#u all can guess the symbolism

[theultimatekamehamehavoc]

apple (unpixellated organs down below)

[infernal-lamb]

The Lamb Slaying Death Incarnate

(Part of a larger comic....but I sort of like this panel a lot on its own!)

[silusvesuius]

baby👶 drawings. these are very dear to me rn.. 2nd pic is my Nelavis with @barvin0k's Varonur 🩵 last one is a baby bosmer and snow elf, hairiest of them all. although the bosmer was meant to be my girl Barletta too lols

[ruporas]

invisible scars (referenced previous talk here)

[ID: A colourless, digital Trigun comic of Vash and Wolfwood talking about Wolfwood's scars. They're both laying in bed and topless. Vash lays on top of Wolfwood, playing with the rosary around his neck. Then, Vash kisses a spot on Wolfwood's chest. Wolfwood asks, "What are you doing?" Vash smiles sadly, "You got shot here. In the last town we visited. You didn't even bother moving."

Vash props himself up over Wolfwood, who frowns slightly. Wolfwood is quiet for a moment before he says, "You remember that, huh?" Vash grabs Wolfwood's left wrist and brings it to his face. "And here." He kisses another spot there. "When you helped free the hostages from that robber..." Wolfwood dismissively says, looking away, "Was a lucky shot." Vash huffs, “Don’t brag. Jeez.”

Half of Wolfwood's expression is shown, eyes returning to Vash who is now sitting up, continuing to say, "And..." Vash goes on and kiss Wolfwood's right palm. "You got cut here, even though that girl was aiming at me." A moment from the past flashes, of Wolfwood grabbing a knife aimed at Vash, his hand bleeding.

At present, Vash moves down and puts another kiss on Wolfwood's right shoulder. "And here, from watching my back." Another memory flashes of Wolfwood and Vash back to back. Vash looks back as Wolfwood grins while holding Punisher, bleeding from multiple gunshots in his shoulder.

"And," Vash combs up Wolfwood's hair to reveal his forehead, "Here." A final memory shows Wolfwood with a regeneration vial in his mouth while getting shot on his temple. The next panel is framed in blood with Vash at the center, eyes wide and stunned in horror. The next panel is a closed up shot of Wolfwood's eye, locked on Vash's face.

Back to present, Vash’s head is bowed down as Wolfwood raises a hand to his nape and says, “Spikey.”

Wolfwood looks serious and frowns as he says, "We talked about this. Those were my decisions. They're not there anymore. Forget about them." Vash looks very sad before he smiles ruefully and says, "I still see them. All the time." He leans down so they touch foreheads. Wolfwood’s sorrowful expression can be seen as Vash says, "You protect so much. I could never forget what you've done to me. And many others..."

In the last image, they're drawn more cartoonishly. Wolfwood sweats and asks, "You don't actually remember every wound, right?" Vash points at a spot on his chest. "Kuroneko left a scratch here 7 times." Wolfwood, startled, says, "Why the hell are you keeping count—" End ID]

Credits for ID here and here

[vexangle]

on the topic of music though i think theres something about it that just doesnt click with my brain? because i DID learn music theory, how to play instruments, i had a music instructor, etc. and frankly i still dont really get it.

(under readmore because this got long)

when i performed pieces on piano i was mainly sightreading, and the way i could tell i made a mistake was because my muscle memory got good enough that i would feel my hands being in the wrong position for the sheet music i was seeing before i processed that the note i was hearing myself play was incorrect.

(i CAN hear it! but my visual-spatial and proprioceptive processing are leagues faster. ex: if my left hand playing accompaniment was supposed to play notes 1 octave apart in succession and i hit a 6th interval instead, i can hear that its not quite right! HOWEVER whats more clearly and immediately evident to me is that my hand did not travel far enough across the keyboard to hit an octave.)

note or chord names do not connect to a specific note's sound to me, i can only read sheet notation, and if anything having the notes labelled on the staff (like how beginner books do) made it more difficult for me to understand. its like staff placement = finger placement. and the sound doesnt factor into that, it exists but it goes somewhere else or hits roadblocks before being properly processed.

i also could not for the life of me pass the part of the aural exams that had us listen to about a minute length excerpt of music (theyd play it twice, with the 2nd time upon request) and then identify the musical period, mood, when during the piece the dynamics or tempo changed (such as near the beginning, in the middle, or near the end), etc. "was it louder at the start or the end?" = impossible question. when new music starts playing nothing except for the sound in this exact current moment exists to my brain. once it stops playing its just gone. "did it get slower at any point?" bro what you just played does not even EXIST in my brain anymore.

like clearly my working memory is kind of trash here but i wonder if its something specific about auditory stuff that my brain doesnt get. because i can comment on like, an animation based on my first or second watch even if i dont get to pause/rewind/analyze it frame by frame. and i can learn a dance/choreo thats set to music. but music itself really feels like it goes in one ear and out the other. just slips through my fingers like it never existed.

[t3tr0m1n0]

i like a cannibalism motif as much as all of us but unfortunately it's hard to apply that to my ocs when the main guy with an animal motif is associated with the ant

[honeybeedrabble]

Kinktober Day 13: Size - Tutor!Miguel x AFAB!Reader 🎃

can you tell i hate my math class this sem ?? :D

CW: unspecified age gap (reader is in college miguel is in grad school), trauma inducing stats vocabulary, piv (unprotected don’t be stupid), creampie (don’t be stupid), mean miguel, harsh grabbing, fingering (kinda), finger sucking, general size difference.

18+ MDNI

It was getting late, you and your roommates Machi and Gale having dinner with you. You huffed, slumping in the chair you sat on.

“This is such bullshit, I’ve been stuck on this problem for like half an hour already. Nothing’s clicking.” You pushed your dinner aside and looked at Gale for reassurance. She tilted her head at you with a raised brow.

“Girl, you know damn well I’m not getting it either. Just call it quits for tonight, it's not due for another two days.” She said, sipping a chilled can of coke. 

“Oh, come on. Neither of us are understanding this shit. I mean, this symbol looks like a backwards three! I miss when math used to just have numbers,” you complained, squinting at the statistics homework in front of you.

“That looks ridiculous,” Machi laughed. “Never have I been more glad to be an arts major.” She said, getting up to put her dish away. 

“If it bothers you that much, why don’t you just visit the tutoring lab? I think they’re still open.” Gale said, grabbing your dish and following Machi to the sink. 

“Really?” You asked, checking your watch. 8 pm. 

“Hey, we pay thousands of dollars in tuition, okay? If they can’t stay open or help when students need it what's the point in taking all that money from us?” Gale shrugged. You sighed, standing up from your chair. 

“Well, I guess I better get moving if I want to make it to the tutoring center before 10. Let me know if you guys need anything while I’m out.” You grabbed your keys and left the apartment after grabbing your bag and slipping your shoes back on. 

_____________________________________________________

You arrived at the building, glass doors sliding open as you walked through them, the cold air conditioning giving you goosebumps. You walked over to the sign in sheet, looking through available tutors for the next hour or so. 

“Crap…” You sighed, looking through the sheets. It seemed like you needed an appointment before hand, at least electronically. 

There was the sound of laughter down the hall, you turned your head towards the sound. There was a much larger man along with a guy who seemed about your age. You recognized the shorter individual from your statistics class. 

“Well, I’m glad we could get your problem figured out.” The tall man said, a big hand patting the younger guy's back heavily. 

“Yeah, it only took us all night.” More laughter. 

“Hey, if its due in two days all night is nothing.” The tall, tanned man said. He was massive, you could practically see his muscles bulging underneath his white buttoned shirt. His chocolate hair slicked back, a few strands messily framing his face. You were in a trance when his almost red eyes met yours. You felt your face flush. 

“U-Uh, Hey! You’re in my statistics class arent you?” You asked the shorter guy, desperately avoiding the older mans gaze. The shorter guy said your name questioningly, you nodded. 

“Yeah, thats me.” You said, clutching your bag tighter. “So… you got help with the homework?” You asked, motioning to the taller man.

“Oh yeah, this is Miguel.” He said, patting Miguels back. 

“Hi, nice to meet you.” You said, grabbing his large hand and shaking it. You felt your palms become sweatier, his hand practically enveloping yours. “I didn’t see your name under the statistics sign up sheet.” You said, voice almost trembling. 

“Well as a grad student my major is scientific research so that's why I’m not under statistics.” He said, a slight smirk across his face, his grip on your hand becoming tighter. 

“O-oh,” you said softly. 

“But I use statistics in almost everything I do, so I can help out with any problems you’ve got if you need it.” 

“Miguel’s not a bad tutor, it only took us so long to finish cause I haven’t shown up to class in weeks.” Your classmate laughed. “I’ve got to get out of here but thanks for your help, man.” He waved before walking out the sliding doors into the dark night. 

You and Miguel turned to each other, you suddenly felt very nervous. 

“So… Would you… tutor me?” You asked, rubbing your arms for warmth. 

“Well, it's not quite 10 yet and I don’t have any other sign-ups, so why not?” He shrugged, walking down the hall with you following after him. 

You two walked down the hall, reaching a small study room at the end of it. 

“This is the room I reserved for the night, so don’t worry about anyone coming in here super late and trying to steal it from us.” He said, opening it up for you to walk through. 

You walked into the room, a table with a few chairs in the center with a whiteboard behind it. It seemed fine to you as you walked in, sitting down on a chair, slightly taken aback when it rolled underneath your weight. You looked down and noticed wheels at the feet of the chair. You looked up again when you heard the door shut, Miguel locking it behind him. 

_______________________________________________

“And that's why your z score is going to be 20.99. Does that make sense?” He asked. You were fucked. 

The whole time you were supposed to be paying attention you were completely distracted by his being. He sat next to you, his large frame practically caging you in between him and the desk. He was everywhere, and if you weren’t staring directly at the paper, you were scared you were going to faint. You nodded, eyes looking down at the problem, refusing to tear away from the mathematical mess you made. 

“Yeah…”

“Then tell me how you got it.” He said, deep voice rumbling in his big chest. 

“Well, first you uh…” You circled a random number in the world problem then looked up at him with helpless eyes. He raised a brow. 

“You start with the standard deviation?” He asked, clearly unamused. 

“Well… You definitely use it somewhere…” You said half joking. Miguel was still unamused. He sighed deeply, throwing his head into his hand. 

“I’ll explain it one more time, okay?” He said, grabbing the pencil from your hand. His hand brushed against yours and held your pencil as if it were a toothpick to him. “So, we’ve identified the mew, right?” He asked, underlining the foreign symbol. 

“Yeah…” You said, asking yourself what the fuck is a mew? 

You were determined to stay focused but that man made it difficult. You turned to look at him while his eyes were fixed onto the paper, scribbling out equations and typing into your calculator- which he also made look puny in his grasp. You watched him as he spoke, the way his soft lips moved as he talked, revealing sharp canines every now and then between words. You felt your face flush, entranced by his presence. You eyed his large shoulders, following them down to his massive arms. You looked back up at his face, admiring his features while he was so deep in thought. He looked down at you.

“So now we just divide and… hey?” he said almost harshly. “Are you paying attention?” He asked in a snarky tone. You felt your face drop. 

“I… um…”

“Distracted again?” He tossed the pencil onto the surface of the table, muscular arms crossing as he almost glared at you. 

“I’m sorry.” You felt exhausted, covering your face with your hands in defeat. You felt like crying. 

“Maybe if you weren’t so focused on undressing me with your eyes and more focused on these problems, you’d understand this shit by now.” He grunted. You stilled, face buried deep into your palms before you peered at him through between your fingertips. 

“W…What?” You asked, looking at his almost red eyes. 

“I said what I said.” Miguel's voice was low, he grabbed your seat and pulled it towards him, the wheels moving you with ease. You felt your core tighten, as your face continued to burn hot, regardless of the air conditioning. 

Miguel's eyes practically violated you, staring deep past your own and into your soul before looking you up and down, clearly enjoying how you cowered. 

“That pretty little head not used to thinking this hard?” he asked low in your ear. You shuddered, hairs on the back of your neck standing at attention. “Pathetic.”

He grabbed your waist with his large hands, daring to crush you between his palms. He slowly stood up from his chair, face inches away from yours. You took that as invitation enough and crashed your lips into his, those soft lips felt even better than you imagined, a whimper escaping your lips as his grip increased. He pulled you off of the chair and slammed you onto the table, papers flying and pens scattering around you. You let out a grunt as the air escaped your lungs from the impact. 

“I’m taking time out of my night to try and teach you this shit and you can't even meet me halfway and try to learn it?” He huffs yanking down your frumpy sweats to your ankles. You kicked them off, laying on the table in your tight shirt and panties. 

“I-I’m sorry, you're just so-” he cut you off with two thick fingers plunging into your mouth, you gagged when they hit the back of your throat. He smirked, watching you drag your tongue around the knuckles of his fingers. 

“That ought to shut you up.” He ran a finger from his other hand to your clothed cunt, you moaned around his thick digits when he caressed your clit. Your hips moved on their own accord, grinding against his large hand. “Would you look at that? I didn’t know they accepted whores into this school.” Miguel hummed, voice smooth like honey and deep like an ocean. 

His single finger moved to where your pussy and thigh met, yanking aside your black cotton panties to reveal your wet cunt, which clenched around nothing at the sudden cold air. 

“Jesus… I bet you were thinking about this all night, huh?” Miguel teased, the calloused tip of his finger just barely grazing along your seeping hole, spreading the warm slick higher and higher up your folds until he could smear it along your sensitive bud, eliciting another moan from behind his drooly fingers. 

“Needy, aren’t we?” Miguel withdrew his fingers from your mouth while his other hand unzipped his dress pants, the metal of his belt buckle clanking together as he pulled it out of its loops. The belt hit the floor with a small thud and with his drool-soaked fingers he freed his massive cock and ran the slippery fingers up and down his shaft. 

Miguel tore your underwear off of you, as if it was like taking a sticker off a piece of fruit. You felt yourself drip down your thighs, unsure whether or not it was okay to touch yourself while watching this Greek god of a man pleasure himself with your spit, watching your tense cunt beg him to stuff it. 

“Like what you see?” He asked, slipping his finger into his mouth and moaning long and deep when he tasted your sweet slick on his tongue. You nodded vigorously, grabbing one of your tits to entice him even further. “Why don’t you take that off while we’re ahead?” 

You quickly tossed off your shirt and bra, completely naked on the desk. Miguel softly laughed, watching how nicely you obeyed him. 

“You're too easy, y’know that?” With a few more pumps to his shaft, he harshly grabbed one of your thighs and spread your legs even further, admiring your wet pussy. 

The moan you two let out when he put his cock inside of you could've been heard by the whole building if it hadn't been well past 10 pm and everyone had gone for the day. His girthy member dared to split you in half, the sheer size of him was far too much to handle, especially all at one. We watched with pleasure as your breathy moans turned into agonized whimpers the further he drove into you. When he had finally gone balls deep inside of you, there was an obvious cock bulge deep inside of you as he stretched out your pussy wonderfully. 

“M-Miguel…” You sighed, a bead of sweat rolling down your temple. 

“Oh, so this can keep your attention but me slaving away on your homework can’t?” He smugly asked, pulling out before slamming into you with a grunt. You wailed, scratching the hard surface of the desk underneath you, crumpling stray pieces of scratch paper into your palm while arching your back. 

Miguel started at a rough pace, making room out of your tight pussy for his intimidating cock, juices slicking the shaft of his member, and sounds of your wet pussy gushing paired with the creaking of the table filled the room, moans, and mewls adding to euphonious music of your fucking. 

“So fucking tight… so fucking tiny… I bet I could fold you like a pretzel,” He said amusingly, grabbing the backs of your thighs and pushing the fronts of them against your chest. You cried out loud, new depth being explored by his commanding dick while he used you for his pleasure. 

With his massive hands, he spread his fingers out, his thumbs on the backs of your thighs and his four fingers on the small of your back, grabbing onto you so he could bring you up and down on his deep thrusts. 

You were seeing stars at this point, scared your arousal would drip onto your homework papers and soil all the progress you’ve made. But it didn’t matter anymore when you threw your head back onto the table and shook in his hands, pussy clenching around his meaty cock and milking him for his own cum. 

“Ngh- What did I say? Easy…” He moaned, thrusting inside of you a few more times before he shot a huge load inside of your tiny pussy, cum leaking out between where your sexes met and rolling down your asscheeks. 

You lay there on the table, shaking like a leaf in the wind. Miguel watched entranced as your shared cum leaked out of you, finger fucking it back inside of you, wondering if it he could stuff it all back in. He quickly realized your overstimulated cunt couldn’t take it as tears welled in your eyes. 

“Sorry,” He said, removing his fingers. “Now uh… where were we?” He picked up the page of work, then his face dropped, looking at the splotch of cum that had spilled out on accident. 

“On second thoughts… you might want to turn this in online.”

Tag List: @fuckmachine42069 @pasdasin @alien-girl-violet

Next: Cloning - Kakashi x Reader

[noellefan101]

Quiet Love

Characters: Xiao, Heizou, Cyno, Wanderer, Albedo x mute!reader

Summary: You're mute, and cant talk? not a problem for your partner, they can find other ways to communicate, and honestly wouldn't have it any other way.

Warnings: mute reader, kissing, most of them dont know sign language bc i said so and it makes this more interesting, idk man

Note: i feel like i accidentally made both the char and reader mute in some of them, I've tried to fix it though, so im sorry for that (and i also messed up some other shit im just missing brain cells n´ down bad) -love you

Xiao

Whom talks with you in touches and small notes.

He had seen no problem in your absence of speaking, he likes the quiet nights that you shared with him. The sounds of nature taking over your ears, it was nice, just standing beside you and looking out to the views of Liyue. he reaches out to hold your hand, though still not accustomed to the feeling, he does it anyway. and as his hand lightly squeezes yours, he feels your own squeezing his back, as if saying 'I love you'. your quiet conversations are sweet and only for you two to know about.

He leaves notes scattered around, as you do too. ones with little messages of your schedule and plans. ones written with more love than any other person could comprehend. notes shared between you and him. notes saying 'i loved that dish, could we make it again' and a reply under, 'of course, i'll do anything for you'. it seems simple and dumb, but a nice way to talk to each other anyway.

Heizou

Who likes when you just listen to him, and let him do anything he kind of wants to since you can't talk back, but he also loves when you just draw your thoughts on paper.

He loves to talk, but mostly loves when he gets to talk to you since you always listen to him so closely. he loves when he can just drag you to to places, but of course he's nice about it (kind of) and ask you if you wanna go to that new ramen shop that opened in the outskirts of Inazuma City, which he kind of answers for you because of course you do! in which you smile at (smile at him or else...)

He likes your little drawings, and especially when its a little puzzle he has to solve so he can understand what you're saying and loves to guess wrong purpose so he can get a reaction out of you. and even has a special sketchbook, that he keeps on him at all times. he also sometimes goes trough it and just smiles at all your little drawings. remembering the time that you drew it, and all the cute little faces you made when he teased you for how bad it looked.

Cyno

Who helps you talk with small drawings in the sand and learned sign language so he could communicate with you properly.

He's often out in the desert, and from time to time takes you with him. which makes it easy to express yourself when all you need is a stick, sometimes his spear if he lets you, and sand which is already in front of you at all times. the little drawings that symbol your love, so many hearts all over the sand it would be hard to count how many times you drew them. he gave you his cape at night when you were extra cold? you drew a heart around his feet as a 'thank u, i love you', in which he cutely (your words) responded with, "i love you too" right after.

Whom learned sign language just because he felt like you were left out a little, but also learned the wrong one at first so you had to help him and learn him some signs as well. but the first thing you learned him was how to say "i love you", but didn't tell him what it meant so you could do it without him noticing just for a little while longer.

Wanderer

Who hates being touched, but makes you touch his shoulder when you need something and gifts you a book so you can write to him when needed

He, despite hating when people touch him, he cant think of many other ways you could get his attention, so he wants you to touch him when you need him. it doesn't matter if he had an extra bad day, its the best way to get his attention, so touch him all you want. it is you after all, the love of his life, he would let you do whatever you wanted to do, just tap his shoulder and give him a few signs or point at something, anything you want you'll get.

Others would say that he would be annoyed at you for pushing a book up to his face every hour or so, but he surprisingly he doesn't get annoyed at all and "tolerates" you pretty well. in fact he loves when you just stand there and write in your little book, he thinks its adorable when you glare at him as a sign to wait for you to finish.

Albedo

Who is normally very quiet but when he's with you he loves to talk, but of course, he loves the times when it's just you and him sitting together in silence

He could be seen as quite shy if you didnt know him well, but when around you he was the complete opposite, talking about everything he did that day, was currently doing, what plans he had ext. he loves when you just listen to him, but if you ever tried pointing at smt to ask like yk 'whats this?' he would be overjoyed and you wouldn't be able to make him shut up for hours about that one thing.

He looked at you when you had put your hand in front of his sketchbook, you looked at him sweetly before kissing his cheek, catching him by surprise. he put down his sketchbook and kissed you back on your forehead. it was just a quiet moment between you two and you wouldn't have it any other way.

thx for reading i hope your day went/goes well, luv ya-Masterlist

You are welcome to reblog and like any of my posts, but you CAN NOT translate, copy or hate on anybody for liking my posts

[macfrog]

ride it, cowgirl cowboy like me chapter ten

hey dudes. anyone up for some dbf? i seriously can't thank you guys enough for all the love y'all show this series. blows my mind every time. i have been super excited for this chapter for a WHILE. might be my fave so far. who knows. you can grab chapters 1-9 on my masterlist and also my ao3 if ur feeling fancy. love u all sm!!!!!! ✨💘💫

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: joel picks you up from a girls’ night. you’ve plans for when you get home

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) reader isn't an astrology girlie (sorry), more pining beCAUSE, alcohol consumption + a mention of the devil’s lettuce, very quick bit of unwanted touching, even quicker bit of protective joel, soft!joel, softdom!joel, one tiny mention of daddy, protected piv sex this time (feeling conservative slutty max will return), reader rides him into the sunset, age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), cursing

word count: 6.7k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

You lazily drag yourself over and over Joel’s dick, each stroke drawing you nearer and nearer to your high. When your body starts to falter, you feel him shift, and open your eyes to see him leaning over to the nightstand. His fingers grip the rim of the black cowgirl hat you’d worn that night. He lies back, flat against the mattress, and reaches up, placing the hat on top of your head. You smile. Joel speaks in a low, gentle, but commanding whisper. “There you go, cowgirl. Show me how it’s done.”

You never believed much in the power of the universe. Astrology, moons, manifestation. Whatever. None of it ever really meant much to you. You knew your star sign, knew which cool little symbol resembled you, and that was about it. Everything past that was…confusing and, frankly, a little overwhelming.

However.

If the universe were to send you a sign, one huge, fluorescent, multi-colored, in-your-face sign, that it was on your side…this weekend might just be it.

Your dad’s downstairs, finishing up packing for his work trip. His departure is imminent. Sarah’s been in Nashville since last night. A series of texts she sent you at 3AM riddled with spelling errors and heart emojis tell you she’s been having a pretty good time so far.

You are Joel are…alone. All by yourselves. For a whole…twenty hours.

Can’t have it all, I guess.

Your eyes skim down the texts you sent him this morning, texts he is yet to reply to.

You: Merry Christmas!!!

You took his non-reply for confusion – he is almost fifty, maybe he doesn’t get the joke? It’s a pretty lame joke, anyways. Very lame. If your thumb hovers over the send button before you press it, it’s probably not that great a joke. And your thumb had most definitely hovered. So, you’d followed it up.

You: As in, today’s the day

You: I don’t mean it’s actually Christmas

You: I mean like, happy ‘we’re finally gonna be alone again’ day

You: Never mind

“Hello?” Anna’s voice cuts through your train of thought. “Are you even listening to me?”

You drop your phone, shaking your head clear of Joel. “Yep. Sorry. Just didn’t catch that last part. You froze.”

The image of her on your – pretty fucking dusty – laptop screen rolls its eyes, knowing you’re lying. “I don’t know whether to go with the pink or the black boots,” she says.

“Ain’t your dress yellow?”

Her head falls into her hands. She throws herself down onto her bed and slides her laptop closer. “That was, like, ten minutes ago. I’m goin’ with the pink strappy one now.”

“Pink does say rodeo.”

“Fuck you,” she snaps through a giggle. “Remind me what you’re wearin’, again.”

“Black hat, black boots, black dress.”

“You’re so boring.”

“Thanks. Really looking forward to our night out.”

Anna snorts and then stands back up, strides over to her closet and resumes rummaging. “Black jacket, too?” she calls over her shoulder.

“Uhuh,” you reply, glancing back down to your phone. “Although – it has rhinestones. And tassels. Not so boring after all, huh?”

Anna’s silence drags your eyes from the text thread back to your laptop screen. She’s frozen in place, twisted around with a dress in her hands, jaw on the floor. “Show it to me. Now.”

“Hold on,” you roll over and off your bed, your shoulder stiff from the position you’d been lying in, “I think I left it downstairs.”

“Tell your dad I say hey!”

You pad down the carpeted stairs in your socks, toward the sunlit hallway.

“Dad, have you seen my– Oh, fuck.”

As you round the corner at the bottom of the stairs, glancing over your left shoulder to the front door, your chest knocks into something hard. Steady. Strong.

Something you recognize the feel of before you’ve given him a proper look.

“Mind your step, baby,” Joel says, and your heart leaps.

“What the fuck are you doin’ here?” you whisper, peering around his body to look for your dad.

“He’s out front,” Joel tells you, then takes your shoulder and reels you in against his chest. “’m just here to help ‘im with his GPS.”

He plants a kiss on the top of your head and gives you a squeeze. Your head rests safely on his chest, arms link at his back. If you didn’t have plans tonight, and if your dad wasn’t, like, ten feet from you guys right now, you’d never let him go. Just follow him around, vice grip around his waist, surrounded by the smell and feel of him.

Not that that means anything. You’d do other stuff, too. You’re not…you know.

Your dad’s voice streams in through the open door and Joel releases you.

“It ain’t for workin’, Joel, I’m about to throw it at the f– Hey, kiddo.”

“Hey. What’s the matter with your GPS?”

You lean in to the tiny device in his hands. Joel’s elbow comes up to rest on your shoulder.

“Just won’t connect to the car. Every time I plug it in, it just…” He lifts his hands, screen loose in his fingers, and hands you a bewildered look.

You look at him, expressionless. “Why don’t you just use your phone?”

“Because I paid almost a hundred bucks for this thing, and I’ll be damned if I’m– Alright,” he stops himself, eyes shutting in exasperation, “I already explained this to him. I ain’t justifyin’ myself to the two of you.”

Joel’s laughing behind his hand, pretending to scratch his nose when your dad stalks off to the kitchen and throws the device down, snatching the instructions off the table.

The pair of you follow, both still trying to swallow your laughter. Joel wanders around the table and sits down beside your dad, fumbling with the screen. You dive into the coat closet at the bottom of the stairs and fish out your bejeweled, tasseled jacket.

“You lookin’ forward to your girls’ night?” Joel asks, eyes flitting up and down the leather jacket in your hands.

“Mhm,” you reply, opening your mouth to continue when your dad butts in.

“S’posed to be a girls’ night, but that boy Sam’s crashin’ it, ain’t he?”

“Well, we asked him.” You shrug. “It’s his night off.”

Your dad scoffs, shaking his head to Joel, who looks up to you with a confused expression. “’s the big deal with that?”

“Oh, wise up, Miller. He’s only goin’ ‘cause of…” He wags a finger in your direction, and a smirk peels across Joel’s lips.

“Is he, now?”

“Uhuh,” your dad replies, intense stare still on the instructions in front of him. “Makes no damn sense. I plugged it in using the cable they gave me in the box. Stupid thing…”

You shake your head to Joel, who’s still looking at you, bemused. He knows you and Sam are just friends. Also knows your dad is the most oblivious theorist to walk the planet. Just aiming his gun at the wrong target, is all.

“I’m gonna let you two get back to…that,” you say, turning to head back upstairs. “Anna says hi, by the way.”

Your dad’s eyebrows rise once, his eyes never lifting from his GPS. “Hi, Anna.”

“Hey, Anna,” Joel echoes, smirk on his lips.

“Not to you,” you throw back, hopping up the first step. You hear his chuckle as you disappear.

----------

Anna’s reaction to your jacket in person matches that over Facetime: a deafening squeal. A squeal which she repeats almost every damn time she sees you throughout the night.

“So – fucking – cute!” she exclaims for the fifth time, fingers dancing through the tassels. “And it goes so well with your hat.”

You sip on your cocktail, nodding enthusiastically, pushing your eyebrows up underneath the brim of the black cowgirl hat on your head. Trying to match her energy. Your mind’s elsewhere.

Joel texted you a few hours ago. Told you to have a good night, said something about Sam, but you were stood right next to the dude, so you quickly locked your phone and slipped it back into your clutch.

Now, standing with your back against the wall of Franks, watching Sam play pool with Eve, you feel safe enough to read over the message.

Joel: Have fun baby. Be safe. Tell Sam good luck from me.

You squint at the screen, pulling it away from your face and leaning back in to read it over. Good luck? The fuck does he mean –

You: Good luck??

He replies almost instantly.

Joel: Yeah. Good luck winning you over. Took me, what, a week?

Oh, fuck off. You roll your eyes and throw your phone facedown onto the table where Anna and Kara sit, about twenty minutes deep into a conversation you missed the beginning of.

Your attention turns to the room before you – brick-walled, metal dome lightshades hanging over each pool table. Glass-paneled door to your left leading back through to the main bar. For being a tiny bar on a backstreet, Frank’s is pretty lively. There are bodies everywhere, bumping by each other, drunken arms slung over shoulders, hips swaying with the soft rock song blasting from out front.

You imagine your dad here with Joel, maybe Hank and Bill, too. Playing pool, beer bottles resting on the felt while they take their shot. Or sat on the rooftop, sipping on a whiskey. Talking about you and Sarah. What does Joel say about you when you’re not around?

And what does he want to say, but can’t, ‘cause it’s your dad? What does he think, and bite back when it bubbles to the surface?

Your straw gargles, slurping up the last few sips of your drink. You lean over to Anna and Kara, holding your empty glass up.

“Another?”

They both shake their heads, and you nod, turning on your own back to the bar.

You squeeze between two older women, both dressed smart and sharp. One of them – clutching a Manhattan – shifts out of the way as you pass.

“…one more conversation with him about squash,” she tells her companion, “and I am gonna blow my brains out…”

You edge over to the bar and slot into a free space, propping your elbows up on the wood. One of Sam’s coworkers – her name escapes you – notices you and shuffles over, smiling sweetly.

“How you doin’?” she asks, running a damp cloth inside a tumbler.

“Good,” you reply. “Could I just get a Bud, please?”

“Sure thing,” she says, and reaches behind to grab one. You slide her a note and she hands you change, and then you’re on your way back to the pool room.

As you slink by the two women, a weight knocks into your shoulder, almost sending your beer flying out of your hand.

“Sorry,” a rough voice sputters on your left, and you glance in its direction. Some broad dude in a tight t-shirt.

“’s fine,” you mumble, clutching your hat; a smell of weed choking your throat.

He passes by behind you, one hand lingering a little too long on your waist, and you saunter back over to Anna and Kara.

“That dude stinks, right?” Anna whispers behind a cupped hand, and you snort.

“He smells like he’s having a good night.”

“We’re talking about Romeo and Juliet over there. We’re basically third, fourth, and fifth wheeling,” Kara says, nodding over to Sam and Eve, who’re finished their game of pool and have now graduated to darts.

“I don’t…think that’s a thing.”

“Eve asked me if Sam was single earlier,” Anna says, lifting her straw to her red lips.

“What?” Kara spits out, choking on her drink. “Eve has a boyfriend!”

Anna giggles. “He’s kinda an ass, anyway. Look at them, they’re so sweet.”

“You say sweet, I hear morally wrong.”

“Who says it’s morally wrong?” you chirp, alcohol pushing the words over your lips before your brain’s had time to stop them. Your fingers clutch your phone, still laying on the table where you left it. “You?”

“Uh, it’s cheating, dude. What if Nick found out?”

“’s not that big a deal,” you reply, phone screen lighting your face in a blue hue, “they’re just having fun.”

Anna points to you, lifting her glass. “Here’s to havin’ fun, I guess.”

Kara lifts her own reluctantly and they clink, but you’re distracted. Already typing a message to Joel. Bored. Drunk. Morally wrong.

You: What you doing?

Joel: Watching TV. What you doing?

You: What ya watvhin ?

Joel: None of your business. Go get another drink. Looks like you’re not drunk enough.

You lift your head with a giggle, almost ready to turn your phone around to Anna and Kara and say, look what the dude I’m sleeping with just text me. And then, thankfully, your good sense kicks in and you bring the screen closer to your chest.

You: Kinda bored. Wanna come home now please

Bored, horny. It all means the same.

Joel says he’ll be at Frank’s in twenty minutes. You rest your chin on your palm and watch as Sam cheers Eve for hitting bullseye.

“I think they’re cute,” you whisper.

Anna and Kara are already preoccupied, taking photos of one another across the table. Kara leans into you and you smile, flash blinding your hazy eyes for a few minutes afterward. A few more pictures, couple boomerangs of your glasses cheersing, and then your phone’s vibrating.

Joel: Outside. No rush.

That last part is where he’s wrong. There most definitely is a rush, and it’s in the form of the heat that starts to pool between your legs.

“Alright,” you shimmy off your barstool and stretch your back. “My ride’s here.”

“What?” Anna almost screams, her hand slapping down on the table. “You’re leavin’?”

You nod. “Sorry, babe.”

“Don’t babe me, traitor. It’s, like, midnight.”

“Uh, it’s, like, almost 2AM. I’m tired. I don’t know how y’all do it.”

She sighs, conceding, and agrees to walk with you to the front door. Kara and Eve stop off by the bar to grab another drink. Sam holds the door open for you and Anna and you’re hit by a wave of cold night air, instantly cooling your hot, sweaty skin.

“Is that…Mr. Miller?” Anna asks, mouth falling wide open.

You glance down the street and notice his black truck, parked up by the curb. “Mhm,” you reply, “my dad’s out of town, so he’s picking me up.”

“Can he take me home, too?”

Sam snickers. “Wow, Anna. That’s just…Wow.”

She shrugs, lips closing around her straw as she stares at Joel’s truck. Something inside you lurches at the idea of Joel sitting there, his eyes glued on you, watching everything you do, everyone around you. And then again at the thought of Anna and her doting gaze on him.

“Alright, I guess that’s my cue to skip.”

Anna pouts. “One more drink?”

“I’m good, thanks,” you scoff, patting her head affectionately. I got business to attend to.

You give her a quick kiss on the cheek and Sam wraps an arm around your shoulder, giving it a squeeze before you’re wandering off toward Joel’s truck.

“Hey.” Something – someone – hooks around your elbow, and you turn back. It’s that same guy who stank of weed.

“Hi,” you reply, as sweet as you can, but trying to loosen his grip.

“Saw you inside, you out with friends?”

“Mhm. I’m just leavin’, my–”

“Few of us are headed upstairs. You wanna come?”

You glare at him a few seconds, before yanking your arm from his grasp. “Nah, no thanks. I’m leaving. Have a good night.”

You stagger off, feeling his eyes on you as you go. Joel’s truck headlights switch on, dazzling your eyes, and you quickly click around to the passenger side, throwing yourself in beside him.

Joel doesn’t say hey, doesn’t squeeze your thigh, doesn’t even look at you when you settle into the seat. Just asks –

“Who’s that kid?”

“Uh…not sure. Bumped into ‘im in the bar.”

“He give you trouble?”

“No,” you lean over the console, pulling your seatbelt over your body, and flash him a tipsy grin, “thought that was my job. Givin’ trouble.”

Joel doesn’t reply. Doesn’t take his scowl off the dude outside Frank’s, either. Your eyes meander across to his hand, locked in a tight fist around the wheel. Your smile drops.

“Joel. It’s fine. Can we go?”

When you lift a hand to the crook of his elbow and he feels your warmth on his skin, he tears his gaze away and it lands on you. Soft, gentle. His lip isn’t curled anymore. His brows lift.

His eyes watch your lips as you whisper the words to him.

“Want you to take me home.”

“’s go, pretty girl.”

----------

Joel refuses, no matter how many times you ask, how hard you bat your eyelashes, how many promises you make, to stop by a drive thru.

“Please?” you ask one last time before he’s pulling in to his neighborhood.

He shakes his head. “Look at that, we’re already home.”

“I ain’t takin’ no for an answer, Miller, not until the engine’s off. We’re still driving.”

He doesn’t reply. Just pulls up in his drive, cuts the engine, and looks at you. Shrugs. “Oops.”

“Fuck you,” you groan, sliding down in your seat. “I’m starvin’.”

“Make you a big breakfast in the mornin’, how’s that sound?”

“Wanted a Big Mac, but whatever.”

Your fingers fumble for the door handle, clicking it open. You roll out of the truck and stroll around to meet Joel at the driver’s side. He snakes an arm around your shoulders, steadying you as you walk up his porch steps and into the house.

“I’m fine,” you murmur, glancing around his living room.

“Alright,” he says, tossing his keys and kicking his boots off.

Your eyes settle on the TV screen, paused. Probably around the time you text him. There’s a crowded hospital room onscreen, doctors in dark blue scrubs, all surrounding someone lying on a bed, someone who looks pretty familiar…

“Is that…fuckin’…Grey’s Anatomy…?”

Joel chuckles, peeling your jacket from your shoulders.

“That’s Meredith! When she–”

“She fell in the damn river,” Joel mutters, placing the tasseled leather over the back of his couch. “Derek had to go in after her. Intense stuff.”

“Right? I told you it was good!” You smack his arm. “I can’t believe you’re watchin’ it without me.”

“I ain’t watchin’ it,” he protests, “it was just on, ‘n I needed something to keep me awake. I’m still rooting for Meredith ‘n George.”

“We can watch it from the beginning.”

“Yeah?”

You nod, moving over to him. “And then I can be over here all the time, and you can make me all the grilled cheese I want, and we can lie in bed and…do stuff.” Your chin rests on his chest, flashing him a toothy grin. Hands swinging in his at your side.

Joel’s eyes narrow, but there’s a smirk on his lips. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk. I had a couple drinks. I’m not drunk.”

“H’many fingers am I holdin’ up?” Joel asks, raising his fist. You punch it away.

“Ha-ha,” you say tonelessly, and wander away from him.

“Baby,” he calls you from behind. Sure, you’re tipsy, and he can be a cocky asshole – especially when he has to take care of you, but that’s a sound you’ll never get tired of hearing. Baby. You’re his darlin’, his sweet girl.

You spin around, very nearly losing your footing, and he’s standing with an arm out, ready for you to take.

You smile dumbly. Meander over, and take his strong hand in both of yours, wrapping your fingers around two of his to let him reel you in against his body.

“C’mon,” he whispers, as you lean against his frame. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

You follow him up, knowing where he’s leading you. You’ve spent more time in there the last few weeks than you have your entire life.

His room is cool, not cold, but comfortable. It’s Joel all over; the muted colors, the décor, the smell that calms you as soon as you stumble over the threshold.

He sits you down on the edge of his bed and kneels, pulling your boots off one by one.

You giggle.

“You laughin’ at me?”

“You’re like my own personal tr…No, not trainer. Wait. Personal ch–”

“Chef?” he says, snorting. “Not chef. Try again, soberhead.”

“Oh, I dunno.” You throw your arms up as he sits your boots against the wall, then stands and takes your hat off.

“This,” he says, placing it on the nightstand at your side of the bed, “is very cute. I like it.”

“I’m cute, too, y’know,” you whisper, pouting.

He smiles, and leans down to give you a quick kiss on the lips, pointer finger under your chin.

“The cutest.”

“Ha!” you roar. Joel twists around you to undo the zipper at the back of your dress. “Joel Miller thinks I’m the cutest. Take that, Anna…”

He laughs. When he unzips you, he pulls the dress off your bare chest and down your legs. You don’t shy away, used to the idea now of him seeing you naked. Used to the idea of him seeing you in any vulnerable state; drunk, or naked, or in a sobbing mess on day two of your period.

You notice, even though you’re a tad dizzy with what alcohol is left in your system, that his eyes linger on your panties a moment before he turns and grabs a tee from a chair.

And something inside you ticks.

“Joel?”

He’s pulling the shirt over your head. It smells like him. Intoxicates you much more and much quicker than any drink you could order from Frank’s.

“Mhm?”

You feed both arms through the sleeves, swallowing the question you were about to ask. He’s standing up now, telling you to get into bed.

He walks over to his dresser and begins removing his own clothing. He only sleeps in boxershorts. Your eyes track him as he yanks his t-shirt up over his toned shoulders; fingers undo his belt, unzip his jeans. Everything is discarded to the side for now; he has something more pressing to attend to.

His best friend’s daughter, laying in his bed, a pool of wet forming in her panties.

He just doesn’t know it yet.

As he slips under the covers beside you, you pull off your underwear in one quick movement. Joel doesn’t seem to notice, or so you think; his arms immediately take hold of your waist and pull you against his body. You’ve gotten into the habit of sleeping pressed against his torso, his thigh between your legs. Joel settles comfortably with you draped over him, and lets out a deep sigh.

“Joel?” you whisper again into the darkness, growing braver.

“Hm?” he replies, starting to fall asleep.

You toss ideas over in your head. None of them good, you’re sure, but you’re getting desperate. How he can’t feel your damp core on his thigh, you’ve no idea.

But then, maybe he can? Joel doesn’t miss anything, especially not where you and your…arrangement are concerned. Can he feel you? Is he deliberately ignoring it?

Maybe he has something up his own sleeve?

“I…was just wondering…”

“Wondering what, darlin’?” His voice is muffled, spoken through unmoving lips. You glance up at his face. His eyes are closed.

You grow more desperate.

“…wondering what your body count is?”

You ask it as innocently as you can, your voice wavering on the words body count. It gets him, though, as his eyes blink open a few seconds after you say it.

“I ain’t tellin’ you that. Go to sleep.” He closes them again.

“I wanna know.”

He ignores you.

“Joel,” you moan.

He calls you by name now, and you’re not sure if you’re pissing him off or turning him on – or both.

“Go. To. Sleep.”

“I’m not tired, though. Not yet.”

In response, Joel lets go of his hold on you and rolls over without another word. It’d sting if you weren’t soaking wet right now, and didn’t have a strong hunch he was hardening under the sheets.

“Joooel…” you whine, sitting up on your elbow. No use.

You take hold of his shoulder and tug him back toward you, rolling him onto his back. Like a deadweight, he remains frozen.

“Ugh,” you groan, and drag yourself on top of him, knees either side of his waist, ass hovering. When you sit back onto him, your core lining up with his crotch, your suspicions are proven right.

He’s hard.

Not as hard as he can get, as you’d like him to be, as you’ve felt him before…but he’s hard.

“Joel…” you mewl into the darkness, starting to grind your bare center over his boxers. The friction feels good, so you apply more pressure.

“If you don’t stop that,” Joel’s voice finally grumbles, “I’ll be sleepin’ downstairs.”

“Sex in the living room sounds good to me.”

His eyes open. “We,” one hand comes up to point between the both of you, as if he doesn’t expect your sobering self to understand which pairing he means, “are not having sex. No sex tonight.”

You sigh, shoulders dropping dramatically.

“Huff all you want, baby, it is not happening.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because you’re a few drinks too deep and it’s three in the morning. I’m tired, it’s been a long night waitin’ for you, I–”

“So let me make it up to you. I ain’t even drunk anymore.”

“No?”

“Nuh-uh. Could count any number a’ fingers you put in front of me.”

“Funny.” He closes his eyes.

“Joel.” You drag your hips again. If anything, he’s harder than he was when you first sat down on him. “I had a few drinks, I’ve sobered up. C’mon…”

You bend your waist and lower yourself to align your lips with the side of his head, peppering the skin under his ear with soft kisses.

“I wanna ride you, daddy.”

This gets him. His eyes open again, staring up at the ceiling. His hands slowly come up to rest on your hips.

“Don’t– That’s low, even for you, kid.”

You giggle and straighten up. When your hands lightly trace down his chest, onto his midriff and follow the trail of hair to his boxers, he doesn’t stop you. Just watches from beneath hooded lids, tensing at each point your fingers touch.

You raise your eyebrows, watching his expression for any sign to stop, and it never comes. He remains in place when your fingertips hook around the waistband of his underwear, slowly pulling down.

Joel breathes in deep when you reveal the tip of his cock, springing up to rest on his lower stomach. You feel your core clench. If he’s not inside you in the next five minutes, you might scream.

Well, you’ll be screaming either way.

You look back into his eyes and tilt your jaw, asking for permission.

“Go on,” he whispers.

Your hands take him eagerly, pumping up and down his shaft, and his head falls back onto the pillow with pleasure.

“Uhuh,” you mumble, focusing on his solid dick, but desperate for more. You give him a gentle squeeze and a groan passes his lips, his grip tightening on your body.

You let go of him and grind your hips along his length, folds coating his shaft in your wetness. Joel’s humming, watching as you pull yourself up and down him.

Then, you lean forward, and your hands take hold of him again. You give him a couple more strokes, eliciting a deep groan, and then line his bare cock up at your entrance, practically foaming at the mouth to sink down on him already.

“Woah, woah,” Joel takes hold of your wrist, “slow down, cowgirl. I gotta get a condom.”

You huff as he leans over to his nightstand and opens the drawer. “Don’t want one, Joel, I’m on the pill.”

“No way, baby,” he says through a chuckle, silver wrapper in his fingers. “We already did that, one too many times.”

“So just pull out?”

“Nope.”

You sigh, frustrated.

Joel holds the packet out to you, smirk on his face like he doesn’t expect you to take it.

So, you do.

You steal it from him and tear the wrapper, fishing the rubber out between your two fingers. Pinching the top, you roll it down his shaft and pump up and down for good measure.

“Ready?” you ask, head tilted, cocky smile on your lips.

“Wait, wait,” he whispers, shoulders lifting off the mattress. He lifts the hem of your shirt, telling you, “Off,” before pulling it over your head, exposing your bare breasts.

He stares you down; legs wide open, straddling him, completely naked, nipples hardened, figure silhouetted against the slivers of light peeking through the shades from the streetlights outside. You’ve never felt so confident, mounted on top of Joel fucking Miller.

His eyes roll back and his head falls against the pillow. “Fuckin’ – knock yourself out, baby.”

You steady yourself with one hand on his chest, the other taking hold of his cock and guiding it to your entrance. You push his head through your folds a couple times, and Joel hisses at the feeling, before you sink down.

You stop after the tip the first time, but it draws the same reaction from you both. Joel groans even louder than before, and you moan as you push yourself back up.

Then, without warning, you sink the whole way down.

He’s so deep it brings tears to your eyes, so big that he’s stretching you out more than you thought possible, hitting all the right spots already before you’ve even begun.

Joel’s eyes are screwed shut, his grip on your hips digging into your skin so tight it almost hurts. His jaw is tight, holding back what you can only imagine are the neediest moans he could sound.

So, you decide to draw them from him.

You lean forward and begin bouncing, feeling his thickness pull out and push back into you, both hands on Joel’s chest now for balance. You’re whimpering, the burn of his cock stretching your tight cunt so good and borderline painful at the same time, but you don’t stop.

“Good girl, good fuckin’ girl,” Joel moans, opening his eyes to watch you ride his dick. “’attagirl, just like that.”

“Joel…” you cry, letting him bottom out each time, feeling his balls slam into your ass with each bounce.

“Yeah? You like that? Tell me, baby, use your words.”

“So – good – Joel – oh!” you shout.

“Such a good fuckin’ girl for me, huh?”

You fight against the urge to close your eyes; the pleasure between your legs and the knot beginning to tighten in your stomach are all you can see, hear, feel, but you want to watch him some more. You want to see what you do to him.

You lean forward even further, moving your hands to the pillow either side of his head, so you’re directly above him now. One of Joel’s hands comes to the back of your head, pulling you down until your foreheads are together, moans escaping your mouths only to be inhaled by the other.

Joel speaks to you quieter, through gritted teeth.

“Like ridin’ me, do ya? Like the way it feels?”

“Mhm,” you moan back, and he brings a hand down to slap your ass. You yelp. “Fuck…”

“You look so good, baby, so good. Such a fuckin’ whore for me, hm?”

Another stinging spank pulls a whine from you so filthy, so loud that you’re sure the neighbors will hear, even at this hour. Joel smirks back, resting his hand back on your hip, where he has a grip of you.

Then, he bucks his own hips, pushing into you deeper than before, so deep you see stars. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan, panting through the searing pain so good that you never want it to end.

“Joel – I’m gonna – fuck, I’m gonna cum!”

“That’s it, sweet girl, cum all over me. Let go, baby, I’m here.”

That does it. The coil snaps, your walls clench. Joel lets out a guttural moan as you throw your head back and ride him through your orgasm. He coos you through it, squeezing your hips, whispering, That’s my girl, doin’ so good, baby as your body rocks back and forth on his cock.

When you come back down to earth, your lids heavy and breathing staggered, you swear your body can’t take anymore. You feel so fucked out that you’re not sure you can sit up straight on top of Joel.

But he’s always been able to read your mind, and this is no different. He pulls himself up and into you, propped up with one strong hand on the mattress behind his back, the other wrapping around your waist. His cock is still buried deep inside you.

“Joel…” you whimper pathetically. “Can’t do it anymore…”

“That’s okay, baby, we’re gonna do this one together, alright? I got you. Can you do that for me? Just one more?”

You link your arms around his neck and lean into him; his strong form doesn’t shift, just takes on your weight and keeps the both of you upright as he starts to bounce you on his length again.

You’re overstimulated; your cunt swollen, fucked-out, drenched in cum, but Joel makes you feel so good that it’s impossible to let him stop. Your arms pull him in closer to your chest to steady yourself, and his groans echo in your ear.

“Good girl, that’s– that’s it, so fuckin’ tight for me, pretty girl.”

When it all becomes too much to take – Joel’s hand squeezing your waist, your clit rutting against the bottom of his stomach, his fucking cock buried so deep inside you that you swear you can feel him splitting you open – you push him back down onto the bed.

Once when you still lived in New York you read something in a Cosmo about spelling the word ‘coconut’ with your hips when riding a guy. You’d tried it a couple times with hookups, and it’d never done anything for you. They’d never done anything for you.

But here you are, nearing your second orgasm, on top of someone making such a mess of you that you brain can hardly compute to spell coconut, never mind your hips being able to round the shape of the word.

You lazily drag yourself over and over Joel’s dick, each stroke drawing you nearer and nearer to your high. When your body starts to falter, you feel him shift, and open your eyes to see him leaning over to the nightstand.

His fingers grip the rim of the black cowgirl hat you’d worn that night. He lies back, flat against the mattress, and reaches up, placing the hat on top of your head. You smile. Joel speaks in a low, gentle, but commanding whisper.

“There you go, cowgirl. Show me how it’s done.”

It’s all you need. It’s all it takes, by this point.

You brace yourself against his chest again, positioning yourself just right, and bounce on him until your vision starts to blur.

The noises slipping out of Joel’s mouth each time your bodies connect at the base of his cock push you closer and closer; every groan and whimper which passes his lips makes you sink your hips down even harder, pushing him deeper and deeper with every bounce.

“So – fuckin’ – big – inside me,” you slur, and Joel moans in response.

When he takes your hips in his hands again, you know he’s there. He’s just waiting for you to fall first.

You give in to him, feeling yourself close around his length, throwing your head back in pleasure as your second orgasm washes over you, igniting every inch of your body.

Joel’s groans meet yours as you lean forward again, slowly rolling your hips to coax him through his own orgasm. Watching him release, buried deep inside, he looks so good that you feel like you could cum again just at the sight.

You feel his cock start to go limp inside you and when he opens his eyes, panting, you smile sweetly at him.

“Fuck, darlin’.”

You giggle, hips still driving gently against his. “Good?”

“So good, baby, did so well. You’re gonna be the death of me,” he whispers with a trembling breath, taking your waist in both hands and giving it a tight squeeze. You roll to the side, letting his cock slip out of you, condom full of his seed.

You tumble onto the mattress beside him, both heaving, moaning messes. Your chests rise and fall in sync, fingers tangling and untangling by your sides.

Then Joel gets up, and wanders over to the bathroom, where you watch him through the open door as he pulls the filled rubber from his soft dick. He bins it, then runs a facecloth under the faucet, dabbing it across his own forehead as he makes his way back over to you.

You can’t hide your grin as you watch his naked form approach; tan lines where his t-shirt must end, dark hair decorating his arms, legs, chest, the base of his cock. He sits at the edge of the bed, arm outstretched with the flannel in hand.

You go to take it from him, but he doesn’t loosen his grip. Just pats it over your face gently, soft gaze on yours, your fingers intertwined around his wrist. Your eyes fall closed, the cold cloth a relief against your warm, sweaty skin.

“Feel nice?” he whispers.

You nod in response. Your chest swells at how soft he’s being, how tender. When he stands to throw the flannel back into the sink, you almost find yourself reaching out to hold him down.

He climbs over you, springing back down onto the mattress with a heaving sigh.

You prop yourself up and shimmy over, positioning yourself on top of Joel, chest-to-chest. He looks down and smirks, running a lazy hand across your cheek.

“You’re so good to me,” he mumbles.

You tilt your head with a smile and lay down on his chest. You can hear his heartrate slowly calming down. His fingers twist through your messy hair.

“I have no idea what you’re laced with,” he says, “but you got me.”

You smile. “Yeah?”

Joel nods. You shift positions, adjusting your aching hips safely between his thighs. “You hurtin’?” he asks.

You nod. “Mhm. But I like it. It’s you.”

Joel’s hands run through your hair and his fingertips trace your shoulders. His touch is so light it almost tickles. You turn your jaw and kiss the back of his hand.

“My dad gone, Sarah out, free house…” you mutter.

“Hm.”

“So, you invite your mistress over.” You lift your head, smirking at him.

Joel’s chest vibrates with laughter. “You ain’t my mistress.”

“Oh really? What am I, then?”

“I am not having this conversation at 4AM, kid. Ask me again tomorrow.”

You’d think of something to throw back at him, messing with him, but your entire body aches, and your heavy eyes are starting to fold closed with how sleepy you suddenly feel.

You pull Joel’s sheets over yourself, turning your back to him. Joel instantly follows suit, pulling up right behind you, your back tight to his chest, his thighs cupping the back of yours, then slipping one between your legs.

His arms lock around your torso under the sheets. Safe. Secure. Nothing can happen to you as long as he’s got you.

“Ten,” his voice mumbles against the back of your head.

You turn so your ear is pressed against his lips. “Huh?”

“Ten. That’s my number. Includin’ you.”

Oh.

He doesn’t ask to hear yours. You wouldn’t mind if he did, but he doesn’t. You don’t think he’s telling you to hear yours in exchange. He’s telling you because you asked. He’s telling you because, whether in attempt to turn him on or simply to know something about him that you didn’t before – something nobody else knows – it mattered to you.

He’s telling you because you matter to him.

You nuzzle back into him a little, a form of reply, and, as you start to fall asleep, you feel him place a gentle kiss to your ear.

----------

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(lmk if i’ve missed you out & check my taglist info for how to be added!)

[hopeisour4letteredword]

pov they are all little haters (ID under cut)

[ID 1: A one-panel comic with characters colored in white on a light orange background, featuring Ema Skye, Apollo Justice, and Klavier Gavin from Ace Attorney. They’re shaded in light pink. Ema and Apollo stand in the foreground, visible from the waist up. Ema is scowling viciously, with one hand around Apollo’s opposite shoulder and the other gesturing. She speaks a text post by tumblr user mikaaaa, saying “Can you be a fucking hater with me for a second.” Apollo looks down at her with a slight frown, brow furrowed in exasperation. In the background, Klavier smiles cluelessly at the pair of them from a distance. ID 2: A one-panel comic with characters in flat color on a purple background, featuring Apollo. He is shown from the waist up. He is gesturing with one hand and glancing off to the side. His expression is somewhat embarrassed, brow furrowed and blushing. He speaks a text post by tumblr user bifourbi, saying “apparently this morning my wife heard me make a noise in my sleep and she asked me if i was okay and i just responded with “yeah, i’m just pissed off” and promptly fell asleep again. like i was dead asleep and just fucking hating still i guess. the grind never stops.” To the side near him, a scene in a bubble depicts Klavier and Apollo laying in bed together. They’re covered up to their waists in purple blankets and are wearing pajama shirts. Klavier is awake and leaning over Apollo, evidently trying to talk to him with one hand on Apollo’s back. Apollo’s eyes eyes are scrunched closed, eyebrows scrunched up, and his speech bubble shows cartoon anger symbols. There are also Zs floating by his face. Klavier looks disbelieving and says, “???” ID 3: A one-panel comic with characters colored in white on a pink-to-yellow gradient background, featuring Apollo and Klavier. It is shaded with light orange. Klavier and Apollo are depicted from the hips up. Klavier has one arm wrapped around Apollo’s waist and the other cradling his wrist in front. He smiles smugly with his eyes closed and “speaks” a tweet by twitter user eerie0013529 that says, “Ur such a hater baby i love that about u.” Pink hearts float by his face and in the speech bubble. Apollo looks disgruntled and is blushing. His visible hand rests against Klavier’s chest. /End ID]

[pygmi-cygni]

writing tips: adding nuance and that 'it' factor

you've read good fics, and you've read great fics. fics that make you squeal and kick your feet and ache for the next installment. and it's not always because his dick is ten inches long. (sorry)

(this also applies to reg stories)

how do authors do that??? it's fanfiction, how is it so good???

well, first of all, there are some amazing writers (love you guys) but also, there's nuance.

the little things.

give your characters a 'thing'. a running joke, a piece of symbolism, a secret handshake, something like that. give a character a recognizeable 'ism' (like a habit or a tell) that someone relentlessly teases them for. nicknames! adorable. these things add little bits of color to the relationship and to the character arcs. don't force it, but if it happens, let it!

2. dialogue!!! omfg dialogue.

good dialogue is the shit. seriously. dialogue is so fucking important for literally everything. 'but pygmi, i suck at dialogue!' get over it. just kidding, practice! bookmark your favorite pieces of dialogue and try to identify what makes it so good. my favorite tip: don't edit the dialogue. no filter. just have the characters go off and say what they want. later, when you've found the gems, edit the gunk out but seriously! use character ai for inspiration if you need. no shame.

3. relatability.

for some reason, people have equated relatability to cynicism. that's not accurate. relatability means your character doesn't always have witty comebacks. sometimes they deepthroat the boot, it you catch my drift. if your MC always has a retort or a snapback, the bickering gets old. add some stumbles. it's ok! ur character is still a badass xox

relatability can also mean being humble. not pitiful, humble. your character can be good at something, but maybe not the best. everyone has a 'thing', something they're good at, but we still have moments of insecurity. I'm tired of reading 'they were the best mechanic in the galaxy blah blah blah' can you tell i read mando and poe fics or what give it some spice! don't make them a useless mess tho. gross.

you know what being a person is like. you are one, and if you're not you are surrounded by them. guess what - the characters in your fandom are people too (maybe?). my point is, even though it seems like they are superhuman or unreal...they are. write them as such. you can do it.

4. personal touches.

your writing has a voice. use it!!!!!! you can tell the difference between different writers because of their little touches. as a reader, i love those! it makes me feel closer to the story, if you add funny commentary or whatever.

5. staying with the story.

not with canon necessarily, but keeping the plot steady and the characters consistent. it's hard, because comments on your story can influence your story, but stick to the script. stories change, but if you throw it every direction, your readers will be like 'this person needs to figure it tf out bye.' keep a little checklist, stay organized. organization is key for continuity.

xox love u

[yinyuedijun]

KITCHEN | excerpt

1.7k word snippet of a sakura/fem!reader/suo fic, which is a prequel to sincerity! I'm only posting this excerpt because it's context for the deranged suo fic I'm about to post on sunday. if u choose to read I hope u enjoy <3

tags for this scene: hurt/comfort, non-explicit references to physical abuse experienced by reader and child neglect experienced by sakura. set post-canon – everyone is 18-19 years old. thank you to @/cafekitsune for the divider!

Sakura had always found your relationship with Suo strange. It's unsettling for him to witness, and sometimes he feels like he'd rather not see it at all.

It isn't as if Sakura dislikes either of you (even though Suo routinely lies to him for no reason), and it isn't as if he finds you individually uncomfortable to be around. It's just that whenever you're together—and you're almost always together on their days off—Sakura finds the two of you embarrassing.

You're just so damn touchy around each other.

Sakura swears that every other couple he's seen is less openly intimate than the two of you, though theoretically you're only friends. Theoretically. In reality, anyone with eyes would doubt that. Every time Sakura glances at the two of you, you're holding onto Suo by the arm as you lean in to tell him to some private joke, or you're swatting Suo’s hand away from your face as he teases you relentlessly, or Suo’s got a hand on your lower back as he guides you around the latest poor fucker who was stupid enough to harass you—usually knocked out cold, on the ground, courtesy of said martial artist.

All this touching is already bad enough, but coupled with Suo’s habit of flirting with you for fun—an activity that he seems to treat as a bloodsport—Sakura’s about ready to run every time he has to suffer being in the same room with the two of you.

(He once did try to sneak out the backdoor of Pothos after seeing Suo wipe a crumb away from the corner of your mouth, his thumb gliding fully, sensually, and unnecessarily along your bottom lip. Tragically, Sakura was spotted by Tsugeura, who dragged him back to the table and proceeded to broadcast his embarrassment to the entire cafe. Ah—so it's one of Sakura's virtues to be private about displays of affection! he’d proclaimed.

Suo then turned to you and said, with a smile so sly that it made Sakura want to crawl underneath the table, I guess I'm not a very virtuous man around you, to which you breezily shot back, Are you virtuous around anyone? But from your expression, Sakura could tell you wanted to hide under the table too.)

He can’t wrap his mind around it, actually—how often the two of you touch each other. The affection that each movement holds. He can't imagine someone putting their hands on him the way that you put your hands on Suo. For Sakura, being touched usually entails getting punched in the jaw or kicked in the face, or having his back slapped in laughter by Umemiya, or carrying Granny on his back when she doesn't feel like walking. But all of that feels different from the ways in which you touch Suo, and the ways in which Suo touches you. Or at least Sakura guesses it feels different—he wouldn't actually know himself.

But he can think of one memory where he knows for sure it was.

It happened several months back, maybe even a year ago now. It was, for sure, before you turned eighteen. It was a quiet night, and he and Nirei were on patrol, and it was so fucking humid that if it weren't for his duties, he'd have left his uniform at home. But the symbol of the Furin jacket was too important to give up, so he suffered with it on.

The two of them ran into you while they were passing through his neighbourhood—what a funny coincidence! you said. Nirei greeted you with a smile, but stopped abruptly when he noticed you were limping. Sakura paused as well. You’re generally not clumsy to injure yourself so severely, and Suo instinctively protects you from all other threats of physical harm. It's hardwired into him in the way that it is for a human being to breathe air. But there you were, with a noticeable limp and nasty discolouration on your cheek.

“Whoa,” Sakura blurted out, “what happened to your face?”

Nirei winced. “Sakura,” he scolded, “try to be a little more tactful, won't you?” And this would normally be the kind of interaction between them that would make you laugh, but you only looked down at your ankle. Sakura wondered if it was broken or sprained. He couldn't easily tell because it was covered, and he noticed then that for some reason, you were wearing jeans—a crazy decision, given the heat.

“No, it's fine,” you eventually replied. “I was sparring with Suo, and I lost pretty badly.” You smiled at them, and it was surprisingly convincing. “I'm super out of practice, you know. Our master would be so disappointed in me.”

Sakura turned to Suo, mouth agape. He couldn't imagine a world in which Suo lacked enough control in a fight to seriously hurt his opponent without intending it—and he’d never intend to hurt you. “For real?”

Suo looked at him for a moment, neither smiling nor nodding, then looked away.

“Sakura,” he said, “do you have a compress and bandages at home? The convenience store is closed, and so’s the pharmacy. I've got some at home, but it's pretty far, and she's in a lot of pain.”

Sakura's place was at the time barren and lacking in most of the essentials for human life, but he did have an endless supply of ice, compresses, and bandages. So the four of you went up to his apartment—Nirei and Suo supporting you as you hobbled up the stairs—where they then dealt with your injuries. Nirei searched furiously for potential diagnoses for your ankle (probably a sprain) and looked up the symptoms of a concussion (you likely didn't have one), while Sakura pushed a bottle of water and numerous painkillers into your hands. He squinted at your injuries, trying to imagine which movements Suo must have used to hurt you like that.

Suo, himself, gave attention to nothing but you. He didn't respond to Nirei who kept on fretting that you should go to a hospital, nor to Sakura who said multiple times that you should change into shorts—because if you sprained your ankle, then you should probably check the rest of your leg for injuries too. He didn't even react when Sakura said your story sounded like bullshit, or when Nirei quietly asked if this was something that Bofurin could help with.

It was like the two of them weren't even there. Like the entire world was irrelevant to Suo other than you.

Sakura studied him closely, trying to suss out hints for whatever happened. He watched as Suo held an ice pack to the bruise on your face, as his fingers ghosted over your other cheek. You didn't swat his hand away, for once. Then he asked you quietly where else you were hurt, and you whispered something into his ear, as if you were telling him one of your inside jokes. But Suo grimaced instead of laughing, and Sakura thought to himself that he'd never seen Suo look so bleak before. Nor so angry.

And when Suo knelt down to wrap a compress around your ankle, telling you that things would be okay as you wiped tears from your eyes, the thought struck Sakura that Suo never acted like this when he patched up his injuries. Nor Nirei’s. Nor Kiryu’s, or Sugishita's, or Tsugeura’s.

Suo handled you in a way that he had never handled anyone else, and also in a way that Sakura would probably not have known how to do for you. Sakura had only sprained his ankle once in his life, back when he was a kid and lost constantly in fights. No one asked him where it hurt, and no one applied a compress to his injury, and he didn't cry at the time because he knew that no one would hold his face and tell him it was okay. So until that moment, Sakura had had no fucking clue you were supposed to do any of those things for an injured person. Even with the guys in Bofurin, all he ever did was throw them a compress and an ice pack before grousing at them: If you're gonna pick a fight you can't win, at least call us first.

Not exactly words to offer to someone who was crying like you were.

So Sakura did nothing, knowing that he couldn't help. You were so fragile, and Sakura was shit at handling fragile things. But Suo was good at it, so Sakura let him take care of you, and Nirei did too, relenting in his questions. He only offered to call a cab—not to take you to the hospital, but over to Suo’s.

Suo gratefully accepted.

Nirei hung back afterwards, and the two of them talked about useless crap for a little bit before Nirei finally bit the bullet.

“Did they say where they had come from, before Suo brought her here?” he asked.

“No,” Sakura replied. “Why?”

Sakura wasn't stupid. He knew very well the kind of injuries that Suo left in a sparring match, and he knew even better all the signs of an actual beating. He knew there weren't many things that Bofurin couldn't help with, in a town like Makochi. Still, he asked, and he let Nirei answer—because he didn’t want to be the one to voice it, and because he wanted to be wrong. But if Nirei said it, then it must be true, and they would have no choice but to face it.

“I'm just trying to figure out,” he said quietly, “if it was her boyfriend or her parents who’ve been hitting her.”

“Her parents,” Sakura stated, because he also knew very well the signs of a shit home life.

He’s never heard from you or Suo exactly what happened, but he's pretty sure he guessed right. You never went home after that. You started living with Suo and his master, which you constantly reminded Suo would be a temporary arrangement, and which Suo constantly reminded you could easily be made permanent. You ignored him and dropped out of school anyway. Found a job in the red light district. Started eyeing the empty apartment next to Sakura’s, asked him numerous times about rent and utilities. Sakura didn't like answering you—said over and over that it would be better for you to stay with Suo—but he told you everything anyway. He understood why you had to find your own place. He understood it because he had to do it too.

After you turned eighteen, you started making money as a hostess and moved in next door.

I hope this wasn't too weird to read out of context rip. anyway. yakuza au sequel coming up on sunday hopefully LOL

[hinamie]

wanted 2 make a bit of an update post to get a few things off my chest bc i feel like i've been a bit quiet on here compared 2 normal and for that i apologize gsdhjgfdsj I promise I will do better at being chronically online

in all seriousness though, ever since the jjk manga ended, I've started experiencing th dilemma where I am feeling less inspired but also twice as pressured to continue living up to the standard I set for myself by being so active while the manga was ongoing. i'm finding it's taking longer than it should to finish pieces that are not challenging enough to warrant the extra hours, it's harder to come up with what I think are original concepts, and overall i'm just anxious that the high i've been riding since april has finally begun its descent.

I know logically tht these expectations i'm worried about being unable to meet are entirely self-imposed. I /know/ that not every piece needs to be a profound character tribute packed with symbolism and hidden meanings, but tht doesn't change the fact that it still feels really disappointing when I try to dig for that emotional component that I was really loving in the art that was inspired by later manga chapters, only to come up short. I'm feeling myself defaulting back to drawing My Ship Posed Cutely, or Character Lineup In Cute Outfits, whereas before I was really feeling like my art was touching something beyond just surface-level aesthetic. This isn't to say that I don't think I can ever get back to creating those harder-hitting pieces, or that I /dislike/ my more lighthearted aesthetically-driven work, I'm just frustrated at myself for feeling like I have to now dig for what used to be so readily available.

there's no conclusion to this story gfhjsgd this is rly just a vent post. i've been doing this long enough to know that this is just part of what happens with any creative hobby. periods of feeling uninspired unfortunately come with the territory, n it makes sense that those feelings wld be exacerbated now that the series i take my main inspiration from has come to a standstill for the time being. but I don't feel burnt out on jjk yet, which is reassuring in that it means I know I still Want to draw the characters, no matter how boring or overdone all of my current ideas feel. i'm in no rush to move on from jjk as my main fandom either, although I do see myself sprinkling in more art for other series to pass the time n keep me Inspired while I wait for s3. so for those of you who found me through my art (probably most of u), i guess also pls take this as both warning and reassurance that you most likely Will see me start drawing for other fandoms in the coming months, but don't take it as meaning I've abandoned drawing for jjk

and as always, thank u all for sticking with me and for all the support and lovely words on my art, it rly does make my days brighter <3

[still-not-over-transformers]

Hi frieeeend! Glad to be one of ur first requests ^^

I was wondering if you could do some TFP Ratchet x female reader 🫣 some smut OR some angsty fluff where Ratchet feels insecure about his age and vitality and y/n (suggestively his s/o) comforts him :)) whatever u choose

Take ur time! ❤️

Whew, never have I ever written so much so quickly (in a good way). I guess I got carried away a bit. Hope you like it :3

*Anything in italics is either a sound effect or a character’s inner thoughts*

Young At Spark

TFP Ratchet x Reader

Warnings: Suggestive

Word Count: 2000+ (Holy Sh*t)

It had been a relatively quiet day in the Autobot base for you. Jack, Miko, and Raph were at school taking their final exams, and the autobots were out on an extensive energon scouting mission somewhere in the rural wilderness of Serbia. You would’ve found a trip to Europe to be a fun outing, but couldn’t bear the thought of leaving your favorite medic alone. As you returned from a brief walk around the halls of the base, a loud *clang* followed by a frustrated and exasperated shout could be heard from the main room. He sounds actually pissed off, you thought to yourself before briskly making your way to the main room. You turned to see Ratchet picking up various shattered metal pieces from the floor, all the while muttering incoherent profanities and curses. 

“Ratchet? Is everything okay?” you asked softly, although the concern was easy to glean from your tone. The medic was clearly surprised by your sudden appearance and seemed a bit startled as his blue optics locked onto you. “Oh, (Y/N)... E-everything is fine. I just… was clumsy and dropped the device I was trying to adjust. I um, I’m sorry if I may have startled you.” In fact, everything was indeed not fine with Ratchet, as that morning his thoughts had gotten away from him and locked onto you, and not in the way he usually enjoys.

I can’t upset (Y/N) with my frivolous doubts. Albeit it will be difficult as her mental prowess is always… rather intuitive, the aging medic tried to silence his thoughts and re-focused on (Y/N). Ratchet cleared his throat as he noticed you had already conjured up a broom, “No need for that, I shall clean up my own mess.” You paused at the increasingly odd behavior of the normally composed medic, and you began to grow suspicious of why he seemed to be hiding something from you. 

You two had been close for some time, albeit when you first met the resident Autobot medic it wasn’t a great first meeting. With Ratchet insisting the base was getting far too crowded. You quickly won him over though. Unlike the kids, you were far more mature and patient, and you didn’t actively break his tools or go off placing yourself in unnecessary danger, like a certain someone with pink puffball hair… Another admirable quality you possessed was your sharp mind, and your ability to quickly grasp new concepts and actually be interested in things like science.

The first time Ratchet really noticed you was when he was struggling to decipher an unfamiliar set of code which had come into their possession regarding imperative intel. Despite applying the standard techniques to decipher the code, there was some sort of new trick that had been embedded in the code. As (Y/N) had watched the medic continuously failed to succeed, you had been watching closely, and had noticed the answer didn’t lie in breaking the code through conventional means, rather through a visual pattern. Your sharp eye and wit had spotted a pattern of certain colors and symbols, and after explaining this to Ratchet, the two of you were able to team up and crack the code. 

“Ratchet… What’s actually going on? You seem upset at more than accidentally breaking something. You know you can tell me anything, right?” You looked up at him, hoping the medic would let you help him. Primus, she’s onto me, Ratchet quickly finished picking up the broken mess on the floor, before turning towards (Y/N). “I appreciate your concern for me, I do, but I insist it was just a fleeting moment of frustration. Nothing more.” Before you could open your mouth to say anything else, the comms system flashed and Optimus Prime’s voice sounded over the audio “Ratchet, we require your presence immediately. We are taking Decepticon-fire and Arcee is down!”

His azure optics widened in surprise before turning to you. “I’ll man the groundbridge. …Be careful, otherwise I may throw a wrench at you” you had an ever-so-slight smile on your face, but your heart was still heavy as no one could ever foresee when things would go wrong. “I promise to return unharmed” Ratchet said softly, hoping that you wouldn’t fret too much over him, before powering up the groundbridge and speeding through in his alt-mode. 

As Ratchet sped through the swirling vortex of green and blue energy, his thoughts from earlier resurfaced. He had been replaying the moment you had first met, the first time you had touched servos/hands, the moments where he would place you on his shoulder as you both reviewed data and worked on projects.

The memory that was the source of his inner turmoil was the first time you kissed. You had shifted your weight on his shoulder and just planted one right on his lips. He could remember the rush of heat to his entire frame, something he had not experienced since his youth back on Cybertron, and that was a very long time ago. It wasn’t long after that you two had been intimate with one another, albeit it took a lot of learning on his part since you were both an organic and far smaller than him. The size difference didn’t bother him much, as he was very VERY creative. You were so vigorous, energetic, passionate, and youthful…. And youth had long since surpassed Ratchet.

 He should be above silly things such as anxiety or doubt, but now he felt all of his confidence melt away as the thought of such a stunning and lively being as yourself, being held back by an old rust bucket with one pede in the well of Allsparks. The very idea of him disappointing you felt equivalent to losing a patient. Spark-crushing. Perhaps it was wrong of him to think some old bot like him could ever give you what you truly deserved from a partner. …*PEW PEW* The resounding ringing of blaster fire pulled the medic out of his anxious self-pitying stupor, and into a battlefield before him.

Ratchet had only just exited the groundbridge, but he could already make out his fellow Autobots as they duked it out with various Decepticons and Vehicons. He had to focus, as he was here as a medic not a sniveling idiot. As his optics scanned the field for the injured Arcee, he saw the femme leaning against a large boulder, pinned down as she took cover from Vehicon blaster-fire. 

His white and scarlet armor glinted in the light of the sun, as he quickly made his way through the battlefield, being trailed by Optimus and Bumblebee as they provided coverfire. Ratchet was able to make it to Arcee, quickly scanning her to assess her injuries. “I’m fine, Doc. Just a few scratches that’s all,” the two-wheeler calmly stated. “Ep-ep! I’m the medic and I will be the one to diagnose y–” Ratchet was interrupted by the sound of crackling electricity from behind. “Nice of you to join the party, Ratchet!” Ugh, not Knockout of all bots… Ratchet thought, as he saw the ever-polished and buffed Decepticon standing a short distance from him. “Knockout, I am in no mood to deal with your incessant posturing…” Ratchet drew his blasters as he glared at Knockout. “Well they do say bots get crankier as they age, huh? Perhaps you’re better suited as a doorstop at your age?” the Decepticon medic cackled. 

Ratchet felt his energon boil and before anyone could realize, he charged at Knockout, optics wide with fury, “You’ll look like a doorstop once I’m through with you!!!” Knockout was taken aback by the sudden vigor and frenzied rage from the Autobot medic, genuinely shocked as to what had gotten into him. “PRIMUS I didn’t know you could move that fast!” Knockout ordered the surrounding Vehicons to begin firing at Ratchet, but was interrupted by opposing fire from Optimus, Bulkhead, and Bumblebee. Before Ratchet could reach him, Knockout quickly transformed and retreated along with the remaining Vehicons. 

Ratchet had no choice but to stop his charge, but his rage was not so easily quelled. He was boiling over with anger, HOW DARE HE INSULT ME LIKE THAT? HOW DARE HE ASSUME– Ratchet’s angry thoughts were cut short by the sensation of a large servo on his shoulder, and Optimus’s voice. “Old friend, what has gotten into you? Why would you abandon your patient and charge after Knockout?” Prime’s face was full of concern for his long-time friend and confidant as this was out of character. The medic’s rage began to subside, as he realized what a fool he had made of himself. “M-my apologies Optimus, I don’t know what came over me.” Ratchet immediately went back over to Arcee and helped her onto her pedes, ashamed at his actions. 

Back at base, (Y/N) powered up the groundbridge after receiving the call from Optimus. You were still worried about Ratchet, as you had been struggling to think of what on earth he was so upset about. As the portal opened, the Autobots began to make their way through, including Ratchet who was assisting an annoyed Arcee into the base.

As you began to acknowledge everyone’s return, Bulkhead suddenly approached Ratchet, “What the scrap was that about?!” Ratchet’s optics briefly darted towards the wrecker, but as in usual fashion, the medic turned away and scoffed at the question, “Think nothing of it. Just stress from being engaged in combat.” Despite being assisted by Ratchet, Arcee piped in with her concerns “Bulkhead has a point, Ratchet. You lost it at whatever Knockout said to you. What gives?”

Growing increasingly frustrated with the sudden interrogation, Ratchet snaps his helm around “I’ve already told you that it was inconsequential. Now let me proceed with scanning you for injuries and move on!” The tension in the room could’ve been cut with a knife as the rest of the group falls silent, and no one presses the matter further. Standing at the controls, you were taken aback by Ratchet’s behavior, as this was severely out of character for your normally patient, if a bit sassy-medic. But you remained silent as you watched Arcee begrudgingly allow Ratchet to assess her. 

It wasn’t long before Arcee returned to the main area of the base, being cleared of any injuries by Ratchet, but you noticied that he had yet to reappear. Normally the only other area on base you could find Ratchet would be in one of the back storerooms which usually housed various supplies. You quietly made your way through the halls, the faint sound of something falling making you hone in on one particular room. The motion-sensors on the door allowed you entry into the storeroom, and you quickly spotted Ratchet with his back turned against one of the shelves. It felt as if you were walking on glass as you approached him, “...Ratchet? You’re really starting to worry me. Can you please, please… tell me what is wrong?” 

“...I’m sorry, (Y/N) for worrying you. That is the last thing I would want to do to you” Ratchet replied, but his back remained turned away from you. You approached him and closed the door behind you. Stepping closer, you wrapped your arms around his heel in a hug, hoping your touch would comfort him “I know. But Ratchet…. You are hurting yourself by holding in.. whatever it is that’s making you act this way. We’ve been through too much for you to shut yourself off from me.” A heavy sigh escaped from the medic’s vents and he shifted his frame to look at you.

As you briefly stepped back, he knelt down to move his faceplate closer to your level, “You deserve to know of course… You deserve better. …Perhaps if I was in a different field of medical training, I would be better suited to explain myself, so I shall try my best.” He took a deep breath, clearly struggling “I’ve been concerned that I may not be the mech best suited for you.” 

You stood before him frozen as you struggle to process his words, “...Come again?” Ratchet felt as if someone were twisting a blade in his gut, but continued, “I meant that you deserve the best. You are so kind and full of life and vigor, and I am perhaps too old to provide you with what a younger mech could.” He can’t bear to meet your gaze any longer, and turns his face away from you in shame. He is shocked to feel a brief sting on his helm, looking back to see you holding a small wrench in your hands. “Hopefully that will knock some sense back into you” your eyes were welling-up with tears as you dropped the wrench.

“You really think your age would change how I feel for you? You think I would care what anyone, bot or con or human has to say about it?” You approach Ratchet and gently place your hands on his cheeks, staring deeply into his optics, “Ratchet, you are the only man for me. So what if you’re mature and full of experience? You’re my one and only and don’t ever think otherwise.” You lean in and plant a deep and sweet kiss against his cool lips. 

It felt like time stood still as he looked at your beautiful face. Your warm lips were like fireworks as you pressed them to his, How can she be this perfect? How do I deserve her? Ratchet’s mind swirled as you pulled away from him, feeling a gentle brush as he swiped a tear from your eye with a servo, “(Y/N), please forgive me for putting you through such torment. I… I was insecure about many things. I still wonder if I am truly capable of fulfilling all of your needs.”

You stepped forward and kissed him again, albeit with a little more heat. You raised an eyebrow as you pulled away, a devilish grin playing on your lips, “You have always fulfilled my every need. You could always test how well you’re able to please me…?” The look in your eyes and tone in your voice was easy for the medic to decipher. He felt his frame heat up and his engine rev, “...I suppose I can run a few… tests to see the results.” He gave you a half-cocked smirk before gently scooping you into his servo and setting you on one of the upper shelves, before showering your neck and collarbone in sensual kisses. 

Primus, hopefully no unlucky soul needed any supplies from that room…

[cokoweee]

My ass is back and better than ever let's go with analyze four? I have no fucking clue.

Subtly way of showing or hinting that Raphael knows what Kendra did all for Donnie, the self care the getting him slowly back. I think this is Raph somehow saying 'thank you' because Kendra did more than just 'helping him with his hair'. Also very symbolic of Raph giving Kendra his shirt, almost like him giving Kendra the role to handle his small family that is still left, because let's be real, Kendra has her shit under control she took lead and called the shots of leaving the city. She listened to Cassandra about her pregnancy, when it matters she steps up. And Raph sees that and probably knows whatever happens she will stay.

AHA! 'You'll get used to all this hamato stuff, pretty soon' foreshadowing! Question will be when. The first step is already done, she can talk to the hamato spirits. Also to go back for a moment to the hoodie and the symbolic, Kendra accepted it, 'Guess I will', no maybe. Even though she has her doubts because of how Donnie acts right, I'm pretty sure deep down she won't leave, or will confront Donnie when it goes down.

Donnie already showed very early on that he cares, giving Kendra the wrist thing(I'm sorry I literally forgot what the english word is and Google gives me weird answers), and she still wears it. And we all know that Donnie shows his love and affection through tech. The fist Raph gives Kendra is maybe also a reminder for her that she already wears one thing that is a symbol on how Donnie cares.

In general was Raph there to remind Kendra that they care Donnie, Cassandra and Draxum yes they are all fucked up and even though Kendra is also a bitch with issues, but she went to therapy so she is way more likely to get shit done. I think this talk between Raph and Kendra was like a little pep talk from Raph, he doesn't want her to leave or give up. He clearly knows and saw what Kendra is to Donnie, he wants Donnie to get better like everyone else and yes right now Kendra is the person who actually managed all this. This talk was Raph literally being a big brother to Kendra and telling her:"Hey don't give up, I know you have doubts but push through them." And I fucking love that.

Also I know Donnie will get a stroke when he sees Kendra in his dead big brother shirt, we love to see more trauma reactions.

Well that was from my long ass analyze and now I'm dipping back into my cave🏃🏼‍♀️

I love learning shit through y’all’s analysis’ and comments even though I’m the one literally writing and drawing this forsaken comic lol

God u rlly RLLY went in there AUUGGHH great great yummy yummy

I hope y’all know deadass I LOVE this shit so much. They actually super help me get more ideas like this one just gave me thoughts for the next update that hmmmmmmmm

The next one might need to be posted under a cut

[neyafromfrance95]

you said that as a shipper, you don't care if galadriel and sauron have romantic moments, can you elaborate?

sure. what i mean is "traditionally" romantic, their dynamic can be essentially romantic/soulmatistic without a traditional romance formula.

i love haladriel for their push and pull dynamic bc as a metaphor it explores the dark vs. the light, and subtextually it is about destined enemies x doomed lovers.

i don't mind galadriel not ever giving in and succumbing to sauron bc for me, the most important thing is her inner conflict, and subtextually, galadriel being tempted by having power in the middle-earth and being pulled under by the darkness will always be interconnected with her being tempted by sauron's proposal and imply her heart desiring the taboo (in trop continuity). u would just have to read between the lines.

i don't care that she outwardly rejects sauron even after seeing him as halbrand in the finale, bc the scene confirms that she has feelings for the latter. her willpower and pride are simply strong. and i like these traits of hers, i don't want them subdued, i don't want her to ever submit.

as for sauron, his love may not be explicitly stated either, but rather communicated through his delusional and obsessive yearning. every time he mentions "light" it will signify galadriel in some sense, nenya will still symbolize galadriel for him. and if the one ring is inspired by gal, well, that will be insane.

i personally love their sexually-charged push and pull dynamic of the cosmic scales. they can be lovey-dovey in valinor in the 7th age (in our fanon), but now i want galadriel's devotion to opposing/slaying sauron to be so strong it crosses the line of a simple hate and becomes an intrinsic part of her identity. i want sauron's worship of her light to turn into him obsessively coveting her, desiring to posses her like silmarils.

their battle in the finale is brutal, but it's as if they're dancing at the same time, it's a form of storytelling. him stabbing her is a symbolically sexual, ravishing act that can be read as a metaphor for gazing into an abyss for so long, the abyss gazes back into you! there is a thin line between hate and love, as those can be two sides of the same coin, and when u let one in, the other may follow as well.

galadriel's outward relationship with sauron and her inward relationship with halbrand is how her relationship with the darkness, power and ambition is explored through a more tangible narrative.

like, the story itself shows and tells you, and everyone working on the show say that sauron and galadriel are intertwined in a way that places their connection above every other relationship they have, and ultimately, that's what makes for a good ship.

my only concern moving forward is that their interactions won't be central. this is why im holding onto the hope for the mind-palace communications. but there are many other ways to either make them interact or show that they are thinking about one another.

i still am delusional and wish for a kiss tho. it can be done without gal "joining" sauron if the writers want it done. and i guess i have to bring this topic up as well, since anons have asked me this a few times before but i once gave my "unpopular" opinion about it at length and prefer to leave it at that. but in short, i don't really care if celebrian is sauron's daughter or not. would be great if they leave some space for allowing "sauron is the father" interpretation, and i would be equally ok with them making it clear that she is celeborn's daughter. i prefer her to not be introduced at all in trop, tbh. what i love about sauron and galadriel's relationship is that cosmic connection between them, not who may or may not be related to them as a third party.