#fluid artist focus

[lxndonorris]

Chocolate- Charles Leclerc

Y/N x Charles Leclerc Theme: Smutish, Teasing, light touching Charles is your best friend and you're joining him in Australia. However, Pierre pranks the two of you with some spicy chocolate x word count: 1930+ taglist: @game-set-canet mentions of Pierre :P requested by anon :) feel free to request in my askbox gif by me

The scorching Australian sun beats down on the bustling Melbourne Grand Prix Circuit, where the roar of Formula 1 engines fills the air. Among the throngs of racing enthusiasts, you stand nervously, your heart pounding with excitement. Charles, your best friend and Ferrari's star driver, invited you to spend the weekend with him at the track, a dream come true for any racing fan.

As you stand inside the Ferrari garage, Charles flashes you a mischievous grin. "Ready to cheer for me?" he asks, his eyes sparkling brightly. 

"Absolutely," you reply, barely able to contain a giggle. "I can't thank you enough for this opportunity, Charles." 

"That's what friends are for, right?" He says, running a hand across his chest to button up his racing suit, getting ready to jump into his race car.

He zooms out of the garage and onto the track, while you watch the screen with a mix of excitement and nervousness. To calm your nerves, you brought yourself some chocolate from Charles' motorhome. He told you he got them from Pierre earlier today, and both of you enjoyed a bar before this training session—it tastes so good.

As you wait for Charles to finish his last training session for the weekend, the anticipation bubbles within you, heightened by the thrill of the fast-paced racing world.

Clad in his Ferrari shirt and cap, you feel a strange sense of exhilaration coursing through your veins, mingling with the nervous excitement that pulses beneath the surface.

When Charles finally emerges from his car, his presence seems to command the entire paddock. His aura is magnetic, drawing you in with an irresistible force. In one swift motion, his helmet and balaclava come off, revealing a face flushed with exhilaration. 

He exchanges a few words with his mechanics, his focus on the training still evident in his demeanor. But then, as if drawn by an invisible force, his gaze finds yours.

His expression softens slightly as he runs a hand across his chest firmly, stroking himself through his racing suit. Charles licks his lips before turning his attention back to the conversation.

A tingling sensation erupts in your belly, sending shivers down your spine when he approaches you. As Charles closes the distance between you, palpable energy seems to radiate from him, his every movement infused with a magnetic charm that is impossible to resist. Time seems to slow down; everything around you is out of focus; just Charles remains the center of attention.

A confident swagger in his step, he exudes waves of effortless allure, seemingly pulling everyone's eyes on him. With casual grace, he runs a hand through his tousled hair, the strands falling back into place with practiced ease.

His touch lingers on his beard, his fingers tracing the sharp lines of his jawline before trailing down to his chest, where they linger for a moment longer.

You can't tear your gaze away, captivated by the sight of him and the way his features seem to be sculpted by the very hands of a divine artist. His confidence is intoxicating, drawing you in like a moth to a flame.

"How was I?" He asks, his words washing over you in a warm embrace. 

"Simply amazing." You smile as your skin heats up rapidly. Your face flushes with color, nearly as bright as your Ferrari shirt.

"Thank you; the car was so good." Charles remarks with a coy smile forming on his lips. "It felt amazing, like it let me do all that I wanted."

Despite your best efforts to concentrate, your attention keeps drifting, drawn inexorably to every nuance of his being. His lips move with fluid grace, forming each word with precision, and you can't help but be mesmerized by their subtle curve.

His beard, perfectly groomed yet with a hint of ruggedness, frames his jawline with an undeniable allure. As his fingers trail along it, you feel a surge of longing wash over you; the desire to reach out and touch the softness bristles alomst overwhelming.

But it is his hands that truly capture your attention—strong and calpable yet gentle in their touch. Every movement is deliberate, and each gesture imbued with a quiet confidence.

And then there are his eyes, pools of endless depth that seem to hold the entire universe within their gaze. They sparkle with warmth and mischief, drawing you in even closer.

Then, however, he leans in to whisper in your ear. "You look so good in that shirt," he breathes, his voice low and husky, sending shivers down your spine. "Almost as good as me out there on track, huh?" 

You chuckle nervously, the air crackling with tension as you struggle to keep your composure. Charles' newfound flirtatiousness is both exhilarating and unnerving, stirring emotions within you that you had never dared to acknowledge.

His hands brush over yours before he separates himself, a knowing smirk forming on his lips as his eyes roam all over you again.

One of his mechanics calls him over, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Charles has been your friend for years now, and you can't deny the attraction you feel to this beautiful man, but this comes out of nowhere.

Later, you make your way back to his motorhome. The atmosphere grows increasingly charged, thick with unspoken desire. With each step, you find yourself drawn to Charles, unable to resist the magnetic pull that draws you closer together.

Inside his quarters, the air was heavy with anticipation, the silence punctuated only by the sound of your racing hearts. The scent of his cologne is all around you as Charles moves with fluid grace, his movements mesmerizing as he sheds his racing suit.

You watch, transfixed, as he lets the upper half of his suit hang down his waist, exposing his tight fireproofs that hug his form. Like a second skin, its fabric clings to his skin, and you can't help but admire the way they accentuate every contour of his muscular physique. Despite their attempt to conceal his strength, his powerful frame is unmistakable.

With causal ease, he flexes his arms, the fabric stretching taut against the bulging muscles beneath. You gasp silently as he stretches and moves, showing off his beautiful form.

But it is when he runs a hand over himself, stroking firmly along the curves of his chest and abdomen, that you find yourself unable to tear your gaze away. The sight is hypnotic, a tantalizing display of masculinity that leaves you breathless with desire.

Caught in the act of staring, you feel a blush creep into your cheeks as Charles' eyes meet yours. But instead of embarrassment, there is a playful twinkle in his gaze.

"Like what you see?" He winks, a mischievous grin quirking the corners of his lips as he teases you with a knowing look.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to." You raise your hands slightly, but he doesn't mind you watching him.

"I don't know. I'm so horny right now." He lets out a low moan that gives you goosebumps. 

Unable to suppress the surge of desire that courses through your body, you close the distance to him, your hands trembling as they reach out to touch him.

His body is warm beneath your fingertips, eliciting a soft gasp as your boidies collide in a frenzy of longing. As your hands venture forth, a hesitant yet undeniable curiosity guiding its path, you feel warmth and a tingling sensation run through you. 

Charles stands before you, his chest rising and falling with each steady breath, the fabric of his fireproofs offering little resistance to the exploration that lies ahead.

With a tentative touch, you allow your fingers to trace the contours of his chest, feeling the firmness of his muscles beneath the thin barrier of fabric. Each ridge and curve elicits a soft gasp from you and an even softer yet guttural moan from him.

Charles breath hitches at the touch, his gaze locked with yours in a slient exchange of longing and desire. Emboldened by his response, you press your hand firmer against him, reveling in the sensation of his warmth seeping through his clothes.

His muscles ripple beneath your touch, a testament to the strength and athleticism that define him as a professional racing driver. And yet, beneath the surface, there is a vulnerability, a rawness, that speaks of the humanity within him.

"It feels so good," he growls, and places his hands on your waist, holding you close.

In the heat of the moment, you lean in, and your lips meet in a hungry kiss, the world around you fading into insignificance. But just as your passion reaches its zenith, a sudden sound shatters the intimacy of the moment.

Startled, you break apart, your gazes locking in shared disbelief as you turn to see Pierre standing behind you, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. His laughter echoes through the motorhome, mingling with the stunned silence that envelopes you.

"It looks like someone's been busy," Pierre teases, unable to contain his amusement.

Embarrassment floods through you, your cheeks burning as you struggle to find the words to explain the situation. But Charles simply chuckles, his arms wrapping around your waist in a protective gesture.

"Thanks for the chocolate, Pierre," Charles says with a wry grin, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Looks like they had quite the effect."

Confused, your gaze shifts between them, trying to make sense of the situation. Then, you notice him brandishing a box of chocolates with an impish grin. 

Pierre's grin widens, a twinkle of mischief dancing in his eyes. "My pleasure," he replies. "I must say, if I weren't taken, I'd be falling for either of you. You both look so good."

You can't help but giggle at his remarks, even though you're still slightly confused, as the warmth of embarrassment creeps into your cheeks.

"Oh, Pierre, you're naughty," Charles chimes in, his laughter joining yours. "But I suppose I can't argue with you there."

Pierre approaches you, the box of chocolates held out in offering. You accept it, and your eyes fall on it right away. 

"Spice up your life with our new aphrodisiac chocolate bars." You read to yourself and pout, "Really, Pierre?"

Pierre's hand lands on Charles' firm chest, a playful pat that elicits a low growl from him.

"Aren't you just the heartthrob of the paddock?" He teases, his hand stroking Charles' chest a few times, before Charles nudges him with his elbow.

"You're unbelievable, Pierre," he says, shaking his head with a shy smile. 

Still feeling the effect of the chocolate coursing through his veins, Charles can't resist the urge to indulge in a bit of self-admiration. With a smirk, he strokes his own chest, his movements mirroring Pierre's teasing gestures.

Sensing the playful energy in the room, you join in on the fun, nudging Pierre playfully as well. 

He giggles in response, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he returns the gesture.

"I think I should leave you to it then." Pierre licks his lips. "You can keep the chocolate." He smirks and shrugs before leaving the motorhome.

As his laughter fades away and you are left alone once more, a comfortable silence settles between Charles and yourself.

Finally, he breaks the silence, his voice soft yet filled with sincerity. "You know, it felt good to hold you close like that," he admits, his gaze meeting yours with a hint of vulnerability.

You nod, feeling a warmth spreading through you at his words. "Yeah, it did." You agree, unable to suppress the smile that tugs at the corner of your lips.

[conceptionsofconciousness]

The Nakshatra Colors

In Astrology, every Nakshatra has a color which it is associated with. The color of the Nakshatra works in two primary ways. Internally and externally. This article piece focused on the Internal.

On an internal level, the color of the Nakshatra has a psychological effect. According to color theory every hue, shade, and tone affects the spirit and consciousness. Every Nakshatra color internally takes on the psychological traits of color, integrating into the consciousness and personality.

The colors of Nakshatras internally are best applied to the Nakshatra placement of the Sun, Moon, Rahu, and Ketu. This is because all 4 of these planets relate directly to the internal consciousness.

The Traits of a Nakshatra Color brings the following traits into the inner self or personality:

Ashwini - Blood Red

Active Excitement Energy Invigoration High Metabolism Fearlessness Intensity Power Passion Fire Love Lust Arousal Affection Aggression Anger Violence Warfare Terror Survival

Bharani - Blood Red

Active Excitement Energy Invigoration High Metabolism Fearlessness Intensity Power Passion Fire Love Lust Arousal Affection Aggression Anger Violence Warfare Terror Survival

Krittika - White

Independence Youth Innocense Completeness Openness Blank Slates Possibilities Creativity Purity Virtue Cleanliness Simplicity Peace Tranquility Cleansing Efficiency Order Soothing Isolating Empty Boredom, Criticism

Rohini - White

Independence Youth Innocense Completeness Openness Blank Slates Possibilities Creativity Purity Virtue Cleanliness Simplicity Peace Tranquility Cleansing Efficiency Order Soothing Isolating Empty Boredom, Criticism

Mrigashira - Silver Grey

Fluid Sensitive Soothing Calming Restorative Reflection Intuition Clairvoyance Wealth Prestige Quiet Reserved Compromising Blending In Unemotional Indifferent Loner Isolated Depressing

Ardra - Green

Going Motion Equilibrium Balance Harmony Health Wellness Nutrition Vitamins Fitness Growth Fertility Prosperity Progress Wealth Freshness Renewal Stress Relief Relaxation, Nature Inexperienced Envy Greed Jealously

Punarvasu - Lead Grey

Intelligence Wisdom Dignity Experience Neutrality Balance Impartiality Clear Thoughts Compromising Faith Truthful Formal Modern Future Advancing Technology Protective Private Reserved Blending in Loner Isolated Background Existence

Pushya - Black Red

Black

Power Control Protection Elegance Formality Professionalism Standing Out Mystery Dramatic Enigmatic Aggression Anger Fear Anxiety Grief Despair Anxiety Sadness Evil Death Mourning Loneliness Lethargy

Red

Active Excitement Energy Invigoration High Metabolism Fearlessness Intensity Power Passion Fire Love Lust Arousal Affection Aggression Anger Violence Warfare Terror Survival

Ashlesha - Black Red

Black

Power Control Protection Elegance Formality Professionalism Standing Out Mystery Dramatic Enigmatic Aggression Anger Fear Anxiety Grief Despair Anxiety Sadness Evil Death Mourning Loneliness Lethargy

Red

Active Excitement Energy Invigoration High Metabolism Fearlessness Intensity Power Passion Fire Love Lust Arousal Affection Aggression Anger Violence Warfare Terror

Survival

Magha - Cream

Openness Seriousness Intense Respected Esteemed Admired Durability Sophistication Refinement Humility Athletic Ambitious Competitive Cautious Held Back Adversarial Sore Loser Antagonistic

Purva Phalguni - Light Brown/Tan

Natural Organic Warmth Comforting Cozy Calm Relaxed Logical Analytical Creative Artistic Security Luxury Elegance Conservative Dull

Uttara Phalguni - Bright Blue

Optimism Enthusiasm Bright Alert Peace Clam Tranquility Relaxed Meditative Zen Recharging Intelligence Concentration Focus Connection Strong Values Integrity Honesty Attractive Connection Helper Assister Rational Capable Composed Competent Precise Responsible Reliable Trustworthy Loyalty Social Cold Sad Down

Hasta - Dark Green

Bold Controlled Steadfast Conservative Edgy Fertility Drive Desire Money Materialism Hunger Indulgence Moody Oversaturated Overwhelming Flooded Overloaded Gluttony Excess Resentment Spite

Chitra - Black

Power Control Protection Elegance Formality Professionalism Standing Out Mystery Dramatic Enigmatic Aggression Anger Fear Anxiety Grief Despair Anxiety Sadness Evil Death Mourning Loneliness Letheragy

Swati - Black

Power Control Protection Elegance Formality Professionalism Standing Out Mystery Dramatic Enigmatic Aggression Anger Fear Anxiety Grief Despair Anxiety Sadness Evil Death Mourning Loneliness Letheragy

Vishakha - Gold

Optimism Positivity Charisma Passion Wisdom Understanding Enlightenment Success Knowledge Wisdom Great Understanding Triumph Achievement Reputation Wealth Quality Giving Compassionate Loving Selfishness Over-complexity

Anuradha - Reddish Brown/Maroon

Warmth Beauty Primal Emotional Passion Power Strength Determination Confidence Courage Spirited Depth Ambition Force Risk Creative Wise Spiritual Impulsive Anger

Jyestha - Cream

Openness Seriousness Intense Respected Esteemed Admired Durability Sophistication Refinement Humility Athletic Ambitious Competitive Cautious Held Back Adversarial Sore Loser Antagonistic

Mula - Bright Yellow

Happiness Positivity Cheerfulness Inspiring Illuminating Optimism Hope Promising Striking Insightful Wise Humerus Vibrant Stimulated Engaged Overpowering Intense Excessive Warning Caution Deceit Restless

Purva Ashadha - Black

Power Control Protection Elegance Formality Professionalism Standing Out Mystery Dramatic Enigmatic Aggression Anger Fear Anxiety Grief Despair Anxiety Sadness Evil Death Mourning Loneliness Lethargy

Uttara Ashadha - Copper

Down to Earth Warm Homely Wealth Comforting Impassioned Lively Energetic Strong Determined Supportive Genuine Classy Successful Accomplished Egotistical Cheeky Envy Hypocrisy Cynicism

Shravana - Light Blue

Feminine Welcoming Soft Comfortable Safe Calm Gentle Ethereal Peaceful Tranquil Soothing Refined Cultivated Stylish Approachable Concentration Focus Connection Strong Values Integrity Composed Competent Precise Responsible Reliable Trustworthy Superficial Delicate Frail Cold Sad Down

Dhanishta - Silver Grey

Fluid Sensitive Soothing Calming Restorative Reflection Intuition Clairvoyance Wealth Prestige Quiet Reserved Compromising Blending In Unemotional Indifferent Loner Isolated Depressing

Shatabhisha - Cyan/Aqua

Rational Liveliness Nature Healing Therapy Restoring Correcting Mending Remediation Stability Tranquility Clarity of Mind Emotional Balance Serenity Creativity Spirituality Dreams Fantasy Trances

Purva Bhadrapada - Silver Grey

Fluid Sensitive Soothing Calming Restorative Reflection Intuition Clairvoyance Wealth Prestige Quiet Reserved Compromising Blending In Unemotional Indifferent Loner Isolated Depressing

Uttara Bhadrapada - Purple

Power Wisdom Inspiration Creativity Imagination Fantasy Spiritual Devout Philosophical Future Minded Resourceful Selfless Humility Wealthy Luxury Nobility Extravagance Impractical Immature Arrogance Cynicism Melancholy

Revati - Brown

Sensual Sensitive Warm Comfortable Stability Reliable Secure Steadfast Natural Wholesome Dependable Structured Homely Sincere Reassuring Genuine Practical Supportive Dull Mundane Boring Predictable Inexpensive

[king-wyrmwood-art]

Kitsuneisi Art Study!

This is an art study of @kitsuneisi, using mostly references from their tumblr. I wanted to do an art study and was super excited for the new DDVAU update so woo!

I've written some notes in the margins of each drawing and would love to go more in-depth about both our styles and the general process, but this post would be so incredibly long so I'll refrain for now. (I might break it up into separate parts and turn this into a master list one day).

This first three are the base of any art study: leaning the proportions and sketching style of the artist! The first image is from @xmaruu11's first Twitch stream, which I discovered a few days in my study and watched to get a sense of Kitsuneisi's sketching style.

The main difference between our styles is that Kitsuneisi's poses are more fluid and they draw the face first, whereas my poses are stiffer and I drawn the head first.

Kitsuneisi and I use different drawing programs, so I couldn't quite make a brush that matched theirs; from looking at their Valentine's comic (which I chose so that colours wouldn't distract me), I noticed the line variation lent a lot to the fluidity.

Colour theory my beloathed! While I was laying out the colours for the Scar drawing, I noticed that the blue Kitsuneisi used was very warm-toned. In almost all of the light-hearted scenes, they use warm colours or warm-tinted colours, while the more serious scenes use darker or cooler tones.

The lighter, warmer backgrounds in the office scenes/G being a simp give a more wholesome feel, while the darker backgrounds in serious moments give a more intense atmosphere.

Now, all that's great, but it's time to put it into practice!

For my sketch, I tried to use a more dynamic pose and focus on making the face a focal point.

In my lineart, I tried to vary my line thickness.

For the flat colours, I used mostly warm tones and tried to match the colours used in the comics, but my love of cool tones took over the Mother Spore wings. I think it makes a nice contrast, at least.

And the final image! (I'll be posting it separately). The background adds a better contrast and helps Grian stand out despite how dark some of the colours are. I'm honestly very proud of this piece and hope both Kitsuneisi and Maru like it too. :)

[a-d-nox]

astro hypothesis: what your future wedding/engagement ring may look like

we have been using the 7h ruler chart in regards to the future partner as a person and anything regarding them and interacting with them. this time we are switching to the descendant persona to look at the partnership as a whole. a ring is a sociological symbol signaling to the world around you that you have a partner and are in a partnership. i would say saturn is a wedding band / ring; it's a symbol of honor and commitment as well as fidelity - its a vow of a long-term or lifelong connection. while venus is an engagement ring; its a promise of marriage inspired by the love a person has for their partner - it is usually more unique and flashy than a band. so again look at your descendant persona and the planets venus and saturn in this chart to learn about your ring(s).

venus

leo (5°, 17°, 29°) venus: features a bold and elegant design. might include eye-catching elements such as large, prominent gemstones, intricate details, or a distinctive setting. ring would be made from luxurious materials like gold, platinum, or even bespoke designs that add a touch of opulence. the focus would be on creating something that feels special and unique. unique shapes, custom engravings, or artistic features that stand out and expresses personal style. vibrant gemstones or intricate patterns that catch the light.

scorpio (8°, 20°) venus: ring might incorporate dark, rich colors or stones such as deep red garnets, black diamonds, or dark sapphires. could include custom engravings, secret symbols, or unconventional designs that holds special meaning.

7h venus: design is romantic and classic, perhaps incorporating timeless features like solitaire settings, delicate bands, or traditional styles that emphasize the beauty and commitment of the relationship. design might include symmetrical elements or balanced proportions that represent the harmony sought in relationships - matching bands, elegant details, or harmonious patterns. might include custom engravings or meaningful symbols that represent the couple’s shared values and commitment.

venus negatively aspecting neptune: intricate, ethereal, or even slightly unconventional designs. design might include soft, flowing lines or fluid shapes. settings that incorporate softer curves or designs that appear to shimmer or change with the light.

venus positively aspecting pluto: design that reflects intensity and meaning. design might blend elegance with a powerful, bold presence. unique gemstone settings or intricate details that convey a sense of importance. stones with deep, transformative meanings, such as garnets, black diamonds, or other gemstones associated with passion and transformation.

saturn

taurus (2°, 14°, 26°) saturn: likely features a classic, timeless design that emphasizes durability and enduring values. made from high-quality materials that stand the test of time, such as platinum or gold. design would combine elegant with practical elements, avoiding overly ornate or elaborate styles in favor of a refined and straightforward look. the ring would be comfortable and practical for daily wear.

gemini (3°, 15°, 27°) saturn: lean towards a classic, functional design that emphasizes practicality and timelessness. design might be straightforward but crafted with precision and care. there could be subtle yet meaningful details incorporated into the ring’s design that reflect personal significance - engravings or custom features that symbolize important aspects of the relationship or shared values (my friend had a promise ring with an infinity wrap in the band - the same design will be in the wedding ring). designs could include subtle patterns or inscriptions with meaningful words or dates.

5h saturn: wedding ring merges both romantic, creative elements with classic, timeless features. ring could have a traditional band with personalized engravings and/or a classic design with unique gemstones. ring would likely be both beautiful and practical, symbolizing not just the romantic aspects of the relationship but also its long-term, committed nature.

saturn negatively aspecting sun: ring would likely have a classic, structured design. a timeless, elegant band with clean lines, avoiding overly ornate or flashy designs. the ring would be made from high-quality, enduring materials like platinum or gold. a design that stands the test of time. design might lean towards minimalist aesthetics but with meaningful details. a simple band might include a discreet inscription or small gemstones that holds personal significance.

saturn negatively aspecting pluto: usually this is a robust and enduring materials like titanium. could include intricate patterns or hidden details that have personal significance. a classic band could include modern / unconventional design features considering the traditional significance of a wedding ring.

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[yesihaveaobsession]

Speed Dating

Alastor x female reader

Summary: The reader (you) reluctantly attends a speed dating event after six years of avoiding the dating scene due to a bad breakup. Your friend insists it's time to move on, though you aren't convinced. When you arrive, the only available seat is at Alastor's table, who was also dragged into the event by Rosie. Despite knowing who he is, you nervously take the seat.

A/N- I'm scared, I'm introverted, and I'm scared to talk to people. I went to an album signing last month and got to meet my favorite artist and talked to him all on my own! I'm still proud of myself, but talking to Alastor, I could never, haha! Enjoy!

The dimly lit restaurant buzzed with soft murmurs of conversation, punctuated by the clinking of glasses and occasional bursts of laughter. You were practically dragged to this event by your friend. "Trust me, this will be good for you," she had said, while you dragged your feet, dreading what was ahead.

It had been six years since your last relationship—a horrible breakup—and your friend thought it was time you moved on. Speed dating was her idea of the perfect solution. When you walked into the venue—more like were shoved through the door—your eyes scanned the room. Nearly every table was full, couples already engaged in conversation. Amid the sea of occupied chairs, one table stood out, conspicuously empty. Alastor's.

Your heart sank. If anyone understood you and gave up their seat, it wasn’t happening here. Everyone else was too busy with their dates to notice your anxiety. You started to back away, deciding 'nope, not happening,' and made for the exit, but your friend blocked your escape, her eyes wide with encouragement. "Trust me," she repeated, nudging you forward. "It’ll be good for you."

You glanced back at Alastor’s table, dread pooling in your stomach. Who, in their right mind, would’ve dragged him to this? Coughs, Rosie. You sighed, smoothing down your hair, then took a deep breath before making your way over to him. Even from across the room, his aura crackled with intensity, commanding the space around him. Seated at his table, Alastor looked up as you approached. His eyes gleamed—bright, curious, and faintly amused—taking in your appearance with that ever-present grin plastered across his face.

With a fluid motion, he extended a clawed hand toward the empty chair across from him.

"Ah, it appears fate has granted you the most enticing seat in the house," he purred, his voice rich with amusement and layered with an unsettling undertone. You hesitated, nerves bubbling to the surface. Was this a trap? You glanced at him again, and despite the danger he exuded, something about his magnetic presence made it hard to refuse. Against your better judgment, you sat down. Alastor leaned in slightly, his crimson eyes never wavering from yours, as if locking you in place.

The knot in your stomach tightened as you second-guessed your decision. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe you should run—until his voice cut through your thoughts.

"It’s not every day someone dares to sit across from me of their own volition," he said smoothly, his grin widening. "How deliciously bold of you. Tell me—what brings a soul like yours to such a quaint little charade of speed dating?" His tone was light, playful even, but there was something more lurking beneath it—a hunger for your response that left you feeling both intrigued and on edge. His posture was straight and sat with such confidence.

The timer beeped softly, signaling the start of your five minutes. You took a breath, launching into the basics—work, hobbies, your brief and unsuccessful forays into dating. As you spoke, Alastor listened with unnerving focus, his smile never faltering, his eyes gleaming with a mix of curiosity and something darker.

"Fascinating," he murmured after you finished. He tilted his head, his grin sharp as ever. "And tell me... what unfortunate soul dragged you here tonight? Hmm? Who saw fit to dangle you before the wolves?" His words, though playful, held an edge of menace, making it clear that despite his charm, this was no ordinary date.

You found yourself smiling, oddly more comfortable despite the eerie energy swirling around him. You mentioned your friend, and he laughed—a rich, eerie sound. In return, you learned that Rosie, unsurprisingly, was the one who dragged him here as well.

"My friend thought this would help me move on," you admitted with a small shrug. "I haven’t dated in six years… after a terrible breakup with my ex."

Alastor's eyes flickered with something indecipherable. "Ah, six long years, and here I am, your first venture back into the chaos of romance." His smile widened, but the glint in his eyes was sharper, more intense. “How delightful! I must say, I’m honored to be the one to break the streak. Though, I do hope I don’t set the bar too high for the others.” His voice lowered, sending a shiver down your spine. "But then again... who could possibly measure up to me?"

You let out a soft, nervous laugh, feeling the weight of his gaze settle over you. The way he spoke—like he already knew how the night would end—made your pulse quicken.

As the conversation flowed, something shifted. Alastor wasn’t just listening—he was devouring every word you said, dissecting each response, though his face remained friendly, his grin never faltering. He complimented you on the smallest things, observations you hadn’t even noticed about yourself. It was both flattering and unnerving.

When the timer beeped again, signaling the end of your time, you felt an odd pang of disappointment. Alastor, however, appeared more amused than anything, his grin growing impossibly wider.

“I do hope this won’t be the last of our conversations,” he said, standing from his chair with a graceful, almost theatrical bow. His crimson eyes gleamed down at you, holding you in place for just a moment longer. “Until we meet again, my dear. I shall be eagerly awaiting our next encounter.” His voice dipped lower, like a promise wrapped in velvet, and for a second, you swore the room felt colder.

You managed a nod, still processing the whirlwind that was sitting across from the Radio Demon. As you moved to the next table, a strange, lingering warmth settled over you. Somehow, despite the underlying danger in Alastor’s every word, you felt lighter—like you had just narrowly escaped something powerful and exhilarating.

But as you glanced back at Alastor’s table, your heart skipped. His eyes were still on you, his smile unshaken, his gaze following your every move. Would the next person even compare? You doubted it.

[icyg4l]

PAC: How Can You Prepare for Summer?

Hi, beautiful people. This is a continuation of my summer tarot series. Today’s reading will consist of tips that you can take to prepare for the summer. Without further ado, please select your pile.

Top Left-to-Bottom Right: (1-4)

Pile One: The name Dorothea is coming to mind. Pile One, you have been re-evaluating your life choices and your circle. Both of these things go hand-in-hand so please listen carefully. I feel like you’re having a hard time letting go of something but at the end of the day, you have to accept the situation for what it is. In order to have a fun, celebratory summer, you must get rid of that person. They do not have good intentions for you. Remember, the company that you keep determines where you will end up. I also think that you should focus on trying to get your license as well, Pile One especially if you’re a student driver. You will pass your state driver’s test if you correct the mistakes that you’ve been making on the road. With more practice, you’ll be on the road going to the beach in no time. 

Cards Used: King of Wands, The Chariot, Five of Cups, Queen of Swords, Four of Wands 

Pile Two: Your summer is not already ruined, Pile Two. You just need to pivot. Pivot meaning jump to the next thing. Your situation is not permanent. You can and will move to the next phase of life. It may not be tomorrow, but it will happen nonetheless. Anyway, I feel like you need to be more excited for what is to come. Better weather, having more daylight, the amount of events you can attend to witness artistry in motion. There’s so much to be done, Pile Two. I feel like you also need to stop getting so embarrassed easily. You need to do more cringy stuff so that you can deal with rejection better. Doing this will also help you be more accepting of yourself. And lastly, you need to be willing to embrace your wild side more. You’re not getting younger by the day. There is only so much time that you have on this earth. Take advantage of it. Climb the ladder. 

Cards Used: 5 of Cups, 4 of Cups, Judgment, 6 of Wands, The Magician, 5 of Wands 

Pile Three: You put that glue to use and get to work, honeybee. I feel that you are a very creative person. You work with your hands a lot. You could be a nail tech, a fashion designer, or just a DIY type of gal. I feel like one thing that you should do is to be as fluid as possible. It will help your creative juices flow. Do any activities that help your sacral chakra boom. Twerk, meditate, do yoga, be artistic, be around people that make your heart feel full and inspired, work with carnelian. Another thing that you need to know is you are that bitch. Some of you fear that you will become another statistic, and that just isn’t true. You are good enough and you will make an impact on this world. You could listen to Summer Walker, James Brown, Etta James, Kehlani or Brandy. And another thing that you can do is spend time with children/with your inner child. Tapping into this energy is a purifier. You are going to be so happy that you’ve done this. I think it would be a good idea to revisit some of your old favorite media like Phineas and Ferb or Judy Moody books or Captain Underpants. There’s so much to do. The sky's the limit. 

Cards Used: 6 of Cups, The Tower, Queen of Cups, The Magician, Knight of Cups, Princess of Cups 

Pile Four: This pile probably listens to a lot of country/folk music, lol. You must be from down South. I feel like this pile needs to be grounded in reality. You spend a lot of time in space. I heard the “Appalachian Mountains”. Do you get high or drunk a lot? I feel like your sense of time is always warped because of your altered state. I think you should take a tolerance break for sure. This next message is for some of you, not all of you. You should take a pregnancy test if you’ve been sexually active with someone who has a penis, just to be safe. I am sensing an unexpected pregnancy for someone in this pile, so congratulations to you if you decide to keep the baby lol. But if not, then I hope you carry on with your life as usual and with more safety. I heard ‘koi fish’ and ‘Bryson Tiller’. I feel like you need to flirt with some people, Pile Two. It’s been too long. You might be a little rusty, but you need to get out there. It’s best to expand your social circles altogether. It will help you navigate the world a little easier.

Cards Used: 4 of Swords, King of Discs, Ace of Swords, Queen of Wands, The Devil, The Moon (RX)

[aeth-eris]

3rd House in Signs : Writing

3rd House in Aries:

Writing Style: Bold, assertive, and action-oriented.

Handwriting: Sharp and quick, with strong and decisive strokes.

Tone in Writing: Energetic, direct, and enthusiastic.

Genre of Writing: Adventure stories, fast-paced thrillers, and motivational content.

3rd House in Taurus:

Writing Style: Descriptive, sensual, and grounded.

Handwriting: Luxurious and deliberate, with a focus on beauty and comfort.

Tone in Writing: Calm, indulgent, and sensory.

Genre of Writing: Romance novels, culinary reviews, and descriptive poetry.

3rd House in Gemini:

Writing Style: Conversational, witty, and informative.

Handwriting: Quick and changeable, with an emphasis on communication and versatility.

Tone in Writing: Playful, curious, and engaging.

Genre of Writing: Journalism, comedy scripts, and educational materials.

3rd House in Cancer:

Writing Style: Nurturing, emotional, and introspective.

Handwriting: Flowing and sentimental, reflecting emotional depth and empathy.

Tone in Writing: Sensitive, empathetic, and nostalgic.

Genre of Writing: Memoirs, emotional fiction, and heartfelt poetry.

3rd House in Leo:

Writing Style: Dramatic, confident, and attention-grabbing.

Handwriting: Grand and bold, with a flair for the dramatic and expressive.

Tone in Writing: Authoritative, passionate, and proud.

Genre of Writing: Autobiographies, theatrical scripts, and bold editorials.

3rd House in Virgo:

Writing Style: Analytical, precise, and informative.

Handwriting: Neat and organized, with attention to detail and clarity.

Tone in Writing: Practical, informative, and instructional.

Genre of Writing: Self-help books, technical manuals, and critical analyses.

3rd House in Libra:

Writing Style: Harmonious, diplomatic, and balanced.

Handwriting: Graceful and balanced, with a focus on aesthetics and symmetry.

Tone in Writing: Charming, diplomatic, and persuasive.

Genre of Writing: Relationship advice, persuasive essays, and romantic fiction.

3rd House in Scorpio:

Writing Style: Intense, probing, and insightful.

Handwriting: Mysterious and intense, with a focus on depth and hidden meanings.

Tone in Writing: Mysterious, investigative, and profound.

Genre of Writing: Psychological thrillers, investigative journalism, and dark poetry.

3rd House in Sagittarius:

Writing Style: Expansive, adventurous, and philosophical.

Handwriting: Bold and free-spirited, with a sense of adventure and exploration.

Tone in Writing: Optimistic, adventurous, and philosophical.

Genre of Writing: Travelogues, philosophical treatises, and inspirational speeches.

3rd House in Capricorn:

Writing Style: Authoritative, structured, and disciplined.

Handwriting: Disciplined and organized, with a focus on clarity and professionalism.

Tone in Writing: Practical, disciplined, and authoritative.

Genre of Writing: Business reports, historical non-fiction, and self-help guides.

3rd House in Aquarius:

Writing Style: Unconventional, progressive, and intellectual.

Handwriting: Unconventional and eccentric, with a focus on innovation and individuality.

Tone in Writing: Unpredictable, visionary, and intellectual.

Genre of Writing: Science fiction, social commentaries, and revolutionary manifestos.

3rd House in Pisces:

Writing Style: Imaginative, dreamy, and empathetic.

Handwriting: Dreamy and fluid, with a sense of compassion and artistic flair.

Tone in Writing: Compassionate, poetic, and evocative.

Genre of Writing: Surreal poetry, magical realism, and spiritual reflections.

[tj-dragonblade]

[FIC] Loyalty Rewards Program

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: E Word Count: 9204 Tags: Human AU, Mechanic Hob, Rich Guy Dream, top Hob, bottom Dream, Dream of the Endless is a Horny Little Weasel, class dynamics, as a kink perhaps, Dream of the Endless is intense and unhinged, Hob matches his freak, Bossy Dream, Agreeable Hob, Service Top Hob Gadling, Enthusiatic Bottom Dream, Dream is Not Quiet in bed, there is a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet at one point, blatant disregard for typical human refractory periods, rimming, anal sex, felching-adjacent, inconsequential ingestion of lube, effusive endearments, dirty talk, overstimulation, anal fingering, help my hookup is growing feelings

Notes: Third in the Turbo Lover series (Customer Service and Every Nerve Alive on Tumblr, if AO3 is down). This one happened because Dream was insistent on getting properly fucked in the garage and I refuse to be the author who uses engine grease or motor oil for lube. This fills the free space (B2) on my @dreamlingbingo card, and is also the longest Sandman fic I've written to date.

Summary: Dream comes back to Matthew's Motor Repairs the next day and Hob gives him everything he asks for

On AO3 Hob re-locks the door as soon as he's ducked inside the shop the next morning; he's not opening for people today.

He has other obligations, after all.

He first makes a thorough job of cleaning and sweeping the floor around the Porsche. Whatever the plan today entails, he doesn't want to wind up kneeling on a bit of gravel or taking a stray hex nut to the arse cheek while he's fucking his rich admirer. Granted he may need to do a quick spot-sweep when Dream shows up—if Dream shows up—since he'll be working on the car in the meantime, but doing it now will make that faster.

…Of course Dream's going to show up, Hob's not worried. Guy was thirsty as fuck yesterday, he'll be back. He's got a car to pick up, after all, and speaking of, Hob had best make sure it's ready.

He strips out of his clothes and dons his coveralls nude, leaves them unzipped to the waist, not even bothering to keep his underwear today. It's cooler than yesterday but still plenty warm, and this will make things faster once Dream shows up. He's pretty sure Dream will appreciate the aesthetic, also.

Hob whistles to himself working under Dream's Porsche, finishing up the clutch replacement that he hadn't quite been able to focus on after Dream left yesterday. It's quick work to wrap it up and he makes sure to let grease smears accumulate on his arms and maybe he deliberately puts a couple of artistically-placed smudges on his chest, for fun.

With the clutch done, he moves on to changing the oil, flushing and refilling the other fluids, and giving the car a general tuneup. The Porsche is a beautiful machine and Hob's thrilled to have the chance to work on her.

He's thrilled to have the chance to work on her owner, too.

When the shop bell rings, Hob's heart leaps. He's just got the car all closed up and down from the ramps and done another quick sweep so assuming that's Dream, and it should be, his timing is perfect. He winds his way to the front, zipping up his coveralls just in case and opening the door.

Dream is there on the other side, as breathtakingly gorgeous as Hob remembers. "Am I the 'special circumstances'?" he asks, coy and smouldering as he taps the handwritten sign Hob had pasted in the window—Closed for walk-ins due to special circumstances; ring if you have an appointment.

"The specialist of circumstances," Hob agrees, effervescent joy and lust bubbling up inside him, spilling into his smile. "Closed up so I'm all yours. Entirely at your service."

"Wonderful," Dream purrs, stepping through the door. "For I am desperately in need of the services of a good mechanic."

Hob pulls the door closed after him, ensures it's latched in and that it's still locked, then turns with a grin. "You've come to the right place then, love. I'm at your disposal, one hundred percent, and I will personally see to your complete satisfaction. Guaranteed." He winks.

Dream steps in closer, tilts his head just enough to gaze up heatedly from beneath his lashes, toys with the tab of the zipper at Hob's collarbone. "Do you offer such comprehensive personal service to all your customers?" He's slowly drawing the zip down as he speaks.

Hob's heartrate picks up and his breath goes a bit short. "Oh no, this comes special with our uh, our loyalty rewards program," he manages, with his best charm-the-customer smile. The dainty fingertips unzipping his coveralls are very distracting.

Dream stops once he's exposed Hob's chest hair, rakes his nails through it lightly, skirting the grease smeared above it. "But this is the first time I have brought my patronage to your shop," he counters, with the prettiest little pout.

Hob shakes his head. "See I count twice; you tried out my services yesterday and found them satisfactory enough to come back today. And I'm very sure, if I meet your exacting standards, I can earn your repeat business. So I'll opt you in, because I have that much confidence in the quality of my work."

He's mixing his references clumsily, the car repairs and the sex getting muddled together, but Dream is smiling all the same. "Let us hope your confidence is not misplaced, then," he says, voice dipping lower in that way that makes Hob's stomach tighten delightfully. "I should hate to be granted such privilege unduly."

With that, Dream draws the zipper down more, then turns and steps away, casting a come-hither glance over his shoulder as he sashays toward the door into the garage. Hob, unzipped to the waist and hard already, is hot to follow, but first—

He tears the sign from the window, hangs the normal 'Closed' sign in its place, double-checks the lock and throws the deadbolt for good measure. He rounds the reception desk and logs into the phone system, makes sure the auto-answer is set to the 'closed unexpectedly' option, and sets the ringer to after-hours so it'll go straight to messages instead of ringing through. Not that he'd be stopping in the middle of whatever they're about to be doing to answer the phone, but this way they're guaranteed no distractions, no interruptions. Then he hurries after Dream.

Dream is completely naked when he gets back to the garage, leaning pale and pretty and barefoot against the side of his Porsche with his arms loosely folded and his cock hanging ready, half-hard, beautiful.

"Well hello, gorgeous," Hob says, unabashedly enthusiastic as he approaches, wondering if he's meant to just dive in or wait for a cue, if he's allowed to pull Dream into his arms and start with a kiss. His gaze falls to the delicate arches of Dream's feet, the soft pale curves of his toes (with black-painted nails!), and he's really glad he swept up first.

"You occupy my thoughts incessantly, Hob Gadling," Dream says, pushing off the car and stepping close to Hob again, hands reaching to toy with the open edges of his coveralls.

"Do I, now?" Hob decides on a caution-to-the-wind approach and snakes an arm around Dream's waist, raises a dirt-stained thumb to brush over his cheek. Dream hadn't hesitated yesterday to say what he did and didn't want; Hob will trust him to do the same today. "They're good thoughts, I hope?"

"Very," Dream breathes, gripping the coveralls, tugging marginally; his eyes are dark, his pale cheeks faintly flushed with excitement, his pretty pink lips slightly parted, and Hob sees no reason to resist the temptation presented.

The noise Dream makes when Hob kisses him is soft, eager, encouraging, and Hob presses closer, lets both hands play over Dream's bare skin, up and down his spine. Dream is kissing back, heated and insistent; he slips both hands inside Hob's coveralls, around his waist and down to grasp his arse cheeks, squeeze appreciatively, pull him closer.

Hob breaks away with a gasp, delighted and impossibly turned on; Dream squeezes again, nips at the scruff on his chin. "You are not wearing any underwear today, Hob," he murmurs, in a tone of pleased discovery, and Hob can't help grinning.

"Thought you might appreciate it," he says, breathless, hands stroking up and down Dream's biceps, leaving faint smudges behind. "Makes things a bit faster, easier—"

"And are you easy, Hob Gadling?"

"Only for you," he answers, which is truer than it would have been two weeks ago. "God, you smell good today—" He really does, floral-herbal freshness wafting from his hair, faint notes of soap and a light cologne lingering on his skin; Hob lets instinct shape his words. "So clean and pretty, too; come down to the garage to get properly dirty, have we?"

The way Dream shivers against him tells him that was indeed the right thing to say.

"Perhaps," Dream replies, and squeezes Hob's arse again. "I very much appreciate your wardrobe choices, in that regard." He brings his hands around front, one dipping to cup Hob's dick while the other draws the zipper all the way down underneath.

"Thought you might," Hob manages, while Dream's slender fingertips touch his balls, stroke with gentle pressure, and then Dream is moving, grasping at the shoulders of Hob's coveralls and pushing them off.

"I would feel you, bare, against me," is what he says, which sounds like a fine idea to Hob. He struggles briefly with the rolled-up sleeves but as soon as his arms are free Dream is in them, pressing up against him, kissing him fiercely and completely derailing any attempt at getting the coveralls all the way off.

Fuck it, Hob decides, letting them just fall around his legs as he wraps Dream close and kisses him back, hungry and insistent to match Dream's fervor. He backs him up a step, two, until Dream's narrow arse hits the Porsche again and he squirms prettily, his cock nudging up against Hob's as they break the kiss, panting.

"Over the bonnet then, love?"

Dream shakes his head, an effortlessly imperious little gesture. "I wish to ride you, first." He gestures to the creeper. "Please."

Clearly, clearly Dream's got some very specific fantasies about cars and mechanics and Hob is delighted that he gets to help make them happen. "Absolutely," he grins, shuffling down into position on the board.

Dream grabs a condom and a bottle of lube from where he'd stashed them between the windscreen and the bonnet and drops next to Hob. Which is just as well since Hob's supplies are with his clothes in the locker on the other side of the garage; he leans back on his elbows as Dream tears open the condom and rolls it onto him.

"You've got such pretty hands," he breathes, shivering at the glide of Dream's touch along his shaft, and doesn't miss the breath Dream sucks in at the compliment. "Gonna show me how you use those fingers to open yourself up? Or do I get to do that for you, hm?"

"Neither," Dream answers, rising and turning to lean over the side of the bonnet, which confuses Hob for half a second until he speaks again.

"Spread me open," he directs, and Hob is only to happy to sit up and comply, to see the greasy smudge of his fingerprints smeared on Dream's lily-white arse—

Dream is wearing a plug.

Hob's libido, already cranked to eleven, ratchets up another notch. "Oh, fuck," he breathes reverently, wide-eyed. Dream had put that in at home, had come here sitting on it, walking with it inside him, just to be ready for Hob's cock?

Christ, but that's hot.

He watches raptly as Dream's slender fingers grip the wide base and start pulling; he takes his time and Hob gets to just hold him open and watch as Dream's hole slowly stretches around the flare of the thing, bigger and bigger until it finally passes the widest point and slides the rest of the way free, and the hungry little sound of relief Dream makes as it comes out makes Hob's dick ache.

He desperately wants to slip his tongue in there, wriggle it into the shrinking gape and let Dream's body close to grip snugly around him, but Dream is a man on a mission, and that mission is getting Hob's prick inside him. He straightens up, turns and straddles Hob, fingertips to Hob's chest pressing him down as Dream squats over his lap. He drops the plug aside, reaches behind to take Hob's slicked-up rubber-wrapped cock and guide it into his body as he comes down, and the sound he makes plus the tight warm sheath of his arse have Hob absolutely riveted.

Dream lifts himself, thighs straining and hand firmly on Hob's chest now, fucks himself up and down on Hob's prick while hovering over it, letting out the most decadent moans each time he sinks onto it. He'd said he wanted to ride Hob but he's only made it as far as squatting, like he's so desperate for Hob's cock he can't even wait to get all the way into proper position for it and Hob (and his dick) definitely feel some kind of way about it. Dream's own prick bobs stiff and eager in front of him, a little drop of fluid glistening at the tip already, and Hob almost wishes he was enough of a contortionist to get it in his mouth. Later, perhaps. Right now he's got this gorgeous creature pistoning eagerly on his cock and well on his way to losing his mind, from the sound of it.

Hob spreads both hands over the tops of Dream's thighs, feeling how they tremble with exertion, and finally draws them down, forward, coaxing Dream out of his squat and into a proper kneeling position. He shifts his grip to Dream's hips and pulls him onto his cock at the same time, all the way down until he's buried deep up inside and Dream is panting the breathiest little 'yes, yes, yes's as he bottoms out, eyes wide and glazed. His hand is still planted on Hob's chest and Hob takes it up carefully, draws it to his mouth and kisses Dream's fingertips; Dream whines, gaze sharpening and honing in on Hob's actions. Hob's lips brush the pads of those fingers as he speaks.

"Did you still want to ride me, darling? Or should I hold you still and start fucking up into that pretty little hole?"

Dream shivers, makes another needy little noise and draws himself up on Hob's cock, sinks back down, does it again, and again, faster, harder, until he's panting breathless moans on every pass. His hands are planted on Hob's chest, up near his shoulders next to the grease smeared beneath his collarbone, and Hob rests his hands at Dream's hips, ready to take up the slack if he's needed.

Dream rides like a pro, to be honest, finding his rhythm and moving steadily in pursuit of his pleasure. His arse is snug and hot and slick, his voice like a song as he glides so easily up and down on Hob's prick; he feels amazing, and Hob has to remind himself to breathe as it goes on and on, to keep a rein on his own pleasure until Dream's gotten everything he needs.

At last Dream's pace begins to falter, his panting moans stuttering into broken little whimpers as he flags in his feverish bouncing. "Hob," he whines, arse wriggling lower, his fingers clutching at Hob's chest hair. "You feel. So good, inside me—"

"Do I?" Hob breathes, fingertips brushing over Dream's flanks, and it's weak, so weak as far as dirty talk goes but he can't help it. He's enamoured, struck senseless by how into this Dream is, and words are failing him.

"Yes—" Dream squirms forward and back, circles his hips beneath Hob's attentive grease-stained hands, moans prettily. "Hob, please—"

He doesn't even have to specify, it's clear enough what he's after now, and Hob moves to grip him properly, to lift him just slightly. He clutches tight, fingertips digging in to what little meat there is on Dream's arse, plants his boots on the concrete floor and thrusts up into him.

Dream cries out, clenches his fists on Hob's shoulders and throws his head back, chest heaving. Hob draws out and thrusts again, full force, and again, and Dream shudders, gasping, delighted. "Hob—yes—yes—" He squeezes tight around Hob's prick and groans, drops his head to meet Hob's gaze with fever-bright eyes. "Fuck me—I want—"

"Tell me," Hob breathes, mesmerized, shifting his feet for better leverage and thrusting into him again, and Dream warbles beautifully.

"Faster. Deeper—as hard and as deep as you can, Hob—!"

"'Course, love," Hob gasps, hips moving to comply with barely a thought, and Dream's voice rises into a long keening wail as Hob gives him precisely what he's asked for.

"Yes—yes—yes—!" He tosses his head back again, the arch of his throat working beautifully as he chokes out 'yes' after 'yes', arms stiff and trembling, hands still braced tight on Hob's shoulders.

Hob grunts with exertion, pounding up into Dream with everything he's got, thighs damp and sticking slightly where they press against Dream's. He's transfixed by the rapture in Dream's face, the sheen of sweat on his neck and chest, the stream of noises coming out of his pretty mouth; he looks and sounds like having Hob's cock in him is the best thing ever, like it's everything he wanted, and Hob is fast falling in love with how expressive he is about sex.

Dangerous thoughts, those; he puts them far away, concentrates on pumping hard and fast and deep up into Dream's lovely arse to make him come. He's careful still not to come himself; Dream has clearly got plans and it's his job to stay hard as long as Dream needs his cock.

"Hob—Hob—ahh, don't stop, Hob—!"

Hob squeezes Dream's arse, spreading his cheeks just a tiny bit more, and shifts the tempo down slightly, fucks up into him long and smooth, deep, steady. Dream wails, lost in the pleasure of it, and droops suddenly to lay over Hob's chest, a graceful fall into an open kiss interspersed with Dream's panting and whimpering. Hob shifts his hips to accommodate the changed angle and Dream sobs into his mouth, needy, desperate. His prick is nestled against Hob's belly, wet at the tip, hot and hard and Dream is moving helplessly as Hob fucks him, rutting through the hair on Hob's stomach in little jerks. He's tense in Hob's arms, trembling, skin damp with sweat all over and Hob thinks he could do this forever if he had to, fucking this gorgeous creature curled atop him but he doesn't have to, he knows, he can tell, Dream is nearly there—

Dream goes rigid abruptly, breath choking in his throat as his mouth opens wider, still meshed to Hob's. A high thin sound trickles out of his throat and Hob laps it up, fucks into him once, twice, again, and then Dream convulses with a wail, wet warmth blooming on Hob's belly. He buries himself as deep into Dream as he can and holds it there, flexes against the rhythmic clutching of Dream's arse around him, kisses Dream through the tremors and pulses of orgasm until he goes limp.

He spends a moment petting up and down Dream's spine then while Dream lies boneless atop him, catching his breath. He's still warm and tight around Hob's dick, perfect and tempting and—

And heavier than he looks, honestly; Hob shifts to take him by the shoulders, lifts him off his chest just a bit. Dream takes the cue, raises himself somewhat, blinks the haze from his eyes as he meets Hob's. The smile on his lips quickly sharpens to something simmering with heat, but Hob saw. He saw that glimpse of softness, the glow of bliss on Dream's face and he feels the way his heart trips, knows he's losing his battle.

There's a faint smudge of grease on Dream's forehead that probably came from Hob's collarbone and his dick twitches to see it. Dream shivers and squeezes around him and Hob sighs, a full and happy sound.

"You're pretty when you come," he says, gathering his wits about him again. He smears his hand through the mess on his stomach, picks up a little grease from just beside it, reaches to cradle Dream's face. "So, so pretty." He strokes his fingers back through Dream's hair, leaving a faint black smudge and sticky colorless smears on his cheekbone and more than a trace of filth in his hair.

"Only when I come?" It's a tease, accompanied by a gentle squeeze around him, and Hob shivers.

"'Course not," he murmurs, flexing his dick in response, delighted by the shiver that runs through Dream in turn. "You're pretty when you're bouncing on my cock, too. And when you tell me what you want me to do to you. And yesterday." He flexes again, warming to the topic. "You looked so pretty yesterday, with grease smeared on your face and my prick in your mouth."

Dream makes a pleased sound, squeezes his arse around Hob again, and Hob is more than ready to carry on, if Dream is. He strokes his thumb over the tacky mess on Dream's cheek. "Can I dirty you up some more, beautiful? Make you come for me again?"

"I should be very disappointed if you did not, Hob Gadling," Dream purrs, and there's that imperious little smirk again, the one Hob is already too attached to.

He'll give this man whatever he wants, and love every second of it.

"What next, then, sweetheart?" He's slowly pulsing up into Dream now in unhurried rhythm, too leisurely to be called fucking but ready to pick up the pace in a heartbeat. "Keep going like this?" The creeper is getting a bit uncomfortable, truth be told, and he wouldn't mind getting up off the floor but if Dream's not done yet he'll tough it out.

"No." Thankfully Dream sits all the way up, wriggles deliciously on Hob's cock, bottomed out and heavy-eyed with the pleasure of having it so deep inside him. "Next, I would have you—ahh—" He squirms, back arching, mouth falling open as Hob gives in to the temptation of dragging the rough grease-stained pad of his thumb over one pristine petal pink nipple. "Bend—bend me over the bonnet. Fuck me until I scream—Hob—!" He's panting as Hob caresses the tender little bud of flesh, writhing as if he could take Hob any deeper.

Hob shivers. "Fuck. Alright. As you wish, you precious beautiful man—" He lifts Dream's hips, lifts Dream off his cock as he sits up, then wraps one arm under Dream's narrow arse and heaves them both up with a grunt of exertion, his other hand braced on the car for support. It's awkward as fuck with his coveralls still wadded about his ankles and he can tell already his back and thighs are going to hate him for it tomorrow, but it's entirely worth it for the arousal that flares in Dream's widened eyes, the way he clings and wraps his legs around Hob, the way he surges in to kiss Hob again.

Hob shuffles round the front of the car using his one hand for guidance while Dream devours his mouth, and carefully lowers Dream onto the bonnet. He knows it's not the position Dream was looking for but he can't help slipping his cock back into him like this, when Dream is still wrapped around him and ripe for the plowing.

Dream breaks the kiss with a reedy little whining noise as Hob nudges inside him and sinks deep; he claws at Hob's shoulders and draws his legs back, open and practically begging and alright, okay, Hob can give him a good minute like this first, fucks into him in soft smooth rhythm. Dream's pretty pink cock is stiffening up again already, laying thick and half-filled against his belly and jolting with every thrust; he's panting open-mouthed, the sweetest little sounds falling out of him each time Hob pushes in.

"You're gorgeous like this too," Hob gets out, needing the talk to divide his focus, to keep himself going without risk of finishing. "So eager, so open, so fuckable—" Dream shudders, biting off a deep whine at the word, leaned back and still hanging onto Hob's shoulders for support, feet braced on his hips, and Hob zeroes in on his advantage. "Has no one ever called you that before, sweetheart? Fuckable?"

"None I would care to hear it from," Dream moans, pulling himself up closer, disrupting Hob's rhythm. "But. From your lips. It sounds like a benediction—" He kisses Hob, tongue plunging into his mouth, arms wrapping tight behind Hob's neck. His legs shift also, wrapping back around Hob's waist and he pulls himself close, up off the car as Hob gets his arms quickly underneath to support him.

"Give a bloke an ego, talking like that," he gasps, when Dream lets him up for air.

"It's well-deserved," Dream counters, nipping at his lower lip and shifting his weight so that Hob steps back to keep them balanced. "You are exquisite, and talented with your dick, and I wish to be so deeply and thoroughly fucked over my car that I will still feel you inside me tomorrow." He plunges his tongue back into Hob's mouth and unlocks his legs from around him, lets Hob set him back on his feet.

"Do you need a refresh on your lube first?" Hob gasps, mindful of what they've already done and what Dream still wants from him and the serviceable life of water-based lube.

Dream pauses, considering. "Perhaps," he says, with the restlessness of someone eager to get back into action but recognizing the wisdom of the question regardless.

Hob leans around him and reaches, snags the lube off the bonnet. "Let me slick you up a bit more just to be safe." He glances at his hands, perpetually stained and still dirty enough to leave smudges on Dream's skin. "Or you can, since your hands are cleaner?"

"Yes," Dream agrees, taking the bottle and squirting some out. He reaches behind himself and Hob gets to watch his face flicker through half a dozen little expressions; he's clearly moving for function over pleasure but there's enjoyment to be had all the same, from the look of it.

"There." Dream straightens as he finishes, eyes Hob with new heat in his gaze. "Are you clean."

"What?"

Dream narrows his eyes, clearly conveying both horniness and impatience in equal measure. "I am clean; I test regularly. I want your come inside me. Are. You. Clean."

Hob's libido flares, wildly. "Yes. Fuck. Yes, okay." Caution to the wind, and all that.

Dream reaches down and removes Hob's condom, drops it aside and picks up the lube again. He slicks up Hob's cock, kisses him fiercely while doing so, then turns and drapes himself over the bonnet of his Porsche and lifts up on his toes, arse presented. "Fuck me," he demands over his shoulder, breathless and eager like he hadn't just come bouncing on Hob's cock not ten minutes ago. Insatiable. "Hold me down with your work-dirtied hands and fuck me—"

Hob doesn't need to be told twice. He lines up and pushes in, bare slick and easy, all the way to the hilt. Dream makes the most appreciative and desperate little moan, wriggling backwards; Hob grabs his hip with one grease-stained hand, plants his other in the middle of Dream's narrow back and fucks.

Dream cries out, high gasping breaths punched from his lungs with every thrust and Hob just revels in it, moving in sure and steady rhythm. It's easy, so easy, smooth and slick and so good, and Dream's enthusiastic response is—it's heady, to have someone react to him this way, to want him this much, and he'll do everything he can to give Dream what he wants, to make it worth it. It's no hardship, far from it.

"Your arse is so hot," Hob pants, "so tight, absolutely perfect. Can't believe you wore that glass plug here so you'd be ready to get plowed." He grinds his hips deep in emphasis, draws out a little and relishes the way Dream whimpers when he slams back in. "Sweet of you, though. Did it turn you on, sitting on it in the cab? Feeling it move inside you when you walked? Were you horny and eager the whole way here, darling, stuffed full with your toy and imagining my prick in its place?"

"Yes, yes, yes!" Dream cries, as much an answer as it is interjection. He's thrusting backward as best he can in Hob's hold, eager and desperate, and Hob keeps fucking, keeps talking.

"I loved watching you take it out. Your beautiful hole stretching bigger and bigger around it, how open you were after. Wanted to stick my tongue in there, sweetheart, wanted to eat you out, make you squirm."

Dream is gasping, wailing, trembling where Hob pins him to the car, head tossing, breath heaving under Hob's steady hand. His cock is surely leaking a mess all over the bonnet; Hob'll have to clean it for him again when they're done.

"You've got the prettiest little hole I've ever seen," Hob continues, steady and unflagging in his rhythm. He leans back, drags both hands to Dream's arse cheeks and squeezes, spreads them so he can easily see himself sinking in, his naked prick pushing and pulling at the puffy pink rim of Dream's hole again and again. He slows, savoring the sight, and Dream whines, clenches around him as he presses back in. "Absolutely beautiful," Hob breathes, thumb moving to stroke over the delicate skin stretched tight around the girth of his prick. "Exquisite. I'm so lucky I get to ravish it."

He knows on one hand he sounds ridiculous as he picks up the pace again, but on the other it's doing the trick on both counts—distracting him from his own pleasure to draw it out, and driving Dream higher at the same time.

And Dream is absolutely being driven to the heights of pleasured madness, that much is clear. He's writhing on the bonnet under Hob's steady pounding, fingers clutching futilely at the glossy surface, skin flushed and sweat-damp and sticking to the car, ribs heaving. And the sounds coming out of his mouth? Good god, he's noisy, so fucking loud and it's not like Hob doesn't love it, not like there's anyone around to hear or any other reason to hold back. It does great things for his ego, the way Dream's wailing like he's never been railed this good in his life, but Hob's got an idea and his instincts say it's spot-on, so he goes for it.

He claps his hand—still grimy from the tune-up, still a little tacky with Dream's come—he claps it gently over Dream's mouth, stifling his volume, and Dream jolts, then goes wild. His head goes all the way back, giving Hob easier coverage; his breath comes short and sharp through his nose, faster and faster in time with his cries that go higher and shriller, muffled by Hob's not-exactly-clean hand. His body has gone tense, trembling, hips thrusting back against Hob's with mounting desperation and god, but Hob is in love. "That's it, sweetheart, come for me again," he murmurs breathlessly, bending close to Dream's ear and the dried mess on his cheek and squeezing his hip, flexing the hand that covers his mouth. "Take your fill of my cock, shoot your load all over your car—I'll clean it again for you, don't worry—"

Dream stills abruptly, shaking, voice a strangled muffled shriek as he comes; Hob thrusts deep into his pulsing clenching arse and holds, intending to let Dream ride out his orgasm. But Dream wriggles, wrenches his head free of Hob's hand, gasping.

"Move—don't stop—"

So Hob moves.

He straightens up and sets both hands back on Dream's hips, fucks eagerly into him, quickly re-establishing his rhythm and speeding up. "Good?" he grunts, sweat dripping down his temple, and Dream warbles out an affirmative.

"Harder—Hob—use me, claim me, fill me—!" His voice shakes; his hands are spasming against the bonnet, his arms trembling, and his arse is so tight and slick and hot, clenches so beautifully around him, Hob isn't going to last but another moment.

"Use your pretty little hole for my own pleasure?" he gets out, pounding into it now with everything he's got, spiraling up to the horizon, and Dream sobs.

"Yes, Hob, yes—!"

"Claim it for myself?" Hob gasps, grinding deep, slamming into him again and again. "Fill you up with my come—ahh—here it is—Dream!"

Dream wails, and Hob comes, gasping, grunting, the euphoria sweeping through his veins in a warm rush. His hips jerk involuntarily, shoving deep, emptying himself thoroughly into Dream's clutching arse.

"Fuck," he pants, pulse pounding in his ears, "oh, fuck—"

It's good, so damn good, feels like it goes on forever, everything in his body alight with pleasure and pouring out through his dick, until at long last it subsides and he collapses, barely catching himself before he crushes Dream. He takes a minute, just panting above him, and then pulls out carefully—still wet and messy, regardless—with a groan. Dream whimpers, a sound of abject loss, but does not move from where he has gone limp on the car.

Hob turns carefully to perch beside him, resting his arse on the bonnet, catching his breath.

"Alright there, Dream?" he asks, after a moment.

"Mmh," is the only reply, and Hob takes a moment to just look at him, gaze sweeping over the lines of his body and the grey-black smudges he himself has left on that pristine pale skin. He lingers over the curves (such as they are) of Dream's arse, leans far enough to see where there's a mess of lube and semen dribbling down Dream's perineum to his balls, a glistening runnel of it trickling down his inner thigh—Hob shivers, arousal sparking despite the remains of orgasm still simmering in his blood.

"Christ, you look beautiful like this," he can't help saying. "Fucked out across the bonnet of your Porsche with your legs spread, and my come dripping out of your arse…"

"Silver tongue." Dream does not move from where he sprawls, languid and heavy-lidded, spread-eagled on the car, even as Hob levers himself up, moves to stand behind Dream again.

"Mmyes, that's right. Said something about having a use in mind for it, didn't you?"

"Perhaps."

"'Perhaps' he says," Hob drawls, grinning, but the idea's back in his head now and oh, he would like to get his tongue in Dream's arse, lube or no lube. He saw the bottle, it's water-based, it's not going to kill him to lick a bit of it up. "Why don't you tell me if this is what you had in mind, then."

He drops into a squat and flicks the tip of his tongue around the puffy rim of Dream's messy and very-pink hole, circling it with a light touch, and the sound that Dream makes is nothing but encouraging. His own come is no particular delicacy but just like the lube, he doesn't mind that he's getting a taste in the course of eating out this beautiful man. Dream's hole is swollen with use and sensitive and Hob kisses it softly, wets his tongue and wriggles it in, gently at first with slurping licks in between but with increasing enthusiasm until Dream is squirming against his face and he's as deep as he can get, grease-stained hands gripping those milk-white cheeks and spreading them wide.

The keening noise Dream makes urges him on and he delves back in again and again, breathless and eager, feasting until his face is sticky and his jaw aches. Finally he draws back, panting, senses filled with the smell and the taste of this man and still, Dream remains insatiable.

"More. Hob, I want more, do not send me on my way so unsated—"

He has come twice, surely he is not sincere when he says 'unsated', and yet. Here he is, pleading for more, as needy and eager as he's been the whole time. And god, but Hob wants to give him everything, is itching to finger him out but he's not doing that when his hands are still dirty, he's just not. Nor is he going to make Dream wait while he scrubs down with the Swarfega. He casts about, thinking, tongue lapping soothingly around Dream's sloppy hole all the while; there's the plug Dream was wearing but it's been sitting on the shop floor so no; it's shaped for stretching more than fucking anyway. His fingers really would be best—

"Did you bring more than just the one condom?"

"Mmh?" Dream sounds keyed up and hazy, blissed out on the attentions of Hob's tongue and Hob smiles, plants a kiss over his hole.

"Condoms, love. Have you got another?"

"Yes. Trouser pocket—"

"And where did your trousers escape to?" He kisses again, flicks his fatigued tongue inside in a teasing lick.

"Front seat." Dream wriggles, needy, restless and wanting.

"Brilliant. Hang on, got an idea—" He scrambles up and around and finds the clothes rumpled in the Porsche's driver seat, rifles through the pockets for the promised condom and tears it open, slips it over his first two fingers as he shuffles round the front of the car again, coveralls still tangled in his boots. Dream is a vision sprawled face down and spread-legged on the bonnet, eyes tracking Hob's return, and Hob won't leave him waiting another instant.

"Here we are," he murmurs, condom-clad fingers sliding down the cleft of Dream's grease-smudged arse and slipping deftly into his hole still slick with lube and Hob's jizz, Hob's spit. Hob pushes deep, curves his touch down and massages, and Dream cries out, going rigid.

Grinning, Hob leans over the bonnet beside him, fingers working deep and steady, and watches Dream's prettily-dirtied face as he comes apart. He's mewling, eyes wide, mouth open and gasping; he's come twice already and his insides are swollen and sensitive, his pleasure easy to stoke to trembling heights. Hob shifts briefly to drizzle more lube in for good measure and then gives him no quarter, fingers steady and relentless in their attentions until Dream is shaking, sobbing, tears leaking from his eyes and saliva drooling from the corner of his mouth. He pushes up on trembling arms, collapses back to his elbows, head hanging low between his shoulders. "Hob—aah—Hob, please!" It's unclear if he's begging for more or begging for mercy, but the way he flexes up on his toes and pushes back on Hob's hand is telling enough.

"Shh," Hob soothes, leaning close enough to brush his mouth across Dream's bicep in an open kiss, and then, because he can't help being just a touch evil: "Do you want to come again? Or did you need me to stop?"

"Do not stop," he manages, and it is very much an order despite his gasping breathless delivery. "Your hands are exquisite, Hob—!"

"You say the sweetest things," Hob murmurs, kissing his arm again and rubbing particularly hard with both fingers.

Dream wails, head tossing, trembling, helpless, and Hob draws his fingers partway out only to drive them back in, again and again and again, curving his touch to hit that spot on every thrust. He twists his hand as he goes, employing every expert technique he's honed in his time to bring Dream up to the edge again.

God, he loves this, having another person trust him with their pleasure and being able to give them everything they want and then some. It's heady, addictive to have this beautiful man sobbing in delight because of him, shaking apart, because of him; he desperately wants for this to not be the last time. Predictably, his mouth starts running again, pleading his case.

"You can have this anytime you like, love, I'd be delighted to take care of you again. Your pretty mouth, your pretty cock, this pretty perfect eager little hole—" He twists his fingers just so, curls and presses.

Dream warbles out a wet, broken sound that may or may not be Hob's name, bends trembling knees to widen his stance just a little, letting Hob that much deeper inside him.

Beautiful. Perfect.

"Come see me anytime you just need a good hard fuck, mmh? Whenever you want a fun and filthy seeing-too from your handsome bit of rough down at the garage?" He pauses with his fingers buried deep, strokes them fast and firm over exactly the right spot again and again and Dream wails, a high thin keening noise deep in his throat that rises into a proper scream as he comes at last. His body spasms, clenches hard on Hob's fingers in pulsing rhythm and Hob doesn't let up for a long moment, milks him relentlessly through it until he collapses onto the bonnet, boneless and panting.

Hob stills his fingers at that point but doesn't yet pull them out, savoring the snug warmth they're nestled in and the beautiful picture Dream makes like this.

He did that. He made Dream come three times, worked this posh pretty thing into a limp fucked-out mess sprawled across his expensive car.

God, but he wants to do it again.

"Do you think you've got one more in you?" He can't help it; he's always been greedy.

Dream groans, a low sound that stirs something deep in Hob's stomach. "Three times, Hob. I am spent." Yet he makes no move to rise from the car or pull off from Hob's hand, which he could easily do.

Greatly daring, tempted beyond reason by this ravenous marvelous creature, Hob twitches his fingers where they're still pressed against Dream's prostate.

Dream jerks, a shudder running through him, then squeaks when Hob does it again. "Hob—!" His eyes fly open, shining beneath his wet lashes.

"I'll stop if you say so," Hob hastens to assure him. "But you did chide me to not send you home unsated and I just want to make sure I've given you everything"—he presses again—"you need."

Dream whines through his teeth, sucks in a great gasping breath as Hob lets up and cries out when Hob's fingers curl mercilessly within him again, and again, and again. He scrabbles uselessly at the bonnet and lifts his head, mouth open, muscles straining, body trembling as Hob starts taking him apart again before he's even pulled himself back together from the last orgasm.

Hob's good with his hands, in this as well as his work, and he's quite certain he can make Dream come again in fairly short order given how sensitized and overstimulated he is. Hob is also quite certain he can draw this out just a bit longer, work him up even more before pushing him over the edge again and quite frankly, that sounds like more fun.

"Stay with me sweetheart," he murmurs in between Dream's cries, shifting his hand to stave off the cramp that wants to start. He strokes Dream's insides with both fingers, together at first and then one after the other; the condom and the grip of Dream's body restrict his range of movement somewhat but not so much that he can't do his job well.

"God, I'm so fucking lucky," he breathes, fingers still moving steadily, and kisses his way softly up Dream's arm. "You're beautiful, perfect, so pretty and so hungry and so eager—" He's planting kisses across Dream's shoulders and back between words, moving down his spine next. "And you let me touch you, worship your body, get you off again and again and again—" He bends over Dream's arse, draws his fingers partway free and spreads them as wide as the condom allows, stretching open Dream's swollen well-used hole. He dips close, slides his tongue into the gap he's created and Dream moans, gasping, trembling. Hob takes a good minute with his tongue before pulling back and sinking his fingers deep again. "This hole, this perfect hungry insatiable hole, you let me fill it as I please, with my cock and my come and my fingers—so lucky, I am. Would you let me fill you with toys, too, sweetheart? I'll bet you've got a drawerful at home; I'd love to try them with you one by one, learn the best ways to play with each, to make you scream and sob and shake—" He's massaging Dream's prostate again, thorough and unhurried and Dream is indeed sobbing, incoherent. He moves, suddenly, draws up one knee beneath him on the bonnet and then the other as Hob moves with him. He's up on all fours briefly and then sinks down, folded double on his knees with his arms stretched out to grip where the bonnet meets the windscreen and his arse opened wide, letting Hob's fingers sink as deep as possible.

"Finish me, Hob," he begs, gripping weakly around Hob's diligent fingers, voice hoarse and shaky, "make me—make me—fuck, I can't—I can't—" He sobs, trembling, and Hob. Well. He's neither a cruel man, nor strong in the face of temptation, and his hand is ready to give out as well. So he buries his fingers to the hilt, seeks out that spot and gives it his all, strokes it quick and steady and firm, both fingers together, then one after the other, together again and Dream's knees spread wide, his spent prick pressing soft against the bonnet. He's making one long sound now, low and thin and straining in his throat, interspersed with gasping gulps of breath. His body trembles, jolts every time Hob presses harder at his prostate, and Hob leans back over beside him, softly kisses the curve of his shoulder.

"I've got you, sweetheart, we're almost there," he breathes, fingering relentlessly. "Is it still good?"

"Yes—fuck—fuck—Hob!" Dream scrabbles one hand down in Hob's direction and Hob seizes it, laces their fingers together; Dream is sobbing, breathless, utterly wrecked and Hob's hand is giving out but he refuses to stop, to quit, not until—

Dream's body stiffens, convulses, bearing down on Hob's stuttering fingers in tremulous pulses and his voice has gone high, whistle-thin, and then he is gasping, tension falling out of him in a rush as he goes limp, breathing hard and heavy against the bonnet. Hob stills his aching hand at last, draws it out carefully and peels off the condom with his teeth, flings it aside. He'll clean up later. He stretches the cramping sensation from his hand and settles it lightly on Dream's still-heaving ribs, unable to keep from touching him even now that they're done.

"Alright, dove?" Hob asks, gently stroking up Dream's spine. "Can you move?" He gives a soft squeeze to their still-joined hands and is gratified to feel brief pressure in return. Dream turns his head, lifts it slightly; his eyes are wet, his hair sticking damply to his forehead and the grease smudge there; his mouth is open, a bit of drool still in the corner and Hob is helpless, gone, so fucking besotted and far too deeply attached for what this is. He dips in, kisses Dream with every soft emotion squirming captive in his chest and Dream just kisses him back, quiet, exhausted, willing.

"C'mere," Hob murmurs, straightening up, sitting back, leaning on the bonnet. He draws Dream after him, tucks him awkwardly up against his side and Dream allows it, nestles underneath his arm, still catching his breath.

This is the drawback to sex in the garage, Hob decides wryly; there is nowhere really suitable or comfortable for post-coital cuddles. He's seriously considering whether he can slide into the passenger seat of the Porsche with Dream in his lap when finally Dream stirs, lifts his head, shivers all over as he straightens and graces Hob with a small smile.

"I believe I will make use of your shop for all my future service needs," he says, primly, with a playful note underneath the exhaustion.

Hob laughs, hearty and full-bodied and joyous. "Glad to hear it," he says, when the laughter subsides. He's so utterly gone on this man, no matter how unlikely a pair they make, and he feels far too good right now to care about the future heartbreak he'll inevitably have to deal with.

He helps Dream down from the car then, steadies him on his feet and sees him around to the driver's seat where Dream first downs half the bottle of water he brought with him and then proceeds with re-dressing. Hob makes to get his coveralls pulled back up into place at that point but Dream stops him. "You promised to clean my spend off my car, I believe," he says, with that tone in his voice that makes Hob's insides go warm despite himself.

"Absolutely," he confirms, waiting, because there was clearly more forthcoming.

"I should like to see you with your trousers around your ankles and your arse on display while you do so." Dream blinks at him, all coquettish charm that is somehow enhanced by his disheveled and dirtied and half-dressed state. "If you are amenable, of course."

"I can do that for you," Hob agrees, delighted, even as he feels his face heat. It's not at all what he's used to but being ogled, being objectified—especially by his beautiful Dream—is no hardship, whatever his reason.

He finds a rag and the polish while Dream finishes putting himself back together and comes round the front of the Porsche again, and then Hob cleans up the bodily fluids on the bonnet, sweat and semen and lube and anything else, coveralls still around his ankles as requested. He wiggles his arse just a bit, since Dream is watching, and when that gets a pleased little sound out of Dream he does it a bit more, putting his whole body into the cleaning motions, bending at the waist and letting his hips swing in wide suggestive arcs.

"There," he says, finished, tossing the rag aside, and his arms are full of Dream as soon as he turns.

"Magnificent," Dream breathes against his mouth, and kisses him, warm and wet and thorough. Hob gives back as good as he gets, threads his hands into Dream's hair, and Dream's hands skate down his bare sides, around his hips and lower, seizing his arse cheeks and squeezing. His fingernails comb through the hair there and Hob squeaks, delighted, dick twitching with interest.

Dream breaks the kiss after only a few seconds. "There is so much more I want to do with you," he murmurs, kneading Hob's arse in slow sensual motions, "but I am spent. Well used. Sated, despite my lingering desires." He releases one cheek, moves to draw a fingertip along the slit of Hob's mostly-soft cock, where he surely encounters the tacky lube-laced remains of Hob's earlier orgasm. He brings that finger to his mouth, makes a show of licking it delicately before slipping it into his mouth to suck properly, and Hob whimpers.

"Dream, love, I meant what I said. Pop by anytime you need, I'll take care of you—"

"I believe you. After all, you have opted me into your loyalty program, yes? I must be sure to claim all of my associated benefits." He steps back, pulling out his phone and handing it to Hob with the contacts open. "Your number, please."

Hob types it in gladly, hits save, hands the phone back.

Dream cradles it close, a look on his face like he's savoring the addition of Hob's number, and glances up at Hob through his lashes. "I look forward to employing your services again, Hob Gadling. You are very much worth the trip."

"You just like me for my rugged filthiness," Hob says, a tease to keep his head in the right place—there's still no sense getting sentimental, after all, no matter the elated cartwheels his ego is doing at those words.

Dream regards him haughtily, one eyebrow lifting; the grease stains do nothing to diminish the expression. "I am quite certain I would enjoy you equally as much cleaned up and dressed up, that I might wine and dine you, take you home to my bed for an evening."

Hob almost, almost detects a hint of vulnerability threading the words and grins, a little pang of tenderness tugging helplessly behind his chest. "Think so, do you?"

"Would you like to test my theory?" There is something both hesitant and eager underneath his casual tone, and Hob's heart trips a little as that tug grows stronger.

"Why, Mr. Atelíotes, are you asking me out? On a proper date?"

"Perhaps." It's equal parts caginess and coy teasing, and Hob is forced to admit—again—that he's smitten despite himself.

"Well." He grins, dialing it up to his most charming. "Rumor has it I'm excellent company whether my dick's involved or not. And while a standard dinner date may not be as fantasy-worthy as getting plowed by the rough mechanic in his garage, I think we could still have a good time." He's showing his hand a bit, gently calling Dream on the fantasy fulfillment that has obviously been going on here, but what's life without a little risk? Especially when the potential reward is so very worth it?

"You are very confident of your own appeal," Dream replies, mouth turning up at one corner in a way that tips over from 'cautious' to 'amused'. And if Hob's not mistaken, there's a hint of pink blushing over his porcelain complexion under the filth clinging to his cheekbone.

He grins, spreads his arms, still stark naked with his coveralls around his ankles. "Am I wrong, though?"

"…No," Dream decides, after a long moment of deliberation, and Hob steps closer to him, dares to touch his face affectionately.

"Why don't you pick me up here at seven tomorrow night. Tell me exactly how posh I should dress, and we'll see where it goes?" He leans in, presses his lips softly to Dream's.

Dream hums into it, pleased, and palms his chest gently before pulling away. "Very well. Seven, tomorrow night. I will make us a reservation and text you the dress code."

Hob smiles, an effervescent sort of happiness bubbling up inside him. "Sounds perfect."

He finally puts his coveralls back in order after that, zipped just past the waist, and makes certain that the condoms are picked up and Dream gets his lube and his toy all collected before he shifts back into business mode. Dream is no more interested in cleaning his face before leaving today than he was yesterday so Hob moves on; he explains the repairs and runs Dream's credit card, then returns his keys and guides him in backing the Porsche out of the garage. Dream leans out the window once he's clear and Hob ducks down, delighted to get a final kiss.

"I'll be waiting to hear from you," he says, trying to temper the giddy anticipation he feels against the reality of their acquaintance, and Dream's soft smile turns sultry around the edges.

"I will be counting the hours until I see you again, Hob Gadling," he purrs, and drives off.

The way the Porsche jerks when he shifts after turning the corner makes Hob wince.

Maybe, if they do continue whatever this is beyond a single dinner date, maybe Hob can give him some tips on driving stick so he doesn't burn out the new clutch.

Then again, the more Dream abuses his poor car, the more excuse he'll have to invoke his 'loyalty rewards'.

And Hob doesn't think that's such a bad thing, in the end.

= Started: 5/4/24 Drafted: 9/17/24 Posted: 9/21/24

[canmom]

when robots got muscles

You can blame @centrally-unplanned for this post. She(?) wrote...

The ‘chrome’ designs pioneered by illustrators like Hajime Sorayama (Sexy Robot from 1984, for example) tended to be more in vogue at this time (or just…a  hot girl, who is apparently a robot, trust me bro), you don’t see designs like this too commonly until later (ask resident robo-fetishist/animator expert @canmom for details on that timeline).

After a challenge like that how can I refuse? Although the question is ‘when did robots get muscles’, this turned into something of a historical survey of robot designs from the 80s on with a throughline of biomimesis.

(Originally this was just going to be an excuse to talk about Ghost in the Shell... but I gotta be thorough.)

This was all brought on from this picture from a 1989 fanart magazine...

by an artist going by ‘Facepunch Tatebi-kun’ (顔面強打たてびー君, Ganmenkyouda Tatebii-kun). I remarked that it was interesting to see these kinds of ‘robot muscles’ in a picture from 1989, since I thought that kind of design became popular in the 2000s.

On some reflection, I think I gotta revise that opinion! I think ‘robot muscles’ became a thing around the mid 90s in anime; in the West I think it took a bit longer. But you can also see precursors already before that.

So. One thing artists are super into is biomimetic robots. That is, robots whose form (and perhaps function) is similar to animals, especially humans. The word ‘android’ referring to a human-like automaton dates all the way back to the late 19th century, but the modern ‘android, robot, cyborg’ taxonomy apparently became established around the 40s.

There’s two types of humanoid robot that get a lot of play, especially in anime. One is the convincingly humanlike cyborg, which is the same size and shape as a normal human; the other is a what we call in English a ‘mech’, i.e. a big robot you can sit inside.

Of course, if your androids just act like humans all the time, then there’s not much point having them be robots. To really create the frisson of contrast between human and mechanical forms you have to show the mechanism somehow. This could be because the machine isn’t perfectly human-like, and has visibly mechanical joints - take a look at the works of @sukabu89​ for very inventive depiction of this theme - or, the android could be damaged or undergo maintenance.

When you attempt to translate biological forms into a more mechanical design language, the traditional way has been to use hard, rigid shapes, since these make the contrast especially clear. In more recent designs, particularly as we started to see real robots with ‘artificial muscles’ such as the ones created by Boston Dynamics, we get another sort of design language to express ‘mechanical parts’, and robots start having more biological forms with exposed plasticy muscles.

So let’s tell the story. We begin at the end of the 70s.

the dawn of mechaguro

For an early example of ‘mechaguro’ (a term I’m applying very anachronistically!), when a robot gets smashed up, we have Alien (1979). This film did a ridiculous amount to define sci-fi design language, and of course the alien itself blends mechanical and biological forms, with its glossy black surface allowing it to seem to melt into the exposed pipes of the spaceship. But let’s focus on the character Ash, a secret android who is broken apart in the second half of the film.

When Ash is torn apart by the alien, his insides consist of weird white plastic beads and a milky fluid that seems analogous to blood. It’s not clear what the function of any of this tech is - it’s intended to be vague and mysterious. The outside is biomimetic but the inside is anything but. He has a kind of artificial skin which resembles a latex mask.

The Terminator films are another major touchpoint for 80s science fiction. Late in the film, Arnie starts taking damage which reveals the Terminator skeleton underneath his fake skin.

The stop-motion Terminator model is basically designed according to the principle of ‘replace human bones and muscles with hard metal bits’. So you have a metal skull, metal clavicles (which are pistons for some reason), metal shoulder blades, hydraulic pistons generally in the places where muscles are. e.g. in the above picture you can see pistons that stand in place of the sternocleidomastoid muscle, and in this picture...

...you can see metal scapulae and piston biceps and triceps and a piston. The shoulder joint by contrast built in a very non-human-like way. Also there’s random tubes everywhere lol.

That’s generally how androids are portrayed in the 80s. The ‘droids’ in Star Wars are similar; C-3PO is an arrangement of metal plates with gaps suggestive of underlying mechanical details and rudimentary joints and pistons.

In Blade Runner, we have the Replicants, humanoid robots - but by the premise of the film, they are essentially indistinguishable from humans. So when the Replicants die, we never really get to see their robo-innards.

and now, anime

OK, that’s the big four Western 80s sci-fi movie series; what of anime? Of course, androids in anime go all the way back to Astro Boy. But most of these early designs don’t really focus on mechanical details all that much. Super robot designs are more like tokusatsu suits than anything. There were certainly instances of impressive mechanical animation in the 70s, with early experts including Kazuhide Tomonaga on Space Battleship Yamato. Then there’s Hayao Miyazaki’s episodes of Lupin III Part 2 which featured proto-Nausicaa flying a prototype of the robots from Castle in the Sky. It would be some years before anyone could come close to matching these!

The original Gundam in ‘79 famously started the ‘real robot’ movement [Animation Night, so let’s take a brief look at how a Gundam fits together.

Generally speaking, the way Gundams are drawn in Gundam ‘79 is kind of rough. The methods to animate these rigid mechanical systems in super accurate perspective were just not yet established at the end of the 70s, certainly not on a TV budget. The actual joints on the Gundam are left very vague, but it broadly speaking seems to move like a human in armour.

But the OVA boom was about to begin, and while it would be a while before we saw the heights of Headgear/Production I.G./Gainax, things were going to change a lot. Mechanical design and animation was about to get much more sophisticated very very quickly.

In 1982, we have Super Dimension Fortress Macross, with robots that transformed into fighter jets. Its robots are designed by Kazutaka Miyatake, who cut his teeth doing mechanical design for Space Battleship Yamato and Daicon. The Macross TV series introduced the world to the animation of Ichirō ‘Missile Circus’ Itano. [AN64] A plane with legs... honestly looks kind of goofy, but Itano’s ambition to have a highly mobile 3D camera that could move in ways that would simply be impossible in live action marked a huge step up in how robots are animated. And this would get refined even further in the film Do You Remember Love.

In terms of design, we’re really moving our inspiration from ‘tokusatsu suit’ to ‘military hardware’ here. A Macross suit has to look like something that could transform into a plane, so its silly little arms and legs have to look kind of plane-like. In any case, we are definitely still in a world of hard and rigid robotics.

Dallos (1983-4) dir. Mamoru Oshii is known as the first OVA, if not the first successful OVA [AN115]. It features a variety of mining robots on the surface of the Moon, which are generally less humanoid, taking their design cues from JCBs...

...as well as humanoid robots with fairly clear joint patterns...

...and more humanoid robots too.

The eponymous Dallos, however, is a huge humanoid robot that looks like this...

Here we have a pile of mechanical shapes that vaguely calls to mind a human face. It’s suggestive of motifs we’d see later in works like Akira.

A year later in 1985, Megazone 23 really kicks off the OVA boom in earnest [AN 103]. It also has a robot, in the form of a transforming bike that can become a humanoid piloted mech...

You can see mechanical designs and shading have become considerably more detailed; its motion is a lot more complex as well with a ton of indulgent background animation shots. The actual details of the bike -> robot transformation are rather brushed over. But to sort of sum up the design language: we have organic but hard-edged shapes contrasted by inorganic but round shapes. (These terms ‘organic’ and ‘inorganic’ refer mostly to symmetry and a sense of ‘flow’ in the shape.) There are few right angles as such, but a lot of broadly boxy topology. The shapes are broken up by elaborate specular highlights in complex shapes, a motif of the later Kanada school.

OK, but that’s all variants on ‘rigid robot’ so far - what about the androids? What about the more directly biological designs?

Following the enormous success of Megazone 23 Part I, Toshiki Hirano got the chance to adapt his favourite lesbian cosmic horror hentai manga Fight! Iczer One into a rather more tame OVA which released from 1985-87. In terms of mechanical design, this starts to do some interesting moves towards blending biological and mechanical forms...

Of course it has a robot in addition to the requisite bishōjo and lightsabers. In contrast to the boxy shapes we’ve seen so far, the robots in Iczer-One have a much more curvy organic sort of design language. Still, there is not a lot of emphasis on the precise details of mechanical articulation outside of select shots. (It is however notable for the first ever Obari punch!)

Despite the change in shape language, these are still very clearly animated as metal plates and not yet muscles.

In 1984 we have a very important film (for this narrative, and in general), Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind, the film that created Studio Ghibli. Here we have the ‘God Warriors’, giant humanoid weapons with the ability to shoot a massive laser out of their mouth. Rather than robots, these are very much biological in nature, having to be grown in a kind of cocoon. In the film version of Nausicaa, an incomplete God Warrior is released, leading to an iconic scene animated by Hideaki Anno in which the God Warrior attempts to blow up the oncoming wave of Ohmu.

The God Warrior’s melting flesh is gorgeously animated, bubbling and sloughing off in great big lumps as the skeleton pokes out from underneath. Throughout, Nausicaa is full of beautiful and impressive animation of both machines (mainly planes) and biological (the giant insects), but the God Warriors, as human-made lifeforms, bring the two together. However, this strand wouldn’t be especially followed up on for a long long time.

Right, but what about Bubblebum Crisis (1987-91)? That is, after all, the iconic 80s robot girl OVA. It’s inspired heavily by Western robot-related films like Terminator and Blade Runner; here we have ‘Boomers’ (never stops being funny) as androids that can appear convincingly human. Like the Terminator, the underlying metal parts can burst out. Here we have a metal frame designed to resemble muscles, and also metal tentacles.

The shapes of these robots are a lot more organic. The robot neck has tubes that sort of resemble the neck muscles, metal plates that resemble pectorals and abs and deltoids and biceps and so on. You’ve even got a direct riff on the Terminator ‘fleshy face falling away to reveal metal skull with glowing red eye’! Under the plates there are clusters of tubes which also heavily resemble muscles. Also you’ve got the classic ‘three small circles’ motif there.

Contrasted against them are the Knight Sabers, who aren’t cyborgs as such but fight in powered exoskeletons which fit the design motifs of robot girls.

These suits are quite form-fitting, with a rubber under-layer and metal shells on top. There is definitely some attention paid to how they’ll articulate around the joints. One very recognisable 80s motif is the sort of extending spike thingies you can see on her hat there; there’s also the jets that extend out behind the suit. And, you have that multi-layer shiny highlighting of course!

Still, the way the characters move in Bubblegum Crisis is still very squarely Kanada School poses; big movements, lots of held poses accentuated by flashing and line boil, not a lot of concern for conservation of momentum or anything like that.

For a contrasting strand we can look at the rise of the ‘Otomo school’ (if you will) of realism. Around the end of the 80s, a pool of talented animators were gathering around Katsuhiro Otomo. Their most famous work is Akira, but I’m actually going to begin with Robot Carnival (1987), a wonderful anthology of short films from 1987. This features a huge variety of interpretations of the concept of robots.

For example, for Kōji Morimoto, later co-founder of Studio 4°C, the robot is a kind of cobbled-together steampunk Frankenstein’s monster. It’s a very cool design with all sorts of asymmetries and exposed parts suggesting its cobbled-together nature. And although all the robot does in this short is stand up and then fall over, a great deal of attention is paid to the little details of its articulation and its movement through space.

Presence, directed by Yasuomi Umetsu, is notable for its steps in the direction of realism - Umetsu’s characters are hyperdetailed and in some ways over-drawn. The opening shots establish this is a world where lifelike androids are common, when an android gets his head kicked off and stolen by children. Here the robot-as-doll metaphor comes in, something that will be increasingly central in the next decade. The robot girl is essentially a human-sized doll in a room full of other toys. Her creator smashes her to pieces with a wrench; later her ghost visits him as an old man. We see the girl attached to a bunch of wires, but she bleeds like a human.

Cloud by Manabu Ōhashi features another humanoid robot, an Astro Boy-like child recognisable as a robot based on his segmented torso and legs and robotic ear... cones. Here the robot is a standin for human emotions, the boy’s struggles projected onto the constantly changing sky as he walks against the wind.

Strange Tales of Meiji Machine Culture: Westerner’s Invasion by Hiroyuki Kitakubo (later to direct Golden Boy, Roujin Z and Blood: The Last Vampire) is a sendup of mecha shows in which two very goofy looking steampunk robots operated respectively by Japanese and Western crews duke it out, laying waste to the city around them. The Japanese robot is basically a big wooden samurai...

and the Western (more specifically American) robot is, uh

sorta big barrel with little eyes on top? I’m not entirely sure what the deal is with this design!

That’s really not relevant to our story tbh I just think it’s a neat short.

Chicken Man and Red Neck, by Takashi Nakamura, features especially distinctive robot designs. The film is kind of a dream sequence in which a terrified drunk man witnesses the revels of the machines of Tokyo, transformed into robots; the robots are extremely shaped, moving through a world that is pretty much just pistons...

These robots call to mind the dancing demons in Fantasia’s Night On Bald Mountain sequence, or even Bosch.

Otomo’s own segments feature the Robot Carnival itself, a vast mechanical structure built as... well some kind of entertaining spectacle, but which now drives around the post-apocalyptic wasteland dropping robots which explode as bombs. It’s cute.

OK, to wrap up the 80s, we gotta cover Akira (1988) [AN34]! Akira has plenty of impressive mechanical animation of helicopters, hovercraft thingies, satellite lasers and of course the famous bike, but it doesn’t really feature robots as such - but what it does have is a blending of mechanical and biological forms in its climactic sequence where Tetsuo’s psychic powers go out of control. First, wires start to spread like the roots of a plant from his robot arm - less an actual machine and more something he assembled with his psychic powers...

He takes a bullet, and the mechanical wires and muscles start to blend together and spread out like a slime mold...

...which he can extend as essentially a giant tentacle.

When his powers fully go off the rails, he bulges out into big blobs of flesh which have both veins and wires running over them. These burst out of the metallic parts as well.

He turns into essentially a giant biomechanical baby.

Did Akira invent these images of blending biology and machinery? Probably not, but I’m not really familiar enough with manga of the time to say. What can at least be said is that Otomo’s absurdly meticulous style could really sell it. Otomo was truly a god of perspective and detail; Akira the film was an enormous, prestigious production that threw ludicrous effort and resources towards realising his vision (which doesn’t mean it paid its inbetweeners much more...). A lot of the animators who worked on Akira would go on to be prominent in...

the 1990s

So, the 1990s. If the 80s was dominated by the later Kanada School, the new movement of the 90s, at least as far as film animation goes, was ‘realism’.

But before we get onto that, let’s take a brief look at Gunnm (1990). Known as Battle Angel Alita in the West, this manga by Yukito Kishiro depicts a world in which most people are cyborgs; it was adapted to an OVA by Madhouse in 1993 and became wildly popular overseas. Its protagonist Gally, aka Alita, starts out the story as a wrecked cyborg body like this...

Looking at this design, you can see similar patterns as we have so far. We have metal clavicles, metal sternocleidomastoid muscle, metal pectorals, metal spine. There aren’t robot muscles, per se, but there’s a lot of attention to detail on mimicking biological shapes.

Before long she is rebuilt (twice in the manga, once in the anime). Her new body is like this...

...which is to say a skintight bodysuit in the middle, and metal arms. These arms, although designed in a way that indicates hard surface and with a hinge joint at the elbow, are designed in a way that mimics the flow of muscles in a human arm. By contrast, her sorta-love interest Yugo has a body like this:

which gets mashed to pieces in the finale of the OVA. There’s a striking mechaguro scene in which Gally catches Yugo, but leaves him hanging by a fraying arm, which snaps, leaving him to fall to his death. Compared to later iterations of the ‘robot arm torn apart’ device, this one’s relatively light on detail...

Cyborg bodies in Gunnm are used as a visual indication of character type. Gally has curves but also sleek robo muscles: she’s a Beautiful Fighting Girl, sweet but also extremely powerful. A huge ‘muscular’ cyborg with wide shoulders is likely to be a brute. Yugo here has much more plain, simple shapes with visible bolts, not precision pieces like Gally.

I don’t know how much of this originates with Gunnm. I’m sure the idea of cyborg girls was in the air long before, but this became an influential example on the tail end of the time of the 80s bishōjo. One device that is notable here is the idea of a ‘full body cyborg’, which is only human down to the brain (or perhaps not even that). Body swapping is a major theme in Gunnm, something that would be expanded on before long...

And if that was going out, what was coming in? Let’s look at Patlabor, which traces the evolution of the Headgear artistic collective and IG Tatsunoko into Production I.G.. This is about as down to earth as giant robot stories can get, with robots as just everyday machines used for work and by the cops. But where things really go nuts in animation terms is the opening to Patlabor 2 (1993).

Here you can see some of the most impressive sequences of mechanical animation ever drawn. We see pilot Noa testing out the robot, and especially notable are the scenes of the hand flexing and of walking. Enormous attention is paid to the articulation of joints. The robot’s hand can swivel 360 degrees, unlike a human; however, like a human, the articulation of the fingers seems to be controlled by hydraulics in the forearm (whereas in humans, the muscles and tendons in the forearm control our fingers). When the robot’s foot steps, it flexes like a real human foot, with believable joints, and a sensible arrangement of pistons to absorb force.

It’s not imitating a human’s muscles, but the attention to the details of the robot’s mechanical design serves precisely to draw our attention to the ways it’s like/unlike a human - the robot’s hand impossible motion immediately contrasted with its pilot shot from the same angle. And the perspective drawing is absolutely impeccable. The robot is made of purely rigid structures, and the way rigid structures articulate is not at all how a human’s joints articulate.

The sequence above was animated by Atsushi Takeuchi. But across the board, the bar was getting pushed for mechanical animation. For example, observe this cut from Mobile Suit Gundam: The 08th MS Team (1996-1999), in which the robot tears off its own arm and beats up another robot. The precision of the way the joints are animated and the way the robots move in space is just completely on another level compared to what Gundam had been doing a couple of decades prior.

Anyway, we’re here to talk about robot muscles, and we’re just a few years out from that now!

The year that robots got muscles, at least as far as anime is concerned, is 1995.

You can probably guess the next part. In 1995, we get Eva and GitS. Let’s start with GitS, to continue the Production I.G./Mamoru Oshii thread. The opening sequence of GitS, animated by - who else could it be? - Hiroyuki Okiura - has to be one of the most iconic segments of video ever drawn. Here’s a merely 720p youtube upload but go and find the place you have GitS stored on your hard drive and watch it in proper quality eh.

OK, yes, a lot of it is a naked lady floating around, sue me or whatever. But the sense of form. We see early on an appearance of ‘robot muscles’, here closely resembling real muscles...

We can see from the way this is drawn that it’s made of a combination of artificial muscles, solid segments, and flexible, fabric-like panels. One of my favourite shots at the beginning shows the solid segments of the skull clicking into place. Here we have a very clear contrast between the angular, hard edges of the mechanical pieces against the organic forms of a human body.

Elsewhere in the film, we see various incredibly cool bits of ‘wouldn’t be fucked up if a body did this‘, like the fingers...

Here, what we expect to be soft biological fingers is contrasted with unexpected rigidity, mechanical joints under a shell.

Also in this scene we encounter a robot body that has been stripped of her arms, legs and hips but is nevertheless still alive...

most extraordinary hacker in the history of cybercrime and you have your titties out and yet you still can’t get them to stop misgendering you, smh

For the Terminator, having its body smashed up and continuing to walk was a demonstration of its strength. Here, as would become perhaps an increasing motif, having a robot body is a source of vulnerability: people can do things to you that would kill an ordinary human but you keep going through it. Not surprisingly, ‘robot body maintenance’ is a recurring porn device. (One that GitS deploys in SAC s2).

But of course this all builds up to the all time classics of mechaguro scene at the ending where the Major attempts to tear off the hatch of a spider tank. Muscles ripple individually under the surface of her skin, her arms bulge in exaggerated contraction, and then her arms fully tear apart under the force.

Here, we’re showing her as mechanical not by contrasting rigid forms with biological ones, but by exaggerating the biological ones to the point of doing something extremely unnatural. Human muscles do not generally flex in such an individual way, nor are they strong enough to tear the arm apart, but robot muscles? Yeah, they could do that. This sets up the next scene where the Major lies unnaturally still, but can still exert control through hacking through her union with the Puppet Master.

Robots holding onto something so hard their arms explode has become... if not a recurring image, then at least one that was called back decades later in Violet Evergarden.

The final scene of GitS brings back the image of robot-as-doll, with the Major’s consciousness now uploaded into a black-market robot body that resembles a child in a dress.

This is further expounded on in Oshii’s second GitS movie Innocence (2004), with its Ballade of the Puppets in the soundtrack as Batou and Togusa (and eventually, the Major) are attacked by essentially an army of ball-jointed doll gynoids. The puppets’ movements are extremely unnatural and erratic acrobatics, constantly flipping all over the place; when hit by bullets, panels pop open to reveal the underlying brass skeleton. It’s a very cool image. (The thing that lets the sequence down is the extremely dated CGI and aggressive digital compositing.)

It also has Donna Harraway as a literal cyborg!

Now, the GitS movies didn’t drop fully formed out of nowhere, but draw on the work of Masamune Shirow. The manga has a somewhat different design sensibility than the movie, distinctive and shiny as all Shirow’s art. It is more rounded and organic, less cold.

So, the basic design of a cyberbody originates with Shirow. You can see it on this page (unfortunately from a flipped version, translation Dark Horse):

You might be able to determine from how the nurses are dressed that, yeah, the GitS manga is in significant part fetish porn. But really nerdy fetish porn, which is the best kind. This chapter is almost entirely dedicated to explaining how cyborg bodies are constructed in great detail, from the ‘sensory film’ (that’s what’s being applied in the opening to the 1995 film) to the hair implantation.

It’s interesting seeing how some of the more out-there designs of the manga, like Chief Aramaki, are transformed into the realist style of Hiroyuki Okiura. It’s Okiura, so it works great of course.

I don’t know if there are manga examples of such detail about cyborg bodies that predate Shirow.

Anyway, that’s just one of the two punches dropped in 1995. The other is Neon Genesis Evangelion. To the pedants: sure, the Evas are not actually robots, but they’re giant cyborgs that play the role of ‘robot’ in the story and they look like robots so I’m counting them.

Anyway, the thing about the Evas is they are incredibly lithe. They run, rip and tear and swing heavy objects around in a way that’s both weighty and distinctly biological. Their bodies are extremely flexible compared to prior mechs (look at how much the spines bend in that Iso cut from EoE!), but not without hard, rigid components such as the shoulder towers. Their jaws are bestial but feature mechanical-like components like interlocking hexagonal teeth and jet-like vents. They are in short a fantastic design that blends biological and mechanical features.

The impact of Eva on just about everything can’t be overstated, but as far as robot design, well. There certainly were works that leaned on the precedent set by Eva, as for example RahXephon, which also treats robots as something spiritual, prone to popping into a blob of weird little bubbles just like in Eva.

There’s a great deal missing from this account. I am very focused on anime because I’ve watched a lot more anime than I’ve read manga or played games from this period. So I’m sure there’s major foundational works I’m missing here!

the 2000s

When did the West start to catch up? eh that’s subjective - David Cronenberg was way ahead of the game! - but specifically in the sense of robots with mechanical muscles, I think the major points in the timeline go a bit like this.

In 1999, there’s the Matrix, which leans heavily on anime. This features a similar ‘robot takeover’ premise to Terminator, but here it’s biomimetic robots modelled after squids, with clouds of constantly moving tentacles that sweep behind them. After making a cool half a billion dollars, the Wachowskis decided to pay all their favourite anime directors to make short films. I’m not going to comment on every part of the Animatrix, since most of it isn’t really relevant, but I will point to this horrifying cut by Takeshi Honda in The Second Renaissance in which a robot woman has her clothes torn and then skin bashed off by a mob. The framing, motion, her expression of abject terror, and the ‘reveal’ of her ‘true’ nature, all viscerally call to mind a trans bashing.

On the manga side, a big one to mention is Gantz, a gory nihilistic seinen manga which ran from 2000-2013. The characters in Gantz fight in special latex-like suits which take on the appearance of muscles while engaging superstrength, but can also sustain damage that causes them to drip fluids from ports located at the neck and become fatal to their wearer. Gantz was adapted to anime by Ichirō Itano in 2004, but I haven’t seen it so I can’t comment on any notable animation.

Cyborgs are a favourite subject of games, but in the 2000s, games are really pushing art direction and biopunk stuff is in. Half Life 2 (2004) has its spider-crab like Striders and dropships and so on. Oddworld: Abe’s Oddysee (1997) bases its whole concept around the sheer variety of weird creatures that would inhabit its dystopian factory. And I gotta give a shoutout to Septerra Core (1999) - in case one other person has played that lmao

At some point after 2005, Boston Dynamics became a viral sensation thanks to their robot BigDog. BigDog is just welded steel and hydraulics, but its lifelike hopping movement style definitely brought to mind the idea that the future of robots is going to be in biomimesis.

So, 2007, here comes Crysis to melt your PC! This is an FPS with the not-uncommon premise of being a supersoldier fighting (country America hates) and also aliens, but its gimmick was that you have a special exosuit that wraps around your body with artificial muscles, making you much stronger and manlier or whatever.

This is indicated by a visualisation that could be right out of a toothpaste ad, where tiny little balls drop into the character’s pores and somehow go straight into the bloodstream which is of course a void full of flying red blood cells. And so on. It sold the game, though! The ad there focuses almost entirely on the suit and not the character wearing it, who is basically an irrelevant soldier man. What it entailed in gameplay terms is that you have a mode switcher so you can have strength or armour or invisibility or whatever. But it’s cool military superscience, you see!

Anyway. Not like my preferred flavour of cyborg is any less stupid I guess x3

In the same year, Bayformers started. These films’ robots are honestly just visual noise, there’s so many moving metal shards going every which way that it’s next to impossible to discern any sort of underlying mechanical principle. A similar ‘overwhelming business’ visual effect would be applied the next year in Iron Man, kicking off the MCU. So mechanical muscles definitely weren’t the only expression of ‘hyper-advanced robot’ in Western visual media in the late 2000s.

I’m going to end my story with two more games: Horizon Zero Dawn and NieR Automata.

Horizon features a world inhabited by a large variety of robot animals, using the peak of AAA rendering techniques. The robots are designed to be biomimetic after both modern animals and prehistoric ones, and feature a combination of hard surfaces and softer biological muscles. For example, a robot horse:

The discipline of making designs like these now has a name: it’s called ‘hard surface modelling’ and it involves boolean operations and bevels and other techniques designed to create a balance of hard edges on a surface against the smoother parts. The design language of Horizon says that the hard plates are white, the soft parts are very dark and may be patterned like a cloth texture, and there can be small colour accents here and there.

I think you can definitely see the influence of Boston Dynamics’s robots (and recent military tech in general) in these designs, iterated on through a decade and a half of increasingly intra-referential concept art. They are visually very busy designs, but there are a couple of recognisable features that draw attention by being inorganic, such as the cylindrical fuel tank at the back. Vitally, the silhouette is very readable.

This robot T. rex for comparison serves as a world boss monster, and you can see it’s got a bunch of military looking attachments that look like radars and missile launchers and so on. As real tech evolved, so too did our idea of what a scary robot ought to look like.

So, that’s where this kind of design pattern has gone in mainstream games.

Now to finish, a brief comment on NieR Automata. Its designs draw hard on those of Ghost in the Shell. Visually it draws a strong contrast between the Machine Lifeforms, who have inorganic shapes (spheres and cylinders) and very visible and plausible mechanical joints, and the doll-like androids, who might as well be human (although A2 provides some contrast in an android who is damaged enough for the underlying materials to show through). The mechanical nature of the androids is communicated by the acrobatic way they move and the interface elements, and dead androids you find in the field - and later when they start losing arms and stuff, it’s a whole thing. But just like humans in Yoko Taro Games, they’re capable of dying in a puddle of blood.

(I guess if you take one thing from this post it’s that if you’re a robot, don’t expect to keep your arms.)

Robot muscles gives you a chance to give both the ‘anatomy porn’ of drawing something very precisely right, with the added bonus of giving you a reason to draw the muscles écorché, and the chance to make it weird and defamiliarised by splitting it with mechanical elements. In short... they look cool!

In this whole post I’ve basically not touched at all on illustration. I can point to a variety of illustrations of robot girls, but in terms of periodising them, I just don’t think I know enough. Though it’s safe to say that cyborg bodies in various states of construction or disrepair are now a mainstream of concept art - and that Ghost in the Shell is usually cited as an influence. I don’t know if robot muscles ever truly became the mainstream way to depict a robot, but it does feel like they’re increasingly common.

One artist I will briefly mention (besides sukabu), mostly bc I think they’re neat, is Haruyo Megurimu, who draws these very intricate designs of ‘necrotech’ which is sort of very biological robots extending out of human bodies - limbs extended on long spindly insectoid strands, jaws splitting open, that kinda thing. Can’t say who influenced them or anything but it’s a compelling extension of the idea into a particular corner of aesthetic space.

And that’s all I’ve got I think. There’s definitely big gaps like. More recent sci-movies. Western comics. Nevertheless, that’s an arc.

If you’ve read this far: thank you for indulging my autism.

[yxine]

hiii this is my first ever request so i'm nervous but 😅 I had this idea (i'm delulu) of the reader going to one of badas classes and she joins the reader in the choreo when it's time to perform and their relationship kinda forms from there 🩵

It's okay babes I'm delulu too, your idea is so good! It was so fun writing it! Do send more requests if you want to;)

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— FLOW. ❞

Bada Lee x Student!Reader:

— in which Bada joins her student that she secretly adores on the choreography she had made.

Really short!

notes: any characters in this fiction is not mine, this is made purely for entertainment.

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You were nervous, this was your first time being a part of your teacher's film. Usually you would just be on the sidelines watching other people in your class dance to their hearts content to appeal the viewers behind the film, well also their teacher.

Bada Lee, a famous choreographer in south Korea who had choreographed for multiple artist such as Kai from Exo, NCT, Aespa and etc. Known for being a very good dancer, a vibe that attracts men and women alike and for her duality that seemed to always surprise people outside from her circle.

She intimidated you, but you also can't help but feel attracted to her. It was the 'Bada Effect' or so they say and you certainly agree with that.

So now here you are standing in the middle of the studio waiting for Bada to finish testing the speakers. Your hands were sweating so much you kept wiping your palms on your black trouser. You have to perfect this, for the spectators...for Bada.

And so, the music started and your body immediately moved to the beat. Every step was on beat, it was like you were water, fluid on every movements. The places where you need more impact, you gave it so popping to make the quality even higher. It looked like you were the one who made the choreography, not your teacher.

Bada can't help but just stare at you as you danced like it was the last thing you do. This was one of the reasons why she chose you to dance for one of her videos, your quality was out of this world, she even wondered why you were still taking her classes. But it was also exactly why she adored you and exactly why it took her this long to show you off to other people without you knowing.

With your aura, it will just be a matter of time before you become famous like her. Which is why she doesn't put you in her videos til now because if you had all the attention, how will she get yours?

One of the reasons why Bada also chose you was because she originally made the choreo for a duo, so guess what she's going for there. Yes...

Everyone in the studio cheered loudly as Bada suddenly went behind you, arms were wrapped around you before swiftly moving to your left. The image looked like a lover wanting to wrap their arms around their significant other but was pulled away. It made everyone yell in surprise as suddenly the dance made sense now.

You on the other hand was focused on the dance that even when Bada joined you, you were in the zone and didn't even flinch. It was like both of you planned it but it wasn't.

Both your bodies in sync and was so closely each other it looked so intimate, the tension was so high as both of you grinded to the rhythm. This should not be done in the studio was what the other's were thinking.

It wasn't until the song ended that you finally snapped out of it and covered your mouth in shock the moment your eyes locked with your teacher.

When did she get here?!

Bada only smiled and chuckled in amusement of your expression, slightly taken aback as you didn't even notice her. You were dancing with so much effort and focus it looked cute in her eyes. The fact that it was her choreography that made you like this...

"That was good, love. Maybe we should do it again next time." Bada said to you making you blush profusely as she winked and clapped her hands to get her other students' attention while you just stood there processing.

I got to watch that video when it uploads!

[t0bey]

Hey! I’ve been looking at your art for awhile, and I absolutely love the way you draw bodies! The characters always look so fluid and lively. Would you ever consider dropping a tutorial?

Thank you!! Im not that great at verbalizing my process, but here’s some things i try to keep in mind!

Focus on the gesture+silhoutte of the pose for the initial sketch, i usually use a chunky marker brush to fill out the initial silhouette and use a thinner one to refine the sketch later

Using reference photos such as photos or creating your own (i personally use magicposer when I struggle finding an exact pose im looking for, personally consider the subscription worth it), helps a lot with trickier perspective shots and anatomy

Something I’ve internalized from artists i admire is to try sketching/lining the pose in as little strokes as possible. It forces you to be more dynamic/flexible with each line and helps a lot with readability

It’s alright to forgo realism in order to convey more dynamism/liveliness! chunky rectangular fingers my beloved

Since I’m not great with tutorials i think ill just include the timelapse i did of my Florian piece that showcases the general rules i try to abide by above, but this is just something that works for me personally and i definitely dont have any authority or art degree to tell anyone how to art lol

[breezybangtanbebe]

3D: JJK💋 Part 3

A/N: Jungkook is in a closed triad with Janelle, the bubbly brown skinned bookworm with alluring eyes and luscious hips, and Katya , the semi alt bartending vixen with copper toned curls and a silver tongue.

Tags: Jungkook AMBW fic with original characters. Sex, raw and protected. Masturbation. Oral (female and male receiving) Threesome. PMS pampering .Some girl on girl, fluff and mild plot because theyre lovers after all 😌

8.6k words

After stewing in the tub until the water was cold and her fingers were wrinkled, Janelle emerged from the bathroom on heavy feet and trudged to her room wrapped in a big fluffy towel.

Times like this, she was grateful to have her room and the privacy to PMS in peace. To sleep naked and air dry without any disturbances.

It wasn't much, four walls packed from corner to corner with most of her belongings. A lot of which Jungkook begrudgingly helped her bring up the stairs to their 5-floor unit when the elevator was too crowded.

Since Kat joined them, upgrading from their one-bedroom to a three-bedroom didn't seem like the best option economically at first thought.

Jungkook was a freelance tattoo artist, occasionally working security with Taehyung to make ends meet.

Janelle was a student between majors, part-time in a department store when she wasn't studying. To save on tuition, Jungkook moved her in and the two lived happily together once he allowed her to organize and give the space some livability and style.

Things were still tight but they were happy.

And then Kat entered the chat.

She had an apartment that was a train ride away, with a roommate that seemed pleasant upon first impression. But something about her inconsiderate company, the way she left dirty dishes in the sink for days that she only cleaned when said company was over, and the consistent ring left around the bathtub when she was done bathing that Kat just couldn't tolerate any longer.

So when things started between the three of them, she spent the majority of her days and nights with them. Mostly with Janelle since Jungkook would be working late at times.

Janelle and Jungkook had a system that Kat appreciated. Both of them cooked and cleaned, and their apartment always smelled good, a mix of marijuana and incense that she found comforting. For a while, Kat's stuff started accumulating in their storage.

Her clothes.

Her shoes.

Her makeup.

After some months of hopping between hers and theirs, it just made sense for her to live with them permanently.

She surprisingly made a lot from bartending, and could easily cover her part of the rent split three ways if they upgraded. So after a few months of looking and waiting, they found a bigger apartment in the same complex.

Sleeping arrangements were fluid, Janelle usually being the one to float between snuggling under Jungkook's big hard body or big spooning in Kat's bed because she knew Kat liked being cuddled as much as she did.

Even when she acted like she didn't.

And then there were those nights when the three of them piled up on the couches with Janelle sandwiched between her partners, letting the TV watch them until someone started snoring.

Usually Jungkook.

It was a happy little life they shared.

But as stated before, Janelle was still grateful for her bed in times like this. When the silence in her room could allow her mind to drift past her discomfort, her body sank deeper into her Downy-scented sheets and blankets.

Flashbacks of several hours ago replayed in her dreams, the detailed recall of Jungkook's scowl of focus trained on the arch in Kat's back rolling in a hazy slow motion.

The sweat dripped down his chest and over his abs.

The dents of his tight grip on Kat's waist.

The ripples of her backside bounced back and forth on her boyfriend's length as she released a moan of release.

The sound of his name in her voice and rumble of curses in his.

All so erotic and enchanting.

And arousing.

Janelle stands in witness of it all, this time not aggravated by the heat or the ache in her womb. But in awe of them.

In envy of them.

The look in both of their eyes when they noticed Janelle watching them was as lust drunk as they were, and Janelle smirked before she fully entered the room.

Shutting the door behind her...

It wasn't until she heard a random alarm on her phone going off that she realized she'd fallen asleep. Sweat coated her skin in a dewy sheen when she came to, reminding her that she hadn't put anything on after her bath.

Gone was the lustful haze clouding her vision, and back was the canopy of fairy lights warmly illuminating her bedroom. The scent of sex is replaced by her candle warmer and the gruff sounds of Jungkook's and Kat's moans are replaced by her panted breaths.

But one thing that did remain, however, was the slickness gathering between her thighs.

A slickness that in her slumber, her fingers explored and submerged themselves in between her lips.

Janelle's brain takes a few seconds to register what is happening, and she abruptly pulls her hand up from her sex to inspect her hand. She sighs in relief to find her index and middle fingers coated in a clear sheen of arousal before tucking her hand back between her legs.

She sighs again, staring at the ceiling before looking towards the door.

There wasn't much noise in the apartment from what she could hear, so she didn't quite know whether she was alone or not. From their conversation earlier, Janelle still half expected Kat and Jungkook to either be gone or getting ready to go to the show.

A hint of sadness washed over her at the thought despite her encouraging it, but it quickly stowed at the unsubtle reminder of her dream.

Spreading her legs wider beneath the covers, Janelle's brow crinkled as she pressed her slippery fingertips against her clit, rubbing over one side of it slowly until she shivered.

Coasting over her bud, her core tightened like a coil and relaxed with a shuddered sigh at how sensitive she was. Over and over her fingers teased until she felt herself on the brink, and she summoned the memory of Jungkook stuffed deeply inside of Kat to push her over the edge.

Janelle lets out a strained moan and her back arches off the bed, her two fingers going still over her clit to allow the full force of her orgasm to take hold of her.

Her walls pulsed needily, thickening the layer of nectar pooling from her entrance as she finally relaxed.

But as she rubbed over herself soothingly, Janelle realized quickly that she needed more.

It wasn't odd for her to be this insatiable at the height of fertility. Everything was sensitive. Her emotions. Her senses. Her body.

Horniness typically came with the pain of the syndrome and Jungkook, being the doting kind of boyfriend he was, figured out rather quickly how to handle his girl during this time of the month.

Speaking of.

"Baby? You awake?"

His muffled voice full of concern through her door was preceded by a couple of light taps against it with his knuckle. Janelle's eyes widen a little, blinking away the tears from her intense release before clearing her throat.

"Y...Yeah. Come in..." she rasps, pulling the blanket up to cover her nudity as if Jungkook hadn't seen her naked a billion times already.

The hinges squeak and he lingers in her doorway after opening it, tilting his head with an empathetic pout on his lips.

"Are you alive?" he smirks, lifting a brow.

Janelle responded to him with a weak smile and nod, giving his height a full upward appraisal as he stepped into her room and towards her bed.

He's dressed in a faded black graphic tee that hugged his biceps at the sleeves, similar to the way his ripped jeans clung to his quads. The single silver chain at his neck dangled as he leaned down to press his lips against Janelle's forehead, squatting beside her bed right after.

"Well, you look pitiful.." he chuckles, brushing stray hairs from her face. His touch did more to her than it usually did, on top of his scent and the warmth of his proximity, and Janelle found herself whimpering softly when he pulled his hand away.

"I feel pitiful. And you smell really good...Getting ready for the show?" her sad eyes lift to lock with his and Jungkook gazes down at her as if she were the most precious being to ever exist.

Biting his lip ring, he shakes his head.

"Naw. No show tonight. Tae already sold the tickets."

Janelle furrows her brow.

"What? Why?" she asks. His eyes go back to all the stubborn flyaways framing Janelle's face, most of them reverting to their natural state from her sweat and steamy bath earlier. He smooths them under his hand affectionately with a nonchalant shrug.

"Because I told him he could. There will be other shows to catch when all three of us can go. Otherwise, what would be the point? And don't even try to argue. Kat agrees. She wasn't trying to leave you here either.." he smirks at the combative look forming on her face. It fades immediately at the definitiveness of his response, and her bottom lip pokes out sourly.

"I told y'all it was ok though. You didn't have to do that. Now I feel bad..." she whines. Jungkook sighs before leaning back in to peck her trembling lips a few times to shut her up. He stills his kiss to run the tip of his nose over hers.

"Hush," he affirms with his lips still close enough for her to feel his smile.

"Now why the hell would I choose spending my night with a bunch of drunk ass metal heads in a dark smokey ass room too small for the people in it, when I could be here with you? Hmm?"

He punctuates the question with another peck against her lips, humming softly before putting just enough space between them to see her face fully.

"Plus Kat's a pain in the ass when she's drunk and there's no way in hell I was gonna deal with that shit alone. So boom. You're stuck with us."

Janelle giggles at the truth in his statement. For someone who worked at a bar and dealt out hundreds of shots a night, Kat was the LAST person you wanted to fool with when she was drunk.

A story for another time.

"You're right. Silly me.." Janelle wrinkles her nose, only adding to the cuteness Jungkook admired quietly. He leans up after a beat, seating himself on the edge of the bed and facing her. He thoughtlessly rested his hand on the curve of her hips cloaked by her blanket as he sighed.

"No shit. Anyway...I came in here to let you know that I was about to hit up 7-Eleven. Anything special you want or need?" He tilts his head with interest, his large hand stroking over the fuzz draping her curves.

Janelle thought about it for a few seconds, a plethora of things coming to mind that she was sure to want from her favorite convenience stop. But with the taste of her man still fresh on her lips and the memory of his shallow breathing warming them, her thoughts were clouded.

More like a debilitating fog in Jungkook's case. His face, his voice, his smell, his taste, and his touch were all-consuming.

Even now, his fingers spread over the roundness of her ass and come suspiciously close to the slit leading straight to her sex, a part of her that would be screaming his name if it could speak.

No, there was no way she could think of anything she wanted beyond him right now.

She pondered silently as her thoughts jumbled, all while Jungkook watched her warily with mild concern and amusement.

"Is it that hard of a question?" He chuckles and Janelle joins him in a bashful giggle of her own.

"No." She shakes her head.

"I just can't think of anything when I want so many things right now.." she looks away shyly. She reaches

Jungkook inches closer to the bed, dragging his teeth over his bottom lip as he hooded his gaze on her.

"Yeah? Like what?"

"Kisses? Please?.." Janelle whispers against his idled lips with begging eyes locked on his sultry gaze. She pulls her hand from under the blanket to curl around the side of his neck to emphasize her need, pulling herself up to meet him where he was.

Jungkook lets a little growl vibrate between them before going back in to part her lips with his slowly. Janelle moaned softly when his tongue teased hers, compelling her to lean up more to secure her cling to him.

This causes the fuzzy throw blanket to fall from her chest, exposing her nudity to the cool air around them. Jungkook doesn't seem to notice until his hand slides over her ticklish ribs though.

He pulls back in slight surprise at the feel of her smooth skin under his fingers, leaving Janelle chasing his lips.

"Nell..Where yo clothes at?" He breathes, skimming his touch over her side. His thumb brushes the underside of her boob just barely, but it's enough to make her nipples harden under his watchful eye.

A blush floods through her entire body at the way she felt him tracing her curves, and she allows him to discard the blanket completely for further confirmation.

His brows shoot up immediately.

"Oh damn. You naked naked. I at least expected panties.." he chuckles, his hand going to run over her thick thighs.

"It's too hot for panties. I'm all achy and sensitive. You know how I get.." she tries to defend her scarceness pointlessly, making Jungkook's curiosity and mischief mount.

"Mmhmm.." he dismisses her as his hand travels to the dip between her knees.

Her legs remained pressed together as if she were afraid of him to see how much of a mess she already was. She should have known better than to do that though.

With little effort, Jungkook pushes her knees apart, exposing her most private parts to him hopelessly.

His brows lift unsubtly at the way Janelle's pussy bloomed the prettiest shade of pink he'd ever seen. Her clit peaked between her lips, still shiny and swollen, while the rest of her sex glistened in the warmly lit room.

Not that he was surprised by it. After being with her for a while, he had never experienced a woman being so excitable near her time of the month. He wasn't at all squeamish and didn't mind running a red light now and then if she was comfortable with it. But it was the week before that he loved because she was always outrageously wet and sensitive. It drove him insane.

Thoughtfully, he glances down at his attire before shooting up and away from the bed.

She hears him call for Kat from her doorway and Kat responds loudly from across the apartment.

"Kat!"

"Kat!"

Some time ago...

"Kat?"

Janelle stares at herself in uncertainty in the mirror in the bathroom, scrutinizing herself harshly in her mind.

She takes a few steps back to get a full-body view, turning to the side and sucking in uselessly before exhaling loudly and turning back up to the mirror.

"Kat!?" Janelle's voice breaks when she yells this time.

A few seconds after passing the doorway, Kat backtracks and pokes her head in curiously at the sound of Janelle calling to her with lifted brows.

"What, what happened?..... Oooooh sexy mama..." She grins, immediately distracted by the way the low-cut white latex dress conformed to Janelle's curves.

Tonight was the New Year's Eve party, hosted by one of Jungkook's friends on the rooftop of some 5-star hotel uptown. The theme was 'Brand New', calling for all-white attire.

Kat's general disgust was felt at such news, seeing as how white was one of the hues she'd worn the least in her lifetime. But that didn't stop her from tossing together a sexy little ensemble that still showed her edgy side.

She's in her short white body con wrap dress with the sides cut to reveal most of her slender torso. Kat was more on the slimmer side so dresses that showed more always felt less forgiving on Janelle, in her opinion.

Even now in her dress, she felt overly aware of how the little bulge of her lower tummy seemed more noticeable, as well as how wide her hips were.

Janelle accepts Kat's praise with an impish smile that falters the moment she notes how flawless Kat's makeup looks. Her smokey eyes and dark lips, offsetting her bright hair had her looking like a sexy vampire. Totally on theme while remaining on brand for Kat. She looked gorgeous and for the first time since Kat had moved in, Janelle felt oddly intimidated by it.

"Ugh look at you...I suck so much at this "Bad Bitch" stuff.." she huffs. She returns her attention to her reflection and grimaces in dissatisfaction at her makeup. Which by anyone else's standards looked just as good as Kat's but let her hormones tell, she was a potato.

Kat frowns at her expression.

"Um...what?" she chuckles, stepping into the bathroom.

She stops behind Janelle and observes her reflection with her over her shoulder. From what she could see, what Janelle said was far from the truth. Her makeup was perfectly done as it always was. Her skin had an airbrushed finish, highlights, and contours blended seamlessly. Her lips were plump and nude.

"Janelle, what the fuck are you talking about?." Kat snarls and Janelle huffs pitifully.

"I don't know. I'm just not feeling it at all. When I bought this dress, it fit me way differently. Now I feel like I'm busting out of it and nothing else looks right either."

Apart from her disproval of her how her dress fit, and her makeup, Janelle couldn't seem to figure out what she wanted to so with her hair.

She'd blown it out and straightened it the night before and she'd just unwrapped it. Middle part? Side part? Up-do? Half up, half down? Beach waves or bone straight?

She lacked the vision and motivation to obtain one since nothing else about her look seemed to come together the way she imagined it. Kat stood by, listening to Janelle degrade her looks for only a few more seconds before cutting her off.

"Alright. Enough of that. You sound crazy." Kat dismisses her with a shake of her head. She abruptly steps around and grabs Janelle by the shoulders so that she's facing her head.

She assessed Janelle's makeup for herself, deeming it flawless before inspecting her hair.

Her eyes go up and focus on her finger combing through the front of her head to find the natural flow and fall of her delicately cut layers until she's satisfied.

"There..just let it flow like this. Natural and pretty.." Kat comments distractedly as she brushes a stray strand of hair from Janelle's face without disturbing her perfectly shaped eyebrows and the style she'd just created.

As she did, Janelle's gaze fell to her lips. Kat's complexion always reminded me of a caramel macchiato after twirling her straw around a few times. And the cinnamon freckles dotting her face were just visible beneath her foundation, intentional.

But her lips were lined and filled perfectly with MAC Ximal's deep maroon shade that reminded her of a Rubicon Spray rose in full bloom.

"Why are you so pretty Kat?" Janelle asks in a small voice, sounding as if she were on the brink of tears. Kat's expression hardened at the tremble in Janelle's tone.

"I ingest the souls of my enemies. Oh and sunscreen. What's your secret?" she deadpans, going back to playing in Janelle's hair as she laughs.

"Hmmph...maybe I should give that a try." her laughter tapers as she turns her head to examine her reflection. Before she can say anything negative, Kat nudges her cheek to bring her attention back to her.

"Don't start that. Now what's going on with you? How do you not know how fucking beautiful you are Belly?"

"Belly?" Janelle scrunches her nose at the new nickname in amusement. Kat nods.

"Yeah. Short for Jelly Belly. I've been calling you that in my head for months, it just finally slipped out." she shrugs, and Janelle's head tips back as she lets out another round of laughter.

"Oh? Because I'm chubby?" she jokes but Kat doesn't join her laughing. It wasn't a secret to anyone that Janelle was feeling a bit fuller than usual tonight, PMS bloating being the culprit. But no one minded it as much as she did.

And damn sure had nothing to do with the pet name, even though it ironically sounds like it did.

"No...jelly beans are just one of my favorite candies. And you are undoubtedly one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. Your vibe, your face, your body is perfect to me.."

"So I remind you of a jelly bean?" Janelle could not help but laugh, picturing the curved round stubby little morsel of sugar in her mind.

"More or less. It was the first thing I thought of when I saw you for the first time. You were dressed so bright and bubbly, I said to myself 'This girl is way too sweet looking for a place like this...' "

"Funny...I thought the same thing when I saw you." Janelle perks her brow, bravely reaching for Kat's slim waist and reciprocating the possessive hold she had on her. Kat's mouth forms a grim line of disagreement.

"Yeah yeah...Anyway.Stop calling yourself fat. It's annoying. Id die for a body like yours." she pouts, stroking Janelle's curves appreciatively over the slick material of her dress.

"And I'd rather have yours. You look so good in whatever you wear, Kat. Meanwhile how I look depends on whether my uterus hates me for not being pregnant." Janelle mirths.

Kat laughs at that, relating to her pain all too well. Although since having her IUD, she hadn't experienced the same pain and discomfort that came with womanhood in a while, she still empathized.

It might have been true that what she felt wasn't all in her head and the way her white dress hugged her every curve didn't ease her insecurity. But as far as Janelle's body looking any less perfect to her, she disagreed wholeheartedly.

"Are you kidding? Janelle, your body proportions are perfect. Dead serious. This ass? You know how many people stop to watch you walk by out in public? I do it here and I know Jungkook does. Hell, whenever I see you walking around in those Tweetie Bird shorts, I just wanna stop you, bend you over bite it. It makes sense why Jungkook can't keep his hands off you."

Janelle starts to deny Kat's claims but remains silent when the ginger's eyes fall to the heavy globes filling the designated cups of latex in her bosom.

Kat's hands lift slowly from her waist, cupping the shape of her breasts tenderly.

"Or these..." her thumbs coast over Janelle's responsive nipples, and they harden on contact right before her eyes.

"They're so fucking pretty, I just wanna hold them in my mouth until you melt..." she mouths distractedly, still rubbing over Janelle's nipples in a mini trance. Janelle watched her hands work, squeezing her tits until she couldn't hold back her little restrained moan anymore. Among other parts of her changing body during this time, Janelle's nipples were at their most sensitive now.

Kat releases her at the sound, her bold hands returning to hold Janelle's waist. She shakes her head sheepishly.

"Sorry...that was kinda gay.." she jokes as if everyone didn't already know how 'gay' Kat was. So gay in fact that the index and middle digits on her dominant hand were always the only nails she kept short whenever she got them done.

Janelle noticed that immediately.🌚

"It's ok.." Janelle rasps, clearing her throat and they both share a laugh that fades out the moment they lock eyes again. Janelle is first to look away shyly, shaking off her emotions and releasing them with a sigh.

"Thank you...no one has ever said anything like that to me before." she lifts her eyes slowly, meeting Kat's incredulous expression.

"I doubt that. Your mans over here says all kinds of nasty stuff to you, I'm sure."

"Yeah but..it's different with you. Men will say anything for a chance to get a woman's pants. Jungkook doesn't have to sweet talk me but he knows what it'll get him if he does. But you...I can tell you mean that."

Janelle didn't consider herself a lesbian or bisexual early on.

Never had been and never desired to be one when being with men felt like enough. Sure, she found women attractive, often finding herself staring at the ones she found most captivating. But never did she think of herself as a woman that was into women.

Until she saw Katya.

Spotting her working the bar with such skill and confidence, dancing freely with other bartenders, and flirting with patrons, there were things about the slightly androgynous personality with soft feminine facial features that made her the exception.

Still stroking Janelle's temple affectionately, Kat smirks.

"Hmm...and can you tell how much I wanna kiss you right now?" The tip of her tongue peaks and curls out the side of her mouth salaciously, tilting her head with interest.

"What's stopping you?" Janelle breathes after a beat, her lips remaining parted in anticipation of Kat's next move.

Leaning in, Kat's dark lips press over Janelle's nude and glossy pout, both of them sighing in tandem.

Kat sucks on the fattest lip softly, staining Janelle with her lipstick before opening her up to explore her with her tongue. Janelle's lashes fluttered at the way Janelle made her feel dominated in the way kissed her, parting her lips wider for her to deepen her dive. Kat slides a hand over Janelle's neck and locks her in place, making Janelle moan softly against her.

The two stood there for what felt like a while, kissing and exploring each other's curves with tentative touches, tuning out anything that wasn't between them. Even the heavy sounds of footsteps echoing in the hallway.

"Hey, Yall almost ready?...Whoa..." Jungkook pauses mid-step in the open bathroom doorway, unbuttoning the cuff of his crisp white denim jacket's sleeve.

Jungkook's take on the theme was very true to his nature. He wore an all-white Calvin Klein set, jacket, and jeans, with a loosely tucked white v-neck. His silver chain and rings accent the outfit with a pop of glitz that's offset by his overall monochromatic aesthetic. Simple and sexy.

But damn all of that. He just walked in on two fine-ass women tongue-kissing in his bathroom.

Kat pulled away from Janelle's lips to turn around, leaving her kissing partner's head spinning and eyes fluttering as she came back to earth. Noting Jungkook's astounded expression, Kat smirks devilishly. She licks her lips before shooting Janelle a glance.

"What was that Kook?" she asks him, knowing full and well, she'd heard him.

Jungkook blinked distractedly, replaying the image of bliss and pleasure on Janelle's face when Kat licked passionately at her mouth. Blood rushes in his veins excitedly, most of it gathering just below the elastic of his CK boxer briefs, pulsing in time with his heart.

"I..was just asking if you two were..ready," he responds, smirking at his pause when Janelle blushed behind Kat, looking away guiltily.

"Yeah, almost. Was just helping Nell with her makeup..." she says smoothly, cheekily turning back to Janelle to make her blush even harder.

"Why? Did you need something?" she tosses back to him, insinuating that he was interrupting.

"Nope." He shakes his head, not making any moves to leave. Seeming as if they were now at a standstill, Kat turned to him, her shoulders squared as she folded her arms over her chest.

"Ok..well?.." she trails off, her eyes pointing beyond where Jungkook was standing, a challenge clear in her frisky glare.

Jungkook's brows go up again and the corners of his mouth droop as if he were genuinely impressed by her bold attempt at dismissing him.

Janelle wasn't far off when she said he and Kat were just alike. While they got along well enough over the past few weeks of her living with them, Jungkook did notice that when it came to Janelle...

They had a bit of a territorial streak he knew they would need to work out.

He wasn't invasive nor was he a creep, but he did start to understand the appeal of seeing his partner being loved on by someone else.

Someone he didn't have to compete with.

Someone who was beginning to be as frustratingly attractive the longer she was around.

But one thing Kat wasn't about to do, no matter how sexy she looked with Janelle, was run him off in his own apartment.

"Well... no need to rush perfection. Carry on.." he states, propping his shoulder against the door frame with his thumbs tucked in his pockets, getting cozy and showing he had no intention of leaving them to it. Kat smirked at his stubbornness, finding it more amusing than anything as she scoffed.

"Anyway...how long till the car pulls up?" she asks and Jungkook lifts his wrist to examine his watch.

"Uhhh...less than an hour."

Kats nods in understanding, turning back to Janelle.

"Alright...You got it from here or you still need my help?" she asks, knowing she implied more than just aiding Janelle in getting ready for the night.

"I...I think I got it." she stammered with a shy smile, having its usual effect on Kat as she nodded again.

"K...well, you know where to find me." she winks, patting Janelle's booty before turning away.

When facing Jungkook, Kat looks him up and down before giving him a muted look of disgust that makes him grin.

"You look nice.." he complimented her as she squeezed past him.

"Shut up." She poked Jungkook's side with her pointy nail as she passed, making him cough and clutch his rib protectively, sticking his tongue out at her back childishly.

Janelle chuckles breathily and rolls her eyes.

"Yall should just bang and it over with. Put me out of my misery..." she smirks and Jungkook wrinkles his nose.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Mmmhmm...Ok, what do you think?" she does a little spin for him, masking her former insecurities well enough for the question to just sound like a question. When she stops, she's back facing the mirror, that look of uncertainty still in her eyes.

Jungkook regards her softly for a moment before approaching slowly, appraising her from head to toe with his lip tucked between his teeth. He joins her at the mirror, stooping to rest his chin on her shoulder and wrap his arms around her waist from behind.

His hand widens over her belly, stroking the little pudge affectionately as he locks eyes with her reflection.

"I think you're perfectly gorgeous. Like always. This dress is sexy on you..." he remarks, kissing her shoulder.

"Really?" Janelle lights up at his compliment and he nods.

"Mmhmm..You look sexy in white." he looks up at her suggestively, pressing himself against her plump ass for emphasis.

His hands were sneaky at first but the unsubtle feeling of him rolling up her dress just enough for him to be able to cup her sex with his fingers stroking the seam of her lips through her panties.

She was wet and it was evident in the way her panties barely shielded her from the friction Jungkook's steady hand caused. Janelle's back melts against Jungkook's chest, her head falling against his shoulder as she gasped.

"Do you feel sexy?" he murmurs, kissing her shoulder again. His fingers continued to rub her mound, focusing on the little hill of her clit that was hardening and beginning to poke through the seam of her lips. Janelle shook when he rubbed her harder, a whispered 'yes' coming out in a soft moan that only Jungkook could hear.

He smirks, nosing through her hair until he's able to plant a kiss on her neck. He tucks her straightened tresses behind her ear carefully to gain better access to her skin, suckling and nibbling until the evidence was just barely visible if anyone looks hard enough.

Soon after, his mischievous hand abandons its tease to begin fixing her dress. The latex-like material rolls back down her thighs with a little 'snap' of confirmation.

"Good. Hold on to that feeling. I'll take care of you when we get back home.." Jungkook straightens up, placing a careful kiss to her temple before leaving her standing at the mirror with her core clenching and sexually, keyed up from the way both he and Kat had just handled her.

Like putty.

Janelle exhales, shaking off the arousal and regaining her focus on finishing getting ready. She scans the counter littered with makeup products and the flat iron that was still warm from styling her hair. She then looks back at herself in the mirror with keen eyes.

Despite being flustered by Kat's intervention and Jungkook's gentle teasing, her makeup and hair were well intact.

Well, apart from that dark rouge tint blending with her nude-toned lips, and the way Jungkook had tucked her hair behind her ear to expose the faint love bite he'd left her. Flaunting the marks of both of her dates tonight would dispel any insecurities she felt several minutes before. It made her feel sexier than ever feeling so claimed and desired by both of them.

As if they'd done what they did on purpose, a collaborative effort to make sure she felt just as good as she looked.

If so, they worked well together.

Back to the present...

"KAT!"

"WHAT?!"

"C'mere!" He yells, still leaning out of Janelle's bedroom doorway. Cool air from the hall seeped into the room, pricking her skin with goosebumps. She pulled the blanket back up to cover herself, blinking curiously with a frown as she watched Jungkook.

Seconds later, Kat appeared in front of Jungkook, dressed in only a beige Nike sports bra and black sweats rolled up at the waist. Her wild mane of fire sat on top of her head in a messy ponytail, her glare fixed on Jungkook.

"What?" She huffs again, visibly irritated and Jungkook leans in to whisper something to her. She looks to Jungkook warily but doesn't stop him from speaking. Janelle's brow crinkled at them.

Gradually, Kat's scowl fades the longer Jungkook's mouth moves at her ear and her eyes go to Janelle midway.

Then she smirks.

Not just a normal smirk either. There was a hunger in her expression that sent a frenzy of excitement to bloom between Janelle's thighs just from the way Kat's gaze scanned her lounging body shielded by her blanket.

Kat's bottom lip tucks between her teeth when Jungkook pulls away from her. He gives her a knowing look with lifted brows.

"You got it?" he says and Kat looks to him reluctantly, nodding and nudging him on the shoulder.

"Yeah, I got it."

"You sure?" Jungkook doesn't budge, being the brick wall he was, and Kat sighs.

"Yes! Would you just go? I got it.." she tips her chin to point over his, emphasizing his dismissal with another shove at his shoulder and muscular arm. At her eagerness for him to leave, Jungkook chuckles. Shaking his head, he glances back at Janelle.

"I'll be back baby. Text me if you think of something."

"Ok," Janelle responds softly, still tucked shyly below her blanket with longing eyes that move from him to Kat slowly.

Jungkook leaves them alone, the jingling of his keys fading to nothing as the front door shutting sealed the women in their apartment.

Kat approaches Janelle's bedside, taking Jungkook's place by squatting at the head of her bed. She reaches out to cup Janelle's cheek, rubbing her bottom lip with the pad of her thumb.

"Hey Belly..." Kat all but whispers, her sexy rasp pulling all of Janelle's attention to her touch.

"Hey.." she sighs and Kat smiles softly.

Her hand moves to remove the elastic band from Janelle's hair gently, pulling it until her dark brown waves fanned out over her pink satin-covered pillow.

"Your hair is curling back up." Kat remarks observantly, brushing her fingertips over Janelle's hairline.

"I know...I was sweating too much today." Janelle whines and Kat shakes her head.

"I don't know why you bother straightening it in the summer. You should just wear it curly," she says, running her fingers through her hair, her nails gently detangling the curly and straight strands as she spoke.

"Your hair is so thick and healthy. A break from the heat wouldn't hurt at all.."

"Mmhmm.." Janelle hummed, relishing in her girlfriend's touch. It differs greatly from Jungkook in ways she couldn't explain, but it affected her the same.

Janelle sighed as she got lost in Kat's doting touch, leaning into her hand while she played in her hair.

She wondered vaguely what Jungkook said to her before he left but her mind was too jumbled by hormones to ask. She whimpers at the soothing feeling of Kat's fingernails scraping her scalp, her eyelids drooping.

"Kook says you're still hurting pretty bad..." Kat's sultry rasp strummed in Janelle's ears like a Spanish guitar. She nods wordlessly, her brows inverting into a pitiful expression as she opens her eyes. Kat's gaze warmed over her, her lips pouting.

"Want me to make it better?" She asks, despite having received clear instructions from Jungkook on how to take care of their girl.

Her other hand curls over the dip of Janelle's waist, gently tugging at the blanket covering her upper body. Janelle gasped as she is slowly revealed to Kat, whose eyes glazed over with lust the moment they made contact with her skin.

Janelle laid on her back with her hands resting over her breasts, thoughtlessly playing with her nipples as Kat scanned her body.

"How.." Janelle begins but her question halts the second Kat scoots closer to her on the bed, leaning over her. She licks her lips, her attention falling to Janelle's dainty fingers toying with her stiffening peaks.

"Kook told me he used to help you when you were in pain like this all the time." she exhales, one of her hands wrapping around Janelle's wrist to pull it away from her chest. Kat pins it to the mattress.

"He did...but you don't have t.." Janelle stammers, going silent at the sudden press of Kat's lips against hers.

"Hmm? What did he use to do?" She asks uselessly against her lips, eliciting a soft moan from Janelle. The sheets and blankets rustled as she pressed her thighs together, a helpless attempt at easing the ache growing between them.

Kat noticed and knew full and well what the doting boyfriend she'd witnessed him being numerous would do in this situation. His words from a minute ago were clear.

Do whatever you gotta do.

Just make her cum..

She'd be lying in saying the way the words sounded coming from his growl of a whisper didn't make her walls clench. But she'd ignore it in favor of making Janelle feel good. She only asked her because she liked the way Janelle would stammer when asked to talk dirty.

She was so shy sometimes, it was adorable. Kat hummed questioningly to remind Janelle to respond by licking over her tongue.

"He...he would just take care of me." Janelle mouths.

"You know, massage my back...Rub my legs...Touch me..and stuff.."

Janelle's voice faded as a sudden shyness took hold, but that didn't stop her hand from clenching into a fist, her other squeezing her nipple hard until she gasped.

If she could, she'd be touching herself as she was before, less to answer the question and more to quell the simmering need for stimulation between her legs. Obeying her body, Janelle pulls her trapped wrist from Kat's hold to push it beneath the blanket to cup her pussy. She leans up slightly and sighs in relief at her touch, pressing her fingers against her clit.

With a whine and a bite of her lip, Janelle told her attentive girlfriend all she needed to know.

Pulling away, Kat's gaze falls to where Janelle's hand disappeared under the blanket, lifting her brows slowly in intrigue.

With her tongue poking at the corner of her mouth, Kat looks back up at Janelle's flustered and lustful expression with a smirk.

"Lay back." she chuckles, nodding towards the head of Janelle's bed. She reluctantly obeys, too weak and needy to protest as Kat climbs on to join her. She straddles Janelle's waist, hovering over her to block out the brightness of the fairy lights dangling above them.

The blanket is pulled away completely from Janelle's body, confirming what Jungkook mentioned before leaving them, and her eyes darken.

Unlike her petite and lithe body with just enough curves to be appreciated, Janelle's body type was a little further right on the scale. Full breasts that sagged gorgeously from the gravity of laying back, with the prettiest sand dollar-sized cocoa brown areoles Kat had ever seen.

Her curves were artistic, sloping from her ribcage and bowing out to wide enviable hips that she knew Jungkook loved to hold. Hell, so did she. And her skin was always smooth and supple, even after going pruney in the tub.

"Have your tits always been this big or am I trippn?" Kat thinks aloud with her attention on Janelle's heaving chest. The question catches her off guard and Janelle drops her chin to inspect herself as if she didn't have these boobs for the better half of her life.

Kat's hand slides over Janelle's skin until she's cupping the brown globe in the curve of her palm, watching it jiggle slightly with satisfaction.

"Awww they're so swollen baby. I never noticed them getting like that before.." she adds and the comment alone had Janelle's nipples hardening under her fixed gaze.

"It's ok if I touch you right? I know I'm not Jungkook but I think I can help you feel better the way he did if you'd let me.."

Janelle scoffs in amusement at her words.

"Girlfriends ask their girlfriends if they can touch them?" She jokes and Kat shrugs.

"Good girlfriends do. Plus I want you to be comfortable. We've never done anything like this before. At least not without Jungkook."

Janelle thought about it, considering how she felt about Kat amidst their unique relationship.

To the grand majority of folks on the outside looking in, the idea of two women sharing a man was preposterous. Many stated that the only person benefiting from it of the three was Jungkook, but that was so far from the truth.

Janelle didn't feel like she was sharing Jungkook with Kat. If anything, she was the one being shared, more so that they had equal claims to each other in different ways. Some sexual. Some emotional. But all consensual and understood clearly.

Her relationship with Kat was no exception.

She was attracted to her physically from the moment she saw her creamy tawny complexion freckled with cinnamon all over.  

Her favorite drink...

She was bold and feisty despite her size and Janelle felt safe with her. She was as much a lover as she was a friend, making it easier for her to accept her into her heart and relationship.

She had feelings for Kat in the way she loved Jungkook, which was what made their dynamic work.

But with all of that being said, they'd never had sex exclusively.

Ever.

Kissing, touching, and watching the other get railed by their boyfriend aside.

Kat awaited Janelle's response, keeping her hands above the blanket patiently.

"Of course it's ok. Touch me..please.. " she rushed to say all needy and breathless.

Kat smirks at the sound before running her hand back down to Janelle's open thighs, joining her hand. Janelle moves it and her mouth gapes slowly in reaction to Kat's fingers dipping inside of her, collecting her arousal to rub over her clit.

Janelle tenses and relaxes on contact, arching up from the mattress slightly.

"Ughhh yes.." she shudders. Kat's smirk widens to a grin as she rubbed her fingers over Janelle's stiffening clit. She strums over it with increased pressure and speed that has Janelle panting and moaning as if she were already close to cumming.

She gets extra sensitive before her period starts. Extra wet. Extra horny.

It'll be easy...

Jungkook's voice chimed in Kat's mind. He wasn't lying. Janelle was on the brink of coming undone and Kat had barely done anything to her. Her moans compelled Kat to move down her body, inching closer to the apex of her thighs to get into a sniper position between her legs.

Janelle propped up on her elbows and swallowed heavily as she watched Kat get into the intimate position. Kat could detect Janelle tensing slightly, and she glanced up from her shadowed folds to lock eyes with her.

"Calm down Belly, I got you.." She soothed as her mouth brushed against Janelle's vulva.

Kat's tongue glances over her lips, eyes up and fixed on the way Janelle's jaw slowly slackens. She expected her to taste as sweet as the nickname she'd given her. More than likely due to her hormones, the slick glossing Janelle's folds pulled and dangled from Kat's tongue when she pulled away for a look.

Janelle's petals were just as pretty, blooming the more Kat spread them. Her eyes fell shut as she focused on her taste lingering on her taste buds.

She goes in again, licking her deeper to part her and taste the arousal gathering at her entrance. Janelle watches closely with her hooded gaze fixed on the way Kat's peachy pink pierced tongue disappeared and reappeared between her swollen lips.

When the ball of the tongue ring presses against her clit, Janelle gasps and bites her lip. Kat's eyes opened and returned to her face, but she never paused. She never stops.

One thing about Kat, she knew her way around a pussy. Considering she had one herself, of course, as well as her past experiences with being intimate with women.

Her tongue is wet and fast-moving over Janelle's sensitive bud, rosy pink and swollen from the intense arousal. Every flick felt electrifying and it wasn't very long from the moment she began licking her pussy that Janelle was gasping sharply at the explosion of release.

Her back arched from bed and her legs trembled over Kat's shoulders, her voice frayed and breathy as she came down.

Feeling her relax, Kat's relentless tongue slows to a soothing flat lick up and down Janelle's sex, tasting her cum and easing the delicious taper of her orgasm.

Jungkook was right. That didn't take long at all, and while Kat could have just chalked that up to her skill, she knew it had more to do with how sensitive Janelle already was.

"Good?" She mouths, her eyes on Janelle's drunken expression. Her girlfriend merely nods, her eyelids drooping from deepening fatigue.

"So good...my god.." she sighs weakly, blinking slowly.

Kat's ego swelled with pride at her words, her gaze dropping to Janelle's glistening pussy with another question popping up in her brain.

"Jungkook ever make you cum that fast?" She teased, leaning in to plant a soft wet kiss against Janelle's clit. When Kat's lips latched onto it softly, Janelle's left keg twitched.

"Ah!.. I'm not telling...you for his pride's sake.." Janelle struggled to say as Kat suckled her overly sensitive bud against her tongue. Kat chuckles, her voice vibrating her heat deliciously before she lifts her head.

"Say less.." she smirks knowingly.

Her gaze falls back to Janelle's pussy, which was still throbbing and shiny inches from her face.

"Just so you know..." she pauses to flick her tongue over her clit again just to hear Janelle moan one more time.

"Your pussy tastes really good. No wonder why Kook volunteers to stick his face down here. I can't blame him one bit.." she shakes her head. Janelle rolls her sleepy eyes, finally giving in to fall back against her pillow with a heavy sigh.

"Shut up." she giggles breathlessly, running her hands over her face. Kat watched her fondly, a soft smile parting her wet lips. She starts to lick them when a naughty idea pops in her head

"Im foreal..Here.."

Kat climbed over Janelle's body, pinning her with her stare as she leaned in to kiss her. As if to prove she wasn't joking, Kat feeds Janelle the taste of her cum from her tongue to hers, licking into her mouth as sinuously as before until Janelle pulls away to breathe.

"Oh fuck..that was so nasty and sexy...I can't.." she huffs, making Kat laugh.

"Mmhmm. Feel better?" she asks genuinely after a beat, pussy breath and all, and Janelle looks up at her. She nods sheepishly with her bottom lip caught between her teeth, keeping that perfectly sexy smile on Kat's face.

Janelle blinked, marveling at how beautiful Kat's smile really was. She didn't do it much, sporting a rather sexy RBF the majority of the time.

It was a shame.

She had one of the most beautiful smiles Janelle had ever seen.

Feeling magnified under Janelle's softening stare, Kat's smile fades.

"Um...Well, good."

She pecks her lips once more for good measure before hopping up from the bed. Janelle sat up with a confused frown as Kat fixed her oversized sweats on her hips before raking her nails up her nape as she set off to leave the room.

"Wait...Where are you going?" Janelle calls after her just as Kat reaches the open doorway.

"To cook you something." Kat looks back at her over her shoulder with a hand resting on the doorframe. Janelle's pout drops into a skeptical frown.

"But you don't cook Kat." she narrowed her eyes and Kat's wide and stunned eyes scanned the room.

She was right. Kat couldn't cook to save her life and that was another reason she hopped on the opportunity to move in. Janelle and Jungkook were the cooks of the relationship while Kat gladly cleaned up after.

They all knew better than to allow her near a stove.

"Ok, To order you something then.." she repeats her tone and Janelle laughs.

Her body drops into the pillows and plushies at the head of her bed with a sigh of relief that Kat resented but understood. Janelle yawned before rolling onto her stomach, pulling her fuzzy blanket over her body.

"Thank God. Chickf ila, please? You know what I like.." she lays her head down, hugging the pillow. Kat bites down on her grin as she nodded, wishing she could cuddle up with Janelle some more to play in her hair, suck on her nipples and tease her clit until she came again. Her pussy ached to touch as well and she'd love to feel Janelle's timid touches on her wetness, then offering to lick it off of her fingers after she made her cum too.

Maybe later though. She was already dozing off.

"Anything for my Belly. Go to sleep. I'll be back." Kat rats her knuckles against the door frame before exiting Janelle's bedroom.

[hisui-dreamer]

eyes on the target

Pairing: Rook Hunt x gn!reader

Synopsis: Rook offered to teach you archery, but what you didn't expect is to get overwhelming close to him.

Tags: pining, crushes, archery, rook speaks french, reader has strength in their upper arms (i dont), bot proofread

Word count: 712

Notes: rook's been on my mind/page too much lately, so here is some basic rook thirst hehe

Masterlist

The cerulean sky stretched out like an endless canvas, a perfect backdrop for the exquisite day. Not a single cloud marred its perfection, leaving the serene expanse of blue completely unbroken. It was as if the sky had been painted by a master artist, each brush stroke carefully and meticulously applied.

But that sight paled in comparison to the man before you.

Rook stood with his bow and arrow, his emerald eyes narrowed with laser focus, shining like precious jewels in the sunlight. His hair flowed like liquid gold, dancing with the wind in a breath-taking rhythm. With a fluid motion, his fingers delicately plucked at the taut string, as if coaxing a melody from an instrument. His muscles were like sculpted marble, chiselled and defined, each movement a work of art in itself. You felt like a delicate flower in his presence, swaying in the breeze at the mere sight of him, yet transfixed, unable to look away as he released the string. The arrow shot forth like a bolt of lightning, finding its mark with lethal accuracy.

It was as if he was not quite human, but some kind of ethereal being, too perfect for this world. You longed to etch the image of him in your mind, to savour this moment of beauty and awe.

"You make it look so easy," you said, unable to hide the admiration in your voice.

Rook turned to face you, a cheerful glint in his eye. "It's all about technique, Trickster," he replied, brushing off his display of skill with a charming smile. "Are you ready to learn?"

Feeling self-conscious and flustered by his proximity, you nodded hesitantly. Rook positioned himself behind you, his tall frame casting a warm shadow over yours. As he leaned in closer, you could feel the heat of his breath on your cheek, sending shivers down your spine.

"Relax," Rook whispered, his tone as soothing as a gentle breeze. "Focus on the target, and breathe in." His gloved hand gently guided yours as he showed you how to hold the bow, his touch igniting a fire in your veins.

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath to calm your racing heart. With Rook's hand on yours, you drew the string back, aiming at the target with trembling fingers. His close proximity made it hard to concentrate, but his voice was a constant reassurance, guiding you through each step

"Good," Rook said, full of encouragement. "Now, release."

You let go of the arrow, watching it fly through the air and hit the boss with a satisfying thud, only slightly off-centre. Rook applauded, his face beaming with pride. "Beauté! You're a natural, Trickster!" he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with admiration.

You felt a heat rising in your cheeks as you blushed at his words, the gentle curve of his lips making your pulse quicken. "It's all thanks to your guidance," you replied.

"C'est n'importe quoi ! You’re truly talented!" Rook exclaimed, taking a step back as he gestured for you to take another shot. You could feel his eyes on you, watching your every move with a piercing gaze that made your heart race. You had always wanted him to notice you, but with his predatory gaze on you, it was both exhilarating and nerve-wracking.

As you focused on the target, the sound of his voice filled your ears like a warm embrace, reassuring and comforting, making you feel safe and secure in his presence. And with each successful hit, you felt like a flower blooming under his praise, your heart soaring with joy and pride.

Like an hourglass with sand slipping away, you felt time slipping through your fingers, wanting desperately to grasp onto the moment forever. You couldn't help but want the moment to last forever, the warm sun on your skin and the scent of fresh grass in the air, and his attention solely on you.

Little did you know, he had the same exact thoughts. His eyes fixated on you, his heart throbbed in unison with yours, and his mind was filled with thoughts of your presence. He wondered how long the tantalizing dance of courtship would continue, and how many more moments like this would be stolen away before he could call you his.

Masterlist

if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!

[aoioozora]

Is It Me?

Character: David 'Hesh' Walker Content: Bodyguard Hesh, Fem artist reader, fluff Note: I'm so writer's blocked from my Ghost fanfic that I needed to take a break lol. I loved writing this one. Enjoy :))

You were such a curious little creature to him. So quiet, so mysterious.

Hesh stood by the wall far behind you, watching as you lifted your paintbrush from the palette in a fluid motion to meticulously paint a single pearl among the other meticulously painted pearls on a string of necklace. He had been in the room since you started on the painting in the dim and gloomy morning several hours ago, and it was now night.

In his few months of being your bodyguard, he understood that you were a recluse, and he wasn't sure if it was a good or a bad thing. Your father, the polar opposite of you, was an actor, and you were completely repulsed by his fame. Any sort of attention from paparazzi or your father's fans drove you up the wall, leading you to spend your life in your apartment, your little haven. All your days were spent indoors, painting. If you weren't painting, you were reading or catching up with your Masters degree. You weren't much of a talker, even with friends, who you met only on occasion. And just to keep you safe, your father insisted on hiring a bodyguard for you, thus explaining Hesh's presence.

As for Hesh, you spoke to him only a little. In his career of being a bodyguard, he had never guarded a client so quiet. Too quiet. Being used to dealing with rambunctious, problematic celebrities, he was rather bored by your silence, but still intrigued by you.

If your mouth never spoke, your body did, and his keen observations of your body language to your environment told him everything he needed to know about what you liked and disliked. He saw every subtle smile and sneer of disgust, every crease of the brow, every narrowing of your eye, and every look of panic on your face at the sight of a crowd. He knew which people you disliked, tolerated, and liked, and it was a slight relief to him that he was among the tolerable.

"What are you painting there?" he asked, shifting on his other leg, trying to start a conversation.

There was no answer.

Just as he expected. You were so in the zone that the world was tuned out and you would hear or see nothing but the painting. It was a silly question to ask, especially when, upon the canvas, he could see two lovers, a returning soldier leaning over the back of the couch to kiss his wife as she leans into him completely. It was a fusion of the American retro pin-up style with the baroque- or was it renaissance? He couldn't tell. He only knew that it was beautiful and heartfelt.

This was all he saw you paint: lovers. The walls of your atelier were filled with paintings, large and small, of all styles imaginable, of intimacies between lovers; of grazing of the hands, lips about to kiss, beds shared, passionate caresses, soulful gazes. Though he wasn't a connoisseur of the arts, he knew that art was the soul's window. And looking upon the walls, he wondered if he was peering into your soul.

Hesh inhaled deeply and the smell of paint filled his nose. If there was one other thing that was common about the paintings, it was the fact that the man in them had an uncanny resemblance to him. From the shape of his body down to the very exact shade of his lips, every single detail was faithfully replicated in paint. And this didn't escape his notice.

He always knew you to begin paintings by priming the canvas with white paint. But for this particular painting, your frustration seemed evident in the way you threw a bucket of thin red paint on the canvas, splattering it everywhere and allowing it to drip down to the floor and your bare feet. It was a pleasant surprise, as he had never seen you so aggressive before.

But you eventually calmed, and here you were before him, now turning your focus from the pearls on the woman's necklace to the camouflage pattern of the man's uniform. Hesh used to be in the military until he retired to become a civilian again, and he was starting to wonder if he really was the subject of all your paintings. But he didn't want to think too highly of himself.

Your focus ebbed as you sat up to straighten your hunched back and dropped your hand to your side to ease its soreness; he took that as an opportunity to speak, as you would be most likely to answer.

"You paint the same guy in all those paintings," he observed, "Someone you like?"

He knew you heard him, and could hear your pause in the silence. "Yeah," you answered in a voice that was soft and subdued, as if trying to hide the eagerness.

His chest clenched and fluttered wildly at this admission. From his position by the wall, he took a tentative step towards you that echoed in the silent, heavy atmosphere of the room. He wanted to ask the question, and you were expecting it, and it resulted in an anxious thrum, a throbbing in both your bodies, a string pulled taut. You knew he wasn't stupid to not eventually notice how he was the subject of your paintings. If you were mute, then the paintings on the walls weren't; they practically screamed your admiration of him, of how much you wanted his hands, his body, his lips, his heart.

His steps grew louder as they closed in on you. They stopped right behind your chair; he now towered over you, casting a gentle shadow over your body and the canvas. The silence was deafening. He leaned an arm against the chair, breathing out. You felt a wisp of his exhale tickle your neck. The pleasant scent of his body and cologne, a delightful blend of cedar and orange wafted to your nose. A shiver jolted your spine.

"Is it me?" he whispered, his voice low, deep, and laden with curiosity, desire, and emotion.

There was a pause the space of three heartbeats.

"Yes." Out came your voice in an unsteady, high-pitch. One answer, and it felt like you had been stripped naked.

The last time his legs felt this weak was during basic training. He leaned further against the chair to support himself, unintentionally putting himself deeper in your personal space that you loved more than anything. But you allowed him.

The air was now heavier than a pregnant raincloud. He breathed in to calm his rapidly beating heart. He glanced at the couple in the painting, and then back at you.

"What can I do for you?" He asked.

Turning your head slightly over your shoulder, you were met with his face right next to yours. Your eyes met his, and it felt as though a key had been turned, unlocking a door. Your lip trembled as you opened your mouth slightly, now blurting out in sheer desperation,

"Love me."

He felt like the same canvas that had been splashed with paint upon hearing those words. He felt his chest swell with joy. His breathing labored slightly and his mouth turned dry as he searched for the words to say.

"That I can do," he answered after a moment, slowly and cautiously moving his hand to your cheek, as if testing the waters.

You leaned into his touch, and that was all the confirmation he needed. Words were unnecessary, for when he saw your eye linger on his lips, he moved in for the kill.

His own lips welded with yours into a kiss that was earnest and soul-satisfying, a true reflection of the painting.

End.

[ialwaysknewyouwerepunk]

queer signalling: louis and harry living their beautiful queer lives, collected by me

since we must take note of our fellow queers when they signal that they are very much one of us, despite being closeted. since i've had a very very queer few years thanks to them, thanks to their signalling, thanks to them being brave.

(!! this list isn't exhaustive, and if i've forgotten your favorite, by all means let me know. there's always room for another edition. it's been a while since i made a compilation and felt there was a need of a new one on my blog. this one goes a few years back, since my last one dates from 2021 :'o. so yeah. here we go.)

harry in my policeman, playing a closeted queer man, based on the book that's long been one of his favorites. lauded by the director and co-stars for how well he portrayed this character, how well he understood.

harry wearing a green flower on his chest for the mp premiere, placing himself (once again) in the same line of history as oscar wilde.

louis's green flowers on his initial 28clothing jersey at the first afhf, which includes bonus roses and 28s all around

the entire late night talking mv bc!!!!!

louis's rainbow stage lights during sibwawc. he really did that. every single night.

the entire dazed magazine happening. “I’ve always tried to compartmentalise my personal life and my working life,” he explains. / “I have unlocked an ability to be myself completely, unapologetically,” he says with conviction." / “I think through my own sense of self and personal journey, I am realising that happiness isn’t this kind of end state.”

louis's gay exit songs: most notably 'ever fallen in love (with someone you shouldn't've)'

harry flirting with stanley tucci

louis and his gay ass tank tops !!! we must point it out !!!!!!

all along

harry kissing a pride flag during harry's house ono in nyc

rainbow flare during the btm mv

harry being gifted a mask of his own face at munich n2, which prompted him to say that he feels like he's wearing a mask sometimes

28 in a triangle for 28clothing!!!!!!!!

kit connor soft launching 28 clothing. a young actor starring in a queer coming-of-age series, who was forced to come out after being accused of queerbaiting. he was the first one, besides louis, to wear 28clothing

harry's grammy's speech "people like me" (which ppl sadly misunderstood), echoing what he's been saying on tour for years. this doesn't happen to people like him. if they only knew, right?

harry's freddie-inspired outfit for the grammy carpet (which also brought back his theme for clown/jester fits, like harryween 2021 n2. wonder why)

louis's merch graphic where a boy is trying to smash a glass ceiling

harry posing for david hockney, actual living legend, gay artist of the ages. "Styles seems to know how lucky he is, adding, with a tinge of disbelief: “I’m in awe of the man with enough one-liners for a lifetime.” As to what those one-liners might be? Styles and Hockney’s mutual silence on that question suggests that what happens in the studio, stays in the studio."

louis having suspicious visuals during back to you, the only visuals of that type on tour

harry's 2022 harryween outfit: dressed as danny (literally. he did that. he went grease on us.) but wearing sandy's jacket

louis at barricade aka held safely in the arms of strong security personnel

harry singing man, i feel like a woman and still the one with shania twain. while wearing a rainbow discoball jumpsuit (parallel with kacey musgraves wearing a rainbow dress to sing it with him years ago.)

louis's gay ass merch for the away from home festival

harry dressed in nina ricci by harris reed, an explicitly gender-fluid line. "At 18 I found myself living in london creating ruffle blouses, corsets, fabric flowers and flares from my kitchen floor (...). My creations at the time were met with nothing but criticism for being “too feminine” or “costume”, teachers said I should focus on “menswear” or “womenswear”. l remember it really wasn’t until I started dressing for myself and who I was that it all clicked. @harrystyles was my first ever client who embraced the fun, fluid and expressive clothing I was creating."

continuous bluegreening. to name a few: harry's werchter fit, all this time lights, satellite caps in two colors only, louis's smiley flickering bluegreen on tour in 2022, the james cordon shit, louis in uncasville. enjoy this post here

harry's snl shoot unseens: him as ariel

louis out in amsterdam at a gay bar

harry going to the women's only swimming pond (on a day it was open for men, but this is important to me okay)

harry's use of orchids in his visuals during 'she' during love on tour '23

the 'hairy mermaid' tour visuals

harry as a mermaid during the mfasr mv. as a supreme physical manifestation of harry as the mermaid he truly is inside. but in his true form he gets chopped up and consumed. literally

as it was mv and its parallels with the matrix, hints to harry as the woman with the red dress.

louis jumping up on barricade against the one spot where a pride flag was draped over it

oh yeah that exact same thing happened in 2022 too

harry forming a skirt with a pride flag in brasil after his pants ripped

that gay ass denim getup with the fur collar?? while wearing the fucking peace ring????

harry and phoebe breaking gender norms in the tpwk mv dance. no i'm not over it yet shut up

louis wearing a basquiat t-shirt, another famously queer artist joining the ranks

harry bought an actual genuine basquiat. flex

harry dressed in skirts for gucci

"happy pride! happy pride! 'tis the season! can you tell i'm relaxed?"

"isn't all of this sparkly bi music?"

satellite mv rainbow planet tshirt

louis's bigger than me promo where he's literally george michael like??? IM SORRY???????

harry kissing lewis capaldi at the brits

harry kissing nick kroll at the dwd premiere. lol

and... harry as friend of D O R O T H Y. sang over the rainbow. we all cried. especially me at this clip of harry glancing in relief at his band after over the rainbow.

[storyscribeforthesentiment]

The Detective & The Dark Knight - Chapter 6

Summary: Detective Marie Manning, investigating a series of brutal murders in Gotham, crosses paths with the mysterious Batman. As they work together, their mutual respect turns into a deep, passionate bond. Amidst danger and corruption, their unlikely partnership evolves into a profound love, forever changing their lives in Gotham’s dark corners.

Pairing: Batman/Bruce Wayne x f!main character

Author’s note: I've been meaning to post this for days! Prepare for lots of tension & anxiety as Marie finds out who the man behind the mask really is.

Word count: 5.5k

Warnings/tags: mentions of gun violence, police bribes, fighting, murder

Chapter List

Marie stumbled into the precinct, barely managing to down her coffee in one gulp as she weaved between desks. The place was alive with the usual chaos of the early morning shift — phones ringing, papers shuffling, cops yelling at each other over case files.

Her head throbbed from lack of sleep, her body protesting the nonstop grind, but this was Gotham. There was no pause button.

“Another late night with your millionaire boyfriend, Manning?” Harvey Bullock’s gruff voice broke through the noise. He was leaning back in his chair, half-smirking, a toothpick hanging from his mouth.

His desk was a mess of takeout containers and open case files, but that was Bullock for you — rough around the edges but sharp where it mattered.

Marie shot him a sideways glance, her exhaustion momentarily lifting as she fired back, “Billionaire boyfriend.” she corrected, her voice dry but playful. She couldn’t help the small smirk that followed, despite the exhaustion gnawing at her.

Bullock raised his hands in mock surrender, his lips curling into a grin. “My mistake! Didn’t mean to downgrade Gotham’s golden boy.”

Marie rolled her eyes, shaking her head at his usual banter. As much as Bullock could be a pain, his sarcasm was one of the few constants around here, and she appreciated it more than she’d admit. Passing his desk, she noticed the grease-stained paper bag sitting atop his mess of files.

“Already on the burgers, Bullock?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Breakfast of champions,” he shot back with a wink, holding up a half-eaten sandwich.

“Gonna kill you one day,” she muttered before walking on, though she couldn't help but shake her head at the man’s complete disregard for his arteries.

“Manning.” Gordon’s voice cut through the banter, calm but firm. He was standing outside his office, arms crossed, a thin layer of weariness clinging to him.

Marie straightened, her mood instantly sobering as she met his eyes. He gave her a quick nod, signaling her to follow. She took a breath, nodded in return, and made her way to his office.

Once inside, she saw the mess of Red Lotus case files scattered across his desk. The room smelled faintly of old coffee and paper, the remnants of long nights spent chasing ghosts and leads that seemed to disappear the moment they were found.

She slumped into the chair across from Gordon, her body still sore from last night’s kickboxing session. Bruce had volunteered to be her sparring partner, and to her surprise, he was far more skilled than she’d expected.

She knew he worked out, but the way he moved—fluid, precise, like a seasoned martial artist—had caught her off guard. Turns out, Bruce Wayne was full of surprises.

“Have you slept at all?” she asked Gordon, taking in the dark circles under his eyes. He didn’t answer immediately. He was rubbing his temple, his focus glued to the papers in front of him, his glasses perched precariously on the tip of his nose.

“Not much,” he finally muttered, leaning back and exhaling deeply. “We’re close on this one, Manning. Too close to stop now.”

Marie glanced down at the files, her brain kicking back into detective mode despite the fog of fatigue clouding her thoughts. "You piecing something together?"

Gordon leaned forward, hands resting on the desk as he rubbed his temple again, clearly tired but determined. “Cobblepot’s little outburst at the Iceberg Lounge got me thinking. He said something about someone using the chaos of the Red Lotus murders to settle old scores... leverage it, even. They’re covering their tracks while making moves of their own.”

Marie’s brow furrowed. She recalled Cobblepot’s cryptic words, the way he seemed to almost enjoy dangling just enough information to stay out of trouble. “Right. He practically confirmed the murders are part of a bigger plan... someone trying to frame Falcone.”

Gordon nodded, his jaw tight. “Exactly. Someone’s orchestrating this whole mess, using the killings to throw us off. Falcone’s empire is a mess right now, and whoever’s behind it is taking full advantage.”

Marie bit her lip, her mind already working through the possibilities. “It’s gotta be Maroni. He’s the only one with the guts to make a move like this against Falcone. The way these bodies keep showing up? It’s too convenient.”

Gordon let out a tired sigh, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, well, if we push too hard, Maroni’s going to know we’re onto him. He’s not the type to sit back and wait. We’re talking about a full-blown war, Manning. And he’s not afraid to put a bullet in a cop’s head if he feels cornered.”

Marie clenched her fists, feeling the frustration bubble beneath her skin. “That bastard’s not getting away with this.”

Gordon raised a brow, his expression softening a little. “I know you’re eager to take him down, but we have to be smart about this. If Maroni even suspects we’re closing in, he’ll disappear, and we’ll be back to square one.”

Marie slumped back in her chair, rubbing the back of her neck. “I get it. I just... I can’t stand feeling like we’re always one step behind.”

Gordon gave her a long look before shifting the conversation. “How are things with Bruce?”

The question caught her off guard. Her posture stiffened for a moment, and she hesitated before answering. “It’s... good.” She smiled before continuing, “Almost too good, you know? Feels like something’s bound to go wrong.”

Gordon gave her a knowing smile, leaning forward with his elbows on the desk. “Listen, Manning. Life’s messy. It doesn’t hand you perfect balance on a silver platter. You’ve got something good going on right now. Don’t spend too much time worrying about when the other shoe’s going to drop. Enjoy it while you can.”

Marie felt a pang in her chest at his words, a sense of dread she couldn’t quite shake. “Yeah... I hear you. It’s just... complicated.”

“Life always is, especially in this career.” Gordon said, his voice softer now. He glanced at the case files, then back at her. “But complicated doesn’t mean it’s not worth fighting for. You know that better than most.”

Marie met his eyes and nodded, appreciating the brief moment of humanity in the middle of their relentless pursuit of Gotham’s worst. The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of both their words and the case looming large over them.

"Alright," Gordon said after a beat, his tone shifting back to business. "We need to be careful about our next move. If we’re right, and Maroni’s behind this, the whole city’s gonna blow up. We’ve got to be ready. I’m heading to his side of town today, I’m planning to interview him about the cases."

Marie frowned, crossing her arms. "You don’t want me to go, boss?"

"Absolutely not," Gordon shook his head. "If Maroni’s involved, he’s probably been tracking everything. The moment you walk in, he’ll know he’s under our microscope. You’re the lead on this case—he’s got eyes on you. But he doesn’t know I’m in the loop yet. I can play it off like I’m just checking in on folks who know Falcone, make it look routine."

Marie nodded, her exhaustion fading as determination set in. "Just be careful. He’s not the type to leave loose ends."

Gordon grunted in agreement, giving her a knowing look. As tangled as their lives were, as grueling as Gotham’s streets could be, backing down wasn’t an option. Not for either of them. Not now. Not ever.

—-------------------------------

At Wayne Manor, Bruce stood in the Batcave, his eyes fixed on the glowing monitors that filled the room with their eerie blue light. Crime reports flooded the screens, each one a new reminder of the chaos that plagued Gotham, but his mind was elsewhere. Tonight, he had made a decision that had been weighing on him for weeks. He was going to tell Marie the truth.

For too long, he had lived with the lie, balancing his double life with increasing difficulty. But Marie wasn’t just another person in Gotham. She mattered to him, and he couldn’t keep deceiving her. She deserved to know who he really was.

Bruce stood from his seat, his heart racing as the weight of his decision settled over him like a heavy cloak. He cast one last glance at the case files spread across the Batcave’s central table before closing them.

Alfred stood there, waiting as though he could sense the inner turmoil swirling inside Bruce. He raised an eyebrow, his usual air of quiet wisdom about him.

"Are you sure about this, Master Wayne?" Alfred asked, his voice calm but tinged with the concern of a father figure who had seen Bruce through too many dark nights. "Once you tell her, there’s no going back. The truth... well, it has a way of reshaping everything."

Bruce clenched his fists, the tension in his muscles taut, as if the armor he often wore had seeped into his very being. "I’ve been lying to her for too long, Alfred. Every time I look at her, I feel like I’m betraying her. She thinks she knows me, but she’s only seen half the truth." His voice wavered slightly, betraying the raw emotion he so often buried deep inside. "Marie deserves to know everything."

Alfred studied him carefully, his gaze softening as he took in the sight of his surrogate son, visibly struggling. "And what if the truth isn’t what she wants to hear?" he asked, his voice gentle but pointed. "Are you prepared for that?"

Bruce swallowed hard. "I don’t know if she’ll ever forgive me for hiding this from her. She trusted me... trusted Bruce. What if... what if she hates me for lying to her like this?"

Alfred’s eyes softened with empathy. He stepped closer, placing a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. "Miss Manning is a strong woman, Bruce, and a fair one. I don’t believe she’ll hate you. She may feel betrayed, yes, but hate? No. It’s not in her nature."

Bruce’s jaw tightened, but the vulnerability in his eyes betrayed the fear he’d been carrying. "What if this is it? What if I ruin everything? I can’t... I can’t lose her, Alfred."

Alfred exhaled softly, squeezing Bruce’s shoulder reassuringly. "Master Wayne, love is a complicated thing. It’s messy, as you well know. But if there’s one thing I’ve observed, it’s that Miss Manning cares deeply for you—for Bruce and for Batman, even if she doesn’t know they’re one and the same. You’ve fought battles, both of you, in your own ways. This will be just another one to face together."

Bruce ran a hand through his hair, the weight of Alfred’s words sinking in, though the anxiety still gnawed at his core. "I’ve faced criminals who would kill me without blinking. But this? Telling her the truth?" He shook his head. "I’m terrified, Alfred. She’ll look at me, and everything will change. She won’t see Bruce anymore."

Alfred’s lips curled into a faint smile, though it was tinged with sadness. "Perhaps, Master Wayne, it’s time for her to see all of you. The man beneath the mask. The one who’s been carrying this burden alone for too long."

When Bruce didn’t respond, Alfred stepped forward, his calm demeanor grounding Bruce’s chaotic thoughts. "Bruce, Miss Manning is no stranger to the complexities of Gotham. She’s seen her share of darkness. I dare say, she’s faced it head-on in her line of work."

"That’s different," Bruce snapped, but the desperation in his voice was clear. "She deals with criminals, with the scum of this city, but this... this is me. She’s never seen me like that. I’m not just handing her the truth—I’m giving her everything. The rage, the guilt, the weight of it all. And I don’t know if she can handle that."

Alfred remained still, his eyes never leaving Bruce’s. "You underestimate her, sir. Miss Manning is stronger than you think. She might surprise you."

Bruce shook his head again, more frustrated with himself than anything. "She deserves better than this—better than the lies, better than the secrets. I don’t know if I’m being selfish, wanting to keep her close, knowing what it’ll do to her once she knows."

"You’re afraid she’ll run," Alfred said quietly, his words cutting to the heart of the matter.

Bruce met his gaze, the truth of it settling heavy in his chest. "Yes."

Alfred sighed, walking closer, his expression softening even further. "Master Wayne, you may carry burdens too heavy for most, but that doesn’t mean you need to carry them alone. Miss Manning... well, she may be more prepared for that than you think."

Bruce swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the conversation. He wasn’t worried she’d see him as weak. He was scared that when she saw him completely—both Bruce Wayne, with his broken facade, and Batman, driven by vengeance—it would ruin the image she had of him. He feared the truth might be too overwhelming for her and that it could drive them apart.

—-------------------------------

Marie stepped into Wayne Manor, feeling the familiar warmth of the place wrap around her. The stress of the day began to slip away as she spotted Bruce standing near the foyer, his tall frame dressed in dark slacks and a wool sweater, perfectly casual but still effortlessly composed. The sight of him always had that effect on her, like her world could pause for a moment just by being near him.

She smiled, her steps quickening as she closed the distance between them. Without hesitation, she slipped her arms around his waist and pulled him into a hug, pressing her cheek against his chest. Bruce stiffened for a second, then slowly relaxed into the embrace, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, holding her close.

“God, I needed this,” she murmured into his chest, her voice muffled but content. “You wouldn’t believe the day I had.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. Bruce’s hand gently stroked her back, his fingers tracing slow, soothing circles that made her melt further into him. She could feel his heartbeat under her cheek, steady and strong, but there was something different about it tonight. A slight tension, an unease she couldn’t quite place.

Marie pulled back slightly, her arms still around his waist, and tilted her head up to meet his eyes. “Hey, are you okay?” she asked softly, her brow creased with concern. “You feel... tense.”

Bruce didn’t respond right away, his eyes flickering with an intensity she rarely saw in moments like these. Instead of answering, he leaned down and captured her lips in a kiss, his hands sliding up to cradle her face. The kiss was gentle at first, almost hesitant, as though he was trying to lose himself in the moment. But it deepened quickly, the unspoken weight of what he wasn’t saying bleeding into the way his lips moved against hers.

Marie sighed into the kiss, her hands tightening around him as she leaned up on her toes to pull him closer. She didn’t mind the sudden shift; in fact, she welcomed it, feeling the connection between them grow stronger with each passing second. For a brief moment, everything felt right—the world faded away, and all that existed was the warmth between them.

But when they finally broke apart, Bruce’s eyes were still clouded with that same tension. His forehead rested against hers, his breath heavy as if he’d been holding something in for far too long.

Marie’s hand slid down to his chest, feeling his heart pounding beneath her palm. “Bruce,” she whispered, her voice filled with both tenderness and concern. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”

He hesitated, his grip on her tightening. “I’m fine,” he murmured, though the strain in his voice betrayed him. “I just want to hear about your day first.”

Marie frowned, studying his face. She knew him well enough to tell when he was deflecting. She pressed her palm more firmly against his chest, her thumb brushing over the fabric of his sweater. “No, something’s wrong. I can feel it. Please, just tell me what’s going on.”

Bruce exhaled slowly, his jaw clenched as if he were fighting an internal battle. His hand dropped from her face to hold her hand, squeezing it lightly. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he said, his voice low, almost reluctant. “Something I’ve been keeping from you.”

Her stomach tightened at his words. She stared up at him, her mind racing as she tried to read his expression. “Bruce, whatever it is... you can tell me. I’m here.”

His eyes softened for a moment, but the weight of what he had to say was clear. He brought her hand to his chest, holding it there like an anchor. “I should’ve told you a long time ago, Marie. This... changes everything.”

Before he could continue, Marie’s phone buzzed in her pocket, startling them both. She sighed, reluctant to break the moment, but when she saw Gordon’s name flashing on the screen, her heart sank.

“Shit,” she muttered, glancing at Bruce with an apologetic look before answering the call. “Gordon, what is it?”

“Marie, we’ve got another body at the docks,” Gordon said, his voice serious. “You need to get down here. This one’s big.”

Marie’s chest tightened with frustration as she glanced back at Bruce, her heart torn. “I’m sorry, Bruce,” she said, her voice soft but filled with regret. “I have to go. It’s the case.”

Bruce nodded, his tension evident in his clenched jaw. “Of course. Be safe.”

She stepped away, but not before placing one last lingering kiss on his lips, as if to reassure him. “We’ll finish this, I promise,” she whispered, before heading out the door.

As she stepped out into the night, Bruce watched her go, the words he’d intended to say still trapped in his throat. The silence of the manor pressed in around him, heavy with unspoken truths. With a deep breath, he turned and headed straight for the Batcave. If Marie was going to the docks, he’d follow—but not as Bruce Wayne.

—-------------------------------

The Gotham Docks were shrouded in an oppressive fog, the mist wrapping the scene in a ghostly pallor. Marie’s footsteps echoed eerily as she approached the deserted crime scene, her pulse quickening with each step. The eerie quiet felt wrong—no flashing lights, no yellow tape, no usual hum of police activity. The stillness was unsettling.

As she approached, her heart dropped at the sight of Gordon, slumped in a chair, his face swollen and bloodied beyond recognition. Panic surged through her veins as she rushed to his side.

“Gordon!” she gasped, grabbing his shoulder, her voice laced with urgency. “What the hell happened? Where’s the body?”

Gordon’s head lifted slowly, his swollen eyes barely open. His voice was a raspy whisper. “Marie... it’s a trap. Maroni... he made me lie. There’s no body.”

Before he could finish, a voice, as slick as oil, cut through the fog. Maroni emerged from the shadows, his grin sharp and menacing, his goons flanking him.

“Ah, Detective Manning,” Maroni drawled, relishing every syllable. “So glad you could join us. Gordon here has been very cooperative. His acting was almost believable, wasn’t it?”

Marie’s eyes narrowed, her fingers twitching around the grip of her gun. “What are you talking about, Maroni? What the hell is this?”

Maroni’s laugh was low and guttural. “The Red Lotus killings, Detective, were my little work of art. A way to shake up the city. You and your little friends kept sticking your noses where they didn’t belong, and now... you’re going to pay for it.”

“Why? Why kill all those people?” Marie’s voice cracked with anger.

“It’s simple,” Maroni sneered. “When you control the chaos, you control the city. Falcone was getting too comfortable at the top, but now... I’m the one pulling the strings.”

“You’re insane,” Marie spat, her hand tightening on her weapon. “You won’t get away with this.”

Maroni’s smile widened. “Oh, but I already have.”

He gave a small nod to his men, and they descended on Gordon, beating him with merciless precision. The brutal sounds of fists meeting flesh echoed across the docks, making Marie’s heart race. She aimed her gun, her mind focused only on survival, on taking out as many of them as she could.

A shot rang out, and one of Maroni’s thugs fell, but there were too many. They closed in, forcing her back. Maroni was still laughing, his voice cutting through the chaos.

Suddenly, a shadow moved in the fog, swift and brutal. Batman appeared like a force of nature, emerging from the darkness with calculated precision. His cape whipped around him, cloaking Marie as he positioned himself between her and the advancing thugs.

"Stay behind me," Batman growled, his voice low and protective, a command more than a request.

Marie’s heart raced, but she didn’t argue. She knew better than to question him in the middle of a fight. Batman was already moving, a force of nature unleashed on Maroni’s men. His body twisted and turned with brutal precision, blocking a punch meant for her and retaliating with a strike that sent the thug crumpling to the ground. The sound of bone crunching under his fist was drowned out by the chaos of the battle around them.

The docks echoed with the grunts and shouts of Maroni’s crew, but none of them could stand up to Batman. He was a whirlwind of motion—disarming guns with a single swipe, breaking limbs with ease, and flooring anyone foolish enough to challenge him. Thugs came at him from all angles, but he fought them off like it was second nature, each strike efficient, each movement perfectly calculated.

Yet something wasn’t right.

Marie noticed it first in the subtle shift of his movements—still powerful, but slower than she’d ever seen. His strikes weren’t as sharp, his dodges not as precise. And then she saw it—the flash of a blade in the midst of the brawl.

One of Maroni’s men had gotten too close. Too close for Batman to react in time.

The thug plunged a knife deep into Batman’s side, the sharp edge slicing through the armored fabric with a sickening sound. Marie’s breath hitched as she saw the blade sink in, the shock of it mirrored in the sudden pause of Batman’s movements. He staggered for only a moment, his gloved hand instinctively pressing against the wound, but in the chaos, he didn’t stop. There was no time to register pain, no time to falter.

But the damage was done.

Blood seeped from the gash, staining the dark fabric of his suit. Each punch, each kick, pulled the wound open wider, and though he fought to keep going, the toll it was taking on him became clear. His jaw clenched in pain, muscles tensing under the strain, but Batman didn’t let up. He couldn’t—not with Marie still in the thick of it.

Marie’s eyes darted between him and the thugs swarming around them. She could see it now—the way he was favoring his injured side, the subtle stumble in his step as he tried to push through the pain. Batman was still dominating the fight, but he was weakening, his strength fading with every passing second.

A thug wielding a steel pipe rushed him from the side. Batman blocked the blow with his forearm, but the effort cost him. He grunted in pain, his hand instinctively clutching his side as his body swayed. The thug seized the opportunity, landing a brutal kick to his ribs.

The impact sent Batman stumbling back, his boot scraping against the concrete as he struggled to stay upright. His vision blurred for a moment, the edges of his focus dimming as the pain from the wound radiated through his body. He inhaled sharply, trying to steady himself, but the pain only grew worse. He could feel the blood soaking through his suit, warm and sticky, making every movement a challenge.

"Batman!" Marie’s voice cut through the chaos, filled with alarm. She saw the blood now, trickling down his side and pooling beneath him.

Another thug came at him, swinging wildly with a crowbar, but Batman was slower this time. He managed to deflect the first hit, but the second strike caught him square in the shoulder. He staggered again, his balance faltering, and for the first time, Marie saw something she never thought possible.

Batman was losing.

“Batman!” she called out again, her voice more urgent, but he was already in motion, his focus locked on his attackers despite the obvious strain. He gritted his teeth, lunging forward to drive an elbow into one thug’s face, sending him crashing to the floor. But it was taking everything he had left.

Batman faltered, dropping to one knee. Another hit landed—this time a solid punch to his jaw that snapped his head to the side. Marie’s heart raced as she watched him stagger, his strength quickly draining. She could see the blood trailing down the side of his face, and the way his chest heaved in uneven breaths. He was hurt. Badly.

With her remaining rounds, Marie was able to shoot a handful of Maroni’s men, though more were advancing on them.

“Get out of here!” Batman growled, his voice strained, almost pleading. “It’s not safe. I can’t hold them off much longer.”

“I’m not leaving you!” Marie shouted, her voice thick with fear. She could see Batman staggering, the blood soaking through his suit, his strength fading.

The remaining thugs, sensing their chance, converged on Batman and Marie. He fought back with everything he had left, but it wasn’t enough. A vicious blow knocked him to the ground, and he didn’t get back up. Just as they closed in for the final strike, a sudden round of gunshots rang out.

Gordon, with a final burst of strength, lifted his weapon and fired. The bullets found their marks, dropping the remainder of the men in rapid succession. The recoil sent a jolt through Gordon’s already battered body, and as the last thug fell, he slumped over, unconscious.

Marie’s heart raced as she watched Gordon collapse, but her focus shifted instantly to Batman. She had half a mind to look for Maroni, though she figured he was probably long gone. The real priority was Batman, who was losing blood fast.

She dropped to her knees beside him, her hands trembling as she pressed them to his wounds, trying to stop the bleeding.

“No… no.” Marie’s voice shook as her trembling hands pressed down hard. “You’re gonna be okay. Just hold on.” Her voice broke despite her best efforts to stay calm.

His breaths were shallow, pained, each one more labored than the last. When he finally lifted his head, it was slow, almost too slow. His eyes, usually sharp and focused, were glassy with exhaustion and pain.

Her heart pounded in her ears, drowning out everything but the sound of Batman’s ragged breathing beneath her fingers. 

“I can’t do this job without you.” She said weakly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Placing his hand over hers on the wound, Batman spoke, “Marie...” His voice was a rasp, barely audible. He winced, his mouth twitching in a grimace. “I wanted to tell you... I wanted to...”

“No.” She shook her head, her vision blurring with tears that she couldn’t hold back any longer. “Don’t talk. Just save your strength. Help is on the way. You’re going to be okay, I promise.”

But Bruce’s eyes were starting to lose focus, his gaze drifting as though he were looking somewhere far beyond her. His hand, slick with blood, trembled as it lifted, reaching up weakly toward his mask.

The motion was slow, hesitant, as though he were still deciding whether or not to go through with it.

Marie’s stomach twisted at the sight. “No... no, don’t.” Her voice was barely a whisper now, thick with fear and confusion.

But he kept going, pulling weakly at the mask with trembling fingers. His hand faltered, and for a moment, Marie thought he didn’t have the strength to finish.

She reached out instinctively, catching his hand as if to stop him, but Bruce shook his head, a soft, barely-there motion.

“Marie,” he whispered again, his voice cracking with the weight of everything he hadn’t said. “You need to know...”

Her heart stopped as she watched him. Her mind raced, trying to process what was happening, but it felt like the world was collapsing around her. She watched helplessly as, with a final tug, he pulled the mask off, revealing the battered face of Bruce Wayne beneath.

For a second, Marie just stared. Her breath caught in her throat, and her mind struggled to connect what she was seeing with the man she thought she knew. “Bruce?” The word slipped out, barely a breath, as if saying it would somehow make it less real.

Bruce’s eyes met hers, bloodshot and full of pain. “I wanted to tell you,” he repeated, his voice hoarse. “So many times... I just couldn’t.”

Marie’s tears fell freely now, her heart twisting painfully in her chest. “Why didn’t you?” she choked out, her hands still pressing against his wound, desperate to keep him here, to keep him alive. “Why didn’t you trust me?”

“I did trust you,” Bruce whispered, his hand weakly gripping hers. “But I was scared... scared of losing you... if you knew... everything.”

Marie shook her head, disbelief and hurt swirling with the fear that now coursed through her veins—the fear of losing not just Batman, but Bruce too. “You’ve been lying to me this whole time?” Her voice cracked as she spoke, the weight of the betrayal cutting deep. “All those times... Bruce, why didn’t you just tell me?”

Bruce’s breathing grew shallower, his strength fading with each passing second. “I didn’t want you to be a part of this... of my world. It’s too dangerous. You deserve better.”

Marie bit her lip, fighting back a sob as she leaned closer, her hand cradling his face gently. “I don’t care about being safe. I care about you, Bruce. You didn’t have to carry this alone.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, his body trembling under her touch. “I couldn’t lose you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“Stop,” she pleaded, her voice breaking as she leaned down, pressing her forehead against his. “You’re not losing me, okay? You’re gonna be fine. Just hang on. Help’s coming.”

Bruce’s hand reached up to brush the tear from her cheek, his touch weak but filled with tenderness. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with regret. “For everything.”

Marie shook her head, her tears falling onto his face. “Don’t apologize. Just stay with me. Please.”

But Bruce’s eyes were drifting shut again, his breathing growing more shallow.

He was slipping away, and there was nothing she could do but hold onto him, her heart breaking as she watched the man she loved fighting to stay alive.

“Damn it, Bruce. Don’t do this,” she pleaded, her voice breaking. Her tears fell freely, mingling with the sweat and grime on his face.

The sound of sirens approached, their flashing lights cutting through the fog. Marie scrambled to her feet, waving her arms frantically to flag down the approaching ambulance.

She felt a brief surge of hope as the sound of approaching ambulances cut through the night air. But when she turned back to where Bruce had been lying, her heart plummeted—he was gone.

The spot was empty, the blood on the ground the only trace that he’d ever been there.

Her eyes darted frantically through the thick fog, searching for any sign of him, her breath quickening as panic set in.

But there was nothing—only the swirling mist, thick and unforgiving, swallowing everything in its path.

“Bruce!” she cried out, her voice breaking with fear and desperation. She strained her ears for any response, but there was only silence.

The fog closed in around her, heavy and oppressive, and with it came the gut-wrenching realization that he had used the last of his strength to disappear into the night.