#goes back and fucks with the contrast and shadows

[melioristicbeast]

@shona22 asked: "maybe Derek cooking breakfast while stiles rests his head on his shoulder blades, yawning?"

Saved the rest of your suggestions for another time ♡ Hope you like this - thank you for the kind words!

Stiles seems like a 'hand in my partners pocket' kinda man - he better hope derek doesn't burn his food

[peachesofteal]

Raspberry Girl Previous + masterlist + AO3 Simon Riley/female reader CW: sexual content, daddy kink

“Fuck!” 

Simon’s neck nearly breaks as he turns to lay panicked eyes on where you’re standing in front of the oven with tears on your lashes, one hand in another. His body locks up. He’s faced more violence than any one man should know, but it all pales in comparison to the way his stomach twists when you’re distressed. 

“What happened?” 

“N-nothing I burnt myself.” Your cheeks are already wet by the time he makes it into the kitchen, carefully unfolding your arms, cradling your hand in his. 

Burn is an understatement. It’s a second degree, skin already blistering and raw. You instinctively move towards the freezer, but he pulls you away, leading you to the sink where he turns the tap on cool. Your lower lip trembles and your voice shakes. “Owww, ow ow. Hurts, it hurts.”  

“I know baby, I know. Here,” Duchess whines from behind him as you hiss when the water cascades across your skin, easily picking up on your pain. “She’s okay.” He never thought he’d be reassuring a dog, but here he is, trying to soothe both his girls. 

“I didn’t want to drop it, I didn’t let go, I sh-should have.” Instinct is to blame here, pain receptors flooded and quick thinking a second behind, your desire to save the strawberry rhubarb crumble leading you to hold onto the cast iron too long, and you managed to get it onto the stove top after you pulled it from the oven barehanded, but it cost. 

“Shhh, it’s okay.” It’s not. Even of a flicker of agony on your face is enough to send him reeling, and knowing you’ll wear this scar forever from something that happened when he was just across the room is a hard pill to swallow. “Just keep this here, don’t move your hand.” 

“Where are you going?” You’re more calm now, lips tight in a grimace, but the tears still gather. He kisses your forehead. 

“We need a washcloth. Stay right here.” 

He keeps you against his chest, cool washcloth folded over the palm of your hand as you snuffle into his sweatshirt, curled up with him on the couch, tears dried, burn throbbing. Poor baby. 

He knows why you didn’t want to let it go. You hand picked these strawberries from a local farm, painstakingly selecting each one as he followed behind you, a hulking shadow nearly blotting out the sun. It’s such a contrast. A brilliant, bright little berry girl and her reaper, a harbinger of death, her daddy.

He’ll be whoever he has to be now, to keep you happy and safe. Nothing else matters. 

And that’s how he found himself on his neighbor’s porch, ringing their doorbell to explain how you saw their rhubarb plant in their backyard and pleaded with him to let you go over and ask if you can cut some. They’ve only ever seen him in passing, and quite frankly, they looked a bit horrified at the sight of him. 

That didn't matter either. As long as they said yes. 

“Never had rhubarb before.” He’s holding your hips, his chest to your back as you lean over the sink, scrubbing the pink red stalks clean. 

“Never?” 

“Nope,” he hums it into the top of your head, and you fidget against him, pressing back against his cock. 

“O-oh. Is… are you…” His fingers dip beneath the waistband of your sweatpants, stroking over your panties. 

“What does it taste like?” 

“Um, it’s… sour.” You gasp when he slips inside the already slick cotton, skimming your swollen clit. “But when it’s ca-ca-caramelized it’s- ah-” Slow circles send shivers up your spine and you grind against him, looking for more, for rhythm. 

“It’s what baby? Tell daddy.” His heat against yours, body on yours, all of it goes to his head, gives him tunnel vision. It’s all about you, everything, always, forever. Til death do you part, even if you don’t understand yet. 

“It’s like a swe-sweet tart. It’s good with- with uh… um,” he slips inside you, one finger then two, nipping your neck as your head tips back. It doesn’t take much to bring you close, your inexperience leaves him plenty of room to learn what’s best, read your movements and translate your sounds. 

“With?” You shake your head in denial, and a devilish smirk twists his lips. 

“Daddy please.” You’re shifting your weight, restlessly chasing, forcing him to hold you still, his mouth on your ear. 

“What do you want sweet girl? What is it?” 

“Come, make me c-come please.” 

“Hmm.” He steps away, uses his foot to spread yours apart, and you try to step away, confused. “Be still.” Your sweatpants and underwear are down to your ankles next, and he’s folding you at the waist, your cheek flush with the kitchen counter. 

Pretty. So pretty. Pussy soaked, on display, little clit throbbing. 

He sinks to his knees and spreads you wide, exposing everything while you gasp. “Look at you, little girl. So desperate to come.” 

“Yes,” you breathe, clinging to the edge of the counter, elbows upward. The trembling precipice of anticipation makes your muscles quiver, and he lets you sit in it for a moment, linger in the uncertainty- 

Before finally burying his face in you. 

“Daddy?” Your voice is small, sleepy. He’s given you some naproxen, trying to dull the pain, and the ordeal has tired you out. 

“Hmm?” 

“Am I gonna have a scar?” You’re blinking at the offending injury, mouth turned down, and he sighs, tucking you in closer. 

“I think so. It’s a second degree, sweetheart. But it will heal, and that’s most important. You won’t have nerve damage.” That was his biggest concern, especially considering where it is, but after inspecting it, the skin, the blister, the depth, he’s confident you won’t lose any feeling there. 

“I won’t?” 

“I don’t think so.” He knows well enough, how much it takes to damage the nerves. To make them obsolete. He’s got the marks all over to prove it. You relax, snuggling back into his chest. 

“At least I saved it.” 

“And earned yourself a spanking.” He warns immediately, and your eyes fly open. 

“I didn’t do anything!” 

“You hurt yourself to save a pie.” 

“A crumble daddy, it’s a crumble.” He raises an eyebrow, and you look away sheepishly. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay baby, but you did earn a punishment. Didn’t you?” You nod. He knows you’re well aware of the broken rule, but he’s not going to dive into it right now, your agreement, the recognition is enough. 

“Yes daddy.” 

[kiss4tell]

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐓𝐄𝐒, simon riley.

summary: a mission, a warehouse, three minutes. simon decides that's enough time to take what he needs. cw: rough-ish sex, quickie, praise, dirty talk, simon being a nyasty whore, the list goes on. wc: 664 note: i've risen from the dead.

The warehouse is cold, dark, and reeks of dust and rusted metal. You and Ghost are tucked into the shadows, quiet as you move through the space, scanning for anything that might be worth taking back to command. The mission is simple—get in, gather intel, and get out.

But Ghost—Simon—has never been good at keeping things simple.

You don’t hear him coming, not until his hand clamps over your mouth and your back hits the cold concrete wall. You barely have a moment to react before he’s pressing in close, a wall of heat and muscle caging you in. His gloved fingers slip beneath your comms unit, disconnecting the line before tossing it aside.

“Three minutes,” he mutters.

Your eyes widen, your hands pushing at his chest. “Ghost—”

He reaches up and unplugs his own comms, silencing himself from the rest of the team. The warehouse is empty apart from the two of you, but they’ll notice the radio silence soon enough.

Simon presses his forehead to yours, breathing heavy. “Can’t wait. Need you now.”

There’s no time for you to respond. No teasing, no hesitation—just action. His fingers are already yanking at your belt, ripping it open, shoving your pants and underwear down in one motion until they’re bunched around your thighs. He doesn’t even bother taking them all the way off—he doesn’t have the time.

He spins you around, forcing you against the wall, his boot nudging your legs apart. The sound of his belt unbuckling, the clink of metal, the hurried rustle of fabric—it’s all you get before he’s shoving himself inside you with one deep thrust.

You gasp, hands splaying against the concrete, barely able to process the sudden, overwhelming stretch before he’s already moving.

“Fuck—” Simon grits out behind you, his voice ruined. His hands grip your hips hard, holding you steady as he drives into you with brutal, unrelenting force. There’s no warm-up, no slow build—just pure, raw need.

“Been thinkin’ about this all fucking night,” he groans, breath ragged against the back of your neck. “Couldn’t—fuck—couldn’t focus, not with you walkin’ around like that.”

His hips snap forward, slamming into you, the wet slap of skin-on-skin echoing through the warehouse. It’s filthy, reckless, the kind of desperate fucking that shouldn’t be happening here, not in the middle of a mission, but neither of you care.

Simon hunches over you, pressing his chest to your back, caging you in. “Feel so fuckin’ good, love,” he groans, voice low and wrecked. “Takin’ me so well—like you were made for this.”

His fingers dig into your waist, guiding your hips to meet each thrust, forcing you to take him deeper. Each snap of his hips sends a jolt of pleasure up your spine, your thighs trembling as the coil inside you winds tighter, tighter, tighter—

“Not yet,” Simon growls, voice rough as grit and gravel. His fingers suddenly shift, finding your clit with ruthless precision, rubbing fast, messy circles that send white-hot pleasure surging through you. “Need you to come, love. C’mon—be good for me.”

You whimper, body locking up as the coil inside you snaps, pleasure crashing over you in waves. Your walls clamp down around him, tight, pulsing, and that’s all it takes.

Simon shudders, his rhythm faltering as he slams into you one last time, burying himself deep as a guttural groan rips from his throat. You feel him spill inside you, heat flooding deep, his cock throbbing with each pulse of release.

He pants against your shoulder, forehead pressing to the back of your neck. For a moment, the only sound is harsh breathing, the aftermath of something quick, dirty, and entirely forbidden.

Then—

Simon presses a kiss to your nape. Soft. Contrasting everything else.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, voice warm.

You barely get a moment to recover before he’s tucking himself away, fastening his belt. He snatches your comms unit off the ground, reattaching it just in time.

Exactly three minutes.

[dollyfiles]

INTRODUCING.. RAVEN!READER ₊˚⊹♡

barry’s little sister. dealer the girlies trust. deftones. tattoos. addict. grillz. anger issues. silver jewelry. paired with frat!rafe.

RAVEN!READER who is an intense and unapologetically fierce presence on the cut, a stark contrast to her older brother barry’s more reserved demeanor. she is known around kildare for her temper and not being afraid to fight, especially when it comes to protecting her reputation, defending her older brother or her boyfriend rafe. the kind of girl who doesn’t just talk tough… she is tough, getting attention everywhere she goes, making not only rafe, but everyone around her, dizzy.

RAVEN!READER who isn’t made to stay in anyones shadow. while barry hustles and schemes, she is the enforcer. starting off by running errands for her brother, delivering dime bags and keeping his customers fed, quickly turned into having her own loyal customers by using the advantage that girls in obx are easily overlooked as potential buyers. and now she’s become the go-to dealer for the kook girls, someone who makes them feel safe while hooking them up with exactly what they need.

RAVEN!READER and rafe who ground eachother, giving the other a sense of stability they don’t get elsewhere. from the moment rafe first laid eyes on her, he was hooked. she didn’t simper or try to impress him. in fact, she barely gave him the time of day, which only made her more alluring. in his eyes, she is untouchable, unafraid to call him out or put him in his place, which only made him fall harder. and even if they fight like enemies, there's no denying they're made for each other.

RAVEN!READER who treasures her black gibson les paul guitar, even if she doesn’t play it often, but keeps it on display in her room like a trophy. she’s currently saving up for her dream motorbike, a matte black one with metallic accents. spends hours cleaning, sharpening, and customizing her blades, giving each piece a unique and personal touch. def sneaks into places she shouldn’t be at, and she thrives on the rush of pushing boundaries. still she’s the most loyal friend you could ever find.

꩜ raven!reader jerking off frat!rafe at a party

꩜ frat!rafe calling up raven!reader for coke again

꩜ raven!reader and frat!rafe fucking in the back of his truck

꩜ raven!reader rejecting frat!rafe infront of barry

꩜ raven!reader throwing a knife at frat!rafe during a fight

꩜ frat!rafe’s reaction to raven!reader not shaving

꩜ frat!rafe trying to make raven!reader jealous with another girl

꩜ texts between raven!reader and frat!rafe

꩜ frat!rafe’s reaction to raven!reader turning him down

꩜ raven!reader’s reaction to frat!rafe turning her down

.ᐟ credit/inspo for the layout goes out to my beautiful mutual @rafesangelita (check out her stuff, it’s amazing)

[astrcmoni]

ೃ❀࿔ sweet surrender ೃ❀࿔

MASTERLIST

synopsis: so…basically you and billie fuck, but like sweetly. ( i don’t feel like writing a proper synopsis)

genre: smut, fluff

pairing: fem!reader x billie eilish

wc: 11.2k….it goes up every post i swear😓

warnings: cussing, soft switch! reader & soft switch! billie, nicknames, fingering (both receiving), cunnilingus/oral (both receiving), scissoring, talk of orgasm/cum, aftercare..i think that’s it lmk if i missed something.

authors note: your weekly bedtime story is here…why this kinda eat hold on🫦, who wanna recreate this with me🤨 (jk jk…unless)

soft light spills into the living room, a warm, flickering glow from candles scattered like secrets in the dark. their flames whisper, gentle and alive, from the coffee table and shelves. the scent of vanilla and sandalwood curls through the air, weaving into billie’s perfume— grounding, familiar, like home found in a person. the tv glows faintly, its screen casting soft shadows as it flickers with old reruns of i love lucy— a memory stitched to your childhood, to moments spent with your grandparents. the grayscale images shift and shimmer, the faint crackle of audio tugging you back, making you feel like you’re sitting in the past.

you’re stretched out on the couch, body languid and unwound, one arm draped over the back of the sofa, cradling your head. your legs sprawl lazily across billie’s lap, the fuzzy fabric of your socks brushing against each other in a slow, absent rhythm. the anklets on your right ankle sway with each movement, their gold bands catching the light like small constellations. her thumb traces soft, looping patterns against your bare thigh, the warmth of her hand seeping into your skin. her touch is unhurried, deliberate, each stroke sending quiet sparks through your nerves, grounding you in this fragile, perfect moment.

billie leans further into the cushions, her black plaid button-up hanging loose over a white undershirt, sleeves rolled carelessly to her elbows. silver chains and dog tags glint faintly against her chest, their edges catching the candlelight. her rings shift and gleam as her fingers move, the brim of her cap tilting forward, shadowing her face. but you see her, clear as day— the way her lips curve into the smallest, softest smile, the kind that speaks of quiet contentment, like she’s found something she didn’t know she needed.

you’re dressed in something equally soft— a low-buttoned teddy brown colored cardigan draped over a spaghetti-strap tank, paired with fluffy shorts that skim your thighs. the contrast between you two is striking: her laid-back edge against your cozy simplicity. but in this moment, it doesn’t matter. this is your space, your sanctuary, and all that fills your mind is how perfect this feels. how the air between you hums, tension so palpable it feels like the room itself is holding its breath.

her gaze shifts, and you feel it before you see it— the weight of her eyes settling on your face, studying you with the same intensity you’d reserved for the tv moments ago. turning your head, your eyes meet hers, and the world narrows. her gaze is deep, blue oceans pooling with something that feels too heavy for words. it’s the same look she gave you the night you met, six months ago, in some dimly lit club in l.a. where the music was too loud and the air was too thick, but none of that mattered.

you remember sitting in the corner, a drink in your hand, your feet aching from dancing too long. and then she walked in— quiet, unassuming, but magnetic in a way that pulled all the air out of the room. her presence was effortless, the way she carried herself a study in contradictions: cool and commanding, yet soft and inviting. you’d noticed her almost immediately, the dark fall of her hair brushing against her cheekbones, the way her eyes swept the room like she was searching for something. and when her gaze landed on you, it was like being found.

she crossed the space between you two with purpose, her voice low and steady as she introduced herself. there was no pretense, no false charm—just something raw and real. her dark hair fell into her face as she leaned closer, her words slipping through the noise like a secret meant only for you. and just like that, the thread between you tightened, drawing you closer without effort or explanation.

what started as late-night conversations and quiet companionship turned into something you couldn’t define but couldn’t let go of. it was soft nights spent in each other’s company, your laughter mingling with the sound of her playlists, the kind of intimacy that feels like breathing. and then, one night, everything changed. it was quiet, like the shift of the tide— a hand brushing too close, a glance lingering too long. and when her lips found the curve of your neck, the world tilted. the air sparked, the room blurred, and all that existed was her. that was the moment it became inevitable. that was the moment it became everything.

now it’s become a regular thing, these quiet nights wrapped in each other’s presence, existing in a rhythm that feels almost too easy. no schedules, no expectations—just the way you both fold into each other, however and whenever you want.

“ricky! you can’t be serious!” lucy’s exasperated voice bursts from the tv, the laugh track bubbling up to fill the room, the sound bouncing off the soft glow of candlelight.

you smirk, turning your head slightly. “are you even trying to watch the show?” your tone is teasing, but there’s nothing sharp in it—just warmth, just the comfort of familiarity.

“why would i want to do that,” she murmurs, her lips curving into the faintest smile, “when my girlfriend is right here?” her fingers squeeze gently against the plush of your thighs, the cool metal of her rings biting against your warmth. the contrast is startling and grounding all at once, like her touch is meant to anchor you here, in this moment.

“you comfy?” she asks, voice softer now, almost like the question is more for her than you.

“wouldn’t be sitting here if i wasn’t.” your fist curls under your head as you shift, propping yourself more comfortably. the action presses your body further into hers, the space between you almost nonexistent now. a soft smile tugs at your lips as your gaze meets hers fully, your eyes locking in a way that feels heavier than it should.

she lets out a low groan, the sound rumbling in her chest and spilling into the quiet. “you’re always talking, huh? why can’t you just say yes like a normal person?”

you shrug, the teasing glint in her eyes pulling a soft chuckle from you. “where’s the fun in that?”

her hand slows, her touch shifting from absentminded to something more deliberate. her fingers slide from the outside of your thigh to the tender skin on the inside, her movements light but intentional. her gaze drops to watch the path her fingers trace, her focus sharp and quiet, like she’s lost in her own thoughts. faint whispers fall from her lips—soft, incoherent murmurs that seem to spill out without her even realizing.

and you’d be lying to yourself if you said her touch didn’t make your breath hitch, didn’t make the air feel just a little heavier.

“huh?” your voice breaks through the haze, low and teasing. “i need you to speak up, my love.”

her hand stills, her thumb pressing just a little harder into your skin, the faint pressure pulling a spark of heat up your spine. she looks up at you, and her gaze is different now—something deeper, heavier, like the weight of an unspoken truth. her thumb resumes its path, slow and deliberate, but her eyes remain on yours, studying you in the dim light.

it feels like she’s memorizing you—every curve, every shift in your expression, every shallow breath you take. and in the quiet hum of the room, you feel it again: that thread pulling tighter, wrapping around you both, binding you closer than words ever could.

“you’re so unfair, you know that?” her voice drops an octave, thick with something unspoken, the sound wrapping around you like velvet.

your eyebrows lift, a subtle quirk that dances between curiosity and teasing. “i am?” your voice is soft, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

her head dips in a slow, deliberate nod, the silver of her chains swaying faintly with the motion, catching the warm glow of the candles. shadows flicker across her face, her expression unreadable but her eyes speaking louder than words.

“how so?” you breathe, your playful smile blooming fully now, your tone light but laced with something deeper, something knowing.

her free hand moves, fingers grazing the side of your knee, the touch light as air yet impossible to ignore. her fingertips trail back down, her movements slow, deliberate, like she’s mapping every inch of your skin. “you sit here,” she murmurs, almost to herself, her words dragging in the air between you, “looking like that… looking at me, like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.”

her voice sends a spark straight through you, a thread of heat winding itself tight in your chest. a laugh escapes before you can stop it, light and airy, your body jolting with the sound. “what am i doing, baby?” you ask, your voice dipping into something soft, sweet, and maddeningly coy.

her hand lifts, leaving your skin cold in its absence. she drags it up to her face, her palm covering the flush that spreads like wildfire across her cheeks. your voice—the way the nickname falls from your lips, slow and deliberate—undoes her. it’s the low tilt of your eyes, the subtle curve of your lips, the ease with which you say it, like you know exactly what you’re doing to her.

a deep groan escapes her, muffled by her hand, her body sinking further into the couch like she’s trying to hide from the weight of it all. your laugh spills out again, fuller this time, bubbling over as her flustered state only seems to grow.

her eyes cut to you, sharp but soft, like she’s annoyed and enamored all at once. her hand slides down her face slowly, the motion deliberate, landing softly beside her. she exhales, her head tilting back slightly, her cap casting shadows across her flushed face. “you’re impossible,” she mutters, the words carrying no real bite, just the lingering weight of her vulnerability.

and you smile, a warmth spreading through your chest as you take her in—the way she tries to compose herself, the way her gaze softens despite the tension in the air. because in this moment, with the light flickering and the world quiet, it’s just you and her. and that’s all it ever needs to be.

your stomach tightens at the way she looks at you, with longing and desire etched so plainly across her face. her voice curls around her words, low and deliberate, leaving a trail of warmth on your skin. but you hold your composure, tilting your head slightly, letting your cardigan slip further off your shoulder. the exposed skin feels cool against the air, but the weight of her gaze sets it alight. your eyebrows lift, an unspoken challenge lingering between you, as you wait for her answer.

before she can speak, her hands find the underside of your calves, her grip firm yet gentle. you let out a surprised yelp as she pulls you closer in one smooth motion, dragging you across the couch like it’s the most natural thing in the world. your thighs slide against the fabric, your breath hitching as her hands settle there again, warm and commanding. the sudden proximity leaves you breathless—your faces so close you can see everything: the deepening blue of her eyes, their edges dark with lust, the faint constellation of freckles scattered across her skin, like stars glimmering faintly against a quiet sky.

you notice the way her lips part, soft and plush, glistening slightly as her tongue darts out to wet them. she catches her bottom lip between her teeth, tugging it briefly before releasing it, her gaze locked on yours. she exhales sharply through her nose, the sound low and ragged, her breath fanning warmly against your face.

“you’re so pretty,” she whispers, her voice thick with a quiet ache that sends a shiver down your spine. “it’s not fair. you’re driving me out of my mind.”

your lips twitch into a teasing smile, the heat rising to your cheeks impossible to ignore. “yeah?” your voice is soft, a little breathy, but still teasing as your hand moves up to cup her cheek. your thumb brushes gently across her skin, and you keep your eyes locked on hers, unrelenting, daring her to close the distance.

“yeah.” her voice is barely above a breath now, her face tilting ever so slightly as her lips press into yours.

her kiss is slow at first, deliberate, her lips moving against yours like she’s savoring every second, every taste. her hand slides further up your thigh, her grip tightening just enough to send sparks racing along your nerves. the weight of her free hand against your face steadies you, her thumb grazing the edge of your jaw as she pulls you closer, deeper into her.

your hands find their way to the back of her neck, fingers threading through the soft strands of her hair, your thumbs brushing the skin behind her ears. you tug her closer, her groan reverberating through you, a warm, low sound that seems to settle deep in your chest. her hand moves to the small of your back, pulling you into her lap, the shift effortless, like you were always meant to be there.

your legs straddle her hips, your knees digging into the cushions on either side of her as her hands find your waist. her thumbs draw lazy circles there, the light pressure grounding you even as her kiss grows hungrier. her teeth graze your bottom lip, tugging lightly before her lips crash back into yours, leaving you breathless.

your fingers tighten against the nape of her neck, nails dragging lightly against her skin, and she shudders under your touch, a sharp intake of breath escaping her. the sound makes your heart race, the heat between you two building, the world fading into the soft glow of candlelight and the quiet hum of your shared breaths. nothing else exists but her—the weight of her hands, the press of her lips, and the quiet intensity that burns between you, igniting something you can’t name but never want to end.

the taste of her is intoxicating, the faint trace of mint on her lips mingling with something sweeter, deeper—something that pulls you under, leaves you wanting more. every kiss feels like a promise, slow and deliberate, building into something that leaves no room for air, no room for doubt. her hands find the hem of your cardigan, slipping beneath it, the cool press of her rings on your skin like tiny shocks of electricity that ripple through you, making your breath hitch.

her lips part from yours, trailing a path of warmth and want from your cheek to your jawline, each kiss deliberate, unhurried, like she’s memorizing you in pieces. when she reaches your neck, she pauses, breathing you in, the scent of your laundry detergent mixing with the soft trace of vanilla candles and the rich warmth of your body butter. “mm—mama, you smell so good,” she murmurs, her words vibrating against your skin before she presses another kiss there, teeth grazing lightly.

your fingers tangle into the hair at the nape of her neck, nails grazing her scalp, earning a low, drawn-out moan from her. the sound alone makes your stomach flip, heat blooming low in your belly. she bites down, just enough to make your breath stutter, her tongue soothing the sting, but before the bruise has time to settle, you pull back.

her hands are quick, catching you instinctively, clasping behind your back as though to steady you, to keep you close. her brows furrow, the expression subtle but telling, her lips swollen and slick from your kisses. she’s looking at you like you’ve just shattered a moment she wasn’t ready to let go of, confusion pooling in the depths of her blue eyes.

“what’s wrong?” her voice is low, threaded with concern, her chest rising and falling as she struggles to catch her breath.

a grin spreads across your face, slow and teasing, as you bite your bottom lip, suppressing the laugh bubbling up in your chest. “we’re not fucking on this expensive-ass couch, babe,” you say, rolling your eyes playfully, the lilt of your voice light and teasing.

she blinks at you, a beat passing as your words sink in, and then the corners of her lips twitch upward into a grin, crooked and lazy. “seriously?” her tone is laced with amusement now, the sharp edge of desire softened but not gone. “you don’t trust me on your couch?”

you shake your head, the grin still playing on your lips as you make a small sound of disapproval. “not in this outfit, i don’t.” your fingers find the flannel draped over her frame, brushing the fabric lightly as you fluff it out, your touch featherlight and deliberate.

she laughs, a low, throaty sound that rolls through you, her messy brown hair swaying as she leans back slightly, her hands returning to your hips like they belong there. the tension between you shifts, still heavy but now threaded with playfulness, the kind of ease that makes your chest feel lighter. “ you really don’t wanna stay out here?”

“um…no,” you say, letting your gaze flick around the room before meeting hers again, your eyes glinting with mischief. “besides, i’m just saying, if we’re gonna fuck, i’m gonna need more space than this, babe.”

her grin widens, crooked and endearing, her eyes narrowing slightly in disbelief. “are you serious right now?”

“dead serious,” you reply, your voice steady, your expression a mix of challenge and amusement.

“you’re such a diva, you know that?”

“and yet, here you are,” you shoot back, the smirk tugging at your lips impossible to hide.

she groans, loud and dramatic, but the spark in her eyes betrays her excitement. her black hat tilts slightly as she stands, her movements easy and fluid. “lead the way,” she mutters, her voice still low but threaded with anticipation.

you slide off her lap, your hand slipping into hers, fingers lacing together as you tug her to her feet. her grip tightens, grounding you for a moment before you turn, the soft patter of your feet against the floor the only sound as you lead her to your room.

you smile, the energy between you two shifting again, this time in a direction you both have grown to know so well. every step carries the weight of the unspoken tension that’s lingered between you, each echoing softly in the quiet as the anticipation coils tighter. when the door clicks shut behind you, the atmosphere thickens, the air charged, electric. it feels like stepping into a new world—one that belongs only to the two of you.

you turn to face her, letting your eyes rake over her frame, unhurried, deliberate. really looking at her feels like a privilege, like witnessing art up close. billie stands there, her plaid button-up shifted slightly askew, the white crop top beneath clinging to her in all the right ways. the silver chains around her neck glint softly in the low light, catching your attention like they’re daring you to touch them. her rings shimmer as she flexes her fingers, the subtle movement making you want to trace their paths over her skin. she stalks closer, slow and measured, the faintest smile curving her lips, but her eyes give her away—darkened with desire, the hunger in them mirroring your own.

you toss your head back with a groan, overwhelmed by the way she looks at you, by how effortlessly she owns the moment. “oh my god, you’re so fine. like, what the actual fuck,” you whisper, half to yourself, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

billie’s lips part as though to respond, but you don’t give her the chance. instead, you close the distance, your lips colliding with hers in a kiss that’s urgent, desperate, all-consuming. her hands find your waist almost immediately, the heat of her touch burning through the fabric of your cardigan as her fingers trace the outline of your frame with a reverence that makes your knees weak.

your own hands slide up her chest, palms pressing against the cool press of her chains, the metal a stark contrast to the warmth of her skin. your fingers reach the buttons of her shirt, and you work them loose one by one, savoring the soft hitch of her breath with each undone clasp. her lips never leave yours, the kiss deepening with every second, every layer of fabric removed between you adding fuel to the fire.

when the last button falls free, her shirt slips open, revealing the soft curves of her stomach beneath the hem of her crop top. your fingers ghost over her skin, tracing the faint lines of muscle, dipping lower to the curve of her belly. your touch brushes against the delicate silver of her belly piercing, the small charm swaying lightly, catching the light. the sight of it, the subtle movement, makes your breath catch.

billie lets out a soft moan, the sound rippling through you like a wave, her body trembling beneath your hands. your nails scrape lightly against her skin, just enough to make her gasp, the sharp intake of air like music to your ears.

your hands move upwards, palms grazing the curve of her chest before sliding even higher, finding their place on her shoulders. your thumbs brush back and forth over her exposed collarbones, the motion slow, deliberate. her breath hitches, her lips parting as her head tilts back slightly, giving you an unobstructed view of her face. the way her brows knit together, the flush spreading across her cheeks, the faint sheen of sweat gathering at her temple—it’s all so breathtaking, so unguarded.

you can feel her body reacting to every touch, her soft moans and sharp gasps filling the space between you, grounding you in this moment. her hands find your hips again, her fingers digging into your sides just enough to leave you craving more, her touch equal parts grounding and electrifying.

your hands wander down her back, tracing the planes of her body, mapping her with a devotion that feels almost sacred. every dip, every curve, every inch of her feels like it’s yours to discover all over again. her skin trembles beneath your touch, her reactions beautiful and raw, each sound she makes wrapping around you like a melody, pulling you deeper.

you marvel at her—at the way her body responds to yours, at the way her moans become softer, more desperate as your fingers glide lower again. there’s something intoxicating about the way she melts into you, like you’re the only thing that matters, the only thing tethering her to this moment.

but billie being billie, she’s always so impatient. “oh my god—” she breathes, her voice trembling as her hand slides up to cradle the side of your neck, pulling you into another searing kiss. it’s hurried, electric, but beneath the urgency lies something deeper, something tender. her lips press against yours like she’s afraid you might slip through her fingers, and for a moment, nothing else exists but the heat between you.

her hands find your waist, fingers curling around the fabric of your cardigan as she moves, never breaking the kiss. step by step, she guides you back until the edge of the bed presses against the backs of your legs, sending you tumbling softly onto the mattress. billie follows instantly, her body hovering over yours, the weight of her pressing you gently into the bed as her lips trail back down to your neck.

she takes her time, scattering a mix of hickeys and featherlight kisses along your skin. her lips drag over the curve of your throat, her breath hot and uneven as her teeth graze you ever so slightly, each nip leaving a trail of heat in its wake. her hands are everywhere and nowhere at once, fidgeting with the buttons of your sweater. but her frustration mounts quickly as the fabric refuses to cooperate, her movements becoming more frantic with every passing second.

“fucking hell—” she mutters, voice low and husky, her breath hitching as she sits up slightly, straddling your hips. her knees press into the mattress on either side of you, grounding herself as her fingers tug impatiently at the stubborn clasps.

“what?” you ask, propping yourself up on your elbows to see what’s wrong, your own breath catching at the sight of her disheveled hair and flushed cheeks.

“these damn buttons, babe. why did you decide to wear a sweater?” she grumbles, her lips pressing into a thin line as her fingers fumble. the frustration is written all over her face, but there’s a fire in her eyes, a hunger that makes you ache in the best way.

you bite back a laugh, your heart swelling at how adorably flustered she looks. “hey, be gentle. this is my favorite cardigan, okay?”

her hands pause for just a moment, her gaze flickering up to meet yours, lips parting as if to argue. but then she groans, a soft, almost desperate sound escaping her. “i don’t care. i’ll buy you another one—just take it off,” she whines, her voice trailing off, heavy with need.

her yearning is palpable now, written in the tension of her shoulders, in the way her fingers twitch against the fabric, in the way she looks at you—like she’s starving, like you’re the only thing that could ever satisfy her. but there’s something more behind her frustration, a depth to her longing that catches you off guard. it’s not just about the physical connection; it’s about being completely, utterly yours in a way that words could never fully express.

you take her hands gently, stilling their restless movements as you guide them away from the buttons. “relax, babe,” you whisper, your voice soft but teasing as you take matters into your own hands. your fingers make quick work of the buttons, sliding them free one by one with practiced ease.

billie watches intently, her gaze flickering between your hands and your face, her breathing shallow as the sweater falls open, the fabric slipping from your shoulders to reveal the fitted spaghetti-strap tank beneath. the hem of the top has ridden up slightly, exposing a sliver of your stomach and the tiny diamond piercing that glints in the low light. her eyes darken as they trail upward, lingering on the curve of your breasts peeking over the neckline.

“see?” you murmur, your voice soft and playful as your eyes meet hers. “you just have to be gentle sometimes.” a small, knowing smile tugs at your lips, and for a moment, all the tension eases, replaced by something sweeter, something that feels like an unspoken promise.

billie swallows hard, her lips parting as if to respond, but the words don’t come. instead, her hands move back to your waist, her touch gentler this time, almost reverent as her thumbs trace slow circles against your skin. her chest rises and falls with shallow breaths, her gaze fixed on you like you’re the most captivating thing she’s ever seen.

“i guess,” she mumbles, her voice barely above a whisper before grabbing you once more, pulling you into another kiss. it’s softer this time, slower, but no less intense. your fingers thread through her hair, the strands silky against your fingertips as you accidentally knock the baseball cap from her head. it falls behind you, landing on the comforter with a soft thud.

without breaking the kiss, you reach back blindly, your hand swatting around until your fingers brush against the cap. grasping it, you pull it forward and carefully place it on your own head, twisting the brim backward in one fluid motion. it’s a small gesture, playful and unassuming, but the effect it has on billie is immediate.

her breath catches, a sharp inhale that seems to echo in the quiet room. her hands tighten on your waist, gripping you as though the sight of you in her hat has stolen whatever composure she had left. her lips part, her pupils dark and blown wide with desire as she stares at you like you’ve just set her entire world on fire.

“you… fuck,” she breathes, the words spilling from her lips in a low, shaky exhale. her voice is thick, raw, dripping with something primal, something almost desperate.

you don’t miss the way her hips press into yours, the way her entire body reacts to the simple act of you claiming her cap like it’s yours now. it’s intoxicating, the rush of power and intimacy swirling between you like a storm neither of you can control.

her hands are on you again, roaming your body with renewed urgency as she tugs at your cardigan, sliding it off your shoulders with a rough but measured pull. your undershirt follows shortly after, the fabric soft as it glides over your skin, leaving you in just your bra.

your own hands are anything but idle, sliding beneath the hem of her black-and-white flannel. your nails skim her skin, drawing goosebumps in their wake as you work the shirt off her arms. the flannel slips to the floor in a quiet heap, followed by the white crop top she’s been wearing. the cotton clings briefly before you pull it over her head, her chains catching the light as they fall back into place, swaying gently against her chest.

the air is thick with the weight of the moment as you both stand there, stripped down to bras and pants. the silver of her chains glints with every rise and fall of her chest, her breathing heavy and uneven. the cool metal contrasts sharply against the flushed heat of her skin, a juxtaposition that feels almost poetic.

her hands slide down to your thighs, her palms warm as they press into your skin, urging them apart. her body fits perfectly between them as she lowers herself, her lips returning to your chest. she trails kisses over your collarbone, her mouth soft and deliberate as she works her way downward.

her fingers glide up your torso, slow and steady, until they find the clasp of your bra. with practiced ease, she slides the hooks free, the tension releasing as the straps slip loose around your shoulders. she hooks her index finger beneath the center of the fabric, the touch deliberate and teasing as her lips venture lower, kissing a steady path toward your navel.

your breath hitches as you feel the cool metal of the ring on her finger. it drags down your sternum in a maddeningly slow motion, the chill of it sharp against the warmth of your skin. she pulls the bra along with it, the fabric slipping away to leave you completely exposed.

billie’s lips don’t stop, their pace shifting between urgent and languid as if she’s memorizing every inch of you, leaving no part of you untouched. her hands follow the curve of your body, reverent and hungry all at once, like she’s trying to make up for every second she’s ever spent without you.

“you think it’s cute to play with me like that?” she asks, her voice low and teasing, though the hunger in her tone is unmistakable, wrapping around you like smoke.

you don’t answer right away. instead, you reach down, fingers grazing the cool metal of her chains, the links warm from the heat of her skin. they clink softly as your touch trails lower, over the faint sheen of sweat glistening on her chest, down to the subtle rise and fall of her abs. her muscles tense beneath your fingertips, and you deliberately let your nails drag lightly, just enough to leave a tingling path in their wake.

“i think you love it,” you whisper, your voice soft yet edged with challenge, your lips curling into the faintest smirk as you look up at her.

she doesn’t dignify the statement with words; her response is instant and all-consuming. her lips crash against yours, stealing the breath from your lungs in a kiss so searing it sets every nerve in your body alight. her hands grip your hips with a desperation that makes you dizzy, pulling you into her as if she can’t get close enough. the weight of her body presses against you, grounding you, tethering you to this moment as your fingers slide up into her hair. the strands are soft against your skin, and you give a gentle tug, earning a throaty groan that vibrates against your lips.

“fuck,” she breathes when she finally pulls back, just enough to look at you. her chest heaves as she takes you in—the way your bare chest glows in the soft light, the hat perched on your head backward, your lips kiss-swollen and parted. her blue eyes burn as they trace over you, drinking in every detail like she’s trying to commit it to memory. “you’re so perfect,” she murmurs, her voice raw, almost reverent. “you don’t even know.”

her lips find your neck again, moving with purpose. she lingers at your pulse point, where her teeth graze your skin just hard enough to make you gasp. the sting is fleeting, soothed almost immediately by the warmth of her tongue, and the combination sends a shiver down your spine. your back arches involuntarily, pressing you closer to her as a soft, unbidden moan escapes your lips.

her hands explore you with a sense of ownership, gliding over your body as if she’s mapping you out, committing every curve, every reaction, to memory. her touch is deliberate, possessive yet achingly tender, like she’s determined to make you hers in every possible way.

when her lips descend lower, trailing a line of heated kisses down your neck and over your collarbone, your breath catches. the anticipation is electric, each kiss leaving a spark in its wake until she reaches your chest. she pauses there, her movements slowing as her eyes flick up to meet yours. for a moment, the world stills. the vulnerability in her gaze is raw and unguarded, a quiet question unspoken between you, and your heart stutters in response.

slowly, she leans down, pressing featherlight kisses along the curve of your breast. her lips are soft but purposeful, the contrast making your body hum. when she finally takes your left nipple into her mouth, the warmth of her tongue against your skin sends a sharp jolt of pleasure through you. your gasp is sharp, filling the room, and you feel her smile against you.

her hands knead your thighs as her mouth continues its deliberate exploration, the cool metal of her rings biting into your skin in the most delicious way. she takes her time, savoring every reaction, as if each gasp and whimper from you feeds something deep inside her. every touch, every kiss feels like a promise—silent but unbreakable, binding the two of you together in a way that words never could.

“billie,” you whisper, your voice trembling with need, your left hand pressing against the bed behind you, propping yourself up as your right grips the back of her head, guiding her where you want her.

she hums against your skin, the vibration seeping deep into your bones, a shiver running down your spine like a whisper of fire. “say it again,” she murmurs, her voice dark, smooth, commanding, drawing out every syllable as if it’s a secret just for you.

“mm—billie, baby,” you repeat, louder now, desperate, the words tumbling from your lips like a prayer, and it’s enough to drive her further, spurring her on. her lips continue their slow, relentless descent, teeth grazing, biting in all the right places, leaving marks that will linger into tomorrow. she revels in the thought of you carrying her with you, a part of her left behind even when she isn’t there.

by the time she reaches the apex of your thighs, your body is trembling, every inch of you electrified, breaths coming in short, shallow gasps. billie pauses, her lips brushing against the soft skin just below your hip bone, and you feel the tender press of her breath, her hands gently coaxing your legs wider. she looks up at you, and the sight of you—skin flushed, chest heaving, her cap still perched on your head—makes something fierce stir in her. her voice is low, rough, as she speaks, the words laced with a hunger that matches your own. “sweetheart, you’re everything i’ve ever wanted.”

you’re too far gone to respond, but the way your fingers tighten in her hair, tugging just enough, says everything she needs to hear. her hands knead the inside of your thighs, her touch light, teasing, before she slides your shorts and underwear down in one smooth motion, discarding them carelessly. a sharp gasp slips from you as the cool air brushes against your skin, the dampness of your pussy already betraying your need.

her middle finger hovers over your slit, teasing you just enough, before she presses a kiss just above where you ache for her. the soft, teasing pressure pulls a frustrated whimper from your lips, and billie smirks against your skin, her own desire too fierce to be denied for long. without warning, she gives you exactly what you’ve been begging for.

her lips press against your clit, light, teasing kisses that send shivers through you. then, her tongue darts out, slipping between your folds with a slow, deliberate motion, tasting you. the sensation causes your back to arch, a soft cry escaping your lips as her hands slide down your right leg, propping it over her shoulder, opening you up further. the taste of you, mixed with the soft jangle of your anklets brushing against her ear, makes her moan, the vibrations sinking into your pussy, intensifying the pleasure.

her mouth moves with a rhythm so perfect it feels like she’s made for this, her lips and tongue working together in a dance that makes every nerve in your body hum. your hand drifts down to the side of her face, fingers brushing against her cheek as you tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. she lays her head on the inside of your thigh, leaving one last lingering kiss on your clit before her fingers take their place. her middle finger teases your entrance, slick with your essence, and she spreads it gently through your folds, rubbing you with a slow, sensual rhythm.

the room fills with the sound of your soft cries and her low groans, the air thick with the need building between you. her hands grip your hips, holding you in place as you writhe beneath her, your body trembling with the overwhelming sensation. “my girl’s so pretty…” she murmurs, her voice dripping with lust. “gonna cum for me, mama?”

you nod, the wordless answer spilling from you as you can barely form coherent sentences. “yea—‘m gonna cum—fuck…”

“yeah?” she teases, her voice thick with pleasure, as she removes her fingers from you, making you whine in frustration. but she’s quick, taking her middle and index fingers—both slick with you—and tapping them lightly against your clit before thrusting them inside. your eyes roll back, the sensation overwhelming, and you shut them tightly as a moan rips from your throat. the cold metal of her rings against your skin, the sight of her inked angels curling around her fingers, is enough to make you gush, your body trembling beneath her touch.

“uht uht gotta look at me, baby.” her words are hot against your thigh as she pumps her fingers inside you, your cum dripping down onto her digits. you struggle to open your eyes, the pleasure so intense it makes it hard to focus, but when you do, you meet her gaze—her blue eyes darkened with lust, locked on yours through the fluttering of her thick lashes, her stare searing into you with an intensity that makes everything else fade away.

your hands reach to the back of her neck, fingers trembling as you try to pull her face back to your cunt, guiding her with the desperate urgency building in your chest. billie doesn’t hesitate, her fingers curling inside you, flexing in a ‘come here’ motion, and the sensation makes you moan once more, a string of curse words tumbling from your lips, breathless and broken.

without missing a beat, she places her mouth back on you, her tongue lapping at your juices in long, slow strokes, her fingers moving in tandem, creating a rhythm so perfect it threatens to unravel you completely. each movement sends waves of pleasure crashing through you, the euphoric feeling almost too much to bear. your hands scramble for something to hold onto, your fingers desperately clawing at her skin as you start to break, your body trembling under her touch.

your release comes like a tidal wave, crashing over you with such intensity it leaves you gasping, your body shaking as billie fucks you through it, her steady pace never faltering. “my sweet girl, doing so good for me,” she murmurs, her voice low and possessive as her mouth pulls away from you. you watch, breathless, as the taste of you drips from her chin, glistening in the dim light like a mark of ownership.

but she doesn’t stop, not until you’re completely done. her fingers remain inside you, caressing you softly through the lingering tremors, her touch almost reverent as you come down from your high. through hazy eyes, you watch her lift her fingers to her lips, her tongue darting out to taste you, her eyes fluttering closed as she moans softly at the sensation, savoring the taste of you like it’s the most exquisite thing she’s ever experienced.

billie watches you as you slowly return to yourself, your body still trembling lightly, chest heaving with each shallow breath. the sight of you—flushed, glistening with sweat, her hat still perched on your head, tilted just enough to give you an air of control—makes her heart race in her chest. she swears she could combust from the sheer magnetism of you, the power in your presence, the way you hold her with just a glance.

you catch your breath, a lazy smile curling on your lips as you gaze down at her, fingers trailing lightly over the smoothness of her neck before you grasp the chains, tugging her up until your faces are barely inches apart. “your turn,” you murmur, your voice low, thick with desire. the words send a shock straight through her, and she swallows hard, nodding with a hunger that matches your own as you push her back onto the bed.

billie’s breath hitches as you straddle her hips, her hands instinctively finding purchase on your thighs, gripping them with a tenderness laced with urgency. the weight of you on top of her, combined with the dark intensity in your eyes, ignites something deep within her, setting her whole body on fire. you lean down, your gold necklace glinting between you, and let your lips trail along her jaw, kissing her in a slow, teasing rhythm that makes her shiver beneath you.

“keep the hat on,” she breathes, her voice trembling, breaking slightly as anticipation clouds her every word. “please.”

you smirk against her skin, the corners of your lips curling with a mixture of mischief and adoration. your fingers graze over the silver chains around her neck, following their curve before sliding lower. her bra clings to her, damp with sweat, and you take your time peeling it off, savoring each moment, each inch of skin exposed to you. her breasts, her toned stomach, the glint of her belly piercing, all draw you in. billie groans when your nails trace lightly over her nipples, a shudder running through her before your hands travel lower, gliding over her abs, the sensation making her grip your thighs tighter.

“you’re so beautiful,” you murmur, voice thick with awe, your fingers brushing delicately over the piercing. you dip your head, placing a kiss right above it, before trailing your lips back up her chest. billie lets out a soft curse when your mouth finds her skin, kissing and nipping along her collarbone, your lips moving with reverence as your hands roam across her body.

the rings on her fingers clink softly as she grips the sheets beneath her, trying to stay grounded, but it’s impossible when your nails graze her chest, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake, or when the ink on your skin brushes against hers, creating an electric contrast to the softness of your lips. her head tilts back, a low moan escaping her, your name falling from her lips like a whispered prayer as you continue to worship her, exploring every inch of her with maddening focus, leaving no part of her untouched.

and then you lean back slightly, hands settling on the waistband of her jeans, your gaze locking with hers in a silent question. billie nods quickly, lifting her hips to help you slide them down. the sight of her—bare, vulnerable, completely at your mercy—makes your heart race in anticipation.

your fingers trace the contours of her tattoos as you kiss your way down her body, moving with purpose, savoring every sound she makes, every tremble of her muscles beneath your touch. your nails brush lightly over the dragon inked into her skin, a sensation that sends a shiver through her, while your tongue lingers on the cursive “hit me hard & soft” tattoo, tasting her, each movement slow and deliberate.

when your lips finally reach her most sensitive spot, billie’s back arches off the bed, a low groan escaping her as her hands fly to grip your hair. her movements falter when she sees you—hat still perched confidently on your head—looking up at her like this, all control and hunger in your eyes.

“jesus christ,” she groans, her voice breaking, the words barely coherent. “you’re gonna kill me.”

the sound of her surrender only spurs you on. you let your nails trail lightly up and down her thighs, teasing her, your touch languid and calculated. with a satisfied smile, you pull back, a thin string of her slickness attaching itself to your lips. billie watches, her eyes hazy but still alert, brows furrowed slightly in confusion. you shake your head gently, crawling back to her, your lips capturing hers in a kiss, letting her taste herself on your tongue.

a moan slips from her as she savors the moment, her hands pulling you closer. you shift your position, straddling her, grinding your body against hers as you break the kiss to adjust the cap on your head, the motion subtle but commanding.

a small, playful smile spreads across your face, a light laugh escaping you as you take her in, her face glistening with your essence. her eyes, clouded with desire, wander over you as you hover above her, your lips bending down to nibble and lick at the skin of her neck. your bodies align, a slow and deliberate grind causing a wet, audible sound as your slickness meets hers, the sensation of your clits kissing sending electric shocks through both of you.

billie’s hands leave the sheets, finding purchase on your body, one hand cradling the back of your neck, the other skimming the curve of your back as you move against her, slow and deliberate, savoring the intimacy of each motion. each shift sends a jolt of electricity through both of you, the friction of your bodies igniting a deeper craving with every passing second.

the pressure builds, subtle but undeniable, as your clits brush against one another. the sensation is intoxicating, the heat of her body against yours becoming a drug you can’t get enough of. her fingers slip into your hair, gripping the roots, tugging gently to pull you from the sensitive spot on her neck, forcing your gaze to meet hers.

you whine softly, your eyes fluttering closed as you try to focus, the sensation of her pussy against yours overwhelming you. the feeling of her so close, so perfect against you, makes you ache, your body begging for more, even as you’re already on the edge of losing control.

“i need you to look at me,” billie breathes, her voice a soft plea, but you’re too consumed by the rush of sensation to fully register her words. your body is a storm of fire and need, and it’s all you can do to hold on.

she tugs your hair again, harder this time, and the sharp pull makes your eyes snap open, catching the intensity in her gaze.

“there she is,” she murmurs, her voice low and husky, “need my pretty baby to look at me, okay?” the words break through the haze of pleasure, and you nod, your breath coming in short gasps, teetering on the edge of your release.

“oh… billie…” your voice trails off into a soft whimper, your body trembling under the weight of it all.

“i know, mama, come on. cum for me sweet girl” she coos, her hands moving with purpose now, one finding the side of your throat, the other gripping your hips, guiding your movements with steady pressure. the cool metal of her rings presses against your skin, a sharp contrast to the heat flooding your body. her tatted hand caresses your neck, her thumb gliding along your jugular, a rhythm that mirrors the frantic beat of your pulse, squeezing lightly every so often, grounding you in the moment, urging you closer to the edge.

both of your moans grow louder, more desperate, the sound thick with need and the pull of release. your movements are rhythmic, steady, as you bring her closer and closer to the edge, her rings catching the dim, sultry light with each twist of her wrists.

and when she finally falls apart, her body goes rigid, every muscle tense, before she lets out a long, drawn-out cry, her release crashing over her in waves. you don’t stop. your hips rock back and forth, chasing your own high, each thrust a mix of need and pleasure, the sensation of overstimulating her clit pushing you further. her name spills from your lips like a prayer, each syllable a whisper of devotion, and you feel yourself unravel, your own release flooding over her, warm and consuming.

when billie finally collapses back against the pillows, her body trembling beneath you, she pulls you with her, your weight sinking into her as her chest rises and falls in uneven breaths. her hair sticks to her damp forehead, but the dazed expression in her eyes quickly melts into one of pure adoration. the softness in her gaze is all-consuming, making you feel like you’re both in this space where time has stopped.

you sigh, your chest still heaving as you bury your face into the crook of her neck, the cap brushing gently against her jaw. her fingers find their way to your back, scratching lightly, grounding you as you try to catch your breath. your fingers trace shapes over her collarbone, the coolness of the chains brushing against your fingertips, dragging them back and forth.

her touch sends a tremor through you, and as she turns her head to press a soft kiss to your forehead, you feel anchored, her love a steady force that calms you. she holds you close, and for a moment, everything else fades.

you smile softly, brushing a strand of damp hair from her face, the motion tender. “you okay?” you murmur, your voice gentle as your fingers trail down her cheek, the warmth of her skin grounding you.

you roll yourself over, your body shifting to settle against hers, your chin resting on her chest. the soft rhythm of her heartbeat lulls you, a soothing pulse against your skin. your fingers graze the sides of her neck, the touch absentminded but intimate, each stroke of your nails a quiet reassurance, offering comfort in the stillness.

she nods, a lazy smile tugging at her lips, her hair tousled, sticking up in places, a wild mess of strands framing her face. her blue eyes are still hazy, but they sparkle with adoration, that soft, tender look that makes your chest ache. “more than okay,” she whispers, her voice a quiet murmur, as though she’s still lost in the moment. “you?”

“never better,” you reply, your voice low and warm, bringing her down for a gentle kiss, your movements slower now, more deliberate. your hands cup the sides of her face, your thumb brushing gently over her lips as you try to erase the remnants of the passion you shared, as if it could all be wiped away with the lightest of touches.

a hearty chuckle bubbles up from her throat, the sound rich and warm, filling the space between you. the vibrations of her laughter send a current of heat through your body, and you fight your own smile, not quite managing to keep it at bay. “stop laughing at me,” you say, your voice a teasing whisper, though it holds no true reprimand. “you’re so pretty…” you trail off, your thumbs now wandering over the delicate curves of her face, brushing over her smooth skin, memorizing every inch of her softness. her eyes follow your movements, wide and full of affection.

“oh, is that why you were screaming like that?” she teases, her voice playful, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. your smile falters, and you stare at her, blinking, trying to process her words. the playful shift catches you off guard, and in an instant, you quickly remove your hands from her face, sitting up sharply.

“okay, cause see, now you ruined the moment,” you grumble, but there’s no true bite to it. you can’t suppress the giggle that rises in your chest as she laughs. her arms wrap around your waist, pulling you back toward her, her fingers locking behind you, caging you in, and you instinctively grab onto her biceps, the muscles flexing slightly under your touch. you steady yourself, feeling the solid warmth of her, the strength beneath the softness.

“you were all like, ‘oh billie, please—fuck me.’ ” she fake moans, her voice high and exaggerated. your eyes roll back, and you can’t help but laugh at her poor attempt to mimic you, the mockery both endearing and ridiculous.

“oh, shut up! i was not. besides, don’t act like you weren’t worse. as if you weren’t loving it,” you retort, your tone playful but full of truth. you jab a manicured nail lightly into her chest, the sharp point making her flinch slightly, before you press the flat back of the chains against her sternum, the cool metal a contrast to the warmth between you.

“i wasn’t, it was mid. i’d rate it a 7.5,” she says, her shoulders lifting in a lazy shrug, a teasing smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. the glint in her eyes tells you she’s just playing, enjoying the way your attention sharpens on her every word.

your eyes widen in exaggerated shock, and you lift the cap off your head, fingers brushing against the brim that’s now facing backward. you point to your hair, the strands sticking up in all directions, messy and unkempt. “so who did all of this? hm? baby, tell me?” you tease, your voice soft but full of challenge.

she licks her lips, the slow motion of it drawing your gaze, and her eyes flutter closed briefly as she takes in the way the nickname rolls so easily from your tongue. “i don’t know, but it definitely wasn’t me,” she says with a playful tilt of her head.

“it wasn’t you? okay, bet.” you place the cap next to you, feeling a small sense of humor bubble up. leaning down, your body hovers halfway over hers, your arms stretching out to the side to grab whatever article of clothing you can find. you return with her plaid button-up in hand, the fabric soft in your fingers as you shrug it on, its warm scent wrapping around you like a reminder of her.

“what are you doing?” she asks, eyes following your every move, her fingers instinctively tightening around your waist. it’s a subtle sign, but one that doesn’t escape you—she doesn’t want you to leave.

“i’m taking my 7.5 ass somewhere else,” you say with a grin, your voice light but purposeful. you reach behind you, trying to unlock her hands, but she holds tight, not giving an inch. “…girl… the fuck—let go of me, you heathen.” you tug once more, and with a small sigh, she releases her grip, though you can feel the reluctance in the gesture.

billie groans dramatically, flopping back against the pillows with a hand draped over her face, hiding from you as if the drama of it all could somehow shield her. you laugh, grabbing the cap and tossing it playfully at her, the hat landing perfectly on her face, obscuring her vision of you. with a last glance, you rise to your feet, your body lingering in the moment, letting the warmth between you both settle before you finally make your way to the door.

she sighs contentedly as she removes the hat from her face, knocking it lightly to the side before pulling your comforter around her. the soft, plush fabric wraps her up like a cocoon, the weight of it a comforting embrace. her head sinks into the fluffy pillows, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she reaches out, grabbing the remote on your dresser. with a quick click, the tv flickers to life, a random cartoon playing softly in the background.

time passes slowly, the quiet moments stretching on, and soon enough, she realizes you still haven’t returned. “babe!” she calls out, but there’s no reply. she calls your name again, louder this time, her voice cutting through the stillness of the room as she waits for you to respond.

“no, billie! leave me alone,” you drag your words, the irritation clear but fake, she can tell. a grin plays at the corners of her lips.

“hurry uuuup,” she mutters, her voice muffled by the pillows as she rolls over onto her stomach, pressing her face into the softness. the fabric feels cool and feathery against her skin, and she closes her eyes, letting herself drift for a moment.

she senses you walking back into the room before she hears the jangle of your anklets, the soft sound alerting her to your presence. the quiet clattering of objects against your nightstand follows, the rhythm familiar, like a soft heartbeat in the background. she hears you move toward the bathroom, the water running as you clean yourself off, and then the sound of drawers opening.

after a moment, you walk over to your dresser, the creak of the wood under your fingers as you grab a fresh pair of underwear and bottoms for yourself. she can hear the rustle of fabric as you grab the same for her, along with a black wife-beater tee she had left over a while ago, the soft cotton now carrying your scent, familiar and comforting. it makes her smile softly to herself, the mundane moments with you somehow making everything feel right.

shuffling over to the bed, your hand traces the curve of billie’s back, fingertips brushing against the inked lines etched into her skin, the swirls of tattoos a story in themselves. your nails leave a faint trail, and the goosebumps that rise on her bare skin are a silent response to your touch. the warmth of the rag in your hand contrasts with the coolness of her skin as you gently lift her face, tilting it just enough so she faces you. the rag meets her face with a light dab, and she sighs softly, the heat from the cloth making her eyelids flutter closed in contentment. you’re careful, gentle, as you wipe away any remnants of the moment that clung to her skin.

when you’re finished, your thumbs move to her cheeks, coaxing her eyes open slowly, her gaze still soft and clouded with affection. they find yours, blinking a few times before she’s fully focused, the warm affection clear in her eyes.

“roll over,” you murmur, voice soft, coaxing, and she responds with a low whine, reluctant but not unwilling.

“billie, move. i need you to roll over,” you say again, your voice taking on a slight edge as your fingers slide from her back to her stomach, gently pressing against her ribs. with a soft grumble, she shifts, her body moving slowly, obediently. you reach for the covers, pulling them down her legs with delicate precision. the fabric slides like silk under your hands, and you move the rag to a new spot, gently wiping any trace of slickness from her skin.

you close her legs softly, your touch lingering for a moment as you toss the rag aside. your hands move to her arms, guiding her to sit up, your fingers brushing over the smoothness of her skin, trailing down her arms like a whispered promise. you hand her the clothes with a soft gesture, the fabric cool to the touch.

billie looks at the clothes for a long moment, her expression thoughtful, before her gaze shifts back to you. you’re already standing, dressing yourself with slow, deliberate movements, and with a sigh, she does the same, pulling the clothes on with the same quiet grace. there’s a calmness in the air, a quiet intimacy shared between you both.

turning around, you move toward your desk, the sound of your footsteps barely audible against the soft hum of the room. you grab her signature blue water bottle and your own, the cool plastic in your hands a brief contrast to the warmth still lingering between you both. a charcuterie board filled with light snacks follows, the delicate arrangement of cheeses, fruit, and crackers a comforting touch. you place them carefully on the nightstand, the soft click of the items settling on the wood the only sound that breaks the silence.

stepping in front of billie, you watch her as she works the tee over her shoulders, the fabric sliding smoothly against her skin. her fingers move to adjust the chains, making sure they lay perfectly over her shirt. she does the same for you, her fingers brushing the sensitive skin of your neck as she tugs at the necklace, positioning it just right over your collarbone. the gentle touch makes your pulse quicken, though she’s unaware of the effect she has on you in this moment.

“thank you,” she whispers, her voice soft and full of affection. she presses a quick, tender kiss to your lips, her fingers slipping between yours, the warmth of her hand settling against yours like it belongs there.

you lean down, grabbing her jug off the sleek nightstand, handing it to her with a soft, knowing smile. “of course. now drink up,” you say, the words light but the meaning behind them deeper than either of you can put into words.

billie raises an eyebrow, a playful glint in her eyes. her lips twitch, pulling into a mischievous smirk. “bossy,” she teases, her voice a soft lilt.

“okay, and?” you challenge, a small grin tugging at your lips as you meet her gaze. the look you give her is enough to make her snicker, the sound light and carefree, filling the space between you. she takes the bottle from your hand, her fingers brushing over yours before she lifts it to her lips.

she drinks slowly, her throat moving in rhythmic swallows. you can’t help but watch, entranced by the sight of her. when she pulls the straw from her lips, she suddenly collapses back onto the bed, dragging you along with her, the movement fluid and easy. your head falls against her chest, the steady beat of her heart like a comforting lullaby. her hand rests against your side, moving slowly up and down, tracing patterns on your skin that send a shiver through your body, just as it did earlier. the intimacy of the moment is overwhelming, soft and warm like the glow of the room around you both.

“aww, you made a little charcuterie. you’re so cute.” she says, her voice softer now, the teasing lightness replaced with something deeper, more affectionate. she looks down at you, her eyes warm with tenderness. you shy away, half-laughing, as she peppers kisses all over your face, each one a little sweeter than the last. “oh my god, billie, why are you like this?” you mutter, half-embarrassed, but the affection in your voice betrays you.

she pulls back, her gaze never leaving yours, filled with nothing short of adoration. you can’t help but notice the way the soft light catches in her eyes, making everything around you feel like it’s fading away. it’s just her and you, in this moment.

you meet her gaze, your heart doing that stupid little flutter thing it always does when she looks at you like this, when she makes you feel like you’re the only thing in the world that matters to her. “because, i love you,” she says softly, the words falling from her lips like they’ve been waiting to be spoken for so long.

a bashful smile weaves itself onto your lips as you bury yourself further into the warmth of your bed, the soft sheets and blankets wrapping around you like a cocoon. “i love you too,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper, but it holds everything — all the things you’ve never had the words to say.

billie smiles, her expression softening even further as she leans forward, the distance between you vanishing in an instant. her lips press against yours, slow and tender, the kind of kiss that says everything words can’t. it’s a promise, a reassurance, and in that single moment, you both know exactly how much you mean to each other without needing to say another word.

the two of you drift off slowly back into your normal routine, wrapped up in each other, the space between you shrinking with each passing moment. you pick at the snack tray, the small, comforting bites feeling like nothing more than an excuse to keep touching, to keep sharing this quiet space. conversations flow easily, from the silliest of things — the kind of random banter that only you two could share — to deeper thoughts that weave between the cracks of the mundane. there’s a moment when the two of you spill tea about the latest gossip, laughing so hard your sides ache, but even in those lighter moments, there’s something grounding in the way you fit together.

the earlier passion, still lingering like a sweet ache in your bones, gives way to something quieter, more intimate. the heat fades, leaving room for a tenderness that wraps around both of you like a soft blanket. the love you share, now resting in this peaceful space, is just as powerful, but it moves with the calm of a river, flowing beneath the surface, steady and unshakeable.

this, you think, as she holds you close, her breath warm against your skin, the rhythmic pulse of her heartbeat a lullaby in your ear — this is what home feels like.

astrc’s tag list: @zendayasredbottoms @bilsdillldough @billiesrighthand @watercolorskyy ; hit my asks saying “add to taglist” if you want to be on my regular taglist for all billie content!

[cursed-rat-of-homosexuality]

Okay so uhhh... visions came upon me and this was the result lol

Based on this absolute atrocity (affectionate... kind of)

[ID: A fourteen panel comic done in grayscale based on a Twitter thread from David Jenkins.

First panel: Neil Gaiman is surrounded by a crowd of fans, a bright spotlight is shining on top of him. One of the fans points a microphone in his direction and says "Mr. Gaiman! How would describe season two using only three words?"

Second panel: A close up shot of Neil, he smiles and says "Uhh... I'd say it's quiet, gentle, and romantic". "Romantic" is written in a flourished cursive font. There are little floating red hearts surrounding him.

Third panel: A shot of the crowd of fans saying "Awww" in unison, there are little hearts floating around. They find it adorable.

Fourth panel: A black screen titled "At David Jenkins' Twitter"

Fith panel: David Jenkins is sitting in table far away from the point of view, at the center of the image, a spotlight is shining on top of him. There is a crowd of fans forming a semi-circle around him, they are squished against one another, stoping at the little fence that is surrounding the table . A fan standing near the front says " I LOVE U... three words to describe season 2?"

Sixth panel: A close up shot of David Jenkins, he is sitting with both elbows proped up on the table, supporting his head with his hands. The harsh light is shining in on him, he looks serious and solemn. His head is tilted down but his eyes are looking directly at the camera, the whites of his eyes make a stark contrast against his shadowed figure. He says " Fucking sweet...".

Seventh panel: The shot is arranged in the same way as in fifth panel. David Jenkins is far away, sitting at his table , the fans are surrouding him in a semi-circle. The fan near the front replies "Give us one more word David"

Eight panel: A huge shock wave tilts the crowd back. All lights are out, except for the spotlight shining in on David Jenkins. David's arms are unnaturally elongated in a spider-like way, fiercely gripping the table with both hands.

Ninth panel: David lauches into the crowd. The point of view remains the same, but now his head is extremely close up the camera. He emphatically says "FUCKING"

Tenth panel: The scene is seen from the side, now we can see that David still remains sitting at his table, but his neck is extended in a long unnatural arch. He is directly looking at the fan from before, his head on top of them. The fan still has the microphone poiting in David's direction. A new spotlight is shining in on both of them. David says, "SWEET"

Eleventh panel: A close up shot of the crowd. The camera lies a little ways below David's head, only the bottom of it is visible. We see that the fan with the microphone is crouched and almost completely tilted back. The fan is looking directly at Jenkins. The crowd continues squished together, watching intently with shocked faces. David continues, saying "YOU"

Thirteenth panel: The shot is arranged in the same way as in the previous panel. David continues, saying "SLUTS". The letters are written in an emboldened font. The crowd is completely shocked, but also weirdly flattered, all of them are blushing.

Fourteenth panel: David Jenkins goes back to sitting at his table, in a movement similar to a metal spring coiling up again after being streched out. He is sitting far away from the camera, at the center of the image. The fans forming a semi-circle around him. They continue blushing, with some assorted murmurs of bafflement as in "oh my god", "dude what" and "why". /END ID]

[emoboybrony]

Ill admit ive never been that into laurence (any his variations really) but something has been really bothering me since rewatching parts of MCD.

What really caught my attention about MCD Laurence is that he starts out as this well adjusted, loyal knightly and charming guy- and then after he becomes a shadow knight you just see this slow decay of him. Like hes slowly losing parts of himself and its causing him to become more and more unstable to the point where by the end of season 2 hes honestly kind of terrfying.

And ALOT of that is reflected with how his relationship with aphmau starts to shift. He goes from this sweet, suave and honestly pretty silly personality, to being so obsessive and vindictive towards her.

Theres this one scene, at the end of ep 95 S2, where aphmau has just essentially seen a ghostly image of aaron and is really shaken up by it. Laurence comes to sit with her and ask her about it. And at first, it genuinely seems like hes just trying to get her to open up so he can support her. But then it quickly spirals into him demanding to know why she cares about aaron so much and why shes greiving so hard for him, like its a problem. He becomes so aggressive and condensending to the point where Garroth has to intervene and he walks off.

In this moment you see how far hes really fallen, he goes from semingly reasuring and gentle, and by the end of it hes disrepecting a dead man, who gave his life to save both his brother and supposed love of his life, who he travelled and fought along side with for months, who close to the end of his life was taking care of an orphan (something he comlimented in aphmau), and hes thowing all of that out the window because hes taken Aphmau's attention, due to the fact he fucking died.

After that happens, aphmau has a conversation woth vlyad where he basically tells her that laurence has to accept what he is and go to the nether or else hes gonna go insane, and that the only reason he came back is because hes "chasing a fantasy". Aphmau responds by suggesting they get cadenza over so that he can be with family, and vlyad says she can do what she wants but implies its pretty much inevitable that laurence is going to hit a breaking point. And hes completely right.

Before laurence even gets to speak to cadenza, he eavesdrops on the conversation where aphamu reveals shes pregnant, and just immediately peaces out, out of fear that hes going to MURDER HER.

Not to mention that in that conversation, cadenza herself tells aphmau not to tell laurence because shes scared of how he would react. He has gotten so unstable that his own sister, who loves him more than anything, can recognise that he is a danger to some degree and shes RIGHT.

All this paints a stark contrast, the laurence we first met vs the man he has now become. Its tragic because its this inevitable downfall brought on by an act that was completely selfless, him sacrificing himself that got him turned into a shadow knight in the first place.

Even this is eventually tainted, his selfless act becomes a selfish one as he seems to cling to aphmau's love and affection as an emotional crutch. Aphmau obviously loves and cares for him deeply, but not in an explicitly romantic/sexual way. And if she doesnt love him the way he wants, then why is he suffering through this? Why did he bother to sacrafice himself at all if theres no reward? Its honestly horrifying how pretty much everyone who loved and respected him, makes what should be incredibly out of place predictions on him, but they always end up being right except for aphmau. She cant accept that hes changing and theres nothing she or anyone else can do change that. Its gut wrenching.

This all lead me to beileve that i didnt give enough credit to his character. I love this. This is the type off tragic story telling im here for. Theres so much more to this character than i ever expected.

Heres the thing.

Why the fuck do laurence's biggest fans seem to just completely disregard this? If you believed a good portion of the fandom, laurence is just this sauve uwu sad boy who was unfairly rejected and ignored by a woman who demamded the world from him.

Im dead serious, i saw people saying that laurence "deserved better than aphmau", that he deserved someone who recognised the sacrafice he made. Which like- there is so much to unpack there.

First of all, aphmau did recognise his sacrafice, she did love him and try to support him in the best way she could, even when literally everyone around her was saying it was a lost cause. She did everything she could for that man and forgave so much of what he did while struggling with the calling and she got nothing but shit for it.

Second of all, no the fuck he doesnt?? As illustrated in the examples above he did not respect Aphmau's boundaries. He did not respect her feelings. And by the end, he didnt even respect her bodily autonomy. Lets be honest here, he basically abandoned everyone he apprantly "loved", because bro tapped it before he could. She loved him so much, but because he wanted something she wasnt willing or able to provide, that being explicitly romantic and sexual attention, he just didnt see it. To try and argue that hes the real victim here, is in the same vain of "nice guys finish last". Him being kind, compassionate and selfless- shouldnt be reliant on whether or not this woman will fuck him or not. That is an insanely misogynistic way of thinking.

But most important to me in the context of this analysis- what is there to like about laurence with this interpretation? What possibly sets him apart from the gazillion other brunette pretty anime bois? Am i to gay for this? Is there something im not seeing?

I understand fanon can wildly divert from canon, and i understand that alot of this is probably down to the fact that i find dissecting and critiquing canon more intresting than reinventing it through fanon. Im locked into the Baldurs gate 3 fandom and i had the same experience there (laurence fangirls got NOTHING on Astarion girlies). But both experiences have left me with the same question- what draws you to a character, when all you do is boil them down to their most generic aspects?

I find Laurence intresting cause we are seeing this man crash out and become a monster in real time. And i dont see how he is worth even an honourable mention, when you take that away.

What is there left to be compelled to?

[voidbunnyxo]

Trigger Warning:

This piece contains explicit sexual content (18+), established relationship, domestic fluff meets filthy smut soft dom dynamics, overstimulation, comfort and chaos, rough/soft contrast, mutual desperation, praise kink, and unprotected sex. Minors GO AWAY!

Reader discretion is advised.

Quiet, Love — The Game’s Still On

Pairing: Ghost x Soap x Reader (Bunny)

The flat was warm with the scent of clean sheets and skin, lit only by the soft flicker of the telly. Football commentary murmured through the room, half-muted, like background noise to a memory being made in real time.

Johnny lay lengthwise on the bed, one leg hanging off the edge, still a little damp from his shower. A beer rested on the nightstand, untouched. His eyes flicked between the match and the woman perched between them — you — crawling across the sheets in one of his old shirts, hem brushing the tops of your thighs.

Simon sat up against the headboard, a book forgotten in his lap, shadowed eyes trailing your every move. His mask was off — a rare comfort — mouth twitching with something unreadable as you slowly, shamelessly straddled him.

“Bored already, Bunny?” he murmured, low and rough. “Game’s not even halfway over.”

You smiled sweetly. “Not my game.”

Johnny snorted from the side. “Course it’s not. You come in here wigglin’ like that and expect us to focus?”

“I didn’t say that.” You shifted, grinding just enough to make Simon grunt. “But you could’ve said please.”

Simon’s hands locked around your waist in one smooth movement. “Don’t push it.”

“You want her to stop?” Johnny asked, voice a teasing lilt. “’Cause I sure as fuck don’t.”

You leaned forward, kissing Simon’s jaw, hips rolling lazily. His cock was already thick and hot beneath you, sweat just starting to bead at his temples.

“Thought you were relaxing,” you whispered against his neck.

“Hard to relax when you’re sittin’ there drippin’ all over me, love.”

Johnny’s eyes never left you. He stroked himself absently under the blanket, beer forgotten, breathing a little heavier now.

“Go on then, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Ride him. Nice and slow. I’ll wait my turn.”

You bit your lip and reached down, guiding Simon into you with practiced ease. He filled you in one slow thrust, thick and deep, making your spine arch and your lips part with a gasp. His hands tightened — not enough to bruise, but close.

“There she goes,” Simon muttered, voice almost reverent. “Always so fuckin’ warm for me.”

You started moving — long, slow rolls of your hips, using his chest for leverage, keeping your pace steady. You wanted to take your time. Let them feel how much you missed them.

Missed this.

From the corner of your eye, you watched Johnny fist his cock harder now, breath catching every time your moan slipped past your lips. His thighs twitched. His jaw clenched. He looked almost angry with how much he wanted you.

“You’re fuckin’ killing me, Bunny,” he growled.

“Not yet.”

Simon grabbed your chin, dragging your gaze back to him. “Focus, love. You’ll get his cock when I say you’re done with mine.”

That edge in his voice — cold and possessive — made you whimper.

The rhythm deepened. Simon’s hips began to rise into yours, catching just right, hitting that perfect spot that made your vision blur.

“Look at you,” Johnny groaned. “So fuckin’ pretty when you’re full.”

You could barely speak now. Each thrust sent another wave through your body, fire coiling tighter and tighter in your core.

Simon leaned close, voice ragged. “Come for me, Bunny. Do it with him watching.”

That broke you.

Your climax hit in crashing waves, thighs trembling, cries muffled against Simon’s shoulder. He groaned low, deep, spilling inside you with a brutal snap of his hips.

You collapsed forward, panting, skin slick with sweat and love and everything in between.

And before you even had time to catch your breath—

“Up,” Johnny said, voice tight. “My fuckin’ turn.”

Simon chuckled, smoothing your hair. “Still want more?”

“She always does,” Johnny said, pulling you off Simon like you weighed nothing. “Don’t you, Bunny?”

You nodded weakly, still pulsing between your legs.

Johnny laid you on your back, spread your thighs, and shoved into you with a growl.

“Fuckin’ ruined,” he hissed. “So wet it’s drippin’ outta you.”

Your back arched again, tears stinging your eyes at the overstimulation. You wanted to say stop — but your body was begging for more. And they knew it.

Simon lay beside you, stroking your face, whispering sweet nothings while Johnny fucked you like he was trying to brand himself into your skin.

“You’re alright,” Simon murmured. “You’re doin’ so good, love.”

Johnny was rougher — one hand around your throat, the other digging into your hip as he took what he needed.

“Mine,” he muttered against your ear. “You and that tight little cunt. Fuckin’ mine.”

You came again — sudden, blinding — muscles spasming as Johnny finally followed, groaning into your neck as he filled you to the brim.

Silence fell like snow.

Only the TV spoke now. Some forgotten match still going. A player fumbled. A groan from the crowd.

Johnny rolled off you, chest heaving.

Simon pulled you close, wiping the tears from your cheeks, kissing your temple. “You alright, Bunny?”

You nodded, blinking slowly. “Just… full.”

They laughed, and Johnny pulled you in too, big arm tossing over your waist like a weighted blanket.

“Next time, we turn the game off,” Johnny mumbled.

Simon hummed. “No. Let her earn it.”

You drifted off between them, sore and satisfied, the warmth of love and sin stitched into your bones.

And when they reached for you again later — because they would — you’d let them.

Don’t be a loser and steal my work. Thanks. 🐰💚

[jungkooklover777]

𝐹𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝐹𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑦 ; robert “bob” reynolds

| one-shot |

summary: y/n, meet bob. bob, meet y/n.

pairing: fem!reader x bob (platonic) + avenger!reader x bob (platonic) + asgardian!reader x bob (platonic).

trope: found family (duh) + potential friends.

genre: fluff + slight angst + comedy.

warnings‼️: crude language + tall!reader (a little over 5’8) + spoilers!

word count: 1,756.

random disclaimerrr: reader is 19 & thor’s daughter. watched this masterpiece of a film 2 days ago & holy peak. truly peak. absolute peak cinema. happy reading! ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ ♡ © 2025 @jungkooklover777

“Oh, hey! You’re here.” Bucky says as he watches you fly through the open balcony.

“Perfect timing.” Ava comments as your armor melts back into your skin, revealing your original outfit.

“So fucking cool.” She softly says in awe.

“Right? It’s also super convenient.” John crosses his arms, watching you switch back into civilian mode so languidly.

You lay your sword on the side of the coffee table in front of the couch, plopping down on it with a heavy sigh.

“Wait, what’s going on?” Bob asks, confused by the random spark of commotion.

“Y/n is here?” Yelena pokes her head out of the pantry, eyeing your exhausted head tipped back on the headrest with your eyes closed.

Bucky hands you a water bottle and smiles when you sense him.

You open your eyes to look up at him.

“Good to see you, kid.” His voice smooth and steely blue eyes kind.

“Thanks, you too.” You say as you accept the cool drink.

You, Thor, Loki, Scott, Hope, Cassie, Valkyrie, and Carol were off-world fighting an intergalactic enemy when The Void almost took all of New York into the shadow realm.

You just got back from the grueling trip a day ago.

“Well, well, well. It is the younger Asgardian.” Alexie affectionately pats your head.

You chuckle softly at the old santa’s loving actions.

“Where’s your dad?” Bucky’s eyes wander out the balcony when he hears silent noise following you.

“He’s getting beers with Valkyrie, he’ll join us later.”

You give a quick side-hug to Yelena and a crisp high-five to Ava when John straightens his back, expecting a welcome as well.

You walk straight ahead, not meaning to ignore him but step back and look to the side in surprise.

Your head snaps from him to Bucky, from Bucky to him and back. You blink rapidly, pointing a finger up at him and ask, “What’s he doing here?”.

You can’t help how you sound.

“Oh. He's, uhh… part of the team now.” Bucky shrugs.

You don't say anything but your face does. Bruh y'all couldn't find anyone else?

“He'll catch on fire if you stare at him any longer.” Ava says behind an amused smile.

“No, wait! Keep staring! I am recording just in case.” Alexie gives you a big thumbs up and is recording on an older version of the iPhone that’s not surprisingly cracked.

How he got ahold of technology before Steve is beyond you.

“I'm literally standing right here.” John says in disbelief.

“Almost as if that is the whole fucking point, genius.” Yelena rolls her eyes and scoffs as she goes back into the pantry.

Bob is still confused but he has to admit, it's entertaining seeing everyone vouch for you.

He senses a great power in you, one that may very well rival his own.

You look oddly familiar but he can't place his finger on it. Where have I seen you before?

“Oh, before I forget.” Bucky moves aside so you can meet the new guy.

“Y/n, this is Bob.”

He extends his metal arm out to the fresh set of new eyes and they're wide in curiosity.

You put your hand up and wave, giving the new addition to the team your best welcome. “Hi, nice to meet you.”

He now has a full view of you.

You're nice, he thinks.

Bob doesn’t takes first impressions lightly and since yours is a good one, that counts for everything.

You're tall, he estimates your original height to be a little over 5'8 since your heeled boots add quite a few inches to you.

He believes you'd be the same height as him with them on.

Your shiny hair and bright eyes contrast nicely with your smooth skin. Your youthful appearance is refreshing to see and invokes an almost familial feeling in him.

Your smile is warm, comforting.

You don't seem to have anything to hide, it's like you're letting him see you for who you are on the first meeting.

It intimidates him— the confidence you have in yourself.

He wishes to learn that one day.

Your features resemble someone he's seen before, he knows it.

It's getting kind of frustrating trying to remember something he can't.

“Bob, meet Y/n.”

You assess the added member; hair is medium length, dark brown and wavy. He seems pretty tall, your guess is 6 feet. He's also timid. His body language is reserved and calm.

Bob smiles shyly, showing his top set of perfectly straight and white teeth. He does a little wave, eliciting a small laugh from you at his actions.

“Hi. I-It's nice to see you, too.” He repeats your sentiment and you can't help but smile.

He reminds you of a little boy on his first day of school.

Cute.

“Well, I’m gonna go sleep forever now so I’ll see y’all later.” You announce before shortly departing.

You set a mental reminder about texting Peter to meet up after you wake up to go do something.

Everyone goes their separate ways.

John goes out for an interview rehearsal (that’s a thing??). Bucky is joining Sam, Clint, and Bruce to train the younger avengers. Ava phases through the walls, you assume she’s going to her room. Yelena takes her snacks and father to the theater room upstairs for a movie.

Bob stands in the common room, studying your sword.

“Wow.” He whispers.

Bob marvels at the sight of your beautiful sword.

The grip seems about 3 inches wide and thick. It’s made of pure gold along with the guards. The grip and guards have intricate designs drawn on them.

The blade is a long and thick slab of metallic steel, seemingly heavy to hold.

He spots a design on the blade. The design is gold and creates an illusion of glass, a very clean mirror that can be used as a prism.

Bob can tell the designs were made by hand, impressive craftsmanship in detail.

He looks closely, a particular detail catching his eye.

There’s a small symbol in the middle of the guards, an emblem of some sort.

Bob squints his eyes as he tries to understand what it could be, decipher its meaning.

“It’s a rune of my realm.”

Bob immediately jumps up and yelp, his palm clamps over his mouth, muffling it a bit.

His breathing is as erratic as his heartbeat and you feel guilty.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you, I thought you heard me come back.”

You weren’t stealthy but you weren’t noticeable, either. Still, you feel as though you should’ve made your presence known.

“I’m truly, very sorry.” You apologize again as you nervously peer at him.

He gulps and blinks. “It’s okay, I’m okay. It’s fine.” Bob nods to himself, a tightlipped smile on his face.

You lick your lips and purse them, nodding slightly to yourself.

“Okay.” You say softly.

It’s awkward for a beat before you two speak up again.

“I—”

“You—”

You both close your lips and stare at one another before laughing in embarrassment.

“You can go first.” You offer.

You’re sweet he decides.

“No, no. I-I think you were saying something first.” He insists.

You smile and go ahead. “I was just saying that I’m gonna take that and go back, for real this time.”

You hold out your arm and open palm, calling your sword to you. She listens and is compelled by your hand like a magnet.

“Woahhh.” He breathes.

You laugh, successful in the art of showing off. It’s all about subtlety.

“That’s so cool, how-how did you do that?” He tilts his head quizzically.

“Where I’m from, magic is in everything. My grandfather had this sword forged long before I was born and is embedded with magic.”

You trace the blade with your free hand, remembering the hard work you toiled to be deemed worthy of carrying the responsibility of the blade.

“Where are you from?” He wonders out loud.

“Asgard.”

Bob gasps and snaps his fingers like he just figured out the missing piece of a puzzle (he did).“That’s it! That-that’s where I know you from! You’re Thor’s daughter!”

You chuckle softly at his excitement, his bubbly demeanor melting away your tiredness.

“The one and only.” You joke as you raise your hands and shrug nonchalantly.

“Wow, man. I gotta tell you, you’re awesome.” He guffaws.

You feel warm at the praise, not really expecting anything from this guy you just met.

“Oh, wow… um, thank you. That’s nice of you to say that.” You say shyly as you scratch your arm.

He nods. “Yeah, sure. No problem.”

“You’re great, too.” You blurt.

He looks at you and you see an insecure look on his face.

“Your powers are really cool, a thousand exploding suns and all that.”

His eyes shine with an unspoken curiosity. One that says, You really think so?

“R-Really?” A silent laugh escapes him and his adam’s apple reverberates.

“Yeah! You’re super fast and really strong. You’re even bullet and knife proof.” You beam. “You’re like me.”

Ever since The Thunderbolts* weakened The Void with the power of friendship, Bob has never felt more connected.

There’s an entire group of people who welcome him and treat him with the care and respect he deserves.

Your statement was clear and concise, you’re not trying to imply anything. There’s no hidden agenda with you.

You were simply making an observation and connecting it with yourself; a very well-respected, renowned hero.

Bob’s no hero, he’s still trying to find things that make him feel like himself.

You’re young, so young and filled with such an encouraging spirit that makes him feel willing.

“Yeah.” He softly agrees. “I guess I am like you.”

You sense a deep sadness in him, something that troubles him and obstructs him from speaking freely.

You don’t want to force him out but you also don’t want to come across as overly sensitive.

“I’m not sleepy anymore. Do you wanna… maybe go do something?”

Peter can wait, you think. You also think he and Bob would get along well.

He thinks about it for a moment.

He doesn’t have training anytime soon and has read up all his books. Some new scenery would do him good and this way, he’d get to know you better.

He wants to be your friend and hopes you share the same sentiment.

Little does he know, you’re almost there.

“Yeah, sure. Why not.” He smiles once more and this time, it reaches his eyes.

[avocado-writing]

i can never run and i cannot hide

notes: he is so creature coded to me. wanted to write something about that.

pairing: vampire!papa v perpetua x f!reader

rating: e (hunter/prey; primal play; cnc; dubcon; aftercare)

words: 2.2k

It’s a cool, dark, starry night, your absolute favourite kind - contrasting so beautifully against the summer days which have been plaguing you. In the north wing of the abbey there’s a window which sits just so, allowing you to look up to the moon with no spires to block your view. When you cannot sleep you find yourself coming here to perch instead, a little bird drawn to the world outside. You’re all alone when the lights have been dimmed for the evening, your fellow Siblings asleep in their beds or far enough away not to bother you from your constellation-gazing. It’s peaceful. 

Or… it is usually peaceful.

A chill runs over you and the hairs on the back of your neck rise, in a way which suggests that someone is watching you. You whip your head around to face the shadows, searching them with squinted eyes for a moment, attempting to ascertain whether the figure you think you can make out is real.

And then they move. Papa Perpertua steps forward, just far enough into the soft silver moonlight that you can see that one pale eye transfixed on you, so that you can admire how his black shirt shifts on his thin chest. Another chill. You’re not entirely sure if this one is in fear.

“Oh, your Dark Holiness, I didn’t see you there…” you manage. Is he smiling? At this distance it is difficult to tell but you swear that you catch a glint of fang.

“No,” he agrees, his voice a purr. Oh he is definitely smiling. “You’re out here late, sorella. And wearing so little, too, hmm?”

You’re suddenly starkly aware that you’re only dressed in a nightgown, light and thin for the summer. It does little to hide your body. Your nipples have peaked in the cool air of the evening and you want to cross your arms over your chest to hide them, but you don’t want to draw any more of his attention than you already have.

“I’m sorry. I ought to go to bed, I didn’t mean to seem disrespectful, dressed like this…”

But to leave you’ll have to walk past him. You feel your heart hammering in your chest as you hop down from your windowsill, closing the gap between you, him seeming to loom ever higher the closer you draw. For a second you think you will be let go without admonishment… but then a clawed hand shoots out to wrap around your arm. You gasp at the coldness of his touch, your skin turning gooseflesh where he’s made contact. He grins down at you. You feel your blood pumping through your veins and you know for certain, in that moment, that he can too.

“Tell me, sorella, have you ever lain with a Papa before?”

Your mouth goes dry. You can’t look away from that eye, it’s piercing into your soul. You are rooted to the spot, paralysed, a deer in the headlights.

“P…pardon?” you manage to squeak out. He sweeps down so he can be closer to you, and you can see every pore on his perfect, terrifying face from his distance.

“Have you fucked a Papa, little bird?”

The pet name has you clenching your thighs together, but you don’t want this. Do you want this? Before tonight you’ve barely said three words to the strange new Papa, only heard the rumours of him stalking round the monastery at all hours, and how you ought to not cross his path or you’ll meet a terrible fate…

“I… no…” you breathe. Your answer pleases him. His smile widens and you are met with a maw full of sharp teeth. The breath in your lungs seizes and you begin to shake.

“Before tonight is over, little bird, you will.”

He lets go of your arm and raises to his full height. He is towering. In fact, his body seems to elongate in the shadows, odd and willowy. Inhuman. 

“You have a ten second head start, sorella. And then I am coming after you.”

Your eyes have begun to fill with tears at the implication of his words, and yet there is no denying the tight knot of heat burning its way through the pit of your stomach.

“Papa… no… please don’t do this…”

“Ten…”

Oh, he is not playing. You turn and run. You curse yourself for not wearing shoes, thinking that bare feet would help keep you cool. Instead your soles slap painfully against the stone floor and you wince at the tiny flickers of pain with each step. It is better, though, than the alternative.

His voice rings in your head, velvet and poison.

Nine… eight… seven…

You make it to a crossroads in the corridors, turning your head this way and that. Where do you run? Where is best? Where could you find someone to protect you at this late hour, when the sleeping quarters are so far away?

Six… five… four…

There is no time to think. You pick a direction and sprint as fast as you can. After a couple of moments you’re able to place your surroundings and realise you are near the sanctuary, where Black Mass is held every Sunday. Maybe you can find some corner to hide in until he is bored of searching for you and goes off to find some other unfortunate plaything.

Three… two… one…

You throw the sanctuary doors open and close them as quietly as you can behind you, running into the vast room and desperately searching for a good place to squirrel yourself away. Everywhere seems too open, too obvious. But there is no time.

I am coming, sorella.

Out of options, you simply throw yourself behind the altar, begging to whatever devil is listening that he won’t search here. Your heartbeat thunders in your ears as you try to make yourself as small as possible and quiet your breathing, a hand slapped over your own mouth to muffle your hyperventilation. Is it enough? It has to be enough…

The sanctuary doors creak open and your heart sinks.

“I know you’re here, little bird. I can smell the thrum of your blood,” calls Papa Perpertua, his voice echoing around the empty room. You stay as still as you can while listening to the sound of his shoes as he searches.

“Are you between the pews…?”

You can imagine his cold gaze sliding over the wooden seating, knowing it would be too obvious a place to sequester yourself.

“Hmm, in the confessional…?”

The sound of claws on wood as he inspects. He is closer now. Surely close enough to hear your breathing if he tries with his unnaturally keen senses…

“No, you have no sins to be blessed for. Not yet, anyway. So there’s only one place left, sì?”

A shadow falls over you. You look up into Papa’s grinning face, his pupils blown wide with desire as he looms over the altar.

“There you are, little bird.”

You try to run, you do, but he is too fast. There is that hand again, snatching your wrist from the air and pulling you back into his embrace, your back to his chest. You kick and squirm but he holds you impossibly tight, arms like iron bars.

“Papa, please, don’t!”

“You keep saying that, hm? ‘Don’t’? And yet, I don’t believe you. Because your body betrays you, sorella.”

His palm graces down your sternum, your stomach, and comes to rest between your thighs. You freeze in fear as he runs his fingers across the slick that’s gathered at the top of your thighs. He holds them in front of you to inspect, his claws glistening in the moonlight which filters in through the glass windows above you both.

“You want this. Do not fight it. Do not fight me, silly little thing.”

He lets go of you for just long enough to swipe the altar clear of dark holy symbols with one long arm, before he throws you onto the cold stone. A claw comes up to the collar of your nightdress.

“Shame to ruin something so beautiful,” he sighs, and you don’t know if he means you or it. But then he is ripping down the front, tearing it in two so that you are bared to him. His eyes rake across your body as he takes you in hungrily, and then suddenly that sharp mouth is at your neck. You push your hands against his shoulders to try and force him away but he is far too strong for that. When his teeth press into your flesh you squeak, and it turns into a squeal when he bites. You feel warm blood trickle down your neck onto the altar beneath you as he begins to drink.

“You’re a beautiful vintage, sorella,” he groans, his voice thick with desire in your ear. Your head begins to go light. Your thoughts are candyfloss-spindly, stretched and sweet. At some point your attempts to push him off of you turns into an embrace, your arms wrapped around his back.

“There you are, hmm? Finally accepting that I know what is best for you?”

“I don’t… please stop…” you whine, but your heart isn’t in it any more. You know he hunted you to get your blood pumping so you’d be even more delicious for him and you don’t care. The caress of his tongue as he laps warm blood from your veins has you melting for him. When his hand dips between your legs again, he finds it is not only crimson dripping onto the stone beneath you.

You expect his claws to hurt as he presses them inside you, but it turns out he can be surprisingly gentle. First two then three as he realises how ready you are for him, their sharp tips dragging across the sweet spot buried against your walls. You gasp and try not to buck your hips lest he draw blood from there too.

You’ve no doubt that he would clean it, though.

When his thumb presses to your clit, you realise that you have no choice but to let yourself go. You come hard, your cunt clenching around his knuckles, flooding his palm with your release. He pulls back to look at you, to frame your orgasm in his memories forever. His chin is soaked red, lips and teeth both stained, but he reaches up to taste you from his fingers. His eyes roll back in delight and then he’s dipping them between your lips too, the tang of your own release heady on your tongue.

“You enjoy letting go,” he states, moving his thin waist between your legs and tugging at the lacing of his trousers. He pulls himself free, not bothering to undress any further, stroking himself with the hand he just used to bring you to climax. The sight of his thick cock coated with you is almost too much to bear.

“Please…” you whisper one last time, but you’re not sure if you’re begging him to stop or keep going. He doesn’t seem to care either way, instead he pushes your thighs up against your stomach and presses himself inside your needy cunt. You whine and wriggle at the feeling of fullness. He’s hard and feral. His hips snap back before thrusting forward, fucking into you the altar so hard that you slide up it a couple of inches.

“Papa…!”

“Be good for me, tesoro, and take my cock. You can do that for your Papa, hm?”

He doesn’t expect an answer but you manage to nod between the tears of overstimulation which sting at your eyes. He digs the tips of his fingers into your soft flesh as he forces himself into you impossibly deeper, his pelvis slapping against your ass as he fucks you hard. You throw your head back with every roll of his hips. It is unholy. It is glorious.

“Look at your Papa. I want to see you when we come together.”

You force your gaze upwards. He looks more creature than man like this, his teeth bared in a snarl, eyes wide in a frenzy. His cock strikes your sweetest spot over and over and he is lost in it, in you; he surges forward to crash his bloody lips to yours as you feel him spill inside you. His hips judder to a halt as he climaxes, taking you over the edge again too as he floods your poor, abused cunt. The kiss peters out and soon the two of you lie there in a messy embrace, one which you are only pulled out of at the sound of your name being called.

You look up. Gone is the wild beast who hunted you just moments ago, replaced by your sweet, adoring Perpetua. He kisses the sore spot on your neck where he bit, his tongue a salve.

“Did that sate your desire, tesoro?” he hums, knuckles dragging along your flank in a caress. You nod and bury your fingers in his hair.

“Mmm, thank you, my love. The altar was a nice touch…”

He grins, but it’s no longer something which strikes fear. It is sweet and kind and meant only for you.

“I thought you’d enjoy that. Come, let me take you back to our chambers. I will run you a bath and clean you up. And… thank you for letting me feed.”

You caress his face and bring him in for a loving kiss, your tongue swiping along his bottom lip to taste the cocktail he has made of you.

“I love you, Perpetua.”

“I love you too, my little bird.”

[fakeplasticlovers]

sweet summer sweat | j.m.

part ii of hotel california

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

wc: 2.6k

warnings: smut (18+, mndi!). age gap (reader is in her late twenties, joel early forties). reader goes by the nickname polly. reader has no descriptions other than her hair is long enough to be pulled (aka moodboard doesn't count). oral (f!receiving). fingering (f!receiving). they get freaky in the pool AND the hotel room. protected p in v. joel's kind of old and pathetic.

hotel california masterlist · hotel california tag

So much for never seeing you again.

Joel's fist curled around the leather straps of his well loved duffle bag, the one that Sarah had sworn she would replace for his Birthday. Don't need a new one, he had objected, works just fine.

The prickly breeze wafts the scent of your cigarette to his nostrils, those of which he didn't realize were flared. Behind the bitter punch is a tinge of sweetness; sticky booze, fading perfume, and something intoxicating he can only imagine is your sweat.

"Neighbor, huh?" He repeats back with a small huff, almost missing the doorknob when he goes to turn the key to his room. His palms are a bit slick — he blames it on the warm weather.

The entrance swings open, like his head swings in your direction once he realized you've decided to perch yourself by the doorframe. Not in an imposing way, but from a place of misguided curiosity. Like a feral cat that's a bit too trusting, but you can tell it'll still bite.

"Yep." You chirp back, watching his broad shoulders as he retreats into the shadowed hollow of the room. He's kind enough to not tell you to fuck off and slam the door in your face. You take the liberty of reaching into his domain, flicking on the switch that rests on the wall next to your free hand.

"Thanks." Joel nods in your direction, setting his bag on the palm tree printed bed spread, dirty work boots drawing a sharp contrast against the hot pink shag rug.

You can't help but giggle at the scene — the big, burly contractor plucked straight out of the hot Texas sun and dropped into a Golden Girls episode.

"What's funny, Pollyanna?" He quirks a brow. He doesn't look angry — he surely hasn't kicked you out yet — but you can tell he still thinks you're a pain in the ass.

"Nothin'." Masking a grin, you stomp the remainder of your Marlboro out before it starts burning the peach fuzz on your knuckles. "Donna must not like you."

The mattress squeaks as Joel graces it with his weight. His shoulders sag like the weight of the world lays upon him, the blanket of dust that's stirred up silhouetting him like a shrine.

"Front desk lady?" He figures, knees cracking slightly as he places his hands on them. Fucking old.

You hum, shifting back and forth on the worn soles of your chucks. No matter how hard your lips try to hide it, the apples of your cheeks want to beckon that wicked smirk like it's home.

"Gave you the honeymoon suite."

Joel's tired demeanor cracks like his aching bones, the lines in the corner of his eyes meeting like old friends. His body shakes with genuine laughter, a feeling that he's not use to faking. He hasn't had to go diving in the deep catacombs of his chest for it in a while, like a forgotten toy in an attic.

"Got another one of those?" Joel gestured to the remainder of her cigarette, now a forgotten stamp on the concrete, praying to be remembered by the small flakes of ash it tosses into the dead air.

According to Sarah, no one in California littered. Clearly she hadn't met you.

Now it's your turn to chuckle. In fact, it always has been, if it weren't obvious already you have the upper hand.

"We sell 'em in the bar, you know." A haphazardly manicured brow quirks, same time your lips roll.

"Suppose I could bum you one. No smoking inside, though, Cliff would have my ass."

With a swift nod, Joel rises from his place in the bed. "Wouldn't want that, now would we?" He stalks towards you, causing your heart to stutter in your chest. You shuffle back on your heels as he joins you back in the desolate air.

What the fuck is wrong with you? Give him a cigarette and go to bed.

So, of course, you do the logical thing, and throw the pack square at his chest. Of course, he catches it swiftly, and you avert your eyes like you're oh so fucking cool.

"Can I get your light?" He cocks his head, fishing one out and placing it between his plush lips. Not fair. Without a word, you retrieve the zippo from your jacket and smack it into his awaiting palm.

"Gimme one too." You mutter like a petulant child, beckoning for your pack back like it's the only thing that will anchor you from the reality that you are pining for a complete fucking stranger.

The smoke fills your lungs like an old friend and suddenly, you're aware of the fact that his gaze has your feet filled with lead. You can't leave now, and he can't stop staring at you, so now you're fucked.

"Is it always this hot out here?" Of course, Joel the contractor has some small talk to toss out into the heavy air. You know it's bullshit, the man is from Texas, he's clearly experienced worse than this.

"Yeah. That's why I usually go to the pool at this time." You choke out, coughing slightly as the cigarette begins to burn your throat. You blame it on the smoke, but you're not so sure.

Quiet wraps around the two of you then, only interrupted by the humid breeze and the sound of crickets crying in the night.

The gusts rolls up, sending your hair whipping in the wind. Joel has a look on his face like he's been faced with the most difficult question in the world.

"Pool, huh?" He drags the last of his cigarette, "Too bad. Didn't bring my swimsuit."

You snort, tossing yours before he gets a chance to.

"Bold of you to assume anyone does." You shrug, "I'll be down there if you'd like to join. I'd let you borrow a bikini, if you insist." You grin.

Trouble. He shakes his head.

"Thanks." He nods in your direction, handing your lighter back. No fucking way he's going to that pool.

Needs to take his old ass back to bed and get ready to help his daughter in the morning.

"Goodnight, Joel." You can tell it's not happening.

You'd still take a dip in the pool, and let your hand creep in between your thighs as you shower the chlorine off once you get back to your room.

Maybe you'd even moan his name loud enough so he'd hear it through the decaying walls.

So, with that you retreat into your room, tossing the heavy leather off your shoulders. You think this is the most fun you've had since you decided to take this job, since you've decided to live at a hotel in the middle of nowhere.

It's just a phase, your family back home insisted, but judging by the knick knacks you've accumulated collecting dust on the side tables in your suite, you're not so sure of that.

So, you head to the pool. A red bikini you picked up at a gas station on the way down adorns your body. The pool bar is still open, and Doug has your usual nightcap prepared by the time you lay your towel down on the sun weathered chair.

You thank him, stripping your t-shirt off before the water beckons you. The elder patrons begin the return to their rooms around the same time your body is engulfed by the water.

And you roll your neck, the cold chlorine aching the unsatisfied bones of your back. You let your hips hover, the feeling of floating about the only thing that helps you in the midst of the unknown of your life.

You try to tune out the sound of the bar closing up, ushering it out with each sip of the High Life supplied to you. It's not until the gate cracks with a squeal that you're brought back to life.

Joel the Contractor is standing there, clad in his boxer briefs, and you think you might have died.

"Doug, you still have beers?" You question, "Leave them out. I'll close the bar."

Joel walks in, toting a bath towel. You feel comforted in the fact that he's not used to this. In fact, he stands there awkwardly.

You pull yourself out of the water, dripping with every sense of the word. "Want a beer?" You ask, tossing him a beach towel.

He nods, and you know he's staring at your ass as you creep away. The seal is cracked, and it's handed to him. You grab your own beer off the ledge of the pool and cheers him.

"To Los Angeles?" You toast, and he retorts with a huff. Those dark eyes stare at you the whole time. And it's awkward, it's hot, so you decide to jump in the pool. And to your surprise, Joel follows.

"You're trouble." He finally says out loud, cracking his face above the surface. He can't remember the last time he jumped into a pool when it didn't involve his daughter.

"Me? Trouble?" You laughed, floating on your back away from him, "You're trouble."

Joel wades towards you, both of you hovering in the deep end. Eyes locked,

"How am I trouble?" He presses, hands softly caressing your waist. Gaze pinning you like a dart to a board.

"Because I want you."

And then finally, Joel kisses you. Lips weave together, hands on your waist now deliberate. Water splashes around you. And you're lifted out of it, always a protector.

"Let me do this, please," It's almost like he's begging, your ass lifted on the ledge of the pool. You nod.

He pulls at the strings of your bikini bottoms, but not before he's kissing down your stomach. You take the time to untie your top because, you'll be damned, Joel the contractor is eating you out.

Your thighs are hoisted over his shoulders, and he shows you how much he wants to taste you. Then he stops.

"Come back to my room." He seals it with a wet, sloppy kiss to your clit. Your hips cant towards his mouth, and he appeases you, sealing his mouth over your pussy before landing a swift smack over it. You moan louder than you think you ever have before.

And he's scrambling to grab your top, and you're trying to tie it back on, before you give up, and hold the bikini in your fists. Joel wraps you in your towel, and you're ushered around the corner back to your room.

"My room's right here," You giggle, standing in the corridor of your room. And that's when Joel kisses you. And it's deep, it's wet, and you need it.

"Take me inside." Joel already knows what you mean.

"Fuck." He grunts as he rips your towel off, "Take it off," He's pulling your bikini off, then he's hovering over you naked as you lay on his mattress. All spread and ready for him.

You're fucking gorgeous. He knows that. Your soft body, spread legs. Chest heaving. Toes curling.

"Let me taste you again, baby," He breathes, cradling your face, hands hovering like he's scared.

"Kiss me." You grip his wrists, "Then taste me."

So he does. Joel licks into your mouth while his fingers tweak your nipples. He has you begging for his mouth on you.

He thinks it's a privilege to taste you, his head cushioned by the soft grip of your thighs once again. You taste like something he's been searching for his whole life.

"Fuck, Joel," You arch against the bed, toes curling on his shoulders, "Gonna come,"

And he wills it. Come in my mouth. Need to taste you. One hand curling over your breasts, the other holding your hips down.

The sound you make when you come will haunt him until the day he dies. You try to buck him off, but his arms keep you sealed to his mouth.

You will yourself off the mattress, lips parted as you stare at him between your legs. And then you're bucking him off. You're breathing heavy.

"Fuck me," You whisper, "Please,"

In the midst of it, he's lost his briefs. You reach for his cock, hand curling around him. A small moan escapes your lips, he seals it with a kiss.

"Fuck," Your swirl your thumb around the tip. "Is it my turn?"

And he feels like he's going to faint. What he would give to feel your plump lips wrapped around his cock. But you just asked him to fuck you, a promise he's not even sure he can complete.

"No, baby," He finds a place to breathe in your neck, hand cascading down the side of your body, "Lemme fuck you."

And the sound that comes out of your mouth will be the thing Joel thinks of while curling his fist around his cock in the shower. He's rubbing against you, and you're willing him inside of you.

"Need a condom, Polly," He laughs, kissing your forehead. With a huff, you start to fiddle with the bedside drawer.

"Told you it was the honeymoon suite."

Joel rolls the condom on, and kisses you as he urges in. He's all encompassing, arms curled under your back, legs curled high on his back. And you almost wail, his hips snapping against you. Feels fucking fantastic.

"Joel," You cry out, head fisted in the crook of his neck. It's been a long time since you've been touched, and by god, he's so fucking deep, cradling you as he fucks you.

And does Joel work above you, working his cock into you by the beat of your moans, holding you tightly, licking on you until he feels you tighten around him.

"That's it, baby," He breathes, "Feel so fucking good, Polly, gonna come for me?"

And you nod, because he's everywhere, he's so deep, your knees are curled around his back. And so you did, you cum for Joel the Contractor, thighs shaking around his back, hands pulling his hair.

And Joel comes hard too, pushing you into the mattress, panting into your mouth. He whines, you think, and that makes your pussy clench around him. He looks a wreck above you, so you grab him and kiss him like it's the only thing you have going in your life.

Now he's looking at you like he doesn't know what he's done. You're panting, and not really in the mood to placate a man.

And Joel can't bring himself to pull away from the shangri-la that is between your thighs. He thinks fucking you might have been his greatest achievement.

And yet, you're both looking at each other like a gong has been banged.

Joel has the willpower to pull out of you, at least. He tosses it in the wastebin. You wince a little.

"Pretty," He drags, tongue dragging through the mess he left. "Will you let me clean you up?"

So you do, you let him clean you up with his mouth, then you offer to go back to your room. He insists you don't, so you fall asleep on his chest watching Jeopardy reruns.

He wakes up in the morning alone, which he is used to. He packs up his stuff, but has half a mind to search for your bikini. He knows you're right next door, but he can't bring himself to knock before he leaves.

What he doesn't realize is the fact that you left a note.

Joel might have checked out of the Hotel California, but he's not sure he can ever leave.

And you sure as fuck won't bring breakfast back to a passerby ever again.

happy bday peps ❤️

[thebroccolination]

Promare's one of my favorite movies because of character-driven scenes like this.

It just drives home why I find Galo a remarkably fun protagonist to root for, because he's willing to challenge himself and his firmly held beliefs when he has good cause. He's a rescue worker, not a cop, so his core motivation is in helping people, not punitive justice.

I mean, Galo's first confrontation with the cops is more hostile than his confrontation with Lio, the "terrorist" he's there to stop.

I even love how the two face-offs are animated: the open sky and bright colors on the left and the darker contrast and Galo's shadowed eyes on the right.

And when Galo scoffs at the idea of Burnish needing to eat, Lio just…educates him. (After calmly and reasonably throwing fire in his face.) And Galo apologizes. And that changes things between them.

I've seen a ton of meta for Promare over the years, so I'm not adding anything new. I just love the character work in this story so much, I always come back to it when I'm designing my own characters.

At the start of the scene, Galo believes unquestioningly in Kray and sees Lio as his enemy.

But once Lio makes him realize that there are cracks in his understanding of the world, he goes looking for answers.

Literally in the next scene!

Galo's fucking great. He's an active protagonist who completely changes his worldview by the end of the movie. He's just a model protagonist in that sense, and I love him. <3

[musickgeek]

The Great Alastor Altruist

Could be read as either platonic or romantic

The plan was for Alastor to take care of Adam, but I didn't want to send him without back up. So now I stand beside the feared Radio Demon, ready to fight Heaven's lead soldier.

The shield withers away, and Adam stares down at us with amusement as he approaches the hotel sign. "Adam...First man, next to die." Alastor says with his usual grin. His collected stance contrasts my tense, readied one. I hold my spear and shield up defensively, waiting for him to strike. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Alastor and (Y/n)." He introduces with flourish. He's thriving on the power display, I'm not so much. "Pleasure to be meeting you, quite a pleasure. I'm about to end your fucking life." He declares, driving his staff into the ground. I step aside quickly as the green tendrils rise from the ground, showing off the Radio Demon's power. However, Adam doesn't seem impressed. "Nice voice. Don't you know jazz is for pussies?" He conjures his axe, and goes in for the attack, to which Alastor meets him with the tendrils. Adam swings at them, making them disappear. Once he's close, Alastor and I move together gracefully so that he is behind me, and Adam's blade merely meets the shield. "Ah, ah, ah," Alastor tuts. 

"You really think you can take me on? A mortal soul is no match for me, edge lord." Adam smiles, like this is nothing to him. He continues to defend against our coordinated attacks, seeming at ease. "You're a mortal soul, too, douche nozzle." I finally speak. "You should know better then anyone what a soul can accomplish when they take charge of their own fate." Alastor's shadow dissolves into several little minions that attack Adam. One manages a surprise hit on him in between his wild swinging. "You think you're tough shit, huh?" He swings at nothing, as the minion is gone.

Alastor materializes next to him. "Tougher than you." He laughs. Adam dives for him, missing with each swing of the golden axe. "You lack discipline," he taunts, dodging, "control," he ducks behind my shield, "and worst?" He jumps into the air, getting larger and darker. His limbs and antlers grow in a mangled manner, and he's filled with green electricity. I'm frightened despite being on his side, never having seen such a terrifying side of him. "You're sloppy."

"And you're-fuck- fuck you! You red piece of- " Adam fails to get a sentence out as all the minions climb and attack him. "Shut up!" He shouts, throwing the last minion away. Alastor laughs, and grabs him with on of the tendrils, slamming him into the hotel sign. "Poetry." He taunts.

"I'm gonna wipe that shit eating grin off your face, cause radio is fucking dead!" Adam flies above, swiping at the air with his axe. It creates a golden arc of power that meets Alastor before I can defend him. "What just happened?" I'm horrified at the lack of radio static in his voice, he looks wildly panicked. He looks down and sees the broken staff. "Ffffuck."

Adam goes to swing his axe into Alastor's chest, and I'm too late. Alastor flies back, crying out in pain. He leans into the wall, bleeding, ears pinned back, but still smiling. Adam readies another blow, but I'm faster this time. "No!" I'm in just in time to block it with the shield. With a battle cry, I drive the spear into the arm wielding the axe. He dodges only enough to merely graze the arm. It's still enough to piss him off majorly. He growls in rage, and blindly attacks only for me to ram the shield into him. He falls to his back, and I stand over him with the point of my spear to his throat. 

"You come into our home, attack our friends, and expect us to take it lying down? You're more pathetic then anyone here." I spit vehemently. I go to drive the point into him, but he manages to grab it from me, and throws it with enough force to take me with it. He flies above me, but I roll away quick enough for his axe to meet the floor. However, he just reaches over and claws my chest with his hand. I gasp for breath, wheezing with pain. The cuts are shallow, but disable me enough for him to wrap his hand around my throat. He slams my body into the ground then lifts me into the air. "I've had enough of you disgraceful vermin."

My vision is fading, the blood is pounding in my ears. I claw at the glowing hand around my neck. I can't die. He'll kill Alastor, he'll kill the everyone. Without warning, I drop to ground, making all my wounds sting. I gasp for breath. Why my vision clears again, I see why. Alastor attacked Adam. And Adam saw it coming. "No...no, no. Alastor no." I mutter. Alastor's plunged my blade through Adam's chest, but Adam's axe is in embedded in the Radio Demons side. They both seem surprised at the outcome. "Radio's not dead." Alastor insists. Adam falls over, dead, while Alastor falls to his knees. The sickening smile on his face doesn't hide the sheer pain in his eyes.

I run to him, dropping to my knees to match his height, grabbing him by the shoulders. "Alastor, no, no, no, no, no, no. We can fix this, okay, you're gonna be fine, we can..." My voice dies away, turning into small sobs. "Don't cry, my dear. You're never fully dressed without a smile." He says half heartedly. "Why, Alastor? We could of... I'm not.... You needed to protect all of them, not me." He laughs weakly. "But I did, didn't I? And I protected you in the process."

"I suppose that makes you the most powerful demon I know." I tell him softly. He laughs quietly. "The great Alastor Altruist died for his friends." He slumps into me, eyes closing shut, but still ever smiling. I don't care about the oozing blood, I pull him tight against me hoping it's somehow a comfort. The war falls deaf in my ears, I only hear his breath slowing, slowing, and stop. I scream in anguish, the sound drowned out by the heat of battle still surrounding me. I need to end this.

I stand slowly, and rip the axe from Alastor's flesh. I take it over to Adam's body. I look down in disgust and spit on him. With a final cry of rage, I lift the axe over my head and slam it down onto his neck to decapitate his body. I grab the head by his hair, and I walk to the side of the building, holding my prize for everyone to see. "Adam is dead!" I declare. The exorcists look on in horror, cries of shock and grief rising among their ranks. "Adam is dead! Retreat! All exorcists fall back!" Their commander orders. The angels go back from which they came, and my friends all look at me with triumph and awe. I can't match their enthusiasm, only feeling hollow and tired. How was I going to tell them what happened? 

[welcometoteyvat]

if genshin ever releases the liyue bow that has lore of azhdaha POV (unlikely, pretty sure it's been sent to the abyss), I will pull for it

"in his sweet dream the dragon king saw again the little comrades it once followed" "—Why did he say such things? He had loved the land where he had shared fond memories with that person."

you can't just say that I'm in shambles now. his little comrades T_T. and his fond memories of morax contrasted with morax's cold eyes and retuo's heartrending agony. in other news, zhongli bow user alt when, he literally wears that archery thumb ring

anyways, this has also got me thinking about a rezhong animatic to water melody/但愿人长久, mostly because the "palace on the moon" stuff and the angst of them separating bc erosion reminds me of it. poem + annotations below

When will the moon be clear and bright? With a cup of wine in my hand, I ask the clear sky. // zhongli POV, perhaps? visiting the tree at nantianmen with a flask of rice wine, on lantern rite or on midautumn In the heavens on this night, I wonder what season it would be? // azhdaha POV, half awakened from his underground dream, thinking about (more like hazily, instinctively recalling) the past, and the adepti gathering on mt aocang. "the heavens", the adepti in the mountains and the prosperous harbor, contrasted with the dim crystal cavern he's sealed in

I'd like to ride the wind to fly home. Yet I fear the crystal and jade mansions are much too high and cold for me. // insert the line from the bow "If we ride on your back and cross these mountains, we can reach the palace on the moon, right?". btw the "crystal and jade mansions" in the poem is referring to the Moon Palace Dancing with my moonlit shadow, It does not seem like the human world. // cut to azhdaha's sealing away, zhongli's cold eyes. the warmth in his gaze is gone and he's unrecognizable, like a stranger, and all the memories of their past become warped and distorted in retuo's failing eyesight

The moon rounds the red mansion, Stoops to silk-pad doors, Shines upon the sleepless, // cut to the battle between morax/adepti and azhdaha in the chasm amidst the red cliffs. idk not much to say Bearing no grudge, Why does the moon tend to be full when people are apart? // erosion. bearing no grudge is giving zhongli sealing azhdaha away because of his duty to liyue, as part of their contract. probably insert an image of azhdaha (or the zhongli in retuo's memories) slowly being erased, bit by bit and piece by piece, as retuo's eyes close underneath nantianmen. gratuitous use of a flurry of ginkgo leaves floating in front of the viewer as screen fades to white

People experience sorrow, joy, separation and reunion, The moon may be dim or bright, round or crescent shaped, This imperfection has been going on since the beginning of time. May we all be blessed with longevity, Though thousands of miles apart, we are still able to share the beauty of the moon together. // straight angst lol. "May we all be blessed with longevity" makes me think of erosion, but also "When you reach the end of time, those people, those past and future relationships predetermined by fate… they will be waiting for you" said by kun jun/azhdaha in no mere stone. when zhongli goes to meet them, he'll be waiting too

a fic set to the song/poem would also fuck. i simply think that more retuo content is neat!!! hes literally a blind rock given vision, a rock that can sing and dream, and zhongli is retuo's tiny god with a heart of stone, a heart nonetheless. arent they so interesting can we have another azhdaha mention in game soon

[hecatemoon87]

Runner [Part 1]

Summary: OFC occasionally acts as a carrier for Harry and the mob. One night, a drop goes bad and Harry goes looking for her.

Harry settled himself into a chair he had placed near the front of the flat door. He extracted his gun and rested it atop a knee with the safety on.

It was a quarter past two in the morning. About an hour ago he'd received a call that the carrier who had been due with a drop at midnight never showed. It was a problem because the drop contained 300,000 pounds and around 300,000 euros.

Harry did not like unprofessional individuals, but in this line of work it never surprised him. The only way to make sure it wouldn't happen again was to present to that person one clear rule, "don't fuck with Conrad." Which essentially was Harry's golden rule.

And that meant either two things. One, he'd beat the shit out of you until you wish you were dead. Or two, he'd beat the shit out of you until you were dead.

Though he had taught himself over the years to keep his standards low, it did nonetheless surprise him that it was she who had failed. The beautiful Rowan. That Raven hair beauty from Kilkenny.

Fishing his phone from his jacket pocket he checked for missed calls. None. He had called her three times, wanting to give the lass a chance to explain the delay.

He would never admit his fondness for her cheeky attitude, her clever wit, or her devilish charm. But it wasn't hard for anyone to see that he gave her more leniency than most. Of course, anyone also included Rowan, and she liked to test her limits from time to time.

Tonight seems she crossed the line.

The front door rattled, and Harry tucked his phone back into his pocket. He adjusted the gun to subtly face the door while still resting atop is knee. He removed the safety.

A dark form stumbled into the flat, the shadow of a bag outlined on the person's back. The door closed behind them. The sound of the bag hitting the floor the same time they slumped to the floor with it echoed through the minimally furnished living space.

A moment of silence. The illumination of street lights filtered in, casting in a dull glow of light and a contrast of shadows across the room.

"Lovely for you to wait up for me, boss," Rowan said, swallowing dryly. Her eyes glanced towards the gun in Harry's hand. "Is that a gun, or ya just happy to see me?"

Her Irish accent was thick and melodious. Normally, it gave his heart a bit of a flutter. Right now, he was pissed. "Shut your mouth. Where's the fucking drop?" He growled.

She didn't reply immediately. Until that moment he didn't realize she was breathing heavy. Through the dark, his eyes adjusted to her appearance and it looked like she had been hit by a car. A bloody nose, bruised eye and cheek. Her biking clothing dirty, bloody and torn.

"What happened?" He asked, not allowing any sympathy to enter his heart. In his mind she was guilty until proven innocent.

"Oh, had a bit of a run in with the O'Leary's," she said, pushing herself up a bit off the floor. She grunted in pain. "Had the drop, going down on 7th and they rammed my bike. Took a while to out pace them, spent an hour in a dumpster after my back tire went flat. But thank the stars, the drop is unharmed," she said sarcastically as she picked up the bag and tossed it at him.

He caught it, unzipping it with an arched eyebrow he sorted the cash. After about fifteen minutes, he felt satisfied it was all there. Looking up, he noticed Rowan had gone quite, either asleep or passed out. Unsure if she'd suffered from a concussion or not he zipped the bag again, tossed it to the side and walked over to her.

Crouching down, he lifted her off the floor and carried her to an old beat up gray couch. Man, her flat really was trash. He gently slapped the good side of her face. She woke abruptly, leading him to believe she had passed out.

"Love, you need to stay awake," he said, pushing a lock of her dark hair behind her ear. She idly shooed his hand away and muttered, "You have your money, let me be."

Little brat, stubborn as ever. "You need a shower and coffee, tell me you at least have running water in this dump." He said getting up to search her pantry.

She slowly sat up and groggily look at him. "I have running water you arse. Not my fault you give me shyte jobs for shyte pay, Harry."

"Bloody hell, you literally have nothing in here," Harry said amazed, gazing around the cupboard.

"I just shower and sleep here," she said, standing up and started to pull off her clothes. Harry returned to the living room to see her stripped down to her bra and panties. If it weren't for an unsightly gash on her side above her hip, he would have taken a moment to drink her beauty in.

"Jesus, that will need stitches," he said walking over and inspecting the gash. Rowan looked a bit dazed. "Oh, I was wondering why it hurt so much there." Then she fainted.

Harry grabbed her just before she hit the floor. "Oh, god damn it," he muttered, not certain what he should do next. He placed his hand on her forehead, she was warm. Perhaps a low grade fever. Heaving her up once again into his arms he found the bathroom.

Sitting on the edge of the tub, he cradled Rowan against him and filled it with water. He placed her in once the temperature felt comfortable. At first he left her bra and panties on, but they were bloody so he discarded them and tried to avert his eyes as he washed off the blood, dirt and grim from her ivory, smooth skin. But he couldn't help but steal a glance or two at her curvy body, pink nipples and parted legs.

"Focus, Harry," he scolded himself as he took her out of the tub and wrapped her in a towel. He tried to ignore the tightness in his pants as he took her to the bedroom. When he placed her down, a red stain was soaking through the white towel where the gash was. "Fuck," he muttered, going back in to the bathroom to look for a first aide kit. He was surprised when he actually found one.

He pulled back the towel, revealing her voluptuous body once more. He licked his lips and adjust the towel so that only the wound was exposed. He cleaned it again, added antiseptic and bandaged it. But he had to remove the towel because it was bloody.

Trying to be discreet, he took the towel, leaving her naked, and went to toss it in the tub. Upon returning, Rowan was sitting up rubbing her eyes looking confused. She looked at Harry, realized she was stark naked, and chucked her bedside lamp at him.

To be continued...

[shapelytimber]

do u have a colouring tutorial / tips n tricks up anywhere???

Well no, but I can share my usual process :))

Hi hello, welcome to my personal hell : colors ! It's the part of the process I struggle with the most, and how I do it really isn't efficient or time saving <3 so take what I'm about to tell you with a grain of salt ! I went to art school n shit, but this is not something that comes easily to me. (Also note : I'll only be talking about how I color lined drawings, my process when painting is pretty different)

Ok so first thing first, the most important thing to do : define your light source(s), and the overall lighting ambience of your drawing, even if you don't have a background. To do so : let's do a quick n dirty black and white ! Why black and white ? When you select a color there is three parameters you have to keep in mind : saturation, warmth and value. Beginning in black and white simplify things by only making you think about values. Please note this black and white is only a sketch, and that when adding colors in it will inevitably change.

Step two, where hell begins ! But before questioning every life choices that brought us here, some basic things ! Our sun's light isn't yellow it's orange, and that works for a lot of artificial lighting too be it flames, warm lightbulbs... So unless you are going for a colder light, or something else altogether like neons or alien planet, use orange ! And if you are familiar with the color wheel, you know that what contrasts best with orange is blue, so shading with blues to contrast with the light works great. Of course there is a billion scenario where this does not apply and I could go in more details but the general tip here is : contrast warm colors with cold colors.

But let's come back to our black and white, it's time to add some colors with my trusted friend : 👄🌸✨gradient map ✨🌸🫦 (and others). Let's apply a gradient map to broadly and rapidly put down the major colors of our piece ! My favorite is a light orange and dark greens one but to each their own, depends on what you are going for

And now..... It's time to fuck with it ! I use a combination of "color lookup" layers (photoshop filters), levels, saturation (because I love my colors *very* saturated), special layer types (color, multiply, lighten...ect...) to add specific colors but not fuck too much with the light and warmth, and sometimes I tweak the color balance. Rinse and repeat until you have something you are somewhat happy with. pro tip : at this point you'll have stared at your drawing so long you'll not be able to objectively know what it looks like anymore. So this is a good point to stop drawing for the day, do something else, go to sleep and come back the next day with fresh eyes. Borrowing the eyes of a trusted friend is a nice bonus and helps having a second opinion on what the hell you are doing (thank you to my friend quiji who usually receives discord messages at 3am with a photoshop screenshot and a message "does it look ugly or is it just me ;;")

And now for the final and longest step !!!!!!!!!! Well just gotta make it look good- but we now have a solid base to work out of (or a shit base that I'll change my mind and radically alter at this stage but shhhh, this is a scenario where everything goes right), so all colors we'll add at this stage will generally not stray to far from what we already have ! At this stage I'm focused on 1) having everything have it's "right" color, 2) having every important element highlighted and clearly visible (for this it helps to keep a "hue/saturation" layer with saturation turned all the way down at the very top of your layers : it's a quick way to switch to black and white and make sure you're not fucking up you're values too much) 3) remember I'm not going for realism and 4) create *interest* ! To create interest, I vary the way I add colors and shadows depending on the texture I apply them to :))) here are some fun examples :

And voila !

and the final black and white, to show that it did change a lot but the general values are still roughly the same :

Hope that was useful fjdjdk

Tldr : one must love and cherish the color wheel, cruel mistress with many secrets. And ugly colors are very important