#watch band nylon

[maedreamless]

This might be a shot in the dark, but I need help with my beloved Mickey Mouse watch.

The leather band broke, and I couldn't remove the lugs so I cut off the band parts that were still attached.

Now this is how it is:

I'm not sure a regular band where you have to remove the lugs will work, so I've been looking at something like this nylon one:

This works by slipping the band through the lugs.

I don't want another leather one. Stainless steel or nylon would be best.

Anyone have any advice?

Any ideas are welcome.

Thank you.

[crestedbandsofficial]

AMAZFIT BIP | BRAIDED NYLON | RED

Our nylon Braided Elastic straps are a perfect fit for the Amazfit Bip Smartwatch. These smartwatch bands allow you to enjoy the classic look of GTS & GTR style strap without having to forego the quick-release functionality. 

Wanna read more, Click here.

[satoruhour]

HE PLAYS BASS !

a/n: modern au bc i cant handle any angst rn. i ramble a lot in this to set the scene teehee. not beta read, gn btw / tagging @crysugu @slttygeto @getousex :3

wc: 3k ish

warnings: bass guitarist!geto, soft dom!geto, he is respectful of your boundaries, both geto and reader smoke weed, shotgun kiss, sexual acts under the influence, fingering, clit stimulation, implied second round, implied cunnilingus, dry humping, praise, n*sfw under the cut

bass guitarist!geto who has had an interest in music and its instruments since being a little boy, practically begging his parents to enrol him in some guitar classes. with fingers strumming the nylon strings alongside complicated chords on the frets felt so right that since then he and his guitar have been inseparable since.

bass guitarist!geto who gets to know the guitar so well that he masters guitar solo after guitar solo, playing songs by ear in his free time and thought lead guitar was all there was to music until the age of fifteen where he stumbles across a song with a bass line that sounded absolutely heavenly — through the 240p quality of the youtube video, he watched the bassist dish out the heavy beats, always in the background yet detrimental to making the band sound complete.

bass guitarist!geto who leaped at the opportunity to buy a bass guitar with whatever money he had to purchase a Squier bass — it was a little shitty in sound but it was cheap, something affordable for a middle schooler. suguru didn’t care. he perfected the use of his bass guitar, already having the basics down from playing guitar; his room is filled with posters, picks, pieces of displaced lyrics.

bass guitarist!geto only has the chance two years later to ask his new friends if they wanted to jam out together and down the line, if they wanted to form a band. it was a clueless band of boys (with shoko of course) in some room of gojo satoru’s luxury house where his parents don’t care to ask him to keep the noise down like suguru’s parents do.

bass guitarist!geto fights to get a spot to audition for one of tokyo’s biggest music festivals a few months later. if they won they would get more recognition, more support, even if they haven’t figured out the specifics of how to operate a band. with gojo as the singer, shoko on the lead and nanami on drums, they would find out what they had.

bass guitarist!geto who breaks that stereotype of the bassist being ignored throughout a performance. he thinks it could be because of his longer hair and his newly bought gauges, and he thought he didn’t look too shabby himself — although he isn’t surprised to see most of the girls fawn over gojo as he sang lyrics of an original song, courtesy of the joint effort between geto and shoko.

bass guitarist!geto who gives judges the finger after they said they couldn’t perform originals at an audition, blacklisting them for future performances — but gojo sees it as a win when he has a hoard of new fans waiting outside to get a photo with him with autographs that differed from each paper his pen made contact with. later, he bursts out laughing when gojo says he hadn’t even thought of a proper signature yet and just ‘did whatever on their paper’.

bass guitarist!geto whose band gained popularity fast because of everyone’s good looks, singing at that same place they auditioned at, but now with repertoire under their belt. it’s then that they’re already all in university, and yet everyone’s still incredibly passionate.

bass guitarist!geto who spots you in the crowd together with your friends, jamming out to their set, but while your friends’ eyes are locked on gojo who’s loving the attention, nanami who can’t give a shit and shoko who’s too focused on her solo, you manage to draw geto’s eyes to you. he spends the rest of the set locking eyes with you, amidst other things like sending you winks and licking his lips until you’re under his spell. all throughout he doesn’t lose the rhythm, but he does slip-up from time to time and there’s a panicked look that nanami sends to geto for messing up his rhythm.

bass guitarist!geto who sees you at his next show alone, smiling up at him right at the front row while he’s trying not to mess up after the last time. this time he has a chance to show you what he’s got in a bass solo, losing himself in the music until even you fades off and you’re truly seeing the bassist for who he is. he’s easing back into the main melody of the song but not before leaning over the speakers with a knee on the floor, hovering right over you before shoko takes over and he’s back to his heavy beats.

bass guitarist!geto who brushes off the teasing after the set ends, only to be bombarded with more of it when he sees you on campus — no way you’re in the same school as him, walking around with your cute outfits and laughing along to your friend’s joke with no care in the world.

bass guitarist!geto who doesn’t have much trouble charming you into hanging out with him, already recognising him from far away when he’s got his long flowy hair and gauges and tight black shirt and tall stature — you aren’t realising he’s asking you if it’ll be okay for you to head over to his dorm room. you’re getting pushed by your friends behind you to say yes with giggles and gossip, and of course you weren’t going to reject the hot guy you missed class and ditched friends for.

bass guitarist!geto who shows you his room and tells you to let him know if he’s made you uncomfortable in any way. in the background, there’s a faded, soft song that continues to play that really completes the dorm, immediately hitting it off until he starts to roll a joint a while later, offering it to you with a raise of his eyebrow.

“oh— n-no it’s fine, geto-san, i don’t really smoke…” you sheepishly turn down the weed, settling instead to watch him and his beautiful side profile, letting him explain to you about bands and guitar and chords.

“thank you for having me, geto-san,” bowing, you’re nothing like the person in the bar that day, geto thinks it’s the lack of alcohol but he doesn’t mind, simply leaning on the doorframe as he nods down at you. his smile is intoxicating and so goddamn attractive you would’ve buckled to your knees if not for the deep breaths you were taking.

“next time, pretty?” geto smiles, a little high from smoking. his eyes are lidded (they usually are anyway) and smile lopsided. his hair’s almost out of the bun.

“yeah, next time,” it sounded so breathy, you bit your lip. “i guess you’d have to find me on campus, though.”

bass guitarist!geto who mutters how you’re a little tease to himself later when he closes the door. he swears to himself he’d get your number next time, but it’s not difficult to find you the next time, hanging around the same place at the same time. it’s like you wanted him to find you — he’s not opposed to it. it’s a few weeks down the road now, and the second time is watching him curiously as he smokes, too. you take a hit and embarrass yourself completely in front of him though, and while you’re fighting for your life, you’re not opposed to the buzz it gives you.

bass guitarist!geto who’s opening the door to you the next time, surprised to see your dishevelled state and a pillow between your arms, walking almost a block like this to the next building where his dorm was. he offers to make you some tea and you shake your head, feeling a pounding headache already coming on just from explaining that your roommate was an asshole.

“you can sleep here if you want to, okay?” you sigh, thanking him immensely because even after knowing him for such a short period of time, you’re comforted by his presence.

“at least satoru’s not here,” you laugh at that, nodding tiredly before you’re settling on gojo’s bed after insistence from the other. he wouldn’t care, he’s always going back home anyway, don’t know why he wanted to share a room with me. but before you can get settled in, you hear the familiar crinkling of the paper and the click of the lighter and the smell of weed fills the room again.

again, his hand is outstretched, holding an ashtray below him as the tip of joint glows a red, calling out to you yet reminding you of the way you coughed the other night.

you crawl off his roommate’s bed, snatching the cig out of his hand in a way to prove something to yourself before taking a big puff. this time you’re better, letting the drug flow through your system, but tolerance is another thing, because it only takes another hit for you to be smiling drowsily at the other while geto is a little high, too, eyes rolling to the back of his head when your hand traces over his arms and you giggle.

“you w’nna kiss?” geto asks quietly, a little soberly, having talked late into the night while you hang off his arm and slur your words. but now you know you’re feeling a little more sensible when you can feel your heart pound and your eyes widen despite their need to close.

“i meant it, doll. you’re fuckin’ stunning,” suguru mumbles, the coldness of his rings sending a chill down your body, but also a spark to your core, “you look exactly like the day i discovered bass.” and it’s like cupid fully shoots his arrow through your heart — because have you heard the man play? you’re speechless at his point, only mustering a nod before you’re leaning in.

he hums drunkenly as a way to ask you to wait a min, manoeuvring you onto his lap before he’s taking the almost vanishing joint into his hands. two more puffs are perfect for the cigarette to be discarded and so with a gentle hand, he holds onto your nape while he tries not to get hard from having you on his lap. slowly, your lips wrap around the other end of the joint, taking in another influx of the drug before he does too.

bass guitarist!geto who pulls you towards his lips a little roughly but he doesn’t give you what you want (what he has in mind is much, much better), rather leaving his lips ajar as he exhales the smoke from his mouth into yours, your own smoke already dissipating. weirdly, this burn is more prominent, probably because all you can focus on are suguru’s dazed eyes and the way they burn through your skull. you inhale the smoke before you feel his soft lips on yours.

geto hums into your lips, coming off of them periodically to allow the smoke to disperse, but the moment is so intimate and hot that you blow away the smoke and lunge forward to wrap your arms around his neck.

“no more pullin’ away, geto-san…” you’re trailing off, words messily whispered against his lips and you burn at the chuckle he sounds out, muttering back a question of consent. you’re nodding, reeling at the speed at which he places his hands on your thighs, dragging you further up his front until you rested on his pelvis.

“kissing me like you can’t breathe and you’re still calling me by my last name? i’m wounded.” geto pulls away and defies your rule — you think he’s the only one who can do that. pouting, suguru pushes away the hair enclosing your face. “c’mon, drink, sober up a little.”

“...i like it like this,” you murmur, ashamed as to how readily you leaned into his touch. his stare is piercing though, not budging until you’re gulping down half the cup.

“throats turn dry when we smoke, princess. we can do it more when you’re more used to it, alright?” geto explains, patting your thigh and ignoring the tensing of them around his own. he’s trying so hard to act nonchalant, but he can’t get the image of you parting your lips for the smoke out of his head. the way your eyes flutter close, how you wanted more of him.

“alright… suguru,” you sigh out the name and geto wishes he could hear it somewhere else, “but can we—” the high is getting to you, making your hormones go into a frenzy and you’re grinding on his lap. geto hisses at the feeling, of your cunt brushing against his bulge. your hips are inexperienced, but you’re going by feel, drawing little circles and moving back and forth; whatever that brings you pleasure.

“baby— f-fuck…” geto swears when you pair it with the lips tha kiss down his cheek and jaw and neck, hands on your hips guiding you as you try to chase your high. but a whine from you draws geto out of his daze and he almost cums hearing your needy voice, begging him for something, anything.

“’m tired, suguru,”

he knows, grinding is a tiring thing, so rather he opts for you to lie on him with your back to his chest. by now, the room’s filled with the smell of weed and arousal, asking once again if he could take off your pyjama shorts. geto smiles at the lack of underwear but he says nothing, eyes latched onto the strings of juices that connect your pussy to the shorts.

“my baby ready to be touched?” he feels you nod, loving the way your stomach contracts and expands at the hand that travels over your clothed tits. there, he squeezes them, rubbing fingers over the hardened nub but soon creeps towards your centre. his hand and fingers are so much larger than yours, covering your whole core easily when he cups it and the contact is enough to make you mewl.

“hurry,” your hips hump the air.

“patience, darling,” geto’s gravelly voice cuts through to your ear before he finally draws languid circles upon your clit, rubbing and pressing on your bundle of nerves. his whole body burns from seeing you react so cutely, all cause your eyes couldn’t leave his on that stage. now your eyes were rolling up and over, little moans leaving your lips just from his hands.

bass guitarist!geto who seems to know all your pleasure points in one night, kissing the spot under your ear, to talking you through your orgasm. you were enamoured by the guitarist that you’d let him do anything to you, obsessed with the way he never missed questions of “is this okay?” and “tell me to stop”. geto is just as besotted by you, the arch of your back, the call of his name. god, he was going to write so many songs about you.

“think you can handle a finger, baby?” suguru whispers, caressing your twitching thighs from your first orgasm. with a shaky “yes”, geto plays with your hole, smearing your juices around your sex and getting it all on your thighs. the bashful suguruuu! has him laughing, taking your lips into another kiss as an apology.

“sorry, sweetheart. love teasin’ ya,” muffled words are said, “goin’ in.”

your jaw drops even more when geto first inserts a finger, so much wider and longer that a long moan escapes you. the stretch is so good, everything you’ve ever imagined after watching his fingers travel over the bass strings, and you’re already asking for a second finger. when he does oblige, your hands fly to grab at his wrist.

“feel good?” he chuckles at your lack of an answer, rather responding by clenching around his fingers and leaning back more into his hold. geto sets a pace, thrusting his fingers in and out of you. he thinks it’s enough of staring at you and almost gets whiplash when his head turns to his hand — from the way he disappears into your dripping cunt, he thinks he’ll cum untouched, although your desperate hips also would play a part.

“feel s’good, suguru— shit…” geto groans lowly into your ear when he feels your hand replicating the circles he’s made on your clit, juices starting to collect in his palm from how wet you were.

“you keep clenchin’ around me, baby, you w’nna cum?”

your body is more vocal than your voice, twisting and thrashing from how his fingers already feel so good. the haze and the smell of geto suguru and the weed in your system is all overloading on you at the moment, but in between you’re able to nod, fingers rubbing at your clit while geto’s speed picks up a little.

your legs naturally spread, each slap of his palm against your pussy paired with the lewd noises only making the whole thing better. it’s not long before you feel that familiar feeling, using your right hand to direct him to you once more and it’s here you see the man you saw on stage before: focused, flushed, small smirk on his face. “gonna cum.”

“yeah? are you?” geto asks against your lips, still tasting the faint aroma of the joint. your eyes are so heavy and your limbs feel like lead; it’s a wonder how both your hands are moving on your soaking wet pussy.

“yeah, sugu, s’sensitive—!” geto coos softly at your whimpers before capturing your lips, swiping his tongue over your bottom lip and your orgasm comes crashing down on you. suguru effectively swallows your moans, groaning on his own end when he can feel your cum running down his hand. slowly, he lets you ride through your orgasm, pressing pecks on your skin and shoulders.

“attagirl. so much cum, hm?” your chest is heaving, whining when he removes his fingers and there’s a cute little squelch from the juices, gasping softly as geto separates his fingers and there’s strings connecting his middle to ring finger. “dirty girl.”

you scoff softly with a smile, eyes following how his fingers make his way into his mouth. the other only hums before carrying you bridal style to the shower with a sweet smile on his face. geto suguru was certain he’d worship you.

“gotta taste that cute little pussy next time.”

[savorypink]

king and queen seat

you, alex, and some papers.

contains smut. + tbhc!au.

"What do you think?"

It's breathtaking. You marvel at your home planet's brilliance as you gaze from the large office window. The vast darkness of outer space leaves you hollow, but tonight, it aids in the mesmerising showcase before you. The orb is luminous in the dead, black sky, adorned with deep ocean blues and swirling clouds of white.

Patches of earthy greens and browns emerge, though not in great detail. You can almost pinpoint each continent. Watching from your seat, you feel microscopic, too puny and weak to handle it all.

As Alex settles beside you, the couch cushion sinks under his weight. Only when his large, icy hand envelopes your clammy palm are you thinking: Who in the hell puts a casino up here? You scramble through the file cabinet of your brain to muster something—anything worthwhile to say — but when your mouth opens, nothing emits. Alex adores it.

"Any adjective will do." He says, his warm lips brushing your knuckles in a gentle kiss. Your heart goes into overdrive, unsure if it's from Alex's touch or from realising how silly you must look.

"Wow." Your voice is but a whisper, but awe blankets every letter.

"Not an adjective." He sets your limp hand on your lap before returning to his desk. "I'll accept it, though."

Your gaze fixates on him as he rolls the sleeves of his button-down, hauling you deeper into a lovesick trance. Under the warm ceiling lights, the gold band on his finger flashes in the light as he does so, causing you to fidget with your own. A certain feeling crawls up your spine, mirroring the same puny insignificance you felt observing the Earth. Your man belongs here; you don't.

In the past, he might have shown initial protest, and leaving you on Earth certainly didn't help ease his guilt. However, you never doubted his ability to run this place. No one else had the capacity for care and detail as Alex did. From the green nylon carpeting to the flashing neon lights of the casino below, he had everything and then some.

Was it too ambitious? It'd be dumb to say otherwise. However, you can only see one man behind the desk running it all. And he wants you in the passenger seat? You should be happy, yet you wish for the couch cushions to swallow you whole.

You startle when a stack of documents slams onto the desk and again when you hear the thud of the desk drawer closing. From the drawer, Alex retrieves a pen adorned with a cute rubber charm of an astronaut at the top. A pair of readers also emerges from the drawer, which he perches on the tip of his Romanesque nose. Yes, he's your husband, but you're here solely on business. What's with the teenage swooning?

In silence, you watch as he reviews the documents. He's already pre-signed them, and the dotted lines await your signature, but you know how thorough he likes to be. The pen looks like a plaything in his giant fist. The veins in his wrist pulse as he clicks the pen, obnoxiously echoing off the office walls. For a moment, you're convinced the clicking is in perfect synch with your frantic heart despite the inattention of the action.

When the clicking ceases, your heart does, too, only to start again once he brings the clicker between his teeth, his lips brushing the astronaut charm. You're realising how uncomfortable your pencil skirt and button-up are as you sweat like a sinner doused in holy water. Are you seriously jealous of a pen?

"Baby." The air loses its stillness when his velvety voice fills the silence, causing you to sit upright. "What are you thinking about?"

Where do you begin? This co-manager role is a lot of responsibility, and I'm terrified. Do I want to do this? Why do you look so sexy when reading stuff? We should kiss. Cute pen, by the way. None of these thoughts leave your mind. Instead, the sour tang of word vomit tumbles out.

"You look good in that chair." It comes out more gravelly than you wish, and Alex notices it. The smirk adorning his handsome features says more than enough.

"Our chair now." He leans further into the velour chair, playfully twisting until he gets up. "Unless you don't want it. I know my girl likes to decorate." He slides the papers in your direction, placing the pen beside them.

"She does. It's very...you."

The office could be mistaken as a set for Mad Men. The scent of the mahogany walls and a newly vacuumed carpet float through the air. Though you're worried your sweat may have soiled it, the orange couch under you is intact, comfortable and plush, with no signs of sinking. You also notice this in the two spare chairs, the same burnt orange colour as the couch. Men in suits should be scaling the walls to be here. Yet, the office feels uninhabited; the only lingering animal prowling is Alex.

It is muted and lonely. It feels just like space. It feels like Alex.

"Eh," he shrugs. "It could use some plants. Gonna need your name on these papers, little lady."

Temporarily, you don't rise from your seat. Your nervous system isn't sending the neurons to your legs. You're realising this isn't some fawn-in-headlights moment. You're aware of your surroundings and what you're here to do. Yet, the painful churning of your guts and the weight of this—what you're sacrificing your life on Earth for—is weighing twice as heavy. These aren't first-day jitters. This is a warning.

Ultimately, your legs take you to the desk, but you're shouting at your body to stop shaking. It's only you, Alex, and some papers. It's almost like your wedding day.

You can pick up the pen without spasm, and Alex smiles when you do. Before your eyes meet the papers, you spot your wedding photo in a brown frame on the desk. The picture shows signs of wear and tear, with some fraying around the edges. The imperfections stem from the photo being in his wallet for years, but the flaws increase its charm. From the sepia colouring to you and Alex's stiff posture, the picture looks antique and fragile, your poses complementing the retro feel. Regardless, you hold your bouquet of dried peonies and foliage, beaming ear to ear with Alex behind you. You recall his offer to decorate, and while there are some things you'd like to rearrange, that photo isn't one of them. Your poses? You would change in a heartbeat.

To kill time, you skim the papers as slowly as you can. Alex simplified all the legal jargon for you beforehand, but you feel like a child picking up their first book. The most straightforward words look like gibberish, and your head is reeling as it attempts to comprehend everything. Your skull feels as if two large hands are squeezing your temples, the pain throbbing even harder when you reach the dotted line awaiting your name.

With your mind muddled and the room doing 360s, you don't even register Alex has moved behind you, his lips ghosting over your ringing ear.

"Is everything alright?"

His hushed whisper is soothing, grounding even. You can feel the carpet under your heels again. The dotted line is no longer a blur, and your head is no longer doing pirouettes. The air stirs again, and the burning in your lungs drops a few temperatures. You can breathe once more.

"Yes," you say. You click the pen and scribble your name. Although it looks like chicken scratch, Alex is familiar enough with your penmanship to deem it acceptable. He knows how you write when in a hurry, not when you're trying to make him happy.

Alex's arms firmly close around you, squeezing air out of you with mere strength. Elated isn't a strong enough word to define his happiness. It overflows in the scattered kisses he plants all over your reddening face, and you can feel him even trying to pick you up for a moment. You bask in the affection as if you hadn't signed your life away moments ago. You even giggle as his beard tickles and scratches your face.

The tenderness spilling from him is the only thing that feels normal. It's almost possible to forget you're here, on a floating rock in the middle of celestial nowhere. But the gleaming Earth outside the office window will always remind you of your sealed fate.

You're stuck here.

His lips meeting your mouth don't evoke the same enthusiasm from you. Hesitantly, you kiss back, imitating the lip movements of a kid kissed on the playground. Your nerves go unnoticed by your husband, likely mistaking your hesitance for teasing. His hands are still frigid, unyielding in temperature despite caressing your burning face. As the kiss deepens, you allow your previous doubts to dissipate, though Alex's tongue has done it for you. His grasp on your skull is tight, headache-inducing, but your relief is in his restlessness.

You can't blame him for wanting to tear you apart, his tongue roaming your mouth as if you were a lifeline. You've been gone for too long. Saying that he missed you would only scratch the surface. When he pulls away, both of you are breathless, your lungs clinging to the surrounding air.

"We should celebrate."

A lopsided grin adorns his features, making you want to kiss him all over again. Before Alex heads over to the bar cart near his desk, he leans in to give you one more peck on the lips. The bar is complete with coffee, teas and cookies you sent to him from home. The only alcohol is a small champagne bottle, which he returns to the desk. After pulling a corkscrew from the drawer, Alex releases the cork with a loud pop. The sound makes your heart misstep, but you can't contain your giggles, as it all happens in a rather lacklustre fashion: no foam, no clapping, no cheering. It's a surprise party thrown for the wrong person.

Alex hands you a paper cup filled halfway with champagne. As you take the cup, your hesitation mirrors the one in your kiss. You gaze at the cup, watching the bubbles ascend and burst. When he's back in front of you, you keep your eyes on the cup. You don't waver, even as you feel his eyes boring into you.

"What are you thinking about?" He asks. "And be honest this time."

The revelation doesn't shock you. It's somewhat reassuring that he caught up on your lie. The part where you have to tell him is what tugs at your heartstrings. Your eyes remain on the cup as if your answer is in the bubbles. Telling him should be a cakewalk; say how you feel. It's not like you're trying to reverse a major decision or anything!

You let your eyes leave the cup, meeting Alex's concerned expression; you're looking at a kicked, beat puppy, and the sight is nauseating. Perching on the desk, you sigh, watching your trembling legs sway beneath you.

"I know you can do this. And you do it well," you state. "I'm just not sure if I can do it. At all."

The light against your feet goes dark as Alex's shadow eclipses your form. For a moment, you're freezing as his shadow looms over you. You're fighting with your body to stop shivering, the weight of his shadow heavy and biting; it's almost unnerving. Soon enough, you find warmth as Alex's hand cups your cheek. The tenderness washes over you like a tidal wave; it's what you've yearned for this whole time. This should feel like something other than a business meeting. This is you and your husband.

"I don't need you to be perfect," he begins. "I need you to be here."

You swallow a lump large enough to make you choke, fixing your unsteady eyes on his warm gaze. "Is that enough?"

"More than enough. We've always been a team. Now, we're a team on the moon."

You chuckle, leaning your head into his calloused palm. "In a casino. On the moon."

"Right. Treat like we're at home. You cook, I do the dishes. I wash, you fold. It's all 50/50." He leans in and lowers your head, planting a tender kiss on your scalp. "You'll never do it alone. I promise. You can say your husband loves you to the moon if it's any consolation. And it'll be true."

A boulder is gone from your shoulders. It's like you're breathing for the first time, feeling the knot in your chest finally come undone. Your doubts will continue to linger; that won't change. The bittersweet aftertaste lies in the comfort of Alex being there to remove those hurdles for you. And he'll continue to do it—always—just as he promised you.

Sighing, you rest your head against his chest, focusing on the steady beat of his heart. "One hell of a celebration, huh?" You snort, looking at your cup. "We didn't even make a toast."

Alex withdraws from you, lifting the paper cup halfway. "What shall we toast to?"

"I dunno." You shrug, mirroring his movements albeit meekly. "Teamwork?"

With a small smile, he taps his cup against yours. "To teamwork."

Before taking a sip, Alex raises the cup once more. "And to Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino's First Lady."

First Lady, it's difficult for the title not to make you smile. As you sip your champagne, a comforting chill travels down your spine at the fizziness. You glide your tongue along your lips to catch the hints of melon, an action that feels like a blissful eternity in Alex's mind. His sharp eyes wander from your champagne-coated lips down to the tan pencil skirt you wore to match his tan trousers.

With ease, the stretchy fabric lifts and sculpts the curve of your butt, accentuating your hips and supple thighs. The skirt's ability to cling to you is equally alluring and irritating, moulding your body into perfect form and embracing you better than he could. It's not fair; it should be him instead.

Alex downs the last of his champagne in a swift swig, pivoting his aching lower half away from you. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches you clam up again, your eyes vacant and your hands pleading to shake. Your stress is infectious in the worst way possible, suffocating the office with unbearable weight, making his heart fall into his stomach.

Alex clears his throat before speaking, likely masking the shakiness threatening to slip out. "Can I do anything to make you more...comfortable?" He asks. "As far as your new position's concerned, I mean."

"Kiss me again."

You say it without delay. It's the most confidence you've had today. Alex quickly grants your wish, almost tripping over his feet to kiss you again. This kiss holds more ferocity than the one before. It's painful when your lips meet, the alcohol burning, teeth colliding. Your tongues are lacking in grace, twisting and fumbling over each other, rough and greedy. When you moan, he calls back to you with ten times the intensity, his groans deep, almost primal.

Both of you are equally breathless, like the first kiss, panting as you two separate. With your foreheads against each other, you realise nothing needs to be said between you. Besides a question from Alex, you two are pure telepathy. But sometimes, Alex likes to hear it from your mouth.

"What do you want to do?"

Through your quivering lip, you utter the command. "Sit."

The desk beneath you rumbles as Alex drops to his knees. He wastes no time from there, his hands mirroring the same insatiable hunger as his tongue. To your dismay but with delight, his impatient hands form tears and holes in your stockings. Your gooseflesh expands as your bare skin becomes exposed, your body tingling when his hands graze you, sending delightful shockwaves to your core.

Alex's eyes lock with yours, holding a gaze that swirls your heart and head. The fabric of your skirt wrinkles as his hold on the hem tightens; he's beyond eager to please you. He's a chess piece awaiting your skilful hand—a jester desperate for the royal's approval.

You give a simple nod, and to Alex, you've moved the piece that will lead you to victory. He hikes your skirt up to your stomach, releasing a swarm of butterflies with his movements. Alex tears through the remaining material of your stockings to access your drenched panties, his breathing ragged and hot against your flush skin. He yanks the flimsy fabric to the side and glides his fingers along your leaking entrance. The touch may be minimal, but the impact is immense; you clutch the edge of the desk tightly, unable to hold back a moan as his fingers glide into you.

"Deeper," you command. Alex's fingers delve even further into your core. His knuckles flex as your walls shut around the digits, his teeth clenched in a tight hiss. Your thigh quakes when you feel it, the frigid metal of his wedding band sliding past your warm walls. It's as deep as he can get, but your ache refuses to subside. Using your hips, you buck to motion for Alex to take the wheel or do anything. Your walls morph into quicksand around his fingers, rendering them immobile as his fingertips strike the area of your rioting ache.

His eyes, devoid of focus, shift back and forth between your quivering, moaning form and the fingers plunged within you. Your arousal dribbles clear and hot on the mahogany desk, and it's pretty—fuck, it drives him mad, but solely for the time being. He's thankful you can't hear the annoyed 'tch' he lets out.

Below your stomach, the heat is scorching as his fingers work you further, poking and prodding your bits as your vision turns cloudy white. A tender kiss on your knee jerks your head downward, and your eyes meet your husband's once more. There's a glimmer in both of your gazes, ample in heart-stopping warmth; it's unshakable, too loud to ignore. The sight of you is ghastly, sweat clinging to your body like a second skin, and your makeup melting off your face. You're aware of it all, but it doesn't matter to Alex, and it never will. He'll look at you all the same; he'll hang you in the Louvre while holding the same gaze that put a ring on your finger. You'll always be perfect in his eyes.

The sounds bouncing against the office walls assault your ears, echoing your moans and those wet, squelching noises. Alex is inaudible through it all, but you can decipher his words by studying the curves of his lips.

"Close?" Alex asks.

Your body betrays you before you can answer, moaning instead of a simple "yes", yet you're able to nod your head. His fingers curl as they thump against your core once more, the bricks you've stacked steadily beginning to crumble. Alex is saying something else, and you are pretty familiar with it. You recognise the curving of his lips. He utters the words–your favourite words.

"I love you."

You don't say it back. Instead, you allow yourself to come undone on his fingers, your walls collapsing around the digits as you cry out to him. Your vision is a lovely cloudy white when you spasm. Through your haze, you forget entirely about the remaining liquid in your cup, accidentally pouring it on the documents that still lack your signature.

As the clouds roll out, you can hear Alex cooing you back to reality as he utters sweet nothings against your skin, rubbing away the never-ending gooseflesh. He slides his fingers out of you with fragility, as if you'll crack again at the slightest touch. 

You will.

Alex stands up with a sigh, observing the mess formed on the desk. The champagne seeps into the documents, causing the ink to bleed and smear your signatures. When you look like this, it's hard to let his anger rear its horrid head. He knows better than to ruin your bliss, to rip you out of your cosy headspace, but he's your boss now. His words are merely a slap on the wrist.

"First Lady, you've ruined my desk."

You gulp as you try to regain your breath, your chest burning hot as you pant. "Our desk."

[naidje]

Bought a watch

I absolutely love the sparkly pink casing! I do wish it had a countdown timer function tho.

It has a translucent pink resin band, which looks really nice, but its very short even for my spindly wrists. Plus it pretty much instantly made my wrist very sweaty. I'm probably going to replace it with a longer nylon strap. I'm eyeballing a nice rainbow colored one.

Even tho this is a very basic and cheap model, I'm really excited. I haven't worn a watch since high school really, and I want to stop relying on my phone so much. I'm eyeballing some more expensive models to possibly get in the future, but for now I just wanna get back in the habit of wearing a watch and see how it goes.

[brandogenius]

I love your writing sm I was wondering if you could do hc for Julien dating like a famous bassist in a band, very much vic de Angelis (the bassist from maneskin) vibes?

omg i love this! as a bassist myself im going to go all out on this! ITS MY TIME TO SHINE

HC - julien x famous bassist reader!

- learning bass tabs of the boys songs for fun

- jb loves to sit down and watch you play

- you produced the bass for juliens solo work (and was credited. when fans found out they went crazy)

- jb having rockstar girlfriend vibes

- sees you on the tv jamming out on stage, pointing to the screen like THATS MY GIRLFRIEND

- daily trips into the music store to look at the instruments. you don’t need another bass but you like to look at them

-you have a lucky guitar pic you have to jb who made it into a necklace. she has it on her all the time

- teaching jb how to play bass. the neck is long and a bit different than guitar but she gets the hang of it

- deciding to tour with the boys but as their bassist

- hopping around on stage. joining in with kissing julien for salt in the wound

- rough fingers from nylon strings but jb kissing them “take a rest for the night baby, they must hurt”

- your instagram filled with photos of you in your stage outfits and julien barking in your comments

- “can we have matching makeup?” going out on stage with smokey smudged eyeliner together

- both going to a tattoo / piercing shop but jbs getting a tattoo and you’re getting a piercing (whatever you decide) julien absolutely goes crazy for it

[gatheringbones]

[“I hear nothing now but the sound of her approach. She stands before me for a minute, a tall, broad woman in a black blouse opened at the throat so her breasts swell above me, a short leopard-printed skirt rides high on her thighs, all done to my order. “Is this what you wanted?” she says, half amused, confident that this is exactly what I wanted.

I cannot take my eyes off her face, off the world of work and experience she is radiating in the darkness. I see again, as I did as a child, my mother dressed for work and, at the same time, dressed for her lovers. My mother in that erotic blend of self-support and desire on the prowl, her costume, the black dress, the small hat with its veil of stars, the nylons with their seams down the back of her legs. I watched her dress, saw her arms raise before the mirror. I saw that mix of pain and pleasure that came to my mother, her beauty, her leaving. I cannot drop my eyes from my dream’s face. I do not want to. She sits in the chair we have placed right in front of me a few inches from the edge of the couch. Still smiling, she raises one leg and tucks her toes under the sofa’s pillow. Her skirt is now a band around her lap, and she sits, waiting for me to drop my eyes. She grows larger in the darkness, in her solid angular position, waiting for me to do what I must, what I have waited all these years to do. I am hardly breathing; I have lost all sense of what sex I am. The dark night has become illuminated by the power of myth, the power of legend. “Go ahead,” she encourages. My breath escapes me now, and I lower my head, taking my eyes from her large, strong face with its worldly, cool welcome, to what she is exposing to my view. It is only a small distance to travel, but I am terrified of the journey.

Right in front of me now, I see a second face, its red lips flaring in a nest of hair, drops of liquid caught in its strands, its own perfume opening up to me, right in front of me, the naked center of a woman. I raise my eyes once again to the public face, and I reel with the contrast. I cannot keep the two faces in the same place, on the same body. It is as if I am being allowed to see below the surface of all the days, all the mothers. I almost plead with her, don’t let me go under, again but she says nothing, just watches.”]

joan nestle, from taking rita hayworth in my mouth

[bomberqueen17]

next project excitement

I am home for a week and a half and am determined to spend most of it sewing. OK it's not even quite a week and a half, i've just realized. whatever!! getting started now.

I have a huge number of projects pent-up and am suffering as I try to decide which to work on, BUT, the thing is! i have one i really want to start on, so I'm going to at least start on it, and that is the Loftus Bralette pattern, which it's sort of unfair to call a bralette-- it's not, it's fully a bra, it has a powerbar and everything, and nonstretch cups, it's seriously a bra but there's no wire. Which is why I think it might fit me. Cut for more wittering on this topic...

I printed it out and taped it up ages (a couple of weeks) ago when it first came out because I was so excited, but I've been traveling since then. So. Now I have laid out the pattern pieces, and assembled the notions I ordered and got and haven't looked at yet, and now am figuring out just what I need. I might write up more about this, let me know if it's something you're also interested in sewing or learning about or whatever!! I'm really comfortable with Cashmerette patterns by now and am confident I can make it through sewing this, though I am *not* confident I can fit myself well-- by sheer dumb luck I fit Cashmerette really well without many adjustments so I'm not great at fit adjustments, but I'm sure I'll need them for this, since bras are so specific. But we'll see!

Anyway to start with I just went through the whole pattern instruction booklet and figured out how many inches I need of how many kinds of elastic, and which fabrics I should cut which pattern pieces out of. I'm going to then label each of them with masking tape the whole time I'm working, because I watched the video sewalong and realized I'm absolutely going to lose track of what I'm doing. So here is my starting point:

[image description: a number of pattern pieces spread out across a countertop, and in the foreground is a list on a scrap paper in felt-tipped marker that inventories the pattern pieces, specifies which should be cut out of which fabric, and says how many inches of how wide an elastic are needed in my size for each of the neckline, underarm, band, and strap elastics.]

I measure into a 38J, and I plan to make my muslin out of some heavy-duty powermesh I got from Mood, and then some light pink stabilized nylon tricot I got from Porcelynne, and the notions and elastic I also got from Porcelynne. (Porcelynne's owner is the one who did the engineering on the pattern I think, and is certainly the person who appears in the sewalong video. I bought myself a super-nice kit from their selection, but I'm making the muslin first before I cut into the cute red and black lace from the kit.)

Ha I might actually just mark the muslin in felt-tip marker and not worry about the marks washing out or not, honestly. i need all the help i can get. i can do it right for the nice one. hopefully i will get this to work and i will make like a dozen. it would help me so much to have a TT bra pattern i can standardize off of-- I started the sloper course but looked at it and was like, there's no point getting a really good fit around the bust of any dress because I only have one each of any given bra and none of them are perfect and all of them make me a drastically different shape. I need something I have several of and can reliably get more of (alas, for when i get a good bra i love and go to buy more and it's discontinued, this keeps happening to me). so. This is like, the necessary next step to not only my life but also my sewing game.

[flowery-mess]

Hi love!!

What about a hc of... quick and filthy sex with Matt at the bathroom of the club you're with him and the rest of the band?

🥺🫣

Thank you 🫡

I don't write smut, but I gave it a try, lol. So bare with me, it's my first ever smut, it's not proof read, because I would probably cringe and never post it lol. Maybe I will delete it later.

Smut bellow, only 18+!!

It all started back at the hotel where all od the crew is staying

You have few days off, so you chose hotel over bus and night out

You decided to join Matt on tour this time

You knew what staying in a hotel meant

On the bus you don't have any privacy

So you knew you won't be getting any sleep tonight

So you decided to tease Matt a bit with your outfit

You chose black leather short with black nylons under it and simple black top with V neck

"What are you staring at pretty boy?" You caught Matt staring at you through a mirror when you were finishing your hair

"I know what you're doing and I'm not falling for that." he said with a smirk

"We'll see who falls first tonight." You got him back with a wink

You were a tease the whole night, since you all entered the club

Pushing your top lower to show your boobs when ordering drinks

Smiling just a bit longer than is considered polite at the bartender who was obviously flirting with you

Not pushing strangers hand off of you when you walked through the crowd

Because you knew Matt was watching all of it

And by the look on his face you knew it was working

"You're going to regret that" popped up on yoir screen when you got back in the booth where your group was

You just smiled at Matt who was sitting on the other side of the table

You continued to look at the bartender, exchanging smiles

"Let's dance babe." you heard Matt out of nowhere

It wasn't a question, he grabbed your hand and made you stood up

The place was full of people, so the crew wouldn't notice tht you two weren't actually dancing

Instead you were pressed against the wall in the clubs bathroom

Thankfully the music was loud so noone could hear you

Matt isn't much of a talker, he rather shows you what you've been doing to him all night

It's more like you can feel it against your back

He gives you hubgry desperate kisses on the side od your neck just until he turns you to face him

His hand going straight to your panties

"All wet and I didn't have to do a single thing the whole night."

Only if he knew his jealousy was more than enough

With his lips on yours he continued to play with your clit for a bit more

Until he couldn't wait anymore and stripped you out of your shorts and then your nylons along with panties

He didn't waste any time and pushed his dick right in you

Which left you gasping for air

There wasn't time for love words or any passion, it was just moans and sounds of your hips connecting in the stall

It didn't take long for a familiar heat forming in your stomach

"Matt I'm-" you couldn't even finish the sentence because of the orgasm taking iver your body

"That's it baby. I'm close, fuck." you still rode through your orgasm, scratching your nails into his back

You got onto your knees and finished him with your mouth to avoid any mess on your clothes

He dragged you up by your chin and gave you long kiss

"We will continue that later in the hotel."

[crestedbandsofficial]

AMAZFIT BIP | BRAIDED NYLON | STAR

Our nylon Braided Elastic straps are a perfect fit for the Amazfit Bip Smartwatch. These smartwatch bands allow you to enjoy the classic look of GTS & GTR style strap without having to forego the quick-release functionality.

Wanna read more, Click here.

[ninaxgray]

[cis female and she/her] Welcome to Aurora Bay, NINA GRAY! I couldn’t help but notice you look an awful lot like [ALVA BRATT]. You must be the TWENTY SIX year old PIERCER AT CRESCENT MOON TATTOO. Word is you’re RESILIENT but can also be a bit DISAGREEABLE and your favourite song is TEENAGE DIRTBAG AND WHEATUS. I also heard you’ll be staying in OCEAN CREST APARTMENTS. — @aurorabayaesthetic

general details.

BIRTH NAME: Nina  NICKNAME: Neens AGE: Twenty Six DATE OF BIRTH: April 1st 1998 PLACE OF BIRTH: Los Angeles, California, USA ETHNICITY:  Swedish (Paternal) Anglo-American (Maternal) GENDER:  Cis Female PRONOUNS: She/Her ORIENTATION: Pansexual RELIGION: Atheist OCCUPATION: Piercer at Crescent Moon

personality.

POSITIVE TRAITS: Resilient & Resourceful NEGATIVE TRAITS: Selfish & Disagreeable MYERS BRIGGS: INTJ

the rundown.

TW: Police, CPS, drug mentions, Child neglect/parentification 

Nina was eleven when the police first turned up at her door step after noise complaints from her neighbours. When asked to identify herself when refusing to open the door, she had a very apt response: A Problem.

Her earliest memory was being dragged around by her mother to different indie sleaze concerts around Los Angeles. She remembers her mums ripped nylon stockings, tank tops, and black boots. How she managed to get her underaged daughter in these licensed buildings without any question would be something that dawned on Nina a little later in life. She remembers the white pounder in clean lines that men in their late twenties/early thirties in all black outfits with base guitars would inhale in the back rooms, while she watched her mother fawn over them. Most of them ignored her presence in the room, but some of them were nice to Nina. As a seven year old, Nina wasn’t cute toddler anymore and the bands her mum followed didn’t really enjoy having a kid that ‘brought down the vibes’ around. And suddenly she was saddled with the newest edition of the family, a little half brother. Her mother was very much off her face on coke during the process of that birth, Nina isn’t sure she exactly sure she remembered pushing Sam out. Just woke up the next day to a crying baby Nina was trying to settle. 

The parentification would only continue until the Gray’s first visit from CPS. Being left at home wasn’t a new thing for Nina, she’d been instructed by her mother Mynona on how to hide if they eventually came around. But things became a little difficult when their was a loud baby in the house. CPS took Sam, but Nina managed to hide in a cabinet long enough for them to leave. Sam seemed to have slipped through the cracks, and suddenly Nina found herself with a lot of time on her hands with her mum barely around.

Expelled from her first school for fighting with other kids at eleven, Nina learnt over time that there really wasn’t that many consequences for being a problem child as long as she didn’t commit a crime. Opportunities dried up for her minimum wage earning mother, who was no longer cool and young enough to be a groupie, so the pair packed up to live near their family members in Aurora Bay. Nina had a lot of cousins there. However the move didn’t really seem to change the dynamic between the mother and daughter. Wynona might have been clean, but the pair had no relationship history to build upon apart from past animosity.

Armed with a fake ID, a fifteen year old repeated her mother’s past mistakes going to party and drinking. She became the quintessential teenage dirtbag, willing to go face to face with other teens twice her size if it meant she had somewhere to vent out her anger. However, she had some redeeming qualities. Once happily putting out her cigarette’s in the bathroom sinks after (allegedly) intentionally setting off the fire alarm, once finding out half the kids she tolerated at school were worried about failing the upcoming maths test the period after. Somehow justifying her desire for chaos, by balancing out her karma. Though don’t go mistaking her no a Braveheart, she always had to get something out of her ‘kind deeds’. One might call her the antihero of her own life story.

At twenty five, Nina’s apartment was flooded and condemned. Wynona, clean but still a little wayward, offered for Nina to move back home until she found a new place. Their relationship had started to improve when Nina got a job at Crescent Moon. But there was one problem that remained between them. Nina had planned to take a trip to Mexico with her brother that had reconnected with her, and lived in New York, but she needed a passport. And a necessary item for that process was her birth certificate. Wynona had always insisted that she lost it, seemingly on edge about the subject. Realising Nina was in fact a functioning adult now, decided to seek out a copy for herself. It took a lot of time to place the order, but it eventually arrived. However there was one very important detail on the document that forced Nina to make a double take. Under the section indicating the mother, Wynona was there. Instead, was the name of her maternal aunt that lived only blocks away from where she stood. Thus also indicating the plethora of kids she knew as cousins, were in fact her biological half siblings.

The last time anyone in the family saw Nina in the next 24 hours was on the couch of a friend. She’d gutted her room of her stuff, and reached out to real estate agent about an apartment in Ocean Crest, wondering what to do next.

current connections.  ( wip )

Half sister (Known all her life as a cousin) of @keolalagaaia Best friend of @spencer-sarmiento Ex On-&-Off boyfriend of @jaywinstcn Ex On-&-Off fling of @lilynunthapak Good friend & Fellow High School Partner-in-Crime of @ulyflynn

[a-luran]

Oh my gosh I want to know more about all of them but in particular the Kirkland revivals band sounds very intriguing and is giving me visions of the bros in a band and I am losing my mind 👀 and PLEASE I need to know more about the werewolf au

phi-phil! hello! it is in fact a band fic like the title implies. I may posted a bit about it before but in essence:

Sean, Alasdair, Rhys and Arthur all grow up on the road and on top of each other, all of them the children of legacy folk musicians from across the UK. Sean and Alasdair are part of the older lot of children kicking about, doing odd jobs until Sean graduates into performing backing vocals and instrumentals when he vaults over seventeen. Alasdair could be doing the same if he wanted to, he certainly has the voice and the composition skill, but he is finds his niche in their mismatched community as a technician; a jack of all trades with a technical degree. Arthur spends his early teenage years watching Alasdair fix and carry equipment like it weighs nothing and learns something that tastes a lot like craving. Something more visceral than longing. Rhys is an easy child, stubborn and well loved although comes up chaffing against the constant travel. They grow up around each other, on top of each other, camper vans and sleeping bags under nylon, under the stars. They are a good draw together, talented and brought up like kin. They have never known anything except this; the road, the music, and each other.

(And what Arthur treasures most: the mornings when he slips into Alasdair's camper to share his warmth. The evenings when Alasdair will tune his violin for him and strum along on his guitar to whatever Arthur composes, slowly coming into his own as a musician. This fic is not scoteng-centric exactly, but it does take a shine on his relationship with Alasdair especially. And his journey as a trans man and a singer.)

A lot of things come to head and inevitably the band falls apart. Rhys applies to university and gets in, and although he only tells Arthur it puts a strain on his relationship with everyone. Sean is constantly fighting the people who manage them, for valid reasons but also partly because he is on a warpath after his biological father contacts him. Alasdair is getting more and more responsibilities piled on him under the guise of 'we are all family here; surely this is not labour exploitation'; they barely see his hide around. What deals the final blow is when Arthur comes into rehearsals one morning, a few months shy of eighteen, with his hair shorn off. He'd spent some three years at that point negotiating how he presented when it was just 'their family' and being pressured to keep up appearances when performing. Rhys having the courage to apply for uni is what tips him off, that and the realisation that he doesn't want to spend the rest of his life pretending he isn't a man just to save face. And now, Arthur has always been headstrong but the way he shouts back that day when their 'manager' confronts him is the end of it. Alasdair misses the shouting match and only realises that Arthur finally cut his hair when Arthur comes to find him after his nights shift. He cards his fingers through the choppy nape of his neck and doesn't know what to say. His silence is plenty though, and Arthur makes up his mind.

He prepares, sees his eighteenth quietly, and three weeks later he is gone. Slips away early in the morning and takes only what he can carry with him. Clothes that belonged to each of them; Sean's fiddle. What little cash he has to his name.

The rest of the fic follows him as he busks his was from the UK to Nashville. Francis takes him on as a manager and helps set him up and support his gender transition with gigs. The others don't hear from him until Rhys does a mad dash to the radio when he recognises Arthur's voice crooning form an ocean away. I honestly love thinking about this fic and I spend a lot of time just adding songs to a playlist for it.

The werewolf AU was born from an extremely self indulgent idea. It is 60% smut, 25% fighting 15% more smut. Alasdair and Arthur grow in a group home but become estranged by well over a decade after Arthur runs away. The both end up resenting and missing each other by equal parts. Alasdair is attacked by a werewolf while he's out in the woods one night and with his body spiralling out of control the only person he can think of (and that he instinctively seeks out) is Arthur who has been carving out a life for himself. Francis is a necromancer living across the street from him in this one and again 10/10 just pure self-indulgence on my part.

Thank you for asking about these! I'm so happy to talk about them.

[mamamittens]

Hi! Arlong and I would like a chocolate cake milkshake with strawberry, caramel syrup and powdered sugar (for me!). Whip cream and a cherry on top, please! A red bean mochi would also be nice! Add in an Alice in wonderland, black jack (for me), pink schnapps (also me), and a hot damn too! I go by “Opal” and I’m a short (5ft) but pump person (any pronouns please) with purple hair, slightly tan skin, and blue eyes. I’m bubbly and tend to chat a lot when nervous. Oh yeah and I am autistic with ADHD

Order up! Hope it's to your taste! (side note, these milkshakes with shots in them must taste like ass irl)

This is an order for my 500+ follower event "Date Shake"! It's running through my ask box until 9/19/23, please refer to this post for context!

Warnings: Size kink, implied/references yandere, restraints, outdoor sex, and praise kink.

(the royal 'ingredient' was an oopsie so it's not in the final order)

Word count: 2,799

The seagulls woke him up first.

Their loud calls echoing over the surf and crashing waves along the shoreline. Arlong hissed, squinting his eyes against the rising sun over the water when he slowly sat up. Sand shifting and cold under his hands except where he had laid down.

Beer cans and several other members of his team were scattered across the beach. He made a note to order one of them to clean up. Usually, he would, but he had some business to attend to. Pulling out his phone, he selected a random number and sent a message about cleaning up. A phone near him chirped and he smirked.

Problem solved.

He stumbled to his feet, grimacing at the ache in his back and dry mouth. He still had time to clean up, thankfully.

Arlong trudged up the beach to his house, wiping his feet in the back entryway and setting his sandals to the side. After a late party, it was time to clean up himself.

Freshly showered and changed, Arlong hopped into his sports car, making sure to wave back at his brothers now stumbling up the beach. He wasted no time driving into town to pick up Opal.

He smirked fondly, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. They’d come a long way from snot nosed brats stumbling around a failing fishing port.

Opal all too happy to chatter with the tourists and fishermen alike while Arlong ensured she didn’t get scooped up by creeps. Either by assigning ‘friends’ to go with her or following himself. A flash of his sharp fangs usually did the trick back then but now word of mouth did all the heavy lifting. No one dared mess with his ‘secretary’.

His smirk shifted into a sneer as the buildings started deteriorating. All the money he pours into the community hadn’t quite made it this far, though it wouldn’t be long now. This was where they grew up. Skipping over broken pavement and glass on the way to school. He’d moved out the first chance he got, right into a brand-new beach house. He tried to take Opal with him, but she was determined to work her way up from their roots. And he let her, so long as she didn’t grow too far. Constantly in his reach even when she went to the city for school—he had to learn how to run a business too, after all.

He stopped in front of an apartment building with ongoing renovations—his doing though Opal didn’t know it. Shooting a text to let her know he was waiting.

Barely a few beats passed and she skipped right out the front door with a wide grin.

“Arlong!” Opal laughed, rounding the car to hop into the passenger side.

“Ready to go?” Arlong asked, watching her buckle in. Despite being really short, she didn’t need to adjust her seat. She was the only one allowed to ride shotgun after all. And especially the only human he let in his favorite car.

“Yep!” Opal declared, slipping the seatbelt into a comfortable position across her chest, purple hair catching in the nylon band. She looked at him in excitement, blue eyes bright.

Arlong grinned.

“Then let’s go.” Arlong drove off towards the opposite end of town where the festival was being held. As children, it was a tradition to go and spend their meagre change on treats and cheap toys that broke in a matter of weeks. He still has a fan from when he was an awkward preteen that Opal signed as a joke. Now as adults they could spend money on nicer things.

The festival grounds were still being set up when they arrived, the activities officially starting closer to noon, but Opal wanted a proper breakfast first. So a proper breakfast they’d get. There was a restaurant nearby, a diner, where Arlong and Opal got their first jobs. It was where a lot of locals got their first jobs, in fact. Including his sister, who now ran the place.

There was already a table set aside for them and Arlong took a seat across from Opal.

“What are you going to do?” Opal asked looking over the menu indecisively.

Arlong held his tongue, refraining from saying his first thought. Which mostly was something to the effect of reclaiming his shirt that she had stolen at some point. A button up with sea life swimming between reeds, left open for a dark tank top. Under the table and out of view, Opal was wearing wide shorts that brushed her thighs—and the less he thought about that the better off he’d be. He’d been good for years now. Never crossing a line even once. But he definitely thought about it often.

Especially now that they were older and he saw her everyday in his front office manning the desk. Taking calls and general tasks he asked of her. Security sitting with her in case of trouble but mostly to ensure that no one stopped to chat for too long.

“Funnel cake and the ferris wheel for sure.” Arlong declared as she nodded sagely.

“Well, I can’t wait for the fireworks.” Opal grinned and Arlong snorted. She always insisted on watching the fireworks despite being at the festival the entire day and usually passed out immediately afterwards.

“Try not to drool on me this time.” Arlong teased, receiving an offended huff.

“That was one time! And I was six!” He laughed and waved the waitress over.

The festival was big this year, more tourists coming in than any year prior, which made traveling around the different booths more difficult than usual. Arlong had to pull Opal in close several times to avoid separation or getting bowled over. He found it amusing how quickly people parted from their path when he flashed his fangs at them.

Several hours later, many fried foods, and a lot of cheap souvenirs later the sun was beginning to set. Arlong grimaced at the crowds, recognizing that they wouldn’t get a very good spot on the festival grounds with this many people. And after hours of noise and stimulation, Opal would not want to be so close to drunk strangers.

Arlong leaned over.

“You want to go find somewhere quiet to watch the fireworks?” He asked, Opal jerking her head in a nod with a pinched expression. Arlong thought for a moment. His house wasn’t a bad choice. The whole area was relatively flat so there wouldn’t be anything blocking the view. And his front porch had comfortable seating compared to sitting on sand or a lawn chair. “C’mon.” Arlong pulled her along to the exit.

His house would also be very private.

Arlong drove back through town, smiling when he noticed Opal falling asleep next to him. It was a good thirty minute drive from one end of town to the other. The sky still not quite dark enough for fireworks when they arrived. Gently, Arlong jostled her awake.

“Mm, we’re here? Already?” Opal mumbled, rubbing her face and slowly getting out.

“Yep. Grab a blanket while I get some drinks. We can watch from the porch.” Arlong told her, hopping out to grab supplies. Opal close behind as she made her way to the hallway closet for her favorite quilt.

Arlong considered the drinks in the fridge, ultimately choosing sodas in glass bottles.

To his amusement, Opal chose to sit on the bench that rocked. Something he wasn’t surprised by considering he got it for her specifically. Scraps of fabric hanging from the bar that would usually hold an awning if he hadn’t installed in on his covered porch. Now it was just for decoration. He held out a bottle and she took it, excitedly patting the bench next to her as she fussed with the blanket over her shoulders.

Instead, Arlong picked her up and settled her on his lap, leaning back and rocking with his heels. Opal laughed, relaxing against his chest as the night sky finally shifted to a dark blue. Any minute now, the fireworks would start up. He’d funded them personally this year to ensure they were good. Almost literally burning money but he found that it was worth it to ‘waste’ money on events. It just made the next year even bigger and brought in more money to the whole town as their reputation grew.

Opal shifted, pulling the blanket out from under her to settle in on her lap.

Suddenly, Arlong was aware of a whole different issue.

Opal was short—very short compared to him. But not quite small. Generous curves and soft lines that helped Arlong not feel like he was handling a porcelain doll when he picked her up. When he first really started growing, he lorded his height over her often as a joke but he just… kept growing. Taller and taller until she was just so small next to him.

And he really liked that.

Really really liked that. It felt good to know his hand could almost go around her entire thigh. His arms thicker than her leg, including her hips. Hard muscle molding soft curves to his liking.

Arlong slipped his arms around her waist, letting his palm rest over her stomach, partially obscured by the quilt, and reminded himself that he shouldn’t squeeze or pull her closer. Mindfully, he relaxed his arms, letting them slip down a little lower as she sighed.

A loud snap echoed across the sky and lights exploded in the air. A colorful shower of red and blue sparks as the fireworks show began.

Arlong flinched, having momentarily forgotten why they were there. His rough hands reflexively squeezing her soft thigh and stomach.

In the dead quiet after the explosion, Arlong could clearly hear the soft moan of surprise. A very loud moan, actually.

“S-Sorry! You startled me!” Opal apologized quickly. Too quickly.

Arlong felt excitement race through his veins, a smirk growing.

“You have nothing to apologize for. I shouldn’t be man handling you like this, anyway.” Arlong slowly pulled his hands away and grinned when he felt her hands grab his wrists.

“It’s fine--!” Another explosion with crackling glitter littering the skyline.

Arlong curled forward a little, crowding into her space.

“You don’t think it’s inappropriate for me to be grabbing you like this?” Arlong asked softly into her hair, sea salt and sandalwood drifting into his nose. Arlong waited for another explosion to rock the sky and squeezed her thigh.

Right on cue, Opal moaned in the silent space after green fire lit up the sky.

“…Do you like this, Opal? Do you like me touching you?” Arlong asked. But he already knew the answer. He could feel how hot she was under his hands.

“…yes.” Opal sighed breathlessly.

Arlong slowly ran his hands back over her body, pulling her against his chest as he leaned back. Dragging up her tank top to feel her skin under his hands. Her heart thundering beneath his palm as he cupped her breasts. She panted and whined, actively helping him remove her shirt. Every explosion followed by a small flinch from the sound.

“So pretty for me. Finally get to touch you like I’ve been craving. You’re not scared, are you?” Arlong asked, drumming his fingers just over the band of her shorts.

“No, why would I be?” Opal asked breathlessly as Arlong tossed aside her bra. He fondling her breast for a moment, rolling her nipple as he kissed her bare shoulder.

He took her hand in his and spread out his fingers wide, her hand dwarfed in his.

“You’re so delicate compared to me, baby. I could ruin you.” Arlong clenched his hand around her fist, completely obscuring it.

“Please~” Opal moaned, squeaking in embarrassment as Arlong laughed. Dark, heavy pleasure settling low in his bones, his cock twitching with interest.

He chuckled, lifting up her hand and uncurling his fist to kiss her knuckles.

“With pleasure~” Arlong purred, grabbing her other hand to hold them together. He lifted them up high and plucked a thick piece of fabric from the overhead bar that would usually brush his head when he sat down. Tying it in a firm knot around her wrists was easy, though it forced her to arch over his chest—he was hardly complaining.

Several fireworks exploded in the air as he used his now free hands to tease her. Petting her sides and lifting her breasts in his hands as she squirmed uselessly. Moaning up at him when he teased them before moving to her waist. He made quick work of her shorts, shoving them down her thighs along with her panties.

He freed his cock and laughed as her thighs trembled around it, her pussy quickly drenching him.

“I should have done this years ago. You look so cute dripping on my cock. Excited, aren’t you? Thought you’d be scared when you saw me but you just want more, don’t you?” Arlong slid his hands under her hot thighs and lifted them up to her chest, kissing her temple as he rocked the bench slowly. Grinding her against his cock as she was pulled up. “You look like a toy. Does it feel good, baby?” Arlong asked, well aware it did from how she trembled in his arms, gasping for air while she drooled over his cock.

“Y-Yes! O-Oh, Arlo-aahn~!” Opal cried out, breath stuttering as she drenched him.

“My cute little mess, you’re missing the show~” Arlong teased as she squeezed her eyes shut. Arlong lifted her up more, cock slipping against her ass as he lowered her into place. The tip catching on her cunt, sliding right in from how wet she was. “Can you feel it—nngh!—I sure can, you’re so damn tight. Relax. You can’t take it if you don’t relax.” Arlong chided her as he grunted, slowly feeding her pussy more of his thick cock.

Cream oozed out with every inch, forced out by his cock’s relentless encroachment. Not helped by her jerking movements that fucked her on his cock erratically.

“Ah-hhahh~! Oh! F-Fuck~!” Opal moaned as he finally sank in as deep as he could go, cock grinding against her walls. She hung over his chest helplessly, voice drowned out by the explosions across town.

Arlong panted, squeezing her thighs before letting go. She hung there, unable to sink deeper despite not quite taking his whole cock. Shifting his legs, Arlong braced himself and thrust up his hips.

Opal screamed out, her entire body bouncing to his pleasure.

Grinning, Arlong rocked forward, dragging her off his cock a few inches before leaning back. She slid into place further down as he laughed.

“What a pretty look for you~” Arlong sighed, rubbing his hands over her sweaty body. “But you can take more, can’t you? I just feel so generous—indulge yourself~” Arlong asked, though he didn’t wait before lifting his hips up again. Her ass met his thighs with a startled gasp, his hands pinching and rolling her breasts as he started a steady rhythm. She still had a couple of inches to go and he wanted her to feel every inch.

Leaning forward slowly, dragging out his cock before rolling back, lifting his hips to hilt into her quivering pussy when she had the most slack. She still bounced on his lap, cunt struggling to take him. The bench creaking beneath them as he used it to fuck her. Fireworks puncturing the air as they panted. He tried to go slowly, but she felt so good he started throwing himself back harder for a chance to hilt faster.

Steadily, she took more and more of his cock as she adjusted to his size.

“A-Aaaarlong~! O-Oh! Oh! A-aaahhn~!” Opal threw back her head, jerking her arms against the tie as she came. Squeezing his cock so hard he hissed and slammed back the bench to hilt. His legs shuddered and he swiftly pulled out, dragging out a startled scream as he came over her chest.

They panted, Arlong falling back as the fireworks show reached a fever pitch. Unsteadily, he reached up and loosened the knot, letting her fall onto his lap completely with a breathless laugh.

“Such a good girl for me… you like the show?” Arlong chuckled, head rolling back as the cool night air drifted over their heated bodies.

Opal moved, sitting up and gripping his thighs before slamming down onto his lap—taking his cock to the hilt.

“Y-Yes!” Opal shuddered, Arlong’s hands slamming over her waist.

He grinned, barely glancing at the bright sky filled with crackles and explosions.

“Then I guess it’s time for an encore.” Arlong conceded, lifting her up to slam back down with a wet smack.

[carrigank]

Don’t mind my no make up face, but check out this body suit you guys!😳

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Link to the black ✨sparkle✨ sandals in the first picture below 👇

Sweater from second picture is linked below👇

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[alarrytale]

Zayn’s vision for his live show is a lot like the environment he made these songs in: a small band to back him up, a rug on the floor, a stool to sit on, maybe a guitar for himself, and a mic. “Not too many fancy tricks,” he says. When he closes his eyes to sing, it’ll almost feel like no one’s watching — and he will feel right at home. ///

Zayn in a new interview for Nylon magazine

Will his fans enjoy this? Eyes closed and sitting on a stool the whole time?

Hi, anon!

I think that might work for Zayn for several reasons. He's comfortable with it and Zayn being comfortable will give his audience the best show. He hasn't had a solo show ever and Zayn fans will love it regardless, because of the novelty (that might change later in his career). And most importantly, if there is someone who's going to pull of a show without tricks, fireworks or costume changes, just a chair and a backing band, it's those artists who's artistry lies primarily in their voice. Zayn's voice speaks for itself. It's enough to capture and spellbind people on it's own. He doesn’t need distractions.

[jordanianroyals]

Royal Fashion → Summer vacation, U.S. (Summer 2023)

Louis Vuitton Short Sleeved Jacket

Loewe “Flamenco” Mini Nappa Calfskin Clutch in Lime Yellow ($1950)

Prada Leather & Nylon Sandals in Black (£490)

Apple Watch Ultra GPS + Cellular Titanium Case with Brown Ocean Band in 49mm ($799)