#the brown is the most essential part

[deakyjoe]

Show me a motherfucker with big brown eyes and I’m automatically whipped

[cy-cyborg]

Disability Tropes: The Perfect Prosthetic

[ID: A screenshot from the movie Nimona, showing Nimona, a small white girl with red hair, grabbing the right prosthetic arm of Ballister, a knight in black armour with black hair and light brown skin. He is holding a broken bottle in his prosthetic hand while Nimona admires his arm. Overlaid on the screenshot is white text that reads "Disability Tropes: The Perfect Prosthetic" /End ID]

In a lot of media, prosthetic limbs are portrayed as these devices that act as a near-perfect replacement for a character who has lost, or was born without a limb. So much so that in a lot of cases, the use of a prosthetic has basically no impact on the character beyond a superficial level or their appearance, or it's portrayed as something that's even better than the old meat-limb it's replacing. This trope shows up most often in Sci-fi, but it shows up in all kinds of stories outside of that, even otherwise very grounded ones!

If a story isn't depicting the loss of a limb as the be-all-end-all worst thing that can happen to a person, they almost always default to a perfect prosthetic, functionally curing the amputation with it. But the reality is that prosthetics are FAR from perfect, and as someone who has used them for their entire life I don't think they ever will be. Limb difference is still and always will be a disability, regardless of the prosthetics available, and this really isn't a bad thing.

Why is this trope so common?

I meant it when I said this is a really, really a common trope, so much so that the majority of the media I've seen with amputees and characters with limb differences that released in the last decade or end up using it. Even stories where becoming an amputee is treated like a fate worse than death, ironically, aren't excluded from this. I have a few theories as to why this has happened: The pessimistic answer is that it's easy. You get to have a disabled character and claim you have disability representation, without really having to do much extra work or research because most of your audience won't notice if you aren't accurate - in fact they kind of expect it. You also, for the most part, dodge the backlash other kinds of disability representation (or really any minority representation) usually get. The more optimistic reason is that, for a long time, amputees and people with limb differences (as well as a lot of other disabled people) were predominantly shown in media as sad, depressed and unable to do anything, very much falling into the "sad disabled person" trope. As a kid, this was really the only way I saw people like me on screen or in books. And so, the limb difference community pushed back against that portrayal and were pretty successful in changing the narrative in the public's eye. A little too successful. A lot of creatives were genuinely trying to do right by our community, listen and do better, but many simply overcorrected and instead ended up creating stories where prosthetics were essentially cures instead of the mobility aids they are. I also think the public's general lack of understanding about disability plays a roll in all this. There are a lot of people who, in my experience, believe that the more visible a disability is, the worse it is. Limb differences and amputations are very visible, but prosthetics, even those that aren't trying to be discreet, make them less so. While using a prosthetic is very, very different to a biological limb, you won't necessarily see how in a casual interaction with, say a co-worker or neighbor, especially because there is a very real stigma applied to people with limb differences to keep those things hidden from the public. There are other reasons too, such as the fact that a lot of creatives don't even consider the connection to real amputees when creating characters with robotic limbs in genres like sci-fi and some fantasy, so they never stop to consider that these tropes could be impacting real people. Amputees are also very frequently used in "inspiration porn" content that uses the angle that disabilities can be "overcome" with a good attitude, downplaying the way those disabilities actually impact us. The prosthetics industry - specifically the component manufacturers, often also push the idea of prosthetics being the only way to return to a "normal" life, both to the wider public and to people with limb differences and amputations (which can add to that sense of shame I mentioned when it doesn't play out that way for them). On top of that, I also think the recent increase in popularity of concepts like trans-humanism contributes to it as well. these movements often talk about robotic or bionic body parts being enhancements and "the way of the future", and I think people get a bit too caught up on what may be potentially possible in the future with the real, current experiences of people with "robotic limbs" aka prosthetics, now. There are also inherently disabling things that come with removing and replacing parts of your body, things that will not just go away with some fancier tech.

So How do you actually avoid the trope?

So, we have some ideas about why it happens, but how do you actually avoid the "perfect prosthetic" trope from appearing in your work? The most important thing is to remember that this is still a disability. The loss of a limb, even with the best prosthetic technology or magical item in the world, will always have some inherently disabling aspects to it - and this is not a bad thing. The key is to not over-do it, lest you risk falling into the old "sad disabled person" trope. So let's go over some of the ways you can show how your character's disability impacts them. You don't have to use all of these recommendations, just choose the ones that would best fit your character, their circumstances and your setting.

The prosthetic itself is just different

Probably the most important thing to address and acknowledge for prosthetic-using characters, is the actual ways in which the prosthetic itself is different from a biological limb, and the drawbacks and changes that come with that. For the sake of simplicity, I'm mainly going to focus on modern prosthetics here, but it's worth considering how to apply this your own, more advanced/fantastical prosthetics too. One major thing that most people writing amputees fail to acknowledge is that prosthetic limbs are not fleshy-limbs with a different coat of paint. They do the same basic thing their meat-counterparts do, but how they do it is often drastically different, which changes how they are used. A really good example of this is in prosthetic feet. There are dozens of joints in a biological foot, but most prosthetic feet have no joints or moving parts at all. Instead of having dozens of artificial joints to mimic the real bone structure of a foot, which are more prone to failure, require power and make the prosthetic much, much heavier for very little gain, prosthetic feet are often constructed from flexible carbon fiber sheets inside a flexible rubber foot-shaped shell. This allows the bend and flex those bones provide, without all the drawbacks that come from trying to directly mimic it. Making the sheets into different shapes makes them more ideal for different activities. E.g. feet made for general use, like walking around the city, are simple and light, shaped to encourage the most energy-efficient steps, while still allowing their users to do things like wear normal shoes. Feet made for rough terrain often have a split down the middle of the foot to allow the carbon fiber sheets to bend better over rocks when there is no ankle, and some newer designs also include a kind of suspension using pressurized air pulled from the prosthetic socket to allow some additional padding. Running feet have large "blades" made of these carbon fiber sheets to absorb more pressure when the foot hits the ground, and redirect the force that creates to propel their user forward as quickly as possible.

[ID: A photo of 4 prosthetic feet. On the left, the foot is covered with a black shoe, the one to it's right consists of a small, carbon fiber blade, split down the middle, in roughly the same shape and size as the previous foot. Next to the right is an even simpler and smaller carbon fiber foot with no split, and finally is a very short foot that is vaguely rectangular in shape. /End ID]

These are some of my own prosthetic feet I've had over the years. The two on the right are designed to be used by someone who is less mobile, and the ones on the left are made for someone who is more active. As my needs changed over the years, I've used different designs and styles, and keep the old ones since my needs do tend to fluctuate.

There are also robotic feet available that are designed as a kind of "all-purpose" foot that use an electronic ankle which more closely mimics a biological foot, but they are not very popular as the mechanism adds a lot of extra weight and it requires a battery and power to work, with many amputees feeling the jointless carbon fiber feet do a better job at meeting their needs. The same goes for arms and hands. "Robotic" hands that mimic a meat hand exist, but they aren't really that popular, even in places like Australia where the prohibitively expensive price tag isn't as much of an issue due to government programs that pay for the device for you. Instead, most arm amputees who use prosthetics that I know prefer simpler devices that do specific tasks, and just swap between them as needed, rather than something that tries to do it all. A big part of this is because the all-purpose hands can be clunky. they often require manual adjustment using the other hand to do simple things like going from holding a deck of cards to putting them down and picking up a glass of water, for example. The few that don't require that, I've been told, are often temperamental and don't actually work for every person with a limb difference.

Altered Proprioception

Loosing a limb is a big deal and this is always going to have an impact on the body in some way that won't be solved with a fancy piece of tech. One such example is how limb loss effects your sense of proprioception. This is your sense of where your body parts are in space. It's how you (mostly) know where your foot is going to land when you're walking, or how you're able to do things like lift up a glass of water without needing to actually watch your hand do it. Your brain does this by creating a mental map of your body, but this map doesn't get adjusted if you loose a limb. If that map doesn't accurately reflect your real body, you're not going to have an accurate sense of proprioception. This might look like a leg amputee being a bit less stable on their feet, or like an arm amputee needing to look at their arm or hand to be able to grab something with it. Those born without their limbs who take to using prosthetics often have a lot of trouble adapting, as their brains aren't used to having that limb in the first place, whereas an amputee's brain can sometimes be tricked into using their outdated body map to help them adjust to the prosthetic (though its impossible to line it up perfectly). Prosthetics that directly integrate with the nervous system, while rare, do exist, and even this direct connection doesn't completely erase this issue for reasons doctors aren't quite sure about. This is something that does become less of a problem with time. Eventually, someone proficient with their prosthetic will learn to compensate, but their sense of proprioception will never be 100% perfect. At the end of the day, no matter how it attaches, a prosthetic is still not a natural part of the body, and that will always cause some issues. It also means if they aren't practicing it all the time, they may have to relearn how to compensate for it.

Extra weight

You also have to remember that a prosthetic is not a natural part of the body, like we already talked about, and so no matter how good it is, your brain will most likely always interpret the weight of the prosthetic as something attached to you, not part of you. This means that, even though prosthetics are actually a lot lighter than biological limbs, they feel so much heavier. This is because, while a meat limb is heavier, a lot of that weight is from muscles which are actively contributing to the limb working, so it doesn't really feel like its that heavy. When you have less of your meat-limb though, you have even less muscle to work with to move this big thing strapped to it, so it feels heavier. The more of the limb you've lost, or just didn't have, the heavier the prosthetic has to be, and the less muscle you have left to move it. It's for this reason that a lot of amputees and people with limb differences get tired faster when using prosthetics. Some of us are fit enough where you almost wouldn't notice the extra effort they need to put in, but once again, just because you can't see it from the outside, doesn't mean it's not an issue.

Avoiding Water

Most prosthetics also aren't waterproof, and so prosthetic users have to be very careful about when and how they come into contact with it. For amputees with electric components, contact with water at all will likely damage the device. This can even include especially heavy rain, something I was told to avoid when I got my electronic knee prosthetic and something I assume would also apply to arm amputees with complex, electronic hands. For those with non-electronic prosthetics, water can be hazardous for different reasons. If the prosthetic has metal components, water may cause them to rust, especially if it's salty water. Other prosthetics have foam covers to give the illusion of a limb with the general shape of muscles and fat, but these covers do not come off, and if they get wet enough that water seeps all the way through, it is very hard to dry it and they may become moldy. Finally, cheaper modern prosthetics may also float. Many are made of very light-weight materials and some have pockets of air trapped inside them. For leg prosthetics in particular, this means a user might, at best, struggle to swim with them on, but at worst, may get flipped upside down and become trapped underwater - something that happened to me as a very young child. On the flip-side, older prosthetics were usually made of heavy materials like wood or steel, and so had the opposite problem, acting like a weight and pulling a person down if they were to wear them in the water. Water-safe prosthetics do exist, I had a pair of prosthetic legs as a teenager that were hollow, and designed especially for me to swim with fins on when swimming in the ocean, and Nadya Vessey, a double leg amputee in New Zealand even got a mermaid-tail prosthetic made especially for use in the water. Most amputees though just swim without any prosthetics at all, and in 99% of cases, this is the easiest and safest way to go.

Prosthetic-Related Pressure Sores and Pain

Many people with limb differences also experience pressure sores from their prosthetics. Modern prosthetics typically attach to the body using a socket made of carbon fiber or fiberglass, held on either by pressure, using a vacuum seal or through a mechanical locking system built into the socket. No matter the specifics though, the socket has to be very tight in order to stay on, and this means that extended periods of use can lead to rub-spots, blisters and pressure sores. Many socket prosthetics also use silicone liners to add extra padding, but this means wounds caused by the pressure can't breathe, and bacteria in sweat has nowhere to go, meaning if the person doesn't rest when one of these wounds occur, it can very easily and quickly turn into a serious infection. In a properly fitting prosthetic, used by someone who has fully adjusted to them, this doesn't happen often, but it is something most amputees and people with limb differences have to at least be mindful of. Some new prosthetics use a different method of attachment, called Osteointegration - where the prosthetic attaches to a clip, surgically implanted into the person's bones. While Osteointegration avoids many of the issues like pressure sores that come from a socket, they have their own issues: mainly that they are incredibly expensive, and as of right now, have a pretty high failure rate due to the implant getting infected. Because the implants are directly connected to the bone, these infections become very serious very quickly. Many people with Osteointegration limbs have to be on very strong medication to keep these infections at bay, and they are generally considered unsuitable for anyone who is going to regularly come into contact with "unclean" environments.

Maintenance

[ID: A screenshot of Winrey, from Full Metal alchemist Brotherhood, a white woman with blond hair handing out the sides of a green hat. She is measuring a piece of metal from a prosthetic she is making while Ed, the prosthetic's owner, gives her a thumbs up in the background. /End ID]

Finally, prosthetics also require maintenance from a specialist called a prosthetist, and they don't last forever. Some parts, like a foot or hand, can be reused over an over, but the sockets of a prosthetic need to be completely remade any time your body changes shape, including if you gain/loose weight, you start experiencing swelling, or you're just a child who is growing. Children in particular need new prosthetics every few months because they grow so fast, and as such, their prosthetics have to be made with this growth in mind. If they go too long without adjustment or an entirely new prosthetic, it can seriously impact the child and their growth but even small adjustments can be costly, depending on where you live. While prosthetics are built to be sturdy and reliable, they need a lot of work to stay that way. The more complex the prosthetic, the more work is needed. Complicated electronic components may need to have regular maintenance done by your prosthetist or even the specific component's manufacturer, and depending on where you live, this might mean having to send your prosthetic limb away for this to be done. While my prosthetist technically has the skills and knowledge to do the maintenance on my electronic knee, for example, the manufacturer forbids anyone not from their company to provide this service, meaning my leg needs to be shipped off to Germany once every few years if I want to keep the warranty. This has the unfortunate side effect of sometimes your limbs getting lost in postage (shout-out to Australia Post, who lost mine twice), meaning it can be months before you get it back or get a replacement. Usually, you'll be given a replacement in the meantime if you need it, but walking on a leg that isn't yours, even when its correctly fitted, always feels a bit weird (maybe that's just me though).

Not every difference is Inherently Negative

We've talked about some of the negatives that come from having a prosthetic, but not every difference is negative or even really that big of a deal. In fact, often times, it's these little moments in the depiction of a disability that go the furthest and make it feel the most genuine. My amputations effect me from the moment I wake up, to the moment I go to bed, but that doesn't mean every single way it impacts me is always inherently bad or negative. For example, back when I was working a normal job and going to university, I would often come home, throw my legs off at the door with the shoes still attached and get into my wheelchair, the same way you might throw your shoes off after work and replace them with comfy socks and other comfy clothing. This is something I've only ever seen on screen once, with Eda from the Owl House (and she wasn't even an amputee yet, her limbs were just detachable)

[ID: an screenshot of Eda from the owl house, a very pale woman, laying on the couch in a bathrobe, her hair in a towel. She has taken her actual legs off, throwing them to the other side of the seat. /End ID]

After that, my day mostly looked the same as most other people working a 9 to 5, I'd make myself dinner, watch some TV or play some games, maybe do some extra work at my desk or chat with friends. The only difference is that it would all be from a wheelchair, mainly because my prosthetics were heavy and it was just easier to use the chair around the house. The fact my afternoon and evening routine was done from a wheelchair wasn't a bad thing, it was just different. Likewise, I also don't sleep or shower with my prosthetics on, for the same reasons most other people wouldn't take a shower or sleep in thigh-high, steel-capped boots. In your own stories, this might look like giving your characters similar alterations to how they go about their day. Let them take their arm or leg off when they're resting or relaxing, show them taking a few minutes longer to get ready because they have to put it back on, show them doing some things without it. Arm amputees in particular tend to get very good at going about their days without their arm prosthetics, and leg amputees often either learn to get around more relaxed spaces like their homes using a different mobility aids like wheelchairs or crutches, or just through hopping if that's something they're physically able to do. Even when everything is going well and working as intended, your limb-different character won't wear their prosthetic 24/7, no matter how much they love it. There doesn't have to be something wrong with it or painful about it to not want it glued to them at all times, just like you can love a pair of big heavy boots but not want them on when you're trying to sleep. For more action-focused stories, being an amputee, also changes things like how you fight. The specifics will vary from person to person, but for example, when I did Hap Ki Do, a Korean Martial art, my instructor heavily modified when I learned what techniques. Beginner-level kicks and most leg attacks were impractical for me, as the force from the kicking motion would usually cause one of my legs to fly off. I also couldn't jump very well, due to some complications with my original amputation that made my stumps too sensitive to withstand the force of landing again. So I ended up learning a lot more upper-body attacks much earlier than it is typically taught. By the time I got my green belt, I was practicing upper-body techniques usually saved for black belts - including weapons training that I could use my secondary mobility aids for, like crutches and my cane in a bad situation. Many holds that rely on creating tension in your target are also less effective on amputees, because either the anatomy that causes those holds to be painful just simply isn't there, or the body part in question can just be removed to escape. Whether we're talking about the negative things, or just neutral differences that come with using prosthetics, you don't want to go too far with any one example. The key is to strike a balance. Of course, the old writing advice of "show don't tell" also applies here. It's one thing to tell us all of this stuff, but unless we actually see it play out, it won't mean much.

How NOT to avoid the trope

Before we move on, let's focus for a moment on some common things I've seen that you SHOULDN'T do as a way to get away from the trope.

The Enhanced Prosthetic

A lot of sci-fi in particular will take prosthetic limbs, make them function exactly the same as a biological limb, but add something extra to it. This does change the way the prosthetic functions and is used, but it usually still ignores the actual disabling parts of having a prosthetic. A really good example of this can be seen in pretty much any futuristic setting, but personally, I think Fizzeroli, from Helluva Boss is the best one to demonstrate what I mean. Fizz is a quadrilateral, above knee/above elbow amputee with highly advanced prosthetics that function, more or less exactly like the limbs he lost, but with the added benefit of being super-stretchy. Fizz is an acrobat and a clown in service, at least initially, to Mammon, one of the Seven Deadly Sins. These prosthetics help him perform and we even do see how they change little things like how he walks and just goes about his day, but the show still treats them like natural arms and legs, but better. 

[ID: A screenshot of Fizzeroli from Helluva Boss, a white-skinned imp with 4 black, prosthetic limbs, dressed in teal a nightgown as he lays in bed, reading from a list /End ID]

We see that he never takes them off, even when sleeping, and when he needs to use them as regular arms and legs, they do everything he needs, perfectly fine - at least when they're working correctly. The only time he ever even takes them off or has any issues with them, is when they break in season 2. The word amputee is never used to describe him, as far as I remember, and the fact he is one never really comes up at all, except for when they break or when the story focuses on how he lost them. Which brings me to my next point.

The Glitchy/Broken Prosthetic

One way I see people try to avoid the perfect prosthetic trope, is to take the prosthetic and break it or otherwise make it unreliable by having it malfunction, but not really changing anything else. This approach is heading in the right direction but still kind of misses the point of the criticism a lot of limb different folks have with the depictions of prosthetics in the media. Yeah, prosthetics do break down and some do require extra maintenance, but if your character's prosthetic is still exactly the same as a biological limb (or even better, in the case of the "enhanced prosthetic") when it's not broken, and the only time their disability is treated like a disability, is when it breaks, you're not really addressing the issue. Real prosthetics, like we discussed, even when functioning at 100%, exactly as the manufacturer intended, don't function the same as a meat-limb. They are fundamentally different, and the glitchy/unreliable prosthetic completely ignores all of that. Once again, Fizz is a really good example of this - the only time his prosthetics are not perfect, is when they break or are malfunctioning (despite the criticism, I do genuinely love Fizz as a character, but he unfortunately does fall into a lot of disability tropes).

[ID: Another screenshot of Fizzeroli, this time in a torn up jester outfit, looking down, panicked, at his prosthetic arms which are fully extended and laying motionless on the ground, with his left arm visibly short-circuiting with electricity around it. /End ID]

Now this isn't to say you can't have your character's prosthetics break down or malfunction at all. just that this shouldn't be the only way you differentiate the prosthetic from a biological limb. You should also be mindful of how or why they're breaking. A typical prosthetic isn't going to break down randomly from normal use unless something is very, very wrong or your character just has a terrible prosthetist (which unfortunately, does happen). You might experience issues if you try to make the prosthetic do something it just wasn't designed to do, or expose it to something it wasn't designed to deal with though (e.g. submerging an electronic prosthetic in water and trying to use it to swim).

Just add Phantom Pain

Another common pitfall I see when people are trying to avoid the perfect prosthetic trope, is to just give the character in question phantom pain - which is a side-effect of amputation where your brain's mental map of the body doesn't acknowledged you lost a limb. Your brain tries to fill in the gaps, since there is no signals coming from that part of the body anymore, and assumes either something must be wrong and so you should be in pain, even when you actually aren't. Alternatively, it can also happen when your brain was so used to feeling pain from that area before, in the case of people who had chronic conditions before they lost their limb, that it just keeps remaking those old signals itself. Like the broken/glitchy prosthetic approach, this also doesn't really address the issue with the perfect prosthetic trope, because it has nothing to do with the prosthetic itself. Phantom pain doesn't come from the prosthetic, nor does it effect how they're used, and so including it doesn't really address the issue of the prosthetic being functionally the same as the original, biological limb. This isn't to say that you shouldn't include phantom limb sensation or pain as something your character experiences, but just keep in mind that, when used on it's own, it doesn't counter the trope. Also, just be sure to do your research, everyone's experience with phantom pain is different and it's not something everyone with a limb difference even experiences.

Why is this trope even a problem?

Alright, so we know what the trope is, we know why it became so prevalent, ways to avoid it and also how not to avoid it. All good information, but why is this trope even bad? Why should you try to avoid it? Outside of just wanting to portray a real disability that effects real people more accurately in your creations, the prevalence of this trope actually contributes to a lot of real-world issues, especially when it's as overused as it currently is. I've talked before about "the jaws effect" - where the depiction of something in the media, especially something that the public is widely uneducated on, influences how people see it in real life. The Jaws effect specifically referred to how the popularity of creature-feature movies featuring sharks, like Jaws, caused the belief that sharks were monstrous killing machines to become much more wide-spread, even going so far as to influence decisions about laws and policy surrounding real-life shark preservation and culling in some parts of the world. But sharks aren't the only thing this has happened to.

Disabled people are so thoroughly misunderstood by wider society, that when tropes like this one become popular, people can and often do start to believe the misinformation they spread - in this case, believing that our prosthetics are a perfect replacement for a biological limb, and that getting a prosthetic means you're not disabled any more. While this can be annoying and cause small scale issues for some of us, like people giving us a hard time for using disability accommodations we very much need, it can also impact us in systemic ways too. If the wrong people believe these tropes, it can and does have a very real impact on the lives of disabled people through things like changes to policies to make it harder for amputees and people with limb differences to access financial assistance for other things outside of our prosthetics we may need assistance with.

Conclusion

Despite the very real harm tropes like this can do when it's overused, I don't think it should go away entirely. Some of my favourite pieces of media even use the perfect prosthetic trope and there are even some kinds of media where I even think it's somewhat unavoidable. Characters with perfect prosthetics in kids media in particular, especially when talking about side characters, can help to correct some of the other stereotypes kids may have seen elsewhere - such as prosthetics being "creepy" or "scary" - in a way that is casual and easy for them to understand. The problem with the trope, in my eyes, is it's excessive overuse. It's the fact that it seems to be the only representation amputees and people with limb differences are getting now. Not every story with a limb-different character can or even should delve into the reality of what using prosthetics is actually like, but we need at least some stories that do, without it being this majorly depressing thing.

[thecoochiefairy]

bratty. toji.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 7.8K words. blackfem!characters, drabble, toji fushiguro, drifter!toji, grumpy!toji, sweet!toji, dominant!toji, nasty sex, car sex, sweet sex, black woman, vaginal penetration, rough, lil bit of sweet talkin’, hair pulling, creaming, oral [f], choking, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, missionary, condomless sex, fingering, bratty main character, kissing, spanking, minors aren’t welcome!

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ my man, my man. my man. plz listen to all the songs attached within the drabble! it’ll give you the full experience. the song i chose for toji felt so him coded.

ᖭི༏ᖫྀ :: slow strokes. nasty ass. you hear that, baby?

PINK METALLIC BEAMED UNDER THE STARS OF THE NIGHT, your grin from ear to ear as you watched people snap pictures of your flawlessly wrapped car. It was a 2001 Honda S2000, Hello Kitty headlights blinking rapidly in the back, magenta LED lights glowing underneath the vehicle, the inputted speakers shaking the ground as Aghora Hills fell on the next mixture within your playlist. Suki, you called her. 

You were unsure of how you’d been surviving for most of the night, the skimpy chrome heels you wore thin as a needle, dark wash grey shorts having your ass poke out the bottom, sheer top clinging against your pierced nipples. Beauty was pain. You pull the dark tresses of your  curls behind your ear, pressing your brown and mauve lip combination together impatiently. 

It was the monthly car meet, a high influx of people showing up to show off their custom vehicles, motorcycles—or even to simply network, share knowledge and socialize. You had worked on your own car with your bare hands, never shying away from people complimenting it. Your father had been a mechanic for years, teaching you the ways to create your dream car. Here it was. 

But besides all that, you were irritated at the moment. Your boyfriend was supposed to show up with his car, telling him that you didn’t want to be a part of the drifting show, saying that you’d sit in the passenger seat of his and look pretty. As always, he’d reply back. 

But he was late. An hour and a half to be exact, and the only people you had accompanying you was Suguru and Satoru, here with their own cars, but also trying to lessen your irritation.  

“Want some of my churro?” Satoru asks, waving the sugary dessert in front of your face. Your arm is crossed as you lean along your vehicle, shaking your head as you say, “No. You shouldn’t be eating that shit either, it gives you gas.”

They were essentially attached at the hip, your bodyguards if your dilatory ass man wasn’t around. They were even dressed similarly tonight. Both of them were wearing long sleeve black tops clinging to their muscular frames, Satoru’s dark shades shining under the light as he leaned along his own car. Suguru was a bit grumpy at the moment because he couldn’t find a cigarette off of anyone, re-tying his hair into a low bun, trying to keep his patience with his high energy friend. 

Satoru frowned, icy blue eyes faintly blinking as he narrowed them, “You lie. That was only that one time!”

Suguru’s hand clutched around the top of the churro, snatching it from his friend. His long hair shined beneath the lights bathing along the other vehicles as he snapped to him, “Give me that. Your farts could clear a whole fuckin’ continent. You know you’re lactose.”

Satoru pouts, puffing out his bottom lip and shoving his hands into the confines of his pant pockets as he rocks back and forth on his heels. He crosses one ankle across the other as he lets out a sigh. His azure hues land back onto you, “C’mon. Cheer up. Pretty girl.”

“I’m fine,” you brush off, “He’s always late. I asked him once to be on time—the drifting show starts in less than an hour!”

Satoru rolled his eyes, “You should know by now that he just does what he wants.”

Suguru chimed in as he shoved the churro back into whatever food bag he had, “Maybe he found someone better than your hotheaded ass.”

“Awe, jealous that you can’t have me? Yeah, shut the fuck up,” you punch his arm, moving forward anyway as he tries to duck your swing. You then say, “That’s why both of y’all cars are ugly!”

Satoru’s eyes widen, mouth slacking open as Suguru’s arms drop to his sides—incredulous. He huffed out a scoff, “My car looks good as fuck!”

Satoru crosses his arms over his chest, narrowing his eyes at you as he adds, “I agree with Suguru. Mine looks great.”

Your eyes move over to their vehicles you talk shit on, seeing Suguru’s Porsche 911 GT3 R, navy blue with black interior. It contrasts in Satoru’s shiny white Ferrari SP-8, the wheels even a stark alabaster color. You shrug, “They’ alright.”

“Yeah, whatever. Don’t be mad cause you got a man that can’t be on time for you,” Suguru glances out to the crowd of people, standing in lines at the food trucks, drinking their livers away before the actual shows begin. 

You raise an eyebrow, “Want a scratch on that expensive ass car of yours? ‘Cause my fingers feel itchy.” 

Satoru let out a whistle as he took a step back, leaning back against his car. He smirked, icy eyes flickering between you two, “Aye, chill. This night is supposed to be fun. No reason to get violent. Let’s do a Baddie-Baddie Shot O’ Clock! Where’s my Cognac?!”

He dips inside the window of his car to search, your crossed arms shifting as you watch two girls begin to walk towards you. You assume it’s for them to compliment your car. 

“Hey, where’s Fushiguro? Is he bringing his truck?”

The question is followed by giggles, your eyebrow raising in between the two blondes as you say, “Excuse me?” Ignoring the way Suguru mutters, “Uh oh,” while Satoru still searches within his seats for the bottle.

They’re both dressed the exact same—which was creepy—their heels matching their short skirts and crop tops. The taller of the two pushes her blonde locks behind her shoulder as she repeats herself, “Fushiguro. The guy with the Dodge RAM truck? He’s coming, right? He’s sooo fucking hot!” 

“He is!” 

Both of the girls began to giggle again, it almost makes you want to slam their heads together, hoping they’d morph into one and disintegrate. You were known to be a crash out, uncaring of where your anger had you end up. 

Satoru’s hand finally pulls out a thick glass decanter of Cognac, the bottle making a satisfying thud against the window of his car. He glances between you and the girls, almost feeling sorry for them.

You began to giggle aggressively with them, emphasizing on your dramatization of how they sound. You then say, “My man is running late, but the groupie section is right here, actually! Did you buy a ticket?”

They both blink owlishly, the expression making them look more bimbo-like. They’re visibly confused, as if you were speaking a language they could barely understand, the shorter of the two asking, “What groupie section?” 

Satoru snickers, attempting to hold back his laughter while Suguru’s eyes narrow.

Satoru took his chance to make a comment after finally containing his amusement. He cleared his throat, taking a few steps in your direction as he raised the decanter. 

“We don’t gotta fight, me and my friend can actually escort you ladies to his section—“

Suguru waves, “I don’t even like blondes.”

“Satoru, please shut the fuck up,” you warn, “Are y’all dense? I just said my man, meaning you need to step the fuck back.”

The shorter blonde girl’s head tilts to the side, clearly still not understanding what you’re implying. Her lips pursed together as she pouts, “Who’re you?” 

“And why are you so aggressive?” the tallest of the girls asks, blonde tresses shaking as she cocks her head to the side.

Satoru was about to make another comment on it, but one look from you shuts him up and has him chugging a shot of alcohol. He swallows it, a grimace taking over his 

expression as he wipes his lips with the back of his hand.

“I’m the bitch who’s about to give you the brain you don’t have!” 

You’re like a wind up toy, coaxed in reaction when someone pulls you. You were too busy giving these girls the business to notice the monster truck that screeches as it parks close by, sleek black—windows tinted—Dodge Ram 3500 terrifying in comparison to the other cars. The spiked wheels, blinding headlights and LED strips along the bottom excel along the concrete. He already knows you’re somewhere cussing someone out. 

Dropping down from the truck, his leather jacket and hefty boots hit the ground as he’s already coming towards you. You’re lunging towards the women who squeal like school girls, feeling an arm tug around your hips, yanking you back, scarred lip already pressed along your ear as his deep voice transfers up to your brain.

“Knock it off.” 

The sudden gruff of his voice, so close to your ear, it makes you pause. You look up at him, his expression stern while the girls from before took the chance to scurry away before you could get to them. They were smart at least.

“I wouldn’t have done shit if you’d been here already,” you’re already glaring, finally turning your head to look up to him.

His expression doesn’t falter, if anything it hardens as his jaw clenches. He still has an arm wrapped around your middle, keeping you in place while he glances over to Satoru and Suguru, who try to not look at him, knowing your already shitty mood would only be made worse by the addition of their commentary. 

“And where the fuck were y’all at when she was about to beat up two girls, Barbie and Ken?” Toji’s glare follows Satoru and Suguru, seeing as they only watched.

Satoru frowns at that, “I’m not liking your attitude. Am I Barbie? I hope I’m Ken.”

Suguru crossed his arms over his chest, not looking guilty in the slightest as he replied, “We were just letting her get that shit out of her system. Stopping her would’ve made it worse. You know that.” 

Toji’s lips press into a thin line at that, knowing that what Suguru said was in fact true. Though, the last thing he wanted was for you to get into a physical fight in the middle of a car meet, surrounded by at least 400+ people. 

“You’ done with your temper tantrum?” he asks rather than comments, his dark eyes locking back onto yours.

“Are you?” You snarl back, ignoring as he now fully pins you against your car, your back along the pink wrap as he traps you with his large arms.

Your attempt to be bitchy didn’t affect him as much as you thought it would, only having the effect of narrowing his eyes at you. 

Toji was a tall man, especially when compared to you, even with your heels on, you still have to look up at him. He doesn’t care that you’re pissed off at the moment. 

You cross your arms, “What? Am I annoying you or something?”

“You’re being a pain in the ass is what you’re being. You knew I wasn’t gonna come on time. You just wanted to be here early.”

“Oh, so he does know why I’m mad. Good use of your comprehension skills!” You’re incredibly sarcastic, giving him a big smile. 

His fingers reach out, gripping your chin as he angles your face to look at him. You were always a mouthy thing. Especially when you get in a mood like this. It’d be cute if it wasn’t something you were capable of continuing on for hours. 

“Cut it the fuck out. I’m here now. Just say you missed me.”

You huff, but nonetheless, he was right. It was coming from a place of hoping he’d been here already, wanting to enjoy your time with him at a place you loved attending. 

You then admit with less aggression, “I just wanted you to be here with me.” 

Toji knows you. He’s heard this pouty voice from you so many times. 

He leans in, locking an arm around the back of your neck to pull your face close to his, “You’ done acting up now?”

His forehead touches yours as you then say softly, “Maybe.”

Goddamn it. You were too cute. He hated when you got in a mood like this because he was so hard-wired to respond to it with something soft in return. He then let his arm drag down to your ass, gripping the flesh in his hold, “You were smart to put this flimsy ass outfit on while you weren’t around me.”

“Can you just say I look pretty?” You ask, smacking your lips, immediate irritation crawling back in your veins, attempting to turn your face away from him when he pulls it back.

His lips twitch up at the sight of that irritated expression taking over again. The fact that you were pouting made his heart clench in an annoying way that he didn't fully understand. He loved when you were difficult, because he knew how to handle you. He pulls your chin back to him again. 

“You look pretty as fuck, baby,” he responds, his tone smooth as he gives you a smirk, “Although you don’t need the compliment. You know you look good.”

You roll your eyes, briefly pulling them back to the crowd of people. When you meet his face again, you’re immediately pulled in. Those damn grey eyes. Your lashes flutter as you lean up, accepting the kiss he was waiting for, feeling your face go warm as he sloppily tongues you down, never caring if anyone was around to do it.

It’s a bruising and possessive kiss that sends chills down your spine, his tongue dominating over yours as he pushes you back against your car. He can already feel the heat rising in you, the way your skin felt warm on his and how your body pressed against his. Your head even tilts back a bit, your hand clutching the bottom of his shirt to keep your weight steady. 

“Alright, nasty asses,” Suguru interrupts, Satoru beside him who’s dry heaving at the sight, “Y’all done fighting? Can we enjoy our night?” 

When you pull back, your cheeks are sure to be a little red, hiding your face within his chest as you hear his deep tone chuckle from that.

Toji glances at the two over your head, almost smug at the sight of them being visibly irritated at the kiss, “Shut the fuck up, dweeb.” 

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Satoru groans out, clutching the decanter in his hand, “Now, can we show everyone your pretty Suki? Let's do some shots! You hear that? Your favorite song is playing!” 

It was in fact one of your favorite songs from when you were a little girl, Move Ya’ Body by Nina Sky. Satoru begins to wave his hands above his head from side to side, causing you to shake your head with a giggle, “You’re a terrible bottle girl.”

“I’d make bank,” Satoru smacks his lips, “C’mon, Suguru. Dance with me!”

Suguru deadpans, “I’m not dancing.” 

Satoru groans, “I’m a ray of sunshine with three clouds trying to rain down on me, and that’s cool! Fuckin’ haters!”

That makes all three of you laugh, but he was right, it was time to enjoy the night. The drift show began to start— this was something that put you in your element. It was a different experience each time, especially drifting with three different men. 

You always hopped into Satoru’s Ferrari first—essentially the warm up—Satoru was entirely too safe considering his car was his precious baby. You enjoyed yourself nonetheless, hollering with him as he swerved around the parking lot with other vehicles. 

He could accelerate his car, but drifting with it was out of the question. It was better to leave it to the actual drifters like Toji and Suguru. 

Suguru was next. He was the complete opposite, reckless to be the perfect word. But it was the adrenaline you looked for within Satoru. 

You watch Toji within his truck from across the Porsche you sit in, seeing as Toji tosses a cigarette to Suguru with a warning, “Keep my girl safe as fuck, unless you want your heart to be pulled out through your ass.”

“Aye, don’t worry,” Suguru responds, giving the middle finger to Toji, one hand on the wheel while the other laid behind your seat as he grins, “I’m about to show 

Princess how to really drift a fuckin’ car.” 

Toji throws an equal finger up to him, watching as you lean over his friend's lap playfully, taking the cigarette to press in between Suguru’s lips, his smirk cocky as you light the object for him. You can feel Toji’s glare as you hear him call, “Quit being fuckin’ cute.”

That’s the last thing you hear as Suguru takes off, your head reaching out the window as you shriek in a girly manner, his one hand on the wheel twisting as music hums against the speakers, 4X4 by Don Toliver vibrating the entire car. 

Suguru was a good drifter, not as great as Toji, but enough that it had you cheering and laughing with him as he weaved through abandoned parking spots, just missing the car swiveling next to him. There was a moment when he almost lost control, causing you to scream and slap his arm.

He smirked beside you, enjoying the slap, “Oh, you liked that shit, huh?” 

You managed to smack his bicep again, “No, I did not! I’d like all four tires to stay on the ground while I’m in your car!”

“Should’ve stayed with your man then.”

And then, there was Toji. There was only one word that came to mind—effortless. He was a professional, your giggle unable to stop itself as he aggressively picked you up to place you in his truck with his wheels being high, smacking your ass as you jumped into the large seat. You’re all riled up from previous activities, seeing his muscular frame leaned back into the seat, engine roaring as he begins revving it up. You’re already climbing halfway out of the window, your hair a little messy from the wind, a nonetheless flawless look to you.

He glances over at you, his eyes locking onto your nearly hanging body sticking out of the passenger window of his truck. He smirks at the sight of you, the way you looked like a woman who was having the time of her life. You probably were enjoying yourself, with your messy hair and flushed cheeks. 

He reaches out to smack your ass again, the force rocking your body forward, “Sit down.”

You playfully swirl your hips, the shot you’d finally accepted from Satoru beginning to kick in. Of course, you don’t listen, arching your back farther outside of the window, heels pointed towards him, showing off your back dermals. 

When he steps his foot on the gas, he grunts as he grips the back of your shorts to pull you somewhat back, brilliant with his hands as he’s already burning the tires rubber, swerving dangerously, always knowing exactly which way he wants to go.

The song ILUV by Yeat plays exactly on time. Toji was a demon behind the wheel. He was capable of spinning his truck around, leaving behind clouds of black smoke, burning through tires faster than anyone at the car meet. He was cocky, but he was good. He’d been doing this longer than anyone else at these kinds of meets, and it showed. It didn’t come as a shock when he took every sharp turn perfectly, even on two wheels for some seconds. 

He loved when you got loud. The sound of your laughs, shouts and screams fueled the adrenaline that pumped through his veins. You were a sight to behold, sitting in his passenger seat, body half-hung out the window with your hair flying around. 

When you turn back to him, your dopamine levels sky high—it riles you up even more. His dark hair, muscles flexing as he’d removed his jacket before he turned on the truck, strident jaw clenching from the cigarette between his lips. You couldn’t help it—maybe it was also that shot you’d taken—but you were horny.

 You crawl over your seat, making your way onto him. You made sure his eyes were still in sight of driving the truck as you sat on his lap, dragging your mouth along his neck, grinding yourself against him with a breathless giggle.

His head tilts back slightly as you begin to nibble on his throat, his hands gripping the steering wheel a bit more tightly, muscles tensing under your body. You were the very definition of a distraction, your giggles against his skin sending heat right to the pit in his stomach. 

One of his hands reaches out to grab the back of your shorts, gripping the material to keep your hips rolling against his. “You’re needy as fuck tonight.”

Your tongue flattens along the skin of his throat, seeing the bruise that comes from your actions, fingers clutching for his belt as you lightly moan as a response.

He groans as you lick on his neck, leaving behind a spot of saliva in the process. He feels the way your hands grip his belt, pulling at the leather material, your small fingers slipping under his shirt, pressing against his taut stomach. 

He can feel the growing bulge in his pants from your movements, the friction against the thick material only adding more sparks in the pit of his gut.

 “Quit playing, you’re gonna cause a fuckin’ car wreck if you keep it up, baby.”

Yet you continue anyway, a throb producing between your legs as you drag yourself along his bulge. You hold onto him when you feel him do a harsh swerve, not realizing it was purposeful, making you scream out in fear as you panic, “Sorry!” 

Once you realize, you punch his arm, “Fushiguro!”

“Just making sure you pay attention,” he grins, grabbing the back of your thighs, angling you sideways as you now pout.

When the drift show ends, it’s finally the moment you’d been waiting for overall—the race. You hadn’t customized this car with a supercharger and a performative exhaust system for nothing. 

You smile as you rev your engine loudly beside Suguru, Satoru and Toji’s vehicles, other cars included.

Suguru had his car next to yours, the loud revving of the engine causing him to smirk over at you. “I’m eating the fuckin’ dust!”

You had Toji and Satoru on the other side of you, Satoru’s windows rolled down, his white hair ruffling against his face from the wind of the other vehicles. “Shittt, not if I win!”

“The fuck y’all won’t—they got four grand on this shit!” Toji calls out, watching you as you sit in your seat, your foot holding down the gas.

“Stop putting money on shit, broke bitch!” Suguru raises his middle finger, the both of them flicking off each other. 

You then call out, “Y’all talking too much shit to be losers!” 

And just like that, the flag is thrown, tires screeching horrifyingly as you take off, expertly making your way through every. single. car.

You were an experienced driver and it showed, especially when you began to pick up speed, your hands gripping the wheel tightly and eyes narrowed. You had a lead over everyone, including Toji who was right behind you in his truck. He was keeping up with you, even when you passed car after car. 

Suguru and Satoru were slightly behind, but quickly catching up, just barely though. They were no match for the way you weaved through everyone, taking each turn with ease.

You were neck and neck with Toji. You watched as his engine matched your speed, the two of you excellerating as you approached the finish line. In a last ditch effort, you put more force into it, the force of the engine making your body lean back into the seat as you watched your speedometer rise higher. 

Unfortunately, your man still ended up winning. You could hear his low voice howling as he sped farther down, quickly turning the car around as all the others had begun slowing down, pulling back to where your car halted. As everyone begins to circle around one another, you lean along your car, rolling your eyes as you knew his cocky ass would never let this go. 

You turn towards Suguru and Satoru as they’re talking massive amounts of shit, ignoring Toji’s heavy steps behind you as he wraps his arm around your neck from behind, you roll your eyes as his hands immediately travel towards your ass.

Satoru was practically shouting as he approached your car, his fist reaching out to hit the top of it several times, “I want my payout! I got second place!”

“Ask your friend who was talking all that shit to pay you out! I’m taking my woman somewhere with that money!” 

That makes you suppress a giddy smile, not wanting to give him the satisfaction as you turn around, “Mmm, what else do I get, since you’re in such a good mood?” 

You giggle as he pulls your legs around his waist, grunting as you give him pecks along his mouth.

“Anything you want, baby. That smell good ass Miss Dior, a pink Telfar. Whatever your fuckin’ heart desires.”

“What about me?” Satoru says, fluttering his eyelashes.

Toji pulls back, scrunching up his face as Satoru leans into him before he says, “You get a fart, bitch.” 

As the night continues on, you’re standing around with Toji, Suguru and Satoru as they mingle and socialize with other men, the decrease of women making you want to leave. At this point, you were ready to be somewhere secluded, riding your man in the nastiest way you could. Yet he’s more occupied with his friends.

You lean your head on his shoulder, which makes him turn his head down towards you. You mumbled lowly, “I’m ready to go,” knowing that he wasn’t. 

“We’ve only been here for an hour.” He retorts, leaning down to speak into your ear, his voice low, “You can wait a little longer.”

You become drastically more horny just from him speaking in your ear, and even more impatient at his decline. You raise your hand to grip his hair, pulling him down to kiss you, sucking his lips into your mouth, uncaring if anyone watched.

That got his attention real quick, his body twisting to face yours at the kiss, his jaw clenching at your grip on his hair. When your lips move against his, his mind goes blank, a growl pulling from his mouth as he pulls back with a warning, “Chill.” 

Whatever. You fully roll your eyes, dropping your hand as you say, “I’m going to your truck. Go fuck your friends since they have your attention.” 

He can’t help but glare as he watches you stomp over to his truck, his dark eyes locked on your hips as you move further away. You hopped within the backseat, your aching feet causing you to remove your heels and fully lay your body out to scroll on your phone. He was used to your attitude, and he was extremely patient with it. But you’d worked on his nerves a couple of times tonight, and he was now weighing his options of letting it be, or knocking that shit out of your system.

His jaw clenched as he raises off of the hood of Satoru’s car, already walking away while Suguru calls, “Yo! You’ leaving, Fushiguro?”

“Nah. I’ll be back in twenty minutes,” he doesn’t turn back, hopping into his driver's seat. 

Your head sits up as you hear the door open and shut, “Are we leaving?” 

He doesn’t say anything as he pulls off. Your face pulls into a frown, sitting in between the middle part of the back seat as you frown, “Are you ignoring me?” 

Once again, nothing. You scoff, crossing your arms, “Typical.” 

He ends up going to a roof top not too far from where everyone was, the lot surprisingly empty as you make it to the top. You become more irritated, narrowing your eyes as you start again, “Fushiguro—“

He’s already climbing into the backseat with you, causing you to scoot closer to the door, thinking maybe he was fed up with your shit. You thought he was gonna rough you up just in the way you liked, or even put you in your place. Either way was in your favor. 

But instead, he clutches your face, rubbing your cheek with his thumb as he asks, “You need me, baby?” 

You blink at the question. It makes your throat go dry, and as you search his eyes, there’s no anger in them. He just needs you to answer. 

So you reply softly, “…Yes.”

His fingers dig into your cheek, forcing your head back slightly as he moves in close, his warm breath ghosting over your lips.

The softness is unexpected. It makes you a little more relaxed as he grunts,”Let me take care of you,” hovering himself above you, your back now pressing against the seats. 

“You’ comfortable?” He questions within your ear, his voice sounds concerned. Your breath hitches lightly as his gentle touch. You were unsure why this sudden moment had your spine tingle. At that, you nod your head as you pull him closer, giving him a soft peck on the lips. 

“Now you wanna be sweet and shit.”

You’re silent, your eyes fluttering shut as you feel your cheeks becoming warm. Toji brings your face a centimeter closer, gently pressing your lips together by the drag of your throat. You feel as his full lips overpowered yours, overlapping along your mouth as he sucked your tongue. It makes your breath hitch, pressing your hand along his forearm, your nails lightly digging into the skin. 

He was nasty in the best way. He kept sucking against your lips, beginning to nod his head back and forth, thrusting his own tongue in between, the erotic pleasure of it all making your eyes roll to the back of your head. You try to keep your head from spinning as you reach up to pull his hair, deepening the kiss, enjoying the feeling it gave you. It made you shy, you could admit.

He could feel your body begin to tremble as he kisses in between your shoulder and neck, the taste of your skin being sweet on his tongue.

Your eyes fluttered shut, breathing slightly heavy as you dug your nails into his hair—you hadn’t felt this good in a while. 

You shiver in between your light giggle, “I—It tickles…” 

He chuckles against your skin, his tongue licking along the sensitive spot as he gruffly says, “You’re so fuckin’ sensitive.”  

At the drop of his words, your head lightly kneels back, a light gasp coming from you. It was soft, tiny, feminine.

His hand moved further up your thigh, placing a leg over his shoulder as he sucked the skin of your ankle. His tongue tasted every inch he could, wanting to get more of you in his mouth.

With him being hovered over you, his hand was trailing along your inner thighs, the ball of your foot fidgeting along his shoulder. It made you naturally use your free hand to slow down his, knowing that wouldn’t stop him. 

He pressed his forehead against yours, your eyes coming  down to watch your legs becoming trapped on both sides of his shoulders, his fingers coming down between your hips, making you full on jump. 

“My shy, pretty ass baby.” 

You felt like you couldn’t breathe, nowhere to hide as your face felt on fire, feeling your hips tilt up from the reaction of his hand. His fingers grazed over your clit, and your hips were so warm, you almost felt cold. 

Your chest began to lightly come up and down, digging your teeth into your bottom lip as your thighs wanted to close at the feeling. Your inhales were low, hesitant, as your exhales were able to hear, shaky in your throat. 

You struggled even more with your breathing, your thighs trying to close, face scrunched up in concentration...it only turned him on more.

He applied pecks against your throat, telling you gruffly, “Spread your legs more.” 

His voice within your ear makes your eyes want to flutter shut. You attempt to listen, pulling your thighs more apart, feeling as he begins to rub at your swollen clit slowly, your opening squelching from how you had become.

He growled low in his throat as he watched you squirm and struggle to breathe. It was like a challenge, getting under your skin like this.

“Imma’ put a finger in there,” he tells you, your heart in her ears, unable to prepare as he stroked his index finger along your pussy, before slowly sinking it in between your folds. He leaned up as he kissed your ankle, pumping slowly, your walls tightening heavily around his knuckle.

Your mouth dropped open the moment he came back down to kiss you. You lightly cried along his lips, broken and whiny as you warned, “T—Toji…”

He chuckled lowly at your whimpering protest, “Relax. Imma’ add another finger.” 

You feel a stretch, aching with a burn that feels a little too good, it makes your knees weak.

“Ooh, fuck,” he grunts, your face turning away from his again as you pull his head down with another gasp, wanting to hide your face next to his ear. He talks to you, “You’re so fuckin' tight…”

He punctuated his words with a thrust of his finger, your juices dripping down his wrist as he fucked you gently with it, thumb circling your clit. 

Your head fell back, making him kiss into your neck more—which made your mouth part— trembling as you tried to grip at the back of his hair. You were always trying to keep yourself together in moments like this, not wanting to be embarrassing. You finally get a clutch at the back of his hair as you whine softly, “Don’t talk like that…”

"You're so fuckin' perfect," he ignored your plea , nipping at your pulse point, "I could play with this pretty ass pussy all night...You hear her? She keep suckin’ my fuckin’ fingers in.” 

And your pussy was. His fingers were too familiar, dragging in, coming out more soaked than before. You were practically gushing on them, your abdomen tightening each time his palm grazed your clit from how deep his knuckles went in.

A messy moan parts from your mouth, broken and struggling, quickly hushing itself as you suck in an inhale to quiet yourself. Your face is hot as you raise the back of your hand to your mouth, covering the sound you made.

"Fuck all that holding back. Imma’ make you cum on my fingers.” 

He slowly withdraws his fingers from your heat, bringing them up to your lips, smearing your arousal across them. 

"Open up," he instructs, holding his coated fingers near your mouth, "Clean them off. Taste your pussy."

His mouth is volatile, you’re never sure if you can handle it. You part your lips, feeling him slide his fingers to the back of your throat, choking lightly on them as you taste your arousal. It was sweet, tangy almost. 

When he pulls them out, he grunts, “Good fuckin’ girl,” roughly pulling you into a kiss, spreading your legs wider as he fucks his fingers back inside of you. His arm traps the back of your knees, keeping your thighs spread completely open, allowing you to feel everything. Your lids blink rapidly, clawing at the skin of his arms as you nearly fight with him, gasping out, “O—oh my god. Toji.” 

“You’ sound cute as fuck. Haven’t heard you like this in a minute,” he brings his ear closer to your lips, “Keep talking to me, pretty. Tell me how you feel.”

You can’t exactly see his face, which makes you more comfortable as you express in urgency, “Fingers feel too big…” you whimper, “…but it feels good…”

"My dick is bigger. Imma’ keep my fingers deep where you need them most," he growls lowly in your ear, twisting his hand to push deeper inside, "I’m not gonna pull them out until you cum. So take my shit like a big girl, I know you can.”

You close your eyes to shield your red face, his finger hitting a particularly good spot, which makes you nearly jump out of your skin, thighs wanting to slam shut, jolting upwards, whimpering as he tugs you back.

"Nuh uh, keep 'em wide," he demands firmly, thrusting his fingers harder against that sensitive spot, curling them to hit your g-spot directly which makes you moan out, quickly pressing your hand to your mouth again, “You’re clenching around my fingers hard as fuck. You’re about to cum.”

“Toji,” you can’t stop that pleading whimper, wishing he’d stop talking. It makes you gush even more on his fingers, tightening your hold on his arms, “Your mouth is bad…”

“You love how I’m talking to you, nasty ass.” 

He starts pumping his fingers faster, twisting and curling them to stimulate your inner walls, "Stop makin' those fuckin’ noises and cum already. Them’ little cute ass whimpers making me wanna put my mouth on you, let you gush all on my face. Don’t piss me off.”

You gasp out, “I…think I’m cumming…” you feel numb, your walls kidnapping his fingers, so much that he couldn’t move them anymore. Your hips tremble as your thighs shudder chaotically, holding onto him as you groan out a deep moan, sticking your own fingers into your mouth to hush your sounds. 

Too blinded by your own pleasure, your brain is fuzzy as Toji unbuckles the belt of his pants, pulling out the heavy weight of his dick that slaps along his abdomen, fingers cuffing his fat tip that smushes along the sensitive gush of your folds. 

The pressure in between your legs is at its peak, seeing as Toji hovers atop of you, pressing his forehead against yours as he begins nudging himself inside. You’re chest to chest. You feel like you’re being torn, an aching pleasure that always makes your eyes roll back. Your legs shudder ridiculously as you gasp, pressing your hand along his abdomen, that inexplicable pinch all the way to your chest. It’s like the deepest cramp you’ve ever experienced, if that cramp was twisted with an intense amount of pleasure. 

You whimper as you feel his arm reach down, taking your hand within his palm as he grunts, “Hold it,” listening with a pout as you intertwine your fingers together.

He slowly sinks deeper into you. His muscles flex beneath your touch, the ridges of his abdomen pressed firmly against your palm. 

With each inch he buries inside, your body clenches around him, the sensation bordering on pain yet feeling so good as your back arches beneath him. You can see the effort it takes for him to hold still, his control evident in the tautness of his jaw. 

“I'm tryna to go slow, baby. I know,” he coos to you, bottoming out, filling you completely.

Your eyes are fluttering shut at the fullness, pulling your face up to drag your mouth along his, digging your fingers into the palm of his hand as let out a long, desperate moan. You feel yourself gush in between his balls pressed along the back of your thighs, gasping deeply as the pressure builds up before finally releasing.

He groans lowly, a rumble vibrating through his chest as he feels your walls spasm around him. "Ooh, shit, baby. Cumming all on this dick. Goood fuckin’ girl,” he praises, his voice husky with desire.

Keeping your hand captive in his, he lifts it to his lips, planting a gentle kiss on your knuckles before bringing it back down to rest on his side once more. Withdrawing almost all the way, he lets you adjust to the emptiness before pushing back in, setting a steady, deep rhythm. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the car, mingling with your ragged breathing and muffled cries.

You finally find words to say, but they come out in pathetic whimpers, chest heaving up and down as you pant, “Feel so full, baby. Just n—needed you…” your eyes begin to glisten with pleasured tears, your other hand reaching around to claw at his back, “Harder. H—harder, please.*”

“Harder, baby?” He mocks your words in your tone, arrogantly chuckling as you sniffle in response, whiny, “Yeah…”

A smirk plays on his lips at your desperate pleas, his movements becoming more forceful as he pounds into you. A serenade of skin ricocheting, his dick dropping in and out, bruising your outer walls. 

One of his hands slides down to grip your hip, using it to pull you onto him harder while the other continues to hold your interlaced fingers.

You take your free hand, using it to spread yourself as you whimper pathetically, “Yeah, Daddy. Ughn, right there,” blabbering nonsense, only focusing on the way his dick sinks deeper and deeper each time.

“This how you wanna be fucked?”

He then raises arm, muscles flexing within the veins as he clutches the door handle above your head, shoving his hips down, watching as you frown, you’re being fucked too good. 

You brokenly gasp, blinking your tears away as you drag out, “Ba-by, I…” you can’t stop gasping, “Love the way you handle my pussy, baby…”

He leans closer, arm still flexing above your head as he deeply grunts, “Keep talking.” 

Your face is warm at that, and you nod, trying to make your words sensible as you say, “Been wanting you to fuck me like this all night…”

“Just like this, huh?” He gives a hard thrust, a whine coming from you as you kneel your head back, groaning as you yank his face closer to yours, spreading your legs wider, letting him go even deeper. 

“Augh—oh my fuckin’ god, baby.” 

You’re spent, crazy even, taking your free hand as you go in between your hips, grabbing for his dick that drops in and out, wrapping your fingers around the base as you help him fuck you. The wrist of your palm bounces and rubs along your clit, and you softly cry, “Justttt like that.”

He starts moving faster, the car rocking from the force of his thrusts, your moans echoing off the metal. His grey eyes narrow, fixated on your face as he watches you fall apart under him. 

With each snap of his hips, his tip hits that sweet spot inside you, making you writhe and beg for more. The wet sounds of sex fill the air, mixing with your needy whines until you're a mess of pleasure and desperation. 

"You never took dick like this. Always running from me,” he pulls his hand out of yours, raising your legs directly next to his face on each side of his head—you hated this position. You were trapped. 

“‘Can feel you milking my shit, sucking me in deeper,” he’s circling his hips, impaling himself inside, watching as your pussy becomes creamier each time he pulls out.

You’re silent at this point, unable to talk, move, anything. You try to place your hand over your mouth, or even pull him closer to scream, but he’s there, snatching your hand away, and you can’t hold yourself back anymore.

As you lose control, he wraps an arm around your waist, gripping your hip tightly as he continues to pound into you mercilessly. His other hand reaches up to cover your mouth, muffling your screams as he fucks you senseless. 

“Should let you be loud as fuck. Put the fuckin’ windows down,” he grunts, “Cum on Daddy’s dick, baby. This what you’ been crying for all night. I need it. Imma’ drink it all up.” 

Your body shakes violently, overwhelmed by the intensity of his thrusts and the stifling of your sobs. He doesn't relent, driving into you with unbridled passion, determined to claim every ounce of pleasure from your quivering form.

“Toji—” you’re clawing him at this point, another orgasm hitting you, your abdomen trembling as his tip coats white, and you’re crying like a baby.

“‘Fuck are you crying for? This is what you wanted. Spread your pussy. Open that shit up, I’m not done with you.”

You’re a sobbing mess, listening to him nonetheless, taking your shaking hands down as you spread yourself more, watching him go in and out, in and out. You’re unable to do anything else, bringing your face up to meet him as your eyes roll back, “Fuuuck.”

He smirks, pleased with your submission as he claims your lips in a dominating kiss, swallowing your cries of ecstasy. His tongue invades your mouth, mimicking the deep, hard thrusts of his dick.

“You’ cumming again?” He questions, only messing with you, knowing you were.

His face is shoved into your cheek as he cockily laughs, your teary eyes rolling back as you grunt out, “I’m cumming again.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeahhh.”

“Who’re you doing all that for?”

“You, baby. Fu-ck,”  your last curse is as if you’re mad at him, your cum dripping onto the seats, spreading all along his abdomen as you spurt out again.

You’re about to black out, your fuzzy state of mind begging him in a whine, “Cum in me. Cum in meee, baby.” 

But he’s already pulling out, leaning down as he shakes his head chaotically, running his heavy and long tongue all around your pussy, cleaning you up as your legs shake as if you’d been tased. He can see you’re finally coming back down, toes curling as you hold your legs, almost covering your face with them as you put your knees to your chest. Now you’re realizing everything you’ve said.

He smacks his lips, “Don’t do that,” pulling your legs open to look at you, “You okay, baby?" His voice is calm, almost tender, a stark contrast to the brutal fucking he just gave you. 

He gently strokes your thigh, waiting for you to come back to yourself. "You’ good now?”

You blink a couple of times, searching his face in almost disbelief. You nod your head, wiping your eyes as you ask, “…Can I have a kiss?”

He smiles, tilting his head to the side, “Cute ass," leaning in, capturing your lips in a soft, gentle kiss. His warmth envelops you, soothing the aftermath of your intense climax. You feel him gently rub his tip in between your folds again, whimpering against his mouth as he chuckles against yours, spanking you harshly as he then says, “We need to head back.”

“You love me? You’re not mad at me?” You ask softly, keeping his face hovered along your mouth.

He pulls back, looking at you seriously, “Never mad at you, baby. Just frustrated when you act up. You’ ready to go?” 

You blink, tilting your head as you then say, “Maybe I wanna act up a little more.” 

“That’s cool. Imma’ fuck you outside this car next.” 

“Fushiguro!” 

“Fushiguro!” he mocks back in a girly squeal, ignoring your groan as he sucks your mouth into a kiss. He was gonna love you in any mood you were in. 

“Yeah, okay. Shut that shit up. Get dressed.”

[lassieposting]

Been thinkin about Astarion + vampire biology so have some headcanons and the bits of game lore they're based on

Dialogue establishes that Cazador has been successfully passing himself off as a regular noble for centuries, and Astarion confirms that while he's considered a bit reclusive, he does mingle with the upper class of Baldur's Gate and has a property specifically for hosting fancy events.

Vampires are camouflage predators, whose primary hunting strategy is to blend in with their prey until the perfect time to strike. Their ecological niche is not a particularly safe or stable one - they live hidden in plain sight, usually in sizeable cities, for easy access to prey, but they know that if they are discovered they will be rooted out and killed or driven away. They are rarely able to get away with attacking in public, where city guards might rush to the aid of a screaming victim - they have to isolate their target before killing it. The ability to blend in, to be overlooked by their target, until it is too late is essential.

Cazador is, as far as we know, the only true vampire in Baldur's Gate

This is because true vampires are aggressively territorial. Like most apex predators, they eat a lot, and need substantial territories to support them - even moreso if they have a partner or spawns. Ascendant!Astarion would need to hold onto the entire city, as Cazador did, to be able to feed himself and Tav without raising suspicion.

True vampires are relatively rare, but there are more of them than there are cities, so it's not uncommon for one to set up in an occupied city and try to oust the sitting resident. The challenger usually believes himself to be as strong or stronger than the current tenant: these territorial disputes usually end in at least one death, so they're not to be entered into lightly.

Astarion is very obviously a vampire: his fangs are visible, as are his bite scars; he's so pale multiple people comment on it; his eyes are red, etc.

Astarion is not a healthy vampire.

This is a man who has been kept on the knife's edge of starvation and tortured regularly for 200 years, and to another vampire, that would be clear from the state of him: Astarion is a camouflage predator who is so malnourished he is no longer able to blend in.

Tav will get an up-close look at his transformation over the course of the game and during the years afterwards: the more healthy and well-fed Astarion becomes, as his body catches up on its immense energy deficit and begins to recover, the better he will be able to mimic a living elf. His skin will be able to bleed, or blush, or bruise, none of which he's capable of while actively starving. Hia fangs will retract until he needs them, not invisible but less obvious - having them out all the time is a response to severe deprivation; he's so hungry his body can't risk losing prey to the split second it takes Cazador to snatch a rat back, so he's permanently in bite mode, hyperaware, ready to strike. Some body functions will come online that he didn't even know he had, the ones that are supposed to help him blend in - his eyes will start producing pigment to look darker, less scarlet and more burgundy, to be more easily mistaken for brown; his lungs will make him breathe automatically even though he doesn't need it, he'll start being able to eat normal food without getting sick again, though he still won't get any nourishment from it; he'll heal faster. He'll even be able to get drunk, though he'll burn through it very quickly. As it stands, all those extra systems have been shut down by his starving body - they're useful, but nonessential, and he needs every single bit of energy funnelled into just keeping him alive and functional.

There is probably an intentional bit of psychological warfare against the spawns on Cazador's part here - him starving them strips them of their natural defences, and every time he makes them leave the mansion to hunt, they have to do so knowing that they're poorly hidden and vulnerable. But it's established that true vampires treating their spawn poorly or outright abusing them is A Thing, so it's not the only reason - he sees them as property rather than people, he keeps them weak so they won't plot against him, he's acting out his own trauma from Vellioth on them, he just wants to - but it does feed into it.

Astarion can, at one point, identify old blood as belonging to the player character. He also gets excited at another point if an enemy character runs away, stating, "Now it's a hunt."

He says that "even stale, [he'd] recognise that bouquet anywhere." This confirms a few things for us:

He has a vastly superior sense of smell capable of identifying individuals by scent and - since he can tell who the blood belongs to even after some time has passed - following scent trails.

This confirms that although city-dwelling vampires may primarily hunt via luring a victim to a secondary location before killing it, they still have the "stalk down and chase" predator instinct. Since Astarion can't lure wildlife anywhere, this is almost certainly how he's been hunting to supplement his diet when he's not using the player as his personal caprisun.

The fact that he can scent out prey before killing it means he has this ability all the time - he can smell blood while it's still safely inside the owner's body.

So scent is probably relevant to how vampires process the world. The more time each companion spends with him, the more he gets used to their scent, starts associating it more with safety and camaraderie than with a potential meal, and so he becomes more relaxed around them. As he learns to link the player's scent with love and comfort and trust, the more likely he is to retreat to their tent over his own when he's injured or afraid or having a trauma moment. When he's fond of someone, something of theirs will go conveniently missing - he's moving their scent into his little safe space, it's comforting for him. He can tell when his lover is hurt or aroused or frightened - though not which of the three applies - from a distance, because his sense of smell can pick up the spike of adrenaline rushing into their bloodstream.

But that also means that he can never feel like he's got any distance from Cazador while he's living in the mansion - even if the man isn't in the same room, the entire place reeks of him, and it makes Astarion feel like Cazador is breathing down his neck all the same. Ascendant Astarion would have a really, really hard time sticking it out in that mansion with stale Eau de Cazador all over the place. It means that he's put instantly on edge by the faint scent of one of his siblings as he walks through the lower city - when seven vicious, territorial apex predators are confined to a single small dormitory, several hours a day, seven days a week, 365 days a year, fights are going to be nasty and frequent, and although Cazador wouldn't allow them to kill each other, considering how many of his siblings refer to him as weak or a runt, Astarion probably didn't win them very often. So. Having a highkey advanced sense of smell is a mixed bag.

[lovifie]

Lift Me Off My Feet

Chapter 4: Midnight Snack

Masterlist

Original Thought - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12

3.5K words

Warning/Notes: Soap x Reader, oral sex (m receiving), hair pulling, messy make out

This is the video from where the photo is, if you haven't seen it, You have to and if you have already, you are welcome.

The drive back to base seems neverending. 

Once Price and Ghost managed to get you to stop crying and to breathe normally. The three of you pack the essentials, and by that, I mean you were hugged to Ghost like a koala while Price got what he could save from your house into a bag pack. 

Most of your clothes were ripped or cut, so in the end, only some pieces of underwear, a couple of shirts, some pants and the pyjamas you were wearing were safe. Plus your jacket and shoes that were behind the door. 

And that is how you found yourself now. Sobbing, sitting in the middle of the back seat, bag pack on your lap, Simon’s hand on your knee from the passenger seat as Price drives.

“Tomorrow morning, you are going to call your job, and tell them that you are going to take a couple of days off, okay?” Price asks looking at you through the rearview mirror. “And we will take everything you need, we will buy clothes, find you a better place to stay, anything you need.”

You shake your head feeling the tears come back and you hide your face behind your hands as you start to cry again. “I can't.” You cry. “What can't you do?” Simon asks turning his head to look at you.

“Miss more work days, I have already taken too many. I can't afford to lose more.” You mumble whining out of mental exhaustion.

“Hey, stop. Don't get carried away, alright?” Simon says rubbing your thigh. “Let's not think about that right now, tomorrow tell your boss the situation. Tell them that your house was broken into, that you need a couple of days to get everything in order. Depending on what your boss says, we'll work from there. Alright, birdie?”

You nod weakly as you focus on taking deep breaths. When you finally arrive, both men get out of the car and Price opens the door for you. You step out still holding your bag tight, either men try to take it from your hands and walk along between both men. 

Their hands find their way to your back, Price to the bottom and Simon to the top, reassuring shielding you from the chilly breeze of the night. 

“How about a cuppa?” Simon asks looking at you, a smile visible in his eyes, and you can't help it but to give him a weak smile back nodding. “Then, we will find you a room so you can sleep as much as you want.” 

Sleep does sound amazing, taking into consideration that last night you had little sleep and you have been on the move ever since. 

Price and Simon walk you to a lousy room, many recruits sitting together. The mess hall, you figure. In the middle of the room, there are a couple of sofas, and you quickly recognise Soap and Gaz, sprawled together in one of them looking at Gaz's phone. 

Most of the soldiers that are finishing their dinner, or just enjoying each other company before going to bed look up when they hear the door opening. Their gazes linger for a second too long on you until you can feel Ghost throwing them a warning sign in the form of a look and they peel their eyes away.

Gaz and Soap look up when they hear the door open, and just for a second, they smile at you before they furrow their browns when they see everyone's expression. 

“What happened? How come the wee lass so spooked?” Soap asks sitting straight and patting the seat between him and Kyle.

Price’s hand on your lower back softly pushes you forward to sit down before he answers: “She’s still a bit in shock, Soap. We’ll talk about it later.”

You sit down between Soap and Gaz, backpack still in your hands, and pull your knees up hugging your legs. Gaz points to your backpack and asks: “You sleeping over tonight? You should definitely sleep in Soap’s and my room. Ghost and Price have their own individual ones, but they snore.” He whispers the last part pulling a little smile from you.

You lean your head on Soap's shoulder when he lays his arm on the couch behind your back. The man is a living furnace and shortly after you find yourself seeking more contact.

Price sits on the second sofa in front of you and just a second later Ghost appears back, cup of tea on hand, as he gives it to you. You take it from his hands, yours still shaking just a little bit as you do, and you rest it on top of your knee for support.

Kyle's hand find its way to your other knee giving it a light squeeze. “How's your arm, luv?” You look at your elbow and shrug your shoulder. “I haven't even had time to check it, good I think, it hasn't bothered me.”

“You didn't get hurt today, did you?” Price asks focusing on your face after doing a quick check-up of you. You shake your head: “No, a headbutt on the ceiling if anything.”

Price nods, satisfied with your answer and shakes his head at the sergeant's questioning look. You look down to the tea, thoughts getting to you. You saw your neighbour get arrested, and if he had gotten free they would have told you. So it must have been someone who works for them, and if he wasn't arrested already is because they didn't really know who works for them. 

“What are you thinking about, birdie?” Ghost brings you back to reality with just a question. “Am I safe here?” You ask, with a shake in your voice. 

“Yes.” Price's answer is concise, full of trust in his own word, leaving no room for doubt. “As long as you are with us, nothing and nobody is getting to you.”

You look at his face, almost as if expecting him to burst laughing at you for trusting them. A voice in your head screams at you not to do it, you barely know them. But you thought you knew your neighbour and now he's trying to kill you, so. 

You nod and take a sip of the tea. Warming you inside and letting you relax just a bit. 

“How about a distraction?” Soap asks smiling at you. “Have we told ye aboot the time Gaz fell from a helo and was hangin’ from a rope like a yo-yo?”

“Fucking hell, Johnny. Shut up!” Gaz complains laughing next to you. 

The time went a bit more smoothly when Soap decided to talk about everyone's embarrassing stories, you could still tell he wasn't telling everything, keeping the classified information for himself, but still telling enough to have you laughing, gasping and asking with interest as he told.

By the time you finished your tea, you were already in a greater mood, the attack from today moved to the back of your head. Price lends you a hand to help you stand up while Ghost takes the empty cup from you. Gaz and Soap keep their word to share the room for the night against Price and Ghost's complaint that they should let you rest alone. Until the words “I don't really want to be alone.” leave your mouth and that's the end of the bickering. 

Soap and Gaz barracks are quite simple, two single beds against opposite walls, two desks, two little bookshelves and two closets. Almost as if there was a mirror in the middle of the room if it wasn't for the little trinkets and details on each side letting you know the right bed was Soap's and the one on the left was Gaz's. 

After a quick rock, paper, scissor championship, it is decided you will be sharing Soap's bed. And since you are already in your pyjamas, you get inside the bed quickly, ready to be done with the day. Soap lays behind you, hugging your middle and dropping a kiss to your temple. “Sleep tight, bonnie.”

A ray of light erupts from the bathroom door that is practically closed, almost as if whoever closed was afraid the click of the door closing would wake you up. At first, you don't think most of it, Soap must have gotten up to pee. But then you listen, and it doesn't sound like that's what he is doing in the bathroom.

Little grunts can be heard as well as the sound of skin hitting skin. You stand up from the bed, curiosity taking control of your body and walking you to peak at the door. You shouldn't, you really shouldn't. But once you lay your eyes on him, you know you are fucked. 

Soap is barechested, leaning against the sink with a hand supporting him while the other strokes his dick. He has his eyes closed, head low with his mouth open slightly, and small grunts and whines leave his lips. 

The grey sweatpants slightly lowered, allowing you to see the curve of his lower back as well as what you trust is the girthiest dick you have ever laid your eyes onto. The tip looks red, hungry for release, pearls of precum dripping from it making your mouth water. 

There is a turmoil of thoughts in your head, you keep repeating to yourself that you need to place some distance between yourself and these men. But the moment any of them show any skin or any emotion of want towards you, you throw yourself at them. 

Three times have you gone through this, your mind telling you is a bad idea and your pussy pushing you at their arms. This time is not different, and before you know it, you are inside the bathroom locking the door making Soap jump.

“Steamin’ jesus, bonnie.” He says shoving his dick inside his pants and turning his back at you to hide his tent. “Knock before entering, lass.”

“Sorry.” You mutter, not feeling sorry and you slowly walk to him. “I just wanted to help…”

“What? What you me-” He gets cut mid-question when he feels your hand grazing his tip, pressing your chest to his back and surrounding his waist with your arm. You use a hand to feel his abdomen and the other to softly caress the length of his dick inside his pants.

“But I can go back to bed if you don't want…” You say looking at the back of his head. “Don't you dare.” He answers grabbing your wrist when you try to take it back and he looks at you over his shoulder. 

“Ye dinnae have to do it if ye dinnae want… but if you want, I'll take anythin’ ye throw at me, bonnie.” He says turning around and cupping your face after lowering his pants again to free his erection. “I had to run to the bathroom cause ye were rubbing yer arse against me on yer sleep, I was about to explode.”

“Well then, I think it's only fair I fix it, right?” You ask looking at him cheekly. He leans down and kisses you smiling into the kiss. Little groans slide into your mouth as you stroke him and you can feel his hips thrust softly into your hand as well. 

For the last two days these men have only but given to you, and as much as you have enjoyed every single second of it, it is about time you give back. 

You pick Soap's hand from your cheek and push it up to your hair. “Make sure to keep my hair away from my face, all right?”

He looks at you confused but quickly gets the idea when you kneel before him. He quickly brushes your hair back with his finger, doing a ponytail at the back of your head and groans deeply when you give a kitty lick to his tip.

You pop his tip inside your mouth sucking softly as you circle it with your tongue. Stroke the rest with both your hands, unable to reach your thumb with your index because of the girth and slowly bobbing your head up and down.

Soap stays mumbling curse words under his breath, low enough to not be able to hear him and you wish you were not hiding in the bathroom and could hear him scream. You think back to when Price ate you out, did he get as turn-on satisfying you as you are getting doing it to Soap? 

He opens his eyes to lock into yours and you look up to him through your lashes as you start to get more inside your mouth. 

“Fokin’ hell, bonnie. Keep looking at me like that and I'm not gonna last a second.” He says struggling to keep his eyes open. 

You chuckle inside your head, and keep getting closer and closer to his hipbone. You must praise Soap's self-commitment to not cum, even though you can feel the grip on your hair getting tighter. When you feel his pubes brush against your nose you pull back taking a breath and look at him. When you lock eyes with each other, you smile and say before opening your mouth: “Fuck my throat, Johnny.”

For a second you get scared that Soap will just cum as you speak when you physically see the shudder that goes through him. But then he grips your hair back making you look up to him and he kisses your mouth in a sloppy kiss. Spit, drool and precum all mixing between your tongues and when he draws back to talk a threat of spit connect your lips. “You are going to fucking kill me, lass.” He mumbles and stands up to full height.

He doesn't let go of your hair and when you stick your tongue out he slaps it with his cock. “Gonna fuck yer throat raw, bonnie. Bite if it gets too much.” He smirks before shoving his dick down your throat in a single thrust and beginning to fulfil his word.

“Fuck, bonnie.” He says slurring his words between moans. “Taking my cock so well, such a good fucking lass, so, so good, fuck.” 

Your visions get blurry with the tears from fighting your gag reflex, your hands rest on Soap's thighs and you can feel them flex with each thrust. If it wasn't for your pants you know you would be literally dripping on the floor, never did you though it could turn you on this much. But seeing Soap becoming such a mess, not being even able to speak, just mumbles and curses leaving his mouth. 

“Let me cum inside, bonnie, please. I wanna see you drink it, please, please, bonnie, please.” He begs looking at your face with a pained expression, and almost as if he was waiting for your answer when you slightly nod he grunts and you feel his spent travel down your throat. He stays like that for another second and finally pulls out, you open your mouth showing him your work and he smiles as he bends down to kiss you again. “Fucking beautiful, love.”

The next morning you are woken up by an alarm and just a second later a door slamming shut. “I call dibs on the bathroom!” Kyle shouts making you jump.

You turn around on Soap's arms, nuzzling your face on his chest and sighing satisfied. “Eejit” Soap mumbles with his chin resting on top of your head.

“Do we have to share the bathroom the three of us?” You ask against his chest.

“Ye didnae seem to mind sharing it with me last night.” He mumbles back and you feel his chest tumble with a laugh.

“Aw, shut up, Johnny.” You say chuckling and yawning. “What time is it, anyway? I feel like I slept just two hours.”

“0540, not too far off to be honest.” He answers and when your half-sleep brain processes what time it is you look at him as if he has just insulted you. “What?”

“Why the fuck are we up before 6 in the morning? Like, seriously, the fuck?” You ask grumpy as you sit up pulling your legs over Soap's torso. He caresses one of your calves and flexes his arm resting his head on his hand. If you were not so bothered to be awakened so early, you would admire his physique. 

“This is the military, love.” He says smiling. “Ye look like an angry kitty.”

You pull the pillow from under his head and hit him with it making him laugh. “Do we need to be ready before six?”

“Yeah, actually, that's when we are supposed to have breakfast. We are meeting Lt. and Price there.” He says taking the pillow from his face. “Ye should get dressed.”

You groan standing up and picking your bag from the side of the bed. You pull your clothes out, and notice that you can barely form a full outfit; you sigh and sit on the floor looking at Soap who is now on his side, elbow on the bed and head resting on his hand. He looks at you with a confused expression and says: “That's all ye packed, lassie? I thought ye were staying more time.” 

He stands up, walks to his closet and picks something from inside just to throw it to your head. An uf sound leaves your throat and you pick it up to see it, it is a sweatshirt with MacTavish written on the back. “It is cold this early in the morning, we don't want ye freezing up. Get dressed.”

He bends down to drop a kiss on your lips leaving you a bit stunned and enters the bathroom without knocking making Gaz protest from the inside. “Stop screaming, it's me. I'm just giving the wee lass some privacy, Gaz.” 

You chuckle to yourself and quickly get dressed, putting on the only pair of jeans you have, and a weird t-shirt from some kind of ad you used to wear to sleep, feeling really grateful it is covered with Soap's sweatshirt.

“What are you doing here, luv?” Price asks standing up when he sees you enter the mess hall following Soap and Gaz. “Everything alright?”

The expression on your face must be portrait-worth because you can see even Simon's eyes twirl with a smile. 

“What do you mean what I'm doing here?” You ask looking at Price, until you hear a little snickering coming from both Gaz and Soap and you finally put two and two together. You turn to Soap and when you finally make eye contact with him, he burst out laughing.

“I'm sorry, bonnie. It was just too perfect of an opportunity to waste it.” He says raising his hand in false innocence. He tries to side-hug you, but you move quickly raising your chin offended and walking up to Price. “I'll fetch ye breakfast as a peace offering, all right, love?”

“That's the minimum you can do!” You exclaim still offended and stick your tongue out to him as you sit between where Ghost is sitting and where Price was sitting, him following you.

“Sorry about that, love.” Price says rubbing your tight. “I told them muppets to let you sleep in today. Did you at rest good?”

Gaz sits in front of you with a smirk, and you don't know if he knows, but you are sure that if he does he will snitch on you so stay on edge making sure not to break eye contact with him.

“Yeah, I did. The bed was surprisingly comforting, and Soap was a weighted blanket so.” You answer still looking at Gaz. You can feel Price's questioning look and Ghost's smirk.

“So Soap was comfortable?” Gaz asks smiling.

“Yeah, quite comfortable.” You answer.

He knows.

He fucking knows.

You don't know how, but he knows.

“Is that why you followed him to the bathroom when he went in the middle of the night?” He asks.

Fucking Garrick.

“I don't know what you are talking about.” You respond looking at your nails.

“I'm talking about when you into the bathroom and helped-”

CLANK

Soap puts the tray of food in front of you just in time, cutting Gaz's claim and starts to enunciate the food he bought. “I got ye coffee cause it's obvious yer not a morning person, I brought ye toast, some fruits and a little cereal cause I didn't really know what ye wanted. And I bought ye chocolate pudding.” He says putting the little cup on your hands, giving you a kiss on your head. “For sucking my dick so good last night.”

Gaz bursts out laughing, happy that he didn't even need to tell anything, while Ghost chuckles under his breath and Price sighs rubbing his forehead.

“I think there is a conversation that we definitely need to have.” Price announces. “For everyone's sake.”

Hiii 💗

Hope you liked the new chapter, please please drop a comment if you like it or if there is any scenarios you would like me to include 💗

Thank you again for all the support, you guys are the best

Taglist:@pagesfalling @thevoidwriting @darkangel4121 @tf141glory @skyler-loves-rick-grimes @ghostlythots @readerofallthingss @onewattson6529 @mynameismothra @xinyiline @shadowtfpcod @infpt-zylith @renabear88 @lolliepopsicle @reap3erslov3

[nanamiscocksleeve]

Natural Breeding Clinic - Prologue

warnings: MDNI, breeding kinks, general sex, mention of infertility and insemination methods

a/n: It's here. Finally.

Teaser - Prologue - Patient 1

You take a deep breath and sit down in front of the laptop, waiting for the other person to join the call. Never in your life had you heard about such a unique reproductive center but lately, you’d been feeling the pull to start your own family. You’d discussed this with relevant people in your life. Everyone had said if you really wanted a child, then you should go with the options you thought were right for you.

You’d done the research, looking into different doctors and fertility clinics, but this one just stood out. There were testimonials from several happy families, saying their methods, though unconventional, were effective, and the doctors showcased on the website were all incredibly striking, each one handsome in their own way. But it was the success rate that caught your eye. A 98% guaranteed rate that you would be pregnant, and that pregnancy would be healthy. The site didn’t go into too much detail on their method, but the wording caught your eye.

“A natural breeding clinic” they’d called themselves. You’d finally bitten the bullet and called, requesting an information session. The screen suddenly lightens and you focus your attention as an attractive woman with shoulder-length brown hair comes into view. She smiles in a welcoming way before speaking.

“Hello. Am I speaking with Mrs. L/n?” You nod and smile back, trying not to look awkward or uncomfortable. 

“Perfect! My name is Shoko Ieiri, I’m the main coordinating nurse here at Jujutsu Fertility. Thank you for scheduling an information session with us.”

“Yes, of course. I just needed more details before I booked an appointment.”

“Indeed.” Shoko claps her hands together before continuing. “Let me start by telling you a little bit about ourselves. We’ve been around for almost 6 years now. What sets us apart is that we focus more on women’s comfort than most other clinics. And we are sought out by people who are willing to use a sperm donor. We do not perform insemination services with sperm that are not from our own stock.”

“Your own stock? Are you associated with a sperm bank? And screen all the donors yourself?”

“Not a sperm bank in the conventional sense. We have 5 doctors who keep excellent health and their sperm is regularly screened to ensure quality. They are the only stock we allow for insemination.”

You blink to make sure you haven’t misheard. “The…doctors? Are you saying the fertility doctor I’d be meeting with will also be my sperm donor?”

“That is correct.” Shoko nods her head to confirm. “You will be meeting with the doctor of your choosing for at least 5 sessions. They will need to be at least once a week. Some women take the week off and come in 5 days straight.”

“5…sessions?” you ask, confused by the wording.

“Yes. It’s to ensure the insemination process has occurred an optimal number of times.”

“Wait…so…I’m going to be inseminated multiple times? How much downtime do I need in between each insemination?”

“Hardly any. Our method isn’t like a typical clinic. Most women leave feeling very normal and a lot more satisfied than when they came in.”

“Not like a typical clinic? So…you don’t use the catheter method?”

“We use minimal medical equipment in our inseminations.”

“Minimal…so what does the procedure entail?”

Shoko clears her throat and continues. “So it begins with you choosing one of our doctors. We highly recommend spending some time on this part. It’s essential that you feel attraction towards your doctor. Once you make a choice, they will reach out to discuss how your insemination experience can be optimized for you. You will receive a biodata on their sexual profile, their preferred methods of arousal, and other relevant details.”

“I’m sorry, but what?” You are at the edge of your seat wondering if you’ve entered an alternate dimension. Surely, this was all being made up? “Arousal, sexual profile- why would I need all these details? I thought sperm donors only gave information like height, weight, medical history and stuff like that.”

“Why wouldn’t they? You’re choosing to be bred by them. They would have to make sure their patient is satisfied with the experience.”

“Bred?” You bleat the word stupidly.

“Yes. We are a natural breeding clinic. We use the method nature has provided to us to ensure a pregnancy.”

The gears in your brain start turning and something finally clicks.

“Are-are you saying…I would be having sex with my doctor?”

“That is correct.” Shoko smiles gently at you, pleased that you have finally caught on.

“The human body doesn’t necessarily enjoy having medical equipment inserted into it. All that cold plastic, and the mechanical methods of insertion. It puts the body in a state of stress. Not good for implantation. So our doctors will inseminate you through the process of intercourse.”

 Her words fall like a fog around you. You can feel your heart racing, a flush creeping into your cheeks. It was…insane. The doctor of your choosing was essentially going to fuck a baby into you. As your mind starts pulling up the images of their doctors, each one impossibly handsome and striking, you feel a familiar throb starting between your legs. Wetting your lips, you try to talk to continue with the information session.

“I see. And…there are benefits to this?”

“Yes. Intercourse allows the body to relax, releasing happy hormones. In this stress-free state, in addition to the knowledge that your doctor is someone you’re attracted to and trust, the chance of an implantation doubles.”

You gape at Shoko, your mind reeling from all the information.

“And…when you say the insemination process will be optimized for my best experience…?”

“The doctor you choose will ask you extensive questions about your preferences. What turns you on, positions, dislikes, toys. It’s to determine if they will satisfy your breeding experience. If they feel they might not be a good fit, they’ll recommend another one of our doctors.”

You swallow, your mouth going dry. “I see. And…what else do I need to know?”

“We will start by collecting your medical history and run some blood work to make sure your body is ready for an insemination process. Women who have a domestic partner will need to get both a waiver and a consent form signed by their partner that they have been informed what happens for the insemination.”

“Of course. Makes sense.”

“You will be assigned an emotional support companion during this process. It will either be myself or Mr. Ijichi Kiyotaka. We are there to help ease your nerves and ensure you enjoy the process. And all patients must think of a unique safeword to use during the insemination process.”

“Safeword?” you parrot back, still processing.

“Yes. At any point during the process, should you feel uncomfortable, your safeword ensures all actions cease and your doctor will give you some space to breathe and reassess the situation.”

All you can do is nod along. Shoko gives you a look of reassurance. “I can guarantee that most women are pleased with the results. And our doctors are quite skilled in what they do. It’s natural to feel a little shy and embarrassed but at the end of the day, we all share a common goal- a healthy baby.”

Despite your initial shock, you feel some of your trepidation fade away. Shoko continues.

“If you are ok with all of this, I can send you the forms to get the process started. Once those are filled, you can take some time to decide on your doctor. Then we’ll set up a call with them.”

“Thank you.” You make a split-second decision. “Please go ahead and send the forms.”

“Excellent. I’ll send them to the email you put in your inquiry. Was there anything else?”

You shake your head no. “I think I have all I need.”

“Great! I look forward to assisting you again.” Shoko ends the call and you immediately go the the website again to look at the doctors, one of which will end up fathering your child. Such a hard decision. How will you ever make the choice?

@thesunxwentblack @kentocalls @actuallysaiyan

@belle-oftheball34 @jesssicapaniagua

@figmentforms

© nanamiscocksleeve original work | no copying, plagiarizing or translating

[munsonson]

Blurb

Sunshine!Reader x Eddie Angst

She finds him eventually, leaned up against his locker with something crinkled in his hands. His hair, unkempt as it always was, drowned him in its essence, hiding his face from her. She smiles, running up to him with her familiar smile.

“Hey, Eds,” she greets, “did you want to go to that milkshake place after all?”

He doesn’t answer. In fact, he doesn’t move at all. Her eyebrows knit together in concern. She hesitantly brings up a hand to tap him on the shoulder.

“Eds? Hey, you okay?” she asks.

He looks up at her at last. He’s smiling, too, but there’s something strange about it. It was like he was forcing it. Those dimples that she always admired weren’t there. His eyes were still brown, but they didn’t crinkle at the ends. He crumples the paper in his hands even more.

“Can I ask you something, Y/N?”

It startles her when he uses her actual name instead of ‘princess’. She decides not to question it.

“Yeah?”

“Why are you trying to hard to be my friend?”

She was confused. “Huh?”

“Why are you trying so hard to be my friend?”

She was sure he was upset now, if his tone was any indication. He couldn’t possible be angry with her, could he? Did she do something wrong? Did Jonathan tip him off that she was going to ask him out tonight? Maybe she was overstepping her boundaries.

“Um, well I…I don’t really understand the question. I thought we were friends,” she says at last. That wasn’t the answer he was looking for. Now he was balling up the paper and he actually tossed it at her. It hits her forehead unceremoniously before falling to her feet. It was such a silly moment she nearly laughed. But he wasn’t. He was still forcing a smile.

“You know what I think? I think it’s time we put everything out on the table, really…examine what’s been going on here, you know?” he said. “See, I’ve made it pretty alarmingly clear that most people tend to avoid me, to the point I’m essentially Moses parting the goddam sea of jocks, cheerleaders, and even the burnouts. But for some reason…you won’t budge.”

She tilts her head. “Because I’m your friend.”

“No, it’s because I’m your charity case.” Eddie sneers. He’s not smiling anymore. “It all makes sense, I guess. Can’t find any friends outside of the pervy photographer, so you run off to take your chance with the freak, the super senior.”

“Hey,” she says, offended now. “Please don’t talk about Jonathan like that. And I don’t think you’re a freak, Eddie, what are you talking about?”

“Do you not see the people you surround yourself with?” he asks, incredulous. “Jonathan Byers, the alleged murderer turned non murderer who likes to take pictures of naked unaware chicks. And myself, who’s too stupid for graduation and too stupid to realize he’s been wasting his time on someone who wants to wipe the notion of witchy bitch off her back she’ll find two objectively worse guys just to feel better about herself.”

She had tears gathering in her eyes.

“Why are you saying all of this, Eddie? What is wrong with you?” she asks. Her voice cracks.

“Because I’m done with people using me. Alright? So do me a favor, come next year, put me in your rearview mirror. Just leave me alone,” he snaps, brushing by her.

She watches him. Her heart felt sore and heavy, her stomach nauseated and prepared to empty itself from how upset she was. Did Eddie really think she’d only befriended him to make herself look better by comparison? How could he do that? How could he throw what Jonathan did in her face? She’d told him that in confidence, not for him to weaponize it against her.

She fell into the lockers, the echoing slam not enough to deafen the sounds of her cries as she slid down onto the tiled floor. What could she do now? Should she tell Jonathan what happened, ask what she should do next?

She spots the tiny crumpled piece of paper beside her and picks it up. He’d been reading this when she approached.

Unraveling it and trying her best to smooth out the page, she reads it over. Startled, she quickly rereads it again.

It was for the parent or guardian of Eddie, explaining he’d have to repeat this term over again. He wasn’t graduating. That was why he was so upset.

Despite the words and insults he threw at her, she was still tempted to find him again and hug him. This was clearly what had him so depressed, not her. He was just letting his anger out. Even if that wasn’t right, she found it easier to forgive him now.

But she didn’t want to make him more mad. If avoiding her next year made him feel better about the whole ordeal, she’d oblige him.

[robjn93]

˗ˏˋ stephanie brown accessible entry point

this is a list of comics to understand the basics of her character! ive seen a lot of people who didnt know where to start to read so ive compiled this list to make it as easy as possible for new readers to get into stephanie brown

who is stephanie brown?

daughter of the criminal and abusive father cluemaster (arthur brown), she became the spoiler to ‘spoil’ her father’s robbery and overall to protect herself and her mother from him. eventually she digs the vigilante life. she becomes robin briefly and is currently one of the batgirls!

as SPOILER:

⟢ secret origins: 80-page giant

this comic /technically/ is set in the future and is steph ‘telling the story of her childhood’ but honestly i find it pretty suitable even with no context and a must read in my eyes to understand her motives and character

⟢ detective comics 647 - 649

her first appearance… with the iconic brick in the face 😭 this comic is not set in a precise timeline, just post-robin 1991 and pre-knightfall so you can read it with no context as well!

⟢ showcase ‘95 #5 (second story)

PLEASE READ THIS i never see it in reading lists and its sooo important to me. it shows steph’s strained relationship with her mother when her dad is not in the picture and briefly some of her school life!

i’d say read robin (1993) afterwards because it consistently features steph, as much as it is ‘tim’s solo run’, but here THE most important stories (they were very hard to pick)

⟢ robin (1993) #3 - 5

her first appearance in the monthly! and lordd the timsteph here makes me sick. tim being saved by steph 🫶 also more on her and her mom as crystal is starting recovery from drug addiction

⟢ robin (1993) issue 15 - 16

not gonna lie, a huge part of me wants me to suggest it because you get to see arthur get his ass kicked by steph (sweet revenge) but theres also steph being saved by tim for a change and more on steph’s relationship with her dad

⟢ robin (1993) #35

this story for me conveys properly the impact that steph’s upbringing had on her sense of justice and morality being fundamentally different from batman and robin’s, something tim and bruce just can’t understand

⟢ robin (1993) #40 - 41

warning / implied SA (ariana ☹️) the story is a two-parter, steph’s side in issue 40 uses diary entries to explain how she feels about the whole vigilante ordeal. issue 41 is more timsteph oriented but it shows tim finally acknowledging his feelings for steph

⟢ huntress/spoiler: blunt trauma

this story happens during cataclysm but its not necessary to read the whole thing + dean’s first appearance 😒 he is the scumbag bastard ‘father of steph’s child’ + helena and steph linkup!!

⟢ robin (1993) #54 and 56-57

BAD CASE OF THE STEPHS MENTIONED + steph and crystal bonding and tim and steph getting together!!! + robin 57 as guilty pleasure :3 their first official date

⟢ robin (1993) #58-65

warning: dixon tackling teen pregnancy. we all know how that goes. remember dean? well steph got pregnant! and that guy bailed on her. dean when i get you. this arc breaks me everytime, steph you deserve the world ☹️

⟢ lewis era robin (1993) aka robin #100 - 120 HEAVY ON ROBIN 111

warning for SA / glimpses on steph’s childhood + dealing with the fact that her father is dead etc etc that will just make you think we should all just kill ourselves yk!!!!

as ROBIN:

⟢ robin (1993) #126 - 128

warning: debatable writing. robin steph! but take everything with like 5 pinches of different salts 😭 its bad y’all but it is essential. dan didio when i get your ass. dan didio when i get youuu

⟢ steph is dead! arc aka batman 634, detective comics 800 and 809, batgirl 62

i fucking hate war games so im not putting y'all through that. here instead: tim being so overcome by grief he can barely react to steph's passing, bruce remembering steph and cass hallucinating her as she is about to die

after that please just imagine that steph came back cause about every issue after her death was the worst ooc writing ever so, again, not putting you guys through that (its tough for stephanie brown fans)

as BATGIRL:

⟢ batgirl (2009)

i wanna say im conflicted about its writing but its about the best thing steph had post-revival. they constantly insult her spoiler legacy so not a fan of that!! but it is essential and i mostly like the rest so whatever :3 steph’s uni arc!

after that honestly nothing happened for her character, so heres on hoping she gets more stuff

[flokali]

I just want to touch zhonglis horns or tail. Like they are so pretty

a/n: me too anon, me too ><

I love the image of a relaxed Zhongli who, after much coaxing from your part, allows a small pair of horns to adorn the top of his head. Well, it’s less that it’s small and more so that he’s big enough that almost anything that isn’t comically large looks small near him.

They look similar to Azhdaha’s horns in colour, earthy tones that make them look like Geo formations sitting atop their heads. However, Zhongli’s look just a tad bit neater, as if a gifted craftsman had taken the time to carve and polish them — which, may be possible considering how particular the former archon has become in regards to his appearance ever since your arrival.

His horns blend in their base with his hair, a dark brown colour that fades into a colour that looks akin to polished Cor Lapis. They sit comfortably atop his hair, curling upwards until the very tip where they finally look down. Long, thick vein-like carvings decorate them, their pattern looking much like the ones found in his pillars.

Whenever he uses his Geo element, which he rarely does whenever he allows himself to show his more draconian features, said carvings are filled up with elemental energy that glows a golden colour, instances in which they look much like rivers of gold flowing through him.

They’d probably be cold, at least whenever he’s not using any elemental energy, in which case they seemingly hum a soft warmth. But it never burns hot or freezingly cold, on the instances where you glide the pad of your finger through the, surprisingly, smooth surface it feels pleasant. Like an ointment that leaves your skin tingling, they seemingly buzz with energy native to Teyvat.

I also like to think that, when allowing more… draconic features of his to shine, Zhongli’s arms look similar to his Rex Lapis days. Back then, his arms were deep in colour with golden markings glowing - much like his horns, I’d think. Unlike before, the colour doesn’t seep into his neck, instead neatly ending near his shoulders and fading back into his human form’s flesh. But it’s just as striking, they almost look like gloves, but when you touch them they still feel like skin — the golden etchings in them, however, would probably feel more calloused, like scar tissue. In these instances, his arms run cold, much like stone. It’s only near the golden tissue that a semblance of warmth is found. During particularly hot summer days, they work wonders in keeping the heat away.

A tail… for some reason, I feel like he’d be extremely hesitant in showing it off. Only during private hours with you, where he’ll be absolutely certain no one other than yourself will see, will he show you. When he does, you notice how slim it is — only growing in size by the end, where it resembles a cloud. It’s essentially the same tail he possesses as Morax, where the end is filled with explosive colours that make it look like pure Geo energy materialising into the air.

Like any dragon, his tail is made out of scales - however his are surprisingly smooth, they blend into each other creating the illusion of there being no scales at all. They’re still sturdy, however, you’re pretty sure no weapon in existence could cut through them. His tail’s end… I think it’d be fur, long hairs combed into their position mimicking the clouds above Liyue Harbor during sunsets, unlike the rest of his body, I think it’d be surprisingly soft and, forgive my blasphemy, fluffy.

In these instances where he allows himself to be more vulnerable, showing bits and pieces of his most prominent and powerful forms, he grows to love your affection.

He loves it just as much when you comb his long, silken hair as when you detangle his tail. The feeling of your nails tracing the hundreds of scales that protect his tail make a shiver run down his spine, one that pleasures him as much as takes him by surprise every time.

Zhongli is rather secretive about his previous roles in life, which means that he has to trust you quite a lot to willingly expose traits of his that once belonged to the lives he once lived, which is why he’s so keen on keeping these attributes of his known only to the two of you.

If he so much as senses anybody coming near the room, his horns and tail quickly disappear - much to your disappointment. If anybody, much less someone like Venti, where to catch even so much as a glimpse of his more draconian features, you might need to physically restrain him lest he send them home with multiple injuries. It comes to a point where he mostly only cares about keeping a secret only between you and himself, rather than keeping his identity secret.

It’s why he treasures the soft moments where you lay in bed together, his head resting against your chest as you softly rub his horns with gentle motions. His ears are sharp, the beating of your heart is loud and clear to Zhongli, but it’s not bothersome at all — instead, it’s soothing to him, like the sound of soft rain against a window would be to some or waves softly crashing down into the sand. You’re too sleepy to notice, the warmth radiating from the man on top of you was simply too comfortable for you to resist the temptation of slumber, the soft purring that rumbled from his chest.

That was yet another feature of his you’d soon familiarise yourself with though, he still wanted to keep a few cards up his sleeve in case he felt you were drifting too far away from his embrace.

[fabled-fiction]

i see you write for hobie brown omg i like audibly giggled when i read that 😭 i’m so excited he’s finally getting his recognition !!

if you write for him, maybe some relationship hcs?? (gn reader would be perfect!) bonus points if reader and hobie are around the same height

tysm!!

Hobie Brown Relationship Headcanons

Summary: Headcanons for Hobie Brown in a relationship. From PDA to your private moments to how he acts when you aren’t around

Word Count: 961

Warnings: Talk of injury, POSSIBLE SPIDERMAN ACROSS THE SPIDERVERSE SPOILERS (I’m just putting this here to be careful)

A/N: I hope this is good!! I wanted to include bits and pieces of what I thought could be a glimpse into some of the softer parts of Hobie!!

🕷️ First of all, this man is a charmer

🕷️ One of his love languages is words of affirmation and trust me this man is always finding ways to compliment any and every part of you

🕷️ His goal is to show how much he appreciates you…but also he just loves seeing how hot your face can get. How flustered he can make you.

🕷️ He gets a confidence boost everytime ngl

🕷️ Especially in public.

🕷️ “Aye, ‘ow good does (Y/N) look?”

🕷️ Once you’re settled into the relationship he will never call you by your name-atleast not fully

🕷️ He expects the same. Call him Hobart and he will be visually confused and apauled

🕷️ “ Im sorry, who? I dont see a ‘obart in the room wif us.”

🕷️ Its always nicknames of your name.

🕷️ His go to pet name is “babes”

🕷️ On a seperate note, Quality time is also a super big thing whenever you get together

🕷️ Cause sometimes he’ll feel bad that his time is essentially split into thirds. Between being Spiderman on his Earth, a part of the Spider Society, and his time as Hobie Brown

🕷️ So he finds any and every opportunity to just soak you in

🕷️ Obviously you have the swing dates. Where he’ll usually take you to the top of whatever building has the best view for the night and have a picnic

🕷️ But thats usually for special occasions.

🕷️ Your usual spot it cuddled up with each other either just watching TV or a movie or sharing earbuds.

🕷️ His favorite is when you’re just doing your own things but together. Being in eachother’s presence

🕷️ Normally he’ll be tuning or playing his guitar, writing down cords that work well together while you have a book or sketchbook in your hand

🕷️ When it comes to late nights together, sleepovers and what not his favorite thing is when you two are cuddling.

🕷️ His favorite thing is to hold your face

🕷️ Because of his spider senses he gets to memorize the smallest of details on your face

🕷️ Also this man, if you get his head on your chesr earlier on in the cuddle session he is OUT

🕷️ Your heart beat is his personal lullaby. His security. It calms him down. Especially if he’s having trouble sleeping after a particularly rough patrol. Expect him to just haul your ass onto the bed and just bury himself into you.

🕷️ Also this man is not SUPER into the traditional PDA, dont expect to get any long kisses from him in public or you sitting in his lap.

🕷️ He has his own form of PDA though. He ALWAYS has to be close to you.

🕷️ If someone is standing next to you? No they’re not. Suddenly he’s (not so subtly) making his way back into HIS spot next to you and then standing shoulder to shoulder.

🕷️ This is something he will not move on, his spot is next to you and your spot is next to him. Whatever surface he is laying on or sitting on he expects you to be next to him or sitting between his legs

🕷️ He’s not a full on hand holder (the most you’ll get is a pinky hold) but he is the type to either always have his arm on you SOMEWHERE. Whether that's resting his elbow on your shoulder, arm around your shoulders. He’s just always touching you in some way.

🕷️ He’s always slinging his body over you, smothering you. THATS his favorite form of PDA.

🕷️ Or if he’s just feeling especially territorial he'll have his hand in your back pocket.

🕷️ Its not because of any superficial reason, this guy is the opposite from that. He’s just solid in the relationship, and prefers the super intimate physicalities to be just between you two.

🕷️ Unbeknownst to him though, its not really needed because this mf is ALWAYS staring at you with the most lovey dovey love sick puppy eyes.

🕷️ Whenever he talks about you to Miles or Gwen or Pavitr or Miguel…really anyone that will listen

🕷️ They usually have to tell him to get back on topic.

🕷️ Also always expect to be wearing SOME article of his. Its his way of…making sure he’s always with you. Totally not because he’s vocal about you being his ans when he’s not with you others gotta know.

🕷️ And he’s the same way. He’s always got one of your jackets around his waist or one of your tees. Anything you’ll let him wear (steal) to show off that he’s yours. It gives him the biggest shit eating grin.

🕷️ If you’ll let him, he’ll go as far as to take an old tee you were planning on getting rid off and add a patch of it to his vest.

🕷️ Also uhmm…this mf never stops texting you. ESPECIALLY if he’s away in another universe he’s sending selfs.

🕷️ He expects selfies back, and it gets to the point where his wallpaper is a collage of all the selfies you’ve taken and he’s taken…candids or not.

🕷️ Its also usually the most unreadible shit, because he’s convined he can text and swing which you’ve told him NOT to do

🕷️ On the topic of his wreckless swinging, you two have a rule

🕷️ He doesn’t want you involved with his Spider stuff. He’s got that part of the stereotypical spiderman mentality. He doesn’t want you to get hurt.

🕷️ But for your sanity, any injury he has you take care of (if you can). If gives you some sort of peace of mind to know how he’s going in and what to expect.

🕷️ Ever since you both got together he’s been more careful.

🕷️ Cause he’s actually got something to come back to on his earth.

🕷️ When you get together he’s more passionate about his cause

🕷️ Because now he has a much more personal goal to work for.

[hawkinasock]

I ADORE YOU. MORE ABUNDANCE YANQING AND YAOSHI. PLEASE.

So, can you please learn more tell about this theory?

(You draw beautifully.)

GAAAGHHHH this was the first thing I saw in the morning omg tsym <333 dw I've got my mitts on and I'll get to cooking o7 I assume you're asking me to explain the theory? Which I'll gladly do. Very long post incoming.

Essentially, the general idea is that Yanqing is related to abundance in some way, be it simply second-hand association, or he himself being an abomination/denizen of abundance himself - I personally believe in the latter. While I've made art of Yaoshi and Yanqing in a parental dynamic, it's not something I see as a viable theory, so much as it's just a fun little crack theory. Yaoshi is more likely a passive creator than an actual loving parent. There's a bunch of different interpretations for what Yanqing is and how he came to be based on the little pieces of evidence found in canon. One piece of evidence is his blonde hair.

As far as I can tell, the only other blonde Xianzhou characters are Dan Shu and Luocha (Luocha isn't a Xianzhou native himself, but he was a part of the quest so I'm including him anyway), both directly associated with the abundance, as well as Yaoshi themselves.

Interestingly enough, Dan Shu has the same hair part as Yanqing, but that could just be chalked up to design cohesion and framing the face/mask, rather than anything meaningful.

Edit: someone pointed out to me that Dan Shu's hair was initially brown, but after joining the disciples, it turned blonde.

Edit: I somehow forgot to include Phantylia, who has blonde hair in her third phase, and even a hair part. There's also a disciple of Sanctus Medicus in a cell in the shackling prison who also has blonde hair. Every character I've found who has blonde hair is either a disciple, or canonically connected to Yaoshi

(I considered adding Hongling, the fanatic fan in the stands of the Skysplitter, but I think his hair might just be dyed, which isn't too crazy an idea for a stan. Still mentioning him though, since he's a really weird character)

If you look closely at Yanqing's clothes, there's a reoccurring vine-esc pattern on all layers of his hanfu. They can also be seen on his sword. It doesn't necessarily mean much by itself, but it's an interesting detail I and others have noticed.

However, I want to point attention to Yanqing's phone case, because it's actually super interesting, and probably the most convincing piece of evidence imo. Not only does it relay the vine motif, but that to me looks like a leaf detaching from a branch and transforming into a swallow. If the characters' phone cases are meant to reflect their personality/reference lore elements, then this is probably the most blatant in terms of potential lore.

Edit: the little decals on the camera lense are in the image of Yanqing's hair ornament, which happens to look like a pair of leaves, midribs and all.

Speaking of swallows, has anyone noticed that there's flocks of golden swallows inside the roots of the arbor? I only noticed on my second playthrough, but I haven't stopped thinking about them since. How odd is it that out of any other bird, the arbor has swallows specifically. Of course, Swallows aren't Yanqing's motif alone, as the wardance teaser silhouette's have what look like swallows in the background art, but I still think it's important to bring up, considering Yanqing is literally COVERED in them, from his ornaments, to his swallow tail-shaped coat tail, to his entire playstyle.

Low-quality ss of the swallows for reference.

Luocha also has a line about Yanqing that, setting aside any theory-crafting, seems pointless. He has nothing to say, which, if he was truly genuine, what purpose does this line even serve? I can't infer much from the delivery of the other languages, since I have no knowledge on them or their social cues, but in en, the tone is very... discreet? It's just the way he says it is very off, like he's being dishonest. Too quick; too matter-of-fact; It's artificial honesty. I hope you get what I mean lol. I can only assume the va was directed to say it that way for a reason.

A passage from Yanqing's 2nd char story reads: "It's recorded in the military annals of the Cloud Knights how Jing Yuan came to discover the young boy, stood his ground against public opinion, and incorporated him into the armed forces. However, in the family lineage column, Yanqing's lineage was relegated to the category of unknown."

From Yanqing's 4th char story: "Some speculated that he [Jing Yuan] was cultivating an heir, others claimed he only kept him around just to use this kid as a secret weapon. Jing Yuan never offered a response."

Jing Yuan is really suspicious. Like, incredibly suspicious. Even more than Luocha. Yanqing is already known to be an orphan, but the lack of clarity over the details of Jy discovering him, as well as the fact that he has no known relatives in their database is very odd. Speaking to Jing Yuan's npc in-game allows the player to inquire about Yanqing's origin, but Jing Yuan's response is far from helpful. You'd think the man who decks out his Lieutenant in protective charms and locks, and who raised the kid from, at oldest, toddler years, would be a little more eager to spurge on about stories from Yanqing's childhood, but he instead chooses to dance around the topic and make light-hearted remarks about Qingzu's furphies. Obviously, you can't and shouldn't expect to get all of a characters lore in one serving, but revealing so little definitely implies a lot more, as we've seen with Luocha.

These details are the reason why, if Yanqing does turn out to be related to the abundance, be it a spawn of the arbor, or a creation of Yaoshi themselves, I believe that at least Jing Yuan knows and is keeping it all under wraps. Maybe the whole reason Jing Yuan assigned him as his aide in the first place was to keep a close eye on him. Rather ironic a general of the hunt would risk everything to protect the thing he's sworn to destroy.

But that's just my two cents. Thank you anon for giving me a reason to spurge about this theory finally, as it's become so dear to my heart.

More art will be posted as I go along, so don't touch that dial.

[joelscruff]

feelings on fire (joel miller x f!reader) 18+ PART THREE

part three!!!! thank you for all the amazing messages and feedback on this fic, it means so much to me. you can catch up on previous parts here, and here’s my kofi if you’d like to leave a tip💕 summary (for this chapter): after your first "lesson" with joel you're already dying to see him again, but he only has a bit of time before work. what better time than to start you on your second one? this one is pure filth lbr rating: 18+ explicit (minors, do not interact) warnings (for this chapter): age difference (reader is in her 20s, joel in his 50s), innocent/inexperienced reader, dirty old man joel, corruption (but it’s consensual), praise kink (joel calls reader babygirl, sweetheart, etc), dirty talk, mentions of religion (reader’s family are very catholic), fingering, lap-sitting word count: 8.1k ao3

Lying has never felt so good.

You tell your parents later that evening that you're tired, exhausted from the heat and hoping to get a better sleep than you did last night. They've always been privy to early bedtimes; impressed by your obedience to follow the rules they don't assume anything is amiss as you walk upstairs around eight thirty with a fake yawn and a stretch.

The second you're in bed you've got your pajama pants around your ankles and a hand inside your panties, rubbing your clit just like Joel had taught you. You start slow, tender, prodding and tapping the way he'd done and then building into more of a furious pace, firm and steady. You have to bite into your pillow to keep your moans at bay, eyes rolling back as you writhe in your sheets.

"Mr. Miller," you find yourself whispering as you come down from your second orgasm of the day, breathing in and out and trying to calm your body down. All you can see behind your lids is his face, his soft brown eyes, his scratchy beard, his wrinkles...

About ten minutes later you're on round three, hair sticking to your forehead with sweat and legs trembling as you picture his handsome face, that charming smirk, his thick fingers. His voice murmuring in your ear, praising you, calling you his babygirl. You come a third time.

You're going to hell.

--

You wake up early, so early that the sun has barely risen yet, streetlamps still on outside as you climb out of bed and tiptoe to the window. Your parents are still home, most likely still in bed.

You consider going back to sleep but only for a moment. Your thoughts are too muddled with the idea of seeing Joel again today and getting another lesson that you head straight for the shower, unabashedly looking down at your body as you wash yourself and wondering what he'll think when he finally sees the whole thing. Will he like your breasts? Your soft tummy? You've never thought of yourself as being particularly beautiful but maybe he'll see something you don't. He certainly seems to already.

The dress you'd worn yesterday is still on your bedroom floor; you pick it up after your shower and bring it to your nose, breathing in Joel's heady masculine scent and feeling yourself throb under your towel. God, you're like a crazy person now. Obsessed. You need more.

You find that your nerves are nowhere near as bad as they were yesterday, now that you know Joel actually wants you that way. You dress a little more casually, choosing a pair of jean shorts and a t-shirt. You grimace at yourself in the mirror, hating how the shorts seem baggy and unflattering, not tight and perky like your friends back at college. You're beginning to realize that your entire wardrobe has essentially been hand selected by your parents your whole life, something else that needs to change.

The clock says it's almost six in the morning and you know there's no way Joel is awake yet; you'd gotten to his house around ten yesterday and he'd looked like he'd only just woken up maybe fifteen minutes before. Still, you can't just sit around and wait for the sun to come up. You've gotta do something.

You masturbate until seven.

--

You're pretty sure you've had more orgasms in the past twenty four hours than anyone has ever had in their entire lives. How the fuck have you been missing out on this for so long? Your friends had talked about how good it felt, how annoying it was when a guy couldn't make them come, and you'd just listened and nodded along and pretended you were able to understand - even just a little bit - despite never having had one yourself.

"You're so lucky," your friend Tasha had said to you one morning after she'd come home from a failed one night stand where she'd had to fake it, "I'd rather have never had an orgasm than deal with these stupid boys who have no clue what they're doing, seriously."

You hadn't felt very lucky, only jealous that you were missing out on something every woman seemed to be in on. But now you're no longer on the outside, and better yet it happened with an experienced man, not a stupid boy - you almost want to scream it from the rooftops: Joel Miller made me come.

You hum to yourself as you flip some chocolate chip pancakes, it's the first time you've bothered to make anything for breakfast that isn't cereal or toast since you've been back home. Your parents sit at the table, your father reading the newspaper while your mother makes adjustments to her schedule.

"You're chipper this morning," your father says, ruffling the newspaper and raising an eyebrow, "Anything happen?"

You shrug, shaking your head, "I don't know, just... just feeling good today."

"She's gonna start volunteering at the soup kitchen," your mother informs him with a smile and you try not to wince, "She met with Bethany and Alice yesterday."

"Oh, that's nice," your father goes back to his paper, "It's good to keep busy."

"It is," you say, feeling your cheeks warm a bit as you transfer the pancakes onto a plate, "It really is."

--

You haven't driven your car much since you've been back but you decide to bring it out of the garage today, deciding that if there's ever been a time to buy some new clothes, today is the day. You head to the mall like a woman on a mission, wasting no time in dashing directly to the lingerie store.

You freeze outside the store, eyes widening when you see the types of things the mannequins are wearing; crotchless panties, leather bras, things with straps and spikes on them. You stare, transfixed, unsure what exactly you're even supposed to buy. You'd been so powered up by your newfound pleasure that you'd completely forgotten that you still don't know anything.

What does Joel like? What would he want to see you wear? You stand there, biting your lip and fidgeting a bit as your eyes trail back and forth between the different lingerie sets. You haven't even gone into the store and you already feel overwhelmed. You can't even picture yourself wearing half of this stuff, even looking at it makes your skin itch.

"Can I help you?" a woman asks, fixing hangers near the front of the store and giving you a smile, "Looking for anything in particular?"

You shake your head and take a step back, "Um, no. No, sorry. Not today." You turn around and walk in the opposite direction with your head down, feeling beyond embarrassed.

Okay, no lingerie. Stick to what you know.

You end up heading to the stores you're more familiar with, although you avoid the more conservative ones; you know you won't find what you're looking for in there. You end up with a few new outfits that still manage to feel casual without being too much outside your comfort zone. Some new shorts that accentuate your curves more, a few tank tops, some dresses. The dresses are similar in length to your old Sunday School dress, but this time they aren't squeezing your chest painfully or threatening to expose your breasts to the world. They're comfy but sexy and you hope Joel will like them.

The thought of Joel sends your brain into that muddled state again, sending pulsations through you as you pay for your new clothes and head back out to your car. You have to practically force yourself not to shove your hand down your shorts in a public parking lot.

--

On the way back home you decide to turn down Joel's street, just to see if he's up yet. You slow down as you near his house, peering out the passenger side window and squinting against the sun. You practically slam your foot down on the brake when you see him sitting on his step, strumming his guitar again.

He looks up at the squeal of your tires, looking just as disheveled as yesterday with his hair sticking up in all directions and his beard still scruffy and untrimmed. He smiles when he sees your face, instantly sending those familiar butterflies into your belly.

He mouths something to you and you quickly roll the window down, "What?"

"I just said good mornin'." he says with a chuckle, leaning against the wooden banister of his steps and giving you a boyish grin, "Where you comin' from, darlin'?"

"Went shopping," you say with a smile, gesturing to the bags in the backseat, "Got some new clothes."

He raises an eyebrow, assessing the bags and then looking at your face again without replying. You sit there awkwardly, waiting for him to say something else, nervousness suddenly pooling inside you; what if he's just waiting for you to leave?

"Well, I guess I'll-" you begin, but not before Joel interrupts you.

"Wanna come inside and show me?"

Your heart slips to your throat, thrumming wildly as you stare at him. He smiles crookedly, tilting his head in that way you love.

"Y-yeah," you say, voice so squeaky that you have to clear your throat so you don't sound like a lunatic, "Yes please."

--

You'd thought walking into Joel's house after yesterday wouldn't feel as nerve-wracking or as scary, but somehow it's even worse. As soon as the door closes and he doesn't immediately wrap you in his arms, you feel unsure of what to do. He gives you a small smile as he passes you in the foyer, then crosses the room in a few long strides and goes to dispose of his empty coffee mug in the sink.

"How was your night?" he asks, rinsing it out as he faces away from you.

I made myself come twice, you want to say, and then I came four times this morning. But the atmosphere doesn't feel the same as yesterday; there's no sex buzzing in the air, no flirtatiousness emanating from Joel like last time. Something feels wrong.

"Um, it was fine," you say, biting your lip, "Yours?"

"Same old, same old," he says, drying the mug and putting it back inside its cupboard, "Had a few people over to watch the game."

For some reason it's hard for you to picture other people being in Joel's house; it's almost hard to picture him having friends, which you know should make you feel ashamed. But part of you wants him all to yourself; you don't want to share with anybody else. And another part of you wonders if maybe he had any women in his house last night, which makes your skin feel itchy again.

You watch as he walks into the living room and settles on the couch, putting his feet up and looking at you expectantly. You stand there, not sure what he's waiting for.

"So let's see those-"

"This is weird."

You both stare at each other, his brow furrowing at your interruption. You feel your cheeks go heat up, feeling small and ridiculously young as you stand there with a bag of clothes in each hand. You drop them both to the floor and take a deep breath, avoiding eye contact with him.

"What's weird?" he asks, seeming genuinely confused,

You shrug awkwardly, hesitantly taking a few steps toward the living room, "I don't know," you say quietly, feeling embarrassed, "It just...it feels weird."

He sits up and you allow yourself to look at him, feeling butterflies again when you see the look of concern on his face.

"Are you uncomfortable, sweetheart? ''Cause that's okay, I won't be upset. You can leave." His words are so soft and reassuring, it makes you want to cry.

"I don't wanna leave," you shake your head quickly, "I just... I've never done this before. I don't know what it's supposed to be like."

"What do you mean, babygirl?"

There it is, the name you'd been waiting for him to call you. It's almost a confirmation in your heart that he still feels the same way, isn't regretting what happened yesterday. You take a breath and slowly ease yourself onto the couch beside him, biting your lip.

"You're acting so... normal," you mumble, trying to figure out how to articulate how you're feeling, "Like we didn't... like yesterday didn't even happen."

His face settles into an expression of understanding; he smiles slowly, nods and moves a bit closer to you on the couch. You feel his finger tilt your chin up, urging you to look into his eyes.

"I'm sorry, baby," he murmurs, "I wasn't thinkin'," he leans forward and presses a soft and gentle kiss to your lips, exactly what you'd been expecting when you first walked into the house. You sigh against him, relief flooding you. "That's what you needed, isn't it?" he whispers, "I'm sorry, I didn't wanna assume."

"Assume?" you ask as he pulls away, scrunching your brow in confusion, "I kissed you yesterday, why wouldn't I want to kiss you today?"

He smiles, "I'm tryin' my best to make this easy for you, sweetheart. I only found out yesterday how inexperienced you are," he reaches forward to push a strand of hair behind your ear, "I don't wanna push anything on you that you don't want."

"I want everything," you say immediately, shaking your head, "I want all of it with you, I already decided yesterday."

"Okay, well that's why communication's important," he chuckles, "I shoulda asked you yesterday before you left but I was, uh-" he looks down at your body and back to your face, "A bit distracted."

You feel almost naked underneath his stare. This man has seen you come; it shouldn't make you as self conscious as it does when his eyes rake you up and down, but it still does. He smirks at your shyness, leans back in to kiss the corner of your mouth.

"You're so sweet, babygirl," he murmurs, "Thought about you all night."

"Me too," you whisper like it's a secret, "Thought about you while I touched myself."

He groans and pulls back from you, eyes dark, "Don't say that, sweetheart, you'll get me hard."

You bite your lip and fight back a giggle. Part of you wants to ask what would be so bad about that, but you're also dying to show him your new clothes, especially the dresses. And you're not sure you're ready to see his cock yet, to touch it and learn what to do with it; the thought makes you feel more nervous than before.

"Can I show you my new clothes now?" you ask softly, "I bought it all for you."

He smiles and seats himself back against the couch again, nodding, "Of course, sweetheart. Lemme see."

You pick up the bags again and shuffle into the kitchen, out of sight. You hear Joel laugh lightly and you wince; should you have just changed in front of him? Would that have been the more adult thing to do? Probably, but he still hasn't seen you naked yet and you're not sure you want this to be the setting.

You don't bother with any of the more practical outfits - the shorts, the tops. Instead you go right for the dresses, starting with a short pink one with some ruffles on the shoulders. It's not exactly the sexiest thing in the world, but you know if you turned up to church wearing it you'd get an earful from your mother, and that makes it sexy in your eyes.

You walk back into the living room and a wide smile appears on Joel's face, eyeing you up and down.

"Wow," he says softly, eyes bright, "That's pretty."

"You like it?" you ask shyly, twirling a bit, aware of the way it flows up above your thighs.

"Yes, sweetheart, it's beautiful. Like you."

You can't look at him anymore, feeling beyond overwhelmed at the compliment. You quickly shuffle out of the room again to go put on another one, smiling to yourself when he laughs again, gentle and kind. You've never had anyone pay attention to you like this before; it feels so nice.

You change into a yellow one, more simple with some little daisies embroidered along the edges. Joel's eyes soften even more when he sees you.

"Babygirl, you're so gorgeous," he says softly, "You really bought these for me?"

You nod, still shy, "I did."

"Gimme a twirl," he says with a wink, and you laugh and do as he says, loving the feeling of his eyes on you, "Beautiful."

"One more, I saved my favorite for last," you say, spinning around and practically sprinting back into the kitchen, heart pounding. You mean it - the last one is by far the sexiest, the one you know he'll like best. It's the shortest, white and lacy with a deep cut in the front and looks best without a bra, which you quickly discard into one of the bags.

Standing in Joel's kitchen without a bra on makes you shiver, not just from being so exposed but because you feel so sexy. Being in a man's house half naked, knowing he's only a few feet away...who even are you anymore? You smile to yourself as you pull the dress over your head and fix it so your breasts are on display as much as possible. You take a deep breath; it's now or never.

The atmosphere changes the second you enter the living room. It's palpable; one moment you've just been having a silly little fashion show for Joel, the next you're essentially inviting him to stare openly at your breasts, which he does immediately.

"Jesus," he mutters, jaw tensing as you walk toward him and twirl slowly, showing him the back as well, the way the hem of the dress barely covers the tops of your thighs, "Fuck."

You're already wet at the roughness of his words, the reminder that all he wants to do is put his hands on you. With your arousal practically leading you, you slowly find yourself bending over in front of him, feeling as the hem of your dress rides up over your ass, exposing your panties.

"Do you like it?" you whisper.

His hands wrap around your thighs like they weigh nothing, pulling you toward him and placing you on his lap. You whimper pitifully when he pushes your legs open with his knee and cups you with his palm, noses your ear.

"You know I do," he murmurs, low and deep.

You watch as he traces the shape of your pussy with his callused fingertips, inhaling your perfume as he does it and pressing a wet kiss to your neck. You buck up into his touch, biting down hard on your lip.

"Yeah, that feels good, doesn't it?" he whispers, circling your clit lightly, "This why you came back, babygirl? Need me to play with your pussy for a little bit?"

You nod, swallowing tightly and whispering back, "Yes, please."

"Well, I have somewhere I need to be in about an hour," he murmurs, and you watch as his hand slips inside the loose stretch of your panties, the feeling of his skin against your pussy making you squirm, "But until then, why don't we try somethin' new? Just to see if you like it?"

"O-okay," you breathe.

You watch as he pulls your panties down your thighs again but keeps them around your knees, almost like he enjoys the sight of them still visible; he probably does. Your eyes stay glued to his hand as he brings it back up and slips two fingers past your puffy lips, rubbing your clit gently.

"Mmmm," you hum in satisfaction, tilting your head back a bit to rest in the crook of his shoulder, "Feels so good."

What he's doing isn't new; it's almost exactly what he did yesterday, except now it's with two of his fingers instead of one. You open your legs a bit wider in his lap, wishing you could see better like yesterday with the mirror.

"You know, when you were bent over like that..." he breathes, fingers rotating a bit faster, "I coulda put my hand on your back, like this," you suddenly feel the firm weight of his hand pushing against your lower back and you shiver, "Coulda bent you over just a little bit more, pulled aside those pretty panties and...."

His fingers suddenly stop their movements and you peer down, confused, "And what?" you whisper.

He slowly thumbs your clit, trailing his two fingers downward to settle lightly on where you're throbbing.

"And stuffed this little hole with my cock," he murmurs, and your mouth pops open as he slowly and carefully slips his index finger inside, just the callused tip. You freeze in his arms, eyes going wide at the sensation of having just a small part of him inside of you, "But that woulda hurt, wouldn't it?" he continues, holding his finger there and continuing to circle your clit with his thumb, "Never had a cock inside there before, right? Never been full."

You shake your head and sit up a bit in his lap, turning to look at him. He's peering at you with a calm expression, mouth upturned into that crooked smile. You bite your lip, meeting his gaze.

"Are you gonna put it in there now?" you whisper, unable to hide the way your voice shakes; in fear or in anticipation, you're not sure.

"No, babygirl," he says quickly, moving the hand that's on your back upward to cup your face tenderly, "Not today."

You feel relief flood through you; in theory you do like the idea of having Joel inside you, even though you have no idea what it would even feel like - or how he would even fit. But it's too soon, you still barely have any idea what you're doing. And he knows that, respects it, which almost makes you want him more.

You lean forward to kiss him, loving the way he thumbs your cheek and pushes his warm tongue inside your mouth. He still tastes like coffee today; it's safe and soothing.

"Know what we're gonna do today?" he asks you quietly once you pull away for breath.

"W-what?" you whisper.

"Well, as I said, we don't have much time," you look down again and become transfixed with the way the tip of his finger prods your hole, moving back and forth just a little bit, "So we're gonna see how many fingers i can fit inside you 'til it's time to go, okay?"

You nod, feeling a rush of warmth flood through you at his words, but also a tense feeling of nervousness in the pit of your stomach. He seems to sense it and he brings his hand up again to hold your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

"Hey, don't be scared, sweetheart. I'll only put in however many will fit," he tells you comfortingly, "How many you think we can get in there?"

"I... I don't know," you feel stupid again, that inexperienced part of you on full display, "Two? Maybe?"

"Okay, we'll try for two," he murmurs, then leans forward to kiss you sweetly, "You don't have to be afraid, babygirl, I won't hurt you."

Somehow, you believe him.

A moment later he's pulling you off his lap and carefully laying you back on the couch. He pulls up your dress a bit more, exposing your pussy to his empty living room again, and dips his fingers back down to rub along your center.

"See how wet you are?" Joel whispers to you, kneeling down next to the couch and kissing your cheek gently, "You're drippin' all over my couch."

"I'm sorry," you whimper, trembling beneath his touch, and he just chuckles.

"It's not a bad thing," he reassures you, "When you get wet like that, it makes things easier for us," he slowly begins to push the tip of his index finger inside your hole and you bite down on your lip in anticipation, "Watch," he murmurs.

You watch as he slowly pushes his finger further inside; you're beyond surprised to discover that not only does it not hurt, but you can barely even really feel it.

"Hurt?" he asks you quietly, stilling at the first knuckle.

"Not at all," you breathe confidently, feeling a smile spread across your face, "Just feels like pressure."

"Good, that's good," he kisses your temple, beard scratching pleasantly against your skin, "I'll give you a little more."

You watch with bated breath as he pushes his digit all the way until it's fully sheathed inside your heat. It still doesn't hurt but the shape of him is palpable. His finger is thick and long inside of you and your breath is already coming out quicker at the fullness.

"There you go," he murmurs, and you turn your head to see him looking at you with dark eyes, "I'm inside you, babygirl."

Your cheeks warm at his words and you bring your hands up to cover your face, feeling overwhelmed. He brings his free hand to one of yours and pulls it away, smiling at you softly.

"Don't hide, sweetheart, you're doin' so good," he says quietly, reassuringly, "Pussy's so tight around me, can feel your heartbeat."

Your eyes widen a bit, "Really?"

He nods and very slowly pulls his finger out, just until only the tip is pressed lightly at your entrance. Then he pushes back in even slower, smiling wider when your brow furrows at the sensation.

"So tight and wet for me," he murmurs, kissing the corner of your mouth, "She was made to have me inside her, babygirl."

You're slowly losing your ability to form words as he plunges his finger in and out at a steady pace; it didn't feel like anything before, but the more he moves, the more he fucks you with it, the better it begins to feel. You feel your jaw going slack, eyes going hazy when he circles your clit again with his thumb and kisses the side of your face.

"You're such a good girl," he whispers, "Lettin' me do this to you."

He teases a second finger at your entrance and you feel yourself freeze up a bit, unsure how it's going to fit alongside his index. You trust him though; despite barely knowing one thing about this man you trust him inherently to take care of you. God, if your parents could see you now, laying on his couch with his index finger stuffed inside of you while he kisses your face and whispers praises in your ear. Not even God can save you now.

"Givin' you another one," he breathes, carefully pushing the callused tip of his middle finger inside you.

It's different this time, there's an odd burning sensation as he pushes your hole open with two fingers. You find yourself crossing your legs unintentionally, making a face.

"It hurts, Mr. Miller," you breathe, shaking your head, "I don't think it's gonna fit."

He stops immediately, stilling both fingers inside of you and leaning forward to nose against your cheek, "I know, baby, it hurts at first but that's just because you've never had anythin' in there. Your pussy has to get used to it."

You nod slowly, eyes searching his; he seems genuine, honest, sincere. You believe him. Your parents always taught you to see the good in people and Joel hasn't given you a reason not to trust him. Plus, all your college friends must have had similar experiences at some point and they all seem to enjoy sex; you have to trust the process.

"Okay," you whisper, "But go slow, please."

It takes a bit of time for you to adjust, all the while Joel presses kisses all along your face, tells you how good you're doing for him, how you're taking it so well. You feel hot and completely overwhelmed, strange whiney sounds slipping past your lips every time he pushes in just a little bit more. He moves his free hand to grip yours, squeezes it reassuringly as he fills you up.

"There," he finally murmurs when both fingers are sheathed inside, leaving you feeling stretched out and more full than you could have even imagined. Your eyes are hooded and bleary, lip jutting out in a pout that he leans forward to kiss, "You did it, babygirl. I'm so proud of you."

It feels so good to hear those words, to hear someone show even the tiniest ounce of appreciation for you, even under the sinful circumstances. You're beginning to realize that despite everything you've achieved in your life you've never actually had someone tell you they're proud of you; it makes tears well in your eyes.

Joel's brow furrows when he sees the tears, lets go of your hand to thumb your cheek again, "Does it still hurt?"

You shake your head quickly, sniffling a little bit, "No, it feels good, just like you said," you take a shaky breath and bite your lip, "Are you actually proud of me?"

His expression softens and he nods, leaning forward to kiss you again, "Yes, sweetheart," he whispers, "You did so good."

You kiss him again, bringing your hand up to tangle in his grey curls. You slip your tongue past his lips and feel the undeniable rumble of a moan in his throat as he kisses you back with fervor, his hand traveling down your face to settle near your mouth, thumbing the corner. When you part he traces your lips with his thumb and slowly starts to fuck you again, making your jaw drop.

"That's it," he whispers, watching your expression with desire-filled eyes, "That's it, baby, you take it. Take those big fingers."

You cry out immediately when he starts rubbing your clit again as he fucks you, completely overwhelming your whole body with a brand new sensation; you're so full, so sensitive and wet, throbbing around his long digits. It's so much and you feel the tears spill over, this time for a completely different reason.

"Shh," he coos, and carefully slips his thumb inside your mouth which you immediately suckle, eyes closing on their own accord as tears begin to stream down your face, "I've got you," you hear him murmur, "There you go, just suck, babygirl."

You feel the callused tips of his fingers brush against something deep inside you, not hard enough to make you cry out again but enough for you to feel your orgasm begin to build in your tummy. You moan pitifully around his thumb, sucking hard on it as he brings you closer and closer to the edge.

Somehow he knows you're almost there, can feel the way you tighten in anticipation around his fingers. He carefully pulls his thumb out of your mouth, smiling when you moan in protest, then brings it down to thumb your pussy open a bit more. You look down at where he's touching, see the way his thick fingers are stuffed inside you, and the sight alone leaves you gasping as you start to come.

"Theeeere she is," he says soothingly, plunging his fingers in and out steadily, a wet slapping sound filling the room as he fucks you through it, "There you go."

You writhe on the couch, obscene sounds spitting past your lips. Your eyes roll back and you feel him kiss you again, shoving his tongue inside and fucking you with it the same way he fucks your pussy with his fingers. You're so full of him, he's everywhere. And you don't want it to stop.

But it has to. You're soon too overstimulated, body twitching with every touch. You feel Joel slide his fingers out of you with one final tap to your clit, still kissing you slow and deep. His hand travels upward underneath your dress and palms your belly, leaving a sticky and wet residue all over your skin. You're still so out of it that you barely register him reaching up to squeeze your bare breast, thumbing your nipple and covering it with your juices.

"Mr. Miller," you breathe when he finally pulls his mouth away, "Felt so good, Mr. Miller."

Your words make him laugh; he grins at you and squeezes your breast again under your dress, pinches your nipple slightly between his fingers. You freeze up, mouth popping open again.

"Relax, baby," he slowly reaches for the hem of your dress and pulls it up, exposing your naked body to him, "We're done for the day, just wanna see you."

You don't protest, watching his face as he pulls your dress all the way up to your chest, eyes trailing up and down your body at your hips, your belly, your breasts. He hums to himself, reaches down again to toy with your left nipple and smiles when you tremble.

"You're so pretty, darlin', just beggin' to be played with" he murmurs, clicking his teeth, "Shame I can't stay longer."

"Where are you going?" you ask quietly, "Maybe I can come."

He smiles at that, then pulls his hand away to bring your dress back down again, settling it over your thighs once more. He picks up your legs and sits down on the couch, pulling you toward him so you're half-seated in his lap, legs bent over his thighs.

"As tempting as that is, I gotta go to work," he tells you softly, stroking the bare skin of your thigh with his thumb.

"Where do you work?"

"I'm a contractor so pretty much everywhere," he smiles at you, "But you wouldn't have much to do, babygirl. Just watchin' me measure things and order my crew around."

You nod, "Can I see you tonight?"

He laughs breathily, pulls you further up into his lap and wraps his arms around you, "You're insatiable, aren't you?"

"For you, yeah."

He laughs again and you're suddenly very aware of the hard length of his cock against your ass, straining against his jeans. Your lips part and you look down, opening your legs a bit and peering at the long shape of him beneath the denim.

"You're hard," you whisper, brows scrunching together, "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize, angel. It's impossible not to get hard after doin' all that to you," he says with a chuckle, noticing that your cheeks go hot with the pet name, "Oh, you like that name too, don't you? Angel?"

You nod, feeling slightly embarrassed, but he just leans forward and kisses you again, holding you to him.

"Babygirl and angel, I'll keep those in mind," he murmurs against your lips, "For next time."

"And when is next time?" you pull back and bite your lip, looking at him with a pitifully wanton expression, "You didn't answer my question about tonight."

He rests his forehead against yours with a smile, "I'll be takin' my crew out for drinks tonight. And we'll be pretty busy over the next few days, so I'm not sure when I'll get to see you next."

You frown, disappointment flooding you. He notices your reaction and his brow furrows as he brings his hands up to cradle your face and peer down into your eyes. You lean up and kiss him again, twisting slightly in his lap so your legs settle on either side of him, melding yourself against him. His cock twitches against your ass, throbbing lightly, and you can't help but smile against his lips.

"Why don't I give you my phone number?" he groans, pulling back from the kiss to look at you with darkened eyes, "So you can text me whenever you want, tell me all about what you're doin', brighten up my workday. Maybe send me some pictures."

Your brow furrows, "Pictures?"

He thumbs your thighs and smirks, "Yeah, babygirl. Pictures."

"Of what?"

He shakes his head and laughs to himself, "Nevermind, angel."

You preen at the name again but frown when he carefully pulls you from his lap and seats you back onto the couch, standing up and adjusting his length in his jeans. Your eyes stay glued to it immediately, lips parting unconsciously at the size; is it the jeans making it seem so big or is it really that huge?

"Can I...?" you trail off, and he doesn't have to be a rocket scientist to understand what you're talking about. He follows your gaze and smiles, nods.

"You wanna see my cock, pretty girl?"

You nod quickly, pushing your legs together as he immediately reaches for his belt. It jangles in the quiet room, slapping against the floor when he drops it. You watch as he unbuttons his jeans and brings the zipper down, then pulls his cock free from the confines of his underwear and puts it on display.

You feel your jaw go slack, eyes widening at the sheer length and size of it. It's somehow even bigger than it looked in his jeans, large and thick and rock hard. The tip is wide and dark, dripping in a similar fashion to the way your pussy does, and you can't help but notice the veins lining the entire length of him, accentuating its size. This is your very first time seeing one that wasn't in a health textbook, and the vast difference between what you'd thought it would look like versus what it actually looks like is staggering.

"Th-that's big," your voice is barely a whisper, squeaky and surprised, "It's so big."

He carefully brings his hand down to hold it in his fist lightly, pulling it up a bit to give you a better view. "Big 'cause of you," he says softly, "It's all for you, angel."

You feel the tips of your ears get hot, still staring with wide eyes at where he's completely exposed. You can see the hint of his balls still hidden inside his underwear and for some insatiable reason that you can't even explain, you feel yourself begin to salivate.

"How's it gonna fit?" you breathe, brows scrunching together as you shake your head, "Mr. Miller, that's not gonna fit inside me."

He just smiles, reaches down and thumbs the wet head lightly, "We'll make it fit, babygirl."

--

You leave Joel's house with the image of his cock still imprinted at the front of your mind. He hadn't asked you to touch it, hadn't expected anything at all, just let you look at it for a few moments before telling you he had to take care of it in the shower or he'd go crazy. He'd tucked himself back into his jeans and given you one last kiss, written down his phone number on a piece of paper and then headed upstairs to shower. You'd changed back into your regular clothes quickly and left the house a few moments later.

Now you're driving aimlessly back home, weaving up and down different suburban streets while you think about the sheer size of him, the thickness, the veins. We'll make it fit, he'd said; the thought gives you goosebumps.

You can't put off going home forever; you finally pull into your driveway and hop out with your shopping bags. You'd shoved the white dress to the bottom after changing out of it, you just hope your mom doesn't ask to see what you bought.

"Hey there," your mother says as soon as you walk in the door, standing in the foyer almost like she's been waiting for you to come home; speak of the devil.

"Hi," you say quickly, "I went shopping, I'm just gonna put these up in my room."

She puts her hand up, "Not yet. I need to talk to you."

You feel unease in the pit of your stomach as you slowly place the bags on the floor, looking at her expectantly. Her expression is hard to read; her lips are set in a firm line, eyes assessing you up and down. You're not sure what's going through her mind.

"I was just talking to Joyce on the phone," she says, crossing her arms, "You remember Joyce?"

You nod slowly; Joyce is one of your mother's neighborhood gossip friends, the ones who keep abreast of everything going on in your little suburban neighborhood, who's fighting, who's getting divorced, who's kids are getting into trouble, etc. You feel a lump growing in your throat the longer you stand there waiting for her to speak. It's like you already know what she's about to say.

"She says your car was parked in Joel Miller's driveway," she raises an eyebrow at you, looking stern, "Is that true?"

You swallow around the lump and awkwardly shrug, "Um, yeah, I guess."

Her brow furrows, "You guess? Either you were parked there or not, which is it?"

Your face suddenly feels hot and uncomfortable as you shift your weight from leg to leg, trying to figure out what to say. Stupid. How could you have been so stupid as to park your fucking car in his driveway, knowing the way the ladies in this neighborhood talk?

"I was," you say, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, "I just stopped by for a bit to say hi."

"To say... hi?" your mother is still staring at you with a stern expression, eyebrows narrowing more and more the longer you both stand there, "Why would you stop by Joel Miller's to say hi?"

You shrug, "I was just being neighborly. He's new, I thought I should properly introduce myself, like you taught me."

Her brows unfurrow a bit at that, expression softening. There we go, hit her with the life lessons, that'll get her off your back.

"Honey, that's very nice of you, but I don't want you going back there, understand?"

Now it's time for your brow to furrow, looking at her with a confused expression, "Why?"

She backs down a bit at that, seemingly uncomfortable by the question. She looks down at the bags and gestures to them quickly, "You go ahead and bring those upstairs, I'm heading out to run some more errands."

"Mom," you say, trying to keep your voice soft despite the frustration you feel, "Why don't you want me going back to Mr. Miller's?"

She sighs then, bites her lip and darts her eyes around the room quickly, almost like she's looking for your father who you both know is at work. She takes a step toward you and grabs your hand, pulling you into the living room.

"Is this about what you were talking about at dinner the other night?" you ask, "When you said he was rude to you?"

She exhales deeply again and turns to you, scratching her neck awkwardly, "Listen, your father doesn't like me talking about people like this so please don't tell him I said anything."

Oh, interesting. You nod quickly, excited to hear whatever deep secret is about to be revealed, what Joel could have possibly done to offend your mother who's notoriously offended by everything, "I won't, Mom. Promise."

She takes another breath and twists her mouth into a frown, "He's... well.... honey, he's an Atheist."

You stare at her for a few seconds, waiting for her to drop the bomb. It takes you a moment to realize that Joel being an Atheist is in fact The Bomb in question, and you quickly have to pretend to be shocked, widening your eyes and raising your eyebrows in faux surprise.

"Oh, that's too bad," you say, nodding slowly, "What did he say to you?"

She shakes her head, frowning even more, "Well, I invited him over to have dinner with us after church, told him we'd love to see him at the service and then have him in our home, and what did he say in response?" she makes a sneering expression, imitating his deep southern drawl, "Sorry, lady, I'm not into all that religious s-h-i-t,", she spells it out like you're five years old, "Can you believe that? The absolute nerve!"

You can tell she's getting heated again just thinking about it and you know that laughing certainly won't help the situation. But that's all you want to do: laugh. Because picturing the way your mother's face must have looked when Joel said that to her is enough to make you want to burst. Of course he would have said that in response. Of course he would have turned down that offer immediately; it sounds like a nightmare.

You wonder if his answer would have been different had he known about you then, if you'd already been back from college. He probably would have seen you around the neighborhood and known you were the daughter of the woman asking him to come to dinner. Would he have come? Would he have even showed up to church just to get his hands on you? The thought makes you shiver.

"I think..." you bite your lip, trying to think of how to word it without sounding ridiculously obvious that he had his fingers inside you less than twenty minutes ago, "I think maybe he just had a bad day. Because I actually just loaned him my bible and he seemed really interested in it."

Your mom stares at you, disbelief flooding her face. Oh shit, maybe that was too crazy of a lie.

"N-not my bible, my hymn book," you clarify, shaking your head, "There I go, mush mouth. I meant my hymn book."

Her mouth slowly turns upwards from her frown, peering at you thoughtfully, "...Really?"

You nod, "Yes! I told him I liked the way he played and that it would be nice if he learned some hymns, maybe, um, maybe even teach me how to play them," God, you hope this is coming out naturally, "He said he'd love to."

Your mother slowly seats herself on the couch, lost in thought, "Huh," she states, staring at the wall, "That's...weird."

You shake your head quickly, "I don't think it's too weird, I think maybe we just need to go about it a different way. Maybe asking him to come to church was too much, he needs us to guide him more gently than that."

She nods slowly and you can't believe she's actually believing the lies coming out of your mouth, flowing surprisingly easily the more you talk. You know you're just doing damage control but you're slowly realizing that this is actually a great cover, a way to see Joel without having to hide from the neighbors or be sneaky around your parents. Guitar lessons. He could be your guitar teacher.

"And I think I'd be good at guitar," you continue, "I know a lot of guitar music is bad but Mr. Miller could teach me some hymns and I could even play them at church."

Her eyes light up at that, a look of positive realization appearing on her face, "That would be lovely," she says thoughtfully, "Who came up with this idea?"

"Me, of course," you say, giving her your signature fake laugh that you've perfected over the years of pretending to be someone you're not. You realize there's one more thing you can say to really bring it home, and you almost feel the fire burning at your heels when you say it: "I felt like... I really felt like God was speaking through me, Mom."

Your mother claps her hands together and stands up again, tears suddenly shining in her eyes, "Oh, honey, that's so wonderful," she walks toward you and wraps her arms around you tightly, a rare example of intimacy, "Do you need us to buy you a guitar?"

You shake your head as she pulls back from the hug, "No, that's okay, Mr. Miller's gonna let me use his."

She clasps her hands together again smiles fondly at you, "Excellent."

You still feel that uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach as you walk upstairs with your bags, but this time you know it's because of what you've just done. Sure, you've lied to your parents before, but never like this. Never.

As soon as your bedroom door is closed you fling the bags across the floor and flop onto your bed, pulling out your phone and the piece of paper with Joel's number on it. You add him as a contact and open a new message:

just told my mom you're my guitar teacher.

You send it and spin around to shove your face against your pillow, not sure if you want to squeal out of joy or scream out of dread. You settle for a long droning noise that sounds muffled and distorted.

Your phone buzzes only a moment later and you quickly sit up again, grabbing it and opening Joel's response:

insatiable.

[bethanythebogwitch]

Welcome to a topsy-turvy Wet Beast Wednesday where I'm discussing one of my favorite cnidarians, the upside-down jellyfish. These are 8 species of jellyfish in the genus Cassiopea, which is the only member of the family Cassiopeidae. What makes these jellies notable is the fact that they spend most of their time lying upside-down on the seafloor.

(image: an upside-down jellyfish swimming. It has a light brown and white striped bell and multiple tentacles that are tuck and white. The tentacles branch and are lined with feathery, light brown structures)

While the majority of jellyfish are predators who drift through the water at the mercy of the currents, upside-down jellyfish have essentially become farmers. Their eight branched oral arms that contain symbiotic algae called zooxanthellae. These algae are photosynthetic and live in a mutualistic relationship with the jellyfish. The jellyfish gets food from the zooxanthellae and they get protection from predators and a place to live. Upside-down jellyfish can survive entirely on the nutrients produced by the zooxanthellae, but they will still feed on zooplankton and other small prey. Upside-down jellies are not the only jellyfish to utilize zooxanthellae, many other species also survive primarily on their symbiotic algae, but they are the only ones to have adapted the benthic lifestyle. They can reach a bell diameter of up to 25 cm (10 inches), or as one source for this stated: about the size of a pie pan.

(image: multiple upside-down jellyfish lying on sand. They are ov various sizes and mostly light brown, but have thicker, green tentacles sticking op)

Upside-down jellyfish are found in warm coastal waters in Florida and the Caribbean and in Micronesia, Melanesia, and parts of Polynesia. They require shallow waters to allow enough light to reach their zooxanthellae and are usually found on shady or muddy bottoms. They are highly associated with mangroves and may play an important role in the mangrove habitats by mixing the water to recirculate oxygen and nutrients. They are rarely found alone, instead congregating in large groups that can cover portions of the seafloor. They attach by using their bells as suction cups and rhythmically pulse using the edges of the bell. This pulsing forces water over the gills and can force zooplankton into the stinging cells to become food. Stung prey will fall on the oral tentacles, where it is broken down into fragments that are then intaken through the numerous tiny oral openings on the tentacles. Interestingly, some species have cycles of reduced movement, which is believed to be the first known example of sleep in an animal without a central nervous system. While upside-down jellies can swim, they will usually only do so to escape predators or if their environment becomes unsuitable.

(image: an upside-down jellyfish swimming. The majority of its body is light brown, but it has many tentacles that are dark blue and outlined in white)

While a very neat thing to see underwater, many snorkelers avoid upside-down jellyfish due to a phenomenon called stinging water. This is when people will receive the symptoms of a sting by the jellyfish without actually touching it. While the cause of this was a mystery for a long time, it was solved when a 2020 paper was published in Communications Biology by Ames et al. The scientists discovered that upside-down jellies release clumps of mucus into the water. This mucus is filled with zooxanthellae and stinging cells and many of these clumps also have ciliated cells that allow for limited swimming. These clumps, named cassiosomes, are the source of the stinging water. The paper, titled "cassiosomes are stinging-cell structures in the mucus of the upside-down jellyfish Cassiopea xamachana" speculated that the cassiosomes are used for defense and feeding. The cassiosomes could be released to sting a potential predator from a distance, discouraging it from approaching the jellyfish. Presumably snorkelers trigger this defense when they swim over the jellies, resulting in stinging water. They could also be used to catch prey as zooplankton killed by the stinging cells would have a high likelihood of falling onto the jelly that released them. Because the cassiosomes have zooanthellae in them, they could survive for likely up to several days after release.

(image: a microscope image of three cassiosomes. They are irregularly-shaped blobs somewhat similar to popcorn. They are a dark color with grey outlines. Spots of green algae and white stinging cells dot their surface)

Upside-down jellyfish are threatened by habitat loss as many mangrove forests are torn down for development. They are also threatened by pollution. They are not considered dangerous to humans. The sting of an upside-down jellyfish can result in mild to severe rashes and itching, but is not lethal.

(gif: a lone, light brown upside-down jellyfish on black sediment. The edge of its flat, circular bell regularly pulse upward to move air over its gills and tentacles. This one's pulsing has slowed, which is speculated to be the result of it going through its sleep cycle)

[elvensorceress]

tuesday teases

Haven’t been around in a million years but the show baited me with delicious Eddie angst. So. Hello lovely little gay people in my phone. Would you like some Tuesday fic teases?

@tizniz @hippolotamus @chaosandwolves @inell @smilingbuckley @spotsandsocks @daffi-990 @exhuastedpigeon @blutterlie @thelikesofus @ronordmann @dr-shortsighted-owl @lovecolibri @eddiebabygirldiaz @fiona-fififi @thekristen999

Here’s the ridiculous boys after the realtor phone call meeting…

“She probably wasn’t thinking anything one way or the other. She’s just focused on her job and finding us— me. Me, technically. A house.”

No. Not just Eddie. Their house. It would be theirs. Even if Buck isn’t there. Even if he never steps one foot into it. Eddie’s home is still Buck’s home. That won’t change. Ever.

But he can’t say that. How does he say that?

He gets up from the couch and grabs his empty mug. “You still want to make snickerdoodles? Or some other cookie? Or, what did you call it? Cake masquerading as loaf bread?” Eddie doesn’t wait for an answer. He goes into the kitchen and gets out the stash of flour he’s recently acquired.

He stocked up. Just in case. Can’t have the alternative of Buck without his baking.

Eddie sets one of the ten pound bags on the counter then grabs a pack of butter and the carton of eggs from the fridge and finds the measuring cups and spoons in their drawer. The basket Buck made years ago during quarantine is next. It holds the vanilla, the baking powder and soda, various flavored extracts, finishing salt, molasses, packets of instant yeast, chocolate chips, other baking essentials. He takes the jar of cinnamon from the spice rack in the cupboard, goes to put it with everything, but finds Buck staring from the kitchen doorway.

He looks too wistful. Too heartbroken. And all Eddie can offer is a kitchen and ingredients. He doesn’t have anything else.

Was it really that much of a loss? They were only together for six months. Did Buck really want to spend his life with the guy? It couldn’t have been that serious. It never is.

None of the people Buck’s dated are good enough for him.

Maybe Buck isn’t thinking of his ex right now. Maybe he’s thinking about the kid who was like a son to him.

Or the whole Eddie moving to El Paso thing. He seems fine, for the most part. He’s helping. But that’s what Buck does. He helps. He supports. Even when he shouldn’t.

But Buck has bad relationships to get over. He’s not really thinking about Eddie or Eddie’s problems. He’s focusing on a task so that his mind doesn’t wander where it shouldn’t.

Buck would be fine without Eddie. Hell, he’s probably better off. Or he will be.

Eddie asks too much of him. He takes up too much of Buck's time with his issues.

Eddie looks through the little stock pile he’s put together. “Anything else you need?”

Buck looks, stands beside him, and answers, “Sugar?”

Sugar.

Eddie’s stomach twists. It’s not a pet name. It’s an answer. Not a term of endearment. Answer. And of course it slipped Eddie’s mind. Why wouldn’t something that huge and essential be missing from his offering. He should have some though. Buried in the back of the pantry. He finds white, brown, and confectioner’s, and adds them to the supply. “All yours. Whatever you want to make. I’ll run to the store and get more if you need anything. We should have plenty of flour though. I got you five bags.”

Buck’s head snaps toward him. “Five bags? You got me five bags of flour? Like, two pound ones, right? Or the five pounders?”

Eddie shakes his head and gestures. “No, the tens. Like that one.”

“You bought me fifty pounds of flour?”

“Well, you’re the one who decided his coping mechanism was snickerdoodles and sourdough. I’m just being supportive. Since you’re my wingman and I’m yours or whatever you said when you stole my tablet and my realtor call.”

Buck huffs but smirks. “More like saved your call.”

More like saved Eddie’s everything but who’s counting?

[thewordypeach]

Cream

Cream (Milk)

pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader word count: 2.9k warnings: 18+, NSFW!!!!, smut! smut! smut!, no use of y/n, unprotected p in v = creampie, oral, titty sucking and titty fucking, (lactation kink), implied breeding kink, squirting, etc. summary: Joel needs his thirst quenched, and only one thing in this world can do it - author's note: ummm … so this sequel had me questioning my life choices. like i do not know what possessed me to take it this far lol so you better blow it up like you did with ‘Milk’ 🤭 anyways, i hope you like it <3 xoxo the wordy peach

It begins with: “You’ll never guess what they’re playing at movie night,” 

You look at Joel, a single eyebrow raised. Joel wolfishly grins, his brown eyes sparkling, “Austin Powers and the Spy Who Shagged Me,” 

He watches as your eyebrows knit together in confusion. Joel can’t believe you don’t remember the conversation from last week, the one that had you confessing to him that you felt like one of those fembots from the aforementioned movie. He steps closer, head dipping to your ear, whispering: “Machine gun titties,” 

That’s all it takes for you to remember. And it has your cheeks flushing pink. Sheepishly, you smile at him. But, of course, the cock block herself pipes up: “The spy who what?”

Ellie, you spunky little shithead. You love her to death. You never want her to grow up. But lately, she’s been ruining your alone time with Joel. You know she just wants to be a part of the family, and she is. It never even crossed your mind to think otherwise. She’s the daughter you never had. Sometimes you wish she’d just go and make friends that aren’t you or Joel. 

You look at Joel, waiting for him to answer. But Joel is expectantly gazing at you. A playful smirk ghosts across his lips. He thinks it’s your duty to explain the birds, the bees, and everything between them to Ellie. Of course, she knows most of it. But she questions absolutely everything. Just yesterday, you had the unfortunate experience of explaining anal to her; Joel walked out of the house when she asked and didn’t return until later. 

You poke a finger into Joel’s chest, hissing at him, “It’s your turn,” 

His face goes slack before he gives you a sullen look. He pouts those luscious lips of his, “But darlin'….” 

“Don't darlin' me, mister. You owe me for yesterday,” 

Joel continues to pout but eventually relents. He turns to Ellie with a face void of any emotion: “It’s a classic movie from the 2000s,” 

“Yeah, but what does shagged mean?” Ellie asks. Her eyes look between you and Joel, waiting for an answer. Joel grows uncomfortable. He’s never been one to talk about this kind of stuff. 

“Yeah, Joel. What does shagged mean?” You ask. 

“It- it… it means…” Joel stutters and stumbles over the words. His face is turning pink. He looks flustered as he searches for the right thing to say. You’re enjoying him floundering around. In one great, big breath, Joel spills out: “It’s a British slang term for intercourse,” 

Ellie blinks at him several times as she repeats what Joel just said to her. She starts chuckling, “Shagged means sex?!” Ellie turns into a mess of laughter. She’s clutching her sides. It’s not that funny. But you like watching her have fun. It brings back the innocence and reminds you of childhood. You were young when the movie came out, and the world was ravaged by fungus a few years after. So you cherish this moment of hilarity. You rub your tummy and smile at how much fun you will have raising this new baby with Joel and Ellie -

You don’t make it to movie night because you’re busy with the nursery, and the thought of walking all the way to town hall makes you cringe. You don’t like going anywhere unless it is essential. You make Joel and Ellie do everything for you. There are still some things you do yourself.

You insist Joel and Ellie go. Ellie doesn’t fight it (she’s so excited to watch a piece of history), but Joel grumbles about it. He wants to stay and help. By helping, Joel means he wants to milk you. He can’t stop helping you, and it’s the only thing on his mind - Joel swears he even dreams about it now. However, there hasn’t been a single moment for him to help you. Tommy has Joel doing everything and anything, and between his brother and Ellie, Joel hasn’t had time for his new hobby. 

So, after he drops Ellie off at the movie (making sure that she is settled and making sure that Tommy will bring her home after), Joel leaves and makes his way back to you. He wants to spend every free minute with you, but more importantly, this is the perfect opportunity to do what he’s been dreaming of without any interruptions. Joel needs his thirst quenched, and only one thing in this world can do it -

You hear him before you see him, and then you feel him. His arms wrap around your body, and he presses his chest into your back. You sink into the warmth, eyes closing and throat humming. His hands briefly touch your stomach before they find their rightful place. Joel cups your tits, placing each of them into his hands, and marvels at the heaviness. So full of his special cream. 

“They’ve gotten bigger, haven’t they?” Joel murmurs. His cock is already hard and straining inside his pants. Hell, on the walk home, the prospect of milking you had him almost cumming right then and there. 

“They’re definitely heavier,” Joel adds as he squeezes them. He notices you aren’t wearing a bra, and with one simple motion, he has his shirt on the floor (the only one that fits you). You’re facing him now, chest and belly exposed. The sight of you has him losing it. Joel feels happy and excited, and everything in between that. Joel can’t believe that you're his, and he’s yours. Nor can he believe his eyes because your tits are definitely bigger, and your nipples are already dewy with that milky nectar he loves so much. 

Joel groans, latches his mouth onto your right side, and starts suckling like a starved man. Your nipple is already stiff and responsive, and you feel the sensation of milk rushing through to meet your partner’s greedy tongue. His hand expertly kneads the pillowy flesh, expressing even more of the sweet cream that has him hard as a rock. Joel starts to breathe deeper and sucks harder, causing you to moan. 

Your fingers comb through Joel’s hair, and you hold him there because the pleasure of having Joel drain your tits is undeniable; in fact, the more Joel sucks and licks your nipple, the more your arousal grows. You have to remind him, “Joel…. We have less than ninety minutes -”

He grunts in response and moves his mouth to the other side he’s been neglecting. The feeling is indescribable, and you relish it. The relief Joel is giving you is insurmountable. But it also has you growing impatient with him. Your core is aching for his cock, and your hands travel over his body. You feel his muscles, thick and robust, beneath the plaid shirt. You need him now. 

“Joel,” Your hand drops to the bulge in his jeans, and you gently rub it with purpose. The friction makes Joel groan, finally lifting his head from your tits. His eyes are filled with a dazy lustiness that makes you fumble with your words. Still, it doesn’t matter because Joel is suddenly pressing his lips against yours and kissing you with an ardour that makes you forget everything you are about to say. 

You taste the substance that has Joel acting ravenous. It reminds you of cereal milk because it’s so sweet. You part from his lips, whispering, “Can I taste you now?” 

He doesn’t have time to answer because you’re already lowering yourself to your knees, planting them on the ground in front of Joel. With one hand, you pop open the buttons of his jeans and pull down the zipper. Roughly, you tug at the opening and watch as his thick, luscious cock springs free from its confines. At the sight of it, you lick your lips. Your fingers wrap around his length and slide over his stiffness. The movement makes Joel shiver, and when your lips finally touch his cock, a groan escapes from his throat.

Joel has been so concerned about making you feel good that he forgot to consider himself. Suddenly, you thrust him inside your mouth while twisting your hand down his cock. He quickly fills your mouth, and his hand grasps your hair in hopes of controlling you. However, he’s fine with letting you have your way right now. It’s been a while since you had the opportunity to please him; Joel loves how the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat, and you’re so adept at sucking him off that his length doesn’t make you gag anymore  - 

Expertly, you glide your mouth from the hilt to the tip of Joel’s cock, coating it in your saliva. Joel’s eyes nearly roll into his head because it feels so fucking good. It’s the only thing he can tell you because he’s almost lost his mind from the bliss of your mouth sheathing his cock. You don’t stop until Joel gasps for air and asks you to stop. 

“Babe, babe, babe,” His voice is husky, and he roughly pulls on your hair. You gasp and gaze up at him with a thick string of spit connecting your lips to his cock. Joel quivers at the sight and has to remember what he will say. You wait patiently. Obediently. 

Breathlessly, he asks, “Do you want me to fuck you here? Or…”

Without skipping a beat, you reply, “Here,” 

Joel doesn’t need to be told twice and is quick to shed his jeans before he starts to help you. You lean forward onto the palm of your hands and watch as Joel goes behind and begins to slide off the sweatpants you’re always wearing. Not that Joel minds. He knows it’s the only thing that fits you because you remind him every damn day. Once the sweatpants are off, he tosses them to the side and stares lovingly at your ass. It’s so round and perky and panty-less. He’s genuinely surprised, and it makes him smile. 

He caresses your fleshy cheeks, asking, “Is this for me?”

Joel can’t see your face but can tell you are blushing. Sheepishly, you admit, “As soon as you left, I took them off - for easy access,”

“Oh, darlin’,” He swoons, “You’re so sweet to think of me,”

Joel pries your sweet cheeks apart and buries his face, his tongue immediately swirling around your puckered asshole. Mewls spill forth from your mouth, and you wiggle your hips, trying to splay them apart because your body needs more. Joel’s tongue slithers down, lapping the juice practically pouring out of your needy, swollen cunt. He licks and sucks with wild abandon, groaning at your deliciousness. He doesn’t stop until you are begging him, “Joel, fuck me. Fuck me with your big cock, please. Oh god, fuck me, already!”

He removes his mouth from your exterior and replaces it with his cock. He rubs and rubs his bulbous crown between your molten wetness, gliding it back and forth until it’s coated with your slickness. When he thinks it’s enough, he pushes into your tight cunt. At first, your channel is resistant. But slowly, your velvety walls happily start devouring Joel’s cock until his entire length basks in the warmth. 

You are gasping at the sensation of being stretched out. It’s almost too much in this position, and a small rock of Joel’s hips gives way to your first orgasm. Your vision swirls as a wave of ecstasy comes crashing through. Your fingers grip the carpet as your cunt swells and clenches his cock. Your back arches as you cry out, “Fuck, Joel,”

Immediately, he stops, thinking he has hurt you or the baby. Panic-stricken, he asks, “What’s wrong?”

“N-n-nothing,” You stutter out, attempting to catch your breath. Your lungs greedily suck in the air, saturated with the smell of sex. You tell him, “You made me cum,”

“Already?” He murmurs and devilishly thinks about the five times he made you cum last week. Joel rocks his hips again, and you whimper at the movement. At a glacial pace, Joel pulls out before sliding back in and burying his cock to the hilt. You’re gripping the carpet and moaning like crazy. He’s sure the neighbours can hear you, which drives Joel forward. He wants them to know how good he is at fucking you. 

Joel grabs your hips, nails sinking into the fleshy bits, and plows in and out of your pussy. He’s pulling all the way out and pushing all the way in, ensuring you feel every inch of his girthy length. Your body is rocking beneath his, tits swaying like udders. You reach between your legs to touch your clit. It’s pulsating and yearning to be touched. You gingerly circle it, knowing a light touch is enough to send you over the edge. And you’re right because, within seconds, your second orgasm is rolling through.

You wail, “Joel, Joel, Joel,” but Joel doesn’t stop this time. He continues to youthfully spear your pussy and watches as your creamy juices coat his cock. Vigorously, you rub your clit because a third orgasm is imminent. Your back arches and your hips are high in the air, and Joel stops, pulling out completely, to watch as your pussy trembles with another orgasm. Your thighs are dripping with your juices, and his name still spills out of your mouth. Repeatedly. 

His hand squeezes your hip, “Mmm, darlin’. That’s your third one - should we slow down? Don’t want to hurt -”

“Need more,” You interrupt him, “Need to cum more, Joel,”

Joel shakes his head, “Darlin’,'' He knows you aren’t thinking straight, driven to recklessness because of the pure ecstasy that has raptured your body. You turn over, laying on your back. You splay your legs apart, and your pussy glistens in the light. It’s so swollen, so puffy. Your hand is back, and your fingers are working your clit. But from this angle, it’s a little more challenging because of your protruding belly. And it’s making you frustrated. Especially because Joel is just watching, not helping. 

“Joel,” You growl, “Fuck me,”

A single eyebrow of his shoots up, and you begrudgingly mutter, “Please,”

Much to your surprise, Joel moves. However, instead, he hovers above your chest and settles his cock in the valley of your tits. His hands squeeze them, and the milk for his unborn child sprays out, sprinkling across your chest and hitting his cock. At first, Joel goes slow, his cock passing between your tits. It’s a different kind of friction and holy hell… it feels good. His cock, slippery with your juices and milk, has him gliding through your breasts with ease. He grips harder and fucks your tits faster, rocking his hips back and forth. 

As he slips in and out, he milks your bountiful breasts in the process. He does it until you are soaked. He’s breathing hard, and his balls are tightening. He’s close, so fucking close. But he doesn’t want to finish like this because he knows you want more orgasms, and who is he to deny his pregnant partner? You have been carrying his baby for months, and it hasn’t been easy. And Joel knows that once the baby is born, you won’t be able to have sex for weeks. Not until you’re healed. So, why not let you live a little? 

He pulls his cock out of your cleavage and moves his face to yours, kissing you passionately. His tongue swirls and mingles with yours before he shifts down. Joel latches his mouth around your nipple and practically inhales a gulp of cream into his mouth. He doesn’t swallow and comes back up, kissing you again. Messily, Joel washes your mouth with your milk. It’s sweet and warm, and it’s fucking kinky as hell. It has you moaning into Joel’s mouth. He moans back, letting you know he loves every moment of it too.

As he continues to kiss you, Joel reaches down and takes his cock, sliding it over your puffy and sensitive lips before pressing it into your velvet channel. Your body welcomes him, and your mouth drops, gasping as you effortlessly fit his entire length . Once more, Joel explores your warm depths with a vigorous youthfulness. His flesh is clapping yours over and over until you are yelling his name over and over. Your hands are gripping his forearms, nails digging into his skin. 

“Mmm, Joel, mmm, Joel, gonna cum, Joel, mmm - fuck, fuck, fuck!” Your eyes roll back, and an unwavering fourth climax raptures your body. A euphoric release rolls across your body, and you undulate beneath Joel. He watches as your belly quivers, and he feels your cunt trying to expel him, and when he does finally pull out, a massive bolt of liquid escapes - he realizes you’re squirting. Something he’s only heard rumours about. He’s astonished by the amount of liquid that is coming out and by how long your orgasm is lasting.

Meanwhile, you are gasping for air, lungs greedily gulping it down. You have no idea what happened; all you know is it’s a big wet mess down there. You’re gazing at Joel, cock-drunk. Orgasm-drunk. Your brain is buzzing with satisfaction. Your fixation on cumming has been satiated. However, your partner is still rock hard. He still needs to cum, and he’s more eager than ever before. He shoves his cock back in, and the molten wetness has his cock quivering as his climax punches through, pushing him over the edge.

He doesn't warn you. He doesn’t have to - the damage is done. You’re reaping what he sowed. Joel shoots his seed as far into you as possible with a single thrust. His hands touch your belly, caressing the soft skin, and he pushes his cock even deeper, where he empties the rest of his balls. When he pulls out, his cum mixed with yours oozes out from your crease and pools onto the carpet beneath you. 

You dare to smile up at him, murmuring: “Thank you, Daddy,”

[shima-draws]

Malachi time 🥰

More info on him below the cut!

Name: Malachi (Codename: Valet)

Age: 28

Hair color: Brown (with white streaks)

Eye color: Gold

Element: Fire

The yin to Rozen's yang 😤 A lot of his story has already been shared on Rozen's post so I'll just be copying over most of that!

Malachi had a relatively normal life growing up with a family who loved him, but their lives were brought to a violent end when they were suddenly attacked by a group of rogues after their fortune. Soon after he was brought to the same orphanage Rozen was part of. Losing his parents was traumatic for Malachi; he retreated within himself and could really only express himself through anger and hatred in an attempt to deal with the loss.

Out of everyone in the orphanage Malachi butted heads with Rozen the most, finding his similar prickly personality and arrogance to be extremely irritating. Rozen viewed Malachi as a little brat and basically had the opinion of “boo hoo you’re an orphan well at least your parents loved you and didn’t throw you away like mine did”. (So, a biiiiit of jealousy there. LMAO) Malachi correctly called him out for being a total fake, knowing that his entire life was just an act. They were definitely at each other’s throats for a while!

All of this changed when Rozen got a bit too big for his britches and pissed off the wrong crowd. Surprisingly, Malachi rescued him from being beaten to absolute shit and Rozen was shocked that Malachi actually helped him. Even though he'd been through some hardships Malachi was still a kind person at heart, and couldn't just leave Rozen to get hurt (even though he was really tempted to lol). Rozen started to soften up around him after this, and slowly started to drop his defenses and show his true personality. Despite Malachi finding Rozen’s change of heart “creepy”, and his sudden personality change kind of drastic, he couldn’t help but grow attached to him too. Before long they were practically attached at the hip, and if you saw one of them you’d know the other wasn’t too far behind.

At this point Rozen was fully himself instead of the persona/act he’d been putting on for all his life. AKA he essentially has the personality of a golden retriever, is kind of an airhead (or an idiot, according to Malachi), and is a total softie. Him finally showing his kinder side helped Malachi too, and eventually, after spending two years together, Malachi was crushing on him HARD lol. Of course, Rozen only really viewed Malachi as a best friend, especially due to their age difference (being 4 years apart, with Rozen being 17 at the time and Malachi being 13). Both of them had the opinion that the other had saved them, in a way. Malachi depended heavily on Rozen, who helped him through his trauma and helped him come to terms with his parents' death. They both looked at each other and thought "there's still good in the world after all" 😭

Throughout the two years they spent together, Malachi actually grew quite close with one of the local shop owners, a lovely girl who ran a bakery. She was endlessly kind to him and sparked a passion in him, which lead to him wanting to learn how to bake. Most evenings he'd find himself in her shop learning the ropes (with Rozen mooching off of his end results lol). Malachi mused that maybe one day he could use his skills to make his own pastries and get paid for it ;)

As time went on Rozen and Malachi became more and more determined to leave the orphanage together, either being adopted as a package deal or just leaving when they were finally of age. This came crashing down when a couple looking to adopt just Malachi showed up, and despite the pair’s attempts to sabotage any sort of chance Malachi would get adopted, the couple was insistent on taking him home. This sparked some suspicion in Rozen, wondering just why they were so intent on Malachi. He soon found out that these people were connected to the rogues that had killed Malachi’s parents–they were seeking the same fortune and knew that Malachi was the key to finding it. Rozen confronted them and convinced them to take him instead, as Malachi had told him he had no idea about his parents’ riches so he’d essentially be useless to the couple. Rozen offered his services and promised he would stop at nothing to find them the treasure, as long as they left Malachi alone. The couple agreed.

Malachi, of course, was devastated to find out about Rozen being adopted (and right before he’d become of age too), not wanting to be apart from him. Rozen explained his reasoning and revealed it was all part of his plan–he’d go away with the couple and then slip back to the orphanage in the middle of the night, where he and Malachi would run away together. With a promise to return, Rozen left with the couple, leaving Malachi behind to wait.

Malachi didn't get the chance to wait, unfortunately, because suddenly the village was attacked, and the orphanage was set on fire. Desperate to get to Rozen, Malachi tried in vain to get out, but found himself trapped. He was burned badly by the fire, and right as he thought he was going to die, he suddenly awakened his elemental powers--the power of fire. Ironic that the thing to save him was the thing that hurt him in the first place. Using this gift, he was able to escape the building, and was rescued by none other than the baker girl he'd been training under. She rushed him off to the nearest recovery shelter, and after days of being unconscious, when he awoke she broke the news to him that Rozen was most likely dead. She explained that the couple who had adopted him were found slaughtered in a nearby manor, along with all of their associates, and that they were found out to be criminals. Malachi was absolutely heartbroken by the news and demanded more details about Rozen. The girl told him that Rozen's body was not found, but it was unlikely that he escaped unscathed. This was enough for Malachi, who was certain that Rozen was out there alive somewhere. Maybe he'd come back to the orphanage and was waiting for him right now!

The baker girl took Malachi to the now destroyed orphanage in an attempt to find Rozen. However, Rozen wasn't there. Malachi refused to give up and decided to wait for him. Days passed and with no further sign that Rozen would show the baker girl gently told him that maybe it was time for him to move on. Devastated, Malachi still remained stubborn and told her he would wait, despite knowing that it wasn't likely Rozen would come back for him. But there HAD to be a reason, right? Maybe Rozen was in trouble. If he had been attacked that night, maybe he couldn't make it back to the village. Maybe...

Malachi was placed under the baker girl's care, and from there he began his search. Any sort of leads or sightings of Rozen was the treasure he sought after for the next 15 years, absolutely determined to find any clues to his whereabouts. Between his searching, he continued to hone his craft as a baker, along with learning how to use his magic. Eventually he was scouted by a sort of intelligence agency, who promised to help him in his search for Rozen in return for his services. Malachi leapt at the chance, knowing that this would open avenues previously off limits to him.

After years of essentially being an agent, and now a very skilled fighter, Malachi was given a new assignment--infiltrate an underground crime organization, a gambling ring, in order to get information so that they could eventually be dismantled. After being accepted into the organization under the codename "Valet" and meeting their leader, Roi, Malachi was shocked when he was introduced to one of Roi's top members--a master of cards, a man by the codename of "Cavalier". Malachi recognized him immediately. It was Rozen!! Finally, after years of searching he'd found the person he'd been looking for. Rozen didn't seem to recognize him, but, well. Malachi couldn't really blame him, he HAD changed a lot over the past decade or so. (It stung though, just a little bit.)

Malachi was immediately ready to blow his cover and abandon the mission in order to get Rozen out; this was part of the terms he'd set with the agency--if at any point he found Rozen, or if the agency found Rozen for him, he'd be able to leave of his own volition. However, the agency refused to let him blow his cover, saying the mission was too important, and that Rozen, working directly under Roi, was likely in grave danger. (To Malachi, this seemed like an even bigger reason to get Rozen out ASAP.)

After a lot of back and forth Malachi finally came to an agreement with his agency, but he was NOT happy about it. He had to spend the next several months undercover as Valet, tortured by the fact that Rozen was literally within reach but he couldn't do shit about it. And to top it all off, he witnessed everything happening behind the scenes--how toxic Roi was, how he manipulated and threatened and abused Rozen, and Malachi was seconds away from attempting murder at any given time. All he can do is be as sympathetic as possible and try to butt into his business, urging him to break free from Roi and find a better path in life. Rozen isn’t too happy with someone intruding on his personal matters and lashes out at Malachi, causing a rift between them. Malachi only wants to help and doesn’t want to see Rozen suffer; Rozen knows better than anyone that there’s no escape from Roi and has resigned himself to his fate–and he doesn’t want to see Malachi get hurt either.

This is when Nahu and co. come in ;)

Nahu and co. are sent to infiltrate the gambling ring, and immediately things are thrown into absolute chaos. After many twists and turns (and plot), Nahu goes to face off against Roi in one final fight. Roi captures Rozen and chains him up, unwilling to let his perfect pawn go free, and poisons him so that he loses any strength to escape. While Nahu is absolutely wrecking shit fighting Roi, Malachi sneaks up to where Rozen is being held and attempts to set him free. Through the haze, Rozen witnesses "Valet" trying to free him, and sadly reminisces about Malachi. Rozen tells Malachi to let him go, to let him die–that way he can be with the only person he cares about again. Malachi yells at him and says no, he can’t die, because HE'S Malachi! Screw his cover, screw everything he'd been taught about keeping his identity secret, Malachi's been suffering for MONTHS and he won't let Rozen go now that he's so close.

Nahu defeats Roi, and before Rozen succumbs to the poison, Malachi threatens him and says he’d better not die before he can kick his ass. Days later he finally wakes up to find Malachi beside him, and immediately bursts into tears. Malachi explains everything about his past, about what happened that night, about how and why he'd infiltrated the gambling ring, and about how desperate he'd been to reveal himself to Rozen. Malachi tells him that he hadn’t thought of anything else but finding him for the past 15 years, and now that he’d found Rozen he’d never leave his side again 🥺 Rozen feels the same way. They both realize they’re probably in trouble, with Malachi prepared to abandon his duty to be with Rozen and Rozen with his…complicated history being involved in an underground crime organization. LMAO

Luckily for them, Nahu is all about recruiting them, and they both agree to join his squad <3 Their new life together begins!! Rozen has to grapple with the fact that Malachi is definitely not the kid he used to know and has grown up, a lot. Malachi, meanwhile, has been in love with Rozen since he was 12 and is trying everything he can to properly express that. Rozen slowly comes to terms with the fact that yeah, he’s probably in love with Malachi, and things just get more interesting from there as they dance around each other for months just trying to figure it out ;)

And there we go...both of them posted and together at last <3