#denim body con dresses

[lovegen1]

Explore Lovegen's Autumn Styles - a blend of cozy knits, trendy plaids, and chic layering essentials. Embrace the warmth of rich hues and stylish silhouettes that define this season's fashion. From statement outerwear to versatile accessories, discover the perfect ensemble to elevate your fall wardrobe with Lovegen's must-have styles.

[notjoelmiller]

i cared

MDNI simon "ghost" riley x f!reader summary: three and a half years ago and an ocean away, he tore you apart. now he's turned up at your door. wordcount: 4.1k warnings: smut (fingering), drinking, AFAB reader, possible past dub-con (reader was in a bad mental state and simon knew), simon is a shitty guy in this, talk of hypothetical suicide, talk of past bad mental state (depression), mentioned PTSD, heartbreak on both sides, death mention (MW:III canon) a/n: hey remember when i said that my next fic would be joel and i posted a little insert. that was a lie! instead of working on that (12k word, currently) monster, i wrote something else. if you couldn't tell, i started this before the holidays and then forgot about it.

ao3

The house is much nicer than Simon anticipated. When he saw the New York City address, he had expected you to be crammed into a shitty 6th-floor walk-up. But no, not you. Instead, you have an honest-to-God three-story home with red brick delicately dusted with snow. You certainly couldn’t afford it on the 141 salary. He always suspected you came from means. This just confirms it. It just makes him wonder why the hell you decided to slum it in the services for so long.

It reminds Simon that he shouldn’t be there. You weren't made for that life and left for a reason. Who is he to ruin your peace?

He’s not alone on the street. Well-to-do families of strangers pass by, all watching the masked man observe their neighbor’s home. He can still turn around and leave you to the life you so clearly want.

Something shifts in one of the windows, the curtain being tousled by something. A dog. You got a dog– a golden retriever with sharp eyes and, evidently, an even sharper bark. The canine goes berserk, barking and howling and growling at Simon through the window. It’s Simon’s cue to leave, to leave you be with your semi-rabid, semi-domestic canine.

But before he can move, the curtain shifts again– pulled this time –and you’re there. You squint for a moment, surely wondering what masked freak is standing in your walkway like he owns the damn place. He lets you scrutinize him. It’s now or never. Either you’ll tell him to fuck off once you realize who he is or you’ll call the police on him, though it’s not like they would do anything after he calls Kate.

Instead, you disappear behind the curtain, your loyal steed of a dog following hot on your heels. In a moment’s notice, the large front door, with a gilded knocker and door knob open. You beckon him in. He follows, eyes trailing up and down your body once you’re facing away from him. You’re dressed casually but smartly in a short denim skirt and cashmere sweater. Simon’s never seen you in that getup before, even when going out to the pub.

“Shoes off,” you order, motioning towards the neat shoe rack next to the door. They’re all women's shoes of the same size. Simon’s shoulders relax, and he slips off his boots. It was for the best, he figures. His old boots would have just dragged dirt into your space. He takes off his mask too, hanging it up with his jacket. It’s nothing you haven't seen before.

Simon follows you into the sitting room– at least, that’s what Simon guesses the room is. It’s too neat for your taste, or his memory of what your taste is exactly. The couch and single chair seem untouched, the air still, like Simon’s presence is cutting through some sacred stillness.

You point to a couch and Simon obeys, sitting with his hands on his knees. Your eyes lock with his without granting him any semblance of your thoughts. Simon keeps his gaze soft, neutral. You can scrutinize him all you need.

You sigh, straightening your posture. A smile pulls at your lips. Your smile lines crease deeper than he remembered. Or maybe they always creased that deep.

“Tea?”

***

“He’s quite protective,” you drop two sugar cubes into a cup of tea. The spoon in your hand lets out a delicate tink as it hits the porcelain cup. You hand Simon the teacup, it’s just how he likes it. “Always has his haunches raised, even when he’s not working.”

Ah. A service animal. He’s surprised to not have put that together sooner. Always loyal, the pooch plants himself at your feet, gaze burning into Simon. If looks could kill…

“Your home?” Simon asks. He lifts the teacup to his lips and sips. Simon places the teacup on its saucer impossibly slowly. Simon can’t believe you’d trust him with something so delicate.

“I inherited it.”

A smile creeps on Simon’s face. Teacups and generational wealth. He always knew you were posh. Or whatever Americans call posh.

“You’re on holiday?” You ask.

“‘Tis the season.”

You hum. Your house is the only one on the block without some sort of holiday decor. Simon wonders if it was a pointed decision.

“And you came here.” Why?

He can’t tell you the truth. The fact is that every day since you left– all one thousand two hundred ninety-eight of them since John uttered to his fuming lieutenant that you just weren’t fit to serve any more –he’s ached. One thousand two hundred ninety-eight days of no contact. Of his only proof that you ever existed being a photo and a tear-stained note with one sentence scribbled in ink: John has contact info– emergencies only.

“I wanted to wish you a happy holidays.”

You laugh dryly, though it sends a pang of pain through Simon. He hadn’t realized how much he missed that sound. “Usually people send a card for that.”

You observe Simon with precision, like you never left the force, though the way you scratch Yogi’s belly unconsciously betrays the hardened exterior. It’s a glimpse into the last three and a half years. Of the woman you’ve become– so foreign to Simon. Foreign to your past self. Or not. Maybe this is who you’ve been all along, just hidden behind fatigues. Maybe the woman Simon thought he knew was just a farce. Rich girl playing army for a few years.

Maybe you joined the force just to fuck around for a bit. After a few years, you’d have stories to tell your socialite friends back home. Except, you didn’t get what you wanted, didn’t you? Simon knows well and good that serving, the 141, and him, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, destroyed something in you. 

You tap the porcelain of your teacup. It makes a pleasant ding. “Did John tell you where to find me?”

“No. Well–” Simon tries to tell you the truth without throwing his comrade under the bus. The truth was, John had indulged in one too many drinks at the pub one night and hadn’t locked his quarters. An envelope addressed to you sat front in center on his desk. “Not intentionally.”

It’s a satisfying enough answer. Only a small twinge of annoyance crosses your face before you hum. “This isn’t a guilt thing, right Simon?” You ask, “I didn’t do what I did because of what happened.”

“What we did back then, on the field,” Simon traps you under his gaze. His stare is aggressive, but he hopes it conveys the intense feelings he’s struggling with. “I can’t just leave it. That’s why I came.”

Simon doesn’t dare speak. He doesn’t dare breathe while he watches you process his words. It’s a load of crap, he knows it, and he knows you know it. It’s just a matter of whether or not you want to kick him out.

You smize, teeth coming out to tug at your bottom lip. “Have you ever had New York pizza?”

***

You order two pies, hushing Simon when he insists it’s too much. You were right. Two isn’t enough. Simon scarfs down one pie without coming up for air. It’s delicious. It isn’t until he’s four slices deep that he realizes that you, smiling widely at him, haven’t yet picked up your first.

You’re a gracious host– a natural, really. You perch yourself on the kitchen island, legs crossed in a way that makes your skirt ride so sinfully up your thighs. Simon doesn’t look of course, he’s a gentleman. At least, he is for the first bottle of the ungodly expensive red wine you procure. It’s then that you perch your leg on the counter opposite your spot on the island, right next to Simon. Old habits die hard– especially when inebriated –and Simon places a hand on your leg, massaging the skin of your ankle.

You pay no mind to Simon’s ministrations, though, lost in the domestic bliss and mindless conversations you’ve probably been drowning yourself in for the last few years. You wave the glass of wine wildly about, like you wouldn’t give a damn if it spilled all over your expensive clothes. It seems so natural for you. Simon wonders what you were ever doing with the 141 when posh city living fits you like a second skin.

Simon inches his hand higher up your leg as you speak. He doesn’t get very far, but it’s enough so that he can trace patterns into the soft skin of your thigh. It’s too much, though, because your eyes lock onto his. But you’re not mad. You don’t tell him to stop. Rather, you examine him, and in your eyes Simon sees what looks like mirth.

“I missed this,” Simon says. He cringes at the words leaving his mouth. He’s succumbing to the domestic bliss you’ve created, looking at the past through rose-tinted glasses.

You reach for a third bottle of wine and a corkscrew, furrowing your brow in thought while twisting the screw. “I didn't want to abandon you,” you say. Simon, watching you pop the cork off with ease, almost forgets that you’re talking to him until you lock eyes. He watches you sniff the cork, pause, then sniff it again before topping off your glass. You take a heaping swig, like that Pinot Noir worth more than Simon’s monthly pay is unremarkable. “I left for a reason, you know.”

Oh, Simon certainly knows. The rumors had been inescapable in the first weeks of your absence. All around base every soldier had entertained the question of what happened to the American chick in the 141. Simon had only so many threatening looks to give privates before curiosity got the better of him. He abated the desire to ask John for so long, but there was only so much longing he could handle coupled with the cacophony of voices asking the same thing he desperately wanted to know.

John didn’t flounder when Simon finally came to him, demanding to know why you left.

She was discharged.

Why?

For… mental reasons.

Simon lost his shit in Price’s office that morning. He collapsed onto the couch with a gasp, a hand grasping and squeezing his heart. His breath left him, but Simon was too bloody stupid to understand what the hell was going on until Price was handing him a brown paper bag.

Breathe, son.

“Simon,” you breathe, your saccharine voice the most tantalizing sound Simon has ever heard. You lean forward, your finger tracing the scar parallel to the cut of his jaw. You were there for it, saw the knife slice through his mask and the skin underneath. You bandaged it in the helicopter after, making Simon promise to go to medical afterwards. He promised he would. That night he closed the wound with superglue. “Why did you really come?”

Because you disappeared. Because Price said you were on the brink of becoming a statistic. Because I fucked up. Because I said things I didn’t mean and I thought that it killed you.

“Johnny’s dead,” he lies. But it isn’t a lie. It’s true, sure, Johnny’s been reduced to ashes and scattered in the Scottish highlands. But that isn't why he came.

“I know.” You sniffle. Christ, Simon’s made you cry. Nausea washes over him. A voice in his head screams, fix it, idiot! But emotions were never Simon’s strong suit. Instead, Simon reaches for the bottle and tops off your glass of wine, probably a bit more than he should have, but it seems like you need it.

You mutter a thank you and down a bit more than half of the glass. You come up for air and hiccup. “John told me.”

“Price?” He asks, as though there was any other John. Anything to get you talking rather than crying.

You nod. “He dropped by around Thanksgiving. Asked if I wanted to be there when you all…” You wave your hand in the air, “You know.”

Something ugly festers in his chest. Maybe if he actually went to a therapist, Simon could recognize what it is.

“You said no?” He asks.

“I didn’t think I could.”

Simon nods, holding your gaze in a way that he hopes conveys his sense of understanding.

“How’d it happen?” You croak. Your eyes are glassy, a reminder of the ever-looming threat that you could fall apart again. Simon reminds himself that you wouldn’t be crying if he had just kept his distance.

“Bullet in the head.”

You tense, your head flying to Simon. Your eyes are frantic, searching for something in his face. “He…he…?”

Christ. 

“No, no,” Simon scrambles to get his next words out, “Makarov. It was-” His voice cracks. Unusual. “-was too fast to stop it. To save himself.”

You hum, slumping down like it’s comforting to you that Johnny had his life torn from his arms. Like it’s comforting that Johnny couldn’t go on his own terms, but on the terms of a Russian terrorist.

“You know,” you say like you know he knows, “Johnny’s the reason I got out.”

Simon shifts. Johnny never talked about your discharge, always responding to speculation like he was none the wiser. “He is?”

“Yeah,” you laugh. It’s deep and watery. “Things were…bad one night. He found me. Talked me through the night. Listened to me.” You throw your head back, eyes tracing imaginary patterns on the ceiling.

“He told Price?”

You nod.

“That was after we…”

You nod again. Simon feels sick.

“It had nothing to do with you, Simon.”

“I never thought it did.”

“Then why,” you ask, “did you bring it up?”

Simon shifts. “Thought it was relevant.”

You smile, though your eyes are still lined with tears. “Guilty conscience?”

“Of course not, love,” Simon laughs, hoping you buy it. It works, he thinks. You seem to deflate, slumping a bit. You take some time to think. Simon, panicking at the thought that your self-reflection could send him out the door, pulls out the one trick he has over you.

He lets your legs fall. They bang against the cabinets with a soft umph from your lips. Simon slides off of the counter and stalks your way. You watch him and put up no fight as he slots his wide body between your knees. You don't even complain as the parting of your legs forces your skirt to ride even higher.

Fingers card through Simon’s hair. He hums.

“Why did you do it?” You ask.

Simon tilts his head, and with the wine in his veins and your hand in his hair, the world spins. Your other hand slips under the hem of Simon’s shirt. Warm fingers graze the skin of his stomach and then side, before your hand settles on his back, palm splaying across scarred flesh.

“I–” Simon croaks, “–I felt something for you.”

You snort. Simon’s chest burns and he takes some deep breaths to calm himself. He imagines Price’s paper bag, inflating and crinkling over and over.

“You knew I would leave. That’s it, isn’t it?” You accuse with a gleam in your eyes. “I was in a bad place and was leaving so it didn’t matter if you hit it and quit it.” You laugh. “You got what you wanted without risking your position.”

“That’s not true.”

Your thighs bracket his legs, trapping him against you. Your words curl around your wine-stained tongue. “‘I don’t love you’. Isn’t that what you said Simon?”

“Love–”

You tense, thighs squeezing him like a vice. “Love,” you coo, the imitation of Simon’s long vowels curtles unnaturally on your tongue. “Love, love, love. You know Simon,” you wrap your hands around the back of his neck and lean into the crook of his neck. Your lips brush against his skin as you speak, “You say it, but you’ve never meant it.”

“I’m sorry,” Simon utters, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your skirt.

“You’re not.”

He’s not. He doesn’t argue. He could– should, rather –but he can’t think straight with you this close to him. The scent of your perfume itches the deepest part of his brain. You never wore perfume when on duty, rather, always coated in the aroma of base-issued shampoo and sweat.

“I really cared for you, you know,” you whisper, your lips millimeters from his, them parting when his fingers rub you through the fabric of your underwear.

“I know,” Simon closes the distance, capturing your lips with his.

He pushes you back onto the counter, you let him, lets Simon cage your body like he has the right to. You groan into his mouth when he traps your bottom lip between his teeth and melt when his fingers slip past the hem of your panties, his fingers plunging through the wetness into your cunt.

It’s obscene— the noises you make as he thrusts his fingers into you. With his free hand, Simon pushes your skirt up over your hips so he can watch your cunt squeeze around him.

He slides his thumb up to your clit and you gasp. “Simon,” you moan. He nearly stops. It’s been years since he’s heard you say his name, let alone moan it. Fuck, Simon can’t help but grind his cock against the island counter, groaning.

It doesn’t take much to work you into an orgasm. Before he knows it, your moans become softer, higher pitched, and you’re coming apart, clenching hard on Simon’s fingers.

He works you through your orgasm, whispering praise into your ears. Simon gives you no time before pouncing, fisting his hands in your hair and devouring you. You wiggle underneath his weight, uttering something, but the words are lost into Simon’s mouth. He pulls away, his eyes meeting your expectant ones.

“What?”

“Upstairs,” you say, chest heaving. “My room is upstairs.”

***

Simon wakes before dawn. He’s lying on top of you, your strong breath rocking him up and down. Your limbs are impossibly tangled. He’s reminded of an identical morning, years ago, of what he did then, and what that choice led him to. But that was years ago. You were different then, broken. How was he supposed to know that his choice would make you shatter?

He untangles himself slowly. It feels like the process takes hours, though the sun fails to make an appearance by the time he slips out of bed. The clock reads four in the morning. That explains it. It also explains the way the room around him is spinning slightly. He’s still drunk– or at least buzzed –from the night before.

His pants are an easy find, discarded by the door. His shirt though… Simon spins around the room, eyes glazing over the space. He tries not to take anything in too deeply, too personal for this morning.

He spots his shirt on your vanity. Simon yanks it off, but something hard and heavy comes with it. It nearly drops to the floor, but Simon catches it before it can hit and wake you up.

It’s a perfume bottle, heavy and half-filled. Simon can’t suppress the urge of his half-drunk brain to sniff it. The scent— the scent of you —explodes in his synapses. He tosses a glance over his shoulder, ensuring you’re still asleep, before pocketing the bottle.

The dog follows Simon as he walks through the house. Luckily, as he slips on his shoes, the dog disappears into the rest of the house.

Simon lingers with a hand wrapped around the door knob. It warms under his touch.

“Are we doing this again?”

He flinches at the sound of your voice, “I ‘ave to.” Simon stays facing the door, though he doesn’t make a move to turn around. He knows how he must look to you, too cowardly to face you. He’s reminded of the last time he spent the night with you. He got out scot-free. What would have happened if you found him then? Simon can’t say for certain whether or not he would have left then, if you called out for him in the same delicate voice.

“Stay.”

“What?”

“In New York,” you say, voice dry with sleep. “With me. Get out of the SAS, the 141, all that bullshit.”

“‘S not that easy.”

“It is. I left. You can leave. Or you can stay and end up like Johnny–”

“What do you know about Johnny,’ Simon growls, turning on his heels. He straightens his spine, puffing his chest up like you’re a threat. Your dog buys it, growling and worming himself between you and Simon. You don't take the bait though. You honest to God laugh in Simon’s face.

“I know enough.” You step closer to Simon. The pooch gets the memo, clearing the way for you. Simon almost does the same, he wants to. Some instinctual part of his brain needs to cave to you. “You mean something, Simon,” you flick your eyebrows up, letting them drop immediately. It feels like a challenge, like you were asking Simon the silent question. Do you matter? 

“You’re more than a soldier– more than a body on a field, waiting to drop.” There are tears in your eyes. You don't let them fall. Simon hopes you’ve finally realized that he isn’t worth your heartbreak. He’s never been, but at least your realization would stop his cruel cycle of him chewing you up and spitting you right back out.

“Come to New York, Simon, please. There– there’s a butcher shop up the block, they’re always looking for help. You said you used to do that stuff, right?”

Fucking hell. He had said it to you, years ago after a mission. Simon went drink for drink with Johnny and Gaz and got positively wasted. It was the night he first set his sight on you, when your tenderness sunk its claws into his heart and refused to let go. You didn’t know then what it would lead to. Simon did. Every love Simon had wilted in his claws. Why would you be different?

“Come here,” you plead, “Take the job with them. I can help you find an apartment or you can live with me but–” You grab Simon’s shoulders, tugging. It isn’t strong enough to turn him around, but he does. Your cheeks are wet and eyes glassy as you stare up at him. “Simon, it’s too late for us, but don’t let it be too late for you.”

Simon lifts his hand to your cheek, fingers grazing the plump skin. It slides to the back of your head and tugs– yanks you into his embrace as he crashes your lips against his own. The morning makes you soft though, as Simon nips your lips with his teeth, you melt, softening and slowing your movements.

It’s you that pulls away first, staring at Simon. You let him swipe his finger across your cheek, caressing you.

“Please,” you beg, kissing the palm of his hand.

Simon lets his hand fall from you. It sits achingly cold at his side.

It would be cowardly to leave you without a goodbye after forcing himself back into your life, even if it was for one night. Simon considers himself to be many things, but never a coward. Yet, standing in front of you, staring into your expectant eyes, words don’t come easy.

You step towards him. Simon steps back. The door knob presses into his back. His heart is pounding, the blood in his eyes deafening him. Your scent wafts his way, your perfume. The one whose bottle he knocked over, nearly let slip through his fingers and shatter. The one which you never got to wear in the 141. The one weighing down his back pocket.

“I shouldn’t have come,” Simon says.

He doesn’t look back. Not when you gasp his name. Not when he opens the door. Not when he walks down the snowy street.

Price and Gaz will ask about his holiday. They’re kind like that. In the cab to the airport, passing the bottle of perfume between his hands, Simon considers his answer. Single word answers are his forté, but won’t suffice with the prying curiosities of his captain and sergeant.

The answer comes to him when he sniffs the perfume once more.

In the coming week, when Gaz claps him on the back, he will ask, “How was the holiday, Ghost?”

Simon will answer, “I had a meal with an old friend.”

[a-killer-obsession]

S 1&2👀

Congrats on 250 followers!<3

Deep Sleeper

Prompt: Somnophilia

Additional Tags: afab reader, she/her reader pronouns, dub-con, fingering, oral (giving? and receiving), p in v sex, facial, humiliation, threesome F/M/M

WC: 1.9k

Event Masterlist

“Night everyone,” you yawned, ready to leave the post-battle victory celebration and head to bed, “wake me if anything exciting happens.”

“Like we could wake you if we tried,” Killer snorted, receiving a round of laughs from the surrounding crewmates at your expense.

“Whatever!” You puffed your cheeks and huffed, “I'm not that deep of a sleeper!”

“Yeah?” Killer smirked under his mask, “you wake right up don't you?”

“Like that time you fell asleep in Dive's spot on the couch,” Heat laughed, “so she bit you!”

“I thought she was dead!” Dive clattered her teeth together as she giggled, “she didn't even wake up when House was stitching her up!”

“It was one time!” You pouted, “I was really tired!”

“Okay, then what about that time you fell out of bed during a storm,” Wire added, “and you came to breakfast with a shard of wood sticking out of your shoulder that you didn't even realise was there?”

“I have a high pain tolerance!” You frowned, crossing your arms and staring daggers at Killer for starting this. “I wake up just fine when someone wakes me, thank you very much!”

“No you don't, you narcoleptic bitch!” Kid roared, “Kil and I could fuck ya brains out and ya wouldn't wake!”

“Yeah? Bet!” You squinted at him, laying down the challenge. Sex was not something any Kid Pirate was shy about, but you were confident you'd wake up at that, especially knowing how big the two men are in that department.

“Yeah, and what do we get if we win?” Kid smirked, exchanging a knowing look with Killer.

“The two of you can freeuse me for a week,” you replied confidently, “and if I win, you take me off the bathroom cleaning rotation for the rest of the year.”

“Deal,” Kid held out his flesh arm and you shook it, Kid grabbing your hand hard and pulling you close, “Yer gonna look so pretty at breakfast with my load on yer face,” he purred in your ear, making you shiver, before you turned and scowled at him for appearances, despite the electricity pooling at your core.

Kid and Killer gave you plenty of time to fall asleep, not that you needed it, you always fell unconscious hard and fast after a good battle and a good feast. The two of them made their way to your room, laughing and shoving each other, anticipating the fun they would have with your body. They knocked on your door, out of principle, but of course you didn't reply, which only made them laugh more. They entered your room with muffled snickers, even Killer having trouble suppressing his true laugh as they found you asleep face down on top of your covers, still fully dressed, shoes included, like you'd just flopped on the bed and immediately passed out.

“What did I say?” Kid laughed, “Fuckin’ narcoleptic!”

“Adds to the challenge,” Killer noted, pulling your shoes from your feet, “probably did it on purpose, thinking pulling her clothes off would wake her.”

“Sounds to me like she's askin’ to lose these clothes,” Kid smirked, pulling a dagger from his bandolier. He slid the blade under the edge of one leg of your pants, before sliding the blade up, cutting open the fabric, repeating the action on the other side until all that covered your ass was a scrap of denim. Killer removed the scrap, before tearing your panties and pulling them away as well, leaving you without clothes on your lower half and exposing your cunt to the men. Killer pushed at your thighs to spread your legs, your pussy pretty and inviting, a slight glisten to it from your earlier arousal.

“Pretty,” Killer noted, running his thumb through your folds, to which you still didn't wake, snoring softly as he touched you. “She's wet, she was really counting on us trying it huh?”

“Little slut,” Kid gave an amused bark, “let's roll her, I wanna see her tits.”

Killer rolled you over unceremoniously, and Kid was quick to rip open your blouse and run his dagger through the connection between your bra cups, your breasts springing free, nipples pert as the cold air breezed over them. Kid gave your nipple a pinch, watching your face for a reaction and smirking when you didn't even twitch. “She's fuckin' out of it,” he laughed, “let's have some fuckin’ fun, aye?”

The two of them stripped off their clothes, Kid even leaving his metal arm against the wall and Killer removing his mask - that was how sure he was that you wouldn't wake up. Killer knelt between your legs, nuzzling his nose against your clit before running his tongue through your slit. It wasn't often that he got to indulge in one of his favourite treats, since he didn't usually remove his mask, and he groaned against your cunt as your honey collected on his tongue. He lapped at your cunt, circling your sensitive bud and toying with your entrance. Your pussy leaked as he stimulated you, your body responding to the pleasure he was giving you even while unconscious, which pleased him greatly.

Meanwhile, the bed dipped as Kid knelt next to your head, stroking himself as he admired your pretty, plush lips. He ran his thumb over your lips, pushing it inside and feeling how hot and wet your mouth was. He rubbed his cock against your cheek, smearing precum on it, before rubbing his shaft against the seam of your lips. He used his thumb to pull open your mouth, pushing the fat head of his cock between your lips, just putting the tip in your mouth and making shallow thrusts before deciding to go a little further. He couldn't deepthroat you like this, but he could enjoy the way your cheek bulged as the head of his cock prodded against the inside of it. He held your jaw open just enough that your lips were still tight around his shaft as he worked his cock in and out of your mouth.

Killer began the process of stretching you out so they could take turns fucking your pussy, first bullying his tongue inside you before switching to his fingers, sucking on your clit as he worked two inside of you, then a third, pumping you slowly and scissoring his fingers to stretch you out. Killer curled his fingers and the two of them heard you moan softly around Kid's cock. “Fuck, do that again Kil,” Kid instructed.

Killer made come hither motions inside you, and your gummy walls fluttered around his fingers as you moaned again, your pussy getting tight around his fingers as a small gush of fluid came out of you. “Oh fuck, she came!” Killer laughed, “she fucking came and she's still asleep!”

“Now that's what you call a wet dream,” Kid chuckled, “she ready for a cock?”

“Yeah, you want to go first?” Killer asked, still pumping his fingers into you.

“Yeah, shove off,” Kid barked. The two of them swapped spaces, Killer opting to wrap your hand around his cock to fist himself with it, the head of his cock pressing against your open lips with each motion, his free hand playing with your tits. Kid lined his cock up with your entrance and pushed in, making you whimper in your sleep as his fat cock stretched you further. “Fuck, so tight and wet,” Kid growled, “her cunt is sucking me in, greedy slut.”

The two of them used your body in unison, even the jostling of Kid's increasingly hard thrusts not waking you from the bone deep sleep you were in. You made the occasional soft moan but made no sign of waking as they fucked you, Kid getting more daring with the speed and force of his thrusts as Killer slipped his cock in your mouth just as Kid had earlier. Kid felt himself getting close as you made little whines in your sleep, drool pooling at the corner of your open mouth and dribbling down your cheek and neck. “Swap with me,” Kid barked, “I'm about to paint that pretty face.”

The two of them swapped places again, Killer groaning as his cock slid inside you, squeezed tight by your hot wet cunt. Kid held your mouth shut as he rubbed the underside of his shaft against your lips, precum leaking from his throbbing cock before he grunted and came, spilling thick white all over your lips and cheek, some of it dripping into your hair. “Ha, nice,” Kid mused, slapping his softening cock against your cheek and using your soft skin to wipe away the last drips of cum. “Your turn Kil, paint her white.”

Killer didn't need much longer to get him there after watching Kid cum on your face, fucking you hard and fast in a manner that would have any conscious woman screaming in pleasure. He truly didn't understand how you hadn't woken up, he was really being rough with you, and his fingers would no doubt leave bruises on your hips. He pulled out quickly when he felt himself getting close, not making it all the way to your face but managing to coat your chest in a viscous spray of cum, a few rogue splashes making it to your chin as he straddled your stomach and panted. The two of them exchanged shit eating grins, knowing they had won the bet, before Killer climbed off you.

They removed the remaining scraps of your clothing so you would just assume you'd fallen asleep naked, knowing you were ditsy enough to forget you went to bed clothed, before getting their things and redressing. Killer scooped you up bridal style so Kid could pull back the blanket, and they tucked you into your bed, not cleaning off their cum purposely.

The next day nothing seemed amiss when you woke. You could have sworn you went to bed dressed, but you guessed you must have misremembered. You preferred to shower after breakfast, when there were less people taking up all the showers in the communal bathroom, so you sleepily made your way to the galley. Crew mates snickered and nudged each other as you made your way to the table where Kid and Killer sat, the two of them struggling to keep a straight face. You served yourself breakfast from the sharing trays on the table, shoving a forkful of eggs in your mouth before realising everyone was staring at you, slowly removing the fork and swallowing your mouthful.

“What?” You asked anxiously, worried there was some sort of spider on you or something.

“You got a little something in your hair,” Wire snickered, pointing at the side of your face. You touched where he pointed, your hand coming away covered in something white and sticky.

“Uh.. ARG,” you shouted as you realised what it was, wiping your hand on your pants, “KID THAT'S FUCKIN’ DISGUSTING!”

“Had to leave some proof,” Kid smirked, “we're gonna have so much fun with that tight cunt over the next week. Hope you're ready to not get any sleep. Or maybe we'll just fuck you in your sleep again.”

You groaned and pushed your plate out of the way so you could slam your head against the table in defeat. Maybe you should see a doctor about your sleeping issues. Or not.

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Taglist: @daydreamer-in-training @chairmanraph @florcxo @luvnisstuff @nocturnalrorobin @fanaticsnail

[lokisgoodgirl]

Sundress Season [Avenger!Loki x Fem.Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: You wear a sundress. Loki likes this very much. (w/c 3.3k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Teasing. Light jealousy. Smut. Language. Semi-public. A/N - Based on my drabble The Sundress.

Chatter sang in the air, ebbing as you padded down the hall from the balcony to the kitchen. It was the hottest day of the year so far, and even sixty floors up, the heat off the New York pavement sizzled. Loki sat at the breakfast bar beneath the air con. You were surprised to see him, considering. ‘One does not partake in social events with an inane acronym' he’d said haughtily, when you had optimistically invited him to the barbecue. “Agent?” he greeted, observing you suspiciously as he was known to do. Like a panther in the bushes.

“Laufeyson.” you replied, before throwing him a secretive wink. It had only been a few weeks since your relationship had become irrevocably unprofessional. The god closed the book he’d been reading flat on the counter, running his keen eyes down your body and back to your face at a snail’s pace.

“What in the Nine are you wearing?”

You pouted, inspecting the folds of your cotton skirt. Loki's gaze followed the smooth of your hand down the light fabric floating around your thighs. Sweet, but slutty. A calculated move. Loki’s face was hard, his stare narrowed. "Oh this?” you postured, an innocent swish of hem flashing the curve of your ass. Loki frowned, seeing the glimmer of lace underwear. “It's a sundress" you shrugged, grabbing a glass and turning towards the sink. You smiled knowingly, feeling him trawl the exposed backs of your knees right down to the strappy sandals. “A sun...dress?” he scoffed. You shrugged again. "It's like you're barely wearing...anything." You jumped as Loki's breath fanned your cheek, his voice smooth as black treacle. "Are you truly trying to drive me mad?" You hadn't even heard him move from the chair. The jolt of your fingers nudged the tap off as Loki's stomach pressed against your back. You could feel the hard heat taut against your spine through the thin fabric as he curled his frame with a low groan. The god's fingertips began to make small circles on the backs of your legs, caressing the bare skin. "I'm not sure how I feel about my lover being on display in such a fashion." he growled, thrusting gently against your ass. "You'd be locked up on Asgard for public indecency." His cock rubbed between your cheeks as your head fell back against his collarbone. The furiously hard length was pinned beneath his jeans, denim catching tortuously against thin folds of cotton. How he always got aroused so quickly, you would never know. Maybe it's like Bruce, you thought as Loki inhaled against your skin. But instead of angry all the time, he's horny. "It's just a dress..." you huffed, feigning annoyance. His fingertips danced beneath the skirts, the light touch making you tingle. Loki chuckled. "You're telling me that these salacious garbs will be a feature of summers in this realm?" His nose nudged a wedge of hair from your temple, before he released a filthy moan in your ear. You nodded, shivering as his palms covered your breasts, giving the exposed cleavage from your skimpy neckline a squeeze.

"Wonderful." he groaned, another growl rasping in your ear as you ground back against his hips. Your eyes fluttered shut as Loki palmed your breasts upward, impatient fingertips pulling at the thin material. “But I must insist that you do so with caution.” He rubbed hard against you, every rough drag making his lust feel even more dangerous. Wandering lips latched to the curve of your shoulder, sucking with a lurid groan as his tongue slid against supple skin. Someone cleared their throat. “Excuse me.” You rolled your eyes. Steve.

“This is a public area. I’m sure we’d all appreciate if you refrain from y’know…it’s unhygienic.” He waved a hand, averting his gaze while his cheeks flushed crimson. In the other, he held a single, huge cob of corn. Loki peeled himself from your back, the remnants of his lurid kiss leaving a trail of saliva on your shoulder. “You can watch if you like, Rogers.” he snarled. You swiftly elbowed him in the stomach. Loki let out an exaggerated oof, smirking as you delivered a serious shake of your head. He drew up to his full height, the tight t-shirt clinging to his torso doing nothing to quell the hot thump between your legs. “Sorry Steve.” you mumbled, feeling your cheeks heat. The captain nodded, awkwardly shuffling back and forth as he tried to recall his business in the kitchen. His eyes fell on the corn in his hand as if seeing it for the first time. “Butter!” Steve gasped, relieved. He looked towards you and Loki, satisfied in the change of subject. “Can’t have a fat, juicy cob without fresh butter dripping down it, huh?” You cast Loki a piercing glance, seeing his bottom lip disappear between his teeth as the oblivious Rogers made his way to the fridge. He was trying, you’d give him that. “I’ll see you outside.” Your words made Loki’s eyebrows nudge upwards. “I told you, I don’t-” There was an edge in his voice as you leant closer, palming his cock through the tight denim. “Shame...I’d have liked you to appreciate this dress a little more. I wore it just for you, but I guess the rest of the guys will have to do.” Without a second glance, you began the walk back to the balcony. The sound of meat sizzling and cans popping grew louder as you padded down the hall, Loki’s footsteps tapping in reluctant succession as he strode to catch up.

“Now hold on just a minute-” he rasped. His fingers curled around the delicate crease of your elbow, swinging you in a semi-circle flush to his chest. For all his strength, his touch never caused pain. Only pleasure. Loki’s breath caught as your breasts swelled against his chest, flesh heaving gently over the cotton neckline. “Yes?” you purred, looking up at him beneath heavy lashes. “Hurry up girl – we miss you!” Wilson shouted, a holler from Bucky accompanying his overtures. They descended into laughter. You smiled, tilting your head. “They miss me.” you pouted, lips twitching in a smile. Loki frowned as you brushed away from him. You made sure to give your skirt as extra swish as the breeze from the open balcony door buffeted by; the burn of Loki’s stare warming any chill from the wind.

The guys had saved your seat, bless 'em. Sam and Bucky reclined in perfect synchronicity, a mirror image with muscled arms spread on the back of the rattan furniture waiting for you to re-join them. Tony had refreshed the wrap-around balcony with a whole new set for the summer, luxurious L-shaped sofas with lush fake grass underfoot. He was currently manning the barbecue, beer in hand while Nat watched him turn chicken. “You gotta leave them on one side to cook through, Stark.” she muttered scathingly, swigging from a bottle. Tony chuckled, the skin around his sunglasses creasing at the edge. “What? Worried Earth’s mightiest heroes are gonna be taken down by a little salmonella? Please.” Nat rolled her eyes, before they landed on Loki lingering suspiciously by the plate glass doors. She patted the space beside her. “Come and sit down, gorgeous.” she hummed towards him, throwing you a wink as he scuffed his feet. Loki glanced to the side, grimacing before catching another glimpse of you sandwiched between your colleagues. “Fine.” he said through a gritted smile. He walked the short distance, reclining gracefully beside Natasha and resting a foot on his knee; a pair of black wayfarers manifesting over his eyes.

“There. Was that so hard?” she cooed, her lips twisting in a smirk as Loki’s t-shirt creased against a deep sigh. Tony spun to the side, tilting his chin to his chest and peering over his sunglasses.

“Oh, hey...I didn’t realise Edward Cullen had deemed us worthy of his company today. Kudos.” he quipped, before turning back to the chicken-related task at hand.

You smiled, curling a strand of hair behind your ear before glancing down. The ol' cleavage was looking pretty damn good if you did say so yourself. A sheen of sunscreen gave your skin an ethereal glimmer, dancing in the light. Behind his sunglasses, you could feel Loki’s fiery gaze trawling your body inch by inch. He loved this. The denial, the jealousy, the drama. You crossed your legs slowly, sweat catching as you slid the hem up your thigh before readjusting the fan of cotton. “I gotta say, that dress does look swell on you.” Bucky said, leaning back for a better view. “You polish up real nice outta combat gear.” he winked. Loki’s fingers tightened on the armrest, a crunch alerting you to the fact that the new rattan furniture was feeling the brunt of his jealousy. A thin sheen of sweat was forming on his forehead. “Thanks.” you smiled sweetly, patting Barnes innocently on the leg. “I had it in the closet from last year so with it being such a beautiful day…” you gestured upwards. Wilson nodded sagely as his eyes darted repeatedly to your chest. A single drop of sweat dripped from your collarbone down your cleavage. Sam cleared his throat. “Should stay like this all week, hope you got a whole stash of those little numbers ready to roll.”

A playful smack of your hand landed on Wilson’s chest, accompanied by a giggle. His bright shirt was splayed open, taut skin perfectly smooth and supple in the afternoon sun. Deep lines appeared on Loki’s brow above the Ray Bans, his eyes undoubtedly narrowed. Wilson chuckled, sipping his beer.

Over rising banter, you watched your lover adjusting his hips; squirming silently as long fingers pinched at his thigh. His pale skin was glowing with moisture, the collar of his t-shirt beginning to tinge with sweat. The heat was a convenient cover, but you knew better. He was horny. Desperately so. And with every sweep of his covetous gaze over your slick body in that war-cry of a dress, he would be growing harder. Loki got off on this; the game of flirtations that would undoubtedly end with him fucking you senseless as he 'claimed you'. It would be passionate, verbose. It always was. Your hungry stare ran over his thighs, drinking in the length of muscle he was furiously trying to keep under control in the face of your insolence. No one had noticed. Yet.

You leant forward, crossing your forearms over a dangling knee. The cotton sundress tightened on your chest, the breeze fluttering around the small section of skirt hanging beneath the edge of the sofa. Loki let out a low growl, biting his lip as he crossed his legs. Nat frowned, before the inevitable question was silenced by Steve’s triumphant arrival. “Budge up.” Rogers ordered through a mouthful of corn, butter smeared across his chin. Loki let out a sigh of exasperation, sliding closer to Natasha with his lips hardened in disgust. The captain nestled himself at the end of the chair, devouring the cob gluttonously while indecent moans filled the air. A blob of butter slid down the side, falling with a silent spat to the thigh of the god’s jeans. Loki looked at the blossoming stain with disbelief as Steve swallowed, letting out a satisfied grunt. “Butter was a good choice.” he congratulated himself. Loki grimaced, sliding the wayfarers into his hair. “Will you desist?!” he spat, making Natasha smirk. “Meats almost ready!” Tony shouted, beginning to hum a tune to defuse the sudden tension. Loki huffed, standing and flicking his hair back. “This is absurd.” he griped, throwing you a burning look before pacing towards the railings at the corner of the building. “What was that about?” Bucky muttered, flinching as a ridiculously large plate of barbecued meats landed on the table with zero finesse. “He’s mad about Steve’s dripping cob.” Tony straightened as he spoke, wiping his hands down an apron. “But if we’re honest, aren’t we all?” He widened his arms in a theatrical shrug as Steve’s face flushed. While light-hearted bickering ensued, you rose, slipping away to the side. The slap of your sandals grew loud in your ears as you drew towards Loki’s back, enjoying the fan on dark curls against his triangular torso. Deep lines of muscle were visible through the t-shirt, clinging to every ridge and valley of his powerful form. You shivered, sliding your hands around his waist and inhaling between his shoulder-blades. “You should know better than to sneak up on a warrior, Agent.” he murmured. Your hand wandered down to the edge of his t-shirt, fingernails grazing his sweat-moistened skin. His stomach was so firm, and yet every curve of muscle relented to your touch like sand. They slid over the waistband of his jeans, down...down. “Tease.” Loki hissed, “I shall not forget this.” He let his head fall back as you began to rub. “I don’t know what you mean.” you quipped innocently, resting your chin between his shoulder-blades. You could feel the heat of his skin through the fabric. In a second, Loki spun off to the side, dragging you with him. The heads of your friends disappeared behind the corner as Loki pulled you around the wrapped balcony into the shade. “You know exactly what you do to me.” he growled, caging you to the wall. “Always.” He let out a deep groan as his fingertips danced beneath the hem of the sundress, riding up his forearms as he burrowed beneath the skirts. They skimmed damp skin, tracing lazy circles as his tongue licked the salt from your neck. Loki's fingertips sank into the curves of your ass, a hot exhale of need flooding your ear. “The way they were looking at you in this flimsy garment...only I am allowed to look at you thus. That is my privilege alone.” he growled darkly, running his nose up your temple. “That’s not how it works here, Loki.” you goaded, gasping as his palms squeezed your cheeks. Hands resting on his waist, you pulled at the t-shirt with a whimper. The god chuckled. “I’m aware of that.” he muttered regretfully. “But old habits die hard.”

There was a light snap as he pinged back your underwear, another groan of desire vibrating from his chest to yours. “Darling…” Loki’s breaths were ragged as your hands began fumbling with the button of his jeans. “Shhh...don’t talk. You have to be quiet.” you warned. The white noise of the team’s wholesome afternoon tinkled around the corner as the god pressed you against the cool side of the building. Street traffic blared sporadically below, hidden from view by the railings. You ran the firm rim of your palm down his shaft, hard and thick beneath the denim. Loki's knees juddered, making obsidian locks swing around your forehead. “That f-fucking dress…” he whimpered gruffly. “It’s so...you look so...unbearably...uhhh-” The syllables of his words faded as he pressed his hips against your body, gyrating into your touch. “I must have you in it. Here.” he whispered. With one swipe, Loki pulled the panties down. They pooled around your sandals, discarded on the artificial grass as he effortlessly raised you in the air. Your legs cinched around his waist, grasping between your bodies before your fingers wrapped around the hot, moist head of his cock. Loki groaned, his eyelids fluttering shut. Long fingers dug into your thighs, hoisting you closer against him. The girth nestled teasingly at your entrance while his lips made love to every inch of accessible skin. “Bruises…” you gasped warily, lost in a haze of bliss as he sucked down hard. “I care not.” came the scathing response, muffled wetly against your shoulder.

“They should know you are spoken for.” he husked, his menacingly sexy bone structure rising to meet your wide-eyed stare. You bucked your hips, trying to capture his cock. The heat pulsing between your legs was unbearable, writhing sweatily against the wall. You could feel new warmth rising in your cheeks. “They do know, they’re just playing with you-” Words evaporated as Loki shook his head with a crafty smirk. “Well, they know not well enough.” he growled, spreading his palms wider as he slid you onto his length. The wide tip breached, a loud gasp from your lips silenced by the cup of his hand. “Shhh...you must be quiet.” he echoed mockingly as your eyes screwed shut with a shameless moan of pleasure. Your hands slid over his shoulders, winding in his hair as he began to thrust. Each pump was desperate, shallow. His quiet goans blew hot in your ear, Loki’s strength holding you steady as he fucked you against the wall. A bead of sweat rolled from his hairline, caressing down the curve of a sharp cheekbone before falling between your bodies. His fingers slid around the curve of your ass, playing teasingly with your back entrance. “Loki-” you gasped, bucking up into him. The metal of Stark Tower bit against your bare skin with every earth-shattering mount; the god’s free hand palming your breast through the thin cotton dress. It felt frantic. And hot as hell. It felt divine. “I want my cum dripping down those pretty thighs of yours.” Loki grunted through gritted teeth. You tugged his hair back, lust-drunk at the sight of his devastating jawline flash as his chin pointed to the cloudless sky. He hissed, the wave of his hips into your core never losing their rhythm. “Far beyond the reach of that delicate garment. That so called sun-dress…a mess of my m-mark for all to see.” he rasped, baring his teeth while his knees began to buckle. “I would have every one of them know that you have been claimed, my seed smeared against that beautiful skin- uhh-g-gods…”

Waves of climax began to crest in your belly, the unbearable tug of his pubic mound against your clit with every clench of his ass. Your fingers slid inside the empty belt loops of his splayed jeans, pulling him closer as you breathed his name on repeat. Loki’s hands gripped the skirts of your skimpy dress, gathering the cotton in clutches as he bottomed out with a shaking moan. “Norns tha-that dress…” Shameless adoration smouldered in his eyes, a sea of blue and green masked by dilated darkness. He raised an arm to steady himself against the wall, bicep quivering as he lost himself inside your dripping sex. Loki’s moist forehead pressed to your own, wordless screams building as you began to come around his cock. Your nails scraped down the tight fabric clinging to his back as shuddering orgasm consumed you, feeling his shoulder-blades tense. His breath hitched, a choked groan gurgling in his throat as his thighs trembled. “Claim me, Loki-” you choked, making him clench forwards over the edge. He emptied himself inside you with a shaking moan of your name, shallow pants racking his body as your legs tightened around his hips. As you caught your breath, Loki’s lips pressed gently to yours. His tongue slipped between them as he rubbed a thumb up your jawline with softening eyes. You looked up as he lowered you back to the ground, steadying you when your knees almost gave way. “Well, I certainly hope you’ve learned your lesson regarding that particular item of clothing.” Loki warned, running a hand through his sex-mussed hair before inspecting the suspicious bruises blossoming on your shoulder. You could feel his cum begin its descent of your thigh, rolling in thick drips down damp skin. You hummed, shrugging before gathering the front of his t-shirt in a fist. “Wear more of them?” you purred innocently. Loki winked.

Tags @meowmeow-motherfucker @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @lokischambermaid @loveroflokiforpoeticjustice @coldnique @jaidenhawke @vbecker10 @thomase1 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @sebstanwhore @peacefulpianist @maple-seed @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @infinitystoner @goblingirlsarah @ozymdias @peaches1958 @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @sidepartskinnyjeans @ladyofthestayingpower @wolfmoonmusic @brittbax @smolvenger @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman @psychospore @littlespaceyelf

[lambtotheslaughterr]

I Burn : Part Two

A Rafe Cameron Mini Series

[THIS STORY WILL CONTAIN THEMES OF NON-CON/DUB-CON, MENTAL-EMOTIONAL-PHYSICAL ABUSE, ETC. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. 18+. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT]

WC: 3.6k

Dividers provided by @firefly-graphics

PART ONE | MASTERLIST | PART THREE

            It was the weekend. You were relived. It meant no group sessions until Monday & the weekend was yours to do with as you pleased. Most often you spent time in either your room or the common space, making small talk with other patients. It was nothing like your weekends from before—going out with the few friends who could stand you, hitting the beach, or going shopping—but you were looking forward to it, nonetheless. All you had to do was get through your one on one session with Dr. Mooney. And you were anticipating it being a humiliating one, thanks to Renee.

            You showered quickly & changed into a PJ set before making your way to Dr. Mooney’s office. Your fingers were tangled together, your nerves skyrocketing. As you passed near the front desk, you saw Nurse Carney out of her typical work clothes. She was dressed in a tank top, denim shorts, & cardigan. Hmm, must be her day off, you thought to yourself.

            Dr. Mooney’s door was open when you entered. He was at his desk, typing away on his laptop. Since he hadn’t noticed you, you rapped lightly on the doorframe. He raised his eyes to meet yours. Your spine shivered.

            “_____, welcome!” He greeted with that godly handsome smile on his face. He looked stellar in his button-up & tie, & the jeans he wore hugged him in all the right places. You forced yourself to keep your eyes from ogling him.

            “Morning.” You kept your voice low.

            Dr. Mooney came around his desk & approached you, reaching for the door to close it behind you, “Take a seat & we’ll get started.”

            His office was homey & comfortable, which you imagined to be the point so you & other patients would feel at ease. But little did Dr. Mooney know that just being in the same room as him often made it hard for you to breathe, to control your urges & invasive thoughts. Dr. Mooney sat across from you while you got as comfortable as possible on the couch opposite him.

            “How are you this morning?” This was the only time he worked without a clipboard. During the one-on-one’s Dr. Mooney simply listened & was present. His eyes would never leave you & you wished for nothing more that he would distract himself with writing down notes.

            “Fine.” You replied with a forced smile. He chuckled lightly, “And how did you sleep?”

            You shrugged. In reality you slept like a baby. After you had gotten yourself off in the calm room—three times—your body was more than willing to slip into a deep slumber.

            “Not well?”

            “No, I slept okay.” You assured him.

            “Great.” He smirked, a hand placed under his chin, hid index finger running along the length of his jaw. Oh, how you wished to hold his face as you rode him.

            “_____?”

            You jumped as he spoke your name.

            “Did you hear me?”

            “No, sorry. Lost in thought.” Lost, indeed.

            “Since you were unable to partake in group discussion yesterday, we can start with the questions I asked the group.”

            You were okay with that. Saturday’s morning sessions were always shorter to get a jumpstart on the weekend. You’d only be here for fifteen minutes or so, so your answers could be sweet & short without pressure.

            “What thoughts or feelings have you had this week regarding your ability to function with your addiction?”

            The question danced around your mind for some time. Honestly, you didn’t think much about it, but you couldn’t say that.

            “I really don’t think it affected my life much.” You answered, your hands pressed against each other between your thighs. “I wasn’t in school, wasn’t working. My free time was really just hanging out by myself or with my friends.”

            “Mhmm.” Dr. Mooney nodded, “And what about moving forward? Should your treatment work, have you thought about how your addiction could affect your life? You can’t be unemployed forever.”

            With your parents’ money you absolutely could, but again, you couldn’t say that.

            “Well if treatment works I won’t need to worry about it, right?”

            “Unfortunately, that is rarely the case, _____.” Dr. Mooney leaned forward in his seat, clasping his hands before him, making the veins in his forearms protrude. “People who are in recovery are oftentimes in the most vulnerable position. It’s where all your lessons, self-care, medications, routine, etc. are crucial to your improvement, & you—the addict—have to hold yourself accountable for that change.”

            The thought unsettled you. Of course, deep down, you didn’t truly think you had a problem—you just liked sex more than most, but everyone else seemed to disagree. So you agreed with them to save face. But what worried you is that if treatment didn’t work, if you did have a problem, your parents wouldn’t have your back forever. After all, they put you in here. Could you be trusted on your own?

            “Let’s do a scenario.” Dr. Mooney pondered a thought, “Treatment works. You’re out of here in 10 weeks. Jump to three months in recovery. You’re in school. It’s midterms. You have hours of studying ahead of you if you want a passing grade. You’re in a private corner of the library, it’s late at night. You’re tired, anxious, looking for anything to get you out of your head, out of studying. Just a break, that’s all you need. You get a text message from a friend—a male friend. He’s your age, there’s been light flirtatious banter. He asks you to come study with him at his apartment. What do you do?”

            You gulped. You knew the right answer, & you also knew your answer.

            “Ask if we can study together next time?”

            Dr. Mooney smiled, “That’s not bad. There’s no wrong answer here. This is to practice responsibility.”

            “But I wouldn’t be the only person blowing off steam. Others do it all the time.” You debated, “Especially college students.”

            “But you are not most college students, _____. You are different, & that’s okay. But you need to work with that difference to better yourself. Of course, with lots of practice, holding yourself accountable, it’ll become easy. The more you do it, the less you’ll struggle. But the struggle will always be there. It’s a matter of overcoming it every single time.”

            “So I have to celibate?” You rolled your eyes. Your parents would love that.

            “No, no.” Dr. Mooney smiled, shaking his head, “There are many successful individuals out there who were in similar positions to yourself, who have a healthy relationship with sex. And that is the goal. A healthy relationship with it.”

            You sighed, giving up, “Okay. I guess.”

            Dr. Mooney then moved into the next topic. The dreaded topic.

            “How often are you masturbating?”

            It wasn’t a question you weren’t used to. He asked it weekly so far. But after yesterday, you felt heat bloom in your cheeks.

            “Everyday.” You mumbled, picking at the hem of your shirt.

            “Okay.” Dr. Mooney pressed his lips together in thought, “And do you need to?”

            Again, you rolled your eyes, “No, but yes. It hurts if I don’t.”

            “Hurts?”

            “Yeah, like, I don’t know. Burns. Getting off helps.”

            “And yesterday, in the woods…”

            “Yeah.” You hung your head, “Urge came. I took care of it.”

            “Right.” Dr. Mooney leaned back but he didn’t look displeased, just concerned. You were relieved with that at least. However, you dreaded him asking about what Renee had said yesterday; that it was his name on your lips. You couldn’t even recall saying it out loud, but apparently you had. Fortunately, he never brought it up.

            “Perhaps we will find other ways for you to fulfill that…burn. Practice discipline.”

            “How though?”

            “Well, we’ll try new things. For this weekend though, anytime you get the urge really try to avoid it. The human brain is complex. It takes a lot of training to reroute behaviors. So, we’ll start small. Your homework for the weekend: anytime you feel the need to masturbate, I want you to write in your journal. Anytime you have an urge over the weekend, instead of masturbating, I want you to write about what you could be doing instead. The sky is the limit.”

            “Anything? Like sleeping? That’ll be quick.”

            “Sure. But perhaps if you get the urge when you should be sleeping, write about dreams you could be having whilst asleep. Use your imagination. And try to stray from sexual thoughts. I want you to really push yourself to not act on your sexual impulses.”

            “So, no getting off is what you’re saying?”

            “That is the goal, yes. I don’t expect immediate results, but this is practice. So practice.”

            You sighed, nodding, “Okay. I’ll try.”

            “Perfect.” Dr. Mooney stood up, “Well, unfortunately our time is up. But come Monday morning I hope to hear some progress, alright?”

            “Yes, doctor.”

            Saturday dragged on. You spent a majority of your time in the common space, paying little attention to the TV & the sounds of other patients milling about around you. A journal sat in your lap. Dr. Mooney had given it to you before you left his office. You savored the gift, though it was hardly a gift. But it was his. And you savored that.

            It was a little past six when an employee announced that it was dinner time. You followed the others into the cafeteria. It was soup & bread night. There was four soups to choose from, a tray of breads, & a side of veggies. You chose the broccoli cheese soup with a half loaf of bread that reminded you of the kind from The Cheesecake Factory & a side of green beans & steamed carrots. Your drink of choice was a Fiji water.

            You sat at your usual table in the corner by the window, facing away from the rest of the room. Though you had done virtually nothing all day, you were tired, bored out of your mind. More so, you hadn’t gotten that burning feeling that you had talked about. It only kind of concerned you.

            As you sat in silence, eating by yourself, you were lost in thought, unaware of the figure approaching your table. It wasn’t until the chair next to you screeched lightly against the floor that you finally noted them. When your eyes landed on the blue pairs next to you, you immediately felt your muscles tense, your walls go up.

            “Hey, nympho.” The new kid, Rafe, smirked as he dipped his bread into his bowl of soup.

            “What the fuck did you just call me?” Your voice nearly inaudible, too in shock from his insulting greeting.

            Rafe chewed, the smug smirk never leaving his face. He had a dimple on the left side of his face that drew your attention. Regretfully, it only made him…cuter.

            “That’s your nickname, isn’t it?”

            “No.” You looked away, your voice hard, “It’s not.”

            Rafe continued to eat beside you, & you could feel his eyes watching you as you twirled your spoon around your soup, your appetite suddenly lost.

            “Stop. Staring.” You hated how goosebumps were appearing on your skin, how your spine tingled. You bit your lip. His attention was…not helping.

            “So, sex addict, huh? Kinda bogus, in my opinion.” He commented.

            You felt your brows furrow, “I guess.”

            “I mean, sex is normal. I think people should be having more of it, then there’d be less assholes, right?” He knocked his knee into yours. You parted your lips at the contact. Oh no. You let go of the spoon in your hand, dropping your hands to your lap. Your thighs tensed.

            “I think it’s just because you’re a girl.” At that, you finally looked at him. You didn’t miss how his eyes trailed the length of you, again, until his eyes met yours. “Gotta be all modest as a female. But no one bats an eye at a guy who likes to fuck a lot.”

            Words failed you, but his opinion stuck with you. Would it be different if you were a guy? Would your parents have put you in here? Surely they wouldn’t care about a boy who acts like a boy, but god forbid they have a floozy as a daughter..

            “I’m right, ya know.” Rafe shrugged, “I don’t think either of us should be here.”

            “Maybe we’ll prison break.” You shared thoughtlessly.

            Rafe grinned proudly at that, “Run away together, huh?”

            You shook the thought from your head. It would surely lead your thoughts astray.

            Standing up from your seat, you grabbed your tray of food.

            “Aw, don’t let me scare you away.” Rafe leaned back in his seat to smile up at you, “I swear I’m a nice guy.”

            You didn’t need to know him well to know that wasn’t true.

            Ignoring him, you dumped your food in a nearby trash, placed your tray near the window to the kitchen, & left the room. You fingered the journal in your hand, your nails digging into the back of it. Your breathing was becoming labored, that burning feeling in the pit of your center returning. You stifled a groan by biting your lip. You wanted to take care of it, to disappear into your room for ten minutes. But you thought of Dr. Mooney. Regardless if you thought you had a real problem or not, you didn’t want to let him down.

            Once you got to your room, you shut the door. There was no locks on them, but other patients knew not to walk into someone’s room without knocking first. You’d be safe & alone.

            Depositing yourself at the desk in your room, you flipped open the journal & snagged a pen from a holder to your left.

            I could be eating right now. Enjoying the rest of my food instead of dumping it. I could be savoring every bite, imagining myself at The Cheesecake Factory. I could be ordering the classic cheesecake, & ordering another one to take home. I could be in the car with my parents as they traded small talk. I could be staring out the window with a full stomach. I could be anxious to get home so I can keep watching the newest season of KUWTK. I could be home, in my room, in my house. I could not be here. I could have better parents.

            You slammed the pen down, having grown frustrated instead. The burning was mostly gone, having been replaced with anger. You huffed, your arms crossed in front of you. Rafe’s words echoed in your head. I think it’s because you’re a girl.

            God, fuck your parents. Rafe wasn’t wrong! You didn’t have a problem! Not a real one, anyway. Your only problem was that you were born to conservative parents who cared more about their image & careers than their own daughter. You liked sex, but you weren’t dependent on it. You didn’t need to have it, but you liked having it. Just like everyone else, especially guys your age.

            Pushing yourself back from your desk, you paced around your room, shaking away your nerves. Your anxiety was growing. It was too early in the evening for the nurse’s to make their rounds & give patients their prescribed medication. You’d have to distract yourself in the meantime.

            Back in the common space, you were glad to see the TV was unoccupied & the room empty. You crashed onto the couch, flicking the TV on. After scrolling through the cable guide, you chose to watch Spongebob reruns. You were only a couple minutes into the episode when a figure appeared from the main entrance. Rafe. You sighed.

            Rafe came to stand by the couch, at the end where your head was resting, but did not sit. In your peripheral, you saw his hands in his pockets as he stared at the TV. His presence was lingering, his shadow practically over you as he just stood there. You couldn’t enjoy the show like this.

            Sitting up, you huffed, glaring up at him, “Can I help you?”

            “Nah.” Rafe didn’t look at you, “Just enjoying the nostalgia of my childhood.”

            Your eyes flicked from him back to the TV. You could sense that he was enjoying this despite his dismissive response. There was that hint of a smug smirk on his face. You licked your lips, annoyed.

            “Can you just…go away? Please.”

            Rafe finally looked at you, feigning surprise. He looked around the room, as if confused. “Oh, did you reserve the room?

            You felt your jaw tick. Would you have to hide in your room all night? Because this guy was definitely not getting the point. Instead, you forced yourself to try to ignore him. After a minute or so, he finally sat. Right next to you. You shifted, moving to the furthest end of the couch. Rafe shamelessly followed. He was being invasive, annoying. You imagined that this is what it was like to have a brother.

            “Am I ruining this for you?” He asked, his voice low, too close for comfort. Dangerous, even.

            But you knew he was egging you on. You had to not give him what he was looking for.

            “Nope.” But your body language said otherwise & you knew it. Rafe smirked, widening his legs until his left one grazed against your own. You tucked your legs under you, the goosebumps returning. Then he stretched his arms along the back of the couch. His left hand just over your left shoulder. Your spine tingled.

            It took everything in you to not look at him, to glare at him, to admire the features of his face or take your own once over of him. You battled with your desire to appreciate him, his attention, how close he was. Fuck, did you have a problem? It wouldn’t be the first time, or probably last, that you’d be attracted to a royal douchebag, but he was intentionally being one. And yet, you couldn’t help but be curious about him.

            “Hey.” Rafe leaned close, his breath fanning the side of your face. Your hands gripped your thighs, tensing up. “Do you mind turning it up a little? Hard to hear it past your heavy breathing.”

            You whipped your head to face him. He was close. Your noses practically touching. Rafe stared into your eyes & you his. As he had you locked in, you noticed that your breathing was indeed heavy. You were losing control.

            “See something you like?” Your eyes fell to his lips. You imagined them on your neck, your breasts, down below…

            Rafe smirked, “Gotcha.”

            Shooting forward from your spot on the couch, you rushed from the common space to your room. You through a smiteful look over your shoulder as Rafe chuckled softly to himself.

            “Goodnight, nympho.”

            Fuck you. You slammed the door to your room & collapsed onto your bed.

            The burning consumed you.

            It was Sunday. The worst day. Community outreach day.

            Every Sunday, your group goes out & does community service. A way to give back, but also—as Dr. Mooney says—to remind yourselves that there are things bigger than yourself. You didn’t buy it though. Never have you done community work & the last two times you had done it since being there didn’t change your mind about how a waste of time it was.

            Nurse Carney, like usual, was to lead the group for the day. And the community project you would be participating in on that Sunday was working with at-risk youth to build a garden center for the elderly at a nearby senior home. You already didn’t enjoy the idea of getting dirty & sweating all day under the summer sun.

            After getting dressed, you joined the others near the front of the facility where the lobby was. Siena & Albert were already there, talking quietly to one another. Nurse Carney was filling out paperwork while you all waited for the other two. Both of whom you’d be happy to leave without.

            You said your ‘hey’s’ to Albert & Siena before sitting in a chair nearby. Shortly after, Renne, followed by Rafe a minute later, appeared.

            “We’re all here.” Nurse Carney gleamed, “Van is waiting! Let’s get going.”

            As you waited to climb in after the others, relieved that Renee opted for passenger, you only realized too late that Albert & Siena took the rear row, leaving the middle row for you & Rafe Cameron. As you buckled in on the farthest side, loathing the seating arrangement of the van, you tried to ignore him as he sat directly next to you. He had no choice. There was no middle seat. Just the left one you were in & then the one that would be considered the middle seat if there was a right seat. But where the right seat should have been was a gap to make accessing the third row easier.

            Nurse Carney turned in her seat, double checking everyone was buckled like you all were her precious toddlers, before turning the ignition on & exiting the rounded pull-through of the facility driveway.

            As the van rumbled beneath you, you felt a small, cool sensation near the top of your knees. Your eyes flashed to touch, finding Rafe’s index knuckle grazing the exposed skin there. You shoved his hand away & crossed that leg over the other, angling your body as best as you could to face away from him.

            But in the reflection of the window, you saw that goddamn fucking annoying smirk on his face. And then his eyes met yours in the reflection.

            You closed your eyes, willing yourself to not let him get to you. But it was only nine in the morning.

            You resented the long gruesome day ahead of you.

part two! please share your thoughts & feelings via comments, reblogs w reviews, or dropping an ask. it's early days for this work so please talk to me so i stay motivated to write it more often.

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[lil-spider]

So Damn Pretty

Chapter 5

Part 4 : Part 6 :

Pairing: Johnny Slaughter X Female Reader

Summary: Johnny is sex starved and you’re very attractive, so attractive that he doesn’t want to kill you. Instead he finds ways to keep you around longer.

Note: My fav song when writing about Johnny.

Warning: This is 18+ and please do not read if your sensitive to heavy descriptions of non/con and violence. Including bondage, blood, gore, assault, objectification and unsafe sex. For those who don’t mind, I hope you enjoy.

I rise up groggily and stretch my tender muscles. "Johnny got some stuff from your van for ya'." She places a wooden box of stuff next to me on the bed. Looking in it, I find a collection of hygiene items, including hair brushes, underwear, clothing, and Jessica's beauty bag.

 

Jessica took it everywhere, even on the camping trip. It's all that I have left of her. "I took a few lipsticks from that bag; they were such pretty reds." Sissy tells me frankly. I’m upset she took them, but I don't want to quarrel with her; it's not worth it. I don’t know what she’s capable of.

"Have a shower, sugar, and meet me downstairs in the kitchen." She caresses my leg and saunters to the door. I wait till she leaves to grab my stuff. I slide the makeup bag underneath the bed, hidden away, so no one else steals from it. I’ll find a better hiding spot for it later.

 

I grabbed some of my fresh clothes, which include a pair of denim shorts and a yellow knit tank top. I head to the shower after picking up some travel-sized shampoos and conditioners as well as a body wash with a pleasant scent. I'm so eager to get refreshed.

I lock the door behind me as I use the restroom. I take off my dress, put it in a basket of dirty clothes by the door, and get into the hot shower. Scrubbing my body and hair made me feel as though I were trying to erase the previous days and start over.

 

Rising the soap, I feel much better, finally smelling like my old self. Squeezing all the water out of my hair, I decided not to use the towels, as I doubt they were clean. Uncomfortably, I put my clothes on while damp. Thankfully, it’s a hot day, so I won’t take long to dry.

I go back to my room to grab some old sandals from my box of belongings and walk downstairs. Entering the kitchen, I find Sissy making eggs and bacon for breakfast.

She grins at me. "Oh, pumpkin, you look lovely," she says examining me. "So do you." I respond, noticing she is wearing a short dress with dark red and white polka dots. She gives me another of her gorgeous grins.

"Thank you very much, sugar; this is one of my favourites." She does a little spin, showing the rest of her dress.

We cook breakfast together while conversing, and she tells me about our chores for today.

Repeating what I did yesterday, I prepared the table as Sissy plated the food. As usual, she rings the bell while I take a seat, waiting for the family to arrive. They seem to be normal—except for the killing and eating people—that's not so normal, but other then that they treat each other like every other family.

During breakfast I keep looking at Johnny. Every time I do, I get these butterflies in my stomach. Even though he’s dressed in his typical ensemble of a black shirt and denim pants, he looks so damn fine.

His hair is currently not styled, letting it frame his face. I want to glide my hands over those dark locks of his. Shit, he looks good like that.

I watch him with hungry eyes as he leaves the dining room first, returning to whatever he was doing.

As the others finish, Bubba descends to that dreadful basement. Nubbins was the last person to go as Mr. Sawyer headed out to open the gas station.

Nubbins mumbles something about wanting head cheese next time, and he scatters off up the stairs. Ew, what the fuck is head cheese? As soon as he departed, Sissy and I got to cleaning.

Finishing up, Sissy shows me the rest of the house and what other chores that need to be done. Right now, we’ve got a whole lot of laundry.

As we start on at least two baskets worth of dirty clothes, Johnny shows up. His hair now back to his usual style. He waltzes up, wrapping his arm around my waist and leading me off to who knows where.

“I’m going to take her around the property!" He yells back to Sissy while we walk away.

We step outside to the side-yard, which has a lovely field of gorgeous sunflowers, a collection of old abandoned cars, and a tool shed.

“Avoid wandering through the fields, Nubbins has set up some strange traps there.” He provides more details about the areas I'm not permitted to visit.

Guiding me around the vast estate he points over to the tool shed. “I'm generally out here, if you ever need to find me."

We stopped walking, now near a workbench underneath some shade across from the car graveyard. “I really like the sunflowers.” I tell him bashfully, glancing over at the flowers. He has a charming smile on his face as he puts his hands on my hips, facing me. “Do you now?” He smirks as I nod my head.

He moves closer to my ear. “Do you also enjoy eye-fucking me?” I stared wide eyed at him, embarrassed at being caught.

I thought I was being discrete during breakfast.

He holds my hips tightly. “I bet your pretty pussy is aching for me." He states picking me up and placing me on the workbench.

“And wearing such cute clothes, showing off this body to tease me, huh?” He slides his hand down my sides to the end of my shorts, tugging it off along with my underwear. "Johnny, what if someone catches us?" I ask him, worried his family might see.

“Don’t worry. Just focus on me.” He says annoyed, continuing to undress me.

I lift my hips up, letting him pull down my shorts and toss them to the ground. He skims his hands over to my chest and pushes me back. Getting me to lay flat against the bench, my legs hanging off the edge.

We're about to fuck outside in the middle of the day, I really hope no one sees us.

Johnny grabs my legs, placing them over his large shoulders, spreading them. He stares down unshamefully at my bare cunt.

"Such a wet, slutty pussy.” He smirks, taking pleasure in my embarrassment.

He squats downward, pushing my legs further apart, and presses his mouth on me. Eating me out in broad daylight.

He rubs his hot tongue over me. I close my eyes and rest my head on the bench.

I let out whimpering moans as he licks my cunt, teasingly avoiding my clit. His groans vibrate my poor, neglected nub. I move my hips while holding onto the end of the bench, attempting to direct his lips towards my clit for relief.

"Please suck my clit, Johnny!" I chuck my dignity aside and pleadingly grind against his mouth.

While he plays with me, he keeps a grip tight on my thighs. He leaves his tongue flat against my clit. I sit up, grab his head in frustration, and grind on his face erotically attempting to move his tongue against me.

“Please, lick my clit! I need you!” I pant out.

"Demanding little slut." He chuckles, pushing up my shirt and exposing my chest. I let out heavy breaths as he gropes them, giving my chest a hard squeeze, pinching and flicking my nipples while I continue my pleas.

I place my hands over his as he toys with my tits. I thrust my hips and keep my legs open as he goes back down on me. He kneads my chest while finally licking my little clit in sloppy circles. I gasp and moan out loud, holding his veiny hands harder.

I glance at the man between my legs and found him staring back. His eyes are observing me like a predator as he devours his prey. He’s so intense yet alluring. He leaves soft kisses on my clit as we stare at each other.

"Nnnh." I whimper, now slowly shoving his tongue into my pussy, rubbing my clit with his nose.

He takes his sweet time, savouring me. I tremble as I feel his tongue slide against my walls.

Just as I get close, he pulls away. He stands up and shoves me harshly back against the table again.

I watch as he drops his jeans; his hard cock bounces upwards, pre-cum dripping from his swollen head. He gives it a few pumps before pushing my legs back, holding them to my chest.

“Don’t you dare resist me. Keep em’ open.” He instructs. I head to his words, holding the back of my calves to my chest. He starts tapping the tip of his cock against my clit. “That’s my good girl.”

Now he’s dragging his heavy cock downwards to my hole, wetting it in the process.

Johnny pushes inside me very slowly. “Fuck baby, take my cock." He grunts, watching my cunt suck in his hard dick. I dig my nails into the back of my legs while he stays still.

He does a few agonising slow thrusts, and I moan at the sensation.

“You love this, don't you?" He mocks. I cry out a yes, agreeing with him.

Johnny grabs my calves, placing them over his shoulders while holding my thighs for leverage; He starts his brutal pounding.

I'm cupping my tits as they bounce roughly from his pace. The poor bench sounds like it’s about to collapse.

He‘s fucking like a wild beast that’s been starving for pussy. “Mine, mine, mine.” He grunts out, placing a hand over my mouth to muffle my loud moans.

Wanting it more intense he removes my legs off his shoulders and pulls his cock from my drenched hole.

He turns me over on my stomach, grabbing my hips, bringing them back, so I’m standing doggy style.

I gasp as he monovers his cock back into my pussy. I spill whiny moans as he thrusts in from a new angle.

"Come on, Darlin, give me a baby." He groans as he aggressively fucks me; I cry out a yes as his cock keeps hitting my sweet spot.

He’s turning me into a drooling moaning mess. His hard fucking makes my tits swing while his hips and abs are slamming into my ass. "I'm gonna fill ya full!"

He smacks my ass hard, watching the fat recoil. He growls, gripping my ass in an attempt to get a better hold on me.

He's displaying his strength by supporting my weak lower body while maintaining his speed. Before I could finish, he slows down. I whinge pushing back against him.

Cooing at me he reaches an arm around my waist. Putting a thick finger on my clit, rubbing it in circles.

Just shy of my peak, I ask him permission to orgasm. "May I cum on your cock, Johnny?"

"Yeah, sweetheart, release yourself, baby; come, you can do it.” He says breathless, picking up his original pace. I cum right there. My legs shake as I leave a mess on his cock.

He grunts, cumming right after me. Shoving his cock deep, drowning my insides with his hot cum.

We both pant heavy. I squeal as he thrusts his cock more deeply. He chuckles and slides out.

I feel his hot cum dribble over my clit. I rest my head on my arms, trying to compose myself. He holds my hips, muttering as he watches his cum drizzle out of my pussy.

“Fuck.” He moans out, turned on from the sight. Johnny goes back down on me. Using his tongue to clean me up.

I gasp and wriggle, super sensitive. He holds my hips still, eating me out from behind. I try to fight, but he's too strong. Holding my legs apart. I cry out for him to stop, but he just licks my tender clit faster.

He drags his tongue up, pushing his cum back inside me while rubbing my nub up and down with his thumb.

I bite my lip getting closer to another orgasm, humping his tongue and thumb.

I'm gasping, cumming again, hot tears rolling down my face. He shoves his tongue into my entrance sucking up my juices. “No more!” I cry squeezing my legs.

But he still doesn’t listen now tongue fucking me.

Once he's done, he stands back up, turns me around, and kisses me. I taste our flavours. I whine into the kiss, and he grips my ass hard, smacking it.

“The tour is now over, darlin'; better get back to your chores.” He says this with a cheeky grin, letting me go to putting his jeans back on.

He gives me a smirk at my dishevelled appearance and turns around, walking back to the house.

I fumble putting my shoes and shorts back on. I struggle to catch up to him on wobbly legs. Walking beside him, he takes a cigarette and lighter out of his back pocket.

He puts an arm around my waist and lights the cig in his mouth. Smoking it while we head back to the house. God help me, I think I’m in love.

[carnagewidow]

De-Stress ☆ Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary : Wanda needs to de-stress after work.

Pairing : Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Warnings : smut, a little dub-con, soft-ish wanda, strap on sex, fingering, cupping, degradation | 18+ Minors DNI!

note : this is my first ever smut, like first ever!! And this is my first time uploading a fic xhajfjjsicnaixn this sucks but i hope u enjoy :')

Ф

It was a cozy afternoon and you were chilling on the couch, tired after finishing all those housework. You’ve cleaned the house, you did laundry, cooked dinner, and the whole job is done. Right now, you were waiting for your wife, Wanda, to come home from work.

As the front door opened, you jumped up in excitement, your heart full of love and affection. The sight of Wanda warms your heart, she looked so beautiful in that disheveled blouse. You immediately hugged her.

“Hey, Wands. Welcome home.” you spoke, wrapping your arms tighter around her body. Wanda chuckled and pulled away from the hug, licking her bottom lip. “Bend over the couch, darling. I want to use you. Can’t you see how stressed I look, love? I need your body to de-stress.” she spoke, a mischievous grin on her face. You gulped, shocked to hear her words. You wanted to obey, but your body was just frozen in place.

Wanda tilted her head in curiosity, “what is it, (y/n)? You wanna stand there and wait until I force you?” You shook your head, immediately running towards the couch before you bent over it. You could hear Wanda’s teasing giggle from afar as she slowly walked towards you. “What an obedient girl, hm? Bending over the couch for me? Do you know what I’m going to do with you, (y/n)?” she spoke, and you shook your head.

In a split second, Wanda grabbed the hem of your dress and lifts it over your waist, revealing your thighs, your legs, and your slick pussy, throbbing to be used. It had only been a day since Wanda fucked you mercilessly on this same couch, which happened last night, but your pussy was already aching for more. Wanda giggled at the sight, and you could only lower your head down in embarrassment as the older woman inspects you thoroughly. Her hand slowly made its way towards your pulsing cunt, and you moaned in response.

“Already so wet for me, darling? I barely touched you, you know? You’re such a whore for me”, she spoke in a teasing tone as she roughly shoved two digits inside you. You let out a groan, one with a mixture of pain and pleasure. “Please…”, you finally muttered as your knees grew weaker and weaker. You felt dizzy and hazy, the sound of Wanda’s playful giggles filling your brain. You subconsciously rolled your hips, letting out a moan, wanting more friction from Wanda’s fingers. At that, Wanda laughed. “Such a needy slut for me…” she then pulled her fingers out and flipped you over. You were laying on your back now, and you were already breathing heavily. Your eyes met Wanda’s as she unbuckled her belt, pulling down her denim jeans to reveal the big, red strap-on. Your eyes widened, you’ve never taken anything that big before.

“Wands… I can’t” you muttered, trying to back away from Wanda, but she grabbed you by the thighs, keeping you in place, “This is not about you, baby. Its about me. I want to use you, so… unless you want me to punish you, you better lay there and take it like the good little wife you are.” You could only gulp, fearing for your life, but at the same time wanting to please your tired and stressed out wife.

You closed your eyes as Wanda lined the big silicone toy against your hot sex, before roughly thrusting into you with a groan. Wanda admired you for a little while, admiring the sight of your pussy, all spread out from the toy. You let out tiny whines, biting your lip as you moaned. Seeing you like that turned Wanda on even more.

“You ready, baby?” she spoke with a grin. After receiving your weak nods, Wanda chuckled and started to pound into you. she groaned, enjoying the sight of you beneath her, your pussy basically swallowing every inch of her silicone cock. “Fuck, (y/n), look at you” Wanda spoke as she kept pounding into you, her movements getting faster every second. You were moaning, your hands gripping the couch, your face were stained with tears from how rough Wanda was being, but it felt good.

Eventually, you felt like you couldn’t keep up with Wanda’s pace. “Wands… I can’t anymore, please…” you spat between quiet, low moans – but Wanda just smiled and kept going. “Yes you can, baby. It’ll stop hurting eventually. Here, since you’re so desperate…” her hands travelled up your body, cupping your clothed breasts and causing you to moan. Wanda cussed, “fuck, I should’ve taken this dress off of you beforehand.” She kept going, and you felt dizzy. You felt everything, her dildo roughly slamming inside your pussy, her hands cupping and playing with your breasts, her fingers pinching and twirling your erect nipples – god, you couldn’t take it anymore. You were close.

Wanda noticed your expression, and she lowered her head, her lips now kissing your inner thighs. You let out a loud moan, feeling overwhelmed from all the sensations. “W-Wanda!” you yelled out as Wanda kept pounding. She pulled her lips away from your thighs, her eyes now looking right at yours.

“You wanna come, baby? You wanna come all over my cock?” she spat, her hands now travelling down your body, down your thighs. You nodded desperately, “please, wands! Please!”. Wanda’s left hand cupped your chest again, as her right thumb starts to circle your clit, her other fingers exploring you, her silicone cock still pounding your pussy. At the feeling, you let another loud moan. Wanda pinched your clit, finally speaking, “come with me, (y/n)”. The both of you then came together, and you came all over her cock. Loud, pornographic moans filled the room as the both of you reached the peak of bliss. You panted loudly, whimpering at the feeling of Wanda’s fake cock still being inside you.

“Are you okay, love?” Wanda spoke as she pulled her toy out of you. You let out a sigh of relief before Wanda’s hand slapped your wet pussy, causing you to bite your lip to muffle out a moan from how sensitive you were. “Hey!” you pouted at Wanda, who was giggling giddily. She pulled your skirt back down before lying down next to you on the couch, wrapping her arms protectively around you. You smiled softly at the comfort, snuggling closer to Wanda. She sighed contentedly before whispering in your ear, her hot breath on your neck, as her hand cups your breast,

“The next time we do this, I want you out of the dress.”

[jeahreading]

I'm buying clothes for my birthday, i try on this denim mini dress which is literally skin tight body con. I HAVE NEVER WORN SOMETHING THAT SHORT IN MY LIFE, AND MY MOM WAS LIKE THIS LOOKS PERFECT IF IT WAS YOUR SIZE I WOULD HAVE TAKEN IT

I LIVE IN A STEREOTYPICAL INSIAN HOUSEHOLD FROM A BENGALI HOUSEHOLD

Anyway I'm sitting in starbucks yay

[bon-bon-blog]

Unoa Freak 1, 2 and 3 [Review]

Summary

The Unoa Freak series is specifically written to celebrate and discuss Unoa dolls. Created in 2003 by Gentaro Araki, founder of Alchemic Labo, they were one of the first BJD available on the market. They are not as popular as they once were but Unoa dolls come in many common sizes, making these books a great resource to this day. The books also contain tutorials on face-ups, manicures, modding, stringing and more.

These books have been created with so much love and creativity, from the beautifully illustrated covers, to the fashion editorial style spreads for the patterns. They are one of my favourites to take off the shelf just to flick through the pages.

The number of patterns varies by book and each one has been created by different artists, so do take a look at the tables below before purchasing.

Details

Language: Japanese Author: Graphic Sha ISBN-10: UF1-4894253720 UF2-4798600261 UF3-4798609021 Patterns UF1: Pirate set,Mod set,Country set,Babydoll,Punk dress,Traditional fabric set UF2: Freie Shirt, shorts, socks. Honeymeryl corset body and skirt. Silver butterfly Jumpsuit. Elolita jacket, dress and bloomers. Dollsdrugkingdom Blouse, skirt, petticoat. Atri corset, garter, skirt, bustier, bra, stockings and miniskirt. Sekiguchi uniform set for girl and boy UF3: FLC shoulder bag,FLC Pants,FLC Socks,FLC Beret,FLC Suspender pants,Poupee Mecanique pants,Poupee Mecanique shirt,Silver butterfly jumper skirt,Hanon onepiece dress,"Galum shorts, sailor shirt, socks, beret",FLC Blouse,FLC Tunic,FLC ruffle shoulder blouse,FLC piping shirt,Atri bustier,Atri tutu skirt,Atri Skirt panties,Atri Panties,SilverButterfly sleeveless dress,FLC Cropped Pants ,FLC Denim pants,Poupee Mecanique pants  Sizes included: Unoa sister, Unoa boy, Unoa Zero, Unoa Fluorite, Unoa azurite, Unoa Ani, Unoa chibi

Visual pattern list

UF1

UF2

UF3

Pros

Gorgeous cover art with a partially transparent layer

A real must if you love Unoa dolls

The photography is superb

So many patterns for any size of Unoa doll

Includes a few accessories 

Tips and tutorials for common doll styling and mods

Cons

Minimal instructions for the patterns, sometimes just a couple of drawings

The patterns in the book don’t work for every size of Unoa doll, usually each pattern is designed for a particular body sculpt (cries in Unoa Zero)

My copy of UF2 had a few pages come loose from the binding - not sure if it's a common problem but something to keep in mind

Final thoughts

I don’t think I would recommend these as pattern books for beginners, as the patterns are sized so specifically and the instructions are quite minimal, but if you are an experienced sewer I think you will enjoy the variety of styles here. My main reason for recommending these books wouldn't be the patterns though - it's the peek into BJD history that make them special. I think they are a great addition to any bookshelf. 

[dweetwise]

[Riconti] Ashes to Ashes

Once in a blue moon, I apparently have to write pure angst. For those not familiar with archives lore, Wallace is from Ace's tome "Go for Broke". Rated T | ❗ Major character death ❗ | 3.7k words | ao3 link

It’s a cold spring day.

The sky is gray and the ground is damp, covered in leaves that have rotted from orange to brown over the winter. A few ravens perched in a nearby tree and a car horn sounding somewhere far away are the only signs of life.

The casket next to the empty grave only radiates death.

Wallace swallows thickly and straightens the shirt he didn’t have time to iron this morning. The graveyard is windy and he’s already freezing, but if there’s anything he owes the bastard it’s to be there for him this one last time.

Like he wasn’t on the night he died.

Cold stings in Wallace’s suddenly wet eyes and he blinks the feeling away. He looks at the priest to try to figure out what they’re waiting for, but she just stands there and silently watches the only guest apart from Wallace who bothered to show up.

Wallace has never seen him before today. He’s tall and blond and dressed in a full black tux, the color so dark it makes his already pale skin appear a sickly white. A black dress shirt with a black tux is probably against some kind of dress code but apparently this guy really wants to pretend to be mourning.

Wallace doesn’t even own a tux. He’s wearing a simple green jacket and patterned yellow shirt with denim blue jeans.

Because Ace loved color. Red was his favorite color but Wallace couldn’t do red, not after the gunshots and sirens and running up to the motel room only to see the slumped body and splatters along the wall and red, red, red—

Wallace clenches his trembling fists until his nails dig into his palms. He fucking told Ace that those people were bad business but Ace didn’t care, laughing it off with a flippant, “I’ve cheated death more times than you can count, buddy. Have you forgotten how lucky I am?”

Now Wallace won’t even get the chance to say, “I told you so”. He doesn’t understand why Ace was so reckless, how he’d somehow gotten the idea that he was immortal.

Wallace relaxes his fists and looks back at the other man. It’s just the two of them: Wallace tried to get a hold of Ace’s remaining relatives in Argentina but couldn't find any. He always suspected that neither Ace nor Visconti were his real names, but that’s what Wallace knew him as and he refused to dig further. Ace would have told him if he wanted him to know.

But fake names or not, their friendship was real. Wallace didn’t always think so, but then Ace showed up one day from god-knows-where, after seven years of complete radio silence, laughing and slapping Wallace’s back and asking, “Miss me?” with that stupid, cocky smirk of his.

Wallace’s chest felt full then, like something he didn’t even know was missing was slotting back into place. He didn’t care that the bastard disappeared without a word or that he took even dumber and more careless risks than before. He was just glad to have him back.

Ace claimed he’d been in Europe working a con all those years. He was just as shady as usual, not saying much because Wallace didn’t ask. But based on the spring in his step and the grin he got whenever his phone buzzed, Wallace knew he’d found something more than just a quick buck in Europe. That chick had to be real special for Ace to stick around that long and even attempt long-distance after he returned to the States.

Or that’s what Wallace thought, but there's no mystery lady standing by his grave now. She clearly didn’t give a shit about Ace: she was probably the one who put those reckless thoughts in his head in the first place, demanding he earn more money to fund a life of luxury for her. Wallace doesn't know anything about her but he still hates her.

He looks at the blond again. He’s standing ramrod straight with his chin up like rich folks so often do. He has to be a lawyer or something, because Wallace was told there was someone to arrange the funeral and take care of Ace’s assets. Or the lack thereof.

The lawyer’s face is stone cold and without any emotion. Another asshole who’s probably happy Ace died just so he could get money out of it; Wallace knows the sort. At least this one had the decency to show up to the funeral.

“What’re we waitin’ for?” Wallace asks.

“The others,” the man says in an accent Wallace can’t place. It catches him off guard: not your typical west coast lawyer, then.

“There’s no one else comin’,” Wallace says through gritted teeth, because he doesn’t want to spell out that Ace didn’t have friends.

The man finally turns to face him for the first time since they got here. His expression is just as neutral as before, but his eyes are…wrong, somehow. His gaze flirts all over the place and he almost looks lost, completely at odds with the rest of his carefully presented persona. Like a crack in the facade.

“Just a few more minutes,” the man says.

“Alright,” Wallace agrees.

The stranger turns back to stare unblinking at the casket and, not having anything else to do, Wallace keeps looking at him to try to figure him out. The tux is tailored to a T and his watch looks expensive, making Wallace’s mind immediately jump to how much he could pawn it for. Bad habit.

Wallace frowns as he notices the man’s hands are scarred and blemished. He looks so perfectly put-together otherwise but his hands are in piss-poor shape, with bitten nails and picked cuticles and scabs that have barely healed. Wallace spots gloves peeking out from his pocket and realizes he probably usually covers them. But not for this, for some reason.

The guy must be cold in nothing but the tux, but he still insists on waiting. For what?

Wallace opens his mouth to ask again, when he hears it.

Car doors slamming and the gradually growing sound of voices and footsteps on gravel. And not just those of one or two people.

Wallace turns to look. Through the nearest cemetery gates, what has to be a group of nearly thirty people are making their way over. Young and old, men and women and boys and girls, chatting, laughing and some already wiping away tears. They’re dressed in both formal and casual clothes mostly in black, but also in earth tones and pastels and neons. Most of them are carrying flowers—more flowers than Wallace has ever seen at once.

Wallace blinks. Are they here for Ace? All of them?

A few of them push their way to the front of the group. A black woman in an evening gown and a blond girl in jeans and a sweater hurry past Wallace and to the other man.

The woman puts her hand on his shoulder. “Felix,” she says, voice gentler than her fancy exterior would suggest.

The girl comes to stand in front of the man—Felix—and looks up at him. “Are you okay?”

Wallace expects him to nod or at most mumble an unenthusiastic, “I’m fine.” Instead, the rich, obnoxious dick who Wallace hated nearly on sight simply…breaks.

Wallace watches as his face twists in agony and he hunches in on himself, his body wracked with ugly sobs that sound so unfitting for a man of his caliber. The women pull him tight and he clings to them desperately. It doesn’t even seem like he’s faking the tears. Maybe his arrogance was just an act.

The girl is crying now too, her hands trembling where she’s holding onto him. Her eyeliner is already running down her cheeks and ruining her makeup. The other woman doesn’t cry, but she squeezes the man’s shoulder and murmurs quiet reassurance.

More of the group hurry over to flock around the grieving trio, all worried faces and silent tears and, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” while the blond guy just keeps crying. Wallace can barely see him through the crowd; it’s like they’re shielding him from the world and Wallace’s prying eyes alike. Wallace doesn’t think a man like him needs protecting, but he still looks away out of politeness.

The rest of the group gather around the casket. They murmur and whisper amongst each other, some offering comforting words and touches to the ones who start sniffling.

Who the hell are these people, appearing out of nowhere to cry by Ace’s grave?

“Hey, you must be Wallace,” comes a voice from behind him.

Wallace turns to find a nerdy white guy standing in front of him. He looks young and has old-fashioned glasses and an ill-fitting suit, but he stands straight and looks Wallace right in the eye, with an air of quiet confidence that catches Wallace off guard.

“Y-yeah,” Wallace stutters. Clearly, he could use some of that same confidence.

The man gives a little smile and holds out his hand. “Dwight Fairfield. It’s good to finally meet you.”

Wallace accepts the handshake and asks, “You’ve heard about me?”

Dwight huffs, like something is funny. “More than you can imagine.”

—

With all of them there, the priest starts the ceremony. It’s short and simple and Wallace is thankful, because the only deity Ace ever believed in was lady Fortuna.

Dwight gives a eulogy. Wallace doesn’t understand most of it and by the looks of it neither does the priest, but he doesn’t need to know what trials mean or why some campfire is important to get the gist of it. This is the seven years of Ace’s life Wallace knows nothing about: these are the people he met and the life he led. So many people from all over the world—France, China, Brazil, Japan—and they all came here for Ace.

Wallace is glad Felix made him wait for them.

A black girl in a floral dress arranges the flowers on the casket. There’s so many different kinds and she quietly explains what they all mean, and Wallace chokes on a sob when she tells Ace’s casket, “And Snowdrops for good luck, because I want you to have that even when yours ran out.”

A redhead with glasses places incense by the gravestone. Wallace only then notices it says Ace Visconti, and he doesn’t know what strings someone had to pull to engrave it with Ace’s chosen name and not his legal one, but he’s grateful for it.

The incense smells like warmth and fire, comforting and so different from the cold and wet around them.

Felix wordlessly slides down to his knees beside the casket and nobody seems surprised by this other than Wallace. The expensive tux will probably be ruined by mud but Felix doesn’t appear to care: like he’s happy to lower himself to Ace’s level even if it means everyone else is now looking down on them. He places his hand—scars and calluses and all—on the smooth wooden surface of the casket and sits there for several minutes, murmuring words in a language Wallace doesn’t understand.

When Felix rises, Dwight asks Wallace if he wants to say something. Wallace shakes his head: he’s not good at speeches and he didn’t bring anything fancy to leave on Ace’s grave. 

The alligator tooth he won all those years ago presses into his chest under his shirt, but Ace would be pissed if he left it on the grave. He’d say something like, “I’m already dead, what the hell do you think I’m gonna do with a gator tooth necklace? Win a ghost beauty pageant?”

Or maybe Wallace just wants something of Ace’s to hold onto.

At the priest’s encouragement, some of the men in the group help lower the casket into the grave. Wallace assumed they’d have to let the church staff do it since it was just him and Felix, but now there’s also a big bearded man and a guy with face tattoos and a loud Brit and a quiet Hispanic man who help them put Ace into the ground.

A blonde woman plays guitar and sings. The song is melancholy and her voice sounds familiar, accompanied by sniffles from several people in the group. The priest gives a few parting words after to close the ceremony.

And then they shovel.

Silence hangs heavy in the air. Just as Wallace hopes this will be quick so he can go drown his sorrows in booze, the Brit points his shovel down at the casket and says, “Just layin’ there while we do all the work, eh? Lazy wanker.”

Several people laugh, and then others join in to tell stories and share memories of Ace and Wallace does too, even if he still doesn’t know what a trial is. He tells them about his and Ace’s big win in Seattle and one of the girls, the redhead with braids, snorts and asks, “Was that the time Ace stole a uniform and pretended to be a dealer so you guys could scam the casino?”

Wallace stutters and they all look at him expectantly. Some of the kids are grinning and even Felix is smiling, though his eyes are still red from crying.

Wallace finds himself chuckling and giving them the unfiltered version of the story, now knowing they can handle the not-so-legal parts of it. His audience listens raptly and some even chime in with details Wallace didn’t know about that day—or just typical exaggerations Ace would have added to the story. He doesn’t bother correcting them.

The priest shortly leaves—probably not thrilled about them bonding over gambling and stealing—but the whole group stays to wait for them to finish shoveling. 

Even after they’re done, nobody makes a move to leave; on the contrary, they all settle into a big circle on the ground, carelessly dirtying their nice dresses and suits. Felix takes a seat next to the grave and the black woman sits down on his other side, with the rest already having fallen into place like it’s a practiced effort. Like everyone has their own place.

Wallace hesitates. He thought they were done here, but the others urge him to join them, pointing at the other side of the filled grave. Wallace does as told and realizes the grave acts like an empty spot, like Ace is still part of the group.

Before Wallace can get too sentimental, a man with a prosthetic arm thumps a big cooler in the middle of the circle and beers and sodas begin exchanging hands. An Indian woman starts dealing playing cards and several bets are made among the group before the game even starts. The singer whips out her guitar again and starts strumming an upbeat melody.

“Is this allowed?” Wallace asks even as his chest warms. “It’s a graveyard. Isn’t this against the rules or somethin’?” 

An older black man shrugs. “Loitering isn’t grounds for arrest and I think Felix is more than capable of paying a fine if someone calls the police.”

Wallace only then notices a badge peeking out from his shirt pocket. He’s a cop: Ace somehow befriended a cop, and now he’s here, honoring Ace’s memory with an illegal party like the rest of them.

“Here,” Dwight says, handing Wallace a beer.

Wallace doesn’t ask if they should be drinking and celebrating at a time like this. He just uncaps his beer and raises it along with the others once they toast and the Brit booms, “To Ace!”

Because a party is exactly what Ace would have wanted.

—

They stay there for hours; laughing, playing, drinking and telling stories. Wallace actually makes an effort to get to know this strange group, though he still doesn’t catch all of their names.

Once the sun starts setting, the Korean woman complains about the cold even though she’s wearing a fur jacket. Jane fishes out a pair of keys from her pantsuit and says they have more blankets and snacks in the car, prompting the Brazilian siblings to jump up and volunteer to retrieve them.

On the other side of the circle, the boy with dark bags under his eyes has nodded off against Cheryl’s shoulder. Meg and Jake argue over whether to start a fire now that it’s getting dark, with Meg saying it’s not the same without a real campfire and Jake claiming they’ll end up burning down the whole graveyard. Adam manages to resolve the argument by retrieving a large lantern from the car, lighting up the area with a warm yellow.

Despite everyone’s best efforts to celebrate life and not mourn death, Wallace feels the heavy shroud of grief hanging over all of them. There’s a moment of hesitation whenever a card game ends and someone has to deal the players in again, strange gaps in conversation like they all expect Ace to fill the silence, and bright eyes glazing over in sadness whenever someone looks at his grave.

But there’s also joy and camaraderie. The wind is cold and the ground they’re sitting on is dull and brown, but Wallace can finally see a few flower buds sprouting through the rotten leaves. The group has lost one of their own but they choose to remember the good and not the bad; it’s probably a kindness Ace doesn’t deserve, but Wallace’s throat still feels tight with emotion from the respect being shown.

When the next card game ends, the Chinese girl starts cursing vividly, glaring at the grave and accusing Ace of cheating. Wallace laughs, because if Ace could, he would. Even from beyond the grave.

Some of the guys gather around newly appeared bottles of vodka for a drinking contest and the Japanese woman promptly gets up to join them. Her name must be Yui, because that’s what nearly everyone starts chanting.

Yui wins, drinking the much larger men under the table with what seems like barely any effort. There’s cheers and whoops from around the circle before the singer—Kate—encourages everyone to sing a campfire song together.

Wallace doesn’t know the song so he looks around, only to notice Felix quietly fiddling with something in his hands. It’s a ring: a particularly worn and gray and ugly ring, probably made of simple steel and not even silver. Why would someone like him even have a cheap knock-off like that?

Felix’s bitten nails trail over the inside of the ring and catch on an engraving and Wallace nearly swallows his tongue. He realizes he’s seen that ring many times before: Ace throwing it in the air and catching it; Ace fiddling with it in his pocket when he was impatient; Ace wearing it on his ring finger whenever a con needed him to pretend to be married; Ace having it engraved with some corny Latin phrase because it was supposedly another of his good luck charms.

When Ace returned from Europe, he claimed to have lost the ring, and Wallace should have smelled his bullshit right then and there. Ace wasn’t sentimental about a lot of things but his lucky charms were always the exception. Wallace had helped Ace throw a motel room upside down in search of a rabbit’s foot, listened to years’ worth of complaints after he won the gator tooth from him in a bet, and painstakingly superglued an old poker chip back together after it got run over by a car and Ace just sat on the sidewalk cradling the broken pieces like he was holding an injured animal.

Wallace should have known better than to think Ace would have just lost the ring.

Felix abruptly stills and Wallace realizes he’s been caught staring. Their eyes meet and Felix curls his hand around the ring, holding it tightly against his chest.

A lot of things suddenly make sense and Wallace feels stupid for not realizing it before. Felix isn’t even wearing the ring, but he doesn't have to: marriage isn’t meant for people like Ace and Wallace, and just Felix having something so important of Ace’s and being this protective of it says more than enough.

Wallace considers pulling out the alligator tooth to rest over his shirt instead of hiding it underneath, but he doesn’t want to give off the wrong impression. Ace was like a brother to him and he’s not sure what exactly he was to Felix—friend, lover, partner, kindred spirit?—but the specifics probably don’t even matter. Whatever they were, Ace was happy with Felix.

Wallace settles on a meaningful nod to Felix, giving his approval even if it wasn’t asked for. He then quickly turns back to observe the group’s singing, but can’t help smiling to himself: looks like Ace’s special European someone made it here after all.

“I’m gonna do a handstand!” someone drunkenly announces as soon as the singing stops.

“You only have one hand, jackass!” Nea pipes up.

“Does anyone want to dance?” one of the siblings asks, swaying a little on her feet.

“What, on Ace’s grave?” Zarina asks, arching an eyebrow. “Even I’m not that glad to be rid of him.”

Laughter erupts from the group once again. A few people roll their eyes at the alcohol-fueled antics but nobody protests or shushes the progressively louder voices; not even when someone suggests a handstand contest that will most likely end in a visit to the ER.

Wallace braves another glance at Felix but he’s just smiling again. Most people probably wouldn’t welcome this kind of behavior at the funeral of someone they loved, but Felix knew Ace—all of these people did, maybe even better than Wallace. And they stuck by Ace’s side for seven years and made this horrible day into a celebration he would be proud of.

Seven years. That’s all the time it took for Ace to somehow become a man Wallace barely recognizes anymore. He did what Wallace never thought either of them capable of, what he’d have bet his entire life savings on never happening.

Ace found a family.

Wallace bows his head and chuckles, addressing the empty space on his right. “Twenty-five years of friendship and you still keep surprisin’ me.”

He thinks that, somewhere, Ace is smiling.

[fymoonbyul]

[ARTICLE] Review: K-pop group MAMAMOO keep the ‘Mic On’ for a powerful performance during Bay Area concert debut

At their packed Oakland Arena stop during their debut “My Con” world tour, veteran K-pop girl group Mamamoo put the spotlight on one of the most underutilized concert instruments: the wireless microphone.

It’s no secret that many K-pop performances rely heavily on pre-recorded vocals, but Mamamoo bucked the trend Friday, June 2, serving up live vocals as well as looks. Hitting the stage in white blouses, bustiers and toreador leggings tucked into black knee-high boots, the quartet — Solar, Moonbyul, Wheein and Hwasa — was dressed to slay. But it was vocal performances on songs like “Make Me Happy,” “Paint Me” and “Star Wind Flower Sun” where they killed.

Mamamoo’s tour title “My Con” forms a portmanteau of “Mic On,” a nod to the name of their latest EP and the way they used their mics onstage. Moonbyul offered additional rationale that received lusty cheers from fans.

“The meaning of the tour is that Moomoos (Mamamoo fans) all over the world are coming together to make this concert happen,” she told the audience through a translator.

For more than two hours, Mamamoo showed why they’re one of the most fearless and well-rounded groups in K-pop since breaking onto the scene in 2014. Solar and Wheein form a potent singing tandem — Solar has R&B in her veins, and Wheein is a pop expressionist — while Hwasa and Moonbyul are double agents, contributing vocals and raps.

Mamamoo’s choreography was also satisfying with top-class execution and clean lines despite carrying handheld mics during the show. They were visually accentuated by eight female backup dancers and four outfit changes throughout the night.

The group’s live vocals gave credence to the “mic on” theory, though some assistive vocals could be detected to the naked ear, especially when members lowered their handhelds to complete a choreographed move.

While Mamamoo didn’t perform with a live band, the instrumental tracks sounded freshly recorded and retooled, which gave their songs a punchy, spontaneous feel — from the drumstick count-off to the big clattery toms-and-cymbals finishes.

Mamamoo injected fresh life into the solo medley portion of the show, by individually covering each other’s key solo tracks: Solar sang Wheein’s “Water Color” and Wheein performed Solar’s “Honey,” while Hwasa covered Moonbyul’s “Eclipse” and Moonbyul did Hwasa’s “Twit.”

The songs even received their own distinctive spotlight and dance routine, showing off each member’s versatility and creativity. The group came together for a performance of four more solo snippets, with Hwasa’s “Maria” receiving the biggest response as the performers executed Hwasa’s iconic body rolls during the number, a move akin to seeing James Brown do the splits.

But the night didn’t all go according to script. During the upbeat “Starry Night,” the group got a case of the giggles and broke character, before regaining composure to finish the song. Also, there were lulls as well as lolz. Three interstitial pre-recorded video segments (“VCRs” in K-pop speak) slowed momentum to a crawl. One segment lasting seven minutes — an eternity in concert time — showed group members enjoying a meal and talking shop. These would have been better served as pre-show entertainment for folks settling into their seats.

With nine years of music to pull from, it’s fair to assume that some fan favorites would not make the cut. But leaving the 2020 pick-me-up anthem “Dingga” off the setlist felt like a crucial miss. The quarantine-era hit was meant to be played in this exact setting, with everyone back in a concert hall again.

If the main concert served up stylistic amuse-bouches, the four-song encore was a pop feast. Reappearing in denim and tour merch, the women vibed along with the audience to “Travel,” “Yes I Am,” “L.I.E.C,” and closed with their effervescent early hit, “Um Oh Ah Yeah.”

The encore summed up nearly a decade of influence, showing how all-around talent, experience, fearlessness and versatility are keys to longevity.

[colormepurplex2]

Fickle Flame | Out Of The Frying Pan And Into The Fire

↳  OT7 x FemOC | OT7 x OT7 ⤜ Enemies/Lovers ⤜ Rating: MA 🔞 ⤜ WC: 7,508 ⚠️ Coercion using pain-inflicting device, mental manipulation, blood drinking, non-con kissing  

Next Chapter⇾ ⇽Previous Chapter ◅ Back to chapter list

Her head aches and it feels like there is something trying to bore a hole into her right hip. Shayne blinks her eyes a few times, flinching at the light flickering around her. She takes a moment to assess, it looks like she's in some sort of cave. She's lying on her right side, her hip pressed firmly into the stone. Her eyes rove around but she is mindful not to move her body too much, she doesn't want to draw attention to the fact she's awake in case that man is somewhere near by. A few feet away there is a small fire, the wood smoke drifting up and disappearing into darkness.

The walls are rough, the floor cool despite the heat. The fire adds to the heat, beads of sweat sliding across her forehead and tickling her hairline. Shayne holds her breath, focusing all her attention into hearing, trying to decipher if there is anyone else around. Satisfied she doesn't hear anyone, she shifts to sit up. Only now does she realize her hands and feet are bound. She tenses, putting pressure on the binds on her wrists. It bites into her skin, chaffing and irritating. She tenses a little harder, rolling onto her stomach to give her arms full mobility behind her back.

"Don't bother trying. You'll never break those ropes."

The voice comes from somewhere beyond the light. She shifts, rolling back onto her side and after a few tries manages to pull her bound legs in front of her and sit up. Her head swivels slowly, eyes trying to pierce the darkness. "Who are you?" her voice is soft but carries through the open space.

"You needn't concern yourself with who I am. What you should focus on is whether or not you'll behave. We don't want to kill you, but we also don't have the patience for a troublemaker."

"We?" She squints into the darkness, eyes finally adjusting to be able to make out the faintest outline of someone.

The scuff of shoes on stone brings the figure closer. The light from the fire catches the contours of the mans face, highlighting his brown hair and golden skin. He's dressed in dark denim jeans, a black long-sleeve shirt, and black boots. "Again, not something you should worry yourself with. Now, I'm going to untie you but you have to agree not to try and run, okay?"

"I- umm, well... okay," she agrees warily, eyeing the man as he approaches. "You're not the same guy," she murmurs as he kneels in front of her. At least she doesn't think he is, it was really dark but she's certain he had black hair and not brown.

The man produces a knife from behind him, six inches of wicked steel catches the fire light. It glints brightly as he leans in, slipping it around behind her. He presses in, his face inches from hers. Eyes narrowed and calculated as he brings his other hand around the other side and grips her forearm. His hand trails down to hers till his fingers come into contact with the bindings. In one quick motion, his hand holding the knife severs the rope.

The instant that her wrists are free Shayne reacts, dropping her head forward and catching the man in the nose. He grunts and there is a stinging pain on her forehead, warmth splatters across the front of her shirt. She brings one hand around to connect with his jaw and the other snags the wrist of his hand holding the knife and twists harshly, expecting the knife to fall from his grip. Her punch connects with his jaw but instead of his head whipping to the side her fist rebounds harshly. Pain lances through her hand and she cries out.

Steel against her throat cuts off her cry. She sucks in a few breaths, adrenaline coursing through her. Her hand is still latched onto the mans wrist, only now it's held in the air with the knife against her throat. She stares at the man, eyes flickering over his features. He looks bored despite the small spatter of red on the bottom half of his face. She furrows her brow which elicits a sharp wince of pain, the haze of her fight response finally dwindling, she realizes that the blood isn't his and the mans nose is undamaged but she can't say as much for her forehead. Blood is oozing down her face, catching in her eyelashes. She blinks a few times, leaving red smears on her cheeks.

"Didn't I say we didn't want to deal with a troublemaker? And here you go, causing trouble already."

"Just let me go!"

The man tsks and shakes his head with a rueful smile. "Nah, don't think we will. We've earned you. Now, you've gone and made a mess of yourself. Looks like you'll need to be tied up a little while longer. Shame, really, I was looking forward to not having to carry you back home."

Earned her? She opens her mouth to respond but the scuff of shoes coming from the darkness silences her. The man from before steps into the firelight, a casual smirk on his handsome face. "I thought I smelled something," he laughs.

The man still kneeling in front of her looks over to his companion. "I told her we didn't want any trouble, but it seems she has a little more fire than we thought. Wouldn't believe it considering where she comes from."

Shayne is a little taken aback from his statement. Where she comes from? How does he know where she comes from? Glancing back at her and seeing the confusion on her face the man chuckles.

"We need to get going now that she's awake. Clean her up, can't have her attracting anything on the way back. We'll need to move quickly, Hoseok and Yoongi are herding the rabs toward the east so we'll have a clear shot back across the range but they can't go too far toward the boundary line."

"We'll need to get her tied back up, help me out," the man kneeling nods toward Shayne.

The black haired man snorts a laugh, reaching down for something on the other side of the fire, a length of rope, before he moves over to kneel behind her and secure it around her wrists. When he grabs her hand she punched the other man with she grunts in pain but refuses to voice her discomfort and give the brown haired man the satisfaction. It was like punching a stone wall. "There, that should do it." He tests the binds, tugging them side to side to make sure they are secure. "Clean her up while I pack up."

The brown haired man slips the knife behind his back and Shayne hears the faintest sound of steel against leather as he slides the blade home into its sheath. He purses his lips and looks around before shrugging and grabbing the bottom of her shirt.

"Hey!" she protests as he rips her tank top straight up the middle then quickly severs the straps across her shoulders, tugging the ruined fabric from her body. He examines the cloth, searching for the cleanest spot before using it to dab at her forehead. "Aish!" she flinches away from his touch.

"Don't be a baby," he grips her chin, holding her face still as he cleans away the drying blood from her face.

"What do you want from me?" she whispers, tears pricking her eyes. She's not sure if the tears are because of her forehead or because she's now realizing how hopeless her situation is.

The man stops his cleaning, hand hovering in front of her face. His dark eyes meet hers and for a moment the fire catches them just right, they glint a soft ochre. "That really depends on you."

The ominous tone with which he answers sends chills across her skin. She cowers in front of him, her shoulders hunching in on themselves. All her years of training and hardship and now is when her resolves chooses to falter.

"Just... please, please, let me go. I have a family," she pleads softly, closing her eyes as an errant tear escapes down her cheek.

She feels the brush of a fingertip as it catches the tear. Her eyes flutter open, meeting his eyes again. "Sorry, sweetheart, no can do." The man smiles, his hand going back to her forehead to finish cleaning the blood away. He lets go of her chin once he's done and stands up, using the torn shirt to quickly wipe away the blood splattered on his face. She watches him take a step toward the fire and toss her ruined and bloody shirt in. Her eyes go to the fabric as flames lick over it, suddenly feeling extremely exposed.

"Are you just going to leave me like this?" she asks, glancing down at her exposed skin. The beige fabric of her bra is thin. The humidity and perspiration from her body glue it to her like a second skin. Looking back up to the brown-haired man she catches him smirking before he holds out his hands palm up.

"Don't see why not. You'll get a fresh change of clothes once we make it home."

The black haired man returns a moment later, two packs hanging from his hands. "I told Namjoon we needed to bring the EC with us but he said we'd be fine without it. Wait until he hears about what happened," he chuckles, taking in Shayne's state. "He'll agree next time, certainly."

"That would make this a little easier, but you know the range gets a little tricky outside the compound." The brown haired man eyes the two bags. "We going to play for it or?"

"Uh no, don't even think I've forgotten about last time when you made me carry the ticket all by myself. No, you take her first then I'll think about swapping with you," the black haired man laughs, buckling one of the packs to the other before shouldering them.

"Where... umm, where is my bag?" Shayne asks softly.

"That ratty old backpack? I shoved it into the bottom of my bag, if you're good I might let you have it again one day," the black haired man runs a hand back through his hair, pushing it from his forehead. Seeing him in the light now, Shayne realizes his hair is longer than she thought, the back hitting just at the nape of his neck. "Let's go." He starts to kick loose stone and dirt over the fire, snuffing it out and plunging the cave into darkness.

Strong hands grip her shoulders and pull her to her feet. She blinks in the darkness, her eyes woefully inadequate for piercing the utter darkness. She shuffles her feet as she's jostled a bit, a shoulder coming into contact with her middle before she's promptly lifted into the air. The man bounces her a few times until she's draped over his shoulder. His arm wraps around her thighs, holding her in place. Shayne's head bobs, her hair falling into her face as the man begins to jog.

She can hear the steady breathing of the man carrying her and the foot falls of both men. A few minutes pass the sounds change, no longer rebounding off the stone walls. The soft crunch of leaf litter muffles the sound of their boots. The man continuing to jog, his agility and grace made clear with how he maneuvers through the trees. Shayne tries her best to look around, tossing her head to the side to move her hair out of her face.

The faintest glimmer in the distance signals the sun preparing to rise. Shayne realizes with cold dread that she in fact won't be making it home before her clan leaves. The thought of her mother and sister packing up their belongings while watching and hoping to see her emerge from the tree line only for her to not appear, makes her chest ache. Linny, her little sister, will probably beg to wait a little longer but she knows her mother won't allow it, she knows her mother will do what needs to be done for the sake of the clan.

Shayne sniffles, trying to suppress the hollowness filling her.

"Shh," the brown haired man shushes her, his grip tightening around her thighs. "Big girls don't cry."

Her heart sinks. Unknowingly, this man has just broken her heart into a thousand pieces. Warren. Warren uses that exact phrase, has said it to her numerous times, any time she would get sulky or irritated over failing at something. Will he try to come find her once he makes it back and realizes she isn't there? No, of course not. He'll be a tested warrior, a counsel member, someone with too much responsibility to the clan to go out on a reckless search to find her. Silent tears drip down her nose, the slightest tremble in her breathing the only indication of distress. She shakes her head, removing the remaining tears. She made a promise to make it back, somehow, someway... and that's a promise she intends to keep. Even if it takes weeks, months, years... she will find her way back- she hopes.

She can hear the sound of water before she sees it, especially from her position over the mans shoulder. The sun has been up for a few hours, the little bit of forest she has seen is unknown to her. Even the trees are different from the lower ven. There are no oaks or maples here, just endless conifers. The source of the sound comes into view, a river with a quick current churns along the bank off to her left. The sight of the water summons her thirst, reminding her of the fact she hasn't had anything to drink since she and Warren hiked into the upper ven. Her head is feeling a little fuzzy.

"Yoongi and Hoseok should be meeting us at the crossways. I imagine they shouldn't be too long, those rabs should have been easy herding," the black haired man calls to the other.

"Unless they decided to find a quick breakfast on the way," the brown haired man laughs.

"Nah, man, food was on us, remember?" Shayne doesn't catch it but the black haired man glances back at her across the others shoulder.

The man slows to a walk, Shayne swaying from the change in momentum. "How ya doing up there, sweetheart?" the brown haired man asks, squeezing her thigh.

She has to clear her throat before graveling out, "thirsty."

"Oh shit, we always seem to forget you humans actually need food and water, too," he chuckles to himself. She goes stiff, her body rigid over his shoulder. She hadn't wanted to think about what they were, didn't want to believe it. The growl, the eyes, the impossible beauty, and the seemingly endless endurance... vampires. It isn't until now that it's confirmed, truly. The man calling her a human, saying you humans instead of us humans. "Relax," the man jostles her a bit, she can hear the smile in his voice.

"I just want to go home, please."

The men come to a stop by the river. She's deposited on the ground, not so lightly. The impact jars her teeth and she winces at the ache in her backside. The brown haired man studies her from above, his eyes downcast and calculated. She flinches when he kneels down in front of her. He tilts his head to the side and raises an eyebrow before simply shaking his head. "You are going home. To a new home," he states as if that should satisfy her.

She opens her mouth to protest but cold metal against her lips silences her words. She looks down and realizes it's a mug of water, the black haired man holding it up to her. Slowly, she places her lips against the mug and sips the water as he tips the cup. The ache in her throat dwindles and after a few more cups the cloudy feeling in her head disappears.

"Jungkook, Taehyung!" a voice sounds off from further down the river. A moment later two men come jogging into view. Shayne watches them approach, eyes taking in their similar attire. Both men are dressed like the black haired man, black jeans, black sweat shirts, and black combat boots. The taller one has hair slightly darker than the brown haired mans while the other has a mop of black wavy hair. Both are attractive, but that doesn't surprise her. They're obviously vampires just like the others. What does surprise her though, are the guns. Powerful assault rifles with silencers capping the ends, the thick black straps pulled across their backs and chests so the guns hang by their hips. She's only ever heard of guns, they've been described to her numerous times along with how dangerous they are. Lincoln, Warren's dad, had a few crude sketches of some guns, the different types and the characteristics to be mindful of.

"Oh, oh, would you look at this!" the new man with brown hair crows happily, his eyes landing on Shayne at the others feet. "You guys actually did it, and it's a girl at that!"

"Oh, fuck off, Hoseok," the black haired man kneeling in front of her sneers, though by the laughter that erupts from all of them Shayne would almost believe it's just banter.

"Jungkook is sensitive about his skills with ladies, you know that," the wavy haired man winks at the man kneeling in front of her.

He stands up and turns to the brown haired man. "Taehyung, let's get her back up." His attention goes to the other black haired man, "Yoongi, make yourself useful and take one of these packs." He tosses one of the two he was carrying at the other man.

Yoongi catches it easily, shouldering the bag with a smirk on his lips. "Touchy," Shayne can hear the man murmur. He shifts the gun at his hip, mindful of the bag.

Taehyung grabs her under her arms and hauls her to her feet. "Let's go, sweetheart." He scoops her up and plops her over his shoulder again. She grunts softly, vision swimming a bit as everything goes upside down so suddenly. They move further down the river, skirting the bank until they come to a natural dam. Large tree trunks and branches span the river, the current swirling along the edge. The water rushes, sucking and plunging between the pieces of wood and debris. Shayne's heart hammers in her chest as Taehyung steps out onto the pile.

She can feel the slight shifts in his body as he accommodates the subtle rolling and natural movement of the dam. Shayne isn't a great swimmer, always having to stick to shallower parts of the rivers and avoiding the stronger currents. One false move from the man carrying her and it would all be over, not even considering her bound state.

The other three men follow behind, moving just as easily along the expanse. The trees on the other side are similar to those from before, large conifers that reach high into the sky. Shayne finds herself lulled into a half-sleep, either from sheer exhaustion or the fluid gate with which Taehyung moves.

The sound of iron grating against stone pulls her from her drowsy state. She flips her hair to the side, trying to look around. It appears they're standing in front of some sort of wall made of stone. It easily spans fifteen feet high.

"Take her on in, we're going to go debrief with Namjoon." She thinks that's Hoseok's voice.

They enter into a building, the likes of which Shayne has never seen. For that matter, she's never seen any permanent structures up close. There were a few times when she and Warren ventured off from camp and would look out at the distance cities from a hilltop or a cliffside somewhere. But they were always too scared of getting left behind to venture too far away. The hike into the upper ven was the furthest she had been away from the clan without a warrior escort.

Due to the small population of humans remaining, women and children are protected at all costs. Men take on the responsibility of protecting, ensuring the women and children can help further the existence of the human species. She was lucky Lincoln had agreed to let her accompany Warren to the great maple instead of one of the warriors... though, maybe not so lucky now.

She's pulled from her thoughts of home when Taehyung toes open a door and sets her down on a relatively comfortable pile of blankets and pillows on the floor. She looks around the room, there are strange globes emanating light hanging from the ceiling. Bits of furniture are scattered around the room, a small table and two chairs. Atop the table is a kettle and a few cups. There are boxes lining the walls, with odd knobs of metal attached to the front. In one corner there is a door that leads into a smaller room. From where she is sitting on the floor she can see an odd smooth material covering the floor and walls.

Her eyes come to Taehyung when he clears his throat. "No matter how many times I do this, it still amazes me just how little you humans know about the world beyond your deer hide tents." He moves over to the other door. "This is a bathroom, it's a place to clean yourself and take care of bodily needs." She's heard of bathrooms. He reaches into the room and Shayne hears a click and then the room is illuminated in light. The floor and walls are covered in smooth white squares.

"Can you untie me?"

"I can, but there is something I need to do first." He moves across the room and approaches one of the boxes on the wall. He grabs the metal knob and pulls, the front of the box swings open. It's like a chest but mounted on the wall, she realizes. He grabs two items before coming over and kneeling down in front of her. "Okay, so this," he holds up a simple black strap that has a small black box attached to it, "goes around here." He quickly slips the strap around her neck, catching her before she can move away. There is a soft click then he pulls back. "And this," he holds up a little black box that has odd symbols on it, "is a remote. Now, if you're bad or try to escape, all I have to do is press one of these buttons here and that pretty thing around your neck will give you a nice little shock. You know what that is, right?"

Shayne's eyes go wide. Her heart hammers in her chest, mouth going dry. Her chest heaves as she tries to take in breaths. A shock? She knows lightening... is that the shock he means? She's seen what it can do to trees, what it can do to stone. Have they really harnessed the power of lightening and put it into this tiny little box? The idea sends a surge of panic through her.

That panic is replaced by static. Her whole body convulses, her mouth gaping in a silent scream. She goes stiff, her chest arching and toes pointing. It only lasts a second, her body falling limp on the palette of blankets as the pain recedes. She doesn't realize she's sobbing until she feels a gentle hand on her cheek, stroking away the tears.

"I asked you a question, I expect an answer," the hand leaves her cheek. She frantically blinks, trying to gather her thoughts. "I'll ask you again, you know what a shock is, right?" He holds up the little black remote.

She nods her head vehemently. "Yes, yes, yes, I do! Please don't, not again."

"Okay, good. Now, you'll behave?" She nods again. "I'm going to untie you, then we're going to get you cleaned up for lunch."

He pulls his knife from its sheath, quickly severing the rope from her wrists and ankles. Her legs and arms protest as she gently moves them freely for the first time since being tied up last night. He gestures with the knife toward the bathroom.

Shayne stands up on wobbly knees, slowly making her way toward the bathroom. She takes a moment to look around, there is a giant wall that reflects her own image back at herself. Similar to that way water does, but this is much clearer.

"So, a few basics. Shower, tub, toilet, sink." Taehyung gestures to each fixture in turn. He spends a few minutes demonstrating how to use them and what they are for. Her cheeks pink when he explains the toilet, his words a little crude. "Go ahead and take those rags off, we'll trash them and I'll grab you some new clothes."

"Can't we just wash these?" She fingers the denim of her jeans. Her mother had gifted them to her just a few months ago. One of the foraging parties had gone into an abandoned town and brought back some of the clothing they found that wasn't burned or riddled with moth holes. It wasn't often the parties brought back these kinds of things. However, when they did, the new clothes always went to who needed them the most. Clothing wears thin after being worn for so long, only being taken off to be washed or mended.

"Gross, no. Plus, those are about two decades out of style." Shayne frowns, her eyes flicking between her jeans and Taehyung. Finally, he holds up the small black remote and she quickly shoves the jeans down her legs, kicking out of them. "All of it, come on. Those gods awful underwear and that rag you probably consider a bra, too."

"Do you mind?" She twirls her finger in the air.

"Pfft, please, sweetheart," he laughs. "Me seeing you naked is going to be the least of your worries if you don't hurry up."

"Fine," she grates out, stripping off her underwear and bra, tossing them at his feet.

"Disgusting," he mumbles, scooping them up and adding them into a bag along with her jeans. "Turn on the water in the tub, like I showed you. Make sure it's not too hot or too cold."

Shayne turns the large knobs, adjusting them until the water is warm enough. He perches himself on the toilet, lid down, watching her. It never ceases to amuse him whenever they bring in a new ticket. They're always so in awe, he suppresses a smile when she smells the soaps. Her nose wrinkles smelling the different bottles. It makes him beam with a little pride when she chooses the bottle he picked out, the other six soaps forgotten in the caddy.

The water in the tub takes on a ting of grime. Shayne is careful with her hands, not wanting to irritate the abrasions there. The soap smells divine, like the little hard apples Warren used to pick for her in the lower ven. She turns to Taehyung, still casually perched on the toilet, "Umm, clothes?"

"Right, yes, just a moment. Go ahead and drain the water, pull the rubber stopper like I showed you. Here, dry off while I grab them," he snags a towel from a basket, handing it to her before disappearing into another smaller room off the bathroom. He returns a moment later, holding a folded length of white fabric in his hands.

Shayne steps out of the tub, using the towel to dry herself. She blanches when Taehyung unfurls the fabric, it's a practically sheer panel of snowy white. "That?" she asks, quietly.

"Yes, this. Now, come on, I'll help you put it on." He grabs the towel from her. For the first time, he allows his eyes to take in her body. The swell and curve of her hips and chest, the taught muscles along her arms and legs, a subtle hint of muscle across her middle, and the countless freckles decorating her shoulders and chest. Her dark red hair, toweled somewhat dry, hangs in a loose curtain of lazy curls down her back. She looks a lot better now that she's clean, he muses. "Arms up," he instructs. She obeys, eyeing the black remote sticking out of the top of his front pocket. The fabric is cool, smooth, and light. It has no real shape but the fabric drapes in a way that creates its own shape, the shape of her body.

"This is it?" she asks, eyeing herself in the mirror. The material clings to her body, leaving not much to the imagination.

"I think it looks good," he comments with a shrug. "Let's go, everyone will be waiting."

"I- umm, wait." He turns and looks back at her with a raised eyebrow. "Am I... umm, am I lunch?" her voice is weak, she adverts her eyes unable to look at him any longer. After all, why else would they have brought her here?

He steps close to her, a finger under her chin brings her face up. Her eyes meet his, "Is that what you're scared of?" she nods as much as his finger will allow. "And if I say yes, then what?"

She swallows hard before asking, "Will it hurt? I'm not afraid of dying, but pain..." she trails off, her heart hammering at the idea.

"Dying? Oh, sweetheart, we don't plan to kill you," he chuckles darkly. "As far as pain? Well, you'll just have to tell me about it later." He turns, pulling the black remote from his pocket and waving it in the air. "Come on, let's go."

She hesitates a moment before following. She takes the opportunity of him not watching her to inspect the band around her neck. She heard a click when he put it on her, but her fingers are unable to find a latch or even a seam. It's just smooth thick leather, the small box attached is just as smooth and seamless. Shayne takes a deep breath, letting her hands fall to her sides.

Taehyung leads her back through the room with the palette on the floor and into a hall. They travel through a series of hallways, the smooth stone floor under her bare feet is cold. She crosses her arms over her chest, rubbing her arms as the chill creeps in further.

"Finally, we can have lunch!" A voice calls as Taehyung leads Shayne through a doorway and into a room with bright lights overhead and a large rectangular table in the middle. Her eyes flick around the room, taking in the six other men gathered there. She recognizes Jungkook, Hoseok, and Yoongi. The other three are clearly also vampires, they radiate power along with being ridiculously attractive just like the others.

"You know how things go, Seokjin, had to make sure she was presentable." Taehyung gestures for Shayne to step forward. She slowly approaches him, coming up on his left side.

"So, this is the ticket, huh?" A man with hair that shifts from black to blue under the lights asks.

"Oh yeah, Jimin, found her near your favorite place by the Whittier ruins in the western spread. Was about to get pounced on by some stray rabs," Jungkook explains.

"Seems ticketable to me, I'll let Robinson know so he can put it in the logs," the man seated at the head of the table says. His slate gray hair contrasts nicely with his golden skin. He also holds himself with an air of authority. Shayne guesses he's maybe their leader.

The other unnamed man claps his hands, grabbing everyone's attention. "So, who gets the first bite?"

Shayne flinches a step back but is caught up from retreating further by Taehyung's hand on her arm. "Don't start acting up now, sweetheart, Seokjin was just asking about lunch." She turns terrified eyes on Taehyung. He holds up his other hand with the small black remote.

"Please," she pleads in a whisper, shaking her head.

"We only want a nibble," Hoseok calls out from across the table. Her eyes fall on his and he gives her a wink. There is a collective agreement from everyone but the man with the gray hair.

"Knock it off, all of you!" his voice cuts through the room, silencing the other men. Their shoulders hunch, like they're children being chastised by a parent.

"Sorry, Namjoon, we were only trying to have a bit of fun," Yoongi peers up at the man.

Namjoon shakes his head, clear he's fighting a smile now. "Aye, yeah, I know. But you're scaring the poor girl. Remember what happened last time?"

There are murmurs of acknowledgement around the room. The atmosphere shifts, feeling a little lighter now. "Speaking of, we really need to take the EC out with us on our next ticket run. This one," Jungkook gestures to Shayne, "really did a number on herself."

Shayne feels eyes on her, like they're all truly taking her in for the first time. Eyes linger on her forehead, take in the way she cradles one of her hands in the other.

"We'll talk about it when the time comes. Let's just try to make this one last, yeah?" Namjoon pushes his chair back from the table and moves over to a side door. He knocks once then returns to his seat. The other men take seats around the table as well.

Taehyung, still gripping Shayne's arm, pulls her towards the table and settles her into the chair next to Namjoon. He sits on her other side. A moment later the door Namjoon had knocked on opens and an elderly man comes out pushing a large cart. The top of the cart is covered in trays of food. The man distributes the trays around the table, moving slowly but with assured steps like he's done this particular dance many times. Once all the food is laid out he retreats, pushing his cart back through the door he came through.

Namjoon turns to Shayne, his eyes tracing over her face. "What is your name?" he asks.

She's a little startled at the pleasant tone in his voice. "My name?" she asks, numbly.

"Yes, I would like to know your name. Unless you'd like for me to give you one?"

She shakes her head, "my name is Shayne."

"And your clan name?"

She looks down at her hands, fingers twisting in her lap.

"Tell him," Taehyung instructs from beside her, he taps the black remote against the edge of the table. Her eyes flicking to it for a moment before coming up to meet Namjoon's.

"Orin. I come from the clan of Orin."

"Alright, Shayne," he smiles softly, nodding and she feels herself drifting into a state of calm. He's really quite charming, isn't he? "Now, it's your turn. I promise this will only hurt for a moment, but you have to trust me, okay? I'll make the pain go away soon." She furrows her brow, blinking a few times trying to dispel the fuzzy feeling seeping behind her eyes. "Just relax." Her shoulders slump and she smiles a little.

Namjoon grabs an empty glass from the table, setting it between them. He takes her left hand in his and brings it up to his face. She watches, her eyes locked on his hand around hers. Her heart flutters for a moment, a thread of panic seeping in. He brings her hand closer, turning it so her wrist is facing his face. As his lips part, she catches a glimpse of his pristinely white teeth before her wrist blocks her view.

She sucks in a sharp breath as his teeth pierce her skin, a small moan escaping her lips as she exhales. Caught somewhere in a limbo, her body wants to jerk away but her mind says stay. Blood trickles down the corners of his mouth and a few drops drip from his chin.

He pulls her wrist away from his mouth and holds it over the glass. She watches as it fills with the dark crimson of her blood. A cold sweat breaks out along her neck, her nostrils flaring in panic as the cloudy haze dissipates a little and fiery pain flares along her forearm.

"Be calm, Shayne," Namjoon speaking her name brings her attention back to him. His eyes focus into hers, the calm settling back over her again. "I'll make the pain go away, now, like I said I would." He brings her wrist back to his mouth, only this time his tongue laves across her wrist instead of his teeth. A numbing warmth engulfs her wrist and hand before fading to nothing. "See, that wasn't so bad. Thank you," he nods his head with a smile, letting her hand fall back to her side.

She sits there in silence, her eyes going back to the glass on the table. It's just shy of full. Her eyes remain on the glass as Namjoon brings it to his mouth. She can see his throat bob and contract as he takes in a mouthful. Just a single mouthful and he's passing the glass to Taehyung. Shayne can smell the bitter metallic tang of her blood as the glass passes in front of her.

The glass continues to around the table, each man taking just a mouthful before passing it on. Namjoon begins to spoon food onto his plate as well as the plate in front of Shayne.

"Eat," Taehyung instructs from beside her. "You know how to use a fork, right?" He cuts his eyes at her.

She purses her lips, grabbing up the aforementioned utensil and stabbing into a slice of meat Namjoon placed on her plate. She chews mechanically, her eyes trained on the table and her mind trying to wrap itself around what exactly is happening.

She knows vampires drink blood. The histories mention that quite often. However, they never mentioned eating other foods. She glances at Namjoon's plate, then Taehyung's. Can vampires really eat vegetables? Meat that is cooked? Was one glass of her blood all they really wanted? Vampires are supposed to be blood hungry monsters that drain and kill. These guys are vampires, aren't they? They have to be.

Namjoon pushes his plate away, finished with his lunch. He watches Shayne, takes in the way she absentmindedly licks her lips every few bites and the way her delicate fingers hold her cup of water as she takes a sip.

"We're going to take care of you, I hope you realize that," he states softly. Her eyes, full of doubt, come up to meet his. "It may not seem like it now, but what you'll do for us is a gift and one we won't take for granted. Unless, that is, you do something to cross us." His eyes narrow for a moment, as if he can sense her desire to flee and never look back.

"Is this all you want from me?" she gestures to her wrist, the skin unbroken. The faintest blush across the skin the only indicator anything happened.

"Honestly? No," he admits.

Shayne can feel the other men staring at her, taking in her reaction to Namjoons admission. The slightest tremble in her hands the only outward indication she's completely terrified. "What else?"

"Well, it can get a little lonely here at the compound. Despite the love we have between us," he gestures around the table, "we can't always fulfil each others every need."

"I see," Shayne idly pushes around a few baby carrots on her plate. "So, it's blood and sex that you want, then?"

The table erupts in laughter, her head snaps up and eyes go around the table. She's not sure what's so funny about that.

"Jumping to such crude conclusions!" Hoseok guffaws loudly.

"Well, I wouldn't say no to a little horizonal two-step," Jimin snickers, lounging back in his chair.

Namjoon holds up a hand, bringing the table to a slow silence. "Blood is a yes. We do require it on occasion. That will be your main purpose. However, if you find yourself being used for other things then those will become part of your purpose as well," he states simply.

"Will you ever let me go?" she asks, hesitantly.

Namjoon taps his chin thoughtfully, as if considering her question. He drops his hand to his lap, his eyes meeting hers. He simply shrugs, not offering her a real answer.

"Finish eating," Taehyung nudges her with his elbow.

She takes a sip of water, her mouth feeling a little dry. She continues to fork food into her mouth, though everything is tasteless at this point. There is an ache in her chest, for the loss she's experiencing. The loss of her family, her clan, her life... Warren. She shoves down the thought of her bestfriend, her lover. He's going to make it back to the clan and will move on with his life. Maybe Bree will finally get her chance with him, she's always fancied him and envied her. She closes her eyes a moment, picturing his face, his light blue eyes and shaggy black hair, the dimple in his chin, and his strong arms that seemed to always be there when she needed them. Oh, how she could use them now.

"Can I have her when she's done?" Jimin asks from down the table. His question breaks her from her thoughts. Eyes going wide as they glance down the table at him.

"That's fine, just be nice. Oh, and no biting. Lunch was enough and we don't want her going floppy like that last one," Namjoon remarks. He pushes his chair back from the table. "I'll be in the office." He exits through the door she and Taehyung had come in from.

Taehyung takes in her worried expression. "Don't worry, Jimin is actually a sweet guy."

"But... he wants..." she trails off, unable to complete her sentence.

"You're not a prude are you? Surely not, I could smell that human male on you the moment I saw you. You reeked of him, you don't get that way just by hugging someone either," he jests. Shayne watches as Taehyung slides the black remote over to Jimin. The blue-haired man snags it up with a smile. "Just play nice, sweetheart, and he'll take care of you."

"Come on, you've had enough," Jimin stands up, vaguely gesturing to Shayne's mostly empty plate. He comes around the table and slips a hand around her upper arm, pulling her to her feet.

"Don't break her," Yoongi calls as Jimin leads her back into the hallway.

Her feet scuff the floor as she tries to keep up with Jimin's wide and quick strides. He takes her down a few twisting corridors, making so many turns she isn't sure she could make it back to the dining room on her own. The hallways are all the same, smooth stone floor with white walls and long light producing cylinders hanging from the ceiling every few feet.

Jimin abruptly stops in front of a closed door. She notices the number seven painted on the wall above the door. He pockets the black remote then grabs the door handle and twists. The door swings open, revealing a fairly lavish room beyond.

There is a giant platform against one wall, heaped with blankets and pillows. There are plush rugs scattered over the floor. One wall has a large, thin, black, square shaped object hung from it. The rest of the walls are covered in framed pieces of art-work though Shayne doesn't have time to truly admire them before Jimin tugs her across the room, the door swinging shut behind him. He stops beside the platform, pulling her around to face him.

She realizes for a moment that his pupils are blown wide before he's wrapping his arms around her and pressing his lips firmly to hers. She freezes, her body going stiff. This is the first time a man other than Warren has kissed her. Though, it's not just some man. It's a fucking vampire who not even an hour ago drank her blood from a glass. Coming to her senses, she plants her palms on his chest and tries to push him away.

It's like trying to move a mountain. He pulls back, his lips leaving hers. "Don't," he hisses between clenched teeth. Seeing her flinch at his tone, he takes a deep and calming breath. "Please, I promise I won't hurt you and I'll make you feel good, too. This doesn't have to be bad," he brings a hand to her face, his fingers tracing along her jawline.

Shoving aside her instincts to fight back, knowing it will only end badly, she nods once. "Okay."

Next Chapter⇾ ⇽Previous Chapter ◅ Back to chapter list  

◅ Back to Master List ©️       2021-22   ColorMePurplex2

[cassieuncaged]

Character Profile: Wren LaRue

TW: mentions of homicide, gun violence, death, verbal abuse, criminal violence, marijuana use, recreational drug use

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GENERAL INFORMATION

Universe: To Live and Die in L.A.

Full Name: Wren Regine LaRue

Nicknames: Wrennie, Song Bird, Birdie

Age: 25

Date of Birth: 10/30/1960

Zodiac Sign: Scorpio

Gender: cis female

Pronouns: she/her

Sexuality: queer; is in the early stages of discovering this and is still learning a lot about herself.

Religion: raised in a Jewish (mother's side) and Christian (father's side) house hold; practiced and upheld both faiths growing up. Practices Buddhism as an adult.

Race/Ethnicity: white; French, German, and Hungarian ancestry

Country of Origin: United States of America

Hometown: Los Angeles, California

Current Place of Residence: Los Angeles, California

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Skin: has fair skin. Tans lightly, mostly burns.

Height: 5'1

Weight: 120

Eye Color: emerald green, bright and catlike

Hair Color: chocolate brown

Hair Texture: thick with an oily texture

Hair Length: shoulder length

Body Type: isn't muscular or athletic, has a soft tummy and arms. Has toned legs and hips from pole dancing.

Body Shape: hourglass

Other Notable Features: is a 36C. Bra size isn't important but she's noticeably busty which is often the first thing men notice about her. This face makes her uncomfortable. Has a port wine stain birth mark on the top of her right foot

Clothing Style: classy yet risque. short skirts, mini dresses, silk dresses, dresses with side slits, sleeveless turtlenecks, black, plum, maroon, knee high boots, patent black pumps, ankle boots, thong sandals, velvet, leather, suede, crystal and silver jewelry, high-waisted shorts, dark denim, faded t-shirts, striped bikinis, lots of sequins and jewel tones when dancing. Wears a brassy locket her father got her when she was a child when she's not working or swindling. It was one of the last memories she has of him.

PERSONALITY

Positive Traits: passionate, witty, resourceful, confident, clever, tenacious, self-reliant, ambitious, focused

Negative Traits: dishonest, untrustworthy, selfish, unapproachable, immature, superficial, irrational

Hobbies: conning, sketching, dancing, writing poetry

HEALTH

Physical Health: is physically healthy with relatively no ailments other than the occasional cold.

Allergies: shellfish. Which is unfortunate as she loves seafood.

Mental Health: suffers PTSD from loosing her father when she was in adolescence as well as depression.

Phobias: hoplophobia (fear of firearms) Formed from her father being shot at his bank accounting job by a disgruntled client. Considering the line of work she's in as well as her personal life, she is often on edge. agoraphobia - severity varies

PROFESSIONAL LIFE

Education: graduated high school.

Professions: exotic dancer, grifter/swindler/con artist

ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIPS

Current Significant Others: Rick Masters, Bianca Torres

Past Significant Others: Billy Del Vecchio - young man she met at a bar when a mark of hers didn't show up. Wren was 21 at the time and stayed with Billy for 3 years. He eventually took her virginity before leaving her for a more established woman.

FAMILIAL RELATIONSHIPS

Mother: Vivienne Marie Hoffman

Father: Albert Andrew LaRue (deceased)

Siblings: Breton 'Brett' Henry LaRue, Thomas Dorian LaRue

Children: N/A

Other Notable Family Members: Great Aunt Vida. Vida was the most open minded family, which given her age was shocking. She practiced new age religion (using both pagan and wicca traditions), collected crystals, read tarot cards, and grew and kept a few small weed plants. She had a positive influence on Wren, who lived within walking distant. Died at 85 years old when Wren was 16; this was several years after Albert and Brett died.

PLATONIC RELATIONSHIPS

Friends: Shelly Valentino, Ruth Lanier

Enemies: Richard 'Dick' Chance

Pets: Bitsy the calico cat

BIOGRAPHY

Childhood:

Wren was born the youngest of three into a relatively happy family. She was closest with her father and was quickly spoiled by Albert and had decent relationships with her brothers, Brett and Tom. Early on, Wren discovered that she could manipulate people emotionally to get what she wanted.

Vivienne thought forced her daughter to perform in dance classes though the child found solace in ballet and tap dancing, in spite of her mother.

Adolescence:

Her childhood was rather lonely since she had difficulty keeping friends and cared little about going to school, though kept her grades up in hopes of going to school to pursue choreography for Broadway productions.

However, her father and brother were shot point blank during a hold up at the bank Albert worked at. Both were natural mediator's and attempted to talk down the shooter.

Tom went to college in Massachusetts and left Wren with their verbally abusive mother. During this time, she squirrelled away the inheritance to escape Vivienne as soon as she was of legal age.

Adulthood:

At 18, she got a job as a waitress at a themed diner where she met her closest friend and future roommate, Shelly. They got an apartment together and Wren burned through her inheritance for rent money while combating severe agoraphobia.

At 21, Wren got a job as a stripper at a truck stop off of Ventura. While ends were being met, the creeps that came in there inspired her to start swindling sleazy business men. She blackmailed unsuspecting marks of up to $1000 dollars and once was held at knife point because of it.

The first person she was intrigued by was Rick Masters, whom she met at one of Shelly's art shows. They began a sexual relationship as well as a polyamorous relationship with Rick's girlfriend, Bianca.

Wren became the target of FBI agent, Richard Chance, who had a personal vendetta against the counterfeiter. Remained faithful to Rick until his untimely death.

Late in Life:

Wren and Bianca split up amicably while the former moved to Boston to be reunited with her brother, Tom. She gave up crime and pursued smalltime choreography in local theater and lived in the city until she died.

Wren never married nor had children.

[romanoffbelovamaximoff18]

Comic-Con

Pairing: Florence Pugh x Female!Reader

Overview: You go to Florence's panel at comic-con and manage to talk to her, what happens after the panel surprises you.

**********************************************

You had always been a bit of a geek, opting for Harry potter books and marvel comics whilst other women chose blogs and fashion magazines. You were always the creative type. You loved drawing and painting, making music and journalling and ran a small freelance photography business which honestly wasn't very successful but you mostly survived from running your small crafts shop on Etsy.

As your birthday was coming up you had decided to treat yourself to a little vacation, flying from Arizona to San Diego for this year's Comic-con. You hadn't dressed up for the convention, not being brave enough, and had dressed simply with a chambray shirt with a tie front, a burgundy skirt and black and white converse high tops. You had your favourite black messenger bag on your shoulder and crammed with your favourite art supplies. You also had a cute black widow cap on that you had gotten for Christmas.

As you walked into the convention centre your eyes widened in shock. There were thousands of people walking around dressed up in costumes; anime, marvel, DC, Harry potter. There was everything there. Unfortunately for you crowds were definitely something you struggled with. The main reason you came to the con was because Florence Pugh was doing a panel and you were desperate to attend it. You had seen her as Yelena Belova in Black Widow and Alice in Don't Worry Darling and had fallen head over the heels for the small British blond.

Unfortunately you had several hours to kill before the panel so you spent most of the time wandering around the stands and looking at crafts people had made. You had allowed yourself a little bit of spending money for the trip and enjoyed wandering around and picking up a few really nice little mementos from the cute Etsy stalls around the centre.

When eleven am came around you made your way to Panel Room 206 and waited patiently. A security guard scanned your ticket and you headed into the room with everyone else. There were hundreds of people filing in and sitting all around you and it made you feel extremely claustrophobic and anxious. As everyone sat down you just kept your eyes focused on the stage. The host walked on stage and smiled out at the crowd before introducing Florence.

Your breath left your body as she walked onto the stage. She was wearing an adorable floral dress with black patent Dr Martens boots and an oversized light wash denim jacket. Her hair fell in loose blond waves and she looked stunning. She smiled at everyone before taking the microphone handed to her.

"Hello my loves! I am so so excited to do this panel for you. I'll be talking about my experience filming black widow and hopefully get to answer a few of your questions as we go along" she says happily in her beautiful British accent.

You smiled and just listened to her as she talked, she spoke with so much enthusiasm and the smile never left her face. She talked about dancing and joking around with her Co stars, Scarlett's baking, the training and stunts she did on set and everything in between.

About halfway through the panel Florence smiled out at the audience.

"Okay my loves I think it's time I took some questions from you guys and girls. Does anyone have any questions they want to ask me?" She asked happily.

A couple of people raised their hands and you did so timidly. You were scared out of your mind but you knew you would kick yourself if you avoided this chance to talk to her. You were selected and a mic was handed to you as another audience member was finishing up. As they sat down you stood up, shaking like a leaf. Florence beamed at you and you forced out a tiny smile.

"Hi! What's your name love?" Florence asked gently.

"Oh uh um h-h-hi I'm y/n" you stuttered out softly, causing her to smile.

"Your name is beautiful y/n, what did you want to ask me?" She asked gently.

"Oh um yeah right sorry, um what do you do either on set or off set when you're feeling stressed or anxious?" You asked timidly.

Florence smiled at you warmly.

"That's a great question. Usually if I'm on set I'll go back to my trailer if I have time. I'll make a cup of herbal tea, breathe, listen to music or take a nap. If I've only got a minute or two I'll run through a breathing technique called 4-7-8 breathing where you breathe in for 4, hold your breath for 7 and breathe out for 8. It's really grounding. Off set I love to cook and bake, read, sleep, write music, play my guitar, indulge in a little bit of retail therapy or sometimes even just lay in bed with my pyjamas, a cosy blanket and Netflix and just not move for a day. I love calling my family too. I chat to my parents, my big brother and my little sister. It can do the world of good sometimes." She explained happily.

You smiled at her.

"Th-Thank you for answering my q-question Florence" you stuttered, rushing to sit back down.

You sat silently for the rest of the panel, staring at your hands until it was over before rushing to the exit. The panel had been two hours long and all you wanted to do now was go back to your hotel room, grab your camera, and go out around San Diego to take pictures.

You did just that. Heading back to your hotel room and unpacking your bag. Once everything was put away you repacked it with the necessary items; your ipad, camera lenses, tripod, water bottle, snacks, hoodie and your camera. You camera was pretty new, a very special early birthday present to yourself after your old one got broken by an idiot motorcyclist who knocked your tripod over when he crashed onto the pavement.

When you were packed up you just headed out walking, finding picturesque beaches and spots wherever you went. It was so soothing to just enjoy nature as you snapped picture after picture. You were hoping to build up a San Diego portfolio for your website and the experience was blissful.

As the sunsets faded into black you made your way back to the hotel. You were planning to order some food and spend the night working. You made your way into the lift but just as you went to push the door open you heard a very familiar accent.

"Wait hold the door please!"

You looked up and locked eyes with someone for the second time today as Florence dove into the elevator.

"Wow um hi Florence!" You giggled nervously.

Florence smiled and then her eyes lit up with recognition.

"Y/n! Hi love! You were at the panel today, you asked me how I cope with stress and anxiety right?" She asked.

You nodded in awe. Not only did she remember your question but your name too!

"You remember? Was it the awkward stuttering that gave it away?" You asked timidly.

Florence smiled and gave you a hug.

"No love, it was that beautiful smile of yours. It's very recognisable!" She giggled.

You felt your stomach flutter, Florence Pugh actually complimented your smile! Of all people! Florence!

"What floor are you on anyway? I'm on the top floor" Florence asked, breaking your train of thought.

"Oh floor twelve, room 1208" you said softly.

Florence smiled as the elevator arrived at your floor.

"Hope to see you around tomorrow love!" Florence called as you stepped out of the elevator. You smiled and walked down to your room, letting yourself in with your key card and flopping onto your bed. Still reeling over what just happened. You quickly changed into your lilo and stitch pyjamas before hearing a knock at the door. You grumbled and went to answer it, eyes widening in shock. Florence was stood at your door in a fluffy pink hoodie and shorts lounge set and bare feet. Her hair was in a messy bun and she looked adorable.

"Hey y/n I just came to ask whether you would be interested in coming up to my room? I'm kinda lonely by myself and I have no more plans for the night. We could order some food and just relax, maybe with some wine? It's okay if you're booked up for the night but if not then I'd love to hang out" she proposed with a small smile.

Your eyes widened and you nodded slowly in delight.

"Um can I bring some stuff up with me?" You asked softly.

Florence nodded and waited patiently whilst you packed some stuff up in your bag before following her out...

❤🖤❤🖤❤🖤❤🖤❤🖤❤🖤❤🖤❤🖤❤

[tinydreamlatex]

The New Latex Apparel Trend with Modern Elegance

Latex clothing has traditionally been associated with forward fashion styles and bold statements but has recently taken a step into a new, modern fashion realm that pairs elegance with latex apparel. This fusion with modern elegance has transformed the way we view this adaptable material, which has become mainstream and available in styles far beyond its traditional market niches. This article investigates how latex clothing is giving a whole new meaning to elegance in the modern wardrobe.

Latex Becoming a Staple in High Fashion

Latex has gone from a symbolic statement for the adventurous to a high fashion staple. Designers are integrating latex into their collections in a more consistent way, using it to craft and mold the body for a natural shape, while also creating luxurious finishes that are shiny and impactful. This gives individuals an understated power and subtlety within their wardrobe. These pieces, whether a streamlined latex dress, or a structured latex jacket, are now seen on the runway and red carpet, and are embraced by celebrities and fashion leaders.

The Versatility in Styling

Latex clothing’s popularity can be credited to its wide range of styling purposes. Unlike traditional fabrics, latex can be molded and shaped to fit the body’s perfect shape. This provides wardrobe options beyond tight or slim-fit body-con dresses to flowing, full skirts and dresses. It adds an option for an all-dressed-up formal appearance or a dressed-down, casual chic. When latex is paired with high-waisted pants or a longer hemline skirt you’ll find a perfect sense of balance. This type of look can be paired with another material, like cotton, silk, or denim, to achieve modern elegance, and provide a very stylish outfit.

Comfort Meets Couture

There’s a common misconception that latex clothing is uncomfortable, but with the advancement in fabric technology, latex clothing has never been more comfortable. Current latex apparel is designed to be lightweight and breathable, ensuring comfort and style. Many latex garments are constructed with comfortable linings or elastic incorporations, contributing to a snug fit on the wearer’s skin. This combination of comfort and fashion attributes makes latex appealing and accessible to those wanting to differentiate themselves with confidence.

Considerations about Sustainability and Latex

Sustainability is an increasingly important concern in the fashion industry, and latex clothing offers those who are conscientious about their environmental footprint an eco-friendly option. Latex comes from the rubber tree sap, which also means that latex is a renewably sourced material. If the latex production process is ethically and responsibly managed, the environmental impact of latex production is lower than materials derived from fossil fuels. In addition, latex outfits are robust and can withstand a long period of use, which means a reduced need for items to be “thrown away” prematurely. Latex is a stylish and sustainable alternative for eco-conscious fashion consumers.

How to Wear Latex Every Day

The days of reserved and special occasion latex are quickly becoming outdated as latex clothing is increasingly integrated into “normal” or everyday styles. Latex leggings and latex blouses are now fashionably incorporated into everyday wear. The key to successfully integrating latex into your everyday wardrobe is to keep the rest of your outfit simple and “let” the latex piece be the star piece. For instance, pairing latex leggings with a loose-knit sweater or a classic blouse will result in a modern, approachable everyday fashion look.

Conclusion: The Future of Latex Apparel

As latex continues to make its way into the modern-day fashion scene, it seems that latex is on the right path and will continue to be relevant as a popular material choice. The mixture of sophistication and latex apparel is a new take on flat fashion, designed to appeal to those who want to stand out and make a statement, but never waver from the elegant style that they love. Whether you are new to latex or an old hand, now is the time to explore the diverse and outstanding possibilities that are available with this versatile material.

[theoriginaleppieblack-blog]

Where's Midge?

A lot of the characters from this game at this year's National Barbie Collector's Convention have surfaced as dolls or at least fashion packs...where is this adorably demure Midge or at least her New Look inspired maternity fashion? I don't want the doll, necessarily. I just want to see the concept executed.

Am I going to have to do everything?

Which relatively inexpensive redheaded doll would be better suited for this project?

Barbie Careers - Chicken Farmer Playset. Pros: Several fights would break out among my doll crew over the denim booty shorts, the Live, Love, Farm tee shirt and the cute accessories. Cons: Kinda lifeless looking. Also the chicken coop itself is a waste of plastic.

or

Redheaded Barbie Looks doll? Pros: Build skill styling the curls in a low stakes situation. Made-to-move-body. Cons: Her eyes are so tiny.