#their stuff is anything w good line weight

[nyaskitten]

Here's some stuff me and @emimii did in Magma.io today!!!

(things of note they said; they hc Brad's dad is Roden Tudanone, and his mom is Eve L. Tudabone)

(vania's wings inspired by @jaypilled)

[oreo-creampie]

“𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟?”

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: double penetration with toy and dildo’s dick, caught masturbating, teasing, begging, praise and degradation, some objectification (toji), roommate!toji, roommate!suguru, roommate!satoru, first time, friends to friends with benefits, caught jerking off, satoru jerks off in the living room, recorded accidental confession/purposefully confessions, vibrator, praising degradation

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 @sluut4toji: HII IM BACK LOL maybe toji w prompt 11 ?

𝐟𝐞𝐲: I wanted to do this prompt with satoru and suguru so why not have them all on one post! i hope you enjoy it and don't mind

𝐓𝐨𝐣𝐢

Biting into your lip pumping the thick dildo into your sloppy, drenched cunt. Angling it just right to hit your g-spot making your toes curl. Closing your eyes, letting your lip go with a groan of Toji’s name as you cum on your toy.

He croons “How often do you think of me when you touch yourself? Pretty slut playing with yourself thinking of your roommate. What did I do that go your beautiful cunt this soaking wet.” He grabs your remote, glaring at the screen scoffing as if offended.

Shutting the tv off, and slipping his gym shorts off. His fat, veiny cock hangs well past his thick balls. So long, and thick, with a dark short patch of hair above.

He’s been wearing no underwear, explaining by you had gotten such cunt soaking outline of his cock earlier. Which got you to masturbate, to begin with to one of several bookmarked videos of faceless men similar to Toji.

He crawls onto your bed, settling between your legs. “You keep walking around shirtless in those snug gym shorts. Your cock looks so big in them even when soft, I can tell whenever you get hard. Please I want you to fuck me stupid.” Gliding the pulsing dildo out when Toji grabs your wrist.

Letting go of the toy for Toji to take over. Pumping it into your oversensitive squelching cunt. Spitting into his large palm, smearing it over his thick cock head. “You’re a sexy dumb little cock sleeve, aren't you? Playin’ with yourself moaning my name when you can walk across the hall get on your knees and beg me to fuck your tight cunt loose.” Your eyes widen when Toji lines his cock up with your already stuffed cunt.

Reaching out, splaying your fingers on his well defined abs. “Yess I'm your sexy dumb little cock sleeve. Nnng!” He quickly rocks his hips forward. Using his strength and weight to stuff his thick, veiny into your wet, sensitive cunt. “Fuck! Daddy! Fuck! Toji!” Double stuffing your cunt with your toys was nothing compared to the sweet burning pleasure of your cunt taking Toji’s cock with another fat dildo.

“Oh you're mind? Then I can fuck my cock sleeve however I want." He groans, setting a rough pace. Keeping the toy still inside of you pulsing on your g-spot. His balls hitting your ass.

He groans, "It feels like I’m fucking a tight vibrating wet pussy sleeve. Gonna make me bust a fat nut in your pretty cunt, you'd like that, wouldn't you? You want to be my sexy cum dump?” Holding the toy next to his cock, gliding it almost fully out. Keeping both fat heads inside you.

Toji groans, the smooth sound picking up a bit of rasp. Your cunt squelching with each quick thrust. “Mmmm listen to your cunt squelch. Did ya just cum before I caught you? Good, you're pretty tight cunt should be extra sensitive. I want you to feel this after I'm done with you.” He pauses moving the toy on top of his cock.

Your toes curl and your cunt quivers from the strange pleasure of the toy and cock partly swirling. "There we go, now I can watch ya cry while I use like a pussy sleeve." You're going to lose your mind getting fucked like this.

𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮

Shuffling into the living room at three in the morning. Unable to sleep and thirsty. Your quest for something to drink is forgotten when you hear Satoru moaning louder than the porn playing on the tv.

At this angle, you can't see anything but the tv. A woman similar to you is getting rammed by a dildo on a fuck machine. "She looks a lot like me." Glossing over your statement with, "Why in the living room?" He groans, and you can picture him with that cocky smirk that makes you want to kiss him every time.

"Why not? And that's why I'm jerking off to it. What you said about me early has been giving me blue balls." The slick sound of him his cock off gets faster. Your cunt is getting wetter. "I'd get off to pictures and videos of you if I had some. Since I know how badly you want to fuck me why not confess how often do you think of me when you touch yourself?" A recording of your voice fills the air.

'Ever since he moved in it's like I'm heat my pussy stays wet. Every time he smirks I want to sit on his face and drown him. Or scratch his pale back whenever he walks around shirtless. It doesn't matter how much I touch myself while thinking about him I'm still too damn horny. I'm going to-' He pauses your long ramble about him.

Your cheeks are burning more than your soaking wet cunt is. Remembering how to walk, going for his phone. "Why the hell do you have that saved!?" He stands up, holding his phone well out of your reach above his head.

Crossing your arms, huffing, "What the point! You've already heard it several times by now." Pressing your thighs together, your indignation conflicting with your lust. His cock is touching your stomach. His pre cum and lube smearing onto your shirt.

"Damn it." Pealing your shirt off, not caring since Satoru standing in front of you naked. Jerking off to a video of women similar to you. After playing your lustful confession.

"You're so mean." Pushing his chest the falls back dramatically into the sofa. Pulling you with him, shifting to straddle his lap. "Messin' up everything but my pussy. I can soak through so much of my underwear and now you're messing up my favorite shirt." He shuts you up by roughly kissing you.

Grabbing your hips, his thick fingers sink into your squishy crease. Lining you up with his cock, guiding your clothed cunt. Grinding your puffy clit along his long cock. You can feel the puffy veins through your thin underwear.

Parting your lips, Satoru slips his tongue into your mouth. His grasp tightens on your hips when you try to grind your hips faster. Whining into the kiss, clenching your thighs, and breaking away.

Your underwear is getting annoying quickly. Pleading with him, "Please I want to feel you, let me take my underwear off." He smirks, kissing your forehead.

"Why should I? How about I tease you n' not let you cum. See how horny you get before you can't handle it and you break down crying begging for my cock. I should show you mean." Roughly slapping your ass, you jerk from the sweet pain. Moaning, your cunt clenching around nothing.

𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮

Smoke drifts past Suguru's kissable lips and out the open window. Sliding his hand along this thick veiny, beautiful cock. White pre-cum pearls up on his cock head before he smears it with his large fingers.

You wish those fingers were inside you instead of you're own. They look so thick, and long. Even though he hasn't touched you, you're already convinced that Suguru could fill you up, and reach your g-spot to make you cum faster than you could.

Suguru fucks his fist, the well-defined lines of his abs deepening. "Look at you beautiful, does thinking of me when you touch yourself always make you this wet?" Sliding your fingers out of your soaking wet cunt to stroke your clit. Your cunt clenches with anticipation when Suguru stuffs his big out before coming closer.

Spreading your lips apart to show him your tight cunt aching to be full of his cock. "Suguru please, are you just going to watch and jerk off or are you going to touch me? Please touch me, I'm tired of dreamin' about you. I need you to touch me, please." He grabs your thighs, massaging circles into your skin so close to your plush lips.

Shifting your hips, he shifts his weight onto you to keep you from squirming. He croons, "I'm touching you, just like you asked. Yet you still look so upset and needy. How do you play with yourself when you think of me?" Whining frustration builds beneath your lust.

Pleading with Suguru, "Touch my soaking wet cunt. Please I'll lose my mind if you don't touch, fuck and stretch my cunt out." He swipes his thumb between your lips up to your clit. Moaning with a grin when he strokes your clit.

You confess, "Use my vibrator on my clit. Or I stuff my cunt with a dildo." He stuffs two thick, longer fingers into your cunt with a loud squelch and a groan. "Please I can't stop thinking about you." Gliding his fingers out, spreading them apart admiring the slick coating them.

"Princess I'm going to get you addicted to my cock." Licking his fingers clean with a loud groan. "Where is your toy?" You point to your dresser. Suguru's heavy, beautiful cock swings as he walks over to the dresser.

Getting the toy, turning it on, "Please Sug fuck me hard and fast, cum in me, cum on me. Please Suguru I wanna be fucked stupid, till I can't walk." Standing at the edge of the bed, looming over you pressing the vibrator to your clit.

"Your safeword is melon. I'll be so proud of you if you use it. I'll also be proud if you be a good girl and let me break your beautiful sloppy wet cunt." Gliding two thick fingers into your cunt, slowly spreading them apart. Watching your tiny cunt stretch, spitting inside of you, then stuffing it deep.

strawberry brat all works

[thatdeadaquarius]

Imagine a horribly clumsy creator in the sagau... like trips over their own feet, starts coughing due to choking on air randomly, knocking a vase off a table that was in the middle of the table somehow???? Silly goofy stuff like that (I pull these silly goofs often personally)

(obv goes w/o saying sorry for being so late to reply /gen) ;-;

clumsy reader is so me core idk why i didnt think of this lmao

(this gif is liek the modern equivalent of Charlotte posting ur embarrassing clumsy moments on insta Steambird acc lmao)

(so sometimes im lazy and dont include the ask stuff esp if its shorter like this, so here's at least the characters in this one: Fontaine ppl <3 along with a G for general audience, barring cuss words)

Navia would politely ask you to go the edge or whatever area ur in whenever she pulls out her cannons/guns LMAO

every time you and either Clorinde or Neuvillette are walking next to you, or doing rlly anything, its like night and day

ur out here finding all the cracks in the sidewalk, bumping everything that could even possibly have a liquid in it, and have constant bruises from hip checking/stubbing toes on mechas walking around

Clorinde is impressed at that point bc mechas are actively programmed to get out of your way, so how u managed to put them back into ur way rlly fascinates her 😭😭

Neuvillette would like to wrap u in fabric/bubble wrap equivalent for his old ass, in an attempt to desperately stop u from hurting urself lol

u get a new coat or new pants from him all the time, u just thought at first he was rlly into giving u Fontaine fashion until Furina pointed out that it was spring/summer and you wouldn't wear thick woolen pants and fur-lined coats everyday 💀

(poor dragon guy doesn't rlly get the practical side of clothes, he likes fashion, but he inadvertently subscribes to the "hoes don't get cold" philosophy by being an ancient dragon lord)

Wriothesley is unfortunately nice enough to constantly try and catch his poor god, which ends well for neither of you 50% of the time

its not even ur weight takes him down, he's buff as hell after all, and he's dealt with rowdy inmates, its just.. ur clumsiness spreads.

if ur tripping, and the poor Duke reaches out to catch you, ur reaching out at the same time to steady urself on a side table w/a vase full of water, which u then knock off, drenching ur back and his face at the same time LMAO

he doesn't learn, despite u literally begging him to stop trying to help u, then u try and compromise to just let u fall and help u afterward asdfghkl-

Wrio's too chivalrous tho, the most u can get him to do is always grab ur arm instead of trying to bodily catch you

if u think after the first like, ✌️ TWO times Lynette is willing to help you, u r so wrong lmao

she's seen her brothers clumsiness, she knows theres no saving u

she does comfort u after slipping (not even falling but just flailing dramatically) for the 5th time in the puddles around water fountains tho

Lyney and Freminet are lowkey legit convinced someones cursed their god atp 😰

Freminet always had bandaids for u, and Lyney keeps a supply of ur fav candy to cheer u up after embarrassing urself by falling ass backwards right into the Fountain of Lucine right in front of Opera house lmao

...

...Charlotte thinks this is all vv hilarious, no she has no respect for ur godliness, her archon was Furina like LMAO- IM SORRYYY

(she has started a small section in the steambird of a near daily- DAILY picture of u being clumsy 😭)

(u, not srsly, threaten to smite her and she just giggles)

(its ok they take it all in a cute/endearing trait type of way)

☆

again, sorry for lateness, when i reopen askbox (soon, FINALLY-)

ill try and stay more on top of it and try and sort whatre just chats/non-requests better too 😭😭

hope u guys are having a good week!! tysm for being patient and nice to me :')

Safe Travels Kai,

💀♒

If you wanna join a taglist, DM me what for! "Pspspsss, please tag me for [All SAGAU posts, Only SAGAU Language AUs, diff fandom, etc.]!"

(If you ever wanna drop, just DM me! "No more taglists/[specifically this AU/fandom] please!")

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @chocogi / @fallen-starr / @areaderofbooks / @devilangel657 / @esthelily / @justinsomniachild / @nanithefuck / @questionotmystopit / @chinuneko / @silvers-tongue

@kiyomi-uchiha777

<3

[taro-bae]

hi! i loved your headcanons on the twst boys w a dancer!reader! cld i request riddle, azul, vil, and silver with a professional figure skater reader and they see reader doing quads? thank you sm, ur writing is amazing!

I wanted to write a figure skater version! Thank you for the motivation

I'm glad you like the writing ♡♡♡

TWST Boys with a Figure Skater reader

Summary: They find out that reader is a figure skater

Characters: Riddle, Azul, Vil, Silver

Notes/CW: gender neutral reader, no warnings, could be read as platonic for some, some scenarios have set settings (eg. frozen lake)

Riddle

Very impressed, he never thought you could do stuff like that and make it look so effortless. He doesn't know anything about figure skating, he did not watch it or ever see it because he wasn't allowed to. So when he sees you on the ice he's staring at you like you're a strawberry tart at a bakery!

You dragged this boy out on an ice-skating date to the ice rink. He was really nervous about this idea, he never skated before let alone even been any public entertainment places. He follows after you overthinking how this will go down.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

You help him put on the ice skates making sure they are put on properly and secure. You have your own, a bit more worn out but good quality. You help him onto the ice slowly teaching him how to hold himself up, balance his weight and basic moves. He does get a bit tired and sore quickly going to sit down on the benches on the side lines. You stay on the rink moving to the centre of the space to avoid the small crowd of people on the main circle.

Riddle watched you intently. You move so fluidly as if it's not that hard. He struggled with just simple glides and you're out there spins, performing some pirouettes. He takes notice of your flexibility and how much time you must have put into training. His eyes follow you as you jump of the floor spinning in the airs with your arms contracted to your body legs slightly crossed over. He holds in a breath worried for you trying such a dangerous stunt. His mind is racing "what if they fall?", "How are they not slipping". At the same time he wants you to keep going, too see more. You're skill are so impressive, so beautiful.

You come off the ice, sitting down beside him a little puffed out. He looks at you for a few seconds unable to form a sentence, just staring at you with a amazed expression. "That was beautiful...how did you..." He is still trying to figure out how that is even possible, especially the quad, the amount of force and momentum you must need to perform that. "You are truly incredible..."

Azul

Azul is interested in the concept of ice skating, the idea of using an ice surface to perform such graceful and dangerous stunts. When he finds out you are a figure skater he is memorised. He will be very impressed by the ability of the human body to do such things involving great coordination and strength. Azul is relatively new to walking and here you are spinning and elevating high off the slippery surface landing on two thin blades.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

It's the middle of winter, Azul goes to take a walk near campus. He comes across a small pond that now is frozen still. He doesn't pay much mind to it until he sees you in the corner of his eyesight. He freezes looking at you intently with his mouth agape.

You don't seem to notice him standing in the distance, your focused on practising some skills. You can't leave campus so you chose this frozen secluded lake to peacefully practice and enjoy your figure skating.

He watches you glide across the space, keeping elegant and controlled movements, hypnotising him into a trance. You build up a bit of energy, speeding up to push off into a quadruple jump winding yourself in the air. As you land, Azul let's out a breath of air, the warmth of his breath mixing in with the cold.

He slowly walks his way towards you, approaching slowly trying to keep up his business persona. His heart is beating fast trying to maintain his confident composer.

You note his presence, acknowledging him as you skate over closer to him with a small wave.

"Uh...t-that was rather impressive I must say." He says trying to stay calm. His cheeks are flushed in a light pink, if it's because it's cold or if he's blushing, you'll never know. "Are you not cold?" He asks a little concerned seeing you're not wearing that many layers, your jacket and belongings stranded off to the side of the lake.

Being the shady little businessman, he would offer you some ways you could promote yourself wanting to share your talent and profit off it. If you offer to teach him how to ice skate, he would be a little hesitant, he is horrible at fitness and athletic activities. But he would appreciate it wanting to bond over the activity, beware he'll be gripping onto you like his life depends on it.

Vil

Silver

This man here knows how to hold himself on the ice and to do so with grace and elegance. Elegance is his second name. Vil knows the basics, he's got some experience up his expensive sleeves. He knows a professional when he sees one, he knew you had some secret ability. He noticed your form and visible evidence of being trained in a sport. When he realises you're a figure skater he's intrigued.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

You were on an empty ice skating rink practising your routine. Vil walks around the the perimeter, his gloved hand brushing the top of the boarder. He stops in the middle leaning slightly onto the edge observing you.

You see a familiar face looking over at Vil who is attentively watching you. He makes eye contact with you realising he's distracting you a little. "Don't mind me, dear" He projects. As you continue practising some skills or going over a routine he takes in your technique and line qualities. The way you carry yourself, your energy. He feels a sense of pride. He stands there tall and confident almost looking like a coach.

He puts on some ice skates making his way towards you. "You've got flawless technique." He compliments you, "would you do me the honour of showing me what you can do?".

You do want to make a good impression on Vil Schoenheit himself. You build up your energy stabilising your breathing, you perform a sequence leading into a quad jump. Vil remains rather stoic but with a soft look in his eyes. He's not as stunned as some other people would be but he feel admiration towards you.

He will share his opinion with you and ask for some tips and advice on some moves. Overall he's very supportive of you being a figure skater wanting to see more of your performances. He might as well film some of your combos or tricks. He is really proud of you and wants to see how you progress and improve even more.

Silver cannot skate himself, however he's seen some things like figure skating growing up in Briar Valley where it's cold. He is a very interested boy who wants to understand and learn when given the opportunity. When he sees you he remains calm quietly observing you. He will compliment you on your skills and will mostly be interested in understand how they work theoretically.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Silver was asleep near the woods like he does often (baby don't sleep in the cold!). He woke up surrounded by a few animals. One of the bunnies hops around almost asking Silver to follow him. Silver follows the small white bunny to a frozen lake in the middle of the woods.

He lifts his gaze seeing a familiar figure. He knows it's you, but what are you doing here in such weather. His knight instincts kick in feeling protective for you concerned you are in the middle of a frozen lake, that's quite dangerous, let alone you must be cold.

He walks down keeping a serious and stoic demeanour. You look over making eye contact as you continue skating. He stays quiet watching but feeling the need to tell you to get off the ice. "What if the ice cracks?" He thinks to himself. He can't seem to say anything he's very engaged in watching you continue gliding across the small lake, the blades of the skates leaving thin marks on the ice surface.

You continue going into a series of jumps. He thinks you look beautiful as you do that, you make it look effortless and easy. His heart feels warm at the sight of you clearly enjoying yourself, that this brings you peace and happiness. He doesn't have the heart to stop you.

You prepare going into a quad. Silvers muscles tense up, he subconsciously want to protect you in case you fall. He feels a sense of relief and fascination as you land coming out of the jump.

When you finish and move onto the edge of the lack back onto the ground he comes up. "You're really skilled" his comment is genuine but blunt. "However you shouldn't be doing that on a frozen lake, its dangerous" He says concerned. You insists that it's fine and the ice is thick. "Are you cold? Would you like my jacket?". Silver is in awe at the fact that you are a figure skater but he can't help but be protective and caring for your well-being.

I headcanon Briar Valley to be cold since it's based around European countries (Sleeping Beauty is set in Italy and the Character names have Italian, like 'Malleus' which is Latin, French even slightly Russian roots)

Anyways, that's that. Thank you for your request!

♡

[macfrog]

you'll hurt me if you don't trust me sex on fire chapter eight

super special sparkly shoutout to @chloeangelic ✨💛✨ whose influence inspired a whole load of intimacy in this. it is, unashamedly, eleven thousand words of sheer self-indulgence. so. love u guys. see u soon

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: you’re unwell. joel makes you feel better. until he doesn’t.

warnings: age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalanced power dynamic, cursing, sugardaddy!joel, softsoftsoft!joel, they eat chinese food together, reader has her period + mention/description of used tampon, discussion of abandonment/absent parents & parental death, discussion of cheating, lying, thigh riding, unprotected piv period shower sex (that is a mouthful thatswhatshesaid), VERY needy reader, SLIGHT dacryphilia (kinda not really?), creampie, aftercare joel, praise kink, daddy kink, angst & fluff & angst all over again

word count: 11k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 💚

Martha had been pretty good about it. She’d watched you near-doubled in pain most of yesterday, hobbling to the kitchen every four hours to top up on pain meds. She knew you weren’t making it up. She made a conservative two jokes about you calling in this morning, and then told you to rest up. She’d let Joel know you’d be back tomorrow.

“You owe me, though. Joel’s got that shareholders meeting today. If I’m forced to sit in with him ‘n his cronies talkin’ numbers and takin’ notes, sweetheart, all so you can catch up on The Bachelorette…”

Alright. Three jokes.

You hang up and slide the phone back across your nightstand; roll over and stuff a pillow between your thighs as if that’ll do anything against the dull throb gnawing at your belly. Your shades are tilted upward, shrinking your bedroom into a foggy gray save for the shards of light which split across the ceiling.

There’s a heavy ache tugging behind your eyes, an irritating weight which shoves you into the arms of sleep and then pulls you back by the hair before you’re taken off by it. You’re dozing, fingertips massaging your eyelids and stretching the skin back and forth when the doorbell slices the stillness of your apartment in two, shrill in your sleep-deprived ears.

You ignore it at first. Fuck that. Fuck whoever that is. You’re not planning on leaving your cocoon today unless it’s to go pee, grab a snack, or maybe if you lose the remote in your sheets.

But it rings out again. Twice, this time. And in a blur of hormonal rage, you whip the sheets back, throw yourself out of bed and stagger down the hallway. You straighten up only enough to peer through the peephole, your palms pressed to the back of the door, and that’s when you see him.

He’s cradling a brown bag in his left arm, a second dangling from his wrist. His head is huge in comparison to his body, owing to the distorted fisheye glass. He shifts from foot to foot impatiently, awkwardly glancing down the hall. You’d recognize that jawline fucking anywhere.

Your breath pushes nervously against the door. You click the lock and curl around the heavy wood, your fingers clamping on the edge.

The two of you eye one another up and down before Joel speaks.

“Hi, darlin’.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Martha said you were sick?”

You pause. Look down to the bunch of wild flowers sat in the crook of his elbow, and then back up to his face, painted with – what is it – concern? There are lines you rarely see when he’s looking at you, carved deep between his brows.

A fire strikes in your belly.

“…I’m fine. I’m – I’m all good. Just – feeling a little…”

“What is it? Is it the flu? I brought flu stuff.” He nods into the bag, and reaches inside for a box of cold tablets and a pack of tissues. He tosses them across the threshold and you catch them, holding them close against your shoulder.

You smile, trying to hold back on a laugh, but also because what the fuck? He’s so sweet. The flames lick at the bottom of your lungs.

“It’s not…it’s not the flu, no.”

Joel nods, looking back into the bag. “Good thing I also brought these, then.”

He tilts it forward and you unhook from the door, leaning over to peer in. A box of Tampax, two bottles of painkillers, green packets of face masks and floral sachets of herbal teas. You fish one out.

“Chamomile,” you muse, pouting.

He shrugs. “Lady at the store said it’s a good muscle relaxant, I don’t know.”

“Don’t you have a meeting today?”

“Cancelled it. You freaked me out.”

Your heart knocks on your chest wall. Did you fucking hear that? You freaked him out. You gulp in response. Swallow hard to shut it the hell up.

“So, Martha’s in the office by herself?”

“She’s a big girl. Told her she could leave early if she got my to-do list done. I give it until one,” he mutters, glancing down at his watch. “Oh,” he says then, spotting the brush of green and burst of purple in his arm, “got you these. I don’t know what you like yet, but…”

Yet. Yet yet yet.

You take the posy delicately between your fingers, as if it might fall apart at the mere touch of your hand. The brown paper crinkles as it lifts from Joel’s arm, and you tilt them in the hallway’s milky light.

The sprigs shoot in wild directions, tangling and twisting around one another. Daisies, lazy in their climb, swirling around the gentle brush of lavender, wrapped tightly to some other flower you don’t recognize. They’re tied together in a neat, white lace bow.

You imagine Joel stood in the middle of some fragrant florist, rotating on the spot. Dumbfounded before some assistant in a flowing skirt and tinkling bracelets sweeps over to him. I don’t know what she likes – yet, he tells them. And your heart screams into the pillow of muscle surrounding it.

“Thank you.” The smile on your lips threatens to break into a grin. At the same time, a shot of pain rips across your belly. “Come in,” you groan through a wince, taking his shirt in your fist and pulling him inside.

Your apartment is probably a couple years too small for you. You’ve accumulated so much in the time you’ve lived here that you could do with finding a bigger place – but you’re comfortable. It feels like home, when nowhere did for so long. It’s snug, and humble, and as you lead him down your hallway, you imagine you’re feeling how Joel probably did when he showed you around his childhood home.

Your cheeks flush with something a little blunter than embarrassment, but prickled with nerves. Your living room rolls its eyes inward, every object looking over in suspicion and wonder. Who the hell is this man, in your space, armed with toiletries and a ten-grand watch on his wrist?

You pause by the sink, filling a glass with water for the flowers. Your teeth bite down on your lip. There are dishes on the counter, there’s laundry piled on stools, blankets and cushions strewn messily across your couch. Joel shakes his head when you apologize, holds a palm up when you try to explain how you’d gotten home from work last night and gone straight to bed. I haven’t had the energy to clean.

He won’t hear it. Says he’s not here to see your clean apartment. Here to see you.

He sets the bags on the worktop and looks around the room. Blinks from the sheer curtains guarding the balcony doors, to the pastel candles on your coffee table. Smiles when he notices the Pretty Woman poster framed above the couch.

“What?” you ask, when his eyes finally land back on you. You tug at the hem of your shirt, pulling it further down your bare thighs.

“Nothin’. Just – knew there was somethin’ more to you.”

You fold your arms and rock forward gently on the balls of your feet. Your head tilts. Your brows knit.

Joel clarifies, “I knew you weren’t as put together as you pretend to be at work. This – looks like your place. That’s all.”

“Oh, yeah? ‘n what does my place look like?

His cheeks lift. “Little all over the place. Little surprising. But bright. Cozy. You.”

“Bright ‘n cozy,” you echo.

He nods. Purses his lips, then adds, “And great in bed.”

You cough a laugh, reach out to shove his arm, and he catches your hand. He reels you in against his body and cups your head, fixing some flyaway strands of hair. You stare up at him, eyelashes slowly blinking him in and out of focus. His mottled beard and hazel eyes. The flecks of honeydew and amber swimming around his pupil. His shirt wrinkles beneath your chin.

“You hungry?” he asks, voice rumbling through his chest. You seem to understand the vibrations sooner than the words, these days. He reaches for the handles of the white bag, sliding it over towards you. “I brought lunch.”

“You brought lunch.” You scoff, grinning to yourself. It quickly fades, though, when your hand lowers into the bag and meets a warm, flat surface – two halves of a folded lid. Your brows pull. “You brought…”

Joel smiles as you lift the box, popping it open. Hot steam escapes the minute the lid folds back.

“Chinese okay? I didn’t wanna ruin the surprise by callin’ to ask what you wanted. I can run out and grab somethin’ else if you’re not –”

“How did you know to get…?” Your voice whittles to nothing as you stare down at the fresh-cooked meal, the bed of greasy noodles mixed with fried vegetables. Your tongue swipes at the corners of your mouth.

“’cause I know you,” Joel says, digging for a second box from the bag. “Anytime you’re stressed with work, anytime I give you a hard day, that’s what you order in for lunch, right?” He nods to the container as he tosses an egg roll into his mouth.

You giggle, lifting the box to hide your swollen cheeks. Your heartbeat hammers below your jaw.

“Right?” Joel laughs. “Chow mein? I’m right, ain’t I? You know I’m right.”

He nudges against you, taking his own lunch from the bag, and casts a familiar glance – the same one you saw a few days ago in Lavender Oaks. Like the decades-old mask slips just for a second and suddenly, a younger, shyer Joel shines through. He’s almost imperceptible, almost concealed by the cocky smirk and witty remarks of his older self, but you’ve seen him once, and now – he’s impossible to lose sight of.

“You’re weird,” you note, spinning off towards your bedroom.

Joel’s hot at your heels. “I’m weird?”

“Uhuh. For noticing that.”

He snorts, and then you feel a slap to your ass cheek. “Nice underwear, by the way. Who’d you steal them from?” he murmurs close to your ear, averting your gaze when you turn back, beaming.

You pad across the soft rug to your bed, dropping down and pulling the sheets back to make room for Joel. He’s setting his food down. You think to offer him a change of clothes – something more comfortable than a dress shirt and suit trousers – but the best you’d have is an oversized tee, and not much else.

The thought almost dizzies you. Joel, in his boxers and a t-shirt from your wardrobe. A shirt that smells like you, feels like you, belongs to you. A piece of you, hung from his shoulders like it was always meant to be shared between you. The way it’d still smell of him even after the sun had set and he’d peeled it from his body, folded it into a pile at the end of your bed and left in his button up.

He sits on the edge of your mattress to kick his shoes off, and marvels some more at the room just like he did in the kitchen. The fire in your chest is slowly turning your lungs to ash, stealing breath each time his dimples appear – squinting at the framed photographs on your dresser, tilting his head to read the titles of the books on your shelves.

When he catches sight of the paint-splattered easel in the corner, he turns back. Your eyes are already locked back on your chow mein, refusing to meet his. He doesn’t say anything. Just shuffles up against the headboard, nudges your knee with his own.

“You get that at the concert?” he asks, eyes a little south of yours.

You glance down. You’re wearing an old Queen tour tee, graphic print accompanied by 1986 in multicolored lettering. A little before your grand entrance on the planet. A little after Joel’s.

“Rod’s Retro, eastside,” you reply. “You find some cool stuff in there, Mr. CEO.”

Joel’s chin lifts, considering. “Hm,” he says, “you gonna take me someday?”

You nod. Maybe a little too eagerly. It doesn’t feel like you ought to care. “Um, yes. You would fucking love it. Half my wardrobe is thrifted.”

He nods once – banking the information. “Every day, I learn somethin’ new.”

“Shut up,” you quip, kicking him gently. “How come I never get to learn anything new about you?”

He shrugs, chewing. “Self-absorbed.”

You kick him for real this time. He laughs into his takeout box.

“I’m messing with you. You know plenty about me. You met my mom the other day, for cryin’ out loud.”

“Not enough. Don’t know where you get all your clothes from, or what your comfort food is.”

He replies through a mouthful of chop suey. “Then, ask.”

Your voice is high, defensive. “No. That’s too easy.”

Joel snorts.

You reach for the remote and click the screen opposite to life. Joel lifts his arm to let you sink against his body, and you flick through the channels. Shark Tank, Grey’s Anatomy, Wendy fucking Williams, and then –

You gasp. Joel looks up from his food. His brows arch, eyes flitting from you to the screen. You swear a groan escapes from his lips. You feel the thunder against your ear.

“You ever seen it?”

“Dirty Dancing? Yeah, I’ve seen Dirty Dancing, pretty girl.”

“You probably saw it at the movies, right? When it came out? In the eighties?”

“Careful.”

You smile. “What did you think of it?”

Joel’s shoulders lift. His eyes are back on the screen. Be My Baby is crooning from the TV. “I liked Patrick Swayze,” he says.

You watch him, waiting for him to continue. When he doesn’t, you lean closer. “You…you liked Patrick Swayze?”

“Yeah,” Joel says, like it’s obvious. He turns back to you, one eyebrow raised. “He was cool. You don’t like ‘im in it?”

“No, I like Patrick Swayze,” you tell him. “Just…if that’s all you like about it, then…we might have a problem.”

He scoffs. “I don’t remember much of it, to tell you the truth.”

“Good. We’re watching it.”

Your head moves with his chest as he sucks in a deep, defeated breath. “Baby, I –”

“Ah,” you tap the remote on his knuckles, “you remember the Baby part.”

With a laugh which sounds an awful lot like approval and a grunt which sounds an awful lot like Alright, Joel sinks lower into the mattress. You drape your legs across his, and when he finishes eating, his fingers draw round shapes on your hot skin, daring past the hem of his own boxers on your thighs.

Somewhere around the lake scene, you notice your hand intertwined with his. Locked together, surfing over one another, squeezing and then loosening. Tracing the curve of each other’s palms and learning the lines scored into the skin. Fingertips becoming fluent in the landscape of one another’s bodies. Mapping them, like you’re afraid to forget.

Your eyes glass over, whether from fatigue, or from the now smoldering fire inside you, or from something harder to pinpoint. Your head feels heavy, leaning on Joel’s chest, listening to the drum of his heart against your ear. It sounds familiar, like you’ve known it forever. Like you can almost hear the whisperings between the soft thudding.

You start when you feel him moving beneath you. He groans, stretches his arms, and then snakes them around your body. The end credits are rolling. The movie’s over. You weren’t asleep, but you missed half of it. Your mind elsewhere – though you have no idea where.

Maybe you do. Maybe that’s not something you can bear – yet. Yet yet yet.

You crane your neck and look up to your boss. He’s already staring right back at you. His eyes widen.

“What did you think?” you ask sleepily.

He sniffs. “It’s good. Very politically charged. Lotsa Swayze.”

Your lips curve, cheek nuzzles into his shirt. “Very us, right?”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah. Especially that part in the water. When he –” his arms lift, holding an invisible Baby up – “y’know? You ‘n me, we do that all the time.”

“I hate you.”

He tightens his grip around your shoulders and lifts you closer, smiling. You think, when his eyes dart for half a second to your lips, that he might kiss you. You think you want him to. But he simply asks, “You want some tea?” and reaches over to swipe the empty containers from your nightstand.

You nod. “I’ll come help.”

“I got it,” he assures in that Southern gentleman tone, steady hand on your thigh as he slips out of bed.

“You don’t even know where the mugs are.”

Joel considers this for all of five seconds. Shrugs. Tells you, “I’ll figure it out,” and disappears through to the kitchen.

You lay back and close your eyes, counting each cupboard door opening and then immediately falling shut as he makes his way around the place, seeking out your collection of mugs. When he eventually opens what must be the right one, you hear him exclaim.

“Ha! First try.”

You snort, bleary eyes opening again to focus on the TV. They’re discussing the Kardashians on The View. Your eyebrows lift in agreement as if you’re sat in the studio with them. They move on to some segment on the president.

Joel returns a few minutes later, two mugs in hand, and passes you the one shaped like a ghost.

“Cute,” you whisper, taking it in both hands.

He flashes you a proud grin as he lays back down, sipping on a black coffee in a faded mug your mom gave you years ago.

You tap your nail against the ceramic in his hands. “World’s Best Daughter.”

“That’s me,” he replies, propping himself up on an elbow. “Your mom get you it?”

Your head drops, eyes staring at him from under low brows. “No. My fucking neighbor did.”

He stares back as he lifts the mug to his lips. They melt in a kiss against the ceramic. When he pulls it away again, he swallows, and says, “You’re close to her.”

“My neighbor? Yeah, she lives right next door.”

“Easy, smartass.”

You flash him a smug grin, which dissolves as quickly as you notice his eyes lingering on the half-heart charm around your neck. By instinct, your fingers clutch the smooth gold, as if protecting the smallest part of yourself from him. The only part you’ve never let him in on.

But there’s something in his eye – something that feels less like a spotlight and more like a warm fire. Sharing secrets muted by the sputtering of wood, held safely by the round rusty glow of the flames. Something kinder. Something protective.

“Yeah,” you say, voice crackling, “we’re closer ‘n anyone. Been through a lot together.”

Joel nods. He knew that already. “I’ll bet, pretty girl.”

And in typical Joel fashion, he doesn’t press for any more than you willingly offer. A part of you kind of wants him to ask more, wants him to push you. A weight jumps at the bottom of your chest, like the words fail to launch. And before you can retry, before you can confess more of yourself into his hands, he says –

“Ask me som’.”

You stall, and look at him intently. “What?”

“Anything you want. Free pass.”

Your cheeks swell. “What do you mean?”

 “If we’re sharin’ things, ‘s only fair we both do.”

“I don’t – We don’t have to –”

“Ask me,” he says slowly, eyebrows twitching.

“O-kay…”

You push a deep breath from your lips, cheeks globing as you scan around the room for inspiration. Something casual enough that you can ask it with ease, but deep enough that he’ll give you an answer worth sinking your teeth into. Something you don’t know about him; light enough to roll off your tongue, and then heavy when it lands in your palms.

Your gaze orbits back to his patient form and you ask, “How did you get the money to start your company?”

Joel seems to feel the weight of it when he catches it. Heavy, rather than light. Deep, rather than casual. He opens his mouth, runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek before he answers. “My, uh…my dad. He had a little bit of money.”

“He invest in it?”

“No, no. He, uh…he left it when he died.”

Your lips pull in a wince. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, and Joel looks up.

“’s okay, baby,” he replies, with a soft chuckle that makes the loose collar of his shirt quiver. He pushes some hair out of your face, settles his hand on your knee.

You hook two fingers around his thumb. He squeezes lightly.

“He musta loved you a lot. Leavin’ you so much.”

Another deep breath. His body stiffens. You think to unlock your fingers and take his hand properly, comfort him, maybe – but he’s already lifting it, scratching his beard with his thumb. He watches a bubble swirl around in his mug until it disappears with a pop into the dark coffee, and he finally looks up.

“It’s kinda…complicated. He and my mom – they were married for years, ‘n he ended up…” Joel swallows. His jaw clenches. “He cheated on her. Had this mistress for months. Mom found out through a friend of hers. She kicked him out of the house, but they never divorced. Just stayed separated until he died, ‘n then he left all his money to her.”

“To your mom?”

Joel nods. “She didn’t want a penny of it. Hated the man ‘til the day he died ‘n beyond.”

And you believe it. Ruth Miller was kind, warm and charming to you. She laughed with you, she smiled like she’d known you her whole life, she held your hands and she whispered secrets about Joel in your ear – purposefully to embarrass him, to make that bashful side turn its head again.

But she was sharp. She was quick, and you knew within the first five minutes of meeting her exactly where Joel got his wit and his mind. You can see her, clear as day, guarding the front porch of that little white house – one hand on her hip and the other pointing in the direction her cheating husband was to head.

Just as clear, you can see her stood over that same husband’s grave, waving her fist and tearing his will into confetti. It brings something of a smile to your face. Sad, sympathetic, but…impressed.

“Wow…So she – she gave it to you? And you – put it into the company?”

He shrugs, grip tightening around the mug. “When I started makin’ money, I paid off the mortgage on her house, managed to convince her to retire early. Got her into a good retirement home, once she was ready for it.”

Smart guy.

A calm quiet falls between you. Joel turns to watch the commercials on TV. Your chest fills with a need to ask him something – a feeling all too familiar whenever you’re around him. Only him. A weight on your mind, a bubbling which starts in your stomach and rises up until it’s practically pushing the words out over your tongue.

“Your dad – how do you not hate him?”

He turns back. Your eyes are stinging. He notices. Holds his palm out, and your fingers instantly lace through his. Your nails find those same valleys, the grooves you’d traced while Swayze and Grey mamboed.

Joel stares up at you, face suddenly tight with worry. He knows there’s something loaded behind your question. Knows you’re asking for something more than another jigsaw piece of him. You’re doing it again. You’re freakin’ him out.

“I…” He falls quiet, looks between your eyes at the pearly tears which form in the corners, the way your face sets to stone. He glances down at your necklace again, and shakes his head softly. “I spent a long time hatin’ him, baby. Changed nothin’. He did what he did. He was a scumbag.”

The answer melts your angry frame, body folding and sinking further into your pillows. You tug the bedsheet a little closer to your chin, press your lips into the top of the ceramic ghost’s head.

Your voice sounds small, sounds like it doesn’t even come from your chest, when you say, “I think I hate my dad. For what he did.”

Joel finally relaxes. Like he’s finally seen the tiny creature casting the huge, stretched shadow on the wall. “You…Yeah?”

You nod. Stare at the cotton mountain of your legs entangled in his. “Yeah. He just up ‘n left, when things got boring. When I grew up, and my mom got older. Just packed his car, and…I always wonder –” a breath lurches from your chest, “– I always wonder why I wasn’t worth stickin’ around for. Why he just – decided one day to…”

Your voice fails to carry. Joel knows the end of the sentence, anyway.

You’ve never told anybody any of this. Not Blake, not your mom, not any of your friends; you barely even know in yourself how you feel about it – even twelve years later. But the air in the room feels different – feels thicker, like you’re tucked away from the world. The conversation won’t leave your apartment, you know that much. Know that Joel wouldn’t speak of it again, wouldn’t so much as let it cross his own mind, if you asked him not to. And so you let the words tumble from your tongue, let them sit heavy in the space between you.

The space between you, which is now silent, like you’re both preoccupied. Joel, taking in the weight of what you’ve said into strong, safe hands; and you, feeling that same weight lift off of your chest. Until the silence itself feels clunky, and awkward, and you scram to find something to break it up.

“Anyway. Sorry to be a bummer.”

“You ain’t a bummer. Are you kidding?” Joel sighs. “I’m sorry, babygirl. Sorry that happened to you.”

“’s okay. He was just a scumbag, right?”

“Sure sounds it.”

You take a small sip, the tea sugarcoating your lips and flooding over your tongue – the sweet taste ridding them of the bitter memory of your dad. “Your turn,” you hum.

Joel’s head jerks. “No, darlin’, you already told me somethin’. You go again.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“I’m changin’ the rules.”

You try to protest, manage the sound Jo– before his hand lifts and he shushes you.

“That’s what I was gonna ask, anyways. Was gonna ask about you ‘n your dad. Now, go.”

He’s lying. You know it, and you suspect he knows you know it, too. It’s a terrible attempt at a lie, no matter how kind it is. But you’re too tired, a little too in pain to argue back over it. And he’s looking at you again, with that honeycomb twinkle in his eye, that Joel look which stirs something in you every time he shows you it.

You sigh, accepting defeat, and rack your brain for something else you want him to talk about.

“Alright, uh…What about your brother? He didn’t want any of your dad’s money?”

Joel’s face twists into something of a grimace. You instantly regret bringing it up.

“Touchy subject?” you ask, already coming up with five new, two-dimensional questions to ask in place of that one. Who was your first kiss and what was your first car and when did you find your first gray hair and what’s your mom’s maiden name and –

But you don’t need them.

Joel says, “Not with you,” and tilts his head, like measuring up his answer. He takes his time letting it filter down to his lips, and you reckon you’ve a good idea of why.

He was closed-off about it in Paris. About his brother. Didn’t say more than three sentences about him. And that was only where a sheep farm was considered. What you’re asking about right now is a hell of a lot deeper and a hell of a lot more difficult than a ranch in the Texan countryside.

“He was always closer to Dad. They used to go out huntin’ every Sunday. Liked the same music, watched the same TV. They were buddies, more ‘n anything. When it turned out my dad had this whole other life behind our backs – behind Tommy’s back – he flipped. Couldn’t take it. He disappeared, never looked back. Just packed his car, moved across the country.”

He’s staring at the TV now, barely blinking. Barely breathing, until you speak and it’s like he remembers he’s in your apartment, on your bed, with you. Not back in time twenty years, watching the dust kick up from under his little brother’s tires.

“He must’ve been pretty mad.”

“Yeah. Tommy’s like that, he’s got a hot head on his shoulders. But it meant leavin’ Mom, y’know? She went through all of that without him. I had to pick up all these broken pieces, juggle all this stuff, ‘n he just got to walk away from it all. And then, when Dad died, he refused to come back still. Left me to organize everything – the money, the funeral. The whole damn thing.”

He flicks his head, resentfully, like trying to dislodge the memory from his mind. Trying to shake it free. When you speak, it seems to soften him. Seems to thaw whatever angry image was frozen behind his eyes.

“Yeah,” you sigh, “that part sucks. I bet it was hard goin’ through all that without him.”

Joel’s head angles towards you. “Not any harder ‘n it was on you, goin’ through what you did.”

“Well…I know I would’ve found it easier if I had a brother or sister. Someone like me, someone who gets it, y’know?”

“Hm. We weren’t all that close to begin with, I guess.”

“You were close enough to want to buy a ranch together.”

He shakes his head again, this time refusing to let the idea in. Turning it away at the door.

“You miss him?”

“It my turn to ask somethin’ yet?” he asks, smiling.

But you’re feeling braver now. He’s answered everything up until now; it feels less like a game and more like…more like he wants to talk about it. Like it’s been pent up all this time and this is the first anyone’s brought it up. A relief to get it off his chest, if nothing else.

You ignore him. Press him. “Do you?”

Joel sighs deep enough that his coffee ripples a little in his mug, and then nods. “Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like if we were on speaking terms, yeah.”

“So, call him. You have his number?”

“I ain’t gonna call him, baby.”

“Where’s he at?”

“Last I heard, ‘n it was a long time ago now – he was in Wyoming. Married, kid on the way.”

“Call him. You really gonna let that kid grow up without Uncle Joel around?”

“Uncle Joel,” he repeats, laughing now. “He does not want to hear from me, angel. Let it go.”

Joel turns the volume up and settles back into bed, pillows propped behind him. You pass him your empty mug and he slots it alongside his own. As the commercials end and Whoopi Goldberg flashes a grin into the camera, you give it one final shot.

“I’d give anything to have someone who knew and understood me as well as a brother might.”

His hand falls limp against your bedsheets, remote loose in his fingers. You lift his arm, nuzzling underneath it to lean your head by his heart, and he sighs.

Argument won.

“Too many big questions,” you mutter after a while, eyes clinging to the screen. “Ask me somethin’ stupid.”

“Somethin’ stupid,” Joel repeats, and you nod. “Alright. Who’d you lose your virginity to?”

You slap his chest. “Dirtbag!”

He chuckles. “Who was it? Blake?”

“No,” you reply.

“Damn. Who?”

You roll your eyes, though he can’t see you.

But suddenly you feel the loose spaghetti straps of a slip dress over your shoulders, see the off-white glow of three-year-old sneakers crossed at your ankles, chipped pink fingernails tracing the blurry pastel shapes on floral bedsheets. A dry throat, the sanitized backwash of vodka and coke splashing across your tongue. A smash from downstairs – someone’s broken the host’s mom’s best vase.

“Was just this guy I slept with at a house party,” you tell Joel, clearing your throat. “Lisa Tait’s sweet sixteenth. We were in her bedroom, all of us, ‘n everyone started heading downstairs, ‘til it was just me ‘n this dude Jack laying on her bed.”

“You had sex on some other girl’s bed?”

You nod, cringing a little. “I wasn’t even friends with her. Wasn’t even friends with him. Just thought, fuck it. I didn’t wanna go into senior year a virgin ‘n neither did he, I guess.”

“How’d it go?”

The messy, uncomfortable thrusts between your legs. The hand shooting down to guide himself back in. The wet lips running along the shell of your ear, the acidic breath on your cheek. Is that good for you? Yeah, it’s good for me. You sure? I’m sure. Just hurry up.

“Lasted, like, four minutes, thirty seconds.”

Joel’s body jerks. You know he’s staring at the crown of your head. “You timed him?”

“No. He lasted as long as Paradise by Coldplay. It was playin’ downstairs in the living room.”

He tips his head back and laughs to the ceiling. You giggle into his shirt.

“Poor guy,” Joel says, rubbing your shoulder.

“Poor me, more like.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, and pats your head. “Least you’re doin’ alright now.”

You push yourself up from his chest and glare at his satisfied smirk, dodging his thumb when it lifts to clip your chin. “Oh, you’re so smug about it.”

“Are you kidding? For lastin’ longer than five minutes? ‘course I am. Can make you come twice in that time.”

“Yeah?”

He nods. Runs the tip of his tongue along his top lip, corners of his mouth twitching. Something sparks to life inside you.

Your knee lifts, reaching over his waist and planting into the mattress on the opposite side. Joel’s hands come to rest on your thighs, fingers slipping up beneath the black cotton and edging against your hipbones. You bend over him, lips running a wet trail from the base of his neck to his earlobe. His breath falters.

“Prove it, daddy,” you whisper, and his grip tightens.

“Baby,” he warns, voice suddenly sharper. “We don’t have to –”

You ignore him, holding him down by the shoulders. “I want to.”

“I’m just sayin’,” his fingers wrap around your wrists, “’s not why I came here. We can just hang out.”

“We are hanging out,” you tell him. “This is what we do.”

And he seems to agree. Or, at least, accepts defeat, in the form of rolling his hips upwards. His fingers slip through yours, locking at your knuckles, anchoring you to him. You grind against his belt buckle, the hard metal flat against your clit. Joel clocks you instantly.

He sits up. Holds you by the ass on his body until your center is flush with his. You feel him stir beneath your open legs.

He shifts to the edge of the bed, keeping you chest to chest in his lap. Your teeth grit against one another. His lips are warm, they still taste like coffee. You lick at the corners.

“Wanna make yourself feel good on me?” he asks.

A smile as sweet as sugar and laced with something darker spreads across your lips. “You’re best at it, right?”

Joel hums. “Alright,” he says, impressed. His chin lifts; he breathes a laugh as you pepper his jaw with kisses. “Take what you need, angel. ‘s all yours.”

Your knees spread wider. You push down on his swollen crotch, voice catching as he meets you halfway, bucking up into you again. Your clit throbs at the contact, forcing you back up off him.

“D-addy,” you choke, hands suddenly gripping his shoulders.

Joel’s stronger. He takes your waist and replaces you on his lap. “Shh,” he whispers, breath hot against your ear, “’s okay, baby. I got you. We’re gonna make you feel good together, alright? Here.”

He slides you over until your legs are either side of one of his, his thick thigh flat against your most sensitive spot. You dig your nails into his forearms, squeezing hard, but he doesn’t budge. Just looks up at you, holding you steady, and says –

“Go on. Ride it, babygirl.”

You move an inch. The rough fabric catches on the soft of Joel’s underwear. You gasp, relief mixing with arousal and spilling warm and soothing between your legs.

Joel squeezes your hips. “Do it, darlin’. Make yourself feel good. ‘m here, I’ll watch.”

The fabric beneath your pussy is soaked, probably dampening a mark into his pants – and you don’t fucking care. It feels good – the steady weight of him, lifting his thigh as you drag yourself along it, beginning to rock back and forth.

Your eyes are closed, head to the ceiling, grinding your core against his. You can feel him staring. Watching you, his gaze red hot on your already fevered skin. You collapse into him over and over, his body solid as a rock, letting yours fold against him. Liquid in pleasure and feeling.

Your eyes open a sliver and you smile, taking your bottom lip between your teeth.

Joel smirks. “You know how fucking perfect you look right now?”

You nod, forehead coming to lean heavily on his.

He bucks his leg, jaw tight. “How – fucking – beautiful you are? Making yourself come on daddy’s thigh?”

You inhale the words as he speaks them, swallowing them in gasps and parting your lips complacently for more. Keep going. Keep telling me –

“–you my good girl?”

“Mhm,” you whimper, legs starting to give.

“Gonna get me covered in you? Gonna come all fuckin’ over me, babygirl?”

“Daddy, I want –”

“Tell me,” he demands, “tell me what you want.”

His hands are clamped on your waist, guiding you – driving you, more than your weak hips are able to – holding you to him almost painfully. Your body circles messily, becoming sloppier the closer your orgasm draws, quivering when the feeling runs a delicate hand through your hair and plants wet kisses along your neck.

“Want you to fuck me, daddy,” you whine, body rocking again. Your hand lowers to cup the outline of him, rock-hard and restrained beneath linen. He shudders when you squeeze him – looks down to your small hand on the huge bulge in his trousers. “Need to feel you inside me.”

Your own eyes are stuck on the place where your bodies connect, writhing against one another – the wet seam of Joel’s underwear, the folds of his pant leg as you rut against him. Your empty cunt tightens, aching for more against his firm thigh.

“’m gonna, pretty girl,” he says, groaning as you palm him. “‘m gonna fuck you so good. Just give me one first, alright? Let me see you come for me.”

Your body jolts as you come. Hips lose their rhythm; arms lock tight around Joel’s shoulders. And all the while, his lips stay pressed against your ear.

“Look so good, baby,” he coos. “That feel good, angel? Yeah?”

As quickly as your orgasm sent you under, you’re pulling back. You haven’t even regained feeling between your legs, but you’re pushing yourself from his lap, separating your bodies.

Joel sits back, body lightweight when you tug on his wrists and drag him up to height in front of you. You’re backing up across the plush rug, his chest bumping against yours, your fingers fumbling for the buttons of his shirt. Your back hits the bathroom door. Joel twists the handle.

You spill onto the cold tile, attached at the mouth, frantically tearing clothes from each other’s bodies. It’s desperate. It’s burning. It’s almost fucking painful, how bad you need him.

His hands run from your cheeks to the hem of your shirt, hauling it over your torso and tossing it to the counter. You peel the shirt from his shoulders and your bare chest meets his, his hands finding your hips again when he whips them from his sleeves. The white shirt drops to your damp floor, dark, wet marks spreading across the dress fabric.

“Shoot,” you mumble against his lips. “My – bad. Sorry.”

“Don’t – care,” Joel breathes, and his thumbs push beneath his waistband.

You spin on your heel, backing towards the shower and taking him by the jaw with you. He shoves the clothing down his legs, stepping out of them and catching you again in time to drag the underwear from your thighs.

You shift into the shower, both fully naked. Joel spins the nozzle and the warm water rains down between you. His chest quickly soaks, dark hair thicker and blacker, flat against his glistening skin. He tilts his head under the spray and soaks his hair – gives one heavy flick of the head like a wet dog, and you laugh as he pulls you in again.

His hands cup your face as he connects your lips, and then his right drifts down your neck and pushes your tit up, squeezing the sensitive skin in his palm and rolling your firm nipple between two fingers. He lets it drop, runs his hand delicately down your frame, following the curve of your waist to your hips. He cups between your legs.

You come up for air, a sudden realization over your head as though the water runs freezing cold. “Wait,” you start, “I gotta –”

But he’s rubbing gentle circles against your clit, slow, pacing you as the tide of your first orgasm disappears to sea. He doesn’t seem to know, yet – or if he does, he doesn’t give a fuck.

“Joel –”

“I know,” he says, voice low and busy, but still – assuring. Unbothered. He moves his hand lower, surfing along your slit, until his fingers brush the wet string.

Your breathing jumps. He taps the seam of your thigh twice, and your leg tilts aside. Your eyes flit back up, crossing over his chest to fix on his jaw. You feel a flushing heat cross your cheeks, a moment’s hesitation before your fingers clamp around his wrist.

“Hey,” he whispers, and you almost don’t hear him over the running of the shower. He keeps his left hand on your jaw, his right between your legs. He shakes his head once, and takes the string in two fingers, and –

Gently pulls. Only a fraction, and then he pauses. Looks back up at you, a question in his stare.

You nod, exhaling heavily. He pulls again, and he doesn’t stop.

The tampon falls wet and heavy into his palm. His hand leaves your cheek and settles around your waist, leaning both of you out of the shower while he reaches for some toilet paper. Once it’s wrapped in a roll of white tissue and sat on your sink, he moves back into the cubicle.

He runs his palm under the flow; splashes of red swept up, watered down, and carried to the drain along with every last whispering of worry on your lips. Your elbows bend around his neck and he dips his head to kiss you, pushing you carefully into the corner.

“You tell me –” he kisses you, “– if it hurts or it gets too much, you tell me.” His body stands huge, blocking yours from the stream of water. Your back bumps against the shower wall; the shock of the cold tile pushes you closer to Joel.

“Just – fuck me.”

But he’s adamant. “You tell me.”

“I’ll tell you. You’ll know.”

“This is about you feelin’ good.”

“I’ll tell you,” you whine.

“We’re gonna have a word,” Joel instructs, lining up between your legs. He lifts your thigh to sit on his hip. “’n if you say it, I stop. Alright?”

You nod, fervently. “Please –”

His fingers separate your lips; his tip nudges your entrance. “Maple, alright? It gets too much, you say maple. You do that?”

“Joel, if you don’t –”

“Baby.”

“Maple,” you agree, “I’ll say it. Just –”

He pushes in without another word.

How many times has it been, by now? Ten? More than that? Enough for you to know in your mind, if not from trying to learn then simply from muscle memory, exactly how he feels. The curve of his cock, the width of the tip, the length of him as he slots deep inside you.

And yet – every fucking time – you feel so full. Full of him in every sense – your cunt, swollen around him, your lungs, breathing his scent, your every thought and feeling and sense replaced by Joel. Joel Joel Joel Joel –

He’s suffocating. And if you died right now – if you were smothered by him, swaddled until you couldn’t feel anything anymore – you’re not sure you’d be able to tell. Not sure you’d care enough to notice.

He pushes in slow, but deep. So fucking deep. Lets your walls expand around him the first few thrusts, lets your body welcome him back in. His lips press against your temple, his arms cradle your lower back. Your weight bears down on his shoulders and he lifts you, your other leg sitting on his waist. He holds your ass in both hands, begins to bounce you steadily.

“So good, baby,” he says. “Doin’ so good for me. You’re daddy’s girl, ain’t you?”

Your answer leaves your lips in the form of a moan. Something shaped like his name, or maybe some attempt at a response to his question, or maybe something more dangerous.

“My girl,” he repeats, whatever it was you said. “Daddy’s girl.”

Your head rolls back, cushioned by Joel’s hand between you and the tile wall. He knots his fingers in your hair, snaps his hips quick and hard, panting into your shoulder. And there’s a feeling – a stinging, a burning, sweeping across your eyes, and for a second you think it feels like shampoo, like the sharp scratch of soap between your lashes, until you realize it’s –

Tears. The heavy cut of tears, brimming your eyes. Blurring your vision. And with every thrust, every blissful meeting of Joel’s cock and your cervix, every inch he spreads you open wide – they form quicker, and quicker, and quicker. Until they spill down onto your cheeks, and you can’t tell the difference between them and the spray of the shower.

But Joel can. His head lifts from the crook of your neck, his teeth dragging from your skin. He spots your eyelashes, silky and wet, and in one motion, wraps his arm around your head, holds you with the inside of his elbow.

He dips his jaw, presses his lips featherlight to your cheeks, kisses the tears away as quickly as they roll down.

“I –” gasp, “– don’t know –” gasp, “– why I’m –”

Joel’s head shakes as he pulls away. Shuts you up. His answer is simple. You believe it instantly.

“’s okay. You’re okay.”

And right then – you think you understand.

Because you can see him – plain as day. You can see the amounts he cares for you, the limitless needs he can meet for you. There’s a warmth within you, spread throughout your body for him, and you have no fucking idea how to let him feel it. How to have it seep through your skin – so that every time his fingers ghost over your body, he’s met with a blaze strong enough to burn. A fire, big enough and bright enough that it shows him exactly how you feel.

Only him. No one else. A flame only he can see, dancing across your eyes when you look at him. A heat only he can feel. How do you make him feel it? How do you tell him? What combination of words might translate it?

It’s like slamming your fists against a glass barrier. A transparent wall, that allows you only to see him and draw near to him – never to feel him. Not really.

And so, you cry. You cry for him, for yourself. And Joel lets you.

For a little while.

His lips are back on your neck, biting marks into the soaking skin. “’attagirl,” he hums. It rattles your pulse, disturbs the rhythm and sends his own beating through your veins. “So good, baby.”

They soothe you – his lips, and the words which come from them. Soothe the sweet pain between your legs, the swollen ache every time Joel pushes into you. The stretch, the bruising tinge when his tip finds home in the deepest part of your body. Somewhere no one has ever reached, no one has ever found. No one, you feel, has ever been worthy enough to know.

Until him. Until Joel.

That same rhythm – your pulse on his wavelength – begins to flee south. Loops and swirls and dives to where his body connects with yours. Tightens rapidly around your cunt. Your hips grind against his, your thighs clamp on his waist. He starts to falter, hips slipping whether from blood or come or water. And then he’s growling, face burying into your chest as he steadies the two of you with an abrupt palm on the wall, and he stills.

The feeling of his release tips you over. The warmth spreading inside, so far you feel him in your stomach. Your walls contract around him, squeezing until every last drop of him is buried somewhere in you, and you lower one foot to the shower floor.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he pants, pulling his lips from your collarbone. “You okay?”

You nod, head rolling against the wall behind. You’re not crying anymore. The shower whirrs somewhere over Joel’s shoulder. Your chest feels tight. And you feel fucking euphoric.

He gives three more lazy, broken thrusts, pushing his come deeper inside. You both still, mouths curved open, exchanging breath and letting your tongues flick idly against one another.

You hold onto him long after your orgasm is shallow ripples between your legs. Long after the feeling has washed back into the ocean, your high a glimmer of sunlight bursting over the distant horizon, the aftereffects painting your world golden.

You hold onto him, and you let him run his hands slowly up and down your spine, and you sift your weak fingers through his dark hair, and you let him kiss your neck and your shoulders and your collarbones. He leans back; the flow of water cascades between you, carrying away any mess left on your bodies.

And then you let him carry you out of the shower, his tip still inside you, slowly softening. He settles you carefully against your counter, and reaches over for two white towels, caping one around your shoulders and using it to draw your body against his own.

You take the corners from his fingers and he lifts your chin, pushing your lips apart with his tongue. Then he pulls away, allows you to wrap the terry around yourself.

Joel wraps his own towel around his waist, slung loose enough that you can trace the dark hair peppered from his belly button down between his hips.

“You know how inappropriate it is to look at your boss like that?” he tuts.

You hook an arm around his neck and pull him back in. “Then stop lookin’ at me the way you do,” you tease, and he kisses your cheek.

He disappears through to your kitchen, reappears moments later with the box of Tampax, and you don’t even think to laugh or tell him you’ve an open box sat in the cupboard you’re leaning against. You just smile, and accept the clean tampon he holds out in his fingers. He leaves you to get dressed with the door closed over.

He’s sat on your bed when you emerge from the bathroom, holding his soaking shirt between two fingers. “Sorry about, uh…”

“’s alright,” he shrugs, standing up, “I’ll take it from your paycheck.”

His knuckles pinch your nose. You free yourself to place a chaste kiss on his fingers, and pass him the crinkled mess.

“I have something that’ll fit you somewhere,” you mutter, slipping past him as he hangs the shirt by the collar over your door.

“Do me a favor,” Joel’s voice follows, and he takes your wrist. You turn back to face him. “Catch your breath.”

“Huh?” you ask, and his hand comes up to mold around your cheek, the way it always fucking does. As if your bodies were made to be held by one another.

“Just – take a breath. You’re doin’ it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Movin’ at a hundred miles an hour. Breathe for me.”

You scoff, loosening yourself from his grasp to go sift through your wardrobe for something big enough for him. You settle for a Jurassic Park tee – logo faded and cracked, hem a little ragged.

“Rod’s?” he asks, holding the shirt up.

You’re already collapsing onto the mattress. “You bet.”

Joel smirks and tugs it over his head, throwing himself down against the headboard. Your hand wraps around his thigh, lips press soft kisses on the skin. He runs his hand over your hair.

“Are you gonna take a sick day off me for this?” you ask.

He shakes his head simply. “Doctor’s orders. Can’t say nothin’ to that.”

“I didn’t go to the doc–”

His thumb presses against your lips. “You don’t know when to fuckin’ lie, do you?” he whispers. “’s alright, we’ll getcha trained up.”

You snort, shaking yourself free of his hand. Your head settles by his hip, nails draw aimless patterns along the curve of his stomach.

“Need you better by Sunday, anyway,” Joel sighs, “Martha’s son’s birthday party.”

You grunt in response. You forgot about that.

Joel tuts. “Still gotta find him a present. How in the hell do I know what to buy a twelve-year-old?”

Your hand pauses. Neck cranes up to look at him. He’s staring down at you, his trademark glower still recognizable even upside down. Somehow, not sat upright in front of him, the thought seems less scary. Less of a commitment, more a casual suggestion.

“Why don’t we just get ‘im a joint one?”

The hard expression immediately wipes from his face. Replaced by something rounder. He blinks at you. “Really? From – you ‘n me?”

You shrug against his waist. It’s not answer enough for him.

“As in, you n’ me?” he asks.

“Why not?”

Joel’s head shakes. His mouth curves as he considers the thought. But he can’t mask the pang it sends through his body; can’t pretend he’s not covering the way his veins light and his nerves stand to attention by taking your hand in his and squeezing it briskly.

It doesn’t have to mean something. You, Joel, and Deb are the only people from work that Martha invited, and Deb’s bringing her two sons, which means her gift will be from them, too. All it has to mean is that you’re Martha’s co-workers, and figured it’d be cheaper and easier to get one gift over two.

Except – one of you is a millionaire.

It means something. The fact you asked. You’re not asking to save a buck, to make it simpler. You’re asking because you want to wrap some video game in paper Joel picked out; you want him to hold the folds down with one finger while you tear tape with your teeth. You want to sign the card with both of your names, in your handwriting. See how they look paired up.

You ask him because you want to feel the way you think you ought to have felt this entire time. Your body is ablaze. You’re ready to let him feel it. And you ‘n me seems like a pretty good combination of words to start with.

You’re ready. And that’s why you ask him.

Joel’s quiet for as long as you are. You both go to talk at the same time, both noticing how silent the room has fallen while you realize all of those things in real time.

“Sorry, baby, you go,” Joel says, sniffing.

“No, I was just – no, you go. What were you gonna say?”

He smiles. “Was just – wonderin’ what you wanted to get Alan.”

Your mouth opens to answer, and then you pause. “Al–? What?”

“What you wanted to get ‘im,” Joel repeats.

You push yourself up, lean on one hip in front of him. “Yeah, I heard that part. What did you call him?”

“Alan?”

You stare at him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Joel stares right back. “Martha’s son.”

“Martha’s son’s name is Henry.”

“No, it fuckin’ ain’t.”

You’re biting back a laugh. “Yes, it fuckin’ is.”

“She calls him Little Al. All the damn time, baby, he’s –”

“That’s because he acts like Alan. Her husband. His father. All the damn time. You gotta be messing with me. Have you been calling him Alan the entire time he’s been alive?”

“No.”

His expression tells you yes.

You’re laughing now. Really laughing. It breaks your words in two, your head tilting back to the ceiling. “You…idiot.”

Joel’s struggling to compose himself, sliding off the bed. “The email she sent out says Alan’s Twelfth Birthday. The hell’s my phone?”

“You think she had a kid in two thousand eleven, and named it Alan? You don’t think they’d call Child Protection on her for that?”

He points a finger, tossing pillows to the bottom of your bed. “That’s disrespectful to the Alans of the world. Where the fuck is my –?”

Your chest swells in a giggle, eyes start to sting with tears. “What do you write in her Christmas cards? To Martha, Alan, and Alan?”

You slap the bed, leaning forward with a deep gasp, trying to catch your fucking breath. Joel’s still stripping the bed, still keeping his own laughter deep in his chest, but it’s quickly crumbling.

“Her email –” he chuckles, “– says Alan’s Twel–”

“She’s fucking with you!” you holler, catching the pillows he throws to you. “She’s fucking with – I’m gonna piss my pants. Martha, Alan, and Alan, oh my fucking –”

“Here,” he finally throws you the phone, “go find it. Find the email. Search the damn word Alan; she uses it every time she talks about him. Jesus Christ, I need a coffee. You want another chamomile tea, Little Miss Smartass?”

He lifts your mug and tilts it in your direction. You nod as you reach for the phone, wiping tears from your cheeks. Joel disappears through to the kitchen.

He clued you in on his passcode a few months after you started. You were still in the office past five o’clock, looking out files he needed for some client visit the following morning. His phone had buzzed, you were nearest it. He lifted his head and nodded to the lit screen.

1-6-9-1, he told you.

It finally made sense only a few days ago, after three years of wondering. Three years of knowing and never asking; a mystery solved. 1691 Maple.

His background was always one of the standard ones. The boring ones. A soft, blue gradient. Usually, his lock screen was too populated by notifications for you to even notice.

But now – it’s changed.

Now, it’s a photo of the view from the terrace in Paris. The pale sunset, faded blue into sweet yellow. The Eiffel Tower carved out in the center. You suck in a deep breath as you swipe texts and emails away to properly study it, figure out exactly where he was standing to take it, and exactly where you might’ve been when he did.

You tap in the four digits and his home screen lays out before you. Only, the background is different – again.

It’s Paris, still, but indoors. Dark wall, an ornate frame pinned to it, housing an amused smirk and soft hands. She’s looking off into the distance, past the photographer. Or maybe – she’s looking at you.

You, stood leaning on the barrier in front of her. The Mona Lisa. Your head tilted towards her, beaming like it’s a photo with your favorite celebrity.

It’s not a big deal. That’s what you tell yourself. It’s his home screen. Only visible if you know his password – and you’re fairly sure that you’re the only one who does. Not even Martha would know that this photo exists, never mind the fact that it’s his wallpaper. It’s not a big fucking deal.

No matter how much you think you want it to be.

You swiftly tap on the email app icon, trying to rid your mind of your own cheesing image. He has thirteen unread emails, all from the last hour. Some you know he’ll forward straight to you and Martha; others look a little more serious. As you’re scrolling down them, you notice a familiar face.

Denis Pelletier. His square-jawed grin flashes back at you from the tiny circle icon beside his name. You tap on the email, and your cheeks lift higher the further down it you read.

I hope your flight home was pleasant, and It was wonderful to take you both around Paris, and Your assistant was very sweet. You breathe a laugh, scrolling down the three-paragraph message urging Joel that if he’s ever back in Paris – if you’re ever back in Paris, both of you – to make sure you let the chauffeur know.

But there’s no email from Martha. At least, none in Joel’s inbox. You return out of the folder and wheel down to his Deleted folder, scrolling past password reset emails, panicked cries for help from Mackley and Tom, past order confirmations for brands you’ve never heard of, when –

A head of hair, more salt than pepper. A bright, unnerving smile, too many dazzling teeth in a mouth too small to house them. A pink sky behind him; candy floss clouds and townhouses glowing orange in the sunset – the building blocks of the Paris skyline.

Jean-Marc. An email – a deleted email – from Jean-Marc.

Dear Joel, It was such a pl… is all you can read from the preview. Your eyes flit up to your door. Joel’s still in the kitchen, humming. You glance back down to his phone.

Would it be invading his privacy? It’s only an email from Jean-Marc. It’s not like you don’t know who he is. What if your thumb slipped? Accidentally opened it? What if your eyes scanned over the text before you quickly swiped back out of the email?

There’s the sound of a drawer rolling closed. A spoon rattling against ceramic. He’s stirring your tea.

You click on the email.

It was such a pleasure to see you again.

You scan over the first paragraph. It’s just Jean-Marc cozying up to Joel. Your nose wrinkles and your lips turn.

I loved meeting your assistant, the next paragraph begins. And your focus is pulled.

I wonder if you had given our conversation any more thought? Whether she might be looking for a new challenge? Something this side of the Atlantic, perhaps?

Your heart skips a beat. A new challenge.

“You want the last egg roll?” Joel calls from the kitchen.

You jolt back to life. “N-no, you have it,” you reply. You hear the rustle of the bag.

I wonder if you might relay the message onto her, Jean-Marc continues. Please give her my email address and phone number.

You quickly pull the screen up, noting the date the message was sent. Three days after you got home from Paris. More than a week ago. You tap on Joel’s response as his footsteps creak back towards your bedroom.

His reply is as short and sweet as the few words he spoke to the Frenchman that Sunday morning.

I’ll pass on your details, he’s written, but unfortunately, my assistant is currently unavailable. Maybe sometime in the future.

Your jaw jerks. Eyes trace the words, over and over. Thumb scrolls up and down the email, making sure you’re reading it right. Joel, making promises he never followed through. Joel – your Joel, the one you pestered for fucking days after Paris over what he’d talked with Jean-Marc about – one hand laced through yours, the other with a vice grip around a secret he never intended to clue you in on.

You. He’d talked about you. They’d probably talked about you the entire fucking meeting, as soon as Joel mentioned you. You can see Jean-Marc’s ears twig; his eyebrows lift with interest. The way he sets his wine glass down, offers Joel another whiskey and invites him to say more.

Joel. Lying. And covering up. And keeping you close by his hip, walking in stride with him out of that fucking penthouse – like you’re on some kind of leash, or something.

The fabric of his underwear on your hips feels claustrophobic; a second layer of skin that rubs against yours like sandpaper. You want to rip them off off off – want to separate yourself from him, peel him from your body and forget the feeling of him as quickly as you seemed to absorb it. Instinct tells you to detach yourself – to remove any trace of him ever having laid eyes on you, never mind touched you.

What a fucking idiot, you think. He doesn’t fucking care about you after all.

You don’t even notice when his form saunters back into the room, when he shoves the door closed with his elbow. There’s a bitter taste on your tongue, sour with disappointment. Acrid with anger. Sick with fear.

Unavail–?

“You find it?” he asks, and you subconsciously clutch the phone to your chest.

“Not yet,” you murmur, watching as he sets the mug back on your nightstand.

His fingers slip through the handle, knuckle nudges the temple of the ghost a little further along the surface, and he straightens, lifting his own mug to his lips.

“’s in there,” he says against the ceramic. He holds a hand out, curls his fingers. “Let’s see.”

“Never mind,” you say, tapping out of the email, out of the folder, out of the app. “I believe you.”

And then –

“…You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”

He licks his lips. Holds the mug by his side, fingers gripping the lip. He gives a non-committal shrug of the shoulders.

“No, darlin’. Why would I lie to you?”

[elsecrytt]

Kinktober Day 5

Prostate Massage | Blindfold | Cages

Pairing: Satoru Gojo X Reader

Warnings: noncon/dubcon, yandere/controlling behavior, drugging, captivity, panic attack

He’s missing again.

This is more surprising than one might think – Gojo, for all his whimsical tendencies, doesn’t typically slack on exorcizing curses.

It’s why they think he’s just going off the grid for a bit to take care of some other business – goodness knows he drags in enough sorcerer children to the school.

But it’s been a while, and no one’s heard from him.

If he had meant to defect, he would surely have done it when Suguru Geto was still alive. So this must be another fit of arrogance, running off and doing whatever he pleased. It was annoying, but who could stop him? He was, after all, the strongest sorcerer in the world.

Certainly, no one was expecting to find Satoru Gojo in a cage inside your basement.

You’re not a sorcerer, after all. No one Satoru knew or had ever known would even know your name, much less where you live and that Satoru was with you.

You don’t even bother visiting him for the first few days. There’d be no point. He’d try to convince you this was a bad idea (it probably was) and to let him go (you absolutely could not, not under any circumstances). He probably wouldn’t lie – you never thought him to be the type, even if his life were truly on the line – but nothing he said would be of any use to you.

He’d already said enough when under the influence of those helpful substances you slipped him. You’d gone through a few before you found one that made him pliable enough to repeat the words you needed.

A binding vow. One that would keep him here, and keep him tame, for as long as you wanted.

Oh, you’re sure he was terribly confused for those first few days. Wondering what kind of curse or curse technique had him trapped in there. Poor baby was probably bored to death, too, if anything you knew about him was correct.

But it would take a while to get to him, to get him to the place he needed to be. And you had all the time you needed.

After all, good things come to those who wait.

You open the door, a thrill in your heart at the thought of just how excited Satoru Gojo is going to be to see you.

The worst part is, you’re right.

Satoru’s been stuck in here for three days now. He is, frankly, bored. Worse than bored. He’s sort of going insane.

It’s not like he needs to use the restroom, or even eat. Sorcerers – anyone who could use reverse curse technique, really – had ways to suspend bodily functions and stuff like that, for use on long missions, in extreme environments, or domains with weird effects.

So, no. He’s not hungry, or thirsty, he doesn’t need to use the restroom. That’ll catch up with him eventually, of course, but it’s not a problem right now.

The problem right now is that someone was powerful enough to trap him in here, had some weird power that stopped him from escaping, but they just. Left him.

All. Alone. In the dark. Even with the six eyes, it was dark in here. He can tell where the door is, but the light level is far beneath what a normal human could see. There’s almost no sound. No cursed energy at all. Nothing interesting in the room to stare at, nothing moving.

It was a weird, surreal sort of experience, for about ten minutes. Hard to tell even how much time was passing. Just the sound of his breath and the thoughts knocking around in his head. He didn’t get time like this often, didn’t just sit down and think. It cleared his head in a strange way – no more migraines, no more constant analyses from his six eyes, no more reverse curse technique constantly healing his brain.

Like taking off a weight he hadn’t noticed was there to begin with. He felt lighter, so many physical demands suddenly lifted from his body. A breath of fresh air.

Fresh air got old pretty fast, when most of his thoughts kept coalescing on Why can’t I use my curse technique and What the hell is going on? At first, there was even fear, too – he wasn’t totally crazy – but after that?

This is just boring. He’s never been so bored in his entire life. His brain feels like it’s rattling in his skull, waiting to drop out the next time he tilts his head. Satoru is about ready to start banging it against the bars just to have something to listen to.

So when you open the door, light suddenly flooding in from a crack (it’s bright enough to make him wince, with his eyes), Satoru Gojo is entirely focused on you, in an instant. Taking in every single detail about your body, your voice, your cursed energy and cadence.

It’s amazing, how much you can learn when you pay attention.

He learns that you’re not a sorcerer. That he’s not kept here by any curse technique or tool – rather, it’s by a binding vow. One that only you can release. You’d drugged him through his infinity using a knockout gas and gotten his half-conscious self to repeat specific words to make the vow.

He learns you think you’re doing this to help him, save him.

“I just don’t think you’re that strong. I mean, it was easy enough for me to get you like this, right? And I’m not a sorcerer at all.”

His eyes are fixed on you like shattered sapphires. You’re insane – you must be – but it isn’t every day some insane person manages to get one over on him.

Maybe the reason you were able to get this far with him was because you were so crazy.

“For your whole life, you’ve had to be strong.” Your eyes soften; he can discern your features on a microscopic level, the tiny flecks of warmth and concern, “But you aren’t. And you don’t have to try anymore. I’ll protect you.”

Something weird twists in his guts.

There’s lots of kinds of crazy in Jujutsu sorcerer. He’s no stranger to it. But this kind of crazy? He’s never seen it before.

Love is the most twisted curse of them all.

And that is what you tell him, that you love him. You continue by telling him all sorts of funny things – that you’re taking care of him now, getting him back on track, this is for his own good, yada yada.

It’s definitely crazy person speak, but it’s new and refreshing that it’s directed towards him. And maybe because it’s so novel and fun, he goes ahead and sits back and enjoys it.

Like, he tries to tell you he’s important. People to protect, students to teach, all that stuff. You just dismiss him, tell him he’s weak, tell him he doesn’t know what’s best for him. He wasn’t meant for sorcery – his life will be better, now.

(Somewhere in the back of his head, he realizes with a belated horror, that this is what he sounds like to other people.)

 It’s funny, though, it is. He laughs at you (you smile, though, because you’re delusional like that, even if you can tell he’s mocking you), at the thought that he could be meant for anything but sorcery.

And hey, it’s not like he’s got anywhere to be. Anywhere he can be. He’ll give it a try.

Although it’s not so much a try as endure the very carefully calculated daily plans you lay out for him. You’ve got a lot of free time – probably some work-from-home position – and a lot of money, too.

(Great taste in body wash also. Amber and honeysuckle or something. He’ll have to remember it when he gets out of here.)

The room he’s in is special in that it’s painted a gentle off-white color, and sparsely decorated. His little cage is large enough to fit him just sitting down, tall as he is, and it’s large enough for a cot in the corner. It’s kind of cozy, he’ll admit, in a camping kind of way.

When you send him to bed – yes, like an actual child – he finds out the cot is a lot softer than he’d expected, some kind of memory foam he’s never tried. The sheets are extra cooling, the pillow feels like a dream, the room is pitch black and chilly. It only takes him a few minutes of moody contemplation to start drifting off after he lays down.

Sleep training, you’d called it. Satoru’s pretty sure he’d be offended if he actually knew what it was.

“You have your healing powers, sure,” (when he’d interrupted you to tell you it was reverse curse technique you’d paused and waited out his explanation like a champ), “But there’s no substitute for a good eight hours of sleep, Satoru.”

Your voice is stern and laden with something he can’t quite get, but it doesn’t matter anyways. He’ll be out soon.

It’s interesting, lying down inside the cage. This room is so small. It’s all fitted just for him, perfectly sized to leave neither empty space nor squeeze him too tight. His world is reduced to this cage and the things you choose to put in it.

He’s quick to complain about the boredom, but you don’t mind his whining. You actually hook up several game consoles to a small TV set carefully placed at head height for him, sitting up, with controllers you hand him through the bars.

“I’ll have to limit your screen time – it’s not good for your eyes. It’s probably even worse for the six eyes. So I’ve got a collection of books here, and an e-reader, so you can get anything you want. Oh! I’ve also brought some puzzles.”

Yaaawwwn. You don’t even flinch at his exaggerated expression of boredom, promising instead to find more complex puzzles online to entertain him. Rubik’s cubes, jigsaws – these things bored him. He put everything together right away.

You find a puzzle made in braille, one that has to be put together by touch. Brain teasers that required out-of-the-box thinking… you’d even brought him a jigsaw puzzle with a mixed up image printed on it, one that couldn’t be put together by the visuals at all. He had to hand it to you, that was neat.

There’s almost an amusement in watching how diligent you are about finding things to entertain him with. The video games, the books, the puzzles, some TV, too. He’s half worried that you stole his collection of movies, but it turns out you just have some streaming services. It’s fun enough to kill time. Human Earthworm 4 really was garbage.

You laugh when he tells you so. Your defense of the dumb movie is that it was half-parody (you are correct), and he tells you with a sniff that you have no taste, and you laugh, and his stomach feels funny.

Clearly the isolation is getting to him, if you feel like decent company.

He takes meals with you, too, and you’re particular about them. No more mochi for breakfast and dinner, no more coffee at all actually – “It’ll interfere with your rest,” – instead, you make him eat ‘real food’.

Complete, home-cooked, admittedly delicious meals. They’re all way more palatable than most things he eats, all foods he likes, he ends up liking… at first he didn’t want to try, but you’d dangled so many sweet looking deserts over his head – specially made mochi, fresh souffles and macarons, carefully crafted crystal candies.

Ugh, you know way too much about him. And you look so pleased with yourself, too. He wonders if you make them yourself – so he asks, and watches your face blush lightly, watches you smile, eyes softening as you look at him in that way he doesn’t get.

Isolation. It’s getting to him. Definitely.

“And of course, I’ll be here to allow you socialization time. We could play games together, or if you want, we could read the same books? Or just talk, if you like. I’m not letting you out, but I’d be happy to hear about your life from before, your likes and dislikes. You can make requests, too!”

Normally he’d be all like “No way, creepy kidnapper,” seriously. But to be honest, he’s kind of looking forward to a chance to pick your brain.

You seem all too happy to oblige. Delighted that he’s taking an interest in you, which is kinda cute and pathetic, since it’s totally not what’s happening. He just wants to know how the hell you got to be so fucking weird.

“I think love makes us all a little crazy, don’t you? As for why I love you, Satoru… well. I couldn’t pick only one reason. Suffice to say, I’m really happy to be talking to you now. It probably sounds weird to you, but being around you just these past few days has been awesome for me. Being around you just brings me so much joy. I want to make it good for you, too!”

Yeah, to be honest, it’s really weird how accommodating you are. You let him out for bathroom breaks at regular intervals – he’s still not sure why you put him in the cage at all –

“Oh, the cage? That’s for your benefit, not mine. Obviously this room is locked. But I think you… it’s difficult to explain. But your awareness of the space around you is warped somehow. I constantly see you nap in awkward places, sit or lean in positions that would stress your body out, zone out from your surroundings. I think it’s important to reset your senses.”

It’s creepy at this point. Or it would be, if it hadn’t blown wayyy past that part.

He likes that you don’t press him much. You just confess your love and go on about your day. No expectations, no freak outs. You’re crazy but you’re obviously not so crazy you think he loves you back. You just think you’re trying to do the right thing by him, which is like, really sweet, in a super weird and demented way.

Satoru had already decided that he doesn’t want to go after you once he gets out of here. You’re not malevolent, even if some distant part of his mind knows that people are dying while he’s chilling out in here.

No, you’re just lonely, and you’ve somehow attached yourself to him with this completely delusional idea that you understand him on a deeper level, and you wanted to protect him. Wasn’t that sweet? The cutest thing?

He can’t really bring himself to be mad at you. Not when you’re probably the only person on earth who’s ever thought this about him, who tried to do something about it. And it’s a damn good try, he’ll give you that.

The cage really isn’t that small. It’s comfortable in here, actually, it’s nice. It’s simple and easy in a way that would be boring if you didn’t give him company, entertainment, meals. The bed is so easy to fall asleep in, he has more energy waking up, he’s happier,

He gets where you’re coming from. You’re still totally insane, of course, but he sees the idea behind it. It’s not the space that he’s in. It’s what’s happening in that space.

It’s his time. And you seem to have so many ways to occupy it.

He starts thinking about you more and more. It gets weirder. He runs into you fresh out of the shower, no clothes on, watches the blush on your face and feels himself –

No. No, no no. It’s not a big deal. It’s whatever. He knew you were crushing on him. You’d made absolutely no secret of your feelings, and he knows the attraction is there, he can tell.

So maybe he sneaks in a hand job or two during these lonely nights. Purely for fun. It’s your fault for not stimulating him enough!

Are you watching on camera? That’s what all the stalkers do. You’re totally a stalker, you know way too much about him. You have all his skincare, shampoo, and conditioner in the bathroom.

You’re totally watching him. He licks his lips while he jerks himself. If he listens hard enough he can hear your breath in the other room.

(Turns out you’re all the way down the hall, but he’s got the six eyes, not the six ears.)

He could put on a show for you, even. His dick gets harder at the thought. He wonders if you’ve thought about this. If you watch him in the cage touching himself. If you want to be in here with him. In the room, or in the cage.

Would you want to touch? The thought absolutely tickles him, has him twitching in his hands, licking his lips. Would you want him so badly? You’re so dedicated, so diligent about his welfare. He could just imagine your pretty lips opening right up, how hot and wet your mouth would be, how those eyes of yours would look at him, always so full of care and affection.

Your hair looks soft, silky even – what would it feel like in his hands? Are you so crazy for him you’d let him fuck your face, or would you guide him through it, like you guide him through everything?

A pulse, another pulse, throbbing in his fist. Your hands would be smaller, softer. What would they feel like on his bare skin? He’s gotten more skin-to-skin contact these paste few weeks than the past ten years. What would you feel like on him? How would you touch him, where?

How would you look at him? He thinks of your face – of your eyes when you smile at him – he feels a squeeze –

When he cums, he does it with an exaggerated moan, head tilted back, lips wide and open. Spurting all over his hand as he makes a little blissful sigh.

He looks up, where he imagines a camera might be, eyes half-lidded. Smirk fighting to tear his lips as he closes them around his fingers, licking them clean.

Maybe you weren’t watching, but that doesn’t stop him. Not from giving you looks the next day.

There’s something in his chest. Wobbling around. Something knocked loose. He finds himself waiting for you to visit, impatient between meals. Demanding. You give, and give of course, but you never give any indication that you’ve seen what he did.

Actually… that was probably his way out.

He tries to proposition you, of course. Lays it on thick. But you hesitate to accept. You blush, and he thinks cute, he thinks he’s got you, but you act like you’re too good for him or something, like you’re not sure if you really want to be with him.

Like you’re too good to be seduced by him? When you fucking kidnapped him in the first place? You don’t want to come in here in the cage you put him in?

It makes him acidic. The rattling in his chest feels like the rattling in his head, only, his tolerance has gotten so much lower.

It’s not long before he snaps at you.

“What?” He says cruelly, words escaping him without his will, “You didn’t think I liked you or anything, did you?”

There’s something mean in his voice, something awful that curdles in his chest. He brandishes it like a sword. Swinging at you, carving sorrow over your features.

“You fucking kidnapped me.” The words come as a surprise even to him, but it was true, wasn’t it? “I’m not here willingly. You’re keeping me here against me will, you’re not helping me. Did you think I’d forget?”

(He can’t even convince himself of that lie. He knows he’d forgotten.)

You look at him, something strange in your eye.

“…If you want to leave, then leave.” You say, and he feels it, like the click of a lock, the crunch of a shackle. How the Binding Vow unwinds in an instant. “I’m not going to drag you back. It’s pointless to keep you here if you hate it so much.”

He tells himself he darted straight out. He didn’t hesitate for a single moment.

But he can’t tell himself that he didn’t look back. That would be too blatant a lie.

He tries not to think about the look on your face, empty and indifferent. He tries not to think about how it felt like a knife to his chest.

And just like that, he’s back. And –

“Gojo? About time you showed up. There’s several special grades waiting for you to exorcise. Where the hell were you? Okkotsu has barely been able to help out your other students.”

His students. His precious students, the ones who needed him, the ones he was preparing to take over the Jujutsu world –

God, the world is so big, isn’t it? It feels so vast and massive now, like he’s suddenly stepped into the shadow of a terrible monolith, blocking out the sun. It doesn’t feel like the first daylight he’s seen in weeks. This light is blinding, like a shadow convalesced.

“Gojo, do you hear me? I’m sending Ichiji over with the car.”

And there’s a sinking feeling in his chest, dragging him down in a way he normally doesn’t feel. This isn’t something that bothers him. For the life of him, he can’t figure out why.

He likes fighting. He likes sorcery, and he’s good at it. Exorcizing curses, beating curse-users to shit. It’s fun. He’s so strong that it’s not a risk anymore, just something to do with his overpowered abilities, and that’s cool. He’s not afraid, not in any universe.

So why does the voice asking him when he’s going to go kill these curses fill him with a sudden, inexplicable nausea?

Why does the thought of having to do this again, all over again, always on repeat, have the pit of his stomach burning? Like there’s a pressure on his shoulders that he knows he can’t relieve.

Satoru knows he has to do this. He’s the only one who can. Other sorcerers are weak – many of them would die. For some of these special grades, it’s him or nothing, with the lives of regular civilians on the line.

Each thought sends his stomach churning. He has to. He has to. He has to do it he has to go he has to he can’t avoid it. Today and tomorrow and the next day, too, over and over and over again.

The sky – it’s so big. So massively big, so wide and yawning, he feels like he’s falling into it. His head is pounding, information flooding back through his senses. One special grade, two, three or four – he has to teleport to them, exorcise them. He has to teach his students. He has to report to the elders. He has to – he has to – there’s so much, so much to do –

The six eyes are screaming at him, the sky is screaming, light burning into his retinas it’s too bright. Too fucking bright out here.

His legs carry him to a nearby wall. He’s leaning against it, now, breaths coming heavy and labored.

And then, it comes. He’d only been half expecting it – part of him still probably thought he was invincible, untouchable.

And he’s right. Nothing is touching him. It just feels like his skin is crawling for no reason. Pins and needles, electric adrenaline racing through every last nerve fiber in his body.

He’s simultaneously too strong and feverishly weak, collapsing against the wall. Gravity feels like it’s pulling harder, off balance, only it shouldn’t be. He should be fine, he should be able to move his limbs however he wants, they shouldn’t feel gangly and overresponsive and desperately twitchy.

His heart shouldn’t be trying to beat itself out of his chest. His lungs shouldn’t feel like they’re on fire. He shouldn’t have alarm bells going off his head, his limbs burning hot with too much energy and not enough.

Between ragged breaths he catches a faint, familiar scent, warm like sunlight –

“Satoru?”

It’s – it’s – it’s you, you’re back, and something awful in his chest jumps with irrational delight, a weight shifting on his shoulders, almost lifted. He tries to control his racing pulse, stammer through your name –

A mind, indifferent gaze meets his eyes. It freezes him in place. All his anxiety swinging on a precipice.

“Is something wrong?” A voice that betrays no emotion, no affection, no hidden longing. No I missed you, or I’m happy to see you, or I hope you weren’t lonely while I was gone.

He’s going insane, he must be going insane, but with all the adrenaline shooting through him, limbs trembling, he’s barely able to keep himself upright against the wall.

“Don’t – don’t you – ” Insane, insane, he knows he’s delirious while he’s saying this, why is he saying it, but his body is acting on his behalf, mind paralyzed with fright, “Don’t you want me?”

How could he sound so – needy? So forlorn? You’d fucking kidnapped him, he should be afraid, he should be angry, if anything.

(Maybe that was his fault from the beginning. He’d never really been quick to anger. Never been one to fear others, either. Deep down, the only thing that had ever hurt him was being left behind.)

Even the six eyes cannot discern your tone, “I don’t want someone who doesn’t want me. I tried to make things work with you. You didn’t want it.”

He didn’t, of course he didn’t, you were keeping him fucking captive. He knows this, the information is there in his mind, but his body won’t stop shaking. The sky is too big, the street is too broad, too many bodies, too much cursed energy, every object in every direction overwhelming his senses.

It feels like a migraine. It feels like his legs are about to give out under him, no solid earth to be found. Too big it’s too big he wants to go –

“Unless… you want to come back?”

Satoru knows he doesn’t. He knows the answer is no. He knows that you fucked him up, that this is a consequence of your captivity directly, that he should be able to overcome this if he just bears with it –

I don’t want someone who doesn’t want me. I tried.

“Please,” His voice says without his permission, “I want…” To go home. Take me back. Don’t leave me.

Relief floods the entirety of his quaking form as soon as you smile.

“Of course, Satoru,” Your eyes soften, and against all rationality, he feels like he’s made the right choice, “Take my hand. Let’s go home.”

He’s messed up, this is messed up. He’s better than this! He isn’t stupid, he knows what you’re doing! He has the six eyes, for fuck’s sake, he’s the strongest sorcerer in the world!

You’re not strong, Satoru. You only think you are, and I understand why. The whole world has been telling you this forever. But you aren’t, and that’s okay. I’ll protect you.

He doesn’t have to be the strongest sorcerer. Not if he doesn’t want to. He can go back where it’s dark and comfortable and warm, and he can be Satoru Gojo, your cherished pet.

He looks at you, six eyes blinding him, headache burning though his skull. He thinks of how close and soft and safe that place was. How you stayed with him for hours and hours on end. He never had to be alone.

Nothing has ever felt as right as your hand clasped with his own.

[celestialprincesse]

hi angieee ‼️ first time requesting here but i love ur work 😋 esp how u write simon

noticed u don’t have anything for johnny…sooo silly sex w johnny?? bc let’s be real this man will NOT stop until he’s made u laugh a bit. will lowley feel offended 😙 could be hcs or a drabble wtv ur feeling.

but yeahh u don’t have to write this but johnny’s been plaguing my mind lately so ofc u need to experience some of that too 😼 alr byebye have a good/night

BARKING FOR THIS Like actually feral, rabid, foaming at the mouth🙂 There is some Johnny stuff peppered throughout my page, I just need to stop being so fucking lazy and actually organise it!!

Anywhoo mdni 🎀 nsfw

Johnny, despite what some people may think, is far from imperceptive. Yes, he's boisterous at times, energetic and animated, but he's also sharp as a tack, and too observant for his own good. Especially when it comes to you.

The split second he takes notice of the way you attempt to conceal a wince as his thick cock nestles itself up against your cervix, he stops still. Blue eyes search your face, the way your bottom lip is held tight between your teeth and the lines at the corner of your eyes where you squeeze them shut.

"Y' okay?" He immediately questions, the calloused hand he's not using to support his weight over you coming to brush errant baby hairs from your slightly sweaty forehead. "Mhm." You manage to strain, hoping desperately that within a few minutes, you'll get used to the slightly stingy stretch of your pussy accomodating his size. You normally do. "Ye don't look okay." "M' fine." You manage to ramble, although you can already feel yourself panting, and he's barely even done anything yet. "Right." Johnny gives a slow nod before eliciting a whine from you when he pulls out, leaving you empty. The look thrown your way as you prop up on your elbows to stare at him indignantly is half worried, and half wicked. "The hell did you do that for?" He doesn't even respond, just shrugs and flops down beside you, pulling you onto his chest and notching your knee across his opposite hip, one hand coming to rest around your shoulder, whilst the other comes down gently between your legs.

"This okay?" He hums against your hairline as his deft fingers begin to swipe between your folds, collecting the sticky mess of your slick and his precum before slowly plunging his ring and middle finger in, leaving you gasping. "I'll take that as a yes." The fact that you're not smiling like usual does something to his insides, makes his brows furrow into a worried frown. Fortunately, he knows perfectly well how to remedy your lack of usual blissed out giggles.

"Johnny!" You shriek as he digs his fingers into the soft, sensitive arch just above your hip and below your ribs, wriggling them slightly, leaving you yelping and cackling as you attempt to wriggle away from his tickling. "Ye ken why they call me Soap?" He growls in your ear, not stopping his tickling, only worsening it as his stubble brushes your neck, sending a shiver down your spine in it's wake. "S' cause I got slippery fingers." "Fucking idiot." You pant at his stupid joke, although you can't help but snort out a laugh at the idiocy of your situation. "Wha' has two legs and bleeds?" He continues, adamant on keeping that brilliant smile on your face. "What?!" You choke out, somewhere between a laugh and a sob as you continue to wriggle about as he prods at the curve of your waist. "Half a dog." The way you gawk gives him the perfect opportunity to capture your lips in his, teeth clattering and chests heaving as you kiss through the barely contained laughter you both share.

Realised like halfway through writing this that I don't actually know any good jokes 🥴 so I stole ghost's

Also this was like barely??? smut??? idk the brain isn't braining tn

[blitz0hno]

The reason the line "Happy or sad, why decide?" From Tear Drop sticks out to me is because it really does highlight Yuno's disdain for pity and projection

Sometimes people who think they are "empathetic" are just really stuck in projection without realizing, which is why ppl like "dArK EmPaThS" etc. use their fawning trauma as an excuse to be judgy assholes.

Like a sort of "If I was in that situation..." So like even if they Understand the Emotions they're still seeing it from THEIR pov, THEIR life experience and not the other person's.

And like. I keep thinking about how, if I want to live authentically, it's always gonna be blatantly obvious I have trauma.

But like. EVERYONE has some degree of trauma, it came free w your late stage capitalism and your parents being as dumb and scared as you are/neu i am talking like BIG picture here.

Like you can be bummed stuff happens to ppl and like bear it in mind if conflict gets difficult, but me and my system mates do NOT need pity, unsolicited advice, to be assumed attention seeking or untrustworthy etc.. I don't have bad intentions but plenty of people do so I have a survival mechanism for that. I play it close to the chest. So fucking what? Why does life have to get so complicated so fast, but we as people are expected to be simple? I can't even decide if I want to tell people what name I truly am In the moment. Sometimes I feel 35, at a time in my life when I'll be grateful if the earth is still here in my mid-twenties. I've done almost nothing and feel the weight of everything and I don't see a place for judgement in a world like that unless someone does something TRULY heinous. Preying on others, hoarding resources, abuse etc.. So who cares how I am living and getting by? Why do I have to be secretive about something that's not hurting anyone? "Good" or "bad," there are assumptions attached to my circumstances that I am not happy with at all.

This isn't like a vent or anything I just think that system or not, Yuno is in a similar predicament. She Knows she should not have to feel shame, but she does. It has been placed on her for years, so she rejects it entirely and seeks to empower herself. Living as she pleases and being a boss bitch yeah, but still having these delicate feelings that are just too complex for many people.

I feel like everyone feels that way about something

[bullyhunter--69]

can you do a markiplier x little sister ? i need some sort of e s c a p e p l e a s e

Snack runs at 2am

Pairing: (PLATONIC) Big Brother! Markiplier x Little Sister! Reader (I'm imagining the reader to be like 17/18ish but it doesn't really matter honestly)

Summery: Boring days lead to equally boring nights filled with sleeplessness and hunger. Since Mark stole all of your snacks for the video he filmed with Ethan that day, you figured he might as well pay you back, right?

T/W: none! Just some good 'ol fluff!

A/N: my first request! I absolutely love big bro Mark and stuff like this is always so fun to write, I hope you guys enjoy! 🖤

----------------------------------------------------------

Bang

Bang

BANG!

Each of the kitchen cabinet doors opened and slammed shut, progressively getting louder to match your frustration. Did Mark really have to take ALL of your sacred snacks, just because him and Ethan were filming and needed something to fulfill their hunger during it? Why couldn't they have just ordered pizza-- or even gotten McDonald's!?

With a heavy sigh, you spun around and leaned your back against the counter top. It took all of 3 seconds for this new, glorious plan to form within your magnificent brain.

The gas station down the street was open 24-hours.

And Mark was going to take you and buy you anything you wanted.

It was the least a big brother could do after ruining your late night youtube binge session by being a hog and eating all of your snacks.

With hushed footsteps you ran as fast and quietly as possible up the stairs and to Mark's bedroom. All caution stopped though when you threw his door open and jumped onto the foot of his bed, bouncing slightly as the weight on the poor mattress was now being distributed between 2 bodies and not just 1.

You made sure to jump onto a spot that was far enough away to where his attacks wouldn't get you, and boy were you glad you did. The sheets were thrown off of the bed and big, hairy limbs went everywhere. Legs kicked and arms swung, followed by various curses and threats after the initial scream died down. It's safe to say, Mark was definitely awake now.

"--OR ELSE I SWEAR I'LL REENACT THE BITE OF '87 ON YOU-- (Y/N)?" His voice was softer now and heavily dripping with confusion as he rubbed his eyes and tried to make out the shape of you in the dark, but your giggles and snorts from his empty threats gave you away instantly.

"What, the fuck, was that for?" The bedroom lamp now on and illuminating the room with soft light showed his ridiculously messy hair, and his hoodie on your body that you stole because he kept the house insanely cold.

"Get clothes on. You're taking me to the gas station down the road because you and Ethan-you big pigs- ate all of my sacred snacks." You punctuated your statement by crossing your arms after throwing the shirt that was laying on the foot of his bed at him. "I think I deserve it."

Mark's face began to dawn the most deadpan expression you've ever seen on him. The bags under his eyes were darkened by the shadows and how his hair framed his face. Exhaustion filled every invisible wrinkle upon him. He looked completely wiped out from the day he had spent filming and editing, but honestly? You could still see his lips starting to bend into a smile as he pulled his shirt on.

Within the next five minutes, you were both seated in his car and on the way to the gas station, having opted to drive since it was cold outside. The radio station played softly as you cruised down the completely dead road.

After pulling in and parking in the spot right beside the door, you both got out and entered the gas station. You skipped right back to the aisle with the chips and candy as Mark made a B-line to the fridge with the energy drinks. You met up with Mark just a few minutes later, a mix of snacks, candy, and drinks overflowing from your arms. You never typically took advantage of the times Mark spent money on you, but this was different! He ate all of your necessary snacks so this was just him repaying you!

Dumping everything on the counter, the elderly lady behind the counter started scanning everything for you while striking up a sweet conversation with Mark, as she always did when you two came in for snacks or gas. Before you knew it though, you were back in the car with at least 7 bags filled to the brim.

You looked over at Mark as he buckled his seatbelt into place. "Thank you Mark, I know you ate all my snacks, but this makes up for it." You laughed, but it got interrupted by a yawn. Mark looked over to you and followed with a laugh of his own, reaching over to ruffle your head. "I'm sorry for eating all of your snacks, kid. Let's get back to bed, yeah?"

You nodded in agreement and buckled yourself in, relaxing back in the comfy seat as Mark started driving.

"I'm still gonna beat Ethan's ass, he isn't off the hook just because you are."

[tailsnumber1fan]

do you have any advice or tutorials on how to draw (specifically color) like you do? i admire your artstyle a lot and I want to learn how you do things ( ˶ •́ ω •̀ ˶ )

got this question a few other times so ill attempt to explain how I personally color (⁠๑⁠•⁠﹏⁠•⁠)

whipped up a small guide (?) but ill explain in more detail some stuff here

• when picking shadow colors i specifically aim for cooler colors (i use very cool ones for the darkest shadows)

• i dont use pure black or white since it can make the drawing look more flat for an artstyle like mine!

• tip for backgrounds, try making the colors blend together more (with blending modes if u want!) so that the characters stand out more. i also make the character + anything i want to stand out more bright and saturated

• adding onto the last point, i reccomend using complementary (aka opposite colors) for contrast

• i dont really do this myself cuz i forget but make sure u dont get caught up in details! a good tip is to color your sketch so you can play around with the colors more easily and to make sure your drawing has good contrast from a distance

• little bonus lineart tip.. line weight! i reccomend finding more in depth videos about this but a simple explination is: thicken your lineart in places where parts are heavier (ex. bottom of a lock of hair or thick shirt) and for anything you want to stand out especially w backgrounds, then the lines thinner for small details

• also just a personal touch of mine, little doodles like stars n hearts really help everything come together and fill in empty space!

these r just some things that have helped me with my art, remember these arent rules! experiment with ur art till u find something you like, study others artwork, take tips from others and adapt them to your own work!!

im not good at explaining but i love rambling about art and i hope u can find a few things in here useful (⁠´⁠ ⁠.⁠ ⁠.̫⁠ ⁠.⁠ ⁠`⁠)🫶

[wooahaes]

hii this is maybe a little random but i'm having a bit of a rough night and it got me wondering if you have any favorite comfort fics among the ones you have written (or read, for that matter, i'm just a sucker for your writing)

hi anon im really sorry this is late and i hope your night got a little bit better :( but i'll still throw some recs out!!

very very long, but [under the sun] itself always gives me comfort? something about the world just feels very cozy and i've heard from other people they consider it a comfort fic. i don't think you Have to read the initial parts to understand the individual parts (it gives world-building + reader gets dubbed 'mouse' there as a nickname that pops up throughout individual fics), but i personally think seokmin, jun and joshua have some of the more softer parts personally? jun's does have to deal with reader getting injured, so heads up for that.

i wrote the hyung line [comforting reader when they're upset] earlier this year. its very short and sweet, but it fits what you're looking for.

most recently, i had a maknae line fic [to be together (even when it's hard)] since i was going through a bad bout of depression and wanted the comfort.

there's also a full group drabbles post of comforting them which is kinda in the same vein, but its just a lot of [holding them].

this ones admittedly not very inclusive but on the off chance its what ur dealing with, i wrote a vernon fic while i was dealing with some accidental biphobia from a friend. everythings all good now, but i needed the comfort, so i expanded on a nonranghaes drabble i wrote and made it into [of your choosing].

[taste of love] isnt explicitly a comfort fic but its very comforting imo? its longer, but its a sweet jun fic that focuses on the connection that food can bring to people <3

[to heal together] is a jeonghan fic where its kinda mutual comfort

[to weather together] is another short fic for jun that involves comfort and cuddling and him supporting reader as they cry :0

[call on me] is a dino fic where he comforts fem!reader after her family forgets about the promise they made her

[i need an angel's hand] is a more personal comfort fic where cheol comforts fem!reader while she's dealing w fears of abandonment n so forth. its personal, but its out there for anyone who relates and needs it

for nonranthaes stuff: personal but cheol being there for reader when they decide to drop out of grad school

wonwoo comforting reader who is a victim of sexual assault

joshua holding reader as they cry

married fic of reader comforting cheol over weight gain that he's a little self conscious of

personal but vernon comforting reader who has an abusive parent

vernon fic where readers happy to have a loving relationship after having shitty ones in the past

jihoon listening to reader vent and being there for them

jun comforting reader after he finds them upset

lovey dovey soonyoung being patient and kind

in the same vein as the svt maknae line fic, there's a short 3racha fic [a little less daunting] that's also comfort.

there's a poly minsung fic [reassurance] that deals with reader getting comforted while they're dealing with some stress from work that impacts them in other places in their life.

this has a fem!reader since its from my bday fics this year, but [i'm just lonely, someone reach out and hold me] is a jisung fic where reader gets comforted after other ppl forgot her bday.

i feel like i have way more comfort on nonranghaes so:

platonic chris fic where he holds reader and comforts them

platonic chris fic where reader feels like they're 'behind' on life things

short felix fic where he's ready to comfort reader

lee know comforting reader during an anxiety attack

jisung comforting reader after someone accidentally made a comment that really hurt them at a party

lee know comforting reader while they have a bad headache

unfortunately i dont really have anything for trsr/golcha or mark lee (i havent written anything else for nct yet unfortunately skdfhsf so its just. mark.)

fic recs!!! for stuff from the same author i'll @ them once and do a little ^^ to mean its from the same writer <3

@jinkoh reader drops an egg and vernon comforts them. very cute, can confirm <3

^^ ex-boyfie wonwoo helping reader who is going through panic attack bc mans would come running i just KNOW it. very soft and sweet <3

@hoshologies's woozi fic w reader dealing with mental health problems and jihoon helping/comforting them. very very tender <3

my beloved livvie @husbandhannie's jeonghan fic where reader is in a toxic work environment

my beloved savv @savventeen's cheol drabble about reader feeling safe w cheol

i truly need to read a lot more tbf but all of these come from my recs tag!! most of what i read is pure fluff imo but these are the more comforty ones <3

i hope this helps!! sorry again for getting to this late anon :( <3 my sleep schedule is thrown out of wack bc of thanksgiving unfortunately...

[doctorbrown]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 ⸺ 「 10 / 31 * RITE OF PASSAGE 」

June 11, 1978

It just looks like a normal building.

A little more run-down than some of the newer buildings around it and it looks more like someone just dropped the old garage on the side of the street and said good enough without any care or thought to how well it fit with everything else around it, but on its face there was nothing wrong with it.

Mad scientists planning to destroy the world or exact revenge on their enemies typically lived in haunted old mansions with perpetual storms raging overhead and thunder and lightning tearing through the sky; not in garages right next to Burger King.

“Come on, McFly.” Needles leans over the handlebars of his shiny new black bike that admittedly makes Marty a little jealous. It was almost the same exact one he’d been begging his parents for for months—it was the one thing he wanted for his birthday so he could keep up with his friends around town and not feel like he was getting left behind just because their parents had the extra cash to throw around. If he got nothing else all year but got that bike as a birthday present tomorrow, everything would be perfect.

Needles grins and Marty can’t help but think of some cartoon villain, fully aware that even before he says anything else, whatever scheme he’s cooking up in his head is only going to spell trouble.

Considering that he, Jake, Scotty, and Needles are all hanging out across the street from Doctor Brown’s garage, lined up in some sloppy half-circle across the sidewalk, there’s only one thing he can imagine will come out of his mouth next and it’s not trying to ride their bikes through the drive-thru at Burger King.

“You ain’t even gotta go inside—all you need to do is sneak over there, touch the wall, and look in through the window. Reeeal easy. You might even see him working on one of his experiments in there!”

Marty scrunches up his face in obvious distaste, shifting his weight and Linda’s old hand-me-down bike with it to favour his left side. “Or we could just leave him alone. Don’t you think he put the fence up for a reason? I bet the guy just wants to be left alone to do—whatever he’s doing in there.”

Which, admittedly, he had been more than a little curious about ever since he first started hearing the stories of crazy old Doctor Brown and his dangerous experiments. Doctor Brown was an unknown—an outlier—an object of immense interest to his young mind that fascinated far more than terrified. More than once he fantasised about this exact moment—stealing into Doctor Brown’s so-called laboratory to sneak a peek at all the things he was inventing in there, being whisked away to a world that might have been infinitely more interesting than boring old Hill Valley.

Once, he almost stopped him on the road to dispel all the rumours and hearsay for good and finally learn the truth about the man.

“Didn’t you hear what Max Gordon said last week?” Jake asks incredulously, surprised by Marty’s blatant nonchalance. “He did it too! And he said—“

Marty groans. “You didn’t believe all that, did you? Max Gordon’s an idiot and if you believed that stuff he said, you’re just as stupid as he is. I bet he just got so scared he passed out and thought the stuff he was reading in his dad’s comics was real. He already thinks Doctor Brown is some kind of evil space alien come here to destroy the Earth.”

Scotty snorts, leaning to his left to thump Jake upside the head. “He definitely believed.” Jake rubs the abused spot with a pathetic look on his face. “Maybe we should send Jake instead.”

“No way—my birthday’s not even for another couple months. I’m not doing it.”

“Chicken,” Marty teases, grinning fondly at them. Jake huffs, content to spend the rest of his days as a live chicken over a dead—or worse—lab rat.

“So what’s the problem?” Needles cuts in, jabbing a finger at Marty’s chest. “If you’re not scared, then just go up there. Even you can climb that fence, McFly.”

Marty swats the offending hand away with a frown, clenching his fists against the obvious dig at his height. “Because, Needles, unlike you I’m not a jerk and I think we should just leave him alone. I’d rather take my chances with Hell Hill.”

[dumbcinnabun]

hi hi! i'm cinnabun - you can call me whatever! my deadname real name is lila though ftmtf (she/her) | 24 | subby and dumb

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ~~♡

message me if you wanna chat or if you wanna fuck with my brain or whatever<3. i would say this is all fantasy and not irl but id be lying ;3

Minors DNI pretty please!

kinks and stuff below, i edit this post sometimes when i remember.

yes please: noncon dropping into my DMs to chat or try and drop me dumbification/bimboification: make me dumb pretty please! being sent spirals or hypnofiles you think i should listen to if you think you can train me to be a prettier, dumber femboy or girl id be very grateful <3 detrans is super hot i like dicks a lot! they are very pretty and warm and i just like them! (hiding it down here, but i live in qld australia so if u are too,,, hmu)

no thank you: hardcore degradation: feel free to call me dumb or a whore, but not like out and out insults not into weight gain or food related stuff, but i think im ok w the idea of a dom getting me to loose weight to look prettier for them no scat/watersports/vomit etc. blood and spit are walking a fine line, cum is good <3 no feet!

i'm into cock, anything not on my no thanks list im open to trying at least once. im post top surgery nd ive been on t for like 4 years but im really tempted to stop,,, its been 7 months since my last t shot <3

[ttcalzz]

Doing this all at once!!

Warning ‼️ novel below

1. Stats

Cw: 143.5lbs 🥲

hw/sw: 165lbs 😧

ugw: 127lbs

2. Height: 5’ 8”. And I would say I do like my height!

3.

I loveeee how small her waist is and how all around slim and toned she is!! She’s also my height so it makes pics of her even more motivating!

4. I really don’t wanna lose my ass 😭😭 I barely have one to begin with! Also I’m scared I’ll slow my metabolism down so I can’t maintain my ugw

5. I am losing weight for me. I want to lose weight because I’m tired of feeling a double chin when I look down, or having to wear “control top” (barf) leggings under skirts so they look right. I want to be totally confident and comfortable in the body I carve out for myself.

6. I do binge sometimes, mostly out of a sense of loss of control. When I’m really in a tailspin, and I can’t focus, food fills the void. I always feel worse.

7. My parents do not know! They know I’ve had an 3d “in the past” so I am keeping this very much under wraps

8. I don’t really have a routine per say, I just do whatever I feel like doing, but I usually do something like

- Clamshells (60 seconds each side)

- 80 squats

- 30 lunges (each side)

- bridges until failure for 2 sets and then pulse and hold until failure for one set

- 3 supersets of 10 reg crunches, 10 crunches w legs in an L shape, 10 crunches with legs straight up, and 15 leg raises.

- 10 pushups (as many standard as possible, then assisted/on knees)

- 60 second plank

- Stretching

9. Kinda. The earliest I can remember is being veryyy little in the pool with my little sister and her asking why my belly was bigger than hers. I didn’t even know what fat meant at that point but it hurt like hell. When I was a little older, I remember my grandma giving me advice on losing belly fat ☹️ like girl pls. My family has commented negatively on my weight loss before though, my dad is convinced I’m “super skinny” and “need to put some weight on”. I’m literally completely healthy?? Girl bffr.

10. The hardest thing? Probably how weak I feel. I know that’s just the way losing weight goes, and it does validate me, but I’ve always been rly strong so losing some of that muscle mass as I lose weight has been hard bc I can’t do as much as I was able to before. Planning to pack muscle on as much as possible anyways bc it makes you look skinnier

11. My fav th!nsp0 blog is probably @c0ke-zer0 , the stuff they post is so motivating 🥰

12. Lately, I’ve been drinking a lot of Fairlife protein shakes (chocolate flav my beloved) and eating saltines w hot sauce (I know it’s weird but it works). I also really enjoy salads, fruit, dumplings, rice, and 0 cal energy drinks. I will eat pretty much anything, I don’t really have fear foods, I just eat a very small portion and try to eat the most of whatever is lowest calorie/highest protein

13. I’m definitely not losing weight in a super healthy way, but it isn’t the worst? I’m hoping to actually maintain my UGW afterwards so I don’t wanna totally fuck my body up rn.

14. My ugw is around 125-130, I know weight fluctuates and my actual ugw is like 128 but it’s never gonna be exactly that every day. I’m hoping to reach it before the end of November! I only have like 13.5 lbs to go!!

15. Nope! I am not vegan or vegetarian, and I don’t think I could do either. Chicken and tuna are such good low cal/high protein foods, I could never give them up.

16. The first time I ever remembered really wanting to lose weight was when I was around 15? My best friend had an 3d and I remember googling it to see what it was and finding tumblr and…. It was all downhill from there 😭 can’t believe I’ve been dealing w this shit for so long bro I need to lose the weight and get tf out.

17. I am not diagnosed with any eating disorders butttt I definitely have disordered eating? If I were to get diagnosed it would probably be something along the lines of 4n@ or 0rthø

18. Anything salty and crunchy 🥹🥹 I will go through a whole bag of takis so fast it’s not even funny. Been avoiding chips as much as possible for this. Also candy if it’s just around? I used to have a really bad habit of just eating mindlessly. I don’t even have a sweet tooth idk why I wouldn’t just control myself. That’s not really any issue anymore tho

19. I work at a fast food-ish place, but I didn’t really eat my last shift so I guess it would have been about 2 weeks ago? Usually when I get something from there I steer clear of the “fast food” offerings and take a banana or a yogurt.

20. My favorite diet is high protein, under 1000 cals. After that idc, I try to eat more healthy than junk foods, but like I said I’ll pretty much take one bite of anything.

21. Clothing sizes

Pants: 4 💔

Shirt: small

Dress: small/medium

I always buy sweatshirts and stuff in xxxl sizes though.

22. My lowest weight was 138 lbs. it was right before a family vacation, so I couldn’t get away with not eating. I ended up gaining back some of the weight and then “recovering” aka gaining all the weight back only to be unhappy and come back to this.

23. Definitely!! I totally remember seeing magazines talking about how fat celebs were and at 10 years old thinking “but I look like that” and generally growing up, skinnier was prettier and better always.

24. i think it’s disgusting. Pr04n4 content is what made me develop this 3d in the first place. It’s one thing to post abt your struggles and seek community, it’s a whole other thing to glorify it and try to make OTHERS sicker???

25. Yes, I have purged before. I don’t do it often. But the first time i was 16 and my family had gotten Taco Bell, I ate like 2.5 burritos and felt sick with myself so I threw up in my trashcan bag and threw it away outside. Horrible memory.

26. I’m so excited to be confident in my skin!! And look great in all the outfit ideas I have planned 🥹 I also can’t wait to have a partner but I don’t see that happening until I lose this weight. When that does happen, I love being picked up and carried or tossed around, so being light enough that it isn’t a burden for my partner. I also can’t wait to have someone pick me up and go “omg you’re so light” or hug me and say “you feel so skinny, did you lose weight??

27. Honestly it doesn’t bother me too much, I work around food all the time so I just sorta go into a work mindset: look, touch, don’t eat. Food is for preparing, food is for serving to others, food is not for eating.

28. Not necessarily! I think it looks nice on a body type with wide enough hips, but on me I think i would have to be skinnier than I want to be in order to have one. Besides that (VERY CONTROVERSIAL) I don’t mind bigger thighs BECAUSEEE they support ass 🫡

29. For me, beauty is when someone or something is fully expressing itself to all it can be. A performance, a flower bloom, a genuine laugh. It doesn’t really matter what those things look like, as long as they form that direct bridge to the soul and show a glimpse of yourself to the world.

30. 10 facts about myself

- I can’t stand cucumber or celery

- I’m in school for psychology

- my birthday is soon!!

- I do art

- I have one younger sister and she’s my world

- I have 2 pets! A cat and a dog

- I love blue and green

- my eyes are brown

- im in multiple f4nd0ms (c3ns0r3d so this doesnt come across n0rm4l túmbIř

- I had a hardcore middleschool emo/kpop phase (yes at the same time)

[actualbird]

quick question: who is the big spoon in the marius luke relationship? 👀 (also just want to say it’s such a huge joy to see new posts from you I really LOVE what you have to say about tot especially mariluke and peanut!!)

waahh, im super glad u enjoy my tot stuff! im happy to be posting new things again too ;w; life is quite busy and a Lot lately but talking about these characters helps brighten my day <3

anyhoo, onto ur question!

i think marius is big spoon 70% of the time

marius strikes me as a very clingy sleeper, once hes comfortable with whoever hes sleeping with. and once luke is esconced in his embrace, there is No Escaping. marius is tall, so his limbs are Long. he will lovingly ensnare luke most of the time theyre sleeping in the same bed together

this kinda tendency for marius is a callback to how, under all the professionalism and/or the playful snark, deep down theres just this immense want for genuine affection that wants to break through.

marius' clinginess in his sleep strikes luke as a tad childish, but not in an insulting way. like....when luke wakes up and marius is hugging him so close, luke looks at him and sees marius' youth shine through in the earnestness. and having the oppurtunity and privilege to see marius like this makes luke feel honored, because it's marius letting him see a part of him that nobody else gets to see

luke usually wakes up a good half hour earlier than marius on a usual day, but when theyre sleeping in the same bed together, luke isnt in a rush to get up at all. because even if he did, the moment luke would try to pull away, marius would make a soft sleepy noise of disapproval. luke can read between the lines. dont go, marius is saying, however intentional or not.

so luke doesnt go. he stays and enjoys the warmth of marius' spooning, and also takes pleasure in feeling immensely cherished because

marius is has a lot of power a lot of money a lot of influence etc etc; he could have anything in the world. but in this moment, in his sleep, honesty shines through. the thing he wants to have and keep the most is luke

but....

i think luke also gets his turn as big spoon the rest of the 30% of the time

if marius is a clingy sleeper, i think luke is a Very Light Sleeper. side effect of the NSB days and the probable PTSD and also the having to handle random nerve pain episodes. luke is always braced for something to go wrong, even in his sleep. this is also why marius is big spoon most of the time, because it helps luke feel safe.

but there are days that even luke—who seems to be full of endless energy, alertness, and capability—gets tired. too tired for that restless hypervigilance to set in, too tired to do anything but just want to conk out immediately.

being held by marius is lovely and calming and peaceful, but there are days when luke is tired that the best way for his energy to slowly creep back up is to be the one holding marius instead.

marius doesnt mind, and hes more than happy to help luke recharge. plus, when luke is the one spooning him, because of their height difference, luke kinda just hooks his chin over marius' shoulder or nuzzles at his nape. it's adorable to marius

and marius just very much likes being the one that can both make luke feel safe and make luke feel the weight of exhaustion just a little bit less

thank you for the ask :D

[brinleyparke]

Hawaii Five-0 Fic Ideas/Prompts Masterlist

Steve gets a CornerShot for the armory.

Career day at Grace's or Charlie's school (Grace or Charlie asks Steve to come)

Veteran's day at Grace's or Charlie's school:

Grace or Charlie have to write a letter to a soldier. Grace or Charlie writes one to Steve.

One of Grace's teachers asks her if her Uncle Steve could come and talk about what it means to serve your country and about the meaning of sacrifice.

Nahele tells Steve he wants to join the Navy

Grace tells Danny that she wants to join the Navy bc she wants to be like Auntie Catherine. (McRollins)

Charlie tells Danny that he wants to join the Navy bc he wants to be like Uncle Steve. (Gen, McKono, or McRollins)

Early season 1 – Steve's thoughts on fireworks

After seeing how he reacted when he thought he heard real gunfire (when it was really coming from a video game) in 4x07, I thought about how he'd react to fireworks (especially in season 1), which they seem to have pretty often in Hawaii. Also based on the song "A Soldier's Memoir" by Joe Bachman

Spn x-over: (gen or McKono or McRollins) Maybe John Winchester knew Joe or John McGarrett. While on a case in Hawaii, Sam and Dean notice the name in their dad's journal. Even if Joe never met John W., he knew about him from John M. telling him about him. When Steve and Danny arrest Dean and maybe Sam, too, Joe tells them to let them go.

Spn x-over: Steve is open-minded and trusts his gut and believes Sam and Dean are good guys.

Spn x-over: Maybe Steve's house is haunted, or maybe there's a case that's weird. He remembers seeing something in his dad's stuff. He finds what he's looking for. It's a piece of paper or a sticky note or something that says "John Winchester" with a phone number and says, "Call this number if anything weird happens," or something along those lines.

Reacher (TV show) x-over: Post 3x20 – Reacher decides to go to Hawaii because why not? He ends up getting framed for murder again because that's just his luck. Five-0 gets the case. Steve sees Reacher and looks like he's seen a ghost. Steve believes that Reacher didn't do it. The Five-0 team thinks Steve isn't thinking straight. It's up to Steve, Reacher, and Catherine to prove Reacher's innocence.

Steve goes to Jersey with Danny (gen)

Renee tries to convince Lou to give Steve a chance, to get to know Steve.

Alicia Brown/Steve

Steve has a son and names him Freddie.

Chin remembers Steve as a teenager.

Slight AU where Steve adopts Nahele.

AU where Chin is Steve's partner instead of Danny (I love Steve and Danny's partnership, but I just think it would be interesting to see what it would be like if Steve and Chin were partners since Steve's dad and Chin were partners.)

Steve and kids from cases/crime scenes

Ellie tells Lynn about Steve.

Season 2: Kamekona notices Steve has lost weight.

Kelly (Freddie's widow) and her daughter come to Hawaii. Her daughter wants to know more about her father. Kelly knows Steve was a big part of Freddie's life, so she wants her daughter to know him, too.

Since they never said what her name was, I think maybe the daughter could be named Stephanie. Maybe Kelly did it as a way to show Steve she didn't blame him for what happened to Freddie.

Kelly (Freddie's widow) gets a new job somewhere and sees or finds something she shouldn't, so now she and her daughter are in danger. Being too scared to call the police and not knowing who else to call, she calls Steve. Steve tells her to get on the first flight to Hawaii. She and her daughter make it to Hawaii. Steve protects them.

NSFW: Steve has sensitive nips (gen, McKono, McRollins, Noelani/Steve, Alicia Brown/Steve, or Lynn/Steve)

NSFW: Steve/Kono/Adam

NSFW: Steve has a nice ass (McKono, McRollins, Noelani/Steve, Alicia Brown/Steve, or Lynn/Steve). See evidence below.

Songfic/Fan video Ideas/Prompts

McKono Fic Ideas/Prompts

Sick!Steve Fic Ideas/Prompts

Ideas/Prompts Based on Specific Episodes

H/C Fic Ideas/Prompts

Pre-series Fic Ideas/Prompts