#metallic gold flats

[flats-fan]

Source: @ballerinaslippersexperience

[womenofwrestlingfashion]

Remi Dress from Ivy City Co ($158), Trendy CC Top Handle Metallic Bag from Chanel (n/a) and Michaela Mary Jane Flat in Bright White from Sam Edelman ($130)

[blingschlingersjewelry]

A Cute Vacation Accessory!

Save big, accessorize for less, and enjoy the deep discount prices at #Blingschlingers.com!

These gold plated solid sterling silver Sandal Earrings are only $6.89!

[freshthoughts2020]

[odettesoddities]

PIRATE!SEVIKA HEADCANONS

NSFW + SFW

SFW

~ pirate sevika who has a map of the world on her back that she gets updated every so often so she can keep track of the places she's been, the ports that are safe for her crew and where she's hidden her treasure

~ pirate sevika who insists you sit on her lap every time the crew is celebrating. sometimes when they're playing card games onboard or in a tavern somewhere she'll keep you there, claiming you're her good luck charm

~ pirate sevika who keeps twin flintlocks holstered around her hips and a dagger strapped to her thigh at all times- not that she uses them. no, her favourite weapon is her hands

~ pirate sevika who has countless scars adorning her body from past fights. she has one on her jaw, one over her ribcage, one on her lip and an insane amount on her hands and arms. she never tells the stories behind them, though

~ pirate sevika who would burn an entire fleet of ships for you if you asked her to

~ pirate sevika who steals art, fine silks, expensive spices and books from the places she raids. she always sells half and keeps the other half. nobody on the crew knows why, but there's no real reason behind it other than that she's a hoarder

~ pirate sevika who's SUPER sensitive to the cold so when the ship sails through the more northern seas she clings to you every night beneath layers and layers of stolen exotic animal pelts

~ pirate sevika who has a soft spot for stray animals- so much so that you're sure the ship could be considered a travelling zoo

~ pirate sevika who has a designated chair she doesn't let anyone sit in- except you, but only if you've been behaving recently

~ pirate sevika who has a tattoo of the kraken on her one intact arm that wraps around her entire bicep and blinks if she flexes her muscles

NSFW

~ pirate sevika who makes you ride her thigh, smirking as you grab onto her shoulders to balance yourself against the rocking of the ship. she'll taunt you as she watches your hips stutter, loving how exhausted you look

~ pirate sevika who is insatiable- she'll take you once before going to battle, once after, and again at sunrise. you're half-asleep, spent, and tangled in her sheets and she's already kissing her way down your stomach with a wicked smirk "just one more, sweetheart. you can give me that much, can't you?"

~ pirate sevika who fucks like she's claiming her territory. she'll push you up against walls, tables, even, on one occasion, the ship's wheel, but only ever under the cover of darkness

~ pirate sevika who worships the taste of your salt-sticky skin beneath her mouth. she'll drag her tongue tantalisingly slow down your chest, your stomach, your thighs, licking away the sea spray before biting down on you

~ pirate sevika who sometimes drags the flat edge of her dagger along your skin just to see the way you shiver. she'd never hurt you (unless you asked her to) but she loves the way your breath catches and the way your body tenses at the feeling of the cool steel on your skin "you trust me, don't you?"

~ pirate sevika who will hold your throat lightly in her metal throat, not to choke you, but just to feel the way your pulse thrums against the copper of her artificial palm

~ pirate sevika who fucks you on top of the map table, knocking over gold coins and other paraphernalia as she goes

~ pirate sevika who loves to pull your hair, but only so she can see the way your back arches, your throat bared and your lips parted in a silent plea

~ pirate sevika who has a thing for fucking you when she's half dressed, her shirt unbuttoned so you can only just see the top of her cleavage, her boots still on, and her belt hanging open around her hips as she shoves you onto her desk "i don't have the fucking time to strip. you'll have to just take what i give you, yeah?"

[madisonmaison]

Stepping Out in Trendy Gold Ankle Boots

These trendy boots can be paired with various outfits, such as skinny jeans or leggings for a chic casual look, or with dresses and skirts for a more glamorous and dressy appearance. The gold ankle boots create a focal point in the overall look, drawing attention to the wearer's feet and making them stand out from the crowd.

Due to their unique color and design, these boots are perfect for adding a touch of drama and flair to an otherwise simple or monochromatic outfit. They can also be a fun way to experiment with fashion and add a playful element to one's personal style.

When stepping out in trendy gold ankle boots, confidence is key. Embrace the boldness of the footwear and rock them with pride, knowing that you're making a fashion-forward statement with every step you take. These boots offer a fresh and contemporary take on traditional ankle boots, and they are sure to turn heads and spark conversations wherever you go.

[dead-end-draws]

WOF tribe Merchant/Trading booth concepts:

Hey folks! This one was the recent winner of this WOF poll, so here’s my concept art that headcannons trading in Pyrrhia.

Read below cut for close-ups of the individual booths + the thought process / headcannons behind the design choices: 👇

Skywings: The Sky Kingdom’s mountain ranges provide plenty of pasture for raising sheep. As such, Skywing shepherds benefit from traveling to sell their wool, dyes, fabric, and woven tapestries. Many of these merchant tables also include herbs grown exclusively in the mountains, or ibex drinking horns that can be strapped on a dragon’s shoulder & carried in flight.

Along with goods, Skywing merchants may offer sewing services to fix tears, burn marks, or other fabric damage. They are sought out for their quality clothing, and most fabric across Pyrria originated from a Skywing’s talons.

Mudwings: Mudwings’ abundant food & cooking skills are envied almost anywhere in Pyrrhia. Their swamps have fertile soil, responsible for hosting diverse crops which can be purchased as produce at merchant stalls. For those lucky enough to find a traveling Mudwing merchant, the promise of a delicious dish can be whipped up and served at the stall in no time. Along with produce goods, Mudwings sell weaved baskets, spices, and cooking ware.

Sandwings: Sandwing booths offer luxuries of the desert: It’s most common to find accessories such as gold carved jewelry or musical instruments such as drums, lyres, & mandolins for sale. Though, even more sought out across Pyrrhia is Sandwing tattoos/piercings, which are done within the merchant areas. Ink etchings on papyrus paper are stationed outside their tents to showcase designs. All which can be selected, and poked into the skin with a tapping stick and plant dye ink by a trained talon.

Seawings: SeaWings sell a variety of ocean related goods; taking a share in the fish market with Icewings. Outside of food, there are den decorations like driftwood carvings, accessories such as seashell & pearl jewelry, and rope nets weaved by expert Seawing sailors. Some Seawings even sell fishing equipment, canoes, or offer sailor knot tying instructions to curious dragon buyers.

Nightwings: During the war, it was near impossible to find a Nightwing merchant. Most refused to participate in merchant territory, mostly as a way to keep up with their tribe’s mysterious nature.

Though in the more shady, unground parts of the market you can buy from a huge selection of obsidian weaponry, the sharpest in Pyrrhia. No one knew initially how Nightwings smithed so many weapons, or why, until their secret volcano kingdom and the intention to invade the rainforest was discovered. Then forging armor & weapons became clear. Along with a vast armory, for the right price, some Nightwing merchants offer Prophecies & Nightwing Literature (not always guaranteed to always be reliable) and assassin services as well (very reliable).

Rainwings: Though Rainwings haven’t been part of Pyrrhia trading for years, they have a vast hold on dragon medicine. An apothecary of herbs, salves, and remedies are all offered for various ailments due to the rainforest’s abundant resources. Along with medicinal goods, many Rainwings are fruit vendors, promising to any hesitant meat-eating dragons that such an array of flavors isn’t to be missed. Though, their fruit selling pitches often fall flat to most other predominantly meat-eating tribes.

Icewings: Icewings have everything a dragon could need to brace the cold, with a selection of goods only found in the most frigid regions of Pyrrhia. Furs, bone jewelry, and fresh fish (thanks to frost breath) are served on ice. Though Icewings themselves don’t require fur to withstand the cold, it’s considered fashionable and common in upper ranks to wear fur as a status symbol. Since metal is hard to smith without fire & in cold temperatures, fur and bone are more accessible to Icewings for clothing statements.

[evilgwrl]

Neighbour!Simon Riley x Reader

Girl Next Door (One)

CW: Mutual masturbation ;)

Inspired by Neighbour!Simon

Chapter Two

Your legs perched up across the woven strings of the porch chair, knees littered with blue and black kisses, knotted joints tucked into your chest as you watched the peak of gold settle into a deep blue. Bony fingers laced the pages between parched hands, eyes darting maliciously between words as you hummed to yourself softly.

You were used to being out here alone, an orchestra of bats occasionally sounding out to you as they scurried away into pine trees, nipping between each other.  Your flat, a smaller duplex, was tucked away into a quiet cul-de-sac, away from the hustle and bustle of London life. It was an organised routine, your body succumbing to the night air as you bathed in the comforting atmosphere of the twilight. There was an occasional hum from up the road, the chug of a car passing through, but your interest peaked when the gravel road lit up, headlights streaming towards you as you shielded your eyes.

The sound of the engine frightened you a bit before you adjusted your vision. A large shadow stepped into view, the staggering height of a man peaking your attention before you took in the balaclava flushed against his face, russet eyes covered by a delicate frame of blonde lashes, stained with black face paint staring at you before dropping his head in a curt nod.

You recognised him as your neighbour. Quiet bloke, away often on deployment you presumed, but nether-the-less was a comfort for you. Even at home, it was like he was never there, the occasional echo of hollow boots sounding against the floorboards before they disappeared. He was ghostly, slightly peculiar but you noted him down mainly as mysterious.

You had spoken a few times, sounding good morning as he was outside having a smoke when you were leaving for work. His response was gruff and shallow, a deep voice barking out a short reply before smashing the dart under the rubble of his shoe, calloused hands gripping the door handle.

He walked past you, duffle bag dropped against the porch as he huffed with his keys, bruised knuckles peaking your attention as you glanced at him, framed eyes peering in curiosity.

“Y’ alright?” His tone was curt, a hint of annoyance ringing through as his eyes stained trained on the metal knob, working the key through the hole.

You squeaked out a noise, taken back by him as you adjusted in the chair, feet flat against the floor now. “Yeah, sorry, I’m just not used to you being here, it’s uh, nice for you to be back, less lonely,” you rambled, shuffling your hands awkwardly before you shut yourself up.

He let out a grunt, the noise almost animalistic sounding as he shut the door, his vague appearance shuffling into the quiet of his own home as you sat outside, whispering an expletive under your breath as you prodded at the ecchymosis on your nobbled knees.

Rough hands rubbed at the face paint, gentle soap working into the scorn skin, thickened skin almost melting under the velocity of the scolding water. Simon’s throat was scratchy, the irritating feeling of sandpaper lining his oesophagus as he choked out a cough. Broken blood vessels littered across the scarring of his back and ribs, a splurge of hematoma drawn across the broken skin.

Ivory skin was now painted with falling droplets of water, a scratchy moose-coloured towel adorned his hips as he shook his hair, moist residue landing on the mirror as he rubbed his hands across his face, a soft moan leaving his lips as he prodded the tender knot in his back.  

His home felt foreign, no matter how long he had lived there for.

His bedroom had dusk lighting, a double bed pushed against the flaky walls, the metal rods holding the frame scraping at the paint. A singular pillow to each side perked up against his touch as he layered them, unused linen welcoming him with a slight dusty smell, aching body collapsing into the plushness of the duvet.

He was aware that your bedroom was adjacent to his, your beds pushed directly together on opposite ends. He could hear the subtle creaks of your feet against the floor as you shuffled around, a chair squeaking across the floor as it collided with something before the noise of you walking sounded again. Simon could hear the springs in your bed, an acknowledgement that you were now lying down.

There was a low hum of a fan whirring, the white noise drifting into his room as he stared up at his own, the stagnant noise felt unorthodox, the familiarity of the barracks being the usual for the Lieutenant. Simon’s hands felt weighed down as he moved them from his chest to rest at his side, his breathing shallow as his ears perked at every movement you made.

You were restless, sweaty body tangled between cotton as you adjusted yourself, flinging your blankets off you as you let out gentle pants. You cursed at the lack of air conditioning available in British homes, peeling off your silken pyjama shorts as you flung them somewhere across your bedroom. Your body was hot and achy, the heat settling in even during the night as you turned to the side, beady eyes watching as the wind flickered the branches occasionally. You were tempted to sleep outside at this point, your room feeling like a sauna as you let out a frustrated quip.

There was a subtle ache between your thighs, a dull throbbing ringing through your brain as you attempted to position yourself better, clicking your calves as you rustled around. Tired arms stretched your top over your head as it too met the wraith of your floor, bare breasts perked against your sheets as you closed your eyes, cuddling up against a pillow.

Slumber never succumbed to your heated frame, the drill of your fan almost teasing you as it provided minimum cooling. You spread your legs, sweat prickling over your stretch marks as you moaned in annoyance. Your fingers trailed your slit through the thin fabric, turquoise-coloured panties fading into an aqua as you let out a shaky breath. You felt dirty, the dull throb of your cunt mocking you as needy fingers hooked into the lace, dragging them down the plushness of your thighs before settling at the end of your bed.

You fumbled around in your draw, clumsy fingers feeling around for your bullet vibrator before they rubbed against the silicone. You were sure to be quiet, your hands covering the majority of the vibrations as you nestled it between your folds, collecting the sweetness of your slick before resting it on your achy clit, an instant moan rising at your throat as you tweaked at your nipples.

The hum against your sex wasn’t enough as you sat up, resting the vibrator on your swollen nub as you straddled a pillow, sloppy pussy grinding against it rapidly as you rutted like a dog in heat, chasing your high.

You were a sight for sore eyes, breasts bouncing at your movements as you humped against the cushion, the cheap sex toy sounding against the bundle of nerves as you let out soft whimpers, mouth opened in an ‘o’ shape as you tugged at your hardened nubs that were practically aching against your chest.

It was like you were going through puberty again, squishy sounds squelching from your cunt at the licentious actions, hips getting sloppy as you felt your coil forming, antagonising moans dripping from your lips as you stilled, the silicone pressed sweetly into your clit as you whined into your hand, orgasm ripping through you as you jutted away from the stimulation, collapsing into a heap.

Simon frowned at how quickly your noises were over as a spit-covered cock throbbed in agony, veiny hands jutting around the angry member as he milked himself to the memory of your orgasm, hot splashes of cum spurting against his belly, a thick trail of hair leading down to his softening cock as he cleaned himself up before nestling into the comfort of his sheets and the barely audible hum of your breathing.

[flats-fan]

Source: @balletslippersexperience

[gloomwitchwrites]

Dog with No Teeth // Chapter Two

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (MDNI): post-apocalypse au, swearing, canon-typical violence, abduction, forced proximity

Word Count: 4.4k

The skull-faced lieutenant takes you back to base. The two of you are forced to spend the night in the same space.

Chapter One // Chapter Three

ao3 // main masterlist // dog with no teeth masterlist

The scream is a gunshot.

You flinch. Turn away. Cover your mouth with your hand.

Oh fuck.

Oh fuck.

Oh fuck.

“You fucking motherfucker! I’m gonna fucking kill you! You—”

The man’s words are swallowed up by the echoing pop of a pistol unloading. Ghost yanks on your arm, but you’re frozen like a rabbit sensing a predator. Even after the world fell apart, you witnessed so much, but seeing such brutal execution twists your insides like tangled barbed wire.

“Walk,” Ghost commands, but your legs are unmovable like Redwood trees.

You’re sinking. The ground is opening up.

Danger. Danger.

“Hey.”

Another crack, followed by begging.

“Look at me.” There are large hands on your shoulders. Squeezing. Urging. “Look at me.”

Ghost’s voice is a firm directive, and you snap to attention. Your gaze, once distant, locks with his. Behind the mask are his eyes—a whiskey brown with gold flecks crowned by long, pale eyelashes.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he soothes, hands sliding away from your shoulders to rest against your ears.

He presses, silencing the world. When the next gunshot goes off, you hardly hear it. Just a muffled blip amongst the quiet. With every inhale and subsequent exhale, the buzzing rush of adrenaline softens, then crashes. It’s just a shiver of release. A dismissive wave of the hand.

And Ghost never looks away. Not once.

Focused and sharp, you’re unable to look away from Ghost’s intensity. Like a roiling river, his eye contact swallows you up, drowning you in its chaos. It allows you a moment to simply observe the man before you, to study what you can of his face. It isn’t much, just blackish smudges around the eyes and a prominent brow.

A curiosity blooms where there was no soil.

You’re so focused on him that you don’t realize the gunshots have stopped until Ghost drops his hands.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” you gasp, unsure of why you’ve just apologized to him.

Ghost is impassive. Unresponsive. He simply stares, arms at his sides, and that attention is almost worse than the gunshots. It is unnerving—but not in the creeping sense of nefarious interest. He may be silent, but in his silence, there is a question.

A curiosity. Blooming.

But whatever you’ve witnessed quickly passes.

Ghost is grabbing hold of your upper arm, tugging you forward. This time your legs surrender, moving with him but struggling to keep up with his long strides.

You pass one armored truck. Then another.

“Wait,” you say, but it’s a whisper lost to the breeze.

We’re taking her with us.

“Wait,” and this time it’s louder. It carries on the wind.

Survival. Survival is paramount. And this stranger is leading you to unknown places, likely to never return you to where you come from.

Digging your feet in, you attempt to come to a stop. Ghost hardly faulters. His strength overpowers, and you nearly topple forward to eat pavement.

“Wait!”

With a growl, Ghost whirls on you. “We’re on a tight schedule, love. Keep up.”

Another tug, this one not an annoyance but a brief bite of pain. Instinct flares, and you lash out, forming a fist. It lands against his chest, striking just to the right of his left shoulder.

It’s a dumb fucking move.

Ghost shoves you up against the side of one of the armored trucks, caging you between him and the metal exterior. “Want my attention that bad? Well, love. You’ve got it.” His chest heaves as if this one interaction is taking all his stamina.

“Take your fucking hands off me,” you growl, placing both hands flat on his chest and shoving with all your strength.

Ghost grunts, and shoves you right back, pinning you to the vehicle. “Behave,” he murmurs.

“Let me go.”

“No.”

You struggle against him, working your shoulders back and forth to shake off his hold. It’s fruitless. Pathetic. Lieutenant Skull Face is stronger—weight unyielding.

“You’re a fucking asshole,” you spit at him, just because it feels good.

Ghost ignores your outburst. “You’re coming back with us. Stop your bloody fussing.”

He talks to you like you’re a small child in need of a good scolding. It’s infuriating. You might be weaponless and without leverage, but the first thing you learned when defending yourself in a world like this is to never allow anyone to take you to a secondary location. Fight like hell when you can, and survive.

But fighting doesn’t always mean physical.

“I mean nothing to you. Just leave me,” you reply, adding a slight quiver to your voice.

Negotiating. Begging. It might work with him.

“That’s not an option.”

From his tone, it’s clear that Ghost is over this conversation. Your window is closing. Soon, each of these men will turn their attention to the trucks, which means they’ll be focused on you. If you want to escape, you need to escape now.

Ghost eases his hold, drawing back to take you with him.

You give one final attempt before you start swinging.

Grasping the back of his neck, you drag him back to you. There is no mouth for you to kiss, so you press your lips to where you believe his might be. You aim for just above the skull teeth. The material of the mask is surprisingly smooth. With your leverage of your hand at the back of his neck, you lightly rock your hips in a provocative gesture, hooking your leg up slightly to imitate grinding.

Ghost stiffens, clearly confused and startled by your actions. It lasts only a few fleeting seconds, and then he softens, his hands falling to your hips.

Sweet victory sings in your veins.

Men are all the same.

All you have to do is convince him to go to one of these vehicles alone. Climb on top if you can, but make do if you’re under him. Allow him a few thrusts. Moan a bit to make him think you want this. Then go for the fucking throat.

Ghost’s hands squeeze your hips, but it’s not to pull you closer. He starts to push you away. Rejecting. He’s rejecting you.

“Tempting offer,” he murmurs. “But we’re on a schedule.”

No. Fucking no.

This is your chance. Your one chance.

The world tilts, and you switch gears.

With a quick upward motion, you drive your knee into Ghost’s groin, nailing him where his pelvis meets his thigh.

“Fucking hell,” he coughs, staggering to the side, bending over in pain.

You dip beneath his arm, dashing toward the connecting street. The Jeep keys are lost to you, and you have no gun, but if you run fast enough, and lose them amongst the houses, you might have a chance to sneak back to the Jeep undetected and hotwire it home.

Legs pumping, you dash past the armored truck.

Freedom is close. It is calling out to you. Reaching—

Large, muscled arms wrap around you, hauling you backward. They don’t throw you to ground, but restrain you, holding you firmly against a solid body.

Fuck it. Fuck this.

It’s time for fists and teeth and claws.

Kicking and screaming, you raise hell. An arm loosens. Bending it, you bring your elbow down into his shoulder.

Ghost grunts, grasps your wrist, and yanks. He twists you around, seizing both of your arms, pinning them behind your back.

You immediately go limp.

It almost works.

Ghost staggers but recovers enough to ease into the movement, using the momentum to lift you up and into his arms.

Arms now free, you snarl, swiping at him with an open palm. Ghost promptly drops you.

You hit the ground. Hard.

With a groan, you push up from the pavement with the intent to flee. A boot presses against your back, and forces you down until you’re flat on your stomach. Seconds later and you’re zip-tied.

“That’s better,” grumbles Ghost.

Grabbing you by your forearms, he lifts you back onto your feet.

A slurry of profanities leaves your lips. “Bastard! Fucking bastard! Motherfucker! Cock sucking motherfucking bastard!”

You throw your body weight around, too, but Ghost remains firm, dragging you along toward the cluster of vehicles.

“You—you—shit eating…tit zit!”

Ghost chuckles. “Creative,” he muses like he appreciates it.

His amused demeanor only deflates your hope, melting you down until you decide it’s best to beg, to see if this man will show even a hint of mercy.

“Please,” you exhale, and you hate how desperate you sound. “Please. Just—just let me go.”

Ghost doesn’t acknowledge you. Keeping his gaze forward, Ghost hauls you over to a Humvee. He opens the rear passenger door.

“Get in,” he nods. “Or I’ll toss you in.”

“Please,” you beg. “Please listen.”

“Wrong answer.”

With a quick bend of the knees, Ghost lifts you off the ground and fulfills his threat. You bounce on the seat and almost topple onto the floor.

This is it. There is no going back. You’re being taken elsewhere, and there is little you can do. Everything going forward has to be about you, and what you have to do to survive.

But then you remember Ben, and how his body is just…there. Discarded.

As Ghost starts to turn away, you lean forward, knowing that what you’re about to ask will likely be ignored.

“You have to bring him with us. Please.”

Ghost has no reason to speak to you—to entertain what you’ve just said. You expect him to slam the door in your face, to give you his back.

“Bring who?” replies Ghost. He sounds genuinely curious, and his body language isn’t hostile. He has one hand on the handle of the door and the other resting against the side of the Humvee.

“Ben. We can’t leave him here. It’s not right.”

Behind the balaclava, his gaze narrows. “Is that who you were with?” You nod. Ghost briefly glances over his shoulder and then turns his gaze back to you. “Were you his?”

Were you his? Is that jealously? Does Ghost feel threatened by a dead man?

“No,” you laugh softly. “No. But…”

“But what?” he prompts.

“He has—had a wife. Two daughters.” You pause, remembering how the two girls had cornered you during community movie night, listing all the books they wanted you to find. “People loved him. They’ll want closure.”

You hate these moments of silence, of Ghost simply staring at you before he answers.

“I can’t bring him with us,” he finally says.

“Then leave him somewhere where they’ll find him,” you urge. “Please.”

Ghost’s demeanor shifts. His hand falls away from the side of the vehicle. “You came from a bigger group?”

“Does that matter?”

Ghost shakes his head in annoyance. “It fucking bloody well matters.”

“They won’t come after you,” you insist. “They aren’t expecting us for hours. You’ll be long gone before they come looking.”

“You could be lying to me.”

Anger flares in your chest. You need him to understand. “I just want Ben to go home to his family. They deserve it!”

Ghost sighs, and shakes his head. “Watch your feet,” he mutters.

You turn your legs at the last second as the Humvee door slams shut.

Left alone in the vehicle, the reality of your situation starts to settle, to seep into your bloodstream. It shoots straight to your brain, slithering in the folds, sinking in until the anxiety becomes a roar. Your breath comes and goes in quick gasps.

Panic. You’re panicking.

You’re fucking panicking.

Sliding across the seat, you reach with wiggling fingers for the handle. With wrists bound and no way to truly see what you’re doing, you’re forced to seek with your hands, praying that you’ll find the handle before Ghost arrives.

Sweat forms, making it difficult to hang on to anything.

“Come on,” you sob, knowing that this is it.

You find the handle. Tug.

Nothing. It doesn’t budge.

“No,” you gasp, yanking and yanking and yanking again. “No.”

He’s locked you in.

Desperation fuels you, motivating you to try the other door, and then kicking with both feet until your knees hurt and your thighs burn.

When Ghost returns to the Humvee, he finds you on your back, staring blankly.

There are no tears. No panic. Only numbness.

“Sit up,” he says, voice flat.

You obediently comply, shifting until you’re sitting upright. Ghost hops in, forcing you to slide all the way to the other side of the bench seat. He settles in, nearly squishing you between him and the door. There’s no room to move. The two of you are thigh to thigh—touching.

“Ready to bloody go.” You glance to the left at the familiar Scottish voice.

“You and me both, Soap,” grumbles Ghost, shifting even further to the right to accommodate the new addition to the backseat.

The driver and front passenger doors open simultaneously, two soldiers sliding in.

“Back to base, Lieutenant Riley?” asks the driver.

He lifts his arm, pressing a few buttons on an overhead panel. Sewn into his uniform is that same azimuthal projection of the earth from the North Pole. Beneath it are two olive branches. It’s so fucking familiar. It’s something from before—you know this, and yet you can’t place it. Beneath it is the flag of Mexico. Yet again, all in black. Leaning to the right, you peek over the seat. The soldier in the front passenger seat’s flag is three horizontal stripes but all in different shades of black or grey. There is no way for you to distinguish what country it belongs to.

“Affirmative,” answers Ghost.

Lieutenant Riley. That’s more of a name than Ghost. It’s a small piece, a fraction of information.

As you settle back against your seat, you don���t realize that Ghost has leaned toward you until he whispers in your ear. “It’s done.”

When you and Ben don’t show up, the rest of the convoy will come looking. They’ll find him, find the carnage, and wonder where you are. They’ll search, likely every building and street. Zac will certainly order it, and it’s entirely likely they’ll head back home only to return the next day, and perhaps even the next with the hope that you’ll show up.

But you’ll be long gone.

Elsewhere. Somewhere.

Ghost turns away from you, and doesn’t speak or even glance at you the rest of the trip, engaging in limited conversation with Soap.

You zone out. Stare at the landscape. Stomach turning sour.

The town disappears, giving way to trees and then highway.

It’s astounding how clear and uncongested the road is. You thought it strange when you and Ben were in the Jeep, how the roads themselves weren’t exactly maintained yet were somehow completely clear of cars. The few cars you did came across were pushed off to the side, allowing for a clear path. You dismissed it then, but you don’t dismiss it now as the Humvee carries you away from your life—your safety.

There is so little you know about the world as it currently exists.

After everything descended into chaos, you simply survived, weary of everyone, sometimes selling your body for food or shelter. Six years and you’ve been with the people are now, flourishing and unaware of everything happening beyond.

How much have Zac and the others kept from you? From the community? Or do they know about any of this at all?

These are the questions you ask yourself as time passes—as day becomes evenings becomes night.

The radio crackles. The soldier in the driver’s seat speaks.

“Base this is Bravo.”

A few seconds of silence. Then the radio comes alive.

“Received, Bravo. Go for Base.”

“Returning. Ten minutes.”

“Copy, Bravo. Returning.”

To the left of you, Soap groans. “Bloody fucking finally. Can stretch my damn legs. Take a piss.”

Ghost chuckles. “Eat a hot meal.”

Soap grunts in agreement. “Only thing missing is a warm cunt to stick my dick into.”

Ghost shakes his head as the two men up front laugh.

The soldier in the front passenger seat turns slightly, addressing Soap. “Might find a willing recruit,” he says, teasing.

“Bile yer heid,” laughs Soap, leaning forward to shove at him.

You remain still. Unmoving. Silent. They’re not thinking about you, and you don’t want to give them any reason to shift focus.

In the echoes of their laughter, the Humvee crests a hill. Through the windshield, bright spotlights appear, cutting through the dark. It’s difficult to see from where you sit. You lean to the left, brushing up against Ghost’s arm.

You draw back quickly, muttering an apology.

“You can look,” murmurs Ghost. His brow is soft as he leans towards Soap, giving you space to look out the windshield.

It’s a small gesture. A flicker of kindness.

Just like his hands over your ears. Or placing Ben in a place where someone will find him.

You fill the vacated space, gaze sweeping over the illuminated dark.

It’s a military base. Not makeshift or shuffled together, but a real one, like from the time before. Clean. Manufactured. Intimidating.

The Humvee rumbles up to the gates. The driver and guard exchange a few words before you hear a shout. A rattling reaches your ears, mimicking the stuttering of your heart. It’s enough to squash whatever hope you still cling to, smothering that ember until it’s snuffed out. Sinking back into your quiet, you turn inward, pressing yourself against the Humvee door until you feel smaller than dirt.

You keep your gaze downward, staring at your feet as the Humvee rolls through the gates. You don’t look up again until it comes to a stop.

“Stay here,” instructs Ghost as he slides out of the vehicle.

He shuts the door, turning away from you completely as if you’re not there at all. At some point in the trip, Soap lowered the window, and you’re able to shimmy over to the other side, listening in.

“Soap! Ghost!”

“Captain!”

Two strangers approach. One is a bit older, addressed as “captain” by Soap. The other is younger, handsome. They all clasp hands, greeting each other with a warmness that can only come from closeness and familiarity.

“Successful?”

“Brought three back for interrogation.”

“Good. And the rest?”

“Dead.”

“Good lad.”

Their voices drop slightly. Of what you can pick out from their conversation, it isn’t much. It’s just the newcomers’ names, Price and Gaz, and a brief mention about a secondary raid. Little else reaches your ears, and straining does nothing.

Leaning back against the seat, you tilt your head backward, staring up at the ceiling of the Humvee. Your arms ache, wrists sore, and you have to fucking pee.

“Who is that?”

The question is spoken loudly, closer than you thought from where the group was standing.

Your eyes snap open, body jolting up in the seat as you seek out the new voice. Ghost yanks the door open, reaching in to grasp your elbow. He helps you out and onto your feet. There is no room for resistance.

Outside the Humvee, you’re able to see the base more clearly. The convoy you were apart of is lined up in front of several low buildings. It’s late, but the base is still active, soldiers moving about as if it’s the middle of the day.

Soap laughs. “Go on, Lt.”

Ghost rolls his shoulders. “Found her while we were out.” Soap snorts and Ghost glares at him. “Running from the rubbish we eliminated.”

“She not with them?” asks Captain Price.

“No, Captain. She’s not with them.”

“The lass put up a fight though,” says Soap. “Kissed Lt here.”

“Hush, Soap,” mutters Ghost.

“When he rejected her, she kneed him in the groin.”

“Fucking hell,” laughs Gaz. “Really?”

Price’s mouth is a grim, thin line. “Why did you bring her?”

“The mandate.”

All four men sigh, but you have no idea what they’re talking about.

Captain Price nods. “Will she be any trouble?”

Ghost turns his attention on you. “Are you going to cause problems?”

You shake your head. “No. I’ll behave.”

Price affirms your answer with a quick smile. “Then the restraints aren’t necessary.”

Ghost makes a “turn around” gesture with his finger. You comply. There’s a quick tug, the pressure around your wrists releasing. As you turn around, you gently rub at the spots that have gone raw.

“It’s too late to travel,” sighs Price. “She’ll have to stay here for the night. Turn her over to processing tomorrow.”

Processing. Processing?

“We have any empty bunks?” asks Ghost.

“You want her with the general population?” counters Price.

“No,” answers Ghost automatically.

Price glances away, his gaze on the four low buildings nearby. “Take her to a private bunk. Bring her home in the morning.” He turns his gaze back to Ghost. “We’ll follow after.”

“It’ll be good to go home. Been weeks,” murmurs Gaz.

There’s a mutual, silent agreement among them that you pick up on but don’t understand. Your home is behind you, waiting, and yet it is unlikely you will see it again any time soon.

Ghost’s hand on your arm tightens, pulling you against him.

“I’ll take her there now.”

Price nods. A dismissal.

The three men turn and stride off, leaving you and Ghost next to the Humvee. Ghost leans in, head bent slightly in your direction. “Did you mean it? That you’ll behave?”

You lick your lips. Swallow. “Yes,” you breathe.

“Come with me then.”

Ghost’s hand eases before releasing completely. It’s the first amount of freedom you’ve had in hours, and you suddenly dread what that might mean.

Walking beside him, you follow his long strides. Ghost walks right past the four low buildings, passing a larger, communal area, before heading for a squat row of cabin-like dwellings. Ghost heads for the furthest on the end.

Each step is harrowing, dragging you closer and closer to an unknown fate. Ghost is at the door, pushing it open, stepping aside to allow you entrance. You talk past him, enter, come to a stop a few steps inside.

The doors shuts. You glance over your shoulder, expecting to see solid wood.

“What are you doing?” you ask, shuffling backward.

Ghost engages the lock on the door. “Keeping an eye on you.”

“Are—are you staying with me? In the room?”

“That a problem?” counters Ghost, as if your concern is silly.

“I’m guessing my answer to that question won’t matter.”

“No,” replies Ghost. “It won’t.”

You nod weakly, turning away to take a deep, calming breath.

The room itself is just a room, no larger than your average bedroom. There is a single, full bed in the corner, a plain wood desk, a chair, a bedside table, and a lamp. It is free of all other decoration. The bathroom isn’t separate, but blocked off by a half-wall. The sink and shower are in full view, and the half-wall hides the toilet. There is no privacy to be had with Ghost in the room with you.

Ghost grabs the chair from the desk, dragging it over to the door. He pushes it up against the wood, and drops into the seat with a deep sigh. The urge to pee grows. You won’t be able to hold it much longer.

“I have to pee.”

“Then pee.”

“With you in the room?”

Ghost crosses his arms over his chest, settling into the small chair like it’s comfortable. “I can’t see.”

“But you can hear,” you protest. “Can’t you just…step outside?”

Ghost rests the back of his head against the door. “It locks from the inside. I step out and you lock me out.”

“Even if I did, you could easily get back in.”

“True.”

“Then step out!”

“No.”

You could be a child about this. Stomp your feet. Moan and complain. But Ghost won’t budge and your bladder is about to burst.

With an annoyed groan, you go for the toilet, dropping down onto it and letting it all go. It feels so goddamn good even though your pride has taken a blown. You turn your head to the right, and find Ghost watching you over the top of the half-wall.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you gasp. “Creeping much?”

Ghost arches a singular eyebrow. “You really had to go.”

“Oh my God,” you breathe, reaching between your legs to wipe.

“Should shower,” mutters Ghost. “You’re covered in blood.”

You glance down at your top and the red that stains it. It’s not yours, and it thankfully isn’t Ben’s. It’s that fucker’s with the shitty teeth that knocked you to the ground. You want to be rid of him, rid of the grit and dirt and grime. But there is no curtain, and Ghost would see all of you.

“I’ll be fine,” you reply sharply, washing your hands.

Ghost leans forward. “There’s hot water here.”

“Just say you want to see me naked,” you retort, whirling on him.

With a sly swagger, Ghost drags his gaze up and down your body. “I could strip down. Join you.”

Your neck grows hot, and then your cheeks. “That’s not necessary.”

Ghost inclines his head. “Then shower.”

“Do I even have an option here?” you ask, shaking your hands over the sink.

“What do you think, love?”

You stride toward him, suddenly frustrated. “Stop answering my questions with questions.”

“Shower,” insists Ghost. “You’ll feel better.”

“And then what? You’ll join me in bed?”

“Likely.”

“You—”

“Keep the attitude and I’ll give you something else to moan about.” You quickly glance away, nervously tugging on the bottom of your top. “What?” he chides. “You were eager earlier.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“There she is,” and you hear the smile in it.

Is he purposefully pushing your buttons? Teasing you because you have no way to wiggle your way out?

“Are you staying here all night, Lieutenant Riley?”

“All. Night,” he replies, slowly pushing up from the chair. Ghost stalks over, observing you like prey. You take a step back and Ghost shakes his head. “Don’t.”

You freeze, staying perfectly still.

Ghost’s gloved hand brushes along the side of your arm. It’s a soft caress, one that makes you shiver. This man is your captor. He has torn you from your home, from the future you imagined for yourself, and smashed it under his fist. There is no reason for you to respond to him like this.

“You should shower. Enjoy the hot water.” Ghost grasps the bottom of your chin, tilting your face upward. You’re unable to look away. “Promise I won’t look.”

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @suhmie @z-wantstowrite @kylies-love-letter @keiva1000

@iloveslasher @ravenpoe67 @sadlonelybagel @nishim @arrozyfrijoles23

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@weasleytwins-41 @eternallyvenus @chaostwinsofdestruction @cherryofdeath @ninman82

@fern-reads @waves-against-a-cliff @beebeechaos @smileykiddie08 @whisperwispxx

@jianyi22 @sethell @atpeacee @konigssweatyhood @dreamingoftomorrow

@katerinaval @morguethemagpie @galactict3a @sarah-the-bird-nerd @mikachu-bitez

@unclearblur @kurochan3 @sans-chara @all-by-myself98 @hisuccubus

@km-ffluv @thriving-n-jiving

[lovemepartly]

bf!salesman ✩ headcanons

warnings: 18+, smut

a/n: i wrote these like a month ago when i was really down bad for the salesman and idk if it’s possible for me to ever recreate this kind of yearning again. enjoy :)

sfw ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

• he initially keeps up a guarded front, as based on his past and his career he has learned to be very secretive and reserved. as time passes and he gets more comfortable with you, he shares more of his personal life and past with you, but don’t pressure to him share.

• he is such a gentleman. he drives you everywhere, opens all the doors, pulls out your chair for you at restaurants, and never lets you pay.

• you’re heavily spoiled in the relationship. he makes a handsome income with his career and insists on spending his extra money on you. whether it’s on date nights at luxurious restaurants or on anniversary / birthday gifts, you are spoiled. he buys you jewelry frequently, and it’s always expensive. you whine, telling him he doesn’t have to buy anything for you, but he loves it. he pays attention to what metal you wear most: silver or gold, and will get you delicate necklaces and rings to last a lifetime.

• the salesman is not really into pda. he’ll hold hands with you, of course, but that’s kind of it. the longer you guys are together, the more comfortable he’ll get, and sometimes will keep his hand on your waist. he really just prefers to share intimate moments with you in private.

• he’s definitely the big spoon and loves to wrap his arms around you at night, keeping you safe. when you guys cuddle, he loves it when you lay in between his legs and he can just play with your hair and kiss the top of your head.

• he gets up at the same time every day and doesn’t like breaking routine. but when you feel him stirring in bed and you wrap an arm around his torso, pulling him into you and mumbling “five more minutes,” he sighs and lets himself stay in bed a little longer with you. he’ll rub circles on your back and play with your hair and when he’ll finally try to get up again and hear you groan, a smile will flicker on his lips. “it’s been six minutes, baby.”

nsfw under cut ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

• the first time you guys had sex, he was slow and gentle because he didn’t want to hurt you. as he becomes more comfortable with you in the bedroom, he becomes rougher. he’ll thrust into you balls deep, pull your hair, and leave you waking up with bruises and hickeys.

• he’s cocky in the bedroom. he knows exactly all the spots that will get you squirming and moaning and a whimpering mess under him and he loves it. he likes to make you beg, to tease you, to hear you whimper his name and tell him just how much you need him. he won’t let you finish until he hears the right words from you.

• whenever you take him from behind on all fours, he’ll wrap a hand around your neck, forcing you to look back at him. he loves to see your face contort with a mixture of pleasure and pain. other times, you’ll lie flat on your stomach, arching your back as he enters you. his hand will press your face into the mattress.

• the only toys he ever uses in the bedroom are bondage. he’ll tie your hands behind your back or above your head and will sometimes blindfold you to overstimulate you. i don’t think he would use any gag toys because he likes to hear you moan his name.

• sometimes, instead of using bondage, he’ll just use his own hands to pin your arms above your head. his hands are much bigger than yours, that just one hand can pin down both your wrists.

• he loves going down on you and he’s so good at it too. he’s so calculated with his movements, kissing his way down to your thighs and staring slow, pressing kisses and dragging his tongue across your folds. it’s not until you’re a mess, begging for him, that he begins to suck on your clit and insert a finger into you, making you climax. also, he loves it when you sit on his face.

• when you hear the door open in the evening and the salesman comes to give you a kiss, you can feel the stress he’s under. “long day at work, baby?” you ask. he hums in agreement and the next thing you know you’re on your knees, undoing his belt, taking all of him in your mouth. tears form in your eyes as he pushes your head down and thrusts in your mouth. you just want to make him feel good.

[cheolism-archive]

BAPTIZE

✰ — motorbike racer!song mingi x f!reader ✷ — summary: a moment in a coat closet during a party. ✰ — wc is approx. 1.6k ✷ — genre: mob scene, underground racing, undefined sexual relationship. ✰ — warnings: oral (f! receiving), fingering (f!receiving), biting (f!receiving), mentions of murder, morally grey reader, morally grey world & fic. possessive mingi, pussy-drunk mingi, mingi's rings, mingi w an eyebrow piercing. exhibitionism (ig), mentions of suffocation (in a good way), the relationship between sex and religion (blasphemy). mob boss!choi seungcheol mentioned. ✷ — rating: 18+ mdni. ✰ — note: this is just an idea i got n wanted to flesh out a bit! if anyone wants me to explore some more, lmk! it's very much just a passing moment between these two characters; you're being thrown into a world, catching a small glimpse of it. inspired by that scene from "birthday" where mingi's grabbing the cake!

“pretty,” mingi breathed out. his nose bumped against your clit, and you could feel the movement in the air as he breathed in, smelling you. his hands – his large, beautiful hands decorated in silver and gold metal – grab at your thighs greedily, as if they were mounds of diamonds and gems instead of flesh. 

“so fucking pretty,” he moaned. his tongue was thick and broad as he licked a stripe up your cunt, from the rim of your hole to your clit. he slurped at your pussy, suckling at your clit. 

“‘gi,” you whined out, your hands darting out to grip at the fur surrounding you. a coat closet wasn’t the sexiest place mingi’s fucked you in, the winning spot being in that balcony pool that overlooked bangkok. 

but there’s something dangerous about it. something dangerous about mingi, his tongue thrusting into your hole and swallowing your juices, with his black smeared eyeshadow and leather outfit. something dangerous about fucking in a coat closet, laying on top of a stranger’s fur coat. 

“say my name,” he groaned out. his voice was deep usually, but now it seemed to come out from his gut, deep within. “tell me, baby.”

you couldn’t help tossing your leg over his shoulder, your skirt falling the rest of the way off of your ankle from where he had shoved it down. with your leg over his shoulder you brought him closer, hugging him between your other leg and your thigh, tight around his broad shoulders. 

he laughed into your cunt, fingers digging into your skin. “that’s it baby,” he said. you could barely make out his facial features – the sharp cut of his eyes, the plushness of his mouth. his eyebrow ring glinted in the faint light, a silent siren song. 

“suffocate me,” he said. he brought his face back to your pussy, speaking into your cunt, nose sliding up between your lips. “trap me, baby.”

you dug your heel into his back. he was still entirely dressed and so were you, save for your skirt and panties. but it was so unfair. you could count the amount of times you saw mingi naked on one hand, the amount you got to treasure the wide panes of his shoulders and slim curves of his waist even less. 

with your thighs around his head, keeping him trapped, mingi got back to work. 

he dug a single finger into your pussy as he lapped at your clit. mingi ate messily. he smeared his mouth over your cunt, pressed his face flat against your pussy. he devoted himself to eating cunt like he did racing. 

he’s a golden racer, you thought, but if it was a challenge between which he did better, racing or eating cunt, he’d have to settle for being silver. 

mingi angled his finger up. his single finger was long enough to where he didn’t really have to search for your g-spot, finding that sweet little treasure easily. he didn’t do anything other than press against it, rubbing it. 

he didn’t need to do much with his finger. 

he was doing above and beyond with his mouth. 

“fucking get me wet,” he mumbled out, tongue dipping out to trace against the muscle surrounding your clit. “come on, baby. baptize me.”

mingi pressed a kiss to your clit, and then he was ducking down to your hole again. you were clenching fervently around his finger, begging for more. you needed more. no matter what was going on outside – no matter why you were at the party in the first place, no matter that your boss wanted to kill his and serve his fucking head on a plate – 

mingi shoved his tongue in beside his finger. he shoved his spit inside, drenching himself further. his nose poked and prodded at your clit with every movement of his face, though it wasn’t true stimulation like what he was providing before. 

he suckled at your hole; lapped at it. mingi was a dehydrated man stumbling through the desert, your cunt an oasis. 

you could feel your juices slide down your ass, could feel them smear along your inner thighs as mingi moved to press quick, hot kisses to them before he dove back to your pussy. 

he always made you feel so hot. not sexy – well that too, with how he always acted as if he was starving for your cunt – but overwhelmed. like you were an asteroid streaking through the night sky, hurtling straight toward the ground at the speed of light. 

when your phone vibrated beside you, you were so startled you jumped in mingi’s hold. he let out a muffled noise, and then he was lifting his face from between your legs. 

you grappled for a moment, and then you grabbed your phone. the light of your phone pierced through the darkness of the room, making you squint against the harshness. 

“fuckin’ boss,” you slurred out, half-drunk on mingi. “wanting me.”

mingi let out a chuckle. then he was pressing a fervent kiss to your thigh. “gonna make you cum first,” he announced. 

“you won’t be able to fuck me,” you said, spreading your legs out for him. 

he shrugged, moving each of your legs over a shoulder. “you’ll owe me,” he decided. “you’ll be at the race the yontararak princess is hosting, yeah?”

“minnie isn’t a princess.”

mingi shrugged. “wears a fucking crown, don’t she?”

“that was once,” you said. 

mingi slapped two of his fingers against your thigh. “answer me. will you be there or not?”

“that’s two months away,” you said. “a lot can happen in two months, mingi. especially in our line of work.”

mingi ducked his head. in a rare display of – you don’t even know what to call it. adoration? admiration? devotion? posession? mingi bit at your thigh, his teeth settling into your skin. 

you jumped beneath him, thighs going tight around his head. he released your thigh, pressing a heavy, hot kiss to the skin before rolling his tongue over the mark. 

“meet me at the princess’s party,” he instructed you. “and you’ll pay me back.”

mingi went back to your cunt. your pussy was tacky from where your fluids had begun to dry, but he paid it no mind. he held your thighs in a tight grip as he licked broad stripes up your pussy, ignoring your clit in favor of swallowing the delicious combination of your cunt juices and his spit. 

he was a sinner before a god like this, vehement with his desperation to devour you. he’d swallow you whole, you knew, if he could; if you allowed him. 

mingi slid two of his fingers into your pussy, not at all gentle. he rocked them in bluntly, your hole burning with the pleasure-pain of your cunt hurriedly trying to accommodate the intrusion. 

then he was lapping at your clit brutally, and you came with a muffled whine. 

it was that deafening orgasm that always seemed to overcome you whenever you were with mingi. it was the ocean waves breaking against a cliff; thunder clapping down against a tree, igniting it. it was harsh and beautiful, and you arched up into his hold with desire eclipsing all over thought. 

mingi turned on the flashlight on his phone to search for your skirt while you panted, reeling from your orgasm. you watched as he shifted around. his face was entirely destroyed. it shined with your pussy juices, from his neck to his jaw to his nose. the black eyeshadow around his eyes was smeared down his cheeks, and when you looked down at your thighs you could see proof of your treachery there, the black powder stained into your skin. 

“baby,” he said, and then he was slipping your panties over your feet. 

“don’t you wanna keep them?” you asked, minding casting back to remember all the other instances where mingi had pocked your panties. “white not your color?”

mingi laughed. you could feel his rings as he slid your panties up your legs and to your thighs. “we’re in a dog house,” he mumbled, voice somewhat hoarse. “not having you prance around, flashing your pussy. bastards might get ideas.”

“ideas.”

“like taking what’s mine,” mingi said, snapping the band of your panties once they were settled around your hips. the cloth was cool from the air of the room, and you hated how it settled around the tackiness of your dried juices. “nothing put puppies eager for a cunt.”

“says the wolf who just kneeled in front of my cunt for fifteen minutes,” you giggled, kicking his side. 

“different,” mingi said. he didn’t offer any explanation. instead he grabbed your skirt. he dressed you in it, too, though he bent over to press a quick kiss to your clothed pussy before pulling it all the way up. 

with expert hands mingi fixed your makeup to the best of his ability. he helped settle your hair, adjust your clothes. 

“how do i look?”

he raised his brows, glancing you up and down. “like you were fucked,” he said. “but not like half the fucking people in this damn house aren’t doing the same.”

mingi agreed to wait five minutes after you left the coat closet to exit, and then you were standing up from the fur-covered chair. you wobbled, and he reached out to steady you, still kneeling. 

you laughed a little. you reached out, tugging at his hair. “if only they knew,” you said, “underworld champion biker, song mingi, kneeling at the feet of choi seungcheol’s secretary.”

mingi looked up at you, and for a moment you let your brain conjure: a reality where instead of the black diamond tattoo underneath your ear you had mingi’s initials; where instead of girls and boys wearing slutty dresses and skirts hanging off of mingi whenever he won a race it was you; where you didn’t have blood on your hands and he wasn’t under the authority of kim hongjoong. 

but then you gently pushed him back, taking your phone in hand and making for the door. 

[ink-n-shadow]

after the day i’ve had, i’m thinking about owner!ghost just taking care of me)):

NO MORE TEARS

𝜗𝜚 the one where you have a bad day and owner!ghost is more than happy to take care of you

𝜗𝜚 pairing: owner!ghost x puppy!reader 𝜗𝜚 cw: no explicit smut but allusions to smut themes (so minors—DNI). obvious dom/sub dynamics, pet play, mentions of collars, subspace in play but not explicitly mentioned, sweet!owner!ghost, very self-indulgent work, unedited as usual

owner!ghost knows as soon as you fumble your way through the front door of your shared flat that you’d had a bad day. he can see it all over your face—the way your eyebrows are furrowed and pinched in the middle of your forehead, how the corners of your lips are tugged down, posture slumped and eyes blinking sleepily over at him.

his hands are on you as soon as he crosses the living room to meet you at the door, pushing loose strands of hair away from your face and letting his thumbs sweep gently across the planes of your cheeks. “there’s my pretty girl—y’ alright? did’ya ‘ave a bad day, baby?”

and ghost lets you get it all out of your system, listening to you rant and rave all the while running his hands up and down your arms in a soothing attempt to quell the rising tide of emotions inside of you. as the tears begin welling in your lash line, his thumb reaches up to brush gently against the necklace you always wear around your neck.

to the outside world, it looks like a simple piece of jewelry, small gold rectangular links (or silver links, depending on your metal preference) looped infinitely around your neck with no clasp. forever locked around your throat—well, at least until ghost decides it's time for you to get a new one, then he's got you kneeling between his thighs and gently snipping the necklace from your throat just to weld another one on the very next day.

the slight brush against the necklace is enough to have a hiccuping sob rip from your chest, lurching forward instinctively and burying your face into the soft wool covering ghost's chest.

"shhh, shhh—s' alright, baby. no more tears, hmm? you're 'ome now," and owner!ghost is immediately sweeping you up in his arms, one hand secured beneath your bum and the other buried in your trestles of hair. “lemme take care of ya, yeah? make it all go away?”

words seem to escape you now, the stress and panic and dread from the day melting away from you as soon as you’re wrapped up in ghost’s arms. an almost pitiful whimper leaves your mouth in response, sounding almost unhuman as it exits your lips and melts into the air around you.

but it doesn’t deter owner!ghost or make him worried—no, he’s become quite acquainted with that kind of noise.

“s’fine, pup. y’ know ‘ow to ask me,” ghost murmurs softly into your ear as he slowly begins moving the two of you down the hallway towards your bedroom. there’s a soft curl of his lips when he feels the way you nose at his jaw twice, a signal he was all but extremely aware of. and once owner!ghost enters the bedroom, he’s setting you down onto the floor, careful not to bruise your knees as he helps you into a kneeling position before him.

ghost cradles your face in the palm of one of his large hands, thumb catching the stray tears dripping down your cheeks as a gentle smile stretches his lips at the way your teary eyes stare up at him adoringly. he can see the imaginary tail between your legs wagging slightly, hesitant to get too excited before being given permission.

“you’re absolutely sure, baby? more than ‘appy to just talk everythin' out while we have a cuddle,” ghost asks one last time, eyebrow quirked and expression as serious as his tone of voice. he always did one last check, one last verification that this is what you needed in that moment. and the second your chin dips down in a firm nod and the word ‘yes’ slips from your tongue, owner!ghost is slotting his lips against yours in a possessive and slightly messy kiss, keeping a firm grip on your cheeks to push your lips into a pout. once he pulls away and leaves you feeling dizzy, he pats your cheek firmly, gesturing to the end of the bed.

“be a good dog ‘nd find yer collar for me, then.”

©️ ink-n-shadow 2024

do not copy, plagiarize, steal, borrow, or repost any of my work without my expressed permission

[shortnotsweet]

This technically applies to my Stepmother AU in which Alicent is around six years older than Rhaenyra, and occupies a wicked stepmother role as opposed to ex ‘friends-to-first loves-to-enemies’. Despite lacking the foundation of shared girlhood, both find simultaneous comfort and rivalry in one another, and undergo a gravitational pull. A young Rhaenyra’s eagerness to participate in swordplay and political affairs at a young is accommodated for, and she grows up with a sword in one hand and the weight of experience in another, which further helps pave her way to the throne.

Alicent’s Costuming

Alicent’s clothing is almost entirely bottle, emerald, or forest green. While there is layering present in her skirts and jackets, the accent should always be a darker green than the base color. The fabric is deep, rich, and retains an undeniably high-quality luster. Look to velvets and silks. Gold embroidery lingers around her sleeves, neck, and hemline to elevate the coloring.

Metallic embellishments should be almost military-like, and appear heavy. Contribute to the imagery of chains or shackles in addition to her status

Draws inspiration from historically accurate stiffness and Victorian shapes, with a tapered waist, imposing, puffy sleeves, and a high neckline. Despite inaccuracies, this shape is evocative of someone elegantly and conservatively feminine, repressed, and capable of exerting power over others. Reference a classic, trussed hourglass shape. Skirts should be notably heavy and full; may make noise in movement

The coloring and shapes remain relatively consistent but lack variation; this is to demonstrate a lack of freedom and exploration, as well as an adherence to conventional feminine roles

Despite these limitations, her costuming should always be put-together, coordinated, and unquestionably fashionable. Tight sleeve cuffs may be accompanied by a more traditionally medieval fan sleeve

Shoes should stick mostly to slippers, or flat designs

In this AU, her hair leans more towards a dark brown instead of auburn, as her show counterpart. This is mostly due to faux-book accuracy and to simplify the sketch process, since keeping her hair darker in comparison to Rhaenyra’s lighter hair translates more easily in uncolored renderings.

Keep her hair either in a tidy bun or pulled back and loose; avoid too many intricate shapes, braids, or styles. Occasionally, the hair will hang loose. Lean into medieval or royal headpieces, clips, coverings, etc.

Rhaenyra’s Costuming

Rhaenyra’s clothes are primarily black and red, occasionally accented or substituted with neutrals such as beige, white, or gray. Exceptions may include blue or yellow, but she generally stays in this color palette.

Strong focus is drawn to her shoulders and neckline, sometimes with embroidered or embellished detailing. She often has strong, angular shoulders in her dresses or jackets, occasionally theatrically pointed. Off-the shoulder necklines emphasize her collarbones and a certain broadness.

There should be decent variety in her clothing; there is a hypothetical outfit for every occasion and more (for battle, for riding, everyday, formal, feasts, everyday, etc.), and most should be composed of multiple pieces and utilize generous layering. This includes under-fabric, belts and corsets, jackets and doublets, draped fabric for aesthetic purpose, and even functional capes.

Most of her clothes should provide visual aid for movement; additional fabric to her skirts, for example. Her clothes should be highly stylized but still easy to move in. In riding and battle gear, it is presumed that she wears pants and boots under her skirts, even if they are not visible.

Shoes lean more into boot cuts, still practical but should have a sleek and uniform quality to them. When she walks, she should make some kind of noise. Shoes should usually be black or potentially red, the latter for decorative purposes.

Overall her style should be more contemporary and lean into the fantasy element. She’s not opposed to oriental details or showing skin, and her costumes should reflect both couture-height drama and period-reliant aspects. Longer lines and diagonal hems mean she is not as devoted to an hourglass shape, and her high collars should always be decorative in some respect.

Keep her hair long and mostly loose, sometimes pulled back. Small braids should be implied as incorporated. Occasional hairstyles feature complicated braids. With the exception of highly decorative braided styles, simple buns should be avoided unless accompanied with very high necklines.

Avoid headpieces that are not either a) her crown or b) ceremonial.

[autonomyofadeer]

sevika and her baby ✧.*

16+

plot: sevika stumbles upon a hidden gem inside the brothel. who is to deny her her fun after a long day?

tags: genderless, zaun au, fingering, cunnilingus, choking, ribbon tying, spanking, sevika x reader, fem bodied reader

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it's currently 10:04 pm, the brothel has been slow today for some odd reason. people whisper about a brawl that happened between silco's men and some barkeep, but i pay no mind. babette suddenly knocks on the wall to my room.

"y/n? there's a customer here for you." babette tells you, a sly hint of hesitancy in her tone. why was babette nervous? there was no time to be thinking these dumb questions, i had a client.

"thank you ma'am." i reply hastily. i jump out of bed, slipping on my fox mask, orange with hints of gold lacing along the edges. i tighten my black and gold corset, pulling the strings to cinch my waist. lastly i slip on my heels and i lie on the bed waiting.

after a few minutes, loud footsteps could be heard from across the hall. until they stopped at your room. a metallic hand pulls aside the curtain. my eyes go wide. it was the all known sevika, the woman that men scattered in the streets from. the most well known and powerful woman in all of zaun was now in your room, wanting your time.

"so.. what's your name doll?" sevika says, the words dripping from her tongue like pure honey. she strides towards me until shes stopped at the foot of my bed.

my mouth seems to go dry, my tongue being stuck in my mouth and suddenly i no longer know what to say. i have to admit, i was frightened of her and of all the stories ive heard.

"hm? cat's got your tongue? too bad.. wish i could hear your beautiful voice." sevika replies to herself, cupping my chin in her hand as she slips off my mask. she runs her fingers over my lips as a prompt. i slack my jaw and she easily slips her fingers into my mouth. i circle her thumb with my tongue, suckling slightly on it.

"jus' like that doll." she murmurs to me as she presses her thumb flat on my tongue, causing me to gag.

"such a pretty thing" she says to me as she moves over to the table of toys. "too bad you'll be ruined once im done with you." she tells me as one last warning. she grabs a set of ribbon ties and a blindfold.

my eyes flutter at the items she picks up. "y/n." i stammer out, "my name is y/n" i tell her as she moves back to the bed. i move into the middle of the bed as she kneels at the edge of it.

"such a pretty name for a pretty lass like you, yeah?" she tells me, my face going a pale pink. she suddenly pulls my wrist, spinning me around and onto my stomach. my face was now shoved into the pillow. i try to ask what shes doing, but it's to no avail.

she ties the ribbon around my wrists, binding my arms behind my back. suddnely she pulls my head up by my hair, a pained grunt escapes my lips. a silk blindfold is slipped over my eyes. the world goes dark.

metal clanking can be heard behind me, suddenly im spun around onto my back. god i wish i could see what she looks like, i start to imagine her body.. toned abs? c or d cup? what scars does she have? and suddenly i feel a little too damp in my underwear.

sevika moves closer to me, my lower half now balanced on her thighs. a ripping sound of fabric is heard as my underwear is shredded with her knife. "just trust me, okay?" she whispers into my ear before a moan is ripped from my throat.

her fingers pinch and rub at my clit as moans slip from my lips. everything seemed heightened due to the blindfold. i needed more- i needed her. i move my hips up closer to her, whimpering for more.

"so needy" she mumbles before giving a small slap to my clit. a strangled moan escapes my mouth.

suddenly all friction is moved away for a few minutes until i feel her hot mouth on my peppled nipple. i arch my back, up and into her mouth. small and soft grunts come from her mouth, only spurring me on. after a while of abuse to my breasts, a sharp stretching pain takes control of my body.

she easily plunged 2 of her thick, warm fingers into my dampness. i wince at the pain, but it quickly subsides as she starts rubbing my clit with her other hand. i go to say something, but im quickly cut off as she curls her fingers up and into just the right spot.

my vision goes white for a hot second until i feel her dragging her fingers in and out of me. every few seconds she curls her fingers inside of me.

"please- shit- sev!" i quickly moan out as i start to feel my orgasm approach. i start to grind my hips against her fingers, my thighs clamping around her waist.

"jus' a little more. almost there." she reassures me as she quickens her pace.

sharp and loud moans are drawn from my lips as i feel hot liquid drip down my core, i squirted all over her shirt and pants. a soft moan can be heard from her lips.

i groan at the loss of sensation as she pulls her fingers out, i can hear her licking my juices off her fingers. the dip at the edge of the bed suddenly dissapears as she gets up.

a damp and cold cloth strokes against my clit, sending a jolt down my spine. "easy, im jus' cleaning you up." she coos to me.

next thing i know the binds on my arms are coming undone, falling down at my sides. i pull them to my stomach as i rub the leftover marks where the ribbon was. i take off my blindfold to thank her for her service, but the curtain was already shut. she had disapeared like most of my usual customers. three silver and a bronze coin lay at my desk.

i wonder if i'll ever see her again.

thank you for reading if you got this far! this is my first post, not sure if ill do more. just depends on if people like my writing!

[rafedaddy01]

“You can take it” || rafe x Barry x reader

Summary: you, Barry, and rafe are all best friends, after a night of partying (snorting coke in Barry’s trailer) the three of you end up having a little too much fun.

This night changed everything, the whole dynamic of your friend group has shifted. But, you have to be honest with yourself, you most definitely enjoyed it.

Genre: dark, rough, smut, lots and lots of smut (I mean just look at the request)

Warnings: smut, threesome, anal, but plug, toys, male receiving oral, language, degrading, name calling, p in v, unprotected sex, mentions of drugs (just barely tho)

Authors note: guys. I just saw that I have a little over 2k followers thank you so much (I’m gonna fucking cry rn)

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You were at home. Well not physically, but home is where the heart is. And as weird and disturbing as it may sound, your home was in Barry’s trailer with your two best friends, Rafe Cameron and Barry.

You honestly don’t even remember how the three of you became friends.

It was at some party, you were trying to buy coke off some prick who kept flirting with you the whole night and withholding the coke from you until you let him hit, and of course that prick ended up being Rafe. You never let him near you though, you simply pretended to be going in for a kiss and when he was too distracted you reached in his pocket and grabbed the little dime bag and booked it.

Rafe had to admit, you were feisty and he respected that, you were also smart and sneaky. So he introduced you to his dealer, Barry.

And ever since then the three of you have been tighter than tighty whiteys.

“Yo, quick hogging that shit man” Barry snatched the dollar bill from Rafes hand before plopping himself on the empty couch cushion next to you.

“You’ve got a fuckin problem, country club” he laughed and shook his head before leaning down and snorting the white powder.

“My turn” your pretty manicured nails snatched the bill from Barry.

“I don’t have a problem. This shit just helps me relax” both you and Barry watched him pull another rolled up doller bill and a little dime bag out of his back pocket.

Laughing you said, “you’ve got a problem Cameron” before leaning down and taking your final line.

You don’t even know how the next events took place. The only thing you remember was laughing so hard you snorted and then laughing some more as the guys laughed at your snort, and then both your hands landed on the thighs on either side of you, rubbing up and down.

“Mmm, wanna do something wild?” Your words were strung together as you leaned your head back on the couch, “what’s that, princess?” Rafes raspy voice brought your eyes to his and you watched his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed. “Let’s all fuck each other”

And that’s how you ended up on your stomach on Barry’s squeaky trailer bed. Rafe pounding into from behind, and Barry stuffing your mouth from the front.

“Such a good fuckin girl, isn’t she Barry?” Rafe praised you as he moved in and out at a rough pace, his palm coming flat against your ass as he spanked you. “She sure is, country club. Letting us use her like this, such a slut” Barry groaned out, his lips curving and his gold tooth shining in the light.

“What do you say we have some more fun” Rafe spoke behind you. You couldn’t turn your head to see what he was holding because of the grip Barry had on your hair and how far down his cock was in your throat, but you knew it wasn’t good when you saw the wicked look in Barry’s eyes. “Go for it, I want this whore stuffed in all her holes” Barry brought his eyes back down to yours, you looked up at him with a pleading look. “Shh, it’s alright princess. You can take it”

He pet your hair back and wiped the tears from your cheeks as you felt the cold metal pushing between your ass, rafe groaned behind you before you felt his spit fall right onto your tight ring, you felt it drip down and onto your pussy where he was still moving in and out in slower strokes. “Are you gonna be a good girl for us, huh princess? You gonna let us use you in any way, be our little sex doll” rafe slapped your ass and you moaned around Barry’s cock, trying to answer.

“What was that?” Rafe smacked you again and again until Barry pulled his cock out. You turned your head and looked rafe right in the eyes as you whined “please”

“That’s what I like to hear” one last slap to your ass before he pushed the metal plug all the way into your tight ass and his hips sped up.

Your mouth flew out and Barry took it as a chance to shove himself right back in.

You were wasted. High off coke, mind fuzzy, body on fire, your mouth was stuffed and the sounds of both men moaning your name and getting pleasure from your body drove you wild.

You couldn’t take it anymore, you needed to come.

Your hand moved down to toy with your clit, moaning louder around Barry, “would you look at that, little slut wants to get off” Barry told rafe. “Should we let her?”

“Not yet” Rafe stopped moving inside you and pulled out, you whined, crying at the empty feeling and desperately rutting against your hand to get any kind of friction. The plug in your ass was removed and that was the last straw, your cheeks had tears streaming down them.

“Shh, come here baby.” Rafe grabbed you and turned you around so you were laying on his chest, straddling his lap. “Why are you crying? Huh?” He grabbed your face and smooshed your cheeks together with one hand as the other wiped away your tears. “You’re the one that wanted this, remember? Begging us to fuck you like a whore”

“I-I just wanna cum, please” you whined like a child, begging for some sort of relief from them.

“And you will” he shushed you, “just when we say you can” and the smile he had on his face was wiped off and replaced with a sadistic smirk.

Your eyes widened as he hugged you against his chest and you felt him slip back inside you as Barry slipped in between your other tight hole, filling you to the brim.

You were so stuffed and full you couldn’t even breathe. Just accepting defeat and laying against Rafes chest as you let them use your body for their pleasure.

It was your idea after all

Taglist

@f4ll-for-you @rafeysworldim19 @baby19sthings @sevenwivesofrafecameron @rxfecameronsslut @findapenny @r1vrsefx @spencerreidsrealgf @rafescokenostril @thievin-stealing @rafemotherfuckingcameron @dilvcv @starkeysheart @wearemadeofstardust0 @theoraekenslover @mema10