#Camouflage waist bag

[solbaby7]

I love the blurb bar idea and I loved the pina colada one, how about a neat gin n tonic with a salt rim?

[ forced proximity: “you can’t seriously be insinuating that i should sit on your lap.” + smut + az ]

guys i got carried away 🫣🤭 but at least it’s finished and has minimal spelling errors 🤍🩷

-> BLURB BAR <-

To put it quite frankly, you and Azriel didn’t really get along.

It seemed almost easy for everyone else in the Inner Circle to latch onto him; to gravitate towards him and all his shadowy mysteriousness—but not you. Between his victim complex, lack of self-control and the inability to properly communicate his feelings like a normal person, you’d lost your patience for him long ago.

Maybe that’s why you laugh right in Rhysand’s face after he lays down the guidelines for your temporary deployment to the Steppes. Everything sounds perfectly normal up until the end when Rhysand’s lips form the words, “—and you’ll be going with Azriel; he’s already been briefed.”

“Very funny,” Shoulders shake through your laughter, tickled from the joke. “But, you don’t have to go to such lengths just to make me laugh Rhys.”

Your grin fades comically fast and the deep frown that takes it place doesn’t falter long after you’ve left the High Lord’s office and scrounged back to your own chambers to pack. Every move is mechanical, clothes being folded and stuffed away a little rougher than necessary as you try not to think about having to spend seven whole days holed up in a creaky cabin with some brooding bat.

To be fair, Azriel seems no happier than you about the situation, his signature brood securely in place when you meet on the balcony at the witching hour with bag in hand. “Come—let’s get this over with.”

You refrain from commenting on his attitude; hold yourself back from snapping when he snatches your duffle from your grasp just to watch it disappear in a puff of sentient shadow. They’d almost be cute—Azriel’s shadows—if they weren’t so fucking useless. Capable of procuring intel and acting as camouflage but can’t manage to hold two fae long enough to get them to the Illyrian mountains.

No, instead you were subjected to this. Close contact and his fucking hands holding onto your body as he flies on a route you’re unfamiliar with. You eye his wings cautiously, trying to be subtle when you peek over the strong line of his shoulder but being this close? He can feel every beat of your heart against your sternum. Every squirm and twitch of a limb as you try to find a more comfortable place to put your arm. “Will you stop moving?”

“I can’t help it,” Hips shift once more, one leg hitching just a little higher on his hip. “Your fucking daggers keep poking me.”

Azriel tenses up, muscles locking and suddenly you’re being moved how he pleases—both legs wrapped around his waist and a firm forearm clasped around the base of your spine. “Stay.” His voice is rougher than your used to, his blunt nails biting into the sliver of skin exposed to the elements. “Don’t move, we’re almost there.”

That was a lie—it would take hours to make it to the Steppes but the gruff command is surprisingly easy to follow. And while you’ll never verbally admit it, the secure bracketing of his arms around your body was more of a comfort than a nuisance. It’s all too easy to ease into his grasp, allowing sleep to take over until the journeys over and you swear you can feel him cradle you in closer, his nose ghosting over the crown of your head.

He makes absolutely no comment on it when you finally arrive with your hair ruffled, clothes crinkled and the imprint of Azriel’s syphon on your cheek other than a chuffed out, “You snore.”

Instinct screams at you to make some snappy comment back but reason doesn’t allow it to be voiced—not here. Here, you and Azriel would have to appear as a united front, for the males raised in this terrain were bred to sniff out any and all weaknesses to exploit. Only here do you allow the hand that permanently glues itself to the dip of your back, pushing you past rabid animals swollen with pride and snarling with hatred.

Slurs are spat from their lips but Azriel doesn’t pay them any mind, so you don’t either.

He walks through the camps as if he owns them, spine straight and shoulders square. Strong wings stand proudly behind him, shadows guarding your flank until the unforgiving chill is replaced by the stuffy warmth of a mess hall. It’s cramped—a little dirty and smells like a mixture of male and tobacco but either way you’re given a warm meal and fresh water to drink.

The vulgar comments grow more frequent, mutterings of their unwanted appreciation towards your body so sickening that your appetite threatens to scurry away. “They’re disgusting.” You scoff, setting down your tray of food, one hand curled around the chair.

It doesn’t give. Azriel’s boot curled around the leg holds it in place. Arched brows furrow at him, nose scrunching under the effort it takes not to kick him in his shin but there’s something about his body language that make you stop. “They’ll keep doing that shit if they think you’re free game.” Every syllable is clipped; laced with a wildness you’re unfamiliar with—almost as if he’s insinuating that it’s your fault that such brutish males were salivating at the sight of you. Darkness cloaks the hazel tones of his eyes when he meets your own and you nearly miss the gesture he makes.

One hand patting twice at his lap.

“Absolutely not.” Azriel’s boot shoves the seat away completely when you make a move to sit down on it once more. He settles deeper in his own, thick thighs manspreading as deft hands adjust the positioning of his holsters, guiding sharpened weapons away from the area of space he frees up for you. “You can’t seriously be insinuating that I should sit on your lap?”

“I’m not insinuating anything, this is me telling you—sit down.”

You pray he doesn’t see the blush that burns against your cheeks when you take a seat in his lap, his hands resting along the sides of your hips. He keeps eating as if nothing is new. As if he doesn’t realize the way his touch has you squirming against solid muscle through thick leathers, legs subconsciously parting to make more room for the wandering fingers that slide down your thighs, digging into sensitive inner thighs. “What are you doing?” You ask, barely able to grab at the food before you with the way your hands shake.

“I’m sending a message.”

Breath catches when you feel Azriel’s thigh flex between your legs, pressing against your sex in such a way that you’re certain it’s impossible that he hadn’t felt the way you clench in response. “What kind of message?”

“The kind that says someone already owns you.” People are looking, that much you know—can feel their eyes tracking every move. Azriel’s hand splayed over your stomach, his head tucked in the curve of your shoulder as his free hand spies its way through your breeches. There’s a pause, one where you’re time to push him away, to declare that this was entirely too far and smack him clear across his face.

That doesn’t happen. Your legs only part further, making more room for needy fingers to shove past your panties.

It’s a foolish decision, you can feel it the second you make it. As if you’d just unconsciously confirmed the ridiculous notion that you were one of Azriel’s possessions. To do as he pleased. To sit there splayed out across his lap like some puppet and allow him to take the reins and show off all your tricks until you’re boneless and drooling.

He’s too good with his hands. Too slick with the sly filth he mutters into your ear as he fondles at your clit under the table, pressing firm circles into the bundle of nerves until you’re panting like a bitch in heat.

You barely remember how much you hate him when he touches you like this. Until the orgasm fades and your consciousness clears and even though the way you lean into the dip of his neck appears like some typical lovers embrace—bystanders fail to hear the sharp way you sneer, “Tell anyone about this ever and I’ll fucking kill you.”

[springgirlshowers]

could you do joost x gn reader, but it’s literally just them cuddling in bed during a thunderstorm??

Monsoon Season

Pairing: Joost x GN!Reader (no pronouns used)

CW: none!

WC: 726

AN: such a cutey cute lil concept!! fun fact: i wrote this as it was storming hard as hell outside lmao

Just as you were about to send Joost a text, asking how far away he was, you heard the front door open behind.

As you sat up from your spot on the couch, you were met with Joost standing with grocery bags in his hands, absolutely drenched from the rain.

It had started storming about ten minutes ago and Joost must’ve got caught in the middle of the rain on the way back from a recording session.

“I got the stuff you said we needed for dinner.” Joost gave you an amused smile as he held up the bag.

You immediately got up and went over to him, as much as you tried not to, you giggled at a bit at his soaked state.

“Thank you.” You smiled, giving him a small kiss, “Now, I’ll put these away, you go change.” You said as you took the bags from his hands, he just nodded and kicked off his shoes, walking down the hallway into your shared bedroom to change into drier clothes.

You put the groceries into the fridge and kitchen cabinets while waiting for Joost to get finished changing.

You were already done putting everything away by the time he returned, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a green hoodie, camouflage patterns on the hood. His hair had dried a bit more, now messier.

Joost walked up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Better?” You asked, putting your hands on top of his.

“Mhm, much.” He let out a happy breath. It felt so peaceful in the apartment, the hard rain from outside with the warm light from the lamp in the living room made the perfect cozy atmosphere.

Until a flash of lightning and loud rumble of thunder struck outside, scaring and making both of you jump of you a tiny bit.

“The weather app said it’s gonna be like this for the next few days.” You sighed, turning around in his grasp.

“I guess we’ll be stuck inside for the next few days then.” He moved his hands from your waist to the sides of your face, you nearly shuddered when felt how cold his palms were.

“You’re really cold. You’re sure you feel better?”

“I could use some warming up.” He shrugged, a knowing smirk on his face. You rolled your eyes playfully, letting him take your hands and drag you into the bedroom.

You got into bed first, shuffling under the sheets while Joost followed, laying on top of you.

“I’m so tired. Today was so exhausting.” He mumbled against your chest. Joost enjoyed making music, but this feeling wasn’t uncommon for him after being at the studio for hours on end.

“How’s the album going?” You hummed, pulling the blankets up over the both of you.

“Its frustrating. Nothing is turning out the way I want it to.” He let out an annoyed sigh at the thought of it. “I’m honestly just thinking about scrapping most of the songs because of it.”

“Oh come on, you’ll get them how you want them eventually.” You frowned. “You always do.” You added, hoping it would bring some relief.

“You really think so?”

“I know so.” You ran your hands through his hair, he let out a pleased breath and wrapped his arms a little bit tighter around you in response.

Even though you didn’t have a good look at his face, you could feel his smile against your skin.

The sound of the rain hitting the window and soft thunder in the distance with the warmth of your body against his and you raking your hands through his hair made him feel the most relaxed he’s been in weeks.

It didn’t take long after for his eyelids to become droopy, eventually shutting his eyes in complete bliss.

“I was thinking dinner tomorrow could be pasta. But you might have to go back into the rain again to get the noodles.” You joked, there was no response from Joost.

“Joost?” You said softly, no response again.

Craning your neck a bit to get a better look at his face, you could see he was absolutely knocked out.

His eyes shut, lips slightly parted, face completely relaxed. You smiled to yourself, deciding maybe you could let him sleep for a little bit before you got up.

[nova-amor]

༘☁︎⋆ ◜ 𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 ◞

könig was tired. after a long day of training and monitoring new recruits, his social battery was drained, and his muscles were beyond sore. he was desperate to get home— the idea of drinking a couple of beers and nuzzling his face into your chest serving as the last ounce of motivation to get him through the rest of the day. 

"schatzi?" könig called out into the foyer of your home, abandoning his combat boots and gym bag by the front door. with every step, his feet began to feel heavier— practically dragging themselves across the floor by the time he got to your shared bedroom. 

pillows of steam rolled out from under the bathroom door as he made his way into the bedroom, the warm clouds an indication that you were in the shower. he tossed his uniform blouse and gloves onto the bed, his curiosity certainly peaked.

"schatzi?" he knocked on the door lightly, waiting a few beats for a reply. and, when there was none, anxiety began to brew in his mind. how long had you been in the shower? had you fallen because of the water floor? were you drowning under the shower stream? he knocked one more time before announcing: "schatzi, i'm going to come in, okay?"

as soon as he cracked the bathroom door open, he was met with a heavenly sight— your gorgeous body wrapped in a thick blanket of steam, one hand squeezing your breast as the other rubbed sloppy circles around your clit. your eyes pinched close, and soft chants of his name leaving your lips.

a surge of energy coursed through him, his body instinctively taking swift yet inaudible steps towards you. it wasn't until the glass shower door slid open that you finally noticed his presence, his blue eyes darkening as a knowing smirk crossed his lips. 

"am i interrupting something, kätzchen?" könig teased, the startled expression on your face only adding fuel to the fire growing within him. 

"könig— i didn't hear you get home," a wave of embarrassment washed over you, watching with wide eyes as your husband enclosed himself in the shower with you. he was still wearing his uniform, the shower water soaking through his camouflage pants and tan shirt, not that he really cared. "would've greeted you properly if i knew."

könig's hands grabbed at your waist, pinning your body between him and the cool tiled wall behind you. his arousal was evident, his wet pants barely able to conceal the erection stirring beneath the fabric. you could feel it against your abdomen, your pussy beginning to tingle at the idea of him taking you right then and there.

"you greeted me just fine, kätzchen, 's not every day i get to see you pleasuring yourself," he hoisted you up into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist for support. "you were thinking about this exact scenario, ja?"

one of his hands moved up the length of your body, his calloused hand kneading the underside of your wet breast. "thinkin' about my hands playing with these pretty tits?" his head dipped down to pepper kisses along the curve of your neck. "thinkin' about my lips kissing up your neck? leaving little bite marks and sucking— right— here."

you inhaled sharply, craning your neck further to the side to allow könig more access, his lips latched to your pulse point. you bucked your hips into him, the rough cloth of his shirt providing you with just enough clitoral stimulation to make you see stars. 

"yes, ohmygod— yes," your fingers laced into his hair, tugging at the short auburn strands. könig began to feast on your skin, lapping at your neck with the flat of his tongue while, his fingers pinched and twisted your puffy nipples. "need you, könig, been thinkin' about you all day. couldn't wait for you t' get home—"

könig licked his lips, slowly pulling away to meet your lustful gaze. his hand abandoned your nipple to dive underneath your thighs, rubbing the tips of his fingers along your wet folds. he gathered up your arousal, smearing it all along your slit.

"mmm, i knew it, kätzchen," his fingers dipped into your entrance until he was knuckle deep, your tight walls clamping down on the thick digits. your jaw went slack, a guttural moan escaping from the depths of your throat as he stretched you out with just two of his fingers. "don't worry, schatzi, i'll take good care of you. i'm just lending a helping hand, ja?"

[itoshi-s]

anon requested: rin + "why do you keep marking me up? it's hard to mask and people are staring..." // no lukewarm love v-day event !

wk: 1.5k. cw: mildly suggestive, fem coded reader, mention of bruises/hickeys, fluff. rin wears a panda headband i want to eat him whole

standing in front of your full-width bathroom mirror at 6:43 am, eyes still bleary with sleep and hair sticking out in odd directions, you think you just might actually hate your boyfriend.

you know he doesn't exactly mean to do it - but all sense of rationality is long forgotten when the bright violet, reddish bruises are the first thing you notice in your reflection.

with a sigh, you put your fluffy headband on, keeping every hair out of your face, then start applying makeup. you'll have to be quick with it this time, too - you have hit snooze once or twice, and you certainly don't want to be late, yet still have something else than your face to spend time on camouflaging.

the soft playlist you've put on helps calm some of the annoyance that bubbles in your chest as you hum along under your breath, curling your lashes and applying a final coat of mascara. you put on your lip gloss, smacking your lips as you stare at your reflection, and as the initial bleariness of waking up dies down, you actually feel more amused than irritated upon the sight of hickeys littered down your neck.

rin's a possessive lover. he wants - needs - to feel every inch of your skin under his large, roaming hands. he grabs and kneads the flesh, holds it in a tight grip when he manhandles you however he seems fit. when in the moment, rin doesn't pay any mind whether it leaves marks - in fact, there are times when he wants it more than anything, like when you get home from a party looking just a tad too pretty and the green eyed monster creeps up on him. just want to mark up what's mine, the teal-eyed would mumble, laying on his tummy as he glares at you childishly.

you adore his passionate nature - feel on top of the world and like the most beautiful thing to exist when he gives you that look, overcome with love and desire.

but, for the love of god, you appreciate your sleep and sanity just as much, you think as you dab on the third layer of thick concealer, stacked on top of color corrector that really fucking struggles to balance out the purple hues.

you check the time, realizing you've got to leave the house in half an hour now, and that rin's alarm should go off in a minute or two.

as if on cue, there's a pair of footsteps approaching the bathroom door, then they're pushed open to reveal your boyfriend in all his sleepy glory.

shirtless and rubbing at his eyes, rin yawns as he makes his way over to your side of the bathroom counter. he circles an arm around your waist, broad chest feeling warm against your fluffy robe, and he sighs as his head drops to your shoulder.

"hi," rin mumbles, voice hoarse and gravelly with sleep as his lips move against the bare skin on your neck. he kisses a birthmark there and gives your waist a squeeze, turquoise gaze meeting your reflection in the mirror with an appreciative hum. "y'look nice, baby." a pause, "no eyeliner today?"

you just give a gentle shake of your head, eyebrows twitching to furrow and lips almost curling into a smirk. he's so, so clueless - it's endearing, in a way, you think as you watch him slip away and stand by the second sink.

"mm. don't have time for it today." you say softly, stuffing your powder brush back into your makeup bag and zipping it close.

perhaps your voice sounds a bit too quiet, or the exhaustion is still prominent on your features despite the glowy products you so carefully put on, cause rin's eyes drift back to life and gleam with worry.

he turns the faucet on and fiddles with the temperature, giving your face an once-over in the mirror before turning to the sink again.

"oh." he nods, fingers reaching for the fluffy, panda-eared headband you took off barely a few seconds ago. pulling it on with ease, rin wants to say something more, but dismisses it and goes to wash his face instead.

the water, as nice as it feels on his face, doesn't wash off any of this funny, uneasy feeling. is something wrong? are you mad at him? do you feel bad and shouldn't go to work today? (he will make you call it off if that's the case. there's no way you're going in sick.)

there's many possibilities, and he won't be certain until he asks. dabbing his face off with a towel, rin clears his throat to speak before turning to you - but you beat him to it.

"rin," you begin, voice sounding so resigned it makes his brows knit together. "why do you keep marking me up?"

blinking not once, not twice, but perhaps a few times too many, he does look so clueless, so silly, you have to bite back a laugh. you're supposed to be annoyed with him - but how can you really, when he's just doing all that out of bottomless, unconditional love?

continuing, "it's hard to mask and people are staring..." you trail off, giving yourself a glance in the mirror, head tilting to show more of the poorly concealed marks, as if to prove your point.

you look back at rin, who now doesn't look as puzzled anymore. instead, there's a slight frown settled in his pretty features, long lashes still damp and stuck together, lips pulled into a tight line that almost resembles a pout.

the black, fluffy ears sticking out from messy green hair really sell the look, though.

"what do you mean?" rin argues, and you go to sigh, crossing your arms. "you cover these up?"

your eyes widen, snapping over to the striker's face again. for a second, you think you've misheard him - but in fact, he does look as serious as it gets. your heart jolts with shock, flabbergasted at how truly, utterly shameless he is.

"rin!" you gasp, finger pointing to the side of your neck in exasperation. "of course i do! i can't go around work like that," you insist, tugging the hem of your robe to the side.

the man scowls, eyes trained on the faint pinks and purples. "well i don't see anythin' wrong with it," he deadpans and your shoulders slump in defeat. rin turns to face the mirror again, reaching for his toothbrush.

"everyone else does," you whine, pulling at the tie around your waist and sliding the robe off. you go to hang it up, then reach for the clothes you've neatly folded and laid on the counter last night. "i... like the way they look. and feel." you start bashfully, eyes trained on the ground when you step into your dress pants and swiftly pull them up your legs.

rin smirks at that, just slightly before you can see it and smack it right off his face.

you're quiet for a second, and rin takes the time to trail his eyes down your body as he sticks the toothbrush in his mouth. well, to be fair, there are quite a few bruises littered all over, some darker than others. there's a bite mark-shaped one, too, right on the swell of your breast, which you go to cover with the skin tight long sleeve you put on next.

(he fears your reaction when you go to look into the mirror and see it peeking out the neckline.)

it might irk you, and make people uncomfortable or amused, even - but he loves the way they look on your skin, a sharp contract to the smooth, glowy canvas, momentarily stained with his love that runs oh, so feverishly through every single cell in his body.

isn't it only natural he wants to find an output for it and eventually mark what's his?

"but-" you continue, fixing the gold charm between your breasts, the small, zirconia-studded R glimmering under the bathroom lights. "i'd appreciate it if you... kept it down." you mumble, looking up at rin again and your gaze meets his in the mirror.

rin rolls his eyes dramatically, lips quirking up into a ghost of a smile as he brushes his teeth. perhaps, he can try and opt for more... hidden places. it's not ideal - the need to showcase his claim on you still as strong as ever - but not everyone can pay so little mind to what others think of him like he does. certainly, you can't. not with your line of work, either.

he knows, and that's why it almost feels funny when his heart thumps in his chest with refusal. maybe he is a little immature, in a way - but maybe, it's not such a bad thing at all. not when it's your love that makes him feel like a kid, carefree and playful again.

"fine." rin grumbles, words muffled around the brush as he works it on the back of his teeth, sending you an amused look that has your tummy doing flips. "will hav'ta find other ways to mark my territory, though."

[sadhours]

Hii!!! Can i uhh be really weird and request a joe/baron smut of getting freaky with him while he is dressed in drag? Im salivating after seeing him in drag, my brain malfunctioned 🫠

absolutely… I’ve been having thoughts too

baron x f!reader

cw: 18+ minors dni, marmalade spoilers, smut, cross dressing, oral (m receiving), p in v, unprotected sex

he’s still the pink babydoll dress when he walks through the door, hot pink balaclava in his fingers. wig still on and you gaze up at him from the floor, where you were waiting very impatiently. flicking through magazine after magazine as a distraction, mind worried and racing. panicked that this time would be the one where baron gets caught. but there he is, fishnets and boots on. he drops the balaclava and unzips the duffel bag, dumping out the stacks and stacks of cash on the floor.

“baby!” you squeal, the crisp bills completely camouflaging the area rug you’d been lounged on.

baron smiles, all innocent but you know better, before he dives down into the money. back flat on the floor, waving his arms and legs in the loot. scoops some of it up with his hands and tosses it up, making it rain down on the pair of ya.

it’s strange, the way he looks when he’s dressed as her. the way it makes you feel. how pretty he looks. heavy makeup clouding his sharp and wide features. you crawl over and hook a leg over his waist, grinning down at him as you straddle his hips. baron giggles, all sweet and full of adrenaline. still has the rush. you smooth your hands up his chest, over the bra under the dress and mesh long sleeve. you lean down and smush your lips against his, spreading and sharing lipstick. getting it all over with the feverish way you make out with your boyfriend.

you don’t ask him how much is here, it’s not your concern really. not your money, could be shared but you’re too scared to join him and really, you think baron doesn’t want you to. he’s protecting you this way. and maybe you don’t share the loot but baron takes care of you, keeps you comfortable and fed. and honestly, you don’t care about the money. just as long as you get to have him.

pulling back from the kiss and peering down at a dreamy baron in drag is the best sight in the world. he’s a boyishly handsome man but with the make up and hair, he makes the prettiest woman you ever seen.

there’s not much to say, baron’s usually riled up after a job and you get just as excited seeing him in the get up. you kiss him some more, tasting his waxy lipstick as you knit your hands into the fried, pink ends of his wig. you grind down against him, feeling his cock hardening in the fishnets which the thought of seeing has your head spinning. his hands find your hips and he grips them tightly, spewing whiny little moans into your mouth as your kiss gets sloppier. hard to keep everything contained when he looks like this, you act a little feral. rubbing your aching core down on his barely constrained erection. you break the kiss, giggling excitedly as he blinks up at you, red smeared all over his chin and nose from the kiss. he looks perfect, moves his hand up and pulls the wig from his head, tossing it aside and runs his fingers through his shoulder length brown locks, same color as his eyes. looks even prettier.

you inch down his body, pushing the ruffles of his dress up just enough to hook your fingers in his fishnets and tug them down his thighs. his cocks strained behind a pair of your panties, lacy pink ones and your breath catches in your throat. never used to how aroused it makes you. the fact that he wears your underwear when he’s fucking robbing banks. leaning down, you mouth at his shaft, wetting the lace. a moan heaves from your chest as his length twitches beneath the fabric and the hem of his dress falls over your head. baron makes a frustrated sound, hands grabbing the pink ruffles and pulling the dress up above his hips. he props himself up on his elbows so he can watch you, hands holding the dress up.

dragging your tongue up the curve of his cock under the panties, you hold your eyes on his. baron’s eyebrows furrow, teeth digging into his red stained lips as he watches you. god, he’s so pretty. you can’t help yourself as you tell him so, babbling out your thoughts as they come to you.

“god, baron, look so pretty right now,” you scratch at his thighs watching the way his eyes roll back.

“you look pretty, doll,” he mumbles out in return, voice already wrecked and you haven’t even done anything, not really.

you pull off the lace panties he stole from you, his cock springing free and bouncing before you wrap your fingers around the base of him. the tip is just as pink as the rest of his clothes, leaking steadily and making the flushed skin shiny. you lick up the side of his shaft, following the pulsing vein and he moans out pathetically. he’s always pretty vocal but his voice is higher when he’s wearing this, like he’s still in character or something. you and baron haven’t ever talked about why he cross dresses to rob banks. or why he even does it really, you know he supplies an old folks home with pills but you didn’t go into the details ever. you think baron likes it better that you don’t ask questions. likes that you blindly follow him, helping in the small ways you can.

swallowing his tip, you can’t help but hum around him. hot and heavy on your tongue and his face gets contorted all pretty, but you take your time with him. because baron’s gorgeous with his makeup but he’s even prettier when it gets ruined and smeared all over his face. so you tease, suckle on his tip and squeeze the base and drag your tongue against the shaft. do it like until tears make his mascara run and he begs for more.

“p-please, doll—“ he gasps, “can’t take it no more…”

“had enough?” you pout, lips pressed to his swollen head as you slowly stroke his length.

“need more— needa cum,” he pleads, looking so desperate and sweet.

“you want my pussy, baby?”

baron’s pupils widen, nodding at you enthusiastically with his gorgeous puppy dog eyes. you can’t deny him. so you get your underwear down your legs and hold your skirt up as you hover over his thighs. inching closer, line his eager cock with your drenched hole and sink down in one quick motion. the pair of you gasp in unison, eyes fluttering shut as you get used to the stretch. it’s a beautiful stretch but it always takes a second to adjust. then, as your eyes open, your arousal takes over. bouncing on him like a mad woman, hands grabbing his face as you connect your lips in yet another messy, heated kiss. all tongue and teeth, animalistic to match the way you ride him. baron’s hands find your asscheeks, squeezing and kneading as he aides in your thrusts. his hips jerking up to meet yours. the room stinks, like sex and money, a heady scent that fills your senses.

baron’s moans get louder, his body tensing all over, his tell. he’s close, so you egg him on, mumbling encouragements into his mouth, “cum for me, baby, wan’ you to fill me up.”

he whimpers, grips your hips and holds them still as he thrusts up into you roughly. it’s sudden and overwhelming but it makes you cum, hard. shocked, you wail, eyes clenching shut as you grab into his hair and pull, writhing against him.

“uh-uh-uh, fuckfuckfuck— I..” Baron babbles out, then his hips still and he wraps his arms around your waist, holding you flush against him as he empties inside you, coating your walls. you hum happily, pushing his hair off his sweaty forehead. give him a second to come down before kissing him softly.

“love ya,” you whisper, feeling as baron squeezes you tighter.

“love ya more,” he whispers back, smiling softly as he gazes up at you.

[mllemouse]

Hi @b-blushes !

I took a look through my summer dress Pinterest board and found three types of outfits that look like they could fit the bill for a summer wedding with a semi formal dress code, and then I put an outfit together with my own wardrobe following the qualities from the photos.

Qualities across the board:

Look for fabric that is both lighter in colour and in weight to minimize heat retention, in materials that will wick away moisture such as linen, silk, wool, or even tech weaves for working out. Opt for looser fits to allow air circulation around your body. Choose a small crossbody bag in a contrasting colour or coordinate with your shoes. Pay attention to your desired proportions and fit!! All of these outfits feature soft shoulder profiles, loose and squared off sleeves that hit about the elbow, and bottoms that hit about the hip and fall loose but not baggy around the legs regardless of their length.

Approach 1:

Find a shirt and shorts in the same colour family to create a monochrome set

Keeping things monochrome reads visually as a set, often without requiring things to have been made intentionally as such, and elevates the formality a bit. This outfit is just a boxy cycling button up in a very light tech weave with a pair of linen shorts. The shirt is buttoned up all the way to make it hang as smoothly and appear as crisply as possible. If I were wearing the shorts for real, I'd make sure they're pressed and I'm wearing a pair of matching white boxers underneath to camouflage the front pleats. I think the boots I have closest to your chukkas is this pair of Docs, which I paired with a yellow musette pouch. The shirt hits at about my natural hip crease to make a square silhouette rather than a longer rectangle, which I love because it's very loose and comfy around my hips. For this set, I'd leave everything untucked so you don't have to worry about anything tight around the waist or visually interrupting the flow, but that depends on the individual garments.

Approach 2:

Add a colourful, unstructured garment over the shirt and shorts

If you don't have something similar already, I would say go thrift a super fun garment to go over a basic shirt and shorts. For a summer wedding, I'd look for either a blazer that has no need for a lining and softly constructed shoulders, an oversized cardigan, or a kimono/haori jacket in a lightweight material. I put on this silk haori jacket to add colour to the original white set, or increase the formality of a white button up paired with some shorter navy wool shorts. I tucked in the white shirt since the blue shorts fall higher on my waist and they have a little decorative waistband. Since the jacket is bringing some colour to the outfit, if I were wearing the blue shorts I would pick a bag that matches them closer rather than adding another bold colour to the mix.

Other little touches to consider: I tried some lavender socks that could peek out just over top of the boots and no socks at all. I'd probably end up being boring and wearing a pair of black socks that don't peek over the boots to keep my feet protected. If you don't need to wear any socks in your boots I would say take the opportunity to be sockless!

Out of the three of these options, I'd actually wear the white shirt and shorts with the haori jacket and yellow bag to a real wedding! I think the only change I would make is to swap out the boots for a pair of loafers so I could get away with being sockless and bring some Chris Pine energy to the outfit.

Good luck in your planning!!!

[sentientcave]

Contains: Original Characters, (Inaccurate) Depictions of life in Soviet Russia, Teenage Nikolai, Underage Smoking, Unrequited Feelings, The Runaways, No Plot Just Vibes

~3k words

Russia, 1987

Nikolai watched the prop plane touch down on the empty field past the barn from his spot up in the hayloft, holding a Kalashnikov machine rifle that he’d never had to shoot at an actual person before. He was pretty sure that today wouldn’t be the day that he had to, but his uncle had asked him to provide overwatch, so he was laying half on top of the rifle, peering down the iron sights at the plane as it bumped across the field and came to a stop not far off. The sun bounced off the glass windshield, obscuring the pilot.

It wasn’t like his uncle to do business at home, but he’d been called back out to the country because Auntie Natalia was having a baby. It was Natalia who knew this particular contact, and trusted her enough to have her come out here. Uncle Sasha was less sure. He didn’t trust easily— It was a liability to, in this line of business— so here was Nikolai, laying in itchy old straw and wishing that he had asked to stay in Leningrad with his friends. But he was rarely allowed to involve himself in Sasha’s business, beyond as an occasional errand boy, and he wanted to prove himself useful.

Sasha walked out to meet the pilot, his face set in the usual hard-line expression he reserved for business, a cigarette hanging from his mouth, his gun holsters visible when the wind blew his coat open. He relaxed when he realized that the pilot was alone, and really just a woman, the hard expression shifting into a smile.

Nikolai watched the woman take off her sunglasses and hook them onto the collar of her white shirt, her smile a smudge of red and white from so far above. She looked distinctly American, wearing light-washed blue jeans tucked into combat boots, and an oversized leather jacket that obscured her form somewhat, or would have if it wasn’t left open. She glanced up and waved for him to come down, laughing at something Sasha said, spotting Nikolai despite the darkness in the barn behind him, and his dark hair and brown jacket that he had thought half-decent camouflage.

Hoping to get down before she was done laughing, Nikolai scrambled to obey, slinging the rifle across his back and out of the way while he slid down the ladder to the floor of the barn.

No luck. Sasha was leaned in toward her when Nikolai approached, lighting a cigarette for the woman. She was beautiful up close, not that much older than Nikolai, really, maybe in her mid-twenties, but entirely grown out of the leggy awkwardness of girlhood, all compact curves accentuated by the high-waisted jeans and the tight t-shirt. Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a sleek low bun, with the few escaped wisps tucked firmly behind her ears.

“You must be Nikolai,” she said, holding a hand out, shooting that stunning white smile at him. It was far more devastating than a bullet could ever be, ripping through flesh and bone and lodging somewhere in his heart. “I’m Helena. Natalia’s told me a lot about you. She said you want to be a pilot too?”

Nikolai nodded dumbly, praying that his palm wouldn’t be too sweaty when he gripped her hand for what he hoped was the correct amount of time. “Um. Yes,” he said, finding his voice, pitching it a little lower, straightening his back. He wasn’t a boy, he was a young man. He needed her to see that. “It’s Kolya to friends. Let me take your bag,” he added, eager to make himself useful.

“Are we friends already?” Helena asked teasingly, handing her duffel bag over without protest. Her Russian was perfect, like she was born speaking it just as he was. “Thought I’d have to work harder than that.”

Nikolai tried to stamp down that stab of disappointment. She definitely saw him as a just a boy. Probably for the best anyway. There was a wedding band on her finger, after all. “Well, if you’re friends with my aunt, you are like family. What more to say?”

“If only it were always so simple,” Sasha said, shaking his head, waving for them to follow him back to the house. “It was easier when we were his age, no?”

Helena laughed. “No. I was already a soldier at his age.”

It was hard to imagine this woman as a soldier. Easier to imagine her as a movie star, or a model. “Did you fly a fighter plane?” Nikolai asked.

She nodded. “Never saw much real combat, but I was stationed in Guatemala for a spell, and I fought in the Falklands. Not that it was much of a fight.” She rolled her eyes, taking a long drag from the cigarette. “Thatcher just couldn’t let that go. Bitch.”

Sasha laughed. “It is for Glorious Empire, no? We are just dogs for war.”

“Too true. And some dogs don’t know how to stop.” One more drag from the cigarette, and she dropped it in the tin can on the porch railing. “Is Natalia home from the hospital yet?”

Sasha shook his head. “Not yet. She comes home this afternoon. I will be driving into the city soon— Would you like to join me? Kolya will stay.”

“I’ll stay. I can make myself useful, have dinner made by the time you return.”

“No, no, you are a guest—”

“Please! I am happy to do it. It’s one less thing to worry about, with a baby coming home.” She waved off his protests with both hands. “Kolya can help me navigate the kitchen.” She flicked her arm forward, the movement pulling her sleeve back from her watch. “You might as well go now, Natalia should not be alone too long. We will have time for business later, Aleksander.”

“Please! Just Sasha. Like Kolya said. You are like family.”

“And a moment ago I was a guest,” Helena said, giving Nikolai a conspiratorial look that made his heart hammer.

“Well, Natalia will want to know we made an effort to make you a guest,” Sasha said. “We are simply outclassed.” He opened the door and grabbed his car keys off the hook. “We’ll be back soon. Make yourself at home, Helena.” He tapped her on the arm as he went back out past them again, shoes crunching on the gravel of the drive as he went out to his car.

“Drive safe,” she said, crouching down to untie her boots, following Nikolai’s cue as he kicked off his own. She frowned, looking at the worn out work-boots. “In a bit, we should go back out to the plane. I brought a crate of things. Gifts for the family. I have boots that should fit you.”

Nikolai felt his ears turn red. “I don’t need anything, really.”

“Didn’t say you did,” she said, kicking her boots against the side of the house, out of the way of the door so no one would trip over them. “It’s just easy for me to get these things, and Natalia said there’s often shortages. If you don’t need them, give them to someone who does, hm?” She passed by him into the house and shrugged off her jacket, hanging it up on one of the hooks by the door unceremoniously. Now Nikolai had no problem imagining her as a soldier. Her t-shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing defined muscles, and she wore a leather harness across her shoulders that supported a pistol holster under each arm. She had a big tattoo of the RAF logo on her bicep too, bisected by a jagged scar.

“RAF?” he asked. “I thought you were American.”

“I live in Canada,” she said. “But I’m from England. That’s where I met your aunt. We went to the same school in London. She taught me my Russian.”

Nikolai thought back to the stories that his aunt told, trying to pick out which one was the most likely to be Helena. “You’re Lena,” he said, connecting the dots quickly. “The one that got her into trouble.”

“Guilty. She needed it though. Talia was like a mouse before I got my hands on her.” She followed him up the stairs. “It was good for me too. Got me used to taking an undressing from—” She stopped, the word not sounding right on her tongue. “Um. A Dressing down. Scolding, yes? From important people. My captains never scared me.”

Nikolai scrubbed a hand over his face, as if that would do something to alleviate the blush he could feel from his ears down to his chest. He dropped her duffle bag on the narrow bed in the guest room and shuffled back out into the hallway. There was almost no space to manuever in the small room, and he didn’t want to have to touch her. He did get a whiff of her shampoo and the slightest hint of sweat, which nearly made his knees buckle beneath him. A touch certainly would have put him on the floor. “You don’t seem like a woman who is scared of anything,” he said.

She grinned at him as she unzipped the bag, pulling out a cassette deck and a canvas bag that rattled slightly with the movement. “Anyone who isn’t scared of anything is either over-confident, stupid or crazy,” she told him. “It’s not a bad thing to be scared.”

“Which one are you?” he asked.

“Crazy of course. Here. I brought you some music.” She shoved the bag at him and headed back downstairs, the tape deck in hand. It was a small one, portable and battery powered. “I don’t know what the popular music scene’s like around here, but I bring you rock and roll. Things I don't think you can find easily here. We can listen while I make dinner.”

Western music. That was thoughtful, which did nothing to quell his burgeoning crush. He had a few tapes, many of them poor quality recordings of recordings. These were new, some of them still wrapped in plastic film, bought especially for him. "You didn't have to do this," he said, setting the bag down on the kitchen table so he could parse through its contents. Rush, Heart, Motörhead, The Runaways, Sex Pistols. Some music he'd heard of, a lot more he hadn't.

"I wanted to. Seems like you've really been through it, kid. This is nothing, really. Just some tapes. If it makes you feel better, I can tell you that I just hate Russian music and wanted to make sure we didn't have to listen to it."

"That does make me feel better."

"Then that's the honest to god truth." She put a hand over the sunglasses and held the other up, like she was making a pledge.

"Liar," he said. It felt good to tease her back. Like they were old friends already.

"I've been called worse things by worse people. Now! Let's see what we have to work with." She started going through the cupboards, noting where all the pots and pans were and rifled through the pantry to see what ingredients they had on hand.

Nikolai picked a tape at random and set it into the player, turning up the volume, grinning as the sound of drums and electric guitar pealed out from the tinny speakers.

“Ooh, The Runaways,” Helena said approvingly. “Good choice. These girls know how to rock.” She pulled out a big pot and filled it with water, her head bobbing along to the beat. “Now come here and help me peel potatoes.”

“Yes ma’am,” Nikolai said, leaving the pile of tapes on the other side of the table. He found paring knives while she washed dirt off the potatoes, bouncing on the balls of her feet, singing along to the music under her breath.

He started peeling, doing his best to focus on the task rather than on the way Helena’s hips swayed back and forth, the slightest bit off beat. And then there was distinctively feminine moaning coming out of the speakers along with the music, and he nearly stabbed himself in the hand. Helena didn’t seem to notice, or at the very least didn’t react, leaving him to briefly wonder if he was imagining it, or if it was really a part of the song.

His ears were burning hot, so he kept his head down and peeled potatoes like his life depended on it, certain that if he looked at Helena he would simply burst into flames. He was glad that he’d not bothered to get his hair cut in a while, so it was long enough to hide behind.

“You alright, Kolya?” she asked, tapping his arm to warn him that she was reaching across him to grab the other knife.

“I’m fine,” he told her, his voice cracking on the words as his heart clunked into second gear. Another humiliation. “I’m not good at this,” he lied. He tried to help out in the kitchen whenever he could, although he was still not much of a cook. “Trying not to cut off my fingers.”

Even if she didn’t believe him, she left it, blessedly, at that.

Once they set the potatoes to cook, they went back outside, keeping an eye on the stove through the kitchen window. Music from the cassette player followed them, thankfully free of moaning of any kind now that he had nothing to occupy himself with. Sometimes god was good. Nikolai pulled out two cigarettes and set them to his lips, lighting both and offering one to Helena.

"Aren't you a bit young to smoke?" she asked, lips twisting into a wry little smile. Her fingers brushed his when she took one, sending a little electric jolt through him.

"Maybe. But being young has never stopped me from doing anything I wanted to do." He hoped that came out as bold, maybe even flirtatious, rather than childish. He wasn't sure it did. It was easier, with girls his own age. Acting as though he knew what he was doing got him a long way among his peers, since most of them had even less of an idea than he did.

"I guess I smoked when I was your age too," she said, laughing. "And drank, and smoked weed, and got into trouble. It's just funny, you know? You feel all kinds of grown when you're sixteen, but when you look back at yourself, you see a child."

"You're not even so old," Nikolai said. "Twenty four, twenty five? You must be younger than my aunt."

"Nah. Same age. I'll take it as a compliment though."

So twenty nine, if she really was the same age as Talia. It should have curbed his interest, but it didn't. She was still beautiful, and interesting, and she spoke to him like he was a person, not just a kid.

"What's your husband like?" He asked.

"Oh? He's…" she trailed off, thinking about it, blowing a thin stream of smoke out while she considered her answer. "He's a good man. But we probably wouldn't have married if not for our son. Aaron turned seven this year."

It was hard to imagine Helena as someone’s mother, let alone someone who was closer to his age than she was. He really didn’t want to think about that. "Sorry, I was just curious. I did not mean--"

"It's fine, Kolya. Really. I'm not unhappy, by any means. He's a good business partner, and we agree about important things." She shrugged, like it didn't matter one bit, still wearing an easy smile on her red-painted lips. "Romance is not so important anyway. I’ve got more important things to worry about."

Nikolai couldn't help but see that as sad, in a way. He'd known her for all of an hour, maybe two, and he already thought she deserved better than that. The way she talked to him, her offer to cook, the thoughtful gift of hard to find Western rock and roll tapes for a boy she had never met, combined with the stories that Aunt Talia told painted a picture of a woman who deserved to be with someone that loved her well, gave her everything she wanted and more. He wished he was older. Maybe, in another life, he could have been that man.

But it was foolish to dwell on things that couldn't be. Better to be her friend than nothing. He had a feeling she would be a good friend to have.

They spent the afternoon like that, listening to music and making gnocchi, rolling little lumps of dough across the backs of forks to make a small mountain of dumplings, laughing together at Helena’s tone-deaf attempts to sing along. It was somehow more endearing than if she had been a song bird, a flaw that made her more human.

Not that he could think of her as anything else. She was just more vibrant, more alive than anyone he’d ever met. Like she had been struck by lightning and still carried an electric charge beneath her skin. He felt it every time they touched, purposefully or by accident, her hip bumping his as she danced, or their fingers brushing when he offered her another cigarette. That electricity fell from her lips too, when she got talking about something that she cared about, and sometimes she absently changed languages mid-sentences, flowing from Russian to English and sometimes to French and Spanish. He did his best to keep up with her anyway, even though there were times when he was just nodding along, listening to the cadence of her voice, watching the enthusiasm in her eyes.

After Talia and Sasha returned from the hospital, Nikolai had to share her attention for hours, as they ate, and she held the baby, and she sat on the couch, cuddled up next to Natalia, the two of them reminiscing in soft voices while Nikolai washed the dishes, straining to hear. Sasha was the only one that seemed to notice Nikolai’s frequent glances over his shoulder, and came to lean against the counter next to him, a mug of tea in his hand.

“Don’t fall in love, Kolya,” he said in a low voice, his dark eyes laughing at Nikolai’s misfortune.

Good advice. But not advice Nikolai was certain he’d be able to follow.

[fastwiemagie]

Outfit rundown: I'm wearing...

handmade leggins

thrifted purple gilet

fast fashion cardigan

fast fashion jersey dress

handmade bag (not made by me, got it through a swap)

[image description]

Picture 1 and Picture 2 are very similar. Amy (me) is a young, fat, white woman with glasses and long brown hair (worn in a braid slung over her shoulder in these pictures). She's wearing pink leggins with lots of flowers allover them. Her green long-sleeved jersey dress is also covered with big pink-and-cream-coloured roses. The pointy dusty purple gilet breaks up the pattern matching as well, as does the maroon coloured cardigan she's knotted around her waist. She's wearing a light sand coloured braided flower crown with pale rose coloured flowers on the crown. Tan booties complete the look.

She's lounging comfortably and confidently on a big slap of rock, hidden under a canopy of trees. It's autumn but the leaves are still brightly green, with the sunlight enhancing their beauty.

In picture 1 Amy is facing any onlookers head on in a confident pose and in picture 2 she's lounging in a relaxed way, hands behind her back and looking dreamily into the distance.

Picture 3 shows the above described woman named Amy standing in a group around a very big tree, reading the description plague which gives the details of said tree. Next to her is another young, fat, white woman with long brown hair - she's wearing her hair open down her back. The other woman is wearing a black long-sleeved dress with yellow ornaments, black leggings and black shoes. The last in the group is a young, fat, white man with short brown hair (but long for a man when you go by society's standards. His hair is long enough to be pulled back into a short ponytail. He's wearing a black short-sleeved shirt, a big black backpack,camouflage-green cargo shorts and black sandals. [/image description]

[orangeypepsi]

You're the only one - C.S

"I like smaller gatherings rather than large parties, I don't know. I have more fun." Chris says with a smile to me as I nod, agreeing with his statement. The music is playing on a low volume in the background, but still loud enough to sing along to the lyrics. It is a small gathering at Chris' apartment, he only invited a few friends including me. We all know each other pretty well, so there's a comfortable energy hanging in the air.

Chris is wearing his favorite shirt, the camouflage one and it fits him really well. I think it might be my favorite too, but I'm used to subduing these thoughts about Chris. He's walking around socializing and sipping on a hard seltzer, his baggy jeans barely holding themselves up on his waist and showing off the waistband of his gray underwear, without a single care. He is constantly fixing his cap which he has on backwards, and everytime he does that my breath hitch a little.

As the hours pass by us, the get-together gets smaller one by one. People leaving as they say their goodbyes to the rest of us, yawning or drunkenly walking. I smile as the last of our mutuals hugs both me and Chris tightly and leaves. My heart is beating a little faster knowing now that me and Chris are alone together. We are friends, but everytime his shirt rides up a bit my heart stops or there is even times Chris puts his hand on my lower back and I get aroused right there. It is embarrassing but I can't make my feelings known, I suppress them knowing the damage this do to me. Chris sighs, pulling me out of my thoughts, and he walks over to the corner cabinet in the kitchen. I look curiously in his direction when he turns around, only holding a small clear plastic bag. "Chris, is that...?" I say smirking before Chris interrupts me. "Yes, this is pure happiness if that was what you were thinking." he says back to me smiling while slightly shaking the bag. The bag is filled with what looks like small dark green mossy spheres. The urge to smoke weed has never been this high, and I usually smoke pretty often. The thought of me alone with Chris smoking is... exciting to say the least.

Chris shows me his work, a joint tightly rolled and I smile examining his work. "And the award for the most beautiful joint goes to... Chris Sturniolo!" I say loudly, laughing knowing I made a corny joke. "Thank you, thank you!" Chris laughs loudly while making a half-assed attempt at bowing. We sit down on the couch, Chris groaning as he realizes that he forgot the lighter. "Fuck..." Chris states, and I look at him with a wondering expression on my face. "I forgot the lighter in the cabinet." Chris sighs and I smile a teethy grin. "Don't worry, I'll get it for us." I say excitedly, I just want to smoke so I can feel relaxed around Chris, especially since without knowing it he has been teasing me all night. I get up and walk over to the cabinet adjusting my jeans, they are supposed to be low-waisted but they ride up all the time making me irritated. I stop in my tracks, unbuttoning my jeans and letting them ride down, accidentally losing my grip. The jeans hooks themselves onto my ass, revealing my panties if anyone had been looking. I pull them back up, giggling to myself hoping Chris didn't see it. I look back, and Chris quickly look in my eyes smiling. I shake the naughty thoughts out of my head and grab the lighter from the cabinet. I toss the lighter to Chris, and I see him lighting the joint up while I walk back over. I plummet down onto the couch, my stomach aching for the taste of pure happiness on my tongue. Chris is so focused on the first few hits, my thoughts start to wander but they quickly disappear as the joint is in my sightline. Chris smiles handing the joint to me. "Don't choke on it" he laughs, continuning to speak. "Like I did the first time." I look at Chris, and I grin. "Come on now, you can't possibly think this is my first time. I tried weed before I even knew what alcohol was. Like let's be so for real." I laugh while bringing the joint to my mouth. I inhale the smoke and let it travel slowly down my throat, enjoying the taste of it before I blow the remaining out. "Shit, my bad. How can I not know this about you? We've been friends for so long." he asks genuinely, and I shrug. "Never thought it was important enough." I smirk taking another hit before passing it back to Chris already feeling the calming effects. It was true, we had been friends for a few years and he knew everything about me. Clearly not, but most of my embarrassing and deepest secrets lies within Chris. If he remembers it ofcourse. We were just friends, but I've been hiding my feelings for so long, wondering often if he ever felt the same. I take a hit, pass the joint back, he takes a hit, passes it back. The vibe in the room is calm, yet there's something else I just can't put my finger on what it is. I look deep into Chris' eyes allowing myself to fall into them, and I swear he looks at me the same.

Suddently there is faint sounds from a phone call. Both Chris and I, without breaking off the eye contact, search for our phones frantically to see who's phone it is. I finally find my phone, and it is an old friend calling me. Ashley, a childhood friend of mine is calling. This can't be good, since we don't talk that much. "I need to answer, it's a childhood friend and I don't think she's doing good" I explain to Chris and he nods letting me answer.

"Yoooo tall girl" I groan at the nickname I've had since we were children. "Where the fuck are you at? I need to see you" Ashley yells over the phone, and I notice immediately that she's drunk. Out of the corner of my eye I see Chris reacting too, but it wasn't because she was drunk. "Ashley? What the fuck?" Chris looks at me baffled, but about to laugh. "How do you know Ashley?" I look into his eyes and are about to ask how he knows her. "Tall girl why are you with my ex?" Ashley asks looking like she is about to cry. Everything that is happening makes me confused and I'm high so I start laughing. Chris starts laughing too, and Ashley scoffs. "I understand it didn't end well" I continue to laugh making Ashley upsetter by the minute. "Well yeah, he fucked my best friend and broke up with me. I fucking hate him." Ashley replies angry. I look over at Chris with my mouth open as he finds this amusing. He whispers to me that he'll explain later. Ashley's voice is heard again yelling profanity at Chris even though she doesn't see him. "And one last thing before I hang up on your fake friend ass, he has the smallest dick I've ever seen." she screams at me and hangs up. My mouth is hanging while I look at Chris surprised, laughing. "What the actual fuck just happened?" I laugh even more. "I don't even know" he laughs even more. Feeling the need to clarify why Ashley and I are friends, I tell Chris that even though we are childhood friends, we had a falling out a couple years ago but that she had called a year prior and wanted to rekindle the friendship. Chris understands and wants to explain what happened between him and his ex. "She came home one time from a party, at the party she cheated on me and I didn't know. A mutual told me, a fucking mutual. I asked her when she came through the door what happened. She threw herself at me wanting to have sex 'one last time'." He says quoting her on the last phrase. "I broke up right there and she screamed and cried. Never saw her again." he shrugs as if he doesn't care. I move closer to him to try and comfort him, but Chris only smiles. "I don't care, I'm over her and have someone else in my thoughts." Chris smiles. My stomach feels like a thousand knives are being stabbed into. Fuck, I didn't even have the chance to sleep with him first.

I try to ignore the feeling in my stomach while I joke around with Chris. "But you do have small dick energy" I laugh, as Chris' gaze deepens but lightens up again. "Why don't you see for yourself instead?" Chris states smiling. My stomach drops again, did he just say that? No, we're friends. He didn't mean it. But he looked at my ass earlier, or I think he did. Did he? Yes, he did. He leans forward to grab the joint to take another hit washing it down with whatever's left in his red plastic cup. The entire situation with Ashley made the night feel so much longer than it needed to be, and now when there is another sensation between my legs I ignore it. One thing though, when you're not supposed to be thinking of something, that's the only thing on your mind. I thought about Chris slowly making his way down on me, how he kisses, if he's big or not. Especially that, does he have a girther dick rather than a long one? These things running my mind while Chris talks mindlessly about anything makes me horny, and wet, and...

"Hey idiot!" Chris calls, and I snap out of my thoughts seeing the joint in front of my face. "I asked if you wanted the last hit?" he says but bringing the joint back to his face, meaning I missed my chance. In my horny state of mind I quickly get over to Chris and demands he shotgun kiss me. Without hesitating he drags the last smoke out of the joint, and exhale. The smoke dancing between us before finally ending up in my mouth and I lean my head back inhaling the last of it.

I give Chris' soft lips a peck and thank him for doing that for me. Chris' eyes shoot up and his mouth is open. I lay down on the couch before I realize what the fuck I did. Fuck, this is the alcohol mixed with the weed making a move on me. I quickly stand up. "Chris, I don't feel so good. I'm going to the bathroom." I say without even waiting for Chris' reply. I get to the bathroom, and I see myself in the mirror. I'm swaying left and right, feeling like the weed really hit me now. I laugh at myself. "It doesn't matter, it was friendly" my now heavily intoxicated thoughts affecting my feelings. What I didn't know was that after that kiss and watching me walk away Chris groaned wishing it wasn't just a kiss. He had been watching me all night wishing to fuck me, and even tried to hint it to me. He had watched as my jeans fell down earlier and almost got a hard-on. The truth was that everytime Chris needed to masturbate, or he found himself in a situation with a girl, he only thought of me. How I felt sucking him off, what my ass looked like, how wet could I get for him? He always felt bad since we were friends, but now that I had kissed him he couldn't stop his dick from hardening.

I walk back out from the bathroom and see Chris laying with his hand covering his eyes. My only thoughts are that it is over now, he is sad that I kissed him and I've lost a friend. Clearly my drugged mind not handling anxiety well. Chris removes his hand away from his face, and look at me with a slight panic in his eyes. I walk closer to him and see his hand under his pants. I open my mouth in excitement but Chris takes it as a bad thing. "Sorry... fuck-" Chris sighs, and I interrupt him. I smile and straddle him.

"No problem touching yourself when I'm in the apartment?" I laugh. Chris unsure how to respond just nods. By looking at him I feel my panties starting to get wetter by the second. Seeing my expression, Chris smirks and places his hands on my hips. "This might ruin our friendship, but I just kept looking at you today and I wanted so bad to bend you over and fuck you until the upstairs neighbours hear you scream my name." Chris states calmly and my pussy tingles like crazy knowing I've wanted this too. I lean closer to him, putting my hands on his chest. "Let's see if we can make the neighbours across the street hear me scream your name" I whisper into his ear. This was enough to set him off. He grabs my waist pulling me in, holding my face an inch from his face. "You are the one I think of when I jack off" he whispers, and my pussy clenches at the thought of him thinking of me. I can't deny how wet that makes me so I grind a little. He holds me down, smirking. I'm impatient so I kiss him immediately, which he is quick to respond to. His tongue graze mine as his hands travel all over my body before ultimately ending up on my ass, gripping it hard. I gasp breaking away from the kiss, and he just brings me back in again. He tugs at my shirt wanting it removed and I follow his wish. "It's unfair if I'm going to be naked but you fully dressed" I whine. He chuckles at my whiny remark as he sits up, and pulls off his t-shirt. "It's just a t-shirt" he laughs. I smirk and stand up, slowly undressing myself. I'm basically becoming a stripper for Chris, and with the look in his eyes and the low moaning I'm feeling myself. Dancing to the seducing beat in the background smiling, touching myself all over my body. My fingers searching and finding my pussy, I slowly rub my clit with my eyes closed and moaning. Chris is in shock but quickly pulls his jeans and underwear off of him, panting and palming his dick. The weed are definitely making its impact on both me and Chris.

I knew I would like kissing Chris but I never knew how much, in fact I fucking love it. I lay on the couch as Chris is on top making the most out of this little make out session. The weed affecting our perception of time, it feels like hours since I slightly kissed Chris. Chris has his entire body weight on mine and I feel his dick rubbing unintentionally against my clit. He is kissing me so forcefully I think he is afraid this is our only moment together. I push him off and down on the couch, I sit down on my knees and pull his legs to face me. This is the first look I've gotten of his dick and I have to admit, I'm in a bit of shock. "Hope you don't choke on my 'small' dick?" Chris smirks. I laugh as I spit on his dick and let my hand spread it all over his large and throbbing dick. "Have you been waiting for this?" I ask slowly jerking him off. "You have no idea" he moans low, letting his head fall back and closing his eyes.

[My first oneshot, I did not have the energy to finish this, but will happily make part twoooo]

[hostilemuppet]

Saw this on the subreddit

A blue skunk girl. She wears a tree-shaped deodorant around her neck, which always smells sweet. She is kind and friendly, but in fact she is a pathological cleaner. She carries a paper bag with her because she hyperventilates at the sight of anything untidy or dirty.

Orange beaver. He wears a yellow helmet and a belt with tools hanging from his waist. His arms have been amputated and bandaged, but he is very dexterous. He builds houses for his friends, builds racing cars, plays the drums, and does just about anything else.

A red porcupine who is worried about having dandruff. He is very timid and always scared, to the point that he gets frightened when a small bird approaches him. Sometimes he throws up in fear. The stingers on his body often cause him to get into trouble, and he is constantly involved in accidents such as stabbing someone to death or having his skin ripped off.

A yellow-green squirrel with eyes that always spin around in a high tension. When he sees something sweet, he changes completely and will do anything for a piece of candy. He has such a strong sweet addiction that he always has multiple candies stacked on his face. The yellow-green color of his left eye suggests diabetes.

A light green bear. He wears camouflage clothing, a survival knife and hand grenades, and a beret similar to those worn by Green Berets. He is thought to be a sergeant, judging from his rank insignia. Normally gentle, but reacting to anything that reminds him of war, he switches to a bizarre and violent second persona.

A beaver boy with cute freckles on his cheeks.

His name comes from the word "toothy," meaning "bucktooth," and as the name implies, he has large front teeth. He loves to play and is a bit of a tomboy. He was the first character to die in the memorable first episode of the flash version.

[abronzeagegod]

Untitled YA Novel Chapter 19: Infiltrate, Invade, Girlboss

First Chapter || More

08:33 AM Si Yátz time

Plane en route to the southern edge of Cuba

"Alright everyone," Alt said over the radio that each teen was given, "the submarine pen was built in the side of a small cliff that was artificially expanded. The idea was to camouflage it and blend it in with the natural scenery. The bay doors won't be open so you'll have to find your own way in."

"Understood," Hira said.

"Everyone got their equipment?" Justin asked as he went over his own stuff for the ninth time.

Hira looked over her own stuff once more. Phone, smoke hood, batons, armor that was slightly too big for her. "Ready," she said.

Mike's equipment was much more of a mishmash. He had his phone, two batons attached to his forearms, one of the smoke hoods, a couple of smoke bombs that Justin couldn't carry, and some of the zlilfian body armor taped down with duct tape because it wasn't ever designed to be worn by a teenage human boy.

Justin had similarly taped on some armor to try and close the gaps in the too big defenses, but it was still just too big for him. Besides he had hooked on two smoke bombs to his chest, a few flashbangs on his waist, two tasers on his forearms, and a backpack full of all sorts of things that he had spent the flight tinkering with.

"The plane will drop you off and then do as much overhead reconnaissance as it possibly can, but it's not built for extended flights so it may have to bug out for a bit," Alt explained.

"How are we going to get picked up?" Justin asked.

"We will stay in constant contact and have a position for you to rendezvous at," Alt said. "We will try to time it to be as precise as possible, but with so many unknown factors happening I can't promise anything."

"But you will come for us, right?" Mike asked, the nerves in his voice giving him away.

"We won't leave you out there, I promise," Alt assured him.

The plane lurched a little as they felt it start to decline towards Cuba.

"You should have a lead of a few hours," Alt informed them. "Still, you should act quickly. A prepared ground is an advantage you should always strive for."

A little light flashed at the back of the plane. It flashed three times then turned green. The back hatch opened up, and the noise and wind hit the teens at the same time. The plan could only hover for a few moments so they quickly unhooked themselves from the aircraft and jumped out of the back, fall the few feet to the ground.

"Good luck," Alt told them as the plane took back off.

"Where do we go from here? We're in a field," Mike muttered. But it was still picked up by the microphone and radio they all carried.

"Look for an entrance hatch somewhere nearby," Alt told them. "There should be something like a manhole cover for a sewer nearby. They need multiple exits and entrances, but can't afford them to be visible. It may be hidden."

"And we can't just use the main entrance because that would be a short stop to getting spotted instantly," Justin responded.

"Ah, I get it, we need to find the fire escape," Mike said, mostly to himself. "Makes sense."

"Look for something, like metal," Hira told the boys, trying to get them to focus.

Crouching down, because that's what you did when you were sneaking into a Cold War Era Secret Submarine Base, the group spread out across the low hill looking for an entrance they were told would be there.

It took a few minutes, but Justin finally found it under a patch of grass that didn't quite fit in with the surroundings.

"Hey," he hissed out, trying to remain as quiet as possible, "I think I found it. Help me open it."

Justin tried to get his fingers into the little grooves between the carefully concealed metal hatch and the covering, but it was too heavy and too close together.

"And I thought you were supposed to be the smart one," Mike said with a little laugh to himself. He pulled out a small crowbar he had taken from the utility bags back on the plane. "Move over and let me do my work."

Mike, with the proper tool, managed to pry open the hatch and then with a lot of muscle, managed to move the heavy cover enough for the group to climb down the ladder and into the secret base.

The ladder let the teens off at a small junction of steel catwalks. They were about fifty feet up in the air overlooking three submarine pens, pools larger than the biggest swimming pool Justin had ever seen, maybe even tripled in size. Luckily for them, there was only one submarine in the base at the moment.

"Good," Justin said as he pointed to the submarine in the far left pen, "I only have one to take care of. That will save us a lot of time."

"Bad," Mike responded. "Frost is already here."

"How?" Justin asked, louder than he was expecting.

"He must have friends," Hira said. "Look, he's got more people already."

"This is not good," Alt said over the radio. "We need to do something."

"You two," Justin said to his friends, "you go slow them down. Do whatever you can, just make sure they don't get on that sub."

"What are you going to do?" Mike asked, the worry plain on his face.

"I'm going to do what I do best. Make things explode."

Mike suddenly pulled Justin into a hug. "Be safe man."

Hira nodded in agreement and put a hand on Justin's shoulder. "Be safe, be swift."

"You too."

From there they split up and Justin went to the left towards another ladder that would lead him down next to the submarine. Mike and Hira went to the right to try and intercept Frost and his Silenced minions.

"They don't know we are here," Hira said. "We have one chance to surprise them. After that moment, it will be them against us."

"We can smoke bomb them and dive in, but I would need to get into better position," Mike commented.

"The first rule of fighting a superior force is to not engage them until you are absolutely ready for them," Alt told the group. "Slow them down, then engage. If you can, it's time for the Silenced to have the worst luck in the world. Sabotage equipment. Lock things, slash tires, break things that they need to have working."

"They are using that machine," Hira pointed.

"Forklift," Mike explained.

"Yes, that. To move equipment off that truck."

There was a truck parked in a small loading zone. A forklift and a couple of workers were busy unloading big boxes off the truck. The forklift was arranging the boxes on wooden pallets seemingly to transport over to the sub when the truck was empty.

"Break the forklift and they will have to carry it by hand," Mike said. "That will take a long time."

"Maybe we can also trap those workers in the garage," Hira pointed out. "If we close and lock that door, they won't be able to get out, at least that I can see."

"Ok," Mike said, jaw set, looking determined. "Let's do this. I'll get the forklift, you get the garage door."

"Try not to be seen," Alt said. "The Silence Field will likely cover that area, since I assume Frost will be nearby watching over everything personally. And once you are seen the fight is on, you need to delay that moment for as long as you can."

"Aye aye," Mike said into the radio and Justin, on the other side of the base couldn't help but let out a little groan. "Let's go Hira."

Mike started the long climb down on a nearby ladder, and Hira started a series of small flying leaps to different locations to try and sneak down to the ground floor.

Justin, meanwhile, had climbed down next to the submarine. There were a few people milling about, getting things ready. He couldn't hear them making any noise so he assumed the Silence Field had grown to envelope this area too.

He could see the hatch that led into the submarine interior, which is where he had to get to do what he needed to get done. He just needed to enter the Silence, avoid all the guards, and get inside. No problem.

Mike managed to get down from the ladder and all the way over to hide behind a couple of boxes near where the forklift was stacking the equipment.

"In position," he texted the group quickly, "waiting for opp"

Across the small area he spotted Hira flying down and trying to get into a good position to sneak towards the garage door and lock all the workers out. But from their new position on the floor, Mike saw that the approach was even worse than it was from what they saw up top. There was no way for Hira to get even close to the garage or the truck without being seen.

"Don't," Mike texted Hira as fast as his fingers could go, "you'll be seen."

"I have to," she responded. "We can eliminate a lot of people. I'm doing it."

Mike groaned, but didn't hear himself. He would have sworn but he knew that somehow if he did his mom would know and would be so mad at him.

"Attack!" he texted because he knew what was coming and he wasn't going to let Hira do something stupid alone.

It was on.

i have a kofi

find me on pillowfort

[mllysmphotography]

Front Cover Plan

Idea 1

Trainspotting

The costumes in this film are fairly simplistic, but each character has their own idiosyncrasies within their outfits with certain specific pieces being repeated throughout the film. The primary thing about the clothes in the film is for them to be worn.

Ideas -

Cropped tops (unusual graphics)

raglan tops

straight leg jeans

converse

polo shirts

vest tops

suit and trench coat (trainers*)

jumper tied around waist.

sports bag

brown suede jacket

green mohair jumper

camouflage t-shirt

adidas sambas

Location/ Backgrounds

I could also work within the studio using an orange coloured background (since this is the colour associated with the film) to create some portrait images rather than being dependent upon locations. Below you can see the iconic promo portraits of the cast.

Poses

Further ideas -

Fetal position

Standing, leaning back, looking unstable

Colour

Lots of muted colours especially yellow. Vibrant reds, greens and pinks are prominent throughout. The fourth still from the film is one of the most recognisable shots from the film, which would be fun to play around with.

[carrenisaac05]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: AMERICAN EAGLE OUTFITTERS || Camouflage Utility Jacket. Sz. M.

[purplenickel]

Who You Gonna Call?

Jackson was in the shower, soaping up his shoulder length hair and singing along to Spotify on his phone. Village People were singing about how much fun could be found at the local YMCA. He was rinsing his hair, faded back into brown from the bright blonde he’d been trying, when he heard something break.

Alarmed but cautious, he turned off the water and listened, hearing first the drip of water sluicing off his body and then movement coming from the living room or perhaps the kitchen. There was a shuffling coming from the living room.

While hesitant he was determined to find out what was happening. He pushed open the shower door, wrapped his worn towel around his waist and moved to check out the noise. He cut off his phone’s playlist and peered around the open bathroom door. It was just him in the apartment and he was sure he had locked the door when he came in from work. He was sure of it. But break ins could happen. He moved into the kitchen, nothing had obviously been moved. He grabbed a chef’s knife just in case, holding it so tightly his knuckles ached. 

The only lights in the apartment were a small overhead light above the sink and a lamp beside the couch. He was kicking himself for not turning on more lights. He debated switching the overhead light in the living room on. The switch was right there he could do it. He chickened out. What if in the seconds he was adjusting to the lights, he got shot? He just couldn’t do it. 

Gulping down a nervous gob of spit, he turned the corner into the living room. Nobody was there. His eyes darted to all the hiding places he could think of.  On the stand by the door, the decorative vase he liked at an antique store lay broken into shards on the floor. His eyes seemed to make phantoms appear out of every corner.

“Come out! I have a weapon!” He declared loudly, knife shaking in his hand. He stood listening for noises, breathing, any sign that he wasn’t alone. Water drops slid down his neck and made small puddles on the floor. He heard the drip from the shower distantly and the sounds of breathing, just him though. Could he have attracted a poltergeist? It wasn’t unheard of but was mostly a problem for wealthy households, not…him.

Then out of the corner of his eye, a bag of apples fell to the floor with a stunning amount of force. He jumped back and glanced back into the other room and saw what could only be described as an apparition. A shadowy gray figure, half clearly visible, half transparent, was hovering on the counter.  He looked closer at the visible parts as they shifted like the world’s most complex rubix cube.

It looked like a cat. But some sort of ghost cat? How had it gotten in? Did it materialize through the door or did it have more mundane methods. The question Jackson had was why was it here, in his apartment, knocking over apples and breaking vases.

He stepped closer,  holding on to the knife as a cat, even a ghost cat, could still bite, he thought. Jackson brought up a tentative hand to stroke the cat and was perturbed to find it felt like petting icy cold water, almost fluid under his fingers. The cat yawned and revealed a wider than average mouth, full of  needle sharp teeth. It looked at him with milky eyes, the Milky Way revealed in this irises. The man blinked. 

This was strange but he had heard of stranger things. The homeless man on the corner had adopted an honest to god hellhound last month. 

He observed the ghost cat for a moment as various parts of the cat appeared and vanished, an ever changing camouflage.

“What do ghost cats eat?” He wondered aloud. The cat jumped off the counter and through the fridge door. Jackson stood there, stunned, for a moment before opening the fridge door and seeing the cat paw at a pack of honey ham he had for lunches. He frowned. Ham was expensive.

“Okay okay You can have some ham.” He grabbed the lunchmeat and placed a couple slices on a throwaway plate, setting it on the floor. He adjusted his towel and leaned down to sit next to the cat. 

“I guess you wanna stay? “ He asked, watching the cat devour the sweet meat, growling and purring simultaneously. The small beast finished its meal and stepped on his thigh, heavier than he thought a ghost would be. He brought up a hand to pet the strange creature, still irked by the feel of icy depths instead of warm fur. The cat purred and nuzzled his hand. 

“This is temporary, my spectral buddy.”

[lindaluxe]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Camouflage Belt Bag.

[bagsouq]

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