#even in his oil painting he has a football

[talietikasero]

i'm aware that in the white house stage there's past presidential portraits but i'm not over this being vernon's

[gyuswhore]

Grease (the tragedy)

“Careful, those marks on the floor aren’t just oil and paint.”

jeon wonwoo x reader

word count: 5.8k

warnings: smut [minors DNI], fluff, angst, mechanic!wonu, annoyances to lovers, blind date gone wrong but then gone right, kissing, clit stuff, oral (f. rec), thigh fucking (oop), this all happens at a desk LMAO, title is a what I thought was a funny spin on how people say "grease (the musical)"....has nothing to do with the musical though but lots to do with actual grease!!!

synopsis: In which you have to sit through one of the worst dates of your life, followed by the insistent tug of fate and compulsion that lead you straight back to where you'd sworn you'd never go.

[a/n]: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY WIFE CAMOTHY @highvern everyone go say happy birthday to cam or ill appear in your room at night 🔫 anygays HAVE FUN READING THIS I hope this is all the sexy wonu content you wanted, I cant wait for your reaction hehehhehe

and also bigbigbigbig thank you to jessifer @the-boy-meets-evil for proofing this for me!!! ily heh

and and to everyone reading this who is not cam, I hope you enjoy reading mechanic!wonu as much as I liked writing him heheh PLS REMEMBER TO REBLOG AND TELL ME UR THOTS it could be in the tags, replies, an ask literally anything!!!! id love to hear what you guys think!!!!

masterlist

 [You]: do you think he died on the way [Liv]: hes still not there??? [You]: what do you think????? [Liv]: let me ask Amelia [You]: dont bother [You]: he can show up whenever he wants im leaving in 5 [Liv]: you promised you’d sit thru this!! [You]: sit thru what? an empty seat across from me???

Liv doesn’t respond immediately, and you immediately know she’s buggered off to ask her cousin why your date still wasn’t here. 

It’s not like you couldn’t have asked him yourself, the sparse textbox sitting just under Liv’s contact. You open it to inspect the contents. 

[liv’s cousin’s something]: Amelia gave me your number [liv’s cousin’s something]: friday night at the sage&salt at 7  [liv’s cousin’s something]: is that okay [You]: uh hey [You]: yeah that’s fine

Today 7:20 PM

[You]: im here?

The first thread of texts were enough to make you feel like this was some cold business meeting instead of a date, knowing wherever this would lead would be either the city dump or off a cliff. Liv was hearing none of it, taking the guilt tripping route, saying she’d already committed and her cousin was irritating enough even without a scuffle.

So when Friday evening came around you’d pulled on the first dress your fingers could find, took all of ten minutes fighting with your makeup to make it look like you did something and left the house with zero expectations. 

Despite that, as you see a man walk into the establishment dressed like he’d gotten into a fight with a squid and a paper shredder, you feel the stone in your chest tank into the abyss. Zero expectations, and he’s somehow managed to strike out anyway. 

The jacket looks like he’s put it on as a weak cover for the grime stains on his shirt and trousers, a couple jet black splatters across the outfit to really pull the whole thing together. It’s not like he looked homeless or anything, his face surprisingly handsome with his hair pushed away from his forehead. Although he remains looking like he’d been playing football in some neighbourhood parking lot before remembering he had an adult appointment too. 

You’d never seen the man in your life, but your gut told you this was the shit texter who’d kept you waiting for nearly an hour. He seems to notice too, eyes locking from across the restaurant as the waitress leads him to your table. 

“Wonwoo,” you greet with a difficult smile, half sure it came out as a grimace. “Right?”

“Yeah,” he huffs as he practically slams back down on the chair, and you wonder for a moment how the legs didn’t give out. He says your name and you nod. “Sorry I’m late, I got a call in the parking lot.”

He’s been in the parking lot this entire time?!

It’s like you’ve been doused in gasoline and lit on fire, yet somehow needing to give him a shaky reply anyway. 

“O–oh, I see.”

The waitress saves you from spitting in his face when she asks if you were ready to order. 

Dinner was off the table, as you discussed with Liv who forwarded it to her cousin to her–whoever it was that set up this god awful date–and agreed on dessert and perhaps a drink. 

“I’ll have the chocolate cake,” you request in an attempt to make this somewhat better. You consider for a moment before asking for a drink as well, “And a dry gin martini, please.”

“Um,” he staggers as he barely skims the menu, ultimately flipping it closed. “I’ll have the same, I guess.”

Deep voice. You might’ve liked that if you weren’t already so peeved. 

The waitress disappears with the menus, leaving you two alone for the first time. 

“So,” you start with an exhale. “How do you know Amelia?”

“Her husband.”

“I see.”

Silence. 

“How do you know her husband?”

He sighs like this is all inconveniencing him, and it irks you to an irrespective degree. Like you wanted to be here either. 

“He brings his car to the workshop alot, became friends somewhere along the line.”

“Workshop?”

He looks a little startled, cocking his head to the side. “I’m a mechanic? Did Olivia–was it–not tell you?”

“No, she didn’t.”

It’s silent yet again as the man across from you refuses to elaborate. You curse as you ask him a follow up question. If there was anything you hated more than shouldering a dead conversation, it was sitting through an awkward silence. 

One hour. You’d sit through this for one more hour and then you’d leave. 

“What kind of cars do you work on?”

“Expensive ones,” he answers. You might’ve kicked yourself if he’d ended it at that, but he continues with a purse of his lips. “Ones that rich people abuse to an inch of the machine’s life and wonder why the dealership gives up on it. Vintage pieces too.”

“Have I heard of it?”

“The cars?”

“No, I mean,” you let out a breath. “Your workshop.”

“Jeon Motors, just a couple streets down actually.”

You did know what he was talking about, not expecting to recognise it through the empty question, passing by it on multiple occasions in this part of the city.

“Oh, I’ve seen it a few times.”

“Yeah, we’ve been there for a while.”

“Family business?”

“Uh–sort of.” 

“Okay,” you sigh in an irritated laugh. This was going to be a very difficult hour. “Keep that to yourself too.”

“Is there a problem?”

Just as you lift your eyes to lock with his, a ready yes, there is actually a problem on your tongue, there’s an intrusion. 

“Here are your chocolate cakes,” the waitress places the cakes down, and then the drinks. “And your dry gin martinis. Do you guys need anything else?” By the time the waitress is gone you’ve somewhat forced yourself to put that sudden surge of flames out, to a degree at least. 

“Okay,” he sighs, grabbing his glass and downing nearly half the contents. He emerges, wiping a bit of a spill from the corner of his mouth. “Let’s get this out of the way.”

“Hm?” He’s speaking to you with a very weird surge of intensity, and it confuses you.

“Neither of us wanna be here. You’re clearly trying to be hospitable but I’d really rather you not, especially when we’re both doing this to get our respective ticks off our hides.”

There isn’t much you can do but stare at him. 

“Have I misjudged your advances?” he asks over his glass, sharp eyes piercing. 

“No!” you yelp, reaching for your drink yourself, taking big sips only to emerge sputtering and heaving. 

Your date looks like he’s rising out of his chair when you raise a hand to stop him. 

“No,” you repeat, less jumpy this time. “I guess we could’ve cleared that out from before.”

Did he…snort?

“Sorry.” Dropping his chin to his chest, he composes himself. 

“What?” you ask, remaining annoyed as ever. 

“Nothing.”

That does it. You slam your now empty glass down on the table, slipping your fork out of the napkin a little forcefully, the metal glinting in the light of the restaurant. You dig into a corner of the cake and shove it in your mouth. 

If he was gonna be rude, you could be too. 

“I don’t know about hospitable.” You swallow. “But I assumed not being an ass was kind of an unwritten rule for any situation really. Including the ones you’d rather not be in.”

Wonwoo stares at you with a blank face, his cake untouched. “I’m being an ass. My laugh couldn’t have offended you that much.”

“So you did pick that up,” you comment. “With the way this conversation’s going I would’ve thought it flew right over your engine.”

“I’d argue your laugh was the least offensive thing you’ve done tonight.” You plunge your fork into your cake again. “But clearly we’re in different realms of etiquette.”

Your eyes meet the rough stains on his attire, and then his own that bore into yours like a challenge. The cake isn’t too sweet, rich just the right amount and texturally sound. Maybe something good did come out of this fiasco. 

“Okay fine,” he announces, sitting up straighter. “I apologise.”

“For laughing?”

“And for being obscenely late.”

“And?”

“And…” he genuinely looks like he’s struggling to figure it out, but catches your eyes flickering to his tattered and stained outfit. “And for my entirely inappropriate dressing sense. You’ll have to forgive me for that one, oil and grime are my spoils of war.”

“Wear it like a badge, mister mechanic, but perhaps somewhere it’s appreciated.” 

Wonwoo has already finished his drink, his cake remaining untouched. “You’re quite adamant on disliking me.”

“And you’re quite adamant on being a horrid conversationalist.”

The corners of his mouth lift the slightest bit. Opening his mouth to respond, you cut him off. “Cars don’t talk? Or perhaps, machines are easier to understand?”

“More like I don’t care to be personable.”

“That can’t be good for business.”

“The cars speak for themselves.”

He’s a weird one. Even more so when he offers to pay the entire bill, promising you he wasn’t lying when he said he was good at what he does, and to “make up for lost personality points.” You manage to pay your half anyway, considering the circumstances. 

“Can you at least let me drive you home?” Wonwoo asks as you both step out of the establishment soon after. 

“Depends.” You fix the strap of your bag. “Will it fall apart on the highway?”

The blaring white of the restaurant's outdoor lights backlight Wonwoo to make him look like some sad angel. He turns to you, the same slight smirk that seems to be plastered on his face. “Why don’t you find out?”

“What do you mean sell it? I got this thing a year ago!” 

There isn’t much you can do but sigh loudly as you listen to Olivia talk about the state of her car, the one that cost too much to justify but she seemed to use and abuse like a very replaceable toy truck. 

Leaning against the hood of the darn thing, you talk to her. “The dealership is giving you a shit deal to take it off your hands, you might as well try your luck.”

The look on her face is easy to read as she silences. Not convinced in the slightest, waiting for the conversation to end just so she could figure it out on her own. Sighing loudly, you look back to the dark beauty with a crate of issues that make it spit and sputter to a stop every few weeks. 

“How much did you say the repairs cost again?”

“Enough to put me on food stamps,” she whines through her frustration, tears pricking against her eyes as they glisten under the neighbourhood streetlights. “Why are you smirking like that?!”

“It’s just,” you pause as you consider your next words, pressing your lips together. “This is a little bit your fault.”

Lies, it was entirely her fault. 

Liv stares like you’ve just offended her, which you’re sure you have.

“Care to share how this possible bankruptcy could be my fault?"

“Because you drive the thing like you have a secret reserve buried somewhere in Tenerife.”

“My apologies for making a habit of not being a public nuisance and going forty on a national highway.”

“Your speed-o-metre is not the issue here.”

“Yes, of course, everything’s my fault.”

“Liv, please!” You groan loudly. “Just…let’s try putting up a listing tomorrow. Consider the prospects and you can decide from there.”

Sagging her shoulders and stretching her neck, Liv decides to simply trudge back indoors in silence. You take it as a begrudging yes, and follow her inside. 

That very night, when you were at the very cusp of falling into the dark space of sleep, your brain re-awakens before your eyes do. A jolt as the memory comes back to you of the many months ago, sitting in that restaurant across from a man who was too handsome for the personality he seemed to sire. 

“Expensive ones,” he had said. “Ones that rich people abuse to an inch of the machine’s life and wonder why the dealership gives up on it.”

How fitting. 

“Are you going to explain or should I explode instead?” 

You’d mentally prepared for the bombardment of accusations from Liv, her questioning perfectly right as you yourself cringed at the thought of showing your face here of all places. The one last one that’d officially banned her from ever setting you up with an individual of her choosing ever again. 

Hearing only silence as her answer, she appeals; “I thought he was the worst date of your life.”

“Nothing to do with his skills as a mechanic,” you mumble, refusing to make eye contact. 

“And everything to do with this being a horrible idea anyway!” Liv stares up at the sign on top of the garage. Jeon Motors. “What makes you think this guy can fix my car?”

What did make you think he could fix Liv’s car? If you’d known you might have given her an answer, but as you stare at the giant signboard that you’ve driven past for longer than you can remember, you can’t help but feel this place has been haunting you. Just a little. 

You can’t help but feel the tingle of goosebumps rise on your skin, the hairs across the expanse standing up at the thought of walking inside. There was no way you could differentiate the reaction from plain nerves or from the cringing drills that sound all the way outside the establishment. Regardless, you make an attempt to look confident as you make your strides into the pungent of the workshop. 

The first thing you note is how…clean everything is. Cleaner than any other workshop you’ve walked into anyway. 

The interior is bigger than it looks from the outside, the ginormous hall hosting about a dozen cars within your eyeshot alone. One side of the great hall holds an array of parked cars in different stages of dismantled and deconstructed, while the other side is lined with contraptions that look like stripped and enlarged elevators. 

Once you’ve inhaled a beyond recommended amount of smoke fumes and listened past all of the clanging, banging and sparks, you register the people that are elbow deep in the hoods of the vehicle they’re working on, enough to leave you and Liv standing at the entrance of an establishment that you can barely make sense of. 

“Can I help you?” A man in stained beige overalls approaches your wide eyed pair, face half covered in his baseball hat and hands occupied with a rag. 

To your slightest dismay, it isn’t the man you’re looking for.

“Uh– is Wonwoo here?” you ask. 

“He’s in a meeting right now. Are you a friend?” 

No, just a failed love interest.

“He,” you falter. If you weren’t a friend…then what were you? “He gave me his card.”

“Do you need help with your car?”

“Mine, actually,” Liv pipes. “It’s outside if you wanna take a look first.”

With one sweeping look across the warehouse, your eyes land on one of the few doors on the left. You register the plain look of it for barely a moment before joining Liv outside. 

By the time her car has been rolled and parked inside for a more thorough inspection, it’s taken you every last grain of your willpower to not stalk back out and wait in your car. For whatever reason, you can’t help but feel a very familiar spasm of irritation spark through you. Here you are, left anxiously waiting for the same man for a second time, merely feet away but remaining occupied with more important things. 

At the very least, the multiple hands prodding around the car’s engine were being somewhat of use, attempting to survey the same issues that had been looked at about a dozen times before. You silently promise to be a better person if this trip wouldn’t be for vain.  

“Am I late for something again?” 

Your throat is suddenly clogged as you open your mouth and no sound graces your presence. The face that meets you has his eyebrows raised as he stares at you in expectation, a ghost of a smile on his face. 

“W–Wonwoo, hi, um.” You clear your throat loudly, heat cursing your cheeks. “No, of course not.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure after…four months?” he asks, hands on his hips and his back straightened.

“I…my friend’s car needed to be looked at so…”

“Ah, of course!” He turns to where you’ve motioned, looking at the popped hood of the car his employees are working on. “I’ll take a look at it myself, don’t worry about it.”

He’s already walking away, towards the car and leaving you a ways away from the action. You stare at his back; the overalls tied at the waist and the stained white T-shirt that clings to his form from the humidity.

Wonwoo remains a man of a few words, and you remain at wits end about it all. 

A loud honk gives you something to do as you jump at the sound so up close, scrambling to move away from the smack centre as another car pulls into the garage. 

“Careful, those marks on the floor aren’t just oil and paint.” Wonwoo snickers from his place hunched over the hood as he cranes his neck to look at you. 

You walk over to where he is to get out of the way. “Was that meant to sound like an innuendo?”

“I was talking about the occasional running over someone’s foot,” he answers. “Not sure what you were thinking.” 

Ignoring the jab, you note that it was now only you and him crowding the car, “Where’s Olivia?”

“Went to look at spare parts.” You watch him as his gloved hands reach further into the enclave and yank at something hard. 

“So you can fix it?” 

“The car? It’ll take a couple days but it’s not really an issue.”

Furrowing your brows, you press on, “But the dealership—”

“Dealerships are the spawn of the devil,” he grunts as he finally wrenches out a spare nut or bolt or something that’s covered in oil. “Let me guess, they wanted her to sell it back to them?”

It’s your turn to raise your brows. “Yes. They tried fixing it, but it'd just stop again.”

“Because they’ve been fixing the symptoms.” He raises his eyes to meet yours, hands occupied with rubbing the part in his hands relatively clean with a rag. “They haven’t bothered to do anything about the actual problem.” 

“Because that’s gonna cost…?”

“Couple hundred, give or take,” he announces nonchalantly, turning his focus back to the engine. 

“But—” That’s it?

“Fifty extra for every question I have to answer after this.” You briefly wonder if Wonwoo’s eyes were always this piercing, boring into your soul like he didn’t need words to know what was going on with you. 

“Fine,” you huff, moving to drag a chair over, mostly just so you could have reason to break eye contact, and plop down as you watch him work. 

The more you think about it, the more you can find yourself unbothered by his strange behaviour. He wasn’t bleak, but nowhere near one of the more interesting people you’ve met. Taking the opportunity to really scan the man head to toe, you can’t say you find anything truly concrete to be this put off by him. 

Not much of a talker, but with the times you’ve prayed for a man that knew when to shut up sometimes, you wonder how much you can actually complain about this boon in particular. 

Besides, he was a looker, and you were completely content shutting your trap if it meant you got to shamelessly ogle at him from this close. 

“You know, this place looks bigger than it does from the outside.”

Wonwoo stares pointedly. 

You raise a shoulder in nonchalance, “Wasn’t a question!”

He simply huffs as he mumbles, “More length than breadth I suppose.”

“What are those things called?” you ask as you watch a sedan get lifted into the on some platform on the other end of the row. 

Glancing back, he answers, “Post lift, car lift, whatever you wanna call it.”

“What does it do?”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Touché.” 

Glancing back at him, you catch sight of his stained shirt once again. “Is that the same thing you wore to our date?”

Chin to chest, he registers what he’s wearing, hands still working on pulling bolts and boxes out of the hood. “Have about twenty of the same shirt, I can never be too sure.”

“You’re impossible.”

He smirks, “Touché.” 

You questioned if this was a mistake. 

Olivia could pick up her car herself, so why did you insist to be the one that did it? As you pay the taxi driver, you feel your ankles lock for a moment as you move to slip out of the cab. Frozen, you hear the driver ask you if everything was alright, to which your legs seem to work again, finally foot to gravel in front of the dreaded workshop.

The Jeon Motors sign blares the same as it always has in the afternoon light, glinting as it encourages you to walk in and do one of the stupider things you’ve done in life. Other than the ridiculous outfit you’ve put on, of course. 

But alas, as you hand over your slip to one of the many mechanics in the workshop, you find yourself praying he wasn’t here after all, that perhaps you could miss him as you leave and never have to see him again. 

Somebody yells out his name, and the dream drifts away like smoke. 

Finding the courage, you look up to where the man shouted for him, and immediately wish you hadn’t. 

Wonwoo remains in his overalls, the same ones that he had tied to his waist the last time you saw him. His undershirt however…

The tank top is revealing too much for you to pretend you don’t care, his hair remaining pushed back and away from his forehead as he walks over to you in what feels like slow motion. He takes the slip that he does not need, smiling at you as he says his hellos. 

“Car’s all fixed up, just need some papers that need signing and you’re all set.”

“Oh, but Liv isn’t here today.”

“That’s alright, you can sign them too,” he reassures, motioning for you to walk with him towards the car. “The car was alright in the test drives, revving hasn’t caused any problems either.”

He halts in front of the now (supposedly) fixed black sedan and pats the hood lightly, “If anything happens tell her to bring it straight here, although it shouldn’t have any more problems.”

“What’s your rate of return on customers?” you ask, a slight smirk on your face.

He thinks for a moment, “Pretty crap. But I guess that means I’m doing something right.”

You consider yourself something of a helicopter parent when it comes to your own car, but perhaps you’d change that if it meant you’d get to come here a little more often. 

Goodness, what’s gotten into you.

Wonwoo’s smiling too, and for a brief moment the silence is nearly awkward. A pause before he proposes leaving. 

“Shall we go to the office then?” 

Nodding eagerly, you trail behind him as he leads you towards the other end of the workshop, passing by even more cars in all their stripped or constructed glory. Glancing in front, you catch sight of Wonwoo’s back, ensnared for a moment before you snap your head away, reciting every curse word you know like a mantra. 

“It’s less hot in here too, keep the air on all the time.” Wonwoo stands in front of the plain doors, hands on the handle to wrench it open. You recognise it as the same door you had noted a few days ago. “Would you like anything? Coffee, tea?”

“Um, just water is fine, thanks.”

It’s quite plain, beige and leather against cream walls and unfittingly white lights. There’s a desk on one corner that’s beyond cluttered with more papers than you can register, pens and other office supplies mixed into the disorganised chaos of the large tabletop.

“Sorry about the mess, I can never find time to sort through it.” To your surprise, the light tinge of his cheeks suggest he might actually feel a little embarrassed. 

Cute. 

There’s cabinets that line on one of the far walls, and you watch him take his gloves off to open it and reach for a cup. The white porcelain emerges stained with an ashy grey as his fingers betray him. He looks flustered, glancing at his hands and back up to the cabinet. 

You can’t help but laugh a little, moving forward to help. “It’s alright, let me.”

“Sorry,” he apologised again, with a sheepish look on his face. “I’ll, um, wash this off.”

“Go on, I’m here,” you reassure as you move towards the water dispenser in the corner to fill your clean cup. 

He returns with significantly cleaner hands and apologises one last time. “Seems all I do around you is apologise.”

You have the good humour to chuckle, “So I’ve noticed.”

He does well to clear out most of the clutter that’s on his desk, leaving enough room to set down a few pieces of paper as you take a seat on the opposite side. 

As you scan through the papers, he attempts to make sober conversation. “You should…bring your car around for inspections if you want.”

“Oh? Even if I ask a million questions?”

“I can make an exception or two,” he grins. 

“And if you charge me double?”

“Might not charge you at all.”

“Might?” you question as you lift the pen he’d given you to sign the first space. 

“Might.”

“And what’re the conditions for that?” 

He doesn’t answer as he ponders and you fill in the second blank. “I’ll have to think about that.”

You snort before you can help it, your last signature coming out a little wonky as your hands shake. Turning the papers over to him, you continue, “Well then, let me know when you figure it out.”

He stares pointedly as he accepts the papers before dropping his eyes again, “Can I?”

“Hm?”

“Can I? Let you know?” 

It’s like you’ve been frozen over, the typewriter in your mind jamming as it punches out the implications of what he’s saying. 

“It seems, at least to me, that we may have gotten off on the wrong foot,” he continues. 

You hesitate. “I think so too.”

“I…I don’t want to put anything like pressure on you but–” 

“Would you like to try the new gelato place downtown this week?” you ask finally as you save him from his misery. “If…you’d like.”

He looks stunned for a moment before he’s scrambling, “Oh–of course! Yes, anytime is fine with me.”

“Great,” you smile, lifting from your seat. “It’s a date.”

“I’ll promise to wash my hands this time…and my shirt. And I won’t be late.” 

“Let’s not make promises we can’t keep,” you tease. 

You’re nearing the door as he follows behind, and just as you’re about to pull down on the handle, you hear him say your name. 

Turning around, almost too eagerly, you look up at him in expectation. He’s close, almost right behind you as he looks like he’s debating whether opening his mouth is a good idea. 

“Are you doing anything else today?” 

“Um,” you stutter for a moment. “I don’t have to drop off the car till later tonight, that’s all really.”

He swallows. “Do you wanna stay? Just a little while. We can stay in here, nobody comes in anyway.”

You aren’t entirely sure why you said yes, because you did actually have dinner plans with Liv later tonight, but the teeny tiny voice in your mind egged you on anyway. Besides, Liv wouldn’t mind, not if you were cancelling for this.

This entailed the very friendly contact of Wonwoo’s tongue in your mouth, and the extremely cordial way it seemed to caress your insides. If somebody asked you how it led to this, you don’t think you’d have an answer. Not that you care, especially when his hands are grabbing your waist and hips like that.

He’s already locked the door, reassuring you that nobody would find their boss and client in the smack dab middle of the devil’s tango. You take his word for it, relishing in the way his hot breath hits your skin below your ears, his mouth sucking under your earlobes as you whimper ever so quietly. 

Your hands are on his exposed biceps, feeling him up all to your heart's content. “Do you–Do you always wear stuff like this?”

He emerges, wet lipped and eyes trained. “So I wasn’t imagining it.”

“Imagining what?” you ask as you let him unbuckle your trousers.

“Please. Like you weren’t stripping me with your eyes.”

If you were warm before you, you're boiling up now. Were you being so obvious?

“It’s alright,” he reassures as you feel his fingers make contact with the crotch of your panties, pushing in to put pressure on your clit. “Wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t picked up on it.”

You feel his fingers push the dampening fabric away as his fingers make contact with your hole, coating his fingers in the arousal that’s made itself known. It’s hard to not hiss at the way he begins to circle it, thanking the universe that the loud noises of the workshop outside were masking whatever evidence of the heinous crime you were committing inside. 

Back against the couch in his office, you settle into the cushions once you feel him rub at your clit, one hand spreading your lips apart as he continues to massage your own wetness onto your throbbing cunt. 

When he retreats you almost cry out, but are smothered when he plunges two fingers into your hole instead, curling them almost immediately inside you. The consistent brush of the tips of his fingers on your walls are making it difficult to keep your eyes open, and absolutely impossible to keep your moans at bay. 

“Wonwoo, that’s so good, fuck.”

Through your closed eyes, you don’t note when Wonwoo gets on his knees. But you do feel him yank your trousers off entirely, and you definitely feel him place his wet mouth flush on your lower lips, sucking at your clit as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you mercilessly. 

That’s all it takes for your noises to become increasingly high pitched, hands buried in his beautiful hair as he continues to pleasure you beyond imagination. 

“I’m so close, keep going, please, it feels so–”

He somehow buries his face in deeper, sucking harder, licking faster, and it’s enough for you to finally feel yourself collapsing on the inside, your composure dissolving as you moan so loud you’re sure they can hear it outside, even through all the clanging and revs of cars. 

There’s no way for you to know how long you lay there slumped against the couch cushions, but when you hear Wonwoo speak to you in your ear, you answer. 

“Was that okay?”

“More than okay,” you say as you grab his face and pull his lips to yours, tasting the tang in his mouth from your arousal. “Do you have a condom?”

“I–fuck,” he thinks for a moment. “I don’t think I do.”

You try not to feel too disappointed, but you sigh into his mouth anyway. 

“Can I fuck your thighs?” you hear him ask, and you might have just orgasmed again, untouched. 

“Fuck, yes you can.” 

With a yelp, you feel yourself lifted off the couch as you wrap your arms around Wonwoo’s neck, letting him guide you to his desk. “Wonwoo!”

You hear a loud crash of the desk being stripped of all its inhabitants, and your back hitting the cool of the table top. 

Wonwoo unties the arms of his overalls around his waist, letting the legs pool to the floor before slipping his hard cock out of his boxers. 

You don’t see it as you feel him lock your knees together and lift both your calves to rest on one of his shoulders. But you do feel it as he pushes the head into the seam of your thighs, watching the indent as the pink of his dick appears before you through the skin of your thighs. 

Wonwoo’s face is contorted as he pulls back and pushes back through again, this time brushing against your still sensitive clit. You gasp at contact, and immediately feel him thrusting faster. 

“Wonwoo,” you grunt. “Lower.”

He obliges, pushing his dick lower so it can rub flush against your clit as he begins to roughen up his pace. 

You moan as you feel his free hand that isn’t holding your legs trail to the ends of your shirt, caressing over your stomach to pull it up and reveal your bra clad tits. He pushes his hands under the nearest cup and begins to grope you so wonderfully with his big, warm hands. Rolling the bud between his fingers, you can only grasp onto his wrists as a handheld to keep you down on earth. 

The desk beneath you is rattling with noise, the full drawers making themselves known as Wonwoo pounds into your thighs like he would die if he stopped, mouth coming in contact with whatever skin of your legs he could reach, his breath fanning the side of your knees. 

You’re close again, and you know he is too with the way his thrusts are beginning to grow sloppy. 

“There,” he pants. “Almost.”

You orgasm for the second time, the throb your clit beyond comprehension as the rough of his dick slides across your clit mercilessly. 

“Cum like this, Wonwoo please I need to see you cum.”

And he does, shooting the heft of his load to cover your already wet cunt and thighs, landing on your stomach as he continues to ride out his high between your legs. 

The back of your head hits the table as you take in gulps of air through the aftermath of it all. Wonwoo is putting his weight on the back of your thighs, holding onto the table for support. 

“Oh, Liv is never gonna let me live this down,” you pant, lolling your head to one side as you register him. 

He peers up at you through his hair, the stupid smirk on his face, “Do you care?”

You’re smiling a little too when you answer, “Not really.”

And then your legs are off his shoulders as he nestles between them instead, diving in to lift your head and kiss you. 

And you let him, although you wouldn’t really call it too much of a kiss—not when the both of you were smiling like idiots through the clash. 

[bi-writes]

more little thoughts about curvy!sunshine!fem!reader and dark!simon (18+)

thinking about being so indifferent to his violence because it has never been directed at you. you had a bad night at the pub--an asshole tried to grab your ass in the brand new white dress you bought, with a puffy little mini skirt, and you had wanted to wear it out and get dressed up. the man had ruined your night; you just wanted to spend it with simon, drinking and spending time together, and as soon as he had his hand up your dress, and simon saw the tears in your eyes, all he could see was red.

you're sitting on the curb outside, sniffling, tears still a little damp on your face as you lick at the cone of ice cream you're holding. you click your heels against the pavement, and you look to the side when you feel a big, warm presence take a seat next to you. his shirt looks damp and sticky, and your eyes dart down to see how his boots smear blood against the ground. you smile a little through your soft tears, reaching over and sliding your arm around his. the tension in his muscles relaxes, and you lean up and kiss his cheek gently.

"did he squirm?" you ask softly as you trace his ungloved hand, running your fingers lightly over the fresh bruises there. "i know you hate it when they cry."

"didn't 'ave time t'cry," he grumbles. he leans over, kissing your forehead through the mask, holding you close. "cut his throat out before he could even think about it. and then i took his hands, luv--" you take a lick of your ice cream before you smile up at him. "didn't deserve 'em since he's had a feel 'f ya."

he lets you paint his nails. you sit on his big thigh, holding his hand up as you smooth black polish over his nail bed. you clean his cuticles and under his fingernails, giving him a nice little manicure before practicing your nail-painting skills. all he does is sit there and grumble as he watches a football game on the telly, not really paying you any mind. when you finish, you smooth lotion over his cracked knuckles and smooth some oil over his nails until they're nice and soft. when you finish, he makes you watch him stuff those fingers into your pretty pussy. he never takes his eyes off the game, but his lips twitch into the lightest smirk as he feels you writhe and squirm beside him, laid back on the couch as you wet his freshly painted nails with cum.

he never lets you cry, not really, because he fucking hates it. if you cry, he tilts your head up towards him, shoving his mask up before dragging his pink tongue up your face and ridding the pretty planes of your cheeks of any evidence. his solution to your sadness, if that doesn't work, is to put his head between your thighs and eat.

he never says no to you. wherever you want to go, he will take you. whatever you want to buy, he will buy it for you. even if it's something you technically can't have, like the vintage purse you see as you window shop with a not for sale tag on it. or the last pair of sparkly barrettes that the woman in front of you snagged first, found at the bottom of your shopping bag the next day. or the job you applied for that you knew you wouldn't get because you bombed the interview--only to receive confirmation in the middle of the night that you got the job, telling simon monday night that your new boss got mugged only a few hours after your interview!

(the bruises on his face are gnarly--and he seems to always avoid you like the plague.)

you break all his supposed boundaries in front of other people, but what they don't understand is that he has boundaries with everyone except for you. when you visit him on base, everyone tenses when you run into the rec room looking for him, slipping into the chair he sits in and taking your place on his lap. but ghost doesn't flinch as he does if others touch him. no, he just places his hand on your back to steady you. when you're out at the pub with his teammates, they stare wide-eyed as you cup his masked cheeks and kiss him all over his face--his eyes, his nose, his cheeks--but all ghost does is pat your ass soothingly and stroke along your hair gently. he stands out in crowds, so imposing and large and broad, and he ignores the stares when a pretty girl bounces into his orbit, taking his hand and pulling him along because simon, i saw this dress, but i need your help getting the zipper up--

there just isn't anyone like you. ghost feels dead, on the inside. he doesn't feel right. he knows something is so wrong inside of him. he wants to eat your glow. it's what he has loved about you since he met you. the unconditional devotion, the big heart you give him, the wet look in your eyes when he does anything for you, even when it includes the bloody stuff. even if he does the wrong thing, even if he kills the wrong man, and you know he is overreacting, you are never mad, never angry. you just kiss his scars and coo in his ear, "it's okay, you didn't know any better, you were just doing it for me, weren't you, baby?"

you give him the validation that he needs to be violent. you tell him it's okay. you aren't afraid of all the gore, of the terrible things he does, of all the things he rights with wrongs. he is quick to anger, and he finds it easy to be judge, jury, and executioner, and all you do is bat your lashes and open your legs and tell him it's okay, simon--it's okay, come here, i miss you.

you suffocate the things that scream in his ears. when it's too loud, you push him to lay down, climb up over him, put your thighs around his head and quiet the noise. you sit your pretty pussy on his mouth, and you ride his face, smoothing a hand over the balaclava that he is too busy to take off. you used to be afraid of being too heavy, of making it hard to breathe for him, but simon is a big boy, and maybe he wants to die, because you taste so sweet, and he always chubs up so easily with his hands digging into your hips and his tongue deep inside of you.

it aches, everything hurts, the world is too loud, but it isn't like this in your flat. it's just right. it's normal. it's safe. simon can be himself, and so can you, and when he is too brooding and terrifying, he looks at you, because if you're still smiling, he isn't too much of anything. and when you think you're talking too fast, when you are second-guessing the dress you want to wear, you look at him, because if he is there, nothing will ever be wrong, and no one can ever hurt you.

simon isn't a good person. you know that. he's quick to the knife. he likes to bite. he commits war crimes, and then he comes home, and no one asks him to explain himself, and no one tells him to stop what he's doing, and when he does it over and over again, all he gets is validation, medals for a job well done, and maybe you're an instigator, too, because you let him fuck you in every position whenever he comes home, a reward for bringing death to whoever was stupid enough to end up at the wrong end of his rifle.

but it's really, really hard to care. as soon as he steps through the door, dropping his duffel bag onto the floor, all of your doubts disappear. all you can do is stare at him in all his gear, swallow the drool that threatens to spill, smile--welcome home, teddy bear!

he is a bear. but you've never been on the receiving end of what scares people. if someone were to ask you what to do, you don't think you'd know what to tell them. you wonder what it is you would tell them if they begged for your help.

run away? or play dead?

[ar-cadez]

Count Duckula Fan Rewrite!!

Recently I’ve been working on a Count Duckula rewrite that aims to give it a slightly more serious tone and semi-serialized story like many modern cartoons! It took some time, but I made redesigns of the main cast. I had fun making this project and I REALLY hope you do too! Because I’m extremely nervous that the small fan base Count Duckula does have will hate this

I haven’t actually finished the show btw so if there’s an antagonist or smth that shows up later I should’ve redesigned.. lmk! I’m open to suggestions I really like this show..

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Basic Concept

Practically the same as the original show! There is a long line of reincarnations of a wicked vampire duck named Count Duckula, the most recent reincarnation went wrong and now the current Count is a vegetarian and much more interested in becoming famous than being evil.

Some major differences include the tone and story structure, being semi-serialized and having more serious arcs mixed in with the antics, along with a lot of changes in characterization. A big story change is also that Nanny was not hired until AFTER Duckula was reincarnated so Igor was the one who screwed up the ritual.

Tone wise I’d also like to slightly age up the target audience so it could get away with a bit more dark humour. My favourite part of the original show was moments that were just so morbid and completely brushed past. 13+ would be fine methinks.

Basic plot of the average episode would be about the count’s hyperfixation of the week and trying to get famous or profit from it. Not every episode would follow this structure though.

The grander themes of the series would be all about expectations from family and strangers and how those expectations can be completely false.

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Characters

^^ Final lineup! ^^

Sketches (less interesting poses but shows off some things better)

Count Duckula!

What I wanted to change

I feel like Duckula from the original spin-off was already a really strong character! There is a lot to him and really all I would want from a more emotional reboot is to dive into what’s already there. I did kinda project on him a bit in this rewrite though… gotta write what’cha know!

I also changed his design quite a bit. I never thought the suit fit his personality and I wanted to go with something a little more bright. If I go back again I might saturate his shirt a bit more. I also wanted all the residents of castle Duckula to have purple in their designs and for duckula and Towser to share similar colour’s inversed

Character Traits

Hatred of his legacy

Duckula is the first member of his lineage to not be an evil vampire and he hates that role that is expected of him. This is partially what drives him to be the nicest duck he can be, in hopes of shaking off his legacy. This also causes him to reject anything that's “spooky” or has to do with vampires. He physically can't eat meat or blood due to his botched resurrection, but even the sight of either distresses him.

Attention Drive

Due to his infamy, all Duckula wants is to be liked by the general public. Everyone in his town is automatically scared of him and he tries really hard to change their opinions on him whether that be through attempting to bea good samaritan or by performing in town. (Both tend to end poorly for him)

ADHD and Theatre Kid Behaviour

Duckula is constantly picking up and putting down new forms of art and performance. This can be anything from oil painting to American football. He does tend to get frustrated or distracted and abandon projects or crafts entirely. His favourite artform is acting and music so as you can imagine he's very into musicals. His musical talents are decent but his acting is awful. He’s also known to loud and overly excited over his interests

Ego and Cowardice

Being given a position of power the day you came into existence does have the tendency to make you… immature to say the least. When in danger, if he even realises there is any, Duckula’s first move is to use his title as leverage. If that doesn't work, his second is to beg, grovel, and lie his way out of the situation. That, or hide behind his much more intimidating companions.

Rich Kid Syndrome

Having the majority of people you know be your house staff really messes with your sense of responsibility. Duckula can hardly do many basic life skills on his own because of this. It's not like he is completely lazy but he does have executive dysfunction and has yet to realise that fact, causing him to procrastinate on many things and completely forget or just get someone else to do it.

Not Naturally kind

Being his father’s reincarnation, it only makes sense that Duckula would inherit many traits from his past lives. Many of the other Counts were ego-driven cowards with desires for fame. They just went about it differently. Duckula actively tries to be kind and polite but a lot of passive aggression and snark slips through the cracks of that veneer. He would never want to admit that he has ANYTHING in common with his ancestors and he hates that being nice doesn't just come naturally to him. Being an immortal, Duckula also has a skewed sense of mortality and often doesn't understand the severity of certain injuries and situations.

This Duckula has ADHD and Autism in this rewrite and he struggles most with executive dysfunction, restricted interests, memory issues, atypical empathy (not specifically low or high), sensory issues (mostly with eating and some sound), and social cues. He also stims.

Towser!

What I Wanted to Change

Towser isn’t even really a character in the original. Just a running gag without a face. I wanted to balance out the main cast by adding another female character since I have feelings on Nanny as a character and i didn’t know if i would even be able to salvage that.

I really like what I came up with! She’s fun to me and I’ll probably flesh her out more later.

Character Traits

Family drive

Towser has little interest in birds that aren't close to her and it usually takes awhile for her to get used to new people. However, she’ll protect those that she does care about with her life. She is the castle’s guard dog and will do whatever’s necessary to protect it. This often comes at the cost of her sleep, because she feels like she always needs to be awake to protect them.

Tag Along

Following Duckula around like a puppy is what Towser does best! She might not fully understand his enthusiasm on certain subjects, but she's always up to backing him up on his newest fame seeking endeavours (though she herself prefers physical activity over creative works). She never expects anything to come of it, but hey, at least it's something to do. She also likes to hear Duckula rant to her about his interests.

Big Sister

Towser is of a much more stable mental state than Duckula, and as his only friend around his age, he trusts her more to be someone to talk to about his identity issues and issues in general. The two are a lot warmer towards each other than they are anyone else, and can also get away with messing with the other a lot more.

Big ol Lap dog

When in werewolf form, Towser tends to forget her size and often crushes them with her size. This usually wouldn't be a problem if it weren't for the fact that she's always a lot more cuddly and energetic in wolf form than bird form. This is because, as a werewolf, she's only in wolf form at night and being a fully nocturnal bird that should only be awake at night, this messes with her sleep rhythm a lot.

Igor!

What I wanted to Change

Personality wise Igor is already really strong and I didn’t change much of that. You’ll probably notice from the sketches that Igor has a skeleton hand, that’s because I made him undead in this version just to give a reason to how he’s been able to live this long since the original doesn’t really have one (which is fine)

Character Traits

Devotion to the role

Igor has been the Count’s butler since the first incarnation. He was assigned to keep the Duckula legacy alive by reincarnating his master every time he meets his fate and helping him readjust every time. Helping each new reincarnation bring misery and fear to the town they reside by with a smile… Until the most recent incarnation of course. He’ll stick it out though, because he still has hope for him.

Taste for the macabre

Whether it be killing innocents behind the back of his new master, decorating the castle with cobwebs and bones, or using his undead nature to scare and torture those around him, Igor certainly has an interesting idea of fun. Igor gets a sick enjoyment out of causing others distress and despises all things kind and cute, something which definitely frustrates Duckula, who's desperately trying to fix his own image.

Bitter Traditionalist

Having lived through the centuries in castle Duckula, Igor has gained an appreciation for the history of the place and the vampire ducks that have resided there over the years. He’s rather invested in the lives of his previous masters and is extremely cross with the newest incarnation for not only not caring about that past, but also completely disowning it. Igor tries desperately to get Duckula to be a normal vampire, truly believing it could work with enough effort. Less he spend the next few centuries with a vegetarian for a master… Igor would not have a problem with Duckula pursuing fame if it weren't for the fact that he thinks it's distracting him from true vampirism.

Tired old man

Igor has lived for many centuries and he does not feel as if he should have to babysit for an immature man child like Duckula. He would rather ignore or snark the young count rather than actually talk to him. When the two argue its a constant back and forth of passive aggression and personal jobs that they almost always forget what they're actually arguing over. Duckula is physically and mentally very young (17-early 20s) compared to Igor’s other masters due to the botched revival and he doesn't know how to, or want to, deal with it.

Nanny!

What I Wanted to Change

I’m sorry to any hardcore Nanny fans out there but this is practically a whole new character. I find Nanny to be frustrating and annoying in the original and who I personally feel is a very sexist and mean spirited character. There’s absolutely nothing I would want to write with a character who’s just “big stupid fat woman inconveniences everyone around her” it’s just uncomfortable after a certain point.

My idea for a new take was just an extremely kind older woman who’s a little airheaded but is a lot smarter than people give her credit for. This sets her up as a foil to Igor. She’s also the only non-monster resident of the castle in this version which I personally think is really interesting.

Character Traits

Only good influence

While Igor actively sets out to make Duckula a bad person and Towser couldn't care less about how Duckula acts, Nanny is the only direct influence in Duckula’s life who pushes him to do better. Nanny believes Duckula is a good person at heart and pushes him to take more responsibility in his life. She wants him to learn a good work ethic and is fully supportive of him trying to better himself.

Good Christian Woman

Nanny is, in fact, a christian. She is fully aware of the demonic nature of her companions but believes that everyone can better themselves no matter their circumstances and attempts to better those around her. Igor hates her for it but she’s totally ignorant to that fact.

Assertive Mother Figure

Though Nanny is a very kind woman, she is also not a pushover. She will assert authority over Duckula and anyone else if necessary, and most are compliant once she puts her foot down, if they aren't, however, Nanny does pack a punch and won't hesitate to use her strength to protect her family.

Smarter than she seems

Nanny is an airheaded optimist with a big heart and those traits make her come off a lot more clueless than she actually is. She may seem like she has no idea what’s going on but she’s actually very observant and is fantastic at assessing a situation and finding the best course of action.

Dr. Von Goosewing

What I Wanted to Change

I really liked the idea of the antagonist to Duckula was in a liniage of vampire slayers and that their ancestors have been fighting for generations. It gave me the perfect set up for a ✨SHADOW ANTAGONIST✨ I wanted to make this rewrite have the two reflect each other a lot more. To do that I wanted Goosewing to still be a really cooky guy but I didn’t want the public to know that.

Also I have no idea why he’s dressed like Sherlock Holmes in the original if he’s a Van Helsing parody and also an inventor. You could’ve leaned into either of those ideas but for some reason he’s dressed like a detective? so I tried giving him a more fitting outfit but keeping his colours for recognisablity.

Character Traits

Playing Village hero

Goosewing is considered a big deal in town because of his family of vampire hunters. He’s prepared his whole life to kill Count Duckula the moment he comes back and to protect the common folk from the paranormal. Despite this, Goosewing isn't actually particularly skilled at his job and usually ends up failing his assassinations due to his own incompetence. He feels like he has to play the role as a hero to continue his family’s legacy despite not particularly enjoying it or being good at it.

Overestimating the enemy

With how cunning and malevolent the past Duckula incarnations were, Goosewing expects the same from this one. Goosewing believes that Duckula is a dangerous and clever foe completely focused on causing others pain. In reality, Duckula is the most incompetent bird in all of Transylvania, aside fromGoosewing himself, of course. Goosewing also comes to believe that Duckula is only acting nice to later betray the public, a belief he is not quiet about and that keeps the public from trusting Duckula.

Mad Scientist

Goosewing definitely falls into the eccentric scientist trope with his innovative but scatterbrained nature. He would much rather be working on an invention than actually doing his job. The public sees him as a hero but while hunting vampires or when hes alone he comes off as more of a mad scientist than the hero character he plays. His intentions are ultimately good but are completely based on the assumption that he’s the wholly good protector of the people and that Duckula is a cunning villain who's out to get him and everyone else.

Shadow

Goosewing and Duckula reflect each other in a lot of ways. They both have a legacy they are expected to uphold despite not wanting to or even being able to, they both care deeply about the public’s opinion on them while the public has an incredibly incorrect view of the both of them, and they both have creative interests outside of the roles expected of them that they'd rather be persuing. Duckula fully rejects anything to do with his ancestry, while Goosewing is actively trying to fulfil despite not enjoying it.

The Murder Brothers!

What I Wanted to Change

Haha I called them the murder brothers bc they’re crows and criminals Im actually so funny… anyway. I don’t know if I should’ve even done these guys but I really like them as antagonists so!!

I gave the younger two names and a personality. The wiki said they didn’t have names but if they do lmk and I’ll just fix that. Other than that I didn’t change much except try to give ‘em a bit more depth and changing their physical designs a ton for fun.

Character Traits

The Murder Brothers, as a whole, are a tight knit family of con men crows who pull any grift they can to get their hands on some cash. Though they may act like their only loyalty in life is to money, they do genuinely care about each other's well being

Ruffles

Ruffles is the short tempered and eldest leader of the group. He’s constantly frustrated with his brothers’ incompetence and isn't quiet about it. He believes that if it weren't for them he'd probably be a lot further in life by now (which isn't true) and he’ll say he doesn't care about them, but he actually does.

Burt

If he didn't insist on helping his brothers, Burt would be the most likely to be living an honest life. As the second oldest sibling, Burt holds a position as right hand man. He’s a naturally kind and enthusiastic bird who, while a bit dumb, does openly express his love for his brothers. He takes on a lot of the abuse from his older brother and is often used by the group to talk to others, because he's so naturally trustworthy.

Reggie

Reggie is the second youngest of the brothers and the most relaxed out of all of them. He has an impeccable sleight of hand and is the go to for lockpicking and such. He’s a decent smooth talker and is often the one to break up fights, though he's not above getting angry at the others himself.

Leroy

Leroy is the youngest of the brothers and by far the least skilled. His speech is incomprehensible from under his mask (although he can see through it for the most part) and he’s often left with the worst jobs during their cons because of that. He’s the most timid out of all of them but I’m sure if you took that mask off of him he’d be really talkative.

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Ending Words

Well that’s all I got! I spent way too long on this project that maybe two people will care about and one of them is me 💔 Anyway if I make anything else for this rewrite/au I’ll tag it with #wbcd . I wouldn’t count on it because I mighttt get burn out from this but im just so glad I finished it! I’ve thought about writing a pilot script just for fun but idk. I’d like to do more long format au stuff, I was going to make a YouTube video about this but I almost cried trying to record myself so I gave up 💔

[thefixations-ofmine]

Pairing: Evan Buckley x Tommy Kinard AU (911)

Word count: 3.3K

Warnings: age gap, blowjob (m receiving), rimming, pet names

Summary: Former high school football star Evan Buckley navigates his new adult life. A broken down car takes him to the nearest body shop, where a very handsome 30-something mechanic catches his eye - and he's good with his hands too!

A/N: Yay, a new fic! This has been sitting in my head for a while and I finally put it down into words after seeing this manip photo of Oliver with longer hair. Sadly, I put aside some things I had already started, but I'm happy to get more work out there! Constructive criticism is welcome. Enjoy!

Main Masterlist | Drabbles Masterlist

“Helping number 36!” A young lady announces over the intercom. A shared gasp fills the room at the loud intrusion, and everyone has a look at their ticket. Evan sighs finally! He walks into the service area and heads to where an assistant is waiting to get his ticket.

“36?” A short man in glasses questions.

“That’s me! I’m Evan,” he answers with a handshake.

“Great, Evan. What brings you in today?”

He goes on for a solid fifteen minutes about all the troubles with his car. From the screeching breaks to the clicking steering and so on. His folks couldn’t afford a new car for when he got his license, and with their money and his combined, a deadbeat ‘64 Buick Skylark was all he could get - while still looking badass. It got him from point A to point B, albeit all the times he had to stop to nudge something back in place or to make sure the oil level was still right. He was saving to get himself a car that was at least of the decade, but it was proving longer than initially planned with all the fixing and maintenance on this one.

“Well, we have a really great old school mechanic, and an open schedule, so we can actually get started today if you’d like!” The assistant states, and proceeds to give him a rundown of the costs. Evan nods and runs back to his car to back it into a garage spot.

“Little further!” He hears a voice call from behind the trunk, unable to see the face of the man in the mirror. “Alright!” He adds waving his hands, and Evan breaks abruptly. He gets out of the car and starts rambling about what needs to be fixed, until a hand on his shoulder stops him.

“We’ve got it, kid.” The deep voice says again, and Evan turns this time, getting a first look at his face. And what a face! He’s surprised at first that he has to look up at him (even for just a few inches), and he rapidly gets lost in his striking blue eyes. “We’ll take care of it like it’s our own,” the mystery man says, bringing Evan back to reality.

“Um, thanks. Yeah, that would be, um, great!” He’s met with a reassuring smile, crinkly nose and all. He smiles back, trying to act as cool.

“I see you play,” Tommy (Evan remembered he could read for a second and saw his name tag) tries to start a conversation, pointing at the high school logo on his t-shirt. He nods. Tommy laughs. “I also used to a few years back. Same high school. Didn’t stick though, I was good with my hands but for different reasons.” If the blush on Evan’s cheeks wasn’t already apparent, that last statement accompanied by a wink surely painted his face a lovely crimson shade. If anything, it keeps Evan from telling him he actually graduated last year, but that’s besides the point.

He lets his eyes wander on the man’s body as he walks around to the hood; he guesses he’s around thirty. His thick veiny hands run along the metal, and thicker, veinier arms struggle to stay contained in the white t-shirt, proving he did in fact play sports in his youth. He likes what he sees, and doesn't know how to act about it. There was one thing a small town high school couldn’t provide you with; a well diverse sex-ed class. Not that nobody talked about it, but it was more often in a bad light than in a supportive kind of chit-chat in the back of a locker room. He had only been exposed to “educative” material through dodgy websites - though he owed his quarter-back wrist strength to that!

Today though, Evan would be happy to learn and explore.

“I’m sorry, do you guys have any water?” He manages to blurt out, running a finger into the neck of his shirt and his other hand up the side of his jeans.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to use the hose, kid.” Tommy points him to the side of the building a few feet away. Evan rushes to it, and almost drowns from the big gulps he’s inhaling, and doesn’t notice Tommy’s watching. Doesn’t see how he licks his lips at the sight of his own mouth pursed, and the sway of his Adam’s apple as he swallows vigorously. How Tommy’s eyes run down his arched back as he’s holding himself up with a hand on his knee. When he’s done drinking, some stray drops run down his chin and Tommy wants to lap at them. He clears his throat and goes back to examining the engine when their eyes meet.

A couple hours has brought the awkward moment to a well established conversation between the two as they exchange about cars and Fantasy Football predictions - both of them stealing looks every once in a while, silently eating the other up. When Evan runs his hand on his stomach as it growls, Tommy takes the opportunity to ask:

“Do you wanna grab a bite?”

“Huh?” Evan asks, his brain scrambled from the heat and the blood filling his semi.

“I think I’ll need at least another day before I’m done, and the last piece I took out will keep you from driving home,” he begins. “I thought maybe we could grab a bite and I can drive you back?” There’s another sensation added to the hunger in Evan’s stomach, one he had felt a long time ago when an exchange student from England had arrived at their school. He’d gotten Evan in a corner one day and kissed his lips, and Evan let him for several seconds before he pushed him away, embarrassed - confused. He told him he wasn’t mad, but that this didn’t have to happen again or be made known to others. He still hates himself after all those years for not apologizing before the guy went back home.

“I. Yeah, yeah. That would be great.” He finds the strength to answer.

“Awesome. Let me get out of these overalls and I’ll be right there.”

Evan guides Tommy down the streets of his neighbourhood after leaving the diner, where he had the best burgers of his life. Didn’t I tell ya, kid? He remembers Tommy had said when Evan moaned at the taste of the greasy patty. He turned red right there again, but when his eyes landed on Tommy’s, he realized they were both bothered and hot by the situation. If he was reading it right…

Kid. Evan can’t shake the hold that pet name has on him, a weird mix of adoration and degradation. He wasn’t a kid! He was 19! But then again, in contrast to the well-established, rugged man sitting next to him, as he watches his fingers drum absentmindedly to a Kiss song on the steering wheel, Evan can understand why he uses that word. He hopes it isn’t derogatory, but is willing to prove Tommy wrong. 

When they get to Evan’s house, Tommy drives his car into the empty driveway and turns the engine off with a content sigh. “I guess that’s my stop,” Evan jokes and clumsily goes to tap the center console, unaware that Tommy had leaned his arm onto it, the contact of his hand hitting the strong skin sends a shiver down his spine. Like a deer in headlights, he stays like this, not budging a finger until he hears Tommy chuckle deeply.

“You okay there, buddy?” That was a new one, Evan notes, and he’s sure now that he read the situation wrong because Tommy must see him as a bro, as his little brother’s friend who’s always squatting in the basement. But the second later, Evan is shoved into a new reality when he feels Tommy’s left hand come to cradle his chin to turn his head his way. He’s unable to tell if he’s still breathing, but that can be done manually so he should survive even in the confined space around them. There’s a tentative look in Tommy’s expression, a light smirk as his eyes volley in a triangle between Evan’s lips, his eyes, and the few bunches of curls that pop out of his cap. When the hand on his arm tightens instinctively, Tommy takes the plunge and crashes their lips together.

It’s hungry and unfiltered, and what Buck gives in clumsiness Tommy can redirect and show him he’s really into this. As if his grunts or the hand creeping to the back of Evan’s neck weren’t enough proof that Tommy wasn’t just trying to be nice. That’s when Evan realizes he’s kissing back, and grunting too, and he’s not going to have to feel sorry for the near future because of his stupid brain. He unfastens his seatbelt to try and kneel onto the seat until Tommy laughs into his mouth, now open from having been explored by a hungry tongue.

“Evan,” he begins, “are you sure about this?” There’s a frown on Evan’s face and he wonders what he did wrong, until Tommy corrects: “I mean, is this okay here in the car? Won’t anybody just walk by?” And then Evan smiles.

“My parents are out of town for the week, if you would, um. If you’d like, we can go inside.” It’s like the puffiness of his lips is keeping him from talking properly, but Tommy’s eager to get out of the car and follows Evan to the door, hooking one of his fingers into a loop at the back of his jeans, that way he can pull Evan against him as he shuts the door. They makeout in the entryway for several minutes, hands rushing to touch the other’s skin.

“Sit on the couch,” Tommy says firmly. Evan’s stomach flips again. He obliges, and sits awkwardly on one side of the couch, leaving room for Tommy, completely oblivious to his intentions. Until Tommy grabs both sides of Evan’s ass and manhandles him onto the center, and finds a comfortable spot between his legs on his knees, then Evan understands where this is going and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t send a sweat down his back.

“I, um,” he struggles. “This is um... Has never happened before.” He’s already a panting, sweaty mess even though he’d been in this position before - granted the subjects on the floor were much more petite, delicate and feminine. This was uncharted territory he definitely wanted to wander into, but he felt like he forgot his flashlight and was walking barefoot in gravel through the expedition.

“It’s alright, kid. I just want to take care of you for tonight if you’ll let me, no expectations.” It reassures him already, and he nods in approbation. “You stop me whenever, tap my shoulder and I’ll be gone.” He chuckles along with Tommy, and bites his bottom lip when he’s already working on his fly. He makes quick work of it; good with his hands, Evan thinks back.

And boy does he prove it fast. Evan’s not sure he even got to take three breaths in before Tommy was running his thumb along the bottom of his head, applying a faint pressure that had his blood pumping just right, filling his length the rest of the way, causing him to hiss sharply through his teeth. There seems to be a surprised excitement in Tommy’s expression, and he’s not sure if it’s at his size or the way he’s pathetically putty in his hands already, but he’d let that live in the back of his mind forever.

“Breathe, baby boy,” Tommy encourages as he pumps him now. It’s not the usual technique he’d use on himself, but Tommy found that one to be a safe bet most of the time. He feels Evan relax under him, his legs falling a little further apart and Tommy takes advantage to creep into the new space. His arms are holding Evan’s hips down, his left hand wanders under his t-shirt onto the tight, soft stomach of the sweet boy before him. He’s in pain, straining the zipper of his jeans and he curses himself for wanting to look nice rather than throw on some sweats. But it’s not about him. He hasn’t had dick in his mouth for way too long now, and when that buff twink walked into the garage, he knew there was something to play with in those hugging blue jeans.

“That’s it,” he praises, kissing the tip and sucking the bead of precum that had threatened to glide down. “You taste so good.”

“Than- Thank you sir,” Evan moans from deep in his chest. Tommy’s eyes roll to the back of his head, and he sucks in just the tip, then maybe an inch or two, then three, until Evan is a shaking mess under his grip. He sucks his cheeks in on his way up, trying to wet him as much as possible, before connecting their gaze and sinking down fully in a single movement, his nose poking the taunt pubic flesh. Tommy could almost come in his pants at the sight of Evan’s reaction. He can only imagine nobody had gotten that monster down fully without struggling before, and Tommy secretly thanks his first busy years out of the closet for the practice. He pops off after a few seconds.

“Is that okay?” He’s teasing, of course. The wet sounds of his hand pumping with purpose already answer his question.

“Is that… Are you, are you fucking kidding?” He throws his head back with a punched laugh, sending his cap to fall onto his lap. Tommy grabs it and puts it on backwards, and Evan has to shut his eyes or he’ll embarrass himself in the next seconds. The look makes Tommy pass for one of his team mates, and there’s a jolt in his stomach at the idea of fooling around with him in the lockers in high school. Though the age difference dynamic is still strongly present; he can confirm from the tricks Tommy is pulling on him. “It’s, it’s so good Tommy.” He pulls out his name in a high pitched moan. Tommy knows he doesn’t have that many pulls left before he’s tipping him over the edge.

He pulls the coffee table behind him a little closer, until his body is slightly nudged underneath it, and he gently lifts Evan’s feet so they rest on it, spreading him just how he intends. He doesn’t waste his time plunging in, dragging his nose along the crease of Evan’s thigh, then the other, pushing into his balls in the passing. His hands have found a safe place just under his knees, so his dick can get a break as he explores him, smells him. He digs a little lower, and gives a trial lick to Evan’s taint, reading his immediate moan as a sign to keep going until he’s fully making out with his asshole moments later. Tommy groans into him when he feels the curious drag of the boy’s fingers into his hair,  the cap long discarded, asking him to stay right there just a tad longer until he’s a writhing mess and Tommy knows he’s gotta take action. Evan’s legs are burning, his stomach feels stiff and he’s not sure whether the pressure in his head is from an upcoming aneurysm or simply that he’s never had his soul sucked out of his body this expertly.

Evan doesn’t even realize Tommy’s lips are back around his dick until he teases his teeth along the top of his tip, soothing it immediately with a pass of his tongue, ellissiting the loudest, most embarrassing sound he’s ever let out in his - numerous - sexual experiences. His fingers are going numb into the fabric of the couch, his nails threatening to strip off. But he’s not close to putting a stop to whatever Tommy had going on; he hasn’t peeped down in a few minutes, scared that the sight of Tommy looking back at him would have him spill way too quickly. He’s biting his tongue now, because he’s just as close and doesn’t know how to let Tommy know.

There’s no actual moment to think because the next second, Tommy’s nose is up against his pubes and he swallows around him once, and twice. And maybe a third time for good measure. And Evan has to let him know he’s about to coat the back of his throat before he’s making a fool of himself, but Tommy’s deadly grip onto his hips is acting on his ability to enunciate anything.

“To-” He’s at least going to try. “Tommy,” he adds. He brings a hand to venture into his curls again, tugging a little hoping he catches the clue. But Tommy is urging on and has his mind set on the goal. He looks up, winks at Evan and takes one last breath before sinking back down fully, swishing his tongue on the bottom of Evan’s dick and managing to bring it out just enough to give his balls some attention.

Evan’s ears start ringing, he’s seeing white. Am I fucking dying? Then Tommy pulls back and tugs on him a few times until the string snaps and he’s emptying himself into the cup Tommy formed with his tongue, moaning and screaming and gasping for air and he’s panicking at the never ending ropes. He’d come again if he had any energy left when Tommy retrieves his tongue and swallows his load with a deep groan of satisfaction.

“I knew you’d be fucking sweet,” he states. Tommy runs his hands along Evan’s thighs, soothing the downfall of such a high.  He kisses along the muscles of his stomach and up to his neck, where he lays a long, open-mouth kiss to the sweet spot behind his ear. “Was that okay?” He’s genuinely asking.

“You’ve gotta stop doubting yourself, sir.” Evan puffs out a laugh. “This, um - This was the best fucking thing I’ve ever experienced.” He leans back into the couch and runs a hand into his hair, still unsure if the light from earlier wasn’t the end of the tunnel. But the warmth Tommy radiates around his body proves he’s still very alive..

“Well, I’m glad you had a good time, baby,” Tommy answers, daring a quick peck to his lips. He gets up and extends his hands to help Evan up also, making the poor boy realize the big problem he’s created;

“Do you, um. Should I-” He looks down.

“Oh, kitten, no. Don’t worry about me, okay?” Tommy deflects his intentions, hoping to buy himself a separate alone time with the pretty boy. “Plus, I’ll see you tomorrow for your appointment, huh?” He winks. Evan makes a mental note to be refreshed and energized for the day, already planning his undeniable turn for the deed. There’s a light stress in his chest at the thought of having his first experience as a giver with a man be so soon. But he’s on fire standing in front of the most handsome man he’s ever seen, who’s more than likely going to ravish him as soon as he lifts a finger, so he’s not going to fuck this chance up.

“I’ll be there on time, sir.” He nods, walking with Tommy to the front door. He owes him at least a decent goodnight.

“Bring that cute smile of yours.” Tommy has Evan blushing effortlessly, but he’s feeling a little bold. Before Tommy’s hand can turn the handle, he’s got him plastered to the door, and rushes to kiss him silly, moaning and toying with his tongue until they’re both breathless again - and as a preview, lets his hand cup at the slowly dying erection in Tommy’s jeans, earning a playful bite to his bottom lip.

“I’ll bring more than that.”

[flowersarefreetherapy]

Hold On: There's Bones in My Closet

CW: none, just a lot of fluff. Or light angst if you think about the future

“I don’t wanna be here,” he whines, tipping his head back. The ceiling above him glows bright white with elaborate designs surrounding the trim. 

There’s a name for this kind of trim. Ker probably knows.

“I know,” Kerry says. He stares at the map in his hands, eyes wide as he takes in the map of the museum. “But you also knew this field trip was coming for weeks.”

“I know, but I’m tired.” He flops onto his boyfriend, resting his chin on Kerry’s head. “I’m gonna melt into the floor!”

“Did you stay up late?” Kerry asks. 

He’s not even looking away from the map. Boring. 

Around them, the rest of the class spreads out across the lobby. The teachers and chaperones try to hand out maps and programs, but make little progress. Kerry’s older sister disappears into the dinosaur exhibit with a handful of her friends and the rest of the football team points at a few of the exhibits about early archeology.  

“Maybe,” he answers. “I might have been out with the boys.”

“Hmm.”

He kisses his head and moves to rest against his shoulder instead, looking over the map. Some of the exhibits look interesting. But this is Kerry’s day. He’s been talking about this field trip for months.

“Where do you want to go first?” he asks.

“You aren’t going with the team?” Now Kerry turns to fully face him. Their faces inches apart and he can so clearly see the light bands of gold in his brown eyes. “I thought for sure you would-”

“Why would I go with them when I have such a wonderfully smart and attractive boyfriend right here?”

Kerry ducks his head and shrugs. After a moment, he points to the Roman and Greek exhibit. “Could we start there? I’m writing a paper about political marriages in Greece and they might have some good information.”

“Sure, but are you sure you aren’t learning about the Greeks for other reasons?”

“Shut up,” Kerry laughs, shoving lightly at his shoulder. “I’ll have you know most of that was not safe or consensual and is mostly glorified by the media because it’s scandalous, but then again, what part of Greek and Roman life wasn’t that way? Plus, we should be looking at their politics instead–”

“Oh clearly,” he says, grabbing his boyfriend and pulling him along. Kerry squawks in protest, but hurries to catch him. Two steps in and he realizes that he doesn’t know where he is going. “Um, Ker?”

“To the left,” his boyfriend sighs.

He makes his way to the archway lit with sconces designed to look like oil lamps. The paint is rough and reminiscent of plaster. Kerry hurries ahead of him beelining for the closest exhibit. He follows along at a slower pace, holding the straps of his backpack and taking his time looking around. It’s history, as to be expected. There are some cool old coins he looks at but nothing gathers his attention.

Maybe you should have gone with the guys?

But then he looks over at Kerry and how excitedly he explains some marriage arrangements between people he’s never heard of. His face lights up in a way he will never tire of seeing. It’s so cute and he pulls out his phone to snap a quick picture. 

“What was that for?” Kerry protests, ducking his head so his braids fall over his face.

“What? I’m not allowed to take pictures of my smart and handsome boyfriend whenever I want to?” He pushes the braids out of Kerry’s face and kisses his forehead. Kerry flinches. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“No, I know, I’m sorry, that’s on me.” Kerry sighs, shrugging one shoulder. “I forget there are places where it’s safe.”

“Yeah, like Greece,” he laughs, trying to lighten the mood. “Man, could you imagine just getting some guy off in an alley and no one caring?”

Kerry won’t meet his gaze. “That-um, like I said, a lot of that aspect has been glorified when really it wasn’t-”

“Just jealous I didn’t specify it would have been you?”

Now Kerry really won’t look at him, twisting a corner of the map. “You can’t say things like that!”

“Why not?” He wraps his arms around Kerry and squeezes him close. “I love you, Ker. And teasing you is just too much fun.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“You love it.”

He smiles and throws his arms around Kerry, turning him towards the exhibits. “Tell me about each and every one of these people.”

Kerry’s face brightens. He points at each exhibit and does a better job making history come to life than any teacher or book has accomplished. He listens closely, leaning over exhibit cases and nods along to what he’s saying. The first question he asks rewards him with Kerry’s smile and another ten minutes of explanation. 

They move on to the plants and animals, then to modern history, and end in the science section. They mess around with the fake space walk and he does his best to knock Kerry over. Despite being a full four inches shorter, Kerry stands his ground. As they make their way to the lunch area, he lightly coughs. 

“Ker?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I hold your hand?” 

Kerry glances at him. Silence for a moment and his heart plummets. Though they’ve been dating for a year, he still asks. The scars Kerry’s parents left have yet to fully heal and new ones are being created every day. Public affection remains a struggle. One they work through together. 

This time, Kerry reaches out and locks his pinkie around his. He smiles and swings their hands back and forth. 

“I have the best boyfriend in the whole world,” he says, bumping his shoulder against Kerry’s. He smiles and returns the gesture. 

“Even when I ramble about history?”

“Especially when you ramble about history. It’s hot.”

“History isn’t attractive.”

He smiles. “It is when it’s you. You could make arithmetic sexy.”

Kerry ducks his head, trying to hide his face behind his braids. “That’s stupid.”

“It’s not. Come on, you want pizza?”

They split a few pieces of greasy pizza and walk to the rest of the museum. After a while, they meet up with his friends and Kerry’s sister, and finish looking through the museum together. He does his best to balance where his attention falls, joking with his friends but pulling Kerry into the jokes, talking about college with all of them, and telling his sister he’ll text her later. He needs to know what ring size Kerry wears. 

They leave the museum before dinner and pile into the school bus. He sits near the back, Kerry at his side. He rests his head on his shoulder and plays a matching game on his phone. He helps him occasionally, but mainly focuses on the passing scenery. And the ring he has to buy. He checks his bank account once again, offering the excuse that he wants to buy new shoes when Kerry asks what he’s doing.

“Oh nice,” Kerry mutters, not fully paying attention. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “They’ll be as green as your sweatshirt.”

Kerry huffs and doesn’t say anything more. He kisses his head. He’s successfully done it. There is enough money in his account to both buy the ring and put down a payment on an apartment. So close. They are so so close to having the life he’s always wanted for the two of them. 

“I love you,” he whispers, kissing Kerry’s temple again. “I love you so, so much.”

Kerry wraps his arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. One bead on his braid knocks against his face with each pothole they hit. After a moment, his boyfriend whispers, “I love you. Will you be my boyfriend?”

He snorts. “Will you watch Batman with me?”

Their first conversation. When he had thought Kerry was asking what movie he wanted to see. Hard to hear him talk over Dolly Parton blasting in his ears. It’s now dissolved into one of their many, many inside jokes. Something that never fails to make his heart warm. 

“Only if I can talk about the plot holes.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal, my historian.”

He rests his head on Kerry’s shoulder. His boyfriend leans against him and the two of them drift off to sleep, hands intertwined. 

Tagging: @blood-is-compulsory @darkthingshappen @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @whumpinggrounds

@pigeonwhumps @cepheusgalaxy (let me know if you want to be added/removed!)

[dtupdates-archive]

♡—DREAM was active on DreamFanartAcc! He liked:

cat dads!

Fuck it, dream oil painting

>:O!!?! (he’s just having fun)

Dream you owe me a ticket now😌

butterfly and forrest spirit

The undead and his slightly more dead bf

happy halloween

watching (causing) the doomsday

drog and blob and stars ✨

he's so babygirl 🥺

art study :D made entirely with a lasso tool

“BOO! Gotcha again ;)”

woof

mlem :p

this one deserves to shine by itself. This song touched my heart. [own repost]

Fairy dream concept, poor guy has to walk everywhere but it's ok because at least he befriended a little ladybug

Ghost Dream 👻

This was made in a day under the theme was Mythology and Monsters!

blue.

Oh no..

I LOVE FOOTBALL‼️🔥🔥🦅🦅🦅

Be very careful! three little monsters 👹🦖🐼

Apollo 🌿

halloween w carpinchos! 🎃

we need more driktoks me thinks

Dancing with the undead

a witch and his little guardians 🧙

winners pov !! 💗🏅

Mad scientist and his monster⚡️

if there’s one thing george is gonna do it’s rock a graphic tshirt

:D !! 👻🎃

🎃.

“GOOSEBUMPS” now as a limited comic book series featuring DTEAM as your favorite MONSTERS‼️🐺🕴🏻🤡

so when is patches gonna meet chance??

dreaming of the 70s … 🌼☮️🍊🪭

epic pvp

a moment in time ~

#farfadream

⭐️✨.

Still planning on posting tomorrow woo

night sketch of bbgirl c!dream🤭

₍^ >ヮ<^₎ !!

them

TWITCHCON DREAM (〃ω〃)

it's you that I hold onto:)

meep

nightmare team? 🕷️

Not even have way through but here’s a little fella

[uncleclam]

Top 5 stinky RG characters / slight spoiler / nasty / wip

5. Dan. Sorry I haven’t watch the movie but i can smell him already from the first 5 seconds.

4. Henry Letham. Wet cat, oily ass hair, only has two outfits, depressed. Moldy ass room with left over take outs on the floor. He smells like acid rain, blood, nicotine and oil paint.

3. Dean. Never washed his work t-shirt. Gets even worst when he’s old. He smells like second handed clothes, old furniture and tacos.

2. Roy Chutney. Football boys, you can smell the sweat already when I mentioned it. His jersey, helmet, shoes are all soaked with teenage boy sweats. He smells like grass, dirt, stinky locker room and a twink.

1. Luke Glanton. His dorm probably don’t even have a shower. He wear his underwear for 4 days and his socks for whole damn week. He never washed his blue onesie and the red leather jacket. He smells like dirty street and gas. Most stinky RG character ever.

[ceccles]

Well, the bin saga continued this week. It's like a battle of will out there, with those bins being shuffled back and forth like pawns in chess. Dad reached breaking point the other night. I mean, he's usually a pretty chilled, but when those bins crossed onto our side, coupled with their unfixed oil leak, which was on our side, he snapped.

The neighbour's son sneakily moved a bin back onto our patch of grass, thinking they're pulling a fast one. But this time, Dad was ready. As soon as he saw them, he wnt out, grabbed the bin, and he went back inside. That's when the shouting match began.

The neighbour, towering over Dad like, shouted from his window, demanding us to keep his hands off his bins. Well, Dad wasn't having any of it. He gave the neighbour a piece of his mind, even flashing him the old one-finger salute. Brave move, considering the neighbour's built like a brick wall and has a bit of a reputation as a bully.

Things escalated quickly, with Dad booting those bins back over whenever they moved one onto our bit. It was like a ridiculous game of bin football.

Meanwhile, the neighbour's son was filming the whole thing, trying to paint Dad as the loony one. But Dad's responses were good, calling out the childishness of it all.

Today, we finally got our hands on the deeds, and it turns out the land is definitely ours. Legal grounds to remove the bins. Let's see how he likes that.

[holystormfire]

Matthew 5:17-19

"I have not come to abolish the Law and the Prophets."

Moses Presenting the Tablets of the Law,

Painted by Philippe de Champaigne (1602-1674),

Painted in 1648

Oil on canvas

© Milwaukee Art Museum

Gospel Reading

Jesus said to his disciples: ‘Do not imagine that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets. I have come not to abolish but to complete them. I tell you solemnly, till heaven and earth disappear, not one dot, not one little stroke, shall disappear from the Law until its purpose is achieved. Therefore, the man who infringes even one of the least of these commandments and teaches others to do the same will be considered the least in the kingdom of heaven; but the man who keeps them and teaches them will be considered great in the kingdom of heaven.’

Reflection on the painting

When we hear the word 'Law' as in today's reading, we tend to react immediately in a negative way. The 'law of God' sounds as if it is a set of rules that would restrict us, curb our freedom and tell us what to do. That is of course true in the strictest sense, but it is also true that when we try to live according to the truth it holds, that very law creates this huge freedom for us. The law of God doesn't restrict us but sets us free. Think of sports. A football game wouldn't be a proper game if it had no rules or boundaries. The game is enjoyable and beautiful precisely because it has rules!

The commandments of the Old Law, including the Ten Commandments (illustrated here in Philippe de Champaigne's 1648 painting depicting Moses holding the tablets of the Law), are basic commandments to be followed. Jesus doesn't abolish these, but he builds on them. In a way, we could say that these commandments were more 'external' commandments, as they refer almost entirely to external actions towards other people.  Christ now expands further on these old laws. But his commandments (to forgive, to love, to hear, to help the poor…) are more subtle, internal, and appeal more to the heart.

Brussels-born artist Philippe de Champaigne enjoyed a 40-year career painting for aristocracy, including Louis XIII and Cardinal Richelieu. In this magisterial composition, he depicts Moses presenting the Ten Commandments. Moses’ hand and the stone tablets rest directly on a stone plinth and appear to hang over the edge; they seem so close as if we could touch them. Champaigne used a technique called trompe-l’oeil, or “fool the eye” in French, to heighten the feeling that Moses is a real person, coming into our space. With dirt beneath his fingernails and wrinkles in his skin, Moses is further portrayed as a real person. The rich blue color of Moses’ robe, adorned with gold embroidery, is a royal color. The text on the tablets is in French instead of Latin, which was very unusual for the time this was painted. Moses is also depicted with a rod, a symbol of authority, as the tool used by a shepherd to guide his flock. Moses, in fact, initially carried his rod while tending his sheep, and it later came to represent his authority over the Israelites.

Article by Father Patrick van der Vorst

[bsaka7]

Mathieu Flamini: From protecting Arsenal defence (and pain of 2008)… to protecting the planet by Amy Lawrence

Mathieu Flamini sweeps into the St Pancras Renaissance Hotel in London. He is here to talk about his life in elite sport and the biotech industry, and when Flamini talks — at full speed and with full conviction — you want to listen. The trouble is, the hotel lobby is packed with a cacophony of guests, staff and people here for a conference.

I already failed in my enquiry for a quieter spot. Flamini, however, flashes a look that never takes no for an answer. Off he goes and arranges access to a closed restaurant. He then convinces someone to bring coffee. Voila. The vignette is a reflection of how he lives his life. He is a force of nature intent on making things happen.

The vocational leap in Flamini’s story is astonishing. He patrolled midfield for Olympique de Marseille, Arsenal and AC Milan and was still a committed, active player in Serie A when an engineer told him about green chemistry. He immediately wanted to get involved. “I decided to build a company that would help end chemical pollution,” he says. He is now CEO of GF Biochemicals, an organisation driving for more sustainable products in our everyday lives.

“Everyone knows about consumer goods we use every day,” he explains. “Shampoo, shower gel, deodorant, detergent to clean the house, paint in our homes and on our things — all of those consumer goods are made of chemical ingredients. When you use shampoo, if you look at the back you see very complicated names of ingredients which are mixed together in order to make the shampoo. What people need to know is most of those ingredients, unfortunately, come from the oil industry, or what we call the petrochemical industry. What we have discovered over the past few years is that many of these ingredients are harmful to the planet and for people.

“For example, when you take a shower, your shower gel or shampoo is made from ingredients which are not biodegradable and those ingredients basically go to sewage and accumulate in the water and never decompose. Every day the cream you put on your face contains chemicals being absorbed by your skin, which is your body’s biggest organ. If you clean your house with toxic products — your kids are walking on the floor, you cut bread with a knife, whatever — there is a contamination of these harmful ingredients.

“We manufacture bio-based ingredients using agricultural waste and plant-based products for the consumer goods industry. The shampoo we use, the paints we use, the detergent we use to clean the house, are safer for people and more sustainable for the environment.”

The Flamini who scurried around the midfields of Europe — pointing, cajoling, encouraging, tackling, full-on — is approaching a subject as monumental as climate change with the same unquenchable passion.

“Some of my colleagues like to joke with me,” he says, “‘Finally, you have your first real job’.”

It all begins in the city of Marseille. Flamini was born and raised there, growing up near the seaside. His father loved the ocean and was a diver. Sometimes he took his son with him deep into the water. What does it feel like down there? “Peace. Freedom. An escape from the whole world,” Flamini says. “Diving with my father was a beautiful experience.” Even then he was aware of plastic and chemical pollution in the sea.

Former Arsenal man Mathieu Flamini has been CEO of GF Biochemicals since 2022 (Photo by Eric Piermont/AFP via Getty Images)

Flamini in the Marseille youth team and (below) picking up an award (Credit: Mathieu Flamini)

But of course, his first love was on land. Football is an obsession in Marseille, and Flamini’s zest was noticed early on. His school was right next to the club’s youth development centre and he joined them at the age of five.

“I was extremely energetic,” he recalls. “I remember my parents coming to pick me up from school and every day I jumped on a bike to go to the playground and said ‘Catch me’. Football was a way of expressing myself and getting this energy out, otherwise I probably would’ve been out of control.”

Different field, but same passion to drive change by doing things better. 🌿👷🏽#positive #impact #sustainable #chemistry #greenchemistry #biobased #chimieverte #tech #technology #innovation #plantbased pic.twitter.com/rLxyee25hE

— Mathieu flamini (@mathieuflamini) April 2, 2022

When he reached his late teens, he had a choice between football and education. He combined a law degree with representing Marseille in the first team. The university was lenient and allowed him to miss a substantial amount of classes. “But I still had to go to 25 per cent of them, and when I asked Marseille if I could move some of the training to go to the classes they asked me to make my choice. Actually, it was simple,” he says, laughing.

He was the only one from his year group to make it as a pro. “It’s rare that someone starts from the age of five and goes all the way to the first team,” he says. “When OM play, people who can’t afford to buy food go to see the game. It is one of the pillars of the city of Marseille. I grew up in that culture, with that feeling, and being able to play for Marseille is a pride I carried with me every single day of my teenage life.”

There was some surprise, then, that he moved on at a young age, rejecting Marseille’s contract offer and instead joining Arsenal at the age of 20. The French club were not pleased. Flamini felt it was something he had to do.

“I was playing defensive midfield and they bought another player from Bordeaux and I didn’t feel like a priority there,” he says. “When I met with Arsene (Wenger), he made me feel like I was one of his priorities. It was time for me to leave. On one side I was pushed out and, on the other side, I had the pull of the opportunity presented by Arsene. Arsenal at the time was very French with a lot of players there in the national team. It was a big club on the European scene.”

His fellow Frenchman and former Arsenal team-mate Robert Pires remembers Flamini as being “very smart” and tells The Athletic: “In the locker room, he would speak up to say, especially, what was wrong on the field. He likes to talk with everyone. He is a good team-mate, Mat. As they say: you can go to war with him. And it was quite visible that he was already thinking about his future.”

Flamini, right, with Robert Pires and Thierry Henry in 2004 (Photo: Adrian Dennis via Getty Images)

At Arsenal, Flamini discovered something that chimes with one of his key principles: surround yourself with good people. Find your clan. It is what he calls his “wolf pack” and his was a young, skilful midfield quartet formed with Cesc Fabregas, Alexander Hleb and Tomas Rosicky. “We were super close, both on and off the pitch. This was our wolf pack. We took care of each other, we looked after each other, we protected each other in a midfield which was very technical but also very offensive. My job was to play further back and make sure everybody was protected.”

Flamini talks with rapid intensity. The only time he pauses is to reflect on the time that team relished a title charge, only to fall painfully. In some ways, 2007-08 was not unlike the situation Arsenal are in now: a young team riding the crest of a wave. They were top of the league with 10 games to go. It hit the rocks when Eduardo, their prolific scorer, had his leg badly broken in a game at Birmingham City.

“It was a very emotional year,” Flamini recalls. “We were a young team in every way. We were all very close to each other and we grew up together as men, as human beings. We had a very strong lead that year in the Premier League, and in the Champions League won memorably (2-0) at (AC) Milan and then went to Liverpool.

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— Mathieu flamini (@mathieuflamini) September 19, 2020

“I remember it like it was yesterday. I got injured in Liverpool. I twisted my ankle, and we lost the game right at the end because of a bit of naivety. Inexperience cost us in the Champions League and in the Premier League. I remember this game in Birmingham; the terrible injury of Eduardo shocked all of us. I don’t believe in excuses: it is our fault we lost out that year, but it was a very emotional time which had an impact on us.”

He is keenly watching the current team in their quest at the top of the table. “I strongly believe they can do it,” he says. “Looking at how focused the team is, how strongly they are approaching every game, it gives me the confidence that they have the quality and mentality to make it happen.

“We still have eight games ahead and focusing game by game is very important. They have managed to bring everybody in around the team — the fans, ex-players, everyone — and the support is total. Everyone is together in this journey and if they can do it, they will make us all so proud and happy.”

Flamini left Arsenal for Milan on a Bosman (free transfer). He was headstrong enough to do things for his benefit, but there was a sentimental reason behind his desire to go to Serie A. His father is from just outside Rome and the Italian heartbeat of the family is strong.

“I always wanted to play in Italy,” he says. “When I had the opportunity to go there, I thought I would grow as a player and as a human being. I would go to Italy where we have roots, so it was a way of discovering myself to go back to my origins.

“People at Arsenal said, ‘But why did you leave?’. I joined a team with three Ballon d’Or winners: (Andriy) Shevchenko, Kaka, Ronaldinho; I played with people like (Paolo) Maldini, (Clarence) Seedorf, (Andrea) Pirlo, (Filippo) Inzaghi. The manager was Carlo Ancelotti, one of the most titled managers. When I moved to Arsenal I met incredible players like (Dennis) Bergkamp, Sol Campbell, (Patrick) Vieira, (Thierry) Henry, with Arsene Wenger. But moving to Milan offered another opportunity for learning. Myself and (Alexandre) Pato were among the youngest in Milan. Most of them were 30-plus and football legends.

“Walking into the dressing room was exciting. I was struck by their humility. I remember arriving and Paolo was sitting next to me. He gave me his number and said ‘If you need anything, you call me’. The humility and kindness of those champions struck me the most. To be a football legend and also be so humble, so open, and act with such simplicity taught me a lot. It was a learning experience every day.”

Flamini with Ronaldinho while playing for Milan in 2008 (Photo: Giuseppe Cacace/AFP via Getty Images)

He noticed many of the older players were entrepreneurs thinking of scenarios outside of football. Kakha Kaladze went into politics. Seedorf was business-driven. “It put something in my mind,” Flamini says.

After five years in Milan, during which he won the Scudetto in 2010-11, he got in touch with Wenger. The Arsenal manager tended to keep an open door to former players who needed fitness for one reason or another. Flamini hoped to sharpen up with a view to finding a new club.

Wenger was not usually keen to re-sign former players but occasionally made an exception. Flamini credits Wenger as a major influence on his life. “Obviously he is someone who has shaped my way of thinking and my way of being. He was for me a bit of a father figure.”

Flamini’s return to Arsenal was made official in 2013. “I like to say it was unfinished business,” he says. “It was the right time. It was great for both of us. It was great for me to go back and join a team I love very much. It was also the right thing for Arsene to bring some experience and some passion into midfield.” He was part of the squad that won two FA Cups in 2014 and 2015 and was a cult figure among fans for his tendency to excel against Tottenham Hotspur.

Meanwhile, GF Biochemicals was growing.

Flamini cares deeply about climate change, spreading the message, and getting on with it as soon as humanly possible. “When you see Greta Thunberg bringing a generation of kids onto the streets, I feel I have this responsibility towards the next generation. We created the problem. We have to be part of the solution.

“What are we going to say to our kids? I meet people every day who are trying to be part of the solution, part of the ecosystem of people bringing innovation to try to make the future a better place. I’m excited about that; to be part of those people I call believers.”

Flamini is also incredibly driven. Not many footballers have become a CEO in a completely new sphere.

Words cannot express the emotion you feel when you witness climate change first hand. The Arctic is at the forefront of the warming and I’m astounded at the lack of commitment to halt and hopefully reverse this phenomenon. #ClimateChange @wef #greenland19 pic.twitter.com/ymdjyRkv1l

— Mathieu flamini (@mathieuflamini) May 28, 2019

“What I miss the most from football is not actually playing, it’s more the dressing room. The camaraderie. That connection. It’s total dedication to the team. I always enjoyed sacrificing for the team. Ultimately, you spend more time with your team-mates than your family. What I miss most is the wolf pack.

“So in a way, you try to re-create it in your new life. Here my challenge is different — changing an industry. Every day I have some fights, problems to resolve. It’s a different challenge but it’s the same mindset and the same dedication. It’s also a lot of pressure. So I’ve transferred all this energy from one fight to another. I’m trying to recreate the wolf pack within this ecosystem.

“I’m very lucky to be part of this movement of people trying to drive change and create more sustainability. They’re brilliant people — creative and scientific — making a difference in the plastic industry or protecting the Amazon. They are my wolf pack. When I see one of them, it’s super exciting.”

But he has not totally left football behind. He is wondering about how to harness the power of football and its influence to help to push for more change. “Football is the No 1 sport, it is driving so much attention, the hot issues of this world should also be on the agenda of the governing bodies,” he says.

Then there is the idea of one day bringing his expertise as a business leader to football. “It’s a world that I belong to. If there is the right opportunity at the right time and the right discussion, if I meet people who share the same vision and mindset and desire to use football for a purpose, I would love to.”

Some Arsenal supporters at certain times have asked him to buy the club. He retains affection for OM, Arsenal and AC Milan. “Obviously those clubs have a special place in my heart,” he says. “I never forget where I come from. In life, you never know but it’s all about the right opportunity. I’m a real believer in the right time, right place, right people.

“We’ll see what the future is made of. I’m a believer. If you want something very much, the universe usually brings it to you. Let’s see what the universe will bring.”

[olkagretcher]

gretcher family profiles

spoilers ahead from devil’s garden…!!!

“the gretcher crime family have managed ostania’s underworld in an honorable fashion.”

—

character profiles:

—

gram gretcher

head of the gretcher family. husband to abigail and father to paul, otto, and olka. 

hair color: black

height: 5′9 - 6′1

appearance: black hair, slim + built figure + tattoos 

---

facts: 

- may be a gangster, but he’s stem smart 

—

abigail gretcher

hair color: dark brown

height: 5′6

---

facts:

- more of a gangster compared to her husband

- comes from a conservative eden family who got put in an arranged marriage with yohan

- hated Yohan at first because he was a mama’s boy (bad type of mamas boy + suck up)

- smokes, cuts classes, hangs out with gangsters and people that goes against the conservative ideals her family stands for and her father wasn't happy (hence she got kicked out)

- has more influence and power than her whole family combined

- has seven bolts and one star during her time at eden

- actually smart! doesn’t bother to try cause during her time in eden, the education system was fucked up and more conservative propaganda during that time

- street smart 

—

paul gretcher

hair color: black

height: 5′9

---

facts:

- likes horse riding (equestrian)

- part of the mathematics, debate team 

- likes to play chess during his free time  

- part of eden college’s football team (co-captain)

—

otto gretcher

hair color: dark brown

height: 5′7

---

facts:

- doesn’t know how to utilize his time

- creative boy (artist, oil painter)

- part of the artist program

- knows hot to fight (he even recreates the fight styles he used during the gang wars in oil painting to store it fresh in his memory)

—

olka gretcher

hair color: black

height: 5′4 - 5′5

---

facts:

- part of cheer team 

- can and will win a school fight

devil’s garden gretcher family facts:

- the entire family knows/at least has some knowledge on how to play the piano because of gail

- gail is a year younger than gram (1-year age difference)

[masterobiwan279]

The Ball

Summary: This was inspired by the ball scene in Labyrinth.

Pairings: Morpheus x Fem!Reader

Dream of the Endless, King of dreams and nightmares, Kai’ckul, Morpheus. The titles he had held for eons hung at the tips of his fingers like a master puppeteer. For a long time he had grown rather fondly of humanity, they had their moments within his long life that he reflected on their kindness.

In the waters of dreaming he often found himself lazily walking through the dreams and nightmares of said humans. He would pass amongst the shadows always watching, he was particularly interested in some of the children he would come upon. Their simplicity in their most inner wanting’s always brought a sense of clarity. Granted he had never shown himself to any of them he would go on about slipping through crowds of people to blistering blizzards.

One day, he found himself in the dream of a woman who stood a few feet away from him watching the sunset over a bright blue sea. He watched her sigh in awe at the beauty he had created, the peace and tranquility she had been craving he had delivered. With his cold exterior droving in waves to anyone who comes close to him he has brought much joy to the humans he was waiting of. He brought hope to those that had longed it in the waking moment even for a moment but they received their salvation.

The woman took a few steps closer to the water and he observed the way her foot would dip then quickly shift back up then plunge back in. As he stood there marveling at the sight a soft melody had been carried by a soft breeze, the King of Dreams craned his neck upward in search for the sound. He stepped away from the sand back into the clear waters of the dreaming when he heard it once more.

“ there’s such a sad love

Deep in your eyes a kind of pale jewel”

He turned back and followed the melody for a few more steps until he came across the border of a dream except it was, different.

“ there’s such a fooled heart

Beatin’ so fast

In search of new dreams “

As he entered the scenery he found himself in had transported him to a different time. The ballroom was the size of an entire human football field filled with hundreds of men and women. Their ballgowns were overflowing with dark colors, their features covered by demonic looking masks. Grand arches coveted the ceiling along with twinkling balls of diamonds, the air filled with glittering bubbles. The walls adorned with oil paintings of various disasters or horrid creatures.

He wasn’t sure if this was a dream or a nightmare but it had piqued his interest and so with his sand he materialized his own mask. The dance floor circled around with couples who giggled almost maniacally but the music continued to flow over them. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for as he avoided the strangers around him but he sure didn’t expect you.

You were surrounded by those dreaming creatures who laughed and shouted at you. Morpheus scanned you from the top of your head to the bottom of your white and silver dress. The corset was etched with silver intricate carvings depicting an epic battle and then it flowed out in beautiful white waves. White roses carefully sowed onto your hem and your dark hair filled with flowers and jewels that seemed to sparkle. Your eyelids covered in starlike powder and your lips as red as blood red rubies.

The dream lords breath had hitched momentarily as you locked your teary eyes with the ice blue of his own. You who were on the verge of tears lept from where you stood and began your descent into his arms. He swept you away into the dancing crowd holding your gaze as you twirled every which way. Your body filled with a warmth you had never felt before, his eyes raked over you with such intensity it felt as if you would fall through the floor at any moment.

“Wasn’t too much fun at all

But I’ll be there for you-ou-ou

As the world falls down”

The music began to grow louder the closer they both of you got, his chest touched yours and his icy breath fanned across your skin. His fingers slowly traveled up from your waist to the bare of your back, you gasped lightly gripping his hand as he ran feathering touches. The entire ordeal felt unreal, this man who clung to you and spun you around and certainly had the cosmos in his eyes could not possibly be real.

Yet as leaned forward brushing his lips against your cheek did you feel the sensation of where he kissed you tingle with anticipation. He held you now having stopped completely in the middle of the dance floor but none paid you any mind. You could feel his hands wonder down to your waist and up your bare arms.

“This—this can’t—you can’t be real.” You could hear your voice quiver and cursed yourself mentally for stopping his movements, “I—“

“It does not matter.” His voice sent shivers up your spine, you could feel the little hairs in the back of your neck stand at attention, it melted you from the inside and poured its molten honey between your legs, “If this is real or not has no meaning only what we do now.”

The man’s lips were impossibly close and at this point you wished you could see the rest of his features but his dark mask only allowed for his perfect lips and dark eyes. His hair black as coal stuck from every direction but you paid no matter to it, you found yourself liking the way it looked and imagined yourself running your hands through it.

You felt your eyes flutter shut as your lips finally touched, your body felt on fire, it’s as if the universe itself had waited for this moment. His hands tightened their hold on you bringing you impossibly closer. Your lips meshed perfectly moving in sync and you allowed yourself to grip at the root of his hair rather harshly. He tensed for a moment before he—

“Good morning Vietnam!” You gasp loudly flinching upwards in bed, the sound of music no longer greeted you but only a confused roommate, “You okay? I didn’t mean to scare you.” She held a small cupcake in her hand and a make shift hat with the words ‘Happy B Day’ messily sprawled across it.

“I—,” your mouth opened slightly on the verge of asking where the ball went or if she had seen that masked stranger and at the thought of him it was as if you could feel his lips against yours all over again. The urge of wanting to see him seeped deep within your bones but you stilled once more, cleared your throat and smiled, “It was just a dream.”

[fizzyxcustard]

Covert Eyes (2)

Prologue | Chapter 1 |

Fandom: Spooks

Pairings: Lucas North x OC (Amy Holland) eventually

Warnings: Stalking behaviour, anxiety, language

Summary: Lucas takes notice of a young woman, Amy, but his obsession and want to get to know her begin to spiral out of control. In the previous chapter, Lucas, after stalking her Facebook profile, finds out that Amy is going on a date. Now that he has the location and time, he is adamant to watch every moment of it.

Comments/Notes: If you wish to be tagged in any of my tag lists for fics or characters, please let me know, and stipulate what you want to be tagged in. The above image was located on Pinterest, with no link back to the original source.

For non-UK folk: Wetherspoons are a chain of pubs here in the UK. Dairy Milk (as you'd probably guessed) is a chocolate made by Cadbury's.

Lucas remained at the end of the street as he watched Amy leave her building and walk off down the street. She fiddled with a shoulder bag a couple of times. Nerves, maybe? Lucas had noticed that about her; she had a habit of fiddling with things when she was nervous, a soothing distraction no doubt. Some people tapped their feet or hands, others hummed, Amy fiddled.

It was a chilly evening, mid-February and a thin cloud cover was overhead. Lucas pulled his thick jacket in around himself and continued walking, until Amy stopped at a pedestrian crossing. He remained around three hundred yards behind, his head lowered just in case she turned around.

Amy waited for the beep, allowing her to cross, and then continued on her way. Lucas jogged a little towards the crossing, keeping her in sight, but didn’t cross this time. He waited for the next cycle and pressed the crossing button. The street was fairly long, so he could keep Amy in sight. Her figure became smaller, as if she were dissolving into the darkness of the evening. Finally, the crossing beeped, and he dashed across.

Like most nights, the pub was busy. A football match was playing on a huge screen to the one side of the bar, and then to the other side were dozens of tables, the majority of them taken by groups and couples. It was a sensory overload as Lucas stepped inside; loud cheering as a local team scored a goal, warm air greeting him from the cold, the smell of various foods, alcohol and coffee, dim lighting. Wetherspoons were always dim, Lucas mused.

Amy spotted her date, and approached nervously.

Lucas took a seat as a couple got up and left. He was right by a large window, giving a view of the street outside. Smokers poured out of the pub and lit up during half time of the footy match. All Lucas could see in the hands of the folk outside was cigarettes and vape devices. A few staggered a little, but were cheerful enough.

Back to Amy, Lucas told himself. The guy sat opposite her, who had hugged her awkwardly, was very similar to her ex. Tall, thin, nothing outstanding or of notice. This guy had a crooked nose and almost sunken features. The main question in Lucas’ mind was, what has he got that I haven’t?

Amy rubbed her hands down her thighs, soothing herself. The guy before her was not quite what she was expecting. He seemed thinner in person, and he seemed to be watching her a little too closely for her liking. A gut feeling started to stir. However, they were only five minutes in. Amy decided to ignore the feeling and just continue on.

Jonathan smiled, showing a broken tooth in the centre of his top row of teeth.

I’m sure he’s very nice. Amy thought. I’m being a bit judgemental of him. I’m not exactly an oil painting either.

The conversation was stilted at first, both of them nervous. But gradually they eased into a discussion about Game of Thrones. It seemed to be a topic that most people had some kind of opinion on, even if they hadn’t seen it.

Lucas noticed Jonathan’s hand begin creeping across the table, and then Amy’s retract back to her lap. Good girl, he thought. You deserve so much more than this guy.

Food came. Was consumed. More conversation.

But Lucas couldn’t deny the fact that Amy was very nervous. Her hands were everywhere; in her hair, fiddling with the hem of her blouse under the table, tracing a circle around the base of her cider glass. She was not comfortable in the slightest.

After their plates had been taken away, Lucas watched Jonathan get up and head to the bar, sifting through the sea of bodies who were waiting for another pint now that the footy had finished. Lucas followed, intent on finding out more about this man. He stood behind Jonathan in the queue for the bar and studied the debit card that came out his wallet. Lucas cocked his head to the side, trying to get a better look at the name embossed in silver on the plastic. Jonathan Simmons. Barclays Bank.

Once Lucas had the man’s name, he looked back to see Amy get up out of her seat, handbag in hand and walk briskly out of the pub. She kept watching Jonathan, her eyes darting back and forth. However, she suddenly noticed Lucas. She smiled, the expression only just about hitting her eyes. There seemed to be some genuine happiness to see him, but the awkwardness of her exit made her continue walking.

Lucas, of course, abandoned the queue and followed Amy outside.

“I’ve got to keep walking,” she said, her voice becoming a little breathless.

“Are you okay?” Lucas asked, his long stride easily keeping up with her smaller one. “Has something happened?”

Amy ran around a corner and then dashed into a shop, heading up to the fridges at the back of the room. “I’m sorry,” she replied, breathing hard. “That was fucking awkward. No way am I seeing that man again.”

Lucas smirked. “Oh, so you’ve been on a date? Did he at least pay?”

“That he did. And then expected me to go back to his flat for some, and I quote, ‘filthy dessert’. I knew there was something off about him.” A passion had been ignited in Amy, a defence and anger. Then she looked up at him, and smiled. It reached her eyes fully this time. “But I never expected to bump into you. Were you on a date as well?”

“Only with myself. Not much luck in that department, I’m afraid.”

“Pfft,” Amy scoffed. “Come on, Lucas. You’re definitely easier on the eyes than that creep.” And as she spoke, Amy stiffened. “I’m sorry….” That awkwardness was descending on her again.

That little peek at Amy’s true inner world had pulled at Lucas. He wanted more of it. She was hiding so much, but for what reason? Why was she choosing to entertain the idea of going on dates with sub-par men?

You’ve been broken, Lucas mused. But not beyond repair. There’s nothing in you which I can’t fix. I’ll show you.

“Come on, I’ll walk you home,” Lucas proposed.

“I’m going to grab some chocolate first,” Amy giggled. “I just really fancy some. Maybe some Dairy Milk. Do you want anything?”

Lucas couldn’t help but laugh at her. She bent down to the lower shelves and began studying the chocolate bars. Much to his delight, he could hear her talking to herself. He watched her small hands pick out two bars of Dairy Milk.

“Please don’t tell me you don’t like chocolate or you’re vegan,” Amy groaned.

“No, I like chocolate,” Lucas grinned.

“Good. Just keep a look out to make sure that prick isn’t following us.”

The walk back to Amy’s flat was slow, but she finally felt safe. There was something about Lucas that made her feel like she was protected; he had that aura about him, a protector and a shield. “You know,” she began, with a mouth full of chocolate, “we see each other most mornings, but I don’t think I know anything about you apart from your name.”

“What would you like to know?”

“Where do you work? What are your hobbies? Where are you from, because I don’t think you’re a true Londoner? There’s something about you, and your accent isn’t quite the same as most people who are native Londoners.”

Lucas looked down and smiled, noticing that she was just as inquisitive as him. “I work for the police,” Lucas said. “Mainly desk work, and I’m originally from Leeds. I moved down here about ten years ago now with my ex-wife.” The story that he gave most people when asked about his background rolled off his tongue now without much effort.

“You were married?” Amy was shocked. Why, she didn’t quite know. The face he worked for the police made perfect sense with his ‘protector’ demeanour.

“Yeah, and we just drifted apart. Typical reason for divorce, I suppose. And paired with the fact that trying for children put strain on our marriage.”

“I’m sorry,” Amy said. She looked up at Lucas, being about a foot shorter. “Really, I am. I know so many people will say they’re sorry and not really mean it. But, I always try to actually say what I mean and not come across fake. The number of times I’ve had people tell me they’re sorry and there’s no movement in their face. You know it’s all shit. Relationships are never easy.”

“You sound like you’re talking from experience.” Lucas bit off a piece of chocolate and continued eating.

“I am. I was engaged for quite a while. And…well, he fell out of love with me, so he says. I don’t think he was ever actually in love with me.”

It was then that they arrived at Amy’s building.

“Maybe that was a bit too much information,” she said, looking down sadly. “Will you be at the coffee shop tomorrow?”

“Aren’t I always?” Lucas replied with a disappointed smile. He had been hoping that maybe she would invite him inside now that she seemed to be opening up a little more. One step at a time. One step at a time. The next thing to happen caught Lucas completely off guard. Amy brushed his arm, and then wished him good night.

“Good night, love,” Lucas replied. “I hope prick doesn’t give you any bother. Do you want to take my number just in case?”

Amy began to rummage in her bag and pulled out her notebook and a pen. “If you write it down then I’ll text you shortly and you’ll have mine as well.”

***

After getting back to his flat, Lucas had only had to wait ten minutes before Amy had text him.

Hello, stranger. Guess who?

Lucas smiled at his phone and then replied:

Dunno. Could you maybe give me three guesses?

Amy replied:

Who were you hoping for?

This time Lucas replied with a brutal honest answer:

You

Everything so far that Lucas had been telling Amy was bullshit, but not that last response.

Lucas sat up late that night, again studying Facebook. He found Jonathan Simmons. A bare profile apart from a couple of photos of him with a room full of other men drinking, posing with their hands in the rocker sign. Such a good catch, Aim. Why did you consider meeting this arsehole? Nothing about the man showed him to have any substance, and that was what Amy needed. She needed a man who would be as deep as her, so they could be completely submerged together.

A street away and Amy lay awake, smiling at the last response from Lucas. You. The first thing she had done was block Jonathan on Tinder and over text messages, and then she focused her attention on Lucas. He was the one who made her body react in unpredictable ways, some of which she had never felt before.

Surely he’s just being polite and slightly flirty. It’s probably part of his personality, and not because he actually likes you. Come on, if Adam couldn’t love you, then someone like Lucas isn’t going to. He’s leagues above Adam, so you’ve got no chance. Don’t delude yourself into thinking there’s some chance. Lucas is just a gentleman who wants to make sure you’re safe. He’s a policeman, after all.

Those words in her mind brought Amy to tears and she threw her phone on the bedside table.

***

Follow Forever: @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @middleearthpixie @xxbyimm @meganlpie @linasofia @knitastically @sketch-and-write-lover @msjava1972 @guardianofrivendell @lilacpulse @asgardianhobbit98 @spidergirla5

Richard Armitage tag list: @cryptichobbit @eunoiaastralwings

[1kook]

commercial break; SEVEN

this is part of my netflix & chill series ! happens a few months before part 7 

summary; And lastly, Jungkook will bring it full circle by indulging you two in some good old fashion spooky sex where he nuts inside you because the only thing scarier than a scary movie is a pregnancy scare. It’s a perfect plan.  warnings; horny jk, jk wants to roleplay... everyone point n laugh, mentions of his impreg kink lol, making out, tits, honestly jk is just very horny n in love lol, jk in a vampire costume w fangs O_o rating; mature (18+) wc; 2k

notes; if u don’t know who lindsay is first of all ur sick, second of all here’s my queen’s top moments. also i just gotta say, this was originally gonna be a larger fic (a halloween special) for my ncouple, but i got a lil busy with school n ultimately didn't have time to invest in this as a whole installment so..... enjoy this commercial break instead!!

Jungkook loves Halloween.

He loves the pumpkin carving and the decorating. Loves the spooky music and the abundance of candy. He loves it, absolutely adores it, and for the second year in a row, he gets to spend it with you! Yet another person he loves very much.

He doesn’t remember ever being this excited for Halloween. Last year, you had roped him into going to some frat party with him, had egged him on, begged so cutely that it was your last year in college, baby until he caved. The two of you had spent the night drinking until you blacked out, Ubering home with your costumes half on, and then unceremoniously fucking in his living room with the blinds wide open.

(The next neighborhood meeting had been very awkward for Jungkook.)

It was his first time ever drinking with you like that, and he vaguely remembers, through his own drunken gaze, how cool you had been. Had absolutely owned a bunch of greasy football players at beer pong in your little sexy nurse costume. And when the crowd cheered your name, shrieked in awe, it had been him that you turned to for praise. “Did you see me, baby,” you had giggled, crowded him against the wall of this random house until Jungkook was sweating profusely. In lieu of a costume, he had worn a silly jogger set with a skeleton design that was supposed to glow in the dark, according to Amazon. You had told him he looked adorable, had kissed and squeezed his cheeks until Jungkook was a flustered mess.

It was still early into your relationship— if Jungkook did the math, you were only about five months in at that point —so he didn’t know how else to cope with the rapid thundering of his heart, the confession sitting on his tongue, the then scary L-word begging to be heard. So, he took you home and fucked you until your little nurse cap slid off your head and you were begging for him to let you cum, thus earning him his first ever offense for violating the neighborhood rules (i.e., traumatizing a group of middle schoolers by fucking in plain sight).

Long story short, Jungkook loves Halloween, and he loves it even more when he gets to spend it with you.

(He’ll never admit it, but he’s a hard romantic. He wants to do cheesy things with you, like cuddle you into his arms when you get scared, pat your head until you can look at whatever is happening on screen again. He wants you to feel safe in his arms, wants to be your refuge when things become too much. He likes to think he’s done a pretty good job so far.)

Jungkook’s plan goes like this:

First, welcome you with that Halloween basket you’ve been sending him tweet links about all month. The cute little Jack-O-lantern candy bucket stuffed with candy and hair ties and a soft Halloween themed blanket. It’s so cheesy, makes him blush when he catches sight of it in his closet, but Jungkook will do anything to please you.

Next, after presenting you with your Halloween gift and having you coo and tell him he’s a good boy, he’ll invite you to break your new soft blanket in. The living room will be prepared with an assortment of your favorite foods, the flat screen ready to play whatever horror movie the two of you settle on.

And lastly, Jungkook will bring it full circle by indulging you two in some good old fashion spooky sex where he nuts inside you because the only thing scarier than a scary movie is a pregnancy scare.

It’s a perfect plan.

It’s the best way to spend his favorite holiday, with his favorite girl by his side and some of his favorite horror films on the big screen. Jungkook spends all of October geeked up for it, even considers hanging up lights around the living room to really set the mood. He’s so excited, can’t wait to spend another wonderful holiday at home with you, that he doesn’t fully realize why you haven’t brought up the long awaited topic of costumes.

“You like?” you ask, standing at the door of his bathroom with a sultry look in your eye, tits practically pouring out of the tight top you’ve wiggled into, skin oiled up scandalously. He fumbles with the fake vampire fang prosthetics he’d been trying to glue in for the better half of an hour.

He had heard the door open downstairs when you got here, had called out his mandatory greeting as he heard you come up the stairs. But none of that had prepared him for the sight of you in… whatever this was.

Jungkook doesn’t really understand exactly what you’re supposed to be dressed up as until the two of you are back downstairs—blinds drawn, full moon slipping in through the cracks—with some random horror movie pulled up on the TV. “I’m Lindsey,” you whine, brand new fluffy blanket wrapped around your shoulders. It shields your boobs from view, but he’s not sure if that’s a win or a loss. “From Total Drama Island!”

He settles in beside you, doesn’t get too comfortable because it’s nearing sundown now and he knows the herds of children are bound to start flowing in. “Uh huh,” he says mindlessly. His collar feels itchy, the overly-detailed vampire costume he meticulously scoured the internet for being one size too small. You snuggle into his side anyway.

“You don’t know anything about cinematic masterpieces,” you frown, avidly tuned into The Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning, because apparently you love horror movies all of a sudden, a fact that genuinely throws Jungkook off. He’s not sure what it is about you that had deluded him into thinking you would be a scaredy cat, but he doesn’t take the new bit of information too hard.

The doorbell rings right as the first gorey scene ends and you make a big show of huffing and whining as he rushes to answer it. But it’s only the beginning of the long night that awaits, and, as Jungkook comes to find, running back and forth from the door to the couch is harder than it seems.

Anyway, Jungkook’s neighborhood is a little posh, or ‘bougie’ as you like to claim, and trick-or-treating hours end a little before eleven pm. By then he’s tired, having refused your offer to switch places in fear that your boob might fall out of that scrap of fabric you call a top and earn him his second neighborly offense.

However, that doesn’t mean he’s opposed to your boobs falling out in private.

“Stupid,” you giggle when he gets caught in his long cape, the sound slowly melting into a whimper as he slips his hands beneath your top, fighting with the ridiculous push-up bra you’ve donned tonight. Hands tangle in his hair, mess up the careful side part he’d styled up for tonight, and legs lock around his waist. “Your curtains closed?” you tease.

He huffs, catches your chatty lips with his roughly, presses and presses until your mouth must bruise. He belatedly remembers about those sharp fangs he’d glued on—hey, if he was going to dress up as some gaudy monster it might as well be realistic—and doesn’t realize until he tries to bite your neck and you let out a little yelp. Truthfully, he feels bad right away, but then you’re practically dissolving in his arms so he plays along. “Shh,” he hisses.

The roar of a chainsaw and terrified screams fill the living room, almost drowning out the soft sounds you release by his ear. “O- Or what?” you pant, flinch when he pushes your sad excuse of a skirt up over your waist. “Gonna b- bite me?”

And so Jungkook does.

You shriek. “That hurts, you idiot!” you scold with a tiny whine in your voice, but Jungkook’s cock is so hard. Your tiny, tight outfit does you no favors. Tits in his face, tiny thong against his bulge. He wants to make you sob, litter bites and marks all over your skin until his love makes you ache. You must see the crazed look in his eyes, because you drop the scowl. “Hey,” you say slowly, hand on his chest. “You look like you’re gonna eat me.”

He lets go of a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. He wonders if you can feel his thundering heart beneath your palm. “Fuck,” he sighs, leaning away to regain his senses. Was it something in the air? Was it the fatigue? The full moon? Why did he want to fold you in half and fuck his cock into you until you were a crying, shivering mess? Something about you tonight, laid out for him to take, makes him feel absolutely insane. Starved and psycho; he just wants to take and take until you don’t have anything more to give. He purses his lips, tries to ignore the hot feeling in his lower abdomen when your hardened nipples register to his eyes. “I think I’m becoming evil.”

Of all the idiotic things his brain can come up with, this one is definitely top five. His cheeks flush right after, fueled by the boisterous laughter that escapes your lips at his statement. “Oh my god,” you gasp in glee, hands falling down beside your head. “You’re becoming evil?’

Jungkook frowns, flopping down on top of you to hide the embarrassment that paints his face. “Shut up,” he mumbles against your neck, warm and safe.

A hand cards through the back of his hair, nails dig lightly into his scalp. “Aren’t you the cutest little vampire,” you coo, seemingly ignoring the rock hard cock Jungkook presses against your thigh. He’s still so horny, has this sick thought that he could just pin you down right here, tear that silly costume to shreds and swallow you up in his lust. But your voice is so sweet, has his eyes fluttering shut as you gather him in his arms. “Silly vampire,” you hum, one leg thrown around his hip, a subtle roll of you hips up into him.

Jungkook huffs, licks a flat strip along the base of your neck. It draws a shaky exhale from you, has your hands digging into his back when he begins to slowly lap against the skin, nibble and tug until your back is deliciously arching up into him. “Wanna push you down,” he confesses quietly, hands securing themselves against your hips as he leans back. You're all dazed, eyes trained on his fanged mouth when he hesitantly adds, “l- little human.”

You could laugh, tease him for his sudden weird need to role play with you, but you don’t. A look of understanding crosses your face, sly smirk slowly following. “Oh?” you grin, hand coming around to cup his cheek. “The little vampire wants to use my body?” Jungkook tightens his jaw at your jab, but nods nonetheless.

You’re a feast before his eyes. Boobs in his face, pussy begging to be filled. You’re his, just like Jungkook is yours. And when you indulge him and his stupid whims—kinks, he should say, occasional interests that sometimes make him question himself—his heart feels warm and full. Proud and unashamed, like the truest version of himself when you look at him with those eyes. And your words only confirm it.

Your hands reach down for your top, pull the flimsy material over your head in one swoop that has your bra coming off with it. It drops to the floor. If it makes a sound, Jungkook doesn’t hear it over the shrieks of terror on screen. the blood deaths, the suspenseful music. All he hears is he hammering of his heart. 

It’s two of your sneaky fingers that come up to play, pinch one nipple tenderly as you meet his eyes. “It’s all yours,” you purr. “I’m all yours.”

And the thirst he feels, well. It’s a little vampiric, to say the least. 

—

Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[supercasey]

character head canon thing with uhhhh heisenberg and or ethan? 🥺

I don't know who you are, Anon, but I love you with all my heart <3 it's time to be self-indulgent!

Karl Heisenberg What they smell like: Gonna be honest even though I adore him; he probably doesn't smell all that great, seeing as he's around so much metal and machinery all day. His scent is a mix of oil, sweat, and whatever body spray he can get ahold of to mask those first two things. How they sleep (sleeping position, schedule, etc): Just kinda sleeps whenever/wherever he can, considering how much time he spends working on his soldats. Prefers being able to sleep on a mattress under his workbench, curled up on his left side and cocooned in as many blankets as he can get his hands on. What music they enjoy: Has really weird taste that fluctuates on a daily basis. Can go from listening to nothing but David Bowie on loop to blasting Avril Lavigne so loud that the walls vibrate. How much time they spend getting ready every morning: Not a lot. Every day he wakes up, gets some water, uses the bathroom, and then it's right back to whatever he was doing the night before. Their favorite thing to collect: Vinyl records! Since he was young (after he got some more freedom and time away from Miranda, of course), he's been keeping a stash of records from outside the village in his factory, and he frequently listens to them while working, hence his weird and varied music tastes. Left or right-handed: Left-handed! I actually think this might be canon, seeing as he primarily wields his hammer with that arm (at least from the game footage I've seen). Religion (if any): At most he's agnostic, but he has a severely nihilistic view of g-d/religion in general, so it might be safer to call him an atheist. Favorite sport: If he ever got the chance to watch live TV, I don't think he'd be too into modern day sports. That is, until he sees an episode of Battlebots; after that, he'd be begging Ethan to help him sign up to compete with his own bot! Favorite touristy thing to do when traveling (museums, local food, sightseeing, etc): He's gonna be doing fucking everything once he has a chance to leave the village. Catch him going to every restaurant he can, taking a billion pictures, and just oo-ing and ah-ing at everything he sees. Would probably like museums the most! Favorite kind of weather: Loves it when it rains, especially when there's thunder to go along with it! Hates getting wet, though. A weird/obscure fear they have: Nyctophobia, the fear of the dark/nighttime. I HC that he was locked in dark rooms by Miranda a lot as a kid- both as punishment and to "help" calm him down while he was trying to cope with his powers- and unfortunately the trauma of that experience has followed him into adulthood. He can sleep with the lights off sometimes, but he'd much rather sleep with at least a few candles lit. The carnival/arcade game they always win without fail: Kicks ass at any game that he can get away with using his powers for. Other than that, he's pretty good at guessing games.

Ethan What they smell like: Smells like a mix of cedar scented cologne and fresh lavender; the dude takes good care of his hygiene, and likes to look/smell nice whenever he can. How they sleep (sleeping position, schedule, etc): Before the Baker incident, he used to sleep all sprawled out on his bed, but afterwards he started clutching to Mia in his sleep, as if he's scared that she'll be taken away from him again if he doesn't protect her. What music they enjoy: Listens to a lot of indie and country, his favorite artists being Modest Mouse, Lil Nas X, and CHVRCHES. How much time they spend getting ready every morning: Quite a bit of time, especially if he has to go to work. Likes to get up extremely early, do a quick workout, shower, eat a full and hearty breakfast, get dressed, comb his hair, brush his teeth, and then put on some cologne as he's heading out the door. He more or less has his mornings down to a science at this point. Their favorite thing to collect: He has a few collections, his main ones being stamps, books, and paintings that he finds at thrift stores. He's weird, okay!? Left or right-handed: Right handed! If he was left, I feel like the games would be so much harder for the poor dude 😅 Religion (if any): Grew up in a fairly devoted Catholic household, but he's since come to identify as an atheist, especially after the Baker incident. ((Ethan, pointing at Jack Baker mid-fight: You look in a mirror and tell me there's a g-d.)) Favorite sport: Somehow finds cricket, of all things, entertaining. Besides that, he often watches baseball and football when games for his home/current state are on. Favorite touristy thing to do when traveling (museums, local food, sightseeing, etc): He's the kind of person that takes one million photos of his wife and daughter but none of himself, save for when he's posing in a dumb way in front of a famous monument. Favorite kind of weather: Snow! He grew up in Texas, so whenever it snows, he's immediately outside and trying to build a snowman, even if there's next to nothing on the ground yet. A weird/obscure fear they have: Ophidiophobia, the fear of snakes. Thankfully he hasn't had to deal with them very often, but the centipedes on the Baker plantation nearly made him faint a few times. The carnival/arcade game they always win without fail: He sucks so bad at most of them, but since he got some military training, he's gotten much better at any games that involve hitting a target. Still loses a lot, though 😔

Thanks so much for the ask, Anon, this was so much fun to do!