#if i have to post this one more damn time

[lxnarphase]

PRETTY BITCHES LOVE ME ᯓ★

━━ ❝ SHE A BADDIE, SHE SHOWIN' HER PANTY! ❞ wc. 3.7k

ᯓ ❤︎₊‧⁺...synopsis : suguru is just as big of a show off as gojo, he's just more subtle about it. and he wants everyone in this damn club to know that you're his.

ᯓ ❤︎₊‧⁺...cw : blk!fem!reader x g. suguru, suggestive content, alcohol mention, exhibitionism, voyeurism (?), fingerfucking, public fingering, little bit of breeding kink and talks of knocking you up, lots of kissing, suguru really loves his girl, suguru can’t keep his hands to himself

ᯓ ❤︎₊‧⁺...lunar's note : suguru is just a slut for you i don't know what else to tell you. he's just as much as a mischievous little shit as gojo ! if you want to be tagged for the future posts, comment on the main post here ! enjoy baddies ❤︎ (also yes nonblack readers can read and reblog too, idk why some anons try to gatekeep)

suguru's so touchy with you, it's sweet.

he can't keep his hands off of you whenever you go out. the poor man feels like he might just die if he's not having some sort of physical contact with you the majority of the day.

it could be the grocery store on a late night snack run in matching pajama bottoms or like now, a long night at the club for some celebration.

neither one of you remembers what or who the part is for, the alcohol in your systems causing you to focus on one another. the rest of your group is busy on the dance floor or bar, leaving you and suguru to cuddle up to each other in the VIP area like the lovesick idiots the two of you are.

your sitting across his lap, one hand in his hair and the other holding his shoulder, rubbing random shapes and patterns into the fabric of his shirt. it's so unfair, he just smells so fucking good and looks so damn handsome. you genuinely can't look at anything but him. 

and he loves it so damn much.

"s'guruuu," you coo at him, nose smooshed against his cheek. if you could, you'd get even closer to him, but this would have to suffice for now. "you're so handsome tonight..." 

the corners of his mouth tilt up into a smug smirk as he chuckles, his hand sliding from your knee to your upper thigh, stroking the exposed skin. you're so soft, could you really blame him for wanting to touch you all the time? compared to you, suguru is way more sober and is just eating up all the attention you're giving him.

not just because he loves you, but that was a plus.

no, it's because people are watching.

his sharp purple eyes flicker up, meeting with the group of girls outside of the VIP area that keep looking his direction.

their eyes are filled with interest and want when they look at him, and he can't help but chuckle to himself.

suguru knows he's attractive. hell, he's reminded of it every morning by the way you shower him in kisses and praises as part of your morning routine, making sure he knows just how much you love him and his 'stupidly pretty face,' as you so elegantly put it.

but what makes him laugh is how they look at you with disdain and confusion, as if they can't understand why you're in his lap instead of them.

it's disgusting, really, for them to even have the slightest thought that they could replace you. they must be lying to themselves, he thinks as your lips start to press kisses against his cheek, the soft curls and coils of your hair tickling his cheek.

you're just so cute, so adorable, so gorgeous, so beautiful. you're his pretty little angel, and seeing women jealous of you just fills him with so much pride, knowing you have other women jealous of you.

if only they knew how badly you have him wrapped around your little finger. if you so much as asked, suguru wouldn't hesitate to beat the shit out of someone for you, wouldn't hesitate to kill for you...but thankfully, it never got to that point.

yet.

"hmm, you think i'm handsome?" he leans in, his breath warm against your neck as he nips your ear. "nah, you look so damn gorgeous, angel. you're stealing the spotlight from me t'night."

his fingers trace circles into your thigh, enjoying your little giggles and complaints of it tickling. it only makes him do it more, your laughs and giggles making his heart squeeze a little bit.

fuck, suguru really loves how your skin feels under his fingertips, soft and smooth. it's all he thinks about. he wants to touch you forever, wants to feel you every second of the day. you are just so warm and soft, nothing would ever compare to the feel of your skin.

pulling away from your ear, he sees that those girls are still there, looking at you and him. the smirk on his face falters a bit, and his gaze hardens.

man, he really doesn't like how they're looking at you.

it's so easy for him to tell they have no cursed energy, just mere humans that could never even hope to be on the same level as you. it would be so fucking easy to just...snap his fingers and have them gone in an instant.

you steal his attention away from them and the dark thoughts swirling in his head by tilting his head your way, and instantly, his gaze softens.

jesus, the things you do to this man.

"sugu? what's wrong, honey," you mumble, worry etched into your features. you cup his face, thumbs stroking his cheeks to get him to calm down. "you don't look happy..."

the feel of your hands on his face, paired with the sweet concern in your voice, it washes away all irritation in him instantly. suguru hums, his eyes sliding shut. and the soft look in your eyes...he's so whipped for you, it's sickening.

you're so warm...

"no, baby, nothing's wrong," he reassures you, his smooth voice a low rumble. if he could, he'd be purring incredibly loudly right now, nuzzling into your palms. just your touch is enough to make him melt.

"'m just thinkin' how lucky I am, havin' you all to myself like this. the prettiest girl in the world, and she's sitting in my lap...who knew i'd make it this far in life, hm?"

the low, purple lights of the club cast a soft glow on your face as your fluffy hair frames your face, and suguru sighs, looking at you like you were his everything. you are his everything.

a quick glance to the side and suguru takes note that those girls are still fucking there, looking at you both. instead of getting irritated again, suguru gets an idea.

with a smirk, his hand slides up further your thigh, his fingertips slipping under the hem of that pretty purple dress he bought you that contrasts against the dark color of your skin...so pretty.

"mm, babygirl, just looking at you is making me dizzy," suguru purrs, his gaze dipping to your lips before meeting your eyes again. "you know i love you right? an' that all i wanna do is show you off s' everyone knows how pretty you are, right?"

you know better.

you know better than to trust him when he starts making comments like this, when he starts cooing and praising you out of nowhere.

because you know that it means suguru is up to no damn good.

you still haven't forgiven him for making you squirt on his fingers while he was on the phone with nanami...even though it was kind of cute how nanami couldn't look you in the eye without blushing for about two weeks.

"mhm...i know, sugu, you're a little show off that likes to get us in trouble," you playfully scold, tugging his hair a little as you giggle, looking at him with a soft gaze.

suguru's head tilts back, and his eyes flutter shut for a moment, a soft grunt leaving him. he's always been a sucker for you pulling on his hair like that, likes when you tug him around to make a point...shit, he's getting hard just from thinking of all the times you'd use his hair to get his attention or make him focus on something.

and it doesn't take long for you to discover his thoughts are going south.

with an exasperated gasp, you feel the hardness of his arousal pressing against your ass, letting out a little scold of his name. his grip on you tightens when you shift to confirm your suspicions. his head leans to rest in the crook of your neck, a silent plea for more of your affection.

"but you like it when I show off," suguru teases back, pressing a kiss against your neck as your curls tickle his face again. even your hair was soft, it's like he's got his own little pillow pet in his lap. the thought makes him chuckle, knowing you'd probably swat at him playfully for comparing you to a plushy

"you get all worked up, it's so cute, angel...plus, i think y'like it when i cause trouble." his hand swaps thighs and creeps up higher under your dress, his fingers brushing the edge of your panties. he's playing a risky game. at any moment, someone could catch him and get you both kicked and banned from the club.

but where's the fun in life without taking risks?

"c'mooon, admit it, baby, you like it."

one glance up back into the crowd and suguru hums, his eyes glinting dangerously. still there, it seems.

they aren't staring as hard now, but looks of disbelief cross their face when his hand shamelessly goes right to the apex of your thighs, fingers running over the lace of your panties. suguru doesn't care anymore, if they wanna look so bad, he'll give them something to stare at.

"s-suguru...you're, mnh, gettin' close there..."

he doesn't give you a response, his hand sliding from your back up to your hair to keep your head in the crook of his neck. he may be fine with showing out a little bit to these bitches who tired to glare daggers into you, but no one except him gets to see your face.

the way your lashes flutter, the way your teeth dig into the plushness of your bottom lip...it's driving him crazy.

the faint scent of your perfume hits his nose, and he's gone. his cock is pressing against your ass in full hardness, and he has to stop himself from grinding up into you.

nah, right now, this is about you.

he's going to take care of you, going to make you feel good, going to make sure you know that you are his in every way that counts.

without wasting another moment, suguru's fingers slip under your panties, pausing when they touch the faint wetness gathering at your slit.

"fuck...baby, don't tell me you've been like this the whole night," he rasps, his breathing slowly starting to pick up. your soft cunt is hot to the touch, sticky and wet as he drags his fingers through your slick.

"i can't help it, you just...look, really good t'night, baby," you huff into his ear, gasping a moan when he doesn't hesitate to slip a finger into your slick hole.

he really does look good tonight, dressed in those black dress pants, sleek dress shoes, and that stupidly hot black button-up shirt. and he has the sleeves rolled up and the top few buttons undone so that you can get a nice view of that necklace with your name on it resting on his collarbone.

how can you not get soaking wet?

"shit." he's groaning, the sensation of you nuzzling your face into his neck to press little open-mouthed kisses into all the sensitive spots of his neck sending a shiver down his spine. it's so sweet and precious how you try your hardest not to make too much noise and not move too much as he stirs up your cunt with just one of his fingers.

he wishes you both were back at home, wishes that he had you spread open on the bed so that he can see how wet he's got you just from his attire, so that he can hear your pussy squelch around his fingers. not even the strongest in the world would be able to pull him from your pussy whenever you get this wet.

the thought of gojo trying to pull him away from you makes him cringe a bit...because he knows damn well that idiot would be shoving his face deeper into your cunt, grinning as he practically makes suguru drown in you.

on second thought, that's not a bad way to go....

another tug to his hair as him unintentionally groaning, eyes snapping shut at the sharp pang of pleasured pain that shoots up his spine. his attention is back on you, his face close to yours as he breathes against your ear.

if you want his attention, then he'll give you all of it with no hesitation.

"suguruu, more...please," you finally whine, the slow movement not enough for you. it's almost torture; the slow in and out motions of his finger making you feel good but not good enough. no, you need more, craved it.

"yeah? you gonna be a good girl f' your suguru and let him take care of this needy lil' pussy? hm?" one finger turns into two, and that familiar heat pools in your lower abdomen. now it's feeling so fucking good that you already know his fingers are gonna be coated in your juices.

this should be embarrassing, it really should. you both are in a club for fucksake! but you can't find it in you to care about it, his thick digits working your cunt so good that your brain is just melting.

one of your hands grips his button-up, fisting in the fabric to ground yourself from the pleasure. "m-mhm! I'll be good, I'll be s' good for you, sugu, promise!" suguru is becoming relentless, determined to make you crack and stop hiding those pretty sounds from him when he takes note of how you go right back to biting your lip after giving him that sweet, needy response.

however, he loves seeing your lips all swollen, knowing they were like that because he made you feel so good you had to force yourself to be quiet.

"sweetheart, don' hide it, lemme hear you, 's just you and me," he whispers to you, his other hand burying itself in your curls and giving a little tug. he knows it's not just the both of you, but right now, in this moment, it's all that exists for him.

the harsh pull of your hair has your lips brushing against his ear and choking on a moan, unable to keep it in. "thaaaat's it, let me hear how good it feels t' have these fingers buried deep inside this tight cunt."

you hate this, hate when he talks because it only makes you wetter. and that means he's gonna talk even more, and you're always right because he's cooing at how much slick is pouring out of you now, asking if it's because of his voice or his fingers.

suguru's so fucking annoying, such an asshole, but you can't help but let him get away with it when it means he makes your eyes flutter closed in pleasure.

you let him get away with way too much, don't you?

the song playing now is so loud, the bass making the ground vibrate. but suguru doesn't care, he's just thankful it's loud enough to cover that fucking beautiful moan you give him when he curls his fingers juuuust right.

"oooh, there? did i find it? fuck, baby, y'got so tight jus' from that."

your desperate nod of confirmation is all he needs before he speeds up his fingers, groaning when he can finally hear the wet schlicks of his hand coaxing more slick out of you.

one more glance up and suguru can't help but grin. the girls are gone, now mixed up in the crowd likely red and hot in the face.

seems like his impromptu little show finally got the message across: he is yours and yours only.

knowing he no longer had to show off, he's focusing on you, on you and that tight, needy little slit between your legs that's dripping down his wrist. it should be a crime for someone to be this wet, in public no less.

"c'mon, angel, don' hold back on me anymore, lemme know how it feels. wanna know 'm treating this gorgeous pussy good."

you let out the prettiest moan, breath hot against his ear. suguru coos, his hand not between your legs holding your neck to keep your head in the crook of his neck. “mhg, suguru, love it s' much, g-god, your fingers feel s'good, 's not fair.”

you can't stop yourself from trying to spread your legs more, giving him a bit better access. you know you can't open them too much ot someone might see.

but...would that be so bad? for people to see how suguru could make you fall apart so seamlessly?

if only you knew that's exactly what was running through his head right now. he's positive at least one person has caught on to what's happening, the repeating motions of his hand between your legs such a dead giveaway.

it thrills him, his cock throbbing in his pants at the thought. shit, he's learning things about himself he didn't know before...he might have to do this to you more often.

he leans in closer, his mouth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine as he whispers, "y'gonna cum for me right here in this club, aren't you, babygirl? gonna show me how much you love my fingers playing with this slutty lil' pussy, right?"

he gets a sweet little 'yes, sugu' and he purrs your name, the mixture of your moans, the music, and the just barely audible sounds of your slickness being stirred by his thick fingers, making him feel drunk.

you're shaking in his lap, holding on for dear life as he makes it a point to curl his fingers with each thrust, not giving you a break anymore. you're spiraling, feeling the tremors of your impending orgasm building, your hot, gummy walls fluttering around his stupidly thick digits. you're praying silently between each pant and gasp, desperately hoping he doesn't make you squirt, not now, not when so many people are around—!

"c'mon, baby, c'mon," suguru encourages, his fingers picking up their pace. you're so close, he knows it, he knows because he can feel it coming. the way you fist his shirt, the way your hips are trying to hard to not rise up to meet his hand, knowing it would make it so obvious what's happening.

but suguru, oh, he stopped caring so fucking long ago. he just wants to feel you soak his fingers, wants to hear your muted little moan of his name when you finally cum. he just wants to make sure you know you're his.

"b-baby, suguru, shit, i'm gonna cum—!"

"yeah? that's it, baby, let got f'me, you can do it," he urges and coos, his voice bordering on needy and desperate, just like you. he's panting into your ear, whispering little praises as he listens to you pitifully try to keep your gasps and moans down. you're such a mess, it's so cute, you're so adorable, god, he loves you so bad.

your thick thighs are quivering and trembling as you teeter on the brink of release. you know it's going to be a mess, but you try, you try so hard to keep it in.

suguru notices—how could he not—and he's not having it, slipping a third finger inside your messy little cunt, curling deep inside right against that sweet spot, and that knot wound so tight inside you finally snaps.

"s-suguuuu, 'm cummin'—!"

he's reveling in how your hot, gummy walls squeeze and spasm all over his fingers, milking them for all they're worth as you cry and sob his name into his ear, tears caught on your eyelashes from how good it feels. he wishes he could look at you, wanting to drink up your expressions, but no, he'd be risking someone else seeing how pretty you are when you cum.

"yessss, good girl, good fuckin' girl, gimme everything, babygirl."

your cries of release are so damn sweet to his ears, and he continues to work you through it, ensuring your orgasm is as prolonged and intense as possible. if you were home, he wouldn't care about stopping or overstimulating, but he has to remind himself to stay calm and not go too hard.

if he did, he wasn't sure he'd be able to stop himself from fucking you on this couch in the middle of the VIP section in front of all these people.

once suguru feels you go slack in his arms and your hand weakly slap against his chest, he slows his hand, his own breaths heavy with the arousal and need you stirred in him...did you have any idea how sexy you were? if he wasn't as controlled as he was, he's positive he would've cum in his pants.

pulling his fingers out slowly, suguru's quick to pop them into his mouth, sucking off your juices like it would be the last time he'd ever get a last. fuck, you soaked his hand...he doesn't care how obvious he makes it when he licks at his palm and wrist to not miss a drop.

"hhmph, s-suguru, you—"

"i need you, right now. can i take you home?"

of course, he has to ask. he knows how long it took you to get ready, to look so fucking perfect. but right now, he doesn't want anyone to look at you. hell, he doesn't want anyone else but him to be near you, he'd fucking wipe out this entire club right now if you asked.

the soft touch of your hands on his face brings him back, making him melt as his eyes slide shut. you're so soft, he loves you so much, he needs to stick his cock into you while groaning those words into your ear, needs to feel his tip kiss that soft, spongy spot inside you that makes your back arch off the bed, to fold you in half as he stuffs you so full, praying that his cum gets stuck deep inside you, praying that it takes and that he gets you knocked up, and that—

"take me home, sugu, please, i-i need you s' bad."

your words have him acting in an instant he presses a quick kiss to your lips, licking whatever is left of your lipgloss before helping you stand up with him, guiding you out of the club. if he stays in here for any longer, he's not sure he'll be able to control himself.

"i got you, baby, don't worry, 'm gonna give you what you need. let's go, princess."

all rights reserved © lxnarphase | do not repost, copy, translate, or alter my work

ᯓ ❤︎₊‧⁺...lunar's tags : @satoruwiki @llllllllllllloser @screampied @abcdbleh @vicfuentesfangirl @sakurapeach @ohsuguru @crywolfix @naughtygobbo @aura88967 @jeanine-gt @tananaxx @tojancy @happymangosstuff @charming-chikara @actuallynarii @ninikrumbs @inette04 @paint-eater2 @haesify @shaguro

[mostly-imagines]

🌻 anon here

The last few days I stumbled into a few posts about Jason having +18 pics of reader in his phone and I just can't stop thinking "would he tho??" Like would he trust enough his device to have r18 pictures of the one he love and literally worship in his phone??? Knowing he knows damn well how easy it is nowadays to get those types of pictures through hack and stuff??

And I'm not saying he would share the pics, HELL NO he would never. But because I don't think he would trust his phone -and also because it cracks me up- I imagine him having a Polaroid to take the pics. The photos get printed automatically and if he have to he can't literally burn those without having to overthink about someone hacking his phone.

Like can you imagine him just casually take a Polaroid you didn't know where there out his nightstand and taking a pics of you while you reaching your peak??

Anyways all of that just to ask what one of my fav Jason writers would think about the whole Jason having spicy pics of you in this phone

18+

i’ve honest to god been thinking about this non stop since you sent it sunny

i think you're dead on, jason's protective streak rings too loud in his mind to ever take the chance of someone else maybe seeing those photos of you. personally, i’m of the belief that he uses his phone for the most practical purposes only and that his photo gallery is borderline empty, with few exceptions of nondescript images. like the only pictures of you on his phone don’t show your face or any revealing information about you. yeah, he’s a little paranoid in that way but it just makes his alternative that much more interesting.

there’s also something about it that feels more personal, more intimate. there’s not a chance in hell those photos are going near another person and he likes the idea that you’re giving him this amount of vulnerability and trust.

i also think he is an avid supporter of your personal autonomy and feels better knowing that if you want a picture gone, all you have to do is burn it and it's gone forever. he doesn't really like the idea that so many things on electronics can be spread or seen without you even knowing, so he's perfectly fine to stash a few polaroids in unsuspecting places.

he’d be really hesitant to ask you the first time, he was worried he’d make you uncomfortable or that you’d think it was weird. the thought initially came about after he’d gone on an away mission that lasted twice as long as it was supposed to and he was bordering on losing it without a single image of you. that, and frankly, he was stressed and he has never experienced a stress relief quite like you.

so the night he comes back he’s kissing you hard and rubbing up against you, but all he can think about is how badly he wants to capture all your facial expressions and imagery he couldn’t stop imagining while he was gone.

he breaks away from your lips breathlessly, “can I take a picture of you?”

you give him a bemused look, “what? like, now?”

he fiddles with the waistband of your underwear, not making eye contact. “well…in a few minutes..”

his timorous disposition gives you a solid clue of what he means and you smile up at him. “yeah?”

he finally meets your eyes, looking hopeful. “is that alright?”

“of course,” you nod and he leans back down against you, lips meeting your pulse point. “what brought this on?”

he noses at your neck, “jus’ missed you. a lot.”

you nod, pulling back and running a finger down to the tip of his nose. “take as many as you want.”

and he did.

his favorite pics are the ones he takes right when you cum, lips slightly parted, brow pinched. he’s also fond of the moments right when you’re just starting to feel it.

the photos of you on your knees, trying to take him in your mouth as much as you can really do something to him. your eyes watering and you holding his hand for support. he has to pace himself when he looks at those, especially the ones where you’re looking up at the camera.

he doesn’t usually like to be in the pictures, other than his dick in/against you or his hand splayed across your stomach or neck. he also has one or two where you’re riding him and his free hand is on your hip guiding you.

you’d have to be having a particular kind of sex for it to even occur to him to stop and take pictures. it only really happens during the easy times, when you’re both just having fun more than anything. it’s then when he’s really able to take his time with you and savor things, which is why the majority of your polaroids are taken then. he’s also more likely to be in a teasing mood then and not in a particular rush to get you where you’re going. a lot of those pictures show you smiling and completely relaxed which is another reason why he tends to revere those moments.

a grade A way to make him feel better after a long week is leaving him some surprise polaroids in the stash, it makes him crazy. he’s honestly just really obsessed with the idea that you trust him so much with those kinds of photos that you’d go out of your way to take some for him when he’s not even there. i actually think that’s at least half of what turns him on so much about the whole thing, the trust that you place in him and only him to not only see you in those moments but also relive them afterwards. just pics of you in lingerie or even just one of his shirts—it’s over for him.

[wroteclassicaly]

Summary: A confession leads to unexpected heartbreak.

18+

Warnings: Language, smut, hurt/no comfort, one sided feelings, heartbreak, angst GALORE, self-esteem issues, mentions Steve’s past head trauma, insecurities on both sides, jealous Steve, mentions Nancy, best-friend!Reader w/ best-friend!Steve, and friends to lovers. This one hurts, folks!

Pairings: Steve Harrington x Female Reader

Word count: 3,985

A/N: No banner for this! Just some raw writing I did early into the hours of this morning/night, adding on some today. I wanted to try something different, so enjoy!

Note: Also posting this the day after I wrote it. Okay, lmaooooo.

“I love you, Steve.”

The words come easy to you, the courage taking years to build. But once they leave your mouth as you’re cradling his neck’s nape, playing with the chocolate curls that have grown out there, you cannot figure out why you wasted time not saying it. It’s been an ongoing thing between you two — a two year thing, in fact. Never any pushing for labels, no exclusivity. You were patient, he was giving, and you assumed you were both reading on the same page.

In a few minutes, however, you’d find out how very wrong that you were. You wished that your mouth and your legs had stayed closed around your best-friend, Steve Harrington.

It was a typical weekday, no dates planned, acting as if his last date hadn’t upset you, or that you enjoyed the one you forced yourself to go on with some guy, so that your feelings weren’t completely obvious. Sidenote: to mostly everyone but Steve, they kinda were. Steve had called you after your shift at the local Burger King, asking if you wanted to come over and spend the night. Not unusual. You always trade spending nights, rolling around on various surfaces, before enjoying breakfast together.

Intimate, casual, perfect.

Your answer was an automatic yes. A quick shower after work for you, a return phone call, and he’d gotten in his BMW, picked up some takeout, went to your door to get you, held your hand to the car, opened your damned door, and the dessert had been him between your thighs. This night in particular, it was one of pent up frustrations and desperations that had just one satiable cure. You ended up on top of Steve, his back pressed into the headboard, mutual clothes scattered all over his bed.

His shoulders became leverage, his massive palms spread out on either side of your waist, pinching the plush skin into his palming grip. Nose dusting across a defined nose bridge, caught in a cheekbone, with kisses rushed, deep, sloppily trying to stay focussed, but driven to reach that place buried inside one another.

Steve’s thighs provide a platform for you to sit upon, ankles locked around his back. He’s slippery with sweat, places you’d like to lick clean. You pull back from your cove to say it again, unable to stop yourself, going in for a kiss. You don’t think he heard, he’s humble sometimes, disbelieving in others. One hand cups his jaw, the other staying put to card through his hair, moisture pooling between your fingers.

“Hey? You still with me, big guy? I said I love you.” You’re smiling softly, thumbpad caressing his jawline. You feel it twitch, his shoulders tense.

Is he gonna cum? You know the signs. “Steve?” Something in your guts feels a little off. You ignore it.

“I know what you said. I heard you say it the first time.” He interrupts, tries to remain impassive, his hips slowing from your combined movements.

Like salt in the wound, a fresh slap to the face. No way.

“You heard me say that I love you?” You have to try one more time. He’s been hit in the head a lot, maybe he didn’t get it? He couldn’t have, right? Are you really this stupid, this dense?

You attempt to kiss him, to lay it all down through your actions, rather than your words this time, but your mouth doesn’t get the chance to meet him.

His lids flutter closed, he sighs, his face leaving yours, hands lifting off your body to wrap around your wrists, slowly untangling them from his neck. “Stop, alright?”

You feel your heart rate accelerate, your body tensing, your throat is choked with a teary panic, a bulldozer driving across your organs, settling atop you with its weight. Every single wall you still have built, they slowly shake off their cobwebs to rise from the dust, smothering you in the smoke. And he’s suddenly a very tight fit, to the point where you’re wincing, body immediately wanting, trying to push him out. He notices, one hand dropping to the side of your face. “Hey, hey. Hon —“ He stops himself, lets your nickname drop, falling back into your regular name.

He isn’t sure who that action hurts the most.

One look at your vacant expression and Steve feels as if he’s been sucker punched, that he’s the meanest version of himself he’s ever been.

He’s still inside of you, you let him into your body, you told him a sacred set of words. And this is what he’s doing to you? Hurting you to the point where your body starts to get frightened? But he couldn’t just come while you poured your heart out, he couldn’t continue like his world was normal anymore. He reaches down to wrap around his base, face wrinkling, teeth gritting. You’re so fucking tight that it hurts, his cock aches for you when he eases his way outward, dragging combined essences with him. “Let me just…” He starts, deep voice a rocky, rasp, finishing when his length is gone from your body, dripping with you onto his sheets, covering him.

Once he’s out, you’re already passed the point of overwhelming vulnerability. Your legs clamp closed, your hands cover your chest, unwillingly to wrap yourself in his damn sheet that smells like home to you. Steve is unsteady on his feet, halfway hard, but slowly softening at your nearly curled position. You aren’t looking at him, you won’t, you cannot. It’s not safe right now, because if you do, it’ll all come apart and it won’t stop. Steve is on overload in his own head, eyes sparkling, tears matted into his lash-line.

He has to breathe through his nose when he says it. It’s wrong, it’s so fucking wrong. But he’s helpless, he can’t take this environment, he wants to run from you, from your words.

“I’ll, uh. I’ll, uhm… I can take you home if you get dressed.”

He’s blinking away blurry vision as he catches your wounded, tear fogged expression the moment that he’s snatching his boxers and jeans off the bed, and making for the bedroom door. He shuts it and leaves you to re-cloth yourself in silence. It’s honestly deafening, you’re not sure how you manage. Revealing your body to his room, to his scent, pictures on his wall, various trinkets, but not him. You’re shaking as you put on piece by piece of fabric, dreading having to see him.

Your hand hovers over the door, giving several pauses before you open it. You step out onto the deep carpet, plush across your feet, mashed against your toes. He’s nowhere in sight. And you remember that he took his clothing, so he’s probably getting re-dressed.

Fuck this. It’s in your brain on broadway lights, body in flight mode. You’re heading down the staircase and snatching your shoes up by the entryway, forgetting your purse in his room. You don’t care anymore, you have to get out of here, this place closing in on you like a funhouse. You shut the door as quietly as you can, then you’re sprinting down the Harrington’s driveway.

Is it dramatic? Yeah. Oh-fucking-well, you’re running on adrenaline so your body doesn’t feel the disgusting agony that’s slowly eating its way through your insides. You get about halfway and you hear footsteps approaching at high rates, your name being chanted. Steve is at your side in seconds, breathless.

“Shit, you scared me. Why the hell did you leave like that?”

Your eyes widen to give him an incredulous look, and that’s when the tears escape, rolling down your cheeks. Steve sees your disheveled state next. No purse, no shoes. Your blouse is halfway hanging off your shoulder. It’s an automatic instinct, his fingers brushing underneath the fabric, dragging across your skin as he pulls up to secure it.

You want to flinch away, but you don’t. Hurt settles in his brows. He’s fucking incredible with that question. “You aren’t wearing your shoes. You can’t leave my house like this.”

Autopilot flies in to protect you, leveling off everything else that you could say or do. There’s no anger, there’s no sorrow, there’s nothing. And that’s what scares him the most when you say, “I just wanna go home.”

He can’t stand it anymore, his natural urge to protect your safety, has him wrapping you in his arms. You still smell like his bed, like him, like love making left unfinished. Your arms remain clutched to your chest. No reaction.

He says it out loud, unknowing if he means it to you or just to himself. “We should’ve never started having sex.”

A mistake. You’re his mistake. Not his biggest. Not even a real regret.

Steve Harrington has only ever loved one girl. He’s only ever regretted one loss. He even cared more for Robin before he even went to you. Are you even pretty enough, or does he just like you because you’re friends and he’s horny, or searching for something? You’re not it, not even a morsel.

And it doesn’t matter what you say, what you do, how you feel. You’ll be stuck with that, while Steve clings to whatever he truly wants. Now you’ve lost what you’ve built with him, destroyed his safe place by becoming a cliche. He doesn’t deserve your one sided feelings.

The wheels are spinning in your head, but Steve still sees nothing in your responses, nor your reception. So he lifts his keys from his pocket to respect your wishes, his chest on fire with an acidic inferno, his head clouded with pain far worse than anything he’s ever experienced, his skull echoing with what his brain has just endured. You walk to his car without sparing a glance, feet still bare. He swallows and it just feels like piles of broken glass. He can do nothing but do what you asked of him.

He drives you to your house in silence. Steve Harrington has been sure of one thing in two years, and that’s always been you. But as he pulls up to your house, you’re climbing from his car before he can put it in park, your voice hauntingly, desperately hollow. “I’m sorry I ruined everything.”

And you leave him, the levee going to break once you’re through your front door, pain in between your legs to remind you the next morning before your mind does. His nose crinkles, his fingers pinching, a thin line of snot trailing out. Steve wants to say to you that it’s him who has ruined it all. That he’s so scared of those words, that he doesn’t understand how someone could love him, so he can’t let your words sink in, can’t consciously reciprocate. A coward who won’t let himself feel your declaration.

Steve Harrington’s brain, however, knows the truth.

~*~

Waking up the next morning had been a reality that neither you, nor Steve were prepared to handle. You pretty much cried yourself to sleep, whilst Steve held onto your purse and paced his floor until his feet verged on rug burn, tears blurring his vision. When he finally did lay down, his alarm went off two hours later. He woke to your scent all over his bed, still covering him, lingering even as he showered, especially in his car on the way to the store. The same car that things have happened in, and the very one that he dumped you off like trash last night, after what you’d gone through to tell him the extent of your feelings. He wasn’t functioning on a full level from the second he pulled into the parking lot.

~*~

You could still feel him, your body sore, brain picking up seconds after you opened your eyes, toes hitting the blush rug underneath your bed. Your sclera was bloodshot, burning, clouding over as you passed by pictures of you with Steve, and quite a few you’d taken of him solo, that you had on the corkboard above your desk. You’d deal with taking everything down later, unsure what you would be doing with the items. Forgoing breakfast was a given, your stomach in knots. Showering went painfully fast, leading you right into putting on your work uniform.

You barely made it three hours into your shift, headache, heartache going head to head, and your boss had noticed your discomfort, gently releasing you for the day. Only one person made everything better, but that was no longer an option. Your confession sets you free, backfiring what type of freedom you wanted to occur. It was eleven o’clock when you dock yourself into Family Video’s parking lot, relieved Steve was on his normal lunch hour. Even if you can spend time with Robin, it will help.

You can hurry, you don’t have to see his face.

Fate has other plans.

You’re helping Robin unpack some candy shipments when his car pulls in about half an hour early. She could tell you weren’t feeling your best, so that’s why she’d assumed you didn’t want a male presence around. You’re honestly shocked she hasn’t clocked Steve as the mystery man she’s known about the past two years.

“Don’t worry,” she says, upon seeing your soured, slightly fearful expression. “It’s just our doofus. He’s been in a brooding mood today, probably why he’s back early.”

A mood? So you have ruined it all.

You nod, forcing yourself to stay put, immediately gaining on deep breathing. At least you don’t shake when you begin to alphabetize the candy. You can hear her greet Steve before he even gets a word in. She snatches some kind of paper bag, that you assume he brought back for her — away, rifling through its contents as she speaks.

“Dingus, you still have that bottle of Tylenol in your car?”

Steve’s heart is in his throat, wrapping him tighter than Vecna’s hive minds did. He gives a silent yes, head trying to lean around a few shelves. Fuck. Of course that was your car out front, he wasn’t just imagining shit. He’s hopeful, anxious. What are you here for? Who?

“Good. Can you go get it, please? She doesn’t feel good and she’s been helping me all morning.”

Immediate worry doesn’t cover it. You’re here and not at work, and you’re sick? Steve snaps out of what trance he’s in, eyes pinching closed and he nods rapidly. “Shit, yeah. I’ll go get it. Here, Robs. Can you take my water to her?” He hands off his half drank bottle without question, moving back outside to get the medicine.

It’s funny, the look on your face as Robin presents you with his drink. You all share off of one another all the time. She places the food bag beside her, to which you politely decline her offer for some. Doesn’t matter if you haven’t eaten, you can’t.

“I know he has cooties, but I think we’re safe.” She shoulder bumps you, trying to get a smile. When you barely lift your mouth, she goes into her version of mom mode. It dawns on her and it comes from her mouth without tact.

“Wait, is this about that mystery guy who took your virginity? The one you’ve been seeing for two years? Holy shit, did he finally commit?”

If Robin couldn’t tell how you felt about Steve, or see anything from his part, then you guess it’s true.

There’s nothing to see.

You can feel your rib cage gape open, heart falling into your ass, strangled by your intestines.

Luckily, Steve has perfect timing, appearing right in earshot as Robin reveals information you never told him. The room feels small, you feel as if you could melt into the floor, non-existent. Would it matter? You are starting to think love controls everything, after all. You’re fucking doomed.

He lets his Nikes carry him forward, bottle of Tylenol in his massive hand. He’s starting to tremble, betrayal etched into his mouth, giving away what Robin now feels stupid for not knowing. It all clicks when your moods are matched, your mixed reactions combining.

“Oh. Oh, holy fuck. I’m…” She looks at her best-friend, who is halfway seething to near sobbing, and at you, who cannot look her in the eyes. “Shit, I should’ve known. Why didn’t I know? Fuck. I’ll give you two a minute —“

“Steve?” Your voice is tinged with something, one that has him slightly elated that you’re vocal, and even more pissed at you. He waits, his tongue caught in his throat, about to ask you, but you’re adding on. “May I have two Tylenols please?” Standing on your feet right after.

He’s like a fucking statue, on autopilot, unmoving this time. Robin rises, plucks the bottle gently, shaking out two and drops them into your hand, handing the container back to Steve, ultimately giving his water to you. She mouths an apology, but you’re smiling a tacky, forced grin that looks as if it’s pinching your lips. She’s bound to be upset you both neglected to tell her. Keeping your mouth shut should’ve been the reverse way.

“I’ll call you tonight, Robs. I’m sorry, okay?”

“Hey.” She stops you before you can step back to leave, wrapping her arms around you, maroon coated lips by your ear. “I don’t have a foot fetish, but I really should’ve kept the entirety of my own in there to avoid this.”

That gets you laughing softly, and you don’t look at Steve as you depart from her arms and for your car. He’s still frozen.

Robin does, though, stares right through him. She can see how much he’s hurting. She doesn’t want to judge either side, so she simply reaches up to rub along between his shoulder blades. “If you need to —“

“I’ll be right back.” His eyes are trained on your retreating form, handing her the pills as he follows you.

“That works too!” She points a finger in his direction, sighing. Is everyone else onto this, or is she just off her game?

~*~

You’ve just barely downed the pills, tasting Steve’s cinnamon breath spray, combined with his morning coffee all around the lid of his water. You chug it fast, your back still turned to the front door. That’s when the dumbass little bell rings, slapping back against the door, and his voice comes into play.

“You can taste my mouth on that, right?”

You remain non-verbal. This angers him to the point he steps close enough that you can smell his cologne and aftershave. His tone shatters, emotion bleeding through. “Because friends share things with one another.”

“Well, friends sure as hell don’t fuck!” It snaps free of your mouth, shocking the both of you, plastic crinkling in your hands. Your head is hurting, between your thighs is aching, and you’re positive that a piece of your chest has been carved out.

He’ll always have that, whether he wants it or not.

“They don’t lie about being a virgin, either! They don’t say that it’s been a while when they’re in pain and I’m fucking asking what’s wrong the first time that we have sex! If I would have known, then it would’ve been—”

“Wouldn’t have happened, so I didn’t build some little attachment to you, right?”

Steve visibly recoils.

“Is that really what you thought of me? That I was still that big of an asshole? Because we were already pretty attached. I did everything with you, you practically lived at my house.”

“If you didn’t have a date. Maybe it was just sex, me and you. Still doesn’t answer if you found me attractive. Probably just biased because you were my friend.” Word vomit. Too late to stop now.

Steve mulls over the meaning of were. Past tense? Does it apply to current?

His hands go onto his hips, a sidestep, and he turns back to look at you in astonishment, having to swipe aggressively at the wetness in his eyes. He doesn’t even know where to begin with everything you just said. His brain is screaming to tell you that no, he’s always found you fucking beautiful. That he would have preferred you over all of those dates, or any that he’s ever had for that matter. But he’s so confused about letting anything in, his tongue becomes tied, only able to get out one lame question. “Why didn’t you ever tell me any of this?”

When your gaze flickers up, you see he’s snarling, but there’s tears clouding his vision. You’re a little lighter in how you speak to him, dismantling your armor. “Because I didn’t want you to think I was a loser, I didn’t want our first time to be about that, I didn’t think you would want to… I didn’t mean to — I’m sorry, Steve.”

He marvels. You really thought that? Did he not express his care for you?

“I would’ve made it better for you. Fuck, were you even okay after it happened?”

His moral compass is extraordinary nowadays, and it does make you hesitant, but you let your fingers cup his cheek. “It was the best. You were the best. I wanted it to happen with you. And it’s something that I would never take back.”

Your teeth start to chatter, your own tears forming. You want to console further, to wipe away his. But you start to let your hand slip. Steve catches it, holding your fingers in his palm, wrapping his digits around to lace. His deep voice drags along each syllable, crooked and wet with emotion. “Please let me hold you before you leave?”

And god, do you want to. You’ve never needed anything more. But if you let him… You just refuse to put yourself into that place right now. You shake your head, replacing your hand with his water bottle. His tongue pokes at his cheek, he shakes his head, attempting to argue. He closes his fist around the plastic.

“I meant what I said last night. And I realize that I ruined everything, Steve.” He can’t speak, why isn’t he able to disagree, why is it like he’s drowning, running in slow motion?

“I just don’t know if it can be repaired.” By the time you slide into your car, hand over your face, arm propped to your steering wheel, body heavy into your seat, Steve finds himself worked up to the point that he can’t bear to be around you, he can’t watch this, his figure pivoting, and he returns straight into the store, booking it to the break room.

~*~

After you’ve cried for what feels like forever, embarrassing yourself, light headed with guilt, you don’t end up driving yourself home, unable to do it in this state. You make your way to a pay phone to call Nancy. How fucking ironic. What’s worse, is that she can’t make it, you find out, as Jonathan Byers pulls up in her station wagon, letting you know that she’s sorry, but she got a call back to her job. You assure him it’s fine, grateful another friend is here, at least, joining him.

He doesn’t press you. But he knows. He’s one of them that pegged it from the start, he and Nance both.

“You okay?” Is his gruff question.

“Yeah, I just have to go home.”

He says nothing else. But what neither of you see, is Steve Harrington, as he’s just getting to the doorway, regretting his decision to not go back once he realized you didn’t leave, unable to stand you being that upset and not trying to do something (if he could) — watching the affection Jonathan Byers extends your way, and your rejection of any reluctance to accept it. His amber eyes are smoldering, his fist clenched, every muscle rigid, heart rate firing off rapid shots.

“Steve…” Robin tries, folding in beside him, seeing his dismissal of logic, his brain switching, latching onto primal panic. “You’re at work, remember? Video tapes, acne covered boss?”

But he’s throwing off his vest in response and striding towards his car, ignoring her pleas.

[jmdbjk]

Privates First Class Park Jimin and Jeon Jungkook: Our first real look.

Jimin and Jungkook. I know, I'm being insufferable but I can't NOT dwell on them a little more. Festa activities will make us move past this so fast as things always do in BTS Army life.

But you don't realize how much is bottled up or how starving you've been until you finally get to feast on that one thing you've been missing. That didn't sound very appealing and I'm not really that pathetic (its mostly the busy-ness inside my head) but you know what I mean, right? I've missed them soooo much!

Military life seems to have been going well for them. Since January we've had very little news about them. Just military blips here and there... training with U.S. Marines... kitchen police... cooking rice... cleaning from top to bottom... learning to aim big-ass missiles and hitting targets and living on rations for a week. Even receiving recognition for outstanding service.

Almost every day I imagine them doing their daily duties and all... but there was little to go by. And that's fine. Some of those things I don't want to think about. But that's what they are doing every day.

Seeing them in real time in the flesh is very reassuring.

One thing that was noticeable to me is that Jimin and Jungkook did not look like their usual sleepy-head selves they are at that time of the morning. But they both looked strong and composed. Going to bed every night like a normal person and getting a good night's sleep is a healthy habit they will probably break the moment they are discharged.

Jimin... just wow. His hair grew out. No more buzz cut. But also, the duality continues:

Someone posted a comparison pic of Jimin's painted nails and a close up of his hands which now have what look like healed spots on his hands and knuckles and scuffed nails... I don't have the pic but it shows how he's fully immersed in his military duties. Hands do get beat up somewhat when you work with them a lot.

Jungkook looked amazing.

Jungkook's little burn scars... that damn edge of the oven or hot pan will get you when you least expect it! Got him twice too! Ouchie! I hope it didn't bother him for too long. To the infirmary!

He'll get Polyc to cover that up with a new tattoo. Or maybe design one around it to highlight Jungkook's battle scars he received while an enlisted man.

One thing they are most likely gaining now is self-confidence in the ability to do something NOT in their wheelhouse. Leading people or working with people who are not the ones they used to see day in and day out for ten years. Learning new skills, being part of a different team, doing different things can be enriching and will enhance other parts of their lives.

Not being with the people who are paid to be there to make sure they look good and every whim is taken care of....the isolation had to be culture shock for them. Knowing they are together, that center of familiarity when they are faced with something new, is a great source of comfort.

Jimin and Jungkook showed up to Jin's discharge in full uniform. I will assume they arrived together straight from their base, where they must remain in their uniforms at all times.

Hugs all around. Jimin's are the best, most heartfelt hugs.

Jimin and Tae's hug... I felt that shit. The squeeze, the "no, don't let go yet," the fullness of it. They mean a lot to each other. I know they've always been close, they've told us so, they've reminded us they speak to each other often even when they weren't working as a group.

And I'm sorry but the awkward side hug between Tae and JK was not "tHeY jUsT sPeNt TiMe ToGeThEr." Be for real. Are you fucking blind? That was Tae saying "bro, didn't realize you walked up behind me, are you not gonna hug me too?" And JK going "oh, well, ok if you insist, bro (since you won't let go of my wrist)."

No, Jimin and Jungkook did not hug each other... they just got out of the car that they rode in from their base where they live together. Where they showered and got dressed and ate breakfast together before getting in the car. It is perplexing how that is even a question I see people put out there.

There was curiosity as to whether Jimin and Jungkook were on day leave or what and initially seeing them in uniform the first assumption is that they might be only on temporary day leave and would have to return to base that evening. But then we got the group pic at the Hybe building and Jimin and Jungkook had changed clothes. From what I understand, when a soldier is on day leave, they must remain in uniform AT ALL TIMES during that day. No quick change into some other clothes for a while. REMAIN IN UNIFORM AT ALL TIMES NO MATTER WHAT. So them being in civvies tells us they are on vacation/days off. We don't know how much time they took off but perhaps they won't go back to the base until Monday.

During their days off they will probably separate and go do their own thing. Maybe they will take time to go to Busan and visit fam. Most likely, Jungkook will go check on the progress of the Itaewon house construction (the exterior of JK's new house is black and it will have a tiny balcony that faces the street and appears to have some livable rooftop space). Jungkook may visit Bam. They may visit their other friends. Since the entire group was there, they most likely shared how they were doing and most likely talked about next year.

The delulu mode has activated...

[artyandink]

amoralism | one

Summary: You and Dean Winchester are the top agents from Major Crimes. You’re also assigned as partners on the same case- a crime syndicate is running loose and buying out most of downtown New York. He hates you cause you hate him. You hate him cause you think he got in his position with his daddy’s influence. But this case is personal to one of you more than the other- and you may be getting too personal for comfort.

A/N - I said I’d post on Friday but surprise! Also, as a note, I have no intention of completely relating to realism (even though I’m pretty sure that’s a title of a chapter). This will be almost like an action/romance movie, and the format is sort of like that too.

Song Inspo: Shameless - Camila Cabello

narcissism

Fifty-Shots Bar had never had this many patrons before.

Clinking of glasses, the bellow of random toasts, tapping of the bar for another round, the whole trifecta played on loop until all those glasses came down on the counter and all the beefy men downing those drinks like water would slap the back of the tallest in the lot, forcing that dude with the unreasonably gorgeous hair to bend to their height from the pressure.

“What’s the occasion, boys?” The lady on shift, Jenna, chuckled. She was intrigued as to why the festivities were so… robust, but then one of the guys shoved the tall one forward, clapping his shoulder in a way that knocked the latter’s breath out.

“Ah, nothing.” The taller one tried playing it off, but the shorter wouldn’t hear of it. His green eyes shone mischievously as he ruffled the tall guy’s hair. Jenna’s eyes couldn’t help but trail down the patron’s, well, everything. Short blonde hair, five o’clock shadow on the sharpest jawline she’d ever seen. Lips always in a pout, daring her to kiss it away until they bruised. Casual denim shirt nothing short of tempting, as tight as a damn straitjacket over that broad, no doubt kissable chest. Arms framed in his sleeves, probably bore enough strength to throw her around like a ragdoll and he wouldn’t break a sweat.

She bit her lip. Oh Lord, this man was either from heaven or hell and she wouldn’t complain either way.

“It’s not nothing.” He laughed, shaking his head. “My brother Sam here took down a big-time multi level marketing scheme. So damn modest.” Another clap of Sam’s shoulder. However, he seemed to have clocked Jenna and her obvious admiration of his entire being, a quirk of the corner of his mouth having her knees like jelly. “What’s your name, beautiful?”

She giggled, her finger twirling her hair around her finger as if she was a little schoolgirl with her first crush. “Jenna. What’s yours?”

“Dean Winchester.” He took her hand, kissing her knuckle and letting his lips linger, smouldering eye contact sending shivers down her spine. “Agent Dean Winchester. Say, Jenna, what time do you get off?”

“When you do.” She breathed, and the low chuckle from Dean had her snapping back into her senses but also getting a very noticeable ache between her thighs. “Um, in an hour.”

Sam had already left. He wasn’t in the mood for watching very visible eye-banging.

Champagne. Chauvinists. The classic fancy, downtown party hosted by a family that owned half of Chicago. Flashing lights, a pair of eyes on you at all times… it was rather an overwhelming feeling, one that you couldn’t shake.

You didn’t know whether to feel confident or hunted in the red dress that you wore, satin and navy and with an open back- all things nice and very attractive to men. Your makeup and blonde (for today) hair done like a movie star and getting the attention of every man in the room, regardless of age.

“And who might you be, sweets?” A very Southern accent drawled from behind you, and you turned around, making a show of playing the innocent yet extremely attractive and mysterious lady at the most extravagant birthday party you had ever seen.

You were playing a stereotype. You hated stereotypes.

“Anna Raleigh.” You responded smoothly, and he seemed to buy it, taking your hand and kissing the knuckle, the creepy eye contact urging you to snatch your hand back and scrub it with an antiseptic wipe.

“Miss Raleigh, you are a work of art. Name’s Matthias Aldrich.” He practically purred, and that sent a cold shiver up your spine.

You put on a polite, smitten smile, though you were inwardly rolling your eyes. “Thank you, sir.”

Matthias tucked a strand of your blonde hair behind your ear. “I’ve always been fond of women who are the golden type of blonde. Hope this is natural.”

You took a crouton from a passing tray, popping it in your mouth and chewing on it, answering once you’d swallowed the bite. You’d done it quick because you could see this dude’s eyes on your lips as you chewed. “I say, these croutons are quite dry, no?”

The door to Jenna’s apartment burst open, her and Dean stumbled in, lips locked, door closing with a well-timed click and moans echoing amid breathy sighs. Dean’s jacket fell just as Jenna’s fingers tugged on his hair, causing him to jolt and let out a growl, groaning as he bent to kiss her neck. “Just like that.” He murmured, nipping and assaulting the tanned skin. Only detaching to pull her skimpy tank over her head, revealing a hot pink, lace bra.

She’s freaky. He liked that.

“You like?” She breathed, ample chest heaving as her teeth worried her bottom lip, batting her eyelashes. Putting on a show for him.

“Mmh.” He hummed, nodding before he reached for the clasp, effortlessly undoing it. It fell to the floor, and he clicked his tongue with a grin. “Better.”

“Much.” She purred, kissing him hotly and leading them to the bedroom.

Pushing.

Pulling.

Grinding.

Jenna’s legs wrapping around his waist, courtesy of Dean putting them there. Moans. Groans. Whimpers. Cries and low mutters of each other’s name. The room heating up and pulsing with enough pressure to forge a diamond.

The bed creaking. Headboard banging. High pitched moans that belong in a porno. Groans of ‘just like that’ and whines of ‘right there’ and ‘don’t stop’.

Not even after a minute after your comment about the dry croutons, the building was stormed. Armed personnel burst through every exit, holding up automatics and yelling for everyone to get their hands up, while you were taken by the arm by one of the people yelling ‘FBI! Hands where we can see them!’ and dragged in a way which appeared rough.

You were led kicking and screaming into a side van, and the moment the door slid shut, you snapped out of it, pulling the wig off. “About time, eh, boys?”

“At least we got your signal.” One protested, while another snorted.

“Dry croutons? Really?” He rolled his eyes, spinning on the chair, raising a pointed eyebrow at you. “With all due respect, it could be something less outlandish.”

“Then it would be too easy to miss, Velasquez.” You retorted, grabbing a makeup wipe and beginning to practically scrub it all off. Also taking an antiseptic wipe and a bottle of hand sanitizer to rid your hand of Matthias Aldrich’s lips. “And since when do I work like I’m a basic, sweater wearing, background blending Gertrude?”

“She has a point, Velasquez.” One agent quipped as he went by. You pointed after him with a smirk.

“Willis gets it.” You grinned, shrugging. “Why can’t you? Have a heart, Velasquez.”

“Yeah, have a heart.”

“Shut up!” Velasquez yelled after him, and got the middle finger from Willis in response.

“You ready to report to the CO, Agent?” Willis asked you, passing you a mug of coffee, which you gratefully sipped.

“When am I not?” You chuckled, letting the warm liquid wash over your throat. “Now, I don’t care what you two clowns do, I need these guys behind bars for two lifers at least. I’ve been hunting down these sons of bad mothers for months. I’m not having any slip ups, no buy ins nor outs. Every. Exit. Sealed.” You looked between the two with an intense glare, no nonsense and all business. “Am I clear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Morning afters were always hard for Dean. He had a rule that he followed to the T.

Mind blowing sex? Doesn’t matter, leave before he gets attached and she gets hurt.

“Sorry, Jen, I’d stay, but I’m late for work.” He hurriedly buttoned his denim shirt, trying not to get distracted by the sight of the girl in the sheets, naked body only a thin layer of cotton away.

All he had to do was peel it.

“Aw, handsome, I thought you’d stay for round six.” Jenna giggled, looking him up and down. Inside, Dean was rolling his eyes in frustration. They always got clingy after the best night of their life. Then again, that was purely his fault.

“I would, trust me, darlin’.” He cleared his throat, walking into the living room and finding his jacket and keys, along with his belt. That was important.

Jenna stepped in as well, clad in a silk robe that made her look no short of delectable. But he had to resist. Stick to the damn code. “Y’know, I’m a sucker for a man in uniform.”

She was trying a hit. God, she was trying hard. Dean had to physically resist going back for another hit. She was clingy, sure, but there was a huge double standard there.

“Are you, now?” He smirked, running a hand through his messy hair. “Careful, sweetheart, or I might sextuple dip.”

“Maybe I want you to.” She winked, and it had him chuckling, looking down and then back at her.

“Tempting. Very tempting.”

You stepped into the office, your heels making small taps on the floor as you went, signing in and showing your ID at the register before making your way inside. You’d been told to take a rest for a few days before you returned to your post in the HQ at DC, but who were you to listen?

And everyone knew it too, because the very moment you stepped inside, you were greeted with a show of applause and cheers from your colleagues. “Tenth drug ring of your career.” Agent Lafitte clapped your shoulder, chuckling. “You’re on a roll, sister.”

“Cool it with the flattery, Benny, I’m on a time crunch.” You snorted, shaking your head and holding a hand out for a case file, which was dropped into your hand as you continued walking.

“Hi.” There was a blonde girl beside you, hair pulled up into a ponytail, presumably the one who handed the fine to you. “Agent Jo Harvelle. I used to work narcotics, but they’re giving me a trial in Major Crimes. I was told by the CO to shadow you, so I can get a good sense of the ropes.”

While looking through the files, you glanced up at Agent Harvelle, seeing the eager look on her face. Rather like you when you started, and the eager ones made good agents. With a little tough love. “Yeah, a’ight. CO’s called me for a briefing, so it’ll be up to him whether you stay or step out.”

“About that drug ring you busted?” She grinned. “I was told. By practically everyone. How are you that skilled?”

“Ain’t my first rodeo, hon.” You smirked as you reached the boss’ office, rapping twice on the door with your knuckles and earning a polite ‘come in’.

That you did, finding your superior officer, Senior Agent Robert Singer, standing behind his desk, nose deep in a file while his ear was being talked off by… oh, boy.

Agent Winchester.

“So I quickly take my gun, aim it between his eyes,” He held up finger guns and aimed them to prove his point, completely disregarding your arrival, hideously typical, “and I said ‘hands up or I’ll reenact Rambo’. Genius, am I right?”

You cleared your throat sharply.

That got Agent Winchester’s attention, his green eyes zeroing in on you and giving you memories back that you tried to dispose of in the first place. A smirk twitched at those lips that were once too close to be professional before they stretched into a grin, pearly whites flashing. “Mornin’, Agent. Surprised to see you here.”

“I could say the same thing.” You pressed your lips together (and your thighs, but you’d never admit that), turning to Agent Singer instead. “Should I leave Harvelle outside, sir?”

“That’s ideal.” Singer nodded, so you signalled to Harvelle to stay outside as you closed and locked the soundproof door. You passed the file on the Brierson drug ring to him, which he checked over. “Impressive work, as always. This’ll land them behind bars for sure.”

“Always the perfectionist, aren’t you?” Winchester quipped, arms folded across his chest with a smug smirk. Your brow twitched; you knew exactly why he was highlighting that word in bold, italics, whatever he was intending to do. You’d just rather not think about it.

You scanned him over, adding all the facts in your head. His shirt wasn’t ironed. Belt was wonky. Hair looked like it had a comb desperately run through it but failed to tame it. Faint hint of something red you recognised as a lipstick smear on his jugular and a sliver of a purple bruise that disappeared under his collar. Which was hastily pulled up. His tie done in the simplest knot ever and still looked tragic.

He got here in quite the rush.

“Nice night?” You shot back, a full smirk tugging at your lips and making his drop. He gave you a look which blatantly said smartass, while you proudly notched that win on your belt.

Singer looked between the two of you before tapping his desk. “Entertaining, but not why you’re both here. We’ve found ourselves in a fix. Franz Brierson wasn’t at that party.”

Your blood ran cold. That guy was the big boss, the guy who started it all, got everyone on his payroll. If he was loose… but he couldn’t be loose. Unless you didn’t check?

“I’ve been looking into it for the past five hours. That’s right, I got here early.” Singer huffed out a breath. “There’s a chance that our big boss was notified beforehand. A mole that told him we were coming.”

“A mole. In the FBI.” Dean muttered, now serious as he rubbed a hand into his mouth. “We’ve been clean for years.”

“It’s the only explanation.” You piped up, shaking your head as you began to pace. Heels tapping, Dean’s eyes fixating on the sway of your hips and your ass in that getup at the wrong goddamn moment. “That operation was airtight. No room for error. Only someone on the inside could have leaked that info.”

“You two are the best Major Crimes has. Most arrests, most drug and crime busts I’ve seen on a record in all my years of being here.” Singer folded his arms, looking between the two of you. “I don’t know the whats, whens, whos, hows, whys of what happened when you two were last assigned on a case together, but I need this operation to stay in this circle right here.” He faced you. “When you’re working this case, Agent Harvelle can’t be there. It’s gonna be hard to shake, but you can handle it. As for you,” Singer shot an exasperated look at Winchester, “look presentable!”

“I look hot.” Dean pouted, now holding his jacket over his shoulder with it hooked on his index.

“Hot isn’t FBI. Go sort yourself out, or I’ll get your brother to do it. I need to oversee operations.” Singer left the room and the tense air between you and Dean, which you faced head on.

“So,” You started in a lilting voice, which he recognised instantly as your teasing tone and prompting an eye roll before the words left your lips, “was she good?”

“Shut up.” He groaned, shaking his head as he pulled his suit jacket back on. “None of your damn business. It’s an intimate exploration, not exhibitionism.” He lowered his voice so you couldn’t hear. “Though she’d probably be into that.”

“Are we calling sex an intimate exploration now?” You scoffed lightly, laughing afterwards. “You’re such a sappy romantic.”

“Asshole.” He shot back. Two can play, Winchester.

“Dumbass.”

“Smartass.”

“Jackass.”

“We gotta stop using ‘ass’ in every sentence.” He groaned, running a hand through his hair and picking up the file to busy himself. But the file was picked out of his hands, left carelessly on the desk, your lips claiming his something sinful.

Something that had him moaning, gripping your hips and his mouth soft, pliable, agreeable to your every want and need. He was all yours, and that was all it took to silence him.

Well, not really silence him, but details weren’t necessary. Not when your plush lips were pressing against his neck like that. Hot, open mouthed. Insistent. Rousing. Dizzying. Intoxicating.

He’d be damned if he ever got enough.

His shirt was soon hanging open, tie discarded as the marks of that sexy lipstick shade littered his torso, and he wasn’t complaining. He definitely wasn’t complaining when you sank to your knees, unbuckling his belt as your tongue traced his abs. Didn’t dare when his slacks pooled to the floor, boxers dropping next, his hand tangling in your hair as-

“Hey.” Your fingers snapped in front of him, taking him out of his delightful daydream, however ill-timed. He swallowed, giving himself a once over. No tie discarded, no shirt undone, no lipstick marks and definitely no you looking so sexy on your knees for him. Having him whine for you.

That was a thought worth biting his lip to.

“You with me?” You continued, and upon his shaky nod, you gave him a weird look before continuing on with your briefing. He inwardly wiped sweat off his brow, thankful to whatever god was watching for the lucky save.

You were sipping a late-night decaf coffee as you contemplated the case again, dressed in your worst-looking pyjamas with an old tea stain on the front and fuzzy socks. Had you scoped the party properly, you could’ve clocked if big man Brierson was actually there. But he’d known, he’d known, and now everyone in Major Crimes was under investigation.

By you.

Well, and Agent Winchester, but you’d rather not think of him. You’re actually not quite sure what happened between you two, all that you broke your own rules for your heart to be broken too. You focused on your job, he had fun. Your cycle went that way.

You’d find a new case, he’d find a new girl. Both to busy yourselves so you wouldn’t have to think about each other, which worked until now.

You got a phone call, and you mindlessly picked it up, irritated as you were pulled from your contemplative thoughts. “What do you want? I’m busy.”

‘Dean, so nice to hear from you.’ You heard, his voice mimicking yours before switching back to his. ‘Wow, Agent, colour me surprised; it’s nice to hear from you too. How are you, Dean? I’m perfectly fine, sweetheart, how are you? You’re so polite.’

“Do I sound like someone to engage in small talk right now?” You deadpanned among chuckles at his own joke, putting your dinner - leftovers - in the microwave. God, you weren’t in the mood for this.

Eventually his snickers subsided, and he cleared his throat as you set the mug down. ‘Duly noted. You’re boring. Anyway, about the mole case. I think we should meet up in the office tomorrow to draw up a list of potential suspects.’

You took your warmed dinner, placing the phone between your shoulder and ear as you stabbed the spaghetti with a fork, chewing as you spoke. “And I think you’re insane. That’s the place we’re casing. Why in the hell would we start drafting up names there?”

You heard Dean clear his throat at the end of the line. ‘Right. Got it. My place?’ Truth is, Dean had been hoping you’d say anything but ‘let’s not draft at the office’. He was scared he’d lift you up on the nearest surface and do what he hadn’t the previous time, mark you, claim you and then let you claim him, mark him, wreck him. He didn’t know what you two were, or what you’d become.

Maybe strangers with very intense, deep seated sexual tension.

“What time?” You asked through yet another bite of spaghetti. You weren’t about to forgo dinner for this dude, cordiality be damned.

‘Tomorrow, straight after hours, just head to my place. Does that work for you?’

“Mm, yeah.” You nodded, setting down your plate to quickly note it in your schedule. “See you then, Agent Winchester.”

‘Call me Dean.’

“Agent Winchester.” It was the least you could do after how things got last time. Again, you’d rather not talk about it.

You walked into the DC office after registering, briefing with Agent Singer before heading to the break room, where you found Trainee Agent Harvelle, Trainee Agent Kevin Tran, Agent Benjamin Lafitte, Agent Garth Fitzgerald and Agent Sam Winchester.

You knew Sam. He was a damn sight more respectful and less… Dean-esque than his older brother. Smarter, yet less effective on brute force raids. For that, you needed Dean Winchester. Anything research, or hacking into databases, Sam was your guy.

“Agents.” You smiled awkwardly, not knowing how else to greet them as you went straight for the coffee pot. Thank the Lord for the petition to make the standard of coffee in that jug better that got the vote from every damn person in the department.

HR and Maintenance can suck it.

“Agent.” The rest of them replied, identically sipping cups of Joe.

“Agents.” Singer walked in, holding a file. “Briefing room. Now.” He walked out, and you all followed suit, taking your coffees with you because you needed the caffeine to sustain your brains. Once you all stepped into the briefing room, where Agent Winchester and Agent Nick Garrison were waiting.

Singer grunted, pulling up a slideshow on the board. “Let’s get this over with.” He showed bodies, robbed banks, hostage situations. “Six occurrences of organised crime over the past four weeks. All hitting major municipalities. Now it’s our jurisdiction.”

“What have we got from the crime scenes?” Agent S. Winchester asked, brow furrowed in thought.

“Nothing but this snake logo, spray painted at every scene.” Up comes a logo of a rearing cobra.

You shrugged, quickly figuring something out. “Well, that solves half of the mystery. They want our attention.”

“It is possible.”

“I think it’s a temper tantrum.” You snorted, pointing to the board. “Look at where they’re hitting. Large cities, maximum damage, it’s a cry out for our beady eyes. Leaving a logo at the scene? Someone either wants to get caught or lead us on.”

“Sounds kinda like girls at a bar.” Agent D. Winchester snickered, but earned a weird look from everyone in the room. “What? I make my own style of analogies, don’t come at me for it.”

“Who’s on the team, sir?” Lafitte asked, the man all slow drawl, suave talk and suspenders.

You pointed to Agent D. Winchester, smirking. “Leave him out, his main interests are girls and booze.”

“Blow me.” He scoffed in retaliation, glaring at you. That was a mistake on Dean’s part, cause he started to imagine it. Oh, that memory’s vivid as hell.

“Beg for it.” You shot back, and despite the steady inflation of awkwardness, he really had half a mind to beg for it, honour be damned to hell.

Pin drop silence. Shared smirks. Uncomfortable eye contact between you and Dean, your minds going to places they really shouldn’t.

Agent Singer cleared his throat, then continued talking. “I want you,” he pointed to you, “and the two Agent Winchesters and Agent Lafitte on it, and the two trainees Agent Tran and Harvelle to shadow. You’re dismissed, except for you two.”

Didn’t take a genius to know who ‘you two’ were.

So everyone but you and Agent D. Winchester filtered out, and the moment the door closed, you were both less bickering, head chopping and heart ripping. More on business.

“This is a good chance for you two to scout for our mole.” Singer looked between the two of you pointedly. “As much unknown history as you two have, you idjits need to set that aside. For the sake of our damn Major Crimes unit. Narcotics will give me hell if I don’t sort this out. And the board of directors will be less pleased that we’ve been compromised.”

“We understand, sir.” You nodded, understanding how goddamn serious this was. Lives were on the line. Your jobs, the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s maintained integrity. “We can put aside our differences, can’t we, daddy’s boy?” You smirked at Dean, then pretended to realise that you’d made a mistake. “Oh, my bad. Agent Winchester.”

Dean resisted a clapback with all his might. He didn’t care if their CO was right there, he’d bend you over this desk and show you who’s really in control here.

That would wipe the smirk off those pretty lips. Replace it with his claim over you.

“So, Dean, I wanna know.” Sam smirked, cracking open a beer and passing it to his older brother. “What’s with you and her?”

Dean scoffed, sipping the beer and shaking his head. “I’m asked this fifty times a day. There’s nothing going on here. We’re work colleagues. She’s incredibly annoying, and grating, and infuriating, and I’m extremely handsome.”

That got a wider smirk from Sam, a knowing one. “You knew who I was talking about.”

That caught Dean out, and he furrowed his brow in confusion. “Say what?”

“You have so many girls in your life that half of your contacts are women.” Sam raised an eyebrow, then chuckled. “But you knew who I was referencing first try.”

“Humour me, Sammy.” Dean grimaced, folding his arms. “How do you label intense sexual tension that was almost acted on yet it almost broke our personal set of rules? Hm? Thought so.”

“So, she’s kind of like an old flame.”

“That flame ain’t lit.”

Sam nodded slowly, giving a breathless chuckle and an inclination of his head. “Yeah. Sure.” He stepped out of the room to head upstairs, which alerted Dean of the implication. He rolled his eyes, throwing his hands up in the air.

“Hey! Sammy!”

NEXT UP:

“Oh, honey, such a flirt!” You laughed in a posh accent, mimicking your mother’s laugh to the best of your ability while you swatted Dean’s chest. He smirked at the look in your eyes, because goddamn was it obvious that you hated this.

“Darlin’, I can’t help myself around you.” He turned to the other charity goers with a proud smirk, gesturing to all of you. “Can’t keep my hands off my gorgeous wife. Might have to have something off the menu for dessert, if you catch my drift.” He winked at some elderly ladies, who giggled and waved him off.

“Such a charming boy.” One cooed, obviously eyeing Dean up with poorly restrained envy. While you looked around for your target, you missed the way Dean’s eyes travelled down your body in that form-fitting red dress, v-neck, v-back, thigh slit where he knew you had a thigh holster strapped in, all the good stuff. And his eyes were on those scarlet heels.

He was imagining ramming into you with those sexy things on. And that dress, well, it’d be off in second if he had the chance. And that lipstick? Well, it’d be smeared and leaving prints on his neck, chest, abs and- that’s going a bit too unprofessional.

Like, comment or reblog! I’d love to hear your feedback. Comment if you want to be added to the taglist.

TAGLIST:

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To be added to any character’s taglist of mine, find my form on my master list.

[wynn-ing]

Finally have everyone done, which means I can post my Slay The Princess x Spire: The City Must Fall au!! info below the cut <3

So! These are the classes of all of the voices in the order they appear above! Smitten: Idol (artist and performer whose art is, in itself, black magic). He's a fairly popular performer, and he's sung on stage with Damsel a few times. Ended up joining the ministry because Hero took some exaggerated story of his as fact and decided to recruit him to 'rescue' Damsel from her 'evil employers' (Smitten made this up and has no idea how to break it to Hero that he was just venting and now it's been months and he's in far too deep) Hero: Firebrand (by the people for the people type). He's the leader of the entire set by default, since he's the only one who literally everyone likes and agrees with. Cold: Mortician Executioner (works for the government to 'fix paperwork' wherein the paperwork says someone is dead and they happen to be alive). Spectre is a benevolent spirit who shares a body with him, and the two of them can happily switch places and take turns with the body. Wraith, on the other hand, is a weapon bound by cruel magic to his heart, who can hurt everyone except for him and is mad about it. Opportunist: Gutter Cleric (cons the gods themselves). Very skilled at convincing godlings and sewer-angels that he's tooootally devout by using the right prayer buzzwords to skim off the top of their divinity for petty miracles and cheap tricks. It doesn't work so well on other mortals, though. Skeptic: Vermissian Sage (eldritch train wizard). His actual official job is as a detective, so he's pretty busy. Stubborn: Knight (exactly what you'd expect but with slightly more alcoholism). He spends most his time duelling Adversary, but he's open to doing favours for his besties whenever he's not fighting her. Broken: Lajhan (Moon-clerics who sacrifice themselves and their sanity to heal their companions). They fell into the following of Tower and betrayed their goddess and their friends, and then Tower attempted to ascend by stealing their divinity and the lives of all of her least favourite followers. The event was... Explosive. This is the design from beforehand. Cheated: Inksmith (fourth wall breaking writers). Works damn hard, always has a deadline, and always keeps a gun under their desk. Contrarian: Inksmith. Plays damn hard, never has a deadline, always causes problems for Cheated, who works at the same publishing company as them.

I'm calling this au slay the aelfir and will be posting a whoooole bunch of sketches soon <3

[mybworlds]

Chapter 4: Be different

Pairing: joel miller x f!reader (no use of Y/N) | Rating: 18+ Minors DNI | W.C.: 2.5k

Summary: Your life sounds perfect: you live with a perfect man, you live in your dream house, you do the job you love, you don't miss anything, except love and passion.

Warnings: no use of Y/N, use of you, reader is a photographer, reader has no physical descriptions except hair (no type or color) long enough to hold on to, unspecified age gap, Joel and reader are two cheaters, for a while. Smut, use of pet names, dirty talk, masturbation, unprotected PiV but the first time, creampies, comeplay, oral (both f and m recieving), exhibitionism, size kink, personal use of an unspecified sex toy. No outbreak here. Let me know if I missed anything!

Masterlist

follow @mybworlds and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics

Thx for the dividers @saradika-graphics

Taglist @harriedandharassed

You laid in your bed for almost an hour, but you can't get to sleep, remorse preventing you from sleeping.

Patrick felt you tense all evening and tried to relax you by preparing a warm bath first, a massage later, and finally holding you close to him until he falls asleep. You try to close your eyes, but the image of Joel clinging to you, his crooked smile before kissing you or have sex with you haunts you all night long. When it's almost six o'clock, you text Daisy telling her you have important things to tell her, you're sure that given the hour she's still asleep, it's Monday, and you doubt she's out clubbing with some of her pilates friends.

"Honey, are you awake yet?" Patrick asks with his voice still slurred from sleep turning in bed toward you, you barely turn your torso toward him and mumble an excuse.

You are a liar.

"What's your schedule today?" he asks clutching you even tighter resting his head on your shoulder and encircling you with his arm.

"Nothing for today, in fact I was thinking of staying home," you answer him by settling on your pillow, but staying with your eyes open staring into the dark "What about you?"

"I'm going out around 10. I have to go to a company only." he replies giving you a kiss between your shoulder and neck, "Baby, I was thinking. . . what if we invited some friends over for a barbecue on Friday night?" he asks you "If you have plans, we could postpone." he adds giving you another kiss in the same spot.

You shrug caught by a shiver, "Patrick. . ." you mutter turning to him, you would like to tell him the thruth, but you know you will hurt him so much, but you have never been someone who lies, someone who keeps quiet about things of such gravity. You feel like a monster.

The guilt is eating you alive.

Patrick's lips are soft and immediately seek yours, which very shyly open, welcoming his tongue. You kiss him, but your eyes fill with tears.

How do the others betray and go on living as if nothing is wrong?

"Why are you crying?" he asks you turning on the bedside light and turning back to you worriedly, he gives you a kiss on the shoulder "You can talk to me, you know. I'm listening," he adds again.

"I know," you say bending your head toward him.

Part of you says talk to him, the other part that deep down it's true you betrayed him, but it won't happen again so why destroy a ten plus years relationship?

He wraps an arm around your waist and looks at you with sweetness and a little concern, "Love."

"Patrick, it must be that damn pill I take for my period!" you exclaim as more tears wet the pillow "Maybe among the side effects there's mood swings." you add almost sobbing and pulling up with your nose.

He holds you tightly to him, "It's okay, relax." with one arm you see him close the light and then return to wrap you in his arms "Sssh, it's okay, I'm here."

You love Patrick, but sex with Joel Miller was great.

"You had sex with the best man?!" Daisy exclaims with a smile and squinting eyes "And? Did he make you come?" she adds, almost shouting, as you shush her by looking around and hoping you haven't attracted anyone's attention, "So?" the meddler urges.

"Yes."

"Uh huh!" she exclaims taking a sip of her nonalcoholic drink "I want some sinful details, please let me dream. Jordan can only do it missionary style now! He's good for goodness sake, but I'd also like something new!" she complains, rolling her eyes.

"Don't make the same mistake I did," you comment sipping your fruity cocktail.

"Honey, between you and me there is a difference. Jordan and I are still fine, you and Patrick are in crisis even though you keep denying it." you sigh heavily "If this shake-up serves to clear your head welcome, in fact I suggest you find him again and have another greeeeat session."

"Daisy! Stop it." you exclaim, lowering your head "It mustn't happen again, in fact I hope I never see him again."

"But why? Honey, you could have had a guy who banged you on the bed to seek only his own pleasure and take the edge off, this Joel on the other hand, yes he fucked you, but he fucked you good."

"What do you know about that?" you ask her.

"You have a different light in your eyes, even if you think it's guilt." she comments, staying silent for a minute "So how many times did he make you cum?" she asks you mischievously.

"More than once."

"Oh wow, that's wonderful." she comments dreamily "He used his fingers?" she asks again.

"No."

She whistles in approval, "I want to meet him,"

"Daisy!" you scold her, squinting.

"I only want to tell him to have more meetings with you." you laugh nervously "And in what position?"

"Um. . . missionary, but he made me feel. . ." you search for words, but those words make you shudder because you don't want to feel that way and yet you do.

"Alive? Wanted?"

"Wanted." you answer.

"Will you look for him again?"

"As far as I know his first and last name could be made up, as could everything he told me about himself. After all, I did it first, I mean. . . yes I told him I was engaged, but after I had sex with him," you answer a little uneasily.

"What about him?"

"Nothing. Daisy, but he can't say anything, we're two strangers and it's normal that there's no implication other than physical between us." you reply, shrugging your shoulders. You continue to chat some more now about Joel, now about your jobs, now about some memories, finally you remember Patrick's proposal to you about the barbecue and you invite her and Jordan for Friday night, she enthusiastically accepts.

Patrick planned big things, he bought pounds of meat, potatoes, sandwiches to stuff, several bottles of beer and some wine, liquor, in short he buys anything so that your guests can leave and think they ate their fill and had a good time. You and Patrick invite many friends, those who are married, those close to marriage, those who like you are cohabiting, only a few are still single.

You devote yourself to setting up the garden by inserting among the branches of the saplings you have many small lights, you then put in just before your guests arrive even the outside speakers for some soft music to accompany you. It's perfect, it looks like a fairy tale garden.

Patrick observes as you the garden waiting for your guests by hugging you from behind, "You did a great job, my love," he says kissing you in your hair. You lean back against his chest "We did a great job" you correct him smiling.

The first guests arrive and Patrick gets to work, you meanwhile pour them drinks exchanging small talk with the two wives of your partner's friends, you show them around the house, in short you act like a perfect housewife. You bring the speakers outside and put on the playlist of soft music as you already planned, when you turn around you see yet other couples, some you know, some you don't, and then you see Daisy running up to hugging you glad to be there, Daisy is joined shortly afterwards by her boyfriend who greets you with a big hug too and a warm smile, then Jordan excuses himself and walks over to Patrick leaving you and Daisy to your chatter. Everything is going very well, Patrick cooked everything divinely, your guests are intent on drinking, eating, laughing, chatting, in short it's a very successful evening ber. You and Daisy are on one of the little white chairs in the garden and she's telling you a silly joke, when you turn to your guests and see a face you never, ever thought you'd see there: Joel Miller, assuming that's his name.

"Oh, shit!" you exclaim, suddenly giving your back to your guests as you turn fully toward your friend who looks at you puzzled, "What's going on?" she asks.

"He's here," you reply impatiently between your teeth.

"Um, he who?" she asks still puzzled.

"Him." you insist, Daisy assumes a surprised expression.

"Oh, and who is he?"

"I dunno." you reply full of fear "Why is he here?"

"Will you tell me who is among them? If you do that you draw even more attention, my friend." she says again "Oh, oh," she adds.

"And what are you doing here?" someone asks behind you.

You look with frightened eyes first at your friend and then turn toward the person who just spoke to you, when you do, you see Joel standing next to you staring at you with a frown, you turn for a moment toward Daisy, who raises her eyebrows and then says, "I'll see you later." then she stands up and after looking at Joel for a longer moment she reaches Jordan.

"What are you doing here?" he asks you again.

You get up from your chair, "I could ask you the same!" you exclaim.

"You made it!" Patrick exclaims behind you coming up behind you all smiling at Joel "My friend!" he exclaims again hugging Joel with a pat, Joel weakly returns the hug still amazed to have found you there probably "Have you two introduced yourselves yet?" Patrick continues loosening the hug "Joel, this is my better half and my love, this is my long time friend, Joel Miller." Patrick says.

You're not sure which one of you has the more surprised look on your face, the fact is you try to disguise as best you can your already prior acquaintance by shaking hands, but you immediately lower your gaze, fuck this isn't possible, this must be a nightmare.

"How are things going, Joel?" Patrick asks placing himself at your side and absentmindedly resting an arm on your shoulders.

"Not bad." he replies simply shrugging his shoulders.

"Sarah? Your little one now how old is she?" Patrick asks again.

You wander your gaze from him to Joel, Joel tries not to even dignify you with a glance "She's fine, she's fifteen and in the midst of rebellion, you know adolescence!"

The two of them give each other a small, complicit smile, "Honey, would you please go get Joel and me a beer?" you nod with a small smile at Patrick, while casting a puzzled glance at Joel.

It takes you longer than it should, you are in fact lost in thought that Joel himself has cheated on his partner, and what's more, he has a daughter! So, you should feel even less guilty. When you return to the two of them, you find them intent on laughing and shaking their heads about an incident happened in Joel's company, "Thank you, babe." Patrick says giving you a chaste kiss on the lips, a kiss you barely manage to return considering who is in front of you. "Thank you." replies Joel in a neutral tone to whom you somewhat brusquely hand his beer.

"Patrick!" Edward, another of your friends, calls him, "Come on, lazybones, there are still these sausages to roast!"

"Coming!" replies Patrick immediately, waving an arm "Love, will you entertain Joel some more while I'm gone?" he asks in a whisper.

"Why?" you ask hesitantly.

"Well, ever since his wife left with his daughter, he's always alone and I feel sorry for him." he replies causing a knot in your throat, you turn a glance toward Joel who sips his beer looking toward the small crowd "Can you do this for me?" you nod "Thanks, babe." he adds again placing a kiss on your forehead and pulling away.

You hesitate, sighing thoughtlessly. You lean closer to him, "So...you and Patrick are friends?"

"Yeah, and you and him are together." he says looking down at his beer turning the bottle over in his hands "Patrick has always been a lucky son of a bitch," he adds taking a sip of his beer "Always good grades, nice girls," he adds again "I had my good times too, uh. I don't envy Patrick, I never did." he clarifies and then finally looks into your eyes for a long moment "So, you are unhappy with Patrick, uh?"

You furrow your brow, "Don't judge me," you reply annoyed.

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are, I recognize that look," you say still piqued.

"No, you don't. Me too, I thought everything was fine with my ex-wife, and look where I am now," he continues, taking the last sip of beer.

"What happened?" you ask him taking the bottle from his hands and walking to the kitchen inside to throw the bottle away.

"The most trivial thing in the world," he tells you as you walk into the kitchen "I was so focused on work, she wanted more attention and so one day she made me find the lawyer's letter." he concludes in a sigh leaning against the kitchen cabinet "She then moved to Michigan near her parents and took Sarah away."

"'m sorry," you say laying a hand on his forearm squeezing it just barely "How long ago did that happen?" you ask again.

"Six years ago." he replies raising his eyebrows at you with a sad look "Since then, the idea of tying myself down scares me." he confesses "I can't do it, it's like disappointment, defeat blocked me." he adds shaking his head "Since then I only have casual encounters." he says again looking at you, you lower your gaze "However, usually, they are all single women. I never had sex with a busy woman or a friend's girlfriend." he clarifies again "I'm not a homewrecker. In fact, sorry if I crossed the line last time and even made you feel uncomfortable, that was not my intention."

You shake your head, "We were wrong, Joel." you add, barely squeezing his shoulder "I'm sorry if I overreacted, I knew that. . . I mean, that it was just sex, but I've been a bit hysterical."

He gently strokes one cheek and then absentmindedly touches your lower lip with a fingertip, you observe first his lips and then his eyes "If you look at me like that, we could start again." he warns you with a half smile.

"The truth is. . . on the one hand I'm regretful, but on the other. . . I loved every single moment." you admit, looking him straight in the eye.

"So do I." he says, his gaze wandering from your eyes to your lips. The situation could escalate at any moment, when interrupting everything is Patrick himself "There you are!" he exclaims enthusiastically "What's going on?" he asks, Joel immediately withdrawing his hand from your face.

"Nothing." you reply, pulling your hand away from his shoulder "Joel was just telling me about the divorce."

You look Joel in the eye for a longer moment and then turn away from him and flank Patrick.

"Bad story." comments Patrick simply "Come on, come on over. The sausages are ready to be served and the boys want to try karaoke."

"Oh, yay." you comment unenthusiastically rolling your eyes, Joel smiles at your reaction.

You and Joel don't share any other moment alone and that's okay, you don't want any of your friends or Patrick's friends to notice this connection with Joel. You just met each other, or so you make believe!

You are alone in the garden, lying on a lawn chair staring at the sky; there are quite a few stars visible that evening. In another moment, you would have run for your camera to take pictures of that beautiful starry sky, but not tonight. In fact, you think about Joel. You think that no matter how hard you try to pretend that everything is fine and that what happened with Joel will never happen again, a part of you feels, however, that it won't. Joel is not just anyone, but a Patrick's friend, and knowing Patrick, it's likely that he will invite him again to your place.

[niki-phoria]

WHEREVER YOU'RE GOIN', I'M GOIN' THE SAME

pairing: geto suguru x gn!reader (no pronouns used) genre: hurt comfort word count: 851

notes: late night smoking with suguru. that's it that's the post, loosely inspired by this fanart, my take on fix it fanfic, disclaimer that i don't actually smoke lmao, title from frank ocean - moon river

“do you have a light?”

GETO SUGURU barely reacts to the sound of your voice, simply sparing you a slight glance over his shoulder as he turns. he tucks his cigarette between his lips as he reaches into his pocket before slipping a small, black lighter into your hand. “here.”

“thanks.” the small flame glows brightly in the moonlight, illuminating the stairwell in gold. you let a cool gust of wind carry the smoke away from your face when you take a breath, closing your eyes as the nicotine fills your lungs.

“long day?” suguru’s voice is soft as it cuts through the quiet of the night. stray strands of ink black hair frame his face, exposing his sharp features. his hands are soft when they brush against your own before he tucks the lighter back into his pocket. 

you hum, returning your attention back to the moon above. it’s little more than a sliver, shining brightly in the sky above. “something like that. and you?” 

smoking wasn’t an uncommon habit among sorcerers. you had found yourself bumming cigarettes off of shoko more often than you’d like to admit - enjoying the feeling of your worries slipping away with each breath you took, health consequences be damned. 

suguru nods, though you don’t see it. he sighs softly, letting another puff of smoke filter through the air. after a moment of silence, he finally murmurs, “long… month.” 

ash filters through the air, staining the concrete near your feet. you don’t reply. there’s nothing to say. 

sorcery is a monotonous grind - one that has done nothing but wear you down. even with the help of shoko’s technique, your body aches in various places. scars litter your chest and hands from years of combat. splotches of red and purple litter your skin as bruises linger for weeks on end. 

“have you ever thought about… leaving?” suguru’s voice is so quiet you nearly miss it entirely. his gaze remains trained on the ground, studying the grooves of the concrete. you take another drag in lieu of responding, letting the ash fall to the ground below. another cloud of smoke surrounds you before the wind carries it away. “sometimes,” you finally whisper. “i think about what it would be like - having a normal life. but if i wasn’t a sorcerer, i don’t know what else i would do.”

suguru hums. he takes another drag from his cigarette; this one is longer. he pauses, letting the smoke fill his lungs before he exhales a puff of air. “i think i would go home.” 

“home?” you turn to face him, silently resting your hand against his shoulder. suguru’s body sags in response as some of the tension begins to escape from his body. “to your parents?”

he nods. “i’d go to university. a real school, for once. or maybe get a job. something dumb - like working in a convenience store or a fast food place. just enough to get by and save up some money.”

you ash your cigarette, leaning back against the cool metal stairs. you can almost see the image in your head; suguru would be happier in a normal life, you suppose. “we’d live in a shitty apartment somewhere in the city and you would spend all night studying.”

he chuckles, shifting a little closer to you. you take the chance to slip your hand into his, intertwining your fingers together. “we could adopt a pet. sleep in on weekends. spend the nights curled up watching movies and dancing in our kitchen.” suguru’s voice wavers. you tighten your grip on his hand, stroking your thumb against his knuckles.

suguru moves just a little closer. his knee brushes against yours. with a shaky breath, he whispers, “would you still love me if i left?” this time there’s an unmistakable crack in his voice. he presses the tip of his cigarette against the ashtray harder than necessary before tossing it to the side. suguru leans in, resting his forehead against your own. his hands tremble before he curls them tightly into fists. “would you come with me?”

“suguru,” you whisper. you toss your own cigarette into the ashtray before reaching up, gingerly resting your hands against his face. his skin is cold; you can feel the tiny scars that litter his body beneath your fingertips. “of course i’ll go with you.”

he closes his eyes as he leans into your touch. one of suguru’s hands wraps around your wrist. his fingers press into your palm, tracing miscellaneous shapes into your skin. in the quiet of the night, you let the wind carry your secrets away. the moon shines brightly in the sky, surrounded by the faint gleam of stars littering the sky. suguru leans in, pressing a chaste kiss against the crown of your forehead. “i love you,” he murmurs. 

“i love you too,” you whisper. 

suguru doesn’t say anything else. he doesn’t need to. his head rests against your shoulder - a comforting reminder of his presence beside you. under the cover of darkness, smoke fills the stairwell one last time before it drifts away with your promise. 

taglist (open! send an ask/dm to be added): @sunoooism @vamxpi @sad-darksoul @kamote-kuneho

if you liked this fic, please consider leaving a like, comment, feedback, or rebloging !! and if you want to support me, check out my jjk masterlist <33

[xuterboo]

Good day! Or night? It doesn’t matter, today we will have residents of Hades for analysis

Recently I found a person who posted all the (at that time) characters in full size. Why did I find this so late 🥲

However, let's get started

Some of the kings dress differently from their subordinates, but Levi decided to insert his own dress code. In Hades, strict clothing is accepted. With permission for some accessories, similar to the type of chains the King himself had. On the hand of the King of Envy you can see three sixes located in a circle. Honestly, at first I didn’t understand that this was the number of the devil. I thought it was some kind of symbol with deep meaning. But everything turned out to be simpler

Foraz and Valefor share the same clothing style. Apparently they occupy approximately or the same positions at work. The details that are interesting to me are several things: a noose on the neck, which speaks of devotion (applies to all the demons of Hades), different left boots, differing only in color and material (?) And of course capes with ropes on the sides. I don't think I particularly like Hades as a country, but the fashion there is great 😍

Foraz has distinctive details in his image: a chain on his horns and a tattoo on his cheek. What's also interesting is that he doesn't wear the chain because he's imitating Leviathan. More precisely, not only for this reason. According to Foraz, he just likes the look of the chain. And also his tattoo is his own artifact.

Barbados has a fur belt with his signature rose flower. The same pose is on his earring, and the artifact of this character is also a rose. Oh yes. And attacks too. He really loves roses. He even smells like roses. It seems he even eats them sometimes hahaha

Glasyalabolas, (Damn, I hope I didn't summon some creature while I was writing this) altogether a unique case. Judging by the medals and banners, he is a general, or any military figure. This can be judged by the carriages, a special braided rope with peculiar tassels, black and white ribbon and, in principle, more luxurious clothing. Fighters get paid a lot, especially in high positions.

I want to say that his artifact, the raccoon, does not suit him at all. He's a menacing killing machine. What, the hell, a stuffed raccoon??

The name Glasyalabolas is made into 2 words and one French article "La". As we know, people took many things from hell, and France is the embodiment of Abbados, the land of lust (We can judge this by the names of the demons from there). In that case, my question is, what did you forget in Hades? The vibe from this character suits the place though.

By the way, Hades itself represents the architecture of England, somewhere in the Victorian era. Absolute monarchy and complete submission are very similar to this country

[myobsessionsspace]

He could never have been a villain, never anything but the greatest hero, leader, man on the show…

no matter how you word it

Now I don’t usually post much on Rick Grimes alone, cos Queen Michonne takes up all of my heart. This is Danai & Michonne (and Richonne) stan Space FIRST💅…

BUT I stan Richonne and can stan them DOWN because one half of Richonne is WORTHY of Michonne.

Second to Michonne, Rick is my favourite character. Why am I lying it’s their unborn baby(s) conceived during TOWL ep 4😜

Rick was the ‘officer friendly’ the ‘by the book’ family man, didn’t lose his temper with his wife to the point that THAT annoyed her, loved his son inside out and sideways. Did his job with everything and took a bvllet for it.

In the new world, though many bumps along the way, people he butted heads with, power plays, differences had with words and fists. Ultimately this man took charge and led people, protected people, sometimes from themselves and NOT by preying on the week, selling them out or culling them. NOT by lying and backstabbing, siding with the bigger bad, imposing a tax and enforcing a rule by fear, follow my rules or die by my hand, violence against any and all.

remember how and why Dwight’s face ended up that way 😑 why the women are dressed and distressed, why the doctor was there and what happened next? Why we even sweated The Saviors for too damn long?! The plain difference between what someone chooses to do and what they do when they have no choice or what they chose to do because they feel it must be done.

No, RICK GRIMES stuck his neck out for people he knew for days, weeks or months. He would do for someone he met a week ago the same as someone he’d known for years.

Pillow talk after risking their necks to helps several communities survive including people that tried to take their lives and their community

He protected and loved a child as his own, protected and loved the wife that created said child with his BEST FRIEND & PARTNER. Some wouldn’t, many wouldn’t.

Along the way he turned strangers to family, protected himself and others with everything he had in him. Used his bare hands and mouth to the end lives of those trying to end his and his loved ones.

Never once gave up on his children, after every antagonist that he encountered he they took a little more from him, broke him a little more, the last even took him from his family for YEARS, left him physically disabled trying to be with his family.

Rick Grimes may have blood on his hands, HIS INCLUDED, but it has always been to protect or defend his family, protect or defend those that couldn’t. He started out as a Sheriff’s Deputy and ended up a Survivor. The only person that he ever can be compared to as the other side of the same coin is the other half of his heart, Michonne.

No other character man or woman, dead or alive, on the show or a spin off, a protagonist or antagonist can rightly and justifiably claim that.

different leaders then RICK flaws and all

It’s impossible to make Rick Grimes into a villain, to liken him to one, because at his core Rick Grimes is just a loving father, a loving husband, partner and friend, a protector and a survivor. NOT at the cost of others but for the benefit of others. He puts others first each and every time.

That’s why his character is THE main character. Why he is one of the most loved characters active or not and why his & Michonne’s continued story is THE MOST SUCCESSFUL ❤️‍🔥

[permanentswaps]

Fun During The Swap Flu - Post Pandemic

Two Years Later:

It’s been two years since the swap flu outbreak, and the world has mostly gone back to normal. There's a vaccine now, and swaps are rare and usually short-lived. The swap-back rate is now at about 99.97%, which the experts say is good enough.

I’d have to agree – but not for the reason most people do. As you might have guessed, I’m part of that (in my opinion very lucky) 0.03%.

If we're being honest, I pop a boner everytime I think about it.

My brother Roger has taken it hard. He’s protested nonstop, dragging us to doctor after doctor. “It’s just not fair,” he’d say, frustration clear in his voice. “We’re supposed to swap back like everyone else!”

“I know, Roger,” I’d reply, feeling a mix of guilt and helplessness. “But the doctors keep saying there’s nothing they can do.”

Each visit felt like a rerun. We’d both introduce ourselves as Jared, which left the doctors baffled. Cases like ours, where one person wanted to swap back and the other didn’t, were rare to say the least. Every time, the doctors would conclude the same: “There’s no known solution. You’re in that rare percentage where the swap appears permanent.”

Outside these appointments, I’ve hidden the truth that I’m a “long swapper.” I lied to my friends, claiming we’d swapped back. Whenever Roerg tried to reconnect, I’d tell them, “He’s struggling with being in his old body again. Can you blame him?” I’d flex my muscles playfully, and they’d laugh along with me.

Alex, one of my new friends, once remarked, “Man, you kept yourself in amazing shape. I get why he's having a hard time giving it up.”

“Yeah, who wouldn’t?” I replied, flexing my arm and grinning.

In truth, even if they find a cure, I’m confident that at this point nobody would believe him to swap us back anyway.

Then there’s Arthur, that guy who was in my DMs when I first got this body. At first, I was just exploring and looking for a quick fuck. Arthur’s profile caught my eye, and his first message was direct: “Damn, you’re hot.”

“Glad you noticed,” I replied, feeling a thrill of excitement. Once I got over the paranoia of quarantine, we met up. And the chemistry was immediate. We spent hours talking and fooling around, and I found myself wanting more than just a casual hookup.

Eventually, I realized I was in Jared’s body permanently and decided it was okayto pursue a serious relationship with Arthur. One evening, after a romantic dinner, I decided it was time to take the next step. We were cuddled up in bed, the room dimly lit, creating an intimate atmosphere.

“Arthur,” I said, my voice a mix of excitement and nerves. “I’ve been thinking... I don’t want this to be just casual anymore. I want us to be official.”

Arthur’s eyes widened slightly, then softened. “You mean it? You really want to be with me, just me?”

“Absolutely,” I said, my heart pounding. “You mean so much to me. I want to make this real.”

Arthur’s response was a deep, passionate kiss. “I’ve wanted this too,” he murmured against my lips. “I’ve fallen for you, Jared. Completely.”

That night, our intimacy reached a new level. As we kissed, Arthur’s hands roamed over my body, and I felt his touch ignite every nerve. “I want you,” he whispered, his breath hot against my ear. “I want to be inside you.”

“Yes,” I breathed, my body trembling with anticipation. “Please, Arthur.”

Arthur positioned himself between my legs, his eyes never leaving mine as he slowly entered me, filling me completely. The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect blend of pleasure and connection. “You feel amazing,” he groaned, his hands gripping my hips tightly.

“You too,” I gasped, my body arching in response. He began to move, his thrusts slow and deep, each one sending waves of ecstasy through me. His lips found mine in a searing kiss, our breaths mingling as we moved together.

As his pace quickened, Arthur’s hands slid up to my chest, his fingers teasing my nipples. “You like this?” he asked, his voice a low murmur filled with desire.

“Fuck, yes,” I moaned, my body responding eagerly to his touch. His fingers pinched and rolled my nipples, sending electric jolts of pleasure straight to my cock. I could feel the tension building, a tight coil ready to snap.

Arthur’s thrusts became more insistent, his hands working my nipples with expert precision. “I want to make you cum, Jared,” he whispered, his voice commanding yet tender. “I want you to cum just from this.”

“Oh God,” I groaned, my hips bucking as the pleasure became almost unbearable. “Arthur, I’m so close…”

“Cum for me,” he urged, his eyes locked onto mine. His fingers twisted my nipples just right, his thrusts hitting that perfect spot inside me.

With a final, powerful thrust and a twist of his fingers, the coil inside me snapped. I cried out, my body shuddering violently as I came, my cock pulsing and twitching without a single touch. The intensity of the orgasm left me breathless, my head spinning with the sheer force of the pleasure.

Arthur groaned, following me over the edge as he filled me, his body trembling with his release. He kissed me deeply, capturing my moans with his lips, and I felt a profound connection in that moment – a perfect melding of our bodies and souls.

As we lay there, our bodies still entwined, I looked into Arthur’s eyes and saw the same contentment and love I felt. “You’re incredible,” I panted, my heart still racing. “I’ve never felt anything like that.”

Arthur smiled, brushing his lips over mine. “You’re pretty amazing yourself,” he murmured, his eyes shining with affection.

---

Our relationship continued to grow, and soon Arthur’s work contract was nearing its end. “I have to move back to Buenos Aires,” he said one evening over dinner. “But I want you to come with me.”

“Buenos Aires?” I echoed, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. “What would I do there?”

“There’s nothing tying you here, right?” he asked, squeezing my hand. “We can start fresh there. You can find work, and we can build a life together.”

“I’m ready for this adventure,” I said, a thrill of excitement running through me. “Let’s do it.”

The next few weeks were a whirlwind of preparations. I got a new passport, and we packed our bags, each item a reminder of our life here and a promise for the new one we were about to build. The night before our flight, we lay in bed, wrapped around each other, the anticipation electric between us.

“Tomorrow, everything changes,” Arthur whispered, his fingers tracing patterns on my chest. “Are you nervous?”

“Maybe a little,” I admitted, my hand resting on his. “But I’m also really excited. I can’t wait to start this new life with you.”

Arthur’s eyes sparkled in the dim light. “You’re going to love Buenos Aires. The culture, the energy – it’s intoxicating. And I can’t wait to show you everything.”

Our lips met in a slow, passionate kiss, and soon we were lost in each other again, our bodies moving in a rhythm that had become so familiar and yet still so thrilling. That night, Arthur made love to me with an intensity that spoke volumes about his feelings. As he thrust into me, his hands roamed my body, his touch both tender and possessive.

“I want you to remember this,” he murmured, his breath hot against my neck. “I want you to feel me with you as we start this new chapter.”

“I will,” I gasped, my body arching into his touch. “I’ll always remember this.”

As Arthur moved inside me, his hands found my nipples, teasing and pinching them in a way that sent shivers of pleasure through me. I felt my orgasm building again, the tension coiling tighter with each thrust. “Arthur,” I moaned, my voice breathless. “I’m so close…”

“Let go for me,” he urged, his voice husky with desire. “Cum for me, Jared.”

With those words, I let go, my body surrendering to the pleasure. The orgasm that followed was intense and overwhelming, a perfect culmination of our connection. Arthur held me close as we came together, our breaths mingling, our hearts beating in unison.

As we lay there, spent and satisfied, I knew I had made the right decision. Buenos Aires was just the beginning of our adventure, and I couldn’t wait to see where it would take us.

[nights-at-crystarium]

Hi!! I just started using tumblr and I don’t really know how these work, but I just wanted to say I absolutely adore your art!! I joined this platform for FFXIV content and you were one of the first accounts I found and DAMN is your stuff awesome. Admittedly I’ve only seen the more recent stuff, I’ve gotta go back and binge read your comic T_T but I freaking LOVE what I’ve seen. Vivi’s design is fantastic and the way your art style flows is just super pleasing to look at. Anyways, hope things get better!! And have a good day/night :D

Hiiiii and welcome to the hellsite o/

Idk about other platforms and other people's takes on this, but personally I appreciate it when I see a storm of notifications indicating that someone's just found me and LOVED what they found, to the point of digging down to older posts. It's not nosey or anything to me, on the contrary, it makes my work feel more permanent. So yeah feel free to do that if you wanna.

Also here are some early doodles of Vivi, posted in chronological order. The Shapes (tm) took time to form!

Thank you for the kind words, and have a wonderful day too~

[okeiglxg]

Day 4 of recommending 5 fanfics about the JLA meeting the Batfam with plus one. I missed two days which is yesterray and the day before that so sorry if day 4 is late!!

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

Why Bruce shouldn't try to drink in pace with superhumans written by SolaceInSpace

- 2,309 words, 1 chapter, completed

- no ships

Summary- In all fairness, Bruce hadn't intended to get drunk. It was an accident. He could not be blamed for this. So what if he accidentally let slip the fact that he had kids? Bruce is at no fault at all. It was the JL's fault for asking so many damn questions.

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

Bats and Birds written by Lazy_Art_Girl

- 3,464 words, 2 chapters, completed

- No ships

Summary- After the Justice League formed, members soon figured three things out about Batman:

1. He was one of the smartest individuals any of them had ever met.

2. He had no powers, be it meta, alien, or mystical.

3. He was surprisingly good with children.

Seeing #3, the members discuss among themselves how they think Batman would be such a good dad. Soon they develop a plan to let Batman know this. Little do they know that its a bit too late for that.

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

better things to do written by ThatNerdNextDoor23

- 4,224 words, 1 chapter, conpleted

- no ships

Summary- It's important." Batman grit out. Superman scoffed, "More important than discussing the safety of the planet?" He questioned. "Yes." Bruce hissed, without hesitation.

Or

Bruce has a horde of sick children at home who need his love and care, Clark is dragging this meeting out way more than necessary, his son is impatient, and the Justice League learn something they never knew about the Dark Knight.

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

Not so Alone written by Blueseabird2

- 13,700 words, 4 chapters, completed

- no ships

Summary- Batman is insulted during a Justice League mission, which wouldn't be a problem except Nightwing is there to hear it. The other League members don't know this is a problem because they have no idea Batman has kids, much less that Nightwing is one of them. Bruce decides to do the only reasonable thing: go on vacation. His children probably won't burn down anything too important.

Dick just wants to defend his family and brag about his siblings. Good thing his father taught him a few things about the importance of detailed plans and talented allies.

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

Have You Seen My Kids!? Written by Cute_Bear

- 4,232 words, 2 chapters, completed

- no ships

Summary- Five Times Bruce's kids interrupted him as Bruce Wayne and One Time they interrupted him as Batman with the Justice League.

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

Plus one!!

- 1,934 words, 1 chapter, completed

- no ships

Summary- Sometimes the only way to solve an impossible riddle is to give up.

(Batkids get captured by the riddler and batman has to sacrifice one)

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

Thats all!! I might not have motivation to post day 5 tomorrow but I'll try anyway

Like the post for more! 🤍

Have an amazing day/night

[dallasgallant]

As I re-read the novel I find myself appreciative and disappointed. As it’s really damn close a lot of the time, some parts are word for word and there’s little details here and there but then it’ll loose these pretty important moments. The biggest for me being how cut down the drive in scene is. Not only because there are some funny quippy parts to it but also so much world building and character work.

The whole reason Marcia cracks her “you just burry him no sweat.” joke is because Greaser fighting is wildly complicated! It’s fascinating to how two bit explains it.

To a greaser violence becomes almost like another form of communication, blowing off steam, solving an argument- getting the anger out of the way now so there’s less grudge holding and more solidarity. They have self made rules and honor that holds them to their system of fairness. You back up your friends when they ask you but sometimes it’s their fight alone— Dally’s getting what’s coming to him for slashing those tires, they ain’t cheap and it’s a poor community. Tim will whip him and they’re back to buddies by the end of the night. Big fights, real fights - rumbles- are organized with rules and this weird sense of civility.

There’s this weird mix of “Boys will be boys” roughhouse with “got to be tough to survive” raised in violence survivalism.

Meanwhile,the Soc’s are a lot less warm with their approach to fighting its “cold and impersonal” like they handle all things. Though honestly I’d argue it’s a lot more personal— not fighting for communication but because one can or to exert power. They don’t fight fair, they hold those grudges and there’s no solidarity to that. Ponyboy describes them best as “a snarling pack”. Their violence is rooted in the same systems and misfortunes Greasers face - in that what perpetuates violence is a bit universal. The difference is a greaser will help a guy up and maybe get him an ice pack where as a Soc will just leave you in the street for the sake of appearance or dominance, it’s not enough that they beat you. Nothing is ever enough, like Cheryl mentions they can never be satisfied.

“It’s not the money it’s feeling— you don’t feel anything and we feel too violently.”

I’ll keep mentioning that quote until I’m blue in the face honestly, it goes right alongside “things are rough everywhere.” Differences stem especially from their reactions and behaviors in response to what’s rough. Some hardships are universal but don’t mishear me as a good portion of it is also class issues because the Reason a Soc might drink himself into oblivion is way different from why a Greaser might.

Beyond Two-bits explaination I’m sad we loose more of the talk between Cherry and Pony on emotions and money. How people are people and they’re all a lot more similar than one might think (despite the contrasting I’ve been doing in this post it’s very true). And talking about his brothers. In the movie it’s a little weird as he only brought up Soda once but she “feels like she knows him” and he brings up sunsets to her later in the movie and they never mentioned it here! Unless they’re trying to imply they had more of a convo on the short walk to the parking lot but I’m not buying that.

Ponyboy being resentful (not that he’s wrong for it) because how hard everyone he knows has it compared to Soc’s. How he has to learn though the novel that “things are rough all over” isn’t that everyone has the same troubles/level of trouble. As they’re certainly worse off; it’s about empathy and everyone being human. That some might be better off but that doesn’t mean they’re entirely without problems. That not everyone is out for a fight all the time.

It’s just a shame as this scene adds so much context to the world, social circles and the moral of the literal freaking novel. The compare/contrast with their lives is pretty important… I digress.

[winstonsns]

I love ur writing so, so, so, so, so much!! I was wondering if you’d be willing to write Dallas x Reader where he met reader through Ponyboy and Johnny. Like both Johnny and Ponyboy are really really close friends with reader and Dallas is curious and wants to met them and Dallas develops a little puppy crush!

Only write if ur comfortable/have time! Love ya and I’m excited to see you write more in the future! 🖤🖤🖤

can’t help falling in love (request)

authors note: i have a shit ton of requests but try to post once each day, please be patient if i haven’t gotten to yours yet! i’m so glad you like my writing, i hope you enjoy! this is my first oneshot so idk if it’s good or not LMAO 💗

dally x reader

word count: 2.6k

warnings: cussing, slightly suggestive, bob being a bitch

dally was sitting on his bed in his room, above buck’s bar when he suddenly heard a ring from the phone on his dresser. “god damn it, who the fuck could it be…” he mumbled, grumpily walking over to the phone and picking it up.

“hey, who the hell is this?” he asked, receiving a response quickly, “it’s pony. you wanna go to the drive in with me and johnny and our other friend? she’s real tuff, i’m sure you’d like her. the movie’s at 7—“

dally looked at the wall, checking the time on the clock. it was nearly 3pm, he thought for a moment before interrupting pony, “i’ll come over now, we can get some food or something before we leave for the movie.”

“see you in a bit, dallas.” he responded, dally putting down the phone and therefore ending the call. he stared at the dresser for a couple seconds before making up his mind, pulling on the drawer handle and taking a plain black shirt out, putting it over his head. he then walked to another part of his room, picking up his shoes on the floor, putting them on and grabbing his denim jacket from a hanger. he put his arms through the sleeves and walked to the door, walking downstairs, telling buck, “hey, i’m taking your car. goin’ to a friend’s house.”

he rolled his eyes before grabbing the keys from his pocket, tossing them to dally before he was on his way to pony’s house. going into the car, he wondered what you would be like, knowing you were going to the drive in with johnny and pony. as he was on the road, he couldn’t stop thinking about you, thinking about what you could look like or if he would think you’re as tuff as ponyboy thought.

by the time he was at ponyboy’s house, it was 3:30pm. he took the keys out of his car and opened the car door, closing it behind him once he got out. he walked over to the entrance of his friend’s house, opening the door since he knew it would be unlocked. “hey dally, took you long enough.” he heard someone say, recognizing it as johnny’s voice. “hey, man, how you doin’?” he asked, walking over to the kitchen where he saw johnny and ponyboy eating some chocolate cake. both of them looking at dally and nodding.

“isn’t there gonna be some broad at the drive in with you guys? what’s that about?” he asked, johnny and pony looking at each other, johnny grinning and holding his hand out to pony. he groaned and mumbled a “gotta be kiddin’ me…” and pulled a dollar out of his pocket, giving it to the dark haired boy next to him.

dally watched the whole interaction but was still confused, only after pony explained who you were, he understood the two of them had made a bet. “how have we not told you about her, man? y/n’s been our best friend for years, one of the only nice socs, we hang out like three times every week, man. have you not seen her?” pony explained, johnny answering his question and saying, “oh she’s beautiful, dallas, you’d love her.” ponyboy nodding his head, agreeing with johnny.

all three of them talked for a while in the curtis house, ranging from you, to dally almost getting put in jail again, to some fight that pony witnessed, to johnny getting beat up by a soc, then once again, back to you. time passed by quickly and before they knew it, two hours had passed, they only had an hour before they wanted to be at the drive in.

dally couldn’t keep his mind off of you, he got curious because of how highly pony and johnny spoke of you. saying you were an academic beast, the most beautiful person someone could ever meet, the funniest and best person someone would want to be around, etc. “knew each other since we were… god, what were we? oh, i was around 7 i think, she was around 10.” pony stated, bringing dally back into the conversation after he zoned out.

the rest of the hour was spent talking about you, how you, pony and johnny met and became friends. detail by detail, dally grew more and more excited to meet you, but he tried not to show it. pony and dally continued their conversation while johnny glanced at the clock, noticing it was nearly 6:30. “hey guys, it’s close to seven. think we should start headin’ over to the drive in, yeah?” he asked, the two other boys nodding, getting up from their seats and walking out the door to the drive in.

by the time they arrived, the sky was dark even though it was still early. they looked around before getting on their knees, crawling under the fence and getting their jeans a bit dirtier than they wanted. “should be in a black mustang, i think. that’s what she has, right johnny?” pony stated, wanting to have his statement confirmed by his friend first. “yeah, pretty sure. wait— isn’t it dark blue?”

the two kept bickering back and forth, looking around even though many people were there. he glanced around, remembering how pony and johnny described your features, trying to find someone who described them. the three boys were near rows of chairs, your friends still arguing about what color your car was.

dally heard footsteps walking towards his direction and a loud voice, he recognized it as someone was yelling at another person. “god, won’t you just fucking listen to me, y/n!!? you can’t be hanging out with those— those hoods, they’ll ruin you!!” a boy with curly blond hair with an alcohol bottle in his hand yelled, dally realizing he was bob, someone that johnny had described multiple times, with his rings that cut up johnny’s face.

“look, bob. we’re not even together, why do you care so much about this? they aren’t bad people, you have to understand that!!” you argued back, trying to keep your voice steady and managing not to yell at him. even though the two of you were somewhat far away, dally lightly hit johnny’s arm and pointed at you, asking, “is that your friend?” looking back at him, seeing both of the younger boys smile.

pony and johnny started to walk towards you when he stopped them, worrying, “hey, hey… seems like she’s in an argument with that one guy over there. don’t you think we should wait?” the two of them paused, staring at you, watching you and bob continue arguing, him losing his temper and screaming at you, “you’re a fucking whore, y/n! a bitch too, leaving us for some gross hoods. what, you wanna live on the streets too, huh?”

you rolled your eyes, knowing they didn’t really live on the streets, they just knew them better. they weren’t as fortunate as you and bob, as the socs. you continued letting him yell at you when you heard footsteps behind you, like they were from multiple people. when bob paused and looked behind you and asked, “who the hell are you? get lost.” spitting near the people behind you, you cringed and moved away from the spit and bob, looking behind you to see johnny, pony and a boy who you haven’t seen before.

the dark haired boy, who was a bit taller than pony and johnny came closer to bob’s face. asking, “why the fuck are you yelling at her, huh? you have no fucking right to do that, you piece of shit.” pushing bob’s chest, causing him to back up. he looked at you, complaining, “this ain’t worth my time,” slowly walking backwards then turning around to walk towards his friends.

dally turned around, seeing you already looking at him and smiling. “you’re dally, aren’t you? i’ve heard about you before. pony and johnny talk about you sometimes…” you added, glancing over to the two boys at the end. he responded, “yeah, it’s dally. so you’re y/n, huh? the boys talk very highly of you, it’s a big thing to meet you,” pausing, hearing you giggle, then continuing, “you’re pretty good looking, you know. should get to know each other better, yeah?” smirking when he saw you blush.

after the four of you reached the seats, you sat in a row, two behind johnny and pony. the two of you continued talking although the movie had already started, not even paying attention. you had learned dally had an insanely long criminal record while you had none, his parents were both shitty and didn’t care about him, but yours were perfect. he didn’t give a shit about school, meanwhile you would most likely be the valedictorian. but he wanted to attend school again just so he could see you.

even though the two of you didn’t notice, the movie had ended as quickly as it started. both of you kept chatting away before pony and johnny looked behind the two of you and spoke, “man, nearly everyone’s gone. i think we should all go home, right? don’t want your parents to be mad, right y/n? don’t wanna get grounded again.” johnny teased, you rolling your eyes playfully and agreeing, “yeah, we should probably get going.”

when you looked away, dally gave the two boys a look and shrugged, a gesture for, “what the hell was that for?!” so they shrugged back and got up from their seats. the three boys walked you over to your car, ponyboy asked you all, “so, what’d you guys think of the movie?”

you and dally looked at each other and grinned, he replied, “wasn’t paying attention.” and you nodded, agreeing, “yeah, i wasn’t either.” he lightly bumped your shoulder in a teasing manner, causing you to giggle. by the time you got to your car, you felt your mood start to change drastically, going from happy to a sense of sadness. you wanted to continue talking to dally, but were nervous to ask.

you fidgeted with your hands and looked worried, staring at the ground before asking dally, “can i have your number?” his face turned into a shade of red, nodding quickly and speaking, “yeah, you got a pen and paper?” you wondered for a second before stating, “maybe, let me check.” so you opened your car door slightly and frantically looking around, yet finding a pen and not a piece of paper. you grabbed it and shrugged, “i only have a pen… sorry…” feeling bad that you got your hopes up.

he took the pen from your hands, asking if you could roll up your sleeves, you nodded and he gently grabbed your arm. as he wrote his number on your arm, you looked at johnny and pony, smiling at them while they gave you a thumbs up. “this doesn’t hurt, right?” dally asked, checking up on you. you shook your head, suddenly you didn’t feel pressure on your arm and he handed the pen back to you. looking on your arm, he wrote his number and ‘dally ;)’ at the bottom.

you smiled at the little winking face, looking up at him to see him already grinning at you. you mumbled, “i think i have to go now… i don’t want my parents to be mad…” dally looked at you, nodding and stating, “i’ll call you in the morning, ‘kay? we should hang out tomorrow.” while you got into your car, putting the keys in.

dally bent down to the window and smiled, you beamed, “it was nice meeting you, dally… i hope we can figure out another time to hang out. thanks for inviting me, pony and johnny.” they smiled and said “we’ll see you later!!” and waved as you drove out of the drive in, going in the direction of your house.

watching your car with a bit of sadness, dally turned his head and mumbled, “let’s get you two home…” johnny and pony teased him the whole way back to ponyboy’s house, saying it was so obvious that he thought you were cute and was trying to flirt with you. “your eyes were basically like hearts, like in the cartoons when they fall in love!!” johnny chuckled, getting a playful hit on the back from dally.

by the time they reached the curtis house, johnny and pony said goodbye to dally, “we’ll talk to you later, dallas. don’t fuck it up with y/n, we don’t have to choose in between you and her!!” waving at him when he got into the car, driving to buck’s. as he walked into the bar, a girl walked up to him and said, “hey, you wanna go somewhere? there’s a bathroom over there,” she pointed, “maybe we could… bang?” she winked, dally made a disgusted face and said, “i have a girlfriend, dipshit.” and walked away, knowing he didn’t really have anyone romantically, but he wanted you.

when he was brushing his teeth and getting ready for bed, he was thinking about you. the way you talked, trying to keep your sweet voice in his head, the way you looked at him with interest while he talked. you had made him feel important for those two hours the both of you talked. he yearned for you, for your attention and love, but he thought he wouldn’t admit that to anyone, not if it was to save his life.

when you got home and walked up to your bedroom after you took your shoes off, you smiled at the writing on your arm. walking to your vanity, you pulled out a sticky note and pencil, writing dally’s phone number with a ‘dally’ and a heart next to it, underneath the numbers themself.

you changed into your matching set of pajamas and went into your bathroom, grabbing your toothbrush and toothpaste, wetting the toothbrush and putting toothpaste on it. you felt a lot different now than how you did with dallas, not even 30 minutes ago. you spit out the toothpaste once two minutes had passed, you wiped your mouth, turned the lights off and walked to your bed. you turned on the lamp that was on your nightstand, turning off your big light in the center of your room.

you and dally were both laying on your own beds, thinking about each other, both wondering “are they thinking about me too? there’s no way, it didn’t even seem like they liked me. maybe they were being nice.”

only johnny and pony knew, johnny had slept over at pony’s house while you called them, ranting to them about dally and how sweet he seemed, and when you hung up, they immediately got a call from the boy you were just talking about. he was talking about you, and for once seemed like he wanted something more than a short term relationship. he tried to make it seem like he didn’t care that much, but the two boys could tell.

authors note: yayyy my first oneshot!! i hope you liked it, sorry it was short!! ;3

[try-set-me-on-fire]

wip game: should we talk about the weather 👀

Hehehehehehe big bang fic!!! Hmm I’ll share the pitch I gave to the event artists (hehehe…)

In a world where certain individuals are capable of sharing their own instincts and feelings — and even occasionally physical strength — with their likewise capable partners, Eddie and Buck, and Hen and Chim are what people sometimes call congeneric minds. It comes in handy in a high stakes profession like firefighting to have two people in such synchronization, able to warn each other of danger without ever having to waste time opening their mouths to speak.

Being so in sync with someone doesn’t necessarily mean smooth sailing communication however. Recently back at work after taking time off post-shooting, Eddie worries about Buck and how he’s been dealing with the events of the last year (last several years, really) but doesn’t know how to bring it up when he himself has always kind of encouraged them to move past life changing events with little discussion. While Hen and Chim are getting along just fine, Chimney and Maddie are dancing around each other and their recent breakup, and Hen feels trapped between disappointing her mother or her wife while being roped into backyard wedding planning.

With danger ever present on the job and turmoil seemingly always bubbling outside it, will everyone find the right words before it’s too late?

AKA what if people could be drift compatible in regular life without giant robots, and they’re all disasters at communicating anyway

And here’s a snippet!

Eddie doesn’t get around to talking to Buck till a week later. They’re in Eddie’s house again, but Buck has started to look exhausted everywhere, all the time, nothing special anymore about the way his eyelids droop when he walks in through this specific door. It’s worse than usual today. They had a hell of a long call — a rockslide down on the PCH, outside of their usual range but it was bad enough that the responding station had called for any back up they could possibly get — and Eddie’s wrist and shoulders and whole damn body aches from the hours of grueling work. Buck has to be feeling it, too. Eddie heads right to the bathroom, grabbing the tube of arnica gel that keeps this household running some days.

He doesn’t know how to bring anything up. We need to talk feels as ridiculous as it does dire. That’s a movie script confrontation, as contrived and meaningless as it’s not you, it’s me, or I’m sorry for your loss. Buck is his best friend, and also their fucking hearts beat in rhythm. He can do better.

“My leg hurts sometimes,” is what ends up coming out of his mouth when he gets back to the living room. Your ache is mine. A little poetic, but whatever. It gets the point across. Share it with me, please. We already do, so why are you hiding it?

Buck is sprawled on the floor next to the couch, Eddie isn’t sure why. He looks up at him silently for a few moments, and then rubs at his shoulder. Answer enough. Eddie barely has to look as he tosses him the gel, sure Buck will catch it as Eddie sits on the couch with a sigh. He watches Buck, still prone, hike up his pant leg and start massaging arnica into his calf muscles.

“Are you… doing okay?” It feels stupid to say.

Buck looks at him like it’s stupid to hear, too. His fingers drum a few times over one of the jagged lines still drawn up his shin. “‘M fine, Eds. Just a long day.”

Eddie purses his lips, shaking his head back and forth in a slow roll against the back of the couch. “You know that’s not what I meant.” His hand lifts up to catch the tossed arnica without thinking about it. He looks down at Buck, sprawled out, looking back up at him. “I want to… know that you’re okay. And, Buck, I’m here if you’re not.”

Buck sits up with a sigh that’s more petulant and annoyed than Eddie wishes it was. He rests his chin on his bent knee. “I know. But I’m- I’ll be fine. Stop worrying.”

Eddie snorts at that. “Oh, yeah, that’s something I’m great at.”

Buck’s smile grows so tenderly across his face. “I know.” He twitches his right pointer finger three times and Eddie’s moves involuntarily with he tug. “Come on,” he says, standing up with a groan. “Let’s make the pizza.”

They’d bought the ingredients together — sort of together, Buck on the phone at the grocery store and Eddie and Chris shouting requests down the line — earlier that week, and Chris will be home soon from a friend’s house and likely starving from the hard work of being a twelve year old all day long. He’s old enough that the novelty of making the pizza himself is less appealing than being able to immediately eat it, even if Buck had made sad faces as he’d relayed his instructions to make it in his absence. And this is all a distraction, Eddie knows it is, but Buck is smiling down at him and his finger goes tug, tug, tug, and he lets him get away with it.