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bradshawssugarbaby · 30 days

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Angel In the Infield - Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

summary: Bradley Bradshaw is a struggling first-baseman in the major leagues. He's had bad season after bad season, until he met you, his angel.

A/N: While I'm currently struggling with motivation to work on on Take One for the Team, please instead enjoy this baseball au fic I've done in the meantime! Also I started reading sports romance novels, pls send help half these men are baseball players with dark hair. Also if you like this concept/set up, I'm toying with the idea of making this a series of connected oneshots?

pairing: baseball player!Bradley Bradshaw x reader

warnings/content: baseball au, smut throughout, oral (both m + f receiving), praise, dirty talk, mentions of divorce, unfaithfulness (neither Bradley, nor reader), public sex.

word count: 3.7k

taglist (also tagging those who were interested in Take One For The Team since it's a similar vibe and explains the lack of updates lol): @avengersfan25, @jessicab1991, @atarmychick007, @b-bradshaw, @nouis-bum, @mamachasesmayhem, @floydsmuse, @kmc1989, @dckweed, @katfanfic, @nerdgirljen, @whatislovevavy, @mrsevans90, @averyhotchner, @yuckosworld, @tgmreader, @allepaula, @lourd-ita, @mariaenchanted

The sun hung high on the horizon for a Saturday afternoon, radiating an unseasonable warmth as its rays beat down over the course. A gentle breeze made its way through the palm trees that stood tall outside of the stadium, causing large, deep green leaves to sway in its wake. A crowd of spectators sat on the bleachers that surrounded the diamond, a sea of faces filling the scenery, silently watching, sipping beers and eating hotdogs as they took in the spectacle before them. Media representatives dotted the balcony, press passes on display as they gawked at the game unfolding below.

Bradley Bradshaw approached the plate, lining up to take his turn at bat. His bright white uniformed baseball shirt, emblazoned with the team logo across the front, his last name in bold, block lettering across the back of his broad shoulders, hugged at his sun kissed biceps as they flexed. One of his tattoos just barely visible from under the sleeve of the shirt.

He took two practice swings, and once he was comfortable, lined up with the plate. He narrowed his eyes in focus as he looked to the pitcher, giving him the coldest stare down he could muster, his face fixed in a state of concentration. A year and a half ago, he would have begun trash-talking his opponent from the start, calling out that he’d seen his grandmother lob better pitches, and she’d been dead for 15 years. Instead, Bradley forced himself to behave, willing any inappropriate comments about Jake Seresin’s mother to himself, for now.

He took a swing at the first pitch lobbed towards him with a loud grunt, biting his tongue as he held back a frustrated fuck from his lips as the ball sailed past him, landing in the catcher’s mitt with a thud.

Strike one.

He caught your gaze in the sea of faces that were watching him expectantly, his lips curling up into a soft smile as he looked towards the family and friends boxes where you stood, waving subtly to him to gain his attention. He gave you a subtle nod of his head, symbolic of a thank you, for Bradley.

In an instant, Bradley was back in the game, level-headed and laser focused, ready for the next pitch that was coming, as if seeing you had brought him back down to earth, willing him to focus his attention on something other than his once uncontrollable anger.

He wasn’t often this soft. He never used to be. In fact, he was never considered to be a gentleman when he played any sport. He couldn’t lose graciously. It wasn’t in his nature. He was serious, determined and reserved, focused and dedicated, but even his best intended plans couldn’t withstand his explosive temper. It wasn’t that he wanted to be a walking stick of dynamite.

He didn’t intend to fly off the handle at everyone around if he made a bad play or if someone commented on his skills not being on point the way they once were, but after nothing but criticism for the last four years of his career, Bradley thought his outbursts were justifiable.

If he had to hear another comment about being “washed up” at thirty-one, he might snap again, unable to bite his tongue much longer. And if he had a bat in hand? He’d show whoever it was just how good his game still was. He knew his career didn’t have many years left in it, but he had just as much right as any other up and coming young asshole in the MLB to be here. But one bad year at twenty-seven had turned into two, which turned into three, which now crept up on reaching four.

Admittedly, this year was turning out to be marginally better than the three previous - he didn’t know what to chalk it up to at first.

Herefused to admit he could be in love. Love was never for him. At least, that’s what his ex-wife told him when she filed for divorce four years prior. He’d just been starting to make a name for himself as a promising first baseman when she served him the papers, leaving him with a burning desire to focus everything he had on the one thing that he thought couldn’t break him - baseball. That desperate need to be good at something, anything, drove him to the brink of insanity. He couldn’t control himself or his need to be the best in the only area he knew he could be anymore.

However, that train of thought came to a screeching, grinding halt when he met you.

As Bradley remained focused on his turn at bat, he took a swing at the second pitch sent his way, a fastball that, if he was a smart man, he would have let go, taking the ball instead of risking a strike at a pitch that far outside.

However, Bradley was not a smart man. Not when it came to his turns at bat.

Even he couldn’t hide his momentary shock as the ball made contact with the wooden bat in his hands with a crack. He started running towards first base, rounding it quickly before making the smarter decision to stay put, rather than aim for second. He looked towards where you were watching him from once again, smiling to himself as he watched you blow a kiss towards him. He couldn’t wait to finish this game and just hold you and kiss you. Watch you walk around the house with nothing but his baseball jersey on, just barely long enough on you to cover your private areas, giving him a little sneak peek as you bent over to unload the dishwasher, or reached up to grab a wine glass for yourself when you were ready to unwind for the evening.

Those delicious thighs, soft and smooth as he ran his hands up and down them, the way you’d giggle and kick your legs playfully when he grasped at the back of them, even though he knew you were ticklish there. He didn’t give a rat’s ass though. He loved the way you laughed. He swore it was up there on the list of the most beautiful sounds in the world, along with the way you said his name right before you reached your orgasm, the way you’d call him ‘honey’ in passing and the sound of a World Series crowd chanting your number.

Images of his hands lifting the back of that jersey up, shoving the excess material at the bottom out of his way as he pounded into you from behind flashed across his mind, the sounds of you whining out in pleasure as he relentlessly fucked into you, your pretty, pink folds glistening with arousal, letting him slide in and out of you with ease. The thought alone was almost enough to make him curse the athletic cup that was sitting in his baseball pants at the moment, making it increasingly uncomfortable to move as he felt himself hardening at the thought of you.

Fuck, he couldn’t wait to take you in the hotel room later.

As he rounded the bases to home after his teammate’s home run hit, his mind drifted to the thought of your teeth sinking into the tanned, taut skin of his shoulder as he made love to you in the California King Bed that awaited you both in the hotel suite after the game. Your fingers gripping his dark curly hair tightly, tangling into them and tugging as he licked and sucked on your neck, leaving a trail of purpling bite marks down you as he marked you as his own. Not that you protested - in fact, you encouraged it.

As the game progressed, Bradley continued to think about the various ways he could make you his as soon as he got you alone. His mind raced as he thought of you again - in every way possible. He thought about your perfume, how it had some kind of hypnotic hold over him, leaving him momentarily dazed whenever he breathed in your scent. He thought about your smile, how you lit up the entire room when you beamed at him - how you were one of the only people to ever look at him like he meant everything in the world to you, and how you made him feel special and loved and wanted, for the first time in years. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt the way you made him feel.

His ex-wife had been cold and cut-off from him emotionally, physically. She was never satisfied just being with him. She resented that he couldn’t put all of his attention on her, 100% of the time, despite Bradley feeling like he tried his best to balance his career and home life as best as he could. When she had told him she was ready to have a baby, he’d been entirely on board - ready and willing to start a family. What he wasn’t prepared for, was walking in on her sleeping with a rookie from a rival team in the hotel room that Bradley had paid for.

As he packed up his gear after the game, his team pulling ahead with a win thanks to a home run hit he scored in the 8th inning that shocked even him, he let out a deep, satisfied sigh. He had proved himself for another day, and he was proud of himself for it. He figured at this rate, if he kept it up, he could be discussing his comeback season with the press after another couple of games. The thought of being respected once again in the sport was electrifying, enough to send a shockwave pulsating through his veins as he switched out of his cleats and into his street shoes.

He headed out of the locker room, his baseball bag slung over his shoulder and his cap turned backwards, with tufts of dark chestnut brown curls peaking out through the opening. He spotted you, wearing one of his spare jerseys unbuttoned with a short little black dress on underneath, with a pair of stark white running shoes. Your matching baseball cap was sported backwards, just like Bradley’s, a style he started adopting on your advice. You’d flipped his cap around one day during a playful round of sex in the backseat of his vintage Ford Bronco, telling him it looked so much hotter on him when he wore it so that you could still see his face. He took that advice to heart, and now, every chance he could, backwards is how it was.

You happily skipped over to him, wrapping your arms around his neck loosely as you peppered his lips with feather-light kisses. He laughed softly and shook his head when you finally pulled away, his cheeks burning into a rosy red tone as a slight wave of embarrassment washed over him.

It wasn’t your kisses or affection that embarrassed him though. It was the fact that after 18 months of dating, he still wasn’t used to it. It was partially his own fault — his ex-wife had never been an affectionate lover, but even after that, he refused to actually be in a relationship with anyone. He enjoyed sex, and that was all he wanted. He wasn’t looking for his heart to be broken again, and it suited him just fine until you came along.

He’d met you once in passing — he’d gotten himself embroiled in a bar brawl with some guy who’s mouth ran faster than the speed of light. Bradley’s nose had been broken and bloodied as a result, and you’d been leaving the bar with a handful of friends. You’d recognized Bradley as the guy who’d hit on you earlier in the night, and to your surprise, graciously accepted your rejection when you turned him down. When you saw him in this light though, drunk and vulnerable, you felt sorry for him.

Taking a couple of tissues from your purse, you helped clean up his face as best as you could, sending your friends on their way without you as you took on this newfound role of nurse to him. With few other options to stop his nosebleed, you’d handed him a tampon from your purse. He laughed initially, in complete and total refusal to use it. You had gestured to his floral print white polo shirt, the collar now stained with drips of blood from his face. He huffed a sigh and followed your advice, grumbling as you insisted on making awkward small talk as you sat and waited with him to get checked out.

That was the first time since his mother’s passing that anyone had ever shown Bradley an ounce of compassion when he was injured. He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol talking or not , but he could have sworn you were an angel with the way you smiled at him and how soothing he found your voice.

Now, eighteen months later, standing here with your arms wrapped around him, his hands on your waist as you fussed over him and congratulated him on his performance in this afternoon’s game, he was sure. You were heaven sent.. In fact, it was what he called you — angel. He’d decided early on it was the perfect nickname for you, and as time went on, he only proved himself right.

“Everyone’s left, right?” You asked him, raising an eyebrow at him as he snapped back to reality, shooting a quick glance behind his shoulder.

“Mhmm. I was the last one out of the showers. Looks like it’s just us left here.”

“Perfect. I have a little something for you.”

“Do you?” He inquired, eyebrows raised as he smirked, a million ideas running through his head at what his surprise could be.

Together, you walked back towards the now deserted dugout, the ballpark that was roaring with excitement an hour ago was now silent, deserted by players and fans alike. You grinned as you turned around to face Bradley, dropping down to your knees in front of him, gazing up at him with a doe-eyed stare that was almost enough to make him groan out in pleasure.

“Wh-you mean, this is my surprise? You’re gonna suck my dick in the dugout, angel?”

“I know you’ve always wanted me to. And you played so good today, honey. How could I say no?” You purred as you undid the belt holding his pants in place.

He dropped his baseball pants down to his ankles, and before his hands could remove the tight fitting boxer briefs he’d changed into post-game, your mouth was pressed against the tightening bulge, pressing warm kisses to it in a way that made Bradley’s mind foggy. He couldn’t think straight and he wasn’t even in your mouth yet.

Fuck.

He knew he wouldn’t last long if this was how worked up he was feeling at your mouth touching him. As you tugged his boxers down, peeling them off his thighs to free his cock. A white bead of pre-cum pearled on his tip, leading Bradley to elicit a pornographic moan as your thumb swiped across it, whisking the liquid away before you began pumping your hand up and down his shaft. You tauntingly flicked your tongue out over the tip of his erection, encircling the red, throbbing head with a trail of saliva before licking a strip along the underside to his balls. Bradley shuddered as he felt you continue to lick up and down his length, your hand pumping him tightly when you alternated and pressed your lips to the tip.

After what felt to Bradley like an eternity, you took his tip past your parted lips, hollowing your cheeks as you began to suck on his cock like it was some kind of refreshing summer treat. As you took him further back in your mouth, your saliva began to pool around his shaft, dribbling out down his length as you tried to take more of him into you. He grunted your name as he gathered your hair in his hand, gripping tightly as he thrusted his hips forward into your mouth.

You gagged as you felt his tip brush the back of your throat, causing more of your spit to soak his cock, your hand using it as lubrication as you continued to pump on whatever didn’t fit past your lips. Bradley began panting, gasping and singing your praises as he fucked your mouth. Your eyelids fluttered as you shut them for a quick moment to concentrate yourself on your technique until you felt a hand gently squeezing your cheeks, making your mouth seemingly tighten harder around Bradley.

“Nuh, uh, beautiful. Eyes on me,” he directed.

You gazed up at him with that same doe-eyed stare again, batting your lashes as you watched his facial expression, his eyes shutting as he enjoyed the feel of your mouth as it sucked and licked at his cock, working him into his orgasm.

“Shit, angel, ‘m’not gonna last,” Bradley panted, deep chocolate brown eyes fixated on you as he watched you pull your mouth back from him almost entirely before thrusting yourself fully into him.

His lids shut again as he drew his head back, saying your name as if it was a hymn he was singing. He let out a deep, throaty grunt as he shot hot, white ropes of his cum down your throat. Your eyes never left his as you swallowed hard, making sure that he could see you as you did it before pulling yourself back off his cock. Pulling yourself to your feet, you wiped the saliva from your mouth with the back of your hand, grinning proudly at the mess you’d made out of Bradley.

His eyes deepened with a burning, lustful hunger for you as he wrapped his arm around your waist, picking you up off your feet and grinning.

“I gotta return the favour, now, angel. You know the rules. You wear a pretty little skirt like that, and I just have to eat that pussy of yours.” He said matter-of-factly as he pulled his bottoms back up, chuckling to himself as he tightened his belt back up. “Bet you did it on purpose, didn’t you, honey? Knew I wouldn’t be able to resist eating that perfect little cunt of yours if you wore something like this?”

“I may have been thinking something along those lines,” you teased, shrugging your shoulders as he laid you down on the bench.

He straddled the bench in front of your legs and tutted his tongue at you, giving you a head shake of disapproval before raising an eyebrow at you.

“Angel, come on, spread those pretty thighs of yours nice and wide for me. Throw your legs over my shoulders if you have to.”

You obeyed his command, biting down on your lip as you fought back a grin, draping your legs over his broad shoulders as he slipped between them, his mouth hovering just over your folds. He pressed his lips to your inner thigh, nipping at the sensitive skin with his teeth. You let out a soft yelp of pleasure, feeling your body writhe at the mere suggestion of Bradley’s mouth down there on you.

“Look at you,” Bradley purred as he spread your folds apart with two thick fingers. “So pretty and wet for me already? Sucking my cock got you all worked up like this?”

“Mhmm,” you hummed, trying to concentrate your thoughts into a sentence.

“C’mon, honey, use your words for me. Wanna hear you say it,” Bradley said as he flicked his tongue out, swiping it across your swollen, sensitive clit.

“Bradley,” you whined as you arched your back at the slow, sensual teasing, “You know exactly why I’m like this already.”

“Mhmm, my perfect angel,” he cooed as he licked at your folds again, gathering your arousal on his tongue.

As Bradley’s tongue ravaged you, eating you out like a man starved on a desert island for the last few months, your heart began to race, a burning desire brewing in the pit of your stomach. While Bradley’s tongue lapped at your arousal, he delved two thick fingers into your pulsating core, pumping them into your g-spot. You could picture him grinning to himself as he heard your needy, whiny moans, panting his name as if it was the only word you were able to say anymore. That was just how he liked it though - making it so he was the only thing on your mind. He prided himself on it.

Your thighs began to shake as he dug the fingers of his free hand into your flesh, holding you in place. He pulled his mouth away from you for a moment with a loud suck. You whimpered at the loss of contact, looking down at him from beneath hooded lids as he continued to fuck his fingers deeper into you.

“That’s it, angel. I played my best for you today, wanted to do right, earn this pretty little pussy of yours. Make it mine,” he husked.

Your walls clenched down tightly around his fingers as he spoke, the words alone enough to send you over the edge. He pressed his lips to your clit once again, giving it a long, tantalizing suck as he drew your orgasm out of you. Instead of his name, this time all you could get out of your mouth was a breathless, blissed out moan, unable to formulate words as your brain fogged. Bradley continued to praise you, coaching you through your climax like a personal trainer coaching you through a workout.

He drew his hand up to his mouth, sucking on his fingers until they were clean, his wide tongue pressing flat against them before pulling them out of his mouth with a loud pop. You blinked twice at him, still dazed from your orgasm as he pulled your underwear back up your legs.

“You ok, angel?” Bradley grinned as he tapped your thigh gently with his hand to try and bring you back to reality. Your blissfully fucked out stare was all he needed, a soft smile on your face as you tried to regain your composure.

“We’re just getting started, baby. I’ve got 48 hours with you before my next game, I’m making each one of those hours count.”

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ranticore · 2 months

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I gave up on editing and did this instead check it out. I had a rough time with the zeta because they kept getting too anthro dog-ish and I wanted them to read as primates. The one pictured there is a crew member on a whaling vessel (chef and lookout).

Image description and transcript of text below the cut:

[Figure 1 description: Front and side views of a zeta's face with the skull and external anatomy overlaid and separate. The skull is similar to a baboon's with massive broad fangs and a huge saggital crest on top for muscle attachment. Figure 2 description: a bar of colours ranging from dark brown, to reddish, to pale cream, to violet, to blue, to dark blue. Beneath it are several blue markings resembling a stylised 'A' or an arrow. Figure 3 description: a pair of zeta standing together. They are blue, brown, and cream in colour and wearing fancy black collars with dark tassels, and knuckle-guards to protect their feet. They have stocky muscular bodies and ape-like heads. One is propped up on their elbows over the back of the other, looking in a different direction.]

Text reads:

Terrestrial Zeta of Siren: Overview

Zeta are large quadrupedal mammals primarily found in the Eastern continent, the only area of significant continuous land. They are specialists at hunting and killing the local wildlife, most of which have strong chitinous shells and can be thought of as similar to millipedes or isopods. Zeta maxillary canines (1c) are the largest on Siren, laterally flattened and lacking sharp points, instead used to crush and split open the shells of their main prey, and they have huge saggital crests to support their jaw muscles. Zeta were formerly aquatic and still retain tail flukes and dense bones from that evolutionary era (3). They have a plantigrade, knuckle-walking locomotion and lack tongues. Zeta are marsupial and unisex.

Fig. 2 shows the coat colour variation. It is divided into red phase and blue phase shades. While most individuals have both phases, some are solely red or solely blue. Zeta are the only people on Siren who have naturally occurring blue pigments in their skin and hair, and blue eyes. The settlers who genetically engineered zeta also programmed in the logo of their megacorporation, which was a stylised blue letter 'A', which would appear like a tattoo from birth on the skin of zeta, formed of their own pigments. Over subsequent milennia, the logo has become indistinct and abstract, and the blue pigment is no longer limited to this particular marking, but found all over.

Kattakati

During the development of zeta, the genetic engineers wanted to produce a creature which would never have solidarity with a member of its own kind. They tampered with the brains of their creations, thinking that they had produced a creature with no sense of community, empathy, solidarity, or sympathy. In the intervening years zeta have developed a novel way to regain those traits, for their own survival. Early aquatic and terrestrial zeta developed a form of eusociality, viewing members of their pack as themselves, as limbs of one being, and over time this developed into the Dry Bowl practice of Kattakati pairing. This consists of a pair of zeta who have entered a binding agreement to consider one another a single being (3). Legally, socially, and culturally, a kattakati is one person. It has a single name and will not allow others to distinguish between its component bodies in any meaningful way, as they are supposed to be taken as a complete whole, together. It is frowned upon to consider the pair anything other than one guy. The two halves of a kattakati do not necessarily agree on all things, but this is not a contradiction; a person often thinks contradicting thoughts, and feels contradicting things. The nature of the bond is not platonic, romantic, or sexual, and a kattakati might make friends and date other people (you can't date just one half - you need to date the whole guy).

#told ya it was unethical #setting: siren #i know empathy is a charged word here but it's hard to discuss the effects of the GMO without falling back on it #they basically turned off the part of the brain that says We Live In A Society and a bunch of other stuff besides #is it scientific? no. i just wanted to explore what is necessary to reverse-engineer 'society' back into a population #speculative biology

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undercoverpena · 10 months

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iii - just say that you need me

javier peña x f!reader | chapter three of late night texts

summary: It's the year 2000. Javi is minding his own business on the porch of his pop's ranch when a text from an unknown number vibrates his phone. The only problem is, no one knows he has a phone and no one has his number.

chapter warnings: fluff. flirting. continuous romcom vibes. an: the amount of people who look forward to tuesday's makes me grin. for those who are new, i don't have a tag list. wordcount: 2.6k.

text key: bold is you/reader | italics is javi

You should say yes more.

to you or to my pop

To your pop. I know you wouldn’t say no to me.

you sure about that

I’d bet my next paycheck on it.

for you I’ll say yes to him once

Good. Now we have that out the way answer what the worst date you’ve ever been on was

shit. going with the hard hitting questions today

Just getting you to share, open up

probably when I first came back from colombia someone from my town where I live

They a bad host, bad dinner guest? Gimme more Javi cmon. You said you’d entertain me.

baby, im trying to entertain you but you told me to stop

I said stop flirting while I’m eating and answer the question

she wouldn’t stop asking me for details on escobar

Ah. Yeah I can see how discussing that would be a mood killer.

yeah didn’t wanna go in the first place either

So if we ever meet, do not ask about your Colombian experience. Got it.

you can ask, doesn’t mean I’d tell you

Ha! Good to know. I wouldn’t though. If you wanna tell me, I think you will.

thanks, what’s yours?

Well I was stood up when we first began texting. Think that’s pretty bad, enough.

he’s an idiot because only an idiot would stand you up

You haven’t seen me, remember

statement still stands

Stop being so charming.

you still eating

No.

then I can flirt

Most of the time, he ignores the mail.

Lets it pile up on the entryway dresser until his pop makes another reference to it. Unlike his pop, he is never in a rush to open them, knowing no good comes from the contents inside.

The same people contact him. The bureau being one. Sipping his coffee as he glares at the usual federal sign on the envelope, wondering how many more times they’ll try asking him to come in for a chat.

This afternoon, though, the envelope isn’t brilliant white, but rather off-cream.

Peeling a bit, thumb digging in as he drags it across, the ripping sound filling the small space. It’s only as he opens it does he realise who it’s from.

His eyes stare at the letter, taking in the number—the one in triple digits with his phone provider logo in the top corner. The number which is making him feel sick, the more he stares at it over and over again.

“Fuck.”

Folding it, he swallows.

Shit.

Motherfucker.

He stuffs it away, tucks it under magazines and other leaflets, as though by keeping it out of sight, it’ll go away.

But it's there.

The edge of it sticking out. He even blinks, and the number is there, tattooed on the back of his eyes. Taunting him—the price of speaking to you.

It's not that Javi can't afford it. He’s had a chunk of money sitting, gaining dust, in his account since he came home. Only able to force portions on his pop as and when he felt he could get away with it.

But this was a lot. More than he’d bargained on, more than he even knew he could spend simply by replying to someone.

There's a chance your day won't be done just yet—his day beginning far earlier than yours even began—but he pulls his phone out, fingers pressing into the keys.

so apparently talking to you is costly Oh, you've had your bill. I feel I should ask whether I'm worth it?

It’s instant—the way you make the nauseous feeling vanish. How you force it to slide back to where it came from, and in its place, warmth spreads. All accompanied by a smile on his lips.

He doesn’t want to show his hand too much. Better at concealing, playing the long game when standing face to face.

This requires a skill he hasn't yet gained. Simply focusing on not sounding ridiculous, or over the top. Unnecessary. Like some of the desperate men, he's happened to arrest over the years.

Even if his chest flutters and his mind screams, of course. Wants to ask, isn't it obvious? But he chooses something easier, uncomplicated.

yes just didn’t expect it I had my phone bill the other day. I get it. did your heart fall out your ass No. But I will be eating ramen for the next month. We can stop texting so much though, if it’s costing too much. would rather my bill be double than stop talking to you You’re such a flirt.

He drains the rest of his mug, leaning back in the chair—hearing the sound of approaching boots from his Pop’s side of the house. Fingers typing, all hurried and determined

Don’t forget I’m out for drinks and a movie. I remember don’t worry

He remembers as soon as you remind him.

Realising it's the reason you're able to reply right now. You’d been telling him almost every night for the past week. All worried, as though hating the idea of breaking the nightly tradition the two of you have concocted.

In a way, Javi should have assumed the bill would be high with the number of texts the two of you have been sending. How frequent it’s been—how nice it’s been.

Nice things do usually come with a tag.

you decided on sweet or salty Verdict is still out. You sure about waiting to do the crossword? if we don’t do it tonight, we’ll do two the next day You sure? more than sure have a great time

“Y’sure you don’t fancy coming with me, Jav?”

He thinks of it, tapping his phone against his palm as he thinks of your text the other night. The one about him trying to say yes—something curling in his chest as he realises he’ll be alone, alone if he doesn’t.

A sentiment he didn’t mind on paper, but now confronted with, rather despised.

“Alright, yeah. Can—can I get changed?”

Mid-grabbing his own jacket, his Pop turns, surprise knitted into his wiry brows. “Y-yeah, sure, I’ll….”

“I’ll meet you at the truck?”

And he does. All without complaint. Plaid shirt on, a smile being forced as soon as the truck pulls off the drive. He doesn't even complain about the radio choice or the fact his Pop always takes the main roads when he could cut down the dusty roads.

When he arrives, he doesn’t mind how many hands he shakes, one after the next. He tries not to grit his teeth as each person says the usual things, they’re proud, he’s grown, when is he settling down? Each time he laughs it off. Spanish rolling from his tongue as he smiles and winks.

It’s performative.

The old version of him coming out from a hidden place.

Always there, ready, as his hand shakes another person's hand—one he’s already forgotten the name of. Someone he’s sure he’s met before, too.

It always happens. The small-town boy who took down drug cartels has become somewhat of a celebrity tale. A thing to gawk at when he visits the store. Chucho's boy who ran away to Colombia and now hides away on the ranch.

For the amount of time it's been, he'd foolishly expected it to die down—but it hasn't. Not enough, anyway.

After enough time, he excuses himself, sneaking down the corridor near the bathroom. Leaning against the wall, fingers trying to rub out a knot that hasn’t yet appeared in his skull. The one pulsing, threatening to build behind his eye.

He’s unsure what he wants to do, what he needs. Retrieving his phone, just clicking around, before finding himself on your texts—feeling better for it.

Reading them back, smirking at some, smiling wide at others. A shape forming in his head, little details he’d amassed to make up you. A person he was pretty sure meant more to him than evening company, but it seemed tricky to delve too far into it.

That is until his phone vibrated.

Just wanted to tell you I miss you. Even if that’s weird.

His fingers hover over the keys, a retort quick—there in his touch.

Slowly he presses it out, hearing the click even over the bar’s music as he double and triple taps each button he wants, until it forms what it is he thought:

not weird, you drunk I’m tipsy, not drunk. Still mean it. good cause i miss you too

you never said how the movie was

As someone who flies a lot, I shouldn’t have watched it.

that bad

Will probably have to hold the hand of my seat mate the next time work makes me fly.

I’m sure they won’t mind

Depends on the length of my nails I guess.

some people don’t mind nails clawing in certain situations

You trying to tell me you like nails down your back, Javi?

if the situation is right, yes

What about in your hair?

now who’s being a tease

I’m learning so much tonight.

and your putting images in my head

I’d love to know what I look like in it, since you haven’t seen me.

beautiful, you look beautiful

My face is burning.

your day been ok

Yeah, was fine. Work has been rough.

you want to talk about it

Not really, it’s stupid anyway. Plus, would rather do the crosswords and hang with you.

you do have two to make up to me

Best get giving me the clues then, Javi.

four letters, begins with f

Is this a Javi crossword or a real crossword

baby, cmon

Fuck?

fork

someone’s in a dirty mood

You’re such a dick. Give me a real clue.

There's not a point in time where he can track how his thoughts went from nothing to you. But, he thinks about you all the time.

Has been doing so constantly for the last two days, at least—the occasional vibrations from his phone making his lips twitch and his mind wander. Javi’s brain exploding with wonder at what your reply could say.

Sometimes, he tries not to check immediately. Test—see—how long he can go before he does. It’s not been going well.

An excitement dashing through his veins that fills his chest, warms his neck and makes a ridiculous grin appear (one he’s caught accidentally in the mirror).

The back and forth has been quicker—for as costly as it was—outside of routines and work. His fingers have even improved in the speed of tapping the same key to get one single letter.

Each text makes him feel like he learns a new nugget about you, gathering a new piece of the puzzle—an idea of you forming in front of his eyes. One he likes—craves more of—wishing for other tidbits similar to how you like coffee after breakfast, not before.

That you don’t care for birthday cake, but love cookies.

morning hermosa hope you managed to grab the coffee

He doesn’t expect to hear from you.

Remembering that your time management in the morning isn’t to be admired. You are someone who is either awake too early or too late—never in the middle.

But, when he finishes. Sweat clinging to every muscle, he’s surprised to find nothing.

Even a little disappointed.

finished up for the day, unsure whether to lounge around on the porch or push the boat out and lounge in the barn

You’ve become such a part of his day, his shoulders sink when he steps out of the shower to see nothing.

His heart slips down inside his chest, resting unsteadily on his ribs as he checks and checks. His fingers fluff his hair as he runs his fingers through it before finding a strand, twisting, and twisting.

I’m probably worrying about nothing but just let me know you’re ok

A part of him had worried this would happen.

That he would allow the attachment to grow—ropes and threads wrapping around him—and it would be taken from under his feet.

He has a history of becoming hooked—usually combining itself with his need to help, to make someone’s day better, easier.

And on paper, he knew it was odd. To care for someone he hadn’t ever even met. But he cares all the same.

Copious amounts, in fact.

Far past an, ‘I miss you’—something else entirely, not that he’d admit as much.

hermosa I’m really getting worried now

He doesn’t want to call.

Doesn’t want to invade your privacy, your space. But it’s knotting inside of him. The things he’s seen, rushing to the surface, pecking away, making him overthink.

His mind conjures ideas that you’re hurt, wounded. That you’re crying, alone. Each flash of his past has the curated blob-of-a-face he’s created for you, written over it.

His fingers twitch, hand moving to his pocket before remembering there are no cigarettes to be found there. He quit. Ages ago. Felt better for it—for the most part—until now.

Now when all he wants is to focus on the taste, the way smoke swirls with the warm Texas air—

Hey, I'm so sorry, I had a bad day. Just didn’t check my phone. shit hermosa, you scared me. almost called you. Really? yeah Would you? what call you Yeah?

[Dialing number…]

you declined I did

His heart sinks, crashes, and plummets.

Then a new vibration, one that travels down his fingers to his wrist, suddenly staring at an instruction: Give me your landline number, be cheaper. For both of us.

Glancing into the living room, he taps the number in for you. Hating each precious second he wastes by having to delete a letter that should be a number.

Pushing the chair back, hearing it screech as he hovers. Nervousness thumps through him, making him shake, vibrate.

Staring, willing the phone to ring.

Even as he tries to collect himself, his mind has already begun running away from him. Hearing his pulse thump in his ear, thump, thump—

And then it’s ringing—you’re ringing.

His voice shouts out he’ll get it as he picks up the phone from the hook.

“Javi… that you?”

Grinning, he laughs, light and airy. “Hi. Yeah, it’s me.”

Silence blankets his ears and the air, thumb circling a knot in his forehead.

Smiling, he changes the phone to his other ear. “Knew you’d sound pretty. You have a nice voice.”

“Shut up, Javi. I’ve said three words.”

“And a few more.”

He hears you suck in a breath as heat rushes to his ears, feeling the edges of his lips curl into a smile.

“You wanna talk about it or talk about something else?”

He hears you take a breath another breath. Different this time, all accompanied by a shuffling sound from your end.

“Something else. If that… that’s okay?”

“Yeah, sure. Alright, lemme… lemme think for a second—“

You clear your throat, “You have a nice voice, too, by the way.”

Pausing, he bites the inside of his cheek. “Like you imagined?”

“Better, honestly.”

“I could have called you. I have this additional thing on our plan—so my Pop could call. When I was away.”

“From when you were in Colombia?”

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he nodded. “Yeah…”

“Well, if this conversation goes well, you may get a new number to add to your phone book.”

“That so? Who’s flirting now.”

You laugh, sweet—fluttering its gorgeous wings down the phone to his ear as he readjusts the phone.

Dropping his voice, he turns more to the walls. “So, what you wearing, baby?”

“Oh my god, Javi.”

He doesn’t even mute his laughter, just lets it flow from him—rushing through the house. Not even caring if his Pop can hear him in the next room.

"I'm wearing nothing."

"Hermosa, you tease."

You laugh, and it's different. It's rich, and makes the room glow around him, without you even being here.

"I'm not really, I'm in a baggy t-shirt."

"Not as sexy, but I'm sure I can work with it."

You snort, "Javi, stop."

He wonders if your cheeks are warm. He hopes they are.

Leaning against the wall, he smirks, if only to himself. "I like how you say my name, Hermosa."

an: thank you so much for all being wonderful, i heart you

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foxtriestobiteandmaimandkilland · 10 days

Text

piece based on the idea that Dakota might've started learning guitar to play along with Ashe's drums ^_^ Ambigiously timed but was originally gonna be post s2 (tho their designs here look more s1)

Extras under the cut, as usual :3 AND a VERY detailed ID since this piece is a big one

Detailed ID: a drawing of Dakota Cole and Ashe Winters from Just Roll With It: Prime Defenders, sitting in Ashe’s dorm room.

Ashe is sitting on the bed, with one arm behind her head and the other rested on her stomach, while Dakota is lying on his back on the floor holding an electric guitar, legs kicked up on the bed next to Ashe.

Ashe has white skin, long curly white hair, a few freckles, and is looking down at Dakota with an open mouthed smile. She is wearing a dark purple beanie with pins of Madeline from Celeste, the Welcome to Nightvale logo, and the knight from Hollow Knight partially covered by her hair.

She is also wearing a shirt with the album cover of I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning by Bright Eyes. Over the shirt is Dakota's red flannel. She's wearing black jeans, one black and green sock, and one purple and black sock with cat ears at the top and cat paws at the toes.

Dakota has mid-brown skin with a few moles, and medium lengthed, curly, bright red hair thats splayed out across the floor. his eyes are shut tight and his eyebrows are furrowed, whilst hes smiling widely.

He has a black bandana around his forehead. On his neck is a chain, and attached to that is a purple heart with the letter 'A' on it. He's wearing a white tank top, that exposes his shoulder which features a temporary Ms G tattoo of her face accompanied with the words 'Ms G' in a galaxy pattern.

Dakota's wearing beige shorts, and has another temporary tattoo on his thigh which reads 'Teaching Moment' in galaxy text. his socks are white.

The blue and white electric guitar he's holding has a sticker that says 'Prime defenders' in black and white, and another sticker that says 'Just Roll With It' in gold and purple. At the top of the guitar near the tuning pegs, it reads 'Prime'.

They are in Ashe's dorm room. Her bed has a blue mattress and a green blanket that's pushed against the pillow away from Ashe, and draping off the side of the bed onto the floor. On the part of the blanket that's on the bed, there is a plush of Morgana from Persona 5, and another plush of Bacon Man. On the part of the blanket that's on the floor, there is a Nintendo DS, except with the word 'Primtendo' written on it. On the side of the bed there are 3 stickers; one of Hatsune Miku, one of Mae Borowski from Night In The Woods, and one of Tony's Pizza.

On the purple carpeted floor underneath the bed, theres a cardboard box labelled 'Secrets'. There is also an oval rug that Dakota is lying on that has a green, yellow, blue, and red circular design. ontop of this is a pair of headphones with the wire spiralling across the floor, and an amp that Dakota's guitar is plugged into. the front of the amp has the word Prime where the brand name of an amp would be usually

Next to Ashe's bed is a set of shelves. On the flat side facing the bed, there is a My Chemical Romance poster of the album cover of Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge. Under this poster are 3 photos, of Ashe and Dakota ice skating, Ashe and William walking on traintracks, and Ashe and William taking a selfie in bed. Next to these three photos are two school schedules, labelled 'Ashe Winters' Schedule' and 'Vyncent Sol's Schedule'.

On the shelves, the top shelf has a lit candle next to a box of matches. Next to these are 4 books titled 'The Carnival Of Souls', 'Planetary Problems', 'The Purps' and 'Overlord'. The shelf below this has a plant with small white flowers, in a ceramic pot with a blue heart, a red heart, and a purple heart on it. Next to this is a bottle of ibuprofen, and a turned on purple lava lamp. Behind these are more books titled 'The New Generation', 'Island Of Amal- [cut off]', 'Ultraviolent Light', '[cut off] -Don't R- [cut off],' and 'Good Cop, Ghos- [cut off]'

Underneath that shelf is an open drawer with two fairylight chains trailing out. One is in RGB colours and the other is golden. On the closed drawer below that, there is a Welcome to Nightvale sticker.

On the white wall behind Ashe, there is a window to her left. outside the light is golden, and there is a street. Behind Ashe's head is a Thank You Scientist poster of the album Maps Of Non-Existent Places, a Car Seat Headrest poster of the album Twin Fantasy, and a trans flag. There are also messages in smudged ink reading: '[cut off] -ncent was here !!!', 'Ashe. W [cut off] -s here :3', 'DC wus here <3', 'wiwi waz here [ghost doodle]' and 'love u man'

End ID.

#night thoughts #art thoughts #jrwi #jrwi prime defenders #prime defenders #jrwi pd #ashe winters #dakota cole #demonkicks #this shit took me like. almost a month to make #i am surprised the file hasnt corrupted even once <3

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skylermadness · 5 months

Text

Whatever. (Lucas Lee TF/MC)

(Original Date of Upload: December 6, 2023)

I continue to be too lazy to fill my queue.

Original Description:

Make this Lucas Lee TF #3, now in the written medium! My boyfriend got me to watch through both the Scott Pilgrim movie and anime and it was pretty obvious that I was going to fall in love with Lucas. A bit of a jerkish man with a large physique and attractive face, pretty much the perfect bait for someone like me. This also meant that inevitably I was going to have to write a TF story on this guy! I wanted to go for something a bit simplistic here in terms of tone and plot, mainly because I wanted to jump straight into the transformation segment, but I think in general I'm rather proud of how this story turned out! I really wanted to give this man justice, especially since in the end he'll probably be memorialized in the hall of underrated TF figures. Also going to give some credit to my friend moltingscales on FurAffinity for a few description additions that I would not have been able to come with on my own! Rated Mature for vague bulge growth description.

Truth be told, self-confidence was not something that Mike had an ample amount of. Especially in regards to how he viewed his physicality. That was always something he thought when he stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. And for this evening that sense of low self-esteem was at an all-time high. The reason? Date night.

He had always attempted to tell himself that these dates were just meant to be casual. There was nothing to really worry about since it wasn't like he and his boyfriend were going to some bougie five star restaurant or something. Unfortunately however, Mike’s mind never truly functioned that way and he had a tendency to spiral down a mental staircase of overcomplications. That coupled with the past two weeks he's had in regards to his job had sort of left his mind in a state of disarray. It wasn't fragile persé, but neither was it solid.

That mental state is why he was in the bathroom mirror at 7PM in the evening staring at a sheet of temporary tattoos in his hand. Said sheet was just some three dollar cheapo set that he bought online a few days ago. Mainly because he was too much of a coward to get a real tattoo- that's beside the point!

Although the cheapness of the purchase was definitely pungent as he stared down at the sheet. He didn't go for the more expensive and extravagant purchase, mainly because he didn't really want to draw too much attention to himself. In general he had just wanted something simple that also looked aesthetically appealing. However the more he stared down at the sheet he began to realize that he really went too far on the simple notion. Although that was primarily because the only selections on this fake tattoo sheet were simplistically stylized letters and numbers.

Mike sighed. “What do they expect me to do? Spell out my name or something?” It hasn't even been five minutes and he was already regretting this purchase. It was fine though, it was fine, he might be able to settle on something at least.

He had already crossed out putting in his own name, and he felt it would be weird to put in the name of his boyfriend. Would it be weirder to put in the names of everyone in his polycule? If anything that'd just look like a hit-list. Also he was pretty sure he didn't have enough letters for all of that anyway. For a second he also considered putting the name of a game or something he liked, but that option fell flat since the letters provided to him would look weird when tattoos of game logos legitimately exist.

These mental gymnastics lasted for a good twenty or so seconds before Mike’s gaze wandered down to the number section of the sheet. There weren't a lot of numbers he'd say represented literally anything about him. Except…

“...two?”

Just two. He was the second person in his polycule with his boyfriend after all, and in general he had been the second to do a lot of things like finish college and move out. Although considering he was just doing this to boost his self confidence for a date with his boyfriend the former thought process was a much healthier one.

Seeming to have come to a decision, the next couple minutes were a fairly standard order of events. Making sure his skin was dry, removing the film and isolating the singular number from the sheet. Mike did spend a good minute trying to choose a spot to place this temporary tattoo, but eventually settled on the side of neck solely so he could hide the thing if need be. He removed the choker that he typically wore, put it onto the sink’s counter, and placed the numerical icon onto the skin of the left side of his neck, then promptly wet up a sponge with some warm water before holding it onto where he was placing the tattoo.

The moment the water met the backing paper that region of Mike’s neck had suddenly been given a slight burning sensation. It was only miniscule, but it was noticeable. “Eesh, I hope I'm not allergic to whatever is in these things…”

He tried to hold out for the recommended thirty seconds, but that feeling of burning forced him to remove the sponge from his neck after twenty. He swiftly removed the backing paper from his neck, but found that there wasn't any kind of redness of the skin that would be the cause of any kind of burning. If anything the strange sensation had subsided, and now Mike had been granted a simplistic tattoo of the number two with a line going through it.

He stared at his neck in the mirror for a few seconds and scrutinized the newly inked object on his neck. “...somewhat larger than I was expecting. Whatever I guess, it doesn't… look shoddy.”

It did already look a little faded though. Mike had hoped once it had some time to dry it would actually look dark enough to imitate the appearance of a tattoo even though he didn't fully care about it looking convincing. With a sigh he moved his hand to the edge of the sink to pick up his choker and slip it back around his neck again. Although this time he loosened it a bit so it wouldn't rub up against the temporary tattoo too much. He apparently wasn't patient enough to let it dry before putting the accessory back on-

With that whole routine dealt with, Mike made his way out of the bathroom. He was probably going to spend the next half hour sitting on the couch waiting for his boyfriend to arrive…

However as he walked down the hallway he already started to massage the area the tattoo’s ink had been placed on. The burning was returning already and it felt a bit more intense now. “What are in those things?”

He continued to gently massage the area of his neck with his hand, letting his palm gently squeeze the skin in an attempt to alleviate the sensation. Although it would seem as he continued in this act, a strange set of changes began to settle into his hand…

There was a certain level of thickness that had begun to generate in both of Mike’s hands. His usually thin fingers steadily got larger, thicker, chunkier. As their size was getting altered their length was extending as well in order to fit their new proportions. The ends of his fingers also seemed to blunt a bit with initial the roundness of his fingertips dulling to a more straight look. At the exact same time the body of his hands was getting changed as well, both of them growing with each squeeze his left one did to his neck. They stretched out larger and wider, palms thickening as the entirety of his hands gained a significant level of meatiness to them that was already causing them to exude a level of strength that they had not possessed just moments prior.

From there it was a quick transition for the changes to jump past his wrists and onto his forearms. A small amount of heat began to arise in the lower area of his arms. With that heat came another swath of growths, the thinner physique of them steadily being lost under a swelling, bulking size. This was mostly because of the sudden increase in muscle mass he was getting. At an anatomical level, each usage of his extensor muscles by his hands was causing a practically impossible rate of growth. Like years of working out was being piled in the area in just seconds and giving his forearms a sizable muscularity. So much so that ridges were already forming, dividing muscle groups and accentuating the new size even further. A budding pressure had also started forming in his bones. Newly grown muscles practically massaging them, extending and hardening them further to better handle this larger size. It also wouldn't take very long for the exact same thing to begin to occur in his upper arms as well.

It started with a squeezing sensation in his elbows, something that quickly intensified to yet another immense bout of pressure in the bones of the upper half of his arms. This was also accompanied by the same light amount of heat, which was then followed by even more muscle growth. The short sleeves of his button-up were quick to fill as the mass in his arms increased more and more. Biceps got bulkier and triceps matured tremendously, and it wasn't long until the diameter of his arms was practically doubled thanks to all of these changes. His shoulders ached as his deltoid muscles developed more, a certain roundness forming out from his once angular bodily shape. This roundness had also rapidly made itself visible from beneath the fabric of his shirt, his newly developed muscles firmly pressing up against the sleeves as they already began to look rather undersized.

By the time this portion of the transformation had ended, Mike found himself at the threshold of the hallway and his living room. A few beads of sweat already began to form on his forehead as the heat was spreading from his arms to the rest of his body. “Uurgh, am I… having an allergic reaction to that thing…?”

For a moment he stands in the doorway and unhands his neck, deciding to hold onto the threshold with a hand in order to stabilize himself a bit. He could still feel the tattoo burn against his neck, although he couldn't see it was significantly darker than it was before. What he did see, however, was his hand.

“W-WHAT THE HELL-”

For just a moment his mind was taken off the feeling of intense heat entering his body, Mike’s focus instead being directed to his larger hands and beefier arms. Flipping a hand around in a panic his first statement was, “O-oh God, this can't be an allergic reaction-”

His eyes could only just trail down from his hands to his arms, the man only being able to behold the sight that was his recently obtained muscle mass. It felt so warm, and something about it was exuding pure strength, but despite that it all still felt uncanny. Bizarre felt like an understatement of a term, it was impossible!

“What is going on?? Why is this- a-ahh-”

His panicked statements were interrupted by what could only be described as the sudden feeling of a furnace igniting at the very core of his body. In just seconds his physical changes were transitioning from his arms to his torso, and Mike could instantly feel his chest push outwards and into his shirt with each breath the young man took.

The best way to usually describe Mike’s chest was undeveloped. Flat with only minimal amounts of flab and fairly unimpressive from a physical standpoint. However, as his core was heated a fire entered his torso that caused a cascade of changes that practically tempered and sculpted his form. His chest pushed forward, his pectorals steadily swelling in size with each second that passed. It was small at first however, seemingly starting off as a slight growth that looked more like that of a novice who just started working out. But that appearance was temporary, one that lasted only a few seconds before they got larger and larger. With each ragged breath the man took his pectoral muscles only grew more, that novice feeling being lost into the size of someone more adept in gym-going. And that didn't last long as they grew even more into two thick and meaty slabs belonging to someone dedicated to refining their physicality.

All the while his chest was pushing up against the front of his shirt. The size of his swelling pecs constantly indenting into the button-up more and more, their appearance getting more prominent beneath the fabric. But the only thing that held the halves of the shirt were buttons, and as the size of his chest increased it pushed his shirt’s placket to limits it just couldn't hold. Already buttons began to scatter, unleashing his chest more and unveiling the deep chasm that became his cleavage. A few more buttons were lost as his frame was prompted to extend as well. His collarbone and ribs pushed sideways, broadening and widening his form even more. Something that was causing even his back muscles to ache, a mighty need starting to form in them as well.

“Urgh-” Mike grunted at the sensations, everything just feeling overwhelming. “M-my shirt- my chest it's so… it's so…”

His cheeks flushed as all of a sudden Mike lost control of an arm. The free one that wasn't supporting him on the door got lifted up and, in just one quick moment, squeezed his right pectoral. He was given the sensation of just how soft yet firm they felt underneath his grip. Something that gave him just a single thought.

Heh, you've got the best chest in the business~

That very thought felt so foreign to Mike, already setting off mental alarm bells in the young man’s man. Yet despite that he couldn't swat it away, he couldn't stop his hand from giving his chest another squeeze and filling his brain with an almost erotic level of self-confidence (and perhaps self-absorption) that he didn't have prior. It was like his brain chemistry was beginning to get altered as well.

The changes didn't stop at his chest though. His abdomen already began to ripple, skin and muscle bubbling and churning as yet more muscles were ready to sculpt themselves into existence. The fat around his stomach melted off, and rising from that were a set of abdominal muscles. They slotted forwards like drawers, just rows of abs sequentially unveiling themselves and hardening into yet more firm muscles to displace his once twinkish demeanor. Two, then four, then a six-pack set of abs, all finely built in a way that showed years of dedication. Although those were years that Mike had not toiled through. But as his sides burned, his abdominal muscles firmed up, and the front of his shirt continued to tear open even more, the sight of his more muscled form was causing more conflicting thoughts to form in his brain.

His back continued to ache as the muscles in that region grew out. Yet again his shirt was filling up, and beneath that was a substantial formulation of mass that was forming in his trapezius muscles. Evidently that wasn't the only portion of his back that changed however as his spine was another major group of bones that got hit with the transformative pressure. A sensation that caused the discs in his spine to decompress and grow, elongating itself and granting Mike inches of height that would better work for his new proportions. This has caused the hem of his shirt to rise a bit and untuck itself from his jeans in the process.

This sudden growth of height further disoriented the man, Mike having already been immensely discombobulated thanks to the intensifying fog that was forming in his brain. At this point he was already getting lost in the inspection of his body, his arm moving from squeezing his chest to tracing a finger down his cleavage. It further moved down to his abs, all fingers splaying outwards to touch and feel the strong six-pack that he had gained just moments ago.

With all those years spent working out, it would be a waste not to feel those muscles you spent so long crafting~

“Wuh… huh…?” Mike vocalized, eyes blinking in a daze. “I've never… worked… out…”

For a second his brain registered his voice sounding different, sounding deeper, but his focus could only be on the statement said. How much of a contradiction it seemed to be. A fraction of him knew it was true, knew these muscles weren't here minutes ago or that he's never had the time or desire to gain such a form. Yet another growing part of him was telling him the opposite, that this is his body, his muscles, his everything.

Why deny such a form you've worked so hard on?

“Mmmph…” Mike hummed, voice continuing to deepen and making it sound like a low rumble. His eye twitched a bit as he felt a bead of sweat roll near it and down his face. His hand trailed back upwards, not sure if it's himself controlling it or the unknown force, but it slowly moved up his abs and back to his pecs. And while he entered what could only be classified as a hypnotized state, the transformation continued the move its way downwards. His jeans tightened around his form as the diameter of his waist got larger, the first sign that it wasn't very long until the lower half of his body was consumed by the changes.

The second sign was a stirring in his groin.

Mike’s cheeks flushed as he felt the front of his underwear begin to fill out. A sizable bulge was steadily forming, his endowment increasing in size much like the rest of his body had. Such an occurrence was also forcing the zipper of his jeans to start to split open against this new bulge. At the exact same time, the seat of his pants was filling out as well. Gluteus muscles getting larger, some fat accumulating in the area more, all of which was making his butt a bit more prominent and round beneath his jeans. It strained the back of his pants a bit more which put more pressure on his jeans. A good few seconds passed before finally the button holding them couldn't last any longer and ripped itself out the eyelet, the fly of his jeans now fully open.

That didn't end the torrent of pressure being put on his pants however. The transformation continued to cascade its way downwards, the man’s thighs being the next to thicken as heat surged in his leg muscles and forced his quads and hamstrings to grow in bulk and musculature. His calves practically burned as well as they practically ballooned out the back of the crus of his once skinny legs. Although at this point Mike’s lanky frame is now long gone, the last portion of it subsumed by muscle. The leg muscles of a man who knew how to train them, and who knew how to use them. This had also prompted another few inches to be added to Mike’s height as yet again the bones were shifted, strengthened, and extended beneath the muscle. The bottoms of the legs of his jeans steadily rode up his legs as a result, meanwhile the seams holding the sides together began ripping apart against his large muscularity.

The last portion of his lower body that was left to change were his feet, that region already beginning to shift as the space in his shoes quickly got filled out. In mere seconds his feet grew in size to fit the proportions of the rest of his body, lengthening and widening at a rapid pace. It wouldn't be long until the toe caps of his shoes bulged as all his toes pushed forward into them and continued to do so more. The back of his feet dug into the heels of his footwear, meanwhile the sides rubbed up against the shoe’s sides. This had predictably caused a major discomfort in the area, Mike disorientatedly stepping forward a bit in some weird attempt to shake off the pressure. But it didn't end and his footwear continued to bulge, the leathery cloth of it creaking and splitting as his feet continued to grow inside them. The front was already beginning to split off from the sole at this point thanks to his feet’s longer length. However, in one fell swoop, the front of his shoes burst open with a loud rip piercing the air. His toes were now out in the open, their chunkier and almost blockier appearance now visible. But at this point the changes in his feet had come to an end, the rest of his shoes just barely holding on against the width of his feet.

“Gghrrgh…” he groaned, his clothing feeling so uncomfortable against his larger body. “S-so small… unfitting… grragh…”

He swallowed a lump forming in his throat. The burning at the side of his neck had almost faded at this point, the tattoo he had given himself having inked itself into his skin to the point of it being a real tattoo. Furthermore his neck was wider, diameter larger and the size thicker. It made his vocal cords tingle, his breaths continuing to get deeper and deeper before settling on a tone that was more masculine than it used to be. Rougher, tougher, and rugged sounding. Although it seemed due to the size of his neck the choker he wore snapped off and slipped off him.

Show those strong muscles of yours, show that weak clothing of yours who's boss!

Mike’s groping came to a halt at this point. The man lifted up his arm, a dumb smile forming on his face as he gave it a good fleeeeex and watched as the sleeve of his shirt tore against his bicep. “Awesome!”

By this point the line of what was considered Mike and what was considered the strange force within him was blurring. The once foreign thoughts were becoming more proper, fitting for the person he was just about feeling he is. The new personality and mentality, one that felt more confident and stronger than he used to be. Although the concept of ‘used to be’ felt impossible. The more he stared at this strong form of his the more those earlier thoughts about this being his felt correct.

“Heheh, this feels good!” he stated, no longer supporting himself on the doorway and giving his other arm a good flex to watch the sleeve on it shatter over his muscles.

At this point the last set of physical changes were moving onto his face. As he smiled a pressure was wracking his skull, squeezing and sculpting his facial features into those of a completely different man. His skull structure got larger and wider, and with it his jawline reshaped and chiseled itself from the broadness. It almost protruded to the sides at this point. The way his jawline looked aided in shifting the way his skull physically appeared, the overall shape of his head looking boxy and rectangular.

With his jawline shifting, his once clean-shaven appearance got lost as black hairs poked out the skin of his chin. It started as a small amount rising from the tip of his chin, but that quickly spreaded across his lower jaw as a whole bunch more stubble dotted itself across the man’s jawline. Alongside that came more and more of his facial features getting shifted. The once rounded tip of his nose was getting pointier while the overall wideness of it narrowed a little bit. The brownish hairs of his eyebrows deepened to a dark black as they got thicker, bushier, and their appearance slanted until they gained an arched appearance. All of this had caused the previous appearance of Mike, the one that looked so worried and self-conscious, to be done away and morphed into the cocky visage of a new man that exuded raw confidence and self-assuredness!

His hair was the very last part that turned. The browns of the follicles deepened to a perfect black. The length of it shortened and caused the overall messy and fluffy appearance to disappear at a rapid pace. In its stead came a more well kept, spiky style as clumps of his hair slicked back and jutted backwards. However, the hair at the back of his head jutted upwards, and all this spiking met at a focal point at a specific point at the apex of his skull. It gave his hair an organized look that somehow still appeared laid-back. All of this ended off with his sideburns thickening and trailing down the sides of his face before ending an inch or two above where his jawline would start.

The same goofy yet confident smile on his face remained as he ran a hand through his hair and continued to admire a bicep. The man properly walked through the doorway and finally stepping into the living room. By now he didn't care about the discomfort in his clothing, and the questions of his identity were faded and buried beneath the knowledge that this is his identity. And for him he's always felt this way. So strong and assured of himself! He is talented skateboarder and actor, Lucas Lee!

With that mental declaration in his head there came one last, albeit minor, change: his clothing. The cottony feel of his shirt hardened as a deep black oozed across the once pristine white. Everywhere the darkness spread on his shirt a leather feel was formed, and that continued to occur for the next few moments. The shirt itself grew in size as this happened, and the very appearance of it was shifted. Metal lined the ends of the button-up’s split as the remaining buttons slipped off and dematerialized. As the metal continued to form a bit of the shirt folded into a lapel that the metal continued to line the end of before teaching the peak of the lapel’s tip.

The shirt’s collar flattened and extended to better meet the lapel, and by this point the leather appearance had spread across the entire torso section of what was once a shirt. Although as the leather extended itself onto the torn sleeves and repaired them, extending them over his arms and snaking the sleeves so long until they were an inch beneath his wrists, it was proven that this was no longer a shirt. Instead it was a leather jacket now. The rest of his clothing had a much less impressive change however. His pants repaired themselves and grew to better fit him, the denim shifting from its rich blue to a deep gray. His shoes did exactly the same as well by extending over his feet, covering his toes and growing airier, before properly sealing themselves shut and recoloring from black to blue.

With all of that finished the transformation had been solidified. All that was Mike was done away. His worries and concerns were cast, replaced with the confident persona of Lucas Lee. Although it was evident he got a lot more than just the persona.

“Eh?” Lucas raised a brow, stopping his self-admiration as he realized where he was. “The heck am I? Whose house is this?”

That question stayed important for about… two seconds before he decided he didn't care. “Whatever. Nobody’ll mind if I make myself comfortable for a bit!”

He takes a seat on the living room couch, completely ignores the fact his pants were unzipped, and perches his feet on the small table in front of it. He was about ready to fold his arms behind his head and lounge here for a bit, but was stopped when he felt his phone vibrate in a back pocket. With a grunt he shoved a hand into it and pulled it out, although he noticed that the thing looked a lot different than he remembered it being.

“Don't remember this having a gold case,” Lucas remarked as he pressed the power button to take it out of sleep mode. He would've realized the wallpaper was different from his usual as well, but his focus was on the singular message displayed on the screen.

Arti 💙 heading to your apartment now did you ever come up with someplace to actually go for our date??

Lucas tilted his head. Date? Who the heck was this guy?? Come to think of it, whose phone even is this?! There were a lot of questions crossing the man’s mind, but in the end he decided to do the most logical thing and answer the text as if it were his own phone.

You nope

With that Lucas put the phone back into sleep mode. He wasn't really sure who this Arti was or whose phone he was currently in possession of but truthfully he didn't really care all that much. He just felt like chilling out here for a bit before heading back out, probably for another late night skate session. Although after another few seconds a single thought crossed his mind.

…who's to say that Arti fellow wouldn't be a good time?

Lucas smiled. Perhaps he was going to be staying here for just a bit longer…

#character tf #tf #transformation #human tf #muscle growth tf #bara tf #male transformation

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fslogotatto · 3 months

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Logo Tattoo Monogram Created By >>fslogodesign<< Instagram

Logo Tattoo Studio

Logo Tattoo Shop

Logo Tattoo Artist

Lettering Logo Tattoo

#tattoologo #tatuaje #tatuajeespaña #tatouagefemme #femaletattoo #logotattoodesign #americantattoo #logo for tattoo shop #logo tattoo studio #monogram logo tattoo #lettering logo tattoo #tattootexas #logotattoousa #letteringlogotattoo #logotattooshop

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lulu2992 · 8 months

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From the Inquisitor to the Baptist: The Evolution of John Seed

When Far Cry 5 came out, on March 27, 2018, players got to finally meet John Seed “in person” and see his final design. That said, it’s still possible to stumble upon early versions of him in the game and its files.

All the sources and references indicated by the superscript numbers will be given in the last post.

Part 2: Physical appearance, clothes, and tattoos (Far Cry 5)

Here is John Seed, the Baptist, as he appears in Far Cry 5 most of the time:

His coat is now decorated with planes, but it still has scales on the buttons. He has a two-tone blue shirt, a vest (it seems, heavily inspired by a piece from the D&G Spring/Summer 2010 menswear collection²⁷), dark grey jeans with a brown belt and an “EG” belt buckle, dark grey, laced, probably leather boots, a watch, an Eden’s Gate earring, blue sunglasses (on his head), his bunker key around his neck, a SLOTH scar on his chest, and a lot of tattoos²⁸:

Among them, in addition to the ones previously mentioned in Part 1 (the letters and symbols on his fingers, the goat, the snake, the flames, the scales, and the angelic figure with the dove in the wreath), we find:

On his right arm,

a nautical star (can represent guidance) and diamonds/jewels (can represent beauty and power)

the number seven in tally marks (also tattooed on his left little finger), probably for the seven deadly sins

a fly (can represent determination)

a sword/dagger (can represent protection or sacrifice)

an anchor (can represent God and groundedness) with another snake and pair of scales

a crescent moon (can represent purity or transition, a new beginning)

a peacock feather (the peacock is used to symbolize Pride)

the word SLOTH crossed out

a flaming horseshoe, possibly to symbolize the Horsemen (and fire) of the Apocalypse.

On his left arm,

a revolver, maybe the last vestige of the gun he was holding in the first promotional pictures and in Absolution

an eagle, which looks like it’s about to catch the snake, maybe to symbolize Eden’s Gate (the cult used to be represented by an eagle, as seen in the early piece of concept art of the Seed family¹), “killing” sins (here, Envy)

an ax (can represent strength and fearlessness)

the plane pattern that is now also on his coat

a religious cross

a chair and the words “SIT DOWN & WE TALK”, most likely a reference to the fact he’s the Project’s Confessor

a holy figure with a sickle attached to their hand and what looks like sprigs of wheat, the latter probably symbolizing the Reaping and the fact John is in charge of it

another cross with “EG” in the middle, as well as the Greek letters alpha (A) and omega (ω), “the beginning and the end” in the Book of Revelation in the Bible

a bird, maybe a swallow (can represent freedom and resilience).

Most of his tattoos seem to be religious symbols, but depending on who you ask, tattoos can have very different, sometimes deeply personal meanings, so it’s difficult to know exactly what they’re supposed to represent. Some of the significations I’ve just mentioned in the list are very generic and can be found on many websites.

The crossed-out word SLOTH is particularly interesting to me because John has a similar scar on his chest, and “Acedia” (Sloth) is missing from the list tattooed on his left hand. It seems he really hates this sin²⁹…

But funnily enough, in the game, John doesn’t always look like this.

In the bedroom of the Holmes Residence, on Joseph’s Island, there are pictures of the Seed family on the wall, and John appears in two of them³⁰:

In the first one, he’s wearing his sunglasses, and his coat appears to have EG logos on it instead of planes. In the other picture, his coat might also be the “old” one, but it’s hard to tell.

In the family portrait, also visible in the Holmes Residence³¹, it’s his early character model (no glasses, no tattoos, “EG” pattern on the coat), the one we see in the Prima Games guide, who is in the picture. His siblings look slightly different as well.

In Dutch’s bunker, there also are pictures (and short descriptions) of the Father and his Heralds. Once again, it’s John’s early model who seems to be in the photo³².

In the “Power of Yes” poster, he’s wearing his sunglasses³²:

On the “We love you and we will take you” billboards³², John’s picture is a mixture of several designs. His coat is the final one, with planes, but his face appears to belong to his early model because his sunglasses are nowhere to be found and I think his beard looks slightly longer. He has the SLOTH scar and bunker key, but the letters on his fingers are S, G, and G for Sloth and Gluttony/Greed. The tattoo on his hand is hard to see, but it doesn’t seem to be the nautical star and diamonds.

In the menu, more specifically in the Journal, where missions are listed, we can once again see John’s early model (no glasses, no tattoos), like in this image that illustrates the mission “The Confession”³³:

I’ve previously mentioned an early version of the “You have been Marked” broadcast (in IGN’s video²¹), but an even earlier version of it can be seen in Far Cry Arcade. If you add the “Counter Cafeteria” (Far Cry 5 > Objects > Residential > Kitchen) to your map in the Arcade Editor, you can see this³⁴:

The Eden’s Gate cross that appears at the beginning is also a very early design, the one featured in what could be the first artwork of the Seed family¹.

A picture of John’s old 3D model was also in the deleted in-game encyclopedia (still partially available in the files)³⁵. His sunglasses, key, scar, and tattoos are missing, and he has the EG coat.

In the loading screens for the Holland Valley region, although John looks a little more realistic than his in-game model, his design appears to be the same³⁶:

As for his in-game portrait and character icon, they feature his final design as well:

But there also exists a very early version of this portrait in the files. John appears to be the character on the left, once again wearing sunglasses³⁷:

But surprisingly, the release of Far Cry 5 didn’t mark the end of the changes regarding John’s appearance. After the game came out, his model was slightly altered one last time.

If you ever took a close look at his shoes in the first few months that followed the release of Far Cry 5, you may have noticed that there was blood on them. This blood stain is also visible in the “Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse” official artwork²³:

But when I looked at his shoes again in the Arcade Editor five months later, the blood was mysteriously gone…

I have no idea why it was removed, but I like that it was because John’s evolution, from the game’s earliest stages of development to its final version, was not just physical; his personality, methods, and morals were also modified. The blood disappearing from his shoes is a subtle and maybe meaningless change, but I think it perfectly illustrates how his violence was gradually toned down during the development of Far Cry 5.

To be continued…

#far cry 5 #john seed #joseph seed #jacob seed #faith seed

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taekooktimeline · 6 months

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November 13, 2023 (released) -

Jk performed on Audacy Live (and did an amazing job!). Eagle eyes noted that, once again, a V briefly appears on the wall of his set. There’s been at least three instances of a “V” showing up during Jk’s “Golden” promos, to the point I don’t think it's a coincidence and want to archive this (though, as usual, please decide as you like).

The first instance was the custom wall that contains Jk’s tattoos + things he likes that were described by him as being “meaningful things.”

This photo was released as part of the concept photos for “Golden: Substance.” K media noted the following about the concept photo, “The final set of concept photos, titled “SUBSTANCE,” arrived Saturday and features the BTS member posing against a graffiti backdrop with numbers and words that are special to him, such as 0613 (BTS’ anniversary date), ’97 (his birth year) and the logo for BTS ARMY.”

A notable “V” in gold is included in the backdrop. As noted previously, I don’t typically like to analyze tattoos, but a lot have consistently said over the years that the inverted A in Jk’s ARMY tattoo is a V, which was confirmed in this backdrop (+ it’s in a golden color, like the album name). (Side note: I adore that he’s now able to more freely and comfortably show off his tattoos).

Wide shot of the concept photo -

Prior recap - https://www.tumblr.com/taekooktimeline/730820982596665344/october-7-2033-released-us-time

Article - https://www.billboard.com/music/music-news/jung-kook-golden-album-concept-photos-1235438971/

Golden concept photo sketch -

youtube

(timestamp 4:54 is when he describes the three concept themes)

The second instance of a V showing up in Jk’s work is in the main title track “Standing Next To You” official MV.

Official MV -

youtube

(timestamp 1:28)

And now we see another “V” showing up during Jk’s Audacy Live performance.

Performance -

youtube

(timestamp 11:20)

Random musing but I found it interesting Jk looks in the direction of the “V” once he passes it, as if he wants to draw attention to it.

Also interesting to note is the letter “J” that also appears in the Audacy Live performance, which is better seen when the image is brightened up.

Just like there’s a J near the V in his concept photo!

Image CT: d_ktaekook

#taekook #taekooktimeline #2023 #Golden #V #J #interesting musings #speculative

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zisto · 2 years

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New logo design done for @viejitossoutheurope car club. #viejitos #south #europe #car #club #worldwide #carclub #lowrider #chicano #lifestyle #lettering #script #letters #tattoo #font #logo #illustration. #zisto #logobyzisto #letteringbyzisto #zistocreativelab https://www.instagram.com/p/Ch-E6XXMHsa/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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nerdraging4point0 · 1 day

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Power Play // Chapter Eight // Hockey-Omens AU

Tropes and tags: RPF:AU hockey player romance, angsty romance, hidden relationship, forbidden relationship, smutty, MF, multiple POV.

Content Warning: angsty romance, hockey player shenanigans, locker room talk, smutty, aggressive hockey players, PinV, MF relationship, possessive male, protective male.

This work below is fictionalized ideas and stories involving real people but does not directly reflect their thoughts, feelings, or behaviors. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction.

Taglist(click to be added): @ladyveronikawrites @poisongirl616 @shilohrosechicken @th0ughts-pr4yers @meliferafaerie @curse-bearing-hips @letmeadoreyoux @transparentwitchnightmare @darling-millicent-aubrey @moranastray @cookiesupplier @concreteemo @collective-heartbreak @littlefoxkota @somebodyels3 @thisbicc @jakeygvf21 @cind6547 @lma1986 @loeytuan98 @xxkittenkissesxx @shaydayhere

As I shuffle from foot to foot, waiting impatiently, the massive sphere looms over me, slowly turning to showcase the etched lettering that reads Universal Studios. The brilliant water show happening just behind me provides a melodic backdrop, but does little to soothe my growing unease. Across the way, crowds of excited guests pour through the front gates, many already wearing silly souvenir hats or clutching stuffed animals they bought. Their joyful shrieks echo from inside the park. But here I remain, alone, checking my phone again for any word from Noah who is now 15 minutes late. It would have been easier to carpool but I was so adamant on it only being casual I thought a car ride together would push the boundaries-what was I thinking? I crane my neck, scanning the constant stream of park-goers for any sign of them. Meanwhile, just down the palm-tree lined streets, casual shoppers laugh and chat as they drift in and out of kitschy gift shops and overpriced restaurants.

I stand conflicted, torn between listening to the voice in my head urging me to leave and salvage my pride or staying to enjoy the sunny day alone in the park. My mind races, replaying our last conversation where he promised to meet me here, yet now I wait aimlessly for a text explaining his absence. I shift my weight between feet, denim shorts swishing against my bare thighs as I kick at the sidewalk in frustration. Arms crossed, I glance around, taking in the groups laughing together on the grass while I wait solitary by the lot. With a huff, I turn to leave, chucks scuffing the pavement with each reluctant step. I make it only a short distance before pausing, a glimmer of hope making me pivot back. I fish my phone from my pocket, refreshing my notifications despite knowing the empty screen awaiting me.

Noah: Hey, traffic was terrible. Got our tickets online meet me at the front gates.

The text came in two minutes ago. When I was standing around contemplating my life choices, I feel like an idiot. Had he seen me stomping away? I take a deep breath walking down the red painted walk to the front gates. I spot him before he spots me, leaning on one shoulder against a palm tree closest to the ticket booth.

His casual look is simple but it’s making my insides swim and spin in circles. The shorts are a classic neutral that matches anything, hitting just above his knees to show off muscular, tattooed calves. His socks and shoes are bright white, like he just stopped by the store to get them specifically for today. On top stands out a bold red hoodie with the hockey team's logo plastered boldly on the front, impossible to miss in a sea of people. His focus is downwards at his phone, hand absentmindedly brushing over short brown hair, drawing my eyes to the fresh cut he got just this morning. The ends are crisp and clean, neatly trimmed in a way that shapes his head, sharpening his look.

“Hey,” he says as I close the distance between us looking up at me from behind his shades, “Sorry traffic was a killer, sometimes I am afraid my old ‘09 car is gonna crap out on the freeway.”

"No worries," I say self-consciously, as I begin tugging at the hem of my shorts and shirt in a futile attempt to cover more of the bare skin I had purposely chosen to flaunt just moments before. I'm not sure why I suddenly feel so exposed and vulnerable, wishing I had worn something more modest, but his intense gaze is making me painfully aware of just how little clothing I have on. As if sensing my unease, he reaches for my hand, gently interlacing our fingers together and giving me a reassuring squeeze. With a warm smile, he leads us towards the mobile ticket booth at the park's entrance. I watch as he smoothly pulls up the e-tickets on his phone, which the attendant scans before snapping bright yellow paper wristbands onto each of our wrists.

"Have fun!" she chirps cheerfully, waving us through the turnstile into the park. Still holding my hand securely, he guides me into the bustling crowd of families and thrill-seekers.

We scatter around the amusement park, darting from ride to ride but never fully committing to more than one at a time. Most of our time is spent waiting in the snaking queues, chattering away about anything and everything to pass the time. We debate our favorite movies - the epic adventures we could watch over and over and the cheesy romcoms we secretly love. We groan about the overhyped blockbusters that left us bored and disappointed.

The line stretches on endlessly, filled with eager witches and wizards of all ages clad in Hogwarts robes and brandishing imitation wands they had purchased at the souvenir shops. They jostle against each other, craning their necks to see how much longer the wait will be, too caught up in their anticipation to pay heed to personal space. I pull in on myself, trying to avoid the constant bumps and shoves from the overly enthusiastic crowd. Mumbling half-hearted apologies, they repeat the same motions over and over as they surge forward whenever the line moves an inch. Their reckless abandon grates on me, fraying my nerves until I'm overwhelmed by the suffocating press of bodies. Just when I think I can't stand it any longer, I feel Noah's hands encase my shoulders before he pulls me back against his chest. He crosses his arms around me, enveloping my tiny frame within the safe harbor of his embrace. Sheltered there with his chin resting atop my head, the chaotic crowd no longer seems so oppressive.

The hours fly by in each other's company. I walk slowly as I munch on the Minon Cafe nachos I purchased trying to get a generous amount of cheese, onions and barbeque on one chip. The savory blend of flavors bursts across my tongue with each crunchy bite. Noah stands next to me watching me munch on my food, his lips occasionally curving into a soft smile as he finds amusement in my puffed out chipmunk cheeks struggling to contain the mouthfuls of nachos. I return the expression with my own cheeks puffed out to maximum capacity, my mouth so full of the delicious tex-mex treat that I can barely chew let alone speak. The boys rush up to us without warning, their sneakers scuffing along the pavement. Two gangly teen boys with all the awkward acne and scattered facial hair that comes with puberty stand before us, the shortest one flashing a braces-filled smile as he and his lanky friend try to catch their breath after jogging to catch up with us.

"Hey man," the shorter one greets Noah, a slight lisp detectable as he speaks, "Love the hoodie. We're big Rooks fans." His eyes light up with admiration as they fixate on the sports team logo emblazoned across Noah's chest.

"Oh thanks," Noah replies, his smile broadening as he briefly glances down at the jacket he is wearing despite the intense heat, acting as though he had no idea he was sporting the coveted team merch.

"Whose your favorite player?" the other kid asks eagerly, practically bouncing on his toes. Noah shakes his head and I swear I see a little blush rise in his cheeks, his modest nature taking over. He reaches up and slowly removes the sunglasses from his face. As his identity is revealed, I turn back to look at the boys and see their starstruck expressions morph into sudden realization of who it is they are actually talking to.

The boys ask Noah for photos and autographs. He happily obliges, flashing his pearly white smile for selfies and signing various items. After a few minutes, the boys scamper off, thrilled with their interactions. Noah slides his sunglasses back on and turns to me with a grin stretching ear to ear.

"You seem to be a popular player," I joke as I toss my trash and brush the chip crumbs from my hands.

"It's not often I'm stopped without the team around," he admits with a casual shrug. "Puck bunnies usually," he adds. I involuntarily cringe at the mention of that term, memories of my reckless youth flooding back. I was quite the rebel in my teen years, making a string of poor choices with some of the players on my dad's college team. While I was never in it for the money or fame like those so-called "puck bunnies," I'd still made decisions I wasn't proud of, motivated by little more than teenage hormones and lust.

"You would think," Noah continues, "Being here there would be more popular celebrities to see than me." He shrugs off the comment trying to lighten the mood. I shake off whatever it is that bothers me and force a smile.

"Maybe they are all hiding," I say pointing to the studio tour ride. Just below the theme park are the studios where they often are filming - it's entirely possible celebrities of all types lurk below us without us knowing. Noah's face brightens at my suggestion and his eyebrows raise behind his sunglasses. His excitement is palpable as he takes my hand and drags me across the park to the escalators, paying the extra toll for the ride. I can't help but grin, caught up in his enthusiasm. We hurry onto the trolley, Noah helping me into the far back seat.

We're squeezed into the very back seat, thighs touching, the tour guide going on about the studio and celebrities we might see roaming around. I'm not even listening. I’m too focused on Noah’s arm draped behind me. His fingers drift lightly over my arm, barely making contact, but it's enough to make my heart race.

As the trolley trundles along through the winds and curves, I turn my head to gaze out the large open sides of the tram, feigning distraction while my mind races. I'm scanning the scenery with unseeing eyes, lost in a vivid daydream. In my fantasy, we sneak away from the crowds flocking through the park and slip into one of its shadowy alcoves, hidden from view. He presses me against the rough brick wall, his strong body pinning mine as his hands roam my curves. Our breaths grow ragged with anticipation and I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out as he drives himself into me, right there out in the open where anyone could happen by. My heart pounds at the illicit thrill even as my inner muscles clench around him. Just then, his deep voice breaks through my scandalous reverie.

"You hungry?" As I turn back, our noses brush in sudden proximity and instinctively I recoil. But his arm around my shoulders tightens, holding me close so that our lips nearly meet. I swallow hard, nodding my head dropping my eyes down to stop myself from staring at my own reflection in his black sunglasses.

“Here or downtown?” His free hand comes between us, his index finger tapping my nose before dropping down to cup my chin and tilt my head up to look at him again. I see myself staring back from his dark sunglasses, the faint sight of his eyes behind them, and I know I'm done for.

Noah’s POV

“Mmm, fuck, you’re so good to me, aren’t you little fox?” The subtle music from the shops of studio city provided the backdrop as we found a secluded corner shielded by palm trees and trash bins. My hands gripped her hips tightly, bracing her against the brick wall as I moved rhythmically, struggling to keep my shorts from falling. Her body pressed hard into the wall with each thrust as I hit that sensitive spot inside her, eliciting muffled moans from behind her hand clasped firmly over her mouth. Her nails dug sharply into my shoulder, urging me on as my tempo increased. We were lost in the moment, oblivious to anything but each other and the risky thrill. The distant chatter was drowned out by her gasps of pleasure, spurring me to quicken the pace.

“Fuck, I’m almost there baby.” I brought her down on my cock she rotates her hips to meet me with each thrust. Fuck. I can't get enough of this girl, she has me absolutely addicted in every way. From the moment I wake up, she is the first thought that crosses my mind. I find myself constantly daydreaming about her throughout the day, picturing her smile, her laugh, the way her nose crinkles when she's focused. I can't go five minutes without needing to touch her, to feel her soft skin under my fingertips. Her presence soothes me, excites me, consumes me. I want to talk to her all the time, hear her voice, her thoughts, her dreams. I've caught myself staring at her apartment balcony, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, longing to see that cute, sleepy look she gets when she's just waking up. I'm not proud to admit it, but I'm utterly infatuated. When we're together, it's electric - the sex is mind blowing, earth shattering, unlike anything I've ever experienced. I can't get enough of her body, the way she feels, tastes, smells. She has me completely intoxicated, addicted, obsessed.

“fuck me, please.” The rhythmic panting in my ear spurs me on, driving my movements with an intoxicating urgency. Lost in the moment, I'm only dimly aware of footsteps approaching in the distance. But I cannot bring myself to stop, not when we’re so close.

Her skin is flush against mine, damp with perspiration from the sweltering summer air. As our foreheads meet, her face contorts in ecstasy, lips forming a perfect ‘O’ while her eyes roll back. She tightens around me, her body quivering. I wish I could freeze this instant, to imprint the exquisite sight of her unraveling in my mind. I come with one last thrust and we stand there, muscles shaking, breath heaving.

I catch my breath quickly waiting for her thighs to stop shaking before I am setting her down slowly, shielding her as she steadies on her feet, trying to bend at the waist and lift a shaky leg through her denim shorts.

Her delicate hand feels light in mine as I gently pull her out to the shopping center, people glance our way and I see her cheeks turn red. People have no idea what we just did, but I do and seeing her shy like this, I find it cute. I spot the burger joint and we slip inside and find a cozy booth by the window. The waiter takes our order - a juicy burger and fries for her, just a cold beer for me. As we wait, she becomes utterly engrossed in the football game blaring on the massive flatscreen above the bar. I watch her eyes light up whenever her team makes a big play. Her enthusiasm is contagious, and I find myself getting drawn into the game too.

In the back of my mind, I can't help thinking about my own team - how in just a couple days I'll be back on the ice with them, immersed in the sweat and adrenaline of competition. Part of me itches to be cleared for practice again, to feel the smooth feeling of the ice beneath my skates, to hear the swish of the net as I sink a perfect shot. But a larger part of me knows I'd rather be right here, in this moment, with her. For now, the game on TV is just background noise. The thing that has my full attention is the way she smiles at me from across our little booth, eyes shining, cheeks still flushed. This is where I'm meant to be.

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