#the one time you see it in anime is a little thing

[reshinless]

──── 8 times in the morning.

⠀ ۪ ⠀✧ synopsis. forest sex. that's it.

⠀ ۪ ⠀✧ pairings. kinich x gn!afab!reader,!!NSFW CONTENT AHEAD!!

⠀ ۪ ⠀✧ director's notice. he would, idk i just get the vibes, oh and i wrote dialogue this time :)

kinich who's such a meanie, merely observing you, a lustful smirk on his face as you rode him. watching each time how you plop down onto his base, the way your wanton moans mixed with the moist, & musky environment you've both set yourselves to.

kinich who leans against the branches, as your chest leans onto his, repeatedly bouncing. hearing the way you could only whimper out small mewls of his name, seeing how prettily your tummy bulged with his length inside of you, he could watch you for days.

kinich who holds you down by your hips, slamming you against his base when you start to get tired, barely carrying yourself off the branch below you. grunting at the sound of your wails of pleasure. or the way you screamed his name when you squirted on his cock for what seems like the umpteenth time already!!

"ah— shit.. have you ever thought how pretty you look like this?" he huffed out as he held you down to his base. you couldn't make out a reply, simply inhaling and exhaling, in the process of catching your breath. "s' pretty.. i'm gonna miss the way you whine my name.. gonna miss these hips on this cock."

he sounded so condescending. mere pants coming out your mouth, busy trying to formulate a sentence in a way to retaliate against him. but before you can speak a single word—

"mhm? sorry, what was that, princess?" mock visible in the tone of his voice, kinich had no mercy for you, at least for now. grinding against your g-spot. "a-ahh fffuck.. kin—" you felt like you were about to cum again, deep crescent marks indented to your plush thighs. "mmf.. kin— i-i'm g'na.." "what? cumming again?" he only rubbed against harder, reaching a hand out to touch the precious little bump he made in your stomach.

the dominance of tree covers the whole of the land, yet here you were, instead of hunting for the price of a million mora, you'd get the dopamine of getting it at least. kinich who only let out a scoff, watching your eyebrows knit in pleasure, watching how your thighs simply quivered from it, you were getting close.

kinich who was obsessed watching your expression spoil into a hot mess on his dick. feeling your pussy clench on him so good, he couldn't resist a groan. the moon marks into your hips only worsening, whining for him to just finish you off already—

"c'mon.. say please. please ruin my pussy, kinich. beg for me, tell me how much you've earned this last drop of my cum inside you." such a meanie kinich is! he wanted you to beg him so sweetly, even when you can barely remember your own name. even when you can only see stars from cumming so much. after a few attempts, he lets out a low rasp, giving it to you anyway.

kinich who pistons your hips onto his cock one more time, a lot rougher than the ones he did with you earlier. hitting your womb so good you scream a little louder than earlier, startling a few animals nearby (LOL.)

kinich who arrives back to their commissioners, the ones who originally gave him the mission, saying they forfeit the job.

"hey— kid you can't just leave now! you already—" a bag of the ores they searched for landed onto the table. deciding not to accept payment for this mission this time, making you cream on his cock 8 times in a row was priceless.

this was supposed to be in my kinktober thing but i guess i need to post

[dmitriene]

cw: voyeurism, he's a creep you're an angel.

farmer könig who leaves the small town he has his farm in for a couple of days, he needs someone to take care of his livestock, adorable curly sheeps and jumpy goats, pigs and cows, chickens and their chicks, they all need to eat in time, so you answer his paper announcement seeking assistance for a good fee.

he ain't really asks many questions on the phone, knowing that you're a young woman is enough for him to trust you, and when you tell him that you don't fear any possible dirt and the animals, because you seek to get some money, könig assures you that you'll earn some, because your candidacy suits him well.

you get the address, you find the key to the barn under the carpet at his doorstep, and he leaves some keys for the house if you'll need a shower or some rest maybe, not that you felt secure enough to get into someone's house and use or touch things there, but he acted like a trusting man, even answering you when you sent some silly picks of his animals to him during his away time.

of course, he ain't expects to see such a pretty, lovely thing as you when he comes back, you just ended feeding everyone at the farm and cleaning their pens, deciding to catch a quick shower while könig is on his way back home, yet you stumble upon him just as you exit the steamy bathroom, dressed in a clean, flowery dress, with wet hair that drips slightly onto your open shoulders, as they jump in surprise.

könig meets you with crooked, sweet smile on his rugged, lightly covered by unruly strands of hair, face, squinting his sparkling, glacial blue eyes as he hums out a small, hoarse greeting, mingled with a crooning gratitude for your help when he stretches his thick, calloused palm towards you, and in it is a small pack of bills, with amount good enough to close the needs that caused you to accept this job.

surely, you ask curiously and on standing toes why he gave you so much, but könig just shrugs, muscles tensing beneath the flannel button up, murmuring that no one else would accept something like that, and his animals look good, so you made a good job worth of a good pay, you just don't know that there's cameras inside every corner of his house, and you gave him a good shows while showering at his house.

maybe, könig will call you again in the future, what if there's another business out the town that will need his help, and he's been so sweet and charming to you that you can't refuse, just make sure you accidentally leave your panties for him to jerk his aching cock, hübsches mädchen, after all, he needs a little prize after all his hard work.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[ghost-proofbaby]

september love (e.m.)

eddie finds you awake on the first night he's home from the hospital, and wonders what you're thinking.

pairing: eddie munson x reader

warnings: mentions of canon ending of season 4, except eddie didn't die. mentions of hospital and medical procedures (in passing). sort of sad, sort of not. a little bit of angst? hurt/comfort. religious imagery (specific mentions of heaven).

wc: 1.7k+

an: this was just some sort of weird rambling upon seeing the poem mentioned above at like 11 pm? 1 am? who knows. time is a construct. also, reader is compared to a 'violent' dog/animal during eddie's recovery, and if you like this metaphor/vibe, then i strongly suggest and urge you to go read @myosotisa's fic Half Life. she does it far more beautifully than i ever could, and it is one of my favorite fics. ever.

Your head is on his chest. 

Your temple and your ear are flush with the soft cotton of his wrinkled t-shirt, the one he insisted upon sleeping on his first night home, and it’s all you can think about. The smell of week old laundry, the stubborn linger of a cologne gifted too long ago to remember the worn name of. A steady heartbeat that still pumps along a little too slow for your liking. The rise and fall of each promised breath that you force your lungs to pace themselves with. Just enough heat radiating off of him to keep you warm, here in bed, here in the dim light of twilight as he rests.

No tubes and no IVs to worry about. No nurses barging in every ten minutes. No beeping of a dozen machines to be your symphony tonight. 

No, you don’t need a machine now to keep track of his heart rate. You’ve learned to do that entirely on your own; your heart has learned how to match his with each dulled thump against the skin you cling to through this dingy old t-shirt.

It can’t be long after 3 AM, the moonlight almost as bright as a rising sun as it peeks itself in through the curtains of the window, as if whispering to check if you might still be awake.

And you are. And all you can think about, is your head on his chest. 

It’s been over a month since you’ve had this type of moment with Eddie. A moment where you’re truly, sincerely, utterly alone with him. Privacy had become a delicacy that you weren’t aware of the fragility of. You hadn’t understood its importance until you had to bask in its absence, always on edge for the next body to walk into the room and take the air out of your lungs. Always anxious for the next sound of news, always worried for the next shoe to drop. 

You’d forgotten what it had felt like for Eddie to twitch his fingers along your spine in his sleep, and for you to be the only witness to his quiet worship, even unconscious. 

Your lips part, and you almost consider whispering hard truths into the trembling night air. There’s a million and one dying words cementing your tongue to the roof of your mouth, and you know that every single one you could even manage to utter would only make you sound like a broken record. 

I’m sorry this happened to you.

I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.

I’m sorry I couldn’t prevent it. 

All things already said to him when he had been drifting in and out of consciousness in that hospital bed. All apologies already buried between muted sobs as you’d clutched his knuckles a little tighter than you should have, a little too selfish in the moment to wonder if it might be hurting him. The only thing on your mind had been keeping him, holding him, feeling him. He was alive – he was alive. And for the first seven nights of his endless rest, all you could wonder is for just how much longer that desperate prayer could ring true.

Would he leave you again? Would he lose the fight? 

You can’t recall without bias which one of you had been the true wounded animal in that little room, scented with burning bleach and cacophonies of nearby patients just beyond the curtains. 

Eddie, looking up at the police who had finally come once he woke, eyes big and teary as he’d tried to wrap his head around his new reality.

You, baring teeth and claws at them in the end, ready to bite hard at anyone who got too close.

It wasn’t just the police. It was everyone. 

It was the same juxtaposition between the two of you at those nurses who would interrupt the nights, always frowning so dutifully at the sight of your carefully curled figure at Eddie’s side. When friends and family came to visit, and they all had the same look of disbelief. As if they were about to tell you that you had imagined it all; he hadn’t survived, he hadn’t come back to you, you were imagining it. You’d been all bark and awaiting bite towards Steve Harrington and the newly revived Jim Hopper, all the same. Their figures bore no difference to you when it came to protecting what was so holy to you. Him, Eddie, here and alive. Eddie, who slept enough for the both of you those nights. The pain in your back from all the uncomfortable hours spent in that little chair at his bedside was insignificant, all the headaches you’d endured from the smell of iodine that still clung to the air after every surgery were pitiful attempts at the Universe removing you from him. 

If you could, you might try to recall your reaction when Dustin Henderson had babbled on through tears as to what had happened to Eddie when the two were left alone. His final act of heroism, or so he thought. 

But you can’t. Right here, right now, you aren’t capable of living in the past. You’ve been haunted enough these last few weeks, and all your numb mind can handle is counting the beats of his heart. Like the rhythm of a song – 1, 2, 3, 4. 1, 2, 3, 4. Staccato verses that you sometimes whisper in time, getting worried when they don’t follow the infallible metronome you’ve set for him. 

“You’re still awake.”

The murmur of his voice is a drink of cold water, startling in the dark greys and blues wrapping the two of you up. 

You lift your head ever so slightly against your better judgment, “Go back to sleep, love.” 

“Touche.” 

You can see his grin even through the shadows. It’s weak, not yet quite as vibrant as it once had been, but it’s there. He’s still alive. He’s still grinning. 

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” The pads of his fingertips are more intentional against your spine now, longer strokes and mindless shapes, “I’ve got a penny in my pocket if you tell me.”

His words are only slightly slurred. Probably residual of the pain medication they’d prescribed him.

“I wasn’t thinking about anything,” you say, and you mean it.

You hadn’t been thinking. You had just been listening to his heart and his breaths, feeling the weight of him beneath you. 

Little things you had taken for granted once upon a time. Never again, your soul aches as you let your head drop back to his chest carefully. Never again.

“You’re just laying awake, not thinking about anything, at…” he trails off, turning his cheek and squinting in the direction of the alarm clock across the room. The glow is dim, and you know you’ll have to change the batteries soon, “Four in the morning?”

4 AM. Last you had checked, it had been 3 AM. You hadn’t even noticed an hour had passed. 

“Is that really so hard to believe?” you smile up at him, and it’s just as sincere as your words had been. When his honey brown eyes meet yours, warmth drizzles down your entire being. Across your brain, down your spine, wrapping around your limbs. You could spend an eternity here, simmering in his warmth, content to your heart’s fullest capability. 

You’d almost lost him. You’d almost lost this warmth. 

You take a second to memorize his features. Studying him as if you didn’t already know every curvature, every freckle, every winkle better than you knew your own soul. You’re looking at him as if you may never look at him again, and he can tell. 

He doesn’t have to say that he gets it. His hand simply wanders up to cup your face, basking in you as you were him. Two souls, intertwining over overlapping legs and synchronized heartbeats, and he doesn’t have to say a word. 

The moment his fingers card into your baby hairs, you’re turning your mouth quickly to that warm palm. One, two, three kisses. Quick pecks, rapid succession. A secret language that you know he, and only ever he, can begin to understand. 

I love you.

I love you.

I love you. 

It drowns out all sorrow, all guilt, all hauntings. Your cracked lips, and the feeling of those lines across his palms. If there is a Heaven, it’s not somewhere in a pearly gated kingdom above. There are no hark angels and there is no bearded man awaiting. 

It’s here. It’s now. It’s 4 AM, in bed with your lover, getting to experience moments you’d come so close to losing for eternity. 

Do the poets know? They must. All the love, all the adoration, in both your bodies is too abundant for them to not feel it. To not write about it. 

“Go back to bed, love,” you repeat almost a perfect imitation of your first command when he had awakened, and this time, his eyelids flutter with your words, “I’m not gonna disappear between now and sunrise. I promise.” 

“No,” he quickly whispers back as his eyes fully shut, and your palms smooth out the wrinkles of the shirt to feel the ridges of scars hidden for now. Scars he’s ashamed of, for now. Scars you’d one day show all the love in the world to, sacred proof that he came back to you, only once he was ready. One day. “But you’re looking at me like I might.”

His words are heavy in the shades of violet now sinking into the room. But the moon is high in her sky, and the crickets are chirping to the East, and he’s right.

You’re terrified the daylight will steal him from you. You’re terrified the new day might tear away all that you’ve sunk your teeth into. 

“I’m not going to,” he mumbles around a yawn, arms slowly encasing you, pulling you in closer, “I’m not going anywhere. Yeah?” 

He’s back with that warmth, coaxing you right back into heavenly notions with him. You let him; he baits you, and you follow. 

“Yeah.”

It’s a sigh. Of hopefulness, of relief, of belief. 

This time, the I love you is more than a prayer repeated in your mind. And he somehow manages to say it back, just as he begins to slip back under. Still holding you and hands still twitching where they rest against your back. 

Let daylight come. You aren’t capable of worrying about it, or stressing about all that has happened. You aren’t capable of thinking about anything right now, because only one thing matters as your temple and ear find his heartbeat once more. 

Your head is on his chest.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @mediocredreams @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin

@ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87

@thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea@kellsck

@cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking

@witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore

@mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog

@vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria@loveryanax@stylexrepp

@princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

@writinginthetwilight @trixyvixx @kittydeadbones @munson-addict @bluejeangenies

@cryingglightningg @joannamuns9n @missmarch-99 @rhirojo@findmeincorneliastreet

[7ndipity]

BTS As Girl Dads

Ot7 x Reader

Summary: Headcanons about how the members would each handle being girl dads

Warnings: none

A/N: Thanks to @coffeedepressionsoup for this request! This got me soo in my feels, they’d all be such great dads(I may have gone a lil self indulgent but who cares lol). Obviously, some/most of these could also apply to any kid, regardless of gender, but for the sake of the Hc, we’re focusing on daughters

Masterlist

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Jin:

He’s honestly such a girl dad, argue with the wall

I totally see him wholly embracing the title and all the things that are typically considered ‘girly’, like pink and sparkles and all that

He would indulge every single one of her interests. She likes animals? They’re going to the zoo every weekend. She likes music? He’s signing her up for lessons for whatever instrument she’s into

I have this mental picture of them sitting on her bed together while he’s reading her bedtime stories, using all these silly voices and wearing one of her princess hats or something bc she insisted he needed for the character and just-😭

Yoongi:

Yoongi would be the softest girl dad ever, like she had him wrapped around her finger from day one. He took one look at her tiny little scrunched up face, that reminded him waay too much of his own expression when he’s annoyed, and he was a goner

I see him just sitting soo patiently while she gives him makeovers, wearing like three different pairs of clip-on earrings at the same time

He would really focus on teaching her to stand up for herself and makes sure she never takes any shit from anyone

He might come off a little stern sometimes, but it’s just because he worries and wants the best for her

Hobi:

Okay, Hobi as a girl dad might be one of my favorite headcanons, bc he’d be soo fucking sweet with them!

The tea party King. Like he shows up dressed in the most ridiculous outfits to make her giggle, and ready to talk imaginary gossip with her and any plushies that are joining them🤭

He would love shopping with/for her, constantly trying to find the coolest outfits or pieces for her, and they would definitely wear matching outfits when she was little(she would be the best dressed toddler ever, lol)

I also see him being quite protective of her at times, being super nervous/worried about her doing things like riding a bike for the first time or on her first days of school

Namjoon:

Omg Namjoon as a girl dad would be soo fucking protective. Like if someone does anything to hurt or upset her, they’re fucked

I see him loving daddy-daughter days out together, taking her to the park or museums or bookstores, really just wanting to indulge her curiosity and interests

Like Yoongi, he would really work to make sure she knows how to stand up for herself, as well as others

For all of his sternness tho, he would have the biggest soft spot for her, he’s 100% the type to let her have dessert before dinner or something bc she gave him puppy eyes

Jimin:

Omg he’s soo girl dad coded, like it’s not even funny(he literally confirmed that on that ep of “are you sure?” like 🥺)

He would treat her like a little princess, doting on her at every possible opportunity, buying her toys/clothes/treats, taking her on special outings, etc. If she wants something, he will do whatever he can do give it to her

He would not be able to stand seeing her in any sort of pain. Like even her just having a scraped knee would make him slightly misty-eyed, even tho she’s not upset/crying about it

I see them having lots of long talks about whatever’s on her mind. He would really strive to be her safe place to ask questions about anything, from school and friends to life and the future

Taehyung:

I see him being an amazing girl dad! He has this amazing, comforting dynamic with the girls that he’s worked with/is friends with, so I can only imagine how supportive he would be with his own daughter

He would be so indulgent in whatever she wanted. Ice cream before bed? Heck yeah, let him grab a spoon too. She wants a new plushie/toy even tho she just got one like yesterday? Well, the new one needs a friend, soo-

But he would still have his more stern/protective moments with her, just moreso in little ways like making sure she’s always wearing her helmet and elbow/knee pads, brushes her teeth, does her homework, etc

He would play along with all/any of their imaginary games, fully committing to the role(and adding waay too many silly death/fainting scenes bc they make her laugh)

Jungkook:

Junkook would absolutely adore a daughter. Like she would be his little princess and anyone/anything that upsets her will have to answer to him.

On the flip side of that protectiveness tho, he is so unbelievably gentle with her. As an infant, he handled her like she was made of glass, and as she grows up, he would always speak to her in a softer tone than he uses for anyone else 

(Also dodon’t think about him singing her to sleep every night as an infant. Getting up with her in the middle of the night and walking her around the house, singing to her softly till she drifts back off to sleep in his arms)

He would love teaching her things and playing games with her(I totally picture him teaching her boxing in tiny and falling over all dramatic when she lands a hit, lol)

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @main-bangtansmauyeondan @feminympho @classicalelephant @dfqcsqueen @mother2monsters @comingupwithacoolnameishard @universal-travel-er @bo0ghol @captainorangegoose @k4ngelz

[running-with-kn1ves]

Satin Pillows To Cry On

CW: coercion with money, age gap(7 yrs), transactional marriage, obsessive/yandere behavior

gn! reader

﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀

You’ve got nothing else, no one else to rely on. 

‘You’re something he bought to keep from growing old.” 

Your clothes are worth small countries. Your cars stacked in 3-level garages. Diamonds, emeralds, pearls hanging from your wrists and ears, satchels made of endangered animal skins, different shoes for each day of the year. 

Your boyfriend of three years spat at your feet when you told him what you were doing. 

“His money can’t love you, not like I can.”

The wedding was only two months away when you broke up with him, told him you couldn’t live in his broke-down apartment anymore, that you couldn’t live with debt trailing wherever you went. You went so far as to make him hate you, to tell him that you never wanted to see him again, that you never loved him, that he better not bother showing up to the wedding. You didn’t want him there, you never wanted to see him again. 

“You’re lying to me; he’s making you say these things, he’s using you against me! You’ve known him what-- two seconds, and you’re going to marry this man?! He’s nearly a decade older than you!” 

Seven years of an age gap or not, he was still a thousand times more independent, wealthy, and a safer choice than your boyfriend. You weren’t some fresh college student new to the world, you had graduated over two years ago, still finding no luck in getting a stable income-- forget about whether or not it was in the field of your degree. 

You left in a single day, fitting all of your scavanged belongings into one of your fiance’s awaiting cars. You left anything worth of value with your ex-boyfriend, knowing he’d find more use out of it than you would. You would even leave the rest of your things there if he could find use for them, but you knew they’d just be one more painful reminder of your betrayal. 

He did as you said, not showing up to your wedding, staying clear, never appearing in your line of sight since the day you left. It made it easier…. For both of you that way. 

And now you were happy-- well, maybe not happy, maybe not even content, but you were… safe. You had everything you needed: a working car, a stable job that you felt productive in, a clean and comforting house to come home to, a spouse. Sure, maybe you didn’t get your new job yourself, or your house or your car-- but did that really matter, in this economy? Who wouldn’t trade their life and their independence for this kind of wealth?

And your husband… he wasn’t all bad. He might have only wanted you for the sake of having you at first, like a new jewel or the latest technological invention. But he was doting and caring in his own way. Maybe just a tiny bit too invested in you, in your schedule and who you talked to. A little too hateful towards your ex-boyfriend, the one who had you before he could. But everyone had character flaws, and on good days you could distract him from his grumpy mood and stress and obsessive behaviors by being the loving and oh so perfect spouse you had trained yourself to be ever since he asked to marry you. 

“Colder than all that gold…” You repeated in your mind, the words your family whispered to each other at your wedding reception only a few feet away from you. 

That was over six months now, though… the honeymoon phase never existed, you rarely saw your husband except for his midnight appearances back from the office, and whenever he would whisk you away for a weekend vacation to savor the time he had with you. For someone more sophisticated, much wealthier, and dare you say handsomer than the average man-- you were surprised to find he didn’t have a line of divorces behind him. 

No; he said, he had been “waiting for you.” whether  you or he knew it, he understood right from the moment of meeting you that you were the one he’d have for the rest of his life, even if it killed him. That severity… scared you. But in a sick sense, it made you feel relieved. Forever? This could be yours, forever? Your family would never have to struggle again, you would never have to worry where your next meal came from?

“I cleared your schedule until tuesday; we’re going to the isles. A mini vacation, you might call it. Get your things.”

He was cold, that was for sure. But, was he any worse than your ex-boyfriend, especially when he was offering you an expensive experience on top of that?

“All right..” You acquiesced. 

And now, you lied sunken into the bed feeling his loving, hot breath on your navel. Going so sweetly slow, so oddly and uncharacteristingly lingering with his touches as he gazes into your eyes. You didn’t like this; didn’t like that when he was cherishing you, making love to you, holding you so intimately, he was appearing… like a husband should. Where did he get the nerve to ignore you everyday, to have hardly any time for you, only to come back and beg for your love when it was convenient for him? 

But you keep your mouth shut, like you should, if you want to keep eating breakfast in bed, keep wearing silk robes while watching the view of the ocean outside your window.

“So beautiful…you’re like a work of art, the kind no amount of money can buy.” 

That was funny, hilarious even. Enough so to make you cry. 

A familiar face passes by the slightly ajar door to distract you, likely one of the housekeepers leaving for the night. But you swear the man’s figure reminds you of someone from your past, someone you loved and left for good. 

Your husband brings back your attention by placing a gentle kiss to your temple, blindly undoing the clasp of the necklace he bought you.

“I’m so lucky… so lucky to have been the one to catch you, forever. No one could’ve done it, not without what I have.”

He wanted you to kiss and caress back, but sometimes lying still was just enough. It was enough for him to witness you, basking in the glow of everything you wore from him, lying in the Egyptian cotton sheets he paid extra for, your body molded to the diet his personal chefs cooked. 

Even as he pushed a knee between your legs, traveling from your navel to your stomach with open-mouthed sucks and kisses in the rawest form of affection, you couldn’t help but turn your face deep into the pillow. So soft, the soft purple shielding your eyes from his tender gaze.

You might’ve given up love, given up everything familiar and those who you’ve cared for-- but at least you had satin pillows to cry on, and the finest jewelry to wipe your tears with. 

[deanssluvr]

JOOST WITH A GIRLY!READER HCS

pairing: joost klein x fem!reader

content: RPF. sfw + nsfw. pre-established relationship.

a/n: randomly felt the urge to write this at 3am.

SFW

- your style was the first thing he noticed about you when you met. you were a pink floral dress and heels with ribbons that decorated your hair. he thought you were beautiful. you took his staring as something negative at first, but was relieved when he complimented your outfit.

- you were nervous to bring him over to your place, but he was absolutely mesmerized by the way it was decorated.

- one of his favorite dates with you was when you both went to build a bear. you had asked him to get matching bears with you to which he happily agreed. you both settled on getting frogs. his green and yours pink. you dressed yours like a princess and he dressed his like spider-man. at the end you both exchanged them, so you kept his and vice versa.

- you both send pictures of each other doing things with said stuffed animals. like he’d send a pic of him out shopping with it or you’d send a pic cooking with it.

- he noticed your love of decorating so he goes out of way to buy you things that reminds him of you. whether it be little trinkets, a stuffed animal, or a record that he thinks you’d like.

- you have heavily influenced his style since he’s been with you.

- he always handles your stuffed animals with care. talks to them as well.

“how do you think she looks?” he looks down at the stuffed bunny in his hand and nods as if listening to a second opinion. “me too. i think she looks beautiful.”

- he enjoys sitting and watching you do your makeup and skin care routine. likes seeing how much care you put into it. there are a few times where he asked you to do his makeup. sometimes it was just simple eyeliner, but he loved it.

- on that same note you asked if he wanted to do a face mask with you one night and his face lit up immediately. now every once in a while you include him in your skincare routine.

- he lets you paint his nails a new color almost every week and always lets you pick the color. sometimes he just matches with whatever color your nail set is at the time.

- ties your shoes and buckles your heels for you without asking.

- you never pay for anything while he’s around because he never gives you the chance. dinner? new clothes? a piece of jewelry you looked at for only a few seconds? he’s already got his card out for you.

- he sleeps better at your place. it’s mostly because of you, but also because of how goddamn comfortable your bed is. the thick soft comforter? the many fluffy pillows? the pink sheets? he’d always fall asleep quickly in your bed.

- enjoys taking baths over showers with you. loves the scent of your soap you use and the bubbles you put in it. loves the way your hands gently wash him.

- learns how to do your hair. watches so many videos and asked you one day if he could do it. you spent the day doing your hair with him. he looked so concentrated and you found it so sweet.

NSFW

- he is obsessed with how you look in your lingerie sets. he loves the way the delicate lace and satin looks on you. he’s always hesitant to take it off of you.

- although he loved everything you wore, he had to admit that you in skirts were always his favorite. maybe it’s because your legs just look so good in them, or it’s actually because he loves thinking about how pretty they are pushed up your hips while he fucks you from behind. who knows?

- he turns your stuffed animals around whenever you both fuck. he told you it’s because he doesn’t want them to watch.

- he actually prefers having sex at your place though he never tells you. your bed is just so comfy with all the pillows and soft blankets that you layer on it.

- nothing but praise. even when he’s pounding into you harshly or fucking himself further into your throat, he’s still whispering sweet praises into your ear.

“so pretty taking my cock like this.”

“fuck, you’re so perfect”

“you’re doing so good for me schat.”

- loves the way you say his name. you could just be trying to get his attention and he’d melt at how his name sounds on your tongue. but he especially loves hearing you moan his name when your fucking. how desperate you sound for him almost brings him over the edge every time.

- won’t admit it, but the way you smell turns him on. when you hug him or simply just sit next to him and he could smell that perfume that he loves, he’s already getting hard.

- eats you out like you’re his last meal. would do it for hours if he could. prefers giving you head over anything. just loves the way you taste and even more so the sounds you make.

[runariya]

Prompt game:

🥰🤪👽

Alien Jungkook's tentacles try to get attention from the reader. But reader is mad and giving Jungkook the silent treatment. So tentacles decide to take it in their hands (?). I'm sorry my imagination is bad, but i trust yours ;)

a/n: I hope it's alright that I used this request as a Y(E)ARNED bonus...it just fits the couple so well

To spend your days alongside Jungkook is nothing short of pure bliss, a kind of beauty that shows itself in moments both grand and unspoken. There is, indeed, a profound sweetness in being the object of his love, of his adoration, a warmth that seeps into every corner of your existence, making even the most ordinary hours shimmer with a peculiar magic. 

Yet, as with all such beautiful things, this love, though a balm for your soul, does not come without its moments of maddening frustration—little flashes of exasperation that threaten, every now and again, to undo all the softness with their dizzying intensity.

It is during these moments of quiet contentment, where you’ve developed a peculiar fondness for collecting miniature porcelain figurines of Earth’s animals—everything from delicate little ducks to turtles no bigger than a thumb, from bees captured mid-flight to cows rendered in the most absurd detail. 

You‘ve chosen each piece meticulously, though the greater part of the collection, truth be told, bears the mark of Jungkook’s love and generosity. There’s no species left unrepresented, no space on the shelf unfilled. But amidst them all, there is one that‘s your favourite, a tiny maneki-neko with a raised paw and a chubby little face, who commands the centre of the shelf of your now shared home. And of all the figurines, this one—Jackson, with his impossibly cute charm—holds a special place in your heart, the only figurine affectionately christened with a name, as if that alone elevates him from all the others. 

So when you hear the unmistakable, gut-wrenching sound of porcelain colliding with the hard floor while you’re busy tidying the kitchen, something inside you breaks too. 

You turn and see Jungkook standing by the shelf, frozen, his wide eyes filled with a kind of helpless guilt, his lips parting to release the softest, most regretful “oh-oh” that barely registers in the quiet room. Jackson, once proudly perched in his rightful place, is nowhere to be seen, and the realisation dawns on you as swiftly as the growing pit of frustration inside you.

“What did you do?” you ask, your voice tinged with horror as you throw unceremoniously the dish towel aside, running towards the shelf, your heart and mind already brace themselves for the worst.

Jungkook’s wide, panic-filled eyes lock onto yours, and as you glance down to to find poor Jackson, or rather what remains of him, shattered and scattered across the floor in a hundred tiny pieces before Jungkook’s feet, your heart shatters too, as though a part of it has been dashed against the cold floor with Jackson. 

“No…” you desperately whisper, the word as fragile as all your figurines, as you resist the overwhelming urge to drop to your knees  and gather the broken pieces, knowing full well that no amount of careful reconstruction will restore Jackson to his former state.

This isn’t the first time Jungkook, with all his towering presence and boundless energy, has accidentally decimated one of your precious figurines, his sheer physicality, though endearing at many other times, always at odds with the delicate world you curated and that is so easily fractured. But this time, it’s Jackson, and somehow that makes it worse.

“I—I didn’t mean to,” he stammers, his voice fumbling over itself as he scrambles for some sort of excuse, eyes darting as if searching for a way out of the mess he’s created.

“Oh, right,” you say, incredulous, “Jackson just leapt off the shelf, did he? Jungkook, you knew he was my favourite! How could you—how could you let this happen?”

“I swear, it wasn’t me… it… it was them!” he protests, pointing towards his remaining two and free tentacles that hover ominously behind him, as though they too have witnessed the grand disaster. The tentacles, however, seem none too pleased with his accusation; they rear up, jaws flexing as though insulted, ready to challenge his words, daring him to continue with the absurdity.

“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, turning away, exasperation and resignation rolling off you in waves, the whole spectacle having become too much to bear, leaving the wreckage of both Jackson and your patience in your wake as you walk away, tired of this particular chaos.

"Princess, please, I’m sorry!" Jungkook follows you in a desperate attempt to soothe your anger, fully aware that he’s really messed up this time.

But you don’t answer. He’s destroyed your things more times than you can count—accidentally, yes, but still enough for you to give him the silent treatment before you say something you might regret. So when you enter your bedroom, lying down on your side and huffing with a blank stare, you refuse to acknowledge Jungkook, who’s now kneeling before you, clasping your tiny hands in his, puppy eyes in overdrive.

"I’m really sorry, Princess. Please forgive me, I’ll buy you another Jackson." Jungkook’s pleading eyes would usually make you give in, but this time he’s destroyed more than just a replaceable figurine. No, he murdered Jackson, your precious maneki-neko, taking your good fortune with him. So, no, you’re not giving in. You pull your hands away from his and huffily turn around to avoid his face.

Jungkook scrambles to his feet at that, running around the bed, stumbling over his own big feet, and jumping onto his side. "I mean it, I’ll buy you ten! A hundred! A million! Please, Princess, don’t be mad at me." But again, you just turn back around.

You hear Jungkook sigh in resignation as he plops down on his pillow, mumbling apology after apology that you’re not willing to acknowledge. It doesn’t take long before you feel one of his tentacles tentatively brush along your shoulder, but you shake it off, too fed up to accept any affection.

It tries again, but this time, you stop yourself from pushing it away, realising the tentacle—or rather, they—aren’t the ones at fault. A second tentacle soon joins, poking your side as if to tease you into letting go of your anger. But you still are, not at them, but at Jungkook. You start to pet them, though, and the simple action begins to soothe your frustration.

"Oh, so you’re giving them attention but not me?!" Jungkook whines.

"My precious babies," you coo lovingly, "got accused of doing something they didn’t."

"But they did! It’s all their fault!" He shouldn’t have said that, because his tentacles don’t see it like that though, and the next thing you hear is Jungkook yelping, "Ouch! Don’t attack me! Ouch! You’re supposed to protect me! Hey!"

You do your best to suppress the laugh bubbling up, knowing full well Jungkook deserves it for lying so boldly. When his tentacles slither back towards you, settling over and in front of you, you resume petting them, while Jungkook sulks silently behind you.

Your anger gradually fades, the soothing motions of Jungkook’s tentacles helping you calm down. "Do you know why Jackson was my favourote? He was the first figurine you ever gave me. On our 100th day anniversary." 

He remains silent, so you go on. "He wasn’t just a figurine. He was a symbol of our relationship and our good fortune."

"I’m sorry," Jungkook whispers, clearly sad now.

"You can’t replace him."

"I know."

"And you can’t make him whole again."

"I know." His voice is faint now, as if he truly understands just how deeply he’s messed up.

His tentacles begin to run along your arms, sensing your sadness too. You feel movement behind you, and as Jungkook’s breath fans across your neck and his big hand lightly strokes your arm alongside his tentacles, your resolve to stay mad a little longer disappears entirely. You turn around, facing his beautiful face and mesmerising eyes.

"I never understood why he was your favourite, but now I do. I’m really sorry, Princess."

"S’fine," you mumble, gently stroking his cheekbone.

"Do you want to know what my symbol of our relationship is?"

"Hm?"

Jungkook’s connected tentacles lift behind his back. "This. And this is something that’ll never break, no matter what."

Your eyes well up with tears because, frankly, he’s right. It shouldn’t be a fragile figurine that carries the very symbol of your love, but Jungkook himself. You regret ever giving Jackson that meaning, because there’s something so much stronger than porcelain—a living, conscious bond that shows just how meaningful and overwhelming your connection with Jungkook is.

"I’m sorry."

"You don’t have to be. Please don’t say that. I love you, Princess."

"I love you too, Jungkook."

And it's true, you’re the happiest woman in the world, now and always.

[wraithdance]

Stray Dogs | GHOAP x Reader

Synopsis: You never had a problem with strays, but you should have been wary of the rabid dogs begging to be leashed.

Note: F!Reader, No phys. description but reader has background story, no y/n use, Reader is LGBTQ (Bi/Pan) w/ Avoidant attachment issues. Content warning: Mature | avoidant attachment traits, mentions of slight self harming behavior, sexually explicit content, mentions of p in v sex, description of ptsd episode, brief mention of animal death plz skip the last sentence if that may be a trigger.

Chapter two: Soap won’t go home

[4:57 AM]

You were not ‘blissfully slumbering in no time’.

Instead you were having another panic attack in a bathroom.

It would be a consolation that this time you’re at home, but you know for a fact that the Scot you let come over for a quick screw is outside the door waiting. The thought brings more hot angry tears down your cheeks as another bout of trembling makes your teeth chatter violently. 

Johnny knocks on the door again. “Hen, are ye okay?”

You hope he feels your glare burning through the plywood separating you both. It’s so tempting to shriek ‘what the fuck do you think?’, maybe it would even be cathartic.

You wish you could say it. Mean and cruel in return for the simple kindness of asking after your rightness in the world. But the same something that always sits on your chest when you think about doing what you really want constricts you like a Boa.

Swallowing the bitter angry words like thick cough syrup you bite out a shaky, “I’m fine.” 

You know he doesn’t believe you, you can hear his weight shift on the creaky tile in front of the door that you never got around to fixing.

“Bonnie, can ye open the door, just want to check on ye.”

You turn on the tap to the bathtub instead to drown him out. Shoving your hands under the scalding hot water, attempting to focus on trying to get the freezing chill out of your limbs. 

Everything had been going so well. 

Johnny fucked like a dog. A dirty disgusting dog that wouldn’t take his tongue or cock out of your body long enough for you to think much less breathe. He’d had no issue with letting you dominate, had enthusiastically agreed after sloppily and relentlessly coaxing orgasm after orgasm out of you with his tongue and fingers. 

There was a point you thought you might have died a little, as the time between him pressing an exploratory tongue into your asshole before licking up to your clit with harsh pulls, evaporated.

You’d suddenly come back to reality to him pumping two, then three fingers into your sex and tapping on the bundle of nerves inside your body in a come hither motion.

Johnny had worn a self satisfied, shit eating grin on his face when he’d finally come up for air. His jaw and throat slick with your fluids. He’d been anything but subtle about how much it turned him on to see you fucked out and barely functioning.

It’d hurt your ego more than just a little bit. You’d prided yourself on being the one to leave your partners in utter bliss.

It was the least you could do for being a no good, emotionally destitute that only hurt them in the end.

With the intent to redeem yourself you had pushed him to the floor none too lightly, dropping to your knees and diving for his swollen cock. He’d tried to pull your hair and rut into your throat before you bit the skin at his hip and snarled threats at him. It only made the bastard harder.

You’d swallowed him deep, humming around the saliva and solid length of him, satisfied with the roar he lets out in his release.

It took him less than ten minutes to get hard again. He’d pouted at the box of condoms you’d thrown at him but had been pleased when you rolled the latex on his reddened shaft with your mouth.

That’s how you found yourself boneless on top of his body as he pressed long, steady strokes into your cunt. You’d ridden him for as long as you could before the burn in your knees and thighs became too much. Johnny cooed sticky sweet things in your ears with his arms wrapped tight around you like a vice.

“Aye hen are ye tired? Let Johnny make it better, just open for me, I’ll make it better, promise, look at ye, pretty thing I’ve got ya.” Every other word enunciated with an upward thrust.

“Aye I gotcha, yer doing good hen.” He’d panted in your ear with a rasp.

The combination of him hitting the spot deep inside of you like a game of ring the bell and the crooning affirmations, had been too much. To your horror your eyes had prickled with tears. You’d bitten the inside of your lips raw, desperately trying to muffle the broken sobs that clawed up your throat, pushing back against his chest fighting for space. 

Johnny had held you tighter, one palm against your back and the other tight around your neck as he worked you both through a pitiful orgasm that had you seeing stars. Until he’d flipped you over, pinning you into a mating press. 

You’d hyperventilated until you blacked out.

You’re scowling at the way your skin puckers beneath the rushing water. You’re still numb. The trauma therapist at the psych hospital was full of it, distress tolerance didn't actually do shit for distress.

The bathroom lock jiggles and you’re whipping your head to the opening door in panic as it swings open. 

Johnny’s blue eyes are remorseful but that quickly turns to horror. You jerk your arm out from under the water and try to hide it behind your side but Johnny is faster. He’s across the floor in less than two wide strides and forcing your arm from behind you despite your jerking.

“What are ye doing? Hen, look at your arm!”

“I was checking the temperature, I’m fine.” He gives you a look of disbelief and grunts something unintelligible under his breath. He ignores your protests and shuts off the water, freezing you with a warning look when you lift your hand to stop him. 

In the sudden quiet he searches your face, you glower. 

“Come here.”

He doesn’t wait for you to decide to be cooperative, he’s maneuvering his hands around you, one on the back of your neck and the other beneath your chin. Johnny sinks to the bathroom floor to his knees and presses his forehead against yours. 

“Breathe for me, ye can do it bonnie, deep breaths.”

He’s too close. His breath fans across your face, the sensation shocking a sob out of you.  You’re stiffening with panic at the sudden flood of feeling racing down your spine. 

“I’m fine, I just need you to back up-” 

Johnny thumbs his finger across your jaw in slow swiping movements. 

“Breathe. I’m nae asking.”

Fuck.

You take stuttering breaths, he counts each one telling you to hold on the exhale.

In. Out. Good lass, I’ve got ye.

He’s lying to you. But you do what he asks anyway.

Johnny lets you pull back only when the trembling stops. His watchful eyes are bright. Soft. It makes your stomach churn.

“I’m good.” you whisper “You don’t have to stay.” 

He gets the double meaning you're only marginally trying to cover up. Instead of offense he’s smirking and there’s a layered glint in his eyes, like you’ve challenged him.

“Are ye tryin’ to get rid of me?”

Yes!

“No,” Standing from the lip of the tub, you try to side-step his large form. He watches you like a hawk, observing your awkward inch towards the door into the darkened hallway.  “I just have an early morning, so I should get some rest, I’m sorry.”

Letting out a humorless laugh he rolls his shoulders back, ambling to his feet. He keeps an eye on your skittish retreat, taking a step for every one of your own until he’s in the doorway, lifting his arms to hold on to the frame. 

It’s the first time you notice he’s still bare ass naked. 

Tan skin and darkened hair coat the expanse of his body along with various scarring. You’re staring at the small circular puckered skin on his thigh when his cock twitches where it hangs. 

Johnny’s wolfish grin makes an appearance at your grimace.

“Aye, he’s a bit tuckered out as well, hen.” The Scot reaches for you, rubbing his hands down your arms, tucking his thumb beneath his stolen shirt, “We should get some sleep, yeah?”

No, not yeah. He really needed to get the fuck out.

You stiffen in his hold, panic rising in your chest rapidly and he notices. Johnny pulls back to look at you, guiding your chin back to face him when you try to duck your face. He tells you to breathe deep, you hate that you follow his instructions again.

“Ye won’t even know I’m here, promise. C’mon hen, I’ll make ye some tea.”

You’re quietly watching him from your seat at the island. He’s too comfortable in your small kitchen, yawning while he waits for the ancient kettle to heat up.

His thick arms are crossed against his chest and his head nods off as he falls asleep while standing. He’d had the decency to retrieve his boxers when you’d protested about his dick hanging around your food stuff.

You pick at the hangnail on your index finger until it bleeds.

“Why did you defend me?”

Johnny blinks, confusedly coming back from his half sleep. “What’s that, Bonnie?” 

“Tonight,” you say slowly, “why did you fight that guy at the bar? It was because of me right?”

Johnny is quiet. You’d suspect he’d fallen asleep with his eyes open but he cracks his neck after a beat.

“Cause you look like ye needed defending. Didnae like his gommy mug eith’r.”

That causes you to shift in the stool. Johnny takes the kettle off of the stove eye and pours the water over the expired green tea packet he’d found hidden in the depths of your cupboards. When he places down the cat mug Duckie had gotten you for your birthday in front of you, you hesitantly speak.  

“What do you mean by that? That I needed defending?”

Johnny looks like he’s weighing his options before he answers. Furrowed brow and dark lashes partially obscure his electric eyes but don’t dampen the intensity of his gaze. When he concludes some kind of internal war he leans his elbow on the counter in front of you and boxes you in. His eyes tighten at the corners when you lean as far back in the chair as you can. 

“Never been one to walk by when a bonnie lass is in trouble and you looked like ye were on the way to makin’ trouble. Had this look in yer eyes.”

You pretend to not know what he’s talking about. “So if you thought I was ugly you’d have let him maul me?”

His laugh is too boisterous for the early morning, it echoes in the small kitchen. It sends warmth down to your toes to hear it. “Nae I’d ‘ave still hit him, hen. Drink yer tea for Johnny yea?”  

He makes sure you finish every drop, rolling his eyes when you dump enough sugar to rot your teeth. He says something about you being like a stubborn friend of his but refuses to elaborate.

It’s a quarter past six by the time he argues you down about letting him stay with you. His wide form swallows up half the mattress and he still pulls you to him like it’s not enough. Your skin prickles where his touches, the synapses in your brain telling you to distance yourself as fast as you can. Johnny’s hold is tight, he redirects your form back into his every time you try to slip away, so you give up.

You have restless dreams of your grandfather’s rooster, Spirit.  The sound of the bird's neck snapping as corporeal and audible as Johnny’s snores against your neck.

A/N: plz I beg, don't ask me when the next update will be. I am insane in a way that is concerning to the DSM-5 and this takes a lot of my own personal experience and years of therapy to write lmao. Gonna up the rating in the upcoming chapters and start diving into the juicy shit so warning in advance.

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[eccentricallygothic]

Psycho Husband!Steve Rogers who is a crazed coercive bastard.

Warning(s): Noncon, misogyny/sexism, depraved housewife kink, head shaving/hair cutting, he's a mental mf who thinks he is only doing what's best for you; cruel punishments are care and better sense according to him, age gap, fear kink, infantilization, humiliation, size kink. MDNI. 

. . .

You meekly sit atop your husband, Steve Rogers' lap as he feeds himself and you the dinner you meticulously prepared for him as he cares greatly for detail and perfection. 

The older man hums with each bite, one large paw caressing your back from over the thin -nearly sheer- material of one of the many dresses that make up the entirety of your wardrobe. 

“Absolutely delicious, baby, good job” he has been praising you with each bite and so you cannot help but smile at the compliments, your smaller body resting against his as you gently comb his hair with your fingers.

This is good.

Him being pleased is good.

“Thank you, my heart” you kiss his cheek that he had shaved just this morning when you were on your knees getting rid of his morning wood. He usually does that at night but you chose to wear a certain dress yesterday that caused for you to remain trapped in bed from the moment he got home till the both of you woke up tangled and sticky.

“See?” Now his fingers silkily glide up the length of your spine, past its dents that appear on your nape and towards your scalp that holds no barriers between your skins. “Wasn't I right?” Steve's fingertips flex all over your shiny head that he keeps empty from any hurdle between yourself and him. “Didn't it make things all better for us, hm?” Your tongue grows heavy and you feel it beginning to swell.

But you must not speak your mind.

For you are not allowed to have one.

“Yes, hubby, you were” you feel him stroke the bald crown of your head and the feeling of his coarse skin rubbing your soft and moisturized one sends shivers down your spine. 

His dark but relaxed blue eyes watch you, outwardly friendly but secretly inspecting you closely for the tiniest slip up. “Just too stupid to see it back then, weren't you?”

You nod nervously, offering him a smile as you avert your gaze from his, choosing to awkwardly play with his dress shirt instead. “Yes, hubby, I was.” Before you look up momentarily. He hates it when you don't look at him while speaking. “Thank you for teaching me better.” 

“And what did I teach you?” You bite your tongue, his words scalding your ears. 

Of course, he wants you to say it.

It is a routine that he likes to do every night. 

“That you are always right because you know better.” You resist the urge to cringe from how he suddenly gives you a burst of praise head rubs. 

It is a trap, meant to set you off.

He knows you don't like his hand rubbing your bald head like you're some kind of an animal and he still does it.

You've made the mistake of fighting back one too many times in the past.

But now you know it never fares well for you.

So better to just obey.

“Yeah?” His eyes begin to dance all over your form in that lewd fashion of theirs. “And how did I teach you that?” This is nothing new, and yet your heart drops.

“You taught me by…” Your face becomes hot from the embarrassment and humiliation. “B- By…” Fuck.

Even after all this time, it's no easier to do it. 

“By?” You can feel his sick arousal poke into the back of your thigh. He shifts to readjust himself. “Know what, honey?” He actually has the gall to sound friendly like he's doing you a favor out of the goodness of his heart. “I'll help your little mind out by giving you a hint.” You cannot hold his gaze anymore. So you drop your eyes and train them on his collars as you whimper into his cheek from how he hugs you closer with the arm he has draped around you. He loves proximity. “It had something to do with a machine and a cute head” his long fingers caress your scalp in circular motions.

Your heart is erratic against his chest. “H–” the whimper you let out is shaky and pathetic. Your expression falters into one of pain but you recover just as fast. At least on the outside. “T- Taught me by shaving my head.”

Steve's smirk is one of pride. “Oh? And what setting did I shave it on? Did I leave anything behind or did you become a complete cueball?” 

Tears sting your eyes from the sensitivity and helplessness as you feel your throat tighten even more. “N- No, hubby. Nothing was left. You shaved it all off…” Closing your eyes momentarily is the only way you can let out your next words. “Until I was a cueball.”

“And why was that, huh, baby?” Now he speaks to you like you're a child. 

He does that when he is horny. 

The realization makes your stomach twist.

“B- Because you warned me many times but—” your voice breaks and you softly sob into his cheek all of a sudden because the memories overwhelm you. “I didn't l- listen and my hair kept getting in the food I would prepare for you.” He somberly cooes and lowers your head forwards in a submissive position to caress the links of your spine.

“Oh, honey. Is that what happened?” Though Steve rests his cheek atop your bald head that he keeps shiny with scented oils and feigns sadness his bulge is too stiff against your tender skin for his little act to hold any weight. 

“Yes, hubby.” Your tears fall on your lap. 

“And how did it happen, huh, darling?” He loves the helplessness of your situation. That has got to be it. “Can you tell me?”

You nod and swallow the bile in your throat. Denial is not an option. “The scary razor went all over my head, hubby” you make yourself sound like a baby because that's what he likes. “Like buzz buzz buzz~” you try to mimic the sound and gesture as you run a pretend trimmer over your naked scalp. 

“Aw, it was scary for your little baby self, was it?” You timidly nod, pouting a little. “That's because you're so small and easily scared, aren't you?” He presses kisses all over your head and pinches your cheek. 

“Yes, hubby.” 

“Aw, my poor girl” he cups your face and lets his thumb trace the shape of your mouth. “I get it, you’re just a baby” he cannot but kiss you deeply before speaking again. 

“But it was necessary, wasn't it? And it worked” it is typical of him to seek validation for his unhinged actions from you, probably helps him sleep easier and pumps his pompousness further. “No more hair in the food.” He smiles and forces you to look at him by tipping your head back.

“No more hair in the food.” You echo him like the hollow doll he has made of you.

“Awww” he chuckles at the dejection in your voice. “Cheer up, silly. You look just as perfect as the first moment I laid my eyes on you” his lips repeatedly peck yours for a few moments. Then he continues. “I am the only one whose opinion matters for you and I think you're the most gorgeous thing alive” he scoops you up in his arms before standing up and you give him a smile like you're supposed to. He leans in to capture it in his own. “The cueball only makes you sexier and more nude for me. So it's a win all around” you whimper into the words he utters against your mouth. “C'mon, hubby will make you feel all better.” He whispers before carrying you to the bedroom. It is impossible not to be aware of your devastation and that is why he offers compensation the way he does. “Yeah?”

All you can do is nod defeatedly.

. . .

If you made it down here, hi you're cool. 

[us-the-voices-and-more-voices-2]

Jason with his time in the league of assassins

Talia walks into the small modest room where Jason is livening in while he gets back on his feet, having a bunch of brain functions recovered takes a while to get used to. he's been doing physical therapy and occupational therapy for the last couple months, his dexterity isn't exactly back yet.

Talia: Jason? what are you doing?

Jason: well there's this thing I always wanted to try called stop motion animation, and well you got some lego's for Dami but he's a bit too small for them so.. I took them and have been animating. I was bored in-between everything, you don't have any good books I haven't already read.

Talia: well that is an acceptable pass time, what are you making?

Jason: oh it's a weird comedy spoof for kids about batman and the joker being nemesis's, I wanted to make it for Dami since well he doesn't know much about him or the other ones and he's only 3 and well it doesn't seem like much but the time I'm done he'll be 5 and be able to enjoy it. i don't know talia I'm bored and want to make something for him.

Talia: very well, if you so wish. I can get some people in to help you make it if you wish.

Jason: really?

Talia: yes, I can. it does sound like a nice gift.

Jason: oh thank you!

Many months of therapy complete, he starts to retrain and regain all the fighting skills he lost and learn some new ones. in the meanwhile, Jason and 3 other people have been making a complete feature film for Damian who's just turned 4, they were about halfway done and it was looking good.

Talia: so how's it coming along?

Jason: it's been hard and hurts like a bitch, but I'm getting better at flips!

Talia: no. not that, I mean the movie?

Jason: oh it's halfway done! me and the one man and 2 women are doing great we reshot the opening, and we are more than 68% done! so it will be ready by Dami's birthday.

Talia: he will enjoy it I believe.

Jason: of course he would, it's his first ever kids movie!

Talia: why yes it is!

many many many more months pass and it becomes Dami's 5th birthday and Jason and his crew had wrapped up, the voice acting was done mostly by himself, and the crew but he asked some of the league for other voices. eventually after scoring and mixing they met the deadline. they set up the league theatre and put the movie on.

lego batman: [voice over] Black. All important movies start with a black screen... And music... Edgy, scary music that would make a parent or studio executive nervous... And logos... Really long and dramatic logos... Warner Bros. Why not "Warner Brothers"? I don't know... Hmm... Not sure what LOA does, but that logo is macho. I dig it... Okay. Get yourself ready for some... reading. "If you want to make the world a better place, take a look at yourself and make a change. Hooo." No. I said that. Batman is very wise. I also have huge pecs and a nine-pack. Yeah, I've got an extra ab. Now, let's start the movie.

Dami: momma? what's the movie about?

talia: your father

lego Alfred Pennyworth: Were you looking at the old family pictures again?

lego Batman: At the what? The old family... Oh, yes! I see what you mean. Look at that! The old gang. Yeah. No, I wasn't.

lego Alfred Pennyworth: I see. Sir, if you don't mind my saying, I'm a little concerned. I've seen you go through similar phases in 2001 and 2006 and 2008 and 2005 and 1997 and 1995 and 1992 and 1989 and that weird one in 1999. Do you want to talk about how you're feeling right now?

lego Batman: I don't talks about feelings, Alfred. I don't have any, I've never seen one. I'm a night-stalking, crime-fighting vigilante, and a heavy metal rapping machine. I don't feel anything emotionally, except for rage. 24/7, 365, at a million percent. And if you think that there's something behind that, then you're crazy. Good night, Alfred.

lego Alfred Pennyworth: Sir, it's morning..

Talia: *laughs*

Dami: *chuckles*

Jason: *smiles with accomplishment*

lego Batman: [Batman's song] Who never skips leg day?

Chorus: Batman!

lego Batman: Who always pays their taxes?

lego Batman, Chorus: Not Batman!

Talia: *wails with laughter*

Dami: what are taxes?

Jason: you'll know when you get older don't worry about it

The lego Joker: Are you seriously saying there is nothing, nothing special about our relationship?

lego Batman: Whoa. Let me tell you something, J-bird. Batman doesn't do 'ships.

The lego Joker: [Confused] What?

lego Batman: As in "relationships." There is no "us." Batman and Joker are not a thing. I don't need you. I don't need anyone. You mean nothing to me. No one does.

Talia: that is your father's arch-nemesis the joker

Dami: oh okay

Jason: please kill him for me

dami: okay Jason, i will avagange, e-venge, avenge your honour!

Jason: you have no idea what that means to me buddy *wipes away a tear*

Lego Robin: My name's Richard Grayson, but all the kids at the orphanage call me Dick.

Lego Batman: Well, children can be cruel.

Jason: when I first heard dick's name I unironically thought everyone was just calling him a dickhead so much that the name dick stuck, but nope turns out it's short for Richard. he even changed his name to dick, I personally would never. but he pulls it off flawlessly. *chuckles*

talia: I did not know mr Grayson preferred to be called Dick.

Dami: who's dick then?

Jason: oh he's your older brother.

Lego Robin: What? [Sees Batcave]

Lego Robin: It's the Batcave! Ohmygosh ohmygosh ohmygosh ohmygosh ohmygooo-! [Bumps into Batman]

Lego Robin: Batman, woah!

Lego Batman: You're darn right, woah!

Lego Robin: Wait, does Batman live in Bruce Wayne's basement?

Lego Batman: No, Bruce Wayne lives in Batman's attic.

Talia: *DIES OF LAUGHTER* oh Jason this is amazing.

Jason: I wish to impress!

Lego Robin: Hey, I was thinking. If I'm gonna be a superhero, and go on awesome superhero missions like this one, can we use code names? Mine can be Robin.

Lego Batman: I'm sorry, say that again?

Lego Robin: Robin.

Lego Batman: As in the small, Midwestern frail bird?

Lego Robin: Yeah, and I already have a catch phrase. Tweet, tweet, on the street.

Lego Batman: Hard pass.

Lego Robin: And a song. [singing]

Lego Robin: Fly, Robin, fly.

Lego Batman: Harder pass.

dami: *laughs so hard he coughs*

talia: habbibi careful, don't laugh so hard you will hurt yourself

Jason: honestly yeah you can hurt yourself badly.

LegoRobin: Wow! Look, it's the Bat-Sub!

Lego Batman: Wait, don't touch that!

Lego Robin: Over there! It's the Bat-Space Shuttle!

Lego Batman: Please keep your hands off that.

Lego Robin: Look, it's the Bat-Zeppelin!

Lego Batman: Don't touch that, either!

Lego Robin: It's the Bat-Train!

Lego Batman: No!

Lego Robin: It's the Bat-Kayak!

Lego Batman: No!

Lego Robin: It's the Bat-Dune Buggy!

Lego Batman: No!

Lego Robin: It's the Bat... Shark Repellent?

Lego Batman: [pause] Uh, actually, you can touch that. It's completely useless.

Talia: shark repelent is actually a quite useful invention why is bruce beloved not recognising it's full potential?

Jason: keep watching

Dami: does father have all those things?

Jason: sure does!

Lego Batman: We are gonna steal the Phantom Zone projector from Superman.

Lego Robin: [frowns] Steal?

Lego Batman: Yeah. We have to right a wrong. And sometimes, in order to right a wrong, you have to do a wrong-right. Gandhi said that.

Lego Robin: Are we sure Gandhi said that?

Lego Batman: I'm paraphrasing.

Talia: *laughs*

Dami: *laughs so hard he starts coughing AGAIN*

Jason: ghandi so said that btw.

lego Jim Gordon: [sees Robin for the first time] Who is that?

lego Robin: Hi, police man!

lego Jim Gordon: Is that your son?

Lego Robin: Yes, I am!

Lego Batman: [laughs nervously] Is that my son? No, that's just weird.

Lego Jim Gordon: It's weirder if it's not your son.

Jason: this interaction is based off an actual interaction between jimmy and Dick.

[batman and robin arrive at the fortress of solitude]

lego Batman: Hey, kid!

lego Robin: Yes, sir?

lego Batman: You're super nimble, right?

lego Robin: I sure am!

lego Batman: And small?

lego Robin: Very.

lego Batman: And quiet?

lego Robin: [whispering] When I desire to be.

lego Batman: And 110% expendable?

lego Robin: I don't know what that means, but okay!

Jason: bruce really did not know how to deal with a 11 year old child hellbent on murdering a mob boss, so he kept bringing him along on incredibly dangerous missions, it was always fine in the end but this sort of situation happened once.

Talia: really?

Jason: the expendable part was from a wayne tech family event, and they crushed it. but dick had to sacrifice himself to help bruce win, it was so funny. I was there.

Lego Batman: White. All important movies end with a white screen.

Talia, jason, the other 70 league of assassin members and Damien break out into applause for the movie.

Jason: THANK YOU ALL, but special thanks to Gerald, and lily and Rin!!!! I WOULD HAVE NEVNER FINISHED IT WITHOUT YOU THANK YOUUUUUUU

the audience bursts into a large uproar of applause.

Prev | current | Next

[harrywavycurly]

I just know there’s moment with SC girl and Harry when she does something and Harry just thinks she’s the most adorable thing he’s ever seen😩😩

Hiii babes!!! Ohh I’m sure there are soooo many moments that Harry just looks at her and goes “you’re so damn cute” but he’d have to make sure she can’t hear him or he’d get a quick “language!” Tossed back at him for saying the word damn😂 but I hope you enjoy this little blurb about a moment between them, it’s totally random but I can see it happening💖

-find all things Southern Comfort here✨

A/N: You don’t even realize you’re doing it but Harry doesn’t mind because he thinks you’re adorable, enjoy✨

“Oh sugar did I tell you about my meet the teacher next week?” Harry adjusts the bag on his shoulder as you briefly let go of his hand making him frown as he looks down at you just as you reach into the front pocket of your denim shorts and grab your chapstick. “I think it’s the same night as that dinner thing with Mitch and oh darn it.” Harry watches you in amusement as you run the chapstick over your lips while your eyebrows scrunch together while you try to remember the name of the other person invited to the dinner you’re talking about next week.

“Do you need a-”

“No no don’t give me a hint just yet it’s on the tip of my tongue I can practically taste it.” You cut off his attempt to help making him chuckle as the two of you come to a pause on the sidewalk, enjoying an afternoon walk to the beach on one of Harry’s rare Saturdays off. He turns to face you and without really thinking you get up on the very top of your tiptoes with the chapstick in one hand, you reach up and gently hold the side of his face with your free hand and quickly run the balm over his lips before capping it and putting it back in your pocket. “James! That’s his name!” You all but shout excitedly before you reach down and grab Harry’s hand and begin walking.

Harry can’t do much besides stare at you for a moment before his brain reminds him that you’re walking so he needs to also move his feet before you start to actually drag him down the sidewalk. He knows you’re totally unaware of the fact his heart just felt like it melted into a puddle at his feet the moment he felt your hand on his cheek to hold his face still so you could swiftly apply the much needed chapstick to his lips. You have a tendency to do things that just have him left standing there in awe of you because it’s just little acts like you applying chapstick to his lips, the times you patch up a holes in his jeans (without him having to ask) because you already have your sewing kit out, you absentmindedly putting sunscreen or bug spray on him before leaving the house after applying it on yourself or when you pack him a lunch to take to the studio and leave it in the fridge for him with a little love note tucked inside that show him how effortless it is for you to care about him and that’s just something he’s not used to.

“Honey? You okay?” Your tone is laced with a hint of worry causing your accent to be a bit thicker than normal snapping Harry out of his thoughts, he blinks a few times and just nods as he brings your hand up to his lips.

“I’m good sweetheart.” The smile you give him when he places a few kisses to the top of your hand is enough to make his knees want to give out. “So what were you saying about your meet the teacher?” He asks in hopes it makes you go on a little rant.

Something Harry has learned over the last few months of dating you is that he does love it when you get caught up in a story because you just get so animated and your accent goes thicker as you speak so fast sometimes he wishes subtitles would appear in front of you so he doesn’t have to ask so many follow up questions that make you think he wasn’t listening. Because one thing about Harry is that he always listens it’s just sometimes he gets too caught up in how your voice sounds saying the words rather than focusing on what the words actually are.

“Oh well since it’s the same night as that dinner with Mitch and James I was seeing if I could just send you off with a dessert of some sort since I won’t be able to make it.” You stop walking when you come up to a stop sign, Harry stands next to you for a moment before you see him take a step towards the street. You naturally drop his hand and hold your arm out blocking him from taking another step without even looking at him. Harry looks down at your arm that hits him below his chest and he has to rub his lips together to hold back his smirk. “I’m thinking a bunt cake? I haven’t made one in a good long while and it’s about to be fall so I think that’s the perfect time for a bunt cake.” You continue as you lean forward a bit and look to your left and see there’s no cars coming and then look to your right and see the coast is clear making you drop your arm and grab Harry’s hand so you can lead him across the street.

“Baby did you-”

“I just don’t know if it’s too early for a pumpkin flavored one? Does Mitch even like pumpkin things? I’ll have to text him.” Harry can’t fight the smile that takes over his face as you keep walking and talking, and he knows you don’t mean to ignore him he knows you’re just deep in your thoughts and probably didn’t even hear him.

“Baby.” He says it a bit louder but still just as softly as he did the first time, you turn your head and look at him and he has to stop walking making you raise an eyebrow as you stop and look up at him. “Did you just mom arm me at that crosswalk?” He doesn’t ask to embarrass you he asks because he needs to know if it’s something you even know you do or not. You turn your head to look at the crosswalk not even a few feet behind the two of you and then back up at Harry with a playful look in your eye.

“I sure did.” You answer making Harry laugh as he reaches down with his free hand and tucks some of your hair behind your ear. “What was I supposed to do just let you walk out into the street without looking both ways? I mean really sugar even my four year olds know better than that.” There it is, your classic way of teasing him but also making him know you care about him at the same time.

“You are so fucking adorable.” You roll your eyes as he leans down so he can place a kiss to your lips, he knows you’re going to get on to him for the cursing but right now he doesn’t care because your lips are soft and taste like strawberries.

[urdreamydoodles]

Wolverine x Fem!Reader

Logan rivalry with your dog

Logan, Wolverine, finds himself in a awkward rivalry with your small, not-so-bright dog, Mr. Pickles, as he navigates life with you as his partner. Despite his gruff exterior, Logan gradually warms up to the tiny, fluffy companion who insists on treating him like a personal dog bed.

You’ve always thought Logan was good with animals. After all, he’s got that whole rugged, nature-loving thing going on—man of the wild, protector of the weak, and all that. He’s lived out in the woods, fought alongside beasts, and generally been one with the earth in ways you couldn’t dream of.

But when it comes to your dog, it’s a whole different story.

“Come here, Mr. Pickles,” you call sweetly from the kitchen, trying not to laugh as Logan grumbles under his breath in the living room.

The small, fluffy dog at Logan’s feet—Mr. Pickles, a name he clearly detests but you adore—looks up at him with wide, innocent eyes. Logan glares back down at him, as if the tiny creature is his mortal enemy. For a moment, there’s a standoff, and then Mr. Pickles’ tiny tail wags, excited for no reason at all, as if he’s just been praised for something.

“I swear, Y/N, this dog’s got the IQ of a rock,” Logan mutters, standing up from the couch and crossing his arms over his chest. “How the hell did we end up with him?”

You chuckle as you watch the scene unfold. Logan, the Wolverine, the man who’s taken down enemies three times his size, looks like he’s being outwitted by a ten-pound ball of fluff.

“You ended up with him because I love him,” you say with a teasing smile, walking over and scooping Mr. Pickles into your arms. The dog instantly cuddles against your chest, as if he’s already forgotten his little staring contest with Logan. “And because he’s adorable.”

“He’s ridiculous,” Logan counters, his gruff voice barely concealing the amusement in his eyes. “And that name…”

“What’s wrong with Mr. Pickles?” You raise an eyebrow at him. “I think it suits him.”

Logan snorts. “Suits him, alright. Little guy’s about as bright as a jar of pickles.”

You bite back a laugh, petting the soft fur on Mr. Pickles’ head. The dog wags his tail happily, oblivious to Logan’s jab. “He’s smart in his own way,” you defend, though even you know that Mr. Pickles isn’t exactly a genius. He’s gotten stuck under the coffee table more times than you can count, and just last week, you found him barking at his own reflection in the sliding glass door.

Still, he’s your little companion, and you adore him. And Logan? Well, he may grumble and complain, but you’ve caught him sneaking Mr. Pickles scraps from the dinner table more than once.

“You should get used to it,” you tease, setting Mr. Pickles down on the floor. The tiny dog immediately trots off, distracted by who knows what. “He’s part of the family now.”

Logan huffs, sinking back onto the couch with a groan. “I don’t know how you convinced me to get a dog in the first place.”

You roll your eyes, moving to sit next to him. “Oh, come on. He’s not so bad. Plus, I think deep down, you actually like him.”

Logan gives you a sidelong glance, his expression skeptical. “Like him? The damn thing chews up my boots every time I turn around.”

“Maybe he’s just trying to impress you,” you say, biting back a grin. “He probably sees you as competition.”

“Competition?” Logan shakes his head in disbelief. “He’s a dog.”

“A very small, not-very-smart dog,” you add with a laugh, leaning against Logan’s side. “But still. I think he’s jealous.”

Logan grumbles something under his breath, but there’s no real bite to it. You know he doesn’t hate Mr. Pickles, not really. In fact, you’d bet good money that Logan’s secretly gotten attached to the little fluff ball. He just won’t admit it.

“You think I’m jealous of that mutt?” Logan asks, his voice low and playful as he wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer.

You shrug, leaning into him with a smile. “I don’t know, are you?”

Logan’s lips twitch into a smirk. “Not a chance.”

Just then, Mr. Pickles reappears, trotting over to the couch with his usual clueless excitement. He jumps up, his tiny paws landing on Logan’s leg as he tries to scramble up into his lap.

Logan freezes, glaring down at the dog like he’s considering his options. He could easily shove Mr. Pickles off, but instead, he just stares at him, brow furrowed.

“What do you want, furball?” Logan mutters.

Mr. Pickles, as always, wags his tail in response, clearly mistaking Logan’s gruff tone for an invitation. With an enthusiastic yip, he finally manages to climb up and curl into Logan’s lap, settling in as if he belongs there.

Logan sighs heavily, looking down at the tiny, fluffy creature now snuggled up against him. “You gotta be kidding me.”

You laugh softly, watching as Logan awkwardly shifts, trying to adjust to the fact that Mr. Pickles has decided he’s found a new favorite spot. “Looks like he’s getting comfortable.”

“I ain’t a damn dog bed,” Logan grumbles, though he doesn’t make any move to push Mr. Pickles off.

You can’t help but grin. The sight of Logan—gruff, tough-as-nails Logan—sitting there with a tiny, fluffy dog curled up in his lap is probably the most amusing thing you’ve ever seen.

“You know,” you say, leaning your head against his shoulder, “I think he likes you.”

Logan looks down at the dog, who’s now fast asleep, completely oblivious to the fact that he’s probably the only creature in the world who can get away with using Wolverine as a pillow.

“Yeah, well,” Logan mutters, his voice softening just a fraction, “I guess he ain’t so bad.”

You smile, knowing that’s as close as Logan will get to admitting he’s grown fond of the little dog. Mr. Pickles might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but he’s managed to worm his way into your hearts, even Logan’s.

And honestly, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[jamorbital]

Mailbag III ✉️

Wow, there were a bunch this time. Thanks everyone!

@theloramir:

Me! 😷

If that doesn't count… Hmm. Cynthia from Pokémon? Or maybe Tifa?

@scout90-again:

I've been interested in it for as long as I can remember. Even when I was really little, I liked to tie up dolls with string and put pieces of tape on their mouths. A bit more on that in an earlier ask here.

(MORE UNDER THE CUT)

@noteverysaurisadinosaur:

Uhhh... I'm gonna say... Golden Toad. I like Dodos too, but I'm guessing that's the "everything but country and rap" of this question.

@directivexero:

Aw thanks!

Lately I've been slowly making my way through The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles! I play it in bed each night to settle in before I go to sleep. It's like a good book. The fickleness of the jurors always makes me laugh.

Another recent one I liked: Thank Goodness You're Here! It's basically a little interactive animated movie. Matt Berry is in it. I once saw it described as "Untitled Twat Game"

Deadly Premonition is the worst game I've ever played by conventional standards, but I'd still recommend it because it's bad in really fun ways. Bring some friends and a case of beer.

I like games that provoke a strong reaction. I'd rather play something like DP than a "good" big-budget game that's smooth and pleasing but not all that memorable.

Also on the topic of weird games: This is the secret best channel on YouTube. The more you watch, the better it gets. I mean idk, maybe other people don't see it and I'm just deranged. Still though. I've cried laughing at some of these.

@patientbard:

Summer! Lots of happy memories from childhood. I like to swim.

@nixalegos:

I don't often try to go for a specific texture, but when I do it can be tricky. In real life I love soft jersey knit fabric. Despite my best efforts, I haven't been able to nail it in 2D in a way that really scratches that kinky itch.

In general, my drawings rarely come out the way I pictured them in my head. (I think that's how it is for most artists?) If it's looking really off then I might redraw a character or body part from scratch, but for the most part I just go with the flow.

@accretion-disk-anxiety:

To eat, crab; to not eat, turtle.

@damianblack:

I'm not really into furries, but I like furries as people. They seem like fun and I admire how welcoming and liberated their community is.

For a while I've had "draw an anthro character" on my bucket list. I think it'd be a fun challenge and drawing a gag for an anthro snout could be hot tbh.

@onidrills:

What was that thing from Jurassic Park with the big neck thing and the venom? Dilophosaurus?

Aw man...

@goodboynijian:

Thank you!

For proudest: Maybe animation loops?

They're not as elaborate as some other stuff I've done, but seeing an animation come together just feels so satisfying.

For hottest: I gravitate toward a certain weirder type of piece where I draw myself (or "myself") with super-exaggerated proportions and/or humiliating captions:

It feels exciting to just go totally off the wall. I get turned on not just by drawing these, but also posting them. I guess it's kind of a public humiliation/exhibitionism thing. (Actually, that's exactly what it is.)

I used to put them up on Twitter, but it got a little too weird and embarrassing. Now I keep them behind the safety of the paywall.

@t-oppenheimer:

Smash if that counts! I used to attend locals weekly and was decently competitive at my peak. I stopped going in 2020 due to covid and never got back into it after that. I still play with friends here and there though. I'm a Wolf main. 🐺

I've also done a little SF6, but I'm still in The Cursed Zone on that one.

@microfoamgaglover:

Yes

(old pic!)

Thanks again to everyone who sent in questions! I'm feeling better now than I was this morning. If I didn't respond to you, it just means I couldn't think of anything interesting to say. I appreciate it all the same.

[zayne-li]

Frozen Blood

Cross posted on ao3

Rating: Mature (for violence and blood)

Length: 3.3k

Pairing: Zayne/MC (not explicitly, but it's implied)

Warnings: Angst, hurt/little comfort, blood, violence, MC goes into shock, character death

Anyway what if dawnbreaker turned into an abomination and we had to do a boss fight against him by ourselves

--

His hand is nearly frozen in your own, and it feels different than the way it normally does when his Evol is acting up. It's not cold like ice, it's cold like death, though he's still breathing, albeit shallowly.

“Zayne,” you're almost desperate as you squeeze his fingers. He may not be your Zayne, but that thought is the furthest thing from your mind right now, because he's right here in front of you, and you have never, never seen him in this much pain. The black crystals spreading from his palm, to wrist, to surely his arms and possibly more beneath the black coat looks almost like frostbite, painful and bleeding because you know that the ice is not external. It's internal. Its source is his heart, and it seemingly can no longer be contained within, trying to scrape and tear its way out of his body. “Zayne listen to me.”

Thus far his eyes have been unable to meet yours, fixed on the ground like he's afraid to look at you. But at your insistence, they flicker up towards you, dark and almost lifeless, with none of the spark you're used to seeing. He says nothing, and instead tries to pull his hand from yours. You don't allow it, tightening your grip, trying to have enough faith and determination for the both of you, because this Zayne… since you found him just a few days ago, seems like he's given up far before he ever met you.

“I'm going to resonate with you–”

“No.” He is firm as he says it, and tries once again to pull his hand from yours.

“It's going to–”

”No.” This time it's more broken, and he sets his jaw, physically moving further away, as much as he can from his seated position. “It's too late. I don’t want to hurt you.”

The blackened crystals beneath his clothes are spreading, faster than before, you can tell by the way he whimpers and looks back away. His breath is visible in the unnatural frigid air around the two of you.

And then… a sharp cry from his lips at the same time as you watch one of the crystals shoot out from somewhere between his ribs. The crack is sickening, wet, and the crystal brings with it a torrent of blood. Zayne doubles over, and in your own shock, is finally able to yank his hand from you own as he curls it around his abdomen, face contorting into a grimace.

Panic wells up in your chest, sticking to your throat as your eyes go wide, and you see another shard burst from his hunched back, the angle making it almost look at though he’s been impaled all the way through. Crimson red drips from the jagged tip, staining his clothes an even darker black, and plopping far too loudly onto the pavement. It echoes in your ears as his breath shudders, crackling in his lungs with every inhale. Labored. It’s like he can’t seem to get enough air.

“Zayne, let me–”

”Get away from me. Now.” It’s almost a snarl, weakened only by the shaking of his voice. His eyes find yours only long enough for him to try and get his point across, like some kind of wounded animal.

Your own breath is growing faster, terror like you’ve never felt tightening in your chest, your vision narrowing down only into this moment, and it’s like you’re frozen. A pit settles in your stomach as your mind races.

I don’t know what to do. I don’t. I don’t know what to do. What do I do? My Zayne would know. He would be calm. Why can’t I…?

You blink hard a few times, trying to calm your breathing, your ears swimming with the sound of dripping blood and another sharp, agonized cry as Zayne lurches away from you, onto all fours, his arms shaking as another crystal tears its way out of his body, this time right from the center of his chest. His breathing starts to sound wet. Did it puncture a lung?

And then, a different kind of horror grips your heart as you hear the oh so familiar sound of his evol, like a bright burst in your vision, though the makeshift dagger of ice looks more like the black shards piercing his body than the brilliant, clear blue you know so well. Zayne sets his jaw, teeth grinding together as he twists it in his grip. He’s holding it so tightly you see a drop of blood squeeze from between his fingers.

He’s pointing it at himself.

“Don’t–Zayne!” You lunge for him as you realize what he’s about to do, grabbing his wrist with both of your hands in an attempt to stop him, which he hadn’t seemed to have expected, and as a result the two of you come crashing down onto your sides on the pavement, his eyes wide with shock and likely more pain from the impact. Almost immediately they squeeze shut as his brows pull together, and the ice in his hand fades away in a puff of frost. “What the hell do you think you’re doing!?” You want to shake him, you feel sick, this has to be a nightmare, this can’t– this can’t be real.

“I–nnnh– I told you,” His voice still holds that growl that you’re entirely unused to, having never heard the Zayne you know speak in such a tone, “It’s too late, you need…” He sucks in a wet, gurgling breath, and you instinctively move back up onto your knees as his back arches, the sickening crack of bone making you flinch as you watch another crystal force its way through his stomach and ribs. Your vision is starting to blur with tears you didn’t know you were crying, and angrily, you wipe them away. Now is not the time. You need to be calm. Collected. You need to fucking do something.

Anything.

He’s weaker now, and so distracted by the pain in his body that he is incapable of resisting the way he had before when you place a hand on his shoulder and try to resonate with him. Below you, he’s almost seizing, his muscles contracting and releasing as he curls in on himself, like an animal trying to protect its wound. The fingernails on his other hand scrape against the road and start to bleed, though it’s hard to tell with the pool already spreading beneath him.

Where you can normally feel the rising tide of energy from him, raging and at times almost overwhelming as you siphon some of the backlash from his evol, now…

You feel nothing.

Why can’t you feel anything?

Is it… What is this? What’s happening?

“Get away.... Please.” Zayne’s voice has grown weaker. He’s begging you.

“I’m not leaving you, Zayne, why can’t I resonate with you?!” Your fear starts to morph into rage. Anger at him, for not explaining what the hell is going on, anger at yourself, for being too useless to help him before it got to this point, and anger at fate itself, for bringing you both here, to this point in time.

“Because I’m not–”

He never gets to finish that sentence. Instead, his words morph into an unbearable scream of pure agony, the sort of sound you’ve only heard from the dying. It chills you to your very core in a way that snow and ice never could.

Later, you’ll realize that those were the last words you ever heard from him.

As a human.

But as the sound of his scream starts to warp, you realize his body is changing too. More black shards of the horrific crystals pierce through his skin, one after another, blood pooling around his twitching body until his clothes are torn to shreds, and you realize that the very shape of him is being distorted, twisted into something alien. Something you recognize all too well.

Pure shock keeps you rooted there, on your knees beside him as you watch it happen right before your eyes.

The look on his face in that moment is something that will haunt you for an eternity, you think, half covered in the shimmering, rocklike material that is indicative of… Your brain can hardly process what it is you’re seeing.

And then the screaming stops, though it continues to echo in your ears for seconds afterwards still. He starts to stand. First with one heavy hand on the ground, clunking onto the pavement. Then up onto a knee. The crack of bones and the sound of his shallow breath can no longer be heard. The only thing left of him is one side of his face as his form continues to twist minutely. It’s contorted in blank, empty rage.

You scramble back, rolling over to avoid a shard of ice the Wanderer tosses at you as it comes up to its full height. Even taller than Zayne had been. Using the momentum, you push yourself up onto your own feet and run a few steps away, though you don’t want to leave your back exposed for too long. The sound of its heavy feet sound behind you as it takes slow steps forward, and without thinking, you grab for the sword at your side, bouncing against your thigh.

Your mind becomes utterly blank, every thought erased as shock and adrenaline has your limbs taking over without any conscious thought. It’s entirely muscle memory. You’ve done this a thousand times. You know exactly what to do.

“Because I’m not–”

You drop into your stance, legs shoulder length apart, knees bent, sword held in front of you, and duck as the Wanderer aims another ice spike at your head. Okay. For now, its movements are sluggish. Is that because it’s not finished transforming yet?

“Get away.... Please.”

It puts both hands out in front of itself, rocky and grey, glowing blue light showing through the cracks, claws long and sharp, and a torrent of small icicles fly towards you, forcing you to step to the side, and slowly, it continues to advance. The one hazel eye you can still see does not blink, staring at you with an unseeing gaze, the human half of its mouth twisting almost like it's trying to say something. What could it possibly have to say?

“It's too late. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, banging against your ribcage. You force yourself to take deeper breaths, realizing that you’re nearly hyperventilating. Underneath your feet is the pool of his blood, splashing as you twist to the side to avoid another attack, forced to bat away one of the shards with the flat of your blade.

What am I supposed to do?

You can’t keep asking yourself that question. You need to act. You know what you have to do.

He’s–it’s getting closer, inexorable, immovable. Its attacks are coming faster now, ice forming beneath your feet as if to trip you, or possibly to trap you, distracting you from the icicles that speed past you as you dance away. The blood on the pavement is frozen. There’s something meaningful in that you realize, but before you can pursue that thought any further, your brain shoves it out of sight.

Right now you need to survive.

One grazes your thigh, tearing your clothes and leaving a razor thin cut that stings more from the cold than the pain. The Wanderer starts to form a blizzard around the both of you, obscuring your vision, and you’ve kept so much distance between you and him–it, that in the swirling snowflakes whipping past, you can barely see it anymore. Is it using the blizzard to camouflage itself? How?

You twist around, trying to remain alert, to catch sight of it, and though you hear it coming, you fail to react in time as one of its freezing daggers embeds itself into your side. You roar. Not from pain, but from frustration.

“If… If I end up doing something that hurts you… Don’t go easy on me.”

There.

You see it, in the artificial storm, a vague shadow, the rocky form covered entirely in snow, helping it blend in. It seems to realize that it's been found, because it roars, an ugly sound, and you match it, holding your sword up near your face, over your shoulder as both of you charge towards one another. Your blow is sweeping, from above your head and down to your opposite hip, catching on its arm as it forms a barrier of ice to protect itself, though your strength is enough to have it cracking off.

There’s no more hesitation. You immediately strike again, stepping back with one leg and then forward again to put more force behind the stab you aim right at its chest, pulsing with a glowing blue light that acts almost as a bullseye. The Wanderer roars in pain and stumbles, And without thinking, you pull back, easily stowing your sword back in your sheath as you realize you’ve been given an opening. Your feet find their stance with ease as you reach for the energy you’re so used to drawing from, familiar as breathing while one arm stretches out in front of you, and the other pulls back as if to shoot a bow. Too late, you realize you’ve made a grave mistake. There’s no one here to resonate with. The Wanderer takes advantage of your lapse in judgment and shoots another volley of tiny, piercing icicles at you, forcing you to roll to the side, but it's also spread a thin layer of ice at your feet, and you slip to the ground, the icicle in your side lodging deeper and causing you to scream.

Frost bursts from the Wanderers palm shoots forward and starts to trap your foot onto the ground, in its ice. The other hand shoots more spikes at you, which you narrowly manage to throw off with the flat of your blade once more. You can’t avoid all of them though, and your skin stings where they manage to graze you, a few embedding themselves into your arms.

It looms over you. Terrifying and beautiful. You can’t get your foot free. Your evol is useless when you’re alone.

And you’ve never felt that more than at this moment.

”Zayne–” You don’t know what to do. His eye flashes with brief recognition, and then it’s gone again. You can’t recognize him. You just wish–

Something whizzes past your head, making your hair flutter with the wind it causes.

The Wanderer is forced back.

There’s another blow.

You’re not sure what you’re seeing, but after a second it registers.

Embedded in the glow of its chest is an icicle.

Blue.

Clear.

Your breath catches in your throat.

There are footsteps behind you. Like someone running. All the while more and more shards of ice are flung almost haphazardly at the Wanderer, and it continues to grow weaker, unable to fight back much with the force of the barrage being forced upon it.

It drops to a knee.

One of the icicles hits it in the head. And then another.

It makes a sound almost like pain, and it’s close enough to you as it starts to sag down further that you’re almost making eye contact with that single hazel eye, though it still seems as if it’s more… Looking past you than at you.

You swallow thickly and reach for your sword with nearly trembling hands, sticky with blood, and before you can falter, you pull it out and scream as you slice through its neck.

The Wanderer lists forward, like it's about to fall on top of you, but disappears in a burst of sparks before it actually does. The only thing left behind are the particles in the air that float like tiny stars, and the brilliant cerulean Protocore at your feet, dropping onto the road right on top of a puddle of frozen blood.

There’s bile in your throat. You can almost taste it.

The footsteps come to a stop, and you don’t realize anyone is in front of you until he’s right in your field of vision, kneeling down and taking your shoulders in large, warm palms.

“Hey, hey can you hear me?” The voice is so familiar…

Your vision blurs and you blink away the tears as you look at Zayne. Intact. Right in front of you.

You must be hallucinating.

You’re too exhausted to care, the strength in your limbs failing you as you almost go limp. He quickly adjusts to hold you securely in his arms, and were you more aware of your surroundings, you might notice him examining you for injuries, his lips thinning as he takes the state of you in.

“... I just need you to nod if you can hear my voice.” He sounds faraway, like he’s speaking to you through water, or a wall maybe.

Though you’re not sure what the point is, you nod weakly, and that at least seems to lessen some of the tension in his shoulders. The hallucination of Zayne moves into a squat beside you and hooks one arm around your shoulders, and the other beneath your knees, lifting you with ease, his expression determined and certainly worried.

He feels warm. You clutch at the fabric of his coat, and curl into his chest, barely aware of wherever it is that he’s taking you. He doesn’t ask what happened, though he’d like to. His first and foremost priority is making sure you’re okay.

“... The Protocore…” You manage, your voice rasping as you blink and realize it's still back there, on the road. Zayne’s mouth twists, you see a muscle twitch in his jaw.

“That doesn’t matter right now. Let’s get you patched up first.”

“Zayne, please.” Your voice is small, and pleading, and it causes him to pause for a moment, looking down at you with a concerned, puzzled expression. He doesn’t know why something that insignificant would matter to you right now.

His arms tighten their hold on you, and he stops in his tracks, taking in the distressed look on your face. He seems to be fighting his need to ensure your safety, and his natural obedience to your whims. You must not have gone far yet, because he turns and only takes a few steps before it comes back into your field of vision. You start to squirm in his arms, and reluctantly, he sets you down. Yes, you’re injured, and in a severe state of shock, but you’re not incapable of standing. Your brain is still blocking any pain that you should be feeling.

Zayne watches on in confusion, brows furrowed as you bend down to pick up the blue Protocore, looking at it like it’s something delicate and precious, held carefully in both of your palms.

“Okay… We can go.” There’s not much emotion in your voice, but you refuse to relinquish it as you lean into Zayne’s side, one of his large palms wrapped around your waist in case you need his support as you both head towards his car, parked not far away.

He doesn’t ask… Not yet… But the eerie sight of that Wanderer has the question lingering on the tip of his tongue as he gently settles you into the passenger seat and then reaches into his backseat for a first aid kit. Zayne efficiently and tenderly cleans and dresses your wounds for you, the Protocore glowing ominously between the two of you, and more than once he finds himself glancing at it.

... Who was that?

He’s afraid he doesn’t even need to ask to know the answer.

[cerise-on-top]

Hiya! I was wondering if you could do TF141 with a S/O that is a clown who does ballon art? I think it would be silly and fun -🐍

Hey there! Sure I can!

TF141 with a Clown!S/O

Price: I think he’d be impressed with you. It’s not every day you find someone, whose purpose at his job is to entertain people like that. He’s a captain, he’s meant to be serious at all times, so there’s not much room to joke around for him. He probably would try to visit you here and there, provided you don’t work at birthday parties. But a circus? Or maybe just on stage? Yeah, he’d try to see you here and there, if he can. He’d probably be more than happy to accept a balloon animal from you. I think he’d be very happy to receive something along the lines of a turtle or tortoise. It seems very impressive to him. While I do believe he’d love to engage with you as part of the audience if your work permits it, he would leave you alone if you seem a little overworked. While he can appreciate a good joke or two from you, he won’t force you to be funny around him. If all you do after work is cuddle up to him and seek his comfort, he’s happy. He’s not the funniest person out there, but if you ask him his opinion he’ll try to come up with a nice routine for you.

Gaz: Oh, he loves it. Ever since he was little he loved clowns. He always thought them to be a nice source of entertainment. He’d totally support you being a clown and would also try to come to your shows, if possible. Although he’d hate to distract you during work, he’d probably make some jokes here and there to help get your audience laughing. He can be very funny since he’s so sassy, so there’s a good chance the two of your work well together. He’s in love with your balloon art. In fact, I do believe he’d ask you about how you do it and learn from the resident expert. Yes, that includes him blowing up his own balloons and trying to contort them into animals and whatnot. Though, be prepared, the first thing he makes for you is a balloon dick. He can be unserious too at times and will laugh if you roll your eyes at him. He probably would try to help mend your costume if it got torn somehow. And he would also try to keep it clean since he’s a big fan of it. I think that, at the end of the day, he’d love to try and make you laugh as well, whether it be by telling you a joke, making up his own routine, or otherwise.

Ghost: Not a big fan of clowns. At all. He thinks they’re super scary and untrustworthy to have around. What are they smiling about? The state of the world? Yeah, he’s not too happy about you being a clown. But then again, there’s a good chance you’re not happy with him being a military man either, so he sucks it up. He’d be hesitant to go to one of your shows since there’s a good chance there are other clowns there as well, who wish for him to participate in their tomfoolery. No thank you. You’d need to give him a good reason to go, such as paying for the ordered food or giving him free tickets to your show. But once you’re home? He’s gonna pretend to have come up with some good jokes for you to use. None of them are child friendly. You’ve heard his jokes in the “Alone” mission. And yes, he will insist on you using the most fucked up jokes you’ve heard in your life. “Why did the noodle kill itself? Because it was torte-lonely.” And yes, he does laugh at his own jokes from time to time as well. He’s a comedy genius in his eyes and he genuinely does not understand why you’re so disturbed by his humor.

Soap: He loves you, so he loves you being a clown as well. He adores your bright and colorful costume. In fact, if you’re somewhat of a similar size he’ll ask you if he can wear it as well. He can be a rather silly man, so he’d love to be silly alongside you. I think he’d try to impress you by making a few balloon animals of his own in secret and showing them to you when you least expect it. He wants you to look at him and go “Wow, Johnny, you’re so cool and epic and handsome and I love you!” It strokes his ego. Will go to your shows if he can and actively participate. He’s not the funniest person either, but he tries to go along with your slapstick humor. I think he’d probably leave after your show, just to come back a few minutes later and participate again. Yes, he will actively flirt with you and see if he can stun you into silence. Will also make a few dirty jokes, for which you have to silence him afterwards. It’s all in good fun until you hit him with the squeaky hammer. Will pretend that you hate him after you’ve hit him with it. But will still dote on you when you’re home.

[anamelessfool]

How do you do that? LOL I have no idea what I’m doing (maybe) An Art Tutorial

Folks have commented on my more rendered art recently and I’m flattered. I literally have no idea what I’m doing. Well, I sorta do. I am mostly using masks in Procreate. I’m technically using the Debaser Pack by True Grit Texture Supply, but you don’t really need it. All you need is some texture layers. You could even do this just by making halftones of solid color layers. I used to do a lot of digital photo collage back in the day and at one point had a huge library of scans of paper and fabrics and also random textures I saw on the street. Wood, stone, sidewalk, metal, foliage, water. Took out my digital camera (yes, it was that long ago) and snapped a photo to use. There’s also a lot of free halftone textures online.

I have a few “overlay texture” layers. I “Create Mask” and then invert the mask so I can “paint” the color on. For my more simple stuff I do just that. I add a “Deep Shadow” layer in Overlay mode of a dark brown (or teal if it’s white) to make sure the darkest shadows are truly dark. The white areas are just the mask erased. It helps that fallout ghouls are skrungly and textured to be begin with. Sometimes I select areas and add little bits of black spray paint in lots of very transparent layers.

Everything is rendered under a multiply layer of a hi-res scan of vintage newsprint.

So how about the more detailed things that came about from an embarrassing amount of shirtless photo references??? In a lust-fueled haze I realized I can have a dark layer (in my case, a “black ink texture scan” with an inverted mask underneath a color layer. The color texture layer is around 70% opacity, give or take. On that black ink layer mask I add the white highlights to the tops of forms and use the smudge tool to distribute it across the specific form. Once in a while I shut off the color layer so I can see the bare rendering layer on its own and fix things.

So I just sort of pet him. For hours.

Focusing on the LIGHT areas instead of the shadow really is a game-changer! Before, my digital art looked super muddy because I was invested in adding dark. If areas are very very dark I add that dark brown overlay layer. For tattoos it’s a dark blue overlay mode layer, but with a mask on it so I can softly erase areas to make it look more set in to the skin (without destroying the original art). Very bright areas and the tops of forms I add a “highlight layer” of pure white gestural lines.

Moral of the story is just play around and do whatever. The old times of having a beautifully perfect anime-style drawing with very formal layers of shadow, highlight, color has been dead for ages. It’s what kept me away from pursuing digital art for literal years.