#delivery us from evil

[vispera-sabbath]

FINALLY GOT TO "DELIVER US FROM EVIL." Of Miami vice S4 Ep: 21

[harvestmoth]

what do we think about pet store workers team xen

[hedgehog-moss]

I volunteered to help the florist with her Mother's Day deliveries today, it was fun! My favourite parts of the experience:

early this morning I delivered flowers to women who were busy with morning farm chores, usually out in the barn; some had forgotten it was Mother's Day and were pleasantly surprised to see me show up holding a bunch of flowers above my head (so it wouldn't get eaten by barn animals on the way)

speaking of: one woman let a cow smell the flowers, then said "they're probably treated with chemicals—better not have a taste" with an apologetic look (at her cow)

a little boy opened the door at one point and I said, flowers for your mum! and he called her and while waiting for her to come downstairs, he said, "I learnt a Mother's Day poem at school", so I said, let's hear it! And apparently he hadn't expected that, and he lit up upon realising he would get higher returns on his poem investment than expected. He thought he'd recited it once and it was over but here was a fresh new audience!

a woman whom I found at the back of her garden hanging out with ducks deplored the fact that she didn't have a coin in her pocket for a tip, then said "Do you want to see my baby pigeons?" Yes of course I want to see your baby pigeons. That's a good tip

I delivered a bouquet to someone and a woman next door, who was in her garden, turned to the open window of her house and said, "[Neighbour's name] got flowers! For MOTHER'S DAY."

I later had to return to that street after a last-minute order was placed to this woman's address. Whomever she was talking to inside the house got the message loud and clear :)

at one point I entered a barn that seemed empty (except for cows), said "Is anyone here?" and a goat SPRUNG UP out of nowhere and poked me with her hoof and gave me a heart attack

I returned to the shop and the florist let me pick a couple of plants as thanks, and we had the usual conversation—"Would this cheerful yellow plant thrive in my house?" "No. Your house is under 10°C. Try this one instead." Me: "This one isn't yellow :( It's more austere" Her: "So is your house" (She entered my non-heated kitchen in December once, and ever since I've been trying to convince her that it's not always like that) (just six months per year)

as I sat in the shop waiting for more bouquets to deliver, a man came in to buy roses and the florist started wrapping a ribbon around the bunch and the man asked, could you put a ribbon around each rose? I said aw they're for several mums? :) And he said yeah—that he was going to visit his mum at the retirement home and he wanted to get something "for all her friends too, why not!" It made everyone smile

admiring the florist's skill as she quickly put together a bouquet for a new order, I said something like "at least AI won't steal your job" and she said "with quantum computing, you don't know... not sure what it is but I read an article and it sounded scary." I said, I heard it's still impractical because the quantum computer particles need to be kept in very cold environments, like close to absolute zero, and she said "Quantum plants would thrive in your house."

Florist: "I'll accompany you for this delivery because the person who filled the form gave a 'turn left after the third mossy rock'-type of address"

I was invited at her house for lunch, and I asked warily "Does your husband still have swans?" She said "No, we only kept the geese. We have just 3. They're evil too but not as bad as the swans"

one of my favourite interactions was when I delivered flowers in a hamlet that could fit in my pocket, and a young girl who came to the door asked me in what village I lived, and I said, it's not a village, just a lone house in the woods, and she sighed "I wish I could live away from civilisation." I looked around us. Asked, how many people live in this village? She said, "Sixty." I said, "That's too many?" She said, "Yeah."

Final stats for today: I was offered a coffee 4 times, Mother's Day chocolates 2 times, and 1 meeting with baby pigeons; was startled by 1 goat and terrorised by 3 geese; petted 2 windowsill cats, and was asked if Pampérigouste was currently in her pasture 4 times.

[wolfofansbach]

BEING A LIST OF THE THIRTEEN GREATEST RIVERDALE LINES, ON THE OCCASION OF THAT SHOW'S TERMINATION

As our much loved/hated show comes to an end, I feel compelled to record, for posterity, the greatest thirteen pieces of dialogue to spring from the pens of RAS and his henchmen. It was, of course, originally a top ten list, but I simply could not exclude a few of these treasures. Without further ado: 

13. 

“I dropped out in the 4th grade, to sell drugs, to support my nana.” 

“That means you haven't known the triumphs and defeats, the epic highs and lows of high school football.” 

Spoken by: an inmate of Leopold and Loeb Juvenile Detention Center, and Archie Andrews. 

In: 3 x 2 

Yeah, okay, this one had to be on the list. It’s funny, I’ll admit. It’s a great example of the overwrought semi-sincere melodrama that helped make this show so special. It’s low on the list largely because The Normies got their hands on it, so every time I hear someone make a reference I get all “do not cite the deep magic to me, witch.” 

12. 

“No! No! What are we supposed to do now? I’m horny as heck!”

Spoken by: Archie Andrews 

In: 7 x 16

Season 7 is undeniably dreadful, and yet there are diamonds in the rough. The occasion is the failure of a projector, just as Archie and Reggie prepare to watch a pornographic film. The utter desperation with which KJ Apa delivers this line is exquisite. One is made to feel they are witnessing a genuine tragedy. 

11. 

“Tonight, they’re making an exception and debuting a cover of the song my parents claim they were listening to the night Jason and I were conceived.” 

Spoken by: Cheryl Blossom. 

In: 1 x 1 

Really a fantastic line. A wonderful encapsulation of the casual absurdity of Cheryl’s character, and a foretaste of the lunacy we would plumb in later episodes and seasons. 

10. 

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m weird. I’m a weirdo. I don’t fit in and I don’t want to fit in. Have you ever seen me without this stupid hat on? That’s weird.” 

Spoken by: Jughead Jones

In: 1 x 10

A genuine classic. “High school football” before “high school football.” One is never entirely sure just how sincere the line is meant to be, both on a meta-level and in-universe. A perfect illumination of Jughead’s pretentiousness. It is made all the better by the occasional cuts to Lili Reinhard’s agonized face. 

9. 

“At the last dance, multiple students were murdered.” 

Spoken by: Principal Holden Honey. 

In: 4 x 2

Delivered as an explanation to Toni and Cheryl, as to why there would be no school dance this year. Principal Honey is in fact supremely rational in the cancellation of this dance. This being Riverdale, he is of course treated as an unreasonable tyrant. 

8. 

“Bro, I know all the secrets of this universe.” 

Spoken by: Archie Andrews (evil version)

In: 6 x 5 

Spoken as evil Archie reveals his evil plan to keep the parallel universes apart. KJ Apa’s delivery once again makes this line. He is comically sinister. Strangely, he sells it. 

7. 

“A Vughead kiss, right now, in the present might be precisely what it takes to save a future Bughead from imploding.” 

Spoken by: Jughead Jones. 

In: 2 x 14

One of those lines that both makes me laugh and makes me genuinely angry. This was a fairly early season, and this may have actually been the first line to get me asking, ‘did they genuinely write and deliver that?’ Extra points for use of the atrocious ‘Vughead’ portmanteau ship name rather than ‘Jeronica.’ 

6. 

“I’m the ultimate wild card. I am the daughter of The Black Hood. The nightmare from next door. I’m training with the FBI and I’m coming for you, you psycho bitch.” 

Spoken by: Betty Cooper

In: 4 x 14 

Just delicious. Another one of those lines that leaves you somewhat unsure whether or not the writers understood how genuinely hysterical it was. “The Nightmare from Next Door” sounds like an announcer hyping up a wrestler. Spoken with a raw sincerity by Lili Reinhart. Also points for the heavy homoeroticism between Betty and Donna. 

5. 

“For I am Cheryl Blossom, Queen of the Bees.” 

Spoken by: Cheryl Blossom.

In: 5 x 16. 

This one really doesn’t require any elaboration. 

4. 

“Elijah ascended…and I will, too.” 

Spoken by: Edgar Evernever.

In: 4 x 5. 

Admittedly, this one is only spectacular with context. But in context—the context being that Chad Michael Murray delivers this line while dressed like Evel Knievel and standing in a cartoon rocket right out of a Warner Bros cartoon—it becomes utterly magnificent. 

3. 

“It’s not queer baiting, it’s saving the world.” 

Spoken by: Veronica Lodge. 

In: 6 x 22. 

It’s actually hard for me to decide whether this one is funnier with or without context. Without context it’s wonderful, but it possibly becomes even funnier when you know that the context is that Veronica needs to kiss Cheryl to transfer superpowers into her body so she can turn into a Scarlet Witch knock-off and stop a magic comet summoned by Sephiroth an English wizard who is also the Devil. 

2. 

“If there’s no wedding reception, it means the Gargoyle King has won.” 

Spoken by: Kevin Keller. 

In: 3 x 12.

One of my personal favorites. This is a perfect line because like #3, it requires no real elaboration. There is absolutely no context in which it isn’t hysterical. 

1 .

“Word of my exploits serving Nick his comeuppance has seeped into the demimonde of mobsters and molls my father used to associate with, so the five families are sending their youngest and brightest, their ‘princes,’ as it were to, well, come court the rare Mafia Princess who can belly up to the bar with the big boys.

Spoken by: Veronica Lodge. 

In: 2 x 20. 

This is, in my opinion, the all-timer. Every word is perfect. The rapid-fire alliteration. The use of the word ‘demimonde.’ The entirely unnecessary addition of ‘as it were.’ This is borderline Dr. Seuss. The fact that Camila Mendes delivered it without cracking a smile should have won her an Emmy. No. An Oscar. This line is Riverdale. 

[opal-owl-flight]

Your Protege. (Pt 2)

(Pt 1)

SAME DAY DELIVERY. HERE WE GO.

This is the only time theyve shown such sheer anger in front of anyone. Theyre usually just cold, or disappointed -- never furious.

Its one of the times Neo3 actually feared the captain.

MORE NOTES ABT CUTTLEFISH BELOW

Not over how Cuttlefish is this fuckign loony old man who pushes his ideas on young 3, constantly goinf "yall kids think Im crazy but LOOK WHOS RIGHT FOR ONCE", "I cant fight anymore, thats why I got you!", "Youre hero material, kid! Youre gonna be big!!"

Then raves abt how the Octarians are evil

3, who was desperate for praise from someone who reminds them of their direct relatives, does everything he says to do just to be appreciated more.

Cuttlefish taught them how to fight hand to hand. How to move and think on their feet. (Though they were given similar in their younger years)

Cuttlefish was... generally more warm and supportive than their dad, but yknow. A lot of this started bc 3 agreed to work for him. Be his deadly weapon.

-------

Cuttlefish was more concerned abt the Zapfish than 3s well-being then... He knew that the constant praising was working so hes gonna keep doing it. (...mostly bc thats what worked on HIM back then)

After 3 does his dirty work, he realized he should probably keep the kid around bc his paranoia with Octaria is a damn bitch and this kid is one hell of an ass kicker. They dont mind. Right??

3 never showed any sign of wanting to leave. Why would they, he was so kind to them, more than their dad or grandad ever was. (Also the paranoia rubbed off on them. Oops!)

Then, he asked them to go on a longer patrol with him. Pushed them to their fucking limit. Bc of what?? Octaria making moves again? (Octavio did make moves but they were already, as we say in the game, "too far from the objective to really contribute to the fight". This is why agent 4 was dragged in.)

There, 3 saw more and more that hes just a loony old man who wanted to have a fancy weapon to protect him in his crusade. A crusade they never really questioned, mind you. Theyve no reason to believe Octaria was nice in any way, not when they keep trying to kill them. (...in self defense. They havent realized, yet.)

Then they encounter 8, who had dropped her weapon at the sight of them. Raising her hands in surrender. 3 was far ahead of the coot, and managed to actually talk to her and everything. They were this close to bringing her back to Inkopolis as a friend, until the bastard ruined the moment.

Cuttlefish still told them that she was a danger. It might be a trick! Dont put your guard down! Pressured to follow their superior, 3s mask returns to their face, turning onto 8 with the herl shot ready to fire.

Then they all tumbled into the metro.......

....for Cuttlefish to use yet ANOTHER kid (8) to get him out of a hairy situation.

--------

Hes a crazy old man. Only caring for any of the kids beyond the platoon after they do his dirty work.

Like "mmm! Thank you for committing the war crimes in my stead. Youre a good kid, you know that? Anything I can do to support you further? Mmmm???"

...I dont think hes aware.

Hes not aware that hes harming the entire platoon, bc in his mind hes doing the greater good here. Get some easily manipulable kids on the street, shower em with praise and promises of glory and valor, and theyll do ANYTHING for you.

Including the warcrimes you keep wanting to do.

I think...I think he doesnt know hes manipulating the kids. I think he genuinely believes his own promises. He glamorizes the valor of war bc hes a commander who sits in the back of it. He really believes that this is for the best. He believes that this is how you inspire your troops to fight.

--------

LETS GO THATS ALL MY NOTES I SPENT ALL DAY FINISHING THIS COMIC. GOODNIGHT INKOPOLIS!!!

[hairyjocktf]

A Hairy Remedy

Mark had been pacing back and forth all afternoon, waiting for the mail to arrive. He couldn’t focus on anything else, he’d been waiting weeks for this delivery and it was scheduled to arrive today. Every noise from outside had him rushing to the windows to peek through the blinds. Mark was nearly 30, yet looked barely 20. He’d endured a decade of people making fun of him for having a babyface or being too effeminate, and he’d had enough. After some research online he found some articles and testimonies about Rogaine, a hair growth cream aimed at guys who were balding. While that was the furthest thing from a problem for him, Mark found people on some forums that had used it elsewhere, who wanted to thicken up their beards and more. The before and after pictures he had seen had sold him, and he immediately went and ordered some online. 

He took a break from mindlessly pacing around to use the bathroom. His reflection in the mirror really illustrated how right his bullies had been. His skin was completely smooth, with barely any peach fuzz on his face. That would change soon, he thought, a beard would surely age him up a good bit. Not that he wanted to look old, but not being carded at every bar would be nice. The doorbell rang, and Mark tripped over himself trying to bolt to the front door. Yanking it open, he saw a small package on the mat, with the delivery van already speeding off. He quickly snatched up the box and slammed the door, giddy with excitement. Mark raced to the kitchen to grab the scissors, shredding the cardboard box open to reveal his prize. He held the tube of cream delicately in his palm like it was a newborn. This was it, his saving grace, he thought.

He quickly scanned the pamphlet that came with the cream, notably reading the line, “WARNING: This product has NOT been tested on areas outside of the scalp. We do not recommend usage anywhere besides the scalp, and cannot guarantee results.” Eh, he’d seen it work on guys online, it must be safe enough. Without further thought Mark dashed into the bathroom, staring at his pathetic reflection in the mirror. He felt a sense of power unlike anything before, knowing he held his fate in his hands. He nearly let out a comically evil laugh before realizing he was getting ahead of himself. It was just hair growth medication.

Mark opened the tube and squeezed some of the cream into his palm. Now was time for decisions. He probably should have thought this part through a little more, but no matter, he thought. He began to rub the cream into his face, making sure to stay in the lines of where a beard would grow. Starting with his upper lip, he massaged the cream into his bare skin, working from there down to his chin and then across his cheeks. The ointment was cool and tingled a little as he applied it. Despite his caution, while getting the underside of his jaw he heard a splatter. 

Looking down, he saw a white glob of the cream had fallen directly onto his chest. “Shit, that’s not good,” he cursed to himself. He grabbed a nearby towel before pausing. A smirk spread across Mark’s face as the thought dawned on him. Why not leave it? A little chest hair couldn’t hurt, he thought. The goal was to look a little older anyway. With a devious grin plastered on his face he started to rub the cream into his chest, most of it between his small pecs and spreading it out from there. Satisfied with the treatment he capped the tube and went back to the living room. Now came the hard part: waiting. He went back to check the package to see how long it would take.

“Four to six MONTHS?!” he wailed. He hadn’t bothered to look at a timeline or anything in his research, and this news was devastating to him. He’d expected it to take a while to work, but half a year? That was just too long. With an overwhelming amount of disappointment in his head, Mark collapsed onto the couch and turned on some TV. The rest of the day faded away as he tried to distract himself from how bummed he was. He turned in fairly early, it was Sunday anyway and he had to get up early for work the next morning. With one last glance in the mirror he confirmed that nothing had happened, and went to bed. 

The morning came in an instant, with Mark’s phone alarm wailing into the quiet sunrise until he rolled out of bed. He begrudgingly made his way to the bathroom and started getting his shower ready when he passed by the mirror and did a double take. He stared at his reflection, dropping his towel on the floor in shock. He had stubble. Not just a little peach fuzz, no, a decent layer of it all across his jaw. His hand slowly moved to touch it, to make sure it was real. His fingers grazed over the tips of the scratchy hairs, the prickly feeling sending shivers through his body. It had worked, overnight even! His grin widened as he looked down to see a dusting of hair on his chest where he’d rubbed the cream. He had chest hair! It wasn’t particularly dark or dense but that didn’t matter to him, he actually looked like he’d gone through puberty now. The hairs had sprouted in the center of his chest and spread out towards his nipples, growing long enough to start curling a little. 

With a renewed energy Mark hopped in the shower and continued getting ready for work. He was giddy with excitement, and couldn’t stop feeling the rough stubble on his face. He threw on his slacks and button down shirt and hopped in his car, nearly late from getting distracted so much. Thoughts were racing through his mind on the way to the office; what would people think? He walked in with a swagger he’d never felt at his job before, making his way to his desk and hoping someone would comment. It took until he and some coworkers left to get lunch for anyone to notice, however.

“Hey Mark, growing out a beard are you? I didn’t think you had it in you,” his coworker laughed. “It looks good so far!” he made sure to follow it up with. Mark beamed, someone had noticed! It was really happening. This may have been the best day of his life for all he could care. Anytime he was in private he would have one hand on his cheek and one on his chest, feeling the soft hairs. He could feel his cock jump at the sensation, pushing against his rather tight dress pants. Luckily no one could see that at his desk, he thought, moving one hand to rub down there. A couple other people commented on his new facial hair throughout the day, and Mark was ecstatic. This feeling was electric, addictive almost, he loved the attention and slight amount of respect the stubble seemed to have given him.

Before he knew it the work day was over and Mark scrambled to pack up his belongings to try and beat the rush. In the elevator down he scratched at his face, another grin plastered across his face. He had the classic 5 o’clock shadow for the first time, he thought to himself with a chuckle. A hardworking businessman he was now. He got entirely caught up in the rush hour traffic, but even that couldn’t put a damper on his day. An hour later he was home, walking through the kitchen and dumping his coat and bag. He entered the bathroom to wash his hands and splash some water on his face when he spotted the tube of Rogaine still sitting on the vanity. Mark stared at it, the elated feelings of the day still fresh in his mind. A thought began creeping up from the back of his mind, one that scared him, but also made his cock lurch in his pants.

What if I put on a little more? 

That was the end of it. The idea consumed him, and within seconds he’d torn off his dress shirt and was squeezing more cream into his hands. He spread a thick layer of it across his upper lip, feeling the stubbly hairs that now dotted the area. He then spread more out across his cheeks, which had a decent shadow of stubble across them. Next up was his chest. In the morning he’d been thrilled by the amount of hair now adorning the area, but now he craved more. He pushed more cream from the tube and spread it over a much wider area, from his nipples all the way up to his collarbone, and everything in between. Finishing that up, he realized he’d gotten some extra cream all over his hands, which he rubbed in without a thought. 

The feeling of mania slowly dwindled as he put the cream away and carried on with his night. As he ate dinner he began to worry that he’d gone too far, maybe he should have just waited. It was too late now, though, so he bottled up that worry and watched some TV before getting ready for bed. 

Mark bolted upright when the alarm sounded the next morning. He tore off his sheets and ran to the mirror to take a look at himself.

It had worked again! His stubble was thicker now, with a more pronounced mustache. The hairs on his upper lip were denser and longer, though the rest of his facial hair had also filled in somewhat even if it was still short. But the real showstopper was his chest. The hairs had spread far from the day before, crawling up his pecs all the way where he spread the cream. The hair was thicker, denser, and made him feel exceedingly masculine. He couldn’t believe it. He ran a hand over the more prominent chest hair, the soft hairs tingling under his fingers. His cock rose to attention in his boxers as he lost himself briefly in the moment, unconsciously rubbing his nipple with the other hand. Control slipping away from him, Mark began to moan as he pinched his nipple, feeling the stubble and chest fur that had sprouted. Moments later a rush filled his body, his cock shooting rope after rope of cum onto the mirror. 

“Fuuuuuck,” he groaned, coming back to his senses. What the hell was that? It had felt amazing, but it was as if a primal instinct had taken over him. He watched the cum slide down the mirror for a minute before snapping fully back to reality; he had to get to work! He quickly wiped as much cum off the glass as he could before hopping in the shower and getting dressed. He bolted out the door without eating breakfast, having realized how late he was. Just how long had he been feeling himself in there? 

He parked and scrambled to an elevator inside. In his haste he’d forgotten to button his shirt up all the way, but he noticed in the mirror that some of his new chest hair peeked out of the top. It looked masculine, virile even. He played with a couple of the hairs before the door opened on his floor and he had to act natural. The day was fairly uneventful, other than a couple different coworkers commenting on his stubble and mustache. Mark felt even more confident today than he had yesterday, despite the chaotic morning. As afternoon rolled around, he even unbuttoned his shirt a little more, letting the newly grown hairs breathe. He lounged at his desk getting some of his work done but mostly basking in his newfound masculinity, occasionally sneaking a rub of his chest hair.

Soon enough the day was over again, and Mark made his way home. He was thrilled with how he was looking, but somehow he’d gotten less attention today than before. That didn’t sit right with him. While stuck in traffic he tried to figure it out, going through scenarios and situations from the day. Maybe… he thought he was making progress but in the eyes of others he looked the same. Frustrated, he barged through the door of his house and grabbed a beer from the fridge before landing on the couch. He turned on the TV and cracked it open, slowly sipping away at it as the light outside faded into dusk. Finishing that beer, he went for another, nursing it and watching some mediocre movies. Eventually the beers caught up to him, and having to pee badly he hopped up and went to the bathroom. There, on the counter, was the tube of Rogaine.

It seemed to burn a hole in his vision, everything else fading away. The feelings of the last day flooded back to him; the confidence of being hairy, the frustration of it not being enough, the pleasure of cumming to his own hairy body. Mark felt the same devilish thought clawing back into his head, but no longer as a question. It was a desire.

I need more.

He opened the tube again, squirting the cream directly onto his chest this time, slathering it all across his pecs and down over his stomach. He rubbed the cream deep into his already decently hairy chest, before taking more and coating his face with another layer. Mark was spreading far too much cream on, and from his jaw it began dripping down his neck. He couldn’t care less. His logical self had taken a backseat, his body being driven by a deep seated need, a desire he’d been unaware of. Mark stripped off the rest of his work clothes and kept at it. He continued to smear the cream across his torso, spreading it from his chest up and over his collarbone onto his shoulders. He was so engrossed in rubbing the cream into his skin that he was oblivious to the slight itch that began cropping up under the thick paste.

Mark wiped the excess cream onto his forearms and stared into the mirror, breaths ragged. He’d worked himself into a sweat. The droplets streamed down his skin, pulling the cream with it. His eyes surveyed his wet, ointment covered skin for anything. That was when he noticed the itch. It had grown stronger, more prevalent over his chest as the skin began reacting to the heavy dose of cream laid on. Hairs started to push out of his chest, darker and thicker than the ones before. They grew longer as more and more filled in the spaces between. Mark’s cock grew harder as he watched the hairs sprout, feeling them coming in between his fingers. The hairs thickened into a dark rug, completely coating his chest and crawling upward, thick whorls of hair overtaking his collarbone. His neck, which had been bare until now, began darkening as the shadow of hair crept up over it. Long strands erupted from the base, continuing the chest hair up onto his neck; no collar would ever hide these dark hairs. His stubble crept down from his jaw to meet in the middle, growing darker and pushing out farther from his face. His nicely trimmed stubble was quickly becoming a scruffy mess, with the wiry beard hairs erupting all over his face. Mark used his tongue to feel the longer hairs pushing out of his upper lip, curling over and spreading over his cheeks. He was really tenting his boxers now.

The hairs began moving south, down from his chest in a line towards his navel. The thick line of fur blossomed outward across his belly, darkening the area with long tangled hairs that blotted out the skin. Mark rubbed his hand over the growing fur, groaning from the stimulation of the hairs under his hand. Without thinking he reached back for the tube of Rogaine, pushing more out into his hands before absolutely coating his pits in the stuff. He scratched and scratched as the itch spread from his chest there, looking like a monkey as near instantly thick black hairs shot out of his bare underarms. One after another they pressed out, his fingers clawing through a denser and denser bush. Soon enough they’d overwhelmed the area with a thick tuft of tangled hair, spreading even further to connect with the rug on his chest. Mark was overcome by the tingling feeling of hairs bursting from his skin, surrendering himself even more to what was happening. 

When he finally pulled his hands out of his pits they didn’t escape unscathed. The backs of his hands were coated with thick hairs, and as he pulled one up to his face to look closer he could see more worming their way out of his knuckles. The sight alone was enough for a glob of precum to shoot into his boxers. The hairs didn’t end there, however. They surged up his forearms, a tangled forest of black hairs erupting and growing dense. The same followed on his upper arms, connecting seamlessly to the dense fur coating his shoulders. He felt the signature itch of the hair growth spread from his shoulders down across his back. Turning in the mirror, he saw thousands of dark spots appear across his shoulder blade and race down towards his ass. Seconds later every spot erupted into thick curly hair, follicles pushing them out longer and longer. The mat thickened over his back as hairs curled and tangled together, especially right above his waistband. 

His body wasn’t done yet. Mark felt an intense prickling under his boxers and quickly pulled them down, scratching relentlessly at his inflating ass. He could feel as the prickles turned into wiry hairs, pushing out across his cheeks. He groaned as the feeling of thick hairs growing like fur in his crack was too much, shoving his hands in there to feel the thick pelt erupting from his skin. His eyes nearly rolled back as he felt up his tight hole surrounded by a jungle of hair, his cock harder than he’d ever felt it before and leaking like a faucet. The fog he had felt absorbed in just that morning was returning, his body acting on its own in search of masculinity and pleasure. The hair growth only served to fuel that fire, spreading from his ass down his legs in a thick carpet over his thighs. The curls popped up from the skin, thickening as they pressed out from his skin into a fuzzy coating all the way to his feet.

Mark slid further and further into the recesses of his mind, intoxicated from testosterone as his body continued to change. His self-indulgence reached a crescendo as every other desire slipped away, flushed out of him through the faucet that was his dripping cock. 

More hair.

His hand reached for the tube again, emptying the last of it into his palm before reaching to grasp his rock hard cock. He slid his hand up and down, coating it in the cream and letting the rest drip all over his groin. A moan slipped out as he continued to pump his member, it slowly growing thicker and longer as it absorbed the cream. More drops of cream splattered into his sparse bush, Fertilizing the ground for what was next. Dark hairs began popping out of his skin, dark and thick. They pushed out longer than his old hairs, filling in the space between them rapidly. 

More hair.

His pubes erupted in mere minutes, a dense triangle of fur filling out his crotch, tangling and curling together as the scent of musk and ointment grew stronger. The hairs continued their conquest, reaching up to his stomach and out over his thighs. His balls swelled larger before becoming enshrouded in a carpet of their own. His cock continued pushing out longer as Mark pumped away, groaning as it grew thicker and more sensitive. 

He wasn’t done yet, as more and more hairs filled in all over, rugs connecting into a massive carpet of body hair. The hairs were ever crawling up the shaft of his massive cock thanks to the cream. Mark’s breathing had grown intense, groaning nonstop as instinct took over completely. One hand rubbing through his thick fur and the other edging him closer and closer to climax. He could feel the tingle as the hairs lengthened and thickened, coarse hairs rubbing against each other as they matted together.

He roared as everything finally peaked, his cock erupting with rope after rope of cum. It went everywhere, getting tangled in all his new grown fur. He continued pumping load after load out, an unbelievable amount of cum poured out of him onto his hairy body. He gasped as every pump of his cock sent immense waves of pleasure through him, squeezing every last drop of cum out. He let go of his softening member and moved his hands to his chest, feeling the sticky cum in all the hair. 

“Fuuuuuck yes…” he groaned as he rubbed the cum into his fur just as he’d done with the cream earlier. His bush was completely soaked with cum, and he could feel the hairs thickening as he massaged the area. All over his body, the cum served only to encourage even more growth, and quicker than the Rogaine ever had. Dark hairs pressed out between previous ones, covering him in a dense pelt that hid his skin beneath. Cum slowly dribbled out of his cock as the pleasure swept through his system. The fog in his head slowly dissipated, and Mark was brought back to the forefront of his brain. The primal instincts that had control for the past hour gave up their hold. He stared at himself in the mirror for a minute. Black fur coated his whole body, cum dripped from patches all over him. His cock was now dangling at eight inches soft. He slowly moved his arms to feel the hair growing all over him, trying to process his reality. He only managed to get two words out.

“Oh, fuck.”

[copperbadge]

In your opinion, does the pizza from the None With Left Beef meme count as a pizza? Or more of an open-faced sandwich? Or a secret third thing?

You know, I've been thinking about this, and it's tough to form a satisfying conclusion. (For reference, this is the original None Pizza With Left Beef, and it's just...very human that we have given this thing its own wikipedia page.)

My initial thought was that the dish begins as a pizza and then is reduced artificially, so it should remain a pizza -- ie, you are starting from a place of pizza and removing elements, but at the end of the day you are still ordering a pizza. On the other hand, the pizza is not cooked before you remove the ingredients, and if you remove, say, the flour from a muffin before baking without substituting anything else in its place, that is definitely no longer a muffin. Just because the pizza is unbaked dough topped with things doesn't mean those toppings aren't ingredients added before cooking. Mind you, you can't order a muffin to be delivered sans flour, and you can order a pizza without cheese. So this approach is really just chasing one's own tail.

I try to remember in this kind of debate that we are not really discussing objects or their fabrication as much as we are debating naming conventions (hence my "sandwich is not a noun, it is an adjective" stance). The word "pizza" is right there in the title -- we do call it "none pizza with left beef", so I think that in terms of the popular view we are going to have to consider it a pizza simply because by majority we call it one. But if we remove the title of it, and base categorization on the thing itself, we are faced with two questions:

If you were to look at none pizza with left beef without context, would you consider it a pizza?

If you didn't consider it a pizza, do we have a pre-existing category where it could be placed?

I don't think anyone is going to look at it and see a sandwich, whether or not we're prepared to categorize it as one. The originator refers to it as "tasteless bread with salty meat pellets". I think one could make a case for it being some kind of cracker, or perhaps a form of pita given that crackers aren't usually leavened. I think suggesting it might be a kind of nacho is relevant but also clearly the chaotic evil option and leads us into a whole "is it a nacho without cheese" area.

But in the end I think we should go with what Wikipedia calls it:

None pizza with left beef is not pizza nor sandwich nor pita nor nacho, but is "a pizza delivery experiment".

[ajbullet]

My thoughts on episode 1 and 2 of Percy Jackson and the Olympians: (spoilers)

- The ACCURACY of the little Percy casting was unbelievable. They look identical.

- The SARCASM 🫶🏻👌🏻

- I’ve never been able to connect with Sally Jackson as a mother-figure in the books just because of my own rocky relationship with my mom, but the way she’s played really made me believe in her character and her love for Percy. It gives PERCY’s character more grounding and their relationship really drives the show.

- Sally just sitting in the rain with Olivia Rodrigo playing. Mood.

- ���You fell in love…with Jesus?”

- The friction and “betrayal” between Percy and Grover was super interesting to see and I’m really glad they touched on that more than in the books

- I’ve been pronouncing Brunner wrong. Dam.

- Sally saying goodbye to Percy, knowing she was probably going to die 😭. Percy screaming for her.

- the Minotaur fight was awesome

- “YOU DROOL WHEN YOU SLEEP” Omg I can’t believe she said it. Leah’s delivery was different than how I imagined it but I loved it. She’s so matter-of-fact

- Again, I’ve always struggled with connecting with Luke’s character just because I felt like he was a little two-dimensional in the first book and then after that, you know, he’s evil and while I understood his motivations, I just didn’t really…care? Idk but his portrayal really helped me understand the depth of his betrayal and just how heartbreaking his story really is. I already love him more than I’ve allowed myself to from the books

- “She’s my little sister” I love their relationship while it lasts. Seeing how close they are really adds to the layers of both of their characters

- I’ve also been pronouncing Thalia wrong. Double dam.

- THE BLUE CANDY. PERCY BURNING IT NOT TO TALK TO HIS DAD BUT HIS MOM. That scene broke my heart.

- Leah. As. Annabeth. I’m going to be completely honest, Ive loved Leah from everything I’ve seen about her but I was nervous just because of how precious of a character Annabeth Chase has always been to me and I didn’t know if ANYONE, not specifically Leah, could live up to those expectations but omg I love her. Her bluntness. Her facial expressions. Her voice and delivery. Her sure movements and confidence and self-assuredbess that has come from success after success and training for so long. The way she is so unashamed to admit to using Percy and only watching him to see what he could do for HER. In her short amount of screen time so far, Leah was able to add layers to this character I’ve loved for so long that I didn’t even know where there. I never wanted her to leave the screen. My only complaint is that she didn’t have more lines. She is my Annabeth Chase. She’s not from the books. She’s not from the movies. She’s her own version and she stole the show.

- Luke saying Annabeth has a plan and that Percy will know what to do, only for PERCY TO BE FLOSSING AND PEEING AND PETTING GECKOS and trying so hard not to drive himself crazy with his ADHD and having nothing to do. I genuinely laughed out loud. Might be my favorite part.

- the fight scenes are so well choreographed.

- CLARISSE. She’s too pretty. I can’t hate her. And her ELECTRIC SPEAR. When it broke and she screamed, I got chills.

- The trident.

- Annabeth KNOWING Percy was Poseidon’s before anyone else cause she’s “always 6 steps ahead”

- People already keeping such important info from Percy “for his own good”

- “You are Poseidon’s son” “No, I am Sally Jackson’s son!” Might just be my favorite line. It’s so true. She raised him. She sacrificed everything for him. She loved him and cared for him and taught him that he wasn’t broken, he was singular, a miracle. She died so that he could live.

- Sally Jackson is parenting goals

- The way Percy instantly changed his decision to go to the underworld as soon as Grover told him his mom could be saved. Their relationship is unmatched

- Walker Scobell is already pretty well known, but I have a really good feeling his popularity is going to skyrocket after this show. He is such an amazing, dedicated actor. I know exactly what he is felling 100% of the time.

Overall, I absolutely loved it. In two episodes it’s become a comfort show that I can’t wait to continue watching!!

[pedgito]

summary | using your neighbors address for deliveries doesn’t seem like the worst idea until you find yourself with a world of dilemmas and a burgeoning crush on the single dad who lives there. [10k+]

pairing | pre-outbreak!joel miller x fem!reader

content warning | 18+ content, as always: no explicit use of y/n, reader is a teacher (only for loose plot purposes) meet-weirds, a cliche stranger neighbors to pining lovers take on pre-outbreak joel, lots of sweet interactions with sarah, joel's internal struggles to be a good dad, awkward interactions & flirting, soft sexual content (oral, protected sex, joel talking you through it like a gentleman)

author’s note | this came from a prompt i saw (ignore that actual legality issues of this, it's just for fun) that was meant to be a quick blurb but turned into this monster of porn with plot…i regret nothing, enjoy! or don’t that’s fine

↝ other fics | requests? | ao3

To be clear, this wasn’t the first route you took to avoid the problem. And for whatever reason, fate or be it some other evil, unseen force, it always stuck you in the awkwardest positions. 

It also didn’t help that your mailman was probably the judgiest person on this earth, despite it not being his business, the suspicious amount of packages and content of said packages were enough to garner a few looks and even the occasional mumble under his breath.

So, when you start to put down your neighbors address for all of your future packages, it doesn’t seem like a problem.

He’s gone a lot anyways, his truck only pulling once the sun has already set and you’re laying in bed, bright headlights cascading against the walls through your upstairs window. His exhaust kicks off a couple times and it always rouses you from your sleep just enough to annoy you. He's hardly there, it's fine. You've got nothing to worry about.

You’ve only caught a glimpse of him in the morning, a young woman prancing at his side as she hops into the passenger seat. Her name is Sarah.

As for him, he was Dad. 

You’ve been here for three months and haven’t made any attempt to be neighborly or make friends, yet you were brave enough to slip his address onto your order forms and go on about your day. 

And, in your defense, it works well. 

Packages always arrive around the time you’re pulling into your driveway, the perfect opportunity before the trail of buses traverse through the cul de sac and flush out the rowdy kids from their seats. 

A quick jog over and you’re snatching up the package without any inclination that something is amiss.

Until again, it becomes a problem.

Not even a problem, really—but it’s still a weird conversation to have, standing at your neighbors doorstep with a package in your hand and looking like some porch pirate with bad manners, if that was even possible.

He was home, but that wasn’t the issue. It was Saturday, a small overlook when you placed your order last week that led you to the position you were in now, staring down the man with your package clutched in his hands.

“This yours?” He asks, an eyebrow raising inquisitively. The contents shake as he holds it up.

“Yeah.” You start, sounding unsure of yourself, “I accidentally gave them the wrong address, didn’t realize until it was already shipped and I’ve been waitin’ all week.”

He didn’t need the explanation, but he lets you speak until your heart’s content, taking a quick glance at the label on the box.

He says your name, double checking to make sure it was you. You nod, extending a friendly hand. 

“I’m sorry.” You apologize. It’s sweet, clipped, believable enough that he doesn’t try to implore further.

He finally hands the box over, not a word on your tongue as you fetch the package and retreat back to your home with your heart racing like it was going to burst out of your chest.

You’re already long gone by the time the smirk reaches Joel’s face, a sudden glance back at his daughter. Sarah is laughing from the couch, the noise muffled behind her hand.

“Maybe she’s flirting with you.” 

Joel huffs at that, a warm laugh bubbling from his chest. 

“Darlin’, I doubt that.”

“That’s the sixth package that’s been sent here.” Sarah adds, “I’m not orderin’ anything. Are you?”

Joel gives her a look that answers itself.

“Then?”

Things are smooth sailing for another couple weeks, but the shared secret between Joel and Sarah is unbeknownst to you.

 So, smooth sailing for you, you think. 

Joel drags it out until another day when he’s free from work, waiting for those footsteps to reach his porch, a quick nudge from Sarah that has him standing from his comfortable spot on the couch as she moves away from his shoulder.

But, they never come.

And Joel doesn’t know why that sends a surge of confused worry down his spine, but it’s out of the norm. He should check on you.

Sarah's the one to remind him of it.

“Take it over there.” It startles Joel, her ability to sneak up on him so easily. His brow furrows, flipping the package in his grip after he finally opened the door and gave in. 

“Go.” 

Sarah’s practically shoving him out of the door before he can refuse. 

When Joel reaches your front door he can already see you, arm tucked under your head, resting over the arm of your couch as you napped silently, the soft hum of the television muffled by the front door. Joel knocks once, a softer and gentler attempt than he’d usually go for, and when that doesn’t work he goes for the latter, one solid knock that could surely wake you.

It doesn’t.

Joel leans over the trimmed hedge resting underneath the window sill and taps on the glass, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding when you finally wake. 

It takes you a moment to adjust, but your eyes are stretching like saucers when your blurry vision becomes clear. 

“Shit, shit,” Joel hears the tail end of it as you open the door, “—I’m so—“

“Look I’m not judgin’” He begins, handing the package over without question, “but seein’ as you’re using my address, it would be nice if you clued me in.”

Your mouth opens slightly, wondering how in the hell you could explain this. Joel catches wind of your uncertainty.

“My daughter’s pretty observant,” He scratches at his forehead idly, shoving his other hand into his front pocket, “and I’ve noticed it for about a month now—m’just curious.”

“Uh, okay—how do I explain this?” You ask aloud, placing the package on a nearby surface. “I order a lot of stuff for work. Like, more than normal. It’s a bunch of different things, sometimes a little odd, I guess?”

Joel flashes a grin of amusement, subtle, but there. He nods, urging you to continue.

“Our mail guy kept giving me weird looks—not like it’s his job to judge but I haven’t been here long, the last thing I needed was someone spreadin’ word around the neighbhorhood.”

It was a small community, tight knit. It was a reasonable defense, but Joel kept quiet.

“I’m sure he thinks I’m a psychopath, but I figured maybe putting your address down and pickin’ them up after would help. I mean, it did for a while, but—It was a stupid idea, I'm sorry.“

“What’s in the box?” Joel asks curiously.

It catches you off-guard, blinking a few times as you glance over at the package.

“Uh, pipe cleaners. You know, the craft ones. All different colors.”

“And what about the other ones?”

It was justifiable, the questions he had.

“Huh, um—lots of paint, some rolls of tape, rope, these little face masks for the kids to work on for the town carnival next week. I can keep going but...I don't think you'd find it that interesting.”

“You’re…a teacher?” Joel assumes.

You don’t realize until half a second later that you’d slipped up so easily. 

“Yeah, first grade.”

“Well, I don’t mind it, but don’t worry about that kid.” Joel tells you, “We’ve been workin’ on that street by the office for a few weeks and he’s always causin’ some type of trouble. If anything, I can talk to the boss up there, let ‘em know.”

“It’s fine, there’s no need for all that.”

“Well, just trying to be neighborly,” Joel shrugs, and the smile that breaks through, one that you can see, is something indescribable, “I can help you out and have Sarah drop the packages off when she can, unless I happen to catch it before she does to save you a trip.”

“You’re okay with me using your address still?” You ask, a little perturbed.

“Don’t see why not, it’s not hurting anyone.” Joel responds, “And if it saves you a few minutes of feelin’ embarrassed.”

“I don’t know, this is pretty embarrassing too.”

Joel doesn’t seem bothered, shaking his head with the corners of his mouth downturned. 

“You’re fine, again—it’s harmless.”

You nod slowly, relenting to his unusual politeness. You weren’t sure southern hospitality was a real thing, but there he was, standing on two legs before you. 

“Thank you, uh—“

“Joel.” He answers for you, “Probably should’ve started with that.”

And putting a name to a face had never been more satisfying. 

“Thank you, Joel.” You repeat once more, name rolling off your tongue foreignly, smiling nonetheless. 

“If you need anything we’re just across the way,” Joel jabs his thumb in the direction of his home, “as much as Sarah loves the Adlers', she might end up clingin’ to you if you let her get to know you.”

Unfortunately for Joel, he’s sealing his own fate by speaking it into existence.

He leaves without a word, waving a quick goodbye over his shoulder as his boots scuff against pavement. 

The deep, shaky breath you let out is a reminder that being in new places, trying new things, forming new relationships, wasn’t always a bad thing.

Sarah greets you with a big smile the first day she catches a package before you, opening with a line you don’t expect. 

“Do you have markers, by chance?”

She’s all sunshine and adolescent innocence, eyes too wide and unguarded from the world—it’s an effect of Joel’s obvious overprotectiveness he feels toward her. He’s shielded her from so much, though if you asked Joel, not enough. 

“I do,” You answer with an airiness to your voice, “whaddya say, fair trade—my package for the markers?”

“Sure.” She nods, handing over the box.

You disappear briefly, the heels of her converse teetering on your doorstep, a gentle rock back and forth as she curiously peers inside your home.

It’s fairly boring, but it’s home. That’s all that matters to you. 

“Just try to get them back to me when you’re done?” It’s not so much a demand, handing the pack over to the young girl. “No rush, take them as long as you need ‘em.”

“Yeah, I will!” She responds cheerfully. “I’ve been reminding my dad for a few days but he works a lot, forgets things—are all adults that bad at remembering?”

“Some of us have a lot on our mind,” You shrug, speaking candidly, “You know what—just keep those.”

“Are you sure?” She asks warily, “I didn’t mean to, like, guilt you or anything—“

“No, no.” You assure her, “It helps you both out, that way your dad won’t have to worry about it anymore.”

“Okay.” Sarah responds wistfully, glancing back as the sound of Joel’s truck inches up the street. Joel is pulling the toolbox out of his truck bed when Sarah calls out loudly, “Dad!” shaking the boxed markers in the air.

“She hustle you for those?” Joel calls out, eyes connecting with you. “Sarah, we talked about this—“

“She did not,” Still, the implication earns a laugh from both of you, “they’re free, less for you to worry about.”

And it stings a little, but Joel hides it well. 

“Don’t let her fool you,” Joel warns, “She’s just as evil as she is sweet.” 

The smile that stretches across Sarah’s face is telling in its own right.

There’s a month of nice, minimal interaction with your neighbors. The Adler's bake too much, always offering up baked goods to the surrounding houses, yours included. You always end up with the extra oatmeal raisins because Sarah despises them and apparently, so does Joel.

Sometimes you catch Sarah at the front door or outside, kicking her soccer ball around or waiting on the steps for her father, even into the later hours of the night. Sometimes it’s Joel, who always ends up at your doorstep rather than you at his. 

Joel likes to ask about your day, a polite but awkward attempt at small talk.

He hasn’t tried talking to anyone since Sarah’s mom, it felt forced—but he was trying, even if it was nearly impossible to get through some days.

Joel talked a lot about Sarah, or work, occasionally bringing up his brother Tommy—he works with him too. You’ve seen him a few times and finally put another name to another face, and he's younger than Joel by five years, closer to your own age. Joel opens up little by little, day by day, completely by his own doing despite how little you talk about yourself.

Joel enjoys the way you always have a smile on your face despite how your morning goes, always hanging on to his words like they're the most interesting thing you've heard in a while. He enjoys having someone to talk to that isn't family or people who he's obligated to converse with to get himself through the day. It's the first time he's really started to go out of his own way to get to know someone.

It’s late Friday night when you end up at his doorstep, dressed in some thin pajamas to combat that Texas heat and humidity—nighttime somehow felt worse, the bugs pricking at your bare legs and the material sticking to your skin.

Your package should’ve arrived today and you didn’t see it outside—but a quick glance through the open entrance, albeit guarded by a screen door, showed that it was sitting right there on their kitchen table.

You knock on the glass pane lightly.

“Dad!” Sarah calls out from somewhere you can’t see, “Door!”

“You can’t get it?” He shouts back, also nowhere to be seen.

“I’m busy!”

You chuckle to yourself, hearing Joel's gruff, “Like I ain’t!”

Sarah’s silence is answer enough.

“Shit—“ It’s a gruff noise, stuck deep in Joel’s gravelly undertone, “hold on!”

Joel’s pulling his shirt over his head as he rounds the corner, leaving you a small glimpse of the tan skin underneath. He relaxes when he realizes it's you.

“Just come in,” Joel says, “you’re probably getting eaten up out there.”

And truly, you’ve never been more thankful.

Joel opens the door to let you pass, the strong scent of fresh body wash invading your senses, his hair still wet from the shower.

“M’sorry, I was gonna bring it by later.” Joel apologizes, “I got off a little earlier tonight and wanted to grab a shower.”

He’s handing you the box with a calculated movement, flicking his watch over his wrist as he secures it, glancing at you briefly.

“Should I guess?” Joel asks.

“Uh—“

“The box.” He clarifies.

You decide to tease him a little, head tilted slightly as you grin, “You’d be guessin’ for a while.”

Joel hums a small noise, fidgeting with watch as he shifts it into place before standing with his hands resting against his hips.

“Uh, let’s see—clay?” 

Not a terrible guess. An odd one to go for on the first try, though.

“God no, that would be everywhere.”

“Those creepy little eyes?”

“Googly eyes?” You correct with a faint laugh, “No, but that’s definitely been one of the packages I’ve ordered lately. The kids love them.”

“I give up.” Joel says in defeat, hands raising up slightly before slapping down at his sides. A rather quick win on your part.

“They’re seeds, for flowers.” You tell him, “We’re going over photosynthesis right now. All that boring stuff about plants and how they grow but the kids are more excited to play with dirt for a couple hours.”

Joel nods slowly, thoughtfully, top lip disappearing behind his bottom in a pout of thoughtfulness.

“Invite her over already!”

Joel sighs, rubbing his palm over his beard as he scratches lightly.

“If you don’t I will.” She adds.

You don’t have to see her face to know that smile. She was evil, and damn was she good at it. 

“Right, uh—“

“No, please don’t feel obligated,” If anything, it made you feel like more of a bother, “my feelings won’t be hurt.”

“No, I was—I planned on asking.” Joel admits, “Just kept forgettin’.”

That and he didn’t know to casually bring it up in conversation.

Point one, Sarah. Joel, zero.

“They’re throwin’ a little party for my birthday. Just a cookout is all, gonna have food, beers—is that somethin’ you’re into?”

Joel feels ridiculous, a grown man in his mid-thirties and sweating over the prospect of inviting a woman over.

“I can be.” 

Your smile is relaxed, reaching your eyes in the way that makes them squint a little.

You can smell the fresh soap and spice of his cologne from this distance, a welcomed change from his usual worn, dirty state—not that you hated it, but Joel did clean up nice.  

“Great, tomorrow at 7?”

“6!” Sarah quickly corrects, sounding exhausted.

Joel rolls his eyes, a sign of an also very tired father.

The snort of laugh slips out before you can hide it, slapping your hand over your mouth in embarrassment.

“Uh, I’ll just show up somewhere in between, how about that?”

Joel seems unfazed, fighting against his own grin as he nods. 

He forgets to tell you goodnight as you leave, something that doesn’t even cross your mind, but to him, feels like a missed opportunity. 

“So out of your league, brother.” Tommy whistles lowly, shaking his head in disbelief as he flips the half-cooked burger on the grill. “Shit—explain it to me again, actually.”

“She sends her packages here,” Joel’s short, to the point. “s’not much to explain, Tommy.”

“And you’re okay with that?” Tommy counters.

Joel shrugs.

“What the hell’ve you done with my brother?” Tommy jokes lightly, earning a half-hearted shove from Joel.

Tommy’s eyes flick toward you briefly, helping Sarah in the kitchen as she ices the cake. Sarah smiles at whatever you’re saying, your back turned to both of the men.

“Don’t act like you’d be lettin’ slide for just anyone. How well do you know her?”

“Well enough,” Joel shrugs, “Sarah likes her, probably a little too much.”

Truth be told, Joel didn’t know much about you at all. But, he wanted too. Tommy saw right through it, but he didn't push Joel. He knew better.

“Careful,” He warns with a soft chuckle, “once that kid sinks her teeth in, there's no way she’s letting her leave.”

Joel knows it’s too late—her eagerness to invite you over, always finding excuses to talk to you or force Joel to do the same. The kid was too smart for her own good.

Even after all is said and done, you decide to stick around to help clean up. Tommy nearly runs at the opportunity to skip out of the mess, waving a quick goodbye to three of you before he’s gone.

Sarah doesn’t fight Joel when he tells her to head upstairs to get some sleep, knowing that he could manage it on his own. He didn’t deny your offer to help either, taking the kind gesture in stride. 

“How does it feel?” You ask, breaking the silence as you swipe up the dishes into your right arm, stacking the plates and cutlery with a careful movement. “35, I mean?”

Joel chuckles aloud at that, short and flippant as he turns his back, swiping the empty beer bottle from the grill.

“Old,” He answers simply, “and with Sarah getting older it feels like five years for every one.”

“You look like you’re doing alright,” You admit, but it feels like an overstep, your mouth backtracking before your brain can think, “at least, it seems that way.”

Joel smiles slightly, an emotion that only fills half of his face. He’s unsure of it all.

“I don’t think I’ve seen a more cheerful kid,” You sidestep through the backdoor and into the kitchen, placing the dishes in the sink, “and she talks about you a lot.”

Joel drops the empty bottles into the trash, joining you by the sink before politely shoving you aside, “I got ‘em.”

You pull away begrudgingly, but it fades quickly. 

“I’m probably the last person you care to hear this from, but I’ve met a lot of parents, seen a lot of different situations, families—she’s happy, so you’re doing somethin’ right.”

“I’m just tryin’ to keep things normal, I guess.” Joel explains  with his hands halfway submerged in soapy water. “I’m all she’s got.”

A system flows smoothly as Joel passes off the wet dishes for you to dry, stacking them up on the counter.

The glaringly obvious lack of a second parent is not lost on you and if Joel didn’t want to bring it up, it wasn’t your business. But, his face reads guilt—it always does.

Guilty for working too much, guilty for forgetting things, guilty for making Sarah (and Tommy) worry about him so much. 

“Enough about me,” Joel shakes away the excess water, taking the offered dish towel from your hands and patting his own dry, “you want a piece to go?”

The beautiful cake Sarah made, homemade and imperfect, nearly devoured by the four of you already.

“No, I’ll be okay,” You wave your hand freely before resting them in the back pockets of your jeans, scuffing the toe of your shoe against the flooring, “thank you for inviting me, by the way. Not that Sarah gave you an option.”

Joel laughs behind his curled fist, a finger scratching at the fullness of his beard before he’s rubbing his palm over the expanse of it and down his neck.

It doesn’t matter that Joel was the one to mention it to Sarah, wondering if it seemed to forward. The look she returned was typical of a teenage girl and nothing short of making Joel feel stupid for asking. 

“You’re good company,” He compliments, “plus the Adlers might think I’m stiffin’ them if I don’t bring a plate over in the morning, so it’s probably best you don’t take that piece anyways.”

“Hey, they’re sweet,” You chastise him lightly, shoving him gently in the side with a finger, “— and those cookies, man.”

Joel smiles thoughtfully, glancing up toward the open front door, a windless night covered in a blanket of silence.

“Can I walk you back?” Joel asks, mostly out of his habitual politeness but a few more minutes with you would be nice.

“Joel, I’m practically in your backyard.” Your eyes study him shortly, the subtle shrug in his shoulders. It was a kind gesture, one that you wouldn’t expect from anyone else. “Fine, have it your way.”

Joel shakes his head in amusement, hearing you giggle on the way to the door, his footsteps following closely behind. 

And it feels akin to the awkwardness you feel after a first date, the will he won’t he, who should make a move—is there a move to be made? It’s the unspoken giddiness that terrifies you, something you haven’t felt in a long time. 

But, it also doesn’t surprise you when Joel does absolutely nothing—not that he needs to feel the responsibility too, but he always looks like he’s poised to say more, ask another question, and even now as you turn to him, fingers wrapped around the handle of your front door, he’s thinking. 

You're quick to quiet his mind.

“Hey,” You call to him quietly, “I’ll give you a quick tour, if you want?”

It’s harmless, giving him a chance to get a peek inside your life, as hectic and unorganized as it was. You were single, alone, and didn’t have to worry about anything but yourself and the overload of things you’ve accumulated in your space, namely for your job. 

But, despite the disorganization it’s nearly spotless. 

“You still haven’t unpacked?” He asks curiously, tapping his fingers against a pile of cardboard stacked high, unopened. 

“Mostly,” You answer candidly, leading him through the open floor of your home, doors wide open, the freshness of lemon lingering throughout, “living room, some of the kitchen, bedroom—it’s mostly done, it’s just the last room on the right that’s kickin’ my ass.”

Joel’s eyebrows raise in question, silently asking you to lead him further. He ignores how soft your fingers feel as they wrap around his wrist, shoving his watch a few centimeters higher as you do and pulling him down the hall with a leisurely stride. 

He whistles lowly at the sight, a hoard of boxes and no homes. It was the perfect size for an office, probably what you were intending, a small desk buried underneath the rubble.

“No shelves, no storage?”

You point at a few larger boxes stowed away in a corner. 

“I couldn’t build one of those things without breaking somethin’,” You admit with an aura of embarrassment, “plus I need a power drill and bunch of other shit I don’t have right now, so I’ve been putting it off.”

“I’ll help,” Joel suddenly offers, “Given I can manage a day off soon, but I can come over early and we can knock it out in a day.”

“That’s nice, Joel, but—“

“I don’t need your money and I’m not takin’ no for an answer.” Joel realizes how aggressive that sounds, quickly adjusting his manner of speaking, “You’ve been keepin’ Sarah company when I can’t, let me do this.”

Your eyes soften slightly, head tilted at an angle to admire the almost apologetic look on his face. 

“You are too kind, Joel Miller.”

And if he could have the smile engraved into his memory, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

“I never told you my last name.” Joel looks at you quizzically, eyebrows furrowing.

“Got a piece of your mail the other day by mistake,” You admit, “s’kinda funny considering the situation. I was curious. You still trust me?”

“You are somethin’ else.” He grins. “Can I trust you?”

Flirty Joel was sweet, you liked it. But, it was gone in a flash. Too soon, too quick.

“Guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

The part of you that wishes Joel would’ve stayed a little longer that night aches as you lay in bed, dragging your fingertips lightly over your stomach, shirt pushed up near your breasts. It feels ridiculous, pining over your neighbor. 

But, even as you fingers dip inside you, explore your body in all the ways you need, a steady pressure over your clit until you’re coming with a soft gasp, the only thing you can picture is Joel—his face, his hands, and the softness of his voice as he calls out to you, comforts you into that deep void of sleep. 

Joel ends with a second shower that night when the world is quiet and everyone is already tucked away in bed, climbing into the brisk cold of the water before it even has the chance to heat up, hoping it calms him down. He ends up in a similar predicament, dragging it out until it’s nearly painful as he squeezes the head of his cock, your sweet smile still fresh in his mind. Joel calls out your name as he comes, just as quiet, and he knows he’s fucked.

You don’t see Joel for a couple weeks, outside of a few occasions where you’re greeting him from your yard, albeit taking out the trash or spending time on your front porch as the tail-end of summer was winding down and evenings were becoming cooler. 

He seems more preoccupied than usual, smile not always reaching his eyes and you’re wondering if you’ve done something wrong, if he can read the guilt that oozed from you—crushing on a neighbor? Preposterous.

Most of Joel’s own guilt rides on the fact that he’s always busy, it never fails. A screw up at work meant another setback, setbacks meant longer hours and they had been experiencing far too many these days.

He’s stressed about work and bills and everything any normal adult should while also trying to maintain the balance of being a good dad to Sarah. He hates leaving her home alone so often, even though most of the time she would wander next door to the Adlers’ or over to yours, always supplying herself with the company when she needed it.

He greets you on a Sunday morning, mid-October when the Texas heat was still prickly enough to keep you in a tank top and shorts more often than not. He’s already dressed for the job, tattered jeans and an old shirt on his frame, toolbox clutched in his right hand while he rubs the fingertips of his left against the inside of his palm. 

Joel looks a little cleaner around the edges, his beard was trimmed, the hair that started to curl over his ears was shorter and tucked behind his ears and he’s taken a shower despite how much work they had ahead of them for the day. 

And, hell, it was work.

Joel made it look easy, but the sheer amount of energy needed to put all the furniture together was something you just weren’t equipped with. He’s explaining random things to you—the importance of anchoring things down, keeping things stable by balancing out the weight distribution and why he always marks and rechecks things twice before drilling. 

It’s all a completely foreign language, but you can fake the perplexed look on your face as long as needed—you’d nearly mastered it being around an army of tiny children all day, fighting for your attention to show off their new tricks. 

“You’ve been sittin’ on this stuff for how long?” Joel asks, eyebrows pulling together in amusement.

“A few months, maybe. Only a couple days after I moved in, really.”

“I work in construction, sweetheart. You could’ve asked.”

It’s the first time Joel lets his fondness slip, a little word that you skim over entirely when his eyes avert away at the realization.

“Well—I mean, you offered.” Like that wasn’t obvious as he kneeled crouch on your floor, jeans spread tight over his thighs, shirt riding up his back as he leaned in to twist the screw in at an awkward angle. His head is nearly touching your knee, legs tucked under you as you watch. “Seems a little too forward if you ask me.”

“And using my address for your packages don’t?”

He’s got you there, chuckling under his breath at your silence. He thinks back to Sarah’s constant nagging, pushing him to get over his own self-loathing and talk to you, or at least make an attempt.

“Sarah thought you were doing it for other reasons.” He admits, rising slowly to rest his palms against his thighs, sweat collecting around his neck, wetting his collar slightly. “Flirting with me, I guess.”

“That wasn’t my intention,” You answer honestly, “I mean, you’re nice to look at but—“

Joel’s eyebrows raise, intrigued.

You shrug, making a noncommittal noise as you hum.

“It’s the first time she’s been really eager about me getting back out there since, ever, I guess.”

It startles you a moment, the revelation, a small glimpse into his real life, the deeper parts—it’s the tiniest crack, but it’s there. 

“Can I ask you somethin’, Joel?”

He nods slightly, stuffing away the screwdriver and lifting the stand with ease, resting his forearm against the surface of it.

“Has it always been—shit, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” You huff softly, rubbing some sawdust between your fingers, “I guess I’m just tryin’ to say that even if Sarah’s mom isn’t in the picture, for whatever reason, she’s always welcome to come to me for stuff. I remember being that young and losin’ my mind when I felt like I couldn’t talk to anyone.”

“Oh, she’s got you hooked.” Joel’s grin grew wide for a moment before softening, “Sarah’s mom, she—I’ve raised that little girl from birth on my own, so she doesn't know anything but her. She doesn’t ask, I’m not gonna force it on here either. But, I’m glad she’s found someone she’s comfortable with.”

There’s a moment of silence that feels like a new connection, a tether tying the two of you together—closer.

“What about you?” Joel asks suddenly, turning the topic of vulnerability and family back toward you. “If you’re comfortable sharin’.”

“Family moved around a lot, my parents traveled for work so it was just me most of the time—boarding schools, weeks by myself during breaks where I was fending for myself, really. My parents always kept me secure financially, but I raised myself.”

Joel sits on that, absorbing the information as you sit a little deeper into the floor, back resting against the front panel of your desk as you shift your legs in front of you, knees bent. 

Joel mirrors you after a moment, the soft cream of the ceiling fan filling their air as he leans his head back, enjoying the faint breeze. 

“Never wanted kids of my own, either.” You admit, “But, I loved ‘em when they weren’t my own—partially why I started teaching. I just don’t want my kids feeling the way I felt, so if I never have them then…”

Joel understands, fidgeting with his fingers as they rest over his knees.

“I was so young when Sarah came, I didn’t have a clue.”

It’s something you never really thought about, the quickness to grow up at such a young age—not quite a kid but barely stepping into adulthood.

“Well, it seems like you figured it out. She’s got a strong personality but she’s smart, that’s gotta count for something.”

Joel laughs a short, silent noise through his nose, shoulders shaking with the movement. You push away some of the mess from your bare legs, finding that building things was a lot messier than you thought.

“A wet paper towel or washcloth can help,” Joel adds, pointing toward the dusting of wood on the floor, “the rest,” he waves a loose finger toward your hair, pulling at a small piece and flicking it away, “a shower will do just fine.”

Joel glances over your frame briefly, but the gaze he holds is intense, the time that burns even when he finally looks away.

“I can clean this up for you,” Joel offers, “go ahead and take a shower and I’ll be outta your hair before you’re done.”

And you don’t put up a fight, as much as you could have.

The shower feels like heaven after a long day, nearly into late afternoon now and having skipped out on lunch completely—maybe you should offer to feed him as a thank you, knowing he’d never take any money. You hear him moving around outside the door, shuffling with tools, rearranging some of the furniture that was probably a little on the heavier side, falling silent as you finally turned the faucet off.

You should’ve wait a few more seconds, could’ve—you would have missed him completely by then, but you’re wrenching the door open in a hurry to the short distance to your room that was attached to your bathroom, but not before colliding with Joel on the opposite side of the wall as he dug through a cabinet, admittedly a little lost. 

“There weren’t any hand towels in the kitchen,” Joel explains calmly when he turns to you, holding his gaze with yours, avoidant of your blatant nakedness as you silently reach for a towel, wrapping it around your frame without a single blink, “I figured—seemed like the second best option…” 

He gestures vaguely to the cabinet full of towels.

You nod slowly, speaking evenly, to your own surprise.

“And I was gonna invite you over for dinner, or out—whichever, but that seems a little cliche now, seein’ as you just saw me naked, don’t want you getting the wrong impression.”

“Can’t have that,” Joel nods, agreeable, the remnants of smug grin catching the corner of his mouth, “can we?”

It takes every last ounce of self control to keep you from making a mistake, beg him to take you there—wherever, on the floor, the counter, the bed just some several feet away in the adjoining room.

“I’ll just…finish cleanin’ up and see myself out,” Joel nods, letting his gaze drag down slightly, fingers tightening around the towel instinctively—for your own good, “sorry ‘bout all this.”

You nod slightly in response, wracking your brain with any reason you could give to keep him here a second longer, convince yourself to stop being so scared of putting yourself out there. 

It wasn’t lost on you that Joel seemed interested. He’s got that look that lingers when you’re around, always catching glances when he thinks your attentions drawn somewhere else—you see it in the early mornings when you’re leaving for work now, less before you had gotten to know him, and the soften in his voice when he talks to you lately, it’s comforting; he feels safer allowing himself to relax around you now, free of any judgment. 

But, he’s also never made any attempt to cross those boundaries, polite to a default and sometimes his own demise—until now, something telling him to go for it.

“But, if you were wanting to treat me to a nice meal,” There’s a calmness to his tone, that same drip of snark you always had toward him but teasing in a way that made your body run warm all over, “Sarah’s spending the night a few blocks over with a girl on her soccer team, so—a little peace and quiet, some dinner,” Joel shrugs, arm raising up to lean against your frame of the door, palm pressed high and fingers tapping along the woods, “it does sound like a fair trade. For the work.”

And whatever he’s trying for, it’s successful.

Hell, you would’ve ended up finding your way over there somehow, but the fact that Joel’s reciprocating and in a way that almost seems playful, it’s too good to pass up on no matter how stubborn you wanted to be to cover the embarrassment you were feeling right now. 

Sure, for the work.

“Deal.”

It doesn’t take long for you and Joel to settle on something simpler than some meal that would take too long, too much work, and it was glaringly obvious from the moment you arrived at Joel’s front door that neither of you gave a shit about dinner or deals or paying him back for the work he did.

Whatever was lingering between you now was bigger, much bigger than it had been before and impossible to ignore. 

But, the attempt at small talk is nice—a slice or two of pizza into dinner and you’re settled on his couch, legs crossed and facing him fully with his leg stretched out and resting on the coffee table settled a few feet away. He’s no more dressed down than usual, a pair of jeans (arguably one of his cleaner pairs) and a loose shirt that’s design had faded, probably from years and years of wear. You settled for something similar, comfortable, a knitted blanket slung around your shoulders for comfort.

“Cold?” He asks around a bite. 

One word. A simple question, but it feels like an answer to so much more. An excuse, even.

“A little,” You nod, punctuating the answer by pulling the blanket over your shoulder more, knees rising to huddle your body closer to yourself, “it’s not that bad.”

“Let me turn the heat up,” Joel’s standing before you can respond, messing with the small panel on the wall, pointing toward the vent settled conveniently above the couch, “feel it?”

You reach a hand out feebly, waiting for the rush of hot air that never comes. You shake your head slightly, rising on your knees slightly, waddling yourself forward until it finally hits you, closer to Joel’s original spot as he returns, settling back in the same position as before, though you’re much closer in proximity now.

You snort softly, falling back on the heels of your bare feet, palms pressing into the tops of your thighs in an attempt to keep the height you had on Joel currently, the smugness in your expression unavoidable. 

He’s got his left arm slung over the back of the couch, fingers curling and straightening in a subconscious movement, food forgotten on the table, his eyes dragging toward yours lazily, the buzz of the television filling whatever silence was settling between you two. 

Joel is playing oh, so innocent—you can see right through it.

“Smooth,” You can give him some credit, he’s got you closer—not where he wants you or needs you, but he can touch you if he wants, right now, yet still, “how long did you think that over in your head?”

“An hour,” He admits sheepishly, eyes squinting with the half-hearted smile that stretches his face, “pathetic, right?”

You shrug indifferently, settling in deeper, more comfortably. The shift in your movements has your knees pressed against his thighs, hands settling in your lap and just a few inches from his own. There’s a small tear in your jeans that Joel can see, right against the bend of your knee—he’s got the urge to touch you, so he does.

His touch is rough, warm, all calloused from hard work but containing the hominess you crave so deep in your bones. 

“I can let it slide,” You assure him, fingers inching closer to his, the width of his palm covering your kneecap now, a slow, precarious movement as your fingers slip over his own, wrapping around his wrist and feeling the faint thrum of his pulse as it quickens, “if you’ll do something for me.”

It's been weeks of build up, unnecessary tension between the two of you that threatened to spill anytime one of you moved to close to the other, a simple touch in passing or looks that dragged on too long.

“‘Course, anything.”

The admission comes quickly. He doesn’t even need to think it over. He’s staring more intently, the shadows of his face changing with every flashing picture on the screen several feet away.

“Stop torturing me,” You supply softly, guiding his hand between your legs until his knuckles bump against your center, a soft squeeze to your thigh as his fingers fit comfortably against your body, his brain mapping out how the levels of his touch affect you, “you take me to your room,” it’s your turn to reach for him, fingers leaving his wrist to trace alone his thigh in return, though stretching past the the button of his jeans to find the soft skin of his abdomen under his shirt and dragging over his stomach delicately until he can’t stand it anymore, using his free hand to lock yours in place, pulling your attention to his face once more and away from the slow rise and fall of his breathing, “and you fuck me.”

Joel frowns slightly, the creases in his forehead becoming a little deeper, the beginnings of his crows feet wrinkling around his eyes and he’s trading the spot where his hand is cuddle against the apex of your thighs to slip his fingers under your jaw, tracing the fragile lines of your face until he can cradle your cheek gently, using the pad of his thumb to press on your chin, guiding your face down to look at him, and somehow pulling you impossibly closer.

“Fuck you?” He questions, eyes searching yours briefly, tongue swiping at his bottom lip, “No—no, that’s not how I do things, sweetheart.”

You smile under his touch, watching as he mirrors those emotions and urges you toward him and over his lap, large palms holding steady at your waist. You filter your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, tracing until you reach the shell of his ear, playing with the short tuft of hair that curls behind it, his eyes watching your movements carefully.

“Care to enlighten me?” 

Joel chuffs out a laugh, short and brimming with a darkness that wasn’t there before, using the leverage he has to lean forward and secure you on his lap until you’re hanging by a thread over his knees, letting out a small yelp at the change in position that quickly dissipates into laughter.

“Darlin’, I’d rather show you.”

*

There’s a certain giddiness to your energies as you clumsily climb your way up the steps, Joel suddenly a lot more handsy than earlier as he grips at your hips, your thighs, pulling you in for quick, fleeting touches that tickle and have your breath catching in your throat until you can finally break away, nearly tripping into his bedroom before he catches you with a swift hand, shoving the door closed with his heel as he closes in on you, pulling your legs up around his hips in one heft of a motion, arm slung around your backside while the other paws at your thighs, make the small trek to his bed and resting you down slowly, chest heaving with a quickness.

A sudden dip in the bed has your ass nearing the edge but his legs are there to catch you, knees barely pressing against the end of the mattress while he reaches for the button on your pants wordlessly aside from the gaze he’s holding with you, his expression is rather flat (a little concentrated even) and he’s popping it open with ease, thick fingers sneaking around the waistband and tugging until there’s nothing left but a small snag at your ankle that he wrangles quickly, soothing the spot after with his thumb.

“M’sorry about earlier, again,” Joel finds himself apologizing, “never wanted to make you feel uncomfortable around me.”

“I wasn’t—I’m not,” It’s something you’re sure of, more so that anything right now, “I could’ve cleaned up the mess myself.”

Joel shrugs, large palm spreading over the width of your hips, thumbs pressed gently into the ridge of your hip bones as he folds your legs in closer from where they’re hooked around his own waist, the soft cotton dragging against denim and igniting a deep yearning that could only be satiated once he was inside you—it’s what you were hoping for, urging him closer with your foot as you nudged him forward.

“And you were so respectful,” You comment coyly, tilting your head up at him as you reach for the fabric of his shirt, grinding the wet heat of your cunt against the front of his jeans for friction, bottom lip pulled between your lip momentarily when it feels just a little too good, “didn’t even try to take a look, did you?”

Joel laughs quietly, a short huff through his nose when he shakes his head, “I tried—god, did I try—”

His thumbs dip lower, under the waistband over your underwear while his fingertips slide under your shirt, rubbing against the soft skin of your belly, your own hands coming down to claim his, pulling them higher until they settle over your breasts, completely bare underneath.

“I’ve been picturing it since I got home,” Joel admits, glancing up at the ceiling briefly in a desperate plea when he touches the bare skin, nipples pebbling against his touch and he squeezes greedily before he finally has the courage to look at you, watching as you pull the top over your head casually, “you’re poisonin’ my mind, sweetheart.” 

It’s a compliment wrapped in some form of emotion you can’t decipher as his mouth drops open an inch, rubbing his thumb over the soft bud of your nipple until you grow impatient, a small whine of protest leaving your mouth as you reach the short distance between your bodies to rub against the swell of his jeans, “Not just that I hope.”

“You really want me to fuck you?” Joel asks sweetly, a little condescending with the way it’s delivered as he glares down at you, his touching lingering from your breasts as he slides a thumb over your clothed cunt, a gentle pressure against your clit until your breath stutters at the sensation. He says your name softly, a warning for your attention to be brought back to him. “Hey, need you with me—you like that? Getting fucked?”

You squeeze him firmly until it forces a chuckle out of his chest, his hand squeezing around your thigh to pull you taut, rocking his hips into the touch before swatting your hand away and working at his belt, jeans, everything keeping him constrained until he can finally reach his cock, working his boxers half away down his thighs and reaching for your hand again, wrapping your softer, less overworked hands around his dick until it registers in your head what he wants, his hand a guiding light as he builds a slow rhythm, squeezing your grip until it’s just right.

“Usually, yeah,” You nod, using your touch to admire every last bit of him, thumb drifting over the head of his cock as you squeeze tight, letting him buck into your touch impatiently—he’s breathing hard through his nose, eye contact more intense now that it ever has been, staring down at your over the bridge of his nose, all beautiful and godlike, sculpted to perfection, “feels good.”

It doesn’t matter if it’s been months. But it has. Almost a year, truthfully, and just by the quick glance you take at him—nothing compares. He doesn’t make a big deal about it, talk himself up like he’s everything you need. He wants to hear what you like, what you want.

“I can do that,” He obliges and suddenly his hand is hit against your folds, middle finger spreading you open gently, pressing against your opening testingly, “do what you like—or we can do things my way.”

“Your—your way?” You gasp softly, nodding without hearing what he has to say, “Yeah—fuck, your way is fine.”

“Didn’t even let me talk, sweet girl.” Joel remarks smugly.

But, it doesn’t matter. The second his finger breaches you fully it’s nothing but white noise, his thumb working just as tentatively at your clit.

Joel drones on anyways, his voice like a warm current as it guides you into a state of calm.

“I’ll get you there, real close, just like this,” He nudges his fingers against a soft spot inside of you that has your eyes squeezing shut, choking off a moan as you squeeze tight around his cock, hands moving a lot less now that he had you distracted, but Joel didn’t mind, “then I’ll fuck you, slow…hard, whatever you like, okay?” And there comes your name again, a bouy pulling you back to the surface as you nod, “But, fuck if I don’t take my time with you—I’m gonna save her for last,” He slips another finger in silently before pulling out and rubs the collected slick over your clit in a couple quick movements, “show her all the attention she deserves, right?”

“Joel,” You whine—a beg, a plea, just another reason to say his name so desperately, “Joel, please.”

“I gotcha,” He comforts, lifting a knee up to rest against the mattress, shifting your leg higher and switching up the angle entirely as it forces his fingers in deeper as he pushes back in, “relax, breathe, lean into it, baby.”

Letting yourself go, he means. The baby is an afterthought and maybe he doesn’t mean anything by it, but it doesn’t fail to send a flutter through your insides and somehow calm you in the same instance. 

And really, nothing compares. He’s attentive in a way that’s new to you, never something you’ve experienced in the past and maybe it helps that he’s got a few years on you, or more experience, but it’s addictive—he’s got a hold on you that you can’t seem to break. 

He listens to the way your breath buckles when he rubs your clit a little too fast, clearly nearing your edge quicker than he or you would like, but he knows just when to stop and slow down, fill you full of his fingers and keep you wanting more. He sees the subtle pull of your brow when he drags it on longer than you’re used to, that’s when he finally pulls away. 

“Joel, can’t—“ You breath out tiredly, eyes closed and resting as you catch your breath, his hands nudging yours away from his cock as it bounces against his stomach, quickly shoving his jeans and underwear the rest of the way down, “want you inside, need you to fuck me like you—you said—“

He rubs a comforting hand against your stomach, up your sternum until he’s flat against the center of your chest and you’re looking at him again, more focused this time around.

“Scoot up,” He tells you softly, nodding while he reaches behind his head, yanking his shirt over his head in one fluid act, “get comfortable, sweetheart.”

He’s unabashed and cool in the way he holds himself before you, yielding a vulnerability that he never would’ve had with you if he hadn’t gotten to know to you more, if he didn’t have the chance to—he walks around the bed and to his nightstand a few feet away, admittedly littered in either dirty clothes or laundry he hadn’t put away yet, rustling through one of his top drawers for something you can only assume, his bare ass on display and in perfect view. 

It’s something to admire, firm and toned from the heavy lifting and upkeep he kept on his body, through work and exercise, the muscles in his backs molding to each move he made as he stretched, rolling a tight shoulder as he closed the blinds a little tighter, turning to you then and switching on his bedside lamp, bathing the room in a soft glow that leaves you nowhere to hide from him.

Not that you felt the need to anymore. Maybe a few weeks ago, but definitely not now. 

“Here,” He’s adjusting a pillow underneath your head as you lean forward, assuring you’re comfort as you nod to his waiting look, eyebrow raised slightly, “do you—I can turn that off if you want?��� He rubs a curious hand down your chest again, clambering to settle between your legs as he kneels, cock hanging heavy between you as he rips the foil open quietly with his opposite hand, the other again, curious as he palms your breast, pointer finger dragging along the swell of it as he traces down to the underside, “I just—I like seein’ you.”

“It’s fine, Joel.” You answer him, stalling his movements with your touch as you trap his hand, watching as he spits away the foil and rolls the condom over his cock with ease, stroking languidly until he feels secure, somehow making the moment even more tender as he winds his fingers through your loose ones, subconsciously asking for the touch as he smile when your eyes catch his gaze. 

“You let me know what you need,” He orders kindly, though there’s a sternness behind it, “I’ll be damned if you’re not gettin’ what you want, alright?”

You nod, inhaling silently on the first press of his head against your cunt, his shaft sliding against the center and coating in your wetness before he’s pushing in with a carefulness that’s indicated through the tight grip you have on his hand, loosening when he finally bottoms out.

Joel groans low, quiet, savoring how tight you’re gripping him in the moment, pulsating with need from how hard he’d edged you to near orgasm. He’s thankful, for once, because he’s not sure he has much will power to hold off either. 

“Slow,” He reminds you, a gentle rock of his hips as he focuses his attention toward the point where you two meet, watching the way you pull him in with greed, fingers once twisted between his fingers now clawing tightly at the sheets, “shit—it’s been too long.”

You nod knowingly, other hand shifting to put space between you and the headboard, placing opposite pressure against the wood with your hand, in turn allowing you to gain some leverage and work yourself easier against Joel, whatever slow place he was going for quickly dissolving into madness, hands wild and gripping at whatever flesh it could reach.

“Oh, hell.” Joel groans, head tilted back and eyes squeezed shut for his own good, fingers digging into your thighs so he can fuck himself into you with fervor, your moans quickly morphing into pleas for, “more, more—please, Joel.”

“Gimme your hand,” He gruffs out, voice scratchy and raw, guiding your fingers until they lock around the back of your thigh, pushing until you’re spread wide and he’s guiding your other leg over his chest, ankle resting against his shoulder as he pulls out without warning to adjust himself, “you’re gonna hold yourself open, baby—keep yourself open for me.”

And then he’s sliding back in with no preamble or words of comfort, just a desperate slide of his body against your own, seeking to be back inside you.

The angle is almost unbearable this way, teetering on the edge of too much but whatever words you’re trying to form in your head aren’t making sense, eyes locked on Joel—all of him; his face and the subtle way his forehead creases, mouth dropping open wider when you clench down on him, gasping through every thrust of his hips, and his chest in the way it flexes as he pulls you tighter, biceps flexing as he strains, his own self control breaking down piece by piece. You’re mostly mesmerized by the way this angle gives an almost perfect view to watch him fuck up into you, the veins running along the side of his cock and how careful he is too pull all the way out before he’s driving you insane with the forceful thrusts he gives as he returns, his eyes flicking up briefly when he catches you staring. 

“Oh, fuck—“ He huffs through a laugh, your name falling from his lips once more, “sweetheart, you’ve got no clue how good you feel.”

He moans a little louder, unrestrained and rough, almost like he’s growling with every sharp snap of his hips and it’s driving you insane, that subtle throb of need turning into an ache that had to be soothed.

“Joel…” You call out to him, sounding soft and broken.

He’s right there with you, ripping your hand away from where it’s latched to your thigh and bringing it between your legs, feeling exactly how wet you were for him, his thumb covering your own as he helped you start a steady rhythm against your clit.

“Look so pretty like this, sweetheart,” Joel notes, voice sounding even more strained, his grip growing tighter as he seeked to wrap you around him more, more, more, leaving your hand to wrap around the back of your thighs and push you apart, “I got you—come for me. Think you can do that?”

You nod absently, feeling like you were falling into a trance, a dark void that was just you and him and nothing else, touching yourself with an urgency that didn’t let up, fingers immediately speeding up when his hands moved away and he sees it, the desperation.

Joel chuckles to himself, a noise that breaks you from the haze as your eyes creep open, watching how he admired you openly with no shame, “Fuck—you really need it, don’t you?”

You can hear yourself, him—that wet squelch of arousal, skin against skin as he fucks into you with no restraint. You nod again, a quick jerky movement as you feel that familiar heat in your belly build, “Yesyes—god, Joel.”

And Joel soothes you every step of the way as it finally hits you, his hands giving your thighs that desperate relief they needed as he pulls you close, a hand cupping the back of your neck firm and tilting your chin up, lips dragging along yours without taking the step to press against them for a full kiss, a intimate moment of breathing against one another while Joel follows a few moments later, his hips rocking to a slow halt as he rides through the force of his orgasm, groaning deeply against your mouth as you feel everything calm around you, the soft hum of the fan on his dresser pulling you back to earth. 

You want to kiss him so badly, watching him pull away for a brief second to check in with you, eyes scanning your face for anything—but you’re tired of overthinking so you do it, no second guessing, no worrying, cupping his face gently and pulling him in for a long, but simple kiss that feels like it could go on for eternity. He melts into it instantly, the firm grip on your neck softening to cradle your face, one of you (though, maybe both) eventually coming up for air with grins wider than you’ve ever seen. 

There’s nothing left to do but feel it, both of you laughing into each other’s skin and that small snort of amusement slipping from you, feeling Joel mumble something against your collarbone but not asking him to repeat it, watching him smile to himself again as he rises on steady legs to dispose of the condom.

“How are you even—“ You giggle softly, rubbing a gentle hand over your face and through your hair, watching as he retreats toward his ensuite bathroom to retrieve something small, a tiny towel as he wipes up the last remnants of mess around you and his own body, but not yet reaching for you, “my legs are shaking, can you—“ You reach weakly for the towel.

But, he’s spreading out between your legs before you can protest, that smug fucking look on his face as he tosses the towel to the side and waits for you to finish.

You never do.

“Didn’t forget, did you?” Joel asks, eyebrows raised in question. “I’m takin’ my time, sweetheart.”

And the night lends all the time in the world, watching with a sated grin and tired eyes as Joel presses a kiss to your core and dives in, finding every last bit of you to taste, devour, savor in the off chance he never gets to experience this again. 

“Pussy’s fuckin’ perfect, darlin’.” He murmurs—and how he manages to make that sound so endearing despite how depraved it actually is, you’ll never know.

He also really loves when you play with his hair, the delicate traces of your fingertips as you take through his soft tufts of brown and pull when things get a little too intense.

Joel brings you to a slow, but satisfying second orgasm that has you whining at how intense it feels after the first, gasping when his tongue works you through it and nearly has you cursing his name in a plea to stop, but he pulls away at the perfect moment, careful as he cleans you up now, not a word shared until he’s settled in the bed beside you, reaching to pull at the lamp string and let the room succumb to darkness. 

Part of your brain thinks this should feel strange—screwing your neighbor after he’s been helping you out for weeks and building your furniture for free (technically), but Joel’s mind is elsewhere, rubbing softly at your side as he turns you in bed, pulling the sheets up over you both despite your obvious states of undress, clearly too tired to go searching for your clothes.

You want to make an excuse to leave. You do, but Joel quickly squashes that worry of making things weird by staying.

You can't see face but you hear him, lips brushing the top of your head as he speaks in a soft tone, “Sleep here,” He encourages you, but adding a quick, “if you want—only if you’re comfortable with it.”

“What about tomorrow?”

“Tommy’s pickin’ Sarah up for me in the morning,” He tells you, sensing your hesitation of an uncomfortable face to face the next morning, and you voice that to him softly, “don’t worry, I can sneak you out if it comes to that.”

Joel lends a soft touch to your thighs, still sore and shot from earlier as he squeezes the flesh gently.

“M’not gonna fuck you like that and let you leave,” and that shouldn’t make you feel the way it does, leaning into his touch a little further, wanting more, but it does, “somethin’ about you relaxes me, can’t put my finger on it.”

“The mind-blowing sex to start,” You joke lightly, speaking softly to him despite the empty house, “among other things.”

Joel’s laugh is the last thing you hear before you both lose the battle to exhaustion, curled around one another.

*

Tommy catches you in the kitchen nursing a cup of coffee before you even realize he’s inside, quiet as a mouse as Sarah trods up behind him and beyond, waving a quick greeting with no outward comment or acknowledgement on why you were here, at the Miller residence, somehow stuck in the middle of their morning routine as they readied for work around you.

“My brother?” He asks with a smile, polite but amused.

“Bathroom, shower.” You answer, watching him nod, digesting the context clues and laughing to himself.

You hand him a cup wordlessly, filling the coffee for him.

“Didn’t think he had it in ‘em.” Tommy comments off-handedly, blowing out a faint puff through his lips as he shakes his head, dipping his head into the fridge in search of breakfast. 

Joel saves you soon after, walking you back to your house without a word to his brother aside from a quick shared look, one that reads him getting teased to all he’ll later.

There’s a silent agreement that’s made as Joel backs you against your front door, tilting your chin up briefly to press a chaste kiss to the side of your jaw, not quite your lips, not quite your cheek, but still somehow more sensual than it should be. 

“I’ve got a lot of fixin’ to do, still,” You admit, “could really use your help—if you’re still offerin’.”

“At your service, sweetheart.”

Tommy’s waiting eagerly in the kitchen when Joel returns, digging into a blueberry muffin like an animal.

“You are so screwed, brother.”

And Joel knows it’s true.

Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! It’s makes a huge difference. ♡

[superkirbylover]

i present to all of you: the designs of the evil au the duo travel to (and... CHARACTER LORE!??!) for dimensional delivery

see under the cut for ~ the lore ~

alright chat, welcome to under the cut. here's the lore @pinkygrocket and i hashed out that i remember

evil pep still runs a restaurant, but he's not involved with it. he used to be and was the chef, but as business grew and steadily turned into a front for money laundering, he grew more and more distant from it. he's so paranoid that he literally doesn't even have friends. anybody he "trusts" he doesn't even trust fully, he always takes into account that they could betray him. basically, regular pep's negative traits but heightened: he's more selfish, paranoid, plus he's gotten a lot better at being manipulative

gustavo runs a more hidden restaurant as a peaceful temporary hole away from the chaos. brick helps him with the place. he's a very good cashier you know. gustavo really does not like the way pep turned out, but it was the breaking point when noise was murdered by pep. gustavo and brick both hold a grudge against evil pep, but gustavo moreso as he used to be best friends with him

mr stick is flat up a loan shark. he's not evil but he's not good either (unless you count loan sharks as evil which is based). he's constantly tried to work with evil pep but because of the latter's paranoia there's been no progress on that front. however stick's loan sharkery outside of pep has been successful so he has a slightly cooler fit to boot

noisette's gone into hiding. she ditched the "noisette" name and costume, just privately going by her real name (which i like to think is hazel). if she goes out in public, it's as mr. incognito. she's lost a lot of her outlook due to noise's passing so she's a lot less silly, but she still has a kind heart

pizzahead also has his own joint, but not for the Wholesome Purposes like gustavo. sure, it's often seen as a place of peace away from chaos like gustavo's, but it's still not great. he cares more about entertainment than about providing a good place so if it's funny and fun to him he doesn't care. fortunately he doesn't find death all that fun

noise was Killed by Evil Peppino ! i don't know the circumstances around it yet but let's just say evil pep definitely justifies it to himself as "oh he was annoying anyway. all he ever did was just get in my way, so i just found a permanent solution to it is all"

[spaghettioverdose]

Am I stupid or something because I agree with all of your post but I don't know what's wrong with small businesses. Am I a capitalist because I'm disabled and can only make money selling stickers or am I missing a bigger picture

Because this is tumblr and people in the notes will immediately read three lines of this and accuse me of pissing on the poor, I will begin with a disclaimer that I am neither comparing you to a Elon Musk nor calling you evil.

So, you sell stickers. I would assume that in this context you are selling your own stickers with your own designs, rather than working as a cashier selling someone else's stickers, since you're disabled and you mentioned you can't work a job. You are therefore selling a product you own (whether you produce the stickers entirely yourself or use a 3rd party company) for a profit at a (presumably) online store instead of selling your labour power for a wage. This, by definition would make you petit bourgeois.

When communists talk about class positions, it is not a question of an individual's morality, motivation or amount of income.

Being a small business owner (or petit bourgeois), means that your class interests and the class interests of the workers (the proletariat) come into conflict. As a clear example, let's say in this scenario that you are selling a sticker design on a 3rd party website that specialises in this service, and they source the actual physical stickers from factories around the world. Here, you are essentially selling your intellectual property to the company in exchange for some of the profits from its further sale. Perhaps many of those factories are in the global south, in countires with very low wages and few worker protections (due to intervention from imperial core bourgeoisie powers). One day, the political struggle for worker rights and higher wages is won in some of these countries, driving up the cost of production for the stickers. Perhaps there is also a victory for a union of delivery service workers at home in the imperial core, driving up wages and protections for them as well, further cutting into profits.

The function of the 3rd party sticker company is to strive for ever-increasing profits the capitalists who own it and its investors. The cut in profit will have to be made up elsewhere. This will be done by investing in political groups that are willing to repress worker movements within these countries, shifting production to countries that have yet to achieve these worker victories, cutting corners on their imperial core workers, increasing their price of service by taking a larger cut of your profits, or a mixture of some or all of these.

In that scenario, the proletarian class interests (higher wages, more protections and regulations) are in direct conflicts with the interests of the bourgeois 3rd party sticker company (higher profits, meaning lower wages and less protections and regulations) and by extension, yours, as your class interests also revolve around profit. When workers gain more power, it cuts into your profits. As a petit bourgeois, you are incetivised to support and pursue bourgeois and petty bourgeois politics such as IP laws.

As an individual, you can be whatever kind of person with whatever politics and views you have. As a petit bourgeois small business owner, you have a certain class position that comes with a certain set of class interests. You can always choose to forego your own class interests and instead support the class interests of the proletariat by being a communist even while continuing to be petit bourgeois or even as full on bourgeois. Very notable example being Engles who, although he was a factory owner, he was also one of the two founders of marxism, with the other one being Marx.

The point I was trying to make in the post that probably got you to send this anon, is that there isn't anything inherently communist or "leftist" about supporting small businesses. It is both an incredibly common liberal policy and talking point to support small business, and it does not serve the interests of a proletarian political movement to protect the petit bourgeoisie or ally with them, except in certain instances and involving certain sections of the petit bourgeois, rather than a blanket statement of saying that the small business owner is a nobler form of capitalist.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Hi ! So I had an idea for a Matthew Patel x reader fanfic, where the reader is playing Ramona in his Scott Pilgrim musical, and when they have to kiss for the play, in front of the whole theatre, they see sparks, but can't talk about it until the play is over. Like realizing they're in love or something, I hope I explained it well- thanks<3

"🎶 Howwww do I tell him my exes are evil?🎶"

Standing alone on the stage, you sang your heart out to the adoring audience, the spotlight shining down upon you and your dyed rainbow hair.

You weren't even nervous about performing for Scott Pilgrim's Precious Little Musical anymore. Everything seemed to come naturally the moment it came time for your soliloquy as Ramona Flowers.

Indeed, for the play you were starring as her, with your first solo number being an emotional lament on the inevitability of Scott fighting all seven of the evil exes in order to date you freely.

It seemed silly when you read the script for the first time...but now?

You were absolutely killing it, as you could hear a few cheers from the crowd.

Even Ramona herself was sitting there, looking quite entertained by your reenactment of her...whereas the real Scott Pilgrim was right next to her, appearing the exact opposite. He just seemed really confused and annoyed..

But you couldn't blame him for feeling somewhat mocked considering he was presumed dead after his fight with Matthew--only to suddenly come back without much of an explanation and realize this musical was all about him.

Speaking of whom, he probably felt more insulted by Ramona's actual first evil ex starring as him, wearing his coat and a ridiculous orange wig that hardly looked anything like his own hair.

Nevertheless, his other friends and all the Exes seemed to be genuinely enjoying the show. Some even teared up at your incredible acting skills and moving singing voice.

Among them was Matthew, who was hanging out backstage and preening himself until it was time for his cue.

You two have been friends for a long time, even before he knew the League was something that existed. Being theatre kids, you two were more than eager to get this musical to take off..and maybe get it on Broadway itself if the opening night was received well.

So far..it was being received extremely well. Every other actor knew their lines and sang flawlessly, putting their heart and soul into each performance just as you and Matthew did.

Although....there were a few minor hiccups--such as the part where him, Scott, Ramona, some of their friends, and the remaining Exes were all mysteriously warped out of the theater by a red portal. But they eventually returned and everyone figured it was part of the play, so it continued on without a hitch.

During one of the final acts, there was a "special" scene planned that you and Matthew have only 99% rehearsed...

Because the other 1% had to be done right the first time. It was the most highly-anticipated part of this musical:

The kiss.

One that proved Ramona truly loved Scott, forever securing their happily ever after.

When it came time for the scene, the stage darkened everywhere, with the light only shining down on you and "Scott". He took a deep breath as he turned to you, taking your hands into his own, wearing a gentle smile.

You both stared into each other's eyes for a long time, soft piano music playing in the background.

Your heart was thumping in your chest, as was Matthew's as you two tried to focus on your line delivery and nothing else.

"Ramona?"

"Yes, Scott?"

"...I love you."

"I love you, too. You saved me. Saved our relationship..and I could never thank you enough."

"Hah, I should be the one thanking you...because I finally stood up for myself, and for us!"

"Oh, Scott.."

At that point, some of the spectators began to chant for the kiss--with Wallace being the loudest, of course--and you could only smile bashfully, not realizing how fast this part came up until now.

Yet for some reason, Matthew appeared unusually nervous, red rising to his cheeks as he squeezed your hands rather tightly. You didn't know why he was acting this way, considering you've seen him do kiss scenes in past plays.

But you figured that since this was his first major theater performance, he was only nervous about wanting everything to be perfect. So you gave him a reassuring nod that said "it's okay, you can do this."

Fortunately, he seemed to understand, as a moment later he pulled you into a passionate kiss, lips crashing against yours.

The volume of the applause and cheering grew tenfold; some people even gave you a standing ovation even though the play was nowhere near over.

They loved it.

They absolutely loved it.

And honestly? You kinda liked kissing Matthew in front of everybody, partially wishing this wasn't just for the play..

But while the special effects team went to work recreating the "spark phenomenon" with glitter, confetti, and more....there was something going on between you and him that nobody else could see:

The real sparks that manifested after you both parted.

Your heart jumped into your throat as you watched them fade away, before looking at him.

Judging from his face, you knew that he most definitely saw them, too.

You've been skeptical of the sparks in the past, as you've dated several people yet never saw them at all.

So...why were you only seeing them now? And why with Matthew, of all people?

Did it have something to do with you dressing up like his ex-girlfriend?

Or was he finally looking beyond that curtain and discovering that he actually loved you?

Regardless, now wasn't the time to be thinking about any of that stuff, as you noticed he was slowly going off-script...something that you've never seen happen before. His hands shook and he seemed to forget his mic was still on.

"S-Sparks.." He stammered out, still giving you a wide-eyed stare.

"I...guess there were sparks, after all." You hastily salvaged the situation with a small laugh, putting your improv skills to work. "I never believed in such things until I met you, Scott Pilgrim."

After the lights dimmed, the cheering persisted as you grabbed his hand and half-dragged him backstage. By that point he seemed to have snapped out of his trance, deciding to scramble to prepare for the final musical number with everyone in the cast coming out.

But despite him returning to his snippy attitude with the makeup artists, he could barely look your way without blushing immensely...and quite frankly, you couldn't get rid of your smile.

'Shit..he's in love with me, I just know it..' You sighed as you sat comfortably in the chair, letting the wardrobe crew swap your dyed wig with a different colored one.

As badly as you both wanted to talk about what just happened...you knew it had to wait.

For the show must go on.

........

After the musical was finished, you changed your outfit and searched around backstage for Matthew, hoping you could finally discuss the sparks you both saw.

Soon you stumbled upon him, Gideon, and Julie...and for a moment, you were nervous.

Considering what happened between the two guys, you figured all hell was about to break loose--and apparently it almost did during the play since Gideon rigged the overhead area with dynamite. It was out of pure revenge for all of his assets being taken.

Yet it seems all was forgiven as they hugged it out, laughing with tears in their eyes, before Gideon and Julie walked away hand-in-hand.

Now that Matthew was finally alone, you had your chance.

"Since when did you two become besties?"

With a small yelp, he spun around quickly, relaxing as he realized it was only you. "Oh! Uh..no. I just...decided to give him back the company, and he let me keep the musical." He grinned, although it appeared rather forced. "That's all."

"I see.." You sighed, stepping closer to him. "Listen, we need to talk about-"

"I know." He answered bluntly. "I....saw them, too. And those weren't any special effects. They were legit."

"...are you sure about that?"

Matthew looked taken aback, as he just gawked at your question.

"Let me rephrase that," you cleared your throat. "I confess that I saw them because of you. The real you. But..I don't know if you saw them because of the real me."

"...I'm not following."

"Did you only see them because I looked like you ex-girlfriend?"

"N-No!" He nearly shouted, his cheeks flaring red as his stare remained intense. "I've moved on from her, I swear!"

Part of you remained skeptical yet. "I may need some convincing."

Before he could ask you why, you interrupted him by bringing him into a kiss this time. It initially shocked him, but he quickly melted into it, cupping your face in both of his hands.

Just like before, the sparks were there. Not as brilliant or explosive as the first time...yet they were all the proof you two needed.

Now you knew for sure that your love was real and true.

Matthew was quick to pull you back in for one more kiss after seeing them, desperate and wanting you as close as physically possible.

It probably would have escalated into a full-blown makeout session had you not heard the voices of the other Exes drawing nearer.

You immediately parted and saw them all standing there, looking utterly shocked at what they were witnessing. But you had no shame, instead smiling and waving to them as you held his hand.

"Great news, guys...G-Man's not the only one with a hot date anymore." You winked to your new boyfriend, whose ears turned red with embarrassment.

The group then smiled back, happy for your new relationship and trusting that you'll treat him with all the love and respect he deserved.

Before either of you knew it, you were being carried out of the theatre on the shoulders of Todd and Lucas, while the rest of the gang--along with Scott and Ramona--followed suit, eager to celebrate the play's success.

But tonight wasn't just about that.

It was also about what the future held in store for you and Matthew.

[archangeldyke-all]

ran + sev walking in on reader masturbating

ORRR

reader masturbating in plug sevs car while in heavy traffic (sev ofc can’t take her eyes off 🤭)

i love BOTH these, but since i just did a ranvika ask, i'll do the plug sev one!!

men and minors dni

traffic isn't so bad when you're a plug's passenger princess.

it's rush hour, and you told sevika not to get on the interstate-- that it would be packed-- but she refused to listen.

so now, you're at a stand still, bumper to bumper. sevika put the car in park five minutes ago, and you haven't moved since.

but, really, you're not bothered. sevika keeps your glove compartment stocked with snacks, you've got your favorite beverage in the cupholder beside you, and you've got an endless supply of weed.

sevika's not even in a bad mood-- which is rare for her when it comes to traffic. but, you've got nowhere to be-- headed home after a few home-deliveries-- and you're sitting beside her, so... she's got nothing to complain about.

sevika giggles as she watches you cough out a lungful of smoke, and you flip her off as you catch your breath.

"you okay?" she asks.

you sigh, leaning back in your reclined seat. "mmm. yeah." you giggle.

sevika snorts. "you're so cute." she chuckles.

you smile. sevika's eyes study your face for a second, sweet and loving, and then they dart down for just a moment to check out your tits, something a little darker flashing behind them.

an evil plan starts to form in your head, and you giggle mischeviously. sevika quirks an eyebrow at you.

"what?" she asks.

you shake your head. "nothing." you say.

she eyes you for a minute, then drops it. "whaddya want for dinner tonight?" she asks.

you hum, pretending to turn in your chair toward her, but really just using it as an excuse to widen your legs a bit. your miniskirt pulls up your thighs. sevika's eyes drop down to the movement immediately.

you grin. "what strain is this?" you ask, gesturing to the little pipe you've been smoking out of. sevika shrugs.

"not sure, why?"

"mmm..." you hum, pushing your tits out just a bit. "jus' wondering. 's makin' me horny." you sigh. sevika's eyes go dark in a split second, and you have to bite your cheek to keep from smiling. "your windows are completely blacked out, right?" you ask.

sevika gulps. "y-yeah why?" she asks.

you hum and trail your hands up your legs, hooking your thumbs under the waistband of your underwear and quickly pulling it down your legs.

you toss your panties at sevika's shocked face, then pull your skirt all the way up your hips so she can watch you start to rub your cunt.

"baby." sevika gasps.

you giggle, rubbing your clit and sighing as you lean back in the chair. "fuck." you sigh. "mmm. i'm wet." you can hear sevika gulp beside you. "wanna taste?"

"yes." sevika whines. you smile and reach out, letting sevika suck your fingers into her mouth. she moans at the taste of you, her tongue swiping between your fingers, trying to lick every drop of you up.

your clit pulses, and you pull your fingers out of her mouth, bringing them back down onto your cunt. "shit, sevika." you whine.

"baby, fuck, you're so fuckin' hot." she groans.

you pull your top up so she can ogle your tits. sevika whines, unbuckles her seatbelt, and shoots across the center console, sucking one of your breasts into her mouth.

"sev!" you giggle. she hums against your tits, and you pull her away from your chest by her ponytail. "baby, you gotta watch the road for me." you moan.

sevika looks seriously conflicted. her eyes keep flickering between the still cars surrounding you and your fingers circling your clit. "you're trying to kill me." she decides aloud. you burst into giggles, and sevika groans, leaning forward and bashing her head against the steering wheel. you snort while you watch your girlfriend lament her situation, and she glares at you. "you're gonna fuckin' regret this when we get home."

you grin. "oh, i'm so scared." you giggle. sevika reaches out and pinches your nipple, and you squeak, smacking her wrist. "sev!"

"fuck, if you're gonna tease me at least be good and get that pussy ready for me." she growls, not letting go of her grip on your tit.

the sudden dominance in her voice makes you shiver, and you nod rapidly, rubbing your cunt faster. "shit--" you gasp.

"shit, i can smell you, baby." sevika groans. "fuck-- you poor thing. can't fuck yourself properly with those nails. betcha wish i was inside you, don't you?"

fuck her for turning the tables on you and making you flustered.

still, you can't deny her words. you feel empty and needy, and the thought of waiting until you get home for sevika to fill you up makes you whimper.

"shit, baby, look at your pretty cunt." sevika whines, her grip on the steering wheel white-knuckled.

"sev, i'm--"

"gonna cum already?" she asks. "you're so easy babe. so fuckin' needy, touchin' yourself in the middle of traffic, and all it takes to get you to cum is some dirty talk." you whine, reaching out to smack her shoulder at her teases. sevika chuckles and takes mercy on you, grabbing the hand you swatted her with and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "cum for me baby." sevika whispers.

you cum with a gasp, shaking in the passenger's seat. sevika peppers your knuckles with kisses as you fall apart beside her.

you vaguely register the sound of sevika shifting the gear back into drive and the car inching forward. when you finally blink your eyes open, you realize that the traffic's starting to lighten up.

you're still twenty minutes from home, and the thought of having to wait until you get home to have your girlfriend is already making you antsy.

but then, sevika flicks her blinker on, and slowly navigates the car toward the nearest exit.

"where're we goin?" you ask.

"fuck if i know. the nearest empty parking lot." sevika laughs.

you grin, and then lean across the center console to kiss her cheek.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @vikasub @glass-apothecary @m0numents @macaroni676 @vixel352 @artinvain

[wheels-of-despair]

Did I Forget to Mention That? Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Eddie overhears a phone call between Evil Woman and the father she hates, which leads to a discussion they probably should've had ages ago. Contains: Switching POVs, eavesdropping, excessive sarcasm, suggestive interlude, cuddles, rambling, declarations. Words: 1.4k

Eddie knocks at the kitchen door. He can see Gareth leaning against the wall with the phone to his ear and a look of amusement on his face. The blonde waves him inside and places a finger to his lips.

Eddie slips inside and closes the door quietly. Gareth beckons him closer and holds out the phone so they can both listen. Curious, Eddie slowly leans in until he hears a man's voice.

"What kind of life do you think a boy like that can provide for you?"

"A happy one," his girl says from another phone, her voice lifeless and bored, like they've been at this for a while.

"He'll amount to nothing, and so will you." Stern. Condescending. This must be the father she avoids like the plague.

"We're both very competitive." There she is, with that impressive deadpan delivery again.

"And think of your children!"

"I'm not due for several months."

Eddie's heart skips a beat, and he looks at Gareth in terror. The drummer ducks his head and shakes with silent giggles.

"I hope you're joking," the man seethes.

"Them free clinic docs don't tell no jokes." Her response is delivered in a heavy accent that sounds a little bit like Wayne's. If Eddie wasn't so confused and terrified by this conversation, he might laugh.

"What's it going to take to make you take this seriously?!"

"A Ferrari oughta do it."

"I should have waited until your mother was home and talked to her instead."

"She prefers Mustangs."

"You are impossible!"

"That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me." Eddie can't help but to be impressed by how calm she is. All this relentless badgering, and she just sounds bored. She's probably doodling or flipping through a magazine while she effortlessly irritates her old man.

"No daughter of mine is going to marry a filthy, inbred piece of trailer park trash!"

A silence falls over the whole house. Eddie's not even sure where she is, but he can sense the change in her mood from the kitchen. He and Gareth both hold their breath while they wait for a response.

"Fuckin' watch me," she spits, her voice so full of venom it makes Eddie's hair stand on end. And then she hangs up. The old man yells all the way back to the base, where Gareth hangs the kitchen phone back on the wall.

"Gareth, did you hear this fucking assho…" she trails off as she rounds the corner, stopping when she sees Eddie. It's like storm clouds parting to let the sun shine through when she smiles at him. "Hi."

Eddie is too stunned to say a word. He stands frozen to the spot, no idea how he's supposed to react to this.

"How much of that did you hear?" she asks.

"He came in right before the pregnancy joke," Gareth says proudly, pulling a bag of chips down from the cabinet.

"Awww," she coos, laughter in her voice and a smile on her face; a completely different person than the one he just heard on the phone. "You know that was a joke, right?"

Eddie nods.

"That old man's a joke, too. Fuck him."

Eddie's eyes fall to the kitchen floor, but before he can let his brain replay everything he's just heard, a sharp "hey" makes him jerk his head back up.

"Don't even think about letting your brain run wild with his bullshit," she warns from the doorway. "He doesn't matter. Not even a little bit."

"Tell him why you got The Call," Gareth mumbles through a mouthful of chips, leaning back in his chair at the table. He holds the bag out and offers them to Eddie, who declines with a shake of his head.

She rolls her eyes. "Mom sent my grandma a picture of us at Christmas, and he saw it. He thought my mood ring was an engagement ring."

"And did you correct him?" Gareth grins.

"Oh no," she covers her mouth in mock shock. "Did I forget to mention that?" She drops her hand and laughs.

Eddie stands quietly, not sure he's seeing the humor in this. Her dad already hates him. Knows he's not good enough. How long will it be before the rest of them see it too?

"Hey," she says, softer this time. She crosses the room and stands in front of him. Two of her fingers lift his chin so he has to look at her eyes and not her socks. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

She bops his nose with her finger and gives him that smile she saves just for him. She reaches for his hand, and Eddie feels himself relax; how is it that one touch from the right person can make everything seem like it's going to be okay?

"Come with me," she says quietly, leading him away. He follows, but they both come to a halt when they reach the hallway. She calls back to the kitchen.

"Hey, baby bro?"

"Whaaat?" Gareth whines.

"You should probably put some headphones on for the next half-hour or so." She winks at Eddie and pulls him down the hallway.

They hear an anguished groan and an "I'm fucking moving!" from the kitchen as they enter her bedroom with matching grins.

Twenty-seven minutes later, you and Eddie are pulling enough clothes back on so it won't seem suspicious when your mother comes home. You collapse onto your bed together in t-shirts and unbuttoned jeans, side by side, staring up at the ceiling.

"I love you," you say fondly as you turn your head to admire the beautiful boy beside you. You don't give a damn what anyone says; Eddie Munson is absolutely perfect.

"Yeah?" he asks, looking at you with a dazed smile.

"Yeah," you confirm, happy and sleepy and wishing you had the energy to roll over and smother him with the affection he deserves.

"Love you too," he mumbles, eyelids beginning to droop. He lets out a sigh and then flips himself over so that he's half on top of you. His head rests in the crook of your neck, his leg settles between yours.

"Up," you order, and he lifts his head so you can get your arm around him and hold him closer. He nuzzles into your breast - his favorite pillow - and sighs happily. You wish you could stay like this forever.

You close your eyes and play with his hair, and just as you're about to drift off, Eddie starts rambling.

"I know we haven't really talked about this before, but… uh…" Eddie takes a deep breath and blows out the air slowly. "Is that really something you'd want? To marry me one day?"

Before you can respond, he continues: "Because I know being a Munson of Hawkins isn't anyone's dream. You wouldn't have to take my last name if you didn't want to. I just… I dunno. I love you, and I'm gonna love you forever. If you want to make it official… I mean, we don't have to. But, uh... I'm in if you are."

You wait for a moment, then ask: "You done?"

"Yeah," he sighs. You can feel his face burning through your shirt.

"I thought we weren't really talking about it because it was a given."

"What?" he asks, raising his head to look at you.

"Of course I wanna marry you, dingbat." A nervous smile appears on his face. "And some of the best people I've ever met are Munsons of Hawkins. I'd be honored to become one of them."

"Yeah?" he asks, smile widening and eyes glistening.

"Yeah," you laugh. In what world would you not want to be his forever? You lean forward to kiss the tip of his nose. You stare at each other for a moment, and then your lips meet in a tender kiss. When you part, nothing more needs to be said.

Eddie rests his head on your chest again, and you resume playing with his hair. You drift off to thoughts of falling asleep with him, just like this, for the rest of your lives.

Yeah. That's really something you'd want.

[bueckerrss]

softcore

pairing: Chris sturniolo x fem! reader

warnings: mentions of drugs, wounds, drowning, cursing, and more.

word count:1146

recommended songs: bittersweet tragedy by Melanie Martinez, softcore by the neighbourhood, and reflections by the neighbourhood.

theyre 18/19 in this story.

✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩

“My muse” that is what he called her and she loved it, she would get him through his darkest times. Their relationship was the most beautiful thing in the world, if people saw them walking down the street they knew that they were deeply in love just by how they looked at each other. but what people didn’t know is how their relationship was behind closed doors, not everything was sunshine and rainbows.

Two months and three days. That's the amount of time he had been distant. And it was driving her crazy, she wanted her boyfriend back. She felt the relationship slipping away but she was determined to make it survive. Even if it's the last thing she does. She didn’t know the reason as to why he was being so distant. The things he had gotten himself into that she wasn’t capable of knowing about.

“What do you mean you can't make it tonight? Chris, we’ve had this planned for weeks now. Could you possibly cancel on them?” she asked, “baby, as much as I want to you know I can’t.” he replied with a frustrated sigh “yea, whatever, it doesn’t matter do whatever you want.” she said “babe, don’t-” he was cut off by the sound of the call hanging up.

He sighed at the memory, it had been a week since that argument. He knew he had to go talk to her about the way he was acting but he didn't have time to do so, he had to be on that boat in less than twenty minutes. He decided to just say fuck it and head to the yacht, he could make it up to her later.

What he didn’t know is that y/n was right behind him following his every step. as he stepped on the dock getting into the yacht y/n several steps behind him. once she got on she hid behind a pair of stacked boxes.

“I’m done doing these deliveries for you ash, it’s becoming too much for me” he told the older man as he shifted uncomfortably “now, why would you decide to come to this trip if you were just going to quit?” the man spoke, rubbing his face in frustration “i have personal matters to take care of and this job is pulling me away from” he stopped when his eyes met hers.

-

her eyes widened as she realized that he saw her, she quickly ducked behind the boxes trying not to make too much noise. “who is this guy” “what does chris have to do with him?” she thought trying to stay as quiet as possible. as she slowly backed away she accidentally ran into a box knocking it over making it fall with a huge bang.

The sound of the box falling made the two talking guys look the way the sound came from. Shifting uncomfortably at the two pairs of eyes that were on her “this isn’t the bathroom..” she awkwardly giggled before trying to run away.

Before y/n could get far enough a big hand grab her hair and pull her back to be face to face with him, “do you know who she is?” asked ash as he pointed his gun to y/ns head. Chris hesitated as he bit the inside of his cheek in nervousness, fear crosses his eyes before replying: “no.” but ash knew chris like the back of his hand, he knew chris was lying “well then since you don’t know who she is and she was clearly spying on us, you know what I have to do right?” asked ash making eye contact with chris an evil glint in his eyes.

Chris slowly nodded his head, biting his cheek again before chris could utter another word ash pointed his gun at y/n and shot her. The power from the gunshot pushed her back causing her to stubble into the water. “Y/N!” screamed chris as he launched forward trying to stop her, but before he could reach her ash got in the way.

“I thought you didn’t know her, lying is bad christopher, and you know what i do to liars” spoke ash as he got closer to chris. chris quickly pushed through him diving into the water for his lover.

the deeper he dived the deeper he felt he was going to lose her, he should’ve known since the beginning that this would happen. but he wasn’t thinking straight, he got consumed by the thrill of the drug dealer world and how nothing could ever happen to him again.

he finally reached her arm pulling her up with him, once they reached the surface swimming to the dock. chris started coughing from all the water that he had accidentally swallowed as he reached upwards to get to the surface “please don’t be dead” “please don’t be dead” chris kept repeating as he laid y/n down on the wooden deck.

tears streaming down his face as he did cpr on her, he looked around for at least a person to help him. he didn't know what to do but he did know one thing; he couldn’t lose her. not today, not tomorrow, never.

-

that night he stayed up thinking, he knew it was a dangerous thing what he did and he knew he couldn’t keep her around anymore. he loved her way too much to see her get hurt or worse killed.

he knew he had to do the right thing, that being he had to break up with her, even if it hurt him. he couldn’t see her suffering from his mistakes.

the next day he went to visit her in the hospital, flowers in his hands eyes bloodshot red from crying all night long. but when he saw her, it took everything in him to not break down in front of her.

“babe, hi i wasn’t expecting to see you so early” said y/n a smile on her face as her eyes met her boyfriends, “baby? are you alright?” she said softly the smile slowly fading away.

he just shook his head “i’m sorry” he said his voice breaking he looked up to keep the tears from falling “but you know I can't involve you in this and the fact I obviously can't protect you the way I want to. this isn't safe, y/n.” he said looking at her tears streaming down his face “c-chris what are you talking about?” she said worried.

“i’m just saying i can’t do this anymore y/n it’s not good for us. what i do is clearly dangerous and i don’t want you near any of it. so to keep you safe, im ending it here” he said biting the inside of his cheek before leaving the room. “i love you.” he whispered once the door closed behind him.

————————————————————————

this was written when i was running on a few hours of sleep, then no sleep and then when i was tired so sorry if its bad ☹️ when i have the time and motivation i promise to make this better 😭.

tags: @bernardsbendystraws @patscorner @lexisecretaccx @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloblogs @sturniol0s @raysmayhem-72 @endereies @breeloveschris

[caramel-maveeato]

ᴅᴀʏ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ♡˚₊。。。

❧❤ SYNOPSIS: baby fever is in the air… ♡ Pairings/Love interest: So Mun x GN!reader ♡ Genre: fluff ♡ TW: So Mun being a husband material ♡ word count: 2k

Note: All characters originated from “The Uncanny Counter/Amazing Rumor” except for Y/n.

English is not my first language!!! Sorry in advance if I make any grammar and vocabulary mistakes.

“Just one day! One day and I’ll go pick her up as soon as possible!”

“…Fine. You better not leave her to me overnight again.”

A weary sigh slid out of you as your friend hung up. You were now completely left isolated in your living room with her four-month-old, round eyes gluing on you with wonder. 

It wasn’t like you disliked kids, you were just unsuited to keep one around when the responsibility and unexpectancy of being a counter were holding a knife to your throat. For example, what if you had to leave her alone for missions when some evil spirits popped up? Maybe you were just letting loose your overthinking habit, but this certain “job” was always full of unforeseen occasions. 

However, all uncertainty vanished as there was a pull on the hem of your shirt by small, chubby fingers. You felt your composure peace out at that sunshiny smile and it took you less than one second to haul the infant into your lap, internally collapsing in cuteness overload while texting Hana that you needed to take a day off due to “unpredicted inconvenience.”

You were prepared to spend your peaceful rest day until the sound of your doorbell abruptly chimed in just thirty minutes after you informed your teammate. You picked the sweetheart up and approached the front door, wondering who would possibly be standing in front of your house at 10 a.m. if it wasn’t the delivery man. 

Turning the brass doorknob with anticipation, you watched as the door revealed your boyfriend, who was standing under the warm glow of the mid-morning sun. A faint, knowing smile played on his lips, mirroring your own sense of elation at his arrival. 

“Hi…” So Mun trailed off upon seeing the bundle of happiness in your arms, paving the way for a vague gasp and a look of pure exhilaration to emerge: “Whose baby is this?!” 

“Mine, obviously.” He playfully pulled a face at your words, completely unamused by the apparent lie. You chuckled, explaining: “I ‘stole’ her from a friend. Some urgent family things came up so I’ll be in charge of this cutie until she comes back later. Why are you here, by the way?”

He gave the little girl a tiny wave before turning to you: “Just wanted to check whether or not something happened. Also Ms. Chu said if no evil spirits show up today, I can leave for the rest of the day too.”

As much as you refrained from displaying too-obvious excitement by your boyfriend’s presence, it already appeared crystal clear just how notably happy you‘ve turned: “Let’s hope no third wheeler would interrupt us.” 

When a baby was in sight, most people tended to head for the little chubby face before anything else. So Mun was not the exception. He stared at the girl—who was also staring at him without blinking—and carefully extended his index finger: “Can I?”

“Of course!” That was all it took for him to nudge his finger on one of her plump cheeks, smiling widely when the squishiness melted on the tip of his digit like a marshmallow.

“Oh my god!! Look at how soft she is!”

You laughed, enjoying how he went smitten over an infant before taking his hand: “Let’s go, you’re not going to stay outside all day just poking her face, right?” 

He followed your footsteps through the living room: “I can if you insist.”

“Luckily I won’t.”

All three of you settled down on the couch. The sweetheart chewed on her tiny thumb while she comfortably nestled on your lap, eyes glistening like two gemstones of fascination in return for the bright smile So Mun gave her. He leaned down to poke her cheek again: 

“What’s her name?”

“Bora.” You answered, chuckling at how joyfully he beamed just from Bora reaching out to grab his finger, cooing the softest of whispers in her own language on behalf of you calling her name. 

“Aww. Hi Bora! I’m So Mun-oppa, nice to meet you.” His voice unconsciously eased into a more childish, playful tone. Bora’s chubby hand grasped around his finger to explore the unique touch coming from someone she hadn’t seen before. The difference in size was laughable, yet exceptionally cute. 

The air was perfumed with melodic gurgles and murmurs, easily dissolving anyone’s heart into slush. You dipped your head to make eye contact with So Mun, directly bringing up the suggestion: “Do you want to try holding her? Like, holding holding.”

He pointed to himself, eyes slightly widened as if not expecting you to ask this: “You sure? I’ve never held a baby before…”

“Don’t worry, I'll make sure you won't drop her.” The answer slipped out as naturally and confidently as if you were speaking a matter of fact. You lifted Bora off your lap, moving over to him with unfaltering trust. 

Holding a baby was not only an act of affection but, furthermore, a timeless configuration of art. You started off by showing him how to support Bora’s fragile head and neck. Her little skull was cradled in the palm of his hand by his trembling fingers, which were loaded with the pressure of responsibility. 

You guided her body to rest against his chest with the utmost attention. The delicate yet soul-stirring feeling of carrying such a beautiful miracle built his heartbeat in synchrony with your own, each breath conveyed nervous euphoria. His other arm carefully curled to surround her lower body in a loving cocoon, embosoming the bundle of innocence with his warmth. 

With reverence, he let out a contented sigh while admiring how perfectly the girl fit in his embrace. His whispering voice became hushed and almost inaudible as if he were afraid that even a single noise could startle her: “She’s so adorable, what should I do now?” 

“I don’t know, keep holding her?” You had to fight for your life inwardly to not snatch some photos from such a heartwarming view, not knowing if you should focus on him or on Bora. 

“I am planning to do that.” He started swaying her with a slow, steady pace, a bit clumsily but wholesome nonetheless. 

You quickly grabbed some of Bora’s favorite colorful toys, wiggling them in front of her while you and him attempted to make silly faces. Her soft giggle sparked like a star during the night, quickly expanded into a whole sky of glitter. 

“Oh my god, we’re making her laugh!” Seeing the effect they had on Bora, he seemed to get even more excited than her. The laughter spread as vigorously as a wildfire that infected you with merriment, both at how precious the little cutie was and how hilariously you two were acting. 

Bora looked up at So Mun with her eyes like twin constellations of delight, following each of his movements with tireless attention. Her faint breaths against his skin as she bloomed a toothless smile, unbridled chuckles singing like a symphony that both of you couldn’t help but melt: “She seems to really like you. So this is the ultimate power of being handsome, I can tell.” 

He squinted with a smile, bashfully nudging your side as he caught you throwing a cheeky wink: “You’re embarrassing me…” 

“Just admit you like it, babe.”

The three of you spent the whole day eating and engaging in playful activities together (with you and So Mun occasionally getting into plushies-fighting battles, no plushies were harmed during the process) until your friend came back from her trip later that evening. 

You shared your introductions and goodbyes, ignoring an itty-bitty tug in your chest when you now ought to hand the sweetie back to her mother. It was hysterical how you unreasonably felt like a parent escorting their kid to kindergarten for the first time when this wasn’t even your kid. It was only because the day that had passed felt like such a magical adventure, and you admitted that never in your life was babysitting this memorable. 

How wonderful would it be for the moment to last a bit longer…

At least this statement earned an approving thumbs up from, believe it or not, Bora. 

Your friend cupped the little girl’s tiny torso, deliberately removing her from So Mun’s hug, her voice soothing and tender in hankering to reunite with her daughter after an exhausting day: “Let’s go home, dear. Mommy is so sorry for making you wait this long.”

Though, nothing seemed to successfully detach the baby from him, the pulls on her body converted into pulls on his sweater, which her hand was clutching onto with an impressively tight grasp. The more they tried to tug her away from So Mun, the more her cherubic face contorted unpleasantly as a warning before a tentative whimper was molded, and finally, a swelling cry.

‘Awkward’ was a minimization to describe the atmosphere, all three of the elders exchanged looks in puzzlement. 

Each whine intensified after each second, every sound was a sincere plea that tugged at the heartstrings. Your friend bit her lip, along with you not knowing if she should crack up or freak out at her daughter’s sudden change of heart: “Bora-ah, w–what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

You noticed So Mun shooting you a panicked look before turning back to the little one, trying to mitigate her harrowing cry with the gentlest jiggles and back strokes: “Don’t cry… You’re a good girl, right? So don’t cry.” 

Bora clung onto him with an iron grip as she mewled, curling into a tiny ball and tucking herself against his chest. It was both sweet and surprising how fast she became attached to him, but it also didn't seem like the right time to laugh so you only let out a quiet titter, moving your attention back to her tubby fingers and trying to unhitch them from his clothes. 

“Bora-ah, look at me.” He tilted his head to reach eye level with the girl, his voice consoling like a mellifluous lullaby and a murmur of the wind; you were unaware that, simply by watching, you were also struck with profound adoration: “Oppa promises we’ll see each other again, okay?”

It took them about 10 minutes to separate her from So Mun. And this was obtained as solid proof that your boyfriend wasn’t just good with kids, he could even mesmerize them without acknowledging it. 

During that teary-eyed leave-taking, you spotted your friend gesturing something with her mouth to forward a nonverbal message to you, which you recognized as:

“He’s a keeper.”

Heat blazed on your cheeks, but that didn’t stop you from pridefully accepting the comment: “He sure is.”

Bonus:

It was undeniable that Bora has grown to be significantly bonded with So Mun since the time they first saw each other. But as her uncertified “daycare provider,” you were still proudly her favorite person in the house every time she came over. 

Your gut clenched as you contained your laughter, pretending not to notice your boyfriend’s adorably sulky face and instead pouring all your affection onto the cutie, kisses freely landing on her forehead.

From his direction, a heavy exhale filled in your ear yet you were too invested in the act to drop it. You soon heard some faint sounds of motion before a weight pressed down on the side of your shoulder, lovable curly hair chaotically snuggling on your shirt:

“Love me, too.”

“C’mon, it’s just Bora.” You burst out giggling and held the little girl closer in your arms just to tease him. 

“But you’ve been ignoring me, you know. Can you at least make it equal for both of us? I mean, she’s very cute but…” He pouted, intentionally or not flashing his puppy eyes at you as he mumbled: “Give me attention, too.”

Your speech was replaced with a pause. At this time, you had stopped questioning why merely a small moue could cause such an enormous impact on you that it was no longer practical to keep up with your game. You wasted no time wrapping your free arm around So Mun, drawing him into a side hug where all three of you now huddled into an enclosed position, sharing the same connection and same sentiment: “Damn… Now you’re the one being too cute.” 

“Am I?” So Mun grinned, gleefully reciprocating the hug before adding: “By the way, don’t “damn” in front of Bora.”

“She’s not gonna understand.”