#my favorite is the blue striped one :>>>

[druidonity2]

Tried to design an outfit for Anduin that felt like him, but also didnt use any blue. Something comfy and more travel suited. I based the colors off his non-blue outfits from WoW and HotS, his pink one is based on his older self in the Legion comics.

[yardikins]

She’s a ten but her favorite background Rageons are ones that are really hard to find clear shots of in crowd scenes

[thatonegrimm]

Saja Boys reacting to reader giving them a homemade gift? (Either on their birthday or as a congratulations for a show). Also, could I be 💖 anon?

Thanks for your request! This is such a sweet concept and yes you can, I did add ideas from another anon to this as they were cute. Here you go!💌

🌙 Saja Boys x Reader – You Gave Them a Homemade Gift

----------------------------

🧿 Jinu 

You handed it to him shyly, wrapped in a small cloth bag stitched with stars.

“I know it’s a little goofy,” you murmured, “but I wanted you to have something… soft. For after everything.”

Inside: a tiny crocheted Derpy. Blue tiger stripes, big button eyes, floppy paws. Slightly uneven stitching in places, but unmistakably Derpy.

Jinu blinked.

Then blinked again.

“You made this?” he whispered, holding it in both hands like it might vanish.

You nodded. “Took me a while to get the stripes right.”

He sat down slowly, running his thumb along the yarn ears. “It’s perfect.”

You hesitated. “You really think so?”

“I think…” He paused. “I think this is one of the kindest things anyone’s ever made for me.”

You watched him gently place the little plush on his nightstand, right beside his real Derpy’s tiny hat.

And from that night on, the plush always stayed there—quiet guardian, gift from your hands to his heart.

----------------------------

💪 Abby 

He didn’t see it coming.

You pulled it from behind your back right before rehearsal, holding it up triumphantly like it was a treasure chest.

“For your big head,” you said, grinning.

Abby’s eyes went wide. “No way—you made that?”

The beanie was deep forest green, soft to the touch, with a tiny patch on the inside that had your initials stitched in small, uneven loops.

“I know you lost your favorite one,” you said, watching his expression. “So… this one’s backup.”

Abby grabbed it gently, like it might fall apart if he moved too fast.

“I’m gonna wear this forever,” he declared.

You laughed. “You’re going to sweat through it in like a week.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, pulling it on instantly. “I’m not taking it off.”

And you weren’t kidding—he didn’t. Not during rehearsal, not after, not even during interviews. He even got scolded once for refusing to let stylists take it off.

“I’ll let you style my soul,” he told them, “but not the hat.”

Because you made it. And that meant it was irreplaceable.

----------------------------

📚 Mystery 

You didn’t wrap it or make a big deal. You just… held it out one afternoon like it was no big thing.

“Here,” you said. “It reminded me of you.”

Mystery blinked at the tiny yellow duck. Soft crochet. Tiny black eyes. Its little wings poked out like it had somewhere to be.

He didn’t take it at first. Just stared at it, then at you.

“It’s a duck,” he said.

“It’s a keychain,” you replied. “For your bag. Or your jacket. Or wherever you want.”

He took it carefully, holding it by the loop. Turning it over in his hand like it might reveal a secret.

“…Why a duck?”

You shrugged. “Quiet. Observant. Has a lot going on under the surface. Waddles dramatically.”

He stared at you.

Then clipped it to the zipper of his coat.

He didn’t say anything else.

But weeks later, you saw it still hanging there. Even after missions. Even after laundry. Even when he switched coats—he transferred it carefully, like it belonged with him.

And sometimes, when he thought no one was looking, he gave it a tiny tap with his knuckle.

As if saying thanks.

----------------------------

💋 Romance 

You gave it to him backstage, right after a performance.

It was a pale pink knit pullover, soft and slouchy, with a big red heart stitched right in the middle. A little uneven. A little crooked. Very you.

Romance’s jaw dropped.

“Oh my god,” he breathed. “You knitted me love.”

You laughed. “Don’t make it weird.”

He was already tugging it over his head, eyes glowing like stage lights.

“It’s warm,” he murmured. “And soft. And smells like you.”

“You’re supposed to wear it casually,” you warned, “not seduce everyone in the room.”

But he just beamed, heart puffed and glowing to match the one on his chest.

“Too late.”

He wore it constantly after that. Took selfies in it. Wore it under his coat on chilly days. Clutched the sleeves like it was armor.

Because to him, it was.

Your love, looped into every stitch.

----------------------------

🔥 Baby 

You left it on his bed with a note.

“In case I’m not around to bully you in person. His name is Toast.”

Baby found it after practice—a plushie the size of his hand, stitched with tiny horns, a little fanged smile, and eyes just slightly crooked.

He picked it up. Stared at it.

Then immediately texted you:

"What is this. Why is it smiling at me."

"He's your emotional support gremlin. Be nice to him."

Baby sent you a photo of the plush in his hand. Then one of it on his pillow. Then another—secretly snapped—of it squished against his chest while he napped.

He never said anything directly.

But a few nights later, when you walked past his room, you caught a glimpse through the cracked door.

Baby, curled up on his side.

One arm wrapped around Toast.

His patterns dim and quiet, expression peaceful.

He’d never admit it—but he hadn’t slept that well in weeks.

----------------------------

M-List

[gojosconsort]

satoru giving pregnant wife head to help with her hormones 😇

𓂃୨ৎ mdni. oral (f receiving), pregnancy, mild degradation, spit

you’re six months pregnant, hormones all over the place, making you restless and needy as hell. satoru’s been eyeing you all day, that smug grin on his face, knowing exactly what’s got you squirming. you’re in one of his shirts, barely covering your thighs, belly round and heavy, when he kneels between your legs, hands spreading you wide like it’s his goddamn mission.

“fuck, baby, you’re drippin’ already,” he says, voice low, teasing, blue eyes locked on your soaked panties as he yanks ‘em down, tossing ‘em somewhere. you’re flushed, half-embarrassed, ‘cause these hormones got you so damn sensitive, every touch feels like fire. “satoru, don’t stare,” you mumble, but he’s already leaning in ‘til his breath’s hot on your cunt.

“shut up, you love it,” and then his tongue’s on you, flat and slow, licking a fat stripe from your entrance to your clit, tasting how wet you are. you moan, loud, head falling back, hands already fisting his white hair ‘cause you can’t help it—pregnancy’s got you so keyed up, you’re practically humping his face. “shit, taste so good,” he mutters, diving in like he’s starving, tongue flicking your clit fast, then slow, sucking hard ‘til you’re shaking.

“toru—fuck, slow down,” you gasp, thighs trembling, but he’s not listening, too lost in it, groaning into your pussy like it’s his favorite meal. “slow down? why? you’re gushin’ for me,” he says, pulling back just to spit on your clit, watching it drip before he laps it up, sloppy and loud, the wet sounds filling the room. your hormones are screaming, making every lick feel like a damn shockwave, and you’re already close, too damn close, body wound tight.

he’s relentless, tongue circling your clit, then dipping lower, fucking into you, nose pressed against your sensitive bud. “look at you, all knocked up and still beggin’ for my mouth,” he teases, voice muffled, hands gripping your thighs so hard they’ll bruise, keeping you spread as you buck against him. “these hormones got you actin’ like a slut, huh?” you whimper, embarrassed but too turned on to care, ‘cause he’s right—you’re a mess, and you need this bad.

“satoru, please,” you whine, chasing it, and he smirks, sucking your clit hard, making you scream, pleasure so sharp it’s almost pain. “please what? wanna cum all over my face?” he taunts, pulling back to rub his fingers through your slick, spreading it, before diving back in, tongue relentless. your belly’s tight, hormones amplifying every sensation, and when he grazes his teeth lightly over your clit, you’re done—orgasm hits like a freight train, vision white, thighs clamping around his head as you sob his name, gushing so hard he groans, lapping it all up like it’s his prize.

“fuck, that’s it, soak me,” he says, still licking, slower now, drawing out every aftershock ‘til you’re twitching, oversensitive, pushing at his head. “toru, enough,” you beg, voice wrecked, but he just kisses your inner thighs, soft, almost sweet, before climbing up, lips shiny with your slick. “hormones feelin’ better now?” he grins, cocky, but his hands are gentle, rubbing your belly, pulling you close. you nod, dazed, still catching your breath, and he chuckles, kissing you deep, letting you taste yourself, ‘cause he knows you’re still needy—and he’s far from done.

[cameronsbabydoll]

KEEP QUIET ꨄ︎ RAFE CAMERON X BABYDOLL READER

WARNINGS — unprotected sex, sorta public sex, mdni 18+

The nonstop sound of your flesh slapping against flesh reverberated through the 50s-styled Americana bathroom, resonating with Rafe’s persistent thrusts as Rafe pressed you against the pastel striped wallpaper. The wet sounds were almost pulsating, mixing with the sweet sounds coming from your mouth. 

“Shh… Gotta keep quiet, baby,” Rafe whispered vigorously into your ear, his hot breath coming in strained grunts. 

Rafe moved one of his hands from the soft flesh of your hips to squeezing your face in almost a patronizing manner, pressing slobbery kisses all over your flushed face.

As Rafe’s other hand moved to pull your pretty ass against him, he started grinding your body against himself with slow and deliberate attacks. 

“Babydoll, you have to be quiet; everybody is going to hear you, and I know my baby doesn’t want that, right?” Rafe’s voice was almost a sensual threat, muffled in a soft tone, as he gave you another slap on your ass. The sound was almost like a soft melody, mixing with you shaking your head desperately to his words.

“Of course you don’t, doll; after all, this is your favorite diner.” Rafe mused with a deep chuckle as your whimpers grew stronger. 

With agonizing control, Rafe withdrew his length from your dripping wet heat, making sure he only left you with the swollen tip nestled between you. “Come on, babydoll, move those pretty hips for me,” Rafe growled as he delivered another spank, his eyes lighting up with a wild glee.

“I know you want this baby. Better yet, I know a needy little thing like you needs me, huh?” Rafe demanded, adjusting your body to face the antique mirror hung above the sink, making sure you can see your lust-glazed eyes and your drunkenly pleasurable appearance. 

“W-Want it so bad,” You whimper before shaking your head and speaking again, almost correcting your words. “N-Need it! N-Need so bad, Rafey!” 

Rafe pulled you back onto his cock with a brutal force that almost guaranteed to leave you sore. “Fucking hell, baby, so desperate for me? Aren’t you a doll?” Rafe teased with a forceful thrust.

Rafe watched the way your glossy eyes rolled back and your mouth fell open in a silent scream. “Look at that; it has to be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Rafe chuckled softly as his hips snapped forward with an intense urgency. “Little by little, babydoll, doing so good for me, such a good girl, aren’t you?” 

With a final brutal thrust that buried him in your cunt, Rafe pressed his thumb hard against your clit. At the same time, Rafe let out a deep, guttural breath as his cock pulsed between you.

Rafe moved his hips at a slow pace, stirring his release inside him as you rode out the aftershock of your climax. Rafe moved his burly hands to trace small circles around your soft skin as he pressed gentle kisses on the dampened nape of your neck.

Rafe slipped his cock out from you with a wet plop; a trickle of his seed dripped down your inner thighs. Rafe kneeled down slightly as he used his fingers to scoop some of it up and pushed it back inside your fluttering entrance before pulling your white lace panties and the baby blue shorts back over your hips, pressing a little kiss on the quilted heart on your shorts.

Then, Rafe turned you around to face him, his hands cupping your face roughly as he captured your mouth in a deep sensual kiss.

You hum softly as you reach out to move your fingers through Rafe’s dirty blonde hair, “Can we get a milkshake first? You did promise me you’d get me one…” 

Rafe couldn’t help but let out a smile at your request. “Of course, babydoll, anything for my baby.” 

[angrythingstarlight]

https://www.instagram.com/reel/DJt1UWoxhCl/?igsh=M3drNndlcTdsYXQy

This is such a Bucky and sweet Bee thing 😂🥹🥰 like did you ghostwrite or manifest this reel 😅

Bucky and our sweet Bee have been co-conspirators since she was born.

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky x Reader, daughter nicknamed Bumblebee

CW: Fluff

WC: 1k

A/N: Part of the Bumblebee series.

You have to keep a constant eye on these two because the second you’re not paying attention, they’re up to something. Running off to some store or looking up how much a baby highland cow costs. And how to sneak said baby highland cow into the house.

Last week, you overhead them plotting ways to get you on the jet so they could spring an impromptu vacation to the Maldives on you. Bucky tossed out the idea of simply tossing you over his shoulder and taking you on the jet. Bee approved. And what Bee wants, Bee gets. Or so Bucky told you as he carried you to the plane.

The next night all of you were at a new restaurant, you wait until the orders placed and the drinks on their way to go the restroom. You leave Bee digging through your purse for her stash of crayons while Bucky places a few cloth napkins in front of her.

You're gone for less than five minutes. Just five.

You come back to an empty table and a wide eyed, slightly nervous waiter telling you that your husband and child will be back soon.

Bucky has Bee answer the phone when you call. The conversation is all too familiar. They’ve done this before.

He listens in, ignoring the salespeople rushing around him trying to locate the exact pieces he custom ordered before the jet landed.

“Hi, mommy. I can’t tells you. It’s our secrets. Okays. Yeah. My favorites too. Okays, I tells you a wittle bit. We gonna gets you—waits. Hi Papa. Okays. Mommy, we—we gonna sees you laters. Bye. Loves you.”

She hangs up, leaving you chuckling into your glass of wine.

In all fairness, Bucky doesn’t make you wait too long. The appetizers arrive just as your mobster strolls back in, everyone watching him make his back to the table.

You can’t blame them for staring. There’s something about him that’s magnetic, drawing attention effortlessly. Maybe it’s because he looks so damn good in his dark grey suit, tattoos peeking past his sleeves, and that signature smirk on his bearded face. Could be the way he’s attentively doting on the little girl in his arms that has every woman in this place swooning. Bee is adorable in her fluffy white and pink striped dress, her head tilted back as she talks, a small white bag with a black logo in her hand.

Bee stops mid-sentence when she sees you, a smile brightens her face. “Hi Mommy.”

“Hey sweet Bee.”

Bucky leans down, setting her on the chair next to you, leaning over to sweep his lips across yours. “Hi Malyshka,” he murmurs with a teasing grin.

“James.” Your eyes roll, but he can read you better than his favorite book, he knows you’re happy to see him and that you’re curious about what they did. He gives you another kiss before he takes his seat. His blue eyes flicker between you and Bee. She’s squeezing the bag between her hands, brimming with excitement, he gives her a brief nod.

Bee empties the bag on the table, two small velvet boxes tumble out, one knocks against your plate with a faint clink. “Oops. I gots it,” she says, picking them up and holding them in front of your face. Little fingers wrapped around cobalt blue cloud your vision. “Prise!”

Leaning back, you take one and pop it open. Your heart melts. Just gone in a puddle of sheer happiness. In your periphery, you see Bucky, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, a pleased grin breaking through.

You want to appear unfazed, tease him a bit, tell him he can’t keep doing this. Can’t keep spoiling you like this.

But you can’t. The words won’t form.

Not when you’re gazing down at a pretty bumblebee locket, your baby’s initials etched into the hand-carved wings. Bee snaps open the other box, revealing a heart-shaped locket, lined with gorgeous pink diamonds.

“Its for us Mommy,” she says, switching the boxes and opening her locket. You gently trace a finger over the photos of you and Bucky. These are from New Year’s, you let Bee use your camera to take pictures of the city before the countdown. It wasn’t until later that you found the ones she took of you two. “You loves it?”

“I do.” Tears prick at your eyes as whatever is left of your melting heart warms your chest.

Bucky’s smirk fades into something softer, sincere. His hand brushes down your arm and he rests his chin on your shoulder. “Look at yours Malyshka,” he asks, voice deep and thoughtful.

The locket opens with a soft snick. You recognize the photos. You have them on your desk. Baby Bee and her toothless grin, the one you could never get enough of. Bucky, the night he proposed, looking up at you, the passionate emotions captured in his eyes always make your breath hitch.

“Its perfect,” you breathe out.

“Always is,” Bucky responds, his gaze drifting across your face. He can’t imagine anything more perfect than you. And little Bee.

“Thank you. This is amazing.”

Bee wiggles in her chair, legs swinging. “You welcomes.”

Bucky says nothing, happy to let his baby take all the credit. He places the locket around your neck and does the same for Bee. Topped off with a kiss on the lips for you, one on the forehead for her.

Dinner goes by too fast. Cherished memories you’re going to store away, right next to all the other incredible moments in your life. You take it all in. The delicious food is made even better by the bite or two stolen from each other’s plates. Excellent wine. Bee’s apple juice. Your hand in Bucky’s. His arm around your shoulders. The sounds of the band unnoticed over shared laughter and Bee’s wildly imaginative stories about Mr. Tato and Elmo.

And the heart-shaped locket warming against your skin as the sun sets.

Life is good.

You’ll never be able to stop these from conspiring against you, but you’re about to one-up them. Give them something that can’t be bought in stores.

[chow0w]

may i humbly request my beloved lady scarab or lady jewel?

of course dreams! Here’s my redesign of lady Jewel!

I had a lot of ideas for this design and it was super easy to make, but the patterns did kind of throw me a little. Jewel’s design uses recurring elements of gemstones and swirls for an elegant, royal look! Her scale and wing colors aren’t particularly special, but I did decide to change her color palette slightly and exclude any prominent use of black stripes, since I wanted the highest points of contrast to be around her jewellery and eye/face. She holds a dragon cocktail, with a feathered scarf-neckpiece and some neck/tail jewelry. I’m not sure if I would label the jewels on her wings as piercings or clip-ons, as I imagine they would make flying somewhat difficult. A lot of lady Jewel’s rebellion throughout the lost continent arc is seen/alluded to be silent - she quietly refuses to follow some of Wasp’s orders in relation to the silk wings, and is described as a fair leader who can be trusted by both tribes: so long as Wasp believes her to be incompetent and naive. Because of this, it was important to me that Jewel’s design had the potential to be viewed in a negative light. Jewel’s posture and expression help us to view her as intelligent and witty, however a different mannerism with the same design could portray her as tackily dressed and incompetent - which is totally something she would think about when dressing up.

I love Jewel’s character and book appearance, but my one criticism would be that I wish we got to see more of the art scene in jewel hive - it would be really interesting to see how protest art movements work within jewel hive, and if they were any different from cross-hive protests like the chrysalis leaf. Art and rebellion are inextricably interlinked, and not exploring jewel hive to the fullest almost seems like wasted potential in my opinion. That definitely drove me to include subtle references to art forms with a strong link to protest and social justice: particularly drag. My first idea for this design was for Jewel to be in full drag, but I realized Wasp would probably never let that slide (even with how much Jewel got away with already) and decided to present those design elements much more subtly instead. Overall, Lady Jewel’s appearance is intended to be a reflection of her personality, grace and sense of justice.

As always, thank you guys so much for all of your support of this series! I hope these designs are a point of inspiration and discussion, and look forward to continuing them in the future.

Here are the current characters in waiting: Sunny, Moon, Clearsight, Blue, Luna, freedom, Bigtail, Cricket, Clay, Blaze, Queen Thorn, Starflight, Darkstalker, Tsunami, Snowfall, Grandeur, Sky, Lynx, Oasis, Winter and Kinkajou! If you don't see your favorite here or have another question/something to say, please feel free to leave a request in my askbox!

later :33

[random-thot-generator]

POUND CAKE

—No good deed goes unpunished.

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x reader

cw: (MDNI-18+ ONLY) explicit sexual content, dark themes, allusions to stalking, manipulation/coercion, dubcon

mdni banner: @cafekitsune

-

You were just trying to be nice to the guy, show him a little customer appreciation. You should've known better.

Whenever the big blonde Manc showed up at your shop, he always ordered a hot cuppa and a slice of lemon pound cake. Didn't matter what was on special that day or what was in the display case, he always asked for the pound cake. Nothing else would do.

You hadn't seen him in a couple of months, which over the past year or so you had learned was sort of his MO. He'd stop in every day for several weeks in a row, then poof! He'd vanish until, months later, he'd just suddenly reappear again. You never asked why; it wasn't that kind of relationship. He never was much of a talker, that one.

So, yesterday he showed up again—just suddenly out of the blue, like always—and wouldn't ya know it, you were completely sold out of the pound cake. Usually you wouldn't be, but it just so happened that an old bird had popped in before lunch and bought the last of what you had for an afternoon tea she was hosting for her knitting circle.

You obviously had no way of knowing that would happen, but still you felt bad because you could tell he was disappointed. You even offered him some free macarons to make up for it, but he just grunted and shook his head, then paid for his tea and left.

Well, of course, you wanted to make it up to him, him being one of your regulars and all. It's simply good business, you told yourself, looking after your loyal customers and what not.

So, the next day you were ready for him. You even went so far as to set out the tin of his favorite brand of earl grey in anticipation of his arrival. You then fretted for hours, keeping a close eye out for him, until he finally showed up. You were all smiles as he approached the counter.

"Got any uh tha' pound cake left t'day?" he'd asked in that grumbly, gruff way of his.

"I do!" you told him, giving him a coy smirk.

"Gimma a slice then, an' my usual brew."

You were on pins and needles while making his tea, giddy with nerves as you slid the green-and-white striped cake box across to him with his to-go cup. You were keen to see his reaction. His dark eyes squinted at it, darting back and forth between you and the box.

"Wha's this, then? I asked fer a slice, not a whole bloomin' cake, ya muppet." He scoffed and pushed the cake box back towards you.

Well! Not exactly the reaction you were hoping for. Feeling a bit peeved, you pushed it back. When he glared, you shrugged, trying to be nonchalant about it.

"I felt bad that you left empty-handed yesterday, so I wanted to make it up to you. That's an entire lemon pound cake, made just for you."

He blinked, his pale brows furrowing into a bothered little frown. He eyed the cake box, looking a bit perturbed, then reached for his wallet.

"No no!" you blurted out, waving him off. You gave him a sheepish look, suddenly feeling put on the spot. "It's um—It's on the house." You scratched at the back of your burning neck, eyes sliding off to the side. "Gotta take care of my loyal customers, don't I? Wouldn't want to lose ya."

And he just stared at you. Didn't say a word in response.

In fact, he stared at you for so long, you started to fidget. Sweat began gathering in your pits, your body tense and overheated. Had you overstepped, offended him somehow? Your mouth fell open, but nothing came out of it. You weren't quite sure what to say to him, so you just gaped up at him like a stupid, daft cow.

He tilted his head, eyes hooded and lazy. "Ya sayin' ya made this especially f'me, pet?" he finally asked.

The situation was growing more uncomfortable by the minute. "Um... Well... Y-Yes, I suppose I did."

Planting his hands on the counter, he leaned forward, his dark, glinting eyes raking over you as he hummed in consideration. Just when you thought you might spontaneously combust from embarrassment, he straightened to his full height and the corners of his mouth curled up into a wicked little smirk.

"Wha' time do ya usually get outta here?"

Your breath gusted out in a rush, and you realized you'd been holding it the whole time. "Around seven," you croaked, then cleared your throat. "S-Seven o'clock..."

"Christ," he grunted, making your eyes bug when he reached down and shamelessly adjusted himself. "Olright then. I'll be back 'round seven f'ya." His eyes bore into yours as he took his tea and cake from the counter. "I'll walk ya home."

Then out the door he went.

Your mind was in a daze for the remainder of the day, the passing hours little more than a blur. He's coming back; he's walking me home, your mind kept repeating.

Your anxiety eventually got the best of you. You'd pretty much talked yourself into nicking out early to avoid him, but your plan of escape went completely awry when he walked back into the shop at six-thirty.

Oh, dear God...

"You're early," you squeaked.

He rolled his massive shoulders, then took a seat at one of the tables. He stretched his long, tree trunk legs out and crossed them at the ankles. "Figured I'd wait while ya finished closin' up. Care t'make me a brew first, though?"

Your body went on autopilot, making him a tea while your mind screamed into the void. Then you shuffled off to finish closing up for the night while he sipped his tea. He helped you turn up the chairs to speed things along, and was right on your heels when you finally locked up for the night.

It was all you could do to keep up with him as he led you by the hand a few streets over to your flat. You were so flustered, it didn't even occur to you at the time that he somehow already knew the way.

The next thing you knew, he was herding you up the stairs to your floor, taking the keys from your trembling hand to unlock the door himself. Maybe it was an attempt at self-preservation that gave you the courage to balk at the threshold and turn to face him.

"Thank you for walking me home, Mister..." Your lashes fluttered and a nervous titter bubbled out. "I'm sorry. I never even asked for your name."

Heavy hands landed on your shoulders, sliding down to your biceps as he smirked a wicked grin and walked you backwards through the doorway.

"Name's Simon, lovie. Simon Riley."

The gravel in his voice sent a chill shuddering down your spine. He laughed low and wicked when you jumped after he kicked the door shut behind him.

"'S olright, li'l girlie. 'M gonna take real good care uh ya. Jus' relax an' let it happen, yeah?"

That was the extent of your conversation for the next few hours. You really weren't capable of speech during that time, and he mainly just growled out orders at you.

"Get yer knickers off an' spread those pretty thighs, doll."

"Fuck. Tha's it, lovie. Keep suckin' it just like tha'. Told ya you could take more."

"Quit squirmin' an' keep them legs open. Can't eat properly wiff ya squeezin' my head."

"Just breathe, sweet'art. You can take it all. I'll make it fit."

"On yer belly, arse up, princess. 'M not done wiff ya yet."

"Quit yer whingin' an' come f'me again."

That's not to say he wasn't generous with the praise too, though...

"Lookit tha' sweet li'l cunt. Olready drippin' wet f'me."

"Ya look s'pretty wiff my cock in yer mouth. Like a fuckin' angel."

"Mmm... Never tasted a pussy this good. Could eat ya all night."

"Bloody hell, 's tight. Feels like heaven."

"Good. Fuckin'. Girl. Nngh! Knew ya could take it all."

"Christ... 'Got me 'bout t'come olready, lovie."

"Look bloody gorgeous sittin' on my cock, lass. An' lookit how yer tits bounce. Fuck... FUCK!"

"Not gonna last—feel too bloody good. Gonna fill this pussy up!"

And he did. He filled you up to the brim and left you a boneless, quivering mess. Then he cleaned you up and tucked you into his side. Best sex ever, you thought before drifting off to sleep.

It was so good, in fact, that you didn't even get mad when he ghosted a kiss on your cheek and slipped out of your bed then out of your flat before dawn. He never was much for chatting anyway, so you figured he'd rather skip the awkward goodbye the next morning. It was a bit disappointing to know you'd probably lost a good customer, though.

And yeah, maybe you were a little sad when he didn't stop in for his usual slice and cuppa the next day, but honestly, it was probably for the best. He always did strike you as a little too intense, maybe even slightly unhinged. Yet it was probably that hint of danger that drew you to him in the first place, like a moth to a flame.

It might be fun to dance in the flames on occasion, but his brand of fire would consume you if you stayed too close for too long. Ah well. At least he left you with some good memories to keep you warm at night.

By six that evening the store is dead, your last customer having departed a half hour ago. Deciding to close up early, you flip the sign on the door and turn the lock, then head to the back to clean. You're already planning on a long soak in the tub with a glass of wine once you get home. Simon left you with sore muscles and a bone-deep ache between your thighs. You swear you could still feel the shape of him impressed into your inner walls.

You're in the process of shelving a stack of loaf pans, dithering over Chinese or pizza for dinner, when you hear the telltale jingle of the bell above the door. Startled, you gasp and loaf pans go scattering across the floor, making a terrible racket. Hissing a curse, you toss your hands up in frustration before stomping back to the front.

"Sorry! We're closed," you call out as you shove through the kitchen door, then come to an abrupt halt.

Wait. Didn't you lock the door?

"'Ello, lovie."

Simon's leaning against the counter, a devilish little quirk on his lips.

"How did you get in here?" is all you can think to say.

"Took yer spare set uh keys before I left this mornin'. Needed the key t'yer flat, but didn't wanna wake ya, so I helped myself. What was oll tha' racket?"

"I dropped the loaf pans," you mutter, in a daze.

He huffs a dry laugh. "Sorry if I startled ya. Was gonna call, but figured ya'd be busy closin' up the shop." He starts flipping the chairs up onto the tables. "Ya almost done? 'M ready t'go home an' relax. Been movin' house all day."

"Moving house?" you parrot, a sense of dread settling like a stone in your gut.

"Yeah. Figured I'd move tuh yers since yer flat's bigger than mine. Nicer, too." He smirks. "But don't worry. I didn't toss any uh yer shit. Got rid uh mine instead. 'S all secondhand junk, anyway."

You feel like you're in some sort of surreal dreamscape, where up is down and right is wrong and nothing makes sense anymore. Alice taking a header right down the old rabbit hole.

"You... You moved into my flat? But... But—why?!"

He rounds the counter, steps slow and steady, a predator stalking his prey. Scared little rabbit that you are, you tremble but don't move, some deep-rooted, primal instinct warning you to stay very, very still. Your head tilts back, eyes wide and unblinking, fearful of what you see smoldering in the dark depths of his eyes. Hellfire. Damnation.

"Shh..." he shushes you, placing a rough palm against your cheek. "We both know why. Yer just scared 'cause now ya know that I can see ya. But I've always seen ya, lovie. Always knew what ya wanted, what ya needed. Was just waitin' f'ya tuh figure it out."

Wrapping his fingers around your throat he draws you close, licks into your mouth like it's his to possess, like you're his to claim. He then spins you around and swats your bum to get you moving.

"Go grab yer stuff. We'll take care uh the rest uh this in the mornin'. 'S time t'go home."

You stumble to the back to get your things, mind numb, thoughts empty.

Later that night, eyes staring blindly up at the shifting shadows on the ceiling, you quake as he sinks slowly between your thighs, listen to the filthy praise he mumbles against your lips. His breath tastes sweet, like pound cake, and you swallow it down, make it your own.

You were just trying to be nice, but you should've known better. You can't feed a feral stray like him without consequences. Because a beast like him is bound to follow you home.

-

[notdysfunk]

✨ FUNTIME SUN/MOON ✨REMAKE!!!

Ollddd + redesign notes under cut vvvvv

OLDDD VERSION!! It's so crunchy haha

A lot of yapping incoming I was never supa happy with these designs because I felt like they were too high contrast and/or would have rlly dull muted colours- which as we know funtimes mostly consist of whites and like pinks, purple, blue, or red. I took away their stark white parts, as I thought it was too bright even for a Funtime. I decided to play around with giving Sun some blue (always wanted to do that!!!), and giving Moon some yellow to match!!! I really tried leaning harder into the vibrant pastel-y almost colours that funtimes have!!! (Fun fact: SL is my second favorite game behind SB!!) Sun's yellow stripes are sparkly, and most of Moon's garments are the same. I gave Sun some fancy ray ornaments, like the mini rays behind the big ones!! And I deduced that, as a puppeteer, Moon's long ribbons would only pose a tangling threat- so I changed him to have ribbons tied around his forearms instead! And of course, I kept the stars on their shoes because... Of course, I had to!!! <3

[sonieeslov]

Memories in Busan

summary: Yeon Sieun has his own quiet, particular ways of showing he cares sometimes they feel like coincidences, but they never really are. He doesn’t have to say a word, his actions speak louder than anything he could ever tell you.

pairing: Yeon Sieun x fem!reader.

genre: fluff / established relationship.

The video call wasn’t out of routine, not out of habit either. You just wanted to hear his voice.

Sometimes you’d call just to tell him dumb little things. Stuff that had just happened. Like every second between you two needed to be shared, even the most insignificant ones.

—Suho almost set the kitchen on fire.—you said out of nowhere, flipping your phone camera while lying on your pillow.—

—Again?

—No, this time it was seaweed soup. He spilled the whole bowl on himself. He literally smelled like seaweed every time he walked past my table.

—He said he’s about to throw in the towel, he’s such a drama queen, he is not actually gonna do it. I’m telling you.

On the other side of the screen, Sieun barely moved. He just adjusted his earbud and tilted his head a little. That faint smile showed up, the kind that would seem emotionless on anyone else, but on him, it was basically a laugh.

Outside, the heat was unbearable. The kind that sticks to your skin no matter how wide the window is open.

First Friday of summer break, everyone was out. You just wanted to make plans with him, something quiet. Just the two of you.

—Hey… what if we hit the beach tomorrow?—you asked, like it had just popped into your head when in reality, you’d been thinking about it all day.

He looked down for a second.

You pictured him brushing away an eyelash or maybe just… not loving the idea.

—Which one?

—Haeundae.

A pause.

And just like that, it was set.

Haeundae, tomorrow, noon.

After that, you turned the camera toward your bed.

Two outfit options were laid out on the sheets: a white blouse with denim shorts, and a light blue linen shirt with white stripes next to a pair of white linen pants. The slow spinning fan cast soft shadows over the fabric like someone replaying a memory on loop.

—It’s hot but I bet it’ll get windy in the afternoon.—you said, adjusting the camera so he could get a better look.— You know how Haeundae is… sunny, breezy, just weird weather all around.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stared.

You could see the way his brow was relaxed, his eyes focused like he was solving a math problem in his head.

—The blue shirt.—he finally said.—

—The blue one? You didn’t even hesitate. That was way too fast. Don’t you wanna think about it again?

—Didn’t need to.

—Why not?

That’s when he looked at you.

Not at the clothes. Not at the screen.

At you.

With those calm, steady eyes that never try to impress, only to tell the truth.

—Blue’s your favorite color.

—Since when do you know that?

—Since I met you.

He leaned back in his chair again, expression unchanged. But something in his voice had softened like he was letting the warmth of the night melt into him too.

—Then I guess tomorrow… I’ll wear the blue one.—you whispered, like you were sealing a deal.—

—Blue.

────

The station was alive.

Sunlight slipped through the metal roof, falling in uneven patches across the concrete, bright spots that seemed to shift with the crowd.

The air was thick, heavy with humidity and the distant scent of the sea. And like always, the robotic voice from the speakers announced the train, though no one was really listening.

You checked your phone.

No new messages.

You glanced down both sides of the platform, bag hanging from your shoulder, sneakers tapping the ground in quiet impatience.

—Did I get here too early?—you muttered, lowering your screen’s brightness while your eyes scanned for one specific figure.—

—You’re right on time.

His voice came from behind you. Low, calm, close.

You turned around.

There he was.

Wearing a blue shirt just like yours, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, denim pants, and the same white sneakers you had on. Not identical but it felt like they were. Like you were in sync without even trying.

You looked him straight in the eyes, and even though you tried not to smile too much… your eyes gave you away.

—Wait…what? We’re matching and you didn’t even tell me?—you said once he was close enough.—

He glanced at your outfit, then at his, and finally gave one of those answers that sound like nothing but when it’s him, it means everything.

—I guess it’s a coincidence.

Your eyebrow arched instantly.

—Sieun!! You saw my outfit last night. How is this possibly a coincidence?

—Okay.—He paused.—

—I had this shirt saved.

Your smile widened just a little.

The speaker came on again. Four minutes until the train.

The sun was already beating down hard on the pavement, making the heat rise in subtle waves that distorted the landscape in the distance.

—I see…—you said.—So today’s the day you just happened to wear it?

He turned his head toward you and shrugged.

—Wanted something comfy.

You stared at him for a second longer. Then closed your eyes with a dramatic little sigh, like you were trying to sniff out a gentle lie.

And there it was.

Not a lie.

But not the full truth either.

Just enough of it to be real because it didn’t need to be confessed to be understood.

—Looks good on you.—was all you said.—

—Same to you.

He didn’t say it to flatter. He said it like he’d observed it, studied it, and was simply stating a fact, and that was one of the things you liked most about him when he spoke, he did it with certainty, even if it was just two words.

People around you were starting to bunch together, and you pulled out your ticket to scan it right when you felt his hand, just for a second, brush against yours.

It wasn’t a proper grip.

No fingers laced.

Just his hand sliding over yours, making sure you didn’t drift away in the crowd. Like it wasn’t even a conscious thought, like protecting you from the chaos was just part of his reflexes.

You didn’t say anything.

Neither did he.

But after scanning his ticket, he stopped just long enough to let you step on the train first.

The train seats were in pairs, side by side. You both sat down in silence. The train started with a gentle jolt, and you slipped your bag off your shoulder, placing it on your lap. He already had his phone in hand, scrolling through his music library.

Without saying a word, he pulled out his AirPods. He didn’t ask, he just offered you one, palm open like sharing sound was already a habit between you two.

You took it and placed it in your left ear.

You turned slightly, with that soft kind of movement you make when you don’t want to disturb anything, and rested your head on his shoulder. He didn’t say anything, didn’t flinch. This time, it was different, he tilted his head just a little, as if your weight belonged there, like carrying it was simply part of the ride.

—Can I choose a song?—you asked in a quiet voice, barely moving.—

Sieun didn’t answer right away. Then, in that flat but perfectly measured tone, he murmured:

—Just don’t put on that one loud song you always play.

—It’s not loud—you muttered with a smile.—It’s just… different.

He let out a soft sigh which coming from him was basically a laugh. But what you didn’t know or maybe you did, because you could feel it in the way he always went quiet whenever you brought it up, was that he actually did like that song. Way more than he’d ever admit.

⸻

The train was already gliding through the last few curves before arriving at Haeundae. The view outside had shifted, low buildings, chalkboard signs offering ice cream and summer discounts.

The silence between you wasn’t awkward.

If anything, it felt like a wordless conversation.

He sat with his head tilted toward the window, you legs tucked under you, the train’s air conditioning blowing warm air softly between the two of you. And then, without warning, Sieun reached into his backpack and pulled out a small white container.

He turned it in his fingers and opened it with the same care he’d use to open a book.

Sunscreen.

You looked at him.

He squeezed out a small amount into his palm and met your gaze with that neutral expression of his one that might look indifferent on someone else, but not on him.

With him, you already knew what it meant.

—Hold still.—he murmured.—

You frowned a little, suspicious.

—What are you doing?

—You’ll get burned if you don’t wear any.

You didn’t argue.

You just closed your eyes, tilted your head down slightly and felt his fingers gently touch your skin.

The touch was soft, measured, precise.

Nothing clumsy, nothing unsure.

He smoothed the sunscreen over your cheeks, then across your forehead, with a kind of calm that doesn’t come from chance it’s instinct.

His hands were warm from the sunlight coming through the window, and even though his expression didn’t change, there was something different about his breathing slower, more careful.

He wasn’t caressing you.

He wasn’t touching you with romantic intent.

He was taking care of you like someone doing something that doesn’t need an explanation. Like protecting you was just part of his place in the world.

—All done.

His voice was quiet but softer than usual. And for a moment, he held your gaze a little longer than necessary, like he’d just told you something without saying a single word.

Haeundae Station was getting closer now, carrying the scent of sea breeze and promised summer days.

But you already knew, the best part of the day had started.

And it wasn’t on the beach.

It was right here.

And it’s exactly that kind of small, priceless moment that stays with you forever.

The next station is Haeundae.

Author’s Note

This one shot was kinda long, but I hope you enjoy it. I’ll be more active these days, finally getting a bit of a break!!! 😋😋

If you spot any grammar mistakes or if something doesn’t make much sense, feel free to let me know and I’ll fix it. Just please be kind, english isn’t my first language but I’m doing my best. 🫶🏻

[mywritersmind]

GETAWAY - FC43

summary : An italian weekend getaway with your favorite loving boyfriend. Filled with strawberries and hammocks.

listen up : inspired by @purinfelix ! super sweet and blue vibes

word count : 884

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I yawn, walking down the kitchen and through the doorway that’s wide open, revealing my favorite part of this house. The balcony is long and filled with a couch, hammock, and table, all overlooking the crystal blue ocean. My feet are cold against the wooden floors but the moment I step outside, the sun warms my face.

I smile softly when I see him. He’s in a chair, quietly looking at the water. I wrap my arms around my lovely boyfriend, my coffee and strawberries in my hands still.

“Morning Mi amor.” His strong arms move so his hand is resting over mine, tilting his hair back so his waves brush the side of my face.

He gets a hold of my arm and gently pulls me around him, motioning to sit on his lap. He puts down his mate and welcomes me to sit on him. I put my breakfast down and wrap my arm around him, looking up into the fact I so love.

Franco’s hand goes to my leg, smiling. “Nice shirt.” I look down at what I'm wearing. It’s his shirt actually. A blue and white striped button down paired with underwear to match.

“Thank you!” I run my hands through his hair, messing it up at bit, “I stole it from a very handsome man!”

He tilts his head a bit, kissing my cheek, “He’s a lucky man.” I rest my head on Franco's shoulder. He smells like peppermint and coffee. He snatches one of my strawberries from my bowl and pops it into his mouth.

I breathe in the fresh air, closing my eyes and smiling. “You’re a vision, mi amor.” He kisses me on my lips this time, brushing my hair back softly.

I fell in love with him because of how soft he is. He never rushed me, never yelled. Him and those big brown eyes do everything to love me.

“What are you thinking about today?” I ask, looking out at the water and birds passing ahead as his lips go to my neck, “Farmers market?”

He hums against my skin, not giving any answer. I can’t even be mad at his lack of words because his lips against me and this morning view is anything I could ever ask for.

⋆༺

Our day is slow and peaceful, his hand never leaves mine and as soon as we get back to the house we change. Franco will go along with anything I do and I may be abusing my power a bit when I see our matching pajamas.

I can’t help but giggle at Franco in the blue and white porcelain design, they’re locally made and absolutely gorgeous. I have the pants and top while he seemed far too happy that they had no other pajama top in his size.

It takes approximately twenty minutes for the two of us to get into the hammock without falling out. He wraps his arm around me as I nuzzle into his chest, looking up at the star filled sky.

“I never want to leave.” He says as jazz plays from his phone across the balcony, “Let’s stay.”

I smile and look up at him, “We have to leave. But we can come back anytime.” I kiss his jaw as his hand brushes up and down my arm.

“I love you.” It makes me smile.

“I love you too.” I wrap my arm around his middle, his shirt soft against my skin. I look back up at the stars, feeling complete peace in the cool air, my warm skin, and my boyfriend next to me.

“Those stars look like a dick.” And he ruins it all in one sentence. I groan and he starts laughing, hard, shaking the hammock.

“Franco!” I scream and hold onto him tighter as we swing, “Fran- I swear!”

He's still laughing, his chest moving up and down rapidly under my head. He holds me tighter as we both try to stay still, “I’m sorry!” He laughs, “I’m sorry! You love me! You can’t be mad!”

“You’re the wor-” I go to jokingly hit his arm but when he moves to block me, we flip.

We’re on the floor and laughing seconds later. Franco grabs my face, trying to be serious but still laughing, “Are you okay!?”

Literal tears are coming out of my eyes which he wipes away with his thumbs, still looking at me worriedly. I just laugh again and pull him closer to me, pressing my lips against mine.

He pushes his hand into my hair, “Did you hit your head?” I shake my head and kiss him again, climbing on top of him.

He laughs against my lips, moving his hands to the side of my legs. “Attempted murder!” He says as I gasp dramatically.

“You were the one who made us fall!”

“Oh no!” His hand goes to my head, “You did hit your head!” I hit his arm as he breaks into laughter again and I move back next to him, looking up at the stars from the floor.

He kisses my head and tugs me against him again, “Those stars look like a heart.”

I raise a brow, “No they don’t.”

He shushes me and points, “Just squint.”

[fox-guardian]

[ID: Three sets of digital drawings of Alice Dyer from The Magnus Protocol in different outfits on a brown background. She is a thin white trans woman with freckles, shaggy brown hair with faded pink tips, crooked teeth, and pink painted nails, and she is always wearing pink cat-eye glasses, two pairs of silver earrings and silver snakebites, with a varying third ear piercing as well.

The first image features three pajama outfits.

The first is a baby pink cami, dusty pink shorts, and burgundy slippers, in which she also has her hair tied in a bun with a burgundy colored scrunchie. She is standing hunched and yawning.

The second is a dusty pink cami, gray PJ bottoms with pink stars and moons, a dark blue robe, and burgundy slippers. In that one, her hair is down and extra shaggy, and she is scratching her side, lifting her shirt a bit.

The third has her with nicely curled hair, wearing a baby pink satin robe, a black cami, and burgundy stockings, slippers, and matching makeup. She is standing coyly lifting her robe slightly with one leg lifted and a hand to her mouth.

The second image features three work outfits.

The first is of her in a pink and gray flannel shirt, dark blue hoodie, patchwork flannel maxi skirt, and dusty pink converse. She is also wearing a gold and red braided bracelet and a pink one. She is standing in profile, smiling with her hands behind her back.

The second outfit is a blue, pink, and brown flannel shirt over a grey undershirt, a pair of ripped blue jeans, a brown and pink flannel tied around her waist, brown socks, dusty pink converse, pink bracelet, and a dark blue hoodie draped over her shoulder. She is standing with one hand on her hip, the other holding her hoodie, and she is smiling as thought talking.

The third outfit is a burgundy blouse, long navy skirt, brown belt, and burgundy shoes. Her hair is also done in nice curls and she is wearing soft burgundy makeup. She is smiling awkwardly and shrugging.

The third image features casual outfits.

The first is a soft pink tank top with a navy bra peeking underneath, a frilly brown maxi skirt, pink slip-ons, and a grey and brown flannel purse. She is also wearing the three bracelets previously shown with, and pink donut earrings. She is smiling with her hands behind her.

The second outfit is a burgundy bra, baggy brown and grey flannel hanging off her shoulder, a pink and brown flannel tied around her waist, a navy knee-length skirt, white crew socks, and dusty pink converse. She is also wearing a grey bracelet, a pink beaded bracelet, tooth earrings, and navy eyeshadow and burgundy lipstick. She is standing leaning to the side with one hand on her knee, smiling and holding up a peace-sign with her other hand near her face.

The last outfit is a dusty pink crop-top with a boat on it, dark blue hoodie, a short burgundy-plaid skirt, shredded navy tights, gray knee-high socks with burgundy stripes at the top, and dusty pink converse. She also has her usual bracelets as well as shark earrings and smeared burgundy lipstick. She is jumping up, smiling and shouting, with one hand punching into the air.

end ID]

~~~~

ALICE OUTFITS <3 these were soooo fun to do omg. i have my own favorites out of these, please tell me yours!! i'm really happy with how they all turned out <3

[covenofagatha]

The Mile High Club

Jennifer Barkley x reader

When flying back to Washington, DC with your boss, Jennifer Barkley, she comes up with an interesting way to relax when there's some turbulence

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: fingering, semi-public sex

“Ugh, why are there so many people here?” your boss, Jennifer Barkley, scoffs when the driver drops you off at the Indianapolis airport. 

After spending the last six weeks in Pawnee, Indiana on Bobby Newport’s campaign for city counsel, you and her are finally getting to go home back to Washington, DC. It’s been the first time in her career that she’s lost a campaign, but even she has to admit that Leslie Knope and Ben Wyatt did a really good job. 

It was the most engaged in a campaign you’ve ever seen Jen, the most challenged, and you’ve been working with her for about a year now. It was exciting to watch her strategize like this, hot even. You’ve always had a thing for powerful, older women, and that was the definition of Jen Barkley. She oozes confidence and she’s not afraid of how good at her job she is. 

The two of you have a pretty good relationship — you’re actually the longest assistant she’s ever had, so clearly you’re doing something right. The easy banter between you is one of your favorite parts of the job. 

You glance at her as you take her suitcase out of the trunk and then yours, putting them on the ground and groaning with the effort. She’s wearing a navy blue blazer over a striped pink and gray button-down, with a gray pencil skirt, her signature string of pearls around her neck. Her brown hair is perfectly fluffed and curly, with makeup accentuating her lips and eyes. She looks good. 

“Well, I offered for us to fly out of the Pawnee airport, but you said, and I quote, ‘I don’t trust Pawnee to have planes that aren’t just tiny steel death in the sky—’”

“‘— that will fall apart if you breathe too loudly,’” Jen finishes with a chuckle at her own joke at the small town’s expense. She’s been making a lot of them the entire trip. “Yeah, I remember. I just still can’t believe the private jet had routine maintenance scheduled for today and now we have to fly with them. God, if only Knope and Wyatt hadn’t insisted on that recount.” 

By “them,” you know she means normal people who don’t run congressional campaigns for some of the most powerful people in the country and don’t just have access to private transportation whenever they want it. 

And without the recount, Jen and you would’ve been done a few days earlier. You still remember her little meltdown where she collapsed on the table, whining about wanting to leave, and it brings a smile to your lips. 

You roll your eyes fondly and grab both of the handles of the suitcase. “Well, we’re still in first class, so you won’t have to sit with all the peasants,” you tease. 

Jen points at you and moves her finger back and forth for emphasis. “That…that was a good one,” she decides and you can’t help but feel warm with her approval. And then she swats at your hand that is holding onto her bag. “I can wheel my own suitcase, sweetheart.” 

You mutter a half-hearted apology and follow her through the doors of the airport and go to the counter to check your luggage. Jen starts digging through her purse and you raise an eyebrow and wait for her to ask you for something. 

It’s always fun to watch your boss go as long as she can without willingly asking for help, even if you have exactly what she needs. Her tenacity and stubbornness often go hand-in-hand. 

She huffs exasperatedly before looking up and giving you a prize-winning smile. “Honey, do you happen to know where I put my—”

You reach into your pocket and pull out her boarding pass, reaching it out with a smirk. 

“Thanks, doll,” she says and snatches it from you before examining it like you may have given her the wrong one. You always keep an extra copy of all her documents on you at all times, just in case situations like this ever arise. “God, I cannot wait to be home and not sleep in sheets that smell like mothballs.” 

Giggling despite yourself, you think back to the small motel rooms the two of you had to sleep in. “It wasn’t all bad. JJ’s Diner was pretty cute.” 

“Yeah, after I bought them that cappuccino maker,” she retorts. “Everyone there was a moron. Did you know one of them told me they voted for Leslie because I said she was a dog murderer? Another thought I was Bobby’s sister. As if he and I could possibly share any of the same genes. Did you see him try to sound out ‘Connecticut’?”

It makes you snort. People in Pawnee were surely not the brightest. 

“I almost pity Leslie,” she sighs as the two of you move up in line. “You could not pay me enough money to trade places with her. I love my life way too much.” 

You laugh. “That’s good to hear, because I need someone to boss me around.” It’s meant to be a light quip, but there’s no mistaking the innuendo and Jen smirks before looking you up and down. You’re wearing leggings and an oversized T-shirt — nothing special, especially compared to her. But you’d rather be comfortable for the flight, rather than look as professional as you usually do. 

“Don’t worry, hon. I’d bring you with me,” she reassures with a wink and your cheeks heat up, breath catching in your throat. She’s just being nice, you think. You are a good assistant. 

After you check your bags, you walk to the gate with Jen next to you, typing something one-handed on her phone and occasionally bumping into you. Boarding is in about thirty minutes, so you tell Jen you’re going to get something to eat. You end up choosing a soft-serve stand and get her a cup too. 

When you get back to her, she’s now reading a newspaper that she must have bought, and doesn’t look up at you until your arm starts to get tired holding out her ice cream. 

“Well, aren’t you sweet,” she purrs and takes it from you, ignoring the spoon and just licking a stripe straight through the swirl. Your eyes widen — you feel a tug in your stomach and you rush to sit down next to her and think about anything else. 

You busy yourself by scrolling on your phone until it’s time to board, and then you settle into your seat in first class next to Jen. You’ve only flown first class a few times, but you’re not sure you could ever go back to sitting in economy. Your seats are spacious and luxurious, with fancy screens in the backs of the chairs in front of you. There’s an armrest between you and your boss, with a piece that could slide up to separate you, but you make no moves toward it and neither does Jen. 

The flight attendant comes around and gets your drink orders, a coffee for Jen and a hot chocolate for you. She snorts when your drink comes back with a mound of whipped cream and you take a long sip, appreciatively humming when the warmth spreads through your body. 

“Oh, honey, you’ve got a little—” Jen says when you turn to look at her, and you scrunch your eyebrows before she cups your chin and swipes her thumb across your upper lip. 

You freeze and your heart rate spikes. 

When she pulls her hand back, there’s a smear of whipped cream on her thumb. She smirks before sucking it into her mouth, never breaking eye contact. You feel your body get warm and you shiver. 

“Are you cold?” she asks. Before you can tell her that you’re fine, she’s waved the flight attendant over and asked for a blanket. It’s touching to have this badass woman you’re always chasing after trying to take care of you. 

The stewardess brings a heated blanket over and Jen helps you tuck it around yourself despite you muttering that you’re really okay. 

And then the safety video plays on the screen and the plane takes off. You’ve never been great with flying and you try to distract your anxious mind with a movie. 

It works until the plane starts to shake. Your hands fly to the armrests and dig your fingers into them as if that will steady it. It doesn’t; if anything, it just gets worse and a small whimper escapes your lips. 

Jen, who is reading a different newspaper now, glances over at you and must see the panic evident on your face, because she lays a hand on top of yours. “Are you okay?” There’s an uncharacteristic gentleness to her voice and you wonder if she’s going soft from the exhaustion of having been in Pawnee for six weeks.  

“Yeah,” you say through clenched teeth. There’s another rough patch and the plane dips and you sharply inhale. You expect her to laugh, maybe make fun of you, but her eyes are understanding and she starts to stroke her fingers up and down your forearm. 

Is she trying to comfort you? You swallow roughly as her warmth seeps through your skin. “It’s okay,” she coos. “It’s going to be fine.” 

You nod and try to repeat the words to yourself until you believe them, but the plane shakes again and you shudder. “Oh, god,” you whisper, feeling a little sick. Jen is frowning next to you and closes the little cabin door on the aisle, essentially hiding the two of you from view of anyone else. 

“Just breathe. Try to relax, honey,” she says soothingly, and then apparently decides she’s being too nice, because she tosses her hair over her shoulder and huffs haughtily. “Don’t let a bit of wind scare you. There’s so many other things to be more afraid of. Like me, if you don’t relax.” 

It makes you smile a little and your muscles loosen ever so slightly. The turbulence stops and you’re able to breathe normally. 

Seemingly satisfied, Jen turns back to her newspaper and removes her hand off your arm. You miss her touch, but brush it off and start scrolling through the screen to find a movie to watch. 

The plane starts to shake violently and a terrified gasp slips out of your lips, hands scrambling for purchase and your legs tensing against the seat in front of you. This is it. 

You can practically hear Jen roll her eyes and she gives you a pointed look. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, breathing heavily. “How are you so calm?” 

Jen shrugs. “I’m exceptional,” she states matter-of-factly. Her fingers reach over to lay on your forearm again and you’re able to feel yourself relax. Just slightly, but she feels it too. “Is that helping?” she murmurs. 

“Yeah,” you rasp and she smirks. 

Her fingers trail up your arm and then back down, and slide into your lap and ghost over your thigh. All the air leaves your lungs. “Do you want some more help?” 

Surely she can’t be offering what you think she is. But there’s not a single hint of jest on her face with her eyebrow arched and her pupils blown out. “Jen—” you swallow, your mouth suddenly so dry. 

“You can say no,” she reminds you. She lifts her hand off the blanket and hovers over it, showing that she’ll accept whatever you say. 

But you couldn’t even dream of rejecting her. “Please,” you say, voice suddenly full of heat, and your boss looks absolutely overjoyed. 

She drags part of the bunched up blanket covering the lower half of your body over herself, so if anyone were to look over the top of the cabin when she sneaks a hand under the cover and rests it on your leg, they wouldn’t be able to see. 

The plane rocks and dips, but you couldn’t care less because Jen has just dipped into the waistband of your leggings, her cold hands making you hiss. 

“Why don’t you put on a movie?” she suggests, her hand moving lower and cupping you over your underwear. You can feel yourself starting to get wet and you nod, tapping on the screen and clicking on the first thing it opens to. The film starts, but Jen’s fingers have found your clit and you can think of very little else. 

She rubs around it for a bit, teasing and feeling the crotch of your panties grow wetter while you squirm and try to get more stimulation. 

“You got to stop being so obvious, honey,” she whispers, ducking her head down to scrape her teeth against the top of your ear before nibbling on your lobe. You can’t stop the small moan that escapes you and she presses down on your clit. “Do you want the flight attendants to come over and see what a slut you’re being?” 

Heat tears through your body and you clench around nothing. You’d like to point out that this was all her idea, but you don’t want to risk her pulling away to teach you a lesson for talking back, which is exactly what Jennifer Barkley would do. 

So you shake your head and try to act like you’re watching the movie, but your eyes keep straying down to the blanket. 

She tuts lowly in your ear before sliding your underwear to the side and you jump when her fingers trace through your folds. “God, you like this a lot, don’t you,” she observes, amusement leaking into her voice. You blush and nod, softly whimpering when she teases your clit without touching it. 

“Jen, please, I need you,” you whine, and she chuckles humorlessly before pushing a finger inside you. She’s met with absolutely no resistance, and your walls bear down around her immediately, drawing a small gasp from her mouth. You’re vaguely aware of the sound of the drink cart coming down the aisle. 

She doesn’t move at first, just enjoying the feeling of you being around her, and it isn’t until you choke out another plea that she starts to slowly withdraw and then thrust back in. 

The flight attendant comes into view over the cabin walls and by the looks of it, she’s about two rows ahead of you. Your head tilts toward Jen, who is already watching you, a wicked glint in her eye. Her thumb expertly rubs at your clit while her one finger fucks you at a leisurely pace. It’s not enough to get you there, but the possibility of being caught and the way Jen’s eyes are burning into your face, watching every little twitch, are helping build the tension in your stomach. 

The stewardess stops at the row in front of yours and if she looked to her right just a little, she would see your knuckles straining as your fingers grip the armrests to try and stop yourself from reacting. 

“Better behave, honey,” Jen whispers dangerously, tongue flicking out against your earlobe. It makes you shiver and clench around her finger. “Don’t want her to know how naughty you’re being right now.” 

She smirks at your muffled whimper and finally gives your clit the direct stimulation you’ve been looking for and you have to clamp a hand over your mouth to stop any other noises from crawling out. 

The flight attendant pushes the cart forward and pauses, looking at you and Jen over the cabin door with a warm smile. Jen pulls her finger out of you and you bite your lip at the sudden emptiness. 

“Hi ladies, can I get you anything else?” she asks, looking at Jen first. 

“Oh, I’m perfect, thank you,” Jen gushes, and then turns to you. You can feel both Jen and the flight attendant’s eyes on you. 

You nod in agreement and open your mouth to answer, but Jen chooses that exact moment to shove two fingers inside you, and you’ve never heard the sound that comes out of you before. You see her stifle a laugh in your peripheral vision and you plaster what you hope is a convincing smile onto your face, but probably looks more like a grimace. “I’m good,” you squeak. 

Jen’s fingers curl roughly and your hips jolt. 

The flight attendant looks like she wants to say something, but purses her lips tightly and moves on. The second she’s out of earshot, Jen laughs cruelly in your ear. “That was close, honey,” she mocks and scissors her fingers to stretch you out and you hiss. “Do you think she knows that you’re taking my fingers like such a good slut? That this was the only way I could get you to relax?” 

She presses her thumb against your clit and starts to thrust into you fast and you have to bite down on your hand to keep from crying out. The pleasure starts to spread from your pussy to your stomach to all over and you feel your orgasm building. 

“Jen, I — please, fuck,” you groan when she twists her fingers. Your hands are scrambling for purchase on the armrests, hips rolling as much as they can, and you can feel your head start to spin. 

“God, hon, your cunt feels so good around me,” she says conversationally and your head falls back against the seat, clenching violently. “So warm, so wet. Think I might have you ride my fingers while I have to sit in all those boring meetings.” 

Your whimper is one of a wounded animal and she grins, flashing her perfect teeth at you. It turns you on even more, how perfectly composed she is, while you’re a fucking mess in the chair next to her, a few miles above the ground, in a plane where you could get caught at any moment. 

“Please, I’m so close,” you beg quietly, one of your hands clasping onto hers over the blanket. You can feel her muscles move as she thrusts into you and you gasp, heat searing through you. 

Jen leans over and nudges your head to the side with her own before sucking on your neck. You keen softly and your chest rises and falls rapidly, your orgasm steadily approaching. 

You slouch down even further in your seat so that her fingers can reach deeper inside you and it makes your eyes roll back in your head. “So good,” you whisper and Jen huffs in agreement. 

Her thumb speeds up on your clit and her fingers hits the spot that makes sparks erupt in your cunt each time and you’re so fucking close —

“Cum for me, honey,” she rasps, and it’s strangely what makes you finally cum isn’t the way her fingers curl particularly deliciously when your hips meet her thrust perfectly, it’s not the way her thumb presses harder on your clit when she circles it again, it’s not the way her tongue draws a hot stripe up your throat — it’s the flustered, pink tint in her cheeks and her slightly uneven breathing and the way her eyes dart from yours down to your lips and then back up. 

It’s knowing that she’s affected by you falling apart for her: that's the final nail in the coffin, and your pussy walls spasm around her fingers, pleasure erupting through your trembling body while you sink your teeth into your bottom lip to stop yourself from crying out. 

She fucks you through your orgasm, whispering what a good girl you are, and you finally slump back into your chair, feeling ruined and much more relaxed. 

“Did that help?” Jen asks, wearing a playful smirk. 

You laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of her question. Of course it fucking helped. “Yeah, I’d say so.” And you’d like nothing more than to kiss the smug look right off her face. 

The pilot comes on the intercom and announces that you’ll soon be starting your departure into DC and you breathe a sigh of relief. 

“Thank you,” you say, for getting you through your anxiety and fear about the turbulence, and for fucking you. Something you’ve been wanting since you started working for her. 

Jen knows exactly what you mean and she presses a quick kiss to your forehead. “Anytime.” 

@lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly

[jesuistrestriste]

patrick and art who never got into tennis and instead formed an indie band in the early 2000s.

art sings and plays the guitar while patrick plays the drums.

they don’t exactly ‘blow up’ at first, but they do eventually gain a pretty decent following. and with this following came groupies.

they took a handful of them on their small state-wide tour; kissing and touching and humping and fucking each other every night after the shows — fueled by alcohol and weed and a little bit of arrogance.

one of their little groupies happened to be you.

you’re their favorite, actually.

you can take everything they give, and you can deal it right back when they need some sense slapped into them. sometimes literally.

pat likes to pull down your panties at the back of the tour bus and buck into you rhythmically from behind. his fingers will curl into your waist before he sneaks a hand down the front of your stomach and then lower to seek your sweet spot. rubbing it with fast circles of his thumb. his mouth’ll find your neck, and before you know it he’ll be sucking and biting like he’s starved of the taste of your body (even though you sucked him off before they even got on stage). he smells like sweat and peach vodka. “who’s my biggest fan, huh? thaaat’s it… louder, baby… louder—! aagh-! fuck, fuck fuck-“

art’s a lot more sensual and slow. he likes to go down on you, spreading open your legs as he eases you down into a chair in the green room of the show’s venue. licking a glassy stripe up your folds before he smushes his face into your wetness and shakes his head from side to side, pushing his tongue into your hole as he moans. he likes when you grab a fistful of his messy blonde hair and force his head back so he has to look up at you. it’s even better when you let him rut against your foot. he’s a disaster personified; blue eyes rolled back, hands shaking on your thighs, and the scent of his almost-sleazy cologne wafting off of him in waves as he worships you. “mmmnn, god, i could stay here forever… come in my mouth, please… i wanna feel you come on my tongue…”

best band ever.

[bestanimal]

Round 3 - Cephalopoda - Octopoda

(Sources - 1, 2, 3, 4)

Order: Octopoda

Common Name: “octopus” (pl: “octopuses” or “octopodes”)

Families: 14 - Cirroteuthidae , Stauroteuthidae, Opisthoteuthidae (“umbrella octopuses”), Cirroctopodidae, Tremoctopodidae (“blanket octopuses”), Alloposidae (“Seven-arm Octopus”), Argonautidae (“argonauts” or “paper nautiluses”), Ocythoidae (“Tuberculate Pelagic Octopus”), Eledonidae, Bathypolypodidae, Enteroctopodidae, Octopodidae, Megaleledonidae, and Amphitretidae

Anatomy: eight arms fully or partially encased in webbing ; suckers line the inside of arms; two rear appendages are generally used to walk on the sea floor; slit-shaped pupil; no internal shell; most of the body is made of soft, gelatinous tissue allowing it to squeeze through tiny gaps; many species can change color, texture, size, and shape to camouflage and communicate

Diet: crustaceans, other mollusks, and fish

Habitat/Range: every ocean, with species adapted to many habitats, including tide pools, coral reefs, seagrass beds, open ocean, the Antarctic, and hydrothermal vents

Evolved in: Middle Jurassic

Propaganda under the cut:

The Argonauts (genus Argonauta, the only living genus in the family Argonautidae) (image 4) build their own paper-thin shells to use as a brood chamber and maintain buoyancy. This shell is not related to the external shell of nautiluses or the internal shell of squids. Nevertheless, argonauts are sometimes referred to as “Paper Nautiluses” due to this shell.

Colour vision appears to vary from species to species, for example, it is present in the Marbled Octopus (Amphioctopus aegina) but absent in the Common Octopus (Octopus vulgaris). Octopuses achieve their color-changing camouflage by using opsins in their skin which respond to different wavelengths of light and help the animals choose a colouration that matches the surroundings. Chromatophores in the skin can also respond to light independently of the eyes. An alternative hypothesis is that cephalopod eyes in species that only have a single photoreceptor protein may use chromatic aberration to turn monochromatic vision into colour vision, though this lowers image quality.

Most octopuses are solitary, but the Larger Pacific Striped Octopus (Octopus sp.) has been described as particularly social, living in groups of up to 40.

On rare occasions, octopuses hunt cooperatively with other species, with fish as their partners. They communicate with their partners by punching them.

All octopuses are venomous, but only the genus Hapalochlaena (Blue-ringed Octopuses) (image 3), has venom that is lethal to humans. The genus consists of four species of octopus that are found in tide pools and coral reefs in the Pacific and Indian oceans, from Japan to Australia. Despite their small size (12 to 20 cm [5 to 8 in]) they carry enough neurotoxic venom to kill 26 adult humans within minutes. The venom can result in nausea, respiratory arrest, heart failure, severe and sometimes total paralysis, blindness, and can lead to death within minutes if not treated. Death is usually from suffocation due to paralysis of the diaphragm. Despite this, Blue-ringed Octopuses are relatively docile and will only bite if actively harassed, instead choosing to flee or display their warning colors: bright yellow with blue flashing rings. Very few deaths have been recorded.

The Giant Pacific Octopus (Enteroctopus dofleini) (image 1) is often cited as the largest octopus species. Adults usually weigh 10–50 kg (22–110 lb), with an arm span of up to 4.8 m (16 ft). The largest specimen of this species to be scientifically documented reached a live mass of 71 kg (157 lb). Much larger sizes have been claimed: one specimen was recorded as 272 kg (600 lb) with an arm span of 9 m (30 ft). However, one carcass of a Seven-arm Octopus (Haliphron atlanticus), weighed 61 kg (134 lb) and was estimated to have had a live mass of 75 kg (165 lb).

The Star-sucker Pygmy Octopus (Octopus wolfi) is the smallest known octopus, at a length less than 2.5 cm (1 in) and a weight less than 1 g (0.04 oz).

The Coconut Octopus (Amphioctopus marginatus) collects discarded coconut shells, then uses them to build a shelter, an example of tool use.

Octopuses are highly intelligent. Maze and problem-solving experiments have shown evidence of a memory system that can store both short- and long-term memory. In laboratory experiments, octopuses can readily be trained to distinguish between different shapes and patterns. Octopuses have also been observed in what has been described as play: including moving around a bottle by jetting water at it. Octopuses often break out of aquariums and sometimes into others in search of food, after which they return to their enclosure.

Evidence indicates that octopuses are sentient and can feel pain.

[puffins-muffins]

Birthday Girl

Pairing: Jax Teller x F!Reader Word Count: 900+ Summary: For your birthday, Jax skips the chaos of the clubhouse and takes you somewhere quiet, just the two of you. Warnings: 18+ only please, explicit sexual content/smut, oral sex (F. receiving), unprotected PIV sex, established relationship A/N: Sooo, today is my 40th birthday 🥳 and I really wanted to write something totally self-indulgent. Here's this!! 🤭 ✨All feedback (reblogs, comments, likes) is much appreciated and encouraged!!✨ Enjoy babes! 🩷

It was your birthday.

And instead of the usual chaos, the noise of the clubhouse, the well-meaning but rowdy kind of attention that came with being Jax Teller’s girl, he’d done something different this year.

He took you to the cabin.

The one tucked deep in the woods outside of Charming, where no one could find you unless he wanted them to. A place with creaky floorboards, whiskey in the cabinets, and a bed that smelled faintly like pine and old linens. It was quiet, undisturbed, and one of your favorite places to be.

He knew that you just wanted something simple and quiet. Just you and him.

So when he showed up that morning, that signature grin stretched across his gorgeous face – the one you could never quite resist – and a cupcake in a paper bag, you knew exactly what it meant.

“Get dressed,” he said. “Gonna take you somewhere.”

You’d spent the ride tucked against his back, arms wrapped around his waist, heart beating steady with the rhythm of the road. And now, standing on the old porch with your fingers laced in his, it made your heart flutter, a quiet reminder that he knew you better than anyone else. He didn’t need to ask what you wanted, because he always knew.

Once the door shut behind you, he pawed at your waist, spinning you to face him, instantly pressing you against the wall, hands rough and warm as they slid under the hem of your shirt. He kissed you like he needed a drink, thirsty and urgent, his tongue hot and greedy. His hands framed your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks as if he needed to feel you as much as taste you.

“You know what kills me?” he rasped against your mouth. “You don’t even try.”

“Try what?” you managed out, dazed and breathless as his mouth trailed down your neck.

“To make me want you as bad as I do.”

You were already half out of your clothes, your back hitting the wooden beam of the cabin wall as he dropped to his knees, his calloused hands sliding up the backs of your thighs, tugging your panties down slow, blue eyes fixed on you like he couldn’t look away even if he tried.

“This,” he drawled out, mouth brushing against the delicate skin of your thighs, “is my favorite part of your birthday.”

And then he buried his face between your legs, tongue warm and slow at first – teasing, tasting. You moaned his name, fingers in his hair, knees threatening to give out, but he just gripped you tighter and pulled you against his mouth.

“Jax – fuck, baby –” Your head fell back as he groaned into you, the sound low and hungry, as if he couldn’t get enough.

He licked a long, languid stripe through your heat, humming with approval at the taste, as if he’d been craving you for days. His hands clamped tighter around your hips, pulling you closer, locking you in place as he buried his tongue deeper, like he had no intention of coming up for air.

He lapped at your clit with steady strokes – pressing the flat of his tongue against it before switching to slow, flicking circles that had you gasping his name. He moaned, low and filthy, and he swore he could get off just from how good you tasted on his tongue.

You felt him savoring you and when your thighs trembled and your fingers tightened in his short blond hair, he pressed you harder against his tongue, letting you grind down on his face, urging you closer with every maddening stroke. You were soaked, shaking, right there on the edge.

And he was literally eating it up like he had nowhere else to be.

When you came, it was with his name on your lips and his arms wrapped around your thighs, keeping you his.

Jax didn’t give you long to catch your breath. He scooped you up with ease, carried you to the bed, and stripped away what little was left of your clothes, tossing them somewhere without looking because he was too focused on the way you looked beneath him.

“You’re mine,” he rasped, dragging the thick head of his cock slowly through your slick before finally pushing in. The stretch made your breath catch before you moaned out in pleasure – Jax was big, thick, and even after all the times he’d had you; it still took a second for your body to adjust around the fullness of him.

He eased into your cunt with a long, steady thrust, sinking deeper until his hips were flush to yours. His jaw clenched as he stilled, letting you savor every hard, perfect line that filled you just right.

“Feel that?” His mouth brushed your jaw, fingers digging into your thigh. “This is where you belong. Wrapped around me, all fuckin’ day.”

And Jax kept his promise.

Every hour, every angle. Slow and deep. Fast and rough. Lying on top of you, under you, beside you – your fingers tangled in his hair, his name a litany on your lips. You left scratches down his back and bite marks along his shoulder, branding his skin in places only you’d ever see.

He worshiped you with his body, kissed the hollow of your throat, the curve of your spine, the inside of your wrists like you were sacred.

By the time the fire had burned low, and you were tucked against his chest, sore and completely spent, he pressed a lingering kiss against your temple.

“Happy birthday, darlin’,” he whispered. “We should celebrate like this every year.”

With your face pressed into the steady rise and fall of his chest, his arms locked tightly around you, you felt it in every part of you – safe, loved, and more celebrated than you’d ever been in your life.