#I think it’s the eyes outlined in color and shadows

[bugscreating]

I finished more art, I was playing with colored line art. I can’t tell if I like it. I have so many ideas for this

#kusuo saiki #kuboyasu aren x saiki kusuo #aren kuboyasu #kubosai #ballet au #original art #this art took me way less time. probably because the clothes are a lot less detailed #I still don’t understand shadows #I like the bodies but overall idk #I think it’s the eyes outlined in color and shadows #also the Aren on the right should be off the ground #I think I will do a more finished piece of a performance on a stage #also it’s important to state in this AU PK is a ballet school #after school the characters all head to the ballet studio #I am thinking that maybe the psikickers are all also in a hip hop class #and they all have powers still #but the real reason Saiki hangs out with them in this AU is because of their classes #I think maybe only Nendou and Kaidou go to the same school as Saiki

[vivwritescrappythings]

Saying Thanks

Joel Miller x afab!fem!reader

Joel is your grumpy patrol partner who doesn’t even talk to you in the streets of Jackson. But one night a man grabs your arm at the Tipsy Bison, and Joel’s decided he doesn’t like it.

tw: smut, fem reader, afab reader, unspecified age gap, reader is smaller than Joel (shorter, can be picked up by him), oral (m! receiving), p in v sex, crying, fighting, blood, drinking, Joel may be out of character but I don’t care, not proofread.

Word count: 8.1k

minors, fuck off

masterlist

—

Joel was seething. You’d never seen him like this, rage burning in his gaze and his hands balled into fists at his sides as he was pushed toward the door. Of course you’d seen him in fights before, dealing with raiders and infected on patrol was a bloody business at best, but the second the new guy, Jake? Jack, at the Tipsy Bison put a hand on you—just touching your arm—Joel exploded.

You didn’t even have time to blink before the man grabbing your arm was on the ground, ugly bruises blossoming on his face. You didn’t even launch into action to get Joel off of him, shock leaving you frozen. You only remained plastered against the bar, gaping at Joel’s savage expression and the way his fists bludgeoned Jack's face. The drink in your hand spilled over the sides a bit, a sticky combination of fruit juice and alcohol coating your skin and absorbing in the sleeve of your sweater.

You were already tipsy, your face hot and your eyes a bit glassy. You were more loose with your expressions, the careful filter you kept starting to deteriorate. By the time a bar fight broke out, you were already more than a few drinks in, your heart pounding in your chest along with the soft music and a thin layer of sweat starting to prickle at the back of your neck.

Joel had stayed quiet that night, sticking to the secluded booth in the back of the bar that he usually haunted. There was no acknowledgement of each other, his chocolate-colored eyes had landed on you for a moment when you walked in, shadowed over by his dark brow in its permanent scowl. As always, he didn’t speak to you despite the fact that you spent most mornings together patrolling the outskirts of Jackson.

He wasn’t your biggest fan, even going so far as to complain to his brother when the two of you had been assigned together. Tommy was giving you a shot on the patrol, you were newer to Jackson and needed a job. You could handle a gun and didn’t seem completely clueless, so he figured he would stick you with Joel to see if you made it out on the other side.

But, nevertheless, Joel was now being pulled off Jack by a few other patrons. They hauled him up by the collar of his canvas jacket, his knuckles bloodied and a snarl on his face as Jack scrambled away. You still stood wide-eyed and dopey, your voice caught in your throat as you struggled for something to say.

Joel wouldn’t look at you, eyes drilling into Jack as he was shoved toward the door. He kept hissing threats through his teeth, snippets of ‘I’ll break your fucking arm if you ever touch her again,’ audible above the music as he grappled with the men trying to contain him.

Your gaze traced the outline of his aquiline nose, the way his lips were pursed beneath his dark mustache. It was a struggle to push him out the door. You flinched when it slammed shut behind him, spilling more of your drink.

“You better get your damn dog on a leash.” It was one of the older women in the neighborhood, her brows drawn and a disgusted expression on her face as she regarded you. You finally snapped out of your shocked stupor, looking at Jack’s bloodied and swollen face as he was picked up and put into a booth.

What was Joel even thinking?

You downed your drink in a few gulps, setting the empty glass on the bar before pushing yourself away from the bar top. Wind swept inside the Tipsy Bison as you forced the door open, providing a moment of relief from the humid heat of the bar. It was starting to get cold out, dried leaves swirling in the breeze as autumn settled into the bones of Jackson.

You shivered, wrapping your arms around yourself as you peered out into the darkness. The leaves crunched under your shoes as you took a few tentative steps, the sweater you wore offering you little protection from the wind.

Joel leaned against the wall of a nearby business, his head tilted back and his throat bared to the dim light of the moon. He was sucking in deep breaths through his mouth, his bloody knuckles limp at his sides. His jacket was off-kilter from where he’d been thrown out the door, his hair mussed.

“Joel?” You approached him like you would a wild animal, on high alert and prepared for any sudden movement.

He looked at you with a bored expression, the moonlight catching on the silver hair that splintered at his temples and in his patchy beard. You hesitated, stopping your approach for a moment before pressing on until you were a few feet in front of him. His dark curls stuck up in every direction, they were a little long now that winter was approaching.

“What the hell was that?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest as your weight settled so one hip popped out to the side. You sounded more aggressive than you intended to, the words coming out like an accusation rather than a question.

It was times like this that made the age and size difference between you and Joel apparent. He stood up straight, towering over you a bit as he cleared his throat. Sometimes he made you feel like you were still just a dumb teenager instead of a woman in her mid twenties. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, his voice a deep grumble with a slight southern twang to it.

A scoff leaves your mouth before you can even stop it, the alcohol reducing your filter to near non-existence. “What do you mean, Joel? I watched you beat the shit out of that guy for what? Touching my arm?” You were a little too loud, your voice ricocheting off the buildings around you. Under different circumstances, you would have cringed and apologized immediately, but something forced you to soldier on.

Thankfully no one else was outside that night—it was too cold and still too early for the Tipsy Bison to have a last call. It felt like a standoff. His dark eyes were trained on your face, his mouth drawn into a scowl. You usually backed down to him, acquiescing to his stubborn nature.

“And so what if it was?” Joel grumbled, his attitude matching your own. The way he crossed his arms made his biceps bulge under the fabric of his jacket—your breath hitched for a moment before you glanced away.

You shook your head, disbelief coloring your expression as his words settled in. “You don’t even like me!” You can’t help but gesture wildly, your hands moving like they had minds of their own.

He ignored you regularly. There was an unspoken rule of only acknowledging one another on patrols together. The woods outside of Jackson were the only place that Joel would actually talk to you, otherwise you acted like perfect strangers in town.

His jaw clenched as he pushed off the wall, taking a few steps closer to you. “Who said I didn’t like you?” he asked, his voice lower as his head dipped toward yours.

He couldn’t be serious.

Your eyebrows shot up, disbelief making you smile incredulously. “What, so ignoring me in public and complaining about me to Tommy is how you treat your friends?” You were moments away from leaving and letting Joel find a new patrol partner.

You spent too much time defending Joel from his reputation as the town pariah, arguing that he wasn’t the animal everyone thought he was. He had a hard time blending in, bigger than most everyone except for his brother and unapproachable to a fault. It seemed that Tommy and Ellie were the only people he willingly spoke to, otherwise keeping largely to himself.

Sometimes you wondered if he heard the rumors going around about him—speculation that he used to be a hunter, a smuggler, a heartless killer. You never had it in you to ask him about it.

Not that he would tell you, anyways.

Joel’s scowl deepened, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. His silence did nothing but rile you up, it felt like an admission to the fact that you were right. You huffed, the autumnal breeze making dried leaves stick to your jeans and your breath clouding in the air.

“Well, Joel, you should really figure out how to act like an adult,” you snapped, shaking your head as you started to turn away from him. “You’re way too old to be beating up boys at a bar for touching someone you don’t even give a damn about.”

The Tipsy Bison called to you, warm light spilling out the windows and the people moving inside. Your friends were still in there, giggling with one another at the bar. You could see others nursing Jack in a booth, pressing ice wrapped in towels against his face as his blood turned them pink.

“I didn’t like how he was grabbing ya,” Joel finally said after you’d taken a few steps away. The admission made you stop in your tracks, looking back over your shoulder at the man. He looked sheepish as he admitted it, his gaze on the floor like a toddler getting scolded. He cleared his throat, taking a deep breath before redirecting his eyes to the sky. “You didn’t… you didn’t hear how he was talking about you… didn’t want you with a guy like that.”

Your eyebrows shot up, your lips parting slightly. Your head tilted up to look at him properly, eyes narrowed slightly as you evaluated him. He seemed shockingly sincere, the awkward expression on his face sealing the deal. “Careful Joel, I’m almost starting to think you care about me.”

There was something in the way his eyes shifted to meet yours that almost made your heart stop.

“Never said I didn’t care,” he mumbled, one of his baseball mitt hands coming to rub the back of his neck. The blood on his knuckles was drying, turning to a rust color under the moonlight. You couldn’t help but purse your lips, tilting your head to one side. It was hard to understand, the alcohol making you feel like you were buzzing as you mulled over Joel’s words.

He cleared his throat again, shuffling a little closer to you in the process. “When I talked to Tommy, I wasn’t complainin’ about you,” Joel said. His cheeks were flushed, making you wonder if he was cold or just from the alcohol. He was notorious for sucking down bourbon like it was water, especially on nights when he had nothing to do the next day.

“You weren’t?” you asked, probing the older man a bit. You had only walked by when Joel was talking to his brother, catching your name in their hushed whispers and Joel’s strained expression. You’d assumed it was because he was stuck with you, a newer recruit, a woman.

Joel sighed, shaking his head. It felt like you were pulling every word from his throat. “Tommy… he uh… he put us together because he thought it would be good for me,” he said, hesitating between parts of his sentence. “Thought you’d be good for me.”

“Good for you?” The alcohol made your voice soft around the edges, the question tumbling out of you before you had the sense to stop it. Joel stepped closer, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly. He was close enough that you could see the scar on his ear, the scars littering his bloodied hands and the ones across his nose. Sure, you’d seen them on patrol as you walked shoulder to shoulder, but for some reason you find yourself trying to memorize every detail about him in the moonlight.

“Yeah, sweetheart, good for me,” Joel mumbled, looking down at his boots for a moment before making eye contact with you again. Sweetheart. The nickname rattled around in your mind, echoing in time with your heartbeat. You would’ve punched anyone else for calling you sweetheart, but it sounded good coming from Joel.

Your face heated up, an odd smile quirking up the corners of your mouth as you struggled to find words to say. “You’re a liar, Joel,” you manage to spit out.

He let out a chuckle, the kind that hardly made any noise and just let out a sharp breath of air. You earned one every now and then, it always made you beam when you could get him to chuckle on patrol. “Yeah? I could’ve switched a long time ago,” Joel murmured, shrugging his broad shoulders. “Tommy offered to let me switch.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, a sliver of your combative nature rising up your throat. You wanted to argue with the older man, inform him that he was wrong.

Joel must have picked up at the way your jaw twitched, your expression twisting. “It’s nice to listen to ya blabber in the mornings,” he said, his tone lighter than it had been. It was almost easy to forget what happened in the Tipsy Bison, the way you watched him beat Jack’s face into a pulp.

You huffed, shaking your head. There was a small smile on your face as the heat continued to rise on your cheeks. “Then why do you act like I’m a stranger when I see you around?” you asked Joel. You scraped your teeth over your lower lip, scuffing the toe of your shoe in the dirt.

Joel’s face fell a bit, his eyes softening as he became serious once more. “You don’t want to be around me anyways, people would judge ya.” It was like he didn’t want to admit it, his voice low and mumbling.

You hummed your disagreement, deciding to be bold and step even closer to the huge man in front of you. He towered a head over most people in Jackson, strong and wide and sturdy. You looked over his tanned, weathered skin, his dark curls that were starting to show age through scattered silver strands. “You don’t seem too bad to me,” you said, nearly a whisper.

You saw how Ellie looked at him like he was her favorite person in the world. If that girl could trust him, then so could you.

Joel’s warmth radiated onto you in the cool evening, the smell of bourbon on his breath and blood on his hands. He shook his head, maintaining the closeness you’d established. “Sweetheart, you know most of the shit they say about me around this town is true.”

You’d figured as much. You’d watched Joel kill raiders without a blink of an eye and jump into action whenever infected approached the high, protective walls around Jackson. The first time you’d witnessed it, his precision took your breath away. Now it was something that you had come to depend on.

“I assumed as much,” you said with a shrug, folding your arms over your chest and tucking your hands under your armpits to keep them warm. “Never mattered to me,” you said, biting the inside of your cheek for a moment.

You considered going back to the bar to avoid the chill, but you didn’t feel like having to answer questions about you and Joel all night. Everyone would want to know what he said to you out here, would have their own ideas about why he did it. There were a few breaths of silence. “But, I should probably go home.”

“Not gonna go back inside?” Joel asked, nodding his chin toward the Tipsy Bison. His gaze was still focused on you. You thought about it for a moment before shaking your head, glancing back at the bar. It had lost its appeal.

“Just home, Joel. Have a good night… thanks for protecting my honor and stuff,” you said with a small smile. There was a lightness in the way you spoke, your eyes sparkling in the darkness.

You started to walk toward your house, living in the opposite direction from Joel. “Make sure you clean up those hands of yours, don’t want to have to get another patrol partner any time soon,” you said without looking back, dead leaves crunching under your feet with each step.

You heard his heavy footfalls behind you until Joel fell into step at your side. “Mind helping me out? Not great at first aid,” he said, holding his knuckles out in front of him. They were blown apart.

“Jesus, Joel,” you muttered, grabbing one of his wrists to inspect his hand as you walked. His wrist was warm and thick in your hand, he didn’t pull away. The wounds overlapped a number of scars beneath them, a snippet of Joel’s past violence. “Were you trying to kill him or just teach him a lesson?”

“I don’t pull my punches,” Joel said with a noncommittal shrug, making you roll your eyes. Of course he didn’t. Joel definitely taught him a lesson. You dropped his wrist, not giving him a response as you followed the path to your home.

Your house was one of the smaller ones, the yellow paint starting to peel off the siding and the wall around Jackson casting a shadow over it in the moonlight. Joel was grumbling about your proximity to the wall as you opened your front door and flicked on the lights.

“Take off your boots before you track mud in, I’ll meet you in the kitchen,” you tell Joel, toeing your shoes off before you head to one of the bathrooms. You can still hear him complaining as his heavy boots hit the floor, his lumbering footsteps going to the kitchen. The layout for all of the homes in Jackson was relatively the same, the sub-development it had been converted from seemed fairly cookie-cutter.

Joel sat patiently at the counter as you brought in the first aid kit, setting it down on the stone countertop and flicking it open. He seemed calm and unconcerned, more like a seasoned veteran to first aid than a novice. “I find it hard to believe that you’re bad at this,” you murmured, opening an alcohol wipe to start cleaning his knuckles.

Joel placed his big, catcher’s mitt hands flat on the counter for you to work. His jaw tensed a few times as you wiped over the largest knuckle on each of his hands. “I’m here for your gentle touch, sweetheart,” he muttered, sarcasm biting his tone and making you laugh.

“I’m not a nurse for a reason,” you said, smearing ointment onto the wounds with your fingertips. You tried to be careful, not applying too much pressure to the irritated skin.

Joel chuckled, watching your movements as you pulled out a roll of gauze and loosely wrapped his wounds to cover them. He flexed his hands as soon as you were finished, the gauze stretching tight when he made fists. “Good as new,” you said, leaning against the countertop. You both looked down at his bandaged wounds, lingering in the closeness before you stepped away.

“Now, you should hold off on bar fights for a while.” Mirth glittered in your eyes as you grabbed a wine bottle from one of the shelves in your kitchen. You grabbed two glasses without asking, methodically going through the motions of opening the bottle and pouring.

It felt like you and Joel were sprinting head-first at a line the two of you had never crossed before. There was a shift from coworkers to something else, and it started the second Joel pounced on Jack. You found yourself studying his face as you handed him a wine glass, categorizing his features as you took a sip. He was handsome, but he always had been—you just didn’t let yourself recognize it.

“No promises,” Joel grumbled, taking a long drink. You watched him swallow, your eyes partially lidded before you remembered yourself. You felt your cheeks and ears heat up as you took another drink, unclenching your fist at your side and focusing on the stretch of the bones and ligaments.

“You really didn’t need to beat Jack up, I can handle myself,” you murmured, your lashes fluttering as you redirected your gaze to Joel.

He just snorted softly, shaking his head. His expression twisted into amusement, the papery wrinkles of his crow’s feet becoming pronounced. Your brows furrowed, your head tilting as you prepared to argue the fact that you could, in fact, defend yourself. “His name is Jake.”

Embarrassment made blood rush to your face so quickly you almost felt light headed. A sheepish smile settled on your features, a giggle working its way through your throat. “He even let me call him Jack like… five times the other day,” you said into your wine glass, a guilty look on your face.

“Poor boy’s got it bad then,” Joel said, smirking at you. His dark eyes appeared even darker in the lighting of your kitchen.

“Don’t worry, I think you scared him enough,” you said, rolling your eyes playfully. You picked your glass up off the counter, walking out of the kitchen to your cozy living room.

Joel came to sit on the couch as you stoked a fire to life, burning some of the dried kindling you kept in a bucket near the fireplace to coax the logs to life. You could feel his eyes on your back as you crouched, the flames breathing warmth over you as they crackled. The combination of his gaze, the fire, and the wine you kept sucking down in mouthfuls made a sweat prickle at the back of your neck as you stood up straight.

He made himself comfortable, lounging on the couch with an arm draped on the back of it. He’d brought the bottle of wine, it sat on the coffee table next to his empty glass. One of your eyebrows arched as you sat next to him, leaving enough space between the two of you that you could twist and bring your knees and feet up onto the sofa.

“You really made yourself at home.”

Joel cracked an easy smile, the fire illuminating the deep shadows of scowl lines on his forehead. You felt the urge to smooth them out with your fingertips. “I’ve got a habit of doing that,” he said, his dark gaze sliding to the fireplace. One of the logs popped, sending sparks through the hearth.

There was a lapse of silence where you reached over and filled up his wine glass again. You felt surprisingly comfortable next to him, relaxing your side against the cushioned back of the couch as you faced Joel. “The ladies at the Tipsy Bison called you my guard dog.”

That made him outright snicker. “Yeah? I’m your guard dog, huh?” he asked, clearly teasing. The way his flannel clung to his shoulders was heavenly, wrapped around every well-defined muscle like a second skin. The wine was staining his mouth purple, you were enraptured as his tongue darted out to catch any remaining drops on his lips.

You cleared your throat, blinking as you nodded. “Said I should get you on a leash,” you mumbled, the heat on your cheeks spreading to your neck and ears. You gulped the wine to break some of the tension, your nose scrunching as you swallowed.

There was a shift, it would’ve gone unnoticed if you weren’t paying attention.

Joel stretched a bit, tilting his head back as he finished the rest of the wine in one gulp before setting the glass on the coffee table. When he sat back, he’d moved closer to you. Your knee was nearly touching his thigh, that inch of empty space feeling electric.

“Do you want me on a leash?” he asked, his voice deep. There was something different to his tone, the harsh edges of his voice rounded out more than usual. The question made your breath stutter in your chest. The sincerity in his expression caught you off guard. You opened your mouth to speak, only silence coming out. “If there was anyone who could convince me, it would probably be you, sweetheart.”

You choked on your wine, awkward and clumsy as you sat up straight to prevent it from coming out of your nose. Part of you felt like Joel had turned you inside out as you spluttered, confusion and self-consciousness running rampant.. Finally you got a hold of yourself, sucking in wet breaths with tears in your eyes.

“You okay?” His voice was sweet and soft when he asked, as though he hadn’t caused it. You nodded, waiving off his concern as his paw of a hand grabbed your shoulder. His touch was napalm, igniting your skin through your thin sweater.

“Just surprised me,” you choked out, wiping away the tears with the heel of your hand as you sniffled. Joel’s hand stayed where it was, his thumb rubbing along your collarbone over the black fabric. He did nothing but hum his acknowledgement, patiently waiting for you to catch your breath.

Another cough rattled through you before you could breathe again. Joel’s eyebrows were raised as he watched you, mirth sparkling in his eyes. “You are so full of shit, Joel Miller,” you finally said, pushing his shoulder lightly.

He still was touching you, leaning forward into your space as he did so. Your breaths were shallow, apprehensive and giddy in all the right ways.

“You think I’m full of shit?” he asked, smirking.

“I know you are.” You couldn’t help but flirt, batting your eyelashes and smirking at Joel. You felt electric, lightning just crackling under your skin with the potential thrill of him reciprocating. Sure, you were risking a decent work relationship, but you could get a new patrol partner.

He hummed thoughtfully, his hand creeping toward the back of your neck. The stretch of his fingers to the meat of his palm spanned nearly three-quarters of the circumference of your throat, something that should’ve chilled you to the bone. Excitement sparked in your belly as you swallowed against the firm press of his thumb on your windpipe.

“You don’t seem like an ‘on the leash’ kind of guy,” you murmured, the feeling of the gauze you’d wrapped around his knuckles rubbing against your soft skin making you shiver slightly.

“No, guess I don’t,” Joel agreed, his dark brown gaze shifting from your eyes to your mouth and back. It was so quick, but the thrill that followed made you feel like you were glowing. You slicked your tongue over your lower lip, making it shine in the firelight.

The way he spoke made you press your thighs together, the stiff seam of your jeans pressing against you in the perfect way if you shifted how you were sitting. Joel moved as well, his thighs spreading just a bit, a palm quickly smoothing over his lap in an action he probably didn’t think he would notice.

“Sweetheart, we should just get this out of the way.”

Your brow furrowed in confusion before Joel was pulling you toward him, his lips slotting over yours. A soft, startled noise was muffled against Joel’s mouth, shock dissipating quickly as your eyes slid shut. His mustache tickled your upper lip as you accidentally bumped your nose against his.

When he pulled back, there was a hint of a smile on his face. Your face felt like it was on fire, a goofy grin gracing your features as your gaze flickered over him.

Joel’s other hand crept onto your jean-clad thigh, a calloused thumb stroking along the frayed hole at your knee. “So, was that weird for you?” you asked like an insecure teenager, your teeth digging into your lower lip as you waited for his answer.

Your heart was pounding, the irrational side of your brain wondering if he was able to hear it. He surely felt it against his palm, his heavy hand resting near your pulse as he kept you close on the couch. He smiled at your question, shaking his head no as he pulled you back in for a second kiss. It was quicker, a messy stamp of his mouth over yours.

“Didn’t think you’d be into an old man like me,” he said with a chuckle. If you didn’t know better it almost seemed like Joel felt bashful. The apples of his cheeks were dusted pink, whether it was from the kiss or the wine you didn’t know.

Your eyebrow arched, a grin still on your face. “You’re not old,” you said, rolling your eyes playfully. Your hands were pressed into your lap, part of you not knowing what to do with them. You looked up at Joel through your eyelashes before your gaze dragged down his torso and to his jeans. The flannel he wore was thin, the fabric well-worn and not tucked into his blue jeans.

“I should, um, thank you,” you murmured, shifting to put your empty wine glass on the coffee table.

Joel chuckled, still watching you like a hawk that set sights on its prey. “Last I checked, you were just lecturing me about fighting your own battles,” he teased, curiosity shining deep in his chocolate eyes as you got off your couch.

The wine must have gotten to your head, because you would’ve thought you were losing your mind. You moved to stand between Joel’s legs, slowly sinking to your knees on the squishy gray carpet that covered your living room. “I don’t have to thank you if you don’t want me to, Joel,” you murmured, your hands hovering over his thick thighs for a moment before resting on them.

He looked dumbfounded and giddy, his hands already resting on the black, leather belt he wore around his waist. “No, sweetheart, you’ve got a…uh… promising idea,” Joel said with a smile, shifting his legs so they bracketed you and his knees pressed against the coffee table.

You laughed softly, hands roaming up his muscular thighs to where his belt rested just under the soft layer of fat covering his stomach. “You sure? I can always get back up,” you said teasingly, working your fingers under the tongue of his belt and pulling the buckle open. It clinked as it fell off to the sides, you didn’t bother pulling it from the belt loops.

Joel shook his head, leaning back farther into the couch and shifting his hips toward you. “M’sure,” he answered, preoccupied on the way your fingers popped open the button of his jeans and worked the zipper down.

He was already hard, the outline of his cock pressing against the denim and toward his thigh. You reached into his black boxers, pulling it out of its confinement with a satisfied sigh.

He was big, bigger than any other guy you’d been with. You held the base of his cock, fingers against the curly, dark hair that covered his pubic bone and ran up toward his belly button. It was hot to the touch, the head already leaking precum that followed the path of the prominent veins down his shaft. It was more pink than the rest of him, the head a shade darker than the rest.

You licked your lips, almost embarrassed to find yourself drooling as you braced your forearm on his thigh and kitten-licked at the underside of Joel’s cock. He grunted at the contact, his hands digging into the plush cushion of the couch as his hips twitched toward your face.

“Eager,” you mumbled, a smile on your face as you looked up at Joel through your eyelashes. He was already looking down at you, his lips parted in anticipation and his breaths heavier than they were. You licked the tip of his cock again, the salty taste of his precum on your tongue. There’s something about the way that Joel lets a breath out through his teeth that makes you feel like you were set on fire.

You let out a breathy chuckle, wrapping your lips around the head of him and hollowing out your cheeks on your descent toward his lap. It was a lot to take, your eyes watering as you swallowed more of Joel’s cock. His moans and sighs were enough to keep you going, your lips curled over your teeth and your head bobbing up and down.

One of his hands found the curve of your jaw, calloused fingers tracing it before hooking around the back of your head. You were fine with his direction, letting Joel gently press your head down to dictate your speed.

The taste of him was salty and heady, a musk that was distinctly Joel filling your nose as you drooled and sucked his cock. It was slick with your spit, the mix of your saliva and his precum coating your lips and chin. You still had your hand wrapped around the base of him and moving in tandem with your mouth, ensuring you could get everything that your throat couldn’t fit.

“Goddamn, sweetheart, you suck cock like you were made for it,” Joel said, his words punctuated with soft sighs and moans. It made you want to live permanently with his praise, your gaze flicking up to meet Joel’s for a moment.

He was completely blissed out, his head tilted back toward the ceiling as he bit his full lower lip between his teeth. His Adam’s apple kept moving erratically in his throat, like he couldn’t decide whether to breathe or not. His hand still cupped the black of your head, half-thought praises falling frantically from his lips. Joel was barely speaking in sentences, some words falling to the wayside of his soft grunts.

Feeling emboldened, you moved your hand away and tried to relax your jaw as your head descended far enough that your nose was pressed firmly against Joel’s pubic hair. It smelled surprisingly clean, just the undertone of musk clinging to the dark, curly thatch of hair as you resisted the urge to choke around his cock.

It was thick and heavy in your throat as you swallowed around him, eliciting groans and his hand pressing tightly against the back of your head. Tears burned in your eyes as Joel’s thick cock twitched in your throat, your hands spread flat on your thighs as he moaned your praises.

Joel barely thrusted his hips toward your awaiting mouth, your eyes slipped shut so you could focus on relaxing your throat. Lungs burning, you finally pulled off to suck in deep breaths. Your hand resumed what your mouth had been doing moments before, taking Joel in your fist and using your saliva as lubrication.

“Look at how pretty you are,” Joel murmured, his southern accent thicker than normal as the hand on the back of your head shifted to cup your cheek. Your eyes were watery with a few tears tracking down your face, your lips swollen and saliva coating the entirety of your chin.

You smiled, stroking his cock as you struggled to regain your breath. “Didn’t know you were such a good girl,” Joel drawled, dragging his thumb through the saliva on your chin and smearing the pad of it across your parted lips.

“When I want to be.” Your voice was thick and raspy, your eyes partially lidded. Your knees were digging into the carpet, his legs keeping you where you sat.

He smirked at that. Joel gently moved your hand away from his cock, his arms winding beneath your armpits and lifted you back up to the couch. You squealed in the back of your throat, surprised by his strength as he settled you against the arm of the couch and twisted to face you.

Large hands yanked your sweater over your head to reveal the black bra you wore, a soft groan coming from Joel. He didn’t waste time, finding the back closure and popping it open. You helped him, guiding the thin straps down your arms and tossing the garment aside.

“Christ,” Joel mumbled, his thick fingers brushing over one of your nipples. A jolt of electricity traveled down your spine at the touch, warmth blooming on your cheeks.

You were impatient, panties already soaked through and feeling uncomfortable as you popped open the button on your jeans. “Joel, I need you,” you murmured, leaning forward to kiss him as you shimmied your pants and underwear over your hips.

“So impatient,” he muttered between presses of your lips, pulling away so he could look at you properly. The firelight illuminated the curves and shadows that littered your body, stretch marks and scars visible on your skin. Self-consciousness reared its ugly head for a moment, your gaze fluttering away from Joel’s intensity as he just stared at you.

He grabbed your thighs, pulling you toward him until your back hit the couch. “Joel…” you whined as he pressed your thighs apart, his dark eyes focused on your sex.

He spread the slicked lips apart with his thumb, making you cover your face with your hands out of embarrassment. “Look at you…” he mumbled, hardly even talking to you. He let go of your other thigh, his fingertips teasing your clenching hole to gather some of the wetness dripping down you and smearing it across your clit.

You gasped, your back arching at the contact against the nerves. Joel’s fingers were calloused and thick and warm, drawing tight, slow circles over your clit as his other hand pressed into the crease between your inner thigh and your pubic bone. It kept your hips from squirming away from him.

“You’re so sensitive, sweetheart,” Joel said, the smile audible in his voice. You’d kept your hands over your face, your moans muffled by your palms as you resisted the urge to snap your thighs closed. You felt vulnerable and exposed under him.

“You’re teasing,” you mumbled, your hips twitching in an attempt to get more friction from his calloused fingers. He kept his touch agonizingly light, making you whine and whimper in your desperation for more from him. He chuckled, fingers dipping to tease your entrance again before trailing back up to your clit.

“Let me see ya,” Joel said, his hand leaving the nestle of your thigh to wrap around your wrists and pull them away from your face. He held both in one hand, keeping your wrists captive against your sternum.

Your breaths were heavy, his fingers strumming over the swollen bump of your clit pulling moans from your throat. Joel’s eyes were partially lidded as he looked down at you, a smirk growing on his face at your desperate expression. “Joel, please,” you begged, your cunt clenching around empty space as you wished he would just fucking fill you up already.

He chuckled, clicking his tongue against his teeth with mock disapproval. “If you’re so desperate, get up and turn around, sweetheart,” he said, pulling you up by your wrists. “My knees aren’t what they used to be, help an old man out.”

You’d normally take that opportunity to make a joke at his expense, but you just let him move you around like a doll. He guided you so you were kneeling on the couch, your chest pressed against the back of it. You arched your back as much as you could, sticking your ass out and hoping you looked pretty as you looked at Joel over your shoulder. He didn’t even bother getting undressed, just standing up behind you and taking his cock in his hand.

His other hand still rubbed over your cunt, smearing your arousal over your swollen lips and onto your inner thighs. Much to your relief, he pressed two thick fingers inside you. The sensation made you groan, resting your weight on your elbows and your knees as you pushed back against his fingers. They slid in so easy you were almost embarrassed.

“You’ll take me just fine, sweetheart,” Joel murmured, approval echoing in his voice. He crooked his fingers to press and massage the spongy spot inside of you, making your mouth fall open and your legs jerk.

You twisted enough to glare at him, Joel covered in shadow from the fire crackling behind him. “Quit being an asshole, Joel,” you said through your teeth, making him chuckle.

“Where are your manners, sweetheart?” he asked, pulling his fingers from your cunt. He brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a sigh before grabbing your hip with a hand. His wet fingers smeared against your heated skin as he pulled you back a little more, making your back arch like a bow pulled too tight.

He slid the blunt head of his cock between your folds until it tapped against your clit, making him when you whimpered. Joel finally granted you what you wanted, lining up with your entrance and pressing his way in. His cock caught, sliding in so slow that it made you squirm.

“Relax, sweetheart.” Joel’s big hand slid up and down your curved spine, calloused fingers feeling each and every notch of your vertebrae. Your pussy fluttered around him, stretched out and so eager as he bullied his way inside of you. The breath you took in was frantic and overwhelmed, it felt as though he was pushing all of the air out of your body. The two fingers he had pressed inside of you as a test didn’t prepare you at all for his thick cock.

You could hardly breathe, you’d never taken a cock this big inside of you without any preparation–but you were too impatient to wait for him to stretch you out on his fingers. You were pathetic, whining and wheezing as your hands clenched against the cushions on the back of your couch.

You’d never felt anything better in your life.

After what felt like ages, Joel was fully seated inside of you. His coarse jeans were pressed against your soft thighs, the two of you breathing heavily like you’d run a marathon.

“You’ve gotta relax. Feels like you’re gonna squeeze my dick off,” Joel said, slowly grinding his pelvis against the swell of your ass. You nodded, trying to take in deep breaths and get used to the feeling of being stretched full.

“Sorry,” you muttered as you focused on becoming pliant, your taught muscles slowly releasing. His beard rasped against the back of your neck as he kissed you there, a moment of intimacy to calm you down. It felt like a reward, your breaths slowing as you unclenched around Joel and welcomed him deeper.

The sound you made when Joel pulled out and pressed back in was pathetic. It felt like he was sawing you in half, carving a space for his cock inside of you with each thrust. There was some caution to his movements, his fingers digging into the fat of your hips as he grit his teeth.

“So fucking tight, sweetheart,” Joel said, his voice muffled as his mouth pressed against your neck. Each thrust coaxed a gasp from you, your nails digging into the fabric of the couch as you took whatever Joel is willing to give. Your vision was blurry from the overwhelmed tears brimming your eyes.

The sound of your bodies smacking together filled your living room, the open belt still threaded through Joel’s pants clinking on the off beat. He maintained his pace like a machine, drilling into the gummy spot inside you that made your eyes roll back in your head.

Your nipples were sensitive, rubbing against the coarse fabric of the couch cushions with every thrust. The noises you made were absolutely undignified, the sounds of someone being fucked completely stupid. He was filling you up so perfectly and the knowledge that it was Joel, your hardass patrol partner who never gave affection to anyone, it made you feel like you’d touched a live wire.

“Tell me how it feels, sweetheart,” Joel said, a wide hand reaching around you to fondle your breast. He used it to bring you back, curving your spine so the back of your head was pressed against his collarbone and you looked up at where the wall and ceiling met.

You felt helpless and primal, your mind scattered a million different places. “So good,” you gasped stupidly, hardly able to form words. Your hands grabbed his forearm and fisted in his flannel behind you, an effort to anchor yourself to him.

“I know,” he murmured, kissing the shell of your ear. You were vaguely aware of tears running down your cheeks, your mouth hanging open as you struggled to stay afloat. You were already lost, a sea of sensation pulling you under with only the places where you and Joel were pressed together serving as your lifeline.

Joel’s free hand reached around your belly, finding your neglected clit with practiced ease. You moaned his name like a broken record, your eyebrows furrowing. He rubbed it hard and fast, matching the pace he was rutting into you with. You already felt heat pooling in your lower abdomen.

“Oh god,” you gasped, already shaking from head to toe and your grip tightening around his forearm. “Joel I’m—yes, yes, yes—“

It felt like your whole world shattered as you came with a shout, your muscles convulsing. You clamped around Joel’s cock like a vise, your hips twitching wildly. Pleasure flooded through you from head to toe, warm and fuzzy and all-consuming. The sensation was simultaneously too much and not enough, Joel steadily fucking you through it as your vision went white.

Joel had to pull himself away from you, letting you slump forward on the couch cushion as you came down from your orgasm. You were clenching around nothing, whining at how cruel he was to leave you empty.

The wet, sticky sounds coming from him made you turn your head as you went boneless on the couch. Joel’s cheeks were red as he tugged at his cock, a hand squeezing the flesh of your ass. His dark eyes were focused on you, all loose limbed and spent.

He finally noticed you looking, his mouth open and panting. He took in your fucked out expression, your eyelashes clumped with tears and cheeks red. He’d made a mess of you, the dazed look on your face his undoing as he let out a grunt. He sunk his teeth into his lower lip as he came, spurting thick come over your ass as his fingers dug into you.

You sighed as you felt his hot come land on your ass and back, pooling in the curve of your spine. You were still floaty and out of it, vaguely aware of him milking the last spurts of his spend from his thick cock.

“Jesus,” he grumbled, swaying for a moment before sitting down on the couch next to you. He gathered you in his arms, pulling you onto his lap and against his chest as you went perfectly limp.

You nuzzled against his neck, humming your affection as his hand rubbed up and down your back. The motion smeared his come along your skin, his fingers rubbing it in like body lotion. It was like he’d stuck your brain in a blender, the mush of the aftermath hardly able to form more than feelings as you pressed your forehead against his beard.

“I’ll beat up the whole town if this is the thanks I get,” Joel said, pressing a kiss to your temple. His barrel chest shook beneath you with a chuckle, his hands never straying from your body.

“No one’s gonna want to touch me with a ten-foot pole,” you muttered after a moment of silence, it took you a beat to even process what Joel was saying. He snickered, seeming pleased with himself as you melted deeper into his embrace.

“Good, I should be the only one touching you,” he said, making warmth bloom in your chest. “Unless I’m assuming things.”

You smiled, a sleepy look still on your face as you wound your arms around his neck and snuggled in closer. “So this wasn’t a spur of the moment thing?” you asked, sounding shy as you said it.

Joel chuckled, shaking his head. “You know how many times I had to go home after patrol and take a cold shower just because you bumped my arm or bent over to pick something up? Felt like a damn teenager.”

You giggled, picking your head up to look at Joel properly. He looked so soft and sweet around the edges, that normal fire and flintiness was gone from his dark eyes. “You gonna stay tonight?”

He pulled you in for a kiss, it was sweet and over all too soon. “If you’ll let me,” Joel said, sounding earnest.

You nodded, tucking your head back against his neck. You were starting to succumb to your drowsy state, your eyes sliding shut as you puddled into Joel. You were vaguely aware of him lifting you off the couch, his good-natured grumbling about carrying you up the stairs filling your ears.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #the last of us #tlou #the last of us x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #the last of us smut #joel tlou #I pictured show Joel but you can picture game Joel #they’re both hot #pedro pascal #tlou hbo #tlou fanfiction

[moodymisty]

Hi love your fics. Would you be willing to do an angron x reader. He gets so little content

Part 2

Author's Note: You are my light, anon. Thank you for giving me the platform to go fucking apeshit about my favorite Traitor Primarch. Even if he's not a traitor (yet uwu) in this. It's not my best work, but I've been sitting on this idea for awhile now and decided to just write it before I lost it to time.

Summary: Angron takes interest in a poor young soul who's presence can soothe the nails, much to your own terror.

Relationships: Angron/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Uhhh it's fucking Angron?, It's pretty early so he's not as consumed by anger as he is later in the Crusade, Angron looks at another Primarch's serf and goes yoink I want that, He doesn't kidnap you yet but he wants to lmao, General 40kness so war death blood mentions etc etc (for those curious, this is vaguely based after canon, where it's said that the thought of Sanguinius could soothe Angron's Butcher's Nails)

Word Count: 2002

You have ten more minutes. You know once these men finish their set of training drills, you'll have to be back in the librarium. Your desk and it's piles of documents hails you like some sort of terrible beckoning call.

This has been your system for awhile now, as the frigid air blows through your clothing. The Astartes in training are entertaining during your rare moments of peace, as you lean against the railing to watch.

To think so few people will ever live to see an Astartes, and you watch them train so often. A luxury to be taken advantage of, you suppose.

You lean against the railing with more weight, your arms crossed over the ornate topping. They're so far away you can't quite tell what chapter they belong to, but you can see bits of white and red on the few men that are wearing pieces of their armor.

You wonder if they even know you're here, and if they did, if they'd even care. You're not of their chapter that much is for certain, as they lack the blue gold coloring and the stalwart regime that is signature of the Ultramarines. These warriors fight like it's a free for all, unlike the rigid one on one training the Astartes of Macragge are accustomed to.

You swear you feel the ground almost shake for a moment, but you just end up assuming that it's from the training down below. Or perhaps something elsewhere out of view. You pay it no mind, and continue enjoying your few minutes of respite.

Then there's a feeling in the pit of your stomach that makes your lips purse, looking up at the sky. You can just barely see the legions of ships moored close enough to the planet. There's always so many, even more so when a chapter returns to Terra for brief periods of time.

You hear footsteps coming from behind you; Heavy and armored. More than likely an Astartes, if you had to take a guess. It's better for your own well being if you just make yourself small and don't catch their eye, hoping they don't even notice you.

The footfall continues closer, and closer, until it sounds like they're mere centimeters from you. They must be passing by, until they suddenly stop. There's a shadow overtaking your form from behind, And when you see it's outline, you freeze.

The shadow is massive. It swallows you up and the ornate edges of the armor cue you into the fact that this isn't just anyone. Unless they are of a high enough ranking to sport such unique armor. But you're gut says that this shadow is far too large to belong to an Astartes, and every other sense in your body agrees.

It has to be a Primarch. You can see the absolutely massive shadow, the booming footsteps from earlier, and the feeling. The feeling alone makes you know well this isn't a random Astartes who's becoming oddly interested in you.

The sons of the Emperor are known to have what can only be described as an aura around them, which seems to affect anyone in there vicinity. How they react to it depends on the person, but for most, it's usually fear hidden underneath a mask of stalwart servitude.

Thickly swallowing, you glance as far to the side as you can to see if you can figure out which one it is.

You can see, gold. brushed, but faded gold armor. Beaten and worn though still containing a particular luster about it. Higher up your eyes travel, and you see a faded outline of something around the kneeplate. It looks like, spikes, or a crude representation of teeth. Up a little farther, and you see something dangling from his hip; Cleaned bleached skulls and-

Oh god. Oh god.

You feel your heart slamming against your chest. It's going to break out, you just know it and you can't do anything to stop it.

It's not as if coming face to face with any Primarch is something to be taken lightly. But this isn't The Angel or The Raven. This isn't even your own Primarch Guilliman, who you've only seen a few times in your life.

This is Primarch Angron.

You can't run from him. He'd kill you within an instant if not for the sheer disrespect of it, but for triggering something in him that makes him think you're prey. You only hope that you can hold strong enough that he doesn't hear your heartbeat, or how your trying not to shake in your boots.

Slowly you turn your head more, eyes trailing up his legplate, then his chestplate, before finally reaching his face.

The metal cords coming from his head fall over his armored shoulders almost like chunks of hair, though distinctly old and worn. The metal is rugged; Beaten and warped. Underneath some of them you can see deep red tattoos, some of which trail onto his face. They're warped and shifted by his numerous scars, scattered across his face from forehead to neck. They're all old, long healed and forever telling a story that only he knows.

His eyes bear down on you, the deep red unreadable. He isn't reacting to you at all, but that angered expression is permanently spread across his face. The deep furrow in his brow, the look in his eyes. He's like a pot constantly on the edge of boiling over and scalding everything close.

He has to be toying with you. Like a Fenrisian wolf tossing it's broken, beaten prey up in the air like a game before finally taking the final bite. Is there any other reason why someone who dances along the line between man and god would look your way? Is he just waiting to see how long until you react?

But as quickly as he arrived, he leaves. Turns on one massive armored boot and begins walking down the gilded hallway.

You only have the will to turn your head and watch him move away when he's taken more than a dozen steps away, seeing the battered gold of his armor. His thick furred cape just barely brushes the ground- the frayed edge ripped from endless wear and tear flowing behind him . You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding and look back down towards the training Astartes. You peel your hands away from the railing you didn't realize you'd been holding with a death grip, palms slick with sweat.

You hoped desperately that it would be the only time you'd see the Primarch of the World Eaters. To survive once you'd already consider a miracle.

But it wasn't. Maybe the gods that are whispered about in various tomes have something planned for you. Maybe it's some sort of sick joke.

You see him once more not long later, and the exact same interaction occurs. You don't say a word, he doesn't either, and you assume you either pass some sort of trial only he knows or he just grows bored of you, and leaves.

The third time however, you dare to speak.

"Lord Primarch, do you, require something of me?"

Your voice is so soft he barely hears it, over the sound of clashing weaponry and fists on flesh. You look up at him but hesitate to look him in the eyes, but his own look traps you none the less.

You're a librarian or historitor of some sort in allegiance to the Ultramarines. He recognizes the blue and gold symboling embroidered onto your clothing from the various Astartes that traipse around with it plastered all over their armor, and their fancy, hand woven capes.

Gawdy and pointless. You'd topple over your own robes if you tried to run.

But you aren't running, aren't you?

Other serfs he passes by crumple like paper and plastic flimsies, but you're holding strong; A steel box that might be crumpling and walls concaving but still held together.

Angron looks to his left and over the railing out onto the vast open area. Khârn is out there, training Neophytes and newly blooded World Eaters. The warrior has no need for the diplomacy that you're more than likely used to from the Ultramarines, as Gorechild smashes into a thick plating of ceramite with one heavy swing. It sends the Neophyte to the ground in a split second. He looks back towards you, and notices that while your eyes glanced for a moment to follow his own, they now look back at him.

"You enjoying watching them fight." It's what he's found you doing every time he's passed you.

But it takes you a moment until you look up and see that he's staring at you, and that he wants an answer from you.

"Yes. I do."

You see his hand reach out, massive- Your eyes blink closed for just a moment in preparation for whatever he was about to inflict on you.

But instead, he grabs your jaw.

It still hurts, squishing your skin upward and forcing you to look up at him from an awkward angle, but it's far better than dying. You notice the way he stares at you.

He stares back, watching as your wide eyes dart around his face looking for answers.

Then he feels it.

He feels the stabbing, shrieking, aching pain of his nails dull ever so slightly as he watches. Glances over your soft skin. Meets your eyes. So the first time hadn't just been a trick of the light.

Your hands are frozen hovering at waist height, trying to figure out what you should do. Should you put them down, hold completely frozen until he finds or doesn't find whatever he's looking for in you? Or should you reach up and dare to touch the tarnished golden armor that has such a hold of you?

"Lord Primarch?" You mutter, hoping for an answer he doesn't seem keen on giving.

If anyone has passed by this scene they've not so much as uttered a word. None of them would, you'd have to be insane to interrupt a Primarch doings. You wonder for a moment if this scene would look comical from another's point of view.

One of your hands reaches up, shaking as you place it on the armor of his forearm. It's almost hilariously tiny- but much to your surprise the armor feels less cold that you would've thought. You place it there in the rough area of his wrist and try gently hold on and support yourself.

You're still petrified; Angron can see that emotion no matter how deep it's layered beneath other emotions on someone's face. When young men were thrown at him to die in those sandy pits, and he'd see the fear hidden underneath their anger. But as it fades and you become more confused by him than frightened, he feels yet another soothing wave go over his Butcher's Nails.

It's nowhere near enough- they still rip through his brain demanding him to kill to main to scream and bellow, but to edge that away just slightly is to give him relief he hasn't felt since before they dug this hideous tech deep into the recesses of his skull.

He doesn't know what it is about you that's doing it, but he knows he wants it. He wants you.

"Your name. What is it."

You stutter for a moment before speaking. The name is foreign; But given you more than likely hail from one of the many planets under Guilliman's rule, it makes sense.

His fingers shift over your face, and your jaw aches. He notices your hand on his arm and when he lets go, you use that same hand to rub your face.

He'll have to be careful. You're more breakable than him. But if you can dull the pain that sears through his head at every aching moment, then perhaps he'll have enough room in his head to spare the thought to be.

#i love a man that would literally just kill me. rip my head right off. #Angron x reader #primarch x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #Angron/Reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting

[undead-supernova]

I'll Pay the Price, You Won't.

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2

Masterlist

I came up with a little idea based off of Slut! by Taylor Swift and I'm never gonna stop being obsessed with it me thinks. I suppose it could be read as a one shot!

✨ If anyone wants to be on any tag list, just comment or send an ask hehe! ✨

plot: aquamarine, moonlit swimming pool...what if........all I need is you?

Pairings: modernrockstar!Eddie x bisexualfem!popstar!Reader (curvy!reader, bisexual!reader)

Warnings: slut shaming, body image insecurities, Eddie being too precious for this world, soft, comfort, reader is pretty girly and femme, so yeah

Easter Egg Count: 41

wc: 1.6k

“You know I want to be with you.”

“Oh yeah?” he said back, voice light and playful. His smirk was flooding his face, all well-intentioned and sugary sweet. 

“Mhm.”

The pool water lapped around you while he laid on his stomach, black towel underneath his shirtless figure. His fingers fiddled with yours to keep pulling you close to the edge. As you looked up at him, illuminated by the hot pink neon glow from your inner tube, you couldn’t help but swoon like a teenage girl. His hair appeared nearly fuschia, darkened by the shadows of the night and the reflection of the porch light behind him.

With a smug yet playful smile, he let out a hum before asking, “And why’s that, sweetheart?”

“Maybe I have a crush on you,” you said softly.

That smile turned into a smirk, his thumb running over your knuckles. You nearly blended in with the water, your turquoise bikini matching the color exactly. 

Usually, you wore a one piece to keep the world from commenting on whether your body looked good enough. It was hard enough to love your skin as it was—natural, textured. Stretch marks and cellulite. Scars from childhood mistakes. The exact opposite of whatever airbrushed magazine cover you or any of your peers were on, dolled up like plastic Barbies and whatnot. 

But he had gotten you this bikini. Stood you in front of a mirror and traced the outline of your waist and your tummy, chuckling whenever you quivered from his touch. Whispered how gorgeous you were in your ear. Reminded you that no one else was around. You were safe. 

(Even if his closest bodyguard, James, was standing outside his front door.)

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Mhm,” you mumbled, nodding.

“Had no idea,” he nearly whispered. 

It felt right to be quiet. The hot California air had finally cooled for the night, the neighborhood surrounding Eddie’s house seemingly devoid of human existence. The Los Angeles skyline skimmed the horizon only when you chose to peek above his fence. The illusion of seclusion when you pretend this was a guarded castle.

“I know. I hid it so well.”

“Exceptionally. You’re a master of deception.”

“Mm, thank you.” The two of you chuckled softly before you tried to gently clear your throat. “So are you going to keep teasing me or are you going to tell me how you feel?”

His eyes searched yours, as if he was trying to find something but couldn’t quite remember what it was. “You already know what I want,” he said.

“Yeah, I do,” you lied, praying your insecurity wouldn’t bleed through. “Which is why I want to hear it out loud.”

Scooting closer to the edge of the pool, he began to kiss your hands. 

“I.” Kiss. “Want.” Kiss. “To.” Kiss. “Be.” Kiss. “With.” Kiss. “You.”

You couldn’t help but smile. It felt like bliss, knowing that you weren’t the only one feeling this way. All the others were a jumbled mess of Maybe Later and Just Not Looking For A Serious Relationship Right Now. The girls wanted to play the field. The boys wanted something almost too casual. Those outside the gender binary would kiss and flirt at the bar and then ghost you on the dance floor. 

But he…oh, he was something else entirely.

“Do we go out on a real date now?” you asked. “Or do we just skip to the sickly sweet, hot and raunchy sex?”

“‘Hot and raunchy’?” he questioned, laughing at your word choice.

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “Sorry, was I not sexy enough for you the first six times?”

“Never said that, darling.” The nickname had you nearly kicking your feet with schoolgirl affection. “And to answer your question, I think I should take you on at least one proper date before I blow your back out again.”

You couldn’t help but snort. “After three and a half months?”

“As if we were honest about being official until a few weeks ago.” You couldn’t disagree with him on that. “Besides, it’s better late than never.”

“What a gentleman.”

And he was. 

Eddie Munson was nothing short of the nicest guy you’d ever liked. Maybe the nicest guy you’d ever met. He opened every door, from cars to hotels to bedrooms to the cages you'd thrown your heart into. When you left with him after your concert in Seattle, he sheltered you from the rain with his beloved leather jacket. He made you cum twice before he even dared to touch himself, worshiping your body like it was sculpted by the gods. Not to mention the homemade meals and the constant protection from the paparazzi whenever possible. He knew what the media had been doing to you. He hated it. Despised it.

And amidst it all, he still wanted you.

Even the mere thought of it still made you weep sometimes.

But Eddie’s smile began to falter. “What do you reckon the verdict will be when they see us?”

You knew what that forlorn smile meant. You knew what this was doing to him, but it felt like nothing compared to what the outside world thought. It had been done to Whitney. Amy. Rihanna. Britney. Miley. Lindsay. Megan. Lizzo. Taylor. Hell, even Olivia, Sabrina, and Billie were being given hell now that they were emerging into adulthood.

And now it was down to you. Another female popstar thrown to the goddamn wolves. 

Before you could think about how pessimistic it sounded, you said, “I’ll be labeled a slut and you’ll be considered a king. The cycle will only continue.”

The media were vipers. Predators. They wanted to hunt you down with cameras and watch you and Eddie Munson do something obscene. Vulgar. Just as his reputation had forewarned. The lead of a metal band (god forbid), along with the residual damage of “devil worshipping music” despite it not being the fucking Eighties anymore. However, in their storybook you were just the right kind of girl for him to corrupt.

He did anything but that.

“I don’t want it to be like that,” Eddie whispered, his eyes shining with the threat of tears. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I do.” You shook your head, trying to clear all of the voices and camera flashes out of your head. “I don’t know. I just don’t want this to blow up in our faces.”

At first, the label was furious.

You were a cutesy role model for a demographic that you were not originally catering to. But the magnetic pull of a synthesizer flowed through you with the frizz of the vocoder and the glitter and the bright colors and advocacy and passion and the people— 

You were helping people. Especially the teenage girls. You were giving hope and guidance to them. Reminding them that they could achieve dreams far beyond their wildest dreams. Even if they were queer. Even if they weren’t thin. 

You were becoming an inspiration.

But after a while, you were seen as merely a PG-13 performer with all of the downfalls of being a woman, a popstar in her early twenties. Your life stopped being about you and started being about the narrative storyline of some fucking fairytale that you had no ability to write yourself, even if it was written in every song you released. 

It was sick enough knowing that people who didn’t know you would write books about you some day. 

But then you were seen at one of Corroded Coffin’s shows. Your music spiked on the charts despite the bizarre outrage at how different you were. The demographic your label originally wanted began to seep back in all in a matter of a few weeks. Back before you asked him about his feelings. Back before your confessions were frozen in the steam between you.

After that, the label wanted you and Eddie to play it up for the cameras. Stir up attention. Enjoy the ride, write the music, and then profit from the gossip columns and clout. Get more followers, more likes. Be endorsed by another fragrance subscription service or wireless headphones. 

Make them money. Risk your heart in the meantime.

It was a gamble, but why wouldn’t someone bet on a losing dog?

“Favorite Beatles song right now?” he asked, drawing your attention away from the world outside.

You grinned. “‘A Taste of Honey’.”

“Ah, from Please Please Me." You nodded. "Sometimes I forget how good their first album was.”

“You know, it’s incredible to me that you know their entire discography and yet I’ve never once heard you listening to them,” you observed.

Eddie winked at you, opening his mouth to say something but was interrupted by the meow of a cat. Both of you turned your heads to see his black cat, Oz, pawing at the back door.

“Someone wants a treat, the spoiled bastard. At least Puppet has manners," Eddie said with a sigh before looking back at you. "Why don’t you come back in with me, hm?” he asked, lightly stroking your cheek. "Throw a movie on and cuddle or something?”

“Can we?” you pleaded. “Please?”

“Anything for you, sweetheart. Anything.”

He helped you out of the pool, grabbing a towel and drying you off. He finished up with a gentle kiss to your forehead, the inner tube left forgotten and floating in the water.

“Hey, Eddie?”

His eyebrows knit together. “Yeah? What’s up?” 

You could only wonder what it would be like if this didn’t end up in some fit of flames along the length of your graves. Caskets lying side-by-side, big fat crosses sitting on top like a pointed threat. His headstone littered with roses while yours drowned in spray paint. Eulogies and hymns crescendoing into a wave of madness as they repeated your fears back to you: Nothing lasts forever.

Or maybe you’d end up in a small house somewhere, making music together while you drowned out the rest of the world. One day where the chatter would flutter into a whisper and you could walk down the street of some coastal town and not get ogled at. The stars would align and you could say to yourself, It was worth it.

But it was only August, nearly swallowing you whole with the heat threatening to scorch your skin. Maybe yours more than his, but nevertheless there were going to be scars—  

You knew to love him was to lose your mind.

And maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

“For once, I think…” A smile met your lips. “Well, maybe it’s worth it.”

#Eddie munson #Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson angst #also all my readers are bisexual femmes because I said so !!!! #modern!eddie munson #modern!eddie x reader #Eddie Munson x female reader #boyfriend!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie x reader #rockstar!Eddie x popstar!reader

[ursaspecter]

A quick bare bones guide on how to draw Charles. I could go into more depth with this, but it's late and I'm tired and my wrist was starting to hurt. I thought I would just show the basic forms and shapes in his face.

Important things to keep in mind: - He has a diamond shaped face, so his cheekbones are going to be prominent - He has hooded eyes, and his eyebrows are naturally arched like that. The space between his eye and eyebrow sort of makes a long bean shape which I showed in a few of these outlines. -There's a slight downwards curve to his nose. It's not straight. -He has a soft jawline! -When colorpicking for his skintone, try to pick a neutral midtone to start. I swatched a few colors to go along with each reference picture: a highlight, a midtone, and a shadow color. I also labeled what kind of lighting is in each photo to give an idea how lighting would affect the way he appears. Don't. Don't color pick from the promo art to color him. I mean I guess unless you're trying to imitate the promo art then go nuts. - When in doubt, use reference! Don't be afraid to pull him up on google images or pinterest or your favorite screencap blog (I recommend @/kaphzzz for their screenshots. They have such wonderful ones of Charles!) And don't be afraid to trace while practicing to get familiar with the shapes in his face! - To elaborate more on the face tone thing, different parts of the face have different undertones. The forehead is generally more yellow or neutral, the nose and cheeks are typically more red as that's where the blood is closer to the skin, and the beard area is usually cooler toned. I think it's easiest to see this in the bottom middle reference as that was a high quality render made for the official guidebook. -Uhhh have fun and be yourself I guess.

I don't really ask this anymore because I've stopped caring, but if y'all could reblog this and spread it around as much as possible that would be really great. I'm not trying to call anyone out or cancel anyone, I just wanted to help as best I can with the tools I have.

Thanks!

#rdr2 #charles smith

[zagreuses-art]

Cover art I have made for my discworld playlists ( which can be found here) just little doodles from my phone to try and fit the vibes because I finally realized I can do custom covers on Spotify. I really like making playlists, I think they are a great way of analyzing and examining characters. I usually make them really long, so that I can put the playlist on shuffle and enter The Character Zone for a good long while. I think my Vimes one is the longest at over three hours.

[ID: 5 cartoon-y drawings of Discworld characters. The first is of moist von lipwig, dressed in his gold postmaster uniform and facing left, his name is written in white to look like the highlights of his coat. The second is angua, she is facing the viewer and here eyes are blue and slitted like a dogs, she has a wolfs shadow in dark blue behind her. Her name is written in sharp angular handwriting above her. The third is Vetinari, he is looking forwards covering his mouth with a hand, the background is lilac colored and his name is written in even handwriting. The fourth is Vimes leaning against a wall in a rainstorm and smoking a glowing cigarette, in his full guard uniform. Written in slanty orange handwriting next to him is his name. The fourth is Sybil in profile on a green-blue background. She is wearing dragon wrangling gear and looking at a little swamp dragon perched on her gauntlets fist. Her name is written in gold even handwriting, with an outline of blue. End ID]

#discworld #moist von lipwig #angua von uberwald #vetinari #samuel vimes #sybil ramkin #gnu terry pratchett #city watch #my art #digital art #playlist #i liked making these #forgot how fun it can be to doodle on my phone

[glystenangel]

In a Minute!

Dom!Sukuna x Bratty&Fem!Reader (Modern AU)

tags/warning: 18+ MDNI, not too spicy but alludes to it, sukuna in a suit, reader wears makeup and a dress, established relationship, one mention of spanking, pet names (variations of sweetheart), sukuna gets mad but in a hot way, cussing and a bit of dirty talk, d/s implied

summary: sukuna is trying to rush you, but you're not having it

~1k words>

super short and sweet!!

thanks for reading and enjoy<3

_________________

“Sweetness, you ready yet?”

You can hear Sukuna’s exasperated call from the front door as he shuffles on his leather dress shoes.

“In a minute.” You yell back as convincingly as possible, dabbing on some more blush and reaching for your lipstick.

Agitation taps through the string of footsteps coming towards you from the hallway, “No, sweetheart, we don’t have a minute.”

It’s a big work party, so Sukuna’s understandably annoyed. He has to make a good impression as the CEO, after all.

You can tell he’s irritated by the grit of his teeth punctuating his words and the sigh he lets out when he leans against the doorframe behind you.

The room is dim aside from the yellow lights curled around your vanity. From the slivers of mirror outlining your head and torso, the view of your fiance’s figure is slight but powerful. He’s in a crisp gray suit, a chain glittering beneath the bit of his white collar that he unbuttoned out of frustration from waiting for you. The rosy tone of his hair is interrupted by the darkness of his undercut, and his eyes are squinted. His gaze is sharp and a deep garnet shade, spilling over you like red wine. Sukuna’s appearance never deviates from anything short of striking, and the intensifying clench of his jaw only makes his face more ruggedly handsome. 

His eyes bore into your back, but you continue fluffing up your hair and wiping the excess color around the bottom of your lip into a precise shape. You’re doing your best to hurry, but you hate being rushed. Sukuna should be used to that by now. Plus, you always thought he looked kind of hot while angry.

“I know you like to take your time to get ready, but we’re already late.” He warns, trying to be firm.

The impatient man comes to your side, lifting his wrist to stare at the watch cinched there. It was your birthday gift to him, and you know the golden hands of the watch must be ticking away the seconds faster than you’d like.

“In a minute, I swear! Don’t be a dick.” You pick up the tube of lipstick again.

Suddenly, Sukuna grabs your arm. The touch around your flesh is light, but surprising enough to force your line of vision up to him.

Although you’ve spent hours tracing over them, Sukuna’s stunning features still make your heart pound faster whenever you have an up close view. Long, thick lashes shadow the lines of his eyes, and you remember how they feel brushed across your cheek every time he embraces you and tucks his head into the nape of your neck. His nose is tall and pointed at the end, and he stares down the bridge to see your lips parting at his proximity.

You notice him intake his own breath, the air thickening between you two until he swallows. The drag of his Adam’s apple is slow, and he speaks lowly.

“Although you look…” An exhale leaves him, then he lifts your chin with the sides of his fingers, “Absolutely gorgeous. We have to go.”

As smitten as he appears, you know that you’re not at all far off from sharing mutual reverence for him.

“Okay.” You give in, setting your makeup down while keeping your eyes on him.

He grins widely, his eyes filling with adoring approval at your inevitable submission.

“I’ll have to mess up your makeup later.” 

Sukuna ghosts his fingertips over one of your cheeks, and then seems to think better of it before sliding his hand to the back of your neck.

He leans forward, the curve of his lips moving along the shell of your ear and coiling a strand of your hair around his pointer finger. Your memory swarms with images of him sheened with sweat and gripping your hair.

“And trust me, that won’t be a minute.”

The insinuation induces a shiver down your body, and then he pulls back with a deep chuckle. 

The smug expression on his face has the wheels in your head turning. You don’t believe he can resist you.

“You sure about that?” You cheekily inquire, pulling the corners of your lips into an innocent smile.

Sukuna remains unphased, “Oh, I’m sure.”

You perk up at the coy promise, but he quickly lifts you by the wrist to have you stand and gives your butt a pointed slap.

“If we had more time I could fuck that little attitude out of you, but we don’t. That’s your fault.”

He shakes his head, dragging you closer and intertwining your hands together, “Come on, let’s go.”

After a couple steps towards the door, you tug his hand backwards, “Are you sure we don’t have enough time?”

Sukuna turns to give you a glare, he hates being late, but you know that you’ve found a way to make him somewhat okay with it.  

He tucks a couple fingers into the crevice of his shirt, unbuttoning it with a swear between his teeth.

“Take off your fucking clothes.”

_________________

End Notes:

last one! had to give it to my husband sukunaaa❤️❤️🔥

i like him all bothered hehe

thought about extending this but i kind of like leaving it off where i did, lmk if yall want the spicy part tho and maybe i'll put smth together lol

#sukuna x you #sukuna x reader #sukuna x y/n #sukuna ryomen #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna oneshot #sukuna fanfic #jjk sukuna #sukuna jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #sukuna smut #ryoumen sukuna #sukuna ryoumen x you #sukuna ryoumen x reader #sukuna ryomen smut #sukuna ryoumen smut #myfics

[graves4girls]

☆ haven't i given enough | peter quill

✩ summary: you knew you should have listened to him, yet you just couldn't abandon your sword. ✮ word count: 1.5k ⚠︎ warning(s): angst (maybe idk), fem!reader ✧ be sure to check out my work on ao3 ⇢ gravesforgirls !!

It wasn't supposed to be this difficult. You were only supposed to retrieve a few scraps to repair the ship, but had unceremoniously stumbled across an agitated monster-worm-thing, tripping over one of its enormous tentacles and awakening the beast.

You grunt as your back collides with the large boulder, sword slipping from your grip on impact and clanging across the stony ground, and your head spins. You can't find the strength to move, body sore and weak and hardly staying conscious. You can vaguely hear shouting to your right, and before you can really gauge the distance that sharp tentacle is speeding right towards you, a shadow of that familiar red leather falls into your line of sight. You fight to find your focus as he shoots at the creature, buying you some time as the appendage lurches back.

"Jesus Christ, are you okay? C'mon, you can't stay here."

He reaches to lift you from the ground, and you weakly lean against his chest, but it's when he tries to pull you toward the ship that you protest.

"My…Peter, my sword. I can't –I can't leave without…my sword."

You try to pull your arm from his grip, but he only tightens his hold on you.

"We don't have time. We have to go."

You shove his chest with as much strength as you can muster, tugging your arm away.

"Peter, I can't leave my sword! I'm not leaving without it."

He opens his mouth to scold you, but before he can speak you slip from his grasp, charging toward the abandoned blade as he yells after you.

"What the fuck are you doing?! It's gonna kill you!"

You ignore his shouts as you draw closer and closer to your prized possession, and it's right out of your reach. As your hand wraps around the leather handle, a piercing pain collides with your stomach, sending you back to slam and slide across the ground, and you can't think.

Hands are cradling your head, and you can barely squint your eyes open to find the fuzzy outline of that blond head of hair looming over you. Your hand slinks up to feel for the source of the stinging pain in your abdomen, and you sob at the burn as your fingers meet wet, squelching flesh, bringing your blurry gaze down to your hand, drenched in a nauseating red color. The ringing in your ears slowly fades, and you can hear him stumbling over his words.

"No, don't look. Don't touch it. You're gonna be fine." He keeps your neck craned back as he holds you against him, pushing your hand down.

You whimper at the ache every breath brings, screwing your eyes shut.

"Hey, c'mon –stay with me. You're gonna be fine, just –just keep looking at me. You're okay."

He stares down at you with glossy eyes, darting across your face as he brushes away the hair that's sticking to the sweat on your face.

"My…sword. Where –where is it?"

You try to sit up, but he keeps you laid out on the ground when you whine at the jolt of pain that surges through you.

"No, don't move. Just, stay. I got your sword. Rocket's getting the ship. Please –just stay with me."

His hands are hot against the contrasting cold of your cheeks, and your eyes feel far too heavy to stay open, all you want is to sleep. You wheeze out a few coughs, and cringe at the warm liquid that spews from your throat, dripping down your chin. Your eyelids flutter closed, and you can't seem to peel them back open as he shakes you.

"No, c'mon. Don't –don't do that. Open your eyes. You can't –please. Rocket, hurry!"

He lifts you into his arms as he stands, rushing to get you into the ship.

"Please –we need to help her. Drax –Mantis, help me!"

You groan at the throbbing in your stomach, eyes peering around the bright room as you slowly recollect yourself. You're splayed out on the small berth, blanket thrown over your body. You scan the room, glint of light catching your eye, and you let out a breath when you find your sword propped against the wall. Your eyes flick to the door as it slowly opens, and throw a weak smile to the intruder.

"Didn't expect you to be awake."

"Me either, honestly. I thought that was it."

"You remember what happened?"

You nod slowly, wincing as you sit up. "Up until, y'know…falling asleep. Or something…where's Peter?"

"In his bunk, pulling his hair out. He's been fucked up since the mission."

You frown, hands fidgeting with the loose threads on the blanket. "Can you tell him to swing by? I'd like to see him."

"Sure thing, kid. Don't move around too much. You're still healing."

You only give a small nod as he slips out the door, and you slowly push the blanket off to eye the bandages that wrap around your waist, faintly blood-stained and in need of a change. You grimace a bit at the thought.

The door opens a while later, and he really does look rough. Hair tangled and mussed, dark rings under his eyes, and he moves slow and careful, as if not to startle you. He stands by the doorway as he pushes it closed, and you smile at him.

"Hey."

"Hi," is all he croaks out, unmoving from his spot by the door.

You frown once more, gesturing for him to step closer. "C'mere."

He cautiously approaches the bed, gently perching himself at the edge as you reach a hand out to comb through his tousled hair. He doesn't speak, eyes falling to stare at the dirty wrap, and you sigh quietly.

"I should've listened to you," you mutter softly, letting your hand caress the nape of his neck. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you worry."

He finally meets your gaze, scooting closer. "You're here. That's all that matters." His hand snakes around your thigh, squeezing comfortingly, a few moments of silence falling over you before he speaks again. "I really thought I lost you."

Your heart breaks at the way his eyes tear up and the break in his voice, and you pull him closer to hug him against your chest, ignoring the dull pain as he wraps around you like a constrictor, face nestling into your neck.

"I know. I'm sorry."

He hiccups, muffled against your skin, and you press a small kiss to his shoulder.

"I don't know what I would've done."

Your hand rubs up and down his back, tangling in his hair as it slides up to the back of his head. You stay there, with him stuck to you like a leech, cradling his head as he sniffles, tears staining your skin.

"I think I need a bandage change. They're kinda gross."

He pulls away, eyes red and puffy, and he follows your gaze, scrunching his nose as he nods. You let a hand catch his cheek, thumbing at the wet remnants under his eyes as you smile. He reluctantly releases his hold on you to stand, pressing a hand to your chest when you try to follow.

"You're not supposed to be standing and moving around. Lay down."

You roll your eyes, shoving his hand away as you slowly let your feet meet the floor. "I'm fine. It'll be alot easier if I'm standing. I won't move around. Just go get some clean bandages. I feel disgusting."

He huffs a bit but doesn't protest, disappearing for a moment before emerging with a small med pack. You watch as he digs through the bag and pulls out the white wrap, setting it aside to peel away the old bandage. You cringe at the sticky sound it makes as he unravels it from around your waist, and you eye the line of stitches across your stomach as he tosses it away.

"I'm gonna have a gnarly scar, though."

He glares at you, unamused at your attempt to lighten the situation. He cleans the blood-crusted wound, and you whine at the sting.

"Stay still."

You let a hand squeeze at his shoulder to brace yourself, and he drops a small kiss to your lips as an apology once he's finished. He wraps the clean bandage around your waist, pushing aside the pack to help you lay down.

"Thanks."

He smiles down at you, big hand reaching to clamp around your own, thumbing over your knuckles.

"Do you need anything else?"

You think for a moment, playing with his fingers. "Maybe just stay here with me for a little bit. I feel like an asshole for putting you through that."

He glowers at you as he situates himself beside you, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. "I'm just happy you're okay. Just don't pull any shit like that again or I'll kill you myself."

You scoff quietly, pulling at his hand to tug him down, big hand falling beside your head as he hovers over you. You lift your head to kiss him, sweet and soft, and he's more than eager to reciprocate.

#p.quill #peter quill #star-lord #star lord #peter quill x reader #star-lord x reader #star lord x reader #guardians of the galaxy #guardians of the galaxy volume 2 #guardians of the galaxy volume 3 #gotg #gotg 2 #gotg 3

[msfcatlover]

Shadow Damian (Reverse Robins)

Shadow starts with Damian, and I am drawing huge inspiration from his Infinite Frontier design. In particular, this absolutely gorgeous rendition by DuhDude.

(I fucking love this look)

I'm also taking inspiration from @adoptedbybruciewayne's design, which just so happens to have a very similar silhouette.

As I've said before, I'm aiming for "sleek while still somewhat disguising his body outline." The goal is to make him a harder target to pin down.

Black tunic-vest, the part below the (utility) belt shaped mostly like the green design. Keep the puffy sleeves, though they're now also black & ever so slightly translucent; the under-suit is actually very dark grey, so you still can't really see his arms, it just does weird things to the shadows.

The hood is NOT part of the tunic, it's a separate cowl like this (sized similarly to the green design), held on by a single snap so that it never chokes him or holds him back if it gets grabbed.

No bandages, but the bottom half of his forearm does have a metal cuff for protection. Black gloves under dark red fingerless gloves, and the cuffs are the same red.

There is actually a single red stripe running down each arm like a ribbon between the cuffs/gloves & his shoulders, but I feel like if anyone drew it, those would be the first detail to go. In any case, those ribbon-lines sorta pour below the curve of his collarbones to merge into a red bat in front of a gold circle. (Referencing this chart, it's probably a combination of the "Batman: Dead End" & "Batman Beyond" designs.)

(Quickly thrown together in GIMP, though the colors seem to have gotten messed up... it should be redder.)

No domino; he wears a black half-mask/mouth-guard on the lower half of his face (kinda like the "muzzle" mask Jason's been wearing in recent years), and paints the remaining visible skin with grease paint to disguise his features (think Battinson, but it's the entire upper half of his face.)

The effect being Damian's mouth, jaw & nose covered, his face cast in shadow, his skin painted black, so there's no discernible features... just these two piercing green eyes staring at you from under the hood.

The pants are well-padded (same dark grey as the undersuit), and he has extra armor on his thighs, though a lot more in-line with modern sensibilities.

(This, but black.)

I also love Damian's knee-high lace-up boots, especially how they're drawn in "Son of Batman" where they are all the way to the knee, with a very de-emphasized kneepad. Practical? Probably not, but I don't really like how the protective cap they usually put over his knees change the shape of the boots. So he gets those, but black instead of green.

(It is weirdly hard to grab a good reference image for these; they never look as good on the covers, for some reason.)

So that's my... excruciatingly detailed explanation of Damian's Shadow costume. Look forward to future breakdowns of Damian's Nightwing costume, how future Shadows evolved the look, and basically every other costume in the family.

#reverse!robins #reverse robins #reverse robins au #reverse order robins #reverse order batkids #reverse batkids #reverse batfam #reverse batfamily #damian wayne #damian al ghul #batfam #bat fam #batfamily #bat family #batkids #bat kids #batsiblings #bat siblings #shadow damian #shadow damian wayne #shadow!damian #shadow!damian wayne #mine

[icanseethefuture333]

and how to banish demons and trickster spirits?? 🥲 please help thank you

How to spiritually protect your home from unfamiliar entities 👻

When faced with paranormal activity, it can be scary for anyone! We start to question ourselves and feeling silly thinking: "Did I really just see that?! No, no, it my must be my imagination..." but you still can't shake the feeling something is there in your room.

How to decipher between a high or low vibrational entity

Every spirit takes form in a different shape and color. I am unsure what it means but I have seen just about each one. So I will be giving each one a name for it. A fair warning though to use your intuition because my interaction with each spirit could be different from yours. Always use caution.

The in-between:

This spirit is mainly gray and fuzzy but has a rainbow outline. Similar to a broken TV. I believe these spirits are going through a period of healing and transformation. They are more neutral with their approach but overall have good intentions.

Holier than thou:

This spirit looks pure white. It's just a plain white or almost milky translucent color, they are typically friendly. If they are white, but look like it's sparkling or shining, it is a low vibrational entity or demon trying to pose as a angel.

Peekaboo:

The ones that appear in the corner of your eye or when you feel a presence randomly pass by. This is the most famous type of spirit that everyone has said they have come across. They come as shadows and are quick on their feet. They are black in color and their origins I am unsure, but they haven't bothered me per say. They startle me though, so because of how they sneak around. I mainly believe that they are trickster spirits.

Fairy lights (also known as orbs):

Orbs of light are considered to be a manifestation of energy present in your home. I have interacted with this type of spirit the least. When I first began doing deity worship with Aphrodite, I would see pink orbs, and that is how I knew she was present when I prayed to her or asked her for guidance. I have also seen orbs when interacting with archangels.

Faders:

These spirits fade in and disappear once they get what they want. They usually appear with a message and then leave once they're done. They can be pretty lonely, so sometimes they just like your company. I went to a garden memorial once and I had a spirit follow me home just so they could spend time with me. They left after two days.

Angels:

I feel that most of the time my interaction with an angel was presented as a human. You ever had someone that just was really sweet and kind to you in when you were having a really rough day? Yeah I mean that. Those feel like angels to me. Archangels I view them as orbs.

Demons:

*cracks knuckles* the moment you've all been waiting for. Now these are masters of disguise. Demons present themselves as anything or anyone just to get closer to you. Whether that's a living human being, an attractive person in your dream who sexually arouses you (incubus/succubus), or a monster who keep causing you to have nightmares in your sleep. Their main desire is to suck your life source and take over your soul at your weakest moment or make you do malicious things that are out of your character.

The different types of demons:

Before we touch upon this topic, if you are someone who struggles with a mental health condition such as anxiety, PTSD, BPD, etc. Be aware that some of your symptoms could align with some of the things I will mention down below. You have to understand the difference of just being anxious/paranoid and genuinely having an encounter with an entity that's dangerous.

Creepers:

Creepers are literally what they are. They creep up on you quite randomly. They mostly appear in your dreams to scare you and cause you to have nightmares. In most cases, these ones are just annoying because they scare you out of your sleep, but the more severe ones can physically harm you. One time in middle school I had a nightmare of a demon wanting to attack me in my sleep and I woke up with scratches on my back that were bright red. Nobody else was there in my room that night to have left scratches on me like that. Anyone of any age can deal with creepers but it is most common for children to come across them.

Hitmen:

A hitman is usually a demon that was sent by someone who has given you the evil eye or decided to hex you or wish malicious things onto you. This is scary for most people to experience because you can't tell if you're going crazy or genuinely feel an attack on your peace of mind. A sign of a spiritual attack is when you are around someone and suddenly that person gives you a bad vibe, you start to feel physically ill or energetically drained. Intuitively, you should know when you feel unsettled by a negative entity.

Inner demons:

You guessed it. Demons that come from you. We all have our own inner demons that manifest from a place of pain, envy, anger, bitterness, or hatred. They are the ones who stick with us through our darkest times. Inner demons have a codependent relationship with us. It's almost as if being with a narcissist. Instead of helping you, they enjoy that you are helpless so they can stay with you longer. They conveniently appear or come around during severe periods of depression. Since it is a inner demon and not a hitman demon, you have to learn to forgive yourself for the manifestation of this entity, since it has come from you. Instead of fighting them or being angry with them, allow them to be set free. Wish healing for them as well, since it was not their fault they were born out of agony. They may come and go, but they should know their place from now on. For witches, these demons could be at your service for more baneful magick if anyone decides to fuck with you 🤫

How to deal with negative entities and banish them from your sacred space:

Ultimately, it comes down to being brave and asserting your dominace. Let these entities know that they cannot and will not fuck with you from this day on. When they know you are a pushover, they will just keep messing with you. Scare them like how they scare you. Here are some different methods you could use to banish these entities from your home.

Clean up your act 🧹:

Have you ever felt the strong urge to clean your house after being in a funk? That's right! Cleaning is one of the most popular ways of getting rid of low vibrational energy and to invite new energy into your home. I mean what's a witch without her broom right?

Mainly dusting, sweeping, mopping, wiping windows/mirrors, and vacuuming could be done for banishing negative energy/entities

You can chant while sweeping away from yourself, you can make this up on your own so it can be more fitting for you and you can memorize it more easily

Florida Water is considered one of the holy grails and can be bought at any local botanica or even online. It is a cologne that is famous for its magical properties and multi-purposes. You can pour Florida Water into the bucket of water that you use for mopping 🪣

Cleaning products that have magical ingredients (I.E: Lemon / lemon scent is a popular tool for spiritual cleansing)

Pillow sprays, febreeze, essential oils, or room deodorizers are a cheap and easy way to cleanse your home (Lavender pillow spray can be sprayed around your house and on your bed sheets or curtains for peace and tranquility. It is also a refreshing scent and helps you sleep better 😊!)

Boiling a concoction is another method you can use (ever wondered what was in those witches' cauldrons?). Most people boil bay leaves, rosemary leaves, or cinnamon

If you are pregnant or someone sensitive to chemicals or smells, you can use crushed eggshells or pour salt in the corners of your home, window sills, and doors🚪

Plants and crystals can be used as protection wards for your home. You can put them anywhere that you prefer.

Other popular methods for protection spells are spell jars, mojo bags (hoodoo, closed practice), enchanting a necklace or piece of jewelry to wear as a tailsman/amulet, or egg cleanse (common method in Latin American culture).

Team up:

There's nobody who will be down to protect you more than yourself than your spirit guides. Simply calling upon your ancestors (who wish you good intentions ofc), guardian angels, animal guide, or deity should be enough to protect you in moments of fear and feeling unsafe. Remember to show appreciate to them and give them offerings for their assistance. They cannot consistently be there for you if their energy source is low (especially ancestors!).

Remember that you are loved 🤍:

Experiencing the evil eye or a spiritual attack can be scary for just about anybody 🥺! Just remember that the situation is temporary and there is always going to people out there who love you and wish for your happiness (including your higher self). Paranormal activity is a weird but interesting thing many people in their lifetime have come across, so you don't have to feel alone. I hope this was of help to you and that you feel better about being able to protect yourself 😇

#ask #anon #witchcraft #wicca #hoodoo #evil eye #protection spells #brujeria #closed practices #spirits #spirit guides #deity worship #deity work #spell jar #home witchcraft #witches of color #pac #pick a card #astrology #astro observations #astrology observations

[pluralthey]

Sorry if this is annoying/overstepping, but do you have any advice for drawing tears/crying? You do a really good job of drawing what an ordeal it is and the physics of the tears without covering the face in droplets and I've been trying to nail down how you draw eyes on the verge of crying with little success.

Again apologies if this is annoying, my intentions aren't to badger you into making a tutorial or anything! Hope you have a good day :)

i'm not sure. i really don't consider myself good at drawing them. one time i heard someone say ghibli tears look so nice because they're drawn how they feel, not how they look, and i've been chasing that dream ever since. they come out in hot, thick droplets (but they are really no larger than raindrops, maybe even thinner) when surface tension fails; they leave residue as their oily outer layer clings to the skin and repels more tears down the face faster; sometimes the tear behind one tear falls into it and they merge for a moment; they tend to well up at the outer corner of the eye because the tear gland is located at the top (you blink with your upper eyelid, so blinking stimulates the gland) and the tear duct actually drains tears into the nasal passages; i like mixing the colors of the image to stylize the refraction (and i tend to make the teardrops larger for more room) because it looks pretty, but sometimes all-white or mostly white tears looks better. i draw tears based on the various factors like the mood, intensity of emotion, movement of the eyes and body, and so on, too. like this

and this

are very different styles of tears. i think a lot of people are impressed with how far i can push expressions and poses and tears and all that, so i can only say that subtlety does wonders as much as exaggeration. the total expression of the face plays a huge role in selling crying. i think the advice you're looking for is probably the refraction, though. it took me a minute to find an instance where i've drawn tears welling up.

there's nothing there in kim's eyes but a thin, light outline around her bottom eyelid, sometimes an incomplete very subtle dark outline along her eye whites. tears are liquid and drawing liquid in solid black tends to not work out well. if you look at droplets for reference...

they can LOOK like they have a white outline, very shiny. in actuality, this is just a reflection of the sky. water just reflects what's around it.

here are droplets without any sky present. they look like dark outlines, don't they? they could also be bubbles, or holes. we, as humans, parse what is probably water based on whether it reflects that light. water droplets cast a shadow, but solids cast shadows too. metal like gold has it too, and our instincts to seek out and desire water as animals are actually why we like how shiny things look in the first place. so, we look for that "white outline" -- the reflection of light. i tend to just stylize and exaggerate this, then.

#ask #asks #clusters

[the-cookie-of-doom]

Chay has no idea what he’s doing, but he’s never been more thankful that his manager doesn’t have security cameras installed around the cafe. 

He leads the stranger through the employee entrance and stock room, and out into the cafe propper, flicking on lights as he goes. He swallows back his usual tendency towards mindless chatter. It keeps conversation going with customers, but something tells him it will only scare off the man behind him. 

“You can sit anywhere,” Chay says as he steps behind the counter, falling into his usual script. “Do you know what you want, or should I—” Whatever he was going to say is cut off when he turns around. 

The alley had been heavily shadowed, the only light offered by a handful of neon signs from the club next door, and distant street lamps from the entrance. It went a long way in disguising the extent of the stranger's injuries. In the harsh fluorescent lighting of the cafe, however, it’s all plainly, painfully on display. 

The bruising is most obvious. Red and purple marks beaten into sallow skin, layered over faded yellow-green, all up and down his bare arms. Both wrists are chafed red and raw, bloody.  The worst of the bruises are dotted with blood, too, places where skin broke beneath the force of whatever was done to him. 

There’s a clear impression of a hand around his throat. 

“What—” 

He’s barefoot, too, Chay realizes. The frayed hem of ripped black jeans pool around his feet, hanging off his thin frame. And he’s pretty sure—the tank top he wears, also black, clings to his narrow hips and waist. Does nothing to hide the prominent jut of his collarbones; the left is adorned with a single tattoo. 00008. The stranger is clutching at himself, arms wrapped carefully around his chest; if they weren’t, Chay is certain he would be able to see the outline of his ribs through the thin fabric. By the painful, dragging way he breathes, Chay wonders if any of them are broken. 

His face is the last thing Chay notices, hidden behind a tangle of lanky black hair. It must have been a handsome face, at some point, based on his too-prominent bone structure. Now his cheeks are sunken, his eyes hollow. Haunted. His lips are pressed together in a thin, bloodless line, except where the bottom one is viciously split. More bruising colors the right side of his mouth and jaw, matching the violent color on the left cheekbone, bleeding up into his brow and temple. 

“What happened to you?” Chay breathes, having to catch himself on the counter before his legs give out. He had promised that no one would call the police but maybe he should. This is so much more than a case of a homeless man seeking shelter in a storm. 

Said man’s eyes go wide and wild. He must know what Chay is thinking because he begins to retreat, stumbling back the way they came, one arm still wrapped around his ribs while the other blindly searches for the door. He doesn’t take his eyes off Chay. 

“Wait! Wait, no, it’s—it’s okay,” it’s not okay, “You’re safe here, I promise. No one is going to hurt you here, okay? You’re safe. You’re safe. Let me get you something to eat, okay?” 

Chay takes a step forward, but it only scares the stranger more. He steps back where he was, holds his hands out in front of him, palms out, like he’s trying to soothe a frightened animal. He tries to keep his voice soft and even. Reassuring. 

“Everything’s okay. I won’t ask any questions, you don’t have to tell me anything. Let me just get you something, and then you can go, okay? I won’t keep you here. Just—just let me help. Please.” 

The stranger, still breathing hard—wheezing, Chay realizes, that’s what that sound is—stops trying to escape. He keeps his back pressed against the door, one hand on the handle. His eyes, still wide, don’t leave Chay for a second. He doesn’t blink. 

Fear twists Chay’s gut. He knows, some part of him, that the second he turns around, the man will leave. He’ll never see him again. And Chay shouldn’t care. This isn’t his problem; whatever happened to the man, it’s so clearly something Chay shouldn’t want to get involved in. 

But there’s another part of him, a bigger part, that sees Porsche standing in the door instead. Bruised and beaten after a fight, a wad of cash in his pocket that he always claimed was worth the injuries. The split knuckles and bruised ribs and broken noses. This stranger doesn’t grin the way Porsche did, doesn’t joke about his fight, doesn’t ruffle Chay’s hair and brush off his concerns. But his eyes—he sees his brother in the eyes staring back at him, haunted and painfully familiar. 

“I just want to help you,” Chay says one final time, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Slowly, the stranger releases his desperate hold on the door.

#cookie writes #kimchay #kim getting whumped #as usual #the only genre I'm capable of writing anymore lmfao

[animehouse-moe]

Jellyfish Can't Swim In The Night X Kaneko Yuuji

Forever and always I'll be in love with Kaneko Yuuji's backgrounds. Absolutely standout work befitting of the pinnacle of someone in their position.

Though, I really do think that color designer Kei Ishiguro knocked it out of the park with this work. Their awareness of shadows and lighting gave the episode such an impossibly beautiful yet realistic feel. I think my favorite example of that is the lights on the underside of the railings on that large staircase. Incredible incredible eye for color and lighting.

And though it's not "as" felt, Takafumi Kuwano's composition is outstanding. They bring so much life to these scenes in very subtle ways, and I think their approach to edge lighting and highlights on the characters meshes perfectly with this work. Their subtractive approach that sees them overwrite pieces of outline on a character just fits so well within the work, and much like Ishiguro, their awareness of shadows and lighting makes for some incredibly striking and full scenes.

#jellyfish can't swim in the night #yoru no kurage wa oyogenai #anime original #doga kobo #kaneko yuuji #new anime #anime and manga #anime #anime art #anime background

[tulkunmakto]

Fishing at eclipse

Description: Human!reader has spent many years of her life on Pandora, originally as part of the science team. She learned Na’vi with the Omaticaya, in the forest she considered a home away from home for many years. Left Earth in search of something more. Now resides with the Metkayina (don’t ask, I just felt like being w them) and has a deep relationship with a Metkayina male. Though she is beginning to assimilate into the Metkayina clan, she doesn’t always feel like she fits in and gets homesickness for a place she fears may not exist. Her mate is there to help her through it.

OC!Na’vi x Human!Reader / OC!Na’vi x Human!Y/N / Metkayina!Na’vi

AN: Absolutely not proof read/edited. Originally didn’t plan to share but why not. Enjoy, or don’t, you do you.

Most Na’vi words are italicized, though those spoken by my OC!Metkayina are are not written with the glottal stop now that we know the Metkayina don’t use that sound in their accent.

Basically I just saw this Metkayina side character (my mans on the right) and think he’s hot as hell and wanted to create my own character for him.

The sky was reaching its peak, colors beginning to shift from a cloudless blue to shining gold. It was your favorite time of day, the change of colors. You always wished it lasted longer than just a few moments, trying to soak up as much daylight as possible. Eclipse was closing in.

Against the sky stood a shadow, outlined to show a Metkayina tossing their fishing net to sea.

Taronyu.

His braid swung against his back as he stood to his full height again, settling in to wait until he’d captured enough fish. The food still wasn’t your favorite, but slowly you were coming to terms with a new diet. So different from the offerings of the Omaticaya forest.

You pulled your woven seagrass shawl tighter, the wind filtering through the small braids. A small smile crept across your mouth, spreading like the pink across the sky.

“Ateyo,” you called to your mate.

The Na’vi spun to greet you with a warm grin that reminded you of comfort.

Far from the forest, and even farther from Earth, sometimes a homesickness snuck up on you. Yet you knew you couldn’t go back to your past dwellings. Everything was so different now, and you knew your present self just wouldn’t fit in there. Nevermind living among the Na’vi as a human, even more so the Metkayina, who had never lived close with the human scientists on the mainland. The Metkayina were more hesitant to accept you, though your relationship with Ateyo was slowly changing that.

“There you are, yawne,” he said.

Funny, his accent was different from the one you’d grown to understand in the forest. Though he found your English accent far more humorous, always finding new ways to tease you. Ateyo always found it more endearing than it probably should’ve been.

“Come.” He held his arm out to you, urging you in the water.

Where it was only ankle deep for him, you found the ocean just above your knees. It was soft and quiet, gently lapping the rocks. You closed your eyes as you snuggled against his body, warm and inviting. So much taller than you, so solid and sturdy. Nothing could hurt you so long as he was there. His arm gave you a squeeze and you put your hand in his.

A sigh escaping your lips had his forehead quirk in question.

“What is it, y/n?” Ateyo asked, his voice a deep rumble in his chest.

“I missed you at kelku. I was feeling lonely,” you confessed.

Both of your arms wrapped around his hips, never tall enough to reach his waist. The difference in size was something you both rather enjoyed, coming as more of a blessing than inconvenience.

“I cannot catch dinner quick enough for my mate?” Ateyo teased.

You smiled, burying your face into his light blue torso. You noted a small birthmark just by his navel and kissed it.

“Would you prefer Varu? I believe I watched you eyeing him just this morning,” he continued, the smile evident in his tone.

“Teyo,” you warned, shaking your head.

“I am only joking, txelan. Something is troubling you, and I wish to know what it is.”

You sighed again, though this time it was less lighthearted. You snuggled as deep into him as you could, and if you could bury yourself under his skin, you might do that too.

“Today did not go as planned. You know how I felt ill just after waking, and it lasted all day. Something about it made me miss my original home,” you explained.

Ateyo kept the fishing net in his free hand, but took a step back from you to get a better look. His beautiful face showed concern, his blue eyes furrowed.

“Do you want to return?” The slight shake to his voice told you he feared you’d leave.

“No, Teyo,” you answered. “At least, I do not think so.”

Now it was his turn to sigh, turning to look out to sea for a breath. He closed his eyes for a moment, and kneeled down in the water. He still towered over you, but at least now you didn’t have to strain so hard to look up.

His hand came to cup your cheek, and you leaned into the touch, resting your hand atop his.

“What can I do?” he asked. “Can I do anything to alleviate the feeling?”

You gave his lips a quick kiss, ever grateful that he was always so patient with you.

“It’s not that I want to leave, I can’t go back now. There is more for me here than there is anywhere else. Some days just feel difficult. And I know not everyone is pleased with my being here. Especially that you spend so much time with me.”

“The clan is coming around, do not worry. They are stubborn. You have the blessing of Oloeyktan, that is what is most important. You pull your weight. You are accepting, and soon enough everyone will do the same to you,” Ateyo countered.

You felt tears begin to prick at the back of your eyes, and you swallowed hard to keep them down. Ateyo leaned into a sweet kiss to your forehead, trying his best to dissolve the lines there.

“I do not think Tsahik likes to see her warriors with a human,” you argued.

Ateyo’s lips pressed into a line, feeling a tug at his fishing net. He yanked his wrist back, standing again to collect his bounty. As he fought with the fresh catch, he spoke.

“There is nothing more to be said about that, nothing more to be done. I have chosen.”

You wiped a tear with the back of your hand and watched as he finished wrestling with the fish. Dinner was set.

“Does it not bother you?” you asked.

Ateyo sighed, motioning with his head toward the shore. You walked beside him in silence until you reached your shared home. He set the net of fish down, gathering the necessary tools to prepare the food. You sat in silence on a woven mat by the fire.

“Your asking is what bothers me,” he said.

You watched him gut the fish, a bit more aggressively than usual.

“What?” you said.

Ateyo swore under his breath, looking up at you through long lashes. The firelight gleamed off his skin, dancing across the white bioluminescent patterns there.

“I have chosen, y/n. I have chosen you. It does not matter to me that you are not born of the Metkayina, nor of the Navi. The clan can learn about you, see you as I have. You do not need to continue asking me, y/n. Oel ngati kameie,” he said.

You sat stunned. Not because Ateyo had confessed an unknown truth, but because hearing him say it out loud no matter how many times he’d said it, would always move you. All of your life’s choices had led to this.

In a woven home above a Pandoran reef, truly off grid. Sitting across from the most beautiful male creature you’d ever laid eyes upon, his black braids cascading the side of his face as you watched him fix dinner. Your warrior, your hunter, lover, mate. It wasn’t that you never believed him, it was just so hard to believe that you could ever be that lucky. It didn’t feel real most of the time.

“Teyo,” you whispered, causing him to meet your eyes. “I do love you.”

He smiled softly.

“I know, sweetheart. Do not worry. I will get this cooked and you can show me how much you love me after, yes?” he replied.

You chuckled, reaching over to take a fish from him, threatening to hit his head with it but he grabbed your wrist in time. With a glint in his eyes, he held both of your arms in his hand within one swift move. Bending to your mouth, just a hint away, he challenged you to hold his gaze.

“Oel ngati kameie,” you exhale.

He smiled, teeth white and fangs on display. Sometimes you wished he would devour you whole. Beautiful male.

“Nga yawne lu oer,” he whispered, closing the space between you.

———-

Taronyu - hunter

Yawne - love

Kelku - home/house

Txelan - heart

(Oel ngati kameie - I think we all know this one)

Nga yawne lu oer - I love you/you are beloved to me

#navi x reader #na’vi x reader #OC!na’vi #navi x y/n #na’vi x y/n #metkayina #avatar #atwow #atwow x reader #human!reader #fluff #fanfic #the way of water

[bellelvrs]

Hello! I have an idea, what if reader tries to break up with homelander and he doesn’t take that too well. Like he’s smashing stuff, “ you can’t break up with me”, etc. it’s perfectly okay if you don’t do this 😁 it’s just a thought.

A/N - SORRY THIS IS LATE THE OLD COPY GOT ACCIDENTALLY DELETED!! Thank you for this idea though, I was super inspired by this prompt! LOVE the idea of writing Homelander as the psychotic monster he is, and how he interacts with those around them. Especially those he loves ;)

UNTIL DEATH / HOMELANDER

summary - never break up with Homelander.

warnings - swearing, abusive behavior, dub/non con (no explicit nsfw), violence

a/n - gn reader, 1298 words

Careful eyes glared at the monster who lay ever so comfortably in your lap. Hair like a golden crop of hay, so sleek and prim, yet dark streaks seemed to spread. You wondered if the color was natural.

‘Y/n.’ Homelander murmured, half of his face buried in your thighs.

Numbness had infected and settled into your body. You couldn’t even touch him. No thoughts, no words could be conjured up in this grey feeling. This abyss you seemed to be helplessly falling through. All due to your idiocy. You idiot. How could you not kno-

‘Yes?’ Your eyes averted to the wall ahead of you.

‘Y’know that gala Vought’s hosting this weekend for all the charity programs and their reps?’

‘Mm,’ after all these years with him, you had learned how to steady your heart beat, ‘what about it?’

Nonetheless, the anticipation induced a nauseating anxiety. Your heart gradually began to race, a cold sweat accumulated on your brow.

Homelander often did not scare you. Yes, he was very much an intimidating figure, but beneath that facade of the perfect American hero was a soft, sad boy.

Things were different now. You caught a glimpse of reality after reveling in the paradise he brought into your life. The home, the money, the protection, the love. Something you used to only dream of. Those days spent in that studio on the borders of the Eastside. No family, no job. Just hope and youth. You wished to be a supe, one that could rewrite time. One that could right all the wrongs, replace the rushed choices of young adulthood. Or maybe one that could pop heads.

That might be easier.

‘I want you to come with me.’ Homelander said, fixing his position so he could look at you.

‘I-um…why?’ You knew why.

‘I just think it’s time I introduce you to The Seven. The media. My team already got some PR stunts planned, I ordered some designer for you to show up in and all that bullshit.’ His gaze felt like a blade piercing into your skin. Intense, sharp. ‘I want to show you off.’

It was time.

‘I-‘

A beat.

‘No.’ You shook your head, wriggling out from under him. He sat up, blatant confusion painted on his face.

‘No?’

You stood up, head hanging low, palm on forehead. Before you could let any more words slip, you had to think. Process what you had to say. Every sentence must be presented with perfection, in fear that repercussions would be fatal.

‘Look, I just, I can’t.’ You said, stumbling over your words.

With the entire apartment dimly lit, it only seemed to enhance how menacing his presence was. It was almost as if a dark, crimson aura fit the outline of his silhouette. The radiance of the cityscape danced against the definition of every muscle and bone. Shadows fell from the features of his face. He stood and approached you, causing you to instinctively draw back.

‘What do you mean you can’t?’ He sneered with a puzzled grin.

‘Homelander, we need to talk-‘

‘I don’t get why you’re making this more difficult than it should be,’

The sound of his gloved fist flexing rang through your ears like a siren.

‘I mean I’ve already prepared everything…I’ve done all the dirty work and now you want to back out?’ Homelander chuckled, hands on his hips.

‘I don’t want to fucking go. Can you just let me spea-‘

‘Jesus, y/n, just say yes. It’s one night, you don’t even have to do anything hard, so stop being a brat.’

Homelander turned to face the city, blocking it’s illumination. You cursed under your breath, slamming your hand on the kitchen counter beside you. He wasn’t used to rejection, especially from you.

‘Why are you being like this?’ For once, he spoke softly.

He’s just a sensitive little boy. That’s all he is. All he will ever be.

Life was so precious, and you had just started to live it. The thrill of first class living, the luxuries and connections it offered. The way he came to you with open arms, the strongest, most loving superhero the world had ever met. Everything, every last detail, item and action, was for you. All for you.

But at what cost?

‘I saw the Flight 37 video.’

Both of you struggled within the silence. Air caught in your lungs, every breath grasping for more than your body could take. Homelander, seemingly serene, massaged his temples and let out a laugh. A laugh. Something sinister hid behind that face. That pristine, calculated, manufactured face. Nothing about him was natural or real. An artificial man molded from lies.

‘Y/n, come on-‘

‘At first I didn’t believe it to be you. I denied that you could do such a thing.’ Heavy tears trapped at the rim of your eye line.

‘But I know that face,’ Your lip trembled, ‘I know what you can…be like. And-and I can’t turn a blind eye to something so horrible, Homelander. It just makes me think, what if else have you done? What other fucked up things, huh?’

Not a single sound left him.

‘I mean, murdering kids? Seriously? You let all those innocents die?’

Homelander clicked his jaw, ‘What are you gonna do y/n?’

Brow furrowed, you felt your blood go ablaze.

‘Hm?’ He turned his head to the side, not completely making eye contact with you.

‘I’m leaving you, you vile, sadistic son of a bit-‘

Shattered glass fall onto the ground like raindrops. A heated ray of light tears through the walls and the couch as if they were thin sheets of paper. Furniture incinerated into oblivion.

A shock of adrenaline runs through every limb in your body. Frantically, you rummage through every drawer in search of a weapon. There’s no use, but it seems right in the moment. A chef knife glistens, catching your eye. In good condition, but child’s play against a man like Homelander.

He turns to face you with a predacious stare. His chest is heaving with rage, eyes still aglow.

‘I swear to god, if you come near me you fucking psychopath!’ You blurt, presenting the knife.

‘Don’t talk to me like that you little bitch!’ Homelander growls, pointing a finger as he quickly makes his way toward you.

Panic drowns your sanity as you attempt to escape from the kitchen. Before you could even lift yourself to jump over the counter, he grabs the back of your neck and aggressively pulls you away.

‘Let me go! Let me go!’ You screech, a guttural, terrified scream following.

‘Oh no,’ Homelander flipped you around, pushing you against the edge of the counter before delicately wrapping his entire hand around your neck. Your body slightly lifted from the ground.

‘No, no, no.’ Homelanders face twitched with anger, ‘You aren’t going anywhere. You are mine.’

A few pathetic whimpers left your throat. Struggling against his weight only made his grip become tighter.

‘Oh look at you. Tsk, tsk.’ Homelander teased. ‘Tell me, who showed you the video? Did your slutty ass fuck some lousy pap for it?’

Trembling aggressively, you could only release grunts of pain and fear. His growing erection pushed into your hip as he held you against the counter.

‘Such a puny little thing. Admit it, you need me.’ At this point, Homelander only spoke to himself. Rather than talking to you, he admired how you squirmed and cried. Pain looked beautiful on you.

‘The only time we will ever be separate is when you’re dead in the ground.’

That smile. That wicked, crazed smile.

‘And I’ll decide when that happens.’

Homelander pressed a desperate, hungry kiss onto your puffed lips, sitting you down on the cold marble to spread your legs.

#homelander x you #homelander x reader #homelander #the boys x you #the boys amazon #the boys #the boys series #the boys season 3 #starlight #queen maeve #billy butcher #hughie campbell #marvin milk #the deep #kimiko miyashiro #frenchie

[silvrash-797]

Let Febuwhump begin!! Thank you @hotcheetohatredwastaken for the idea!

When shadows fade (pt 1)

Febuwhump day 2+19: Solitary Confinement, "Please Don't"

Part 2 (coming soon)

Read on ao3

Shadow watched, impotent, gagged by his nature, as Link struggled in his restraints. He himself wasn’t technically restrained, of course, because to everyone else he was just a shadow; no one other than Link suspected his consciousness existed. No, he just had to sit and watch, for years, alone, as Link put himself back together, moved on, only the occasional glance at his shadow giving any indication that Link remembered him.

Shadow lived for those glances. Confined to Link's shadow as he was, without even the ability to manipulate his form, he would have gone insane years ago were it not for that simple reminder that someone knew about him, thought about him.

Normally he would welcome an increase of glances and attention. Normally.

This wasn’t normal. No, Link had been kidnapped from the middle of the Chain’s camp in the dead of night. They’d both awoken to find Link, in a cave, hanging from chains around his wrists, a pair of torches on either side casting his shadow in bright relief on the opposing wall.

It had been hours since they awoke, and no one had even looked into the cave. Shadow watched Link silently struggle with the chains, trying to escape, but to no avail.

Link stilled; violet eyes scanned the rocky walls, cataloging every possible advantage. He paused as his eyes caught Shadow’s crisp outline, and Shadow's heart twinged at the intensity of the gaze.

Link spoke, red shifting into his irises. “What mess have we gotten ourselves into this time, Shadow?”

The direct interaction sent a complicated swirl of emotions through Shadow, and he regretted that he couldn’t even shrug in response. 

Link (Vio, really, Shadow could tell by the eye color) continued. “I hope…no, I know you’re still there.” His brow furrowed, all four colors bleeding briefly into his eyes. “I’m sorry we haven’t been able to bring you back, yet. We-"

Shuffling at the cave entrance cut any other words off. Shadow watched fondly as the blue and violet danced in Link's eyes, displeasure at their predicament warring with the desire to understand what this new playing piece might offer them.

A tall figure in a hooded robe stalked into the cave, going straight to Link's chains and rattling them harshly. Link swayed, off-balance at the disturbance, and a faint snarl grew on his face as he glared.

“Who were you talking to, Hero?” the voice was low and nasally, each syllable dripping from its mouth like molten ore, scalding in its intensity. “You’re meant to be alone.”

Link got his feet back underneath him and stood as tall as he could in his chains. “I am alone,” he gritted out. “There’s nobody here but myself, my shadow, and now you.”

“Yeesss…” the word was drawn out in distaste. “I’ve read about your shadow.” The figure turned, eyeing Shadow with contempt. “Traitor to Lord Ganon, a monster playing at being a hero.” 

“No,” Link growled, all four colors swirling in his eyes, united in Shadow’s defense. “You know nothing about him.”

“Oh?” there was amusement in the voice now, and Shadow felt a chill run through his soul. “I know many things. I know it is only your memory that keeps him alive. I know you think you can rescue him.”

It drew closer to Link – blocking the torchlight as it did, so that Shadow’s form wavered – and grabbed his face in talon-like hands. It leaned down and whispered something in Link's ear, and Link recoiled with a cry, eyes suddenly red and terrified.

“No, you can’t!” Link's voice was thin, panicking, and Shadow hissed silently. “That’ll kill him, please don’t!”

“Oh, but I can…” the voice dripped venom as it approached Link, pulling something from its robes, “…and I will.” 

Shadow raged in his silent prison as the figure began to tug at the collar of Link's tunic. Link tried to shy away, a constant stream of “please don’t do this, we can’t forget, Shadow please,” falling from his lips, but the chains held fast. The figure exposed a collarbone and pressed something into the hollow just below, and Link stiffened.

Tremors started rolling through Link's body, rattling the chains. His voice fell into a muddle and his eyes shifted colors rapidly. “No, please don’t…he’s our friend…we need him…Shadow I’m sorry…”

Link abruptly fell unconscious. Shadow’s heart stopped. Rainbow, no, what did it do to you? 

The figure stepped back, allowing the torchlight to clearly cast Link's limp shadow against the wall. The chill settled deeper into Shadow's soul as he was all but forced to assume the submissive posture.

“There,” the figure crooned. “It’s working already.” It shifted, approaching Shadow in his turn. “That trinket I just gave him will erase all his memories of you...Traitor.” The talon-like hands caressed the wall, right where Shadow’s throat would be if he had any corporeality, and ice shuddered along his consciousness.

“When he wakes, he’ll truly be alone,” a hand waved towards Link, and the torches dimmed to mere embers, sending Shadow into unwelcome darkness, “and you’ll cease to exist.”

#SilvrAsh writes #febuwhump #day 2 #day 19 #lu four #lu shadow #I am so ready to share what I've been working on for this month! #tw kidnapping #tw restraints #linked universe #linkeduniverse #will be continued day 15