#And I'm getting why choose vibes

[fortunatefires]

[likesdoodling]

I have finished The Angst Version™~ (of chapter 50 of The Harrowing by @chthonion >:D) The bonus chapter added some stuff/re-inspired me, which is all to the good imo~ gotta get that Maximum Angst Factor AMMIRIGHT?? >:D (also. Mostly paraphrasing stuff just so you're aware~)

Then we got some of the conversation~ (without dialogue, 'cause a picture tells a thousand words~ >:D)

Then a sketch that was completely inspired by the bonus chapter-

It's not as 'polished' as the other ones, I just had thoughts about that tidbit and decided I absolutely had to mention it- so it got a drawing to match. :D

And finally, because I don't want to end this on too depressing a note-

:')

I'm not crying, you are.

My personal favourites include Extra Angry Maedhros + hands over the face Annatar, - then- actually. y'know what? I can't pick favourites. I like them all too much to do that. But that was the 'segment' that I experimented on - to try and convey the emotions through how chaotic/forceful the lines were, and it worked exactly how I wanted it to. Which is very satisfying.

>:D

(also, I don't think Maedhros was quite that visibly angry in the actual chapter, but it's supposed to be a mix of that plus Annatar's perception of him/what made Annatar panic. Make of that what you will. Eheh. Eheh. Eheh. >:D)

[sayakxmi]

Saiouma Puella Magi AU, but Kokichi takes Madoka's role and Shuichi takes Homura's.

For one, Kokichi's too naturally distrustful to just hear "I can grant you any wish :)" and not think ok where's the hook. So he just does what no one ever has & essentially interrogates Kyubey, so he knows it all even before he gets to make a contract. So, some of his classmstes are MGs & he won't become one himself BUT he still ends up tagging along to just protect them in his Kokichi ways. (Though I'm entertaining Kokichi lying about being a magical girl, because, well, it's Kokichi).

(I also got a small idea of Gonta being a magical girls and Kokichi originally tagging along him into labyrinths, Gonta also makes him a magic gun from the toy one he had, and at some point witches out & Kokichi manages to kill him with that gun. So he always has that spare Grief Seed on himself, bc it's still his best friend & he can't handle the idea of just giving it away or using it himself (he does anyway in the end).)

Shuichi prolly ends up being a new kid & it isn't like MadoHomu, the ppl who reach him first are Kaede & Kaito, classic. Kokichi's there, too, but he's his usual sus self. He's actually discouraging ppl from making a contract when they find out magic and miracles are real, which absolutely includes Shuichi. He's very vocal abt it, but he won't explain stutf, bc 1) he's a liar, so who'd believe him? and 2) he doesn't want them to witch out upon finding out the truth or, idk, murder everybody Mami-style.

Anyway, fast forward, bad things happen bingo & by the end of the run most charas are dead, there's Walpurgis nachting, and he makes his wish to bring back the ppl who died notably not as magical girls. Contract signed, he fights & fails, rip. I also thought it was similar to how he thought he could end the killing game by himself - he though he could finish Walpurgisnacht by himself, too. And he failed in both times. Whatevs.

Shuichi doesn't actually make his time travel wish for Ouma specifically, he wants to save all his friends. Timelines are messy esp at first bc he either tells then or it backfires or just makes himself look very sus bc he's trying not to tell them. He also realizes why Kokichi hadn't told anybody aby witches at some point, bc, yeah, it messes them a lot, assuming they believe it.

Still, Kokichi ends up one of the few people who are nearly always giving him a chance, not necessarily out of belief, but out of pragmatism - bro can stop time & knows the truth, that's just too useful. So they often work together & Shuichi grows closer to him but still we ain't there yet. But the thing is, Shuichi's time travel still makes Kokichi more & more powerful with each timeline, bc Shuichi usually goes back after Kokichi dies, so the universe figured out this guy's life's important. Anyway, another notable thing is the iconic Homura kills Madoka scene, but it's Saiouma with guest stars of Kaito & Maki. It's Walpy, it's not defeated yet, but the training trio are spent & just kinda accept their fate of turning into witches together. And then, boom, Kokichi appears & steals their Soul Gems for a sec & he's like did u know you can cleanse your Soul Gem with a darkened one? But it's a lie & he quickly tells them so, he just had a spare Grief Seed after cleansing his Soul Gem & he needs them to do some stuff. Shuichi can travel back in time & fix things, and Maki & Kaito are needed to fight Walpy here. He actually questions what happens to the timelines Shuichi leaves behin, and ofc he doesn't know. There's a chance they remain, so Kokichi needs Maki & Kaito to fight Walpy here.

Kaimaki leave, and Shuichi finally looks at Kokichi & realizes sth is Wrong. Kokichi struggles to hide how he's trembling & grimacing, and it's Kokichi, so obviously it must be extremely bad. Shuichi dreadfully realizes something worse, and he weakly asks Kokichi why aren't his wounds healing. And Kokichi just falls, laughing weakly, and Shuichi catches him & searches for his Soul Gem and, God, he knew it. It's nearly completely black. Kokichi laughs & admits he lied abt having two Grief Seeds, he only had one he never wanted to use. But they'll have the second one soon, so no need to worry. He asks Shuichi to maybe destroy his witch form as it's hatching, so he'll have the Grief Seed without any fighting… and he admits that he hates fighting, he hates this magical world and all its violence. He says that Kaito was right in calling him a coward, even here he just can't handle the idea of fighting any longer, he's so sorry. And Shuichi tells him he ISN'T a coward. He was scared, but he always followed everybody, trying to help, and when push came to shove he would always make a contract for the benefit of others rather than himself. He's a lot of things, but a coward isn't one. Kokichi actually tears up hearing that, and Shuichi promises he won't let him fight ever again, and especially he won't let him turn into a witch and hurt anybody, because he knows it's the last thing he's ever wanted. Even now he only accepts turning into a witch to help them fight to keep others safe. So Shuichi won't let him. Kokichi probably apologizes and thanks him and then he dies.

Keeping Kokichi from fighting starts off as a side quest that gains importance with time, bc it's something Shuichi won't compromise on (ah, trauma), which leads him to occassionally neglect others a bit, which makes them more likely to get hurt & ironically Kokichi more likely to make a contract, especially since he gets more powerful & Kyubey is more interested in him with each timeline. And that also makes him witch out super quick. Shuichi's paying more attention to him & over time grows resentful of others for how they're treating him. To Shuichi it's no question that Kokichi cares & is just doing his best to help, but nobody realizes that.

But the biggest obstacle in keeping Kokichi from fighting is actually Kokichi himself, bc he's too smart and nosy, lmao. Even if he knows nothing, he will find out quickly. Doesn't help that Kyubey wants him to make a contract.

Also, obviously Kaito is Sayaka-coded and Maki could be Kyouko-coded, so that's a thing, BUT it's usually Maki that witches out. Kaito is usually pretty close, but Kokichi intervenes & he survives, but Maki later cracks on her own (and since in the new timeline Kokichi isn't there, Kaito's the one to die, so he's still the secretary). So it's Kaito who gets the dramatic sacrifice. I imagine he genuinely hoped you could bring somebody back if you tried Very Hard & Kokichi called him a moron bc obviously it's not possible. If it was there'd be far less witches that there are. But it's Kaito, he doesn't listen to reason. So, Kokichi follows him to the labyrinth. At first Kaito's mad cuz what if Kokichi being there ruins the plan? Maki hates his guts! But eventually he gets hit pretty hard, and Kokichi is near immediately by his side, trying to help him get up, which kinda makes Kaito short circuit a little bc wait Kokichi's trying to help? But witch!Maki attacks them & Kokichi pushes Kaito away & gets caught himself (and choked until unconsciousness, naturally). Anyway, Kaito gets him away, Shuichi catches Kokichi & Kaito makes up his mind about going down with Maki & asks Shuichi to tell Kokichi that he's sorry. He doesn't get him, but he got hurt trying to protect him, so he'll believe in that if nothing else. F.

As for The WishTM, in the last timeline Shuichi lashes out at Kokichi for his willingness to just become part of the system. In no timeline has his wish actually helped, it did NOTHINHG, which OUCH but it also makes Kokichi think out of the box more & he becomes the Law of Cycles. And Shuichi realizes what is happening & freaks out bc Kokichi's doing it bc of what he told him & like Homura they end up having a momentTM in space & Shuichi remembers. He feels a lot of guilt even tho he also questions whether anything was real, but if it was, he pushed somebody he far too realized he loved into erasing himself from existence.

[knockknockitsnickels]

Ramble about the TAZ: Suffering Game graphic novel bc I just finished it and saw discussion around it and had a few thoughts which I didn't want to tag ramble on someone else's post about.

I don't really mind how little time they spent in Wonderland itself, though I might be biased, since I found the podcast version of suffering game dragged a bit. I felt the gn kept the vibes of "oh god, can this get any worse?" while not overstaying its welcome. I was also just relieved the lunar interlude was included, since imo that's one of the best parts of the series.

I think I only had two little gripes with the book. First one is that i feel "you stole half of my heart" doesn't hit as hard as "you took everything from me" (though I don't remember if the former was said in the podcast - maybe it was?). Second is that Merle choosing a penalty over losing his memories of his kids was a really nice moment which would've been fitting for this version of Merle.

I know others were upset about Taako not losing his beauty or Magnus not forgetting governor Kalen, but I didn't mind losing those. In Taako's case, I think he's generally a more emotionally open character in the graphic novels already, so I don't mind losing the scene where he opens up to Kraavitz by dropping the glamor. It's OK to disagree ofc, since it's a pretty iconic scene for the pair. With Magnus, I kind of expected them to cut that out, since his revenge plot against Kalen hasn't been mentioned in the gn, and the other two offering to go get revenge on his behalf isn't resolved in the podcast itself.

[psalmsofpsychosis]

There comes a time in your life, most likely when you hit your 30, when you go "this book/fanfic is written spectacularly and the style and the execution of its idea are spotless, competent, gorgeous, it is everything it intends to be with utmost intricacy. But also i fucking hate the ideas and concepts and principles presented in this narrative and no amount of aesthetical execution will change that, and it's fine. I am going to appreciate this narrative for its beauties and leave it behind, it's not for me."

[u3pxx]

'cause love's such an old-fashioned word and love dares you to care for the people on the edge of the night 🫁🪩

my piece for the @de-fanzine-cpr-pale zine! the premise for the zine was so sweet and i'm glad i got to draw something celebrating the love we all have for disco elysium 🫁💖 you can download the full zine here (it's free!!!)

i chose the song under pressure bc not only was it an earworm i had during the time i was drawing this, but also because of this lovely edit that ignited some very strong emotions in me! go check it out!!!

like this art? it's a print, here! | like what i do? support me on ko-fi!

i also considered choosing a tagalog song, but to be honest, i'm not much of a music listener so i didn't know enough songs that would've reminded me of disco elysium or had the vibes/inspiration i was looking for. but, oh well!

another inspiration for this drawing was that one sculpture with flowers bursting from its head that people were redrawing, i kind of wanted to capture that but a little differently! instead of drawing flowers, i get to draw one billion trillion disco elysium npcs good god why did i do that to myself

it's actually been a while since i've drawn this i'm trying to remember if i have anything else to say hm hm hmmm oh yea accessories harry's got are the eight-eyed teratorn tie and on the side is the hat he gets from annette! (it's not very obvious, it just looks like a very colorful part of the background too but that was what my idea was anyways pftt) i wanted harry to be wearing things that were out of the little acts of kindness you do in the game.

i haven't read thru the full zine yet bc i've been busy orz but from the pages i flipped through i'm just blown away by everyone's works!!! thanks so much for the mods for organizing this!!

[submergedinmadness]

yk what I'll also do this get to know your mutuals cuz I thought bout it for a bit and I think I have to or I'll explode

get to know your mutuals♡

if you could be any animal which one would you choose to be? (can be fictional) (and you can explain why if you want to)

what would you choose when you're in a hurry and have nothing to wear?

are you a witch, vampire, fairy, dryad, siren or a mermaid and why do you think so?

what is your style?

regular milk or plant based milk?

which one do you put first milk or cereal?

fav way to kill someone? (idgaf if you never thought of it now you have to think of something and make it at least a bit cool I'm begging)

and I'll go first cuz I can

girl I wrote kinda a lot in these answers but I just had to brag about my fav way of killing people🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️ and okay maybe it's kinda stupid that I'm also doing this game even tho I made it for others but who cares?

I can't choose but either a phoenix or a wolf cuz the allegory of both of these animals absolutely stole my heart

anything in my wardrobe that looks good (and it's almost always not adequate for the cold weather, I literally can wear a mini skirt when it's like 2°C outside and there are times when I am wearing a mini skirt and a crop top when it is 0°C and even when it was -3°C I don't care)

something in between vampire and a dryad cuz I feel like I would be a good vampire I don't know how to describe it but I just know and that's it and also a dryad cuz when I think of them they give me rather a messy and chaotic vibe which is def how I act and overall express myself so I'd say that I'm sometimes both sometimes one and sometimes the other

I'm goth so my style is overall gothic and / or cunty

regular but only 1,5% fat

CEREAL

sooo this is my fav way, first - pepper spray in the face so they can't see and therefore they can't run away, second - start scratching their legs with a pocket knife as hard as possible and try to find an aorta and cut there (making it even harder to run away), third - stick the same knife into all of their fingers (why not), fourth - knock out their teeth with a knuckle duster and finally - when they open their mouth trying to catch a breath from the blood and saliva running into their throat pour fluoroantimonic acid into their mouth and it's done! and I'll add that fluoroantimonic acid is called the most corrosive acid in the world ans if it touches the skin it causes huge damage and if poured into someones throat it'll burn the insides and kill. I think I'm really creative cuz I came up with this when I was writing one of my books and now I'm obsessed

tags: @n1eprzytomnadesperacja @niketas-s @r4tkisses @dawkacynizmu @gothicm0rph @slowacki006

and with question 7 rn I'm mostly thinking about one bbg ( @dawkacynizmu I'm looking at you ) cuz a bit after I came up with this question I thought that you might have an interesting answer

[dilf-docs]

I'm Happy Where The Devils Are

dbf!joel miller x younger!reader

summary: something something about forbidden things; you never learn, not until the heart you gave returns to you in shreds, bleeding out of love. what's left when you've given all of your heaven away? hell.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (but this time it's sad not hot or both idk), smut, p. in v., virgin!reader, (forced??) creampie, fingering, riding, oral (f. receiving), corruption kink, reader has no daddy issues ++her dad is lovely nor mommy issues like me but a secret third thing, ANGST IN CAPITAL, situationship™, jumping very late to this trend or series IDK hope someone still lurks around this neighbourhood, joel has no kids and is unmarried cause i need him to be BITTER, in short this is very AU canon divergence at max coded

word count: 7,629 words

side note: IF U SAW IT POSTED BEFORE NO U DIDN'T IT WAS A HONEST MISTAKE (clicked publish instead of save draft) OKAY i just searched thru my top 2024 songs by spotify for some inspo and well!!!!!! my yet to be dilf RM's (or joon as i, his wife, loves to call him endearingly) song called heaven popped up! those are the vibes if u wanna give it a listen (PLS DO OKAY HE RANKED TOP KOREAN ALBUM THIS YEAR AND I SEE I'M GETTING OFF THE HOOK BUT HE DESERVES IT RAHH I LOVE HIM SO MUCH) and yk i said it's got the miller vibe going on: ANGST™ okay stopping my rambling and letting y'all enjoy (or suffer, idk anymore: as u see, i have a thing for sad complicated old man and suffering myself, because i could've choose any other idea but here goes user dilf-docs the angst whore choosing to suffer again lolz)

part: I / II

It was winter when he first touched you.

Joel Miller: a name you've learned to pronounce like it was spoken on a different language that only you knew.

You've known him for years, a familiar face that stands in corners and only laughs when spoken to, begrundingly, like it's rather a favor than something of his amusement. A guy who would drop by your house until you learned his name like he'd learn the games you'd force him to play. A friend of your dad, who moved back to town and has haunted your house since he stepped a foot inside, tainting the walls with his pine phantom.

Joel's a face you've seen age as much as he's seen you grow out of your pigtails and child-like wonder: and perhaps that's why it's wrong.

It is all so wrong: the way your gaze lingers a bit too long over his tired and bitter expresion, looking for those flickers of softeness that appear when your dad calls him. Old friend, filled with affection, and Joel can't deny the only man who hasn't left his side a smile that he hopes is enough to express what he can't; he's not good with words.

It is all so wrong: how the sheets stick to your body while you scream his name, the sound drowning against your pillow, your body leaking with the secret of an unspoken desire that gets harder to hide with each passing day.

But you can't help it: one day the feelings started to blossom and the admiration left for the crush to harvest until it fully bloomed in your chest. Its petals have asfixiated you ever since.

On winter, you returned to town, like a vice. You always came back for the holidays, a silver of hope that shouldn't exist. You felt it in the air, impregnated with a heartbreak so cutting, it was hard to remember when the winter carried the happiness it should've; all that's left was the cold, harsh feeling.

"Y/n!" your dad embraces your body on a hug as warm as a fireplace, "you're home"

He passes you around the people over, because that's how he always is: joyful, the house full with guests that don't stop at family, but feel as close as those of blood. She came! he loudly yet proudly announces your homecoming, adding small sprinkles of how's college and how smart his little girl is (a nickname he can't let go of, not caring if you were ten then and now just above twenty), not caring if your face is as red as christmas easters.

"You have to stop, dad" you plead with annoyance, but a small smile betrays you, "no one wants to hear how I'm top of my class again, for the millionth time"

"Well, it's my house" he jokes, "so they better get used to it" he then looks around the room, as if he's forgetting something, "ah, someone I must bore with your stories is missing..."

He talks to some more people around and you have to plaster a smile and salute faces you can't recognize, but as on cue, the door flings open, some people near the entrance greeting a face you've yet to see and recognize. Your father gets there first, the smile that spreads across his face making your stomach tie in knots.

"Joel's here!" he delivers with excitement, unaware of how your polite smile falters.

"Joel's here" you repeat, grief laced within your words. Grief of what? You don't know, but you do know a part of you dies the more you look at Joel Miller the way you're not supposed to.

"Come say hi" your father insists, happy in his ignorance, despite your paced walk and stiff demeanor.

And walking your way is him, the man who owns your heart without knowing.

His hair is still as soft as ever, more tints of grey sprinkled through it. Your fingers itch to trace it, so you keep your fists closed until the red nails dig into the tight white flesh. He has more wrinkles, pronounced when his brows furrow at the sight of you.

"I know she's grown a lot, but I hope you still recognize her" your dad says with affection, "isn't she beautiful, my y/n? Grown into a whole lady"

Your heart hammers against your chest as Joel looks you up and down, but there is no emotion across his face.

"It's only been a year, but sure, she has" as stoic as ever, but it's enough to make your nerves wreck. You can't believe how much a simple stare and a few words can get to you.

But you were always like this: weak. Back then, at kindergarten grounds, when making a friend seemed the hardest task. Now, at university, when you wonder if something is wrong with you that always makes you the last option to choose.

Maybe that's why Joel, a man so strong in appearance and character, never liked you: that all those memories were a dream, and he just did it as an extension of his affection for your dad.

You'll never forget that dinner last year, on these same days, when for the first time, both your parents left you alone with Joel, their guest for the night. There was a storm outside, and it was almost funny how the brash wind against the window mimicked your steady heart. You didn't know he was coming, but when you did, you put on your best dress on purpose and dusted a makeup palette a friend gave you, yet he didn't even look your way.

"Do you hate me, Joel?" you asked in a whispered breathe, the cold silence as answer.

It's contradictory, really: your love grows where his hate does. More like hate, it's a disregard so cruel, you can't help but wonder if there's something wrong with you, making you attached to an older man that only seems to have apathy for you. Because one thing is attraction, but other is the deep adoration where you'd die if he were to ask you.

It's your fault, really, for turning his life into folklore. You still remember sitting on your father's lap as he talked your ear off, full of stories that Joel, always by his side, would quietly laugh, the fireplace casting shadow over a man who seemed to overpower the darkness that now is palpable on his gaze. He'd said your dad was making him greater than he really was, pinching your cheeks as he called you sugar, reasoning you were so sweet.

But since last year, something shifted: he started avoiding you, like he resented you.

And you never understood why. So every season you've searched in his eyes for a sign, anything, that can make you go back to that speacial relationship you had, missing him like a little kid. It's been a year, and you feel, if possible, more at loss than before.

Back to now, it's almost midnight, and most of the guests have gone already. You've tried to look cool in the eyes of those who are still there, conversation flowing easily through your eggnog-tinted tongue, yet you know it's all pretend.

"Excuse me" you can't take it anymore, the air suffocating you in anxiousness.

"Where are you going?" questions your mom, stopping you in your tracks before going up the stairs.

You turn around and feign a smile, "Up to my room"

"Are you okay?" your dad asks with worry.

"Yeah, just tired" you lie with ease, and the miles you've driven back it up.

"If you need anything, just tell" she says.

When you fall against the mattress, all the weight settles in. You close your eyes and count to ten, breathing in and breathing out.

The door creaks, so you get up as you open your eyes. "Dad" you start, knowing he's all about giving you talks, "Not now, please-"

"M' not y'r daddy"

You shiver despite the closed windows.

"Joel!" you jump, straightening yourself, "did dad send you?"

He doesn't respond, looking at you through brown warm eyes that reveal nothing. The pit in your stomach grows along awkward silence.

"It's cold outside, isn't it?" you attempt to make conversation, hating the silence. But you fail: he's still here, and regardless of his indifference, he doesn't leave.

Maybe it's the bit of alcohol from before, but you're standing over until you get close to his resting figure against the doorframe, the darkness of your room leaving his face, now barely lit by the light outside in the hallway. Joel's so close you can hear his breathing, and it surprises you the way it drags like a cigarette.

You feel confident for the first time, defiant even, tired of it all, like if it was his fault you loved him. You're sick of him viewing you like a naive kid who knows no better.

"Joel, why are you here?"

The lavender gets under his nose, his skin on fire. He looks at you again, but this time, the brown in his eyes darkens.

"Joel...?" you ask on a shaky breath.

Before you can register, there's warmth against your cheek. His fingers graze your face with an unspoken yearning on his fingertips, as he gently grabs your chin.

Your breath hitches, hand traveling to feel his on your face, to see if it's real and not a dream.

"Joel, what are you doing?"

He backs up, like your touch burns. And then looks at you, as if you're a stone on his shoe: just like all those boys back at the city, who have rejected you. You feel small, like crying.

"M' sorry" and walks out of your room, his scent up your nose. His limping figure walks down the hallway that now looks longer. You don't realize how long you've stared until you hear your father ask downstairs where was he.

It's like he was never there.

It was spring when he first kissed you.

It's funny how you still came back home after such disastrous holidays.

Joel stayed for the rest of the holidays, including Christmas and New Years, and when he hugged you in the living room full of guests, you had to pretend his fingers hadn't hold you differently before. You both lied your way out, and when you left, for the first time, you felt relieved, which is why it took some convincing from your father to make you return for spring.

"You couldn't miss this" he insists, "it's the best time to visit the cabin"

And you have to agree: a small cabin by the lake that your parents bought when they first moved in to town, a place you spent most of your childhood. Your father taught you how to fish there, and ever since, even as you moved away for college, you came back to do so, a tradition kept intact despite the years.

Your mom looks at you from the rear view mirror. "He wouldn't stop talking about it, afraid you wouldn't join us this year" your dad hushes her, embarrased, "oh! Don't act like you didn't"

Truth is, you'd still come: you miss the green tickling your bare feet, the cold water, and the sun kissing your skin as you lay outside. It's a lie you don't wait all year to leave the cold city and embrace the blooming spring.

"I wouldn't miss it for anything, dad" you lay against the car's door, closing your eyes as you smile. He doesn't say anything, yet with the way your mom giggles, you know he probably got teary or something―your sappy old man.

The car stops, the cabin in front of you. You feel like crying, so many memories flooding you. Alright, you're being sappy just like your dad, but it's been a hard semester and you missed your family.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you something" he says as you get out. The small denim short rides up as you stretch, your legs numb from the trip.

"Yeah?"

A car honks from behind. You jump, loosing balance as you trip. "Ow!" you land on the grass, embarrasingly so.

"C'mere" you look up, the sun blinding his face. "Lemme help ya', sugar"

The nickname feels like a slap to your face, so you stay there stupid, body stiff as you raise up, Joel's face flooding your field of vision.

"That's what I forgot to tell you" your dad laughs, "or who"

You're not laughing. Joel Miller is here and it's ruines your trip.

"Well, you should've" you took his hand just for the show, because you know your mom is observant. If there was an electric rush, you must've imagined it, just as the way his hands fall to his sides, twitching.

Over the next couple of days, you try to ignore him as much as you can, pretending your spring hasn't changed: fishing, laying down, sun and baths.

"Hey"

Your sun glasses rest on your nose as you raise from your spot, laying on a towel on the grass as you sunbathe.

"What'd want, Joel?" your tone is icy, contrasting the warmer climate.

"M' going to the lake" he mumbles, then stays silent. It's almost as if he's waiting for you to answer.

"Okay?" you lay down again, "have fun"

"Y'r dad said you'd teach me" he raises a fishing row.

You groan in annoyance, getting up from your spot, "why doesn't he do it?"

"Said y'r the best" then coughs, "besides, I think him and your momma needed some time alone..."

You walk past, shoulder brushing against his. You've never been this childish before, but your anger fuels your emotions: rage when you see him and remember how the warm of his touch turned cold in seconds.

You arrive at the small dock, sitting on the rather hot wood. You don't flinch, trying to prove nothing. Joel sits next to you and makes a face at the burning sensation.

"What?" you mock, venom dripping from your tone, "can't handle some heat?"

He just scoffs, passing the row to you with a little more force than necessary.

Your petty revenge is splashing his shirt, damping the cotton with the lake's water.

"I'm sorry" you apologize, feigning an innocent tone, "wanted to freshen up"

"Thought ya could handle the heat" Joel grumbles.

Then he curses under his breath, taking the shirt off and tossing it to the side.

You take in now shirtless body, admiring the strong muscles, broad shoulders and sturdy back. He sits next to you, his belly pushing just above the seam of his shorts. You recoil, almost as if heat radiated off his body, your cheeks burning. Your hands tremble as you hold the row, and it takes every strength of you to not succumb to the dangerous view; it's all too tempting.

"Y'r gonna teach me or what?" he breaks your train of thoughts, his voice so low, as if you were a little animal he was trying not to scare off, "just gonna stare? Ain't y'r daddy taught ya some manners?"

A current shoots through your body and looses itself in the middle of your legs.

You divert your gaze, ashamed. "Don't know what you're talking about"

"Liar" but it's so soft, it sounds more like an observation than an accusation.

"Drop it, Joel" you focus on the water but you know your mind is elsewhere.

"Sugar..."

You feel like throwing up. Why after ignoring you is he calling you like he used to? When he was your favorite person in the world and you were his. He used to hold you close, but now acts like your touch is poisoned. Joel confuses you too much; he's got you feeling like screaming at the sky.

"I said drop it, Joel" you seethe, "you may be old, but you're not deaf"

"And you may be young" his fingers remove the glasses from your face, your wary eyes in exhibit, "but y'r too bold"

They stay there, on your face, his rough fingertips touching your soft sun-kissed skin.

You don't know why you do it, but you do.

You get up, your legs on his face. Until then, you don't realize how close you two were.

"I'm not bold, Joel" you whisper, "I'm scared"

And then you jump.

The world reduces to a blur, body as light as a feather. The sensation of falling is familiar and you don't know why.

It's barely a second, like a blink.

The cold water hitting your body brings you back to reality.

You can't see, it's all dark. But you feel free: you may be underwater, but over him.

You feel like you got the upper hand, but then the water starts moving and a huge splash next to you makes you look back.

Joel jumped too.

"What are you doing?!" you shout.

What are you doing to me? What do you want from me? What will you do to me?

"Takin' a splash" he answers, like it's obvious.

"You know what I meant" your tone is rather spiteful.

"And you had'a teach me" he's again in front of you, barely inches away, "so I guess we're both dissapointed we didn't get what we wanted"

There's water dripping from his hair, falling to his face. Water drops adorn his eyelashes, warm eyes deeper than ever, and you feel like drowning even as your body floats.

"And what do you want?" you challenge, the question implying only so much.

His lips clash into yours, hungry like a wolf. Your hands immediately grip his neck for support as his tongue forcefully gets inside of you, water droplets filling your taste buds. You gasp for air, all of your body pressed against his.

"That answer y'r question?" tone defiant, as if he's also a player on this game that's just started.

You just don't know yet how much you've got to loose.

It was summer when he became yours.

You'd never anticipated coming back home as much as now.

The lingering feeling of his scruffy beard against yours, back pressed against the walls of the shed at midnight while he devoured your lips in a hungry kiss has stayed with you since you left the cabin, trapped in the salt air. Now you're coming back for more, butterflies in the low of your belly as you remember his words:

"When y'get back, I'll have ya' a surprise"

You park at your house, searching for the keys under the rug, but they aren't there. You knock to no answer, so you call your dad and mom, only for both of the calls to go directly to voicemail. Yes, you came a day earlier than planned, but your parents are always home the week you arrive, so something must be going on.

Before you worry, a voice behind you says:

"Ain't nobody inside. Y'r folks went out"

It's Joel, looking as good as the last day you saw him. Just to taste him again, you were complaint on every single of his requirements, one being no contact. He claimed he didn't want to distract you back at college, and you didn't ask any more questions, afraid you'd press a wrong button and loose what felt like a dream.

"Really?" you walk out of your porch to where he is, resisting the urge to kiss him in the middle of your neighbourhood's street.

"Hmh" he nods, "said they ain't comin' back soon"

"They told you so?" you question, "why do I feel you had something to do with it?"

"Ain't do shit" he crosses his arms, the t-shirt sleeves making his arm muscles more prominent. He then coughs, "just recommended y'r dad a nice restaurant outside town. Maybe they'll be later than night, traffic is kinda packed at late"

You smile, "Joel?"

He doesn't look at you, "yes?"

You fail to suppress a giggle, "did you just get rid of my parents?"

"No" he answers, stern. "Now" he looks around, all doors closed, "why don't 'cha come inside? Sun is hittin' hard"

He's a terrible liar.

As soon as you enter his house, you can't believe you've never been there before, visits usually in your house.

It's exactly what you expected: a simple and sober decoration that hides a welcoming feeling somewhere. There's something else you notice: the lack of pictures.

"Make yourself comfortable" he says, coughing, looking akward all of a sudden. You want to laugh and coo his now insecure demeanor, shy in your present. If he seemed sure before, he doesn't anymore. "I''ll get ya' some water"

"Joel?" your voice comes out low, equalling a purr. His cock twitches in his pants at the way you call him.

"Yes?" he swallows, adam's apple bobbing.

"I hope you didn't bring me into your house just for a glass" then you sit on the couch, the small short you're wearing riding up your thighs. "Besides, I'm not thirsty"

He doesn't move, almost as if he's lost the ability to react; in a trance.

"What do you want?" voice deep, like he'd give you anything you ask.

"Have you forgot already, old man?" you quip. "You promised me something" even if your voice is steady, your fingers tremble when you start un-buttoning your shirt, "and I'm waiting for it"

If he could drool like a dog, he would. He slowly gets closer to you, until he's towering over your sitting figure.

"Ya' think it's funny tempting me like that, sugar? Playing with an old fuck as me like that?"

You whimper, resolve melting quickly. "N-no" you feel ashamed, hand ready to button yourself again until his hand grabs yours, stopping you from doing so.

"I'm sorry, sugar" he raises your body swiftly, making you stand up. "Actions have consequences, and I'm gonna teach ya' some"

When his lips land on yours, you feel you've reached heaven again. His mouth easily know your roads, traveling to every spot he can to deepen the kiss. He eats you out like he's starved, sweat starting to pool in your foreheads. He grabs you by the waist, pulling your closer if possible, your chest clashing against his pecs. His heart hammers against you, and that's all you hear aside your raggedy breaths and famished clashing. You grab his hair again, feeling the soft texture under your fingers. Joel moans against your lips when you bite his, something a friend told you to do, and it's proven to work.

"Where'd you learn that, huh?" you taste like strawberries, the proof on his now coated shiny lips and your disheveled gloss. His grip turns stronger, "thought ya' were innocent, little vixen"

"I still am" you avoid his gaze, and even if his hold falters, when you look again into his eyes, there's a flame burning in them. "But I want you to have it, Joel"

"Sugar-" starts, condescending.

"Don't" you immediatly cut him off. "I'm an adult, I know what I want"

"I just want ya' to be sure" but his cock is already hard, "don't want ya' to regret it"

"I could never regret you, Joel" you whisper.

He picks up your body, that despite the years, is still as strong as ever. He goes up the stairs, looking at you so lovingly, you feel like anything is possible.

Maybe this is how it feels like.

He softly drops you onto the mattress, that dips under your weight. You place yourself against the bed head, and when Joel gets in, it creaks.

"I'm gonna make ya' feel so good, sugar. I promise" he slurs, "Now be a good girl and open up for me"

Your part your legs, and he's taking down your shorts until your lingerine is exposed. With wandering fingers, he traces your inner thights, delighted at the way you squirm under his touch. He then travels to your pussy, the clothe the only thing separating him from your bare cunt.

"Has anyone eat ya' down here before?" he can smell your arousal, seeing the wet spot in the middle of your panties. He's salivating at the fresh meal. You deny, embarrased, but he seems content at that, "those dumb college boys haven't treated you right? Then lemme show y'how a real man's supposed to eat ya'"

He strips you off your panties, landing somewhere on the floor. You shudder at the sudden breeze on your bare core.

"Already drippin' for me?" he softly laughs, "we ain't even started"

He dives down, the rough of his facial hair sending tickles through your body. He gives a small lick at first, as if testing. When you let out a small moan, he feels invencible. He keeps the ministrations going, more cute sounds escaping your lips. He wants to hear more of them, addicted to the sound, heat pooling when he remembers he's the one causing them.

"Liking it, sugar?" he stops to ask, his voice provoking more vibrations that hit your core in a pleasant way.

"D-don't stop" you plead in the middle of a whine.

He eats you like a madman. Slurping and sloshing sounds bounce off the walls, your hands gripping his greying locks tightly as his face pushes further into your puffy heat, sucking on the sensitive clit. With his filthy mouth, he takes on of the lips on his mouth, robbing a loud groan out of you.

"Your pussy, God" his breath fans against it, "tastes so good, sugar, sweet like you" he licks more, making it get wetter. You didn't know you had that in you, nothing compared to when you tried to touch yourself back at your dorm, too ashamed to try anything else.

He groans against your heat, sending another wave of pleasure through your body.

He then gets up, showing you his thick digits like one shows something new to a baby, "guess what?" you have no idea, and your innocent doe eye'd gaze makes him squirm at the thought of being the first to touch untainted territories (in many ways).

"M' gonna finger you baby, okay? I promise's gonna feel good" Joel assures as he slowly inserts one of his fingers. You arch your back as you felt his fingers in your warm walls. He then puts another, thick fingers in and out of your pussy, your arousal dripping down his wrist. You squirm and whine, thighs shaking at the intensity of the pleasure he was giving you. There's a weird tension happening down there. "J-Joel" you pant, "I feel-" 

"Let it go, sugar" he doesn't stop, "I'm here for ya' and y'r sweet cunt"

Liquid soon gushes out. "Fuck" he curses. You shy away and looking everywhere but his eyes. 

"Feels good?" you nodded incoherently, "wanna feel even better?"

He gets rid of his pants, the silhoutte hard under his underwear. You gulp, afraid you might not take it.

"Joel..." you call his name, hesitant. Fuck, he's so horny he could care less if he's too big for your first.

"We'll go slow" he leans forward to kiss your forehead, "I know'll take it"

"O-okay" you're still not sure and a bit afraid, but you want him, so you surrender to him.

You feel something heavy go inside your folds. You look down to see his enormous cock sliding in between your tight walls, the skin glistening in your slick,round tip leaking with his precum.

"Tell me" he's soft on you, despite what you're doing, "I'll stop if it hurts"

It does. It burns: how your cunt tries to adapt to his girth, stretching in a painful but delicious feeling.

"N-no" your voice comes out strained, drops of blood falling into the sheets, "keep going"

"Such a greedy thing are ya'?" Joel laughs, truly laughs, the rich sound coming deep from his chest, "what would daddy say?"

"Shut up" you bite, holding onto his shoulders for stability. Please, don't let me fall.

Half way in, he pulls out before diving back in, helping you adjust to his size slowly. Your eyes are trained on the way his cock disappears inside your leaking pussy.

"Should'I keep goin'?" he asks.

"K-keep going" you say softly, and with that, he gently starts inching into you.

"Good girl" he coos.

His cock stretches out your virgin hole perfectly, like it was meant for him. He feels himself melting at the sight of you, something to worry about later. Not now, when your breath hitches as he fills you up. Your cunt fit snug around his length, like you were made for him.

Joel drops his head on your shoulder as he fully entered you, tired, his energy not as much as when he was young. Beads of summer sweat shimmer in your bodies, as not only that but the feeling of your pussy wrapped around his dick make you warm.

Joel takes in a moment to see the mess he's made of you: parted lips, shut eyes, nails digging on his neck. You were deep in pleasure: because of him. His dick twitches at that, and inside of you, it makes you whimper.

"M' gonna start movin', 'kay? Tell me if it's too much"

His weight presses over your body before starting to pull out and push back in. The thrusts start slow, soon picking up a rhytmic pace. Joel grips your hips with his rough big hands, to then start fucking into you.

"Mhm" you whine.

"Mhm, what? Use your words, sugar"

"I-it feels so good, Joel" despite the pain, despite the doubts, the haze is so envolving, he's made of you a moaning mess, drunk in pleasure; the feeling of him inside of you has you seeing stars.

"Y-you feel good too, baby" he pants, your pussy gushing at each thrust. He starts going harder, making you scream.

"Who you belong to, sugar?" his hot breath pours in your ear, "say it"

"You, Joel" you whisper the answer like a sacred oath, "Just you. I'm all yours"

Before you can say anything else, his dick touches a spot within you. Such a sweet spot, that has you moaning and feeling something unlike anything you've experienced before: it washes over you as you clamp down on him. You hear yourself cry, voice barely recognizable. Your vision goes blurry, then mind blank.

Joel groans with your pretty cries of pleasure, watching the way your cunt milks his cock, drooling with your juice.

"Such a nice girl for me, sugar. Did so well" he whispers, and a dark tought crosses his mind. He feels dirty, taking advantage of your age and naivety, your figure still half-gone, "think you want me, all of me?"

You nod, still out of your mind, and before you can process the real meaning of his words, hot stripes of his seed plaster your walls, coating each inch of you. Joel presses his lips into yours to shut your moans, kissing you hard.

"You good?" you can only nod, still in shock, the events dawning over you. "Don't worry, I'll buy ya' a pill before your folks come back"

The sun shines outside; there's still time. You just wonder how much.

It was autumn when he said I love you.

Yellow and orange leaves fall in the roads not taken as you've fallen for Joel.

Ever since summer, you've been waiting for the next time to see him: sleeping with him being the last thought, touching yourself to his voice on your mind, drawing hearts in the bylines of your notes. His figure, first a dream, then a fleeting hope and now a high you need to feel once again, because you can't let go of the way he fucked you, your cries of pleasure, how your walls stretched for him and the way he held you that afternoon and the next nights you escaped your house, crossing the street under the moonlight, hiding as a criminal.

But you'd do anything to feel him, his heart beating against your chest like it was yours to bear. You need to see him, so you're doing the most stupid choice of your life.

There's a pause after you knock, and then Joel opens his door.

"Sugar!" he looks surprised, then angry and finally scared. "The fuck you doin' here? Ain't you supposed to come 'til winter?"

"I couldn't wait" you whine in desperation, clinging onto him like a koala. You'd searched for something, anything, that smelled like him back at the city, but even his flannel shirt you'd stolen had started to loose its smell.

He looks around, "do your-"

"No" you pause, "they don't know I'm here"

He curses under his breath, realizing just how much you're deep in this. He's fucked: fucked because he'll comply even if he knows this has to stop.

"I have the keys" you pick the dirt under your nails, a nervous habit of yours, "for the cabin"

Joel remembers last spring, how he ate you inside the walls of the shed, wishing for more. More came the next summer, and now you're hear again, looking at with with that look he hates: like you'd burn the world just to keep him warm.

"How'd you do that?"

"Took them last summer" you reveal your plan all along, "just in case" yet you had already made your mind before leaving town.

"Damn it, sugar" he's speechless, "you're fucking crazy"

You giggle despite the uneasiness creeping up, "just for you, Joel"

He takes you to the cabin on his car, yours already there. And you'd walked to his house? You have indeed, lost your mind.

"What're we supposed to do?" he thinks out loud.

You groan, "I don't know, Joel. But I didn't drive miles just for you to stand there"

He can't lie and say he hasn't thought about you: your lashes, soft when closed; the way his room still smelled like you even after two weeks of your parting, or how the sun seemed to highlight all your perfect spots. He even thinks of you on his bathroom while he grabs his dick, fucking himself to the memorized song of your moans and uneven breaths as he pulled in and out of you.

"Then get inside" he's demanding, and your panties wet at the tone and the voice you missed so much, "it's cold out'ere"

As soon as you close the door, he's grabbing your face with force, that it almost seems like two people fighting, not two who missed each other.

"Joel" you mumble, breathless.

"Missed ya' so much, sugar" he confesses against your lips. A trail of saliva hangs; silver of hope. "It was killin' me"

"I missed you too, Joel" you deepen the kiss, tears threatening to spill from the corner of your eyes. "Couldn't stop thinking about you"

"Yeah?" he sits on the living room's couch, creaking under the sudden weight. "Tell me what that pretty head of yours was thinkin'"

"You" in a heartbeat, and you see his gaze go from dark to something else, lurking behind; you're scared to find out what it is.

Joel motions you to come over. You take your shoes and pants off, siting on his lap.

"Yeah-?" his voice falters, "tell me what"

"How our names sound together, how pretty you are..." you wander. "I also thought about you, all of you, inside of me"

"Watch that filthy mout of yours, sugar" he chastises but there's no anger behind his reprimand, "one summer bouncing on my cock an' y'r already a needy slut"

You whine at his words, rubbing yourself against his tight.

"D-don't" he undoes his belt and jeans, leaving only his underwear. Your desperate fingers pull them down, revealing his already pulsating cock, "don't tease this ole' man and just do the real thing"

He lets you use him, his hips rocking forwards despite his creaking bones, your swollen clit dragging against his pelvis. He sees your face, how you bite your lip as you test your needs, fucking yourself while you ride him. He lets you because: one, he's old and tired, and two, he wants to see you until he's memorized every small detail of your face. He lets you edge yourself close, crying as you feel it coming, but then he plants his feet onto the wooden floor, his boots making a hollow sound that echoes through the walls, the only other sound aside your cries, and thrusts his length up into you.

You yelp at the sudden sensation of his cock inside of you again.

"Think I'd let ya' have it all?" he mocks, "need to fuck y'r pretty pussy too; gotta have it for myself. Would ya' let me?"

You can't deny him anything.

"Yes, Joel" his hands immediatly grab your hips with a pressure so strong, you fear there'll soon be a bruise there. His cock buries fully within you. The air fills with a strong scent, just your moans and his grunts bouncing off the walls, soon warming up from the cold, the crease of his eyebrow pronounced as he realeases, coating your folds with his cum.

"God, sugar" he sounds a bit embarrased, "look at you, makin' me cum so fast"

But he's too enamoured by the sight of you on top of him, still riding him despite his quick orgasm, so he cups your face gently, the beads of sweat on your forehead falling into his hand. He feels more alive than ever, like his life has just started. Oh, he can picture it: coming home to the smell of your food, kissing the absence of the day off your mouth, to then bend you over the counter. He wants so much more, but he knows it can't be, yet, he's far too gone to even think about turning around.

You lift your hips until his cock slips out of you, using your fingers to bring it back. His cum clings to your folds as you sink back down, hips barely lifting you back up before you keep him buried inside of you. He loves watching you slide down his length, slipping in and out of your puffy cunt as his cock softens. It pushes his cum back into your cunt, sticky over your clit as it drips to your thighs.

You did bring a pill this time, so you don't care of the mess his thick flood of cum that dribbles out of you has made on your pussy and his clothes.

"Fuck" you let out, sex-filled mind speaking up. "Don't ever leave me again"

"I won't" he answers hastily, then regrets it. But you don't know that.

Instead, numbness takes over your body, the events of last hours finally draining your body. Sleep settles in, and you nest your head on Joel's sweaty shoulder.

"Lemme take you to bed" you hear his half-drowned voice, carrying your body to the main bedroom.

Joel Miller was always a mystery to you: a man who seemed impossible to break, his world hiding behind a permanent scowl. It felt like his heart was locked, seemingly unbreakable, but where he was rough, his edges had softened for you.

He places you over the bed softly, dipping next to you. Joel's strong arms embrace you, pulling your tired figure closer. His face hides in your neck and his soft belly pushes against the curve of your back, all while he presses a soft kiss to it.

"I think I love you" he murmurs to no one in particular.

But you hear.

It was winter again, when he broke your heart.

Before the holidays, you'd drop by every other weekend. Cancelling plans, waiting for his call. For his grave voice to say Come over, and you'd speed up the brakes with an urgency only he had taught you.

You'd find yourself in the cabin, loosing track of time that rushed like a bottle of wine. Kissing until your mouth was swollen and the only thing that satisfied your hunger was his lips, fucking until sunrise and his bones ached. He'd then offer a tired smile, and you'd sing a soft tune in front of the fireplace while cuddling.

They say home is where the heart is. And it felt like one.

It was during one of those escapades that you showed up with your newest adquisition: a small cursive J just above your thigh, hiding under the plaid of your skirt.

It was your first fight. He shouted at you like he had never before, scolding you like a father would to a naive kid, the hatred you hadn't seen since he touched you that night a year ago, resurfacing.

"We're loosing ourselves" his voice cracked, sounding defeated. But then he'd suck the skin around it until it turned red.

The back and forth became the only thing keeping you alive, the need for his touch as addictive and destructive as a drug.

Which is why Christmas hadn't felt this jolly since being a kid.

You're back, and as you hug your dad and mom, you scour the place for his face: the one you've grown to yearn and love.

Your dad exchanges a glance with your mother and then looks at you weirdly before answering.

"He isn't coming; I thought you knew"

You don't care about the future explanations or the calls of your name, storming off and crossing the street to his place.

"Joel!" you shout, knocking desperately, "open the door!"

When you don't get an answer, you search for the spare key hiding under a pot in the porch. As you make your way inside, you spot Joel sitting in front of the fireplace, his eyes lost in the fire.

"Joel" you softly call his name. At that, he snaps, standing up. His eyes glow with the flames, circling in doubt.

"Sugar?" like he didn't expect you to actually search him on his absence, "what'd doing here?"

"I could ask you the same" you laugh, sardonically. "Don't know how I'll explain running off like that, so thanks, by the way"

"M' sorry"

The words fall heavy in the air, suddenly thick. Something tells you he isn't apologizing exactly for that.

There's something like guilt and fear simmering in his eyes. You think about all those times in the cabin, spring and autumn, and you're reminded of those three words he's said and you haven't. The realization hits you, and you're quick to reach him, grabbing his hand.

"Joel?" you call again. "I- I need to tell you something"

"So do I" but he sounds reluctant, "you go first"

"I don't know what's happening" your lip quivers, eyes glossy. God, he feels terrible, "but I want you to know that I love you"

He gasps, like you've slapped him across the face.

"No" he starts, pushing you away. He lets go of your hand, and the sudden cold hits you.

"I thought I still had time..." his shoulders slump in defeat, "guess I'm wrong"

"What do you mean?" anger and sadness flood your words.

"You can't love me" the words cut through you, and you're sick.

Sick of your rusting wheels that only move when he tells you to. Because that force, the dominance, Joel Miller seems to carry over the rest of the people, doesn't cut as deep as it cuts through you.

It's almost done with a benevolent authority, like he knows of said power and doesn't want to abuse it.

So now he's ordering you to stop loving him, like this year has meant nothing. Nothing.

"Love, funny word" your words carry rage, "do you even know what that means?" you try to hold back the tears in vain, "you don't, yet you say them so freely, like they mean nothing to you" he makes a surprised face, and you savour the pain reflected on his face, alike of yours. "Yes, I heard you, Joel. Y-you made me the happiest girl on the planet, but now I realize you're so full of shit"

You turn around, trying not to see his face, because you know that the more you look at him, the more seconds you add and the harder it would be to erase the memories you'll have to burn.

"Did you ever love me, Joel?" it pains you to whisper out loud.

"I love you, sugar" his voice is horse, like something had cut through it. "That's why I'm doing this"

"Are you, Joel?" you sigh, "if you loved me, wouldn't you want me to stay?"

"This won't end well" it's his answer, trying to reason, "I don't want to hold you back"

Coward. Asshole. Idiot.

Your tone is icy like the storm outside, "but it's already ended"

He's about to speak but you cut him off.

You can only smile. "I've given you everything and you took it. I really thought you were giving me your everything, but I realize now, that I know what you are. You don't need to hide it" he looks at you like it is you who's hurted him the most, "you're hard to love, Joel. But I tried"

He'll regret it. You know and you want to: you want him to feel the empty days blur with one another, that he remembers late at night what you had and he ended, so when he feels alone, the ghost of your free love haunts him with the happy days and sweet taste of your lips. Just then, he'll understand what your year of loving really meant.

You leave his house empty, a knife twisted in your heart. He's the only one who's got the key, and you know it will be long until anyone else can break it open.

But it's okay: if being with Joel was heaven, you'll happily burn in the flames of what's left.

cr: divider by @kodaswrld / gif @tomshiddles

[monochromed-elf]

Random astro notes 1

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Take what resonates! I'm no professional astrologer.

These observations are made from my experiences.

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✮⋆｡ 6h Jupiter and easily gaining weight. especially if you're also Jupitarian.

✮⋆｡ 6h Jupiter also makes you suck at managing your time and tasks (Overly optimistic about it).

✮⋆｡ Again, my experience with 6h Jupiter and being called big animals.

✮⋆｡ Cancer Mercury and what is that handwriting of yours omg I'm sorry you're getting complaints about it😭 I can understand a doctor's paracetamol but not your hello.

✮⋆｡ Cancer/4h Lilith, your mother is most likely to hate on your friend with a Cancer stellium/prominent Cancer placements for no reason whatsoever. Especially if the friend is healing your mommy issues. Your mother will automatically think they're brainwashing you.

✮⋆｡ 4h Lilith also means you always try to save your mother. Don't do it. Stop that. Because she won't appreciate your attempts and will side with what hurts her! Learn that she's not your responsibility.

✮⋆｡ I feel like Gemini Mars will certainly space out during anything sexual, literally getting railed while thinking of taxes or whatever is going on. It's definitely the ADHD lol.

✮⋆｡ Gemini Venus please stop accidentally flirting with us, oh and the mixed signals.

✮⋆｡ Heavy water placements but with an Aries Moon can give off the vibes of the therapist friend with heavy random outbursts when they're tired of therapitizing everyone. Especially if Moon conjuncts Uranus.

✮⋆｡ All of the Capricorn Moons I know have heavy sociopathic traits.

✮⋆｡ Meanwhile Aquarius Moons can't stop blaming body chemicals for their emotions (dopamine and all of that).

✮⋆｡ "Choose the person who has your Moon sign as their Venus sign" is actually true. But it won't last long (maximum 2 years) and you both will become strangers. (unless you both meet daily or live together).

✮⋆｡ Mars conjunct Saturn will make you like BDSM a lot.

✮⋆｡ 4h Chiron, please do not create a family UNLESS you are healed. You'll traumatize all of your kids but fucking be an angel parent to other families. Similar with 5h Chiron but it's mostly with kids.

✮⋆｡ 4h/5h Chiron could be an indicator of being a narcissistic parent too. I'm indeed traumatized.

✮⋆｡ Always remember that Neptune=Delulu. Be careful where it is, it's both a blessing and a curse.

✮⋆｡ A close person's Venus in your 12h and omg they fucking appear in your dreams.

✮⋆｡ 9h Saturn are one of the most closed minded people I've ever met. They are seriously unable to see other perspectives.

✮⋆｡ The Sun House shows you how you treat your own dad. 11h sun: your friend, 10h: your boss, 4h: an actual parent Imao. It also can show why your dad loves or hates you because of such status: "I'm your dad stop treating me like a: (11h) friend/(3h) older brother/(5h) kid".

✮⋆｡ Fire IC/4h ruled by a fire sign is really a strong indicator of a bad family.

✮⋆｡ 3h Saturn natives bond by talking shit about their siblings.

✮⋆｡ 3h Saturn also might indicate having a loud voice (especially with prominent air signs placements).

✮⋆｡ 3h Uranus and yes 90% chance your siblings were unexpected, or you may have an unexpected story of a sibling (like you had a sibling that died before you or smth wild).

✮⋆｡ I find that Lilith/Chiron placements are so...damn, similar. Except that Lilith is horny and Chiron is actually serious about the problem lol. An example: 9h Lilith might fetishize their religious trauma/an experience with a foreigner. While 9h Chiron will be disgusted and crying and trying to fix fix fix. Lilith needs to be embraced as it is, Chiron actually needs the fucking healing instead.

✮⋆｡ One vs one opposite Nodes will either fix or ruin your life. For example you're an Aries North Node. A Libra North Node will be quite the teacher for you.

✮⋆｡ 5h/7h stelliums have the juiciest stories about their love life. But 7h is more likely to give you great advice about love lol.

✮⋆｡ Pluto conjunct Ascendant is very likely to look young compared to their age (my bestie being called a high schooler while she's in college damn).

✮⋆｡ Give a 3h Neptune alcohol and watch them become a professional poet and creatively high (Like those old Chinese/Arabic/Persian poets lol).

✮⋆｡ Neptune conjunct Ascendant, always seen as lazy and sleeps a lot.

✮⋆｡ Cancer/Pisces Mars can be actually super violent and not the usual passive aggressive shit. Especially in men.

✮⋆｡ (Vedic!) We always hate the type of men/women with our DK planet energy somehow (But we end up being really good with them). Mercury DK hates young and childlike people. Venus DK hating overly romantic and artistic people. It's life's way of saying SIKE—

✮⋆｡ Having the South Node in a sign and someone having a stellium/prominent placements of such sign (like, you being Leo South Node and you meet someone with Leo Stellium). Please run away from them. Early meetings and encounters with them feel like heaven but will slowly ruin you.

✮⋆｡ The same goes with your Rising Sign. If someone's stellium/prominent placements is in the same sign as your rising. The stellium person will be better than you at the things the sign values and your rising will become bitter. It'll be ugly. Go for people with your descendant's energy.

Thank you for reading💜

@monochromed-elf

[comicaurora]

So uhh. If you feel like talking about it. As someone who lives in the US, how are you being kind to yourself on this upsetting morning <3

Checked in with my loved ones first and foremost.

It's interesting. The vibe I've been getting from my circle is very different from 2016. Much less… dread and horror at a realignment of the understanding of what can and can't happen here, now, in this place and day and age. More "fuck, guys. again? whatever. enjoy your consequences, maybe you'll manage to learn something this time."

Frustration and anger is not the most positive feeling, or even the most fair one to express, but it is a protective one. It hurts a lot less than most alternatives.

And it's quite a shift. It was earthshattering back then. How could this have been allowed to happen? Why couldn't it be stopped? Why couldn't we stop it? Why couldn't I stop it? Why couldn't everyone see what this meant? Why couldn't I make them understand? Did they really not care? What did that mean about humanity as a whole? Were we so thoughtless? How could anyone be trusted?

It seems… much less earthshattering to see it happen twice. Disappointing, sure. Frustrating. But nowhere near as devastating as the first time I saw it unfold. We already knew it could happen. I've already had time to digest the implications. Now I'm just freshly disappointed.

It also feels less indicative of Crushing Truths Of Reality this time. We've seen shit get bad. We've also seen shit get better from here! We know both outcomes are possible, even inevitable. We know hoping for a better future is always worthwhile. This isn't the apocalypse. It's an unremarkably bad turn of events brought on by unremarkably self-centered well-documented human impulses. It's utterly mundane in its unpleasantness. It doesn't need to be dignified with despair.

A democratic election, no matter the outcome or the side we're on, makes us all acutely aware of how outnumbered we are by people whose worldviews and priorities are demonstrably incomprehensible to us. And the first time you get outnumbered, it's a shock. Defeat is haunting. It didn't matter how badly you wanted it; by the very function of democracy, you do not have the power to override greater numbers. (insert electoral college caveat here)

The second time through, I find myself focusing on a different facet that has dramatically reduced the amount of spiralling I'm doing. I don't expect this to work for everyone, but for me specifically, it helped to crystallize a few thoughts:

You don't have the power to control anyone else. You don't. You can't share your worldview and your revelations with them. You can't make them think or understand anything. You can lay it all out for them, but you can't make them listen, and you can't make it click. A mentor can't make their student learn a lesson; that's why teaching is so complicated and hard. An active choice must be made by the person to enable themselves to understand, and they must put the pieces together in their own mind before it makes sense to them, and the pieces must have been presented in a way that makes sense to them in the first place. Lead a horse to water, can't make them drink.

These elections highlight a disconnect in what different groups of people care about; and no matter how clearly you explain yourself or how passionately you perform, caring cannot be forced on someone. Understanding and connection cannot be forced. You cannot make anything or anyone matter to someone. They have to choose to see how it matters in order to internalize it. If they choose not to, that is not your failing. You couldn't have made them do it by just Explaining Better. They are not your responsibility. They make their own choices. You can't reach inside their head and connect the dots for them.

I'm a storyteller. I make stories and put them out into the world. I hope people get something good out of them, but I have no control over what that something is. I want people to be thoughtful and kind and compassionate and hopeful and see themselves reflected in stranges, no matter their differences. I can craft stories that I hope encourage this. But that is the extent of my ability and the extent of my responsibility. I control no-one's actions but my own, and so while I am not having the best day, I am at least content that I am doing what I can, and I am not shattering myself against impossibilities trying to control the things I can't.

Sometimes, people make decisions that I think are really bad. I can't make that not happen. All I can do is try to make decisions that will result in things I think are good. Today, that means checking in on people, and not assigning too much dramatic narrative weight to an ultimately mundane set of unremarkable bad decisions outside of my control. We'll take life as it comes and help each other out when and how we can. Everything else is out of our hands.

[hrrtshape]

for a lot of people, this idea of being grateful when they're looking at the environment and they don't see it, its hard for them to believe. what can they do to put themselves into gratitude so they can bring that manifestation in? 　　 　　a conversation with a former self.

answer , you stop looking at the world as if it's evidence. you stop treating the environment as a diagnostic tool. your reality isn't a thermometer, it's a mirror. and the mirror reflects what you assume to be true. if you want to see something different, you have to be different first. not reactively. not as a response to the world. but as a premise. gratitude isn't a reward for progress. it's the foundation of it.　

q : but what if that feels fake? what if i can't convince myself?

answer , then you're still worshipping the wrong god. you're still asking reality to go first. you want proof before you believe. but that's not how this works. this isn't a courtroom. this is creation. and creation isn't fair. it's arrogant. it demands that you believe in something before you have any reason to. that's what faith is, not piety. not virtue. just delusion weaponised. and gratitude is its most strategic form.　

q : so i have to lie to myself?

answer , no. you have to choose what kind of liar you want to be. because you're lying either way. when you say 'i'll never get there', you're lying. when you say 'nothing's changing', you're lying. when you say 'i have to wait', you're lying. you just believe those lies because they're easier to prove. but ease isn't truth. evidence isn't truth. if you're going to be delusional, at least be deliberate about it. believe in something that serves you.　

q : okay. but what does that look like in practice?

answer , it looks like thanking the train before it arrives. it looks like saying 'i love my life' with a debt collector on the phone. it looks like sitting in a mouldy flat and whispering 'this is the best it's ever been'. not because you're ignoring the pain. not because you're pretending you're happy. but because you understand that every moment is a seed. and what you water becomes. gratitude is how you choose your future. you don't have to like the present. but you do have to invest in it.　

q : what if it just feels . . . impossible.

answer , then start smaller. thank your lungs. thank your tea. thank your nailbeds. thank the fact that you know what you want. thank the aching gap between you and it. not because pain is romantic. not because suffering is noble. but because that tension is proof you still believe in more. if you were really hopeless, you wouldn't be hurting. you'd be numb. numbness is death. pain is proof you still want.　

q : how does this tie to shifting or loa?

answer , because shifting isn't a portal. it's a premise. it's a refusal. you don't shift because the world gives you permission. you shift because you've revoked its authority. and law of assumption isn't a theory. it's a verdict. it says: what i decide is final. it doesn't say: what i see. it says: what i say. gratitude is your evidence. it's how you close the case. when you say "i'm so glad it's already mine," you're not visualising, you're declaring. legislating.　

q : but why is gratitude so powerful?

answer , because it assumes completion. it skips the middle. it says: i already have it. and the universe responds to assumption, not ambition. desire makes noise. gratitude closes the loop. it doesn't beg. it doesn't chase. it confirms. and what you confirm, conforms. your reality has no choice but to rearrange itself around what you believe is done.　

q : what if i fall out of it? what if i lose the feeling?

answer , then start again. this isn't about consistency. it's about conviction. you can doubt all morning and still decide by noon. you can spiral at 3pm and still affirm at 3:05. you're not being graded. there is no tally. there is only now. and now. and now again. gratitude is not a mood. it's not a vibe. it's not about being high frequency, it's a decision, and you make it as often as you need to.　

q : so what's the actual takeaway?

answer , you go first. always. not the bank account. not the mirror. not the text. you. reality is not a parent. it's not in charge of your feelings. you are. if you want a different scene, you have to be a different actor. gratitude is how you change the genre. the world won't thank you until you thank it. not because it's cruel, but because it's listening.　

q : final question. what do you say to the part of me that still doesn't buy it?

answer , i say she's welcome to stay. she can sit in the corner. she can cross her arms. she can sulk. but she doesn't get to drive. she doesn't get to hold the mic. doubt is not a problem. doubt is not a disqualifier. doubt just means you're smart. but courage is smarter. gratitude is smarter. and they know how to lead.　

[gothcsz]

First Sight | Frankie Morales x F!Reader | ~3.5k wc | Explicit. Minors DNI.

Summary: Two strangers discover they’ve been swapping movies through a communal space, each leaving a note in return until curiosity forces a meeting.

Tags: meet cute kinda i think, drug use (smoking weed), the movie swap box is definitely inspired by little free library, pwp, smut, lust at first sight vibes, thigh fucking!, spanking, unprotected p in v, face riding, lil bit of dirty talk, pull out method strikes again, no use of y/n, reader is afab and able-bodied, no physical descriptions, any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i missed any other tags pls let me know okay, thanks!

A/N: helloooo this is my submission for @jolapeno's dear-uary challenge (i know i'm late pls...) so thank you jo for hosting! such a fun idea! 🖤 okay so i'm not usually a meet cute person but i wanted to challenge myself by writing it, which is why this took me forever to finish! i'm still a little iffy about the results and frankie's characterization—but fuck it, we ball! gotta start somewhere! shoutout to @mandaloriankait for reading over this as well when it was still in its early stages lmfao ummm i hope you guys enjoy and let me know what you think! 🖤

Francisco stands at the edge of his uncle’s property, staring at the house he now owns. The old man had lived like a ghost in his final years—ex-military (like himself), a recluse, barely seen except for maybe an occasional grocery run.

Now that he’s passed, the place is Frankie’s problem.

He planned to sell it, take the cash, and move on. But after really assessing it, taking in the sturdy bones of its structure, covered in grime and dust but still holding strong, he changed his mind. Maybe fixing it up would be good for him. 

Lord fuckin’ knows he needs something to get his mind right after all the shit he’s been through.

So that’s what he devotes his time to. He takes many trips to the local hardware store, flips through home improvement magazines to find tricks to make the process easier. On occasion, one of the guys will drop by to lend a hand, but for the most part it’s just been him. 

It also helps that the neighborhood is quiet, houses spaced out just enough to offer privacy but close enough that it isn’t completely isolated. A large pond stretches out, shared by the community, and it’s the kind of place that could feel like home, if he lets it.

Needing a break from the endless cleaning and repairs, he decides to go for a walk. The nicotine-laced weed dulls the edge of old cravings, a quiet battle he fights every day, choosing this over the harsher habits he’s trying to kick.

He wanders without aim, hands tucked in his pockets, the low hum of insects filling the gaps in silence. Something catches his eye as he approaches the end of the street—a small structure, half-concealed beneath the spill of a streetlamp.

Curious, he ambles closer. The old newspaper stand has been given new life, converted into a makeshift movie and book swap. Inside, a careful arrangement of DVDs and dog-eared paperbacks wait to be discovered. His fingers trace over the spines, skimming titles until he stops on one—Blade Runner.

As he pulls it out, a green post-it note, scrawled in neat, looping handwriting, flutters to the ground.

Always a bittersweet watch (I cried this last time) but it’s a comfort movie of mine. Also helps that Harrison Ford is a hunk!

His brows raise in amusement, as if weighing the personality behind the words. He pockets the note and takes the movie home.

Later that night, he’s sprawled on his couch, half-buried in old blankets, takeout on the coffee table as the film plays. He watches as Deckard moves through the neon-drenched streets, the melancholic score settling into his bones.

He doesn’t cry, obviously, but he does walk away from this viewing with something different than when he had watched it back on base years ago with the rest of the other lost twenty something year olds in his cohort.

By morning, he’s still thinking about the movie and the note along with it. On impulse, he plucks one of the carpenter pencils from his toolbelt, tapping it against the counter before messily scrawling his reply on the corner of a random sheet of his notepad.

The movie/book trade idea had been something you created back in high school—before the cynicism of adulthood had shattered your rose colored glasses.

Now, after financial setbacks had dragged you back to your childhood home, bringing it back felt like the kind of mindless distraction you needed. Something to keep your hands busy (even if temporarily) when your brain wouldn’t shut up about how shitty things have been lately.

Most people just stream whatever they want now, so this is pretty useless, but you don’t get hung up on that.

There is something nice about the physicality of it. Of leaving something you enjoy behind for a stranger to find and potentially be into as well. So, you revamped the idea and set it up in a spot where it wouldn’t be totally ignored, hoping maybe someone out there would get as much out of it as you used to.

You check in on it one afternoon, expecting to see everything exactly where you left it. Instead, you find empty spaces where movies had been. A book was gone too.

Your heart skips, just a little. For the first time in a while, something doesn’t feel like a total waste of time.

You spot a note haphazardly taped to the cover of the Blade Runner DVD case.

Didn’t cry, but I respect the existential crisis. Also think I agree with the Harrison Ford statement.

A grin pulls at your lips, eyeing the messy handwriting. Someone was actually playing along.

Over the next few days, the exchanges continue. Each time the stranger returns a movie, they leave a note and a film of their own. It is exhilarating for no reason, getting to know someone in this way.

Disagree with your take, bad movie all around, but I see where you’re coming from.

At least you aren’t an asshole about it like everyone else…

…Didn’t expect to be into period dramas, but this hit different. You have decent taste.

I do have decent taste, thanks for noticing!

It became an obsession—checking the box first thing in the morning, wondering what he’d taken next, what he’d written.

Who was he? What did he look like? Most of the neighborhood was made up of older residents, so the idea of someone more your age participating in this felt strangely intimate, almost like a secret conversation no one else knew about.

You never ask for a name or anything, neither does he. It’s more fun this way. The animosity of it, but still, you can’t help but wonder what he is really like. Was it possible to crush on someone like this? Were you actually down this bad?

You finally meet him one night.

Movie in hand, he stands beneath the golden hue of the streetlight. Strong jaw, high cheekbones, full lips that look almost too pretty for someone as rugged as him, framed by a patchy beard. His worn t-shirt clings to his broad chest and toned arms, the fabric stretched just right, hinting at the solid muscle beneath.

His cap sits low, his dark curls peeking out along the edges.

Your gaze drags over him, drinking him in. His eyes meet yours and the lust you feel in that moment threatens to disorient you.

“Hello,” his raspy voice breaks the silence first, also shameless in the way he checks you out.

“Hey.”

For a moment, neither of you move as the tension simmers, absentmindedly taking a step towards each other.

He shifts, rubbing a hand along his jaw. “You the one leaving those notes?”

“Depends,” you tease, tilting your head. “You the one writing back?”

His grin widens just slightly, a lopsided thing that sends the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy. “Guilty.”

You cross your arms, attempting to play it cool. “I was starting to think I was talking to old man Paul or something.”

He lets out a quiet chuckle at the fact that you’ve named his now dead uncle. “Close enough. I’m his nephew, Francisco—call me Frankie.” He extends his hand to shake yours and you feel yourself getting hot all over from the simple, normal fucking interaction, giving him your name in return.

His hands are so big.

“Nephew? I didn’t know he had family.”

“Not really a family man. He passed away a few weeks ago and I was the lucky one he left his house to.”

You’re about to express your condolences, but it’s like he can feel it coming before the words even form on your lips. “Don’t—it’s fine. I hate that pity shit.”

You laugh, a little nervously, though his brown eyes seem to settle your nerves. 

“Well, Frankie,” you say his name, as if testing it out, familiarizing your mouth with it. “Thanks for playing along with this,” you motion vaguely to the swap box.

“I like it. Keeps me entertained while I fix up the place...” He exhales, glancing at the smaller structure before looking back at you. “It’s weird, though. Feels like I already know you.”

You nod, feeling the same. It should be strange, standing here at night flirting with a man you really don’t know… but it isn’t. 

He lifts the DVD in his hand. Heat—classic crime thriller. “I was gonna watch this tonight.”

The invitation hovers, your tongue flicking over your lips in anticipation.

“You in?”

A smarter version of you might have hesitated. Might have thought about the risks, the potential awkwardness. But standing here with Frankie watching you like he already knows what your answer is, hesitation isn’t an option.

You grin. “Sure, why not.”

Things escalate fast.

You’re sitting on the couch, the low hum of the movie playing in the background, the two of you exchanging quiet comments between drags of the joint he so effortlessly rolled.

The space between you shrinks. His fingers graze your thigh, intentional but unhurried.

You don’t remember who moves first. Maybe it’s you. Maybe it’s him. But your bodies are pressed together, mouths hungry, hands wandering. His cap gets flicked off, curls spilling into your fingers as you tug him closer, inhaling the scent of smoke and tasting the candy he’d been snacking on.

The movie is forgotten. The joint smolders in the ashtray. You straddle his lap, rolling your hips down, and he groans against your mouth, gripping your waist.

Somewhere between deep drags of each other’s kisses and the slow, filthy grind of your pussy against bulge, he requests, “Let me taste you...” Biting at your lower lip, kneading your ass.

You’re not about to object to a man willingly wanting to go down on you. Nodding, you both quickly undress each other, your want for him only increasing with each layer that gets shed.

Now you’re here. Your thighs bracket his jaw, the arm of the couch supporting you as you sink down into the urgent heat of his mouth. The first slow, wet drag of his tongue at your slit makes you moan pathetically. 

His fingers dig into your hips, pulling you down like he wants this—like he needs this.

The scratch of his scruff against your sensitive skin makes it all the better. He’s not gentle—he’s messy, hungry, eating you out like it’s all he’s been thinking about since laying his eyes on you. His tongue flicks, circles, then flattens as he drags it up through your slick folds, his lips wrapping around your clit, sucking just right.

Your head tips back, a broken cry slipping out.

“God, you’re so good at this,” you gasp, rolling your hips against his talented mouth.

Frankie groans in response, the vibration of it sending sparks up your spine. His nose presses right where you need it, and you swear you see stars when he starts moving his head with you, matching your rhythm, letting you ride his face.

Your fingers tighten in his curls, tugging hard. He grunts as one of his hands slides lower, wrapping around his leaking cock. He strokes himself in time with his tongue working you over, his other hand gripping your ass, spreading you wider to get a better taste of all of you.

You don’t even realize how desperate you sound, whimpering… pleading. Your grinding then shifts as his tongue goes taut and you start bouncing softly against his jaw, your hips swiveling in ways you didn’t even know you could move, your body instinctively chasing after his mouth.

He doesn’t let up. If anything, he gets more into it as you do, his tongue fucking into you before moving back to your clit, his swollen lips working magic, sucking, teasing, wrecking you.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—”

Your words melt into a strangled whine as your orgasm crashes into you, your whole body shaking while you come apart on his tongue. Frankie doesn’t stop—he eats you through it, his grip on your hips tightening as you ride out every last wave of your orgasm.

Then—smack.

Your eyes fly open as his palm connects with your ass, the sting mixing with the aftershocks in the best way possible. He does it again, harder this time, a smirk tugging at his lips when you jolt.

The sting of each spank feels so fucking good that you start sobbing, damn near pulling the hair out of his scalp when he harshly sucks on your clit.

He’s been holding himself back from finishing in his fist, but suffocating between your thighs while hearing your pretty noises nearly undoes him.

Continuing to stave off his own release, he grips the girthy base of cock tightly. He needs more. Needs to feel the walls of your pussy squelching around him, pulling him in deeper.

And from the way you’re looking down at him, mouth parted, eyes shining with satisfaction, he knows you need the same damn thing.

He maneuvers out from under you quickly and efficiently, his dexterous training being put to use, pushing your upper half flat into the old couch while your hips remain in the air, thighs pressed together.

Francisco slides the fat tip of his cock through the swollen lips of your pussy, getting himself wet, groaning deep in his chest before pressing his heated dick at your silky thighs, the lubrication of your juices making it easy for him to slip between them, the pressure against his cock having him curse beneath his breath.

“So fuckin’ soft.”

His left hand crosses at your lower back to grab at your right hip while the other lands a harsh smack to your ass. You whimper, but the sound is muffled from how your face is buried into the cushions.

He soothes over the sting with his palm before gripping tight again, using the leverage to thrust between your thighs, the thick weight of his cock teasing you with every stroke, your clit puffy and dripping, needing to feel him inside you.

��Put in, Frankie, please,” you whimper, the squeeze at your thighs causing your cunt to clench around nothing, pushing more of your slick out, pussy drooling for him.

He grunts, pressing a firm hand to your lower back, arching you deeper, adjusting the angle. He spreads you enough to give himself room to line himself up.

“So eager for this dick,” he taunts, swirling the head of his cock at your clit before tapping it repeatedly, the evidence of your horniness clinging to him in a sticky web with every smack.

Frankie teases you by running it up the seam of your pussy, notching it at your fluttering and needy hole before pulling out and repeating the action, driving you crazy. “You always put out this fast?”

You grind back against him, pushing onto your elbows, voice breathy but flirty. “Could ask you the same thing.”

He doesn’t reply, a smug smile on his lips as he finally gives it to you, sinking into the wet cavern of your cunt, groaning out a Fuuuuuck as your pussy stretches around the intrusion of his cock.

You try to moan, to say something, but no sound comes out—just a desperate gasp, eyes falling shut, fingers clawing at the rough couch fabric as he fills you completely.

He doesn’t rush. He takes his time, savoring every squeeze, every tremble. His thrusts start slow, deep, rolling his hips just right, pulling out almost entirely before pressing back in, making you feel every thick inch.

“Fuck, you feel so goddamn good.”

The heat of his body blankets yours as he lowers himself, his weight pressing you deeper into the couch. His mouth is everywhere—kissing up your spine, nipping at your shoulder, his mustache scraping against your oversensitive skin. When he bites down you whine, your cunt clenching tight around him.

His thrusts speed up a notch, somehow getting deeper and harder—grinding into you just right, making your breath stutter.

“Yes—yes—right there,” you sob, turning your head to look at him… or well, try to look at him. Your eyes are glazed over with thick tears of euphoria, barely able to make anything out but you can feel him everywhere. His breath fanning against your face, a small amount of spit stuttering out as he grunts, burying himself over and over inside your tight, wet pussy.

Your nails dig into the old, tacky couch, trying to keep yourself somewhat grounded as he screws the thoughts right out of your brain.

It’s everything you’ve needed. Life has been fucking you over relentlessly as of late, it’s about damn time you finally get a pounding that’s actually worth it. 

Frankie groans against your ear as he keeps up the brutal pace. “Pretty movie girl likes it deep, huh?” You could honestly get off by just the sound of his raspy voice. “Shit, never had it like this before, have you?”

You shake your head—not out of denial, but because fuck, he’s right. Nothing has ever felt this good.

His lips brush over your cheek and then he’s kissing you sloppily, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. You moan into his mouth as the pleasure at your pussy blooms again, your second orgasm creeping up fast under the weight of his praise, his cock hitting all the right spots, stretching you wide.

Frankie growls into the kiss, pulling back just enough to watch your face as he ruins you.

“Gonna make you come on my dick,” he mutters, gripping your chin, making sure you’re looking at him while he fucks into that one spot that devistates you. “And you’re gonna take every fuckin’ bit of it.”

And God—you will. You want to.

Because you already know this is the type of sex you’ll be feeling for days.

A few more relentless thrusts, and you’re done for. Your body shakes beneath him, muscles seizing, wails and sobs absorbed by the cushion your cheek is pressed into.

“Shhh just like that, doin’ so good—shit this pussy is amazing.”

Frankie holds you down, his weight keeping you exactly where he wants you. His grip shifts to the armrest, fingers curling tight, using the leverage to piston into you rougher. The couch jerks across the hardwood floor with each thrust, the force of it sending shockwaves up your spine.

The end credits song plays somewhere in the background, barely audible over the obscene sounds of your fucking.

His breathing gets ragged, his rhythm faltering as he chases his own high. He pulls out abruptly, chest heaving, and licks the tips of his fingers before spreading your pussy open, angling his cock right at your slick, swollen cunt.

Hot ropes of cum spill from his slit, milky and thick, painting your used flesh, dripping down onto the couch beneath you. The sight is filthy, so fucking erotic it makes his cock throb in his fist.

He groans at the mess, at the way his release pools against the cleft of your clit. He pushes inside again before either of you can think, his cum and yours mixing as he fucks into you, more fervently this time, dragging out the pleasure until his cock begins to soften.

You’re too spent to do anything but take it, too blissed out to care. All you know is that you want this again. Over and over and over...

“Damn,” Frankie chuckles, still breathless, his curls damp with sweat. His hands move lazily over your body, tracing the curve of your spine, your waist, your thighs, before he leans over to grab his discarded gray tee.

He doesn’t think twice before using it to clean you up, wiping between your legs with a casual ease.

You hum in response, floating somewhere between the high of the weed and the sex. You could crash right here, stretched out on his couch, and be perfectly content.

“You good?” The hot edge of lust has barely cooled when he’s touching you again, stroking his big, warm hand up and down your back.

You don’t nod, just manage a lazy, “Mhm… just need a second.”

He smirks and a wink is thrown in your direction before he stands, sliding his sweatpants on and fixing the couch to its original position before disappearing into the halfway renovated kitchen.

You stretch your limbs, pulling your clothes back on with no real rush. Your body is warm, loose. When Frankie returns, he hands you a glass of water, and you thank him softly, realizing how parched you are when you down the whole thing in one go.

“We didn’t finish the movie,” he muses, lounging back on the couch like he hadn’t just given you the best sex of your life.

“Bummer,” you tease, looking at him over your shoulder.

His gaze flickers from the screen to you, a glint in his dark eyes catching in the glow of the TV.

“You could stay the night,” he offers smoothly. “We could watch somethin’ else… maybe fuck some more too.”

His head tilts slightly, curls messy and inviting. The broad expanse of his naked chest gleams, rising and falling with steady, easy breaths. And then there’s the soft bulge in his sweats, evidence that he’s not nearly as spent as he looks.

Your mouth damn near waters.

You narrow your gaze at him, playful, challenging. Frankie mirrors the expression, watching, waiting…

You both move at the same time.

[helenazbmrskai]

Road Fix [Lee Know: SKZ]

Pairing (Minho x Reader)

Genre (Mechanic AU, Smut, Small Town, Strangers To Lovers)

Summary (Your car breaks down in the middle of the road but thankfully there’s a handsome stranger to fix it for you. Giving him a ride to town you find yourself not wanting to just let him go.)

Rating (+18)

Word Count (5k)

Warnings (Sexual content, hitch-hike, dirty and oily Minho)

A/N: Cinema inspired me to write this, we all need some dirty mechanic Minho who fixes shit before he fixes you!

Stranded on 51st Street is not how you imagined your morning to go. With no signal and your car broken down, it looks like a ghost road that not many choose to pass by. You have two options either you wait in your car and hope that someone comes to help you or you abandon your car and start walking. Neither of those ideas appears to be life insurance as you can picture a dozen of scenarios that can go wrong.

You have grown up watching Criminal Minds so of course in this situation you can't help but think about the worst that can happen.

Before you can actually decide what to do there's movement on the road but it's not a car like you expected. It's a single silhouette, a man walking towards you with a backpack slung over his shoulder. His body grows bigger on the horizon as he gets closer but not that much as his form is not threatening the least as he has a lean body and slim build. His clothes are dirty and his hair is unkempt but even underneath those layers, you can see how handsome the stranger is.

"Do you need help?" He has an accent when he speaks.

You mentally debate if you should accept his help but in the end, you sigh and start explaining your situation. There's no guarantee that anyone else will come down this road and going alone to find a gas station is not a good idea.

"My car just broke down I don't know what's wrong." The guy listens to you, watching you from under his bangs. Thankful for his gesture to stop a few feet away not getting too close to your comfort zone.

"I can help you I'm a mechanic. If you want I can take a look." Relief floods over you at his friendly questions. He's not pressing or ordering you he's simply asking. Taking a look can’t hurt.

"Yes, please, and thank you." His kindness elicits a real smile, which he mirrors with a smaller one.

"No problem." He dismisses your gratitude as he makes his way over to the hood of your car. He opens it with ease, one hand on the car and the other looking around at the electronics. His nose crunches in concentration.

"I can fix it." You let out a relieved sigh when you hear it. He gets a few tools out of his bag and resumes his work. You hear clinking and twisting sounds occasionally as he works.

"All good. Try to ignite and see if it works." You get behind the wheels and squeal in happiness when the engine roars to life again.

"Thank you so much, you just saved my life!" You roll down your window to thank him repeatedly and he just shakes his head with a tiny smile playing on his lips.

"Happy to help. Get home save." The stranger nods as goodbye and starts walking again. You contemplate if you should just drive and leave him to walk but it's a long road and after he helped you you didn't get any creepy vibes from him and you will think about him all day if you don't help him out worrying if he's still walking. What if he gets kidnapped? You can’t leave him here.

"I'm going into town, if you want I can give you a lift as a thank you." You yell after him before he can get too far. The guy looks surprised but his feature morph into a polite smile.

"Are you sure?" He asks unsure if he should accept or not.

"I swear I'm not a serial killer and if you promise not to kill me either I don't see why we can't just ride together." Half serious and only half joking but the beautiful stranger finds the situation just as hilarious as you.

"Okay, thank you, and I'm not a serial killer so rest assured." You wait for him to get into the passenger seat before you start the car again.

"Honestly, if I were a serial killer this is what I would say to my victims."

He takes your humour with a stride as he laughs at your antics.

"Well, stranger can I get your name if you won't murder me?" You turn on the radio to a low volume so it can be a good background sound.

"Minho." His chuckle is angelic and despite the strange situation, you don't feel like you're in danger. Even though you know that charisma can be a bad sign but what can you do when you find him so attractive that you would let him abduct you? Well, technically you’re the one taking him away.

"I'm Y/N. Right, there are wipes in the compartment your hands must be dirty from my car." You offer and he hesitates looking down at his hands.

"Sorry for dirtying your car. I've been on the road for a while." You don't dare to ask how many hours he was walking all by himself before you met him. You might have been cautious with him but in his shoes, you would think about it twice to hop into a stranger's car. So you guys basically put your thrusts into each other.

"Don't worry about it. Just get cleaned up." Minho nods and reaches for the wipes you mentioned. First cleans his hands and then his face.

The silence is comfortable with the radio occasionally breaking the stillness.

You want to talk more but are unsure if you can ask him more questions since you're strangers but you're so curious about where's he heading or if he has a place to stay for the night. You wouldn't be able to just get up one day pack a bag and just get on the road after the first minute you would be panicking and thinking about where you will be sleeping, what will you eat what if something bad happens to you.

"You should be more careful. If you want to go somewhere just get a taxi walking alongside the road is dangerous." You can't help but voice your concerns.

"I-" Minho hesitates before his answer. "I don't have the money for that." He looks embarrassed to admit it.

"Where are you even going without money? That's very dangerous Minho." You know you shouldn't scold him but you can't help but get worked up at how irresponsibe it sounds.

"You wouldn't understand." Your hands tighten around the steering wheel hearing his hard tone. He has the right to be angry, you shouldn't preach when you don't know about his circumstances.

You take a deep breath before speaking this time. "You're right, I'm sorry if it sounded like I'm scolding you. I'm just worried about what will you do after I drop you off even though we don't know each other. I overstepped. I- just, you seem like a nice person and I'm usually a worry wart."

No one speaks after that for a few minutes. Both of you are lost in your thoughts.

"I got a new job in town. I have a lot of debt so I had to sell my house and car. This was the only way for me." Minho looks out the window avoiding meeting your eyes due to embarrassment. Anyone would feel uncomfortable if they had to talk about being broke so you try to not show much reaction as you know his pride would probably take a hit if he could see that you're pitying him.

"At John's?" There's an auto shop repair down the street where you live it's like a ten-minute walk.

"Yeah, how did you know?" He looks surprised at how you guessed so easily.

"I swear I'm not your stalker. It's a small town so there's only one mechanic shop there, it wasn't much of a mystery." You joke to set a lighter mood.

"Oh. It makes sense." Minho hides his smile behind his hand but you can tell that your plan worked at the end.

The three-hour long drive felt so short with Minho next to you. After the heavy topic of his debt and journey you talked about mundane things but as you got to know him better you dreaded parting ways at the end of the road as you didn't want the time you spent together to come to an end.

You know this is a crazy idea and you're probably out of your mind but you had to ask before he leaves.

Even if it's a small town your interactions will be limited to saying hello and polite waves before both of you go on your way and for some reason, you hate that.

You don't want to remain as the nice girl who helped him once.

He's handsome so many girls will try to get his attention, you need to act before them if you want to get a chance.

"You can say no if you find it uncomfortable but I have a proposition." You start feeling nervous as the shop soon comes into view this is your only chance.

Minho picks up your nervous jitters his full attention on you.

"So, what I'm trying to say is if you don't have a place to stay at the moment you can become my roommate?" You wait for his answer while holding your breath. It’s normal, you had roommates who were strangers before you met them. You're never this bold but there's something about Minho that just draws you in. He appreciates your weird humour and it wasn't awkward to talk to him like you're with other guys. He's so attractive and nice with a sharp edge and playful teasing comments that you're ready to risk it all for him even if you're normally a very logical and cautious person.

"I- wow, that's nice of you but I can't afford it for now. I can't pay you rent." The fact that he's not rejecting you outright is what gives you the confidence to try and convince him a little more. If anything he looks flustered by your sudden offer.

"You can pay me back later once you get your paycheck and I'm not letting you live for free you will have to help me around the house and honestly you saved me today so I'm the one who's in your debt. But if you feel uncomfortable I totally understand. You can say no but I only accept if the reason is because you think I'm creepy or something." You laugh at the end feeling nervous as you keep bubbling nonsense.

"No, honestly that sounds perfect it's just you're too nice y/n. People will take advantage of you."

Your smile grows wider as he frowns. "Oh, are you worried about me? If you're so worried you can just keep an eye on me."

"Alright. I will." Minho shakes his head with a light-hearted smile, you won. He can't say no to you.

This is how two complete strangers started living together. From strangers to roommates and now as you spent more time together considered as friends you started to feel something more than friendship that gets harder for you to hide, life truly takes unexpected turns sometimes.

Honestly, it's frightening how nice it is to live with him.

Before you met Minho your life only consisted of getting home from College and then going to work at the cafe down the street, studying or watching something on the TV before you fell face down on your bed exhausted and asleep.

Now he waits for your shift to end to walk home together, cook together on the weekends and watch movies to relax. Even if you study he brews you a coffee and reminds you to take breaks.

Even when you fight for the remote or just exist together after a long day, you're thankful that Minho is next to you.

"Your boyfriend is here." You bite your lip as Clara keeps teasing you but she's right about Minho waiting for you by the door as you catch his reflection from outside waiting patiently. The cafe is already closed leaving the only two employees inside are you and your friend wiping down the tables.

"He's not my boyfriend." You jab her in the ribs but she's unfazed.

"But you wish he would be. Honestly, I don't get it why don't you just confess? He likes you too. Not even my boyfriend comes to pick me up every day after my shifts."

You want to believe her but there's something that keeps bothering you. What if it's just gratitude? You helped him when he needed it the most. Maybe he's just thankful and you misjudge his intentions.

"He's just a good friend." You like to play it safe even if you're torn between wanting to tell him. It's easier to think that he's just doing these things for you because he considers you a good friend.

"You're so hopeless. Now get out, I will finish here." Clara takes the rag from your hand shooing you to change out of your apron and go home.

You put away your work clothes and grab your things from the changing room before you meet Minho at the entrance. Once more thanking Clara before you go.

"Hi." You greet the handsome man in front of you cheerfully.

"Hi, how was your day?" His smile reaches his eyes as you appear. His hair is dishevelled so you impulsively reach out to tidy it up. His clothes are dirty with oil and grease but you're not concerned with that as you close the distance.

"Good." You reply focusing on your fingers carding through his hair.

"You will get dirty." He warns you. Minho tries to keep you at a distance his hands hover over your waist as he catches himself before he can soil your clothes with the remaining oil on his hands.

"It's fine. I'm almost done." You never really cared if he was dirty you know it comes with his job. You perfected the art of getting the spots out of his clothes so it's not a big hassle if you just put your clothes in with his in the washing machine.

"You're weird. Normally girls would hate getting dirt on them." Accepting your nonchalance with defeat he places his hand on your waist at last as you pat the stray stands down. Your white shirt now sporting two big handprints.

"I can always wash my clothes." You reply with a smile. Carding your fingers through his hair one last time before you deem your work is done.

You step back and Minho lets go of your waist as you start walking side by side to your apartment.

"You look tired. Long day?" Minho nods rolling his shoulder as he slows his pace to match yours.

"We had so many cars to fix today. My back and shoulder are killing me."

You listen as he tells you about his day even if the technical words are flying over your head. It's a short walk home but you're able to catch up with each other, you complain about rude customers or tell him about school.

Neither of you had the energy to cook once you arrived home so you decided to order takeout and talk over the food as the TV served as background music. This is what a usual afternoon looks like for the two of you, relaxing and talking.

The only difference in mood got palpable in the air when you offered to massage his shoulders and back to help with his pain. You're thankful that he's showing his back to you as you have a hard time controlling your expression when he takes off his t-shirt. You knew he was fit but not the six-pack kind of fit.

You massage the muscle relaxant gel into his shoulders, you can feel each twitch of his muscle under your fingers as you spread it over moving lower to treat his back with the same attention.

"Does it hurt?" Unsure if the pressure is alright you ask.

"No, it feels good. You could be a professional masseur."

You snort at his overreaction.

You carefully work your fingers over the knots in his back and shoulders, you don't stop until your hand starts to ache from the use. You wiped mugs and made coffees all day that your hand already hurt.

"Thank you." Minho turned around to give you a lazy smile. You must have looked like you were in pain because he held your hand and rubbed your fingers to relax your hold. Your eyes grew wide when he put two of your fingers into his mouth. You could feel his tongue running over the tips.

"Heat is good for when your joints ache." He gives you this explanation after he pops your digits out of his mouth.

You look away afraid that your blush will give your feelings away.

"You're gross." You try to appear unphased as you rub his saliva into your pants but fail miserably as Minho smirks.

"But you like it." He gives you a wink not leaving you room to react he gets up to clean the plates from the table.

Sometimes his flirty actions give you hope that he might consider you as someone more than just a friend.

Peaceful days are the new normal with occasional slightly charged moments when you think he might actually kiss you but in the end, it never happens.

The unresolved tension makes you agitated. You don't know how long you can play this push and pull before you break.

Seem like Minho has other plans. At work, you get a text from him. He forgot his lunch so you agree to get some pastries and coffee for him.

Once your lunch break rolls around you get the food and make your way to the workshop. One of his chatty colleagues tells you where you can find him and you do find him under a BMW.

"Delivery for Minho." You say in a singsong voice and shake the paper bag to get his attention. The metallic clunks under the car stop before he rolls back, his body sweaty and dirty.

"Finally. I was starving." His smile is bright as he gets up. He looks at you sheepishly holding up his dirty hands.

"Can you feed me? My hands are dirty and there's a bathroom repair right now so we don't have running water at the moment." The first thing that comes to your mind is: that God must be testing you.

"Alright." You gulp. Minho sits down as you get the food. You bought a chocolate croissant and some raspberry twists for him. Grabbing the croissant you place it in front of his mouth waiting for him to take the first bite.

The position is already making you conscious as you stand between his legs.

Minho holds your wrist his fingers leaving behind oil marks on your skin. "Hey, no touching." You pull away, inspecting the grease he left on you.

"You can just wash it off at work. Come on, I'm hungry. You said before that you don't mind if I'm dirty." He's pouting, making ridiculous grabby hands at you. You can never win against him.

"Alright, but you can't touch anywhere else." Minho nods guiding you by the wrist as he devours the food you brought.

"You're my saviour y/n." Minho grins when he's finally full. He thanks you between sips of the coffee you hold up for him.

"You owe me Lee Minho, I'm here on my precious break to feed you." You're joking with no real meaning behind your words but he pulls you closer by your wrist.

"How can I ever repay the favour?" It sounds seductive as his face is inches away from yours.

"You look like you have a few ideas in your single man mind." You don't know what possessed you to flirt back maybe you're going insane after the building tension. There's no way he can't feel it.

"Maybe." Minho grins. His lips trace the line of your neck, dragging down on your skin breathing in your scent without really touching. He's seizing up your reactions, the spike in your heartbeat or the hitch in your breath when he finds your pulse point and latches on it.

"No marks I still have four hours before my shift ends." You warn him when you feel his teeth on your skin.

"Yes, ma'am." His smirk is pressed into your neck.

This time his tongue playfully peaks out wetting your skin, you jump at the wet sensation the hand that encloses your wrist tightens ever so slightly as a warning to stop squirming.

"Since my hands are dirty I can only use my mouth I hope you don't mind." You roll your eyes at how cheeky he is. As if he can sense it he bites down on your ear, making you yelp at the sudden pain.

"Stop playing or I will leave you here." You press your fingers into his shoulders, getting fed up with his antics.

"When will your break end?" He asks between kisses.

You look down at your watch with half-lidded eyes. "M-maybe 20 minutes. Why?"

"I can work with that." He nods playfully nipping at your neck.

"What do you mean?" It's hard to concentrate on the conversation with his lips all over your jaw and neck.

"I'm positive I can make you cum in ten minutes."

"Confident are we?" You scoff.

"Should I take that as a challenge?" This is not how you expected his competitive side to arise and it shouldn't be as hot as it is.

"You can't be serious. You're in the middle of work." You make a circle with your hands showing him around that you're standing in the middle of his workplace if he didn't notice.

"No one comes in anyway, if you can be quiet no one will ever know." Minho nips at the rim of your jeans with his teeth, laughing when you gasp in terror.

You push his head back but not before he can plant a kiss on the skin showing below your crop top.

"If you keep thinking about it we will have less time." He doesn't fight you pushing his head away as if he's trying to show you that he won't do anything that you don't want. If you say no you're sure he will back down but the painful part is that you don't want him to stop despite this risky action can cost both your jobs.

"How are you even going to do it? Your hands are filthy." Minho smiles showing you his white teeth awfully confident in himself.

"My mouth is enough, you don't need to worry." His shit-eating confidence is a turn-on and an annoyance at the same time.

"Fine but I'm not sure if you can make me cum in ten." You look behind you at the door making sure that it's closed and you sigh when you see it is.

"Relax." Minho dips his head down to kiss your lower stomach, pulling at the button with his teeth to free you.

You help him with sliding your jeans down your thighs but stops you when you try to pull your panties down and realise why he stopped you. He wanted to drag it down with his teeth, his breath brushing over your legs as he pulled it lower until you could step out of it.

You hang your clothes on the back of the chair so they won't get dirty. Urging you to take your place you sit down and obediently put your leg over his shoulder exposing yourself to the cold air.

Minho's eyes lock on your glistening folds his jaw tenses as he gulps. His hands are locked in a fist behind him to avoid the temptation to touch you.

"Fuck, you're so pretty." You blush at his evident desire to devour you. His arms flex as he tries hard to not touch you, you can feel the muscles in his back dance with the effort and when he moves your leg bends with it, making your stance wider for him.

"Wish I could touch how wet you are." You're getting more turned on by his dirty talk than embarrassed by how he keeps staring at you from his position on his knees. It feels like he's about to worship you and kiss the ground you walk on.

"Yeah? You're all talk and no action so far. The clock is ticking." Your smile is devilish, and your teasing is all he needs to finally part your folds with his tongue and taste you with a long lick.

"Set the timer, baby, because you're gonna cum in five." Minho licks his lips, looking into your eyes as he buries his face back into your cunt. His tongue flicks over your bud repeatedly, getting your thighs to close on his head but he's not fazed as he continues his exploration. His pink tongue runs up and down your folds.

The speed at which he moves is insane and it doesn't help that he occasionally switches to sucking and slruping.

You need to bite your lip hard so that you can keep your noise down. Minho watches you fight to stay still as his hands are still behind his back keeping his word of not touching you with dirty hands however you're past the point where you would care if he got you dirty or not.

The one thing that's hotter than his harsh breathing against your folds is the tongue that pokes your entrance with each descent. Expertly flattening his tongue for long licks and switching it up at the top where he sucks your clit between his wet lips.

If the space gets smaller as he fights with your closing thighs he just pushes against you harder until your legs part on their own giving him the space to work his magic. You're not in the mindset to count down the minutes but he does work you up fast. His mouth hanging open he watches you from under his lashes studying where are the spots that make your toes curl and find them again and again.

It's not just you that has to be quiet as he moans his little grunts sending vibrations through you.

You're close, he can tell by the shaking of your leg on his shoulder and the fact that you let out small moans between your fingers a little louder than you would have liked. Now he's focusing solely on your swollen clit as he pushes you over the edge with his tongue flicking over in circles.

You grab his hair tightly as you cum the other firmly pressed into your mouth to silence your cries.

Minho helps you through the high with slow drags of his tongue, his throat bobbing as he drinks down your essence. His licks slow down but keep up the consistency.

His lips glisten as he pulls back his hair dishevelled and breathing hard but has that satisfied look in his eyes as he regards you sprawled on his chair.

"8 minutes. Might just be a new record." You check the clock and can't deny that he made you cum fast.

Minho distracts you with kisses, his lips touch every inch of your thighs that he can reach as you desperately try to catch your breath.

"I think my soul just left my body." Raking your hands through your messy locks you try to move your legs that by now become jelly. Minho laughs at how cute you are, your cheeks are tinted pink in embarrassment as you need to slip your panties up your legs and cover your still slick pussy.

"This was just an appetizer, you will learn soon how grateful I can be back at home." Minho leans down for a short peck. Your lips shape a shocked O as he pulls back.

"But before I get ahead of myself I have a condition first." His tone is unusually serious as he fidgets with his hands.

"I remember tomorrow is your day off so I hoped we could go to have dinner that day. I'm paying and if you're wondering- yes, I'm asking you out on a date."

You're so shocked that for a moment your mind shuts down.

"Really?"

You ask dumbly. You need a moment to process everything.

"Everyone in town already thinks we're dating. Fuck that, everyone knows how much I love you. Except for you, apparently."

"You love me?" You repeat him like a parrot.

These shocking revelations just come out of his mouth one by one that you have a hard time following.

"Yes. I love you." His confession spurs your frozen body to take action and attack him with a hug that the momentum pushes him back as you two collide.

"I love you too." Minho lets out a sigh of relief he started to think that maybe he misjudged you reciprocating his feelings.

He hugs you back without realising that this is how he soils your clothes.

"Your break is ending." He reminds you even if he doesn't want to let you go.

"Right. I need to go back to work." You will do something about the oil marks later if you're lucky the apron will hide it until your shift ends.

"I will pick you up later." Minho grins happy that you accepted his confession, leaving you with one more kiss.

You try to get yourself occupied but the hours seem to drag on as you wait for work to end. Clara can sense your sudden agitation not to speak about the marks she put two and two together.

"Your boyfriend is here." Minho only grins when he hears it and you don't correct her this time.

"It's okay if you close up Clara?" She rolls her eyes, duh, she's the one that always closes and today is nothing different.

"Get out you love birds."

"Thanks!" You yell back before you leave with Minho, your fingers intertwined as you walk side by side.

[evilminji]

You knooooowwww... >.>

The only difference, technically, between a school in the Zone? And on Earth? Is the American government won't recognize your Zone diploma...

Not accredited. But like..... I'm JUST SAYING? If you didn't try to pass your school off as some Big Ivy League type? Pulled the "oh yeah, you'd never have heard of it, it's local." And the COMPUTERS say it's legit?

How many people will dig deeper?

If you legitimately have the knowledge, you legitimately have the knowledge. Not YOUR fault you left out the whole "extra-dimensional" part. It makes folk nervous! And nervous folks get stabby.

So like? If you were ALREADY planning to "Move" as you euphemistically put it? Talked it over with your VERY concerned folks and friends? Who do NOT like the look of the steady but concerning rise of Anti-Ghost Powers That Be? Who finally put their foot down and reminded you that you are a TEENAGER and it's NOT your responsibility to fix the world?

Well...

Fuck those guys, I guess. You'll miss the old house, but Team "Taking our ball and going literally anywhere else" makes some good points. Why ARE you putting up with this?

And honestly, you've never SEEN your dad have so much fun. Him and the Reality Realtor just sorta... Vibe. Himbo to Himbo communications. Smatters of advanced physics. Fudge. It's great.

They move the portal. Collapse the old one in a way that makes it impossible to recover or recreate. You... kinda don't want to ask. They had that "mad scientist glint" in their eyes.

And while everyone's checking out brochures to different realities? You? Head off to the nearest College. It's the Zone, so technically you could go to any of endless billions. But you'd like your education some time this century.

Cue! Danny Fenton! Entering?

Academia's wet dream. A sprawling CITY of a college. Where the classes are on EVERYTHING and the price is FREE. People have Obsessions okay?? They NEED to teach. Debate and discuss! Study! Right papers and read them! It's been going on a while! And what happens when you find a subject that's NOT covered?

YOU COVER IT!

It's like if New York was a College. Good fucking luck find the dorms. Sleep on the floor like the rest of us, you casual.

Danny was Not Prepared ™.

He loves it though.

Classes on aeronautics next making the perfect sandwich, shoved next to historical basketry, stacked above alien slam poetry. But only on Tuesdays! Ever shifting. Breaking his Fenton Born Adhd in to a fine PASTE to be smeared upon bread. Happy mental stimulation chemicals go Brrrrrrrr

If it wasn't wildly inappropriate, he would LICK IT to claim it as his then wrap around it and gaurd like a territorial cat. He thought he HATED school! Turns out he just hated high-school. College though? College, or at least ZONE College, is fuckin AWESOME.

He's sit in SO MANY random classes just cause.

Picked up and dropped them at a whim. When they no longer sparked joy. He's been a flighty bitch and for once? No one CARES. No one says "you HAVE to commit and stick with this FOREVER once you choose this" and? It just? It's so FREEING! He's learned so MUCH!

He's probably gonna come back!

Which? Is how a deeply, DEEPLY weird aerospace engineer from supposedly bumfuck NOWHERE, end up working at Wayne Industries. He's.... a lil crazy behind the eyes. Ha ha... CONCERNING ™!

Dude sleeps on the lab floor. Has weirdly spotty knowledge. Can be an unprecedented genius one second and not know who the current president is the next. Doesn't know what DAY it is. Forgets to eat. Tried to make a fusion reactor out of the break room toaster before Sandra from accounting distracted him with pictures of her cat.

It's like he wanders through life blissfully unaware that he is both terrifying and about three seconds from killing them all. Then FUCKING TRIPS because he forgot to tie his shoelaces again.

Who hired this man?

WHY!?

I mean, we KNOW why. Probably to put him on a watch list. But? He's like a terrifying murder puppy! Built like a tank! That's stoned out of its mind half the time. And have you HEARD his college stories? That CAN'T be legal. Was this guy raised in a cult!? Aaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!????

@hdgnj @legitimatesatanspawn @babbling-babull @dcxdpdabbles @hypewinter

[witherby]

I think a really cool day idea for Conner and mouse would be like the circus scene from Teen Titans were Robin let Starfire try some cotton candy and it’s really cute 



I remember that scene!!! Robin's absolutely lovesick expression was so romantic to me, even back then.

I didn't replicate that one-for-one, but they're certainly at a carnival! I hope you like it!

The Littlest Wayne: Carnival

(features: established relationship, Conner Kent x gn!Reader, fluff, discussions of structures that aren't OSHA compliant, kissing)

Masterlist is Here!

"That doesn't look safe."

"None of these rides really are," you admit, queueing into the line to ride the Wave Swinger with your boyfriend. "Pop-up carnivals are designed in such a way that they can be thrown up and taken down within a day or two. You can't really afford to bolt anything down because it isn't going to be there in a week."

Conner looks at you with incredulity. He looks like he's trying not to pout, which is adorable. You barely refrain from kissing him.

"Then why are we lining up to get on one?"

"S'part of the vibe," you explain, lifting your hands for emphasis. One of them is interlaced with your boyfriend's, so his arm gets swung around, too. "You don't really go to these things to walk around and then leave again. You gotta ride a ride while wondering in the back of your mind if this is how it ends. You gotta spend way too much money playing a rigged game to win a prize that wasn't worth even a third of what you spent to earn it. You gotta eat a bunch of deep-fried foods that shouldn't be deep-fried and feel incredibly nauseated for the next two days about it. That's the real Carnival Experience™."

"This doesn't sound fun, M," Conner says. "I can take you on a flight and pretend to drop you a couple times. I can ask you for an absurd amount of money and not pay it back for like a week. I can cook you dinner and narrowly avoid giving you food poisoning. We don't have to be here."

"Trust me, it wouldn't be the same," you insist, moving up in the line. This swing ride is one of your favorites, next to The Whip, but you haven't seen one of those in a few years. "It's also the atmosphere. You're surrounded by fun, neon colors and happy strangers and screaming children — it's all part of the experience."

"Yeah..." Conner grimaces, gaze a little distant. "I could do without the screaming children."

"Oh, right," you frown, digging out a specialized pair of earbuds from your pocket and offering them to him. They help muffle out extra sensitive sounds for him, like breathing and footsteps and other people's heartbeats, so he can better control what noise he chooses to perceive. "Here."

Conner takes them, briefly letting go of your hand to put them in, then un-tenses his shoulders and offers you a thin smile.

"That's better," he admits, "but I still think getting on rides knowing they aren't bolted down properly is stupid."

"Welcome to the carnival," you grin. You both shuffle forward in the line, close enough now that you'll be able to get on next round. "You're gonna love this."

"I can fly, M. I don't think I'm gonna care."

Then it turns out he cares. He cares a lot. He actually cares so much. When you and Conner get strapped into your seats, he's white knuckling the chains keeping his chair suspended off the ground.

"You're joking. There's one little bike chain keeping me in this chair and there's a single hook on top holding me up. You're actually joking."

You start spinning and twisting around in your own chair, gleeful. "Isn't it great?"

"No??"

"Alrighty riders. Please refrain from bouncing, spinning, twisting, or yanking on the chains. When the ride is in motion do not grab onto other riders' chairs. Keep the strap secure across your waist while the ride is in motion, and do not attempt to remove it until it comes to a complete stop again. Enjoy."

Conner flinches when the chairs lift into the air. He watches the ground get pulled out from under him, shitty carnival music starting to come out of the speakers while the lights on the ride start flashing. If he weren't invulnerable, he'd be losing his mind right now. How are you able to enjoy such risky activities!? Are you insane!? Actually — you're the one civilian child to a family of crime fighting vigilantes. Of course you're insane.

He looks up to make another comment, but the words quickly die in his throat. Because you look stunning.

You look great all the time, of course. Conner loves to look at you, and you know that. But as the ride starts to spin and your chair starts swaying with the wind, you throw your head back and laugh. You spread your arms out to your sides and kick your feet, eyes closed and hair fanned out.

You're practically ethereal when you're having fun. Conner watches the colorful lights dance over your skin and feels himself falling even more in love with you than he already is. He never wants the ride to end, if it means he gets to see you like this forever.

Using the trick Clark taught him, he speeds himself up to slow the world down, giving himself more time to admire you. To you, it's just a couple minutes in the air, but to him it's hours of unbridled admiration. When you're finally lowered to the ground again, he's unlatched himself from his seat and come around to kiss you.

"Let's go find another ride," he mumbles against your lips. You smirk, victorious, and grab his hand. He's utterly helpless to do anything but trail after you.

"Knew you'd come around. It's the Carnival Experience, babe; it pulls everyone in! Never should've doubted me."

"Yeah..." He says, smiling like a lovesick idiot. It's definitely the rides and games and people making him feel this good, and not the echo of your happy heartbeat or the image of your carefree smile under the neon lights burned into his memory. "Shouldn't have doubted you."

[kianamaiart]

who’s been your favorite character to write so far!!! (idwtbamg)

Oh man that's so toughhhhh

I REALLY enjoyed writing Zira. Her dialogue comes the most natural to me (i relate to her a lot). But also they're inspired by one of my favorite characters ever, Toko Fukawa and getting Bennett Abara to also voice them was huuuge. Idk if y'all get this but when you can hear a character's voice in your head super clearly it makes it sooo much easier to write them

Aika was also super fun. She's loud and most of the time talks in a kinda cheesy, confident way (very shounen protag) but then when she's in magical girl form it's a complete 180. Much more down to earth and bitter LOL. Anairis ate with both versions of her in the recording studio hehe

I'll say that Eclipse was (and is) the hardest for me to write. The flowery language and theater kid energy isn't as natural for me haha. While writing him in the pilot I was worried it might be too corny or basic but Aleks brought such a unique, unhinged vibe that made it way more fun and his improv really heightened each scene he was in. And since recording him, I have a much stronger sense of his character and am better at writing him

There's not much of DeVoid in the pilot and I'm still figuring out her character as I go! The little comics I've been doing are me feeling her out more. I initially was kinda going the Jessie Team Rocket route with her where she's got more goblin energy when no one's looking but I've kinda enjoyed doing this more stoic take. Her delivery is almost always serious but she'll say things that are funny or surprise you in a "why does this eons old alien know these slang words" kind of way (this is how I write Gramma on Big City Greens LOL). That said, she's been a tricky one to figure out but really fun

tldr they're all my faves but if I had to choose I'd say Zira