#army green for cap?

[natjennie]

getting my nails done in a hot minute what color should i do <3

[vox-anglosphere]

Formed in 1660, the Coldstream Guards are Britain's oldest regiment

[tpwrtrmnky]

villain

[ID: Three panel comic with crudely drawn stick people.

Panel 1: A violet person with a rectangular body type is blocking the path of a green person.

Violet: "Stop right there!"

Green: "Can this wait? I'm actually in a hurry to-"

Violet: "It cannot! You must face accountability for your chromophobic crime against that poor army green helicopter!"

Green: "...what"

Violet: "You have sunk to new lows this time, you misoviridic villain."

Panel 2: Violet is in the foreground while Green points away from them, gesturing at a grayscale person wearing an army green hat with an enormous propeller on it. They are gloating dramatically.

Green: "You mean... the one who hasn't even stopped harassing me yet?"

Grayscale, in all caps: "Yes, walk away greenie! You have been owned in ways you cannot even comprehend!"

Violet: "Not an excuse!"

Green: "It's incredibly blatant that they're not genuinely stating their identity right now?"

Panel 3: Zoom in on Violet putting their hand on Green's shoulder, menacingly.

Violet: "Validate the helicopter, huescum."

Green: "Siding with someone who's harassing me in this way isn't the moral high ground you think it is. Also don't touch me."

End ID.]

Start - Previous - Next

[macfrog]

If you ever feel up to it - a little short story from the scom universe about reader and Joel deciding to have a second baby or finding out they're pregnant for the second time would warm my cold dead heart <3

i am. so. sorry. for the word count on this i truly do not know what happened. but i had a lot of fun with it, so. hopefully y'all do, too. happy fathers day! x

jellybean ~4k words | series masterlist warnings: pregnancy symptoms (feeling and being sick, horniness + sleepiness. aka me even when not pregnant), 99% just duckie vs her mom

Duckie spills the secret on a Friday.

The morning is lazy, slow. The breathing of the sea across a plain of beach. Your fingers sift through her hair like the breeze through sun-bleached pages. The way she and the sun tint the room peach.

Sarah sprawls out across the spot still warm on her dad’s side of the bed. She’s in a habit of waking up early to sneak through to your room, lift the bottom of the covers, and army crawl between your bodies.

Joel’s in a habit of stirring to the heat of her at his back, her tiny toes at his spine, and turning to scoop her in one arm. They sleep curled into one another, mouths catching flies.

This morning, though, she’s up to something. She brought a secret.

She’s flat-out on her stomach, pens scratching at the paper. There’s the scent of cherry and lemon and green apple tangling in the air. Taut frown on her face, tongue poked with concentration. She looks just like her dad.

She pauses and looks up at you. “What color is this part?” she asks, dabbing at the blank hubcap.

“Silver,” you reply, fixing the cap back onto the grape pen before it stains your sheets.

She huffs. “I don’t have silver, Mama.”

You tap on the page. “Daddy’s wing mirrors are black, but you did ‘em green. The colors don’t matter, do they?”

But it’s seven a.m., and you’re sharing only the red jellybeans for something of a pre-breakfast snack (the four-year-old’s idea), and you’re exhausted despite having slept the full night, and she keeps halting any time Joel’s humming quietens – just in case he spoils his birthday surprise.

She hunkers down with the lemon pen to nail the emblem of his truck, and you figure – color is just the least of it. Truthfully, to your kid – and so, to you, too – nothing has ever mattered more.

You cup her cheek and lift her gaze back to meet yours. “How about I grab you a glitter pen today, just for the wheels?”

She grins. Little milk teeth, gappy and gummy. Peach fuzz cheeks, sweet as the rest of her, a perfect fit in the palm of your hand.

I love you I love you you’re my whole world I love you, you want to say.

Instead: “Only if we tidy your room later. Deal?”

“Deal, Mama,” Sarah giggles, and her little ink-stained hands splay out across the page again.

She scribbles only a few more splotches of color before you both notice it.

The sudden silence.

The water’s stopped running. The shower screen rattles as he pulls it back. Dripdripdrip from the showerhead straight down to the empty basin.

Sarah twists to watch Joel’s disembodied arm blindly grab for a towel folded on the sink. It whips off out of sight, and he calls through from the bathroom.

“Duckie? You still there?”

“Gogogo,” you whisper, helping your daughter cover her dad’s drawing with blank sheets. “Leave the jellybeans, Duck, save yourself!”

She finds the entire thing hysterical. Swinging her masterpiece under one arm, two fistfuls of rainbow pens, springing from the mattress like it suddenly caught flame. She throws herself from the foot of the bed and dashes across the hall to her own room, candy scattering in her wake.

Joel’s head cranes around the doorframe. “Where’d she go?”

You smile, shrugging. Chewing innocently on a jellybean. “That’s funny. She was here a second ago.”

He pads over to the bed, towel slung loose around his hips. Smirks, when your hungry eyes descend his figure – the bearlike shape of him, all muscle and fur, toned where he needs it but soft where you want it.

He cages over you, dark hair dripping with the smell of citrus, skin sticky.

His lips are like velvet against yours. Tongue still singed with coffee. A low growl from his throat when you lean forward to lick into his mouth.

“Smell so goddamn good,” you murmur, dipping your head to bury into the crook of his neck.

His beard is fuzzier when it’s damp, natural masculine musk melded with the fresh soap and rich aftershave he uses. All honey and oatmeal, mixed with a woodsy scent – and fuck, it’s intoxicating. Moreso than usual – stronger and sexier.

You take his hands and lower them to your hips, letting his fingers knot around the baggy material of your – his T-shirt. Tugging on it, exposing the slip of delicate lace on your hips.

“Darlin’,” Joel warns, “we’re late. We still gotta drop Duckie off – If she walks in –”

You groan, huffing back into the mattress. The weight between your legs ripples over the horizon, pulses into weak nothing.

Joel fixes the shirt back down to your thighs just as the thunder of his daughter’s footsteps rumbles back into the room.

Tonight, he breathes, slicking some of the hair from his face.

You grin, taking his hand to pull yourself back up.

Sarah materializes in the doorway, a lingering half-girl. Smiling from behind the frame, twisting the ball of her foot into the floor.

“Hi, Duck,” Joel says, still playing with your fingers.

“Hi.”

“You look guilty.”

Her grin widens. She totters into the room, launches herself onto the bed, and nuzzles into your side. She squirms when Joel digs his fingers into her waist.

The beats of her laughter drum against your ribs, the same way her fists used to when she lived inside you.

“Alright.” You cradle her, her little head tipping back to wake the rest of Austin up with her squeals of glee. “Are we ready for some actual food, now?”

Joel chuckles, reaching for his mug.

Sarah nods from your lap. Her eyes drift down to the print on your tee. “Mama?”

“Mhm?”

“Do they like jellybeans?”

You frown. “Does who like jellybeans?”

Her finger prods lightly into your tummy. “The baby.”

Joel chokes, splattering coffee into his fist. He slams the mug down, pounds his chest clear of liquid.

“There’s no – Jesus, Joel,” you swipe mocha flecks from the sheets, “Told Sarah to be careful with her pens and then you spray coffee all over the…”

Sarah rolls off, cackling. “Silly Daddy,” she hoots, leaping on the bedroom floor.

“Hey,” you usher her over to the door, “Why don’t you go pick out what you wanna wear today? I’ll be right behind you. Quit tryna give your dad a heart attack, okay?”

“The baby, Mama,” she’s repeating, walking like a little convict. She turns over the threshold to her room like it’s a cell, her pink pajama uniform and guilty expression to go with it. Still laughing, swallowing the ticklish bursts when she notices you’re shaking your head.

“There is no baby.” You kneel before her, repeating, “No baby. Just you. How about your T-shirt with the butterflies?”

It seems to distract her enough. Thank Christ. She gasps, inspired, and twirls off to find the tee.

“Fucking hell,” you sigh, pushing back to your feet.

Joel’s flapping the sheets when you slip back into your room, still clearing his throat. Half-dressed: a white T-shirt over his broad chest and a pair of black boxers. Soaked hair clinging to the back of his neck and drying in flicks across his forehead.

Jesus, you want to pull him back over you and let him have his way.

You close the door over and spin, hands on your hips. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Me?” he croaks. “Did you hear what she just said?”

“You’ve known this kid for four years, Joel, you really can’t tell when she’s fucking with you? She’s my kid, keep up.”

“Just seemed an awfully –” he thumps his chest again, “– awfully specific thing to say.”

“She’s in a phase I think,” you reply, catching the pillow he tosses across. “She’s telling stories. Last week, her pre-K teacher congratulated me our supposed wedding. Asked to see pictures of the Mickey Mouse officiant.”

“Jesus,” he grumbles. “She really bought that?”

You mimic the breezy voice: “Sarah was very convincing.”

Joel scoffs. “I don’t know if I can take a lying phase and a copying phase at the same time. Every goddamn word I say, she’s gotta repeat it.”

“She idolizes you,” you straighten the sheets, “I think it’s endearing.”

“Hm. Just wait until it’s you.”

He wanders around the bed, pulls your back against his chest. His arms cross over your tummy, lips pressing into your shoulder where his shirt has slipped.

“How much harder would two be?” he mumbles into the bare skin.

“Two Sarahs?” You scoff.

Joel laughs. “Yeah, you’re right. I forget she runs on chaos and jellybeans.”

“Yup,” you turn in his arms, linking yours behind his neck, “And there ain’t no point in talking about it anyways, because I am not fucking pregnant.”

He rolls his forehead against yours, stealing bristly kisses. “Okay.”

“I’m not, Joel.”

“I believe you, baby.”

Sarah’s bedtime is a liberal eight, eight thirty on weekends. She likes to sit up, lodged between you and Joel on the couch, and help pick the movie you two will watch once she’s in bed.

Once – and only once – Joel tried to fool her by pretending to play her choice, then switching as soon as she went down.

The kid quizzed him on the movie the next morning. He failed. She’s never forgotten.

Tonight, though, Joel’s out. Some game that you know and care too little about sports to learn the name or importance of. He’s with some buddies at the local bar, probably nursing his second beer in as many hours, and counting down the minutes until he can come home to his girls.

Sarah snores soundly, slumped at your side as though butter wouldn’t melt. The flicker from the TV across her face, the gentle mumbling of the voices onscreen. Her hands limp in her lap, fingers idling in a pink snack bowl.

You admire her, stealing a piece of her popcorn. Teeth grinding down when you remember dishing it for her earlier, hearing her curious voice ask whether or not the baby likes popcorn more than jellybeans.

Nope, you sang, tossing a handful in your mouth as you passed her the bowl. Imaginary babies don’t eat popcorn.

She snorted (which unnerved you, because what the fuck is this kid finding so funny?), and followed you to the living room so close that you could feel her toes at your heels.

Some of the kids in her class have siblings. Some older, but mostly younger. It’s the only fucking explanation, the only thing that explains this sudden interest in the real estate of your uterus.

She’s going through a phase, you tell yourself, suckling on popcorn. But then – how many fucking phases do kids go through? Which phases did you go through?

Barney & Friends. That was a fucking phase. Refusing to leave the house without the hoodie your mom bought you from the Museum of Natural History, even in the height of summer. Ketchup and broccoli, your boyfriend at seventeen, frisbeeing your neighbor’s newspaper and aiming for his flowerpots.

Phase, phase, fucking phase.

Does she know something you don’t?

…No. You took a test just last week. Shut up. Stop letting the kid into your fucking head.

Joel’s keys jangle on the other side of the door, shunting into the lock with a sound which stills your brain.

You tilt your head over the back of the couch, your man’s beard tickling your nose as he kisses you. “Evening.”

“Missed you,” he whispers against your lips. He straightens and tugs the jacket from his shoulders. “She not in bed yet?”

“She fell asleep down here,” you reply. “I got too tired to carry her up.”

He caresses your forehead, big pillowy palm. “You feelin’ okay?”

“It’s been a long day,” you grumble.

Joel smiles. He flops down onto the couch beside you, reaching over to stroke Sarah’s head.

You roll, solid as a rock, curling into his side. “She keeps saying it, Joel. She keeps fucking saying it.”

His chest jumps, tectonic plates moving with a laugh. “You’ve met your match, honey. Produced a professional little shit.”

“One of the other moms from her class is pregnant,” you mumble. “That’s gotta be it, right? That’s where she’s getting it from?”

“Maybe,” Joel muses. His fingers link with yours. “Why don’t you take a test anyways? Settle it in your mind?”

It startles you awake, even if only enough to prove the fucking point.

“No, Joel!” you hiss, body jerking. “If I take a test, and it turns out negative – which it will – she wins! My four-year-old fooled me. No,” you pluck spilled popcorn from your lap, pinging it back into the bowl, “I know this kid. I gave birth to this kid. She is not fucking winning.”

“Alright, baby,” he coos, “it’s okay. I won’t let the four-year-old fool you.”

You glower. “Thanks, asshole.”

He chuckles. “She’d make the best big sister, though. She would,” he insists, when you huff back against his chest. “She’d love being the oldest. Get to be bossy, get to call the shots. Get to protect them, no matter what.”

Your voice feels so small, as inquisitive as your daughter’s when you blink up at him. “Were you protective over Tommy?”

“Oh, yeah. I mean, he was annoying as all hell – and I told him so – but anyone else had anythin’ to say about him, and – well, they had me to deal with.”

“Big scary Joel Miller,” you whisper, yawning into his shirt. “I knew him once.”

“Mhm,” he rumbles, “You sure did.”

You look up again, blinking all doe-eyed and dreamy. Already half-asleep.

“He never scared me,” you whisper.

Joel smiles.

“Well, you scared the hell outta him.”

Saturday morning, you wake to an empty bed. No snoring man, no scribbling girl. Just you – a starfish on the mattress. Bathing in waves of late-morning sun, sheets for coral, body as heavy as though you really are at the bottom of the ocean.

Her giggles carry all the way upstairs. Sarah. They surf into the room on a sunbeam, sounds like bubbles which shatter and sprinkle over your aching body.

You smile into Joel’s pillow, breathing in the smell of him, and peel your eyes open.

It’s ten thirty. Definitely – you blink three times and rub at your eyes, just to make sure. Ten thirty, and something’s swirling behind your navel. Something that sharpens, sours, when you push yourself upright.

“Oh, shit,” you rasp, and throw yourself across the room.

You barely make it, collapsing in a heap at the toilet. Your stomach empties in seconds; three heavy, painful gags and your head is in the bowl, choking on last night’s dinner.

“Motherfucker,” you spit, gasping, “Oh, Jesus.”

You’re sick. You’re just sick. Sarah probably caught something from pre-K, passed it on without even knowing. And, hey – you feel better, now that that happened.

You’re just sick. Nothing else.

“Mornin’,” Joel calls, watching as you stagger into the kitchen.

Sarah mimics his drawl. “Mornin’, Mama.”

“Hi, Duckie.” You crumple into the chair beside her, shoulders hunched. The smell of burnt toast and grape juice twists up your nose, and you suck in a slow breath.

Joel sweeps a hand over your forehead. He tips your jaw up to face him. “You alright? Thought we heard running.”

Sarah rips a slice of toast in two. She stares at the fluffy insides, the jam dripping from the tear. The sight of it lifts the hairs on your skin, the gloopy mess splattering onto her plate.

“Just feel kinda…funny,” you slur, turning away.

“Funny? Funny how?”

“Funny how?” your daughter parrots.

You shrug. Every word, every inhale makes you feel even more nauseous. “Probably just ate something.”

“Heard that one before,” Joel drones, and you throw him a flat look.

Sarah licks the jam from her fingers. She holds her tiny hands up to her dad, snorts when he pretends to bite at them.

“Eat your breakfast, Duckie,” he says then – in his Dad voice. And in something softer, kinder: “Can I make you somethin’?”

You swat the idea away, but it’s already churning in your stomach again. “Just gotta – get over whatever it – is.”

The table falls silent. Joel and Sarah stare blankly at one another. When you turn to look at your daughter, she’s staring straight back. Smirking.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you clip, wincing again at the dribbling jam.

“Alright,” Joel utters, “I think you oughta take a test now.”

“That is not what this is,” you groan, petulantly pushing up from your chair.

He takes your hand, steadying you. “No? I was thinking about it, baby, and I don’t think we’ve been safe enough to be so sure.”

You dump your golden toast in the trash and turn, crossing your arms. Your shoulders lift. “We’re not being any less safe than we have been the last four years.”

“Safe,” Sarah says, and Joel holds a finger up.

“No,” he tells her. “No. Not that word. Go back to funny.”

She beams at him. “You’re funny, Daddy.”

He sighs, pacing over. “Look,” he lowers his plate into the sink, “I’ll take Duckie to the park. Let you rest up, give you a quiet house for the morning. But darlin’, if you’re not better by tonight, you’re takin’ a test.”

You grimace. “But she –”

“I know –” he grits his teeth, “– I know you don’t want her to be right. But I want you to be okay, more ‘n I want to prove my child wrong. Like it or not, you’re taking a damn test.”

Your eyes flit across to the kid swinging her legs in her chair, the splotch of jam down her Peppa Pig T-shirt. Your greatest accomplishment and your biggest challenge, wrapped up into a hundred-centimeter, jellybean-fueled monster.

Her cheeks lift, jam-covered and smug.

“Funny,” Sarah says, nodding.

The afternoon strings the sun high in the sky.

You’ve been home alone for the better part of an hour, busying yourself by cleaning to take your mind off the nausea tugging at your esophagus. Making and remaking beds, folding laundry until your fingers cramp.

Sarah’s room has never been tidier. Joel’s workshop has never seen so little dust. And you have never been more determined to prove your four-year-old wrong.

You’re lingering in the bathroom, the window gaping. Sucking in breath after breath of fresh air – which only serves to tickle the acid burning its way up your throat, entice it further.

You’re emptying the cabinets, reorganizing them into some senseless order. Playing Tetris with boxes of Band-Aids, slotting in tubes of toothpaste. You blindly reach behind your hip for the next box – a nearly empty thing which rattles when you lift it, jitters as though nervous.

You glance down.

“Fuck off,” you hiss, throwing it on the shelf beside some tampons.

It stares back at you, as blinding as the sun. The two display window examples, pregnant and not pregnant, like a wink peering out from the dull cabinet.

Your gums taste of bitter bile, rancid. Teeth furry and aching. Your entire body aches – though nothing quite so bad as the space below your ribs, still tender from all your retching.

Slowly, your hands slip down your front to cup your lower tummy. Rounder than before, suppler – bloated, even.

“’s from all the throwing up,” you tell nobody in particular. Maybe yourself. There’s a desperate edge to your voice, almost a plea.

But then – a plea to who? For what? There was nothing you loved more than carrying Sarah for nine months. Duck. Start saying duck. Baby Duck.

You were never on your own. She was right there. Someone to talk to, someone to complain to. Someone to weep to, in the quietest lulls of night.

Her language came to you as easily as your own. All her kicks and punches, her fucking acrobatics while you tried to sleep. It was love, in its most chaotic form.

And you loved her, the very moment you saw those two lines. The very moment you realized she’d been in there the whole time.

You realize now, squatted on your bathroom floor, that it feels the exact same. A warmth, radiating from your very core, if only you’d pay it enough attention to feel it.

Like there’s someone there. Right there.

“If you’re fucking with me,” you warn your stomach, reaching for the single test, “I will lose my shit.”

Love, in its most chaotic form bursts through your bedroom door no less than half an hour later.

“Hi, Mama!” Sarah sings, tearing through the room with her hands behind her back. Her knees bump against the side of your bed, the air about her summer-warm and pollen-sweet.

“Hi, little Duck,” you mumble, voice swollen. You wipe sleep from your eyes, asking, “How was the park?”

She answers with a wide grin on her face, whipping out a small, shabby bunch of flowers. Dandelions and daisies tangled around one another, loose petals scattering over your bedsheets.

“Oh, baby,” you push yourself up, ignoring the sickly weight in your stomach, “Are these for me?”

She nods. She dusts her hands free of grass when you take the bouquet. And then, as you smell them and hum with delight, she turns.

First, over to the dresser. She stares at her reflection, pokes at some of the makeup on the table. Then over to the window – where her breath fogs the glass. You hear the whack of Joel’s tailgate closing, and she tracks him into the house, before examining the windowsill.

You watch nervously as she drifts back over to the bed, a curious hop to her movements. Inspecting, like she knows there’s something waiting to be found. Someone.

“Did you have fun with Daddy?” you ask.

“Yep,” her small voice says, distant and distracted. She disappears into the dim bathroom.

You slump back down on the mattress, dropping the flowers in a clump on your bedside table. “I don’t even know when I fell asleep, baby girl,” you say through a yawn.

Sarah doesn’t reply.

“Duckie?”

“What’s this?”

You lift your head. “What’s wh…Oh, n-no, Duckie, wait –”

She flees past you, one fist raised and wielding the pregnancy test.

“Sarah! Jesus, fuck –”

You’re chasing after her before you have a chance to consider it – nausea be damned. She’s squealing something, roaring with laughter, blitzing out into the hallway. She swivels, ladders down the stairs backwards, leaps straight into the arms of –

“Christ, Sarah –”

Joel stumbles backwards with the force she throws at him. She’s safe in his arms by the time you reach the top of the stairs, waving the stupid stick around his head like it’s a magic wand.

“Daddy!” Sarah cries.

He glances up to you: hunched over the top step, panting, clutching your stomach. He pinches the test from her grasp. “What do we got here, baby duck?”

She kicks her feet. She has no fucking idea what they have, but she knows you didn’t want her near it – and if you know your kid, you know that’s all the catalyst she needed to fucking take it.

You slowly make your way down towards them, smirk growing the nearer you draw.

Joel glances down to the test. The creases by his eyes deepen. He hugs Sarah closer.

“Two...two means...pregnant, right?” he asks.

You sigh, nodding. “Mhm.”

His head lifts.

He breaks, the second he sees your expression. Eyes glassy, tears spilling onto your cheeks. The same smile you wore that June morning: sleep-deprived and shellshocked, a love pumping through your veins so strong that you thought you might burst with it.

Joel reaches for your hand, reels you in against his body.

“Shit,” he laughs, holding the test up.

Your shaking hands take it from him – though you already knew what it says. You were dreaming of it all when Sarah broke into your room.

Dreaming of linked hands and echoed giggles; of bunkbeds and matching surnames, of all four seats in the truck filled and all four chambers of your heart spoken for.

Dreaming of one on each hip, one in each hand. Dreaming of them tag teaming Joel, of the word kids slung with his southern twang. My kids, the kids, our kids. All ours.

Dreaming of two Sarahs, goddamn it. Because nothing ever completed your life as effortlessly as one Sarah, and – hell, she was born to follow in her dad’s footsteps and become the elder Miller sibling.

“Shit,” you agree, turning to sob into Joel’s chest.

“Duckie,” Joel says, voice hoarse and choked by tears, “You’re gonna be a big sister.”

She giggles, tracing the damp lines down your cheeks. As she reaches your jaw, the elation on her face slowly dwindles into something of a frown.

Your lips part to repeat it – a big sister, Duck – when her tiny voice steals the air from your lungs.

“Shit!”

[titaniasfairy]

i need to be laid out across john prices lap in a pretty two piece, the most filthiest things spewing out of his mouth right into my ear as his hand meets my ass over and over i’m craving it . . .

oh this is just making me think about john applying your sun screen for you…

i made this longer than intended lol

18+ MDNI!!

cw: no smut just very suggestive, fem!reader, dom!price, price is dilf tbh, spanking, massaging

the weather’s getting warmer, and all you want is to lay across your longue chair by your backyard pool to soak up the sun and feel the rays on your soft skin.

your skimpy bikini barely covers your ass and tits, the material tightly clinging to your body while your heart-shaped sunglasses tied the “outfit” together.

you weren’t aware you had an audience when you were bending over to lay your towel down and a loud hiss and groan could be heard behind you. chuckling, you turn around to greet your crowd.

“like what you see, hm?”

john stood there in his army green t-shirt and khaki cargo shorts behind you, looking as middle-aged as he could. his eyes were squinting while he pulled down his aviators to get a good look at his girl.

“i certainly do.”

price approaches you and hugs you from behind, his big hands fully encasing your waist. your head leans back against his chest and john takes the opportunity to kiss down your neck.

in between pecks and light sucks on the warm flesh, john whispers sweet nothings into your ear.

“y’know how good you look in this? tryin’ to give a show to the neighbors, huh?”

you let out a light laugh and his grip on your waist tightens. “i’m not messin’ with you, luv. you lookin’ to show off for someone?”

john’s voice is low and hoarse in your ear, sending shivers down your spine and butterflies to your cunt with each syllable he says. you can tell he’s worked up too from the growing bulge poking your lower back.

“you know it’s all for you, honey.”

“it better be.”

you successfully wiggle out of his grip and grab the sunscreen laying on your chair. you turn around to face john and the bottle opens with a pop of the cap.

“i was thinking… maybe you could help me put this on? you know i can’t reach all the spots on my back.”

price exhales with a huff, seemingly laughing at your offer. but how could he deny you when you’re looking up at him like that?

“i’d be fuckin’ glad to.”

you eagerly hand him the bottle, excited to get his hands running up and down your body. john takes the bottle from you and takes a step back, observing your body.

“on your back, i wanna see those pretty tits poking up at me.”

john’s dirty words make your pussy clench around nothing, your thighs squeezing together while you stare in front of him.

giving you a ‘what are you waiting for’ look, john urges you lay down on the chair. before you could settle, john is pushing you down and covering his hands in sunscreen.

“good lord…” he exclaims, his hands finally coming down to cover your legs in spf. his calloused hands massage the sunscreen into your calves and thighs, john’s eyes trained on your face to see your reactions.

“that feel good, luv?”

releasing a sigh, you smile and nod. john has always had a way with his hands, whether it be when he’s massaging your shoulders after a long day or groping your tits while he’s pounding you hard.

“i know it does, i know.”

his hands begin to move from your thighs to your pelvis and tummy, making sure every inch of you is covered in sunscreen. with each squeeze of your skin, john his groaning out explicatives as he gazes on your figure. your eyes can’t help but fall to his now raging boner throbbing in his shorts. before you could protest, rough hands pull your tits out of your bikini top.

“w-wait john! someone could see-”

“let em’ watch, give em somethin’ to look at.”

john applies more sunscreen, this time he squirts the product directly onto your tits. the sudden coldness of the lotion makes your nipples harden, even in the heat. john’s hands rub the lotion in, groping and squeezing at your tits and tweaking your hard nipples.

“f-fuck, john..”

your back arches and he laughs- the bastard laughs at you. your thighs are clenched together and your legs are crossed to apply pressure to your cunt.

“jesus christ these tits are gorgeous. look at you, squeezin’ your thighs together like a hopeless slut.”

his hands suddenly leave your tits and move to your shoulders and arms. you try to protest, but john’s hands are already holding your wrists to stop you from moving.

“what’s the problem, lovie? m’just doin’ what you asked.”

you couldn’t really argue with the man that was making you this horny, so you just sat back and allowed john to cover the rest of your front in the lotion.

“on my lap now, gotta get your back.”

john pats his thighs and sits next to you and you’re quick to lay across his lap, your ass perfectly in the center and your groin laid exactly on his hard bulge.

“holy shit, babe.”

a hard smack is laid on your ass, leaving a white handprint of sunscreen on your bottom. john begins to rub the lotion on your ass, adoring the way your flesh jiggles with each touch.

“make sure to get my back!”

while your voice is muffled, the reminder earns you another smack to ass. “i’ll take my time if i want. if you don’t watch your mouth you’ll have to start counting em’.”

“y-yes sir.”

his strict tone makes you grind down on his cock, trying desperately to calm the urge in your cunt. john’s hands land back on your waist and grip hard, effectively stopping you from grinding on him. in an instant, john stands up and carries you bridal style to the door.

“hey wait-!”

“had enough, we’re goin’ to the bedroom.”

“but what about-”

“you can sunbathe later.”

ty sm for the ask!!

taglist: @soapsgf @glossysoap @meowpupp (pls inbox me if you wanna be added!)

[secular-jew]

From a real Lebanese (Phoenician).

‎I realize that when I speak my mind as a free human being, there will be responses. I can handle that.

‎However, people who are of the opposite conviction (mostly from the medieval Middle East) always respond with the same modus operandi... Every single time someone disagrees with them, they answer by calling us names like Donkey, Pig, or Dog (حمار، خنزير، كلب hmar, khanzeer, or kaleb) which they intend as big insults. They also call us either 'Zionists' or 'traitors' or 'agents'.

‎They simply have no logical answer, and they are so pathetically childish.

‎My feelings are not hurt. Far from it. But seeing so many here in the US chanting "I am Hamas" causes me to see the need to enlighten those who don't know the detailed history of the past 50 years.

‎Why do we oppose terrorist and don’t agree with their terrorism and savagery?

‎Here is the long history recap, told from my personal perspective.

‎I grew up in Lebanon with friends from all faiths: Druze, Muslim, and various Christians. We laughed and played and got along. Lebanon was generally peaceful and safe.

‎We welcomed the Palestinians as refugees to Lebanon.

‎The border between Lebanon and Israel was generally quiet compared with other Arab nations. Many Lebanese did not want war. Instead, we desired to live in peace and tranquility. We wanted prosperity, trade, tourism, and banking. The Lebanese used to be known as having joie de vie and some of the most fun people to be around.

‎Lebanon was referred to as “the Switzerland of the Middle East” for its beauty and its desire to remain peaceful and neutral and a bridge between the east and west.

‎Lebanon was also called “the Riviera of the Middle East”, "California on the Eastern Mediterranean", and “Green Lebanon” because trees covered the hills and mountains and there was no desert.

‎Beirut was known as "the Paris of the Middle East". Lebanon's Golden Age was a period characterized by its natural beauty, including snow-capped mountains, warm beaches, and a pristine coastline. Beirut was a glamorous city with luxury hotels, nightclubs, and a vibrant cultural and intellectual life. It was a popular destination for movie stars.

‎Tourists flocked to Lebanon. They went snow skiing in the morning then drove 2 hours to Beirut to water ski in the Mediterranean the afternoon of the same day. It was on everyone’s bucket list.

‎Tourists were safe and they had so much fun that they did not want to leave. Many came back year after year.

‎Over time, the Palestinians created a state-within-a-state and there were areas where they prevented even the Lebanese army from entering. Which country would accept that? Knowing the trouble it will eventually cause, the Lebanese started to become bitter about the situation.

‎Egyptian president Gamal Abdel Nasser wanted to make Lebanon part of the United Arab Republic, causing a civil war in 1958.

‎I was in Middle School when the six-day war erupted in June of 1967. School was nearing summer break. We went out for our lunch break and heard that war has started. I saw Israeli fighter jets dog fighting with Syrian jets overhead. the Syrian jets lost.

‎Because Lebanon is very small, we could catch AM radio stations from the surrounding countries. All the Arab stations repeated the same lie: "Our forces have destroyed the enemy's air force, and we have reached the outskirts of Jerusalem." All lies and propaganda from Radio Egypt, Radio Damascus, and Radio Amman. Same garbage from each station. Propaganda in the news continues to this day. If a radio station does not toe the line, the regime will shut it down.

‎To hear the truth, we turned to Radio Israel, Voice of America, and the BBC.

‎Three years later, the PLO started fighting against the King of Jordan. Their headquarters were in Amman, Jordan and even though they were refugees in Jordan, they tried to overthrow King Hussein. The king's forces surrounded them and almost killed every single fighter. The world called for a cease fire and forced King Hussein to relent. That was a major mistake. The same mistake is being repeated these days when the world asks Israel to stop firing. When the world does that, the problem never ends. It only becomes a bigger problem. The world had repeatedly made that mistake in the Middle East.

‎The PLO relocated to Beirut. They started firing at Israel from Lebanese territory, causing Israel to retaliate against Lebanese territory. Who would blame them for retaliating?

‎Again, we did not want war. We wanted peace.

‎Knowing that civil unrest was on the horizon, I went to America to study medicine hoping that by the time I completed my studies, the situation would have calmed down. Little did I know what the future held.

‎In 1975, the PLO caused the devastating civil war that engulfed Lebanon for 15 years. My parents were displaced and lost everything. So did many families. The toll was horrendous.

‎The town where I was born was located in the mountains outside Beirut, only about 30 minutes by car. My family could not go there because of the civil war and lost access to our house for over 10 years. Because it was a house owned by Christians, it was hit on more than one occasion while other homes nearby were OK. The roof had a hole in it from artillery shells. It was repaired, yet more shells hit it, sending the message not to return to town.

‎Our orchards used to have apple trees, peach trees, cherry trees, olive trees, sumac, artichoke, pine trees, mulberry trees, fig trees, and other trees. Not being tended to nor watered, they all died. Even the stones used for terracing our orchard were looted. Thus, our neatly terraced land became a worthless desolate wasteland.

‎My brother was kidnapped, other friends died. We had an apartment in Christian East Beirut. The area was besieged for a while and there were times when there was no bread. Artillery fired from Muslim west Beirut was so intense at times that even crossing the narrow street to the bomb shelter was incredibly dangerous. My mother developed heart disease and Parkinson's from the stress and fear.

‎My family were on the run from Beirut to the Metn district, then to the Bekaa, then to Cyprus, then back to various areas in Lebanon. The war had made them nomads.

‎There were so many other stories that my family endured, but I will omit them for brevity's sake.

‎The Syrian army entered Lebanon as ‘peacekeepers’ and destroyed Lebanon. For many years, the Syrian army occupied our house in the mountains and used it as their headquarters in the town. To remain warm and acting like uncivilized primitives, they lit fires inside the house on our ornate ceramic-tiled floor in the living room.

‎In the 1980's, Hezbollah came to existence and wanted Lebanon to be part of the Iranian Islamic caliphate.

‎Syria occupied Lebanon ruthlessly. Many Lebanese were taken to Syrian jails and tortured. Many never returned.

‎The war "ended", and all factions were disarmed except Hezbollah. Syria and the Shiites were in control and dictated that. Hezbollah kept getting stronger due to intense backing from Iran. For years, Lebanon remained an occupied country. Syria plundered Lebanon and became rich.

‎Syria and Iran, using Hezbollah and their own agents, began assassinating any leader who opposed them. They killed Christians and Sunnis alike. In 2005, Bashar Al Assad 'summoned' Prime Minister Rafik Hariri (a Sunni Muslim) to Damascus and 'ordered' him to do something, threatening that if he did not toe the line, Assad would 'break his head'. Hariri did not toe the line and was assassinated in February 2005. Hezbollah were the ones who committed the act.

‎The cowardly Iranian regime had established Hezbollah as a proxy to fight Israel. In essence, cowardly Iran used Lebanon to fight Israel, causing the destruction of Lebanon while Iranian territory remained safe.

‎So back to my first thought. The opposition cannot handle the truth. The only thing they can do is call us names.

‎I have thick skin. We have gone through a lot of trials and tribulations and adversity wreaked upon us by these savage terroristic animals.

‎Thank you, Israel, for Nasrallah's demise. It may create an opportunity for peace, but only if Lebanese leaders have the courage to seize the moment.

‎I will repeat what the terrorists and their supporters don’t want to hear: The Iranian Regime, The Syrian Regime, all proxies of Iran, Hezbollah, Hamas, Houthis, ISIS, Al Qaeda, The PLO, Islamic Jihad, PJ, PFLP, Syrian Baathist Party, all the Communist parties, all of these and more have been CANCERS in the World. They oppress their own people and us alike. They are savage animals who are stuck in the seventh century with the mentality of brutal conquests and war.

‎Call me what you like. I was born a Phoenician, not an Arab. The terrorists took away my county, but God gave me America. I am grateful and I am blessed.

‎I'm going to have an awesome day, and the terrorists are going to get their rears kicked. Have a good night.

[nicromancytarot]

DRAWING YOUR FUTURE SPOUSE’S APPEARANCE

This is a general reading based on a collective of people. Take what resonates and leave what doesn’t. If you don’t feel the pile resonates with you, don’t be scared to try another, if it still doesn’t feel right, that’s ok! Maybe our energies aren’t as connected and my readings are not for you.

I do these strictly for fun and educational purposes. I don’t charge for these readings, and I do not fake readings.

PICK A PILE READING

I asked my spirit guides what your future spouse looks like, I’ve drawn a VERY rough sketch for a man and a woman, pick a pile and find out which one is for you!

Pile 1 ———> Pile 2 ———> Pile 3

PILE 1

MALE

- Blonde hair

- Glasses

- Strong muscles (both body and face)

- Prominent Adam’s apple

- Blue eyes (first thing you notice, they could even sparkle a bit)

- Wavy hair

- Fair skin

꒰꒰・┄┄┄┄・♡・┄┄┄┄・꒱꒱

- Teacher / Professor

- Mathematician

- Secure in themself

- Into politics / debating

- Doctor / Nurse

- Scientist

- Public speaker

- Wealthy

- Uranus

- Aquarius

- Calves

- Vegetarian / Strict diet

INITIALS: N, H, S, E, M

FEMALE

- Blonde hair

- Blue (fish) eyes

- Glasses

- Nose piercing (hoop)

- Prominent cheekbones

- Fair skin

- Large bust (posible surgery)

- Small waist

꒰꒰・┄┄┄┄・♡・┄┄┄┄・꒱꒱

- Social media (influencer?)

- Hairdresser

- Slow talker

- Scientist

- Dancer

- Therapist

- Humanitarian worker / Advocate

- Artist

- Something wrong with one of their arms

- Folklore

- Cosplayer

INITIALS: B, A, P, F, E

PILE 2

MALE

- Dark skin

- Dark eyes

- Dark, short hair

- Wears a lot of caps (specifically blue)

- Skinny body

- Sad resting face

- Stubble

- Pretty smile

- Tall (6’ - 6’3)

꒰꒰・┄┄┄┄・♡・┄┄┄┄・꒱꒱

- Rich

- Large house

- British

- Small waist

- Enemies to lovers

- Hugger

- Into styling and fashion

- Chef

- Lawyer / Judge

- Chess

- Army

- CEO

- Producer

INITIALS: S, H, I, D, Z

FEMALE

- Dark skin

- Dark eyes

- Dark hair (wears a straight wig from time to time)

- Long face

- Pretty smile

- Prominent eyelashes

- Neat eyebrows

- Prominent collarbones

- Large bust

꒰꒰・┄┄┄┄・♡・┄┄┄┄・꒱꒱

- Rough past

- Farmer

- Humanitarian worker

- Estate agent

- Emotionally mature

- Carer

- breadwinner

- Protester

- Train conductor

- Likes to go on walks

- In charge

- Police / firefighter

INITIALS: G, R, S, N, T

PILE 3

MALE

- Fair - tan skin

- Light - dark brown hair (possibly ginger)

- Hazel or brown eyes

- Small lips

- Skinny body

- Wears a bandana

- Possible piercings

- Small eyebrows

꒰꒰・┄┄┄┄・♡・┄┄┄┄・꒱꒱

- School

- Part of the LGBTQ+ community

- Many jobs

- A texter

- Understanding

- Into science, possible scientist

- Mechanic

- Author

- Protester

- Football (soccer)

- May have cheated in the past (could do it again)

- Peanut allergy

- Office job

INTIALS: N, P E, R, S

FEMALE

- Fair - tan skin

- Brown or green eyes

- Light brown hair

- European

- Large eyes (Tim Burton)

- Large, dark eyebrows

- Tall (around 6’)

- Small lips

- Hooked nose

- Wears a bandana

꒰꒰・┄┄┄┄・♡・┄┄┄┄・꒱꒱

- Pain

- Possibly born prematurely, or could give birth to a premature baby

- Good with money

- Shy

- Rebellious

- Works in a place where she has to restore things

- Nut allergy (I screamed when I got this for both lmao)

- Possible black sheep of the family

- Contemporary

- Past life soul that owes their life to you in this one

- Strong

- Model

- Coach

- Gets sick a lot

INITIALS: W, A, M, K, T

[kvetchlandia]

George C. Cox Walt Whitman, New York City 1887

1 I sing the body electric, The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them, They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them, And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the soul.

Was it doubted that those who corrupt their own bodies conceal themselves? And if those who defile the living are as bad as they who defile the dead? And if the body does not do fully as much as the soul? And if the body were not the soul, what is the soul?

2 The love of the body of man or woman balks account, the body itself balks account, That of the male is perfect, and that of the female is perfect.

The expression of the face balks account, But the expression of a well-made man appears not only in his face, It is in his limbs and joints also, it is curiously in the joints of his hips and wrists, It is in his walk, the carriage of his neck, the flex of his waist and knees, dress does not hide him, The strong sweet quality he has strikes through the cotton and broadcloth, To see him pass conveys as much as the best poem, perhaps more, You linger to see his back, and the back of his neck and shoulder-side.

The sprawl and fulness of babes, the bosoms and heads of women, the folds of their dress, their style as we pass in the street, the contour of their shape downwards, The swimmer naked in the swimming-bath, seen as he swims through the transparent green-shine, or lies with his face up and rolls silently to and fro in the heave of the water, The bending forward and backward of rowers in row-boats, the horseman in his saddle, Girls, mothers, house-keepers, in all their performances, The group of laborers seated at noon-time with their open dinner-kettles, and their wives waiting, The female soothing a child, the farmer’s daughter in the garden or cow-yard, The young fellow hoeing corn, the sleigh-driver driving his six horses through the crowd, The wrestle of wrestlers, two apprentice-boys, quite grown, lusty, good-natured, native-born, out on the vacant lot at sun-down after work, The coats and caps thrown down, the embrace of love and resistance, The upper-hold and under-hold, the hair rumpled over and blinding the eyes; The march of firemen in their own costumes, the play of masculine muscle through clean-setting trowsers and waist-straps, The slow return from the fire, the pause when the bell strikes suddenly again, and the listening on the alert, The natural, perfect, varied attitudes, the bent head, the curv’d neck and the counting; Such-like I love—I loosen myself, pass freely, am at the mother’s breast with the little child, Swim with the swimmers, wrestle with wrestlers, march in line with the firemen, and pause, listen, count.

-- Walt Whitman, "I Sing the Body Electric," pts 1 and 2 1855

[the-californicationist]

The Fourth of July

Another gift fic for another awesome friend of mine! Stockings are getting stuffed left and right this year. <3 <3

Alex/FReader - foreign reader, blowjob/Facefuck, spit kink, soft!Alex

You are celebrating your first July 4th with Alex and his friends at your brother's lake house. Seeing the booming fireworks, eating hotdogs, and drinking out of those red solo cups - just like the movies - has been so much fun. But, you and Alex get a little carried away in the pool house.

MDNI/18+

AO3 Link

When he picked you up for the party, Alex looked like he was Mr. USA. His fluorescent blue swim trunks were short, the hem sitting high on his huge, muscular thighs, showing off his carbon fiber leg. The arms of his old Army tee shirt were sliced open, giving you a view of his endless, tanned skin. His ribs and abs rippled beneath the surface as he parked the Silverado in the road and hopped out of it to greet you. 

You’d never wanted to run your hands through a shock of hair so badly in your life, buried under a bright red trucker cap with the bill turned backwards. He was smacking his gum loudly, and he was already sunburnt across his nose. 

“Hey, there. You ready for some freedom?”

You smiled, enjoying his American accent,

“As ready as I’ll ever be, I think.”

“C’mon. Your brother’s waitin’ for us at the house. Got about fifty pounds of barbeque workin’ on the pit, I’ll bet.”

He grabbed your bag and threw it into the back of his truck before grabbing your arm and helping you into the lifted cab of the vehicle. Your swimsuit coverup billowed in the wind, and he gently gathered it up for you, moving it away so it wouldn’t get caught in the heavy door. 

Alex pulled himself into the driver’s seat, flexing his tattooed forearms as he settled into position, gripping the wheel tightly. As you looked closer, you started to notice little scars, nothing major. But, you were always quick to forget what his day job was: CIA war machine. He threw on a pair of hot-pink sunglasses with a floater neck strap attached, and handed you his spare pair. You slipped them on, feeling much cooler than you thought you should. As you pulled onto the road, he cranked up the music until you couldn’t even hear yourself think. 

You took the opportunity of being bathed in sound to study him from across the center console of the truck. The landscape of America - strip centers and wooded fields - rushed by you unadmired, and you were trapped by him. You thought you’d gotten away with a long, delicious appraisal, but he flipped his glasses down his nose and peeked over them at you. The look in his eye made you blush. 

He turned the music down and stared at you while the huge truck idled at a red light. His voice was nice and even as he asked,

“What are you lookin’ at, darlin’?”

“Nothing,” you tried to be dismissive, playing coy but doing it badly. 

An enormous, rough hand grabbed you around your knee,

“Nothin’? Like what you were wearin’ in that snap you sent me last week, nothin’?”

You blushed pink. The light turned green. Alex stayed staring at you, squeezing your leg, until someone behind him honked, and even then he took his sweet time. 

“Mmhm,” you said, waiting for his next move as he drove onward, revving the truck’s angry engine.

“Did you tell him yet?” Alex asked, threading his fingers through yours as you captured it from your lap..

“No,” you laughed under your breath, “I think you’d have known by now if I had.”

He laughed with you, readjusting his cap,

“I think I’d have a black eye by now.”

You grimaced in reply, knowing your brother’s temper. He wouldn’t be thrilled to see you flirting with his best friend from when he was enlisted. Alex saw you frown, and he held your hand a little tighter, saying,

“Worth it.” 

You drew in a tight breath and looked over at him. His gaze stayed on the road this time, pushing the speed limit, taking the exit to the lake. 

You’d known Alex Keller ever since your brother moved to Clearwater. Your brother, Charlie, had studied at university and he had fallen in love with a man who was in Alex’s old regiment. They’d gotten married, and now, Charlie had his green card and everything. All of Alex’s friends and army buddies had brought Charlie into the fold. He was even driving a Ford F-150 these days. If it wasn’t for his Kiwi accent, he could’ve passed as a true American. 

You tried to come over to see Charlie and his husband, Greg, every summer. But, with the restrictions in place, it had been a few years. This would be a happy reunion as long as he didn’t discover the relationship blooming between you and his best friend, Alex. 

It had been an accident, really. Charlie had lost his phone, and Alex had called you by accident, trying to find it. Then, you had just…kept calling. They were late night talks for you, and early morning talks for him, but you and Alex just seemed to have so much to say to each other. When he flew out to Urzikstan for dangerous missions, or over to Russia to do God knows what, he would always send you back some little trinkets from his trip. 

You knew it was a lie. You knew, in your heart, that he had been over there killing people and saving the world from whatever horrors were terrorizing those deep, dark places. But, when you got a little glass camel figurine in the mail, its box covered in a million stamps, you put it on your window sill and watched the light dance through it like it hadn’t been shipped from some sort of master of war. But, if you were truly honest with yourself, you didn't give a shit. 

You’d been talking for about six months now, and the build up to your trip was intense. The anticipation was killing you both. Seeing him now, feeling the bones of his hand in yours as you massaged the tiny muscles inside of his palm, it was all too much. You needed Charlie to understand that you had fallen madly in love with his best friend.

“I think we should tell him,” Alex said, interrupting your thoughts.

“Shit,” you scoffed, “He’s gonna lose it.”

“I don’t want to keep hiding you away. And maybe…” you heard the familiar tones of doubt in his throat, “Maybe I’m not the kind of man your brother wants for you. But, I can be.”

You kissed the back of his hand, letting the tiny hairs tickle your skin. The lake house wasn’t far, but you wanted to reassure him more than just chaste affection. 

“I’m eager to see the kind of man you can be,” you turned the seduction up to eleven, hoping he wouldn’t immediately laugh at you. 

He didn’t laugh. If anything, other than a flash of panic in his eyes, he didn’t move. He allowed you to flip his hand over, its wide palm facing the sky as you planted kiss after kiss onto his skin. You felt his breathing quicken, rippling through his limbs. Finally, you took his forefinger into your mouth and began to gently suck on its tip. It was salty, and probably unclean, but you didn’t care. You kept going, moving your mouth up and down his thick digit as if it were his cock. And goddamn did you want it to be his cock.

The phone calls had turned flirtatious, and then downright lascivious, in the last few months. Once, while he was hiding in a bunker somewhere in Ukraine, he’d called you, desperate. You listened to him as he pulled hungrily on his cock, letting you listen to the wet slipping sounds of his fist pounding into his skin, searching for release. He’d begged for your mouth. He said it was all he could think about, and the gorgeous little whimpering noises he made had set it in your mind. You dreamed about blowing him for weeks. You thought about how his come would taste when you had been sitting in the terminal and waiting on your plane. You were going to suck the life out of Alex Keller at this fucking party tonight if it was the last thing you ever did. 

“Oh,” his voice was shaking and quiet, “Fuuuuuck.”

One more strong suck on his finger and you let him loose, wiping away the wetness with your hand, lacing your fingers back through his as if nothing had happened. 

His breathing was ragged, and his hand was trembling. The lake house was just up ahead, and as Alex pulled into the drive, he took his hand back from your grip to adjust his growing cock. It looked heavy, and you couldn’t stop staring. 

“Holy shit,” he sighed, “Charles is gonna kill me.”

“I won’t let him,” you smiled. 

“That mouth…” he was still turned on, and his voice was deepened by his arousal.

“Wait til you see what else it can do,” you grinned and popped open your door to greet Charlie. 

Your brother was in a black apron and carrying a set of tongs. He was at least six and a half feet tall and built like an ox. The back of his neck was red from the sun, and he wore his hair up in a poorly coiffed bun. You shut the truck door and he turned around. When he saw you, his face lit up, and he shouted your name across the yard. 

“Kia ora, sister. Look at you! How’s the Air B&B?”

Charlie held you close to his body, hugging you so tight that it hurt. You let it hurt. 

“Fine. I’m starving.”

“It’s coming. Where’s Alex?”

“Grabbing the bags, I think.”

You turned back around and watched as Alex bent into the truck bed and pulled your bag out along with his. He’d let his sunglasses fall around his neck and walked over to you and Charlie. 

“Charles,” Alex smiled, dropping a bag to shake your brother’s hand. 

“Alex, thanks for picking her up. Greg and the boys are down at the dock.”

You spent the day jet skiing and swimming with Alex and all of your brother’s friends. The girlfriends and wives and husbands all introduced themselves, or reintroduced themselves if they had met you before, and Alex stuck by your side through it all. He could have easily abandoned you to go on the fishing trip that most of the other men were keen to take, or he could have hung around Charlie all day since it had been months since they’d seen each other, too. But, he didn’t. He seemed to know that you didn’t want to be alone, and he held you to him in as much as he dared. 

It would be a lie, though, if you two didn’t admit to sharing a stray touch or even a kiss every now and then. You kept finding excuses to be alone together.

Finally, it was nearly fireworks time, and Greg was setting up the array of them. The purple dusk was just settling on the horizon, and you and Alex had front-row seats. He had brought you another icy beer from the cooler, and a towel from inside the house to sit on. You’d positioned yourselves right next to the small pool house, a little away from the crowd. 

The pool house was little more than a small bedroom and a toilet, but it was big enough to block anyone from seeing you two from behind. That way, if someone was looking at you, you’d know it. The excitement of hiding your affection from everyone was exhilarating. 

You had worn your bright pink triangle bikini, and Alex had spent most of the day staring at it. You’d even made him retie the bows a few times, just to torture him. Once, he’d even managed to swipe a finger over your nipple, so you knew that once everyone’s eyes were focused on the exploding sky, it was on. 

Other houses on the lake were popping their own fireworks, and there was a man who was famous for his end-of-the-night show. As Charlie lit more and more of the small ones, you noticed the other houses following suit. It was pretty, and every time a mortar cracked in the sky, you could feel it in your chest. 

Once it became dark enough, you started to rub your hand up and down Alex’s bare thigh. He scooted closer and closer to you like a dog begging for more pets. You obliged him, running your fingers higher and higher until you were disturbing the hem of his shorts. Then, you went for it.

He felt you move your hand to the warm flesh between his legs, and he whispered,

"No, no, wait...oh, fuck..."

You put your hand through the stretchy leg of the nylon trunks and searched for his heavy cock and balls. You ignored his dick at first, rubbing his balls gently, moving them around in your hand, massaging them and feeling his dick fighting for attention above your wrist. 

“Holy fucking shit, woman,” he hissed, fidgeting in his seat, his eyes turned skyward as he gasped as quietly as he could. 

“You enjoying the show?” You asked, acting very casual. 

“Enjoying…Jesus Christ,” Alex furrowed his brow at you and wiped a hand down his face. His eyes shone blue and then green and then red as the colors burst above you.  

Finally, you wrapped your fingers around his swollen rod, nearly three times as large as it had been soft, and started to pump up and down slowly and deliberately. He let out a trembling breath. 

“Baby, baby, baby, please…ah, please.”

“What do you need, Alex?” You whispered, kissing his neck, “Tell me. I wanna hear it.”

“I need your mouth, baby. Please, I’ll do anything,” he kissed you back, his mustache and beard tickling your skin, sending chills down your arms.

You looked over your shoulder at the pool house, and he followed your gaze. Then, you looked back down at the dock and saw Charlie and Greg untangling a huge fireworks display. You had time.

“C’mon,” you stood up quietly and opened up the door to the pool house. 

The two of you snuck in and shut it behind you, still able to see through the small skylight as the fireworks were going off outside. You didn’t wait for him to get settled. In fact, you grabbed Alex by the arm and pulled him into the small room, sinking to your knees on the well-worn rug. You looped your fingers in the waistband of his shorts, and pulled them down. His cock flagged free, bobbing up and down, and he was as hard as a stone. 

“Holy fuck! Wait, wait…oh, fuck!” He tried to catch his balance, and set his hands on your shoulders. 

You stared at his hard length, admiring the velvety smoothness of his skin, looking at his bare, pink head. You could see the scar from his circumcision, and you ran your tongue along the dark line of skin, licking him up and onto his plump, uncovered head. The sound he made from your first contact would be burned into your brain forever. It was a low, dark growl mixed with a sigh that seemed like he had just been relieved from carrying the whole world on his shoulders. Maybe he had. 

You took him into your mouth achingly slowly, looking up at him the entire time you did so, watching his face contort into different stages of blissful agony. He had one hand in his hair, pulling on it at the roots, his hat knocked back, looking like he was in shock. You swallowed him deeper, opening and closing your throat with swallow after swallow, making more and more drool pool in your mouth as you did until it was running out of your lips and down onto your chest. 

Then, you began to bob your head back and forth along as much of his length as you could take, choking yourself with it until it hurt just a little. You tried to relax. You wanted to show him that you could take it all, that you could be his relief. 

You focused on his head, running your tongue over its crest, tasting his salty precome as you lapped over his hole, rubbing the slick back and bumpy front of your tongue across it over and over and over. You used your hand to pump him up and down as you did, shaking him vigorously while he was sucked into your mouth.

Then, just as you were finding a steady, beating rhythm, he took your head in his hands and pulled you off of him. He was panting and ferocious when he whispered to you,

“Oh, my fucking God, baby. You don’t have to —��

“I want to,” you insisted, wrapping your hands behind your thighs and pulling his cock into your lips again. You kissed his head like it was his mouth, making out with his cock, covering him in your spit. 

You felt him take one of the strings of your bikini in his hands and tug. Your top fluttered down, exposing your breasts to the dark room. You moaned.

When you did, he stumbled forward, losing his balance,

“Shit. Baby, I can't...” he begged, catching himself on the side of the end table, his knuckles white and straining to hold up his weight. 

“I’ll let you sit,” you said cheekily, “If you hold my hair for me.”

“Oh, God,” he sank to the bed and laced his fingers through your hair, grabbing the back of your skull. 

You sucked him harder, moaning as you did so, playing with your nipples and feeling your drool run down your chin. 

Alex’s hand was only loosely connected, and you wanted more from him. You pulled away again and looked up at him with the biggest doe eyes you could muster,

“Alex,” you had his attention like a bright fire, “Fuck my face. Please.” 

A snarl came out of his mouth, and he had to put himself back together before he answered you. He used his big hands to pet your hair out of your face, running a thumb across your wet bottom lip with tender care,

“I don’t wanna hurt you, baby. This feels so good. I don’t need you to -”

“I need you to. I wanna feel you in my throat.”

“Are you trying to kill me?”

“Only a little,” you smiled and licked the tip of him again, teasing him.

“If I hurt you, pinch me. Hard.”

You nodded, taking him as deep as you could. Then, when you reached your limit, you felt his hands get tight, shoving you down past your mouth and into your throat. He was still so gentle with you as he moved himself inside of you, fucking you ever so slowly, waiting for your pinch. So, you started to moan and lick and pull him closer with your hands, pushing yourself to the point of gagging. 

He yanked you off of him in a hurry, thinking you were injured. A long, frothy line of drool came out with him, and you spit the rest onto his shaft and returned him to your mouth. Now that you knew that you could go that deep with help, you tried to do it without, and you nearly succeeded. 

Alex was a complete mess above you, and his moans had become high, whining whimpers. With every swallow, with every lick, you earned a new noise. A gasp, a curse, a shaking cry. You played him like an instrument. Loudly.

Finally, you took him all the way in, past even where he had dared to push you, and you buried your nose in his crotch, smelling his hair and sweat and skin. 

“Oh, fucking shit! Fuck that’s deep. Oh, God. Oh, God! Baby!”

He was unraveled like a ball of string, spilling out everywhere. His body betrayed his politeness, and he thrust himself into you once, twice. You watched as the rockets and cannons and mortars all exploded around you in a fiery, rainbow crescendo, he came down your throat, crying for you, whimpering your name, gasping through gritted teeth. 

You counted to ten, trying not to gag, feeling his cock pulsing in your mouth, beating like a heart. Then, you started to get light-headed. So, you pulled back, releasing him in a slobbery, wet mess of come and spit. 

You leaned forward into his lap and began to lick him clean. He shuddered as you did so, shaking and moaning as your tongue touched all of his sensitive places. You saved his head for last. Licking up and down his shaft, cleaning his come from him, tasting his body’s sweet, sticky release. Until finally, you looked up at him with a sly smile. 

He looked down at you in dumb shock as you sucked all the fluid away from his swollen head, and he gasped as you finished the job. You released him with a pop from your lips and smiled, sitting back on your heels and playing with your tits. 

Alex lay on the bed for a while, and you joined him, rubbing his skin under his cutoff tee. He rolled onto his side and greedily suckled on your nipples, kissing your mouth and neck affectionately, fondling you a little more aggressively than you expected. Then, he looked up at the door and back down at you,

“Will you still want me after your brother breaks my nose?”

You laughed, rolling your eyes,

“Sure, I will.” 

“Then, wait here, baby. I’ll be right back.”

[butchjess]

the jess mariano s2 outfits post.. all of his outfits for every one of his appearances including accessories and other such things found to the best of my abilities . full thing is under the read more

-repeat outfits are not included for my own sanity

*asteriks are to indicate the piece is not an exact match, but very close (couldn't find it or just not 100% sure)

S2E05 Nick & Nora/Sid & Nancy

The Camo Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch, black with stainless steel casing + grey braided string bracelet + dark brown leather belt with Civil War union soldier oval buckle

L.L. Bean navy blue puffer vest + Rothco long-sleeve Woodland camo shirt

Levi's 568 dark wash jeans

Swiss modern combat boots

Zip-Up Sweatshirt Fit

Nixon “The Rocker” A370 watch

Gray zip-up sweatshirt with US army staff sergeant rank insignia patch + Indera Mills navy blue raschel-knit thermal shirt

Levi’s 501 straight leg jeans*

Swiss modern combat boots

Wet Delinquent Fit

Nixon “The Rocker” A370 watch + gray braided string bracelet

Stanfield's charcoal long-sleeve thermal waffle knit shirt

Dickies loose fit jeans (logo painted over from back pocket)

Swiss modern combat boots

The Girl From Mars Fit

Nixon “The Rocker A370 watch + gray braided string bracelet

Gray zip-up sweatshirt with US army staff sergeant rank insignia patch + L.L. Bean navy blue puffer vest + white long-sleeved Fresno, CA motorcycle sweater*

Levi's 501 dark blue straight leg fit jeans

Swiss modern combat boots

S2E06 Presenting Lorelai Gilmore

Metallica Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch + gray braided string bracelet

Pushead Metallica No Leaf Clover shirt

The Uniform Fit

Luke's season one baseball cap + Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch + gray braided string bracelet

Burgundy plaid flannel + gray t-shirt

Dickies loose fit jeans

S2E08 The Ins and Outs of Inns

Child Labor Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch + gray bracelet

Hanes black pocket t-shirt* + Rothco long-sleeve Woodland camo shirt

Levi's 568 dark wash jeans

Swiss modern combat boots

The Slacker Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch

L.L. Bean navy blue puffer vest + Tasman Empire Airways ltd. vintage red t-shirt + Stanfield's charcoal long-sleeve thermal waffle knit shirt

Levi's 501 straight leg fit jeans

Swiss modern combat boots

Double Denim Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch

L.L. Bean Sherpa-lined Trucker style denim jacket + Stanfield's charcoal long-sleeve thermal waffle knit shirt

Wrangler black regular fit jeans

Swiss modern combat boots

The Toaster Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch + leather bracelet

Green long-sleeve California graphic shirt + Stanfield's white thermal long-sleeve waffle knit shirt

Levi's 501 straight leg fit jeans

S2E10 The Bracebridge Dinner

Don't Need Your Help Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch + leather bracelet + dark brown leather belt with Civil War union soldier oval buckle

Punk Planet magazine red t-shirt + Stanfield's white thermal long-sleeve waffle knit shirt

Wrangler black regular fit jeans

Swiss modern combat boots

The Carriage Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch + leather bracelet

Beige Sherpa-lined suede coat + black plaid button up + black undershirt

Levi's 568 dark wash jeans*

Swiss modern combat boots

The Glance Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch + leather bracelet

Black fatigue shirt*

Dickies loose fit jeans

Swiss modern combat boots

S2E12 Richard in Stars Hollow

Innocent Boy Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch + dark brown leather belt with oval Civil War union soldier buckle

L.L. Bean Sherpa-lined Trucker style denim jacket + Rothco long-sleeve Woodland camo shirt

Wrangler black regular fit jeans

Swiss modern combat boots

S2E13 A-Tisket, A-Tasket

Superglue Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch

Beige Sherpa-lined suede coat* + Tasmanian Empire Airways ltd. red t-shirt + Stanfield's charcoal long-sleeve thermal waffle-knit shirt

Brown loose fit corduroy pants

The Guy Who Brought Enough Money Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch

Beige Sherpa-lined suede coat + green long-sleeve Califronia graphic shirt + Stanfield's white long-sleeve waffle-knit thermal + black long-sleeve shirt

Wrangler black regular fit jeans

Swiss modern combat boots

The Phone Call Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch + leather bracelet

Dickies long-sleeve garage blue industrial work shirt with embroidered US flag patch (name-tag included) + black long-sleeve shirt*

Brown loose fit corduroy pants*

White socks

S2E15 Lost and Found

The Gutter Cleaner Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch + leather bracelet + gardening gloves

Wrangler gas station jacket (no nametag)* + Punk Planet magazine red t-shirt + black long-sleeve shirt

Wrangler black regular fit jeans

Swiss modern combat boots

S2E13 There's the Rub

Construction Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch + leather bracelet + blue pen + blue hardhat + dark brown leather belt with oval Civil War union soldier buckle

Hanes gray pocket t-shirt + black long-sleeve shirt

Wrangler black regular fit jeans

Delivery Boy Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch + leather bracelet

L.L. Bean Sherpa lined Trucker style denim jacket + Dickies long-sleeve garage blue industrial work shirt with U.S. flag patch embroidered on sleeve (name-tag removed) + Hanes black pocket t-shirt*

Brown loose fit corduroy pants

Swiss modern combat boots

Navy Blue Sweatshirt Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch + leather bracelet

Ralph Lauren Polo Sport navy blue USA fleece sweatshirt (02 embroidered on sleeve)* + Stanfield's white long-sleeve waffle knit thermal shirt

S2E17 Dead Uncles and Vegetables

Despot Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch + leather bracelet

L.L. Bean navy blue puffer vest + Nordstrom brown button down dress shirt + black t-shirt

Levi's 568 dark wash jeans

Swiss modern combat boots

Diner Boy Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch + leather bracelet + blue pen + dark brown leather belt with oval Civil War union soldier buckle

Hanes gray pocket t-shirt + Stanfield's white long-sleeve waffle knit thermal shirt

Dickies loose fit jeans (logo painted over/removed)

Funeral Party Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch + leather bracelet

Black fatigue shirt + white and black baseball tee*

S2E19 Teach Me Tonight

Ice Cream Cones Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch + leather bracelet

Big Smith green diamond quilted jacket + white striped double pocket linen shirt + black t-shirt + Stanfield's white long-sleeve waffle knit thermal shirt

RVCA Americana olive green baggy fit jeans

Swiss modern combat boots

S2E21 Lorelai's Graduation Day

Payphone Fit

Dickies navy blue Eisenhower jacket + gray button-up*

Levi's 568 dark wash jeans

New York Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch

Dickies navy blue Eisenhower jacket + Hardkore Kidd 2002 No Mercy tour shirt

RVCA Americana olive green baggy fit jeans

Swiss modern combat boots

S2E22 Can't Get Started

The Kiss Fit

Dickies navy blue Eisenhower jacket + gray graphic t-shirt* + Stanfield's black long-sleeve waffle knit thermal shirt

Levi's 568 dark wash jeans

Swiss modern combat boots

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 13 Coming On 10/27/2024

Just A Little Something 😉

The shiny metal bell above the door jingled as the last customer of the day entered the shop, but you didn't look up from the bouquet of flowers you were arranging for a last minute birthday order that someone called in for tomorrow morning. You didn't often make them, but Jake was busy breaking down the display of flowering plants in one of the front windows and you were more than happy to help out.

Even if it was difficult with one hand.

You could hear whoever it was that entered the shop coming closer to the register, the sound of their shoes clunking against the weathered gray concrete floors with every step.

"Welcome in. Can I help you with something?" You don't look away from the sunflowers in the dark blue vase in front of you, while using one hand to place some holly ferns to give it a bit more green before you reach for the baby's breath that sits in a bundle on the vintage wooden bar that served as a desk beneath the register.

"Well I'm not sure. Do you have anything that says 'I'm sorry my friend kidnapped you?'" A familiar voice asks and you hear the smile curling on the ends of the words.

Your head jerks upwards at the sound of the voice, but you already know who it is.

Darren stands there in his traditional black army jacket. His blonde buzzed hair is blindingly white in the sunlight that comes through the wide glass windows at the front of the shop, catching the glint of the gunmetal colored hoops in his right eyebrow. His smile is sheepish, apologetic, and if you hadn’t been through what you did, you might have believed that it was genuine.

"Darren?" Your voice is no more than a whisper, surprise leaking into it as you utter your brother's name.

You didn’t actually think that he would come to see you, not when he knew who Ben really was, and not when Darren knew that you found out he sacrificed you to save his own skin. That he was willing to throw you into the line of fire so that he didn't have to cough up the cash to pay for his gambling debt.

"Hey sissy. Did you miss me?"

(I mean this is more than a little something... You're welcome 😃)

Take A Chance On Me Masterlist

Taglist:

@roseblue373 @mrsjenniferwinchester @corruptedcruiser @winchesterwild78 @the-super-who-locked-wizard

@criminalyetminimal @52ndstreeet @bitchykittenconnoisseur @anna6307 @libby99hb

@faephoria @possiblyafangirl @jqtaro @quietlybitchy @tinydancer40

@roger-that-cap @megara0224 @miskwaadesiwag @rainyeggvoidpurse

@soldiergrimes @tiffsbagels @podiumackles

@ifyouwerethemoon @ririshkin @peachhiz @fitxgrld @sukunassfinger

@xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @ej13928 @deans-spinster-witch @kr804573 @modiddys-blog

@acciosherlockholmes @minas-fantasies @fireskyy

@n-o-p-e-never @nesnejwritings @am0rem @tpwkcalli @momggn

@fitxgrld @whimsicalcherry @ladysparkles78

@spxideyver @zepskies @impala67stellawinchester

@reidtomewinchester @samanthadegaro @glossy01 @nikimisery

@tunnelvisionlove @incandxscents @winchester-stark @samahanta

@melonmochi

@kamisobsessed @whichwitchwanda @karolina-12110905

[babybluebex]

rememories | tommy shelby x fem!reader

summary: the lee family trashed your betting room, including your most prized possessions, and tommy does everything in his power to soothe you and right the wrongs that the rival gang caused. pairing: tommy shelby (peaky blinders) x fem!reader tags: s1!tommy, tommy being a sweetheart, your daughter's name is thomasine (thanks @lost-in-sokovia for that one), no real warnings for this other than like angst? brief emotional distress? idk author's note: it's come to this lol. i'll be fixing my cillian masterlist later and reblogging it, so y'all can read all of my old tommy fics (and a few other cillian characters lmao) but i hope you enjoy this one!

The backroom was in total disrepair. Chairs were tipped over, things were thrown from tables, coins scattered everywhere and marks of bludgeonings on the walls. The poor little room was merely a shell of itself, its personality and life battered away. You could still hear your husband’s jaded laughter as he made fun of John for wanting to marry Lizzie Stark, but mere minutes ago now seemed like a lifetime away.

Scudboat sat as Arthur poured him whisky, and he explained how the Lees, “the whole lot of ‘em”, came in and destroyed the betting backroom. He was ambushed, he said, or he would have done a better job defending it. You held Tommy’s hands as fear made your own shake, and your husband sighed. “Find what can be salvaged,” he said, narrowly missing John’s angry fit as he kicked a box over. “Anything is better than nothing.”

“This is terrible,” you sniffled, and Tommy extracted his handkerchief for you. It was one that you had bought for him right after you had gotten married and just before he went to war, and you were always amazed that the silky cloth made it as far as it did. You dabbed at your eyes, scowling at your dark makeup that came off, and your heart beat fiercely against your ribcage for a moment. “The children. Was Finn here for this, Scudboat? Or Thomasine?”

“Nah,” he said. “Finn was off in town; Thomasine ain’t come home from school yet.”

“Oh, Tommy, they can’t see the house like this!” you whimpered and clutched your husband’s arm. “It’ll upset Thomasine too much. I’ll fetch her from school and keep her away from the house for a while until this is mostly fixed.”

Tommy nodded wordlessly in agreement, and he began to take off his cap, but he quickly stopped. He was fixated on something on the floor at his feet, and you looked down to match his gaze, only to be greeted with the big leather book that held your most prized possessions: your photographs. You kept the album in the betting room because it was always filled with people, witnesses in case something happened, and, really, who would want to ruin Tommy Shelby’s wife’s photographs?

Your knees crunched on glass as you lowered yourself to the album, and you took it in your shaking hands. The dark green leather was stained black with spilled ink and oil, obscuring your gold-foiled name on the spine, and you opened the book with a creak of the old pages. You didn’t want to have to assess the damage, but the first page already had you weeping pathetically again. The first photograph, the first one ever taken of you and Tommy, sitting and laughing together as Ada tried out her new camera, years and years ago at fifteen and thirteen. It was gone. The page was yellowed all around where the photograph should be, but the picture itself was gone. You wanted to throw the book across the room and scream; you weren’t concerned with material things, many girls from Small Heath were the same way, but those photographs were your pride and joy. The next page was a formal picture taken of Tommy wearing his Army uniform, his lanky seventeen-year-old build a little too small for the uniform that he would grow into. The corner of the photograph was torn but, thankfully, mostly intact.

The third page made you press the book to your chest. Your wedding photographs. You and Tommy had gotten married quickly, two days before he had to go to France, and, in your haste, you hadn’t been able to afford much. You could only afford a single copy of each photograph: one of you in your Sunday best that was your wedding dress, one of Tommy in his uniform, and one of you together. All three photographs were torn to shreds, settled in the spine of the book, waiting for you to find them. Those wedding photographs were the most important thing in the world to you, and now they were gone. Not even pasting glue could fix it. “Tom!” you sobbed, pressing the back of your wrist to your mouth. “O-Our wedding photographs! Th-They’re all ripped up!”

Your husband’s attention went from Scudboat to you, and he walked over to you and knelt down next to you. He took the small bits of photographs in his fingers, examining them intently, and he sighed heavily. “Fuck, love,” he whispered, and your sobs grew heavy. If Tommy was resigned to fate, then there was no chance of them being fixed. “I’m sorry.”

“We-We don’t have any extras, do we?” you stuttered. Your mouth felt dry as your fingers tried to match the ripped edges of photographs up, but they were too far gone. “Tom, d-do we have any others? Th-These aren’t the only ones we have, right?”

Tommy sat down next to you and put an arm around you, and he watched you frantically sob for just a second more before he used his strength to pull you into his chest. The photo album fell out of your hands, and you clutched your husband as you wailed in sorrow. Your wedding photos were gone.

“Mummy?” you heard a little voice call from the doorway, and you turned to see your wee daughter, Miss Thomasine Sophia Shelby, standing at the door. She was holding her school books in her arms, the pink ribbon in her hair coming loose. Thomasine was born just after Tommy come home from France, five years ago, and she looked like a Shelby, dark hair and bright eyes, but she had her father’s smile. “Mummy, why’re you crying?”

You sniffled and wiped at your eyes, not caring that you streaked your makeup to hell and back, and you mumbled, “People came into the house, did us over. I-I’m just sad, that’s all.” You didn’t want to worry your daughter with the real reason why you were so upset, because, truly, you felt silly for being so distraught at fucking photographs. It felt ridiculous for you, as a grown woman, a mother, to be crying over photographs.

Thomasine ran to you and sat her small body in your lap, and she wrapped her small arms around you. “Don’t be sad,” Thomasine told you, and you laughed humorlessly. “It’s okay, Mummy.”

You sniffled and soothed your hand down Thomasine’s hair— the ends of her long hair were turning a little ginger, just the same as her father’s tended to do in the sun— and you kissed her forehead. “Thank you, love,” you whispered. “Hug your father, he’s sad too.”

Thomasine crawled out of your lap and into Tommy’s, and Thomasine started to suck her thumb as Tommy stood up and settled his daughter firmly on his hip. He offered you a hand to stand up, and you sniffled as you gathered the soiled photo album up in your grip and stood up on your own. “If you find any of ‘em,” Tommy called to the room, and he gestured to the album in your arms. “Bring ‘em to her, don’t waste time. Yeah?”

You hardly slept that night. After securing the house and making sure that there wasn’t any other part of it that the Lees had touched, you had tried to go about your life normally, but it was difficult to pretend like you didn’t know that, at any time, rivals could enter your home and slaughter every last one of you. You put Thomasine to bed after dinner, and your girl fell asleep quickly, but you yourself were awake for hours. Tommy had taken your photo album and put it away in his wardrobe; “If you keep it, you’ll fret over it forever.” He was right, of course, because, when the sun came up, you had tugged it out and was trying to sort through the scraps of photographs on your bedroom floor. The room was cold and part of you wished that you could be in bed, holding your husband close, but you needed to do it for yourself. You had managed to salvage a single photograph by the time Tommy was blinking himself awake, and you sniffled as you beckoned him over. “Tommy, look!” you exclaimed. “I-It’s Thomasine!”

“Jesus, woman,” Tommy sighed groggily. “Have you been at this all night?”

“Yes!” you exclaimed. “Her baby picture, look!”

Tommy reached down for you and he took your hand, and he helped you stand up, his hands going to hold your cheeks. “I know you’re having a hard time with this,” he whispered. “But obsessing over it is only going to make it worse. They’re as good as gone, darling.”

“B-But—” you sniffled, and Tommy shook his head.

“You have to let it go,” He told you firmly. “Come back to bed, you don’t have to be awake for hours.”

“Oh, Tommy,” you sighed, shuffling back up to bed. Your joints hurt from sitting on the floor practically all night, and your vision watered up as you watched Tommy gather up the album and photograph scraps and set them back in his wardrobe. “What am I going to do? All of my favorite memories are lost.”

“You still have the memories in your head, love,” Tommy told you, sitting next to you. You leaned into him and pressed your cheek to his warm chest, and you sniffled as you squeezed your eyes shut.

“I just…” you mumbled. “Our wedding pictures is the thing I’m most upset about. We were so young, and that was before everything went to shit, and we were so happy…”

“We’re still happy,” Tommy assured you. “We’re happier now, because we have Thomasine. We’re a complete family now.”

“You know what I mean,” you said. “We were poor kids, and-and looking at those pictures gave me hope that you’d come home when you were in France. They were my lifeline for a long time, and to have them ruined like this…”

Tommy’s lips formed into a thin line, and he rubbed your back comfortingly as you finally laid down and tried to settle into sleep. Your sleep was thin, hardly even deep enough to call proper sleep, but you finally woke up and got out of bed when you heard shouting down in the bottom of the house. You were used to that, but you still felt like you ought to make sure everything was alright, so you pulled yourself from bed and went about groggily getting ready for the day, slipping on a dress and spraying on perfume before descending the stairs.

The noise seemed to be coming from the back room, the ruined betting room, and you carefully pushed back the plush curtains and opened the doors to see a sight. Your eyes first landed on your husband, dressed in his old uniform. It certainly looked too small for him, tugging a little at his chest, but you clenched your teeth together at the sight. How long has it been since you saw him in the pea-soup-green uniform? Five years, at least. “Tommy,” you said softly. You couldn’t help yourself from stepping closer to him as his head snapped to look at you, and his hard gaze softened in the way it always did when he saw you. He never subjected you to his steely gaze, and, whenever you saw it, it always reminded you of what a feared man he was.

“Fuck, love, what’re you doing down here?” Tommy asked. “You’re supposed to be asleep still.”

“Heard shouting,” you said softly. The other men were bustling around the room as you smoothed your hands up Tommy’s chest, and your eyes went all watery again. “This isn’t happening, please, no.”

“What’s wrong?” Tommy asked. “Talk to me, darling, what’s the matter?”

“How long have you known?” you asked, sniffling. “Leaving us like this, how could you?”

“What?”

“The uniform, Tommy!” you cried. “You’re being called to the war again, why else would you have this shit on?”

Tommy grabbed your cheeks and kissed your forehead, and he angled your head to the side. Arthur stood there, behind a massive camera, angled at a blank space on the wall, and your breath caught in your throat. “What is this?” you asked.

“I’m not being called back,” Tommy explained. “I got to thinking about our wedding pictures, and I went to see the photographer who made them. He said the film was too old and that they couldn’t make you new copies, so the next best thing was to retake them.”

“Oh?” you asked. You sniffled and wiped your nose, and you gently reached out to touch the camera. “We… We’re retaking our wedding pictures?”

“With a few adjustments,” Tommy said. “Back then, I couldn’t afford to even get you so much as a bouquet, but now… Well, I took your measurements to a dress shop, and even though the dress was pre-made and only adjusted to you…”

“Tommy?” you whimpered.

“I got you a wedding dress, love,” Tommy told you. “Better than the flour-bag Sunday best that you had on.”

You gasped, covering your mouth with your hands, and you sobbed once before flying to your husband and crushing him in a hug. “Oh, Tommy!” you cried. “Thank you! Can I see it?”

“Pol’s got it in the kitchen,” Tommy told you. “Go put it on, why don’t you let me see it?”

The dress was beautiful. Eggshell-colored silk that fell below your knees with long sleeves and deep neckline, very fashionable and pretty, and it fit you like a glove as Polly helped you into it. She primped you a little, fixing your hair and patting red rouge onto your lips, and she upturned a vase next to the stove and handed you the bouquet of wildflowers that Thomasine had picked a few days earlier. You felt timid and almost nervous as Polly escorted you back to the betting room, and you cleared your throat once you passed the threshold, afraid that, if you spoke, your voice would give up on you.

Tommy looked to you in an instant, and he gave you a small smile as he stepped towards you. “Aren’t you a sight?” he said in his rumbling timbre, putting his hands on your hips, and he kissed your lips for a moment before he added, “Thomasine might get a brother before the day’s over, if you keep looking that beautiful.”

“Oh, shut up,” you giggled, and he steered you in front of the camera as you smoothed down your dress. You were suddenly nervous, and you clutched Tommy’s hand as Arthur cranked the camera, preparing it to go off. “Tom?”

“M’right here, pet,” Tommy said, squeezing your hand. “Just smile; everything will be fine.”

By the time night fell, you had a whole slew of new film, new pictures to replace the ruined ones. Recreations of your wedding pictures, an updated picture of a smiling Thomasine, even one of Tommy kissing you when the camera went off on accident. Thomasine was tangled in your skirts then, gazing up at her daddy, and you looked at the film as you sat by the fire that night, smiling and admiring it. That was your favorite memory; you, your husband, and your daughter, smiling, laughing, loving. It was perfect.

[casablancarossa]

Please Amore.

<< a taemin x reader story>>

asdfghjkl; I'm fine seriously. Totally have recovered(?) No I have not been sitting on this fic for a while.

Pairings : Taemin x female!reader Genre: Smut. Content Warning : 18+, Minors DNI, Yeah it is smut okay?! Synopsis: You missed a side of Taemin. The non-gentle side of Taemin. And you are hellbent in seeing it. Authors Note: Seem I am incapable of writing anything short? So here ya go darlings. Another long read of Taemin torturing us.

You relaxed back into your seat of the green room, watching through the monitor of Taemin's performance. He was breathless, sweating and positively oozing with 'fuck me' energy. Something about him performing Strings really stirred something in you where you couldn't control yourself around him. It was like a little drug in your system that craved being held by him, being right under him. A lump in your throat caused you to cough violently which caused the stylists and other stage staff to giggle at you a bit.

It was not a secret, at least to anyone in the industry that Taemin had been seeing someone since before enlisting in the army. Even eagle-eyed fans knew that the very song he was singing was on ode to someone he was seeing. If anything, Taemin was no stranger to releasing music that felt sinful but with such an angelic voice, it offered that duality that piqued the interest of fans.

Such a daring mixture to play Strings after Heaven too. It made you laugh how bold Taemin has been and it's something you needed him to let loose out on you. You wandered out of the green room so you could wander towards the side of the stage, wondering if you can take a peek through the equipment. Staff were running back and forth, making sure the the lighting underneath the tilted stage were still responding when the lights needed to be changed,

Taemin was not even halfway through his set list and he was already annoying you and you had to sit there and witness this man, not only ruin your life but as well as thousands of Shawols' lives too, purely by existing. You try not to even think about the stunt he pulled with Criminal. So early onto the concert too. That's right honey, destroy all our fucking underwear why don't you. Groaning, you ask the stage manager if you could borrow some items that could make you pass as stage staff so you could walk around top up Taemin's water bottle collection.

You were surprised when a stylist noona commented that you could probably fit into Taemin's regular clothes and go out unnoticed if you layer and pad yourself out. While jamming to Taemin singing his pretty little heart out, you rush back to the green room and throwing Taemin's clothes on and layering a thick hoodie on top of it all. His favourite cap laid on the makeup table. If I wear this, would he recognize it's me? You quickly grab the hat and tuck your hair in before the same stylist walked in with a black mask and glasses.

She comments how it might help and shield your face a bit more, understanding how fans might not take a random female stage staff too lightly, but also just in case you might get recognized in the future.

As you walk back to the side stage an ahjussi has prepared a staff lanyard for you and headphones. With this, you truly looked like you have been working as a stage staff the whole time. Euisoo saunters towards you, giving you water bottles to carry outside, commenting to keep your head down and try not to distract Taemin. He warned you knowing fully well, that while you may have no intention or plans or even attempts to distract him, he knows Taemin well enough that the mere sight of you, or your presence amongst the crowd sends the boy on frenzy and ends up distracting himself.

Taemin would finally have a chance to settle, get some water, not wanting to pull away from his adoring fans. He was so grateful for them and you admired how humble he was under the care, love and support Shawols have given him. You make your way out the hidden staff door under the stage so you could hug the walls of the platform, walking to the nearest water station and placing the bottles Euisoo had given to you.

The cold arena felt suddenly warm as Taemin walks towards where you were picking up a water bottle, crouching down. He surely couldn't have noticed you already did he? With your head down, you stand back, stepping beside one of the ground staff who were talking to Taemin through his earpiece. Idle babble of lighting, warning about various pyro and confetti explosions and adjusting sounds were going on. A supposed 15 minute conversation happened in less than a minute in your head, surprised by how efficient Taemin was communicating with the team while his mic was still on, giving hand signals for simple yes and no questions. All the while, he was staring you down every now and then while he conversed with the fans.

Of course he noticed you. He could pick you out from a line-up, while horribly wasted and half blind. Taemin also knew what you were like, how this side of him performing drove you insane. He was so happy to leave you accustomed to his chaotic childlike, puppy behaviour at home, that when he switches during performances or in bed, it felt like a bus had crashed into you from how sudden and unexpected it is.

You did only have yourself to blame, afterall you were the one with the pitiful request to let Taemin spare you from his sinful advances on a very regular and almost too frequent basis. As much as you adored the side of Taemin that you see in stage, with you, it felt like he had set the dial was at 100. Taemin was rough for sure, his dominant streak was what got you hooked and dear gods he was good at it too.

How on one occasion during his trip back home from the military, for a family dinner, Taemin had used the small kitchen to his advantage, brushing his hips against yours with a slight buck, whenever he needed something from the cupboard in front of you. How during a photo-op encouraged by his mom, caused him to delicately trail his fingers up and down your spine, which he knew sent you dizzy and breathless. Yes that is what Taemin loved to do to you, to tease you in public. While he may have enough self composure to not go wild, you however could not and by the wee hours of the night, you are begging, pleading and if it was in an empty house, probably screaming Taemin's praises.

But after one too many arguments, accusing Taemin that he only wanted you for your body, the quality of sex didn't necessarily die down, but the significant decrease meant that Taemin was more susceptible to being more casual, more tender and loving. It's no surprise to anyone, but Taemin was a cheesy romantic. He was the type to scatter rose petals in the bath tub when you had a long day. He was the type to quietly harass Kai, Jimin and Ravi to go to a spontaneous location he had picked mere minutes ago so he could take you there and by the time you two have arrived, Taemin's friends would be panting, breathless after quickly decorating a very elaborate and stocked picnic set-up.

At it's very core, it was all romantic and yes Taemin had no qualms in ravaging you in public, but nowadays it felt like Taemin no longer fucking you but made love to you instead, which was completely two separate things for you. You loved getting fucked by your boyfriend but you treasured being made love to even more.. It was heated and passionate without the frills and it was just the two of you with Taemin coveting your body like the goddess he deemed you to be. But you weren't an idiot or insensitive either, deep down more than ever you knew, Taemin craved that extra form of control, to have you be a broken mess under him, to have you be at every beck and call to his commands, not because you were scared but because you did enjoy it as much as he did.

Gods, how long have you been staring at him from the bottom of the stage? You were so lost in your thoughts that you had been functioning on auto-pilot for the last few minutes and if it weren't for the explosion during Danger, nothing would have snapped you out of it. From the corners of your eyes. you saw Euisoo gesture for you to rush towards him to the staff door. The manager, mentions something about outfit change and having Taemin upside down again and how your boyfriend might appreciate a comforting face for support.

"Wah, Lee Taemin, you were so cool out the there!", you exclaimed as you walk back into the green room.

There he was, your own personal Adonis, shirtless once more, holding his next outfit in his hands. Shocked that he wasn't dreaming that you were indeed wearing his clothes as you plop his hoodie on a sofa. "Were?" he cocked his brow at your statement.

"Are. Still are" you corrected yourself at his behest, stepping towards him as the stylists carefully take the mic pack away from his trousers, setting it aside. While yes it is their job to get the idol all dressed up and ready, you really did not need to see them get handsy on your man, despite them having literally the most purest of intentions. "Don't worry eonnies, I can dress him from here", you stated out loud, casting your eyes at the women as they remained while Taemin walked towards the changing screen to change in private, had they stayed in the room.

At your words, Taemin cracked a grin, looking back behind him. Is his girlfriend having a stand-off with his stylist noonas? The air was thick with tension and you couldn't have been anymore obvious that you wanted them out of the room. He offers a nod to one of the older stylists that it was okay. It wasn't your first rodeo in getting him ready. For the better part of 'Hard' promotions, Taemin had you chasing after him because he refuses to get his hair and makeup done properly after eating and mainly because he got distracted annoying Key about their 'couple bags'.

As soon as the doors closed and that you two were finally alone, Taemin, resumed getting undressed, hastily putting on the red outfit left behind consisting of some baggy pants and a very convoluted styled sweatshirt with dangling pieces of fabric and an overskirt to wear over his pants. Meanwhile, you had approached him with a puff sponge in one hand, already coated in product as you dab at his face gently, working the product in and trying to apply it evenly, lifting his chin so you could even out his jawline. Your fingers playful trickle down the side of his neck before wrapping them around the base, looking up at him with desires that could burn this room right now.

Taemin quickly grabbed your wrist, pulling them away from his neck, still holding on with a firm grip, his head lowered, just so his lips were mere millimetres away from each other. Before he could lean in to kiss you, your head darted back, avoiding his advances. You stumble backwards to walk towards the vanity. With a slight bend of your back and over the table, you dropped the sponge and picked up a lip tint this time, carefully applying it to yourself with your fingers without contaminating the applicator.

You watched through the mirror as your partner's eyes had darkened, watching you bent over any surface, watching your finger carefully swipe against your plush bottom lip before biting them, as your siren eyes lure him even so slightly. You played coy as you rested both of your hands on the desk to keep yourself up while jutting out your backside for Taemin's viewing pleasure. Your hands carelessly tousled through your hair before hiding a devilish grin behind them as they cascade to frame your face.

How is it, not a word has been uttered between the two of you and yet so much was said. You were trying to play with fire and Taemin was not pleased by your actions. He lets out a little cough to break the silence, making his way towards you. One hand grip at the backrest of a chair that was standing beside you, he carefully lifts to tilt it forward an inch before slamming the back legs down to catch your attention, almost making your jump in your spot.

Your body effortlessly sway and sit down on the seat Taemin had moved, your eyes were more alert, constantly staring at the dark haired boy through the mirror. His tongue clicks, before standing right behind you, his eye were barely peeking through his fringes. You didn't like it when you couldn't see his eyes. Usually they were the first giveaway of what emotions he was feeling at a given moment. "Hands clasped behind the chair", he orders.

You struggle at his words, they sounded a bit darker and lustful. "We don't have much time, amore",

With a nod, your hands finds themselves clasped together, your eyes never leaving the sight of him. You wanted to take it all in, you wanted to see the switch, the dial up past 100. Taemin's hands rest on your shoulders, lightly massaging them as they make they way towards the nape of you neck. Taemin quickly rustled through his pockets taking out a lengthy red fabric, arranging it accordingly before wrapping it around your eyes, doing a loose knot behind your head.

It wasn't long before his fingers thread through your hair, clasping a fistful and pulling your head back. You normally would have let out a pained mewled but Taemin didn't give you a chance as his lips crashed down onto yours, feverishly kissing you while his spare hand roams your chest, carelessly grabbing at your breast, trying to push his digits past the bounds of your bra so he could pinch your nipple through your shirt.

His touch almost scalds you as quivers and squirm in his hands. God you craved his touch so much, you desperately sought out for his fiery skin against yours. You can already imagine how it would feel so nice to feel how soft his skin is, how it is hot to touch, how it smoothly glides against your own, every cell and fibre getting electrocuted at the intensity of it all. Damn clothes. Damn fucking clothes. You mewled more desperately into his kiss, silently pleading more.

As much as Taemin wanted to tease you, he couldn't resist. You could feel the back of your head hit what you assumed is his abdomen. His fistful grip never left your head, occasionally tugging at it, but not his other hand found your knee and with a swipe up towards your heated core, your legs had unconsciously spread open for him, his fingers trailing circles around your thighs. You found it hard to keep the grip on your own hand as you desperately wanted to touch him as well, to guide his hands where it mattered, but if you disobeyed him, he might not even touch you tonight.

The man's hands fumbled against his jeans which you were wearing and until there was enough give, he snaked his hand through the crotch area and began teasing your heated mound through the fabric of your underwear, eliciting a very audible gasp out of you. His lips were suddenly close to your ear, with heavy breathing. "Don't make a sound mi amore, they will hear how slutty you get", he teased.

You bit your lips trying to contain your voice, but it didn't help that Taemin was talented in finding your bundle of nerves, his finger pressing on it rhythmically and circling it around that cased your body to lean forward in pain. Taemin continued his pace before a teasing finger had pressed your underwear a little bit into you.

The sudden intrusion had cause your legs to almost snap shut, trapping Taemin's hands in between your thighs and it weren't for his growl, you would have followed through, but you focused so hard in keeping your legs spread, your thighs slightly convulsing after straining to stay open. Taemin rewarded your efforts by delicately manoeuvring his fingers to set aside your underwear and bury two fingers immediately into you, causing your body to lean forward even more, your lips spread almost silently screaming.

Taemin watched through the mirror as your body jolts here and there as his fingers relentlessly pumps into you, groaning at how your walls clenched around his digits, the only noise filling the room were subdued panting and squelching noises. "Don't you look pretty like this, mi amore", he asks pulling your head up by your hair.

What a stupid question. You were blindfolded, but you knew what he meant. He loved how easy it was for you to fantasize about what was happening to your whenever you were blindfold. As if you seeing yourself come undone by Taemin, helpless and needy, made you so much more wetter. "Amore..", you whimpered. "Please..."

Taemin let's out a sinister chuckle before whispering, "No". With his words, he pulled his fingers out quickly out of you and quickly grabbed the blindfold off you before rushing towards the door. You were so lost in the moment, you had not even realized there had been knocking voices for Taemin to get on the stage to get strapped in for the rotating platform.

Your look at yourself through the mirror wondering how the ever loving fuck did you look so dishevelled. A few baby coughs left your chest as you recollect yourself before standing up, finding it hard as a noticeable pressure has built up between your legs. Fucking Taemin, you are a dick, you thought to yourself before standing up to walk out of the room to see Taemin, already harnessed on and about to flipped for his entrance to 'Door'

As the concert continued, you stayed in the side-lines and watched Taemin perform, cheering quietly from where you were as to not disturb the staff who you already have probably annoyed tonight.

When it was time for another outfit change, Taemin hurried towards the sides, calling your name out repeatedly. The man stated out loud that you would be helping him get dressed again which caused the stylists to back down and giggle as his words caused an annoyed scowl plastered all over your face. His hands have a death grip around your wrists once more, rushing towards the room and giving the door a little slam. "Tae, you need to chill, people will definitely think we are about to fuck", you sighed as you stumble into the dimmed room.

"Fuck them" Taemin lets out a growl, a growl you know to well as his 'I'm horny and I'm angry growl'.

Before you could utter another word, Taemin grabs you by the shoulders, pushing you towards the makeup table, his hand roaming your sides and back as he plants a doozy of a kiss, forcing your lips apart with his tongue. It was like a familiar dance that you have found yourself in. He pushes you onto any surface and your automatic instinct is to sit on it, parting your legs to give room for Taemin to between them, while your arms are hooked on his shoulder, pulling him more into the kiss.

"Mmf--What. Am. I. Going. To. Do. With. You" Taemin groans, enunciating every word with a kiss, starting from your lips that trailed to your jaws then neck.

"Anything please. Everything." the words fell like a lump of nonsense and mumbles, but you were too focused on the fact that Taemin had nipped slightly on your neck.

Your pleading voice arouses him further, his hand snake up your body, tugging harshly onto the shirt you were wearing before lifting them up. You could see his eyes were filled with hunger seeing your breasts practically pooling out of your bra.

His lips began to pepper kisses along your chest before latching onto one of the mounds, sucking and biting on it, while his hands playfully massage them, flicking and pinching your nipples occasionally. "Tae wait.. if you keep doing that.. I can't help being loud" you gasped.

"Well then amore, hopefully you can control yourself" he winks up at you before sliding downwards kissing your stomach and placing tepid kisses on your hips.

His trip back up to kiss your lips was nothing short of sweet as he find the familiarity of stripping his jeans off you, picking up your hips so he could also include your underwear in the mix. The moment he heard the thud of the clothing hit the floor, Taemin spreads your legs once more and knelt in front of you with that darn devilish grin of his.

He makes the gesture of shh, placing a finger on his lips before using the same finger and slowly enter your core, causing you to whimper. Taemin chuckles to himself, knowing fully well that you were too bothered and sensitive to have the capacity of being silent. He pumps the lone finger, his head tilting from side to side so he could observe your face and body.

Your hips were bucking like you needed more, a small movement but it encouraged Taemin to add a second finger in, fully in motion of thrusting inside of you, twisting and spreading you to the best of his abilities. Once his fingers hook at a certain spot, he watches your head throw itself back, letting out a loud cough to cover your whimper.

You were seeing stars and your breathing had become so audible, you were convinced floor staff had heard you. You try to look down at your boyfriend pump his fingers into you unforgivingly but seeing the sight of him part his lips and envelop your clit was a sight to behold indeed.

Such sheepish licks, caused a shockwave through your body and all you could think of was trapping Taemin's head in your thighs as you grab his hair, trying to keep him down there until he finished you off.

You could feel the peak approaching as Taemin made good work of his mouth and fingers, making sure he savoured the taste of you while he was down there. But truly nothing could prepare you for Taemin immediately pulling away when you stated how close you were to bliss. Your body barely knew how to react as you let out a little cry, the sudden missing feeling of Taemin on you, made you tremble.

"Please Amore... that was mean.. " you panted, your vision settling to see he was in the midst of changing into the final lilac suit.

"Mean? What's mean is you not using your pretty little mouth"

You look up to see that Taemin had left the blazer and trousers unbuttoned and through his black boxers, perfectly outlined his erection. His body slumped back onto the sofa in the room, beckoning you to move towards him. He chuckles darkly as he watches you naked from the waist down and your shirt rolled upwards, resting on the slope of your breasts. "Here, just in case", he laughs once more, chucking a blanket scarf your direction.

You catch the item, roughly wrapping it around your waist , enough to cover your privates but thin enough to know you were bare under it. In a fluid motion, you crouch down to crawl towards Taemin, settling yourself between his legs. Your hands roam his thighs before meeting at the band of his boxers, sheepishly tugging it down until his dick had popped out, surprising you. "May I taste it... Sir?" your eyes lift ever so slightly.

As if it wasn't obvious from Taemin's hitched breath and the way his cock twitched, hearing you mewl your last word sent chills through his body. The last time you had called him that was the last time he acted as a dominant and where you finally argued with him about feeling like a sex toy rather than his girlfriend in bed. He doesn't recall being disrespectful but is fully aware that he gets in the zone too hard and would punish you equally as his previous bratty submissive partners.

Taemin carefully reaches forward, brushing your hair and holding it to a ponytail with a firm grip. His other hand cups your cheeks, his thumb tenderly brushes against your lips before using his hold on your hair to guide you closer to his aching member.

Without wasting time, your tongue darts out to lick from base to tip before opening your mouth to take him in. "F..fuck y/n"

You giggle despite having your mouth filled as you proceed to bob your head up and down, twirling your tongue and moaning. The vibrations and sensations overwhelm Taemin as his hips jerk upwards, causing your to gag a little. While it didn't deter you from continuing on, it was enough of a sign for him to use your mouth as he pleases.

Taemin roughens his grip on your hair, pushing you down as his hips thrust up. God he missed this. He missed fucking your face, hearing your stubborn coughs as you allow him to abuse your throat like this. He couldn't help notice how gorgeous you were like this. His obedient girl. Something primal triggered within him as he watches you remain strong willed to not pull away, noticing how strings of saliva had began dripping from the corners off your mouth. How he was fucking your mouth had become so messy with slight tears smudging your own makeup and how the slightest hint of your lipstick has tinted the base of his cock. Taemin lets out as hiss as you fully take him in with a pause letting the tip of his member rest at the back of your mouth.

Just because he denied you your orgasm, doesn't mean he doesn't get to finish. He internally swears he will make it worth it. He tries to shift in his seat, so he could lean forward to give a gratuitous slap on your ass as he keeps your head down on him. "Drink me up Amore.. " he grunts every word with a thrust, picking up the pace.

It didn't take long before he mewls your name, coughing and using whatever articles of clothing to dampen the sound escaping his lips. You could feel string after string as Taemin fills up your mouth with his cum. You lap it all up, making sure not one drop is wasted as you lean back to an upright position sitting on your knees.

Taemin lets out a few more coughs, trying to collect himself, panting heavily as he smirks at you. You daintily wipe the corners of your mouth with your finger and offer him a little smile. "I think the fans have finished singing" you note.

Right on queue, the knock finally at the door came, asking Taemin to come out quickly. "I promise to make it up to you Amore" he whispers, his hands cupping your face to place a kiss on your forehead before standing up to finish getting dressed and heading out.

You sat alone in that room, thinking to yourself how you couldn't wait for him to fulfil his promise. You desperately craved his primal side now.

As if the stylists knew something funky went on in the room, they knock, just to make sure, that you were okay for them to come in to tidy up. You cough and hurriedly scoot to where Taemin had stripped you, grabbing your underwear and rushing towards the changing screen, calling them in.

As soon as you finally had calmed down and made yourself modest, you rushed out back to the side stage, making sure you were there for Taemin as he wraps up his final set. You were in such awe and couldn't wait to drown him in affection and congratulatory praises, but your cheeks were downright flushed thinking about the prospects of what happens next.

You were too lost in your own dirty fantasies that you had not noticed Key and Minho standing in front of you, waving and trying to pull you out of your daydreams. "Yah, Lee Taemin, I think y/n is no longer with us" Key calls out to your boyfriend who had just exited the main stage and rushing to hug Minho and Key.

"H-huh?" you mumbled, finally snapping out of your thoughts to see the three Shinee members standing in front of you, smiling however Taemin's was coated with wickedness.

"Wow. You really love him so much that you are in awe huh" Key jokingly scoffs at your direction.

"I couldn't be more proud of him" you giggled, stepping forward to embrace Taemin and peck his lips. "By the way, I didn't put my underwear back on, but the eonnies left you a spare change of clothes" you whispered into his ear.

Taemin chuckles as he pulls away, pardoning himself so he could get changed. Conversations happened here and there and instead of celebrating immediately with drinks and food close by, Taemin had suggested that he wanted to go home first to let his mom know that he was planning on drinking and might be home late and need her to take care of the cats.

This was obviously a lie, kind of. His mom would need to take care of the cats however, due to Taemin's busy schedule, the cats were at her place instead for the weekend.

As the pair of you began to part ways from everyone after an agonizingly painful debate on where to eat, and one heated argument with Euisoo later, Taemin managed to convince his manager that he would like the chance to be able to drive his his girlfriend to the next location and be able to bond with here in peace.

What a fool they were for thinking how cute that sounded because as far as you were concerned, you and Taemin never really made it further out of the carpark.

After waving everyone off, Taemin had hurriedly thrown you into the backseat of his car, jumping in with you with a hungry kiss. "Mmmf, Taemin.. you sure?? Here?" you gasped in between his barrage of kisses.

"Taemin? What happened to Sir" his tone had shifted once more. "Beside I thought you might appreciate the intimacy of a tight enclosed space. Now what was that again about not having your underwear on"

You giggled as you lean against the passenger door, raising your hips so you could pull out said article of clothing from the back pocket.

"How dirty of you Amore, soiling my clothes like this" Taemin whispers, his hands falling familiar to unbuttoning the jeans once more and tugging at them so they just gathered around your knees.

Taemin pulls you off your position and despite the tight area, he manoeuvred you with ease, placing you in front of him bent over, with your hands in the footwell to keep yourself up and your ass in perfect view from his face.

He daringly bites the plump flesh of your cheeks causing you to wince, with his hands once more, teasing your core. Flick. "Amore, listen to me well.." Flick. "Sir desperately wants to fuck you senseless" Flick. "I want this car to shake and be filled with your screams. Okay?" his words were concise but struggled here and there.

He gave a good smack on your ass once more, enough that it stung but that was a sign to get it moving. He had quickly discarded his trousers and boxers, lost in the void of the front seats. Your body shuffled once more to allow yourself and Taemin to be in position where you could sit on his lap, there was not much headroom, but you found yourself leaning back into him, back flushed against his chest

You spat on your hand enough that when you reach down to hold Taemin's member, it was enough lubrication the guide the tip at your entrance, hesitating for a bit.

Taemin however could not wait as he thrusts up, intruding and spreading your open earning a pleased groan out of you. Finally all the tension in your body caved into the pleasure of having Taemin's cock in you. You absorbed every movement as he makes the best effort of plunging in and out of you in a steady rhythm making your bounce on his lap. "Nngh.. sir.. please" you whimpered.

"Please what?"

"More please.."

Taemin secured his arms around your torso, and slightly sinking into the seat so he had the positional advantage to drive himself up in you in a rapid pace. Your grip shifted to hold onto the backrest of the front seats almost holding yourself in place because if Taemin thrusted any harder and you would be either through the roof of the car or half of your body would be over the centre console.

It didn't matter that you were uncomfortable as the euphoric feeling zaps every nerve in your system, overwhelmed by how rough and aggressive Taemin was getting with his pounding. Delicate fingers sneak under your shirt and what could only be described as the man handling of your breasts.

Taemin's name would be the only word left in your brain as he softly whispers sweet nothings into your ear. His hot breath felt like fire against your skin and hearing his shaky breaths and how he moans your name, it sent you wild. "y/n.. y/n.. y/n.. god you. drive. me. insane" he punctuates his words with long and deep thrusts.

Those thrusts came with a price as it it had tickled just the right spots in you evoking a squeal and your walls clenching down on him. You couldn't tell if it was dark out or had your eyes been squeezed shut and you were beginning to see stars. "Taemin .. I mean.. sir.. please fill me up" you moaned, turning your head to look back at him.

He chuckles, pushing your ass up and off it, giving it a quick slap and kiss. "Turn around, I want to look into your eyes as I flood you y/n".

Obedient as you were, it took a few attempts to get to a comfortable position in the back seat as you straddled Taemin, drinking up the sight of how sweaty he had gotten, how his eyes were half lidded shut, equally lost in his arousal. Unconsciously, you began to grind on his shaft, teasing the both of you as his tip poked at your entrance every now and then.

The hot air surrounded the two of you as streams of panting came from both of you. For a small moment, you manage to catch Taemin's eye, filled love and desire. He offers you a soft smile, hand placed on your cheeks. Without breaking eye contact, his spare hand reaches down so he could align himself so in your next grind, he would finally fill you up again, letting out a shudder. Your walls were gripping around him tight and he knew fully well, you two wouldn't last at this rate.

Taemin leans forward to nibble at your collarbone, slapping your ass once more to get you moving as you now bounce up and down, feeling more intense by the minute. He would make you lose your mind even further as me meets your bounce with the thrust, essentially slamming his self into you. His name fell from your lips like a trance, singing his praises and how you craved him.

Your body could barely hold itself together as your body collapses backwards ignoring the fact that your balance was supported by the front two seats, your shoulder resting on either side. Taemin watch your body arches, eyes ogling as your breasts flail with every buck of his hips. His hands get to work. One hand reaches up at your neck, wrapping his fingers around them and applying pressure while the other hand palms at your lower abdomen, sinking lower until his thumb could reach to stimulate your clit once more.

Taemin was more that happy to comply that he would make it up to you. You were a mewling and moaning mess under his control and he could see that you were on the brink of probably causing a scene as your volume was probably leaking out of the car. "Amore.. wait... wait..", you could barely speak out as a scream teared through your throat as you finally reach your release.

Your whole body contorts and honestly, you would have screamed bloody murder if it weren't for the fact Taemin's hands was on your throat and essentially holding you down. Seeing the sight before him unravel, it didn't take long for Taemin to follow suit, releasing his own into you.

There was moment of silence before you felt Taemin's arms snake around you, pulling you back to him. "I think... we should bail on dinner" he breaths out against your skin making you mewl.

"Amore.. we can't keep disappearing on group dinners"

"Fine... but when we get home we need to discuss some safe words before I break you"

[lysenfeu]

Devil in the Details •Part 3•

Captain John Price negotiates the terms of his unusual deal.

Rating: Mature

Eventual John Price x F!Reader

1.3k words, Slow Burn, Drabble/Short Form Writing

CW: Dark themes, Mentions of death, Grief, Supernatural events, Occultism, Demons, Corruption

(Part 1) (Part 2)

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The man takes a deep breath before squaring his shoulders and meeting your eyes with a steady, even gaze.

“I need to make a deal.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Of course, he does. Why else would you be here?

“And what do you want, human?”

He walks over to the desk and you trail after him, as far as the circle allows you to move. He opens then shuts a drawer and comes to stand in front of you. You're much closer now, only a foot away as he holds up a photograph.

“Them. I want them.”

You peer curiously at the photo, reaching out to pluck it from his fingers. Four faces peer back at you, all men, wearing green army fatigues and matching smiles. One figure is immediately recognizable as the man before you, just more put together. You readily admit the man in the picture was rather handsome, in a rough, rugged way. You flick your eyes quickly between the photo and your summoner. Hm. You also have to admit, he still is. Glancing back at the photo, you look over the other three men standing next to him.

A broad-shouldered man with a shaggy cropped Mohawk and tanned skin, beaming at the camera. A blue baseball cap sticks out against the desert scenery and faded army green clothing, perched on top of a gorgeous man with an equally dazzling smile standing between the other two. The last figure has his face obscured, a black and white skull mask covering his features from view as he loomed behind the other men with his arm crossed against his chest.

You hand the photo back and shrug your shoulders.

“A lovely bunch, I'm sure. But what do you want with them, hm?”

The man tenses, his hand not clutching the photograph clenching into a fist by his side. “I want them back.”

Ah.

Understanding finally reaches you. Of course, this is about a loss. Three losses rather. You let your gaze rake over the man once more, taking in all the little details more closely. He’s desperate, that's clear enough. A far cry from the man in the picture, with once proud, tall shoulders now hunched in shame, as if his large frame was attempting to force him physically away from the pain of failure and guilt. Sunken, hollow eyes, bleary from too many whiskeys and late sleepless nights filled with nightmares. He's an absolute mess.

“Who are they?”

He blinks at you. “Is that important?”

You click your tongue in annoyance.

“Of course it is. You want me to ferry souls back from the dead, you could at least tell me what's so special about them, hm?”

You may have just been trying to stall, but you were also starting to become interested in this whole affair.

He takes a deep breath. “They’re my team. Those men are the best of the best. Not just to their country, to the world, but to me. I brought them up, I put them in the line of fire and I let them down. They shouldn't have to pay for my mistakes. They deserved more. They deserve more. This is my only chance to make it right.”

It's a truly impassioned plea, even managing to tug on your blackened heartstrings. A desperate man going to the ultimate lengths to fix his mistakes. You have no idea how he ended up calling you and you are definitely not the right demon for this job but it's certainly a compelling story.

“It's a rather significant request. What do you have to offer in exchange?”

The man doesn't hesitate. “What do you want?”

You manage to hide your amusement. Oh, he's that desperate is he? Of course, he is. But this was your perfect out. Even humans have their limits, the selfish creatures that they are. You could negotiate your way out of this quickly and not suffer any embarrassment.

“I know what I want, human.”

He patiently waits for you to continue.

“I want you. All of you. Your mind, body and soul, submitted to me and me alone, for the entirety of your existence.”

It was an enormous ask, an eternal debt of servitude is the highest possible price a demon can set. Even a desperate fool wouldn't so readily accept that kind of dema-

“Fine.”

You blink in mild surprise. He didn't even hesitate.

“Just like that? You'll give yourself away entirely?”

He sighs, voice thick with defeat. “If you bring them back, I'll give you anything you want.”

You can't believe it. “You'll be under my complete control, my little human puppet.”

Not a moment's hesitation before he responds. “Call me Pinocchio.”

“One tug of the strings and you'll dance any way I can make you.”

He tilts his head to the side, almost in challenge. “Waltz or foxtrot?”

Fuck.

You’re really hoping he would just give up, that would make this a lot easier.

He clears his throat.

“Can…I see them first?”

Double fuck.

Clever man. Annoyingly clever. You’re outright frowning now. Your tail flicked back and forth behind you, a nasty little anxious habit you'd never gotten rid of.

“You doubt my abilities, human?”

He purses his lips “Just looking for a little show of faith within our negotiation.” He bites out the word faith, well aware of its ironic use within the current demonic context. The longer he talks, the more confident he's becoming and that's a problem for you.

He has every right to question you, unfortunately.

Not only had you not done this before, you weren't even sure you were allowed to. Death magic wasn't in your traditional bag of tricks, regardless of how many tomes you'd read on the subject. You knew how it was supposed to work in theory but a demon of your status shouldn't be attempting it. You were built for entertainment, not resurrection or serious magic. But part of you was still intrigued. The promise of a human thrall was enticing, the freedom and power that would give you would be incredible. And trying forbidden rites was just icing on the cake…

Here goes nothing.

You take a deep breath and focus, channeling the corrupted form of magic flowing in your long-dead veins and extending it out. Soul-shaping was a matter of intent and determination, sifting through the realm of the Dead to find the correct tether to tug on.

Your sigh of relief as you successfully pull at three threads is thankfully swallowed by the low howl of the wind outside and pitch-black smoke billowing into the room, casting a thick curtain of inky blackness along the wall.

Dark shapes swirl and dance in the shadows, outlining three bulky human forms built of nothing but smoke and memories. Three pairs of eyes blink back at you from the darkness. Bright blue, sharp and eager. Light brown, harsh and stoic. Dark brown, curious and calculating. His breath catches in his throat as he meets the gaze of each pair of floating eyes, emotion clouding in his chest and gripping at his lungs. He reaches out a hand but before he can make contact the smoke dissipates and the forms blow away into nothingness.

He whirls around in a flurry of motion, eyes wild with sorrow.

“Bring them back! Now!”

You sigh as your tail flicks more furiously from side to side.

“We need to make the deal first.”

A puff of smoke and a scroll of yellowed parchment appears not a second later, hanging in the air right in front of his fallen face.

“You sign this and I own you. Where you go, I go. Where you sleep, where you eat, there I am. Haunting every minute of your waking moments and every second of your dreams. You'll never be free of me as long as you live. Do you understand?”

He ignores your serious tone, easily batting away the desperate warning you're giving him, all for the flicker of hope dancing in his heart, cutting through the pain etched in his very being. “But they'll be here?”

You try not to let your voice waver as you answer.

“Yes.”

What you really mean to say is:

Probably.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

He reaches for a pen across his desk.

“We have a deal.”

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[kinardsevan]

Ohhh buck or bobby or both of them overhear tommy call bobby his basically-father-in-law!

champagne problems

“I think you did good, Buck,” Bobby states as he tips his glass towards Evan’s. The blonde clinks his own glass against Bobby’s before taking a sip, leaning back against the bar. The kitchen staff is still working to clear the floor of the tables from dinner. “Speaking of, where is your new husband?” 

Evan glances around them, but Tommy isn’t anywhere in sight. He’s not overly surprised. Weddings are notorious for both parties getting pulled in one direction or another, trying to fulfill getting the chance to speak to everyone in attendance. Still, he barely had time to talk to Tommy at dinner, even with people clinking their glasses to get them to kiss. Still, that’s not necessarily the same as having time to actually talk. 

He glances towards the exit of the bar and manages to spot a few signature navy tuxes—they’d gone with navy and emerald green as their colors—and as someone opens the door to step back inside, he hears the familiar sound of Tommy’s laughter carry. 

“Apparently he’s outside,” Evan states after a long minute. 

Bobby glances over briefly. 

“Well, weddings are chaos,” he comments. 

Evan nods. “I know a few of his groomsmen flew from the other side of the country. Army buddies.” 

Eddie strolls up to them then, claps a hand on Evan’s shoulder as he does. 

“Hey. Guess what I’ve got?”

Evan and Bobby both eye him curiously, Evan raising an eyebrow and Bobby narrowing his gaze at his subordinate. Eddie pulls an arm from around his back, displaying a box to them. 

“Cubans.” 

He flips the box open, revealing enough for the wedding party. Bobby slides a hand towards the box, although Eddie quickly slaps it away before snapping the box shut again. While none of them are smokers, they’ve all been known to enjoy a cigar after a celebration. Evan does so even less, given his issue with clots in the past, but he figures, what the hell? It’s his wedding day. 

“C’mon,” Eddie says, gesturing towards the door. “Tommy’s already outside and Chimney was telling Hen to come join us.” 

Evan glances towards the reception hall, briefly concerned about leaving all of their guests without either of them in the building to entertain, but everyone seems to be engaged in some conversation or another. He nods and then follows after Eddie while Bobby tells them he’s going to check in with Athena before he meets them in a minute. 

When they get outside, Chimney is already out there with Hen, enamored by a story that one of Tommy’s friends is midway through. 

“Hi baby,” Tommy greets cheerfully, slipping his arm around Evan’s hip as he kisses him quickly. Evan can taste the mix of whiskey and coke on his lips as he kisses him back. They’re both still fairly sober, but Tommy’s friends have kept his attention quite a bit.

Evan sighs against him, kissing him back for a time before their friends start making gagging noises, jeering at them about having a lifetime to kiss one another, before they finally split apart. 

“So as the best man, I got these for the party,” Eddie states as he reveals the cigar box once more. He flips it open and Tommy’s buddies are immediately crowding around, commenting in hushed tones with excitement. Eddie reaches in and retrieves a fistful of them and begins passing them around, ensuring that he’s not giving any to people who weren’t groomsmen. Once they’re all passed, he glances down at the box, confused. 

“Who are we missing?” 

Evan glances over his shoulder. “Cap’s still inside.” 

“Should we wait,” Tommy asks. 

Hen chuckles at them as Chimney pulls a lighter from his pocket. 

“You can,” they both state. Tommy, Evan, and Eddie all share a look before shrugging, as some of Tommy’s army buddies who smoke regularly are also lighting up already. 

After a minute or so, everyone has lit their cigars and has had at least a cursory puff off of it before conversation starts flowing again. 

Charlie, one of the guys Evan has actually gotten to know in the past few days—and heard plenty of stories about, given how close he and Tommy were in the Middle East—is in the process of regaling them in a story about Tommy flying through a sand storm when the doors finally open behind them and Bobby emerges with Athena. 

“Cap,” Eddie, Evan, Chimney, and Hen all greet happily.

“What, no fanfare for me,” Athena teases as she slides between the group. Eddie flips open the cigar box again, revealing two more. 

“Good to see you, ‘Thena,” Evan says, slipping her a side hug. 

“Hi Buckaroo,” she greets, squeezing him. 

“Officer Grant?” Eddie states, offering up the final cigar after Bobby has taken his. “Can’t have you missing out with us.” 

Athen smiles at him, taking the last one from the box. Chimney produces his lighter again for Bobby and Athena, and the circle widens a bit more as they each stand, listening to the discussion taking place. People pass in and out of the doors to the hall as they stand there, Evan leaning into Tommy as the November breeze blows through, but remaining engaged in the conversation nonetheless. 

At one point the Buckleys pass through the doors, although they don’t interrupt the group, letting them to continue to be regaled in the story that Hen is telling about a save that she, Tommy, and Chimney were a part of. 

“So then Cap comes down on us like we just decided to turn the stairwell into a slide,” Hen continues in her story. 

“None of you were being safe,” Bobby chides playfully. 

“Sorry, remind me, you’re who to them again,” Charlie asks Bobby in reference to Tommy and Evan. 

“He’s my father-in-law,” Tommy interjects before taking another drag off of his cigar and then punching it out in the tray beside the group. He says it so nonchalantly, like there’s never been a version of his and Evan’s relationship where the Buckleys ever came up as parents—or lack thereof—and then the conversation switches back to Hen’s story with no one arguing the subject further, Charlie nodding like there’s no further question on Bobby and Athena being Evan’s parents. 

Still, Evan can feel his biological parents’ eyes on them, and he leans up into Tommy’s ear, whispering into it as Hen continues on with her story. 

Tommy turns his head back towards Evan, whispering back in the twilight evening. 

“Should I lie to my friends,” he murmurs, shooting a quick glance in the Buckley’s direction. There’s a scowl present on Margaret’s face. He doesn’t much care, given that he really hasn’t built any level of a relationship with the woman, and the way he’s seen her (not) be a mother in the two years he and Evan have been together has reflected as much. 

Evan shakes his head, tilting his head back up as Tommy turns towards Charlie, who’s started in on another army story. 

“No,” he whispers back. “Just wanted you to be aware that they’re staring. You already know how I feel about it all.” 

Tommy gives a curt nod then as acknowledgment, not bothering to feed into the Buckleys’ obvious reaction. When Chimney and Hen pull Charlie’s attention a minute later with a question on his story, Tommy tilts up towards his ear once more. 

“Besides, last I checked, your last name isn’t Buckley anymore anyway.” 

Evan smiles as his cheeks flush then, and leans into Tommy as his husband presses a kiss into his birthmark. 

“Okay, don’t buy that shit,” he states, looking back up at his friends a few seconds later “Charlie did not do anything to help land that helicopter.” 

[ivelleciel]

IRIS BENEATH THE SUN

Chapter One: Betrayal Genre: Mafia!Haechan, Mafia!NCT, Biker Haechan, Step on me Haechan, Haechan Dom

Pairings: Haechan x Reader (Iris)

Warning: Smut, Violence, Vulgar Language, Mention of blood, MDNI

Intro: Where a girl finds herself trapped within her brother's protection. One would find it a blessing but for Iris, it's suffocation- and she's someone who would often like the thought of being choked, but simply not like this. Raised within thick walls inside the perimeters of their mansion, She finds herself treasuring every opportunity she gets whenever she is given volunteer work for the people in need outside the city of glass she was born in. Fun and Exciting is how she always saw these trips, it was until darkened windows of SUVs blocked their way from going any further in the middle of the desert. It was the only land of nothing dividing the city and the suburbs and yet they were stopped by armed men, six- seven? she couldn't count as she was too in shock, scared even much more so when her side of the vehicle opened and a pair of gloved hands pulled her away from your handmaiden's side. "Giselle!" Iris cried and a bag was hovered over her head and the last thing she remembered was Giselle's screams, Men simultaneously giving orders to her bodyguards and a gun going off. Then there was black.

"Ha ha. So funny. What then? Bore myself to death by my room's window? waiting for prince charming to save me? No thank you. Give me twenty more of these tasks and consider me the happiest sister ever." Mumbling her last words as she fix her hair to a half-do with a claw clip. Iris saw Johnny's sad gaze through her mirror before he could mask it with a stoic smile. She sighed and faced her brother, leaning in to hug herself tight on his chest.

"Stop babying me.. It's only for a few hours. What's the worst that could happen?"

"I heard there are many forest spiders in the village. Thousands." Johnny exaggerated, trying to coax her with her teasing by blabbering stupid things and then he sighed when Iris only hummed her soft chuckle, unconvinced. "... you're just the only family I have left."

"And so are you to me." Iris sighed, looking up to her brother with an exhausted expression. "But mom and dad would have wanted us to live life with more meaning than in fear.."

"I know.." Johnny sighed, tapping the cap Iris had on before marching to her room's door. "Well chop chop city girl. They're not gonna feed themselves." Chuckling as they make their way downstairs, Iris gave one last look at the frame by her bed. Her late mother, late father, Johnny and herself. Smiling by the lake that held many memories for her and Johnny, some of which they didn't know would end in a tragedy.

Iris saw Giselle, one of her many good friends, packing extra necessities for Iris and the trip. Back hugging the petite frame, Giselle squealed, too focused on her task in hand to even notice Iris before glaring at the girl. "Silly! What if I dropped your anxiety pills?" she heard Gigi clicked her tongue, Iris resumed with a bratty smile to where Yuta was by their white van. "Everything settled Yuta?" Yuta, clasped his armed weapon on his belt and smiled at Iris, an unspoken answer to which Iris nodded to before getting up inside the van. Settling on the middle seat, between the window spot and the collapsing chair, she earned a perfect view of Mark.

A container in one hand and the other with what looks like an ammunition box, being stored inside another case. "Put the Magazine under the compartment along with out other containers yeah?" Iris could hear him order Jeno in which the latter obeyed to. She couldn't help but gape at Mark and his focused stance. If Iris was a completely eye-roller at Johnny's protectiveness then with Mark it was all heart eyes and red cheeks. Who wouldn't if the male holds glory to the uniform Johnny assigned them to. Camo pants and Army green fitted shirt is one of the fun treats Iris would look forward to with these programs, along with the nurturing feeling of helping other people.

She heard a throat clearing beside her and Iris just continued gawking. "Can a man get any more handsome?" Iris sighed, pouting her lips when Mark left her view to head inside, presumably to bid farewell to Johnny and reassure him that He and Jaehyun would take good care of you and the task in hands. "I wouldn't know, I'm not the one drooling a pool over here." Iris bit her lips, side eyeing her friend with a snort. "Oh please, as if I don't notice how you look at Yuta?" Giselle smacked Iris arm for that playfully before scooting herself on the window seat. "House Rules. We can't date co workers, but nobody said that about drooling over them." Giselle tossed her hair to tease Iris before being silence by the large frame towering by the sliding door. "Everyone ready?" Johnny mused, eyeing all the equipments and bags in the back seat before giving one last stern look at Iris.

"You behave-" Iris groaned when she saw Yuta, Mark and Jeno exchange smiles behind. "I will! It's not like I won't come straight home. Please stop." Iris whined further before she let Johnny ruffle her hair, backing away from the door to close it himself. Yuta and Jeno positioned in their seats in front. She only got lucky twice that she get to have Mark accompany her in the van.

Two vehicles were to transmit from their mansion. One where Jaehyun and Mark would carry with weapons and their tents and boxes of goods, And one where she's on with Giselle, Yuta and Jeno. It was always four guards with too many weapons. Johnny sees it as not enough but Iris claimed it was more than enough given that it was only her in the vehicle and nothing really ever happened to her despite Johnny's protectiveness.

Somewhere along their trip, Iris was sitting comfy by the window of the collapsing chair with Giselle passed out and a pillow on her lap. She just woke up from her nap and noticed that they were far from near the town they were heading to and yet also too far from home. She checked back as she pushed an air bud in her ear, the van Mark and Jeno are in behind them with safe distance. She played a soft song, ready to day dream about Mark and what would it be like if he was in their van instead of Jeno- that is until she saw a motorcycle beaming his headlights, asking to pass through and overtake. A male in all black sits on the Kawasaki Ninja H2R. Black skinny jeans, black boots, chains for necklace if she knew any better and a black shirt underneath his leather jacket.

His gloves switched the lever of his bike causing it to roar as he zooms pass them, earning a scoff at Yuta. "Cocky motherfucker." he muttered before she hears Jeno chuckle. She could have sworn that the rider could see her through their tinted glass, staring right back at her but that would be silly because again their vans were tinted, to its most darkest available shade at that. Shaking the silly thought away, she went back to staring out her window and enjoying the scenery as they drove through the desert.

"Target: Flower is in position. 800 meters away from the bullseye."

Static was heard from the other end before he heard the stern voice call back at him.

"We are ready to engage."

Haechan responded with a 'Copy.' before speeding away from the white vans. Certain that he was out of view, he parked behind a boulder , big enough to hide his motorcycle and himself as he positioned a chain of spikes across the road, plan B in place in case "Plan A: ambush" failed- to which it often doesn't, the cocky side of him crediting himself to the lack of mission failing when he's part of it. All he has to do now is wait and upon calculating he has enough time left for a quick smoke. Sitting his helmet on his bike and pulling out the Marlboro stick from his jacket's pocket he lit it up and waited as he leans on the boulder.

Puffing a few smoke, He heard screeches of tires and screams came after that.

Haechan made his way to the scene, stepping on Yuta's back as he tackled on the ground by Jaemin and Jeno wounded by Chenle on the leg.

"Boss said to spare them and just take the girl." Jaemin said as Renjun struggled to open the van's door. "She's won't let me open it-"

"Don't make another move!" Mark was able to free himself from Xiao Jun's grasp, wounded and bleeding on the side when Mark kicked him off but Mark was far from okay as well, with a gash on his lip and an open wound on his arm. Mark aimed the gun on his hand to Haechan, making the tanned skin male chuckle.

"You must be Mark." Mark unfazed by how Haechan knew he his name remained in position. "Don't worry. We won't hurt your princess, lover boy." Mark was then knocked out by Jaehyun from behind. One last look of betrayal from Mark and he was passed out on the ground.

Haechan nudged Renjun away and pulled the door open. Iris yelled and kicked when Renjun tried to manhandle her out to which he succeeded and Giselle screamed behind her before she was knocked out as well by a cloth to their mouths and nose.

Haechan watched as Iris gaze lands on his. Flicking the cigar away before leaning on her with a smirk. Her eyes beamed light brown as she tried to make out what Haechan looked like as he towers over her in front of the sun. 'Familiar' is what her last thoughts were before everything went black.

note: visit @Ivelle_Ciel on ao3 for faster updates ˆ̑՝̮ˆ̑❤︎