#ink is difficult but cool to work with

[lorawant2sleep]

fashionably late for goretober

help this poor boy, he has too many teeth

[luveline]

𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡? | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

you finally work up the courage to kiss Eddie for the first time and he can’t cope (even if he claims he can). 2k words. requested here

cw fem!reserved/shy!reader, first kiss, heavy kissing, mutual pining, eddie being a hot dork

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Some people (Steve) call Eddie your loser boyfriend, while other people (the girls at work) call him the rockstar. 

You see both sides of him now. 

“Sweetheart!” he calls, the passenger seat window rolled down, his voice strong where he shouts behind the wheel. The van bumps the curve, leaving a sanguine line of rust in its wake and a creak to make everybody on the sidewalk wince. 

“Hello,” you call back. 

The van hums. You wait for him to be at a definite stop before you approach, hands on the open window, leaning up so as to see him best. It’s not just a usual date night tonight, Eddie’s taking you to Indianapolis for a rock show, and he’s dressed the part. “Woah, you look cool,” you say, bravely, wondering if that’s the right thing to say. It’s undoubtedly true —he’s slicked his curls with mousse to define them and leave them pitch black in accordance with his eyeshadow, dark and tapped into his lash line. The top he wears is incredibly tight, carving the softer lines of his abs for anyone to see, and his black jacket is ripped in places to expose the ink of his tattoos. “Are they multiplying?” 

“What?” he asks, grinning at you. “Are you getting in? It’s freezing!” 

“Your tattoos,” you explain, opening the door and popping up into the van with one shoe on the step. 

“Shit, you wanna see?” 

You’re not scared of Eddie, you just like him. He doesn’t worry you, doesn’t pressure you, nothing nefarious about him. He’s pretty, he’s considerate, and he does stuff like this, peeling out of his jacket to flex his arm at you and show you the Saran wrapping around his bicep. “Like that one?” he asks.

He has nice arms, and they’re all the better for his painful obsession. His newest one is difficult to see well under the wrapping. He notices you squinting and moves it up, tape pulling his skin. 

“Another bat?” you ask. 

“Not cool?” 

“So cool,” you disagree. This bat is unlike the others on his arm, which are small and simple in comparison. This one is heavily detailed and very dark, fangs in small triangles bared. The eyes aglow. The skin around it is red. “Did you get that today?” 

“On a whim. Still wanna date me, or is it getting to be too much?” 

You can’t answer him, and he knows that. You’re not very good at navigating intimate conversation or circumstance, though you like him, and he must know that too. Or he must really like you. Your dates have been chaste. Only last time could you work up the courage to take his hand, but when you had, he rewarded your courage with a drove of tenderness, fingers rubbing your knuckles and squeezing soft patterns for hours at the back of the movie theatre. 

The drive to Indianapolis takes near enough an hour. Eddie puts you on map duty but doesn’t use it, ignoring your offer of directions on the insistence that he knows a shortcut and then rerouting when you get too lost. He tells you there are snacks for you in the centre console and laughs, endeared, when you pop the lid and smile at it all. You talk about the show, a band you’d never heard of but had wanted to see on the grounds of sharing his interests. That’s what couples do, right? They try to do things together. You have to put yourself out of your comfort zone, and you’re happy to try if it means you can do it with him. 

“You nervous?” he asks, pulling into the parking garage outside of the venue, a towering, multi-story fiasco crammed with cars and motorbikes. 

“No,” you say, not quite mumbling as you look down at your hands. 

“Good, don’t be. I’m gonna look after you, we’re gonna have a great time. And then we can get takeout after?” You look up. He stretches his arm out to glance at his watch. “I would’ve taken you before, but good old Indianapolis keeps getting further away.” He smiles apologetically. 

You laugh without meaning to. His smile ramps up a notch. 

“I love when you laugh. You have such a cute laugh,” he says. 

“I know you’re lying,” you say, still laughing anyways. 

“I’m not lying, I love the way you laugh!” He shakes his head, curls falling away from his face as he flicks on the light on the car roof. “We have half an hour till doors open.”

“You don’t wanna line up?” 

“It’s kind of overwhelming and I figured we’d stay near the back of the crowd for your first gig here, it gets pretty rowdy.” He says ‘pretty rowdy’ like a drag, nodding gently, eyes lit with mirth. You love it when he talks like that. 

“We can go now, get further in. I can handle it.” 

“It’s not about handling it, I want you to have a good time. Plus, they could ruin your nice dress.” 

You meet his gaze all smiles like he is, but heat flickers in your chest and in your stomach, and you have to look away. It’s an impulse you’ve always given into. You’re reserved in the feelings department but trying not to be, Eddie deserves reciprocation, but it’s hard. Either way, he seems to understand this about you, and he hasn’t complained. 

Still, a bedraggled silence falls. Nearly awkward, unsure of how to tread, you sit together in your separate seats listening to cars parking and doors opening, closing on either side of you, the headlights of the cars driving past glaringly bright, white flashing over your screwed palms. 

“You okay?” he asks. 

You’re sure Eddie wants to kiss you. Three nights ago at the movies, after an hour of languid hand holding, he’d looked at your lips no less than three times as he said good night. He told you he’d had an amazing time, and that he couldn’t wait to see you again. You’d said the same in earnest, and then he’d just walked away. All those stolen glances and he hadn’t made a move. 

“Eddie… why…” You poke your tongue into your bottom lip momentarily, chewing it over. “Why haven’t we kissed yet?” 

“Um–” He lets out a nervous giggle before roughly clearing his throat. You peek at him, watching intently as he takes his hair away from his face with two hands. “I’m just waiting on you, sweetheart. No pressure.” He laughs as he talks, a picture of panic, “You’re sort of shy about that stuff, you know? I didn’t wanna surprise you.” 

“But you do want to kiss me?” you ask unsurely.

He puts his hand on your knee, the space between you suddenly smaller and warmer, the light like white glaze on his pupils, illuminating his finer details. He has a mole nestled under his eyelashes too small to see until now; it catches your attention. You stare at him too long. 

“Of course I do,” he says, eyebrows pinching together in concern. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since I met you.” 

You nod and snap your head back to your lap. Why does he have to be so nice? You wish you’d listened to Steve, even if he was joking, you shouldn’t have ever said yes to Eddie, because now you’re terrified you can’t kiss him and you’ll ruin everything…

“Hey, it’s fine. I’m not waiting for anything. You can take your time or you could never kiss me, and I won’t care. I swear. I mean, I really want you to kiss me but I’ll find a way to cope, I’m sure.” He takes his hand from your leg softly. “Do you want my jacket? It’s cold out, n’ we should probably start walking.” 

You pull your head up slowly. 

He reads your hesitant expression. “I’m in no rush,” he promises, head ever so slightly ducked to yours. 

Okay, you think. Okay, I can do this. You hold your breath and start to lean in. He falters, a millisecond of misunderstanding, before he recognises what you’re doing and smiles. He reaches for your waist with enough care to give you a chance to change your mind, and when you’re close enough to feel his breath, his lashes shutter. 

You follow suit, blind, with nothing but your intuition as you press your lips to his. 

With a feeling like the hum of the engine under your hands, you bring your fingers to his soft cheek and hold him still. He breathes in harshly, touches you far from it, his palm slipping behind your back to pull you in. You lean into it; it feels natural to give in, to turn your head one way and part your lips, to have him kiss back with heat and surprising sweetness.

You feel unlike yourself in a good way, falling back to kiss forward again, a third time, trying to chase the lulling bliss of his lips. The stomach aching want. Your hand chases across his cheek and into the curls behind his ear, needing him closer but not expecting the sound it elicits. He sighs into your lips and you flinch back, startled by the sensation. 

Eddie rubs your back with his index finger, unjudging as you drop your head to catch your breath. 

“You okay?” he asks quietly. You can hear his affection. It’s palpable. 

You nod, a dizzy weight collected in your forehead, thankful when his free hand catches your cheek and he turns your face gently to the side. “I got too hot,” you confess, only half of the truth. 

“It was pretty hot.” He smiles at you like you’re the only person in the world, like you’ve a secret only he knows. “Want me to turn on the A/C?” 

“No, I–” want to kiss you again, you think. You might even tell him so, but he starts to blow on your face, disrupting any thoughts you’d had earlier. He purses his lips and blows cold breath on your cheek, a tenderness in his gaze and the tip of his thumb where it rests just under your eye. “Oh.” 

This might be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for you. Your face feels precious in his careful hand, pretty under his longing look. You’re not scared when he encourages you back to his lips, your eyes quick to close, your hands across the gap of your seats to gather his shirt between tight fingers. 

His kiss is a reflection of him. Loser, rockstar, he’s eager and his hands start to betray that, his kissing melty hot and addictive as the tip of his nose presses hard to yours. You turn your face to accommodate him better and that small action drives him crazy. He’s pulling you in, smiling into your mouth, making breathy sounds that’ll stick around in your head ten times as long as the tingles filling your chest as just kisses and kisses and doesn’t stop. 

“M’sorry,” he says, pulling away, and then stealing another heavy, soft kiss like he couldn’t wait. “Sorry,” he apologises again, stroking the skin beside your eye to encourage you into opening them. “I’m not trying to get carried away. Just can’t believe you just kissed me.” 

“No, it’s okay, I– I really wanted to.” 

He kisses your cheek. You aren’t expecting it and you don’t know how to deal with it. It’s like kissing him has invigorated him, you’re a shot he knocked back, his excitement catching as he begs, “Close your eyes again, sweetheart, just one more–”

You raise your chin and he practically gasps, immediately pressing a last chaste kiss to your burning lips. 

“I’m not always like this,” he promises, leaning away, his fingertips falling from your face to trace down your neck, your shoulder. “You’re just so fucking pretty I lost my mind. I’m on best behaviour from now on, swears.” 

He raises his hand up in a scout’s honour. 

You breathe out happily. “Thank you.” 

“Oh my god. Quick, we better get out of this van before I lose my mind.” He shakes his head. “You’re insane. I have such a crush on you, holy fuck,” —he turns away from you and gets out of the van— “Jesus.” 

You pull down the sun visor to check your reflection in the mirror. You look thoroughly kissed, eyes aglow with it. 

“Fuck!” Eddie swears. You beam at yourself as he wraps on the window. “Come on, sweetheart! I have a concert to pretend to pay attention to.” 

You slink out of your seat, brave enough to try for another kiss so long as it doesn’t kill him dead right here in the parking lot. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

please like/reblog or comment if you enjoyed! I love knowing what you think and it means so much to me/ inspires me to write even more!!! <3 but of course I hope you enjoyed reading regardless :D 

[wri0thesley]

hi sweet Nat, can i ask for size kink with Alhaitham pretty please? ♡

Anonymous asked: Hello! Hope you are having a wonderful day for the ask game how about alhaitham + size kink

great minds think alike....

Alhaitham's height is obvious to anybody who meets him; less obvious, though, is the breadth of him. One often writes it off as perhaps him wearing clothes that flatter him too much, being as it is difficult to look at him for too long without receiving a sardonic gaze back. After all, is he not the man who calls himself a 'feeble scholar' with only the barest uplift of the corner of his mouth?

You, though, are intimately acquainted with everything that Alhaitham has to offer.

With the big hands, stained with ink. With the muscles that ripple beneath his clothing. With the way he towers over you in both stature and in presence. With the size of him, everywhere that it might matter--

Oh, and you couldn't hide anything from him if you tried. He looks at you and he sees straight through you no matter how hard you work to look unruffled by how much of his hand covers your head when he absent-mindedly pats it on his way past. And at times like this--

"Hard to believe, isn't it?" He murmurs to you, where you're trapped beneath him, his shoulders casting a shadow over you on the bed. His muscular thighs have pressed your own softer, sweeter ones apart. One of his hands is big enough to encircle both of your wrists, and he uses that to his advantage, veins flexing in his forearms as he keeps those wrists pinioned above your head to ensure you feel utterly at his mercy.

You are warm; flushed, beads of sweat rolling down the nape of your neck, glistening in the valley between your chests. It is not only the warm Sumeru air (though that would be your excuse if he called you out) - but being trapped beneath him like this, being pinned and captured like a little rabbit who has found themselves run afoul of a bigger animal ready to devour them.

"H-hard to believe what?" You whisper out, your heart beating fast against your chest. He lets out a single laugh, as controlled as he always is even though you can see that his cheeks are flushed and you can feel the hot hardness of his cock where it rests against your inner thigh, mixing your slick and his precome.

"That something so tiny could really fit this in them," he says, as if it should be obvious; and to prove his point, he uses his free hand to lift the heavy shaft of his cock, to give it a slow, teasing pump. Even his own hands, so big that they make your breath catch, are not quite big enough to wrap around the full length of it.

Flushed and ruddy, leaking silvery bubbles of precome, a vein on the thickness of his shaft pulsing in time with his even breathing, you can barely stand that he's not putting it inside you. Helplessly, you arch your back, and he laughs again.

"Look," he murmurs, dropping his cock, voice husky. His hand delves now to between your own thighs; two long fingers used to push apart the sticky plump lips of your labia. You keen at the cool air hitting the swollen pearl of your clit, standing to attention, and Alhaitham swoops down to press a single kiss to the bud before he straightens up again. "You're even smaller here."

"A-Alhaitham," you whisper, your body shivering under the fleeting touch of the kiss. His lips are wet and shiny even from that brief shimmering moment of contact, and you think if he doesn't do something about the way your hole is clenching and pulsing around nothing you might just explode. "Please--"

"Oh," he says, with a small smile on his lips. "But I might break you in half."

Lazily, he lets his cock slap lightly against your sex, lets it get soaked in your wetness, lets you helplessly buck against it in the vain hope that you can get him to fuck you or at the very least get a modicum of friction going.

You don't get far. He's too strong, too big - you're helpless beneath the Scribe, at the mercy of whatever whims he decides to enact. You try to change tack.

"You're wasting time!" You tell him breathlessly, trying to appeal to his pragmatism. "You could be fucking me right now instead--"

He makes a considering noise in the back of his throat, regarding you through unfailingly calm emerald green eyes.

"I certainly wouldn't be enjoying myself if you weren't properly ready for me," he says, in the end, and his gaze flickers from your own needy face to the needier sight of your cunt, fluttering and pulsing and leaking all over his bedsheets.

"Hmm. No. I think I'll take my time," he decides, shifting, and you're once again struck by his size, by how much of you he can shelter beneath the oasis of his body. He leans down, his lips against the shell of your ear, and you shudder at the sensation of his breath against the sensitive skin. "After all. I'm a very patient man."

[chantiepie]

💞ESPRESSO💞 Yoongi +18

Yoongi x Reader

Synopsis: You are the complete opposite of Yoongi... And he can't get you out of his head.

Warnings: Unprotected sex, masturbation.

Words: 5k.

ko-fi ☕

Now he's thinkin' 'bout me every night, oh Is it that sweet? I guess so

You liked pink, feeling the morning sun caress your skin as you went for your morning run. Your favorite coffee was with milk, you enjoyed pop music, your shoes were always soft and colorful, perfectly matching the delicate bows adorning your wavy hair.

Yoongi was the complete opposite. He preferred black. At night, he went out to drink whiskey, finding comfort in the smooth burn of the drink. In the mornings, it was pure coffee, without the addition of milk or sugar, just the invigorating bitterness to awaken his senses. Ink stained his skin, almost covering it completely, each drawing telling a story he kept to himself.

He couldn't understand where that attraction to You came from. He spent hours thinking about pink bows, something he had never done before. It all started three months ago, when you walked into the bar accompanied by some people he already knew. The moment your eyes met his, it was as if a magnet drew him to you. Throughout the night, even as he tried to disguise it, it was difficult for Yoongi to look away.

He mentally thanked his friend when he called his group to join them, even though there was no direct interaction between you.

After 10 minutes, he watched you, laughing at everything that was happening, engaging in lively conversations with the group.

After that encounter, things went from bad to worse for Yoongi. He was never one to get emotionally involved with anyone, preferring casual or no-strings-attached relationships. However, your presence stirred something within him in a way he couldn't understand. You were everything he avoided: outgoing, funny, sweet, the type of girl who seemed destined for a conventional life, marrying some heir who majored in business at Harvard and now works at a major Wall Street investment firm.

In that regard, he wasn't wrong. Yoongi, after that night, didn't make any advances since he discovered during the conversation that you were committed and that your boyfriend couldn't attend because he was tired, having recently been promoted. Nevertheless, he couldn't help but think about you, even when he tried to keep his distance.

Say you can't sleep, baby, I know That's that me, espresso

The second time you guys met, during a game night, or as they call it when the real goal is just to drink, Taehyung asks about your boyfriend. Yoongi continues to pour whiskey pretending not to hear..You respond that he's not coming because he's been really busy lately and quickly try to change the subject by letting out your classic laughs. 'What a surprise,' Tae whispers while sending only an eye roll. You listen, ignoring afterwards. However, Yoongi realizes that something isn't right in your reaction.

During the small party, as he scans the room, most people are standing around smoking or chatting, and the lights are partially dimmed, emitting only a kind of light that slowly changes colors. He notices two shadows in a corner near the kitchen and quickly realizes it's you and Jimin talking. From the movements and body language, he can see your expression of disappointment, with a look of indignation that he can't ignore. It's not sadness, but rather a clear disappointment that hangs over you.

Min rises from the couch, deliberately ignoring the tempting gestures of the redhead seeking his attention. With determined steps, he crosses the room, passing by everyone without exchanging a word, and ascends the stairs towards the balcony on the upper floor of the house. His steps echo softly through the hallway as he approaches the open area of the balcony, where the night breeze welcomes him.

Upon reaching the balcony, Min takes a deep breath of the cool night air before reaching for his pack of cigarettes and lighter. He eagerly seeks nicotine, longing to find brief relief from the tensions surrounding him.

The glass door is open, inviting him to enter. He settles into one of the chairs, immersing himself in his own thoughts, when he notices someone approaching and sitting beside him. He recognizes the presence without needing to check.

"Can I have one?" The question is simple but loaded with meaning. Min needs no more than that to understand. Without uttering a word, he extends the cigarette along with the lighter, sharing the gesture in silent understanding

"Someone asked about you yesterday," Jungkook, a guy who recently started working at the same bar as Yoongi, said casually as the two of them organized the glasses to open the establishment.

Jungkook, the youngest among the staff, was still attending university, carving out his path for the future. The guy had moved to the capital in a rush, without having had time to plan properly. Now, he found himself dependent on his parents for expenses, which made him feel like a burden on his shoulders. Determined to become more independent and relieve the financial burden on his family, Jungkook began looking for part-time jobs or ones that were only on weekends, which led him to Hoseok, who introduced him to the opportunity to work at the bar.

The next morning was just another ordinary workday for Yoongi. As he organized the glasses, his mind wandered among the bar's tasks.

"Someone asked about me?" Yoongi asked, trying to disguise his interest, but his curiosity was evident in his tone of voice.

"Yes, it was a girl," Jungkook replied, grabbing more glasses to organize. "She seemed interested in getting to know you better."

A shiver ran down Yoongi's spine. Was it her? Was she finally showing some interest? He couldn't help but feel a mixture of hope and anxiety.

"Do you know her name?" Yoongi asked, trying to sound casual.

Jungkook thought for a moment before responding. "I think it was... Yuna? Yeah, I think that was it."

The excitement on his face quickly faded, turning into a bored expression. He remembered her, the redhead, she was very pretty, but his mind was already made up.

Jungkook noticed, but chose to stay silent about it, quickly changing the subject and focusing on Hoseok's birthday that would take place at the bar in a month.

I can't relate to desperation My "give a fucks" are on vacation And I got this one boy and he won't stop calling When they act this way, I know I got 'em

The third time he saw you... Well... He wasn't sure if he really saw you or if it was just his mind conjuring up your image. It was late at night, during his off-duty hours, and Yoongi was outside a liquor store, along with some customers who had become closer to him. The night was too hot to stay indoors, so he decided to accept one of their invitations to hang out. Let's just say it was just for drinking and smoking outside some liquor store downtown.

After many bottles, including one being accidentally dropped on the ground, he looked at a corner and there you were, or at least he thought it was you. You were wearing a blue dress that reached mid-thigh, adorned with a large bow of the same color adorning your hair from behind.

Suddenly, everything flooded back into his mind, as if a wave of memories hit him, turning into a tangled mess of soft colors, filled with smiles and shared moments, as if he were reliving a scene from a romantic movie. Among the flashes of memory, images of cute teddy bears and affectionate gestures emerged.

It seemed incredibly real, but it all happened so fast. He began to doubt his own sanity, something he had been doing for some time, and the idea of ​​going after to find out who that person was came to his mind. Under the influence of the adrenaline that alcohol provided, he began to seriously consider the possibility of acting, taking advantage of the fact that nobody he was with knew you. This propelled him to overcome his shyness and hesitation, especially in front of the common circle of friends you shared.

One of the friends, probably taller and louder, nudged him on the shoulder with a wide smile. "Hey, Min! What are you staring at so intently? If you keep frowning like that, you'll get more wrinkles."

Yoongi shook his head, trying to play it off. "No, it's nothing. Just... I think I saw someone familiar over there on the corner."

The friend laughed, patting the pale man's back. "Ah, okay, we get it. Let's focus on the bottles, alright?"

Yoongi just nodded, but deep down, the glimpse he had of the figure on the corner continued to echo in his mind, like a soft melody he couldn't forget.

Walked in and dream came trued it for ya Soft skin and I perfumed it for ya

"Please, Madonna is a queen," you declare to Jimin with conviction as you both enter the venue, amidst a lively debate about pop divas worthy of a Twitter thread.

"Not just a queen, she's a goddess, along with Cher, baby," Jimin backs up his argument.

The bar belonged to Yoongi, and it was a cozy yet stylish establishment tucked away in a trendy corner of the city. The entrance greeted patrons with a neon sign flickering with warm hues, drawing them into a world where music and conversation flowed freely. Inside, dim lighting cast a soft glow over plush velvet couches and rustic wooden tables, creating an atmosphere that was both inviting and intimate. The walls were adorned with vintage posters of iconic musicians and artists, adding a touch of nostalgia to the modern ambiance. Behind the sleek bar counter, shelves lined with an impressive array of spirits and liquors glimmered under the spotlights, inviting guests to indulge in their favorite drinks. As you and Jimin settled into your seats, the sound of laughter and the clinking of glasses filled the air.

The noise of the music in the bar was loud, but not loud enough to prevent Yoongi from hearing your voice as you entered the establishment. His eyes locked onto you, dressed in a pink dress that hugged your curves irresistibly, outlining each contour with elegance. The suggestive neckline added a touch of boldness, leaving anyone who looked at you drooling with admiration. Your hair cascaded over your shoulders, framing a delicately made-up face that exuded confidence and charm. You seemed like a vision of pure sophistication and sensuality, and a subtle hint of jealousy struck Yoongi, though it was something he would never admit out loud.

Finally, it was Hoseok's birthday party, and the bar was packed, considering he was so sociable, seemingly friends with half the city. Yoongi didn't know even 20% of the people there, but he had let his friend invite whoever he wanted as a gift.

As a way to not make it too obvious that he had a crush on you, Yoongi kept himself busy with party duties. He served drinks, helped set up with Jungkook and Taehyung, who, by some miracles, actually started to pitch in... More often than not, they ended up hindering rather than helping.

As they worked on the preparations, Yoongi occasionally cast furtive glances in your direction, observing your movements and conversations with the other guests.

He found himself looking at you again, chatting animatedly with Jimin. You whispered to each other and glanced around, seemingly engaged in a private conversation that no one else could hear. His attention was soon taken when the music stopped, and he saw the guest of honor for the night on the small stage used for live music nights.

"I'm glad everyone's here and I want to thank you all, but especially Yoongi," Hoseok pointed to the dark corner of the bar where his friend was busy making drinks. When Yoongi realized that all eyes were on him, he felt a warmth creeping up his cheeks. But what really embarrassed him was noticing that you were watching him with your big eyes and a smile that made your face glow. "He provided this exclusive space for us. This party would have been impossible without you, brother."

He definitely wasn't used to being the center of attention, and the sensation made him uncomfortable.

As the party was in full swing, a sweet pop song started playing, and that's when he noticed the commotion around him. You were closer to him, and he didn't know how that happened, but something slipped from your lips as you stared into his eyes:

"Oh, he looks so cute wrapped 'round my finger."

You put the straw to your lips and gave him a slight smile. Before he realized it, you had vanished into the crowd.

But this empty space didn't remain so for long. Jimin, the guy he always saw you with everywhere. Something Yoongi suspected at first until he realized, through social media, that besides you being really friends, the guy with the big lips and cute smile had a girlfriend who strangely looked a lot like him. Jimin also got closer to Yoongi a bit before you showed up. He was friendly, not always, but had an aura of a playful boy.

"You got the message, right?" Jimin stopped in front of Yoongi and said this with a somewhat arrogant smile on his face as he nodded toward the upstairs, which not ironically was where Yoongi kept a second home when he wanted to escape from the world or felt too tired to go to his luxury apartment. The older man returned the smile, not wanting to show that he was lost.

"What are you two up to?"

"Why would we be up to anything?"

"You know you're always involved in something, right?" Yoongi raised his left eyebrow slightly as he questioned.

"Are we communicating in questions now?" Jimin repeated the act.

Yoongi remained silent, just waiting for the next response.

"Uh, I'm just getting things done here," he spoke again, pointing to Yoongi's house with his head. Jimin was already pushing him towards the stairs, not allowing Yoongi to think things through. "I need you to grab JK's bag, he left it there."

"Why is his bag in my house?"

"I don't know, just go already."

Yoongi climbed the stairs, trying to go unnoticed, a bit suspicious about what was going on. As he entered through the wooden door, he found the place completely silent and everything in place, the small living room and kitchen were in perfect order, with no sign of anything suspicious. He decided to turn back and return, but before he could do that, a loud noise coming from the bathroom made him freeze in place.

"That's a heavy door," the unmistakable female voice reached his ears, and in seconds, he understood all the strangeness that had occurred downstairs. You appeared in the hallway leading to the bedroom, perfect as always, but stumbling a bit with your tall white boots, most likely due to the force of the door.

Yoongi quickly turned around trying to leave the place unnoticed, but when he tried to open the door, it was locked from the outside. He mentally cursed Jimin for whatever the hell he was trying to do. He turned his gaze to you.

"Uh," he cleared his throat, trying to get your attention. Your surprised expression gave away that something was wrong, but he could see a hint of shyness glimmering in your eyes.

"Yoo-o-ngi?" You cleared your throat, still a bit incredulous. "Is something wrong? I needed to wash my hands. You know? Drinks, dancing, spilled... Jungkook told Jimin and that you authorized me to come here because of the bathroom line... Um, that's it, I guess?" It was like a meltdown, you spoke hurriedly in seconds, Yoongi barely caught on. That nervousness had an explanation.

What Yoongi didn't know was that you were enchanted by his figure, the way he remained mysterious, his large and firm hands holding the whiskey glass... Yoongi was far from the type of guy you were used to dating and attracting, but people like him were your ideal type of guy, the one you imagined before falling asleep or when watching a romantic comedy. It wasn't just a crush, you genuinely had developed an admiration for him in this short period of time. His organization and the way he fought for his goals were like a moment of silence in the daily chaos.

It was difficult for you to find a moment to talk to him because it seemed like the only thing he knew how to do was work. Besides, it would be strange to show up alone at his bar, right?

But it was becoming complicated to hide when you two met. Most of your friends had already noticed your glances, you weren't someone who could pretend. Now, in front of him, alone in a place illuminated only by the moonlight, it was difficult to hide.

"Jungkook didn't warn you, did he? I'm sorry, I-I..."

"Y/N," Yoongi's voice echoed through the hallway, sending a shiver down your spine. Your eyes met in the dim light, sparking with palpable tension. You held your breath, feeling a wave of desire course through your body. Yoongi's intense gaze pinned you in place, as if you were ensnared in a spell. You could feel the electricity in the air, the attraction pulsing between them like an invisible current. Your lips parted, ready to form words that were never spoken, but the sound died in your throat. You couldn't decipher what he was feeling.

"Just shut up," that wasn't what you expected. "I think I know exactly what's going on."

The tone of voice used left you feeling flushed, it was embarrassing. You tried to ignore all the reactions of your body and began to think about the events. And when you realized the plot, all your eyebrows raised and your cheeks violently reddened in understanding.

Jimin had convinced you to make a move today.

"The plan is easy." He spoke with calculated confidence, as if conducting a masterclass. The images on the TV screen flickered, displaying a variety of suggestive outfits. "You throw him some charm, something subtle but not too subtle, it needs to be teasing but not overly, something like a discreet invitation," Jimin explained, sliding the slides skillfully.

"I'll choose the clothes that please me," you retorted, with a tone of disapproval.

"Your clothes already have a vibe of another reserved, so it's all right," he replied with a mischievous smile. "Continuing, second step: you'll touch up your makeup in the bathroom upstairs. You know how it is, at these parties the main bathroom always gets crowded. Are you understanding?"

"Yes, Professor Park," you replied, feeling somewhat frustrated. "But why do I need to touch up my makeup?"

"Think with me, Y/N," Jimin said, adopting a persuasive tone. "That will probably happen after a while. I want to make sure that, by the time he sees you and you talk, you look absolutely stunning." You trusted Jimin's guidance, even if the reasoning behind it didn't make much sense.

"So, I'll lead the conversation with him and keep him around. When you come back, you'll be ready. You'll throw the charm, disappear, and then come back triumphant," Jimin concluded, outlining the plan with unwavering confidence.

Your hand automatically hits your forehead. You felt a little humiliated, especially considering his strange reaction.

"Yoongi, what did he tell you to come up here?" You don't look at him, avoiding any proximity.

"Does that really matter?" He was in front of you, making it impossible to look away. He saw you biting your lips in a moment of pure impulsivity, and that aroused him to the true Yoongi, the guy who doesn't need to woo someone, he fucks without a care.

He leans towards you, his lips meeting yours. His lips were soft, but you could hardly feel them, due to the force with which he grabbed your waist with one hand and the other behind your head, pulling your hair slightly. Their bodies pressed against each other, seeking relief for the tension that had built up between them.

You moaned in the form of a sigh, and he let out a arrogant chuckle in the middle of the kiss.

"Y/N... We haven't even started and you're already moaning like this?" Yoongi didn't want an answer, but he leaned back slightly from your face, pulling your hair again, this time with force, forcing you to look at him. He took advantage of your stretched neck to lick it up to your ear.

"So needy," he put his tongue back into your mouth.

Suddenly, Yoongi returned to what he was before he met you. The arrogance was in the air. You could only moan and murmur.

When one of his hands slipped between your legs, you choked in the middle of the kiss, stopping in alarm, but that didn't discourage Yoongi, who continued to move his fingers lightly over your panties.

Your mouths were close to each other, but remained separated, so close that Yoongi could feel your breath hitting his lips. Some strands of saliva still connected you. The older man's movements began to get faster, his reactions were making you embarrassed, you were about to climax without him even having touched you properly. A finger slipped into your wet hole.

"Yoongi," you were in ecstasy, broken, looking at his face, eyebrows furrowed, eyes closed, and mouth slightly open. You felt his breath close to yours, sighing, but without touching, it was a tease. Yoongi's hand slid to your jaw and held it firmly. He knew you were close by the pulsation of your pussy and the grip on his fingers.

"Yoongi... I'm going to cum, please don't stop, please," you whimpered as the tingling began from inside your belly, he kept up the pace; it was so wet there.

"Yes, fuck, cum on my fingers," that was enough.

And so you did, in small gasps and with tightly closed eyes, you melted over him, almost falling to the ground.

You barely noticed when he put you on top of the kitchen table and, with a gentle push, laid you down, pulling up your dress to your waist. Yoongi's large rings made contact with the warm skin of your belly, bringing more sighs.

Yoongi looked into your eyes asking for permission, receiving only a pleading look to continue. You threw your head back, completely lying down. It was only possible to hear the metallic sound of the belt being opened and a light sound of his pants falling to his ankles. Peeking, you came across the most promiscuous scene you had ever seen. Yoongi looking directly at your pussy still covered by panties, with his lips between his teeth, while he masturbated lightly. He grunted like an animal before approaching.

He pushes the panties aside and slowly slides into you, earning a dragged moan from you. He takes advantage of his position and, running his hand over the outside of your thighs, he pulls you closer, returning to vigorously swinging his hips towards you.

His breathing becomes heavier as Yoongi's gaze fixates on the action that is taking place. He is ignoring everything as if that were the only thing that mattered, just listening to the sound of their skins colliding.

"Don't stop," your voice comes out in a whisper, knowing that he is close to climaxing. The movements accelerate more than possible, and Yoongi's voice becomes a tangle of grunts and sighs until he buries himself deep inside you.

You feel every movement of his, every part of him inside you, an overwhelming sensation that makes your whole body tremble. Your breathing becomes heavy, your heart beats irregularly, and the heat between you is palpable, enveloping you in an intense aura of desire and passion.

The last thing you remember is him with you in the shower, bathing you while you played around like two idiots. The hot water running down your naked bodies, the laughter echoing in the small space of the bathroom. Shortly after, without even bothering to dry off, you both fall onto the bed, your bodies still wet, but your hearts filled with an intense and profound connection.

Jimin would be punished for lying.

Is it that sweet? I guess so That's that me, espresso

Two men were inside a large black car parked in front of the bar across the street. The party had ended an hour ago, nearly 7 a.m., but they remained there for an important reason.

"Did it work?" The man with large eyes asks.

"Believe me, I don't give it five months for Y/N to show up with a grumpy mini-Min ready to cry on my shoulder," he says, taking another sip from the cold beer can, taken from Yoongi's special stock, but he knew he deserved it, as they had taken care of the place and closed after the party.

"Anyway, I hadn't even noticed... This... um... thing they have... Jimin, when you wanted to talk to me, I thought it was about Yuna," the other comments.

"Haha, that was a lie. She's obviously attractive. I just wanted to test him a little before leaving my best friend in his hands," Jimin says naturally, gesturing with his hand to support his own plan.

"Lie?" Jungkook turns his body fully towards Jimin, with his eyebrows deeply furrowed and his arms open in indignation.

Jimin puts his hand on his shoulder and follows his gaze to the second floor of the establishment.

"You know, a good cupid needs to ensure all possibilities." Jimin checks his phone one last time before leaving, and only one notification catches his attention.

"Your NETFLIX login is no longer available. Would you like to sign in with another account?"

A scream was heard throughout the neighborhood.

Hello everyone. Just popping in to let you know that next week I'll be posting the second chapter of Get This Man <3.

[bangaveragewhitewine]

the boy is mine (amy's edition)

Written as part of @carolmunson ‘s the boy is mine writing exercise which is such a fun and gorgeous idea!

wc: 1,800

contents: love-sick best friends turned lovers, set in 1985 (there's an angstier version of this in my drafts...), allusions to sex (nothing explicit), Eddie's boner mention, kissing until your lips hurt

notes: Well, I’d love to lie and say that this was a breeze, but writing has been incredibly difficult for me lately. Fighting with myself comes easier than writing these days, but this is a really fabulous idea. Feeling ✨part of something✨ is really special (and a little daunting). Thank you, Carol 🩷

the scene: a romantic night-in at the trailer. 

the guidelines: prompt, props and dialogue are all here 

April 1985

You watch silver smoke curl and melt into the air as the cigarette burns between Eddie’s lips. The scent of it cuts through the lingering fug of weed and sex and sweat. His hands are busy with pen and paper, jotting lyric ideas into his little notebook.

It feels a little bit romantic that he is so inspired after fucking you.

Your chilly feet rub together beneath the covers. It’s hard to resist the urge to stick them between his shins but you don’t want to ruin his artistic flow by shocking him with your arctic toes. 

Fade to Black plays from the boombox on his messy dresser. Eddie had wound the tape back to restart the almost seven-minute track after the first listen-through and grinned unapologetically when you rolled your eyes at him. His head bobs to the beat as he scribbles and you shift your attention to a particularly perfect curl lying across his shoulder, the dark black ink pressed into his skin.

If your camera were closer, you would snap a picture of him. But for now, you store the image of him away in your mind. In twenty, thirty, forty years, you will remember tonight and smile. There’s a whole life ahead of you to plan with him, and you’re pretty sure Eddie wants in on it too. 

“Your Mama never told you it’s rude to stare, princess?” he asks, rereading what he had just spilled onto the page. He clicks the pen three times before folding the notebook closed. His wave of inspiration has peaked and you are, once again, his sole focus. 

“Maybe. Probably.” You shrug one shoulder before taking the cigarette from between his lips.

The way your lips hug the filter makes Eddie’s body thrum to life all over again. When you lean across him to tap off the ash, he takes his chance to pull you against his chest and lock you into his lap, closer than close. The cigarette is left to burn out as you trade smokey, wet kisses back and forth between smiling lips until you are both laughing at nothing, at everything. At that little whiney noise lodged in the back of Eddie’s throat, and the way he taps the opening bars of Trapped Under Ice against your bare body. 

That throaty, dirty laugh makes you feel warm all over. His cheeks are rosy-warm and cherubic when he smiles at you. You want to nibble them but settle on gentle kisses instead. His eyelids and forehead are next, then his nose, before you work your way back to his lips. It’s a tender moment after those almost unstoppable giggles, rib-aching and eye-watering laughter that comes easy when you’re with Eddie - more free-flowing when you’re still a little bit faded. 

“Want the rest of that pizza?” Eddie asks after a few moments. His mouth has been busy kissing your neck and shoulder, and the way his breath catches on damp patches makes you shiver. 

A few more smiling kisses are traded before you vacate the cocoon of body-warm blankets together to don discarded sweaters and underwear. Eddie glues himself to your back in a penguin shuffle to the kitchenette to raid the forgotten pizza box and the stash of munchie-friendly snacks stowed away in the cupboard. 

The formica feels cool against the back of your thighs as you chew thoughtfully on the cooled-off slice. There are empty cans of High Life on the table between the melted candles; Eddie’s romantic ideas of tea lights and the champagne of beers had set the butterflies in your stomach swirling when you stepped into the trailer that evening. The VHS cases and TV remote are lost between the couch cushions and throw pillows, cast aside before you could even decide what to watch in favour of making out hot and heavy. 

Eddie holds up two soup-recipe mugs. “I ran out of like, nice cups, this okay?" he asks. 

The unwashed everyday mugs are abandoned in the sink and Eddie’s own Garfield mug is a quarter full of flat soda on his dresser. You know better than to suggest one of the collectables perched high on the shelves and hooks in the living room, and Eddie does too. Wayne is still irked about the cracked commemorative Moon Landing mug. It’s been glued together and sits safely on a higher-up shelf since thirteen-year-old Eddie had wanted to impress you, his new friend, with hot cocoa. 

You look back at the bowl-cups, and wonder if anyone ever used the recipe on the front. “They are nice. I’ve always wanted to drink not-soup out of these. Feels illegal.” 

Everyone always said he would be a bad influence on you, drag you down. They never saw that soft side to Eddie Munson, but you did. Using soup bowls as cups is far from ritual sacrifice and grand theft auto.

When he looks at you, perched on the counter in his hoodie and no pants, eating cold pizza, he feels like he might be looking at an angel. Your post-sex hair is your messy halo.

He comes to stand between your thighs and you feed him a bite before pushing his bangs back to kiss his forehead simply because you want you. Because you can now. Now that the pretence of being just friends has finally (finally) been dropped. Everything about your night together - now that you are together - is pretty similar to how it’s always been. Pizza and laughing until your ribs hurt, smoking enough to make you loose-limbed and ravenous. You spend less time looking at his lips and fingers and wondering what they feel like; you know now, and get to sample any time. 

He steals one more bite before popping the lid on a can of Betty Crocker vanilla frosting from the cupboard. It has been a solid fixture of your garbage-food fixes since you and Eddie were fourteen and fifteen and home alone with a stack of horror movies to watch; Betty and two spoons, maybe some peanut butter or salty chips for balance. Now there is always a can in the cupboard, in your house and in the trailer, for when the cravings hit. When you move to Indy together after graduation, it’s top of your grocery list.

Eddie feeds you the first spoon, hovering it in front of your lips so you will come and take it. He feels a little like a pervert when he watches you eat it, lips around the cold metal and your eyes closed. You know exactly what you’re doing, doling out a little payback for Eddie getting distracted with his lyrics and set-lists while you were cuddling.

“Did anyone ever tell you it’s rude to stare?” you ask, tongue thick and coated with sweet vanilla. 

“Just appreciating the art, sweet thing,” he fires back, winking at you before taking a bite of frosting. His brows pull in like he’s pondering something. “Mm. Wonder if  there’s a Mr Crocker…”

You shove his head as he cackles that goblin-laugh of his and you try not to smirk at the same joke he’s been telling for years. 

“You want an older model, Munson? Karen Wheeler’s been looking pretty dolled up lately…” You take the spoon, tapping it against your lip as Eddie pulls a face. 

“Oh yeah, MILFs of Hawkins, come get me.” Eddie rolls his eyes before sliding his fingers up your bare legs to find the soft curve of your waist. “Only girl for me is riiight here, baby. You’re all the woman I need.”

He’s pressed up close with his chin resting against your chest, gazing at you like you hung the moon. 

“Better tell O’Donnell that. I think she has a crush, s’why she keeps giving you detention.” 

“You’re a fuckin’ sicko.” Eddie’s reverence shifts into a scowl as he rests against your chest, but softens again when your fingers slide into his hair, coaxing him to relax and melt against you. 

“And you like that?” you ask.

“I do.”

Eddie can feel the sped-up thud of your heart beneath his ear, matching the beat of his own. A peaceful moment settles over the kitchen.

Until a tendril of mischief unfurls inside you. Imitating that nasally, cringe-inducing voice of O’Donnell blended with something a little breathy, you whisper in his ear, “Edward Munson. I want to see you after class. You’ve been a very bad boy…” 

He steps back from you, hands over his ears so he can’t hear any more of your teasing. It’s cold without him all wrapped up and pressed against you.

“Divorce. Divorcing you. Get out.” 

Your cheeks ache, like when you’ve had a lollipop lodged there for a little too long. It’s sweet and cloying like the joy you take from riling him up like this. “Aw, don’t be like that!”

“Too late. I’m taking the house and the kids.” 

“That’s not even…” you cut yourself off, laughing too hard, and Eddie can’t even hide his own smile; he can’t buy into his own dramatics when you sit glowing on his kitchen counter, damp-eyed from laughing so hard (even if it is at his expense). 

“M’sorry, sorry. Don’t divorce me.” You pout and open your arms out, grabby hands poking from the too-long sleeves until he slopes back between your legs and folds against you. Your mind wanders briefly to a future where you’re Mrs Munson; it sounds nice.

As stubborn as he can be, Eddie thaws after a few sweet kisses cut with quiet little murmurs of ‘forgive meee’. You feed him another spoon of icing as a sign of peace, sweetening him up just a little more before licking what’s left off of the tip and edge. 

You feel his hands squeezing tighter on your hips, bringing your attention back to Eddie and away from the frosting. 

“Hm?”

“If you don't stop, we're gonna have a problem.” He sees your confused expression and taps the spoon. “I’m gettin’ jealous. Of a spoon.” 

You can feel the problem, warm and thick against your leg. It does not feel like much of a problem, and you both can think of a few tried and tested solutions to make it all better - a few more to be explored are jotted on a page of another small notebook tucked away in Eddie’s drawer.

“Is it a problem? Really?” you ask, head tilted with the metal tap-tapping against your lips before you go in for another indulgent scoop. 

“Okay, I’m cutting you off.” 

The spoon is snatched and thrown, and it clangs against the mugs in the sink as Eddie takes your hands and hauls you down from the counter. You taste vanilla on his tongue, sharing the sweetness with you as you stumble blindly back to his room.

thank you for reading🩷reblogs, likes and comments are welcome and cherished!

Don't forget to check out the rest of the fics from the challenge!!

[charliemwrites]

A reader x Simon commission piece I just recently finished for my sweet bean N.W. I had a lot of fun writing a little scenario I never would have thought up on my own!

(Reader is described with FAB anatomy, but no gendered pronouns are used. No sensitive content warnings, just spice.)

It’s a perfect day.

The sun is a bright golden marble in a perfect jewel sky, toasting the sand into a powdery bed. There are only wisps of flossy cloud to interrupt the light, a feathery salt-soaked breeze to soften the edge of heat. The water is nothing but lazy ripples, foamy waves crawling up the coastline before slithering back.

And your coworker is soaking wet.

When you first signed on as a lifeguard, you didn’t expect more than some extra pocket money. A little financial cushion while you finished working through your master’s program. A chance to get some sunshine instead of holing up in your room. Maybe the occasional bit of eye candy while you fished children out of the shallows and fussed at families for littering around the barbecue grills.

You didn’t expect Simon “Walking Wet Dream” Riley. (Okay, that’s not his actual nickname – apparently it’s “Ghost.” Because of course it is.) You didn’t expect his big, fuck-off muscles, or his perfect sun-bleached hair, or the dark ink of his tattoos, or…

Well.

You got more than just eye candy when Mister Price hired you. Simon is a whole damn feast. Especially when he’s fresh from a cool-down swim, red trunks weighed down by water and tides, revealing the tantalizing curves of his hips. Droplets skittering over the bulges and divots of his body, sparkling in the sun…

“Excuse me?”

You try not to jolt, head jerking to the guy that hopefully hasn’t been standing there too long. He looks about your age, maybe a bit older. Wavy, chin-length brown hair and eyes nearly as blue as the water. Pretty, in a young Instagram prince kind of way. Maybe your type in another time – the time Before Simon.

“Hi,” you say quickly, “did you need something?”

“Do you have any plasters?” he asks. “My little brother scraped his knee.”

You glance at the kid shuffling just behind him, his knees dirtied and one red with a bit of blood. Nothing serious, you determine, but could use some first aid.

“Oh, poor thing!” you say. “C’mon, we have some bandages in the shack.”

You wave to get Simon’s attention, make the quick hand-sign indicating you’ll be gone for a moment. He notices you, the two boys, then nods and makes his way back to his usual lookout spot.

The shack is a quiet, cool oasis away from the heat. You’ve dozed off next to the mist fan more times than you care to admit, only to be woken by Simon pressing a cold water bottle to your cheek. It used to annoy you, but now you appreciate the reminder to hydrate.

There’s a robust first aid kit in one of the cabinets, though you groan a bit when you see how high Simon’s stashed it this time. Damned tall man; you could swear he does it on purpose. You try to reach it on your toes, but when that doesn’t work, you jump a bit. Still no luck. You’re going to have to get the stepstool at this rate.

“Here, I’ve got it.”

You jump a bit as Insta-Prince comes up behind you, sliding in close before you can scoot out of the way. He stretches his arm over your head, tugging the kit down from the shelf. When you glance up – concerned about something falling on you – you find him smirking down at you.

“Thanks,” you say trying not to snatch it out of his hands.

“Seems like an… inconvenient place to put that,” he muses.

You sit the younger brother on a plastic chair near the door and kneel, kit open on the floor. “We usually keep it lower… I think Simon forgets I’m shorter than him.”

The kid winces a bit at the sting of wound wash but puts on a brave face when you smile at him.

“Seems pretty rude. Is he hard to work with?” Insta-Prince asks.

You hesitate, trying to think of how to respond. Simon was intimidating, at first. Dark eyes and stoic expression, he was difficult to read. Always within a stone’s throw, you used to feel like he was hovering. Like he didn’t think you could do your job right.

Over the months, though, that insecurity has bridged into a tentative friendship. Even if he’s not talkative himself, he lets you chat to your heart’s content. Keeps you hydrated, reminds you to eat snacks and apply sunscreen. Even handles the rowdier beachgoers when they break rules, his bigger stature and sharp glare enough to cow even the most entitled people.

“No, he’s—”

“What’s the hold up?”

You glance up at Simon’s broad form angled in the shack’s doorway. His eyes aren’t on you or the kid, though. They’re on Insta-Prince – standing a little close to you, now that you’re not focused on the younger brother.

“Just finishing up,” you answer, smoothing a waterproof bandage over the scrape. “You did great, buddy, high five!”

That earns you a little smile and the requested high-five as the kid hops out of the chair. When you stand, Simon’s eyes flick to you. Darker than deep water, something swimming within that you can discern from the surface. It makes you fidgety, like you’ve been caught out doing something you shouldn’t.

“Remember to log it,” he rumbles.

“On it!” You lean over the wooden counter to pluck the clipboard from the wall on the other side, relieved that someone put the pen back for once.

“So, you have to write down all the injuries people get?” Insta-Prince asks, trying for casual conversation. The air feels oddly stifling, and gets worse when he settles closer, peeking around to see the sheet.

“Just if we use medical supplies,” you answer, scribbling quickly.

“Lifeguards only in the shack, kid,” Simon interrupts. “Get moving.”

You try not to snort in amusement. While Simon might tolerate you, he’s got a general disdain for most beachgoers – ironic considering how adamant he is about safety. But he seems to find the average person a nuisance to be constantly monitored and herded away from trouble. Like a shepherd with a flock of particularly stupid sheep.

“My brother was hurt, man, give me a break,” Insta-Prince protests, annoyed.

“And now he’s not,” Simon replies. “You should catch up with him. Kids need to be watched, isn’t that right, sunshine?”

You hum absently in agreement, signing off on the injury log with your initials. There’s a beat of silence that itches at the back of your mind. When you look up, Simon’s arching an eyebrow at the guy, thick arms crossed across his barrel chest.

Sir, firearms are not allowed on the beach, you think, before wrenching your eyes from Simon’s biceps.

“Did you need anything else?” you ask Insta-Prince.

“Just what time you get off work,” he replies, giving you big, soft, hopeful eyes.

You blink, a bit shocked. Flirting happens rarely for you, except maybe platonically with Soap or Gaz. To be fair, you’re not exactly the female lifeguard idol that most people would fantasize about. Half the time you jog around in shorts and a rash-guard, more comfortable in unisex swimwear and keeping the worst of the sun off yourself. Helpful to avoid wardrobe malfunctions if a panicking swimmer grabs at you.

Besides, you’re not really looking to get hit on. Hard to keep an eye out for emergencies if someone’s chatting your ear off for a shag by the restrooms. (You didn’t think people really did that until Farah groaned about it at the bonfire when you first hired.) Still, now that it’s happening… you don’t hate it. This guy is objectively attractive, apparently cares about his younger sibling enough to get him first-aid, and is weathering Simon’s increasingly annoyed scowl.

You figure there’s no harm. Not like someone else is showing a similar interest.

“At sunset,” you answer. “So, uh…”

“6:30,” Simon offers.

You shoot him a grateful look as the kid begins scooting for the door, skirting around Simon’s wider, thicker frame. Christ, the difference is stark. You tug at the front of your rash-guard to relieve some of the sudden heat.

“Maybe I’ll see you then,” he says before disappearing around the corner.

You stare after him for a second. He didn’t even ask for your name. “Huh.”

“The hell was that, sunshine?” Simon grouses.

You turn to him and shrug. “No idea.”

“Really now?” he scoffs.

You shake your head, already agitated by the whole thing for no reason you can pinpoint. Lean over the counter again to hang up the clipboard. “Really.”

“This isn’t a place for your silly summer fantasies and little meet-cutes,” he growls. “This is a real job, with real lives on the line.”

You twist around, brows furrowed as your mouth drops open in offense. “I know that.”

“Do you? Then why the fuck were you in here flirting?”

“I was helping the kid,” you argue, “you saw him!”

“Real convenient, that. When the older one’s been eye-fucking you all damn day.”

Any snappy retorts drown in the shock of his crass language and the accusation. All day? That guy? And Simon noticed? Never mind all that – Simon would seriously think you’d use a kid’s injury as an excuse to… what? Get cozy with an attractive stranger while on duty?

“I don’t know what you’re on about,” you huff, “but I need to get back out there.”

As you pass, a big, rough hand snaps out and catches your elbow. You come up short, half-turning towards him, face hot. Equal parts angry and ashamed for some reason. Summer romance your ass.

“Get it together,” he orders.

You click your tongue at him. “Same to you.”

You wrench your arm back and storm out onto the sand, snatching your floatie from the shack railing along the way. Don’t know what jellyfish stung his ass, but you hope he figures it out. Don’t think your self-esteem can take another round of… whatever that was.

The rest of the day passes tense and slow. Without Simon to talk to, and the beach relatively peaceful, you’re left to fixate on the incident in the shack. What was that about? You thought for sure you’d grown on Simon a bit. Sure, you’re one of the younger lifeguards, which is why Price assigned you to Simon’s post, but you’ve worked hard. You thought you’d proven yourself.

Checking your watch, you find that it’s nearly 6:30. The sun doesn’t seem that low yet, but the beach got empty while you were idly keeping watch. Might as well pack it in, you figure.

Not even thinking of Insta-Prince when you hop up the little wooden steps to the shack. Simon isn’t back from wherever he’s monitoring yet, and you’d like to be clear before that changes. Just in case he’s still in a bad mood.

You shed your blue swim-shorts and rash-guard on the counter, leaving you in the more standard one-piece. Roll your shoulders a bit uncomfortably, itching to squeeze into your binder after a day with tits-out. You’ve gotten accustomed to the sensation of leaving it off for the job, but you’d still prefer to wear it when safe.

You flop onto the counter, reaching over the side to fish your bag out from its cubby. Of course, that’s the exact moment that you hear Simon’s heavy step on that creaky board by the doorway.

“Bloody hell,” you think you hear him mutter.

“I’m just about to head out,” you assure him.

“Meeting up with that knob?”

Your temper flares. You abandon your bag and land on your feet, spinning around. Come up (very) short when Simon’s right there, not enough room to breathe without your chests brushing. But you don’t allow yourself to be deterred.

“So, what if I am?” you challenge.

His eyes darken, then narrow. “This isn’t a game you want to play, sunshine.”

“Maybe I do,” you insist, planting your hands on your hips.

He exhales slow and heavy, boxes you in against the counter with hands on either side of you. Your stupid, traitorous heart skips a beat, then trips into double time. Normally he wears a rash-guard too, but not today. No, today it’s swathes of tanned, scarred skin. And it’s so, so close to yours.

“You won’t win,” he warns.

Your tongue feels heavy and clumsy, maybe because your thoughts feel the same way. Now, you’re not always the most aware of “signals,” but there aren’t many other ways to interpret someone near-pinning you to a counter with smoldering eyes.

You scramble to review the earlier confrontation through a new lens. The way Simon glared at Insta-Prince, not you – until you seemed open to his interest. Oh. Ohhhh.

You wet your lips; the way his eyes lock onto the movement bolsters your courage.

“What if… I don’t want to win?” you ask.

His eyes dart up to yours, something a little sharper than longing when he whispers, “I’d make you a sore loser.”

An unexpected laugh bursts out of you; his teeth flash in a crooked smile as he scoops you up so easily. He sits you on edge of the counter and steps between your thighs, pelvis bumping against yours. You gasp, head dropping to stare wide-eyed at the frankly monstrous bulge in his trunks.

“W-wow,” you mumble faintly, thighs squeezing around his hips.

“C’mere, sunshine,” he growls, cupping your jaw.

You tilt your face up, sigh softly as his mouth slots over yours. He tastes like blue powerade and sea salt, tongue curling against yours when you grant him enthusiastic access.

Your hands make scattered, eager work of exploring him, unsure where you want to touch first, just that you have to. He’s as solid as you always expected, densely packed muscle under healthy, hydrated layers of fat. Sun-warm beneath your palms, shudders as your skim them dangerously close low on his twitching abdomen.

“Can I take this off?” he asks, tugging gently at the shoulder strap of your swimsuit.

“Yeah,” you mumble, wriggling closer.

He huffs in amusement, peeling the elastic material over your arms and down your chest while you scatter kisses over his jaw and neck. You gasp into his peck when his calloused thumbs brush your hard nipples. Just a small touch, yet electricity is racing up and down your spine.

“This alright?” he checks.

You hum the affirmative, pressing into his touch as he pinches and rolls the sensitive peaks, slow searching. Reclaims your mouth to swallow each and every little mewl and moan that spills off your tongue. You can’t help rocking against him, hot and hard through the thin layers of swimwear.

“Simon,” you whine against his mouth, “c’mon.”

“Impatient,” he teases, nipping your bottom lip.

“You’ve kept me waiting long enough,” you complain, tugging at his trunks.

“I know, sunshine,” he coos, “just wait a bit longer.”

He takes the tiniest step back, fingers hooking in your swimsuit again to roll it the rest of the way off. You lift your hips to help, nearly squirming as strings of slick web between the fabric and your pussy. But Simon seems hypnotized, snapping the strands with his fingers and following them back to your swollen cunt.

“Fuck, all this for me, baby?” he rasps.

You make an embarrassed noise – which quickly graduates into an alarmed squeal when he drops to his knees.

“Simon, wait, I’ve been working all day and—”

“Don’ give a fuck,” he growls, “I’ve been dying to taste you for weeks.”

He yanks your thighs over his big, strong shoulders and dives in. It’s messy and obscenely loud, filling up the tiny shack and all the empty space in your head. Would be embarrassing if you had any room for something so frivolous. Instead, you’re gone on the way he sucks your clit and laps thirstily at your entrance. Utterly obsessed with the deep, throaty groans that leave you throbbing.

It's been a while, true, but you know he’d have you on edge so fast regardless. And he does, rushing up on it like a building, rolling wave. The devastating kind that’ll drown you in unyielding currents.

“Wait, wait,” you squeak, tugging at his coarse hair.

To his credit, he stops instantly, though he sounds absolutely gutted about it. Pulls back licking his lips like a cat with cream, chin practically dripping.

“Alright?” he asks, voice shredded to ribbons.

“I just,” you pant, “I just w-wasn’t ready to – to… I wanna cum on your cock. Please, Si?”

“Fuckin’ hell.” He surges up, pressing you down flat to kiss you stupid(er) and senseless. The taste of you isn’t as offensive as you expected, not coming from his tongue. “You’ll get anything you want if you keep talking like that.”

“Just want you.”

He helps you off the counter, drags you by the wrist to the plastic chair by the doorway. You’re about to protest – no way can that chair support someone his size, never mind both of you. But then he’s spinning you around, crushing you to his chest, and yanking you down into his lap. Any such nonsense as good sense dissolves like a sandcastle.

You can feel the length of him pressing hot and a little wet against your spine. (So, so high up your spine, good god). When he freed himself from his swim-trunks, you’re not sure, nor do you care at this moment. Your priorities narrow down to one absolute necessity: getting him inside you now, now, now.

“Easy now, baby, don’t hurt yourself,” he purrs in your ear. “Let me help.”

He curls big hands around your hips, tight enough that you relish the bruises that may bloom there later. Supports your weight as if it’s nothing to him, propping you over his lap as you line up his cock, dragging the flushed head through your pooling wetness. He curses low and rough, sinking you down until the tip catches on your entrance.

“There we are,” he grits, hands flexing in your soft flesh. “Nice and slow now, sunshine.”

If you had your way, he’d already be balls deep in your aching pussy. But his grip is firm and unrelenting, lowering you inch by thick inch down his shaft. You back and squeeze around him, encouraging him deeper, faster, helpless little noises escaping from your gaping mouth.

“That’s it, halfway there,” he breathes. “Doing so well.”

You choke. Halfway?! You already feel stuffed, walls gripping every contour of his cock like you were made for him.

He twitches inside you, bulbous, leaking head grinding deliciously, and your resolve cracks right down the middle. You dig your nails into his thighs and slam your hips down, crying out as he buries deep inside. Can feel him nudging your cervix, stretching your silky walls, all the way down to where your opening is sealed tight around the base of him.

“Fuck,” he snarls.

“F-feels so good,” you whimper, head falling forward as you clench around him.

Oh, you are definitely going to be so perfectly sore after this. You can’t fucking wait.

“If you’re that impatient to be ruined,” he chuckles breathlessly, “best brace yourself, lovie.”

You barely manage to get your feet planted before he’s fucking up into you, hard and mean. Just what you want, what you need. Your head falls back to cry your pleasure to the shack roof as you bounce. Rocking your hips each time he bottoms out, grinding him against that spongy bundle of nerves inside you. It’s mind-numbing; you’re leaking around him, know it must be dripping onto the floor at this point.

He snakes a hand around to your front. Brushes where the two of you are connected, the strange and dangerous sensation making tears prick at your eyes. Then his fingers skip up to your needy, oversensitive clit. You almost want to stop him, already so overwhelmed with pleasure. But again, anything like coherent thought is ripped away on a tide of ecstasy when he begins rubbing quick, tight circles.

Your rhythm faulters at the new stimulation, but Simon just widens his stance. It changes the angle, drags the head so perfectly against your g-spot. With the hand still on your hip, he starts jerking you down to meet each thrust. It’s slightly slower, but so much sweeter, combined with the rhythm he’s strumming on your clit.

Your orgasm rises like a tsunami, higher and higher, a devastating force building up inside.

“Simon,” you keen, “Simon, I’m gonna – right there…”

“That’s it, sunshine. Get me nice and wet with your cum.”

That voice, saying such filth in your ear, sends you over the edge. You nearly convulse, eyes rolling back in your head as you scream. Back arching, writhing and gripping crescents into his thighs. And you can feel yourself gushing all over him, onto the floor.

“Yes, yes, fuck, just like that.”

You’re near limp as he keeps hammering into you, practically using you like a toy to get himself off. The thought alone makes you squeeze around him again, a powerful aftershock bringing another flood of wetness. Your head lolls back against his shoulder, crying into his ear, begging him to cum inside you, fill you up…

He crashes his mouth into yours as he cums, groaning into your lax mouth, jerking violently into your overstimulated pussy. You swear you can feel him spurting inside you, thick and white-hot. It feels… it feels…

You break the kiss to suck in a deep breath, lightheaded and still squeaky with pleasure. Simon trails soothing kisses over your shoulder, grip easing up to caress over the forming finger marks. You hum softly, voice husky. Flutter your eyes open and blink at the pink sky out the window.

“Is it… is it just now sunset?” you ask.

Simon chuckles against your ear. “Looks like I was about thirty minutes off. Whoops.”

[anjelagarrick]

ink

john price x reader

summary: your husband notices something new.

tags: established relationship, very domestic, fluff!!!, talks about having children, i love him sm 😭

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

JOHN’S CHEST RISES and falls with each deep breath. You’re on your phone, back pressed to his chest, other hand resting upon his forearm, gently rubbing circles with your thumb. John loved his work, but he loved you more; he always craved being beside you, having you in his arms. The bedroom is quiet, other than a fan running to keep you both cool in the summer heat. “John, look.” You smile, offering him your phone. Just as he’s about to take it, a line on your wrist catches his attention. Slowly, he takes the phone, trying to peer at what was on your skin, yet you moved your hand away as he took it. It was a simple post of a saint bernard puppy, his favourite breed of dog. It makes him smile. “His name is Cash. Isn’t he adorable?” You giggle, rolling over in your husband’s arms to huddle closer to his chest. “Yeah, very.” He hums, handing you your phone back. You’re smiling as you continue scrolling.

Eventually, curiosity gets the better of John, and he gently grasps your wrist, pulling ever so slightly. You glance at him, watching his eyes trace over the tattoo upon your wrist. It was only small, barely noticeable. “When’d you get this?” He asks softly, smiling a little. “A few weeks ago. Do you like it?” You respond, a ghost of a laugh on your voice. It was a small, fluffy bear with a bucket hat on. John’s eyes are bright with amusement. “I love it.” He chuckles, it rumbles in his chest as he lifts your wrist; pressing a kiss over the mark. “Ive been talking about one for a while, and I figured i’d get something of you. To remind me you’re still here even when you’re away.” You explain, letting him run his thumb over your inked skin. “Maybe I should get something of you.” He muses, looking at you.

“I thought you didn’t want tattoos.” You tease, kissing his lips gently as John lowers your wrist once more. “I’d do anything for you.” He mutters, smile creasing his eyes. “Sap.” You chuckle, gently hitting his chest. “What would you get?” You add on, resting your head upon your lover’s shoulder. “A swan, maybe on her phone.” He half-jokes. “A swan?” You giggle, looking at him. “Mhm. They’re beautiful birds, very elegant, very precious too. You’re definitely my swan.” He smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Aw, John.” You croon, cupping his cheek to press a sweet kiss to his lips. “Perhaps you should make a design for me.” John suggests, holding you closer. “Yeah? Maybe I could…” You reply, letting your head rest once more. “Mhm. I’ve seen your little doodles. It would feel more… special, intimate.” He adds on, fingers brushing over yours before tangling between them, he brings your hand up to a soft kiss; focusing upon your ring finger where your wedding band sits.

“I’ll see what I can do.” You respond, smiling brightly. “Good, good. I can’t wait to see what you come up with.” John chuckles, already picturing what little creations you could come up with. “Let’s just hope your boys don’t tease you.” You joke, scrolling through your social media’s once more. “They wouldn’t.” John rolls his eyes playfully. “Mmm… they would.” You smile, kissing his collarbone. John let’s out a soft chuckle. “They’ve been asking about you.” He notes. “Yeah?” You chuckle, looking up at him. “Mhm. It’s all ‘how’s our mama bear?’ and ‘when can we see her again?’ It’s mainly Johnny, you know how he is.” He laughs gently, you smile. “They’re probably the closest we’ll have to kids.” You joke, knowing how fond they were of you. “I think kids would be less difficult.” John grins. “Yeah,” you laugh. “Kids don’t have access to C4.” John lets out a joking groan. “Don’t remind me.” You laugh again, gazing at your husband as the room settles once more. “What..?” He muses, smiling gently at you. “Nothing.” You smile wider, kissing him.

“Nah, somethings up. What?” He muses, hand rubbing your back. “Just… would you want kids? A family?” You ask, pressing your head into his neck. “Of course. We’d have adorable kids.” He chuckles, “They’d look like you, i’m sure.” He adds on. “Yeah?” You smile, squeezing his torso a little tighter. “Yeah. I wouldn’t mind having a few kids with you, doll.” John insists, muscular arms moving around you securely. You giggle softly, snuggling closer. “I love you.” You tell him, chest elated with joy. “I love you more, darling. Get some rest, eh? It’s getting late.” John whispers, kissing the top of your head. “Alright. Good night, John.” You respond, curling closer. “Night, lovely.”

[arseniy-arsenicum33]

All Hermits in Hero Forge!

Season 10 is coming! And I've finished modeling every Hermit (Thus far) in their TCG-cards poses!

Special thanks to Hoffen for their original minecraft models...

You've already saw these eight models in my Life-series minis showcase, slight tweaks and costume changes... I really need to buy Hero Forge subscription, so i can manipulate fingers individually... Now, for the new guys... Guess what?! I've figured out how to make links! Now you can see my references directly! Technology!

Ren got his cool casual look...

Docm77 inspired primarily by Belmarzi's design, such as this... It was very funny to suddenly stop in the middle of this project to model him hugging Snoop Dogg...

JoeHills, unsurprisingly, based on real-life Joe Hills... But I did have this comic by my side while modeling him, for moral support, because modeling someone's likeness is always stressful...

Cleo's pose pose a challenge, It uses a transparent one-legged skeleton inside the main body... Like a real armour-stand magic! I like how it turned out...

I've started watching Zedaph very recently, so both Noxolotl's and Applestruda's portrayals of him were very helpful in forming mine...

Blaise's Hermit line up was used for Cub and Hypno, which you will see down the line... Bee's art was helpful, once again, and these Cub-arts by Sylvan...

My main goal with Jevin was to somehow convincingly make a slime look slimy... I was so ready to make him as rotund as this art, but alas, program restrictions...

This art was used for False at the very beginning, but it drifted so much with the addition of cheekbones, that it doesn't look like it at all anymore...

Hypno had a surprise for me, because before making this model, I've never saw this brown line on his chest as a boob-window... But now, I am convinced... This is the art, that guided me to that conclusion... Ghostea's and Locus's portraits were useful for figuring out his face...

Iskall lifted from this art... Hero Forge doesn't have any cool one-eyed visors, so I've settled on monocle for him and Doc...

Hero Forge also for some reason doesn't have a hand-held flower, so pretend, that Stress doesn't hold a pen, okay? And has a cardigan... Based mainly on this and this art, which was also used for XB...

My best guess with Keralis was that he is doing Edvard Munch's "The Scream" ommage... Thanks to Myra and Cole , without them, Keralis would've looked more like a bug with them big ol' eyes...

Oh, boy, XB... A true enigma for me... Pictured here, lightly jogging... Only you could tell me, if I did a good job with him, I sincerely have no idea... Since this is in part a TCG-inspired project, it would've been wise to use references from the actual TCG-cards... To bad, I've came up with this idea near the end of a project...

I have made so many Xisuma-costumes, and only now I am showing you the main friendly-neighbourhood DoomGuy cosplayer himself... Do I need to credit id Software for this?

WelsKnight is my champion in regards to how many references I needed for him... 1 2 3 4 5 6 7! Despite how many armour options Hero Forge has, making something coherent out of them was difficult... Especially, keeping in mind, that one day I'm going to model HelsKnight as well...

And finally, TinFoilChef, based heavily on this stunning artwork... And somewhat on this skin by Ink-Ghoul... It all comes around...

And the Creator Himself! Beef! And his wonderful portraits: 1 2 3 4...

I actually going to use him as an example, to address something...

Here is how my screen looks, then I am working on a model... My method of creation is derivative by nature, it requires the art and creativity of other people... And I have SO MUCH anxiety about this... Not being an artist, but still trying to make something with my limited capabilities... And post it on the internet, oh horror...

With recent talks about plagiarism and AI-art, it has come to my attention, that I myself not so different from AI, just not so efficient... So, this is why I so obsessively document my influences, it is the least I can do... Credit the artists, that I stole from... Please, check out everyone mentioned, subscribe to them, commission new pieces of art...

And if you've liked my dorky "minecraft youtubers made in DND character creator" models... Thank you...

Sometime later there will be a google doc on my blog with links to every model I've ever made, go nuts with them... Try Hero Forge for yourself, it's fun...

[whoreish-behaviour]

Revenant 2

Previous - Next

Na'vi!Colonel Quaritch x Na'vi!Reader

Warnings >~< = Man-handling, nothing too extreme..yet

The throbbing pain all over your body was what woke you up. You felt as if you had been chewed up and spat out.

Even opening your eyes grew to be difficult, the blinding glare from above proving to be too much for your unadjusted eyes.

After much effort though you did, finding yourself placed carelessly into the corner of a room.

The ceiling was low and the table in front of you barley reached your knees as you wobbled to stand. You assessed yourself quietly, nothing looked broken or too bruised.

Aside from your tail, that had an odd bend to it.

However there was also an excessive simultaneous ache in your back, tail and thigh as you gritted your teeth.

You thought back to how you got here, the room leaking the scent of those sky creatures.

You could feel yourself get more angry as you remembered exactly how you ended up in this beaming white room.

The pathetic oaf had knocked you out. And how? You weren't sure.

Your tail whipped around you painfully as you felt yourself get more worked up, ears flattening as you circled the table - searching for a way out the puny room.

You spotted the door, stomping over to it only to find it completely sealed shut.

Banging you fist against it, you hissed at the thing blocking your path out of there. Spinning around, you then saw...you?

The whole wall seemed to reflect, like the water back home when you gazed down into it icy depths.

The reminder only fired you up more as you walked over to it, fingertips ever so lightly touching the cool surface.

You looked at yourself and tilted you head, ears up and alert. How these creatures had managed to mimic water baffled you.

They were such stupidly.. smart things.

They were smart and stupid enough to create destructive machines that in turn destroyed themselves and everything around them.

And now they were here, set on laying their destructive fingers on Pandora and cursing its soul with their disease.

The thought had your blood pumping with anger as your hand became a fist, slamming against the surface before you. You repeated it again and again, hissing and snarling.

They couldn't keep you here.

You had a family, a clan to keep safe - away from the sky creatures.

You then felt the wall begin to splinter beneath your fist. You stopped as you heard a hissing sound escape the damaged area.

Stepping back cautiously, your eyes bounced all over the room - waiting for something to happen.

And almost immediately, you began to hear the seal on the door break away, smoke collecting along one side.

Instincts on high alert, the only thought racing through your mind was Run!

Lowering to the ground slightly, you crept closer to the door just as it began to hiss along its edge- similar to the sound you heard from the wall.

As quick as anything it slid open, revealing the blue soldier from before, the ink on his arm easy to identify.

Your face automatically snarled - you couldn't see from his chest upwards as the doorway was too low, however you knew he was sneering right back.

Without thinking, you darted towards him, slipping though the gap between his body and the door.

Because of the doorway, he wasn't able to guess your intention, giving you a clear head start as you ran down the hallway.

'Fuckin’ hell..' You heard his curse just as you rounded the corner.

The hallway seemed to go on forever, littered with people in uniform who all turned to you, faces going pale.

Not wanting to linger any longer, you sprinted down the hall until you came to an absolutely massive room.

The eyes of soldiers and more people in white snapped to you, there had to be at least over 50 in the room. Amongst them, the blue soldiers that had helped raid your clan where also planted around.

Caught off guard you came to a stop, breathes heavy with frustration.

There was no escaping, not unless you wanted to risk being shot.

You felt a seed of panic grow as you saw people reach for their weapons, knowing this could be the place you die.

Not on the coast where you grew up, not on the back of your ilu fighting for your clan and not in the arms of the people you loved.

No, it was going to be a cold, white room filled with your enemies.

The air around you felt thick, too thick to breath as you began to heave. Why couldn't you breath?

All the air seemed to have been sucked from the room, causing your panic to grow more and more, working yourself into a terrifying state of fear.

Your legs and mind suddenly felt weak, too weak to feel hands behind you grasping yours in a firm grip before pinning them behind you.

You felt yourself being kicked to the ground, body collapsing as you continued to gasp out, all breath finally leaving you.

You cheek rested against the cold ground until you felt a warm hand on you chin, grasping you jaw and tilting it up.

You them felt another hand on the back of your head, gently lifting it off the ground.

Feeling the same hand crawl from the back of you head to the underside of your face, it supported the weight of your head entirely, your body loosing strength to so.

The hand on your jaw then left you, before quickly returning - a black breathing mask in it's grasp. It was pressed firmly to your mouth and nose, creating a seal.

You then felt it.

It was as if you were breathing for the first time again.

You eyes shot open as the air filled your lungs, your chest expanding as you let out a gasp.

Shooting out, your hand cupped over the one holding the device, pressing it even harder against you face, sucking in the air.

After a few, you eventually calmed down, breathes even.

As your mind cleared though, you realised who was siting on your back, their weight heavy but not entirely restricting.

It was just to make sure you didn't try anything stupid again.

Sensing your body tensing beneath him, the soldier pulled back his hand, leaving yours to hold the breathing machine.

'Easy.'

You didn't fight back, only relaxing against the floor as you allowed yourself to go limp.

You weren't in immediate danger, yourself told yourself to calm down, obeying the order given to you for once.

'You go ahead and keep that, but imma' need your cooperation.' He saw your ear flick in his direction as he watched you maul over his words.

You were either contemplating another cheap escape or was translating his words to yourself.

He hoped it was the latter.

He then felt your body shift under his, until you laid on your back, staring up at him. He didn't sense a fight or struggle but he could never be too sure.

He looked down at you, hands ready to hold you down if you tried anything, but the nod of your head had him relaxing ever so slightly.

You watched him as he looked away from you and towards the many people behind you.

You saw as another breathing mask was thrown towards him, his hand easily grasping it as he raised it to his mouth, deeply inhaling before letting it hang from around his neck.

You stared as you his chest expanded before settling once again. You then traced up to his neck, his traditional blue Na'vi stripes peaking out.

You cursed yourself for looking.

He was evil.

A walking devil in disguise of your people.

You saw him look back down at you, his right hand reaching behind him ominously. You felt your face screw up, his movements making you suspicious.

Only when your eyes saw the handcuffs did you move once again.

He wanted you restrained!

However, you'd never allow him to have that much effortless control over you.

Bucking your hips up to attempt to throw him off, you wriggled around, trying to escape as he pressed his weight down on you, trapping you to the cold tile.

'They’re only goin' on until I get you away from all these important people.' He rolled his eyes at your dramatic display, before placing the orange restraint between his teeth.

Now with his hands free, he was able to flip you back over, pressing down hard between your shoulder blades as you hissed at him.

You heard him whistle above you as you continued to thrash.

'How her down will you?' You heard him mock you, talking about you as if you were some rabid dog.

Looking to your side, you saw another blue soldier step closer over to you, her smirking face glazing down at you, her jaw chewing something in a bored manner.

She walked all the way up until she was directly in front, her boots an inch from your face.

You then felt a rough pressure replace the hand on your back, the texture painful as it dug into your skin to hold you down.

You whined from your helplessness as you felt two hands roughly grab yours, placing them at you base of your spine before being secured tightly.

Looking up, you saw the female soldier, her foot securing you to the ground, watch as you were restrained, a smirk on her lips.

Knowing there was nothing else you could do, you slumped to the ground, tired breaths leaving you.

'Atta' girl!' You heard her laugh at your submission, her foot lifting from up your back before dropping back down in front of you and walking back to where she originally was.

You then felt the weight on you move up, a single hand grasping the hair at the back of your head, pulling it to yank your head back. You cried out but didn't move.

'Don' move.' You heard him grumble before you felt the breathing mask being attached back to you, the band now going around you head to keep it there.

He released your hair and you felt his weight leave you completely. You shivered as the cool air traced over your uncovered back.

You eyes widened as you suddenly felt a hand grab at your tail, the thing still in pain from earlier. You looked over your shoulder and hissed at the soldier.

His thumb was tracing over the lower middle section of your tail that was bend ever so slightly, the area discoloured and purple.

And from your hissing and whines he would tell it was hurting like a bitch.

Looking over his shoulder, the colonel waved over one of the many doctors and scientists, who immediately came padding over - clipboard in hand.

'This thing look broken' to you?' He emphasised by moving your tail closer to the doctor, your body dragging with it slightly as you whimpered.

The doc's gloved hands replaced the colonel's, fingers assessing the area while the colonel's eyes bounced from your injured limb to you, making sure you stayed down.

'I'll definitely need an X-ray but I'm pretty sure I can snap it back into place. A few bandages for a while and it'll be fine.' The doctor spoke, shrugging as if it was nothing.

The colonel looked back down at you, body obeying for once and relaxing.

You wouldn't be useful if you were broke.

Plus, he knew how sensitive these things were and could only imagine the pain every time your body acted on instinct and moved it.

It was gonna be a bitch to do but he knew he was having your tail fixed whether you wanted it or not.

Part 3

Kofi <33

Taglist = @namor-is-the-way @kimqueenofhell

[aris-ink]

I need step brother jungkook fcking sister in a tesla driving home pls 🥵

I know this wasn't in my wips but I was listening to ordinary life by the weeknd and here we are

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: forbidden romance, step!siblings au

warnings: mentions of violence (not towards the reader), slight allusions to murder and corruption kink, pseudo incest, oral sex (road head 💀), soft dirty talk, tiny bit of degradation, lots of praise, car sex, creampie, as always this turned out soft

The trees passing by looked like ink, branching out against the pink and orange brushes of dusk in the sky. Jungkook's hands tightened around the wheel, the feeling of your lips on his neck caressing him like a gentle gust of wind, causing goosebumps to erupt along his spine. He leaned his head back against the leather seat when you left a kiss below his ear, one hand landing on your thigh.

It was so difficult to find a moment where you could be alone together like this. He couldn't exactly kiss you or hold you out in the open, because what would people say? Personally, Jungkook didn't give a fuck. He never hesitated to bury anyone who bothered you deep in the ground, and therein lay the problem. You gave a fuck, and seeing as he was your brother, he would have to burn the whole city down, starting with your parents. Somehow, he doubted that you would have liked that.

Not that ultimately he wasn't going to have to take care of this issue anyway. But for now, he was happy to just fuck the tears and the doubts out of you, until you understood that you were his and he was yours.

And it seemed like you were beginning to understand, little by little. His cock hardened as your warm lips brushed up against the silver cross on his neck, your nimble fingers working on undoing his zipper. He wished he could open the window to cool down, but he wanted to hear you clearly, each breath you took and each soft hum you let out.

Heat bubbled in his stomach, a sharp intake of breath following the feeling of your hand wrapping around him, easing his cock out of his jeans. Inked fingers tightened on your thigh, eyes trained on the road stretching out before him. Even when you leaned down to swipe your tongue across the tip.

He twitched at the feeling of the wet warmth, the veins in his hands more prominent the tighter he squeezed the wheel.

"What are you doing?" He murmured, unable to help the flutter of his heart and his eyelids, his back straightening when your lips wrapped around him.

The only answer you provided him with was a small suck as you lowered your head further, taking his cock deeper into your mouth. Jungkook groaned, restlessly searching the outside scenery for a place to park. Instead of continuing down the highway, he made a turn into the forest that stretched for miles from both sides, where the old oaks and willows could conceal you from any prying eyes.

The path he entered was rocky and uneven, the unexpected bump causing your teeth to graze against him. Jungkook hissed, slowing to a stop, not caring enough to drive deeper into the woods. As soon as the ignition was off, his hand buried in your hair, head tilting down so he could look at you. He grunted, taking in the way half of his cock disappeared inside your mouth, the way you tried to take it deeper, sloppy and wet and tight.

"Fuck," he breathed. "Oh, what a good girl."

He finally let himself throw his head back and close his eyes, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, tongue running over his piercing. The small moan you let out around him made his cock drip, and you sucked on it like you needed more. Jungkook whined, tugging on your hair softly to get your attention.

But when you lifted your head, spit shining on your lips, his hand cupped the back of your neck and he pulled you in for a messy kiss.

"Get in the back," he muttered. "Go."

It shouldn't have been surprising that as soon as you did as he asked, he was sliding your wet panties down your thighs, ready to bury his face in between them. Smoothing one hand over your spine, he bent you over the seat, the other hand busy tucking your underwear into the back pocket of his jeans.

"I'll be keeping those, baby."

Your hips rolled when you felt his lips brush your inner thigh.

"Need you inside, please," you sighed, resting your head comfortably against the seat.

Jungkook pressed himself against you, shielding you with his warmth, hard cock rubbing in between your slick folds.

"Yeah?" He groaned. "Be more specific, baby, because you know I'd give you anything. What do you need? My tongue? Fingers? Tell me, pretty angel."

You shook your head, a shiver running through you when he started kissing your neck, his lips soft on your heated skin.

"Come on, you can do it. What do you think you deserve, baby?"

You took a deep breath, eyes closing, his strong hands rubbing your thighs.

"A-anything I want," you whispered.

Jungkook hummed.

"Mm, that's right. You deserve anything you fucking want, angel."

The tip of his cock nudged your entrance. The feeling of your walls trying to suck him in made him suppress a shudder, but he didn't let up, sliding one hand under your shirt.

"And why do you deserve anything you want, hm?"

He circled your nipple with the pad of his finger, feeling it harden instantly under the touch. As if to motivate you, he pushed in a few inches deeper, stretching you out slowly.

You gasped.

"Because I'm- because-"

Another inch forward, his hips pushing closer to your ass.

"Because?" He coaxed breathlessly, wrapping his entire hand around your breast to fondle it.

"Because I'm your good girl," you whimpered. "Please."

Jungkook slid all the way in, teeth biting gently into your throat, strong arms enveloping your frame. A low moan left him as your pussy clenched around his cock, pulsing and leaking.

"Mhm," he breathed out slowly, immediately setting up a rhythm, his thrusts starting off hard and deep, pushing you into the seat. "Tell me more."

He didn't care if you had trouble speaking, or if he had to fuck you and edge you all night to hear what he wanted. You knew that by now, because as much as you struggled to answer him, you didn't hold back like you have before, even if your skin burned with embarrassment.

"Be-because I'm your pretty baby," you moaned. "Please, faster."

Jungkook provided you with just that, lewd, smacking sounds beginning to mingle with your soft whines and his groans.

"Yeah, that's right, look what a smart, good girl I have here. Fuck, you're so tight. Missed this perfect pussy so fucking much, fuck."

The last word came out as a grunt. No, a growl, something more feral spreading through his veins, making his cock ache as he fucked you.

"You wanna come?" His breath tickled your ear, voice raspy, arms tightening around you possessively. "Tell me. Want me to ruin your little cunt?"

You only whined in response. Jungkook knew you like the back of his hand, and oh, there was no doubt left in him that you were on the verge of giving in and letting go. There was no mercy left in him either, his cock pounding you faster, balls tightening with every thrust.

"Please, please, please," you mewled. "Please, Jungkook!"

He gritted his teeth.

"Say it first, baby. Fucking say it or I'll stop right now."

You shook your head weakly, groaning.

"No! Please, I want to come. Make me come."

With a strangled moan, he sneaked his hand in between your legs, pressing into your swollen clit.

"Yeah? You wanna come? My pretty little baby is gonna fall apart on this cock like a good slut? Huh?"

He could see stars explode behind his eyelids when your cunt convulsed around him, his jaw set tight, glistening with sweat. The way you moaned his name made his stomach twist, his cum shooting deep inside of you and painting your walls white. It felt hot, wet and messy, his hips grinding into yours unsteadily, his body tingling from head to toe.

He held you close to him, not knowing how else to satisfy his endless cravings, nor how to silence the constant demands of his bleeding heart. It always called out for you.

Maybe you weren't a good girl, certainly not after this. Even though your parents knew nothing of this little secret, it was almost impossible to please them, no grade or job ever seeming good enough. And Jungkook couldn't replace the acceptance he knew you craved from them; but he could fill you up with his own love, and continue to fuck your insecurities out of you. Maybe you weren't a good girl, but-

"What are you, angel?" He whispered into your neck, his body slumped against yours, knees numb from being pressed into the seat for too long and cock still buried inside you.

"Your good girl," you sighed again, the words stumbling out with more ease, almost absentminded.

Jungkook smiled, pressing a kiss into your shoulder.

"Yeah. My good girl."

Another kiss, then one more, tender and sweet.

"My good, little angel."

That was all you needed to remember.

💌 taglist: @imnotlauriane @baalsgurl1913 @bucketofhiros @silv3rswirls @osakis-gf

[octuscle]

A matter of honor

After splitting up with his girlfriend, Angus' financial situation became increasingly precarious. The hotel he had moved into when he was kicked out of the apartment they shared was far too expensive for his means. And after a short time, he realized that his standard of living did not match his income, but hers. Every use of a credit card was a gamble. And Angus was finding it increasingly difficult to keep his cool.

He realized that the situation was critical when he went to his fashionable gym after a short and not very lucrative day at work. His membership card wasn't working. So he went to the counter to ask why. And his jaw dropped: Nicolas, who worked at the front desk, was usually the epitome of a crossfitter. A handsome young man, well-built, well-groomed, a feast for the eyes! But the fellow who was now standing opposite Angus was, firstly, almost a head taller and at least twice as heavy as Angus. A beefcake! His right arm was inked all over with the kind of images you'd expect to see on a hooligan. A greasy mullet on his head and a horseshoe moustache on his face. And a huge cock that was squeezed into his tight trousers.

"Hi Angus, are you having any problems?" asked Nicolas. "I don't know, Nicolas" replied Angus, "you tell me!" "Name's Nick, let me have a look". Nick explained to Angus that the last two contributions could not be debited. And that letters to his address had been returned as undeliverable. No wonder, Angus had of course given his girlfriend's address. Angus took a deep breath and explained his problem to Nick. It felt good to finally tell the truth. Somehow he felt like he could tell his fellow anything. "Angus, my buddy, I think I have a solution," Nick said and pulled out his cell phone. "I'm easily making a thousand pounds a day with this app here at the moment. Sometimes even 2,000 if things are going well. He looked at Angus almost lustfully, grabbed his crotch and said that he could easily make just as much money.

"Hell," Angus thought to himself. As long as my cell phone isn't blocked, I'll give it a try. Nick let Angus into the gym and Angus installed the app. If he understood correctly, this was basically something like OnlyFans. People paid for voyeurism. He could only hope that none of his friends joined in. Angus took a deep breath, put on his most dazzling smile and posted the selfie with the caption "Guys, I'm new here. Looking forward to interacting with you!"

Angus had just finished warming up when he received his first message. "Would love to see you with a nipple piercing. Offer 20 pounds." Angus wondered what he should do now. He could select "Accept", "Decline" or "Counter-proposal". He pressed "Accept" once. The account balance display jumped to 20 pounds. Apart from that, he didn't notice anything. Very strange, he thought as he played with his right nipple, lost in thought. Maybe it would be a good idea to pierce the other one at some point. When he was financially liquid again. The feeling of the piercing was simply hot!

Angus had almost finished training when he got the next message. "What do you think about a new job? Offer you 100 pounds." This was getting stranger and stranger. He pressed "counter-proposal" and jokingly entered 5,000 pounds. What could happen? The display read "Crowdfunding active" and the account balance rose slowly but steadily. Angus finished his training, posted a quick selfie with a sweaty torso and went to take a shower. Back at his locker, he glanced at his cell phone. The account balance was 4,975.89 pounds. And then it jumped to 5,020.00 pounds. Nick had been right, it was a piece of cake. He got into his not-so-clean overalls, put on his work boots, grabbed the toolbox and set off. He had the late shift at the emergency plumbing service today, he had to hurry. He said goodbye to Nick with a fist bump. He liked the fellow. The bald head and the full beard looked great on the guy. Okay, at just 5'6" he looked a bit like a garden gnome. But at least he looked like a damn muscular one.

Angus' boss didn't like it when he played with his personal cell phone during work. So he could only read through the new messages after he had finished work at around 10 pm. There were a lot of offers. Some were strange at best, really sick or perverted at worst. He couldn't even put up that much money as a counteroffer that he would agree to a one-inch cock or six fingers per hand. With others, he didn't have to think twice. Someone had offered him a new apartment for 500 pounds, for example. Another had offered to adjust Angus' hairstyle. For 200 fucking pounds. Angus really had to grin. As he sat around the corner of his basement apartment in his favorite pub, drinking an after-work beer, he scratched his bald head. He still didn't understand what this app was for and what it did… But he already had almost 7,000.00 pounds in his account.

It had been a tough day. Angus was tired. He was glad to be in bed. The last message he accepted before falling asleep was the offer that he was now called Liam. For 50.00 pounds, after all.

Liam knew what he owed his fans. Still lying in bed, he posted a selfie with the caption "Out of bed, off to the gym. And then back to cleaning clogged pipes".

While sitting on the loo, Liam accepted a few more tattoos and a septum piercing. It brought him almost another 400 pounds. But if he wanted the muscles to burn, he had to hurry now.

Nick greeted Liam and told him what work still needed to be done in the men's shower. By taking on these small janitorial tasks, Liam saved himself the horrendous club fees. He could only hope that he had understood Nick correctly. The ascetic Indian's accent was really hard to understand.

"300 pounds if you become a weightlifter". Accepted. "50 pounds if you work out in a basement gym in a backyard in Newham" Accepted. Bloody hell, he was here to work out, not to chat. Liam simply accepted a series of requests without thinking. He hadn't fucked an ass for over ten hours now. And his shift as a sewer worker was about to start. He had to let off some pressure first. One of the fellows working out with him had been watching him the whole time. Liam stood up in front of him.

"Ever sucked a proper ma'e's cock?" Liam asked with his booming bass in his deepest cockney accent. The young man immediately and willingly got down on his knees. Yes, Liam had a mountain of debts to work off. But a man's got to do what a man's got to do.

Pics found @hellishin and @sarge555

[flightyalrighty]

(sorry if you've gotten this before or if this is not the right kind of question for the blog)

Do you have any advice on HOW to make a comic series? From what I've seen your work is fantastic, well made and written! (Cool concepts, story, and character dynamics etc)

How did you start? How DO you start?? How do you comic lol

I'm glad you enjoy my work! I'll do my best to answer this question!

I could give the ol' "Just jump in! Get started!" But I don't think that's the answer you're looking for, here. Even if it's technically the correct one.

"How do you make a comic series" Is one of those questions where the answer is kinda difficult to summarize in a single ask, because there's a whole lot that goes into it, y'know? I'll give you a brief run-down of my process.

I figure an idea for a story. In the case of Infested, the whole story was written before I even got started on the script. This is an outlier in my usual process and I don't normally do this and definitely don't recommend it.

Figure the plot like how you would figure a regular story's plot; The beats you wanna hit, the way the characters develop, the beginning, the middle, the end. What's the point of the story? What, exactly, are you trying to convey here? Who's the target audience? All that stuff ought to be figured out before even picking up a [MEDIUM OF ARTIST'S CHOICE].

Script the story. If you've seen a movie script, these things look a bit like that. You wanna not skip this step because this is where you determine the visual language of each page. Comic script writing is a whole thing and a half but I do have some random tips regarding it. -> When writing the beginning of a new scene, write down the time of day, the weather, and any important details about your setting (this is most important if you're working in a team). -> Using storyboard/film language when trying to figure out a scene is very helpful. You're not gonna remember exactly how that scene looked in your head when you finally get around to penciling it. Trust me. Write it down. Or thumbnail it! Thumbnails are also very helpful! -> Remember that you have very limited space for dialogue. Write with that in mind.

Figure the paneling on a page. I work at 11x17 and do my panel layouts based on those dimensions. I tend to make more important panels, or panels with PUNCH or SHOCK bigger than the others. Each panel is an individual illustration, but together they make a whole piece. You gotta treat it like that, y'know? Find the focal point on a page, find the most important element of it, and make that your focal point. Don't be afraid to get a lil wacky with panel shapes, either. They don't HAVE to be squares and rectangles. Check out what other cartoonists do! Get inspired! Paneling is an art-form within itself!

Page from "Hanna Is Not A Boy's Name" By Tess Stone

5. Penciling time! Get the perspective figured out, then draw the background, then draw the characters. Do it in that order. Trust me. With a background already set up, characters can be drawn more like they exist within that space, instead of floating in front of it. Also? Be aware that comic artists need to be ready to draw ANYTHING. You may have a great idea that you GOTTA put out into the world, but you have no idea how to draw, say, a car. Or debris. Or jungle foliage. There's no shame in using references, tutorials, or even doing a bit of tracing if something's outside your wheelhouse. Here's a bazillion tutorials from two guys who REALLY know their stuff.

6. Speech Balloons! Yes, really. In fact, you may want to do this and penciling at the same time. I certainly do. It's better to figure this out immediately so it doesn't hurt you later when it comes to getting your balloons to share a space with your art. Here's some great advice on the whole subject from a master of the craft

7. Inks! Line weight variation is key. Closer to the "camera" means thicker lines. If a part of a character is in shadow, that part is gonna get thicker lines, too. Personally, I make my background line art thinner than character line art. It helps the characters pop out!

8. Flats! Or flat colors if you wanna get specific about terminology. It's exactly what it sounds like -- Coloring the characters and backgrounds with the bare bones basic colors. I highly recommend keeping the character flats and bg flats on separate layers if you're working digitally.

9. Rendering! There's no hard and fast rule as to how a cartoonist ought to render their comic -- If they want to do that at all, even. Go with what you believe looks good AND is something you can do quickly. The "quickly" part is important. Heed my warning. Don't be like me.

And then I'd schedule the comic to be uploaded on whatever day suits me -- Thursday (usually) in Infested's case.

Of course, I kinda suck at relaying my process, so the final thing I can do for you is direct you to an extremely helpful book that really breaks it down in a way that may click with you as it did with me.

I hope this was in any way helpful to you!

[copperbadge]

A while ago @shirokou sent me a really cool dice divination set called the Publishing Goblin Oracle Dice, which looked awesome but took me a while to get comfortable with; I've never really done what I think of as "bones" divination where you cast objects into a field and divine based on where they fall (dice, runes, i ching, etc).

I did a first few readings this past month, though, and while they were difficult they were also really fun! I don't know why this form of divination is so much more complex for me -- I read card pretty fluidly, although moreso when I'm working with my own deck where the cards have the meanings printed on. But like, this 14-dice reading on a mat was way more complicated than the big 78-card spread I usually do a few times a year.

That said, I have to admit, it does look properly wizardly. Look at that diagram I did and tell me it would look out of place done in red ink on parchment, lying near a skull with a dribbly candle on it. (It's mostly about change and relationships, I'm still decoding what it might mean.)

[ID: Three images; first image is a set of the oracle dice, featuring arcane and interesting symbols including scales, a butterfly, and a skull with a keyhole jaw. The second image shows the mat, lying on my carpet, with the dice lying on it. The third image is a hand-drawn chart of the mat, with the dice drawn in and numbered; between and around the dice are all kinds of notes I've made in a different color of pen, making it look like a sports playbook or a wizard's chart.]

[glubsurleseuil]

Don't be scared - Chapter 2

A Pennywise X F!Reader fanfic. First - Next

Chapter warnings: Violence, blood, discreet mention of a desire to die. It's just the beginning, it's about to get worse.

(Note: It was translated by Deepl, English is not my mother tongue, so I apologise for any mistakes. If you want to correct me, don't hesitate!)

(Note 2: I found the gif at @pennydaddywise)

(Note 3: The "lyrics" of the song are actually quotes from Mr Stephen King.)

It was a difficult night. First, when you arrived home, your body's first reflex was to throw up in the toilet. Then your brain's reflex was to search your apartment from top to bottom to make sure no one was home. Then, finally, you curled up in a ball on your bed, scared out of your wits, unable to sleep. Every minute, you checked your phone, not wanting to believe that the clown's damn message had disappeared. You'd searched your whole phone but couldn't find it. And you hated for most of the night the incredible capacity of the human survival instinct to try and make you believe that all these strange and terrifying events never really happened. Finally, you fell asleep convinced that no, you're not crazy.

Of course, like every night for some time, you had a dream. But not the same one this time. This one was just as hazy and incomprehensible, but less terrifying, and you woke up more peacefully. It made you remember the clown's message: Don't be scared... You laughed nervously, shivers running through your body just thinking about your adventure the day before.

The day had gone by too fast for your liking, and you'd been unable to concentrate on anything, that damn clown haunting your mind at every turn. Then it was finally time for work.

It was a quiet evening, without too many customers. These evenings are often pleasant to spend, but this evening in particular, you could take advantage of it and go home early. The very idea of not seeing the sun when you leave the bar terrifies you.

"Are you sure? There's no one on stage tonight. You can sing if you want."

Your boss suggests you go on stage when there's no one there. You love these moments. Singing and playing on stage is the only time you feel your life isn't miserable. But singing tonight means coming home later, when it's dark... Fuck.

You can't refuse. These moments are too rare. You get up on stage and take advantage of this moment to forget everything, your rotten life, the sadness, the anguish... The clown...

Monsters are real, And ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win.

Your voice trembles slightly and you close your eyes to concentrate.

God is cruel. Sometimes he makes you live. The devil's voice is sweet to hear.

At the end of your song, the few remaining customers applaud. You hate that noise. It reminds you of harsh reality.

Finally, the bar closes and you leave through the back door. The cool silence of the night reminds you of the horrors of life and you look down the dark, empty alley. The lights are still malfunctioning, and there's a large section of the alleyway plunged into darkness. Obviously...

You reassure yourself that you don't have to go into the forest this time. Phone in hand, you make your way down the alley, lighting every nook and cranny, and you're soon relieved to see that there's nothing and no one there.

You move forward, a little more reassured, towards the exit, towards the light. And as you put your phone back in your bag, something touches your back. It's light and it bounces against you. You turn around slowly, cautiously, holding your breath...

A balloon? A balloon. Red, floating in the middle of the path, alone. The first thing it brings to mind is your dream from last night. Yes, there was a red balloon in it, which you grabbed and flew high into the sky...

Looking at it more closely, you see a piece of paper hanging from its string, wriggling like a hanged man. You untie it and unfold it. On it, in ink as red as blood, a message.

DON'T BE SCARED

You swallow your saliva as thick as sand and your whole body shakes with tremors, preparing to run. But as you turn to leave the alley, two gloved hands grab you, one by the nape of the neck, pulling your hair as you go, the other by the mouth, pressing down hard enough that you can't scream. And you find yourself facing those predatory golden eyes, one of whose pupils squints outwards. A multitude of gleaming, pointed teeth, dripping with slime, smiles at you, just inches from your face.

Faced with such an apparition, your first instinct is to punch the face you recognize as the clown's, but you instantly regret it. True, the grip of his hands has loosened, but you note with horror that his features have deformed where you struck him, his uneven teeth protruding from his mouth in an excruciatingly inhuman way. Blood is dripping from his lip... floating upwards would be more accurate.

You push him back hard and turn to flee, knowing full well it's no use. He grabs you by the arm and pushes you violently back against the alley wall. You grit your teeth as you feel your back and the back of your skull crash against the hard surface. With one hand, he grips your neck and lifts you to his full height. No matter how hard you pull on his arm, you're unable to free yourself and breathing becomes difficult. The clown brings his face close to yours like an enraged predator.

"I said... don't be scared!!!"

He finishes his sentence by slamming you back against the wall. You close your eyes in pain, your head begins to spin and you no longer feel strong enough to push him away. All you can do is watch him rage at you, hoping it's just another nightmare.

"You don't want to live, I know it! Then why are you afraid? Stupid, ridiculous humans... This fear... So beautiful, so appetizing. How am I supposed to resist this?!"

The clown hits you once more, more brutally. This is too much. As your arms fall unconscious to your sides, you faint under his fingers and everything goes black. The last thing you hear is the clown swearing to himself.

When you open your eyes, you're unable to understand where you are. An old-fashioned smell of mildew assails your nostrils and you see dust flying in the dim light of the room. You realize you're lying on something soft, covered. Probably a mattress on the floor. Soon, the pain in the back of your skull reawakens. You run your hand through your hair to find dried blood tangled in your locks.

You sit up abruptly, the events before you fainted coming back to you in an unbearable headache, and a question forces you to hold your breath. What else has this clown... this thing... done to you? Trembling, your hand raises the old grey blanket over your legs and you begin to inspect yourself... Nothing. At first glance, anyway. Everything suggests that he's just put you down there, nothing more. You breathe again.

Your gaze finally settles around you: you find yourself in an empty room, apart from the mattress you're lying on. The light is diffused, so unnatural that you want to define it as dark, even if that doesn't make sense. The windows are so dirty that you can't tell if it's still night. You have no idea what time it is or how long it's been since the clown attack.

You suddenly see your shoes tossed haphazardly around the room, as well as your bag. That's all it takes for you to rush out of the mattress and rummage through it, your phone being your goal. But you panic when you realize it's buggy. It doesn't look particularly broken though, it simply refuses to work, the screen displaying bizarre glitches and... The message the clown marked last time, in the forest. You throw your phone to the ground in anguished annoyance.

Close your eyes. Inhale. exhale. You've got to get out of here. A hint of determination returning, you pick up your phone, your bag and put on your shoes. Passing as quietly as possible through the first doors you come to, you arrive in a corridor with a staircase leading down a few meters from you. You descend carefully, the steps creaking beneath your feet. But there's no sign of the clown, and the door opposite the steps seems to be the entrance door. You suddenly have the foolish hope of getting out of here without any trouble.

You approach slowly, your hand sliding noiselessly over the handle of the closed door. You turn it slowly... but nothing happens. You pull, you push, quietly at first, then louder and louder, suddenly panic-stricken. But nothing happens. The door doesn't move. It doesn't move at all. As if it were an optical illusion painted on the wall. A groan of despair escapes and you hold back your tears. Inhale. Exhale. All is not lost, there are always the windows.

They're as dirty and dimly lit as those upstairs, plunging the house into an atmosphere of eternal twilight. Some are boarded up, but not all. In a room that looks like a living room, you work hard on one of them, but get the same result as with the door. In a fit of anger, you end up banging on what's supposed to be the glass, even throwing a stool lying around, in vain.

A few seconds pass before a cry of rage comes from your mouth. And you knew that all the noise you'd made would attract the clown. A weak but piercing laugh pushes you to turn towards the entrance to the room. There he is, leaning against the wall, mocking you without the slightest hint of embarrassment.

"Silly, silly little human. Thinking you can escape from my house. So stupid, so angry..."

He pauses, and you can see his mocking smile break down, giving way to annoyance, his features turning stern.

"...So scared... again..."

You step back as he moves closer to you. You'd have thought his eyes were blue a second ago... You quickly bend down to grab the stool you threw at the window, tossing it at the clown to distract him and get around him, running towards the living room exit. You already knew it wouldn't work and you're not surprised to feel him propel you to the floor. He barely gives you time to turn around before pinning you down on your back. Your eyes see his face blurred by tears, while you feel warm drool running down your shirt. Above you, the clown shakes frantically, as if arguing with himself about what to do with you.

"Fear... so delicious... Maybe I should... eat you.... No! Or maybe... just a little...?"

He shakes his head like an animal shredding a piece of meat, and the comparison terrifies you.

"No. No! You are..."

His gloved hand caresses your face with a gentleness that makes you sob. Your eyes close tightly, as if that's enough to make you forget everything that's going on.

"...perfect. I need you."

You feel the clown's breath coming closer and your eyes reopen in panic. You can see his lips curling over his sharp teeth, many more of them. Your brain refuses to believe what it's seeing and you start laughing nervously.

"Don't. Be. Scared."

It's an order and he emphasizes it by snapping his teeth together in a jaw-clenching sound that echoes in your head. At this point, he lets go and walks away, leaving you alone on the floor with your migraine, covered in drool. All you hear is the echo of your own delirious laughter, resonating in your eardrums as if it belonged to someone else. 

[a-oct0]

I was thinking about this while trying to sleep last night and figured I could share my thoughts on this topic- but I should preface this by saying while I love Callie a lot I am in no way a Callie expert and that this is just my personal understanding of the whole hypndoshades ordeal. (And also I just wanted to write/ramble about something honestly lol)

So to begin- Callie 100% went to the Octarians by her own choice, she went to them willingly sometime just before Splat2. After the Squid Sister splatfest she and Marie went on to expand their solo careers and such as said in game, but the pressure of constantly being in the spotlight started to get to Callie, especially after she was publicly declared as being lesser than her cousin. She needed some sense of escape and she went to the only ones who she felt could understand that feeling... The Octarians. It does seem like Callie at least enjoyed her time there, she decorated the canyon, redesigned the soldiers outfits and probably uplifted the overall mood of the Octarians. Be that before or after the shades I don't know- But I think at some point Octavio realised that Callie would leave and go home, leaving them. I think that's what spawned the hypnoshades- he used them not to kidnap her out right but as a way to convince her to stay, not wanting to lose what had basically become a light in the dark for his people. The shades do seem to make Callie act a bit different but I don't think they're programmed to make her personality different, I've always viewed it as if the shades gave her this- sense of freedom, that she can say and act how she wishes just maybe slightly exaggerated by the shades. Now of course Marie was able to hit the shades off Callie's face which "returned her to normal" and tbf by Splat3 it seems like Callie has worked through her issues, slowly making her way back into the public eye solo.

Now this part- is all just complete headcanon and tied to my own Agents/NSS lore but I wanted to share some of it as well lol- While I get the game making Callie put the shades back on because "they look cool" as a way to add her back to the boss fight was well that- literally just a way to add her back to the fight- I personally think she did in fact put those shades back on. She put them back on again and again as an unhealthy coping mechanism, to return to that sense of escape from her very public life. Marie "snapping her out of it" did not fix the issues she had and so Marie (And Agent 4) fought Callie and Octavio again and again- each time Marie hitting Callie in the face with low tide ink. Low tide ink is probably a very dense and generally harmless type of ink but even with that constant exposure would have to leave a mark right? (This is the reason I tend to draw Callie with the green eye scar.) I think gaining this scar over time would snap some sense into Callie- finally realising just how- dangerous and mentally unhealthy her constant use of the shades are, it would be difficult but she realises that she needs to seek proper help or the cycle won't end no matter how hard Marie and Four try.

[oskea93]

✦ It Had to be You: One ✦

John "Bucky" Egan x OC Gale "Buck Cleven x OC

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and not associated with the real people mentioned from the show. This is simply based on the portrayals of the actors playing these characters. Warning for this chapter: Cursing, mentions of sex, depression, rage anger.

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Black had become a staple in my wardrobe.

I used to despise the dark color – opting for more cheerful tones or floral patterns. I didn’t want to walk around looking like a depressive cloud – someone in constant mourning. I didn’t even own a black dress until I got the news – my mother making the journey to the store to buy one. I couldn’t bear to leave the house – not wanting the sympathetic glances of those in town that had learned the news. I can’t even begin to tell you how many letters I had received, those that knew Gale and even from those that didn’t. Each letter praised his heroic actions – thanking him in black ink for his level of service and dedication to the United States. Even received one from President Truman and the men of Washington D.C.

I used to look at women who had received the devastating news with such sorrow and sadness. Wonder how they would survive without their men - their source of comfort and love. I was certain that it would be very difficult to do so – have to learn to fend for yourself and go on without the man you loved. I didn’t realize that I would be in the same boat years later. I was a simple housewife – barely of age when we married. Gale and I were just two kids – two kids that were madly and deeply in love with each other. I had grown up more privileged than Gale or those that we knew. I didn’t know how to clean a house properly or cook a hearty meal that would fill the bellies of my husband and future children. I’ve always had someone do those things for me – my mother more focused on raising a proper lady. If you needed to know which fork went where, I was the girl to ask, but I couldn’t tell you anything domestic. I wanted to be able to learn all those things while he was away – making sure that when he returned home for good, I would be able to care for him like a wife should.

I had met Gale at a dance the local hall was putting on – a sendoff to some of the troops that lived in the area. He had just enlisted– saying that he was a week away from going to boot camp. He was cool as a cucumber – no evidence of fear etched on his beautiful face. He spoke of wanting to fight the good fight – getting up in the air and showing Germany the trouble they were in for. He was a born fighter – a genius when it came to life. We spent most of the night as close as two people could be while sitting upright- both speaking of our life and our dreams. Not to sound cliché but I was smitten as soon as I saw him. His blonde hair was slightly disheveled – his wool trousers fitting his frame nicely. His smile could light up a room – that deep voice causing my insides to quiver with a need that only he could give me.

I longed for him during those weeks he was away – smiling as I read his letters that would come bi-weekly. I could hear his voice as I read the words on paper – the excitement of finally flying and the annoyance he felt towards his roommate. The one true constant that popped up on each letter was the mention of his co-captain. His name was John Egan – Bucky – the nickname he had been given. Gale spoke highly of the man – praising him and saying that he couldn’t wait for us to meet. Gale was soft spoken – a bit reserved – he wasn’t into sports or gambling. He liked to sit outside the house and just listen to the sounds of nature. John Egan was the opposite that Gale needed in his life. He helped Gale open up and Gale helped John stay out of trouble...

Gale finally returned to me after weeks away – our reunion being one spent giving ourselves to one another. We were both virgins but the time away from one another ignited a feeling in both of us that we couldn’t suppress. He asked me to marry him a month after his return – wanting to get married sooner rather than later seeing as the war was ramping up. John Egan stood by Gale’s side as we exchanged vowels – his blue eyes shining bright as he watched us become husband and wife. He was the life of the party at our reception – singing along with the band as those around us danced to the music. I could see why Gale adored him so, but I was still weary.

That feeling came to a head when John convinced Gale that it was time for him to head over to England and join the ranks. He wrote to him about the fun he was having and all the missions they were accomplishing. He made it sound like a thrill ride – something that didn’t involve the chance of dying at any moment. Gale and I spent our last night together – wrapped up in each other – exploring and branding kisses into skin – almost as if we were creating a permanent road map to remember one another. It was the most sensual night we’ve had – that we would ever have.

The movie reel played on repeat in my head as I could still feel his lips on mine as he kissed me goodbye. Tears in both of our eyes as the sound of the car’s engine faded into the distance.

“I’m coming back to you – hell or high water – I will be back.”

He kept waving until his car was out of sight – my knees buckling – my body falling into grass below. A part of my heart left that Spring Day…  

I received his first official letter a couple weeks later – screaming out in joy as I read his chicken scratch penmanship. He spoke of the area they were located – how it felt flying in – the fresh air that surrounded the base. He gushed about the new friends he had made –describing them as if he had known them for years. The most important was how much he missed and loved me – repeating the same words as above – hell or high water.

No letter from Gale would be complete without a mention of John Egan. Gale wrote of how John had taken him under his wing, but also being John’s protector. He wrote of how he’s stopped him from getting into several scuffles with the British soldiers or the townspeople. His writings detailing how much they truly cared for one another – they were like brothers.

As time progressed, his writings became darker – tragic even. He detailed his first mission in graphic detail – expressing his feelings and the slight betrayal that he felt towards Egan. He watched men he had befriended either die in the air in a fiery explosion or pass as they laid on the stretcher in the makeshift hospital on the base. He never wrote of his fear that I’m sure he had – choosing to stay strong and do everything he could for his squadron. He was the main pilot – he had the lives of nine other men to think about – he wanted them to be able to return home safely even if that meant he was the sacrificial lamb...

The last letter that would arrive on time came through the mail on October 10th, 1943. It was shorter than normal, Gale explaining that he was moments away from an important mission. He must’ve written “I love you” about a dozen times before signing off – xo following his name. I had learned about a week later that his plane had went down somewhere outside of Germany. The news articles praised their efforts – telling of how they put a damper into the German’s artillery. That was all well and good, but my husband was missing – the base having no record of his whereabouts or if he was still alive.

Months passed before a battered letter was placed inside the mail slot. The enveloped looked as if it had gone through hell, but Gale’s handwriting could be seen through the grime. He had been placed in a camp for captured soldiers. Many of the men that he had met at the base were there as well. He hadn’t been injured – keeping quiet and under the radar of the German soldiers. I fell to the floor after reading that letter – my heart shattering at the thoughts of what might happen. Tears fell on the paper as I replied – simply begging him to come back to me…

“Sweetheart?” I looked up from the mattress as my mother entered the room. “It’s nearing one in the afternoon, darling.” She threw open the curtains – the bright sunlight beaming into the once darkened room. “You need to get yourself together and get dressed.”

My mother had never seen me in such a state – not even recognizing the person I had become. Long gone was the smile and laughter – replaced by tears and screams of anger. I was angry at everyone – my parents, my friends, God.

Oh, I was especially mad at God.

Countless times I would ask why Gale – why was it his turn to be taken? Was he needed for greater things? Why wasn’t I granted more time with him? Just why?

Growing up in the church, it was frowned upon to ask why for anything, more so for why God chose those that he did.  You never asked why – you just learned to accept the outcome. I was long past that – I wanted an answer – I demanded a Goddamn answer.

Sighing, I slowly moved to a sitting position as she laid the black dress and heels next to me. My eyes boring holes into the clothing – hoping that with another energy they would magically combust into flames, burning me alive with them. “I’ll do your hair when you get out of the bath.”

Our eyes connected, “I’m not taking a bath.”

Mother let out an exhausted sigh as her heels clicked on the hardwood floor. I watched as she walked to the window, her upper body jerking slightly as she wiped away the tears that started to fall. She never liked anyone to see her cry.

I started to speak, stopping before the first syllable could come out. I wanted to tell her not to cry but I didn’t have that right. She loved Gale too – she had been smitten by him from the get-go. We all held out hope that he would return to us – just not in a flag draped pine box.

A soft knock on the bedroom door caught both of our attention as my dad entered the room. His once bright face was downcast as he took in my appearance. “The car will be here soon, darling.” His voice soft as he exchanged glances with my mother.

The reality that I was an hour away from burying my only love hadn’t set in yet – just fog – fog that felt like it would never lift to clear skies. I fisted the black material, stepping over the kitten heels as I trudged towards the bathroom. The figure in the mirror was a stranger – someone who’s been through more things than a human is supposed to. Dark circles and pale skin stared back at me – my hair in a tangled mess – not even a comb could get through at this point. Gaunt would be the best word to describe this version of Carolina. I hadn’t bathed in several days – to numb to even remove myself from the bed at times. I barely made it to the bathroom to relieve myself, almost just wanting to go on myself so I wouldn’t have to get up.

Looking around, I noticed everything laid out by my mother. Toothbrush, toothpaste, the expensive makeup that I had collected over the years sitting on the vanity. I was supposed to look put together – still grieving – but have the attributes of a Hollywood starlet.

A guttural scream roared through my body as the vanity contents crashed to the floor – the glass bottles of perfume shattering as the liquid splashed in the air. I could feel the glass stabbing into my bare feet, the blood mixing with the perfume on the floor. I didn’t even register that my father had burst into the room until his arm wrapped around my waist, my back hitting his tailored chest. I thrashed against his hold like a wild animal trapped in a cage.

“Carolina, please!” My mother bawled as she took in my state. “Please, darling calm down before you hurt yourself!”

Another voice was added to the chaos – a deeper voice than that of my father. He was dressed in a black suit – his tall figure looming over my parents. His hands replaced my father’s – his grip on my waist tight and firm. “Calm down, Lina.” His hot breath hitting my ear as the world started to spin around me. My body was running on fumes – the last of those turning into smoke as my brain finally had enough, shutting down before any more damage could be done.