#ITS MAKING CROPPING SO MUCH FUCKIN HARDER

[1nt3rnalpu7ref4ct10n]

s5e5

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Hiii, hope you're doing well.

We've really really missed you’re writing please tell me there's more projects you're working on?

No pressure ofc, i just missed your writing

Hope you're okay x🫶🏻

Thank you for the kindness, I have been in serious need of it lately.

I promise that I have missed you all so, so much just as much as you have missed me. Life has just gotten in the way of so much and it has made things difficult for me. Not gonna make excuses because that isn't me. I also promise that I have not stopped writing though, it's just been a hell of a lot slower than it was.

I have several projects coming down the line, I am just trying to kind of have a few things ready before I start posting so that I can set up a more steady flow of work. Cause if you think I'm going anywhere, you're wrong. I am still wanting to make all our Simon Riley fantasies come true.

So, how about a little excerpt from a piece that I'm working on to tantalize?

This is from a fic that will be titled: Closing Time. It's a friends to lovers piece and this is the moment that everything goes down.

Those full lips of his ghost themselves over your own until the proximity makes you tremble from the seduction and your eyes flutter shut a moment as let yourself succumb to the anticipation of when exactly he will break the distance. He waits on baited breath until your eyes slowly flit back open and your gaze meets his before he finishes his thought. “I wanna make ya mine so fuckin’ bad, luv.”

A smile crosses over your mouth as you hold his longing stare. You know he’s giving you an out, a way to step away if this isn’t really what you want, but from the moment your lips met back at the bar, there was no turning from this. “Then what are you waiting for?” you ask in the softest whisper as you can almost taste his breath from the proximity.

You hear the deep breath he intakes before all at once he leans into you in a frenzy, not able to hold back that overwhelming tension for another second. The grip from his large hand palming through your hair is strong and keeps your head safe as he shoves you both into the wall, his firm torso pressing tightly into your curves as the brunt of his need and months of pent up longing is forced upon your lips with a feverish intensity that makes you instantly lose yourself as explosions like fireworks light up inside your mind.

Over and over he captures your mouth with aggression until your lips start to burn from the friction the harder he presses into them. You try to draw in air, but his frenzied advances on your mouth makes it almost impossible to breathe; still, you wouldn’t let him pull away even if he tried. The sparse dusting of brown stumble along his jaw pricks your cheeks and the skin around your mouth as the taste of the whiskey that he had just downed for courage floods the inside of your mouth from his breath and it hits your tongue with its sharp bite.

Your own hands decide they need to explore the man currently devouring your lips and you run up the back of his muscular neck to the bottom of his mask only for your fingertips to be met with cropped hair at the back of his head. The feeling of your fingers brushing over the short strands near the nape of his neck makes him shiver as the pleasure of the act snakes down his spine and you sigh into his mouth.

Lt. Riley is completely and utterly captivated by you…and he needs more.

Stay tuned my dears because we have got some good things coming. You can count on it!

[viridian-rat]

((OOC: Is that art of the Pikachu traditional, or is it digital but meant to look like it’s traditional? If it’s the latter then, from one traditional artist to another, please tell me how you got the picture quality to be so good.))

// Hihi! Always willing to help a fellow artist out!

For the first question, it’s a traditional watercolor piece! With this blog I’m always trying to emulate Sugimori’s gen 1 art style, so I try to use watercolors for the blog whenever I can! I’ve tried doing the digital watercolor made to look traditional before but it just. never really comes out the way I want it? Genuinely its just easier for me to bust out the ol’ watercolors n do that shit irl. I’ll get to those materials in a sec, actually!

For the second question, tbh all I did for the picture quality was take a top-down with my phone and crop it? I CAN tell you that it’s better to take a picture at x1 rather than try to zoom in, as the camera quality dips significantly if you try to zoom in or out.

Here’s the full picture I took. I just cropped it afterwards.

Other tips I can give for picture quality is uhhh

Make sure your area is well-lit! Phone cameras will automatically try to compensate for dimly lit areas by increasing the ISO, which adds visual noise and dips the quality.

Hold the camera still. A moving camera creates blur. Cool for abstract photography, not so much for capturing traditional art lmao

Clean the lens. If you notice that your photos seem a bit fuzzy and… heaven-like? Might be a sign your lens is hella smudged. Run a cloth over that thang.

Try to take the photo from a top-down view! Taking the photo from an angle distorts the art. I know iPhone has a fuckinnnnn feature to fix angle distortions but I’m gonna be so fr w/ you I wouldn’t rely on it to solve this issue.

Be careful not to cast a shadow with you or your phone. If you are, don’t be afraid to take a step back! Remember that you can always crop it later! Crop, not zoom!

And as for the materials! uhhh hold on lemme grab the fucjin.

The watercolors are this Artistro watercolor paint set I got on Amazon. A fellow art student recommended these to me and tbh I love using them when I can. It comes with a watercolor brush that has a water compartment in the brush itself, which is really fuckin neat tbh.

The pens are your standard Micron pens that most traditional artists like to use. The ones I used in the art itself are raised slightly. Don’t mind the dirt or whatever on them, the heat melted the rubber band I used to bind them together and got stuck on ‘em :/

Something to take note of with watercolors is the kind of paper you’re using for it! Different papers will grab onto watercolors differently— you’ll want more thicker, more porous/rougher paper for watercolors. Smoother and thinner paper is harder for the paint to soak into— you risk the paint running or taking longer to dry, or oversoaking and tearing the paper.

If you don’t feel like going hunting for dedicated watercolor paper (aka me), then a safe bet is to use mixed media paper! There’s tons of sketchbooks in fuckin uhhh Walmart or whatever that will say “Mixed Media” on them. Those are always a safe shot since they’re fairly porous and thick.

I’m down to answer any more questions you may have on @turtblurts-pkmnirl-hub!

[robinofgothamcity]

♡ starting prompt: “for how long? for how long were you bottling this up?”

♡ pairing: kirby dach (chicago blackhawks) x fem reader

♡ lyric inspiration: “I used to hear a simple song. that was until you came along. now in its place I hear something new. I hear it when I look at you.”

♡ note: not checked for grammar or spelling mistakes

you sat at your computer, typing away at work you had to get done for an internship. it was work you were putting off for a while now and you had to finally bite down and get it done. 

“hey, what are you doing right now?” your friend Aniya asked as you picked up the third frantic phone call from her, “work I need to get done for school. what do you need from me that you’re calling me for the third time?” you asked a bit annoyed. 

she rolled her eyes from the other side of the phone, “listen, I know you’ve been having issues with him so I want you to come out with us tonight,” she exclaimed, “I don’t care if you’re overwhelmed with work or not. you need to get over this slump and realize there’s more to you than Kirby fuckin’ Dach right now.” 

you slid down your chair, growling in response, “I don’t wanna and if I don’t want too, you can’t make me,” you tried to fight back which only earned a laugh in return, “yeah right! see you tonight at nine! we’re going to be at Falco’s so see you there!” she blurted out before hanging up the phone. 

you looked down at the clock, seeing that it read five in the afternoon. you had been in the coffee shop for a little over three hours and while the first hour and a half was spent with you just procrastinating, the remaining time was you actually working and getting most of it done.

however! 

looking at the time, you realized you might as well get up and leave before it got any later. you knew you had time to go out with your friends but you recent fall out with Kirby made it almost nearly impossible to do as such.  

the fallout was one you saw coming for a while now. 

between your schooling and interning and Kirby’s career, the time you had with each other was rare. you tried to make time for him, you really did, but Kirby ultimately put down the times you asked to hang out with him. he usually said it was because he was hanging with a few teammates and while that was true, you had also saw a few of his girl friends with him. 

you weren’t a jealous girl, not by a long shot but it was hard to see your boyfriend with a bunch of girls hanging out and not inviting you. you tried to remain calm about the situation but eventually, it got too into your head and you confronted him about it. 

+

“you know what Kirby?” you whispered to him, not looking at him anymore, “I’m tired. I don’t know you anymore and you could care less about me. how about I do us both a favor and just end this now?” 

Kirby’s eyes widened at what he was hearing. 

“I never said I cared less about you!” 

“it feels like it, Dach! all I ask for you is hang out with me when you have the time and be around when you can but the last three times I asked to hang out and get dinner, you’ve denied me saying you were going to be with ‘the boys’ and then what do I see? you with Boqvist and a bunch of other girls! hanging out and having a good time. do you know how much that hurts? seeing your boyfriend surrounded by a bunch of girls and not even giving you the time of day anymore?

Kirby looked at the ground, knowing what you were saying was true, “how long? how long were you bottling this up?” he finally asked. 

“too long, I guess but like I said before, let me do us a favor and break it off here. I love you, I really do but I’m tired of not being prioritized. I’m tired of coming second, third, and fourth place in your life. I’m tired of having to beg for the attention of my damn boyfriend at this point,” you tried to contain your tears but couldn’t, “I knew our lives were very different from the very moment we meant but I never thought we’d end for a reason like this. maybe Aniyah had a point....maybe our lives are too different from each other and that this wouldn’t work out.

you grabbed your bag, slinging it over you and your wallet that was on his table. you could see the panic in his eyes as he tried to say make up something to say but failing to do so. 

“so you’re ending it then?” Kirby asked from the door of his apartment. you gave him a teary eyed look, “I don’t want too but you’re making it hard to be with you so yeah, I guess I am.” 

you grabbed your CTA card from your wallet and opening the door of his apartment building to catch the nearest CTA train home. Kirby hated when you rode the train so late but you weren’t about to give him the benefit of driving you back home. 

throughout the entire train ride home, you had gotten a dozen texts from Kirby, asking you if you were safe and to at least text him when you got home but after what felt like the 100th text, you blocked his number, his Snap, and any socials he had left. 

it even got to the point where Adam had to message you to ask if you were okay. you knew that he would go back and text Kirby so you didn’t bother to reply to his text either. 

+

once you got home, you slumped your backpack onto the couch and ate leftovers you had from yesterday. you were in no mood to cook and you knew since Aniyah was expecting you to meet her at Falco’s, your time had to go to getting ready. 

the food felt bland in your mouth as you tried to hype yourself up for the outting. it would have been a lot better if Kirby was going with you but putting that thought aside, you threw the rest of the food away and went to your bathroom to start getting ready. 

you figured since Falco’s wasn’t really a hugely popular bar in Chicago, the idea that anyone cute would be there went out the window. the only ones who knew of Falco was you, Aniyah, and Kirby who you had brought with you a few times. 

the makeup you applied was very light and the outfit was on the simpler side. since you weren’t trying to get anyone’s attention, flying under the radar in terms of looks, you knew doing the bare minimum would do the trick. 

by the time you finished getting ready, it was already 8:30 and Falco’s was on the other side of town. you caught the last train to the other end of town and walked the rest of way there. when you finally arrived, you saw the place a bit more packed than usual. 

“( your name )! over here!” you heard Aniyah’s scream from a table. you gave them a wave and a small smile before sliding into the booth, “these are my friends! Michael and Trey!” she introduced you. 

you shook their hands and introduced yourself to them as all of you ordered a few round of drinks. since Kirby was only 20, whenever you invited him out to bars or the like, he tended to be the one to carry you back home when you got a bit too drunk. 

“so, where do you go to school?” Michael asked, as he took a sip of his drink, “oh, I go to a smaller school here in Chicago,” you replied. he nodded understandingly, “oh shit,” you heard Aniyah’s voice say from underneath her breath. 

you gave her a look as she pointed at who walked in. you followed her finger and were immediately taken back when you saw it was not only Kirby but Adam, Alex, Dylan, and his girlfriend as well. 

“we’ll be back in one second,” Aniyah told Michael and Trey before dragging you away to the single stall bathrooms, “girl, I had no idea they would be here. you know I would never do this to you,” she said frantically, “I swear, they just had to show up, didn’t they?”

“Aniyah, it’s okay. I just wish I would have dressed a bit better considering he’s here,” you murmured under your breath. Aniyah smirked, seeing your outfit, “well, just take off the jacket, the shirt your wearing is already doing you justice by being a crop and the shorts look amazing on you as it is,” she said snatching the jacket off of you.

the two of you spent a bit more time in the bathroom, restyling your outfit a bit more before walking out. you made a beeline to the bar, ordering all four of you shots of tequila. 

“he’s looking at you, you know?” Aniyah murmured as you shrugged, “serves him right,” you replied before giving Michael a smile and look at the three of them, “bottoms up!” you exclaimed before taking the shot and chugging it down with ease. 

all of you cheered at Michael called for another round of shots to the table but before they could get there, Dylan’s girlfriend came up to the table and gave you a hug. 

“hi, how have you been?” she asked as she let you go, “fine! just getting a few drinks with some friends! how are you?” you asked as hesitantly as possible. you knew she meant no harm but whenever the four hung out with each other, it was rare when she tagged and only did if you were coming along. 

“ah, fine. just here with Dylan and a few of the boys. I know with you and Kirby, it must be a bit awkward, huh?” she said a bit awkwardly. you gave her a small smile, “I guess but I gotta go before they start thinking I left them. I’m a few tables over so if you want to take a shot with us, come by!” you said giving her a quick peck on the cheek before leaving. 

Aniyah gave you a look, quickly telling you to spill but you shot it down as all of your shots were brought to the table. 

throughout the night, you got progressively more drunk. the tequila shots were hitting a bit harder than you thought and before you knew it, any shy bone in your body quickly went away when the sixth shot entered your body. Aniyah knew that your drunk persona was not who you were sober. 

“does she really get this way when she’s drunk?” Michael asked, seeing you singing into the half full bottle of Smirnoff Ice. Aniyah laughed, “she does! trust me, one time she got onto a table at a friendsgiving dinner and sang every word to Girls in The Hood without messing up.” 

the three of them laughed as you grabbed another shot and chugged it down, “oh my god I love this song!” you told Aniyah as you grabbed her by the hand and shook her, “I’m gonna go see if Tayler is available!” you exclaimed as you jumped over Michael to get to where Dylan’s girlfriend was. 

Aniyah immediately got up and chased you to the table but was too late. you were already grabbing her by the hand and dragging her up, “oh my god, you’re plastered,” she giggled, seeing the drunk in your eyes, “I haven’t seen her this drunk since your birthday!” Dylan added on. 

Aniyah got to the table and grabbed you by the hand, “Michael bought everyone a shot, we should go and take it together,” Aniyah murmured in your ear. you shrugged, “tell him to wait a second, I’m talking to her!” you responded as Tayler laughed, enjoying your new found confidence. 

“god, I haven’t seen you this plastered since you know when,” Aniyah growled, giving Kirby a side eye. all he did was watch the table you were sitting at and seeing the boy named Michael giving you look of what he saw as lust, “aww, hi Dylan! hi Adam and Alex!” you said excitedly. 

they gave you waves as they tried to not look in Kirby’s direction. you hadn’t spared him a look as you saw Michael heading over your way, “hey, you guys coming? Trey wants to know if you’re heading back to his place to continue drinking.”

you had never heard silence this loud. although everyone in the bar was still talking and drinking, the air immediately turned stiff. Michael had his arm around your shoulder, “uh, yeah? one second!” Aniyah said seeing as you weren’t even in the right headspace to be going anywhere. 

“she can’t. she’s heading home,” Kirby finally spoke up. Aniyah, Michael, and everyone else looked to see Kirby’s dead serious face, “I think I might’ve missed something. who are you?” Michael asked looking to Kirby. 

Aniyah and Tayler saw the rage building up in Kirby’s eyes, “her boyfriend, can I ask who you are?” he replied, not taking his eyes off of him. Michael laughed, “her supposed date. I thought she was single,” he said with a smirk that ticked Kirby off more than it should have. 

“sorry, you aren’t. she’s too drunk to be going anywhere that isn’t her house so how about you get moving before this turns into something you don’t want coming.” 

Michael laughed, putting his hands on the table, “or you’re gonna do what?” Kirby rolled the sleeves of his button up up making Adam and Dylan start to get nervous, “playing professional hockey has its perks,” he replied. 

“no, what you’re not going to do is create a scene in this bar. Kirby, you’re a professional. if you want, you can take her home if you’d like but you’re not getting into trouble for something marginally stupid as an argument.” 

Aniyah gave Kirby a look before motioning to Trey to come and get Michael before he did anything stupid. you on the other hand were too busy sitting next to Adam and singing whatever song was playing through the speakers to realize what was going on. 

“come on, lets get you home,” Kirby murmured into your ear. you gave Kirby a confused, “no! you’re not my boyfriend anymore so I go where Aniyah goes!” you said through slurred words.

“I don’t want to seem like a dick but you got to go home and you’re going home right now. you’re too drunk to understand anything or anyone.” 

you didn’t bother to fight as you felt an overwhelming feeling of tiredness hit you. you usually got like that when you got drunk. 

after Aniyah gave Kirby your bag with your house keys, he hitched a ride from Dylan to get back to your place. they could all sense the anger in Kirby as he was still sitting on the argument. it was pretty wild to see Kirby so angry but when it came to you, they knew he would do anything for you. 

he thanked Dylan for the ride as he grabbed your arm and slung it over his should, carrying you inside. the trip to your apartment was struggle as you kept talking gibberish to yourself and making Kirby laugh. 

as soon as he got your door open, he took off your shoes and place you in bed, making sure you were at least comfortable enough to fall asleep. by the time he had placed you in bed, you were snoring your life away against the pillow. 

Kirby knew it was best to sleep on the couch to make sure you didn’t hurt yourself if you were still drunk when you got up. he grabbed the small throw pillow and a blanket you kept underneath the couch and tried to get comfortable as possible. 

-

it hit five in the morning when Kirby heard throwing up sounds from the bathroom. he slowly got up from bed and saw you hunched over the toilet bowl. 

“you okay?” he finally spoke up, making you jump in fear. you gave him an angry look, “what the hell are you doing here?” you asked, confused as to why he was here. 

“I had to take you home from Falco’s. you were extremely drunk and were about to do something you were probably going to regret the minute Aniyah left you so she gave me the keys to your house and let me watch over you until you got up.” 

you sighed, “where is Aniyah?” you asked. “home. she had to calm down the guys she brought because he was trying to cause a scene inside the bar and told me just to take you home before any news of me getting into a fight broke out into the news,” he explained. 

you leaned up against the wall, giving him a defeating look, “what do you want with me, Kirby? I appreciate you taking care of me but what do you want as a return?” you replied. 

Kirby kneeled onto one knee and looked at you, “to give me a second chance. I know I fucked up. I fucked up so bad but these last few weeks have been hell. I miss you calling me after every game and having dinner through a facetime call. I miss your voice first thing in the morning. I just want you to give me one more chance and if I fuck up, you’ll never have to hear from me again. I swear!” he said, almost pleadingly. 

you stared at Kirby, trying to see if he was being truthful. you could tell behind the eyes of desperation, he was telling the truth. 

“one more chance and if you ruin it, we’re done.” Kirby went in to kiss you as you immediately dodged it, “first of all, I need to brush my teeth and you won’t be kissing me at least for another few days. you could suffer some more,” you joked, giving him a wink.

he growled playfully and watched as you brushed your teeth, “but you can snuggle me while I sleep off this hangover,” you said as he happily followed you back into bed. 

[meltwonu]

22. “Mine.”

48. “You’re so fucking hot when you’re mad.”

56. “You have no idea how much i want you.”

notes; INCUBUS!WONWOO, YALL WE R FINALLY HERE BABY, possessive!wonwoo, choking, degradation, name calling, god imagine silver haired wonwoo with black horns protruding from his skull in a dark grey suit with glasses whew thats my kink, like dapper but make it h0rny, OR NOW THAT THE 24H MV CAME OUT ITS TIME TO IMAGINE WONWOO IN THAT BLACK AND RED OUTFIT WITH THE CROPPED TOP BABYYYYY🥴🥴🥴🥴🥴ALSO this is just a LITTLE longer than what i let go without a cut so the rest is under the cut!(its bc its wonu lbr) 😩💕 Thank you for requesting! Enjoy! 💕

“You’re so fucking hot when you’re mad.”

You giggle against Wonwoo’s skin, lips ghosting across the column of his neck. Wonwoo growls as his hands circle your wrists, pinning you against the hallway to your bedroom. His eyes gleam a dark burgundy, lips pressed into a smirk when you mewl. “Am I? What’s so alluring to you when I’m pissed off?” You can’t help but giggle again when he slots a leg between your own; immediately grinding down onto his thigh.

“Maybe I just like when you’re rough with me.”

Wonwoo is unshy about being an incubus; lips curved into a devilish smile when he raises your arms above your head and uses his energy to keep them pinned there. “Oh? So what was all that with Chan? Your ‘lil cunt can’t get enough cock so you have to fuck two incubus? You’re such a cock hungry ‘lil slut, aren’t you?”

Your lips part in a quiet moan when Wonwoo’s hands travel down your dress-clad body; lifting the material higher and higher until it bunches around your waist. “Who says I fucked him? Maybe I just think he’s kinda cute~ Or maybe I just like talkin’ to him ‘cause I know it pisses you off.” You bite your tongue when his fingers dip into the waistband of your panties, tearing the material and sliding it from your body as he tosses it onto the floor.

“Oh, sweetheart, I could sense you from a mile away. Your panties were already soaking just sitting next to him. Don’t lie to me.”

“Maybe I was thinkin’ about how you’d punish me…” You trail off.

Wonwoo undoes the zipper and button of his slacks; well aware of the way your eyes immediately travel down to watch when he wraps a hand around his hard cock. “Oh? And what did I do to you? What did I do to get those panties of yours so fuckin’ wet in that imagination of yours?”

You can’t help but gulp, watching as he smears the precum down his shaft. The veins in his hand tense when he tightens his grip; feeding off of the arousal that floods your body. “I--I--”

“You what? Use your words.”

“I--you--you have no idea how much I want you…” You whisper; pussy clenching around emptiness as Wonwoo continues to jerk himself off.  

“Hmm... do you?” 

Whining, you grind down onto his thigh; lip quivering when he tenses the muscles in his leg. “God, yes, I want you so much, I don’t think you fuckin’ understand...” You lick your dry lips, already imagining his cock inside of you.

“Believe me, I know how much you want me. You’re soaking through my slacks, sweetheart.” His voice is laced with cockiness, eyes glinting with mischief when they meet your needy stare. “But you want to be punished, don’t you? I’m being kind and letting you choose how I do so. So start talking.”

A shiver runs up your spine when Wonwoo’s free hand starts traveling up your torso; fingertips dancing across the exposed skin of your clavicle. “I--I want w-whatever you want, W--Wonwoo…” You mumble; the words getting caught in your throat when he places a gentle grip on the column of your neck. He presses down on the sides only slightly; a warning of what’s to come. 

“Yeah? So if I made you choke on my cock ‘til you cried and didn’t let you cum, that’d be okay?” There’s a pause in his words, a small scoff leaving his lips when your eyes meet. “Yeah right, you’d probably cum just from me cumming down your throat, huh?” He lets go of your neck, snaking his hand back down to your waist.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head at the thought and you can’t help the wetness that grows on Wonwoo’s slacks when you grind down onto his thigh again. “God, pl--please, please I’ll do anything! I promise, just-- god, please fuck me!” You sob, tugging on the translucent restraints keeping your arms pinned above your head.

Wonwoo grins, unwrapping his hand from around his cock. “Fuck, you’re so cute when you’re a desperate ‘lil slut for me. All you have to do is promise me you won’t go fuckin’ other incubus, got it? You’re mine. Mine.” There’s a growl added for emphasis as you nod feverishly.

“I promise!”

He moves fast, lifting your body into his strong hold as he wraps your legs around his waist. The shaft of his cock rests against your soaking folds and you can’t help but squirm. “Fuck, please, please, I need your cock inside me, Wonwoo!” You cry; delirium already settling in with each passing second.

“Okay, since you’ve decided to be so polite all of a sudden.” Wonwoo grins, leaning away enough to position his cock at your entrance. He meets no resistance when he bottoms out in a single thrust; your warm and wet walls sucking him in when he starts a quick pace.

“God, yes! Fuck, fuck---me! Harder! Harder!”

Your words turn into a jumbled mess, legs pushing Wonwoo forward and closer to yourself with each thrust. His hands settle on your waist, nails digging into the material of your dress as he obliges. The head of his cock taps your cervix and you let out a silent scream, begging him for more. “God, look at you. Fuckin’ insatiable.” He licks his lips, lifting a hand from your waist as he slithers it up to your neck again.

“Takin’ all my cock like a good girl. How many times do you wanna cum tonight?”

You clench around his cock at the promise of more orgasms; the tension in your body already ready to snap. “I--ah, hah, f-fuck, as many as you want! Fuckin’ make me cry just--I need to cum, p-please!” You whine.

The grip on your neck tightens more and more by the second; Wonwoo’s red eyes and black horns only a blur to your teary eyes.

“Then cum, slut.”

Wonwoo’s pace doubles in an instant; his deep and wicked chuckles all you can hear when you cum hard. “Shit, you’re so fuckin’ tight!” He groans as your walls flutter around him. The grip on your neck loosens just as your orgasms crests and you feel your entire body tense as he continues to fuck you through it.

Wonwoo slows down his pace ever so slightly to let you catch your breath once he feels your body start to relax in his hold.

It takes you a second to come down from your high; the lightheadedness still making your body buzz with adrenaline. “Fuh--fuck, Wonwoo…” You whine. The incubus grins, watching as your hazy eyes try to focus on him.

“Don’t get tired on me yet, sweetheart.” His voice is eerily sweet when he speaks, eyes glimmering with mischief.

In the blink of an eye, you’re in a bed; silk sheets between your fingertips as you stare up at a dark ceiling. The confusion paints your features when you sit up, completely stripped of the dress you were wearing earlier.

You hear Wonwoo’s deep chuckles, eyes peering up at him when he comes into view in his dirtied slacks and undone silk shirt. “I figured… It’s going to be a long night for you so why don’t we have a little audience, hmm?”

The sound of shoes on hardwood have you turning your head, throat dry when you see who walks into the unfamiliar room.

“Oh, baby. You know I don’t like being played with either~ I don’t like that you used me to get ‘ol Wonwoo-hyung mad~” The grin on Chan’s face is sickeningly sweet; his own silk shirt undone and mussed when he sits on the opposite end of the large bed.

“I--I---”

“Now, now. He’s only here to watch you take your punishment, sweetheart.” Wonwoo rounds the bed, sitting down next to your blushing form. He tilts your head up, lips ghosting against your own before he smirks; crimson pools meeting your lust filled eyes.

“We agreed that it wasn’t very kind of you to use him as your pawn, y’know? Thought maybe he should be reimbursed for his troubles. However, I suggest you behave or else we might need some viewer participation, hmm?”

[theowhy]

10 fandoms, 10 characters, 10 tags

rules: show us your ten favorite characters from ten fandoms and then tag ten people to do the same.

tagged by @manonisamelon and @grenadinepeach, ty! oh god how do i pick 10. i will do my best. pls forgive that 9/10 of this list is video games and anime. it’s my true self.

1. teen wolf - theo raeken ofc

y’all already know!! there’s a reason my url is theowhy

2. haikyuu!! - tsukishima kei

my moon boy. the character development that swept me off my feet in 2014 and still makes me swoon 7 years later. his dynamic with just about everyone is great but my favorites are kuroo, kageyama, and hinata :��)

3. hunter x hunter - gon freecss

my sunshine child, killua’s light, a boy so overwrought with grief he gave up everything. a boy who learned to SMIIIILE AGAAAAIN. i’m crying

4. fire emblem: awakening - inigo

dancer!inigo in particular owns my heart and soul....  i don’t usually like the “unabashed flirt” characters but i thought his backstory was actually really charming and his supports were so funny. gosh. i love him

5. the legend of zelda: breath of the wild - revali

I DON��T CARE IF PPL HATE HIM I LOVE HIM he’s my birdfriend and my boyfriend. fun fact: i met his VA at a con who asked for a photo of me and my gf in cosplay, and then just dropped the fuckin bombshell that he was the VA for our fav character. what a guy

6. final fantasy xii - balthier

i don’t think i’ll ever stop associating gideon emery with balthier in particular, even if i’ve seen him now in 92082348 different things. but i love balthier. my favorite depressed overdramatic gay sky pirate

7. final fantasy vii remake - biggs

utterly embarrassing that gideon emery is on this list twice. listen, it’s hard for me to pick just one character, and truly cloud and yuffie are more my og favorites, but remake biggs went and stole my heart so wholly i can’t not mention him. i’ll admit part of it is i’m shallow lmao but also he pat cloud on the head and it restructured my brain. that is all

8. genshin impact - noelle

ok i didn’t think i’d come to love noelle as much as i do—i’m not a fan of maid tropes and the boob armor is ridic, BUT. but. she is precious and i’d protect her with my life. her def and shield strength is ridic and she keeps my team unscathed thru everything bc she is amazing. psst if u play, hmu if you want to exchange UIDs :^)

9. kingdom hearts - naminé

i honestly think of her and kairi and xion as a unit so i’m using a crop of my own fanart but—namine 🥺 for those unfamiliar, she’s the one in the middle. i love her so much and i wish there was so much more of her in kh3!! i was especially endeared to her in the chain of memories manga wahh

10. okay it has taken me ridiculously long to narrow down this list but, i have openly admitted that my recurring fav character type is “delinquent blonds with a heart of gold” so that list includes joey wheeler (yugioh), ryuji sakamoto (persona 5), and beat (the world ends with you). i’ll say this trope in particular is my #10 hahaha (and i’m too tired to find pics i’m sorry)

tysm if you managed to get through all this, my tastes are just... all over the place. and i tried to pick media that i’ve engaged with its fandom in some way, which made things even harder ahdlfkjg

not gonna tag 10 ppl because that’s so many and i’m sure most people have been tagged already, but by all means please do this if you want to! :’)

[seaswalllow]

timore. 

i. onomatophobia.

tw for canon-typical events of KJSE, blood, violence, threats.

--

your name is jack mcloughlin. you are 12 when the mirror twists, and smiles at you. you have a shadow that glares at you. you are 13 and a month when it leans through, and finally talks to you. its words grate like nails on a chalkboard. you are 14 when it smiles and tells you what you will dream about, bloody and bright. you are 14 when you name it. 

--

anti’s a fuckin’ stupid name. what’s the point, too? it doesn’t make you less afraid. it just means that there’s now a word that tastes like fear. how is that winning? 

it’s not about winning. 

then you’re more of an idiot than i thought. 

--

your name is jack mcloughlin. your shadow smiles more than it doesn’t. it’s hard to remember that you’ve named it anti; harder still to believe that something as alien as the shadow that writes in blood on the mirror and leaves ink on the floor has a name as simple as anti. 

--

so what are you?

everything. nothing. fear.

that doesn’t make any sense.

does anything about me make sense to you, little rabbit? the only constant that you know from me is that your heart beats jackrabbit fast against your chest when i whisper in your ears. you can barely even remember what you’ve tried to call me over the screaming in your head. 

...so then you’re just fear.

just? 

you’re fear.

eh. close enough. you’d probably shit a brick if i tried to show you what i mean i am. 

…

do you want me to try? i think i’d like watching you cry scarlet. it’d be more interesting than the saltwater. maybe you’d be able to hear your own blood better.

no. no, i’m okay. 

are you sure? it could be fun. :)

no.

spoilsport. 

if i’m such a spoilsport, why do you stick around?

because you’re funny. 

...funny?

yes. your little names, trying to run your fears off- it’s hilarious.

…

any other questions for the peanut gallery? i think i want to try sanding down that popcorn ceiling. it’ll be funny watching your house jump. 

why did you come to me?

because you were scared. 

what-

no more questions.

--

your name is jack mcloughlin. your shadow’s name is anti. you have named it in a hope of familiarizing yourself with the edges of the fear that crop up whenever the wood floors creak under feet that are not your own. you are 18, burning bright and only fueling the flame with no idea of where to turn it to. you’ve stopped looking in mirrors. you are 20, and a camera blinks, and you are 22 when you decide to use it. the shadows only darken behind you, and its- anti’s, you think to yourself- smiles have only stretched wider and sharper. 

you sleep with an eye open, more often than not. 

-- 

can’t keep the light on forever, jackaboy. can’t keep your eyes open through the night. 

...

remember when you first tried to run? when you were fourteen and more scared than you’ve ever been in your life? i do. you should try running like that again; maybe you’ll get farther. better than trying to outlast something eternal. 

why do you remember that?

i remember everything, don’t you know? memories are just electricity wrapped around bits of fat and meat. synapses twisted around each other to trap the lightning. i don’t need the meat, just the lightning. i can show you. it’s very, very painful.

no. i mean why is that the first time? you’ve caught me before, in the trees. 

... 

was it the name?

putting words to a situation doesn’t mean that you understand it any better. just that you can talk about it. 

wipe that fucking look off your face. 

i’m right, aren’t i.

right about what? what does the name do for you, sean? does it soften the brunt of the panic that clots in your lungs whenever the shadows hiss? does it hide the mirrors, does it dull my knife? 

no, i-

shut the fuck up. stop going off about that fucking name like it will protect you. shut up.

--

your shadow’s name is anti. he has teeth sharper than the knife that he traces his fingers around. he is fear, and he is afraid, you find. he is afraid of familiarity, of being stripped of the power that he feeds off of. because that is what the name is; it is giving him a familiar form. defining an idea. when you define an idea, a friend had said, you filter it and paint it with your own biases. it carries a piece of you as much as you carry it.

names have power, the stories said, and you have not considered for a moment how much power they had said. 

--

…

anti?

…

anti, i know you’re there. 

of course you do. i’m always fucking there. you’re always afraid, these days. what changed, little rabbit? if you’re not careful, your heart’s gonna give out.

and you’re never afraid?

that’d be antithetical. fear shouldn’t be afraid. 

you’re not just fear, though, are you? 

how the fuck would you know?

fear wouldn’t try to drive a knife into someone’s eye. 

...oh, cute. did you know that anger, above all else, can be rooted in fear? the fear that you’re going to be the next on the chopping block, the fear that someone else will take what you have, the fear that you’re not the wolf but the lamb to the slaughter? everything circles back to it. love isn’t love, it’s a fear of death, and loss. holding tight because you don’t want it taken away. happiness is just an absence of fear. sadness is the fear that it’ll happen again, that it’ll happen to you. selfishness is-

i get it.

no, i don’t think you do. 

more than you do.

… getting bold, again, jackaboy? 

what do you call yourself?

fear. 

well, that too. but you call yourself my shadow. my mirror. 

i think that i know myself enough to know when my shadow’s afraid that soon, it’s not going to be my shadow, but something else. 

you barely know yourself enough to differentiate between your fear and terror. 

you don’t have to be afraid, you know. 

i’m not. keep pushing and i’ll push this knife into your throat. you’d fucking like that, wouldn’t you? you know that our first nightmares together were choking on your blood, feeling iron swell and swell as metal sings under our fingers. my fingers. 

…

i’m not going to change you. 

you couldn’t if you tried. 

anti.. 

shut up!

--

october 31st, you sit in front of a blinking camera, pumpkin in hand, at 10pm. 

at midnight, your lights start to flicker. you know you will have to edit out the part of the footage where you look over your shoulder, heartrate spiking. you will have to edit out where you call anti? there is no reply. he’s talking less, and less. you had once tried stretching your hand out to him; you had to explain to your professor why you had to miss class in order to get stitches for four deep lacerations. what’d you do, try to shake a coyote’s paw? the doctor had laughed. you hadn’t laughed. tried to give company to someone who was lonely, and afraid. the doctor had tutted sympathetically. rescues can be difficult. give them time, space, and understanding. 

something bitter had welled up on your tongue.

--

at 1am, fear drips into your lungs, stealing your breath away. your ears pop. lightning wraps around your nerves, and your fingers move in tandem with anti’s gleeful whisper of mine. are you afraid, jack? do you feel the steel against our neck? one move, and you’ll be painting your pumpkin red.

--

what are you doing stop anti don’t move don’t move-

mine. ours. do you feel alive? afraid? anti stop stop stop not yours never yours-

get out, get out-

-- 

at 1am, your eyes slip shut. your heart jackrabbits and pumps blood onto the carpet under your feet. neurons upon neurons spark, and panic, and dim. 

--

at 6am, your eyes fly open, fluorescent lights harsh above you. a heart monitor spikes, shrill. you cannot hear anti. when you open your mouth to call for someone, a soft whisper escapes your throat. you cannot see anti.

you feel him, for the first time. something angry, and festering, nesting under your heart. your own heart breaks at the same time that it twists with fear. the knot purrs, angry, and stretches. you remember. 

anger can be rooted in fear.

the knot under your heart snarls. 

--

your shadow’s name is anti. when he is afraid, he is cruel. when he is afraid, his knife gleams, and ozone crackles in the air. he drips blood, drips shadows. where you smile, he scowls. where he smiles, you stifle an icy dread building in your gut. he does not talk, anymore, except to screech static into the quiet. he drags the blade of his knife against the ceiling at 3am, drips blood deep into your carpet. 

one night, you wake up to metal caressing your throat, teeth leering above you. 

you scream, memories of lightning stretching through your head and twitching your fingers lighting up, panic burning through your veins. you jerk away. anti smiles, and your roommates burst into an empty room. 

a nightmare, you tell them. their eyes wander to the scar on your throat. you do not turn off the light, that night; you don’t sleep, either. anti makes a sound, for the first time, behind you, and it is to laugh, and laugh into your ear. 

--

i’m done. 

what-

thinking you could name me, twist me- i’ve killed for less-

--

your name is jack mcloughlin. your shadow’s name is anti, and he has stopped speaking and started coming closer, and closer with his knife. he does not reply to you. he has stopped answering questions long ago. you are jack mcloughlin, 24, and you are shutting your eyes against the eyes that drip from his face. you are jack mcloughlin, 24, and there is a knife to your throat for the third time.

--

you are a red-clad hero, standing in a dark house at 3am, in front of a man and a shadow. you do not know who you are; all you know is that you have to protect. 

light flaring on your fists, cutting deep into the dark, you follow the mantra hammered into your head, and drive the shadows into the ground, ink spreading like blood. 

--

your name is jack mcloughlin and you are staring at an apparent superhero in your bedroom. 

--

[corvidshipping]

modern au red/milo dump while i try to get myself together to answer asks nd work on ATJ:

(tw for alcohol mentions near the end, also this is an EXTREMELY long post, its so long that even after i split it into categorized sections each section could be its own post)

CLOTHING

milo absolutely has no sense of fashion. i feel like this is basically canon - for the styles at the time, he dresses fairly basic, mostly focused on looking put together for his job (definitely dresses aimed more towards how he would like to be treated by his peers, despite his actual position - then again our best example outside of the expedition is when he's about to deliver what he considers the most important presentation of his life, so who knows, maybe he usually dresses like a slob). aside from that his main concern seems like practicality and comfort. his wardrobe is dominated by earth tones - beiges and greens set with white and greys. all of that taken into account, i can see him dressing like this in a more modern era:

basically- a lot of cardigans, usually collared shirts or comfortable turtlenecks (since he does still occupy a research position at the smithsonian, even if only in title), big ol' coats, khakis and chinos and slightly stiff dress pants complete with ironed creases. i can see him wearing similar clothes outside work, just more comfortable - jeans and knitted shirts, henleys, more turtlenecks, and comfy cardigans over short sleeved shirts. i dont really see him wearing a lot of prints, i think he'd veer more towards solid clothes in lighter colors, but maybe he has a few. hes definitely the kind of guy to think of wearing the single graphic tee he owns as "bold and wild".

im very married to the idea of him wearing converse though. i cant explain it. milo in converse keeps me going in this world

hes kind of broke so i think maybe he got the converse secondhand maybe? or a gift of some kind. aside from the converse i can see him wearing a lot of oxfords and maybe wingtips

i want to see him in a hawaiian shirt so bad. i am losing it at this thought. he buttons it all the way up to his neck like someones awkward dad. milo wears a hawaiian shirt to "let loose". he wears it with like, khakis. or knee length jorts AHHHHDJHDSGJHDSJGh

a tie??? does he wear his hawaiian shirt with a tie???? does he think it makes it look cooler?????????? i am sobbing

red is the COMPLETE opposite. in the canon 1914 setting, red is already very rebellious for an AFAB person of their era- theyre openly a suffragette, they frequently refuse to wear skirts even in public and dress in mens clothes even before they were openly nonbinary, despite not being accepted into the male-dominated research fields and colleges they continue to educate themself with or without help, they purposely aim for an "unfeminine" silhouette when they dress, refuse to wear corsets, etc. (spoiler alert- there's a clear reason they get on so well with audrey in ATJ)

theyre also easily mistaken by people that didnt know them prior to their transition for being just a very small/young cis man- even though they canonically have a very soft "traditionally feminine" face

so basically, in any era theyre set into, red is always gonna aim to be ahead of the curve- both in their personal beliefs and practices and in their fashion. theyre also very androgynous in their clothes, although they tend to aim a bit more masculine (thats partially due to the era though, and having been forced into skirts exclusively for their entire life- i think in a modern setting where its more acceptable for AFABs to dress and act in a less hyperfeminine way, theyd be more okay with a fluidity in their gender presentation).

all that taken into account, i can see them dressing like this:

lots of baggy clothes, especially baggy jackets and shirts. they like loose fitting high waisted pants like JNCO jeans, cargo pants, etc but they arent averse to pencil legs. they rarely ever wear skinny jeans or drainpipes though. messy hair is a lifestyle for them- their haircut is definitely home-done

you know how in BICSTLY they used to have really long hair before they cut it? in a modern au i can see them impulsively doing the cut at like 3am and waking milo up at his door cause they screwed it up and he ends up having to help fix it (even though hes literally no better at cutting hair than them. worse even)

definitely have an undercut bob- bob on top, shaven on the bottom layer. they might end up growing their hair into a mullet at some point if they get bored. probably dyes their hair all the time out of boredom and then regrets it later and has to use dye remover.

lots of ripped tights and fishnets, leggings with big loose crop tops, big hoodies, safety pin jewelry and homemade jewelry. maybe some sticknpokes.

all that said, they still know how to dress in a professional situation. since its a modern au theres really nothing holding them back from the education and career they canonically want but cant get in the 1910s, so i imagine they would work at the smithsonian as well, maybe their father helped them get the job? potentially in that case they might be his assistant- after all, he trusts their opinion on artifacts more than anyone else's.

at work you can still very much see the punk/skater/grunge/goth style but its more understated- turtlenecks, high waisted and looser dress pants, lots of black, slightly unbuttoned collared shirts with a loose overcoat and no tie

since i elaborated on milos shoe taste i may as well elaborate on red's: they definitely wear converse as well, probably newer than milo's since their father is fairly wealthy and they can afford it. they also have a doc martens collection. they have a pair of demonias but they never wear them and milo is really the only person to even know they own them, let alone see them in them. they really dont like to wear heels much, but they own a few just to play around with. they have a bad habit of wearing any laced shoes untied, but they never trip over the laces. they also use lace code- their most-worn Docs have purple laces on the right foot and yellow on the left. some of their Docs have (reclaimed) pink laces.

has an extensive pin collection including feminism pins, anti-racism pins, punk-related pins, skater-related pins, and pop culture pins (80s music, modern music, old movies, etc)

MUSIC TASTE

milo's into a lot of older music- stuff from the 50s is his favorite. really into jazz and ballroom style stuff. his favorite band is queen, i think- he likes the old-fashioned sound, the jazz-chamber-ballroom influences, the diversity of their lyrics, and the complexity between the guitar riffs, the basslines, and freddie's vocal runs as well as the vocal harmonies.

sometimes he hums good old fashioned lover boy to red and they two-step in the living room in their pajamas :pleading:

also very into rush. yes, he is a rush guy :pensive:.

also listens to a surprising amount of lo-fi? he really likes stuff that remixes older music with hip hop and lofi elements, like earl grey. nearly exclusively into instrumental stuff but also very into louie zong. he listens to it while he works a lot.

knows a lotttt of foreign artists, especially niche ones. fuckin LOVES casiopea

red's spotify is a goddamn mess. everything from 2000s emo, to classic 70s punk, to post-punk and new wave, to 90s pop, to rap. they cant be easily classified at all

their favorite bands are oingo boingo, prince, queen (they listen to a lot of their harder-rock music, but milo knows theyre into the ballads too. theyll never tell anyone else though), doja cat, lil nas, fall out boy, and billie eilish.

red recites the intro monologue to lets go crazy very seriously to make milo laugh, sometimes. they get very into it with their facial expressions. sometimes it devolves into a full air guitar/keyboard/drum and wild dancing session. milo does not know how to participate in this but he loves watching them have fun with it. sometimes they pull him off the couch to make him dance with them, though

they are a huge sucker for dark pop, vaporwave, retrowave, EDM, hip hop, emo, punk... etc etc. anything that combines any two or more of those genres in an original or interesting way gets their attention right away

there's a lot of sharing between the two of them- even though their music tastes are so different, they like a lot of the others taste, and theyre always up to listen to whatever their partner is playing.

red is a huge softie, and milo has found them more than once listening to or humming something he was playing for them the other day because it reminded them of him

speaking of which- in the 1914 canon, red can play piano. i think that carries over to a modern au, where they could play piano and by extension keyboard. i like to think they experiment with a lot of instruments but i doubt they ever really mastered any others. maybe theyre okay at drums or bass?

they learned to play and sing teo torriatte for milo, as a surprise. when they first performed it for them, they had everything set up for when he got home from work- the lights were dimmed, they had candles lit around the keyboard, they draped stuff in cloth to make it look pretty, they scattered flower petals around. when milo walked in and saw it all, he almost proposed then and there- the only thing that stopped him was that he would kick himself for the rest of his life if he did that without a ring.

HOBBIES/ACTIVITIES

milo is still an avid chess player in this, but i like to think hes in some kind of groupchat or text or discord server for it. he doesnt necessarily consider any of the others in the chat close friends, but he does know them all by name

he tries to get red into chess but they never really get it

he tells them all about the stuff that goes down in the games and they just. do not understand. but they love listening to him get excited about it anyway

"red you're not gonna BELIEVE this, eddie played an italian game on star today! i thought for sure she would see through it since everyone knows it but she slipped and he beat her in like, 13 moves! i wouldnt have believed it if i hadnt been there!"

"yes sweetie please tell me more" (barely disguised pained expression)

red is a skater and a regular at the skate park by the smithsonian

most regulars there know them by name, they can spot a newbie a mile away

they have a sticker of a broken tv with a skull inside of it on the underside of their board, its become recognized as a symbol of them unofficially

since theyre so regular and have been going there a lot longer than most of the other skaters that frequent the place, a lot of what they say is kind of just accepted as the rules

they have a bad habit of lecturing new kids who show up without knee/elbow pads or helmets at the very least. all the other skaters enforce it too. kids dont end up showing up without protective gear very often after their first visit

they brought a first aid kid and left it there and everyone has kept it stocked pretty well without them having to have much input. its kind of just a communal first aid kit

they once drew the broken tv symbol on the inside of a half-pipe and everyone started calling it red's ramp after that

they also started calling the bowl at the center of the park the Soup Bowl and now thats just accepted as the name. some of the newer kids genuinely thought that it was called that by the park and were shocked when they found out it was just a random nickname red gave it one day

theyve brought milo a few times but hes extremely awkward on his feet and could never really get his balance on a skateboard, and quite frankly red is afraid of what might happen if he tried even a low ramp, so he usually just sits at the rim of the bowl while red skates around

everyone knew he was their boyfriend before they even met him. a few of the regulars called him by name right away. one of them was certain red had brought him before.

but no

they just talk so fuckin much about him that its like they already know him

aside from skateboarding, red is pretty good on rollerskates/blades

they tried to take milo to a roller rink once but it was a disaster and they ended up going home, changing into pajamas, ordering chinese food, and marathoning movies till they fell asleep on the couch together. so not a total loss

theyre both very into movies. red is deep into horror and milo likes indie/art movies and just Cannot handle horror at all, but they both agree on old movies, from the 80s and 90s to like the 30s.

red has shown milo some of the classic horror movies and the niche old ones (from like the 40s) since theyre not difficult to stomach

every so often when red brings up wanting to see a horror movie milo is like "aw babe we can watch that tonight i promise it wont be bad" and he genuinely thinks he can handle it this time

he cant

he never can

it is always a lie

red ends up holding him every time and talking him to sleep, but it thankfully never causes like a major panic attack or anything like that

they love going to museums together, of all kinds. they love art museums. they also go to aquariums and aviaries

sometimes they like to go to other history museums and criticise the veracity or accuracy of exhibits/translations, all in good fun of course. theyre never actually being mean about it

SIDENOTES/UNCATEGORIZED

they both used to work at starbucks, when they were younger and before they worked at the smithsonian. they worked at separate stores 2 blocks from each other.

milo cant stand soda or carbonated drinks, red can and will chug a java monster in order to survive a long workday if they must. milo is constantly concerned for their health and wellbeing

they r both lightweights when it comes to drinking. they can split a six pack and both be falling-over drunk by the end of the night.

given the changes in beauty standards people DEFINITELY think milo is more attractive than they would in 1914. cmon. hes a lil twinky nerd. you think people wont eat that up?

he never really catches onto the flirting much though

did u think i would forget ki/da and the others? youd be wrong.

i simultaneously like the idea of something similar to the movie happening, but also just like... ki/da just being a regular person living on the surface. in either case they r all friends still

in the case of ki/da just being a regular person on the surface- i like the idea of atl/antis just being A Place in this au, maybe its a bit of a closed off country though? like, not many foreigners live there and to get there you basically need to be there as a diplomat or a scholar

maybe ki/da visits DC as a diplomat? she is a princess, after all

red meets audrey online cause they both yell at the same misogynistic asshole on twitter

they exchange discord names in the replies of the tweet and tell the guy not to interrupt them while theyre talking in his replies

i like to think red and milo are selected to go on an academic visit to atl/antis (to learn about the culture, with permission of the king), and audrey ends up as the mechanic on the ship during the visit and theyre like (spiderman pointing meme) at each other

red and audrey have so many inside jokes that they basically speak a different language. milo gets some of the terms from context and pop culture (they use "so very" in real life- as in "wow, that shirt is so very.") but he is hopeless to learn all of it

one of their inside jokes is any variation of "milo hot girl summer" and they REFUSE to explain it to him no matter how much he begs

milo wears that iconique tank top on the ship and they say it literally any time he bends over, picks anything up, reaches for anything, moves, BREATHES. he is bewildered and at this point concerned

(in truth, the joke came from red taking a really blurry picture of him in a short sleeve shirt where he looked pretty cute and captioned it "milo's having a hot girl summer rn" and they just could not stop repeating it once audrey met him IRL)

they have a minecraft world. i do like to believe that every so often vinny finds a way in- theyre never sure how- and griefs the shit out of them by blowing up EVERY. monument.

this post is getting long bc im enraptured by the idea of an atl/antis modern au so im cutting it off here but expect WAY MORE later

[hunghohoseok]

Punk Rock Drummer

Disclaimer: He is actually NOT a drummer it just didn’t work out that way lol

Words: 3.8k

Genre: Smut.Fluff (if you squint)

Warnings: seeeeeex.dick piercing.tonguing panties? (is that a thing?).implied drinking.unsafe sex (stay safe my creepies).accidental voyerism

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Summary: You’ve always wanted to go to the big city, but going alone terrifies you. Your best friend tells you that her brother and his band are gonna have their big break and is inviting you to go see him in action. The thing is, you’re a sucker for a boy with tattoos.

This is part of my B.F.B MASTERLIST! Find the rest here!

Blog Masterlist

(this shit in unedited, sorry ya’ll)

You knew, you knew, you shouldn’t have messed with him. Everyone told you that he’d hurt you, but you had a type.

Asshole, asshole is your type.

Jay was his name, breaking your heart was his game. He was hot, had a lip ring, and his hair was unruly and it made your heart flutter and your insides feel a certain way. Oh, and he had a tribal tattoo wrapped around his forearm. That was the only thing you could took at while he took you in the back of his car. It was dark enough that he didn’t notice.  

After that, he seemed to call you less, and you tried to call until you called one too many times and his phone was out of service.  

“He had ONE tattoo and you fell for him?” Your best friend Yejoon handed you another tissue and sniffed into softly.

“Maybe.”

“Why do you do this to yourself?” She asked softly.

The thought of your best friend worrying about you made you cry harder and she wrapped you into her arms and leaned you both back on the couch and you ended up falling asleep on her chest.  

After this one, you’re done, you say to yourself.

“Soo, guess what?” Yejoon leaned on the table in front of you and you looked up from your homework.

“Yes ma’am?”

“Yoongi is having a show.”

“Okay? He always has shows.” You turned your eyes back to your book, determined to read this chapter.  

“Buuuut,” she grabbed the book and closed it. Before you could complain, she put her finger on your lips, “It’s at the Bangtan Ballroom. Tonight.”

Your eyes widened. The Bangtan Ballroom holds around 500 people, and it’s in the heart of the city, where you love to go – not alone though. Yejoon doesn’t like big crowds and a fast-paced environment, so she would always refuse. You both have heard too many bad things about the city, and she took them to heart. They scared you too, lowkey, but you couldn’t help but want to go.

“You’re kidding!” You grabbed Yejoons arms and jumped around the coffee table. “Oh my God, I’m so proud of him!”

Yejoon smiled widely at you, “Me too! And guess what?” She pulled to lanyards out of her back pocket and waved them in your face.

You screamed and started jumping up again, Yejoon joining in until a hard knock from under your apartment floor made you stop in your tracks. You both giggle and she pushes you from your guys living room to her bedroom and she made a b-line for the closet.

“Gotta look good for the other bands. I could meet my true love tonight.” She pulls out a short red dress, puts it up to her chest. “Or a quickie. Same thing right?” She threw the dress back in the closet and dug once more. “Though, I don’t think Yoongi would like it.”

“How is your brother by the way?”

“Bugging me every second, ‘When are you coming to see us? You got any friends who need jobs? Know anyone single?’ I swear, if he asks me one more thing, I'll shut down a cell tower.”

“He’s single? What happened to Suzy? I thought they were ‘in loooove’.” You made a heart around your face and Yejoon threw and shirt at you.

“That ship sailed after they moved to the city for Yoongi’s band. She ‘couldn’t handle the pressure of having a famous boyfriend.’”

“Hardly, they had just formed! They were inseparable during high school.”

Yejoon finally picks out a pair of pants and takes off the ones she currently wearing. “Yeah, well I told him she was bitch from the start.”

You grinned and made your way to her closet and tried to dig out the dress she pulled out earlier.  

“Hot.” You open your mouth to reply and you see her twisted in front of the mirror. She had put on the shirt she threw at you; it was cropped and off one shoulder and you couldn’t see..

“Are you not wearing a bra?”

“Of course not, it wouldn’t be easy otherwise.”

“You really out here tryin’ to be a hoe, huh?” You snickered.

“You’re just mad that my tits are small enough to be a hoe.”

“Oh, fuck off.”  

She laughed at you as you went to your room to get ready.

“I put on the worst bra.” You were grabbing your side, trying to shove the metal piece back into it. The dress was tighter than you thought and it wasn’t helping.

“Dont’cha wish?” Yejoon gestured to herself, and she ended up wearing tight black pants and a cropped tank top.  

“Oh shut up,” You mumbled. You guys had finally made it to the ballroom and it was packed to the brim with bodies, already drunk and dancing to the music playing through the speakers. As you guys finally made your way to the back, you flashed you VIP lanyards and they let you guys though.  

“He said it was the door at the end of the hall..” Yejoon murmured to herself as people, you assume other bands pass by and she couldn’t help but stare. Taking her arm, you made your way to the last room and knocked on it and a gruff voice welcomed you.  

“Come on in!”

Yejoon pushed her way past you and you heard a gruff voice say, “Speak of the Devil.”

“And she shall appear. You were talking about me?” She leaned on Namjoon, the drummer, while he was sitting on the couch. He may have been clumsy off stage, but on stage was a different persona, grabbing the crowd's attention. With the slow beats of his base drum the crowd would hush and be at his mercy. As of now, he was at Yejoon’s attention. He sat up straighter and grinned and she tilted her head in feigned ignorance.  

“Ya, get off him.”  

A low gruff came from behind you that made you jump and turn around. Yoongi had looked different since you’ve seen hm. Granted that was 3 years ago at your high school graduation. Instead of short, spiked, black hair, it now made its way a little past his eyes and bleached His eyes were sunken in and closed halfway into a glare directed at his sister almost falling into his drummer's lap. He stood straighter now, you quickly noticed. He was at least a head taller than you and his once smooth face now had piercings; many adoring his ears, one on his eyebrow, and two small hoops on either side of his bottom lip. Out of your peripherals, you notice he’s wearing a turtleneck. Not very comfortable, you think, he’ll be sweating and that’s not a turtleneck.  

A soft black ink adorned his neck and down towards the collar of his shirt which you now see is a shirt with an unfamiliar logo on it. You don’t think much of it because your eyes go lower and see that he is covered in tattoo’s all the way down to his fingers. As the hands wave in front of you, you soon realize that he was trying to get your attention.  

“Hello? Earth to Y/N?”  

“What?”

“I asked you if you wanted to sit. You seem out of it.” He gestures to a loveseat and you sit down softly. Everyone else had broken off into their respective conversations and you feel out of place now. Yoongi plops down next to you and he leans back and put his arms on the back of the sofa.

“So, how’ve been? You look good.”

“Oh! Uh, thanks, thank you.” Your hands try to drag down the fabric of your dress, and after a few tries you give up and set your hands in your lap. “You look good too. These past few years have been good to you.”

He laughed, “I could say the same about you.” His tongue peaked out and swiped across his lip and you breath hitched.  

“Um, s-so do you like the city?”  

The blond makes a face and he shrugs a bit, “It loses its touch after a while. Too fuckin’ loud honestly.”  

“Really? Ah, I’d love it.”

“Why?”

“I once drove with my parents through the arts district as a child. It was so beautiful, the lights so pretty, and people were talking and having fun and I just want that experience, ya know?”

You looked at him and he had a small grin on his face.  

“What?”

“Nothing. Why don’t you just go?”

You hummed and leaned back on the couch. “It’s all so new. And I've heard some rough stories about the city so I don’t wanna go alone. Yejoon doesn’t like coming so.”

“She doesn’t like anything fun,” he laughed. You smiled at him and became more apparent to his arm that was on the back of seat was inching its way towards you. It’s hard to ignore the heat of his arm on you and involuntarily shiver.

He moved his body closer and whispered so only you could hear, “Well, if you want, I can take you.”  

Taking in a sharp breath, and glanced at his neck piece. You have never seen Yoongi like this. He was never a childhood crush of yours and you sure as hell wasn’t one of his.  

Well-

There was one time, in high school. Yoongi and Suzy had come down to visit and you had been spending the weekend with Yejoon and her family. In the middle of the night you had to use the bathroom which happened to be past the guest room, so no, you were not peeping and you want to make that clear. Hearing a soft groan, you stopped, half asleep, in front of the door and peeked into the light shining though the crack of the door.  

The image permanently seeped into your brain was one of Yoongi, thrusting wildly into Suzy from behind. With her head covered by a pillow, all you could see was Yoongi. How sweaty he was, how he would roll his hips before thrusts, and his abdomen – you had no idea that he worked out. Suzy’s moans were quiet but you could tell she was trying so hard to keep them that way.  

You didn’t realize how long you had been standing there until Yoongi’s eyes bolted up and you swore he made eye contact with you because he grabbed his lip in between his teeth and thrusted faster into and when you heard Suzy get louder, you finally came to your senses and scurried off to the bathroom.  

You couldn’t make eye contact with either of them the whole weekend. Yoongi never mentioned it, so you felt less like less of a pervert. Your own little secret.  

All that is coming back to you as he gazes softly at you. Glancing over to Yejoon, she’s too engrossed in a conversation with Seokjin, the singer and another one of Yoongi’s friends, to pay attention.  

You felt soft fingers on your chin, “Over here, Dollface.”

“Uh, I don’t, uh,” He grinned at your stuttering, and set his hand on your uncovered thigh.

“Tell me if I'm being too forward but,” he got even closer and whispered in your ear, “you look delectable in that dress.”

You felt a shiver down your spine, this one obvious to him, and he chuckled.

“All right guys, you’re on.”  

And just like that, he was gone, along with the rest of the band. You finally had a chance to take a breath and Yejoon took your hand to lead you backstage to watch.  

The only thing you could pay attention to though is Yoongi. The way his fingers lazily strummed the cords of his base guitar all while looking sexy. The crowd recognizes this as well, due to them chanting for him to take his shirt off.

He indulges.

The intricate linework on his chest and back makes you drool, and you hope no one saw that.

After the show, you, Yejoon, Yoongi and the rest of the guys went to a late-night sushi bar, the perks of the city.

There was laughter, drinking, yelling, and you had completely forgotten about Yoongi’s proposition earlier. But as you guys were leaving, Yejoon having been drunk, you were worried about how you guys would get home. She was in no condition to drive, and you had a few drinks and weren’t going to risk it.  

That is how you ended up in Yoongi’s car sitting in the passenger's seat while Yejoon softly sings to herself in the back.  

“Y/N, Y/N,” Yejoon leaned forward to your headrest, “d’ ‘u feel as good as I do righ’ now?”

“No, not really,” you laughed at her and she gazed at you, or at least you think it was at you. It could’ve well been the door handle she was looking at. Her eyes were glazed over and you she abruptly blew a strawberry at you and melted back into her seat.  

You guys had finally made it back to your apartment without a hitch and you and Yoongi (mostly Yoongi) lugged the singing drunk girl back into your guys home, and safely in her bed.  

Yoongi waited in the living room while you helped Yejoon out of her clothes all while she tries to grab your face and tell you how much you love her.

When you finally make it out, Yoongi is on the couch scrolling on his phone. You don’t know how he makes something so mundane look so alluring.  

“Thanks. I appreciate it. She’s a handful sometimes.”

“Oh no problem,” he stands and makes his way to you.  

“So,” you don’t make eye contact with the blond while you talk. “It was an amazing show.”  

“Thanks. Was I, uh,” Hearing him stutter made you gape at him. He was gazing softly at you and scratched his neck. “Was I out of line, back there in the green room?”

You wanted to say no immediately, but you had to think about it. Did you let him because you wanted him to, or because the ink on his arms? Yoongi was nice and from what you heard from Suzy, a grumpy but soft human being willing to make you happy in the most subtle ways. As you think back, you remember in middle school he’d give you his lunch because your family couldn’t afford it. Your first day of freshman year he stuck to you and Yejoon all day, making sure you got to your right classes safely. When he left for college the summer after, he let you and Yejoon hang out in the basement with him and his band every practice – something he claimed he hated.

You felt your chest warm up and you reached out to him. “I liked it.”

“Oh,” his face was flushed and you couldn’t tell it was from the alcohol, “cool, cool.”

He interlocked your fingers and neither of you moved for a minute. You glanced back up at him and you guys slowly made your way towards one another until your lips touched softly. That was all it took for Yoongi’s hand to leave yours and find its way to the back of your head and deepen the kiss. His other hand was on your back and yours interlocked behind his neck.

As the kiss got more intense, his tongue ran across your mouth and you stuck yours out to taste him. His mouth wrapped around the muscle and sucked on it and you couldn’t help but moan.  

He released your tongue, “Yoongi, please.”  

“Yeah?” He bent down and grabbed the back of your thighs and you jumped into his arms. Yoongi walked to the couch and settled between your legs. “Tell me what you need, Dollface.”

Your legs had to stretch apart to accommodate for his body and your dress began to roll up. You tried to pull it down, but Yoongi grabbed your wrists and put them above your head.

“Tell me.” His voice was gruff.

“I-I need you, Yoongi.”

“To do what?”

You groaned, “Touch me.”

“How Dollface? You have to be specific.”  

You groaned again and lifted your hips. You felt his growing bulge against your panties, which were now free for him to see. He took both of your writs in one hand and dragged his other hand slowly down your body to your heat and rubbed a finger over your panties and a moan makes your way out of your throat.  

“Oh? This is what you want?”  

“Yes, please.”

“Oh, well, I do aim to please Dollface.” He let go of you and moved his face toward your center. His tongue prodded at you and you hissed. Yoongi thrusted his tongue in you as far as he can, making your panties go with him and he made his way to your clit, soaking your panties as you squirm under his touch.  

“More pleeeeaaase Yoongi.”

You could hear a soft chuckle and before you knew it, his tongue was directly against your pussy, thrusting in and out while his thumb was rubbing against your clit in quick circles. Your moans got louder and you realized that no matter how drunk she is, Yejoon hear and that makes you cover you bite on you hand.  

“Let me hear you baby.”

“But - haa – she's gonna he-aah!”

Yoongi took your clit into his mouth and flicked it around with his tongue and your felt a growing heat in the pit of your stomach.

“Faster please.”

Your toes began to curl and you tried to spread your legs as far as they could go and he release your clit, spreading your lips to see how pink and wet you are.  

“Let go Dollface, cum on my tongue, please.”

Hearing his plead made you moan behind your hand and seized your clit again. He moaned into you and the rubber band snapped in the pit of your stomach and your legs shook and you hand left your mouth and onto Yoongi’s head, gabbing and pushing him closer as you ride out your orgasm.  

He finally pulls away and kisses you hard, shoving his tongue in your mouth so you can taste yourself. You feel his hands come to the neck line of your dress, trying to pull it down to look at your breasts. When it wouldn’t budge, he groaned a “sorry” into your mouth and before you could ask, you heard a loud rip.  

“Yoongi! This was Yejoon’s.”

“I’ll buy her a new one,” he sat up and made a mental picture of how wrecked you look. Chest red, a pretty black lace bra pushing your breasts together, the bottom of the dress rolled up to your waist, and your pussy on show or him. “Take it off.”

You sit up all while keeping eye contact with Yoongi. His lip was in between his teeth and starts to take off his shirt and you couldn’t help but drag your hands across his inked chest.

“You like these?” He smirked.

“Mhm.”

“I like these,” Yoongi squeezed your breast and leaned you both back down to latch his mouth on your nipple while his hand rubbed the other. “God, they’re so pretty. You’re so beautiful Dollface.”

You could feel yourself blush at the compliment, not that you could tell. “Please, I need you Yoongi.”

Your hands started unbuttoning his jeans and he grabbed your wrists again. He started rubbing himself against your center.

“I saw you, you know.”

“W-what?”

“All those years ago, when I was home.”

“Oh God Yoongi, I-”

“You liked it, huh? Liked how good I was fucking her? How she couldn’t keep quiet while I took her over and over?”

You whimpered and moved your hips with Yoongi, “Please.”

“I knew you were there, I just couldn’t help but show off. It made it so hot knowing someone, you, were watching me.”

He reached into his pants and pulled out his hard cock and he stroked himself a few times. You looked at his red tip and you saw a silver ball at the top. Oh God, his dick is pierced, oh god, oh god-

“You want me Dollface?”

You nodded fast and he rubbed he tip against your clit. You felt your hole clench around nothing.

“I do,” You took hold of his forearms to keep your grounded while his middle finger entered you slowly.

“Oh, so easily,” he pumped a few times before adding another one, it going in easier than the last. “Jesus, okay. You want my cock this bad Dollface?”

“Just do it!” The plea in your voice made Yoongi smile this big gummy smile and you felt the heat in your stomach again. He lined his cock up to your entrance and the pressure of his cock stretching you made you clench.

“Ah, fuck,” He sighed as his hips met yours.

“C’mon, fuck me.”

“You asked for it Dollface.”

He dragged out his cock and thrusts back in and didn’t stop until you had a pace you both agreed with. Your moans were like a lullaby to his ears and he wanted the extended version. He groaned at the pleasure he was giving you and rolled his hips to hit your g-sot. Your moans got louder and high pitched and the sound of his skin slapping your made you push back harder.  

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.” You reached out to Yoongi and you caught a glimpse of one of his tattoos. It was a rose wrapped in thorns. So simple and bright red, but you loved it. It seemed soft and the thorns made it seem too dangerous to touch. Looking back at him, his lidded eyes were staring you down and you couldn’t help but keep eye contact with his as he fucked you.

“Please, make me cum.”

“Oh I will,” he gruffed.

His fingers found your clit and he rubbed as fast as he was thrusting and you squeezed around him feeling your orgasm coming.  

“Oh, fuck I’m close.”

“Fuck yes, cum for me Dollface. I need it. Squeeze my cock, squeeze it.”

With his words, he made you came around him, tightening your muscle and your mouth was formed an ‘o’ in a silent scream.  

A groan hit your ears and Yoongi’s thrusts were stuttering off tempo and he pulled himself out, pumped once, twice, and the third stroke set him coming across your stomach.

“Ah shit.”  

Only the sounds of your harsh breathing was heard and he fell softly on top of you and wrapped his arms around your limp body.  

“So,” he finally said after a few minutes, jolting you awake, “still want the tour of the city? I think it could make a great date.”

You smiled at him and he leaned down and gave you a kiss.  

“I think I'd like that.”

[heli0s-writes]

Cut

Pairings: Reader x Bucky Barnes Summary: You impulsively make a change. Bucky appreciates it.

Bag of Tricks One-Shots

There was always something about women’s hair that caught Bucky’s attention. 

Perhaps it was the latent memories of his sisters and ma doing their hair every night and fixing it each morning in perfect coiffed rings- something about the smell of hairspray and the curling iron, hot and sizzling, barely burnt into the ether.

Women these days probably didn’t spend as much time on their hair, Bucky thought— but well, maybe they did. The Widow changed her look every few years and The Witch spent quite a while on perfecting those waves. Regardless, he always appreciated when a gal walked by with shiny, long, locks, bouncing against her back.

He often regarded his own hair in the mirror, taking note of its length. He wondered if he should cut it again like in those old pictures, but something about the shortness made him feel insecure and too open. He liked to be covered up now—as a reminder of who he’s become.

The only time he really thought about cutting it for good was when you’d snatch it by the handfuls during a fight. It started off as a mouthy little spat where you threatened to rip out his hair for looking better than yours, then slowly transformed into actual pulling, then a few weeks later you were bold enough to use it against him.

You’d gotten him pretty good, all five fingers deep, and brought him down by slamming him against the wall. The face bruise was nothing compared to the tender welts on his scalp for the next two days.

He didn’t let himself stoop to your level, but it started becoming a signature move for you, and you were ballsy enough to try two hands. Of course, it left the rest of your body wide open and he easily kneed you the hell out of the way.

Bucky always appreciated eagerness, but sometimes you could be such a... pain.

You had pretty gorgeous hair, yourself, Bucky admitted. It was impressive: long, thick, and he couldn’t remember if he’d ever seen you fiddle with it after a shower other than wringing the hell out of it with a rough linen towel. You’d brush it loosely with your fingers and then leave it there. Somehow it dried every time into a beautiful pile of wavy locks that was envied by many female agents. You were smart enough to pull it into a tight bun before a fight, but since there was so much of it, it generally flopped out of the band anyway.

Lately it’s grown so long that it was touching your lower back and getting caught in the damndest places, like car windows and doors and the constantly shifting plates in Bucky’s metal hand. You had gotten so upset when he snagged a few strands during a routine grapple in the spaces of his knuckles; you’d stormed off the mat and slammed the door on the way out. The mental chart in Bucky’s head where he kept tally of how often you baffled him earned another strike.

Half an hour later as the last shot emptied in his pistol, he pulled his earmuffs off to find you leaning against the door, choking as he briefly wondered if he’s hallucinating. Your signature unruly mane had been completely buzzed off and left with a close crop of even dark stubble all around your crown. He couldn’t pinch it between his smallest fingers if he tried.

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah. I know. I got tiny little bits all over me. Let’s go wrestle. I’m so gonna kick your ass.”

“Holy shit.”

You pulled a face somewhere between disgusted and amused. 

“My buzz cut getting you randy or what, dude? Jesus.”

You turned away with a suspicious eye before walking back towards the gym. Bucky easily caught up, lost in thought about how quickly a simple haircut could change not only an appearance, but someone else’s notions.

For example, he first thought about how much he missed the very specific way your hair shimmered under the fluorescent lights of the hallway— a dull shimmer, but it still did. Or how the curve in your waves would flick against your shoulders when you’d brush them out of the way. Or how lately, the tips of your hair would sway along your lower back, threatening to brush up against your bottom.

Your long hair had given you such a strange feminine grace, making all of your movements fluid and enthralling-- beautiful and strong the way ballerinas are.

But suddenly, none of that existed. 

Bucky watched as you marched through the compound, surprised to see, for the first time, that your gait matched his own. People were swerving to the sides of the halls as you walked past, either balking at your lack of locks or your vicious stomping.

When he squared up in the training room, fists raised, he couldn’t help but notice that you had exceptionally thick eyelashes and such sleek and shapely brows. Even the tip of your nose and cheekbones seemed more prominent, and hell, you sported a smattering of barely-there freckles across the side of your left cheek. Bucky thought they looked like the scattering of constellations in a night sky.

He didn’t even see you coming until your weight was already thrown over his chest and he was knocked back onto the mat with you sitting on top of him, knees to the side of his face, right hand on his neck.

“You didn’t even try that time, man. Usually you catch me at least halfway.” You gave him a perturbed look, followed by a strange realization, “I’m riding your collarbones, Barnes.”

Bucky shifted beneath you, mouth hanging open ever so slightly as he crunched forward, the movement of his abs threatening to pitch you over until you felt his wide metal hand splayed out on your spine. The flesh hand palmed the side of your head, brushing over until it rested on the back of your skull, heel of it on your neck. You were surprised when his fingers continued to massage and were even more shocked when the rubbing motion started to feel so good that you leaned into his hand every which way.

He couldn’t help but touch your scalp, the bristles of short hair scrubbing against his palm. It felt so silly, but there was something so deeply liberating to see and feel your mane gone. He saw you in a completely different light- more feral and real.

It had previously shrouded you in his mind under a notion of femininity— one he attached to his sisters, to all women with long hair. It didn’t mean that you were weak, or lesser than him, it was just... something. And seeing you without it was something else.

It stirred him even more so that you had forgone any semblance of style- maybe a fringe, or a bob, a short pixie would have looked nice. Instead, you just... took it all away. 

A slow strike was being carved on his baffled list once more.

Bucky pulled all the way up, sliding your body down his chest to straddle his waist with your legs.

“Uh,” you intelligently posited, glancing awkwardly at the intimate position, “What is going on?”

“Why’d you shave it all off?”

“What? Dude my buzzcut is making you randy.” You struggled against his grasp on your back, trying to free your legs until he placed his warm hand on your thigh, quieting your movements.

“I’m just wonderin’.” His voice was so soft you had to lean closer to hear it.

“I dunno,” you shrugged, “Tired of it. Bored of it. Might as well. Kept getting stuck everywhere. It’s just fuckin’ hair. And honestly, it feels great. Badass.” You swatted a few stray bits that had lingered on your shoulder, turning side-to-side. Bucky watched in awe of your striking portfolio- the gentle slope of your nose, your prominent cupid’s bow, the sharp angle of your jawline from your chin... he always thought your hair was a necessary addition to your essence, but without it, you were breathtaking.

“You are obviously a fan.” You laughed sarcastically.

He could only stutter, “Y-yeah, I am.”

You reeled back in response of his admission. Bucky’s eyes kept roaming over your face and it was honestly freaking you out. He looked like he was going to kiss you.

“Christ, Barnes, what in all of hell is--”

His lips descended on yours, the air around you shifting as Bucky sucked in deep breaths, parting and then coming back for seconds, both hands tight on your neck and even harder on your upper thigh. You pulled away, eyes absurdly wide, trying to understand the situation, “Bucky?”

He stopped, cheeks flushing bashfully as if you’d caught him red-handed elbow-deep in the communal Stark Tower cookie jar. “...’m sorry...”

You shook your head, licking your lips over the remnants of his touch, trying to catch your breath.

“You’re a great kisser, Barnes, but honestly, I really want to wrestle. I think the lack of hair is going to make me fucking slippery. Hella aerodynamic, you know?”

He laughed and cuffed you on the back of the head, spine tingling as your hair sandpapered against the inside of his wrist, “You’re on.”

As he watched you rise, your hand swiftly running up the back of your own neck, curious to feel what he felt, Bucky added a new mark to a new list of things you did to him. He mused over the subject matter- hesitant about lingering on it for too long.

You were still a pain, after all.

[signed-yours-truly-the-whale]

Babes in Chuckletown

OHO BOY, am I angry.

I was in the middle of a very long chapter in my fanfic when my computer randomly decided to restart, costing me NOT ONLY a very long chapter, but the ENTIRE THIRTEEN-CHAPTER DOCUMENT. I thank god that I uploaded it all to AO3 up until the thirteenth chapter (which is going to be a pain the ass to rewrite), but now I have to go in and copy-paste, re-bold and re-italicize everything.

So that’s how my Halloween is going. Excuse me while I cry.

Anyway. Please enjoy this one-shot I’m making up on the fly about Arthur having no choice but bringing his small child to Ha-Ha’s because he has nobody to watch her. Me being in an angry mood helps me to channel Hoyt’s ... Hoytish-ness. Hoyt was definitely an asshole in the movie, but I feel like the lines “I like you, Arthur” and “I’m trying to help you” flew under the radar in light of his dickishness.

I’ve been wanting to write this for a while, I just have no conceivable idea where this would logically fit into my fanfiction, so I gift it here. I’ll let this be a birthday present for the incredible @funsizedshrimp, since they seem to love my Carrie Fleck as much as I do and I absolutely should return the favor for all the lovely art they gift to me. I love you lots, you wonderful person you.

__________________                ______________               __________________

“Hey Peanut, can you do me a favor?”

Arthur’s voice was soft, nearly indecipherable. The pudgy hand that had been grasping at his shirt collar suddenly pushed against him, exerting the energy to be able to lift her head up.

One bleary eye opened to look at him. Her cheek was rosy from her uneasy resting spot on his collarbone. Neither the time nor the place allowed for such coddling, but he continued to rock her on his hip uneasily.

“Mm?” she questioned.

“Can you put a hand over your ear?” he asked, softer still. “Daddy has to talk to someone and it might be a little loud. Not suitable for a baby’s ears.”

Although Carrie grumbled something that only he could decipher as “Not a baby,” she conceded. The sharp bone in her ear pressing against his collarbone hurt, but in the magical age where she began repeating every colorful phrase she heard from the television, he couldn’t risk anything.

Taking in a wavering breath, clutching the bag in his hand tighter, Arthur opened his boss’ door.

“Oh, how fucking nice of you to ... what the fuck is this?”

Hoyt looked up from his stack of documents -- chiefly the words complaint, absence, and Carnival bore into his head from a yellow slip on his desk -- to see Ha Ha’s resident hooky flinch in protest. What he first thought was an overgrown ragdoll, he realized with some incredulity was a toddler, pressing its head into Arthur’s neck.

“You brought a fucking kid into my shop?” he asked, voice rising.

“Hoyt ... please --”

“Please what? This should be good.”

It gave him no pleasure to watch Arthur be so hopelessly awkward, dropping the paper bag in a vain attempt to hike the kid further up on his person. He knew the guy was going through a rough patch with the wife. That it happened on Hoyt’s dime, though, made him hard to sympathize with.

Fumbling for something to do besides stand uncomfortably and rock his daughter into a sleep that she couldn’t attain, Arthur sat in the green chair across from Hoyt’s desk. He positioned Carrie to be able to rest easier in his lap. At a groggy whimper, his hand instinctively pressed against her arm, hoping it would keep her semi-warm. He didn’t know why Hoyt kept the AC on at all hours of the day.

“Well aren’t you a real mother hen,” Hoyt observed, devoid of anything Arthur could recognize as a positive emotion. “What’s it doing here?”

“I ... I had no other options,” he blurted out. “I can’t afford another day off work, but I have nobody to watch her.”

“Do I look like I’m runnin’ a charity ward, Arthur?” Upon further thought, “You didn’t bring her through the locker room, did you?”

“Nobody else is here,” he said quickly, realizing how bad that might’ve sounded once it reached his own ears. “And I made her close her eyes.”

Two scraggly grey eyebrows rose in vague surprise.

“Your mistake, not mine.”

Arthur felt the tips of his ears burn, unsure if he guessed correctly what Hoyt was referring to. Carrie may have been a surprise, but she was no mistake.

“How are you supposed to keep track of the kid on assignment?” Hoyt questioned, flitting through the ever-expanding pile of papers on his desk. “You’re booked for Amusement Mile today. That’s fuckin’ dangerous.”

Awkwardly, Arthur cleared his throat, feeling unable to meet Hoyt’s disbelieving eyes. His fingers rubbed Carrie’s arm up and down. She burrowed further into the crook of his neck, keeping her hand dutifully over her ear as promised. Her face was hidden from view by a crop of blonde hair -- the little veil he had left that kept work and home as two separate realities.

“I - I, um ...” A giggle got caught in his throat, as thick as a billiard ball. He forced it down. “I was wondering if I could keep her here. Just ... just for --”

“What?”

“Just for today, a -- and tomorrow, I’ll be sure --”

“Are you stupid?” Hoyt cuts in, and Arthur’s hand moves from his daughter’s arm to the small hand over her ear like a reflex. “You’re not serious, are you?”

“W -- well, Randall brought in his kid a few w -- weeks ago ... I thought maybe ...”

“Randall’s kid is twelve already, not three.” Hoyt heard a soft mutter of “she’ll be five soon,” as if it would sway the argument in Arthur’s court at all. “What the hell are you thinking in that fucked-up head? No relatives, no friends?”

“Nobody,” he said, and it surprised Hoyt that he hadn’t seen Arthur ... quite so sad before. He’d been sad, sure, but not pitiful. He couldn’t be more pitiful if he was dressed as Carnival doing this begging. “My -- my wife just left, I don’t know where she is. My in-laws are on vacation in Burbank and my mom is in the hospital. The neighbors won’t take her and -- and the preschool is closed ‘cause of a rat infestation. Hoyt, I’m ... I’m begging you.”

Something about the sight was so pitiful, so unfunny in his desperation, that Hoyt narrowly refrained from cutting back with My mistake for thinking you’d have friends.

“Mmf, Daddy,” the source of the frustration croaked. “My arm hurts. Can I put it down?”

“Yeah, Peanut,” he said quietly. The hand slid out from underneath his warm palm and found its way around his neck once again. A thumb brushed away a few strands of hair from her face, unveiling a curtain for her to view this strange new room.

Hoyt almost let slip a surprised “holy shit” as the kid’s head rose to look around the office, wide-eyed in her wonderment, but he thought better of it. But holy shit, did she look like Arthur, in eyes and face shape at least. Slap on a greasy brown wig and she could’ve been a pint-sized clone.

“A jack in the box,” she said quietly, pointing at the dumb clown statue out of his sight in front of his desk. “Daddy, jack in the box.”

“Yeah, Carrie, I see.”

Hoyt bit his lip, at a loss. It was always harder to turn a kid away when he had a name and a face to set to them. Until then the kid could’ve been a delusion for all he knew, the way Arthur talked about her like there was no god damn tomorrow. Who on this green earth would ever think to --?

Ugh. Fuck.

“You owe me, Arthur. Big time.”

____________________

Nine in the morning rolled around to a relative calm. The kid was, to his relief, quiet and weedy for the most part, like her quiet, weedy father. A long stretch of silence ensued -- half-hour? Two hours? He didn’t fucking know -- where the rhythmic punching of the time cards from the locker room and pen (or crayon) on paper substituted for awkward and mindless conversation he didn’t want to indulge in.

His only indication that she was there at all was the knowledge that his door hadn’t opened since Arthur hurried out to get ready and dropped her in Hoyt’s proverbial lap (had it been a literal instance, he might’ve tossed the kid through the window on reflex), and the occasional kicking of leather sandals and bell bottom pant legs barely visible from his vantage point.

“Hey, don’t get any crayon on my floor,” he warned, wondering internally if she made up for in mischief what she lacked in outward annoyance.

“I won’t,” she replied, too high and cheery for nine in the morning. “I draw pictures to stop Daddy being sad.”

Well isn’t that just fucking lovely. But he had a schedule to amend.

He could send Arthur to the kids’ hospital in Randall’s place -- the kids seemed to really respond to Arthur better ... god, why did Randall have to be such an obnoxious prick of a clown with the kids? It was getting harder and harder to place him--

The rustling of paper and a soft grunt made him look up. Hiding her face from his view, the kid was holding up a drawing of ... colored dots? Big whoop.

She pointed to a bright green one, taking up the center of the page.

“That’s -- that’s my daddy at work,” she explained. He raised a brow. Quite a likeness. “And that’s me, with an ice cream.”

Her little pointer finger trailed to the scribble next to the green -- a flurry of yellow and brown and pink. Was that what she’d spent the last hour on?

“What’s that then?” he asked before he could stop himself, not realizing any words had left his mouth at all until the cap of a chewed blue Bic pen tapped against a blue scribble, neatly tucked away in a folded corner.

“That’s my mommy,” she explained, as casual as though he’d asked for the time. Oh. “She’s taking a break.”

He nodded, not trusting himself to say something he might regret in the hours to come. Before coming to the realization that it was not his business nor his time to care, a question flitted through his mind if Arthur had told the kid about her mom at all.

“I got work to do,” he settled. “Read a book or something.”

____________________

Hoyt never thought he’d ever be disappointed to have a knock on the door that wasn’t Arthur.

“C’min,” he said distractedly.

“Hoyt,” Gary said. “Barney needs the key to the storage closet. Forgot his shoes at home.”

“Second time this week,” Hoyt tutted. Standing up, he allowed himself a stretch that popped his back in several satisfying places, and reached for the key under the strip of tape marked STORAGE. “Tell him this had better be the last damn time.”

“I’ll try.”

Their eyes, as though having just materialized in the room, landed on the girl, still lying on the floor but looking up at Gary, saying nothing. Gary’s face softened.

“Oh, hello,” he said amiably. “Is this your daughter, Hoyt?”

Don’t ever say something like that again --

“Nah.” He shook his head and sat back down. “Arthur’s kid.”

A moment of recognition passed where Gary’s eyes lit up like a damn Christmas tree. His smile grew wider.

“So this is the Carrie we’ve heard all about,” he exclaimed, sticking his hand out. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Fleck.”

At the lack of response, Hoyt looked over the desk. A blonde crop of hair was unmoved, and even quieter than she’d been before.

“Didn’t your daddy teach you not to stare?” Hoyt probed.

“She’s alright, Hoyt,” Gary countered, keeping his eyes on the girl. “She’s still very young.”

No time like now to teach ‘em not to stare

“Thanks, Hoyt,” Gary continued. At the door frame again, he smiled once more at the kid. “It was very nice to meet you, Carrie.”

The door closed. As if cued by the click of the lock, she turned quickly to Hoyt.

“He was small!” she whispered.

“Yeah, and you’re rude.”

“How rude?”

“It’s fuckin’ rude to stare at him ‘cause he’s short,” Hoyt snapped, pulling yet another litany of papers in a barely-together manila folder from an overstuffed desk drawer. “He doesn’t stare at you ‘cause you’re a girl.”

“But that was scary.”

“There’s a lot scarier guys to be on the lookout for, kid.”

“Who?”

Your daddy, for one.

“I don’t wanna be rude,” she said quietly, beginning to stand. She swiped a bit of dust from the knee of her bell bottoms, putting a nagging word in the back of his mind to sweep the office soon. “I wanna be like my daddy. He’s nice.”

He looked at her briefly before returning to his papers again. Crudely and off-tune, he made out that she was attempting to whistle the Andy Griffith theme.

Andy Griffith. Sheriff Barney Fife. God damn you, Gary.

The back of a blonde head was cast in varying shades as she stood in front of the window slats, drawing a little pointer finger over the sharpie-marked letters. MIME. WHITE FACE PAINT

I have no doubt you’ll be exactly like your daddy. Good luck with that.

____________________

Two o’clock gave Hoyt his first opportunity to get a real look at the Fleck girl. That still felt weird to say.

“Here,” he said stiffly, digging into his back pocket to produce two dimes. “Go down the hall ‘til you reach the Pepsi machine and get us two sodas. It’s lunch time.”

She swiped the dimes from his hand. The contact of nails against his palm made him shiver more than he expected. She felt startlingly real.

A few hesitant steps later -- and he really had to question how poor Arthur was that she looked at the dimes like she’d never seen them before -- she turned to look at him. The pink clip holding her bangs back suddenly bobbed on her head.

“Daddy not let me have soda,” she said.

“Your daddy’s out working. Skedaddle.”

“But what if he come and sees?”

She was lucky her little girl charm made up for the annoying inconsistency of her grammar. If there was one thing Hoyt hated, it was inconsistency.

“We got two hours ‘til you gotta worry about that.”

He looked down again, swiping a red mark through Randall’s name. Another complaint from a kid’s parent from the latest birthday party. God damn --

A clanking made him look up, and sigh. She couldn’t reach the door handle.

“Every paper I can’t sign ‘cause of lookin’ after you is coming out of your daddy’s paycheck,” he threatened, standing to open the door.

The kid was made all the more startlingly real, assaulting his senses as he had to grab her arms and push her forward to get her to stop gawking at the animal statues and props in the storage closet that swallowed the hallway. At least the locker room was empty.

What the fuck are you thinking bringing her here, Fleck?

Leaning against the opposite wall, he watched with waning curiosity as she rushed over to the machine, concluded she was too short to reach the buttons, and pulled over a yellow chair (the uneven wobbly one that grated on his nerves to hear scraping against the ground in uneven increments) to stand on. Licks of curls rested on her shoulders, reminding Hoyt of her mop-headed father.

Rushing back to him, she triumphantly handed him a blue Pepsi can, keeping the Mountain Dew for herself. Eh, he’s had worse.

“Stay,” he said gruffly, unsure of what else to say. He was more accustomed to dogs than kids, but felt satisfied by her listening skills when she climbed into the yellow chair next to the black trunk-table.

Two minutes later and he found himself in the impossibly weird scenario of not only having lunch outside of the comfort of his office, but tossing a banana to a kid who, by all the laws of nature, should not really be allowed to exist. Cute as she may be, to see physical proof of Arthur Fleck’s sex life made it hard to look at her for more than a few seconds.

Hoyt looked anyway, a little annoyed at her inability to open the soda can with her frail little finger. Weak like her damn dad. He swiped it, opened it with a secretly satisfying hiss, and watched her take a great sip. Scrunching her nose -- thank god for her, it wasn’t like Arthur’s -- she stuck her tongue out in derision before reaching over to set it on the table.

Hoyt switched the cans. He hated Pepsi anyway.

He also hated bananas, and the leftover couscous his wife made the previous evening. Mentally he made a note to pack his own damn lunches from then on.

So the banana went to the kid, less out of concern for her eating and more as a means to stop any bellyaching from either her or his wife later.

“So your dad doesn’t let you have soda,” he found himself asking. Why his brain was unable to catch up with his mouth, he wasn’t really sure.

Through a mouthful, she shook her head at him. Swallowing down a sizeable bite, she said, “The sugar bad for my heart.”

“Hmm.”

“My mommy let me have soda, though,” she said, perkier now in a way that made him feel a little rigid. “She likes Coke.”

Hoyt held back a snort of derision and surprise. There were funnier things to mock Arthur about than his wife hitting it big and leaving. Coke was for the rich, he knew. Poor people ... drank Pepsi, he supposed, looking at the kid and the soda can again.

She seemed much more content with the Pepsi can. Metaphorical? Maybe. He was never one to think of analogies -- nor did he really care.

At the sound of the entrance banging open, her eyes widened and she went red. Her hands stayed firmly around the soda can as her proverbial cookie jar.

Whatever jaunty tune Randall was whistling as though he wasn’t twenty minutes late was cut short upon making eye contact with the kid. Hoyt saw something that looked friendly, but not in the same fashion that maybe Gary had in mind.

“Didn’t realize you paid for ‘em so young, Hoyt.”

An inexplicable burning sensation flared in the tips of Hoyt’s ears.

“It’s Arthur’s kid, now fuck off,” he said quickly. “And you’re late.”

“Car broke down again.”

“Well get it fixed, or don’t let it break down on my time.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Randall sighed, breezing past them with his nicotine-smelling clown suit in hand, chief of the parents’ complaints.

The girl’s eyes trailed after the huge man, staying on the hallway long after he’d left. She leaned in just after he took in a mouthful of cold, crunchy couscous.

“What did he mean?” she asked quietly.

“Don’t ask questions.”

____________________

Hoyt’s leg bounced, eyeing the clock out of his peripheral. If Arthur believed Hoyt was letting himself be saddled with the kid for one minute past four o’clock, he was really out of it.

The kid was getting restless, and relentlessly annoying. She surprised him with her expert knowledge on blowing up and tying balloons -- of course Arthur would teach her that, what a valuable life skill -- but the inefficient scraping of two ends of a tightly-woven balloon into a barely-decipherable balloon animal made him wanna pop the thing right in her face. God damn, why did he keep a pile of them within her reach?

She made a snake, she declared. Or a worm.

Upon reaching for another one, it came with an unnecessary avalanche of wormy friends as the corner of a plastic bag scattered a cluster of colored balloons on the carpeted floor.

“Shit,” he grumbled, rounding the desk to collect them. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her put back the one she’d originally grabbed. “You’d better hope your dad has money to pay for new balloons, kid.”

“Shhh ...” His eyes narrowed at her, watching her lean down with him to collect handfuls -- albeit smaller handfuls -- of long balloons. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit.”

____________________

Two minutes to four, Arthur came into the office, looking like a man on a mission. It was to his visible relief, Hoyt noticed, that the kid was happy and very much alive.

“Daddy!” she exclaimed, hopping from the chair to take aim around his pant leg, leaving her picture book on the ground. A hand stroked some hair behind her ear and she smiled sappily up at him. “I drew you pictures and -- and I made you a balloon snake, but it popped.”

Groaning, he pried her arms away and bent down to her level.

“Were you good for Hoyt?” he asked, the faintest smile threatening to split on his face. Eight hours of work would not stop him from enjoying how soft her hair was, or how she smelled like cherries when she hugged his hulking, sweaty form.

“Just aces,” Hoyt smiled cloyingly, twisting a pen cap between his fingers. “Get a sitter for her tomorrow or don’t bother coming in.”

“That good, huh?” Arthur questioned, groaning again in achy protest as he stood up. “I’ll find a sitter for her, I promise.”

____________________

Three hours and two much-needed baths later, Arthur was finding a familiar rhythm in twirling his best girl around their little living room, not minding that he got lost in the mask he wore in front of her. Their old turntable warbled and scratched, but he scarcely noticed.

Carrie didn’t smile at anybody the way she smiled at him. He hoped she knew the flip side to that was true as well.

Que sera sera

Whatever will be, will be

The future’s not ours to see

Que sera sera

“I talked with Mom on the phone today,” he mentioned, watching her face brighten into a widening grin. “She said she wants to meet up with us to take you to lunch on Saturday.”

“Is she come back?” she asked. With her left hand enveloped in her father’s, she shifted her right arm so it rested against his chest and she could lean back to look at him. His face fell slightly.

“No, Peanut, I don’t think so. But you’ve been doing so well with school ‘til it closed, I thought you could tell her all the new rhyming words you learned. You learned what rhymes with bit, didn’t you?”

Her eyes traveled up to the ceiling, scrunching her nose to remember.

“Split,” she concluded, aglow in his proud smile. “Now you.”

“Befit. You?”

“Uh ... grit.”

At a very inelegant dip, which sent her into shrieking giggles as she felt her ponytail brush the floor, he said, “Banana split.”

“That doesn’t count!” she laughed.

“Oh, really? How does it not count?” he humored.

“Cause I said split! No cheating!”

“Then tool kit,” he smiled. “But now you have to think of two words.”

“Quit, and ...” She stopped to consider. “Oh, I learned one today! Shit.”

____________________

“Hoyt?”

“What do you want?”

Arthur looked from the paper in his hands, to the area of space between his person and the paper, filled in by the sight of his feet doing an awkward little soft shoe. Should he even question Hoyt about this? He was as honest as he could be, but something about this didn’t seem to add up.

“It’s just, uh ... my paycheck seems higher than it should be?”

“Is that a problem?”

“Well, no, but --”

“Then what is it?”

A nervous sweat started to form at Arthur’s hairline.

“It’s just that ... I did the math, and -- and it looks like you paid me for one of the days I didn’t work.”

“Are you tellin’ me you don’t think I did my math right? Go get a fuckin’ bank job if you think you know better.”

“So ... I’m -- I’m fine if I deposit the two hundred from the check?”

“Your money,” Hoyt grumbled, signing away another mindless paper. For being a clown business, he sure did have a shitload of paperwork. “Pay your rent, buy a hooker, some booze ... a snazzy divorce lawyer.”

Turning, Arthur felt something air-light in his chest, still disbelieving of the good fortune.

I can pay the rent, he registered. I can pay the rent and I can buy Carrie some new toys.

“Hey, how’s the little ankle-biter, by the way?”

He turned again, slower.

“What?”

“Kelly, the -- the kid you brought in on Monday. Raised hell in my office.”

“Oh ... Carrie?”

Arthur looked down at his shoes again, smiling. Staying with his mom and her newly-broken arm, bellyaching about wanting Hoyt at her babysitter again because “Nana can only make TV dinners.”

“She’s just aces.”

[eryiss]

10 / 20 / 24 / 31/ 61 / 92 / 96 / 102 one of those in case you wanna explore some bdsm themed stuff maybe? there's a lot for dom!laxus and sub!freed and more dom!freed content would just be really 👌🏻👌🏻 maybe youve got a specific kink for them in this set up that you can see nut havent gotten to write yet 🤔

Prompt: ‘I’m waiting’, ‘Behave’, ‘Say it’, ‘I’m not going to touch you unless you beg’, ‘I know for a fact that you can be a hell of a lot louder than that.’  Prompt List here

Pairing: Fraxus

Raiting: Explicit N S F W

Read it Elswhere: AO3, Fanfiction

Warning: Contains minor public humiliation, sadomasochism and rough sex. 

"I'm not going to touch you unless you beg."

"Come on Laxus," Freed said with a smirk, tapping his finger against the table. "I'm waiting."

Laxus was blushing red, fidgeting where he stood. He was in the guildhall, surrounding by almost all of his male guildmates in various states of undress. They were holding a guy's night, and somebody – Loke – had suggested they all play strip poker. The hall was a mass of muscles and underlying sexual tension between men, which was most obvious between Laxus and Freed.

The two were the final men playing, being the best at the game. Freed had somehow managed to only remove his coat during the process, whereas Laxus had been stripped to his trousers only. The trousers he had just lost to Freed.

Which was where the issue lay. Laxus wasn't wearing his regular boxers. Or regular underwear at all.

He and Freed's schedules hadn't aligned well over the last few weeks, meaning their sex life had taken a hit. This was the first night they would have together and Laxus was going to make the most of it. To make sure it happened, when dressing himself in the morning, Laxus had swapped out his boxers for the sexiest underwear he had. He knew that Freed would be driven wild by the knowledge Laxus had been wearing them all day. He regretted that as much as he regretted being forced into playing the damn game.

But he couldn't get out of it, everyone was looking at him. They were taking the game seriously as well. Once a piece of clothing was discarded it was put in one of Freed's rune traps; Freed himself had to give his clothes to Grey so they were frozen solid. Nobody would allow him to get out of his forfeit. So he took an unsteady breath, pulled down his pants, and stood with his blush.

He was now wearing nothing but a leopard print jockstrap in front of his guildmates.

The reaction was loud and instant. Most people laughed, someone wolf whistled at his expense, and the dragon slayer was flushed completely red. He looked down at the floor to avoid anyone's eyes, hands covering the bulging pouch between his legs. His hands were pulled away, almost instantly. When he looked up, it was Freed.

"Hands behind your head," He said, authoritatively. Laxus complied. "There was a clear intention when you put this on. Tell me what it is."

"C'mon Freed," Laxus murmured, embarrassed. He couldn't deny he was turned on though.

"Say it, Laxus," Freed demanded. "Although, if you'd rather walk home dressed like this than have me teleport you home, you can remain quiet."

"I just fuckin'… I wanted to turn you on," He confessed, and again people laughed. "And I knew this would do it. And I knew you get pissed off when I wear leopard print because you think I look stupid, and that'd get you to take charge and... and dom me."

Freed was looking at him with predatory eyes, and Laxus' cock started to harden at the sight of it. He wanted to cover himself, but he didn't.

"Good day, gentlemen," Freed said. "I hope you enjoy the rest of your night."

A moment later, Freed pushed his hand against Laxus' chest. A rush or runes enveloped the both of them and a moment later Laxus saw that they were in their home, in their living room. A little overwhelmed by the teleportation, Laxus could only stand as Freed quickly cast further spells, all of which bound Laxus in place. Hands cuffed together high above his head; legs spread wide with a bar of purple magic and shackles around his ankles. He was fully trapped at Freed's mercy, exactly what he had wanted.

His cock was fully hard now, watching as Freed walked to a small chest and pulled out a long leather stick; a riding crop. The blonde's cock lurched at the sight; the crop was something Freed only brought out when he was going hard as a dom. After the last time it had been used, Laxus had been left with whip marks, a limp and wet dreams that plagued him for a week.

And Freed looked more determined now.

"I'm disappointed in you Laxus," Freed commented, gently dragging the metal tip of the crop against Laxus' bare stomach. "When you entered that game, you accepted the risk of having your little secret exposed like this. And I'm not happy with that. Because seeing you like this – flushed and horny and humiliated – is a privilege for me only."

With three quick hits of the crop to Laxus' left thigh, the blonde hissed and gritted his teeth. He could take much more than this, and both knew it.

"You, for the rest of the night, you're going to behave, correct?"

Fully knowing that it was only going to make whatever Freed had planned for him more painful, Laxus looked him directly in his eye and said nothing. Freed gritted his teeth a little in annoyance, took a step forward and pushed the crop against Laxus' bulging jock.

"I said will," He punctuated the word with a hit to Laxus' thigh.

"You," The next hit was on his stomach.

"Behave?" The final hit was to Laxus' balls.

A groan of pain left Laxus' lips as he tried to double over and protect his manhood, but the magic cuffs around his wrists didn't allow him. He breathed in heavily in an attempt to adjust to the pain settling in his gut, and Freed allowed him a moment of respite. He made sure to rub the crop over Laxus' hot skin as he did so, making sure that Laxus couldn't forget the potential for further pain if he disobeyed Freed. It was fucking indescribable how much that turned Laxus on.

Once Laxus was looking up, his balls now just radiating pain rather than stinging from it, Freed was crossing his arms. He was looking at Laxus with a patronising expression, and it sent blood to the blonde's already hard dick.

"You want me to touch you, don't you?" He demanded, and Laxus nodded.

Freed didn't say anything. But the magical bounds keeping Laxus in place started to tug at him, stretching his limbs and making an already uncomfortable position worse. Laxus gritted his teeth at the feeling and couldn't help but let out a moan. Freed really knew how to make a masochist out of Laxus.

"I'm not going to touch you, Laxus, until you're fucking begging for it."

It sent a thrill down Laxus' entire body , and he bucked his hips into the air without intending to. Freed saw this, and gave him three strikes with the crop across the chest. They all stung and Laxus let out a shuddering moan in response.

"Touch me," Laxus whimpered, voice quiet and wavering. "Please touch me. It's been weeks and I've not felt you and its been driving me mad."

So Freed did touch him, in the form of punching him hard in the gut. Laxus cock leaked with precum at the rough treatment; Freed was going so much harder than he had the last time they'd played with dom and sub roles, and Laxus was fucking enjoying it. Being able to put himself at Freed's mercy completely, with him in control of everything Laxus felt and did, was indescribable. And the pain he was in, the feeling of subservience, replaced everything.

There was no stress. There were no other worries. There was just Freed and him.

"Was that what you wanted?" Freed teased in a whisper. "Because if you want something else, be more specific."

Laxus opened his mouth, but Freed punched his stomach again. Laxus could take more and they both knew it, but Freed left his front and started to walk around the bound man. Laxus couldn't see him, but knew that he would be looking him up and down like he was a piece of meat. The degradation sent a thrill down him; only Freed could make him like this and it was hot as fuck.

"What time did you put this on," Freed demanded as he hooked his finger under the elastic waistband of the jockstrap, snapping it against Laxus' waist.

"About eight," Laxus mumbled, arms aching a little.

"So, it's been about fourteen hours of you wearing it without me knowing. Fourteen should be enough," Freed said.

Just as Laxus tried to understand what Freed was alluding to, his eyes widened. Freed had just slapped his ass hard with the palm of his hand; he had just spanked him! Laxus had never been spanked before, and the feeling was both unfamiliar and exhilarating. It sent ripples of sharp pain through his body, and to know that his lover was the one to cause it made the entire situation so much hotter. The pouch of his jockstrap was straining around his dick now, and Laxus could barely handle it.

Another slap hit his ass. Then another. Then another.

"I don't hear any begging, Laxus," Freed snapped, and the blonde moaned. "If you don't want me to touch you, I can stop and leave you here."

"No, don't stop," Laxus whined. "Please touch me. Spank me, fuck me, I don't fucking care. I just wanna feel you."

Another slap hit his ass. Then another. His ass was stinging hard now.

"Please don't stop," Laxus begged. "I just wanna feel you all over me. Hurt me, make me feel good. Do whatever the hell you want form me, just don't stop!"

"Louder," Freed demanded with another slap.

"Fucking hit me!" Laxus shouted. "Make me hurt all over. It makes me so hot and I want it so bad."

"Louder!" Freed demanded again, slapping Laxus' ass harder now. "Forget your pride, embrace your need. Because I know you can be a hell of a lot louder than that."

"Fucking spank me!" Laxus yelled at the top of voice. "Make me a hole for you to abuse. Make me full of cum. I don't give a shit what you do to me just keep fucking going."

"Count them out for me," Freed demanded.

Slap. "Nine!"

It was both exhilarating and embarrassing to follow Freed's orders. It made him feel powerless in the best way possible; he would always relinquish power to Freed.

Slap. "Ten!"

His ass was stinging hard now, and no doubt looked red as hell. It was the last thing in his mind, the constant pain was intense and brilliant.

Slap. "Eleven!"

He spoke with a quiver in his voice, and his dick was pushing against the leopard print silk covering his dick.

Slap. "Twelve."

Slap. "Thirteen."

Slap. "Fourteen."

The final three spanks had come in quick succession, and it drove Laxus over the edge. The intense pain flooding through him went straight to his dick, and an orgasm rocked him. He shot spurt after spurt of cum into his jockstrap, his weight only being carried by the magical bounds as he collapsed into them, moaning.

Freed was watching him with a raised eyebrow, and Laxus tried to recover from the hard pleasure that had overtaken him. The rune mage placed his hand on Laxus' left pec from behind, kneading his chest and toying with his nipple.

"You got more in you?" He demanded, voice hard. Laxus knew this was Freed offering him an out if he wanted it.

"I can't stop until you say so, right?" Laxus whimpered back.

That was more than enough for Freed to continue. He made a quick gesture with his hands, runes flickering around his fingers, and Laxus found himself dragged by his bounds to the floor. His knees hit the hard wood with a crack, and he winced at the pain. A band of magic formed tight around his waist, suspended from the ceiling. Laxus was now positioned on all fours, ass in the air, and his dick was already hard again.

"I wouldn't want you to spoil these further," Freed commented.

Laxus could do nothing but stay still as Freed slid the jockstrap from his crotch, drops of cum hitting the floor. Freed walked before Laxus, crouching in front of him with the cum stained jock in his hands and a smirk on his face. He tilted Laxus head up a little with his finger, forcing eye contact.

"You want me to fuck you, don't you," Freed stated. It wasn't a question.

"Yes," Laxus admitted, red. "Yes, sir."

Freed's smirk became more obvious at the use of a title. "Well, since you've been so good, I'll do just that. But if you can come that hard and scream that loud from something as little as spanking then I fear you might even break through my soundproofing runes when we get to something really intense. But I have a remedy for that. Open your mouth."

Laxus did as instructed, and his cum stained jock was forced into his mouth and tied behind his head.

He gagged a little around it. The smell of his cum mixed with the sweat of the day filled his sensitive senses, and the minor humiliation of the situation made him moan into the impromptu gag. A small slither of drool slipped out of his mouth as he looked to Freed.

His husband took a moment to admire Laxus' state. Then almost teasingly, Freed began to remove his clothing. His actions were slow and calculating, and all that was missing was music to make this a strip tease. Laxus wanted nothing more to crawl to the man and ravish him; but of course he couldn't do it. He just had to watch as Freed teased him, until he was fully naked in all his sexy, strong body.

If his mouth wasn't gagged, Laxus would have moaned at the sight.

Freed stood over him, looking down at him with a patronising smile. His dick was hard, inches from Laxus' face, and the blonde strained to feel it against his lips. The bounds kept him in place, and he blushed as Freed laughed at his neediness.

"So impatient," Freed taunted.

With a smirk, Freed lowered himself to his knees behind Laxus, positioned himself behind Laxus' reddened ass, and pushed himself in. Laxus moaned loudly into his jock, more drool leaving his lips as he was fucked doggy style. Freed was relentless with his thrusts, caring little for Laxus' comfort as he rammed his dick deep inside of him again and again.

Laxus tried to push back against Freed, but the band of magic around his waist made him completely still. But the feeling of Freed filling his tight, stinging ass was orgasmic, and Laxus' cock was quivering again. It was so overwhelming, so degrading and empowering at the same time. Laxus couldn't handle it.

Freed came first, roaring as he pushed deep inside of him

Laxus followed a second later, practically seeing stars as his eyes rolled into the back of his head. His cock shot hot streaks of cum onto the floor as he shivers in pleasure, a gurgled moan being muffled by the gag in his mouth.

Overwhelmed by the feeling, Laxus almost didn't feel himself being released by the bondage spells. He collapsed onto the floor, with Freed panting while lying above him.

"You are," Freed panted as he removed the gag. "You are categorically wearing this thing again."

"If this is what happens," Laxus grinned a horny grin. "I ain't wearing anything else again."

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

just for the fuck of it!

in real life i hate ted talks, i don’t think they’re generally good scientific communication and they appeal to a narrow spectrum of white moderate liberals with liberal arts degrees, generally. the format makes me teeth hurt.

but I WILL ramble on about a topic of my choice, thank you, even though that’s just a regular fuckin’ day here on girlfriendsofthegalaxy dot tumblr dot com.

For someone who only sort of cares about her personal wardrobe, I sure do spend a lot of time thinking about fabric. I also spend a lot of time thinking about Fallout: New Vegas, so let’s combine the two.

Where the fuck are people getting their clothes, and how are they making them? The game specifically points out the outfits that are pre-War, although if those are surviving garments or new garments made in a pre-War style is not discussed. From that, I’m assuming that mostif not all clothing regular NPCs wear on the street is of post-War manufacture. 

So, how the fuck are people making clothes? From what? Using what methods? 

The sheer variety of clothing available points to small mechanical looms and sewing machines. Sewing machines are fairly simple machines and I’m convinced there’s a mix of surviving pre-War and post-War manufactured ones kicking around. They’ve also got a makeshift power grid, which means a decent wire-making setup, which means metal needles. Bone needles are probably more common among hand/home sewers.    

Shoes are actually fairly easy-  the game is lousy with giant geckos, from which you can slap onto leather and metal armor to create gecko-backed armor, which provides additional types of damage resistance. There’s a very cute poster in a fanzine about gecko hide boots. I have lifted this concept wholesale for my own fic, bc everyone walks everywhere and everyone needs good boots. Most boots in-game appear hobnailed or have some sort of traction on the bottom. I don’t think shoe leather is a problem in New Vegas, although more specialized shoes like waders and sneakers are probably much harder, since there’s no petroleum rubber (a main plot point of FO2 is that there’s very little oil and gas left) and rubber trees can only grow outside if they’re in zones 10-11, which is a chunk of California that got whacked pretty hard by the bombs. Is it possible that someone in New California has bioengineered isoprene and now they’ve got vast stocks of non-petroleum synthetic rubber? Maybe? Doesn’t really fit with the tech we see in-game. The shoe rubber we see can’t all possibly be repurposed tires. 

Wool is harder but if we squint we can make it fit into existing lore without a ton of problems. The in-game large domestic meat animal, the bighorner, is a hair sheep not a wool sheep. Animal hair is useful for other things, but it’s hard to make yarn out of. There are probably fluffier breeds in higher not-desert altitudes. So we’ve got socks now, winter wear, and good blankets, and felt for hats. Various flavors of looms have existed long before the Industrial Revolution and I don’t see why they’re not in-game, or why weaving mills don’t exist in the Mojave. Knitting needles and crochet hooks are just fancy sticks, you can whittle them with a minimum of fuss. 

Linen is also a little wibbly lore-wise but sort of fits- there are no flax fields in-game but flax is a very tolerant plant, so I could see regions outside the Mojave successfully growing it. 

A surprising number of people wear jeans. Where the fuck is everyone getting jeans from? Cotton is not a staple crop in California today. Post-War California certainly don’t have the manpower or infrastructure for massive fields of cotton or the required processing, everyone’s a truck farmer or a Brahmin herder, to the point the NCR’s army is having extreme difficulty getting food for its troops. Is there some massive pre-War stock everyone’s been pulling from for two hundred years? Interestingly, the Legion’s armor is mostly football armor, so this does point to them having a pre-War warehouse full of the stuff somewhere. 

The Brotherhood of Steel have really uniform uniforms, if that makes any sense, with less variation than the New California Republic’s standing army in (hemp?) canvas. They don’t have the tech to make new suits of power armor, although I can’t quote that bc I can’t find it again and I have no memory of where I heard it. @morrak is convinced they have the technology to make rayon (invented in the 1890s in our timeline), and I agree bc it’s a finicky multi-step process with lots of drying and waiting time and they’re all nerds stuck in a bunker although I do NOT know where they’re getting the cellulose they are in a desert and wood is at a premium. 

The Raiders’ armor is mostly rags and spikes and sandals made out of old tires, which is also interesting and more of a scavenged Mad Max 2&3 vibe than the other factions, which fits their whole schtick. 

This is many words and I’m reaching the end of my own attention span, I’m sure I have another couple thousand words in me about this but these are the thoughts I am dumping out of my head right now. I haven’t said a single thing about dyes and patterns and prints, for example. 

[hellsbovnd]

what its like to pretend.

wc: 2719 focus: leonnaux altoix a/n: caught a writing bug. first installment of probably a three-part series, but i have other stuff i wanna work on before i continue this! thanks ebonguard for sprinting with me and encouraging my Mess lol

and i swam in the wakes of imposters just to feel what it’s like to pretend;

[ PDF MIRROR ]

One of the greatest skills that Leonnaux possessed was the ability to blend in, despite his burning desire to stand out. It hadn’t been easy to forge these skills, and the early days were rife with trial and error while his makeup work steadily improved, while he picked up little tricks to alter his figure or the way he carried himself—gait being one of the most difficult things to consciously alter. These days, he felt as comfortable in the skin of someone else as he did in his own.

The best way to test his disguises, he’d found was of course in the midst of other people—parties, nights out on the city streets. While he always asked for at least passing approval of his disguise ideas from Edda—“I’m asking you if you think this is convincing, not if you think it’s attractive,” he would occasionally remind her for his zanier ideas—the only way to really tell was among strangers (or better yet those he knew before, but he honestly would feel bad for deceiving his friends in such a way).

If no one was suspicious, it would get added to his repertoire—filed away for future use.

Tonight he’d chosen a dive bar in one of Ul’dah’s seedier areas: far away from the sort of establishment he would usually frequent, but the food was good, at least. Never tried a drink before, didn’t want to risk it at the time just in case drinking made it harder to maintain a façade. He had used this establishment to test disguises before and the bartender remained unconvinced of his authenticity for the entire night. That had been over a year ago, though, and he liked to think that he had improved substantially since then.

As Leonnaux made his way inside, he found the bar was just as smoke-choked as he remembered it. The lanterns on each of the tables were forced to cut their way through a thick curtain of smoke to illuminate the space. Leonnaux wrinkled his nose at the smell, his hands buried in his pockets, a wry smile pulling at the corners of his lips. The establishment was very nearly filled to capacity, with a number of patrons drinking their sorrows at the bar or engaged in a merry night of banter at one of the tables.

One or two parties were even engaged in some heated card games on the balcony above, but he wasn’t in the mood for cards tonight—he was in the mood to get even.

The disguise of the night was on the subtler side of things; unlike his adventure in Ishgard during the Fury’s Moon, he tried to keep his appearance fairly close to his actual appearance. It was often the subtle changes that were the easiest to pull off, even if they went against his usual philosophy of every impression you make on a stranger should be wrong.

In Ishgard, that philosophy meant making drastic changes in both appearance and manner. Tonight, however, the policy was applied more loosely. He didn’t change the color of his hair, or even the length tonight—though the character that he had constructed presented herself in a more feminine manner than Leonnaux typically did in his day-to-day life—and more rough and tumble besides. He donned a pair of leather pants that he had picked up recently, and threw on a leather long coat on top of it. He settled on compromising with well-fitted, cropped halter top that would hide the fact that his cleavage was fake while still exposing enough abdomen to be provocative. He shed his usual gloves in favor of armguards and feathers reminiscent of a magpie’s iridescent blue-green plumage were intertwined with short braids just in front of his ears.

A little makeup work smoothed down sharp angles and strong lines in his face; eyeliner, mascara, and kohl framed his eyes—glamoured to be mismatched shades of hazel—for a suitably intense look when paired with dark lipstick. And of course, a pendant was tucked into his shirt to change his voice so that he would not have to strain to maintain a higher timbre for the night—which without magic would be the one aspect of his person that was unlikely to pass muster while wearing a feminine guise.

“Evening,” the bartender greeted with a smile, tossing the rag he was using to dry newly-cleaned glasses over his shoulder. “What can I get ya?” He was an scrutinizing fellow, a Duskwight with a discerning eye. The sun had given his skin a little more color over the years than he would have had naturally, stealing enough of the grayness from his skin that were it not for the clan tattoos running up his arm and neck—etched into his skin with a blade, not a needle, and highlighted only in certain spots with white ink—he would pass for a Wildwood. His dark gaze settled on Leonnaux, his lips twisted in a smile that was—procedural, somewhat sarcastic even.

Leonnaux tapped a manicured nail on the counter as he hauled himself up and onto the bar stool. When he spoke, it was not with his own voice, but a more feminine one—albeit one on the sultry, low side, as he figured that that sort of voice would fit the character he created for the night the best. “Sazerac. On the rocks.”

His gaze rose to the bartender as he slid some gil coins forward to provide payment for the drink—and a tip, of course.

The bartender nodded and set about making the drink. It wasn’t done with as much finesse as Leonnaux would employ if he were the one on the other side of the bar, and the ingredients here were subpar—catered towards people who were more concerned about getting nice and drunk than people who wanted a high-class experience. That suited him fine, and he tried not to watch the bartender too closely as he muddled the sugar, the water, the bitters. The cognac, the whiskey—stirred, not shaken—then slid over to Leonnaux after a lemon peel was lazily tossed into the glass and left there.

Leonnaux let it sit for a moment before bringing the glass to his lips, leaving some dark plum-red lipstick on its rim once the glass was lowered back onto its coaster. It was good—for the components used. It was what he paid for, anyway; he knew that a place like this probably didn’t have the wherewithal to obtain the nice Ishgardian cognac, and he knew that it wasn’t really ‘in-character’ to complain.

So instead he mumbled a thanks, casting his gaze about the bar. A drunk Seeker whose arms and chest were almost completely covered in tattoos was about six shots in two stools to his left. The stool immediately to his right was vacated soon after he ordered his drink, a midlander woman with eyes like daggers and a scar running down over her right eye having apparently had her fill of listening to the men upstairs gamble their paychecks away.

“So… Friendly bunch,” he started, somewhat awkwardly as the midlander held his gaze until the heavy door had fallen shut in her wake and she was back out on Ul’dah’s streets.

“Friendly’s a word. Think most of our professions down here kinda exclude us from the category,” the bartender replied, setting the Seeker up with another shot even though he definitely did not seem conscious enough that that would be a good idea. The bartender’s voice carried with it a thick accent—caught somewhere between what he had grown up hearing in the depths of the Black Shroud and what might be expected of Coerthas natives.

“I… Don’t think I could have guessed,” Leonnaux replied, squinting a bit. For the disguise he’d gone without his glasses—it wasn’t really possible to navigate around them for every single disguise he wanted to try. Thankfully the low light of the bar didn’t impact his vision too much, and he only had to deal with distance-related issues. The bartender right in front of him was just barely out-of-focus, and the rest of the room? A blur. “Between the scars and the tattoos. You got word of the street?”

The bartender huffed a laugh. “Depends on what you’re lookin’ for, missy.”

“Call me that again and I’ll break your fingers.”

“Oh, oh, this one has spunk! I like it!” The huff turned to something heartier, this time the bartender laughing from deep within his chest, shoulders heaving. “Most interesting thing anyone’s said to me all godsdamned night. Well, then, what’s your angle?”

Leonnaux’s shoulders rose and fell in a half-hearted shrug. “Just new here, just lookin’ for some fun,” he replied, setting his sazerac down on the counter and retrieving a silver cigarette case from an interior pocket of his coat, along with a box of matches. He places a cigarette between his plum-colored lips before offering one to the bartender across from him. “Looks like you are, too?”

The bartender scoffs before taking a cigarette, producing a very different implement for lighting his cigarette—a well-crafted lighter, like the ones that Leonnaux had often seen crafted through the collaborative efforts of the Goldsmith’s Guild and the Alchemist’s Guild, a small fire shard producing a small flame once it was flipped open. He huffed a bit at the sight before striking a match and using that to light his cigarette. The match was blown out before being discarded in a nearby ashtray, overflowing with ashes and cigarette butts and similarly-discarded matches.

“You could say I’m looking for a little entertainment, yeah,” the bartender replied, “It’s all the same shite ‘round here.” He blew out a cloud of smoke to punctuate the statement, a sigh. “Fun’s dried up if that’s what you’re looking for, though. Jobs, though. Plenty of jobs. Jobs that you gotta be really fuckin’ down on your luck to consider takin’, though.”

Leonnaux couldn’t help a little bit of laughter at that. “Well, let’s say I’m down on my luck then. City’s not real easy to get started in, unless you’d rather give me tips than work. But I’d really prefer the work.”

“Not a whole lot for a pretty face like you to do besides hook on street corners.”

His eyebrow couldn’t help but twitch a little in response to that—a brief expression that didn’t go unnoticed, since the bartender burst out laughing in response.

“Oh, oh, lighten up. If you can’t take a joke then you ain’t gonna last five ticks out there.”

“Rest assured, you’re not the only one who’s lacked enough sense to tell me that. Lucky for you, though, you can make a decent drink. The other ones couldn’t.” He lifted his sazerac, then, removing his cigarette from his lips and blowing out the smoke to take a sip from the glass. “Guess you have a half-decent face too. Hate to ruin it.”

“Well, color me honored.” The bartender ashed his cigarette, poured the Miqo’te gent another shot—absinthe this time, Leon realized, and though now he was wondering if the bartender was just steadily making his way up the ladder in terms of alcohol strength, he couldn’t help but think the man two stools down might need to stop if he didn’t want to end up worse than passed out in a ditch. “Laraunt, by the way. So, if you’re looking for work… Well, got some postings over in the back. But if I’m being frank, there’s been some shite going on that I’d love for someone to look into. What’s your trade, missy?”

“Call me Reine,” he corrected. “I’m serious about your fingers.”

“Sure, sure, right, right. Anyway, what’s it you do?”

Leonnaux clicked his tongue, considering for a moment, lowering his gaze to the lemon peel floating in his drink. “… This and that. Anything for the right price. Ran some drugs when I was up in Gridania—sonmus, snow, you know, that shite. Prefer to work more discreetly where I can, though—stuff what won’t give folks a paper trail to look for… Information, a favorite.”

His gaze returned to Laraunt , then, watching him carefully for any sign that he wasn’t convinced—pinning his preferred trade as information was a risk, but it was the only risk he could feasibly take. He couldn’t offer any answer that would be easy to verify; he couldn’t describe in-depth what it was like to work a job that he had no experience with whatosever, not even by proxy. To say nothing of if Laraunt decided to cross-check him, or press for more details than he had.

Laraunt considered for a moment before offering Leonnaux a half-shrug. “Information’s honest enough trade, I guess. You just a broker, or do you do groundwork?”

“Depends on my mood…” Leonnaux trailed off, then, somewhat uncertain before he nodded to Laraunt’s tattoos: raised scars and white ink against his dark skin, etching intricate runes and designs and occultic symbols into his exposed forearm and extending up his sleeve to his neck. The designs themselves were, of course, pleasing to the eye—but the runes were chiefly Duskwight in usage, sigils of power similar to the ones etched into pomanders. “But you could say I’ve always to ears out, eh?”

The bartender arched a brow, then, before nodding his assent. “Ah, more than just a pretty face, then! Seems you have some keen eyes, too. Well… Well, I suppose you’ll do, Reine. If you think you can get the job done. I’ve been through a few brokers, kind of need a dedicated investigator if I’m being honest. They all chickened out once they got a handle for the situation.”

Leonnaux perked up a bit, folding his hands in front of him on the table and ashing his cigarette. He looked the bartender over, but without his glasses his eye for detail was somewhat limited, even this close. “Well, running drugs up to the Shroud ain’t exactly a cushy fucking job, as long as no one’s gonna try and drain my body of its blood I think I can stomach getting my hands a little dirty.” He scoffed, then, as if it was a joke. “So what is it. I can’t say for sure unless you tell me what the job is.”

Laraunt met Leonnaux’s eyes, then, his lips pressing into a thin line. “My sister’s missing.”

Oh—oh.

Leonnaux had to fight off the shock when the bartender’s voice suddenly becoming quite grave, going from somewhat condescending and sarcastic to a sobering baritone is no time flat. He took a breath, considering those three words as he drew his cigarette back to his lips, puffing away quietly.

“If it’s a missing person case, I think you’re gonna want the Blades instead.”

“Not considering what all my sister was getting up to before she went and vanished.” Laraunt tapped a fingertip—hard—on the surface of the counter, pulling Leonnaux’s attention back up to his eyes. “This ain’t the best place to give details though—or time. How can I get in touch with you after this? Sit down for a more proper talk. Client to broker.”

Leonnaux paused, offering a shrug. “I’m new here. You think I already have an office? Just pick a day pick a time and—I’ll meet you out back. After a shift, maybe. So we won’t be interrupted.” He tilted his chin up, then, before he snuffed the cigarette out, grinding it in the ashtray and leaving it there in a crumpled heap. With a grimace, he slammed back the rest of his sazerac in one go, chewing on the lemon rind left behind once the glass was emptied.

“Ah, eh… Should be free at the end of the week.”

“Cool. I’ll see you then—see if I can’t turn up any leads on a missin’ Duskwight in Ul’dah in the meantime.”

“I’d appreciate it.” There’s a pause and Laraunt takes a breath, watching Leonnaux as he starts to leave. “Hey, say—this is bugging me, but have I seen you before?”

Leonnaux’s heart skipped a beat, and he paused mid-step to look over his shoulder, one hand against the heavy wooden door, poised to make his way out.

“I don’t know. Have you?”

––to be continued.

[funsize-lucifer-hongjoong]

Sub! Hongjoong X Mistress Reader

It’s finished, it’s finally here. Although I'll honestly say, it isn’t the best. I’ll have to improve it later. So We’ll put her under the Read More, cause this one is long and pretty filthy. 

Genre: Smut, just fuckin filthy smut.

Word Count: 2,299 (no shit, one word from an even 2300.)

He came to you for release. You gave him the ability to let go of his control, to quiet the chaos of his mind.  As a leader of a group he strived for perfection and needed to relinquish power. He gave that to you, his Mistress. In more ways than one, you adored Hongjoong. His power, his looks, and the utter dominance he displayed. It called to your primal instincts, to make a Mistress herself, want to give him the reigns. Watching him kneel at your feet, as you sit in front of him. His blonde hair, long in length, laying across his shoulders. He's such a slight man, not much muscle, not sculpted like the other ones. He's lithe, and fairy-like. You grasp at the chain that's attached to a collar at his throat, pulling him toward you. You put out a hand and lay it to his face. What a handsome man he is. You did love to make him cry. "Slave?" you voice snapped as hard as the crop in your hand against your boot. He jumped, "Yes, Mistress?" "Clean my boots." You laid the crop against his cheek, not hitting him, just so he knew it was there. "Absolutely, Mistress." He looked around, slightly frantic. He looked for anything to wipe them with. You smirked, pulling the chain so that his lips collided with your right boot, above the knee. "With your tongue, and I expect a good job done." You leaned forward a bit to whisper, "and you will do a good job for me, right Slave?" "Yes, Mistress!" He perked up, always so willing and able to do anything to please you. His mouth opened, and he pushed out his tongue, he worked at your feet first. Short lapping motions. You lay the riding crop in your lap to pet at his hair, running your fingers through it. It was so soft, like him. "You're such a good boy for me, aren't you?" You cooed. You noticed his hips roll a bit as you said that. He cock outlined in a pair of tight leather boy shorts. You loved him like this, so submissive, so compliant. When he had worked his way up to your knee, he looked at you. His beautiful chocolate brown eyes glazed over, pupils dilated. There was your submissive boy, deep in his space, and he only went there for you. You saw his hand move, to grab at himself through his shorts, trying to calm himself. He couldn't help but squeeze. Your hand moved lightning fast, grabbing the crop and whipping the lick of it across his pale back, leaving a red V-shaped welt in its wake. His hands returned to the position behind his back. "Hand's OFF, Slave!", you pulled his chain till he faced you, "Of all the boys, YOU want to test me Hongjoong?!"  You leaned down into his face smiling at him to continue, "I think you've forgotten your place, shall I remind you?" You stood and pulled him behind you on all fours as you walked in front of him. You perused the implements across the walls and drawers until you found just what you were looking for. The one thing Hongjoong hates, and you knew it, the spreader bars. Attached one to the head and one to the foot of the 4 post bed in the center of the room, they were an adjustable length of steel bar from a comfortable spread to a searing pain that you'd never use on him. You smiled at the man on his knees, head bowed behind you. "I think we'll spread your hands and knees, then take a lovely leather strap to your ass." You said to the wall of toys, feeling a shiver go up the chain still in your hand. You knew he was scared, he hated those bars, they took away his ability to curl up and protect himself. "Slave, Your color?!" You said, throwing your head to the side. "It...it's green, Mistress" Hongjoong's reply was tight now, he's preparing himself for the punishment he deserved, and secretly needed. "Take your position" you turned, and released the chain from his collar as he stood and nearly ran to the bed to get this over with quickly. You knew, as did he, that sometimes Hongjoong fucked up in his everyday life. Maybe he felt inadequate, or he messed up in practice. When these things happened, he wanted correction. A washing away of his mistakes through acting up and forcing you to punish him. Trial by fire. You smirked as you saw him on all fours on the bed. His small but perky leather covered ass popped up into the air. His head down and hands in front of him as though he were bowing for forgiveness. Which he was, in a way. When you walked over to him and fastened his wrists to the bars he looked like he had readied himself. You pulled the adjustment out just enough that he would have to lay with his head turned and face flat on the bed. When it came to his legs, you attached the bar to just above his knees, setting it a few feet apart. "Now, I expect you to not flail around and kick your legs. If you do, I'll bind them as well. Understood?" You were already grabbing the leather strap. "Yes...yes, Mistress" His reply sounded strangely like a moan to you, was he enjoying the bars now? Or was it the oncoming punishment he yearned for? You snapped the strap in your hands as you walked back to his lovely form. You heard a whimper and seen him jump. He was scared, but there was something else too. Did Hongjoong actually ENJOY his punishments? You knew he hated them at times but was there a time when he really enjoyed them? Well, you were planning to find out. You laid the strap across his back, gently so he knew it was time. "Count them, Slave. If you miscount, we'll start back at one. Thank me with each stroke."  You pulled his leather shorts down till they rested just above the bar on his legs. The first blow landed under his ass cheeks, in the meat of his upper thighs. It landed a long pink strip across them both. "One. Thank you, Mistress." His first few strokes would always be fairly flat, as if they didn't faze him. Anything over 3 was going to light him up The second landed just above the first, a bit harder now. The pink lines were just a touch darker. You would cover his perfectly shaped ass in every color of the rainbow. "Two...Thank you, Mistress" His reply sounding a bit more breathless. The third blow was always your favorite, it was the hardest and across the thickest part of both ass cheeks. It left a red stripe, with welts of white along the edges, reminding you of rose petals. When it landed you watched as Hongjoong flexed his hips slightly, gasping for air. He clenched his fists and crossed his ankles one over the other to keep from kicking and having to endure this all over again. "THREE...Thank you, Mis...Mistress." You could hear the tears in his voice. Good, he's breaking now, you thought. The fourth and fifth were in quick succession, designed to keep him on his feet. It made him remember that you had the ability to give him pleasure, and also the right to take it away. One landed above the other till his entire ass was shades of white, pink and red. "FourThankYouMistress." His counts were stringing together now, "F-five...Thank you, Mistress." His back bowed out after the last blow landed, he relaxed. His body and mind cleansed of his wrongs. You lifted a hand and traced over the lines you had laid across him, watching him wince and squirm. You walked around to the side and leaned down by his face. His eyes were soft and heavy-lidded, cast off in a far away stare. "You did so well, Slave." You ruffled a hand through his hair, petting him softly, "You took it and never lost count or complained, Mistress, is so very proud of you." Your voice was gentle. His eyes looked up to yours, a smile lighting his lips, as he responded, "Thank you, My Mistress, am I your best Slave again?" He was always looking for praise, his validation that he did the best job. You smiled at him, nodding his answer. He wanted to please you, it was always to please you. "Do you think you can finish your job now, Slave?" You posed your question to him, knowing he would jump at the opportunity to try again, and do right by you. "Yes, Mistress!" Unfastening the restraints from his wrists and knees, he rolled to one side, avoiding hitting his sore ass on the bedding. You removed his shorts and attached his chain lead. He jumped off the bed and right back onto his hands and knees, falling behind you as you walked back over to the chair where this all began. You sat and pulled him closer by his lead. You spread your legs knowing full well your skirt was short, and he could see everything. Surely he could smell your arousal, see it slicked across your thighs. "Hands behind your back, and get back to work." Your voice was warmer now, either from the throbbing in your core or the fact that Hongjoong was so wonderfully submissive. He clasped his hands behind his back again, leaning down and starting from the beginning. Long licks with his sharp tongue. The sight made your clit throb. You'd never allowed Hongjoong to have his mouth on you, but the idea was more appealing now than ever. When he got to the top of your knee, he locked eyes with you. Round, doe-like eyes, glazed over and soft in his headspace, but there was something else there. That primal feeling he gave you from time to time. His pupils were blown out, his breathing quick, and his cock was rigidly jutting out from his body. "You're such a good boy for me, aren't you?" Your hand wandered down, pulling your skirt up slightly. "You make your Mistress so wet" Hongjoong's eyes rolled back and closed, a low groan coming from his chest. You watched his dick twitch, and his muscles tick across his arms as he fought to keep them behind his back, wanting to take control and ravage you. With one hand you grabbed his hair, and he whined. He wanted more, but you wanted to tease him, play with him. The other hand slid across your thigh and between. He watched your every movement, soft whines coming from his lips. "Mm...Isn't my slave so patient?" You slipped a finger between your lips, stroking up across your clit, "Such a good boy, Joongie." "Please...Mistress...Please.." His whines had turned into begging now. "Please what, Slave?" You pulled the chain again, his face inches from your center.  "M-may I taste you, Mistress?" His question sounded like he was unsure. You spread your legs farther, placing your feet on the seat of the chair. Your fingers sliding through your wetness, watching Hongjoong as he licked his lips and pulled his bottom lip in to bite it. "Hmm, I don't know. Do you deserve a taste of my pussy?" His eyes watched your fingers sliding in between your lips. He whined again. His hips rocked. "Please, I'll do anything Mistress. Anything." He looked up, his eyes silently pleading. "Alright, You may, but no hands." You grabbed his lead back up and pulled him between your thighs. Hongjoong smirked at you before setting his lips against your core. His tongue licking a long stripe from bottom to top. He watched you though, he never took his eyes off of you. When your hand grabbed his hair and tugged at the strands, he groaned. None of your other submissives went at you as hard as Hongjoong. He was a dominant, down to his soul. He wanted to control your pleasure, he wanted to give you everything he could. His tongue worked your clit and you moaned. Faster and faster it flicked your nub, almost in time with the throbbing in your core. His teeth grazed your clit, causing you to whimper. You needed more. "G-good boy, Joongie. Oh, God...Use your fingers for Mistress now." Your body rocked against his lips and you heard him chuckle darkly into your folds. He knew you'd break for him, just as he did for you. His hands were smaller than even your own, but he slipped in two fingers at once, and your back bowed out. You pulled his head closer to your core, trying to get more from him, riding his face and fingers as he fucked them into you. Your moans had turned to whimpers now, so close to your release. Hongjoong knew you too well. When he felt you tighten, he added another finger and latched his lips to your clit, making you cry out in release. Your hands twisted in his hair, thighs squeezing around his head. When he pulled away, a smile was plastered on his face. Your juices covering his cheeks and chin. What a beautiful man he was, just like this. You smiled back at him sitting your palm against his cheek, watching his eyes close as he leaned his head into it. "Is it my turn now, Mistress?" He asked with a mischievous smirk "I think we can arrange something, Joongie. You are my favorite boy after all." His smile lit up the room at the thought.

[kaileynel4-blog]

You are all lucky SOB’s!!!

Alrighty, let’s dive right into the issue of my blog....my title is incorrect!!! Yes, this whole time I have had a title I did not mean to have. I mean, it doesn’t really make sense?!? Happiness is contagious, just like a sneeze??? So remember when I wrote my first blog post? The one where I deleted my entry 3 times?!?! So I think that is where my problem all started! I was so frustrated with the fact that I stupidly deleted my blog, that I stupidly wrote the wrong title!? I am not sure where the sneeze part came into play but I meant to say YAWN!! Yawns are contagious, not SNEEZES! Sweet jesus I’m an oblivious idiot sometimes. I think I am just gonna drop the sneeze part and just go with Happiness is Contagious. Sorry for all the confusion and head scratches along the way...I will say one thing though, it sure would have been nice if one of you told me!!! Just said “hey kailey, your title doesn’t make sense...sneezes aren’t contagious...” I blame 20% of this title mistake on you guys!

Anyways, the past few weeks have been a bit more challenging for me and continually learning the ups and downs of living abroad. I have been in Thailand for 5 months now and can’t believe it! Some days it feels like I’ve been gone forever and others like I just left last week. The amount of thinking through my emotions and listening to that little voice in my head, is much more than I anticipated. I am not much of an emotional person...I am not saying that I am heartless person or that I dont have emotions, I just don’t outwardly express them as much as others. So having to deal with these random thoughts and emotions is not my favorite thing to do. There are many ways to cope with your mental state of craziness. Currently, mine is exercise and coffee. Yes, coffee. I try to do some sort of physical activity everyday. It helps with all my anxiousness that I tend to have...sometimes I swear my attention span is like a 5 year olds. The “squirrel” situation happens to me more often than it should :) Coffee...oh the sweet sweet smell of good coffee. Drinking an iced cappuccino helps calm me and has become a comfort thing for me. It is a reminder of home but also brings back all the wonderful times I have had drinking coffee with my favorite people! I feel a sense of normalcy is brought to my not so normal life. I love the adventure that I am on but realized that it’s okay to want a bit of normalcy and miss some comforts of back home. In the beginning, I wouldn’t let myself think about all the things I missed cause I thought it would be harder but then I realized that I am lucky to miss people from home. I am one lucky lady to be living in a place that not many others have experienced. I am lucky to be surrounded by constant support and love. And I am lucky to have dogs all around me and help improve the lives of elephants in SE Asia! Now this is the part where you get to reflect...what makes you feel lucky?? What are the moments in your life where you have just thought “damn, I am one lucky bastard!” How do you cope with your crazy thoughts and emotions? One thing that i am learning along this journey, is to reflect and be grateful everyday that I am alive. If you are still reading my blogs (thank you Mom) I hope the one thing that you have taken away from them is to be grateful. The crappy situation you may think you are in could always be worse and sometimes you just need to remind yourself how fuckin lucky you are to be alive! Here is a photo of me loving life with two of coworkers, Fang and Roger! We were with the volunteers as they walked the elephants to the river!

This past week I had mixed emotions about life...I was feeling homesick and i think in large part due to the fact that my sister and Jacque were visiting and had just left. Words cant begin to describe how amazing it was to have my sister and Jacque come visit me. It is a pretty special thing to be able to share my Thailand home with the one person that I have always looked up to and admired. Being able to show my sister the loving community i live in, the efforts that Bamboo is doing to improve the lives of the elephants and show her why I love working here. I hope that she now has a better sense of what i am doing and understands a bit more as to why I moved here! After my sister and Jacque left, I had a bit of an emotional rollercoaster for a couple days. I was questioning why the fuck I am here, what do i want to get out of working in Thailand and really how much i missed home. As i worked through these emotions, i realized that I chose to do this. this decision was all me. I reached out to Bamboo to see if they had a job opening, I applied and I got the job. I didn’t care what people thought about me moving aboard cause I knew that I wanted to do it and that was all that mattered. I hope that from here on out I will be bold with my decisions, chase after my dreams, continue to spread happiness (even if its not contagious like a sneeze haha) remember how amazing life is when you are living it up, and always encourage those around you to be the best version of themselves.

The level of shits given lately is 0 for me. I am used to the weird Thailand things and know that i just need to accept it and move on. For example, there is a gecko that lives in my room. He poops in the same spot in my room and I cant seem to get him out! Normally, people would freak out about this and maybe even call a terminator. I dont think there is a such thing in Thailand so I just pray every night that I dont wake up with him on my face. In the village, the water goes out during the middle of the day. I have also had to accept this and just do a bucket shower or remain extremely smelly for a few more hours. I realized when my sister was visiting that my level of actual cleanliness is suffering a bit. I just dont really care that i brush my teeth from water that has been sitting in a bucket for who knows how long, or that the dishes we use to eat with everyday sit outside to dry with all the bugs and critters that could potentially crawl on them, or that i swim in a elephant poo infested river twice a week cause i am not gonna pass up swimming with them. I used to refuse to sleep on floors and never really liked camping in tents unless i had a pad. I have slept on the floor with a small thai pad for 5 months now. Some days i would love to have a tempurpedic mattress but for the most part I have done pretty good considering how high maintenance i was about sleeping on the floor. I have survived brushing my teeth in questionable water for 5 months and as long as I brush them i am pretty pleased with myself. There are just some things in life that aren’t worth the energy of worrying about. Accepting this is the hardest part but something I am learning. Thailand so far has taught me to be tougher and a little smellier. We live a pretty cushy and priviladge life in America and it is good to strip yourself of these privileges every once in awhile to really see what your boundaries are. When Jacque and my sister were here, the one thing that Jacque said she realized almost immediately was that she will never complain about water her beautiful plants again. We saw a woman carrying two big buckets of water on the end of a stick and was going to water her crops. We dont have to worry about watering our plants cause all we have to do is turn the hose on and stand there. We also have house plants for our pure enjoyment and dont rely on them to make a living. Appreciation is a huge thing for me and i appreciate every delicious cup of coffee i get, i appreciate all the meals that are cooked for me, I appreciate when my thai coworkers pick me up so i dont have to walk, I appreciate the dark chocolate that my mom sent me, I appreciate the smell of clean laundry and i appreciate most of all the people in my life. So the next time you complain about having to water your plants, drive your nice car to the grocery store, having to take your dog for a walk, or complain about your bed being too small, remember just how fucking lucky we are to have these things in our lives. Some people wont ever have the luxury of having these things so please just be grateful and appreciative of all that you have!

Here is a photo of our staff/family dinners in the village! I LOVE SPICY THAI FOOD!!!!

Here is one last thing before i go...I have fallen in love.......with a dog at the village. Her name is Kao (pronounced like cow) and she is the sweetest dog. I have talked about her before. She is the dog that had 4 litters of puppies and I paid for her to get spayed so she doesn’t have to have any more puppies! Anyways, I want to adopt kao and bring her back home to America to live a spoiled and privileged puppy life. The problem i have run into is that I dont know exactly when I will be coming home for good and need someone to help foster/adopt her. If you are interested in helping me get her to america please let me know! I am looking for someone to temporarily take care of her until i come home. Now i must warn you, if you want to foster her, please dont fall in love with her. She is my dog and I will want her back! It is going to be hard for you cause she is an amazing pup but we can work out a situation where you can still see her. Maybe even puppy sit! Okay, I’m getting off topic here....If anyone would like to help me out with this amazing and sweet dog please let me know! It is a long process to adopt a dog from Thailand so it would take a little while but i would love to get it started. Here are a couple photos of her to make you feel a little guilty and possible persuade you to help out ;) also, if you cant adopt but want to help out financially let me know!

As always i am sending lots of hugs and kisses to those back home. I am grateful everyday that I am alive and happy and I hope that you are too!

Cheers to summer livin and see you all in a month!! If anyone wants to have a slumber party and drink wine when i am home, i am most definitely down for that!

Love you all :)