THE RESULT FROM THE VOTES

i almost lost this GEM, I wanna just have it on my blog to read at random <3

Cherry Flavored (smut) ❤️‍🔥

The room was dim, lit only by the soft blue glow of the TV, some half-watched movie flickering across the screen. You were curled up beside Alex on his couch, legs tucked under you, a popsicle in one hand, dressed like it was your apartment: tiny black shorts and a pale pink tank top that clung to your chest like a second skin.

He hadn’t noticed at first.

You were just his best friend.

The movie was decent. He liked having you close. Nothing new.

But then your leg brushed his. Bare thigh against sweats.

Then you shifted—just enough for your tank top to tug lower—and suddenly he could see the slope of your chest, the soft press of your tits practically spilling from the neckline.

That was when things started to fall apart.

You took a long, slow lick of your popsicle and sighed like you were blessed.

“This was such a good idea,” you mumbled, swinging your foot lazily while the red syrup dripped down your fingers.

Alex swallowed hard.

His eyes dropped.

Big mistake.

The popsicle. Your mouth. The stretch of your throat as you licked a stripe from base to tip like you were trying to get every drop.

He shifted his leg and tried to think of literally anything else.

Taxes. Fire ants. Cement.

Nothing worked.

You leaned into him without even looking, laughing softly at something on the screen.

Your thigh pressed against his.

Your arm brushed his hoodie.

Your hair tickled his neck.

And he was so hard he thought he might pass out.

He couldn’t stop staring. Couldn’t stop thinking.

It had been years since he’d had sex. Since he’d seen someone naked. Since anyone had even looked at him the way he wanted you to—warm and needy and wrecked.

And now you were here. Inches away.

Looking like sin in a tank top that kept slipping lower, giggling at stupid movie dialogue, popsicle gloss on your mouth like you were made to ruin him.

You licked a melting drop from your finger and moaned lightly under your breath.

Alex squeezed his eyes shut.

Fuck.

He could feel the tension pulsing in his thighs, the way his cock was pressing against the inside of his sweats. It was unbearable. And you—so clueless—just kept being worse.

“Ugh,” you groaned suddenly, sitting up. “I need a napkin, this thing’s dripping all over me.”

You leaned forward over your lap, reaching for the coffee table—

And he saw everything.

Your tank top gaped forward. The full view of your tits swaying softly in your bra, the shadow of lace, the curve of warm skin lit perfectly by the screen.

His mouth went dry.

He looked away fast, heart pounding.

Do not get caught. Do not get caught.

You sat back up with the napkin, oblivious. You licked your fingers one more time and glanced at him.

“You’re super quiet,” you said. “You okay?”

He didn’t answer right away.

His leg bounced. His jaw flexed. He tugged at his hoodie like it might hide the obvious strain in his pants.

“Yeah,” he said finally, voice hoarse. “Just tired.”

You gave him a look. “You’re acting weird.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. You look like someone just drop-kicked your brain.”

He forced a laugh.

You turned back to the screen, still nestled close, and took another slow drag of the popsicle—tongue sliding down it in a way that made his entire body tense.

He tried to focus on the movie.

He failed.

All he could think about was that popsicle. Your mouth. Your tits bouncing when you laughed. The soft sighs you made when something funny happened. The fact that you didn’t even realize you were teasing him.

Or maybe you did.

And he was fucked either way.

———————-

Alex spent five full minutes in the bathroom just breathing.

He didn’t jerk off. He thought about it. God, he thought about it. But something about the tension—about the forbidden slow build of it—made it worse. Made it better.

Made it deliriously painful.

He splashed cold water on his face. Pressed his palms to the counter. Avoided looking at his own eyes in the mirror.

Get it together. She’s your best friend. She’s not doing it on purpose. Chill the fuck out.

He adjusted himself—awkward, half-hard and half-mad about it—and headed back into the living room with every intention of pretending nothing had happened.

And then he saw you.

You were lying on your stomach now.

On his couch.

Ass in the air. Legs bent at the knees. Bare feet kicking lazily.

Tank top even lower than before, breasts pressed together by the way you were propped up on your elbows, soft curves practically spilling out as you stared at the screen.

And between your lips?

Another fucking popsicle.

Cherry. Again.

Your mouth closed around it, cheeks hollowing slightly, and he swore his soul left his body.

You looked up when you heard him.

“Oh hey,” you said, casual as ever. “I was gonna wait, but these melt fast.”

He blinked. “You—you got another one?”

“Yeah. You want one?”

He didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

Your tits jiggled slightly as you shifted to make room for him, the way your arms were pressed under them practically framing the soft swell of your cleavage like a fucking offering.

You looked up at him again, popsicle still between your lips.

“You good?”

Alex stood there frozen. Sweats hanging low on his hips. Hoodie sleeves shoved up. Hair sticking to his forehead from sheer stress.

You blinked, lips pink and glossy from the popsicle, voice light and sweet as you asked:

“…What?”

And that’s when he realized—

You had no idea.

You had no idea you were driving him crazy. No clue how close he was to grabbing your hips and dragging you back onto his lap. No idea how long it had been since he’d been touched, since someone had looked at him, and now here you were—

Best friend. Popsicle. Tank top. Everything.

And Alex was losing his goddamn mind.

—————-

Alex sat back down slowly.

Carefully.

Like a man approaching a wild animal—except you were the one all soft and sweet and dangerous, legs kicked up, tank top clinging to your chest, popsicle dripping down your fingers like you were made to test him.

He adjusted his hoodie in his lap. Cleared his throat.

You didn’t even glance over. You were too busy eyeing the popsicle.

“This one’s messier,” you said casually, lifting it to examine the sticky trail melting down the side.

Alex couldn’t look away.

“I wonder…” you started, voice light, like a daydream. “You think anyone’s ever, like… fucked one of these?”

His entire brain short-circuited.

“What?”

You giggled. “A popsicle. It’s just kinda… shaped for it, y’know?” You held it up, rotating it in the light. “Like it’s got the dimensions. Give it a lil warm-up, it’s practically a toy.”

Alex blinked at you like you’d summoned a demon in front of him.

You gasped suddenly as a drip ran down your knuckle. “Ugh, messy—”

Then dragged your tongue up the side, slow and long, lips puckering at the top as you sucked it clean with a quiet, satisfied hum.

Alex didn’t breathe.

Didn’t blink.

You looked over at him with innocent wide eyes. “What?”

He swallowed hard.

You tilted your head, smirk tugging at your lips. “You’re staring.”

He tore his eyes away, blinking fast. “You’re—you’re talking about fucking popsicles, what am I supposed to do?”

“I’m just saying,” you teased, twirling the stick between your fingers, “someone, somewhere, definitely shoved one up their pussy at some point.”

Alex groaned. “Can you not say that word right now?”

“Which one?”

He glared.

You smiled, slow and smug, then licked the tip of the popsicle again—lazily, like you had no idea what you were doing to him.

“Pussy,” you whispered, and he visibly flinched.

You burst out laughing.

“Oh my God, are you actually blushing?”

He wasn’t. He was sweating.

Hard.

“You’re evil,” he muttered, adjusting himself again, doing everything he could to keep his hands to himself. “Fucking evil.”

You rolled onto your side, tits still practically spilling out, resting your cheek on your arm as you smiled up at him, popsicle dangling lazily from your fingers.

—————

You were now fully sprawled on your stomach across the couch, legs swinging lazily in the air, tank top sliding lower by the minute, and a second cherry popsicle halfway melted in your grip.

Alex had moved to the far corner of the couch, as if another twelve inches would make a difference when his dick was pulsing in his sweats and his brain was absolutely fried.

You were oblivious.

Or maybe you weren’t.

“You ever think about how weird it’d be to actually fuck one of these?” you asked casually, giving the popsicle a little bounce. “Like, I’ve never had anything cold inside me before. That’d be like—fucking the Abominable Snowman.”

You laughed at your own joke—hard, shaking the couch, your tits bouncing in that tiny tank top, one strap slipping even lower.

Alex made a quiet, pained noise.

You licked the popsicle.

He closed his eyes.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

You turned your head toward him, grinning. “What?”

“You have no idea what you’re doing right now.”

You blinked up at him, playing dumb—way too well.

“I’m just talking,” you said, voice syrupy. “I talk a lot, Lexi, you know this.”

He stared at you, jaw tight, legs spread, hands clenched in the fabric of his hoodie like it might ground him.

And then you giggled, eyes wide with faux curiosity.

“Ooh, wait—” you said, popsicle pausing inches from your lips, “you think if I actually did fuck a cherry popsicle, it’d, like… make my pussy taste like cherry afterwards?”

Alex made a noise like a dying animal.

You laughed again, delighted.

“You’re such a little perv,” you teased. “I say pussy and you forget how to function.”

He didn’t respond.

He couldn’t.

You stuck the popsicle in your mouth and slowly dragged it out, tongue curling around it for one final tease.

And Alex?

He dropped his head into his hands and groaned.

“I need God.”

—————

Alex hadn’t spoken in three minutes.

You were lying on your stomach still, shirt barely containing your tits, popsicle lazily melting in your fingers while your lips glistened with cherry sugar.

He was fully red in the face, jaw clenched, eyes on the TV but seeing nothing.

You tapped your lip thoughtfully with the stick.

“I think I need to test this theory.”

He blinked. “What—what theory?”

“The flavor thing. Y’know, if I fuck a popsicle, will my pussy taste like it?” You kicked your legs playfully, grinning at him like you weren’t talking about putting a popsicle in your cunt.

He choked. “Please.”

“It’s for science, Alex,” you said seriously.

He looked at you, wild-eyed. “Stop saying shit like that.”

“But if I’m gonna do it,” you went on, ignoring him completely, “I need to pick the right flavor. Like, if I’m gonna be edible, I wanna be delicious, obviously.”

You tapped your chin, then turned slowly toward him.

“Hey, Lexi.”

He didn’t answer.

You batted your lashes. “What flavor would you want a girl’s pussy to be?”

He actually stopped breathing.

“What the fuck kind of question is that?”

“You gotta pick one.”

“I—Jesus Christ.”

“Come on,” you teased, rolling onto your back, shirt riding up your stomach, legs spread just enough to be dangerous. “It’s just a hypothetical. A little… oral taste test.”

“Stop,” he groaned.

“Pick.”

“I—fuckin’—fine. Cherry. Happy?”

You grinned. “Mm, good choice.”

Then hopped off the couch like this was all perfectly normal and made your way to his freezer.

He watched in horrified silence as you bent over, ass on full display, and grabbed another cherry popsicle.

You walked back, sucking it once, slow and dramatic.

Then smiled at him sweetly.

“You don’t mind if I do this on your couch, do you?”

He blinked. “Do what.”

You leaned close.

“The experiment.”

Alex stared at you.

Mouth slightly open.

Breathing hard.

And said absolutely nothing.

Because he had no idea whether he wanted to run away—

Or fucking help.

————

Alex stared at you like you’d just said you were going to light yourself on fire.

“You are not fucking shoving that up your—your—”

You tilted your head. “My pussy?”

His hands flew to his face. “Yes! That!”

You laughed, twirling the popsicle between your fingers, completely unfazed.

“God, Lexi,” you teased, voice syrupy, “don’t get all flustered. It’s not like I’m gonna strip down or anything. I’m not even wearing panties.”

He froze.

“What,” he croaked.

You flopped back on the couch and looked up at him sweetly.

“I said I’m not wearing panties.” You wiggled your hips, shorts riding up even higher. “So there’s, like… nothing in the way.”

His eyes went wide. “You’re not serious.”

You grinned. “You think I wore those dumb little lace ones with these shorts? They bunch.”

“Jesus Christ.”

You reached for the waistband casually, fingers curling under the hem, and slowly pulled your shorts to the side.

Alex’s mouth dropped open.

You weren’t lying.

Bare, soft, smooth. Exposed without even taking anything off.

Then—with no hesitation—you unwrapped the cherry popsicle with a lazy hum.

Held it up like it was just part of your snack.

And said:

“Don’t be dramatic, Lexi. It’s not like I’m asking you to help.”

He actually whimpered.

“You’re not doing this on my fucking couch,” he managed, voice hoarse, breathless, high with disbelief.

“Why not?”

“Because—fuck, because I’m right here!”

You smiled, slow and evil.

“I know. That’s half the fun.”

And then, before he could stop you, you slid the popsicle between your thighs—slow, dramatic, evil—pressing the melting tip to your folds with a little hiss.

Alex didn’t breathe.

Didn’t move.

He just watched.

Eyes wide, cock painfully hard in his sweats, hands clenched in his lap like it might stop him from reaching over and taking it out of your hand.

————

The second the cherry popsicle touched your folds, you gasped—high-pitched, breathy, startled by the cold.

Alex twitched.

His hands clenched into fists on either side of him, hoodie bunched in his lap, his eyes glued to your legs spread wide, shorts tugged to the side, that red fucking popsicle glistening between your thighs.

You winced again, hips twitching.

“Holy fuck it’s cold—” you moaned, breath shaking.

His brain short-circuited.

You pushed it in slow. Not all the way—just enough to make your back arch, enough to whimper, soft and bratty, like it wasn’t your idea.

“Oh my God,” you whined. “It’s—fuck—it’s so cold—”

Alex made a sound—somewhere between a growl and a dying prayer.

Your tank top was hanging low, tits pressed together from how you were leaning back on one hand, other fingers between your legs holding the red stick that was now dripping with slick and juice.

You slowly pulled it out, blinking down at it, then looked up at him with a grin.

“Fuck,” you giggled. “I don’t know if it’s popsicle juice or me.”

He groaned, loud, wrecked, like it physically hurt.

“Give it to me.”

You blinked, confused—but smirking.

You held the popsicle out to him, syrup sliding slowly down the stick, still wet from you.

“…The popsicle?”

He looked up at you, furious, flushed, eyes black with need.

“No,” he growled.

“Not that.”

He stood.

Took one step forward.

Grabbed your face.

“You fucking menace.”

Then shoved you back onto the couch, mouth on yours, hips grinding against your bare thigh—and finally finally said:

“Give me your fucking pussy.”

—————-

His mouth was on yours. Hands gripping your thighs. The popsicle, still glistening with slick and syrup, dangled from your fingers.

But before he could take it—before he could drop to his knees and taste you like he wanted to—you pulled back with a teasing little pout.

“Wait.”

Alex froze. “What.”

You grinned, devilish. “I don’t even know if it’s cherry flavored yet.”

He blinked.

Then watched—silent, tense, shaking—as you slowly dragged the popsicle back down between your thighs and rubbed it over your pussy again.

“Just gotta, y’know,” you said softly, tongue against your teeth, “get a real sample.”

And then you slipped it back in.

You gasped, hips twitching.

“It’s—ugh—it’s so cold—”

Alex dropped to his knees in front of the couch, hands already sliding up your thighs, and just as you reached to pull the popsicle out again, he grabbed your wrists.

Hard.

“Nope.”

You froze.

“Leave it,” he growled, eyes dark. “Let it melt inside you.”

Your eyes widened. “Alex—it’s cold—”

“Good,” he muttered, leaning in closer, his breath brushing over your still-parted thighs. “You wanted to be a fucking popsicle experiment? You’re getting one.”

You whined. High-pitched. Desperate.

“Lexiiii,” you whined again, wriggling under his grip. “It’s cold. It’s freezing. I don’t think I can—*”

“You can.” His voice was low, rough. “You’re gonna sit there and let it melt inside that perfect pussy.”

You whined again, back arching, breath stuttering.

And then he smirked.

“Gonna make you taste like candy,” he whispered, “and then I’m gonna fucking eat you.”

————

Your thighs were shaking.

Sticky.

Syrupy red rivulets sliding down the backs of your legs, soaking into the couch cushions beneath you as the last of the cherry popsicle melted between your folds.

You whined—high and breathy, hips twitching.

“It’s melting, Lex…”

Alex was already on his knees between your thighs, fingers wrapped tight around your thighs, pupils blown, breathing hard.

“I know.”

You looked down at him, wrecked and pink and panting.

“It’s dripping—”

“I know, baby,” he rasped. “I’m fucking watching.”

He reached up, slid his fingers between your folds, and pulled out the mostly-melted popsicle—dripping red and slick and obscene.

Then tossed it to the side like it meant nothing.

And grabbed your thighs.

And devoured you.

His mouth was everywhere—tongue gliding through syrup and slick, sucking your clit into his mouth like he wanted to make it bruise, moaning so low it vibrated through your cunt.

You screamed.

“F-fuck, Alex—”

“You taste so fucking sweet,” he groaned into you. “Like candy. Like cherry—Jesus fucking Christ—”

He licked you deep, tongue plunging inside like he was trying to clean up every single drop the popsicle left behind.

Your fingers dug into his hair.

Your legs clamped around his head.

You were gasping, writhing, moaning so high and broken it barely sounded like words.

“Lex—Lexi, fuck, I’m gonna—gonna—”

He sucked on your clit again and your whole body snapped—back arching, thighs trembling, hips grinding into his face while he held you down and ate you through it.

And even when you came, even when you were shaking, he didn’t stop.

He moaned against your dripping pussy like he was addicted.

You could barely speak.

You could only whimper:

“Cherry…”

He pulled back just enough to grin against your thigh—lips red, chin slick, eyes feral.

“You’re my favorite flavor now.”

Having a boyfriend with strict parents is so weird like

"Yeah, so do you have a phone?"

"Nah, only the slides." (Referring to the Google slides shared in the friend group)

"Oh, yeah, you get off so earlier though?"

"Yeah my bedtime is 7:30"

Like... oopsies forgot you had that, but like WHY CANT YOU AT LEAST TALK TO ME PAST 8 PM PLEEEASDEEEEEJSHSHAJDBAJFBAIFBEWJAJABDHJSBAJADJANWIDBEIFBAJEBRUZNWKDBAJDHABDHSU

slimecicle

A little excerpt of my story I'm making

"

Quackity had just walked into the church, after having just gambled minutes before. It was a stupid dare from his friends, because the one time he lost the bet, was when he was drunk. They made him. The eyes were all on him, mind you, he still had his Casino outfit on; the red was glistening among all the white covering most of the church.

The priest started: "May we all bow our heads in prayer,"

He didn't, he was still looking at the woman next to him. Dressed in white just a little too tight. Enough to catch eyes, but not caught out. His eyes drifted carefully on the woman with her head bowed in prayer to the supposed God.

"Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name..."

"

Yeah, chat I've totally got this (I say with the TikTok smirk emoji)

I'm both concern and happy but I NEEDED to find this later, the headache I have didn't want that rn😞✋

ALSO HOW TF DID YOU EVEN MANAGE TO DO THIS SHIT (thank you so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so much)

schlatt moaning for 3 minutes straight. you're welcome.

guys I made the draft of the boys in my class.

Watson had just set his stuff down on the ground next to the bleachers, it was a Friday, they got to play in the gym. Cooper walked in right before the bell. Watson could feel the thoughts coming on, last time Cooper was in here, he had pulled him behind the curtains and made out with him, and no one saw it.

Cooper came up to him, smirking. “Hey, Watson.~” Watson played it off, calling him gay for the 100th time this week, and everyone scoffed, especially the popular homophobic boys.

“I'm not gay, stop trying to flirt with me.” He said, and to anyone else it would've been convincing, but not Cooper, he knew better.

Cooper got close to his ear, whispering for the sake of his pride, and his confidence. “That's not what you were saying yesterday.” Watson blushed, why would he bring that up? He tried to play it off, whispering to Cooper: “Act, please, I can't have them knowing, yet.”

Lmk if y'all want me to publish the (currently being made) other parts !!

kala

let me be perfectly clear

Okay seriously. Reblog if you're OLDER than 11.

Yep.

Hi! (I'm a new creator on Tumblr)

An introduction of myself:

My name is Kuu (nickname)

I plan to write fanfics of Quackity, and maybe some others of the dsmp

I will NOT write any of the following people:

Dream, W*lbur, or George.

(PLEASE tell me if any others of the smp have allegations !!)

I write the following genres:

Smut

Angst

Fluff

Imagines

Drabbles

Mostly Y/N x ...

Some random facts about me!:

Music taste:

Asteria, 6arelyhuman, Lumi Athena, Odetari....and stuff like that (idk the genre name😭)

18+!!!!

gotta confirm it IS me

This is literally pointless but who cares atp

New account

I'm Kuu (i-got-a-little-too-silly) but laptop!

Honestly just expect reposts. This account IS sfw

unlike my other one

but yeah!