#chain detail boots

[suburbanswirl]

Leather skirt by West Coast Leather, leopard mock neck top by Boston Proper, fingerless leather opera gloves by Bohemia RZ, sunglasses by Ray-Ban, and chain detail over the knee boots by Venus.

[worstloki]

Thor and Loki often have similarly styled pants but no one seems to go 👀👀👀😳 over Thor's and I for one find that very funny

[ephemerallibrary]

Scary Outfit

Her own unique take on the vampire look, both elegant and deadly!

[shortnotsweet]

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

Alicent’s Costuming

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

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

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

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

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

Shoes should stick mostly to slippers, or flat designs

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

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

Rhaenyra’s Costuming

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[senseichaos]

Thinking about Alastor giving reader a scandalous foot rub.

IMAGINE

Kicking off your boots, you trud into your and Alastor's took with a groan, faceplanting yourself onto the couch. You don't bother even looking for where Alastor may be, or that is until you feel him adjusting his legs beneath your feet. How the fuck did you not notice him on the couch??

"Oh hey Alastor, sorry I didn't see you there."

"Hm. Hard day, I take it?" He purrs, placing the pad of thumb against the sole of your foot. You shiver nodding into the couch cushion beneath you.

"Come on now dear, Tell me about it,"

"Okay.."

"Good girl!" You feel the pads of his thumbs massage against the soles of your feet. You moan softly, shifting your head so you look at the wall.

"Well, Charlie made us do this stupid friendship circle, where I had to talk for a full HOUR to everyone here.. and I know that's not that many but it's still a god awful amount of time.." You vent, staring into the wall with a frown. You hadn't told him everything, like how Angel forced sexual details about Alastor out of you, or how Charlie made you talk about your feelings..

"Mm, I feel like there is more to this story, my fawn," Alastor says, before pressing his hand to the side of your body to make you flip onto your back. This time he begins massaging the top of your foot, making you smile comfortably.

"Yeah.."

"Well tell me about it, dear,"

You sigh. "Charlie made me talk about my feelinfs and.. Angel may have managed to get some.. sexual details about our relationship out of me.. I'm sorry.." You say, flushing as you twiddle with your fingers. Alastor chuckles, rubbing your foot slightly deeper.

"Like what, Fawn?"

"Uhm.. like how you bite me.. or how you like to chain me up.. or our petplay.. situations.." You utter, unsure of what Alastor's reaction may be. Though he listens intently, narrowing his eyes as he listens. But you can tell that his smile is genuine.

"What did he think about that, dear?" Alastor asks, his voice low and seductive, pressing his fingers into the muscle of your foot deeper.

"U-uhm.. well he thought that we were very- kinky.. and that I scored with you.. and then he asked how big your dick was.. but I didn't tell him," You answer, the way Alastor is massaging your foot causing you to whimper. Alastor leans closer, grinning with low lids.

"What would you have said if you had told him, my dear?"

You gulp, watching as Alastor takes his hands from your feet before climbing over you.

"Very big, Al'.."

He chuckles, horns poking upwards more as his eyes darken.

"Good girl.." He growls, nipping against your neck.

[gloomyclauds]

100 Followers! It might not seem like a lot, but I'm so thankful for all the support I've been getting here 🤍

This sim has been sitting in my library for almost a year now, and while I was planning on using her for a new series on my youtube channel, I just don't see that happening any time soon. My work schedule is a lot, and it's rare that I get a day, where not only I'm feeling cheery to record, but where I also have enough time for it... Being an adult sucks, you literally stop having a life. All I do is work, sleep, eat, and dread the next day.

But maybe I can make the series here, as I just came back to tumblr, and it's easier to post screenshots. This is not for now though! I need at least half a generation done before I start posting 😅

Her outfits are very blue, because she's for a color coded legacy challenge that I made last year, but still haven't posted it. I wanted to share it whenever I started the series, but again, time. There's not enough time in this life. I won't share the Tray Files (I might at some point though)!

Keep Reading for the FULL CC LIST ⬇️

GENERAL Skin Color | Skinblend | Misc. Face Details | Skin Detail Blush | Skintone Set | Cleavage | Torso | Tummy | Nose Mask | Eyes | Eyebrows | Hairline | Hair | Rings

DEFAULTS Tinsel Skinblend | Teeth | Feet | No EA Lashes

PRESETS Lips | Chin

SLIDERS Eyebrows (1) (2) | Nose | Chin | Feet

MAKEUP Eyelids | Eyeliner | Blush | Lipstick | Eyelashes (1) (2) | Manicure | Pedicure

EVERYDAY Earrings | Necklace | Outfit | Heels

FORMAL Hair | Hair Overlay | Earrings | Necklace | Dress | Heels

ATHLETIC Hair | Hat + Logo | Sunglasses | Outfit | Sneakers

SLEEP Hair | Pajama | Slippers

PARTY Earrings | Dress | Platform Sandals -> Necklace from Crystal Collections

SWIMWEAR Bikini | Belly Chain

HOT WEATHER Earrings (Barona) | Sunglasses | Choker | Skirt | Heels -> Top from Urban Homage Kit

COLD WEATHER Hair | Beanie | Earrings (Solstice) | Jacket | Jeans | Boots

POSES 1st Image | 2nd and 3rd Image

A huge thanks to the cc creators!

@lamatisse @mousysims @okruee @glitchsyndrome @vibrantpixels

@pralinesims @northernsiberiawinds @mossylane @sammi-xox

@twisted-cat @rheallsim @simstrouble @arethabee @shsims

@lutessasims @ice-creamforbreakfast @magic-bot @miikocc

@obscurus-sims @poyopoyosim @crypticsim @joliebean @dream-girl

@aharris00britney @madlensims @joshseoh @nucrests

@huiernxoxo @jius-sims @kumikya @caio-cc @trillyke

@serenity-cc @aladdin-the-simmer @akalukery @ratboysims @helgatisha

[norrisleclercf1]

Can I has Mafia!Jenson x assistant!reader where she wears the body jewellery to a dinner of some sorts, or like an event, and Jenson is just completely speechless? They're in that weird cat and mouse game still where they both know the other has feelings but are too scared to admit their own but Jenson would kill whoever looks at her 👐🏼

A/N: HEHEHE

"I am, not wearing that."

Lewis snaps his fan closed and groans, cracking his neck as he glares at you. "Yes the fuck you are, now, go change." He pats your ass and throws you into the changing room. You turn quick and pull at the handle and groan when you realize the bastard locked it from the outside.

"I'll just stay in here!" You yell, a snort echos, as Lewis's boots click on the floor. "Fine you can stay in there, but Jenson will come in here, now wither I open the door with you dressed or naked, is your choice." Biting down hard, your jaw aches from the threat, blowing air out as you take a moment to calm down.

"I hate you!" "No you don't,"

Groaning, you hate that Lewis was right, you could never hate your best friend. Looking at the outfit you groan and quickly undress.

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

"Goddamn, even I'd fuck you." Blushing at the words, Lewis smiles as he walks around you. Wearing black stilettos, a skin tight black dress that had a deep cut V that went down to your naval, your breasts holding perfectly it looked sinful, it had slits on either side that went up to the curves of your hip bones, you'd keep to yourself you weren't wearing any panties. But the silent killer, was this small but noticeable gold chain that layed on your sternum, but broke off at the end and wrapped under your breasts. It had gorgeous little pearls that adorned your skin, it looked classy yet a little hint of seduction. Lewis loved it.

"Well, okay," Lewis takes a breath and fixes his pants which has you slapping his shoulder but you both giggle, leaning in he kisses your cheek and brings you over to do a smokey eye and paint your lips a deep wine red. "Thank you," You whisper, feeling confident.

You might work for Jenson Button, one of the feared men in the Mafia world and even made him fall to is knees, but even you needed to feel pretty once in a while, and Lewis was always happy to dress you up. "For you," He whispers and kisses your cheeks.

"I have to go," You sigh, not wanting to head to this meeting. Jenson had asked you to come with and Lewis decided to make you gorgeous and confident and have all the men eating out of your hand.

And damn did he succeed.

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

Climbing out of the car you say thank you and hold your little clutch and walk inside to the dark little restaurant. You didn't know where Jenson and the other men where, looking around for them.

Jenson was going to murder Lewis. He was going to kill him and maybe torture him, but he was going to do something to the man. Because explain to him, why he gorgeous, sweet, somewhat shy, and brilliant assistant was currently wearing a dress that was begging Jenson to fuck her in.

Biting his lip he groans, seeing you in that dress should be illegal and the fact he now had business partners here, to see you in this dress. He was going to rip their fucking eyes out. Seeing you look around lost and confused made his blood bump so hard he could hear it in his ears. "Excuse me," He slides out of the booth and walks up behind you, and feels his pants get even tighter seeing the finer details of the dress.

God he wanted to take his hand and reach into the slits of the dress and grab your ass pulling you close, having you sit on his lap and feel him grow hard underneath you. He wanted to slide the long sleeves off your shoulders and watch as you bounce, the body jewelry teasing him and god, he was going to come right here. "Y/n," You jump, and he has to control himself from wrapping his arms around your waist.

"God, Mr. Button, scared me." You blush seeing the way he was eating you alive. "I'm sorry, but...what are you wearing?" He steps closer to you. Body tensing you hate the way you lean forward, craving the warmth and the scent of his cologne wrapped around you.

"Lewis designed it for me," You whisper, as the two of you lean in closer, craning your neck to look up at him, as he looks down at you. "Come home wit-" "Mr. Button, you're table is ready for your orders," The two of you jump back as the waitress smiles, seeming somewhat annoyed and you blush looking away.

"Let's go," He whispers, and holds out his arm, which you gratefully take as he leads you to the table and stops. "Fuck, I can't." He moves to stand in front of you and shrugs his suit jacket off and laying in on your shoulders, covering your body, his hands tighten on the collar and pulls you in.

"Only I can see you like this, understand? Only me," He whispers, leaning in and you have the urge to lean in just a little bit, he smiles and bumps your forehead and moves away. "If they stare at you to long and make you uncomfortable, squeeze my thigh twice and I'll blow their fucking heads off," You nod, getting a smile from him, "Good girl."

[venusiancharisma]

Rising Sign & Your Perfect Festival Outfit

Here are the perfect any music festival outfits for each of the 12 zodiac signs and Ascendants, with details on color schemes, materials, accents, and overall aesthetics:

PSA: Images and descriptions are both complimentary, so they may not be entirely identical, but everything is relevent.

Aries Rising: Bold and daring, an Aries rising would rock a fiery red crop top paired with high-waisted denim shorts. Accessorize with a black leather choker, combat boots, and a statement belt. The outfit screams confidence and adventure.

Taurus Rising: Earthy and sensual, a Taurus rising would opt for a flowy, bohemian-style maxi dress in shades of green and brown. Pair with a leather fringe vest, ankle boots, and a wide-brimmed hat. The outfit exudes comfort and laid-back elegance.

Gemini Rising: Playful and eclectic, a Gemini rising would mix and match patterns and colors. A graphic tee paired with a colorful, patterned skirt, fishnet stockings, and high-top sneakers. Accessorize with layered necklaces and quirky sunglasses for a fun, youthful vibe.

Cancer Rising: Soft and feminine, a Cancer rising would choose a vintage-inspired, pale blue sundress with delicate lace details. Pair with a cozy, oversized cardigan, ankle-strap sandals, and a small, cross-body bag. The outfit radiates comfort and nostalgia.

Leo Rising: Bold and dramatic, a Leo rising would make a statement in a metallic gold romper with a plunging neckline. Accessorize with a chunky, gold chain necklace, oversized sunglasses, and platform heels. The outfit screams glamour and confidence.

Virgo Rising: Clean and practical, a Virgo rising would opt for a crisp, white button-down shirt tucked into high-waisted, black denim shorts. Pair with a black leather belt, minimalist jewelry, and comfortable, low-top sneakers. The outfit is polished and effortlessly chic.

Libra Rising: Elegant and balanced, a Libra rising would choose a flowy, pastel pink maxi skirt paired with a white, off-the-shoulder crop top. Accessorize with delicate, gold jewelry, strappy sandals, and a woven clutch. The outfit is feminine and harmonious.

Scorpio Rising: Mysterious and alluring, a Scorpio rising would opt for a black, lace bodysuit paired with high-waisted, faux leather leggings. Layer with a sheer, black kimono, and accessorize with a choker, ankle boots, and a dark, smoky eye. The outfit is seductive and intense.

Sagittarius Rising: Adventurous and free-spirited, a Sagittarius rising would rock a tie-dye, cropped t-shirt paired with distressed, cut-off denim shorts. Accessorize with a woven, multicolored belt, layered anklets, and gladiator sandals. The outfit is playful and adventurous.

Capricorn Rising: Classic and sophisticated, a Capricorn rising would choose a sleek, solid & colored co-ord with a structured, cinched waist. Pair with knee high or thigh high black boots or dainty shoes, minimalist jewelry, and subtly refined look. The outfit is timeless and powerful.

Aquarius Rising: Unique and unconventional, an Aquarius rising would opt for a holographic, iridescent bodysuit paired with high-waisted, flared pants. Accessorize with a chunky, silver choker, platform boots, and a brightly colored, faux fur coat. The outfit is futuristic and eccentric.

Pisces Rising: Dreamy and ethereal, a Pisces rising would choose a flowy, sheer, pastel purple maxi dress with delicate, floral embroidery. Layer with a soft, crochet cardigan, and accessorize with a flower crown, layered, beaded necklaces, and strappy, barefoot sandals. The outfit is whimsical and enchanting.

[cowboydisaster]

Dark Red

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader word count: 5.6k summary: The Task Force 141 goes out drinking, and you wind up on your stomach in Ghost's bed. If you knew it would only take a few rounds of drinks, you would have gotten drunk with him earlier. (eventual smut, lots of family 141 interactions beforehand) a/n: This is my first COD fic and also the first thing I've written since May, so go easy on me if it's ooc pls xx. If you like this fic please give a follow or a reblog, I'm fixing up my blog and I'll be writing a lot more Simon. beta read by @margowritesthings warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni (smut, fingering, size difference, doggy)

masterlist

Your dress is wrapped tightly around your frame, held up by tiny golden chains that drape over your shoulders. It's dark green, and just barely covers your ass. It's definitely not the tactical gear that you’re used to wearing. You swallow thickly, pulling it down over your thighs as much as possible as you glance over yourself in the mirror. You barely recognize the reflection in front of you. No eye black, no tac-vest or combat boots. Tonight you’re not a soldier, you’re a civilian.

Price had arranged a night out to celebrate the 141’s latest win. He invited the Task Force alongside some allies for drinks at a club of all places, figuring everyone deserved to unwind. You were hesitant at first, but the boys all reassured you it would be just a few drinks. 

Once all the little details of your outfit are in place, you give yourself a onceover before pushing open Price’s bathroom door. Ghost, Soap, Gaz, and Price are all leaning over the kitchen counter, speaking quietly about the mission. They smile, oblivious to you as you exit the bathroom, feeling a bit self conscious about the dress Kate insisted you wear. That is until Ghost catches a glimpse of you out of the corner of his eye and quietens. He turns, and you watch his back straighten, hands in the pockets of his jeans as his eyes slowly run up and down your body. Something about that stare… you wonder if Ghost would ever see you the way you see him. It's been years now of you pining after him. You could never tell him. He’s your lieutenant, and besides, you’ve heard what happens to the recruits who make a move on Ghost. Every single one of them was harshly rejected and dropped from the program. You can't compromise your job, especially not for someone who doesn’t want you back. 

 Ghost stares, and the other three men turn to you in sync. A fierce blush blooms across your face as four pairs of eyes land on you. Ghost is wearing that familiar balaclava, the one he wears out in public or around the base. It hides everything but his eyes, and you stare into their swirling depths for a moment before the eye contact becomes too much. You clear your throat, glancing down over your dress. 

“Too much…?” You whisper, questioning your choice of fashion and makeup. 

“No…Not too mu–” Ghost is cut off as Soap lunges forward with a smile bigger than Texas and slaps you on the arm.

“Lookin’ good, bonnie lass!” Soap laughs. He looks nice himself. You’ve only seen him in sweats around the base, but tonight all four of your teammates are dressed to the nines. 

“Not so bad yourself, Johnny.” You smile, clutching a small purse to your hip. 

“We ready then, Cap?” Gaz asks, glancing up from his phone for a moment, “Laswell just got there, said she brought König.” 

“Yes.” Price smiles at you, checking his watch, “I've ordered two Ubers. Should both be here.” 

You follow them outside, smiling and nodding to Ghost as he holds the door open for you. The Captain and Gaz take the first car while you file into the second with Ghost and Soap. Soap sits in the front, leaving you in the back with Ghost. Your lieutenant is quiet most of the ride over, letting Johnny fill the silence, which he does. But it's hard to focus on Soap talking. You’re hyper aware of the eyes on you and how exposed you are. Your breasts are practically pushed up into your face, and the dress suddenly feels all too tight. You’re used to fighting, not celebrating, not partying. You take a few deep breaths, knowing that once you get a few drinks in your system you’ll feel better. 

“You alright?” 

Your eyes flick up. It’s Ghost, just barely over a whisper. His eyes are fixated on something out of the window, but he still must have noticed your anxiety. You nod.

“Just nervous.” You admit, “I’m not used to all this.” You whisper, gesturing down to your dress and matching strappy heels, then to the car that is driving you through the nightlife. Ghost smirks under his mask. 

“Me neither. Bourbon helps.” He says. 

“You drink bourbon?” You ask, glancing over. Soap hasn’t noticed your little conversation and continues to chat up the driver. You hadn’t taken Ghost as a bourbon man, he’s piqued your curiosity. 

“I fancy Kentucky.” He remarks. You chuckle. 

“Don’t let him know that.” You nod your head in Soap’s direction. 

“Never.” Ghost smirks, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. Your eyes fixate on the tattoos lining his left arm, just briefly exposed. You force your eyes away, knowing if you stare too long you’ll get caught up in the intricate pattern. The thought of running your fingers over those tattoos lingers in your head, soothing you enough to make the ride. 

—

The club is nice. Colored lights stream from the ceiling, a steady thrum of music vibrates lowly through the walls. You take in your surroundings, watching people drink, and dance with one another. It's a bit dark, hard to make out faces. You take note of all the exits while following behind Gaz and Price, both leading you all towards a closed off section of the club. Laswell is already there waiting along with her wife and König. The man must have already had a few drinks because he’s more relaxed than you've ever seen him. König’s eyes immediately land on you, and flutter down to the short cut off of your dress. You gasp as a burly figure pushes past you, separating you from König’s eyes. Ghost. He stands between the two of you and starts unclipping the velvet rope that separates you from the VIP section, much to the bouncer’s frustration. You blush, looking back to König whose eyes are sheepishly staring at the floor. Ghost must have pulled out his famous deadly glare. Your cheeks burn red. 

“There you are!” Laswell exclaims, motioning for the bouncer to lift the velvet rope that secures her area. No one seems to have noticed the little interaction between Ghost and König, thankfully. 

“VIP?” You chuckle. “Was that some CIA shit?” You ask, passing into the nicer, more secluded area of the club. A couch wraps around the corner wall, a table sitting in front of it. 

“Afraid not.” She smiles, wrapping an arm around her wife’s shoulders. You take a seat on the couch, watching as Ghost motions for Price to follow him towards the bar.

“We’ll be back.” He mumbles. Price pats Ghost on the shoulder as you watch them leave. 

“So, König?” Soap asks as he sits down, nodding towards the masked man. You take note that a beanie rests atop his head in place of his usual tac helmet. 

“Hmm?” König asks, suddenly alert. His eyes dart until they land on Soap. 

“How many drinks is it gonna take for you to shed the mask?” The scot asks. König grows quiet, tightly gripping his beer bottle by the neck. 

“Nein, I do not–” König begins before Soap jumps up, fist down on the table. 

“Nine?!” Soap laughs, “Keep em comin’, Ghost!” Soap hollers towards the bar. König shakes his head profusely.  

“No, that is not what I meant.” König tries to clear the situation up, but is drowned out by noise as Gaz and Soap laugh together. Laswell shoots you a knowing glance. You feel for her, being the only woman to watch these children.  

“You went with the dress I suggested.” Laswell notes, a proud smile gracing her lips. 

“I did.” You remark, blushing, “It's a bit tighter than what I’m used to.” You admit, sitting up straighter as a few from the table look back to you. 

“That's the point.” Laswell laughs, shooting you a quick wink. 

Before you can ask what she means by that, Ghost and Price return with two trays of shots. Half the shots are a golden, bronze color and the others are crystal clear. You raise an eyebrow as Ghost sits down beside you. 

“Get your bourbon?” You ask. 

“Had three down at the bar. You’ve got some catching up to do, yeah?” 

As everyone plucks shots from the trays, Ghost slides three in front of you with his knuckles. Two bourbons and one of the clear liquor. 

“What's this?” You ask, picking up the shot and holding it under your nose. It burns your nostrils, stealing the air from your lungs and replacing it with a sharp sting. 

“Patrón.” Ghost replies with a smirk. Your eyes follow as he grabs a clear shot from the tray with one hand, and pulls his mask up over his lips with the other. You’ve never seen his lips before. He brings the small glass to his lips, and you try to memorize the shape of his them, the jut of his jaw. It's gone in a flash as he downs the shot like it’s water before pulling his balaclava down over his chin. 

“Your turn.” He smirks, giant hand pushing the shot glass towards you. 

You follow suit, throwing your head back and letting the alcohol slide down your throat. You grimace at its strength, making a sour face. 

“Fuckin hell.” You cough. 

“You’ve got a bit of catching up to do.” Laswell points out, nodding down the table. You notice as Gaz takes the last shot from the first tray and your eyes boggle. 

— 

An hour later

Steady music thumps through the building. It feels slow, sensual. Maybe it’s because you’re wasted, but your confidence is through the roof as you make your way across the dance floor. Your eyes are locked onto your group, specifically searching for Ghost. The more alcohol that enters your system, the more you find yourself staring at him, noticing his every movement, every breath. You’d never allow yourself these thoughts while sober– the thought of wanting your Lieutenant is out of the question when your mind is clear, but right now it’s not. Your eyes search for him as you make your way back to the VIP section. 

“Lt?” You ask, sliding back onto the velvet sofa. 

“Went for a piss.” Soap exclaims.

“Why don’t you go meet him in the bathroom, maybe he could finally bend ya ov–” Johnny starts. 

“Soap!” Price cuts him off harshly. Soap only laughs, looking down the table to Gaz and the Captain. You look between the two of them, absolutely oblivious to the jokes that have been passed around the table all night.

“Oh, come on, Captain! He wants her and everyone knows it. We all see that shriveled up, cold, dead heart meltin’ at the sight of this bonnie.” Soap points to you. 

“Bloody hell, we bet on it!” Gaz chuckles, adjusting his cap.

“I must admit, I do see it.” König adds in. You squint down the table at him, and he immediately looks away. Price looks down at the boys like he’s schooling children. Your mouth falls open, taking in all the new information. 

“Remember that's your lieutenant you’re talking about. Leave his private life alone. You know how Simon is.” Price interjects, stopping the conversation before it gets out of hand. You blush fiercely, taken aback by their words. You don’t even think about what they’ve said, you can’t. Price looks to you apologetically. 

“What?” You ask, looking between them. “Ghost?” You double check, making sure that your hearing hasn’t totally left you. 

“He’s gone on you, mate.” Gaz adds, tone more serious than you would have expected.

“Christ, just pass me another drink.” You say, extending your hand out as König slides a shot down the table.

—

Thirty minutes later

You can feel his eyes on you. They’re burning through the thin fabric of your dress, where your breasts rest perfectly inside the silk, where the curve of your ass swells just above the hem of the dress. Your cheeks blush, whether from his eyes or the alcohol you’re not sure. Ghost doesn’t even try to hide his gaze, openly staring at you across the floor. His bourbon is held tightly in his hand as he watches you twirl on the dance floor between Soap and König. The lights aren't nearly as bright as your smile, and the night isn’t nearly as dark as the glint in your eyes. 

Ghost had watched men approach you on several occasions, and each time Soap shoved them away from you. You hadn’t given any of them the time of day. But Ghost? You’re taunting him, testing his self control to the point that he’s about to break. Every swing of your hips accompanies a purposeful glint in your eyes, a subtle bite of your lip. You’re teasing him, and he can’t take it. 

He deserves it. This is payback. He’s been apparently wanting you for months, and everyone in the damn Task Force knew about it but you. You’ve had enough of it. You extend your drink out for Soap to hold, accidentally bumping it against his chest and spilling a bit down his shirt. He takes the glass with furrowed eyebrows, looking down at your tipsy frame.

“Where ya headin’ to?” He yells over the music. 

“Have to use the bathroom. I’ll be right back, j-just watch my drink.” You stumble over your words, eyes never leaving Ghost’s. Soap nods, taking your cocktail and continuing his conversation with König. 

Ghost inhales deeply from across the room, eyes fixated on the taunting little “come hither” motion of your finger. You turn away from him, making your way towards the VIP bathrooms. You walk slow enough that he can follow after you, not that you’re even capable of walking too fast, lest you lose your balance and fall over. You push past a few other people, your heart beating quickly as you go. The music is loud and the lights are low, which you’re grateful for. Hopefully no one notices Ghost trailing behind you. A warm buzz radiates in your chest, pulsing down your bones as the liquor you’ve been downing boosts your confidence and slows your movements. 

You push the door open, stepping into the dimly lit bathroom. It’s clean and orderly, perks of the VIP section. Immediately, you walk in front of the oval mirror, checking over your outfit and fixing your hair. You reapply a quick layer of red lipstick, tucking it back into your purse just as you hear the lock click. 

Before you can turn around, a solid warmth presses against your back. Ghost. The sink digs into your hip bones as he sandwiches you in, one hand pushing your hair over your shoulder. His skin on yours is more intoxicating than any drinks you've had tonight. He's never touched you, not like this. You giggle, tipsy as ever as he rolls his balaclava over his nose. 

"Ghost–" You whine, fingers clenching around the sink as he gently nips at the skin of your neck. He inhales your perfume, exhaling in a deep growl that rumbles through you. 

"Simon." He corrects, hands wrapping around your hips. For just a moment, you sober up. He wants you to use his real name? 

Your coherent thoughts fall away as he turns you around, hands nearly bruising your waist. He kisses you. It's sloppy and drunk, but it's everything. All the months of wondering, and hoping– he's kissing you. If you'd known it would only take a few rounds of drinks for the courage, you would have gotten drunk with him earlier. Painted fingernails dig into his shoulders as you lean up for more. His tongue delves into your mouth, and you whine. He tastes like his favorite bourbon, smells like expensive cologne– his signature scent that you could recognize anywhere. Eventually, you pull away for the oxygen that he's so easily stolen from you. 

"Everyone said…" You take a deep breath, glassy eyes flicking from his scarred lips and chin up to his eyes. He waits for a response, but sees hesitation.

"Hmmm, what did they say, love?" 

"They said you wanted me." 

"How couldn't I?" Ghost growls. 

You yelp as he grabs underneath your thighs and lifts you up onto the sink. His hands are massive, maneuvering you as if he was trained to do so. Your legs wrap around his waist, grinding against the pressure in his jeans.

"Fuckin hell, I've wanted you since you first joined the Task Force." Ghost growls in between kisses and bites to your pulsepoint.

You think back to all that time ago. It seems like ages since you met the cool headed, brooding, terrifying Simon "Ghost" Riley. You remember thinking how easily he could break you. Now?– Oh, how you want him to. 

Hearing him say it out loud sends a wave of need straight to your core. Your hands shoot for his black leather belt, but he shakes his head, stopping you before you can unclasp it.

"Not here, love." He shakes his head, gripping your chin to press one slow, sweet kiss to your plump lips. Your eyes slip shut, and you pout as he pulls away from you and slides his balaclava back down over his chin. Disappointment pools over you as you search for an explanation.

"Flat's not far." Is all he says before he grabs your wrist and pulls you off the sink. He unlocks the bathroom door and begins pulling you back towards the crowd. "Here. Order us an Uber, yeah?" Simon asks you, slipping his phone into your free hand. 

It's too much for your drunken mind to take in as he leads you through the crowd of people. Colored lights strobe, making it hard for you to make out faces, but eventually you spot your group across the club. Soap is still holding your drink, but now he's looking around. Price and Laswell are with him, eyebrows drawn together in worry.

Remembering your task, you look down to Ghost’s phone. It's already opened up to the app, but messages are coming in and you can't swipe them away quick enough. The light bothers your eyes, and you attempt to read the messages as they flutter across the blurry screen.

Cpt. Price:

-Is y/n with you at the table? We seem to have lost her. Very worried.

You swipe the message away, and quickly order an Uber to Ghost’s saved home address. It's difficult, and you have to squint to make out all the swirling numbers and bright lights. But eventually, even in your state, you manage to get a confirmation code and receipt. An unsaved number pops up, more than one notification at a time lighting up the screen:

-LT, where'd you end up?

-Y/n asked me to hold her drink, disappeared on me. 

-OH SHIT

-LT!

-YOU HOUND!

-HAHA! Getting a pump, eh, LT? No worries, lad. I'll tell the Cap what's going on.

Several erotic emojis pop up on the screen and you blush fiercely.  Then you giggle. Soap, of course. You shake your head to rid yourself of the idea. The last thing you want is for Soap to blab about this. 

Simon pulls you through the exit and into the cold night. The breeze causes a shiver to run up your spine, and your dress helps none. As he leads you towards the road, you check the address once more and slip Simon’s phone back into his blazer pocket. 

"I d-didn't know you lived in Manchester." You whisper as he leads you out into the cold night. 

"Manny, born and raised.” You can hear Ghost huff through his mask, as if something humors him, “But no one knows where I live." He mutters, leading you down towards the busy street. 

No one except for you.

Cars pass by, and scantily clad men and women rush down the sidewalks searching for the same pleasure that you’re seeking. You bite your lip, feeling a bit nervous now that this is actually happening. Simon squeezes your hand. 

A steady trickle of rain begins to sprinkle down from the dark night sky, and goosebumps trail down your bare arms and legs. As soon as you tense, Simon is pulling his blazer off. 

“Simon, that's not necessary, really–” You begin to protest, but he is already wrapping the expensive jacket around your shoulders. 

“Hush.” He warns, and you obey. It's instinct. He’s your lieutenant after all.

You can see the tug of a smirk under his mask, blonde eyelashes fluttering as his brown orbs flick down over your body. You frown lightly, feeling bad that he’s given up his jacket for your sake. 

“Don’t worry, love. I'll be taking it all off soon, yeah?”

The alcohol buzzing through your system, making everything fuzzy, only intensifies the burning desire in between your legs. You don’t know how much longer you can wait. If you had it your way, he would have already taken you, bent you over the sink and had his way. The thought alone causes butterflies to fall in your stomach. Cold fingers wrap around Simon’s phone, still resting in the coat you’re now wearing. His recent notifications are all from Soap, and you scroll through them until a new one pops up on the screen.

“Car’s here.” You whisper, half lidded eyes searching until you find the sleek, black Volvo as it pulls against the curb. He takes your hand again, pulling you towards the car. 

“Simon, how long is this ride gonna be? I don’t know how much longer I can take this.” You admit, wanting nothing more than to tear your damn dress to shreds and throw yourself at the man beside you. He only huffs, showing a self restraint that you could only dream of. 

“Patience.” Is all he says as he opens the car door for you. You step inside the nice car, scooting towards the other side to make room for Simon to sit in the back with you. You see the momentary panic in the driver’s eyes as a 6’4 masked man climbs into his backseat, but Simon only places his hand on your thigh and politely confirms the details with the man. 

Simon grips your thigh, the large pads of his fingers leaving imprints on your soft flesh. You shake your ankle, distracting yourself from the desire growing in your abdomen.

“Drive fast, yeah?” Simon mumbles, sliding twenty quid to the driver.

—

The door lock clicks. Simon checks it twice. 

His hands are on you in an instant, picking you up by your thighs and pushing you up against the wall. He didn’t turn the lights on, and your eyes struggle to adjust to the dark as Simon’s lips run over your jaw in sloppy kisses. You moan, hands wrapping around his neck and resting on the back of his balaclava. 

“Simon, please–” You whine, throwing your head back as he nips your earlobe. 

“Just a second, darling.” Ghost growls, holding you against him. He carries you through the dark flat, maneuvering drunkenly down an even darker hall. He approaches a door, and kicks it open like a human battering ram. You’re slowing him down, your lips pressing against him everywhere that they can reach, leaving love bites that he’ll still have in the morning. You kick your heels off before he even sets you down, your hands tearing off the blazer from your limbs. It hits the ground, Simon’s phone buzzing silently in the pocket. He’ll find several missed calls from the boys in the morning. You don’t even want to think about the notifications your phone is receiving. Luckily, you dropped your purse as soon as you entered the front door, so it can be a problem for tomorrow. 

Simon gently tosses you down on his king sized bed, and you fall onto the plush black blankets. They’re warm and soft and they smell like him. It’s all too intoxicating. You lean forward and unclasp Simon’s belt buckle as quickly as your intoxicated hands can manage as he pulls his shirt over his head, not bothering to unbutton it. You’re taken aback as you notice a sizable scar on his ribs. It's a messy, deep, pink scar that indents into his otherwise pale skin. Your eyebrows wrinkle, fingertips brushing near the flesh before he snatches your hand away, squeezing it too tight to the point that it hurts.

“Don’t.” Is all he says. It’s a warning, and you blush a deep crimson out of embarrassment. 

“Sorry.” You mutter, quietly. Simon brings your hand up to his lips, pressing a slow kiss to your knuckles. 

Ghost leans forward, hand gripping the side of your neck as he kisses you again. His balaclava tickles your nose as you deepen the kiss, leaning more into him. Any embarrassment or awkwardness from your last interaction falls away as he pushes his jeans down over his legs, lips still interlocked with yours. Simon steps out of his jeans and boxers, and your jaw falls slack. 

“Simon–” You stutter, eyes fixated on the length between his legs. Your eyes flick back up to his face, seeing the proud smirk he wears, even through the mask.. He simply won’t fit. It’s just not possible– He’s too big.

“I can’t-” You shake your head.

“I’ll be gentle, love.” He reassures, climbing overtop of you on the bed. Nervously, you nod. You trust him. Big hands grab you by the waist and flip you onto your stomach. You whine, clutching the sheets below you. He shushes you, and you gasp as golden beads and zipper teeth fly across the room, bouncing off of the floor and the glass window overlooking the city. A loud tear rings out as Ghost shreds your dress from the seams.

“Fuck, Simon! That was expensive!” You yelp as he pulls the ruined fabric from your body, discarding it on the floor. Laswell’s gonna kill you.

“I’ll  buy you a new one.” He growls, warm hand running down your bare back. His finger loops under the black lace thong you’re wearing. Simon smirks, “All for me?” He asks, releasing the lace so it smacks back down onto your skin. 

“Yes– all for you, only you, Simon.” You mumble, pushing your ass back up in hopes that he’ll touch you.

“That’s my girl.” 

You moan at his words, hands moving to your hips to shove the lace down off your legs, but he brushes your hands away, stopping you.

“Leave it on.” Simon rumbles at your back. You nod your head against the pillow, bringing your hands to rest under your head. Ghost pulls your thong string to the side, letting it rest just out of the way.

“Fuckin ‘ell, love.” Simon takes a breath, trying to keep the control that you’re so close to snapping as his fingers trail over your dripping folds. 

“Fuck, Simon. Stop teasing.” You beg, hips pushing back against his hand. He chuckles, dipping two fingers into your throbbing cunt. 

“O-Oh!” You whine, gripping the sheets as he hooks his thick fingers, hitting every sweet spot inside of you. Simon kisses your back, nudging your legs with his less busy hand so that they’re folded under your stomach and spread apart. He positions you low enough that your stomach touches the bed. He curls his fingers, scissoring them occasionally as you throb and whine for him. He groans at the noises you make, working you open until you’re ready. 

“Perfect.” He grumbles, sliding his fingers out of you. You whine in confusion until you feel the tip of his length teasing at your entrance. 

“Ready, love?” Ghost asks. You moan, biting your lip and nodding your head. 

“I need to hear you say it.”

“Yes. Im ready, just– please Simon, fuck!” You stutter. 

Simon slowly pushes in, and you gasp for air as he parts you like the fucking red sea. It hurts a little, and your nose wrinkles as you exhale. Simon notices the hitch in your breath, carefully examining your reaction to make sure you’re comfortable. It only takes a few moments for you to acclimate, and then he feels incredible. His size stretches you, reaching depths you didn't think possible. He hits every sweet spot as he spears into you. 

Simon’s chest presses against your back as he pushes into you. His scarred lips lock onto your neck, biting you as he fucks you from behind. He grips the headboard to steady himself, nearly leaving indents in the wood as he thrusts.

It's rough, drunk and sloppy as he drills into you. He starts out at a slow and steady pace, grinding into you rhythmically so as to not hurt you. Your exhales become sharp huffs, swirling together with the puffs of air he exhales next to your ear. If only you could turn around and kiss him again. You crave his lips against yours, satisfying the craving you’ve been ignoring for so long. But you know Simon might not be ready for that level of intimacy yet. You’ve heard stories, connected the dots. 

All too soon, you find yourself teetering on the edge from his movements. You gasp and moan under him, whimpering out his name so loudly that you’re sure the entire building can hear. The headboard rocks against the wall with every thrust, loudly slamming and leaving dents in the drywall. Neither of you care, too wrapped up in each other to even realize. 

Your neck is bruised from Simon’s lips, adding to the pleasure that’s pushing you over the edge. You fight it, but lose as pulsing heat tears through your core. Stars explode in your vision, eyes shut tight enough that they wrinkle. 

“F-uck, Simon!” You scream, nails digging into the sheets as your whole body trembles with the weight of your orgasm. Your walls squeeze Simon’s length in time with his thrusts, turning him into a groaning mess. 

“Bloody fuckin ‘ell." Simon groans, accent thicker than usual. His warm breath tickles your ear, and you gasp as he bottoms out, hitting your cervix. 

“You- You on the pill?” Simon manages to stutter out between deep grunts. He can’t risk pregnancy, can’t be a father. But you feel so fucking good and he can’t bring himself to unbury himself from your perfect, dripping cunt. 

“Got the patch– you’re good. Just fucking fill me up, please.” You beg, rocking your hips against him. He nearly curses at your words. You have a foul mouth in bed, something he wouldn’t have guessed. You whimper his name, and that’s all it takes. 

Simon grunts deep and guttural, and with one an iron grip on your hips, he fills you up with his spend. You moan, taking it all until you can’t, and it comes dripping out around him before he’s even finished. 

“That’s it, fffuck– y/n.” He grunts as the last of his seed spills out.

You press your forehead against the sheets, wincing as he pulls out of you and collapses beside you on the bed. A sheen of sweat lines both your bodies, but as much as you’d like a shower, you’re exhausted. A digital clock rests on the table beside Simon’s bed, and you sit up, squinting to look at it. 0300. Damn. 

You look back towards Simon. He’s half sitting up against the headboard, half laying down. You notice the thousand yard stare that he’s putting off, and you gently cup his chin, pulling his gaze towards you. 

“You okay?” You ask, rolling up his balaclava with your dainty fingers. You uncover the subtle smile on his lips. You smile in retur, half lidded eyes focusing on the shape of his lips. Your thumb traces over them gently.

“Better now.” He whispers. You press a kiss to his lips, slow and sweet before pulling away. 

“Get some sleep, love.” He says, softer than you’ve ever heard his voice. Much to his surprise, you tuck yourself into the crook of his side, wrapping your arms around his torso. Sleep overcomes you almost immediately. He’s too warm, too perfect. It’d be impossible for you to stay awake next to the comforting, human heater that he is. 

Simon hesitates. It’s been a long time since anyone has been this close to him. The bourbon gave him confidence enough to bring you home, but this is a very new territory, and not even the alcohol can guide him through this one. Sex is one thing, but intimacy? Emotional vulnerability? Simon burned those handbooks long ago.

“Love?” He asks, awkwardly looking to see if you’re awake. You don’t respond, asleep he confirms. Simon’s not sure what to do. He doesn’t want to move you. Are you comfortable? Is he too close? Too warm? 

He sighs, looking down at your arms tightly wound around him. No one’s shown him this type of affection, not ever. He’s not sure how to reciprocate it, but he wants to. One day at a time. Simon pulls the blanket up over your waist, checking twice to make sure that it's covering you. Carefully, he places a hand over your back, feeling your soft skin against his. 

He doesn’t sleep at all, opting to stay awake and watch the small rise and fall of your back on his lap. He doesn’t deserve you, he's sure. But you’re here, and that’s something.

[oceanpulls]

Photos by Danielle Levitt for GQ, in a now-deleted article.

GQ Article

Outfit details:

Photos 1, 6, 8, and 11: On Trent Reznor: Coat by Faqtpry. T-shirt by Calvin Klein. On Atticus Ross: Jacket by Faqtory. Photo 2: Cape by Dolce & Gabbana. Turtleneck by Ralph Lauren Purple Label. Ring (on left ring finger, throughout) his own. Ring (on left pinkie, throughout) by Møsaïs Paris from Voyager Archive.On Atticus Ross: Shirt by Willy Chavarria. Jeans by Ralph Lauren Purple Label. Boots by Christian Louboutin. Sunglasses by Gentle Monster. Necklace, bracelet, and ring (on right ring finger, throughout) by The Great Frog. Ring (on pinkie, throughout) by Parts of Four from Voyager Archive. Ring (on left ring finger, throughout) his own. On Trent Reznor: Jacket by Canali. Shirt by Rick Owens. Trousers by Ralph Lauren Purple Label. Boots by Balenciaga. Necklace from Voyager Archive. Ring (on right ring finger, throughout) by The Great Frog. Photo 3: Cape by Dolce & Gabbana. Turtleneck by Ralph Lauren Purple Label. Ring (on left ring finger, throughout) his own. Ring (on left pinkie, throughout) by Møsaïs Paris from Voyager Archive. Photo 4: On Trent Reznor: Coat and trousers by Willy Chavarria. Sweater by Diesel. Boots, his own. On Atticus Ross: Jacket by Versace. Tank top by Junya Watanabe Man. Trousers by Fear of God. Boots by Gianvito Rossi. Sunglasses by Gentle Monster. Watch by Hublot. Ring (on left hand), his own. Bracelet and ring (on right hand) by Eliburch Jewelry. Photo 5: Jacket by Bottega Veneta. Sweater by Zegna. Sunglasses by Barton Perreira. Wallet chain (worn at neck) by Martine Ali. Photo 7: On Atticus Ross: Coat by Saint Laurent by Anthony Vaccarello. Scarf stylist’s own. Sunglasses by Ahlem. On Trent Reznor: Jacket by Dolce & Gabbana. Sweater by Ferragamo. Necklace by The Great Frog. Photo 9: Jacket by R13. Tank top by Givenchy. Trousers by Ralph Lauren Purple Label. Boots by Balenciaga. Photo 10: On Atticus Ross: Shirt by Willy Chavarria. Tank top by Junya Watanabe Man. Jeans by Ralph Lauren Purple Label. Boots by Christian Louboutin. Sunglasses by Gentle Monster. Necklace and bracelet by The Great Frog. On Trent Reznor: Jacket by Fear of God. Shirt by Rick Owens. Trousers by Ralph Lauren Purple Label. Boots by Balenciaga. Necklace from Voyager Archive.

[bebemoon]

look for the name FONTAINE (requested by @benevxllain) | art print by emiliano maggi, romeo gigli dark purple pleated cocoon coat (a/w 1992), romeo gigli floral borcade sheer skirt, mirror palais "angel wisp" top in burgundy, zimmermann baroque gold chain belt, vintage italian butter leather over-the-knee point-toe stiletto boots w/ button detailing, joanne burke 18kt gold fountain ring, paloma picasso "mon parfum" eau de parfum in special edition wearable sun brooch bottle, anna molinari kiss clasp black leather handbag w/ logo charm chain

[mariekanker]

bridge

[IMAGE ID: Digitally drawn fan art of One Piece made entirely with the binary brush tool. It features most of the pre-time skip straw hat crew, minus Brook. Luffy and Franky create a bridge over a ravine for the rest of the crew to cross using their arms. Luffy is on the left, he has a goofy smile on his face and is positioned on his hands and knees with his left arm stretched out halfway over the ravine, grabbing onto one of Franky's large fingers. Franky is on the right side, using his strong right to extend his arm halfway over the ravine. He is on his hands and knees as well. He is smirking and wearing sunglasses. From right to left; Robin, Nami, and Zoro are all walking across the arm bridge while holding hands with each other while Chopper rides on Robin's head and Usopp clings onto Zoro's head. Chopper, Robin, and Nami all look completely neutral while Usopp looks terrified and Zoro looks annoyed as Usopp's hands squish Zoro's face and Usopp presses the bottom of his head into Zoro's hair. Zoro walks upright and balanced despite the fact Usopp has his entire body curled up behind his shoulders, knees digging into his shoulders. At the bottom of the ravine, Sanji can been seen laying in a splatter of his own blood, face down with his limbs splayed out. He's drawn small with not much detail. Luffy is drawn with a wide nose and curly hair. His hat is scuffed and bits of grass and straw are caught in his hair. He is wearing his default clothes. Chopper has a three tone fur coat, primarily dark brown with lighter brown around his eyes and on his hands, and his chest is white. His nose is also wider and he has thick rectangular black eyebrows. He is wearing his default clothes. Robin is wearing an open purple jacket with a shirt that's green on the top, white on the bottom underneath. It's meant to look like a simplified version of her top during the Long Ring Long Land arc. Her pants and shoes are drawn all in one, as if she is wearing pitch black tights with no shoes. She has a small chest size and a completely rectangular body with no curves. She has simplified dot eyes that are colored brown. Nami is a bit shorter and chubbier compared to the canon material. She's wearing her blue striped shirt + yellow skirt combo from her first appearance, but is wearing the heeled shoes she usually wears. She has a cowlick with a bit of hair sticking out from the side of it in the shape of a stem with a leaf, freckles have also been added. Her torso is more rectangular and not curvy at all with a small chest. Zoro's arms are just drawn really thick rather than muscular. He is wearing his usual default clothes, though his pants and boots have been simplified with no clear indication where the boot starts and the pants end. Only the top half of Usopp's face is shown, and his nose is more fat and round than long and skinny, but still sticks out from his head regardless. He is depicted with much darker skin than in the anime. His bandana slightly covers the tops of his big eyes, but the edge of it is curled upward in the middle as if it is part of his brow. He is wearing his usual outfit. Franky's hands are exaggeratedly large with no wrists. His strong right is depicted as if Franky's arm was cut in half with a golden chain holding the ends together, with the exposed halves of his arm colored meat red. He is wearing his usual clothes. The background is simple and shows a few other cliff ledges in the back against a light purple sky. END ID]

[mintelsa]

Thranto wedding designs !!!

In a lot of western military weddings, men often wear their dress uniforms and so that’s what I decided to put them in as a base. The dress uniform is a little fancier than a normal CDF uniform, featuring a sash, more embellished belt, gold epaulets - yes I spelled it wrong on the sheet lol - to display honor chains, and other gold details such as on the boots and gloves (not shown).

Thrawn being a member of one of the Ruling Families wears a burgundy robe over his uniform - burgundy being the Mitth family color - and a long, thick, embroidered cloak/cape custom to him (I like to think he designed it in his twenties, never thinking he’d ever wear it 🥺) The two also wear a gold Mitth family belt buckle.

I wanted Eli to have some Lysatran traditions and decided to go with the exchange of grass/grain wreaths that are made of local plants from their homeworlds. Eli then exchanges his Lysatran wreath with Thrawn’s wreath made out of plants from Rentor, with a vow along the lines of “my home will always be your home”.

To signify Eli’s transition into House Mitth, Thrawn will drape Eli in his cloak/cape - I did steal this from Game of Thrones, see Sansa and Tyrion’s wedding - that is uniquely his. I decided to go with the double snake design that (I think?) comes from the ring Thrawn receives in Chaos Rising.

Hope ya’ll like it :)

[femmefatalevibe]

Femme Fatale Guide: Fall Wardrobe Essentials

Staple Tees:

**Purchase in Modal, Pima cotton, or a cotton-cashmere blend**

Fitted crewneck tees (long-sleeves/tees & tanks for layering)

Relaxed fit long-sleeve tees

Turtleneck long-sleeve top (fitted & relaxed fit options)

Contour bodysuits

Blouses/Shirting:

Silk button-down blouse

Cotton button-down blouse

Silk shell top/t-shirts/camis (for layering)

Sculpt knit top(s)

Self-tie wrap blouse

Shirred boatneck, mock neck, or cowlneck silk blouse(s)

Leather button-down

Knitwear:

Thin cashmere/wool crewneck sweater (fitted/relaxed fit)

Thin cashmere/wool turtleneck sweater

Chunky relaxed-fit cable knit sweater

Knit polo-neck sweater

Cashmere sweater vest (crewneck, v-neck, and/or turtleneck)

Mockneck cashmere/wool sweater

Cashmere long-sleeve sweater dress

Cashmere/knit skirt (mini, midi, or maxi - depending on your personal preferences)

Sophisticated coordinating knit set (top/pants or skirt of your choice)

Casual knit set (top/pullover and relaxed fit pants)

Cashmere cardigan

Cable knit cardigan (doubles as a light jacket)

Bottoms:

Black straight-leg jeans

Black bootcut/flared jeans

Black straight/bootcut trousers

Wide-leg trousers (I love a solid black, black pinstripe, and black with lace-up detail selection)

High-waisted leather pants

Split hem trousers

Stretch jersey/cashmere pants (straight-leg or flared)

Quilted leather/tweed mini skirt

Knit/wool mini and/pencil skirt

Leather skirt (mini or midi)

Silk midi skirt

Dresses/Jumpsuits:

Knit/sweater dress

Little black dress (shift dress/A-line cuts are great)

Blazer dress/jumpsuit

Slip dress (for layering)

Minimal black jumpsuit ("LBJ")

Leather and/or denim dress or jumpsuit

Jackets & Outerwear:

Black tailored blazer

Leather blazer

Tweed jacket

Trench coat

Leather moto/cropped/bomber jacket

Black wool coat

Raincoat ( I like Rains for high-quality options on the affordable side that are still built to last for several seasons)

Statement jacket/coat

Footwear:

Sleek flat/low-heel black boots with a pointed-toe or square-toe silhouette (I love Vagabond, Jeffrey Campbell, Vince Camuto, and Sam Edelman for more affordable, high-quality options)

Black loafers/sleek black flats

Black lace-up boots

Black heeled boots

Black pumps

White sneakers

Rain boots (I recommend the Melissa Shoes Welly/Grip/Step boots or a stylish, sustainable, and more affordable option)

Accessories:

White/black ankle & crew socks

Black control top tights

High-waisted shapewear shorts

Chunky/small chain necklaces & bracelets

Simple pendant necklace(s)

Pearl necklace

Simple diamond studs

Crystal drop earrings

Minimalist bangles

Stackable rings

A sleek, minimalist black tote (can fit a laptop for work/travel)

Black shoulder bag

Small black bag (top handle, crossbody, etc.)

Statement bag/evening bag

Cashmere scarf

Silk/decorative scarf

Fingerless/touch-screen friendly, lightweight gloves

Lingerie/Loungewear:

Seamless bra/underwear

Lace bra/underwear

Matching pullover cotton sweatshirt/sweatpants

Knit or jersey cotton top/lounge pants set

Luxurious pajama set (silk, Tencel, cashmere, etc.)

A to-die-for piece of lingerie like a lace slip/silk teddy

Silk or cozy robe

Cozy open-back slippers

[dreamgrlarchive]

current wardrobe shopping list 💻💕💵:

around this time of year i always like making clothing wishlists for the fall and winter, and my wardrobe naturally shifts for the spring and summer. i always seem to slightly tweak my personal look around this time of year to make sure my wardrobe is true to me! prissy girl 4 life! 💓🍰

tops:

lace bandeaus for layering, feather trimmed button down tops, knitted fuzzy fitted tops, fur trimmed half jackets and crop tops, rhinestone lettered shirts, victoria’s secret off shoulder sweaters, lace camis, off shoulder knitted tops in my color palette, satin button downs, sheer tops, lululemon strawberry milkshake define jacket, fur collar leather jacket, oversized sweaters in pink and black, basic neutral long sleeved cotton tops

bottoms:

microscopic boy shorts with cute details, leather mini skirt, tartan plaid mini skirt, fold over yoga pants, lace trimmed skirt, miss me embellished skinny jeans, denim pleated skirt, houndstooth mini skirt, leather flare pants, fur/feather skirt

dresses + etc.:

ribbed knit bodysuit, pink and black rompers for layering, cotton bodysuits in my color palette, rhinestone skims dresses, hidden cult distressed pink halter dress, skims slip dresses, knit bodysuits, i am gia tracksuits in black and pink, pink jacket and legging set, solid black leggings, gray leggings, pink body by tracy set, black and pink fine girl set, new pink workout set

accessories:

knitted knee high socks, sheer socks, fuzzy beret, baby phat belt, fur headbands, fuzzy leg warmers, lace tights, diamond hair clips

jewelry:

anklets, new pandora charms, body chains, bling nostril hoops, bow ring and necklace, tiara charm bracelet and necklace, diamond encrusted hoops, tiffany toggle choker, dainty tennis bracelets, new cute belly rings

purses:

medium ballerina telfar, hello kitty wallet, heaven sent leopard print wallet, tory burch ella tote, juicy couture wristlet, louis vuitton speedy 30, rhinestone encrusted purse, feather satchel, hello kitty purse, pink puffer tote, victoria’s secret glitter tote, burberry satchel, ruffled pink purse, juicy couture 2022 bowler bag

shoes:

fuzzy boots in pink and gray, black kitten heels, pink closed toe pumps, jelly platform sandals, white fur bearpaw boots, y.r.u. qrystal pink platforms, juicy couture fur slides, total temptress heels, sequin uggs, pink fur platform sandals, sherpa lined pink crocs, sparkly heels, strappy heels, mary janes

[bits-and-babs]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐀𝐑 || 𝐉𝐎𝐄𝐋 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

summary: When Ellie is taken by David, Joel breaks open the part of him locked away since his hunter days. As the guilt eats him alive, you try to help him subdue the black dogs of mental warfare.

word count: 4.1k

warnings: Very 18+. It’s giving morally-grey Joel. Depiction of gore, violence, mentions of cannibalism, mentions of David that is a warning in itself. Very vague insinuation of SA as shown in the game. Discontent for Christianity (don’t like, don’t read my dude). Angst, guilt. Hurt-comfort. P in v sex, unprotected sex.

authors note: This got so dark it actually caught me off guard! I am so incredibly proud of this piece. I started it 5 whole weeks ago, and spent up until the night of posting (March 5th) editing and retouching. I hope it does Winter, my favourite part of the game, proud.

tease: “I jus’ need to be close to you.”

Continuous dripping sounds from the radiator, drip, drip, drip. Globs of blood seep down the grooves of the heater, falling when the droplets reach the edge and settling in a pool of coagulated gore. A headless body leans left, slumping against the metal the handcuffs chain it to. What’s left of its skull plasters the walls, the ceiling, and the steel pipe discarded in its lap.

Another lifeless body lays strewn sideways, the chair it’s tied to thrown haphazardly across the floor. Its neck is angled awkwardly; its eyes rolled back so only the whites show.

When you manage to tear your eyes away from the carnage, you can still hear the panicked shouts of the captives before Joel slaughtered them, rattling inside the cavern of your skull. Joel’s callous answer rings in your ears.

“Fuck you, man. He told you what you wanted. I ain't telling you shit!”

“That’s alright. I believe him.”

Snowflakes stick to the window of the home Joel had appropriated as a slaughterhouse, the wooden planks weathered and falling apart after years of neglect. The cold creeps in through the holes in the ceiling and the gaps in the wood, but you find yourself doubting the chill responsible for the goosebumps littering your arms.

Inhaling slowly, you will yourself to speak, but the words die in your throat before they even form on your lips, melting away on your tongue. Your pleas for reason would fall on deaf ears, and you know it—Joel’s far beyond reasoning with.

He’s pacing up and down the room, the floorboards creaking under the weight of his boots as he studies the map gripped between his imbrued knuckles. It’s unlike him, you note, to be so rattled. In the years you’ve known Joel, his steadfast resolution had been comforting, a certain. Not now. The men he’d butchered had mentioned details you could only describe as buzzwords that had Joel’s survivor alarm bells ringing.

David’s newest pet. The Town. Cannibals.

Heaving breaths he expels from his lungs vaporise in the air, still catching his breath from pummelling radiator-man’s brains out. If you couldn’t hear the wheezing in his chest from his laboured respiration, you could damn well see it.

Stepping forward, you wince when the floorboard beneath you creaks. “Joel—“

“They got Ellie, Darlin’,” your partner leaps into an eerily calm rundown of the dire situation despite you having been in the room for the entire interrogation. “They got Ellie, an’ they’re gonna kill her.”

Nodding slowly, you reach across the small distance between you to hold onto Joel’s bicep. Blood splatters the fabric of his brown winter coat, and you can feel his body heat radiating beneath the layers of cloth as his body fights infection. The gaping wounds in his back and stomach from the protruding rebar he was impaled on, thanks to a scuffle with a looter at the university, have stopped weeping puss. However, Joel was still largely incapacitated by the pain — despite the feral display of resilience against these two bandits.

“I know—” you try to ease him, but Joel’s buzzing with adrenaline.

“I gotta go get her; you can’t stop me doin’ this, Darlin’ I have’ta-“

“I know,” you speak firmly, and Joel stops dead in his tracks, clearly not having expected you to green-light his suicide mission, “I know I can’t stop you, which is why I insist upon going with you.”

You expect Joel to make a scene, to lose his temper and tell you that you weren't going anywhere, that it was far too dangerous and losing either of you would crush him. You know about Tess; Ellie told you everything when you joined them in Pittsburgh. She detailed Joel's heartache, despite his desperate attempts to appear indifferent. It's times like these that you can't blame him for being overprotective, knowing he had lost so much.

However, your expectations are not met. Joel looks at you, the whites of his eyes tinted red, and the skin beneath shadowed dark with exhaustion. He nods slowly, evidently realising he cannot compete with an army of cannibal bandits single-handedly with the state he’s in. He surrenders.

Wordlessly, Joel grabs your backpack and begins to sift through the items within. Apparently, he decides you don't have enough ammo, sacrificing his El Diablo pistol and offering it to you.

You accept it without fuss, knowing damn well that leaving with him is out of his comfort zone. Making a scene would make him change his mind.

It doesn't take long for Joel to spread out your limited supplies. Within five minutes, he's lifting his heavy backpack onto his shoulders with an agonised groan. You move out silently, Joel holding the door open for you as you step out into the blizzard.

You hear the frozen grass and layers of snow crunch beneath the rubber soles of Joel’s boots. You set your whole life to the pace of each of his steps, a monotonous metronome. Sometimes, on hot days in the summer, you can smell the rubber melting on the tarmac if you stand still for too long.

It’s bizarre, especially as he guides you into a death trap with an unknown sum of threats, but you find yourself thinking you’d be happy for him to lead you anywhere.

-✩-

Snowflakes cling to your eyelashes, eyes weeping from the cold and freezing the coarse hairs together. It's so cold that you’re convinced that the tears that develop as a result of the stinging cold freeze before they can drip down your cheeks.

Even without the natural eyelash glue, it's hard to see Joel ahead of you in the chaos of the bandit’s town. The blizzard has intensified, casting a light grey fuzzy haze over what you can see— or rather, what you can't. You're not even sure that the shadowy figure in front of you is Joel, but you're too afraid to ask in case a stranger turns around and shoots you in the stomach.

When you and Joel arrived, it was pandemonium already, armed bandits practically running into you as they attempted to reach their battle stations. The whistling of the wind muffles gunshots, and the bell from the church tower rings deafeningly loud across the snow plains in warning. What exactly had happened, you are unsure, but what you do know is that the cracking of the bronze bell will draw in runners from miles away.

You had to find Ellie. Quickly.

"You all right?" Joel calls out above the din, his Texan accent a welcome relief. It takes you a second to find your voice, the cold having momentarily stolen it.

"Yeah!" You shout back, trembling fingers grasping tightly to your gun.

There is a roaring sound on the wind, rising in volume as you continue to trudge blindly through the snow. The gunshots are more frequent now, yet still too far away to be a threat to you. You wonder if Ellie is raising hell or if the infected have already arrived. Neither scenario was good.

An orange glow peers through the blanket of falling snow that distorts your vision. You'd noticed the flaming barrels as you wandered through the town, but this was different. It was huge. The closer you got to it, the clearer the sound met your ears. It was crackling, wood-burning and billowing acrid black smoke.

Joel whistles, the pitchy sound catching your attention over the deafening thunder of the fire. You can't see his expression, but you can vaguely make out his silhouette pointing toward the building swallowed by flames. You were going in.

One step forward and the blaze is singeing your freezing skin, burning the peach fuzz on your face. You swear you can smell your eyebrows smoking, the flames so strong that you're almost scared to step into the building.

Despite your concerns for the integrity of the structure, Joel is quick to pursue the only lead he has to Ellie. He feels blindly all along the entrance, hissing as his palms come into contact with red-hot glass panes. It's a wooden door inset by small rectangular windows. The frame is deep brown and littered with orange, glowing embers embedded within the grain. You're scared, and open your mouth to dissuade Joel from doing anything rash. He doesn't give you the opportunity.

His shoulder slams into the weakened, charred door without hesitation, the windows falling from their frames and shattering on the wooden floor. The blazing heat inside the building wafts over you, causing sweat to bead at your brow.

Desperate, Joel pushes through and stumbles into the building, which you now discover is a diner. The smoke burns your lungs, and your eyes sting so much that you're almost blinded by the tears prickling your waterline. The dark grey clouds are so thick that you're suffocating, unable to take in any oxygen. Had it not been for the noises piercing through the terrifying roar of the fire, you would have aborted the entrance in fear of asphyxiation.

High-pitched grunts of exertion and the sound of metal slamming into wood catch Joel's attention. He looks up, alarmed by the noise and yet scrambles towards it despite the danger.

"Ellie!" Joel shouts out, running on adrenaline as he rushes forward. You let out a sob of relief, knowing that Joel has eyes on her, but the consolation doesn't last long.

When you catch sight of her, you find Ellie in a blind rage. Her bloodied hands hold onto a machete handle with a white-knuckled grip, raising the weapon above her head and bringing it down into the mess of the fractured skull and smashed brains of the body below her. Blood sprays across her face with the sheer force with which she plunges the blade into the meaty mess, tears of fury leaving tracks in the crimson on her cheeks.

"Stop! Stop," Joel wraps his forearms around Ellie’s chest, dragging her away from the mutilated body to a chorus of devastatingly broken ‘no's’. Ellie screams, fighting Joel’s grip and clawing at his arms in an attempt to free herself.

"Don't fucking touch me!" She sobs as Joel hushes her, wrapping his arms around her body and holding her to his chest in a desperate attempt to prove to Ellie that she is safe. He sets her in front of him, forcing the broken young girl to look at him and recognise him.

"It's me," he speaks firmly, trying to access the rational part of her brain as he holds her still, his palms settling on her bloodied cheeks and inevitably smearing the ruddy liquid across her skin. "Look, look. It’s me."

Her tearful gaze settles on Joel, still in a panic as she searches his face. It takes her a moment, but relief swallows her expression and she practically falls into Joel's embrace.

“Oh,” she sobs out, eyes falling to the blood-streaked floor as the shock kicks in, “He tried to-“

“Oh, Baby Girl…” He murmurs brokenly, clinging to her as though he feared the world would snatch her from him again if he didn’t hold her in a vice-like grip. “It’s okay. It’s okay….”

“Joel…” Ellie sobs, burying her face into his chest and soaking his already bloodied clothes with yet more gore and tears. Joel presses his head to hers, repeatedly murmuring that it was okay, that he had her.

As Joel speaks to Ellie, you allow them this delicate moment of solitude. Of course, you were part of this family, but the bond Ellie and Joel shared far outweighed anything you could offer. A found father-daughter relationship that filled the holes in each other's hearts. It wasn’t your place to intrude.

Casting your teary eyes to the ceiling, you catch sight of a rudimentary hanging sign made from a white mattress topper. Scrawled upon it in mostly black paint, the lettering bulky, and only one word is written in scarlet.

“WHEN WE ARE IN NEED, HE SHALL PROVIDE!”

Bile rises in your throat as you take in the quote reminiscent of bible scripture. It turns your stomach, knowing what this man would have done, what the town no doubt did do to others, all while justifying it with thinly veiled Jesus worship.

It was an odd realisation, one that left you feeling quite numb as Joel helped Ellie from her knees. The comprehension that for the past 20 years, humanity had been coming together to fight the Cordyceps virus in the hope of removing the scourge and returning to normal life. Instead, the happenings in the diner, in this town, proved that the Cordyceps virus had little impact on the real plight.

That humans, people, are the true sickness.

-✩-

You are fearful at first that Ellie wouldn't be able to sleep after the trauma of her ordeal. She had, at first, been delicate on the journey back to the cabin that Joel had been recuperating in since his accident. Exhibiting signs of shellshock, she refused to elaborate on anything she had seen or heard during her captivity, and both you and Joel decided it best to leave her to unpick her thoughts in her own time.

The brass bells in the cannibal town had drawn the attention of a ginormous pack of runners, and you were scared that Ellie would be unable to find it in her to fight for her life.

However, as Ellie often did, she proved you wrong. Perhaps that is why she retreated to a dream world the moment her head touched the pillow. The sound of her steady breathing is the only noise permeating the silence that had settled in the cabin basement.

Joel retreats into the shadows when Ellie finds sleep. Leaning his back against the rough brick wall, he groans in agony as he sinks into a half-comfortable position. You watch him settle, eyebrows pinching together as you witness him fall back into the blackest corners of his mind.

You hesitate. You've only ever seen Joel like this once, distraught by the deaths of Henry and Sam after barely reaching freedom beyond the Pittsburgh Bridge. He had withdrawn into himself for weeks, the guilt eating him alive despite not belonging to any of you.

The black dog of mental warfare was a friend you knew Joel had come to know well. Before Sam and Henry, there was Tess, his hunter days, and of course, Sarah. Each time, the darkness would require him to carry a heavy burden of culpability despite his lack of fault.

"I'm glad," Joel's gruff voice cuts through the silence. He sounds broken, battling an insidious infection that you can't see. Similar to the Cordyceps virus, it encroaches on his mind, turning it against him. “I'm glad she killed him."

Again, you withhold your innermost thoughts as Joel battles to admit his feelings. He looks up at you, resting against the opposite wall. His expression is cold, but his eyes reflect a tragic pain within him.

“I’m relieved she killed him. Because I dunno what I would’a done.”

The black dog has returned, settled at Joel’s feet, and with it the guilt lands in his lap.

"Joel," you whisper, rising to your feet and approaching your crestfallen partner with delicate steps, "It’s not your fault."

Shaking his head Joel refuses to acknowledge your exoneration, beginning to launch into a tirade of self-hatred. "No. No, if I'd‘ve-"

You interrupt him, a firmness quite unlike you seeping into each syllable. "It's not your fault."

This time it appears to strike home, Joel slowly nodding his head in acceptance as you sink to the floor with him, resting your head on his shoulder as you settle beside him for warmth. The following silence isn't as emotionally charged. Joel appears to find comfort in your embrace. The black dog slinks out of the room through the crack in the open door.

You gently press kisses to the soft expanse of skin peeking from underneath Joel’s collar. It's a comfort, one that you regularly award Joel before sleep. He tilts his head in the opposite direction, offering you further access to the skin layering his jugular.

Without question, you continue to pepper his skin with endearment. He wasn't one to regularly ask for it, so you took this as a sign that Joel required some tenderness right now.

"’m sorry," he mumbles, embarrassed by his needy behaviour, “'m just-“

"You don't have to explain anything," you whisper, the curve of your lips dragging against his pulse point as you speak to him. He hums deep and low, eyes slipping shut as you continue your ministrations.

Achingly slowly, you drag lips across his jugular, pressing kisses to spots on his neck that you know are reactive. The soft valley behind his ear, the curve of his jaw, the junction between his neck and his shoulder. They all receive your affection, and you begin to hear Joel's breathing labour ever so slightly.

Joel’s infectious fever bleeds into something akin to fervour, his ribcage rising and falling with heavier, unsteadier breaths. His eyelids flutter closed, the searing, sour pain blending with the pleasure that sparks in him when your lips brush over his pulse point.

“Darlin’-“ He whispers, and it’s utterly broken. Pitchy and cracking in his throat when your fingertips work at his shirt buttons to expose more of his clavicle. His hands are settling on your hips as you swing your thigh over his lap slowly, thumb pads sweeping over your hip bones in delicate patterns.

“What is it you need from me, Joel?” You murmur softly, nose nudging at the bottom of his throat, at the v where his collar bones meet.

“F-Fuck,” he chokes, eyes cast skyward as he attempts to piece the broken pieces of his mind back together and find an answer. “I jus’ need to be close to you.”

He thought he’d lost Ellie. Thought he’d find her strung up with pieces of her flesh scattered about an unsanitary butcher's room. No doubt his mind was spinning with all the possibilities. What if you’d been shot trying to get her back?

Joel needed to be confident you were alive. Needed to feel your pulse thrumming against his palm.

“I can do that,” you promise him gently. You never pledged anything to Joel; nothing was certain. However, right now, you could offer your word. Could swear to ease his trepidation.

“I’m here.” Your words are spoken with conviction, his head nodding slightly as you take his wrist in your hand. “You can feel it. Come here.”

Delicately, you lay his bloodied, trembling hand across your chest. He lets out a quivering breath through his nose when he feels the thump of your heart against the lifeline of his palm.

Your free hand settles on the brass button holding his jeans together, popping it open and exposing the trail of dark, greying hairs that trail down his naval. His eyes flicker to your own, chapped lips parting slightly as you pinch the zipper and drag it down with a quiet ‘zzzp’.

The thud against his palm picks up the momentum as you feel him harden beneath the denim of your jeans, and you catch his lips pull up. A short, single scoff of disbelief- relief- as you gently work the jeans down and over his hips.

“Does this old man really do it for you that much?” He whispers, his fingerprints teasing the stitches of your collar. Your flannel is worn, threadbare and velvet soft, and your skin is burning hot beneath. “Even greyin’ and broken like I am?”

“Joel,” you whisper, pressing a delicate, lengthy kiss to his forehead, between his eyebrows. Fumbling with your cargo pants, you have them over your ass in no time, dragging your panties along with them. “You are the only man alive that makes me feel this way.” Your lips brush against the creases on his brow; frown lines etched deep into his skin after years of misery.

“Mhm,” his rich, oak eyes drag down your form as he watches you undress and expose your soaked cunt, thighs glistening wet in the low lighting. “That ain’t hard when most of the population died out.”

“Joel,” you repeat with a less-tempered tone, nose nudging at his hairline as you wrap your fingers around his length. He grunts quietly, careful to smother any loud noises to avoid drawing Ellie’s attention. “There wasn’t anyone before outbreak day, either.”

“Not even that actor-… What was his name, George Cloo-oh fuck,” his stupid joke dies on the tip of his tongue when you slowly sink down onto the head of his cock, walls fluttering around the stretch of him. His voice is hoarse, whisper breaking into silence as he slowly pushes the crown of his head into the terracotta brick walls.

“No,” you chuckle softly, watching him struggle for logical thought as you take more of him, and slip him further in. “No, not even him.”

Joel grunts, digging his teeth into his lower lip as you take him to the hilt. He nudges your cervix in this position, the sensation almost like a mild bruise, but you love it. Love that it will match the hickeys he leaves on your shoulders- marking you inside and out. Claiming you as his, Death and His black dog be damned.

“Oh C-Christ,” he lilts, and it sounds like a whimper as you squeeze around him, “I can feel it. Can feel your pulse-“

“See? I told you I’m alive,” You muse, wrapping your fingers around his wrist as you slowly begin to grind your hips forward in a circle. Joel just nods dumbly, his previously pale cheeks flushed slightly.

No bouncing, no thrusts. Joel is too fragile, his immune system fighting a nuclear war inside of him as his white blood cells try to secure the perimeter of the wound in his abdomen. You focus on rolling your hips instead, slowly inching off his cock and sinking back down onto his velvety length.

“Hoh- uhng, fuck-“ his illegible groans make your heart batter his meta-carpel bones, compelling him to acknowledge your vital signs and their optimal function.

He’s twitching inside you, the slow rise and fall of your hips forcing him to feel you stretch around each ridge and pulsing vein of his cock. Joel looks like he could break down, the sensation of his building orgasm such an overwhelming sensation in his already exhausted body.

Pushing your fingers through his soft curls, you clasp the back of his skull and lean forward to hold his face to your chest. He can hear it loud and clear now, the shell of his ear cupping the cavity of your chest where your heart batters against his cheekbone. His arms wrap around your waist, squeezing you as tight as his septic-fatigued muscles can hold you.

It doesn’t take much for you to work yourself into your own fever. Joel’s cock always manages to find that spark inside you, nudging it and coaxing your orgasm to bloom between your thighs.

“M’gonna cum,” he rasps against your chest, his hot breath fanning across your skin. Joel’s pressing sloppy, clumsy kisses there, exhaling heavily with each roll of your hips.

“Mhmm-“ you muffle your cry by biting your knuckles, focusing on the clench of your walls and the buzz of your orgasm surging up through you. It’s like a whirlpool, pulling you under and drowning you in the wave of bliss that overtakes you.

Joel’s follows almost immediately after, his whole body tending despite the pain as it pulses through him, his cum painting your insides. His hips stutter, burying deep within you and letting out a ragged breath of relief that edges into a moan of your name.

Passing carbon dioxide between you, your foreheads press together as your breath fans over each other's faces. His eyelashes flutter with exhaustion, and you can feel them tickle the peak of your cheekbones. It’s so tender, so unlike Joel.

“I won’t let him take you.” His voice is so quiet the words almost don’t form, just barely leaving his throat in a sigh. His hand, not having left its rooted spot above your left breast, slowly inches towards your throat. You feel his index finger prod at your pulse, sealing his conviction that you are safe.

In honesty, you’re unsure who he means. Death, probably. David is long gone, but Joel’s fever is tipping him closer to delirium than reality.

One thing was for certain; you had managed to stave off the Black Dog for now. It lay at the doorway, stuck beyond the threshold it was forbidden to pass over, waiting until Joel allowed it back inside.

END

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