#textured cabinet front

[rogersx]

Los Angeles Pantry Kitchen pantry - large craftsman l-shaped medium tone wood floor kitchen pantry idea with a double-bowl sink, flat-panel cabinets, medium tone wood cabinets, quartz countertops, beige backsplash, mosaic tile backsplash, stainless steel appliances and an island

[floatingparticles]

Large transitional l-shaped medium tone wood floor and brown floor open concept kitchen photo with an undermount sink, glass-front cabinets, white cabinets, granite countertops, white backsplash, porcelain backsplash, stainless steel appliances and an island

Bengteng Spa

[esotericbluntbaby]

compensation

hamzahthefantastic x reader

description: going against your wishes, your boyfriend decides to fight another match after spraining his wrist the last time he boxed. injured, he returns home to his girlfriend, who can't help but feel more than just "angry."

mentions: boxer!hamzah, bf!hamzah, angsttt, female reader, sub! hamzah, blood, bruises, nsfw!

GUYS IM SORRY I FORGOT TO POST THIS PLS DONT KILL ME

--

this was the first time that hamzah kept you in the dark, betraying your trust in him.

he was always a strong-willed, passionate boy; in fact, it was one of the things you found attractive in him. he kickstarted his youtube with his resilience and determination. giving up was simply not an option for him; one way or another, plan after plan, he'd get his goal even if it meant he had to cut off his limbs and sell them. if hamzah wanted something, he would get it, similar to a horse kicking whenever it's being restrained. though, normally, he knew when to stop pushing, especially when the cost was more than the benefit.

the last time hamzah boxed, his wrist fractured like a 6 year old cracks a wishbone. you, obviously, knew that getting hurt was apart of his hobby; you didn't like it, but you accepted that it was inevitable for some part of him to be banged up and broken. he allowed you to stay in the hospital with him during the time he was getting monitored, meaning that you were allowed to hear the doctor tell him that he had to wait 6 weeks to box again.

during the hospital visit, hamzah realized he had a match in exactly 5 weeks. you argued with him, telling him that there would be no way in hell that he'd be able to box until his wrist is fixed. of course, being as stubborn as a mule, hamzah argued back that he had to fight if his life depended on it. eventually, the night settled in as you laid in bed together that night, cuddling; he told you that you were right. reassuring you that he wouldn't be fighting, he kissed you goodnight. you thought you wouldn't have to worry about it anymore.

that was, until tonight, an hour after the match: when hamzah walked in the front door, bloody and bruised.

his eye began to swell, darkening around the indents of his skull. the black eye that adorned his face was accompanied by a deep gash that exposed the layer beneath his skin. he looked at you with guilt plastered in his banged up face, furrowed eyebrows and pursed lips being muted by the extent of his injuries. you didn't have to guess where he was: you felt betrayed by the fact that you knew exactly what he went out to do. alongside his injuries and deception, came a girlfriend who wasn't going to speak to him.

--

not a single word was said when you grabbed his other wrist and walked to the bathroom with him; the room was filled with silence and guilt radiating off of him. he was currently sitting on the toilet seat as you rummaged around the medicine cabinet for materials that would help you fix his wounds. though you were upset, you weren't going to leave him to tend to his own injuries; you were still his girlfriend, after all. sitting on the floor, you grabbed his wrist to check how worsened it became.

"baby-"

"no, hamzah."

from your previous arguments, you knew that hamzah has a habit of overloading you with pet names. he knew he fucked up; you know he fucked up. him starting his sentence with "baby" helped you realize that he knew he's in the doghouse.

taking the textured, cotton gauze, you began to wrap his wrist with a softness that foiled your emotions towards him. you felt his eyes trained on you like the aimbot of a video game; his gazed fixated on every single movement you made. he noticed the way that you still looked so pretty even when you were mad at him. the way your face looked, tensed and full of agitation, created a pool of guilt that he swam in. he hated making you upset, but he simply needed to box. it was passion. it was commitment. he had to do it; at least, that's what he was telling himself. however, no matter how much he told himself that he had to fight, he knew it was wrong of him to go against your wishes and back. he knew you wanted the best for him and his physical being.

"i'm sorry. i shouldn't have gone tonight. i was being stupid and i shouldn't have went behind your back like that."

you listened to him apologize, yet, didn't respond. in fact, you didn't even look at him. there was no acknowledgement of his apology; it was almost like it never even happened in the first place. he needed to know how truly upset you were. instead, you focused on wrapping his wrist with a second layer of gauze, to keep everything in place.

"baby, please. just talk to me- i don't care if you cuss me out or give me hell for betraying you like that, just- please talk to me," his mannerisms were tense and rushed, "how do i fix this? how do i get you to speak to me? i'll do anything- i swear- you want me to quit boxing completely? i will. you want me to do all the housework in this house? i will- i'll do every single chore. shit, if even just sitting in a corner for days with no food or water would get you to speak to me, i'd do that. please, baby- please."

you finished wrapping the gauze by the time he finished his speech about what he'd do to get you to speak to him. you began to touch his face, examining the bruise on his eye and cheekbone like a scientist looking through a microscope. suddenly, he grabbed you by the cheek, forcing you to look up at him.

"i'm sorry. please, just speak to me. i'll do anything. talk to me. i just wanna hear your voice."

listening to him yearn for your voice made you feel a certain type of way. yes, you were mad. however, in a way, this whole situation was turning you on. you hated to admit it, but your boyfriend looked attractive with a black eye and bruised cheekbone. the fact that he was begging for you to speak to him made the sexual tension you were feeling within you even worse. his submissive side was creating a potion of ecstasy in your stomach; you wanted to see how far he'd go.

you sighed, "i don't know anymore, hamzah. you told me you wouldn't. i trust you less."

"i know, pretty, i'm sorry. i'll earn it back, i promise. i shouldn't have gone tonight. i was being an idiot."

standing up as his face followed where your eyes were, you rubbed it against his open wound, earning a wince from him as he gripped onto your waist. butterflies emerged in your stomach, causing you to feel similar to how light a fairy is.

"thanks for the warning," he said with sarcasm and irritation laced in his voice, opening his eyes from the hard shut he indulged in

"you don't deserve one."

he pulled you onto his lap, causing you to straddle him on the toilet seat. taking your cheeks, he cupped your face in his hands and sighed. he looked at you with a level of submissiveness you haven't seen in him. normally, hamzah was the dominant one; yet, you didn't mind that the roles switched.

"what can i do to get you to not be mad at me?"

"i dunno. you're a smart boy," you grabbed his cheek and stroked it with your thumb, "figure it out, baby."

you saw a lightbulb flicker on in his eyes. he sensed the tension in the room wasn't only angry, but there was also sexual tension in its silver lining.

"you want me to make it up to you?"

you leaned towards his ear, now whispering, "how are you gonna do that, hamzah?"

you felt something poke at your ass from beneath you, a slight twitch emerging from it too. your words made him as hard as a rock.

that's so fucking hot.

"baby, i thought you were mad at me."

"oh, i am. trust me, i'm fucking pissed."

he kissed you on the cheek, "i'm sorry."

he kissed you on the jawline, "i'm sorry."

he kissed you on the lips, "i'm sorry."

moving down to your neck, he kissed it longer than the pecks he gave you previously. you felt a sucking motion, as well as his tongue swirling on your sweet spot, shortly after. your breath got heavier, almost as if your lungs were being weighed down by hot air. your lips parted as he sucked a dark spot onto your neck.

"i'm sorry, pretty girl. forgive me?"

"not yet."

his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, "why not?"

"i need more than that."

"tell me what you need, pretty. i'll do it."

you leaned closer to his ear, kissing his neck and the area between, "you know what i want from you."

standing up from the toilet seat, your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you to your bedroom. your lips began to intertwine with his as he walked through the hallway, your tongues melting together like two lollipops on a hot day. he laid you down on the bed, still kissing you with everything he had; he needs you to forgive him.

letting go of your lips, he moved closer to the edge of the bed, taking off your shorts and leaving you in your underwear. feeling exposed in front of hamzah was always nerveracking in your own way; however, this time it was different. you knew hamzah had to please you, leaving you with a newfound confidence.

"are you okay with this?" he asked, exhibiting a level of care that you were all too familiar with.

"do whatever you want to me, hamzah."

taking your underwear off, you were left laying on top of your sheets in a tank top. his arms wrapped around your legs like a snake to its prey, prying your legs apart with a sense of desperation.

"you're so pretty like this baby," he kissed the inner part of your thigh, "you're so fucking pretty."

he spit on the area between your legs, earning a subtle gasp from you. his tongue began to lap on you, dropping saliva on the area of you that was already wet. between your legs, you felt the roughness and neediness of his tongue. his hands squeezed your inner thighs as pleasure began to unravel the metaphoric yarn located in your stomach. hamzah was eating the fuck out of you, leading to your moans getting louder and louder with each and every movement his tongue created against you.

his tongue produced a dance that only the both of you would know. some parts were as fast as light, while other ones were full of yearning and slowness; he knew exactly how to balance it for you to feel the best that you could feel.

your hands made its way to his hair, "you're so pretty like this, hamzah. my boy- my pretty boy."

his movements got faster as his grip against your thighs tightened even more, as if you were going to fly away if he let go. similar to his hands, you squeezed his hair as his movements quickened in pace; you could feel the yarn unraveling like a rubber band about to snap.

"f-fuck- hamzah, i'm close-"

he kissed your core, before his tongue sped to a pace you haven't felt before. you watched him eat you out like there was no tomorrow, leaving loud moans echoing the room, before he felt you release into his mouth. kissing it once again, he looked up at you as his hands massaged the pillows that he was in between. you looked at each other with love while he watched your heavy breathing and fucked-out expression.

"forgive me?"

"i forgive you. please go box someone else, baby."

confusion was apparent in his face, "what?"

"you're so fucking hot when you're bruised and yearning."

--

author's note!

this is so short omfg i hate using anatomical words for smut LOL more coming soon!

[kaisaccofilm]

U-Shape - Home Bar

Inspiration for a mid-sized contemporary u-shaped limestone floor seated home bar remodel with quartz countertops, an undermount sink, flat-panel cabinets, medium tone wood cabinets, white backsplash and porcelain backsplash

[kingwenish]

Shaker Closet in San Francisco

An illustration of a small transitional reach-in closet design with shaker cabinets and light wood cabinets that is gender-neutral.

[grilledcheese-samwich]

New York Home Bar A medium-sized, elegant single-wall wet bar with shaker cabinets, black cabinets, and quartz countertops is shown in the background of this image.

[madewithsilk]

Ellie spanking you then making you get off on her thigh for roaming around the house without her permission after she kidnapped you (with her gentle validating after care of course)

— ᴀʙᴅᴜᴄᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴇʟʟɪᴇ 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚

���ᴀɪʀɪɴɢ; ᴄᴀᴘᴛᴏʀ ᴇʟʟɪᴇ ᴡɪʟʟɪᴀᴍꜱ x ᴄᴀᴘᴛɪᴠᴇ (ꜰ!) ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴄᴡ; ᴅᴜʙ ᴄᴏɴ, ꜱᴘᴀɴᴋɪɴɢ, ᴛʜɪɢʜ ʀɪᴅɪɴɢ, ᴅᴀᴄʀʏᴘʜɪʟɪᴀ

Ellie’s home had a lingering chill, a sense of eeriness that made it feel even more desolate. Being trapped there against your will, with a constant ache of homesickness gnawing at you, was daunting enough. Yet Ellie somehow managed to amplify that feeling. She was often absent and at work, leaving you alone in a space that felt like a hollow shell. The temptation to escape was strong, but deep down, you knew Ellie had taken every precaution to keep her house locked down tight. Despite her attempts to show a flicker of trust—leaving you untethered, without bindings—she still enforced a firm rule: you were not to step beyond the confines of her bedroom.

You followed these rules for the most part, too frightened to go against her will. She ensured to serve you a daily reminder her kindness had limits, and they wouldn’t be taken lightly.

Yet it was currently so late, boredom seeping through every fiber of your being, enough to beguile you further than usual. Ellie wasn’t home on time, the front door firmly shut, no sound of keys rattling as she walked in or a huff of relief to finally be home. Every day you developed an anticipation for her arrival because it meant you could leave your confines as long as she was haunting you.

You’d watch her shower, the steam mingling with the warmth of your thoughts. She’d make dinner, then pretend as if you were her willful and loving partner. It was all her fantasy and you were easily swept into it. You began to crave her presence and routine, so watching it break right before your eyes effortlessly got your hands trembling in apprehension.

You walked on the tip of your toes, feathers on your feet as you made your way to the door. Your shaky hand engrossed the doorknob, taking a deep breath of reluctance. You hesitated, all the possible consequences inescapable. The door creaked as it opened, a small gap yet big enough to go through. The lights were mostly off, a dark sense of depth overtaking you. Regret immediately flooded your body yet you already opened the door so you kept on going.

Your bruised form eased its way through the dim hallway, fingers brushing the wall until you found the light switch. As you flipped it, the dark receded, revealing the room’s contours and textures illuminated in warm light. A rush of possibilities flooded your mind—what stuff could you get into now that Ellie wasn’t around to supervise? Mostly guilt roamed your sentimens, but you hadn’t been granted freedom in oh so long.

You first made your way to the living room, wandering around the ample area. The place was silent, a lack of yelling or TV static noises. It started to bore you, unsure of where the remote controller was and therefore finding no purpose in there any longer.

You walked over to the kitchen instead, no sight of a mess. Ellie kept it tidy and straightened. You didn’t wish to ruin it in a million years, and she’d never even notice you were out here. You situated on the counter, cold marble flush against your thigh and forcing your face into a shocked wince. All you did there was stare at the cabinets, rearranging them, still believing Ellie would never notice.

Unbeknownst to you, Ellie was at the front door, just so excited to see her sweet girl. The highlight of her day was getting home to you, playing pretend, and happy couple. It would help her forget all about the day. Yet when she walked in and took off her shoes and coat, something was off. The lights were on. Her first thought wasn’t to blame you, instead worried someone had broken in. She trusted you incredibly, doubting you’d leave the room without approval.

That thought quickly left her mind when she noticed you perched on the counter, not a single care in the world. Her face dropped, eyebrows tensing and hands clenching. She didn’t waste time striding over to you and before you had time to notice, she fisted a large portion of your hair and tugged on it harshly. You squealed, eliciting a scoff from her. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” She didn’t shout, nor whisper. Her voice was neutral and levelheaded yet her tone was firm and angry.

You stumbled off the counter, whimpering at her harsh grip. Your hands scurried to her bicep, trying to get her off but she just held on tighter. “Are you fucking with me?” She continued, pressing your chest against hers and glaring at you. Her eyebrows furrowed, gesturing at you to respond instead of staying silent like a guilty, caught puppy.

Your breathing pattern was uneven, feeling as if a large weight was placed on your chest. A lump developed in your throat, parting your lips into an O shape and simply getting mocked by Ellie. You shook your head, tears welling at your eyes. Ellie groaned in annoyance, firmly tapping your cheek. She was trying to restrain herself from fully smacking you. “I didn’t mean to— Els-“ You mumbled, babbles spilling out your lips and becoming a crying mess. “Didn’t mean to open the door and do whatever you wanted? Seriously?” Her vision narrowed at you. She effortlessly dragged you to the living room, your wobbly figure standing between her spread legs, wrists in her hand.

She hiked up your skirt aggresively, using both hands to tear your panties off. The humiliation heated your body, yet slick pooled at your cunt. It was embarassing, shame visible on your rosy, tear-stained cheeks. She expected ultimate loyalty from you. “Gonna keep making fucking excuses for yourself or get your ass bent over my lap?” You shook your head, a choked out sobed leaving your swollen lips with inaudible rambles. “Sorry— M’so sorry,” She couldn’t help but roll her eyes, pulling your tummy on her lap and splaying your ass out for her.

“Gonna say thank you every time, ‘kay?” Her faux sweet voice had you biting your lip to stop the sobs, nodding your head in compliance. “Thank you because I’m so fucking generous with you,” Her hand came down on your ass, watching it slightly recoil and redden. “Thank you,” You mumbled, voice cracking. “Thank you ‘cause I’m not hurting you right now.” She kept repeating reasons, a second smack on your other cheek. You simultaneously repeated thank you’s.

Your hips rutted against her lap needily after the tenth smack, trying to distract her from the punishment, squirming on her lap to get away. Ellie tuts and shakes her head, holding your hips tightly. “Where are you going?” She spoke, hand caressing the red spots. “Wanted to be a big girl so fucking bad, now you wanna be fucked like if you’re mine?” You huff with tears, stilling your movements while your lip was snugly placed between both lips. Either way, you nodded in agreement.

“Too fucking bad, gonna be treated like a big girl.” She got an intense hold on your nape, pulling you to sit upright on her lap. Your pussy was drooling onto Ellie’s clothed thigh, creating a damp spot. You wiggled around, hand palming at her crotch. “You know what I wanted to do tonight, babydoll?” She whispered, guiding your hips to gently rock against her thigh. You nodded, yet were hardly paying attention to the way her thigh pressed against your cunt. Your mouth was agape and moaning slightly.

“Wanted to share a nice dinner, bathe together, hold you so fucking close,” She began, hand tracing your every dip and curve. You nodded to gesture you were still listening, feeling negligibly apologetic. “Then fuck you to sleep jus’ how you like it, reward you for cooperating since I got you here.” She scoffed at the mere thought of it, shaking her head. You whimpered with your eyebrows knitting together. You wanted that, craved her validation and sweet words. “Now— Now what?” Your voice was shaky and high-pitched.

She gestured with her eyes at where your cunt and her thigh connected, “Gonna keep going till you cum and make a mess on me.” She lifted a brow while thinking. “Maybe let you sleep on the fucking floor so you can learn.” You whimpered, the pace increasing against her thigh. Ellie moved her hands to your thighs, simply wanting to observe. Your cunt was making nasty wet sounds against Ellie’s jeans, hoping it would please her, silently begging her to be nice again.

She hummed in approval, groaning while staring at the spot your pussy connected to her thighs, the way your brows knit together and lips parted with moans spilling out. “Poor baby,” She taunted, licking her lips. Staring at your fucked out expression just made her feel the slightest amount of pity, placing her hand between your legs and rubbing tiny, precise circles on your clit. “Fuck,” You whimpered, eyes now squeezing shut and leaning against Ellie.

“Language, babydoll.” She scolded, kissing down your neck. You were so close, reigning in the privilege of Ellie’s touch. Your hips stuttered, a knot forming in your tummy. She grabs your jaw hardly, “Open your mouth.” You oblige so quickly, mouth parted, tongue lolling out like a bitch in heat. Ellie spit into your mouth, her saliva dripping down your tongue before you swallowed.

Your orgasm crashed against you, hiding your face into Ellie’s neck desperately. She loved when you were broken down for her, knowing this lesson would stick with you. “Dirty fucking girl.” She whispered, holding your head against her neck snugly. Her hands ran over the red marks on your ass from her repetitive spanks. You wince, back arching away from her.

As you came down from your high, emotions colliding with reality, tears begin to spill endlessly. Was she truly mad at you? Would she really make you sleep on the ground? You clung to her as she whispered soft praises into your ears. "Why are you crying?" Ellie wondered, watching you tear your head away from her. Ellie frowned at the pathetic expression you had presented to her.

"I'm so sorry," You mumbled over and over again. “Don’t wanna be on the floor, need you!” Your exclaims were loud and slightly surprising, Elie holding you closer. She was amused by how attached you were. She had imagined it would take longer to turn you so dependent. “Poor babydoll, I’ll take care of you, in bed.” She clarified and you let out a relieved sob, growing fonder and fonder by the moment.

She takes you to the bathroom and makes the bath she was already thinking about. She needed to make you think she was so damn charitable and nice to you so you wouldn't pin the blame on her but rather you. And also, some deep-down affection as she scrutinized the state you were in. She places you in there and soon joins, keeping you skin to skin, rubbing the sore spots and perhaps getting you off once again with her hands this time.

[shellseaisms]

wondymoon germanium kitchen cabinets & counters.

quite possibly one of the worst preview pics I could've taken for you (the light right in front of the corner cabinet for example), but this has been such a nightmare to convert that I just want to be done with it.

I haven't been satisfied with our very limited selection of full length cabinets for this game for a long time, so I stumbled across this kitchen set and decided to try and convert it to the sims 3. please note that this set is not perfect. I don't know how the hell cabinets and counters work in this game and how to make them properly LOL so there are definitely some issues with these. if you pick them up again after placing them down, they'll disappear, the island doesn't have end or corner pieces (I might change that down the line), there's a bit of a weird gap in the countertop texture of the corner piece, and no doubt some other nonsense I haven't discovered yet. they do work however and they look nice so I'm just sharing them like this because I'm gonna use them anyway.

this set includes 3 counters (regular counter, corner piece & island counter) and 5 cabinets (tall, short, regular, with shelf & corner). like I mentioned earlier, I might add the corner & end pieces for the island counter down the line, but for now I need a break from working on these (I could not tell you how many headaches this has given me)

full credit goes to wondymoon for the mesh & textures; I simply converted them to the sims 3.

download.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Groovy, shagadelic, 1975 mid century modern time capsule in Fort Wayne, IN has been taken off the market, but the listing remains in case someone shows interest. 4bds, 3ba, 2,476 sq ft, $288,500. This one is different.

As is typical of some MCMs, they're not very sturdily built. This is actually the front entrance. Note the shapes of the windows.

Fancy carved front door. Notice the purple trim on the stairs- it's a preview of things to come.

The door opens to a linoleum floor, but you can see the purple shag rug ahead.

It looks as if the carpeting throughout the house was recently replaced b/c it's very clean. The fireplace is a great feature and the glass walls make it seem like you're outside.

Note that the wood pattern on the beams matches the front door. A complicated looking spiral staircase goes thru every floor of the home. There is a row of built-in benches along the wall with new orange velvet seats, plus a built-in sideboard in the corner.

The wall is also covered in purple carpet.

In the dining room/kitchen area there's a wall of windows and a built-in wall unit.

The kitchen is quite large, has original cabinets with textured laminate counters and bright blue carpet. The black appliances are new except for the original bronze tone stove that still remains.

The laundry room off the kitchen has a nice purple door.

The powder room has a big coral laminate vanity. I like the antique mirror.

The steps are all carpeted and so are the landings.

On the 2nd level there are sliders to a deck and this appears to be a family room area. The carpet looks red.

The large primary bedroom has flex arm retractable lamps above where the bed goes and it also has sliders to a deck.

There's a lot of storage in the ensuite. A double sink in laminate faux marble was a popular choice in the 70s.

It also has the favorite sunken tub of the era. It's a little weird how the carpeted floor is "sculpted" around it.

There's also a large walk-in closet.

Actually, this is a candidate for my "stairs that can kill you" posts.

Now, we're down in the basement and there's a huge rec room with some built-in sofas.

Notice the door pattern on the bases of the sofas. That wall looks like it's cork and is flaking. (Or maybe they had a cat- it would make a great scratching post.)

Kitchenette down here.

Bedroom with a built-in bed w/storage, just add a mattress. Plus there's a nice desk in the corner.

All 3 remaining bedrooms are down here. They all have desks and this one has a colorful carpet.

The 4th bedroom is the largest and has a bigger desk.

There are 2 baths down here. Nice mint green laminate and teal tile.

.66 acre lot.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/2112-Parkland-Dr-Fort-Wayne-IN-46825/73166745_zpid/

[lin-dian]

注意：橱柜只制作了正面的，其他部位未删除但并没有做模型和贴图。

Note: Only the front cabinet has been made. Other parts have not been deleted but have not been modeled or textured.

[slimybeth69]

Hungry Man

Chapter Two: God The Animal

Series Masterlist | Chapter One

Chapter Summary: “…made me think about what it would be like if God the animal bit me with his razor-sharp fangs. God has huge poisonous fangs and he loves to bite people who follow the rules. If you follow the rules, God's going to kill you with his long teeth ; and I love knowing that.”

warnings/tags: DDDNE, smut, overstim, extreme dub con, coercion, lying, dubious ethics, Mister-man being sneaky as hell, reader is struggling, hearing voices.

a/n- hello, this chapter is mostly smut but with lots of little things important to the story. I hope you all enjoy <3

Mister opens the front door of his home for you with his hand pressed gently into your lower back. The smell of him hits you, like you hit the ground after falling out of the rafters– how many days have even gone by since then?

That happened yesterday– earlier this morning, technically. 

That doesn’t even make sense and you refuse to process that information because it’s ridiculous. That all happened days ago, maybe even weeks ago. You are actively fighting the memory of being inside your favorite, most safe and special place less than twenty-four hours ago. 

Why did you ever stop fighting him?

He adds weight to his touch on your body, and carefully forces you inside. Your feet shuffle along the hardwood floor just inside the entryway, his warm hand guiding you. 

The door closing makes you shudder, and a cold sweat beads at the nape of your neck. His house looks like a normal house. It looks like a house you would have seen before the outbreak, before the loss of everyone you had ever known. Before the infected, the terrible living conditions in the quarantine zones–  before the real monsters emerged from the rubble of what was civilized once. 

Mister-man’s house looks… 

Safe. 

It does look safe. It looks warm, inviting, and familiar. It’s like you’ve been here before and know your way around even though you’ve never once stepped foot inside a house in almost 12 years. The closest you’ve gotten was a dry goods storage shed the raiders used to lock up shelf-stable food products. 

Look at you, been in two houses today and you’re perfectly fine. 

They’re all trickin’ you, and you’re fallin’ for it.  

There is a fireplace and it's already lit, keeping the house nice and warm. There are stairs that lead to a second floor, and you wonder what’s up there before your eyes wander into the kitchen area. 

Joel lets his hand fall from the small of your back. “Y’like it?” He shrugs the coat off his shoulders and hangs it up on a coat rack by the door.

You shrug your one working shoulder silently as he stands in front of you to unzip your jacket. Your eyes don’t meet his, they can’t right now because they’re too busy taking in everything else. 

Joel slips your coat off carefully and hangs it up beside his, “Go on and take a look around. Get familiar with it all,” he motions for you to keep walking, go further. 

Curious feet carry you deeper into his home to inspect what Mister-man has. “Where is Puddin’?” You still don’t look at him, you just keep wandering and taking in the sounds of the logs crackling in the fireplace and the texture against your fingertips as you brush them along the wallpaper. 

His kitchen is uncluttered and smells like it’s been cleaned recently.

Make a mess. Ruin his things. Burn it down. 

“Somewhere ‘round here. Hidin’ probably.” Joel explains from behind you. “Makin’ a mess, I’m sure.” 

Puddin’s probably gone. Ain’t ever gonna see him again.

“Where’re ya’ thinkin’ he might be?” Your blood pressure rises at the thought that you’ve been lied to, that Puddin’ isn’t here and was let go in the woods shortly after you left with Maria. 

Or worse. 

The dining room smells like him too, and you wonder if there is a part of the house that doesn’t. His table is big enough to seat four and all the chairs match. There is a china cabinet with nothing in it. A few decorative pictures and knick-knacks on the wall. 

It’s a normal house. The bad ones didn’t look like this, or Maria’s. 

Traps don’t always look like traps. Tricks don’t always feel like tricks. 

“I dunno. I ain’t really pay attention to where he ran off too when I let him off leash,” Joel sighs while he follows behind you only two or three paces. You can feel his eyes boring holes into the back of your head. 

You suck your teeth rapidly several times and then call out, “T’mere Puddie-boy. T’mon,” you call in a high-pitched voice. He doesn’t come running to you like he normally would, but he’s probably just as scared as you are in a house. Puddin’s never ever been inside one!! You try not to think about it– just hope that Puddin’ is hiding, and will come out soon. 

The kitchen opens up into his living room where the fireplace is. You can see the door that leads outside where you and Mister-J had just been standing just a moment ago. 

Run. 

The couch faces the fireplace, and there is a wooden rocking chair with an overstuffed cushion to sit on adjacent to it. 

A nice place for you and Joel to sit and talk. 

Which is exactly what you wanted in the first place. All you wanted was someone to talk with, not at, or to, but with. Someone who would show interest in the things you wanted to show them, and that was Mister-J. 

“Do you wanna see the bedroom?” He asks as the backs of his fingers ghost against the curve of your ass. “Finish what we started earlier,” he adds, an octave lower than just a moment ago.

You do want that. 

Mister and his incredible cock, his large, strong hands that grip you and pull and pinch your skin while he thrusts into you. His facial hair scratching at your inner thighs, warm and muscular biceps and forearms wrapped around your middle. 

You turn to face him, eyes finally darting up to meet his gaze. “Do I get to sleep there,” you pause, expecting him to start laughing at you for having such an absurd thought, but he doesn’t, he’s quiet and waits for you to keep talking. “...or do I have a different room– my own room?” 

Somehow, for whatever reason, you want both. You want to sleep with Mister and also, have your own room away from him to go to whenever you want. 

Just like at the mall. 

The idea that you could have both makes your heart skip a beat.

He’s not goin’ to give you shit. 

With the way he’s acting, you’re not so sure about that. 

He looks slightly amused, but not annoyed, and then he slips his fingers into the waistband of your jeans, using it to pull you closer into him. “You can sleep with me,” he leans in until his lips are almost pressed against yours. His and your breaths mingle momentarily before he says, “I could make up the other room for ya’,” he growls and kisses you quickly. “I’d rather ya’ sleep with me though,” he finishes with another kiss, but this one lingers a moment longer than the other, and there is force, and pressure that hadn’t been there with the first. 

It feels like there is something behind the kiss, but that doesn’t make sense. There isn’t a word you know to describe what it feels like because it’s foreign. It makes you shiver– the little hairs on the back of your neck stand straight up. 

It’s all a trick. Just wait ‘n see, stupid girl. 

You stare at him inquisitively during the entire interaction, “Whaddya doin’?” You tip your head to the side and wrinkle your nose, one eyebrow raised after a minute of trying to learn his unspoken, untranslatable language silently in your head. 

It feels foreign because it’s new, no one has cared about you in a long time. It doesn’t feel normal, but it’s okay.

Joel snorts, shakes his head once and then grabs your right hand, pulling you gently in the direction of the stairs. “Gonna show you the bedrooms,” he’s explaining as the two of you climb to the second floor. 

You ain’t ever leavin’ this house again. 

That sweet voice is laughing at you, almost cackling. It feels horrible to be laughed at, especially by the voices inside your head. The ones that got you into this mess in the fucking first place. Without that sweet and lighthearted voice, you might not have done the things you did out in the woods. That voice was your courage, your enabler, the one who told you that you could do anything. 

Thought you could, sug. Guess I was wrong... 

You’re only human, honey. 

The hallway upstairs is dark, and long and feels more ominous than you expected it to. Part of you is screaming to turn around and leave, the other part of you is morbidly curious about the outcome if you stay. So you freeze, yank your hand out of Joel’s and stay glued to the spot at the top of the stairs. 

Mister whips around, his stance looks like he half expected to take off running, knees slightly bent and arms twitching like he’s ready to grab you. But he relaxes when he sees you standing still, your one working arm wrapped around yourself. 

“Why’s it so dark?” You ask nervously, glancing around for the light switches on the wall but you see none. 

Mister glances up, and then points to the ceiling. 

Your eyes follow, and notice the broken light fixture above you. “Oh.” 

There isn’t a sense of urgency, which you’re surprised about. You expected him to rush you, to want to get you into a room as quickly as he could. Instead he moves slowly like the snails that lived on the banks of the river near the mall. 

“You scared of the dark or somethin’?” 

You can’t tell if he’s taunting, or playfully teasing, or being serious. Nothing really makes sense anymore– one side of you is pulling towards the stairs again, itching to get to the front door; not before lighting Mister-man’s house on fire. 

The other side of you, the side closest to Joel feels like it’s magnetized and he’s your polar opposite. It’s hard to escape the draw that is Mister-J and his half-smirks and deep voice, the way his arms feel wrapped around you. 

“I ain’t scared,” you lie sassily, the words stitched with apprehension. “Just can’t see where m’goin’.” You are frightened by what could be hiding behind these doors in the darkness.

Probably a lil prison just for you– ‘n Tommy helped him fix it all up for ya’. 

That is a possibility. This wouldn’t be the first time that you’ve been tricked by someone being kind to you. Mister-man and his nice tone, and his kisses. His sultry voice talking about fucking– he absolutely might be trying to trick you. 

You wait for some reassurance from the dark voice– but it doesn’t come. 

Stupid girl. Why did you ever stop fighting him?

Mister snaps his fingers in front of your face and it makes you flinch. 

Instinctively, your right hand swats his fist away but he grabs you by the wrist and pulls you close to him again. 

“Where were ya’ just now?” His voice is quiet, almost a whisper. His grip on your wrist tightens as you try to pull away. 

His question confuses you because you haven’t moved from this spot since you got to the second floor. Before you have more time to think about what he could mean, he adds on more words that continue to puzzle you.

“You do that a lot,” he adds as he begins to take steady but deliberate steps backwards, further into the darkness, closer to those mysterious doors. The void starts to envelope Mister, the shadows licking and dancing across his face as he pulls you further down the hallway. 

It’s ya’ last chance, Sug. 

It’s hard to breathe, and Mister-man is crowding your every sense. His once welcoming, comforting smell is now overwhelming and makes your mouth hot. Saliva pools under your tongue and you can’t remember how to swallow. 

Gotta make a run for it. 

Where is the dark voice!? You need it now more than ever to calm these nerves, to make this boulder in your stomach revert back to the pebble it was only moments ago. 

You just have to trust, honey. 

Can’t trust not one thing, not nobody. ‘Specially not a Mister-man. 

There are too many sounds inside your brain, and too many feelings happening in your chest. Your heart and lungs and everything else hidden behind ribs, tendons and flesh have been replaced with a hive of angry hornets. You’re buzzing, and in the worst way. 

“Hey,” Joel’s voice sounds like it’s so far away, like it could be coming from the atmosphere. 

The sound doesn’t grip you, or pull you back from floating away from him. The darkness is suffocating; too much and taking over. 

Joel watches you slip further and further away, his eyes adjusting to the dark quicker than yours. He’s more accepting of the things hiding in the dark than you must be. Joel isn’t afraid of the dark. He’s afraid of what he can see, once a brain processes something– it has to work hard to get it out– and some memories are etched so deeply that they never leave no matter how hard the brain works.

Some memories are never forgotten.

“Hey,” Joel cups your face with one hand, your chin resting on the webbing between his thumb and forefinger. Your brow crinkles, but you don’t respond otherwise– you don’t see him and you’re not trying to. You’re disappearing back inside of yourself and it’s strange the way it happens so fast sometimes. “Hey!” He tries again. This time he lets your wrist go, and your arm falls limply to your side and dangles there. 

Joel snaps rapidly in your face. 

You flinch and retract from him, trying to free your face from his grip but he holds you tight enough to keep you from backing away. 

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t–” you’re mumbling, barely audible. “I can’t, I sh-should, I won’t, I want to. I c-can’t. I ca-can, can’t.” 

“What’re you talkin’ ‘bout?” He wraps his free arm around your waist and pulls you close to him. Two stumbled steps and you’re crashing into him; he has to hold you upright as your legs betray you like a newborn foal’s would. 

“Trust him. I can’t trust him-” You’re on the verge of tears. Your eyes are wet, red and distant; looking right at Joel, but not truly seeing him. 

He doesn’t know where you are inside your head, or what you’re putting yourself through, what you’re forcing yourself to relive. “Trust who, babydoll?” He knows. He knows before you tell him, he can feel it dripping out of your pores in the form of a cold sweat. He needs to hear you say it, though. He needs to hear your sweet, soft voice say it. 

“Ca-Can’t trust… anyone,” you snivel quietly. “‘Sp-specially not a– a M-Mister-man,” you’re hiccuping now, unable to catch your breath. 

Joel comes to a stop with his back against something solid, he keeps you held against him with the arm still around your waist, the other slips behind him and he searches blindly for the doorknob. “That ain’t true. You can trust Mister-man. He ain’t ever gonna hurt ya’.” 

The door opens, and light spills out into the dark hallway, illuminating your terrified face and bleary eyed stare. 

The light snaps you out of it, the light brings you back to him, but you stiffen and push your right hand against his chest, brows pulled together angrily. 

“Get off me! No, no, no, no, no!” Your once sadly sweet voice is now deep and angry, eyes once again, looking right at Joel but it’s like he’s not even there, looking at someone else possibly. “Get off’a me! Don’ fuckin’ touch me!” You shriek. 

Oh, someone is gonna be hearin’ all of that– wonder what they’ll be thinkin’...

His body reacts before he can think about what else to do, how else to calm you down. Joel spins you around in his arm and then slaps one hand over your mouth as you continue your loud protesting. 

Whatever was holding you together, snaps… and violently. Your arms punch and flail in every direction, legs kick and slam into his shins as he drags you further into his room. 

Joel is too old for this, too tired to be dealing with this shit. “Enough’a that,” he’s straining as he’s pulling you closer to the bed. “

From behind his palm your loud muffled objections are now only his to hear. 

You know what she needs. You know what’ll make her your pliant lil pup. 

The back of Joel’s knees hit the edge of the bed and he sinks down into it, bringing you with him. Joel presses the side of his mouth to your ear as he pushes himself further up the bed with his boot clad heels until his back touches the headboard. “Here we go,” he murmurs to you as he settles. His palm still rests over your mouth, his other wrapped around your waist.

You sob silently behind his hand, your fists are pathetically punching against his thighs and hips in protest, body slowly going limp in his grasp. 

Wonder when the last time she slept was…

He feels like that’s slightly condescending- you’re not a baby that needs a nap to stop being grumpy. He knows that you’ve been through things that have traumatized you, that have helped shape you into who you are today– good and bad. 

“Hey– ya’ sleepy? Need a good night’s sleep next to Mister?” He mumbles against the side of your face. 

It’s been something that’s been eating away at him for days. Since he broke the news to you about Harley Quinn and Joker, and how their love wasn’t what you thought it was– you had skipped out on him. 

For almost a week you had been gone, or hiding somewhere that Joel couldn’t find you. There had been nights in the mall that he had sworn he could feel you there with him, but you weren’t in the bed or even the mattress store at all. You were avoiding him, and that made him feel two things. 

Furious. So angry that he was sure the next time he saw you– he was going to kill you no matter if it took his life too. How could you just leave him with no weapons? No extra supplies, a fucking opossum to look after. Where the fuck did you run off to? 

He felt something else too, but he’s still not exactly sure what it was; he wasn’t just furious, something else was woven into the fibers of that anger, and he just couldn’t identify its origin- or reason. 

He kisses the top of your head as he adjusts the two of you to sit more comfortably, with you in his lap rather than just laying between his legs with your back pressed against his stomach. 

Now with your back against his chest, his legs pinning yours between together gently. “You gonna be a good girl for Mister? Remember where we’re at?” He rubs his hand across your stomach slowly, moving it up to tease the valley between your tits and then over your collarbone before repeating the motion back down your body. “Ain’t no one gonna hurt ya’, or get ya’-- not while I’m here, ok?” 

With scrabbling fingers starting to grip his jeans under your thighs, you nod your head slowly, and Joel removes his hand over your mouth. You don’t tell or scream, or start to fight him, but you don’t make any other sounds or move at all. 

Joel wasn’t sure what to do now– he honestly hadn’t really expected all this to happen. He had expected you to explode once you found out how many people were really in Jackson, he expected you to act crazy once the patrol people found the two of you. He had expected you to fight when Maria and Tommy wanted to split the two of you up. 

He thought once he got you inside, through the front door– he was in the clear. If you were going to fight him again– it should have been outside his house. 

Now he’s got you back, and he had planned to fuck you into this mattress, make you love him again and then, just keep you preoccupied enough until you forgot about the mall completely. 

“Whaddya need from me?” He whispers, continuing his slow tracing movements across the front of your body, the tips of his fingers brushing along the waistband of your jeans mindlessly. He’d give you anything you asked for. 

There is only the sound of both of you trying to steady your breathing, trying to slow your hearts pounding. He can feel yours with his hand every time he moves it across your chest, and he knows you can feel his thudding against your back. 

“W-Wanna–” you hesitate, and you’re trembling against him now. 

Joel has to push the unprovoked rage down because you haven’t said you wanted to go back to the mall yet, but he knows you do. It’s all you said on the way here, and if you start asking again after the deal he made with you– he’s going to lose it. 

“What? Wanna what, babygirl?” His hand moves down one thigh and then back up, over your jeans covered mound, down the other thigh– an addition to the pattern he had been tracing before. 

The trembling turns into full on shaking, he half expects you to start crying again, but he brushes the backs of his fingers of his other hand across your cheek gently, and he tips your head to the side, and leans forward to look at you. 

“What’re you shakin’ for?” 

Your eyes meet his, watery and red still, chin trembling softly. “Wanna know you’re not mad at me,” you say it fast, high pitched and strained, face twisting as the tears fall. “That you’re not trickin’ me ‘n aren’t ever gon’ let me go outside again, ‘n keep me all chained up—” you choke back a sob as Joel wipes the tears off your face, not saying a thing. “Th-That you didn’t hu-hurt Puddin’ or let him go–” 

Joel interrupts you, “I wouldn’t ever hurt Puddin’,” he shakes his head and shifts forward an inch more when your sobbing takes over, the words no longer coming out. He wonders if you even heard what he said, or if you’re being sucked back into your own head again. “Puddin’ is here in the house somewhere. Probably in the basement– I’ll go look for ‘em if that’ll make ya’ feel better,” he offers. “Would seein’ him make you feel better,” he asks over your crying. 

You’re trying to reel it in, piece yourself back together. You nod, sniffling. Joel pinches your nose together gently, clears your nostrils and wipes his hands on the back of his shirt. Your eyes meet again, “Yeah, that would make me feel a lil better,” your voice wavers, still unsure of the situation around you. 

Joel hooks his index finger under your chin so you can’t look away, “I don’t wanna do any of that stuff to ya’,” he shakes his head from side to side. “Brought you back with me so ya’ could see what this place was like,” he rubs his thumb under your plump and worried bottom lip. “See that it ain’t like where you came from,” his eyes can’t help but flicker down to your pout before he’s back to looking into your eyes. 

“What if I don’t like it?” 

“I told ya’ what would happen if ya’ didn’t like it– but we haven’t even been here two hours,” Joel gives you a knowing look. 

Your body shrinks back into his and your bottom lip starts to tremble again. 

“You gotta give it a chance– a real one. Gotta try– ‘cause why?” He raises both eyebrows at you and waits. “What’re you gonna make a good effort for?

You blink once and then drone back to him, “‘Cause the only way Mister-man will love me is if I try.” 

The deal makes complete sense to you. There wasn’t a thing that didn’t make sense. You still feel wrong as you speak the works back to him monotonously. “‘Cause the only way Mister will love me is if I try.” 

‘Cause it ain’t ever gonna fuckin’ happen. He’s never gonna love you. 

He was never going to love you at the mall, he couldn’t love you there. 

Joel waits for more, waits for the rest as if you maybe had forgotten the most important part of the deal. 

“And if I really don’t like it…” you trail off and wait for him to produce a collar with a lock on it, and a chain that attaches because you’re not sure if he meant it. It felt too good to be true. “We can go back.” 

Joel looks proud, his eyes are crinkled at the corners, and he’s got his familiar half-smile that warms you from the inside, out. “Good girl,” he gives your chin a gentle pinch before he leans back against the headboard and pulls you into his chest again. “You wanna go look for Puddin’ with me?”

The idea of being in here alone, where he might lock the door on you once it’s shut– trapping you inside for however long he wants. 

This whole time you had been in this room, fighting to be free, accepting your horrendous fate– whatever it may be– being comforted by the man you had assumed to be your captor. 

He is your captor– are you fuckin’ thick?

His room looks normal and clean, it looks like something you’d see out of a catalog from the mall when you first got there. A nice comforter with corresponding pillowcases. Two bedside tables with matching lamps sitting on both. The walls were painted a familiar beige that made you feel small, and helpless for some reason. 

Mister slides his hands down the front of you, exploring you, feeling you. Everything about it makes your head spin. 

“We could go look for ‘em later,” he murmurs suggestively in your ear as he palms your tits over your shirt gently. “Never got my chance t’finish makin’ you feel good earlier.” Mister’s accent drawls on as he continues to grope and squeeze at your chest with insistent fingers. 

When you had been ambushed earlier by the group of patrolies, Joel had been trying so hard to calm you down in the only way he knew how– to make you feel good. 

All the emotions from the day- from possibly losing Mister-man, thinking you were going to die, then being dragged through the woods on a leash and being zapped to shit every time you tried to make a run for it, or fight him- boiled over right as the lights from the settlement or compound, or whatever it was fucking called, started to show in the distance. Then you fell apart. 

Joel was just trying to put you back together. 

Trying to trick you, play games with your head. 

Mister presses his mouth against your neck, one of his massive hands sliding down your stomach and to the waistband of your jeans. “Just like makin’ you feel good,” he murmurs as his fingers slip between your skin and the fabric like he’s practiced this before. The pads of his ring and index finger trace the seam of your cunt slowly.

Your head lols back against his shoulder, legs instinctively falling apart as he dips those same two fingers into your entrance. “I know,” you’re whispering with a dry mouth, nodding in agreement. Your eyes flutter while he slides his thick digits into you slowly. 

The both of you groan in unison at the way your body molds around him as he pushes deeper, the “Might be the only thing I know how t’do right anymore,” he almost growls into your ear. His forearm grips you around your torso, his hand still cupping and pawing at one of your tits as he holds you close to him. 

You groan in displeasure as he withdraws from inside you, turning your head to look up at him with your brows pinched together. “What’re ya’--”

Mister’s lips crash against yours, and his mouth opens; his tongue licks at the inside of your cheeks the minute you part your lips like he’s late for an appointment. Then he’s moving between your legs, hovering over you, leaning you back gently against the pillows. He pulls away from the kiss and looks at you with dark, blown-out pupils that make his eyes appear almost completely black. His chest is heaving, and so is yours as you try to catch your breath, but he’s staring at you like he could tear you apart piece by piece. 

He’s going to. Sink his fangs into you and rip you open.

Silently, his deft fingers pop open the button on your jeans, and his calloused hands push them down your thighs, and then he pulls them off your body completely. Now you’re bare– exposed to him from the waist down. He still says nothing while he takes in the sight of you like this, his knuckles ghosting along the inside of your thigh as he trails it up towards your core.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he speaks quietly, almost so low you can barely hear him while he gazes down between your legs. “She’s mine,” his eyes flash up to yours as two fingers find their place buried inside you, his thumb rubbing lazy circles around your now throbbing clit.

You respond with a quiet moan, and a slack jaw as he curls his fingers up towards your stomach, against that perfect spot nestled inside of you that makes you warm everywhere. Everything is right and incredible, and there isn’t anything that could make this bad– not one single thing. 

That’s why he’s doin’ it– so you feel like this. Tryin’ to trick ya’, ‘n you’s fallin’ for it. He’s poison.

Mister thrusts impossibly deeper, jolting you, almost pushing you backwards with the force of it, demanding you to look at him, really see him while he pulls back and then thrusts forward again. “You heard me?” He questions as every muscle inside of you tries to keep him inside of you. 

“Wha–” 

He doesn’t let you finish. He pushes the heel of his hand against your clit while he curls his fingers rapidly inside of you, “I said,” he leans forward and braces one hand against the headboard just above your shoulder. “This pretty pussy is fuckin’ mine,” he growls and switches back to plunging his fingers into you again, as deep as he can. 

It’s so hard to keep your focus when he’s making you feel so fucking good, your eyes close as the pleasure closes in on you- but Mister lets out a loud, sharp whistle that makes them snap open. 

He’s shaking his head already, a mischievous smile on his face. “Nuh-uh. Y’know better– you look at me,” he pulls his fingers from inside you once again and sucks them into his mouth. 

“M’sorry,” you whine quietly, desperate for his touch, desperate for that release that you’ve been denied for so long. Mister chuckles as he laps and sucks at his digits, ravenous for your taste. “She’s yours– you’re right. She is.” You nod in agreement as you babble.

Mister releases his fingers with a loud, wet pop and then reaches for his waist. “Oh, I know she is,” his belt jingles as he gets it open and he pulls his zipper down. “Needed to make sure you know,” Mister pushes his jeans to mid-thigh, watching you watching him in amazement as he lets his hard, angry looking cock slap against his lower stomach. 

Your mouth starts to water at the sight of him, every vein is throbbing, and the dusky skin of his shaft now red and the tip of him is almost purple and drooling. 

All for you. He’s yours, too. 

“S’all for me?” The blood is pounding in your ears, and your eyes flash up to catch him nodding at you. 

One of his thick hands grasps the base of himself and squeezes tight. He settles on his knees, your legs draped over either of his thighs as he scoots himself closer to you. His voice rumbles in your ear as he slaps his shaft against your folds, and you feel how thick and heavy– how ready he is for you. 

What he says doesn’t register. How could it when you’re watching him drag is cock up and down your slit, coating himself in your slick. He rocks his hips back and forth, the friction on your clit is delicious and you arch your hips up to meet him. 

Joel uses his free hand to hold your hip, and he squeezes, digging his fingers into your skin. “Y’aint fuckin’ listenin’ to me,” he barks at you, halting his movements and pushing you back down into his bed. 

Your eyes meet him once again, and he’s unreadable- he’s not exactly the same man you met in the mall. There is something new, something unknown about him now. It’s like he’s taken a mask off and you recognize his voice and his touch but you don’t know him anymore. “Sorry–”

Mister stares at you while notching himself at your entrance. “No need t’be sorry,” he breathes out as your aching hole flutters around the tip. “Just listen to Mister,” he pushes in a fraction of an inch and you’re not sure if he’s teasing you, or trying to make it last longer. 

A sigh leaves you as the burn from the stretch settles inside you, the pain mixed with the pleasure. The pleasure mixed with every other emotion. All of it is so good. “M’listenin’ now,” you nod your head, fighting the urge to look down at where you’re joined. 

Joel nods his head in approval, and rubs circles on your hip with his thumb. “You’re mine,” he rasps out as he pushes forward again. “All of ya’.” He lets go of the base of his shaft and uses that hand to hold your other hip. He pulls you against him while thrusting into you, and bottoms out. 

You let out a loud, filthy groan as the tip of him kisses your cervix immediately. Your right hand reaches for him, wrapping around his wrist as he keeps his grip on your waist. “Oh f–fuck.”

He is perfect. 

“All mine,” he grunts and holds himself inside of you, allowing you to adjust to his size, to mold to him like you always do. “Ya’ hear me that time or do–” he cuts himself off with a low groan as he pulls back an inch and then pulls you back down onto his shaft. 

“H–heard ya’,” you moan, nodding back at him in additional confirmation. “I’m yours.” Your walls clench around him, body reacting to the idea of being his. A new, wet wave of arousal coats his cock while he’s still inside of you. 

Joel snickers, feeling your immediate ratification leaking around him. “Oh ya’ like that, babydoll? Like bein’ mine?” He growls pridefully, his hips picking up speed. 

You barely recognize that you’re a real person when he’s inside of you, when he’s close to you like this. Everything makes sense while also meaning nothing at all. As long as Mister is here, as long as he wants so badly it feels like he needs you. “Uh-huh,” you babble, eyes finally closing and resting back against the pillows. “L-Love it.”

Joel leans over you, bracing himself on one forearm, “Yeah… I know,” his other hand keeps its grip on your hip as he continues his crescendoing pace, fucking you open for him and dragging the defined ridge of his cock against that spot– that place only he knows how to reach and touch over and over again. That place that makes you breathless and leaves you sometimes sobbing underneath him.

Tonight you’re moaning loudly, on the verge of potentially being too loud– but no more tears, no more fear inside of you. It’s just Mister making you feel like you’re weightless: he is the source of all your pleasure and you’ll never find a feeling like this again without him. 

Joel presses his temple against yours and you feel him; slick with sweat and warm like the day you met at the tail end of the summer last year. “Feel so fuckin’ good,” he half whispers, half grunts into your ear.

The room’s filled with the sounds of his ragged breathing and skin slapping against skin. There is something primal about the way he’s touching you tonight. His teeth graze the skin of your cheek, and then he nips at you, pinching the skin hard enough to make you whimper.

His hips never falter, sawing back and forth, cock slamming into you like this is a punishment, like he’s angry with you, like he hates you– “S’my turn,” he murmurs with his lips pressed to the shell of your ear. “Take care of ya’,” he grunts as his hips snap into yours, punching the air right out of you. “Keep you safe now.”

His words resonate with you, almost doing more for the intense coiling in your belly than the feeling of him inside you. “P-Please don’t stop,” His sentiments do more than the way he hitches your leg up on his shoulder and suddenly reaches parts of you that feel devastating in the most incredible and blissful way possible.

“S’my good girl,” he pants into your ear at your pliability. His deep voice praising you has your walls clenching around him. “Fuck,” he groans breathily, feeling you flutter around him. 

His hand leaves your hip and slides it between your bodies to rub circles around your clit again, slow but deliberate, meaningful and precise movements that have your back arching off the bed. Ministrations he’s learned that you like– and remembered them so he can make you feel this way over and over again. That tight, hot ball of goodness is growing in your lower stomach, and it’s tearing desperate, ragged noises out of you that you didn’t even know you could make.

“Don’t stop– Don’t stop,” your right hand slides up the curve of his shoulder and behind his neck before your fingers card through the thick mess of gray and brown curls. His voice is going to push you off the precipice. 

Mister incredibly increases his speed and you worry for a moment that you’re going to be fucked up the headboard behind you until you feel his hand on the top of your skull, sliding down to cup your head close to him. 

“Talk– please t-talk,” you plead airily against his neck. “Don’t stop talkin’.” 

Joel presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, his hips hammering into you still. You can feel him grinning against your skin for a moment before he pulls his chest away from yours. He holds your leg against his torso. He suddenly looks like he’s in pain, but the grimace disappears from his face just as quickly as it had shown up. 

“You–” You’re about to ask if he’s alright, if he wants to switch positions but he Mister cuts you off. 

“Shut up–” He rasps, hand exploring your thigh and shin, lips pressing into your ankle. It’s a familiar picture. He kisses you there whenever he fucks you like this. 

At the mall sometimes he would bite you there, nipping at the bone, and then the sensitive skin on the top of your foot before he pulled out to finish on your belly.

Tonight it’s different. Everything in the room feels charged– ready to zap you dead if you touched anything but Mister. He’s grounding you, keeping you safe right now. 

“Lil pup needs me, huh?” He sounds like he’s teasing you, but the words go right to your core and you clench around him again, tighter and more rapidly your walls flitter and constrict. 

You let out a pathetic whine because yes, you do need him. That scares you and makes your cunt throb at the same time. 

“Say it,” Mister continues his touch on your sensitive clit, rubbing in faster, sloppier circles. It doesn’t matter how precise his touch is anymore because you’re so close. 

Everything inside of you is taught and ready to explode. “Y-Yeah,” you pant nod your head rapidly.

“Need what?” Mister purrs deeply, seemingly already satisfied by the fucked-out look on your face, or the actual, desperate need behind your eyes that has been building for him and him alone. His thumb rubs furiously around your nub, his leaking tip pushes so deeply inside of you that you swear you can feel it in your stomach. 

Your mouth hangs open silently as your impending orgasm shoots sparks from your lower belly to the rest of your body. 

Joel’s palm connects with the side of your thigh hard enough to hear the smack echo off the walls of his room. The sting settles into your flesh, and you bite your bottom lip to suppress a whimper. 

“C’mon– lemme hear your pretty voice say it” Mister’s voice is low and demanding– just what you needed to tip you over the edge. 

Your chest heaves, and you sob loudly, “Need you, need you, need you!” Everything is hot, and good- your legs twitch as the waves of pleasure crash over you again and again. The stress and the worry that had been building up a hard shell around you being eroded away with each broken moan that leaves your raw and tender throat. 

Mister-man doesn’t stop moving, doesn’t stop his brutal pace he set. He instead begins to rub your clit rapidly with four stiff fingers. “Atta girl” he growls into the side of your calf. Then he sinks his teeth into you. 

“Oh fuck–” you groan, letting your head fall back against the pillows again as the bliss courses through all the nerves and veins you have. “Oh my god,” you keen loudly, back bowing off the bed dramatically. 

Mister sucks on the spot where he just indented marks of his teeth into your skin. His tongue laves at the sore, tender skin like he’s hungry for your taste. “S’right– so fuckin’ pretty when you come on my cock,” he’s grunting, fingers working feverishly over your clit to bring you there.

Your shoulder hurts as your arm moves so you can try and sit up on your elbows to watch him, but you don’t care– it’s not nearly as bad as missing out on the view of him splitting you in half, watching the way you obscenely stretch open for him. You whimper at the sight.

Mister’s forehead is damp and his hair clings to it, the column of his throat is red and also stippled with beads of sweat that drip down behind the fabric of his flannel shirt. His forearm holds your leg close to his chest as he rests his head against the side of your foot, gazing down at you. 

He’s handsome and loves to make you feel good. 

It’s all a trick. 

It doesn’t matter right now if it’s a trick, or if he’s genuine with why he’s doing what he’s doing- it feels so good– teetering on the edge of being too good. Too much. All at once it hits you like a tsunami. 

“Ok, ok, ok, ok!” You’re squealing and half trying to crawl away from him, but he holds you tight by the thigh and keeps up the speed of his fingers on your clit, his thrusts pummeling you into near blurry vision. 

He doesn’t care, he loves this, loves to see you like this. He whispered it to you once late at night in the darkness of the mattress store after he made you feel good over and over, again and again. Mister just chuckles at your useless, and half-hearted begging and his thrusts slow, but each one is deep and touches the furthest parts inside of you. 

It’s going to happen– your legs are shaking and your fingers dig into the sheets below you to hold on to something because it feels like you’re about to float away and explode all over again in such a different way. 

Joel grunts again, his thrusts becoming more erratic and clumsy, his fingers dip into the flesh of your upper thigh and you watch his knuckles go white. “C’mon– know ya’ got one more in there for me.” His voice is strained and you can tell he’s close too. 

And of course you have another one for him, you always do and he knows it. He knows how to draw it out of you and make you gush. 

The only sound you can make is a strained whimper as you come again, this time all over his lower stomach and pelvis. Joel groans loudly, and keeps his fingers strumming your clit rapidly while he knocks your leg off his shoulder and pulls out. 

He strokes himself with his free hand a couple of times, chasing his own release now that he’s given you more than you could ask for. He drags the tip of his tongue along his bottom lip, looking down at you with hooded eyes. “Good fuckin’ girl,” he groans again, his fingers finally give you some much needed relief as they leave your clit. The pad of his thumb presses into the top of your slit and he pushes up– pulling you taught as he rubs the tip of his cock against your red, puffy and swollen lips. He moans loudly, hips bucking forward, fucking his fist as he splashes his cum against your cunt. 

You watch in fascination and adoration as he rubs the head up and down as he throbs with each release. He milks himself, and coats the outside of your pussy in his spend before he gives the side of your thigh another slap, gentler and more appreciative this time. 

“You stay there,” he pants softly, and begins to crawl off the bed. 

All the good feelings leave you immediately and fear rips through you again, “Where ya’ goin’?” You ask, scrambling after him, hissing loudly when your shoulder screams in protest. 

Joel turns around, already stuffing himself back into his Jeans with his finger pointed at you sternly. “I said stay there,” he’s firm when he says it, and gives you a look to match. 

You stifle the whine that builds in your throat as he stares you down– unblinking as he waits for you to lay back down. “You comin’ right back?” You ask, settling yourself back into the soft pillows behind your back. 

Joel nods silently, and heads into the bathroom attached to his bedroom and disappears. 

Then you are all alone in his room.

You hear the water turn on, and then off and he’s back in the doorway, his shirt partially unbuttoned with one hand still working on it and then a wet washcloth in the other. 

“Open’em,” he orders gently, much more gentle than he had been only a moment ago. His tone is inviting, and calming– caring. 

You let your legs fall apart, and Joel looks up at you, catching your eye as he rubs you clean, not too rough and careful of your oversensitive parts. 

“Thank you,” you whisper to him, blinking slowly in admiration of his handsomeness, even with his messy hair and scratched face and black eye. That you gave him. “Sorry for hurtin’ ya’,” you add just as quietly even though you mean it. 

Joel shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head softly. “Know you didn’t mean it.” 

You nod your head, “Was just a lot goin’ on, ‘n I got all confused–”

“S’like you didn’t even see me,” he starts, finishing undoing the buttons on his shirt. “-but you were lookin’ right at me.” He’s done cleaning between your legs and tosses the washcloth into his hamper. 

You feel the embarrassment crawling up your chest and neck– growing behind your cheeks. There isn’t anywhere to run to, or to hide. There isn’t a distance far enough away that Mister can’t reach you now, and that’s terrifying. 

“Almost like you went somewhere else entirely,” he keeps talking as he pulls his flannel off, leaving him in a white t-shirt. “Did it earlier out in the hall.” He gives you a look, like he knows but he doesn’t really understand. “Where do you go?”

If only he knew.

Try and explain it to him. 

He’ll think you’re crazy. Crazier than he already thinks you are. 

You avoid his eyes, and look for something to cover your lower half with instead. Joel notices and goes to his drawer and tosses you a pair of his boxers. 

“I had pants from–”

“We are very grateful for Maria and her charity but you don’t need it– don’t need her clothes, or her help. I’ll getchya everything you need, don’t worry ‘bout that.” He shakes his head as he watches you struggle to put the boxers on with one hand, and laying down. 

“She was just bein’ nice–”

Joel cuts you off again, “She was very nice to let you shower ‘n borrow some clothes, yes.” He agrees with you, but you can tell there is more to come. And you’re right. “I’m fully capable of gettin’ you everything you could need, and so we don’t have to take nothin’ from Maria and her donation box–” he pauses for a moment and sighs. “--when it could go to someone who really needs it. Ya’ don’t really need it.” 

That sounds very nice of Joel, very kind and protective– but there doesn’t feel like there is any truth to his words. It’s confusing. 

Something in your brain is itching to ask why Maria doesn’t like Mister and why Mister doesn’t seem to care for Maria. But you don’t. You keep quiet and just nod your head. 

“Do you wanna come with me ‘n look for Pud?” Joel asks, pushing his hair back away from his face with one hand. He looks tired, and you feel badly for him– feel badly for how you had treated him the last week before the raiders came. 

“We can wait ‘till the mornin’ if you wanna go to sleep,” you offer softly, scooching over to one side of the bed to give him room. 

Joel’s eyes flick between you and the space next to you and he sighs softly. “I know seein’ him would make you feel better- probably sleep a lil’ better too,” he rubs the back of his neck, eyes drifting back to you after a second. “He’s here. I promise I didn’t leave him– or hurt him…” Joel shakes his head. “I wouldn’t do somethin’ like that to you or Pud.” 

Those words sound genuine. He means it, and you know he’s telling you the truth and that warms something inside of you, eases some of the ache and tension. 

“‘Kay. Can ya’ help me–” You don’t even have to finish before Joel is reaching over and helping you unclasp the sling your left arm is still in. He helps side your arm out, and then he unbuttons the shirt you have on. 

“Got a shirt you can wear t’bed,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing against the curve of your tits as he slides the flannel off of you. 

He tosses the shirt you were wearing down to the floor with the jeans and heads back to his dresser. He comes back with a plain black tee and helps you slide it on as painlessly as possible. 

“Ready?” He asks, crawling into bed beside you– sleeping on the wet spot you made like it’s his preferred sleeping method. 

You nod at him, and push the comforter down with your feet and let him cover the both of you back up. He turns the light off on his bedside table, and reaches over doing the same to yours. 

When you sleep with Mister, you normally curl up into his side and he wraps an arm around you– but tonight that hurts and you opt to lay on your back. 

He’s next to you, throwing an arm over your waist and draping his leg over one of yours, pulling you close to him gently. “This good?” He asks softly in the dark. 

It’s more than good– but you still feel dread buried deep within you and it’s clawing its way through the fleshy parts inside. “Yeah,” you turn your head and press a soft kiss to his forehead. 

“If you try ‘n run away– I’ll come lookin' for ya’,” he whispers, kissing at your jaw as you turn your head to look at the ceiling. 

“I know,” you’re quiet like he is, running your fingers along his forearm. 

“And you won’t like what happens when I find ya’.” 

tag list: @probablyreadinsmut @lilac-boo @pedrospookie @ghoulettesinspace @itwasntimethatdidit40 @itsokbbygrlbutworsethistime @baronessvonglitter @xkyxkyxxlylcylulucuflfluclu @joelmillerisapunk @pastelpinkflowerlife @tateypots @toxicrecs @the-orange-tabby-cat @gothcsz @almostempty @cubiclehoe @codenamekitten @shivispunk

^^ please let me know if I forgot you or you want to be added!!

[fanaticsnail]

Saw a post about how penguins "propose" with rocks. Meaning if you were dating penguin:

He would gift you cool rocks all through your relationship but especially when he's going to propose

OR

2. That engagement ring is about to be MASSIVE

-♡♡

I loved this concept. It needed to be in a fic, ♡♡ Anon. As soon as I saw my asks starting to work again, I began this little penguin fic for you. I hope you enjoy it!

Penguin's Rock Collection

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 1,450+

Synopsis: Penguin finally tells you about each piece in his extensive rock collection, and you are left in awe when he shows you his crowning piece.

Themes: Penguin x gn!reader, fluff, proposals, Penguin is a thief, he is a kleptomaniac, kisses, proposal, cute things, just let him talk about his rocks.

Mini Part 2, Mini Part 3

When you first began dating Penguin, you were in awe with the small cluster of miscellaneous rocks he kept in his private quarters. There were only three or four lining his bed frame, littering the surface and adding an element to his side of the room that was something distinctly his. While Shachi kept tri-fold posters of various wanted bounties of his friends throughout the Blues, Penguin had a few small rocks. 

Each time you visited him in his quarters as opposed to yours, you witnessed the collection grow in vast number and size. Not before long, the shelves and cabinets in his shared room with Shachi was overwhelmed with rocks of differing textures and sizes: all labeled and tagged with the appropriate title, size, weight, and color. You laughed at the disdain Shachi would pull over his face, the scowl permanently plastered on his mouth as he flicked the overlaying cabinet with his toes and pushed it further onto Penguin’s side of the room from his recline against his bed.

As you show interest in his hobby, asking before touching any that seemed to catch your interest, and he would tell you the story behind it. Reclining back on his bed and propped onto his elbows, he would watch you with a soft smile drawn up on his lips.

“That one was from Swallow Island, just outside Wolf’s house,” he gestured to the pebble in your hands, “Nicked it from his front garden. Wanted something to remember him by.” You offered him a soft smile before placing the rock back onto the side, just above its correlating slip of paper. 

“And this one?” you ask, cocking your head to the side and gently tracing the contours of the soft shell-like stone. 

“That one was from the first time I met you,” he uttered quietly to himself, slowly stepping over his blankets to draw himself at your side, “You were wearing that green shirt. Took that piece of jade from the wall near the beach.” You furrowed your brows in confusion, sneaking a look at Shachi as he attempted to remain nonchalant while reading a comic in the corner of the room. 

“You remember my shirt?” you asked Penguin, puzzled at the attentiveness he took at the encounter. He slowly stepped over to the collection, gently brushing his hands over them before turning back to you. 

“I remember a lot of things. The rocks-... they-...” he sucked his lips into his mouth, stifling what he wanted to truly say. Shaking his head, he returned his hat-shrouded eyes to you and offered you a smile, “...They tell stories. They help me remember. Wolf, Law, even this stupid asshole.” His thumb gestured to Shachi with his thumb, who crudely elevated his middle finger in return without removing his eyes from the pages. 

“Oh?” you ask in response, smiling and raising your hand up to the cabinet, placing your weight coyly on your forearm. Further puzzlement overtook you as you peered at the expanded array of rocks, gems, golds and pebbles. “Pen, there’s quite a few here, honey. Surely you don’t have a story behind each rock you’ve stolen, you kleptomaniac.” 

He chuckled at your accusation, turning away from the shelf and rummaging around in his draws. The soft rustle had you confused, attempting to peer over his shoulder while he blocked your sight with the curve of his ass and broad shoulders. 

“Our first date, the time we spent in Sabaody Archipelago together, the beach incident where you pushed me into the water-,” he listed off, prompting you to interject with your rebuttal. 

“-I did no such thing! You fell, I laughed, and you pulled me in!” you defended yourself, moving away from the cabinet and approaching him just as he stood, “You tried to drown me.” 

“I did not,” he gasped, feigning shock and clutching both hands to his heart, “You were flailing about and I was trying to hold you still.” He chuckled at you, watching as your lips fell into a cute pout. 

“You ruined my pants by drenching them in salt water-,” you spoke, falling short when he leaned down and pressed his nose against yours. Gently rubbing the pointed tip of his nose against yours, he cooed down in response.

“-Your blue pants,” he whispered, removing his nose from dancing with yours and nodding his head back towards the cabinet, “Aquamarine from the bottom of the sea where we were swimming. Had to go back later and dive for it, I’d hope you know. Hard to do that in the dark.” 

He removed himself from your embrace and cradled something small against his chest. 

“And what have you got there, Pen? Quartz from the first time we put on our Heart Pirate uniforms together?” you teased him, scrunching your nose and softly cradling his cheeks in both of your palms. He chuckled at you, reaching up to remove his hat and place it on your own head while cradling the object against his chest with his other hand. 

“Pirate uniforms, no. Heart, yes,” he whispered intimately, withdrawing his head from yours and gazing his crystalline blue eyes deeply into your own orbs. Withdrawing his hand from his chest, he presented you with a small rectangular box lined in painted gold. Atop a small cushion lying in the center, a band of woven gold with a small, unpolished stone lying on the top. 

“This was from the moment I knew my heart belonged to you,” the softness from his confession was depicted in the deep baritone, his stature slowly sinking onto his knees, “I collected all of these rocks in the hopes of finding the perfect moment to give you this one. It’s-.”

“-Is this amethyst, Pen?” you fawned over the rock, studying its shape with your lips parted and brows triangulating up to the center of your forehead. Tears swelled in your eyes as you watched his own glaze over with a soft mist of joy. 

“From when we got separated from the crew, you sprained your ankle, and then argued with me when I tried to look after you,” he nodded in confirmation, his smile drawing up his face the longer he reminded you, “We slept in the cave, the whole thing covered in amethyst stalactites, and you let me hold you against me.” 

“But Pen...” you bit back a sob, gently reaching down and cupping his cheek in your palm, “We weren’t even together at that point-.”

“-But that’s the moment I knew my heart would always belong to you,” he darted his eyes between yours while softly nuzzling against your palm, “What would you say? If I were to give this to you as an extension of myself? To promise to love and care for you always, to be by your side as your husband? Would you-...? Will you-...?” He choked on his words, attempting to gage your reaction by holding his eyes to your own. 

You nod your head at first slowly, before your enthusiasm took over. Bobbing your head, you slink to your knees in front of him and throw yourself into his arms. Lips colliding in a messy clatter of teeth and tongues, you whimper against him as tears begin to roll down your cheeks in heavy waves. 

“So, I take that’s a yes, then?” A lazy voice called from the other side of the room, prompting you and Penguin to laugh into the kiss before breaking away from it. You called over to Shachi, without tearing your eyes away from Penguin’s.

“It’s definitely a yes,” you nod. He hastily grabs for your left hand, removing the ring from the pillow and nodding at you to gain consent before dragging it over your unity finger to the knuckle. 

Several bangs drew you away from this moment of solitude, Shachi’s balled fist colliding against the metal wall of the submarine while shouting: “It’s a yes-!” at the top of his lungs. 

Cheers reverberated in the hallway, prompting you to shake your head at the reaction from the entirety of the members aboard the Polar Tang. You gaze down at your hand, admiring the way the metal shone over your skin and danced the lights from the crystal throughout the room. Penguin couldn’t take his eyes off you: noticing the way you beamed down at his ring and wore his most prized rock with pride. 

He’ll work up the courage to tell you how much trouble it was to learn how to cast gold, welt the settings, and how he had to humble himself in front of Eustass Kid and Massacre Soldier Killer to learn how to do it properly. But that story, and its correlating, stolen, bismuth paper weight, would be for another time. For now, all he wanted to do was scoop you up, hold you close, and gush to everyone he knew how much he was in love with his beautiful fiance. 

And you would do the same.

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @sordidmusings @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @thenotsofantasticlifestory

[kirlicues]

Cooke Corner | Sims 2 Residential Lot Download

This sprawling single-story ranch style home built on a 4x3 lot is the perfect abode for the sim who loves to cook. There are 2 separate kitchen spaces to create confectionary delights of all kinds!

This lightly furnished home will set your sim back §180,507. Let's take a tour and see what's included (aside from the kitchens)!

On one end of the backyard there is a pool...

...And on the other end, a small gazebo.

Want a better look at the front yard now? Oh good, 'cause that's where we're headed! 🤣

...And a view from the opposite side of the lot.

There are so many places to relax after a long day spent on your feet cooking and baking!

I've mentioned how I'm more of a builder, not so much of a game player, but at one point I built lots for most of the pre-made "lot bin" families that came with the game. This particular lot was especially for the Cooke family. I never did play long enough to find him a wife and start a family, so there's only 1 bedroom on the main level, but there is some extra space in the basement (thankfully there are no rules in the game about having to have egress windows) so a larger family can live here.

Speaking of which, let's take a look at the floor plan.

1st Floor: Clockwise from left: Dining room, kitchen, half-bath, back entryway and patio, laundry room, bathroom, bedroom, garage, living room, and front entryway.

Basement: Clockwise from bottom left: Chef's kitchen (with double stoves and double fridges!), guest bedroom/2nd bedroom, closet storage space, bathroom, and office.

Ok, so maybe you love the look of the house but don't have a family that lives to create Baked Alaska and Lobster Thermidor--no problem! Tear out the kitchen and turn it into a bedroom or maybe a craft room. It's up to you!

Cooke Corner: MF | SFS

All EPs and SPs are required.

*I highly recommend that you have the PerfectPlants mod from TwoJeffs*

I’ve run this home through the Lot Compressor so any random references to sims that aren’t there should be removed. I have also run this lot through the Lot Cleaner to remove any bits of buggy code. This lot comes with a shiny custom thumbnail so it has even more curb appeal in your Lots and Houses bin! 😄

This home has 4 pieces of CC, 2 of which are Maxis "Lost & Found" items that you may already have in your game (used in the downstairs bedroom). These can easily be replaced or omitted if you don’t want them though.

CC List (Included): -Maxis Match Wall Cabinets by CTNutmegger at ModtheSims -LG Dryer & Washer Machine by Fresh-Prince at ModtheSims

CC List (Not Included): -Maxis "Lost & Found" BILLY Wallshelf at Mod the Sims -Maxis "Lost & Found" BENNO Coffee Table at Mod the Sims

Default Replacements Shown: -White Wall Top Texture Replacement by Maranatah at Mod the Sims

I ALWAYS recommend using the Sims 2 Pack Clean installer to install lot files.

Want to improve the look of your game, or grab some “Lost & Found” Maxis objects? Check out this post.

[gingerteawrites]

Bad hair days and other mishaps - JJK Headcannons

A/N: I almost had a bad hair day today before TWO important meetings/appointments, and I need comfort lol. So here are some headcannons of my jjk faves and them helping out/playing with reader's hair.

Content: Written with black reader in mind/reader with very curly hair. Nanami, Gojo, Geto, established relationship, fluff.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nanami Kento

One of the things Nanami loved the most about you was how put together you always tried to be. The level of care and attention to details in your styles always elicited a quiet sense of fascination in the man, and your hair was certainly not an exception.

Nanami was nothing if not an astute observer, and through your time together, he learned to pick up on small indicators of your moods. Today, it was a less subtle one than usual; a loud groan coming from the bathroom.

He immediately perks up, leaving the comfort of the window-side armchair where he was thumbing through a book and headed in the direction of the displeased sound.

"Are you alright, darling?" He walks in, pulling his glasses from the bridge of his nose.

Your shoulder droop as you rest a wide toothed comb on the counter, looking down.

"'m okay, Ken," you sigh. "Just a bad hair day,"

His eyes fleet to the top of your head, taking in the messy strands of hair you were attempting to shape into a new style discovered during your nightly Pinterest scroll. He moved closer and brought a comforting hand to your back, his fingers pressing warmth into you.

"Need help?" He offers in a low rumble, and you turn to him, eyes betraying a hint of hesitation. "Only if you're comfortable with it, of course" He adds.

You jut your lips out, immediately feeling bad for the reluctance you felt, however brief. Ever the gentle soul, Kento was entirely trustworthy when it came to taking care of you. Your moment of hesitation had only been because of the unfamiliarity of the suggestion.

"I would appreciate it, yeah," You rest a hand on his chest, and he offers you a smile so soft it makes you want to squish him.

This is how you end up in the living room, sitting on a cushion on the floor, sectioning your hair and providing gentle guidance as Nanami worked through your strands.

"Like this?" "Please let me know if it hurts" "Your hair is so soft". When he's not asking for instructions or somehow praising you, the man works in quiet concentration, strong hands gentle as they massaged the products through your hair and detangled with care.

And while it took way longer than when you did your hair yourself, the session left you feeling thoroughly relaxed, Completely devoid of the earlier frustration that plagued you. And the style ended up looking pretty decent! Nanami's fingers worked magic, no matter where he touched.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gojo Satoru

"Sweetheart are you trying something new with your hair?" Gojo's brows were raised in surprise when he watches you exit the bedroom with your hair in an... interesting style.

"Don't start, Satoru," you groan, irritated beyond belief. You had tried one of those heatless curls methods that were all the rage, but had unfortunately not accounted for your hair texture.

How stupid

You thought you had learned your lesson from the times you almost fried your hair in the name of straightening it as a teen. The wavy look you were aiming for resulted in something more like ringlets, suspended in the air in a ridiculous display of gravity defiance.

"That'll teach me a lesson," you mumble to yourself, headed for your snacks cabinet. Your arms were tired, you were hungry, and irritated. Phenomenal combination.

Noticing your sour mood, Satoru immediately seeks you out, leaning against the counter beside you. "You don't look bad, though," his voice softens, and you throw him a look beyond skeptical. Causing him to hold his hands up defensively in front of him.

"It's not your best either," you sigh, your annoyed expression turning defeated. "But I'm sure we can work this out!" He adds quickly, "Let me take a look at the tutorial."

"I already canceled the appointment I was going to anyway, it's fine," you look down at your phone, the picture of silky waves on the model's hair bright and bold on your screen.

Ignoring your words, his fingers slip through yours and grab your phone before you can even formulate another retort. He hums for a second, concentrating on the picture before announcing boldly.

"I can do this!"

It has been about 30 minutes of tentatively pulling, combing and wrapping, your hair looked somehow... worse. You don't even know why you allowed Satoru to try, cackling loudly when the man hesitantly hands you the mirror.

"It's hard, okay? One of the few things I don't have a natural talent for," he sighed dramatically, and another laugh escapes you.

"At least you did not rip my hair off," you say after you are finally able to calm down a bit.

Satoru watches you with a fond smile. At least the frustration had melted away, and you were back to your cheery self. He leans in and kisses your cheek.

"At least you look less like you're about to rip my hair off," he quips and you return the smile.

"Thank you for cheering me up," you place your hand on his cheek, earnest. "But this is the last time I'm letting you do this."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Geto Suguru

Suguru had decided today was a spa-at-home kind of day. Your week had been deeply tormenting, and you welcomed the initiative with wide open arms. Your shared home was bathed in the soothing scents he had laid out, and you were wrapped in a cozy bathrobe, enjoying the back massage that his nimble fingers pressed into your skin.

His hands leave your skin and you are tempted to protest, looking up from the bed with a frown at the smiling man.

"Now your hair," he announces, leaning down so his face is closer to yours. You sit up, readjusting the robe around your shoulders with a small frown.

"Um, I don't know if that is going to work, baby," you press your lips together. In all honestly, your hair was still in a bit of a disarray from the week's manipulations, and you did not want to overwhelm your lover.

"But you play with my hair all the time," he retorts, now sitting on the bed and holding your hands.

"Your hair is a lot more manageable for me, Sugu," you chuckle, absently bringing a hand to push away a strand of his ebony locks from his face.

"It's fine, love, really," he emphasizes, bringing one of your hands to his lips. "I looked up a few of those hair ASMR videos for your hair texture, I promise I'll be gentle."

Long story short, you are easily persuaded to let Geto give you a scalp massage. He whips out Castor oil and cocoa butter from your stash, applying it to your hair with an expertise that almost shocks you.

"I love how your products smell," he comments while applying the honey-scented leave-in through your stands.

You hum absently, on the verge of sleep. Not a single muscle in your body is left holding any sort of tension.

He helps you up, giving you a quick kiss before handing you a mirror, and you almost gasp at how shiny and moisturized your curls look. Suguru's smile is almost smug when you turn your head from side to side to admire his work.

"Like it?" he asks, standing to stretch.

"More than like!" You finally placed the mirror down. "You shouldn't have done this. Now you'll have to be my personal hairstylist forever." The seriousness of your tone pulled a laugh out of him.

"Anytime, baby."

This was so much fun to write, I hope you enjoyed it!

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated (❁´◡`❁)

[solargeist]

*swinging a pendulum in front of your eyes* you will share the autistic grian headcanons......you will share the autistic grian headcanons.....

I love !!! Autistic grian !!!! 💥💥💥💥💥💥

I’m not sure what to even share specifically…. He just IS…..

I think he’s sensitive to textures, especially with food. He’s gotten better with clothes and shoes though. I think in Evo he didn’t wear shoes often—he lived on a beach—but as a Watcher he had to wear uniform. Now, he typically wears baggy clothes.

I think he gets fixated on things pretty easily, like his fisherman arc, I think the interior of his house is fish themed, his kitchen wall tiles have fish on them, his bathroom wallpaper is fish, the pillows on his couch are also ocean themed. However, I think the cabinet handles look like snails, along with wood engravings on his doors.

He ? Bites his nails.? Does that count. He also has an odd sleeping schedule, occasionally taking naps.

I think he tries to push away burnouts and meltdowns, but they always catch up to him and he breaks down, the weekend is spent crying before the week starts over. (Which is how he opened up to Mumbo abt the Watchers, full meltdown) (this was more common in earlier seasons)

I don’t know if Grian is the type to not make eye contact or make Too Much of it. Maybe when he’s talking he sorta looks all around, but when listening he’s staring directly and not blinking.

This also brings me to Xelqua, since he’s also autistic, but also a child, so he won’t tolerate bad textures, if the clothes is uncomfortable he’s not wearing it, he’ll start crying, if the food is a bad texture he’s not eating it, Grian has a pretty hard time feeding him.

I think Grian has gotten good at realizing when he’s becoming too overwhelmed and needs a break, so he gets a babysitter for Xelqua.

Oh !!! Also !! He stims a lot !! Ruffling his wings, shaking his hands, he hops up and down..

[mothandpidgeon]

Making Out to Pablo Honey (virgin!Dieter Bravo x f!reader)

Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

pairing: virgin!Dieter Bravo x f!reader

rating: E MDNI

summary: Dieter’s always tried to be cool. The thing about being cool, though, the more he tries, the less it works. You, on the other hand, you’re cool.

contents: virgin!Dieter, young!Dieter, lots of 90s references, cannabis, mentions of masturbation, fingering, premature ejaculating, one ferris bueller reference, reader is able bodied and not described physically moth never uses y/n.

This fic is about horny teens doing horny teen things. It's not too late to not read this if that's not ok with you.

wc: 2.5k

a/n: I'm thinking of this as a Dieter origin story. I really enjoyed thinking about him before he was the DIETER BRAVO. Anyway, this was kind of healing I wish I knew him back when I was in high school. Thanks @moonlitbirdie and @whocaresstillthelouvre for betaing and cheering me on!

“Sweet or salty?” you ask. Your head is buried in one of the kitchen cabinets, rummaging through a selection of snacks. 

Dieter sits on the counter opposite, watching you with a lazy smile. 

“Sweet,” he says. “No, wait. Salty.”

You look at him over your shoulder, your eyes bloodshot under heavy lids. 

“You’re so stoned,” you giggle. 

Dieter blushes. Despite the fact that he coughs after every hit, getting high with you after school has become his favorite past time. You never tease him for it, just put the joint between your lips while Dieter wonders if you can feel the warmth from his there. You’re both well and truly blazed at this point after smoking up in the dugout of the school's baseball field.

Dieter gazes over your body as you stand on tip toe, reaching for the top shelf. It’s like he can’t control his eyes from wandering to you when he’s like this. Sometimes you notice. 

“What?” you’ll say. “You’re staring at me.”

“You’re paranoid,” he’ll lie. 

He wishes he was brave enough to tell you that he’s staring because he thinks you’re beautiful. 

It’s hard to believe that the two of you are actually friends now. He still remembers when you were assigned as his lab partner, a girl that he was equally drawn to and intimidated by.  

Now he’s in your house after school almost every day. 

“Honey?” your mother’s voice calls from the front door.

“Shit.” Dieter hops onto the floor before she enters the kitchen in a smart business outfit. 

“Oh, hi, Dieter,” she says, smoothing the bottom of her hair. 

“Hello, ma’am,” Dieter says. 

You stifle a laugh. 

“Dieter, you don’t have to call me ma’am,” your mother says.  

“Um okay,” he replies. He can’t remember her first name. She’s told him before. Does he seem stoned? Oh, god, he definitely does. 

She scrunches her nose.

“What’s that smell?” she asks.

Dieter’s stomach plummets. The two of you must reek of pot. He’s grown to like the scent– an earthy tang that now reminds him of you. He braces himself, trying to clear his foggy mind for a moment so he can’t act sober. 

“Somebody must’ve run over a skunk,” you say. “What’re you doing home so early?”

You change the subject so seamlessly. Of course. Nothing ever seems to scare you.

“I’ve got a meeting with the Vermont people but I left the damn file here,” she says, picking a folder up from the kitchen table. “I’ll be back late if we close the deal.”

“Good luck,” you say.

Dieter bursts with laughter as your mother goes out the front door. You join him, nearly doubling over with your giggles. 

“I was freaking out!” he tells you. “A skunk! I can’t believe she bought that.”

“I know, right? She’s clueless,” you chuckle. “Look.” 

You hold up your creation— a plate bursting with flavor and texture. It’s organized into little piles of treats— potato chips, Oreos, a handful of glistening strawberries. Chocolate covered pretzels rest beside dried cranberries and several ropes of licorice separate honey roasted peanuts from fun sized Kit Kats in glossy red wrappers. It’s a feast, every bite he could ever want just when he wants it the most. 

“Fuck,” he whispers as he takes in this offering. 

Maybe it’s the pot buzzing around in his head but he can feel himself falling head over heels for you. He wants to kiss you but what if you don’t want to be kissed? What if you reject him? He could play it off as a joke like the one he told in the biology lab that got you to notice him for the first time. Humiliation he can handle but he’s not sure he could take that heartbreak. 

The cookies are calling his name so he abandons any dreams of filling his mouth with your tongue in favor of a Nutter Butter. 

There’s a big, L shaped couch in the basement that Dieter sprawls out on while he munches on the fruit. They might be the best strawberries he’s ever eaten. Everything tastes so good when he’s high. He wonders what you taste like. 

“Do you like Radiohead?” you ask sorting through a pile of cassettes. 

“Yeah. I love them,” he says. He’s only heard one of their songs on the radio but if you like them, he wants to like them, too. 

Dieter’s always tried to be cool. He has a lot working against him— built like a string bean, a goofy personality. His own fucking name has betrayed him. He got the same haircut as Leonardo DiCaprio, he saved up to buy a pair of fancy sneakers, he spends hours in the mirror carefully choosing his outfits. The thing about being cool, though, the more he tries, the less it works. 

You, on the other hand, you’re cool. Effortlessly so in your black boots and chipped nail polish. It’s not just the music you listen to or the clothes you wear. There’s something in your attitude, an aloof confidence that he’s never been able to replicate. 

Despite his anxieties, you never make him feel judged. It seems like you enjoy introducing him to new things. You offered to make him a mixtape and it sent his heart fluttering. He’s shared a thing or two with you, too— leading you through the aisles of the local video store handing you his favorite obscure movies. Sometimes you laugh at his enthusiasm but it’s never mean spirited. 

You pop the tape in and climb up onto the sofa as rough guitar strums seep through the speakers. There’s something psychedelic in the music that has Dieter sinking deeper into his seat. 

Although there’s plenty of space, you sit alongside him, propping your feet up on the chaise beside his. Dieter’s pulse picks up. He’s so aware of you so close to him, each move of your muscles as you get comfortable. He can smell the pot tangled up in your hair and the fresh scent of cotton that always lingers on your clothes. 

“I like being high,” Dieter sighs. 

You laugh. He fucking loves the sound of it, wants to be a little clown to keep you giggling away.

“Give me a Kit Kat,” you say. 

The snack plate is balanced on Dieter’s lap so when you fish through it for the candy, he can feel the pressure of your touch right on his dick. He stifles a groan, trying to focus his attention on the crinkle of the wrapper in your hands. 

He’s touched himself to the thought of you more times than he’d like to admit. There was an incident when you unexpectedly brushed your ass against him at your locker and he popped a boner. He had to take care of it in the bathroom, one hand cupping the tip of his cock as he came so he didn’t make a mess. 

“Dieter,” you say. His name sounds so sweet when you say it softly like that. 

“Yeah,” he replies. 

Some time in the last fifteen minutes, his mind wandered away and he got lost in the haze of his high. He can’t remember what he was thinking about before you got his attention or how long he’s been out of it. There’s just a warm feeling in his head and every once in a while he remembers that you’re sitting right next to him and he smiles to himself and then he floats away again. 

“You’re staring at me,” you say. 

You’re close, laying on the same couch cushion, your face just inches from his own. You have pretty eyes. Maybe that’s what he’s been looking at. Or your hair. He likes your hair. 

“Yeah,” he says with a sigh. There’s no denying it this time. 

Your lips curl into a smile and your eyes dance over his features. He feels himself leaning towards you like his head is too heavy to fight your magnetic pull. 

Your noses brush, that’s when he realizes that you’re moving towards him, too. Both of you hesitate there, an acknowledgement of this point of no return— your friendship will never be the same. 

You kiss him. At first it’s a cautious meeting of lips and, suddenly, a crash of passion and excitement. It’s sloppy and unchoreographed but the two of you find a rhythm. He can taste the chocolate in your kiss. 

You climb onto his lap, sliding your hands beneath his shirt. Having all of you there, straddling him like he’s in his own wet dream, is overwhelming. Blood rushes to his cock. There’s so much of you to explore— soft places to touch and hold and taste. He wants all of you all at once and you seem just as eager. 

Your mouth roams his neck and teeth rake against his earlobe as you rock over the bulge in his jeans. He’s so sensitive from the weed, he can practically feel the hot drag of your pussy even through the layers between you. 

Dieter fumbles with the clasp of your bra and you knock his hands away to do it for him, then unbutton your pants and do the same for him. He keeps his mouth on yours as you pull off his shirt with eager kisses. 

He slips his fingers beneath the waistband of your panties. He’s met with the slick lips of your pussy giving him a delicious shiver. You gasp and sink your teeth into his bottom lip. 

Now your hand finds him, coating his length with precum and tugging. 

“Oh god,” he chokes. He wills himself not to finish right there in your hand. 

Dieter presses a finger into your entrance, slow and cautious, watching your expression for any signs of discomfort. You’re so tight, he can’t imagine the crush of it around him. The strokes on his cock stutter and slow as he thrusts deeper until eventually your limp hand simply holds him. He doesn’t care.  The feeling of you is addicting, all slippery and inviting. 

“Ow,” you complain. 

“Is this ok?” Dieter asks. 

“Don’t just finger me,” you complain. 

He blanches, unsure of how to correct himself. If you want more, he’s more than willing to give it to you but it has nerves churning in his belly. 

“I’ve never done it,” Dieter says. 

He immediately wishes he could take the words and swallow them back down. His neck burns with embarrassment. The coolest girl he’s ever met is letting him in her pants and he just spoiled it all by admitting he’s a virgin. 

You stare at him with big, round eyes, your lips swollen from kissing. Your adam’s apple bobs in your throat. 

“Me either,” you tell him. 

It’s Dieter’s turn to stare. He’s shocked. It seems like you’ve done everything already. At least, everything a high school senior would aspire to do. 

If you were embarrassed to tell him that, you don’t let it linger for long. “That wasn’t what I meant,” you say. “It just— I don't think I can come that way.”

Dieter nods in awe. This isn’t the first time he’s gone to third base but he hadn’t felt very sure of his technique during those few encounters. You look a little nervous, maybe for the first time ever, but he’s so impressed you’re confident enough to tell him what you want, to even know. He wants to give you exactly what you need. 

“Show me,” he says. “Show me what you like.”

Your pupils blow out and Dieter’s not sure which one of you is more aroused. Eventually you regain yourself, nodding quickly and climbing off of his lap so you can shimmy your pants all the way off. 

Dieter can’t help but stare at all the parts of you that are exposed. You’re so pretty he can hardly believe he gets to touch you. His cock throbs at the sight and he fists himself before realizing that he’d better stop if he wants to last more than half a minute. 

You lay back on the couch, parting your bent legs for Dieter. He sits up for a good view as you explain the secrets of the universe. You take his hand and guide his fingers to your pussy, carefully sliding them along the side of your clit. It’s velvety soft and warm and slick and you take in a sharp breath. His cock jumps. Again, a wet stroke over you. You set a pace, your hand around his as he makes you melt.

“Woah,” he whispers to himself as he watches your body respond. 

He’s not sure where to look; at the glistening lips of your pussy, a rare glimpse at the opposite sex in real life or at your face, eyes closed and brow knit as you float in ecstasy. It’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen.

He forgets the throbbing between his own legs, entranced by your pleasure. Your grip around his hand slackens and Dieter experiments with slightly faster strokes, kissing your neck. Your pulse thrums under his lips, your whines vibrating. 

As he gathers more slick from your entrance, you grind your clit into the heel of his hand. Your hips lift from the wet patch that’s growing beneath you. Dieter keeps his hand planted on you, giving you all the friction you need. 

He tries to find a way to tell you to use him, to take what you need, but he’s speechless. Watching a girl get off on him, and not just any girl but you, feels like witnessing a miracle. 

Your muscles tighten, every single tendon in your body wrapped up like a rubber band about to snap. He can’t help himself. Dieter slides a finger inside of you. It feels even better than before, now that your walls are coated in that sweet release. 

That’s when it crashes over you. You lock up, your arms and thighs straining. He can feel your core tensing around him desperately and he thinks he might cum just from the sight of you like this. It’s not like he’s seen in porn. You’re quiet, focused, somewhere else and he wants to go there, wherever that planet of pleasure might be. 

He wants to kiss you, to taste your release and bury his face in your tits but he doesn’t dare move and ruin this exquisite moment for you. So he keeps moving with the same steady tempo as you flutter around him. 

You groan out his name, long and slow and it sounds like music. 

Dieter feels his hips jerk and, oh fuck, he’s cumming. He tears his hand away from you to squeeze it over his spasming cock. It’s too late and the wet press of you coated on his fingers doesn’t help. He paints his torso with his own warm, sticky spend. 

You stare, eyes wildly surveying the mess on his belly, still dazed as you come down. 

He should be mortified that he just blew his load all over himself the very first time he’s gotten physical with you but his veins are coursing with bliss. His head falls back, chest heaving as he catches his breath. 

“I really like you,” he says. 

Your face breaks out in a smile and you bashfully bite your lip. He feels your fingers intertwine with his own. 

“Yeah. I like you too,” you say. 

-

Thanks for reading! Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated and my asks are always open!