucking awesome.

He heard the guy was a meta, and he didn’t know what to believe about that, but seriously? That was like some Shadow-jutsu shit- wait, could he do that? No, wait, because now Peter can see Signal again. He was fucking invisible! And he’s acting like it was nothing! ]

I really really really really really wanted this scene, but it never made it past the rough draft :( that's because it didn't make sense with the rest of the chapter (i can not remember which chapter it was for, but it was definitely before Two Face). I've been thinking about putting it in a deleted scenes for LoF fic, but I think I might take it and put it in a different au.

(The only consolation I have for this scene not making it in is that Signal gets to have a cool scene later)

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I turned my coworker in for using his phone?

☎️ for obvious reasons.

So I’m gonna put this up front: this isn’t actually about the phone, it’s about the coworker. The phone is just convenient.

Our players are me (35 AFAB), Coworker A (~30 M), Supervisor C (N/A M), D (N/A F), and L (N/A F).

So first, the reason I have beef with A: he has never had a conversation with me that didn’t involve hitting on me and/or inappropriate questions. These have included demanding to know who I voted for, how my paycheck is delivered, whether I’m in a throuple with my roommates, and whether I have a boyfriend, which wouldn’t be weird except it was literally the first question he ever asked me—he didn’t even know my name yet. After I yelled at him over the voting thing because he refused to take “I don’t discuss politics at work” for an answer FOUR TIMES, he tried to break my glasses when I put them down so I could put on my safety goggles.

You may be wondering why I haven’t turned A in for harassment, ESPECIALLY after the glasses incident. I have. The problem is, he’s very good at looking pathetic and saying “I was just _________.” In this case, he was just looking at my glasses (never mind that you shouldn’t be playing with someone else’s expensive medical device!), and just making conversation. In spite of the fact that he was ignoring his trainee and distracting me from my work, he somehow got away with this. After a few of my screwdrivers went missing the same day he went pawing through them and he broke my brand-new pen, C told him to stop having anything to do with me, that his attention WAS NOT WELCOME.

Now we get to L and D. They’re two of our coworkers who can solve just about any problem you have. Ever since A was warned off, I’ve noticed that if I’m working with L or D, suddenly A needs all kinds of help that keeps bringing him over to our machine, and he always seeks out help from whoever it is I’m working with—if I’m with L he’ll go to L, if I’m with D he’ll go to D. If you’re a dude and think I’m overreacting, go ask a couple of the women in your life—you probably know someone who’s had similar experiences. (And for the record, another coworker I only know to say hello to has commented that his behavior toward me makes her feel like “he wants to wear your skin or something.”) I don’t think A is actively dangerous, but he’s very clearly a creep—especially because he also has a girlfriend and baby and still keeps doing this.

Now we get to the phone. I work in a factory where we’re not allowed to have phones on the floor because we work with food product and a phone dropping in a box is a huge contamination issue, on top of which distraction at my job can lead to life-changing, possibly even life-threatening injuries. (I was on a machine that threw its chain drive once and the only reason I didn’t lose an eye is because there happened to be another machine piece between me and the snap.) So: phones are a big no. Management will look the other way for people in extenuating circumstances, like having a sick kid at home, but in those cases your phone is to remain in your pocket and if it rings and you need to answer, you have to leave the floor.

I have caught A texting FOUR TIMES in the last month. Once I caught the words on his phone screen, and he was making plans for a party. That’s definitely not extenuating circumstances, and twice I’ve found his phone in the product catch tray.

So: very against rules that are there for the safety of us and our end users, and if I turn him in he’s going to get a writeup and possibly even a termination, which would mean I didn’t have to deal with him anymore. On the other hand, if he gets fired for violating safety standards he’ll have a hard time getting new work, and his baby doesn’t deserve hardship just because Dad is a creeper. Also, while I don’t carry my phone on the floor, I worry that turning him in could lead to a blanket ban that affects those in extenuating circumstances, because I’m almost positive he’d try “I was just checking on the baby” as his excuse.

WIBTA?

[multiwreckedmess]

Kinktober Day 3

Prompt: Hate Sex Pairing: Designer!Hyunjin x femCoder!Reader WC: 2260 Summary: Hyunjin wants one thing from you, stop calling him “pretty boy”, he can’t help he was born beautiful. This is a work of fiction, it does not represent Hyunjin or any Stray Kids member. On top of this it is an 18+ work. For my comfort and boundaries please if you are under age do not interact with this. 

I feel the need especially with “rougher” prompts like this to put the disclaimer - fanfic should NOT ever be used as a guide to relationships or sex. ESPECIALLY SEX. Again, it’s fiction. Stuff gets glossed over for the sake of a good story. Please PLEASE please again, not fact, not a guide, just a fantasy. TW/CW under the cut.

Warnings: reader implied/is a bully, older reader (age gap not specified), name calling (”slut”, “dumbass”, “asshole”, creative insults around genitalia, gendered/misogynist insults), crying during (reader), PWOP, cum in mouth, unprotected intercourse. I’m also going to call out, sort of dubcon-y as most hate sex is.

 Pretty boy was not a compliment when you said it. Always laced with venom or a sneer. It was as though you’d branded Hyunjin as worthless with two words. Only good as a person to look at. Objectified and demeaned. Even he couldn’t deny that he was in fact a very pretty man. Long brown hair, full pouty lips, deep irises, with a slender yet muscular frame. Not exactly effeminate but not exactly masculine. A beautiful human no matter how you slice it. Which is why your nickname angered him so much.

 It wasn’t easy for you either. Years in the tech field had hardened you. It was a man’s world and you were used to the bro code that had been instilled in you from the early days of voice chat. Kill or be killed, eat or be eaten, bully or become the bullied. The tech sector was the same.

 Hyunjin wasn’t even in your cohort but you hated him from the moment you saw him. Fresh intern class filing into the large hall for their orientation. You’d hoped that he’d get eaten alive, the soft sensitive looking man thrown unceremoniously into the pool of piranhas. Instead he was gifted to the design department, a soft job for a soft kid. What was worse was his lack of coding knowledge, mostly having worked in print materials the world of internet and tech was foreign and frustrating. Worse still was that despite this he was good at his job, rising through the ranks to be your equal, forcing the two of you into the same project groups quarter after quarter. Any rank you could pull, you did, age included, and he seemed to take it.

 He hadn’t meant to follow you into the windowless supply closet. It just so happened both departments were in dire need of different items. Somehow you’d been conscripted into packaging fancy boxes for capital contributors and design had sent a large order to the floor’s printer with no paper nor ink to spare. The door opening startled you, locking eyes with him as you stare at each other for once devoid of the low boiling slurry of distaste and distrust. Quickly the moment snaps.  Returning to the status quo you sigh, “oh, just you, pretty boy.”  “Stop calling me pretty boy.” Hyunjin states simply. He doesn’t want to make it a huge fight, trying to assume only your best intentions. Part of him figured this would be the only private moment he’d ever have with you, so might as well make use of it.  “Why? It’s true.” You shrug, busy peering in drawers and boxes for your extra packaging supplies. “You’re a very pretty man who is younger than me. A boy. A pretty boy.”  “It’s dismissive. I’m more than that,” the tension strains his voice. “You know I’m more than that. I put in work, effort. I have a passion. Just because I can’t translate it to whatever arcane language you use doesn’t-”  “Listen pretty boy,” you stand up and sneer at him, eyes locked and narrowed. “If I could afford to be as lacking as you, I would. The world has taught you that all you need to do is the bare fucking minimum and doing anything more is considered a large effort. So, pretty boy, count your blessings if I’m the worst thing that’s ever happened to you.”  Hyunjin sucks his teeth, a snort of disbelief escaping. “The only people who have ever called me pretty have either wanted to fuck me or be fucked by me so which one is it for you?” His eyes narrow and study you as he steps closer. Your pulse quickens, blood roiling. How dare this brat? How dare he challenge you.  “Neither,” you answer him with daggers in your eyes.  His lips twitch at the corners. “Are you sure about that? You’re barely breathing right now. I wonder if I stepped closer,” his voice trails off. “Or maybe brushed against you, by accident of course.”  “Even HR couldn’t mediate the amount of lawsuits I’d hit you with.” He’s right. You hold your breath as he gets even closer, just staring. You start to dodge around his side but his body blocks yours, shoulder sinking into his chest as he backs you against the shelves, forcing you to tilt your chin to look up at his face. The way your body so quickly betrayed you was concerning to all the ideals you’d upheld for years, tingling and burning endorphins flooding you with dizzying speed.

 Slowly he leans his torso forward almost nose to nose, hands holding onto the shelf and caging you in. “Bet you’ve just been waiting for someone to do this to you, slut.”  The sting comes before the sound, your hand crossing his cheek as swiftly as the word leaves his mouth. “Call me a slut again.”  “Slut.” He hisses, leaning into you. There isn’t quite the surprise to dull the pain of the hit this time, his body is ready for it as you wind up and slap him again. He half smiles, half smirks, tongue bit between his teeth.  “Fuck that’s hot,” your tone is hushed, almost reverent, a revelation as more for yourself than for him. Your lips and tongue clash and fight for dominance as he claims your mouth with his. It’s more a battle than a kiss, both of you unwilling to break first, chasing the other, gasping and groping like teenagers at each other's bodies.  He finally breaks, lips pink and puffy and shining with saliva. The clink of the metal buckle of his belt has you practically dripping. Forcefully he spins you and shoves you, face into the roughly coated cinder block wall.  “Gonna fuck you like the bitch you are.” He mutters, plosives laced with venom. You moan pathetically as his arm presses to your mid back.  “Give it your best shot pretty boy, this making your micropeen hard? Can’t get laid so you have to fight your way into a quick fuck?”  Hyunjin laughs, cackles, harshly grabbing your ass. “Could ask the same for you. Truly I can’t imagine anyone wanting to stick their dick anywhere near your cobweb cunt. Should I check? Should I check to see?”  “Go ahead dumbass, if you can even find it.” You hiss. “All talk no-”  A rip of your stockings and cool air hitting your soaked panties halts the verbal sparring match. Pushing your panties aside he sinks a finger into your hot core, gasping together. “Who’s all talk now? So soaked I slipped right in. Dumb needy hole trying to milk my finger. Gonna thaw you out ice princess.”  You hope he does. Dragging your torso down the wall, your back arches into him, pushing his single digit deeper, wiggling your hips. The swish of his pants crumpling to the floor  “I’m waiting, pretty boy, or is it already in and I just can’t feel it?” Your negging continues, heart fluttering in anticipation. Everything he does is just out of your range of vision, you have no idea what to expect. Even in your heavy petting you hadn’t grabbed for him.  Finger withdrawn he drags the head of his cock along your slit. Hyunjin knows what he’s about to do is mean, he’s felt how tight you are. For a second he considers properly prepping you, stretching you out nicely before abusing your hole. Poised at your entrance he grabs a fistful of hair at the nape of your neck, lips pressing to the shell of your ear. “Ready princess?”  “On you pretty boy,” you sneer in response.  The blunt pressure of his thick member ripping through your walls twists your stomach. Filling you in a single push, Hyunjin muffles your scream with his lips. It steals your breath as your body fights the intrusion. Your legs alternate kicking and shaking below you, suddenly happy to have Hyunjin’s weight pinning you up to the wall.

 “Dumb slut, do you want to get caught? Screaming like that you’ll let the whole company know you’re bending over like a bitch for me.” Hyunjin chides, holding still inside you. His harsh words soothed by his hands, gingerly fixing your hair to the opposite shoulder. Arms wrapping around your chest and waist he holds you close, face buried in your neck.  “Big right?” The soft words are muffled by your skin.  “Mhmphf.”  His teeth run over sensitive spots along your neck, sending you shivering and shuddering in his grasp. “Good right?”  “Yeeehsthhh!” You lisp and writhe.  “Embarrassing right? Getting run through by some kid like me. Gonna slut you out princess.”  Turning your head so you are nose to nose you growl, “shut up and fuck me, pretty boy.”  Hearing his nickname he laughs, blood boiling a bit harder, and unceremoniously pulls out. A pitiful whine escapes your lips with the loss of pressure in your gut. Before you can scold him again he pushes all the way to the hilt again, hearing the air catching in your throat from words lost to pleasure. Each thrust is slow and torturous, felt to the fullest by your walls hugging him in. Despite not working hard you pant like a cat in heat, overwhelmed by the ache of your cunt.  “Afraid you’re gonna cum first?” You jab between groans, frustration clouding your senses. He’s just too slow to build past the agonizing beginnings of your orgasm.  “‘M being kind, can’t have you passing out on me.”  “Bold of you.”  Sucking a small bruise into your neck he buries himself deeply inside of you. “If you insist.”  Instead of withdrawing again his hand skims down your belly to your mound, long thin fingers circling your clit. Each passing swipe coordinates with a shallow thrust, just enough to stimulate you inside and out. All you can do is take what he is giving you, body giving up to his ministrations.  “Shit I think-” you gasp and shake, “I’m gonna cum.”  “I bet you are.” Hyunjin sneers, “and who is to thank for that?”  “You. You are. You.” You burble.  “Who?” His grasp harshens, hips snapping harder.  “HYUNJIN. Fucking asshole. You. Hyunjin. Fuck.” You cum violently around him, walls of your sex baring down on him as a fresh wave of arousal coats the both of you. You cry out, fat tears welling in your eyes as overstimulation hits you like a train, moans turning to choked sobs as you try to catch your breath.  Both of you are sweaty, you shake. Hyunjin maneuvers the both of you to your knees on the ground, your body leaving a shine to the wall where it was pressed. He pulls his slacks under your arms to cushion what they could from the cement. “I made you cum, your turn.”  “Wha?”  His hand comes down hard on your ass, snapping you out of your lusty haze. “Fuck yourself on my cock.” The demanding and demeaning tone has your blood rushing even in your sensitive state. With a sniffle you start moving your hips back and forth, each slide making a grotesque sloppy slick sound. Hyunjin pushes back his sweat and hair from his brow, eyes locked to where he disappears inside of you. “Cunt looks good hugging my cock like this.”  If he’s all about visuals, you’ll be a feast for his eyes. You gorge yourself on him, taking your time like he did to you. Rolling your hips decadently and letting your greedy pussy work itself around him. Hyunjin tries to keep his hands from you, to make you do the work, to take a small petty revenge for the multitude of emails politely thrown back to him by you. He can’t, finally folding, grabbing fistfulls of ass and hips and thighs. He joins you, bent over and caging you again like an animal. Together, writhing as one, grunting as one, your chemistry has never worked better. But it can’t last forever, you can feel his thick muscle seizing inside of you, lower abs and thighs tensing against the cleft of your ass.  “Where,” chokes in a stuttered hurried whisper. “I’m gonna-”  Summoning strength you push up, righting the both of you, pulling him out. It’s the first good luck you’ve gotten of him, flushed red and sweaty and fucked out. He’s impressive for a skinny guy, thick and veiny and heavy in your hands as you continue to stroke him out of habit. Fingers covered in slick release precum flows freely from the tip. “Mouth. Hurry.”  Standing shakily he leans back into the wall, “gonna swallow like a good slut?” Holding the head of his dick to your tongue he pumps pointed down your throat. Your tongue flexes against the underside, massaging the ridge. Hyunjin can’t believe his eyes, you kneeling in front of him, defiantly staring him down as you wait for him to cum. Almost daring him to spill his load anywhere else. With an airy whine a globule of release hits your tongue, hot and bitter. Hyunjin’s hips kick forward, fucking his palm and the top of your tongue, pushing his cum deeper into your throat and making you gag. “Shit,” he hisses as you gag again, another string shooting directly into your throat. Palm to his hip you slide his cock further back, using it to force the bitter seed into your stomach. “Holy shit you’re really-god your throat-that-keep that.”  Gulping the last down you pull from him grimacing and wiping your face. “Two words; pineapple juice, pretty boy.”  “That’s four.”

I always get carried away lmao. This is definitely towards the rougher end of my comfort zone with characters. I can’t help be aware of the fact that some people do take fanfic as a guide to what to expect or hope for with their relationships so it’s a little difficult for me to push that to the back of my mind.

[joemama-2]

A Series Of Awkward Events: The Grocery Store Encounter

You can feel it, really feel it. I mean, who wouldn’t feel the lingering gaze of the very attractive, teenaged boy standing right next to you in the, suddenly empty, aisle. You’ve been coming to the grocery store every Saturday at exactly 9:30 in the morning, making it a routine. This was mainly because if you came later, you’d be caught up in the rush of families who also decided now would be a good time to stock up on groceries. You couldn’t come earlier because…well you just couldn’t wake up earlier.

You’ve been seeing him for about three weeks now. Every week, he’s in the same aisle as you, looking at the brands of cereal while your eyes gloss over the brands of oatmeal. You didn’t notice it the first time, but it doesn’t take a genius to realize someone is staring at you. And in all honesty, he doesn’t seem like he’s trying to subtle about it either.

Either way, it’s not like you would go out of your way to spark up a conversation first. You’ve lived a very sheltered life, from being homeschooled til earlier this year to having very strict parents, it’s safe to say your social skills are…not up to par. Finally, you decide you’ve had enough of the glances. Your hand reaches out to hurriedly grab a random oatmeal, one you’ve never had before, just to get out of the aisle. However, just as you’re about to turn and leave, his voice cuts through the air.

“That one’s not good, had it before and wouldn’t recommend.”

You stop and slowly turn around to face the boy. He’s grinning now and is it bad to say he has a pretty smile? You shoot a quick look down at the oatmeal in your hands before back at him. Your lips part but the words don’t come out. Damn it. Just staring awkwardly at him with your mouth opening and closing, you just wish the world would swallow you whole. But then, by the grace of whoever’s watching, something comes out.

“Oh.”

Is that really all you can say? A few seconds of silence pass before the boy lets out a small chuckle and damn, it’s almost prettier than his smile. “It tastes bland, almost like cardboard.”

Still, it’s hard to find the right words. He raises an eyebrow at your lack of responses, only then do you realize that you’ve just been shamelessly staring at him. Your hands grip the oatmeal tighter, either for comfort, or a way to silently curse yourself for acting so stupid in front of a boy. A cute one….a really, really cute one. “Oh, that’s—uh—unfortunate.”

He laughs again and you already grow addicted to it. “Want my suggestion?” You hesitate, before nodding. Taking a small, stiff step closer to the boy, you look back at the variety of oatmeal, watching as he points to a specific one. “This one is my favorite, it’s sweet, but not too sweet. Sweet enough to still qualify as a breakfast. Or a snack.”

You reach forward to grab the said box, examining it. With another nod, you put the old, now dented box of oatmeal you first grabbed back in its original place. “Thank you, I’ll…I’ll be sure to enjoy this.” You say with a nod, eyes not even fully looking at his. How could they when they’re the most beautiful pair of blues you’ve ever seen?

Then, of course, another silence, as if he’s expecting you to say something else. Why would he? Can’t he already tell you’re awkward? Can’t he read the room? Your body language? Apparently not. “Gojo Satoru.” He says. Oh, he’s introducing himself. That means he must want to know your name too, right?

“Y/N.” You say timidly, holding your hand out for a shake. Man, this is way too formal of a greeting for grocery store. That same grin makes its way to his face, soon clasping his hand with yours. God, you really hope he doesn’t feel your hand sweating. Or the slight trembling of it. That would be completely embarr—

“Your hand’s wet.”

You freeze, a big wave of embarrassment and shame flooding you. Just as quickly as he said that, you’re retracting. “Sorry, I just washed them.” A blatant lie, but who cares? You’re honestly just trying to get out of this situation now. Yeah, he’s cute, but you’d much rather save your confidence, at least whatever you have left of it, for something you’re more prepared for.

For the first (?) time, you meet his eyes. With a small gulp, you decide now is the chance to run away. “Um, thank you for the oatmeal. It was nice meeting you. Good day.” You take off like you’re on a mission, not even daring to look back. Your face scrunches up and you cringe hard at what just happened. ‘Good day’? What are you, a fifty-year-old man who just saw his colleague for the first time in five years?

It takes a while for you to finish up shopping, considering you’re checking every aisle before you walk into it to ensure that the boy, Gojo Satoru, isn’t in it. Running into him again seemed inevitable, but you made sure that it was possible. It’s almost like a breath of fresh air when you walk out, bags in hand, making your way down the familiar route to your house. It’s a nice day out, very sunny and clouds just clouding.

But of course, things never seem to go your way, do they? Because with one more step, one more snap of the stupid paper bags you were given, one of the bags in your right hand just completely rips. Fruits go rolling down the pavement, bread falling to the puddle of water below your feet, and your dignity washing away down the sewers. Your eyes widen, freezing in place. Lips part as a small, almost unbelievable breath leaves your mouth. It’s a sad scene, really.

So very slowly, embarrassingly, you kneel down to grab your fallen groceries, to stuff into the other two bags that haven't miraculously ripped. It takes a while for a task so small, considering you're holding back tears. You spot the last apple a few feet away and begrudgingly crawl to get it. But a hand beats you to it.

You look up, confused and slightly shocked, but see the boy you just worked very hard on avoiding. Oh Jesus Christ, just how much worse could this day get? "Missing something?"

The hand that was about to grab your apple freezes in mid-air as you contemplate your next move. You nod curtly and he holds it out to you. Your fingertips brush against each other and you can't help the stupid flutter in your stomach. Swiftly, you put the apple in your pocket, having run out of space in your other bags, and stand up. He watches this whole ordeal, even attempting to offer you help, but you don't take it.

You find yourself in another awkward position, but luckily you find your voice sooner. "Thank you."

He smiles, letting out a huff of a chuckle through his nostrils. "No problem, what kind of guy would I be if I didn't help you?" Is that a rhetorical question? You're not sure. He looks down at the bags. "You gonna be alright with those?"

"I will." You say a little too quickly.

While he nods, you look down at his hands. Only then do you realize he's not even carrying anything. He probably sensed your confusion, so he follows up. "Couldn't find anything."

It's a shitty excuse but do you really care enough to question him. So you nod again, lips forming a small line. "Okay..."

"Okay."

You two stare at each other for another few seconds before you turn to leave again, but he stops you. "Are you new to the area?"

Now you don't know what's worse, your classmates being shocked by your existence even though you have been with them for months now, knowing somebody else's name but then not knowing yours, or being questioned about your residency simply because you rarely go out and oh, you have no friends.

You swallow down the lump in your throat and turn your head over your shoulder. "No."

"Oh, really? I've just never seen you around before." That's another knife to the chest. "I know most of the people in this neighborhood, that's why. Usually, when I see a new face, it means they've just moved here."

"I'm not new." You say, now turning your body fully around to face him. "I just like staying inside."

His eyebrows raise, as if shocked. What's so shocking? Was he so popular that the concept of a homebody was beyond him? Well, not like you were being a homebody by choice, it's just something you've grown accustomed to. Something that's now hard to break out of.

"Well, I like staying inside too," He concedes, "But I also like meeting new people. Especially the cute, quiet ones in grocery stores." You hate how your cheeks instantly heat up, nerves taking over. He notices this, taking just the smallest step forward.

"I...didn't run away." You feel the need to justify yourself. "I just need to go home soon."

"Ah, right. Home." He says with a small laugh. "How far is that from here?"

"Why would I tell you that?"

"Just asking."

"We're strangers."

"Well, we could be friends."

Your eyes slightly widen. Friends? Someone actually wanted to be friends with you for once? For a second, you think it's a joke, one that's set up by his friends. You've had way too many experiences like that. Looking around, you conclude that he is in fact all alone. Hesitance settles within you. "Why?"

He huffs. "You're asking why I want to be friends with you?" His question makes you feel dumb.

"Yes, I am." You say, brows furrowing together. "You could be playing a trick on me for all I know."

"Why would I do that?"

"I don't know, but I'm just making sure."

He gauges your reactions to see if you're being serious or not. Once he sees that you are, he sighs. "You seem like a nice person, I like nice people. So, why wouldn't I want to be friends with you?"

You mull over his words for a good minute, having an internal battle with yourself. Is he trustworthy? Does he actually mean what he says? How do you know he won't pretend to now know you next time he sees you? All sorts of questions run rampant in your mind and he can tell, easily. "I'm serious, I wanna friends with you."

You inhale deeply, scrutinizing him before finally saying, "Okay."

He lets out a sigh of relief. "Phew, that was harder than usual. You know, most people agree quite quickly. But you didn't so it makes me even more curious about you."

"Even more?" "Mhm." He steps closer. "I was also curious about your number, but you ran before I could ask."

Damn him, you already said you didn't run away. But at the mention of a number, you can't help but look away. This confuses him. "I....um....I don't have a number." You murmur.

Now his head tilts, convinced you're just making up a lie so you couldn't give him it, which would be understandable. "You don't have one?" You shake your head. "What do you mean you don't have a number?"

Oh god, he's gonna make fun of you, isn't he? "I don't have a phone."

His lips part, letting out a small "oh" and nod in understanding. "So like, you're one of those people who their parents have a tight leash on."

This makes your eyes narrow. Although you want to argue that no, you have a lot of freedom, a part of you agrees. You keep your eyes turned away from him. "Please don't say that."

He runs a hand through his hair. "Sorry, I'm just honest. I mean, what, you're like a teenager and you don't have a phone? Everyone needs a phone now, everyone has one."

"Well, I don't." You quip back, now glaring at him. "I don't have one, you can stop pestering me about it now.

"I'm not pestering, just shocked." You hold back an eyeroll. "So what do you have then?"

"I have a computer, I use it for school." You let out a slow sigh, biting on your lip. "I could...give you my email."

He stares at you for a moment. "You want me to...email you?" When you don't respond, he barks out a burst of laughter. "Email? Email you? Instead of text? Or even call? Wow, that's--"

"You either take it or you don't." You cut him off, a newfound sense of bravery in you. "I don't need a friend who will make fun of me."

This gets him to stop almost immediately. His head tilts as he stares, a sympathetic expression on his face. "My bad, I wasn't trying to." You say nothing in response, an almost defiant look on his face. One that makes him feel like laughing because you just look so adorable right now. With a deep breath, he smiles that sweet smile again, and with a jut of his chin, he replies. "What's your email?"

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bonus:

You check your email that night to one from 'thestrongest69'.

"Same time next week? ^.^"