#but then again it's a bit hard when you have the actual silhouette given to you xD

[lunacchi]

I tried to guess Mumu's new cozy outfit

[tofupixel]

do you have any tips or tricks for aseprite? I’m fairly newish to it and am still trying to learn the basics of pixels art. Specifically, do you have anything for blending pixels together or giving the illusion of blending, as well as any tips for dithering? I adore your pixel art and it’s given me the motivation to try at it again after dropping it off years ago. You’re incredibly skilled!

thank you!!!

for blending, instead of using a blur tool we do something called manual Anti-Aliasing, here is a video on the topic. i mostly use either 1 colour AA or 2-colour AA

No AA // 1 colour AA 2 colour AA // 3 Colour AA U can do even more colours in the AA btw!! theres no limit but it does get more blurry and soft so beware

I would typically do something like the bottom left, using 2 colours, but they all look different in context. i would advise you to use the preview window and see how it looks at the small 1x view, AA can really change the silhouette of something

BTW ANTI ALIASING IS ALL PREFERENCE !! PLS DOT THINK I AM AN EXPERT I JUST LIKE DOING IT THE WAY I DO IT, PLS EXPERIMENT !!!

for actual colour blending i typically take the eyedropper tool to select my base colour and make the transparency of it 50%.

then i will draw over the colour i want to blend with then colourpick the middle colour i do that all the time and change the hue just a tiny bit

anti alias or add more colours where you would typically blur or blend in painting and leave everything else more sharp, be mindful of your hard and soft edges

hope that helps !! u shoudl check out more of mortmorts videos his stuff really helped me when i was starting out! he has one for dithering i believe (im not really a dithering artist myself so maybe he can be more helpful)

other tips for aseprite - my friend made this video of lesser known tricks

[bloatedandalone04]

In The Way I Need You | Part 2

Series Masterlist

➪in which you meet lilith and joey, as well as learn about clay’s heart condition, despite him not wanting you to find out and think he’s weak because of it.

PSA: strongly suggested to read the warnings before proceeding.

WC; 4.6k | Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

You couldn’t believe the hottest guy you had ever met had a kid, and he wanted you to meet said kid. Look after him, even.

Oh, God. That is so not professional. 

You had asked to meet up for an interview with this guy and you think he’s hot. Your potential, what, boss? You couldn’t think like that, no matter how damn near edible he is. 

Stop.

It was nearing six when you finally arrived at his house, and you were happy to discover that it wasn’t too far from the apartment you were renting until you found something more permanent. 

You were sweating a bit as you stepped out of the taxi you were somehow able to flag down. Clay looked like a businessman when you met him, so you knew he must have a decent paying job, but the building you were currently standing in front of was one that had to be the home of a billionaire. 

This was the address he had given you, right? 

You were doubting it a bit, but you weren’t able to turn back around and ask if this was the right place before the taxi pulled away and left you behind. 

Debating on whether or not you should call him, you push away your doubts and walk up the steps of the building and knock on the door. After waiting for a few beats with no indication that anyone was coming, you realize that your knocks wouldn’t have been heard by someone who wasn’t on the first floor. 

You look around a bit before your eyes land on a doorbell, and you wanted to smack yourself for being clueless before. You pressed it and only had to wait a couple of seconds before you saw a silhouette through the frosted glass and then the door opened. “Hey,” then there was that deep and all too attractive voice. 

“Hi,” you manage to say back as you take in his tall form. The light behind him casted various shadows and made the details of his face harder to make out, but that didn’t stop you from trying. Just from the entryway you could tell this house was nicer than any place you had ever lived, and you were beginning to feel the smallest bit overwhelmed. “So, this is where you live?”

Clay laughs and scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he answers, dropping his hand again and moving to the side, gesturing for you to enter the house. “I hope you didn’t have a hard time finding it.”

His tone was teasing and you playfully rolled your eyes as you shrug off your cardigan. “I think the cab driver was about three seconds away from asking me to get out and find this place myself,” 

He laughed again as he took your cardigan from you and set it on a chair next to the entryway table. 

You took the time to look around the space and if this was how the front hall looked, you couldn’t even begin to imagine how the rest of the house looked. You were tempted to ask what he did for a living to be able to afford a place like this, but held off as he began to lead you up the stairs. “It’s good to see you again,” he says as he walks behind you. “Sorry to hear about the interview, I hope I didn’t make you late for it and that’s why it didn’t work out.”

Shrugging, you slide your hand up the railing as you near the top. “No, I was already late, and it was nice to talk to an actual person for a while rather than the middle aged woman who didn’t give me much of a chance to begin with,”

Clay laughed as he reached the top of the stairs as well. “Now I don’t feel so bad,”

“Don’t feel bad at all,” you wave him off as you take in the various family pictures that lined the wall. There was a photo of, who you could only assume was a young Clay, and beside that one was another of a kid. He looked like Clay, his eyes and hair color the exact same, but his features were mixed with someone else’s. Since he looked a lot like how Clay did at that age, you knew that had to be his son. “It gives me an excuse to meet the coolest kid in the city.”

Clay moves to stand next to you, his eyes fixated on the picture as well. 

“Is that him?” You ask, but you were pretty sure you already knew the answer. When Clay nodded with a small grin, you fought off one of your own. “He’s cute. Looks a lot like you.” You clearly were not good at getting a hold of yourself, and you quickly straightened up after you realized what you had said.

His face tints pink from your words and he clears his throat as he looks at another picture of two people; a man in a Santa suit and a woman smiling next to him. Clay’s eyes hardened a bit as he began to back away. “Yeah, he’s pretty cute,” he agreed and you were beginning to think you said something wrong. 

Then it hit you. 

Was Clay married? Engaged? Dating someone?

You hated how your mind immediately went to assuming he was single and that’s why he needed a sitter. You felt dumb and a bit embarrassed at how quickly you let yourself take interest in this guy, despite this being a literal interview for a possible job right now. 

No more. 

“So,” you say and put a bit of distance between you and him. “Where is this kid? I’m dying to meet him and see if he lives up to his reputation.”

Clay quickly lightens up at that and he nods towards a doorway. “He’s eating dinner,” 

You were then led into the dining room that was attached to the kitchen, and you had soon decided that this had to be the nicest house you had ever seen in your entire life. Even the houses you saw in movies didn’t live up to this place.

There was a dining room table and a kitchen table, how much more could you want? 

Upon entering the dining room, you were met with the adorable sight of a little kid messily eating spaghetti. “Hi,” you say cheerfully when the boy meets your eyes. “You must be the coolest kid in New York.” 

He smiles and drops his fork onto the plate when Clay enters the room as well, raising his short arms up towards his dad. “Say hi, buddy,” 

 “Hi,” he said back as Clay leaned down to kiss the top of his head. 

You smile and feel your heart pretty much soar at the cute sight of the father and son who looked so much alike it was almost scary. “Hi,” you say again and step closer. “Does the coolest guy ever have a name? Or should I guess?”

The kid laughed and mirrored his dads smile. “Guess,”

You purse your lips and move lean on the table next to his chair. “Hmm, Zack?” You ask and he shakes his head. You hum again and try not to pay attention to the way Clay smiled at how you interacted with his son. “Bryson?”

“No,” he shakes his head again and picks up his fork. “One more guess.”

“Uh oh,” Clay murmurs, giving you a teasing look. “Better make it count.”

You swallow a bit harshly before taking your eyes off him. “Aaron?”

He gives you a messy smile and shakes his head once again. “Nope. I’m Joey,” 

“Awh, no,” you sigh dramatically. “Wasn’t even close, was I?”

Joey laughs and gives a final head shake before looking past you and into the kitchen. 

You turn and see a woman standing there with a confused and guarded expression on her face. She looked a lot like both Clay and Joey, and you were beginning to believe that everyone in this family had good genes. 

You weren’t able to introduce yourself before Clay was moving to stand next to you. “Mother,” he greeted, making you glance up at him before smiling back down at Joey. “This is Y/n. She might be the sitter who looks after Joey when we’re at work.”

His mom straightens up at that, a brief look of shock crossing her face before she looks back at you. “Well, it’s nice to see my son take my advice for once,” she says in a calm voice. 

You smile and take a step towards her. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs..?”

“Beresford,” she answers, giving you a half smile back. “Lilith Beresford. How did you happen to meet Clay?”

She sounded a bit hostile, but you didn’t want to make her unimpressed, so you just pushed away your worries and glanced back at Clay with an apprehensive look. The encouraging and kind grin he gave you helped only a little. “We met the other day,” you begin. “Yeah, I was actually on my way to a job interview and I got pretty lost. Clay saw me and gave me the right directions.”

Lilith nods and glances between you and Clay. “And how did that interview go?” She asked and crossed her arms. 

Your smile falters a bit, not at all expecting her to ask that, and Clay didn’t expect it either. “Mother,” he laughed and it sounded a bit forced. “What does it matter how it went if she’s here now to potentially look after Joey?”

While you were glad he helped you out, you were beginning to feel a bit awkward, but then Joey gave you a crooked smile, and you realized that you actually wouldn’t mind babysitting him for a good portion of your day. “The interview went fine,” you answer her, meeting Clay’s eyes when he turns to look back at you. “But I realized pretty quickly that the job wasn’t for me. So that’s why I’m here. Your house is beautiful, Mrs. Beresford, and Joey seems like a really nice kid.”

Lilith’s face was a bit expressionless, and you thought you were about to be asked to leave, but she dropped her stiff stance and nodded. “He is quite the sweetheart,” she agrees and shares a look with Clay. It felt like they had their own wordless conversation with how intense their stares were, until she broke eye contact and looked back at you. “Like his dad.”

You nod and look down when you feel little fingers tug at your wrist. Joey had begun playing with your bracelet, his eyes flickering over each individual charm. “It’s pretty huh?” You ask and watch as he nods. 

“Y/n, was it?” Lilith asks, making you quickly look back at her and nod. “Has Clay shown you the rest of the house?”

Clay moves to stand behind Joey’s chair. “I was getting to it,” he answered for you. “Just wanted to introduce her to him first.”

“I’ll take over,” she offered and left no room for a debate as she extended her arm out and gestured for you to follow her. “You look young. May I ask how old you are?”

You look back at Clay and Joey briefly before you were being escorted down the hall and back towards the stairs. “I’m twenty,” 

“And you’ve graduated high school?” She asked as you and her walked past the family picture wall. 

“Yes, I graduated two years ago,” you felt like this was more of an integration rather than an interview, but you were enjoying the house tour nonetheless. “High nineties.” 

You weren’t sure why you wanted to impress her so badly, but here we are. You also weren’t sure why you thought telling her that you got good grades would help you get a babysitting job. She glances back at you as she stops at another archway. “And you know what to do in case of a medical emergency?” 

“I’ve got my CPR certificate and took basic health classes all throughout school,”

Lilith nods. “This is the living room, where you’ll likely spend most of your time with Joey if you do end up being his sitter,” she didn’t sound too encouraging, but you were far too distracted at how nice the living room is to actually get offended. “So, you’re new to the city?”

She led you over to the second staircase. “Yes,” you say quietly as you ascend the stairs up to the third floor. “I just moved here a couple weeks ago. I’m from Hudson.”

“Wow, that’s quite the change,” this time she actually did sound a bit surprised and maybe even a little impressed, and you took that as a good sign. “You’ll get used to Brooklyn soon. There’s just a lot more people, and a lot more places.”

She stopped outside a closed door and turned back to face you. “Thanks for believing in me,” you joked and she smiled. 

“This is Clay’s room, not that you’d ever be in there, unless you want to take on the task of cleaning it. My son can be a bit messy at times,” well now it felt like she was testing you. 

God, you hope you can give her the response she is looking for. “I don’t mind cleaning or cooking or things like that,” you say slowly. “I learned how to take care of myself at a young age, so I’m kind of skilled in the kitchen. Trust me, Joey will be eating well whenever I’m here. If you and Clay believe I’m a good fit for it.”

She hummed, leading you further down the hall. “I don’t see why you wouldn’t be,” she says. “Smart, nice, supposedly good at cooking. I think Joey would love to have you around.”

You smile at that as she opens a door just a few feet down the hall from Clay’s room. “Thank you, Mrs. Beresford. I think Joey and I would have a lot of fun together,”

“Me too,” she agrees. “This is his room.”

Joey’s room did not look like a kid’s room at all. It was neat and tidy, with books and stuffed animals scattered about on the bed and dresser. The previous babysitting gig you had, the mom wouldn’t know how to keep the house clean if you paid her, and she was the one paying you. “How old is he?” You asked as you observed the clean room, your eyes landing on a framed picture of Clay and Joey on the wall next to the bed. 

Clay looked a few years younger and Joey was just a baby, and it made you feel all warm inside as a deep blush took over your whole body. “He just turned four last month,” she answered.

“And what about his mom?”

Lilith turned to look at you, her eyes narrowing as she shut the door again. “She’s not in the picture and hasn’t been since Joey was only three months old,” was all she said as she walked further down the hall. 

Yeah, you definitely asked one question too many with that one. 

Still, you now felt bad at the fact that Joey hadn’t had a mother figure in his life at all. He seemed so sweet, who in their right mind would give that up? And that’s not even mentioning the fact that Clay was probably the nicest guy you had ever met, and he is a great dad from the few interactions you’ve seen between him and Joey.

While you wanted to know more, you bit your tongue and followed Lilith down the hall, not wanting to ruin the good thing you felt was brewing at the moment. 

-

While his mother was one of the best people in his life, Lilith Beresford can be very overbearing at times. 

Like right now. 

Clay was supposed to be the one giving you the tour and getting to know more about you, but the second Lilith had seen him with a girl, she swooped in and took her away. 

He wasn’t dumb, he knew what the look they shared before she whisked you away meant, and he knew she was just trying to look out for him, but it still didn’t change the fact that he had brought this upon himself, and he liked to think that he knew what he was doing. 

As he watched his mother haul you down the hall, he sighed and sat down next to his son. “What do you think, Joe?” He murmured, reaching over and pushing Joey’s sand-colored hair away from his forehead. “She seems nice, huh?”

Joey nods and pushes away his plate of nearly finished spaghetti. “She’s pretty,” 

Clay nodded before he could even realized that he was agreeing with his four year old kid about your looks. “She’s nice, though, bud,” he says as he grabs a napkin from off the center of the table and hands it to Joey. “Do you think you might like seeing her around here when me and grandma are away at work?” 

“We can color together,” Joey nods and wipes away the sauce from his face. 

“Yeah,” Clay laughs, taking the plate once Joey tossed the napkin on top of it. “You can.”

He reaches a hand out and helps Joey off the chair before heading towards the kitchen and setting the plate onto the counter next to the sink. “Can I watch a show?” Joey asks, hugging Clay’s leg as he gazes up at him.

“Sure, buddy,” he says as he turns the sink on and puts the plate in it. “I’ll come turn it on in a few minutes, okay?”

“Okay,”

Clay leans down and presses a noisy kiss to the top of his head before gently pushing him in the direction of the doorway. “Go wait in the living room. I’ll be in there soon,”

He watches as Joey runs on wobbly legs out of the kitchen, a small smile on his lips when he turns back around and begins to wash the dishes. 

He wonders what part of the house you and his mom are in now. Did she show you his room? God, he hoped not. It was a mess and he really didn’t want to come off a slob. 

The thought of him wanting to show you his room himself briefly flashed through his mind, but he quickly pushed it away.

As he drains the sink and sets the clean dishes aside, Clay finds himself liking the idea of having you around. He had only spoken to you a few times, but each conversation didn’t feel forced or awkward or uncomfortable. And he liked how sweet you are to his son, and how nice you are to his mom, despite her coming off as intimidating, even to him.

For the first time in a long time, he was thinking about someone else other than Sam. 

As he dried his hands off and left the kitchen, he could hear the two of you walking around upstairs when he made his way to the living room. He really hoped his mother was taking it easy on you, seeing as she still wasn’t over the way his ex had completely broken his heart and left him without a second thought. 

Lilith Beresford was more protective over his fragile heart than he is, and though that thought gave him comfort, he also knew it wasn’t fair to have her look out for him all the time. 

But he also knew she would never stop.

He passed the staircase and entered the living room, where he found Joey sitting patiently on the couch. Clay couldn’t deny, his kid is so damn cute, he was so tempted to quit his job and stay home with him everyday until he grew old enough to think that spending time with his dad is lame.

Clay turns the TV on before sitting next to Joey, taking him in his arms and smothering his face with kisses. At that exact moment, both you and his mother descend the stairs and enter the living room just in time to see Joey laugh and try to escape his dad’s arms. “Grandma!” He calls out and Lilith smiles as she walks over to them.

“Don’t look at me for help, Joseph,” she teased as she leaned down and kissed him all over his face as well. “I’m just as bad as your father.”

Joey squealed as both Clay and Lilith smothered him with kisses. “Y/n!” He called out instead, and the way he mispronounces your name has Clay pulling away with a laugh. 

  He looked over and saw you with a big smile on your face, your body leaning against the frame and your arms crossed. “Sorry, Joey,” you shrug. “I think you’re outnumbered here.”

It was likely he didn’t really understand what you meant, but Joey laughed anyway and crawled over to sit on Lilith’s lap. 

Clay moved to stand up, ruffling Joey’s hair as did so. “So?” He steps towards you. “Think you can handle the kid for a few hours a day?”

You purse your lips and he has to refrain from staring at them for too long. “I think I can manage,” you answer and match his grin as he closes the space between the two of you. “I should head home now, though.”

He nods and glances back at his mom and son. She gave him a look that had him quickly turning back around to you. “I’ll walk you out,” he offered and was about to leave the room when she called out to him.

“Clay, did you tell her about your-” she started but he quickly cut her off.

“No,” he answered and was about to tell her to drop it until she decided to let you know that he has a serious problem and is very slowly growing weaker by the day. 

“Clay has a heart condition,” she informed you. “His heart isn’t as strong as he believes it to be. If you are to be around him a lot, you should know that.”

Clay huffed and closed his eyes as he let the feeling of embarrassment take over him. “Mother,”

Now he really looked weak in front of you. He looked incapable of taking care of both himself and his son. 

“She needs to know, Clayton,” she insisted, smoothing out the mess he made of Joey’s hair before looking over his shoulder and at you. “It was nice meeting you, Y/n. I hope to see you again soon.”

“You too,” came your quiet reply, and when he finally looked over at you, your eyes were softer and held a hint of worry. 

It had him sighing as he began to guide you out of the room, murmuring, “Come on,”

With his hand placed gently on the middle of your back, he led you back down the stairs and only removed it in order to hand you your cardigan. 

You take it from him with a grateful smile as you make no move to leave. A silence falls over you, and it was surprisingly not as awkward as it should’ve been before you broke it. “Is it serious? Your heart condition?” You asked in a voice just above a whisper. “You don’t need to tell me, but it would be nice to know since I’ll be spending most of my nights with your kid.”

Clay’s eyes widened a bit at your words. “You still want to babysit him? Even after finding out his dad is sick and weak and an unfit parent?”

You shake your head quickly. “Having a heart condition doesn’t make you weak, Clay,” you reassure him in a whisper. “In fact, I think it makes you stronger. And as for the unfit parent thing, maybe give yourself a little credit here. Maybe it’s not my place to say this, but I think you’re doing a great job, and that kid is lucky to have you. Both of you.”

He had a hard time believing you were real. 

There was just no way.

He had never been insecure about his heart until he met Sam. She made sure he was aware of how inconvenient it was to have a husband who couldn’t please her in all the ways she wanted, simply because his heart couldn’t keep up with the rest of his body half the time. 

And that heart attack didn’t help his confidence, either. 

And, just like that, he had managed to think about his ex before the day ended. 

He needed to make it one day without thinking about her. How else will he ever move on? 

“Thanks,” he said quietly and moved close to you in order to be able to pull the door open. “And thanks for coming over. Joey seems to like you already.”

“Well, that’s good,” you laugh and shrug your cardigan on. “‘Cause I like him, too.”

Clay smiles and leans against the open door. “Are you available tomorrow? I know it’s really soon, but-”

“I’m available,” you cut him off with a shake of your head. “Text me the info?”

He nods and moves over a bit as you step towards the door. “Get home safe,”

You grin at him. “I will,” you hover near the door for a few seconds as if you were having an inner debate with yourself, but before he could try to get a read on what it was about, you were moving past him. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Clay, Or should I call you Mr. Beresford?”

“Please don’t,” he begged with a laugh. “Clay is fine.”

You nod and walk out onto the front steps. “Have a good night,”

“You too,” he says back and stays leaning against the door until you are safe and in the backseat of a cab. It was only then when he sent you off with a wave before closing the door and heading upstairs. He makes his way back into the living room and finds Joey half asleep on his mom, and his stare softens just a bit. “You shouldn’t have told her that.” He muttered as he walked over and picked Joey up. 

“She’s going to be here a lot, Clay,” Lilith waves off his annoyed huff and stands up. “She should know what to expect if something were to happen to you.”

With Joey pressed to his side, Clay shakes his head and turns around. “I’m fine, alright? I don’t want her worrying about both me and Joey,” he mumbled as he faced her again. “Say goodnight to grandma, bud.”

“Night, grandma,” Joey sleepily says and Lilith comes over to press a kiss to both his and Clay’s cheeks before leading the way upstairs. 

After getting Joey ready for bed and sitting with him until he fell asleep, Clay wandered into his room and sat down on his bed, his mind swirling with too many thoughts to count. 

He’s got a reliable sitter now, and a nice one at that, so that is one less thing he had to worry about. 

And now he’s thinking about you and your sweet smile and your kindness and your cute cardigan. 

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, quickly typing in a message and hitting send before he could change his mind. 

Thanks again for coming over, and for what you said at the door. Are you able to pick Joey up from school tomorrow? I’ll send you the address. Let me know you got home safe, too. 

And he wasn’t even able to strip out of his clothes and have a shower before you were texting him back. 

Potential Sitter: Of course, I’m excited to get to know the little guy. And as for what I said, I meant every word. Yes, I’ll pick him up, and yes, I got home safe. Thanks for thinking of me.

For the second time this week, Clay was ending his day by smiling at his phone screen.

[waywardstation]

Fair Trade

Akari shares with Ingo a bag of candy she found while distortion diving, though Ingo more appreciates the familiar feelings that sharing candy brings back than anything.

Happy Halloween!! I wrote this off a request an anon gave me about Akari sharing Halloween candy with Ingo. Hope you enjoy!! This is my first bit of writing that I’ve actually published in a while, and it feel like this writing in particular is a lot of nothing, but it was fun just to get something out again!!

OR read here on AO3!

Enjoy!

————

“I am finding it very hard to believe that you dislike chocolate this much.”

“Come on,” From where she sat on the dojo bench, Akari held her hand out to Ingo, the shiny, brightly-colored wrapper in her palm already unfoiled to reveal the candy inside. “It’s not that I don’t like them, I just like other candy more. And I can’t eat all of these myself, so I gotta pick and choose. Also, you have to take it, I already opened it.”

Looking back at her from his position by the dojo, Ingo’s expression was one of discernment — she could certainly just wrap it back up and save it for later. She also could have done that with the last six candies she had handed to him. But eventually, he relented and took it. Popping it into his mouth with an obligatory “Thank you”, Ingo returned to casting his glance at the training grounds’ gate.

Unlike Akari, he had not realized how sorely he had specifically missed sweet, modernized chocolate until she had first given him a piece several minutes earlier, when she had come by the training grounds to see him with a big mystery bag in her hands.

“Look at this, Ingo!” She had called out to him, holding the packaging up against the sunset sky for him to see — orange and purple, it was full of colorful wrappers, and seemed to be decorated with ghost pokemon (some silhouettes he recognized much more clearly than others). “I found this in one of the distortions! Help me eat it!”

A moderately-sized, unopened bag of cheap assorted candies, wrapped in shiny foils that obscured the flavor and kept its brand a surprise until it was opened. No doubt it had been pulled from some store shelf, if not an unfortunate person’s cabinet. Akari had been unwrapping the candies one by one; if it was revealed to be a fruit chew or something of the sort, she ate it herself, but the chocolates were handed off to Ingo.

Reaching her hand back onto the bag, Akari fished out another wrapper and twisted it open, revealing a green gummy inside that vaguely resembled a cherubi’s shape.

“Gummy.” She announced to no one in particular, chewing on it and stuffing the wrapper into her satchel. Picking out and unwrapping another before she had even finished her candy, she held it out to Ingo. “Chocolate. Here.”

“Ah, thank you,” Ingo received it with waning enthusiasm, but dropped it into his mouth regardless. “Have you perhaps considered sharing with your friend Rei as well?”

“Yeah, but last time I did, he got sick the next day. He said he doesn’t want them anymore.”

“How many have you had?” Watching Akari pull out yet another candy from the bag, Ingo was beginning to wonder if she was planning to stop at some point, or keep pushing through until the bag was empty. Knowing her, he believed it would be the latter.

“I don’t know, maybe… Nine? Ten?” The teen did not look up from the candy she was currently unwrapping. “I haven’t been counting.”

Ingo looked away, back towards the dojo’s gates as Akari peeked through the small opening she had made in her wrapper. He was acutely aware of how anything as processed and sugary as candy would not mix well with a digestive system that had become accustomed to a Hisuian diet — concerning both Akari, and himself.

“I advise taking these tracks a little slower; there is no need to rush towards the end of the line in just one night, lest you end up like Rei.”

“Oh man, if you think I’ll get sick off of this, you should really see all the junk I eat that I don’t bring back to share with you,” Akari brushed it off with a laugh as if his recommendation was a joke, before holding another unwrapped candy out to him again. “Chocolate. Here you go.”

“...Thank you.” Ingo echoed once again, tentatively receiving the bite-size candy bar. He chewed it with a look on his face – hard to discern, but appearing to be guilty for appreciating it. He waved Akari off preemptively with a hand before she could even unwrap another candy. “But please, no more; Miss Zisu is supposed to return back from the hall at any moment to accompany me to The Wallflower. I don’t want to spoil my appetite.”

“Well all you have to do is stop taking them, then!” Akari’s voice was tickled with amusement. Plastic crinkled as another wrapper was opened; thankfully for Ingo’s sake, bright, soft pink was revealed under the shiny covering. “Ugh, Taffy.”

Ingo cleared his throat as Akari bit into it anyways, having nothing to say at being called out – he certainly could refuse, but a part of him didn’t want to. And it went beyond the plain craving for the processed sweetness after such a long period of going without it.

Something about the flavor was obviously familiar to him, but that wasn’t exactly what kept nagging him to repeatedly want just one more. In fact, there really was much to be desired from cheap, waxy chocolate.

It was more so the simple act of Akari specifically handing a candy to him that she didn’t want, but knew he liked. It felt like it was tugging on a dormant cord still connected between his heart and his memories.

There wasn’t a lot there, but it was attached to something, deep down.

( )( )( )( )( )( )

It was just like when he and (Emmet went trick-or-treating together as children. The two of them) would always return home with enough candy that (could have lasted them several months, but) would probably only survive a week or two (between themselves and their Pokémon). They would always take turns trading (their candy between each other at the end of the night. Emmet) enjoyed the sour variety of treats and gummies (that would oftentimes end up leaving him with a sore mouth,) while he preferred the sweeter chocolates and (candy bars).

And (when Elesa had come into their lives during their teenage years,) the group would continue the tradition (of trick-or-treating together, and then) swapping at the end of the night. (Chocolates were not willingly traded to him nearly as easily anymore, and) he often ended up being traded the things neither (Emmet or Elesa) wanted. But he didn’t mind (because he liked them well enough, more so than the other two).

And even (into adulthood, when going trick-or-treating from door to door) was swapped out for (late-night scary movie marathons with friends, He found a habit had formed where) he was often handed (the candy bowl near the end of the night, in order to finish off the bit of) untouched candy no one else wanted. (Emmet and Skyla) would lightheartedly jab at him (for functionally being their candy disposal bin, but Elesa would defend him while he himself just laughed,) taking it all in jest.

( )( )( )( )( )( )

…It was just like when he and someone else would always return home with enough candy that would last probably only a week or two. They’d take turns trading, the other enjoying sour candies while he preferred the sweet ones. And when their group continued swapping candy, he was often traded what no one else wanted. But he didn’t mind. And even when things… changed, he still was given the candy that no one else wanted. They would make jokes about him for it, but it was all in jest.

There was so much missing, Ingo knew there was, and it made things confusing as to what actually happened. But he certainly didn’t feel bad about any part of it, when he lingered on the feelings that were left behind.

The fragments were horrifically shattered and spread apart over many, many memories, he could tell. But something about it was comforting. Perhaps it was the fact that so many memories seemed linked together; it implied that this was something that had never changed even while time went on, something that had been continued over a large span of his prior life. He had done something with friends very frequently. And it was something he enjoyed very much.

They were happy memories of people he couldn’t quite remember, and while that was not a novel experience for him at this point, it still dimmed the warmth around the edges. But he could not ignore that it was also cathartic, in an aching, lonely way, to feel that they were so worn and repetitive.

The phantom memories gradually retreated back out of reach, keeping their distance as the sweet aftertaste of the cheap chocolate faded. Something about the fact that an action as seemingly insignificant as being handed unwanted candy, and how it was able to dredge up only emotional remnants of so many hazy recollections… it was a little frustrating for Ingo, if he was being honest.

The complete picture was always just out of reach, it felt like.

But he had lost his entire previous life to the foggy nowhere that used to be his mind. There were a lot of pieces to pick up, and he supposed a substantial amount of them would be small and insignificant — when something shattered like this, there were usually many more small pieces than big ones.

“Another chocolate.”

Ingo blinked, his thoughts giving way to the view of the training ground’s dirt beneath his shoes, then to Akari as he turned to her — she had leaned forward to nudge his wrist with her own hand. Of course, a chocolate nestled within an opened wrapper was held between her fingers.

“Ah-” Ingo hesitated for perhaps a moment too long with a look that may have been a bit too piercing, as Akari’s hand began to retract.

“Right, sorry,” Akari sat back, leaning against the dojo wall behind her as she situated the bag back on her lap. “I know, I shouldn’t keep handing you these when you’re about to go have dinner.”

“No no, it’s alright,” Ingo hastily attempted to correct the misunderstanding. “I apologize, I was not rejecting it; my mind simply drifted elsewhere for a moment.”

“So…” With the usual spirited look returning to her features, Akari held the candy back up. “You do want another piece?”

One last glance over at the gate, but of course Zisu was still nowhere in sight. Only the autumn sunset past the village buildings, and a distant collection of drifblim mingling with the clouds over the fieldlands.

Ingo huffed through his nose and turned to join Akari on the bench, taking the empty spot next to her as the wood creaked beneath him. “…Perhaps just one more; Miss Zisu has not arrived yet, after all. She did say it would be a quick stop by the Commander’s office, but I’ll be honest; knowing her appreciation for conversation, I could be waiting here for her for another half hour.”

Akari held the candy back out to him, and this time, Ingo accepted it. “Thank you.”

Placing the chocolate in his mouth, Ingo sat back as he chewed on it. Mulling over the warm feelings of familiarity that briefly returned once again with the flavor, Ingo wondered if the memories themselves would return at some point as well.

[moodymisty]

Sound Asleep

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙| 𝕬𝖔3]

Author’s note: I’ve had this little snippet jumbled up in my phone's notes for longer than I’ve currently been on tumblr, so I decided to finally clean it up. I have so many little things like this scattered across my various devices... Help.

Relationships: BOBF!Boba Fett/Fem!Reader (I only say that because of one usage of the nickname 'princess' there's no pronouns or specific body parts mentioned.)

Warnings: A little bit of crying, Nightmares, Age gap if you squint so hard your eyes actually hurt, Cuddling, Fluffy fluff, Mean ol' Boba being a bit of a softie

Word count: 1220

You swore you hadn’t had a nightmare since your childhood years; But even then, you couldn’t remember one like this. It had all felt so real, almost touchable. You sit up awake in a daze still feeling as if it had just happened.

Jolted awake in the middle of a cold Tatooine night your hair is just starting to stick against dewy skin, heart pounding in your chest. With a few kicks of your feet you push the blanket off of your body, wanting the air to cool your flush skin, and to stop that almost strangling feeling.

You’d fallen asleep down here because of how tired you’d been, and the trek upstairs to Boba’s personal room had seemed like leagues away; Without any surety that he would even return there before you awoke the next morning. He was a busy man, sometimes rest wasn't a guarantee.

So you’d slept in your old personal room he’d given you after he brought you to Mos Espa, but now you're wishing you hadn’t. It feels so lonely in here, the room feels giant and the shadows an abyss but at the same time suffocating.

When you manage to get your heart to stop thumping on your chest so hard it feels like knocking, you slowly lay back again with your head hitting the pillow. The ceiling is cracked- your eyes following the black string down past your feet before you dare to close your eyes.

But when you open them again, the room is still dark with not a hint of light from the windows. It's as if your body was forcibly stopping you from sleeping, still spinning in whatever your mind had dreamt up. And even as your eyes feel tired and body heavy, there's no amount of quiet breathing and counting that is letting you fall asleep. The knot in your throat tightens, back of your neck aching with how tense it is.

Eventually, the constant tossing and turning proves too much to handle, and you lean up and turn to slip your legs off the side. They dangle for a moment, hands clutching the sheets as you decide if it's worth it.

Was it worth trekking what seemed like lightyears up to someone who might not even be there? Or should you stay here and lay back trying to see if you could get even a few moments of rest before the suns start rising?

Bare feet gently hit the slightly rough, sandy floor with a soft pat, the light in the room just bright enough to see around. It was a straight shot to the door, and you slowly slip off the bed before softly opening then closing it. The steps up to Boba’s private room were tall and winding, and each one felt progressively harder than the last. At least none of the droids are around, you wouldn't want even the the stars outside to see you in this sorry state.

Once you reach the top of the steps, it's easy to open the door and slip inside. The door opens to a pale glow of moonlight, and you can see Boba’s outline. He's already awake; Leaning upright.

There’s patterns deeply ingrained in him and sounds are a big part of them; The soft opening of a door or footsteps were always things that set him alert. When he sees it’s you, easy to tell by the silhouette he can just barely see through the flowing fabric of your nightclothes, it’s enough to lull those alarm bells in his head a small bit.

And with a gravely, sleep coated voice, Fett calls to you.

“Need something, princess?”

His tone is almost taunting, teasing, but you don't respond to it with any of the usual quips. When you step deeper into the room, Boba can more clearly see the ragged expression on your face. The way your body is turned into itself. He makes no noise; Instead pulling the thin blanket back revealing more of his bare stomach.

“Come here, little one.”

You don’t need to be told twice.

Bare feet pattering across the floor you walk to him and place one knee onto the bed, before hefting yourself into it and slipping underneath the blanket. Within moments you feel his chest against your back, an arm wrapping around your waist. One of your hands grasps his while the other lays empty, and you feel his chin on the top of your head.

He doesn’t ask what happened to render you like this; He knows nothing he could say would help with it anyways.

What does seem to help is just him; As it’s not long of you curling up around his arm like it's your life line that you’re finally asleep. He can hear the soft sounds of you breathing, the way even in your sleep you're attempting to fruitlessly hold him tighter. You have his arm in a death grip, and any attempt to pull away would surely wake you.

Fett doesn’t quite know how to feel about it. That he’s let you come so close to him that you feel safe, reassured he isn’t dangerous enough that you can be lulled asleep like this. These aren't clean hands you're holding.

But if you want to be here, you'll be here. He'd never refuse you.

He's no stranger to nightmares and terrors either, though he's had longer to learn to deal with them than you. His mind is more armored, less feeling. It's how he's learned to be.

Fett, not long after he sees that you've for sure fallen completely asleep, decides to stop watching you with such soft eyes; And get some rest himself. He doesn't get too many chances to do so.

When you wake up you can still feel the ache of a headache now passed, but your body doesn’t feel as tense as the night before. It requires a bit of an odd angle to raise your head, rubbing your eyes blurry as Boba's torso moves upward so he can look down on you.

“Going to let me go?” Fett watches your hands tighten even more against his arm, where it had been locked most of the night. You'd been gripping it like a lifeline, the only thing holding you to the ground.

“No.” Fett lets out a chuckle, one deep from his chest and still raspy with sleep. You can feel it in your own chest, as he raises up on his other elbow.

"Can't stay here forever, princess." His arm flexes in your hold, just about to pull away from you. Quickly you tighten, making a noise from your throat before you can get out the right words.

“Wait! Boba, just- Just a few more minutes?” His hand halts, but his eyes still bore down at you. The soft skin of your fingertips brushes against a myriad of scars, as you fruitlessly attempt to hold him still. He's placating you, as you know well he could easily just pull away and leave you alone.

"Mos Espa can wait a little bit," You say, holding onto his larger hand. He relents, and lays down on his side again; Pressing his bare chest against your back again.

Maybe it can, maybe it can't; But either way he can deal with the outcome.

Join the taglist here: @simp-legend @nekotaetae @coffeyorky @lokigirlszendaya @totesnothere04 @get-wr3ckered @rebel-finn @mandoloriancookie @therealnekomari @loverofclones @fxlsealarm @crosshairs-wife @sinfulsalutations @pb-jellybeans @jediknightjana

[harus-simp]

Eyes on me

-Ricky x reader-

Warning:none

Requested: The Junhyeon x planet master!reader was awesome. Could you do one with Ricky x planet master!reader aswell? (Anonymous)

Author's note: hey there anon, thanks so much for requesting!!! I hope you really like how it came out :))

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The eliminations brought nothing but anxiety and nervousness to all contestants, including ricky. But seeing who the planet master was brought nothing but a smile to his face and to his heart.

Going into the 3rd elimination felt specially hard for the trainees as they were further into the competition, everyone was really tired and they all had gotten quite close to each other. So it was really hard already to fight with them for a spot on the finale.

As ricky and the rest of the trainees entered the well known by now place where they had been fighting for their dream the crippling anxiety and nervousness started to appear inside of them. Just the thought of their debut opportunity slipping through their hands was heartbreaking.

They did their little intros and headed to their assigned places to wait patiently for their new planet master to start as soon as possible.

"Who do you guys think will be the planet master"asked jeonghyeon

"I honestly don't know, they've even managed to brought Key sunbaenim, so it could be literally anybody"answered zhang hao

"Yeah"said ricky

As music started playing and the lights turned black everyone immediately went silent seeing a silhouette approaching the main stage.

"OMG isn't that y/n sunbaenim?"shouted junhyeon as you got closer to the trainees view finding their reaction adorable and heart-warming as you saw their eyes shine in excitement. But you were specially curious to see someone's particular reaction.

As you bowed to all the trainees your eyes lingered a little bit longer on a blond haired guy that was watching you with an ambiguous expression, somewhere in between shock and thrill to have you right in front of him.

As you got your microphone to your mouth in order to speak you grabbed everyone's attention making the room silent on the process.

"Hello everyone, I'm actress y/n, also known as (your group name) shining princess " your last words being accompanied with the here I am signature gesture (you know, the nan binnaaaa)

You and ricky exchanged little glances at each other shortly before continuing your speech.

Ricky felt your eyes on him and flashed you the sweetest smile someone could have dedicated you ever, this not being unnoticed by ricky's team mates, as they literally saw their friend shining and sparkling once you entered the room.

As you explained the dynamics of the elimination ricky couldn't help but look at you with admiration and appreciation, a caring look present on his face and a feeling of comfort, like carresing your pet after a long day of work or watching your favourite show for the 20th time.

.

.

.

After some time announcing the survivors ricky started to get quite anxious, he was scared because the highest rankings had been taken up already and the only ones left were the lower ones, although if he actually got there he would still be honoured because the star creators would have given him another opportunities to show his multiple talents on stage.

He felt somehow relieved to have you near him, as he could have someone to go to righ after the surviving announcement finished. But still, it was pretty hard to handle.

You got a little break due to the outdoor activities video that they put to reduce the tension in the room, there when all the trainees were watching the clips laughing at the funny moments and commenting things between everyone you and ricky locked eyes again making you both smile unconsciously at the sight of each other.

Looking at both sides to see if anyone noticed you started to communicate with ricky throughout signs and reading lips. You also used little gestures to get your message across as at a distance was harder to understand each other.

How you doing? you mouthed

Pretty nervous tbh

Don't be, you've got this you murmur as you made a fighting hand gesture

Right after it you proceeded to continue announcing rankings, but this time they were on the top 9. You won't lie, you were pretty nervous as well, not having called for ricky's name had surprised you as much as it has given hope, he may be one of the top 9 trainees!

As you prepared to read the number 8 you felt your heart accelerate as you tried really hard not to smile widely and just run into your boyfriend's arms.

"Congratulations for the 8th place for...Ricky!"you announced with a smile on your face

He felt his whole world being brightened up as he resisted the urge to leave everything behind and give you the biggest hug you could ever get.

He stepped into the stage and as he thanked star creators for all the support he gave you a timid look to which you responded by looking at him with a sweet smile that could be infected to almost everyone.

.

.

.

The eliminations had officially finished,and although it was sad to see their friends part ways he couldn't help but feel so greatful for the position he got as an 8th rank.

As he saw you going off stage he somehow managed to sneek off following you backstage where you were waiting for him with your script still in hand.

"Congratulations for making it into the top 9 babyyyy"you said opening your arms to welcome him in a bear hug.

"Thanks"he reciprocated your action giggling softly

"You worked so hard to get there, I'm so proud"

Right in that moment he swore you could notice how his eyes literally sparkled with adoration and gratitude for your words, he saw how you looked back with the same expression,making it very hard for him to not be heels over you.

So he just went for it and leaned for a kiss, it literally made you feel fireworks as you put your arms around his shoulders and wrapped his hands around your waist. The comfort and the softness that the kiss made him feel was something he couldn't explain with words, it was purely sweet and an act of love he found so endearing.

As you separated after lingering on his lips for longer than expected you joined your foreheads together while you recovered from your beating hearts and your heavy breathes.

"Well as much as I'd love to stay here like this you've got to go ricky"

"What if I don't want to?"he asked in hopes you didn't ushered him out of the room.

"Rickyyyy"you whined.

"Alright, alright I'll get going"he said letting you go and asking for another kiss on his cheek before stepping out of the room.

You threw him an annoyed look as you gave him what he wanted.

Coming back to his team he was met with all smug grins and raised eyebrows, making him confused.

"What?"he asked

"Where were you?"

"Umm in the bathroom"he answered making up an excuse for his absence.

"Well unless you went to the second floor one the closest bathroom is at the other direction sherlock"said jay

Shit, he had been caught.

"And I think the lipstick mark you've got there says otherwise" answered uninterested zhang hao

He immediately wiped off the pretty mark he had on the corner of his lips watching them embarrassed.

"Well, how long has it been?"

"A-a couple months now"he said accepting his fate

"Well we've got plenty to catch up on so you better get started"

Yeah, he had a long way till they released him...

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[tag-that-oc]

QUESTION! Are there any obvious ideas I missed for an OC I will share that will flesh them out more? (I say obvious because developing unique ideas isn't your job. I'd like to ask, since you as a collective blog have experience with original characters).

Essentially, her name is Koda, and she is a twenty-one-year-old human(oid) who's a bit messed up. I intentionally autism-coded her (and have been debating/nervous about making it canon), since I am autistic, and I wanted to give her a few traits that I feel 'boiling' inside of me. She's particularly interested in creating stuff from other things, especially exotic materials (from, say, exotic sources).

More specifically, she's an absolute fan of monsters and freaky animals. Even more specifically, she makes crafts out of them, such as manipulating hard pieces of animal to create weapons (blunt heads, blades, mechanism shells for more complex stuff), using skin to create unique leather, either for style or for unique purposes (a fire-based monster's leather being fireproof? Good for a journal, maybe?), and finally, making meats and organs into foods.

Her past isn't the best. Her (supposed) biological parents died protecting the town they lived in while she was young, being adopted by a soldier who had found her wandering. This man, named Elmer, was mostly nice, but he intentionally isolated her from groups of people he didn't like (which is dangerous, since the world is rather strict about hate-fueled actions), which mostly included people who went against the typical stuff of nature (the queer community of that world). She did have internet access, but since she believed him, she also believed that she was reading nonsense (as he had told her).

A stranger who was injured met her, and she managed to dig up the courage to help him to a clinic. He helped her gain the confidence to socialize with others by listening to her rambling as they walked. Not only that, he asked questions and was generally a nice person in return for her helping him.

This let her interact with people she didn't understand fully and slowly began to come to an understanding. The nonsense she read online was real--and these people weren't bumbling idiots, they were genuine people, who weren't forcing anything onto anybody. Because of the people Elmer tried to hide from her, she learned more about herself than she ever would with him alone. She was attracted to women, as opposed to men, and it added a little more sense to her life.

When confronting Elmer with this, however, he grew irrationally angry and grew far more aggressive than he had EVER been in her life--alongside this, he did something for the first time and punished her with actual pain and injury. In his manic state, he forced his own daughter's hands into their furnace, and although it was only for a few seconds, the damage had been done.

He made her go outside and seemed to regret the irrational and violent reaction, but not before a familiar stranger had wandered the streets he had before and caught his eye on a silhouette familiar to him. The man who had unintentionally given the courage to explore approached her. She didn't cry, yet her blankness explained more than enough. The man looked inside the building to see another man he recognized, and not positively. The furnace, the familiar man, and the cowering young woman with seared hands, it was not hard for him to piece it all together.

The familiar stranger curtly explained for her to sneak in, take her things, and flee somewhere, intentionally trying to engage her survival instincts so she could be safe from Elmer. As she blearily complied, he ran in with his blade and raked scars across the man. She had given him a request, blurry yet clear, and he complied. The man was left sobbing, blaming Koda as she blankly ran with blood streaking down his flesh. The man with the blade imparted to him that he would not hurt her again, and knocked him unconscious.

The series of events was unfortunate, but she went to the only other place she knew for real; her parents were not from the village she was born in, and so, she made her way to a place known as Timu town. It was a respectable journey on foot, but she managed to make it, nearly falling unconscious just as she stepped into town. Yet, a woman found her. Not only did she find her, she took her to her home, and nursed her until she awoke.

For a while, although the woman let her stay, Koda remained closed to her, not even exchanging names with her. Yet, the woman pried into her with wisdom that could only be responded to with respect and comfort. Her name was Rhoane, and Rhoane listened to what Koda had to say with a similar respect to the familiar stranger who had given her this opportunity.

And, so, Rhoane allowed Koda to live with (as long as she contribute to the household of course), and Koda's life has been alright since!

Yet, (spoilery for her story), she doesn't realize that Rhoane is the mother of the familiar stranger, *and* her grandmother!... And that the familiar stranger is her father.

Uhh... sorry for rambling. Again, if there are any easy ideas I'm missing to flesh her character out, please point them out! If not, just have my rambling.

She sounds really interesting!! sounds like you've done a really good job of fleshing her out already. Not a specific idea, but I find that if a character needs fleshing out more something that helps is putting them in various different situations that they wouldn't end up in canonically to figure out how they would react in those situations. And sometimes you find out new things about them in the process!

[nohtora]

process stages & comments below

( original painting )

process: i did 70% of this (up to img #6) on my samsung tablet, on my train commutes, battling motion sickness & neck pain lmao

drawing on my tablet is still a lot harder & feels more restrictive for me bc i'm limited by unfamiliar software (still learning CSP) and lack of keyboard shortcuts (my digital art workflow for years). i also struggle with starting / continuing artworks on my tablet unless i've already planned / sketched most of the composition on my PC. likely because 90% of the time when i'm drawing on the tablet, it's on the train. hard to get in the zone as it turns out lol

this is the first full painting i've started and made substantial progress on purely with my samsung tab, so i'm happy it's starting to feel a bit more natural.

also first time i've tried doing a funky gradient map as a colour base. then applied colour on top with multiply blending mode. 10/10 would use fun gradient maps again - helped me introduce more colour variation bc i feel like my colours are usually quite flat by comparison

given the nature of the fucking bumpy melbourne trains & my broken commutes, i can still only do so much rendering on my tablet. the more refined painting will probably always happen using photoshop on my PC bc that's where i feel i have the most control

i tried not to overwork / overpaint it too much as i often tend to do, and kept the brush strokes rough and loose as much as possible. made sure my brush wasn't set smaller than a certain size so i wasn't tempted to go into fine detail. you can see i didn't refine harry's form/clothes much beyond img #4 because i didn't want to lose the soft/loose quality of the clothing folds. pretty damn proud of that shoe though. but then i posted it before i realised i forgot to paint in his fucking tie lmaoooo

but yeah, i got my tablet as a secondary drawing device to help me draw more often so i'm gonna keep trying to get the hang of it !!

composition/concept: the pose was referenced from this shot of arthur in peaky blinders and i had a vision of HDB slumped over in his kitchen like this

the composition was built around that, and i had the idea of framing it him in shadow and having a strip of light from a doorway illuminating his body. evidence of his drinking and smoking are kept in the shadows.

the original idea was to have a silhouette of someone standing in the doorway (likely jean finding him), but it didn't work with the overall balance & i felt like it interrupted the shape of the light too much / wasn't very legible at that angle. kitchen design was inspired by soviet & post-soviet era style kitchens.

*** feel free to send in an ask if you actually want me to explain how i did things in more detail. these are mostly thoughts for my personal reference

[slowlystupendousdelusion]

Some thoughts on Macbeth:

(Spoilers for the 2023 Donmar Warehouse production I guess)

So first of all if you haven't been to the Donmar before, it's a cute little theatre - emphasis on little. Conveniently, it is right next to the Seven Dials Market which does street food (and has toilets you don't have to be a customer to use). Not horrendously priced given its location, but I think drinks-wise it might be slightly cheaper in the theatre itself?

So the theatre staff were friendly and admittance to both the venue and the seating was easy and hassle-free. The headsets have test audio playing prior to the performance so you can check they're fully working ahead of time. Bear in mind there's no interval and they do not let you back in if you need a toilet break. Run time is just under 2 hours.

I enjoyed that the theatre bar had a cocktail special on called 'Out Damn Spot' (It's just a Bloody Mary, but I'm a sucker for stupid things like this.)

Also shout out to the girl with the Macbeth tote bag like the retro penguin books. (Is this like the nerdy equivalent of wearing a band's shirt to their gig?)

So onto the play itself:

The audio was interesting; for the most part I liked it. Every time the directional sound came on for a bird flying past or whatever I turned my head like an idiot so it did work. And it did allow for more intimate delivery. There was occasionally a bit of microphone crackle when the actors were moving but not enough to take you out of the play completely. Also I suppose you get essentially two hours of David Tennant murmuring/breathing into your ear if you're into that sort of thing. You can hear (at least) the louder performances without them but you lose the ambient background noise, and I didn't try in the quieter parts to see how well I could hear.

I really enjoyed the music - I'm not quite sure what I was expecting but it was Scottish trad vibes which was a nice contrast with the rest of the play being more modern.

When I first went in I was a bit worried about the distance because it's hard to gauge the scale of the stage but actually even in the cheap (not-) seats you are not very far away. As a fairly short person in standing I had pretty good visibility throughout.

The whole stage set up is simple but they do a lot with minimal scenery and props. Also the lighting! The lighting is really impactful. The visuals are so striking in spite (or probably because of) the minimal staging and clever use of a two way mirror. They use warm vs cool light to indicate the switch to the supernatural/delusion and the white stage floor makes the silhouettes of the props that are used really pop. I think the final view at the end of the play is basically seared on my brain.

(Full disclosure: I do not have enough knowledge about acting to give nuanced performance reviews) But I thought they were all so good! I liked that they went a more psychological route with the absence of physical witches. The porter segment in the middle gave some comic relief and I'm not sure how much was ad libbed, so quite effective in that respect. Cush Jumbo was great as Lady Macbeth; more sympathetic than some other productions I've seen. Tennant was compelling; basically I was drawn to him whenever he was on stage. It was lucky everyone had headphones on cause embarrassingly I did literally gasp at the child-murder.

My attention didn't wane at all, which given that there was no interval and I was standing, gives an indication of how gripping it was. Would definitely go again if given the opportunity.

[drhu0806]

18. "You always have a plan"

Fandom - Seven Kingdoms: The Princess Problem/7KPP Content warnings - none Other notes - pre-established Clarmont x MC, post-canon, may contain spoilers

Octavia carefully pours from the tea kettle into a pair of cups as her guest takes a seat across from her. Gisette slides into the chair, all elegance and grace as she takes a sip.

“So good to see you again, Octavia,” she greets. “As always your hosting manners are impeccable. It’s nice to see some things don’t change.”

She smiles. “I’m glad you find I haven’t lost my touch.” Reclining into her seat, she ponders her own cup as the pleasantries die away. Gisette’s icy demeanor feels stonier than usual, a sign that this little visit is less pleasure and more business. Still, old habits die hard, and etiquette dictates they engage in some meaningless small talk before the marquess comes to the point.

“Peace seems to suit you well, Octavia,” she says with an obtuse smile. From across the table, she slides a sheaf of parchment over to her. “In fact, the recovery efforts seem to be going quite smoothly, better than previously expected. I imagine you had plenty to do with that.”

When Octavia unfurls the papers and scans them, her eyes narrow. “I do my best. It’s in everyone’s best interests, after all.”

When their eyes meet again, the Jiyelan scholar’s eyes have taken a dangerous, cold edge, to match her guest’s own cool aura. A moment of understanding seems to pass between them.

“You’re correct, it is in everyone’s best interests. But, don’t you think it’s funny, my dear? How not everyone may agree? I overheard something quite interesting the other day. Some of the nobles were gossiping about, actually a bit dissatisfied about the whole situation! After all this work we’ve put in to put everyone on the same page, even. Can you believe that?”

“Yes, it’s disappointing,” Octavia murmurs, distant and disengaged from the conversation as the cogs begin turning in her head.

Gisette doesn’t appear to mind, enjoying her tea and refreshments and continuing as if she was remarking upon something as mundane as the weather. “A shame, really. Still, it’s not as though extreme methods are as suitable in this day and age. Diplomacy is all we have to fall back on to stave away such difficult ideas.”

The visit concludes once the food is finished. Octavia walks the marquess out, and Gisette takes a moment before she leaves.

“It was so good to speak with you again, my dear. I do hope I don’t make for a terrible guest.” She clasps her host’s hands and gives her a look. Octavia chuckles and shakes her head to reassure her.

“Absolutely not. You always bring such interesting topics to my attention.”

“Well, I do hope I can at least entertain given the other burdens I may place on you from time to time.” Her voice lowers to a whisper. “I assume you have a way to address this little problem. You always have a plan, Octavia.”

She responds with a placid smile that belies a frightening intensity within her gaze. “There’s no need to worry, my lady. I have something in mind.”

That’s enough to satisfy the marquess, who leaves without another word. Octavia retires, deep in thought.

Under the light of the bright silver moon above, a guard paces the grounds alone. He stalks the outside perimeter of a group of small warehouses, containing who-knows-what belonging to some rich noble. He’s not paid enough to care what’s inside, really. With everything that’s happened the last two decades, he’s learned not to ask too many questions or get too involved.

His ears perk up when he hears some commotion nearby. Among the shadows he feels he can make out the silhouette of some figure, darting around the little storehouses.

“Who goes there?” the guard calls out.

The shadow freezes, ultimately darting away outside his perimeter. The guard calls out again, rushing after it as he draws his weapon. He gives chase into the nearby brush, following the sound of rustling ahead. It’s several minutes of fighting through the brush before it clears a little, and when he listens again, the sound of his quarry is gone.

The guard curses as he assesses the situation. He realizes he’s run a bit far from his post and, realizing this would leave it unprotected, begins to hurriedly make his way back.

But right when he steps foot out of the brush, he’s rocked off his feet by the sound of a thunderous explosion that sets everything alight. With a cry, he leaps back up and runs back to his post, in the direction of the rolling smoke that rises from one particular spot within the blocks of storehouses.

A warehouse as been nearly reduced to ruins, its walls reduced to nearly nothing but smoldering ash and smoldering pieces of wood. He can hear activity from a ways off as the noise from the blast alerts and awakens others.

He slumps to the ground with a heavy sigh. Well, so much for this job.

“Octavia, a moment?”

She looks up from her book when Clarmont enters the room wearing a bemused expression. “Of course. What do you need?”

“I just have some interesting news to bring from court.” His face momentarily turns grave. “Someone’s discovered evidence of a conspiracy against the crown. A group of nobles who are dissatisfied with our current state of affairs and would like things to go back to the way things were before.”

Her face falls. “That’s troubling to hear. Though, I’m assuming since you’re telling me this, it’s being addressed?”

“Yes, that’s the funny thing.” He leans toward, something glimmering in his eyes. “It was initially uncovered when someone discovered shipments of weapons secretly in the possession of one of the offenders. And how those came to light, well…”

Clarmont shakes his head. He looks like he’s almost about to laugh. “There was an accident. An explosion, actually.”

“Oh my, that sounds dreadful. Was anyone hurt?”

“No, thankfully not. Though, I am curious… You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

His wife raises an eyebrow at him, sticking out a lip in a pout. “Me? Why would you think I had anything to do with that? I’ve been here this whole while.”

“Oh, I don’t know, perhaps because you know more about those kinds of things than anyone else I know,” he chuckles. But he shakes his head, not pressing the matter. “In any case, it was just something I thought you’d like to know. I’ll let you go back to your reading.”

Clarmont heads for the door as Octavia stares at his retreating back with her eyes peeking over the edge of her book. He heaves a sigh when he leaves the room, running a hand through his hair with another soft laugh. Life with her is certainly never boring, is it?

[synergysilhouette]

An alternate take on "Frozen II" (2019)

I'm back! I wasn't expecting to do a rewrite for this, but considering how polarized the feedback for this film is, I wanted to give my own spin on it--but keep in mind, this takes into account my rewrite for "Frozen," so read that first! You have NO IDEA how hard this was to rewrite, especially since I had to alter a lot. Hope you enjoy this, and be sure to check out my rewrites for other revival-era films!

Again: make use of the concept art! Unlike part 1, it doesn't really look historically/culturally accurate to medieval Scandinavia, but at least it looks amazing! Maybe the silhouettes could be changed to make it more accurate. Keep the color schemes, though; I love the oranges and reds used for Anna rather than her black look used in the final product--and yes, I know the last picture is from her Arendelle festival dress at the beginning of the film; I'd like it to be formatted to her travel dress (I like the silvery-grey coat though), as well as using the blues and greens for Elsa.

2. Stay in Arendelle a little bit longer. If you recall my "Frozen" remake, it's a larger kingdom, and I'd like to see it a bit more during "Some Things Never Change" and before we relax in the castle. Considering my other changes, it works out fine; they could be perusing the town when Elsa hears the magical voice. And Liutenant Mattias and his group are never trapped in Northuldra; they remain in Arendelle and didn't have a large role in part 1 due to Agnarr's advice to the staff to keep an emotional distance from the royals.

3. Hans is Anna's main love interest, being a genuine good guy here, and joins the team on their adventure. Given the events of the first film, they actually have been engaged for a while, as Anna is working on her relationship with Elsa and Hans is trying to bond with (some of) his brothers. He's also earned bonus sister points from Elsa because he serves as a confidant to her. Despite being engaged, Kristoff hoped Anna's feelings would've changed, but despite caring for him, she chose Hans.

4. Explore Northuldra culture more, and make Arendelle ancestors (a separate culture from the Northuldra) Sami-inspired. I find it a waste that the Northuldra simply existed to give Elsa a hint to the voice and serve as the victims of a colonial story. In my opinion, they don't live THAT far from Arendelle; they just stay a little ways away, enough to keep their cultural distance while still keeping in touch with current events. Plus they're not stuck in one area. In my version, their mythology would have a BIG impact on the story.

5. Remove Iduna's Northuldra origins. Maybe it's just me, but I do think Iduna doesn't look Northuldran. In my version, she was from a tribal group, racially similar to the people of Arendelle and hidden thanks to the trolls (and I'd also make Kristoff related to them as well). Or if we wanna utilize more of the Nordic mythology, she can be descended from elves, who are said to live in Ahtohallan, where Elsa ventures to find out the origins of the voice.

8. What were different elements in the film now embody seasons: Bruni (summer), Nokk (spring), Gale (fall), and Elsa (winter), which can be spiritual or in corporeal form, usually the former. The nokk (as per mythology) can also shapeshift. I'm removing the rock giants, since they don't really serve a purpose in my rewrite.

9. "I Can't Lose You" is included. After finding out the REAL reason their parents died, Elsa feels awful for how she blamed their deaths on Anna, and Anna attempts to prevent Elsa from shutting her out again, but Elsa is realizing that she's now at a point where Anna may not be able to understand (or survive) Elsa's destiny.

10. After Elsa sends away Hans, Olaf, and Anna, a new trio forms: Elsa, Honeymaron (who joins the team to help uncover the secrets of the voice), and the spirit of a previous winter incarnation named Cajetan. Elsa is able to summon him thanks to her own abilities tied to memory (it's mentioned the nokk can do so as well). A Northuldran from decades ago, he silently guides Elsa throughout he journey to find the voice, with Honeymaron bridging certain gaps in unspoken communication that may be lost on someone not from Northuldra. Can't decide whether or not Cajetan is like a little brother to Elsa or a hinted-at love interest (like I'd make Honeymaron). Regardless, Elsa does have higher priorities here than romance, but the seeds can be sew. The other trios are Anna/Hans/Olaf and Kristoff/Ryder/Sven. It's also revealed the previous embodiment of winter killed Kristoff's parents, as well as many of the ethnic group that lived with the trolls. Elsa suffers a lot of guilt for this, and thus involves Kristoff less in their journey, not wanting to hurt him, especially given that he's still reeling about Anna and Hans' upcoming wedding.

11. "Lost in the Woods" is about Kristoff letting go of his feelings for Anna as she decides to marry Hans, with possible hinting at him being attracted to Ryder, as well as reeling from the reason his family was taken from him.

12. We get a physical, PRESENT, villain. Sound exciting right? Well, my idea for the villain might lose a few people. Diving into the world's religion a bit more, I do like the idea that the Northuldrans (as well as the Arendelle people's cousins) spoke of an embodiment of destruction and chaos, a being that made seasons violent and dangerous, and prevents them from coinciding. Their goal is chaos, hoping to rebirth the world and crafting the wretched mirror that Arendelle royalty eventually gained possession of. Failing to convince Elsa to freeze Arendelle (and eventually the world), they turned their attention to the other spirits, who, due to lacking a human form, were easier to manipulate and control, using them to corrupt Elsa, who could also be the most destructive force if they to control her. The nokk attempts to flood Arendelle, Bruni burns up the Northuldra forest (causing them to relocate to Arendelle for a period) and Gale killing off other forms of life by taking their breath away until there isn't even a breeze in the air. Perhaps I've played too many video games, but I love the idea that he oversees much of the heroes like a deity would, similar to Eris from "Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas."

13. Change Elsa's origins. When Runeard dies in a frost, Iduna prays for the spirit of winter to be born as someone to bring Arendelle out of it's dark age, resulting in Elsa. "Love," as to be expected, is an honorary 5th element, and it's revealed that humans can only embody the seasons if true love is involved. It also explains why Agnarr abhors magic and attempts to put on a tough front. All of this is shown at Ahtohollan thanks to the magical elves who imbue wisdom to her. She spends a bit more time there before leaving, with "Show Yourself" being sung once she's there, and they're able to show her other memories of her family and show how much her parents loved her. Perhaps the "You are the one you've been waiting for" line is sung by the benevolent primordial entity. And Elsa is able to let go of the past discretions of the frost that killed her grandfather and Kristoff's parents.

14. The ending is a bit more open-ended. The chaotic deity is defeated, though it's noted that such things cannot be defeated, simply diminished or banished, similar to what Elsa does by working with the other seasons to defeat the deity. Elsa realizes that unlocking her full potential has made her a target for the deity's wrath, but she believes as long as she has those she cares about, then she can get through anything (it's cheesy, but it's true!) However, she does decide that she wants to learn more about the seasons and the magical world, and asks Anna to be a regent in her stead. Anna (and Hans) accept, with a bittersweet goodbye. The film ends with Anna and Hans kissing (and Olaf watches) while Kristoff, Sven, Elsa, and her seasonal contemporaries make for Northuldra, where Ryder, Honeymaron, and Cajetan await them.

One again, I've got A LOT going on with this remake. Maybe it needs to be a 2 hour movie. PLEASE let me know your thoughts and if you have any questions! I may tweak this later.

Update: I've also made a post about my own take if I was in charge of a Disney movie about the Snow Queen. This adaptation is independent of my Frozen remakes.

[mormshaw]

Thoughts on Trigun Stampede

I can see why this new (reboot-retelling-reimagining-prequel?) show may be divisive for fans of the OG ‘98 show. But for me it’s an improvement on the ‘98 version in a lot of ways (not all ways, but many).

The OG anime was the VERY FIRST anime I ever saw besides a few episodes of Sailor Moon or Pokémon that I may have caught while babysitting. I saw it in high school (2003-ish?) after a friend of mine cos-played Vash for an anime convention.

While I really enjoyed the show (specifically Vash’s arc and character), there was LOTS I didn’t like and it informed my hot-and-cold opinions on anime for a long time.

I adored Vash; I loved the world building of the planet and concept of the PLANTS; I really loved the dynamic between the 4 main protagonists. The music was bad ass. The thematic questions of when is it okay to choose who lives and dies (and whether humanity deserves to be saved) were excellently developed, and the Christian imagery was *chefs kiss*

But the show irritated me in a lot of ways too. I hated what I dubbed ‘face-changing’ when the animation style would shift so suddenly from serious to exaggerated. I found the character design of most of the villains (and Milly if I’m being honest-not her character, her design) to be largely ugly. The animation was stilted and the frame rates were sooooo low even in big fight scenes. And Knives I felt was under-utilized as a villain and his conclusion a bit rushed.

I re-watched the OG before I started watching Trigun Stampede and my opinion stayed pretty much the same (with the added exception that I found Vash’s objectification of women- facade or no- early in the show to not fit tonally with his overall character and was a bit squicky).

But now I’m watching the NEW version and….I’m SUPER digging it. Almost ALL of the things that I disliked about the 98 version have been removed or improved upon and MOST of the things I liked have remained or been updated.

The story has less filler overall. One COULD argue that it is ‘rushed’ but with the announcement of a second season, I really don’t feel like things from before have been removed, just delayed until a later part of the story. The show is more tonally consistent throughout, something I found jarring in the OG.

I feel like the villains, especially Knives, are legitimately threatening, and in some cases are given sympathetic backstories which made them more fleshed out. I appreciated, for instance, Vash being given a history with Monev/Rollo. It made that fight more meaningful since they had a connection to each-other beyond ‘I’ve been told to kill you’.

I still really enjoy Wolfwood as a character here, and am enjoying seeing more of his past. His relationship with Vash is still extremely gripping/endearing. Love the use of Needle-Noggin again.

I think they’ve done something smart with Meryl by giving her development beyond learning to love Vash. She starts out naive here, which is NOT how she is in the OG, but she’s still as driven. I think by shifting her development over 2 seasons and almost treating this season as her ‘backstory’ she’ll be more interesting and three-dimensional for it by the time the show concludes. Not that I disliked her in the original, I just found her more bland than Vash, Wolfwood, and even Milly, as she was a more static character.

Let’s talk about ANIMATION. As stated above, I have no nostalgia for the animation of the original. I found the face-changing off-putting, the secondary character and villain design outside of the main protagonists to be hard to even look at (I’m not including Vash, Wolfwood, Legato, Knives here as they all have excellent and unique designs) and the actual quality to be cheap and stilted.

While I DO think that the OG hand-drawn animation could be a bit more unique and expressive at times in its shadows and lighting (think Vash and his blue glowing eyes in silhouette), this updated CGI animation has almost everything else in its favour for me. No face-changing or off-model characters! Clean, crisp lines! Dynamic and fast-paced movement! Clear and unique characteristics coming across in weight and mass and angles! Beautiful set dressing! Fantastic colours everywhere! Energetic camera tracking! Jacket!

I will say that one thing I keep going back to as something the OG does slightly better is Vash himself. I think he’s just a tad TOO soft-spoken in this version and his comedic and goofy facade has been lost a bit. He’s still fundamentally the same person as the original and he’s so engaging and sympathetic as a character- that remains the same if not better- but I feel his ‘spark’ may have been lost a bit in the re-telling. I’m glad they kept his original voice actor for the update, and I like his more mature performance here.

I’m of two minds on his redesign as well. Part of me loves the new arm and jacket and fluffy hair, and part of me wishes he had a bit more ‘presence’ on screen. He seems…smaller, somehow? His facial expressions are just right, though! He has that ‘older-than-they-look' softness about him that really comes across in his eyes and voice. I’m excited to see if season two continues to bring back more elements of the original character (sleeker, more inconspicuous arm design, and buttoned up coat, for instance).

Overall I’ve enjoyed revisiting Trigun in general, and I’m happy to have a production that has taken something that I loved but saw as flawed, and polished it up a bit and made it shiny and new.

9/10 would recommend.

[yeyinde]

If I had to describe this, I would just say "hauntingly beautiful" or "pure poetry."

This perfectly encapsulates everything I think about when it comes to John Price, and you absolutely rocked this. It is beautiful, blisteringly hot, and I will be reading it many, many times. An absolute favourite. AMAZING!!!!! 🖤

The first time you meet the captain, his edges blend in with the wet asphalt and gunmetal downpour. Midnight adrenaline, vision bleary with disrupted sleep; you’re only able to make out the flickering end of a fat cigar, tucked between his lips and smouldering orange, somehow still alight despite the weather.

You suppose it’s that ironclad conviction, the one you’ve heard of in passing on base. Smelted to every bullet, carved to fit the crows feet that frame his eyes. You see it now, tainted with a conscience rebellion – non discrete, as they’d called it, enough to bend nature itself to suit his tobacco fix.

Only, he marches right past you.

But the white light highlights the captain’s silhouette; grown-in mutton chops, broad shoulders that double your own. He’s wearing a beanie, pulled to his brow, melting into the shadow that conceals his eyes from you. It’s the first time you truly see him – this much of him, anyway. And he’s startlingly younger than you would’ve thought, hair still packed a uniform brown, the occasional wisp of grey speckled in the midst.

All of these descriptions, while being so intensely, blisteringly beautiful, as exactly as I see Price. You've nailed the characterisation I have for him in my head so expertly that this feels a little bit like an out of body experience; like I'm reading some canon official text. It's amazing, and I expect absolutely nothing less from you. These opening paragraphs gripped me like a vice, and literally choked the air from my lungs.

It's poetry. I say this a lot when it comes to everything you write, but it's absolutely true. I can't get over how brilliantly you're able to piece images, concepts, and themes together.

You draw in a long inhale, holding it until your chest aches with blurring hypoxia. Black dots your vision, spurring a pounding alarm at your temples. Your fists clench, unclench, then clench again, nails digging crescent moons into the pruned skin of your palms. You wait, and wait, and think you puncture yourself, a new warmth pooling into your cuticles.

The rain’s eased to a drizzle now. He leaves you molten, steaming with a sulphurous rage.

The descriptions between MC—who is an absolute gem and I will protect her with my life, okay???—and Price are so intense and dizzying. He would absolutely be a total asshole to outsiders who he thought was wasting time. I love his rage. I love hers. I gravitate toward angry characters, and both of them draw me in like a magnet.

The car is stiflingly hot, a vessel for the trapped Uzbekistanian sun and high tensions. Large gulps of air prove insufficient; oxygen runs scarce, recycled through the systems of the several soldiers present. You’d given your seat to Garrick – who, currently, has no use for it, stuck halfway out a window to shoot at your pursuers.

The imagery of this alone hit me with such visceral intensity that it almost felt like I was seeing the image in my head as it unfolded. You have such an immaculate way of fleshing out scenes that are so hauntingly beautiful and I'm in awe each time.

Giving flesh. Not rock-hard with chiselled definition – his body doesn’t carve into pronounced sinew – but solid, all the same. Packed brawn underneath a stretch of ivory skin. His shirt, rucked up to his chest. A trail from beyond his waistband, curly hairs, stark against a crimson backdrop.

FUCK YES, OKAY!!! ABSOLUTELY IN LOVE WITH THIS WHOLE THING RIGHT HERE OMG IM ACTUALLY GOING A LITTLE RABID

It comes into full contact with the swell between his legs.

His grip shoots to your hair, winding at the roots to hold you firm. It’s enough to steady you as you pull back almost immediately, but the phantom feel of his crotch shoved to your nose is slower to leave.

“You watch your tone.” The growl rips from him then, laden with the scratch of singed newspaper, tobacco clustering at the back of his throat. It’s not so much a command than it is a reminder, a recall to your second meeting where you’d found the captain pouring over your file. Swilling the last amount of amber liquid from a glencairn: you nee’ to learn to control yourself, doc. Not everyone is so forgiving.

Haaaaaaaah. I am NOT OKAY. The things these parts did to be single-handedly revoked any entrance to a higher plane of existence.

You don’t know what you hate more. The husky chuckle that erupts at your hushed admonishment, or the fact that you miss them when his fingers leave your hair.

I don't even have words. This was so hot, I had to walk around a bit.

It isn't forfeit, not by a long shot. The gods wrote you with a deathly stubbornness; acquiescent Sisyphus, bound to roll your boulder up an impossibly steep incline. Your back will ache, and your tendons could tear, and you’d continue pushing for the sheer fact alone. Palms sliced open on abrasive rock, you’ve long since stained your white flag with blood and the pink salt of lake atanasovsko.

POETRY, OKAY. This whole thing made me gasp. Everything was so perfect, and it's seared into my head.

He urges the bartender for scotch with a water back, neat, and toasts the foot of a cigar. You hide your simper behind your bottle. Not everyone is different.

Again, so perfectly Price. I would absolutely die to just get a glimpse of what goes on in your head when you write.

“Saw it on that pretty face the first time we met. I figured, a girl so far up her own ass. Probably never had the petulance fucked out of you.”

Hands like the blistering end of a cigar, searing skin as they keep you in place. Your jaw seized in one, the other curled firmly around your waist. You think he’s trying to savour it, the sight of you keening for him, glossy eyes that hang on to the last bits of defiance. Stupid, drunk – not from the sip of soju you’d taken earlier, but off the scent of suede and ash alone.

You lean forward, searching for slightly chapped lips. He lets you get close enough that his moustache tickles your nose, imbued with tobacco, before pulling away. It’s hellsent, some tantalising choreography he’s undoubtedly danced before. But your consequential whine is short-lived, tempered under a severe look when his eyes meet yours. Fingers crushing together, squeezing, so your cheeks pucker up for him. A promise. A warning.

Maduro flavoured spit, he overwhelms you with an unrelenting magnetism. Teeth clashing, his hands on your neck, your hair. It hurts, borderline bruising. Should he give you a moment’s breath, your lips would swell blue, burst capillaries a service announcement to anyone who thinks they could measure up. But Price keeps you to him, his beard rubbing you raw when he pushes his tongue into your mouth.

A loud rip and the sudden rush of cold air on your pussy is what it takes for you to realise he’s stripped you bare, pocketing your torn underwear with a sly shift.

And it’s scorching, heavy. Folding to find the scars dotting the insides of your cheeks, bitten tissue in fits of rage. Sucking the mewls that stream from you as he meets them with his own, guttural groans. You collapse into pliability as he kisses – no, devours – you, losing that sparking centre, torrid effervescence blurring your senses. There’s no rhyme or reason, no connection to the person you’d hammered out of stone. Just drool, a dominating masculinity to melt into. Sticky like a fruit popsicle on some summer’s day.

He touches you like his name is imprinted in bold letters across your navel, implanting blunt fingertips onto your electric centre – circling, harsh and rough and fast enough to spike fully-body tremors. It’s debilitating, overstimulating and somehow, simultaneously not enough; a defibrillator to your core, a deep dive into molasses waters. His thumb takes place on your clit when he finds you clenching around nothing, index and middle inching towards your sopping hole to plug you full.

AHHHHHHHHHH. EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS. EVERYTHING!!!!!!! I don't even know how to put it into words but it's just???? How are you able to take the image of him in my head and put in it words??? Amazing. Incredible.

“I’m goin’ to fuck you how you need to be fucked. Can’ promise it won’t be rough, but if you ever need to tap out, just say the word. Got it?”

“Suppose we will. Update me when you’re tending to a sore cunt.”

And it’s cataclysmic; both everything and nothing all at once. The bout of deathly quiet before a nuclear blast, where birds flock out of trees and you think you can hear the pitter patter of a pulse, erratic at your wrist. And when the ground rocks, trembling with an explosive magnitude, fire erupting in the distance. When you seize up in a ball of fear–

Your cunt clenches impossibly tighter, all but forcing his fingers from you. It’s terrifyingly strong; your orgasm wrecks you not in waves, but as one upturning tsunami, floodgates open to the duvet underneath you.

–and do your best to embrace a quick death.

This is ridiculously beautiful and I needed you know how much it absolutely ruined me. It's stunning.

The first thought that occurs to you; he’s hairy. Not untamed – it’s clear he trims the curls at his groin – but, just like his face, Price exudes masculinity in even the smallest of aspects. You imagine swallowing the length of him, doing your best to take it all, and breathing in unadulterated musk as you’re crushed against coarse hair.

The second; he’s huge. It’s a fact that shouldn’t surprise you as much as it does, but the longer you drink it in, the more inconceivable it seems. You’d known – had face-groped it in the car, felt it poke your ass – and still. It slaps the softer flesh of his stomach, swells under his touch when he wraps his fist around the base.

But then – ridiculously, blissfully – he bends over, so his face is level with your cunt.

And spits.

Why would you do this to me????? You know I can't contain myself 😭😭 hairy Price, big Price!!! God my head is mush right now. Just filled with nothing but this!!!!

Propelled into a cosmic cavity that engulfs you with familiarity. Not some galaxy, beyond the exploration of man (though, you feel you can reach out and touch the stars). More so a fort, made of the quilt your mother had gifted you once. Nostalgic timelessness, hot chocolate glazing your gullet, resting rich in your tummy. You go out of your way to lick the dampness from his skin and place a purpling bite in its stead.

And you think of the desert sun and heat-drunk resentment. Sand, scorching, scratching absurd crevices. You think of yourself, two months ago, holding out from everyone. Part of you is angry (her, maybe, still buried underneath this murky rapture) that it took this long, that you’d forgone fulfilment for fear that your poison would seep through.

IM GONNA CRY. this is so insanely beautiful I don't even know how to articulate how amazing this is!!! I just need to bask in this poetry for a moment!!!

Molten. Viscid. He wasn’t lying when he said you’d be brimming with milky-white, splattered across your insides. Your stomach overturns with the sheer volume of it; already, it oozes from you, slipping from the thick plug of him to paint your quivering thighs.

HNNGNNGNGNNFNFNFNF

Barely friends, hardly more.

But you could be.)

They are together forever. OTP for life. Don't even at me idk. They have a ton of kids together and live in Liverpool near the docs, and he fucks her senseless every single night and that is all. No, I won't take any further comments at this time.

genesis

But the white light highlights the captain’s silhouette; grown-in mutton chops, broad shoulders that double your own. He’s wearing a beanie, pulled to his brow, melting into the shadow that conceals his eyes from you. It’s the first time you truly see him – this much of him, anyway. And he’s startlingly younger than you would’ve thought, hair still packed a uniform brown, the occasional wisp of grey speckled in the midst.

pairing: Captain John price x f!Reader rating: explicit (18+ mdni) word count: 8k summary: the progression of a spite-fuelled relationship warnings: enemies to lovers, literally 4k words of unfettered smut, virginity loss, reader is given a backstory, light corruption kink, tummy bulge, choking, mentions of death, mentions of torture, kidnapping, alcohol, alluded misogyny notes: this became something else entirely and i apologise. credit for the 'choking with an arm' thing goes to @sprout-fics and, by extension, @yeyinde 's anons lol

The first time you meet the captain, his edges blend in with the wet asphalt and gunmetal downpour. Midnight adrenaline, vision bleary with disrupted sleep; you’re only able to make out the flickering end of a fat cigar, tucked between his lips and smouldering orange, somehow still alight despite the weather.

You suppose it’s that ironclad conviction, the one you’ve heard of in passing on base. Smelted to every bullet, carved to fit the crows feet that frame his eyes. You see it now, tainted with a conscience rebellion – non discrete, as they’d called it, enough to bend nature itself to suit his tobacco fix. 

You still, pausing for him to give you the rundown. He doesn’t approach you, not yet, caught in a hissed argument with one of his men. Their voices drift in the howling wind; his, like smoke, curling with a rough aggression. 

Hair plastered to your forehead, water gathering on the tip of your nose; you quietly thank your hasty decision to throw on a lab coat before coming. It proves to be the only barrier between the rain and your dishevelled self – loose pyjama bottoms coming to your calf, knitted socks that start to soak through your army-grade boots. Not a state you commonly adapt for first impressions, though it’s not like you’d had much of a choice. 

Paramedics swarm the helicopter Price had emerged from, pulling out a limp body, blood splattering on the landing pad to be washed away without a trace. It’s nothing you weren’t expecting as the medic on call tonight – the shrill beeps of your pager were enough of an indication that something had gone wrong. Yet your mind reels to pinpoint the face that lulls onto the stretcher. Wrinkled nose, quivering lips – they’re alive, but only just. 

You don’t recognise them. The cooling relief is stupidly selfish. 

A minute later; two soldiers hop off the craft, trooping off with their guns tucked near their chests, entirely dutiful. You note the direction they take, heading towards Laswell’s office – assigned report duty, no doubt. 

Five minutes pass, and the pilot disengages as well. The chopper powers down from a loud roar to a disruptive quiet. The storm still boils overhead, thunder a cracking whip to what had been a peaceful night. You resist the urge to wipe the drops that weigh your eyelashes. You’re soaked to the bone, now. 

Ten. The patient would have reached the hospital bay. An irking sort of impatience begins gnawing on your gut, dangerously fiery for the situation at hand. You cough, despite knowing the captain won’t hear you, and square your shoulders as you take him in again. He hasn’t so much as looked in your direction, locked into a series of gruff nods and whispered commands with the sergeant.

Is his comrade’s life really of that little urgency to him?

The thought leads you down a path you do not want to take. It’s decidedly destructive, a match to the rush of fuming petrol that courses through you. Breathe through it, a clipped voice echoes back to you, reverberating on starched walls and a cold leather couch. Rationalise. Your psychiatrist’s office, post reassignment. I’d wager you didn’t take that time to think before the incident in Bulgaria, hm? 

Pompous bitch. 

You draw in a long inhale, holding it until your chest aches with blurring hypoxia. Black dots your vision, spurring a pounding alarm at your temples. Your fists clench, unclench, then clench again, nails digging crescent moons into the pruned skin of your palms. You wait, and wait, and think you puncture yourself, a new warmth pooling into your cuticles. 

Then, when Price’s conversation dwindles, the flame tempers, mental barricade forming in its stead. A necessary precaution; you steel yourself and prepare for the likely gruesome incident debrief as he breaks off and starts to approach. 

Only, he marches right past you. 

You’re stuck staring ahead, frozen in paralytic shock. Heart lurching, your body thumps with it, disorienting when you turn to his shrinking form.

“Captain!” Your yell whips with the gale. He tosses you a brief look over his shoulder, pulls an especially large drag from his cigar, and keeps walking. 

You snap to your senses and jog to catch up.

“Bulle’ to the chest, punctured a lung. Concussion from tumblin’ rubble but not much else.” He keeps a quick pace ahead of you. It takes all you’ve got not to slip as you disentangle his words from an ashen irritation. 

“Was he given any medication that might interfere with the anaesthesia?” 

“Negative.” 

“Was the wound sealed to keep air from being sucked in?” 

“Affirmative.”

“Did he lose consciousness at any point in time?” You strain, legs screaming as you finally come side-to-side with him. 

“Doctor–” 

“I need to know these things for the procedure to run as smoothly as pos–” 

“Doctor.” He snaps, stomping to a sudden halt before facing you fully. You’ve come to the right wing’s entry, secured with a strict-access passcode your rank is not privy to. The most you know of it is what you can see through the doorway window; a fluorescent hall, illuminated despite the late hour. An office at the end of it. Shepherd, perhaps, engraved on a nameplate. 

But the white light highlights the captain’s silhouette; grown-in mutton chops, broad shoulders that double your own. He’s wearing a beanie, pulled to his brow, melting into the shadow that conceals his eyes from you. It’s the first time you truly see him – this much of him, anyway. And he’s startlingly younger than you would’ve thought, hair still packed a uniform brown, the occasional wisp of grey speckled in the midst. 

You shuffle in place. Your pyjamas cling to your skin, dewy disposition a reminder of how ridiculous you must look. Lip quivering, you tuck it underneath a sucking tooth and glare up at him. 

“Sir.” 

“You’re wastin’ your bloody time with this. One of my men is choking on his own blood,” His finger prods to the general direction the patient was taken in. “And you’re here, mm. Why is that?” 

“It’s procedure.” The statement escapes as more of a hiss than anything else, his hypocrisy clawing at the gummy lining of your lungs.

“Procedure can fuck off this once, that shit’s for the textbooks. Things differ on the field, Doc.”

It hits you, then, who he sounds like. The revelation bleeds into your tone. “Excuse me?” 

“You’re excused. Now go and make sure my sniper doesn’t die on me.”

The rain’s eased to a drizzle now. He leaves you molten, steaming with a sulphurous rage.

“Stop moving.” 

“Can’t exactly do that now, eh?” 

By the fifth time you cross paths with the captain, you’ve already decided you don’t like him. 

To the outside eye, your position does nothing to suggest it. Lewd at best – you sit, crouched between his legs, your elbows propped up on muscled thighs to stabilise the tremor in your hands. The floor beneath you rumbles, the humvee rolling over rocky terrain in its attempt to exfil. Price, stabbed; once in the left lumbar, twice in the umbilical region. 

Ichor soaks through your compress. Your fingers are tacky with dried gore. 

The car is stiflingly hot, a vessel for the trapped Uzbekistanian sun and high tensions. Large gulps of air prove insufficient; oxygen runs scarce, recycled through the systems of the several soldiers present. You’d given your seat to Garrick – who, currently, has no use for it, stuck halfway out a window to shoot at your pursuers.

It’s loud. It’s chaotic. The sergeant driving has no goddamn idea how to do so without messing up your work and your clothes chafe over sweat in the most excruciating way possible. It took you fifteen tries to thread the suture through the needle. It’ll take ten times that to actually get his wound closed. 

And it’s not his fault. None of this can be pinned on him.

Yet–

“Can’t understand why you don’t take the time to reload your ballistic plates. This whole thing–” 

“Jus’ do your damn job, doctor.” 

You swallow the snarl that tears up your throat, burying it alongside a grave of acrid emotion you reserve for men just like him. This situation is profoundly familiar. Bulgaria; the crunch of your general’s nose under your fist. Betrayal sour on your tongue, a sting like you’d never before felt it. It took a whole team to hold you back as he spit upon your bruising temple. 

A cunt. That’s what you are, girl. 

Pray tell, then, what does that make you?

Your next seam is done with fervent hostility. 

It’s only when your penultimate knot is tied that you force yourself to reel in your wandering mind and focus on the task at hand. You’ve one more laceration to mend after this, the length of it throbbing underneath a wad of temporary gauze. It’s that, maybe – festering evidence of the raid you’d just survived – that flushes you in further warmth, a boiling panic still itching beneath the surface. Rip release grenades, the dust of unsettled gunpowder. Your calf twinges from where it was caught under a pile of debris. 

C’mon, doc. Up. Yeah… yeah, there we go. You broken? 

Fine.

Or. Perhaps–

Giving flesh. Not rock-hard with chiselled definition – his body doesn’t carve into pronounced sinew – but solid, all the same. Packed brawn underneath a stretch of ivory skin. His shirt, rucked up to his chest. A trail from beyond his waistband, curly hairs, stark against a crimson backdrop.

Your conviction warbles, so you say nothing when you move to pierce him again. 

It’s unfortunate timing, really. 

His hips jolt at the cold bite of the needle head. The car rocks over a pothole. Some greater destiny, a cackling trio of asshole fates, weave their inexplicable thread. You’re only able to pull your hand back in time – the threat of stabbing him yourself a looming prospect. 

Your face isn’t so lucky. 

It comes into full contact with the swell between his legs. 

His grip shoots to your hair, winding at the roots to hold you firm. It’s enough to steady you as you pull back almost immediately, but the phantom feel of his crotch shoved to your nose is slower to leave. 

For a painstaking moment, the two of you lock onto each other’s stares. Price’s brows buoy, hooding over florentine eyes that spark with an untapped choler. You pretend not to notice the way his lips twitch, how his hand – still on your head – clenches the slightest bit tighter. 

Ticking bomb, wedged in the divet between two floorboards. 

Click, click, click.

One. Two. Three. 

Three beats until you clamp your jaw shut, gathering your surely obscene expression to one of mortified irritability. It’s all you allow yourself. 

“I told you to sit still.” 

Despite the way your words slip between clenched teeth, they sound with whopping pliability. Like he could grind them down, pestle on mortar, and watch as they unfurl, syllable by syllable, to shape some semblance of truth. 

(Honesty; a notion tucked along with happier memories of staying up longer than you should, facing your bunkmate with a bottle of cheap tequila on your lap.

There’s gotta be something you can drink to. 

You’re just wild, Tess. 

Fair, fair. Hmm, alright. Never have I ever…

She cackles at the grimace you pull. 

–given head. Yeah! That’s easy, right?  

Hm.

Wait. Seriously?

Everyone’s intolerable.)

“You watch your tone.” The growl rips from him then, laden with the scratch of singed newspaper, tobacco clustering at the back of his throat. It’s not so much a command than it is a reminder, a recall to your second meeting where you’d found the captain pouring over your file. Swilling the last amount of amber liquid from a glencairn: you nee’ to learn to control yourself, doc. Not everyone is so forgiving. 

You’d only meant to collect a batch of vaccination records for his new recruits. You’d left as you seem to always do with him, rage burrowing into claggy marrow.

Forgiving. Right.

“Sorry, sir.” It’s the farthest thing from genuine.

You don’t know what you hate more. The husky chuckle that erupts at your hushed admonishment, or the fact that you miss them when his fingers leave your hair.

Something shifts between the sixth and the seventh time. 

It isn't forfeit, not by a long shot. The gods wrote you with a deathly stubbornness; acquiescent Sisyphus, bound to roll your boulder up an impossibly steep incline. Your back will ache, and your tendons could tear, and you’d continue pushing for the sheer fact alone. Palms sliced open on abrasive rock, you’ve long since stained your white flag with blood and the pink salt of lake atanasovsko. 

(You used to compliment Tess on her hair – ice blonde, almost white. Her face had matched that deathly pallor when you pulled her up on the grassy bank.)

No. It’s a lot more subtle.

As subtle as kidnapping can be.

A cramped safehouse, post-evacuation. You’d commandeered the one bathroom for a moment alone, crouched over a pail of tepid water functioning as a sink.

Sand clings to you like second skin, grime piled in impossible crevices you can’t clean no matter how hard you try. It’s Price’s gore that washes off first, tainting the murky pool for any who wishes to use it next. Rippling red; it doesn’t disgust you to cup it up and wash your face. 

Three raps strike on the rotted-wood door. 

“Yeah?” 

“There’s, uh… there’s a slight issue we need you for.” Gaz says.

Drawing a sharp inhale, you shrug on your coat and leave to find him standing by the hall. He quirks his head towards the main space, where various voices overlap one another in an effort to make themselves heard. You’re able to single out his amidst the mix, a clipped bark that’d hold more weight had he not been stabbed.

A kid, as it turns out, is the source of such contention. A local who’d seen the red cross on your armband and recognised the universal symbol. 

“What’s going on?” 

“We’re trying to figure that out. I speak a rough Uzbek. Think she mentioned something about her mother being sick,” A sergeant – the one driving earlier – briefs you. 

“Right.” You lick your lips, locating Price in your peripheral before crouching to meet the girl’s height. “Is she nearby, sweetheart?” Her feet curve towards one another, clad in flower-adorned sandals that have seen brighter days. You smooth down the flyaways at her temple, noting the way she searches for meaning in your gentle expression. Hindsight tells you she looked terrified. 

But before you can ask again, you’re met with a gruff command.

“You’re not goin’ to help, doctor.” 

Incredulity spikes, a ruthless parallel to his own dismissal. You slowly turn to catch his eye, piercing from the end of a table. He’s still in his tactical gear, his shirt darkened and sticky across the front. You hadn’t had time to wrap his wounds. 

“Come again?” 

“It’s not our mission.” 

You can’t miss the meaning camouflaged in his vague rejection. Current company dissipates into ash; tunnel-vision – all you see are pursed lips, bearers of an apathetic verdict. Not goin’ to help – like it isn’t your sole reason for being here. 

Temper flaring into a whistling fusillade, you shoot to your feet. Your tone is the first victim, piquing with violent emotion. “She’s just a girl!” 

“We don’ know that for sure–”

“Jesus fucking christ, captain. If you think the enemy’s got their talons this far out, then what are we even doing here?” 

“All I’m saying–” 

“I don’t want to bloody hear it! She’s come to me for help, so I’m the one who’ll make this decision. Should I be ambushed, or worse, you have my full bloody permission to leave me behind.” 

Usually, the bitter aftertaste of citrus rage scalds you. But when you had walked out into the dust-clogged afternoon, you felt nothing but grim satisfaction. 

It only lasted as long as it took for a bag to be placed over your head, a blunt force accompaniment, the butt of a gun to your cheek that sends you spiralling into a brutal goodnight.

The seventh (technically, eighth, as you come to learn) is at a bar in Belgium, two months later. 

Littered in novel scars, the largest one spanning your cheekbone, you swish a dram of soju and drum your fingers on a tacky bartop. The patrons that had originally crowded the space have long since filtered out – your original distraction funnelled to just the drink in your hands. 

So, you sit and think of nothing. 

(Everything, actually, but memories fizz like static. Your period as a hostage stands out as the sharpest of the bunch.) 

It’s been a week since you’d been dismissed from the hospital – though you can’t say the same for your stay there, days fused together to stretch over an undisclosed amount of time. You’re usually on top of things, but being the one in the clinical cot had thrown you off your element. For good now, you think. You prowl Belgian streets with little aim and direction, pardoned from duty until they figure out what to do with you. 

Which makes you wonder how exactly he finds you. 

It’s a hole-in-the-wall, seedy establishment. Swallowing light, artificial lanterns a mild buffer to vignette shadows, slithering up brick walls. 

Still, the captain gravitates to you in your lowest moment – as he evidently has a habit of doing – and takes the stool next to you like he belongs. 

“Nice to see a friendly face.” You chortle. 

Nice gives him all the updates he needs. A debrief on what changed since Uzbekistan; the new woman whittled by torture and the painful consequence to her own derision. 

“You look older.” He nods. 

“Wishful thinking?” 

“Maybe.” 

He urges the bartender for scotch with a water back, neat, and toasts the foot of a cigar. You hide your simper behind your bottle. Not everyone is different.

“How’s the damage?” You point to his gut. He looks confused for a second before remembering the circumstances of your next-to-last interaction. 

“How’s yours, mm?” 

“Healed.” 

“I can see that. Looks better than it did when you’d been extracted.” 

You skim over the fact that he was there for your rescue and breathe in the smoke that twines. Wood, burnt ochre that’s become synonymous with him. You suppose you’d missed it; that rendezvous point for when you were beaten within an inch of your life. It’d been a far warmer scent than rusted metal and sour mattresses.

The conversation dwindles to silence, then. Part of it is the ache that stones you, the revelation that you don’t hate him as much as you’d convinced yourself on. A nebulous inkling that you’d dreamt about him, more than once, curled in on yourself and sore with rue. 

You have my full bloody permission to leave me behind.

But it’s prickling, too. You don’t have it in you to revisit her; you – Doc – whoever emerged all those years ago with an ingenuous vengeance. You focus on the present for the first time in forever, content to relish in it.

So–

The two of you sit like that for a long while after, soaked in dim light, basking in an old dynamic that hasn’t quite found its footing yet. It isn’t until Price finishes his drink do you pinpoint the courage to interject again. 

“You were right.” 

He ponders your confession, turning it over while he takes you in anew. 

“I was.” It’s gruff, short.

And it could end there. A brusque exchange doubling as your apology, more than you ever thought you’d give. But something gnaws on your chest, cramming up in the space between your pounding heart and a rib; the need to spill, to make yourself known, so – if they decide to decommission you – you leave an honest crest in his impression. This might be the last time.

Pyjamas and waterlogged socks. Naivety that bites. You haven’t exactly been the best version of yourself.

You can’t speak the full truth of it, so you start on a tangent you hope will paint it for you. 

“I was a soldier before I was a medic, y’know. Fought in the Bulgarian spec-ops.” 

“Mm. I read your file.” Still, he takes another drag and settles an elbow on the table. Whether he’s curious or genuinely wants to hear you out, it gives you the go-ahead to continue. 

“We were cornered, once, out near the Black sea. Every single one of us was shot. By the end, two were killed, with four following in close footsteps.”

You knock back another swill of soju before continuing. 

“The general ordered an immediate exfil, but the chopper only had space for four bodies. They made the decision to pull every man out of the water, KIA included, while leaving the only other girl and I for dead.” 

Florentine eyes. They flicker with a concern you might have seen before, but were too busy spitting at to properly appreciate.

“Tess was my oldest friend. Couldn’t save her, so–” 

“You try to save everyone else.” 

Your lips pull in a thin line. 

“But you can’t.” 

“Yeah.” You chuckle. “I know that now.” 

“So where are you headed, doc?” 

“What–” 

“I mean. What are you goin’ to do with yourself, now that this noble mission’s been fried, eh? They’re discussing your discharge. Should that happen, you’d be a civilian.”

“I get that. There’s nothing for me out there, though.” 

“Start with what you haven’t allowed yourself this far, then.” 

And he places something on the table in front of you. A hotel keycard, Navarra Brugge printed in a decadent font across its length. The building two blocks away. You bite your lip, mind reeling with every connotation to what the gesture might mean. 

You settle on the most plausible. 

“How’d you know?” 

Looking up at him, your chest flutters when he grins. Handsome. How’ve you never noticed that? 

“Saw it on that pretty face the first time we met. I figured, a girl so far up her own ass. Probably never had the petulance fucked out of you.” 

You scoff with faux offence.

(Part shame).

So, something shifts between the sixth and seventh time you meet. 

Maybe it’s the way you seriously consider the four digits after he leaves – scrawled in black ink, the number to his room.

Hands like the blistering end of a cigar, searing skin as they keep you in place. Your jaw seized in one, the other curled firmly around your waist. You think he’s trying to savour it, the sight of you keening for him, glossy eyes that hang on to the last bits of defiance. Stupid, drunk – not from the sip of soju you’d taken earlier, but off the scent of suede and ash alone. 

You lean forward, searching for slightly chapped lips. He lets you get close enough that his moustache tickles your nose, imbued with tobacco, before pulling away. It’s hellsent, some tantalising choreography he’s undoubtedly danced before. But your consequential whine is short-lived, tempered under a severe look when his eyes meet yours. Fingers crushing together, squeezing, so your cheeks pucker up for him. A promise. A warning. 

“How do y’want this to go, mm?” He says, low enough for the words to reverberate through you. Punctuated – his voice is hoarser at this hour. 

In the dim lamplight, your brows knit together. He must read the confusion. 

“You want me to take it easy on you, dove?” His palm smooths down your waist, eye contact locked while it does, looking for something you wouldn’t be able to pinpoint in yourself. Price’s touch curves along your hip, catching the hem of your jeans, before circling back to cup your behind. It’s gentle at first, a barely-there graze, feeling you out. You puff into the shared air. 

But you can’t speak, not with the grip on your face. You resort to clenching your teeth, hoping he can feel the tick of it. 

“Mm. I see,” His breath fans over you. It’s hot with malt, smoke cloyed to the tongue. The hand on your ass tightens, cleaving between flesh, forcing you upwards. Your pants press taut over your cunt. “How ‘bout this… tell me if it sounds good, eh?” 

You nod. He pats your thigh in response. 

“I’m goin’ to fuck you how you need to be fucked. Can’ promise it won’t be rough, but if you ever need to tap out, just say the word. Got it?” 

Again, you nod, mouth parting once his clutch eases on you. The concession dangles for a moment, bobbing in the thick pause he takes. Two blinks later, still nothing. You take the opportunity to try and capture his lips, a little too eagerly.

He wrenches you back. 

“I need t’hear you say it.” 

Of course. A verbal affirmation. But for– what, exactly? Consent, all things considered, though he simmers with something else. Satisfaction teetering towards a precipice, a covered pot threatening to over boil. His fingers dig into you like they know your softest points, having stewed over them before. You shiver, fluttering with a familiar venom, and think to the humvee in Uzbekistan. Crouched between his legs, propelled onto his crotch. The swell that twitched under your cheek, throbbing, new blood. 

Say yes to yield. To give in to the command of someone new, who’ll know deeper parts of you than what you’d ever allowed. The clutch of your cunt, the sound of your moans. Vulnerability he could exploit, should he want to. 

Yet– 

He’s asking, leading you along and stopping at every hitch. There’s a lifebelt tied to the end of some rope, a thrown-out line; an act worth more than you could credit to anyone before him. 

I need to hear you say it.

It comes from some cavity within you – a rotten place, blackened with decades long neglect.

“I understand.” 

Obedience. Just this once. 

(Then, if the invite extends–)

“That’s a girl.” 

Lightning shoots through you at the praise, flaying you open to his steady presence. Warmth; he’s alive in the way that trees are, thickset, unwavering, rooted to your core as you bleed and breathe and choke on your own delirium. You don’t want it to be known, how reactive you can be. 

Though, you suppose, that’s printed in red ink, stapled to the front page of your file. 

You nee’ to learn to control yourself, doc.

Not here, not now. 

Flooded with the woes of golden pleasure, you don’t notice his subtle nudge upwards, tilting your chin. It’s only when he finally, finally, gives you what you want – the press of his mouth to yours, full force, rough like he said he’d be – that you touch back to reality. 

Maduro flavoured spit, he overwhelms you with an unrelenting magnetism. Teeth clashing, his hands on your neck, your hair. It hurts, borderline bruising. Should he give you a moment’s breath, your lips would swell blue, burst capillaries a service announcement to anyone who thinks they could measure up. But Price keeps you to him, his beard rubbing you raw when he pushes his tongue into your mouth. 

And it’s scorching, heavy. Folding to find the scars dotting the insides of your cheeks, bitten tissue in fits of rage. Sucking the mewls that stream from you as he meets them with his own, guttural groans. You collapse into pliability as he kisses – no, devours – you, losing that sparking centre, torrid effervescence blurring your senses. There’s no rhyme or reason, no connection to the person you’d hammered out of stone. Just drool, a dominating masculinity to melt into. Sticky like a fruit popsicle on some summer’s day. 

He manoeuvres your head, tilting to the right, so he can push further onto you. An expert in all things dizzying; you can hardly keep up with the targeted onslaught. It takes all that is in you to breathe, clinging desperately to the front of his shirt – for purchase, for plea – and relinquish control. 

Your back arches, front grinding onto him. He breaks away, saliva webbing between you, and tuts when you try to follow and bridge contact once more. “So eager, dove.”

Hovering near lightheaded rapture, you say the first thing that occurs to you. “Any slower and I might take charge.” 

Entirely untrue. You’re porcelain in the molten pool of his desire. Harder, and he’d break you. 

But his vicious snarl is enough to balance the lie. A scale tips in you, heavy stone of anticipation weighing on your gut. 

“Mm. Is that how you want to play then?” 

“Dunno what you mean.” 

“Oh, you maddening li’l minx,” Price rasps, backing you up against the edge of his bed. He keeps you from falling onto it with a hand around the base of your neck. “I’ll show you what I mean.” 

Reprimanding, he doesn’t choke you – not quite – though the grip on your throat is anything but gentle. Chafing calluses pressing into gooseflesh-prickled skin, you’re braced to his whims – locked into suspended animation as he takes you in. Your lashes, clumped with blissed tears. The constant, whistled whine, streaming from a punctured lung. Your sweat-flushed cheeks, honeyed sheen, tangy with iodine and still, sweeter than most that drips from you. 

You, stuttering with frenzied pants, and searching for nirvana in his gaze alone. 

His beard glistens with a concoction of both your saliva, and he smiles proudly under the varnish. You scramble on your tiptoes to meet him when he dips in again.

Price, captain. Spearhead of any team, bending rain to mould over a hefty cigar as he barks out rough commands. You’d seen it then, back on base, shivering under a debilitating monsoon. This fire, an unquestioned charge that threatened to batter you into place. One that does exactly that, right now. But you take it gladly when you're manhandled back onto a nest of cool cushions, crawling to your elbows to watch as he pulls his shirt off broad shoulders. Lift your hips for me. Putty, he peels your jeans off with one fell swoop.

“Fuck, look at you.” 

Sinking deeper into oblivion, you grasp onto conventional straws – acts calculated in well-lit showrooms. A babydoll smile, a virginal blush. Your knees tap together as you attempt to shut your soaked panties from his view. 

One well-placed, smarting slap thwarts the attempt. The delicate skin of your inner thigh blazes with a white-hot sting, carved to fit the shape of his palm. 

“Keep ‘em open for me, now. I feast with my eyes first, dove.” 

Fuck, indeed. 

“C-Captain…” 

The breathy murmur comes out broken, composed to the quick cadence of your heart. It slams for space, almost nauseating, squeezing your internal organs as it tries it’s best to just hang on. He’s sin, a transgression to whatever divine laws are sung in stain-glass lit halls. And maybe your body knows – maybe it’s adrenaline, the fight or flight that’s kept you safe all these years, coming back to blare it’s bad news. Red flashes, astigmatism. A cavern of fire ready to swallow you whole.

But if hell is anywhere near as glorious as the feel of his hands on you, then you’d plunge to the devil yourself. 

“Bloody christ. You beautiful thing,” His words, for contrast, are whispered with a reverence so quiet you wonder if he meant for you to hear. “It’s a fucking wonder no one’s tried their way with you.” Secret tenderness spilling to the lilt of it. 

(Not so secret is the lust with which he kneads your hips.)

“They have,” 

Shifting, he brings your legs to either side of him. “Is that right?” 

“None were worth my time.”

“Mm. And I am?” 

“We’ll see.” 

“Suppose we will. Update me when you’re tending to a sore cunt.” 

He doesn’t give you the time to respond, hands anchoring beneath your knees to press your thighs up to your chest. You’re snapped in half, miniscule beneath his body – an anvil with weight alone. Beyond fanned lashes and a feverish glow, you see his arm crook at the elbow, slotting between your thighs. 

But he only grazes over your panties, stretched thin over your drenched centre.

Your hips buck, seeking friction to sate the fattening pressure. Price only entertains your high-pitched whines with gentle hushes. And when they ebb to a varicoloured fog, found in teary eyes, he taps your bitten lips with two fingers. 

You take them in, suckling vacuum around the thick digits. Lapping at his knuckles, smoothing over the tang of saltpetre and binder leaves. He takes a moment to enjoy the balmy envelope of your mouth before reaching deeper, knocking molars and pinning down your tongue until your chest twinges with throbbing hypoxia. Spittle pools behind your teeth, dribbling from the seal of your lips to coat your chin. 

You have half a mind to doubt it, to curl in with the knowledge that all it took was a stern stare and some words of comfort for you to debase yourself. But Price meets your insecurity with a reinforced thrust of his pelvis, hard-on grinding into your ass. It’s enough to send you unquestioned lechery. 

A loud rip and the sudden rush of cold air on your pussy is what it takes for you to realise he’s stripped you bare, pocketing your torn underwear with a sly shift. Your jaw remains unhinged when he pulls away, tasting the stench of sex that clots sticky at the back of your throat. As such, there’s nothing to dampen your needy cry when he slips the slicked digits between velveteen folds. 

He touches you like his name is imprinted in bold letters across your navel, implanting blunt fingertips onto your electric centre – circling, harsh and rough and fast enough to spike fully-body tremors. It’s debilitating, overstimulating and somehow, simultaneously not enough; a defibrillator to your core, a deep dive into molasses waters. His thumb takes place on your clit when he finds you clenching around nothing, index and middle inching towards your sopping hole to plug you full. 

And the stretch burns, squeezing into a space that’s only ever taken your smaller hand. It doesn’t hurt so much as it aches, your cunt rushing to accommodate the intrusion. You know, you know, it’s a fraction of what’s to come – he’s preparing you to take him, that hefty appendage that’s so big it can’t even slot in your ass, confined and all. Yet, you feel as though you should’ve been readied for this too. This scissoring – chock-full of competency, an expert hook that isolates the perfect spot off the get-go. A part of you you’d never been able to reach. 

His free hand cradles your neck, steadying it as he crouches over you to shove his tongue down your maw. It’s not a kiss, far from the lip smacking of before – no. Price bleeds his groaned compliments into your lungs, battling for what orifice of yours can make the lewdest sounds. Your moans, choked on scotch-spiked spit, or the battered, airtight clinch, gushing new slick with every quirk of his fingers. 

“Mm, you’re– fuck, love. So goddamn tight, you’re practically cutting off my blood flow.” He curses, voice damned with restraint. It settles in the back of your head, forced through the bromine-doused cotton that lines your skull. Nothing makes sense. Vowels form shapes that dance to an off-tune song, edges slicing you, severing synapses. Something about blood, something about love. You’d always prided yourself on deciphering the most complicated of inflections, but never were you given the handbook on empyrean pleasure. 

You can only guess based on what you see. Ivory skin, smudged at the edges, no hard lines to his form. Washed with contoured muscles, a peach blush, ripe enough to sink your teeth into if you can muster the energy. A bristly beard, carving you cell-by-cell, scraping the sensitive skin between your chin and lower lip until all that’s left is a bottomless chasm to drool your words into. You don’t dare roll your eyes back, can’t bear to shut them, even as your peripheral vision fuzzes out. 

“C-Ca–” 

“None of that. C’mon, love. John.”

“John! Sir–” 

“Say it again.” 

“J-John,” 

His thumb presses down with a vengeance, bearing down on a trillion little nerve endings that flare up, liquifying your guts into a viscous substance, heavy as it sloshes around in you. Your muscles tense, screwing into tight knots, your hips lifting off the mattress. Price’s nose taps yours while he peppers you with small pecks – your top lip, the corner of your mouth, your chin.

And it’s cataclysmic; both everything and nothing all at once. The bout of deathly quiet before a nuclear blast, where birds flock out of trees and you think you can hear the pitter patter of a pulse, erratic at your wrist. And when the ground rocks, trembling with an explosive magnitude, fire erupting in the distance. When you seize up in a ball of fear–

Your cunt clenches impossibly tighter, all but forcing his fingers from you. It’s terrifyingly strong; your orgasm wrecks you not in waves, but as one upturning tsunami, floodgates open to the duvet underneath you. 

–and do your best to embrace a quick death. 

He gives you a moment to find yourself. Boneless, you sink into the bed, teetering towards oblivion. 

“Tired already?” He teases, massaging your calves with subdued vigour. The fingers once knuckle-deep in you slide into his mouth, waitressing your spoils to his eager palate.

“Mmnn…” 

“Best snap out of it, precious. I’m not nearly done with you yet.” He draws away to tug down his pants, taking his briefs along with it. 

You don’t really… process it, right away. Expression dazed, you stare dumbly down at his leaking cock, reddened head angry at his prolonged control. Reality finds you in increments, foam lapping at a sun-soaked shore, carrying with it seagrass and brine. 

The first thought that occurs to you; he’s hairy. Not untamed – it’s clear he trims the curls at his groin – but, just like his face, Price exudes masculinity in even the smallest of aspects. You imagine swallowing the length of him, doing your best to take it all, and breathing in unadulterated musk as you’re crushed against coarse hair.

The second; he’s huge. It’s a fact that shouldn’t surprise you as much as it does, but the longer you drink it in, the more inconceivable it seems. You’d known – had face-groped it in the car, felt it poke your ass – and still. It slaps the softer flesh of his stomach, swells under his touch when he wraps his fist around the base. 

Last (a final position you credit to your own humility); he’s practically throbbing. Life pulsing in the thick veins that branch up the frenulum, oozing copious amounts of prespend. You’re shaking your head before you have time to come up with an adequate response. 

“That’s not gonna fit.” 

Stupid. He’s got you cock dumb and he hasn’t even fucked you yet. 

For a moment, he backs away, kneeling at your ankles. Dread swarms you, buzzing doubt. Of course he’d lay off at your admission, he made it clear he prioritised your consent above his own gain. You can’t help but think it fitting; a slip up is what ended up costing you ecstasy.  

But then – ridiculously, blissfully – he bends over, so his face is level with your cunt. 

And spits. 

Squealing, you throw a leg over his neck, winding your hands in his ruffled hair. His jaw remains hidden behind your pubis, but the scrunch of his eyes tells you enough. He’s smiling. 

“Hey–” 

But Price doesn’t listen. He reaches up to rub his saliva over your folds, careful to especially do so over your tender entrance. As he does, his tongue – that expert, warm, wet tongue – smooths over your clit, sucking it back to a swollen floret. 

You keen, bucking into his ministrations. Watered boscage, you come alive with new life, a fresh vigour under a pink spring. 

(He threatens the delicacy; raging sun, eclipsed, now, by his role as captain – caregiver – but verging on a supernova. Ever the firestarter, you’ll abandon reinvigoration in a heartbeat for ruin instead.)

“We’ll make it fit.” 

Something you’d never admit so long as you’re bound to this underworld, cursed by Zeus and shackled to your boulder – you already feel another climax impending, with just the effort of his mouth alone. 

So you pull his hair until he’s made to detach from you, entertaining your command, crawling up your body for his lips to smash yours once more. 

“Just fuck me.” You whisper against him.

“Watch your tone.” He replies.

And it’s enough of a symphonious statement to truly emphasise it when he catches the divet of your cunt, sculpting you into a paradigm figure of devotion as you catch his eye. Florentine, glinting with an ardour you mirror in your own. Hooded under a heavy brow bone, blending into a perfect nose. Wrinkles and age lines and still so in tune with your much younger self. 

You bite your lip when he finally drives inside you. He cradles your head to the curve of his neck. 

“Fucking hell, dove.”

“Haah–”

Exclamations groaned simultaneously, unravelling ribbons curled with the sharp blade of a knife. It’s the same, flickering sting, a pressure less than pleasurable cramping in your lower gut. But they exist as subsidiary, fleeting points to acknowledge and move on. Nothing can trump the deluge that is his cock slotting into you, bursting through a dam that shifts to fit hard ridges – sucking him deeper, deeper. 

“Jesus– fuck. Nngh– you perfect… perfect little–” 

When he’s more than halfway through, you figure it’s safe enough to contract what you’d been trying to relax. You nuzzle your face further into his shoulder, nosing Maduro and suede, drinking the heady fragrance of his sweat-infused cologne. You wind your arms up around him, driving nails into rigid muscle, and search for purchase as he bottoms out with the aid of your squelching uptake. 

“So– Yersobig.” You slur into him, muffled. 

“I know. I know, precious. Breathe through it,” 

And his hand trails downwards to find your clit again, lubed under his efforts. He emphasises his reassurance with a precise rub, right over where you thrum fierce and hot, feeding the gluttonous depravity that begins crawling up your legs. It festers like a day-old wound, sticky and raw, delicate at the seams. 

In between croaked moans, you voice your voracity. “Jus’ move, old man.” 

Price’s chest rumbles. You flush with the thought of making him laugh. 

And promptly quiet down when he draws out of you in his first stroke. 

Because oh.

You don’t get used to the sensation, after all. 

Every thrust, you’re able to discern a new part of him. One, and it’s the veins that slide perfectly across your walls. Two, and it’s the way he thickens the further he pushes in, stretching your sensitive skin to its limits. Three, four, five; his mushroomed head wedges against the gummy wall of your cervix, pumping you full of leaden warmth.

You’re fucked. Literally and figuratively.

Propelled into a cosmic cavity that engulfs you with familiarity. Not some galaxy, beyond the exploration of man (though, you feel you can reach out and touch the stars). More so a fort, made of the quilt your mother had gifted you once. Nostalgic timelessness, hot chocolate glazing your gullet, resting rich in your tummy. You go out of your way to lick the dampness from his skin and place a purpling bite in its stead.

He ducks to graze his lip on the shell of your ear. You shudder under the gesture’s exposing simplicity. 

“You’re takin’ me so well, dove. Doin’ so good for me.” He groans, sap onto a crackling bonfire.

“Y-You– s’feels so–” 

“You can do it, c’mon,” As if to challenge you, he gains speed, pistoning at a brutaller pace. 

“John! Oh my god, oh my god. You can’t do that. I’m gonna…” 

“Cum for me, then. Make a mess of yourself.” 

And it’s the filth he utters over anything else. The string of obscene promises, sung for only you to hear, his balls slapping your ass and his prespend smearing milky white on sweltering walls. Captain – sir – who orders death in dire seconds, who depends on cigars and the quick-thinking action of his subordinates. Taking on that same pitch as he urges you to find release, a slow-creeping apocalypse waiting to happen at your core. 

So perhaps he still asks for calamity; perhaps he knows you’ll lose face the moment you’re milked for all you’re worth. 

You give it to him anyway, collapsing over a pressed-pedalboard longing. 

Nerves snapping, limbic system miswiring. You wrap your limbs around him and black out before you feel the full effects of it.

You resurface half a minute later and find yourself in a completely different position. Axis turtled, he’d flipped you over on your hands and knees to spear you from behind. 

“What was it I asked of you, eh?” 

His chest fits along your back, tree-trunk arms wrapped around your waist. You barely hear him under the pool you’d been thrust into, his words splintered like the tune on an old record player. You hang there for a perennial moment – not quite floating, not drowning – blinking as the world rocks by in a blur of creme and gold.

Your elbows buckle. He has you before you fall face first into a cushion, a forearm buttressing your collar. The action hauls you upright, until you can rest your head on his shoulder. Blood rushes to your head.

Ragdoll is the first thing that occurs to you. Wool lined with cotton, pilled stitching. 

“T’tell you…” You croak, parched.

“Mm?” 

“F’it was too much.” 

“Is it, dove?” He speaks against your cheek, placing a sloppy kiss on the upraised plane. You lean into it, nose bumping his. 

“No… no. Keep goin’, please.” 

Price needs nothing else.

You flop onto his full-bodied support, temple slick with moisture, itchy when it scuffs his beard. His cock plunges into new depths like this, pummeling your abdomen with a noticeable bulge, his fingers brushing affectionately over the extrusion. You’re somewhat cognizant to it – awake to what’s happening, aware of the loving nature – but say nothing. 

The arm spread across your chest rises to your throat, wrapping around the lean length. It constricts enough air to bring stars to your eyes, pulsing flashes of nirvana, speckling the freckled skin that fills your vision. 

“Gonna –  fucking… cum inside, precious.” He screws them shut, his face scrunching, a lined portrait in sybaritism. You weakly nod along. “You’ll be bursting with it. Will feel me for days, won’t you?” 

“Yhh– Hahh…” You struggle against his choking hold.

“Shhh. It’s okay, I know. I got you.” 

You grab onto his wrists, winding around the hair that dusts them, bouncing with the unrelenting roll of his hips. You’re so full, it’s too much–

And when he stutters – the smallest, most imperceptible amount – you tighten your core and brace against the torrent that stuffs you. 

“Fuck.”

Molten. Viscid. He wasn’t lying when he said you’d be brimming with milky-white, splattered across your insides. Your stomach overturns with the sheer volume of it; already, it oozes from you, slipping from the thick plug of him to paint your quivering thighs. 

And you think of the desert sun and heat-drunk resentment. Sand, scorching, scratching absurd crevices. You think of yourself, two months ago, holding out from everyone. Part of you is angry (her, maybe, still buried underneath this murky rapture) that it took this long, that you’d forgone fulfilment for fear that your poison would seep through. 

Another, newer part of you forgives the orchestration of your life thus far – Bulgaria, Tess, the general and the sick process that enabled him. If this is what it was all building up to, then you can find contentment, tucked somewhere in the scant space between you and your captain. 

(Stupidly selfish, you recognise, even now. Like looking at dead soldiers and exhaling when you realise they’re not someone you know.

Perhaps it’s the tip that catches your the divet of your cunt when he pulls out, designed to fuck those experiences out of you. 

Barely friends, hardly more.

But you could be.)

taglist: @guyfieriii @nqberries @kkinky @ravenhood2792 @allekat1988 @rattlemyb0nes @simonrileywife @melancholyy-hill @sexlapis @s-u-t @sweetybuzz25 @hypernovaxx @glassgulls @superbafango

[bearpillowmonster]

I know you see Moana 2, this year no less, but really it's not all that exciting. One of the reasons Moana was so good in the first place is because it was from Jon Musker and Ron Clements, who literally made the Disney Renaissance and Moana was their last film. Plus we had Lin Manuel Miranda basically at the top of his game because this made the most name for him, only after did he get all these other hit roles to play in the music department or even acting and well, none have hit as hard, so he's apparently not coming back.

I'm not discrediting whoever takes these people's place, I'm sure they do great work, which the director was already announced and he also did Raya which...brings me to Disney's most recent track record. They just haven't been doing so hot with good movies, I think maybe Encanto actually made a splash and everything else has been received mostly poorly. So who's to say how Moana 2 will be any different.

They also announced a series of other projects that were in the works and their release dates with Inside Out 2 and rough years for other sequels and a whole frickin Disney universe in Fortnite, you think this is a joke?

But you have to realize why they're doing this, why today just all of the sudden, I mean it's just a bit odd that- OH MY GOODNESS

They're baiting you. They're trying to cover up as much as they can saying "Look, look what we have in store this year, forget all about a few hours ago and what's to come later on." It's all so obvious, it's all so planted, even talking about it makes me cringe because it obviously worked to a degree. Don't let Disney trick you, talk about how they could very well lose this battle, give them a fight.

(It was also Disney's Quarter 1 Earnings Call but it's all so coincidentally placed, tell me it doesn't have SOMETHING to do with it. They had to have known it was coming and scheduled around it or even hastily posted the stuff that should stay under wraps)

Don't give in to the shill, resist their corporate branding. I mean how blantant can it be when they flex their companies all over Fortnite, there's literally an island with Marvel, Star Wars, Pixar, Fox, ESPN, their flipping cruise line and Disney+, that's horrifying. How corporate can you get? Even from just a design standpoint and this is coming from a Kingdom Hearts ride-or-die, they actually take care of their worlds and properties that they choose and then incorporate it into a story without trying to straight up market to you, it's that simple, KH fans know that Disney is just the side-piece to an already delicious meal. Fortnite won't be that. It will never be that. I don't care if you can access Disney+ inside a video game to watch with your friends (doesn't that go against what you cracked down on?) I don't care what maps or characters you have and it really goes to show that they don't give a flying f- anymore.

Nintendo wanted Samus in Fortnite as well as Epic Games but Nintendo wanted it exclusive to Switch (which isn't really possible given the nature of the game) but it goes to show that they're picky about what they choose to do and they can be. Back in the day, Kingdom Hearts had to fight to even get Mickey to appear and instead we got a 2 second silhouette and it was awesome. Now they're tossing him out like candy, yeah his copyright basically expired but then we have the violence factor. You shoot people...with guns...in Fortnite. You straight up murder people then dance over their corpses which would've been the pig's behind back then, every news station would be covering it saying that it's trying to corrupt children (those darn video games at it once again) and so Mickey isn't in a fighting game. But here we are. They censored Epic Mickey so that it wouldn't look too scary. But here we are. They've given up, they'll loan out to whoever offers the money because they're weak. I know it's hard but-

Get the old regime out and bring in a new brighter future, one not so corrupted by money and corporate ideals.

[bratkook]

come over. (m) jjk

pairing. jungkook x reader genre. smut, pwp,  warnings. jungkook is a self proclaimed pervert, smut in forms of: mutual masturbation, voyeurism through bedroom windows, rough sex, oral (m receiving), jungkook is a lil mean but just a little, dirty talk, use of vibrator, multiple orgasms, forced orgasm, overstimulation, unprotected sex word count. 7.2k summary. the guilt of being a dirty peeping tom eats Jungkook alive, not knowing this was all part of your elaborate plan to sleep with the new neighborhood eye candy. author’s note. #84 requested by @taestybae​ from this promp list! ty for sending this in bby 🖤 (requests now closed)

Jungkook knows it's wrong, god does he know it's wrong. Acting as if he didn’t mean to leave his blinds cracked open, tilted at just the right angle that allows him to still be able to see out, the view he’s granted being your own window a few feet away. 

It’s funny now, how when he had first purchased the town house he had hated how close his neighbors were to him, and now here he was, an absolute pervert who was thankful for the narrow distance between your buildings.

The self proclaimed pervert simply sits at his desk, mindlessly going through work emails while his eyes continue to drift up, staring through his blinds for any sign of movement. 

Jungkook’s chest feels tight as he waits, eyeing the ticking clock in the corner of his screen and seeing it was nearing nine at night. Maybe you had plans tonight, going out with your friends, mind too preoccupied to indulge the filthy fantasies Jungkook had swirling in his head. It had become his favorite daily activity, sneaking a peek at you, sometimes doing simple things like relaxing with a face mask, or having a dance party. 

Of course those moments were all adorable but his favorite moments were the ones where you would walk around topless or lather lotion on your body after a shower. Sometimes you’d take the teasing a step further, blinds fully opened with only the sheer curtain coming in between him and your shadowed silhouette, caught in the act of what he could only assume was you touching yourself. 

Jungkook used to think it was purely accidental, just a careless neighbor who had no idea his bedroom had the perfect view, but he swore you had made eye contact with him far too many times for this to not be intentional.

Before his mind can spiral further, there’s suddenly a flicker of light and like a magnet, Jungkook’s eyes lock in to their target, seeing you walking into your room with a small towel draped over your shoulder, sports bra and tiny workout shorts showing him how your body was glistening in sweat. 

Pushing off his desk, his chair rolls and squeaks along his floor so he could get a better view, completely invested in seeing the way you get comfortable after your trip to the gym. Call it creepy or call it attentive but Jungkook had grown to know your schedule, you were his neighbor who enjoyed giving him peep shows so it was sort of hard for him not to realize the usual routine you had. However, this was the first time he had seen you come back from the gym this late. 

Jungkook groans now at his realization, palm coming to rub down his face as he hears his own thoughts, behaving like a man who had a notebook where he jotted down your schedule. 

He didn’t, but still, he felt like a creep. A dirty fucking creep. 

With his eyes screwed shut he shuffles the chair back to its rightful spot like a child in time out, angling his body to prevent his wandering eyes from looking through his window once more, the shame once again eating away at him like it did every time. 

Did you really do this on purpose? 

Of course you did, you weren’t stupid. 

The second Jungkook moved into your neighborhood he became the talk of the street, suburban house moms, young teenage girls, even your elderly neighbor had begun to wonder who the cute boy who went jogging down the street was. He oozed sex appeal, not even realizing how swooned he had everyone with his morning workout, he just thought everyone waved and smiled at him out of pure friendliness. 

Although he had no idea how hot he looked, you were blessed with the gift of vision and common sense. It only took you one glance of him exiting his house, long hair partially tied back, running shorts hugging his thighs so beautifully and you were sold. 

The minute you realized he was your next door neighbor it was like a lightbulb went off above your head, it was a blessing in disguise and you were not about to pass up the opportunity to have this go in your favor. Giving him a front row seat to you and everything you had to offer was the cards you chose to play and so far it had been going well. 

That is until you exit the shower, excitement coursing through you, already wondering how you’re going to tease him tonight. With your towel loosely hanging around your chest, you’re ready for the small show, but as you get into your usual position you notice that his blinds are now tightly closed, no gap between the shutters to allow him a peak of you. 

It’s a sudden and very unexpected chain of events. With a small huff of disappointment you perch yourself onto the end of your bed, directly facing your window as you sit in thought, your saucy plans for the night being ruined. 

Wondering just what could have made Jungkook flip a switch like that kept you up at night so when you see him coming in from his run the following morning as you leave for work you don’t think twice about speaking up. 

Your neighbor flinches when you greet him in good morning, not expecting to hear your voice so close to him but he could thank your connected driveways for that. 

“Oh, good morning.” he smiles politely, pulling out his airpod and pausing his music entirely to give you his full attention. The small nerves of being called out bubble up inside of him, only having talked to you once prior he wasn’t really sure where this conversation would go, were you about to call him a disgusting pervert?

“Did you call it a night really early last night?” You bite instantly, soft smile not giving away your true intentions but he knows, the way his eyes widen slightly make it obvious. 

“Yeah,” he sputters out, wiping his sweaty palms on his black shorts, nerves already making his heart skip. You knew, there was absolutely no way you didn’t and this solidified it. He had assumed you did, his guilty conscience making him believe what you did was intentional in order for him not to feel like the peeping Tom he very clearly was, but hearing you sneakily admit to knowing he hadn’t watched you last night made him feel like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over him. 

“Haven’t been getting much sleep lately so..”

You simply nod along as he trails off in a lie, lips spreading out into a smirk as your eyes very obviously give him a once over, focusing on the deep cuts of his sleeves that expose his sides and art filled arm, how the shorts he wears hit above his knee and leave his glorious thighs out for you to see. He was truly blind to his good looks. 

“Sorry I haven’t really given you a proper neighborly welcome, can I have your number?” Already fishing your phone out of your pocket because you knew he wouldn’t say no, still you tack on a helpful lie to make your flirting a little more subtle. “The neighbors have a group chat, I’ll add you to it so you can get all the hot gossip.”

If he knows you're lying he doesn’t show it, instead he looks a tiny bit disappointed that you wanted his number to add him to a neighborhood group chat. Regardless he recites his number with a smile, his phone instantly vibrating in his palm with a text from you, a friendly ‘hi neighbor’ with a waving emoji at the end. 

As he starts to save your contact you open up your car door, grabbing his attention once more. “I’ll text you if I ever need sugar...or other neighborly things.”

The suggestive teasing in your tone isn’t lost on him now, his cheeks flushing at the implications behind your words. “Yeah, whatever you need.” 

He’s admittedly even more disappointed when your message thread runs dry, not even being added to the gossip group chat that he was sort of curious about. You hadn’t even given him a show since the night he shut his blinds but it was all part of your plan, expertly crafted to go in your favor. 

While you’re at work you get the email that sets everything in motion, a notification of your package being out for delivery. A very cute baby pink wand would be placed at your door step in discreet packaging and if things went the way you anticipated it would be making its proper debut tonight, hopefully with an audience of one. 

Jungkook is pulled away from his computer screen when his phone vibrates against his desk, your name illuminated on his homescreen. He pauses for a moment, wondering if this was simply a text initiating him into that damn group chat that he had no idea didn’t actually exist, but when he unlocks it and opens up the thread he sees it's just you. 

Y/N 3:48pm : hi jungkook, sorry to do this but im getting a suuuper important package delivered today could you please keep it safe until i get home later tonight? 🥺🖤

You wanted him to guard a package, just neighborly things, exactly what you said you would text him for. 

Jungkook 3:49pm : sure, what is it?

He feels stupid immediately after hitting send, fingers curling together into fists as his eyes glare at his screen. Why the hell would he ask what the package was? Being a peeping Tom was clearly not enough, no he had to know about your online purchases. 

Y/N 3:52pm : just something for sore muscles 😅

Just like a typical horny boy would, his mind wanders to what exactly could be in the box, quickly texting you an ‘okay!👍🏻’ before locking his phone altogether. He was going to lose his mind. 

All according to plan. 

Jungkook guards that package with his life, placed delicately on his kitchen counter, exactly where he left it the minute he saw the postman drop it off. He’s been glued to his couch since then, regularly looking over his shoulder to ensure the brown box wouldn’t spontaneously disappear. 

Just as he feels himself getting antsy the gentle knocking from his front door has him springing up from his couch, pausing a few feet away from the door as he eyes the knob before looking back at the package. Should he greet you with it in his hands, or would that seem like he was trying to rush you away?

When you knock a second time he opts for just opening the door, seeing you standing there with that friendly smile, a small tweed skirt and matching top showing him you had just got off work, his eyes focusing on your exposed legs for a moment too long until your voice snaps him out of it. 

“Hi Jungkook,” you greet him with that honey sweet voice, the tiny glimmer in your eyes betraying you but he doesn’t spot it. “Did you get my package?”

“Hey, yeah I did.” Leaving the door ajar, he steps further into his home, quickly retrieving the light box and bringing it to you, still patiently waiting with that polite smile as if you didn’t know what was packaged inside that box. 

“You’re a lifesaver!” you cheer, holding it close to your chest with a small sigh, “I don’t know what I would’ve done if this got stolen.”

Jungkook can feel his face warm up, not able to stop his mouth from running on autopilot, unintentionally outing himself as an extremely observant neighbor. “You must be really sore from going to the gym all the time huh?”

There's a silence that falls over you both as you eye him curiously, gaze flickering with the same mischief from earlier, something he can easily spot now and he desperately wants to shrink into himself. 

“Definitely,” you agree with a laugh, “thanks again, have a good night!”

And just like that you’re gone, leaving him with his forehead pressed against his front door as he feels like an idiot. “Really, you must be sore?” He mocks his own voice, rolling his eyes before standing up straight and retreating back into his room to finish the work he had neglected in favor of protecting your package. 

The same package that you were currently clutching onto as you bolted up your stairs with a pair of scissors in the opposite hand, debatably not the safest choice but it had to be done. You feel like a crazed woman as you stab into the clear tape to break the seal, peeling back the flaps and letting out a giddy laugh when you spot the sleek white box, a photo of the device printed on the front. 

With steady hands you pull out the prized toy, carelessly tossing the empty boxes to the side, hearing them land with a light thud. The soft silicone against your thumb fills you with anticipation, a silent click against the first button dulls down the excitement when it refuses to turn on. 

“Stupid fucking chargers.” you grunt, setting the device down and making your way back to the discarded boxes, pulling out the tiny white cable to plug it in. 

The provided pamphlet states a full charge in one hour, plenty of time for you to get a grip on yourself, the last thing you needed was to rip open your blinds and come face to face with your hot neighbor with the crazy eyes you’re sure you were sporting earlier, you really didn’t need to scare him off before the main event. 

Jungkook is none the wiser as he mindlessly scrolls through the endless data in front of him, eyes floating through the numbers in a dazed manner, his mind far too occupied with that stupid package. He knew exactly what it was, proudly deciphering the code of something for sore muscles to spell out vibrator for him in giant neon letters. 

Were you using it now, in your bedroom a good feet away from his own, laid out on your bed directly in his line of sight?

His mind continues to play out salacious scenarios as you finish applying your favorite lotion after the small body shower you took, the silk robe hanging off your shoulder as you bend forward. Your pink toy lays on your bed, the buttons now blinking to indicate a full charge, your plan was now back in motion. 

As you step back into your room and slowly crack open your blinds you realize Jungkook’s are still tightly shut. Looking up into the slowly darkening sky you notice the clouds beginning to loom overhead, a smile spreading on your lips as you think of a way to get Jungkook to open up his blinds for the show. 

Jungkook’s phone buzzes with a text a few seconds later, eyes widening slightly when he realizes it’s from you. 

Y/N 7:02pm : lol does it look like its gonna rain to you?

His head tilts in confusion at your question, nonetheless he stands from his desk, fully sliding up his blinds to stare up at the sky. When he notices the grey clouds he looks down at his phone to start to type, the small flash of movement from across the way making him freeze, looking directly through your window once more and seeing you innocently sitting on your bed, staring right at him with a smile. 

Jungkook can feel how wide his eyes get as he stares at you, leg crossed over the other as you rest back onto your palms, head tilted as you wave at him in greeting. Right where you want him. 

His hand raises up to wave back at you, the voice in his head screaming every obscenity he could think of as he attempts to smile, the grimace in his face making it hard for you not to laugh. 

You start slow, wanting to give him enough time to shut his blinds if he really wants no part in this, your hand coming up to begin pushing the robe off your shoulder further, the first sliver of skin being exposed to his eyes. Jungkook wants to scream, bang his head into the glass as he sees the way your skin glimmers, already knowing you had lathered on that damn lotion of yours. 

When he doesn’t move you let the other sleeve fall down, the swell of your breasts holding up the soft material, shielding them from his sight for another moment. Your eyes never leave his face, needing to see his reaction when you sit up straight and let the material pool around your hips, tits fully exposed for him to see. 

His reaction is well worth it, jaw dropping slightly as he spots the way your nipples harden in the exposed air, forehead nearly ramming into the window when you bring your hand up to pinch and twist at the pebbled buds. He feels his cock stirring in his pants when your head drops back, lips opening up to let out what he knows is the prettiest moan, head leveling out as you bite your lip and stare at him once more. 

Jungkook doesn’t know what to do as he watches you, champagne colored robe still hooked around your elbows as you reach behind your bed and pick up the pink toy you had bought today. The metallic capped bottom shines in the light and he feels like he’s caught in a trance as you showcase it. 

For a moment your attention drops down, landing on your phone as you quickly type out a message before setting it aside once more. His phone comes to life in his hand, nearly scaring him with its vibrations. 

Y/N 7:18pm : touch yourself please

He swears he’s gonna bust his load then and there, typing out a quick ‘okay’, a message you ignore entirely in favor of turning on your toy. The excited look in your eyes is clear as day when the device buzzes in your hand, Jungkook’s eager fingers unbuttoning his jeans as you start to trail the vibrating head along your body, passing over your nipples and gasping at the ticklish feeling. 

Looking across the way once more you see Jungkook’s gaze locked onto you, his body fully illuminated by his bedroom light, allowing you to see his hands start to push his pants down, taking his black briefs with them. Your teeth bite down onto your bottom lip as he raises his palm up to messily spit into it before coming back down to fist his slowly hardening cock. His covered chest rises and falls as he huffs out a breath, slowly squeezing his shaft as he glides up towards his head, coating his palm in the stray beads of precum that drip out of it. 

This further solidified that Jungkook was a pervert, at least in his own mind, who else would be so eager to jack off to the sight of their neighbor this easily. You didn’t think so though, knowing every one of your actions had a purpose, Jungkook wasn’t a pervert for being a predictable boy, he was doing exactly what you wanted him to do. 

As the head of your toy trails down your chest you take your time, circling your navel before reaching your hips, sliding down your thighs as you lean further back and begin to spread them apart. In a slow movement that Jungkook can’t look away from, you finally reveal yourself to him, folds glistening with your arousal, coating your inner thighs, allowing the toy to glide with ease. 

Jungkook groans loudly as you pass the buzzing toy over your clit, a featherlike touch that makes you twitch and moan, his hand tightening around his cock as he twists on the way up. You were absolutely sin personified, giving him a show as you tease yourself, mouth dropped open as you finally press the toy against your clit, fingers slipping into your entrance and pumping inside of you. He can only imagine the way you sound as you stretch yourself open, hips rolling up into your hand as the pleasure jolts through you. 

Fuck, what he would do to be able to touch you, hear your moans, be the one to hold that toy against you until you were writhing around. 

You can see it in his eyes, the want clouding them as he watches you, his hand steadily pumping his length, quickening up each time your body twitches. When you pull the toy away his brows furrow, releasing his cock as he places his sticky palm against the window, wondering just what you were planning now as you reach for your phone once more. 

It only takes you a few seconds to type out the message and hit send, looking up at him with that same predatory gaze you’ve been wearing all night. As he unlocks his phone again you stand up, letting the robe fully slide off your body, pooling around your feet as you step closer to your window, arms crossed under your chest to push your tits out further as you watch him. 

Y/N 7:32pm : come over

He rereads the message three times, cock still out for you to see as he contemplates his options, finally looking back up and nearly choking when he sees the way you’re almost pressed against your own window, a sweet smile on your lips as you wave him over. That helps him make his decision, locking his phone and groaning as he slips his cock back into his briefs and shimmies his pants back on. 

Your eyes gleam as he turns to exit his room, the light dimming off as he bolts down his stairs towards his front door. When he steps out onto his porch he sees the ground is damp, small droplets now falling from the sky, the chill creeping through his thin layers as he navigates across your connected driveways with his palms covering his extremely prominent bulge. 

“Please be unlocked,” he whispers under his breath when he gets to your door, turning the knob and sighing in relief when it unlocks. Jungkook doesn’t care about manners as he steps in, locking the door behind him and instantly climbing the stairs two at a time, already knowing where your room was since your house was a mirror copy of his own. 

When he finally pushes his door open he finds you perched on your bed, fully naked and waiting for him with that same toy trailing up and down your torso. The need for introductions are thrown out the window as he crosses the room, immediately settling beside you, his large hand cupping your cheek to pull you in for a kiss. 

It catches you by surprise, the normally shy neighbor who got nervous whenever you caught him staring, never expecting him to be the type to go after what he wanted like this but the way he takes control makes you lean into his touch. His lips are tender against yours, hand guiding your face closer as he slowly licks his way into your mouth, a moan of approval leaving you as his warm tongue tickles yours. 

You’d often fantasized about kissing him, wondering if he was the type to tease, to pull back and leave you wanting more but the desperation guides his movements, stops him from not fulfilling his own desires. Jungkook kisses you with passion, hunger leading him until he’s pushing you flat on your back, hands dropping down to gently hold onto your neck. 

The toy is cast to the side, your own hands sliding through his long hair as you sigh into his mouth, the wet smacks of each kiss filling your ears. 

“Take it off,” you mumble against his lips, trailing your hands down his back and tugging his shirt up, determined to rip it off of him to finally see the glorious body you know he has. Jungkook presses a quick kiss against you before kneeling up and pulling his shirt off by his neckline, each inch of exposed skin making your mouth water. 

The way his muscles rippled, pulled taut as he stretches out and tosses the black long sleeve aside, bulging out when he finally relaxes, you can’t help but let your fingers trace each ridge on his stomach. Jungkook lets you take him in, not opposed to the lust swirling in your eyes, your tongue licking over your lips as you admire him, following the lines of each tattoo up his arm until you reach his face. 

“Like what you see?” he murmurs, looking down at you with lidded eyes, letting them roam along your body, the swell of your tits that rise with each breath, how your hips can’t keep still, searching for any bit of friction you could find. 

“You’re fucking unreal.”

He holds his breath when you begin undoing his pants, in a hurry to see his cock without the distance between you. “This is what you wanted isn’t it?” he realizes, the completely unphased look on your face, the perfectly executed texts and package delivery, just knowing that he had done everything you wanted him to do. 

“It was fun though wasn’t it Jungkook, tell me–“ he helps you tug his jeans down, his briefs going with them and joining his shirt on the floor, “What did you like more, seeing me do everyday things or watching me play with myself?”

A choked groan slips past his lips as you wrap your hand around his cock, slowly sliding up his length as you question him, enjoying the way he struggles to respond. “God you’re filthy,” he grunts, jaw slack as you sit up, face now level with his cock as he rests on his knees. 

The sly smirk you give him shows that you know this, know exactly how filthy you are, using it to your advantage to get what you wanted. With bated breath he watches the way you inch forward, tongue sticking out to gently lick the swollen head of his cock, the salty bead of precum picked up by your tongue. 

“Can’t help it.” You sink onto him as the words leave your mouth, lips wrapping around him and he sighs at the warmth that envelops him, the wetness of your tongue circling his tip making his stomach tense up, muscles flexing to keep himself from thrusting into your throat. 

The small moan you let out as he fills your mouth makes his body rattle, the feeling of his dick heavy on your tongue as you slide further down, wrapping your hand around the base to steady yourself. This was much more satisfying than seeing him play with himself a few feet away, the sighs of appreciation that float in the air each time you pull back make you keep going, wanting to see him fall apart. 

Jungkook doesn’t know when his hands tangle themselves in your hair, taking it upon himself to guide you up and down his length, starting a filthy rhythm that lit his body up. He urges you down more, hands coaxing you, pushing you further onto him until you’re choking as he fills your throat. He doesn’t think you’ve ever looked prettier, eyes full of tears, nose pressed against his stomach as you hum around his cock. 

He pulls you off of him a few seconds later, the wet gasp you let out ripping through the air as you catch your breath but that sly smile remains on your face, eyeing his messy length, bobbing slightly as he moves around. 

Leaning over you once more his hands cup your face, thumb rubbing under your eyes where he spots the unshed tears threatening to spill over, collecting against your lower lashes. “Fuck, I bet you’re pretty when you cry.”

The rasp in his voice makes your stomach flip, more wetness coating your thighs and further ruining your sheets. “Make me,” you whisper, smiling when his eyebrows raise in question. “Make me cry Jungkook.”

His cock throbs at your response, wanting nothing more than to do what you want, turn you into a crying mess as you beg for him like he often thought about. “You sure?”

With a small nod you’re crawling backwards, flipping yourself over onto your hands and knees, arching your back for him as he eyes your exposed cunt, sodden folds shining when you wiggle your hips. “I’m sure.”

Jungkook fists his cock as he approaches you, slotting his knees between your thighs, inching forward until he’s circling your entrance in a teasing motion. Flashes of the way you had spread yourself open minutes prior play in his mind as he slowly breaches your entrance, the first feeling of you taking his breath away, eyes falling shut as you let out the first moan. 

Your hands fist the sheets as he stretches you open, his size filling you up so deliciously, inch by inch splitting you open. He can’t look away from it, mesmerized with the way you take him in, molding around him like he was meant to be there. 

A whimper leaves you as he presses his palms onto your ass, holding you still once he finally bottoms out, hips pressed flush against you, walls fluttering around him as he gives you time to adjust to his size. 

“This is–“ you groan when he slides back a little, “this is just how I pictured it.” The laughter laced in your voice piques his interest, leaning over your body to see you with your face pressed against your sheets, a teasing smile on your face. 

“Yeah?” Jungkook questions, tightening his grip on your ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh, no doubt marking them for you to see later. “You pictured getting fucked from behind by your neighbor?”

“Mhm,” you squeal out, giggling when he starts to fuck into you, pulling out nearly all the way before thrusting back in, the small smack of your skin mixing in with your laughter and moans. 

“I knew it,” he grunts, trailing his hand up your spine, around your neck until his palm was pressing your face into the mattress, holding you down as he ravished you, stretched you apart and turned your impure thoughts into mush. “Knew you did it on purpose, fuck, do you know how guilty I felt?”

Your walls tighten around him and he moans out at the feeling, the warmth sucking him back in each time he pulled out, the wet squelch of you soaking his cock getting louder each time. 

“S-sorry.” It's quiet, but he knows you don’t mean it, knows the words are lace with trouble as you start to rut back onto him, the playful smile felt against his palm spelling it out for him. 

“Oh you’re sorry?” Jungkook picks up his merciless pace, knowing he found the right rhythm when you let out a cry of surprise, arching further for him and keening as he nudges against your sweet spot, the first sparks of your orgasm flashing within you. The fact that you were getting what you want sending you closer to the edge faster than expected. 

“No, I’m not,” you admit, shamelessly moaning with each thrust. There was no way in hell you were sorry, if this was the outcome you’d do it all again the same exact way. Jungkook wouldn’t argue with that, the earlier guilt he felt long gone, replaced with pure hunger, only increasing when your moans start to get breathier, the panting felt against his hand, hot and heavy as you whimpered. 

“I know you’re not, you love putting on a show for me huh, knowing I was watching you from my window while you fucked with me.”

His words make your mind spin, the intoxicating roll of his hips dragging you under into the same state of desperation he was in, weeks of mindless torture fueling the both of you with more than enough sexual frustration. 

“I loved it,” you whine when he pushes your face harder into the sheets, the roughness he’s displaying making your stomach flip, thighs spreading out further for him and you let out a trembling moan when he sinks deeper into you. 

You were going to cum, he recognized the way your body tightened up, walls clamping around him, making him curse as he continues to rut into you. Jungkook smiles as you cry out, chest pushing into your mattress, hands pulling at your sheets in desperation until suddenly, you’re cumming with a shout of his name, the feeling taking you completely by surprise. “F-fuck, Jungkook.”

He gasps as you gush around him, dripping down your thighs, creaming his cock until it's slick with your arousal. Jungkook doesn’t waste any time pulling out of you, needing to see your face as he sank back into you, now on your back with a dazed out smile. 

A soft groan drips off your tongue, thick and needy when he bottoms out once more, arms wrapping around his shoulders as he starts to rock into you, forehead sweaty with his long hair falling around his face. It frames him perfectly, a simple curtain letting you see every expression he gives you, a private show just for you to witness. 

“Wanna make you cry,” he confesses, bending down and kissing your chest, his right hand mindlessly swatting at the bed until he finds exactly what he’s looking for, that damn vibrator he had guarded with his life earlier. 

The second the small vibrations meet your ears, your eyes go wide, catching the evil smirk on his lips as he holds the toy between you, fidgeting with the settings until it’s low enough to start. “Wait Jungkook, I’m sensitive.”

He leans back enough to trail the head down your stomach, taunting you as he circles your hips and reaches your mound. “You told me to make you cry though didn’t you baby?”

The excitement rushes through you once more, letting out shaky gasp as he just barely touches your sensitive clit, your body jolting and squeezing around his cock. Jungkook shuts his eyes at the feeling, bringing it back to rest against the tiny pearl, the low settings making a hum course through you, your fingers digging into his shoulders. 

“Ah, Jungkook,” you cry, chest heaving as he starts to fuck you again, hips swirling around, unsure if you want to retreat from the toy or press against it harder, the slight sting of pain morphing into pleasure the longer he keeps it up. 

“What?” he mocks, raising the settings until you’re shouting, a delirious laugh following suit as your thighs tighten around his waist in reflex. Jungkook knows you love this, your teeth biting down onto your bottom lip as you stare at him with glassy eyes full of tears, urging him to fuck you harder, begging him for more. 

He does what you ask, pistoning his hips into you with enough force to jostle your body, the head of his cock just shy of hitting your cervix, waves of pleasure mixing in with the vibrations against your clit. Jungkook can feel his own orgasm creeping up on him, crawling up his spine, goosebumps flaring out on his skin, each wet thrust and cry from you only pushing him closer. 

Jungkook watches you carefully, lost in his own pleasure but focused enough to see the way your eyes well up further, the needy sobs you release as he fucks you just right wrapping around him and urging him on, not wanting to hold back when this is what you’ve been wanting. 

The small inkling to be mean and actually see the tears fall spurs something inside of him. With a few more clicks the vibrator hits the highest setting, buzzing intensely against your clit and you nearly thrash at the sudden feeling, back arching up as you gasp. 

Jungkook chuckles, the low timbre making you whimper as he presses the head of the toy harder against you. “You gonna cum again, make a big mess around my cock?”

“Jungkook,” it’s a choked cry of his name, your arms seeking purchase around his frame, needing something to ground you as you start to float off. 

“C’mon, wanna see you cry.” He watches in awe as your body tenses of for a moment, the pleasure catching just right to push you over. 

“Fuck, fuck–“ you chant, words slurring together as a second orgasm is pulled out of you, eyes rolling back when the euphoric feeling crashes over you, tears finally spilling over and body turning limp as he continues to fuck you through it just like the last one. He feels like he won as the wetness pools under your eyes, brows furrowing together as you mewl at the feeling of your orgasm cresting, heartbeat slowing in your chest as you come down. 

“So good,” he mumbles at the high vibrations felt against his cock, the flutters from your velvety walls keeping him from turning it off, sliding it down a bit closer to your entrance until he’s gasping as well. 

“Too much,” you plead, eyes misty as you stare at him, mouth dropping open in a quiet moan when he ruts against you in search of his own release. His free hand reaches up to cup your cheek, wiping away the stray tears that had fallen against your skin. 

“I knew you’d look pretty when you cry.” He sighs, shutting his eyes when you pulse around his length. “I’m almost there, you okay?”

His concern makes you smile, nodding as you place your hand over his own on your face, dealing with the oversensitivity for him to get his own release. “Yeah, cum inside me please.”

Jungkook groans in response, sliding the vibrator further down until it rests against the base of his cock, gliding along his length with each of his thrusts, the buzzing making his body tingle. 

“Shit,” he grunts out, hips fucking you with more urgency, rutting against you sloppily, eyes opening up to stare directly at you and the lustfilled look you give him is what pushes him over. A choked groan dies in his throat when he sinks into you as deep as he can, spurts of his cum filling you up as his face twists in pleasure, mouth dropped open to release a soft moan that you swallow with a sweet kiss.  

You hum against his lips when he thrusts shallowly a few more times until finally coming to a halt, turning off the toy and chucking it aside with no care before collapsing on top of you in pure dramatics. Jungkook has no qualms about how much he weighs, making himself right at home as he nuzzles into your chest, sighing in content when you rake your fingers through his hair. 

“I feel sweaty, and I know I made a mess on your sheets.” Jungkook mumbles out, cheek pressed against your tits, eyes slipped shut with his slowly softening cock still inside of you. No doubt would your sheets be damp with an unholy mixture of the night's debauchery, something you would surely deal with later. 

“It’s okay, I like the mess.” Your words are meant to be joking but the way his cock twitches inside you shows he takes everything you say seriously, simply rolling your eyes with a smile as you tease him further. “You’re a pervert.”

Jungkook scoffs at this now, taking full offense as he pulls out of you with an accusatory glare, eyes zeroing in on your evil smile as you prop yourself up against your headboard. “I’m the pervert?” When you nod he laughs loudly, finger pointing at you in a less than threatening manner, “Says the one who gave me free shows every night!”

“It’s not my fault you’re easy to rope in, you were hooked the second you saw me have that dance party in here huh?”

He nods instantly, knowing exactly what night you were talking about, it was the night he had moved in, before you had even realized he was your neighbor, having a full on dance party to some top 40’s from the 2000’s playlist you found. That was the first night he ever saw you and ever since then he had left his blinds cracked just to see a glimpse of you, not knowing what lewd ideas you had planned. 

“Was it the facemask that did it for you?” You laugh, playfully nudging his side with your foot as he glares, the small smile on his face showing you he wasn’t taking this seriously. 

“No, it was those sexy ass boyshorts you had on, I think they were grey. They made your ass look nice.”

He laughs with you as you squeal, knowing exactly what pair of underwear you had on, the oversized shirt doing nothing to hide them as you danced around like a lunatic. 

“Is this gonna be a thing?” he wonders, taking it upon himself to enter your bathroom to grab a towel, the least he could do was clean up the mess he had caused between your thighs. 

“What?”

“Should I text you about the weather tomorrow, call you over to mine this time? I’ll let you choke me if you’re into that.” He says it so casually it catches you by surprise, a cackle leaving you as he finishes cleaning you up, handing you your robe to cover up as he slips back into his underwear. 

“Are you into that?”

“I could be,” he winks, flopping onto your bed beside you, letting his hand trail up your thigh until it reaches the hem of your robe, tracing the goosebumps that flare up because of it. 

That was definitely something you could work with, mind already planning out the next time you’d torture your neighbor, wondering just how your hands would look like wrapped around his thick neck. Maybe you could see if he looked pretty when he cried. 

He spots the mischief in your face instantly but before he could indulge you further, there was one thing absolutely eating away at his mind. “By the way, you never added me to that gossip group chat.”

Your lips purse into a tight smile as your fingers return to his hair, twirling each strand as you hold back a laugh, knowing it absolutely did not exist. You weren’t in the mood to crush his spirit, knowing he desperately wanted to know the ins of the neighborhood gossip so you simply shrug in faux apology, telling yet another white lie. “My bad, I’ll add you tomorrow.”

It’s good enough for Jungkook pressing a kiss against your thigh as he thinks of what the following night will bring, his mind also picturing just how cute your hands would look around his neck. 

[mypoisonedvine]

Seeing Red | bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x actress!reader (part 2)

(part 1)

series summary: bucky used to brag that he didn’t have a celebrity crush, or really care about famous people at all, which is what made him the perfect person to start working for a celebrity like yourself.  except, of course, it’s just his luck that he’d fall for you.  

word count: 3k

chapter warnings: kinda smut? (male masturbation), stalking (not bucky lol), a bit a violence, angst

It had been a month.  Well, 29 days, to be exact; he’d been counting them.  29 days since he’d seen so much more than he was supposed to, and he was pretty sure you’d seen him too.  29 days of tense silence as he wondered if you were ever going to say anything about it.

It must have been that you hadn’t seen him, if you hadn’t said anything for so long.  But god, it really did feel like you were looking right into his eyes as you came that night.  He knew the reality was that it was a horrible mistake and he was a terrible person for looking at you like that, and that he was never going to be any closer to you than watching someone else pleasure you; he knew that truly.  But regardless, that moment had been playing on repeat in his mind for 29 days.

And now, as he took his shower, he prepared to finish off day 29 and start day 30.

“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath, head falling back against the cool tile as his hand stroked slowly over his cock.  He’d dreamt about you (again) and woken up so hard that it actually hurt; so this wasn’t a continuation of his perversion, or his unhealthy obsession, no, it was pain relief.  It was medicine, really.

In his dream, like always, it had been him between your legs in the back of the car and not that other guy— who he’d seen on TV the other day, dying in the first five minutes of an episode of some awful CW drama, by the way.  It killed him that he couldn’t know how you really taste, or how you really would sound saying his name, but the best guess of his subconscious would have to do.  He tried to conjure in his mind how you sounded that night, each frame of the memory burned into his brain until it was what he saw every time it closed his eyes.

Baby.

That was what you’d said first, and it still made his heart stop every time it echoed in his head.  Baby.

The word itself was sort of innocuous, but it was the way you said it— just below your breath, deep but airy— and what it meant.  It was a plea: you were begging him to touch you, to make you feel good, to help you.  Bucky could listen to you beg for hours, it would be like music to his ears; like poetry, even.  

Later that night, when he’d given you the rest of his sandwich, he’d gotten the closest he ever would to hearing you moan his name.  What you’d said originally was just ‘oh my god, Bucky, this is so good’ and it was just generic enough that he could imagine it being a little more specific.  Sure, it was stupid to get off on memories of you praising a sandwich (that you ate while drunk in the shower) but it still did wonders for him as his hand pumped his length faster and faster.

Oh my god, Bucky, it feels so good— you feel so good.  You’re so good.  Oh my god, Bucky—

He bit down on his lip, already so close to the edge that there was no turning back, toes curling underneath the stream of hot water as his breathing moved just as quick as his thoughts— thoughts of you in the back of the car, or in the shower with your foggy silhouette just barely visible to him, or doing all sorts of things that he’d never seen you do but he’d love to pretend he had.  

“Oh my god, Bucky!” you yelled as you swung open the door, a choked moan jumping out of his throat in shock as his eyes shot open, come starting to spill down over his hand.

You couldn’t see him through his shower curtain, thank all that’s holy, but it was a sort of sensory overload as he tried to process what was going on mid-orgasm.

“What?!” he yelped, voice clearly rougher but hopefully not in a way you would find suspicious.

“Come quick,” you requested.

Already did, he thought to himself with a shudder of guilt.

“What’s going on?”

“There’s somebody in the yard,” you explained frantically, “it’s probably nothing, but I don’t know how they got past the gate—”

Your mitigation was lost to him as he was already turning off the flow of water, the evidence of his misdeed already washed away, leaving only the ringing in his ears and the burning in his cheeks as reminders.

You stepped out into the hall to give him just enough privacy to slip on a robe, which he was certain he looked ridiculous in but he really had no choice.  Storming out of the bathroom, he wasn’t sure he was ready to confront a potential threat while dripping wet and barefoot, but the whole point of him living here most of the week was so he could keep you safe at all times— apparently, shower time included.  

“Stay inside,” he instructed you quickly, “and stay out of the line of sight of any windows and doors, got it?” 

You nodded, and he could tell you were scared.  He hated that you had to worry about this sort of stuff.  He was glad to be there to help, yes, but he would rather this line of work didn’t need to exist at all even if it put him out of a job.  You waited for him there as he pushed past you and moved through the living room, considering whether or not he should grab a weapon from the safe he kept hidden in this room— but then he glanced to his left arm, drying quicker than the rest of him, and remembered he already had a weapon.

By the time he reached the door he could hear someone shouting your name outside.  As Bucky flipped on the damn-near-blinding security light on your porch and entered the yard, he saw a guy— smaller than him, but not exactly tiny— who seemed to ignore him and the light completely as he continued his desperate attempts to get your attention.  

“This is private property, you need to leave,” Bucky told the man in his best ‘stern but not quite yelling’ voice. 

“Is she home?” he asked him instead, totally unfazed by the warning.  As the fan looked back up and called your name again, Bucky shivered with the realization that he was looking up at your bedroom window.  Had he already seen you there?  Or, worse, did he have some other way of knowing which window was your bedroom?

“You need to get out of here before I call the police.  You’re trespassing,” Bucky continued, pushing the man back towards the gate.  Sadly, Bucky knew from experience the police weren’t that concerned about celebrity stalkers— you and him had both called to no avail once they learned the name of the homeowner.  It made his blood boil just to think about it.

“Hey, let go of me!” the man resisted, pushing Bucky back.  He seemed to sober up a bit when Bucky’s face changed, though, but it was too late.  He tried to duck but totally missed, and Bucky’s right fist made contact with his jaw.  “Ow!” he screeched, cowering and trying to cover his face.  “What the fuck?!  That’s assault— you just assaulted me!”

“And you’re trespassing.  And harassing.  And probably stalking,” Bucky listed, continuing to guide the man back towards the gate.  “Tell me how you got in here.  Did you hop the fence?”

He couldn’t go any further back as the man was pressed back against a stone column, squirming a bit but otherwise putting up little fight— or maybe he was actually trying his best, and it was just lost on someone as strong as Bucky.  

Unamused by his stammering and lack of an answer, Bucky brought his metal fist to the column right beside the man’s face, hitting hard enough to break off a sizable chunk of the stone.  “Tell me!” he demanded.

“There’s a tree out back, I climbed it!” he explained with a whimper, “I’m sorry!”

“Don’t come back here, you hear me?  Or this—” Bucky pointed to the dent in the column that he’d made— “will be your face!”

Letting him go and swinging open the gate a bit, the man ran away of his own volition, stumbling down the street and out of the glowing light of the streetlamps.  Bucky let out a low sigh, hoping it was the last of him but terrified that it wouldn’t be.  He made a mental note to call a landscaper about trimming this mysterious tree in the back, or maybe chopping it down altogether, as he made his way back inside.  He found you in the living room, chewing your nails nervously and watching him step closer with wide, watery eyes.

“He’s gone,” Bucky informed you quickly.

“Thank you,” you mumbled.

“You okay?” he asked gently.

“Um, yeah,” you decided, but you didn’t seem so confident.  Even so, he wasn’t sure what more he could do.  

“Oh, I broke your pillar, by the way.  Sorry.”

“I saw that,” you smiled a little, but he frowned.

“I told you to stay out of sight of the windows,” he reminded you.

You sighed.   “I know, I know, I just…” you trailed off, lip quivering a little as you got emotional again.  “I know it’s stupid but—”

“No, don’t say that,” he interjected.

“— but I was so scared,” you finished, voice wavering as you ran towards him, suddenly pulling him into a tight hug.  It took him by surprise, but he figured it was okay to hug you back.  He was only wearing a robe, he suddenly remembered, and your face was against the exposed portion of his bare chest.  If he hadn’t gotten off just minutes ago, he certainly would’ve gotten hard just from that (embarrassingly enough).

“Hey, it’s okay,” he soothed gently, indulging himself in resting his chin on top of your head as he stroked your hair.  

“Thank you,” you mumbled against his skin, pulling him even closer, “god, I don’t even know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been here.”

A pang of guilt rattled in his chest; you trusted him so completely and he was crushing on you, spying on you (only the once, but still), taking advantage of your need for protection, staying in your guest bedroom and jerking off to you in your shower— when had he turned into an unstoppable pervert?

“Will you stay in my room tonight?” you asked him suddenly, looking up at him with those big shiny eyes and a pouty lip.

“Oh nonononono,” he shook his head, instantly recognizing that trap.

“No, Bucky, please,” you whimpered, “that guy might come back, I don’t want you all the way across the house.”

“I shouldn’t— I’d be overstepping—” he stammered.

“Please,” you sighed, and he sighed too, because when you said it like that, he couldn’t say no to you.

//

Bucky had insisted on staying on the floor as opposed to getting up on your bed, which was a drag but whatever.  At least you had a lot of good spare blankets and pillows to make him a comfy-looking pallet.  He seemed to agree when he appeared behind you in the doorway to find you on your knees on the floor, putting it all together.

“You didn’t need to do that, I’m pretty good at sleeping on floors as-is,” he dismissed.

“No, I’m happy to!” you beamed, turning around and choking a bit when you looked up at him in his pajamas.  Even though they were still pretty conservative, specifically sweats and a scoop neck sweater-y sort of top, it was probably more than you’d ever seen of him since his uniform was very concealing.  You were kind of hoping to catch a glimpse of his metal hand— you didn’t get to see it much because he wore driving gloves the vast majority of the time, and you hadn’t really been paying attention when it was exposed earlier by his just being in a robe— but he was noticeably leaning against the doorframe in such a way that you couldn’t see it.  The thing that really got a reaction out of you was his dog tags, though; you’d never seen him wear them before and there was something perfect about the way the silver chain dangled over the slight peek of collarbone visible above his neckline.  “Aren’t you warm wearing that much to bed?”

“No, it’s fine,” he dismissed.  You hoped he wasn’t wearing more just for your benefit.  Shirtlessness would’ve benefited you more, certainly.  In fact, now you felt kind of bad that you were just wearing a thin, silky short-and-tank set.  Hopefully it didn’t make him uncomfortable.

Getting up from the floor, you slipped under your covers and motioned for him to do the same.  He turned off your lamp first, stealing your last chance at a good view of the hand, and you heard him get comfortable on the floor.

“Thank you for this,” you mumbled quickly into the darkness.  “I don’t think I’d be able to fall asleep if you weren’t in here.

“Oh, of course,” he replied softly.  

“Goodnight,” you whispered.

“Goodnight,” he answered back, and his low, sleepy voice was somehow both soothing and energizing.

You weren’t sure if you even tried to fall asleep, or how long you laid staring out into the void of the darkness.  It was so dark in your room that you saw purple spots dancing in the corners like static as your eyes adjusted, incomprehensible shapes forming to make up for the lack of visual stimulation.  You wished that there was enough ambient light to be able to see Bucky’s shape on the floor and know he was there; instead, you settled for the subtle sound of his slow breathing.  When you heard him adjust slightly, you decided maybe just the breathing wasn’t enough to be sure it was really safe.

“Bucky?” you whispered under your breath.  “Are you awake?”

“Yes,” he answered, making you sigh with relief.

“I can’t sleep.”

“I thought you said you wouldn’t be able to sleep if I wasn’t here.”

“But I never said you being here would make me sleep,” you pointed out.

“Then I should go,” he decided.

“No, please,” you hissed, “don’t go.”

“Okay.”

You took a deep breath.  “Tell me something,” you requested.

“Tell you what?”

“I don’t know, anything.”

He paused for a moment.  “Will it help you sleep?”

“Maybe,” you shrugged.

Bucky sighed, and you heard him turn on his side.  “Want me to tell you a bedtime story?” he asked, sarcasm noticeable even in a whisper.

“Yes,” you announced with a smile.

“Okay,” he pondered, “um… once upon a time—”

“Good start,” you rolled your eyes.

“No interrupting!” he scolded.

“Sorry…”

“Anyways, once upon a time there was a princess, who lived in a castle in the Isle of Manhattan.”

“A castle?” you asked excitedly.

“A somewhat modest castle, but yes.  One with big golden gates and marble columns.  The princess didn’t live all alone in her castle though— at least, not all the time.  She had many royal attendants, and servants, and plenty of friends of course.  But the problem with being a beautiful, kind, generous princess is that sometimes people get too friendly and want to visit her in the castle when she’d rather be alone.  Thankfully, the princess had a last line of defense—”

“Let me guess, a knight in shining armor?”  Or more like knight with shining arm.

“Wish I could say so,” he disagreed.  “No, this princess needed something a little fiercer, and that was why a dragon guarded the castle.”

“A dragon?!”

“Mhmm.  A big, scary dragon with sharp teeth and big wings, that breathed fire on anyone who got in his way.  The thing about knights is that they’re noble, and handsome, and righteous.  But righteousness prevents people from doing bad things, and sometimes bad things need to be done to protect good things.  So, knights can’t protect princesses like they should.  That’s what dragons are for.  They’re mean and nasty— it’s their nature, after all— and sometimes you need somebody burnt up, so you call a dragon and he’ll deal with it for you.  And this dragon was the meanest and nastiest of them all, and he’d burnt a lot of people in his time.  Oddly enough, the princess was still nice to him, but she had a lot of knights and princes and kings who wanted her hand.  Good thing the dragon was there to pick off the worst ones.”

You giggled a little, even though your heart was racing.

“The dragon watched over the castle every night— well, five nights a week… cause the princess wanted weekends to herself— but, still, he was very dedicated and did his best to keep her safe.  Sometimes he would take her to whatever lavish ball she had been invited to that week; she would ride on his back as he flew there, even though he was pretty scared she would fall off or something.  And sometimes…”

Your breath caught at the pause, waiting anxiously for what would come next.  

“Sometimes the dragon wished he wasn’t a monster.  But if he wasn’t a monster, then he couldn’t keep her safe.  So, he resigned himself to a life outside the castle, because at least he could be near her— even if she was impossibly far away.”

You swallowed as you tried to process it, finding yourself at a complete loss for words.

“The end,” he whispered gently, before giving you a goodnight and saying your name in a way that he’d never said it before— at least, you’d never heard him say it that way before.  But you really, really hoped you’d get to hear it again.  You did manage to fall asleep eventually, dreaming about flying and wishing you didn’t have to wake up.