#how the fuck do people draw ray

[titobitex]

can you draw ray boccino?

hope I did your crime daddy justice

[jils-things]

probably one of my favorite attacks ive done! i was proud of this from start to finish 💚💚 all of the ocs here belong to my friends, (bee, nero, milo and lara) except for the green feller (me!) 😉

[drdemonprince]

In a piece for The New Inquiry from back in 2017, George Dust states that when queer people complain about there being a top shortage, what they really mean is “nobody is fucking me the way I want, and I have no agency in that.” Alongside co-authors Billy-Ray Belcourt and Kay Gabriel, Dust suggests that many queer people align themselves with a passive or “bottom” position because they believe that role will absolve them of the guilt of really wanting things. They present themselves as what they believe to be the sexual party with zero power; the receiver, the accepter of action rather than its cause.

This position is drawn in contrast to the bottom-identified person’s idea of a top: the one who approaches, the person with hungers and desires, the person who decides which sexual activities will happen and how intense they will get. The top, from this perspective, is the stronger, more capable, more dangerous person. They��re the only one who can ever be guilty of intruding or harming somebody else. This power is scary, but it’s also compelling.

Dust calls this fantastical version of a top a “brute” — and they are the most cartoonish stereotype of what it means in society to be a man. Because it’s a cartoonish stereotype, no human actually lives up to it — and we’d probably revile a person even if they could.

Though queer people know we are harmed by the gender binary and heteronormativity and all the social scripts those things force upon us, its biases are still embossed on our brains. Without meaning to, we reproduce tired gender stereotypes in our relationships. And so we see expressing a sexual want as masculine, and being masculine as being more capable of violence and coercive control, and thus bad. We see failing to communicate one’s desires openly as desirably feminine, as well as a sign of blamelessness and purity — because on some level we still feel it is wrong to have desires.

But this entire worldview is a complete lie. Desire is not evil. Expressing attraction is not a violation. Failing to express oneself can be just as dangerous as not listening to someone else’s limits. Women can be abusive. Bottoms can sexually assault. No matter our gender, presentation, or sexual role, we are each capable of harm. And the only way to make a safe, mutually pleasurable sexual encounter happen is by going after it, actively, and communicating from a position of inner strength.

So how do you do that, if society’s been telling you all your life that you’re meant to date by acting like a deer passively snapping twigs in the woods, waiting for some hunter to hear you, and pursue you? (That really is dating advice that Evangelical Christian counselors give to women, if you can believe it).

By not fixating so much on what you’re doing or not doing to draw other people toward you, and instead thinking in terms of what you want and what you observe beyond yourself.

[starkeyisthelastname]

Rafe roughly fingering virgin!reader 😊

(I see this as Rafe season 3 episode 7 at the party. So imagine you were Sofia in that moment 💦)

He would invite you over to a party at Tannyhill now that he ran the house. You’d be shy as you walked through the crowd of unfamiliar people until you saw him talking to a shorter man with the same buzzcut. You didn’t want to interrupt the conversation, getting ready to turn away when you heard his voice call you.

“Hey. You made it.” His voice soft as he got up from where he was sitting. You noticed the smirk on his friend’s face, making you blush at the sudden attention you were getting. Especially since you were only in a small bikini, the thin coverup not doing much to hide anything.

He towered over you in height as he stepped closer. His cologne making you weak in the knees as he wrapped his arm around your lower back. He took his Ray-Bans off with his free hand, those stunning ocean eyes now staring down at you. “You want something to drink?” He asked, his manners and hospitality being a plus.

The music bumped throughout the mansion as Rafe held your hand, leading you to the kitchen. You were new to the Outer Banks, not knowing how popular the last name Cameron really was. Everyone there greeted him as if he was royalty, making you feel special that you could be wrapped on his arm.

“Only very important people are aloud up here.” Rafe told you as he led you through the upstairs balcony away from everyone else. The way he said that made your heart race, the heat going straight to your virgin core.

Your tongues lazily moved together as you both sat against the couch, his hands traveling further down to your aching sex. You weren’t sure if it was the poorly mixed drink or he really just had this much of an effect on you, but you found yourself shyly spreading your legs. The dark chuckle against your lips as he pulled back made you let out a kitten like whimper.

“You want me to play with your pussy, pretty girl?” His voice about the sexiest thing you ever heard.

You found yourself nodding, finding it hard to form the words to tell him that you were still a virgin. It wasn’t exactly something you blurted out on the regular. You just really hoped it wouldn’t turn Rafe away, he definitely knew what he was doing. “I- I’ve never been touched down there before.” You whispered softly.

His hand stopped for a moment, an amused laugh coming out as he smirked against your cheek. “Shit…” His voice drawing out into a low groan. His hand pulled your bikini bottoms to the side roughly, holding the material back as he smacked your cunt hard. You let out a squeak, not expecting that same hand to shove two fingers down your throat without warning. Gagging at the intrusion, his left arm pulled you onto his lap.

“Get those fingers wet, slut.” Rafe’s low tone in your ear.

You whimpered around them, sucking them into your mouth like your life depended on it. You wanted to be such a good girl for him, doing quite literally anything as long as he was the one it could be with. His fingers abruptly pulled out, shoving themselves into your virgin hole. You let out a gasp, your toes curling at the roughness.

“Rafe- too much.” You squeal out, his digits thick as he thrusted them in.

His ring and middle finger pushed through your tight hole, his knuckle hitting your cunt at a brutal pace when he slid them back in. “Hey, you wanna know something? My dick is huge.” He said, his left hand now coming up to grip your throat. “This is nothing compared what I’m about to do to this virgin cunt.” He spat, the gentleman now gone.

You cried out, pussy clenching around his fingers as he fucked them into you at a brutal pace. His hand was pressing against your throat, your brain fuzzy as the oxygen was being taken from you. Your poor body was betraying you, squeezing his digits as your pathetic pussy began to squirt everywhere.

“There she is. Make that pretty pussy cry for me.” He groaned into your ear, fingers slapping your sopping hole to make more gush out.

[rumisgf]

katsuki with a partner who’s a ray of fucking sunshine ‼️‼️ fav trope

yes thank you anon i will elaborate 😌🙏🏽

katsuki with an s/o who people will stare at for a couple minutes once they realize y’all are together, and he’ll want to get so extremely violent. but they’re not staring because they necessarily want you— it’s because they’re wondering how the fuck y’all ended up together. now, in theory, he does gravitate towards more positive/bubbly people imo (kirishima and izuku are great examples), and opposite definitely do attract. but you’re different. you’re one of those people who ‘light up every room’, and your smile is so bright it’s in competition with earth’s sun.

katsuki with an s/o who is such a dork he has to pretend it’s not the most adorable shit ever. he’s fighting back the biggest smile when you deadass start jumping up and down or clapping your hands out of excitement, or when you grin from ear to ear like the cheshire chat when he cooks you one of his family famous meals that he swore to himself he would never cook for anyone before he met you. it’s even worse when you giggle. or when you burst out into laughter smacking his shoulder and your head falling into his lap. oh, he hates it. he hates when you get all giddy because oh you’re so fucking cute. he wants to eat you alive and squish all the oxygen out of your body.

katsuki with an s/o who triggers said cute aggression on a daily basis. you could be smiling or rambling, and he’ll just squish your cheeks so hard your lips are all squished open and your front teeth are showing. or he’ll bite you– which he has no shame in doing. you could be cuddling and he’ll just slowly sink his teeth into your arm, soft enough to not draw blood but hard enough to hurt. he has no self control, especially when it comes to you, so please bare with him. you’re just too cute.

katsuki with an s/o who literally glows in the sunlight. golden hour is his absolute favorite hour. it’s almost embarrassing how he just stares at you, lost in how much you look like a divine deity send down to earth to make up for how shitty every human is. every day he question why you chose him or what is so damn special about him, but he’s glad he even gets to call you his. you make him a better man, and y’all fit together like two puzzle pieces.

[ratmonky]

Business Strategy

warnings: manipulation

word count: 1k

ao3 link

Some people needed attention, some people needed love and Gods needed to be worshipped. 

"You have been trending on almost every visual media and as a podcast topic. How does it feel to be worshipped by everyone?"

Everyone but you.

You look down at him as you sit on your desk with your legs crossed, an unnoticeable smile on your lips. The tip of his cock is glistening with precum that drips on the polished floor. He is impatiently rubbing himself while staring up at you, eyes like a puppy's, begging for you to continue.

"Good work today, John," you praise him, your smile getting wider as his hand around his hand gets faster. "If you manage to spend a single day without any casualties I might even pat your head and rest it on my lap."

He nods with his eyes wide, staring at your bottom as his mouth opens. You don’t scold or comment on him for using his X-ray vision. He has been working hard lately to make you so proud. Precious John. He wakes up every day to make his pretty boss happy and sits by her desk like an obedient dog, waiting to be rewarded.

His gloved hand moves hastily around his cock, it makes a squeaky sound with each stroke. It brings you out of your thoughts.

You continue to smile, watching him pathetically jerk off on another work day after giving his report of the day. You wonder what he is thinking about right now. A scenario where he sucks on your tits while he has his head on your lap and lets you jerk him off? Or getting fed up with your strange power over him and bending you over the desk right now? He would rip your tights and pull up your skirt, humping you aimlessly until his cock finally slid inside. Wouldn't that feel good? You wonder if he had it in him to even pull something risky like that but he would never risk upsetting you. 

Good little John. 

Begging to be yours.

You decide you want to reward him after the intense feeling of heat building inside your core, making your legs tremble and pussy leak. 

"I'll let you do whatever," you say softly, lifting his chin with the front part of your heels. His eyes are on you, clouded from lust. "Just tell me what you want, John." 

There is a smile on his face. "I want to eat your pussy," he says after clearing his throat. Nonetheless, his tone is pathetic and desperate, he cannot hide the excited expression on his face like he has been waiting for this moment all his life.

With grace, you spread your legs and let him rip your tights in the middle. He pulls you closer to the edge of the desk and slides your panties to the side. He doesn't bother lifting your skirt and shoves his face in your crotch while proceeding to pump his cock.

The feeling of his hot and wet tongue against your folds feels heavenly after a long day of work. You tilt your head up and close your eyes to focus on how he moves his tongue. He kisses your pussy slowly, nose touching your clit. He slides his tongue inside you in an attempt to taste you and quickly decides against it to focus on pleasing you. His hand on your thigh squeezes the flesh and he tries to imagine how your ass would feel like on his cock when you finally would let him fuck you. He moves to your clit, lapping at your sweet spot and drawing tight circles that get smaller and smaller. 

You don’t want to admit it but it feels so good, you try to curl your toes but you don’t have enough space in your heels to do so, you let your legs rest on his shoulders. He keeps moving in a way that mimics fucking you and you find yourself imagining going against your own rule and letting him ravish you like he has been always dreaming about. 

As he gets close to his orgasm he loses the rhythm of his tongue and basically moves his head up and down as if he were nodding with his tongue rubbing wildly against your pussy. Your hands grip the desk harder and you let out a quiet moan. He laps at your cunt like a fucking dog and it just works. You feel the rush of an orgasm wash over you and your legs shake as he groans and cums with you. He groans and goes frigid for a second before letting himself sit on the floor to rest. 

There is a short moment before you jump down from the desk to fix your clothing and he follows your lead and gets up to fix himself as you return to your seat this time. 

"I expect another great day from you tomorrow, John," you say while starting to type on the keyboard of your laptop. 

"Yes, sure," he chuckles. "I'll see you tomorrow morning."

"Night," you correct him, his smile disappears as you inform him about tomorrow. "I'll be taking care of A-Train in the morning. Noir has a short meeting with me in the afternoon and well, Deep has been waiting for weeks to have a meeting, I'll take him in the evening."

He frowns, his eyes losing any sign of life in them.

You sigh and roll your eyes. "I'll see you tomorrow night at my house, hmm?" You watch another grin creep up on his face, "Don't get any ideas unless you plan to do something that'll raise our profits by 30%."

He grins all the same, "Well, I'll see you tomorrow then." Then he leaves unwillingly because he knows you're having a meeting with sponsors in an hour. 

The next day, you wake up to the news of Homelander selling his official Vought merch in front of the tower and giving interviews about his new show that will air only on Vought+.

[zriasstuff]

Underwater fun-Mattheo Riddle x fem!reader smut

Warnings: 18+ mature fanfic, includes sexual activities (him pleasuring you in public)

“What do you think you’re doing”, you whisper to Mattheo while both of you are standing in the black lake, seemingly just chatting in the water. The cold water went all the way up to your collarbones, so much that you could still stand, but not very securely. It made you feel a little wobbly on your feet.

You had asked Mattheo that question because you felt his knee creeping up higher, almost touching your lower private area now. His leg fit perfectly between both of yours.

“Matty, whatever it is that you got planned-”

“Just enjoy the water, won’t you”, he responds teasingly, interrupting you mid sentence.

His smirk indicated to you that you were about to enjoy a lot more than just the apparent water. You gradually realized that he had envisioned something very risky in his mind.

Mattheo’s knee between your legs was now placed so perfectly, that whenever you even moved in the slightest, your cunt would automatically rub against it. He even held you tightly by your waist, so that you couldn’t get away from him.

It was surely his intention, for you to get loose, to get you all riled up. Aware of the rather public situation, you spin around to make sure no one was watching.

“Don’t be shy darling, no one is watching”, he baits you once again, not even hiding his desire for you to get off on him. When you wouldn’t indulge, he props his knee even further up, making it directly touch your cunt.

Without it being your intention, one shift of your position suddenly made you feel a wave of brain melting pleasure. The strong pressure on your clit started to feel a little too good. It felt nasty to practically grind against his hard knee, like some touch starved, pathetic slut.

But the more you rubbed against him, the needier you got, feeling yourself get wetter in the process.

“Enjoy yourself princess?”, he cockily asks. He knows exactly that within seconds you’d be begging for him to make you cum.

Mattheo had always had this persuasive aura around him. Whatever he set his mind to, he would achieve. Of course he knew your limits, but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t push them a little for fun.

“Please Mattheo, want more”, you moan quietly, while desperately aching for more friction to please your throbbing cunt. You never imagined it’d feel so good to grind on his knee, so good that it turned your cunt into such a wet mess.

He somehow always managed to get you craving his touch, whether it was his cock, fingers, or even knee now.

“Well, since you asked so nicely”, he granted you your wish, and within seconds his knee was replaced by his hand. Wasting no time, he smoothly slid two fingers inside you. Your soaking wetness had allowed him easy and quick penetration, and he felt your cunt sucking him in with its tightness.

“Look how wet my princess is”, he coos, “I told you you’d have fun”. That cocky look on his face was provoking all the more impure thoughts. You imagined what it would be like if there were no people around. How he could then fuck you in the water, have you get high on his cock. You wish everyone would just magically disappear.

The way his fingers stretched your aching cunt wide open almost made you reach your climax right then right there. They kept exploring your walls from every possible angle, brushing against every spot. His thumb additionally circled your clit to create even more simulation, so much you couldn’t hold in the sinful moans that escaped your mouth anymore.

You’d gotten used to how good Mattheo was with his fingers ever since you started dating, but this time, the possibility of being caught made it all so much more exciting. That meant you’d really have to try to not draw everyone’s attention on your public sexual cadaver.

“Can’t even keep your mouth shut anymore huh”, Mattheo points out. You bit down hard on your lip and tried to keep a neutral face to not raise any suspicions.

Knowing that he had such a delicious effect on you, he tried all the more to get you cracking and get caught. It didn’t matter because everyone could then see that you were his, and that only he could get you all riled up like this in the water.

His finger thrusts were becoming quicker and viciously hit your sensitive spot, causing you to struggle to keep still in the water. Your legs were squirming around and firmly clinging onto his leg, and your nails kept digging into his torso. All so you wouldn’t lose balance.

“Plea- Please, go slower”, you whine, not sure how much more of this you’d be able to take without exposing yourself.

“What was that, you want it faster?” Mattheo got extremely turned on watching you barely being able to keep it together. He was this close to pushing you over the edge right now. His fingers continued going in and out of you at an ungodly speed, solely focused on your pleasure. Meanwhile his cock was begging for some friction too, the bulge becoming clearly visible through his swimming shorts.

At that point, the rough fingering was becoming too much, and you felt your rushed climax approaching. “Fuck, ‘m gonna cum”, you whimper.

But all of a sudden he pulls his fingers out. The sensation was gone. While he was licking his fingers clean with a smirk plastered on his face, you were desperately clenching around nothing anymore. “Mattheo, please make me finish”, you impatiently beg him. He couldn’t just leave you hanging like this, after all he’d started it.

There was nothing more that you wanted right now, than to have him stroke your sweet spot repeatedly, to have his fingers torturing you into orgasm after orgasm. It didn’t matter anymore that you were in public, all you wanted was him.

“Sorry darling, party’s over”, and with that you saw everyone leaving the lake to get dressed and go back to your dorms. Awfully convenient you thought.

Seeing from Mattheo’s devious expression, you realized his goal was to leave you feeling unsatisfied all along, so you would be even hornier later on.

And just like he predicted, his mischievous plan succeeded. At least you were sure that he was going to make it up to you back in his dorm.

[jolapeno]

16. apple green

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter sixteen of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.7k chapter warnings: dad!frankie. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. FLIRTATION TO THE MAX. an: this chapter made me beam from start to finish. like my face hurts.

prev chapter | series masterlist

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

It’s long, your exhale. Stretching out slow and full, cheeks still tingling with the lingering ache of laughter as you gaze at the horizon.

Just where the sun dips; its final rays painting the sky in lavender and rose. You're joined by a gentle, warm breeze whispering through the air, carrying the salty scent of the sea and the soft hum of waves caressing the shore's golden sand.

The air is cooler now under the encroaching dusk, as the tide steals the footprints, making them vanish.

And it’s perfection. All of it.

A moment you wish you could pause and live, exactly like this, for a handful of hours.

The sound of flip-flops meeting soles is what eventually ruins it.

It pulls your glance over your shoulder, watching his approach—shades shielding his eyes, hair loose in slightly longer curls, it almost dry from your earlier fun in the water.

Then you see his smirk. The one which grows as he nears, knowing what you’re thinking, even if you try to hide it. Because if you had gone to grab pizzas, you’d be face down in the sand—food ruined, embarrassment smothering over your cheeks. But, he carries it one-handed like it’s nothing. A bottle of soda under his arm and a plastic bag dangling from his wrist, as you shift on the blanket that’s still warm from the sun, arms reaching up to help.

“Hey, Butterscotch.”

“Hey, Mi lluviosa.”

You don't even fight how you beam at your nickname's new variation. The one that had slipped out when he'd turned his alarm off, eyes all closed with your face buried into his neck.

The jingle of his car keys sounds as he throws them to the edge of the blanket, watching him join you as the scent of melted cheese, tomato and toppings greet your nose before you even open the box.

“Smells so good.”

He utters a soft agreement as your knee abuts his; periodically glancing at him as you grab a slice, chewing with a smile as he wrestles with his toppings and strands of cheese from tangling in his beard.

By the time you’re both full, the chill of the evening air is making you shiver, when you gently slot the cardboard lids back into place. Tenderly, as you watch another wave rise and crash against the beach, your palms tenderly brush up and down your arms.

He notices—or must do. Moving onto his knees to dig around the duffel you’d both brought—a jacket pulled out, before sliding it around your shoulders, coming to sit behind you. Legs on either side as the scent of him joins you.

Toes wiggling in the sand, his hands sliding over your legs, you turn. “Would you rather be a jellyfish or a starfish?”

Exhaling a groan, your back comes to rest on his chest. Eased there, guided. Your ankle accidentally nudges one of the half-empty pizza boxes in your movements—a thing you hope remains sand-free from when you get back to his and decide you wish to nibble on a little more.

Blowing out a puff of air, it tickles against your ear as his arms come around you. “Jellyfish.”

“Is it because they glow in the dark?”

Laughing, kissing the side of your head. “No. But that is a good reason.”

“You want to sting people, don’t you?”

Sliding your hand around the back of his neck, fingers scratching at his hair, smiling, biting down on your lip as he presses another kiss.

“Maybe.”

“Deviant.”

Softly blowing against your ear, drawing shapes along his scalp as he whispers, you love it.

And you do.

Fuck you do.

Do you think I need to reconsider jeans and a black tee for what we’re getting up to today?

No, you’ll be fine. I’m putting up some shelves is all.

Does this mean you’re going to tuck a little pencil behind your ear?

Do you like the idea of that?

Might do.

I’m beginning to worry you’re with me for my hobbies and not me.

How about you stop looking so hot when you do your hobbies?

I’ll try. It’s hard to turn off.

HA HA HA.

HA.

You're there, in a stranger's home, for all of ten minutes before you realise that you’re not needed. Not that Frankie says anything.

Only confirming it when you ask, “You sure you don't need me to hold this?” Voice-breaking the quiet hum of the electric drill he’s holding.

Carefully re-positioning one of the wooden shelves against the wall, his brow furrows in concentration, a single dark curl falling over his forehead as he glances from the step-ladder, eyes nothing short of warm and twinkling despite the overcast light. “I've got it, but your company makes it easier,” he replies, tone nothing short of affectionate, sweet, truthful.

“Francisco Morales, did you want me here as eye candy?”

He buries his answer with the drill as you wander over to the window smirking, seeing that the sky is still a thick blanket of grey, clouds heavy with the threat of rain. Even without the window open, you know the air is cool, likely damp, carrying a hint of petrichor as you turn on your heels, watching from your new position.

You don’t suppress the small smile that plays on your lips—something comforting about the sight of him so focused, so intent on getting everything just right.

“Could you just pass that for me?”

Smirking, you quickly move over to pick up what he’s gesturing at, turning it over in your hand. “This?”

“Please.”

Biting your lip, grinning. “What do I get for it?”

“The knowledge I’d be done earlier.”

Tilting your head from side to side, you scrunch your face—almost wanting to twirl the tool.

“What if I wish that you'd do me yourself, Morales?”

Pausing, the wood in his hand lowers down the wall as he turns his head, staring, mouth falling open before he eventually rests the plank against the wall. Slowly coming down the steps, across the plastic-covered floor, it all scrunching under his boots. “That what you want?”

His hands slide around your waist, palms flat, dragging along the fabric that covers your skin, rippling fire out across your body as you curl in, arch, ghosting your mouth over his.

“We can’t fuck in this person’s house, Frankie.”

Groaning, low, deep in the back of his throat, you smile—mirroring the one he traces across yours. “Remind me why?”

“You make me messy.”

Grunting, pressing it to your neck. “Yeah?”

Nodding, biting your lip, pulling his face up by your palms on his cheeks, mouth ghosting over his. “Really messy.”

Inhaling, you feel him agree. Mouth meeting yours, before you ease his nose to your lips, pressing a kiss. “Finish drilling, Morales. Then we can go home and you can drill me.”

He mumbles something in Spanish under his breath.

Guess how my morning has been?

Wonderful? Full of coffee and people asking for tips on how to twist a screw in.

No, not everyone is you. Harold has asked me three times when he’s next seeing you.

Oh yeah, I should really return his call for our second date.

I know you’re joking, but ouch.

Don’t worry, Francisco. He’s just a side piece. You’re the main. I want to get lunch, do you want me to bring you some and then you can pee around me so he knows?

Please. He keeps asking if you like diamonds.

Tell him I’m not mad at a diamond.

Shooting a wink at Harry, he lifts his chest up from his leaned position on the counter. Head dipping, fingers sliding across his lips as though they’re a zip before tapping his nose.

That familiar scent greets you just as graciously. All fresh-cut wood, spilt paint and lemon disinfectant, as well as Harold's aftershave. The one change—the biggest—is the missing crackle of the radio, you had found a compact, newer one a few weeks back, placing it on the counter with a big red bow and a card for Harry.

Bag swinging in your fingers, it’s a hunt to find him. Peering down aisles, eventually spotting him crouched—cargo trousers doing their utmost to remain stitched across his thighs.

You’re grateful he wears an apron that covers his groin. Half-fearful of the eye contact you’d give the area in what he’s currently wearing.

Digging your hand into the bag, and retrieving the top plastic carton, you do a little wiggle down the aisle with it.

“What’s this?”

Shrugging, stopping just before him as he stands. “Cake?”

Placing his clipboard down, narrowing his eyes as he takes it, turning it over.

“Butterscotch—that’s the flavour.”

Scrunching his face, he sighs. “I… I don’t know if I like it, baby.”

“Well, more for me.”

Smiling, pressing a kiss to your cheek, he motions to peer in the bag. “You like it?”

“Well, I like you.”

“Not sure it’ll taste like me.”

Tongue in your cheek, looking him up and down as he straightens, you wait a beat, and then another, before adding, “Shame. Guess I’ll have to keep eating you then.”

“Menace.”

Moving close, lips almost touching his, you whisper the same words he said to you only a day or two ago, you love it. A low whine leaves his lips, stifling it against your mouth, a crooked finger under your chin, making kissing a little easier.

“Wanna eat in the office?” he asks.

“I was thinking we could eat as you cut wood. I love sawdust seasoning.”

Pinching your side, not able to stop the giggle, he turns you on the spot, leading you back down the aisle you’d come down. “Go in, I’ll be a moment—just gonna tell Harold that I’m going on break.”

Nodding, twirling on the spot, you wink. “Tell him I love him.”

His palm manages to catch you on your ass as you roar with laughter.

Butterscotch Morales.

I’ve been first named.

Did you put flowers on my car?

Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t.

You lured me there to be romantic?

Well, it is very hard to be romantic when you’re at my house.

I can go home early if you want.

Don’t you fucking dare.

Noted.

I also think you’re doing just fine in the romantic department. For one, they’re gorgeous. And the deep clean you gave me in the shower this morning still has my thighs shaking.

I don’t think you know how good you look with soap suds on your skin.

I have an idea now.

You fancy anything particular for dinner tonight?

Can you be on the menu?

I think it can be arranged for dessert.

Okay. Then tacos?

Double helping for me then.

Francisco!

You’re smirking I can feel it from here.

You know before you open your eyes what day it is. A mixed blend of emotions that flood you as you wake to the thick scent of freshly brewed coffee, breakfast—maybe eggs, you can’t be sure.

Heart both full and heavy as it coaxes you from your sleep, your lashes flutter, eyes blinking as you stretch your arm out across his dark bedsheets. You hate that you can feel the warmth fading. Dismay flutters in your chest, as you begin to fight the urge to roll face down into his sheets and glue yourself to his mattress.

“Morning, baby,” he whispers, interrupting, eyes finding him in the doorway, leaning, head resting against his bicep, a slither of his stomach on show as his top pulls up. “I’m making us breakfast.”

“You didn’t have to…”

“I wanted to,” he replies, palm patting against his thigh. “If you want a shower, you have time.”

“Telling me I smell?”

Tongue sliding over the front of his teeth, he smiles—mischievously. “Maybe I just want you to smell like my soap for when you go home.”

Home you think. A tightness in your chest all but inflicted by the word. Four letters. Barely anything. Yet, you have to bite down on the inside of your cheek when he kisses your forehead and heads back out of the room.

It bubbles as you glance around the room—his room—taking in the cosy armchair with your jacket laid over it, the photograph of you and him surrounded by ones of Luca, Frankie and Luca or his friends.

Then, you hear him singing. The sound makes your heart throb at the same time as it brings a smile to your face as you head to his bathroom.

You find that the only benefit to showering is wrapping yourself in his cosy robe before you make your way to the living room.

Frankie lounges on the sofa, hand patting the spot beside him. You eagerly curl up next to him, nestling your head against his chest as his arm wraps around you, the other hand resting on your knee, thumb tracing soothing circles.

The tray of breakfast sits on the coffee table. You reach for a piece of toast, nibbling as you settle in. After a moment, you taste it—the eggs cooked just how you like, the toast perfect, just the way you love it. Of course, he has.

Frankie watches you with a tender expression, his fingers continuing their gentle caress on your knee.

“You excited?” you murmur between bites, “He’ll be here soon.”

Hand stroking over your leg, he swallows. “Yeah, I’ve missed him,” he replies, his voice a low, comforting rumble.

You look up at him, your heart swelling with love. “He’s going to have so many stories.”

Snorting, he runs a hand down his face. “Oh, I know.”

You smile, let the tranquillity of the moment wash over you, savouring the simple joy of being with the man you love. Curled up together. “Thank you for letting me see him before I go.”

His cheeks flush slightly, and he leans down to kiss the top of your head. “You know you don’t have to go.”

Staring at him, thumb swiping over his upper lip, removing the crumb from a slice of toast. “I should. Before I never leave.”

The tip of his tongue peeks out, swiping across his lower lip as his fingers do a dance on your leg. “That doesn’t sound half bad.”

Rolling your eyes, picking up your coffee. “You can ask me better than that, Morales.”

You don’t add that you hope he does.

Draining more of your coffee as you stare at him over the porcelain, placing it down before kissing his cheek.

“I should go pack.”

His groan follows you as you head back off to dress—folding things, shoving others into a bag and cleaner clothes back into your drawer.

It’s a try, an almost fail to not feel a sting of tears as you leave your bag on the bed.

The embers of it flickering inside of you even when you take over cleaning for him when he tells you Sam’s car is pulling up. It almost douses it, his joy, drying the mug in your hand when you peer into the living room as the front door is flown open and you see Frankie bear-hugging Luca as Sam follows in behind him.

Miss you’s turn into excitable tales. Occasionally translated by Sam as you wipe the side free from water, closing a cupboard quietly and drying your hands.

Then, when you’re about to slyly move into the room discreetly, you hear her call your name.

For a second, your head turns, but you don’t move. Just glancing, pulse pounding in your ear as you find Sam smiling, waiting, brows slightly raised as though you hadn’t made it up that she’d spoken your name.

“Can we talk… outside?”

It takes all of your restraint not to flick your eyes to Frankie.

For what, you’re not sure—reassurance, need, it all blurs into a stew inside of you as you reply, following her through the living room and out of the front door.

Nails digging into your palm, you try to breathe. In and out, out and in. But it builds.

And it builds.

And it builds.

Unable to stop the anxiety shifts into something thicker, less easy to keep down. It rises in your throat, choking you. Something similar to bile, as your head runs through a thousand things—whether you’d been too much with Luca, whether Frankie hadn’t shared that you’d be here, whether and whether and—

“I wanted to thank you,” Sam begins, smiling, hands linked together in front of herself, “Frankie… he’s a great, great dad—”

“The best,” you add. And then shame blooms over the anxiety at interrupting.

Sam, though, doesn't seem fazed. If anything unbothered. “The best. I’m very lucky to co-parent with him. But—”

Your stomach knots. Tightens.

A ball swelling inside of you as it becomes harder to breathe, to take full ones that fill you with air and rational thinking.

“I know he didn’t help make all those things.”

Oh, you think.

Shoulders unlodging from your ears, sliding down to their normal place.

“You must have spent hours on them,” she continues, a soft line in her forehead appearing as her face lightly scrunched, “All of them. The t-shirt? The candle? The card—the card, was so, so nice. It was so thoughtful. I can’t… I am not ashamed to admit I cried my fucking eyes out.”

Shifting your weight, a smile breaking out, “It was all Luca’s idea. I just wanted—”

“I imagine some of it was, but not all of it.”

You blink. It’s that or let your eyes fill up too. Seeing her staring, watching, with nothing but gratefulness on her face.

“I’m… I’m glad he has you,” Sam says quickly, almost hurriedly. “Luca. And Frankie.”

Her hands come around her waist before relaxing at her side, lips rolling, looking as nervously as you did moments ago.

“Thank you, for helping him with the gifts,” she continues.

Swallowing, you nod. “Anytime—if that’s okay? I… I don’t want to be anything but Rainy to him.”

Smiling, she inhales. “I know.”

“Good.”

A beat happens, the two of you finding yourselves admiring the other when you hear Luca’s laugh echo out of the house.

“So, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but what is it with Rainy?”

Laughing, you press your hand to your face, watching her smile, waiting—patiently. “It’s a stupid joke, Frankie’s doing.”

Sam raises her brows, and stares in waiting, gesturing for you to continue.

“Okay, well—”

The next time it rains, can you kiss me in it?

Baby I’ll kiss you whatever the weather. Am I allowed to ask why?

It’s romantic, isn’t it?

Are you watching a movie?

Maybe.

And we haven’t kissed in the rain. We’ve kissed nearly everywhere else.

Well, I’d hate not to have kissed you everywhere, baby.

What’s happening in the movie?

Lots of declarations.

Ah. Lots of when we first met, I wasn’t looking for someone, I was running from it. But, you really wanted to try and build something, and before I knew it, I was falling.

That kind of thing yes.

I miss you.

I miss you too, baby. The bed feels strange without you asking me random questions.

I think watching this was a bad idea.

Answering his call, you don't pause the movie—just turn the volume down. Curling further into your couch as you tug the blanket up your neck, bringing his voice to your ear.

“Hey.”

“Hey, baby. Is the movie making you sad?”

Nodding, you swallow back the lump in your throat. Tears springing, the ones that had already fallen.

“You choking up so much you can’t reply to me?”

Laughing, tears spluttering, you sniff, wiping your cheek with the back of your hand as you grin—half-shaking your head. “How’d you know?”

You hear rustling, imagining him in bed. In the middle of the place, the two of you have been sharing. Wondering if he can smell your perfume, whether he misses the extra warmth of your skin like you currently miss him.

“‘Cause I know you. And, you do this little sniffle you try to hide and—”

“Okay, okay,” you interrupt, hearing him laugh, it tickling down your ear, making your chest go all warm like it usually does.

Like it always does.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have put this on.”

Snorting, it’s followed by a groan. One you now know he does when he stretches, when he’s trying to loosen the tightness in his back.

“Why did you?”

Because I miss you, you almost reply. Unsure how he couldn’t know, wouldn’t. A horrid thought burst through everything, standing all determined in the wake of nothing but only joy and happiness for days. Making your heart hurt, shrink and fall somewhere along the pit of you. Because maybe he didn’t know, because he didn’t miss you.

Maybe he felt happier that he had his home to himself, his bed, his things—

“I miss you too, Rainy.”

A gasp escapes, one enriched in emotions, fresh tears falling as you pause the movie, curling up more, knees pulled up as he repeats it.

“What do you miss?”

He snorts again, but more full of tease, “Fuck, where do I even start?”

“At the beginning of the list.”

“Oh well, firstly, I miss the fact I’ve not been asked if I would rather be a cactus or a house plant.”

And you smile. It stretches out, sliding into your cheeks—for the first time since you came home to emptiness—you feel happy again, even as another tear rolls down your cheek and you ask, “Well, what would you prefer?”

Frankie laughs. It flows down the phone, somehow brightening your own home, even if he’s not inside of it. It makes you kick off the blanket, stand up, turn the television off—and the lights—and walk the lonely route to your own bed.

Half-wishing you’d taken him up on the offer of staying one more night.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

[buckyalpine]

Heeey sweetie ! I hope you’re well !! I always look forward to your posts and check your page daily for updates ! Your writing is incredible and always leaves me with butterflies in my stomach !! I wanted to leave a request if that’s okay ! I was thinking about mob Bucky with grumpy-sunshine trope !? Bucky being the grumpiest little shit ! He’s arrogant and stares too much . But then he meets this ray of sunshine and she’s the only one to get him soft ! She’s the only one that can coax a smile out of him ! Gives her the gentlest touches and sweetest kisses ! He’s proud to have her next to him and loves how much smaller she looks compared to his massive size . Even tho he’s dominant in bed , he’s still careful and considerate with her ! Fluffy fluff with a big intimidating man

YESS Omg i love this so much its adorable. (18+, cause there’s fluffy fluff but also smutty smut) 

Disclaimer: I love fics where Bucky loves his much smaller reader compared to his larger size but I do my best to not describe the readers size too much because I want anyone to be able to imagine themselves in my fics. When I write, Bucky is obsessed over how he can just easily scoop you up into his arms and toss you over his shoulder effortlessly. 

First time meeting you I just imagine you both meet in the most wholesome way as well. He's truly the grumpiest shit anyone's ever met. Arrogant and cocky but he’s earned his reputation so no one dares question it. That being said, he has some principals, one of them being that family always comes first. He takes that very seriously. That's why he's out and about, looking for a present for Sam’s daughter’s birthday, hand picked himself (and by present, we’re talking presents plural, he already bought her a custom gold engraved locket and an Hermes baby blanket, no godchild of his would get any less).

Still, he wanted to give her more, wandering into a little book shop at the corner of the street that appeared to be empty. His men stood outside the door while he scanned the shelfs, huffing in frustration because there were so many choices and it would have been easier to just buy the all the books. He picked up a book and set it down, the store probably wouldn’t cost too much- 

"Can I help you?"

A sweet voice called him from behind and Bucky was ready to give the person hell, he hated sales people. Most people. Honestly all people. Except Steve. He'd maybe pee on Sam if he was on fire but that was as far as his love for him went. (its all a front, he loves Sam).

He turned around, about to tell whoever it was, to fuck off, blinking instead when he came face to face with you. You smiled up at him, eyes twinkling, setting down the pile of books you had in your arms to look at the shelf he was browsing. 

“What age group are you looking for?” 

Bucky hardly registered your words, staring at what looked like the human form of a cute little garden fairy straight out of a fairytale. You were in a blush pink sundress, covered in tiny flowers, standing on your tippy toes trying to reach the books higher on the shelf. Garden fairy, what the fuck was wrong with him, he shook his head trying to regain his train of thought. 

“Uh- a baby?” Bucky didn’t know what to do with himself, most people took his  staring as a sign to go away but you seemed unbothered. 

"Oh! Come with me, there’s a great section at the back, I’ll show you!” You happily led the 6′4 mob boss to the kids corner at the back of the store, colorful drawings, plush rugs and little bean bags covered the area. 

“Any of these would be great for a little one” You pointed to the shelves that were low to the ground, pulling out a few and handing them to him “let me know if you see anything you like” with that, you went back to putting books away. You returned a few minutes later, biting back a smile, looking at the tall man covered head to toe in dark ink, diligently reading through one of the books you handed to him. 

"You look so cute" You giggled, looking at Bucky sitting on one of the tiny chairs, his long legs sprawled out in front of him. 

"Cute?" Bucky had never been more insulted in his life, of all things to describe him, how dare you tell him he looked cute. 

“Of course” You grinned as you walked over and sat down beside him. The gentle sweet scent of your perfume evaded his senses, his heart jumped when he felt your warm hand brush against his. Bucky didn’t know why his heart was racing, he didn’t like it. His brows furrowed, trying to stop the blush that spread across his face when he saw your smile. 

“Do you like that one?” Bucky nodded, looking at the cover of the book; two bears sitting together looking at the moon. “I love you to the moon and back, its such a sweet book, I would have picked this one too” 

Bucky nodded again, not trusting himself to speak around you. You took the book to the front to check him out. After he paid, you placed a little brown bear that matched the ones on the book cover in the bag as well. Bucky cocked his head confusedly, reaching for his wallet again. 

“How much?”

“Just take it as part of the gift” You smiled, tying a ribbon around the handles of the bag. “I’m sure they’ll love it. Have a good day!” You gave him a little wave as he walked out, turning back to your books, while Bucky felt his insides melt. 

The pretty girl at the book store thinks I’m cute.

Bucky slid into his SUV, the corner of his lips twitching, his cheeks dusted pink. You thought he was cute. Cute. He continued to bite his bottom lip, fighting with his face muscles to keep from smiling, failing miserably instead. 

“Is he having a stroke”

Sam whispered, staring at Bucky through the rearview mirror while he sat at the front with Steve. Bucky’s face continued to twitch, trying to keep his classic scowl on his lips. 

“I think he’s smiling” snorted, cocking an eyebrow watching Bucky carefully inspect the little brown bear you put in the bag. 

“He knows how to smile?”

“You good punk?” Steve called out, smirking when Bucky stuffed the bear back in the bag, pretending he wasn’t giving it heart eyes while thinking about you. “You looked real cozy talking to the girl at that the bookstore” 

“Shut up” He ignored his two friends snickering, throwing them a growl before thinking about you again. 

She thinks I’m cute. 

After that meeting, imagine Bucky finds himself going back for more and more books; he doesn’t even have time to read but he can’t help it. Every time he steps into your bookstore, its like sliding into a comfy blanket. He’s addicted to your sweet smile; your always there with a new book for him to read. He can’t help but smile every time he sees you flit around the shelves, he felt like he was living in his own fairytale. 

The first kiss

Bucky watched you huff in frustration, trying to put a book back on the shelf but it was too high for you to reach. 

“Um-could-would you please help me put this back?” You asked shyly, while Bucky smiled, nodding and coming up behind you, his hand gently holding your waist, placing the book on top with ease. His tall form towered over you, his chest brushing against your as you turned and looked up at him. 

“Th-thank you” you whispered, your eyes flicking from his blue eyes to his pink lips. His lips were curved in a soft smile that gave you butterflies; it wasn’t often that you saw him smile but it seemed he did it whenever he was close to you. 

“You look handsome when you smile” You squeaked, slapping your hand over your mouth as soon as the words slipped through. Bucky bit his lip, while you looked away embarrassed you had said that out loud. “Sorry I didn’t mean-” 

You gasped, feeling him pull you closer, his hand gently tilting your chin up to look at him. His head dipped down slightly and you felt your body moving on its own, standing on your tippy toes to be closer to him. 

“Can I kiss you?” He whispered, his nose nudging against yours. You nod, letting out a shuddered breath as his hand cupped your cheek, pressing his lips sweetly to yours. You hesitantly moved your arms to wrap around his shoulders, melting into his touch. 

You didn’t know how much time had passed, staying tucked in his arms, having waited ages for him to finally make a move. When he finally has to leave, he comes running back in mere seconds later. 

“Did you forget something?” 

Bucky nodded, his hands wrapping around you waist, pulling you close to him again, his lips kissing you softly as ever. 

“I wanted another kiss” 

That kiss turned into lots of kisses. Lingering hugs. When he finally brings you to his home, he keeps you his little secret for a while so he can enjoy your company. You bring out a softness in him he didn’t know was possible; soft fluffy dates with him cooking for you, or going on evening strolls. You’re his everything, he loves seeing his little garden fairy comfy in his home. You made everything warmer; the soft scent of candles always traveled down the halls; sweet baked goodies were always ready in the kitchen. Sam and Steve were definitely not complaining, pretending they didn’t notice Bucky’s classic grumpy face now also came with a cute little blush on his cheeks. 

The first time they meet you 

Imagine Bucky’s team finally find the mole they’d been hunting for months. They’re all riled up, throwing him into the van, threatening him within an inch of his life. They know Bucky likes to take care of business himself but it doesn’t stop them from warning him about the pure wrath he’s going to face. 

“You’re fucked”

“You thought we were bad? You’re gonna wish your mom swallowed you”

They drag him up the steps, bursting into his office, expecting Bucky to be waiting there with his knife twirling between his fingers. 

Instead...

Bucky’s men all stared at each other before looking at the sweet thing that was sitting in their bosses lap, feeding him pastries. Bucky grinned like a love struck puppy, cradling you to his chest while he sat on his office chair, moaning at the sweet caramel melting on his tongue. The last thing they expected to see was a delicate thing like you cuddled up with who they thought was a blood thirsty gang leader. 

Sam snorted, shaking his head, watching Bucky ignore the rest of them, his eyes still trained on you, peppering kisses onto your cheek. 

“Motherfucker, are you eating butter tarts right now?” 

“They taste good” Bucky shrugged, giving you one final sweet kiss to your lips before looking up at his team. 

“Why don’t you wait for me in my room, I’ll be there soon” Bucky pressed a soft kiss onto your temple, helping you off his lap. You smiled, brushing some of his hair back, kissing his forehead.

“Come soon bubba” Your bare feet padded through his office, giving the towering men a quick wave as you passed them “Hi Sam, Hi Steve!” 

Sam blinked, before grinning and giving you a friendly wave back. 

“She is adorable, fucks she doing with you” 

“Shut the fuck up bird brain” Bucky panned, a growl emitting from his chest, as he rounded the table, his previous soft demeanor dropping as soon as his eyes landed on the mole. “Have Steve keep him quiet, my angel doesn’t have to hear this shit” 

After Bucky’s men saw how soft he was for you, you become their secret weapon. You’re always there to soften the blow they’d face, making him smile even when delivering the worst news. 

“Boss, the deliveries were seized” Peter trembles at the door, while Bucky’s nostrils flare, he’s about to tell everyone off, but his anger dissipates as soon as your head pops into the room. 

“Bucky, come cuddle?” You push past the men, your hands draping around his shoulders. 

“They put you up to this, didn’t they?” Bucky snorted, rubbing his temples, melting as soon as you crawled into his lap. You giggled innocently, kissing his scruffy cheek while he lifted you into his arms, carrying you over to his room. 

“Hmm, they’re lucky you’re so sweet babygirl” 

The first time 

For months, Bucky didn’t do anything more than give you soft kisses, hugs and cuddles. He wanted you, he needed you in a way he never thought was possible, but he didn’t want to rush anything. You were special and if he was going to be intimate with you, it’d be whenever you were ready. 

He never wanted to pressure you into anything, but you reassured him you wanted this. Bucky swallowed thickly, looking at your smaller form curled up against his bed waiting for him. You looked so sweet and delicate, wearing just one of his shirts, nervously fidgeting with your hands while he crawled up the bed to you. 

“Are you sure about this prinţesă?” He kissed your knee, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb; you felt your face heat up and the name he had for you, nodding without meeting his eyes. “Look at me baby” He tilted your chin to meet his gaze, “I won’t be upset if you want to wait” 

You knew he meant it. Not once had he ever made you feel like doing something you didn’t want. His sweetness only made you want him more. 

“I want this, I-I want you” you whispered, moaning softly when his lips pressed against yours. He kissed you softly, his hand moving to your waist to lay you down against the pillows. He was on top of you, nipping your jaw, peppering kisses down your neck, his hand caressing the side of your thigh. 

Being with you was different. 

He natural instinct had always been rough and fast; clothes torn, no build up. 

He didn’t want that with his pretty doll. Yet. 

He slowly undressed you, pulling your shirt over your head, leaving you bare underneath him. He continued to kiss you while still being fully dressed, chuckling when he felt you squirm under him. 

“What is it baby?”  He cocked his head, picking up on what you wanted when you fiddled with the buttons on his shirt but he didn’t want to give in, enjoying your flustered state.

“I-um” You fisted his shirt, burning under his gaze, “Take it off” 

“Take what off?” He cocked his eyebrow, a smirk dancing on his pretty lips. 

“Ugh, I want to see you naked Bucky” You pouted, burying your face into his neck while he grinned, bringing your hands to unbutton his shirt. 

“Whatever my babydoll wants, go ahead prinţesă, m’all yours” You squeaked when he pulled you and rolled over so you were straddled on top of him, his hands stroking your bare waist and thighs. 

“Want you to take it off babygirl” He couldn't take his eyes off you as you shakily undid his tie, moving to his buttons next. As soon as his shirt was off, you managed to unbuckle his belt and tug off his pants. You blinked at his thick cock straining against his briefs. 

Bucky brought his fingers to rub though your soaked folds, groaning at the slick that easily coated his fingers. 

“Will you let me taste you?” 

“I-no one’s ever-

“I’ll be gentle baby, promise it’ll feel good” Bucky laid you on your back as he worshipped your body, trailing kisses down your skin, while you hesitantly parted your legs, his thick, wide shoulders forcing them apart further. 

“So pretty baby” Bucky groaned, kissing your clit, his lips sealing around your clit, sucking softly, careful not to apply too much pressure. “You have the sweetest clit doll”

He could feel his cock throb against the mattress at the way your face contorted, soft whine slipping past your lips as you tried to keep your moans down. He pushed a finger in, gently stretching you out, while you started to grow needy, your hips shifting under him. He pulled away, his beard glistening with your arousal, eyes heavy with lust. 

“Want to be inside you prinţesă” 

You nodded,  while he threw his briefs off, his cock standing tall and proud as he hovered above you.

“Bucky, it-it won’t fit” You whispered, watching his thick cock bob between his legs, grazing on your clit. 

“We’ll make it fit baby” His hand gently cupped your face, while your legs moved up to hug his waist. “Tell me if its too much and I’ll stop” He moved his cock through your folds, groaning at how you felt on the tip of his cock. 

“Ready?” You nodded, gasping feeling his thick blunt tip prod against your soaked entrance.

“Jaames...” You whimpered feeling him stretch you while he kissed your forehead, stopping his movements with just the tip inside you.

“Shhh angel, it’s just me sweet girl” Your body trembled under his, biting down onto his shoulder as he pushed himself further while holding your body close to his. You were still getting used to the burn and stretch of him as he buried himself to the hilt, clinging onto him while he stayed still. 

“I know baby” Bucky stroked your forehead, brushing your hair away from your face, kissing your cheeks. He felt a new type of feral, his sweet girl under him, whining and whimpering over his cock, your pussy dripping around him.  

“S’too big Bucky” You bit your lip, your pretty doe eyes locked with his. 

“My cocks too big for you baby?” Bucky cooed, while you nodded, throbbing at your nails digging into his skin “Your pussy’s too tight, huh angel, you need me to go slow?”

There was something addicting over how hard Bucky was trying to hold back, his brows furrowed, cock already leaking into you. He started off slow, gentle thrusts, letting you adjust, telling you how perfect you were, his hands laced with yours, pinned against the bed.

“Taking my cock like such a good girl baby”

“You know how pretty you look right now doll?”

You felt the burn start to melt, your moans growing louder while he pushed his entire length in and out of you, his bally smacking against your ass. 

“M-more Bucky, please?” 

Bucky’s breaths grew heavy, feeling his spine tingle already, you had a different affect on him, his cock already throbbing. 

“You’re beautiful prinţesă”

“Could make love to you like this for hours my baby” 

“Taking me so well babydoll, making my cock throb, you’re so tight” 

He craved so much more of your warmth, his pace speeding up, moaning and grunting each time you cried out. He gripped onto the head board as he started to pound you, the sounds of skin slapping carrying through the room. 

“F-uck baby, you feel so good” He moaned into your neck, the muscles on his back tensed as he fucked you harder. “Am-am I too rough sweet girl”

“F-feels g-good James” You cried out from under him, your walls starting to flutter as he hit your g-spot. Bucky moaned, his forehead coming down to rest on yours, lips parted and brushing against each other. “Bucky, harder, please”

The sound your moaning his name made him almost cum on the spot. 

“Oh fuck don’t stop, tell me it feels good baby, tell me how bad you want it, keep saying my name” 

“JAMESS” The headboard practically slammed against the wall as he abandoned all softness, the both of you feral over each other, chasing your highs. 

“Tell me how good my cock makes you feel baby” His hand snaked between your bodies, rubbing and teasing your clit, making you nearly sob. 

“S’good Bucky, stretching me, I- fuck m’gonna cum!” 

“Cum my gorgeous girl, CUM”  “JAMES-I-F-FUCK” You clenched around his cock, cumming and squirting around him while he roared, his pace stuttering as he spilled ropes of cum into you. You both held onto each other, moaning and panting as you came down from your orgasm, your body still convulsing feeling his cum drip out of you. 

“Fuck I love you” He panted against your skin, pressing sloppy kisses all over your face. He had a goofy grin, sweeping you into his arms to run you a hot bath. 

(Which was a waste of time, considering he spent the rest of the night with you,  making an utter sticky mess in his bed)

Bonus: The first tattoo (dedicated to you)

Most of Bucky’s body is covered in dark ink, but none of his pieces were done impulsively. Each piece had a meaning behind it, and his latest one was his favorite. 

“Close your eyes baby” He picked you up and placed you on his desk, unbuttoning his shirt while you impatiently waited for him to tell you, you could look. “Alright, open” 

“A fairy?” You gasped, looking at his newest piece, your fingers gently tracing over his chest. Above his heart, was his latest piece, a little fairy reading a book while sitting on the moon. 

“From when I first met you. I thought you were like a little garden fairy” Bucky blushed, kissing your nose. “Could never get enough of you, the only little fairy to think I’m cute” 

Tears stung your eyes, sniffling while he wrapped his arms around you. You smiled against his skin, kissing his chest. 

“You like it baby?” His thumbs swiped across your cheeks, stroking your hair while you nodded, struggling to formulate words. 

“I-I love y-ou” You choked out, hugging him tighter

“I adore you sweet girl, love you to the moon and back”

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[sanctus-ingenium]

Just wanted to ask, please forgive me if you've already answred this, what program do you use? Your art fucks HARD and like. I was looking at your art of the two moths over the city they die in and I was hit with the wave of "oh that looks really fucking fun actually." Like i know my art program can't do some of those effects and like, I'd love to try fucking about with them.

hi there, thank you! all my art is done in procreate and paint tool sai

because you mentioned that drawing in particular i thought it would be fun to break it down and show ppl what exactly went into each part of it so check this out

sketch & lineart - the brushes come from georgbrush.club and the urban sketcher is my most commonly used lineart brush, it has a nice irregular shape. the square brush is nice for big blocky sketches.

the cityscape was REALLY hard but basically I got a photo of the skyline of florence, traced some basic building shapes, then bullshitted the rest using the vertical symmetry/mirror tool to cut down on the amount of work (so i only had to sketch one half of the city). then for lineart I turned off vertical symmetry, turned on the two-point perspective tool, and got this:

the rose windows were made using the radial symmetry tool.

I didn't like it being so flat, so I used the liquify tool to make a kind of fish-eye effect (limited success tbh). I liked how it looked but the buildings in front needed something to cover them up to make the liquification less obvious...

first pass colours. I felt they were very washed out, aside from the sun which i loved. I use the spectra brush (default procreate) for skyscapes a lot, I love the texture. Although the clouds were filled in using the lasso selection tool, I softened the edges using the square pencil again and added texture using true grit sampler grainy brushes. The translucency effect comes from my setting the brush as an eraser. The sun rays come from the radial symmetry tool.

Blocking in the moths' colours was done with the urban sketcher again.

Something people may not have noticed is the labyrinth hidden in the sky! yeah I had a bunch of versions where it was more obvious but I found that it clashed a bit and was too busy, so I made it subtle. But yes. I searched for "royalty free labyrinth" and picked one.

The toner grit brush is one you've seen before if you've looked at any art on tumblr lately (this is such a popular brush) and it's from the true grit fast grit set. The pointillism brush is from the true grit free sampler pack, like my grain brushes.

I added shadows to the moths, increased saturation overall, and changed the clouds to a translucent blue (you can even see in the sun where I forgot to block in the sun itself because the clouds over it used to be opaque lol). Moon rays were drawn using the radial symmetry tool but this time with rotational symmetry off. I also moved the moon down closer to the moths because I felt that it was a bit far away, and this served to visually divide the drawing into three equal parts, so I chose to lean into that and divide the sky colours too, to show passing time, or an endless moment - morning, evening, night, etc.

And then the oroborous, I tried a few different effects on it because I wanted it to be very clearly separate from the main scene - I settled on a dot matrix newsprint texture, using procreate's onboard tool, and some heavy chromatic aberration. This is because the oroborous isn't real, it's purely symbolic and the moths' demise started when they became photographers so I liked the print media aspect there as well. The story itself is about grief without closure, cyclical violence, and sunk cost fallacy, while everyone explores an endless labyrinth, so an oroborous fits I think

what makes art fun to me is thinking up ways I can tell a story using just a single image. and sure a lot of it will be lost to an audience who isn't familiar with the characters or backstory but i want to leave enough in there that even complete strangers to my work will be able to construct a narrative about what's happening here, rather than it just being a cool image. that's my goal.

Finally I exported it to sai on my pc to give it a once-over. this is really important because the retina display on an ipad is oversaturated on purpose, to make everything look amazing and vibrant. but what this means is that on other screens, your work might look washed out. it's especially bad at displaying yellows! so i look at it in sai on my pc and i make minor adjustments, in this case I actually added another multiply layer on the moths and an overlay on their non-shadowed parts to increase the contrast there.

finally if you've read this far, I played a little trick with the caption of the drawing. yeah, THEY die... but only one of those moths is a theythem pronoun haver... the other has to survive. he isn't given a choice in the matter.

[edibleashell]

TUA S4 feels

Pretty sure that Umbrella Academy S4 finale left a permanent scar on my psyche. Still one of my favorite shows but I might just end after season 3 in future rewatches. So many issues with S4.

In like episode 1 we got Ben and Jennifer touching and that started a countdown to the end of the world and the whole season was just junk to fill that time. So many good ideas that weren't done properly at all. Shuffling their powers? Alternate timelines? Hargreaves owning pretty much everything? Abigail just being alive? Pointless.

Luther was just a repeating loop of stripper and home decorating jokes.

Diego should have been a martial arts instructor or something not a depressed delivery guy. A bunch of jokes about him getting out of shape only to reveal that he's still jacked. He throws a potted plant and misses. His arc is just Big Sad for no reason and the relationships he built in the first three seasons were apparently irrelevant, if anyone would have been taking care of Safety Klaus it would have been him.

Allison's character was just an accessory to Klaus, after three seasons of her trying to reclaim the family she lost she ended up spending more time as a tool to Klaus's arc than she did with Claire. And Ray just being casually written out was so disrespectful.

Klaus, oh poor Klaus, my favorite character, what did they do to you? He should have been a nurse or something but instead he was paranoid, then pissed off because the writers decided that Klaus would equate marigold with drugs and just fall right off the wagon? And then he goes to some sketchy guy he owes money to even though S1 Klaus is shown just buying drugs from random people? All to justify his prisoner plot, none of which had any real impact. And he can fly for a second for some reason. Okay.

Five working for the CIA was bad. He should have been the retired fun uncle to Claire and Grace. After spending fifty years trying to get back to his family why did he keep leaving them? Why did he hook up with his brother's wife after only six years? And am I supposed to believe that in every timeline he has the same haircut? That none of the other Fives lost their arm? How did he never notice his boss's blatant umbrella tattoo? He just casually strolls through "his" apocalypse as though he doesn't have ptsd, and why were he and Lila living off sewer rats when they had infinite timelines to scavenge?

I was so excited to see Ben witg the family but one episode in he becomes a bomb and fucks off with a girl who can hardly be called a character.

Viktor was the only character I thought got some form of authenticity and justified growth, his arc kind of seemed like a ripoff of S3 Klaus though. And we missed out on what could have been a really beautiful scene of him drawing the upside down umbrella on his arm.

Lila went from "I don't want to be like my mom" to a motherhood cliche. And what was the deal with her family? She just found her parents and they immediately accepted her or something? Was there another Lila in this universe? That made no sense. If anyone would have joined the CIA it would have been her. Her and Diego should have been weird parents teaching their kids how to fight and kill but instead they got some domestic life that those characters never belonged in.

And there's so much more! Abigail is alive? Hardly relevant. Why did she body snatched Gene, it didn't really seem to change anything. The Keepers existed only to be a minor obstacle in the last episode. And are her and Reggie aliens? Why? How? What's the point?

AND DURANGO? THAT'S A CAR! Harland named marigold and for a farm kid that makes sense (though the retconned acceptance of that word into Umbrella vocabulary was irksome) But Durango? Abigail is a scientist and she names The Bad Dust after an SUV? Why?

AND WHY WAS THERE ZERO QUEERNESS? Each of the first three seasons had some sort of queer arc but not this one. I still wonder if some higher-up didn't intentionally assassinate the show as backlash for the immense respect S3 gave Elliot Page.

One last thing, music is a big part of the show, they've always put such thought and care into the soundtrack and it makes sense knowing who the creators are, so why, of all songs, was Baby Damn Shark the first song to be featured in like three episodes? It seems intentionally disrespectful.

I'm done, rant over, I'll never recover from this.

[ichigo-dream]

Strawberry Ice Cream

Evening summer sunlight streamed through the blinds, covering the room in the harsh lines of slanted wood. Outside, the noise of cars driving past and people going about their business, enjoying the sunshine, filled the air. Inside though, the room was filled with a very different sound.

Leon lay on your shared bed, hair slick with and sticking to his forehead. It was still so warm outside, and the bedroom had been baking in the sun all day, making it feel like he was lying in an oven. He felt like couldn’t catch his breath, each inhale and exhale heavy and wet through his open mouth.

Leon bit his lip, choking back a groan as his abs clenched in pleasure. The slick sound as his palm stroked up and down his cock made him swallow. It seemed so loud in the silence of the room.

He clenched his eyes shut in embarrassment as a small noise of pleasure escaped past his lips when he rubbed his thumb just under the sensitive head. His hands were trembling, and the slight shakes and the incessant heat seemed to make everything more intense.

Fuck , he felt his cheeks heating up when he ran his thumb over his slit and a high whine escaped his throat,, the blush which had been present on his cheeks was spreading down to his chest. Leon didn’t usually do this. Usually, when he felt needy and desperate for release like this, he would do what he always did: go and find you. He couldn’t do that right now, but fuck he wished he could. It would make this so much easier. Certainly less embarrassing.

Leon kept moving his hand, but not too fast: he was allowed to take his time.

Still, it wasn’t enough, and he felt frustration bubble in his gut, eyelashes wetting themselves as he felt his desperation to cum burn more brightly, bright as the ray of sun whose glare had washed over his face.

Leon imagined what he would do to you, if he wasn’t having to do this all by himself. He imagined your skin, how soft you feel when he runs his hands over you, how sensitive you are, how you squeak and moan when he nibbles at it. He raised his free hand and ran it over his chest, making goosebumps rise on his feverish skin as he rolled one of his nipples between this thumb and forefinger. In his mind, he can see your face when he does it to you, and the thought draws from him a whimper, his foot hitting against the mattress, and makes his cock leak.

He whined breathily, starting to pant shamelessly when he formed a circle with his hand and ran it over the head of his cock over and over, teasing himself like he would tease you; fuck, no wonder you begged him to stop teasing when he did this. He circled a finger around the head of his cock, dipping his finger into the slit and smearing the steady stream of precum over it, before replacing it with his palm once more. The action had his hips lurching in aborted thrusts, and he wished so badly that he was inside you right now. He desperately wanted to feel you, to feel how wet and warm and tight you are around him, how you squeeze him and make his head empty and filled with static.

Leon slapped his hand out towards the bedside table, knocking his phone and watch onto the floor with a clatter, and grabbed the bottle of strawberry lube he’d pulled out earlier. He couldn’t bear to take his hand off of himself so he awkwardly opened it one handed, pouring it over his cock and his hand before starting to pump himself again.

“Ahh~” Leon moaned unabashedly, rutting into his fist that was now so much slicker than it was before, almost obscenely so. It's the closest that he can get to feeling like he’s inside you. His eyes closed and he threw his head back, long neck stretched and begging to be kissed and marked, tendons and muscles visible as he swallowed. He rolled his hips into his hand, but it couldn't do any justice to you. His other hand clenched the bedding under him in a white knuckled grip, feet planted against he mattress, body trembling as he started to fuck his fist in earnest, setting a harsh rhythm.

It wasn't you, he didn’t need to be gentle.

His legs twitched and jerked as he felt a tightness coiling in his gut, building and building and his breathing became even heavier, panting and whimpering as he felt himself about to fall over the edge, moans building in volume, so close, he’s so-

“Take it easy, Leon.” The sound of your voice had him letting go of himself completely, both hands grabbing onto his thighs, nails digging in to ground himself.

He was so close. The thought makes him sob, eyes leaking as his chest heaved, the tightness inside him still ready to snap.

“Please!” He begged, body shaking and so ready to let go. His eyes met yours where you sat on the windowsill, your beautiful legs crossed and bare under your dress, glowing under the sunlight.

Nonchalant. Sitting casually and eating small spoonfuls of ice cream from a small tub. You pulled the spoon from your mouth, purple plastic spoon clacking against your teeth.

“No need to rush, love,” you said, smiling at him, “I told you to take your time. That’s why we came home early, remember?” You smirk at him and Leon averts his eyes, swallowing in embarrassment. His cock aches and he’s so warm, he feels the bedding sticking to his back and the air is heavy.

Leon could barely think, and you waited patiently for him.

So good to him, he thought blearily, but such a fucking tease.

“We-” He swallowed again, voice catching, “we didn’t have to come back, I could have waited.” You laughed lightly, standing up and walking over to the bed, sitting on your knees next to him.

So close, you’re so close. Leon’s fevered thoughts hyper focused on your bare thighs, on your scent, and all he could think about was you touching him. If you were to touch him, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself, he’d probably cum instantly. The thought had his cock aching and leaking against his stomach, a small pool of pre gathering on his abs.

“But you were so distracted,” you pouted, “I was trying to talk to you but you only had one thing on your mind. You didn’t even eat your ice cream.” You raised the little tub at him, placing another spoonful into your mouth. “I’m making sure it doesn’t go to waste, hope you don’t mind.” You said, grinning at him, and Leon whined when he saw how it spilled from the corners of your mouth. His mouth hung open and he wished he could lick it from them, then he could lick into your mouth, taste you, you’d be sweet, he knows you would, he’d touch your skin and breathe you in and-

You settled yourself next to him, and you couldn’t stop yourself when you rubbed your thighs together at seeing how turned on he was. You had noticed how differently Leon had been acting earlier, when you both had gone on a date to get ice cream and enjoy the sunshine; you’d been planning on going to get dinner after as well. But, you had seen the way Leon had been more flushed than usual, how his eyes were wider and glassy, how his hands had lingered on any part of you that they could find, how he looked ready to faint when he had seen you in your dress.

It was Leon ignoring his ice cream in order to sit and shift uncomfortably and stare at you like a puppy, that had been the last straw. Rather than dragging the poor boy through an evening of torture, you had grabbed his hand and brought him home, pushing him onto the bed and telling him to take his clothes off and get it out of his system. Then , you had said, we’ll go for dinner.

Eager for both release and the promise of food, Leon had, blushing, obliged.

“How do you taste, Leon?” You asked, eyes lingering on his trembling thighs and his hands, his beautiful hands, slick with his own precum and lube. “Tell me.” Your own voice was breathy, just as turned on as he was.

Leon breathed shakily, and it was one of your favourite sounds in the world. He raised one slick hand from his thigh, running a finger thorugh the pool of pre cum and bringing it to his mouth, locking his eyes with yours as he sucks it into his mouth. The taste of artificial strawberries and the familiar taste of himself had him whining, and he was so desperately close to the edges still. He laved his tongue over his fingers, adding his own saliva to the mess on his hand and trying to keep his eyes on you, his pretty girl.

“Like strawberries.” He managed to get out, voice hoarse and airy, and his words made you smirk.

You looked at him, and felt yourself get wetter at the sight of him. His hair was damp and sticking to his forehead, his eyes were glassy and he looked near tears, cheeks red and your eyes greedily followed that red as it reached down his neck and to his chest, his heaving chest that you wanted to devour. If you could eat off of him you would. If you could eat him you would. Maybe that was the horniness speaking though. God, only that you wanted to leave the bedroom at some point today, you would pour the remainder of the ice cream over his chest and spend the rest of the night licking it off.

But, you thought, maybe you could compromise.

The plastic spoon scraped along the cardboard tub, and Leon’s eyes widened as you leaned over him, before they closed and he opened his mouth, ready to kiss you.

He jerked in surprise when you pressed a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. It was melting but still icy cold, and the chill was even more pronounced as he felt like he was burning from the inside. His whole body felt feverish, and the sudden chill had him shivering. The sweet taste of strawberries bursting on his tongue made him whimper: if he kissed you right now, he thought, you’d taste as sweet as this.

Leon watched, hazy gaze following you as you pulled the spoon away from him, tapping it against your lips in consideration.

“I wonder which tastes better.” You mused, and Leon squinted cutely, confused at what you could possibly mean, before widening until the whites were visible as you dragged the spoon across his abdomen, through the steadily growing pool of precum that had been cooling on his skin. He watched as you brought the spoon to your mouth, your eyes falling shut, and he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and clasping your thigh under his hand, slick grip bruising.

Jesus Christ , you thought, moaning at Leon’s familiar taste. You head was beginning to feel foggy and hazy, and all you wanted to do was let him fuck you. The sudden feeling of his hot hand on your thigh had you opening your legs, the ache between them intensifying.

Leon saw how your legs spread and he knew, he knew that you were feeling just as desperate as he was. His hand left your thigh and pressed between your open legs, fingers running over the damp fabric of your pants, pulling them to the side and running his fingers through your slick.

“You’re so wet.” He sobbed out; you were boiling under his fingers and so wet, and he couldn’t stop himself from gripping himself again, pumping himself with renewed vigour.

“Please, please let me inside you.” He begged, pressing one finger then two then three into your sopping cunt, twisting and thrusting them, and imagining that it was his cock that you were wrapped around.

You felt your own cheeks heat up, and a moan left your mouth as you felt him inside you. The pace he moved them at had you whimpering in pleasure, getting wetter at his touch.

Your eyes were drawn back to his cock, still hard and begging to be touched, and through the haze, the heat, and the pleasure, you decided to finally put him out of his misery.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll take care of you now.” You said shakily, and Leon wanted to weep at the thought that he’d finally get to cum, and under your touch too.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” The words fell from his mouth in a litany, and Leon was already half raising himself up, his fingers leaving you and arm preparing to wrap around you, ready to lay you out and fuck you dumb.

You took a final spoonful of the ice cream before setting the tub on the bedside table, willing to cut your losses with the remaining ice cream. Swallowing, you pressed your hand onto his chest, and Leon realises what you’re going to do when he sees you leaning down to his lap.

The realisation made him jittery with excitement and he reached out to hold your hair back for you. He loved every part of you, but when you used your mouth on him he always feels like he’s being rewarded, like he’s been good.

Licking your lips, you eyed up his swollen cock, red and dripping and his grip around it seems almost painful. You wrapped your hand around his, and his own hand retreated to cup your cheek instead. Opening your mouth, you laved your tongue over the sensitive head.

Leon yelped and jerked back, head cracking off the headboard and making him whine with the pain.

“Fuck, baby, I’m sorry.” You raised yourself up, hands coming around his head and cradling it, stroking through the sweaty hair, “ what happened?”

Leon whined at the ache in his head, but he couldn’t help feeling mortified.

“Your..” he started, biting his lip, “your tongue is really cold.”

Neither of you said anything for a moment. Then, without control, you burst into laughter. Leon couldn’t help giggling as well, grabbing at you and rolling himself on top of you.

“It’s not funny,” he whined, nuzzling into your chest, “it was really cold.”

You continued to giggle, and Leon playfully nipped at your chest until you stopped.

“I’m sorry, love, I didn’t think it’d have been that cold.” You apologised, running your hands through his hair and rubbing at the sore spot.

Leon looked up at you, blue eyes bright and pupils blown wide, and you gasped when you felt the head of his cock press against your clothed cunt.

“Maybe you should warm it back up then.” He said, voice hoarse and desperate.

“You’re awful.” You said, rolling your eyes but you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling at him. Leon smiled back at you, raising himself up onto his forearms and leaning in to press his mouth to yours. He moaned loudly at the taste of you, the wet feeling of your tongue against his as he licked into your mouth had him thrusting against your thighs and pelvis, desperate for sensation.

Leon sat back on his haunches then, using both his hands to pull your pants down your legs, and tossing them somewhere behind him. His hot hands greedily kneaded at your thighs as he spread your legs, mouth opening and drooling at the sight of your cunt, pretty and glistening for him. He ran his fingers through your soft lips, gathering your slick and using it to rub circles over your clit. Your moans and trembling thighs were music to his ears, and he wanted so badly to hear you sing for him.

Raising his fingers to his mouth, Leon held your eyes captive as he licked your slick from his fingers, eyes darkening and chest heaving,

“I think you taste so much better too.” His words made a wave of pleasure wash over you and you covered your face, wanting to clench your legs shut as you felt yourself get wetter.

Leon’s mouth watered when he saw just how turned on his words made you, and he blindly reached for the lube, pouring it onto your cunt,

“Leon~” You whined, “We have to go out after, I’ll be dripping if you use that much!”

Leon raised your legs to rest on his hips as he leaned over you once more, head coming to rest in the crook of your neck, hot breath washing over your skin. The head of his cock pressed into you and he groaned lowly as he felt your scalding wetness soak him.

“You’ll be dripping with a lot more than that.” He said into your ear as he pushed himself in, inch by inch, until the both of you were trembling by the time he bottomed out.

At the feeling of finally being inside you, Leon couldn’t hold back. He set a brutal pace, the wet slap of skin filling the room, and the breathy moans that he punched out of you with every thrust echoed off the walls.

He kissed at your skin, biting and sucking any part that he could reach like he was ravenous, and his hands came up to pull at the knotted straps of your dress, untying them and pushing them down. With your bare chest exposed to him, he suckled and bit at your tits, worshipping them as he continued to thrust into you.

You scrambled, hands sliding over his slick back and you couldn’t stop the tears forming in your eyes as Leon pounded into you. Every drag and pull of his cock inside you had you burning and wanted more.

At the feeling of your wandering hands, Leon reached for them, linking your fingers together and continuing to thrust into you.

“Baby,” he stammered out, panting heavily, “I’m sorry, I’m not- I’m not gonna last.”

“It’s okay, cum inside me.” You said into his ear, licking at the shell, moaning incessantly as you felt the tension inside you build until you were straddling the edge of oblivion.

At your words, Leon fucks into you brutally, pace feverish as he whimpers at the feeling of his orgasm building and finally, finally, he’d be able to come.

He let go of one of your hands, and reached down, pressing down on your abdomen. The act had you wailing as you came, gushing around him, soaking his stomach and the bed beneath you.

Feeling you clench around him and soak him, Leon’s hips stuttered before he pressed himself flush, painting your insides until it was spilling out of you, and moaning helplessly.

Leon collapsed on top of you, cock slipping out of you as he let his head rest between your breasts, panting wetly.

You both laid there, with Leon dozing lightly on your chest, and you running your hands through his hair. Unable to resist, you leaned down and pressed a kiss to his head.

The action had Leon gazing up at you, smiling dopily.

“You feel better, sweet boy?” Leon nodded shyly and kissed your skin.

When you caught your breath, you noted how your dress was nothing more than a ring of fabric around your waist, covered in lube and sweat and cum, much like Leon himself.

“I’m gonna have to change for dinner.” You mumbled out, and Leon laughed softly.

“That’s why I was smart and took my clothes off.” You swatted at his head gently.

“Someone was supposed to see to it themselves! Besides, you’re going to have to shower before we go.” Leon hummed, wrapping his arms around you.

“I’ll be fine, I’ll smell like strawberries.” You snorted.

“Among other things!” You moved to sit up and he whined at the movement, tightening his arms around you. “Come on, pretty baby, we’ve got to get ready. If we get up now, we should have plenty of time to get ready to go out again.”

At your words, Leon raised himself up over you, the smirk on his face dark with lust. You moaned when you felt his hardness pressing against you.

“Plenty of time for one more then.” He kissed you and pressed in again. “Just once more.” He begged against your lips, the wet squelch of him as he impaled you on his cock making you tremble in pleasure.

“Just once more, I promise, I promise, please, baby, so good, so good~ ”

The strawberry ice cream lay melted on the bedside table.

Notes:

I hope you all enjoyed this! I have a special place in my heart for Leon Kennedy, in particular RE2 Leon (King of my Heart)!

This was purely inspired by Dream and I eating strawberry ice cream and talking about Leon. MXFRUIT's "Strawberry Ice Cream" was also on repeat the whole time I was writing this.

I'm hoping to write more Leon soon!

Thank you for reading!

Love, Ichigo xoxo

[star-girl69]

enemies to lover with nat !! i’m begging for u to end this drought! spoiled reader who always get on nats nerve very angsty if you could make it

Party Queen

Natalie Scatorccio x Fem!Reader

—-

a/n: this was so fun to write but idk if i did the request justice ☹️ anyways i hope you all enjoy!!

warnings: drugs and alcohol, underage drinking and smoking, swearing, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

“Of course I wasn’t home for curfew,” you chuckle, sending Shauna and Jackie an odd look. You were talking about the keg party you had all attended last night, and how late you had ended up leaving.

“Won’t your parents care?” Shauna scoffs.

“As long as I’m not pregnant, why the hell would Rebecca care?”

Both of them look at you, even more confused now. You sigh, bringing your knee up to your chest to tie your cleats.

“Rebecca? The housekeeper? I told you guys about her, right?” Jackie nods after a moment.

“Yeah, but… I kinda thought you were joking?”

You let out a laugh, bending over on the bench, almost crying as you double over.

“Oh, oh, my God, that is so funny,” you breathe when you calm down. “I mean, like, not to be a bitch, but come on! My dad’s off in like, Canada or something, and my mom’s at a wellness retreat in San Antonio. Rebecca is my second mom, basically.”

“Yeah…” Jackie chuckles. “Because that’s perfectly normal.”

You shrug, setting your now tied cleats onto the ground.

“Oh, that reminds me. I was thinking- team bonding at my house tonight? We can use the pool, and I think the hottub is warm, and Rebecca can order pizza for us!” you stand up, putting your hands around Jackie and Shauna’s shoulders as Coach Martinez calls you onto the field.

“Can Jeff come?” Jackie asks.

“Only if you share,” you wink, and it takes Jackie a moment, but she laughs when she realizes you’re joking.

Shauna shrugs. “I’ll come.”

“Great!” you smile, squeezing their shoulders before letting go to take a knee in front of Coach.

—-

“Hey, Taissa,” you say. There’s a pause in the scrimmage- one of the JV girls had accidentally kicked the ball over the fence, and Misty had volunteered to go get it, conveniently not knowing where the extras were.

“Hey, Y/N,” Taissa says, stretching by pulling her foot up to her back.

“Team bonding at my house tonight?” she raises one eyebrow at you. You would be lying if you said you didn’t have a reputation. “Fine. It’s a party.”

She looks you up and down. “Free booze?”

“And pizza!” you sing. “Bring your bathing suit, too.”

She bites her lip, toying with the idea. “Sure,” she says after a moment, sending you a small smile.

“What could the great Taissa Turner possibly have to say to the Party Queen?” Natalie snorts, walking over just as Misty shouts she has the ball, starting her run back over.

Taissa rolls her eyes.

“Party,” you say, drawing out the world while you fix your ponytail. “Free booze, free pizza, and my pool? What’s not to love?”

She smiles and rolls her eyes. “Sorry, Y/N, I’m just deathly allergic to mansions and the people who live in them.”

“You’re no fun,” you scoff. “I mean, what else are you gonna do tonight? Get drunk and suck someone’s dick? Why not at least do it on my dad’s dime?”

“Ha. Fuck you, Y/N.”

“Will you just come?” you groan. “It’s team bonding.”

She stares at you up and down for a moment, and you adjust your jersey, feeling weird under her stare.

“Fine,” she says after a moment.

—-

Rebecca had only shook her head and said not to cause any damage, before placing an order for a million pizzas, and you changed into bathing suit, putting on a loose white cover-up, making sure the pool was clean and the snacks and pizza were out- before you rubbed some sunscreen on yourself, put on some sunglasses, and sat in the last rays of the dying sun.

“Oh, holy shit,” someone laughs, and you hear the click of the fence gate shut. You pull your sunglasses down, looking at Taissa and Van.

“You’re here!” you smile, standing up, adjusting your sunglasses and placing an oversized beach hat on your head. Van immediately grabs a slice of pizza, looking at you, but you only make a wide motion with your hands. “The hot tubs at, like, 102, and the pool is at 84, I think,” your voice drops to a whisper, even though Rebecca is inside the guest room reading her romance book, “the beer is in the coolers.” You nod your head to the two coolers you had lined up against the wall and filled with cheap alcohol.

“Oh, thank God,” Taissa mutters, immediately walking over to it. The gate creaks open again, and slowly, everyone starts filing in.

—-

Natalie doesn’t arrive until it’s already dark, when it feels like the party is just getting started. You’ve long abandoned all your accessories, instead chatting with one of the freshman, Allie, about how she had gotten invited to prom.

“Hey, Party Queen,” Natalie mutters, looking around, and you’re already a little tipsy.

“Natalie!” you shout, not meaning to, and she laughs and cringes while you clear your throat. “I’m drunk,” you explain, and she raises her eyebrows.

“Just a bit?”

“Just a bit,” you nod, saluting like a soldier, which makes you giggle. “Oh, um, beer is-” you spin around, until you finally find the wall with the coolers. “There. And any pizza left is on the table. You were late,” you shrug.

“Oh, wow. What will I ever do without a slice of cheap pizza?”

You frown. “I love Alfredo’s pizza, though.”

“Oh, God,” she mutters, looking around the backyard. Allie has long since walked away. “This place is ridiculous, you know?”

“Ridiculously fun?” you ask, reaching out to grab her wrist, tugging her over to the lounge chairs. A girl screams as she jumps into the pool from the diving board, and Natalie grins, laughing.

“Not the word I would have used,” Natalie shrugs, and you grab her bag from her and put it on the nearest lounge chair. “What the fuck are you doing?” she asks, not making a move to grab her bag.

“Won’t you swim?” you ask, feeling slightly bad that not everyone is having fun at your party. You had a reputation to uphold, anyways. Natalie rolls her eyes, and you lift off your bathing suit cover, letting it drop to the concrete.

She looks at your boobs.

“Stoo staring at my boobs,” you grumble, slipping off your flip-flops.

“What- why would I stare at your boobs?”

“‘Cause I’m hot, duh.”

“I think the parties are getting to your brain.”

You shrug and step into the water, looking at her over your shoulder. And she’s staring at you, but she doesn’t make any move to take off your own clothes. You shrug and submerge yourself, swimming over to Jackie, Shauna, and the infamous Jeff.

—-

You climb out of the pool, pretending you don’t feel eyes on you, spotting Natalie and a glowing ember in her hand. She hasn’t even taken off her jacket, and you suppose it’s a little chilly, especially coming out of the water.

The refreshing pool did nothing to make you any less drunk, and you sit on the end of Natalie’s lounge chair, forcing her to tuck her legs up and sit to avoid getting wet.

“Jesus Christ,” she groans, letting smoke blow out of her mouth. You lean forward.

“Give me some,” you say.

She scoffs. “Why would I do that? Not even a please from the spoiled queen? Oh, God, I’m wounded.”

“Fine. You’ve smoked so much I can probably just absorb it from the air around you.”

You can see her smile, slightly forced, like it always is when it comes to you. “Why are you such a bitch? Mad that daddy’s away?”

“I’m having a pool party at my house, unsupervised, with pizza and beer. Why would I be mad?”

“Yeah, whatever,” she mumbles.

“Seriously, can I have some, though?”

“No.”

“Look at who’s the bitch now, huh?”

“You didn’t even say please, you spoiled brat.”

“Please!” you shout, a smile on your face, and Natalie laughs but finally gives in after a moment, putting the join in front of your face, and you eagerly wrap your lips around the end and breathe in the poisoned air.

You cough, smoke dripping from your mouth.

“Loser,” she mumbles, and you choose to pretend not to have heard it. She takes it back, taking her own drag, and the sounds of the girls talking and shouting and water splashing becomes the only noise.

Natalie Scatorccio has hated you from as long as you could remember. Maybe she was jealous, or maybe you had really done something to hurt her- either indirectly, or so long ago and small enough you had completely forgotten.

“Jesus,” she mutters after a moment, shuffling around, before something hits you.

“The fuck?” you ask, only to be faced with Natalie’s jacket.

“You’re shivering. It’s making me cold just looking at you.”

“Aw,” you coo, wrapping the leather jackets over your mostly-dried shoulders. “Who knew Natalie Scatorccio, infamous bitch, had a heart?”

“Who knew Y/N L/N, infamous brat, could be stupid enough to not grab a towel after she got out the pool?”

“Why do you hate me?” you ask after a moment. “Like, seriously. Did I do something super fucked up in elementary school? Because, come on, get over it.”

“I don’t hate you. You’re just annoying and spoiled.”

“So you’ve mentioned.” You turn to her, eyeing her suspiciously, and her cheeks flush, but it’s probably from the weed. “Get over it,” you say after a moment. “Not my fault my dad is like, rich, or whatever.”

She just looks away.

“Well, you’re annoying, too, you know,” you say after a moment, missing the sound of her voice.

“Oh?” she asks, but by the way she smiles- both of you know you have nothing to say.

“Whatever,” you mumble. “This is making me sad.”

You stand, stumbling a bit, throwing Natalie’s now damp jacket back onto her.

—-

By the time Jackie and Shauna have bid their goodbyes to you, everyone else is gone. You sigh, suiting on a lounge chair in the pitch black, stretching and feeling everything pop, before curling up. You think you stay like that for a few more minutes, telling yourself you’ll get up, but you never do.

The gate creaks open again, and you flip over, scared about serial killers-

“Damn,” Natalie mutters. “I just forgot my jacket. You… you good?” you sigh and wrap your arms around yourself.

You love throwing parties. You love the people and the music, the food and the drinks, the drugs, everything about it. They call you the Party Queen and you are- but mainly because you wish they would never end.

There’s this empty feeling festering inside of you, and this sickness that will never be cured. You tell yourself you’re not bothered by your parents leaving, but now, you don’t know.

Natalie takes a few steps closer, and you look up at her.

“I never like the end of parties,” you say.

“It’s freezing outside. You’re gonna catch a cold,” Natalie sighs, picking up her jacket. But maybe you’re too drunk too move. Natalie takes a sip from someone’s leftover beer. She mutters something to herself, before grabbing your hand and hauling you up to stand.

You stumble, drunk and confused, and she’s drunk too, so she barely steadies you, her hands all over you.

“Huh?” you say, and she wraps a tentative arm around your waist and guides you around the pool, and to the faint lights of your house.

“Time for bed,” she mumbles, and you look at her, before unlocking the sliding glass door and stepping inside the cool house.

“Why are you helping me?” you ask, staring at her suspiciously as you both lean on each other, tired and tipsy.

“I would feel like shit if I just let you to die out there.”

“I wasn’t gonna die,” you snort, taking a turn so you end up in front of the stairs. “It’s not cold enough for that yet. Besides, I was gonna get up.”

“You’re drunk,” she deadpans, and you look at her, almost missing a step, but the two of you quickly steady yourselves. “You can’t even get up the stairs, Y/N,” she sighs.

“Okay,” you mumble, drawing out the word, until you finally lean forward and open the door. Natalie helps you sit on the bed, before looking around your room, covered in soccer trophies and medals, pictures of various teams you had been on.

She sighs. “Goodnight, Party Queen,” she says after a moment, and turns to leave.

“How are you gonna get home?”

“Walk,” she shrugs, and you open the window near your bed, looking out at the sky through the faint streetlights. It’s dark, not only from the lack of sunlight but from some dark clouds rolling about in the sky.

“But, like, don’t you live at the trailer park? That’s, like, on the other side of town.” You gesture to the window. “I think it’s gonna rain.”

“Okay, Miss Meteorologist,” she chuckles, but you aren’t laughing. You’re tired.

“You can stay, if you want,” you yawn. “Rebecca won’t mind.”

“Goodnight,” she says again, as you stand up and start to slip off your bathing suit.

“You should stay.”

She doesn’t turn around until you do, until you’ve slipped on a t-shirt and a pair of undies.

“You should stay, Natalie. I would feel horrible if you died out there.”

She looks at you, then at the dark window.

“Fine,” she says after a moment, slipping off her jacket and her sneakers, placing them in a neat pile near your bed. “Only ‘cause I don’t wanna get rained on.”

“You’re drooling thinking about sharing a bed with me.”

It takes her a moment, but she laughs. Like, really, truly laughs in a way you haven’t heard anyone laugh in years. And after a moment, you’re laughing too, and suddenly she’s sitting on the edge of your bed next to you, the laughter dying off.

“I’m going to bed,” you announce, already dreading waking up with a hangover.

Everything you’re doing is shrouded in a thick haze, and you can’t tell which way is up or down, and you can’t turn back. Not now.

“I always thought you were a bitch. ‘Cause you were such a bitch to me,” you say, curling up on your side. She lays on her back, staring at the ceiling, staying far away from you and breathing heavily.

“You deserved it,” she says after a moment. “You always walk around like you own the world- it was my cosmic duty to knock you down a few pegs.” You giggle, and she finally turns her head to face you. She hides a hiccup into her hand. “But, uh, this house is so big and empty, you know? Now I feel bad.”

“I don’t think you’re so bad, Natalie,” you murmur, and she lets out a dry laugh.

“Maybe you aren’t either. I mean, you’re still a spoiled brat, but.”

“And you’re a trailer park loser.”

“Then you’re a desperate loser.”

“Fuck off, bitch,” you mutter into the pillow. “At least I’m not a goddamn drug addict.”

“At least I’m not a poor little lonely girl, waiting here her parents to pay attention to her.” She turns fully onto her side, and you look at her with narrowed eyes.

“At least my parents make money.”

“Shut up,” she breathes. “You don’t even know anything except spending money.”

“And you don’t know anything besides sucking dick.” The air in the room feels heavier, tangible.

“Shut up.”

“At least I have money to spend.”

But the more you talk, the more you don’t mean it. The more smiles form across both of your faces, giddy and carefree, too teenage girls basically home alone in a big mansion- but they only care about this room, this bed.

“Shut. Up.”

She’s whispering now, leaning towards you, and you’re leaning towards her, like you’re two magnets who can’t stay away.

“You shut up.”

She makes a motion that seems to be a shrug, before making the final leap forward, that final connection, and smashing her lips onto yours.

Life becomes flashes of teeth and tongues, lips and hands, until you’re pulling back for air, her hands in your hair, your lips bitten and swollen, the remnants of your lipstick smeared across her face.

She only pulls away enough so that your noses still brush against each others, and you can feel her breath against your skin, labored from kissing.

“At least I’m not a stupid Party Queen,” she gasps after a moment.

You smile. “You wish you were.”

—-

everything taglist:

@emilynissangtr

[abibliophobiaa]

For a little Eddie blurb, the word of choice is lake.

700 words of soft eddie comfort after a heartbreak coming right up. mention: you wear eddie’s shirt.

best friend (maybe more one day) eddie munson x fem!reader.

-

He found you at the lake. Hair only partially dried, one of his ratty old Hellfire tees draped over your ripped shorts, sandals tossed haphazardly beside your hip. Saw your feet where they dangled over the dock. Toes dipped into water up to the ankles.

Your shoulders were slouched, arms folded around yourself.

And his heart ached, the deep kind that burned in his gut, made him angry because he knew you were hurting. For weeks you’d talked about the guy you were seeing. Someone you met at a coffee shop, a nice guy, the kind you’d had these little hearts in your eyes for that would appear whenever you talked about them.

Until he wasn’t a nice guy. Until he stood you up. Left you by yourself at Enzo’s. A girl in a dress, with nothing but love to give to someone who never earned it to begin with. A girl who loved those around her and never expected anything back, but damn it, Eddie thought you deserved the world.

That guy hadn’t been worthy to know you, clearly. Because anyone who knew you would be able to see that a heart such as yours, with a love so deep it couldn’t be contained, should be celebrated. Appreciated. Tended to, coaxed out into the light, given the space to grow.

Eddie hated him without even knowing him. Wanted to kick his ass into another dimension, but pushed that longing aside to seek you out. To try and remind you that the things people often foolishly overlooked were the things that he loved most about you. Wanted to love you back into the light in the only way he knew how.

The only way he could.

“Knew I’d find you here,” he said, Reebok-covered feet kicking at a rock before he’d settled down beside you. “I always come here too when I need to get away.”

You said nothing, and that was fine. His fingers tapped along the wooden beams below. Tugged at the fraying hem of the shirt falling over your thigh. Still water-logged and see through from the drenched swimsuit beneath.

“Went for a swim?” He asked, tipping his head back to look up at the sky.

Eyes squinted against those harsh summer rays. Warmth seeped into his black tee, but he’d endure the elements if it meant seeing even the barest hint of a smile across your lips.

“I needed to clear my head,” you murmured softly, voice thick and hoarse with unshed tears. He heard the sniffle that followed. The shaky exhale.

“Wanna talk about it?”

He turned his head to look at you. Watched in agony at the way your face crumpled. At the further hunch of your shoulders. His fingers curled around your kneecap. Shifted you just enough to draw your attention to his face. He tried the question again, and you shook your head. Brushed at your eyes as if he hadn’t seen the glimmer of tears on your sun-warmed cheeks.

“Do you want me to hold you?”

You nodded, and like he often did when you were sad, tired, or afraid, he hiked your thighs over his lap. Curled a hand around the bends of your knees and tugged you closer. Your body sagged against his chest, your side against his front, arms around his waist.

“He’s an asshole, you know?” He whispered against your hair. Felt your forehead dip further into the space beneath his jaw. “Anyone who knows you knows your heart. And anyone who would want to break that doesn’t deserve your time.”

You burrowed closer, arms winding tighter, knees curling into his abdomen.

“You know I love you, right? All of you. Even the parts you think people would hate. I see them all and I wouldn’t trade them for anything,” he explained, tucking your head closer to his chest. “You know why?”

You inhaled shakily. “Why?”

“Because they make you you,” he whispered, feeling you smile against his skin. “And I think you’re pretty fucking great.”

You remained silent for a while, and he’d allow it for however long you needed, for however long you wanted. He’d hold you forever if you asked him to. But you exhaled and fisted his shirt in your hand, tipped your head back a bit, and beamed.

And his heart splintered, because you were like literal sunshine to him.

“Thank you, Eddie.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.”

-

-

[sunlightmurdock]

The Odyssey | Prologue | Bradley Bradshaw (18+)

Masterlist | Next Chapter

Bradley wakes up in a foul mood, your ego takes a hit. A deal is struck to ensure that you’ll be able to graduate.

warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance (professor / student relationship), age gap (22 / 33), will be smut, virgin reader, swearing, infidelity. warnings to be added on a chapter by chapter basis. 18+ minors dni, wc: 3.1k

…

Nine weeks into Spring semester, six to go. Six more weeks of having scalding coffee, missing tastebuds and a fucking freshman girl ranting into his ear all before the clock even hits 8am. Bradley’s sunglasses sit perfectly across the bridge of his nose, gold-framed Ray-Ban caravans that hide how late he was up last night. This means that sweet, little freshman Bettie O’Riley can’t see the look that he’s giving her as she jogs along to keep up with him.

Hallowed halls, filled with young adults that either reek of cheap beer or Daddy’s money, all signs would suggest that Bradley isn’t supposed to be here. Only thirty-three, sitting at that awkward age that makes him neither a frat boy nor a balding tenured ex-businessman turned lecturer. And yet, his brown leather shoes hit these aged floors every morning on the way to his first class of the day.

Beige, almost cream-coloured, wide pleated dress pants and an untucked blue shirt, rolled up at his forearms and missing the top button. His messenger bag draped from his shoulder, his tie balled into the hand holding the to-go double shot espresso.

Six more weeks until he’s in Italy for two months, teaching during the mornings, free as a bird in the evenings. Sun on his face, limoncello on his tongue; good books, women who don’t just giggle and twirl a strand of their hair at him. History. All funded by the Cornell school of Arts and Sciences. He damn near sighs at how badly he wants to be there now.

“Bettie, I already told you,” He sighs, adjusting the gold-framed sunglasses and shooting a look down at her and her wispish black, curled bob. “I can’t curve your grade, it was a C minus.”

She speeds up and steps in front of him, walking backwards now. “Please, Professor Bradshaw. I’ll do anything.”

Professor Bradshaw rarely draws a reaction from him these days. Only his bosses and parents call him that. He makes a point of scrawling it across the chalkboard at the beginning of each semester, but he’s usually still reminding kids a couple of weeks in to just call him Bradley.

Still, both he and Bettie O’Reilly know that it isn’t her method of address that makes him scoff at her. He stops walking and pushes his sunglasses up into the feathery brown curls that adorn his face, staring down at her like she’s even younger than she is. She swallows, regret flooding her. The other professors usually lean into the kind of virginal, good-girl, bad student thing that she’s got going on.

“Bettie,” Bradley speaks slowly for her, pink lips against tanned skin. Warm eyes against a cold stare. The hallways are full around them, standing stationary in the steady stream of students. “Don’t come onto me like that again. Study.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Alright, come to my office tomorrow morning, I’ll give you an extra credit assignment,” It’s more lenient than he should be with a girl who just propositioned him before he has even finished his morning coffee, but Bradley knows not to blame little Bettie. With those thick, rounded glasses and dark freckles, he knows that she gets a lot of attention from her other professors. The culture they’ve created in this school isn’t her fault. Neither is the fact that Bradley’s class is notoriously hard to pass. “We’ll talk through what an A grade paper should be looking like. Do me a favour and don’t talk to me until then.”

He steps around her and continues; she’s swallowed instantly by the sea of bustling students. In the run up to the end of the semester, people start showing up to class again as it hits them that their professors might actually fail them. There aren’t too many F’s floating around in a school like Cornell. Its stats are exceptionally high, especially these past few years. It would seem that, in a school like Cornell, a passing grade quite simply has a price tag on it.

Three minutes before his morning class is due to start, and having woken up on the wrong side of his bed, Bradley drops his sunglasses back down over his eyes as he strolls into the lecture hall. It’s surprisingly full for a Monday morning. The gossiping never stops when he walks in — he’s not that kind of teacher. He allows the whispering to continue while he sets up his supplies.

There are six people in this room that Bradley has not seen since the first week of class. Every single one of them has a parent that is a benefactor to the university. Front and centre, surrounded by a group of excitedly whispering, well-dressed young women, there’s you. He knows you vaguely, knows that you’re coasting on high B’s. He hasn’t seen you since January, you won’t be passing this class.

“God, look at that rock!” The blonde to your side fawns, grabbing at your hand and lifting it up towards the light to get a better look. Setting his sunglasses down on the desk, Bradley looks too. There’s a silver band with a big diamond on it around your ring finger. You’re beaming. Dressed in a white turtleneck and fitted blue jeans, Bradley’s got his assumptions about the family you come from, and the family you’ll be marrying in to.

You’ve been taking his classes for the full three years that he has been teaching here. He knows your boyfriend. Malcolm something something the third. Maybe fourth. His Daddy paid for the science wing refurbishment last year. Bradley remembers the night that your Prince Charming ditched you out in the snow, drunk out of your mind. You probably don’t remember that night.

“Good morning.” His booming voice obliterates the pleasant chatter coming from your friend group. You cross one leg over the other and look downwards at the glimmering rock on your finger.

Six more weeks until you’re out of this hellhole. An apartment in Manhattan all lined up and Mac’s place with his father’s firm long confirmed by now, it’s all coming into place. You’ll have a summer wedding at the end of August, and then you’ll truly begin your life.

“Tell me all about it! Did he get down on one knee?” Veronica nudges her white tennis shoe into yours and leans across to you, tapping her pen against the white-lined page of her notebook. Between the two of you, Catherine readies herself to take down notes that you’ll copy later.

A decent string of A to B grades and a diploma, that was the agreement, and then your life is all yours. That was all your father had held you to. You hadn’t ever promised to do something with the degree he had paid for.

Why would you? — Your mother hadn’t. She had studied literature, made friends for life, and met her husband. Then, she began her life. Having her children, shopping in the afternoon, tennis on the weekends. Bliss.

“Of course he did!” You confirm eagerly, leaning over Catherine to continue the conversation.

The first five minutes of a lecture determines everything. If he loses their focus now, then he might as well leave now and take an especially early lunch. He starts off with a quick reminder of their upcoming exam, and a nod towards last week’s discussion of Roman literature.

His attention is quickly diverted to the excited whispering happening six feet from him, right in the front row. Your friends aren’t bad students. You weren’t ever a bad student. It has just become clear that you were in college to find a husband, and now you’ve found one. Bradley’s eyes narrow in on you and your preppy, little friends, giggling at the front of his class.

Exhausted, overworked and underappreciated, Bradley stares at you calmly. You conversation comes to a slow stop as an awkward air of silence fills the lecture hall. He’s just standing at the front, staring right at you, waiting for you to shut up.

“Sorry, Bradley, somebody just had some exciting news.” Catherine smiles shyly at him. He knows her the best out of the three of you. She TA’d for him last year. Great girl, really bright future — to generous when it comes to grading. It’s because of his respect for her that he doesn’t jump to humiliating you right away.

“I can see that, congratulations,” His tone is dry, broad shoulders squared, his face unamused as he looks to you. You stare back at him calmly, giving a curt nod — less than polite in your mannerisms. “Now, if those of you that still have a chance of passing this class could please turn your attention back to me, we’ll give the blushing bride her moment afterwards.”

He opens the little brown, leather bound book in his hands and clears his throat, assuming that your rude interruptions are done for the day. Somehow, the awkward silence that sits heavy in the room grows to an even deeper low after you retort.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re excused.” Bradley deadpans, bored. You squint at him, six feet between the two of you and a lifetime of differences. Unimpressed by his joke, you roll your eyes right away.

Sitting there, you cross one leg over the other and sit forwards, frowning at him. He doesn’t fit in around here and you do, perhaps that’s where his problem with you stems from. Perhaps it’s the lack of ring on his own finger. “Why would you assume that I wouldn’t pass your class?”

As much as he knows of you, you know of him too — he’s supposedly a jackass. “Because you missed half of the semester. That includes two quizzes and a term paper. There’s no way for you to achieve a salvageable grade in this class.”

When you’re around Malcolm, sometimes he says things that are just so entitled that you’re wincing before he’s even done talking. He can’t help it. He means well. With the amount of time you’ve spent at his family home in the past few weeks, it’s no wonder that words you would normally wince at are spilling from your own lips, “I was planning a wedding, what do you expect from me?”

“Attendance.” Bradley snips. He raises his eyebrows slowly, waiting for you to pack up your pretty, coordinated stationary and walk yourself out of his class.

“But—“

“Goodbye, Mrs. Ashworth. Congratulations again.” Bradley speaks harshly, calling you by a name that isn’t even yours yet like it’s an insult. Like he’s better than you, somehow.

Your pencil slams down onto the half desk in front of you, eyes ablaze. Perhaps the first time you’ve ever been told no. “If you fail me, there will be consequences.”

The silence that fills the classroom this time isn’t awkward. It’s just anticipation, baited breaths, waiting for Bradley to lose his temper. He walks a few paces closer, close enough to smell the cherry scented perfume on each of your pulse points.

His eyes darken as he dips his head just slightly, meeting your gaze. “You’ve got me shaking in my boots, honey. Now, stop wasting my time and get the fuck out of my class.”

There are certain lines that a professor does not cross when working at an Ivy League. Swearing at the daughter of someone with more lawyers than Bradley has living family members, was not his brightest idea. Still, your father is an amicable man — he keeps on saying that — and he wants to work this out. Bradley gets to keep his job, you get to graduate. Everybody wins.

“Classics majors work closely with individual professors in their areas of expertise, often in small classes, and have many opportunities for independent research and travel,” Doctor Kazansky’s voice is calm, teetering on the edge of cold. It’s growing increasingly difficult these days to put up with snotty parents and their snottier children. “I’m sure you understand why attendance would play such a strong part in succeeding in such a major.”

Bradley braces himself against the radiator, glancing down at the watch on his wrist. Real Italian leather that a girl’s grandfather had made for him a few years back. He’s missing happy hour for this circus.

“Of course I understand, Doctor Kazansky,” Your father might as well be a parrot for how well he has learned to mimic tone. You cross your legs at his side and sit up a little straighter. The way you tense up at his voice is so routine, it’s almost Pavlovian. Bradley watches wordlessly. “Just like I’m sure that you understand that in this university’s hundred year history, it has never failed a member of my family and my daughter will not be the one to tarnish our impeccable reputation here.”

You glance up quickly, catching the look on Bradley’s face. He squints disapprovingly at your Charles Dickens villain of a father.

“What can she do to bring her grade up?”

Now that, admittedly, does come as a surprise. This isn’t the first meeting that Bradley has been called into where someone’s parent demands a better grade. It is the first where he hasn’t seen them resort to bribery before they finally blame their kid.

“She missed over half the semester,” Bradley answers perhaps too quickly, still hot from the way you had spoken to him earlier. He gives a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders and looks at your father rather than you. “Two quizzes and a term paper. Even if I gave her extra credit, she couldn’t pull her average above a D.”

Your father’s face doesn’t react at all to this information. Instead, he turns his attention back to the Dean and rests his hands on the armrests of the chair, slowly raising his eyebrows.

“What about the Italy trip?” Doctor Kazansky looks to Bradley, sitting back in his chair. Bradley stares blankly back at him. “There were two empty spaces from what I remember. Is that correct?”

“For research assistants,” Bradley’s tongue drips venom, his brown eyes dark and his arms folded across his chest. You narrow your eyes at him, knowing that an insult is coming next. “She can’t research what she doesn’t even understand.”

“But, if she were to complete extra credit for the rest of the semester and then accompany you for your research, she would have enough credits to pass your class and then graduate.” Doctor Kazansky explains, more for your father’s benefit than Bradley’s. Bradley already knows this.

He grits his teeth, eyes darting across to you. His only solace is that you look just as dismayed about the proposal as he does.

“I’d graduate late.” You point out.

“Better than not at all,” Your father intercepts, pushing his chair back and standing. He carries himself like a man much taller than he really is. “Thank you, Doctor Kazansky. We’ll be in touch about this research opportunity.”

“You can’t just choose to do it, there’s an application process.” Bradley’s tone is far from professional, it’s downright snarky by this point. He doesn’t care. He can’t imagine anything worse than lugging a brat like you around Italy with him for two months, just for you to fail anyway.

You stand to follow your father, ditsy white loafers on the dark oak of Doctor Kazansky’s office floor. Bradley remains where he is, leaning back against that wall with his arms crossed.

Your father smiles across at Bradley and then shoots a look back towards the Dean. It’s smug, knowing. That process doesn’t apply to him. “We’ll be in touch.”

There’s a final look shared between you and the oaf that just cost you your summer in Manhattan — the first time that the two of you have agreed on anything, a silent exchange. Neither one of you wants you to join him on that trip.

He watches you leave, following blindly after your father like a child, then whips his head around to his boss.

“It’ll be good for her, maybe you can actually teach her something.”

“My expertise unfortunately lacks when it comes to setting the table by seven sharp and getting the kids to bed before her husband makes it home.” Bradley scoffs, pushing himself away from the wall and shaking his head as he straightens up.

“Is there something offensive to you about a woman being a homemaker, Professor Bradshaw?” Thomas Kazansky has two daughters. One, is a wife with two beautiful children of her own. The other, is a doctor. Bradley’s been over to their house a few times and he knows that Tom makes a point of it to be equally proud of them both.

“Oh, give me a break,” Bradley rolls his eyes at the notion, despite the subtle truth it holds. He shakes his head. “She deserves to fail and you know it.”

“Well, we’ll see how she does at the end of summer. I’ll be the first to admit my defeat, if she fails.” Tom gives a small smile and a shrug of his shoulders, always too calm for his own hood these days. Apparently he has mellowed with time, Bradley hears that he used to have quite an attitude in his early career.

Pressing his tongue to the inside of his cheek, the younger professor tries to stare his boss down. Tom knows how much these trips mean to Bradley, he takes his work so seriously. Still, Tom just stares back at him, calm.

Squinting, it takes a few moments for Bradley to give up. He turns and growls in frustration, letting the door to Doctor Kazansky’s office slam behind him. His shoes echo through the halls as he storms out of the building and across the quad. Not even Bettie O’Reilly would dare to interrupt his when his face looks as stormy as it does now.

He shrugs his bag off of his shoulder and throws it into the back of the bronco, then shoves his hands into his pockets in search of his keys.

“Do you even understand how hard I have worked for you to have the opportunities that you have had?”

Bradley glances up. He isn’t surprised to find that you’re the one being yelled at. He almost snorts — good, it’s about time someone reigned in that attitude of yours.

You stand, tearful, at the side of your father’s expensive Porsche, your head bowed in shame. Bradley unlocks his truck and pulls himself into the driver’s seat. He figures you probably cry a lot when someone’s telling you no.

“I mean it! — If you ruin this opportunity, don’t even think about coming back. Hopefully Malcolm’s family like you, because they’ll be all that you’ve got, I swear.”

Bradley turns his head slowly. Swallowing to keep from sobbing in the parking lot, shame burns through you as you meet his gaze. Your father towers over you, demanding to know if you’re even listening to him.

Bradley turns the engine on, his brown eyes looking decidedly less scary when he isn’t glaring at you. There’s something else. Maybe it’s pity — you aren’t used to that. He turns his head away and reverses out of the spot.

…

Tags: @thedroneranger @batdanceq @wkndwlff @sunflowerziva @cassiemitchell @himbos-on-ice @bradshawseresinbabe @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @sihtricswife @callsignvenus @callsign-joyride @harper1666 @sheisanangell

[sea-salted-wolverine]

I'm violently obsessed with the salmon plushie, is there absolutely any way we could get even a very rough pattern? Like rough ideas of shapes/sizes/placements? It wouldn't have to be super detailed, or even complete, I'm mostly interested in how you did the head/jaw and fins. I would be willing to pay you for it. You are the BEST auntie ever!!!! 🐟💗

@benevolentbirdgal you asked something similar i just haven't got around to answering

I have had people in real life ask for a pattern of how I did this and unfortunately I don't even know how to read/follow a pattern much less write/arrange/format one. If you scroll back through my blog a bit you can find all the progress pictures, they should all be tagged with both #plushie and #neice creature.

I suppose if you wanted a write up of the process it would go something like this.

Step one, become intimately acquainted with fish. Be born in a place where a large chunk of the state charter is about fishing rights. Go to kindergarten in a place where they not only teach kids about every phase of the life cycle but also raise salmon fry in classroom aquariums. Catch and clean alot of fish, like alot, like get up into the thousands. Become so quick and efficient at cleaning fish that tourists stop to watch you and people ask for lessons and knife sharpening.

Step two, now that you have the anatomy of a salmon ingrained into the fibers of your soul, just, draw one in its entirety on the inside of a pair of jeans that never fit. Make it half size, for baby hands, about the size of a trout. I literally never put a ruler anywhere near this thing, but like, 12-14 inches tip to tail.

Step three, make the pectoral, pelvic, anal, and dorsal fins as well as the caudal fin(tail). Make vague plans about the adipose fin and then give up and ignore it because no one cares about the adipose fin, including the fish themselves. Turn all the fins right-side out and stitch their rays on, giving them a little bit of structure and shape. Get to the tail fin and realize you are not stitching 20 fin rays on there and find a happy medium between accuracy and ease.

Step four. Fuck. Fish are hollow. The whole point of cleaning a fish is to cut it into lots of little pieces, some of which you eat and some of which you discard, which is not something you want of a child's toy. You could. But you don't want whoever is cleaning up after this toddler to run around picking up lil fishy organs. Rethink the way you filet a fish. Cringe at the thought that the most efficient way to make this plush is the least efficient way to filet a fish.

The filets themselves are easy, or at least, they're easy if you've done step one. It's an oblong shape with the belly color stitched directly to the denim, about the width of a hand. The meat is a safety orange tee-shirt that is now a crop top (insert long rant about the correct color of sockeye salmon meat here. It should not be fucking pink. Do not let anyone tell you it should be pink.) Stitch everything inside out and turn the seams in, then stuff them with shredded tee-shirt scraps because batting and stuffing is for people who can plan projects before they do them.

Step five, carcass. The dorsal fin gets seamed between a pair of denim strips to make the back. The adipose fin is a useful reference point for the locations of everything else but I couldn't figure out how to get the seams to work the way I wanted them so I ignored the adipose fin. Rip. The meat color gets seamed to the back and then the belly color to make a funky looking tube shape with fins sticking out. There was some finagling to make the fins sit in the places I wanted them to but everything sits in a seam except the anal fin which was easy enough to shove in a dart.

Step six, fishheads. Uhh, okay, there's how I did it and then there's how I would do it again. What I did was make a head out of a single piece of denim with some darts to make it the shape I wanted. Then I made the gills a sort of half moon shaped pocket with a redish pink color and seamed the pectoral fins in where the red met the orange. The jaw was a stuffed tongue of material attached to the belly and inside of the mouth, which is when realized I forgot to stuff the body. I do like how I stuffed the body because I took 6 layers of tee-shirt material tacked together in the vague shape of a fish and crammed it inside so it laid flat. It held more structural shape without being rigid or puffy. If I could have remembered to do that before I stitched everything close it would have been ideal.

If I was gonna do it over I would have made the head hollow and lined it with the red gill color and made the jaw a continuation of the belly so there would be an opening all the way through. I would also add some gill frills and fill them with rigid plastic to maintain the structure. I would also rearrange the pectoral fins to seam them in right behind the gills rather than below them.

Eyeballs this time around were buttons and finding sew on eyeballs is harder than I thought it would be but thats the obvious upgrade.

Guts were just a simple blob hand-sewn on, but with a bit more planning, I could actually do a digestive tract gas bladder, liver and roe sac. If I was gonna get that in depth I would rearrange the piecing order to have correctly fileted belly, so it would better explain how to harvest roe and belly meat. Plus as long as I was planning things rather than just slapping things together I would do some quick machine embroidery for muscle separations and a midline on the scales, mostly to make it pretty but also as a reference and indication of musculature.

Oh. Step six, the damn Velcro. Every craft store in Alaska is out of Velcro at the moment. Okay, maybe not every single one but all of them in between Fairbanks and Anchorage. And Home Depot. I found the stuff to stick on walls at Lowes which did not work nearly as well as I hoped it would. I had to force the needle through by bracing it against the floor and forcing the plush down on top of it. Forget a thimble, I was considering pliers. I was rushing (and also finishing it at my moms house) by the time I got to this part but I would get more creative and cut it into a shape more reminiscent of a spine next time.

I was gonna vacuum pack it before I wrapped it as a present because it would have been hilarious but I was slapping wrapping paper on while getting squawked at about being late, so we can all mourn the joke that never got the chance to land.

In conclusion, winging it gets you some crazy places and wild results but there are trade offs to careening speed, mostly in missed opportunities. But if you have a lot of pre-existing knowledge like general understanding of how seams work and also how fish work, you can pad out a lot of the inevitable fuck ups. If you are just jumping into raw dog a plushy pattern, I recommend starting out with something you are innately familiar with, rather than something that strikes you as cool.