#plastic clogs

[theclogsgirloftheday]

(Source : https://www.instagram.com/alexiapalop/)

[mechaffeine]

Basically everything is broken in the lab including the things that were fixed literally monday

[princessnijireiki]

also. crocs mega crush platforms are 2.75in high, which coincidentally puts me at an actual physical height that is quite a bit closer to my emotional height. but they are so fucking heavy and stiff that it hurts my knees ���� and if my joints are gonna hurt because EACH SHOE is 1lb 10oz!!! (over 700g!!!) INDIVIDUALLY... when a REGULAR platform croc is only 1.75in high, but also only weighs 9 oz (255g)... then I need the fuckers to be more stylish + more supportive in the arch and ankle

[hotniatheron]

Sorry there is no bigger mewling worm on this planet than a liberal. Can't do anything except sit on that fence with that white picket up your ass

[deus-ex-mona]

s. s ave me, meoto…

[therealsirsticker]

I AM TRYING TO LOOK AT PHOTOS OF A SAD LOOKING DOLL FROM THE SIXTIES, WHY AM I GETTING SHITTY ANIME BOY X READER SMUT!!!!!!!!!!!! IM GOING TO KILL YOU!!!!!!!!!!!! LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!!!!!! Someday, I’ll have my own little miss no name, and I won’t have to brave these terrible elements to put images of her on my blog anymore. x reader writers stop being fucking annoying challenge (impossible)

[lunatic-harness]

fuuuck my life i only got like 100 something ml of coffee out of my metal v60 vs. the 250ml used for brewing because it got clogged towards the end. at least the coffee tasted good

[townpostin]

Continuous Rain Causes Flooding in Bagbera; Over 200 Homes Affected

Floodwaters from a clogged sluice gate have inundated homes in Jamshedpur’s Bagbera area, prompting ongoing efforts to resolve the issue. Continuous rain in Jamshedpur has led to flooding in over 200 homes in the lower Bagbera area as water from a clogged drain overflows. JAMSHEDPUR – Persistent rain in Jamshedpur and surrounding areas has caused significant flooding in the lower Bagbera region,…

[theclogsgirloftheday]

Sunday girl

(Source : https://www.instagram.com/cougarshoes/)

[beepoid]

wuk lamat and i share the same alpaca trauma

[slipstreamborne]

I think there should be a resurgence in porcelain knicknacks and figurines.

The popularity of vinyl blind box sets and 3D printed super hero busts across demographic groups that would otherwise mock Precious Moments and china cabinets full of blown glass hummingbirds and cut crystal puppies shows that people just love having little guys with no purpose but to stand around and be looked at, there's just a range of rather strong opinions about style and subject matter.

The next generation is almost certainly going to find what you love bafflingly odd at best, a hideous dust catcher at worst, so why settle for yet more cheap plastic junk to clog landfills and shed microplastics when you can have "heirloom pieces" that smash dramatically when called upon, erode beautifully when subjected to the sea, and are a continuation of our 30,000+ year tradition of little clay people that bring us delight?

[sobbingscripter]

Tags: [mlw][mdni][smidge of angst][boss/subordinate][no nudity][public sex][young cecil][standing sex][oral (f! receiving)][fingering][creampie][standing missionary][he's a lil' bit of a piner]

Cecil thumbs over the smooth surface of an aged picture, pulled out of the safe haven of his wallet. He feels the coolness of the image, weathered blue eyes lowering to his beaming face, dimples deep in his cheeks and the youth is so apparent. Beside him, you're wearing one of those childish plastic tiaras with fluff around the edges, arms crossed over your chest and pretty eyes narrowed into a scowl.

And Cecil swallows, a slender fingered hand moving to tug on the tie around his neck, loosening the loop until it hung lazily and his hand wraps around the crystal tumbler. He keeps his gaze on the picture, eyes softened uncharacteristically and heart panging with a sense of longing.

It's been at least 30 years.

30 years without hearing your snide remarks, without being told that he's a walking, talking advertisement for birth control, without being punched in the throat.

Cecil brings the glass to his lips, ice clinking around in the brown liquid, and he inhales sharply. The bittersweet scent clogging his mind for a minute and for once, he's not holding the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He simply holding your paperwork.

Cecil understood why you were always in such a bad mood. A permanent scowl etched onto your face, the way you'd rub at your temples and bark orders.

Assistant Deputy Director. That was your position.

Forced to do the work of those above you, and receive none of the credit. And Cecil's pure little heart couldn't help but pity you.

"I got that coffee you asked for." Cecil hums softly, setting the paper cup on your dimly lit desk, papers scattered and the sleeves of your shirt rolled up to your elbows, pens tossed haphazardly and you continue working.

"I didn't ask for coffee." You state, gaze remaining glued to the documents in front of you. Documents that were definitely above Cecil's pay grade but you couldn't be bothered to obscure them from his view. Not when he watches you with those pretty blue eyes, silently willing you to meet his gaze. Until you do.

"You didn't have to." He speaks softly and you let out a soft breath, fingers curling around the cup and bringing it towards your lips, palms heating up and you inhale the aroma. Strong and just the way you like it.

And you sigh.

"Oh, Cecilia. Where would I be without you?" You coo sweetly, before taking a sip. The coffee is scorching the inside of your mouth, but your training taught you to never show weakness so instead of 'hashafashasha'-ing your way into cooling the coffee, you simply swallow. Feeling the burn all the way down to your belly before setting the cup down.

"Was it hot?"

"Very."

Idle chatter flows like a river between the two of you, your hands continue to sift through the documents, signing, blacking out what needs to be erased and editting plans for various projects.

And Cecil hums quietly.

"You know, ma'am, I've never seen you do the birthday walk." He rests his chin in the palm of his hand, brilliant blue eyes trained on your features as

"My birthday's on a weekend."

"Which weekend?"

"That's classified." You dismiss him with ease, peeking up at him from beneath your brows and my God, do you wish you didn't.

Pretty blue eyes locked on you like you're the only thing in his world, lips looking so perfectly rosy, and blonde strands fall over his forehead, so messily majestic. And you swallow.

Before begrudgingly admitting the date.

"That's... Today." Blonde brows scrunch into a frown as he straightens up just a bit, his tie hanging limply down the front of where his shirt sits so snugly around his torso, tucked into the front of his pants and sleeves rolled up just enough to expose that classy wristwatch.

Gold. But it was too warm, in your opinion.

"What? No, that's crazy." Your sarcasm is layered on thick enough for him to know you're fucking with him, and if it isn't, the twitch of your lips give you away. And you let out a breath, before glancing at Cecil.

"If you sing, I'm calling you Cecilia for the rest of your life as well as making you clean latrines."

"I'm a high ranking agent."

"And you have arms and a nose. Essential for scrubbing shit stains from porcelain."

And Cecil grimaces. "Why do I need a nose for that?"

"I'd like for you to smell me abusing my power."

God. Cecil wishes he'd sang to you. He imagines the way your lips would've curled into a begrudging smile, the way the corners of your eyes would crinkle and the way your cheeks would flush, becoming heated.

He glances towards the framed picture that he usually keeps tucked in the locked compartment of his desk.

Aged and frayed, folds and disappeared pigment where the picture had been folded up so many times in so many different ways.

Flushed cheeks and hazy eyes stare back at him, kept pretty behind a glossy glass frame. And his fingers absentmindedly twist at the ring on his pinkie.

Your favourite metal, pretty and polished. Not a scuff in sight.

"This is ridiculous."

Carnival lights flicker in the emptiness of the night, the sounds of fun and laughter surrounding the two of you as you continue to walk between the various stands. A plethora of rides, of attractions, of snacks.

"If you can stop your complaining, miss, maybe you'll enjoy it." Cecil grumbles, before he feels the way your hand reaches for his, your pinkie wrapping around his so sweetly. And he glances down towards your interlocked hands.

"You look like the type of guy to get lost." You mumble. "Or touched."

Cecil can taste the cotton candy on his tongue, he can feel the warmth wrapping around his pinkie and he slumps into his seat, staring ahead into the emptiness of his office. He can hear the giggles that would slip past your lips whenever he'd lose at something.

He feets the lush grass beneath his shoes, he feels the cold breeze whipping at the back of his neck. And he swallows, bringing the Scotch back up to his lips, taking a mouthful.

"Win me a teddy bear."

You stare at Cecil with a blank, almost expressionless face. Watching him stare down at you with the sweetest expression and you let out a groan, handing your pretzel before you lick the sugary sweetness from your fingers.

And God, watching you lick your fingers felt like watching sin be born.

Your pink tongue dragging along the pads, lapping and sucking, until you deemed them clean enough and you stepped up.

Readying your eye at the scope, before aiming.

6 faux ducks in a row, and that gave Cecil the pick of the litter. And by natural instinct, he grabs the one that looks the most like you.

A frowning turtle.

"Doesn't it look like you?" Cecil hums, before angling the turtle towards you, allowing you a good look at the shoddy stitching and the mismatched cotton used for the body.

"Why d'you think it does?" You take another bire of your pretzel.

"Because you're turtle-y coming outta your shell."

Cecil smiles at the thought of how you turned to face him. So slowly.

Wind whipping at your hair, tresses framing your face so perfectly that he would've thought he was recalling painting, rather than a person. You were a sight for sore eyes.

The shitty joke had somehow managed to get you to let out a laugh. Melodious, sweet and so, so... Addictive. He'd instantly marked the sound of your laugh as his favourite sound. The cacophony of wheezes and breathless coughs had his heart clutching, even now.

And Cecil takes another swig.

This time, straight from the bottle.

"Shit..." Cecil's voice is breathy, lips pressed against your pulse, one of your thighs hiked around his hips. You remain pushed against the warping mirror, prisms of light dancing over your features and that goofy ass song that plays over the speakers is drowned out by your panted breaths. And he shudders when your manicured fingers sink into the golden strands at the nape of his neck.

His breaths are deep and shaky, hands grasping at your waist and thigh, anything to bring you closer to him.

Fuck, he has your picture tucked into his wallet already. He'd have to be fucking stupid to miss the signs you've been giving him all night.

Calling him 'Cecilia', telling him that he looks like a boyscout with the way his eyes twinkle so prettily at the different attractions. Not to mention the way you fingers slid between his when you pointed out the House of Mirrors.

Cecil's cock strains against the front of his slacks, his hips slotted between your thighs, and he shudders when he feels the way your nails scrape against his scalp. "Well shit..." He breathes out. "I like that..."

Cecil swallows, the back of his neck set aflame wth a deep blush, and he simply inhales through his nose.

And he's surrounded by silence. Delving deeper into memories that threaten to escape him with each visit.

Soon enough, Cecil found himself guiding your thigh to rest on one of his broad shoulders, meaty hands pawing at your thighs, lips pressing haphazard kisses along your hosiery-clad thighs, before he rips a hole into the nylon.

His knees dig into the cool linoleum tiles beneath him, but it does nothing to cool the flame that seems to be scorching just behind his flesh.

Cecil's hands paw at you, fingers tugging your panties to the side and his tongue drags through your sloppy folds, and he just loves the way your belly dips inward at the feel. And he groans. Your hand moves to rest on the crown of his head, nails scraping along his scalp, fingers disappearing between his blonde strands and you sigh.

Your breath stutters, head tipping back against the mirror, your bottom lip wedged between your teeth because sound travels. Especially when it's a high pitched moan because he has those perfect and pouty lips wrapped around your clit, sucking on it like it's a fucking treat.

This is definitely against the rules. This could be seen as an abuse of your power, but you can't really find the urge to give a shit. Not right now when his tongue's dipping into your spasming hole and definitely not when his nose is bumping at your clit so teasingly.

"Such a pretty pussy." He croons, diamond eyes glossy and chin coated in a slick sheen, and he slides one of his hands up your thigh, fingers tracing along your slit when his tongue goes back to lapping between your folds.

Your brain turns to a muddy puddle, threatening to leak out your ears when one of his long fingers are buried in you, all the way to the knuckle. And he curls the digit, a calloused fingertip presses against that gooey spot that makes your knees buckle.

"Holy sh-shit..." Your hands are cradling the back of your head, your lashes fluttering and your chest heaving, kiss swollen lips parted to let hot puffs of air escape your lungs And choked up throat.

Fingers fuck into your cunt, dragging against your insides with a skill that makes your toes curl in your heels, and you're so confused as to how you're even able to stand up.

Your body slumped and your breaths weak and whiny, staring down at him from below fluffy lashes.

There's something so earnest about the way he sucks at your cunt, lips finding purchase around your sloppy folds and eyes so glazed over, you're wondering if he's enjoying this more than you are.

His hips buck into nothing when you come. You spasm around his fingers, breathless gasps slipping from you with the ease that water slips through the cracks in stone.

And his free hand palms at his cock through his slacks, brows scrunching into a cute little frown before he pulls back, gossamers of your wetness clinging to his lips.

His eyes lower to where your slick drips down his palm and he licks his palm clean, pink tongue savouring the taste of you and he smears his saliva-coated palm along your cunt.

Before rising to his feet.

His breath stutters in his withered lungs, face burning a bright red at the memory. The dimness of his office is a weak consolidation, slumping back against Italian leather and he glances towards the ceiling.

He remembers the way you sighed when he pushed into you, clingy pussy immediately wrapping around him so snugly and he remembers the way your arms snaked around his neck.

And he takes another swig. The liquor burns on the way down but it does nothing to quell the fiery pit in his belly.

"Shit..." Cecil groans. "Too tight— m'not goin' anywhere, doll." He lets out a breathy laugh when he watches the way you hide your face in the curve of his neck, nails digging into his broad shoulders and you're barely able to stand up.

You're so warm, slick dripping down your thighs and soaking your pantyhose, your panties tugged to the side and your gooey walls fit him so snugly.

The sounds you make when his hips meet yours with each roll is downright nefarious. Breathing sweet sighs and moans into his ear, your nails leaving scratches along the back of his neck and your thigh hooked around him, bringing him closer.

He's not even pulling out properly, you won't let him. The blonde tufts of his happy trail grinds against your clit teasingly, the sensation making your lips part. Spit-slicked and rosy, and he can't not kiss you.

Cecil's lips press against yours with the kind of desperation no subordinate should have. Ever.

Tongue brushing against yours, and he's kissing you like he's trying to remember you forever. To remember the way you feel.

And he sighs into the kiss when you suck on his tongue.

Cecil's not looking down. He can't afford to. He doesn't wanna look at where your pretty cunt's wrapping around him like a fucking leash, where you're creaming around him and Cecil whines.

Panted breaths escape him and he hides his face in the crook of your neck, hands grasping the fat of your ass beneath your skirt, bringing you closer with each desperate fuck into you.

His flushed tip presses slick and messy kisses against your cervix, a perfect curve that hits that spongy spot with each sloppy thrust and he's damn near embarassed that he's rushing towards his orgasm with the speed of a freight train.

And he swallows. Hard.

"I can't pull out." He pants. "I just— I can't, I don't want to. Shit, 's so good..."

And he babbles. He's embarassed. But he's only been fantasizing about fucking you like this for the last 4 years.

Picturing how your tits would press against his chest in missionary, how he'd inhale that sweet perfume up close rather than just the ghost of it when you walk past him.

"Then don't."

Cecil takes a deep breath to clear his mind. He doesn't need to be painting the inside of his slacks with a load that's been aching to be emptied into you.

He glances longingly at the pictures of you. The expression on your face, the matching smiles you wore for the staff photos. And he glances at the ring on his finger, glinting in the light of his desk lamp.

"Keep this. In case I die." You hum softly, sliding one of your many rings onto his hand instead, picking his pinkie as the chosen digit.

You're supposed to go... Negotiate with some firebreather, Director's orders in hopes of assembling a team of heroes.

"You'll be fine." Cecil reassures, pressing a kiss against your palm, looking down at you with that adoring expression.

"Whatever, Cecilia."

He feels the way his throat burns at the memory. And he glances towards the watch on his wrist.

Roman numerals, silver with a black, leather strap. Worn and frayed, but still visibly well-maintained.

"Found this." Cecil stares down at the box in his hand. A sleek wristwatch, displayed on a tiny pillow. Silver, with black leather straps. And a barely visible 'C.S' engraved on the back.

And a tiny note.

'Always thought you'd look less faggy in silver.'

He remembers the way his body nearly went limp. The way his stomach dropped, the way his throat tightened and the burn that seemed to scorch the back of his eyes.

And Cecil glances towards the watch on his wrist, thumb brushing over the leather.

"You were right." He mumbles. "Silver looks better."

Taglist:

@lucky-beheaded 🌻

@tamaranblaze 🐭

@anesthesia-4rizzle 🎀

@feral010 ✨

@blckbarbiedoll 🌷: All (exc. Damian)

@allycat4458 🪻: All (exc. Kyle)

@custardpuddingprincess ⭐

@couldeatthatgirlforlunch 🦄

@theamazkngskye 🍄

@titchx0 🦆

@starski 🌃

@5lxt4u 🎻

@pariahsparadise 🏝️

@ilove-nsfw 🖇️

@milkstrawburie 🥛

@squigglewigglewoo 🪴

@hhjira 🌬️

@atanukileaf ☘️

@Calicocat-ina-tuxedo ���

@maliagurl 🐛

@munji-tunji 🦐

@ruu-bluu 💎

[paddedlittleparadise]

TW: forced regression, bodily waste, diaper use, non-con

Note that in this fantasy scenario, all individuals are adults over the age of 18!

–––

Why the crotch strap?

Oh, sweetie, it's really not that hard to understand! But I see the fear in your eyes – the fear that fogs your mind and clogs your rational faculties. Mommy gets it. Mommy knows how scary it is to see your new little brother getting broken in. Don't worry. Mommy will explain everything to you.

Never mind his moans. Never mind his squirming. Mommy put him in that straitjacket for a reason. He's safe now: safe from himself, from his silly attempts to escape, from everything that might disturb the process. See? He can tug and moan and writhe – like an adorable, pathetic little worm – but he's not going anywhere. Not so long as those straps are holding him tight in Mommy's inescapable hug.

The crotch strap, hmm? Aww, just look at it. It's so… wide, isn't it? Wide and strong, with stout buckles keeping it in place. It fits so well over your little brother's diaper, too. And with those pretty blue stripes running parallel with it… aww, it's genuinely beautiful!

It seems so tight? Are you sure about that, sweetie? Go on. Reach out and touch it. Run your trembling fingers over the plastic, the canvas, the lovely strong stitching… down to that cold steel buckle. Slip your fingers underneath, now. See? It's not quite so tight as you thought!

And why is that, sweetie? Why ever would Mommy leave that nice strong crotch strap loose, hmm?

Oh, I see your questioning eyes, blinking up fearfully. You don't know, do you? But don't worry. Mommy said she'd explain.

It's for a very good reason, sweetie. See, listen to your little brother, gulping and fighting in his bonds. He's struggling against himself now: against the lovely load of milk and juice Mommy pumped into him just now. Against the muscle relaxants that slowly are making it harder and harder for him to resist. Against the lovely, large fleet enema Mommy squirted deep into his bum… and that's already got him burning and aching to release.

That crotch strap is ready.

Because it will happen, sweetie. There's no way anyone can win such a fight. He'll lose: little by little, more and more, until at last he's lying there, shuddering as his bladder and bowels empty themselves over and over into his diaper. And with every addition, that diaper of his will swell: silently mushrooming out, straining against that strap, seeking for anywhere to expand and grow. With nowhere to go, sweetie… you know where it will expand, don't you?

Inward, of course. All around his cute little pee-pee. Tighter and closer, wet and mushy and ever so warm. That strap is there to tease him, to torment him, to force his mind to accept the truth: that he's Mommy's baby now, actively peeing and pooping his pants with no way to control himself. Sure, he'll keep writhing and wriggling like the stubborn fellow he is. But with every movement, that strap will tug. His pee-pee will sense it. And oh, you know what happens when little boys feel warm, wet, tight things around their pee-pees, don't you?

That's the second reason, sweetie. That crotch strap is there to tease him into arousal. Oh, he won't want to, of course. What self-respecting fellow wants to get hard from feeling his own pee and poo around him? But thanks to Mommy's crotch strap and his own submissive cravings, he will. He'll try to resist, of course – to struggle against his own dirty impulses. But with every movement, every motion, he'll feel his trapped little cock swelling, stiffening, aching… and being forced, deeper and tighter and more surely than ever, back down into the messy, squishy mass of his own soiled diaper. Still he'll fight it, and still he'll grow harder and harder… until at last, he'll be moaning and cumming, right into the humiliating mess of his smelly diaper.

That's why Mommy has the crotch strap, sweetie. Not to restrain his body, oh no. It's to destroy his pride, his sense of self… and in the end, his old erotic programming.

Aww, are you crying, sweetie? Whatever for? Are you trying to tell Mommy that you want a crotch strap, too?

She could arrange that, you know!

Image Credit: Baby-Doll.com

Be sure to check out my Ream Stories if you want to read more of my naughty fiction!

[daftpatience]

YEAH YEAY OKAY! here we go! welcome to i get to infodump about pens again, yay yippee!

what's the difference between ballpoints, rollerballs, and gel pens?

ballpoints, rollerballs, and gel pens all use a ball-socket mechanism that continuously coats itsself in ink as it rolls across a page. what makes them all different from each other is in the ink composition!!

ballpoint pens have an oil based ink paste. the ink is very thick & requires more pressure to write with, and can get kinda skippy as the tip gets dirty or clogged, but is able to stick to many more surfaces like receipts, plastic, really shitty paper, etc. it can be hard to wash out of things that you get it on, since it's more waterproof than other inks.

one of the neat things about this type of ink is that you're able to shade with it by varying pressure. lots of artists make great use of this!

hybrid or low viscosity ballpoint ink is often just ballpoint ink with an added lubricant to make it write smoother and flow better.

rollerball pens use water based inks. fountain pens, felt tip pens*, and dip pens all usually use water based inks. because of this, rollerballs are very free flowing and rarely clog, but paper choice is more important and some folks can find them to be leaky or overly wet. the writing experience is not as glidey as a gel/ballpoint since the ink is not thick, but it doesn't need a heavy hand. rollerballs enjoy more colour options than ballpoints and can have very dark blacks, but aren't waterproof unless the ink is pigment based instead of dye based. *felt tip pens feel very different than any of the other pens on this list cause of the soft point, they put out ink in a very even and somewhat dry way, and can also use alcohol inks, like copic markers. alcohol inks soak very deep into the page and dry very fast, and blend very differently. i'm not as familiar with them!

gel pens use inks that are made of pigment suspended in a water based gel. these inks tend to be very thick and put out a wet line that takes a longer time to dry. gel pens are most likely to clog and skip due to this, since the ball is not as evenly coated in a substance so thick. gel pens do have the widest colour options and can be fully opaque (ie. pastels, whites, etc) but are often very frustrating as they clog up and get old and dried out.

as a bonus, true technical pens are a whole different kind of beast and have very specific standardized nib sizes and colours. cad software has largely replaced the need for extremely precise technical drawing, but artists still like pens like the rapidograph! they're made differently everywhere but generally, instead of a ball, there is a small tube of a precise diameter with a little wire inside it that controls the ink flow. they can't be held at a lot of angles and aren't as versatile as other pens, but they put down incredibly crisp lines.

yippee yay pens!! wahoo!!

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

⋆⭒˚.⋆ he’s harmless ⋆⭒˚.⋆

(cw: f!reader, alcohol and weed consumption mention, SWEETS ISNT CHEATING!!!)

It wasn't very often that the frat brothers of Nu Chi really got together to just part amongst themselves. They were a pretty close group of guys, they liked throwing crazy rangers, but sometimes they didn't want to have to worry about someone throwing up in the bushes out front or fixing a clogged toilet while they were high as hell. Sometimes they just wanted to drink a little something or smoke a little something with their brothers and a select few extra friends and that was it.

That was where you came in, as the official almost-girlfriend of Fratboy!Jaehyun, you were given this very special privilege only recently which is how you and your friends ended up in the Nu Chi living room with plastic cups of Jungwoo's mixed drink of the night and an empty bottles spinning around on he floor for truth or dare.

It had already been dramatic with this group. There was no, 'I dare you to tell us your crush' or 'is it true you you know so and so from so and so.' No! None of that! These guys went hard and there was no time for you to get acclimated.

Yuta had already been dared streaked down Greek row, Mark had already been forced to admit he stole everyone's snacks since he couldn't cook, your roommate Ari had to show everyone the embarrassing tattoo she had on her shoulder, and another person had been dared to call their fuck buddy and break it off. It was chaos, pure and utter chaos that only got crazier what with all the alcohol flowing and herbal delights being passed around.

It was fun to watch, sure, but you were nervous, not even the sweet mixed drink in your hand could temper the nerves. The guys didn't care that you'd only been around them for barely over a month, if you were here tonight then you were fair game.

Jaehyun had been somewhat reassuring at least with his arm around you, explaining some background information for specific dares or to tell you when a good dare was coming up. Weirdly, the ones that gave the best dares, Taeyong and Doyoung, had been the most calm and... normal to you. Interesting.

Then the bottle went spinning around again, a hollow sound growing more and more quiet as the bottle came to a stop upon Haechan. Haechan who was surprisingly sober compared to the times you'd seen him at parties. He waited patiently for Mark to give him his dare, sitting with a face all too calm for the person you knew him to be.

"Hmmmm, I dare you to," Mark began, pausing as his eyes went up to stare at the ceiling for the dare to come to him. Then his eyes went around the room, looking at everyone's faces in the hopes that something would come to him. And it seems something did come to him, when his eyes landed on you. "If she consents, I dare you to kiss Sweets."

Haechan's eyes lit up with complete happiness, already leaping to his feet while Jaehyun immediately began to argue, "fuck off, no way. Off limits."

Mark held his hands up, "dude, I said if she consents."

Johnny coughed out some smoke before answering, "hey bro, the only people off limits are official girlfriends and boyfriends. As far as we all know, Sweets isn't your girlfriend yet. So unless you have something you want to tell us..."

Jaehyun pouts, crossing his arms, "well, no. Not yet, but Sweets is my girl. Like, come on Mark, do we have beef or something?"

Mark just shrugs nonchalantly and you don't miss the rolled up bills Haechan sends in his direction. You chuckle under your breath and give Jaehyun's hand a squeeze before quietly reassuring him with, "it won't mean anything to me. He's harmless, alright?"

He keeps the pout on his face, lips pouted with a frown on his face like a child throwing a fit. It's cute, but you don't miss the way his hand squeezes yours in return.

Haechan dances over to you, dropping to his knees in front of you before cupping your face with warm and clammy hands. Immediately you laugh at the gesture. His eyes are wide with excitement, "Sweets, I have quite literally dreamt of this moment since the first moment I've seen you and I will think of this kiss until my last dying breath."

"Hurry it up, shit head!" Jaehyun growls, resting his cheek atop his hand as he stares in the total opposite direction of you and Haechan.

Haechan begins to lean in, his eyes fluttering shut before his puckered lips inch toward yours. You lean in slowly, keeping your lips puckers because you know that there is no way in hell you will be french kissing Haechan.

His lips are all too firm yet wet against yours. Your eyes and clenched shut, while you mentally count to 5. 1…2…3…4…5! You pull away, but Haechan chases you with a happy, “mmmmm!”

This animal opens his mouth and licks from your lips to your chin! A big, fat, warm, wet lap of his tongue. You place your hand in his chest to push him away while you burst out laughing.

Haechan makes his way back to his seat with a smile that looks like he’s stuck in a dreamlike state and somehow smug at the same time. Jaehyun immediately looks at you, his eyes serious and anxious, “you didn’t fall in love with him, right?”

“Jaehyun, he licked me like an overexcited dog. It was like when a toddler kisses you and you can only laugh because it’s so disgusting but cute at the same time,” you whisper to Jaehyun.

He let’s out a long sigh of relief, pressing a kiss to your temple before whispering, “I’m not kissing you until every skin cell that has been infected by that devil has been removed from your pretty face.”

You scowl softly at him and take your turn to skin the bottle, watching as it turns and turns until it lands on… Jaehyun! Perfect, revenge at its finest.

“Hmmm, Jae. I dare you to—”

“I didn’t choose dare—”

“I dare you to give someone a lap dance,” you interrupt with a mischievous glint in your eye.

“Sweets, I’m about to give you the best lap dance of your damn life!” Jaehyun exclaims, pulling his t-shirt over his head and hopping to his feet. He starts toward with a swagger in his walk and a smirk on his face. Someone’s phone begins to play Usher’s Love in This Club.

You giggle, “not me!” His face falls and the group laughs, “give Johnny a lap dance!”

“Fuck yeah! Come here, baby boy!” Revenge is so sweet.

[leonsdolly]

Dog Days

Leon Kennedy x fem!reader

Synopsis: You're sick, but Leon's here to take care of you.

CW: fluff, comfort

WC: 785

A/n: looks like everyone's sick rn !!! ruru, this one's for you since you also got sick (╥﹏╥) sending you all the love and best wishes so that you can feel better @laceycoffins (๑-﹏-๑)

“Leon…” Your whines fly weakly through the room and hit your boyfriend’s ears in the living room. “Leonnnn…” It takes everything in you to muster up enough energy to call out his name.

You hear a sigh before the sound of his footsteps make their way to your shared bedroom. “Everything okay, baby?” He internally coos at the sight of you laying in bed with a cool rag over your forehead and thin covers pulled up to your chest. You’re like a woodland creature of sorts, a little dormouse curled up snugly in its burrow for the winter. Except it isn't winter. The scorching early July sun looms over the city, ready to penetrate through your lace curtains and exacerbate the fever plaguing your body. You pout up at him as you feebly lift your arms out for him.

“What do you need, baby?” He chuckles as he takes one of your hands in his. “Just brought you more fluids, changed that washcloth, made your bed ‘til you said it was comfy enough.”

“I need you,” you say like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Which it is. Did he really expect his needy girl to recover through her illness without being pressed up against him 24/7? Would he also let her succumb to the bubonic plague, damning her to a burial pit on the outskirts of a European city in the 14th century? He sighs and lifts the washcloth on your forehead to feel it with the back of his hand. He turns his hand over to rub soothingly at your forehead, and suddenly you're a child again, relishing in your mother's healing touch over your little ailing body while her dramas blare in the background and the aroma of spicy noodle soup invigorates you. You close your eyes, relishing in the relief of his cool touch against your warmed skin. He lifts the blanket up to slide in next to you, and when you open your eyes again, he's wrapping his arms around you.

“Weren't you bitching about how you can't get sick right now?” You snuggle against him, enraptured by the way his warm breath hits the top of your head when he chuckles.

“You’re a pain, you know that?” He drops a kiss on your hair. “Can’t have my baby suffering, that's all there is to it. Even if your snot gets all over me.”

“Whatev-” your croak is intercepted by a coughing fit that erupts from within your lungs.

“Sound like the exorcist girl.”

“You have such a way with words.” You bat your eyes like you’re really head over heels for this man. Which you are.

“Look like her too,” he says pointedly at the god-awful leakage dripping from your nostrils.

“When his love language is words of affirmation.”

He grunts as he snakes an arm over to pluck a lone tissue from the nightstand and pinches your nose with it. “Blow.”

“You know I don’t ever say no to that,” you joke as you close your eyes and force the air to expel through your clogged sinuses and into the flimsy tissue Leon holds.

“Now you sound like a lawn mower. Or a chainsaw.” He tosses the tissue into a spare plastic bag you’re using for trash before vigorously sanitizing his hands which makes you giggle.

You tuck your face into his chest, feeling the cooling fabric against your flushed cheeks. Nothing is quite more miserable than falling ill alone during the hottest months of the year. He’s your relief against the hazy summer world just outside your windows, threatening to seep in and shake your body’s best efforts to maintain homeostasis. Your symptoms are alleviated by his mere presence, and his hands are the most effective treatment in your frail state. His familiar scent envelopes your senses even through your congestion, whispering words of reassurance into the depths of your brain like you’re that little girl laying in your mother’s soft arms again. The bottle  of generic acetaminophen laying on your nightstand fails in efficacy when Leon’s around.

“Love you,” you mumble against his shirt as he repeats it back, and you cling to him for all that you’ve got in your weakened condition. This is your source of wellness, your reason for waking up every morning and braving through the travails of life. The love is mutual - you’re his sole reason for fighting. There’s a plethora of horrors alive and breathing in this world that you’ll never have to witness; he’ll make sure of that until he’s drawn his last breath. But for now, he’s content in just holding you close while the summer heat rages on outside the walls of your home.